Amos Wesley - a birth story

"You are not hidden

There's never been a moment 

You were forgotten

You are not hopeless

Though you have been broken

I hear you whisper underneath your breath

I hear your SOS, your SOS

I will send out an army to find you

In the middle of the darkest night

It's true, I will rescue you

There is no distance

That cannot be covered 

Over and over

You're not defenseless

I'll be your shelter

I'll be your armor"

Overcome with emotion listening to this song on the radio one day (not for the first time, though striking me differently as I was several months pregnant, suffering in pain and fighting off exhaustion) I texted Stephen at a red light and said, "I want Lauren Daigle playing in the delivery room."

"You got it."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Partly due to Stephen's demanding schedule, partly due to my past quick labors and partly due to my unbelievable impatience, we set the date - I was going to be induced on November 23rd.

On Thursday evening, November 21st, I started experiencing some odd pains. They were primarily on my left side and they came on suddenly and sharp - shooting pains that caused baby to move, limbs jutting out of me as if frantically trying to escape, followed by a contraction and then cramping. There was no real rhyme or reason to them but no position and no amount of rest and water was making them go away. I fell asleep timing contractions that night, more confused by the pain than consumed by the thought of potential labor. Come Friday morning the pain was more persistent, though I had been able to sleep some. Every five minutes the pain would come, and a moment later a contraction would start. It seemed to last forever. It became hard to breathe and I couldn't take a deep inhale. I couldn't cough or sneeze and my stomach was extremely sensitive to the the touch.

When I went in to be monitored, I was dilated to a 2. Baby was fine and the contractions weren't consistent, but they couldn't explain the pain. We waited for an hour, expecting the pain medications to kick in, but they never did. Now, I was dilated to a 3. Our doctor assumed I was in early labor, contractions manifesting themselves in an unusual (and extra uncomfortable) way. I have had four babies now and this is the first time labor had ever brought me to tears. We had the option to hang around for another hour - if I came back dilated to a four or more, they'd keep me. As I wasn't 39 weeks until the next day, there wasn't anything else they could do. We decided to head home and wait it out - the pain medications had made me extra sleepy - though we all thought I'd be back by the end of the night.

I went home and slept for several hours. When I woke up, I was discouraged that nothing had changed. I wasn't feeling a whole lot better, but I wasn't feeling worse. Maybe baby wasn't ready yet, though Lord knows I was.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

The next morning, Saturday the 23rd, I woke up again surprised that "this thing" hadn't happened on it's own yet. I was in early labor yesterday - why did it stop? Was I really going to have to be induced after all?

Our induction was set for three pm, and we were told to call an hour before to make sure a room was still available. Our morning was long. I hate the waiting game.

We got everything ready, played with the kids, and met Nana and Papa for lunch at our little executive airport while watching the planes take off. When we got home and got Judah down for a nap, I heard Stephen call the hospital from the living room. It was a short conversation, and ended with "Ok, great. We'll see you soon." I peeked out of the bedroom the same time he stuck his head into the hallway... It was time!

I'll never forget the look on his face, or the feeling in my gut. Joy, terror, excitement, anxiety, fear, worry, happy, sad... How is it possible to feel so many emotions at once? And the amount of times you experience it doesn't alter the shock. Still, four kids in, the moment you know everything is about to change is still just as crazy as the first.

We made it to the hospital not too long after the phone call. We left Judah sleeping and Uriah and Ezra with my parents - "See you tomorrow!"

We made it to our room, with our busy and bustling nurse, around 3:30. For the first time in my pregnancies, I wasn't Strep B positive, so we weren't going to have to wait for the antibiotics to kick in. Everyone was in agreement, though: this baby was going to come fast, so our nurse worked to get everything ready to go before any steps were taken to officially start the induction.

Our doctor was the same from the previous day and I was happy she already knew our story and what I had been through. She checked and I was dilated to a 4, surprisingly little progress for what I had been feeling for almost 48 hours. We wanted to see if we could get things going on our own before starting Pitocin. Though the drug has worked well for me in the past, I was decently far along, having contractions, and we assumed as soon as we "got the ball rolling" he would come quickly, so I opted to try and jump start the process naturally, thinking we wouldn't need the extra push of medication.

