As we were leaving the library today, we clashed car seats with a woman in the doorway. I had to look inside and there, I was greeted with the grin of a beautiful baby boy.
"Oh my," I said to his mother, "He looks just about the age of ours."
"Three and a half months," his mother said proudly.
"Yes," I said "ours too. Three and...yes, just about...our little guy was born on December 19th"
"Him, too." the mother replied.
"Really? The 19th?" I asked. Wow, I thought to myself. We have so much in common.
"Ummm, yes" she said looking around, "I'm sorry, do you have five boys?"
"Well, six" I said. I could see from her expression that she didn't think we had much in common.
"How do you do it?" she asked.
It's no different, I wanted to say. That baby joy, that love of the little one and the way he fills your heart up till you think it might burst--that joy in his every motion, his little noises, his sweet, sweet first smiles, it's still the same. It isn't any different, just now there are seven, yes, seven of us to take it all in and love every minute of it. My husband, myself, our five boys, we're still just as smitten with number six as you are with number one. He's every bit as wonderful, every moment our pride and joy, yes, all of ours. It isn't much different. Really. Except maybe better, I wanted to say. We have so much in common.
She wouldn't have understood that, I could see, and so I said something about how it gets easier when they grow up and you have the help, which is true, but that's not what I wanted to say. What struck me more was how much we had in common, this mother of one and I and how each and every baby is everything, everything and more and how it doesn't run out but just gets magnified and multiplied and how there's always room for more.
I hope she sees that some day, this mother I met. May she be so blessed.