7 Quick Takes Friday #15

Hai.  Welcome Jen back to her 7QT’s with me, will ya?  I don’t know how or when she finds the time, but she’s back, blogging with hilarity.

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That’s something I’d like to know, actually.  I’m sure if I dig, Jen’s got a post about her schedule or writing routine.  To my momma readers/writers, how do you set aside time to fit your “me” stuff into your day?  I am currently trying to be awake with the Keurig at 6am, each day. Even on weekends.  So far, out of the two weeks I’ve attempted it, I’ve succeeded once.  But it was a very excellent once.  I am hoping to make it a habit, though allowing myself to crawl there.

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So, I, the Cradle Catholic, acquiesce that truly, I am a spiritually spoiled child. I take my faith for granted! My husband, the convert, is very different in that area.  For example, my husband and I were discussing some individuals he is constantly in contact with at his job, who need serious and urgent prayer.  These individuals have had a rough life, quite by choice, while rejecting the notion that God could do anything in helping their case.  Sometimes, with some people who it’s boldly obvious that “finding Jesus” is the answer, they are so far gone, that I cannot figure a way to even suggest to that person/s that they should seek another direction, without them catching wind that I might be Bible Thumping or Catechizing, resulting in a sharp high-tail from the conversation all together.

I sat back in my chair, heaved a sigh heavy with defeat and sorrow, and sang out with the most deep, profound, insight that a spiritually spoiled brat like myself could conjure: a line from Paul McCartney’s Eleanor Rigby:

 “All the lonely people, where do they all come from…?”

My husband, on the other hand, sat back, and with a sigh of conviction, said,

” …For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me,
naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me….”

Of course, my husband the convert, has recourse to the bible verse (Mt 25;31-46), “whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.” and I, the weathered Cradle Cath, refer to The Beatles… oy vey.

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Have any of my fellow mommas ever experienced something called Gender Disappointment?   I am a mother of three boys. I want a little girl desperately. When I was pregnant with my Collin, I cried alone in my room after we found out Collin’s gender.  I thought for sure I’d be given a little girl. I walked through Target and literally could not look at the baby girl’s clothes hung on the racks -pinks, polka dots, tutus and all- without tearing up.  I was embarrassed and utterly ashamed of my feelings.  I knew then, as I know now, regardless of the gender of my child, he is a unique, irreplaceable human being.  But I still felt disappointment.

This is something that I’ve never heard other mothers talk about. So I was terrified of how my husband would feel, and ashamed of what my mother would think when I shared my feelings of depression.  I was received with love and compassion. I sought advice from a long distance mom whom I look to as a mentor.  She helped me to realize what I already knew but needed to hear anyway: That the feeling of disappointment is not uncommon.  She also suggested if we are given the gift of more children, that when the opportunity to find out the baby’s gender arises, we might skip out on that option. She stated the obvious (which I needed to hear), that boy or girl, I will love my child, and come to know him as entirely unique and different than my other sons (and boy is he ever!).  Literally, as I read the email conversation, I felt the weight lift off of my heart.  I remembered that life is a gift, not an entitlement.  Just as a son or a daughter is a gift, I am not entitled to whichever sex I want.   My feelings took a 180 very quickly.  I still want a little girl. But I am at peace knowing that if God gives my husband and I the gift of a fourth child at all, the tiny precious human being may be a fourth boy, and I’ll have the beginnings of a baseball team.  I love baseball, and I’ll be their best cheerleader.  Maybe I’ll dedicate a separate post about this, if I get enough feedback, with further thoughts.  I just wanted to send out my feelers, to see if any of my readers have experienced this.

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We took our kids to the zoo and I was completely surprised by how much I enjoyed it. The introvert that I am tends to be easily overstimulated and exhausted.  And when the parents are outnumbered by their children, I completely shut down and shout, “CAN’T BE DONE!”  We arrived early afternoon and were among the last to leave as the park closed for the day.  I foresee many more trips and sweet memories made this summer.

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The “can’t” has turned more into a “can” for me as a mom, at long last.  Collin is absolutely becoming a nerve wracking challenge, what with him scaling the furniture and believing that he can walk like the big boys  But Emmett is becoming -ever so slightly- easier to handle and to communicate with.  a few weeks ago, I braved the grocery store with all three of them: Collin, worn on my hip in the sling (hauling him in the car seat which he will end up crying to get out of, in my opinion, is just self torture), Emmett and Lexington, in the shopping cart riding in the nasty, germ infested truck attached to its front, for children to ride.  Seriously, it’s a whole new world of freedom.

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Yes, Emmett is, each day, slowly adding more hints of words to his vocabulary.  If  you’re not in tune with how he speaks, or not paying attention, his cues are easily droned out by my oldest, boisterous child.  Days are still full of tantrums and indecipherable bellowings, but I’ve dedicated myself to really working through the tantrums and trying to figure out what he wants.  This week, I drew each letter of the alphabet out onto a sheet of paper, and pointed to the letter.  Emmett spoke each letter.  I was shocked when we came to “W” (he does best with one syllable words) when he said “doo-yew”.  His voice wrenches my heart to tears.

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I wrote about saying cuss words. This post took me a whole month to write.  I sat down at the end of March, thinking I’d have it cranked out in an hour.  Wrong-o!  It was actually difficult, because I had to look at myself, my speaking and writing history, and understand why I made the transformation not to swear in the first place.  It wasn’t a clean severing from swearing. Heck, my bio still says I’m married to a “daym good-looking man”.  Nah, I’m not exactly cursing there, but I really should remove it, in light of my findings.  Please, go visit my post when you have time, and tell me what you think.

Have a great weekend, mes amis!