After a quick exam, it was decided he was sunny-side up, which was deemed the excuse for some of the pain I had been experiencing, but also meant labor could be lengthened and more difficult. I was a little worried about him being ok, its ok to be born sunny-side up, right? And honestly, a lot worried about the pain, how much more can it hurt? We tried all sorts of positions on the bed and laps around the halls to get him to roll over and move down. I was having contractions all the while, but wasn't making any progress in dilation or descending.

Eventually, we started the Pitocin drip around 5:15.

From here on out, the timing and facts become a bit muddled. Not just because I'm writing this six months after the fact, but because nothing seemed to go according to plan (does it ever?) and no one was paying attention to the clock or writing things down.

I don't remember when I was checked, I think I was at a five, maybe a six, I remember being surprised and disappointed, and I also remember them telling me not to worry, I was making progress, and by comparison to others, though maybe not my previous labors, I was making progress and at a quick rate. But we were nearing the six o'clock hour and all our assumptions of another seven o'clock hour birth were starting to fade.

The epidural went in with much less drama than my most previous one, a happy change. And sometime after, around eight, they broke my water.

The contractions were starting to get more intense, and I was thankful for the epidural, though something wasn't quite right. As the pain started to intensify, there was one spot on my right side that didn't soften the blow like I felt elsewhere. It was as if the full force of the contraction was being concentrated to that one quarter size circle on my stomach and I couldn't think of anything except removing that pain.

Any position I felt comfortable in didn't last for long - my nurse, now a new and less busy one whom I grew to appreciate immensely, was always moving me around. Slowly, more and more people flooded the room. What is going on? The anesthesiologist came back in and attempted to fix my pain. I didn't like her at first but she seemed much softer now - she kept her hand on my shoulder and her eyes on the screens, tracking something with maternal worry. I was getting so confused. The pain was subsiding, but something wasn't right. No one was saying it but I could tell. It got harder to breathe and I got really hot. I felt an oxygen mask on my face and remember searching for Stephen with my eyes and feeble voice, hold me. He was there, his hand on mine, gripping the bedside along with me, his arm stuck through the nurses surrounding the bed and bustling about. I saw his face before he saw mine - he was watching the screens. He looked both like the doctor he is and the daddy he wanted to become. He looked scared. But when he found my eyes his expression changed and I knew he was fighting off anxiety to try and keep me calm. My nurse stroked my hair and wiped my tears.

"His heart rate is dropping, we can't seem to keep him happy for long."
"Let's try a new position."
"How far along is she?"
"I haven't checked in awhile, I'm afraid checking will cause more distress."
"He's not descending."
"We're going to back off the Pitocin."

"I hear you whisper underneath your breath

I hear your SOS, your SOS

I will send out an army to find you 

In the middle of the darkest night

It's true, I will rescue you"

Despite everyone's best efforts to remain calm, this wasn't going well and I knew it. And I was powerless to do anything about it. We couldn't keep his heart rate up for long and I was growing tired. My thoughts were muddled. Time was standing still yet escaped me completely. I was scared. I had so many questions but just didn't know where to begin, nor did I want to say them out loud - voicing them would make them real. Why is this happening? God, are you here? Is he ok? Is something really wrong? Am I going to be ok? God, where are you?

"I will never stop marching to reach you

In the middle of the hardest fight

It's true, I will rescue you"

All at once it was time to push.

I remember feeling excited. Ready. I remember thinking he must be fine now, everything must be fine. I wasn't being wheeled off to an emergency room, they were letting me push. He must have descended safely, finally. Right? I remember Stephen's face - anxious, excited, but worried and firm. He wasn't happy, not yet. I remember feeling like it was going really well - I knew what I was doing and was aware of the process my body was taking me through. I have always enjoyed the euphoria of labor. I remember there were more nurses than I requested, and everyone was still watching the screens. My eyes closed. I remember the attending yelling at me. The room was full of women and it felt like such an empowering moment - she was urging me on in solidarity and excitement. Stephen's grip got tighter. It was such a mixed bag of emotions. My thoughts and feelings didn't seem to match those on the faces around me or the palpable fear in the room. God, please. 

"I hear the whisper underneath your breath

I hear you whisper, you have nothing left"

And there he was. 

