RUNION, PARTY OF 5.
RUNION, PARTY OF FIVE.
Over the last 4 months, it’s safe to say that John and I have felt more emotions than what some years bring. It has been a rollercoaster of accepting change, processing how we feel – both separately and together, and choosing joy over fear on a daily basis. Thankfully, that locked bar that holds you in tight throughout the ride has lifted and we’re left with the freedom of knowing this is supposed to be our story. We’re beyond excited and our little house is going to be full of so much love. However, I want to be really intentional about not leaving out the brutal part of the story that got us to the beautiful. As always, this is a safe space. It always has been and will always be a genuine reflection of my heart and something that has been so life-altering, feels like it has to have a place here. The last 4 months have weighed on us – changed everything from our perspective to our hearts. The time that we’ve kept this close has helped us get from dark to light. From fear to grace and from doubt to assurance. It’s been rocky some days and full of twists and turns on others, but it’s life. It’s the lessons we learn along the way, the people who ride with us, and the fact that when the bar lifts, you get off on the other side.
Rewind to Thanksgiving Day. We’d been trying to get pregnant again for 6 months and a lot of the same worry + disappointment that we felt last time started to slowly creep in. As most of you know, we tried for 18 months to get pregnant with Linen and after the third round of ovulation medication, we finally got that positive pregnancy test we’d prayed so long for. This time, the reminder of that difficult season felt far too heavy to carry again. After 6 months, we decided to go ahead and start a round of medication, hoping that once again, it would be the push my body needed. I woke up on Thanksgiving, two days late from when I should’ve started my cycle, to a positive pregnancy test. The medication worked the very first month. We were in absolute shock that this was all happening so quickly – so thankful for a completely different story than our last.
The week before Christmas, we were officially 7.5 weeks along and so anxious for our first ultrasound appointment. John and I walked into the room hand in hand, hearts racing, hoping and praying that we would hear a similar sound on the ultrasound screen. We were desperate for confirmation that it wasn’t too good to be true – assurance that this was all really happening. Within seconds, the nurse looked at the monitor and looked back at us shouting “there’s actually two babies in here!” In that moment, my body went limp. Numb, even. Every word after that sentence felt like it was in a low-pitched, slow jumble that I couldn’t comprehend. I looked at John in complete disbelief, begging him with my eyes to ask the nurse to give us a moment alone. Within the five minutes that followed – I questioned everything. I questioned my body and if I could physically do this. I contemplated how this season of hard would affect our marriage. I instantly grieved the fact that Linen wouldn’t just be splitting me, she’d be getting a third of me. My confidence of this being my second pregnancy was stripped away with 6 words. I felt as if I was about to disappear and the only role I’d be able to play for the foreseeable future was ‘mother’. In full transparency, two healthy babies and the love they would bring into our life and our home couldn’t exist within that moment. Right or wrong, fear and shock took over and the only thing I could focus on were John’s words reminding me to breathe. He picked me up off of the tile floor I’d retreated to and pulled my chin towards him saying,
“Let’s just get through this appointment. We’ll figure it all out together, I promise.”
We both sat wide-eyed in a dark room as the nurse continued to check on the babies, calling them baby A and baby B. We floated from one room to the other and everything felt like a blur. In that moment, I needed someone who felt safe – and in walks our doctor who delivered Linen. A total God thing. There’s no one in that office that I could feel closer to than the one who brought my baby into the world. She let us feel, cry, ask endless questions, talk through what this entire process would look like, and reassured us that we could do this. It didn’t matter that we didn’t believe her – all that mattered was that she was able to find the positives in a moment where we simply couldn’t.
