Wednesday’s with Mary
Eight kids would seem, perhaps, one too many. Of course she was exhausted, who wouldn’t be? To have done it within a decade too. What a time that was! Constantly pregnant, babies everywhere, ever more mouths to feed. More help, too, as they got older. Neither of them would have it any other way, though. A houseful indeed, but a house full of life and love.
She knew, right from the off, him too. They both wanted a large family. Using the unusual name ‘Monday’ for the first child, a beautiful bundle of joy she still recalled that (first) magical moment even now, was a marker. A statement of intent. By the time Tuesday came along, within ten months of Monday it was clear that the names would run out before her desire for children would. And besides that, the third child, the second girl, just did not look like a ‘Wednesday’. So Mary she was.
Oddly the skipped day continued, the fourth became Thursday and on and on, until Sunday, and then the last. They knew it was the last, just as they had known there would be many more than one. They could just tell. And now they are growing up, Monday already at University, the noise was beginning to fade. She wasn’t sure, truly, if she was ready for that just yet, though. Life will be so dull.
When the eighth was born it was clear. Her deep, deep brown eyes, her dark, black hair. That look of hers; “Here I am: deal with it.” Yes this was her ‘Wednesday’ alright. No mistake.
Sitting here, this afternoon, on her own, most of the kids at school, Wednesday with Mary, she reflected. Reflected on an exhausting, difficult, insanely challenging life. She thought of each of her five girls and three boys, each so very different, each so very wonderful. She reflected happily, a little moment for a rest at last.
Ah yes. A life worth living.
Today I wrote between 12:34 and 12:44. I was prompted by an idea here.
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