Won't You Join Me in Celebrating New Life?

Remember the ache in this mom's heart when she lost her first baby in the ninth month of pregnancy? Well, yesterday the voids in my dear friend and her husband's arms and heart were filled completely when they welcomed a healthy baby boy. Thanks be to God!

Every baby is a miracle but as I studied their newborn's first photos and noticed his bright, pink skin, his perfect face scrunched up from crying as he tested out those strong lungs for the first time, and saw him sleeping peacefully in the arms of those who have loved him and prayed over him from the moment he first began to be molded in his mama's womb, I was made even more aware of just how precious life is. I've never lost a baby, so I can't possibly understand the hurt, how empty your arms and heart must feel, or the rattle of a soul that has lost something it had just started to love. But now, seeing my friends' smiling faces, hearing this baby's father proclaim, "He's awesome," I'm nodding my head, and thinking, "New life is indeed awesome."

Now remember how I was bemoaning technology just a few days ago? Well, today let us show how this virtual world can spread joy even more quickly than it might breed discontent or angst. Won't you join me in celebrating this family's happiness? Do you have any words of wisdom for the new parents, a prayer for their child, or just a note of congratulations? Also, my friend had to have a c-section so if you have any tips on recovery from one (i.e., helpful nursing positions, etc.), please do share. Write a note below and join me in welcoming this miracle of life into the world!


You can also follow Baby Hosker on Twitter.

UPDATE: My comment counter is not working. Go figure. Just when I'm trying to give technology the benefit of the doubt, it starts to mess with me. :-)  And it's ironic that this is the first post I can recall when I'm actually soliciting comments on behalf of someone else. Argh. The good news is the comments are still showing up if you click on the "1 comments" link. Also, feel free to email me your blessing for the baby and his proud parents.

I (Almost) Heart My Mom Bod

Someone recently referred to my five-year-old as a "skinny, little thing."

A lot of women would love to have someone use those adjectives to describe them, but not my girl. Madeline was aghast. "I am not skinny," she said with great indignation placing her hand on her jutted out (skinny) hip.

"Y..." I stopped myself. I was about to say, "Yes, you are," but why? She didn't want to be labeled as skinny. She saw it as a defect not an elusive prize like so many of us do.

So instead I agreed with her. "You're right. You're healthy and strong."

She beamed. Then she flexed her big biceps before skipping off to play.

Later that same day I'm undressing when I catch a glimpse of my reflection in that nervy, big-mouthed full-length mirror of mine. It doesn't matter how many crunches I do, my mirror affronts me with the cold, hard truth that my third baby has left my stomach a bit mushy. Clothes hide it well, but the naked truth is much more revealing. 

Everything has shifted, including, thank goodness, the way I'm starting to think of my softer form. I'd like to think my daughter's positive self-image is rubbing off on me. I love how she sees herself as not being a "skinny, little thing" but a healthy girl with quick legs and strong arms. When do girls start idolizing thinness instead of strength, anyway?

I'm not sure, but I know it is motherhood that has helped me to be more aware of the beauty of my body - and certainly, its stamina. Running a marathon before I had kids was nothing compared to the endless physical work of being a mom to three little ones!

Three babies later, I see my body as changed but not flawed. I don't disparage myself so much. I don't pick apart my body (too often). I still have bad days when I'm tempted to allow my weight or my clothing size to evaluate my worth, but I have many, many more good days. Days when I remind myself that anything worth creating bids a price from its creator. (I'd like to remind Jillian Michaels of this, too, after she rejected pregnancy out of fear of what it might do to her body.) God has chosen me to co-create babies. And so my body has paid a price. It probably will never be the same as it once was in my pre-mom days. And I'm starting to be okay with that. Not always head-over-heels in love with the idea of my "mom bod" - but I've accepted the physical changes as a part of my calling, and there are plenty of days when I find I'm content with my body. And I'm always thankful for it and its power to bring forth and nourish new life.

"Let's go play!" my children shout as they barge into the room. I say good-bye to my reflection, and I step into life. And I think I look pretty good doing just that.

----

What would you say to Jillian Michaels after she was quoted as saying, "I'm going to adopt. I can't handle doing that to my body. Also, when you rescue something, it's like rescuing a part of yourself"?

As I recently wrote over at Kind Conversation, I would tell her something like this: Becoming a mom doesn't mean you transform into an unattractive lump. But you do change and so does your body. Truth is, I don't need sculpted shoulders or six-pack abs. I'd rather have strong enough arms that can hold a toddler. A lightly-padded lap for a small child to rest upon. Fit legs to chase an older child in a game of tag. Pregnancy is a physical sign we are living out our vocations. The physical marks of carrying a baby and motherhood may not be easy to grapple with, but they are sacrificial signs of our love for our family.

I'd also tell Michaels that while it's true that motherhood may leave you with a slightly softer form and it may even hijack your sleek abs, there's nothing like bringing a child into the world to make you feel strong. 

I've obviously been thinking a lot about this topic and honestly, I feel badly for Michaels. Perhaps in her heart of hearts she'd love to carry a child, but she's afraid of losing her career - a career that has been built around having a killer body. Her self-image is so wrapped around the way she looks like so many women in Hollywood (and sadly, so many of us, too). In Hollywood, the pressure to be thin, flawless, forever young, and perfectly lovely is tremendous. I feel sad for these beautiful women who have been given so much but are not as content as I am even though I walk around in a mist of Eau du Breastmilk, don't wear designer clothes, and boast a cushy tummy.

I was reading about St. Therese the Little Flower tonight and came across these words of her: "For one pain endured with joy, we shall love the Good God more forever." I thought about how it is our sufferings - whether they come in the form of morning sickness or mourning the body we once had - that will help us to love God more, to be like God more who gave up his only Son as a sign of his great love for us. 

