Ugh...At The Midwife's Office

Girls everywhere will agree with me (I hope) that it's just wrong for the midwife to hand my husband the paper that says "Congratulations on getting to 31 weeks!  Starting weight XXX  Weight today XXX total weight gain so far XYZ"

Handed it right to him.  Right in front of his eyes...which know how to read...thank you very much.

I know that he knows I'm no longer the super thin girl he married.  He's watched my weight go up and down through 9 pregnancies.  But really?  Can she not hand him the paper that says how much up it is?  I may be his wife, but I'm also a girl and there are some things that we should just keep to ourselves.

:)

Can I Just Be Honest Here?

****I try very hard not to complain about being pregnant.  I have been reminded too often by the people I love that this is a gift and that complaining about it is ungrateful, but sometimes saying nothing is dishonest.*******


I hurt.  


My hips ache.  I can feel the ball of the hip joint move in the socket and grind against the hip bones.  The larger the baby gets, the more the joint loosens.  When I walk from one place to another, I figure out my routes based upon what there is to lean on in case I need to rest on the way.  It's not just my hips, my right shoulder does the same grinding loose thing as does one of my elbows.  My joints ache like an 80 year old woman.  I'm only 36.

If these didn't make moving hard enough, I have Braxton-Hicks contractions non-stop when I move.  Lying on the couch with a huge glass of water, they quiet down.  If I stand up, my belly tightens up instantly.  The books will tell you that they aren't painful, but they are their own brand of discomfort for sure, especially when they come non-stop one on top of the other the entire time I am vertical.  They may not be the real thing, but my muscles constantly ache from them.

My husband no longer hugs me close for fear of hurting me.   I can't sleep as the discomfort keeps me awake most of the night.


I don't want to do this again.  Am I allowed to say that out loud? Or in writing even?  I feel as if being that honest betrays some sort of Catholic moms of big families pact that we never voice our dissatisfaction with anything about this life to outsiders.  If I have to say it or even think it at all, I should tell my best friend and only in ashamed and whispered tones.  

I have told her this before.  Often.


I love my children and consider each one a blessing, but I hurt and I don't like hurting.  I'm exhausted and I'm tired of the fatigue. I don't want to do this again.


My secret fear through the past 7 months has been that I will need a c-section, not because of the surgery itself but because of the question they ask you before they wheel you into the OR.  "Are we tying your tubes while we're in there?"  I want to say yes.  With every bit of my body, I want to say yes.  Cut them.  Burn them.  Tie them.  Whatever you have to do.  I don't want to do this again.


My soul screams NO!  My flesh begs yes.


My soul aches to trust in God.  I have often said, and truly believe, that putting God in charge of your life means putting Him in charge of all of it....not just the parts it's easy to trust Him on.


Tomorrow is 31 weeks and she is breech.  I don't need anyone to tell me that.  I can feel the round knobby-ness of her head up by my rib cage, and all her kicking tap-dances across the inside of my pelvis.  This is the way God works, isn't it?  When we say to Him "Please spare me from this test, it is too much for me." He smiles and hands exactly that to us.  He gives us the strength to come through it, but He hands us the test we fear the most.

I hurt and I don't want to do this again.  That's the honest truth of it.  The belly may be cute.  The baby will be worth it...but can this be the last one?

I'm weary and in pain and I can see the huge temptation that lies ahead.  The spirit is willing...the flesh really is weak.  Luckily, the soul has help.  I just have to remember to keep asking for it.

Second....

Once upon a time I was a little girl with a bog mouth and lots of opinions. (I know.  Big shock, right? I'll warn you next time before I spring one on you like that.)  I was 5 years old and wanted to be the First Woman President of the United States. 

My mother laughed and asked me what I would do if someone else did it first.  I shrugged and replied, "I'd do something else because no one ever remembers second."  True story.

Also a story with a point.  I'm in second place y'all, in the Cannonball Catholic Awards.  Will you help?  Would you please head on over there and vote for me in Potpourri of Popery and Best Underappreciated?  The link is right HERE .

