Baby Fever

Some days it feels like most people I know are having babies. In our church of two hundred people there were eleven pregnant ladies a month ago and since then four of them have given birth. My sister is the happy mama of a new baby. Two sisters-in-law are expecting babies this year. And another one has the snuggliest-ever six-month-old.

But we’re not having a baby right now. Sometimes I wish we were. I remember the happy things about pregnancy and early motherhood.  I remember finding meaning in fixing myself food because I knew it wasn’t just for me; I was growing a person with that nutrition. I remember the wonder of knowing another human was coming into being under my skin. I remember reading up and seeing how big the baby was getting to be. I remember wondering who this little person would be. I remember being pampered before and after the birth, people thinking I was brave and being understanding when I was tired or teary. And there was the countdown until due date. And the waiting. And the incredible experience of birth. I remember how Chris and I grew closer together as we walked that intense year of pregnancy and the first few months of parenthood.

I miss all of that. Sometimes I grow wistful. (Don’t get me wrong, I do remember the hard parts, the fatigue, the moodiness, my feelings of inability, and being afraid because I knew I could never go back to not being a mother.) But still, what is more amazing growing another human inside you, and then getting to hold him in your arms and wonder at his perfection? What is more fun than staring into her eyes and reflecting her beautiful smile?

But it hit me recently that I am still doing that. I am still a mother of two beautiful people. I’m still nurturing children, shaping people, having a front row seat on their growth. Today I get to look into her eyes and share a laugh; I get to hold his strong little body in my arms and feel his arms around my neck. Today I get to love.

Maybe what I miss is the intensity. Maybe I miss the timeline and the countdown. Maybe I miss the knowing what is around the corner, miss the clear expectations. For the most part my body just did what it was supposed to do during pregnancy and then during birth it took over. At that point there point there was no ambiguity about what was next; there was just one thing to do. Those first weeks of mothering were the same. My world narrowed down and it was just me and my baby and my man and I just did the next thing to take care of myself and my baby. And friends and family were there to help out with meals and encouraging words and amazing kindness, the kind that feeds your soul. My whole world cocooned around me and that little person in my heart and arms.  And I could watch all of us changing and growing.

But now, life is big and there are so many options and just endless lists of stuff to do and often none of it feels that much more important than the rest of it. And my mind and heart grow tired from the sheer amount of stuff that’s thrown in our faces.

So the last few weeks as I’ve wondered at the tiny perfection of a six and a half pound daughter of one friend and heard the amazing birth story of another, I’ve rejoiced with them and loved their sweet babies. And then I’ve come home and wondered how I can love and know my children better. Wondered how I can see them with wonder again. And I want to know that beyond the fights that I settle, the toys I pick up, the never ending number of meals that I make, the fear that I am not loving them well enough, that I am hurting them through my hard words, inconsistency, or ignorance, I want to KNOW, beyond all that, that God has given them to me. He has given us to each other and He loves us beyond comprehension. I want to remember that am incredibly privileged to know and love and care for these little ones.