Oh, and...

...Wine Dark Sea already gave this a plug, but it is so good I will, too. Elizabeth Scalia on "Dwelling in the Possibilities of a Win-Win Situation" over at First Things:

"'Asked if the church position prefers the mother and child to die, rather than sparing the life of one of them, [James J Walters, professor of bioethics at Loyola Marymount University in Los Angeles] said the hope is that both would survive.'

Exactly right. The church hopes for nothing but life, lived in love, but with the clear-eyed understanding that pain is a part of the whole."

Read the whole thing--and the discussion that follows!

A few more days...

The deadline for this little beauty to show her face is officially May 4th. Then... let the Pitocin commence!

While I'm thrilled to have an End In Sight, I've mostly received condolences from friends. The idea of an induction must be off-putting to most people--it's so unnatural! But it's all I've known with my other two children. Miriam was late and had dangerously low levels of amniotic fluid. Bella broke her little water sac, but my body didn't want to go into labor.

And needless to say, after the weeks of hyperemesis, the last day of pregnancy, full of needles and drugs and bedrest, is rather par for the course.

And then. It is finished.

The whole process of human reproduction is really the oddest thing to me. It's so earthy and awkward, full of all the extremes of physical, emotional, and spiritual pleasure and pain. Physical motherhood can only change us forever, whatever the circumstances or outcome of the pregnancy, because we are human. Body and soul. Such a traumatic (both good and difficult) physical experience can only also transform the inner person.

However many times.

It is an Easter sort of thing: If we have died with Christ, the body is dead (and, oh, does it feel dead!) because of sin. But the spirit lives because of Him. Alleluia.

I am so grateful to be human: that this body, so beaten and triumphant all at once, is truly a little "elevator" to salvation (as Therese would say). Here's to giving everything! Here's to doing it more graciously than before! Higher up and further in.

Getting there.

It's been a long time. Yes, I'm still pregnant. My response to every inquiry: "How are you doing?" "Oh, we're getting there."

The past few weeks have seen still more doctors' visits for all of us and more antibiotics for everything from strep throat to pneumonia. Pregnancy seems like a piece of cake after all that!

I wish I could say I've accepted every moment with grace and cheer. Like the great saints, "she never complained and always had a smile for everyone." But alas! It has not been so. My biggest hope at this point is that I make a good Confession before this baby appears!

Bella and Miriam are my little role models: It can't be easy to have two parents in and out of bed for three weeks. But they still smile and laugh to see us emerge--unshowered, grumpy, lacking in any energy. They still play and sing and even fetch diapers, their own snacks and crayons.

"Unless you become like little children..."

Miriam said the other day, "Well, when I grow up and sin against God someday, I will just lift up my face and smile at Him to show I am so sorry. He will forgive me and bring me to heaven then!"

Ah, yes. Lift up my face and smile. So simple, so true. Make me again like a child, Lord. I'm getting there.

Miriam's smile: Over Jesus' empty tomb!

Higher up and further in.

A blessed Easter Octave to everyone! Lent unintentionally turned into a blog fast for me--the bigger belly, various virii, puffy fingers, and a husband in the final throes of dissertating were all welcome contributors.

And Holy Week was... outside time.

The Scientist Dad defended his dissertation on Monday: He is now officially a PhD! It was a little Easter-before-Easter for the family. Then he whisked me off for three days at the beach--just the two of us (plus in utero child). And, just like our honeymoon, we pretty much just napped the whole time.

Then it was Triduum. I've been getting sick again at night--not hyper emesis, to be sure, but some extreme nausea--so we split Holy Thursday and Good Friday. I went to the Mass, and he hit the Good Friday liturgy. But we boldly (brashly?) took both girls to the Easter Vigil Saturday night. It was very good. Miriam got punch-drunk at about 9.30pm, and Bella spent most of the night in Daddy's arms in the back of the chapel. But both girls seem to deal with exhaustion by getting quieter, rather than fussing, which was a blessing! Miriam was captivated by the three adult, full-immersion baptisms as well as the nine confirmations. She's been chanting the saint names repeatedly for most of this morning.

It was a great grace to watch the children experience the Vigil Mass and the joy of Easter morning. The added weight and aches of late pregnancy have drained me of the usual emotional gifts of the Triduum--the highs and lows just weren't there.

