By: Emily Rivera
Updated: Aug. 3, 2016
Originally Published: Sep. 17, 2015
The yearning for a baby has taken hold of me. Not a third child, and certainly not someone else’s little one (nice try, though). What I truly crave is to revisit the days of my own babies. Whether it’s a boy or a girl, I find myself longing for the essence of those early years—just not all at once.
For several months now, I have been experiencing an intense and somewhat embarrassing midlife epiphany: I adore babies. The love is profound. Coincidentally, or perhaps cruelly, my social media feeds are inundated with images of tiny humans—some are napping, others are learning to walk, and many are celebrating their first birthdays. The chubby limbs, delicate fingers, and fine, wispy hair evoke a sense of nostalgia. I find particular delight in the bright blue-eyed infants, reminiscent of my own children, whose eyes still shine with different shades of blue even as they navigate their teenage years.
These little ones popping up in my feed are blank slates, demanding nothing more than to be held, fed, and showered with love. What’s more life-affirming than a newborn? Each baby symbolizes a fresh start, a reminder that life carries on, and an opportunity to love oneself a little more. Babies harbor no grudges, don’t roll their eyes at requests, and leave no socks strewn on the floor. Yes, they require immense care, but the joy and unconditional love they return is irreplaceable—something you can only receive from a child who has yet to experience the constraints of curfews or chores.
I find myself yearning to reclaim those moments in time—grasping for the essence of my past life with infants and trying to relive it. I want to remember the feeling of snuggling a sleepy baby against my neck in the early morning hours while the rest of the house lay asleep. I want to recall the trepidation I felt while bathing my firstborn, terrified of losing my grip and causing harm. I wish to relive the moments of hearing “It’s a boy!” or “It’s a girl!”—each time feeling as though I already knew them, that their spirits had been with me long before those pregnancy test lines appeared. I want to remember their first dances, songs, and imaginative play—moments filled with pure joy and devoid of self-consciousness. I long to feel the rhythm of rocking my baby girl on my hip, sensing her heartbeat through my palm, and the comfort of soothing tears, teaching, and simply being present.
However, the details elude me.
“You’re making memories!” people would say during those long grocery store trips or endless time spent at the park pushing a swing. I likely echo that sentiment to my younger friends now embarking on their parenting journeys. Deep down, they understand that time will fly faster than they can fathom, even while their current days feel long and monotonous.
But memories! “You will cherish those memories!” they exclaim. Yet, as time passes, those memories often lose their clarity. Some recollections are jagged, marked by pain, while others may not align with how my children remember them—a startling realization. Yet, there are certain moments that shine, vivid and distinct, as if illuminated by a spotlight, allowing for reliving at will. Just hit rewind.
Other recollections, however—the daily routines, the bath times, the countless readings of Hop on Pop or Brown Bear, Brown Bear, and the endless boxes of macaroni and cheese—are a blur. The “firsts” and “lasts” for each child, from tentative steps to the loss of teeth to the transition to high school, blend into a fog that obscures clarity. As I sift through boxes of printed photos—evidence of a childhood before digital media—I can see that it all happened, that it was real, and that we survived to share the stories. There were camping trips, theme parks, birthdays, sleepovers, cherished pets, and beloved toys. Yet, I didn’t maintain a blog or journal during those years. Instead, we captured moments on video and in photos, which now rest in boxes down the hall.
The haze of those 21 years unsettles me. I had anticipated remembering more vividly. At times, I worry that I’m losing my memory, one faded mental snapshot at a time.
Just let me hold that baby again. Mine—either one of them. If only I could have a day back with my daughter on my hip or my son laughing so hard he could barely catch his breath. I promise I would cherish every moment—I truly would. I would love to hit rewind once more.
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Summary:
This narrative explores the author’s deep yearning for the days of babyhood, reflecting on the simplicity and joy of caring for infants. It delves into the bittersweet nature of memories that fade over time, while also providing resources for those interested in family-building and home insemination. The longing to relive those cherished moments is palpable, as is the realization that while memories may blur, the feelings associated with parenthood endure.
Keyphrase: longing for babyhood
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