To say his birth was as exciting to me as my own babies’ births would not be at all an exaggeration. The reason I feel so strongly about Tristan’s entrance into the world is because my sister, Trina, asked me to be there for his arrival. Having always been the one in the hospital bed groaning, moaning and otherwise oblivious to most everything around me as I tried to cope with the pain, I wasn’t sure what it would be like to be on the other side of the delivery, but I was excited to pieces that Trina wanted me there.

I got to be there with her and Troy, her husband, pretty much from the time she got to the hospital. It was hard to watch her in labor, especially as it progressed, because I wanted to do something to ease her pain, but knew I was completely helpless other than to encourage her. I wasn’t any more a fan of seeing my little sister in pain than I am seeing my kids sick or injured.

The most amazing part was, of course, when the little guy popped out. I was touched suddenly and rather unexpectedly by the enormity of the miracle this event was and tears came to my eyes. It was one of the most emotional and best moments of my life. When you’re the one trying to get the kid out, your teeth gritted, your eyes clenched shut and your whole body straining, you just can’t appreciate that moment like you do when you’re witnessing it physically unattached and pain-free.

The end result:

My end result:

Horrible, unrelenting baby fever.

Again.

Nothing on this great, green earth brings me joy like holding a baby, particularly a newborn baby, does. I’ve already held Tristan as much as I possibly can and each time, I’m so happy, I want to cry.

So, really, it’s probably the joy that I’m craving more than the actual baby. Because babies turn into toddlers, who turn into little kids, who turn into bigger kids, who turn into teenagers, etc., etc.

I’m not saying my kids don’t bring me joy; they do, on a pretty regular basis. But there’s just something about a baby that is unlike anything else. It’s my form of crack, I guess.

I’m starting to come to terms more with the reality that I’m going to have to enjoy my baby nephews and nieces and, eventually, in the WAY distant future (I hope), my grandchildren instead. My time is over. While that’s supremely sad for me, I’m not going to dwell on it and miss all the cool and amazing moments in my kids’ lives, which are completely different from, but no less important than, a baby.

Maybe it’s time to get the companion dog I’ve been wanting for years.

Do you get baby fever? Are you done having kids but sad that you are? Share here!

Why am I so reluctant to give my protesting uterus up? If only this simple question had a simple answer. Is it pride? A fear of losing control? Sadness? Fantasy? Narcissism?

Like females I’ve seen in movies and read about in books who, upon hitting menopause, feel their worth as a woman slide way down into the depths of nothingness, I am struggling with similar emotions in having a hysterectomy. Won’t the fact that I don’t have a uterus make me less desirable in the eyes of a potential partner, particularly if that partner doesn’t have any kids himself and wants them? Wouldn’t I be, at least in a sense, depreciating myself?

Worse, if I’m completely honest with myself, the idea, no matter how ridiculous or crazy, of having another baby someday gives me a giddy, daydream-like feeling (you know, it could happen, even though it won’t). To take away that potential for another child, even though he or she is very likely merely a flitting fantasy, is worthy of a good bawl, I feel. Who am I if I am incapable of having more children?

Of course I realize, in my head, that there is far more to me than the ability to produce and carry a baby. But, as I said yesterday, none of this is logical. Not one teeny, tiny bit. If it were, I’d be scheduling surgery tomorrow.

Several readers wondered about my age as it relates to this dilemma. I’m 34. Young enough that I still have over a decade of reproductive years left, but old enough that losing my uterus isn’t necessarily that big of a deal, particularly considering that I started having kids at 22 (not to mention the fact that I already have four cherubs running around, but, you know, that’s just a small detail in this whole illogical mess). Then again, I’m 34, which means I have a good 15 or more years before the end of  my tribulation is in sight. That’s a long time to be fighting what looks to be a losing battle.

Though I never thought, really, that I’d have another child, this looming knowledge that my ability to do so is probably close to an end leaves me grieving and empty. It’s far worse than the feeling I get when I hold someone else’s newborn baby, that sadness that inevitably steals over me as I realize more definitively with each progressive baby I cuddle that the era of onesies and spit-up, developmental milestones and over-vigilant photo snapping, staring in rapture at my new little one and smelling that incredible newborn scent, is over for me.

It’s not that I have my entire identity vested in motherhood either. Of course, it’s my most important vocation, but I’m also a writer, a friend, a daughter, a sister. I am many things, and that’s how I see myself. Not being able to have more children is certainly not the worst thing that could happen, not by a long shot.

Spending the past three days writing about my uterus, which seems to be determined to go out kicking and screaming, still hasn’t gotten me any closer to a decision. Like many situations in life, there is no easy answer. Every choice has its strengths and its drawbacks; I just have to decide which drawbacks I can best live with and which strengths I can best live without.

P.S. Now that I’ve finished this post, one thought is echoing again and again in my head: I already have FOUR kids! Why is this even an issue for debate? It’s sheer madness to wish for any more, even in daydreams!

And yet…

As my regular readers and close family and friends know, I love kids.  However, having a 2-year-old and an 8-month old who is crawling added to the mix is enough to make even the most child-loving person want to run immediately to the nearest birth control center and make permanent the inability to have more.

