Be Careful What You Pray For
Sun 25 Sep 2011 20:00:44 | 1 comments
It’s true. God often answers prayers in ways we never imagined.
People look at my fourth child, who is six years younger than her next sibling, and assume that she was a “surprise.” But really, she was an answer to prayer.
It just wasn’t the kind of prayer you might expect.
We didn’t pray we would be able to conceive. We didn't have to. It was never an issue for us. I married young, so we waited several years to start our family. But once we started, I had two children in less than three years. Those two broke us in pretty easily, so we were naïve enough to think we must be doing something right, and thought we should have more.
Of course, when things are so well balanced – two parents, two kids; two boys, two girls - there doesn’t seem to be a “right” time to add a third child. I started asking friends, why they had only two kids, or when they decided to add the third… and I got plenty of interesting answers. One friend said, “I just knew, when we sat down to dinner, someone was missing.”
Ironically, as I was trying to decide when to have that third child, I realized that what I thought had been a really bad case of stomach flu was really morning sickness.
Yup, I was pregnant.
Even though I hadn’t planned it.
These things happen.
Surprise!
And then the third child arrived. And nothing was ever the same.
Due to a miscommunication in scheduling, my midwives were both going to be out of town the weekend before he was due. “Go home and put your feet up,” were my instructions. And, I followed them. I promise I did.
But then, my water broke.
And two hours later, child number three arrived. That’s right, zero to baby in two hours.
I made it to the delivery just in time for the nurse to scream, “I need a doctor NOW.” Apparently whoever was handling admitting that morning sensed the urgency and told my husband he could fill out paperwork later. So he arrived, breathless, in time to greet our son, cut the cord, and tell me, “Don’t ever do this to me again.”
As if I was planning a repeat event.
And that’s when the fun began. If you want to call it that.
Three kids under the age of five is a stretch for anyone, and when one of the kids is “one of those kids,” it’s enough to make anyone question her sanity on a daily basis.
Our third child cried louder, slept less, took more risks, and knew how to push everyone’s buttons. He climbed out of his crib before most kids can sit up. And when he climbed out, he wreaked havoc – or hid. Which meant that, post nap-time, I either had to clean up a mess, or locate a baby.
He disappeared in public, too. Our entire church was on lock-down one Sunday because I turned my head at the wrong moment. Fortunately, after 30 long minutes, we realized no one had taken him. He had just decided to go wait for the rest of the family where we had hung our coats (which, in our large church, was the equivalent of a football field away). But he didn’t tell us. He wasn’t talking – yet.
When he did finally start talking, it was primarily a tool to instigate more trouble. Or express his very firm opinions.
Being a stay-at-home Mom can be lonely and desperate at times, particularly when there is still a nap schedule to keep — or deal with when it’s not kept. Everything requires extra effort, the to-do list never ends, and any “me time” is often spent asleep. There are certainly intangible rewards, and priceless moments of family bonding that I would never trade. But for most of us, giving up the second salary means we aren’t able to afford some of the luxuries that would make up for the long days – and nights - of thankless tasks.
I remember thinking a medically induced coma sounded like a vacation.
At some point, I stood in my living room, and prayed, aloud: “God, don’t ever let me forget what it is like to have little kids.”
Maybe it was the day the bean-bag chair exploded and the electromagnetically charged pellets went everywhere. Or maybe it was another incident with diaper contents. Or the up-teenth call to poison control.
I don’t exactly remember the circumstances, but I remember that prayer, feeling alone with a mess, determined that I would do my best to help young mothers, once my own kids grew up.
But that doesn’t mean I’ve always remembered that prayer. The memory of that day was tucked neatly away with the toys, crib and baby equipment that I was, for some reason, determined to use, just one more time. Trouble was, I didn’t have any cooperation. I would mention a fourth kid, and my husband would say, “You have one who is the equivalent of four. Isn’t that enough?”
No birth control is quite as effective as the presence of young children. Anyone's, really. But especially your own.
Someone was missing from our table, though, and I knew it.
And, after five years, I managed to wear my husband down.
And so we have our youngest. And a fresh reminder that sometimes leaving the house is far more complicated than it should be. That life is messy. That Moms of young children need help and encouragement.
A reminder that I asked God not to let me forget.
Humor writer Hallie Bandy is the mother of four children and lives on a farmette in rural Kentucky--both of which provide more than enough fodder for her writing. She is a regular ShareWIK.com columnist.
More Hallie Bandy articles, click here.
