A Fun Little Neighborhood Game

Today, Jacob and I had to go to the post office. This story isn’t really about the post office; it could have happened anywhere. But in the interest of setting the scene, there you go.

 

The postal worker who helped us was great. She did what we needed quickly, offered a little friendly banter in between, and generally it was a good experience.

 

At one point she commented on my being pregnant.

 

“I hope that one’s a girl,” she said.

 

“It’s another boy,” I answered with a smile, realizing she thought it would be our last. “Hopefully we’ll have a little girl someday.”

 

She proceeded to tell me about someone she knew—I missed the connection—who had two boys . . . and then two girls. (Apparently female babies are a goal!)

 

I jokingly one-upped her, and told her that John’s family consisted of four boys and then two girls. She was wowed. She asked how many we wanted.

 

“About that many,” I answered.

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At this point, “wowed” was an understatement.

 

“I would not advise anyone to do that in these times,” she said, not harshly at all, just stating her opinion. “Maybe when you’re young!” Not offended in the least, I still wanted to make my point.

 

“My husband’s family is one of the best, happiest families I know,” I told her. “We’ll see what we get.”

 

The transaction was done, so we parted, no feelings hurt on either side, although I admit to being a bit amused.

 

I’ve read bloggers with big families write about the judgmental statements they can get when they’re out and about with their broods. Although I may come to the point when that sort of thing would drive me crazy, now it seems like it would be a blessing have people question my sanity like that (“Five kids! Wow!”).

 

For now, I get a certain kick out of throwing people off their game—especially in Brooklyn. I don’t look for the opportunity to do it, but when one comes up, you better believe I’m taking it.

 

God willing, we’re only getting started.

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