prologue

The persimmon tree is now bending under the weight of it's fruit.
So am I.
It's almost time.

Three was always our nonnegotiable. Maybe four, probably not five, definitely not just two. From the beginning, we both knew we wanted at least three children. I felt a strong, unexplainable, innate desire to, Lord willing, carry and birth at least three children. I am one of two, my husband one of three.
I guess we decided to round up.

Making the decision to have those said three children was easy. They were wanted and prayed for. Expected. Roughly two years between them each, they seemed to appear like clockwork, just as planned.

But we had always said "at least", which leaves room for more.

I am seven months pregnant, bending under the weight and pressure of this growing belly, just as our persimmon tree is starting to droop, almost ready for harvest.
I am watching it out my window.
She looks tired.
So am I.

Judah, our white blonde third, is our ellipsis. If we're being honest, I had to look up the technical name for it, but an ellipsis is the three dots at the end of a sentence. Not a period, because that would be the end of that. But not a comma or a semi colon, either. That would imply that more is coming, and in a timely manner. But those three dots...

I use them all the time in my writing. Sometimes I use them to let my thought linger, imply hope and intrigue, like a small cliff hanger. But sometimes I just let my thought drift off, starting again on something new the next day.

Is there more coming? Or is that the end? Will the thought continue? Or will a new thought or chapter begin?

Almost as soon as I got pregnant with Judah I started to ask my husband (my poor, poor husband) "is this it?" "Are we going to be done?" "Do you want one more?" "Two more?!" "Is this the last time I'll do this?" "Are his firsts, my lasts?" Dot, dot, dot...

The fruit is mostly still green, but when the sun hits it just right you can see tinges of orange.
She's almost ready.
So am I.

You wouldn't know it by the closest age gap, but this baby was talked about, debated and questioned more than any of the others. Even our first - at age 22, married less than one year, at the beginning of my husband's medical school years (and the beginning of our medical school debt) - was an easy decision. We weren't so flippant as to just say "sure why not?!" and throw out the pills that very day, but there wasn't much contemplation all the same.

We prayed and prayed and prayed some more. I begged God for a sign. "Are we complete?" "Should we have one more?"

He was as silent as our persimmon tree is now, not the slightest breeze to ruffle her leaves.
She looks firm.
So am I.

We decided God's silence was no more a screaming yes than a blaring no. Surely, if this wasn't right He would stop us. (Twelve weeks into this pregnancy, covered in my own blood, weeping on the bathroom floor, I thought He was stopping us. But that's a different story for a different day.)

I screamed out loud after I got off the phone with my OB, making the appointment to get my IUD removed. And then, naturally, called my best friends to scream some more.

The day of the appointment I was still questioning our decision. Wanting another baby while simultaneously thinking we were pushing our luck and stretching our limits.
Four babies is a lot of babies.

But we had always said "at least".

If Judah was our ellipsis, we were handing the pen to God and anxiously waiting to see what happened next.

A spider web, delicately strung between two branches, glistens in the sun.
A squirrel scampers down her trunk, a mocking bird perches on her arm.
She looks like a safe home.
So am I.

One month later, I peed on a stick.
Pregnant.
Looks like our story continues...