The following is shared from the perspective of someone in a season of secondary infertility. The first few chapters of the Protoevangelium of St. James is something I think every woman experiencing infertility should read and pray on, something I wish I had known about during our first season of waiting. But if reading about someone else’s longing for another child while you are waiting for your first to be with you here on earth would be upsetting, this might not be a post for you. Still, I beg you to spend some time with this gospel and recognize the friend and heavenly advocate we have in St. Anne. “The next one will just happen. It always does.” “So many of my clients have a hard time with the first and then the other ones just come. The body just figures it out.” According to all the experts, my body had finally figured it out with our first pregnancy in 2015 and I was (stupidly) relieved that I would finally be able to start popping out more children like all my Good Catholic Open-to-Life Friends…. Well, despite being open-to-life/trying to conceive for nearly 6 years, the next one hasn’t just happened. And again, I feel like a broken failure. Secondary Infertility is similar to Primary Infertility in many ways. There’s the monthly roller coaster of emotions. There’s that cyclical grieving process to pass through when each potential (liturgically *perfect*) due date doesn’t become The One. There’s the same temptation to control things as much as possible to improve the odds and frustratingly, the realization that I actually have no control over this at all. It’s all the same as it was years ago, before he came to be, but now there’s this additional ingredient to the messy brew of infertility: Mom Guilt. I have this little audience of one who watches my every move, every day. And I worry about the effects my grief has on him. Does he know how loved he is? Am I sharing too much with him? Is it wrong to encourage him to pray for a sibling? Is it fair to drag him to another appointment for blood work or an ultrasound? Should we just stop trying? Will he be OK as an only? Can I be okay with it? I grew up in a family of 5. I remember asking my mom why she had so many of us, she always responded, “I was really lonely as an only child. I wanted my children to have someone to play with.” Only children carry a stigma. They’re either lonely or they’re spoiled or maybe they become spoiled because of the guilt their parents feel over them being lonely. It’s a stigma I’ve been battling with since my son hit 2 years old and we still weren’t pregnant with his sibling. I don’t want my son to be lonely. I don’t want my son to be spoiled. Fortunately, we don’t have to dig too deep to find holy examples of Only Children in our Faith tradition. Mary, John the Baptist, and, of course, Jesus were Only Children. Two out of the three of these holy people were long awaited gifts from God to couples who had suffered loooong (like decades long) seasons of infertility. These three Only Children are the *only* birthdays commemorated on our Liturgical Calendar… They’re kind of a Big Deal. We all know St. Elizabeth’s story of the conception and birth of John the Baptist, but did you know that there is a scriptural account of Sts. Anne and Joachim’s story? I didn’t. I was talking with my dad about this guilt and sadness and worry I feel over the ever increasing space there will be between my son and other children (if we’re ever blessed again) and he suggested I read the Protoevangelium of St. James. I had never heard of it. I found it HERE. The first few chapters focus on the story of Sts. Anne and Joachim, Jesus’ grandparents, our Blessed Mother’s mom and dad. In my reading, I was struck by two 'canticles' spoken by St. Anne, and how as someone experiencing secondary infertility, I could relate to both. In chapter 3, as St. Anne sits under the laurel tree in her garden, she looks around her and sees the fruitfulness of nature and cries out: “Alas! Who begot me? And what womb produced me? Because I have become a curse in the presence of the sons of Israel, and I have been reproached, and they have driven me in derision out of the temple of the Lord. Alas! To what have I been likened? I am not like the fowls of the heaven, because even the fowls of the heaven are productive before You, O Lord. Alas! To what have I been likened? I am not like the beasts of the earth, because even the beasts of the earth are productive before You, O Lord. Alas! To what have I been likened? I am not like these waters, because even these waters are productive before You, O Lord. Alas! To what have I been likened? I am not like this earth, because even the earth brings forth its fruits in season, and blesses You, O Lord.” Every spring since my son was born, we’ve had birds make a nest and have babies somewhere super conspicuous on our property. One