"I will send out an army to find you

In the middle of the darkest night

It's true, I will rescue you

I will never stop marching to reach you

In the middle of the hardest fight 

It's true, I will rescue you"

Waiting for that first cry was torture. Time stood still. I felt Stephen holding his breath along with our son.
And then it came. And with it, the relief.

"Oh, I will rescue you"

Once he cried, he didn't stop, and I have never loved a sound more. He was here. He was safe. He did it. I did it. We did it. I held him, convinced nothing could ever make me let him go. I smiled and laughed at his consistent cry, in delirious disbelief at the evening we had experienced. What had even happened?

But he was here. He was safe.

Born at 10:49 pm, well past our assumptions, he weighed 7 pounds, 9 ounces and was 18.75 inches long. He was perfect.

Our questions were eventually answered. The extreme pain I had been feeling the 48 hours leading up to his delivery was in fact early labor. The contractions were causing such intense and abnormal pain both because of my umbilical hernia and diastasis recti, and because of his sunny-side up position.
My contractions weren't dilating me past a 4, though, because they weren't strong enough to help him descend. They possibly never would have been on their own.
Amos was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around his ankles two times. It took the aid of Pitocin to, essentially, force him out.
Born bungee jumping.
Trying to descend against the taught umbilical cord was causing his heart rate to drop. Dramatically. The consistent beeping of the machines was letting us know his heart rate was in the 60s.
This was simultaneously causing my body stress, and though I don't remember it and wasn't aware in the moment, it appeared as if my life was just as much in the balance as Amos'.
My doctor was yelling at me, not from a place of excited empowerment but from desperation.
She was yelling as she was pulling.
Stephen's face was white and determined during the short three contractions it took for Amos to be born for good reason:
He was anticipating an emergency c-section.
He was contemplating the possibility of Amos not making it.
He was praying.

Amos means strong and brave, to be carried by God, and he lived up to those words that evening as we prepared to meet him face to face. I needed to be those things, too, for him.

But he was here. He was safe. That's all I knew.

We nursed. We snuggled. I sighed - oh the relief. We laughed. We baffled. It all just felt so. good. He was here. He was safe.

I didn't require any after care, so it seemed we were left alone to gaze in wonder rather quickly after his arrival. Those first 24 hours are magical, full of exhausted joy. My mom, who had been with us to take pictures, left us to be together. We slept. We smiled. My nurse who had combed back my hair and wiped my tears and offered her sweet and calming words was with us through the night and I was so grateful for her aid. While recovering from labor and beginning to breastfeed is far from glamorous, I remember that first night with rose colored glasses and it just feels so blissful.

He was here. He was safe. Thank you, God.

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...

about the last nine months...

My baby is now four weeks old and I am writing my second pregnancy blog post... Something's not right here. 

I very quickly got very behind on this blog, but wanted these memories preserved to look back on, as I've loved doing with my other pregnancies. 

Weeks 13-22 were my sweet spot with this pregnancy. I was over the sickness, over the bleeding but still not in pain. I was tired, but I was pregnant with three kids so that didn't change the entire pregnancy ;) Around that 23rd week mark, though, the pain started. First in my sciatic, and then in my pelvis. All typical and normal pregnancy pains, but ones I wasn't expecting to feel so early on. I remember dealing with SPD symptoms with Judah, but not until about week 32 - I couldn't imagine dealing with these symptoms for 17 weeks...?! 

The pain slowly got worse, week by week. It hurt to sit for too long, stand for too long. It hurt to get dressed, get out of the car, move in bed, sit down, stand up, carry heavy loads, push a cart or stroller, walk, climb stairs... everything I did caused pain - sharp shooting pains. It was debilitating. I often started and ended my day in tears. Some days were better than others, and eventually I learned what I could and could not do and became better at managing and expecting it, but the pain was still there, always. 

I remember saying to Stephen on more than one occasion, that this babe had to be our last because I couldn't physically do it again. Knowing that each pregnancy has been harder on my body, I couldn't imagine what another one would be like. I was miserable most of the time and felt incapable of making it to the end of the pregnancy (let alone the end of the day!) While we had been saying from the beginning "fourth and final", I didn't like my body making that choice for me - I wanted to make that decision because it felt right, complete, not because my body physically wasn't up to the challenge (and at 29...what a joke!) 

