The Peanut Butter and Fluff

I'll tell you, this one flowed a lot better in my brain at 3 am than it has on 'paper' the past two days I've tried to write it.

In about 14 weeks, Avery will officially be the middle child.  This is something I've really stressed over--while it's become obvious to us in the past few months that he was always meant to be the middle child, and he always has been, I'm really worried about the middle child cliche.  I don't want that for him.  I don't want the so-called Middle Child Syndrome to become part of his identity, personality, attitude and behavior.  And really, someone please explain to me why we put so much emphasis on birth order anyway??? I can remember learning about birth order in Intro to Psych and laughing because my sister and I had our roles reversed.  I should've done my senior thesis on this subject rather than mainstreaming.

As the lone extrovert of the family, Avery is already the proverbial black sheep.  This fact currently doesn't seem to phase him, as he seems to be very unaware of it. But I don't want those to become his identifiers as he grows and possibly does become more aware.  I do want him to be proud of his differences, and embrace them, using his talents the way God intends.  I want him to be proud of how God designed him. I don't want him to become the stereotypical middle child: stuck in the middle, hating life, sullen, convinced the world is against him.  I want him to be able to rejoice in who he is, and where he falls in the family. God has always meant for him to be right in the middle!  There is a reason for this.  I want to be able to integrate his differences into the family, weaving them into our own differences, nurturing them into strengths.

He has so many amazing qualities--Avery is charismatic, excitable, happy, goofy, silly, bubbly, imaginative, eager, fun, and so many other things.  Just by smiling, he makes others smile. His giggly, hearty laughter is downright infectious! I mean really, look at that happy little face up there in that picture. He is passionate for Jesus (when he gets into what we call 'southern baptist minister' mode...  ohhhh boy!), and for his age, he really does love to do chores--he likes being helpful. I don't want any of that to be overshadowed.  He was made to love, and to be loved.  He is his own person, (thinks he) answers to no one, and is a true people person.  These are all the things that make him Avery, and make him unique.  These are all the things (and more) I love about him.  All of 'this'--this is who Avery is, not that middle child nonsense. This is what I want to concentrate on with him.

Both of us being the youngest, Shawn and I will not be able to identify with Avery's birth order very well.  Both of us also being introverts, we have even less in common with our child. We really have to be intentional about connecting with him. *Side note* This is where knowing your child's love language really comes in handy.

In the meantime, Shawn and I have also realized that while we have very little in common with our five year old, there is one thing we do have in common--we are the black sheep of our own families.  It's ironic, considering how straight-laced and conservative we are, but those are the very things that do make us the black sheep.  We've also realized that Avery has a lot to teach us, by being so different from us. He was chosen for us in order to shake things up!  Rather than trying to conform him to the style of everyone else in the family--and why would we do that?--we need to learn how help him grow where he is, as he is.  I think this will be one of our strengths as Avery's parents.

In doing our best to not make a big deal out of the middle child situation, I'm afraid that's what we have inadvertently been doing.  We have avoided using the phrase "middle child" at every turn.  We've referred to him as our five year old, and as just Avery.  It's funny to hear myself say "My oldest, and my five year old."  In dancing around it, we've pointed directly to it.  We've told him he's got the best of both worlds, as the big brother and the little brother.  We've been calling him the peanut butter and fluff, with Noah and Baby E being the slices of bread.  He's what holds them together!  Ugh.  That's a lot of pressure to put on a five year old, Amy.  He is so excited to be a big brother, asking me every day how much longer until he gets to meet Baby E, practically demanding to be part of all the shopping and preparation ("I'm the big brother, that's my job!"), eager to talk to, and feel his little brother move around, telling me all the things he's going to teach Baby E when he arrives.  I know he will be a wonderful big brother!  He's already a terrific brother!

