I was standing in the women’s aisle at the grocery store holding a pack of pads, trying to remember which kind Maya said worked best for her sisters.
A teenager and her mother stood ahead of me in line. The girl was red-faced with embarrassment. The mother leaned close, said something soft, and the girl smiled. I looked down at my basket and thought, Natalie should have been the one teaching our daughters this part.
My third daughter, June, had started her period that morning.
I was standing in the women’s aisle at the grocery store holding a pack of pads.
I had done this before with Maya and then with Ellie, so by now I knew the drill. Pads, chocolate, ibuprofen, something warm, something sweet, and an attitude like none of this was strange.
The cashier looked at the basket, then at me. “First time?” she asked.
“Third daughter,” I replied.
She held up a box of gummies. “These help with cramps. And maybe a heating pad?”
I added both without arguing.
By then I was used to the quiet ways strangers recognized my life.
Single father. Five kids. No wife in sight.
The math showed itself. But none of them knew the first real night, the one when Natalie said she would be gone 15 minutes and left me standing in the kitchen with a baby on my hip and four children asking when Mommy was coming back.
By then I was used to the quiet ways strangers recognized my life.
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