"It Can't Be That Bad!"

I had a strange conversation today. About family size, naturally. These happen to me all the freakin’ time. I was at the park with the children and an older couple is on the path walking toward us. He says, “You have three, so it can’t be that bad!”

I reply, nonplussed, “No, not at all.”

She says, “Do you think you need two more?!?”

“That would be all right.”

The two of them crack up, “Oh ho! Oh ho!” as if I’d said something kinky.

Maybe they think I don’t know what causes it. It seems to be a common assumption.

Yeah, people are weird. But more and more I feel like the weirdo, because I DON’T have a plan. Even among NFP-ers, it seems like more and more I’m hearing about spacing children far enough apart for optimal physical and psychological health, being responsible for the sake of the environment, how learning NFP should be required before marriage, etc. etc. This feels like buying into the freak-out culture. It all makes babies sound so dangerous. I don’t have a target number of children. Never did. We’ve never charted, but been just fine with a general awareness of how my body works and what it looks like when babies are likely to happen. We never had an unexpected pregnancy or anxiety about achieving pregnancy. Breastfeeding has kept me infertile for at least a year after each baby. When I was really depressed after moving the second time last year, I couldn’t deal with the idea of being pregnant just yet. So my husband gave me a little space during the fertile weeks for a few months. Now we’re back to letting nature happen. It just hasn’t been rocket science for us.

I realize that we are very blessed in this. I definitely understand that sometimes a more, shall we say, technical approach to the marital embrace is helpful for those who struggle with infertility or who really need to avoid pregnancy but don’t have such obvious fertility signs. That said, the way we’ve handled things in our marriage, not micromanaging our fertility, has been the normal way of things for millennia. Now of course it’s super, super, weird. People don’t know how to process the information that I don’t know how many children I want to have.

Here’s the thing. NFP isn’t magic. Contraception isn’t magic. The nature of sex is to make babies. So it can never be ruled out all together, even if one uses some kind of contraciption. That “openness to children” part of marriage is permanent. Neither are we guaranteed a child when we want it. So here we go procreating with reckless abandon. But really, it is highly unlikely that I will have ten kids. I’m almost thirty. I have about ten to twelve years of slowly declining fertility left. I had three children in eight years. So mathematically, I will probably end up with a large family but certainly not Duggar-sized. Financially we can provide much more than most people around the world, even if that might not include a college education.  (I’m a drop out, myself, so don’t try to convince me college is necessary for life!) We are healthy and the first three kids are doing all right thus far! We really enjoy our family. As far as I can see I don’t have any reason to worry about having “too many” children.

But is there really any such thing as “too many” children? Mother Teresa of course famously said that’s like saying there are too many flowers. But really, if we do have that big family and then suddenly become poor, or have major illness strike, or some other calamity, would we regret having them? Is a child something that, by its nature, we ought to resist? Should we be worried about having another one?

That’s crazy talk. And yet here we are. The basic assumption that it’s responsible to avoid pregnancy is just a hidden source of anxiety, to my thinking. Because a child is now by default a *bad thing*. As aforesaid, the nature of sex is to make babies. So the thing that is meant to unify the husband and wife in a profound way is now a source of this *bad thing*. So sex is now kind of the enemy. Sounds like a miserable way to live. And if you read this kind of news at all, you know that American couples really don’t have sex all that much! How can this be good for anybody?

We also avoid the potential for regret that we didn’t have more children. As far as I know, there haven’t been any scientific studies on this, but I have met enough older ladies that have expressed regret at not having grandchildren or wished that they hadn’t prevented having more themselves. (Yes, really! People tell me this stuff!) This regret at what might have been is real.

So what happens when we give up the idea we can and ought to control exactly when we have babies? You might think you ought to avoid pregnancy, then break your leg in a ski accident and discover you’re actually carrying twins. You might have to rely on friends to take care of you when you are on bed rest and then have a preemie. You might end up childless, to your complete surprise and disappointment. All true stories of people close to me. They all have peace in their hearts.

