I have come down with a serious case of baby fever.
I woke up this morning and my body told me it was ready to grow a human.
I didn’t feel any different, physically. But, mentally and emotionally, I was like, babies babies babies!
I want five of them. In a row.
I have wanted five children for months.
But, a few hours ago, something inside me clicked. Like a gear ticking into a notch. One gear, meant to tick into one notch. Boom. Baby time.
Did you know that baby fever is regarded as a legitimate phenomenon?
It’s recognized by the scientific community as a very real thing experienced by both women and men.
I certainly have it.
Every sentence I read about pregnancy makes me pine for a pregnant belly.
I stare at photos of pregnant women and visualize how I’ll look while growing a human.
I can’t stop thinking about miniature t-shirts.
I LOVE IT. It feels good, baby fever.
I have always been excited to procreate. I’m just way more excited, now.
Part of me is terrified that I’ll have problems conceiving.
It’s extremely common, you know.
I am also nervous about miscarrying. Miscarriages are also extremely common.
I will deal with those problematic potentialities if they become realities. For now, I will spend my time thinking about tiny baby eyelashes.
Husband leaves for boot camp and officer candidate school (OCS) in April (he joined the Michigan Air National Guard, remember?). He should return in mid-September.
And he’s given me the go-ahead to start trying for babies as soon as he returns.
I told him I will be primed-and-ready the day he graduates and will expect to get started that night.
I’ll give you TMI. As of late, I’ve taken to shouting, “damnit!” when I get my period.
Husband sighs and shakes his head. He wouldn’t have married me if he wasn’t so fond of head-shaking.
I’m getting quite bold in my pre-maternal years.
A few years ago, I would have said “no, thank you” if you’d offered to fill my arms with your newborn.
During that period of my life, I took my birth control religiously.
These days, I just do my best to remember to take it. Lots of double-dosing these days, if you know what I mean.
Husband is reading this right now and immediately reaching for his phone so he can text me and tell me it’s not funny to be flippant about birth control.
Husband wants babies. He just wants to wait until he will be around to enjoy my being pregnant. Every time I share this truth with a grown man who has children, that grown man laughs and says Husband will change his mind after the first pregnancy.
Husband is unwavering. He wants to accompany me to the doctor’s office and watch me grow before his eyes. He wants to kiss my baby-filled tummy. He told me that, once. Sometimes, Husband is storybook-charming.
I am dying over here with baby fever. Swooning on the spot. It has taken hold of me. Work, be damned.
Valentine’s Day is approaching, did you realize?
It’s so fitting. I feel all bubbled up in love. Love for Husband, love for blog, love for you, love for babies.
I want five because four isn’t enough.
I told Sister a week ago that I intend to destroy my body with children. Five little monsters. I want a brood so all my babies have each other to love, care for, and positively influence when Husband and I are long gone. If I have five, one is bound to know how to care for the others.
I can’t wait to hold their tiny pinkies in my palms. I can’t wait to touch and smell and nuzzle them.
With other people’s infants, I always feel like it’s inappropriate to go overboard with the touching/grazing/nuzzling.
I’m going to go bananas with my own.
Brushing their fine baby hair against their squishy scalps, rubbing my nose softly against their ears, walking in circles while they writhe and wail at 4AM.
I can’t wait to sit on my couch and feel sorry for myself because I’m swollen and tired.
I can’t wait to experience intense food cravings while fighting the urge to vomit on my coworkers.
I can’t wait to get all blow-up emotional and nonsensical about things. Neither can Husband.
I can’t wait to get stretch marks (I will definitely get them – my skin is sensitive to even the slightest finger poke).
I can’t wait to do pregnant yoga. I don’t even do yoga now. I’ll need to buy a yoga mat.
I can’t wait to wear baggy shirts and tight shirts and not button my pants or wear pants at all.
I can’t wait to take baths. I bet I’ll take a lot of baths when I’m pregnant.
I can’t wait to throw away all the food in my house and denounce processed garbage and eat only 100% healthy items.
I can’t wait to drive to the gas station in a frenzied rage, kill-ready and desperate for a Kit-Kat.
Don’t think I’ll want pickles. Blech.
I can’t wait to feel a little human move around inside me. I’ll tell you how it feels when it happens.
I can’t wait to have puke/baby droppings all over me and make disgusted faces at my infant.
I can’t wait to collapse in the middle of the living room because I’m too out of shape to be chasing toddlers around for 6 hours.
I can’t wait to spy on my four-year-old while he/she sleeps. I can’t wait to stand in the hallway and sigh because motherhood.
I can’t wait to be surrounded by my own teenagers who are ganging up on me and telling me I always buy the wrong food.
I can’t wait to show them how to find all of the beautiful things that are hidden in this world. I can’t wait to explain how hard it is to find beautiful things, so they have to get good at it and never stop looking.
I can’t wait to challenge their ideas and be challenged by theirs.
I can’t wait to break my own heart by letting them make mistakes.
I can’t wait to be thrilled and disappointed with their choices and who they are.
I can’t wait to sob to Husband because I’m terrified of being a mother.
I can’t wait to sob to Husband because I feel like a whale.
I can’t wait to sob to Husband because I love him so much.
I hope we get pregnant immediately upon his return from OCS.
I hope by this time next year, I’m typing over a potbelly.
Fill the comments with words about babies and pregnancy! Let us rejoice in baby fever. Give me your baby/pregnancy advice, too. Quick, before I become a mom and don’t want to hear it.