The other day I grabbed the peanut butter out of the fridge and turned toward the counter. Micah, whose favorite place to stand in the kitchen is directly on top of my feet, had moved right behind me. I managed not to crash into him as I spun around, but I did end up dropping the peanut butter, which exploded on the floor into a dangerous, gooey mess of peanut butter and tiny slivers of glass.
After a major cleaning session, I gave the kids pretzels instead of PB&J’s and we headed out to the grocery store. At the checkout line, Sky decided to help me load the groceries onto the belt, and reached for the jar of peanut butter. Before I could say, “Wait a minute, that’s breakable!” we’d broken our second jar of the day. “Oh that’s okay,” the checker said sweetly as she sent us to the next row so she could clean up the mess. (God bless the workers at Publix. Seriously, aren’t they the nicest people?)
The bagger offered to get us another peanut butter, but brought back the wrong kind. Since by this time Micah was screaming to get out of the cart and there were several people lined up behind us, I told him not to go looking for the right kind of peanut butter. We would just get it another time.
But as I loaded the kids and groceries into the car, I started thinking about how picky Micah is and how peanut butter is one thing he actually eats, and before I could stop myself I started to cry. And I cried the whole way home.
Yes, that’s right. I cried over peanut butter.
But I actually have a very good reason for being so emotional over such a little thing: pregnancy hormones. We are expecting baby #3!
We consider this new life a miracle. Have I mentioned that we struggled with infertility? Five years ago we’d just finished in vitro fertilization, which hadn’t worked, and we were trying to cope with the idea that we might never be parents. If you’d told us then that now we’d have a two-year-old, a one-year-old, and a third baby on the way, what would we have done? Laughed? Cried? Both, I’m sure. Sometimes God lets pain linger in our lives year after year. But sometimes, all at once, He takes it away forever.
I know with all my heart that if we were still without children, God’s love for us would be the same. His plans for us would still be good.
At the same time, I just about tremble with gratitude when I look at my kids and try to imagine my life without them.
My due date is still almost seven months away and we take nothing for granted. We had an ultrasound a few weeks ago and saw our baby’s tiny heart beating, which was reassuring. But we still include lots of words like “hopefully” and “God willing” when we talk about the future. It’s overwhelming to think of all this next year will hold. And it’s exciting. We believe God when He says He’s in charge of life and we choose to trust Him one day at a time.
By the way, the day I had my peanut butter meltdown, Adam walked in the door after work with a fresh jar of it that we actually managed to eat. Knowing he is by my side makes whatever might happen next a lot easier to take.
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