I've grown to like the winner's plaque on my sidebar and would like to keep it (and maybe add a second one to it) for another year.

Alrighty Then

I talked with my 90 year old grandmother last night.  At one point I told her that the children and I were researching family trees and were about to get started on her side of the family.

She paused for a moment and said "My mother used to say not to go looking too high up in the family tree because you might just find someone hanging from it."

I can't wait!

Things I've Learned Today

Air conditioners don't cool anything if they are out of freon.  It doesn't matter how long they run or how much air they move, they cool nothing.

********************************************************

Toothpaste does not feel good in your eye, or more specifically toothpaste does not feel good in my eye.  It doesn't do much for my vision or appearance either.

********************************************************

Some children learn to read easily, others do not.  Sometimes the slowest reader can be one of your brighter children.  It just has to click in their brains and no amount of work on my part will force that click.  (I already knew this, but apparently I needed a reminder.)

********************************************************

Even nice people will do mean things if they are hanging out with mean people.  Peer pressure is a booger.  Be careful who you hang out with in person or on line.

********************************************************

Bacon is good with pretty much everything.  Bacon with freshly made doughnuts is good enough to bring a tear to your eye.

********************************************************

I love my husband.  I already knew this, but sometimes a reminder helps us to see the truth with fresh eyes.

Standing between me and pain?  Yeah.  He's the hero in my story.  He pretty much rocks.

********************************************************



It's just past lunch and this is what I've learned already today.  The important things were about my husband and also the toothpaste, but don't discount the value of bacon.

Vote! Vote! Vote!

It's that time of year again when completely ordinary bloggers compete to prove that they're only slightly better than average! Please take a moment and head on over to vote for Shoved to Them in the Cannonball Catholic Blog anti-awards for Best Potpourri of Popery and Best Underappreciated. You can vote once every day...so you should vote once every day! Thanks.

 It's not a lot, but it's all I've got.

Words of Wisdom

"I have found that whenever someone I know does something which seems non-sensible, uncaring, or downright mean, that it often only seems that way because I am missing information.  Once I get that key bit of knowledge about what's going on, then it all makes sense to me.  It's why I now wait to make up my mind until I've heard the whole story."

-the Girl with the white mini-van

Coming Into Our Own

For years, our sweet #4 has wanted nothing more than anonymity.  She liked to sit quietly on the outskirts of a room and observe the action and wish for invisibility.  Every so often, we would see flashes of self-confidence only to watch her shy self reappear.

Then we moved.

Without the social safety net of the friends and family who had surrounded her with shelter for the whole of her life, she was forced to put on her game face and walk bravely out our door to actually talk to strangers.  It has been excruciating for her.  It took her 11 tries before she made it all the way across the street to meet the neighbor's children.  It took the determined tug of her younger brother's hand to pull her out to the cul de sac where the kids were all riding bikes.

Her eyes still well with tears when faced with meeting new people, but she has decided that dollhouse is more fun to play with other people, so she breathes deeply and keeps trying until she gets there.

**************************************************************

I learn so much from watching this girl face her fears head on.  Watching her teaches me so much about how to tackle my own.  Like many women, I hate to disappoint people, I agonize over saying "no", and I cry if I think I've hurt someone's feelings.  I'm a people-pleaser who will sacrifice what I want or what is in my own best interest if it means avoiding conflict.

When did I become so afraid?

There was a time in my life when I was fearless.  A time when I did and said what I thought needed to be done and the devil take the consequences.  As a result, I stepped on a lot of toes and hurt a lot of feelings, so I retreated to the opposite end.  I began agreeing to things for which I had no time, scheduled activities in which I had no interest, planned things for which I had no money or energy.  It was madness.  There has to be a middle ground.

I have come to the conclusion that always saying yes isn't a good option either, so I am learning to say no.  It is almost physically painful for me.

Last week a mom from my eldest daughter's cheerleading squad asked me to be the chairman for the winter dance which is 2 weeks after #7 is due.  My first reaction was to say yes even though my stomach sank at the thought.  When I said " I can't" I immediately began to give her a litany of all the reasons why as I silently prayed she would understand.  She cocked her head to the side and said "I don't need an explanation, if you can't then you can't."

