My hands shook and my knee jumped frantically of its own accord as I sat on my shiny throne.
God, please, no. You can’t do this to me.
No, no, no. That’s not what I’m supposed to say.
Not my will, but Thy will be done, Lord.
It can’t be true. Please, don’t let it be true.
No, that’s not right, either.
I am the handmaid of the Lord. Let it be done to me according to your word.
And so the inner struggle began, in the early morning hours, as my husband slept just twenty feet away, blissfully unaware of the turmoil I was experiencing, which he would soon share.
And the thoughts came back again, of their own accord.
God, please, don’t let it be true.
But it was. The little blue “plus” sign was clearly visible in the light from the single overhead fixture.
I was pregnant.
This would be number five. When we got married, my husband and I had agreed that three was the perfect number. But that was before…
Before I converted to Catholicism.
Before I became a different person.
Before I said, “I don’t always understand the Church’s teachings, but I was called into the Church, and I have to believe God wants me to follow all of the teachings. I can’t just pick and choose.”
And, anyways, I get this one. Every child is a gift. How can I say, “Thanks God, for the four wonderful gifts you’ve given me, but I’ve got enough now. I don’t want this gift you’d like to give me, so I’m going to prevent you from giving it.”?
And yet, here I was now, thinking, God, please, no.
Funny enough, I desperately wanted another child. Only a few weeks before, I’d held a friend’s baby, lamenting the fact that my child-bearing days were over.
And how do I explain that – a Catholic, trying to follow Church teachings, wanting to accept another life from God, yet resigning myself to being “done”?
Well, that’s a long story, or at least one that I can’t tell and feel that I’ve done justice to all parties involved. Essentially, there were many, many reasons why my husband had made it very clear that we needed to be DONE. Valid reasons.
I waited a day to tell my husband. I took the test on our four-year-old’s birthday. Unsure of how he would respond, I didn’t want to ruin her day. So I waited.
He was shocked. But I had underestimated him. Ultimately, he came to me, gave me a hug, and said,
“We’re gonna have a baby.”
And so we are.
Thanks be to God.