*This was in my drafts folder. Written a few years ago. Don’t know why I didn’t post it then, but here it is now.

I think I’m ready to tell this story.

#2 son was a big surprise.  Conceiving a child was something my body did grudgingly, and once it happened, it spend the first few months of gestation angrily reminding me how much it opposed the course of action it was undertaking. Once we passed the first trimester, my body and I came to an understanding and we all got along quite well

So when there were two pink lines on the stick a mere 12 months after #1 son was born, I was beyond shocked.  And scared. (Because we had just moved 2000 miles away from our caretakers, and who was going to come over in the middle of the night to watch the kids while I was rushed to the hospital to get IV fluids?) Husband, as always, put on his Protector/Man pants and dove right into feathering a nest that I could collapse into for the next three months.  He is a remarkable homemaker.

It took years for me to emotionally and mentally adjust to life after carrying my third child.  I don’t feel like I will ever be quite right again, but I’ve achieved an equilibrium that we can all live with.

Having babies is hard.

Imagine my shock and dismay when I had the telltale urge to do it all over again when #2 son was barely two years old.

But it was more than an urge in the sense of “hey we should have another kid.”  It was more like angelic visitations showing me a small female child that was waiting for me to give birth to her.

It was freaky.

But also intensely special.

But mostly freaky.

Because everything had just fallen apart.  Everything. I just couldn’t do it.  And I yelled at God on a daily basis, disgusted and filled with wrath that He who knew exactly how horrible my life was and how completely imbalanced I had become would ask in His not-really-asking-but-commanding way for us to bring a child into this wreck of a life.

So I turned my back on it.

I halfheartedly half-jokingly mentioned it in passing to Husband who just got really angry and asked me why I would even consider such an inane concept because he couldn’t even foresee us ever being intimate again let alone bringing my level of child-induced psychosis back.

So that was a big no.

But it never really left.  You know how that goes… God gives you an idea, and a glimpse of the results of that idea and just leaves it there for you to do *something* with.  And it’s totally up to you.  And for those with mountains of faith, they trust in Him and His ability to lift and carry and support and move obstacles when necessary so that potential can be realized and that idea becomes a gleaming slice of identity and world-enhancing greatness.  But I just left it there.

Until last year.

The unforeseen became seen and the intangible hoped-for became reality and *we* were very much a happy married couple with all the baggage emptied.  So the little girl began visiting my periphery again. Only this time she visited him as well.  And we both thought it best that this angel be given a chance in our cockeyed family.  Plans were made, dreams were discussed, rooms were mentally rearranged and we got right down to the gorgeous work of making a baby.

Except we aren’t exactly youthful anymore.

And my body still was reluctant to make babies.

So it didn’t.  Just like that, our massive life-changing, faith-affirming, God-induced plans were set aside.  They kind of just… fizzled out.  There was talk of testing and procedures and whatnot but none of that felt realistic or even right so that was it.

No more babies.

I still wonder what that all was, who that baby needed to be and why we were a part of the whole thing.  I wonder if it was just an opportunity to test God’s faithfulness- to see Him working in our lives- to bring us all together.

I don’t love things that end in a *shrug* but I know our family is complete. And I can comfortably move into my dotage.


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