This month my family received some bad news. After months of watching my mother's health deteriorate without a clear reason, she was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, an incurable form of blood cancer. We don't have a prognosis for her yet, and we won't until after she sees a haematologist. In the mean time, we're all doing our best to stay positive, and stay away from google. There are lots of new and innovative treatments that can give patients who respond well many years of symptom-free living. With that in mind there's still a lot of hope in these dark days.
One of the things I've realized in all of this is how lucky we are to have our faith. I have found myself turning to God for strength and as always He outdoes me in generosity. I haven't felt moved to the anger I would have expected considering the circumstances. I know I could easily get angry, shout at God, or get dragged down in thoughts of "why my family???". When I first heard the diagnosis I had one moment of sadness, a taste of the abiding grief that comes with losing a loved one. And then I took a deep breath and layed my sorrows in God's hands with complete trust. I realize that God didn't make my Mom sick. That's not how these things work. I know that if it is God's will my Mom will be healed. I also know that if He allows her to follow the more painful road of suffering, it won't be because He doesn't love her. I know God loves my mother immensely. I have witnessed first hand how precious she is to Him. Over the years, God has carried her through so many struggles (not the least of which was raising us three crazy kids). She has always found a way to put her suffering aside to find room for love, charity, and joy. If you knew my mother's whole story, you wouldn't believe that she should be as cheerful as she is. By the world's standards, she should be bitter, especially now as yet another struggle comes to her. But she's not. If my mother has taught me nothing else, she has taught me that nothing is too big (or too small) to lay in God's hands. I have watched her time and again choose love and forgiveness instead of anger and bitterness. When we say the prayer "forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us", she is one of the few people I know who can stand in good measure as always forgiving as much as she can and then some. How many of us hold on to grudges over the silliest things? I have seen her forgive those little things, but also hurts of such incredible magnitude. She has been wounded, but she is not wounded. She trusts in God. This is her greatest lesson. Although I wish more of her craftiness and creativity had rubbed off on me, I can't deny how blessed I have been by her example of child-like faith. Just like my kids trust that my kisses can fix their boo-boos, she trusts that there is not hurt God's love can't take the sting out of.
Regardless of what happens, I want to be that example of faith to my children. If my Mom is healed, we'll all throw the biggest part this world has seen since Pentecost. If that's not in God's plan, we'll stand together and lean on Him, and make the most of however much time she is given with us. Whether it be a year or twenty years, whenever she makes her journey to Heaven, I hope we can find a little more of her faith and joy to bide us through our days. God willing that won't be for a good long time.
Showing posts with label joy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label joy. Show all posts
Thursday, 29 August 2013
Thursday, 8 November 2012
Baby 5: First Ultrasound
We had our first ultrasound this morning. We got there quite early and by chance they were able to take us in right away. It pays to be punctual, folks. We were out of the ultrasounds before our appointment time. For those of you who have been following the weekly instalments relating to this pregnancy, we had estimated (based on sparse facts) that we would be 10 weeks and 4 days today. I'd not had an obvious return of my cycle, so we weren't able to use the LMP for our estimations (like that works anyway) but guessed based on other details we had. Based on the very high levels (for the EDD we had) of hormones from my blood pregnancy test, we were left wondering if we'd botched the dates or if we were having twins. We discovered recently that twins run in the family quite a bit on my Dad's side (he's adopted), and with the fact that we were on our 5th pregnancy, we knew statistics were starting to tip towards a twin pregnancy this time around. We were very excited (and of course nervous) for the prospect. We had started looking for a bigger van, were talking about all the little details we needed to square away to make sure we transitioned smoothly to two more babies. I think part of my mind had totally accepted that it was twins. I even wanted twins. Yes, it would be a challenge, but having witness a dear friend not only survive but thrive with two beautiful twin girls I felt like, with her advice and wisdom, we could do the same thing (or our own version of it anyway).
So as I parked my very tired, very bloated body on the ultrasound table, I squinted my eyes, expecting to see two little sacs, two little babies. I think it would be wrong to say I was disappointed that there was only one little baby in there. I was SO excited to see our perfect, beautiful little baby. There was a part of me, the part that had built up the expectation that there might be two, that was surprised to see only one. I actually said out loud: "Maybe next time!" and then got down to the business of memorising every delightful detail of the little baby on the screen.
Not to brag or anything, but my husband and I make gorgeous babies. Even in the womb, they are to die for! As the ultrasound wand swept back and forth, we saw a perfectly formed little body, a sweet pounding heart, and a profile that looked so much like baby's big sisters already. Baby was also bouncing around, changing sides constantly, and waving tiny little hands at us. We couldn't help but smile and laugh at how active this tiny person was! The ultrasound tech told us our Baby is already 6cm on the button.
Size leads me to our next point. I guess we were a little tiny bit off. Two weeks to be exact. So, as of this morning we are 12 weeks and 4 days along, with a update due date of May 19th, 2013. Knowing that I often go late, we'll probably still be closer to June before we meet the newest baby. It's nice to know we're hitting the end of the first trimester. My nausea is already down significantly, which is great. It's time to start enjoying the 27-29 weeks left before we meet our little one!
So as I parked my very tired, very bloated body on the ultrasound table, I squinted my eyes, expecting to see two little sacs, two little babies. I think it would be wrong to say I was disappointed that there was only one little baby in there. I was SO excited to see our perfect, beautiful little baby. There was a part of me, the part that had built up the expectation that there might be two, that was surprised to see only one. I actually said out loud: "Maybe next time!" and then got down to the business of memorising every delightful detail of the little baby on the screen.
Not to brag or anything, but my husband and I make gorgeous babies. Even in the womb, they are to die for! As the ultrasound wand swept back and forth, we saw a perfectly formed little body, a sweet pounding heart, and a profile that looked so much like baby's big sisters already. Baby was also bouncing around, changing sides constantly, and waving tiny little hands at us. We couldn't help but smile and laugh at how active this tiny person was! The ultrasound tech told us our Baby is already 6cm on the button.
Size leads me to our next point. I guess we were a little tiny bit off. Two weeks to be exact. So, as of this morning we are 12 weeks and 4 days along, with a update due date of May 19th, 2013. Knowing that I often go late, we'll probably still be closer to June before we meet the newest baby. It's nice to know we're hitting the end of the first trimester. My nausea is already down significantly, which is great. It's time to start enjoying the 27-29 weeks left before we meet our little one!
Friday, 26 October 2012
Patience is a Virtue
How many times have we heard the phrase "Patience is a Virtue"? When my first daughter was born, patience was certainly not a virtue I had. Not even remotely. This led to some pretty massive failures in my attempts to breastfeed. She was having trouble latching so she was hungry all the time and spent a lot of her first few weeks working on the most pitiful, heart-breaking mewl of a cry that would drive me to tears. I recall one night in those early weeks when I just couldn't get her to latch (yes, I know I should have called a lactation consultant!), that I sat in my rocking chair and lost it. She was crying, I was crying, it was chaos. The only person not crying was my husband. He gently picked her up out of my arms and rocked her until she was calm, burped her, and handed her back. After that desperate night, my husband went out and bought me a little hand pump so we could try to bottle feed her. To this day I've never figured out how to use it quickly and effectively, which led to more frustrated tears, and then finally a trip to the store for some formula. I recall when we finally got her on solids, how easily I would lose my cool when she'd throw her dishes and her food on the floor. Another case of tears over what is really not that big of a deal. Babies throwing stuff is just what babies do. It's kind of their gig. I just couldn't handle the waste, the mess, and the fact that she wasn't eating when I thought she would DIE of malnutrition if she didn't eat EVERY bite of her oatmeal. When I look back I can laugh at myself for being so dramatic.
The more kids we had, the less I had these problems. Breastfeeding stayed hard. It was only with our 4th child that I managed to make it past the 4 month mark. As for the feeding, we switched out to Baby Led Weaning, which made life way easier anyway. I found tricks to avoid the stress that would send me over the edge. It also helps that I don't have 4 tiny babies. Just one baby at a time makes it all easier. My big kids still try my patience. A LOT. But I give in way less than I did with one, or even two. I still find my eye twitching every once in a while when I come in and see the little big brother has drawn ALL OVER the walls of his ENTIRE room with crayon that WILL NOT wash off (How did he even get those crayons??? The sneaky little monkey brought them up while I wasn't looking!). I mean really. When his older sister did that I lost my mind, and she only coloured on one little corner with a crayon that washed off easily. There was yelling, tears, drama, and then a ban on crayons for at least a month. Maybe more. With little big brother I sat him down and talked it through with him. Showed him how hard it was to clean. Told him that the walls were not for colouring on. Gave him a colouring book to exercise his artistic desires. Inside, my brain was screaming, but I managed to keep my cool with him.
So I guess patience really is a virtue. Like every other virtue you don't just wake up one day feeling patient. It's something you learn with great effort, by building up a habit of self-control and gentleness. Some days I still lose my cool. My boys are amazing, loving this wonders, but there are times when the two of them are going nuts in their room at night, waking up their baby sister in the next room that I want to come in their room and let loose the dogs of war on them. If I can't resist, I do my best to send in my husband instead. If he's too overwhelmed then I go in. We need to be firm, set rules and boundaries, and dole out punishments when necessary. That doesn't mean I want to spend my life yelling myself hoarse and crying. With 4 kids filling the day with their individual wildness, that's a real possibility. I have to make a daily choice to be the Mom they need. I may use the crazy eyes once in a while to calm the scene, but I'd rather that than the crazy voice or crying.