So there's certain dying to self, as a someone eloquently wrote over at Kind Conversation, a dying to our youthful bodies that comes with motherhood, age, or disease. But in that dying, there is joy. There is new life. There is goodness. And there's inner peace that can't be found by looking in the mirror. 

What I've also been thinking about is how  thankful I am that I'm out of the limelight. I once considered pursuing a career in acting and spent a summer in Los Angeles where my looks were picked apart - not easy at all. Horrible for a young girl with a fragile self-image, actually. Perhaps if I'd stayed along that route, I, too, would have said something like what Michaels said more out of fear than anything else, especially given my own struggles with disordered eating and body image. (Michaels was supposedly an overweight kid and suffered horribly for it, so I'm sure this is coming into play as well. I don't care if she says she's over that part of her past. I know from experience body image problems have a way of rearing their ugly heads even after you thought you'd slayed them for good.)

I'm thankful the only paparazzi I have checking me out are three little girls - one of which was watching me clean up after dinner with my hair all askew and said out of the blue, "You are 'bootiful,' Mommy." 

The funny thing is despite not looking my best, I felt really, really beautiful at that moment. I want all women to feel that way without having to conform to a certain physical ideal. That's tough for women like Michaels whose body is what has helped her earn fame and recognition. So let's pray for those women like Michaels who have put so much emphasis on their bodies or faces or the size of their clothing almost as a matter of survival. The media is being tough on Michaels now because of her comment, but imagine if she packed on a few pounds. Then they'd be attacking her for letting herself go. 

Let's also pray that we and our children don't fall into the trap of believing we should be made in the unrealistic image of media when we are fearfully, wonderfully made in the image of the Divine Author.

Mary Elizabeth's Birth Story

I've had some people ask about Mary Elizabeth's birth day, so I thought I'd share some labor day details.

I started having contractions on Saturday (April 4th) evening. They were mild but regular. They faded away for a few hours, but I woke up around 2 AM on Palm Sunday morning with more contractions that were a bit more intense.

That Sunday the contractions continued off and on, but I didn't really get serious until the afternoon. We decided to meet my parents near the hospital so they could pick up the girls. Dave and I didn't want to be stuck in the hospital, so we headed outdoors to enjoy the lovely spring day and I walked around, stopping to breathe through contractions. When I'd have a particularly intense contraction, I'd immediately think about how it was Palm Sunday. In fact, as I recently shared, this pregnancy and birth has made my Lent and Easter season so much more meaningful.

When I started to get really serious, we decided it was time to call my midwife. I was admitted to the hospital at 1:45 PM (she arrived shortly thereafter) and discovered I was 7 cm. I knew very little about the hospital since we'd learned only the day before that we'd be delivering there.

The nurses immediately wanted to hook me up to monitoring, something I don't like. I don't know how women endure labor when they're strapped to a bed.

Confined to the bed and monitor, my contractions immediately slowed down but when they came, they were much more difficult to get through. As soon as my midwife arrived, she took off the monitoring belts and told me I could walk around (she's a Godsend!). She proceeded to show Dave how putting pressure on my hips would ease some of the pain I was experiencing from back labor (I had back labor pain with my first as well).

Before long I was 8 to 9 cm with a bulging bag. At this point, my midwife suggested breaking my bag of waters. While I'm a stickler for not having any medically unnecessary interventions during labor and birth, I did decide to consent to this after talking to my husband and midwife - both of whom I greatly trust.

My water broke and the contractions were immediately more intense. Amazingly, I had Mary Elizabeth less than 10 minutes later. Just before her birth, I doubled over with my most painful contraction and my midwife (who is Catholic) gently squeezed my hand and whispered, "Offer it up." She then told me to push if I felt the urge to do so. I did push. I was still standing at this point. She suggested we pray a "Hail Mary" but before we could begin, I gasped, "She's here."

Our own Mary was actually already crowning. One more intense contraction and a big push later, and they were telling me to pull her onto my chest. I reached down and touched my baby for the first time, pulling her onto my chest. That's when the tears came. I couldn't stop crying. It was such a beautiful blur. I didn't even have time to prepare myself for the pushing stage. The nurses told me I'd pushed for about one minute before she literally popped out.

The hospital staff was wonderful and allowed me to snuggle skin to skin with Mary Elizabeth for quite some time before they performed her newborn assessment. She latched on easily and nursed for about 15 minutes almost immediately after being born. Meanwhile, I continued to cry while my husband stood by our side, watching over his girls.

I have so much to be thankful for - a beautiful birth experience; a supportive and amazing husband turned third-time dad; a skillful, faith-filled, and compassionate midwife who regards her work as a sacred vocation given to her by God himself; a healthy baby who's a nursing champ; two proud big sisters; the gift of motherhood; and an unforgettable Palm Sunday, Lenten journey, and an Easter where "new life" took on a whole new meaning as I held our newest addition in my arms.

Mary, I am so happy to be a mother to another child. Thank you for granting me a happy and safe delivery and being there with me in my own Bethlehem. I know that you are here with me now as I mother my little girls just as you nurtured our God and creator. Mary, I joyfully praise you and thank you for my bounty of blessings! Amen.

Penance, Suffering, and New Life

There’s nothing like a pregnancy completely planned by God instead of me, bed rest, and giving birth to a new baby on Palm Sunday to make for a more meaningful Lent and Easter.

At long last after 40 days of fasting and penance, I now have 50 days to celebrate our Lord’s victory over the cross. I'm also celebrating a new baby, healthy and perfect in every way.

When Lent began, I had great plans (I always do). I made a long (and overly ambitious) list of Lenten resolutions. I took Lent’s call to conversion seriously. I was going to give my sorry spiritual self a holy makeover.

Today I am different, but my spiritual makeover had little to do with the Lenten resolutions I made or how I intended to grow closer to Christ.

