Yesterday was a doozy of a day. All day, alone with three kids, me as sick as could be. The sickness matched up with some other "symptoms" which matched up with some timing that sent me into full-on freak-out mode. Maybe I wasn't actually sick....
In the last week or so, Simon dug out the "Baby on the Way" book, and I read it to him over and over again (skipping words like uterus and breast - yuck), hoping, praying that he wasn't being prophetic.
Finally, I decided I should put myself out of my misery, and I dragged my three kids to Meijer to purchase a pregnancy test and some other, bulky items that could cover it up in the cart. Because, for real, how embarrassing. To buy infant formula and a pregnancy test in the same trip. To march through a store with three kids strapped to me who appear to come from at least two different fathers. Inviting the stares of judgment - "Doesn't she know how this keeps happening?"
I shoved the test in the cart, behind my diaper bag but not in it - because the only thing that could have been worse than running into someone I knew while carting around two babies and a pregnancy test would be getting arrested for shoplifting said pregnancy test while my three kids watched.
I don't know if this is normal or not, but I promise, everyone I passed in the store peered into my cart and laughed at me. For real. No, really.
The whole time my mind was flooded with scary questions: How will Charlie fit in the bed when my belly gets enormous? How will I do this three-kid thing in a more hormonally-heightened, exhausted state of mind than that which currently grips me? Does the church still offer to bring you post-baby meals if you need them twice in one year? To get those thoughts out of my mind, I began to pray:
I trust you God, I do. I trust you, but you should know, I can't do this.
To which He replied via a line-less pee stick,