Life snapshot

Here we are, officially in week 27 as of yesterday. Our baby is getting so old! S/he's practically a newborn! (I made that joke to Frank yesterday and he found it less funny than I did.)

When I told my family at dinner last night that we'd hit third trimester, my dad revealed that he's been keeping track of the baby's medical viability outside the womb. "Lung development will be good by now," he said, "but vision would be poor." Having a doctor for a dad is always a hoot. (And reading about Grace's experiences being married to a resident gives me new respect for my parents as young'uns.)

We've been at my parents' for dinner the last two nights because Sunday is our traditional dinner-with-the-family night, which lately has turned into football night (for Frank, Dad and my brother) and get-the-latest-Rainbow-Loom-craft-from-Angela (for Frank and me). The Rainbow Loom craze has hit her hard, especially since she got a loom for Christmas. At least she knows her target audience—she keeps offering us trinkets shaped like wine bottles and wine glasses. We were over there again last night because I had the day off from work (thank you, MLK!) so we took the opportunity to hit up the Ikea near my parents' for baby ideas. We came home with a package of child water glasses, frozen meatballs, and cinnamon buns, but no actual baby supplies.

Lately I've been perfecting my master list of what we actually need for the baby—the theme is "minimalist" since our apartment is about as tiny as the name of this blog implies. One of these days I'm going to share the list on here so all you veteran moms can weigh in. Meanwhile I'll keep subjecting Frank-the-long-suffering to extended monologues on the benefits of travel systems vs. convertible car seats vs. umbrella strollers. Don't get me started on where the baby is going to sleep. Between the bassinet my mom has saved in her basement, reading about the benefits of co-sleeping from my former professor, and helpful relatives who told me their child slept in a laundry basket for his first 6 months and turned out just fine, I really don't know what to think. Is there a single aspect to this baby thing I haven't extensively over-thought? I think not.

Here, I thought you guys might enjoy a "bump photo" as I believe they are called:

This was taken right before I headed out for Chicago's annual March for Life (in warmer clothes, though). I so wish I could be at the big one in DC, reuniting with all my wonderful DC friends, but sadly that whole middle-of-the-week thing killed that plan. I posted a link to this article and video on Facebook with the accompanying message, "Loved this coverage of yesterday's March, especially the video. My baby and I marched on behalf of all the babies who have no one to speak for them. Now more than ever I realize how precious every life is."

It's true. Few things can bring home the horror of abortion more than realizing that my baby, to whom I feel so connected and whom I love so much—AND who is fully viable outside the womb at this point, albeit with probable health issues—could legally be killed if I felt differently than I do. Isn't that the most horrible thing you've ever heard? I can never get used to it, no matter how many times I think about it. I've already written a whole lot on here about participating in protests, so I'll leave it at that for now.

Today I worked from home because of last night's snowstorm that made the roads terrible. This is my third? fourth? snow day this winter (I lose count). Snow days never get old; I love it every time I get to work from home. Normally I take advantage of being home to cook a bunch of stuff (soup, bread) and clean the house, but today was so action-packed at work that I never even got around to making lunch. 

Now I'm waiting for Frank to get home from work so we can meet some new friends for dinner (new friends who are also expecting a baby! Hurray for pregnant friends!). But first I must attend to a veritable Everest of dirty dishes, so I'll leave you here for now. Hope everyone is staying cozy and warm in this polar tundra.

March for Life Weekend

I hardly know where to begin. As always, the March weekend was busy, exciting, and full of so many amazing moments. 

First of all, this:

I went to a Right to Life reception for my alma mater and found myself holding a darling baby and some delicious wine. #storyofmylife

My friend snapped this photo and put it on Facebook with a caption about how March for Life weekend is all about partying and babies, though not in that order.

I was overjoyed to realize that ALL FOUR OF MY SISTERS WERE AT THE MARCH THIS YEAR! That's a first in our family history!

I was so happy to see them. Cathy had never visited me in DC before, and we'd never been there all together.

