We had to run to Wal*Mart tonight. It's a pretty common occurrence. It's really just about the only gig in town, and if you need something on a Sunday night, you've got a choice between Wal*Mart and the convenience store that charges $7.75 for a Reese's Cup that's been sitting on the shelf so long it has collected enough dust to make new topsoil in my front yard. So, it's usually Wal*Mart, unless I need cheap topsoil.I know people who despise Wal*Mart. I can understand why, but I need it too much to truly despise it. I try to do the majority of my shopping at Sam's Club, buy my boxed single items at Wal*Mart, my meat from one of the local groceries, my nuts and grains from a bulk foods store, and my produce from either the local IGA or the farm stand down the road. He probably gets most of his stuff from the same supplier as Wal*Mart. But I give him my business anyway. Besides, I love his cinnamon rolls and his fry pies.
But one thing that I enjoy about Wal*Mart is the fact that, if you go often enough, you can see just about everyone from the community. This week, I stood in the parking lot and talked to the woman who took our family photo last fall, the one with the dogs and the pumpkins you see in this shot. She's a wonderful woman, and we seem to get into deep conversations right away. As we were ending our conversation, I told her that it was good to see her, and I repeated a line my children have heard often; "Some of my deepest, most meaningful conversations are held in the Wal*Mart parking lot!"
Tonight, while I was in the checkout line, I turned to see a woman behind me that I know socially. We're not friends, but we know each other on a first-name basis. She's unmarried, probably in her early thirties, beautiful and very vivacious. She owns her own shop in the historic part of town, a kind of shabby chic meets primtive place where she sells an eclectic mix of furniture and accessories, both vintage and new. She also dedicates a lot of time to trying to bolster downtown's well-being. It's a tough battle, especially since downtown just got its first tatoo parlor and will soon have its first casino in a shop that was supposed to be an art gallery. Her shop, I often tell people who come to town to visit, is the shop I'd love to have, dream of having, but now I don't need to have it because she has it for me. I can enjoy it and promote it, but I don't have the headache of owning it.
But, the thing is, for all of her vivaciousness, when I notice her and she doesn't know anyone sees her, she looks tired and...almost...I don't know--sad, I guess. Maybe I'm projecting something onto her that isn't there, but it's the impression I get.
We struck up a bit of a conversation in the check-out line at Wal*Mart, and she asked me if we were moved into our house. Oh, yeah, I said. And I told her about the thirteen foot high swingset we constructed today. She put on a show of being impressed, but I don't know if she really was or was just being polite. And then she asked me what else was new. "Have any more kids?" she asked, as if it were something that just kinda happens every few weeks and I forget to tell people about it. As if it's something she just kind of expects from someone"like me."
"Nope. No more kids," I said. "Just the ones you already knew about." I felt vulnerable. Out of place somehow.
"Is five it? You do have five, right? Are you done?"
She didn't say it with any malice or expectations. Just a question. Yet I didn't know what to say. I mean, here I was buying brownie mix at 9:30 at night, standing in the Wal*mart line with my daughter who was wearing winter boots with a yellow sundress spotted with Wendy's chili, and a son who was begging for a rubber chicken.
But this woman--she's suave. She's hip. She's so...independent. So free-spirited. I didn't want her to think I was weird, in the off chance that it wasn't too late. I looked at my kids. I looked back at her.
You know how about a million thoughts and memories can go through your mind in the few seconds it takes to form a sentence and speak it? That's what was happening to me. I thought about my little girl, Sweetheart, the chili-spotted daughter standing at my side. I remembered that I had decided after having Monet that I was done. Three was enough for me. I had gained too much weight, had too little time to myself and not enough house to fit everyone into. Motherhood was doggone hard work. No more pregnancies, I insisted. And then, when I discovered that I was pregnant with Sweetheart, I cried. I honestly and truly did NOT want to be pregnant.
But then Sweetheart was born, and I wanted to keep her a baby forever. She was my miracle with rosebud lips, and I spent days and days in awe of her, wondering how I could ever have rejected the possibility of this beautiful child. What had been wrong with me?
Still, when I found out three years later that I was pregnant with The Baby, I literally prayed that there was some mistake, that I wouldn't be pregnant. I didn't tell anyone but Bo for months because I felt too ashamed to admit I'd been so irresponsible. I know that's horrible, and I'm very sorry that I have to tell you that, but it's an indicator of the kind of pressure I was under at the time, the desperation that I felt in my situation of having four kids, living on one income in a tiny cabin with my pain-in-the-butt father, and having a new baby on the way. Bo was a tower of strength. I was a quivering mass of hormones.
But I look at The Baby daily and wonder how I could ever imagine life without her. She adds such joy. She has this incredible smile and a wonderful sense of humor. She's so smart and so intense and so adorably cute.
And now I wonder what the Lord has in store for me. Does he have another Sweetheart ready for my life? Does he have another Baby to bless us with? Is there another person in our future, another miracle with rosebud lips? Another cuddlebug, dancer, magician, artist or musician?
These are the thoughts and memories that went through my head as I stood in the line at Wal*Mart next to my two children, blinking dazedly as this young, independent, hip woman awaited my answer with polite interest. How could I sum up all of those thoughts and memories? Was it even necessary? Did she even want an answer?
"I don't know," I said. "I just wonder sometimes if...if there's someone else, you know..," I gestured around the air, "...out there for us, for our family. Ya know what I mean?"
Whether she did or she didn't, I'm sure I'll never know. She simply smiled and nodded, and then piped up with what seemed mock surprise that it was time for me to pay for my brownie mix and ice cream.
"It was nice seeing you," she said. And I couldn't help feeling like I had just been tested or judged or something. I hope I passed.
Now I'm sitting here evaluating my answer, wondering if I said the "right thing," and beating myself up for living my life in an attempt to please other people. What will people like The Hip Independent Woman think if I have more kids? Will they think I'm nuts? Does it keep them from being my friend? Why do I care? Am I a good enough mother to deserve these miracles? Do I "want" more? Does that matter? Can I handle another, and another, and another?
I don't know. I honestly don't.
But when I look into Sweetheart's amazing brown eyes as she cuddles up to me, tells me I'm the best mom in the world, plants a big fat kiss on my cheek with her perfect rosebud lips, I can't believe that I could possibly say no to another blessing like her. Or, more accurately, another blessing so very unlike her, another individual human being with thoughts and feelings and gifts and talents. A unique person.
I just feel like there's someone else, you know, "out there" for us. Ya know what I mean?
