I’m embarrassed I’m this petty, but I’ve mocked those posts where a mom describes the last time she breast fed her baby. They sometimes weird me out a little. It’s like they’re describing the scene from Avatar where they connect their tails instead of the moment a hungry baby latches onto you like a savage beast. 
However, I’ve started to switch my little Bear over to formula as I go back to work and it’s got me feeling a little blue. In fact, everything surrounding the idea of Bear being my last baby is making me pre-nostalgic (a word I just invented). There’s nothing stopping us from having three…well, except my age (36), our lack of bedrooms, our lack of money, our lack of energy, our lack of sleep, our stress level, etc.
I love the idea of a big family. I’ve even thought about having one. I wanted to be like Jo in Little Men (no, I don’t have the title wrong. This is the sequel) when she opens her school for boys and there’s just this bunch of lovely little people in every corner of the house doing boyish things. But that’s the IDEA of having a big family, not the reality.
There’s some people who can handle chaos. They even seem to thrive on it. My friend Sarah is expecting baby girl number four and bustles around chasing and feeding goats, chickens, and kids like it ain’t no thing. That is not me.
Still, I cried a little selling a baby seat on Letgo. Mind you, I’d gotten it for free, second-hand. Fox had had zero life altering experiences in it, but it had been HIS. When he was a BABY. I had to close the door on the buyer before I couldn’t sell it.
When I hosted a baby shower recently, I got misty eyed again as my friend pulled out some oh-so-tiny little outfits and shoes and super-soft blankets (that they need to make for adults-what gives?). 
But babyhood, like a lot of experiences, takes on a rose-colored glow in hindsight. I know I’ll only remember the times I fed Bear and he looked up at me with his giant blue eyes like I was the only person in the world. I’ll only remember what it felt like to have a baby belly pressed as close to me as if we were still one person. And I’ll only remember how his soft little hand curled around my finger like a sea horse tail as he ate.
And then I’ll find my milk stained Boppy and a giant nursing bra and some mildewy nursing pads and go find the formula (and maybe a glass of wine) with a smile.
What do you love about having babies? What parts could you have done without? When did you know you were done?