I'm the kind of person who skips to the conversation when reading a book.
“How old is your youngest?” the lady at the auto mechanic shop asked me. She had been bemoaning her empty nest and, though, she was younger than I am, she knew I still had children at home.
“She’s nine,” I said. “I remember when I found out I was expecting number eight. I thought I was starting menopause.”
The lady laughed with me. “I’ll bet you were surprised!”
“Oh, yeah, especially because I was almost 44 when she was born. I wouldn’t change a thing, though.”
My mind started wandering down Memory Lane to those months, when I could barely tell anybody that we were expecting again. We had heard every comment there was — “Don’t you know what causes that?” “Don’t you think you have enough kids?” “How are you going to take care of some many kids?” “Where are you going to put this one?”
Never one prepared with a snappy comeback, I usually just ignored these sorts of comments. Why bother even responding?
The truth is we do know what causes it; we regard children as a blessing; we have more than enough; and, there’s always room for one more.
Today, I look at this beautiful little girl and can’t believe how blessed I am. To think I wasn’t thrilled at finding out she was on her way! What a mistake!
I may never reach the empty nest — but so what?!