Baby 5: Week 31

How Far Along: 31 Weeks (9 weeks to go! Single digits left, what what????)

How I'm Feeling: Excluding the lingering congestion which is pretty normal for me while pregnant anyway, I'm feeling pretty great. I'm still getting winded easily, but between my girth and the congestion that's normal. I'm feeling huge these days. I can't even wear baby girl in the ergo anymore because I can't find a way to get her and the straps comfortably over my belly. Ninja baby is working hard trying to make his home in whatever position would result in the least comfort for me at all times, all the while kicking me. He's big enough now I can actually feel elbows, ankles and feet digging in. This is wonderful because I've been able to share all the movement with my husband too.

What I'm Thinking: This little man is growing fast and strong. I'm in a little bit of shock that we're into single digits for weeks left until the due date. A little idea of what he might look like is growing in my mind. I have the sense he's going to look like his oldest brother, who, by and large, is the stand out in the family as he looks the least like his other siblings. His two sisters and one brother are all cut from the same cloth looks wise, but our oldest boy really has his own look. He looks the most like his Daddy of all the kids. I don't know why, but I have this idea that our newest son will look like his oldest brother with his big expressive eyes (and eyebrows, Heavens those eyebrows which can raise so high!), his sweet mouth and his strong little body.

What I've Done This Week: We stocked up on a few Mama essentials this week for when baby comes (believe it or not even more pjs, because you can never have enough). After some discussion we also decided baby girl is ready for a toddler bed as she can now crawl up and down off higher surfaces, and seems to hate being constrained in her crib. With that in mind, I spent Friday cleaning up the girls room, taking out all the smaller toys, and just generally decluttering the hundreds of toys big girl had accumulated in her room. All that's left in their room now is a large wooden dollhouse with toddler safe figure and furniture, a desk for big girl's school time, their dresser and their beds. I feel so strongly that it's essential to give this a try before the baby comes because I don't want to deal with big bed drama with a new baby to worry about. 9 weeks isn't a lot of time, but I think it's enough.

What I Hope To Do Next Week: Still no work done on the baby's room, but it really won't be much (ha!). We're so busy with life in general these days that the big thing, the flooring, keeps getting pushed back. The closer we get, the more simplistic my desires for the baby's room are. There's some bags of toys to donate in there as well as a couch, and then we can start slapping down some flooring and assemble his crib. I'm sure once we get started it'll all go very quickly, it's just finding the time to clear out the room!

Baby 5: Week 30

How Far Along: 30 Weeks and 1 day (9 weeks and 6 days to go!)

How I'm Feeling: The Mom cold of doom has more or less subsided. I'm still congested, but I'm not in possession of a leaky faucet for a nose, so I feel like I'm winning. Unfortunately I'm still short of breath when moving more than an inch at a time (you should see me trying to go up and down the stairs), but with the stuffy nose, the baby pushing on my lungs, and all the extra baby-ness on my front, this shouldn't be surprising. This week I've also seen the resurgence of my favourite symptom, nausea, paired with some delightful acid reflux. The only thing that helps my nausea is eating but eating anything causes reflux. Time to stock up on the antacids. And so it goes. Oh well, I'm just so glad to not be miserably sick with a cold or flu that it's all good here.

What I'm Thinking: I've been having problems sleeping this week, and when I am asleep I'm spending a lot of that time dreaming about labour, getting ready, and life with a newborn. I actually dreamt I was packing my overnight bag the other day. I am such a dork. I should probably do that. Otherwise I'm starting to feel emotionally ready. With only 10 weeks until my due date, there's a good chance we might not be "perfectly" ready with all the little details for his room cleared away, but so long as he has some diapers and a place to rest his wee head we'll be good. I know these next 10-12 weeks are going to fly by, and I look forward to cuddling with my tiny ninja.

What I've Done This Week: I've been focusing on getting my laundry done, but I did manage to get out and buy some new pajamas, which I consider new baby essentials. I also finally wrote up my list of what's necessary before baby boy actually comes. Crib mattress, diapers, baby leggings, that sort of silly stuff.

