I heart my kids: those that are, were and are still to come!

For the most part, the cat's out of the bag. Most of you know I'm trying to get pregnant (should I say we? I kind of hate that because surely we know who does all the work). Have been. For 14 months. I kept it on the down-low for a long time, largely because I really didn't want to continuously answer the unavoidable query "knocked up yet?" and also because I sorta like to keep my ovulation schedule to myself, thank you.

Grace Abbie came along the very first month off of the pill. After being on it for 10 years (and no, for those of you doing the math, I was not gettin' jiggy with it at 17). To this day, I feel incredibly grateful that I didn't have to wonder for long if I'd ever be a mom. I can't imagine the cascade of emotion that one would feel. I always knew I wanted to be a mom... of course, early on, it may have been just because I wanted to be the boss for a change. No cookies for dinner? MY kids will have cookies for dinner!!! They wish. See? Implementing the no cookies for dinner policy, I guarantee myself grandkids.

Cora Jane (aka: Coco, Buggerdoo, Fussy Britches) came along the first month off of the pill, too. I really should have been more prepared for that. I was very surprised -- and oh so happy -- that it once again happened so quickly. G & C are 20 months apart (my sister and I are 16 months apart, which gave me a whole new appreciation for my mom, thanks again for enduring double poo duty).

Right around this time, I was feeling pretty confident about our procreation "abilities" and was surprised and kind of blue when it took six (covert) months to get pregnant, but was gleeful when it happened and told everyone immediately. Eight weeks into the pregnancy, I lost the baby. At my in-laws temporary house, to add insult to injury. It was devastating. Much more so that I would have thought. It's SO COMMON, you know? It is. In my previous life, I kind of thought, you know, oh well, you weren't even showing, probably didn't get attached, that's a shame, didn't even know the gender -- those kinds of things. But then it happens to YOU... and you realize -- it was a BABY. You lost a baby. Your baby. And it's devastating. Birth is also common, a common, everyday MIRACLE. It still blows my mind how intricately God designs us. How He plans us from the start and how every child He creates, even the ones that never make it to this world, are special and in His image. How incredible to be a part of that.

So the grieving remained... and literally the ONE TIME that month we "comforted" ourselves in the gettin' jiggy with it manner (that's what the kids are calling it these days, right?!), we begat Mary Violet. I know, how biblical. I cried. With an I don't want THIS baby, I want THAT baby ugly cry. And now, how clearly I see God's perfect plan and how incredibly grateful I am He gave her to us. But then, I grieved -- and with the combination of grief, fear of repeat grief and stupid comments people made about miscarriages, we waited to tell people. And when we did, we told them, I'M PREGNANT and IT'S A BOY!!! Because that's what they told us at 12 weeks ('they' being a woman named Mary who has been doing this for 15 years, was 95% sure and has never been wrong). When we found out at 20 weeks, that no, he's actually a she baby, we grieved some more and decided then and there that no way would we name this kid Mary. We didn't grieve because she was a girl, but because we bonded with a boy. Eight weeks of pregnancy hormones/planning is equivalent to 4 years, kind of like dog years. I still have a box in the garage with "Daddy's Little Slugger" type paraphernalia in it. Maybe someday we'll get to use it.

I have three beautiful, funny, healthy, wonderful and mildly coo-coo! girls. I am blessed beyond belief. I am already truly grateful for and crazy about my family. I've heard it said that if you look around your dinner table and someone's missing, then you know you're not done. Someone's missing at our table! And now my reproductive system has decided to go on strike. I'm so impatient to hold and adore the one that's missing. In no way do I compare the sadness I feel to women that yearn for their first baby, even a second baby... but still I hurt. For awhile now. But this month has been particularly hard. I'm not sure why, maybe my uncharacteristic (bwa ha ha) impatience is getting the better of me, maybe the fact that they're getting so big and my arms feel empty, maybe I just want an legit excuse to eat ice cream -- whatever the reason -- c'mon, God!! Pretty please?!

Whew. I feel better just writing all of that down. Now must hunt for chocolate (if I was pregnant, you wouldn't be judging me right now).