Baby-Obsessed

I had a chance to see Mom, Pop, and Aunty last weekend for a day of shopping and good food.  As we began our shopping adventures, Aunty mentioned that Mom has been OBSESSED with babies for the past few weeks - she's been swooning over baby clothes, baby toys, baby gadgets, and actual babies.  I bore witness to the phenomenon throughout the afternoon:

As we walked by a rack of frilly, holiday-themed girly dresses: "Awwwwww!" squealed Mom.
Tiny tiny baby sneakers in the shoe store:  "Ohhhhh, so cuuuute!"
Pint-sized argyle sweater-vest/collared shirt/dress pants combo in a store window: "Now isn't that the sweetest thing?!"

"Why can't you become small again so I can dress you up?" she asked, looking at me with wistful eyes.

That last one struck my heart as a sad shift in Mom's baby-summoning discourse.  Over the past few years, the few times she has appealed to God/her mother/Pop/me about wanting a baby, it has been in the form of wishing she had a grandchild, followed by a bitter/sarcastic/angry retort under her breath about how her two kids are never going to make that happen.  Never has she so clearly expressed her resignation to the fact that the only way she now believes a little one will come into her life will be in the form of backwards time-travel.  How else can she imagine her dreams come true than to rewind life to her daughter's pre-queer days?

Little does she know that I am quietly going through my own emotional and logistical process of preparing for pregnancy.  Every day I'm comparing strollers on the subway, baby carriers on the streets, and child-rearing styles in the supermarket (shudder).  I'm reading books, purusing mommy blogs, and pulling my shirt out as I look at myself in the mirror to imagine how my pregnant body will look.  We are, mother and queer daughter, more on the same page than she can imagine. 

I pray that in another time and place, we will squeal over all the little little things and be baby-obsessed together.