Frank marched for the first time this year. He's not a fan of big crowds but he still enjoyed it.

On Saturday, I toured the city with Cathy, Maria, Cathy's boyfriend Tom, and a friend of Maria's. We walked through Georgetown and I took them to Pinkberry for the first time. How had they not been to Pinkberry?? They loved it, of course.

Tom had his heart set on seeing the monuments so we got all tourist-y and hit up the Natural History Museum, Washington Monument, World War II Memorial, and Lincoln Memorial. We walked at least four miles. Whew!

I asked Tom at dinner, "Did you have a good day?" and he said, "I had a great day." Success!

Frank flew back from Chicago not only for the March but also to attend some important law school meetings, so he was off at school all day. He joined us for dinner.

My dear Alex spent the afternoon with us. I was so happy to have her there—it had been over a year since we last got together!

We went to dinner at a fantastic restaurant that brews its beer on site. I got their light lager, and it was one of the best beers I've ever tasted (and I normally hate beer). Good stuff!

On Sunday morning, Frank and I went to our parish with Lillian and Matt, my roommate Colleen, Conor, and my wonderful friend Mary Kate who stayed at my house for the weekend. (Sadly, I somehow don't have any pictures with her...). Then we went to brunch at the most fantastic Irish pub near my house.

I totally failed to get a picture for WIWS, but I did manage to embarrass the table by taking pictures of my food. Somehow I can't seem to master the art of food photography. Any tips? (It was delicious!)

Lillian and I were pleased to see that the boys were inadvertently matching. Matt said, "We're wearing green and blue. How are we matching??" "You're both wearing sweaters," Lillian said. The boys were completely confused, but don't you think it makes sense?

Don't mind Mary Kate photobombing in the background. :)

On Sunday, Frank and I celebrated our one year anniversary (which was actually on Saturday). We went to dinner at a very nice restaurant, ranked one of the most romantic in DC.

My better nature prevailed and I didn't take pictures at the restaurant but instead just enjoyed the moment. It was such a lovely dinner. I can't believe it's already been a year—or only a year—since we started dating. And now our wedding is in four months.

I did get a few blurry photos at the metro station on our way home.

Frank flew home to Chicago Monday morning. I can't wait to see him again. Only two more weeks!

Set the World Ablaze

Written on Thursday morning.

I could feel the excitement the air as I got off the metro this morning.

High-schoolers lugging backpacks passed me in Union Station. In matching neon vests with "Life Guard" printed on the back, I knew what they were here for.

The March is tomorrow.

Another group crossed the street outside Union Station. These were slightly older and rolled suitcases behind them. But again, with their pro-life paraphernalia, I knew why they had come. They grinned back, probably a little surprised, at me and the massive smile I extended their way. I resisted the urge to take the map from their hands and direct them where they needed to go.

My friend Brittani texted me, "I'm in your city!" and I wrote back, "Want to get lunch??" She's still on the bus from Notre Dame but making her way over here post haste. I can't wait.

It's my favorite time of year in DC. My fifth time marching.

Everywhere you go, you see huge crowds of high schoolers and college kids, wearing pro-life hoodies and holding pro-life signs.

On almost every street corner, you run into someone you know and love—someone you haven't seen in a while. And as you embrace another beloved friend, you can't help but think, maybe this is a tiny little foretaste of what Heaven will feel like.

I know the reason we are gathered here is a sad one. The legalized murder of innocent babies is taking place around us every day—what many rightly call the abortion holocaust—the darkest evil of our modern age.

But we who fight it are not angry. We are filled with joy.

I wish that every person who thinks ill of pro-lifers could see us tomorrow—see the joy on every face and feel the air thick with love.

The media may ignore us—indeed, inevitably will ignore us—as it does every year. But for each successive March, our numbers rise and swell. How much longer can they keep us silent?

There is nothing I desire more in my lifetime than to see Roe v. Wade overturned. (If that offends you, please know I, and all pro-lifers, don't believe in throwing women under the bus. We donate money to crisis pregnancy centers, pray, write, and volunteer our time to help women who are considering abortion. We are as  pro-woman, pro-adoption, and pro-giving a woman every resource she needs, as we are pro-baby.)

