Through The Fire

This is the birth story of my third child and beautiful daughter. The story really begins far before her birth and I feel that it is important and an intricate part of it. I want to write it down to remember the spiritual journey of this pregnancy and to remember the abundant graces given to my family and me during this time.

This pregnancy tested me to limits I had never been brought to before. First with physical suffering, then with mental. I have already described some of the pelvic issues I had during pregnancy that almost made me lose my ability to walk. I cried out to God in desperation asking him why he would want a mother of two very active children to go through this. I was brought to my knees and to tears daily at having to depend on my husband and those around me for almost everything. And then answers came, through a small book that no one even knows exist. Through weeks of exercise I was nearly pain free and I knew it was nothing short of a miracle that I thanked God every day for.

Fast forward to 32 weeks into the pregnancy. I went to my midwife appointment and what I knew all along was confirmed. The baby was breech. For some this seems to be no big deal, but for me it was. Peanut was also breech and he never turned head down before they took him by c-section at 38 weeks. The memory of that experience came flashing into my head daily as I knew the routine way for breech babies to be delivered these days is by c-section. For those of you who may read this and don't know me very well, a c-section is not a small deal to me and I really only think they are necessary if the mother's or baby's life is in true danger.

For 6 weeks I spent much of the day trying to get the baby to turn head down. I hung upside down on my head, took homeopathic remedies, went swimming and did a headstand in the pool, spent an outrageous amount of money on chiropractic care and acupuncture and still the baby would not turn. Through the weeks I researched constantly about breech birth and finally made the decision that I wouldn't go in for a c-section unless something was wrong with me or the baby (that is what hospitals are for, after all). Before I continue, I think I should note that this decision wasn't made lightly. Every day I questioned it and felt Satan tempting me with doubt. I prayed constantly for peace and fought for it every day. Every time the baby moved I wondered if she was turning, only to find out that I could still feel her little head up in my ribs. I cried out to God telling him that this was His child and His birth and if a c-section was necessary I would do it. But I told Him that my children needed their mother and that was a lot harder to be after a major surgery.

This constant daily mental agony was filled with moments of peace only to be shattered again by thoughts of what could go wrong. I prayed novena after novena and cried out to God asking Him why he didn't just turn her!  I am certain the only thing that kept me sane was the constant prayers I knew so so many people were praying for me. Often times when I was at the end of my ropes I heard God whisper in my heart, "I will take care of you". I didn't know at the time what that exactly meant, but I trusted in it.

On one particularly hard day, I thought that looking through my ultrasound pictures might bring me some comfort. Somehow, through the midst of suffering, I sometimes forgot that an actual baby comes at the end of all of this, and needed a small reminder of who was kicking around inside me. But that day, I wasn't even granted that comfort. I could not find the pictures anywhere. A few days later my sister invited me to adoration and I took her up on the offer. I grabbed a random book from my end table and set off for a much needed holy hour. That evening before the blessed Sacrament I told God that I laid it all on his altar. That I knew this wasn't the end of the hard days but whatever happened belonged to Him and I would trust Him for answers. That until I felt my instincts and His urgings tell me otherwise, I would continue forward with the plans for a breech vaginal delivery. As I sat down after my prayer and opened my book to read, I found my sweet ultrasound pictures laying within the pages. I couldn't help but cry at the physical sign that God had given me letting me know that everything would be ok.

Fast forward to 38 weeks pregnancy. As I was driving Peanut to pre-school I was pondering all that had happened during this pregnancy. I knew I would see my midwife that evening and was a bit nervous and relieved. I also knew it was the last day of a novena a dear friend had been saying for me to St. Giana. My friend had promised that the baby would either turn that day, or that I would be at peace about everything (she also said the angels told her she was praying for a baby girl but I didn't believe her). And then it hit me like a ton of bricks. I pray often to be a Godly woman. I say all the time, "Lord, mold me into the woman you want me to be. Purify my soul. Transform my heart. Help me be patient. Teach me to love." I pray all these things, and while I truly mean them, it didn't register till that day that through all of this suffering God was purifying my soul. He was answering my prayers. Did I really forget that often times we have to be purified through fire? Did I think it would be easy? Marriage and motherhood are my vocation and God will sanctify my soul through them if I let Him work. I felt great peace the rest of the day. Even when my midwife told me the baby was still breech. And that brings us to the evening of Thursday February 7. Stayed tuned for part 2.