Many parents I've spoken with have told me that as long as they haven't made a big deal out of it, their middle children haven't even realized there is a stigma, or cliche, to being the middle child. The trouble is--I know there are people who will make a big deal out of it.  As hard as we try as parents, there is always that one person who brings it up, that one person who wants to make an issue out of a non-issue. I know this from past experience. These are not the people I want speaking in my child's life.  So, how do we avoid that?  How do I handle it when it does happen?  I don't have the answers now, so I'm really praying for divine intervention when it does happen!  I know that much of this falls on myself and Shawn.  How we present, or don't present, who he is, will ultimately be reflected in his attitude towards himself, his brothers, us, and life in general.

Soo.... Wish us luck!

Thankful Thursday

It is unfortunate that both of my children have enough experience with hospitals to be pros at the routines.  Noah was diagnosed at a children's developmental hospital, where we made numerous visits over the course of two years.  He is currently being treated every three months on an outpatient basis at an inpatient center.  Avery has first hand experience with the NICU, a children's hospital, surgical centers and numerous specialists.  My heart sinks a little each time I see them step in, have their weight and height taken, answer questions most kids their ages don't know how to answer, and roll up their sleeves for the BP 'hug.' It's a bit humbling when your five year old can explain to the nurse exactly what blood pressure is.

Fortunately, all of this has been outpatient.  My kids may look smaller there in the exam rooms.  I may hate seeing how easily they adjust to the surroundings and the routines.  I may hate the fact that we even need these specialists--but our experiences have also led to extreme gratitude.

Avery's surgeries have been relatively minor in nature.  He's had three in as many years, but he was immediately helped by each of them.  If your child has to be an expert on something in a children's hospital, let it be minor in nature, and not require numerous, prolonged visits. I was able to stay with him in the NICU, and even then, as scary as it was for us, his health concerns were still minor compared to those of the other infants.  And really, if you have to be on the autism spectrum, Noah's form is the one to have.  We've never had to consider inpatient treatment for him, we've never needed respite care, and there are many aspects of the general diagnosis we have never encountered.  We've been fortunate.  It's not always been an easy road, but it's certainly easier than the roads some parents must travel with their children.

Today, or any other time, I did not have to explain to another family member that my child needs another blood transfusion.  I did not have to bodily carry my screaming and kicking child into the infusion center, trying to be strong against his screams in the parking garage about how much he hates the hospital.  I did not have to push my child through the doors in a wheelchair, or reassure my screaming infant that "it won't be as bad as last time." I've never not been able to explain things to my children, due to developmental barriers or delays.  I've never had to leave my children overnight, watch over them from behind a glass wall or hear devastating news.  It's enough to crush even the most stoic person.  My children's health is something I try to not take for granted.

I never thought I'd say this, but I'm grateful for our experiences.  It opens our eyes to how fortunate we are, and how blessed we are.  It may not have felt like it at the time, but we really have had it easy.

What Else Have I Got to Do?

Motherhood set my world spinning on its axis.  Truth be told, I wasn't ever sure I really wanted to be a mother.  My sister started early, and it seemed that kids had seriously disrupted her life, her dreams, and doing anything with, or for, herself.  My own mother resented us. Again, it seemed that children had done nothing more than disrupt her life and plans.  Neither my mother nor my sister ever seemed happy.  I wasn't sure I had the maternal instinct necessary to raise children, either.  Given all of that, it just didn't seem that kids were the way to go for me.  Instead, I set my sights on working with other people and their children.  Even when I discovered I was pregnant with Noah, I still wasn't sure I was equipped, and willing, to be a mom.

Hahahaha.  You ever get the feeling that God laughs?  Maybe not necessarily at you, but to encourage you to laugh WITH Him at yourself?  There's that old Jewish proverb that sometimes has the feel of a theme to my life: "Man plans, God laughs."

So, here I am--a mother of three, having battled infertility to get to this point, having battled disease and disability, fighting and clawing my way to motherhood.  I can't imagine life any other way.  I wouldn't be who I am if not for these three boys of mine.  If you can't see God's sense of humor....

