Baby

Baby

Kai is desparate for me to have another baby.  “A baby of my OWN.” he clarifies, when I tell him about this-or-that thing this-or-that baby cousin just did.  New baby cousins don’t cut it.  He wants a Hagan Baby, from my belly.

It’s an interesting thing to reflect upon on this day, the day of my first nephews birth.  Having Baby Owen appear and seeing all the photos and stories from across the pond (we did get a lovely bonding time last Christmas, when he fell asleep in my arms and his father offered to take him back from me and I just smiled and said “nope!” and kept walking and rocking and loving) having Owen join the family opened up this new possibility I’d never experienced – getting some Baby time without having to go through the shenanigans of having a darn Baby.

I just got back from a trip to see Baby Charlie, and oh!, what a dear baby he is.  I got to see smiles, and hear his first laugh, and I also rocked him to sleep in my arms and held on for hours (seriously, it’s just bliss.  I have a problem.) and since there are only 4 states in between us and not an ocean, I’m hoping for more Baby Charlie in my near future.

But Kai.  Kai has not met Baby Charlie.  Kai was unimpressed by Baby Owen’s doing nothing but nursing and sleeping.  Kai wants…                                     maxresdefault

I don’t know what Kai really wants.  A sibling other than Isaac?  Someone to be older than?  “A girl,” he insists when I ask, “we need a girl on Team Hagan.”

He’s started asking questions about gender and babies and where they are grown and how they are made, and we’ve gotten to the egg and the sperm and all the specific genital parts, but not quite to how it all wham bam thank you ma’ams.  I’m really pleased he’s totally comfy asking me everything, and pretty pleased with how I’m responding.  Honestly, accurately, only answering what he asks.  Andrew walked in on Kai and I looking over a picture I”d just drawn of men vs. women’s nethers, and he went “oh!” and slowly backed away.  But Kai and I are doing good, I think.

“You’re my baby,” I said last time he asked for me to please, please, please have another baby, and he responded, “but I”m in first grade, Mom.  It’s not the same.”  And he is, of course, right.  That precious bliss of a baby falling asleep in my arms, that’s not where we are any more.  But this place of discovery and questions and teaching and laughter and learning the word “testicle” and commenting that is sounds like a popsicle brand – that’s pretty fun too.

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