Two and a half weeks ago, we welcomed our fourth child into the world. I am cautious to say that things have been going really well. The big kids have been great helpers, even letting me sleep in many mornings and playing together so I can attend to the baby. It is a great difference having a baby when the other three don’t need as much and can do so many things by themselves. Although there have been night wakings, I haven’t felt extremely tired, and haven’t felt overwhelmed, depleted, or emotional exhausted as I have in past post-partum experiences.

But I have been surprised – perhaps shocked – by something totally different. Something I really didn’t even expect. And that is the emotions of having just had my last baby. It’s weird really. I guess I thought that what everyone said would be true: “You will know when you are done.” But I don’t feel that way.

After our third child was born three years ago, I felt regret and resentment. I thought she would be our last, and most of that pregnancy had been spent in stress, overwhelm, exhaustion, terror, and even anger. She was born just 13 months after her sister, definitely not part of my well-oiled plan, and there I was . . . three kids in three years and a complete mess. I was very sad that what I thought would be my last pregnancy/baby had gone that way.

It took me a long time to admit that I was even remotely interested in having another child, and another long amount of time to agree to even give it a chance. In no way whatsoever do I regret having another baby. I am completely humbled and utterly grateful to have been given this chance again, that my husband and I have the honor of raising four children in this world.

But I thought that having another child would ease the ache I felt in my heart, somehow close the gap I feel inside . . . that it would provide feelings of resolution and completion. Yet what has become so clear to me in the last two and a half weeks since our son was born is that these expectations cannot be met by anything here on this earth. And that I have actually been attempting to cling to time, to somehow avoid its passing.

When our son was one week old, I felt this incredibly overwhelming sadness, and I just cried and cried. It took me a while to sort through.

It seems so cruel that such a monumental event, such a life-changing experience as welcoming a child into the world, should rush away as quickly as every other day, just the same as any other mundane thing.

The hardest part for me? No matter how much you purposed to enjoy every moment, the season comes and goes and is over before you’re ready. Are you ever ready? I tried so much to enjoy every moment of this pregnancy. Even on the days I felt so sick, so tired, so large . . . I praised God and thanked Him for the chance to do this again. I feel as though I really treasured every part of the experience, had a good attitude, and soaked it all in. But then it was over.

Someone asked me the other day: “So does your family feel complete now?” And I couldn’t honestly say yes. I’m not sure what that feels like.

It’s not really so much that I think I would want more kids. But there’s something so hard about realizing the never again. There will never be another positive pregnancy test. Another growing bump. Another first heart beat. Another ultrasound. Another round of that wonder and anticipation and horribly draining yet impossibly exciting wait for baby.

Never again will I get to experience the incredible and intense and powerful thing that is birth, the hard work that is poured into meeting one’s baby for the first time. Suddenly what felt almost abstract becomes reality. There really was a human being growing inside all that time. That first meeting is impossible to describe.

I’ve tried to hold on to the experiences, the emotions of those times from my four kids . . . And yet with time, the memories blur and the details slip through my fingers like sand.

I guess what I have realized is this: Time waits for no one. Time does not stand still. It’s not an enemy. I don’t want to blame time. And yet, time keeps moving. And right now, I need courage to embrace the passage of time.

A decade ago, I had a broken heart. My life had not gone as planned. I hadn’t even started dating my husband (though that is kind of a funny story . . . for another time). I was still wondering who I’d marry and what our future would hold. I was still convinced I wanted but two kids, two girls only.

And then, like that, a decade has passed. We have married and weathered many storms together while also basking in so much beauty. We have moved states and homes and bought houses and cars, done renovations and made decisions, traveled, had dreams and made memories, lost two babies, and birthed four . . .

So now it feels like we are standing on the precipice of “what’s next”. I know in ten years, I’ll look back and see even more wonder and beauty, God’s goodness and faithfulness, in this decade, but right now it feels unsure, almost lonesome . . . Even sad, as we bid farewell to the season of growing our family and step into a season of raising our family.

I think it’s so contrasting because for so much of the beginning of life, it’s all about becoming and anticipating. What will you be? What will you do? Let’s study and start a career, get married and have kids, make a life . . . And then you actually get into LIFE, and you realize, wow, this is going by fast, and this life is seriously fleeting.

Which feels terrifying.

I never thought I’d be praying and asking God for courage to accept that these days are short. Or asking for courage to watch my kids grow up.

It’s really just so strange. I never expected any of this to be part of life, of parenthood. It’s so beautiful and so good, and yet so emotionally conflicting. So when I say I’m crying because I just had my last baby, it’s not really that I want more kids. But it’s all of this, so many things that are so hard to explain.

So I continue to pray for courage – so that I could embrace the moment I am given, instead of grieving the loss of the past or being afraid of the future.