My baby popped her last tooth today

My baby popped her last tooth today.

I shouldn't even call her a baby; she just turned two.

The teething phase is over.

I have teething drops and remedies scattered around the house that I don't know what to do with.

I have teethers in storage that may never be used again.

Do I keep them in the hopes of the next baby that I keep praying for but isn't coming?

Is my baby motherhood phase over? Forever? Is this it?

Am I done with teething, with first solids, with breast pumps and cloth carrier wraps?

Am I done with rocking to sleep, newborn scented snuggles, and diaper rash?

To some, that sounds like an alright gig.

To some, they're ready to be done with diaper rash and teething pain.

They're ready for organized sports and school schedules.

I'm not.

I've prayed so many times to be okay with being done with babyhood and God keeps answering "no".

After my babies, I was set on two and no more.

Why, then, God, did you make me crave another?

Why, then, God, do I not have a baby to hold and spoon feed mashed peas?

Why does month after month bring blood instead of life?

Why am I still mourning a loss?

Is my body destined to expire as someone's death place rather than someone's start of life?

I had a traumatic first birth experience. I didn't want to do it again, and it's only by God's grace that we tried for baby number 2. After baby number 2, I was content. I was at peace. I was about to give away the outgrown baby clothes and the unused maternity gear.

But then God changed our minds.

Suddenly my husband and I looked at each other over a rare date night and expressed a sudden and unexplainable desire for another baby. Over those bowls of pasta, we smiled and dreamed.

A year and a half later, I have to tell each new doctor "3 pregnancies, 2 living children".

A year and a half later, I'm doing several labs a week to search for answers for the mysterious label of "secondary infertility".

A year and a half later, we rarely smile, and we rarely dream.

People ask, "when's the next one coming?" or assume we're done and I want to scream at them all that it wasn't supposed to be this way.

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

God, where are you? It wasn't supposed to be this way.

We were done.

We were content.

We said two was just right for us.

We smiled and snuggled our kids and said, this is the way it's supposed to be.

Now we grieve the third we never held.

Now we cry from the depths of our souls over the waiting and wondering.

We become crappy friends when our friends get pregnant and we don't.

We wonder when to give up.

We wonder if we can give up.

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

Was it?

Love,

The Pastor's Wife