Kicked in the Shins by Lent

This Lent, I didn't plan much in the way of sacrifice, abstinence, or penance. Frankly, I have done the bare minimum to meet requirements on Fridays and Sundays, and otherwise gone on my merry way.

Despite my laxity, this season of Lent has still managed to kick me in the shins. And that's not a bad thing.

I suffer from intermittent bouts of self-love and pride, which fortunately have always been quickly quenched with a cold splash of humiliation.

I will start with the most recent experience first:

I pride myself on being pretty good in the kitchen, particularly with baking. I enjoy making snooty French confections most of all. Well, despite my skills with meringue and ganache, I managed to ruin a basic buttercream frosting! That day I was on the clock, trying to get vanilla cupcakes frosted for a church bake sale. I thought I would get all fancy and make a reduction out of organic summer berries, and fold it lovingly into my buttercream. For those of you who have attempted something similar, you know the outcome. My buttercream became liquid, and the fat begin separating. No matter how much time I spent whipping it, or how long I tried to get it to set up in the refrigerator, it just wouldn't return to that thick, luscious consistency. I ruined my frosting - and thwarted my attempt at a good deed - by trying to show off.

Previously, I had baked some pies for a bake sale that went over very well, so naturally I wanted to raise the bar higher and impress everyone. You know how I fixed that frosting? I DIDN'T!! I found a can of Betty Crocker's processed, hydrogenated chemical waste in the back of my pantry! I covered the whole thing with sprinkles, and called it a day. So much for outdoing my fellow bakers, and so much the better for my stupid, stupid pride.

Next comes mama pride:

I consider myself a pretty laid-back mom. I don't restrain my boys from experiencing the outdoors or getting dirty. That being said, I usually have the foresight to bring along a change of clothes wherever we go, because it is likely that the boys will get wet, muddy, sandy, or a combination of all of those. Anyway, we were recently at the zoo, where I let the boys play freely in a water fountain. I'm sure some onlookers thought we were nuts, and many parents were shouting at their kids to not mimic mine, but to me it was an opportunity to relax while my boys had some fun in the sun! I was thinking all kinds of silly thoughts to myself, like how I was so much cooler than these uptight helicopter moms, and how lucky my kids were to not have their "fun" micromanaged by bossy grownups. Because I had forgotten a change of clothes for the kids that day, I decided to let them wander barefoot and barechested through the rest of the park while their shoes dried. It was only after my eldest came to me shouting, "ouch, ouch!" that I realized his uncovered feet had got bitten by ants. And of course, my kid is allergic to ants. So we had to quickly leave the zoo, while my son went through he first throes (rash, hives, swelling) of his reaction. I felt like an idiot for not being more prudent and careful with my kids' safety, and of course ashamed for comparing myself to other mamas.

And finally, the pride and vanity I struggle with in my fitness pursuits:

So, I work pretty hard to stay fit, and no matter what changes life has brought, I have always made my routine a priority. I like to believe that exercise and clean eating are the answers to just about every physical and emotional ailment. I certainly did not expect to start experiencing heart palpitations just before Lent began.

It started with one episode of flutters that took my breath away, but I didn't think much of them, because they happened while I was kneeling in church. I have fainted in Mass once before, and I simply changed my body position and the sensation went away. I brushed it off as a fluke and went about my business. But as the days turned into weeks, and these flutters continued to happen, I became concerned that something more was going on. Could it be that all my efforts to stay healthy, fit, and strong were completely pointless? Was all of this for nothing, and I was going to die young of an unforeseen heart condition? The thought was disconcerting to say the least, and  I finally broke down and went to the doctor to get checked out. After some tests, an exciting day with a Holter monitor, and a couple of follow-ups, I learned that I have a mild tachycardia. The doctors say it is nothing to worry about, but it hurts my pride to have this blip on my health record. And a body that isn't keeping up to my standards. And to have to ask for prayers. And cause my loved ones to worry. And to lean on them. That is hard for me.

But that is Lent.
I didn't set ambitious goals, or really any goals, so I guess that gave God plenty of room to do His work.

Lord, keep working in me, please.

Dear CDC

Dear Centers for Disease Control:

Thanks for the recommendation that I get on artificial birth control or else stop consuming alcohol. I know you have my best interests at heart.

However, I think I'm going to keep both my fertility and my booze.

I fail to see how consuming a type 1 carcinogen whose primary effect is to:
flood my system with synthetic hormones to prevent ovulation

and whose secondary effect is to:
create a hostile uterine environment in which a newly conceived babe could be aborted

is best for women or babies. I'm actually feeling rather condescended.

Tell you what?

How about I continue to honor my fertility and read my signs rather than put a bandaid over any pathology or mute the conversation between my husband and I about family size?

How about we discuss the long term risks of using hormonal birth control, instead of putting a prescription in the hand of every woman who goes to her doctor with some kind of female complaint?

How about honoring biology and scientific evidence? We've got to stop divorcing sex from babies! It is completely insane.

And what about honoring "scientists" as the gods of Truth? When we give our bodies into the hands of these people and corporations unquestioningly, we lose the chance to learn and get real answers.

Ranty ranty rant rant! I need a drink.

Don't worry! I know exactly where I am in my cycle, and my husband and I make daily decisions about how to wield this amazing feminine power. I am being responsible, people.

I raise this glass to YOU, empowered Catholic (and non-Catholic) feminists***!

***No bras were burned in the making of this post

My Brother's Peeper Keeper

Every time I read an article on the culture wars and our society's increasing sexualization of....everything....there are always comments about women's attire. Always the exhortation to "dress modestly" to protect the eyes and hearts of our menfolk. Well, damnit this grinds my gears, but not because I don't think we ought to help our brothers and sisters better themselves and admonish their faults, but because it makes me somehow responsible for someone's potentially deep-seated issue with lust. Think of the man who has looked at porn since childhood; his brain will respond differently to visual stimuli, to men and women, and alter nearly all of his relationships. His thoughts, conversation, and actions may all be bent toward scratching that festering but delicious itch of his lust. And you are telling me that wearing a maxi skirt everywhere is my duty to people like this? I mean, I'm all for dressing appropriately for situations - moral dilemma aside, a woman dressed like she is soliciting sex at, say, her kid's graduation, simply ain't got no class.

