I wrote this post exactly one year ago today. It was my raw and unfiltered feelings on not getting pregnant exactly when we planned. I never posted it then because I didn't want to make it public knowledge that we were trying for a fourth. (Some people frown upon our decision to have kids while Joe is still in school and I am staying home...weird ;-). But now I am ready to share. So here it is.
[Spolier Alert: third time wasn't the charm. It would take three more months. Three of the longest, most emotional months of my adult life thus far. ]
February 13, 2014
I took the test this morning. Hoping for a positive result but bracing myself for a negative one. I really wanted to take the test because I just had to know. Wondering if I was pregnant was becoming an all consuming thought. I could not focus on anything else. At the same time I didn't want to take the test because I didn't want to know if it was negative. Which it was. Again. Just like last month. Within seconds I saw one line. More accurately I saw the lack of a second line. And it was like a gut punch. But as life would have it, I didn't have time to dwell on it because my six year old was pounding at the bathroom door. He needed the bathroom NOW! My three year old was calling out for more cereal. And then in the next breath announcing she had had an accident. And the one year old was crying in her crib. Announcing she was up for the day and wanting to join everyone.
And that's the thing. I am so blessed. I have three beautiful, healthy children. Each one makes my life so full. Full of love. Full of fun. Full of crazy and chaos. Full of tears, laughter and joy. So very full. My days feel filled to the brim. So much so that (sometimes) I wonder if there really is room for one more in this family. And yet I want one more. I ache for one more. I can't explain it. But something deep in my heart tells me our family isn't quite complete yet. One more and we will be really filled to the brim. Our family will be complete. Call me crazy. But when I look at the back of my (incredibly messy!) minivan, all I see is that empty fourth seat just waiting to be filled. And when I snap pictures of my children I can almost picture that fourth baby. There is room for one more. And there most definitely is enough love, fun, crazy, chaos, tears, laughter and joy for one more.
|One of these girls pooped in the tub while I was trying to write this and process my feelings. She shall remain nameless but she does look quite proud of herself...|
And then there is this nagging feeling that I want to know ahead of time that my last baby is my last baby. Which I realize is kind of bizarre and most definitely not always in our control (as evidenced by my negative test this morning). But I am a baby person. Meaning I REALLY love babies. I love brand new squawky newborns. Sleep deprivation, round the clock feedings, dirty diapers and all. I love rolly-polly not yet mobile, gummy tooth grinning babies. I love the learning to crawl and play and eat "real" food babies. Basically I love every baby stage. And so selfishly, I want one more baby. I want to start a pregnancy knowing this is my last so I can soak it all in. Treasure it. I want to enjoy every little kick and flip and hiccup. [Maybe the morning sickness and aching varicose veins won't be so awful knowing its my last time?! A girl can dream.] I even want to experience one more childbirth. All the excitement. The fear. The pain. The joy. The whole thing.
And truthfully, these days I look at Hannah and I am sad. Because she is no longer a baby. She is a toddler. She runs and plays. She is spunky and so funny! She is a virtual ball of energy that keeps me running all day long. She is hilarious and exasperating all at once. And I do really love the toddler stage. The becoming of a child. A little person. I am in awe of the person she is becoming. But I often wonder, was she my last baby? Did I already experience my last without realizing it? Did it pass me by without noticing? Without soaking it in. Without commemorating it in some way.
Are my baby growing and raising days behind me already? Please no. I just want one more. The last one. Our last baby. The one that will make our family complete. And yet the test does not lie. Negative. Not pregnant. No bun in the oven. No newest little Valentine to celebrate. Maybe this is our complete. Maybe. But I hope not.
Lastly, I am well aware of the fact that two months of trying to conceive and not conceiving is well within the norm. But it's not my normal. So it feels HUGE and scary. And sad. I have always said "There are two things Joe and I excel at...going to school and making babies." As evidenced by the 4 (nearly 5) undergraduate and graduate degrees between the two of us as well as 3 babies (only one of which was "planned") during our decade of marriage. So yes, these two months have rocked my world. And not in the way I expected.
But hey, maybe the third time is the charm?!
I am hoping so.
Updated to add:
Morning sickness was just as terrible this time. Maybe worse...just knowing I had prayed for this last pregnancy made it seem so cruel. But it was worth it. It always is! Because LOOK...this year we have our newest little Valentine to love on...
And isn't he the cutest newborn ever?! Um yes. Yes he is...says his completely unbiased mother.
|the fourth carseat...all filled up!|
I am so thankful for him. I'm even thankful for those extra months of dreaming and praying for him. It has made me just that much more grateful to have him here in my arms. My kissable Valentine!