{Katherine Lemieux}

We have lots of kids-we’ve been told this (in not so many words) time and again so it should be no surprise when I tell you that we adopted a few more. This happened a few years ago. And it was never officially official, and we’ve never even outright called them our kids or have they called us their mom or dad. But, they’re ours-at least it felt that way to us. A few girls that we loved so dearly who had to walk through the unimaginable. We wanted to protect them and keep them close.

As they’ve grown from teens into women, they’ve kind of taken up space in our hearts as sisters. I wanted to ask if one of these ‘sisters’ wouldn’t mind guest blogging because she had a baby of her own-her third. And no one I know writes quite as eloquently as she does, so I wanted to give her the space to write about her own baby-seeing as I consider her one of mine. May I introduce you to, Katherine:

“So many people ask me regularly, “how’d you pick her name?” And I never know whether to give the short version or the long version, so here is the short version of a very long story: On our second (read that again: second) date, my now-husband asked me how many kids I’d like to have. I said, “six, probably. How about you?” His eyes might have bugged out for a second before he replied calmly, “two.” “Maybe you should have gone first,” I said. We laughed and we compromised at four kids (it must have been a really good date). However, after carrying, delivering, and bringing home our first child I was sure one child was enough for us. When that newborn fog lifted, it made space for the bright and sunny days of babyhood and soon enough we had our second child at home with us. This time again, I was sure two was enough. I had a hand for each to hold, the adult:child ratio was just right. Two was so manageable. So when, at the beginning of this year, we found ourselves unexpectedly expecting our third baby I was incredibly nervous. The timing felt all wrong. For a lot of reasons, it felt like the worst time to be bringing new life into the world. And so I spent most of my pregnancy, and therefore the better part of this year, riddled with anxiety – about my capabilities as a mother, as my energy levels dwindled, as change after change after change came our way – unsure of how to remain steady in the stormy seas of life. And I began to pray for peace. That I would have peace about this precious baby’s certain purpose in my life. That I would feel peace about the decisions my husband and I would make about our children, as well as peace about the decisions that were outside of my control. I prayed for peace about the decision to ensure that this baby would be our last. I hoped that this baby would bring me peace in the midst of the waves and the wind and remind me of God’s absolute plan for my life. One month in, am I totally there, at peace with all the steps we took to get here? I can’t honestly say that I am. But it feels like I’m on my way. I see a future with these three little faces around the breakfast table, our three children, unknown at the time but hoped for in every intention way back when on that second date, and it feels right. Now I look at her and those little fingers wrapped around mine at my chest, her ears perfect for tracing, her blue eyes searching for my brown…they show me that sometimes the best things in life are the ones you didn’t see coming, the most peaceful moments are the ones you didn’t plan. So meet Olive, her name means “peace”.


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