The Village

We've all heard it...even before we were parents...how it takes a village to raise a child. If I had more sleep, and frankly, more time, I would research it's origin. But alas, it really doesn't matter...if a lady behind me in line at Target had said it to me, I would have had the same reaction. Pre-Ava: "Yes, I am sure it does." Post-Ava: "I know, right!? I have no idea what I would do without the village. I mean, seriously, the village is legit. I thought it was a joke, but it is so true!" (To the point that I am sure the fictitious lady in line at Target would relocate to another line.)

The village. My village. Ava's village. Mine and Ava's village. It is huge. No. It is ginormous. And every so often, I do a mental, "Oh yeah...that person is so in our village."

With every village gathering - weekly, monthly or on special occasions - be it 4, 6, 16 or 23, I am reminded of the importance of every member of the village. From the mere showing up and being truly present, to the washing of bottles; from the offerings to hold my sweet girl crying or smiling, to the emails at 5am filled with encouraging words; from the clipping of her nails to the numerous texts filled with humor and support; from the advice on teething to shared tears at the daunting acts of raising a child, I am reminded. Our village rocks. Other villages are looking at our village in groupie awe. No opening acts here, only rock stars.

So the next time the fictitious lady behind me in line at Target says, "It takes a village to raise a child," (or more realistically, the next time I read it as a marketing tagline somewhere) I will simply smile and say, "Yes...yes it does."

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