Today I’m a mom to three. Right now I’m nursing my newborn, cradling my own version of new life at the start of the Easter season, new life that I can touch and love and nurture.

But just a few weeks ago, I wasn't sure if I'd have a healthy baby or if I'd ever have a baby at all. God blessed me with uncertainty. Would our baby come too early? And then: Okay, now that we’ve made it to 37 weeks and I keep hearing “any day now,” will our baby ever come at all?

While many of my intended Lenten resolutions fell by the wayside (never ever commit to huge chunks of meditative prayer just when your husband leaves for a month-long work trip and you’re pregnant with two small children underfoot), God knew what to do with me. My penance could be found in being sidelined on bed rest when I had an intense urge to nest and to just get up to care for my current children, including a toddler who would climb beside me and cry, “Mommy, up. Mommy, up,” because she couldn’t understand why I wasn’t picking her up anymore.

When we made it to the full-term mark, I thought my penance was over. I was thrilled that our bun had stayed in the oven and for a few days I enjoyed being a fully-present mom to Madeline and Rae again. Then the anxiety crept back into my psyche, and I found myself constantly wondering when the baby would come. At each prenatal appointment, I was told her birth was imminent.

And yet, I waited. I could not make my own personal Easter, the new life harbored within me, come before her time. Instead, I had to turn my fears and anxieties over to God and to trust him.

Then my "real" contractions began in the wee hours of Palm Sunday. While others celebrated Christ’s triumphant entrance into Jerusalem, my husband and I would soon be celebrating the arrival of our third child. But not before I had to face some of my own suffering in the form of contractions sharpened by back labor.

Just before it came time to push, I was standing, holding the hands of my husband and my midwife and as I breathed through a very intense contraction, I gritted my teeth and moaned, “This hurts.”

“I know it does,” my midwife said. Then: “Don’t fight it. Offer it up.”

Unite your suffering with Christ.

And so I did.

Christ did not fight the cross. I didn't fight the pain of my contraction. I let it overpower me and then it was over. A few minutes later our baby was born. I only had to push through one contraction and then I was told to pull her to my chest. My arms reached for her and there she was: rosy and pink, a bundle of perfection resting on my deflated belly.

There were no palm branches fanned out in her honor when our third daughter slipped out, but there were plenty of tears of joy. My Easter came early this year.

God called me to sacrifice through my pregnancy, bed rest, nausea, and labor. I'm at the other side of the cross now. I no longer see it as a sign of sorrow. I see it as a sign of hope and new life. I may have nibbled on chocolate this Lent. I may have not found as much time to fall on my knees and pray in uninterrupted silence. Yet, in his wisdom, God paved a way to holiness for me by blessing me with uncertainty, labor pains, and penances I never could have planned.

Today I am not only a new mother. Today I have a better understanding of Christ’s sacrificial love.

Jesus died on the cross as a supreme act of love for us all. Through his humble acceptance of his cross and his total gift of self, he showed us that sacrifice is actually desirable – a perfect way to show our love.

Jesus suffered to bring us new life. On a much smaller scale, so did I. Enduring the hardships this pregnancy brought was an act of love for my unborn baby. My final month of pregnancy spent mostly on my side was my Lent, my labor my Good Friday. And now I am basking in my Easter, victorious as I marvel at the miracle of the Risen Lord and the miracle of my new baby.

Baby Bliss

With great joy and thanksgiving, we welcomed Mary Elizabeth into the world...

...on Sunday, April 5th
3:16 PM
5 pounds 14 ounces
20 inches

Our new family of five




The Wicker girls (NOTE: Today is opening day for the Chicago Cubs, and my mom is a die-hard, lifelong Cubbies fan. This explains the Cubs gear. She believes in indoctrinating children young.)






*We arrived home early this evening and we're all doing well. I plan on posting details about our big labor day (think of it as the "Mary Elizabeth Wicker's Birth Story") soon.

Many thanks to everyone for their welcome wishes for our little miracle and their support during my bout of bed rest as well as during some of this pregnancy's ups and downs I've shared with you in this block of Blogville. God is so good!

Baby Wicker is Here!

After another beautiful birth experience, Mary Elizabeth Wicker arrived into the world at 3:16 p.m. today weighing 5 pounds 14 ounces and measuring in at 20 inches. Her big sisters are thrilled (Madeline helped pick out her name). I feel great and will be sure to post more details, including photos in the near future.

Dad is holding his tiny treasure now and soon it will be time for me to nurse again. I am so happy... Thanks to everyone for their prayers and support.

Update

I've been up since 2 amish with more contractions; these ones are more intense and coming closer together. I've started my good, old Bradley birthing relaxation techniques, imagining each contraction as something like an ocean wave that slowly rises, crashes, and then fizzes away, leaving my body limp, loose, and detached from the pain. Sounds cheesy, I know, but I've found visualization, along with prayer, really helps.

I'm still not sure what's going on given the "on and off" again nature of this pregnancy and all my pre-labor/early labor sensations. So I'm just trying to be still, trust my body, and let things happen. I hope to "tweet" any significant news (you can view my Twitter updates to the left), but once (and if) my contractions start to mean serious business, I suspect I'll be MIA for awhile.

Dear Lord, please sanctify my waiting, and grant me your grace, protection, and strength as I prepare for a healthy happy delivery of this child who is Yours forever. Grant this through Christ Our Lord. Amen.

I'm Still Saying, "Hmmmm..."

...but for different reasons. Now I'm "Hmmmming" because I'm not sure what to think of my wacko body and the way my labors transpire.

