You walked in with your newborn, all wrapped up in a cozy blanket. Naturally, you’re bursting with pride and joy, completely smitten by this tiny bundle of love (likely fueled by a severe lack of sleep). She’s adorable, precious, and embodies all the sweetness a newborn should have. It’s clear why you might think I’d want to hold her. After all, I’ve had four little ones of my own, so you’d assume I have a soft spot for babies. I must radiate maternal confidence or something! However, when you offered to pass that delightful pink bundle into my arms, I had to politely decline.
It’s not that I’m worried about dropping her or mishandling her. I’m quite skilled at holding babies (all four of mine are still in one piece, though their emotional states might be another matter). I could navigate a minefield while carrying your little one single-handedly without a hitch. Seriously, I’m that capable!
It’s not about her; she’s perfect. In fact, she looks a bit less like the usual wrinkly newborns, which is a testament to your genetics. And yes, I genuinely adore babies—they truly are amazing, and you can take that at face value, devoid of any sarcasm.
The truth is, the issue lies with me.
I have four fantastic kids, and I’ve weathered sleepless nights, potty-training, stomach bugs, teething, and even simultaneous cases of croup. I’ve endured countless toddler tantrums, broken heirlooms, and chaotic holiday seasons. I’ve navigated trips to the emergency room, those ever-so-important “birds and bees” conversations, and sibling squabbles. They’ve screamed, stormed around, and slammed doors.
I’ve made it through most of the challenging phases. My youngest is now eleven and has been sleeping through the night for ages. She’s potty-trained and on the path to independence—she even made her own pancakes for breakfast this morning without needing my help!
Honestly, I’m not looking to add more kids to the mix.
Most days, I’m just trying to keep my head above the laundry that seems to overflow constantly (I think the floor is brown, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen it). I’m managing teenage drama, eye rolls, authority questions, and pre-algebra homework. I’m doing my best to keep everyone fed while juggling the bills (we’re not exactly swimming in cash). Right now, my kitchen counter is a mess of dirty dishes, my minivan has an odor that’s hard to describe (a blend of fermented apple juice, sweaty socks, and moldy fries), and our dogs just cleaned up the soup someone spilled all over the dining room rug. So, yes, I seem to have it all together.
I feel like I’m barely holding onto my sanity. There are moments when I lose it and yell—at myself, random objects, my kids, and even the mail carrier. Sometimes, I question whether I should have the four kids I do because parenting can be incredibly tough.
Plus, I’m forty-one. While I’m still capable of having and raising a baby, my body is definitely not what it used to be. My hair is turning grey, my skin is showing signs of aging, and my knees are a bit creaky. I feel like I have no business welcoming another child.
Yet, as I age and my biological clock ticks down, I find myself longing for those fleeting moments. The thought of never cradling another newborn, hearing them cry for the first time, or experiencing that magical blank slate of possibilities that each infant represents is almost unbearable. It pains me to think I’ll never again hear “Mama” come from those tiny lips, or feel a soft pat on my cheek during nursing sessions. I’ll miss those chubby arms reaching out as they take their first steps.
I deeply desire that experience. Because my children are growing up, inching away from me in small ways every year. They’re becoming more independent, and I can’t hold them close like I used to. While I’ve always encouraged their growth and independence, I can’t help but mourn the loss of my babies.
Motherhood is a bittersweet journey. I miss my little ones with their soft skin and tiny toes.
So, you see, I can’t hold your baby. I can’t inhale that fresh newborn scent or feel her body mold to mine. I can’t bear the weight of her 7 pounds 10 ounces because it might just tip the delicate balance of my emotions. My already weak knees could buckle under the weight.
So you hold her. Cherish this fleeting moment, for I simply cannot.
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In summary, while I adore babies and understand the joy they bring, my current life circumstances and emotional state prevent me from holding your little one. Motherhood is filled with bittersweet emotions, and I cherish the memories of my own children as they grow increasingly independent.