Where is that baby-bug, anyway?

It is nearly 8 a.m. and I am the only one awake in my house. (Except for the cats.) For whatever reason, I have not been able to sleep past 7:00 lately, although I suppose that could be because I rarely go to sleep later than 10:30 every night. Eight and a half hours of sleep really IS plenty, isn't it? (I am cringing as I think of my friends with newborns right now. I'm sure they will read this post and not want to be friends with me anymore. I do not blame them.)

That's one thing, actually, that has been on my mind lately...I am wondering when, exactly, the baby-bug is going to bite me again? As of right now, I have five close mommy-friends, all of whom have little ones Zoey's age. One brave soul, our dear friend Kim, just gave birth to her second baby boy on September 1. We have all monitored her progress with a mix of admiration and a little bit of, well, horror. That's RIGHT, newborns never sleep! They want to breastfeed all the damn time! They burn through diapers left and right....and....she has a two-year-old to contend with! Big brother Brady has to be closely watched to make sure he doesn't squash baby brother Colby's head...they rarely nap at the same time in a day...I, for one, had forgotten just a little bit how traumatic and exhausting it is to have a newborn in your life. (And don't get me wrong, Colby is fantastic. I love to hold him, snuggle him, and give him right back to Kim. Also, I changed his diaper last week and was reminded of another joy of newborns--that sticky yellow poop that everyone SWEARS doesn't stink, because it comes from breastmilk! Who started that lie? And why do we continue to pass it around? And how in the name of God does it get stuck in so many tiny crevices of tiny-baby-skin-folds?)

Anyway. We Mommy-friends have offered up our support and several dinners to Kim--we even manage to get her out of the house for a coffee date or a play date every now and then. But really, in watching all this, I have been thinking how incredibly happy I am with my life RIGHT NOW. I have no desire to add to our family at this point. I do not miss pregnancy--let's just say I was never one to "glow" with the joy of carrying a child. Which is another myth I'd love find the originator of (a man, no doubt), and punch him. I did not fall in love with breastfeeding, nor did my social-butterfly child, who couldn't stand the thought of missing ANY action and would whip herself away from me at the slightest peep in the room, leaving me to expose myself to more than half of Clark County. I also do not miss the days of not being able to shower until noon (and with your second, do you ever get a shower at all?), only to get out and put on a fresh pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt. I do not function well on sleep-deprivation-mode. I become snarky and I cry at the drop of a hat. I do not miss the days of wanting to beat my husband over the head with a pillow all because he is merely sleeping through the night, and I am the one getting up every two hours. I am getting a migraine just thinking of all this.

And YET, since September, THREE of my Mommy friends have announced they are pregnant! Kelly is due in April, followed by Kate in May, and Rebecca in July! Insanity! Kendra and I remain the only hold-outs!

I know what you're thinking. There are so many wonderful things about having a new baby! They're so cute and snuggly, a miracle, etc etc. I just happen to be one of those people who correlates the term 'newborn' with 'stress'. Do not judge.

Here's the deal: if I could get pregnant and give birth to, say, a five-month-old, I'd sign up tomorrow. (After I polish off that bottle of red wine we opened for dinner last night.) Keep in mind that my first child never really took to breastfeeding and refused to nap longer than 30 minutes for the first 15 months of her life. I think it's generous of me to want a five-month-old, and not an eight-year-old. Because, really, sleep is what it's all about. I got over eight hours of sleep last night. I have been up for almost an hour now, happily sipping my coffee and answering emails, and I'm just starting to hear my child stirring in her room. I will go and get her up, change her, snuggle her for a bit, and then she will want to watch "the choo-choo show". (Mr. Rogers Neighborhood. The presence of the trolley car earned it the choo-choo title.) While she happily watches her show, I will happily leaf through my magazines and plan my menu for the week. Toddlers, temper tantrums aside, are fantastic creatures.

Why would I want to mess with this, my relatively new routine of sleep and happiness?