But that in itself is a great gift: So many adults commented last week about which liturgies make them "feel right" or which songs they "simply have to sing at Easter." I know. I am the same way. Good Friday without "O Sacred Head" just seems wrong. And the butchered version of "Adoro Te" (why can't we just stick to Hopkins' masterful translation?) was a real let-down on Holy Thursday.

Things aren't going to be perfect this side of the Jordan. The hope and goal is to grow, not so that our feelings become more acute and not so that our emotions feel ever greater pleasures, but rather so that we grow into other Christs, alter Christus.

In the neuroscience world my husband inhabits, "religious people" are often dismissed as being "those whose brains activate the religious feeling more than usual." The world tells us it's all about the feelings.

The feelings are a gift and great pleasure, but they are always at the service of a greater good: Drawing closer to the person of Christ, who is alive. "Closer" means that our wills are more and more in conformity with the Father's. Our lives are becoming an ever more prevalent "YES" to every moment He gives us--with or without the feelings.

This was my Lenten lesson.

Nesting and pondering.

The nesting instinct has been so strong for the past few weeks, I feel like a hibernating bear. Electronically, this has meant (an obvious) dirth in blog posts, emails, and the various twerps and tweeps of the world wide web. The house isn't much cleaner, the kids aren't fluent in Latin or Greek, but my little heart has been healing and gaining strength for the coming changes and upheavals of the spring.

The nesting this time around has been an interior nesting, a dwelling in silence along with this new little person inside me. She's our third girl, and we've named her Ana Therese--for the prophetess Anna-in-the-temple and my dear friend St. Therese of Lisieux (who surely has earned a name in our family).

Had she been a boy, I think I would have pushed for the name Hans Urs von Balthasar. I would have lost that battle, but his words have become an inseparable part of this pregnancy. Here are some of my treasures from Prayer:

"Harassed by life, exhausted, we look about us for somewhere to be quiet, a place for refreshment. We yearn to restore our spirits to God, to simply let go in him and gain new strength to go on living. But we fail to look for him where he is waiting for us, where he is to be found: in his Son, who is his Word."

and

"Perhaps we think that God's word has been heard on earth for so long that by now it is almost used up, that it is about time for some new word, as if we had the right to demand one. We fail to see that it is we ourselves who are used up and alienated, whereas the word resounds with the same vitality and freshness as ever; it is just as near to us as it always was."

and, finally

"The better a man learns to pray, the more deeply he finds that all his stammering is only an answer to God's speaking to him; this in turn implies that any understanding between God and man must be on the basis of God's language. It was God who spoke first..."

It was God who spoke first, and we listened.

I'm listening now, trying to formulate some sort of Lent for myself and the family. Any physical cross, such as pregnancy or chronic illness or autoimmunities, can make the idea of a Lenten penance ridiculous: "Me? I have to give up something more?" But the deal is that, first, God spoke first; second, he said he wants to be our everything; and third, all of us still have something we cling to and that we put above him. That's what has to go this Lent.

We all have crosses (some heavier than others). But suffering does not save us. Giving it to God saves us. It was God who spoke first. We must reply in his language, the language of the Cross.

Come, sweet Lent. Show me where I still worship other gods. And smash them.

On inertia.

Things are calming down here, virus-wise, in the philosophical household. The incredible inertia of the third trimester, too, is sitting over me like a lead cloud. It feels like acedia, that spiritual sloth of uncaring, being unable to care, that Kathleen Norris describes so well:

The demon of acedia—also called the noonday demon—is the one that causes the most serious trouble of all. He presses his attack upon the monk about the fourth hour and besieges the soul until the eighth hour. First of all he makes it seem that the sun barely moves, if at all, and that the day is fifty hours long. Then he constrains the monk to look constantly out the windows, to walk outside the cell, to gaze carefully at the sun to determine how far it stands from the ninth hour [or lunchtime], to look this way and now that to see if perhaps [one of the brethren appears from his cell].

There is a great temptation in these last three months to always be looking out of my cell window: How many more days? How much longer? It's been a long road with this little friend inside me already, and today it seems endless. Time barely moves, just as I wish I barely had to move.

