I’m overwhelmed at the grace of God.  There are a few things that I have always been passionate about.  One of those things is children.  I’ve been wanting to adopt ever since I knew the option existed.  I’ve also wanted to have a large family.  With this in mind, I was very frustrated when I realized after my second pregnancy that I would never be able to deliver naturally under the current medical system. 

After my 3^rd c-section my husband and I mutually agreed that we didn’t want to go through another painful recovery.  So we agreed that if we didn’t conceive #4 by my 30^th birthday he would undergo permanent birth control, and we would consider adoption.  After my birthday we set up the date for his surgery. 

I prepared myself emotionally for the prospect of only having three children.  I followed the same mental-emotional track as I had followed when we thought we were destined to only have one.  I started making plans for when the children were older.  Plans for a future career, or perhaps further education.  I thoroughly enjoyed the prospect of potty-training for the last time.  Of watching my baby girl grow up slowly, savoring her childhood since it would be the last.  There are no guarantees about adoption and although I still pray for it, I’m not so naïve as to let Hannah grow up constantly pining for another one who may never come.

I think I crossed the line a bit when we were visiting family this Christmas and I was exulting about the fact that I was done with changing diapers and getting up for 2:00 feedings.  My 3 brothers were all expecting this year, and I came across perhaps a bit too “older and wiser” than necessary. 

I thought I would feel some remorse about the surgery, some sort of depression about the loss of ability to create another life.  But, every time I thought about it, I would envision my last recovery.  Weeks of incision pain, the trauma of surgery.  I knew that I wanted more children, but I didn’t want to undergo that kind of pain again.  Besides, I kept reminding myself that there are so many beautiful children in the world with no loving parents.  God could certainly use us to show His love to one or two of them. 

The only thing I was truly disappointed about was this little muse I had when I was a teenager.  I knew that it would never come true.  I wanted to be the first to find out that I was pregnant.  Then I wanted to plan some elaborate way of telling my hubby that he was going to be a papa again.  I could do it with our first because he was in the room when the Dr gave us the news.  With the second I didn’t believe it could happen and he insisted I take the test.  He was standing over me and was the first to see the result.  With the third he insisted on being present and although I took the test of my own volition he was in the room and knew immediately.  Now I would never get the chance to surprise him with the coy, flirty “honey, I have something to tell you,” that I had mapped out in my brain so many years ago. 

My husband’s appointment  went well.  It was this past Saturday, only 2 days ago.  He was in and out in 15 minutes.  We joked about how funny it would be if I found out I was pregnant now.  We mused over the possibility of conceiving during the first week “post-snip”.  I was already late, but with my cycle being the ever changing length that I’ve become accustom to, and the number of times I’ve felt pregnant only to start my cycle the day after an expensive test is ruined I really didn’t consider the possibility.  After all, we went an entire two years + without birth control and nothing happened.  It was obvious I was not meant to conceive a 4^th time. 

And yet, there was something nagging at the back of my mind.  I’ve been on a diet for over a year now and I’ve never had a weight gain that I couldn’t explain.  My lack of self control was the cause of every pound.  And yet, just a week ago at my weigh-in I had jumped 5 lbs.  My consultant asked me if I was expecting my period.  I told her yes (I had been expecting it for a while now).  She was satisfied with the answer but I was not.  The next morning I woke up with the thought, “I can’t be pregnant.  If I was I would feel sick right now.”  Then the next morning I had dropped down another 2 lbs.  I was getting back on the wagon, still not sure what I had done the week before.  Then, the night after the surgery I started to feel sick.  Really truly sick.  Not just hungry, ravenous.  Deep down I knew it had to be more than PMS. 

I have this magnet on my fridge.  I bought it because it describes my life so perfectly.  It says, “We plan, God laughs.”  You’ll never guess how many lines were on the test I took Monday morning.