So what if we just acknowledge that some things are just out of our hands? Make our peace with not being in control of the Universe? That we are not gods? 

What if we just entrust it all to the one who is God? Trusting that He will work it all out for our good?

Crazy.

Breakfast conversation

This may not be of general interest, but I really love these conversations that Anthony and Katie Rose have with each other. This one is pretty typical. Katie Rose is always talking about Heaven. Anthony is always talking about Legos. One for the memory file when they are much older.

Anthony: "How long until Christmas?"

Me: "5 months."

A: "How many weeks is that?"

M: "about 20."

A: "So, which would be faster, saving my allowance for the Lego set or just asking Santa Claus to bring it? ...The Lego set is $200... That would take FORTY WEEKS. Right? I'd better ask Santa Claus for it."

Katie Rose: "Santa Claus is a saint."

A: "I know."

KR: "Does he live in Heaven?"

A: "Yes."

KR: "Does he get Legos from Heaven?"

A: "No... Legos can't come from Heaven. They make some bad Legos that Mommy doesn't want me to buy EVER. Santa Claus would only buy the good ones. Hey, since Santa is bringing me the Lego set I can buy you a present, Rose!"

KR: "A present?!? Can I get princess shoes?!?"

A: "No... Because you would have to try them on before I buy them and that would not be fun to open then."

KR: "Oh. Let's get Daddy a present then."

A: "I don't think Daddy likes presents."

KR: "Mommy likes presents."

A: "Ok but we will talk about it LATER. Mommy we can't talk about Christmas presents anymore right now. We have to talk about something else."

KR: "Is it July? What does July do in Heaven?"

M: "What does July do? It's summertime."

KR: "Is it summer in Heaven?"

A: "On the bottom side of the world it is winter right now so Heaven must have all the seasons at the same time!"

KR: Or maybe Heaven is like Grandma and Grandpa's house! 

A: "Are you done?"

KR; "Yeah."

A: "Let's finish building our Duplo track!"

KR: "Yay!"

Endnotes:  I don't know what bad Legos he's talking about. Daddy, in fact, does not like presents. My in-laws live in La Jolla.

What the CDC Got Right

Everybody's up in arms today over the CDC's recommendation that women of childbearing age either get on birth control or give up alcohol. Rightly so. That's stupid. I'm not going to go on birth control. (Catholic! And I actually want babies.) But I'm not going to give up alcohol until menopause either. (Irish Catholic!)

Many others have adequately rebutted the silliness of this latest proclamation of the Pharisaical CDC, creating heavy burdens for people. One rebuttal, however, needs to be rebutted: Bodily autonomy. I've read this hysterical statement more than once: Dead people have more bodily autonomy than we give pregnant women!

Yup. Pregnant women do NOT have bodily autonomy. That's a fact.

It's not because of the baby.

It's because of sex.

Sex is the total gift of one's self. In a marriage, the man and woman become one flesh. That's not just something that sounds nice to say at weddings. They freely chose to give themselves to their spouses, completely, forever. So a man belongs to his wife and a wife to her husband. In modern parlance, they give up their claim to bodily autonomy. And that makes them more human, not less. This idea is so repugnant to the modern mind that sees sex as something that must be given explicit consent to each and every time. Marriage is the perfection of consent. It is given once, forever, nothing held back.

So some more repugnant-sounding implications: One may not refuse sex to one's spouse. Once you've given the gift you've given it for always. The key is generosity. Generosity goes both ways. Without being overly detailed, there have been times where both of us have persisted when the other was disinclined, and times when the amorous spouse graciously took a rain check. It's a lot sexier than it sounds. And the former cases were not rape! It would be like saying, "Husband, I know you are tired but I really need you to help me with the baby tonight." It would be his duty to say yes. If he refused he's being a jerk. If I would have greatly appreciated his help, but he was really done in and I could manage alone for that night, I would be a jerk to insist. It's a fine line. But that generosity of spirit is part of the total self gift of marriage. There's more to it than sexual intercourse, although that is it's fullest expression.