I think most importantly for any parents with only one baby, or even a few, is that no one is a perfect parent straight out of the gate. We parents with lots of kids may seem more patient, but that's because we've had time and LOTS of practice. I get to test my patience in fire every morning when the kids wake up screaming for everything. It's a conscious choice we make in every moment to be the Mom they need, even when what we really want is to hide in the bathroom until they quiet themselves down. When you have one kid or even two, you're still learning how to be a parent, so let that be your focus. Don't worry about comparing yourself to other parents, even though it may be tempting. Even with 4 kids (and one on the way) there's always another Mom whose doing it all with more kids. I have a particular Mom I look up to, who has a few more kids than I do, is homeschooling them, making delicious healthy meals, helping out at her Church, and all of that with a smile on her face. There are days that I look at her and think how much better she's doing with all of this than I am and with more kids. Then I remember that I can make her a model of virtue without putting her on too high of a pedestal, especially when that pedestal is built at the cost of my own confidence. So, instead I try to use her example as an inspiration rather than an accusation. When I don't let myself bogged down with raising other people above myself, it's a lot easier to find the joy in all the small things in my own life.
The more kids we had, the less I had these problems. Breastfeeding stayed hard. It was only with our 4th child that I managed to make it past the 4 month mark. As for the feeding, we switched out to Baby Led Weaning, which made life way easier anyway. I found tricks to avoid the stress that would send me over the edge. It also helps that I don't have 4 tiny babies. Just one baby at a time makes it all easier. My big kids still try my patience. A LOT. But I give in way less than I did with one, or even two. I still find my eye twitching every once in a while when I come in and see the little big brother has drawn ALL OVER the walls of his ENTIRE room with crayon that WILL NOT wash off (How did he even get those crayons??? The sneaky little monkey brought them up while I wasn't looking!). I mean really. When his older sister did that I lost my mind, and she only coloured on one little corner with a crayon that washed off easily. There was yelling, tears, drama, and then a ban on crayons for at least a month. Maybe more. With little big brother I sat him down and talked it through with him. Showed him how hard it was to clean. Told him that the walls were not for colouring on. Gave him a colouring book to exercise his artistic desires. Inside, my brain was screaming, but I managed to keep my cool with him.
So I guess patience really is a virtue. Like every other virtue you don't just wake up one day feeling patient. It's something you learn with great effort, by building up a habit of self-control and gentleness. Some days I still lose my cool. My boys are amazing, loving this wonders, but there are times when the two of them are going nuts in their room at night, waking up their baby sister in the next room that I want to come in their room and let loose the dogs of war on them. If I can't resist, I do my best to send in my husband instead. If he's too overwhelmed then I go in. We need to be firm, set rules and boundaries, and dole out punishments when necessary. That doesn't mean I want to spend my life yelling myself hoarse and crying. With 4 kids filling the day with their individual wildness, that's a real possibility. I have to make a daily choice to be the Mom they need. I may use the crazy eyes once in a while to calm the scene, but I'd rather that than the crazy voice or crying.
I think most importantly for any parents with only one baby, or even a few, is that no one is a perfect parent straight out of the gate. We parents with lots of kids may seem more patient, but that's because we've had time and LOTS of practice. I get to test my patience in fire every morning when the kids wake up screaming for everything. It's a conscious choice we make in every moment to be the Mom they need, even when what we really want is to hide in the bathroom until they quiet themselves down. When you have one kid or even two, you're still learning how to be a parent, so let that be your focus. Don't worry about comparing yourself to other parents, even though it may be tempting. Even with 4 kids (and one on the way) there's always another Mom whose doing it all with more kids. I have a particular Mom I look up to, who has a few more kids than I do, is homeschooling them, making delicious healthy meals, helping out at her Church, and all of that with a smile on her face. There are days that I look at her and think how much better she's doing with all of this than I am and with more kids. Then I remember that I can make her a model of virtue without putting her on too high of a pedestal, especially when that pedestal is built at the cost of my own confidence. So, instead I try to use her example as an inspiration rather than an accusation. When I don't let myself bogged down with raising other people above myself, it's a lot easier to find the joy in all the small things in my own life.
Saturday, 12 May 2012
If I Knew Then What I Know Now
Sometimes I find myself reflecting on the person I was before I met my husband and had a zillion kids (okay okay, only 4 so far). I was a girl with great drive and focus (how else could I write a 20 page term paper, 5 take-homes and 2 essays all in one weekend, powered only by orange juice, mac and cheese, and ramen noodles?), with a plan for my own life that, at the time, looked very dazzling. I was well on my way to completing my BA with the intention of doing my MA at the same school and my PhD at a Pontifical University in Rome (dream big or don't bother!). I was going to travel the world, experience new things, teach and be taught. I was going to find fulfilment in a world that was waiting just on the other side of a few more papers and exams. In the back of my mind, I also had a dream of becoming a Nun, and living out all my dreams wearing some sort of fabulous habit, veil and all. Joining a religious order would fulfil my deep religious yearnings and desire to serve others, while giving me a chance to serve my own ideal as educated world traveller.
Looking back, I doubt that if I had been given a glimpse of my life today, I would have said yes, and dived in head first. I'm relatively sure that I would have outright said no! When the opportunity to be part of a new religious community in my own city arose, I said YES before I even had a chance to consider what it was I was doing. I already had a sense of what that life would look like and what my challenges would be. If my 20 something (well, early 20 something) self had any sense of the daily challenges of my current life, I have a feeling I would have been overcome with intense fear and run the opposite direction. Possibly screaming. Back then, I had no idea what I was truly capable of. I had in my heart the desire to be a mother, but along with that I had the deep sense that I wasn't chosen for that life because I wasn't equipped for it. I simply was made to be a nun, solitary and stoic. (And seriously, I really do know that that's not a qualification for a "good" nun. My Sisters from the Franciscans are the most loving, giving women I've ever met. Stoic is not a word I'd even think to apply to those gorgeous ladies!)
When I pictured myself as a mother, it was with a feeling that I had no patience, no knowledge of babies, and that I physically could not endure labour. Being a mother to me also meant being married. And you see, I was not the marrying type, unless you count marrying Jesus. I couldn't picture myself a suitable wife to anyone, with all my solitary habits and eccentricities, my inability to be emotionally intimate with even my closest friends. The women I was nearly 10 years ago would not have been able to answer the call to the life I live now. She would have been scared, and perhaps rightly so.
The truth is that that girl is still there, part of me every day, but I'm also so much more. I'm glad that God didn't give me any real insight into what my life would be. I didn't one day wake up a wife and mother, and certainly not a mother of one preschooler, two rowdy toddlers, and one very sweet but demanding baby. God built me up, little by little. He showed me my talents, and gave me new ones. He gave me a friend, taught me how to share my struggles and emotional baggage with him, then made him my husband. He gave me one child, let me adjust, then another, then another, then another. At each stage, God waited until I was ready, then gave me a little more. Oftentimes it felt like each new pregnancy would be too much, but then I would find myself surprised as I came out of the fog of new babyness that I was not just surviving, but joyful (most days). If we reach out for God's hand, He won't let us sink, even if we feel like we're drowning some days.
I'm glad that I never had a sense of what my life would look like today. God didn't give me a chance to scare myself out of it. I can't imagine my life any other way, nor do I want to. When I gave my life up to God, He took that life and has made more out of it than I ever could have imagined.
Looking back, I doubt that if I had been given a glimpse of my life today, I would have said yes, and dived in head first. I'm relatively sure that I would have outright said no! When the opportunity to be part of a new religious community in my own city arose, I said YES before I even had a chance to consider what it was I was doing. I already had a sense of what that life would look like and what my challenges would be. If my 20 something (well, early 20 something) self had any sense of the daily challenges of my current life, I have a feeling I would have been overcome with intense fear and run the opposite direction. Possibly screaming. Back then, I had no idea what I was truly capable of. I had in my heart the desire to be a mother, but along with that I had the deep sense that I wasn't chosen for that life because I wasn't equipped for it. I simply was made to be a nun, solitary and stoic. (And seriously, I really do know that that's not a qualification for a "good" nun. My Sisters from the Franciscans are the most loving, giving women I've ever met. Stoic is not a word I'd even think to apply to those gorgeous ladies!)
When I pictured myself as a mother, it was with a feeling that I had no patience, no knowledge of babies, and that I physically could not endure labour. Being a mother to me also meant being married. And you see, I was not the marrying type, unless you count marrying Jesus. I couldn't picture myself a suitable wife to anyone, with all my solitary habits and eccentricities, my inability to be emotionally intimate with even my closest friends. The women I was nearly 10 years ago would not have been able to answer the call to the life I live now. She would have been scared, and perhaps rightly so.
The truth is that that girl is still there, part of me every day, but I'm also so much more. I'm glad that God didn't give me any real insight into what my life would be. I didn't one day wake up a wife and mother, and certainly not a mother of one preschooler, two rowdy toddlers, and one very sweet but demanding baby. God built me up, little by little. He showed me my talents, and gave me new ones. He gave me a friend, taught me how to share my struggles and emotional baggage with him, then made him my husband. He gave me one child, let me adjust, then another, then another, then another. At each stage, God waited until I was ready, then gave me a little more. Oftentimes it felt like each new pregnancy would be too much, but then I would find myself surprised as I came out of the fog of new babyness that I was not just surviving, but joyful (most days). If we reach out for God's hand, He won't let us sink, even if we feel like we're drowning some days.
I'm glad that I never had a sense of what my life would look like today. God didn't give me a chance to scare myself out of it. I can't imagine my life any other way, nor do I want to. When I gave my life up to God, He took that life and has made more out of it than I ever could have imagined.
