As we (not so) patiently wait for a foster placement, I’ve been dealing with some pretty major baby fever.  Hubby’s been noticing babies more too, even if he doesn’t have the fever.

For me, it’s been in effect since Squiggles was one or so, got worse when we went to Disneyworld and saw all the cute squishy little ones, and has now reached what I’m hoping is the peak while we wait for a phone call.

I still feel like our family isn’t complete and while we won’t know how that next person will come to us until it happens, I imagine I will continue to see all the cute squishy babies and toddlers, in all the places, until that third person joins us.

Alongside this baby fever  is the ache of watching my “babies” get bigger.  It’s a bittersweet feeling.  Full of sadness, happiness, pride, and fear all at the same time.

Squishy is going to be 5 in May.  She’s becoming smarter and sneakier.  She’s getting old enough to shower on her own and jump on the trampoline outside while I watch from the kitchen.  She’s registered for kindergarten in the fall.  She’s becoming her own person and I feel increasing pressure to make sure she’s safe and healthy as she becomes her own person

Squiggles is going to be 3 next month.  She’s not a blobby baby anymore.  She’s signed up for preschool in the fall.  She tells jokes and is a physical comedian.  She’s losing her crazy-legged baby run.  She argues and demands to drive the car one day and the next day tells me she’s too little to drive.

So, we keep waiting.  I watch them grow and it makes me happy but adds fuel to the baby fever fire.  Luckily someone should be coming to fill that spot at some point.  Someone who is just right.  Maybe after we love on a few other kiddos first.  Now I just need to hope I don’t get baby fever after number 3 is here!