So far, I have bunkered in my office, informing the girls that I’m working and that I’ll help them if absolutely necessary, but they’re on their own. It’s good practice for them and I feel they need to earn their money honestly anyhow. I walked out once to have my nose assaulted by the smell of a wretchedly stinky diaper. Rachel, who has a cold and is in charge of the 2-year-old, couldn’t smell it; I couldn’t get away from the stench no matter where I went. I was, once again, reminded how nice it is to have children who are all in control of their own bathroom-related functions.

Logan has already been in a fight with the 2-year-old too, who didn’t understand that my boys were trying to build a fort out of blankets and ran underneath of them, knocking them all down. Younger children can bring out the worst in my youngest child, who resorts to meltdowns in order to express his frustration and anger.

The good news about this baby-sitting gig, for me, at least, is that I’m absolutely convinced that I don’t need any more children, no matter how often or hard baby fever seems to strike me. We’re in this whole new phase of life, where my kids are all in school full-time, no one wears diapers, I can go to the store by myself and shop in peace (that once seemed like a fantasy that would never actually play out), they don’t have to be monitored 24/7 and, maybe best of all, we can have really cool conversations. I rather like this stage.

Not to mention that it never hurts to give young girls a taste of what being a mother is really like.

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He smells so good, makes the cutest noises and he just started responsively smiling this morning. Even better, I get to take care of him during the night so I can keep him pacified for awhile while my sister catches a few extra zzzzs. It’s bliss.

The best part? As much as I adore babies and have been dying for another one of late, I can see just how ill-equipped I am for a baby at this stage. I have too much other stuff to do, too many other kids and way too many other time sucks.

So this is good for everyone — I get some of my baby lust officially out of the way, my sister gets some sleep, my kids get to play with their cousins… Isn’t family the greatest?

How do you get a baby fix when you need one?

My kids have a new baby cousin, Luke, and we finally got to see him for the first time yesterday. He’s three weeks old now and the most precious little guy. I got to hold him for quite awhile (not as long as I would have liked, of course) and it was pure bliss cuddling that tiny little body, listening to his adorable baby noises, inhaling the sweet, new-baby scent of him and watching his hands and face move as he slept.

But holding Baby Luke left a distinct longing in my soul and I found myself envying his mom, even though she was sleep-deprived and basically playing the role of milk machine/chew toy. That amount of time when your child is an infant and you meet her needs in a fog of sleep-deprivation and happiness occasionally bordering on hysteria just blurs by, especially when you have more than one to take care of, as I always have.

Maybe that’s why I feel the impact of baby fever so strongly; since I’ve always had more than one child, I never got that uninterrupted, blissful time with a first baby that most new moms enjoy. I experienced it to a degree with Cody because by that time, the girls were 4, but it’s not the same.

“You’ve had your turn,” I kept reminding myself as I reluctantly placed Luke back in his lucky mom’s arms. “You’ve had more turns than many people get.” The self-talk didn’t help one bit — the longing for a baby of my own hung on.

I don’t know how to stop my at-times-overwhelming desire for another baby. Even thinking about the fact that I would be, in effect, starting all over again doesn’t decrease the want.

So I guess my options are these:

* force my soon-to-be-delivering little sister to move in with me (or at least close-by) so I can get baby fixes whenever I want
* get a tiny indoor dog who will happily cuddle with me
* wait another 12-20 years to hog my grandchildren, assuming they live nearby, and meanwhile get my occasional baby fixes here and there

Sigh. I just don’t think my sister is going to agree…

Ever get baby fever? Are you sad that you’re finished having kids even though you don’t REALLY want any more? Share your baby fever experiences here!

Lately not only has he been playing with imaginary babies, he’s been saying that he wants a baby. He craves one so much, he wants to put it on his Christmas list.

This morning, there was a real newborn baby on TV, so he paused it and called me over.

“Mom, look at this cute baby.”

“Awww, it is really cute!” I agreed.

“I really want a baby,” he said wistfully. “Why can’t we have a baby?”

Uh, because the factory is closed? This ship has sailed? And because four kids is plenty for me considering my original plan was to have two, then after the twins, three. Logan was a surprise. I have more than enough to handle.

“I’m sorry, honey, but we’re not having any more babies,” I told him, though secretly, the baby on TV had gotten to me too. It would be so nice to have a little body again to cuddle and hold and kiss.

I love babies. I love kids. If I had a nanny, or even a husband who was home in the evenings, I might consider having more of them. Each one is a blessing and I am so grateful for these precious little people, to watch them grow into the adults they will one day be.

Though my baby fever has lessened as Logan gets older, I still succumb to the occasional baby lust, so I have to get my fixes by holding my nieces and nephews. The family calls me “the baby hog” because at get-togethers, I always have a baby in my arms. I assume that the fever eventually goes away completely, but when?

It’s rather hard for me to accept that the reproductive phase of my life is over, even though I don’t actually want another child. Losing the possibility of having another baby is just another symptom of aging, another sign that I’m getting closer to being a grandparent than a new parent.

Gulp.

Do you ever feel baby fever? How do you deal with it? If you’re through having children, how do you feel about it?