It’s a girl (FINALLY!!!)

I had an awesome post all typed up.  It’s gone.  Evidently I didn’t, in fact, save it to drafts.

To continue on Lucy’s story…

In July (while submerged into getting our oldest ready for the convent) we had our “big” ultrasound.  As is our tradition, we brought all the kids with us.  It’s nice to share the journey with them and makes them feel more involved in getting ready for their new sibling, and really?  Who doesn’t like to see a sweet little baby swimming around in there?

We were all fully expecting to be told we were, in fact, having another boy.  It’s what we did.  God gave us two amazing daughters, early on, and He was wanting us to raise sons now.  We’d gotten used to the idea.  The volume in my home is loud, to say the least, and not a little messy at times but we’ve come to terms with that and just figured on welcoming another boy into the mix.  People kept asking what we were hoping for (of course we always said “healthy”) and we would respond with “doesn’t matter, either way we’ll probably have a boy!” and give a bit of a giggle.

Imagine our surprise when the ultrasound tech told us it was a girl.  I didn’t even know what she was looking at, completely oblivious.  When she pointed it out to me like I was an idiot I just looked at her and said “check it again, I don’t believe it.”  She, very kindly, did, and crazy enough, it was still a girl!!  I looked at my husband with tears in my eyes and said “ummm, I think you’re broken!!”  Everyone wanted to know what her name was, but the thing is, we don’t share that information until it’s on the birth certificate, period.  It’s another weird family thing we do (mostly because I just don’t need other people’s opinions on the matter) and we’re fairly adamant about it.  All I wanted to do was rush to the store and start buying every single pink, ruffly thing in existence.  We did have to finish the ultrasound first, so I laid there with goop on my belly watching our little girl (!!!!) swimming around and crying tears of pure joy.  Everything looked great: heads, legs, arms, belly.  We couldn’t get a good shot of fingers or toes, she had her hands and feet up by her face, and for some reason we couldn’t get a great shot of her heart, even with me turning on my side and trying a different angle.  We all wrote it off as just baby being in a wonky position and didn’t think anything else of it.

The perinatologist came in to talk to us after the ultrasound (I had to have one because I’m old) and let us know all was well and he just wanted to see me in a couple of months for a follow-up growth scan, just to make sure my old-lady body was able to nourish and maintain a pregnancy like it could fifteen years ago.  I agreed, happy to get another peak at our newest little girl, and set up the appointment.

I look back on this particular time and marvel at how simple and easy it seemed and how incredibly confident I was that the baby was fine.  Practically Perfect in Every Way.  Goodness, to hear me talk,  I was carrying Mary Poppins herself.  I was a bit irritated when they ended up scheduling me for two ultrasounds, instead of the one.  Why would they do that?  There’s nothing wrong, after all, I have healthy babies, always have.  She’s fine.  I’m fine.  It’s all good.  I managed to talk my way out of one the ultrasounds and just kept the one in September.  There was no reason I could even begin to fathom that would make it necessary to be required to peak at her more than that and I’m a busy mama, lots to do and people to take care of.  Everything was fine.  Then, I just concentrated on planning a short vacation, keeping hydrated (summer in Oklahoma after all) and getting our oldest completely ready for the convent.  Sprinkled in there were little shopping trips for various baby things, little outfits with sweaters and jeans, pink and lace and ribbons, all the good stuff.  Life was perfect and amazing and busy and I was oblivious to the fact that our beautiful little girl was beginning a battle for her life.


“…A very good place to start…”

So, since the best place to begin is usually the beginning, I guess I’ll start there.  The beginning of Lucy.

I had attempted to make several appointments with my ob/gyn because my cycles were flipping out.  100 days, 10 days, 38 days and so on.  Clearly something wasn’t right and after taking enough pregnancy tests to have warranted the purchase of a large amount of stock in the company, all negative, I decided it was time for professional involvement.  I love my doctor, she’s pretty amazing and, awesomely enough, likes my husband and myself too.  I imagine we could go out to dinner and enjoy some awesome conversation over a bottle of wine.  Anyway, I came to her looking for advice on what in the world could be going on with my wonky body.  I knew I was fat, but didn’t think that was the issue, it never has been (and fat isn’t new).  I had horrible thoughts running through my head about cancer and all kinds of ugly things, but decided to wait until I talked to her before I invested in a cemetery plot and gravestone.

