My Heart's In Dixie

So our doctor gives us an 85 percent chance that Baby Thompson is (drumroll please) a boy. He says 85 percent because he’s fairly sure he saw – and I quote – “a winkie” on the ultrasound at my last visit (love it when docs use those clinical terms), but baby was being modest and keeping those little legs shut tight, so he only got a glimpse.

Man, are we hoping the doctor is right about this one.

Not that we wouldn’t be thrilled with another girl. We would. I don’t know if our house – or our sanity – would survive it, but if that’s what God gives us, we’ll give it our best shot. And we’ll reinforce our home’s foundation. Just in case.

You see, for those of you unfamiliar with my sweet little Dixie family, we have two beautiful little girls – a seven-year-old redhead and a four (excuse me. I mean four-and-a half) year old blonde. As expected, the eldest is a typical first-child, Type A control freak (why no, I don’t think she takes after me – why do you ask?). Blondie, however, is not your typical laid back, mellow, go-with-the-flow second child. She’s a Diva. A capital D hardcore Diva.

And when Redhead Diva and Blonde Diva clash in our house (which happens at least once every 27 seconds), I do what any responsible mom does – pretend to get an important phone call and lock myself in the laundry room  firmly assert my Mommy Authority and get the situation under control quickly and calmly.

Yeah, right. Actually, I’ve found that duct tape really is the way to go in these situations. Masking tape just isn’t strong enough once they get past the terrible threes, y’know.

So the thought of adding one more headstrong, opinionated, assertive female to the household (oh, like we’d get anything else) is enough to make my dear hubby’s twitch even worse (funny, he didn’t have that twitch while we were dating). 

In two weeks, we should know definitively whether the estrogen-testosterone ratio in our home will be somewhat balanced come December, or whether we should throw in the towel and move the family to a steel bunker in an effort to simply survive until someone heads off to college.

Pray for us, people. Pray for us.

And the due date? The same date our little Jake was born into Heaven. God is good.

Yes, I know – I suck at regular blogging. But when you regularly stay up past midnight writing for clients, it kind of makes it hard to find time to blog for yourself.

I’m such a whiner.

But hey, here I am again – whoohoo!! And yes, it’s definitely past my bedtime, but I felt the need to write tonight. There are so many people around me in such pain – couples contemplating divorce, an ectopic pregnancy, serious illness and, so horribly, the premature delivery of twins resulting in the death of one baby.

It’s times like this when I’m reminded of one of my favorite quotes from Abraham Lincoln:

I have been driven many times to my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go.

Tonight is one of those times when I have nowhere else to go. And tonight is one of those times when I find clarity in my faith and understand a little bit better that I never have anywhere else to go. (Notice I don’t totally get it, because I’m a big huge screw-up, and I give thanks every day for God’s patience – otherwise he would have kicked me to the curb long ago.)

So I go to my knees and pray – and on nights like this, I don’t even know what to say. In times like this, words fail me. Fortunately, another thing I’ve learned is that I don’t have to say a word. He knows my heart, He knows the pain and He’s always there, ready to comfort us when we seek Him out.

Think I’m nuts or some crazed “Jesus Freak”? Just try it – or better yet, try Him. What do you have to lose – your pain? Your depression? Your anger? You’re right – it would be a shame if you lost all that, huh?