Pastors, your Mother's Day stuff is nice and all buuut....

I have friends who skip church for Mother's Day because of you.
After being told she's less of a woman by people who were supposed to be on her side, your decision to have mothers stand and be honored or prayed over by the congregation has driven her decision. Even 50 some-odd years later, my father still grieves the loss of a child, and then the other loss 30ish years ago. My FATHER, a man, who is supposed to apparently be stoic and push aside *his* grief. My own husband is having a difficult time of it himself. My best friend's grandmother had a loss in the 60s, and the doctor was anything but compassionate toward her. She told him to never say that crap again and he was not to return to her room. He returned the next day with more of the same junk, and she threw a bar of soap at his head. She is 50+ years out from that loss, it still burns with an indescribable ache, and she was one of the ones who suffered in silence all these years. Women like her are why I have my big mouth and why I refuse to keep it shut.

So, pastors, get creative. Get compassionate. Get your congregation involved. Get them talking. Get them to understand the pain. Get them to show love to the women with empty arms, even if they also have full ones.

I will keep it simple and share these links with you, because they say it so much better than I could or would. 

http://www.messymiddle.com/an-open-letter-to-pastors-a-non-mom-speaks-about-mothers-day/
http://www.messymiddle.com/Beyond-the-surface-of-mothering

I am NOT saying skip the celebrating of mothers. I am saying shift a couple gears and rework it. I'm saying that while you're celebrating mothers in May and fathers in June, that you plan for October to honor the reason parents grieve too. I'm saying you've got noble intentions, and there is room to make it better. Believe me, word will get out that you do something awesome for the moms-of-a-different-sort, and you will build your community and have a group of women who are going to wrap their arms around newly-grieving families so that they do not suffer in silence like my friend's grandmother and countless other women, or like my father and husband.

A month seems so long yet is not

As I got dressed for church, I grumbled. I could not just wear jeans today, since I was scheduled as Lector. Most of the pants I have are either too small, or too big. Or they fit my waist, but my hips and thighs make them too tight. Or they fit my hips and leave so much gap that it would look crappy with all the fabric bunching in a belt. Such is the life of having a ghetto bootie. Dammit, I should be fitting in to that pair of maternity pants, not trying to figure out if this regular pair might fit. They should ALL be too small! None of these pants are supposed to fit. I am supposed to be seeing a little 14/15 week bump and lamenting that nothing fits because there is a mini human in the making who is causing me to grumble about my wardrobe. I huffed as I settled on the purple striped dress. I was running out of time to look for anything else, it was appropriate for church, and it fit.

It was not till I was about to walk out the door, that I realized I was wearing the same dress I was wearing 5 Sundays ago. And the same shoes were on my feet. The only difference was the undergarments, and that was only because the ones I wore 5 weeks prior were too big for me now.

Then my friend came by with a shawl she knitted for me, made out of the same yarn as the tiny miniature blanket and hat she made while we sat vigil over a month ago. It is a beautiful blue, with beading, and lace, and a lot of love in it. She said it was so that I would have a warm hug when I needed it. I knew she was making it, but had not seen the pattern. She wouldn't have posted the project in her Ravelry project page because she knew I might run the chance of seeing it before she gave it to me. I tucked it into my bag because I wanted to show it to anybody who would listen, and I might need a hug.

I arrived at church early enough to catch any instructions from the sacristan, and glance over the Prayers of the Faithful. If you are not Catholic, this is the part where the congregation responds to prayer intentions with "Lord, hear our prayer". I was stopped cold at the 3rd line. That one was for people in grief. I asked the eucharistic ministers for extra prayers during that portion of Mass. I was afraid I would lose my composure at the ambo in front of the congregation. I sought out Father J to ask him to send up extra prayers and shared my concern. I got through it with a cracked voice and I  could feel the prayers bolstering me, cheering me on with a quiet "You can do this. Keep going." I went to my seat but did not stay there but a few seconds. I escaped to the conference room to cry because I could not hold it in any longer. It took me several minutes to regain my composure and return to the sanctuary. I could see Father J was relieved that I was back. 

