The Diary of Captain Obvious: Why This Pregnancy Is Different

The husband and I did the math last night as I was slowly walking up the stairs. There will be almost four years between Jude and the Sweet Pea. Four years since I have gone down this path. Four years since I have nursed, done night feedings, recovered from the wounds of pregnancy. Four years.

Truth be told, because it has been so long between pregnancies, we kind of thought we were done. Let me explain. We were never done being open to another child or children. We just thought that perhaps God’s plan for our family had seen its fruition. That was a long time of being open with no babies to show for it. Call it secondary infertility. Call it exhaustion. Call it what you will. We were neither happy nor sad about it. While we talked about wanting a large family before being married, we were more committed to whatever size family God was leading us to have. Plus, having two children not quite two years apart brings a new appreciation of what it might realistically mean to have a large family. Either way, we have always remained open to the will of God in the situation.

When we were first married, the first baby was like another milestone we raced to cross, especially since we married a little later in life. Both grandmas were slightly disappointed there was no honeymoon baby, but I didn’t want to talk cycles with them at the time. Truthfully I was still learning all that myself! Then after our first came along, I distinctly remember a night sitting on her nursery floor rocking her back to sleep when I heard very clearly the whisper of God tell me I would have a son. So when the second pregnancy came along right after she turned one, I already knew he would be a boy. Sure enough, he is three now.

Since then God has been kind of quiet. No more middle of the night whispers. No aching in my heart for someone else to complete our family. Every now and then, there would be a sense that we should have another girl. Along with that sense came also the thought of adoption - from China to be exact. That door never quite opened though. God’s voice of recent had not been a clear whisper.

Now here we are expecting our third, and while neither of us heard the booming voice of God, neither of us were surprised. We both had a sense upon seeing that pregnancy test that this was the plan all along. We would begin to dream about never having to buy diapers again, and God would laugh and offer us a chance to try cloth one more time.

Things are different this time around. (Captain Obvious, am I!) I am forty, and while that isn’t knocking on death’s door, my body is definitely different. I don’t remember being so constantly exhausted with the first two pregnancies. (The husband might have a different memory, of course.) I didn’t have any trepidation overall about childbirth. After experiencing complications with my last delivery, now I am anxious about whether there will be a repeat performance. While with my first I had a dream she was actually a cat in a buggy stroller, this time my dreams more vividly reveal my fears of miscarriage because as my support network has grown, so has the number of women I know who have suffered the loss of a child. Enter in also a little guilt knowing the growing number of women who are heartbroken that God has not answered their aching desire for more children.

That’s the thing, though. Light and shadow play together, always. The beautiful part of this pregnancy that was missing for my last two is the large number of women who make up my village. Some of them I know in person, and many of them are a name on a screen. That makes little difference in the connections and friendships that have been formed with my sisters in Christ, my sisters in motherhood. There are now more women I can turn to without fear of judgment whenever I have these crazy dreams which may or may not involve birthing a baby at 27 weeks that looked slightly like a cross between Simcha’s youngest and a manatee with two bottom teeth. (This is NO reflection on your children, Simcha – I promise!)

This baby will be prayed for in a way that the other two did not ever experience (but reap now, of course). These mamas I know will pray me through every fear, will lavish my family with God’s immense and abundant love. I know, because they lavish ME with that love. I have an army of faithful mamas at my side who all choose to parent differently, who have birthed their babies at home and via c-sections like me, who have known grief and felt great joy, who are breastfeeding champions and who mix a mean bottle of formula, who stay at home and who work out of the home, all of whom love their vocation and are struggling through just like me, desperately trying to find joy in the ordinary to make our families’ lives extraordinary.

While the shadow side of this community includes knowing more of the tragedies that continue to pierce a mother’s heart, there is the overwhelming comfort of having beside me women who have walked the road before me and continue to walk it with me. These women offer their joy, their wisdom, their patience, their encouragement, their laughter, and their tough love when it is needed. I have been able to share my crazy to the tune of, “What? You too?,” in ways that befuddle my husband, because he only knows crazy through my eyes. (Sorry dear, there is a whole cadre of crazy out there – you might want to find their husbands and grab a beer.) I have more confidence that I can do this, over the hill or not. 

