The Holding of Babies Should be Regulated

I'm a rational person. I wouldn't characterize myself as flighty, bubbly, or overflowing with optimism. I lean toward pessimism, realism, sternness and stubbornness.

But, doggone it, I'm still a woman.

And as every woman knows, especially a woman who has borne a child before, holding a newborn that is not your own is dangerous.

My sister just had a baby. And when I say "had", I mean "suffered to get". There was very little that was positive about the events leading to the baby, other than the pregnancy test. There was horrible "morning" sickness (which would better be described as breathing sickness). There was heartburn from the fiery pits of darkness. There was high blood pressure which led to swelling like an oompa loompa. There were debilitating migraines that led to hospitalization. There were constant remarks the likes of "You sure there's only one in there?" Then there was the actual delivery, which entailed 17 hours of grueling labor, only to have the baby get stuck. There was an emergency c-section and all the wonderful recovery that entails.

But then there was a baby.

A sweet, sleepy, cooing ball of wonderfulness.

Now I can relate to most of the wretchedness of my sister's pregnancy. I'm not one of those women who you hear gushing about how much they love being pregnant. I think of pregnancy and I remember a million horrible little details. The big pains, like the ones listed above, and all the little annoying ones. Like the fact that I still gag at certain smells that were once lovely. Like the fact that my belly button pops out about halfway through the pregnancy and everyone feels the need to comment on it. Like the fact that everything swells up to thrice it's normal size, including my eyes, nose, fingers, ankles, double chin and certain areas that would put Beyonce to shame. And all the aches and pains that start earlier and earlier with every pregnancy. The losing sleep. The clown shoes. The horrid maternity clothing makers that don't realize that girls in my family need about three extra yards of fabric on their shirts to cover their stinkin' huge bellies. The disappearance of any emotions other than hunger and apathy.

You men better be counting your blessings, for the fact that you don't have to suffer all that and that I'm not listing the really bad stuff.

So here I am, knowing and dreading all of those little details of pregnancy. Being the rational person that I am, all of those reasons keep me from really deciding to take the plunge and try for a "Thing Three."

But then I held the baby. I tickled his chubby cheeks, and spiked his soft hair, and touched his teeny lips so they pursed up even teenier. And heaven help me, I sighed.

I'm a glutton for punishment.