At the Airport

I have a sinking feeling in my chest as I look up at the "departing" monitor in the airport terminal.  I find our flight and check the departure time, only to see that we are delayed almost 3 hours.  My shoulders droop a bit as I gather up my stuff and move out of the way of other people, straining to see.  3 extra hours in a small airport terminal, me and my toddler.  3 hours will put our arrival home somewhere around midnight.  I had scheduled the flight thinking he'd be tucked into bed at his normal time.  Now I feared tantrums, screaming, exhaustion.

The terminal was packed, there were no available seats to be found.  I bought a grilled cheese sandwich and sat on the floor with Jo-boy, feeding him bits and trying to keep him from wandering off.  After that I put him back in the backpack, grabbed my carry on luggage and began my slow march.  Two hours later, aching and exhausted, I find a seat and set him down with crayons and a coloring book.  I don't dare close my eyes, but
I stretch out as best I can and keep one eye on him, scribbling away in his book.

An older man sidles up to us, chats to the baby a moment, asks me his name.  He seems nice.  I know I look awful.  After a few moments of chatting, he asks me that question, the one I always get and that I never know how to respond to.

"Is he your first?"

This time I respond with my usual stutter and blush, ummm no...

He acts surprised but leaves it alone.

Jo-boy is done with coloring, deciding instead to launch his crayons like missiles aimed at a nearby woman who is giving me the evil eye.  I pack our things again, heft his 30 lbs onto my back and start walking again.

I know how I look.

Blue jeans, birkenstocks.  Gray hoodie much like the one I wore all through high school.  Hair in a messy pony tail.  Hardly any makeup.

One child is excusable, almost makes sense, right?  But four?  And what about that one on the way?

I've never had a life that I could quickly and easily answer questions about.

Small talk questions that are usually posed by strangers raise more questions than answers.  "Is he your first?"  No, I am pregnant with my 5th.  Yes I know I look young.  I am.
"Oh, where do your kids go to school?"
Um well actually I homeschool them.
"What hospital are you delivering at?"
Well...we're planning on having this one at home.

I'm not very confident in answering these questions.  In the past, when asked by hairdressers and other kindly, talkative strangers, I haven't exactly lied but I haven't told the whole truth.  Not because I am afraid of what people think, but just because even when my answers are given, there are such large gaping holes.  And sometimes, when I have let it all out, I'm met with a bewildered silence.

After waiting around a terminal for hours, flying home with Jo's head heavy on my shoulder, and finally folding myself into my husband's arms at the end of such a long day, I am so thankful to be home.  Back where I can be who I am and those who know and love me don't mind that I'm having baby #5, or that I look more like a teenage babysitter than a soccer mom.  Back here in my inner circle, I'm so glad I can proclaim from the rooftops my joy at this new addition, and know that all those who love me are rejoicing as well.