The power surged.  I don’t know how I can hear power as it goes OUT, but I can.

It did it again.

Again.

No, no, no, no…I have to save water.  We have a well.

I rush from the bed, run into the bathroom, close the drain, and set the water to run full blast.  I hurry upstairs to do the same.  All this running water.  I have to GO.  What time is it?

All is quiet in the house.  Wow, this house DOES see quiet.  I miss the stillness because it happens during the rare, few hours when my eyes are closed, my brain able to rest.  Is it this peaceful every night at this time?  What an emptiness.  In a few hours, the silence will pass.  Whether there is a hum from the furnace as it continues to warm my family, or it dies from an outage caused by too much strain from icy branches on lines, I won’t notice it’s absent sound in a few hours.  It will be overshadowed by much larger, bouncing, boisterous sounds.  An audible noise will return to this house.  Power or not, tranquility won’t last long.  The kids will wake, and all will be alive and “running” shortly.  Their power is never out.  The sun WILL rise, and they will be fully charged, ready to face the day.

They wear me out.  Some days I don’t doubt that I will go crazy.

I am not sure how I make it from sunrise to sunset, outnumbered 4:1, but when I see my babies snuggled up tight, sleeping so soundly, smelling like soap, lotion, and essential oils…I think, you bet your bottom dollar I’d have another.

Then I think back to just a few hours previous when I’m running around like mad, about to drop from exhaustion because the baby doesn’t actually “sleep” all night.  No one naps.

I think about the tears I cry because they just won’t stop and sit for one minute, or they are fighting.  They always want something else, and someone has regularly broken something else.

I think about the stress to be the perfect mom, trying to raise amazing, smart, loving kids.

I think about all this and again the tears, yes, the tears.  Yet I still tell myself, certainly, I’d do it again.  I’d start over and say “yes” to it all.

I do what I do, not because I REALLY have to…

We could skip an outing or two, they could eat Poptarts instead of home-made pancakes or scrambled eggs.  Missing one bath won’t kill anyone, and there is no art and craft patrol demanding that we squeeze in a weekly gluefest.

No, I do it because I want to.

It still makes me stressed and crazy, yes, but I will choose to do it again, every day. Even starting over with another tiny, needy little infant, I’d still choose, yes.

Why?

Because I know, from watching my mom, that if I love them just right, teach them just right, show them I am there for them unconditionally, they will see it, they will know…even if they try to deny it.  When they wake for the 10th time in the night or wet the bed three nights in a row, I’m still going to love them.  I’m still going to give them me.  I may fuss and grumble, but I’m going to be there, no matter what. My mom was there for me, she did these things.  She was and is a great mom. Did she do it all the same way as I do? No, I’m slightly more OCD, but she did it for the same reason, love. She wiped my face and my tush, she fed me, kissed my boo-boos, picked me up when I fell, and I know one day I will have to do these things for her. Am I looking forward to it? No, but being a mom isn’t an easy job, and I believe I owe her.

So, I’m going to keep on doing what I’m doing, just like she did…does.

Stress?

Sure, but what’s the alternative?

A life free to come and go as I please, sleeping in, going to the bathroom alone?

Yes, but…I wouldn’t have my sweet babies to scream, cry, and tell me, “I want you to hold me” while I’m running around like mad trying to clean spilled milk out of the floor, cook, and being called to dress a stubborn Barbie. I wouldn’t want to miss out on my child telling me that I’m the best mom ever so I won’t strangle her for carving her initials in my kitchen table with a fork. One day they will look into my eyes and tell me they love me because they understand love and sacrifice, and they feel it.

I don’t have it all right. Seriously, I may have it mostly wrong, but with the grace of God, we’ll make it through. We’ll get it right (or at least close enough to right to survive) and one day they can fight over who takes care of me. For now, I’ll keep running crazy, I’ll try to keep my head above water, and I’ll continue loving my babies.

I’ve struggled with infertility.

I’ve felt the tears as they stung my eyes and my heart.

I’ve lived with what if, when, and why not.

I live with them now…they are just a little different…

 

I head back downstairs, water running everywhere, and reach under the sink to grab it.  It’s positive.  It had been negative just two days ago, but I knew…

I wake my husband to tell him the news.  Both too excited to go back to sleep, we decide to get up and make coffee.

Snow is falling.  It is the first snow of the season.

There is nothing I love more in this world than my husband and my children.  My universe feels complete when we are all together.  It may be a disheveled, topsy-turvy universe, but it is whole, and it’s mine.

 

The snow was a few weeks ago.  It is cleared and gone, more threatening to come, as I resume writing this.  I needed a little time before I told you.  A little time for us, for privacy, confirmation.

But, I’ve seen the heartbeat…

I know you may not understand, and that’s okay.  My family is happy, and with each new addition, more complete.

Every time I see a tiny heartbeat, my heart grows uniquely and exponentially.  It grew again with this tiny little beat.  Vacancies that I never knew existed continue to fill. Chapters that I thought were closed, continue to be written…

and I am happy…

Even though this is “number five,” I am excited, thrilled to my core.

I will keep on learning and loving my babies, however many I am blessed with.

Why?

Because I know what it feels like…and it’s AMAZING!!!