We interrupt this story...

Our baby girl leaves a week from today.  There is much to be done to prepare for both her leaving and her Going Aweigh Party on Saturday.  I will return after all the dust has settled.

Prayers appreciated!

Story #3: About the boy they told me would be a girl

Let's just start there, shall we?  Let's just start at the very beginning.

Remember my plan, the plan to have four little girls?  They might've been named Meg, Beth, Jo, and Amy in my mind at least.  Christianne came along, just as planned.  And then I was pregnant again, just as planned. 

My pregnancy was uneventful, except that I was considered high risk as with Christianne because of gestational diabetes.  As I think I mentioned before, that meant monthly ultrasounds.  I had ultrasounds just about every four weeks the entire pregnancy, and since we were veterans now at that parenting thing, we decided with this child to learn the gender of the baby in advance.  (We were surprised with Chris, although remember, I had planned to have a girl, so I pretty much knew she would be a girl.)

Multiple ultrasounds.  Multiple echoes of the same verdict:  she's a girl!

I was given a baby shower, with lots of pink, and a pink girly-girl shower cake.  I got lots of dresses and cute little girly-girl outfits.

We had somewhat decided on a name (although not a spelling) ~ she would be Hayley or Hailey or Hayleigh or some variation of that.

Because she was due in May and Christianne had been born in May, it was perfect.  I got out all of Christianne's old baby clothes, washed them, and hung them in the closet.  Everything was sized correctly for the seasons, because, after all, I had planned this.

Often, the big sister-to-be would kiss her baby sister through my belly.  She would tell her Hailey/Hayley/Hayleigh that she loved her.  We had bonded with this new little girl and couldn't wait to meet her.

It was perfect.

My pregnancy began to wind down.  I was tired.  I was emotional.  I was hormonal and ready to be done.  I went in for the final ultrasound before the baby arrived at Kaiser in Lancaster.

The ultrasound tech had no personality and seemed bored with life. (I don't get that - how can you not be filled with awe and wonder seeing these developing babies every day?)  He was a nerdy-looking guy, with blond hair and glasses, and he spoke in a monotone, when he spoke at all.  He went about his business capturing images, measuring, and making notes.  Trying to lighten things up a bit, I asked, "She's still a girl, right?"

"Um, nope."

What?!  Wait, WHAT?

And then this guy deadpanned, "Not unless she grew a tail."

Oh my word.  What just happened?

Now many would think this was just not a big deal, but I lost it.  I bawled.  It *was* a big deal to me.  I felt like, in a single moment, the little girl I had bonded with for months was just... gone.  Remember:  I was emotional, tired, and I. had. planned. this.

I was having a boy?

I had no idea how to be a mom to a boy.  I had never planned for it!  I didn't have boy names picked out.  I hadn't researched circumcision.  I didn't know how to teach them to pee standing up.  I knew nothing.  And I will admit, it knocked the wind right out of me.

I still didn't believe I was having a boy when I was sent to the hospital a short time later to induce labor.  We went through baby name books while I was being admitted, just in case.  (Although I love the name Joshua because it means "the Lord saves," I might not have chosen it if I had known how popular it was.)  And even when that large-headed precious bundle of joy came out of me, my first question was, "Is it really a boy?"

Those dresses in the closet?  Packed back up.  Gifts from the shower?  Returned. 

Man plans, and God laughs.

But He does know best.  He knows better than I do.  His plans are better than my plans, every single time.  And how I love this boy, this man-child of mine who is 16 now, this person who seems to get me, I think, more than the others do.  This boy, who is growing up so quickly and maturing into someone I am so incredibly proud of... this boy is a gift. 

They are all gifts, of course.  But this one is different.  It was wrapped in blue.  It was not what I had asked for, and yet it has brought me more joy than I could have imagined.

Thank You, Abba Father, for this boy.

That girl, today

This is about the fourth  seventh time I've started this post.  Technical issues abound.  Agh!  And I was gone a few days while we took our last camping trip with Christianne.  Thanks for your patience!  Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming...

