See what happens? A lovely creature comes to reside in my home and nestle close to my heart, and I completely ignore my blog. Can you blame me? And now I need to add that I began this post days ago and am only now coming back to finish it up. It's amazing how fast the time goes by, and how busy we've been......
It was on Monday. The 29th of December, for Pete's sake. And it was extraordinary.
The Godfather presided at Holy Mass. The beauty of the day made it more than Just Week Day Mass, for Pete's sake. While I had been saddened that my Little Bug wasn't going to be baptized at Sunday Mass like the rest of our babies had been, her baptism was so different from the others--so much more intimate and meaningful, if that's possible. There were about 60 people in attendance--all friends and family--and the participation during Mass was heartfelt and strong.
During the baptism, which followed the Mass, we found ourselves joined at the font by several children who wanted a better view--the closeness was stunning. My little Monkey rested his crossed arms upon the edge of the font, and then cradled his chin in his little hands.
All of us--me, My Darling, and the Dear Godparents--held the Little Bug as Msgr. poured the water over her head (and the monkey exclaimed, "Oh, she's a good girl to not cry!") and then anointed her little head with the Holy Chrism Oil.
A bit later, when My Darling lifted the Monkey up to see the baptismal candle being lit, his eyes were shining with joy. And then when the candle was given to us--handed by Monsignor to My Darling--the Monkey's little hand came out to receive it.
The feast which followed was a true celebration of life. We had turkey and stuffing, corn, carrots, tomatoes, peaches, and a dessert table which fairly bowed beneath the weight of its sweet bounty.
***I must take a moment to let you know that this is where I left off originally...and I think it may have had something to do with the difficulty I've had adding the pictures I want to share. Something about Photobucket putting in the originals, rather than the cropped versions which focus in on what I want them to, while making the pictures actually fit.
But I digress.
Things have been busy, but not so busy that I have forgotten the beauty of that Baptismal day. We made sure to rub the hood of her bunting on her little head, causing such a deposit of the sweet oil inside the hood that despite many baths since, she still manages to retain the smell of the Holy Chrism Oil. Hey, call it cheating if you want; all I know is that every time we get her out of her bunting, she smells wonderful...
She has also begun to smile and coo. Yesterday she turned eight weeks, and this is one of my very favorite ages of babyhood. A couple of her noises are little creaks or chirps, and my older girls have decided that her Official Family Nickname should be Cricket. It's cute enough, I suppose, but I'm not ready to make it official until I know it's going to stick the way Bug/Buggie has stuck. Her little words are so joyful sounding that they make the evenings much easier to bear.....
.....and the evenings need to be easier to bear. I don't think I would call her officially colicky at the moment, but she's getting awfully close. If she does end up with the colic going on, she'll be our Third Colicky Baby. As much as I prayed for a calm, easy-going baby, I am also beginning to settle my heart into the notion that she might not be.
I chatted with Fr. E., the Godfather, my dear friend. I said to him, "I am not suffering well. I am beginning to feel the resentment creep in. I do not want to feel resentful toward my beautiful baby girl." He said, "You need to suffer well. It is for souls. Perhaps even for mine."
Then I had a dream. In my dream, I was talking with C., my friend who lost her little boy just after my Snuggle Bug was born. In the dream, she was trying to discern what lesson God was teaching her through her mourning, and she said that the lesson was clearly to suffer well. When I woke up, I pondered this dream throughout the day.
She called me that afternoon. I told her about my dream. And you know, the amazing thing is that she told me that's the idea that's been on her heart lately.
God has really been placing this dear woman on my heart in prayer--and I mean constantly. As I cook supper, as I fold laundry, as I change diapers, and even as I dream at night. I told her this. I also told her about the talk that I had with Fr. E., and that over the couple of nights between my talk with him and my conversation with her, I had been offering every single fussy second for her. Because even if her baby were crying his little eyes out every minute of every day, I know she wouldn't care--just so long as he were in her arms.
But her arms are empty.
And we both cried.
And it's been more joyful since. The long hours of my Little Bug crying have been hard on my back, but not anymore on my spirit. It's always easier to go through a trial when you know it's being done with a good purpose.
Eight weeks....fifty-six days. Well, today it's fifty-seven. Nearly two months. It seems like an absolute age ago that I was frustrated at being on bed rest, and now I have this beautiful little girl who smiles at me and fills my arms and my heart.
God is good.