Homeward

"I have learned that if you need to leave a place that you have lived in, 

and loved and all your yesteryears are buried deep, leave it in any way 

except a slow way. Leave it the fastest way you can."

- Beryl Markham

     This is my most favorite time of the school year. While I have always been giddy at the thought of beginning a school year and while it has always been a confirmation that I am in the exact profession I was intended to be in, the end of the year, especially in High School, is the most beautiful. I teach Seniors and while I work with all levels in our school, the Seniors are so special to me. I finally have them in class, I get to spend time with them doing community service, and I get to watch them mature over the years through retreat. But there is one retreat that is most dear to me and that is our Junior Training Retreat.

      Tonight would have been the second night of our JTR. But alas, we are not there. As a result of missing one of my most favorite places, I spent some time reflecting on the goodnesses I have received this year as a result of JTR 2019. One year ago, the current senior retreat team was experiencing the love of retreat for the first time. What makes it so incredibly beautiful is that they each consciously put so much effort into wanting to be there. Because of this, they are more open, more willing, more vulnerable. I don't find myself waiting for "that moment" when it all clicks because for these students, they get it the moment they walk off the bus. And of course, I get to share a place where I was once a retreatant and then a leader and now the Campus Minister. It is a place that is so special.
      These girls become the Campus Ministry team and thus, I get to work closely with them over their senior year. We pray often together, we explore new music together, and we share the state of our hearts many times over. They are the ones that fill the office with joy, laughter and tears. They are the ones that love deep and strong. When I see them in the hallway, I know they are spreading love with every step they take. When I see them with their peers, I know they are a level above in spirit and grace (oftentimes, above adults, as well). They are special and so incredibly unique. They share magic wherever they go. It would be during this time that I would be getting ready to plan a few senior events with them - Baccalaureate Mass, Graduation Practices, Senior Recognition, Senior Luncheon, and so one. I would be praying with them before their AP tests. I would be taking my classes for walks on nice days and having instruction outside. And we would be preparing for and executing the final retreat of the year, where we would initiate the Juniors into their roles as Senior Retreat Leaders.
       I am missing them and being in school so much right now. It has been such a blessing to be home with my family, but as my husband said, "You are still losing time with others as you gain time with us." I have spent every waking hour with my family; that is the family that shares my last name. But students become like family. They become your children in a way. And sometimes they treat you the same.

    I recently looked up at the calendar on my fridge to check the date when I realized that I hadn't changed it.  It still had planned events from March. That's when we left school and thus, that's when time seemed to freeze. If I had known on March 12th, that I was never going to have my office filled with those special girls, I would have hugged each one a little tighter. I would have reminded them that they are so incredibly worthy, beautiful and loved. I would have smiled a little longer. I would have given them one last little word of wisdom. But I didn't know and neither did they. It seems so unfair in so many ways. I cannot describe the feeling other than I feel a certain kind of emptiness without my students around. I know many other teachers feel this way. Our everyday life, our life breath, was suddenly ripped from our grasp before we had any idea of what was happening. We left the places where we have lived, loved and buried our yesteryears, in a flash. And for some, ripping off the bandaid was just that; a small amount of pain and adjustment to new life. But for many, it has left a sting and an a wound and a pain. It hurts. For us and for them.
     Despite this, however, these students remind me of home - that is school. Home is not a place but the people that make it feel like home. Through their emails, there little Remind texts and their cards. They remind me that home can be felt even when we are not together. And they remind me that I am doing that for them. Home is this beautiful place we are trying so hard to maintain in this place. But we are doing it together.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HLit-C4Gl8g

Life Empowers: Pro-life is Pro-Woman

"Wow! How old is your baby? Is this her first March for Life?"

"It's her second!"

