Baby Mine.

I went to the New York Public Library today, since there's one 2 blocks from my apt, to get a library card. They opened at 10, and since I had to sell back some books to the indie bookstore, I got there early. I walked around the 'hood, got a soda....and was still 10 minutes early. So I waited outside the library, which normally would be fine.

Except Tuesdays are storytime. And, like everything else child-related in Manhattan, it's competitive as hell. Apparently you need tickets to go to storytime, and it's first come first serve. So here I am, in the middle of all these strollers - Bugaboos, Maclarens, Quinny Buzz, B.O.Bs (yes, it's sad I know all the stroller brands) - hoping my ankles don't get clipped during the mass rush to the circulation desk. But as I was standing there amongst all the babies, nannies and mothers (no dads in the crowd, I noticed), I felt a little pang of lacking. Lacking in the sense that these mothers are probably around my age, but their lives are completely different. And granted, maybe the fact that I would rip my hair out if I were a stay-at-home mom says something about where I am in life right now, but the thought caught me off-guard. In high school, 30 seems so "old". I'm sure I thought I'd be married with kids by THIRTY. But now, it seems kind of young, to me. I feel like I have so much time to live still ahead of me. In fact, a friend of mine in her late 40s had a baby over the weekend and sent me the picture of her newborn daughter today. But in that moment, I missed Trey, my heart kind of ached for a baby, and I thought, yes, I've been fairly sucessful in academia and am getting a wonderful degree and following my dreams for the first real time ever and it's scary as hell but thrilling at the same time and I'm letting wonder wash over me daily......but they still have the baby. And I'm not sure what to make of that thought. Maybe it's the biological clock on which I keep hitting snooze. Maybe it was just all that nice baby cuteness surrounding me (although the ear-splitting screaming, not so much). I mean, don't get me wrong - I can throw down with the best of them when it comes to childcare. Boppys, tummy time, Exersaucers, Gyminis, Bumbos, Sleep Sacks, Bugaboos, Maclarens, butt paste, Ferber Method, sibling rivalry, good diaper bags, Pack n Plays -- been there, done it all. I've been around so much of that that I already know which styles I'd want for my own kid. Which pacis are good, which bottles cause less gas, good swaddling techniques and how to comfortably carry a kid in a Baby Bjorn? Yup, know all that too. Stayed up much of the night to lay my hand on a baby's chest to make sure he's still breathing, or just to watch him sleep because he's the most peaceful, beautiful thing you've ever seen? Yup, done that. Know that there's got to be a G-d somewhere because the newborn in front of you is healthy and perfect and it's amazing how human life works? Uh-huh. Had a baby/toddler fall asleep on you or in your arms and just sat there for a while, enjoying their warm weight on you and their hand resting on your arm? Yup. See G-d in the smile of a baby or hear it in his toddler laughter? Definitely. Had a toddler spit food in your face while trying to feed his twin sisters? Er, yes. Stayed up all night with said twin sisters because they keep waking up throughout the night at separate times? Oh yeah. I've also had a baby have explosive diarrhea and have to strip him down in the mall bathroom, only to find out there were no baby wipes in the baby bag, and have baby crap all down the front of me (THANKS, BRAD!). So I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that parenting is not easy, glamorous or always fun. But I'm good at it. And I love it. And maybe that's the loss I felt this morning.

But it's something to look forward to.