The Baby Days

So yesterday in church, we were sitting behind a family with a newborn baby.  This little girl was maybe 4-6 weeks old.  And Kelvinator and Pink were so cuted out by this little baby.  Kelvinator asked me if Winkleberry was cute like that when she was the same age and asked if I thought we’d ever adopt a baby.  Pink kept giving me pained faces and whispering to me that she needed a baby sister.

For my part, I felt old and useless.  I remember that it was difficult at times having little ones.  But I’ve never felt so needed and useful and necessary in my life.  As a mother of little ones, I never felt insecure or wondered if/how those babies loved me.  I was the center of a universe.  Now I’m totally not the center of anything.  And despite the fact that my kids are awesome and respectful and practically perfect, I still feel insecure.  Like I wonder if I’m doing things right and question if they really love me.  And if they do love me, why?  I just don’t understand.  But I never felt that way with the little ones.

I also regretted that we didn’t currently have a 6 year old, 4 year old, 2 year old and newborn in our pew.  Because we could have totally had that.  That was the plan for a long time, actually.  And when that mom had to get up to take her crying baby out, I got to just sit with these huge children who don’t make noise in sacrament meeting and who can leave to use the bathroom or blow their nose on their own.  They don’t need me for that.

So in honor of those feelings, I’d just like to take a quick journey back in time to when Baboo was around 2 years old.  I don’t think she was quite two.  We lived in a two bedroom apartment with pink carpet and a swamp cooler.  And one night, she was crying.  I went in to check in her and she was crying because she was throwing up.  Of all my children, she still has the most sensitive stomach.  And if anything is going around, she will be sure to get it.  She also has a nervous stomach so if she’s upset about anything, she pukes.  In fact, I’d guess that she’s thrown up more than all the rest of my children combined.

Anyway, she was freaking out.  My little tiny baby girl with the cute chub and curly locks did not know what was happening to her at all.  And she didn’t like it.  I tried to take her into the bathroom (because I was a rookie mom) and get her to throw up in the toilet.  That wasn’t happening.  I tried to get a bowl for her to put her pukes in.  But she was just frantic and so afraid that she wouldn’t be turned away from me.  She just kept clinging to me with fright in her eyes.  So I just pulled her into me and held her close.  I rubbed her back and spoke soothingly to her and loved her as fiercely as I could.

While she threw up all over my shoulder and chest.  Repeatedly.  and I just let soak my shirt and run down my stomach because she was holding me so tightly and there was no way I was going to let her go.

After a little while the Hubba came in to see what was going on and was thoroughly disgusted.  He gave me some advice–I don’t remember what–that would allow Baboo to empty the contents of her stomach without having it slide down my skin.  But I just told him that I couldn’t.  I couldn’t turn her away.  So he grabbed me a towel and threw it at me and said, “Well at least use this.”  So I placed the towel between her little bod and mine and continued to hold her tight and rock her.

Eventually, I got her cleaned up and changed.  But I sure do miss that little baby, the way she loved me then. The way she used to love to be with me and call my curls “cu-cus” and she would bounce my hair in fingers to soothe herself to sleep.  I look at this grown woman in my house now and it’s hard to imagine that this was that little baby I knew so well.  I love them both.  But I miss all the younger versions of Baboo, too.  I wish I could have them all in my house at the same time.