When They're No Longer Babies

On the other side of babies are long limbs sticking out of shorts and bellies that never seem to get full and aching bones from all of the cells stretching and multiplying to make room for whole entire people.

On the other side of babies are gray hairs twisting up and out of your body in the most unlikely of places. These hairs give you a second’s pause, and then you pluck them out and move on.

On the other side of babies are parking lots. Parking lots where you wait. Parking lots where you talk about field trips or sometimes where you hide on those days when you just can’t.

On the other side of babies are periods that don’t do what they used to do.

On the other side of babies are stinky bodies that still fold into you with relief or fear or love or just because.

On the other side of babies are looks of understanding when you explain why we do things or why we don’t or why we are kind or why we care.

On the other side of babies is a sweet spot of sleeping…until they learn to drive.

On the other side of babies is a settling into your body that was molded and patched and scooped out from the inside by those babies.

On the other side of babies are leaps of you into the world without them and leaps of them into the world without you.

On the other side of babies are small moments of sadness for their soft-smelling necks and the sleepy grunts and the lovely weight of their bodies.

On the other side of babies is breathing room that at one time or another you both long to fill up again.

On the other side of babies are people who you are trying to put into the world with the idea that they won’t be horrible.

On the other side of babies are small, empty purses.

On the other side of babies are thoughts that are your own thoughts.

And on the other side of babies is you. Again.