Around week 32 it finally eased up. Well, maybe it didn't ease up, but it stopped progressing and I had gotten used to it at that point, so things became much more manageable. Praise God! 

Not that time ever speeds for me while I'm pregnant, but hitting that 32 week mark and finally feeling some relief from the pain was like slamming on the brakes. I didn't have the pain to focus on, just the days on the calendar to count down. Our friends at church started to have their babies (I was the fifth and last one due in the lineup) and seeing them welcome their new little ones made me all the more excited for my own and envious that they were already at the finish line. 

Around 36 weeks I experienced a day of odd fetal movement. I say odd because he was still moving, but everything about it felt different. He was moving slower and less and with no other way to describe it, it just felt different. I let it go on for a day and a half before I finally gave in to Stephen's suggestions to call and/or go in. After 20 minutes on the monitor we knew all was well - his heart rate was normal and there was nothing consistent to my contractions. Before they let me go they did a standard ultrasound to check fluid levels and during, they discovered mine were low - the culprit to his movements feeling different. This lead to a week and a half of more monitoring, as I had to have three good fluid level readings before they would deem all was well and let me stop coming in. And, all was well. In the end, though my fluid levels were on the verge of low, I think the problem with getting a good reading on the ultrasound was from my long umbilical cord - every time they thought they found a good pocket of fluid to measure, it ended up being covered by the cord and they couldn't see anything else. By that time I had reached 37 weeks and there was no harm in him being born too early, so I continued to pay attention to his movements, but started to trust that he was in fact healthy and would let me know when he was ready to come :) 

Overall, this pregnancy was physically my hardest, and I don't think I'll soon forget it. The end result is worth it, 100 times over, but the last nine months definitely took their toll. Positive things I'll always remember from my fourth (and final?!) pregnancy though, are first and foremost his crazy movements. Like, crazy! I've never had a baby in utero move so much or so wildly! Always showing off on my left side, and always from 6-7am and 9-10pm - he liked waking up and going to bed with me ;) I'll never forget Judah calling him "baby Amy", patting my boob asking "baby?" (thinking I was having triplets?!) or pulling up his own shirt to show me his baby. Watching the big kids grow in excitement as my belly did was also a favorite part of this pregnancy. Having two older kids who understood what was going on was a lot of fun! Knowing this pregnancy was going to be my last made it exceptionally bitter sweet. I wanted so badly for it to be perfect, all of it - go out on a high note, I guess. I wanted to cherish it and relish it and experience the true wonder and beauty of it all, because maybe I wouldn't be doing it again... It was hard to do so while in so much pain, and I felt sad that I wasn't enjoying it as much as I wanted to. I also felt guilty for complaining so much about a pregnancy I know others would give anything for... Lots of mixed emotions to say the least, but even if I didn't enjoy every moment of it, I was more aware of the gift I was being given. Knowing this was the last time I got to do this didn't make it easy, but it made is sweet, and I'm just so thankful.  

our fourth and final

I knew I was pregnant even when the test said negative. I couldn't wrap my head around it - it was our first go at it, after all - and was hesitant to get my hopes up, but I was cramping and bloated and light headed and well, I just knew. 

I think regardless of how much or little planning goes into a pregnancy, there is a certain amount of shock and awe at finding out. And feeling pregnant didn't take away from that - I was still so surprised to see a plus sign on that stick! 

I wish I would have sat down to write this sooner, as I love looking back at pregnancy posts from my others and the details are already starting to fade. But for my future self, I wanted to record what I can remember from these first 20 weeks (I'm already 20 weeks!?) 

- - - - - - - - - -

With Ezra, I found out I was pregnant at 3 weeks along and was sick exactly 7 days later. The boys, however, have blessed me with an extra week of keeping food down, so it wasn't until I was 5 weeks along that I started to reap the side effects of pregnancy. 