There's also the fruit of that intercourse: Children, sooner or later, in the vast majority of cases. Now we've got another human involved in this! That gift of self the spouses gave to each other creates... LIFE! (maniacal laugh). And guess what? No bodily autonomy there! Even after the birth. Believe me, if I had bodily autonomy I'd be better rested!

But isn't that so sexist? Yes and no. Yes, because biology. Women give birth, breastfeed, have crazy hormonal fluctuations and all the rest of it. Take it up with God. Men and women are different. But, let's not forget who else is in this project. The husband doesn't just say, "Good luck, honey!" and go sit in the waiting room with a cigar for the next twenty years. His total gift of self is completely bound up in the project of raising this new human person as well. No autonomy for him, either. The gift has to keep on giving.

Now of course our culture completely rejects this idea of sex, and insists on clinging to that illusion of bodily autonomy. What else do we have to cling to when we've torn apart the ideal of Christian marriage? There is nothing left to unite a child to his mother and father, nothing to keep a man and woman together outside their mutual whim. It's a cold, loveless, lifeless, lonely alternative.

A Little Peace to Start Advent

Good morning, and Happy Advent! I'm signing on this morning to share the little pep talk the Lord gave me in my Gospel reading just now for the feast of St. Andrew. (Matthew 4:18-22)

"I will make you fishers of men."

Jesus found Simon and Andrew in and through their worldly work. If they hadn't shown up that day, they would have missed Him! If I wish to encounter Christ, I too have to "show up," and do what needs doing right now.

Forgive me for trying to shirk and hide away from the work you have given me to do, and grant me the grace this day to fight that temptation. Grant me grace to do my work cheerfully and energetically.

The duty of present moment is all God will ever ask of me. Doing what He gives me to do, right now, is sufficient. Even the apostles left their nets. That means they left work undone! Be at peace.

Identity is Relational

                Every person defines who he is for himself. A person’s identity is only from within themselves. It cannot be imposed upon a person, even by biological realities. Every man IS an island. At least that’s the growing popular opinion nowadays. Of course that’s crazy talk. My four-month-old son has an identity. He has yet to discover what it means and he certainly can’t define it, but he has it nonetheless. He has a name. His name is Daniel Louis Keane. The simple fact of his name connects him to his older brother who chose “Daniel,” his godfather who shares the middle name of “Louis” as well as three saints named “Louis.” The name of “Keane” marks him as a member of this particular family of Irish Catholics. He didn’t have any choice in the matter, but that’s who he is. Depending on your perspective that’s an imposition or a gift.

                Even we adults, when we introduce ourselves, we of course give our names but also we might say we’re a mother of three, or we work for XYZ Inc., or we graduated from such-and-such college. All of these components of our identity are likewise relational. Even sexuality only makes sense from a relational point of view. I’m not even talking about orientation, meaning to whom we are sexuality attracted. To form a sexual identity at all, we require the examples of others to even give us a concept of what it even means to be masculine or feminine, man or woman. Entire books can and have been written on the subject, such as Alice von Hildebrand’s The Privilege of Being a Woman. We also derive our identities through our relationships with the natural world and with the Divine. 

When we take away all of the relationships, and we are left with the self alone, what do we have? There is no context for gender, race, or even being human at all. So the question is nonsense, but that’s what we’re trying to do culturally. 

I’m not going to waste your time belaboring the evidence for societal breakdown and the isolation of individuals. Families are divorcing, far-flung, or not even forming in the first place. The strength of religious faith is weakening or even altogether absent from people’s lives. Even time spent out in nature is on the decline. So where does that leave us? We are in isolation and consequently going mad. There is no “culture” to sustain us, in the sense of “culture” as a medium for growth. Human beings cannot thrive without a strong culture to tell us who we are and why we are here.

All the popular identity crises, all the “trans” movements, have this one thing in common. They deny the relational nature of the human person. They wish to reject the identity given them by nature and instead desperately grasp at the possibility of creating some sort of meaning and place in this world for themselves. I can’t even begin to express how dreadfully sad it all is. All of the relationships in that person’s life have failed to give to them a sense that they belong, they are wanted, they are beloved the way they are, that they have an important place in this world only they can fill, that they are who they are supposed to be. An individual like this will look to change themselves because—well, what else is left to them?

