Have I ever told you how we revealed our pregnancy with our third baby?
Well. There are a few reasons why I don’t share this information.
1: I am terrified you will think I am the worse Mom. Ever.
2: I am terrified that my poor third child will never let me live it down; bless him.
With Daxxon, our first born, I am sure we did some sort of thought out pregnancy reveal, like making a cute card that said “from your grandchild”… or something fun like that. I’ve had three kids since that day, so I don’t remember the details. With Zadie, number 2, we spelled out “we are pregnant” in a rigged scrabble game and with Dutch, numero tres… well it wasn’t as exciting.
Our little family of four was driving home from church in our oh-so-cool Jeep Commander. Sitting high above the sedans and minivans we waited at the traffic light, I knew it was time to bring IT up. The kids were in the “pre-nap-stare-out-the-window-trance”, the car abnormally silent. The sky was gray and a soft drizzle was hitting the windshield as I contemplated how to bring up the news to my husband. I had suspiciously passed my “time of the month”, I convinced myself that if I lived in denial I could put off the inevitable.
Well, after discussing the topic for 30 seconds we pulled into CVS and I ran in to purchase the dreaded “TEST”. After the quick transaction, I jumped in the car and we jolted home without saying a word to each other. I walked in the house mid-afternoon on that rainy Sunday with stick in hand and 2 kids crying in their beds, and gingerly I closed the bathroom door behind me. A deep breath filled my lungs as I peeled open the box so my future fate could be determined. The corse white absorbent stick was not even wet before the plus sign made it’s way to the forefront of the screen. I glanced, and my fears were confirmed and immediately I tossed the test into the bathroom trash. A wave of emotion came over me, most from the rapidly increasing hormones but also a deep fear of the unknown. I couldn’t fit a third child in our car, I couldn’t fit a third child in our tiny 2 bedroom home, and, heck, I couldn’t fit a third child in a restaurant booth…we were now a “party of five”, and we had officially out-grown the American norm. I emptied my lungs with a sigh and knew it would all “work out” just fine.
Later that night the in-laws came over, and after being at our house for less than 10 minutes one of them visited the restroom. After exiting the bathroom with wide eyes and a smile, they wondered if the clue laying on top of the tissues and bandaid wrappers belonged to me. And, yes, it did.
We all laughed… and then celebrated the new life that was on it’s way.
My pregnancy was a blur. I honestly don’t remember much of it because I was so busy chasing the other two kids around.
Dutch was born on his due date, June 26, the same day as our 8th anniversary. I woke up at 5:00 in the morning with light contractions and slept through them until 7:00. As the contractions strengthened and my breath shortened, Denver and I were in the car by 7:45. With my first two children I went into labor because my water broke. I never felt a contraction, and when I did I was in the hospital and simply beckoned for the anesthesiologist to take my pain away. Well, such a pleasant experience was not the case for this child. Instead the little booger pushed his way through my pelvis, prying my hips apart and I swear to you he climbed out. So. Much. Pain. Seriously, I have never felt so much pain. My uterus hurts just typing this. We arrived at the hospital around 8:15 and little Dutchy was born 3 hours and one epidural later.
I took home my third little baby and the heavens rejoiced because in my arms is the child that will someday change the world. His passion is so potent that it’s hard to contain in that little body of his. He is 15 months old and I am still waiting for his “colic” to go away… he likes to cry; and scream; and holler; and yell; and screech; and squeal. My ears will never recover from this past year, his pitch is so high that Denver and I downloaded a decibel reader and clocked him at 101 decibels. No Joke. The pitch pierces my ears, shoots receptors to my brain stem and shuts down my central nervous system… causing complete loss of control of any coherent thinking. I even have hash tagged #dutchwontstopscreaming on Instagram…only to keep track of all the screaming. Like a screaming scrap book of sorts! Some people take pictures of their kids in rocking chairs with cute little animals… I just take pictures of my child crying. It’s sad.
|Little baby Dutchy was only 1 week old here. Stretching out those fabulous lungs.|
|“Colic” WHAT? Denver and I basically passed around a crying baby that looks like this for 6 weeks… that was when it was supposed to “stop”… eh-hem… see pictures below.|
|Sorry I just had to add this one… someone WIPE THAT BOYS NOSE!!|
|The “Its almost my bedtime and I want to take a bath with brother and sister cry”.|
|The actual Decibel reader on a road trip to camp!! woohoo… this will be going in the baby book.|
|Post shot melt down.|
Anyways. I was trying to get to this story and I have completely gone off grid… Last week I ran some errands with the Karen (Burmese) family that we are friends with. I was with the Mom and her four children, who are 18, 16, 14 and 7… Their family has only been in America for 3-4 years… so she raised most of her children in the JUNGLE of Thailand. She is the “Survivor Man” of mothers. Raising children in the jungle, cooking 3 meals a day on an open flame and bathing her children in a RIVER! Seriously, she probably laughs at us American moms. Well, I brought them back to their apartment and they asked me to wait at my car because they had bought me a present. The youngest daughter ran upstairs and came back down with a wadded up plastic wal-mart sack. Sheepishly she smiled and then handed me the crumpled bag. I took it and the three daughters and the mother began to look at each other and giggle. Suddenly I felt like they were conspiring against me and I was a little scared to peek inside the bag. I made eye contact with the mother and she nodded her head and smiled,
coaxing me to peel away the plastic. Looking down I gingerly unwrapped the plastic bag to find…. A KID LEASH!!!!!!!!!!! My eyes popped and we ALL burst into laughter…….because guess what… with this child, I totally need that kid leash!!!!!
So, here, a mother who raised her children among wild monkeys and anacondas thinks I NEED A LEASH FOR MY CHILD!!!
Oh. Dutchy. All the words I previously got by without eating… I am now stuffing my mouth full of them. Words like:
“I will never put one of those horrible leashes on my child”
This child has broken the mold in our family. He is funny, daring, passionate, and…well… a little wild. My dad calls him the “tornado” or the “the destroyer” or something along the lines of destruction…. He dipped his toothbrush in the toilet last week (and lived) and two nights ago I found him dumping BOAT LOADS (literally, he had a giant toy boat) of bathwater on HIM and the bathroom floor. Most kids splash in the water or take a cup of water and pour it out… not him, he finds a giant boat and scoops the water up and dumps is out on his freshly changed PJs and my new bath mat. Seriously. My gray hair has exponentially multiplied this year, and I can’t imagine why?!
But inside this little stunt man I can already see how God is equipping him. He will use his strong and unique personality traits as assets for HIS kingdom. Having the boldness and courage to take on life’s grandest adventures, his future is sure to be one that will change the world! I pray that he has a desire and love for God’s word, a churning in his heart for justice and a passion for Christ.
So. If you see me walking my kid around on a leash, don’t judge. Just laugh, hug me and know that I am doing the best that I can to keep us BOTH alive!! 🙂