©2011 ShareWIK Media Group, LLC
People look at my fourth child, who is six years younger than her next sibling, and assume that she was a “surprise.” But really, she was an answer to prayer.
It just wasn’t the kind of prayer you might expect.
We didn’t pray we would be able to conceive. We didn't have to. It was never an issue for us. I married young, so we waited several years to start our family. But once we started, I had two children in less than three years. Those two broke us in pretty easily, so we were naïve enough to think we must be doing something right, and thought we should have more.
Of course, when things are so well balanced – two parents, two kids; two boys, two girls - there doesn’t seem to be a “right” time to add a third child. I started asking friends, why they had only two kids, or when they decided to add the third… and I got plenty of interesting answers. One friend said, “I just knew, when we sat down to dinner, someone was missing.”
Ironically, as I was trying to decide when to have that third child, I realized that what I thought had been a really bad case of stomach flu was really morning sickness.
Yup, I was pregnant.
Even though I hadn’t planned it.
These things happen.
Surprise!
And then the third child arrived. And nothing was ever the same.
Due to a miscommunication in scheduling, my midwives were both going to be out of town the weekend before he was due. “Go home and put your feet up,” were my instructions. And, I followed them. I promise I did.
But then, my water broke.
And two hours later, child number three arrived. That’s right, zero to baby in two hours.
I made it to the delivery just in time for the nurse to scream, “I need a doctor NOW.” Apparently whoever was handling admitting that morning sensed the urgency and told my husband he could fill out paperwork later. So he arrived, breathless, in time to greet our son, cut the cord, and tell me, “Don’t ever do this to me again.”
As if I was planning a repeat event.
And that’s when the fun began. If you want to call it that.
Three kids under the age of five is a stretch for anyone, and when one of the kids is “one of those kids,” it’s enough to make anyone question her sanity on a daily basis.
Our third child cried louder, slept less, took more risks, and knew how to push everyone’s buttons. He climbed out of his crib before most kids can sit up. And when he climbed out, he wreaked havoc – or hid. Which meant that, post nap-time, I either had to clean up a mess, or locate a baby.
He disappeared in public, too. Our entire church was on lock-down one Sunday because I turned my head at the wrong moment. Fortunately, after 30 long minutes, we realized no one had taken him. He had just decided to go wait for the rest of the family where we had hung our coats (which, in our large church, was the equivalent of a football field away). But he didn’t tell us. He wasn’t talking – yet.
When he did finally start talking, it was primarily a tool to instigate more trouble. Or express his very firm opinions.
Being a stay-at-home Mom can be lonely and desperate at times, particularly when there is still a nap schedule to keep — or deal with when it’s not kept. Everything requires extra effort, the to-do list never ends, and any “me time” is often spent asleep. There are certainly intangible rewards, and priceless moments of family bonding that I would never trade. But for most of us, giving up the second salary means we aren’t able to afford some of the luxuries that would make up for the long days – and nights - of thankless tasks.
I remember thinking a medically induced coma sounded like a vacation.
At some point, I stood in my living room, and prayed, aloud: “God, don’t ever let me forget what it is like to have little kids.”
Maybe it was the day the bean-bag chair exploded and the electromagnetically charged pellets went everywhere. Or maybe it was another incident with diaper contents. Or the up-teenth call to poison control.
I don’t exactly remember the circumstances, but I remember that prayer, feeling alone with a mess, determined that I would do my best to help young mothers, once my own kids grew up.
But that doesn’t mean I’ve always remembered that prayer. The memory of that day was tucked neatly away with the toys, crib and baby equipment that I was, for some reason, determined to use, just one more time. Trouble was, I didn’t have any cooperation. I would mention a fourth kid, and my husband would say, “You have one who is the equivalent of four. Isn’t that enough?”
No birth control is quite as effective as the presence of young children. Anyone's, really. But especially your own.
Someone was missing from our table, though, and I knew it.
And, after five years, I managed to wear my husband down.
And so we have our youngest. And a fresh reminder that sometimes leaving the house is far more complicated than it should be. That life is messy. That Moms of young children need help and encouragement.
A reminder that I asked God not to let me forget.
Humor writer Hallie Bandy is the mother of four children and lives on a farmette in rural Kentucky--both of which provide more than enough fodder for her writing. She is a regular ShareWIK.com columnist.
More Hallie Bandy articles, click here.
©2011 ShareWIK Media Group, LLC
©2011 ShareWIK Media Group, LLC. All rights reserved. ShareWIK does not provide medical advice, diagnosis or
treatment. For more information, please read our Additional Information, Terms
of Use and Privacy
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