As each child came to our family, there was a continuous sense that more children were coming, and it frustrated me a little.
My hubby and I worked very hard to maintain our new little family - harder and smarter than we'd ever had to work before, and it was hard to enjoy that time because everything seemed so precarious.
The supervisor I had before, who had set me up to work from home and trusted me implicitly, retired, and the new supervisor Michael Johnson, who didn't know me, asked me to come in and work in the office again for a time so he could get to know me better. After that, he would be more open to the idea of me working from home again.
So the thing I dreaded - working away from home with small children at home - came to pass at last. I was emotionally devastated. Truth be told, I grew up telling everyone that I wanted a career, but I never did. I only ever said that to provoke my father, because I knew it would make him angry, and making him angry was the only revenge I could ever take on him for all he did that made me angry.
But I really wanted to be a mom. I really wanted to stay home and raise my children. I was one of those women for whom the feminist movement sort of helped me, but sort of didn't at the same time. I was grateful to have the option to work, and I really never wanted it.
That feeling was never so strong as it was when my kids were little.
Fortunately, Sam had the option to stay home with them so they never had to go to daycare, but it killed me to leave them every morning. They would cry as I left, so I would sneak out of the house before they woke up, so I wouldn't have to hear it.
My only thought at work, the whole time I was there, pregnant now with our third child, was 'How do I get back home?'
It got very dark for me for a time. Occasionally I would look up family websites of people who had lost family members to suicide, and listen to their hurt and pain, and that helped me not do anything drastic with myself.
I listened to lots of scriptures and Conference talks from our church, wondering what was wrong with me, why I couldn't think of any way to stay home that would work, and why on Earth the Lord had allowed this to happen - why was He sending all these kids to our family when I couldn't even stay home and be their mom? Lots of really torturous thoughts.
Eventually, the time came for labor and delivery. I was so grateful that Sam figured out a way for me to get insured (only me - another scary thing), and we could once again go to the Maternity Center and have regular midwives again - a great blessing.
As the time drew nearer, nothing happened. We went a week overdue.
We determined that it was castor oil time, so I dosed myself, gagged, and waited for something to happen. Nothing.
Okay...it doesn't always work the first time, let's try it again. Another dose, lots of gagging. My gosh, this stuff is awful, but it'll be worth it...
Absolutely nothing.
I couldn't bear the thought of doing it a third time, so that night, I lay in bed and decided to talk to the baby. Utterly desperate at this point, almost two weeks overdue. All I could think to do was go into my mind and talk to this kid, who'd set up a satellite dish and a hot tub in my womb, and wasn't about to leave.
I introduced myself, and said, "So what's the holdup, kid? We're all waiting for you to come out here."
I felt a strong feeling of fear, that didn't seem to come from me.
The baby was afraid. Thought that we wouldn't like him or her when the time came to be born.
I told the baby (in my mind) that we really wanted to see it, and that it was time, and that we all felt nothing but love about getting to have you in our home. I said it, but my own depression at that time was so strong, I didn't know if the baby would feel that or not. So I talked about how God was there, and how much He loved the baby, which I felt more confident in saying. The feeling changed to something more peaceful and less fearful.
Next day, labor was going full force. We made it to the Maternity Center, met Pam there again (who was now our good luck charm at these births), and the baby was born.
What was her name, and why did you give her that name?
She was a girl, and we had a name for her at the time. We were going to call her Cecelia Petra. However, when the time came to fill out the name form after the baby was born, we couldn't decide how to spell Cecelia - with one 'l' or two? I's or E's?
It seemed like a name that was too much work, and it really didn't seem to fit her once she was out anyway, hairy and purple and squalling like her older brother. So we thought about it in that moment, and both of us decided that she looked more like an Ashley than a Cecelia.
So Ashley it was. Ashley, and Petra for her middle name, after her father's Mexican grandmother.
(cat hissing noises) - from Ashley
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