Monday, 7 May 2012
Baby Boy
The title is a bit of a misnomer as my baby boy isn't exactly a baby anymore. This past Friday my little man had his second birthday, firmly sealing him as a "big boy" and not a baby, which he reminded us of frequently during the day. So long as he's our youngest boy, I know in my heart I'll always think of him as my baby, but I can't help but reflect on how vivacious and strong he's getting. With every milestone I can't help but reflect on how tough things have been with him, from pregnancy on through his first two years.
Before we were even pregnant with him, my husband and I had been discussing the fact that we would be satisfied if our oldest two were the only children we would ever have, we would still feel abundantly blessed. We had a boy and a girl already, and they were certainly a handful. Around this time we'd moved into a lovely four bedroom townhouse that was former military housing. It was clean, bright, and even had a little fenced-in backyard for the kids to play. In that moment, our life felt complete. We talked about more kids off and on but our youngest was still an infant so we weren't in any rush. At the same time as we were settling into our new home, our car took a turn for the worse. Half of the time it wouldn't even start. We were concerned that it would stall while we were out driving, leaving us stranded with two small children. So off to go car shopping we went. We had our eyes on an old-style minivan (because as most of you with two little kids know, sometimes you need a van just to carry their gear!), but stumbled on a used van that was only a year old with very little mileage, and luckily, the price was right.
We were excited about our new purchase and what it would mean for our family, so we decided to buy a bottle of wine to celebrate the night before we were supposed to sign the paperwork. I joked I should take a pregnancy test just to make sure I was safe to have a drink and bought one as a gag to tease my husband with. Yes, that is the kind of humour I rock out. As it turns out, the joke was on me. After a quick trip to the bathroom to get the test started before I put away our groceries, I noticed that the test showed 2 dark pink lines within seconds. There was no doubt, no peering warily at the test at a faint line like we did with our first pregnancy. There, before my eyes, without a shadow of a doubt, was a positive pregnancy test. I remember in that moment the way I ran the gamut of emotions. My first reaction was to let out one loud laugh (which puzzled my husband who didn't know I was using the test in the evening. I usually do them in the morning, but this was at around 5pm, when the hormone wouldn't be as strong as the early morning). My second was to run down the stairs waving the test in the air like a mad woman. I remember that my husband was elated. He picked up our 2 year old girl and danced her around the room in his joy. There was no thought of regret, only delight for such a surprising and appreciated gift. We had both said two kids would be enough, but I know in that unexpected, unasked for moment, we were so full of excitement, peace and joy that I knew God had something wonderful in store for us.
Even now I think wonderful isn't a good enough word. There really is no word big enough, deep enough, or loving enough to describe what our precious little boy has meant to us. He is our clown, our bottomless pit, our cuddler, our thinker, our brave little man, and, simply, our daily gift. We had some scares with his pregnancy, including an awful fall down a long flight of stairs when I was about six months pregnant. I had bruises down the whole left side of my body but, by the grace of God, my sweet baby was completely uninjured. As I recall, after I finally stopped shaking and caught my breath, I felt one firm kick, like a harried neighbour asking me to quiet down my racket so he could sleep. After it all he came out, a week late, just shy of 8 pounds but full of life, joy, and smiles.
Reflecting on the past two years, I can't help but think about how grateful I am for God's generosity with me. I was willing to stop after two. Willing to have "good enough" instead of trusting that there might be something else worth experiencing for me. As I clutch on to the last remaining parts of my boy's babyhood, I'm glad God didn't listen to me or follow my plans. I could never have guessed how incredible the blessing of three (and then four, and maybe someday more) kids would be. I am reminded again and again how blessed I have been, especially when I don't expect it, whenever I let God do what He wants with my life.
Before we were even pregnant with him, my husband and I had been discussing the fact that we would be satisfied if our oldest two were the only children we would ever have, we would still feel abundantly blessed. We had a boy and a girl already, and they were certainly a handful. Around this time we'd moved into a lovely four bedroom townhouse that was former military housing. It was clean, bright, and even had a little fenced-in backyard for the kids to play. In that moment, our life felt complete. We talked about more kids off and on but our youngest was still an infant so we weren't in any rush. At the same time as we were settling into our new home, our car took a turn for the worse. Half of the time it wouldn't even start. We were concerned that it would stall while we were out driving, leaving us stranded with two small children. So off to go car shopping we went. We had our eyes on an old-style minivan (because as most of you with two little kids know, sometimes you need a van just to carry their gear!), but stumbled on a used van that was only a year old with very little mileage, and luckily, the price was right.
We were excited about our new purchase and what it would mean for our family, so we decided to buy a bottle of wine to celebrate the night before we were supposed to sign the paperwork. I joked I should take a pregnancy test just to make sure I was safe to have a drink and bought one as a gag to tease my husband with. Yes, that is the kind of humour I rock out. As it turns out, the joke was on me. After a quick trip to the bathroom to get the test started before I put away our groceries, I noticed that the test showed 2 dark pink lines within seconds. There was no doubt, no peering warily at the test at a faint line like we did with our first pregnancy. There, before my eyes, without a shadow of a doubt, was a positive pregnancy test. I remember in that moment the way I ran the gamut of emotions. My first reaction was to let out one loud laugh (which puzzled my husband who didn't know I was using the test in the evening. I usually do them in the morning, but this was at around 5pm, when the hormone wouldn't be as strong as the early morning). My second was to run down the stairs waving the test in the air like a mad woman. I remember that my husband was elated. He picked up our 2 year old girl and danced her around the room in his joy. There was no thought of regret, only delight for such a surprising and appreciated gift. We had both said two kids would be enough, but I know in that unexpected, unasked for moment, we were so full of excitement, peace and joy that I knew God had something wonderful in store for us.
Even now I think wonderful isn't a good enough word. There really is no word big enough, deep enough, or loving enough to describe what our precious little boy has meant to us. He is our clown, our bottomless pit, our cuddler, our thinker, our brave little man, and, simply, our daily gift. We had some scares with his pregnancy, including an awful fall down a long flight of stairs when I was about six months pregnant. I had bruises down the whole left side of my body but, by the grace of God, my sweet baby was completely uninjured. As I recall, after I finally stopped shaking and caught my breath, I felt one firm kick, like a harried neighbour asking me to quiet down my racket so he could sleep. After it all he came out, a week late, just shy of 8 pounds but full of life, joy, and smiles.
Reflecting on the past two years, I can't help but think about how grateful I am for God's generosity with me. I was willing to stop after two. Willing to have "good enough" instead of trusting that there might be something else worth experiencing for me. As I clutch on to the last remaining parts of my boy's babyhood, I'm glad God didn't listen to me or follow my plans. I could never have guessed how incredible the blessing of three (and then four, and maybe someday more) kids would be. I am reminded again and again how blessed I have been, especially when I don't expect it, whenever I let God do what He wants with my life.
Tuesday, 24 April 2012
Schedules and Joy
As I see the way my baby girl is growing and changing, I can't deny that I'm growing and changing too. As she crawls (well more like drags right now) I can't help but reflect on the fact that I'm finally, truly dragging myself out of the haze of new motherhood. It's usually a new pregnancy that jolts me out of the baby haze (I have wonderful pregnancies, not a ton of baby brain, although I'm pretty prone to random naps), but for the first time in a long time I'm finding my energy again. I knew this was the case when I woke up and saw the rain and actually regretted that the ugly weather would be keeping me in.
For the past 8 months, I've only left my house under duress. I was too tired, too busy, and just too unfocused to deal with to deal with the requirements of managing four kids in public. At home, where life is familiar, I'd developed a rhythm centred entirely around our new baby girl. Necessity was the name of the game. I would do anything I could to make sure that the most I'd have to do was clean my main level to have friends over, and at the beginning I tried to restrict that to one or at most two days a week. On the weekends when my husband was home things were a bit more social, but even then it was mostly just to visit either my folks or his. The only new friends I made was through our young parents Alpha group.
As I looked at my schedule this week (shocking enough that I have a schedule), I realised I only have one solitary day to spend at home being anti-social in my yoga pants. I've managed to integrate two regular playdates every week (one is a follow-up to our Alpha group that's a playdate with an opportunity for us to discuss the struggles of living our faith in the world) and a standing playdate I have with a friend I met at our Alpha group. Every Thursday we either go to meet my husband at work or spend the afternoon with my Mom. This week I have two extra playdates thrown into the mix and I must say I'm very pleased with this arrangement. Add to that the fact that I've been walking down to the store to pick up all our groceries lately and have made a concerted effort to take them out to the field for a run around and I'm pretty sure the TV is feeling pretty lonely. At night I've even found myself energetic enough to read through a few books that were on my list.
I don't know how long I can keep up with this level of energy, but for now I'm going to relish in it. The juggling it takes to manage so many kids in public can be pretty stressful (please big boy, stop running away in parking lots, I'm going to lose my mind), but it's worth it. As I feel the fog lifting from my mind and the lead melt out of my bones, I feel refreshed, ready and want to make the most of life with my four precious blessings. It took me 8 long, dark months to get to this point, but I'm grateful for the journey and the destination.
For the past 8 months, I've only left my house under duress. I was too tired, too busy, and just too unfocused to deal with to deal with the requirements of managing four kids in public. At home, where life is familiar, I'd developed a rhythm centred entirely around our new baby girl. Necessity was the name of the game. I would do anything I could to make sure that the most I'd have to do was clean my main level to have friends over, and at the beginning I tried to restrict that to one or at most two days a week. On the weekends when my husband was home things were a bit more social, but even then it was mostly just to visit either my folks or his. The only new friends I made was through our young parents Alpha group.
