Waving goodbye to the sailing ship . . .

I see so many families these days having more than the standard 2 kids. I come from a family of three, my husband a family of two boys. I always envisioned myself being the mother of three, but it didn’t quite work out like that. I had three pregnancies, the first ending in miscarriage at 9 weeks. It took us almost two years to conceive. Two months after that miscarriage, we became pregnant again, and that bean stuck. She’s now four going on five.

I can’t really recall how we arrived on two as our magic number. We somehow determined when I became pregnant with our second child that this was it for us. Whether we had a boy or girl, we were done. Finances did play a role, but a minimal one. I think the biggest factor was fear of being overrun or outnumbered, as silly as it sounds. My husband likes to put it in football terms: man to man coverage is always more effective than zone defense. I suppose one can rationalize it any way they see fit.

I am very content with the two beautiful, healthy, brilliant and funny children we have. I had a tubal ligation during our son’s c-section delivery, so the decision was finalized at that point. Still, I found myself asking my husband if he had any regrets about not going for a third. Without blinking an eyelash, he said “NO” and then went on to list his various reasons why—like being able to get a full night’s sleep at least five to six nights out of the week.

It occurred to me today while watching an episode of “Bringing Home Baby” that the whole pregnancy and childbirth journey is now behind me. That ship has sailed. All those days and weeks and hours spent reading every pregnancy and baby book, website; agonizing over which carseat, which stroller, which diaper pail--every little decision seemed to be SO important and SO critical. I spent countless hours poring over product reviews on Amazon.com. Spent HOURS researching breastfeeding and postpartum depression. It’s all done. All of it. Done. Realizing this was unsettling, as if I were supposed to turn in my uterus and ovaries, being that they were no longer needed. It made me really sad, and I started to get all weepy.

Just at that moment, in walks in Katie, followed shortly by her shadow, Mr. Jonathan. I looked at my two silly little munchkins and had an epiphany: for every moment of their babyhood that I mourn for, there are so many wonderful moments laying ahead in their childhood and adolescence waiting to be had. Ok, maybe not so much the adolescence—I know that’s a stretch (trying to be warm and fuzzy here, ok?)

I thank God every single day for all my blessings, especially the two little miracles that are my children. Each of them has their own special place in my heart. Collectively, they own me -- heart and soul.

When Katie was born, I realized that it was time to take all the baggage of my past out, work through it all, deal with it, and move on. I knew I had to be better because she deserved the best mother I could be, and I didn’t feel I could fulfill that role adequately unless I finally faced those demons, was brutally honest with myself and everyone, and finally dealt with the remaining personal symptoms of my mother’s murder (the symptoms I speak of were the 100 pounds I gained and the serious health issues developed as a result).

Jonathan is special because I believe in my heart that he is God’s way of telling me that He is in control, that He has a plan for me and that I need not fret over the unknown because everything is as it should be. I learned a valuable lesson about cherishing life as it is RIGHT NOW instead of trying to make it be something you think it should be. It’s so beautiful, because he is such an in-the-moment kiddo, so funny and carefree. He loves to make people laugh. His personality, I believe, is a reflection of that life lesson he was sent here to earth to teach me.