Contractions seem to be fading a bit. With my first, labor was very obvious. My midwife (not the same one I have now) and the hospital staff called me "warp speed labor girl" because I started experiencing fairly intense contractions right on top of each other and was told that my daughter's birth was quite precipitous for a first-time mom. With my second (when I also had to be put on bed rest because of premature dilation), not so much. I gave birth at 37 weeks, and it wasn't until right before I had to push that I really felt like I was in labor.

As for this baby, I'm totally confused, but that's okay. My husband and I are both going to curl up with a good book, relax and see what happens.

Just a note: I typically refrain from blogging on Sundays, but I'll try to give an update if anything big happens (as in real labor and/or the obvious realization that this was another false alarm).

3 Things that Make You Say, "Hmmmmmm..."

1. Contractions coming every 15 minutes or so.

2. Those very contractions arriving on a day when you just learned that you won't have to pay out of pocket for your hospital expenses because your midwife has worked her magic.

3. God, who in his mercy, doesn't decide to whack you on the head with a 4x4 to teach you to be patient and to just put your trust in him rather than trying to figure everything out on your own and instead gives you bed rest, weeks of hearing your baby will be here "any day now," and a surprise pregnancy, so-unlike-your-previous-pregnancies and then a capricious third trimester to help you wise up.

Unlike my overanxious cervix, I certainly don't want to get ahead of myself, but I've been having contractions every 15 minutes now for almost 2 hours (about to put a call into my midwife). Considering I made it to nearly 5 cm without feeling much more than a slight tightening in my abdomen, my husband and I are thinking this may be it (then again, no one thought I'd make it past March 15th and here we are). Of course, tomorrow is one day of call he couldn't trade (although it looks like someone will be willing to cover if this fickle little one really does decide that she wants out). Go figure.

But there's definitely a silver lining to all of this. What really amazes me about the timing of these contractions is that just this morning my midwife called and asked, "Are you still pregnant?"

"Yes," I told her, sighing only slightly.

"Well, you can have that baby now because..." And she went on to explain that she'd finally received the okay for me to deliver at the hospital we'd hoped to have the baby at because it was in our health insurance network and would not require us to pay a hefty bill.

Some would call this a happy coincidence. I call it divine providence. If this pregnancy and all its waiting and "what ifs" hasn't taught me a thing or two about trusting God, then I don't know what will.

Even if tonight's not the night (I'll be 39 weeks in a few days and wouldn't mind letting Baby grow a little bit more), I'm feeling very much at peace and a whole lot of gratitude right about now.

Stay tuned...

May All Her Dreams Come True...

4-Year-Old: Mommy, I had a dream last night that you went into labor. Maybe the baby will come today!

Small Successes 11

1. Thanks to a former homeschooling aunt and her encouragement to start praying the Stations of the Cross at home with my young children, I've found a meaningful way to help my preschooler journey with Jesus to the cross this Lent.

Here's what we're doing to bring the stations into our home: I light a candle and then I read a brief description of each station, say a prayer, and finally ask my daughter to find an object from a small box. The small objects symbolize each station and provide something visual and tangible for her to hold in her hands. We reviewed the stations for the first time using this method last week, and out of the blue yesterday she actually asked to "do those stations" again.

I'm using the following objects to represent each station:

Station 1
Pilate condemns Jesus: A red string (because Jesus' hands were bound)

Station 2
Jesus carries his cross: A cross made from two Popsicle sticks

Station 3
Jesus falls for the first time: A Band-Aid (to remind us of how much Jesus was hurting when he fell)

Station 4
Jesus meets his Mother: A rosary (to remind us of Our Blessed Mother, the pain she endured watching her son suffer, and that she remains close to Jesus even now and can bring our prayers, joys, and sorrows to him)

Station 5
Simon helps Jesus carry the cross: A small piece of white felt with the letter "H" drawn on it ("H" stands for "help" and is a reminder that we should always seek to help others)

Station 6
Veronica wipes Jesus' face: A cloth with a drawing of Jesus' face on it (Here we discuss how we must reach out to others and see Jesus in all things)

Station 7
Jesus falls for the second time: Another Band-Aid

Station 8
Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem: A tissue (to remind us that Jesus is always here to comfort us and to wipe our tears away)

Station 9
Jesus falls for the third time: a cutout of my daughter's hand made of cardstock (serves as a reminder for us to lend a helping hand to those who fall since we could not be there to lift Jesus up when he stumbled)

Station 10
Jesus is stripped: A piece of purple felt (the piece of cloth represent Jesus' garments. I chose purple since this is the liturgical color for repentance and preparation. We talk about how Lent is a time to prepare for the joy of the resurrection.)

Station 11
Jesus is nailed to the cross: A nail

Station 12
Jesus dies: A small crucifix

Station 13
Jesus is taken down from the cross: A postcard of Michelangelo's Pieta (We talk about the sorrow Mary must have felt holding her dead son in her arms and yet, she remained faithful, believing in God's eternal promise.)

Station 14
Jesus is buried: A stone (to remind us of the sealed tomb that enclosed Jesus' body)

Station 15
Christ rises from the dead: A picture of our Risen Lord resplendent in his victory over death!

2. What I've come to refer to as the "interminable incubating" continues as does what the medical community defines as "early labor." It's been almost one month and counting now since I was told the baby's birth was imminent. I'm walking around with a fully engaged baby, a cervix that's almost halfway to the point of complete dilation, and fully effaced.

There's some success in the fact that I haven't given birth yet since the baby has had more time to grow healthy and strong (I just hit the 38-week mark and my second child was already in my arms for over a week at this point after premature dilation), but the real success lies in the fact that my tendency to be completely anal is waning (somewhat), and I haven't gone absolutely insane wondering when baby will fall out (though I have taken to gnawing on my nails). Yes, gravity has turned from foe to friend. Nothing like the unpredictability of babies to help a control freak like me relent and turn things over to God. It's fitting that this is all happening during Lent.