The tacky and immodestly dressed will always be among us. What to do?! While I am adorned in a long skirt (which frankly with my toned butt is not doing the men chained by lust any favors anyway) and cardigan, that "tramp" in the pew in front of us at Mass is showing FAR too much thigh. What can my husband do in the face of such temptation??

He can look away.

Yes, I just pinned responsibility for his thoughts and actions back on that man. My man. Your man. You and I. Miss Daisy Dukes isn't going anywhere, but he can move away or at least avert his eyes.  We cannot control the choices other people are making, but we darn well can control ourselves.

I struggle at times with letting my admiration of the human form  slide over into lust. Male, female - if there is a lot of exposed flesh, my eyes are riveted. I was in the gym when some big rugby tournament was on TV, and my treadmill was stationed directly in front of it. Almost imperceptibly, my pleasure in watching these masculine specimens hurl themselves at one another became an objectification. When I noticed it at first, I tried to laugh it off. Then I put myself in my husband's shoes; how would I feel if he were ogling beautiful women on TV? I knew exactly how I would feel - like I had been punched in the gut. Like the floor - and the important place I imagined I held in his heart - had collapsed beneath me. So I looked away.

I. Looked. Away.

I didn't complain to the manager for showing something provocative on TV, because who except a crazy person like me would be having an issue like this with a rugby match?! Lust can be so individual and take so many forms that it would be impossible to anticipate in one's dress or behavior what might or might not titillate another person. I also refrained from complaining to the woman on the treadmill next to me. It is likely that she was not having any issues whatsoever, though we were viewing the same game. If I had been unable to avert my eyes for some reason, I would have gotten on a different piece of equipment, or even left the gym. It was ultimately my responsibility to deal with my issue.

I think - and it's my blog so I get to say that often - that we should simply dress to suit the occasion. If we all hearken back to the classic rules of dress, this might not be so much of an issue. Of course, we also should embrace and respect the attire of other cultures, which may show more or less skin, colors, cuts, and fabrics. It is a wonderful and beautiful world, and someone struggling with lust could twist anything beautiful into fuel for their addiction. Or maybe, truly beautiful dressing - the kind that is an art, the kind that is so classy that you notice the woman and not her clothes - will serve to elevate everyone's thoughts among the murk and mud of our culture. So, I exhort you go forth and dress beautifully! Dress to impress! Dress in a way that suits the occasion, and that makes you feel beautiful! Because you are, a beautiful child of God.

The Spiritual Weight Room

As another new year approaches, I am again bombarded with healthy recipes, sales on diet supplements, and quick fix exercise plans on my newsfeed and in my inbox. I read the public resolutions folks make to eat less, move more, and improve a myriad of personal flaws. And I just. Don't. Get. It.

I've never been someone who starts over on Monday, or vows to eat better "tomorrow". I only have this day, and it is far too short and precious to either beat myself up over mistakes, or miss opportunities to exercise my body, mind, and spirit.

You might think that's all fine and well for Miss Fitness to preach, but what do I really know about the struggle? About your personal struggles - not much. However, I can tell you what mine have taught me and maybe something will resonate.

The more I think about my prayer life as a weight room, the more sense it makes. The inertia, the setbacks, the one-step-forward-two-steps-back feelings. Also the joy and inner peace that hard, sweaty, uncomfortable work brings.

What lifting weights has taught me about prayer is this:
- You don't quit simply because results aren't immediately apparent.
- Overcoming inertia when you are out of shape is HARD.
- It can be so discouraging, especially in the beginning, when all you feel is soreness and burning lungs and self consciousness, and maybe your loved ones don't support you or care. You see no end to the suffering, you see no fruits from your labor. But go back into that weight room you must.
- Those first days back HURT so much. Actually, it is always going to hurt, at least a little.
- If it isn't uncomfortable, you need to check yourself and dig deeper until it is.
- It is much easier to stay "fit" than to visit the gym in random, guilt-ridden spurts.
-Results don't appear and gains don't stick if you aren't consistent.
- It is madness to train toward some goal and then stop when you get there. Exercise and prayer don't work like that. This battle will NEVER end. There is no rest till we die!
- It doesn't matter if you don't feel like doing it. You do it anyway.
- Guilt and fear can be powerful drivers, but a LOVE for what you are doing will make it a life long pursuit. It might take ages to get to that point but....what else are you doing that is more important?
- When you hear an inner voice correcting you ("kneel DOWN when you pray!" or, "it's time to put more plates on that bar"), DO IT. Don't hesitate. It is hard at first, but obeying that still, small voice - the one asking you to take the path of most resistance - is leading you to great holiness. And buffness? Maybe both. Sweet.

Do you have to choose the exercise plan that will take up loads of time, require lots of equipment, and wear down your body to the point of injury? Nope. You also don't have to commence a prayer life with daily rosaries. Take it from a total spiritual slacker: giving 15 focused minutes a day to the God of the Universe who lowered Himself and took on flesh to save me from death sometimes seems like.....too much. Pathetic, I know, but I am a weakling in the spiritual weight room. I have to start light and work my way up. An, "I love you, Jesus!" here, a, "have mercy on me, a sinner!" there, is sometimes all I muster in a day. But pray daily, I must. I must also obey - instantly - that small voice that calls me gently but firmly to better myself. To pray an extra Hail Mary, just because. To run for an extra minute even when my lungs are screaming. To pick up the rosary when I feel spiritually dry and physically exhausted.

This isn't a resolution for the New Year, or for next week, or for Monday. This is stuff for NOW because the present is all we have. It is the most deadly serious business, and it doesn't respect your calendar.