 

      If you have a teenager, teach teenagers or are a teenager, you know that water bottle stickers have been all the rage recently. They are a means for a person to silently describe to others how he or she likes to be perceived. Being a high school teacher, I hopped on the bandwagon and decorated my hydro flask (*tsk tsk tsk* trust me, I am far from being a VSCO girl) a few years ago. Among my stickers that proclaim my love for nature, hiking, teaching, Canada, and Jesus, there is one sticker that I put right at the top "Pro-life=Pro-woman." Having gone to an all girl's high school and now teaching in one, I felt that I needed to state that my feminist perspective includes being Pro-Life (not just at the prenatal stage, by the way). It is a most unpopular perspective, especially as evidenced by the media, but I stand firm in my conviction.

      After discovering that the theme for the March for Life was "Life Empowers: Pro-life is Pro-woman," I knew I had to get there this year. I have gone almost every year since I was Sophomore in high school. My family has a very long history of supporting the Pro-life movement. It is in my blood and soul. But how was I going to juggle going and caring for my infant daughter? A myriad of scenarios ran through my mind until I settled on this: I would go with my dad and some of his KOC brothers and bring my baby girl. There was no question that she would come with me. She may be only 6 months old, but she will be a strong female icon. And so we suited up, packed the diaper bag a little more than usual, and headed down to DC on the morning of the March for Life. 

     The year before, I marched with my students and fellow colleagues while being about 4 months pregnant. This year, I was a baby-wearing mama with a 6 month old baby girl. I shamelessly fed her at the cathedral on a bench in the crypt which faced the altar during Mass. I snuggled her all day long as I carried her about 4 miles, rode with her on the train, navigated the crowds and pointed out to her every neat DC tourist attraction we could see. But then we stood on Constitution Avenue for about two hours, waiting for the March to begin. It was here that I found myself having so many beautiful conversations. 

      Perhaps my two favorite comments were the above quotation and another, "you don't even need a sign; she IS THE sign." I have always been so staunchly pro-life. But after feeling the growth of another human being in my womb, I find it so hard to understand this world we live in where life in the womb is not respected. I question how people can advocate for those at the border, for the environment, for the poor and homeless but not for life in the womb. I question this because those who are Pro-Life are often questioned if they, too, would stand for these things. The answer is yes. And some times I find myself saying, "I am pro-life, but not just for babies..." as if I have to defend why life in the womb is worth advocating for. I hear far too often that life in the womb isn't life. But I can tell you first hand that the child within is so full of life.

     Our dear daughter was so full of life in the womb and even more so now. I will forever vividly remember the first time I felt her move within me - I was sitting on the couch in our apartment, awaiting a snow day announcement. There she was making bubbles in the womb. Then again, when I saw her move on our ultrasounds. The technician kept telling us what a wild child we had, that she wouldn't stay still or move into the right spot. And later in our pregnancy when I got to listen to her heartbeat for an hour every week. I could do nothing more than sit in amazement as I watched my belly dance and I listened to her heartbeat simultaneously. She was so much alive in the womb. And she is so much alive now, today. I listen to her breathing, her laughter, her coughing, her coos and her giggles. She is happy and so incredibly alive. 

     After the experience of carrying the gift of life within me for 9 full months (thank you, punctual on time, child), I can only continue to advocate life in the womb even more. Pregnancy has empowered me than any other experience I could imagine. I was able to do things like I had never been able to do before. I was able to feel strong, whole, powerful, glorious and more. Motherhood has empowered me even more - my body is one that provides for my child, nourishment, comfort, safety and more. By bringing life into this world, I have been empowered. I am woman, hear me sing.

     Attending the March for Life this year was a life-changing and a life-affirming experience. Not because of any political agenda addressed, but rather because I walked with my father, my mother-in-law, my sister, my parish family and above all, my daughter. I walked with her because as a result of her life, I have been empowered. I walked so that she grows to know she is powerful. I walked so that she speaks up for those who cannot speak. I walked to bear witness by my body that life is real and true in the womb and out of the womb. 

