It's in November, if you were wondering. Gifts - lots and lots of them - are quite welcome.

About five weeks before Jacob was born, I was given the GREATEST GIFT EVER. Two of my dearest, bestest girlfriends in the WORLD came out to see me. What started out as a THIRTIETH birthday present for one of us (a surprise visit from the other two) quickly morphed into a THIRTIETH birthday present for all three of us from our beloved husbands. Because this is the year in which we all turn THIRTY. Although, it's worth noting that I will turn THIRTY last. It was such a great week. This visit was nearly three years in the making, and we were all due. No one had any grand ideas of great adventures - we were really just looking forward to being together. Getting pedicures. Drinking coffee. Talking. So that's exactly what we did. We did spend a day in San Francisco playing tourist. And we did drive up to Sonoma to go wine tasting. But that's the extent of it.

As much fun as I had with my sisters during their visit, I mention it here only as a backdrop to a greater story. The story of the day I saw a naked lady in the ice cream shop. A day that will live in infamy.

The day we attempted to go wine tasting was simply lovely, despite the fact that we really only stopped at one winery, as our main goal for the day was to simply explore. The "wine tasting experience" was not our ultimate goal that day. This, of course, was a good thing considering the fact that I was 9 months pregnant at that time and most likely scandalized everyone who saw me waddling around the marketplace and leaning up against the wine bar. Honestly! I've never felt so conspicuous in my life. It didn't matter that I never once even held a wine glass in my hand - I could just feel the judgmental eyes of others boring into my head. Or my belly, as the case may be.

I suppose that was fitting, though, as this is quickly to morph into a post about judgment.

So after the winery, which was LOVELY by the way, we hopped into the car and drove to Sonoma. What a charming - and EXPENSIVE - little town. We parked in the main square, right on the corner of the park, and ambled in and out of the little shops and boutiques. It was hot. We were (not really) hungry. We stopped for ice cream.

As we waited there in line I recalled seeing a stroller as we'd walked in the door. Being mere days away from being a stroller mommy again, I turned around to look for the baby. There he was in all of his squishy cuteness, sitting on his mommy's lap right by the door. What a cute little fluff he was. I couldn't take my eyes off him. I admit, I was staring.

And then, all of a sudden, I saw IT. I was probably so much in shock that I stared some more before I figured out that I should look away. And then? Then I was MORTIFIED. That cute little bundle of squishiness was nursing away at his mommy's breast that happened to be FULLY EXPOSED AND HANGING OUT FOR THE WORLD TO SEE. Mommy was wearing a button down shirt and had simply unbuttoned her shirt to feed her baby. And she had NO QUALMS about the fact that she MAY AS WELL HAVE BEEN NAKED in the middle of Ben and Jerry's. Had I a sugar cone I could have gouged! out! my! eyes! and yet the memory would still be there.

Now, I know we're all girls here... (Remember when you were a kid at a slumber party and you tried to be discreet when changing your clothes just because you're modest and you don't think the whole world needs to know all your secrets? And remember when, inevitably, someone would say "come on! we're all GIRLS here!" I HATED THAT.) ...BUT SERIOUSLY! I do not need to see that lady's secrets.

I mention this because I was just over at Spirit Daily yesterday and stumbled upon this article, which I really found fascinating. Since day one, I have nursed Christopher (and now Jacob) in public and really had no problem doing so. I've always been totally discreet, even to the point where if I was struggling keeping things private, I'd have Tim hold my blanket for me while I got everything situated. Always anticipating critical remarks and sideways glances, I've been surprised on more than one occasion by the positive feedback. Some women have even complimented me on my bravery, of all things. They've shared with me how they were always too afraid of people saying mean things to feed their own babies in public.

The one place I've never nursed, though, is at Mass. This is not because I think it inappropriate by any means, but simply because I'm just not comfortable doing so. The details intimidate me. And, okay, the only clothes that fit well enough to wear to Mass don't really fit well enough to nurse properly. (Too tight here, too lumpy there. Argh.) That being said, I've always admired other moms who I've seen nursing their baby and peacefully soaking in the homily while I've been in the back bouncing my son up and down, up and down, up and down JUST TO MAINTAIN THE PEACE. I've often wondered to myself how many years will pass before I am actually able to pay attention at Mass again.

So I read this article by this woman, and then I read the comments. And then I was appalled. And then I tried to leave her a supportive comment. And then I kept typing and typing and typing! And then? Then! Blogger wouldn't accept my comment.

And so was born this post.

Thus, I extend my support to her, and all other breastfeeding mothers who are simply trying to care for their babies modestly and discreetly. For whatever reason, so many passersby are uncomfortable enough with breastfeeding that I really think we need to help them out a little, not by hiding in our homes until our children are old enough to eat with a fork and spoon...but by going out with our children and FEEDING THEM WHEN THEY ARE HUNGRY.

