All the Words {Jude is One Month Old!}

I was looking back at old blog posts today in search of a picture.  I was floored by the number of posts I once produced.  I guess I used to have words.  These days I've mostly run out of words, saving my blog post ideas for "another day" which never seems to come.  Not that anyone is at a major disadvantage if I don't post a blog but it was a nice thing to have printed for my kids to look back at one day.

Maybe I'm just burnt out of blogging.  The *sound bite* posts on Instagram and Facebook seem to carry enough information to spark conversations, reach friends and family, or share ideas.  Maybe I lost my words because of events in my life that left me speechless, searching for answers, questioning God, and even as I worked through the darkness and into more light I learned that what I thought I knew I didn't know at all, what I assumed about others was almost always wrong, and that there are so many different sizes and kinds of crosses that people carry; who was I to give advice or answers when I can't possibly know what another person is going through?  So I lost words and moved into a deeper contemplative prayer life (as contemplative as a person with 13 children can be).  All that said I want to try and at least get back into a few posts a month because TimeHop can capture pictures but not my heart, not always.

(Greenfield Village last week - missing Owen, Hannah, Mark, and Rose)

On my heart today are thoughts of the last month.  One month ago today I longed to hold the baby I had waited years for in my arms.  Instead I had to watch him cry, unable to touch him, and with massive amounts of gear attached to his body.  I sat in that NICU crying right along with him.  I cried to Jesse "I haven't even had a chance to change his diaper yet".  I have changed thousands of diapers in my time but that didn't matter.  I longed to change HIS diaper.  I nearly jumped up and down with JOY when the nurses finally said that I could change him.  And each time I've changed his diaper since I've tried to remember to be grateful for the moments that seem mundane but in reality or the most precious of them all.  I have noticed, as I get older and my time with babies comes to an end, I spend more time holding them, staring at them, loving on them.  Just sitting side by side on the couch with a toddler for 30 minutes doing nothing more than enjoying his/her company is a treasure for me.  Both Jackson and Sam made comments about how fast the last month went.  Even they noticed.  Everyday at least one of the kids makes mention of how big Jude is growing "already".  My face turns to panic and my heart cries a little but I know this is all in God's great design and that it's my call to enjoy them all, whatever age they are, just for that day.  

As my words have faded my compassion for others has grown, the others I'm trying to mostly focus on are those in my own family and in my own home.  I used to desire to save the world or at least my part of the world.  Now I desire only to love my children and family and closest friends the best way that I am able.  I constantly have to remind myself that God's Grace is sufficient for each moment and each day.  Hannah texted me yesterday to announce that she is a junior in college now.  Owen will be a sophomore in a few days time.   Kids grow, things change, life moves fast.  I continue to fail and get up and fail and get up.  I won't give up on where I feel God is calling me to be at any given time.  I may have missed those first feedings and diaper changes but I will be intentional with the opportunities each new day brings not just with Jude but with all of the people I am blessed to have in my life.  I believe that each new baby brings with him/her a gift (beyond the gift of life itself).  I think Jude's gift to me is to teach me to slow down my brain, give up my plans and expectations, toss away perfection, forget all the *words* and just be still....and know.

One Minute, One Moment, One Life

Jude is 9 days old now.  He seems to be thriving and fits right in to our family.  We are 4 days home from the hospital.  It's always a bit discombobulating to me when I come home a long time after the baby is born.  Do I rest?  Do I need to rest?  How old is he anyway?  The first few days after a birth that results in a NICU stay results in zero rest for mom.  Day 1 is spent being wheeled back and forth by whomever is visitng at the time and by day two, even with a csection, I shuffle back and forth multiple times a day (quieting the shame of my fitbit telling me to GET MOVING).  NICU stays are like time warps.  What is even happening?  How long will it be happening?  12 hour nurse shifts, shift change, first no baby holding, then you can hold, then change diapers, check temperatures, eventually nurse.  "Will you have more babies?" they ask.  Doctors, nurses, anyone who hears it's our 13th baby.  My answer is that I don't know but I'm old.  All the while I'm thinking about how the minutes of Jude's life are passing through my fingers like sand.  I had envisioned the hospital room, this time not empty and quiet, but full with a sweet baby in his little bed or, better yet, in my arms.  I missed all the firsts - diaper changes, bath, dressing him in the carefully planned (by his sisters) wardrobe that fell to the bottom of my bag as the days passed.  The family around my hospital bed photo wasn't to be, again.  Of course I'm lucky - my baby had minor complications and now he's home.  But I'm still a little sad that the usual didn't happen.  As I go between resting and trying to regain control and routine I can't figure out why my heart feels heavy. 

