He was my first baby – now thirteen months old. His hair was brown, his eyes were striking, his grin was quick. I thought he was perfect.
I wrote this piece many weeks ago, about living as a foster parent and a woman. Now at last I am young enough to share it.
I know and love so many people. I cannot go to town without meeting people I know – all the folks I love walking the sidewalks and store aisles alongside me.
Last night, I sat next to my father through a benefit auction. My kids scrambled and talked and fought around us. While I was turned toward my dad, my daughter fell off the chair on the other side of me…
Sometimes all your ideals fly out the window because it’s two a.m. and your baby will not settle, and you’ve already been out of bed six times, trying to shush her before she wakes her brother, but now it’s too late because he’s fussing too. And his bed is wet.
You may become an adult who knows how to draw wayward teenagers back toward love. You may become the kind-hearted grandma at church who asks to rock a colicky baby for his frazzled new mom. You may become the sort of person who walks toward difficult children instead of away from them.