I had one moment, when I was initially passing down the most cherished (some through all four kids) infant clothing (the first last clothes) of experiencing a little pang. It sounded and felt like this: tiny pleading little bit sad voice inside my head asking no more babies?
Well, no more babies here: we’ve had four of them (probably two more than my most wonderful husband actually bargained for). And they were and are four of the very best babies ever to grace the planet and I am not saying this because I’m biased. It’s simply fact.
In all seriousness, the last baby, our sweet and spicy girl (She bites! She hits! She walks willfully into the street!), she’s a fabulous toddler now. She’s gifted at the art of refusal. She’s funny and literate and loves chocolate chips and her baby dolls and shoes and yelling GARBAGE TRUCKS when she sees ‘em and giving fist bumps (well, of course she gives fist bumps; she was born on Super Tuesday). Anyway, as I did all the way until I had my own kids, I’ve rediscovered how you can pretty much always have important babies in your life (not that all babies aren’t wonderful; indeed, they are). Awesome babies arrive all the time. Personally, I love babies. I always have. And so, I’ve always had affinity for babies—in general—and particularly dear relationships with specific babies.
So, week before last when I got to Tuesday Market and discovered that Wiley had sprouted a second tooth in the days since I’d last seen him, I made note straight away. I had, after all, lifted the buttery soft bundle from his mama’s arms immediately upon laying eyes on him. What’s not to love about one of the comfiest babies I’ve ever met? In his pink T-shirt, with his pearly bottom buds of teeth, with his ability to melt into a person squeezing him, well, this guy, he just sends me. Last week, I had my pal, Laz, on my knee for quite some time.
These days, I have a few dearhearts in the recently-turned-one and under crew, near—Laz and her pals Malia and Henry (who was literally bowled over by Saskia even though he towers over her at a recent party)—a bit farther—radiant nephew Ian—and way too far—our friend and former babysitter’s Northwest babe, Marit, whose pictures I cannot help but stare at and return to, over and over (I love her even though I haven’t met her, even from afar, true story and I’m pretty much banking on meeting her when she comes to see her grandparents—and me.
Tongue-in-cheek as I’m being and as I sound, I’m actually completely serious in this: even though I’m a mama to four (plenty, yes, more than plenty), I have a bigger heart—because hearts are, by nature, expandable—and so I love more kids than my passel and I plan to, actively plan to, keep young ‘uns in my life long after mine are taller than me and have gone wherever they go to do whatever they do. Indeed, my kids benefit hugely from adults not their parents loving them. This is a pay it forward phenomenon. Fortunately, doing my part, that’s easy. In fact, it’s unavoidable.
Oh, and I LOVE seeing my kids’ most-adorable clothing, clothing with provenance, on other kids. Why would I hoard it?