year, it was a hanging pot by our front door. Another year, they found a way into the corner of our attic. And I’ve sat in my home, year after year, hearing those baby birds calling out and felt a sting. And I felt crazy for letting such a beautiful (and cute!) little thing become a trigger for me, but St. Anne knew that same pain. All around us, we look and see fruitfulness and yet our wombs are empty. But then, I have also felt the deliverance and victory St. Anne declares in chapter 6: “I will sing a song to the Lord my God, for He has looked upon me, and has taken away the reproach of mine enemies; and the Lord has given the fruit of His righteousness, singular in its kind, and richly endowed before Him. Who will tell the sons of Rubim that Anna gives suck? Hear, hear, you twelve tribes of Israel, that Anna gives suck.” I read that and I flash back to the beautifully difficult birth experience we had, the 2 and half years I was blessed to be able to provide nourishment to my son from my body. I am so SO grateful for this gift. So where do I belong? I am hesitant to go back and sit with other aching and hurting women "under the laurel tree" because most likely, my son will be tagging along with me. But I don’t feel I fit in with the "Catholic Mom’s group" circles as I have no baby at breast or round growing tummy holding a child in my womb. I long to find belonging somewhere. Parched for friendship and connection. Someone who sees my struggle not with sympathy but maybe some recognition? I remember primary infertility. I am feeling many of the same emotions right now. Can I attend some sort of infertility support group without possibly ruining anyone’s week when I share I have a son? My son needs socialization and I ache for adult conversation. Can I take him to MOPS or other mom’s groups and face the questions of ‘do you have any others?’ Can I hold back the tears and jealousy when I see the cute newborns or watch the adorable lines of siblings holding hands as they walk through the parking lot to a mini van? Will I be able to bite my tongue when I hear the inevitable complaining about the difficulty of raising and caring for So Many Littles? St. Anne, help me to find my place. St, John the Baptist, watch over my son and help him to grow into a Strong and Confident Witness to our beautiful Faith. Mother Mary, please comfort my grieving heart. Jesus, I trust in you.
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12/5/2020 0 Comments Lessons in Anger from a 4yoOur beloved white light table-top tree would only half light this year. Daddy found the burnt bulb and was trying (unsuccessfully) to shift things around so more of the tree would light. I thought some space and quiet could aid his efforts, so we went for a walk. As we reached the top of the hill, daddy drove by and slowed down to say he was leaving to get a surprise. We continued walking and I tried to guess at the surprise. The timing of it all *could've* meant I wasn't going to have to make dinner (take out?) or maybe he had decided to make a run for replacement bulbs... I sent some *pizza vibes* out into the universe and asked our son, "Do you think daddy is getting a food surprise or a Christmas surprise?" "I think a TOY surprise!!!" It took us a while to circle the block. Lots of Christmas decorations to look at. Pine needles to scatter on the road so they will "stick on da tires." Socially distanced hellos to neighbors. As we got down the hill, I saw some bright multicolor lights in the window we usually display our tree near. Hmmm. He got a whole new tree? "Look bubbah! Look what daddy did!" He looked. And then he *growled.* And started running like an angry bull up the driveway. "I'm so MAD at him!" Grrrrrrr. Stomped up the stairs. "I'm So MAD At Him!" He banged on the door. "Mooom! He w-ocked the door! Give me da key!" I was several steps behind so he had to wait, scowling the whole time. I unlocked the door releasing into our home a torrent of four-year-old-fury. "Daaaaaad! I'm so MAD at you. I want da old tree with the white wiiiiiights! I hate dis tree!" "Surprise!!! Isn't it big?" "I HAAATE IT! Where's the old tree?" I chimed in "Wooooow! It's so pretty daddy. Our old tree broke but now we have a new tree! What a fun surprise!" "I hate it! Take it back! Take it baaaaack!" "Look, sweetie, it matches the lights we have over our windows," I said as I plugged 'em in. Daddy played along, "Wow! You're right, momma. That looks so nice!" He sniffed. Wiped some snot on his sleeve. Took some breaths and continued to stare at the tree. "It will look so nice with our ornaments, daddy. Thank you!" I said. "Can we deco-wate it?" Wellllll..... "We usually wait to Gaudete Sunday but it *is* 2020. AND this is our tree's first year in our home." I glanced at my hubby to see what he was thinking, knowing it would be good to keep this process of acceptance going (and I needed a little Christmas. Right that very minute). "Sure, bubbah. We can decorate it." Later that evening, hubby and I were laughing over our son's epic explosion over something that was really a good and beautiful surprise. And suddenly I stopped laughing and said, "I get it. Reality didn't match up with his expectations and that can make you really angry... I've done that before." I've yelled at God in prayer. Questioned the goodness His plan. And like my son, I've had to stop myself, take some deep breaths and look around. And when I do that, I see beauty. When I let go of my Wants and Expectations and look at Reality with eyes of gratitude, I find joy. I find peace. 