She looked gorgeous, all sweaty glowing and happy and preggo. She *might* have been wiping down her thighs with Kleenex when I arrived. I was just relieved her water hadn’t broken.
The house was packed with women. There were four long tables filled with friends and family. This was, I believe, her fourth of five showers. Maybe they’ll be more. It’s not surprising; Wendy is one of the kindest, funniest, most genuinely nice people I know. And anyone who has met her will feel that light that comes from within her.
Wendy and her husband, Wes, went through three years of infertility before in vitro gave them their soon-to-be baby girl, Whitney. It was definitely something to celebrate. So I took a seat at the table in between her birth mother and her mother-in-law and diagonally across from Wendy’s mom. We ate and we chatted and we laughed.
And then it was time to open gifts. We settled in. This was going to take awhile. The gift bags and brightly-wrapped packages lined up like planes on the runway at LAX.
We oohed and aahed at adorable, miniature pink onesies with tutus, mary jane tights, crocheted hats and unbelievably soft blankets, pants with a cupcake on the butt. All that sweet, sweet baby girl stuff.
I thought I’d feel a pang. A longing for the days when my own daughter was wearing sun bonnets and footie pajamas and rompers that showed off her bakery-roll thighs.
But I didn’t.
I had not one moment of baby envy. Of wishing back those hazy newborn days.
Maybe it’s because I still have a baby. Well, he’s a toddler, but he still likes to be carried and he has no interest in using anything other than his diapers to do his business.
Or, possibly, it’s the knowledge that I’m done. D-O-N-E. I am not yet nostaligic, and, in fact, had a bit of a love-hate relationship with babyhood – which happens when you’re dealing with breastmilk allergy and colic and two under two and then three that are five and under. I am aware this might change as my kids move into their teens, and, someday (hopefully) out of our house and into lives of their own.
I am sure I will remember the early-morning nursing of a warm-from-sleep, sighing baby, or the big gummy smiles and belly laughs, or the way their heads smelled like warm toast, and want to disappear into them for awhile.
But this day? I could sit and relax and giggle over the gift that came – accidentally – with a dirty, little boy’s sock tangled in the tissue paper. I watched Wendy gently hold each outfit and I’m sure she could imagine her baby girl in them one day soon.
My time for that is over. And I am not sad.
How about you? Are you done, and if so, when did you know it for sure?