Plot Twist

Six weeks ago, I wrote a post called “The Next Stage,” about how life had changed this summer, and how this new season of older kids and less responsibility in one column had given me the freedom to enjoy a new-to-me kind of motherhood.

The gears, perched for so long at that place of leaving the baby years behind, finally slipped over and settled into a new groove. We are no longer a “growing family” in the sense of adding a new little person every two and a half years or so, and that feels good and right. Our growth is now found in people reaching up and, eventually, away. I cannot tell you how good and right that feels, cannot reassure you enough that if you happen to be a mother who fears that the end of her childbearing years will be marked by loss and sadness, it doesn’t necessary have to be.

I laid my heart bare in that post. Go on over and read it. Then come back here and laugh, because when I wrote it, God surely was.

What I didn’t know as I sat in the dark that morning writing was that yes, the next stage had begun… and his or her heart was already beating below my own.

I can’t say I wasn’t shocked because, goodness, who wouldn’t be? Certain very noteworthy biological guideposts have been neon signs of “older womanhood” for more than a year and a half now, so even had my spirit not been blessed with the peace of my childbearing years ending, I couldn’t have denied the physical realities. Except, as it turns out, you’re capable of getting pregnant right up until everything grinds to a standstill. A slow down (even of epic proportions) is not quitting time. And since God reserves the right to give even barren women children (Psalm 113:9), planting new life in the womb of a woman whom medical professionals like to call a “grand multipara of advanced maternal age,” is not really a tall order at all.

In the past, we’ve waited to share baby news until at least 16 weeks. It’s been a small defense mechanism born of loss; once you’ve had to “take back” the good news of a baby on the way while still in the midst of mourning that baby and nursing yourself past the physical effects of miscarriage, you learn to hold certain things close. This time… it didn’t feel right. This baby is good news. Good news is meant to be shared. And in 2020, the world needs good news more than ever. A baby is a sign of hope in the future, a promise that God’s faithfulness is still sure, despite the mess in which every other aspect of life is mired. So we have been far bolder than even we anticipated, sharing this blessing with the world at only 12 weeks. We know we could end up not meeting this little one here on earth, not holding him or her in our arms next year. But that doesn’t negate the blessing and the joy we feel now, or the goodness of the God who has offered such a gift. We share out of our own gratefulness, and overflowing happiness.

We covet your prayers as we head in to the next stage… even though it looks nothing like what we had anticipated. We have been so encouraged and delighted that literally everyone with whom we’ve shared the news has mirrored our own excitement. This little one is already so loved, so prayed over, so very wanted. There are challenges ahead, to be sure. Pregnancy and I aren’t always an easy match. I’m celebrating my 46th birthday in two months. Life is already full. We were waiting on the news of grandchildren, not expecting to add one under our own roof! But, oh… there’s always room for one more. Always. And the chance to hold another baby? To see first steps, to hear a tiny voice stumble through “I Have Decided to Follow Jesus”? To watch those first wobbly moments on a bike? To witness the love of siblings? To eventually send another soul into the world to embrace his or her calling? This is a plot twist I will take every time, and give thanks for the privilege of being called Momma by one more person.