That is, until we reached the checkout. Having a baby in our midst has its perks. People always feel the need to reach out and catch his attention, angling for a smile.
Today was no different. The bagger was immediately drawn to Pretty Boy and started asking me questions. "How old is he?"
"Eight months," I replied, with a smile.
"He's as big as my niece was at 3 years of age." I looked at him in shock as he proceeded to tell me about his niece who had been born weighing in a little over a pound, several months premature. "The doctors didn't expect her to live." "Yeah, she was a miracle baby. They put a sign over her crib." "The doctors said if she lived, she wouldn't live a normal life. But you know something, that little girl started school this year."
I started blinking rapidly, shocked to find myself fighting back tears. I was so happy for this family, happy to have met this man, happy that I was with a baby who prompted this man to share something of himself.
I made a point to look at this man's nametag: T.J. Then, as the checking out finished, I looked him in the eye. "Thank you. Please take care of yourself."
There is joy to be had. Thank you, T.J., for reminding me of the miracle of babies and of life and of living.