The Whys

We can't have kids. You all know that, or at least you do now. It's no big deal. It is what it is. It is who we are. We see it as a broken leg or not making the basketball team; not the end of the world, and nothing that can't be fixed or helped. It stinks but we don't try to hide it. In fact we've even become unbelievably good at sharing our situation with people in really awkward ways. (Sorry Lines, we knew it was awkward the second it came out, but by that point there was no turning back. Thanks for still being our friends). That being said, I have a bad habit of asking why about everything. Not even because it will change my point of view, but sometimes just because I'm curious.

For example; why are there 365 days in a year? Why not an even 350 or 400? Not that it matters, but I figure there's got to be a reason and I might as well know what it is. The same goes for us not being able to produce offspring. I've thought, probably way too much, about the whys. I've come up with a few fairly decent answers. We all know that if we were capable of spawning, I would have dropped out of college long ago. Now there's a pretty good reason why Heavenly Father might be postponing this little adventure. Or maybe it's because our batch of little Smith people is coming all at once and they're just not ready yet.

There are a kagillian possible reasons why we can't have babies, but just yesterday I came up with what could possibly be one more reason why. I was walking from our little pool house into what we affectionately refer to as "the big house" (my in-laws' home) and C said "Hey Ash, catch" as he tossed a football my way. It was a good throw, nice spiral, good speed, but a touch over my head. So I quickly stepped backward to try and snatch (grab, snatch, YES!) the ball, and I fell into a hole in the yard which had a large, ragged-edge pipe inside.

And yep, I sliced my foot wide open. It hurt. But there were little people around so I acted tough. I made my way onto the porch, blood trailing behind me, and popped a squat. Just then the littlest of the children around came up to me and said "Why weren't you wearing shoes?"

And there, my lovely readers, is answer #548 why we can't have kiddos. Because if a mom can't even remember to put on her shoes to play outside, how is she going to teach her children to put on their shoes to play outside?! I suppose I have a lot to learn between now and then. In the mean time, enjoy some photos of my blood trail... I'll spare you the shots of my foot. You're welcome.

The blasted pipe:

The blood trail in reverse: