Sometimes when I see young mothers snuggling their babies, I wish I still had one. I loved to kiss and smell their chubby, soft necks scented of Baby Magic. I adore feeling completely loved and thoroughly needed. Perhaps I am agonizing over the slow loss of my youth. I mean I am closer to menopause than child bearing. But then I remember...
A toaster baby is a child who, once you put down to bed, pops right back up. My boys, being only 15 months apart, kept me on my toes. Bedtime was never easy. Back then my husband worked nights. The first two years we were married he worked days, but when babies started coming he worked nights for the subsequent seven years. (Secretly, I think he worked that shift on purpose, and sometimes I resented him for it.) I think he planned it so that he wouldn't be around for the bedtime routine. I remember many nights holding the bedroom door shut so the little guys couldn't come bounding out of their room for the tenth time. Was this child abuse? I think not. I hoped that I could outlast them and eventually they would go back to their beds and sleep. More often than not, I was the one who had sunk to the floor in defeat, sobbing because I just couldn't do it anymore.
So, now when I feel that little nag and need for a baby fix all I have to do is remember my exhaustion and lack of sleep.
Do you have toaster babies, too?
**Disclaimer: This is in no way meant to be anti-baby. I loved that phase of my life.
There were just parts I would have been happy without**