The End of an Era

Sitting in a large auditorium, which served as a theater and restaurant, I was holding a baby Zip, who, while still having a baby face, was ridiculously large. I could hardly hold onto him.  As I got up to leave, I tried passing the childless couple sitting to the left of me. I was saddled with diaper bags, a fold up stroller and this enormous baby. The couple wouldn't budge. They sat and glared at me as I struggled to slide past them, loud gasping sighs annunciating their disgust. I changed directions and squeezed past the person to my right, got down to the auditorium floor and opened up the stroller with a crash. It was a traveling stroller. It had served me well in the past, but, at this particular moment it collapsed. The bars were bent, the right handle collapsing in on itself, the fabric tearing loose in shreds. I fumbled with the stroller, deeming it dysfunctional, diaper bags sliding from my shoulder. I could feel all eyes burning down on me, watching with silent judgment as I became the main attraction. I managed to get the stroller to a trash can, untangled myself from the mess of shoulder straps and realized I'd lost Zip.

Where was my baby?!

Oh my God!

I looked around wild eyed. Gazing up at the people smirking down at me from the stands, I knew I would get no assistance from this crowd. I wouldn't even try. I ran into the hallway and tried to recall where I'd last placed him. I knew I hadn't set him down. The fact that he was no longer with me left me panicked and gasping for air. Where was he? Where was my baby?!

I woke up.

My first thought was, "Where's Zip!?"

After a moment, my heart stopped racing and my breath slowed down. I could envision him in the next room, long lean body splayed out on his bed, and I realized Zip's still here, but my baby is gone.

For so long, it seems, Zip has been doing everything in his power to keep up with his brother, and he's done one hell of a job. I remember Tizzy and his friends sitting at a table observing him. Tizzy's friends asking, "Is he a baby or a big boy." It was established that he was a big boy, because he seemed far too like them to even think of him as a baby. It helped of course that they were all only 22 months older. Their mothers and I knew he was a baby, but they were all our baby's, so what did we know.

Now he's no longer a baby. He's tall and strong, and carries a big stick. He's fierce and vocal and doesn't let anyone stand in his way. He's proven he no longer needs diapers, though he sometimes asks for them for comfort in new situations.

Brad and I were watching the boys, and he said, "Zip finally seems to know that he's three. He used to try to act six, but secretly knew he was not, but now? Now he seems to know that he's three, and that that's the age he's always wanted to be."

Yesterday, I was in the grocery store and there was a lovely baby smiling out at me from behind her Bjorn. I couldn't help cooing at her, she was so perfectly scrumptious. 

"Looks to me like you're ready for a third." Her mom laughed as we discussed her sweet nature. I smiled, but inside I thought, "No, not me."

I've just gotten back to the point where I can look at other peoples babies and not feel exhausted. It's taken me a long time. 

Baby's are fabulously delicious, but, so hard to live with. When I think of babies, I think of long sleepless nights. Utter disorientation. Overwhelmed and in awe that a creature so delicate and small could so completely consume my mind, body and soul.

I feel most fortunate for having had two. Should one miraculously arrive on my doorstep, claiming to be my own, I will lovingly embrace it and raise it as such. 

As it stands, I have two fabulously wonderful little, big boys, growing bigger day by day. I'm rediscovering the me inside that escaped a pace while my stand in was changing diapers, soothing tears and offering up her body for sustenance. It's nice to be back, and it seems I've grown in unpredictable ways as well. 

Babies are an era in this journey that's a lifetime.