After Mass, my daughter said that she heard my voice crack and she immediately looked at Fr J, and he was about ready to continue for me if I wasn't able. I was also greeted by a couple friends asking what was going on with me. I told them. I had a miscarriage at the end of July. It has been a tough month. One of these friends has always told me I need to stop saying "upright and breathing" as a response to someone asking me how I am doing. My answer to that is if I'm having a craptastical day, I am not lying by saying "fine" when I am in fact not fine. She argued that it was speaking something other than gratitude or joy into the world. Today I told her that it was perfectly acceptable to say "upright and breathing" because I am just *not* fine, well, dandy, or good. Some days I'm barely surviving. 

I came home, changed clothes and just crawled into bed. I didn't even greet my husband. I was just on the verge of tears. He found me a few minutes later, asking if I was mad at him. I related the gist of things and bed surfed most of the afternoon. I could not muster the energy to do anything. I was mentally and emotionally exhausted and it was taking a physical toll on me. I fell asleep a while later, and when I woke up, my husband was making soup and grilled cheese for dinner. Once again he is picking up my slack and taking care of me. I don't know where he is with his grief or mourning, but I do know that he wants me to just be ok, and when I am not, he does what he can to at least bolster me. I am in awe of how much he pours his love in to me and just wants me well. He will tell you he is not good with words. Sometimes he has said things that did not help me in my grief, although well-intended. But his actions speak volumes to me. And I don't know how long it will take till I don't need to rely on those little actions so much to get through the moment. I only know exactly how much they mean to me when I am at a weak spot.

Kathryn's plight

I interrupt my usual snarky banter with something important.
Please keep this girl, her family, and those tasked with her medical care in your thoughts and prayers, as they embark on a long journey. After many days and nights of searching for an answer to the problem, she has been given a diagnosis. And it's a heartbreaking situation.

http://catholichusband.wordpress.com/2013/12/31/kathryn-gets-a-horrific-diagnosis-and-needs-a-miracle/

Soon & very soon, we shall see the three

Update on PreggoX3. She's 31 weeks (I think) and went for her OB appt today. Last week they scheduled the cesarean for October 3rd, but today's appointment revealed one of the boys is having difficulty. At this point he should be practicing breathing but he isn't. PreggoX3 thinks it's because he's smushed at the bottom of the barrel and he has zero room to move. It was concluded that since she's got another appointment on Friday, that they'll look at him again and determine if they need to deliver the babies or not. If it looks like he's still struggling, then Mama will get a round of steroids and check the kiddos again the next day, and if that hasn't helped then she'll get another round and they'll deliver early next week.