     I have been simmering on my reflection on the March for some time now; almost three weeks. But after this weekend's Superbowl, I felt extremely compelled to write. It is no coincidence that the underlying message of the Superbowl this weekend, was also (supposedly) female empowerment. I have seen many a feminist address the issue from both perspectives, both sides giving legitimate perspective. However, I will say that for me, I saw this as a direct attack on women. With each commercial I watched that was supposedly promoting female empowerment, I felt like my intelligence was being insulted (i.e. the olay women in space commercial). And when I watched the halftime show, while holding my daughter, sitting next to my mother in law and husband, I had lots of questions. I wondered why scantily clad clothing was being promoted on national television but I can't breastfeed my baby in public without having to jump on the defensive. Tell me why we there was such purposeful outfit differences between the two headliners, the male back up singers and the children. From my perspective, this was not a few hours dedicated to the empowerment of women, but rather an attack. After feeling so empowered as a woman, a life-bearer and a mother, I then felt disgusted with the fact that I will never look like that a 50. But I don't want to. I want my body to show that it has born and given life to many children. 

     Society tells women today that in order to be empowered, we need to wear whatever we want, put on a show for others, bear children only at a designated time and place (and by all means, they must never inhibit our careers), and fight other women over things that are supposedly empowering. I am exhausted by having to defend my choice of motherhood, my choice of nourishing my child, my choice of bringing life into this world in the middle of my career, my choice of raising my daughter with feminist ideals that support the pro-life movement (and you can believe me that I will raise my sons this way, too, if God should gift me them). But the devil never makes any fight worth fighting an easy one. So with the might of the greatest feminists who have gone before me (my grandmother) and those who stand next to me (my aunts, my sisters, my students), I will fight for a pro-life nation that protects the life of the womb - the unborn, the obgyn healthcare for women, the mothers. We live in a world we cannot afford to be anything but pro-life. Our female empowerment depends on it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XwBRj5-HJN4 

The Most Beautiful Thing

"I was blessed to see the most beautiful thing, 

and it wasn't the Rockies."

- Deacon T

      On the rare occasion that we attend a Vigil Mass, I always find it a bit hard to focus. I am so accustomed to starting my Sundays or Feast Days off with Mass and quiet that I find it hard to be centered after a long day of noise and activity. Despite this, New Year's Eve is one of those times we attend the vigil Mass. We were among the few and far between; I could count the amount of young people on my two hands. There were barely any families. I was finding it even harder to focus because of this small gathering of church. But God found my attention anyway. 

     Our deacon opened his homily be inviting the parishioners to reflect on the good things that happened to us in 2019. Immediately, Joe and I looked at our baby - she was, by far, the best part of 2019 for us. He then went on to describe the beautiful sights he was blessed to see on his family vacation over the summer - his favorite family trip. As he went on, however, he said, "As beautiful as these sights were, they were not the most beautiful thing." He then described the wonder and awe that encompassed him at the birth of his son. 

     He described how amazing it was to witness this but also how incredible it was to see others love on his son as they visited, learned of his birth, and more. I had tears rolling down my cheeks as I squeezed our little girl a bit tighter on my lap. Yes. This was exactly what I had experienced  and it was exactly what was flooding through my mind. Every little detail of the day Hannah was born until the moment she was placed in my arms was vividly playing. I remember every second of the day and evening. I was so happy to have that night with our new little family; just the three of us. It was perfect.

     So why did Deacon mentioned this most beautiful event? Because New Year's Eve is the Vigil of the Solemnity of Mary. He likened the experience he had to what might have been for the Holy Family. If he, and I, and others like us, are in such wonder and awe of our own babies at their births, how much more wonder and awe must have filled Mary and Joseph's hearts at the sight of THE HOLY CHILD. Did they cry at the sight of this baby child like so many have? Did they hold the Christ Child to their chests and kiss his little baby head? Did they watch this baby sleep next to them in the manger? Did Mary sleep at all during those first 24 hours? Did she worry about how she would feed him or cloth him or change him? Had Joseph ever changed or held a baby before? It was if suddenly, I was taken back to the night Christ was born via the birth of my own child.
    Imagining and reflecting on what might it have been like for the Holy Family as they welcomed the birth of their Christ Child has been a beautiful journey of my faith. It leads me not just down the wonder and awe of the birth of Christ but also His infancy. Each morning my baby girl stares, smiles and now talks at the crucifixes that are hung above her bassinet. I wholeheartedly believe that she is praying, that she KNOWS Jesus. I wonder if her image of God is that of another baby friend or if her image of God is of a friendly, bearded man who kisses her head all the time, like her daddy. Who does she see when she talks to Jesus? When I bring her to Mass with me daily, I sometimes imagine myself taking her to a baby play date...am I crazy? is it absurd? perhaps. But this is the reflection I have been led on.
   
