It seems, sometimes, that life comes down to luck. Some people seem to have it in spades. Some folks wax on about how hard work can overcome anything, and much of the time that sentiment has legs, but other times, it just seems that it comes down to luck. How else to explain how some women produce what seems like gallons of milk right after birth while others struggle and never produce as much as their children want.
I know I'm lucky. Almost ten years ago, I went through a winning streak that landed me tickets to a Lucy Kaplansky show at The Barns of WolfTrap, incredible seats to Beauty and the Beast at the Kennedy Center, and the week after that performance, I married Ed. Of course, thinking back on this same period, I now remember I also had the flu - during which I lost about 10 percent of my body weight - and my piece of crap Ford Escort finally rolled over and died, even though it didn't have that many miles on it. But two tranny replacements in 13 months? No, I don't think so. But in general, I think I'm a lucky person - and maybe that says more about my focus than my actual lot in life.
I've tried to instill in my kids the sense of randomness that comes with luck. I don't want them to ever feel too entitled to anything. I want them to relish the surprise that comes with life. Regularly, the kids find coins around the house and announce "it's my lucky day!", and I smile every time. Mostly, I want them to know that when someone isn't well off, it might just come down to the fact that they didn't happen to get lucky - nothing more, nothing less.
A few weekends ago, we headed off to go to a massive train show. I would post a photo, but my computer crashed, and I have yet to get the photos recovered. (But because I'm a lucky person, I'm pretty confident they will be recovered at some point.) On the way, we decided to stop at a nearby German bakery. Always, always, always, when we go to the bakery, the chef is there handing out goodies. In fact, Connor commented on the way "If they don't have cookies out today, I will simply ask for one." because if he doesn't prefer the cookie being handed out, they'll happily reach behind the counter and give him his choice.
But man, oh man, did we hit the jackpot. As it turns out, they were giving their twice annual bakery tours that day. While on the tour, we walked away with a loaf of bread, several cookies, fresh donuts, cupcakes that each of the children got to decorate, muffins, cookies freshly dipped in chocolate (milk and dark!) and probably more stuff that I'm just forgetting. Connor and Helen got to help make muffins and cookies, which impressed them greatly (and me too!). This was, indeed, a lucky day!
At 28 months, Helen seems finally to be weaning herself completely. We still nurse at night, but for the last few nights, she's nursed for about 10 minutes, announced that she was done, and moved on with the rest of our bedtime routine. Last night, it was probably closer to 5 minutes. It's been a great ride, and I'm so lucky to have been able to nurse her for so long, and end on such a high note. With Connor, breastfeeding was always a struggle, and I felt inadequate a million times over. We made it to month 19. At that point, I was sicker than I care to recall, pregnant with Helen, and it was obvious to me I just couldn't support three lives. And thus ended our nursing days. It was totally peaceful, to be sure, but not exactly the end I imagined. With Helen, everything was easy, easy, easy from start to finish.