What I Hope To Do Next Week: As always, baby boy's room is taunting me. We will probably go to our favourite baby boutique to pick up some baby essentials to put in my hospital bag (some Mama essentials) and once I have the new diapers, I'm going to prep and pack them. This week for sure. (ha!)

Reconciled

I wrote a post a few days ago about Confession. I basically explained that I haven't gone in a long time, and was struggling with it. That same night, I left my sweet babies at home in the gentle care of their Daddy, and made the walk down to the Church. When I decided to go several hours before it was a beautiful clear day, not a cloud in the sky. At 6:15pm when I hit the road for what should have been a 10 or 15 minute walk (or shall I say waddle?), there was a less than delightful rain/snow mix hailing down from the sky just slow enough that the faster I walked, the wetter I got. And cold. And whiny. Before I was even down the hill from my house, I considered turning back for the warmth and comfort of home. I honestly wasn't feeling the idea of going to Confession anyway, so the bad weather seemed a fine excuse to turn back. Just as I was about to turn around a song came on my iPod that paused my whining thoughts in my tracks. It was Audrey Assad's Breaking You (I've included the YouTube link at the bottom). It felt like Jesus was singing in my ear, singing of the pain in my heart. The line "Right now you don't know who you are, but I won't give up on you" really hit me hard. Jesus wasn't giving up on me. He was inviting me to come to Him and get the help waiting just a few more minutes away. Sure, the weather was ugly, but no less ugly than the sin in my heart that needed to be washed away. I just needed to show up and God would take care of the rest.

By the time I arrived at the Church I was worn out, uncomfortable, and nervous. I did my best to make some small talk with people as I cleaned myself off a little in the entry-way of our Church. I could feel that lump in my throat, the fear I was already feeling. I could intellectualize all I wanted about how easy it would be, how good it would feel, and how important it was, but my sin was whispering doubt and fear and judgement in my ears. I sat down in an empty part of the Church (near the front, if you're Catholic you'll get this. We are back pew dwellers by and large), but quickly small groups of people I knew sat around me. I wondered if they could feel my anxiety. They probably chalked it up to how ponderously pregnant I looked and felt. I find the hard wooden pews very uncomfortable when I'm pregnant, so I'm entirely sure I made a spectacle trying to sit and stand with a modicum of grace. The service was nice, although I can say easily the highlight was the Gospel reading. As it common in these settings, it was the parable of the Prodigal Son. I was fully ready to go into auto-pilot when our Pastor asked us to listen to the words as though we were hearing it for the first time. What an invitation! How often do we hear the Gospel and think "I've heard it all before!" then go on making our assumptions for what we will hear. That invitation to listen with fresh ears opened me up in a way I couldn't imagine to the beautiful imagery of a loving and merciful Father. If I can leave you with one thought, it would be to go and read the parable of the Prodigal Son like it was the first time you'd ever read it. I defy you not to cry as the Father runs to his son, saying he was dead but now alive again. That reading set the tone for the rest of my experience.

When all the prepared service was done everyone there (a good number in fact) wandered off into little lines to wait to have their confession heard by one of the many priests who had come to serve us patiently. I decided I'd go see my Pastor, who I've known since I was 15 or 16 years old (100 years ago now, right?). I knew I could give him the Coles notes version without feeling the need to over-explain. God knows my sin, but the point is that saying it out loud is so important. It gives me freedom but also accountability. So there I was in line, waiting, waiting waiting. I started to get jittery and considered simply leaving. I was in fact moments away from doing just that when I saw something that changed my heart. There was a young girl in front of me with her Mom. I found out later she was in grade 4, just a few years older than my oldest child. She looked a little anxious too, but when her turn came she went right up and received the Sacrament of Reconciliation. I was pleased to see this young girl out on a school night, choosing to go up and do something I, a grown woman, was so nervous about. When she was done, she came running back to her Mom (who was next in line) and gave her a big hug, tears streaming down her face. She was the picture of the joy and was clearly overwhelmed by her experience. I was so incredibly moved by her simple display of faith, by how deeply she felt the forgiveness she had been so anxious for. While I stood in line I leaned over and let her know that her joy made me want to go up too, that I was really nervous as I hadn't been to Confession in a long time, but that I wanted to feel the way she felt when I came down. She was shy and smiled so sweetly. A little Saint in the making I think.

