A little background

I've always wanted a big family. I'm not sure what started that dream, or when, but I remember talking about it with My Beloved before we were even engaged. Five seemed like a good number to both of us.

I'm not sure what fed that number, or where it came from. Five.

Then I was pregnant a mere 15 months into our marriage. I was ready sooner. My Beloved could have waited longer. We decided after we'd been married a year to just let whatever happen... happen. All of a sudden the realities of even one baby came crashing into our lives. Pregnancy. Ugh. I was sick all. the. time. for 8 months. Then I got some time off (for good behavior?) and was sick again in labor. And let's just say that the other "discomforts" of pregnancy weren't winning anyone over in this household. I'm definitely not one of those glowing, easy pregnancy women. At all.

Then that sweet baby was born. With nursing and weight gain issues. Not to mention the month long recovery time for me after the birth. So far, we were 0 for 2 on the "pleasurable experience" scale as far as My Beloved was concerned. The rest of infancy??? 0 for 3.

I pumped from the time he was 3 months (he'd only gained a little more than a pound) until he was 6 months, living on a cycle of pump, wash pumping things, bottle feed, wash bottle things, pump again. It was all I could do... especially in the middle of the night.

My Beloved had all but decided there was no reason to ever do this again, when I was pregnant... again.

I was mostly through my first trimester when we found out, and I wasn't sick. That was encouraging. Until the first day of my second trimester when I began throwing up. For the entire second trimester.

Still... as much as I do not enjoy pregnancy, I was open to more if the Lord would allow (read: I wanted more.) I was actually disappointed when we learned via ultrasound that we were having a girl. Not because I didn't want a little girl to raise, but because I figured the chances of getting a third baby were better if I didn't have a little girl yet. Now I knew this would probably be my last baby.

Then she came, and it was so much easier the second time around. The birth part at least.

But I was right. My Beloved was done. No more pregnancy. No more babies. I didn't agree, so I hoped quietly. Isn't that terrible? Finally I saw the error of my ways (that summer I realized what submission was really about) and stopped hoping we'd have more children. I knew that I needed accountability in that too, so we joined some friends who were having a yard sale and sold all the baby things we weren't still using. Clothing. High chair. Toys. Everything. Then we donated what was left.

Then October came. There was a new life within me once again. But a week later, that life was gone. We grieved, but I came away from that determined to be more careful. My doctor recommended that I not become pregnant for at least three months so that my body could recover. I didn't tell her that it wouldn't be a problem, but I was thinking it.

Then it happened again. Pregnant. (Read these posts for some details on how I was feeling.)

My Beloved is a God trusting man, and though things weren't going according to his plan, he adapts pretty quickly to God's. I am constantly encouraged by his faith in this way!

My sweet Little Man came and with him a peace that God would do in our lives what he would do. And that I could submit to my husband's decisions, whatever they were. I would be content with the little ones God had provided already, and, if in His will, I would welcome more children however and whenever they would come. He is sovereign after all... why should I know what is right for our family?


Then came a test of faith...