Babies

I babysat a three-month-old yesterday. I haven't been solely responsible for a baby since Kyle was born almost four years ago. I wasn't worried about it until Alison took little Paige out of her seat and handed her to me. It made me wonder how long I would have left her in the chair if given the option. As Ali walked out the door I found myself staring at Paige and asking her what I should do with her. We've never had a baby in this house, and the hard wood floor was not very welcoming to such a small creature. Well, I was already holding her, so I sat down, wondering what else to do with a baby. Where would I lay her down? Is she old enough to play with toys? How much of her bottle would she drink before she needed to be burped? Can she climb or roll out of her seat at this age? These are things I should know, after all it would appear that I have raised two babies myself. But the answers that should come as natural as breathing were not in my head.

Do we forget these things that quickly? In four years could I really have forgotten when babies get teeth, when they can eat solids, how often to feed them, how to entertain them, when they sit up, when they crawl, and a variety of other things that used to occupy my every thought? Have we moved so seamlessly into having preschool kids that I've deleted that information from my brain?

She got hungry pretty quickly, so she sat in her chair and cried a bit while I mixed her bottle up. Claire found a bib in Paige's bag, so we strapped it on and sat in the rocking chair to feed her. Kyle held the bottle for about 20 seconds. "She's taking so long to drink it all, Mom! How could it be that she is taking so long to drink it?" [Kyle has replaced every "why" in his vocabulary with "how could it be"] Claire supplied the answers to him, and both of them quickly lost interest in feeding the baby. Gratefully my body seemed to remember how to hold a baby, and I quickly found myself relaxing around her and relishing the weight and warmth of her tiny body. Her small swallowing sounds, so standard to all babies, quickly brought so many feelings to me.

As you've probably noticed, I've wanted another baby for a couple years. We've been trying to get one for a year now, with two miscarriages since January. I don't know that I'm technically infertile. I do know that this is taking much too long on my own personal timeline. Holding Paige spoke to my heart---warming feelings that I try to keep in the very recesses of my heart---feelings much too tender and dear to feel every day. It was painful and healing at the same time.

As she finished up her bottle I showed Claire how to burp a baby---pleased with the familiarity in holding her tiny chin and chest in one hand. She quickly fell asleep, and I carefully carried her up the stairs to nap in my room. When she woke up we carried her downstairs again. Holding her as we played trains and house, my confidence gaining with every activity.

It was just four hours, but we had fun. My kids are fascinated by babies, and I was fascinated and relieved at how naturally it all came back---how to hold her with one arm, how to comfort her, how to change a tiny diaper. She even spit up on Claire. I panicked because of Claire's strong aversion to vomit, but Claire just giggled, and I laughed until I cried because of how ironic it was that Claire was the lucky one to receive spit up.

And still it was strange. Strange to think that I have raised two babies, one which will start kindergarten this month. (Did I really do that? Could they really be that old? Could they really be mine?) Strange to wonder if we will ever have a full-time baby in our house again. Strange to wonder if Kyle really was the end of it. I hope not.