With that in mind, I waited a little longer and then my turn came. I thought my heart was going to explode, or fall out, or simply melt away I was so nervous. Sounds so silly, I know. I am so out of the habit of seeking out the Sacrament of Reconciliation, I could barely think as I walked over and sat in the chair across from my Pastor. Thankfully, I managed to blurt out right away how I was feeling, that it had been so many years, and that I couldn't even remember what I was supposed to do. The picture of a gentle Father, he prayed with me, invited me to share what I needed to share, and listened with patience as I rambled for a few moments. No admonishments. No judgements. No taunting or teasing. Simply joy that I had come back seeking mercy. For my penance, he asked me to go home and read Luke 15, the parable of the Lost Sheep. At the end he smiled and I realized that I hadn't really been breathing for the majority of my time there. I was waiting for him to tell me what a bad person I was maybe? I don't know. Instead he laid his hand on my head to bless me, and with that the last of my fears washed away, along with my jealously protected sins. In their place flooded in a feeling of peace. This was what I had been running away from, pretty much my whole life. The Sacrament of mercy, forgiveness of peace. How can I cling to my sin so firmly knowing that this is what I could exchange it for? No more excuses. Time to trade my fear for security.

I Have a Confession...

I am kind of ashamed as I write this, but I can't remember the last time I went to receive the Sacrament of Reconciliation. My husband, bless his beautiful God-loving heart, tries to go as often as he can. He even has a Spiritual Director who hears his confession by appointment. My dear husband makes time for Confession because he knows how important it is to him, and leaves feeling his heavy burdens have been lifted. Every time he comes back home after being washed clean, he is a different man, a happier man, a man filled with grace. I want to hold him closer and try to get some of that grace by osmosis.

And then there's me. I'm sure I've gone since, but the last time I know for sure I went for confession was when I was in Rome for a month. That was in November 2004. I'm sure I went once or twice in 2005-2006 (which was when I was in the Franciscans and then when I got married). I've also attended general absolution. Before that trip I had a close friend who was a priest who would hear my confession, with whom I felt so comfortable sharing all the darkness in me. He took me seriously, talked things out, and gave me penance that challenged me and helped me grow stronger against my sins. Then he moved away. I'd had some good experiences with other confessors, but nothing really clicked. I was relying too much on their ability (or lack thereof) to talk things out, and not enough on the fact that through them Christ was reaching out His hand to take away my sins and relieve my burdens.

I grew up in the days when private reconciliation was very uncommon. My parish ran frequent third rite Reconciliation services where we'd all be communally cleansed. My father was never big on Confession from what I could tell (or if he was, he didn't share it with me) and my mother was a recent convert and hadn't been able to make the leap about this Sacrament. The year of catechism that was supposed to have First Reconciliation, my parents didn't send me. I had my First Reconciliation in High School after I'd had my conversion, and was overwhelmed and puzzled by the experience. Since then I've always struggled to force myself to seek it out. I was so lucky to meet a priest who was able to gently teach me the value of the Sacrament, and also to walk me through the process. He helped me realize that this was a Sacrament, something I needed, something given to me as a gift to heal my heart, cleanse my spirit, and help me grow in strength of resolve. Whether or not it's delivered the way "I like it" (whatever that means), the Sacrament of Reconciliation is a conduit of grace and mercy.

Even knowing that Reconciliation itself is a grace and not a burden, I've still managed not to seek it out for far too many years. It's not like I haven't needed it. I try always to be a really positive person and to live my faith inside and out, I am by no means perfect. I am not a perfect friend, wife, mother, daughter, or Christian. Sometimes I'm downright bad at all of those things. For far too long I've been using motherhood as an excuse not to force myself out the door. I'm still plagued by nervousness and fear of Confession. God knows my sin, and yet I am afraid I'm going to go into the Confessional and God will shake His head at me. Sounds silly. I know.

