Meant to Be

Eliza Jane was always meant to be part of my life. That much is certain. But the details about how and when she’d arrive couldn’t have been fuzzier. And I know about fuzzy details.

Some of the details are clearer in hindsight. One year before Eliza was born, I was passing along her older sister Ellie’s outgrown baby items within 24 hours. The doodads, boppers, high-chairs, low-chairs and everything-in-between-chairs had cluttered the living rooms long enough; baby girl clothes went to young mothers in the Iona 7th Ward under the direction of my mom, the Relief Society President, as soon as Ellie stretched them out. It wasn’t as though I was eager to be done with all things baby. But Ellie was a miracle, and I knew I wouldn’t get another. She’d be raised as an only child and I’d be happy about it.

Having four kids and a baby wasn’t how I’d planned things. Oh, I knew I’d be a mom; it was a career, a destination for which I’d study and plan as a kid. Maybe, just maybe, I’d marry and have six babies so that they could sit at the dinner table like my family. 

 

In the first eight years, everything was following the blueprint: I’d married the man of my dreams and four beautiful babies had come. But it wasn’t looking good for numbers five and six. We still didn’t have full-time work, but our hands were full. 

 

Four years passed and Trevor turned to me during general conference and declared, “we need to have another baby.” It was a clear prompting and we started planning. Perhaps, in nine or ten months, a fifth child would complete our family. 

 

Number five, Ellie Mariann, took her sweet time. Three years passed and seven-year-old Spencer Barr would be dethroned as the king and baby-of-the-family in 2018. We now relished every milestone Ellie achieved as though it would be our last chance to enjoy a first giggle or clap or step; we passed along anything she outgrew before we let ourselves think of the finality of this stage of parenthood.  And then I started feeling queasy. 

 

One January afternoon, a pregnancy test was purchased on a whim. I went numb when I saw the indicators reveal a positive result. That morning, the challenges of raising teenagers had been weighing heavily and all I wanted to do is sleep. In an instant I knew why I was so exhausted, but how could this be? It had seemed impossible to get Ellie here a little over one year ago. Was it possible that another baby would follow in spite of everything? 

 

Almost immediately after the questions began, a feeing of peace followed that was inexplicable. It would be okay. No, more than okay. It would be just right. Ellie wouldn’t have to be raised an only child. I would get to experience another round of firsts with another beautiful baby. Although I’d forgotten about my nine-year-old wish for six children, it seems I’d been given that hope for a reason. Number six, Eliza Jane, was always meant to be a part of my life. I’d simply forgotten.