Don't Take Offense - Try This Instead

I have just read yet another blog post about what not to say to expectant mothers, mothers of many, couples without children, or mothers of few. I am wondering who the audience is of these posts, and whether the offending parties are going to be exposed to these lists, or whether they would even care. Are they able to recognize in themselves the offensive behaviour that sparks all these angry mama blog posts? I cannot imagine the well-meaning-yet-tactless people in my life reading these types of articles and/or taking them to heart. They probably have no idea that when they ask us if we are having more children, trying for a particular sex, or if we are done, that they are leaving us offended or triggering some kind of deep wound. I think it might be more sensible, if not more easy, for us as the mommies to have responses ready. No, I do not mean the snark-filled responses that I have seen on other blog posts. Lists of quirky, sarcastic things to say in response to the usual questions well-meaning strangers ask. Yes, I said WELL-MEANING! Why can't we assume the best about our brothers and sisters? Why must we think that someone is sincerey and maliciously probing for deep, personal information? Why must we take things so personally? Why not get outside of our own heads (and while we are at it, get our heads out of our butts), and use this as an opportunity for evangelization and charity? I personally love these opportunities to express my openness to God's plan for my family size. Sometimes I even mention that I use natural family planning! No, it is not a the business of the person who asked if we "are done" having kids, but are we not called to correct those in error? With great love? I find a genuine, honest sharing of information is positive and can be fruitful. At the very least it quiets a person down without shutting them down. At the very best, it can plant a seed of thought, and perhaps direct their dialogue to more appropriate veins in future. It may even lead to them reconsidering their thoughts on family size, family planning, and birth control! When they see our joy, and hear our positive yet honest responses, they may be pleasantly surprised. If we immediately come back with biting sarcasm, or make it clear that their comments are not appreciated, we may have lost that opportunity.

Here is my list of positie responses to common and well-meaning (however thoughtless) comments and questions about our family:
1. Are you hoping for a boy / girl?
- I will be pleased with whatever the Lord provides! More boys (in my case) means fewer new things to buy, but having a girl would be a fun and new experience! Either way I feel so blessed.
2. Are you done?
- I don't know what God has in store for us next, but we continue to prayerfully discern that question every day! (Could be the segue to an NFP discussion!)
3. You've got your hands full!
- I don't find this remotely offensive. Folks tell me this with a smile on their face every time. Sometimes I just say, "yeah. Aren't they cute?". People are just being conversational, and if we shut down every remark out of their mouth regarding our family, we are going to lose opportunities. Not to mention our peace of mind!
4. Was it planned?
- Ok, I admit this crosses a line for me, but what a great chance for an NFP discussion! If a stranger does not wish to hear me joyfully discussing my cervical mucus signs, then they probably should not have asked this question in the first place. Note that I am NOT sarcastic or rude when I respond to them, I give them cheerful yet honest information; "I track my fertility signs, so we were able to plan Junior's conception with the accuray of a lunar landing! I know my due date better than my OB!" I realize that not everybody will be comfortable with this response. In which case you can simply answer "no", and be done with that conversation. No need to let a senseless comment destroy your joy and ruin the rest of your day or week. Let it go.

Now, I have not addressed questions that come to those of us who have dealt with devastating loss or infertility. Obviously these questions open deeper wounds and trigger emotions these strangers cannot fathom. I cannot tell you what to say, but I use the same rules that I did up above in responding to family size questions. I am honest and I am cheerful. I do not hold back from telling people about my losses, if that is an appropriate response to their question. Miscarriage, stillbirth, and infertility are part of this world and a part of so many women's lives that it seems unfathomable that people these days don't realize it. Once again, you have the opportunity to plant a seed in someone's heart. Why not be brave and go for it? It seems like a better option than wallowing in personal hurt and anger over every perceived barb that comes your way.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, the tactless people are always going to be among us. Let us use their goofy questions as an opportunity to educate, evangelize, and show great love and joy. Don't let senseless blather steal your joy or ruin your day. Forget the lists of what-not-to-say to people who are never going to read them, and be ready with your own happy responses to the inevitable. Probably at your next grocery store trip or family gathering! ;)

Haters Gonna Hate.....on NFP Teachers

So you're taking Pre Cana classes with your beloved, and the time comes for the Intro to Natural Family Planning (NFP). A nice looking, middle-aged couple speaks to you about the wonders of NFP in their marriage; how they recreate their courtship and honeymoon every month through the practice of periodic abstinence (though now that they are in menopause those sweet, romantic days are behind them). They assure you that all 12 of their children were planned using the method and that they will be delighted to see you at the full instructional series so you can get better acquainted with your cervical mucus!

Let's analyze this couple's motives. Are they here teaching because:
a) The Diocese of Wherever provides them with a hefty stipend
b) They are sadists who enjoy watching couples writhe in awkwardness as they discuss the "post-intercourse discharge" guidelines
c) Something about the practice of NFP spoke to them in their marriage to the extent that they feel compelled to share it with others

I get the impression that many couples, even years into the trenches of practicing NFP, harbor some bitterness about their marriage prep classes in general, and NFP in particular. I, too wrote off my instructors as irrelevant, out of touch, and full of platitudes that could but scratch the surface of "real world" NFP. I was right....and I was wrong.

My husband and I started teaching NFP about a year into practicing it in our own marriage. This is why:
1) Our instructors mentioned that our diocese needed more teachers and thought we'd be great
2) We saw NFP work some good in our marriage - though it certainly isn't a magic bullet - and wanted to share that with others
3) We had a reversion testimony that made us unique.

Most teaching couples in our group either had a bunch of babies and were 40 yrs or older, or else came to NFP late and had 1-2, or else were young and SO, SO PURE and holy that it frankly scared us dirty sinners. My husband and I thought we'd be easy to relate to because we cohabitated and hadn't initially liked NFP.

These were our motives, and I'm guessing your NFP teachers were/are there because they love you, too! It's not the money. Trust me.

I think criticism is warranted when teaching couples are not presenting scientific data accurately or don't have the sources to back up their claims, or else over-inflate the good or bad depending on the topic. When we taught, there was a script, but of course we were free to insert anecdotes or place more emphasis in certain places. I knew our students were intelligent and I made sure our info was well researched. When I couldn't find an answer in our teacher's manuals I'd ask our own instructor trainers and do research online until I got to the truth.

