Maybe it’s because this feels like the last time. Maybe it’s because I don’t want my third born to feel too much like a third born. Maybe it’s because I needed to write something different for a few weeks, but I’m sharing Micah’s birth story (and my first run at self-publishing) over the next couple days. You can catch up on this story and others by clicking HERE. 

I decided I’d write my book.

I had spent months working on a 19-day Christmas devotional for December 2014, and by the end of the year had convinced myself I could expand and self-publish it before Christmas rolled around again. I hadn’t given up on another baby but resigned myself to the fact that it was beyond my control. Waiting around without something to throw my heart into would only lead to a monthly cycle of defeat. I needed something of my own to occupy my mind and I had always, always, always wanted to write a book.

This was my time.

My days were full, spent teaching the boys, preparing for a 6^th birthday party, and considering what content I could add to round out 25 chapters. It was exciting. Years of blogging and freelancing and I finally felt like I was a writer – for real. I was three-quarters finished with a manuscript – a freaking book manuscript – and I felt like I could conquer the world.

The book, I knew, would take almost the entire year to produce.

The remaining chapters were written quickly – it was all the other stuff I knew I’d have to teach myself I was so unsure of. There was editing and formatting and marketing – things so far outside my experience I blindly padded the calendar hoping I’d be able to make it happen. My point of no return was when I told my readers about the book. Whatever I had to do to make it happen, that book had to be published.

Elijah’s golden birthday party was fast approaching.

The house was filled with Ninja Turtle decorations and party favors and I’d begun the process of clearing out our living spaces to make room for the guests. I was tired, but I was doing a lot. I was cranky, but I reasoned I was doing a lot by myself.

I just needed to power through.

I told myself we’d be cutting back on birthdays in the future. I can’t homeschool, and write, and pretend I’m Martha Stewart. There are just so many hours in the day . . .

I know I made my husband and sister crazy the night before the party. There was still so much to do and the night was running away from us and still I was living up to my own impossible expectations.

The morning of, I felt like I was walking a tightrope.

Nothing seemed to be the working out way I’d planned. My two besties told me otherwise, but besties are always positive no matter what – because that’s what besties are for. They try to make you feel better when in fact you are spiraling toward crazy.

It didn’t help my mind continued running down rabbit trails. Two friends had to miss the party due to the funeral of a mutual acquaintance – a dad who left behind a widow and two small children. Perhaps I was crazy. Perhaps two children to raise and throw parties for and take care of if God-forbid-something-happened-to-Mike was enough. (Commence incredible mental freaking out)

Somehow I survived the party clinging to a shred of sanity.

But it wasn’t without a few apologies to my nearest and dearest for my less-than-normal behavior. I didn’t understand what had gotten into me. Nothing I hoped the freshly washed floors and a good night of sleep couldn’t help take care of.

The Monday after the party Mike had the day off work.

We cancelled homeschool and adventured through the snow at a local historic site with the boys. We took pictures in a tepee and a covered wagon and learned the all-important-lesson that animal droppings closely resemble loose pebbles sprinkled in the snow (so gross).

We stopped for donuts and hot chocolate and since we happened to be driving by a Target, picked up a few pregnancy tests. I’d used the last ones in December and didn’t want to make a trip out in the cold with the boys just for that.

No rush or anything. Just, you know, me being practical and all.

When was I supposed to get my period?

Some puzzle pieces started falling into place.

Tiredness? Check.
Irritability? Check.
The general feeling like I was losing my ever-loving mind? Check.

I’d bought a three-pack of tests. They usually worked better in the morning, but I did have a full bladder, and a lot of questions. It wouldn’t hurt to try.

It didn’t take long.

It was positive almost immediately.

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To be continued with another installment of . . .

Prologue | Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Epilogue