babylost without babylust

On Friday my nephew Isaac turned 10. (Just a few weeks after Lilly. Partners in crime? Thick as thieves? Oh yes!) I have a keen memory of holding Isaac just days after he was born. That warm, lovely new baby smell. That chemical rush of the blood connection. Of holding a child that was in some ways mine, ours. Of instant love and attachment. And my first moment of babylust ever, at 27.

Babylust has never been a thing with me, apart from those mad rushes of affection inspired by subsequent neices and nephews as well. In fact I've never been wild for kids. Relating with them is not a gift of mine. I'm not good at play. When I talk to them, I sound awkward and patronizing. When they eye me suspiciously, or grow bored of my company, I don't blame them a bit. And babies? Very, very cute, but I never desperately wanted one.

I never made a choice to have children. Not until I decided to become Lilly's stepmom, like ten months ago. I did not always know I wanted to be a mother. I had no babylust in my teens or twenties to drive me that direction. And no relationship (until now) that I felt would survive the rigors of family life. I always thought, yes, a baby, if circumstances are right. If I feel supported. If there's enough money. I never had the passion, or confidence or maybe the chemical makeup, to override all those if's and tackle the monumental task of parenting a child.

But for all that, here I am. A mother. To someone else's child, no less. I didn't see it coming. The universe just gave Lilly to me. Just gave us to one another. I have almost no words for that miracle. And Angel Mae? A complete surprise. Another unplanned miracle. My dearest little one. My pearl of great price. (Here lies proof that love beats doubt every time. Despite my fears, I would have been a good mama to my angel, and do strive to be a good mama to my Lilly.)

Motherhood resulting in babyloss is, well, you know. A strange path. And on this path I see a lot of babies. Babies on TV. Babies on the street. My friend's babies. And I realize that my history of confusion and my lack of babylust is a complete blessing right now.

Because I don't want them. I don't want these babies passing by. They inspire no jealousy. They are no assault on me. I see them sleeping in their car seats and my brain immediately pictures them dead. Sleeping in a sad mommy's arms. Sleeping in a NICU crib. Eyes closed, wrapped in blankets, photographed through tears and shared with me through this memorial corner of the blogosphere. And I think loudly in the direction of the parents that they are so lucky their baby is alive.

I don't want those babies. I want my Angel Mae. I want my daughter, that small, particular spirit who lived with me for 20 weeks and then flew away. I want her. Not some baby.

Angel Mae's presence, however brief, has brought me face to face with what has been an unanswerable question. Do I want to have a baby? Has my love for her persuaded me that I am ready? Or is her passing an arrow pointing me towards a different path? To try or not to try? Life will demand an answer soon - there's no getting out of it this time. In the midst of grief, when everything feels beyond my control, I will have to take my fate into my own hands.

Here is a riddle for the sphinx. What do you call a mother who must decide, for the first time, whether to become a mother?