What I couldn't do was tell you how NFP would make you feel, or the frustrations it would bring you specifically. Maybe the abstinence won't be so hard, but you'll be horrified to find you only get a good basal body temp vaginally (!), or else you have irregular periods or some pathology that makes charting extra-challenging. Maybe your spouse won't help you out, but demand you follow the "rules" all the same. Maybe you have had trouble with chastity and you are scared that abstinence will drive your spouse to seek illicit means for pleasure. Maybe you will never be able to find your cervix...

I don't think publishing all the possibilities for frustration when you are charting "in the trenches" makes good sense. For one, we don't have enough time to get into it when we are taking an in-depth course on female fertility and human reproduction, checking your charts, following up with you individually, and being available 24/7 by phone for questions. You are just not there yet. You won't know about the hard stuff until you arrive. You won't know the agony of losing a baby or the sorrow of infertility or the fear of conceiving when you just CAN'T right now until you are there. And when you are there, that couple that taught you is praying for you, and they will always ALWAYS be praying for you.

I've wailed and beaten my breast plenty about NFP over the years, but maybe not for the reasons you have. I don't know what your cross will be but I DO know that I taught with love and a commitment to the truth.

So whether you are in the trenches or just starting marriage prep, trying to conceive or trying to space, try to cut your teachers a little slack. Try praying for us, too.

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Cry Room

I was so smug. My super easy infant, my dapper husband and I, attending the Extraordinary form of the Mass, raising eyebrows at those who couldn't wrangle their children into pious submission. Raising our eyebrows even higher at those who brought their children to the Novus Ordo Mass and allowed them to scamper around on the pews, dropping Cheerios and ripping hymnals with wild abandon. "We won't suffer OUR child to behave in such a barbarous way! And we certainly won't bribe with food!".

Hahaha...
Hahahahahahahahahaha!!

Ha.

That was before we had a 3 year old and a 2 month old. That's before our son raised the doleful lamentation, "NO CHURCH!", and wept during the entire drive - and attempted to escape throughout Mass.

He knows it's coming when I start styling my hair. Because I NEVER style my hair. He sees me get out my fancy clothes and cries of, "no church!" begin. I try to tell him that Jesus is going to give himself to us in the Eucharist and it is a small sacrifice to spend a couple hours in church when Christ DIED for us. Yeah, that line of reasoning has been shockingly unsuccessful.

So you know what I did this past Sunday? I went to what I've snarkily called EZ-Mass at my local parish. While the Latin Mass is held in a small, historic church with creaky wood floors and questionable air conditioning, the Novus Ordo is held in the ginormous church down the street, replete with a CRY ROOM! The place incompetent parents take their snot-nosed monsters with their noisy toys and Cheerios, right? Wrong. As usual, I am so so wrong.

This particular cry room is huge, has a wall full of wooden rocking chairs, an en suite bathroom with a baby changing table, an adjustable volume control so you can actually hear the Mass, and flat screen TVs that show everything going on up at the altar.

It isn't a place for bad parents or bad kids. It isn't a place where couples who are - hello - fulfilling their wedding vows by being fruitful are sequestered with their ugly spawn. It is a courtesy and a luxury this parish has been able to afford. It allows parents to bring their whole family to Mass and pray in comfort while their kids behave like, well, kids. Cheerios are ok. Quiet toys are fine. And wiggling and strolling around? That's cool, nobody is judging you in here.

This is my new little haven for this season of parenthood, and I humbly admit that I was wrong about the cry room.

I've got my Cheerios packed for next week.

..

Luke's Birth Story

So there we sat, my husband and I, in a field of poppies under the waning moon, when suddenly my water broke in a delicious gush. Delighted, we cuddled close until my rushes began. Smooth and effortless went my labor, with rushes coming on with more intensity - never pain - culminating in gentle pushes that brought my son into the world. Our midwife arrived at the field in time to catch our little one, while the doula wove a daisy chain for my hair. Then we all snacked on my placenta and danced a reel as the morning star rose in the sky.

If you wish to keep that picture of natural birth - maybe minus the placenta eating - in your head, then you are welcome to do so. If you want to read the details of Luciano's actual birth, read on.
Trigger Warnings: contractions, pain, vomit, screaming (there's good stuff too, but that's at the end).

12:30pm

So things actually begin with my water breaking, which surprises me because this"opening scene" for labor is statistically rather rare. Though looking at my other birth experiences, I should know that I tend to fall outside the norm. I didn't go off like a cannon or anything, just some gushes and trickles of clear fluid that were interesting enough to inform my midwife and husband about.

1pm

I take a walk with my mom and son to see if we can get some contractions going. My mom wanted to stick close to home, but I end up tricking her to walk farther and farther away with me. I want to sneak in one last "workout" before game time. Plus the weather is so amazing I just want to soak it in. 

2 - 4pm

Hanging out at home, getting things ready, some light contractions start with no definite pattern. My mom and I go to Whole Foods, where I have a "last meal" of sushi - salmon and tuna - and yes, they were raw and delicious. At some point I begin last-minute nesting, consisting of ordering my husband around to finish up the laundry and tidy up our room. Just in case Better Homes and Gardens arrives to take photographs or conduct an interview.

6pm

Around this time I decide it would be interesting to download a contraction timer app just to see if I am developing a pattern. The midwives tell me to wait for "5-1-1" (contractions that are strong and occur about 5 mins apart, each lasting 1+ mins in length, and maintaining this pattern for an hour), and at this time my contractions are fairly scattered in frequency, intensity, and duration. I clearly am in early labor, as I delight in experimenting with different positions, finding that standing and hanging onto my husband feels the best, i.e. the most progress is being made. Downward facing dog position, on the other hand, makes for a miserably painful contraction; stick to cat and cow.

8pm? 9pm?

