I saw a newborn yesterday.

I am over the baby thing. All done. I have my two and very happy I am to be moving past all those newborn/baby issues. We’re sleeping through most nights, Sophie is starting to get verbal so there are less tears (well, less of the frustrating “I don’t know why she’s crying AND SHE WON’T STOP” kind), Hugo is out of nappies, it no longer takes 45 minutes to get out of the door (and that’s AFTER we’re all set to go).

Sure, this stage brings a whole new set of challenges but it’s also really wonderful. They play together more and more, I feel really settled with my family, there is no sense of anyone “missing”.

And then I saw a newborn. And it all came crashing down on top of me, those warm floppy bodies, just made for cuddling, that newborn smell, the soft downy hair, tiny limbs in tiny clothes … that blissful baby-moon phase. It was really out of left field, totally unexpected.

The thing is, I know I don’t want to go back there. I don’t want to go through pregnancy again, the tiredness and the discomfort. But then again … those first kicks. I really don’t want to go through the newborn phase again. But then again …

I know the reality is so different to my rosy-viewed nostalgia, that this is nature’s way of ensuring the human race continues but I really wish I could find the “off” button on my cluckiness. Until then … keep those babies away from me!