But our annual convergence on Washington to protest it is an occasion for so much happiness and camaraderie. Part of me hopes that, even after Roe v. Wade is overturned, we will still gather on the National Mall for a joyful reunion every year—only then, in celebration of victory and of life, the life we seek to defend.

I'll miss the March for Life very much when it's gone—but I still hope someday I'll see it be no longer necessary.

Will you march with us tomorrow? Even better—will you pray with us?

of milkshakes and vigils and laughs on the metro

Last night Meg and I went to get milkshakes after our weekly vigil with 40 Days for Life.

First, a little clarification. The last time I wrote about my pro-life activism, in the post linked to above, I described it as difficult and draining. I would like to state for the record that, this time around, it's anything but. Six of my friends - three girls and three guys - have signed up for the same time slot with me and we have so. much. fun. Yes, we pray a rosary every week, and we hold signs ("Choose Life!" and "Women Deserve Better"). But we also catch up with each other and have interesting conversations with passersby. This year, with a larger group, it's a lot less scary and a lot more fun.

Anyway, so yesterday being my saint's day, Meg and I decided to get milkshakes after our vigil. She moved last month, and as we took the metro to her new neighborhood, she was all excited to show me her new apartment.

The metro was still pretty crowded at 7:30 p.m. but we managed to get seats next to each other. As the train began slowing down before her stop, Meg stood up and walked towards the doors. I, on the other hand, stayed put.

"Come on Tess," she said. "This is my stop."

"I know," I said. "But I always wait until the metro car stops moving before I get up."

A few people in the metro car gave me funny looks, so I quickly added an explanation.

"I have really poor balance," I said.

Everyone in the metro car started laughing. And I began laughing too as the silliness of what I had just said hit me.

One guy said, "You and me both!" as the train stopped and I finally stood up and walked off the metro.

Meg and I laughed all the way up the escalator. I can't remember the last time I belly-laughed like that. It was perfect.

When I told Frank about the incident later, he laughed and said, "I would have given anything to be there!"

So now I'm sharing my silly story with you, in the hopes that it will make you laugh too.

There's a Tiny Person in There!

I've been noticing a little trend popping up here and there on the internet: pregnant women who take the time to identify that there's a real live human person growing inside of them.

I first noticed it on the incredibly famous C. Jane's Facebook page when she was pregnant with her first daughter, Ever:

First of all, isn't C. Jane beautiful in this photo? She looks so glowing and happy! What I really can't get over though is her sweet sign. It's wonderful to see someone so famous "calling a spade a spade" and identifying an unborn baby for what it is - a person.

I recently noticed a similar picture on another famous blog, Bleubird:

Isn't she lovely? These women make pregnancy look so good! I love that Bleubird too took the time to point out that she is bearing a living human person inside of her.

Now, I don't know what these women's actual political opinions are. For all I know neither of them is "pro-life" in the political sense of the word. These pictures, however, speak volumes. Unborn babies (or fetuses if you prefer) really are tiny, precious people.

Praying for our President

Alright, guys, sorry for the silence this past week. I've been working on this really long post. I hope you enjoy it!

I've mentioned before that sometimes I spend time praying outside abortion clinics. I want to talk about that a little bit, and explain why I do it.

A lot of people think that people who pray outside abortion clinics are crazies. In all honesty, praying outside of abortion clinics is not an easy thing to do. In fact, I would say it's the hardest thing I've ever done in my (fairly easy, comfortable) life. When you pray outside an abortion clinic, people walking past give you all kinds of odd looks. Sometimes they make nasty comments, but mostly they just glare at you - and I mean serious death-stares, the kind that make a sensitive person like me shake with embarrassment.

I adore making friends, you see. In general, I want every new person I meet to like me. But when I pray outside abortion clinics, the truth is that most people walking past are not going to be feeling very friendly to me. It takes a lot of courage for a fun-loving social butterfly like me to do something so, well, unpopular.

