on Mercy.

{Linking up with Blessed Is She once again}

Oh, mercy. Our daughter was baptized and confirmed on Divine Mercy Sunday and her confirmation saint is Saint Faustina. When I first read this week’s Blessed Is She prompt, I figured I’d blog about her baptism or Divine Mercy, but as I sit down to write, there’s a different kind of mercy I find myself focusing on.

Mercy on myself.

They told us in the birth class to not worry about the state of your home in the first few weeks after your baby is born. I took a mental note and agreed – who would I be trying to impress anyway? Baby > clean house. People would understand – or so I told myself.  Continue reading

the birth Story {part 2}.

{part 1 is here}

The hospital.

Despite the fluke snow – that was not forecasted *shakes fist at Colorado weather* – we made it to the hospital and to labor and delivery. We arrived at 1:30pm. We checked in at the nurses station and they asked me how far along I was. “40 weeks as of yesterdayyyyyyyyy…*head down on the desk*” The nurse noted (duh) that I was in distress and told someone to go start prepping a room for me. They gave me a smattering of papers to sign on my behalf and the baby’s behalf. Normally I’d at least read them, but they practically could have said that I’d pay them a million dollars and I would have signed. (They didn’t say that.) I signed and waddled down to room 303 (hollar because that’s the area code in Colorado). We asked about a bath tub to labor in because I’ve heard it does wonders and they said we could use it – almost no one uses it.  Continue reading

the birth Story.

New status (Mommy Blogger): unlocked.

I hated reading birth stories before I got pregnant. Even when I was pregnant, I was very careful about which stories I read. I honestly never thought I’d blog about Sophia’s birth story, but the more I thought about, the more I thought, why not? This blog has become so much more than I ever thought it would. In here are the stories of some of the best and hardest moments of my life, times that challenged me and times that I grew as a person. Giving birth was one of both the best and hardest moments of my life. And it was beautiful. And painful. And glorious. Here goes nothing (and don’t worry – I’m not one for gore or horror, so I left out the nastier bits).

The due date.

March 24th. It came and went. I started having some contractions around 9pm. Pretty harmless ones, but I could tell my belly was getting ready. They lasted for about an hour and a half but then they slowed and I picked out an outfit for work and packed my lunch for the next day. Anthony was convinced I wouldn’t go to work, but I set my alarm to go to the 7am Mass anyway.  Continue reading

on the Resurrection.

In so many ways, the resurrection took on new meaning for me this year.

Our darling daughter woke up at 6am on Easter Sunday. I knew the Mass times at the closest Catholic church and was confident I could feed her and that we could make it to the 6:45am Mass – on time – a thing that is not-so-consistent in this world of newborn-dictates-when-we-go-anywhere. Rather than put her in her Easter dress, she got strapped in the carseat still in her pajamas. Mom and Dad got dressed and out the door we went. Continue reading

to see and love as Him.

2015-03-29 14.24.57I can’t stop talking about my daughter. Well, I could, but I have absolutely no desire to. I want to take a zillion more pictures of her and show them off to anyone who will talk to me for more than a second. When she’s sleeping I want to watch her sleep, to soak up her quiet sweetness. When I’m feeding her and she’s peaceful and calm, I look through the pictures I’ve already taken of her. I just can’t get enough. Continue reading

on the Cross.

bissisterhood

{pre-written during pregnancy post}

It is two weeks away from Holy Week as I write this and I’m already sad for Holy Week. Sad, not so much because it is Holy Week, but because I’ll likely be missing it. I’m torn this year in a way I never thought I would be. I love Holy Week. It sounds a bit odd, I know, to love something so utterly barren and somber, but I do. Holy Week liturgies are my favorite liturgies of the year. The Chrism Mass at the Cathedral with more priests than I can count. Holy Thursday Mass of the Lord’s Supper and the washing of the feet. Good Friday, oh Good Friday – the highlight, at least in my opinion, of Holy Week. Good Friday tugs at my heart strings, rips me open and reminds me of the depths of His love for us. Then comes Holy Saturday in its utter silence, the waiting, the watching, the unknown of what is to come. I could cry a pregnant lady cry (trust me, they aren’t so pretty) at the thought of missing all of this. Continue reading

what’s in a Name?

{written while pregnant because I’m itching to share her name, so why not write a post about why we picked it?}

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet”
-William Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet

Sophia Thérèse

By any other name, I’m sure she’d be as sweet, but her name makes me love her all the more.  Continue reading