I’m an only child. Sometimes I hate it. Sometimes I love it. But I always knew that when it came time for me to have my own family, it was going to be big. And then, practicality set in. Morning sickness was hard. Post-partum depression was even harder. Preschool tuition is sobering, and let’s not even talk about college.
So, I’m not talking “Michelle-Duggar-big,” maybe not even “Walton-family-big.” But, as it turns out, our soon to be family of 5 is going to be plenty big enough.
Friends have asked me how I knew we weren’t done after we had Milo. When I was pregnant and random people would ask if we knew the gender, the common response was, “Isn’t that great? Now you can be DONE!?” I’m still baffled by the Leave-It-to-Beaver mentality. It’s been an incredible experience to have one of each. But it would have been just as awesome to have two girls, or two boys, and that’s exactly what I tell people.
But after Milo came, something in me knew- even in the throes of PPD- that there was room for one more. I had initially sworn off pregnancy, cursing the all-day morning sickness and fatigue. I gave away almost all of my maternity clothes. I consigned most of the baby gear. It’s no secret that I turn into a ghost of a mother and wife when I’m sleep deprived. Most of my memories from when Ella and Milo were newborns are an exhausted and sometimes-medicated blur. And yet, I found myself wondering what if. What if we had one more? What if Milo could be a big brother? What if Ella got to be the BIG, big sister? What if we decided that, even though we had finally gotten our groove as a family of four, we were willing to sacrifice it and start all over again, for the sake of creating this legacy.
I knew we weren’t done because of those what-if’s. Because they were too many and too frequent. Because I believed that if we were “done,” I would have felt it in the very core of my being- the way my friends spoke when they knew their family was complete.
After months and months of hoping and crashing and hoping again and over-analyzing and praying and finally, wondering if maybe we were meant to have just our Bug and Bean, we decided to take a break and re-evaluate things in 2014. Not quite a month later, on Ella’s birthday, I found myself shocked to be staring at a blaringly positive pregnancy test. I was speechless.
Of course, I knew Jake wouldn’t believe it until I bought the test that says “PREGNANT.” Men. So I went out and bought a test, just for him. There ya go, honey.
I thought I couldn’t be any more excited, but then it came time to tell Ella. For nearly a year, she had been asking when there was going to be another baby. Some days, I didn’t know how to answer that question. I fought the urge to spill the beans to her the same day I got the positive test- on her birthday- to tell her that she must have been my good luck charm. My lucky 13 girl. But I wanted to be sure that everything was okay with our little bub and get an ultrasound first. Also, I later discovered that telling a 4 year old you’re pregnant can guarantee that EVERYONE will know faster than if you posted it on facebook. Family, friends, the drive-thru lady at Wendy’s, the neighbor up the street walking her dog, the entire preschool staff, the man at the dry-cleaners, the nurse at the pediatrician’s office. It turned out to be a good thing that we waited to tell her.
Some days, when the morning {allfreakingday} sickness is bad or I’m overwhelmed wondering about all the logistics as a family of 5, I like to go back and look at this video. It’s easy for me to have tunnel vision, to see only one week at a time, one trimester at a time, to fret about the sleep deprivation and medical bills that I know are lurking right around the corner. But then I see this. That my big girl has already made room in her heart for the newest member of our family. This is the bigger story. This is our legacy-in-the-making. Sometimes, I like to think it’s about me. But it’s not at all.
Once again, I’m so glad I have a four year-old to teach me the important things in life. 🙂
The Bug, the Bean {&the Bump} 