I find myself longing for a baby. Not a third child, and no, I’m not looking to adopt your little one (nice try, though). What I truly crave is to relive those early days with my own children. Whether it’s a boy or a girl doesn’t matter—maybe even both, but definitely not at the same time.
For the past few months, I’ve been caught up in this somewhat embarrassing midlife “thing” where I can’t help but adore babies. Seriously, I LOVE them. As if the universe is playing a cruel joke, my social media feeds have become a flood of precious little ones—newborns, toddlers learning to walk, and even those celebrating their first birthdays. Those chubby thighs, tiny fingers, and wispy hair are simply irresistible. Especially the bright-eyed babies, reminiscent of my own children, who still have those distinctive shades of blue in their eyes.
The little ones I see online are blank slates, requiring only your affection, nourishment, and care. What could be more uplifting than a brand new baby? They symbolize a fresh start, a reminder that life continues, and they inspire you to love yourself just a little bit more. Babies don’t hold grudges or roll their eyes when you ask something of them. They demand a lot, but the joy and love they return is unmatched—those pure expressions of love can only come from a child free of curfews, driver’s licenses, or chores.
I find myself yearning to go back in time, desperately trying to grasp those fleeting moments when my life revolved around babies. I want to remember the feel of a sleepy infant snuggled against my neck in the early morning hours while everyone else was asleep. I want to recall the anxiety of bathing my firstborn, terrified that he might slip from my grasp. I want to relive the moments when I heard, “It’s a boy!” and “It’s a girl!”—each time feeling an innate connection to who they were even before they arrived.
Those days of dancing, singing, and playing pretend are distant memories now, devoid of self-consciousness or anxiety. I long to recall the feeling of rocking my daughter in the kitchen, feeling her heartbeat through my hand resting on her tiny back, or the comfort of soothing tears and simply being present.
But the problem is, I can’t remember it all.
“You’re making memories!” people would say during those long trips to the grocery store or the countless hours spent pushing a swing. I probably echo that sentiment to my younger friends just starting their journey into parenthood. They, too, will realize that while the days may seem endless and mundane, time will fly by faster than they can imagine.
But memories! “You’ll cherish all the memories!” they assure. Yet, those memories aren’t always neatly defined. Some are jagged and painful, while many don’t align with how our kids remember them—an unsettling revelation. Yet, certain moments stand out, illuminated like a spotlight, vivid enough to relive at any time.
Just rewind.
But then there are the mundane daily routines—the bath times, bedtimes, and endless readings of “Hop on Pop” or “Brown Bear, Brown Bear.” The firsts and lasts of each child—those tentative first steps, the loss of teeth, the start of high school, graduation, and everything beyond—blur together like a fog I can’t quite see through yet.
I sift through boxes of printed photos (yes, my children grew up in the pre-digital era) that capture an entire childhood, and I see it all. It happened, it was real, and we survived it. There were camping trips, birthdays, sleepovers, and countless cherished moments. Without a blog or journal to document it all, we relied on videos and photos—plenty of memories stored in boxes down the hall.
But the haze of memory surrounding those 21 years feels unsettling right now. I always believed I would remember more clearly. Sometimes, I worry that I’m losing these memories, one faded mental snapshot at a time.
Just give me that baby. My baby, whether it’s my daughter or my son. If I could relive just one day with my little girl on my hip or my son laughing uncontrollably, I would do anything to hit rewind again.
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Summary:
In this reflective piece, Jessica Rivers shares her longing for the early days of motherhood, expressing a desire to relive those cherished moments with her children. She reminisces about the joy and simplicity of caring for babies, the bittersweet nature of memory, and the fleeting nature of time as children grow up. Through her heartfelt narrative, she invites readers to appreciate the beauty of motherhood and the memories that shape our lives.
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