Surprise!

Our third child was a bit of a surprise.  We were neither trying to conceive nor not trying not to conceive.  Instead, we were toying with the idea that two children might complete our family.  I had a small, lingering feeling that we needed someone else at our table, but was beginning to think that our two darling boys were enough.  Andrew was four, John almost three, and we were planning to begin home schooling in a year.  Geoff worked long hours, there were home renovations to be done and a Great Dane to walk.  We had plenty going on.  So it was a bit of a shock when I found myself holding a positive pregnancy test.  I did not know how we were going to manage three children, let alone home school with three children, one of whom would be a mere two months old at the commencement of our very first school year.  I wasn't sure how exactly this new baby would fit into the picture of our family, and I was scared.

Do not think for a moment that my daughter was unplanned or unwanted, however scared I may have been.  She took us by surprise, but to paraphrase the psalmist, every day ordained for her was written in God's book before one of them came to be.  She was lovingly and carefully planned.  We just weren't in on the great secret, at least not initially.  She was planned and given to us because...  well, in part because God knew how much she would enrich our lives.  But we'll get to that later, because before she would enrich our lives, things would get a bit scarier than the thought of having three children.

You see, there's this little illness known as whooping cough that was supposed to have gone the way of smallpox and eight tracks, but apparently hasn't.  By the time I realized I didn't have just a cold, it was too late for any treatment other than time to have any effect.  I began sniffling in January and didn't stop coughing till late April, early May.  The coughing fits were frequent (I coughed non-stop), uncontrollable (I had to leave church/Bible study because I couldn't stop coughing), and resulted in at least four or five broken  ribs in three separate instances (I spent many, many nights and days on the couch because it offered more support for my broken ribs and so Geoff could sleep in peace).  I had an x-ray and downed more decongestants and cough suppressants and pain killers than I could recount (none of them worked, nor did any of the multitude of home remedies I attempted).

In the grand scheme of things, whooping cough is certainly not the scariest thing an expectant mother might face, but I was scared.  I wondered if I'd ever stop coughing, if I'd ever stop breaking ribs, if I'd be able to have the (mostly) natural childbirth I wanted.  My doctor assured me that none of his attempts to treat my cough or assuage the shooting pain in my side would harm the baby, but I worried about her health and survival.  It was an awful, painful, worrisome time, but something very good came out of it.  This baby whose place in our family I couldn't quite figure out became my ally.  I stood in my room one day, feeling like I was physically falling apart, rib by rib, and wondering if either of us would make it through the pregnancy whole and healthy.  I was such a mess myself, there was little I could do for her.  And so I made a little deal with her that went something like, "I'll keep myself alive.  You keep yourself alive, baby, and we'll see each other in a couple months.  Let's just get through this."

And we did.  The coughing eventually subsided, and in time for me to be confident that I would not have a broken rib during labor and delivery.  Whooping cough behind us, we began to talk about the baby's arrival.  Due to the experiences of Andrew needing CPR in the delivery room and John almost being born in the parking lot, and the circumstance of living an hour from the hospital with Geoff working another half hour down the road, we opted to induce labor early.  It is a decision I somewhat regret.  It seemed the safest choice given our experiences and circumstances, but I wish I had had the courage to let labor begin naturally.  Induction is not something to take lightly.  There are risks of which every expectant mother should be aware, and it does takes away a bit of the "I did it myself!" rush that accompanies an entirely drug-free birth.  But it seemed like the best option, so after assurance from my doctor that I could do it without an epidural, and after subjecting him to repeated reminders that under no circumstances did I want to have an epidural, we set the date for June 14.

In the meantime, there was the Name issue.  As soon as we find out we're expecting, I want to name the baby.  I want to know as much as I can about... him?  Her?  Which is it?  My patience to discover who is growing inside of me is rather low.  Geoff takes a more relaxed approach.  So, even as we drove to the hospital, we were discussing the baby's name.  We had been leaning toward some form of Margaret, with Maggie seeming to be our favorite.  But nothing was settled when we left the boys with Geoff's parents, who had come to help welcome our baby girl.

The induction began around 9 a.m.  I don't remember much of the next six hours.  I asked for something to take the edge off my nausea, and quickly discovered that I do not like phenergan.  There's nothing like thinking you ought to shut up because you have no idea what words are spewing from your mouth...  But I made it through, and without the epidural to which I was so opposed.  Around 1:30, my body gave me its cue that the baby was coming in the form of violent vomiting.  (You needed to know that, didn't you?)  At 1:50, I spied a round, red, beautiful head at my feet, held in the arms of a man in blue scrubs.  My girl.

"Maggie," I thought.

Then I held her, looked more closely into her gorgeous face, and realized that she was no Maggie.  She was too solid, too determined-looking to be a Maggie, a name I associate with a cute, carefree little pixie face.  That's not to say the Maggies of the world are not solid or determined.  The name just didn't seem to fit the baby in my arms.  And so began a couple hours of intensely discussing names.  When it seemed we would never settle on a name, we wrote names on scraps of papers and tried the old pick names out of a hat trick.  (Except we didn't have a hat).  Somehow, Elisabeth Anne won the day.  It was an odd choice, given that I liked Anne as a first, but not a middle name, and Elisabeth as a middle, but not a first name.  But it fit.  Elisabeth Anne was her name, and from the moment it was decided, I've never had a doubt that we should have named her anything else.

We brought Elisabeth home the next day, where she enjoyed - or at least tolerated - the love of her brothers, grandparents, and friends who came to admire her.  Geoff's parents left on a Saturday, and the following Monday was the first day I was alone with my three children.  That day will always hold a very special place in my memory.  Geoff had gone to work, and my mother would be coming for a visit the next day.  But that Monday, it was just me and my three children.  In the middle of visits from grandparents, I had one day to taste what our lives would be like as a family of five, and it tasted delicious.  I took pictures of Andrew, John, and Elisabeth wearing the matching shirts I'd made, and just enjoyed being with them by myself.  All my fears of life with three children dissolved in the peace and beauty of that day.  We were a family in which each child held a very precious place, and we were in for a wonderful journey together.

Our baby girl turns four tomorrow.  She has enriched our lives so much.  Elisabeth is fun, affectionate, talkative, and all around lovely.  She is the perfect mix rough and tumble, sweet and tender.  I am amazed as I watch her grow and interact with her parents, her siblings, and her friends.  I am so proud of the little girl she is becoming, and can't wait to see all she accomplishes and who she becomes in the years to come.  As she began her life a delightful surprise, so she continues to bless our family in delightfully surprising ways!

Happy birthday, my sweet little girl!