The mind of the rapidly approaching 40 female is a landmine of hormones, irrational thoughts, and fleeting whimsy. Or maybe that’s just me.
Although I have absolutely zero desire to have another baby (and the hubby is right beside me), my biological clock is grabbing on to the coattails of my fertility and digging in its heels.
Maybe it’s Mother Nature’s way of making sure, really sure, you’re not going to help populate the Earth any more. Perhaps it’s the hormone version of beer goggles, that state of inebriation wherein everyone looks a thousand times more attractive after knocking back a few longnecks. Well, hormone goggles? I’ve got you covered.
I think part of the issue is that clichéd heart wrenching realization that my baby, Miss A, will be 4 soon and I can barely talk about it without crying. Last night she told me she wanted me to buy Barbie and the Diamond Castle “natkins” and Power Ranger “natkins” for her party at daycare. I mean is that the cutest thing ever? Sob. It also doesn’t help that every other woman of child-bearing age at my company has either popped out a kid or is about to pop out a kid.
Every Monday I take Miss C to dance class for her hour of tap and jazz. I usually sit in the waiting area fiddling with my iPhone or chatting with the other parents, mostly moms. One mom to three little ones has the most adorable rosey cheeked strawberry blonde headed toothless baby girl you’ve ever seen. Seriously, this baby gives me total pregnancy amnesia. I don’t even WANT to have another baby but looking at her makes my ovaries swoon from the sheer unbridled cuteness. As I was commenting on this baby’s total cuteness the other day while her mom held her on her lap and made her grin her toothless smile, the mom looked at me and asked, “Are you done?”
“Oh yes,” I replied. “I’m done. We’ve taken certain measures and we are definitely done.”
A few minutes later the mom carried her baby over to the observation window where parents can scope out the class. Her little boy, who is 20 something months old, was playing at the small table next to me. Suddenly he looked up at me, pointed to his bottom and half asked, proclaimed with a pacifier hanging out of his mouth: “Poo poo?”
And then I smiled at him and said, “You have a poo poo? Go see your mama! She’s over there!”
Yep, I am so done.