I lost a baby this week. I've said it so many times now, as I've called and e-mailed and sent texts to various friends and family, and it still seems surreal. And it's not exactly true, even: technically, I lost the baby four weeks ago, mere days after I found out that I was carrying our sixth child. It just took three and a half weeks for my body to figure it out and respond. We had just told the kids on Sunday. It might have been a bit premature, but I've never struggled to carry a baby before. Levi requested to do another Thanksgiving alphabet this year. It was so fun to write BABY in the B section and watch their confused little faces: "but we already have Calvin on the list!" Levi was the first to comprehend, of course, and his skeptical, "wait a minute; are you getting pregnant again?" ushered in a cacophony of "are we getting a new car?" and "where will he sleep?" and "is it a boy or a girl baby?" and...
Life with five sons and one little lady, to the glory of God.