3. We've narrowed down our list of names for our newest addition after my oldest child suggested that perhaps the baby was waiting until we at least had something to call her other than "baby."

Share (and celebrate) your own and other moms' small successes at Faith & Family Live!

On the Eve of New Motherhood

Yes, I'm still a gestating machine, a freak of nature who can walk around "ripe" and ready to burst without any bursting for a month. I'm now 4 cm dilated and fully effaced. Baby's head remains engaged. I'm also experiencing nausea again and have low blood pressure and dizziness, which my midwife thinks is the result of me carrying the baby so low.

And, yet, we wait.

I'm not in active labor. "Any more contractions?" I'm asked, and I don't really know the answer. Twinges, tightening, and cramping, yes, but certainly nothing unbearable, or obvious as in "This is definitely the real thing."

I try to remind myself of what I vaguely remember learning in my Bradley class I took more than four years ago with my first that this should be the easiest possible labor, that most women have to work to make it this far, that I should just be content to let nature take its course. But the truth is for all my spouting off the benefits of natural childbirth and not wanting to rush the birth process, I admit I'm becoming emotionally antsy, wondering if it's really going to be "any day now" (they didn't even bother making me another prenatal appointment) or if I'll hold out another few weeks. After all, I wasn't expected to make it past March 15th, and here we are.

It's tough to not wonder when Baby's birthday will be here and to keep myself from looking too far ahead. I'm eager to be a mom to this baby instead of an interminable incubator.

Meanwhile, the season of spring beckons me to be fully present - not just physically present but mentally and emotionally aware of the changing world. After my appointment today the girls and I went on a walk and they reminded me to keep my eyes open to the birds hopping about, the delicate shoots of green emerging from the landscape, and the flower buds bursting with color. Everywhere we turned they saw something new and lovely. Then we sat on our front stoop and licked homemade Popsicles together (made with strawberries, yogurt, and OJ) as we watched the white clouds drift lazily across the sky.

Soon Rachel Marie noticed a bird perched in the one tree adjacent to our driveway.

"Bird!" she pointed out.

I saw that it held a twig in its beak and told the girls that maybe it was looking to build a nest in our yard.

"I hope so," Madeline said. "Then maybe it will lay eggs for us to see."

The bird ended up dropping the twig and flying away in response to a squeal from Rachel Marie, but that was okay. We'd enjoyed watching it ruffle its feathers in the spring sunshine. There's nothing wrong with a little wishful thinking, especially when you're a child who can so easily let flights of fancies go.

Earlier in the day Rachel Marie plunged her hands into an empty flower pot. Her poking around in the soil had no reasonable purpose, but she did it anyway because the dirt was there and it was fun.

I grumbled at the mess she made, but now I'm wishing I'd suggested we all make mud pies instead of fretting over the dirt trail she'd left in her path.

In fact, I'm tired of worrying about things from dirty front steps to when labor will begin - especially things like babies that I can't control. You can't make a bird build a nest in your tree. You can't tell a toddler to not play in the dirt, explaining that she'll get, well, dirty (That's the whole point, Mommy!). You can't force the flowers to blossom or the grass to green.

Some things happen regardless of when you want (or even if you want). When it comes to nature, including babies, it's often best to let them come in their own (or in God's) due time.

And so all I can do is be patient and to try my best to view this puttering, tick-tocking gestating as something like a prologue to a revelatory spring where new life abounds.

Small Successes 10

1. The baby and I have made it to the official full-term mark (thanks be to God!). I was joking with my friend yesterday that since everyone has been so worried about the baby being on the small side and preterm labor due to my Type A cervix, I'll probably deliver a 10-pounder at 41 weeks.

2. I've (mostly) resisted a rather intense nesting instinct and have taken my midwife's words, "take it easy to heart," although I did organize and purge the girls' closet somewhat to make room for the baby's layette and feel much better having done so.

3. I've been having a lot of fun fully enjoying the company of my girls again. We've been busy with spring-inspired crafts, a brief outing to a friend's house, and daydreaming together about Baby's arrival. (We still don't have a name picked out. Madeline remains partial to Katherine Samantha Clare Elizabeth Mary. She's pointed out it's no longer than John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt.)

During craft time we made these handprint Easter lilies from Family Fun. (For those of you who consider yourself craft-challenged, I assure you they're very easy! I tend to stick to simple projects.) We added the lilies to the lovely felt flower Gaba helped Madeline make while I was still sidelined. To make a felt flower (pictured at far right), cut out petals of various colors from felt squares. Then sew them together with a needle and thread. Glue blossom to a green-painted Popsicle stick.



Now we wait for our big success - our newest addition to make her much anticipated curtain call!

Share (and celebrate) your own and other moms' small successes at Faith & Family Live!

We Interrupt this Blog for Some Living in the Moment

No more bed rest. According to my midwife's calendar, I am 37 weeks today. I'm supposed to still "take it easy," but I can resume most of my normal activities, namely being a mother to my children. Thank you for your prayers. We are blessed beyond measure.

Over the past two weeks I've had ample time for reflection. I have much to write about and have been jotting down random thoughts in my journal. It's amazing how children - even babies in utero whom you've never met - can impart lessons of great value. I do plan on writing about some of the lessons I learned during this time of waiting. It's on my to-do list, but for right now what I desire more than anything is to enjoy the freedom I took for granted before I was "sentenced" to bed rest. Even though my children were never far from me, I missed them. I missed hands-on mothering (even the day-to-day care that I too often find myself groaning about) and that is what I want to be doing right now - being nothing more than a mom who can use her arms to scoop up a tired child, a mom who can happily spread PB on bread instead of asking someone else to do it, a mom who embraces that well-worn but rarely exercised expression of living in the moment instead of worrying about when the baby will come or if I should be writing this or writing that or why I didn't do this or did do that, a mom who can supervise her daughters making a "Welcome Home, Baby Sis!" banner for our newest addition and even add few artistic touches herself, a mom who can do more than pray from the sidelines but can instead make her life of serving others her prayer.