     In light of the Golden Globes and the comments made about women achieving dreams, I can only say that this journey of Motherhood has led me down a path of utmost respect for the Mothers in the world but even more so for the Blessed Mother. She was not planning to have a baby when she did but by her yes to Divine Motherhood, her dreams and ours, for that matter, have grown beyond understanding. Motherhood has been nothing short of a blessing for me; my dreams have exploded into many, many more, knowing that I am better because of my daughter and all my future children. Motherhood is my best dream and as a result of this, my spiritual journey continues to be enlightened. Every day I am surprised at the goodness of my daughter and I am blown away by the blessings I reap through her. Mary must have felt this way, too. For if this is how I am feeling daily, complete wonder and awe of the ways my child leads me to God, Mary must have felt this even more so; her child was LITERALLY GOD.

     Thank you, God, for my daughter. Thank you for speaking to my heart daily through her. I am blessed with the most beautiful thing.

Pondering These Things

"Mary treasured up these things and

pondered them in her heart."

Luke 2:19

      "How did you get a baby who is so good in church?"

      "Your little baby is so cute; I've never seen such a young baby so well-behaved in church. She didn't even cry."

      "I love watching you love your baby during church."

      These, as well as, many other similar sentiments, are phrases I hear often after Mass on Saturdays and Sundays. Our pastor reminds me every time he sees baby girl that she is just so good and so alert during the Mass. Other parishioners comment to those making the above statements that she has been going to daily Mass since she was only one month old. I must admit, even I, myself, am shocked at how easy it is to bring her to church. I often ponder these statements - how did I get so lucky?

      Normally during Mass, I hold baby girl facing outward so she can see, hear and sense everything going on. Not only does facing her outward help me stay focused (because, let's be honest...it's so hard to not play with her cute little face), but it allows her to become aware of the space she's in. I sing in her ear when I hold her that way. I say the words of the prayers in her ear, too. She usually bops her head around, taking in her surroundings. But this past Sunday, I held her facing me, against my chest. She put her right arm against my shoulder, her head, she placed right on my chest and her left hand was in her mouth. I could hear her sucking her fingers until eventually, she stopped; she fell asleep. Later that afternoon, she fell asleep like that again on my chest. And then again, before I could put her down for bed. 

      As I rested my chin on her forehead, I was reminded of the words of a meditation I heard recently. It brought to mind the image of Mary, having just given birth to Jesus, holding, smelling and breathing with her baby. I became more and more aware of baby girl's breath in union with mine. I smelled her head and remembered Mary also smelling her baby boy. As I held her tightly, I imagined Mary holding her son close at each moment of his life. I wondered, then, if that was how Mary prayed. 

      In a conversation about prayer, recently, I was asked how I pray. Without thinking too much, I said, "by looking at my baby." Each time I look at her, watch her grow and learn about new things, or watch her eyes flutter as she dreams, I am brought to the mystery of God and God's creation. It is still so fascinating to think about my baby once being the size of a poppy seed. I am baffled by the fact that for 9 months I carried her within and within a matter of a few minutes, she was lying on my chest. I can hardly wrap my mind around this creation; she is so tiny and yet, so incredibly intricately designed. She is beauty, goodness and light; my heart swells with so much love for her each time I look into eyes. She was so worth the wait and I never want to put her down. She is my means of prayer. 

     But also, I am led deeper into prayer when I watch others interact with her. I love watching my husband, my Joseph, hold her, snuggle her, look in her eyes, and talk with her. Having loved him so much before, I love him even more now. Watching him interact with her, watching him pray, leads me deeper into the mystery. When I see how others look at her, awe at her, and enter into the mystery of her, I am reminded of the shepherds and the wise men and all those who came to visit Jesus. Mary willingly handed them her son to hold, to stare at, to talk to. She watched others interact with her son, her source of light, goodness and beauty. She watched and held these things in her heart; she pondered them. 

