Eight Years On

Eight years ago today my youngest was born. 

Funny story. Mrs. Stroock was at the OBGYN's for a routine stress test. I'd just started teaching my class when I got a text in which she informed us the doctor had decided to induce labor. Class dismissed, I said. Two days later I was back in class and projecting pics of the baby onto the white board. 

Not a funny story. A week later Super Storm Sandy hit and we lost power for four days. Fortunately Mrs. Stroock's dad was in town and staying at a business hotel about ten minutes away. That part of the grid had power. So like an episode of Little House on the Prairie  Mrs. Stroock rode to safety while I stayed at the homestead. I graded papers by firelight, but by about nine I realized why in olden days people got up and went to bed with the sun. I woke up at three in the morning, the fire dead and the cats clinging to me.

Really not funny story. A week later Barry was reelected. But it didn't seem like a big deal after the new baby arrived. 

I did Mr. Mom duty with the first two babies. But given the timing of the youngest's birth, she went into daycare after a few months. I took the summer of 2013 off so I could spent some time with her. Funny thing, I  don't remember it at all.

A year later I told Mrs. Stroock that we should just keep going. We're already surrounded by diapers and baby wipes, why not another? As a friend once remarked to me, you'll never regret it. Mrs. Stroock said no, which was fine. I didn't have to do anything after all. But I let it be known the next few years that I'd like another and if she changed her mind.  Oh well. We're both too old now of course. But three girls is a good number. Mrs. Stroock is one of three girls. So it was fate.