Pictured above is not Evie. That was our "perfect" little family of 3, pre-Evelyn.
When my husband, Drew, and I began dating, we had the natural conversations that take place in a relationship about career, marriage, kids and so on. Our goals were so alined it was silly! We both wanted to work, get married fairly soon and have only two children. In reality, he waited SIX years to propose, I had 2-3 jobs at all times only to land as a self employed stay at home mom, and now we think we may like to have 3 children. God's plan is always greater than our plan. Lesson learned.
We excitedly got pregnant with our oldest, Savannah, only months after our wedding. In fall of 2014, we welcomed our precious first born and immediately fell into a world that only the 3 of us could be apart of. She was so perfect [I think she's still perfect, age '3' just hides that quality of her's]. She hit all her growth milestones early or right on the head in her first year, her social skills were very advanced, she had the cutest little strawberry blonde head and was our sole comedic entertainment. It was the perfect life.
I've used the term "perfect" too many times already; I assure you this isn't a fluffy blog post.
Time was ticking, 30 was coming and here we were with just one [out of our goal of 2] children. So began, talk for baby #2. I wanted to resist, we talked about not growing our family any further, we were so fulfilled with our first baby that I seriously considered stopping there [I'm so glad we didn't, because then I wouldn't be a PRO at cleaning up the blowouts Evie is famous for!]. I felt obligated, as a wife, to give my husband the full family that he dreamt of. I felt obligated, as a mother, to give my daughter the joys of a sibling. It is so good grow up with a built in best friend, my husband has a brother and I, a sister, and they are our closest and best friends. I didn't want to deprive our daughter of what we both were blessed to grow up with.
My idea for a child went from a simple desire to raise my own flesh and bone born of my husband and I, to a mechanical "this is supposed to be next" decision. In hindsight, we started off on the wrong foot.
The week of Savannah's first birthday [early November] we began trying. [Disclosure, the first time we tried to get pregnant with Sav, we did.] I was afraid to take pregnancy tests for fear they would read positive, I think Drew knew that and even felt the same, but I was too afraid to say it out loud. Eight months later, The last week of the following June, I shared with my husband this would be our last chance for a successful attempt at baby number 2 for a few months because of the next year's wedding season [retired wedding photographer here!].
With your first baby, everything is on blast. Your excitement is through the roof, the feeling of wonder and joy and all the new stages of life you finally get to be apart of.. those things engulf you. Pinterest becomes you're most used media platform, you plan how to tell your husband, how to tell your family, you find a friend who is a photographer to bring your dreams to life, you plan a special post for social media on a specific date. It's all so surreal. When I read positive for my first pregnancy I stood in shock, 101 "ways to tell your husband you're pregnant" ideas flashed through my brain in .8 seconds, even though I knew I couldn't keep that secret long enough to execute something. I yelled his name from the bathroom sink, handed him the stick a just peed all over, cried and hugged him. We were so overjoyed and genuinely surprised.
For baby #2, that July I took one last pregnancy test... and finally got that positive I had been avoiding.
[come back tomorrow for the first half of pregnancy]