We've been rejoicing about the birth of our seventh grandchild. She was born just a little over a week ago to a woman whose name I don't know. Her parents are two lovely people we consider a son and a daughter. The new baby is perfect and I can't wait to hear her call me Nana for the first time. And I should probably explain.
I always wanted four children. Even as a little girl I would wile away the hours playing with my dolls and dreaming up names for my kids. My firstborn would be a boy. Then I would have twins, one of each. And finishing with a girl seemed right. Sometimes, in my active imagination, the twins came first. But there were always twins.
Fortunately, God knew that I didn't handle sleep deprivation very well so he just gave me one at a time. Yes, a boy came first. Probably a good thing since Paul and I only had a boy's name picked out. No, they didn't do ultrasounds back in prehistoric days unless they had a fearfully good reason. So I just assumed it was a boy because that was the plan. Two and a half years later, a beautiful, bald, baby girl arrived. We were still debating her middle name at the hospital and we took a vote with the nurses. Praise the Lord she wasn't a boy or we would have had to start from scratch on the naming process.
I may have mentioned before that Paul came from a family of nineteen. As one of the older ones, he informed me that he had already helped raise a family and he wasn't excited about starting another one. Since I wanted four and he wasn't too enthused about any, the obvious compromise was two. (He has since recovered from his teenage experiences as a surrogate parent to his siblings and seeing how much fun his own could be he has expressed the wish we would have had a few more of our own. Too late, I'm afraid.)
I was the youngest of eleven and that meant a full house on holidays when all my older brothers and sisters came home with their own broods and mayhem ensued for a few days. As the years went by, and after the passing of both my parents, my siblings began to spend those holidays with their own families. Most of them had grandchildren providing plenty of their own excitement. I started to regret all over again that we didn't have a few more of our own. And then God gave them to me. All grown up and potty-trained and everything.
Our beautiful daughter, no longer bald or a baby, married Jim from a family small by Amish standards. His only sibling, a sister married a man from a large, very low order Amish family. And that's when things started to get interesting. In the stricter sects of Amish, shunning is a common practice. Although this young man had never become a member of the church, those of his family who remain Amish have little or nothing to do with him. Paul and I have had a little experience with the shunning business. Not among our immediate families, who, fortunately for us, did not hold tightly to the tradition, but we were aware of the practice being used against our parents years ago. It's not a fun thing, to be ostracized because you are different.
After a few years of Christmases with a short table and relative calm, Paul and I were thrilled to have Marlene and Aaron come whenever they were free for the holidays. That was most of the time, since Aaron was without family, as it were, and Marlene's family (Jim) was at our house already. I told them they were the two kids I wanted but didn't have. And so it was. And is.
Aaron and Marlene have been in the adoption process for some time now. It's a journey not meant for the faint of heart. It takes far more stamina than simply giving birth. After much patience, ups, downs, thrills, disappointments, nail-biting waits and lots of paperwork, the call came last week that a little girl would be theirs. If only all the women who feel like abortion is their only option would be able to see the joy they could be giving to hearts longing to hold a baby! We laughed. We cried. I think there was even a little screaming from some of us.
I posted the exciting news on Facebook, that we have our seventh grandchild. After several inquiries from people who know a lot about us, but didn't know we have twice the number of children they thought, I decided to explain. And for anyone who thinks if you're not blood it doesn't count quite as much, well, you're wrong. I have other extended-family members who became part of my life through adoption. I can't imagine my life without them. They mean just as much to me as those who were born to us. Maybe more. Okay, family, don't freak out. I love even you crazy ones we had no choice in taking.
The older I get the more thankful I am for our over-sized family trees. Between Paul and I we have twenty-eight siblings. I gave up on sending birthday cards years ago; I just email instead. And if I ever find myself homeless, well, two weeks at each place and the year is covered. But if I were an only child I know what I would do. I would "adopt" a few other people who have few options on holidays. I'm guessing it wouldn't take long at all to fill up a house. Add some good food, some music, and some great table games (might I suggest Euchre, Rook, and Settlers of Catan!) and you have instant memory-makers. And there's no need for Christmas shopping. Win. Win.
Here's to a long table on Christmas, shouting to be heard above the laughter, and chaos supreme. Here's to the itty-bitty newest member of the family. Sorry little girl, we're yours whether you like it or not.
