Pregnancy Number Two

On September 19th, I had a gut feeling. I usually blame my “off” feelings on my PCOS and irregular cycles, but that day felt different—something I couldn’t ignore. I fully expected a negative test. Instead, it was a fast, bold, undeniable positive. At 4 a.m., my heart and mind were everywhere. I didn’t know how to process it. I felt grief—real grief—because Barron deserved to be the baby longer. Add in my history of miscarriages, and my anxiety went from zero to a thousand in seconds. I was sitting there, shocked, ready to bawl my eyes out on the bathroom floor, when Justin walked in. He immediately saw the test… and somehow was the happiest man alive. Meanwhile, I was asking myself how and why. Why would God do this now? I had been working so hard—improving my cholesterol, lowering my A1C. After Barron, my labs were worse than before pregnancy, so we committed to change. Weight loss. Better habits. Keto, extra cardio, some strength training. And God was good—He helped me lose the weight. Then September came, and everything slowed down. I slowed down—because my body needed rest, not punishment. By November, my anxiety skyrocketed. I remembered how pregnancy had affected my labs last time, so I was bracing myself for bad news. But instead… I received something I never expected. After 2.5—maybe even 3—years, I had a normal A1C. My cholesterol was dramatically better. Every single lab looked amazing. I was so shocked I questioned if my results had been mislabeled.

Then there was coffee.

I’ve been allergic to coffee for years. After COVID, it started causing hives and redness—so I gave it up, not by choice, but by force. During my pregnancy with Barron, I once tried coffee with Benadryl beforehand and still reacted terribly. That was the last time. Well… here comes round two. Boy number two wanted coffee. I even prepped the Benadryl—old habits die hard—but this time I didn’t take it. One sip. Nothing. Two sips. Still nothing. I drank half that small coffee… no itching, no redness, no reaction. I literally stopped and thought, What is going on with my body? And then it hit me. I remembered how broken and confused I felt at the beginning of this pregnancy—how I questioned God and asked why He would do this now. Only to realize… this baby wasn’t sent to break me. He was sent to help heal me. What I had been trying to fix through weight loss, discipline, and medication—this little boy growing inside of me was doing it better. And that’s when I remembered the Bible story. The moment when the angel appeared to Mary and told her she would conceive—not when it made sense, not when she was ready, not when it fit her plans. Her response wasn’t confidence or certainty; it was confusion and fear. “How can this be?” she asked (Luke 1:34). Yet God wasn’t asking her to understand—He was asking her to trust. Mary didn’t see the full picture, but she said yes anyway. And maybe that’s the point. Sometimes God’s timing feels disruptive. Sometimes His blessings feel overwhelming before they feel beautiful. Sometimes what we think will set us back is actually what He’s using to restore us. This baby didn’t come when I thought I was ready. But He came exactly when God knew I needed him.