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Baby HungerLast night I was joking around with my kids and said, "And when am I gonna get some grandbabies? I'm old enough for grandbabies! I want some grandbabies, dammit!" Both my daughters looked at me like I was nuts. Ashanti emphatically said, "Mama, I am not giving you any grandbabies any time soon. Period." Kat said, "Mama, you know I don't ever want kids!" Which, if you think about it, is a good thing. All of her worldly possessions can fit into one backpack. She doesn't have a job. And she barely has a home. I don't really want grandbabies like that. I just go through this hormonal twinge from time to time. Then the idea of holding a little baby in my arms just makes me melt. Then it makes me sad. Perhaps it's the last protest from a womb that isn't ready to retire. Perhaps it's the desire to smell that baby-scent, the mixture of milk and lotion and new skin. I want this: Last night I had a dream that I was lying on a bed, holding a little creamy-skinned baby. A brand new baby with a tiny dusting of hair on her head, pink cheeks, little bow-mouth puckering in and out. I guided her mouth around a nipple. And my milk began to flow. She nursed, and in my dream I dozed while feeding her. Up until recently Ashanti's body belonged to me. I could grab her and wrap her up in my arms. I could bury my nose in her neck and smell her little-girl sweat. I could rub her tummy and say stupid things like, "who's mama's little apple streudel?" I could nibble the freckle on her earlobe and kiss the birthmark on her hip. Now Ashanti's body is Ashanti's. It's no longer an extension of my body. She is 10 years old, going on 11. And although she'll giggle when I get silly, as often as not while she's giggling she's also wiggling away from me. That makes me sad. My arms begin to feel empty. So I need a grandbaby, dammit! Some little warm body to fill the empty space where my daughters used to fit. Before they grew up. Before they moved away. Before they became separate from me.
Mary
Anderson
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