9/20/2019 0 Comments Same Mission. Wider Focus. When I first launched The Joyful Leap with my friend, Elizabeth in 2017, I was a new mother who had naively assumed that I would be immune to the frustrations typical mothers felt in their vocation because of all the waiting and ‘work’ it had taken for me to get there. Spoiler Alert: Infertility doesn’t make the motherhood “Cross-free.” Being a Parent is Hard and Challenging and completely Consuming at times. I never realized how selfish and petulant I can be until I became a mother. Christ is using this to help me grow. More thoughts on this, but that is another post for another day… Anyway: we started the business with a focus on new and expectant Catholic mommas. Just as Mary “went in haste” to her cousin Elizabeth’s house, we wanted to be there to encourage women as they transitioned to motherhood. It is such a Holy and Intense transition and we wanted to encourage others to invite Mary in for assistance. Two and a half years later, I am in a very different season. Infertility has clouded my life again and honestly, looking at the logo I had designed years ago has become a trigger. Two big round beautiful bellies full of life while mine hangs, stretched and empty. Yet, the mystery of the Visitation remains my favorite of all the rosary. The event of the Visitation is more than two expectant mothers being there for each other. The fact is, lil’ baby John the Baptist leapt with joy at the presence of his Savior. And I am striving to do the same. And I want to help others grow in this awareness of His awesome omnipresence. As He said, “I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.” These words give us Hope. They give us Comfort. And they should fill us with Joy no matter what season we’re in. So without further ado: here's my new logo! 7/30/2019 1 Comment Blue behind the GreyI looked up. The sky was grey with one tiny sliver of blue showing through the clouds. Another month of hopes crashing as a second line never appeared and the dreaded Aunt made her timely visit. The darkness of the sky seemed to mimic my mood or maybe my mood was being 'enhanced' by the weather but still. That sliver was So Bright. The same brilliant shade that I revel in on those sunshine-y, sunglasses on, windows down type of days. I had been driving to pick up my son after work, finishing my rosary, when I suddenly started sobbing at the words of the Glory Be: As it Was in the beginning, is Now, and Ever Shall Be, world without end, Amen Living with infertility can feel like day after day of grey skies and uncertainties. Will this cycle be The One? Should we be trying this supplement? Taking this medication? Considering surgery? If we just let it go and 'relax' how long will we have to wait until it happens on its own? Would it happen on its own? As I was pushing my ever-bigger-boy in the stroller on that cloudy day, I thought, "I wonder if the sky is Always Blue, even behind the clouds?" A quick google search seems to say No, but ya know what? For the sake of an analogy, let's say it is. God is that blue sky. He is always there. He never changes. No matter how big or dark the clouds of your life feels, God is still there the same as He was and ever shall be. There are going to be days where it's easy to see this and others where you'll completely question the Blueness of the Sky, but it doesn't change the fact of His existence. The God who created over 400,000 different types of flowering plants and 1.5 million types of beetles is there waiting for YOU to pour out your heart to Him in prayer and wanting to give you hope and comfort and strength as you navigate through these cloudy days. **I have written a 7 Sorrows Devotional booklet specifically for Catholic Women facing Infertility... you can find it here. Please reach out if you would like me to pray for you!!** 7/30/2019 0 Comments The Adult SaluteI remember the first time I truly felt “Adult.” It wasn’t when I went off to college or when I graduated with my Masters in Special Education 5 years later. It definitely wasn’t when I moved back in with my parents after graduation and started looking for a teaching job for the fall.