There is something beautiful that happens when women drop their facades and defenses. We become sisters. The mommy wars fade out to the understanding that each mom faces her own battle, because there’s nothing the devil wants more than for us to fail in our vocation. I know that it is his voice that continues to feed my fears in an effort to place distance between my heart and the joy of a new child. I know it is his voice that continues to whisper to me all my failings as a wife and mother to keep me from embracing my vocation with confidence. Sadly for that dastardly devil, I have more voices around me now that continue to remind me of the One Voice that matters. The One who tells me that I am never alone, that He will be with me until the end of the age, that He has come to give me life in abundance, that with Him all things are possible, the One who reminds me that His mercy is new every morning – every. single. morning.

So while it is sobering to realize we haven't done this in almost four years, I am also looking forward to this pregnancy in a new way - with an even larger family of sisters to share in my joys and sorrows, come what may. Because these women have shared with me their ups, downs, and in betweens, I know now that there is no shame, no judgement in reaching out for help, for making the best decisions I know how to make for the good of my family. The struggle is real, but many hands and hearts make light the burden . . . and keep me focused on the joy that each life brings.

Until next time, let's keep our hearts open and love the world like Jesus!

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SQT: On Floods, Suffering, Surrender, Insanity, 6 Degrees of RobinWilliams and Songful Dreams

--- 1 ---

Did you hear we had a flood in Detroit? It's about all we can think about since we are still in the midst of cleaning out.

The clean-out has been exhausting, but it wasn't until we took the old infant carrier to the curb that I actually cried. Yes, I know we could never use it again anyway as it's likely about 8 years old since we were gifted it from a friend. It doesn't really matter. It was what carried my babies home from the hospital. Visions of my now-almost-in-school Gia at a few days old, dwarfed by the then-giant seat, memories of the drive home {especially hitting bumps and wincing in pain}, the first moment we brought her in the door and the panicked "what do we do now?" that fleeted through our minds. All of that came rushing back. And I might have cried a little. And that is okay. Goodbye little seat. Time really does fly.

--- 2 ---

One side effect of disaster, at least in our neck of the woods, has been that more people are out and about in the neighborhood. Sure, they're hauling their sewage drenched basements to the curb, or still pumping out water, but they're out there. And people are talking. And helping. It has cemented something I suspected all along. Suffering unites us in our humanity, and more deeply it unites with Christ who is the source of our truest humanity. In our suffering, God surprises us with His grace and glory, making good out of everything, even s%!# filled basements.

The surprise I came home to dropped off by a friend to help
sweeten the blow of the basement stank. Now she found
out they have a ton of mold in their basement. Prayers for them please!

--- 3 ---

I've also been thinking about what a difference a day can make... Sunday we were enjoying a tasty brunch and hanging out the kiddie pool, and Monday we had more water than we ever wanted in our basement.

--- 4 ---

Ok, enough about the water woes. Today we had a staff in-service and I was asked to find a prayer on surrender. There was a prayer of surrender to the Holy Spirit I was thinking of, but when I asked my pal Google to locate it, old Googs one-upped me and found me this prayer instead, which now is at the top of my list of favorite prayers. Given that today is the Feast of the Assumption, it seems fitting to share a prayer about total surrender of self, that we might offer our whole yes to the will of God as Mary did.

Dear Lord Jesus, it is my will to surrender to you everything that I am and everything that I am striving to be. I open the deepest recesses of my heart to you and invite your Holy Spirit to dwell inside of me. You are the salvation of my soul; I hold nothing back from you.

I offer you my mind, heart, body, soul, spirit, emotions, all my hopes, plans, and dreams. I surrender to you my past, present, and future problems, habits, character defects, attitudes, livelihood, resources, finances, occupation, skills, vocation, and business endeavors. I surrender everything unto your compassionate care. I give you my home, marriage, sexuality, relationships, friendships, and children. I surrender all my weaknesses, strengths, fears, and insecurities to you. In sickness and in health, in the good times and bad, I belong to you. Please transform my life into whatever most pleases you. Transform me into the child of God that you have intended me to be.