So why do I do it? Why do I subject myself to mean looks, and rude comments, and the judgment and condemnation of passersby?

Well, for one thing, I started doing it at a fairly young age, as I described in this post. I was lucky to have my parents and especially my mom as an example. She is a sweet, shy, and similarly sensitive person, so I knew that if she could do it, so could I.

I do it, first of all, because I really believe in this cause. I believe in protesting the terrible tragedy of abortion - what some even call "the abortion holocaust." I believe in witnessing to the beauty and the dignity of every human life. I believe that the innocent children being killed deserve to have a voice speaking up for them. If I don't provide that voice, who will?

I do it, too, because I believe in the power of prayer. I believe that God hears my intercessions on behalf of the unborn. Even if no one reacts favorably to what I am doing there, God is listening to my prayers, and in the economy of grace He will use my prayers in the best way possible - even if I don't see results at the time.

Most of all, I believe in the strength of a silent witness on the spot. Whether people like what I'm doing or not, they can see me, a happy, normal, 22-year-old woman, protesting against something our culture has decided is acceptable. But it is manifestly not acceptable, and that point can not be made often enough. Of course, we can pray for an end to abortion from the safety of our homes. But our presence, however controversial, is the most powerful witness we can give. When I pray at those clinics, I believe my presence there might affect someone - a scared young woman considering abortion, a person walking by on the street, or even an abortionist. It might make them reconsider the validity of being "pro-choice." If even one heart is changed by my witness, it will be worth it.

So ideologically speaking, I think it's incredibly important to pray in front of abortion clinics. But practically speaking, I really struggle with it. Those mean comments and angry glares are tough to take.

Last fall, I signed up for 40 Days for Life with my friend Cori. We prayed outside a DC clinic for an hour every Friday morning. It really was one of the hardest things I've ever done. That hour took a huge emotional and psychological toll every week. I believed so strongly in what we were doing, but putting it into practice was incredibly draining.

A few weeks ago, Cori sent me a Facebook message asking me if I wanted to sign up for Forty Days again. And guys, I'm not proud of this, but I chickened out. I wrote back that I couldn't do it. It was so recent since our last bout of exhausting weekly vigil. I can do this again in a year, I thought. But not so soon.

But God had His own plans and He was not going to let me off so easily. After I said no to Cori, my conscience bothered me. I felt like I was talking the talk but not walking the walk. I toyed with the idea of writing back to her that I had changed my mind. And just when I was on the verge of doing so, God dropped the opportunity in my lap. My friend Meg sent me a Facebook message: "Have you ever prayed at the [abortion clinic] on [x] st? My friend Ashley and I are planning on going after work tomorrow. Would you be interested in joining us?"

The clinic she named is the same one at which Cori and I used to pray. It was the perfect chance. I wrote back that I could go, and on Tuesday evening, I found myself standing in front of the busy clinic again, with a Rosary in hand.

At first, everything proceeded as I expected it would. I began praying the Rosary with Ashley, Meg and our friend Dave. Meg held a handmade sign that said, "Choose Life." But gradually, we noticed that no cars were going by. This street, which is normally so busy, was deserted.

The street had been closed to traffic, we realized. Police blockades stood at every intersection with sirens blaring. A man walking past us joked, "I hope all of this isn't just for you!" We laughed nervously, but we too were wondering what was going on.

As yet another policeman rode past on a motorcycle, Dave put it together.

"There's a motorcade coming through," he said. "I think it's the president!"

The clinic is only a few blocks away from the White House, you see. It stands directly on the president's route home. As soon as he said it, I wondered why I hadn't thought of that right away. It made perfect sense. The police were preparing for the president to drive home.

I felt awed by the opportunity we had before us - to witness to life before the president of the United States himself. Especially before a president who, if I may say so, is in desperate need of that witness.

Sure enough, black SUVs with small American flags affixed to their hoods began coming towards us. We moved to the curb and Meg held her sign high. As the SUVs got closer, Ashley whispered, "Everyone ask President Obama's guardian angel to make him look over here!"

