Sarah Anne Foss is here!

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Hi!  It's Katherine hacking into Elizabeth's blog to let you know that Sarah Anne Foss was born this evening on October 31.  I just got off the phone with Mike and he says that Elizabeth and Sarah are doing well.  Everything went great and I know that I can speak for Elizabeth and say that your prayers have and continue to mean so much to this beautiful family.  Please continue to pray as Elizabeth and Sarah recover and prepare to come home.  I'll save all the great details for Elizabeth to share.  I am so happy to tag this post only with the category "Baby Blessing" and finally see Elizabeth out of "Pregnancy Bedrest." 

Glory to God for All Things!
katherine

The Irony is Heartbreaking

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The following column was written for this week's edition of the Arlington Catholic Herald. It's not up on the website. I'm not sure why. and I'm not sure if it will be in the print version. I seem to have a difficult time grasping the nuance of writing op/ed pieces without offering a clear opinion. So, this might have been too partisan. Or, it might be that the Herald website is running a little behind this week. But time is growing short!  My point with this piece is to reflect upon the last eight months of watching the culture of death gather momentum while lying still and trying to save just one baby. Please pass it along.

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Back in February, my children rudely asked a woman we know how she had cast her ballot in the Virginia primary. She named a candidate who is adamantly pro-choice. They were horrified. “How can you vote for someone who is for abortion?” one of them blurted indignantly.

“I’m more concerned with the people who are already alive than the ones who aren’t yet,” came the steady reply.

I’m ashamed to admit that an uncomfortable silence settled over the room. We were stunned and I was too intimidated by the context of the conversation to say anything more. I still regret that.

Within a few weeks of that conversation, I learned I was pregnant. I had a raging case of the flu at that time. As I fought to keep my fever down in order to protect the tiny being growing within me, I was very much aware that my baby was alive and I wanted her to stay that way.

As the flu subsided, hyperemesis set in. Now, the goal was to control vomiting and stay hydrated in order to protect the baby. I got a glimpse of her via sonogram. I was eight weeks pregnant and we could see her heart beat steadily and surely—a perfect little person who only needed time to grow.

Just as the hyperemesis began to wane, I had another sonogram. There we discovered that the placenta, the organ created by God for each pregnancy to nourish the baby, was in the wrong place and its location threatened both the baby and me. At that sonogram, we also saw her wave her arms and touch her feet to her head. And we clearly saw that she is a girl. But that placenta was troubling. Thus began the odyssey of frequent sonograms and very careful management of a high risk pregnancy. A whole team of doctors was called into to guard the life of this baby—a baby who was already very much a part of our family. A baby with a name we remembered constantly in family prayers. A baby who squirmed and wiggled and kicked and delighted her siblings with her gymnastics. A baby who could have been legally aborted.

And so this pregnancy has progressed. It began early in the election season and has unfolded rather dramatically, a parallel story to the drama in our nation. I lie here on my side now, day after day, counting every precious kick, taking care not to turn the wrong way or sneeze without protecting my belly. Just one life—just one precious child—has a whole army of people working hard to protect her very existence, while out there in the world thousands of people throng at campaign events for a man who has said he wouldn’t want his daughters punished with a baby. In the years since our country legalized abortion, nearly 50 million tiny lives have been ended. While I lie here and pray that my baby is healthy and is born well, I watch in horror as throngs of people cheer a man who would make abortion even more accessible.

I want to show them the latest sonogram. The one where you can see the tiny hairs on her head. The one that always calls to mind those words from Matthew: Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and not one of them shall fall on the ground without your Father:  but the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not therefore; ye are of more value than many sparrows. Matthew 10:29-31

What treasures women are privileged to hold within them! What creatures of infinite value! Our Lord tells us to fear not. He values us and He values the tiny baby whose wisps of hair can be seen and counted by us well before she is born. Who knows the plans He had for those 50 million babies? And who knows the plans He had for their mothers, plans for their good and the good of their souls? There is a man out there being likened to a Messiah. He promises to allow harm to come to the babies. From my horizontal perspective, here in this bed, the irony is heartbreaking.   

Forever in Blue Jeans...

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Last week, I ordered Mike some new jeans. It had been some time since the last jeans. I'm fairly certain his jeans were older than our last two children, maybe our last three. He was pleased to know that I ordered the exact same size as last time, slightly different style. In the elevator on Thursday, on our way to the midwife (the height of romantic outings these days), I admired his person in those brand new jeans. He definitely wore those jeans well. Perhaps just to be kind, he turned his attention to my jeans. He said something sweet and appreciative, without sounding completely unbelievable to this eight months pregnant mommy. And I told him that I was wearing "vintage jeans," all the rage these days. My maternity jeans are twenty years old.

