I have fallen ill to the ever consuming malady of baby fever. It seems like every woman I see is sporting a pregnant belly, every blogger I read is some weeks along and my instagram feed is filling with ever extending bellies. It’s not quite that extensive, but when someone has something you want, well, you remember it more. And what I want is a baby.
I want to see two pink lines on a test I take, and not be able to contain my excitement on who I can tell and who I have to wait 12 weeks for. Though I’m certain that by twelve weeks the list will be shorter of who doesn’t know than who does. I want to be sick, munching on saltines and ginger ale, reading the The Morning Sickness Companion.
I want to wear my belly band over my unbuttoned pants and skirts. I want to wear long maxi dresses. I want to all my maternity clothes back from Sarah and I will wear them proudly showcasing not hiding a pregnant belly. I want to wear velcro shoes because I’m in capable of bending over. I want photos of myself every month in all the different ways that I’ve pinned.
I want to be nauseous and exhausted and uncomfortable and hot and cold and itchy. I want to push and scream and cry and have a baby in the end. I want a little pink screaming bundle of joy to hold. To nurse. To rock. Clogged ducts, and stretch mark cream. Who will keep me up all night and day. Who will always be hungry or tired or needing to be changed. I want diapers upon diapers in my diaper genie. I want wipes, and baby bottles, and nuks, and pumps. I want nursing tops and fears. I want two big kids who look down on their baby with overwhelming love.
Bear will be a little helper getting me this or that like he did with Bella. I want Bella to be both a little sister and a big sister. I want to hold her hand while she holds Bear’s who holds Dad’s all the while I push a stroller. I want a family of five. I want to be outnumbered. I want more toys all over my floors, more clothes strewn about, more laundry to wash with Dreft. I want a dishwasher full of plates and cups and utensils of every size. I want pureed vegetables and fruits, rice cereal boxes, and bags of frozen milk.
I want chaos and noise. Dusty bookshelves and crumbs on my countertop. I want to order out because I’m too tired to make dinner. I want to kiss a newborn’s head and smell that precious scent. Hold the tiniest of fingers in my hand. I want a little baby that lays on my chest and hopefully sleeps. I want bjorns, swings, bouncers, exersaucers, boppys and every other contraption I already own that is gathering cobwebs in my basement. I want to love someone more than I ever thought possible.
I know exactly what I would be getting into.
I want these again:
Oh yes, I have the fever indeed.
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