     There are not enough words to describe how lifted I feel when I enter into prayer by holding, watching or smelling my baby. There is no preparation like "Now, I am going to pray." It is as simple as just touching her hand; suddenly I am engulfed in mystery. She is the pathway by which I reach the divine; she is the means by which I am joined to God. There are not enough words to describe the overwhelming presence of God I feel when I watch others interact with her. She is so pure and good and beautiful; I tell her every day. Through these things, so many experience God. 

    So how did I get such a good baby; I'm not quite sure. Perhaps she, too, is entering into prayer in the sacred spaced. Perhaps she is aware of the presence of the Eucharist. Perhaps she is aware that it is her space for prayer. Perhaps she is so good because she is somehow aware that so many people are watching her and by watching her, are finding themselves in a deeper prayer. Of these things, I am not sure. But I do know that I cannot imagine a celebration of Liturgy without her now. Each time I witness the sacrifice of the Mass, I am reminded of the sacrifice of my body and how through that sacrifice, I was given the greatest gift this side of Heaven has to offer. How blessed am I to have this direct pathway to my God and how lucky I am to share her with so many! How can you not look at her and immediately be elevated in prayer?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EatBZECJ0v4

Blessed Among Women

"You were chosen by the Father, 

you were chosen for the Son.

Blessed are you among women, 

blest, in turn, all women, too."

     "It's no wonder your heart is breaking; it's the first time in 12 months that she isn't attached to you," one of my dearest colleagues said to me as she hugged me tightly on my second day back to school. 

      On the first day back to school, I cried putting her in her crib fast asleep, all the way to school, in the parking lot in my car, in the parking lot when someone welcomed me back to school, with the students who gave me so many welcoming hugs back, when any one person asked me how I was, and on the way home. On the second day back to school, I cried putting her in her crib fast asleep, part of the way to school, for a few minutes in the parking lot, not so much with people who asked me how I was and not in front of the students. On the third day back to school, I cried while pumping in the convent because I wished I was feeding my baby not the pump, in the chapel during Communion Service and during lunch when baby girl came for lunch. On the fourth day back, I cried when I left her wide awake in her crib whispering to her, telling her to go back to sleep. On the fifth day...it was the weekend and I didn't cry. 

     The church people asked me how my first week back to school was. Before I could tell them how weepy it was, I was weeping with them. My heart felt like it broke every morning, kept breaking all day long, and was only put back together when my baby was back in my arms at the end of the school day. It was an emotional pain like I had never experienced and I was battling with the why and how of it all. That's when my dear colleague made me realize that it truly was the first time my little baby was not with me in over a year. Yes, just about this time she was beginning her life in my womb. I had just "met" her 12 months prior and she was a part of me in a way no other person could be. And now, suddenly, like ripping off a bandaid (but so much worse), she was not with me. That really hit me hard. Yet, I cried out of thanksgiving for that moment and all the moments of grace I experienced last week. 

    I am surrounded by women who are mothers. While these women have been my friends during my time of employment, I felt almost instantly connected to them on a deeper level; we are moms. I am surrounded by women who are mothers and who believe that life begins at conception. I am surrounded by women who are not afraid to speak that belief and we are blessed to work in a place that allows us (and requires us) to speak in this pro-life manner. Because of this, these moms played such a integral part in my return to school. From the moment I arrived in the school parking lot, my (mom) friends were conscious of the fact that aside from it being my first day back to school, it was the first moment without my baby. They hugged me, they cried with me, they held me while I openly sobbed about missing my baby. They prayed with me, they consoled me, they held space with me. In the place where I am more than often the one who is doing this for others, they were doing it for me on a day when I so greatly needed love, peace and counsel. These women did what women do and did so with such grace; they were with me, their sister. 

