3 Under 3

For the past few weeks, I've had this feeling. You know the one. I have felt sick, icky, and a whole lot of anxious. I was lethargic. I was bloating. I was terrified. The combination of these things is what lead me to Walgreens one sunny afternoon with the intention of buying a pregnancy test. I made it a point to wait on J to get home from work because I didn't want all the judgment that would inevitably be hurdled my way from walking in with a toddler and a three month old to purchase such an item. To make it  even more humiliating, J was requesting beer. I hate buying beer when I'm pregnant.

Anyway, I stepped up to the counter with Corona, 3 cheap pregnancy tests, birth control pills, and Cadbury Eggs. Don't judge me.

The young guy ringing me up asked me how I was and I wanted to say, "Based on the items you casually rang up, how do you think I am?" I didn't say that. I just said I was great and tried not to lose it. I was so nervous. After all, how could I handle three children? Three children under three? This couldn't be my life. There's no way God wants this for me. I'm barely an acceptable mother as it is.

I took test after test. Each one sported an extremely faint line (just like it did when Baby A came along) that only I could see. My husband began to think I was crazy. I was convinced, though. I began thinking about the car we recently bought and how we'd have to get something bigger. I started wondering where we would go from here. Most of all, I wondered what God was thinking. I finally found comfort in Psalm 16:11 "You will show me the path of life; in your presence is fullness of joy..." I just had to trust in Him. If this is what He wants for us, I'll be joyful in that decision.

My phone rang today. The man on the line gave me those sweet words that had my heart beating just a little faster-

"Your result is negative."

Turns out, God knows exactly what He's doing. Thanks to Him, I think I will start legitimizing the existence of P(Postpartum)TSD. It's a real thing, folks...and I have it. Maybe we could even name it after me? The Mrs. K Syndrome has a nice ring to it.