Yeah, so, I’ve got a fever and the only prescription is more cowbell.
Actually, I don’t think more cowbell will help. You see, I have baby fever, and the only prescription is continuing to use birth control. Sometimes holding other people’s little babies scratches the itch. Another great prescription is spending time with people who have multiple kids and want to share their stories with me about how:
1) Their kids fight all the time;
2) They are so poor now because the kids take all their money;
3) They have no time for each other, and they can’t remember the last time they had a nice, quiet dinner just the two of them.
Just in case you don’t know what baby fever is allow me to explain: A woman has a baby. Then that baby grows up and that woman misses having a baby, so she has another one. It’s super common in women — and men, too. Baby fever is an equal opportunity illness.
I was warned that this would happen, but I laughed it off. Pregnancy sucks. There’s no way I’d sign up to do that shit again. Besides, I just lost all the baby weight. But now, my baby isn’t a baby anymore. See?
The Spawn is a toddler now. Of course, having a toddler is awesome. He’s almost walking. He’s got a ton to say. He laughs and laughs. We sit on the ground and play together. I’m counting the days until he is old enough for Legos, then the playtime is gonna get bananas in our house. I love our little family … just the way it is.
But sometimes I miss my little baby. I miss the little creature that would snuggle on me for hours and make cute little noises.
Logically, I realize what is happening. This is baby fever. I put my head down until it passes. I think of getting up multiple times a night for feedings and diaper changes. I remember how tired I was. I think of the two siblings I saw screaming and hitting each other at the Oakland Zoo a month ago. But then I think about how my best friend in the whole world is my sister. Am I denying Calvin that kind of relationship? There are no guarantees. Maybe Calvin and his sibling would hate each others’ guts. Still, sometimes, the urge is really strong, and then I worry that if we want to have another baby we have to do it right now! I’m 42. We don’t have the luxury of waiting. If we want another one, we have to do it now now NOW!
I know what you are thinking, “Hey stupid. You said it yourself: You’re 42. You probably couldn’t get pregnant again if you wanted.”
First of all, don’t call me stupid. Second, I’m a Mansfield by way of the Harrisons, and the Harrisons are really good at getting knocked up. Don’t believe me? Ask my Grandma and her eight kids and her more than 20 grandkids. Seriously. We have babies. It’s our thing.
But the truth is mighty, mighty good man David and I don’t really want another one. We really want another Calvin. He is a good baby; the kind of baby that tricks you into having more babies. My mom said I was that kind of baby, too (such a nice compliment to me and slam on my brother and sister at the same time). She warned me, “Don’t let Calvin fool you.”
Look at that face, though.
Stop trying to trick me into having more babies, Calvin! It’s not going to work.