Not Finding Out

Since people seem to have a life of death opinion on the subject I want to write about, I suppose I should start this post with a disclaimer: this is my opinion and my feelings on the matter. It doesn't mean I don't respect yours if they are different.

This is the first pregnancy we have not found out the sex of the baby before he/she is born. I made a promise to my husband that if we could just find out with Miss Belle, I would wait to find out with our third. And I have. Nearly 37 long weeks. And I don't like it one bit, really. I can't imagine (and I reserve my right to take this back after the birth) that the one moment of finding out the sex of your child, can be worth the 40 weeks of not knowing. It's not because I'm dying to know, or because I want to pull out clothes or am just being impatient. It's because I want to call this baby by name. I want to pray for him/her by name and offer up all these sufferings with a name. This baby is already a boy or a girl and has been since conception, and this whole surprise ending thing seems kind of silly to me. I know they used to do it in the old days, but if one wants to make the argument that we should do things the old fashioned way, then maybe they should start by birthing the old fashioned way. Seems more important to me than finding out the sex or not. But I made a promise to my husband and I'm keeping it.

I remember laboring with Miss Belle and talking to her by name the whole time, telling her we were in this together and knowing that a tiny girl was on her way. A girl I felt like I already knew. I also remember how incredibly overwhelming one feels after having a natural delivery and finding out the sex of the child right at that moment of utter euphoria seems a bit crazy as well. I will be honest in saying I have felt the whole pregnancy that this is boy, but many times people are wrong. So every time I go to say "he" I have to say "or she" and every time I try and picture holding this tiny, I can't fully do it because I feel bad if I picture one sex or the other. The worst is when the baby gets called an "it". Ugh. I wonder how long we will call him/her "the baby" after he/she is born (see how annoying that he/she thing is?!?!).

I know many people love the surprise ending and that's great, but I really don't think it's for me. Surprisingly, at nearly 37 weeks I'm feeling better than I have the entire pregnancy. Thanks be to God. If you are still reading, please continue to pray for a safe and natural delivery of this baby.

Miss Belle

She may be trying to kill us as well as herself. I have to write these stories so I don't forget them. In November, my husband and I went back to visit Oklahoma. To make the trip easier we stayed in a hotel on our way home so we wouldn't have to drive so far in one day. Once the kids saw the indoor pool, we knew we wouldn't hear the end of it until they had a chance to swim. Silly mommy forgot the swimsuit so it's off to Target we go. Just so you know, Target does not sell swimsuits in November. So we made do, knowing we would be the semi odd looking people at the pool and bought the kids small gym shorts and a t-shirt to swim in. They seemed content with that.

So there we go to the pool, already filled with many laughing children. Seven month pregnant Andrea does not swim so Max was on his own with both kids. Peanut decided he wanted a ride on his Daddy's back so Max sat Miss Belle on the steps and instructed her to watch. This is something we have done many times in the past and never had a problem with. I watched from a distance as Miss Belle sat on the steps and Peanut laughed as his dad swam across the pool. And then I saw it: that look in Miss Belle's eyes. A look of determination and confidence. As she stood up on the steps I knew what was going to happen and sure enough it did. Without a second thought about it, Miss Belle decided she knew how to swim and dove with great confidence into the water. As I stood and shouted for Max to grab her, another woman sitting by ran to the edge of the water in a panic. The pool was small so I had no doubts that Max would make it to her in plenty of time. As I neared the edge of the pool I looked to Max wondering why he hadn't picked her up out of the water yet and suddenly realizing that he couldn't swim very fast at all since he had Peanut in  his arms and he can't swim either. As I watched Miss Belle roll and tumble in desperation under the water my mommy instinct kicked in. So seventh month pregnant Andrea jumped into the water fully clothed just as the other woman standing by did as well. Two fully clothed women, in the pool, reaching for Miss Belle. She coughed a few times and cried a little, but within minutes wanted to swim more. I, on the other hand, was quite humiliated having to walk all around the hotel back to our room soaking wet.