The doctor and myself took a bit of my appointment time catching up and then discussed my cycles.  Clearly, so clearly, I just wasn’t ovulating.  We couldn’t think why, but a strong dose of progesterone to kick start a cycle might be just what my body needed to get itself back into normal operating condition.  She asked if I wanted another pregnancy test and I said no, I had taken yet another one that morning, just to be sure, before I came for my appointment and it was negative, just like the rest of them had been for nearly a year.  I left with my prescription in hand and decided I’d get around to taking it eventually, if my body didn’t jump into normal on it’s own (don’t ask.  I have no idea.  Seriously, it wasn’t being “normal” yet, why would I think??  Yeah.  I have no idea, LOL!).

The next few days were extraordinarily busy, I never got around to picking up my script.  Finally my husband asked if I was ever going to take it.  He was right, I needed to get it and get started on it so I promised to get it picked up the next day, and as promised managed to make it to the pharmacy and pick it up.  It sat on the bathroom counter for a day or two, I just had such a strong check in my spirit, I couldn’t take it.  God was nudging me toward another pregnancy test, I just didn’t want to take it.  It was going to be negative, we didn’t need another baby right now, I didn’t have the time to wrestle another boy, I was tired.  Pregnancy is difficult and painful and I just didn’t have it left in me at the moment.  I still didn’t take that pill.  I took a test instead.

It was positive.

Shock is so mild a word.  I called my doctor’s office and asked them what the heck I was supposed to do now, I was NOT supposed to be pregnant.  I didn’t trust the test.  The nurse had me come in for blood tests, for three weeks I came in and had levels checked.  I was, in fact, pregnant, and the baby was growing strong.  When I finally got to see my doc (dh came with me, we really were in shock!) she cried tears of joy which was such a welcome reaction.  We weren’t ready to let the world in on our little secret, I just couldn’t take the ugliness.  We had to have joy.

We decided to tell our kiddos at Easter.  We put an egg in each basket with a little plastic baby in it and a tag saying “coming Nov 2014”.  It was such a sweet way to let them know we were getting a new member of the family, we really enjoyed sharing it with them.  We were a bit worried that the news would keep our oldest from entering a convent in the fall as she had started planning to do, but she assured us that she could be just as happy to have a new sibling there as at home and she would be okay.  It’s an odd thing to be pregnant and have an adult child at the same time.  So many things to balance, such different ways to parent each of them.  There are no rules or guides, you just muddle through to the best of your ability.

We laughed, then, at how much God wanted our little peanut to be here, His voice was so loud to me, when I thought about taking that medication.  We were so proud of ourselves that we had actually listened to His voice, and our sweet little one was still in my womb, safe and growing.


So my resolution this year was to write more.  I’m happy when I write, it fills something that soothes and comforts, not to mention the past year we’ve had begs to be written down, not for anyone but myself and my family, but it must be writtten.

It’s February.  So, yeah, you can see how good I am at resolutions (I’ve resolved to lose weight for years and years, I’m still fat.) but I’m trying.

The past year saw my oldest attend her first year of college, apply, get accepted to and begin religious life at the Dominican Sisters of Saint Cecelia, come home from said convent and restart life here, changing a college major and life direction.  Religious life is not completely written off, but it’s on the back burner.

The past year saw my boys grow and change so much that now one of them is taller than I am and his voice so changed as to be nearly foreign to my ears.  They are all big brothers as well.  We got pregnant, unexpectedly, in March as well.  That was the beginning of a season I would never have imagined, that tested my faith in ways I’ve not experienced before.  I need to start there.  My blog will become a bit of a chronology of our experiences with Lucy.  I need to get it out, write it out, sort it out.  Eventually we’ll be done with that and I can write of other things, but for now, I’m writing about Lucy.  About her story and our miracle.


Today, I’ve got kids that need teaching and feeding and loving.