She's two and she's my always baby. There will be no more babies in our house. It's fine though because I feel done. People always said you'd feel it when you were done. It's true. That's not to say that if by some miracle the stars aligned and somehow I was pregnant again (which will not happen) I wouldn't be happy to have another child. I would. Every child is joy. (Except when they grow up and drive you at least part-way insane.)
We were in the nursery at our church yesterday. There were 3 2-year-olds, 1 16-month-old and 1 4-month-old along with most of the fathers of the children...and me. There was also the nursery worker. She is young-ish. It's hard to tell her age, but I know she is younger, perhaps in her 20s. The only child in the nursery that didn't have at least one parent present was the baby. His mom was teaching Sunday School and had to leave him. (Kudos to her for teaching when she has an infant! I think I quit teaching when D was born.)
The baby was fine for about 3 minutes after his mama left. I'm sure she didn't hear him start to fuss and cry. The nursery worker tried awkwardly to comfort him. She tried to rock him, then tried to stick him in the swing, then back to rocking. It was only about 5 minutes of the struggle before I couldn't take it anymore. I stood before her in the rocking chair and asked if I could hold the baby.
I'm not sure if she couldn't hear me (unlikely since I was right in front of her and he is a young baby still...he doesn't cry that loud) or if she was simply ignoring me but after I repeated the request twice I repeated it one last time as I simply took the baby from her.
He quieted almost instantly. Before the hour was up he was sleeping in my arms. His mom popped in twice for other needs and as she was leaving the first time she hesitated a moment and said "is he....?" Her words trailed off and she smiled as she turned away..."He's just fine." I heard her say confidently.
So I stood and swayed with a chubby sleeping baby boy in my arms. He was chunky like the K Man was as a baby. My Budda baby. I watched my baby, the always baby playing across the room, pigtails cockeyed, flouncy skirt falling off what little behind she has, checking to see if her mama is watching her.
I watch and marvel at how far she has come and can't wait to continue to learn who she is. My baby. Always my baby.