Stephen had a doctor’s appointment this morning. Nothing wrong, just check up stuff. I brought along Eamon because he wanted to keep to Stephen company and Daniel because … well, because he keeps me on rather a short leash.
As the four of us sat in the waiting room, a little girl of about 18 months toddled over from across the room. She grinned and waved. She cooed at the baby and was about to relieve him of his pacifier when her grandmother came to the rescue.
“Don’t touch the baby!” she said as she swooped in and scooped the little girl up in her arms. Before returning to her seat, however, the grandmother looked us over and paused.
“You have three boys?” she asked, her eyes wide with disbelief.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Three boys,” she repeated. “You have three boys?”
“Yes,” I confirmed again. “I have three boys.” I was beginning to smile now as I caught sight of Stephen and Eamon grinning at me from behind her.
I exercised my right to not disclose any more further information about my family size. I wasn’t lying, after all. I do have three boys. I basked in the glow of my momentary normalness. Which apparently wasn’t very normal. But for me, for now, it’s about as normal as I get.