For a solid two weeks I didn't eat anything but small bites of buttered toast and Saltine crackers. I forced the big kids into two hour quiet times while Judah napped and every day and by 1:00 I was asleep in bed. The rest of the day I was on the couch ;) 

Things slowly started to improve when I hit 7 weeks and I think by 10 we were doing school again in the mornings and were back to our normal social schedule, though I was still in bed while Judah napped. This pregnancy has been easier than my others in terms of sickness, but my energy has been much lower in comparison. Which could be explained by the three extra kids I'm feeding and teaching and cleaning up after and entertaining and following around... ;) 

Now, at that half way point looking back at the start of this pregnancy, I feel as though I've got rose colored glasses it. I don't remember it being that bad...? But I also remember thinking I could never do this again. I remember crying, a lot, and falling asleep on the floor and not knowing how I would make it past bedtime. I remember my stomach cramping so hard I couldn't get out of the fetal position and I remember pulling maternity leggings out of their storage box at 6 weeks because my stomach was too sensitive to be touched by a regular waistband. I think the rose colored glasses come from knowing this is our last pregnancy. 

We started debating whether or not we'd have more kids a few weeks into my pregnancy with Judah. Three was our nonnegotiable. Four was a question mark. It felt extremely risky and scary getting my IUD removed, still unconvinced the day of the appointment that we should have another. But sometimes God answers prayers in a round about way, and we took His lack of intervention as the ok to go ahead. We prayed and prayed over this baby and while God never shouted "YES!" back at us, He never once said "no", either. And now that we're here, it feels so right. And it feels final. (I mean, never say never, but we're calling this baby our grand finale!) So while the side effects of pregnancy have always been present and often times debilitating for me, it's bitter sweet knowing this will be the last time I go through this. As horrible as it can be in the first trimester (and again in the third) I know first hand what this miracle brings and the joys to come. I know that all these lasts we are about to experience with this new baby will be extra hard on my mama heart, but all the more sweet and beautiful because of it. 

- - - - - - - - - 

After my first ultrasound at 9 weeks, we finally told the kids! We kept them up late so Stephen could be there, so while their reactions were sleepy ones, they were excited and sweet ones! Judah, obviously, has no idea what's going on and said "no" to anything regarding baby for the first 14 weeks or so. Uriah immediately started asking questions and connecting the dots ("Is that why you've been so sick?!" Is that why you can't jump on the trampoline?!") while Ezra just stared at the ultrasound, smiling, a bit embarrassed by the attention. I was happy to finally be able to share it with them and get them used to the idea and to be able to talk about it out loud! 

- - - - - - - - - -

The first trimester didn't pass by without it's worries and glitches, though, as they seem to get "bigger" and more frequent the more pregnancies I have. I spotted several times before 11 weeks and knowing it's common and often inconsequential didn't do anything to still my fears and worries. I texted my nurse friends more than once looking for peace of mind, trying to see if I was "waiting out the storm" or "waiting for the other shoe to fall." The night before I turned 12 weeks was the worst of them all and will, I'm sure, forever be sealed into my memory. I went to the bathroom before bed and was met with a bloody surprise. It was everywhere. I couldn't stand up without it dripping all over the floor and I just kept wiping clot after clot. My clothes were stained, the toilet was a mess and I was in shock. I sat there in my blood, Stephen holding on to me, both of us sobbing. We assumed the worst. Surely, it was too much blood not to be. I didn't sleep a wink that night and discovered in the morning that my bleeding had slowed to spotting. I had an ultrasound scheduled for Monday anyway, so we decided to wait out the rest of the weekend. Stephen was working and it was just easier than trying to find last minute child care while I waited in L&D for hours. 

Obviously this story ends well, as come Monday morning his sweet little heartbeat was the first thing we saw on our ultrasound (well, the second thing we saw!) It was such a relief, to say the least. It washed over me like a wave and I cried through the whole ultrasound. I don't know why I ever expected subsequent pregnancies to be any less special, been there, done that, I guess, but honestly, it just keeps getting better. Every appointment, every ultrasound... it's also so much more magical having experienced it before. 

- - - - - - - - - -

That 12 week ultrasound was also when we found out he is... a he! We planned on finding out the gender after I miserably waited until birth with Judah and didn't care for the experience one bit! Ha! But we never expected to find out so early (Stephen ruled out the 9 week blood test when we found out it wasn't covered by insurance and would cost us an arm and a leg!) When she put the probe on my belly to find the baby, I saw what I thought might possibly be a penis... But she moved so quickly I figured surely I was wrong. I didn't see his reaction, but Stephen shot up his finger at the quick glance to mimic a penis, automatically thinking boy as well! After we saw the heartbeat, the tech asked if we wanted to know the gender, meaning she already knew it herself, too! She circled back to that first bum shot and sure enough...! 

