The Last Baby Thing.

Sometimes what he doesn't understand is that I don't fail at doing something because of laziness or because I forgot or because I was reading instead. Sometimes I don't get it done because I don't want to do it. And mostly I don't want to do it because of what it means. It didn't take me a year to finally get the stroller posted on ksl.com (Utah's version of Craig's List) because of laziness or forgetfulness or readerly-ness but because I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to get rid of the stroller because getting rid of the stroller meant I didn't need a stroller. It was the Last Thing. It was still in my garage. I had to move it out of the way to get the scooters out this spring. I saw it when I walked outside to get the paper. It was still a little tiny part of my life, even if it was in the periphery. A person with a stroller in her garage must have a baby in her life, right?

But my baby turned four last week. And I finally posted the stroller. And tonight a nice older woman came to buy it from me, just so she could have a stroller at her house for her new grandson. Just in case. And while I felt like it was going to a good home (which is something I desperately wanted for all my baby things), I still had to do that out-of-body thing to convince myself to let it go. I showed her how to fold it down and pop it back open again, how the seat cushion came off so she could wash it if she wanted. Then I pushed it down the driveway to her car. My last walk with my stroller.

And I know it's silly. I know it's dumb to be holding back tears (and bawling now) over a stroller. But being behind the stroller wheels again brought back so much: taking the three Bigs out for walks when they were all still little, Nathan in the stroller, Haley and Jake each holding onto a side; the time I took Nathan to Las Vegas with my mom and I discovered that a blue-eyed, white-haired baby in a stroller is a magnet for all grandmotherly Vegas types, who'd tear themselves away from their Keno games or their slot machines, just to goo; how even when Nathan was too old for the stroller, it became a sort of grocery cart for the library (you can fit a ton of books into an empty stroller; way easier than carrying them); then, later, pushing Kaleb in the same stroller, for hours in the summer evenings because he'd stop crying in the stroller; the time we had K. at Lagoon when he was barely two months old and he'd cry so hard, trying to pull himself up because he wanted to see what was happening around him; Kaleb sleeping in the stroller at Disneyland. And, more than anything, just exactly how it felt the first time I put him in the stroller and pushed it up and down the street, the mere fact of his physical existence---just that he existed and I got to push my own baby in the stroller again---nearly took my breath away.

It's a lot of baggage for one little stroller. A lot of memory to cram into one walk down the driveway. But it's gone, along with all the other baby things—the high chair, the infant car seat, the bath, the bouncy chair, the toys and boppy pillow and basket of toys. Along with little pieces of myself, too. The baby paraphernalia was part of how I mothered my babies, part of my identity as a mother. I don't need any of it anymore, just like I don't need nursing bras or that ability to function on two hours of sleep. I didn't need the stroller, either. Except for: it was still there, tangible proof that I really was once the mother of small human beings. As each baby thing leaves my home, the physical realities of babies goes with it.

After the nice older lady took the stroller home, I stood in my closet and cried a little bit. "It'll be nice to have that extra space in the garage," Kendell said, not noticing. "But I," I responded, succeeding valiantly at not letting my voice quiver, "but I want a baby. I still want a baby even though I know we can't have another, even though I'm too old and there's no room and it would be incredibly too complicated. I still want one." His response was a shudder and a head shake and a sigh. And I do know: my days of being a young mom really are gone. Maybe my baby desire isn't really for a different, new baby but more a nostalgia for the babies I already had. I know that one day I'll be a grandma and that will be holding my own flesh-and-blood again. I know that won't be the same as being a mom. And I know, I know: it wouldn't matter if I had 15 babies, I'd always want one more.

I know I wish I could hold each of them as babies, just one more time.

And I don't know if I will ever stop wishing that.

Comments

[karla]

Although I am close to those baby days, I feel your ache. I feel it each day as my baby grows up, and each of my other kids get older. I notice it it in the toy boxes, in the diaper bags, in the size of chothes as I do laundry. Those little reminders that tell me my baby is gone, or is about to be gone, trasformed into something else. Still the same baby, just a different form I guess. I feel your ache.

[Denise]

Thanks for that. I just took my 'baby' Nathan to college (he is still in high school but doing a month long summer program at a state university) and talk about sad feelings! Those feelings really don't go away for so many mothers. I so identify with your stroller story! I don't have baby things still around here but I do have things that I can't put away too.

[Jenna]

I totally get it. I am sitting here crying at the computer & thinking about the box of baby clothes that I came upon in the garage a few days ago - the ones that we just could not bear to give to Goodwill. One little particularly soft blue outfit and then several brand-new never-had-a-chance-to-use-them girl outfits. I frequently feel the ache for a baby but have finally been able to soften it with holding friends' babies frequently and cherishing a full night's sleep.

[Kim]

I get it. I have only one baby, who's almost 15 years old. If I could hold that baby he was just one more time . . . . It took me years to grieve over not having another, but it was the right decision for us. Fifteen years later, I still sometimes think "what if." But I promise it gets softer around the edges with time.

[Susan]

I, too, always longed to have another baby . . .but now, I am a grandmother & I have loved every cuddly minute . . .but, guess what? the youngest of them is soon to be two & I want another grandbaby!!

[Shaunte]

Stop making me cry!

I feel the same way. I still have an umbrella stroller in the garage. And a bassinet in the basement. I keep telling myself it is for the grandkids when they start coming...oh, in about TEN YEARS...lol.

[Wendy]

I'm sure loads of mothers can relate to this post. I had such intense baby longings (and for so long, after my first was born and our marriage so unstable, I felt there was no hope of another baby in my life, let alone two more babies).

Now, at age 44, with two toddlers in tow, ages 4 and 2, I'm fully exhausted and usually in complaint mode, but ... I still have moments of longing to hold those babies again. God in His wisdom, made us women that way, didn't He? Men often don't understand it.

I wonder if God misses me as my Christian baby self - full of wonder and enthusiasm and only sweetness and light - no talking back, no long awkward silences when I think I know better than my Parent, just open dependence and gratitude.

[debbie]

What a sweet yet poignant story. I miss holding my babies (now 33 & 27) and my grand babies (now 15, 9 & 5) too!

[Lucy]

Did you mean for me to be sad? Wow, the feelings you conjure are so potent and sympathetic, and I didn't blink an eye getting rid of our main stroller. It was an ugly, milk encrusted thing. But now...I wish I knew who had it and I just might try getting it back.

Yes. Yes. I know.

[Janssen]

What a sweet heartbreaking post. Makes me both glad and sad that it's all ahead of me.

[Cindy Thomas]

Amy, I read your blog from Sophia's and today it really hit me hard as our family just watched our oldest, a daughter receive her Doctorate in chemistry this morning. Believe me, as I sat in that ceremony, I kept thinking of that baby girl that I rocked and held and pushed in a stroller...they are bittersweet memories but what wonderful blessings are ahead.

[Tammy-Cricket]

First time over to you site. What a beautiful emotion. I have two children. One 15 and the other 8. I will have to warn you that it does not get any easier. Each phase of their life you will have to let go slowly. That is our process of life. To teach our children to eventually let go. OH, this is making my eyes cloud up now.

Hang in there. Just enjoy new moments and the letting go is easier.

[Val]

After 5 children I am going through the same kind of pain. I'm watching the last (age 17) do all of the things that the older ones did and knowing that this is the last time that I will have those experiences. Oh what wonderful memories I have. I have to tell you, that grandchildren are fantastic, and definitely something to look forward to.

[Wendy]

I love this, Amy. It made me cry.

And your comment about functioning on two hours of sleep made me laugh. I don't think I did what anybody would call "function." :)