Fast forward two weeks. Target again (we like Target...a lot). I'm looking at cleaning supplies, Max has the cart one isle over and I hear the noise of a head hitting the tile. Before I even hear Miss Belle cry I hear several women standing by gasp and make sounds of shock and disbelief. I'm so glad I didn't actually see the fall, as I think it may have been a little traumatic for me. Miss Belle cried for quite some time, then calmed down. And by calmed down, I mean wanted to do nothing but sleep; which of course scared us. My husband and I aren't quick to go to the ER or urgent care so we decided to call a nurse line first to see what we should do. They told us to go to urgent care, so we didn't feel like we were over reacting to the situation when we took her in. After waiting two hours Miss Belle was finally seen and was starting to wake up a bit. The doctor said that she had a minor concussion, but as long as after about 4 hours she showed signs of improvement, she would be fine. Why the nurse line couldn't have told us about the four hour rule I have no idea.

Miss Belle, we love you and would really like to see you grow and mature over the years. While I appreciate your feisty spirit and "all in" attitude, a few less incidences would really save mommy's heart. I love you sweet daughter.

This Time...

Despite my extreme lack of blogging lately, I refuse to give this blog up. Even if it becomes an occasional writing, it will still be a good history of our life at this time. And a good outlet for me when needed.

I'm usually the happy pregnant woman. The one with no morning sickness, who hardly gains any weight and who's babies aren't terribly large. The aches and pains of pregnancy that some women tend to feel for months in pregnancy, I can only scarcely remember towards delivery day. Except this time...

God has challenged and humbled me in so many different ways this pregnancy. To start, it took almost a year to even conceive this child. God tried my patience and trust in His plan when, for the first time in my life, it didn't match my plan at all. After the joy of finding out we were pregnant came morning sickness for 12 solid weeks with two small children staring at me as I tried to shew them from the toilet while I puked. Feeling sick and tired all the time made me miss my old self and I wished so badly that I could just force myself to be in a good productive mood. In all my pregnancies I have had to take progesterone injections twice a week, and while I am used to this, it is still a hard and mentally agonizing thing to have your husband give you shots twice a week for nearly 35 weeks.  Through all this, I knew that the morning sickness had an end in sight and the second trimester brought a renewal of spirit and some much needed energy.

Then came the 26 weeks mark, when all of the sudden I couldn't roll over in bed or move my legs certain ways without extreme pain in my pelvis. With a little research and confirmation from my midwife, I was diagnosed with Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction. It's a nice long term that means the cartilage that holds one's pubic bone together in the front has softened too much, and my pelvis has become misaligned causing extreme pain when I move certain ways. I have a fairly high pain tolerance, but have never been in such constant agonizing pain. The kind of pain where it's all you can think about and all you want to talk about. The kind where I had to think about EVERY step I took or movement I made to make sure it didn't cause an extreme sudden rush of pain. I cried every night at the thought of laying in bed, as this was (and still sometimes is) the most uncomfortable place to be, and rolling over is the hardest and most painful movement to make (if you have ever been pregnant you know how many times a night you need to roll over). It was humbling to watch my children try so hard to help me by bending over for me or offering to "rub my back". I had to sit on the couch and think about all the stuff around the house that needed to be done while not being able to do a thing about it. It was mentally agonizing and extremely humbling. Through all this, I had to learn to depend on my husband in a way I never really have had to do before. He did all the work at his office and all the work at home. His constant acts of service made me fall in love with him all over again and showed through action he really did mean "in good times and in bad."

