On Baby Number Three

Well, I haven't really put it out into internet land yet, but I am pregnant with baby number three.  I'm 11 weeks, nauseous every moment of every day, and absolutely exhausted. So, a typical pregnancy for me.

However, there is one thing about this pregnancy that isn't typical. Shepherd and Lydia were both planned, and those pregnancies were at least somewhat expected. Number three, though, is an oops baby.  We weren't trying. In fact, we were actively trying not to get pregnant.

On December 10, I took a pregnancy test feeling foolish for even taking it, certain I couldn't possibly be pregnant. However, I couldn't ignore the little voice in my head saying, "Are you sure?" When I saw the result, I immediately started shaking from head to toe.  Happiness kept trying to creep into my emotions, but I was much too overwhelmed with shock to allow it any residence. So I did what any girl in total shock should do; I called my mother. In tears, I told her what had just happened. She laughed hysterically. It sort of put things in perspective. Oh yeah, babies are good things.

So I spent the rest of my afternoon frantically trying to put everything in our house and our life in perfect order so that the shocking news could be delivered with as much peace and tranquility as possible. By the time 5:00 rolled around, our house was immaculately clean, a hot dinner was on the table, I had a new budget plan typed and ready, and I had research printed out for different doctor/midwife options we could use for this pregnancy.

By what I am convinced was the grace of God, Shepherd and Lydia were cheerful and well behaved the entire evening. By the time we put them to bed, I was prepared to tell BJ. So I took my stack of research into our very clean bedroom, sat down on our neatly made-up bed, and told BJ I needed to talk to him for a minute. He took one look at me and said, "You're pregnant, aren't you?"

The next morning, BJ crawled out of bed and trudged into the kitchen in his characteristic surly-morning mood. I paused my breakfast preparations, looked up at him, and asked, "Well, how are you doing this morning?" Perhaps it is because BJ gets paid to be profound on a weekly basis, but in that moment, he said the exact thing I needed to hear as I sat in my personal little boat, rocking from terrified to happy and back again. He didn't say "I'm so happy" or "I'm so ready for number 3" or "This was the best news ever." Instead, he gave an answer as honest and to-the-point as I have come to expect from him: "I'm not happy about it yet, but I'm grateful." And we are.