"You're welcome," Alexis said. Her tone was that of someone who had been waiting for weeks to say "I told you so" and was finally in a position to yell it loud and proud.
I stood on the other side of the car, precariously balancing a giggly Mila and several bags. It's amazing how many things it takes to leave the house with a baby. The diaper bag, the purse ... all of the things. It's even more amazing that somehow moms magically grow enough limbs to carry it all at just the right time.
Given that the gloating 8 year-old was doing absolutely nothing to assist with the balancing act I had going on, I asked, "What?"
"I said 'You're welcome,'" Alexis repeated proudly.
"For what?" I asked as I bobbled a pacifier.
"You're welcome for Mila," Alexis slowly and deliberately explained. She spoke to me as if I was an elderly woman suffering from dementia and might forget my own first name at any moment.
"What do you mean 'You're welcome for Mila,'" I asked. I was more confused than ever.
Alexis replied, "I wished really, really hard for a baby brother or sister and now she's here. You're welcome."
Well then.