It was in that moment that I realized an important truth.  The word "no" is a complete sentence.  I don't owe people an explanation.  The fact that I have thought about things and decided to say "no" should be enough.  I say it kindly, but I say it firmly and guess what?  People aren't offended.  They simply nod their heads and accept my answer.  It has caused all kinds of freedom in our family schedule, the ability to say "no".

It's still hard for me though.  I still worry about the disapproval.  I'm still a little afraid of making them angry.


***************************************************

I asked my daughter where she finds the courage to walk across the way to meet new people.  "I pray, Mommy" she answered.  "Then I take a breath and tell myself that they probably won't kill me because most people don't do that.  Then I pretend to be brave like you and I just do it."

Bless her little heart, the sweet thing.  I don't think I'll tell her how scared her mommy can really be.

Her method works though.  I've tried it.  I take a deep breath to calm the knots in my stomach, and then let it out slowly.  I say a little prayer for courage, peace and to be kind even when I can't be accommodating.  I remind myself that most people won't kill me, at least not in broad day light or a crowded room. Then, I pretend to be brave.  I try to be as brave as my small daughter who works on it daily and isn't afraid to fall short in the attempt.  It may take me dozens of tries to rediscover my boldness, only this time I pray I have learned the kindness to temper it.

How fortunate I am to have such an example to show me the way.

I'm No Longer Speaking English. I'm Sure Of It.

Today I learned to speak another language.  I'm not sure which one, because I thought I was speaking in my native tongue.  Nobody understood me though, which leads me to believe a miracle has occurred and I'm speaking in tongues instead.  A little Esperanto anyone?

This morning, we had preschool playgroup in the neighborhood.  As I walked across the street with my two youngest boys, I said, "We're going to the house with the red car in the driveway."
#5 gave me a puzzled look and replied, "What did you say?"
me: "The house with the red car.  That's where we're going."
#5: "Oh." pause.  "What?"
me. "See the red car?  That's the house where playgroup is."
#5: "I don't know, Mommy."
me: sigh "Just hold my hand and follow me."
#5: "Okay, but can I just hold your hand?"

Seriously.

When we got home after an hour of playtime, I told #3 to get out his math book and a calculator.  (Yay calculator day!)
#3: "My math book and what?"
me: "calculator"
#3: "I don't have that thing, I think....." He looked at me as if I were a crazy woman.
me: "A calculator?  Then get my phone.  It has a calculator app."
#3: "Get your what?"
me: "Phone. It can be a calculator."
#3: Why would I want your phone?  I don't need to call anyone."
me: slowly "It has a calculator on it.  Get my phone."
#3: "Never mind mom.  I can use #2's phone.  It has a calculator on it."

This has been my day. With every child except #6, although he has stared at me dumbly for most of the afternoon so there's no telling what he's hearing.

I'm either holier than I thought or I'm slowly losing it.  At least I can still type in English.  I think.  Quick, look at the words and tell me what you see.

Where Was The Mercy For The 3,000?

A few days ago, I wrote a blog post about God and 9/11.  Most of the responses were positive, but I got one which was not.  "Where was God's mercy for the 3,000?" She asked me.  She went on to state that terrible things happen which can not be explained away, things which show a heartless and ruthless side to God with which she struggles.  How can anyone rely on the love of God when He allowed the 3,000 to perish?

I was waiting for someone to ask that, and I'm so glad she did.

Death and destruction seem unfair.  They seem to be proof of the absence of the presence of God.  I would agree with this if death were the end. 

It is tempting to see death as the end of the story.  Rare is the person who dies and then comes back to life to continue their tale.  I can think of two.  Loved ones die.  We bury them in the cold, hard ground, then we walk away and our lives continue without them.  It's easy to believe and feel as if they are gone forever.  Disappeared.  It is human nature to rail against the unfairness of the end of them, these people we loved.