Letter to My Unborn Baby

Preface: I write a journal for each of my children during my pregnancies. I plan on passing these journals along to my children when they’re first expecting their own baby or perhaps to commemorate some other milestone in life.

My first child’s journal includes long-winded accounts of my day, my dreams for her, details of my pregnancy I surely would have forgotten by now. My second child’s journal isn’t quite as exhaustive, but it‘s still a fairly impressive tome. I’ve been feeling guilty because this third baby’s compilation of letters is much more sparse; yet, the other night I was reading over the entries and in many ways they’re more personal. There are less details about my actual pregnancy, but there’s more insight into my life and my feelings. What I’ve sacrificed in quantity has been, I hope, redressed in quality.

Here I share an entry from a few weeks ago:

Dear Baby,

I’m writing by candlelight after we lost power about an hour ago. It’s around 9:30 p.m., and the house is eerily quiet. I keep hearing unsettling creaks and expect to see your big sister Madeline creeping down the dark hallway to find me sitting in the candlelight, but I just checked and there’s nothing but a long stretch of empty darkness and I could hear your sister’s soft breathing coming from her bedroom so I know she's sound asleep.

The wind is strong, whipping through the trees and throwing itself against the windows with a clunk every few seconds. I’m alone except for you, slowly moving in your watery world, my womb, a sanctuary for a soul.

As I marvel at your movements, which grow stronger every day, I think about how it’s so much easier for me to keep you safe, to shield you from pain, when you're a part of me. But once you physically leave me, it won’t be so easy. I know in this often unstable world you'll soon learn that your happiness and security ultimately will not rest in me or even in yourself, but in God. I’m learning ever so slowly that our lives must be founded upon something solid – not something like investments that can flounder or even other loved ones who may sometimes let us down. Our security must be in God, not something or someone shakable.

I sound at least a little wise, huh? And faithful, right?

Well, someday you may read the previous pages of this journal and wonder if I was ever scared or felt like I’d lost my faith, so I want to be honest with you right now: I have moments, sometimes days, sometimes even months of intense, crippling doubt.

There are times when I wonder if I only want to believe in an all-loving God because the alternative is just too terrifying. I don’t always know for certain that I believe in everything at all, but somehow I keep coming back. I never stop making the decision, and faith, like love, is often a decision, not a warm and fuzzy feeling. I choose to believe even when I don’t feel anything, or even when it might make more sense to forfeit my hope in something outside of me and to rely on my so-called rational mind. But something – God? – keeps nagging me, compelling me to keep on showing up at the Lord’s table, to keep on praying, to keep believing.

Of course, there are times when I am so filled with the certainty that God loves me that it brings me to tears (my most profound spiritual experiences have either happened during Adoration or when I receive the Eucharist), but often I’m left feeling scared, sometimes even foolish for needing and wanting to believe in God so much. During these moments of doubt, I will myself to act as if – as if nothing has changed, as if I know and feel that God is near to me. Sometimes this sheer power of my (stubborn!) will is enough to strengthen my frail faith.

Honestly, I’m not sure why I’m sharing all of this with you. Partly, it’s because I’m the one responsible for bringing you up in the faith. I take this responsibility very seriously. But mainly, I suppose I just want you to know it’s normal to have doubts, to experience bouts of spiritual dryness when your soul feels parched or even dead. It’s during these times when I encourage you to keep or to even pretend that God is close – even when he seems more like a nice idea than a real presence in your life. God is love, and his love is written on your heart.

I haven’t met you yet (it won’t be too long now!). I try to imagine what you’ll look like – your hair color, your eyes, the shape of your tiny ears. Nothing is certain except for the beauty of your soul, handcrafted by God. You are my little girl, my surprise baby who has already taught me so much. I love you, little one, and I’m counting the days (but don’t be in too much of a hurry!) until I finally get to hold you in my arms.

Stay healthy and strong.

Love,
Mom

Helplessness

I don't know what made me wake up at just after 4 a.m. I did not hear any crying, but I climbed out of bed, though I'm not supposed to, and fumbled my way through the dark hallway. I cracked open the door to Madeline's bedroom wide and saw Gaba cuddling close to her in the glow of the fish tank.

Then I saw my oldest baby stir and look over at me.

"Madeline, what are you doing up?"

"I don't think she feels well," my mom said.

I went to her side and could feel the heat radiating off her body before I even touched her.

"She says her throat hurts."

"Oh, Honey, you have a fever."

"How did you know to come in?" my mom asked.

"I don't know," I admitted. (A mom's sixth sense?)

I left to get her some kids' Tylenol. She started crying and refused to take it. I woke up Dave and he told me to get back in bed.

"But she's my baby, too," I said.

I followed him into her room. She reached her arms out, crying, "Mommy! Mommy!" I instinctively climbed in bed beside her.

"You need to go back to bed," Dave said. "You don't need to be around her when she's sick."

So I found a poor substitute and handed her a stuffed bear. "Here's a Get Better Bear. Hug it when you can't hug Mommy." And I gently placed my hand on her burning forehead while silent tears tracked down her face.

Then I forced myself to leave.

Now, alone in bed, I'm the one trying not to cry. My smallest baby thumps from inside. I place my hand on my belly, and I can't help but feel helpless and torn, wishing I could be there for all of my babies.

Pregnancy Update: Bedridden for At Least One More Week

I had a prenatal appointment this morning, and all the prayers are working. I have not progressed any further. That's the good news and the only news that really matters.

The bad news is my midwife wants me to stick to at least another week of bed rest. I'll be considered full-term next week according to her calendar, but she believes the baby is on the small side and needs some more time to grow and develop in utero.

