A friend posted a little something on FB about the sadness of knowing you have had your last child.
Oh have I felt that. It is often present. I was just talking with my sister about it last week. I am one to think in numbers and find myself often thinking my baby is 10, my oldest is encroaching on teenagehood. Next year both of my babies will be heading to school at 7:40 and will be just across the street in their not so little middle school. I miss their littleness every day and wish for more time with them in their perfect for snuggling bodies filled with wild and humongous dreams. I am full with love of who they are and where they are and the stage they are in, but that longing for a perfectly curled up child in the crook of my arm is never that far off.
I told my bff when I was snuggling her itty bitty baby that I wanted to put her little body inside my skin. She gets me and she loves me so she did not immediately dial 9-1-1. And when I say it I know it sounds totally crazy but I miss that feeling of a little one so close to me, you know? And if you catch me on a good day it is probably because there are moments when I feel like I have this mothering thing down and I want a do over. At least until the next stage hits and I have to figure it all out again...but...
We are done. There is no going back. We have the family that is meant to be and I wouldn't change it one little bit. So instead I borrow babies. But just cute ones, and snuggly ones, to get my fix. And ones that belong to friamly because I don't need any calls to the nut house when I say things like I could just eat these babies up.