As I looked at my schedule this week (shocking enough that I have a schedule), I realised I only have one solitary day to spend at home being anti-social in my yoga pants. I've managed to integrate two regular playdates every week (one is a follow-up to our Alpha group that's a playdate with an opportunity for us to discuss the struggles of living our faith in the world) and a standing playdate I have with a friend I met at our Alpha group. Every Thursday we either go to meet my husband at work or spend the afternoon with my Mom. This week I have two extra playdates thrown into the mix and I must say I'm very pleased with this arrangement. Add to that the fact that I've been walking down to the store to pick up all our groceries lately and have made a concerted effort to take them out to the field for a run around and I'm pretty sure the TV is feeling pretty lonely. At night I've even found myself energetic enough to read through a few books that were on my list.
I don't know how long I can keep up with this level of energy, but for now I'm going to relish in it. The juggling it takes to manage so many kids in public can be pretty stressful (please big boy, stop running away in parking lots, I'm going to lose my mind), but it's worth it. As I feel the fog lifting from my mind and the lead melt out of my bones, I feel refreshed, ready and want to make the most of life with my four precious blessings. It took me 8 long, dark months to get to this point, but I'm grateful for the journey and the destination.
Friday, 9 March 2012
My Plans and Yours
If you want to make God laugh, tell Him about your plans
I like to think of myself as a person who really goes with the flow, and that's at least partially true. Whenever life throws me a curveball I try to run with it. I do my best to follow God's lead in my life. But there's another side of me. The side of me that's a meticulous planner. I get that side from my Dad. He has a wild streak too, and has a long history of making good of what he's given, but for the most part he's the man behind the scenes, bringing an extra fruit tray (just in case) and making sure you've got the right number table settings for your wedding reception. It's an example I'm happy to follow in my own way.
The funny thing about me is that I can get a little carried away by either going with the flow, or organising things to death. Planning wise, you should see our family budget. I have every penny coming in and going out for the next year budgeted in an excel file that I check every day or so. As for meals, I buy all our ingredients on the weekend for set meals I already planned. When we were moving, I had a file where I kept a list of how many boxes we had, as well as what was in each box. I also packed as much as I could weeks in advance and wrote right on the boxes what room they had to be placed in when we moved and numbered each box. (That's probably why we waited so long to unpack the basement. I knew what was in the boxes so I knew we didn't need most of it.) Our day also runs on a very specific schedule, from when we wake up, to when we eat, naps, etc. Some of this is sheer necessity as we have four children and more planning meals less time for craziness to erupt. To guarantee they get what they need it takes planning. I know God made me very detail oriented to deal with the life He had planned for me.
Now on the other side there's the part of me that just goes with the flow. Our 4 kids weren't planned. Not to say they were unplanned either. We were just open to the fact that we could have children. And have them we did. 4 beautiful, wanted, and beloved babies in under 5 years. I also took my discernment with great seriousness, but when I felt that God was leading me in a certain direction, I just let go of my plans and went with the flow. History proves that that served me well, as my trusting in what was clearly a God-sent path led me to my husband via my old religious community. I very rarely find myself saying that something is too good to be true, because God has been so good to me in the most unexpected ways. When it comes to big picture stuff like where we're going to live, how we'll make another baby work, or even who I when I would fall in love, I knew God would give me what I needed to make things work, so long as I followed His lead with as much trust as I could muster.
I think the reason the two sides of my personality, both the detail-oriented list nut and the happy to take it as it comes side, work so well together is that in both cases there's a plan. In the first case it's my plan, working out the little things to make everything flow. In the second case it's God's plan, working out all the little things for my greater good. While I don't always do it perfectly, I'm trying to use my obsession with lists, schedules and details work towards the bigger picture of God's plan for my life. It takes a lot of trust for me, because I'm definitely the type to write out the 5 year plan down to the day. After 5 years of being married, my husband and I are not where I thought we would be. As it turns out, by the grace of God, we are somewhere infinitely better. Most days I look at my life, when I have a second anyway, and find myself in awe of all the good God has made of my attempts to plan out every moment of my day.
Thank you, God, for trusting me even more than I trust in you, and for loving me more than I could ever love you.
Thursday, 23 February 2012
The Lord's My Shepherd
Recently you may have noticed our family is on a home made kick. Baby girl is 6 months old now, and I'm back to my characteristic level of energy and enthusiasm. We've been spending more at our local farmer's market than at the grocery store, which is a good sign that I've been doing more from scratch. With the exception of one loaf this week, I've made all our bread, pizza dough, and rolls entirely from scratch. Today, with the help of the three big kids (if you can call a 22 month old, a 3 year old and a 4 year old big), we made some beef stock from scratch. With the exception of a little bit of rice or pasta here and there, everything is made fresh from food we're picking up at the market. I don't want any of the busy and harried folks out there to think that I'm badgering you about it, or that I think you absolutely have to do it. First of all, it's not my business what you all do in your kitchens. It's a lot of work, it takes a lot of planning, and really forces a change of diet pretty much immediately if you go all in.
I'm not bragging, trust me. My dedication to our new meal plan really would have waivered and probably failed by now if it weren't for a few circumstances that have forced me to dig in my heels and make it work. First of all, we've gradually emptied our pantry and freezer of processed or ready-to-make foods. It's hard to reach for frozen pizza when there isn't one. With 4 kids and 2 adults, it's not exactly cheap to hit the fast food chains either. With that, I'm left with whatever is fresh that we bought. It's forcing me to follow my meal plan and I must admit I love not having to think about what's on the menu. There's no last minute running to the store for a missing ingredient, which is another bonus. Secondly, baby girl has started on solids, and I absolutely refuse to use bottled or packaged foods for her. Ignoring all the recalls on that stuff lately, I can't get behind all the added preservatives and things. What's wrong with a few sweet potatoes and an ice cube tray?
The biggest reason we haven't been stocking up on frozen pizza, canned goods, and questionable grocery store meats, stems from recent instructions from the dietition trying to help my husband through his stomach issues. He's a type 1 diabetic and has recently been blighted by paralysis of the stomach. It's not a highly common complication, but once the doctor's figured it out, it was like the puzzle pieces of the past 6 or 7 years fell into place. When I met my husband he wasn't well, and was having problems understanding random low and high blood sugars unrelated to meal times. It turns out his stomach has been holding food, and most of the time only allowing it into his intestinal track as much as a week later, which was causing random jumps in his blood sugar. He's been losing weight lately and in terrible pain. Luckily, the doctors have been able to prescribe him a cocktail of drugs that are working together to make his stomach contract so that it can empty. The medications are only one side of his treatment. The other side, the side that is the long lasting treatment, is a drastic change in diet. First on the list was to eat smaller, more nutritious quantities of protein. The second was to reduce the quantity of fiber he was ingesting (these days even most white bread is fortified to have higher fiber content, thus our homemade variety is safer). He also has to stay away from anything with a high fat content. They also suggested he eat more soft cooked veggies, particularly in the blended form in soups, and to avoid processed foods whenever possible. I could be wrong, but to me that sounds a lot like the meal plan my husband and I worked on together. With baby girl well on her way with solids, a lot of these foods were on our list for her too.
Once again I sit in the face of what should have been a sudden and scary situation that would have changed our lives drastically in a matter or days, but instead of fear I'm left with the deep convictions of God's providence. God has once again led us, so gently, so slowly, to exactly where we needed to be, having armed us with the knowledge we need to do what's right. When we first got the phone call about this major dietary change we were scared and upset, but as the days went on we realised we were already there. If I needed any more proof of God's abiding love and faithfulness to us in a time when all else is falling apart, here it is. In every hour, I find God holding me, carrying me through the rough times.
For our wedding mass, we chose the psalm "The Lord's My Shepherd". I feel like we have made that psalm the motto of our marriage. Thank you, God, for leading us gently, and for loving us in times of fear and struggle. Perhaps instead of 40 days and nights in the desert, God is choosing 40 days and night of rain for our lives. Either way I know at the end God's promise stands firm, as a rainbow in the sky and the Cross on a hill faraway.
I'm not bragging, trust me. My dedication to our new meal plan really would have waivered and probably failed by now if it weren't for a few circumstances that have forced me to dig in my heels and make it work. First of all, we've gradually emptied our pantry and freezer of processed or ready-to-make foods. It's hard to reach for frozen pizza when there isn't one. With 4 kids and 2 adults, it's not exactly cheap to hit the fast food chains either. With that, I'm left with whatever is fresh that we bought. It's forcing me to follow my meal plan and I must admit I love not having to think about what's on the menu. There's no last minute running to the store for a missing ingredient, which is another bonus. Secondly, baby girl has started on solids, and I absolutely refuse to use bottled or packaged foods for her. Ignoring all the recalls on that stuff lately, I can't get behind all the added preservatives and things. What's wrong with a few sweet potatoes and an ice cube tray?
The biggest reason we haven't been stocking up on frozen pizza, canned goods, and questionable grocery store meats, stems from recent instructions from the dietition trying to help my husband through his stomach issues. He's a type 1 diabetic and has recently been blighted by paralysis of the stomach. It's not a highly common complication, but once the doctor's figured it out, it was like the puzzle pieces of the past 6 or 7 years fell into place. When I met my husband he wasn't well, and was having problems understanding random low and high blood sugars unrelated to meal times. It turns out his stomach has been holding food, and most of the time only allowing it into his intestinal track as much as a week later, which was causing random jumps in his blood sugar. He's been losing weight lately and in terrible pain. Luckily, the doctors have been able to prescribe him a cocktail of drugs that are working together to make his stomach contract so that it can empty. The medications are only one side of his treatment. The other side, the side that is the long lasting treatment, is a drastic change in diet. First on the list was to eat smaller, more nutritious quantities of protein. The second was to reduce the quantity of fiber he was ingesting (these days even most white bread is fortified to have higher fiber content, thus our homemade variety is safer). He also has to stay away from anything with a high fat content. They also suggested he eat more soft cooked veggies, particularly in the blended form in soups, and to avoid processed foods whenever possible. I could be wrong, but to me that sounds a lot like the meal plan my husband and I worked on together. With baby girl well on her way with solids, a lot of these foods were on our list for her too.