Perhaps we can just remember to unbutton our shirt from the bottom up, rather than the top down? Okay ice cream lady?

And Then There Were Two

....or there will be anyway, tomorrow morning just after 8am.

What a surreal feeling. I've been way into this scheduled c-section thing, especially being so very grateful that regardless of how many aches and pains I had, at least I knew I wouldn't be pregnant past this Thursday. There's some serious psychological goodness that comes along with that kind of assurance. Especially after waiting and waiting and waiting for nearly three extra weeks last time. I've even done a pretty good job of not getting too emotional over leaving Christopher.

Until today.

Today was the perfect day. We got up early and headed over for daily Mass. Living right across the street from our parish church, one would think this is something I could do quite often. Okay, okay. I really could do it quite often, but I don't. I'll make my excuses another time. Anyway. I wanted to go today to be with my family, to pray, to receive the Eucharist. That is strength that I will need over the next several days. Christopher, my little angel, lived up to his title. We sit in the back pew so that I can stand next to me in the aisle and play quietly, and he did just that. Again today he demonstrated this connection that he has with the spiritual - one that amazes me with each manifestation. Today was not the first time that he walked up and down the aisle (the last few empty pews, anyway) holding his little cup in one hand and his drum stick in the other, dipping the drum stick in the cup and then waving it up and down - just like Father has been doing with the Holy Water throughout the entire season of Easter. It is amazing to me the things this kid picks up. OH - and lest I forget, today he bowed toward the tabernacle before he entered the pew. Makes me wonder if the seminaries will lower their age requirements.

All day long he was just so sweet and loving. He'd give me hugs without solicitation... He continued his love for my belly with snuggles and kisses... He oh-so-kindly repeatedly lifted up my shirt to show the entire family my monstrous stomach....

And I cried through every single minute of it.

Because I'm exhausted. Because I'm emotional.

Because I'm excited. Because I'm anxious.

Because I'm leaving my boy for the first time.

Because I'm meeting my boy for the first time.

Because I am for more blessed than I have ever had any right to expect.

Far more blessed than I ever realized I'd even desired.

I keep picturing a shitsu....but I feel more like a Saint Bernard

We've gotten to the stage where the doctor has officially stated, "you could go at any time." Really, that is not a very nice thing to say to a pregnant woman who is about to burst at the seams. I recognize that the conversation was more of a "you could go at any time and be just fine from here on out," but honestly? I don't think he realizes the power of his words. That in my brain, even though we've done this before, I still take that to mean "any slightest little pain or cramp that you feel is the onset of labor so GET READY!

When I was pregnant with Christopher, I had three due dates. THREE. Another not-so-nice thing to do to a pregnant woman. So I never really knew when I was due, and with each date that came (and went) I could just dismiss the whole thing as the doctor being wrong with that little wheely thing that holds the power of the Almighty within it's little bracketed cardboard self based on the date of a period that (by the time you're actually in the doctor's office) you already have missed for 2 months. By the time the third date had passed, I was so busy feeling HUGE (a trend throughout the entirety of that pregnancy, actually) that I didn't really notice any other pre-labor symptoms.

This time has been entirely different. I've felt so good throughout the entire pregnancy that, in a way, I feel like it's just about time that I started to complain. Not that I'm complaining for no reason, of course. All of a sudden, I'm HEAVY. And SORE. And GRUMPY. And....well....DONE WITH THIS WHOLE ENTIRE GROWING A PERSON INSIDE MY BODY thing. Okay?

Over the past few days, since the "you could go anytime" declaration, I feel like my body is preparing itself to hunker down and get this baby out. Deep within me is this draw to sleeping and storing up my energy for the marathon that is childbirth. I feel very connected to nature - like I'm really a part of the Circle of Life. (Good grief, I just had this image of Elton John singing in my delivery room. No further comment is necessary.) But, seriously, yesterday I had this image of myself as a dog getting ready to have her puppies - sleeping a lot. Panting a lot. Just ready to get down to it and PUSH!

The irony here lies in the fact that I'm having a planned, scheduled c-section. There will be no labor (even if the baby comes early, there will only be labor to the extent that it takes 20 minutes to drive to the hospital). There will be no panting. There will be no pushing to the count of ten. What there will be are drugs. Lots and lots of drugs. And four nights in the hospital getting used to having this new little person with me, while missing my bigger little person who will be at home being spoiled rotten by his grandmother.

I feel like I'm cheating the system. Like I'm TiVo-ing my childbirth ahead of time so that I can fast-forward to the joyful part. And, really? I'm okay with that.