I feel like everyone I know is having babies. Literally, my Facebook Feed is covered in baby news – photos of bumps, announcements of impending parenthood, new babies in hospital hats and blankets. New life abounds.
My kids are in elementary school (I know; I look too young to have kids that old. Stop; you’re too kind!) The ol’ hubs and I decided several years ago that two is the perfect number of kids in our family, and (despite a couple of scares here and there) we’ve not wavered from that. We’re still not wavering, even with all of the cuteness thrust in our faces on a daily basis. (I mean this with total love, friends.) But there is something about holding a new baby, and smelling that New Baby smell, that gives my ovaries a little jolt.
Friends are growing babies, or bringing babies home, or snuggling babies. We have just become new parents again…to little baby chicks.
Seriously, I feel like they are now my babies. I just want to watch them as they climb all over each other, or huddle together for naps. I want to reprimand them when they tussle, and cuddle the fluff off them. And it’s not just me – my kids are enchanted by the chicks. I caught them laying on the floor by the cage, blissfully watching the chicks be chicks.
The first night, after all the lights were shut off and the kids put to bed, the chicks were quiet for more than a couple minutes straight. I felt the urge to run into the kitchen to check on them, to make sure they were all still alive and breathing. I restrained myself to a brisk, yet quiet, walk. (They were fine – all sleeping, huddled together in a downy pile of cuteness.)
So, this is what happens when your biological clock still has a little life in it, but is overruled by your practicality – you compensate by adopting baby animals.
I feel like an idiot.