Once again I sit in the face of what should have been a sudden and scary situation that would have changed our lives drastically in a matter or days, but instead of fear I'm left with the deep convictions of God's providence. God has once again led us, so gently, so slowly, to exactly where we needed to be, having armed us with the knowledge we need to do what's right. When we first got the phone call about this major dietary change we were scared and upset, but as the days went on we realised we were already there. If I needed any more proof of God's abiding love and faithfulness to us in a time when all else is falling apart, here it is. In every hour, I find God holding me, carrying me through the rough times.
For our wedding mass, we chose the psalm "The Lord's My Shepherd". I feel like we have made that psalm the motto of our marriage. Thank you, God, for leading us gently, and for loving us in times of fear and struggle. Perhaps instead of 40 days and nights in the desert, God is choosing 40 days and night of rain for our lives. Either way I know at the end God's promise stands firm, as a rainbow in the sky and the Cross on a hill faraway.
I will trust in you alone. I will trust in you alone. For your endless mercy follows me. Your goodness will lead me home.
Wednesday, 22 February 2012
Lenten Journey
Last night we had our reveleries. We enjoyed good company and good food (pancakes with Nutella! Yum!!), came home and collapse in post Fat Tuesday joy. I have always enjoyed the idea of a good feast before a fast. We need strength for the road as we take our long journey through the desert to the lonely hill of Calvary.
For the first time in weeks, my husband was feeling better. Our friend even remarked upon how relaxed he was. I feel in so many ways last night was a preparation for our own dry patch. Today we went to the doctor for baby girl's 6 month check up and also a follow up about everything going on with my husband. Baby girl is doing great! After a dip in her weight she's jumped back up to her old curve, thanks to breastfeeding, some supplemental formula, and most recently some solids I'm preparing for her. Besides all that she's crawling, rolling, cooing, standing and being generally amazing. The report back on my husband's health was not so positive. After an upbeat appointment with the specialist yesterday, our family doctor basically said she couldn't believe he'd been going to work, and gave him a note telling him to stay off work for two weeks. She prescribed him a new medication that has a two week adjustment period that will make it dangerous for him to be at work. To help him feel better, things will have to get worse. Suffice it to say he's following doctor's orders, but we're all stressed.
I guess this year for Lent, God is trying to give our family a special lessons and gifts. The gifts are easy to see: the gift of time together, the chance for Hubby to heal, the chance to be home for the oldest boy's birthday, and most of all, the chance to learn once again to trust in God's enduring love and providence. God will provide. I know we'll have to work hard to make things work, but I trust He'll guide us through it all. As for the lessons, they are not so far from the gifts. I feel God wants us to learn to let go. To let go of our stress, fear, and the idea that work is more important than my dear husband's health.
This Lent, we will give up our expectations for what life "should" look like, and try to embrace the gifts God gives us in our adversity. I pray by the time we come to stand at the foot of the cross to weep with Mary for our loving Saviour, we will do it with hearts overflowing with gratitude and trust. We will see God's daily providence for us alongside the eternal providence of His Cross. We will come and mourn with deeper faith, and rejoice that God can roll any stone away. But first the desert. First the journey. And in this journey we walk with Christ always by our side, teaching us the everyday path of His Cross. God, let our hearts stay grateful.
For the first time in weeks, my husband was feeling better. Our friend even remarked upon how relaxed he was. I feel in so many ways last night was a preparation for our own dry patch. Today we went to the doctor for baby girl's 6 month check up and also a follow up about everything going on with my husband. Baby girl is doing great! After a dip in her weight she's jumped back up to her old curve, thanks to breastfeeding, some supplemental formula, and most recently some solids I'm preparing for her. Besides all that she's crawling, rolling, cooing, standing and being generally amazing. The report back on my husband's health was not so positive. After an upbeat appointment with the specialist yesterday, our family doctor basically said she couldn't believe he'd been going to work, and gave him a note telling him to stay off work for two weeks. She prescribed him a new medication that has a two week adjustment period that will make it dangerous for him to be at work. To help him feel better, things will have to get worse. Suffice it to say he's following doctor's orders, but we're all stressed.
I guess this year for Lent, God is trying to give our family a special lessons and gifts. The gifts are easy to see: the gift of time together, the chance for Hubby to heal, the chance to be home for the oldest boy's birthday, and most of all, the chance to learn once again to trust in God's enduring love and providence. God will provide. I know we'll have to work hard to make things work, but I trust He'll guide us through it all. As for the lessons, they are not so far from the gifts. I feel God wants us to learn to let go. To let go of our stress, fear, and the idea that work is more important than my dear husband's health.
This Lent, we will give up our expectations for what life "should" look like, and try to embrace the gifts God gives us in our adversity. I pray by the time we come to stand at the foot of the cross to weep with Mary for our loving Saviour, we will do it with hearts overflowing with gratitude and trust. We will see God's daily providence for us alongside the eternal providence of His Cross. We will come and mourn with deeper faith, and rejoice that God can roll any stone away. But first the desert. First the journey. And in this journey we walk with Christ always by our side, teaching us the everyday path of His Cross. God, let our hearts stay grateful.
Saturday, 18 February 2012
Perks of 4 Kids
It's easy to talk about the challenges of having a lot of kids all at once. There's the expense, the diapers, the noise, the odd smells in every corner of our house, the crying, the arguing, the terrible twos coming one after another for 4 years, the business of never having personal space, either on a piece of furniture or in the bathroom, the fact that once one kid cries at night, suddenly everyone is crying (Mommy too), and the list goes on. All of this and more is part of the daily struggle of having a family full to the brim with a baby, a few toddlers, and a preschooler. Intense drama, though momentary, is par for the course in our house.
I'm not sure that I would have it any other way. Sure, I'd love to take my bathroom breaks solo. Let me correct that, I'd love time to actually take regular bathroom breaks well before I'm doing the potty dance, running through a crowd of children to the nearest bathroom. All that being said, there are a lot of perks to having four little kids. Here's a list of my 5 favourite perks:
1. I rarely need a blanket as the body heat from four kids keeps me cozy even on the frostiest of winter mornings. These same little hot water bottles I call children are always ready to warm up my heart with genuine outburts of "I love you, Mommy!" and "You're so pretty, Mommy!", a light in the darkest of times.
2. I don't need to wake up to a loud beeping alarm clock. Most mornings I get to wake up to the sound of our boys playing in their bedroom or our girl singing loudly to the music on her radio. Even the soft whimpers of a hungry baby is music to my ears compared to the angry siren of our alarm.
3. I'm never lacking in helpers. If big sister isn't in the mood to help Mommy pick up the diaper wipes when I'm busy with baby girl, I have my two little boys on hand, begging to get involved. I'm also never without a helper in the kitchen, which makes every attempt to cook an adventure.
4. My house can look like a bomb hit it, and no one would dare to question my housekeeping skills. They know as well as I do that I could have scrubbed every inch of it, and within 5 minutes my own squad of aspiring tasmanian devils could have it back in its normal post-apocalyptic splendor. If, by chance or design, my house looks even halfway clean, I suddenly appear to be some kind of Martha Stewart-styled domestic goddess. Equally, if I manage a successful meal for guests, I am a modern day Julia Child, ignoring of course that I just dumped a pile of ingredients in the crockpot. Lastly, along the same train of thought, my personal hygiene and attire are never questioned. As long as I'm not in a robe, people seem to think I've gone out of my way for them. Fair enough. Pajamas and sweatshirts are my usual uniform when we don't have guests around. So long as the kids are dressed and clean, I've won my victory for the day.
5. This one may be my favourite. I love watching my kids becoming best friends. Sure they fight, just like any other kids, but they also take care of each other. There's nothing in the world better than coming into the livingroom to see the three older kids huddled around baby girl's exersaucer, doing everything they can to make her smile and giggle. If our youngest boy trips, the first one by his side is his big brother, giving him a hug and telling him he's okay. Our oldest girl can often be seen teaching her 3 year old brother, his letters. They do everything together by choice. I feel so blessed to witness their evolutions from roommates to friends, and from friends to best friends.
Having what is rapidly approaching a bus full of kids has its downs, but those are nothing compared to the ups. It's hard to ignore how blessed I am each day. As we finished off our long, busy, exhausting day I was so very ready to see their little heads dissappear behind closed doors. At the same time, I couldn't help but be reminded of my four little blessings when I heard them wishing each other goodnight through their joining wall. No matter how rough the day, or how rough the night ahead, that little ritual is a moment of peace and perspective that centers my day. I wouldn't trade that for all the coffee, peace, silence or sleep in the world.
I'm not sure that I would have it any other way. Sure, I'd love to take my bathroom breaks solo. Let me correct that, I'd love time to actually take regular bathroom breaks well before I'm doing the potty dance, running through a crowd of children to the nearest bathroom. All that being said, there are a lot of perks to having four little kids. Here's a list of my 5 favourite perks:
1. I rarely need a blanket as the body heat from four kids keeps me cozy even on the frostiest of winter mornings. These same little hot water bottles I call children are always ready to warm up my heart with genuine outburts of "I love you, Mommy!" and "You're so pretty, Mommy!", a light in the darkest of times.
2. I don't need to wake up to a loud beeping alarm clock. Most mornings I get to wake up to the sound of our boys playing in their bedroom or our girl singing loudly to the music on her radio. Even the soft whimpers of a hungry baby is music to my ears compared to the angry siren of our alarm.