This is all déjà vu for me. With Rachel Marie (my second) I started dilating around 33 to 34 weeks, but that time I was only put on modified bed rest and was told to resume my normal activities at 36 weeks. This time I'm having to follow some stricter mandates. A lot of my mom friends tell me to enjoy this respite before I go from two to three kids, and I'm trying to do just that. In fact, I've had moments where I feel very much at peace with everything.

Yesterday was not one of them.

I found out some frustrating news about where I'll most likely be delivering (boring insurance stuff I won't get into) and then my little one just started breaking down. She'd had enough of Mommy not being able to hold her. She crawled beside me with tear-stained cheeks and said, "Miss Mommy." I felt like I was splitting in two. I wanted to be the one to scoop her up in my arms.

Madeline has been a real trooper and has seemed so old all of a sudden. She's been helping her Gaba and has been great about coloring, doing crafts, and keeping herself occupied. Still, at bedtime she tends to fall apart, too. Tired and frustrated, she cries out for me and fights going to bed even worse than normal (which is saying a lot for our little sleep-boycotting tyrant). Again, I want to be there for her, but I can't, not completely anyway.

Then there's my impatience with having to explain where this goes and where that goes or which sippy cup Rae likes the best or how Madeline prefers her apple to be served (sliced and dusted with cinnamon).

"Just let me do it!" I want to shout.

But I can't - scream like a banshee or get up and do it myself.

My mom was laughing at me the other day because she needed some tape to fix a mishap with some Lincoln Log directions (Rachel Scissorshands had gotten a hold of them).

"They're right there. Open the cabinet. Use the knob," I directed.

My mom smiled. "I think I know I have to open the cabinet first."

I wasn't trying to be a smart you-know-what. Cross my heart.

But all in all we're doing just fine, and I know a healthy baby is worth all of this and a lot more.

Moreover, I just went back and read my journal and old blog posts from when we were facing a very similar situation with baby number two, and it made me chuckle a bit because I was dealing with a lot of the same emotions and frustrations and could clearly see that bed rest is an opportunity for me to detach myself from a lot of my "repeat offenses" - like wanting to be in control and worrying too much. I've had several friends tell me that perhaps I should really look at my bed rest as my Lenten penance and allow it to transform me.

Perhaps I put too much stock in this advice because today I devoured a large slice of cake laced with peanut butter cups when I'm supposed to be swearing off sweet stuff during Lent. To be fair (or to justify my total lack of discipline), my midwife did tell me to start eating more to fatten this baby up.

Since I'm clearly blathering here, I'll share some thoughts I had during my previous pregnancy and call it a day:

May 2007

Now since 4 a.m., I've been suffering from insomnia, wondering when I'll meet our little miracle. I am experiencing conflicting emotions. There's a part of me that just wants to have our baby, to hold her, to nurse her, to introduce her to her eager big sister and all the other people waiting for her imminent arrival.

Then there's the side of me that wants our bun to stay in the oven a tad longer, at least until I'm considered full-term to help ensure she’s healthy and strong. But admittedly, the waiting is killing me. Every tightening of my belly, each time I feel an odd pins and needles sensation deep in my cervix, I wonder if I am getting closer to meeting her or if it's another false alarm.

Above all, I hate not being in control. I know this is a recurring theme. I keep telling myself I'm getting better at just letting go and putting things in God's hands. Yet, here I am so anxious and eager to know WHEN our baby is going to make her big debut and IF she will be healthy and strong that I can't even succumb to sleep.

I'm a firm believer in letting babies come naturally and in their own due time; however, now that I'm walking around [I was no longer on bed rest at this point] with a heavy bundle pushing on my cervix and on the verge of coming into the world, it's driving me crazy.

I’m really a rather lousy preggo. While other women embrace their fecundity, bask in that so-called glow of pregnancy, and seem to enjoy all the uncertainties and mysteries of carrying a child, I've got skin that's more dry than luminous and frankly, I just want to fast-forward to the mothering part or even the labor and delivery step. I was good at that with Madeline. Her birth was spiritual for me – a concrete experience of suffering bringing forth the purest of joys.

After an emotional last few weeks of pregnancy, during labor I transformed into a woman who was not only in control of her feelings but also of her body. I remember the instant I felt Madeline's head pushing its way into the birth canal. "She's here," I announced.

About 30 minutes later my body had pushed her out and she was resting on my chest while I cried, “My baby, my baby. Thank you, God. My baby…”

I know I can trust my body this time to do what it needs to do, but right now I'm doubting my ability to even recognize true labor.

Even worse, when I’m pregnant, I feel like if anything goes wrong it's because I did or didn't eat something or I pushed myself too hard or forgot to take a prenatal vitamin one day or I exposed myself to some hazard that surely gave my baby that slightly crooked nose (no, Madeline's nose is perfectly straight, but I banned coffee from my diet and there have been plenty of mornings this go-round when I have swigged a cup of joe after dealing with another sleepless night and knowing an energetic toddler needs me at the top of my mothering game, so what if caffeine causes crooked noses? What does that mean for this babe?).

Yet, once I become a mother, I'm better able to cut myself some slack (not that I don’t still have to regularly overcome mom guilt). There are extenuating circumstances, after all. For example, I can blame bumblebees on Madeline’s nightmares (our toddler insists she has nightmares about bees even though she delights in seeing them hover above our flowers during the daytime and has never been stung), not the fact that I lost my patience with her.

Or, maybe it was when she was under the grandparents' watch that she didn't eat enough fruits and veggies and became constipated. All the blame can't fall on me, not like when the baby is incubating inside my one and only uterus.

