Jude turned four last week. It was a fairly quiet celebration, sandwiched amongst the end of year necessities that seem part and parcel of life. It made me ruminate a bit on what life must feel like from his perspective, standing at the end of an admittedly longer line of siblings than is the norm.
Jude has never met Babita. He was only three months old when Mary Hannah left for midwifery school. He has seen siblings run in and out for co-op, music lessons, activities, events his whole life. He celebrated one sibling graduating from college, then watched him head off to college. He has gone with the flow, because truly, he has had no choice.
While he was napping in the Ergo, I was sewing patches on a teenager’s uniform. While he was plied with a cheese stick, we were driving am 18 year-old to the airport. While he was coloring in the corner, we were laboring through a group violin lesson.
Life in this family has gone on. The branches of this tree have spread far and wide, finding their own space in the sun, and blooming in the areas of their own giftings.
And Jude? Jude has been the biggest cheerleader of all.
It’s Jude who will rush to hug Simon every time he finishes a page in his primer. Jude who will insist that Mathaus be FaceTimed in to an event. Jude who leans forward farthest at every parade, hoping to spot Jack as he carries the flag.
I really can’t grasp what all of this feels like from his end; he is forever scooped up in the current and carried along in the stream of our family’s life. He doesn’t know any different, and so he expects it. But is it a good thing? My oldest children, after all, led quiet, home-based lives. Their naps were rarely interrupted by the need to run out, they didn’t have words like “infantry,” and “exam week,” in their vocabulary.
Is it o.k., being the baby of a large family?
Today, as Jude donned his Darth Vader costume and paraded through the living room, both Mary Hannah and Mathaus sang the tune to the Imperial March, making him break out in a huge grin. Later, he found Jack’s sunglasses, and when he put them on, his older brother brought out his hat and promptly crowned him, “Lt. Jude.” Birdie read What Do People Do All Day? to him, again. And John Mark tried one more time to teach him to play chess.
Then, as we cleaned up for the evening and began putting toys back on shelves, Jude stood on his tip toes to slide a wooden pirate ship back in place above his head. I started to help, but then heard this chant:
“Jude! Jude! Jude! Jude!”
My baby boy, the youngest of six sons, in last place among nine siblings total, set his jaw and stretched. He stretched as far as his 4 year-old body would allow, and when he finally gave one final push, the ship slide home.
And he beamed.
He beamed, and they all cheered.
I guess last place isn’t such a bad spot, after all.