Here We Go Again!
“Okay say goodnight to mama.”
The kids give me hugs and then I walk down the hall to put myself to bed. It’s 7pm, or close to 7 at least? I’m not sure. I made it as long as I could today before nausea + exhaustion called me horizontal.
Nothing in our house feels normal right now. All my roles, the things I love to do for our family, are currently left vacant. Either for Jeffrey to pick up or just to be buried until I resurface again.
For six weeks now I have thrown up nearly everyday, usually multiple times a day. I have made a total of zero dinners. I’ve done 1/2 a load of laundry on a day when I felt ambitious but then realized I overcommitted and could not get up to move the clothes from the washer to the dryer (I really hope they are not still in there...).
In the past six weeks our oldest started kindergarten. How’s it going, you ask? I can’t tell you. Jeffrey has sat with her everyday and makes sure she completes her assignments while I let Netflix babysit the two little kids in the other room.
My 5, 3, and 2 year old have really stepped up in my absence. They now know how to get breakfast ready on their own (cereal everyday), as well as lunch (toast with peanut butter + honey, a gogurt, and a piece of fruit you don’t have to cut.)
I do the majority of my parenting from the couch.
“Be careful when you pour the milk!”
“Can you grab Selah’s water for her?”
“Elle can you help get the kids dressed before school starts?”
It’s not shocking how un-intimidating I am right now when it comes to discipling from a laying down position across the room. At this point I’ve definitely overused the line: “Can you just please obey? Mom feels so sick.” I’m still waiting for that one to work...
My kids have seen me throw up so many times they don’t even notice anymore. Except for my sweet Selah. Whenever I’m sick I hear her little feet scamper down the hallway as she throws open the bathroom door to ask “Mama throw up?!?” Then she runs around the house looking for Jeffrey so they can pray for me. Bless her little heart.
This fourth pregnancy has turned our fam upside down. As disorienting as it’s been, you know what I’ve seen?
I’ve seen kids who are still thriving + happy + growing, despite their steady diet of carbs and Disney+.
I’ve seen a husband who has taken on serving our family, basically as a single dad. He’s done bath and bedtime for 45 days now, on his own. He has pulled out our recipe books and meal planned each week (one night he planned for us to eat: spicy chorizo and queso dip. That’s all. Bless him.)
He’s cooked every meal, and then cleaned up the kitchen alone. He’s brought me plain toast to bed, refilled my water, and locked our bedroom door so that I can take a nap at 3pm without little kids coming in. He’s held my emotions so tenderly. If we were having a boy I would name this baby after him. He is the truest MVP here.
I’ve also seen my body do something amazing. It’s not the first time but somehow it still seems like a miracle. Growing something from nothing. Getting to be a part of God’s creative process. Holding space for Him to do Holy work. When I think about these things—of course I feel something. How could I not?
It is a beautiful, hard, magically messy gift to experience. One I want to write down. To document. Mostly...so I don’t forget and convince myself to do this whole thing again (THIS IS OUR LAST ONE I PROMISE).
But I also want to remember all of this because one day I might have a daughter, or a daughter in law, who will call to tell us they are expecting. I’ll hear excitement and fear mixed in with her words. She’ll ask, “what was pregnancy like for you mom?”
I’ll smile thinking about these days of going to bed before my kids, and only eating toast for weeks on end. Then I’ll walk alongside her as she turns her whole world upside down to bring to bring forth new life.