Stephen picked up a batch of blue balloons on his way home from work that night and I had the kids waiting out in the front yard for him, the boys in their matching blue jammies and Ezra in her pink version. It took them awhile to figure it out but neither of them were complaining! Uriah wanted another boy to "play Legos with" and Ezra, while she initially had wanted a baby sister, had decided that being the only girl would be better ;) And with their age gap being the closest, I was happy for Judah to have a little buddy in a little brother. 

I'm not going to lie, I went into that ultrasound sorta hoping for a girl! I came to realize later that it wasn't that I wanted another girl, necessarily, it was the realization that Ezra is no longer a little girl. She's getting big and older and I can't go back and experience any of her squishy cuteness again. (And for some reason 3 boys and 1 girl seems like more kids than 2 boys and 2 girls... Why is that?!)

- - - - - - - - - -

The following 8 weeks have passed by much easier than those first 12. I am still tired, but generally feeling pretty well. I am simultaneously somewhat miserable at the fact that I'm only 20 weeks and pleasantly surprised that I'm already 20 weeks. Oh time... Now I am busying myself with writing shopping lists and to-do lists, trying to get my house and heart ready for this sweet babe. I can't believe we get to have another sweet little babe... Praise the Lord, our God is good!

positive

March 19, 2019

I had told Stephen I would take a test on March 16th. I could be exactly three weeks pregnant, and while it would be early, it was the equivalent to when I tested positive with both Ezra and Judah - exactly three weeks.

While I had experienced a few early pregnancy symptoms that week, there wasn't anything too consistent or extreme that pointed directly at pregnancy. I had gotten lightheaded a few more times than normal (like I did with Ezra in the first few weeks), maybe I had been peeing more frequently (like I had with Uriah) and I was certainly bloated and cramping (but maybe I was just due to start my period soon). Despite the fact that I tried to convince myself I wasn't pregnant, I just felt like I was. And I was sorta in disbelief about it! There was just no way it would happen so quickly! I had gotten my IUD taken out on February 7th and it had taken me two weeks to get a period back, so this would have been our first shot. Surely, even despite my past fertile history, even despite the fact that I felt pregnant, surely it would take at least two months...

Stephen told me I could pee on as many sticks as I wanted (is anyone else addicted to this?!) as long as he was there. I found out I was pregnant with all three kiddos while Stephen was gone at work and about five minutes after I told him about Judah he made me promise that he could be there for the next one! So, convinced I was pregnant, but also aware it might be too early, I peed on a stick the morning of March 16th. I wasn't supposed to look at it first, but I could tell it was negative even without my glasses on. I passed it to Stephen and sure enough, negative.

I texted him after he left for work and said, "I still think I'm pregnant".

- - - - - - - - - -

I patiently waited through Sunday and Monday before deciding to test again. It was now two days before my expected period (roughly - I hadn't even had a full cycle since getting my birth control removed, I had no idea how long my cycles would be!) Stephen said to me first thing on Tuesday morning, "Pee on a stick!" I tried convincing him I wasn't pregnant. I claimed I was 100% sure of it. There was no way it would really happen at our first try! I think I was so scared I was wrong and that it would be negative, I didn't want to even take the test. I didn't want to deal with the disappointment. Even though I really wanted to take the test...!

I turned it upside down while I got myself cleaned up, because I promised Stephen we could look at it together, but I have no self control, so I took a peek at it as I handed it to Stephen on the bed and said, "Told you, it's negative" It certainly looked like it! He took it and looked at it quietly for a second before saying, "No it's not. It's positive! There's a faint line there! It's positive!" I snatched it out of his hand and tried my turn at staring at it - maybe. But no. "That's negative" We passed it back and forth, Stephen convinced there was a faint line, me trying not to get my hopes up. On my second turn with the stick I held it to the light and just started to nervous giggle. "Are you serious?!" I believe my next words were swear words as I threw it on the bed and starting crying, covering my face and burying it into Stephen. "Are you sure?!" We kept staring at that faint vertical line getting darker and darker. "Oh my gosh! We're going to have four kids!" We were both laughing through watery eyes. "Is this really happening?!"