I don't know. By this time I quit using the stupid app, because I need all my focus to cope with contractions and I don't have the patience to hit the "start" and "stop" button, let alone the emoticon which is supposed to represent my pain level. The beauty of a labor that is not augmented with drugs (as my others had been) is that you really do get to rest between "sets", like a workout. I find my body gives me about 3-5 mins between moderate contractions of about a minute in length, and almost 20 mins between the whoppers I have in the bathroom. Around this time I start having contractions that leave me questioning my decision to "go natural", that's for darn sure.

9?10?11pm?

Who's keeping track? Not I! I just want my husband present for every contraction and shout for him if he isn't nearby. I also getvery picky about what kind of counter-pressure I want on my back and find that I am becoming very vocal. Between cattle-like lowing noises and demands regarding back rubs, I'm pretty pushy. I don't recall being this way in the hospital....but you'd have to ask my family for their recollections...

Somewhere within this time frame I tell Matt we NEED to call the midwives to let them know that "ish is getting REAL!", but he makes me wait a few contractions like a good coach (I had some other names for him at the time). I start to feel like some kind of spooked farm animal at this point - pretty sure I look like a terrified cow, when you can see the whites all the way around their eyes. I start crying and telling my hubby that I can't do it anymore, that I didn't realize it would hurt this much. It is incredible and terrifying to feel EVERYTHING - to feel the strong muscles of my uterus opening me wider and wider. And since whining and moaning does not appear to impede the progress of my labor, I choose to continue my petulant behavior rather than stay on top of the contractions with breathing and relaxation techniques. Whatever.

I now demand to use the phone in a very scary voice.

I think my midwife can tell where I'm at by talking to me, and she is able to meet us at the birth center within an hour. After some last minute packing, we're ready. Then I am hit with a really strong contraction that drives me to my knees beside the bed. My mom comes to my aid, but I only want my husband. I have the presence of mind to grab a bag I see under the bed before emptying the contents of my stomach into it (pecan pie, in case you were interested). A couple contractions down the stairs later and....we're IN the car!

The drive at night is quiet and serene, punctuated by two or three contractions involving cow sounds and a new trick I obtain of lilting my voice to sound like a ghost, "oooOOOOOoooooOOOOH!". My husband chuckles a little. I tell him to shut up. There may have been curse words.

11:30pm - 1am
At the birth center I am checked for progress and found to be doing "well". The midwife wisely avoids telling me the exact number of centimeters I've dilated, as this can be a total head trip and doesn't always tell you about how much longer labor will last. I was overjoyed to find that she was filling the huge jacuzzi tub and found a degree of relief sliding into it. I actually cannot imagine continuing labor outside the water; it wasn't pain-free, but being able to float my body and legs up a little during contractions was better than contending with gravity. 

"Labor land" is sometimes used to describe this intense period where contractions come close, hard, and the mother loses track of time. I think this is an accurate description of my next hour in the tub. Contractions are honestly more than I can "stay on top of", even with an arsenal of Bradley Method relaxation techniques stored in my head, so I whine and weep and moan through each one. Between contractions I drift into such deep relaxation that I fall asleep several times. The only change during this time is the introduction of a green Otter Pop (delicious!!!) and a cold wash cloth for my head. I shunned all hippie relaxation music, physical touch, and use of fans. I keep a light hold on my husband's hand at all times - you can ask him, I did NOT squeeze his hand into a crumpled mass. I had too much to contend with as it was.

1am? 1:15am?
"PRESSURE!!!!!!! OH MY GOD, HELP ME, JESUS HELP ME, SO MUCH PRESSURE!!!!!!" The midwife checks me and we are nearly ready to push, but there is a little cervix in the way. She wisely has me spend a couple contractions on my left side, and I apparently go from 7-10cm in mere minutes. It feels like it, too. FREAKING CRAZY. I'm shaking with the pain and dreading the start of each contraction. I know one's coming because my darling baby kicks me hard, like he's triggering the darned things. Then it builds like a wave and crests, and double crests, and TRIPLE crests into deep, deep, mind blowing pain.

When I turn on my back again, it's pushing time. My husband is a little stunned; apparently he thought I was being a bit of a pansy and that we weren't anywhere near this point. Frankly, I thought the same thing.

So, I am a bit of a birth story junkie and have read that second stage can be "fun" or a "relief" because the act of pushing through these contractions minimizes the pain. Huh. Well, I can't say I have the same experience. In fact, the cow sounds turn to screaming, yes - pure, undignified screaming. I have never, ever screamed like this in my life. The sound of my own voice frightens me a little, but I cannot help it. Part of my brain that was able to remain lucid goofy told me that this is what it's like to become a vampire (Yes, I've read Twilight. A few times. Don't judge.), and afterwards I'll have super stunning good looks, unbelievable strength, and I'll get to live in Washington and eat bears every day.

Praise God that my second stage of labor is over in eight minutes. EIGHT MINUTES!

1:30am
And then this soft, slippery little person slides out of me into the water and is quickly placed on my chest and everything goes quiet. Probably because I've stopped screaming. But it feels like I'm buffeted by silence and wrapped in peace. The pain completely stops and I'm so relieved and grateful. I don't get a major rush of euphoria - at least, not the kind that involves happy weeping and goo goo eyes - just a quiet, deep calm. Luke pinks up quickly and breathes well after a little suctioning, and we just hold each other for a bit until my husband cuts the cord.

I deliver the placenta on the bed - just a little push, no major pain - and get to take a good look at it, too! Fascinating what my body made and nourished my baby with. By this time Luke has latched on and is nursing like a champ, just like his big brother did. After nearly an hour of uninterrupted snuggling and nursing, I get to take a leisurely shower and am lovingly handled by the midwife and her assistant as I head back to the birth room. Luke is weighed and measured and shortly thereafter we head home. We all sleep for nearly eight hours straight and wake around 9 or 10am to greet my son JP, who is happy and slightly awed by his little brother.

