It was the summer of 2010.
Our youngest was 20 months old.
She still wore diapers and used a paci.
But she was quite precocious and every bit the little mama in all her other ways.
Gabrielle had just reached her 18 month seizure-free mark and had recently completed the potty training process.
We were open to having more babies, finding it difficult to question God’s sovereignty after all he had brought us through with our sweet Gabrielle.
But as time passed on… I began to wonder if I would ever find myself pregnant with another bambino.
I recognized the fact that I was getting older and began to slowly acknowledge the reality that Makinley Hope just might be our last.
I started to think outside the pattern that had repeated itself over the last 12 years: Pregnant, Nursing, Pregnant, Nursing, Pregnant, Nursing.
I understood I might have more time on my hands, more sleep coming my way, and a more predictable schedule.
I slowly embraced this new stage and signed up to teach a weekly Ancient Egypt class to a room full of second-graders.
I prepared lesson plans and purchased two cases of sugar cubes.
Pyramids, mummies, and the Nile River consumed my every thought.
I was up to my ears in ancient Egypt.
And just when I had finally accepted the possibility that a baby factory I may no longer be…
BAM!
Constant hunger and endless nausea.
It could mean only one thing.
Perhaps I had one too many hot dates with my hubby recently.
I inconspicuously threw a pregnancy test into the shopping cart during my next trip to Walmart.
Later that day my kids insisted we all gather around the kitchen table because they had a surprise for us.
“You’re pregnant!” they announced, all eyes directed at me.
“You’re right!” we confirmed.
Apparently the pregnancy test hadn’t slipped to the bottom of the cart undetected.
I was thrilled to welcome another baby into our lives.
I hadn’t known if I would ever have the privilege of experiencing pregnancy and holding a newborn again.
I soaked it all in.
I strove to treasure every part of it, because the miracles truly do abound.
It is a holy experience.
God is using you to create new life.
He is knitting together a baby before your very eyes.
Fluttering begins, tiny kicks surprise and delight, soon your entire belly is rolling and hiccuping all at the same time.
The morning sickness was rough though, and it made homeschooling very challenging.
I prayed my way through Pharaohs, hieroglyphics, and Osiris.
I lose my super powers when I’m pregnant, making it difficult to accomplish even the bare minimum.
HCG coursing through my veins means cooking becomes the ultimate act of self-sacrifice.
My children stepped up and took over breakfast prep for one sick momma.
I could be found upstairs battling severe nausea and marveling over the wonders of make-up.
Seriously. Tell me the ability to paint on rosy cheeks with the sweep of a brush is nothing short of miraculous?
I went from sickly, pasty white to a healthy rose-colored glow in under 30 seconds.
Looking better meant I was on my way to feeling better, right?
I filled out an online OB history form in preparation for my first appointment, and let me tell you…
that was a lesson in memory and endurance.;)
At my 12 week appointment I learned I was at risk for all sorts of genetic anomalies due to my ‘advanced maternal age’.
I also learned that I had already gained 7 pounds. I’m sure it’s all baby, I convinced myself, though my snug clothing told me otherwise. 
On October 8, 2010 the entire family crowded into an ultrasound room to get our first glimpse of baby ‘Buster’.
(We affectionately called this baby ‘Buster’ throughout the entire pregnancy.)
The technician quickly confirmed my recent illness was not the result of a hormone-secreting tumor.
We saw a very healthy baby moving around and heard a galloping heartbeat.
One really strange thing about this pregnancy was that from the get-go I assumed it was a boy.
I never considered the possibility that it might be a girl until just before the big ultrasound,
when I suddenly had the realization that, oh my goodness, this could be a girl!
For once though, it seems my intuition regarding gender was correct.
We learned that day we were having a little baby…..BOY!!!!
There was much rejoicing from the boy camp that they would have another guy to represent. 
I had one more month of serious heartburn, nausea/vomiting, and hiding from the smells of the kitchen.
But by mid-November…I was BAAACK!
My hankering for java returned and so did normalcy to our life.
As my ancient Egypt commitment drew to a close, I felt this sudden desire to celebrate with a weekend of spontaneity.
I sent Duff a little tweet-
It’s Friday, I’m home from SMILE co-op, let’s do something spontaneous and fun @duffomelia!
A few hours later we were headed West to the NC mountains for a weekend of adventure.
It was exactly what this worn-out momma needed.
Thanksgiving approached and I believe all of my recent time-off from the kitchen ignited a new level of passion for cooking.
I became a Pioneer Woman recipe junky. I could not keep enough butter in the house.
I was whipping up all sorts of culinary creations and my ever-expanding tummy inevitably found its way into the food.
I began to consider buying an apron for the first time in my life.
I made homemade pie crust for the apple pies that year and vowed I would never turn back to Pillsbury.
I’m sorry to report…
I lied.
Pillsbury and I have had a few encounters since then. Don’t judge.
Christmas shopping was done mostly from bed that year.
