On the Eleventh Day of Christmas...

My true love gave me a miracle. A beautiful, wonderful, amazing miracle.

Around Thanksgiving, I just wasn't myself. I was grumpy. Not that I am not normally grumpy (who me?), but I was unusually irritable and prickly. It was then I knew.

In the bottom of a basket in our bathroom was an extra test, because being the thrifty mom I am, when the package said "2 for the price of 1" I was sold. I was surprised, but somehow not surprised, when two little pink lines showed up.

I can't begin to describe the emotions I felt holding that white stick. Part of me was thrilled at the idea of another little newborn in our house. Part of me was in disbelief as we are knee-deep (or rather shoulder-deep) in another adoption. I know that part shouldn't surprise me as we have found we were pregnant during each one of our adoptions, but I was surprised. I also was overwhelmed. This third adoption took a little more of a leap of faith for us. We are tired, overwhelmed, busy, and yet as I've said before these emotions pale in comparison to the conditions in which our little Peter finds himself. More importantly, we are called to go back and help another little child. I just wasn't expecting this extra surprise. After all, I am  older and we have had such fertility trouble. The natural space between our children has gotten longer with each child. I just assumed it would be longer this time if we were even blessed with another child.

Then, because of my history of miscarriage, I was worried. I immediately began progesterone shots. These shots make me more tired, more irritable, and are generally uncomfortable. If that didn't make me unlikable enough, I also banished all caffeine and my beloved Nice 'n Easy. To offset some of that unpleasantness, I began to take naps. I started blood tests and worries about every pregnancy symptom, but everything seemed to be progressing well.

Then three weeks ago I was scheduled for an ultrasound. I sat waiting in the exam room praying the Rosary, praying for strength, but expecting good news. I was somewhat taken aback when there was no heartbeat on that ultrasound monitor. My hormone levels were just where they should be, and more than high enough that there should have been a heartbeat. I was devastated.

I came home and broke the news to my family. We cried, we prayed, we grieved. One of my girls told a friend it was all okay, we were sort of used to this by now. My heart broke over and over again. I stopped taking the injections, I dyed my hair (oh my vanity). I tried to be normal. However, for three weeks I continued to physically feel tired, nauseous, and still just as grumpy.

I have always said the most difficult time is when you know you are going to miscarry and you are just waiting for it to happen. I feel like a walking tomb. You know the inevitable is coming and in some ways you dread it, but in other ways you want it to come swiftly so that the grieving process can be completed and life can get back to some semblance of normal. Not that I don't still grieve all my miscarriages, but there is something so difficult about this waiting time.

We celebrated Christmas and I tried to put aside how utterly exhausted I felt, and I still waited to actually miscarry.As we celebrated New Years, five of six children battled a stomach bug and I continued to not feel well. I began to fear an infection or some other complication because I still had no symptoms of a miscarriage, but the level of fatigue was really beginning to wear on me. I called and made an appointment.

This morning I had another ultrasound. Again I sat in the exam room praying Hail Mary after Hail Mary. I was again praying for strength. I knew chances were this was the last time I would catch even a glimpse of my little child. I was worried about a likely DNC, most of all I was just sad.

As I watched the screen, however, I began to see a little flutter. The technician said, "Here's your baby, do you see that flutter? That is the heartbeat." I knew what it was, but still I gasped. She didn't realize I wasn't expecting to see that beautiful, truly miraculous sight. I cried at the stunning way God has formed each of us. So hidden from us, here was a beautiful new life made to bring glory to our creator. The technician began checking other things, but I asked if I could see that beautiful child just one more time. She was happy to oblige an elated, tearful mom. She even flipped on the sound so I could hear the heartbeat. Oh what joy!

We are not out of the woods. I have had late miscarriages even after seeing heartbeats. Still, today was miraculous. A true Christmas gift on this eleventh day of Christmas. Please keep this precious child in your prayers. Pray for our family too. We again are going to have quite a year adding another two children to our family.

Ice Cream Cones For Dinner

Several years ago, when Banana was almost four and Bear was eighteen months, we had gone back to California to vacation and visit old friends. When we lived in California we attended daily Mass at a Carmelite retreat center. The daily Mass community, the priests, and nuns there became dear friends, so when we came back for a visit they offered us a room. The Bishop's room to be precise, the room right on the other side of the chapel and the tabernacle. I cannot put into words what a blessing that turned out to be for our family.

