My little Princess turns seven tomorrow. Boy, how time flies. But enough about that. Lately, I have been getting the baby itch. I have several girlfriends who are either pregnant or just had a baby recently. And they look awesomely cute and cuddly, I could just bite them. And I start to reminisce on the days when my son and my daughter were babies (some 16 and 7 years ago), and I begin to feel that internal clock ticking as I begin to long for another baby.
It comes in spurts—I will be watching television and see a precious baby which makes me ooh and aww. Or I will sit and remember how my son used to scoot on the floor before he started walking or how my daughter couldn’t go anywhere without people fawning over her in her stroller. The late night bottle feedings when I would sing for them or give them a bath in the sink (yes, you read right, the sink)—I miss all of that.
At 35 years of age, I pretty much feel like it’s over for my womb. But I also know that if I really wanted to, it wouldn’t be too late for me to conceive without a problem. I go back and forth as to whether I want to go for another one or not—when I think of the challenge of me being able to travel for opportunities and appearances, I tend to think having a little one wouldn’t be good for my career. But when I think of trying to have just one more to complete my family, I get a little emotional. When I had my son, it was 10 years before I had another child. And now it would be 7 to 8 years between another child so….I haven’t a clue what to do.
This all could be hormones and simply nothing else. Or it could be a true and intense desire to try for mommyhood again.
I love the freedom that I have now. But I also love being a mom.