Two years ago I sat outside my OBGYN’s office. This was nothing new. I had four babies already at home that included a set of twins. Check ups, miscarriages, ultrasounds, and postpartum visits had all brought me to this waiting room. It carried a lot of emotion for me to sit on those vinyl slick but moderately decorated seats trying to divert your eyes from the others waiting in the room and wondering what they were waiting to be seen for. Had they lost a baby? Were they pregnant but not showing yet? Hows that new mama’s postpartum check up going to go? What about that older woman waiting - what goes on later in life here? It’s hard to imagine later in life when right now my head is so full of the present moment. The present decision to make this appointment with my OBGYN.
I had called her to set it up in order to removed my birth control. Yes, remove it. You didn’t hear incorrectly earlier - I did say I had four kids that included a set of twins all within 4 1/2 years before I turned 29. As I sat on that slick chair, the one closest to the biggest window, doubt and fear rose up in my chest. Why on earth was I here? Did I really want to have another baby? It was fairly certain that removing my birth control would most likely result in a baby as conceiving seemed to happen when my husband and I just gave each other a high five on the right day. I knew what removing the IUD meant. I knew what I was embarking on. But, I didn’t want to. I had already signed in that day for my appointment but I thought more than three times of getting up and just leaving, calling my husband and telling him I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t put myself through this again. I couldn’t willingly enter the potential darkness that loomed ahead no matter how much we thought someone was missing from our family.
We did think that. We had talked and prayed for two years about this decision but never ending on the same page. Finally in the last few months, we continued to say that we felt like someone was missing from our family and maybe we should just try one more time. I can easily be swayed by what others think I should do or am capable of and my desire and love for the children I have along with my husbands desire for more, tipped the scales over into favor of more. Could I really be the one that inhibits another child from joining our family? What if we wait another year and then really do want more? The age gap would be too big, id be too far removed from babyhood, id be older. Let’s just do it now. Get it over with, so to speak.
So, there I sat waiting for my name to be called. I should leave. I should just explain to my husband that I have learned enough about myself over the years to know this is not a good idea. The hormonal roller coaster, the darkness postpartum, the tumultuous relationship with my body as it changes, the immense needs at home. We would be starting over. By the time this baby would be born if I got pregnant today, my youngest would be 3 1/2 - out of diapers and on their way to preschool. My first chance at freedom in the last 8 years would be ushered in with nursing, diaper changes, complete exhaustion, and the hormonal black hole of postpartum. Seriously, why am I still sitting in this chair? Logically, I should be running for the hills. The odds are stacked against me. Three postpartum filled with depression and anxiety, two sets of twins leading to an increase of probability that this pregnancy would be twins, three past miscarriages and the heartache that could possibly come, the disappointment of my mother and her friends who thought a third pregnancy was nuts but realized I couldn’t help having twins making my child count to 4. But to willingly open myself up to the possibility of more - more chaos, more work, more exhaustion… why? Why are on earth am I still sitting here.
Fear. Fear that I would miss out on what God has for our family if I chose to close this door. I think of my other children and how sad I would be without them in my life. I think of how easily I have gotten pregnant, how healthy I have been in pregnancy, and what good births I have had. Fertility is a gift from God, I hear in my head.
Pride. Id hate to think that I couldn’t do what is expected or asked of me. I am happiest when I am useful. Here is the ultimate usefulness… carry, deliver and care for a tiny human. Create this big family full of love and happiness, that ensures everyone will have to work hard, no one will be spoiled, they will never be alone, and the burden of caring for my husband and I as we age will be divided. My husbands thinks I can do this. We have learned from my past experiences with postpartum depression on what to do. Take this medication, see this counselor, use this natural remedy, hire help if we need to, hire a doula, talk to the midwife, did I mention take that medication? I can overcome this. I can beat this nasty darkness in order to have what is good. I cant call him and declare defeat. I cant raise the white flag. He thinks I am strong, and capable, and useful. I can fulfill his expectations and mine as to the strong woman I am.
But, what about the part of me - that deep down honest core of me - that is screaming “run for the hills! Admit your weakness here. Admit the victory in carrying, birthing, and raising 4 children passed toddlerhood with depression, anxiety, grief of the sudden loss of my dad, and a huge move across down. Isn’t there victory there? Why do I need another victory? Run, Get up. Get in the car. Call Jeremiah once you are through the toll road and say “I just can’t do this.”
But, I don’t. I sit. I sit some more until I realize I am not getting up. I pull out my phone and write a letter to this potential unborn child on the notes app….
I felt like someone was missing from our family. Was it the loss of babies or the family members that have gone before me in this last year? I'm not sure. But laying in bed one night I told Jeremiah of this picture in my head. The brunette bundle of a baby girl who we would call Haddie, short for Hadassah. He beamed with joy. I teared up thinking of her face. I had thought before of her brown hair and sweet skin but put her image away. I thought I had lost her already. I remembered her again when my dad died and I thought he must be holding her tiny hands walking through a field of flowers. She may be one of the babies I'll meet one day in glory or she may be the one God has for us. I wanted to know.
But having more children? It's terrifying since I currently feel as if I'm failing the ones I have, am fighting exhaustion every day, and fear the darkness that usually looms postpartum. Why enter that? Why chance the fate of healthy children, a potential organized future life, and time to myself? Well, because the love I have for my children, even at my worst moment, is stronger than anything I've ever felt. And to think that there is someone out there still to love that fiercely is not something I could pass up.
Whoever you are, or maybe there is more than one of you, I love you so deeply already. Our life may not be perfectly smooth or without challenges but it will be wholly submerged in deep affection and constant love.
I walked in once my name was called, convinced my OBGYN I was not losing my mind, removed my IUD, and made an appointment for 8 weeks knowing I would be pregnant soon.
My emotional note to my unborn child carried me through the next three days, enough days to try to conceive. But, then, late one night, I came clean with my doubts, with my fears, with my certainty that if we weren’t pregnant this month, I told my husband, I wasn’t willing to try again. The fear of the life shattering news of a baby was trumping the fear of God or the fear of my husbands or my own expectations. My weakness felt tangible but I was ok with it. I had finally said it out loud and was actually proud of my assertion.
Two weeks went by and in that time, I buried my grandmother, didn’t tell a soul I have removed my IUD, and bought 5 pregnancy test from the dollar tree - they are actually the best ones for someone who takes multiple ones just to confirm what my body is already telling me. Pregnant. I was pregnant.
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