Here's the thing though--there have been times I resented my children.  In the depths of depression, I begged God, "When will it be MY turn?"  I gave up my life to raise these boys, sacrificing much of myself along the way.  My own desires, my own interests, my own body--all out the window.  I mistakenly martyred myself to motherhood.  It stopped being something I enjoyed.  I forgot to enjoy my own children.  It was just the same drudgery, day after day.  Laundry?  Who cares.  Feeding my family?  Eh.  Playing with my kids?  No thanks.  Relationship with my husband?  Does he not see these two leaches hanging off me already?  I felt like I had an agenda, and not only was my family not on that agenda, but they were increasingly in the way of it.  With that, the guilt would start.  I knew I was being a jerk.  I felt I was being selfish for wanting a life outside of motherhood, and I knew I was being resentful.  I struggled with who I was outside of being a wife and a mother.  My identity was just them.

I wasn't just resenting my children, I was also resenting my husband.  If there was something he wanted to do, he just went out and did it.  If there was something I wanted to do, I had to either wait for him to be home, or arrange for a sitter.  I could check off in my head what felt like a gazillion things I had to do before I could take time for myself, and then I was just going to come home to a huge mess anyway.  It wasn't worth it--what was the point?  I had to be responsible for the boys, and I felt tied down by them, and that responsibility.  I felt chained to the house, and chained to them.  I wanted some of that freedom I felt my husband had.

In my head, at the time, I knew I was headed down a very wrong, very dangerous path.  Not only was it not healthy for myself, it was incredibly detrimental to my children.  I was at risk of doing them serious damage, if I hadn't already.  I needed to change, and that change was up to me, and only me.  No one else could do it for me.

I asked for these children.  I asked for this marriage.  I asked for this life, and I asked to be a stay at home mom.  Not only that, I fought for, and prayed for, these roles and these children.  With my behavior, I was missing out.  My family was missing out.

I started seeing motherhood as my ministry.  This is where God has called me to be in this life, at this time.  There's a reason I'm here, there's a reason He chose me as their mom. It's up to me to be happy in it.  It's not about me, it's not about what I want to do (at least, not all of the time--but I'll get to that).  What is IS about is raising these boys into young men who will be amazing dads and husbands.  Being worthy of the gift God has entrusted to me, and making sure they know they are loved, wanted and worthy themselves.  It's about breaking cycles set in motion by previous generations, and myself.

I also found out I'm not so alone in this. I wasn't alone with many of these thoughts, but society frowns upon anything other than a happy, smiling, everything-is-just-great mommy, so stay quiet and keep those things to yourself.  Motherhood itself is overwhelming, then you add the rest of life to it.  We were dealing with a lot at the time--Noah's diagnostic process, a newborn, my recurring health issues, eventually homeschooling Noah, and various other issues--some days it was all too much.  I couldn't deal.  I know at the time I was trying to tell people how overwhelmed I was, how I felt our marriage was in trouble, but I felt no one was listening or could hear me, so I went back to pasting a smile on my face and faking it as much as I could in public.  If you've met me, you know I'm pretty bad at faking it.  I'm lucky I had good friends who spoke to me and held me accountable,  who saw through all the fakity-fake, but I still struggled with asking for help and support.

I've been part of a mothers of young children-type bible study over the past year and that has been my lightbulb moment.  First, I realized I've worked through quite a few of my own problems, and learned to embrace motherhood again.  Things are no longer as bad as they may have been.  I've learned that I need a support system, and not just a text here and there (don't get me wrong, those do get me through some major moments!), but genuine, face-to-face contact on a weekly, and sometimes daily, basis.  I tried doing things on my own, and that is when it got overwhelming.  I need to see other moms to be held accountable, to hear I'm not alone, and to hear that yes, their kids are idiots sweet little innocent things too.  Hearing that I am not alone has been imperative.  Another thing I've learned is that it is okay to not love everything about being home, about being a wife, about being a mother--I don't even have to like it.  But I do need to find purpose, and even, yes, joy in those parts I don't love so much--it's much easier to clean the toilets with a song in my heart than it is to hate it.  These are not things I have to endure, but they are things I've chosen to do. My brightest lightbulb--I have to take care of myself.  It's okay to have interests that don't involve my children.  I need to take that time for myself in order to be better for them.  If I don't, we all suffer.  It's not selfish to carve out an hour or two for myself each week. And--I'm the only one who can do that, it's not up to anyone else to find that time or make me leave the house.  Shawn and I have worked out a better rhythm and system for 'time off,' and that's helped tremendously.  I've also changed my attitude about my time off--yes, the house will most likely be more of a disaster than I left it in, everyone will still be in their pjs, they will all be drooling in front of video games and won't have eaten anything other than potato chips--but that's okay. I've realized my kids need that time away from me, too.  They need that time with Shawn and the "while the cat's away the mice will play" opportunities.

