Later, on older children
So. We told Private One the intimate details of how babies are created a few weeks ago. After nearly vomiting, he rallied, digested, and has gone on his merry way.
Untill today. Today, he asked me why married couples (because that’s the context in which we’re teaching him the Lord gives us the greatest blessings in this area) have sex, if they don’t want a baby. How can a baby be a surprise? He pondered. Just don’t do it. He said.
So in addition to the basics, he got a quick rundown on how birth control can work, or not, and how we are created for this act, aside from the reason of having babies.
And I was just getting over it from the first time you told me about this! He moaned. Now you tell me people want to do it?!?
Flash forward to this evening. He wants us to elaborate just a bit. OK, he says, so people want to do it. I thought they just had to get used to it if they want a baby. You know, get over how gross it is to have kids.
Um, no.
And he goes off to bed.
7 minutes later:
Mom. Dad. I have a question about sex. Okeedoke. We’re all up in it. Shoot. We’re cool here. Open, honest, Godly communication.
Um, do you guys do it, or do you want to get pregnant again, or what?
Well, son, we, um, do it. Yesserie, we do it. With nothing whatsoever to do with wanting another baby (not divulging what we think should be ours alone).
He blanches. And maybe starts to gag. And nervously laugh. Why?, he pleads.
His father answers. Because it’s fun, son. It’s just great fun.
He looks confused. How can it be fun when the very thought sends shivers up his nearly 11 year old sweet spine?
The Colonel thinks fast. Um, son. You know how you just love Frankie’s Fun Park (a local arcade, pizza, go-cart, skeet shooting sort of birthday/weekend place)?
Yeah. Frankie’s rocks.
Well, sex for adults, who are married and love each other is like a Frankie’s Fun Park for grown-ups.
The first Private is stricken. Fun like Frankie’s? For adults? Sex??? You mean like Frankie’s Sex Park??? Groooooooosssssss, Dad!
Yeah. Like Frankie’s Sex Park. But better. And no tokens or game debit cards. It’s all free. Trust us. You’ll see. But prayerfully, not for a good, long while.
After that, he willingly went to bed. And we haven’t heard from him since.
Maybe we can sneak upstairs, and lock the door, without him noticing.
I am going mad
No, not because I stupid enough to test again this morning, you know, for that early morning pee (negative, of course), but because no matter what is going on in my nether regions, it is giving me bad mojo. I am coming out of my skin by the mere sound of my dear children’s voices. I mean it. Like nails on a chalkboard. Sandpaper in my eyeballs. Just go ahead and back the car over me. Now.
So I suppose, I’m either about to have the mother of all periods, or am expecting quadruplets. Something is feeling all out of whack. That, or my antidepressants just up and decided to quit.
Oh…the noise in this house is about to be the end of me. THE. END.
C2D21, 7DPO
I feel edgy. Irritable. Tired and out of patience (would someone pleeeeeease come take my children). Suppose that’s PMS coming on, as I should start, if I’m going to, in about 6 days. And I feel fat. Like I’ve gained 10 pounds overnight. That really ticks me off.
C2D8
From time to time, I realize something. I am so in love with our children. All 3 of them. And the thought comes crashing over me, with such intensity, that usually, tears rush to my eyes.
Of course, I cry too, not infrequently, from the sheer exhaustion, frustration, self-doubt, and depths of soul wrenching concern for these children and how they’ll turn out. And over whether or not they’ll ever move out.
Really, they are each so special, such beautiful creations of God’s hands. And the fact that he thought we could do the job of getting them prepared for this world, of pointing them in the right direction, towards Him and his plans for them, just astounds me.
And it is good to remember we are really just stewards of their precious lives. They are not ours. Not really. They are His. We are in partnership with God in raising these little people.
So maybe, this pull on my heart, our heart to have another child, is a nudge from Him. That because He has His plans, this is something we need to do. That it’s not just about what we want, or don’t want, or are afraid of the hassle of. We certainly have a choice. He forces nothing on us. But if we chose to ignore, and go the safe route, the easier route (the less body-wrecking route), will we one day realize it and be regretful?
The Lord will not spank our hands for turning away from a nudging on our hearts. At all. But will it become evident that we missed out on something wonderful that we could have experienced? A blessing we felt too hurried, busy, or lazy (or vain) to take on?
Maybe in the end, I feel more afraid of not jumping in again, than of actually doing it. Which I understand must sound insane from someone desperately wanting the first child. It’s just that we had so totally reconciled not having any more children, that it’s been quite a shift in thinking to think about babies again. I haven’t even looked at a pack of diapers in more than 3 years now. After buying thousands for 7 years straight, this seems an eternity!
But we’ve never lived a life to leave room for what if. Or at least, we try not to. So I don’t suppose now is the time to start. If this nudge is from something He’s put in our hearts, I might as well get excited about it, and stop waffling around And if we’ve just manufactured the whole thing in our own heads, I figure He’ll be down with it. From what I read, He’s pretty keen on children.
So, either way, it should be a win-win. If, that is, we actually are blessed with another baby.
At the grocery
Child 3, who is 5 years old, steals out of the big a** cart to stand by some produce.
Me…I told you to stay seated.
Him…You told me to go away when I need to toot. I am tooting.
Me? What can I say.
In other hard hitting news, I made an apple crisp tonight. A homemade apple crisp. Rolled oats, brown sugar, nutmeg, the whole nine yards. My children think I ROCK. In truth? I’m tired of feeling guilty about throwing out what once were perfectly good apples, that we end up not eating, and get mushy. But if they want to think I’m SuperMom, that’s all good with me.