Duff and myself beneath cozy covers, dueling laptops open across our laps, and mugs of hot chocolate on nearby nightstands.
Shopping doesn’t get much better than that.
We had everything conveniently shipped to Connecticut where we planned to spend Christmas.
What we didn’t expect that Christmas, was that my dad would be released from the hospital on Christmas Eve.
We didn’t expect to make a late-night run to a 24-hour CVS with all the last-minute Larrys.
We didn’t expect to skunk the seafood chowder.
We didn’t expect that we would all contract the flu, pass it onto family, and then barely make it home before our driver was stricken.
We were down and out for 2 weeks.
One month later, we managed to squeeze the stomach virus in too. We are skilled at this germ-sharing thing, people.
March arrived and with it the 4-Hour Body challenge.
Chili was cooking in the crockpot by night, and eggs, spinach, and legumes welcomed me at breakfast.
There were enough beans in the house to cause spontaneous combustion, never mind gas.
Add some kimchi to my husband’s breath and you almost have grounds for divorce.
Rotting cabbage doesn’t mix well with a pregnant woman’s nose.
Early March also meant an unexpected trip up to Connecticut when my dad became seriously ill with a brain infection.
He made a miraculous recovery against all odds that week.
Upon our return home, I had an OB visit and was immediately placed on modified bedrest.
The doctor feared my uterus was thinning once again and my amniotic fluid was too low.
I was instructed to drink tons of fluids and to only get up to use the bathroom or to shower.
I admit it. I had positively entertained the idea of bed rest in the past. But after almost 24 hours of ‘keeping my feet up’, I was done.
The kids made meals and scolded me every time they saw my feet hit the floor.
Prescribed rest mixed with nesting is a torturous combo.
You realize baby is going to arrive really soon and there are a million things to accomplish, but your hands are tied behind your back.
I needed to locate baby clothes, wash the carseat, acquire a crib, and buy diapers.
Amazon Prime became my best friend that week. I spent lots of time viewing and buying adorable baby boy stuff.
After 7 days, my amniotic fluid levels had improved and I was taken off bed rest. I was instructed to use common sense and not overdo it.
My cesarean was scheduled for the morning of March 29th, if all went well until then.
Yippee! I was so excited to have a date. I was so excited to be off bed rest. I could not wait to meet this precious little guy and I had so much to do!
Clutter, disorganization, and filth had once again taken over the house and I was determined to prevail.
The laundry monster must die.
The weather had turned warm and I wanted to get some flowers planted and also needed to get my hair cut.
My oldest two had drama camp the full week before delivery day…
So I decided to have one last hurrah with the younger 4.
We visited Marbles Kids Museum…
We played outside at White Deer Park.
We visited the OB and prepared for baby’s arrival the following Tuesday.
Finally we were off to the hospital on that chilly March morning to meet baby ‘Buster’.
I could hardly stand it!
I had butterflies of excitement (and hunger) flitting about in my stomach.
Uncle Russ and Aunt Nancy offerred to hold down the fort and watch six children. God bless them.
I found it so incredibly surreal that we planned to arrive at the hospital, at a predetermined time, to meet our son.
Whatever happened to almost-sidewalk births and last-second rides to the ER?
This scheduled cesarean thing was kinda working out nicely though for the seventh time around.
We checked in, found our way to a maternity room, and began the process of pre-op preparations.
We prayed for a healthy baby, safe delivery, and that God would make it very clear if my uterus could handle any more pregnancies.
We rolled into the OR and minutes later a healthy baby was born into this world.
They messed with me for a moment and kidded that he was a girl, but then gave me a quick glimpse of the most adorable little boy ever.
He cried immediately, passed all his tests with flying colors, and was able to come directly back to the room with me.
During the cesarean, my OB reported that my uterus was abnormally thin, like cellophane again. She showed it to Duff, who confirmed my uterus looked exactly like Saran Wrap. My doctor, who I trust immensely, strongly recommended this be our last. I felt peaceful calm knowing this was God’s decision and very blessed that I was able to carry 7 children before this.
In my postpartum room I fell in love all over again with our newest edition: Logan Robert O’Melia.
We marveled over tiny feet and perfectly formed fingers.
We examined his face. Every wrinkle, crease, contour, and dimple was noted.
We immediately saw resemblances.
Does anyone else see the resemblance to Mr. Magoo?
I lay there recovering in my bed, watching my husband hold his tiny son.
There is just something about a man holding a baby that causes me to melt into a puddle.
Of course those postpartum hormones can work wonders as well.
And then the time came to introduce Logan to his brothers and sisters.
Gabby and Makinley were fascinated.
Luke and Keagan were definitely big fans of the new little guy.
Maddie patiently waited her turn.
“Argh!” they grunted. Another boy to represent!
Look at you, Logan. You have brought so much love, joy, and laughter into this family.
What an AMAZING blessing you are from an AMAZING God.
