When Dear Husband (here on out referred to as “Hubs”) and I finally became pregnant with Baby 3, we were ecstatic. Having had a 6 year gap between pregnancies and now being in our 30s a bit older, we were really feeling prepared and excited for a new little soul to join our family.
“Baby Cupcake” [affectionately dubbed by the Big Brothers] was a perfect pregnancy. Minus a scare with low blood platelets, it was text-book; I gained 35 pounds, still worked 5 days a week as a teacher, actively participated in 2 fulltime church ministries, and thoroughly enjoyed every moment. Well, almost every moment. Already the parents of two boys, people decided it was okay to speak their opinions over me:
“Oh this time it’s going to be a girl!”
“Are you hoping for a girl?”
“Wouldn’t a girl be great?”
“You must WANT a girl after ALL these boys…”
We found out Cupcake was a boy at 18 weeks and we were BEYOND happy. After all, we knew boys.
We had fun with the “gender reveal” both in person & via Facebook post, choosing as a family to all wear either pink or blue. Every moment of “baking” Cupcake was enjoyed as a family. Being a family, a tight unit, had always been important to Hubs & I and Baby #3 just meant we would become even closer knit.
On Thursday, May 30th while Hubs was dropping our older boys off at school, I began to have contractions. What does a 3rd time around preggo do when she begins labor? Well go for a mile walk, of course! You can shake your head as you read this, my husband did too. Hubs & I took a walk down the beach, contractions 7 mins apart. At home, I decided to get ready for the hospital finish up the nursery – folding clothes, putting up shelving, and breathing heavily while bouncing on my yoga ball. When it was “time” to head to the hospital, the conversation went a little like this:
Me, putting on makeup in the bathroom: “Babe… how about [my contractions] now?”
Hubs, patiently standing at the door: “60 SECONDS!!!”
Me, lowly walking to the door: “Umm… we should probably go to the hospital now.”
Hubs, holding my hand, his keys, & the hospital bag: “Finally.”
Forty minutes later we were holding our little boy! The baking was over and our Cupcake had arrived. He zoomed into the world naturally; no pain medications, one push. One of the doctors jokingly asked, “Did you want to have your baby at home?” “Maybe next time”, I responded with a laugh.
Did I say next time?
So that’s the story of how our family went from 4 to 5. How we went from quartet to quintet. And how we became 3 Boys, A Girl, and A Baby.
3 Boys, a Girl, and a Baby 
Recent Comments