Baby, I got it bad

If you tell anyone I'll deny it.

I will, I swear I will.

But lately I've been looking at babies and wanting to hold them. To inhale their scent and brush my cheek up against their soft, pudgy cheek.

To see tiny little fingers wrapped around my forefinger and to kiss the center of its forehead.

To gaze, with that idiotic grin of pure love and amazement into its wide eyes.

Me, who "closed up shop" years ago with no hesitation or regrets after one child.

I don't have the yearning that existed 12-years ago when I felt incomplete and hungry for a new life to grow inside of me.

I certainly don't want to go back to the baby days and sleepless nights. And probably couldn't even if I wanted to.

So what is this?

I am overwhelmed with just wanting to hold one close to me and feel its heart beat against mine.

Maybe it's just the low-level, chronic heartache, of watching my child grow up and eventually grow away from me. I feel like I could write a post a day about all the little and big things that happen everyday that grip my heart as I watch my baby become a young man.

It leads me to believe that I am going to love being a grandmother. Which seems like a lifetime away. But if the past 12 years is any indication, lifetimes pass faster than you think.