I am the 9th of 10 children in a big, Mormon family. My childhood consisted of rooms with two sets of bunk beds, recipes that needed quadrupling, lunches made assembly style, and lots and lots of love. There is a 14 year age gap between the youngest and oldest sibling which meant there were always 3 or 4 siblings attending the same school at one time. We grew up very close and when my parents divorced when I was 12, the 10 of us grew even closer. That’s why it breaks my heart a little more each time I miss out on witnessing the most important ceremony of their lives. 7 of my 9 siblings have been married in the temple so far and I haven’t witnessed a single one. I’ve missed 7 yeses, the equivalent of 7 “I do’s”, and I’ll never get that back. Initially, because of my age, and now because of my worthiness, I’ve been deemed the eternal babysitter. I wait outside with a baby on each hip, doing my best to wrench apart 3 fighting toddlers, trying my hardest not to think about what I’m missing.