My kids need me, and I need them.  I don't have a job I need to rush off to each day--my job is already here.  I don't have work I have to cram into my day, with my kids coming in second place.  What else am I going to do?  Yes, there are days it still gets monotonous, but I have found a rhythm in the vacuuming, chauffeuring, feeding, clothing, disciplining, homework and other forms of so-called drudgery.  There is a ministry to it--keeping the house clean so they are healthy; taking pride in providing healthy meals so they eat well; knowing that Shawn and I are the main influences in their lives, we are the ones caring for them and speaking into their lives;  knowing that I am the first line of response in anything they need, and I'm here when they get home from school, when they need anything, and being grateful that I can be here, in this life, in this moment.  I may not feel like playing Transformers, or listening to Noah's latest book he's writing--but what else have I got to do?  Nothing.  This is it, right here.  This is what I have to do.  Motherhood.

Fourteen Years

Noah's birthday is this week.  Last year we hit the cusp of the teenage years; this year, we are fully into them.  My little boy is headed straight on into manhood, no longer a little boy.  Thankfully, he lets me know daily that he still needs his mom...

Noah's story has never been an easy one.  Part of my daily prayer for him is that, at some point, life will ease up for him.  At the same time, I know this life of his is what is molding him into the young man he's becoming.

Shawn and I were 23 when we found out he was on the way.  Unmarried, barely engaged, still not sure we wanted to be married any time soon, definitely certain we were not ready to be parents.  Unfortunately, parenthood was not something we readily embraced.  Newlyweds, still caught in our own childish, selfish ways, the first few years were rough for Noah.  It's taken me some growing of my own to realize those years weren't hard on us, as we originally claimed, but they really were hard on HIM.  Add in our original denial of Noah's differences, and the parenting cards were stacked against him.  I had myself convinced that someone else could be doing a better job than I was, and there were times I wanted to look for that someone.

The irony of all of our infertility struggles post-Noah is that we didn't even know we wanted him.  I hate the words 'accident' and 'mistake' in describing pregnancies and children, and Noah is the reason why.  Those words make him sound unwanted.  He is wanted, and I can't imagine life without him.  The rest of the irony here is those words are normally used to describe the last child to arrive in the family--Noah was the first.  Noah proves that it's all in God's timing, not our own.  That's one of the things we tell him--God was so excited about the work He had planned for Noah, He just couldn't wait to bring him into this world.  Noah may not have been planned by us, but he was definitely planned by God.  I will never have my child believe we had to get married just because of him, or that we married only because of him.  We merely moved the date up a few (years).

I will never regret Noah.  Never.  What I do regret is the kind of mother I wasn't to him when he needed me, the kind of mother he deserved.  I do regret that it took me as long as it did to grow into the mother he needs and deserves.  We didn't raise him so much as he grew and stretched us those first few years.

I love this boy of mine.  He amazes me.  He stretches my limits, reminds me to stop taking life so seriously, corrects my priorities without even realizing it. Because of his anxiety issues, I've had to work through my own to be his rock, and in the process, I've taught him how to work through his own. I stand in awe, watching him grow, mature, and become who God has designed him to be.  I look at where we started, and where he is going, and I can't help but swell with maternal pride.  I see how he is as a big brother, how Avery's experience as a younger brother is wholly different than that of my own and Shawn's as younger siblings, and I'm grateful for the person Noah has chosen to be.  I watch his (sometimes inappropriate) sense of humor grow (he is his parent's child, through and through!), and he is constantly making me laugh and smile.  I love his love for God and his desire to please our Father.  I love that Noah will give you his last penny, and if he doesn't have that, he will give you the shirt off his back.  Noah has a spectacular love for animals, and a compassion for people.  I love that he has not allowed his life experiences to jade him or make him cynical.  Instead, they've made him more understanding, more sensitive and more accepting towards others.  I have watched him with my heart breaking into pieces, and, in turn, my heart shouting with exuberant joy, cheering him on at every turn.