We sat there in our bed for the next 20 minutes laughing, crying, staring at the stick and each other... Even though I felt pregnant, I just couldn't believe it. Honestly, I'm typing this 3 days later and I still can't believe it!

Four kids. Four kids! FOUR kids! Are we crazy?! Maybe. But oh we are so happy and excited!

Baby Wall, you have been talked about for years! And now you're on your way! I just can't believe it... Our baby! You have been prayed for and prayed over. You are wanted and you are loved!

To read the story of how we found out about Uriah, click here. For Ezra, click here. And for Judah, click here. 

becoming big

I spent my entire pregnancy trying to picture the next stage of our lives - having three kids, moving for fellowship... due to our lack of knowing Judah's gender and the (still!) waiting game of matching for fellowship, I couldn't get very far with my imagination ;) From the very beginning, though, I could picture introducing Uriah to his new little sibling. He wanted a brother and had been guessing 'boy' from day one (and was even more set in his opinion when he saw Judah on ultrasound - he clearly had a "boy's hand") but said to me once, as he thoughtfully watched Ezra play across the room with loving eyes, "I think I would also like to have another little sister." So I knew, either way, this kid was going to fall just as in love as we planned to and I just couldn't wait...!

Older now than he was when Ezra was born he understood what was happening so much better. I knew he would transition well, offer me so much grace and be the biggest helper. He was able to express his excitement (and concerns! - "What if Ezra hits the baby?!" "How long until the baby can crawl and it starts wrecking all my things?") and as my due date became closer he would squeal with joy and tear up at the knowledge that he'd get to meet the baby soon. He was so ready to be a "big, big brother!" And I couldn't wait to make him one! 

Ezra, I knew, didn't quite know what was coming. She understood better than Uriah had when I was pregnant with her, but still... I knew there would be more of a transition period with her and while I was thrilled to be making her a big sister, I wasn't sure what it was going to look like. She's our baby girl and it was bound to rock her world a little bit. She expressed excitement all throughout my pregnancy and was guessing 'boy' by the end of it, but did she really know what was coming...? I figured her immediate reaction would mirror Uriah's and I was hoping it was her sweet and gentle side that came out and not her Iron Man/Ninja Turtle side... Not yet, at least ;) 

We had Facetimed the kids on Thursday night after Judah was born to tell them they had a brother ("I was right!" - They were both so excited!) and they came to the hospital with Nana and Papa to meet him the following morning, Uriah with a card for Judah - a picture of a castle/house with him, Ezra and Judah standing outside and the words, "I love you Judah" written across the top. I mean, come on...! It is currently hanging by his bedside, per his big brother's request. 

Uriah was equally worried about my bracelets and Band-Aids as he was excited to meet his baby brother - he's got the sweetest heart. He was quiet and calm and so tender and sweet. It melted my heart right into a puddle on the floor - I couldn't look at them without tearing up! Ezra was also very quiet, and true to my assumption, mirroring Uriah's reaction and excitement. They took several turns holding him and examining all his little features, Uriah so serious the whole time, always stopping to look up at me with his "I love you" eyes (as we call it!). Even though he seemed so reserved, you could tell he was happy! Ezra, though possibly a little confused by it all, proudly kept telling us, "I'm a big sister and a little sister!" Three weeks later and she's still proudly telling anyone who asks!
We traded him back and forth for awhile, answering all of Uriah's never ending questions, and I got in several snuggles with my bigs before I needed a nap and Stephen had to head to work. Uriah was hoping we'd be able to join Friday Pizza Movie Night, as it would be Judah's first one (!!) and neither of them liked saying goodbye to Judah or I.

I was so tired that day, I don't think it truly hit me until the kids woke up with us home on Saturday morning that I have three babies... We're a family of five... Oh and it gives me all the feels to think about it...!
And even though it's been three weeks now, it still surprises me to walk into a room with three little people in it. It takes us an hour to get ready to leave the house and we are habitually 30 minutes late every where we go, but man does it feel good to have Judah here and to be doing this life with this crew. Though we are still working out the kinks and maybe all doing a little big of adjusting still, the kids' love for their baby brother has not faded. And oh how mine has grown...!