Every baby is a miracle, whether your first or your tenth

Yesterday, my sister and brother-in-law celebrated the bris of their first child. He was named Yehuda, ostensibly after a great-great uncle. But I know the truth. The name Yehuda encapsulated the thankfulness they wished to express for their first baby after almost six years of marriage.

The mohel called out, “Kvatter!” The baby’s two grandmothers clutched each other’s arms. Around the room, sisters, aunts, and friends closed their eyes and davened. As I rested my siddur on the shtender in front of me and whispered my own tefillos, I could not help but feel confused.

Several weeks before this bris I had called my own mother and mother-in-law to tell them my own good news, that we were expecting a baby. I would have loved a reaction that mirrored our excitement. Maybe not quite as dramatic as when we made our first announcement 13 years ago… that was a little over the top.

We had been married 15 months at the time, and from my mother-in-law’s reaction, you would have thought we were married 15 years. Or 25 from my mother’s, who broke down in tears at the news that she would be becoming a bubbe for the very first time. Sobbing, she repeated over and over how she’d been davening for us every single day, and baruch Hashem this moment had arrived. We didn’t really appreciate the theatrics, but this time around, the reactions definitely threw me for a loop. Some display of happiness would have been appropriate, I had thought. Instead, when I said, “Guess what? We have good news to give you!” one of them actually slipped, and blurted out, “Oh no!”

I didn’t make that up.

I won’t repeat what the other one said.

What changed? Why couldn’t anyone be happy for us? Well, my baby is 11 months old, and will be 17 months old when she becomes a big sister, iy”H. And the child on top of her is 19 months older than that. And then there’s the rest of the brood…. Seems that the novelty wears off, and somewhere along the way I turned into some kind of oddball.

My husband’s siblings were gracious enough. They politely wished us b’shaah tovah and waited until we were out of earshot before they reacted. My own siblings were less inhibited. One expressed shock, one heartfelt concern, one scorn, and the other just burst out laughing and told me to start looking into purchasing a school bus. The only one who was genuinely happy for me was my dear, dear baby sister, whose own journey toward motherhood was so difficult.

Before I left yesterday’s magnificent simchah, I went to wish my sister mazel tov once more. Her words will forever stay with me.

“You know,” she began, “one thing I learned from this experience is that people project. We see others’ situations through our own single-dimensioned vision. We’re pathetically unable to understand the magnitude of other peoples’ lives: the good, the bad, the challenges, the brachos. Remember that whatever people think about your situation has nothing to do with you. It’s about how they would see themselves, if they were in your position. The talk, the judgments… they’re just people dealing with their own feelings of not being able to handle what you and your husband manage so beautifully. I know your house. I know how you put so much hishtadlus into running it well, how much the two of you invest in your chinuch.”

She took a deep breath, and with tears in her eyes said the most magical words I’ve ever heard.

“You two are my heroes. And if you have a baby boy… well, name him Yehuda. Every baby is a miracle, whether your first or your tenth. The fact that Hashem blessed you with ten miracles is a greater reason to thank Him, not less. You’ll be winning the lottery for the tenth time. No one would dare mock that, would they?”

I walked out swaddled in the warmth of her words. Sometimes all it takes is for someone to point out what you already knew.

Let the gossip continue. I have work to do at home. Lots of it.

With gratitude.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 393)