Tuesday, September 9, 2014

more on the 4th of july.

On the morning of the 4th of July, as I pushed Brooks in his stroller following behind Owen on his scooter on our way to our neighborhood July 4th parade, I received a phone call. It was my father-in-law calling during his drive to New York, with news that our family would be going to Mexico this fall. An adult-only vacation.

In March, I took a leap of faith and signed up for my second half marathon. That very same July day I was just a couple of weeks away from my "official" 12-week half marathon training schedule. Up until then, my girlfriend and I were meeting 2 mornings a week for an early morning run before work in addition to getting in my own weekend run with a core fitness class mixed into my week, as well. That groove is always hard to fall back into, but once I'm there it feels so good.

After a really crappy start to my year, these had given me a lot to look forward to - both therapeutic in their own ways for my soul. A quote I had come across years ago and continue to relate to sums it up well: "The cure for anything is salt water - sweat, tears, or the sea."

But that wasn't the only buzz from our Independence Day morn. As my husband was headed out for one of the busiest days of the summer at the country club pool, and me wrangling in the boys to head down for our neighborhood July 4th parade only 20 minutes prior to that phone call, I decided to do something to ease my wondering mind. I peed on a stick.

I didn't have to wait the full 2 minutes. That second pink line appeared instantly. 

So what comes next may appear like an open invitation to cast judgement, but here's another straight from the heart post on pregnancy.

A few weeks before that, I made a painfully awkward trip to the drugstore to pick up an emergency contraceptive pill. Plan B advertises a 95% effectiveness when taken within 24 hours, but despite my attempts for bonus percentage points in my favor by taking it within 12 hours I had fallen into that unlikely 5% category.

As you can imagine, the pregnancy test results came as quite a shock. My aspirations to finish my second half marathon this year had just been flushed down the toilet. And images of sitting at the beach with a margarita in hand were now a distant dream.

I spent the first couple of days laughing about it. At the unlikely odds that this had happened. At its untimely occurrence. And the self-declaration that I had made just 12 months prior as I was about to birth baby boy #2 that I would be perfectly content with two children, as pregnancy and I didn't play nicely together.

Then the next few days were spent crying. Out of disappointment for my upcoming "wasted" vacation sans the responsibilities of children. At my training that was now all for nothing. At the realization that we'd be paying for 3 children's childcare expenses. And mostly.. out of complete fear of enduring the painful first half of pregnancy.

In in that first week, we shared our news. With family, with close friends. The announcement wasn't one filled with joy. It was awkward, and it was transparent. We were still processing the information, but sharing with those closest to us seemed to play an integral part of how we processed.

The overflow of support and excitement (well, mostly) for our family was what kept me afloat. It's what kept me from crying.

My momma told me it was the best news she had heard in a long time. (And 2014 hadn't been a year of good news for her.)

My sister-in-law extended empathy and told me she was sorry, but followed up with complete excitement to have another niece or nephew.

My girlfriend laughed at me - with zero hesitation. And then told me that this baby was meant to be a part of our family.

Can I tell you how completely perfect and important each of these responses were? 

My mom had also told me a story of her sister learning of her fifth pregnancy and of her fear of telling their parents, who had a tendency to give strong, disapproving opinions on something that they didn't find to be a responsible decision. And instead of a response that could have easily been along the lines of financial irresonsibility, my grandma simply said, "Where there's room in the heart, there's room in the home." 

And that line stayed with me in the coming weeks.

The capability to love was never an issue. My heart began paving way for this babe from day one, and that made itself apparent in a big way only a day after our news. It was my realist brain that had some catching up to do. I'm a planner. From the little details to life's big events - and it's kind of an obsession. I didn't have this one penciled into my calendar, so it required a bit of recovery to bounce back from my sudden derail. But oh how my heart loved from early on.

Colby, Owen, and I talk about the upcoming addition to our family all the time. Brooks doesn't have a clue that his days of being the "baby" will be short-lived. We're excited. Like, really really excited. 

As for my half marathon.. there will be another day, another season for it. And our Mexico vacation? It will go on. With a plethora of mocktails. ;-) This baby girl is meant for us, and we all love her so much already. Welcome to my second trimester!

1 comment:

Sara said...

This is beautiful. God knows what he's doing... Even in the painful moments that could cause future regret. I love this story!