We left for that vacation when I was a little over thirteen weeks pregnant. I was entering the second trimester and had breathed a sigh of relief thinking my chances of miscarriage were now pretty slim. We enjoyed telling old friends, many of whom knew our struggles with infertility, about our coming bundle of joy and I was glad I was feeling a little better and could enjoy their company. During the second week of our vacation, however, I began experiencing symptoms similar to that of my first miscarriage.

As the grief began to fall over me like a tidal wave in that little Bishop's room I sank into bed just a few feet from the blessed sacrament and I cried. David did the best he could to entertain two little girls in a confined space and took them for a walk, but it was growing close to dinnertime and my girls were much too young to understand the emotions that seemed to be paralyzing me. Despite my overwhelming sadness, there were grumbling tummies and two girls who had been enjoying a nice vacation not sure why things were now so somber. Dinner plans had to be made.

Banana decided we should make a dinner of ice cream cones. It was a hot July day in Southern California and ice cream sounded like the perfect solution to her hunger. To that little four year old ice cream was the ultimate good. She had no comprehension of nutrition and even if I had tried to explain to her the ins and outs of the digestive system and the need for nutritious food, she wouldn't have understood. She only knew that ice cream sure sounded good and it was unfair that her parents were denying her that privilege. There was very little reasoning taking place with her. Eventually she had to trust that as her parents, the two people who loved her most, we wanted the best for her even if she didn't (couldn't) understand.

Later that night, after dinner (I can't recall what we ate but it was not ice cream) and a trip to the emergency room to confirm I had indeed miscarried, we returned to the Bishop's room. We put the two little girls to bed, and I laid on the bed just opposite of the Eucharist and cried more. David took advantage of the chapel on the other side of the wall and also went to pray.

In the midst of the grief, I realized that in so many ways I was just like my little daughter. I was the toddler who couldn't understand why such a good, this child I already loved, would be taken from me. I was angry that the desire for a child would be put so strongly on my heart and then taken away. Then, slowly, I began to understand that in the same way there was a gap between my understanding of nutrition and little Banana's four year old reasoning of digestion, there existed in infinitely larger gap between my reasoning and God's. The same way a four-year-old can't fully understand nutrition, there are mysteries that I, in my human understanding, would never fully comprehend.

Isaiah 55:9 reads:"As high as the heavens are above the earth, so high are my ways above your ways and my thoughts above your thoughts."

 In that moment, so near to our Lord,  I realized I was being a whining, temper tantrum throwing four-year-old. I began to comprehend how much I needed to trust that God, who loves me infinitely more than parents love their children, wanted the ultimate good for me even if, like Banana, I didn't (couldn't) understand.

After four more miscarriages and countless other opportunities to abandon myself to God's plan instead of my own, I am still daily learning that lesson of trust.

Life

I was reading an amazing post today written by a woman who lives in my alternate universe--she has three boys. I can't imagine how different life with boys would be :)

Here is her post

She rather elegantly put into words some of how I feel about the little ones I have lost through miscarriage. In some ways it is easier for me to have her say what is on my heart because it is so difficult to say it myself.

We named our last miscarried little girl Mary Guadalupe. She was due on the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe. From the beginning she was an answer to our prayers. My sweet dear girls had prayed especially to Our Lady of Guadalupe asking for a new sibling. It was no coincidence this was her due date, she was meant to be forever tied to that title of Our Blessed Mother. I have experienced no greater sorrow than I did at her loss and the loss of the others I have miscarried and yet I rejoice at her entrance into heaven. I relish her intercessions. I know she is watching over our family. I know she is praying for our adoption and somehow watching over a little one who is a world away from us right now.

More than that I know she is praying for our country and for an end to abortion. I feel she is right there with the Protectress of the Unborn, praying for this holocaust to stop. I feel privileged to unite my pain to that. I have, and am, offering up my moments of sadness and grief for all those who have no one to mourn their loss here on earth.

Our Lady of Guadalupe, we turn to you who are the protectress of unborn children and ask that you intercede for us, so that we may more firmly resolve to join you in protecting all human life. Let our prayers be united to your perpetual motherly intercession on behalf of those whose lives are threatened, be they in the womb of their mother, on the bed of infirmity, or in the latter years of their life. May our prayers also be coupled with peaceful action, which witnesses to the goodness and dignity of all human life, so that our firmness of purpose may give courage to those who are fearful and bring light to those who are blinded by sin. Encourage those who will be involved in the March for Life; help them to walk closely with God and to give voice to the cry of the oppressed, in order to remind our nation of its commitment to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all people. O Virgin Mother of God, present our petitions to your Son and ask Him to bless us with abundant life. Amen.