Woeful Wednesday

Wednesday's child is full of woe. Well yesterday was Wednesday and for me, it was a day full of various woe. I woke up with my blood sugar tanked completely and that took me a while to get through it. I have such a high metabolism that I would diagnose myself as being hypoglycemic, which in general is the opposite end of the spectrum from diabetes. I literally have to eat every couple hours, or it's just NOT pretty. It's a bigger challenge to overcome now that I'm growing a human. The parasite just sucks more out of me, making me have to eat that much more often. Ah the things a mother will do. It was early release day and Clone got picked up 15 minutes late from school because I was just moving slow at work. I decided to scope out a nearby second hand store, because I've been looking for a bathing suit cover-up to alleviate the unsightlyness of my ham hocks. In the middle of shopping, I thought of one of the ladies from my CRHP team who has been fighting cancer for a long time. She's come to mind several times over the past couple months. I left the store shortly after that and came home to lay down. My belly was feeling heavy, and I needed to rest before trekking the kids to church for class. Plus Clone needed to work on her homework. I laid in my bed for a couple hours, talked on the phone to Persnickety - who commented that my blog has become constant commentary about my pregnancy and its varying issues and aspects. Sorry...I've long blogged about what I know and deal with on a daily basis. So, welcome to my world, thanks for not falling off my readership list of followers. I'd apologize to those that stopped reading it, but they're not here anymore to read it.
Well I looked at the clock and WOOPS, it was nearly time to go and I hadn't defunked from work yet. So off to the shower for scrubbing and relaxing. I was about 5 minutes from reaching relaxed, when there was a lot of punching and slamming of a door. I knew it was the boys. They got into a fisticuff on Saturday when I was up at the church serving lunch to the ladies at the retreat. I came home to a broken colander, trash can, and I'm afriad to even LOOK for anything else. I was essentially yanked out of the shower between rinsing conditioner and soaping my pits. I was at least able to shave my legs, while I can still reach them. They were fighting over TV programming. I told them if they got into another fight I was going to call the cops, because I'm just not going to deal with that crap. Plus it's the 2nd fight in just a few days (Saturday, then Wednesday), both times in front of their little sister. Plus if they are going to throw punches, do it in the yard. At least nothing in the house will get broken. I'd sell tickets for the neighbors to watch. Most of the time I spent sitting in the church parking lot was uncomfortable because the stress sent my belly into a tizzy. It took a while for things to settle down finally.
I came home and rested some more, made some chicken noodle soup from the stash of stock I had in the freezer, and RW carted Clone off to bed for me. I was Wanda Whiner at that point. My aunt R told me she was changing my name. She did say that admittedly it was a difficult day for me, and I had permission to whine for a while, but I couldn't let it go on forever. Then I made the error of checking my email and boards while on the phone with her.
The worst email of the day came saying my friend from my CRHP team that I thought about earlier in the day died right around the time I was thinking of her. Please keep the Ashmore family in your thoughts and prayers. Aimee had such incredible faith and she inspired me with her joy and smile, even in the face of challenge. It certainly put a lot of my day into perspective.
Then-I checked my boards on iVillage. One of the girls on my expecting club board was in danger of losing her little boy at 22 weeks because the placenta wasn't doing it's job properly. The blood flow to the baby was not good enough to keep him going till at least 24 weeks. We were holding out hope she could hang onto him till then. Vincent Patrick couldn't keep fighting any longer. It makes my heart break for her and her family. Here I am, I just look sideways at my husband and BOOM I get pregnant. Yet there are others that just struggle to GET pregnant and have to fight to STAY pregnant. It doesn't seem fair.
By the time Devildog got home from work, I was a mess of snot and tears. He listened to me whine a few minutes actually said something that wasn't caveman commentary, and was nice to me. I listened to him download his day, which wasn't a cakewalk for him to deal with the nonsense and BS a retail job hands a person.
In a word, my day was just woeful yesterday and it sucked. So today I haven't done much so far except sleep late. Thankfully Clone was helped to get ready this morning by the big brother and Devildog took her to school. I got up from the bed sometime closer to lunch than breakfast. I accompanied Devildog to the barber and we had lunch together. It was just nice to spend some time with him that didn't include kids, friends, or stress. Although, there was a guy at the counter sniping about the price of his milkshake and being a general bag of butt about it. It bemused me to hear Peggy, the lady at the counter, turn to her manager as the manager came to smooth feathers, and say "It's fine hon, he's been drinking. I can smell it on him." And Peggy, God love her, was not quiet about it, because practically every head in the place turned to see what Peggy was talking about when she said it. Yesterday was one of those days that if I wasn't pregnant, I would've been drinking. Nothing like a Whalers Vanille Rum and Dr Pepper to take the edge off a non-pregnant woeful Wednesday. But for now? It would be a Water Wednesday. No rum for me-woeful or otherwise.

My family needs prayers

The devil is throwing sand again. One sister is back in the hospital after a mini-stroke. That whole situation is a long term Series of Unfortunate Events, going way back.
My favorite Aunt R is hitting another financial roadbump, and has to turn in her van. At least she was able to hold out till her daughter had the baby. My Grandmere is 2 weeks older than my Dad and she's frail and hanging on to what she has left.
My father is approaching a year since his gall bladder gangrened and he nearly died, and he's kind of an emotional mess. Honestly he has been a mess since Mom died 3 years ago. But he'll tell you that no matter how many times he walks up and down the aisle at church doing usher duty, he has no pain what so ever. If that wouldn't mess with your head a little, I can't say what would.
My brother filed for divorce. My biggest concern is my niece. I won't go into detail but I have true concerns for her and if I could bring her to live with me during all of this so she doesn't have to be exposed to the chaos, I would. I just know it would be met with resistance and heaven only knows what else. It truly breaks my heart to know a child that has to live through this, and knowing other children live this hell daily.
All this makes me incredibly appreciative to have what I have, surly teenagers and whiny first graders, and unexpected, unplanned, un-everything pregnancy of a fourth child at my current age. I have a husband that respects me and would do anything for me. I have incredible friends in many places that I don't deserve, but they stick around for some reason. I guess I'm entertainment value or something. Meanwhile my Aquarian nature keeps kicking in high gear when it comes to my niece and I have to be careful not to let it get crazy on me.