Because doctors aren’t always correct, we were blessed with a little boy. A smart, observant, and noisy little guy.
We thought we were lucky, and must add to our family. Half believing the doctors–because many, many years of telling me that I may not be able to have children, or that it would be rather difficult–we followed up by proving the doctors wrong again. This time with a daughter. A smart, strong-willed, clumsy little gal.
My husband and I are both from larger families. I suppose they would be considered large today, but in our day, our families were considered medium sized. We decided a family was more than two kids and two parents. I wanted 6 kids, but my anxiety and age warned me that 3 was a good number.
Omgarsh! What was I thinking? What a nightmare…having 3 more teens to manage while inching my toes toward the edge of the golden years. Yikes!
But, almost three years after our daughter was born, we were blessed with another. A smart, active, chatterbox little guy.
Duh…our sons aren’t letting us miss them.
Don’t get me wrong—I love the boys with all my heart, just as I do our daughter.
Seventeen years passed–poof—she was off to explore her dreams. Sometimes, I wish I had reined in her strong will, but like me, it’s a part of our personalities–same with the clumsiness.
Unfortunately, many of my visits with her coincided with family funerals, and major family illnesses.
I have been missing her lately. She is back in school taking an accelerated course for a second Bachelor’s degree in another field from her original one.
She is now 23. Six years now–not moving so fast any more.
Parents—cherish each and every hissy fit, defiant stomp of the feet, snotty nose, kissing the boo-boo, hug, and every I love you. They grow so fast.
I miss you Little Missy.
I’m saving my quarters for a trip to your time zone…
Love and hugs to you!