And now we are embarking on Noah's fourteenth year.  I can't believe (we survived) it's here.  Some days I think to myself, "Only 4 more years until I turn him loose on this world"--which inevitably turns into "ONLY four more years until my BABY is an adult!"  Sigh.  There are times I panic as his mom; I only have 4 more years to teach him what I haven't been able to teach him in fourteen years.  I had a revelation in church a few weeks ago, though--I'm not doing this alone, I'm doing this with God.  Thank you Jesus....

It is my honor to be this young man's mom.  I am blessed to have the chance to raise him and watch him grow.  Happy fourteenth birthday, Son.  You make me prouder than you could ever know, and I love you more than you could ever know, every day.

Embrace Your Weird

A few days ago I confessed to my guilty pleasure of reading a certain advice column.  In yesterday's column, a mother wrote in, concerned that her child is the 'class weirdo,' wanting to know how to 'fix' him.

Do you ever wish you could reach through your screen and hug the person giving the advice?  The columnist responded with love, gently telling the mother to embrace her child, embrace his weird and teach him to do the same--at the risk of doing more damage to her child if she chose a different path in parenting.  In attempting to fix the child, you reject your child; instead, love your child where he is, as he is.  I love that advice.  I really do!

I was an awkward child.  I still am a very awkward adult.  It's who I am, and I've learned to work with it.  Fortunately for me, I've found my tribe--people just as weird and awkward as I am--and we do life well together.  We keep each other grounded, and tend to not blink when things get too weird.  We've also been able to help each other be more social, less awkward and maybe even a little more outgoing.  It's a good mix, and we embrace each other.

In our family, we're all a little weird and awkward.  Shawn and I have weird kids.  Our kids have weird parents.  We even have weird cats, and an equally weird dog! We belong to each other, we fit in here. This is our normal.

Fortunately, I've learned to accept my own weird.  As I said, it's just who I am.  Unfortunately, it took me until parenthood to realize that I really needed to deal with it, and either change, or figure out how to be comfortable within my own skin (okay, I still struggle with that part).  I realized I needed to do this not just for myself, but for my kids.

I knew that if I didn't learn how to embrace my own weird and normalize it for my boys, their own perceptions of themselves would be skewed.  They would recognize their differences, and hide them. They would become someone they aren't in an effort to fit in.  And who wants to fit in???? I knew that I would also be sending a message if I changed who I am: Fit in.  Conform.  Be who society is comfortable with.  That was not the lesson I wanted my children to learn from me.  

I want my children to be able to respond the way I couldn't as a child: "I might be weird, but at least I'm me.  This is who I am.  I am authentic."  I was incredibly self conscious about my weird, and honestly, it only made me more awkward!  I want my children to wear their weird with pride, to embrace it, and to find their own tribe.  It is perfectly okay to be different.  For the people who have a problem with it, it's their problem, not ours.  We are teaching our children there is a time and a place for our family weird, and it's usually quite obvious when we've held our weird in too long.

Weird is not a bad thing.  Weird is how our world acquires amazing artists, writers, musicians and pioneers in the science field.  Weird is how we have things like cures for disease, the internet and solutions to infinite problems.  Weird is where the thinkers come from, where they start, and where they end.

If you are weird and don't fit in, I encourage you to embrace that part of yourself!  There is a reason you don't fit in--you weren't meant to!  You are destined for greatness, in your own right.

Let that freak flag fly, and own your weird, baby!

Flowers Everyday

I like flowers.  I like receiving them, and I like knowing that my husband has been thinking of me when I receive them.  Neither of us are really the daily romance types, so when he thinks of these things, it means a lot to me.

