After two and a half weeks, the tape residue on my arm from the IV I had the night I gave birth to my daughter, my third child, is almost completely gone. I suppose it was unhygenic of me to allow it to linger as long as I did but somehow I just couldn't wash it away. This ridiculousness is not just due to my normal obsession with my own nostalgia but part of a larger realization that I will never again experience such an IV or childbirth itself. My days of making babies are over; I am almost a little depressed by this thought.
Most women I know did not particularly enjoy their pregnancies, labors, or hospital stays but I am one of those freaks who did. Sure I had the usual little annoyances that accompany each of these events: headaches, a few barfy days, fatigue, hemorrhoids, morphine sickness, and the completely unattractive transformation that happens during breastfeeding, but looking back, I can even say these little items were an accepted part of a larger, giddy sort of love I had for each of my occurances being "with child." After each one I would be forced to live pretty much in the moment, being kept busy with all of the tending tasks that come along with a new infant, but as time passed I would always find myself looking back to those times and phases, treasuring them and wondering if I would enjoy the future experiences as much as the current ones. I did, of course, and each milestone, each season, each accompanying set of pop culture items reminds me of the specialness of it all. My son: Fruit punch gatorade, snickers energy bars, smoothies from Jamba Juice, breakfasts at the Uptown Diner, ER in the mornings, Blue Crush in the afternoons, the song "I Believe in a Thing Called Love," the smell of Dreft baby detergent, and Baby Mozart. My first daughter: "What Not to Wear," green tea and banana coconut frappucinos, 24, neutrogena soap wipes, purple Herbal Essence shampoo, Euphoria perfume, and Gwen Stefani. My second daughter: Miami Ink, turkey cookies for Thanksgiving, Victoria's Secret pear lotion, Lipton Brisk Iced Tea, vanilla lattes, Kanye West, Justin Timberlake, ER in the mornings, baby shows in the afternoons, pecan pies, and Bruegger's Bagels.
Now that I am done getting pregnant, I wondered for a while if I'll just naturally make the transition from tired looking hippy mom with grown out roots, jeans and old t-shirts to yuppie soccer mom, complete with coach purse and prada pants. Once my kids are in school will I forget about them and join the ranks of the rest of the MILF wannabes, caring more about Botox and spinning class than my family? Will I feel inadequate being just a mother, just an aspiring writer? Will the novelty of "A Baby Story" and "Bringing Home Baby" finally wear off? I hope not. I am almost positive that, in a year or two, I will be right back in the same gushy nostalgia, pressuring my husband to consent to yet another child. And though I know full well that I will have more than I can handle with the three glorious babies I already am lucky enough to behold each day, I guess the magic of new babyhood will always be one of my favorite things on thie earth. Few things are as intoxicatingly beautiful as holding your own newborn child.
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oh Anna ya got me all teary eyed, I'm secretly craving a new pregnancy and baby, but then I think of sleep deprivation and I snap out of it, also my age,39 to be exact. My fondest memories are those first few days in the hospital especially with Nico since it was a scheduled C-section, i remember just looking at him an knowing this was his only 3 days with just me.
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