I think I'm panicked.  Maybe it's a midlife crisis?  Is this *it*?  My last chance to soak up a newborn?  Will everything that he does be my last as a mother?  Why am I so greedy?  I've had 13 chances. 

Brandon arrives tonight and as I look back on the last quarter of a century I've spent being a parent I can only see all the mess ups.  And if I messed up when I was young and energetic what will happen to these poor kids now that I'm old and cranky?  I think I'm feeling pressure - this is each child's one life, one chance, one time to be born, to be 8 years old, 12 years old.  Their lives are literally in my hands.  Over the years I've had bad days, months, and years.  They will most certainly land in therapy because of the stupid things I've done, the things I haven't done, the things I wanted to do but couldn't.  If there's one thing I pray I have done right is to instill the love of The One in their hearts.  I am most certainly not perfect and will always let them down.  I have major type A personality which doesn't mesh well with a full house of small people.  I will say things I regret probably everyday but I want them to know for sure they have worth and dignity in God's eyes even when others (me) don't treat them the way they deserve to be treated. 

As for me and the rapidly passing days that will soon enough see Jude sitting up, walking, and talking, well, that's just how life is.  It passes slowly and it passes quickly.  As St. Mother Teresa is quoted as saying :

 

Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today. Let us begin.

Unpacking Grace {Welcome Jude!}

I've been writing this in my head for a week now.  Each time unsure of where to begin and where to end.  I want to share all of the small and big miracles but I have yet to wrap my mind around them in a way that can be put in writing.  First, our family welcomed Jude Ignatius Simon Ambrose in the wee hours of March 25, 2017, the Feast of the Annunciation.  It was exactly one year, to the date, since our last baby had gone up to be with Jesus.  Just a week earlier when I went to confession the priest told me to consecrate the baby to the Blessed Virgin Mary.  I had never done this before so after I left the confessional I googled a prayer to consecrate your child to Mary, lit a candle near the statues of the Holy Family and spoke the prayer from my heart to her most Sacred Heart.  I won't say the fear and anxieties I had carried for the last nine months disappeared but I did feel a sense of peace at the reminder that no matter what this baby is mine on loan only.

That night I had contractions all night.  My peace took a back seat to my anxieties, again.  I repeated a short prayer that a friend shared with me years ago "Mary, Mother of God, be a mother to me now."  I knew I wasn't in "real" labor but the pain was too much to sleep through so I just tried to pray.  The next few days were on the rough side as the end of pregnancy often is.  Uncomfortable, tired, and I felt guilty for being so impatient since I had prayed so fervently for this life that grew inside of me.  The truth is that I was still uncertain that I would meet him earthside or if I would have to wait until heaven.  "Thy will be done" was my prayer but my heart said "I hope Your will is the same as mine".  

As the week progressed friends kept me busy, the kids and I counted down until csection day (scheduled for April 5), contractions subsided.  By Friday I was really feeling laborish.  But, again, I know prodromal labor well and assumed it was just that.  It could go on for weeks so I wavered between being a total whiney baby and trying to suck it up.  I did go in to the doctor who, much to my surprise, confirmed that I was dilating steadily.  He said the usual "maybe I'll see you later" but I was doubtful.  I ran a couple of errands and went home.  I had mental goals of what I wanted to accomplish if this baby did arrive sooner rather than later.  The most important were to give Augustine a bath and one last round of bedtime stories as he drifted to sleep for the last time as my "baby".  As soon as everyone was safely tucked in Jesse and I headed to the hospital where I was positive they would tell me to turn around and go back home.  As soon as we pulled into the parking lot my water broke.  Then it got real.  The moment I had anticipated and dreaded for nine months was upon us.  I still didn't know if I was going for a VBAC or csection.  I had prayed for so long for a clear answer but never heard one.  I knew they would ask when we got into the room.  I just wanted someone to say "do this".  It's in times like these when I really wish God had iMessage.  I cried as I tried to figure out the right route.  In the end I decided I felt zero peace about a VBAC and 100% peace about an elective csection so that's what we went for.  Now to get through the spinal...the major cause of my PTSD after Augustine's birth.  Fear gripped my heart everytime I thought about it.  

