I find myself yearning for a baby—not a third child, and definitely not yours (nice try!). What I truly long for is the return of my own little ones. Whether it’s a boy or a girl, I don’t have a preference at this stage—perhaps I would love both, just not simultaneously.
Over the past several months, I’ve been experiencing an overwhelming midlife “thing”—an intense affection for babies. I absolutely adore them. As if the universe is teasing me, my social media feeds are flooded with adorable infants, from those just born to those celebrating their first birthdays. Those chubby thighs, tiny fingers, and wispy hair have me reminiscing about my own children, who now sport various shades of blue in their teenage years.
These little ones popping up in my feed are untouched by life’s complexities, needing just your warmth, care, and unconditional love. What could be more uplifting than a newborn? It symbolizes a fresh start, a testament to the continuation of life, and a reason to embrace self-love just a bit more. Babies don’t hold grudges or roll their eyes at requests; they require a lot of nurturing, but the rewards they offer—joy and that pure, unconditional love—are irreplaceable.
I find myself desperately trying to grasp at memories of my past, longing to relive those precious moments with my babies. I wish I could transport myself back to the early mornings, cradling a sleepy infant against my neck while the house lay in serene silence. I want to remember how it felt to bathe that delicate first baby, my heart racing as I struggled to keep him safe from slipping away. I recall the excitement of hearing, “It’s a boy!” and “It’s a girl!” both times feeling a profound sense of familiarity, as if I had known them long before they arrived.
I cherish the moments they danced, sang, and played without a care in the world—unburdened by anxiety or self-consciousness. I want to recall the feeling of rocking in the kitchen with my baby girl nestled in my arms, her heartbeat pulsing against my palm, or the sound of my baby boy’s laughter echoing as he played.
Yet, those memories elude me.
People often remind me, “You’re creating memories!” during those exhausting grocery runs or the endless hours spent pushing a swing at the park. I probably say the same to my younger friends beginning their parenting journey. They too will discover, despite the long, mundane days, that time will slip away faster than they can imagine.
But memories? “You’ll have plenty of memories!” they insist. Yet, as time passes, memories become less distinct. Some are jagged and painful, and many don’t align with how my kids recall them (which is a surprise). However, certain moments stand out with such clarity that they feel illuminated, ready to be relived.
But the everyday memories? The routine bath times, bedtime stories, and countless boxes of mac and cheese? They blend together like a fog I can’t quite penetrate. As I sift through printed photos from my children’s childhood—yes, I belong to the pre-digital age—I can see the beautiful moments unfold: camping trips, birthday parties, sleepovers, and cherished pets. A blog or journal did not accompany my children’s early years; we created videos and took pictures, capturing memories stored away in boxes.
The haze of my memories over the past 21 years is unsettling. I had hoped to retain them more vividly. Sometimes, I fear I’m losing pieces of my past, one faded memory at a time.
Just let me hold that baby again. Either of my little ones, I would give anything to relive a day with my baby girl on my hip or my baby boy laughing until he gasped for breath. I promise—I would remember it all. I would love to hit rewind, just once more.
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Summary
The author reflects on a deep yearning for the simplicity and joy of infancy. As she navigates her memories of parenting, she grapples with the bittersweet nature of recollection, realizing that while some moments shine brightly, many blur together. Despite the passage of time, her desire to relive those tender early days remains strong.