I am a baby wearing addict. Every weekend, I will diligently pack one of my wraps into our diaper bag, knowing that I will probably have to carry my littlest at some point. In fact, I hope I will get to carry him.
Never mind that my little fatty is all of 11kg and he refuses to go on my back, which means I have to carry him in front just like I did when he was snug in my womb. Never mind that when we walk and we walk and I am wearing him like that, it hurts my injured back sometimes.
I just want to.
The truth is that, that’s the kind of mother I am. I love snuggling close to my boys, love being able to kiss their bouncy cheeks, love holding them. And each and every single wrap that I have in my little stash is precious, it allows me to do just that – hold them close to me, close enough to kiss. Every single wrap holds sentimental value to me, which is why I am finding it so difficult to let go of any of them. (And thank goodness the man understands this passion.)
Also, I am finding it hard to let go because I know that this one is my last baby. Once he decides that he does not want to go up into the wrap anymore, my baby wearing days will be over.
There will be other memories to create and cherish, of course. There will be other moments to look forward to. But at this point in time, I am starting to mourn the end of my baby’s babyhood, especially since I know that we will also have to wean for good come March, when I go on a 10-day business trip.
He is my last baby.
Husband is pretty much done, he has stated clearly that he does not want another child. I am ambivalent, I neither reject the idea nor crave for a third badly. But I also had an epiphany the other day: I was looking at myself in the mirror one morning, me with the tired eyes and insidious lines on my face. And I realised, with a start, that I was 35. If I were to be pregnant for the third time, I would be a mother to a newborn at 36 or 37.
I am not sure I can, or want to, handle that.
So, nostalgia. Looking forward to the future, yes, but also saddened by the end of the firsts.