I've mentioned them before on these pages. They are soft and faded and are truly comfort for a tired body. I hadn't really worn them since last spring. I had skirts and capris for the summer months. When bedrest began, the temperatures were in the high 80s and low 90s. I had last had a winter baby eight years ago. Then, there was such a long gap between Katie and Karoline that I gave all but a few sentimental favorite maternity clothes away. So, when I woke up Thursday morning and it was forty degrees outside, I went for those old, old jeans. And I paired them with a jean jacket I bought in college. Vintage jeans, vintage jacket.

I love denim. Those very old jeans look great. They are faded, to be sure, but they are still very presentable. Denim is like that. It's the ultimate mom fabric. Denim is the most frugal fabric on the planet; I am quite certain it's true. I have no khaki pants or skirts from twenty years ago. I have no rayon skirts from even five years ago. They stretch out and wear out and frankly, they get dirty in a home where little people frequently grab my skirts. But not my denim. My daughter is wearing denim skirts I bought when she was born. My denim apron has gotten better with every washing. And my jeans...I do love my jeans.

Erin assures me that pregnant women get a pass for wearing pants. Her arguments are sound. I've never seen men's pants with maternity tummies. And I've never seen a man who looks like I do right now in jeans. So, there's no chance they 'll be mistaken for menswear. And every maternity shirt or sweater I own falls well below my hips, so I think I'm more than modestly covered. As a matter of fact, last time I was pregnant, I discovered that once a week, my jeans were more modest than my skirts. I wore skirts almost exclusively through the spring and summer of Karoline's pregnancy. Except when I went to chiropractor. Both the good doctor and I were very glad that I was wearing pants while he manipulated my legs and hips. Yep, pregnant women should be allowed to wear pants, particularly when they've been on bedrest for six weeks, have absolutely no warm clothes to wear and don't want to pay extravagent prices and shipping to buy warm maternity clothes, particularly when they might not even be pregnant this time next week. Nope. I'm going to make do with what I have. These jeans work nicely for my weekly dates with my husband to see the doctor.

Denim can be darling, too. I'm a big fan of embellished denim. No one does it quite so well as J. Jill. And I remember fondly some floral patterned denim overalls I wore seventeen years ago when I was pregnant with Christian. I wish I could wear them now. I loaned them to my friend Alicia and never got them back. Alicia is now a nurse-manager in Labor and Delivery at the local hospital. When I was admitted last month, I almost asked her about those overalls. But since her youngest is fifteen, I doubt she has any remembrance of them at all. Perhaps only I get emotionally attached to denim.

Now that I think about it, the only three other things I saved when I gave my maternity clothes away are all denim. One is shirt that is a denim floral. It is the first article of clothing my mother-in-law ever bought for me.  I love that shirt. I don't think I'll give it away. Maybe I'll make it into quilt squares when I'm expecting a grandchild. Of course, first I'd have to learn to quilt. The other shirt is a denim with floral embroidery. And then there is fair aisle sweater in denim hues. Do you sense a theme here?

My husband is a big fan of denim. I like to pair denim skirts and jeans with feminine tops--fun buttons, lace flourishes, interesting knit patterns. He likes to bring me too large hoodies with various ESPN logos on them. And he likes me to wear them. Fortunately, these sweatshirts, which come from his place of employment and are distributed fairly regularly to the staff, are always too big for me. That means they fit perfectly right now. It also means they fit well on a snuggly Sunday, watching football in front of the fire and eating halftime junk food. Denim and sweatshirts. Comfort and cozy. I won't even try to make a case for feminine except to say that my husband finds the look cute--just as cute as he found it 25 years ago when the sweatshirt sported the name of our high school.   And perhaps that's the real lesson of denim: feminity and modesty are in the eye of the beholder. And if it were up to my dear husband, I'd be forever in blue jeans.       

Speaking of the Pharisees...

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In the past few Sunday gospels, Jesus has gone to great care to admonish and instruct the Pharisees. And then, clearly, He was certain that His lessons were recorded in the Word, because they are as timely today as they were when He walked the earth.
In today's gospel, Jesus said: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with allyour soul, and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it, You shall love your neighbor as yourself.
-- Matthew 22:37-39

Lord, let us hold those words in hearts and live them in our lives, mindful of the words of St. Margaret of Cortona who, so many years later, said

My daughter, I see more Pharisees among Christians than there were around Pilate.