Release.

I sit on the sofa and nurse you, clinging to the comfort of it. In denial of what you have been trying to tell me for weeks. You are six whole months of pure curiosity. There is so much to see and do, so much for you to explore. To sit in a quiet corner of the room is to miss out on life, mama! This is what I envision you thinking as you push and pull at my tired body. Will this be the last time I nurse you? The last time I nurse a baby - ever?

I hold you close as you hold your bottle in one hand, a pacifier in the other. We stare into eachothers eyes; we share a smile. I memorize every inch of your expression. Your baby face of just 11 months. So soon you’ll be one. So soon you’ll be walking, running, talking, chasing after the big boys, and the cat. It couldn’t have gone by this fast. Could it? Are you really my last? The final time I’ll snuggle a baby this little, this late at night?

My heart, it aches sometimes. Moments where I feel it might burst with desire to grow another, hold another, pray over another newborn baby boy (or girl🙃). My body, it feels differently. While my heart may scream it would be amazing; my body begs me no - I’m healing, finally. We are so close, she says. My mind, it is all together twisted. It knows I can do anything, overcome anything. But a baby is not here to help me overcome, to calm the storm inside my soul. Who’s to say after another I wouldn’t say oh just one more? I’ve been called crazy before.

They tell me I forget how hard it was. They say it just gets harder. To wait until the teenage years, when it’s all taxi driving and worry. They say they cost too much, need too much. But my questions in return are this:

Is life really meant to be lived void of hardship?

Does any real, true, good thing come to us without a fight?

Isn’t God’s glory so much sweeter after the storm?

Does it really have to make sense to you, in order for it to feel right to me?

The questions and the curiosity line my mind; I sit and wonder will my family ever feel complete?, will this yearning inside me ever wane?, and, most loudly why do I continue wanting more? Yet it’s not more stuff I long for like before. I do not need more in my life: but more love? More love will always be a yes. I feel a pull towards it, towards a large family. To keep growing. It is a pull that takes my breath away.

But almost as quickly as the yes falls on my mind, a quieter, fainter voice responds. One that simply states “This chapter has closed. Your family is complete. Give them all the love you have”. I don’t dismiss this quiet hum. I don’t question her. She doesn’t waver, not once. I know all too well how quiet and conviction go together so well.

I soak in each little person I’ve been entrusted to guide, fully aware how blessed I am. I lay my head on my pillow feeling fulfilled. And tired. And maybe even a little old. Too old, right? Spread to thin. Too many fingers and toes who need me already. A husband who is tired, too. I see it in his eyes at the end of every day. He loves so deeply. Does he have room for one more? Certainly, no - he is sure. Let’s move forward, he says, and just enjoy this time.

Time. If only I could rewind. Start sooner, meet you sooner, have babies earlier. No. I will not wish my past away. I would not change a thing. I will not, then, yearn for the future like the me of the past used to. I trust God’s plan for us. I do. I’m on His timeline, not mine. And I am comforted knowing all I have to do today, is live, and love; to allow space for my children, my husband, my friends and my passions to move me like music.

I don’t need to label myself [I’m done having babies], my family [our family is complete], or my baby [this is our last baby] in order to be satisfied; happy. Each of those statements is true today. Probably true tomorrow, too. And if it helps my heart to not put a label them, then why do I have to? Why do I feel the need to “decide” any of it? I’ve been put into too many boxes before, to put myself back into one now.

I’m not the one in control, after all. God knows what he’s doing. My part in His plan is to live my fullest life. And that means living fully for my family, as it is today. Quieting the questions. Focusing on firsts, instead of the shadows of lasts. Releasing uncertainty into the air like a ballon, with my feet planted firmly on the ground. Tomorrow is simply, tomorrow. Today, I live for today.