Last Sunday morning, I was mourning because--for the first time in nearly 3.5 years--I was neither pregnant nor breastfeeding. I hadn't nursed the baby for four days, but she was miserable with the croup, and I was miserable with extra milk, so--that afternoon--I unbuttoned. I caved.
Saturday evening, I learned: I'm four weeks pregnant.
So--in a week's time--I've gone from mourning neither to celebrating both. Jim asked if I were planning to write a retraction to this post. So here it is: my retraction!
I'd been praying, hard, for one more baby before my 40th birthday in 2014.
For about a week, I'd heard the Lord speak plainly into my heart: Thank me for your baby.
In obedience, I'd whispered back thanks, but I hadn't understood; I'd already taken two tests and gotten negative results. I'd awakened Jim in the middle of the night, once, to tell him. I'd told Rachel, too.
Three days before I took the last test, Cade had asked if I were pregnant. I should've trusted his instincts, since he knew with the others. Such a funny little boy, but he spent nine years as my only. He studies my face...knows me better, sometimes, than I know myself.
Also, my grandmother had come through beautifully, and I've never managed to dream my grandparents clearly except when I'm pregnant.
Even so, I can't pretend I'm not surprised! We're so excited and ask that you keep us in your prayers. I feel fine, at the moment, but I was pretty sick in carrying each of my other children...especially Clementine, with whom I had gestational diabetes.
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