So this Lent, I'm forcing myself out the door. I'm going to answer the dulled whisper of my heart calling me to reconcile myself to God. I want to say I'm sorry to Jesus for the the scourge of my sins, the nails of my faults, and run back into God's arms crying mercy. On Easter, I will be able to remember that the Cross is the happy fault that redeems me, not an endless sacrifice I won't accept. Pour on the mercy, Lord. Fill me with Your Grace. Help me through the Sacrament of Reconciliation to draw closer to Your Cross and to go forth and sin no more.

Baby 5: Week 29

How Far Along: 29 Weeks (11 weeks to go! Uh... what????)

How I'm Feeling: I clearly spoke too soon. I manage after one day of feeling okay to catch the very brutal Mom cold. I can't help but think that those Man Cold ads (ugh, sexist, but anyway...) were based off of my experience of being pregnant with a cold. I would like nothing better than to take a long, hot bath, have the maximum dosage of some cough/cold medicine, and sleep on my belly for as many hours as I can. Well, I shouldn't say I'd like nothing better, because what I like best is this beautiful baby boy, and the knowledge that my sickness isn't bugging him (pretty clearly as he continues to practice for some career in either mixed martial arts or soccer). But at least 2nd to him would be medicating myself back to sanity. Oh well! You win some you lose some. I feel bad for the kiddos having such a whiny, layabout, cranky Mama! They've been real sweethearts about how lousy I've been feeling, and haven't made any complaints about my less than stellar parenting.

What I'm Thinking: I know I shouldn't be because I've been counting down since the early days, but I'm totally shocked that we're only one week away from 30 weeks. I'm excited we've reached safe birth age (although of course having a preemie is by no means my desire, stick in the full 42 weeks like your sisters if you need to little man!), but I'm abundantly aware that despite my weekly reminders in the form of this blog we are still by and large unprepared. In all reality his room doesn't NEED to be ready for birth as we'll be co-sleeping more than likely, but my nesting instinct is wreaking havoc on my sanity. I had a dream the other night that we brought him home and made his bed in a drawer (which was a story told to me by a medical professional of her own parenting choices when we were pregnant with our first that stuck to me) I layed on the floor next to our bed. Not exactly a nightmare, but clearly the voice of my conscience is accusing me for not being more on top of clearing out his room before now.

What I've Done This Week: Baby-related, the only thing I did was switch over to the looser maternity pants (this boy is hanging out on my hips!), have lots of parties and fun times for our oldest boy who turned 4, and felt generally miserable with my cold. I barely showered this week or wore non-pyjamas. Not a banner week, folks.

What I Hope To Do Next Week: I have lots of laundry to do, so I hope to finally prep those teeny tiny newborn diapers and wash my hospital bag (it's been in limbo since the first baby, perpetually half packed. It needs a good freshening up). If I can check just one non-survival thing off my list this week, I'll feel like I've done something. High hopes here.

"I Will Give you Shepherds"

When I was discerning, one of the documents I came across was a post-synodal exhortation (try saying that three times fast!) called "Pastores Dabo Vobis" which translates to "I will give you shepherds" and is a reference to Jeremiah 3:15. The hopefulness of that quote is that God will never leave us without a shepherd to wander through the desert without end. A shepherd is someone charged with the loving care of his flock. Jesus used the image of the shepherd to tell beautiful parables about His abiding care for each individual child of God. Before He ascended to Heaven there to remain until His second coming, He gave us Pastors, or Shepherds to continue to guide His fledgling Church through the desert of this world. How grateful I am that God hasn't left it all up to me to find my way to Heaven, but has given me earthly guides to inspired and lead me along the little way of Christ.

As Catholics, our Shepherds are the priests, Bishops and most of all the Pope. The Pope, through constant prayer, consultation with scholars and Bishops, and the study of the Scriptures and Apostolic Tradition, guides us as our chief earthly Shepherd and works to preserve the rich depths of our faith as it has been handed down. He is charged with praying for all of us, but also to remind us always to hold strong to our faith. Our most recent Pope, Benedict XVI, used his papacy as an opportunity to guide us like a good Shepherd, point us always to Christ. One of his greatest contributions to Christian thought was his series called Jesus of Nazareth. He never pointed to himself, except to point out his own frailty, and used all his strength to point always us to Christ who redeems us. John Paul II used his papacy as well to point us to the love of Christ, reminding us always "Do not be afraid!" as we sought to come into closer relationship with Jesus. These men, so seemingly against the culture and irrelevant according to modern media, have been doing the only thing necessary to win our love: Fearlessly preaching the Gospel, with authenticity and truth. Neither of these two great men bent under the weight of increasing societal pressure to modify, tweak, or change the essential doctrine whose sole purpose is to keep us in right relationship with God and draw us up into relationship with Jesus. Both of them saw that the whims of culture change like shifting sand racked by a windstorm of popular opinion. The Church of Christ was built on a rock, not on the sand.