Dave's guess was correct. It was the president alright. Ashley and I both saw him. I saw his profile, looking exactly like it does in the newspaper pictures, in the back seat of an SUV as it passed. I don't know if he saw us. I couldn't tell.

When the motorcade was gone, we returned to our places in front of the clinic, where we had been before. We finished our Rosary and waited for the next shift to come. I was amazed at what had just happened. I had been afraid to come to the clinic, afraid to be a witness for life, and God had taken this opportunity to show me how very important that witness is.

We went to a restaurant for dinner after that and talked about fun things - a girl Dave is dating, Meg's new boyfriend. We also shared our worries about the future of the Church in America. Especially with the furor surrounding the HHS mandate, these are scary days to be a Catholic. A lot of people think that even darker days lie ahead.

I texted my mom and a few friends about what happened, and my mom wrote back, "Wow maybe you moved his heart." While I sincerely hope that's the case, I kind of doubt it. Our president's mind is deeply mired in the ideology of the pro-choice movement. A few young people he passes on his way home are unlikely to change his mind.

But what will change his mind, I believe, is prayer. I don't know what God has planned for him, but praying for him can't hurt and can only help. I think sometimes it's easy to get so caught up in political disagreement and to forget about Christian charity. Our president may have radically anti-life views, but he is a human being, a child of God, and he is still deserving of our prayers. In fact, he is even more deserving of them because he is, I think, so much in need of them. If you have time today, please spare a prayer for him.

As for me, I'm going back to that clinic to pray tonight. I know that the hour I'm about to face is going to be a tough one. It won't be easy, but I know now, more than ever, that my witness is needed. Please keep me and my friends in your prayers as we keep vigil there tonight.

One last thing - please keep another president in your prayers: Father Jenkins of Notre Dame. Some courageous Catholic institutions are preparing to stand up to the HHS mandate in civil disobedience and I have a wild dream that Notre Dame will be one of them. Father Jenkins will need all the prayers he can get in order to take this stand, as some alumni are asking him to do.

Thank you for reading!

March for Life Weekend

Sometimes I feel as though I live in an alternate universe from the rest of the world.

Not one single blog that I read regularly had a word to say about the March for Life yesterday. Not one news site I frequent mentioned it.

But in my life? Oh man. How do I even begin to tell you what the March for Life means for me?

Shall I tell you about the March for Life party I went to Saturday night? So many of my friends were there, people I hadn't seen in months or even years. Ridiculous amounts of hugs were exchanged. Cider was drunk and marshmallows were roasted. I had the joy of introducing some of my oldest friends to some of my newest, and watching them really bond.

Shall I describe the serious debate my girl friends and I had, late one night, over which of my DC guy friends would make the best boyfriend? Every girl had a different pick, but in the end, we all agreed on the same one - a most unlikely one too.

Shall I attempt to elaborate the state of my kitchen? Every plate, bowl, cup and wine glass was used. The crockpot more than came into its own. We feasted and celebrated, and my kitchen looks it. And do I even need to say, that the mess was more than worth it?

Shall I talk about the conference on Sunday, and Lillian's and my glorious return to our favorite place in the universe, the Midnight Mug? Or the ongoing devouring of Georgetown Cupcakes? What about the Mass for Life that Maggie, Frank and I went to on Sunday? It was the longest Mass of my life and nearly did us all in. But the sacrifice was so, so worth it.

Shall I tell you about seeing my little sisters, and hugging them, and squeezing their cheeks? How I miss those sweet little sisters of mine! Thanks to the March, they came right to my town.

What about seeing old friends from college, and even the president of my university? Marching with my favorite campus priest and some old friends from Campus Ministry? Shall I describe for you the chaos on the National Mall, the way all the streets were blocked off, and how it took me hours of searching to finally track down Lillian and Maggie in the crowd?

Shall I tell you about the dozens and dozens of police officers, and how I tried to thank at least a few? About the cute little nuns holding banners? About the singing, the praying, and the ever-present, effervescent, all-surrounding JOY?