The thing is, I tend to want flowers more often than he thinks of them.  And then my feelings get hurt....

I remember talking with a woman once who receives flowers every week from her husband.  At first I was jealous--wow, flowers every week!  Then I thought, what if they take those for granted? Does she know what day of the week is flower day, and just expect them?  Does it ever get old?  How do they celebrate the really special occasions--or is every week a special occasion?

I was recently set straight on this.  One of my guilty pleasures is reading a certain advice column.  Over the columnist's holiday break, she had readers write in with their advice;

                                   

                                  From a long time married woman, now a recent widow:  It's not the literal                           

                                 flowers, it's the million little things he does that usually go unnoticed, those are                

                                the real flowers.

I started thinking about it, and realized my husband gives me flowers every day, not every week, and not whenever he thinks of it.  His flowers are the back and foot rubs when his hands hurt worse than I do.  Not having to pump gas in the rain.  Taking over with the kids when I need to step back.  Working from home on grocery days so he can help bring them in from the car.  Putting up with the kitties.  Taking care of the house, helping with the chores, and making sure things get done.  Checking the fluid levels in the car, changing the oil, and refilling the windshield washer fluid.  Getting the kids through their bedtime routines so I can have a few minutes to myself each evening.  The sacrifices he makes so I can be a SAHM, and we can still have everything we need.  Taking a dedicated lunch break on his work from home days to spend some time with just me before the boys get home from school.  Taking Avery to school on his way to work so I can either sleep in or take a slower start to my day.  Running to the store for a few quick items so I don't have to, or stopping on the way home from his seemingly endless commute.  It's when he brings water to me because he knows I'm always thirsty, just in case I ran out.  It's the giddy feeling it gives me when he takes the time to ask about my day and listen while I ramble on about the mundane, when he reads my blog, and humors my need for him to look through the pictures I've taken that day.

These are just a few things Shawn does nearly every day.  These are the flowers he gives me, showing his affection and his love. Truth be told, I would rather have these every day than flowers every week.  We'll continue to save those for just because, and special occasions.  I'm grateful to have such an attentive husband, and I know I'm lucky.

"This is All Your Fault"

Avery had surgery last week to repair an umbilical hernia.  The first few days of his recovery were a bit rougher than we had anticipated.

Amid the "This happened because of you"'s and "This is all your fault,"'s, I began questioning our decision to take this preventive step for the sake of our child's future health.  What had we done to him?  Was this the right decision?  Watching my husband carry Avery because he was in too much pain to walk on his own, to progressing to hobbling around, hunched over like a little old man, just about killed me.  Hearing him cry out in pain, even as we gave him the narcotic pain killers we had originally balked over, was like a punch to my gut.  You can imagine my reaction when I heard him screaming and crying from his room in post op as we were escorted down the hall to him.

Avery was originally excited about his new belly button.  As they wheeled him away (my heart shattering into a million pieces...), he was cracking up the surgical staff, singing, "My button, my button, my brand new belly button!"  He was less enthusiastic post-surgery, screaming that he hated his new belly button. Stomping on the shattered pieces of my heart, grinding them into dust...

Thankfully, things are much smoother now.  Avery is healing well, and he's back to wreaking his usual havoc.

This whole ordeal has had me thinking though.... How often I yell these things at God.  How often I blame Him when things go wrong, and forget to thank Him when things go right.  How often I ask for something, then yell when it's not what I expected, or it's more work than I anticipated, or the process God uses is more painful than I asked for.

I know that, much in the same way my heart breaks for my children, God's heart breaks for us, His children.  I know there are parental decisions He must make for our well being that aren't always easy.  I also know when He does make those decisions, He knows what is best, just as we knew Avery's surgery was best for him.  We may not like it, we may argue with it, fight against it, and not be able to see His reasoning for it at the time, but God knows best for His children. I often wonder if, like us, God ever wipes His brow and remarks, "Man, this parenting stuff is HARD!  Why won't they just listen to me?"  I'm sure He's had more than a few head shakes over me.