Even now I fear that if the baby comes tonight, for instance, and she's on the small side, the color of Mellow Yellow from jaundice or reluctant to start nursing, it will be because I somehow willed her to be born out of my selfishness, out of my longing to not be pregnant anymore. Then again, if she comes out bigger than average at this early stage, then I suspect I'll think it was because I ate too much or didn't exercise enough.

After my vaginal exam that showed how eager my body (and baby?) were for labor, Diane [my midwife then and now] encouraged me to go home and just enjoy being a mom to Madeline. And I did. I took her out to lunch. When we returned home, we had quiet time together. Neither one of us could sleep, but we snuggled up next to each other and all my worries, anxieties and wondering when this baby was going to come slipped from my mind.

Today I will take Diane's advice again and focus on being Madeline's Mommy. That's when I'm the happiest, even when I'm not in control and Madeline refuses to eat her veggies or go to sleep. It's in my mothering role when I feel competent (most of the time anyway) and happy. I know it will be no different with this little love once she's in my arms and I can really start being a mom - instead of just an over-sized incubator - to her.

Until then I've got to say good-bye to the control freak within, quiet my restless heart, accept help from others just as Jesus desired the disciples to wash his feet (funny that Christ actually calls us to not only serve others but to humble ourselves and to allow others to serve us as well), and to stop asking when (as in when will the baby come?) but instead how can I use this period of waiting to grow spiritually?

Bed Rest: Day 2

Just a quick pregnancy update. I woke up this morning to my second day of official bed rest.

Last Friday I was pretty much convinced that the baby had dropped. I was up all night stumbling into the bathroom to relieve my bladder and in the morning my whole stomach shape had changed. I asked Dave if he thought I looked any different but since he'd been MIA for the last month in D.C. for work, he told me he just couldn't tell for sure.

Well, I had a prenatal appointment yesterday morning, and my suspicions were confirmed. Baby has dropped. Cervix is dilating and 80 percent effaced (thinning). I'll soon be 35 weeks, so we're very thankful my Type A cervix has decided to control itself for at least this long.

Still, my midwife really wants me to make it through the weekend before real labor begins and give our bun a little more time in the oven, so I'm on bed rest for the week. Given my history of premature dilation, I know that having the baby stay put is entirely possible and am so thankful I'm nearly full-term. Also, as most women who have been blessed to have natural childbirth experiences as I have will tell you, vaginal exams and the "data" they yield in terms of dilation, effacement, and station can only tell you so much. Really, being effaced and dilated just lets you know that things are getting started, but nothing and no one can predict exactly when labor will begin. With baby number 2 I walked around for several weeks dilated, although my cervix didn't start thinning much at all until about a week before I delivered. We're just at the "wait and see" stage of my pregnancy.

As I wait (and pray), I'm thankful for this beautiful reminder that from the moment you first see those two purple lines on a positive pregnancy test (or, I imagine, begin the laborious process of adoption), motherhood is a vocation that requires self-sacrifice. While some (like my 4-year-old who has already surpassed her weekly TV allotment in just a day and a half) might welcome bed rest, it's no fun for me. I not only have trouble letting God in sometimes, but I'm not always good at accepting help or taking it easy. I'm resting right now, trying to type while on my side, and struggling to ignore the war zone...errrr....I mean living room strewn with toys or the fact that my preschooler is zoned out in front of the TV, watching a ridiculously over-sized red dog play with his friends.

Isn't it ironic that it's my overanxious cervix that requires the rest of me to slow down and to be still?

Just last week I confided in a friend (who also happens to be my Catholic midwife who gave me these very bed rest orders!) that I have trouble being still. This can lead me to talk too much because I'm afraid of the silence or to push myself too hard so that I end up being grumpy and/or exhausted. Lent is always a time when I really work on this vice of mine and now I have all the more reason to not be so fidgety and to focus on quieting my restless heart, derailing my perfectionism, and being still. Because what my baby needs right now far more than an adrenalized mom - is me to rest quietly and wait. She needs me to relinquish my need for planning and control and to just let her grow a bit more in my womb so that she can enter the world plump and perfect.

So even though I’m already antsy (how do moms-to-be do it who are put on bed rest for months?) and simultaneously stuck between wanting to meet our baby and praying she has time to hibernate inside of me a little longer, I'm thankful for this lesson in humility and patience as well as for the amazing web of friends and family members who are holding me up during this waiting period. Perhaps this is just what I needed to have a more meaningful Lent. In my stillness, may I open myself to God's will and his graces.

One final note: I already had a few posts scheduled for this week, but I may be out of the Blogosphere loop for awhile but will try to keep everyone posted on our baby and her arrival. Stay tuned...

Small Successes 5

1. I actually allowed my preschooler to take a snapshot of me almost 33 weeks pregnant (I unfortunately have very few photos of me pregnant because I tend to hide from the camera during this time). This may not seem like a success at all, but for someone with my body angst history it's a big deal. I've come a long way, Baby, and so have you. I can't wait to meet my newest reason to smile.

2. My preschooler told me the other day that I was her best friend even though I make her go to bed when she doesn't want to, limit her sugar intake, and constantly remind her to be kind and grateful. Then again, maybe these are the very reasons why she considers me a trustworthy friend. I'm someone who aims to guide her gently and to give her boundaries.

3. We've managed to keep the sniffles from turning into a full blown nasty, germy concoction. I can live with drippy noses and sneezes. Just no fevers or heaving, please. (Someone knock a big, old chunk of wood right now!)

This is such a helpful exercise because it forces me to assess how I'm doing, to take note of my maternal triumphs, however modest they may be, and to focus on the positive.

Why not share (and celebrate) your own small successes? Join other "successful" moms out there at Faith & Family Live!

Word to the Wise: On Waiting

32 weeks and counting...

"Life is always a rich and steady time when you are waiting for something to happen or to hatch."

E.B. White in Charlotte's Web.

Photo Credit: Madeline