   In addition to these women being mothers, they are also the mothers of many of my students. Perhaps it is because I work with their moms or maybe there is no correlation, but these students often visit in my office. I have the unique experience of being a mom and helping my students understand mom-ness, but also I am not yet old enough to be "their moms" so I can also understand their teenage girl-ness. Yet, despite being "just" teenagers, these young women are so conscious, gentle and understanding. It is because of them that I was reminded that I get to be surrounded by daughters all day long. While my favorite daughter is at home with her grandparents, I get to spend all day with the "second best" daughters. They are my reminder that one day my daughter will go to high school and hopefully have an in school mom, too. 

     I am blessed among women. I wake up in the morning to a beautiful baby girl who will one day turn into a beautiful woman with a heart so pure and gentle. I am surrounded by the love of fellow moms who check in on my throughout my days just to be with me and remind me that the pain I feel being away from my baby is real but also that I am going to be okay; they did it and I can, too. I am surrounded by daughters; young women who may eventually become mothers and aunts. I am blessed to be in this lace of love; so many separate threads that connect to make something so beautiful.Without these women, I would not have made it through the week. I would have thrown the towel in so quickly. These women are beauty, light, goodness and more. They are my friends, my sisters. I cannot thank them enough. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cN67U2lc7vQ

 

Cry Out to Jesus

"The cry of a baby is God's voice; 

never turn them away."

- Pope Francis

  

    At no surprise to anyone, babies, especially newborns, cry. They cry when they are hungry, they cry when they need a diaper change, they cry when they wake themselves up, they cry when they are fighting a nap, they cry when you just aren't doing what they want you to do. Despite knowing this, I found myself bouncing baby girl, whispering, "please don't cry, please don't cry, please don't cry," on the first day we attempted to go to daily Mass. Having been a regular at daily Mass when I was younger, I thought that maternity leave might be a great time to start getting back in the habit. While I did take my screaming baby out of church right after Communion that day, I'm glad we went back the next day.

    Within a week, we had a system down. We would get up with Daddy, eat first breakfast and take a nap during which I would take us to Mass. Baby girl would sleep the whole time in my arms, sleeping through me taking her out of her carseat, wrapping her in love blankets (more on those next week) and finding a pew. We take the last seat in the Chapel closest to the door......just in case. But for the last few weeks, baby girl has slept and all the daily Mass goers have fawned over her perfection. That was until one day last week.

     We arrived at the Chapel a little before Mass and this time, baby girl woke up when I took her out of her carseat. I thought, we can try this, but I'm not certain we will make it through Mass without a cry fest. Not even five minutes of sitting in Chapel passed before I made the decision to walk out of Chapel and walk her around to see if she would calm. Nope. This girl was hungry and she was going to let everyone know it. As I walked with her, talking to her and telling her it was going to be okay, we passed one of my favorite Italian ladies going into the Chapel. "Oh child," she said (to me, not to baby,) "she can cry in there; we don't mind." I thanked her but knew that baby girl was not going to quiet until she ate and so home we went. We returned the next day and she slept through Mass again.

     Then yesterday happened. We were sitting in our usual seat; last seat, last pew, by the door, just in case. She was sleeping when we first got there, but then someone sneezed and she started to wake. There's a sweet spot between when she first wakes up from a nap and when she starts stirring for food, during which she is bright-eyed, alert and her eyes are wandering in discovery. I prayed this would last during the remainder of Mass. Her eyes searched the Chapel, watching all the shadows dancing in the stained glass. She got the hiccups right before the consecration and the people around us turned to smile and laugh. I couldn't help but laugh, too; they were adorable. After Mass, everyone affirmed her cute hiccups. Okay, I thought, maybe we can sit through Mass while being awake. 