Shall I relate each gleeful reunion? How friend after old friend appeared like magic in the crowd, and we ran with happy shouts (or squeals in my case) into each other's arms? For me, the March for Life is a reunion of every person I've ever known. It's a magical, happy, friendship-renewing day.

Shall I tell you about those things? I wish I could, but I don't think I can do them justice.

Just take my word for it. I live in a crazy, pro-life, alternate Catholic universe. It's the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I'm so glad I do.

Drowning Out the Haters

The March for Life was an incredible, unforgettable, scathingly brilliant, mind-blowing awesomeness of a weekend. From partying at the Russia House with Ruth and various other unexpected friends (plus a few minor celebrities, if ya know what I mean), to exploring Georgetown's beautiful campus (I liked The Midnight Mug coffee shop in the Lauinger Library much more than I liked the main campus church. Sorry, Dahlgren Chapel, you ain't got nothing on Notre Dame's Basilica), to getting cupcakes every day of the trip (well it's me, what did you expect?), I pretty much had non-stop fun. My poor sore feet will never be the same, but it was worth every minute of tramping around a frozen D.C.

The very finest moment of the trip, however, came near its very end. We had marched behind the Notre Dame banner all the way up the National Mall to the Supreme Court building, where we stopped to take a group picture of the 380 students in attendance. Squashing together in front of that beautiful "Irish Fightin' for Life" banner, we plastered smiles on our faces for the photographer's flash.

That was when Randall T. showed up, appearing out of nowhere with a microphone and a bad attitude. For those of you with short memories, or who were blessed to be ignorant of this event, he's the guy who hired a plane to fly photos of an aborted baby over the Notre Dame campus for months before Obama gave the 2009 Commencement speech. Needless to say, he is not a popular figure on campus. When he appeared at the March, he was quick to show his true colors, as he began yelling rude things at the smiling Notre Dame group. "I know some of you are innocent," he bleated, "but for the rest, shame on you!" Then he started yelling about how we should impeach Father Jenkins, or throw him into prison. Mind you that Father Jenkins is the man who founded the University Pro-Life Initiatives Office and who actually walked beside me on Monday's Right to Life March (although he was no longer with the Notre Dame group when Randall showed up, thank God). As I listened to Randall heap abuse on my school and our president, my face showed a smile but inside I was seething. How dare he stand before us and insult our school like that. I grew angrier with every word, and just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore but would have to yell back or get the heck out of there, I heard a voice singing at the back of our group.

"Rally sons of Notre Dame!" the voice yelled out, and four hundred voices took up the cry. We sang out with all we could muster: "SING HER GLORY AND SOUND HER FAME!"

Together we sang the entire Fight Song, every verse and every word, singing it at the top of our lungs until Randall gave up and went away, drowned out by the unquenchable spirit of the Fighting Irish. The message was clear: we are not going to start a fight with you but we are not going to take your crap. Nobody stands in front of us, hundreds strong, and insults our university and our president. We are Notre Dame. We stand with Father Jenkins, who stands for life. We stand with Our Lady. We stand up for the unborn. We are proud to do that, and we refuse to listen to you and your pathetic nonsense. It was one of my proudest moments as a Notre Dame student and one I'll never forget.

So this goes out to every Notre Dame student who was at the March, or who wasn't there but who is proud of Father Jenkins, proud to be a Notre Dame student. It's been two years since the Obama controversy and I believe that we've put division behind us. Whatever our political leanings or personal beliefs, we can stand together when outsiders try to bring us down, and we can drown out the haters with the sheer power of the Notre Dame spirit. There is a magic in the sound of OUR name. We are proud to be The Irish of Notre Dame.

Marching for Life

I'm heading off to D.C. today to March for Life on Monday. I leave at 7 pm and still haven't started packing, yikes. No internet where I'm heading so this bloggy blog will be pretty quiet for a few days. See you all on Tuesday!

p.s. I picked Advanced Reporting.