"It's all your fault" and "this happened because of you" have been regular accusations in my vocabulary over the past several years.  Infertility, regular disappointments, various diagnoses within our family, unanswered prayers, dysfunctional family members, and things we didn't ask for that wound up being incredible trials--I've wildly thrown these accusations around, screaming about the injustice of it.

I've forgotten to utter these phrases with grace and gratefulness when He blesses us.  I have reached a point in life at which I now look at my boys and say, "God, they happened because of you.  Thank you."  I can look at the life He's built for us, and say with a swelled heart, "This is all your fault, thank you."  God has used those trials to build us, to be the family we are now, the family we are still becoming.  I know there will be more trials to come, and my prayer is that instead of screaming "This is all your fault," I will quietly whisper, "thank you," and continue to praise Him for the work He is doing in our lives.

Raising Gentlemen

I'm sorry to have been so delinquent...  We've known Baby E's gender for over a month now.   Between illnesses, Avery's surgery, the children's winter break, and a major battle with depression, I either have not had time to write, or just have not felt up to it.  I'm trying to get back in the swing of things!

Baby E (sorry, you get the gender, but not the name--we need to be able to surprise you with something when he arrives!) is undeniably a BOY!  Yes, another boy.  My three sons.  Hahahaha.  Are you sure?  Yes, we're sure.  *points and laughs*  I've heard them all.....   Even our OB remarked about what strong genes we must have in our family...  Lady, you don't know the half of it.

Convinced this baby was definitely a girl based on how different the pregnancy has been, we were prepared to inundate ourselves with pink at this point.  Yes, I might've been looking forward to picking out hair bows and dresses.  Both boys decided they were ready to be big brothers to a sister.  Shawn was looking forward to styling pony tails and braids, father-daughter dances and dates, and doting on his princess.  I thought there might be a chance I've resolved enough of my own issues that I could be a great mom to a little girl.

That was actually a point a friend used when I revealed to her my desire for a third child, trying to convince me against it: "Well, you know it will be another boy, right?"  That was not a big enough reason to not try. Even when I was scouring through adoption websites, I started off looking at the little girls, but inevitably wound up back at the boys.  I could hope for a girl, but in the end, I knew it would be up to God, and He would be giving us what He knows is best for our family.

So, the big question--are we disappointed?  Not in the least.  He's healthy.  He's beautiful.  He's amazing. He is cherished.  He's very busy, especially between the hours of 10 pm and 4 am....  We love him, he's ours, we're getting the baby we pined and prayed for.  We wouldn't trade him for a girl for all the riches in the world.  We can't wait to meet him.

And, that's the thing--God gives us what we need, not necessarily what we want, think we need, or decide is best.  What we want is not always what is best for us, and what we think we want isn't always what we need.  As humans, we don't have the answers, and we just don't know.  God knows.  I'm grateful now we had this talk with Noah and Avery long before we knew Baby E's gender.  We may have thought we wanted a girl, but God had already knit together a perfect little boy in my womb.  He is perfect for our family.

Another thing, as my mentor pointed out, sometimes it's not even about us, our family in particular, but what the world needs, what is best for the future, and according to God's plans.  God has already written this child's story, and there is a reason he is a boy.  Shawn and I are raising gentlemen (please remind me of that, next time they have a contest to see who is most proficient in bodily functions and noises....), and we are raising Christian gentlemen.  Our boys will be good husbands, fathers and leaders.

My last point: I like being a boy mom.  I'm used to it.  I pretty much know what to expect and I've learned to roll with it, minus the occasional curve ball, of course.  I love my boys, and I wouldn't have life any other way.  We're on a course with our boys.  Our boys have, for the most part, made me a more relaxed, go-with-the-flow kind of person.  They've taught me to laugh at life, and seldom take it too seriously.  They've taught me what is important, and what isn't.   I'm a boy mom.  It's who I'm meant to be.  And I'm more than okay with this.


*Endnote:  Avery is already planning for Sibling #4....  He is thrilled with his little brother, but still planning a sister.