First of all, I have to give a shout out to all my new readers. My Blogtober post yesterday was far and away the most read blog post I’ve ever had! Thank you for stopping by you guys and I hope to see you around some more!
And now, without further ado Blogtober #2: Babies
I love babies. I love baby humans. I love baby animals. I love baby bugs. Tiny things are adorable. When I’m on a plane or at a restaurant and a baby is squealing or giggling I think it’s too cute. Happy babies can make loud happy baby noises around me all they want. I don’t care if we’re in a small enclosed space. Even crying and screaming babies don’t really bother me. I know that they’re just trying to communicate that something is wrong and they can only get their point across in so many ways. As a matter of fact, I get annoyed with the parents faster than I do with the baby.
I have been told throughout my life that I’m great with kids. People feel compelled to tell me that in very random situations. I was working at the registers at the bookstore a couple weeks ago and a little boy around 4 was getting a book and he was telling me all about it. He and I chatted about how he was doing in pre-school and what his favorite thing to learn about is (answer: his favorite part of school is cat books and the sand table). His mom was really nice and didn’t seem to mind I was basically ignoring her to talk with her child. The person who decided to tell me how impressed she was with my handling of the little boy was a random older woman who was several people behind them in line. The older woman didn’t even end up coming to my register to be checked out, she just stopped by (while I was helping someone else) to tell me that I had a “real way with children.”
In one of my creative writing classes, we did an exercise on the last day where we all wrote notes to our fellow students about what we enjoyed or liked about that person. Pretty universally we talked about what aspect of the person’s writing we thought they did best and which piece of their’s we enjoyed reading the most…. I got one comment that had nothing to do with my writing. I will never forget the note. It said, “The first thing I think of when I think of you is: Wow, she’s going to be a great mother someday.” The person who wrote it apologized when she gave it to me and seemed a little sheepish about it, almost embarrassed. I was not offended in the slightest. I was flattered. And that moment always sticks out to me.
When my youngest niece was born I taught her mother (a pediatric nurse) and her father how to stop her crying. It was the day she was born. She was very fussy and confused- as she should be, I’d imagine being born is a huge shock to the system- and I was the first one to get her to stop crying. I can’t remember when I learned my trick but it has never failed me. I am the go-to when my friends and family have a fussy baby. Strangers let me hold their baby in public.
I love every second of the baby snuggles.
What makes my love for babies hard is that I cannot have babies of my own. I have known since I was a teenager that I cannot conceive naturally. I can carry a baby and deliver, but not conceive. The way I see it, my genetics just don’t need to get passed on. Natural selection has decided that we don’t need more near-sighted, no sense of smell humans with a family history of heart disease, cancer, stroke, diabetes, hypertension, and basically everything bad.
Finding out at a young age, way before I was in my family planning stages, made it pretty easy for me to just shrug it off and say “when I grow up I’m going to adopt.” Over the years the plan has been modified to wanting to adopt an older child or two, or three. I’ve come to terms with the idea that I will most likely never raise a baby of my own. I will not get up in the middle of the night to make bottles or change diapers. I will not give my kids baths in the kitchen sink. I will not need to buy and build a crib or changing table. I will not have to baby proof my house.
I do get jealous when I see others get to do those things. I have cried in the car when another Mother's Day goes by that I am not a mother. I do get sad when I think about the list of things I will never get to do. BUT- I get excited when I think of the list of things I do get to do.
I will raise my children. I will pass on every ounce of love I have on to them. I will cheer at their competitions. I will make school lunches. I will bake dozens of cupcakes for bake sales. I will kiss boo-boos. I will snuggle to make the bad dreams go away. I will volunteer on school field trips. I will be Troop Mom/Den Mother. I will embarrass my kids in public. I will strive to be the Cool Mom. I will cry when my kids start college. I will long for the day I get to be a grandmother. I will love my children with every fiber of my being.
I just won’t have babies.
I will be a mother.
And now, without further ado Blogtober #2: Babies
I love babies. I love baby humans. I love baby animals. I love baby bugs. Tiny things are adorable. When I’m on a plane or at a restaurant and a baby is squealing or giggling I think it’s too cute. Happy babies can make loud happy baby noises around me all they want. I don’t care if we’re in a small enclosed space. Even crying and screaming babies don’t really bother me. I know that they’re just trying to communicate that something is wrong and they can only get their point across in so many ways. As a matter of fact, I get annoyed with the parents faster than I do with the baby.
I have been told throughout my life that I’m great with kids. People feel compelled to tell me that in very random situations. I was working at the registers at the bookstore a couple weeks ago and a little boy around 4 was getting a book and he was telling me all about it. He and I chatted about how he was doing in pre-school and what his favorite thing to learn about is (answer: his favorite part of school is cat books and the sand table). His mom was really nice and didn’t seem to mind I was basically ignoring her to talk with her child. The person who decided to tell me how impressed she was with my handling of the little boy was a random older woman who was several people behind them in line. The older woman didn’t even end up coming to my register to be checked out, she just stopped by (while I was helping someone else) to tell me that I had a “real way with children.”
In one of my creative writing classes, we did an exercise on the last day where we all wrote notes to our fellow students about what we enjoyed or liked about that person. Pretty universally we talked about what aspect of the person’s writing we thought they did best and which piece of their’s we enjoyed reading the most…. I got one comment that had nothing to do with my writing. I will never forget the note. It said, “The first thing I think of when I think of you is: Wow, she’s going to be a great mother someday.” The person who wrote it apologized when she gave it to me and seemed a little sheepish about it, almost embarrassed. I was not offended in the slightest. I was flattered. And that moment always sticks out to me.
When my youngest niece was born I taught her mother (a pediatric nurse) and her father how to stop her crying. It was the day she was born. She was very fussy and confused- as she should be, I’d imagine being born is a huge shock to the system- and I was the first one to get her to stop crying. I can’t remember when I learned my trick but it has never failed me. I am the go-to when my friends and family have a fussy baby. Strangers let me hold their baby in public.
I love every second of the baby snuggles.
What makes my love for babies hard is that I cannot have babies of my own. I have known since I was a teenager that I cannot conceive naturally. I can carry a baby and deliver, but not conceive. The way I see it, my genetics just don’t need to get passed on. Natural selection has decided that we don’t need more near-sighted, no sense of smell humans with a family history of heart disease, cancer, stroke, diabetes, hypertension, and basically everything bad.
Finding out at a young age, way before I was in my family planning stages, made it pretty easy for me to just shrug it off and say “when I grow up I’m going to adopt.” Over the years the plan has been modified to wanting to adopt an older child or two, or three. I’ve come to terms with the idea that I will most likely never raise a baby of my own. I will not get up in the middle of the night to make bottles or change diapers. I will not give my kids baths in the kitchen sink. I will not need to buy and build a crib or changing table. I will not have to baby proof my house.
I do get jealous when I see others get to do those things. I have cried in the car when another Mother's Day goes by that I am not a mother. I do get sad when I think about the list of things I will never get to do. BUT- I get excited when I think of the list of things I do get to do.
I will raise my children. I will pass on every ounce of love I have on to them. I will cheer at their competitions. I will make school lunches. I will bake dozens of cupcakes for bake sales. I will kiss boo-boos. I will snuggle to make the bad dreams go away. I will volunteer on school field trips. I will be Troop Mom/Den Mother. I will embarrass my kids in public. I will strive to be the Cool Mom. I will cry when my kids start college. I will long for the day I get to be a grandmother. I will love my children with every fiber of my being.
I just won’t have babies.
I will be a mother.
Comments
Post a Comment