I don’t miss a whole lot about having babies in the house, but one thing I do miss is that look of contentedness on a six month old as he sits in a patch of sunlight and chews a squeaky toy.
At the last staff meeting one of the employees brought her six month old and I was hyper aware of that little pool of quiet watching. I’m not the kind of person who loves all babies. I love my babies, I love my friends’ babies, but I’m happy that the baby part of my life is over. But this baby in the conference room reminded me of days in which not much happened and that was okay. Mostly those days of mine revolved around T, the first baby I ever held for more than a few minutes, the first newborn diaper I ever changed, the first baby to introduce me to the different kinds of crying. I remember both of us stretched out on a quilt on the living room floor. M at work, the world beyond the door. T and I, we could spend hours watching dust motes sparkle in the sun. We could spend 20 minutes wrapping ourselves in warm clothing for a 2 minute expedition to the mailbox. Our days were quiet, still, intense. Naps were accomplished. Meals were events.
Now, well, now is different. We are five of us and we all have busy lives, even the four year old.
My life is better now than it was ten years ago – I’m lucky in that it keeps improving. But, still. When I am reminded of those days on the floor with a baby, I feel something like sadness. I feel something like yearning.