When our first son was born, I was worried how the two rowdy beagles we had at the time would adjust. I actually spent real emotional energy thinking about this in the months before I delivered. I did research on introducing the baby to the dogs and I spent more minutes than I would like to admit thinking about how I could possibly have room in my heart for both the baby and the dogs. The dogs went on vacation with us, they slept with us, we had framed pictures of them around the house and on our computer screensavers. When other people told stories about what cute things their kids did, I threw in anecdotes about my beagles. Yes, I was that person. Needless to say, about 10 seconds in to holding Isaac for the first time, those dogs moved to a different corner of my heart. I still loved them but it wasn’t the same.

The night before our second son was born, I went in to his sweetly prepared nursery and cried my eyes out. I couldn’t imagine how I could love a baby as much as or more than I loved our firstborn. I couldn’t fathom how my heart would have room for this next child. I spent an incredible amount of my pregnancy with Joshua researching the addition of a sibling to the family dynamic. I read stories to Isaac in preparation for Joshua’s homecoming. I thought I was prepared, until the night before when it hit me that everything was about to change. I just broke down. Memories of my introduction to motherhood and how it felt to hold my first baby were flooding into my brain. How could a second child compare? How could I feel as attached to this baby as I did to the precious child sleeping in the next room over that taught me how to be a mother?

The very next evening, as Joshua came into this world and my heart did not split in half but instead grew exponentially, I understood.  When Isaac came to the hospital to meet his brother, he immediately began referring to him as “my Joshie.” Nothing could have been sweeter.

Here I am, 8 weeks or so from adding a third son to our family. You would think by now I would understand that worrying about how it is all going to work out is for not. Yet, that is just what I am doing. Once again, I cannot wrap my brain around having enough love for another child. I can’t picture him yet or feel his chubby hand in mine. I can’t see a clear picture of what it will be like to have three sons and love them all so intensely.  However, I know that it is going to happen. Sometime in the very near future, my heart will once again grow exponentially and make room for Elijah Harris. I am sure I will sit in that hospital room, staring into his eyes and wondering how our family would ever have been complete without him.

PS – read something today about having children that just blew me away, once again Amber nailed it. Go see for yourself.

On my commute, I glance at the clouds. They are lined up, with the sun behind them, looking like lighted rails. As though some cosmic train could come barreling down them, whistle blowing, at any moment. As this pregnancy enters it’s third and final stage, I find myself caught up in moments like this. Where all is still and calm and I am lost in thought. Other times, most of the time, I am doing the opposite of cloud gazing. I am the train, barreling down, whistle blowing. SWIM LESSONS! LUNCHES PACKED! DRY CLEANING! SCHOOL SUPPLIES! I SAID GO TO BED NOW-STOP ARGUING-EAT YOUR CARROTS!

Life as a mother and wife can eat you alive. There is always something to do, someone for whom to do it. Glimpses of clarity, the girl you once were – flip flops and pig tails – come out of nowhere and leave you stunned. How did I get here? I never thought the last words before my love and I fell asleep would be, “make sure you get the dry cleaning tomorrow” and “did you set the coffee machine for 6:15?” I don’t know when the transformation occurred, it seems like yesterday I was driving too fast in my Volkswagen, No Doubt blaring on the radio, with a Big Gulp of Diet Coke perched perilously between my legs as I reached to shift to 5th gear.

Now, I wear cardigans. I keep extra sweaters in my car in case the weather changes. I drive a car with three rows and I think to myself, I need to switch the clothes in the washer over to the dryer before I go to bed so that they don’t smell like mildew, while I am applying anti-aging moisturizer. My best days now are not filled with Big Gulps, rock bands and tanning beds. They are spent chasing my kids around a swing set, hearing Joshua say “I cozy you Mama” and grasping my husbands hand in church, turning our fingers over to see that after all these years it still feels the same.

Somewhere between 2 hours of pushing, midnight feedings and mortgages, I grew up. As we prepare to open our hearts and lives to another child, I will admit I am a little scared of loosing a bit more of the pig tailed girl who drives too fast. I am more scared however, of looking back twenty years from now and missing the 30 something woman who knew what it felt like to soothe a two year old Joshie in the middle of the night, walk a 5 year old Isaac to his first day of kindergarten and feel the subtle movement of a precious child in my swollen belly.

It is so easy to look back and say “what if” about our lives and experiences. I want to know that I am here, in this moment for a reason, for a season of time. While I am here, I will collect every memory of my young children and hold it tight for this too,  much like the transmission on that old Volkswagen, will eventually become a memory.

I promised there was more to the story and when it comes to babies…there always is.

