Our first child, Brynn, is adopted. Going through the adoption process is one of the most beautiful, memorable of experiences of my life. I will share more about it another day, but today I write about our boy. After years of Mark trying to impregnate me, we presumed we would never ride the pregnancy wave. Our fertility doctor came to the same conclusion. Well, he gave us a 2-5% chance. So, yah, are our assumption was valid.
Besides, we were content with our girl. Quite frankly, she’s was and still is a high maintenance child. Maybe that seems redundant to some, but anyone who knows Brynn, knows what I mean. I wasn’t (maybe I’m still not) convinced I could handle another kid.
Well, joke was on us.
There are three instances I distinctly remember before we found out I was with child. Yes, I meant to express my pregnancy in the creepiest way. You should know I’m a weirdo by now.
First, during late March 2015, we were out of town on a work trip with Mark. Brynn and I barely saw him, since he was attending meetings most of the time. Brynn was having a hard time like she does whenever she isn’t in her space. I assumed that’s why I was so exhausted.
I. Mean. Exhausted.
I was more tired than the early months of Brynn’s arrival home, which were intense.
Second, I was at a women’s conference in early April with friends. Once again, I was overcome with complete exhaustion. This time, I didn’t have a kid with me as an excuse.
Third, minutes before I had to get up and teach the kids at church, I was sick to my stomach yet also starving. We had a decent breakfast, so I couldn’t wrap my mind around having such a ravishing hunger.
At this point I was growing concerned. Diabetes runs in my family, so naturally, I thought I must have it too. It’s the only thing that made sense to me.
The next day I expressed my concern to Mark. He asked the nonsensical question, “have you thought of taking a pregnancy test?”
It hadn’t even crossed my mind.
I got off the phone, loaded up Brynn, and headed to Walgreens.
I picked up two boxes including two pregnancy tests each. I took one.
I must be seeing it wrong.
I screwed up somehow.
Granted, I had taken lots of pregnancy tests before. They were just always negative, so I was convinced I messed up the test.
“I’m going to wait until Mark gets home to take the rest,” I decided. I wanted to make sure he saw what I was seeing.
A few hours later, I sat once again on the iron throne and awaited my fate.
HOLY SHIT. POSITIVE.
So, either I was terrible at peeing on sticks, OR the tests were right.
I cautiously walked out of the bathroom. Mark, who was in the living room with Brynn, glanced up. He must have known by the stunned look on my face, but he still asked, “So, what’s the verdict?”
“Well, according to the pee sticks, I’m pregnant.”
After the mere shock wore off, we were excited. No, we were thrilled to experience something we never thought we would be able to.
I had a great pregnancy. I craved things non-pregnant, normal hormonal me would never eat, such as Taco Bell. I wanted a bean burrito daily. DAILY. And, mama gets what mama wants.
Giving birth rocked my world. It was one of the most euphoric moments of my life. I felt like a warrior queen who could conquer the freaking world. Then, I reminded myself millions of billions of trillions of women have done the same damn thing.
Meeting our boy, the face we call Pace, was, well, awesome. He was scrawny. Just a little bean weighing all of 5 pounds. Truthfully, not the most beautiful newborn, BUT I loved him deeply. This was the little booger who ruled my body for nine months and will rule my heart forever.
While we met our children under very different circumstances, my instantaneous love for them was EXACTLY the same.
They are my children. One by adoption and one biologically.