 |
| Jakob Seissenegger, Portrait of a mother with her eight children, 1565 |
"Amen, amen, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit." -- John 12:24
This doesn't seem to get easier any way I say it, so: having just turned 43, I'm pregnant with my eighth child, who will be born a week before my second child goes off to college.
I've spent a lot of time over the past week and a half falling to the ground and dying, and staring at the wall, and screaming into a towel in the bathroom so the kids won't hear me. It is an odd quirk of being human that sometimes you are called upon to exemplify what you believe, even when it is not convenient or fun. Hello, I am pro-life and follow the teachings of the Catholic Church about marriage and sexuality, but I didn't think I'd have to be literally open to life again. If this is what the purification of purgatory feels like, this stripping away of every illusion I have about who I am and what I can control, I hope I may go straight to heaven when I die.
I am no longer young, even by the reckoning of the Ancient Houses of Men, and now I know that there are many doors that are closed to me, and I cannot see the doors that will open in the future.
And so, having donated all my baby clothes and thrown out everything except the changing table, which is still in use after almost twenty years, and having mentally moved into the next phase of life, I find that I'm still fruitful, just not in the ways that I choose. Which is the story of the grain of wheat: it falls to the ground, not of its own will, and cracks open, as everything that grows must do, and the old husk is consumed by fruitfulness. I fear, selfishly, for my old husk. It's not in the greatest shape, after falling to the ground and dying seven times before, but it's the husk I have. I am scared of the ways pregnancy will consume me, ways I may never recover from.
It is early days, and I am still adjusting, but there is no point in keeping pregnancy a secret when soon I will need all the help I can get. I'm sure I will get it too; the congratulations pouring in have a manic undertone of relief -- thank God it's you and not me. I know; I've been there.
None of this has to do with Baby, who is already doted upon by the siblings whose most fervent wishes have been granted. Baby is a gift, and is loved, and will, as the kind priest told me while I sobbed in confession, be a great source of joy. I know this. Intellectually, I know and believe all these things, and my life is ordered so that I may live what I believe. But even Jesus prayed that the cup may pass, and sweated blood. It's only human.
Readers of Mrs. Dashwood: I had a premonition that November would be a difficult month for writing, though I had no idea. It seemed an important story to tell at the time; it seems very distant now. Perhaps my mojo will return, and the idea will bear fruit, or perhaps that's part of the husk that will die.
12 comments:
Well…congratulations!
You actually give me a lot of hope. We have two living children and I just had my 13th miscarriage. I’m 40 and it’s so easy to feel like I’m running out of time. I understand that this is your cross right now. But thank you for a glimmer of hope that I may still have time to have another living child. Congratulations!
From one geriatric grand multipara to another, congratulations! My eighth is due in February and my eldest is a senior in high school. I am tired, but my kids are thrilled and there's nothing better than the feeling of a soft baby head against your cheek.
Congratulations! I understand.
Congratulations! Pregnancy is really hard. Saying a prayer for you now.
Congratulations, Mrs. Darwin. (Not a frantic relief sentiment, but a ring the bells, slight jealousy, and happy cheers feeling!)
The open to life teaching is great, but man, the being *opened by* that life is so very hard. And yet, you do it so honestly and lovingly. Not always happily, but a great example of self sacrificing love, loving your husband & marriage, and simply trusting God when you put 1 foot in front of the other. And still believing when you fall down dead to the floor. Thanks for being you.
Cheers to you
Sarah
Congratulations! And sympathy at the same time. I am still holding on to some of the best baby clothes, but with a lighter hand, loaning out things I might not previously have leant that I would be at peace to not get back, and getting rid of the "rags but still cover a crawler who will destroy them anyway" type clothes. I have 7 kids similar to your kid ages, although birthday timing means my oldest is a freshman in college. My youngest (the one I have pegged as the forever-youngest, but we shall see) is 3. But I, who met my husband in graduate school, will be 45 next spring.
I will be praying for you in sympathy and joy (more Darwins! Woohoo - a win for the world!!). Praying that your long Advent may be spent carried close within our Lady's motherly arm.
My mother had her 12th baby at 43 and never did she complain. We were all blessings! She's 91 now and loves us more each day!
I had my 5th at 44, and lost my last at 46. I've got your back on the ambivalence. Wrapping your head around this is obedience in its fullness. It doesn't feel like moving forward but it is.
Hugs and love and a ton of grace...
Well, you know my story. I was almost 43 when I found out last year that I was pregnant, and just past 43 when I was no longer pregnant. I was hesitant to express my understanding, not wanting to look back or to compare. But you were there for me, and I am looking forward to sharing your journey. Prayers that it is an easier one than it seems now!
You have our congratulations and you will have our prayers.
I have been praying for you and will continue to do so. I deeply sympathize with your feelings and hope that the grace of Advent and Christmas will give you what you need for this pregnancy. Your honest sharing of experiences and feelings have been a source of strength and grace for me throughout the years. Thanks!
Post a Comment