As I was handing out goodies and talking about the gym with the moms who had brought their children to see the free movie I couldn't help but notice the number of babies. Seriously. Babies everywhere. Tiny ones, medium sized ones, blue eyed, brown eyed, smiling, crying, smoochie, smoochie babies everywhere.
And while I smiled at them or commented to their mothers about how adorable their child was, I didn't feel an ounce of baby want.
No wantum baby?
For me, this was a strange feeling. I've always wanted more babies. Boy and Girl were terrific, but they were only two and I wanted six or eight or ten. Beloved, being a bit more conservative in the "how many of these things do you think we can feed?" opted for the more is less venue.
That and no more babies came along. Well, except our foster girls who
I use to get those little pangs of wishing. Beloved never did, funny that. But I would wish and pray and sigh about babies. Then today I realized that I don't want a baby.
And it weirded me out.
I like my life. I like that my children are not children any more. I like going to coffee with my Girl and doing grown up things. I like hearing about my Boy's plans for the future (so cute and so optimistic! Ahh youth!). I like sleeping.
Sleeping is good.
So, as I watched these young mothers with their oodles of children, holding their babies and trying desperately to get little Todd to follow her, I sighed a prayer of thanks that God did NOT listen to me.
Let's face it, I'm nearly forty-three. What on earth am I going to do with a baby?
Unless it's a GRAND BABY...
But that's years from now....Right?!