As I prayed for a response this week, my thoughts turned stubbornly to the image of the Good Shepherd.  In the story, there were 100 lambs.  99 were safe, but one had gotten lost.  The Shepherd left the 99 in safety to go and find the one.  When He did, He gathered the lost lamb into his arms and carried it safely home.

Where was the mercy for the 3,000?  He gathered the lost into His arms and carried them safely home.

Death is not the end of the story.  It is merely a resting place along the way. 

But How Could He Let That Happen?

This has been a difficult week to discuss the concept of Free Will with my children.  Perhaps it is Divine Providence that we hit upon this topic in the same week that the news channels are all running footage of the attacks of September 11th.  My 10 and 11 year olds are fascinated by the events of that day, but they keep coming back to the troubling question of "Why did God let that happen?"

I struggle with an answer to that question.  How do I explain to my children and myself how a loving God could let such atrocities occur?  Why doesn't he stop them?  He could prevent all this pain and heartbreak, but He doesn't.  How is that love?

Last night, by 10 year old answered it for me beautifully.  He kept sliding down the banister.  I hate this.  He doesn't seem to care what I think.  The stairs are steep; the banister is slick and shiny; sliding is fun and exciting.  No amount of warnings, punishments, or lectures have convinced him to give up his sliding completely.  We have tried, his father and I.  The child just won't listen.  He is obstinate and the temptation is greater than any threat or warning we can make.

Last night, he slid down and landed on his 2 year old brother.  #6 thudded on the ground and bonked his head on the wall.  Crying, tears, and pain were the result of #3's defiance.  Unfortunately, the consequences were not visited upon him, but upon his baby brother.

It was as I sat cuddling and consoling #6 that it dawned on me....God is a parent, too.  He, too, watches His children disobey.  He warns them; He points them toward the right path; He calls to them to change their ways, and just like me, He has to deal with the aftermath of their defiance.

God could have struck the hijackers dead on 9/11.  They could have all keeled over from massive heart attacks.  He could have swatted the planes from the sky.  He did not.  He instead offered them mercy and gave them every opportunity to repent and change their minds, right up until the moment of their deaths.  He loved them enough to give them the chance to turn to Him even as He watched the horrible things they did.  He was their Father, the Father of disobedient sons.

He was also the Father of those passengers on the planes.  He called to them to rise up and offer themselves for the chance to protect their brothers and sisters on the ground.  Those happy few in Pennsylvania heard the call of God and answered Him willingly, and became their Father's pride.  The same too of the first responders in the Towers.  They were their Father's mercy incarnate, hurrying the living toward safety even at the predictable cost of their own lives.  What joy for a parent in kind, generous and obedient sons and daughters.

Part of being a parent is allowing your children to make horrendous and disastrous mistakes.  Often, we can see the pitfalls long before our children get to them.  We can call and call to our beloved ones, but there are times when they will not hear our voice.  Then all a parent can do is love the injured, rebuke the disobedient, and try to ameliorate the damage that was done.

All I could do for my 2 year old last night was hold him close and kiss his owies.  I could have prevented it completely by handcuffing my older boy to my side, but imprisonment would not teach him self-control and to listen to his parents' council.  Instead, he would spend the whole of his life trying to escape from me and the prison I had built.  We have to love them both, the guilty and the victim.  We have to be parents to them both, just as God is parent to us all.

As I explained this to my sons this morning, the elder boy asked "But where was God's mercy and comfort on 9/11?  Where was the hand of God?"  It was then that I remembered the initial news reports of the tens of thousands who had died.  The initial suspected death tolls were a staggering 30,000.  Violence, hate and disobedience killed 3,000; but love and mercy saved 10 times that many.  Then, God sent the entire Christian world to love, pray for and grieve with the families left behind.  He sent His children, His beloved, to be His love for them on Earth that they would know they were not alone.  In those first horrible moments and days, they were not. What Father could leave his children alone and abandoned in their pain?

It's not that God let it happen, it's that His children were disobedient and ignored the warnings of a wise and loving Father.  In a tragedy, it is so easy to focus on the His power not exercised and lose focus on the love poured out.