Third trimester inertia, however, does not have to turn into acedia. In the moments when I allow myself to obey the pleas of my other children, or the gentle urgings of my husband ("Go get some exercise!"), the time begins to move again as I begin to move again. And at the end-of-the-day moments--reading in bed or watching a movie--I think this is going so fast. Inertia suddenly becomes my friend, and I want to just let myself rest in those endless hours of pregnancy. Take a breath and simply be here and now.

With my little noonday demon. He thought he'd threaten my peace, did he?

It sure makes getting up and blogging difficult, though...

The sky begins to clear...

Hi, mom. I got bigger while you were pregnant.

It's about time for an update on the pregnancy. I've just started feeling those first flutters of a new life--wow. I forget each time how strange it is to suddenly feel that little person whose life has thrown our lives into such change so quickly and who is so worth the price.

And I am coming back to life! It is like rising from the dead to suddenly wake up one morning and want a pickle and mustard sandwich. With a side of Lime Tostitos. Then, a few nights later, I had to have Mu Shu beef (you know, the cabbage stir-fry with the little pancakes and soy sauce). And so on. By November 7, I was eating three meals per day and down to two doses of the medication.

The clouds lifted, the sun shone through, and the world was renewed.

My mother has been so wonderful--reminding me to go slowly, don't push it too fast. She still does all diapers and the cooking, which lets me just play with the girls. Oh! To play with one's own children! To return from the dead.

Of course, returning to life is not without its bumps. When I rejoined my parents at dinner about a week ago, my 4-year-old promptly decided to see if Mommy was really "in charge" now. Haha. Yes, dear, I am still in charge here. And the past three days I've realized that the 15-month-old I left in August is now an 18-month-old who plays new games, has new words I don't really understand, and professes her newfound opinions with healthy vigor.

I have great trepidation on the one hand: We return to our home in the Deep South (and to our dearest Scientist Dad) on December 1st. The tickets are bought, the time draws near. Can I really do this? Grocery shopping, laundry, diapers, discipline, cooking... What will happen when it's just me and the girls and this bulging belly all day? What if...?

But surely the lesson of severe illness is that all such fear, while natural, must be put aside with the other childish things. There is no "what if" in God's plan, and he can amply provide for our struggle to follow his will. All those little tasks will come on one (or two or three!) at a time, and I'm sure the times will come when my heart and body will break. But all will be most well. Hasn't he shown me that already these past three months?

Show me, again, Lord. Show me again and again and again.

"Open to life."

Since beginning a second journey through an HG pregnancy, I have often felt almost removed, like a spectator to some gigantic upheaval in my family. My body, also, seems other most of the time (probably thanks to the meds keeping me hydrated). It is as if I'm not the one carrying any cross, but rather the one forever being carried.

This has given me a new perspective on the Church's teaching that we be "open to life." The emphasis with the teaching is usually that each conjugal act be open or that married couple be open.

But it's much more than that.

In our experience, being "open to life" has affected each and every family member and most of our closest friends. Everyone has sacrificed for this new little life and (thanks be to God) everyone looks forward to meeting the "new one."

My parents, happily married for almost 32 years and empty-nesters for 3 years, have taken two very energetic small children into their care. 24-7 care. Not to mention footing the grocery bills for an 18-month-old who eats like an adolescent male.

The Scientist's parents have given up weekends and evenings to help out my parents.

Back home, our employers, friends, neighbors and doctors have been outstandingly generous with their time and flexibility. And most of all: prayers.

This pregnancy exemplifies what healthcare should look like--openness to life, eagerness to serve, and understanding hearts full of encouragement and wisdom.

Being "open to life" is a call, I have found, to every single one of us. It is a love of God's own plan, not just for one couple's happiness and joy and sacrifice, but also for everyone around them.

We are filled with joy.

An angle: "Every sperm is sacred."

The Anchoress dug into her archives today and re-posted a 2005 entry: Every Sperm is Sacred. It's a great, lay (as she insists on framing it) explanation of the Catholic Church's teaching on this whole fertility thing. She puts it in her usual, humorous way, which I find gentle and others find abrasive.

The best bit is when she ties the sort of Thomistic "ends-means/essence-final end" explanation to the Whole Point: openness to God's will. A tidbit:

"One of the jobs of the church is to help us find our openness to God – to help us to maintain that openness to His will, so that we might reach our own best and highest spiritual potential; we are not called to dwell in darkness but to live in the light, and in holiness. We are called to holiness: “Be holy as my Father in heaven is Holy.”

