On our first family “outing,” which consisted of three hour preparations to go down the road to my mother’s house, Ben suddenly stopped and looked around.
“You know,” he said slowly. “I have the strangest feeling like someone is missing…”
I looked around did a quick head count–two girls, one small(ish) newborn boy. All accounted for.
“We have all the kids. Diaper bag? Wallet? Phone? Are we forgetting something?”
“No,” said Ben, shaking his head. “Someone.”
I laughed shakily, childbirth much too fresh in my mind to even go down that road. “That is weird!”
And so we continued.
Until we were packing up yet again (our lives consist of a lot of that now) to go on a family walk. Jake was loaded up, shoes were strapped on, and Ben started herding them towards the road.
“Don’t forget…” I started.
Because I had no idea how to finish the sentence. Because I thought we were forgetting someone. Except we were all there.
It was the strangest feeling.
Ben stared at me, waiting for me to finish.
“Well…I guess never mind,” I mumbled. “I just had the same feeling you did, I guess. Like we were forgetting someone…”
Ben nodded knowingly.
Can I do this all again? The incredible weight gain? The sleepless nights, (which, lately are killing me!) the year-long commitment to breastfeeding, the squeezing of our family home, the starting over with everything?
I think I will.
I can feel it–our family is just not yet complete. I don’t know when (hopefully I can wait a good three years this time!) and I’m not exactly sure why, but I have this feeling like I will not be done with this crazy path of pregnancy and motherhood.
I feel like there is a fourth child looming somewhere in our future, waiting for the day that he or she is no longer forgotten, but welcomed and loved in that sweet, sweet newborn love.
After all, that has to be one benefit of being a young mom, right? More kiddos?