My youngest child is about to turn four. That doesn't seem that old - really - but it somehow is. We're out of the baby stage. There are no more snuggles while nursing, diapers to change, night-time wakings, first smiles, first steps, first words.
We have kids, not babies. And the lack of tiny cuteness has been depressing.
The only way to avert my current funk is to have another infant. That means three kids, which seems like a small army. I wouldn't have enough arms to corral them all. I'd be starting over - nauseous for months before I get so swollen I hate to look at my fat fingers and ankles. I'd have to buy maternity clothes, a baby carrier, a bigger car.
But I'd have a baby. For a little while, at least.
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