Broken Vision

We have suspected for some time now that our 4 year old son may be dealing with some of the poor vision issues his 10 year old brother faces.  (Conversion Insufficiency - true double vision caused by his eyes working completely independent of each other, dyslexia, etc.)  We are seeing in him the same symptoms which we explained away in his brother, i.e. no writing or coloring at age 4, extreme fear of heights, fear of animals, constant touching of things as he walks past them (to figure out where they really are), etc.  They are so easy to explain as boyhood or immaturity, but we are so familiar with them and the direction they have taken us before now.

Doctors will tell you that there is know known cause for these issues, but I think we have found a circumstantial genetic link to my own grandfather.  My mother's father was asked to leave school in the second grade because he was "incapable of being taught to read."  He was functionally illiterate for most of his life, reading very slowly and having paperwork filled out for him by coworkers.  According to my mother, he would often close one eye when he was reading because that one was "tired."  This sounds so like my boy (boys?).

I want more for them than this.  I want more than a physically demanding menial job for the rest of their lives.  I want them to be able to participate in and SEE the world around them.  While I am grateful for the knowledge I have gained, the insight I have gathered.....I would rather not ever have to use it again....but it seems that I will.

I keep wondering if it is coincidental that my two blue-eyed children are the boys with vision issues.  Is it somehow linked on to that recessive gene?  I don't know, but I do know that I hope the new baby has brown eyes like her perfect-seeing siblings.  Her hair can be any color, but can her eyes be brown?

And I'm on the lookout for a cool picture of St Lucy.  She's about to become my new best friend, ready or not.  We need help with my sons and their beautiful blue eyes.  If only eyes that lovely could see....

Free Will and Omnipotence

All week, my 11 year old has struggled with the concepts of Free Will and the Omnipotence of God.  After all, he has repeatedly asked, how can it be free will if God already knows what we will do?  I've been struggling to explain it to him, as it's not something my human brain can easily understand.  I've been trying, and praying, and then praying about it some more. 

Yesterday, he explained it to himself as he watched me put the 4 year old down for his nap.

"I get the Free Will thing," he announced as he helped me wash the lunch dishes. "It's like when you put #5 down for a nap.  You know he's going to get up and run around.  You know he's going to play with toys, sing out loud, and get in trouble.  You know he's going to do all those things before you even walk upstairs with him, don't you?"

"I do." I replied, waiting to see where we were headed with all of this.

"You also know that he's going to run around at nap time and at night time, but you still keep putting him to bed the same way."

"Yup."

"I used to do that, too, didn't I?  The running around stuff?"  I nodded at him.  "But you just kept putting it in front of me knowing that eventually I would learn how good sleep is and I would do what was right because I had learned from it."  (I wish I were that calm, mostly it was the fatigue that made me walk away.)

"You could make him stay in bed," my son continued. "You could tie him there and not let him out until you were ready for it, but he wouldn't learn about sleep and to listen to you, he would learn about being trapped and forced.  That wouldn't be love, it would be power........God could force us, too.  He could make us do what is right.  He could control us like puppets and make us all behave perfectly, but that wouldn't be love either, it would be slavery.   He keeps putting the chance to do right in front of us and hoping we'll do the right thing but knowing that most of the time we're just going to run around crazy like #5, right? But He gives us the chance to learn from it, because love is letting you be free..isn't it?...even free to be bad?"

I just hugged him, my mini-scholar.  He gets things that baffle adults and makes them so simple in his childlike way.....so easy that even his mom can understand them.

How My Mind Works

A woman at my 7 year old daughter's dance class today asked how many children I have.  I patted my belly and said, "This is number 7."

She gave a a stunned look before replying "Oh my, that's way too many."

The very next thing in my mind was the song "Boy for Sale" from the musical Oliver!.



That's just the sick way my mind works.  People are rude and I answer with Broadway musicals.  No smart retorts, just quiet humming and a little chuckling to myself for the next half hour. 

Honestly, what does she want me to do with the overages?