the story of Four.

We're having a baby. I'll call him/her Four, because he/she is, after all, number four. And if it is a boy there is a chance he will actually be called Four or Kid or Boy because Chris likes Bruce and Clark and Kent (sensing a trend, super-fans?), and I just can't go there. Anyway. We're having a baby in mid October. I'll be 17 weeks pregnant tomorrow and I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that we're having a baby. Nausea and vomiting and exhaustion and ultrasounds and heartbeats and blood tests and feeling wiggles all have yet to fully convince me. I think it is because I have become so very accustomed and in love with our family of 5, it is hard to place number 6. But I have no doubt there is a missing piece to our little puzzle.

The story of Four actually begins almost 3 years ago. The twins were four months old, and I was going to the temple for the first time in too long. I had just survived the twin pregnancy, with all the overwhelming sickness and pain that comes with it. We had just experienced the first 4 months of twin babies, including a colicky baby boy. I was so worn, emotionally, physically, spiritually. I had so very little left. I went to the temple looking for peace. Something else was happening within me, too. A feeling that three children was all I could, would, and wanted to do. A feeling of not imagining ever doing this again. It is not fair for me to sit here and say that, as I know we are fortunate to have the ability to plan our children, and to more or less have them when we try to, when so many others struggle and ache and wait and pray. But it was my reality; it was my own struggle.

I sat down in the temple and as the session began, the still small voice of reason and truth hit me so hard. You hear people use the expression "the Spirit pierced my soul" or something along those lines. This was that. Do not close your heart to another child. Tears came to my eyes. That wasn't exactly what I was looking for, but it was something I couldn't deny. I prayed for time, for peace from the chaos, for us to get through the many things that were ahead of us, and for my sanity. And I felt comfort in knowing time was something I could have.

The next three years held so much goodness, accomplishment, and joy. We survived the first year of twins, And then the second. And then approached the third. Our three kids became the three best friends you've ever seen. They are really the greatest trio. Chris passed comps and wrote a dissertation and earned a PhD. I experienced a summer of depression, followed by a physical and spiritual healing, that led to true happiness (and running a half marathon!). Chris got a job. We bought a house. We moved across the country. Those years of struggle and triumph and so much joy will always be most precious to me.

Upon our arrival in Pullman, I felt the clock ticking. We wanted to get settled, make friends, get into a routine, and enjoy the holidays. And so we did. And as we welcomed 2015, we felt it was time. I was never "baby hungry". I have come to a point where the reality of a baby strongly outweighs how cute they photograph. But having Carly and Quinn and John running around reminded me we weren't choosing to have a baby. We were choosing to welcome another person into our lives, home, family, and eternity. They are babies for a short, precious, snugly, exhausting period of time, but then they become people. And while babies are little pieces of heaven, I truly love the part when they become people.

Well, our next person was waiting, because while it usually takes time for a baby to come your way, Four took no time at all. I was so shocked I sent Chris a picture of the pregnancy test saying, "This has two lines." "Does that mean you're pregnant?" he asked. "I guess so," was my reply. All the while Quinn was pounding on the door screaming for me to come out of the bathroom. The experience was a far cry from holding hands, counting down the three minutes to find out Carly was on her way. But just as sweet.

Three days later, I began to bleed heavily. I was sure I was joining the ranks of women who experience the pain of miscarriage. We cried. Our hearts ached. I tried to tell myself that at 6 weeks it wasn't that bad. But it felt bad. The first ultrasound was inconclusive. I prayed the night before the follow-up ultrasound. I said I was sorry for being hesitant. I begged Heavenly Father to let me have this baby. Then the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, of all things, popped into my head. "But if not," I prayed, "I'll have faith in good things to come." The next day I found out the hormone levels in my blood had doubled as they would in an active pregnancy. The second ultrasound showed a sac, but they said there was no way to know if it was a viable pregnancy. Two weeks. I had to wait two weeks to know if I was really pregnant or not. And in the mean time, wait for more bleeding. 

Two weeks later, we found a healthy, wiggling baby-blob. I don't know why I walked out of that ultrasound room with tears of joy, while so many walk out in tears of sorrow. I don't know. But I'm very grateful. Shortly after that, the sickness came in full force. All order and structure in life fell apart. It has been hard and stressful and messy, and I ache over not being the mother I used to be. But it passes. I remember feeling this way when I was expecting the twins, and I have to remind myself it passes.

I have thought about Four from time to time over the years. Our glorious little tail-end singleton. While the idea of having another baby was never all that appealing, I didn't close my heart, just as I was told not to. In 5 short/long months, we pray, we'll be holding him or her in our arms. It will be so good to have all six of us together again, as I have no doubt it will not be for the first time. Shortly before I found out I was pregnant, all three kids had climbed into our bed, wrestling and tickling and snuggling. Out of the blue Carly said, "There is still room for one more! But it has to be a small person." Oh, my heart. She's right. There is still room for one more.