The husband and I did the math last night as I was slowly
walking up the stairs. There will be almost four years between Jude and the
Sweet Pea. Four years since I have gone down this path. Four years since I have
nursed, done night feedings, recovered from the wounds of pregnancy. Four
years.
Truth be told, because it has been so long between
pregnancies, we kind of thought we were done. Let me explain. We were never
done being open to another child or children. We just thought that perhaps God’s
plan for our family had seen its fruition. That was a long time of being open
with no babies to show for it. Call it secondary infertility. Call it
exhaustion. Call it what you will. We were neither happy nor sad about it. While
we talked about wanting a large family before being married, we were more
committed to whatever size family God was leading us to have. Plus, having two
children not quite two years apart brings a new appreciation of what it might
realistically mean to have a large family. Either way, we have always remained
open to the will of God in the situation.
When we were
first married, the first baby was like another milestone we raced to cross, especially
since we married a little later in life. Both grandmas were slightly disappointed
there was no honeymoon baby, but I didn’t want to talk cycles with them at the
time. Truthfully I was still learning all that myself! Then after our first
came along, I distinctly remember a night sitting on her nursery floor rocking
her back to sleep when I heard very clearly the whisper of God tell me I would
have a son. So when the second pregnancy came along right after she turned one,
I already knew he would be a boy. Sure enough, he is three now.
Since then God has been kind of
quiet. No more middle of the night whispers. No aching in my heart for someone
else to complete our family. Every now and then, there would be a sense that we
should have another girl. Along with that sense came also the thought of
adoption - from China to be exact. That door never quite opened though. God’s
voice of recent had not been a clear whisper.
Now here we are expecting our
third, and while neither of us heard the booming voice of God, neither of us
were surprised. We both had a sense upon seeing that pregnancy test that this
was the plan all along. We would begin to dream about never having to buy
diapers again, and God would laugh and offer us a chance to try cloth one more
time.
Things are different this time
around. (Captain Obvious, am I!) I am forty, and while that isn’t knocking on death’s door, my body is
definitely different. I don’t remember being so constantly exhausted with the
first two pregnancies. (The husband might have a different memory, of course.)
I didn’t have any trepidation overall about childbirth. After experiencing
complications with my last delivery, now I am anxious about whether there will
be a repeat performance. While with my first I had a dream she was actually a
cat in a buggy stroller, this time my dreams more vividly reveal my fears of
miscarriage because as my support network has grown, so has the number of women
I know who have suffered the loss of a child. Enter in also a little guilt knowing the growing number
of women who are heartbroken that God has not answered their aching desire for
more children.
That’s the thing, though. Light
and shadow play together, always. The beautiful part of this pregnancy that was
missing for my last two is the large number of women who make up my village.
Some of them I know in person, and many of them are a name on a screen. That makes
little difference in the connections and friendships that have been formed with
my sisters in Christ, my sisters in motherhood. There are now more women I can
turn to without fear of judgment whenever I have these crazy dreams which may or may not involve
birthing a baby at 27 weeks that looked slightly like a cross between Simcha’s
youngest and a manatee with two bottom teeth. (This is NO reflection on your
children, Simcha – I promise!)
This baby will be prayed for in a
way that the other two did not ever experience (but reap now, of course). These
mamas I know will pray me through every fear, will lavish my family with God’s
immense and abundant love. I know, because they lavish ME with that love. I
have an army of faithful mamas at my side who all choose to parent differently, who have
birthed their babies at home and via c-sections like me, who have known grief
and felt great joy, who are breastfeeding champions and who mix a mean bottle
of formula, who stay at home and who work out of the home, all of whom love
their vocation and are struggling through just like me, desperately trying to
find joy in the ordinary to make our families’ lives extraordinary.
While the shadow side of this community includes
knowing more of the tragedies that continue to pierce a mother’s heart, there
is the overwhelming comfort of having beside me women who have walked the road
before me and continue to walk it with me. These women offer their joy, their
wisdom, their patience, their encouragement, their laughter, and their tough
love when it is needed. I have been able to share my crazy to the tune of, “What?
You too?,” in ways that befuddle my husband, because he only knows crazy
through my eyes. (Sorry dear, there is a whole cadre of crazy out there – you might
want to find their husbands and grab a beer.) I have more confidence that I can do this, over the hill or not.
There is something beautiful that happens when women drop
their facades and defenses. We become sisters. The mommy wars fade out to the
understanding that each mom faces her own battle, because there’s nothing the
devil wants more than for us to fail in our vocation. I know that it is his
voice that continues to feed my fears in an effort to place distance between my
heart and the joy of a new child. I know it is his voice that continues to
whisper to me all my failings as a wife and mother to keep me from embracing my
vocation with confidence. Sadly for that dastardly devil, I have more voices
around me now that continue to remind me of the One Voice that matters. The One
who tells me that I am never alone, that He will be with me until the end of
the age, that He has come to give me life in abundance, that with Him all
things are possible, the One who reminds me that His mercy is new every morning
– every. single. morning.
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I'd love to hear your thoughts! Rest assured I do read each and every word, but please forgive me if I don't get back to you right away. The toddler tugging on my leg and the one year old pulling my hair may have seized control of my typing abilities. Blessings on your day!