Fifties Flashback

Pregnancy is a team effort. Of course I was fully aware of this fact 18 weeks ago, but that was different. Now it’s a reality. With baby number five nearly halfway here, we have gotten through the worst of it, but it’s not over yet. As a matter of fact, the first three months of this round were textbook bad. During that trimester, fatigue and nausea were the only emotions Mommy ever felt. As a result, Daddy took over the cooking and cleaning and shopping while Mommy gave a few pointers here and there.

Then came the magical day when the vomiting stopped. I still remember the final one like it was yesterday. Perhaps that is because I was driving and she was sitting in the front seat of my car following a kid-free date. Unpleasant as it was, that final puke represented a turning point in this journey. While Mommy’s strength is still minimal, she can once again do some cooking, cleaning, and shopping thus enabling me to resume my life as a closet blogger.

With Mommy’s newfound (yet limited) energy, I came home today to a picture of perfection. For the first time in months, I felt like maybe we could actually handle having five kids. The task that had overwhelmed us now seemed possible. What I saw today was a moment in time taken straight from a 1950s sitcom.

My day at work had been busy, yet pleasant. The drive home was uneventful and I used the time to prepare myself for the influx of fatherly duties that would await me as soon as I walked in the door, but today things were slightly different.

I pulled the car into the garage and was greeted by my oldest son wearing his favorite Angels baseball shirt and a big smile. “Daddy, I invented a new game today!”

“Really, what is it?”

“It’s called Super Bullet Ball Eaters!”

I followed him inside to the place where he and my two-year-old son were engaged in a boyish game together. “That looks exciting, Buddy,” I told him as I made my way toward the kitchen where Mommy was busily working on dinner, her apron tied neatly in the back. “Smells good,” I said as I leaned in for a kiss.

Just then, my four-year-old daughter came tearing down the hall at full speed and jumped into my arms for a world-class running hug. As I scooped her up and held her tight, my six-year-old came charging down the hall as well. I made a one-armed grab and pulled her up to me. With my arms full I looked around at the boys playing happily in the hall, squeezed my girls in my arms and watched my wife making a dinner she knew I would enjoy.

The house was mostly clean, but not perfect. Evidence of kids could be seen around the house, but at that moment it didn’t matter. What mattered was that I have been truly blessed with a wonderful family that brings me joy despite the moments of chaos. When people ask me why I want so many kids, moments like these are the answer. What other experience can beat the thrill of a couple of full speed running hugs at the end of the day while dinner simmers on the stove and two brothers play happily together?