No. It was one early morning in October later that same year. I was dragging my feet the long two blocks to the elementary school where I had scored my first ever Professional Job as a K-2 Special Ed teacher, holding tightly in my hands a steaming travel mug of the precious elixir of life: coffee. As I turned the corner for the last half block stretch of my commute, I looked up, and across the street was another young professional on their way to work clutching in their hands their own cup of liquid energy. Our eyes met, and, I am not making this up, he lifted his travel cup, ever so slightly in a sort of ‘Cheers’ gesture and smiled. And that’s when I knew. It was official. I was one of Them. I was an Adult. I see rants on blogs and Facebook almost weekly over the phrase “You’ve got your hands full.” Well here’s one for those of us Catholics on the opposite end of the fertility spectrum… those whose hands aren't full enough to meet the “Good Catholic Family” image. “So, you just have the one?” “Yes. Just my son.” Just. Definition please. Just: ADVERB 1) Barely, by a little 2) simply, only; no more than Can you use it in a sentence? I am a mother to Just One Son, Barely a mom. A mom by a little. Yes. Just One. And it took 12 months “trying,” 12 months of countless doctor appointments, lab visits, hormone supplementation, ultrasounds, and then after the BFP, shots of progesterone, twice a week in the butt (thanks, hubs!) for 36 weeks to keep him (that’s 72 needles... I have one syringe left un-used to wave at M if he ever becomes a snotty teenager... "look at what your mother endured for you to Be Here!"). Listen, please. One in Four women will experience pregnancy loss(es) in their lifetime. One in Eight will experience infertility. Often, there's an overlap. Sometimes they are blessed with a child (or children) after an agonizing wait or perhaps they will never get to hold their child(ren) on this earth. Or maybe they never see those two lines. These women are all around you. Your sister. Best friend. Co-worker. The alto next to you in choir. I am one of them. The fact is, I waited. And now I am waiting again. So when you ask me when we're gonna make him a big brother or say “it’s about time” or tell me “that's why I had mine so close together,” you’re adding weight to my cross. Weight that is already too heavy for me to bear. Weight that has me tired, bent, and breaking (and sometimes uncharitably sassy). Let’s stop using the word “just” or “only” in front of the number of children someone has. You are a mother or you aren't. You don’t level up or get your PhD in Motherhood once you have you N-th child. You Are a Good Catholic Family. Even if you “only” have one child. You Are a Good Catholic Family. If all your children are already saints and to all outsiders your hands appear to be empty. You Are a Good Catholic Family. If you are bravely ‘open to life’ cycle after cycle, but again and again left empty and bleeding while you pursue parenthood only in ways that respect the Dignity of Human Life. You Are a Good Catholic Family. I see you. I pray for you. I love you. And you belong. St. Anne and Joachim, parents of Our Blessed Mother, Pray for us. ** Here is a great resource of how to be there for someone aching for parenthood. **I have written a 7 Sorrows Devotional booklet specifically for Catholic Women facing Infertility... you can find it here. Please reach out if you would like me to pray for you!!** 1/9/2019 2 Comments Pierogi with Bobki**This is a post I’ve been sitting on for a bit. One I’ve wanted to get Just Right before hitting publish. But ya know what? Today is 31 years since she went home. So here it goes...
My Bobki died before I turned three. She loved to cook. She loved to bake. And She loved being Catholic. My ‘memories’ of her are photographs and stories as told by my mom and dad. She is someone I think (often) of and sigh with longing. She is someone I hope to have the joy of meeting someday. Maybe you have someone like this in your family? Someone who you long to have known. Someone whose presence is so Big in your family despite the fact that they are no longer physically here. My dad Loved (and still loves) his mother. Her name was Eleanor. I bear her name as my middle name and I remember one of my four brothers making fun of me one day… calling me "Kathryn Smell-some-more" over and over in a sing song-y voice within earshot of my dad. The look of fierce devotion and fierce grief in his face when he corrected that brother is an expression I will always Always Remember. You don’t make fun of his Momma. Since becoming a mom, trying to incorporate Liturgical celebrations into our family life has become very important to me, more specifically, incorporating traditions that marry our heritage as a family with our Catholic Faith. St. Faustina’s feast day crept up on me last year. I think I saw her listed as the Saint of the Day in Bishop Robert Barron’s daily gospel reflection email and thought, “Oh Snap. This is Big. What are we going to do?” Besides JPII, I’d argue that St.Faustina is The Most Well Known Polish Saint (feel free to disagree with me/turn me