As time ticked by it became apparent that the surgery wouldn't be until after midnight, that would make Jude's birthday the Feast of the Annunciation.  Mary wrapping us in her yes, in her mantle.  This was also the date exactly one year ago when we had said goodbye to our Zelie.  "Behold, I make all things new."  But I was still afraid.  

The anesthesiologist came in to go over paperwork, answer any questions, he was very patient and kind as I recalled my last nightmare.  When we signed the papers he announced the time - 12:12.  There was Mary again - 12/12 is the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe.  My fears subsided a bit.  The nurse that had been with us when we had Augustine was there again and opted to stay over her shift to be with me.  I can't even tell you the comfort I found in that.  I'm not sure that she knew what she was in for as she was elected to hold me up while they inserted the spinal in the operating room.  I'm sure she still has bruises on her arms but she stood strong and she prayed with me as I shouted the Hail Mary over and over again.  I will never in all my life forget that moment.  

With the spinal done I thought the worst part was over.  Soon the baby would be here and all would be well.  Within a few minutes everything began and the baby did arrive, screaming, and seemingly healthy.  But before we left recovery the nurse noticed his breathing was labored.  I held him as they rolled me into the NICU where I had to surrender him to a group of strangers.   It was around 5 am and they wheeled me, arms empty, down to my room.  How was this happening again?  I never did sleep that night.  By first light my OB came in to check on me and, God bless him, went down to check the baby for me.  He came back with somewhat reassuring news and I was able to sleep for a short time.  The rest of that day is a total blur.  I was totally blessed with minor pain after the surgery.  I didn't require any of the hard medications and for that I'm very grateful.  I was wheeled back and forth to the NICU to see my baby, all covered in tubes.  I cried alot.  But I could almost see him surrounded with Mary's Mantle as well as the thousands of people praying for him and us.  I blessed him with water from Lourdes that a friend had given me.  More Mary.  I looked ahead to his already planned Baptism date of May 13.  The 100th Anniversary of Our Lady of Fatima.  I knew we had a lot of hoops to get through before we could go home but I also felt in my heart that he would be home with us at some point.  

The nurses in the NICU were amazing and before long I no longer felt like I had surrendered my baby to strangers.  We knew many of them from when Augustine was in plus a lovely nurse named after St. Rite, and the middle of 15 children, was our nurse for many shifts.  As I shuffled back and forth from my room to the NICU I remembered how to pray the prayers of thanksgiving and hope.  Another friend brought a relic of Blessed Pier Giorgio Frassati.  Her husband was in Poland and prayed at the Shrine of St. John Paul II and requested a Mass for Jude.  That Mass just happened to fall on October 16 (the day St. JPII was elected Pope!).  I feel unworthy for such gifts.  So many others are more in need but my heart overflows with gratitude none the less.  Messages, gifts, cards, texts came in and I wondered how anyone does anything without God and community.

Everyday I woke up super early, showered, grabbed a coffee from the shop downstairs, and sat in the room with my baby.  At first I couldn't hold him, then I could hold but not nurse, then I could nurse.  Before long tubes disappeared until there were only a few.  It was slow and fast and significantly less than most of Jude's NICU buddies.  The other babies and parents who spend weeks and months waiting to be free of tubes and to go home are heroic.  Please keep them all in your prayers.

On Friday, March 31, we were sprung and now we are home.  The kids are in love and sometimes they let me hold him.  

Jude Simon Ignatius Ambrose

Born March 25, 2017

7lbs 13 oz

20.5 inches