Can you stand to hear a story that’s probably a little too personal for these august pages? Because I have one! And I do have a reason for telling it.
I’m 50 years old. I have 10 children, and the youngest one just turned 10. I have grey hair and wrinkles and a little arthritis, and I spend more time hunting for my reading glasses than I spend on almost any other activity. The other day, I couldn’t remember the word “fork.”
I also have a body that stubbornly continues to keep popping out ova every month, right on schedule. As far as I can tell, I could probably get pregnant again if I wanted to, which I most adamantly do not. I know the chances of carrying a healthy baby to term at my age are (unlike myself) much slimmer than they used to be, but they certainly aren’t zero. I look at my family history and I think, nah, I’m not taking any chances.
I really like walking past the diaper aisle without buying anything! I like being able to take medicine without freaking out about possible birth defects. I prefer to spend my days in agonizing worry over the 10 children I already have, thank you very much. I really don’t want another baby.
Well, maybe a little bit. I do like babies. I actually love babies. If we had another baby, I would adore him from the very first second I knew he existed, and it would be incredible. It would be amazing. It would be preposterous. It would be insane. It would be so nice.
These are the thoughts that run through my head every month.
So the other morning, I groaned as I dragged my sorry self out of bed to do what I not-very-funnily call “my chemistry experiment,” to see if I was fertile that day or not. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror in my schlumpy old pajamas and thought how absurd it was that I still have to DO this. I’m so old! It’s so ridiculous! I am HALF A CENTURY OLD.
Then I thought, and how ridiculous would it be to show up at the OB/GYN with my grey hair and wrinkles and arthritis and a big ol’ pregnant belly? So I sighed, and did my dang fertility test.
I was chatting about this with some Catholic women my age, about how ridiculous it would be; and one of them said that, if I were pregnant, it wouldn’t be ridiculous. It would be beautiful!
Ladies and gentlemen, it would be both.
Two things can be true at the same time. In fact, most true things are at least two things at the same time. When we get ourselves into trouble is when we expect some human experience to be pure, unmixed, and clearly labelled as one thing or another.
Let me give you some more examples…. Read the rest of my latest for The Catholic Weekly.
Image by Matthew McPherrin via Flickr (Creative Commons)
Thank you for writing this column/post. God has used your writings more times than I can remember to show me something true about Himself, the world, myself, or others.
This stopped me in my tracks: “God cares about every hair on our heads and doesn’t let a single breath of ours pass in or out of our lungs without his ardent attention.”
This resonated:
“And also, sometimes he does not speak to us.”
I do worry that there’s something wrong with me when I can’t seem to hear what He is saying, and yes, I’m a sinner, but maybe I’m also trying to stuff my human experience of this situation into a box labeled ‘perfect,’ and it’s okay for it not to be perfect yesterday. Yes, I hope to get better at discerning His voice, but in the meantime, maybe I could be less harsh on myself for not catching on right now as well as I think I should.
You help me see things I’m missing or struggling with about living as one pursued by God, and I’m grateful.
Too Catholic to commiserate! Even in jest. That is one lady you don’t need in your life.
Just lovely. And true. I have lots of kids, and it’s ridiculous and expensive, and they’re the best. If another one showed up on my doorstep, I’d grab them up in a hug and figure out where’d they’d sleep, and then worry over the grocery budget. Everything all at once!
By the way, did you find your wallet?
I’ve just recently started reading your columns/facebook posts/magazine articles, etc. From where I stand, you are, to put it simply, a freaking amazing woman. Your parenting advice, cooking skills are great of course, but your writing ability– getting right to the core of a subject—always with understanding and honesty are….I can’t think of an adjective so I’ll just say I think you are a prophet. (is prophetess a word even?)
I only wish I found you years ago.
This is so true! We have to constantly fight against our instinct to try to put people into boxes. Some fit better than others, but no one fits 100%. People are way too paradoxical for that.