Unthinkable

People told me I should slit my wrists. I didn't.

I had a son 12 years after my other children. The first four children were little blonde girls that looked like a boxed set. Then came Rhett. People told me (yes, for real) that if they were me—pregnant at my advanced age—they’d have to slit their wrists.

Here’s a snippet from my journal just after he was born:

“Rhett and I are still in the hospital but we’re going home soon. I had a wonderful private time with him here in the room last night (followed by a difficult night with little sleep.)

I just can’t believe what a blessing this little guy is to me already. I got crying happy tears over it last night, and here I go again. I didn’t see him coming—not for 12 years—but I’m so glad he came. How would it have been to never see his face? Unthinkable.

You know those people who told me they’d have to shoot themselves or slit their wrists if they were in my shoes, pregnant at 42? I’ve had to laugh out loud at these people as I’m looking at Rhett’s adorable, irreplaceable face looking up at me. Anybody would trade places with me if they understood the treasure I hold. Rhett is now mine forever, along with my other four remarkable children. God is the only one who could grant them to me, and no one can take them away.

This new baby—dimple, pensive eyes and all—is a gift to me. A gift! Not something to despise or try to escape from. Nestled at my side is exactly where I want him to be. Forever…

I don’t want to miss a moment. Not one.”