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Not mine. Image by dreamatico.com

Not mine. Image by dreamatico.com

I held the baby on my knees. Her bright pink socks encasing tiny toes contrasted nicely with my brown work slacks. We sat in the bleachers at Ruby’s school in order to view her last PiPs performance.

Not my baby. She’s a month old.

Zac, sitting on my left, leaned over. “She’s drooling on your pants,” Zac said.

Never seen white drool before. My intrepid trousers quickly absorbed the formula residue. I recognized the smell from when I bottle fed my babes. Baby smelled oaty. Out of her mouth bubbled streams of goo. Undaunted, I collected a burp cloth from the neighbor girl who brought the baby to me.

I turned her a little to get a better look. Tufts of sandy hair stood up from her head. Her face contorted into old man grimaces. Her head, obviously quite weighty, tipped from side to side. I jounced her with a gentle bounce, careful not to be too energetic.

Zac smiled at her. He’s good with kids. But not a huge baby fan.

Meanwhile, baby girl blew magnificent bubble sculptures. I swiped her face again. The full weight of her chunky body rested against my hand. Her blue eyes gazed out at the gym floor where kids tried to spin, bounce or toss balls to the music.

I like babies.  I really do.  And yet, to be completely honest, I’m glad to be out of that stage. No more diapers or night feedings or rotating your outfit several times a day. I could go on, but you get the point. I like my kids telling me what they’re thinking about.  They crack me up with their funky little schemes and ideas. Babies, for all their inherent cuteness and adorable outfits that come with, have little personality in their bitty bodies.

So I handed the baby back.

“Thanks,” I said to our neighbor, who though only 9 years old already knew the expert baby hold. The future mama smiled. She carried the wee one back to her seat. I thought, Let the next generation rise up.

Seasons don’t last forever. I do remember thinking at low times that each day lasted a thousand years when my kids stood only 2 feet high.  My baby-raising (and baby-making) season is over. I work full-time now, and both kids attend school. Ruby’s time with PiPs finished last night. We’ve entered a new era. I want to enjoy and make the most of each season.

For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven. – Ecclesiates 3:1

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