The rest of the evening, John and I sat on the bed in silence. Linen was running around us, thankfully so unaware of the heaviness that filled the room, and we just processed. We told each other that we would keep the news close for now – we needed time. It felt like someone clicked a stopwatch and every millisecond was reminding me how fleeting our time as a family of three was. I didn’t want such beautiful news to feel bittersweet. I hate that it did. I’m such a decisive person – very in tune with my intuition and those next few days, I think that’s what threw me the most. I didn’t feel like myself. My yeses weren’t yeses and my nos had no place here. They simply didn’t matter. For someone who struggles with change, navigating this new version of our family, and who I’m called to be within this season felt different in every way. My lack of confidence debilitated my spirit.
As we slowly started to let people in – their encouragement and reassurance in us, our marriage, and our family was exactly what we needed. It made it all feel more real, simply to say it out loud. One friend in particular said something to me that I will never forget for as long as I live. As I tearfully told her my fears: “I don’t know what I’ll do with 2 newborns, how will I nurse them? Will I ever sleep again? How will I still be everything I need to be to Linen? What do I do with 2 boys? My confidence is dissipating at every turn here.” She replied to my hesitation with,
“All you have to do is be their mother. You’re already a mother – you know how to be that. That’s the role, that’s it.”
That simplistic sentence brought me so much peace. She was right – I do know how to be a mother. There are a million things I’m not good at and probably can’t do, but being a mother is not one of them. As I replayed her words over and over in my head, they gave me my confidence back. The weeks afterward, while wrapping our minds around what the next season of life was going to look like for the five of us, has felt a lot lighter than before. The initial shock has turned into excitement of what’s to come. From finding out I’m carrying two boys to growing them week by week – it’s all been such a beautiful, messy, whirlwind. I was stretched, pulled, and refined in so many ways after Linen, like any first time mother, and this will be no different. Emotionally, physically and everything in between – the stretching and refining has already begun. I’ve had to really reach down deep inside of myself and find some confidence that honestly, I’m just glad exists. What I’ve found and been reminded of is an overwhelming assurance that I was made to do this. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter how new it is, how different it feels, or what’s changing – I just have to be their mother.
Together, we will figure out the rest. I will love them unconditionally. I’ll be their safe place, and create a space around them that feels fiercely protected – forever. I cannot wait to watch J become a daddy to two little boys. He’ll iron their little clothes perfectly, teach them how to hang a light fixture, and how to take care of our yard. I hope they both have John’s little cowlick in the front of their hair and that they learn the definition of hard work by watching their daddy on a daily basis. I know J will teach them to be respectful and kind, always and I’m so thankful they will have such a beautiful, Godly example of that to watch and learn from. For those of you who know J – he’s one in a million. Having that kind of man for a father is the best gift I could ever give my babies. For Linen, I cannot wait for her to run the show around here. She’s my mini me in every way and the bond we have is and always will be unbreakable. Watching her lately, and the little girl she’s turning into, breaks my heart in the best way. She’s just like mama – she loves her people hard and thrives off of quality time. She wears her heart on her sleeve and has a beautiful intuition that I’m already so proud of. She’ll take such good care of them, guiding them every step of the way, and I’m so thankful that the three of them will have each other to walk through life with.
What I know to be true is that the seasons that stretch you the most make you who you are. It’s within those moments that the best chapters of your life are written. When you’re in the thick of it, it’s oftentimes hard to shift your mindset or believe that there’s light on the other side. However, when I look back at the parts of my life that shaped me the most – it was always the uncomfortable ones. The ones that made me question my next step, challenged my spirit, and made me feel fragile – only to come out of them stronger than before. Those seasons thrust you into growth – into the person, daughter, wife, friend, and mother that you’re called to be. And somehow, you step off of the rollercoaster, no worse for the wear. You get off on the other side, a little shaken up, sure, but so thankful for the adventure.
It will be wildly and beautifully chaotic over here, in the best way, and we’re ready for it. If we thought our little house was busting at the seams with love before – I can’t even imagine what the future holds. Thank you all so much for loving my little family. Your support, prayers, and kind words truly mean more to us than you’ll ever know and here we are 10 years later – we still love doing life with you. Thank you for being here.
Meg, J, Linen (+ 2 little boys on the way!)