on to some other Holy Poles!) . With Bobki as such a huge influence on my father and hence, on me, I knew I wanted to make a Big Deal out of the feast to honor her as well. So I made Pierogi. From Scratch. Had I ever done it before? Nope. I googled a recipe and whispered a prayer asking Bobki to be with me as I made these Pierogi (something she was known for… that and her strawberry rhubarb pie). While I mixed and rolled the dough, cut the small circles, crimped the edges of each little dumpling… I felt Bobki with me. I saw her smiling. I heard her telling me that I was doing a good job and that these were turning out Just Right. And I cried. I cried because she’s gone. I cried because she is someone I ache to have known. I mourn the fact that I have no memories of our time together in my early childhood. And I cried because she *is* with me. As I try out recipes she was a legendary master of. When I prep and cook with my dad at Thanksgiving, making all the sides just as she did. As I listen to Polish Christmas Carols each December. She is There. I see her in myself. She showed her love and affection for her family through the care she put into creating food. She was indifferent to ‘let’s just stay home’ about the beach. And she loved her Blessed Mother and the Eucharist. Bobki, please pray for us! And may her soul and all the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace, Amen. (I love you, daddy!) 2019. New year, new you! Right? Well. I don’t know about you, but I am feeling a bit stuck. A bit like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day, except it’s a 28-32 day roller coaster of emotions from sadness and anger, to acceptance, hope, impatience, more impatience, then back to sadness and anger again. Over and over, month after month. I’ve been told to ‘just relax’ and ‘let go.’ Not to fixate on each sign and symptom throughout my cycle, but when you’re charting and you’ve got different supplements and medications to take on certain days, it’s hard not to. Each time you pee is a reminder of The Goal, your hope, which if you’ve increased your water intake to help with cervical mucus, you spend a lot of time peeing (thank God I am not teaching full time at the moment. My teacher bladder is Gone). I’ve heard about Temperature blankets before and googled directions, looked at others finished projects on Instagram. For whatever reason, I’ve never started one before. But this year, towards the end of December, the idea grabbed onto me and wouldn’t let go. Something about the idea of growing something beautiful, little by little, day by day, all the while having very little control over what it will look like in the end, is very appealing to me right now. I’m not pregnant. My womb is empty. And no matter what we do to ‘increase the odds,’ it’s all in God’s timing. I read (or heard?) somewhere that even when both parents have perfectly functioning systems and ‘use’ the perfect days, chances are still 30%. THIRTY PERCENT. I can’t control this. It’s completely out of my hands. Same with this blanket. Beyond the color scheme and stitch pattern, it is Out of My Hands. I have no idea what it will look like in the end. Each stripe is determined by the high temperature of the day. Every row is an act of surrender all while engaging in an activity I find soothing. Knitting is therapeutic for me. I find it relaxing and it helps me feel ‘fertile’ in this barren season. There is more I want to say. More thoughts on why this is going to be hugely beneficial to me emotionally this year, but I wanted to Get This Out Now in case it might be something helpful to a reader as well. I know it’s the fifth day of the year, but it’s not too late. I knitted four rows last night because I hadn’t bought my yarn until yesterday. You can catch up and even work ahead throughout the year. Just check the weather. Knit or crochet, stripes or squares, blanket or scarf…. Poke around online and Instagram (#temperatureblanket) and see what strikes your fancy. If you decide to do this, I’d love to connect and share progress/cheer each other on throughout the year. You can find me on Instagram or Facebook via The Joyful Leap. It’s so nice to be excited about something again. **I have written a 7 Sorrows Devotional booklet specifically for Catholic Women facing Infertility... you can find it here. Please reach out if you would like me to pray for you!!** 11/4/2018 0 Comments Best Goodwill Purchase Ever**I have written a 7 Sorrows Devotional booklet specifically for Catholic Women facing Infertility... you can find it here. Please reach out if you would like me to pray for you!!** Let me tell you about this sweater right here. I’m a bit of a ‘goodwill-er.’ Every so often, there’s an inner voice urging me to go browse. I find it very enjoyable to search through the racks to trying to find a treasure. Most days are a bust, but every once in awhile, I find something really special. Like this sweater. I’m sure I was looking for jeans or maxi skirts (an endless quest) and this precious little piece was hanging at the end of a rack, quite out of place, as if someone had thought about buying it and then abruptly changed their minds on the way to checkout. It stopped me in my tracks. Why in the world would someone have put this back? I looked it over for holes, a pull, a stain… Nothing. It was in perfect condition. The only way it could have been more of a ‘no brainer’ purchase was if it was tagged with the ‘color of the week’ and was 50% off. I took it home. Washed and dried it, fully intending to gift it to my nephew. It seemed something his mom would go crazy over. As I pulled it out of the dryer, I held it up at eye level and just stared. And then I gave it a hug and cried. You see, I found this sweater when we were in the midst of figuring out why we weren’t parents yet. I was going in for monthly blood work, taking all kinds of supplements, praying novena after novena, and waiting. Losing hope as each cycle started without any sort delay. Never a day or two late to get excited over.** Definitively Not Pregnant. I know it sounds crazy. But I kept the sweater. I put it in the closet of the room we hoped would one day be a nursery. Did I know we’d ever have a child? No. Did I know my first child would be a son? No. Did I know this would even be ‘his size’ in the right season? Of course not. But in that moment, keeping it gave me a small taste of hope and a little bit of joy in a very dark time of my life. And today, when he wore it to mass, putting it on without the usual fuss and struggle, my heart exploded with love and awe at God’s work in my life. And just as on the day I bought it, I felt hope, something that I am tired of allowing myself to feel as we again find ourselves in a season of waiting. You can bet he is gonna wear the heck out of this sweater because I need the reminder that God has done it once. He can do it again. I’m sharing because maybe you have a friend or an acquaintance with a collection of baby clothes or toys with no child. Maybe they are open about their desires or maybe they just laugh it off as a quirky habit. Maybe this is even You. And I want you to know you aren’t being foolish. We need to do things that give us hope in the journey. Make us feel Joy. I pray that those items are put to use someday in a way that makes you stop and thank God for the good he has done for you. And I pray you don’t have long to wait. ** Looking back, I realize this was incredibly merciful… I have friends who have a 3 or 4 week wait as opposed to the dreaded 2 week wait 9/18/2018 0 Comments Children are a GiftOne of the things Organic Conceptions (an online program I have been working through with my husband) challenges its participants to do is to question your thoughts. To evaluate them as they come. Is this thought based on reality? What is the data that supports this theory? Some thought patterns that develop during delayed conception are not at all healthy and can compound the complications your body may be experiencing. We haven’t completed the program yet, but it’s helping me… Case. In. Point.
A friend gave birth to a boy the other day. Her first boy after two (or three?) girls. I found out via my husband who found out via an email. And I thought, “ Oh Wow!! She gave him a son. He must be so happy to finally have a boy!” Followed by, “ I wonder if I will ever give B a daughter?” I got lost in imagining my big burly brawny man cradling a tiny newborn, all swaddled in pink. Turning into complete mush when he hears her sweet little voice say “Dadda” for the first time… I would love (LOVE) to give him a daughter. These thoughts circled back around to fears, doubts, and self-loathing. “It probably won’t ever happen. He should have married someone else. Maybe he would be loving on a daughter (and a bunch of other kids) already.” Abruptly, another thought came into my head: YOU don’t give your husband children. GOD gives them to the BOTH of you. It’s not me. It’s not within my power. I can take all the Right supplements, eat all the Right foods, pray all the Right novenas, and it still isn’t a given. I am like a whiny, persistent child begging for this particular gift over and over, day after day, multiple times a day, and for whatever reason, Our Heavenly Father has not seen it fit to give us another child yet. All I can do is keep asking and pray for the Faith to believe that God knows what He is doing. Bishop Robert Barron’s daily Gospel reflection for yesterday hit home: “Faith is an attitude of trust in the presence of God. Faith is openness to what God will reveal, do, and invite. It should be obvious that, in dealing with the infinite, all-powerful person who is God, we are never in control. One of the most fundamental statements of faith is this: your life is not about you. You’re not in control. This is not your project. Rather, you are part of God’s great design. To believe this in your bones and act accordingly is to have faith.” What I am living now is not at all how I imagined it in some ways, but also better than I could have imagined it in so many more ways. God was there, He is here, and He has a plan. “O Jesus, I abandon myself to you. Jesus, you take over.**” **Short and sweet novena I found here |
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