I am crying.
The kind of cry that only increases as you try to stop it. The runny nose, gulping kind. The ’tissue pressed to the eyes to stop the flow’ kind. Dare I say it’s bordering on….
The ugly cry.
Thank goodness the crying is silent at the moment. Onlookers have not identified me as the emotionally unglued woman I am.
The tears came unexpectedly. And I am more than a little embarrassed. But not soooo embarrassed that I won’t share it with everyone on the world wide web.
Next to me sits my husband. The reason I’m here. In public. Crying.
In his defense, Matt isn’t any more aware that I am crying than he is that I just snapped a picture of his calm, collected self.
We have just checked into the urology office where my husband will, with the help of a 15 minute procedure, render us a biological family of six forever.
And I’m suddenly aware of the rapid passing of time. Yet again.
As we sit surrounded by much older couples, likely here for the husband to suffer through an uncomfortable exam, I wonder how quickly we will be one of those couples.
Let there be no misunderstanding. I don’t know that I could handle a fifth child. Ok, ok, it’s safe to say I could not handle a fifth child. Most days I can’t handle the four I am currently responsible for overseeing. But I know, I KNOW, that I don’t want to be at a point in time where my baby years are over. I don’t want to be hanging on to 37 by a tiny thread.
I want to be 22 again, blissfully unaware of the real trials of adult life and death and parenting woes.
But here we sit. Because we have been blessed with four healthy pregnancies. Thank you, God.
And because my last OB chart listed me as ‘advanced maternal age’. Stupid modern medicine.
And because Matt would likely flee the country if I told him we were, in his words, “resetting the clock” again.
The irony is that I just got a text from my sister. She is expecting her first child in a matter of days. They informed her yesterday that baby is breech. We were praying that a version would be successful….but apparently it was not.
She is heading to the OR for a c-section in a matter of hours.
At this very moment, while my family size has been capped, 800 miles away my precious baby sister slowly begins to build hers.
Life is funny. And sweet for certain.
And again with the ugly cry.
Can’t you just picture Simba being held up in front of the pride in The Lion King? Can you hear “The Circle of Life” playing?
Oh Lord, my mom was right. I AM dramatic.
Now that I’ve had several hours (48.5 to be exact…but who is counting?) in close confines with Matt and the kids post-procedure, I see it is a bit like having…..errrr….five kids.
Matt has been a trooper but five people making demands makes for a long two days. I need a drink. I need help. I need cartoons. Help me with the TV. I want dinner. I’d like some ice cream. I need Cheerios. I need more ice cream.
And those were all just from Matt.*
Perhaps I am fine with four kids after all.
As Matt becomes increasingly less comfortable with our decision as the pain meds wane, I am feeling a bit more at ease. I will not be mothering another biologic child. But take a look at this angel who makes me an aunt for the tenth time!
Welcome, sweet baby Gabriel.
Gabriel- God is my strength.
God’s perfect timing with Gabriel’s arrival has dampened and heightened my emotions all at once.
Let me not close before letting you know our decision was discussed and prayed over for a full year. While I am still a bit emotional, I know that God prepared my heart for this transition. Just as He must be preparing my sister and brother-in-law to deal with my constant, unsolicited parenting advice.
And month-long, surprise visits.
* No children or animals were harmed in the creation of this blog post. Just one adult male. Who gave me his approval/permission before I posted this. Matt’s recovery response has been slightly embellished for your reading pleasure. Truthfully, he handled it like a champ. A champ who currently walks a bit like John Wayne.*
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