I have so many thoughts in my head right now that I don't know where to begin.  Whenever I have a glimpse of Grace doing something wonderful, which is often, I am amazed, especially when my thoughts are reminded of that first bump in our pregnancy. 

And she is pretty amazing.  She has studied taekwondo now for three years and has earned a high blue belt and has a goal to be a black belt before she's 12.  She is intelligent and witty, and developing very nicely in our family's love language of sarcasm.  She is her sister's mini-me in several ways, takes after her brother in others, and still is her own unique little person.  She is charming.  Polite.  She loves the Lord and loves to sing.  She will belt worship songs from the top of her lungs whether watching her guinea pig in the back yard or sitting on a boulder on a camping trip or in the front row of church.  She completely changed our lives and I can't imagine life without her.

I adore this little girl.

Bump #2

Being considered a high risk pregnancy (first because of my age, and next because of gestational diabetes) has its blessings.  I do not make light of the fact that complications can occur because of the factors that got me lumped into that group, but as those did not come to fruition in my pregnancy (any of them, actually), I was able to sit back and enjoy seeing glimpses of my baby each month via ultrasound.

I don't think there is a woman alive who is looking forward to holding her baby soon that doesn't love to have an ultrasound.  The sound of her beating heart, a glimpse of tiny fingers... it's a joy, especially when you have one each month as I did, to see the development and growth of your child.

For some reason I was sent to Panorama City for my routine ultrasound in February 2005.  And because Robert, who worked for Kaiser at the time, was in Palmdale, he couldn't come with me.  I think it was the only prenatal appointment he had to miss in all three pregnancies.

The sonogram department at Kaiser in PC is a bit archaic.  After you are called from the waiting room, you go into the dressing room, which is separated by gender.  Fine.  Then you take off your top and bra and put on a gown, and sit on a bench with other like-dressed women until they call your name.  It's so odd to be sitting there with half a dozen other half-dressed, but gowned, women, mostly pregnant like yourself, waiting to be called into the ultrasound room.  Did I mention that it is in the basement of a very old building, which makes it feel cold and even a little dank? 

Didn't matter.  I was about to see my baby again.

The sonogram began in typical fashion:  greetings and smiles, and chit chat about the pregnancy, but shortly in the sonographer got a little quiet.  She did show me the baby ~ everything looked good to my untrained eyes ~ and took a kazillion pictures.  Then she told me I should go home and "take it easy" and my doctor would be in touch.

Yeah, no.  It was one of those moments where you know something is wrong, but the person won't tell you what ~ or can't, as it were, because of all those silly medical rules.

Initial diagnosis:  placenta previa.

We were sent back to Panorama City about a week later to have a second ultrasound to confirm the diagnosis.  We ~ meaning Robert was there.  Sort of.  Once I was called into the dressing room, he had to wait out in the main room.  I'm telling you, this system is really strange!

I was called back, and had the same sonographer.  I don't recall being overly anxious; I just felt like if that was what it was, we would deal with it.  Perhaps it meant bed rest or light activity; perhaps it meant a C-section.  Whatever.  We would deal.

The sonographer did her exam and quietly confirmed her diagnosis.  I asked her if my husband could come in and see the baby.  She told me no, that they were very behind and given the set-up, it was more difficult to bring him back.  "Aw, man," I remember telling her. "He'll be so disappointed.  He didn't get to come last week because he was working.  He works, you know, for Kaiser..."

The magic words.  It would be a few minutes so she cleaned the drying jelly off my belly and went to get him.  A few minutes later, he stood at my left shoulder with his hand on my tummy for several minutes while she went to work getting all her equipment ready again.  He was silent.  He was praying.

She began the ultrasound, pointing out an arm here, a leg there, on the screen for us to see.  Then she stopped talking altogether.  Her camera zipped around my belly as she focused intently on the screen.

"I made a mistake," she announced a moment later.  "There is no placenta previa."

"How could you have made a mistake?" I asked gently.  I still couldn't help but smile.

"It happens," she said.

