Again

April 2006, I had a nine-month-old.  I sat on mine and my husband's bed in tears.  I wanted another baby, but with all the injections, pills, and surgery it took to get this sweet nine-month-old, would we be able to give him a sibling?  I cried to my husband and to God that I couldn't go through it all again.  I wasn't strong enough.
God stepped in. 
The next month.  Labor Day weekend.  I took a pregnancy test early in the morning and it was positive!  I went in and told my still sleeping hubby.  He told me to take another one.  I did.  It, too, was positive.
Fast forward twenty-ish weeks.  We are in for our first ultra-sound.  Our only one planned for this not, "high risk," pregnancy.  The tech is pretty quiet.  Then, our midwife comes in.  Our newest, littlest might have Down Syndrome.  She refers us to a specialist.  The specialist can't say for sure, but doesn't see anything wrong and says we will have to wait for the birth to be sure.
Fast forward another twenty-ish weeks.  I am home with our almost eigteen-month-old.  He is napping.  I am not.  I am wrestless.  I call a friend to see if she can come over and go for a walk in the snow packed outdoors.
We head out.  I have contractions off and on for six blocks.
Back home, my oldest and I head to my mom and dad's for dinner.  My dad catches on quick.  My mom sends to me run errands.  At dinner, she, too, catches on.  We call my cousin to come get my oldest.  We hang-out.
About one a.m. we decide to head to the hospital and my mom calls my husband to say meet us at the hospital.  He is just getting off work.
He arrives in L&D as I scream.  He panics because I didn't sound like that the first time.  He comes in and rushes to my side as my midwife catches an 8 lb. 3 oz., PERFECT, baby boy.
Thank you, God!  For my six-year-old that you blessed us with one year ago this week.