Simultaneously coming from the backseat:
Porter: "How come {blah blah blah}?...Why {blah, blah, blah}?...When are we {blah, blah, blah}?..."
Brooklyn: "Mommy! He's touching me! OW! Stop it Porter! Aaaaaaahhhhh! Mom-eee!"
August: "Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama..."
A vision flashed before me of a 24-year-old me, lying in bed, praying so hard that I could have my very own baby.
Thank you, Jesus.
1 witty remarks:
I love your blog. My kids are 11 and 13, but I remember those days of the "tiny army". It makes me smile. Thanks for sharing.
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