Parenthood and I introduced ourselves to each other when I was in my early thirties. I was never in a hurry. I went to college, married, did more college, worked. J and always wanted kids, but felt maturity and experience would make us better parents. We were right about that, by the way. We were always comfortable with the number two. It is what we know. It is what we feel is responsible, both personally and in the sense of passing on this world to future generations. H-2 and E-baby, so we are done.
And I long for more.
I want to make love knowing. I want that stick to turn color. I want the happy tears stinging my eyes the first time I hear the heart beat. I want a toddler nursing, or not, around my ever expanding middle. I want evenings spent picking two names. I want my husband's and my eyes locking and have us both feel, KNOW, that this is the day. I want that beautiful, tiny creation sliding into the world and onto my belly. I want the dance that is nursing with a new partner, perhaps this time with the old partner still taking turns on the floor. It calls me, powerfully.
How many would be enough? Will I every stop longing?