As for the rest of us, are we our brother’s keeper?

I can’t give a pat answer here. None of us can fix that kind of existential pain and confusion. I will say we’re not doing anybody any favors by ignoring it and not caring enough to acknowledge the simple truth of that pain and confusion. We must not pretend compassion while we cheer on their self-destruction. Step one to recovery is acknowledging the problem. Step two… I honestly do not know. Pray, certainly. And I don’t mean that to be a sanctimonious cop-out.

What we MUST do, is rebuild the culture. What can we do to keep ourselves and those nearest to us from slipping into deep isolation? How can we strengthen our families and our communities? Most importantly, what about our faith? Of all the relationships in our lives, nothing answers who we are more profoundly than our relationship to God. When we believe that we are made in the image and likeness of God Who loved us so much to send His only Son and we can fully entrust ourselves to His mercy as broken and messed-up as we are… Well maybe the answer is simpler than I thought. Simple, but certainly not easy.

Birth Story Part 2?!?

Yes, yes, it’s several weeks after Part 1. I thought nobody would notice if I just quietly deleted “Finish birth story” from the to-do list, but in the last 24 hours I’ve had two people bring it up to me, so back on the to-do list it goes. To be soon thereafter deleted. Because it really is shameful. Yes, Daniel, you are a third child. You don’t have a baby book and your quilt is not even started yet. What can I say, I was too busy protecting you from your oh-so-loving older siblings to get all that stuff about the placenta we shared onto the internet in a timely manner. 

 Enough banter. We last left me ready with my “team” of husband Ryan, doula Kate, and midwife Sr. Kay on their way, ready to get Pitocin started at about 6:00 p.m. The nurse was hooking up the IV when I felt a little head wiggle sideways. Daniel was turning out of position again! The nurse quickly paged Sr. Kay and Dr. Martin to come and get him back down again. I used my hand to keep that head from turning any more than it already had, copying the technique he’d used before, but I was afraid to actually push against him. Discipline begins in the womb, y’all. The doctor got there very soon and Daniel was quickly nudged back into position. Okay, NOW start the Pitocin!

It took a while, maybe an hour before I really felt anything, and then maybe another half hour before I had to work through the contractions. During this time Ryan and I said our Rosary. Then Kate arrived and made Ryan go get some dinner because he hadn’t eaten since our very late lunch in L&D. I lay on the bed to conserve my energy. Kate read aloud a scholarly article about how the various peoples of Middle Earth relate to the natural world. Note to first time moms: If you can chat lightly about Tom Bombadill and Wendell Berry, you probably don’t need to rush to the hospital yet. And get a doula who thinks to bring delightful reading material. (You mean you don’t want literary analysis read out loud between contractions?) It was like a dinner conversation colored by just enough good wine and good company, but the source of our excitement was clearly the child about to be born.

By the time Ryan got back from his meal and answering the many text messages from family, Kate and I were more focused on the task at hand. Sister Kay came at this point prepared to stay until the baby was born, even though her shift was officially over at 7:00. Now began what turned out to be a textbook labor. We had our putsy-putsy stage, which was pretty delightful, as short as it was. I had not experienced “early labor” at all with my other two children, but instead got right down to business. Now we became very businesslike. Everyone had a job to do and we did it rather efficiently. There was easy conversation punctuated by contractions. When the contractions began the team would get into position with me directing what helped most. Ryan would most often press on my lower back, and Sister Kay would usually do hand massage and/or verbally help me relax through the contraction. I labored side-lying for a while, then sitting on the rocking chair, hands-and-knees, and standing leaning on the counter the computer was on. Sounds odd, but it was the perfect height. I couldn’t stay in one position for very long. For a woman tethered to an IV pole and external monitor I had a LOT of freedom to move. Keeping the baby on the monitor was never an issue. After about two hours of this we were not really chatting between the contractions anymore. 