__________________________________________________________________________________

During this first day I start to process my experience. My first thought is that this was a nice experiment but NOT worth the pain. I would have happily accepted an epidural had it been available. Then I start making a mental checklist of my post birth sensations.......and I change my mind. IT IS WORTH IT. And here is why:

- I did not tear. I had a third degree tear with my older son in the hospital, and trying to recover from a serious wound, taking narcotics for the pain, AND caring for a newborn is no picnic. Plus the pain of this injury lingered with me for nearly a year. This was my BIGGEST fear going into this experience with Luke. My husband and I actually high-fived when the midwife delivered the good news!
- I have almost no back pain. Just some mild stuff I expected from my body going back into place. That epidural was so nice at my last birth, but the resulting back pain was prolonged and intense.
- I am not swollen. I was puffy and swollen from all the drugs and the IV fluids pumped into me for over 30 hours at my hospital birth. When I looked in the mirror the day after Luke's birth, I looked like.....myself!
- I have energy. Almost too much, because I've been out and about a little more than I should. I actually have to reel myself in and remind myself I'm still in recovery!
- My mind is whole. At least, as whole as it ever is. I had feelings of anger and confusion regarding my last birth experience. We were constantly being interrupted during and after my oldest son's birth, so we never got to rest properly. I had recurrent, irrational, and angry thoughts for months after his birth, and in hindsight I probably needed some professional help. I am still on my guard, and pray daily for a healthy mind and body so I can care for my family. I know PPD can strike any time, but I feel I've gotten a much healthier start this go-round.
- My digestive system is in perfect working order. Just what you wanted to hear, right? But if you've had babies, you probably remember that first trip to the bathroom - especially for #2 - being pretty scary. Let's just say I'm not imploring all the angels and saints in Heaven to pray for God's mercy on me when I'm in the loo.

So yeah, it hurt like crazy. I don't feel "empowered" by my natural birth necessarily, because my mind was fighting my body most of the time. My hormones and muscles carried me along for an insane ride and I just managed to hang on. I'm no hero; I would have taken pain relieving drugs if they were there, and I completely empathize with and respect women who do. But I won't take drugs or go to a hospital - not ever again if I can help it. Because I feel amazing in body, mind and spirit. My baby is getting fatter each day and my toddler is getting more wily, and I'm possibly up to the challenge of wrangling them both. I'm amazed and grateful to my support team (especially my husband) every time I reflect on Luke's birth, and rather in awe of the way my body is healing. I should go step outside real quick and see if my skin sparkles......

Compassion

I just read through the mid-term report for the Synod on the family, and was pleased to find that the constant teachings of the Catholic Church on the sacrament of marriage are being upheld while recognizing that people on are different steps of their journey and need to be shown mercy. God knows that without the mercy of priests, my family, and our NFP and marriage prep teachers, that I would have opposed the further formation of my conscience and may have never accepted the fullness of Church teaching regarding human sexuality and the freedom that accompanies it.

That being said, I know that there is confusion and disagreement regarding this report; some claim Pope Francis is changing Church teaching to openly accept cohabiting and gay couples, and others assert that while this report does not represent revolutionary ideas, it is full of fuzzy double speak and loopholes that give people too much license. I do not doubt these two sides will be involved in some embittered arguments, and unfortunately many will abandon compassion in their righteous zeal.

This lack of compassion and sympathy could keep us butting heads with our brothers and sisters in Christ in perpetuity - and that's just what Satan wants, eh?

Let’s look at the abortion debate in this light. Abortion was not a topic directly addressed by the Synod, but it will illustrate my main point, if I can ever get around to it! I can feel compassion and pity for the women who walk through the doors of abortion clinics. I can do more than sympathize with them – I can empathize because I have been inside, contemplating my own future.

Pro life advocates  - some, not all- can come across as snarky, self-righteous zealots, making blanket statements about women who would choose to abort as callous, selfish feminazis at best, and murderous fiends at worst. Some pro choicers, such as Katha Pollitt on last week’s Diane Rehm show, agree that abortion is mainly a religious issue that is pushed by ancient, patriarchal religions and has nothing to do with the real choices women must make. As if embryology, social science, philosophy, and psychology do not in some part contribute to this debate. Her condescending tone was extremely vexing and made me feel she believes pro lifers are ignorant yokels. But if we are honest, we make them feel the same way.

I don’t know how others will come to have compassionate dialogue, or at least feel deeply for one another, without walking a mile in their shoes. I wish I hadn’t experienced a flirtation with the abortion clinic, but at least I have gained a frightening knowledge of myself and an empathy that prevents me from denouncing all pro-choicers as inherently evil.

My experience was this: I became intimate with a high school boyfriend and continued in this relationship into my freshman year of college. I had exercise-induced amenorrhea during this time, which may have prevented ovulation and accounted for my not conceiving for so long. However, as I gained a healthy weight in college (the freshman 30 for me – I weighed about 96lbs at the end of my senior year of high school), I started noticing what I thought were signs of pregnancy: sore breasts, bloating, and moodiness. I was terrified. I had earned a prestigious academic scholarship that covered my tuition and provided me funds for purchasing books and other materials. If I were to have a baby and take time off from school, I would lose my scholarship. I would have to get a job to support myself and my baby (the nature of which would depend on the response of my family – would I be kicked out?), and likely not return to complete my studies. I had been an upstanding, “A” student since junior high, a member of the National Honor Society, was a musician in my parish’s choir, and an active member of the youth group. But my need for affection and intimacy with a guy – and its natural consequences – was going to shatter everything. Worst of all, my family and friends would be shocked and disappointed. I walked around campus in a panic for a few days, not very capable of rational thought. I think I presented a collected front to everyone, but I don’t quite remember. Perhaps I was so good at pretending to be a good girl (I knew my actions were sinful and considered myself almost beyond God’s grace at this point) that I managed to save face while I contemplated what to do next.

I finally went to the computers in the school library and looked up the directions to the nearest Planned Parenthood. I was fuzzy on the entire extent of their operation, but I knew they offered free pregnancy tests. What I would do with the results of the test was a huge question mark shrouded in fog. You may wonder why I didn’t seek out a Catholic women’s center or some related resource. The reason is simple: I didn’t think of it! Planned Parenthood stood out in my mind like McDonald’s: You go to the former to get a pregnancy test, and you visit the latter to get a burger and fries. Powerful branding, huh?

