When I think back to my first pregnancy, I recall long afternoon naps, healthy, well-balanced meals, and just laying on the couch marveling at the feeling of the fluttering inside me. I read my pregnancy books religiously and I knew precisely what physical symptoms to anticipate each month. My doting husband joined me at doctor's appointments during the day, while at night he scoured supermarket aisles to satisfy my cravings. I was careful not to lift anything too heavy, as I asked the boy at the supermarket to load my packages into the car. I read to my unborn baby daily, and played classical music to my belly at night. I spent many hours fantasizing about tiny little onesies and beautifully decorated nurseries. I glowed with excited anticipation as I eagerly awaited the arrival of my first born.

   Fast forward a couple years to pregnancy number four. The closest thing I could get to an afternoon nap was collapsing on the couch in the midst of reading One Fish, Two Fish to my five year old. If I was really lucky, my kids would play with Lego for about fifteen minutes while I dozed off until a fight broke out and I would be summoned to settle it. My dog eared pregnancy books were collecting dust on the shelf, and I barely even knew what week of my pregnancy it was. With three kids and one on the way, there was no way my husband could afford the luxury of taking off work to accompany me to doctor's appointments. I really tried to eat healthily, but I inevitably would end up finishing my kids’ leftover macaroni, French fries, and everything in between. At the supermarket I indulged the kindly bagger who insisted on carrying out my bags, while I hoisted my 30 lb toddler out of the shopping cart and into his car seat. In lieu of classical music, my unborn baby heard the constant sounds of her siblings playing, bickering, and me shouting at them. It's not that I didn't enjoy my fourth pregnancy, but it just seemed to whiz by so fast, and I was so preoccupied, I could barely remember my due date.

   I spent the last six weeks making arrangements for my kids so I could enjoy my short vacation in the hospital after the baby was born. As I read my children their bedtime stories, they poked and prodded at my enormous belly, thereby introducing themselves to their new sibling. When my labor began, I frantically rushed to lay out my kids' clothing for the next day, pack lunches, and throw in one more load of laundry. My brief hospital stay was a blur, as I raced home to be with my kids. Our new daughter was excitedly welcomed by her three joyous siblings, as they squabbled over who would get to hold her first. I watched with tears in my eyes as my children gazed at their new sister in wonder and gently caressed her feet. I felt grateful that this new baby had such loving siblings to welcome her into the world, and I looked forward to observing the future interactions between my children and their new baby sister.

   A couple of weeks later, when things had somewhat settled down, I gazed lovingly at my new daughter while I reflected back on my pregnancy. Although subsequent pregnancies may not be as momentous as first one, there is one factor that remains a constant. The fierce love I felt toward each unborn baby and my joy and delight as I welcomed them. I may not have done my fourth pregnancy by the books, but as I cradle my newborn daughter, and my heart expands to love another child, I realize that pregnancy is just a means to an end. And the end is what's important.