“I’m not ready,” I said to my husband and even though it doesn’t surprise him, it does me.

After going through infertility, you’d think the prospect of birthing our two boys would’ve been something I’d anticipated and prepared for. But it wasn’t. I was terrified. I was scared of the pain. I was scared of parenthood. I was scared of my own insecurities. And in that moment, I had every belief that I couldn’t do it.

But, of course, I didn’t get a choice. I DID do it. And now, I have these two incredible sons that I’ve been raising for the past 19 months.

Here I am again, unexpectedly soon, telling myself these same words. I’m not ready. I’m scared of the pain. I’m scared of parenting three little boys. I’m scared of my own insecurities. And some very loud and convincing voices inside of me saying that I can’t do this.

I believe them sometimes. Maybe a lot of the time even.

The doubt and the fear is different in some ways and the same in others. I worry that my time will feel fractured not only to me but to my two boys. I worry that my connection to this baby won’t compare to my connection with Theo and Noah. I worry that my relationship with Theo and Noah will suffer necessarily to have a relationship with their little brother. I worry that I’ll become so dependent on my husband that I won’t be able to function when he goes back to work. I worry that my delivery will be incredibly painful and that healing will take longer than expected. I worry that my body will become even more foreign to me after the baby comes than it was last time. I worry that I won’t be able to nurse as I couldn’t with the boys. I worry that I will be able to nurse. I worry that I won’t be able to handle having three children. I worry that I will fail and never stop failing.

The list could and does continue.

Coming from someone who has wanted nothing but to start a family for the last several years and has gone through both the heartache of not being able to and the triumph of finally being blessed with children, I would never have expected to feel as I have this pregnancy.

I guess the best way to explain it is by a question that has been in the back of my mind, “why now?”

After so long of asking, “why NOT now” I never expected to be on the other side of the coin. The side that I frankly judged before because I didn’t understand how being pregnant could feel like anything less than a blessing.

It is a blessing—absolutely. And I believe that every child has a purpose given to them in-womb.

Yet, I have found myself, guiltily asking, why?

I didn’t believe I could get pregnant naturally. Nothing would have given me an indication that I could. Our first IVF transfer was successful, but nothing else before than had been.

After having the boys, the idea of going on BC was hard. If there was the off chance that I could get pregnant naturally, I wanted to—I wanted that experience. But of course, as so many who go through this process know, it was too much to actually hope for that outcome.

And then, after stopping pumping, I got my first period and that was it.

The boys were just a few days from turning one.

I was shocked. Excited. Nervous. Overwhelmed.

I was grateful. But I was also confused.

Why now? Why hadn’t it happened this way before? Why did I have to go through IVF? Why did we have to endure infertility? Why then? And why now?

I was feeling out of control. I am not in control, but who likes to actually feel that way. I had come to terms that all of our children would come to us through IVF. And I was finally okay with that. So WHY did the script have to flip again? Why couldn’t I just know the plan and have it play out that way?

Well, because it’s not me whose writing the story. God is. I just wish He’d be a little more predictable sometimes.

I’ve struggled this whole pregnancy with identity. It may sound selfish, but it’s the truth regardless. I’ve gone from infertile to IVF success story to fertile. Each label meaning something completely different to me and how I looked at the world. My body has felt like it’s been a lease for the past four years between different dieting and exercising in the hopes of getting pregnant, to the hormones and surgeries with infertility treatment, to a twin pregnancy, to exclusively pumping, to finally weaning and getting back to my normal self, and then immediately diving into pregnancy again with the hopes of nursing for the first year.

I will have given birth to three children in under two years—20 months to be exact.

I’m feeling tired and removed and guilty for all of it.

I don’t feel ready for this—honestly. I don’t wish things were different, I just wish I didn’t feel like such a disaster in the midst of it.

I am so excited to meet this little boy, I am, truly. I’m just scared of all of the other things around him. I know that it’s clouding my view right now and I know that when I see him, it will all be clear. I just want that day to be here and for that clarity to set in. I want to not feel like such a hypocrite to a community that brought me through the hardest season of my life. I want to bring hope and faith to those around me.

I’m trying, guys. I am. Please know that.