My baby is my last baby. Logically, I know that this is right for us. Five is all we can really support. I know I would not be able to be the best mommy for more. So it’s good that we are done. I’m glad I will never have to be pregnant again and go through labor again. I will throw a party when I buy my last bag of diapers, which will be sometime in the next couple of years. Last is good.
However, there are moments when my heart aches because she is my last. This is the last baby that will love me unconditionally. The last baby that will reach for me first. The last baby that will cuddle into my shoulder in complete security. The last baby that is wholly mine.
So, if I hold her more than is necessary, and give in to her cries a little more often, it’s only because I will have no more babies to hold. I am seeing how last babies are so easy to spoil. There will be no more babies to spoil later, so we must give all that love to this one.
I’m holding my last baby as she sleeps right now. I could lay her down, but how many more chances will I have to hold a sleeping seven and a half month old baby who loves me unconditionally?