In your most holy name we pray. Amen. 

--- 5 ---

School starts soon for our first born. I got a letter from her pre-school about a new-family orientation. It begins. It was such a welcoming letter, and part of their welcome to new families is to pair them with an established school family for the year to ease the transition. What a lovely idea and great way to build community. I might have come close to shedding a tear. It's been an emotional week.

--- 6 ---

Once I got my head above water from all the muck in the basement (hahahah, head above water...get it?), I was pulled right back under with all the chaos on my newsfeed. What the what is going on with the world? I don't honestly even have words for what is going on in Ferguson, MO, or in response to the Walmart shooting. I really don't right now, but thanks to a friend I did read a post by someone who I feel nailed every issue right smack on the head.

--- 7 ---

Of course, then every two seconds we hear about Robin Williams' suicide. How very truly tragic. What saddens me the most is how surprised everyone seems to be that someone who was a comic by trade and brought such joy could be so very distraught himself. It saddens me that we have become so focused on the surface that we forget how deeply the waters of our spirit run within, sometimes in quiet turmoil. I won't even get into my disappointment with the judgement running rampant on every angle of his death. A man has died - this is not a story, this is not a cause, this is a man who brought joy to those around him but deeply suffered. A man. With a family. With friends. With a kind heart. Yeah, those stories are making me cry. While I never knew him myself, I will throw one more log on the fire that was the generous spirit of the man.

My Godbrother was an actor (sometimes struggling) in Cali in the late 80s/early 90s. He happened to get a role as an extra on the set of Hook back in the day. We tend to think of extras as just faces in the crowd, blending in, going unseen. Somehow, Stevie met Robin, and made enough of an impression that Mr. Williams remembered him a few years later when he passed from AIDS related complications. I don't remember all the details, whether he attended the funeral or just sent a long note to the family, but I remember my Godmother was so very touched that he had remembered her son. He spoke of Steve's spirit, his soul, his kindness, his beauty as a fellow human being that he'd had the privilege of coming across. Stevie was an extra, and Mr. Robin Williams, a lead actor, knew enough of him to know he had passed and know how to contact his family. He took the time to offer his condolences. This was the spirit of the man who was tormented by his own demons. I hope, as his spirit and legacy is remembered, that the generosity of his spirit will set an example for others who achieve the same success. For Mr. Williams, it seems that people were just people...and by that I don't mean "just" in a diminutive sense. Rather, it seems that his legacy is one that shows us how it looks when a man, regardless of his stature, views all people with the dignity they deserve. That loss is a great one in our world today. May God grant him mercy and eternal rest, and may perpetual light shine upon him.

EXTRA (because why end on sorrowful note when you can end with joy?):

I have this great dream. It will likely NEVER come to fruition, and may be not the most reverent of dreams. Yet...I have this dream. One day, I will be at a Mass honoring Mary, and THIS will the version of Salve Regina that is sung. If we are honest, it's the version that's in my head no matter which rendition is sung, however slowly. You know what this is. You do. Now sing to the rafters, clap those hands, and hit it, girls!

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Confessions of a Non-Edel-er

I have a confession to make. It's not a secret confession if you've followed my lately not-so-active blog. I really wanted to go to Edel (an in-person gathering organized by Hallie & Jen + company in Austin for Catholic mamas and bloggers). I didn't go. My whole affair with the Edel Gathering read something like a 12 Step program. Get ready to enter the crazy in my head!


Step 1: See mention of possible gathering and feel like that high school nerd again, super excited for even a chance to go hang out with the cool kids.








Step 2: See actual details of Edel and then see price tag.

Step 3: Lament as to why airlines cannot still have round-trip, cross-country fares for under $200 like back in the good old days.

Step 4: Try to figure out total cost and see if there can be any possible justification for spending $500+ on a mini-vacation for one.

Step 5: Decide it is too selfish and way over budget to attend given the cost. Besides, tickets are sold-out by now anyway, because you know - everyone wants to hang out with the cool kids.