"No," I said.  You did an ultrasound a week ago and thought we had placenta previa.  You just did a more extensive ultrasound a few minutes ago confirming that!  You did not make a mistake!  You witnessed a miracle.  My husband has been beside me praying for the last several minutes.  This was no mistake ~ God intervened."

She dismissed it!  She blew me off.  She would rather admit (to a patient even!) that she made a mistake ~ apparently twice ~ than acknowledge that our God is loving and gracious and involved in our lives. 

Loving and gracious, and with a plan for this little one inside me.  His story in her life began even before she was born.

Bump #1

A few months ago, I got to attend a parent-teacher conference with Grace's 3rd grade teacher, Miss K.  Grace had developed a great relationship with her teacher over the school year, and I could tell how much Miss K liked Grace as well.  It's always a pleasure to have a conference with your kid's teacher when it's going like that.  And yes, I have had the other kinds of conferences, too, although I'm grateful that those have been very few.

Miss K was telling me what a great student Grace is, and how she has been testing very high, how she is a leader among her peers, helpful and such.  She had just recently been tested into the Gifted and Talented (GT) program although she'd been attending GT classes since second grade.  We were discussing her abilities when something was said to the effect of, "This kid could make an impact on the world."

These moments always give me pause.  It's an interesting moment in time that I've experienced several times now, as, honestly, we do hear wonderful things about Grace from time to time ~ at church, taekwondo, among friends and their families.  I really, really do not want to come across as a braggart; it's just part of her story.  After a comment such as this, I generally take a big breath, and my heart is filled, both with love for her and with courage to share her story, and I say:

"Good thing I didn't abort her like I was advised to do when I was pregnant, huh?"

I was a few months into my pregnancy with Grace, still feeling fairly good, and went to Kaiser for a routine visit.  (Because of my "high risk" status, I had more frequent visits to the OB/GYN than most do in an uneventful pregnancy.) 

I was weighed and measure and ushered over to the little "in-processing" station where they take your vitals.  I was met by someone who was not my doctor ~ a physician's assistant or nurse practitioner or something like that ~ and she said:

"Now.  Your blood work has come back.  Your AFP results are high, which indicates that the fetus likely has Down syndrome.  But don't worry, because we can schedule the termination for you right away."

Whoa.  Process.  Just thinking about her words now, more than nine years later, my heart still begins to beat hard and fast just trying to make sense of what she just told us. 

And what she just told us was that their test results meant that we would just schedule an abortion, naturally.  Happens all the time.

It makes me sick.

I don't remember much of the rest of the appointment, other than telling her that no, we would not be aborting the BABY.  She encouraged us to have an amniocentesis to verify the test results, reminding us that if the baby did indeed have Down syndrome, we could still terminate the pregnancy at that time.

Process.  Tell the family.  Ask for prayer.  Seek counsel and wisdom.  Do research.  Figure this out.  We'd be okay, right?  I mean, why did Mom spend the last year or so working with special needs children, if not to prepare us for this moment?  And didn't I value all life?  And... we had the Lord... we would get through it, right?  Right?

I will tell you openly and honestly that I am ashamed that we did the amniocentesis.  It is one of the few big regrets I have in life.  God was gracious, and it turned out okay, but what I did completely reflected my lack of real trust in God.  It showed my immaturity.  It displayed my selfishness and pride, in that I claimed to "want to be prepared" and know what to expect.  Remember that control issue I mentioned in a recent post?  This was a way for me to stay in control, or at least try to.  And ultimately, it put our baby's life at risk ~ all for my "need" to know.

Amnio Day sucked.  We had to drive to the valley and meet with a genetic counselor to learn more about Down syndrome and other genetic issues that are more prevalent when the mother is over 35.  We did the amnio ~ unpleasant in itself, but brief.  And we had a quiet lunch and went home to wait for the results.  Unlike every other pregnancy appointment we had ever had, there was no joy in this visit.

{Okay, not in the last one either, but you know what I mean.}

We waited.  It was several days before I got the call, and Robert was at work.  I heard two beautiful truths in the one declaration:  Our daughter was absolutely fine.

