Three months ago I was expecting to bring our fourth child home this spring. We had purchased a new car seat, left up the baby crib and gotten our daughters all excited about the impending sibling's arrival. We made jokes about having four kids and how our lives would change with the addition of another. Secretly, I hoped for a little boy to break up the estrogen-fest in our household and I dreamed of his three big sisters doting all over him. I contemplated how I would get our oldest to the bus every morning with three others in tow. We debated whether to find out the baby's gender, I wanted a surprise and my husband preferred to know. The sticky part was if we did happen to have a boy, with three girls, most of our clothes were of the pink and very girlie variety. It never, and I really mean never, occurred to me that we would not bring this baby home.
In just three months, truthfully, probably in about three minutes, I've completely adjusted to the reality that I will not bring this child home. There is no longer a crib set up in our house, after completing our youngest's potty training we have now packed away diapering supplies. I have eradicated all that is baby in our household and I'm thirty-one weeks pregnant. As I pack these things away anxiety eats at me. Not only am I waiting another five weeks to meet this little one, but I am waiting five weeks to find out my reproductive fate. I can only imagine how this sounds to others, that I am concerned about having another baby when I have yet to hatch this one. But in my heart I know my family is not yet complete and I do not anticipate that this baby's birth will change that feeling. However, with five c-sections this very well may be the last and then I will be forced to purge the house of all that is baby following the loss of my last child. I have never been in that position. After having Wyatt we knew we could have another and in my heart I knew that we would. This place is a very scary one, so many unknowns and finalities lingering in the air.