The magic of a newborn baby

Last week I mentioned how I couldn't imagine having another baby in the house at our age (Terry and I are both 51).

Not only is it a scary thought, right now it's also pretty much physically impossible. My urologist made sure of that nearly 15 years ago, and while I don't exactly know at which stage of the process Terry currently is, it's clear her reproductive organs are also hanging up the "closed" sign.

But I will say this: The experience of finding out my wife was pregnant, waiting for the birth, picking out names, watching the kids come into the world, and bringing brand new babies home is one I'll always cherish. The word I've always used for it is "magical."

Magical is how it felt when Elissa, our oldest, was a baby. We hadn't even been married two years when she was born, so everything was new and fresh and exciting. Those months when I watched her all day before going to work at night were some of the best of my life. I loved it.

I loved when all of my kids were newborns (and I love them just as much now, it should be noted).

Newborns are miracles. It's cliche, but it's true. I used to stare at our kids and think about what they would sound like when they started talking, what kind of personality they would develop, what kind of students they would be in school, who they might choose to marry, what they wanted to be and do in life, etc.

Still, two things should be acknowledged here:

1. Those newborn years also are exhausting years. Even if they sleep through the night, babies take up most of the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual energy you can muster.
2. I can only speak to this whole thing from the father's point of view. I am not the one, it must be said, who ever had to be pregnant, actually give birth, and nurse these children. I imagine all that might cause one to be a little more jaded about the experience.

Regardless, babies are cool. I don't want another one, but I like remembering the times when they were around.