So I made an appointment and drove in that afternoon. I filled out some paperwork and peed in a cup, and then I put the cup behind the little metal door and shuffled out to the waiting room. I sat there in a cold sweat, trying to look collected. I could not meet eyes with the other women in the room. I wonder how they felt – were they frightened children (I was not yet 18), too? I picked up some literature about – gulp – abortion. The pamphlets were in pastels and soothing fonts, not unlike our NFP guides, full of stock photos of happy-looking women who had made their “choice” and were very happy with the results. My head was spinning – if the test came back positive, if I were pregnant with a baby I did not want and could not support by a boy I knew I didn’t love – what would I do? It shames me deeply to this day to answer, “I don’t know”. At that moment I was called to the window where the lady told me my test was negative. Negative! Never had I known such relief. Nor such deep confusion and remorse for what I had been contemplating. I never, never, never at any point reasoned that I could be carrying life inside me, a life with inherent dignity and an immortal soul. My swirling thoughts were directed entirely inward but stopped at my uterus. It wasn’t something I consciously did; in my panic I could only think of all the choices I was shutting off by making the choice to be sexually active before marriage. I wanted to make things “right”, which to me, more than anything else, meant saving face.

A few days later I got my first period in over a year. That’s what the symptoms meant – the bloating, tenderness and moodiness. Never had I welcomed this event with such happy tears. The whole experience had been so stressful and traumatic that I knew I could no longer persist in relations with this young man. I also saw how I had likely warped his view of women and relationships, something I will be culpable for in this life and the next. Here is where I differ from some of my peers – rather than seek a method of contraception that would allow me to have “safe” sex (AS IF! Have you seen the failure rates with some of this stuff? Even Katha Pollitt in that interview admits birth control is not 100% effective), I was determined to NOT do the thing that gets you pregnant in the first place. I broke off the relationship with my boyfriend for good and shunned his acquaintance and that of our mutual friends. It was painful to go cold turkey from sex and from the companionship of all our friends, but I knew I was too weak to admit the company of anyone related to the situation. I had fallen so many times before.

My best friend and now husband listened to an abridged version of my story and directed me toward a priest he had been seeing for the sacrament of Confession. I was afraid to confess to our own parish priest, who knew I worked with youth and was a big part of the music group. So I drove to another church and met with a new priest. I immediately burst into tears upon walking into his office, and he folded me in his arms and spoke to me with such compassion and love that I was able to make a full confession and leave with a spark of hope. I had not been able to attend Mass without anxiety (where I committed the sin of sacrilege by receiving Communion unworthily), nor had I been able to have any kind of quality prayer life, thinking I was unable to return to Him with all the sins I had heaped on my head.

I can’t say I didn’t have issues after this; my spiritual life has been a series of fits and starts, backtracking and sometimes resentment. Resentment and anger that I can’t do whatever the bleep I want, especially when it comes to the Church’s teachings on sexual morality. Frustration at my own weakness, but most of all some compassion and empathy for other women who have been there in that clinic contemplating a frightening choice. How are we to approach these dear ones? With name calling and judgement? I know that without the love of my mother (whom I told at least part of this to), my best friend, and a holy and dear priest, that I may have taken a totally different path. Mother Church opened her arms to me and let me weep on her mantle. She took me back in while I was still broken, and she waits for me patiently when I continue to stray.

The message of the synod warmed the cockles of my stony heart because it speaks to my own experience as a wounded woman deep in sin. While I do not wish this experience on others, I want to share it because I think it is hard for some of my holy and righteous peers to feel merciful  – those who remained chaste before marriage, who never practiced contraception, who speak and write with a power that comes from purity unsullied by dark experiences. Not merciful to the repentant, but merciful to the sinner before they have come back in full communion with the Church.

I thank God every day that He sent compassionate people to deal with me gently in my weakness. This treatment, rather than encouraging further sin, elevated my thoughts and helped me to strive for better, if only an inch at a time. Praise God for Holy Mother Church and for Pope Francis!

My Top 5 Exercise Visualization Techniques

I'm going to take a hiatus from heavy topics and let the personal trainer in me get a little fresh air. Since I currently have no one on whom to exercise my sadism, I must fling my wisdom on the web and hope it sticks somewhere.


Below are my favorite visualization techniques for resistance exercise. I use these to keep my mind focused on the task at hand, to enhance the effectiveness of my workout, and to prevent injury. For example, I might mentally focus in on my glutes (butt muscles - best muscle group ever) to avoid over-taxing my knees in a squat exercise. I hope you find some of these helpful as you pump iron!

1. Gatorade Commercial
I've always fancied orange Gatorade was my favorite flavor, but in my commercial, the color inside me is gold.  
Let's say I'm performing a barbell bench press exercise. I imagine that liquid gold is illuminating my pectoral muscles whilst pressing some obscene amount of weight toward the ceiling. Just the act of "coloring" the primary muscle involved in the exercise will assist focus. In the chest press, it takes the exercise from simply bending and extending one's elbows to a focused movement for the pecs. 

 
2. Tension/Pull/"Energy"
The technique of imagining lines of tension or pull comes from my limited experience with ballet. I love the cues ballet instructors give students regarding "lines", and this has helped immensely with more complex exercises. But let's start with a simple move like the abdominal plank. You want to imagine lines of pull going right through your body forward through your forehead and backward out your heels. These cables pull you equally in both directions,"lengthening" your spine in a beautiful line. To add complexity, I "wrap" my midsection in a candy wrapper in 360 degrees, so that my core is wrapped up and lifted from all sides.

For a more complex movement like the squat, I keep my "energy" or "tension" in my feet, so that the emphasis is down toward the ground as I extend my hips and push to standing. If you want to get fancy, you can refer to the diagram (left) for proper squat angles. Notice the back and the shins are in near parallel lines (image source: http://www.edancescience.org/ref/nextlevel.htmlhttp://www.dotraining.co.uk/if-youre-going-to-squat-then-deep-squat/)
This is a great technique for solidifying technique in the learning phase of complex movements.

