I was going to write today anyway and let you know of a new blog dedicated to the writing of Maria Von Trapp and the liturgical year. Then, Jenn wrote to me this morning to make sure I didn't miss this absolutely beautiful account of Maria Von Trapp's first birth. What a glorious month October is; what a beautiful prayer the rosary is!
I will admit that the waiting for this baby is becoming wearing. Don Marco reminds me this morning that today begins a lovely autumn week, a string of Days of Grace. There is every good day to have a baby in the seven that stretch ahead of us. And so we look with patience (please Lord, grant me more) to the day God has chosen as a time to be born.
My baby is sick. My first baby, that is. He's not just sniffly sick, he's totally wiped out sick. He's the kind of sick that has a very pregnant mother haul herself out of bed two or three times a night and go down two flights of stairs just to hover over his bedside. And then, because I'm so very pregnant and feeling way too maternal, I fight the urge to cry. Who will hover next year? Who will be there for this midnight vigil when he is living on a college campus? The convergence of new baby and "newly minted adult" is brought home to me at three in the morning with an overwhelming force.
Tomorrow is Michael's eighteenth birthday. As this baby stays tucked up tight, my husband jokes that we will never have eight children. Tomorrow, we will have seven children and a brand new adult. Someone decided that my first born baby is now old enough to vote, to go to war, and (joy of joys) to get a Costco card. What a momentous occasion it will be. We made it--the three of us: Michael, Mike and me. We navigated an entire childhood. And he's really a wonderful young man.
I remember so well the day he was born. I remember becoming a mother. And I remember every single lesson he has taught me since that day. The irony is that we are probably hours from beginning the adventure again with a new baby. And much of the reason we are so eager to do so is Michael. That first childhood entrusted to us was such a joy, let's do it again. And again. And again. Well, you get the idea.
I think that I loved being a mom and he loved being a kid because we lived a lifestyle of connected parenting (sometimes known as attachment parenting). We kept him with us. We answered his cries promptly and then, when they evolved, we listened to his every word. We respected the person in the child. We loved wholeheartedly. And we were so richly rewarded.
He talks often about how we fostered independence. But I think what we fostered was interdependence. We grew up together in many ways. I was barely older than he is now when he was born. And as Mike and I caught a vision of life, we naturally shared it with our child. We knew he was capable of great conversation even when he was very young. And so we talked. We talked and we talked and we talked. They say that you can't or shouldn't be a friend to your kids. That's probably true. Children need to see a clear authority. But the goal is to raise children whom you would love to have as your friends. So, you can and should be a friend to your young adults, right? Because this kid--I mean, young adult--is one of my best friends.
It's all good right? I can go out and tell the world how well attachment parenting--especially Catholic attachment parenting--works. I can shout from the moutaintops what a beautiful way it is to raise a family.
Well, yeah. Except I really should tell you about the tears, too. A couple of weeks ago, Michael sat in the seat I'm in right now and learned that there really isn't a place for him on the soccer team of the local university where he hoped to spend the next four years. It had nothing to do with his ability and everything to do with a quirk of numbers. They had long told him he'd be there, but there was a dawning realization that this year's kids weren't playing; there wasn't going to be room for more of them next year.
We live in an area that is flush with colleges and universities. He began to look at rosters of every school in the area--a wide area. And with every click, we learned together that there is an abundance of underclass defenders on the area's soccer teams. He looked at me, blue eyes wide and filling, and said, "I'm going to have to pick between my dream and being close enough to be an integral part of the lives of my little siblings." He pretty much hasn't slept since that night.
Nothing else was said. He is acutely aware of my pain. And I am aware of his. We are connected.
The mums are in full bloom at last. And Mum is in full bloom, too. Here's the 40 week belly shot.
(This picture is truly for my mother's benefit. Thank you all for indulging.)
This was posted on the 4Real Message board over a year ago. I missed it the first time, but it just popped up again. Since I'm really not in a writing or sitting mood, I thought I'd post it here, so that some of you might take from it the encouragement that I did.
Thy Will be Done: Letters to Persons in the World by St. Francis de Sales
"It does not surprise me in the least to learn that you feel somewhat
dull-witted and heavy-hearted; after all, you are with child. When your
delicate frame is heavy with its burden, weakened by its task, indisposed by
all manner of pains, you cannot expect to find your heart as animated,
vigorous and ready to act as it used to be, but all that in no way
prejudices the activity of the apex of the soul; it remains as pleasing to
God as if you were brimming over with all the cheerfulness in the world. In
fact, it is far more pleasing because it demands so much more effort and
strugggle. However, the doer derives little pleasure from it, because the
soul's activity lies beyond the feelings, and so does not afford the same
emotional delight.
"Dear child, we must not be hard on ourselves, or exact more than we have
to
give. When body and strength are impaired, we can only ask the will to
make acts of submission and acceptance of the travail, and add holy
aspirations uniting our will with God's. These are made in the apex of the
soul. As for our outward behaviour, we must plan what we have to do and do
it as best we can, and leave it at that, even though we have performed the
task grudgingly and with tired and heavy heart. If we are to rise above this
depression, dejection and despondency of soul, and turn it to use in God's
service, we must face it, accept it, and realize the worth of holy
self-abasement. In this way, you will transmute the lead of your heaviness
of spirit into gold, a gold purer far than any of your gayest, most
light-hearted sallies.
“Well then, be patient with yourself. See to it that your higher self puts
up with your lower. Make a frequent offering of the tiny creature to our
Creator's eternal glory, since he has chosen you to cooperate with Him in
forming your child. But take the greatest care of your health: don't put
yourself out or force yourself to pray at present. You must treat yourself
with the utmost gentleness. If it tired you to kneel, sit down; if you can't
pray for half an hour, pray for a quarter, or simply half that again.
"Dearest daughter, at Annecy, we possess a Capuchin artist who, as you may
imagine, paints pictures solely for God and the adornment of His house. When
at work, he has to concentrate so closely that he cannot paint and pray at
the same time. This worries and distresses his mind, yet in spite of it, he
sets to work with a will for the sake of the honour that it must bring our
Lord, and in the hope that his pictures will prompt many worshippers to
praise God and bless His goodness.
"Now, dear daughter, the babe being formed in your womb is to be a living
representation of the divine Majesty, but as long as your vigour and
physical strength are employed on the work, your spirits will inevitably
drop and grow weary, and you will be unable to perform your daily duties
with your usual zest and cheerfulness. Endure your lassitude and lower
spirits lovingly, and think of the honour God is to receive from your
finished work, for it is your own reproduction which will find a place in
the eternal temple of the heavenly Jerusalem, and will there give
everlasting joy to the eyes of God and angels and men. The saints will hymn
God's praises for what you have achieved, and you will join your voice to
theirs when you behold it. So be patient with the feeling of drowsiness and
dullness, and hold fast to Our Lord's holy will, who has thus ordained
things in His eternal wisdom."
I'm Elizabeth. I'm a happy wife and the mother of nine children. I grab grace with both hands and write to encourage myself and others to seize and nurture the joy of every day. I blog here with my daughter, Mary Beth, a wholehearted young lady on the brink of adulthood.
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