The story (if it is a story...) continues:
After a dreary week spent on the couch reconciling myself to God's will (you never win trying to fight what God knows is best for you--I'm at least smart enough to know that), a miracle happened. And I mean a real, bonafide, honest-to-goodness, water-to-wine miracle. My dread (and that's what is was, pure and simple) turned to excitement. Yes, I was going to be the woman at the store with a bratty preschooler, a sassy toddler, and a screaming newborn--and I was thrilled! Talk about a mighty change of heart. Suddenly, I could see the good things about having all of your children close together. Plus, I did the math and realized how much younger I would be at the end of it all. This change in opinion was so sudden and so complete that it could not have come from myself alone--further proof that this was God talking.
As the compulsive planner that I am, I got to work. I cleaned out my closet of anything too skinny or not spit-up-proof, and, while I was in the closet reorganization business, I pulled out my maternity clothes. I also began being very careful not to buy any new clothes that I would not be able to wear well into pregnancy...which, admittedly, was not difficult since I sport a uniform of yoga pants and a hoodie. When I packed up Mary's baby things, I left the newborn items easily accessible. I continued to work out regularly (okay, semi-regularly) but without the same motivation--that baby fat was coming back and soon. I began steeling myself for yet another move/baby combination, and wondered if I would ever move without having a baby in the middle of it, or have a baby without moving in the middle of it. I started to see the David & Mary show as something temporary, fleeting. I mean, 2008 would be their only full year together, just the two of them. I began cherishing more my time with them, the three of us rolling around on the floor together. I cuddled Mary more, held her close, and wrote her long letters about how much I love her--she was soon to become the Forgotten Middle Child, right?
Greg and I began making decisions based on the fact that in a year we would have another child. We took this new baby into account when making small decisions, like purchasing a new car seat, and big ones, like where Greg should submit his staff job applications (with a baby on the way, living closer to family seemed more attractive). Greg called his brother Ben, who works for Toyota, to ask about family member discounts (aren't we lucky?!) since we were going to be in the market for a minivan. When news of a family reunion next summer surfaced, we tried to be as noncommittal as possible, since, by our calculations I'd be having a baby smack dab in the middle of it.
Soon enough (though not as soon as I had expected), it was time to open up the box of pregnancy tests. After I waited the mandatory two minutes, nothing happened. Nothing. It wasn't positive or negative. Disgusted, I tossed it in the trash. Hours later, that afternoon, on a whim, I pulled it out. It was positive! And I was happy! This was the first time I'd ever looked at a positive pregnancy test and felt happiness instead of fear. (With David, I was scared of the unknown. With Mary, I was scared of the known.) It was, well, fun to be excited about the pregnancy. I laughed out loud about how that positive pregnancy test had been sitting in the trash all day. I immediately wrote a quick happy note in my journal and left a short happy message on Greg's phone. That day I talked to both my mom and my sister-in-law Leslie, and it took every ounce of my self-control not to tell them, I was bursting with happiness. (Maybe all those women I'd talked to over the years who had been outrageously happy to find out they were pregnant hadn't been faking it after all?)
I knew I only had a few weeks of feeling well, so I got to work on Christmas early--finishing projects, shopping, wrapping, mailing. (Did you notice you got your Christmas cards before Christmas this year?) I knew I couldn't afford to procrastinate. Sure enough, I started to feel crummy. Tired. Nauseated. It seemed like it was starting earlier this time, and it was worse in the evenings rather than mornings. This was during the holidays, and I found myself in social situations where I couldn't eat any food, not even to be polite, for fear I'd wretch it back up right then and there. I'm not one to tell people right away about being pregnant: I cherish the time when it's an intimate secret shared only between my husband and me. Plus, I never know how to bring it up in conversation, so I tend to procrastinate sharing the news. But it's never too long before people know. So, soon enough, friends and family would know why I was dragging a little.
This is not the end, so hold off on your congratulations. I sense two (maybe 3?) more installments, depending on the level of chaos in our house this weekend. I will try to resist the temptation to post cute pictures of my kids instead of writing more, but I can't make any promises. (My kids are just too dang cute!) As for the moment, my kids will be waking up soon, and I have a shopping list to make.
