We had a good Fourth of July, which, as I grow more maternal, means no burns, bites, or temper tantrums. I accessorized a new skirt, courtesy of Their Majesties, with a string of beads swiped from D1's bead-stringing pouch. I figure at this stage of life I can get away with it. D2 loved playing with it.
D1 got blindsided by a volleyball being used as a kickball, but recovered quickly. She and DOB had a fabulous time on the hayride. D2 was amazingly still and willing to watch all the excitement from the confines of my lap. They both remained fairly cheerful right up through the fireworks show, which was spectacular but eventually put D2 to sleep.
During the day I had a chance to speak with a friend we only see occasionally. Her little girl is within a few weeks of D1 in age. We chatted about the joys of potty training and the lives of toddlers. Then she mentioned her news. This past early spring, while I was struggling to adjust to another baby in the house, she and her husband were burying a tiny baby with the same name.
We talked through the causes and consequences, and then she asked about my family. She hadn't heard about my father's remarriage and we talked about the adjustments people were making.
Later on, I wondered. Would I trade the little boy wiggling on my lap to be able to confide in my mother? Would she trade the intactness of the family she walked away with to be able to play with her son?
I don't know. I can't know. I'm glad I don't have to know. It is a mercy that the things which are so far beyond our wisdom are also so far beyond our control.