What's worse than beautiful pregnant women around a wistful clucky woman? A 2kg scrap of a newborn with a dark thatch of matted hair and those little sighs and squeaks as they nuzzle into your breast. And worse than that again? Twin newborns, curled up together and sighing in their sleep as they suck their teensy pink fists.
That smell, that sweet, musty, newborn smell. It makes my uterus fairly ache with longing.
A friend had her second yesterday evening, a little boy birthed at home, into the family from the beginning and I swear my heart leapt with anticipation of doing it. I am or was so sure about not having any more babies. Why does my body keep betraying me?