I’ve just returned from another doctor’s appointment. Been able to spy on Baby Sister inside my belly through the magic of that ultrasound machine.
Everything this time around feels unknown.
With the twins, I knew I was having a c-section because Lane was breech, and my doctor was not comfortable delivering any other way with that presentation (not that there are that many other options). I didn’t know when the delivery was going to happen, but I showed up to the hospital for a routine non-stress test that they had me doing a couple times a week. The nurse, as usual, checked the amniotic fluid levels, and announced that she wanted a doctor to take a look because they were a little on the low side from last visit.
The doctor came in a few minutes later, took one look at me and said, “How far along are you?”
“38 weeks and 5 days,” I said. Because when you’re carrying multiples, you know exactly how far along you are. You are constantly aware of how important it is to keep those babies in as long as possible.
“I think you’ve made it far enough,” she says.
And that’s how I knew the babies were going to be born that day, December 23, 2008. I delivered them at Mary Birch Hospital in San Diego, the same hospital where Linsey had delivered Hunter and Tina had delivered Trevor. Familiar.
Now, it’s all different. Different hospital. Different doctor. Different country. According to the ultrasounds, she is measuring XL, so the doctor is still on the fence as to how Baby Sister is going to exit my body exactly. So I’m not sure what kind of delivery I’m preparing for. Not sure how I’ll tolerate labor. Not sure what we’re in for at this different hospital in this different country. Just generally not sure.
And, the greatest of all unknowns, not sure how I’ll do as a mother of 3. Yowza. I still can’t believe it. I can’t believe that we’re going to have 3 kids.
My initial crossover into motherhood was not perfectly blissful for me—which I have carried no small amount of shame over—and I have felt this impending anxiety about returning back to the haze that hovered over me for many of the early months of L&L’s life. I’m so scared of going back to that place—where life felt like I couldn’t lift it.
I’m scared of feeling all that all over again. Some of you know exactly what I’m talking about.
I’ve been trying to bring these concerns to Jesus, to share my thoughts on the matter and to confess my uneasiness/panic. And here’s what I felt like he’s given me . . . out of the blue . . . a little something to hold on to:
Trey is my younger brother and the 3rd child in my family. He is charming and funny and a joy. He’s my brother but he’s also my friend. I admire his ability to take it easy, relax, chill, let go, calm down. He brings this cool breeze in the door with him that wins everyone over. I just love him.
Every time I start to get scared about how we’re going to integrate Baby Sister into this already-mess, I think about Trey and I think about what our family would have been like without him.
I’m not saying Baby Sister is going to be a replica of Trey. I have no idea what she’s going to be like. But I think God has just been trying to offer me a little teaser. What if we hadn’t had Trey? Life in the Miller household would have been much more serious, much more spun up. Even today, what would we do without his ease, his carefree charm, his wit.
So I’ve been trying to trade in my anxiety lately for anticipation. What will BS bring to our family of four that we would have never experienced without her? What kind of quirky zest will she add to the mix? What might we experience that only she could have given us eyes for?
I can’t wait to find out.
While these thoughts don’t erase every last bit of unease, they do help me to focus on abundance instead of scarcity right out of the gates. Instead of dwelling on what will be diminished by adding another child; this is my invitation to dwell on what might be gained.
Thank you, God, for Trey. He is a prince. And thank you for BS, whoever she may be.
Looking forward to meeting you, little girl.