I always wanted a big family. When I was 5, I stood looking into the bathroom mirror as I did my best to push my stomach out. “Look, I’m having a baby,” I told the grandmother who raised me. “One day,” she said. “I’m going to have five babies,” I said, stomach still pushed out.
I came from a large family. My grandmother was one of five children. Her mother lived 10 minutes away in the apartment below her youngest sister. My aunt lived next door. A cousin moved a street away. On my grandfather’s side, he was one of four. My foster mother had three children, and when my brother and I were with them it became five.
My earliest years were spent surrounded by family. Cousins, aunts, uncles, brothers, and sisters became the people I looked to for comfort and joy as I grew up. I suppose it wasn’t a stretch to imagine that I too would want a big family.
