Last week, while holding little Calum one morning, I was talking to my Hunny on the phone. He asked if all the baby time made me want another one. My instant answer? No.
Seriously? Diapers? Sleepless nights? Toddler years? More teenagers? Please.
But look at this face!
He's a doll baby. No denying it. And when I said last week that I'd be nibbling his toes, what I really meant was that I'd be petting his head. I'm not a toe nibbler so much, but a head petter. They're so soft. Downy hair, soft skull - quite addictive. And nothing calms a tiny baby quite like petting their head. Sweetness.
I enjoyed watching my Evil Sister with her baby boy. Isn't she beautiful? Mother-child photos are the best.
So, with the instant no, knowing that at 43 I'll be content to wait for grandchildren (ten years from now will be fine, thankyouverymuch), I was shocked to find myself looking at the 200 some-odd photos I took of Calum (the kids don't call me the Mamarazzi for nothing), and getting teary eyed. I miss the little guy.
Oh, and I got a new monkey. He needs a name.
Calum likes him, even though his mama doesn't.
So I get home, finally, and the Hunny at least has the courtesy to wait a day before asking if I might not like to foster babies. Stinker. Waits for me to miss the little guy pretty fiercely before springing that one on me. We'll wait a couple of weeks before discussing it again. But oh! It's tempting right now.
Until I write again ...