This month marks the 20th anniversary of the second doctor confirming that we wouldn’t be able to have children. We were just babies ourselves at 22, not trying, not even thinking about kids, just landing in the ER with issues.
I knew that day in the ER that if the babies I had always imagined weren’t in our future, then God had different plans for us . . .
The next time I landed in the ER was less than a year later - same pains, different discovery. Not only was my abdomen home to cysts, but it was also home to a miracle baby.
A few months later, one day alone in your truck, your rebellious self simply prayed. All the seeds planted over the years that had taken root, God-roots, began to sprout that day, way bigger and brighter and faster than I’ve seen anything ever grow.
We were baptized together that September in 2001. Then we welcomed our miracle baby. You may have never held a baby before, but you did good, sooo good. Up every feeding, filling my water jug just like the nurse said to do, going to the mom’s meeting when I couldn’t feed the little guy. Every. Little. Thing. Brand new Daddy.
Funny how God out does science - every single time. The second baby surprised us almost as much as the first, and he may have dislocated my tailbone and fractured my poor pelvis, but it was such a slight price to pay ... a daddy to two.
After Tate, it was pretty clear my issues were back, and we were blessed as we were, two little guys. One surgery to fix a ruptured hemorrhagic cyst later, and I’ll never forget when the doctor looked at me and said, “I fixed your right ovary. It was split right open. If you have another baby, look me up.”
Eight months later, I did. Baby three wasn’t easy on me, I started seeing a cardiologist and being monitored for irregular heart rhythms amongst other things, but he came out overcooked and a whopping 9lbs. 14oz. Daddy to three.
A few years later, just when we decided to attend a foster to adopt meeting and pray about having another boy or two join our crew...along came Quinlan. Issue-free, this baby was the easiest to carry and deliver. Just like that, Daddy to four.
Barely done nursing the fourth, and months into feeling off, we found out our fifth baby was on its way. Not so easy this time, fainting spells and heart arrhythmias back, I cushioned our first girl, fearfully and as wonderfully made as the others. Yes, no joke, another surprise. Daddy to five.
When you’ve never experienced “trying” to have a baby and end up with five, you experience God-placed, God-timed, God-created, and you become more God-dependent. I’ll take God over science any day.
I can’t imagine the last twenty years looking any different than Surprise, Baby! and five babies born on five rainy nights. I can’t imagine our five without you, and I find God’s plans for this family so beyond my own. I’m so glad you’ve gotten to be a daddy. #ButGod
It suits you. So well.
