Maranatha (3) comes to me and says,
“I have to go to the doctor.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I’m fat.” she replies.
I’m wondering if I need to give a lecture about how God made each of us special and how “fat” can be a relative term, and so on, and so on. So, I stop what I am doing, turn to look at her and smile when I see what she is talking about.
She has something stuffed up her shirt and she really does look quite fat. Funny how they associate my pregnancies with going to the doctor.