Mary, Take The Wheel

This past Saturday, the Feast of the Assumption of the Most Blessed Virgin Mary, marked the anniversary of our son John’s baptism.  I am still amazed at the many ways God and our Blessed Mother have made their presence known to us through our ongoing journey to build our family. There was certainly no plan to have John baptized on that Marian feast day, but that’s how it turned out.  Our parish priest always did baptisms on Sunday after Mass and that particular year, August 15, 2010, this feast day just “happened” to fall on a Sunday, three weeks after I gave birth.  In hindsight, it seems very providential, but after the bumpy crossing we had made in order to become parents, not at all coincidental.

I used to know a lot about parenting but then, as the old joke goes, I became one.  There once was a time when I had answers for everyone else’s parenting issues.  Today, having parented for five years, I have no answers.   I don’t even have many theories.  All I know for certain is that parenting is the hardest, most challenging job I have ever faced and in spite of what everyone has said, no, it is not getting easier.  Instead, one challenge seems to be replaced by another.

It has taken me a while to accept this truth…that parenting does not always get easier.  The level of sacrifice, patience, and consistency required of me has been way outside of my comfort zone.  I’ve had to mature emotionally and spiritually by leaps and bounds over the past five years, and I have a long ways to go.  I spent too many years (before children) imagining the kind children I would someday have (or wanted to have) instead of simply being open to what I may (or may not) be given.  My children would be my idols. Perfect versions of a “mini-me”.   My, oh my, did I have it all wrong. 

Last month, my husband and I spoke with a child behavioral therapist.  We want to improve our parenting techniques.  We are admitting that we do not have all the answers and need help.  Our children are thriving; they are happy, affectionate, adventurous little boys.  But there are also too many days when we struggle to manage more extreme sides of their behavior.  It takes a toll on them and on us.

In a few weeks, we begin Parent-Child Interaction Therapy (PCIT).  I never imagined ever having to go down this road.  I never imagined being a mother who would not have all the answers to her own parenting questions.  But I also did not understand that part of being a parent means practicing humility and swallowing my pride and knowing when to reach out for a little more support and help.

Our therapist is encouraging and believes that time will resolve most of our concerns.  As she put it, “Most people have children who are like dandelions; they are easy to care for and require little extra effort.  But some people have children who are more like orchids, and not just anybody can raise an orchid.”   All my life, I pictured myself raising dandelions but instead, I seem to have been given orchids.  These fragile, delicate plants that are my children have the potential to bloom into a radiant inflorescence if only I can build the proper greenhouse.

This past Saturday, we took another step toward building that greenhouse.  We have found earthly help but we rely even more on the divine.  On the fifth anniversary of my son’s baptism, we decided to formally consecrate all our children to the Blessed Mother.  It was something I’d contemplated for a long time but never had done. Now, the time just seemed right.  Now, finally, I understand. I cannot do this alone. I need all the parenting help that I can get, especially from my Heavenly Mother.  I need you, Mary, to take the wheel.   Together, let’s raise some beautiful orchids for God’s garden.

7 Quick Takes - Goodbye July

--1--

First, thank you to everyone who took the time this month to read the story of our crossing over into parenthood. I suppose in some ways, it read like a fairy tale, which was a big reason why I debated whether or not I should share it.  Of course, none of us gets to live a fairy tale and for every prayer answered the way I want it to be, there are many more prayers that simply leave me wondering if I am even heard.  For example, this photo that I used in the story?

It was taken the day we buried our last baby, in March of 2013.  We had just had the burial and were walking up the hill when I spotted this rainbow through the trees. I took the picture because I wanted to remember that moment.  My heart was filled with sadness at losing the future I'd envisioned having with that child, but looking up and seeing this symbol of hope reminded me that what I have lost in this world will be gained in the next.  That is what I hope and pray for most.

--2--

Prayers that yield happy endings are cherished but they are also rare.  I suppose most of my prayers do little more than lead me towards acceptance, and I got a good reminder of that this past week.  I was participating in the Sts. Anne and Joachim novena, both saints who are very dear to me. Our petition was (and always is) for God to bless us with another child.  Imagine what I thought when, four days into the novena, an adoption situation came up that sounded perfect and not only that, but the birthmother's name was Anne.  I just knew it was a sign.  But while we were in the process of getting our profile to her, we got word that she'd already been matched.  It had only been a couple of days but in those two days, I'd let my mind run wild with the idea of having a real adoption possibility in the works.  Now, we are back to waiting again with no prospects.  So no, I am not a big believer in prayer always changing things, but prayer does change me.  Even though this situation fell through for us, Tom and I had an important change of heart regarding what we'd be willing to accept in regards to the kind of adoption situation we'd consider, and perhaps that was the best thing to come out of our latest novena. Perhaps that was the answer to those particular prayers.