      Then today happened. We were sitting in our usual seat; last seat, last pew, by the door, just in case. She was very awake when we pulled into the church parking lot but she had just ate so she shouldn't be hungry, at least not for another hour. She was pretty content, watching the shadows and this time really staring at our priest. He was wearing red today, for the martyrs, Cosmos and Damian, so naturally her eyes were following him. But right about the Gospel, she got fussy and when she gets fussy, especially when she's fighting a nap, she doesn't like it if she's not being rocked. So when I sat down for the Homily, baby girl wasn't having it. I was about to give up and use our exit plan when I remembered what my favorite Italian lady said, "she can cry in here; we don't mind." So, I stood while everyone else sat or knelt and we made it through Mass, despite the fact that baby girl was a little fussy. At the end of Mass, multiple people came up to her (as they do every day) and affirmed her using her voice in Mass. They loved hearing her making noises and crying; they told her to keep praying; they smiled and gushed over how wonderful it was to have a baby with them every day. Even our priest shook her little hand after Mass and affirmed her voice. This made me happier than anyone could imagine.

     You see, I have always been on the side for babies in church, no matter how much noise they make. Jesus said, "let the Children come to me." But I have seen how some daily congregants and some priests treat the crying babies in church and subsequently their young moms. I was nervous about experiencing this and having just moved into this Parish, I wasn't sure how our priest or congregation would feel if a. I brought her to daily Mass and b. she cried or fussed during Mass. In a small Chapel, it's very easy to find the baby and her mother. There's no doubt that if you're holding a fussy baby, all eyes are on you. But I've learned in the past few days that not only do the people accept us, they also don't mind if she gets fussy every once in a while. I may not know any of their names, but they know baby girl and they seem to love her on her good days and her bad days.

      As I was rocking baby girl back and forth in the Chapel today, I kept thinking of what my favorite Italian woman said, "She can cry in here; we don't mind." It was reassuring that these people, my people, accepted my crying, fussy baby and understood that I was doing my best. But it also made me think deeper. How many of us, for any given reason, have wanted to cry during Mass. I don't know about you, but since church is my safe space, I often feel safe enough to release my overwhelming emotions and cry there. So many of us have felt ashamed or embarrassed to cry in our churches. If baby girl can cry out in Mass, why can't we? Okay, so maybe during Mass isn't the best time or place to literally cry out to Jesus, but our churches and our chapels are meant to be places where we can cry, we can talk, we can converse with Jesus. We can cry out to Jesus no matter how we feel on any given day. Instead of feeling like we shouldn't, may we embrace the wisdom of the Italian woman and bring our tears (and laughter and coos) to Jesus; we don't mind if you do. May we be as free as baby girl and feel peace in letting Jesus hear our cries. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JmVxRl5bc4Y

The Mystery of Motherhood

"Sometimes when you pick your child up, you can feel the map of your own bones

beneath your hands, or smell the scent of your skin in the nape of her neck. This

is the most extraordinary thing about motherhood - finding a piece of yourself separate and

apart that all the same you could not live without."

- Jodi Picoult

     Last night, right before we were getting ready to turn off the lights and hit the hay, my husband said, "I could just stare at her all day and night; it's amazing. We helped create her." Every day, I feel like I spend hours just staring at our baby and thinking the same thing. Neither of us have said it out loud to each other before until last night. But let me assure you, I think about it every day - the mystery of this child. 

     For those who have followed this blog, you may have realized that I took a few months hiatus. Surprise, we had a baby. She has taken up every ounce of our extra time and we could not be any more blessed and grateful to our God for this gift. Right now, she is sound asleep in my lap and I keep taking breaks from thinking and typing to stare at her. She is beautiful, amazing, already so smart, incredible and such a gift. My heart swells with each moment I stare at her, interact with her and snuggle her. How did I get chosen to be this little one's mother? 

    I am grateful for my time off to be spent with her. In these days we have together we have spent many hours visiting with friends and family; especially with other new mommy friends and the many, many sisters we know and love. Sometimes this means we experience a few hours in the car together during the week. I used to love blasting music as I drove - it kept me calm while I was surrounded by maniac drivers. But now, I leave the radio off and silent, just so I can listen to her breathing and take many glances in the rear view just to watch her look around in wonder or her eyes fluttering as she sleeps. And in those moments, I can only pray "Oh my God, she is a miracle and so incredibly fascinating."