Holiness is not something that we can compartmentalize. If we are holy, it is a permeation of our entire being, and our holiness will be reflected in all that we do, in our every action and choice, and the path to holiness begins with an openness to God, in whom we live and move and have our being. If holiness is our quest, there can then be no limits to our openness.

This is not a difficult thing to understand, at all. It is difficult in practice, but the church is not here to baby us along and make the roads wide and smooth. Christ told us the way is narrow, and not easy. What was it Chesterton said, “The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and left untried.” Quite right."

Self-control and obedience.

Magnificat had a splendid, if predictably opaque, little meditation by Hans Urs von Balthasar today. It struck me particularly as I wrestle with a few sickness-related demons. But first, the quote:

"Christ's act of creating space in himself for God is not self-mastery, but is itself already obedience, an obedience willing to take on whatever task the 'ever greater Father' gives."

He's drawing a profound distinction here between self-mastery and obedience, which is at the heart of our relationship to Christ, "who became obedient to death, even death on a cross." The difference is that in self-mastery I am the one doing great things, I am the one accomplishing the will of the Father. In obedience, however, it is not I but Christ living in me. Obedience is not only the perfect imitation of Jesus himself, but is also the forgetting of myself even to death.

This distinction has been driven home to me these past weeks (almost months now) of illness. Early on, the demon that plagued my heart was fear: "How can I do this again? What if I have to go through this three more times? Five more times? I can't do this!" I had multiple people telling me that we were being so obedient to the Church, so open to life, so brave. But their encouragement was a burden to my tiny, contracted heart: "What if I give in? What if we're not obedient to death?" And I cannot tell you how all of the sudden the world became full of women saying, "Oh, three is enough for me" or "I was done at two."

And it was all wrong. You see, I was trying to be strong and trying to master my fear. I thought that Todd and I had to do it. Buckle down, folks, and bear your cross! It was all wrong.

When it comes to these intimate and (sometimes) frightening invitations from God--especially the invitation to accept our fertility in all its seeming brokenness--He doesn't ask us to show how brave and strong we are. All he asks is obedience, a simple yes. Letting him come and do it for me. Is three enough for me? It doesn't matter, because that's wrong question. The only prayer that matters is this: "Lord Jesus, have mercy on me a sinner. All of you is more that enough for me." All he has for us is enough for us.

Obedience unto death, even death on a cross. The willing heart will simply say, "Do in me whatever task the Father has given." And he will do it. Not me.

An Easter Alleluia.

All six.

So, you may (or may not) wonder how it's going here in preggersville.

The good news is: 1) the baby is still fine and happily sucking away in the womb; 2) the girls love living at my parents' house; 3) my mother is surviving a new shot at stay-at-home-mommyhood.

And I am 9 weeks and 1 day along. This is no sprint to the finish, though. I've been sick now for about 5 weeks, and if Isabella's gestation was any precedent, have about 9 more weeks of this to go. I move like an 85-year-old and eat like the pickiest 4-year-old. I've lost about 12 pounds so far--though on bad days it's more like 15 because of dehydration. Today's a good day, so I think I'll eat a popsicle!

Deep thoughts have included, "Wow. Dorothy Sayers was a genius," "St. ________ (fillintheblank), pray for us!" and "One day at a time." Sometimes I hum Johnny Cash, "And it burns, burns, buuurrnnssss, that ring of fi-yer!"

One deep blessing this weekend: My home parish church--St. Matthew/Holy Trinity--offered the Sacrament of Anointing of the Sick at the Saturday evening Mass. My dad, dear and glorious physician that he is, took me along. I realized that now I have received all six sacraments for which I'm eligible at this one little church building: Baptism, Eucharist, Confirmation, Confession, Holy Matrimony, and this Anointing. Such a humble little building, with such banal and offensive music, and one of my favorite crucifixes.... and so much grace. God does not withhold any blessing from our lives.

In spite of emptiness, the good Lord visited my heart on Saturday: "My yoke is easy, my burden is light." Whatever that means, it is good. I'll think about it later, and just love it right now.