--3--

And so life goes on, and we've been trying to make the most of it.   I'm proud to say that the boys took first prize again in our local Fourth of July Children's Parade this month.  This year, we went with the theme "Keep America Beautiful" and decorated their wagon with recyclable or reusable materials. Inside the wagon, we placed sorted recyclables and encouraged people to "reduce, reuse, recycle".  I think Pope Francis would be pleased with our environment-friendly theme!

We've also been hanging out a lot at the local splash pad.  The Hillbilly Shower as my husband (who is not from Kentucky) likes to call it.  Next time, maybe I'll bring a bar of soap.

--4--

We kept John's birthday party small this year, just us and the grandparents. How did I end up with a five-year old?  More importantly, how did I end up with a five-year old who prefers grilled salmon for a birthday dinner?   We're raising a pretty odd kid, I think.  Apple, meet tree.  He also requested his usual cake...chocolate with chocolate frosting, same as last year.  He may be an odd duck, but at least he's consistent.  We wanted to take him and his brother swimming on his birthday, but we had yet another rainy day here, so he opted for seeing his first theater movie instead.  It was a big hit, but I think he loved the popcorn more than the movie!  Can't say that I blame him.

A few days after John's birthday, we celebrated the feast of Sts. Anne and Joachim.  St. Joachim is Joah's patron saint (you can read about how we chose Joah's name here) and so he got to have some fun and extra treats on that day. For once, we had a sunny day on his feast day, so we finally got to go swimming and then came home to feast on Joah's special request...whoopie pies!

--5--

It's also harvest time around here.  The deer were kind enough to leave a little behind in our garden for our family.  We're enjoying sweet corn (a variety called "Ambrosia" and it lives up to its name) and lots of green beans.  Okra and tomatoes, plenty of basil (which the deer do not touch, strangely) and lovely sunflowers and zinnias.  We're picking blueberries too, which I call "bear bait". I'm amazed the bears haven't found them yet but I know that day is coming.  A neighbor lost 30 ears of corn in one night to her friendly local bear last week. Twenty years ago, I helped with the re-introduction of black bears to this area.  It seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, I ask myself "What were you thinking?"   Needless to say, the program was a success.  Ah, the irony.

--6--

We're into week eight already on kindergarten homeschooling.  I wanted to start during this summer to give it a trial run.  It has been going really well.  John loves "lesson time" and Joah mostly observes for now.   I'm very happy with how it fits into our lifestyle so far. I wish we had more support (we have none) from our family and friends but Tom is totally on-board with homeschooling and John is doing great.  Perhaps in time, the rest of our family and friends will come around.  We've joined the local home school co-op too, so maybe we'll find some kindred spirits there eventually.  In the meantime, we're just going to keep plugging along day by day.

--7--

This blog will be quiet for a while after this post.  I'll be playing biologist in the wilderness while the boys enjoy the city life with their grandparents.  With God's grace,we'll reconvene back in our hillbilly homeland in time for the "dog days" to be over and the taters ready for digging.

Happy August!

And thank you, Kelly, for hosting another Quick Takes.

The Crossing - Conclusion

For John.

Sometimes, it is the mundane ordinariness of our lives that saves us.  I can’t imagine what I would have been like during the month that followed your fetal diagnosis of ventriculomegaly if I had not had my day-to-day obligations to keep me distracted.  I woke each morning during those next few weeks focused on the tasks at hand, and filled my days with staying busy at work and at home.  The nights, however, were long, and hours were spent saying countless prayers for you before I cried myself to sleep.  Your father and I were praying for a miracle, of course, but our expectations were low.  We knew the odds, and we knew that we no more deserved a miracle than anyone else.  The fact that I’d been carrying you inside of me for nearly seven months was already more miracle than we’d ever expected. 

Four weeks after the initial diagnosis, we went back to the perinatal center for a follow-up ultrasound.  This time, the ultrasound was intended to tell us how advanced the ventriculomegaly might be so that we could begin making preliminary plans for your pending surgery and prognosis.  That morning, I worked from home on reports and file transfers and tried not to think of the news and decisions that we’d have to face later in the day.  No longer did I look forward to the doctor visits or sonograms.  Instead, each carried with it a sense of dread as I continued to wait for the other shoe to drop. 