One funny thing I remember was Kate had taken it upon herself to make sure I went to the bathroom every hour. This was really smart, because I was getting a lot of fluid with that IV! But what with other bodily sensations I didn’t really notice that I needed to go. I’m writing this as a public service announcement, because a full bladder really will get in the way of the downward motion and opening up you’re trying to achieve. Seriously, voiding made a big difference in pain. You’re welcome. Also, the computer monitor in the room showed the contraction monitors for me and three other laboring women. I never figured out why this was, but I found it very distracting. I was using the computer counter to lean on at one point through a really difficult contraction. When it was over I saw the tracing, which was a nice little hill, while the other ladies’ were probably measured by the Richter scale. We covered the monitor with a blanket after that. Later I found out that all three of those women got c-sections.

Sister Kay asked if she could check my cervix, and it was 4! We could turn off the Pitocin! Yay! So we disconnected and I labored unattached to anything for a little bit. Nothing slowed down, so Sr. suggested I get in the shower since I had hoped to labor in the water. There probably was not going to be time for the tub at this point. The shower felt A. mazing.  For about the next hour I sat on the shower stool and said, “Left. Lower. Arggggggggggghhhhh.” My dear husband stood and directed the stream to exactly the right spot. For an hour. That’s love. I don’t know what Kate and Sr. Kay were doing all that time but there wasn’t room for them in there and I was not going to move. 

Finally I felt the need to move back to the bed. I started feeling shaky and saying things like, “This sucks. This baby was not supposed to be here yet.” In my mind I knew it was transition and we were getting close. Another textbook labor thing I had not yet experienced. It really was as bad as the books make out. Ryan told me during this time that we had just passed midnight and the baby would have my grandmother’s birthday. I didn’t much care and was sort of mad that it was taking SO LONG and that he had to remind me of this fact. Sister Kay knew it was transition too, and so she checked my cervix again. 10! I remember her laughing and saying that the shower really did wonders for me! (Obviously it was not taking SO LONG.)

I believe with the very next contraction I felt the need to push. Crowning happened in three contractions or so. In another minute he was born. I was on the bed on my hands and knees, so I was not able to see the actual birth. I can’t adequately describe the moments of the actual birth. It all happened so fast and was so intense that I was not ready to hold the baby right away. I rested for a few minutes while the nurses took care of Daniel. Daniel needed oxygen at first, but just a little bit was enough to get him breathing just fine on his own. 

He weighed 4 lbs. 11 oz., one ounce more than the ultrasound measured him at two days before.

We could stretch this out into a Part 3, but I think I'll condense a bit and have done. So the placenta answered all our questions about why he was so small. About a third of it was one giant clot . Yeah, gross. Early on in the pregnancy I'd had some serious bleeding from a small clot right in the middle of the placenta. That was why I'd had ultrasounds every month, just to make sure baby was still (miraculously) okay. Well toward the end I was feeding this thing more than I was feeding Daniel. No answer as to why my body did that or why this BLOB didn't show up on ultrasound. Praise the Lord that my water broke and he was born! He's since been very busy catching up on calories and getting adorably chubby.

*I know, WALL OF TEXT. But Blogger won't let me post any photos! My apologies.

Backseat Theology

Anthony and Katie Rose had this discussion while we were driving today. I merely listened. This is the best I can remember it:

Anthony started off with, "I want to go up to Heaven! I'm going to go up to Heaven."
Katie Rose answers, "We can't go up to Heaven by ourselves."
"Well, Jesus will take us up to Heaven when we die."
"But Jesus is already in Heaven. Our angels will take us up to Heaven and we'll see Jesus when we get to Heaven."
"Yeah! But the bad guys don't go up to Heaven and see Jesus."
"But everybody goes to Jesus, Anthony."
"Yeah! Their angels take them to Jesus and then He tells them they can't go to Heaven. And then the bad angels get them."
"Yeah."
"But the bad angels aren't going to get me."
"Yeah."
"And the bad angels won't get you either, Katie Rose. Just the good angels."