"When are you due?" I heard something down the aisle as we hurriedly emptied the contents of our carts onto the conveyor belt.
"Excuse me?" I ask.
"When is your baby due? I saw you and said to myself that lady is gonna have a baby soon!"
"Oh, yes, a couple more weeks."
In a matter of moments this young clerk has given me her entire reproductive past (two girl children), present (pregnant) and future (no more children, ever, EVER). I have slipped into smile and nod mode. I am very pregnant myself, tired, scanning the restroom down the hall hoping the cleaner has finished by the time my bill is paid, and anxious to get back on the road and meet my husband and children.
Finally, after she has complained at great length about pregnancy, children, expenses, and the like, she asks, "So, is this number two or three?" (I have one child along with me) I take a breath and brace myself. I was so hoping to slip out with my receipt before we got this far.
"Ten." I say, fixing my smile as best I can, knowing what is coming next.
"Ten?!? WHAT??"
"Yes, this will be our tenth." I reply.
She stands, without words for a time, processing what I have just told her. Not for long however. She soon begins to speak, though it isn't clear whether she is addressing her stream of consciousness to me or not.
"My gosh. I mean I can't imagine. I can't cope with my two. I think you'd just lose your mind by four."
My mental health? Well…. naw, let's not go there. ; )
"So how much does the tax break cap out at for you?" she continues.
"Excuse me?" I reply again.
"I mean, they can't pay out THAT much can they?" she insists.
"I really don't know," I tell her honestly.
"You don't know?" She looks incredulously.
"No, I really don't." It was never a major consideration. God provides. Somehow, always. Thank you, God.
"I mean, well, you must a LOT stronger than me. You'd have to be."
Strong? I think back on two and a half decades of joy and blessing. Two and a half decades of fear and frustration. Of sickness and health. Of stumbling and pulling ourselves up to try again. I am all too aware of how many times I have been at the end of myself, just hanging on as life carried us along on this merry ride. No, I don't feel strong, paticularly as my back strains from the weight of this little one and my belly convulses with ongoing contractions. No, I don't feel strong. Still, I never felt this venture was dependent upon my own miserable capacity for strength. "My grace is sufficent," That is what I have held onto.
She is sputtering now. Clearly agitated. I am rooted to my spot in front of the register hoping she reaches the last of the food soon, when she backs up and presents what she seems to believe is her most compelling question:
"Well, I just can't imagine how you could afford to eat out with that many kids??" Then she begins to mutter about the cost of Happy Meals. I can not find words now. My mind is flooded with images of eleven pairs of hands clasped in prayer around the big farm table in gratitude for the steaming bowls of vegetables and homemade bread that would soon be shared with the people I love. Floral napkins, imperfectly hemmed, resting on eleven laps waiting to catch the inevitable spills.
I think of blowing out countless candles on lopsided birthday cakes.
I think of tiny backpacks filled with military MRE's to be opened after we scale the path up to the reservoir.
I think of how many 'first' bowls of cereal I have spooned into surprised little mouths.
With an eager six-year-old helper, I finish packing up bags of apples, cheese, and bread that we are taking for our picnic dinner with Daddy. Admittedly, I am bewildered. Instead of this….
I could have a….. Big Mac?
No thanks.
She is still looking at me, searching my face for some sort of response. All I can say is, "We'd rather stay home." By her raised eyebrow it is obvious it came out as lamely as I feared. Yet, it was the most sincere answer I could summons. I would rather be home. Be it ever so humble… With our children.
'There are some who therefore look upon the coming of children as misfortune. They talk about them lightly as 'responsibilities'. They regard them as in the way of their pleasure. They see no blessing in them. But it is cold selfishness that looks upon children in this way. Instead of being hindrances to true and noble living, they are helps. They bring benedictions from heaven when they come, while they stay they are perpetual benedictions." – Homemaking, Rev RJ Miller 1882
Starry Sky Journal 