      These drives allow me much time to contemplate the great mystery of life's creation. Someone gave us a picture frame as a gift that says, "All because two people fell in love." While this is true, it is only half the story. We have kept her ultrasound pictures up on the fridge - every single one from the very first peanut looking ultrasound to her last 3D image that looks just like her (I mean duh...but like also, WOW). Each time I look at those, I think about her stages of development in the womb.  I think about how she had a heartbeat before I even knew she existed. I think about how she could hear our voices in the womb and how she shows she recognizes them now, outside the womb. I think about how we quite literally watched her grow with each picture and how we watched her move when we had those ultrasounds. I think about how every week for the last two months I got to hear her heartbeat for an hour; I didn't mind being hooked up to those monitors then. 

     And now, I look at her eyes and her cheeks and her lips and I think about how all that came from something so incredibly tiny; how we all came from that. And as much as biology could explain it, I know that there's more to it than just a fertilized egg that grew into a human baby outside the womb. God had his hands in this from every moment of her life. It was just because two people fell in love; she's here because two people fell in love with each other AND God's divine plan for our life- whatever that may turn out to be. She is a miracle because she exists and every moment, when I get to truly think about it, I remember her kicks from when she was in my womb and now I watch her kick so fiercely during tummy time. I watch her sleep with her hands by her face, just like how she appeared in every ultrasound. She was all snuggled up in the womb and she still turtles up when she snuggles on her daddy's chest. How did she have so much personality before she was even born? I cannot deny, even if I wanted to, that her life was so real before she was born. 

      We were lucky enough to have a dream birth experience with her, surrounded by great nurses and doctors. This little girl made her delivery a beautiful experience of creation. I still think, how did that happen to the three of us? How did we get so blessed to experience God's handiwork in action like we did?  When I recount those minuscule details of the day - how she started to alert of us of her arrival at 3am (and how she still, without fail, wakes up around the same time every night now...), to walking through the hallways wondering when she was going to come, to listening to her heart beating on the inside for hours only to, within minutes, hear her heartbeat on the outside for the first time - I am overwhelmed by the mystery of human creation. It's not just that God gave her blue eyes, ten tiny fingers and toes, and a precious button nose; it's that this bundle of joy started out as a dream quite literally the size of a peppercorn at her beginning and now she's this. 

    As much as I don't want her to grow, because I love how tiny and precious she is, I am in awe of the miracle that she is. Day by day, it doesn't seem like she gets much bigger, but when we hit milestones like having to size up in diapers or buy new jammies because she is bursting out of her old ones, I am fascinated that one day, this tiny human might have her own tiny humans. I am in awe of the fact that not only will we watch her learn letters and numbers, or discover her likes and dislikes, but we will also watch her fall in love and become a being all unto her own. As my MIL told me, if I didn't watch Joe grow up, I wouldn't have you. It's amazing; this journey of parenthood. 

     I've read so many articles on being told to enjoy it while it lasts but coming from mothers who find it difficult to do so when the baby is screaming or fussy or it's frustrating to not be able to be your own person anymore, because there's always a tiny human attached to you. Maybe it's my blessing, and I'm trying not to brag, but I am in love every second; even when she wakes me up in the middle of the night or poops all over her outfit for the 5th time in one day. If anything it means she is alive, she is with me and she is a gift from God. 

      Aside from all of this absolutely in love, mushy gushy feelings about my baby, I have also discovered a whole new love for my husband. I had no doubt in my mind that he would become a great daddy. I love the moments I get to witness and overhear when he is with her. Whether it's the moments when I hear him singing to her while he changes her diaper or when he's walking her around the house when she's fussy saying, "Daddy is here; you are safe," over and over, I am filled with happiness. He has never failed me as my husband and now, he is blossoming into an amazing father. We laugh together about the things we didn't know, we experience frustrations together when we can't figure out why she's upset, but my favorite thing to do together with him is just watch her. I have fallen more in love every day than I ever thought possible. As much as I thought I loved him then, I love him even more. He loves staring at her, wondering at her creation, and I love watching him watch her and fall in love with her. I never thought I could love more than I already did, but I was happily proven wrong. It's a great mystery: the creation of life and how one's life, as a result of another life created, continues to grow, form and be blessed in all the surprising ways. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K8Tgw0V2XkQ