3. I'm never lacking in helpers. If big sister isn't in the mood to help Mommy pick up the diaper wipes when I'm busy with baby girl, I have my two little boys on hand, begging to get involved. I'm also never without a helper in the kitchen, which makes every attempt to cook an adventure.
4. My house can look like a bomb hit it, and no one would dare to question my housekeeping skills. They know as well as I do that I could have scrubbed every inch of it, and within 5 minutes my own squad of aspiring tasmanian devils could have it back in its normal post-apocalyptic splendor. If, by chance or design, my house looks even halfway clean, I suddenly appear to be some kind of Martha Stewart-styled domestic goddess. Equally, if I manage a successful meal for guests, I am a modern day Julia Child, ignoring of course that I just dumped a pile of ingredients in the crockpot. Lastly, along the same train of thought, my personal hygiene and attire are never questioned. As long as I'm not in a robe, people seem to think I've gone out of my way for them. Fair enough. Pajamas and sweatshirts are my usual uniform when we don't have guests around. So long as the kids are dressed and clean, I've won my victory for the day.
5. This one may be my favourite. I love watching my kids becoming best friends. Sure they fight, just like any other kids, but they also take care of each other. There's nothing in the world better than coming into the livingroom to see the three older kids huddled around baby girl's exersaucer, doing everything they can to make her smile and giggle. If our youngest boy trips, the first one by his side is his big brother, giving him a hug and telling him he's okay. Our oldest girl can often be seen teaching her 3 year old brother, his letters. They do everything together by choice. I feel so blessed to witness their evolutions from roommates to friends, and from friends to best friends.
Having what is rapidly approaching a bus full of kids has its downs, but those are nothing compared to the ups. It's hard to ignore how blessed I am each day. As we finished off our long, busy, exhausting day I was so very ready to see their little heads dissappear behind closed doors. At the same time, I couldn't help but be reminded of my four little blessings when I heard them wishing each other goodnight through their joining wall. No matter how rough the day, or how rough the night ahead, that little ritual is a moment of peace and perspective that centers my day. I wouldn't trade that for all the coffee, peace, silence or sleep in the world.
Calm After the Storm
I love Saturdays. Always have. This particular Saturday, I must say, might be in my all time top ten list. We've had a rough couple of weeks in our family. Besides Hubby's persistent, painful stomach issues (which are oh so gradually getting better), my father has been struggling with his own health concerns for a few weeks. He's had kidney stones, and after weeks of fruitless attempts to pass them, he finally had to have surgery. My father is a larger man, and I must confess I was more than a little concerned about the fact that they had to give him a general anesthetic for his surgery. By God's grace he came through in great shape and is recovering at home under the care of my mother, who happens to be a nurse. Besides all the health drama, I've been cheering on the sidelines as my mother interviewed for 3 jobs as a teacher this week. I don't know why, but I think I get more nervous and excited about it than she does. I want her to be happy and doing something she enjoys, so I find myself getting wrapped up in it all. I've also been busy having playdates and organising playgroups, which has been so rewarding for the kids and myself, but leaves me exhausted by week's end.
Suffice it to say, it's been busy, and even a little stressful around here. So as I sit lazily on my couch while the kids have their snacks, watching the snow drift down from the sky in fluffy clumps, I'm at peace. This is the gift of Saturday. This is the calm after the storm. There's nothing to do in this moment but enjoy my children and husband without worrying about the rest of the week. Our oldest girl is doing cute pirouettes to her favourite song, Cinderella by Stephen Curtis Chapman, as her Daddy watches on with a wistful smile, our oldest son is making up a story to go along with a book he can't yet read, our youngest son is snuggled next to me, eating a whole apple with a level of dedication and seriousness only he could muster, and our baby girl is on the floor getting good practice for crawling, which she seems only days away from doing (AHHHH!). My coffee is still warm and sweet. Life is enfolding before my eyes, and I'm just happy to sit back and enjoy it.
Thank God for today. A Saturday like this is just the right remedy for 100 Mondays.
Suffice it to say, it's been busy, and even a little stressful around here. So as I sit lazily on my couch while the kids have their snacks, watching the snow drift down from the sky in fluffy clumps, I'm at peace. This is the gift of Saturday. This is the calm after the storm. There's nothing to do in this moment but enjoy my children and husband without worrying about the rest of the week. Our oldest girl is doing cute pirouettes to her favourite song, Cinderella by Stephen Curtis Chapman, as her Daddy watches on with a wistful smile, our oldest son is making up a story to go along with a book he can't yet read, our youngest son is snuggled next to me, eating a whole apple with a level of dedication and seriousness only he could muster, and our baby girl is on the floor getting good practice for crawling, which she seems only days away from doing (AHHHH!). My coffee is still warm and sweet. Life is enfolding before my eyes, and I'm just happy to sit back and enjoy it.
Thank God for today. A Saturday like this is just the right remedy for 100 Mondays.
Tuesday, 24 January 2012
Finding Joy
Things here have been hectic to say the least lately. My husband is sick with some sort of unknown illness and has been in and out of doctors offices and the emergency room for weeks. All we've been able to figure out is what it's not. They've prescribed him an army of medications that all seem to be doing just this side of nothing for him. It's gotten to the point he can't work a full day most days because the pain gets so overwhelming. He's doing his best to grin and bear it, to hide the intensity of his pain but as the days wear on it's clear he's falling apart at the seams. He is truly the St. Joseph of our family, working hard and doing all he can despite his own setbacks to take care of the family God has given us. Suffice it to say this has been really stressful for both of us and the kids, who are too young to understand why Daddy can't play pony today or why his energy is so low. In all of this I'm struggling, struggling to find a voice for my prayers, patience with my children when I'm distracted by worst case scenarios, and most of all I'm struggling to find joy.
These days even a small moment of joy is enough to fuel me through the rest of an unpredictable day. I'm holding on to my little moments tightly, doing my best to remind myself over and over again how lucky I am. With four children these moments come surprisingly often (mind you they are perfectly balanced with the complete pandemonium that four crying, screaming kids can bring). Each child has their own unique way of reminding me of why it is I keep getting out of bed each morning to jump into the fray, especially on my weaker days.
Today, as I lay in bed giving baby girl her first feed, she fell asleep next to me, and giggled in her sleep. She has a deep chuckle for such a little girl and I could barely stiffle my own giggle watching her smile at whatever hilarious dream she was having. I've struggled so hard with breastfeeding and these little moments remind me why I fight every day to keep that relationship strong. It's helping me to grow my already strong bond with my baby girl.
Our eldest, the little princess, has had the honour of giving me a reliable moment of daily joy for 10 days. She's signed up for a charity campaign where she draws a picture on a chosen theme for 30 days and people pledge to support her. My 4 year old artiste has already raised $150 in support of an AIDS/HIV charity. That's wonderful enough, but to add to this I have the joy of watching her mind work through the idea of her challenge for the day. She usually ends up chatting her little heart out and gets completely distracted before I remind her of her drawing. I then get to watch her bend over her paper with great intensity as she fulfills her task.
Our oldest boy is my little button pusher. He's the screamer, pusher, and definitely the go-to guy if you have a question that demands an answer of "no". I love his spunky and independant spirit even if he drives me a little crazy sometimes. For all of his spiritedness he's truly a gentle soul, and is becoming a doting older brother to his roommate, his little brother. He's started this little habit that I have no intention of breaking (for so many reasons): whenever we get home from being out he gently asks his brother to sit down, then he very carefully takes off his brother's shoes for him. Then, if he can get him to stay still he'll take off his brother's coat. So precious. Some day I think he'll make a great Daddy.
Now our little man, Daddy's shadow, can't help but be adorable. He's on the small side for his age and has just started climbing all over the furniture, a feat his stature had denied him previous. Besides this, he's also started forming full sentences and the results would melt any mother's heart. A lot of what he says involves his brother, running the gamut from "Brother, where ARE you??", "Brother, play with ME!" to "NO, brother. NO!". It's great to see him coming into his own and even better to see that he adores his roomie. I must say though, what really gave me a little burst of joy seems so inconsequential from the outside, but was for me another memory to store in my heart for the lean teenage years sure to come. My wee 20 month old boy, covered in markers, came up to me with a look of the greatest trust and earnestness and, holding up a marker in his perfectly formed little hands, asked me in the sweetest voice: "Mommy, please help me with this. Please!" He wanted me to help him uncap his marker, no biggie. The best part was right after, completely unbidden, he followed up with a big smile, a hug and an unmistakable "Thank you, Mommy!" before he ran back to drawing with his brother and sister. Melt.
I'm writing these little moments as much to help myself remember in the tough times as anything. I want to soak up these moments, live in these moments and treasure them as the precious miracles they are. These moments also help me appreciate the personalities of each of my children, which is a blessing in and of itself. I thank God that He keeps giving me these little moments to get me through and remind me that there's always light in the dark places, I just need to keep my eyes open.
These days even a small moment of joy is enough to fuel me through the rest of an unpredictable day. I'm holding on to my little moments tightly, doing my best to remind myself over and over again how lucky I am. With four children these moments come surprisingly often (mind you they are perfectly balanced with the complete pandemonium that four crying, screaming kids can bring). Each child has their own unique way of reminding me of why it is I keep getting out of bed each morning to jump into the fray, especially on my weaker days.
Today, as I lay in bed giving baby girl her first feed, she fell asleep next to me, and giggled in her sleep. She has a deep chuckle for such a little girl and I could barely stiffle my own giggle watching her smile at whatever hilarious dream she was having. I've struggled so hard with breastfeeding and these little moments remind me why I fight every day to keep that relationship strong. It's helping me to grow my already strong bond with my baby girl.