So as we live through this time where we have no earthly shepherd, we turn to God in patience and anxiety to see who will be our new earthly shepherd, our new Peter. When John Paul II passed away, it felt so easy and smooth as then Cardinal Ratzinger took the tiller on the barque and guided us all through the early days of Sede vacante. When they announced "Habemus Papam!" and his kind face came out to wave in disbelief at his flock, I felt reassured. The Holy Spirit was with us, taking care of us, giving us a shepherd after God's own heart. Right now, there are many good men who could take up the tiller and steady the boat, but no one man stands out to me the clear choice. I'm sure the Cardinals are lying in bed right now pondering the same question, but with a greater weight than I. Our new Pope is more than likely among them. Is he lying in his bed with the fear and doubt of Peter, but also the faith to say that he will take up the duty of feeding Christ's flock when he faces the Cross of the papacy soon to be presented to him? As all Catholics cling together on our boat, rocked by the wild storms on all sides, I'm sure even the man who will be our Peter is wondering if the Lord is asleep in the boat. But truly the Lord is not asleep. In these days He lets us steer the boat, but entrusts us with a man to take the tiller and keep our course between the rocks steady and secure, following the route the Lord charted for us nearly 2000 years ago. I trust that the Holy Spirit is guiding the Cardinals to see and elect the man God has chosen, a man who will turn from his own desires and his fear, to take up the staff and get to the work of strengthening and feeding Christ's weary flock. God will give us a new shepherd, a shepherd after His own heart.

Your Song

When I was a kid, my Mom had a song for all three of her kids. Each was a old folk ballad she'd sing to get through the long nights with babies. I remember one family trip in the car when she sang my oldest brother's song while we drove through the long night. He was 16 years old, but that familiar old lullaby put him right to sleep.

Now I've got my own kids. I tried my hand at the lullabies I grew up on, lots of them local folk ballads and they just didn't feel right. Gradually over the past few years my husband and I have found songs for our children, songs that they love and that we love to sing with and for them. Songs that comfort them in sickness, sleepiness, or just need of us. Much to our delight, four unique songs became their favourites.

Biggest girl, our Princess par excellence, took an immediate liking to this song. Cinderella is her favourite princess, so of course she'd love this song. She likes to sing it to us now, which is a real heart breaker:

Biggest boy gravitated immediately to one of his Daddy's favourites, Beautiful Boy by John Lennon. Although we do love John Lennon's original, the boy prefers the cover from the Amnesty International album Instant Karma, sung by Ben Harper (that's my boy!). Every night, he begs us to sing this at least once, but especially when he's feel low. He's even got little hand gestures for certain parts to illustrate it.

Our almost three year old boy also loves to hear Beautiful Boy, but his favourite song has become the short but sweet "Love you Forever" from the Robert Munsch book (one of his favourite books too). He calls it the dragon song (which he tells us he is) because the first time we heard it sung was on a very old TV special that they have on Netflix. What could be better than being told that you'll be loved forever, liked for always, and my baby as long as I live? So sweet.

Baby girl's song was chosen for her. Maybe as she gets older she'll change her mind, but somehow I doubt it. When I was still pregnant with her there was one song that always made her dance in my womb. Once she was born, that song carried both of us through the early sleepless nights of breastfeeding. Now that she's a year and a half, it's the song I sing to her as we dance our way through the days. It's Bob Dylan's "If Not for You", although the version I'm in love with is the cover by Derek Webb and his wife Sandra McCracken.

And finally we have a song that my husband and I love to listen to over and over again. It's kind of our theme song for this stage of our life as a family. Every time it comes on I want to gather up all my little blessings and give them lots of hugs and kisses.