Let me preface this by saying, I am very planned person. I like planning, I THRIVE on planning. This pregnancy was, *gasp*, unplanned. Yes, I know how getting pregnant happens (insert stupid question from male colleagues here). However, I have never gotten pregnant without some “trying” and much “planning.” The day I found out, Joshua’s 2nd birthday, I was in total shock. I had not been feeling well and I was really, uncharacteristically grumpy. I wondered what was going on and decided I should take a test just to be sure. When the two lines popped up immediately I just sat there, in amazement.

We had talked a lot about whether we were up for adding a third child to our family. We both love babies, however, by now we had begun to realize that we could “love babies” without having another one of our own. Neither of our hearts were settled on this subject and it was a source of constant discussion. We thought if we did have another we would wait until next year to even start trying, maybe. As it goes with most good stories, our plans were not to be. There I was on March 8, 2009 standing in the bathroom looking at a positive pregnancy test.

My history with pregnancy is storied and complex. I have now been pregnant 6 times with 2 positive outcomes thus far. I came to believe that pregnancy was not the same as “having a baby.” This is a reality that a lot of recurrent miscarriage sufferers experience.  A positive test is just that, a positive test. You don’t dare utter the words, “we are having a baby.” So was the case with the beginning of this pregnancy. I told Kevin about the test and watched his jaw drop in shock. I don’t think he spoke for quite some time. We both retreated into the space of our own minds to think about what this positive test might mean for our family.

As those of you with children know, there isn’t a whole lot of time for the self-indulgent action of “contemplative thought.” There are lunches to make, bikes to ride and shoes to tie. Period. So a few weeks went by and I was shockingly still pregnant. I met with the perinatologist to discuss when to start taking lovenox shots. For those of you who don’t know my history, I have a genetic mutation (referred to as MTHFR) that causes clotting issues in general but more specifically in the hyper-coagulative state of pregnancy. The good doctors I saw with my miscarriages (and before I had Joshua) thought this might be the cause of my miscarriages. They put me on twice a day Lovenox injections, baby aspirin and a kitchen sink full of folic acid/b6/b12 vitamins. Joshua was born healthy so their treatment plan was deemed successful. The Stanford doctor I saw with this pregnancy refuted the claim that MTHFR was causing my miscarriages (he did more tests) and explained to me that it was just a coincidence that my pregnancy with Joshua was successful.  He said women suffering multiple miscarriages were often being treated with this regimen but that it was “over doing it.” At first I didn’t believe him, I was determined to start the shots anyway. I spoke with my regular OBGYN and she said she would prescribe them as a “precaution.” We agreed that we would wait until there was an established heartbeat (via sonogram) and then start the treatment.

A week later we returned home from a day trip and I ran in the house to use the bathroom.  There it was. The blood I had been half expecting from the beginning. As much as I wasn’t sure I wanted a third child, I was completely sure I didn’t want to have a fourth miscarriage. I left the bathroom, told Kevin what I believed was happening and went to bed for the next 14 hours. The next day the bleeding had subsided. There was however some ominous cramping that I couldn’t shake and I was starting to understand how this was going to end. It has been a tough year around here and it only seemed fitting that this pregnancy would end this way.

The following day I had an ultrasound. Holding my breath in the dark room I was prepared for a what I saw, a gestational sac and a fetal pole but no heartbeat. I was almost 6 weeks along and it seemed as though there should be a heartbeat by now.  The doctor, not my regular one, said he was pretty sure this pregnancy wasn’t going to progress. In fact, he said he was 90% sure. I shook my head in agreement, this is what I have come to expect with early pregnancy. My heart hurt but the pain was familiar. He requested that I do HCG testing (tests the level of pregnancy hormone) that day and again on Wednesday, if the numbers went up he would do another ultrasound that Friday.

I left with my blood test order in hand, my heart in my throat. I made it to the car and then broke down crying. More than anything, I just didn’t want to go through this process again. My body doesn’t like to miscarry “naturally” and instead I end up having to have an outpatient proceedure (d&c) done that is both painful and heartbreaking. I went to the lab and got my bloodwork done and went home. I was in a constant discussion with God, begging for His mercy for this baby and conceeding that if it really was over that I just wanted to avoid a d&c.

Three days later, a different doctor called me back ( my doctor was on vacation) and told me that the numbers had, in fact, almost doubled. He wanted to do another ultrasound the next day. I was in shock, again. It was becoming a pattern with this pregnancy. My heart and mind had already settled on the fact that I was miscarrying. My expectations, confirmed by the “90% chance this pregnancy won’t progress” statement by a medical professional, were understandably concluded on the negative outcome. Once again I found myself in the dark ultrasound room, heart pounding and this time, eyes closed. The tech looked a me and said, “didn’t I see you Monday?” I nodded yes and she said “I don’t expect to see much more today, even if things are good, it has only been four days.” Nice, now I am thinking, “why am I here again?” At this point, I just wanted this all to be over. Time to move on, my heart whispered quietly. That is until I heard the words, “Well look at that, we have a heartbeat!”

Part 2 of this saga continues tomorrow….