I love having a baby. I love watching all the changes that happen in a year. I love seeing them go from a tiny bean with spastic limbs to a walking, chubby-cheeked thing that sticks its bottom out to keep its balance while it's walking. I love a baby's head snuggled into me and a baby's three-toothed grin. I love the way a baby can make a whole family laugh hard at its crazy antics. I love to rub a baby's fuzzy head. I love having a baby.
But its not all glory.
When I'm done having babies, when there's no tiny being living life on my right hip, then on a day like today, I'll run outside in the rain in a clothes soaking downpour and I'll splash in every puddle. Then I'll find the biggest puddle in the driveway and stomp the water until it goes over my head. I'll put my head way back with my mouth open to the deluge to see how much water I can drink fresh from dirty-looking clouds. I'll do somersaults through the wet grass and giggle at my messiness. I'll search every corner of the yard for a toad out for a cool bath of its own. And I'll do it all barefoot and carefree and grateful like my older kids do.
That's my plan anyway.
Although most likely I'll be running through the rain with a little ache in me because I'll be remembering how I once used to stand smilingly at the screen door inside the house with a sweet baby on my hip while I watched my older kids enjoy their youth and a storm.
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