Green-Eyed Baby Monster

This is life lately:

"I'm pregnant!"


"We are expecting number ___ in ____!"

"Please welcome __________ _____________ to the world!"


Pregnant.  Pregnant.  Pregnant.

Just so we're clear, I'm not.  

But it feels like everyone else is.  And can I be honest?  I'm jealous.  I thought one little baby would be enough for me.  One little warm body, one time going through the newborn stage, one life to raise and teach.  It's not enough for me.  I want another. 

Problem: Brendan doesn't.  

I really didn't expect this.  Every time I see the happy news on my Google Reader, or the Facebook update, or the clandestine call, I feel that sharp sting behind my eyes.  Disappointment.  Resignation.  Sadness.

Brendan's probably the only one of us thinking with his brain though, and not his hormones (or anything else..a-hem).  I'm not a person who functions well in high-stress environments.  More kids=more stress=more irritable mommy=no fun.  

So, yeah, he must be right.

Because I don't want to experience this again:

Or kiss on some disgusting gummy-smiled mouth.  I mean, uh, gross..
 

Baby faces aren't really that cute anyways..
 

And anyway, to get this: 

 

 You first have to go through this:

 And I'm not interested in doing that again sure I would do that again if I got another cute little baby.  As long as I could have a guarantee that this baby would actually not grow so fast, not weigh 23 lbs. at 9 months, not already be wearing 18 month clothing.  You know, I'd like to have a BABY and not a toddler right off.  

Brendan tells me that I just want Brixton to be a tiny baby again, and maybe he's right.  Maybe this is just like a biological mirage that tricks you into making another and another and another, because of that promised tiny baby that you can visualize in the distance.  

For now, maybe forever, we are a one-kid house.