I’m so blissed out right now.
Thank the Lord, postpartum weepies haven’t hit (yet?) so I’m still Mary, treasuring these things in my heart, with just a tiny bit of brain fog and emotionally raw word vomit.
I keep thinking about when my children first came to visit their brother in the hospital.
It was beautiful. My oldest couldn’t stop smiling and saying, “I love him so much! He’s so soft! Henrik is my sweet brother!”
And my daughter, well, she proved my theory that she’ll be a daddy’s girl through the newborn transition. Which is fine, as long as she still knows Mama hasn’t replaced her and still has time for her too. I’ll do my best to make that so.
The trouble came before that when nurses asked how old my other children were.
I found myself being extremely apologetic when talking about my children’s spacing. For the record, it’s 19 months between my first and second, and 15 months between my second and third. And with the doctors all pushing birth control, tubal ligation, vasectomy, and advocating waiting 18 months before getting pregnant again, I found myself embarrassed by how close my kids are in age.
Finally one of the nurses just said, “You don’t have to apologise for your kids!” And that’s been running in my mind ever since. She’s right. I don’t!
The truth is, I didn’t plan any of them! I would have loved to experience extra romantic weekends spent trying for a baby. But it didn’t work out that way for us. And you know what?
I’m not apologizing any more.
My kids are great. And they’re annoying, and loud, and really little, and some how perpetually sticky. And, they’re mine. And I love them! Moreover, I like them as little individual people.
So people can look at me like I’m nuts, they probably would anyway. And doctors can continue to give me their spiels. But I’m not sorry my kids are close. Sure, it’s difficult having so many Littles still so dependent on me all at the same time. But it’s a challenge that I believe God knew I could handle.
So, whenever someone now asks me “What are you going to do by yourself with them?” I’m no longer going to panic with my mind full of images of myself locked in the bathroom crying and rocking in the fetal position while the kids do God knows what in the living room. Nope. I’m just going to tell them I’m going to trust God. Trust that He knew what he was doing when he gave us 3 kids in 3 years, trust His grace to get me through, trust His sovereignty when I don’t understand His plan.