By Sarah Hauser
@sarah.j.hauser

“I’m pregnant,” I tell my husband, matter-of-factly. By the fourth kid, the announcements get a little less creative and a little more impromptu. We stand in the middle of the kitchen, dirty dishes piled high in the sink and a stack of unopened mail next to us. I can see him start to lean on the corner of the counter, trying to gain his composure.

His eyes grow wide. “No… you’re not. Seriously?” 

We’re planners and preparers, prone to meticulously calculate my cycle and predict when pregnancy can and cannot happen. This one takes us both by surprise.

I show him the positive pregnancy test, revealing those two pink lines like a confession. I always wanted one more; he was content with three. I’m unsure how to interpret his stunned silence. 

“Are you mad?” I ask, trying not to cry. 

“No, of course I’m not mad. I just… ” Disbelief swallows his words as he shifts his weight. I can’t help it, but in my fear and shock and anxiety, I wipe away a few tears—and start to laugh. 

I can’t believe those words have just come out of my mouth. I longed for this moment for years, and with every month that passed, I had grown more pessimistic it would ever happen. I figured my husband would feel more and more “done” as time went by. But… it has happened. 

He laughs with me, shaking his head as our other three kids ask Alexa to blast the Frozen soundtrack. The kids glance in our direction every few minutes with puzzled looks on their faces. But they’re too busy making messes, chasing our newly adopted dog, and dancing to “Show Yourself” to stop and attempt to make sense of our words. It seems fitting that my admission of pregnancy happens in the midst of this mayhem. 

“Okay,” he says with a chuckle. “I guess we’re having a fourth.”

***

For almost three years, this conversation had been unresolved, the question of “should we or shouldn’t we” left to hang in the air. One would think the possibility was a positive, but the unmade decision took a toll on me—and on us. We could often find compromises in our marriage, talking decisions through until we came to an agreement. This time, it was kid or no kid. You can’t exactly split the difference.

I wanted the door to be flung wide open. I even thought slamming it shut would be easier—at least then I could move on. But instead, it seemed to be painfully creeping shut, teasing me with a glimmer of hope that still felt so far away. With each passing month, I calculated the age gap between our third and the baby I longed to bring into the world. With each month, I wondered if my husband would be more receptive to the idea. With each month, I shoved away the desire for something I didn’t think I had the right to want.

I have three beautiful kids. I have a loud, chaotic, wonderful family. Who am I to want one more? How dare I have the audacity to hope for another. Wasn’t I just being greedy and discontent? 

Maybe. But longing can’t be easily forgotten. You can simultaneously be immensely grateful for what you have and intensely hope for what you don’t. 

I couldn’t shake my desire. I held onto it tightly, trying to will it to happen. I’d walk into the basement and see the stacks of bins filled with baby gear I couldn’t quite give away yet. Should I just get rid of all this? Is it taking up space for no reason? I’d lend items to friends with the caveat, “I might need this back,” a phrase I used like my own personal door stopper, desperate for the unlikely to remain a possibility.

Is it okay to want when you already have so much? When is longing okay and when is it selfish? How long should you pray for something before resigning yourself to what seems to be a divine “no”? 

How long do you leave the door cracked? How hard do you try to pry it open?

As time went by and those baby bins collected more dust, I kept asking God for an answer. Or, more accurately, I kept begging. I didn’t know how to let go, how to stop wanting something so badly—all the while feeling guilty for wanting at all. And one day as I packed up a few bags of baby clothes to pass along to a friend, I remember finally throwing up my hands and declaring with more than a hint of frustration, “Okay, God, if this is going to happen, you’re going to have to surprise us.”

***

The night after I told my husband about our fourth, I snuck away into the spare bedroom upstairs. I got on my knees, and wept—this time, with joy. I don’t deserve the life I have. What a gift to continually be surprised by grace. What a gift, although unwanted at first, to walk through a season where my fingers were pried away from my own timeline, my need for control exposed, and so much of my selfishness brought to the surface. God used this fourth baby to remind me that open hands are more ready to receive than clenched fists.

As I write this, I’m almost 20 weeks along. I still can hardly believe it, although the incessant need to use the bathroom and constant fatigue remind me of all that’s going on inside my body. 

But these physical symptoms also serve as reminders of answered prayers and fulfilled longings, graces from a God who delights in surprising us.

Cider-Ginger Mocktail with Thyme

Yields 1 drink*

In my opinion, a good mocktail needs a bit of a bite and an interesting flavor combination that sets it apart from regular juice or soda. This one does just that. It might sound like a bit much to line the rim of your glass with sugar and ginger or muddle fresh thyme leaves... but trust me on this. The bite from the ginger and the freshness of the herbs and lemon juice give this a flavor combination you’ll love, even without the alcohol. After all, if you’re pregnant or just choose to avoid alcohol, you should still get to sip a fun drink, too.

For the glass

1 tablespoon turbinado or other coarse sugar (optional)
½ teaspoon ground ginger (optional)
Lemon juice (optional)

For the mocktail

1 ounce freshly squeezed lemon juice
3-4 sprigs of fresh thyme, plus more for garnish
1 strip of lemon zest, plus more for garnish
2 ounces fresh apple cider
Handful of ice
2 ounces ginger beer

Prepare your glass. In a shallow dish or on a plate, mix together the turbinado sugar and ground ginger. Rub the rim of a chilled cocktail glass with lemon juice, then dip the rim of the glass in the sugar-ginger mixture. Set the glass aside.

Build your mocktail. Add the lemon juice, thyme, and strip of lemon zest to a cocktail shaker. Use a muddler or a wooden spoon to crush the thyme leaves and zest a bit to release the flavor.

Add the apple cider and a handful of ice. Put the top on the cocktail shaker and shake vigorously for 15 seconds. (If you don’t have a cocktail shaker, just use some sort of sturdy jar or container with a tight-fitting lid).

Strain the mix into the prepared cocktail glass. Top with ginger beer and garnish with fresh thyme and another strip of lemon zest. Sip and enjoy!

*To make this for a crowd, prepare several glasses with the sugar-ginger rim. Then in a pitcher, stir together two parts cider, two parts ginger beer, and one part fresh lemon juice. Add fresh thyme sprigs, lemon slices, and plenty of ice. Pour into glasses and serve.

Words and photo by Sarah Hauser.