The significance to this is so much greater than just the fact that we have a normal, healthy little girl.  The significance is in the What-Ifs.  I blogged about this a couple of years ago, and you can read it here.  I am SO thankful that I did have enough faith to not follow the woman blindly into the next room to schedule Grace's termination.  But how many women did?  Oh, Lord!

One more thought. 

Many times over the years I have seen children with Down syndrome here and there, like we all have.  And you know what I feel?  Sadness... for myself.  I am ashamed that I wasn't the one God entrusted to parent a child with Down's.  I am sad that in this trial I didn't measure up.  My reactions showed a weak faith and fear rather than trust in God and knowing that parenting a child with Down's (or any other special need) requires someone strong, someone fierce.  And that's not me.

Please don't get me wrong.  I am GRATEFUL beyond words by how God worked.  I am blessed to share this story with people ~ many non-believers ~ in hopes that they will reconsider their stances on abortion or share it with others, too.  I am THANKFUL that my child is healthy and loves the Lord. 

But I am a little jealous of the moms who have been called to parent a child with special needs.

God's plan, not mine

I'm a planner.  I like to know what to expect.  I like to have all my little ducks in a row.  I like to be prepared and to know that I don't have to worry about things, because I've got it all under control.

I suppose the first time as an adult that I had to face the fact that I am not, in fact, in control of anything ~ nor am I able to fix everything ~ was in January of 1995 when my dad left my mom after more than two decades of marriage.  But that's another story ~ maybe ~ for another day.

From early on, I had planned (planned ~ not hoped!) to have four children ~ four girls, actually ~ spaced 3 years apart, just as my sister and I were, but times two.  Christianne came along, just perfect.  Wonderful.  And 2 years and 50 weeks later (pretty stinking close, I think!), along came Josh.  Lesson number two about not being in control:  he was (and still is!) all boy.

Lesson number three came just over two years later when I didn't get pregnant again.  My timetable, my plan (albeit altered somewhat because Josh turned out to be a boy)... it wasn't working.  Over the next five years or so, we began to feel that perhaps God had graciously given us two children and our family was complete.  We began to give away all the baby things we had saved for years, just in case...

Well that did it.  In the fall of 2005 I was pregnant again.  Joshua and his new sibling would be 7 years a part.  Not my plan.

But the Lord's.

According to my plan, by this time I would already be a mom of four and finished having babies.  But God had another plan, a very special one, with my Grace at the heart of it.

This time, I was older.  Wiser, perhaps ~ even that is debatable ~ but older, for sure.  Meaning my body didn't embrace pregnancy the way it had ten years earlier.  I had just turned 36, which put me automatically into "high risk" status.  I remember a conversation with my doctor during the pregnancy, probably complaining about the uterine pain that I had for about the last six months of pregnancy, as he chalked it up to being older.  I said, "I see people all the time even into their 40s these days who are having babies," recalling the baby bumps I saw all over the covers of the magazines in news stands as well as the people who were sitting in the waiting room with me just a few minutes before.  "Sure," he said, "but that doesn't mean their bodies were designed to do that."

This pregnancy with Grace was very different from the two previous, which were, I have to say, uneventful for the most part and joyful.  And when I think of other stories that other moms have, I know I have no place to complain.  Other than two "little" bumps in the road, and other than the uterine pain that kept me on my butt and off my feet, we were good.  But these two little bumps in the road... they are part of Grace's story.

Pardon me.  They are part of God's story as He worked through Grace to build a testimony to Himself even before she was born.

Story #2: About the child who they told me to abort

... but she was born, and recently, she was born again.  I'll tell you the story of her life pre-birth soon, but for now, celebrate with me her baptism from last week.  :)

Yes, her daddy had the privilege of baptizing Grace, as he did with both Christianne and Joshua.  Knowing that your children have chosen to make a public confession of Christ as Lord and a public declaration to live their lives for Him... it just doesn't get any better than that.

I have no greater joy than to hear

that my children are walking in the truth.

3 John 4 esv