I cried today.

I also cried three days in a row last week. It got to a point where my husband had to ask if I am getting my period. He asked ever so gently, tiptoeing around the word “period.” Like a good boy, but honestly shame on him for even asking in the first place. (I am though.)

Most of it was because my patience ran away. It packed a bag when Covid started and it hitchhiked its way to God knows where. It probably ended up somewhere in Arizona. You know, where I was supposed to be relaxing for two weeks in April but had to cancel.

If I’m being honest, I haven’t had much patience since my daughter was born.

I am not religious at all. I’m not even baptized. But I do believe in God. And the family I married into have taken me to church more than I have ever been, and I swear after a near ten years with this family I ALMOST know the words to say grace before every meal. Almost.

Now speaking of God. I don’t know him well. We aren’t acquainted. But I do believe he is playing a huge role in my life right now. THIS GUY has the nerve to teach me a lesson.

At least thats what I think it is. What do I know? I’m not even baptized, remember? I assume He hesitates to light a match the second I enter a church.

That being said, I have come to the conclusion that a lesson is being taught and I am supposed to catch on to it. Perhaps He is pissed because we both know I lied to Him. I got married catholic and in order to do so, I had to agree to have as many children as He would allow, but I’m sorry. I love birth control.

Except for the times I planned to get knocked up. Three times to be exact.

Now here we are. Three kids later.

I always wanted three kids. Some people have the same idea, but once they have one or two their ideal number changes. Mine never did.

It was a great fight, and a long one that stretched out over a period of time. I made sure to start complaining early, after my second child but before I was even ready to have the third. I knew I had to get the ball rolling because there was a lot of convincing to be done with my husband.

I’m not joking. The instant my doctor caught my second child like a football out of my vagina, he asked “So are you done having kids now?”

As if we were racing to the finish line, I replied “no” as my husband hurriedly seemed to scream “YES!”

I hadn’t even birthed my placenta yet.

———

Begging for a third child took a toll on me. My husband and I had the argument that I married him knowing he only wanted two kids. But my rebuttal was that he married me knowing I wanted three.

The hardest part was that this wasn’t something that can be compromised. What are we supposed to do? Have a half kid?

I spiralled into a depression. I cried myself to sleep every night. It sent me to therapy.

I was so upset, I was told I was mourning the loss of a child I never had.

I could see my family so clearly. My complete family. The one with three little bums pulled up to the dinner table. So when my spouse didn’t want to have that third child with me, I felt like I wasn’t getting to meet the baby I was always supposed to. Like I had already created this child but I’d never get to hold it.

We ended up in marriage counciling, where it was deemed a dealbreaker. I was set on another child and he was set that it would be with someone else.

Then one day my husband agreed to another baby.

I didn’t ask many questions, I just threw away my Tri-cyclen and opened my legs.

———

Fast-forward nine months: Beautiful baby girl is born. She ain’t bad.  No colic or anything. Typical baby.

Fast-forward EVEN MORE: Oh, she moves and makes noise now?! She hates it. She hates everything. She hates you maybe, who knows.

Fast-forward EVEN MORE MORE: She’s cute to look at, but don’t make eye contact. If I hear her scream again so help me God… I’m gonna lose it. I’m sure the neighbours are calling the police. Maybe I want them to.

———

I told God while I was pregnant that this baby needed to convince my husband that all of this was worth it.

In my head, if God was my bestie, we would high five as the baby didn’t cry, like ever, and once in her toddler years she would be happy and cute and not cause any problems or difficulties, like fighting constantly with her brothers and developing a scream that makes all the dogs in the neighbourhood bark.

This is not the case.

I ended up with postpartum depression. Out of three children, my third is the most difficult. 

I love my daughter to death. I am so grateful she is here. But God is not high-fiving me right now. He is telling me she is meant to be here, but that there are consequences to always getting my way. God is teaching me a lesson.

———

Little chats were had here and there over time, but approaching our daughters second birthday I finally asked my husband what really changed his mind.

He told me although another child was initially a dealbreaker, he couldn’t stand not having me in his life so he had to ask himself what was important. He couldn’t stand a life without me in it, and if another baby was what I wanted to be happy, he was willing to do whatever it takes.

But he loves our children with all his heart. Whether he wanted one, two or three. And I KNOW how much he loves me.

God tested him first.

Now He is testing me. I think the lesson is that I should not always get my way or else shit can hit the fan. But what do I know?

I’m not even baptized.