The day was June 14.  Your father and I said a rosary on our hour-long drive to the perinatal center, but otherwise, spoke very little. Our hearts were heavy and all we could do is just hold hands.  We walked into the now familiar sonography room and the process of scans by the technician was repeated again, only this time, with less small talk.  And again, she finished and left the room and the doctor returned.  He repeated the scan, again saying very little, then put his hands in his lap, took a deep breath and exclaimed, “The ventriculomegaly seems to have resolved.”   And then he smiled.  

And that was it.   That was how we found out that we’d been blessed with not just one, but two, miracles. 

And it was in that moment, more than any other, in which I began to truly understand that you did not belong only to your father and me, but to a much larger heavenly family as well. Your life and your destiny would be guided by all of us, and I was already little more than a witness to God’s grace and mercy as it was being revealed through you.

So, when my water unexpectedly broke eleven days later, at 32 weeks, on the Solemnity of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist, your namesake, I knew that it was no coincidence.  We had chosen your name, John, many months before, as a tribute to your father because he shares his birthday with this great saint’s feast, and also, as a way to honor the parents of St. John the Baptist, Elizabeth and Zechariah, who’d also longed for a child.  As I lay in that hospital bed in the labor and delivery room, listening to doctors and NICU nurses explain to me the procedures for preterm deliveries, I felt a strange calmness.  I knew that God was going to have the final say, as He had proven already.

And so He did.  After being informed that 90% of all preterm premature ruptures of membranes (PPROM) result in birth within 24 hours, you were still in-utero and growing 48-hours later.  And then, after being told that the risk of infection was great, and that I would most likely need to be induced within a few days of the PPROM, daily ultrasounds and an amniocentesis indicated that my amniotic fluid levels were gradually replenishing and that there were no signs of infection.  Every fetal stress test came back with the same result and nurses would exclaim, “In spite of everything, your baby seems to be doing great!” and they did little to hide the genuine amazement in their voice.  Two weeks after my water had broken, your father and I went back home.  You had beaten the odds again and once again, we had witnessed another miracle in your life.

But our trials were far from over. A few days after going home, we learned that a potentially serious bacterium, Clostridium bifermentans, had been found growing in the culture from my amniocentesis.  My doctor said he had never seen such a thing and his concerns were beyond serious.  Such dangerous bacteria in-utero, he told us, could have a devastating effect upon both your and my health, and he urgently encouraged me to undergo a second amniocentesis immediately, which I did. Three more sleepless nights passed, filled with prayers for you, as we waited for the results. All was good, we learned a few days later; for reasons unknown, the Clostridium was gone.  

And so, despite all odds, the pregnancy continued, and I anxiously awaited the ninth month.  Only, it did not turn out to be nine months, because two weeks after returning home, my water broke again, this time, at 36-weeks.  And this time, my doctor decided that enough was enough, and that all miracles aside, it was time to introduce you to the world before all our luck finally ran out.  I did not argue.  After so many tests of faith and months of fear and anxiety, I wanted more than anything to see you and touch you and know that you were real. I wanted to hold you in my arms and feel like I could protect you from anything else that may cause you harm, even if, in my heart, I knew that I really couldn’t.  But more than that, I wanted the uncertainty that had come the moment I learned of your existence, and that had haunted me every day since, to come to an end. 

Twenty-four hours later, it was finally over, and I was holding you. I looked at you, and I thought about all the years of waiting and hoping and crying and praying.  I thought about how you’d already beaten the odds not once, not twice, but three or four times, and how little control I’d had over any of it.  I thought about how you had already been prayed for and loved by so many whom you would never meet on this side of heaven.  But most of all, I thought about how I started preparing to lose you the moment I knew you’d been given to me. 

The months that I carried you inside me were the time during which God taught me my greatest lessons in parenting. From the moment I conceived you, I’d had so little control over your life and your destiny. Through every trial and moment of great jeopardy, I’d had no choice but to trust God completely with your life. When we were faced with having a child with ventriculomegaly, I learned that I would have to be willing to love you and care for you regardless of whatever shape or form your life may take. When doctors and nurses assured me that you would be born within a few hours and it turned out to be a few weeks, I learned that even when I and others believe that your life might go in a particular direction, none of us would necessarily be able to predict the final outcome.  But most of all, during all those times when I expected the worst and was sure that I was losing you, I learned to cherish having you with me in that moment, and to be willing to trust God with your future. These were lessons I needed to learn in order to be your mother, and the lessons that molded me into the kind of mother that I am today.

Some might say you are a gift but you are more than that.
You are God's treasure (Deut. 7:6).  

~ Happy Birthday ~