Step 6: Forget about Edel for a while...mostly.

Step 7: Find out that there are some mamas who are trying to unload their tickets because things came up and they cannot attend.

Step 8: Work through all the numbers and possibilities again to see if there is any chance to find a last minute way to get to Austin at minimal cost. Realize that you cannot justify shortchanging one of these mamas who paid full price and trip will still be way too much and now on short notice to the family.

Step 9: Make other plans for that weekend so as not to become a crazy Edel-attendee stalker with moderate success.

Step 10: Peruse #edel14 tag on Twitter and the 'Gram. Feel heartbroken when you hear "it is good that you are here," because, well, you're not. Throw a mini-pity-party with the world's smallest violin. Get angry with self for not going.

Step 11: Read recaps of the weekend and cry on the inside, because your soul really needed that. Alas, also realize that "it is good that you are here" relates to wherever you are, because God is working his glory in those moments too. But still...

Step 12: The light bulb pops on. Realize that because your soul really needed that, it probably was in reality less a frivolous use of money on a short self-vacation, and more an investment in yourself as a wife, mother, and woman in an isolating world. (Thanks Cate for your recap - it definitely helped me reach this little "aha!" moment.)

The moral of the story - I am saving my pennies starting now to make it a possibility to attend in the future if I can score a ticket. Not because my friends and family aren't enough, but because sometimes you need the community of kindred souls who aren't engrossed in your daily life to help lend a hand and draw you out of the mire. Thanks to all of you who have shared how God moved in your spirit during the gathering so those of us far away could experience the fruit of the weekend as well.

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I Am NOT a Curmudgeon!

Honest. I'm not! I know it might seem like I am a crotchety old killjoy when we get around any holiday where people are disposed to setting off fireworks, but honestly, it isn't that I want less joy. I want more!

Admittedly, these are fireworks from the WYD08 opening Mass.

Let's set aside for the moment the fact that these blasted fireworks have already woken unnamed children once. Let's set aside that our pets are a little on the twitchy side. Let's put aside the fact that our communities are home to veterans of war and refugees who likely suffer flashbacks from loud explosions. Yes, let's put all that "selfishness" aside. While it is enough to make me think that money has won over sanity yet another time, I have yet another objection to our lovely new fireworks law, as precious as it is. Community. (Have I already traveled this road? Sorry to be repetitious.)

I have such fond memories of 4th of July fireworks shows put on by my hometown community, although in hindsight maybe the veterans home wasn't the best location (see PTSD reference above). Location aside, it was such a great community celebration, y'all! Bands in which a number of my friends performed in our high school years, rocket pops on a hot summer night, a blanket on the sweet smelling lawn, children running around with sparklers waiting for the big moment when the sky would explode with colors raining in every direction. Together, we waited and we celebrated. 

My parents always made a big deal of patriotic celebrations. As a first generation child of immigrants, I remember how important the history of this country was to them, the history of independence and freedom that they didn't experience in their own homeland much before leaving it. To be able to celebrate that with neighbors and strangers alike was their joy, and it shone on their faces, perhaps more my dad than mom. A kid at heart, he loved every minute, every color, every sparkle of light ... even the popsicles.

He would be disheartened at not only the disruption of a quiet neighborhood on a day like today, but the decline of a community celebration in favor of a renegade, private pandemonium of explosives. By the way, it is currently July 3rd, to be specific, which is the feast of St. Thomas the Apostle, and while worthy of celebration is perhaps not quite fireworks-worthy.

So you see, it's not that I don't enjoy fireworks. I just say there is a time, manner, and purpose for such a celebration, and perhaps we have missed the mark yet again. It's true that we as a state are no longer missing out on revenue gained by neighboring states while these explosives remained illegal. Then again, perhaps we are missing out on a lot more than we bargained for in the long run by legalizing the private purchase of major fireworks and having our community celebrations no longer on the 4th in so many cases. More fireworks, less community. Welcome to a new 'Merica folks! (sarcasm and snark intended)

Here's hoping your 4th of July is filled with wonder and amazement, and your nights filled with silence!

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