Our eldest, the little princess, has had the honour of giving me a reliable moment of daily joy for 10 days. She's signed up for a charity campaign where she draws a picture on a chosen theme for 30 days and people pledge to support her. My 4 year old artiste has already raised $150 in support of an AIDS/HIV charity. That's wonderful enough, but to add to this I have the joy of watching her mind work through the idea of her challenge for the day. She usually ends up chatting her little heart out and gets completely distracted before I remind her of her drawing. I then get to watch her bend over her paper with great intensity as she fulfills her task.
Our oldest boy is my little button pusher. He's the screamer, pusher, and definitely the go-to guy if you have a question that demands an answer of "no". I love his spunky and independant spirit even if he drives me a little crazy sometimes. For all of his spiritedness he's truly a gentle soul, and is becoming a doting older brother to his roommate, his little brother. He's started this little habit that I have no intention of breaking (for so many reasons): whenever we get home from being out he gently asks his brother to sit down, then he very carefully takes off his brother's shoes for him. Then, if he can get him to stay still he'll take off his brother's coat. So precious. Some day I think he'll make a great Daddy.
Now our little man, Daddy's shadow, can't help but be adorable. He's on the small side for his age and has just started climbing all over the furniture, a feat his stature had denied him previous. Besides this, he's also started forming full sentences and the results would melt any mother's heart. A lot of what he says involves his brother, running the gamut from "Brother, where ARE you??", "Brother, play with ME!" to "NO, brother. NO!". It's great to see him coming into his own and even better to see that he adores his roomie. I must say though, what really gave me a little burst of joy seems so inconsequential from the outside, but was for me another memory to store in my heart for the lean teenage years sure to come. My wee 20 month old boy, covered in markers, came up to me with a look of the greatest trust and earnestness and, holding up a marker in his perfectly formed little hands, asked me in the sweetest voice: "Mommy, please help me with this. Please!" He wanted me to help him uncap his marker, no biggie. The best part was right after, completely unbidden, he followed up with a big smile, a hug and an unmistakable "Thank you, Mommy!" before he ran back to drawing with his brother and sister. Melt.
I'm writing these little moments as much to help myself remember in the tough times as anything. I want to soak up these moments, live in these moments and treasure them as the precious miracles they are. These moments also help me appreciate the personalities of each of my children, which is a blessing in and of itself. I thank God that He keeps giving me these little moments to get me through and remind me that there's always light in the dark places, I just need to keep my eyes open.
Wednesday, 31 August 2011
Then There Was You
While I didn't have a webcam trained on me while I laboured, I took the opportunity to use social media as part of my labour. Mostly on my own between contractions (and with the help of my husband right at the end!) I tweeted my way through labour. I couldn't believe the tremendous reaction from the folks on twitter both in the weeks leading up to labour as well as the big day itself. Below I've posted my tweets (with their date and time stamps for a sense of the timeline) from the morning when we supposedly went in for our induction to the time of our discharge. I feel so blessed to have this Coles notes version of my labour for my fourth child. I will be able to show this to her some day and give her a sense of our anticipation and joy! Thank you to everyone who followed me and shared in our experience!
Leaving to make our way for the hospital! Thanks for all your well wishes! Will be praying for you all! #BabyWatch #zombiemoms
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-19 8:00 AM
Waters couldn't be broken bc of fetal position (too high). On the list for pitocin. Having contractions on my own. #BabyWatch #zombiemoms
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-19 2:02 PM
Out walking. Contractions 8min apart. 4cm dilated. Still no induction. In for a long night! #zombiemoms #Babywatch
Mobile Web • 11-08-19 4:04 PM
Been in assessment an hour and just for hooked up to monitors. Contractions 6-7min apart. Waiting to be checked. #zombiemoms #BabyWatch
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-19 5:50 PM
We're at 5cm but not having regular contractions. They've booked us into a hotel style room upstairs (1/2) #BabyWatch #zombiemoms
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-19 8:16 PM
No monitoring. No nurse. No drugs. They just want me in the hospital in case baby makes moves to escape quickly. #zombiemoms #BabyWatch
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-19 8:18 PM
@????? We're definitely getting there. I can't talk through the contractions. Big bonus!
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-19 10:24 PM
Doc at ultrasound predicts baby may be 9lbs12oz. Whatever! Not possible! Baby is gorgeous though! #zombiemoms #BabyWatch yfrog.com/gzhfrgcj
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-19 10:54 PM
Off to get a few minutes rest. Thanks for all the love! Hope to be tweeting big news soon! #zombiemoms #BabyWatch
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-19 11:10 PM
Contractions slowed down to 9min apart but are waking me up. Very intense! Still labouring solo (with Hubby!)! #zombiemoms #BabyWatch
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-20 12:29 AM
It's 3am and I think I got 2 hours sleep. Labour keeps ramping up and petering off. When going labour is intense! #zombiemoms #BabyWatch
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-20 3:09 AM
Got a little more broken sleep. Just what I needed for the BIG push. Will be pacing like crazy after a quick bite. #zombiemoms #BabyWatch
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-20 7:04 AM
Got called in and admitted to the birth unit officially. Finally on our way!!! #BabyWatch #zombiemoms
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-20 7:46 AM
They broke my water!!!!! I'm already 6cm dilated. Here we go! #zombiemoms #BabyWatch
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-20 8:56 AM
8-9cm. Baby will be here soon #BabyWatch #zombiemoms
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-20 11:10 AM
Rebecca Catherine Claire P. 9lbs1oz born at 11:39am. Aug 20th, 2011. Beautiful in all ways! #zombiemoms #BabyWatch yfrog.com/khbcwnbj
The labour itself was intense after my water broke. I didn't get an epidural or pitocin (for the first time in four deliveries!) but I briefly sucked back some of the happy gas which took some of the edge off. The most helpful thing was the backrubs my Husband gave me as he whispered the Hail Mary in my ear. During transition I spent my contractions listening to him while focusing on the memory of my three older children all cuddling with me in our favourite recliner. I also offered up each contraction for many specific intentions. I was in labour for a full day so that was some beautiful prayer time! A peaceful inside while I was moaning lowly and sometimes yelling (purposefully I swear) through the height of the last few contractions. The attending doctor told me I had her out in 5 pushes. That's impressive as she had a stuck shoulder that they resolved by pushing on my abdomen while the doctor twisted her out manually with my legs tucked up so my knees touched my shoulders. I was so focused on getting her out I didn't notice any of those details. All I remember is that after my Husband announced her name, Rebecca!, and cut the cord they swept her away and I heard her first cry from the other end of the room. I looked up to her cry and saw the room was very full. The teams for shoulder dystocia and neo-natal ressucitation had both been called and I had the doctor and two nurses working on slowing down my bleeding. But for all that drama we were both fine. More than fine. Perfect. Our beautiful dark-haired girl, with a hint of auburn in the sun, stared up at me knowingly with her impossibly dark but still blue eyes when I held her at last. After a productive first feed I witnessed my joy again as my husband held her for the first time. After all our waiting and all the drama there she was so full of life and energy. Awake, out and ready to conquer us completely.
In Hebrew Rebecca means to tie or bind as with marriage. Her name suits in so many ways. She seemed bound to me endlessly during my exactly 42 weeks of pregnancy. Her cord was literally tied around her legs as she came out. Experiencing natural labour together brought another new kind of intimacy to our marriage too as I learned the depths of support and love my Husband has for myself and our children. And of course her joining our family has bound us together even more tightly. So thank you Rebecca. Thank you for joining us at last. Welcome home!
...
Being discharged from the hospital. Can't wait to be home holding all my babies and to be held by my wonderful husband. #zombiemoms
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-21 3:26 PM
Leaving to make our way for the hospital! Thanks for all your well wishes! Will be praying for you all! #BabyWatch #zombiemoms
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-19 8:00 AM
Waters couldn't be broken bc of fetal position (too high). On the list for pitocin. Having contractions on my own. #BabyWatch #zombiemoms
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-19 2:02 PM
Out walking. Contractions 8min apart. 4cm dilated. Still no induction. In for a long night! #zombiemoms #Babywatch
Mobile Web • 11-08-19 4:04 PM
Been in assessment an hour and just for hooked up to monitors. Contractions 6-7min apart. Waiting to be checked. #zombiemoms #BabyWatch
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-19 5:50 PM
We're at 5cm but not having regular contractions. They've booked us into a hotel style room upstairs (1/2) #BabyWatch #zombiemoms
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-19 8:16 PM
No monitoring. No nurse. No drugs. They just want me in the hospital in case baby makes moves to escape quickly. #zombiemoms #BabyWatch
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-19 8:18 PM
@????? We're definitely getting there. I can't talk through the contractions. Big bonus!