3. Animal
An accomplished, competitive power lifter and good friend of mine likes to imagine she is a small but powerful gorilla before she performs her lifts. This taps into the "animal brain" and lets a well-trained body do its thing during exercise. It also channels any adrenaline one might feel in a competitive setting, or when facing an intimidating, heavy lift.

My animal is the tiger. I love how they look so relaxed when they move, but you can see the power of their muscles rippling beneath the surface. I also like the fierceness of their eyes, even when they are at rest. I think of a tiger's powerful hindquarters when I perform the deadlift to give a boost to my set.

This technique plays more into emotions and can help enhance or channel adrenaline during heavy lifts. It is best to have thorough knowledge of correct technique, and ideally to have perfected an exercise before going into "animal mode".

4. Fitness Model
When I'm trying to get back into pre-pregnancy shape, I like to imagine my body as it will appear in the future. If I look at those dimples in my thighs or see my belly jiggling in the mirror, I'm likely to lose my mojo. Rather than admiring my postpartum bod in the gym mirror, I close my eyes (safety first! I usually close my eyes with Pilates or Yoga only!) and picture the body that will be. I AM that body underneath this fluff, and I am an artist chiseling away the excess until I reach that solid marble interior. Or something like that.

This technique also works on an emotional level to boost self-perception, halt negative self-talk, and exercise the imagination. It is a good idea to speak with a fitness professional about realistic goals as well. I know I'm never going to be capable of carrying the amount of muscle on my little frame that I would like, but I can do my personal best and take pride in the process.

5. Trigger Words
I use special phrases or words in tandem with other visualization techniques. The words should trigger a response in your body by improving mechanics or enhancing energy needed to complete a set. One of my faves for squat and deadlift is, "find your glutes!". This comes from a friendly and super-buff dude at a gym I used to frequent, who would kindly stop his workout to spot little ol' met. I always got stuck at the bottom of the squat, and having this giant yell, "FIND YOUR GLUTES" made me engage my body's most powerful muscle group and stand the heck back up!

Another favorite for squat and deadlift is "feet through the floor". I imagine pushing through my feet - not my heels or toes, but evenly through all points of my feet - so powerfully that the floor cracks under the pressure. This has helped me develop explosiveness with these tough-but-effective leg exercises. It also has a similar feel to "find your glutes" and takes focus off the knee joints and back, which are involved but NOT primary movers in these exercises.

Finally, my go-to phrase for doing a full squat (butt-to-heels squat) is "find your lats!". This refers to the lattisimus dorsi, or the back muscles running like ropes from your armpits, alongside your back, and into your hips. This is a posture reminder for me - it prevents my back bowing forward at the end of the squat, which really hurts my lumbar spine. "Find your lats!" also implies a slight contraction back and down to prevent excess rounding at the tailbone. Your back won't be perfectly upright at the end of the squat - nor should it be - but you will be engaging your core more effectively and protecting your knees and back in the process.

Next time I'll share my top ways to keep cardio exercise from being so painfully boring - hint: it's all about playing mind games!

Is Over-The-Counter Birth Control in Our Future?

I recently heard about how some Republicans are trying to make nice with lady voters by claiming they support the availability of over-the-counter birth control. This also looks like a way to separate the controversy of birth control from insurance companies and employers, leaving the burden of cost entirely to the consumer. I'm not sure that I disagree with that.

Those of you who know me know that I am Catholic and do not use birth control for a multitude of reasons, which I won't wax eloquent upon in this post - well, I'll make an effort. I also pay out of pocket for a lot of my health expenses, like midwifery care, prenatal massage, and costs associated with using Natural Family Planning. I do not expect anyone to pick up my tab, though it would be pretty nice if they did ;)

Here are some thoughts and questions that popped into my head after hearing the over-the-counter birth control story on NPR:

1. Hormonal contraception is different from other over-the-counter drugs.

The mechanism of action of most pills, patches, and vaginal rings is to suppress the function of the reproductive system by introducing synthetic versions of the hormones estrogen and progestin in high levels, thereby tricking the body into believing it is pregnant and suppressing further ovulation. Most of the time. The secondary action is to thin the lining of the uterine wall, making it unlikely a fertilized egg (a unique human person) could implant even if conception occurred. This sounds a little more serious than getting Sudafed, yes? We are talking about altering the function of an entire bodily system, and as much as I am into minimal government and medical intervention in my life, I think a little counseling before acquiring access to this stuff might be a good idea. I mean, I can't even get new contact lenses until I've seen my eye doctor (and let me tell you, I think that is a conspiracy to squeeze out a copay).

2. In what way(s) would access be regulated?

Would it be regulated at all? Many feminists see any type of restriction or rule regarding birth control as warfare on women and a violation of privacy, so perhaps they would be indignant if they had to show an I.D. to purchase the pill. But why restrict the age of the buyer? After all, the pill is touted as being "medicinal" for real and imagined reasons, so why shouldn't a twelve year old girl be able to pick up her supply without mom in tow?

I know for a FACT that my 16 year old self would have jumped on the opportunity to purchase the pill without my parents' or doctors' knowledge. I also know that this path would have tempted me to make an impulsive decision without reading too much about the mechanism of action or side effects.  Maybe that's just me.

What about drug interactions? We know that hormonal contraception can interact with other drugs (see the list associated with Nuvaring here), and lessen their effectiveness among other things, but who is going to help guide these women through the myriad consequences of ingesting these hormones? As independent as I am, I think I might want some professional guidance with this stuff.

3. What other drugs might we see OTC as a result of this [hypothetical] decision?

The first thing I would demand is to be able to PLEASE replenish my stock of contact lenses without seeing the eye doctor every year, because the $70+ visit to Costco, plus $150+ in contact lenses never happens at a good time for me financially. Just let me get them online without a new prescription. I can see just fiiiiine.

Seriously, though - are we going to see Zoloft next to the Motrin, or Adderall alongside Tylenol Cold? This ain't candy, people! It is medicine that is used to help fix or heal a system that isn't functioning properly.

Oh wait, birth control doesn't fix something that's broken........