By Melissa Mc
I remember the day: 24 January 2010. I remember the lesson: The Love of God by
President Dieter F. Uchtdorf. I remember exactly what I said: Sisters, I hope you will listen to what God has to say to you this week. And I remember what I felt and “heard” within 24 hours of uttering those fateful words: You need to have another baby.
On that day I was 43 years and 3 weeks old. Now I’m 44 years and 2 days old. A whole year has passed and I’m still trying to justify why I shouldn’t heed the emphatic impression I had that day.
My reasons are earthly enough:
I’m old. At least in terms of conceiving and birthing a child.
Our last child was born with a birth defect. We aren’t known gamblers.
We sold all of our stuff. No crib, no high chair, no baby clothes for either sex. We’ve got nothing.
Space in our house is non-existent. The Inn is full.
My husband’s continued employment, on any given day, is unpredictable.
I’m overwhelmed with the children I have. Patience is not my virtue.
I went back to work a year ago. I. Love. My. Job.
Ultimately, I’m terrified. Terrified of turning upside down the pleasant little life we’ve created with the uncertainty that a newborn brings to our lives. Terrified of what could go wrong.
But I can’t discount the “visions” I’ve had when I see another little one running to grab hold of my leg, or when I see a Daddy at church with a child on his shoulder and my immediate thought is, “that should be DH,” or the foreseen glee on my children’s faces when they welcome a new sibling into our family.
That should be enough for me to take the leap of faith to at least try to add to our family.
But once you try, there is no turning back.
And I’m not sure if I can do it.
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