We were walking in Target last week.  Pause.  How grateful I am that we finally have a Target.  I mean, really.  It has been a glorious 18 months.

So, there we were, strolling in our happy place, and getting sucked into the Halloween costume aisles like every other chump.  As we made the turn down the main aisle and prepared to enter yet another row of superheroes, I saw a woman approaching us with her own stroller.  Her stroller of one.  We, on the other hand, had the mega Target cart, with the two older strapped in and baby riding shotgun in the basket.  She noticed the differences between us, too.  So much so that it caused her mouth to open “like a codfish” and her pace to slow to almost a complete stop.  When our worlds collided, she was standing next to the baby and counting three boy heads with her chin, repeatedly.

When she eventually saw me, she awoke from her glazed expression of shock and muttered the words: “Wow, you guys, whahh hahh…guhhhh…good for you guys.”

We quickly parted ways.

I may have given her a strange look in return.

K, a really mean look.

We’ve had a few strange encounters of this type, starting from the day the baby was born.  Nurses asking, “Is this your first?” my doctor saying, “did they tie your tubes after the c-section?” to visitors in the lobby joking, “do you keep trying for a girl?”

We are quite the “peculiar people.”  I can only imagine how my sister will feel in a few days when she gets to say that she is the mother of 6.  Good luck, Jana.  Ya freak.