The most dreadful thing about the pelvic problems was the lack of hope. Everything I read on the Internet said to rest and that the issue would resolve after the baby was born. That at best, I may be able to still walk by the end of this pregnancy but that crutches and wheelchairs were common with this condition. And just when I was at the end of my rope, there came hope. A simple book written by a Physical Therapist that my dear friend just happened to have. To make an already long story shorter, the book gave me hope beyond belief and a regimen for eventual healing. If I stick to a pelvic exercise routine every day, twice a day and continue to pay attention to my movements, I am about 90% pain free most days (minus common pregnancy pains).

There are still nine weeks to go and I pray that I can enjoy them the way I did my other two pregnancies. And while I don't know if this baby is a boy or a girl, I can steal feel his/her tiny kicks and wiggles, reminding me that at the end of all of this is a sweet little soul to hold and nourish in God's love.

Big News!

Yes, I'm alive despite the scarce blogging these days. I figured it is due time to announce that after what seemed like a long wait...

BABY NUMBER 3 IS IN THE OVEN! Due to arrive mid February 2013!

We couldn't be more excited. Your prayers for a healthy pregnancy and birth would be greatly appreciated.

Peanut is sure it's a boy and wants to name him David Goliath. Bipolar at it's finest. Miss Belle is sure it's a girl and wants to name her something that I don't understand in her two year old language. Somehow my husband has convinced me to wait and find out the sex of this baby until birth day. (There were some serious negotiations involved), so we shall see! Thanks for the prayers!

The Gift of Compassion

Today I drove by a homeless man. It happens often, but today was different. This man, to the depths of his soul looked so...sad. His sign read, "Hungry, Homeless". I thought about how I have never had a moment in my life when I didn't know where my next meal was coming from. How I have never really experienced true hunger. I tried to stop to give him one of the bags I keep in my car for homeless people, but traffic was too rushed... always rushed. I waved and tried to smile, thinking at least I could give him that, but still sadness filled his face. And my heart ached for him. I looked around my car. Me driving in my nearly new mini-van, air conditioning blowing, music playing, kids laughing, hot burritos to fill their bellies, and amazing sushi for mine. Me who just came from a store to pick a two hundred dollar counter topper for our newly remodeled bathroom. And I didn't stop.

What is Christianity without action? What is love without giving of yourself? How will I teach these children compassion if I myself show none in my actions? And so I turned the car around and drove back to that place where the man with no home stood. I found a spot to park close by and gathered the food in my car and a bag full of hygiene products and snacks and made my way towards him. As he grabbed the things that filled my hands, he said,  "thank you kindly" and turned back to his corner. But not before giving me a quick smile, which is more than I could ask for.

I know many people pass by homeless people without a second glance because, "they got themselves there" or "they will spend the money on liquor". But this man's story is not for me to judge, and when I give of my money or possessions it should be with a free heart. A heart that thanks God for all the gifts he has given me and begs to never become immune to those in need.

"Each one of them is Jesus in disguise" -Mother Theresa

The Things They Say (8)

Riding in the car Miss Belle wouldn't stop saying "no" to every little thing Peanut asked her. It was frustrating him. Finally I told him to just leave her alone and not ask her any more questions since all she would answer was no.

Peanut: "Mommy, how do we make her stop doing that?"
Me: "I don't really know. But just leave her alone for a while"
Peanut: "Maybe we could just cut her head off..."

*he got the cutting the head off idea from David and Goliath, not from his parents, just FYI


Peanut: "Mommy how do band-aids work?"
Me: LONG explanation about how band-aids work. Pressure, blood absorption etc.
Peanut: "Then why didn't Jesus get a band-aid when he was on the cross for us?"

This story was told by my mom:
Peanut: "What's the 'toy section'?"
My mom: Explains what the toy section is
Peanut: "Oh, yeah! Sometimes we go to Target and I ask my daddy if we can go in the toy section and he says, 'no not today'.
My mom: "And does your mommy ever take you to the toy section?"
Peanut: "Well...sometimes when my mommy says 'no, not today' I say, 'PLEEEEEASE can we go to the toy section?' and she says, 'Ok just for a minute!"

I guess he has us pretty figured out at a young age.