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-19 10:24 PM
Doc at ultrasound predicts baby may be 9lbs12oz. Whatever! Not possible! Baby is gorgeous though! #zombiemoms #BabyWatch yfrog.com/gzhfrgcj
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-19 10:54 PM
Off to get a few minutes rest. Thanks for all the love! Hope to be tweeting big news soon! #zombiemoms #BabyWatch
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-19 11:10 PM
Contractions slowed down to 9min apart but are waking me up. Very intense! Still labouring solo (with Hubby!)! #zombiemoms #BabyWatch
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-20 12:29 AM
It's 3am and I think I got 2 hours sleep. Labour keeps ramping up and petering off. When going labour is intense! #zombiemoms #BabyWatch
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-20 3:09 AM
Got a little more broken sleep. Just what I needed for the BIG push. Will be pacing like crazy after a quick bite. #zombiemoms #BabyWatch
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-20 7:04 AM
Got called in and admitted to the birth unit officially. Finally on our way!!! #BabyWatch #zombiemoms
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-20 7:46 AM
They broke my water!!!!! I'm already 6cm dilated. Here we go! #zombiemoms #BabyWatch
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-20 8:56 AM
8-9cm. Baby will be here soon #BabyWatch #zombiemoms
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-20 11:10 AM
Rebecca Catherine Claire P. 9lbs1oz born at 11:39am. Aug 20th, 2011. Beautiful in all ways! #zombiemoms #BabyWatch yfrog.com/khbcwnbj
The labour itself was intense after my water broke. I didn't get an epidural or pitocin (for the first time in four deliveries!) but I briefly sucked back some of the happy gas which took some of the edge off. The most helpful thing was the backrubs my Husband gave me as he whispered the Hail Mary in my ear. During transition I spent my contractions listening to him while focusing on the memory of my three older children all cuddling with me in our favourite recliner. I also offered up each contraction for many specific intentions. I was in labour for a full day so that was some beautiful prayer time! A peaceful inside while I was moaning lowly and sometimes yelling (purposefully I swear) through the height of the last few contractions. The attending doctor told me I had her out in 5 pushes. That's impressive as she had a stuck shoulder that they resolved by pushing on my abdomen while the doctor twisted her out manually with my legs tucked up so my knees touched my shoulders. I was so focused on getting her out I didn't notice any of those details. All I remember is that after my Husband announced her name, Rebecca!, and cut the cord they swept her away and I heard her first cry from the other end of the room. I looked up to her cry and saw the room was very full. The teams for shoulder dystocia and neo-natal ressucitation had both been called and I had the doctor and two nurses working on slowing down my bleeding. But for all that drama we were both fine. More than fine. Perfect. Our beautiful dark-haired girl, with a hint of auburn in the sun, stared up at me knowingly with her impossibly dark but still blue eyes when I held her at last. After a productive first feed I witnessed my joy again as my husband held her for the first time. After all our waiting and all the drama there she was so full of life and energy. Awake, out and ready to conquer us completely.
In Hebrew Rebecca means to tie or bind as with marriage. Her name suits in so many ways. She seemed bound to me endlessly during my exactly 42 weeks of pregnancy. Her cord was literally tied around her legs as she came out. Experiencing natural labour together brought another new kind of intimacy to our marriage too as I learned the depths of support and love my Husband has for myself and our children. And of course her joining our family has bound us together even more tightly. So thank you Rebecca. Thank you for joining us at last. Welcome home!
...
Being discharged from the hospital. Can't wait to be home holding all my babies and to be held by my wonderful husband. #zombiemoms
Twitter for iPhone • 11-08-21 3:26 PM
Friday, 5 August 2011
I Knew She Was a Girl
I knew before I was married or even pregnant that my first child would be a girl. I knew her face. I knew her joy and her smile.
When I was still a nun I had an experience which to this day still leaves my faithful soul in awe. One Saturday afternoon, after our formation classes as a community, we were all just hanging out at the Sisters' convent house out in a small harbour town. Out of nowhere two very dear friends of mine dropped in with their daughter. In retrospect she must have been 7 or 8 months by her size and the confidant crawl she had going. Their small family left me with a feeling of joy but when they left I felt a sudden deep feeling of longing. It was as though for the first time I realized I would never be a mother so long as I stayed with the nuns. I'd always believed I was fine with that. In my mind I had decided I would be like a spiritual mother, praying for all the lost souls and my students when I eventually become a teacher. Cuddling with that little baby girl had opened up a wound in my heart I had never realized was there.
When my friends left it was time for Adoration in our small chapel. We had the whole community with us that day so I ended up sitting on the radiator while trying to muster myself to pray. I remember how uncomfortable I was and how distracted I felt by my realization that I would never be a mother. After about 20 minutes of this I was about to leave the room to get some air when all of a sudden a wave of peace washed over me. As I looked up at the Blessed Sacrament a strange vision came before my eyes. I saw clearly an image of a woman sitting with a child in her lap. Not just a child, a little girl with reddish hair that had a cute curl around the fringe, big blue eyes and the most joyful smile I'd ever seen. The woman was me. I was wearing nondescript clothes but it wasn't my religious habit. I was sitting with this painfully beautiful child in my arms with a look of perfect joy. She and I were rocking in this very particular Boston rocker. The stain, the shape everything stuck in my memory as though it was essential to the scene. As I looked closer I noticed a man's hand on my shoulder in this vision. My mind travelled up and in the vision I saw a very familiar face. With a flush the vision fell away and I found myself weeping in our tiny chapel, my hands clutching the uncomfortable radiator. I ended up leaving the room to have a quiet moment in one of our side rooms, shaken by my vision of a life that I still felt I could never have.
Was this a calling or a gift of realization of what motherhood could have been had I been led along another path? I couldn't allow myself to see the vision as cruel even as I tied my rope around my grey habit the next morning, counting the three knots symbolizing poverty, chastity and obedience. All good things deserve sacrifice and I knew religious life included the sacrifice of physical motherhood. I still couldn't help being haunted by the clear vision given to me, though I pushed it aside as I struggled on in this beautifully difficult community life.
Flash forward more than a year later. I'd left religious life not long after that day in the chapel and was married less than a year later. Two days after Christmas I was in my in-laws bathroom staring at this strange scientific creation with its code of colours and lines. Two lines to be exact. I let out a choked laugh and then ran across the hall with the tiny stick tucked behind my back. Pregnant. We were pregnant. I was pregnant. The girl who thought she'd never be a mother. A beautiful joke on me by a God who always has a better plan. O was convinced right away that this new life (that made me very nauseous) was a girl. Everyone found my conviction laughable except my husband.
Fast forward to our 3rd Christmas as a married couple. In my lap sits a buoyant and joyful little girl with pretty strawberry-blonde hair, smiling in the glow of her loving extended family. Behind me stands my husband with his hand on my shoulder. We're sitting in a particularly beautiful Boston rocker. It had been a gift by my father-in-law to his wife when she was pregnant with their first child, my brother-in-law, on the occasion of her first mother's day just before they became parents. I can't help but smile as I know this moment was mine before I knew the truth of it. This day was planned for me before I believed in any of the details. Every detail down to whose hand was on my shoulder was exactly right. I knew in that moment how good it was to really trust, to really give in to a plan greater than my own.
And that's how I knew my first child was a girl before I was even pregnant.
When I was still a nun I had an experience which to this day still leaves my faithful soul in awe. One Saturday afternoon, after our formation classes as a community, we were all just hanging out at the Sisters' convent house out in a small harbour town. Out of nowhere two very dear friends of mine dropped in with their daughter. In retrospect she must have been 7 or 8 months by her size and the confidant crawl she had going. Their small family left me with a feeling of joy but when they left I felt a sudden deep feeling of longing. It was as though for the first time I realized I would never be a mother so long as I stayed with the nuns. I'd always believed I was fine with that. In my mind I had decided I would be like a spiritual mother, praying for all the lost souls and my students when I eventually become a teacher. Cuddling with that little baby girl had opened up a wound in my heart I had never realized was there.
When my friends left it was time for Adoration in our small chapel. We had the whole community with us that day so I ended up sitting on the radiator while trying to muster myself to pray. I remember how uncomfortable I was and how distracted I felt by my realization that I would never be a mother. After about 20 minutes of this I was about to leave the room to get some air when all of a sudden a wave of peace washed over me. As I looked up at the Blessed Sacrament a strange vision came before my eyes. I saw clearly an image of a woman sitting with a child in her lap. Not just a child, a little girl with reddish hair that had a cute curl around the fringe, big blue eyes and the most joyful smile I'd ever seen. The woman was me. I was wearing nondescript clothes but it wasn't my religious habit. I was sitting with this painfully beautiful child in my arms with a look of perfect joy. She and I were rocking in this very particular Boston rocker. The stain, the shape everything stuck in my memory as though it was essential to the scene. As I looked closer I noticed a man's hand on my shoulder in this vision. My mind travelled up and in the vision I saw a very familiar face. With a flush the vision fell away and I found myself weeping in our tiny chapel, my hands clutching the uncomfortable radiator. I ended up leaving the room to have a quiet moment in one of our side rooms, shaken by my vision of a life that I still felt I could never have.
Was this a calling or a gift of realization of what motherhood could have been had I been led along another path? I couldn't allow myself to see the vision as cruel even as I tied my rope around my grey habit the next morning, counting the three knots symbolizing poverty, chastity and obedience. All good things deserve sacrifice and I knew religious life included the sacrifice of physical motherhood. I still couldn't help being haunted by the clear vision given to me, though I pushed it aside as I struggled on in this beautifully difficult community life.
Flash forward more than a year later. I'd left religious life not long after that day in the chapel and was married less than a year later. Two days after Christmas I was in my in-laws bathroom staring at this strange scientific creation with its code of colours and lines. Two lines to be exact. I let out a choked laugh and then ran across the hall with the tiny stick tucked behind my back. Pregnant. We were pregnant. I was pregnant. The girl who thought she'd never be a mother. A beautiful joke on me by a God who always has a better plan. O was convinced right away that this new life (that made me very nauseous) was a girl. Everyone found my conviction laughable except my husband.
Fast forward to our 3rd Christmas as a married couple. In my lap sits a buoyant and joyful little girl with pretty strawberry-blonde hair, smiling in the glow of her loving extended family. Behind me stands my husband with his hand on my shoulder. We're sitting in a particularly beautiful Boston rocker. It had been a gift by my father-in-law to his wife when she was pregnant with their first child, my brother-in-law, on the occasion of her first mother's day just before they became parents. I can't help but smile as I know this moment was mine before I knew the truth of it. This day was planned for me before I believed in any of the details. Every detail down to whose hand was on my shoulder was exactly right. I knew in that moment how good it was to really trust, to really give in to a plan greater than my own.
And that's how I knew my first child was a girl before I was even pregnant.
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