I'm taking a break from Wellness Wednesday and the 30 Ways to Be series to remember. Thank you for indulging this nostalgic mama.
Jeromy and I had been married seven years when his wise grandfather imparted truth. If you're going to have kids, get with it or you'll be too old to play with them.
So, we tried and we tried and we tried—for months;)
Not the most terrible time in the world. (Echoes of disgust from our teenagers ring in my ears.)
Finally, we were convinced help from the fertility specialist would be in order. Until I got the phone call. At school. In the hustle and bustle of a high school office. (Pre-cell phone era)
"You're not going to be needing that prescription."
Silence. I hung up the phone without bidding farewell to the nurse. She was probably used to shocked expectant mother syndrome. I walked to my classroom in a haze and waited for that last bell to ring. Then I drove to the high school where Jeromy taught/coached and got him out of wrestling practice under false pretenses to impart the news. We stared at one another for a few seconds and then hugged in the parking lot. Goal accomplished. We were pregnant.
Months of planning followed.
Zachary showed up 5 weeks earlier than he was supposed to and taught us that God's plans are not ours and we should probably get used to that.
Blessed with a healthy baby, we went home in two days.
TWO DAYS, y'all. I BEGGED the doctor to keep us one more day. After all, he was a preemie. A 6 pounds, 4 ounces preemie who displayed remarkable health, considering.
Postpartum depression set in. That's a whole other blog, book, series.
However. I got help and navigated through those early days. (Note: GET HELP.)
Back in the gym, determined to regain my figure, I was plugging right along. Then one day I went to get a glass of water and THAT FEELING came over me. You know the one. A little dizzy. A little nausea. A little pregnant.
Zachary was 4 months old.
We had a plan. Pie charts. Graphs. A budget. All the things.
Bada bing bada boom. Cue God's laughter.
13 months, almost to the day—our exclamation point in the form of a beautiful, healthy, hungry blue-eyed baby girl came on the scene.
Jeromy and Amanda plus Zach and Mack.
14 years ago.
And as we've navigated through everything from diapers to puberty, we have laughed, screamed, and cried. We are grateful. For every second, for every season, for every shift.
Happy Birthday, Mackenzie.
Thank you, Lord.
Amanda Williams is a forty-year old wife and mother of two who can still swing her pony tail and display just a tad of sass. She is also a Jesus loving girl who realizes she is nothing without the One who saved her. Amanda has two degrees specializing in serving students with special needs and is currently working in the field of Leadership Development. She is a Christian author, speaker, blogger, and publisher who loves serving beside her husband at her local place of worship, First Baptist Church of Ocala.