Velveteen mom

Parenting a newborn is so hard. Well, that's probably the understatement of the year!

I knew it wouldn't be easy, but these first few weeks have been even harder than I expected. People warn you about the sleepless nights, but there are so many other challenges that no one can prepare you for. Frankie, for example, screams his head off every time we change his diaper or his outfit, so Frank and I dread diaper changes way more than we should for a newborn, because we don't want to feel like we're torturing our son. Or there's the way this little one eats - constantly. I think there is a picture of Frankie next to the word "insatiable" in the dictionary. So I spend at least half my day with a little one glued to my chest, and I feel so very unproductive thinking of all the things I'm not getting done. On the plus side, I've learned how to do all kinds of impressive things while breastfeeding, like standing, walking and sitting at the table to eat dinner. Desperate times call for desperate measures!

I've concluded that being postpartum is like being constantly tipsy, in that everything seems to take way more mental effort than it should. It feels like such a huge accomplishment to do something as simple as showering and then tackling last night's dishes. Yesterday I managed to finish and order a photo book journal I'd been working on throughout the pregnancy, and I practically felt like I deserved a medal for having the mental energy and perseverance to get that done and ordered in one day! Meanwhile blogging seems so daunting, because stringing together words into a coherent thought (much less a whole post!) is not my strong suit right now.

But through it all, that kid is so darn cute and lovable. It is hard, really hard, to spend all your time caring for a little person who doesn't respond or acknowledge your efforts. Sometimes, when I'm tired and annoyed, I begin to think that he is just a bundle of needs and crying. But then he stops crying the second I snuggle him into my chest, and I remember that he knows my smell, and my voice, and heartbeat, and in his little world I am the safest place he knows. The privilege and honor of being that to someone is more than I can quite comprehend. It takes my breath away and makes me give thanks, again and again, for this tiny beautiful child God has blessed us with.

One particularly hard day, the first week Frankie was home, I broke down in tears when my mom was over. "How do women do this??" I sobbed. "I'm so tired of nursing all the time and not sleeping! How does anyone have a second child? Or more??" My mom, who raised seven of us, smiled at my dramatics and assured me it would get easier. Then she said, "you see, honey, in a way, all mothers are saints." I've thought a lot about that. Isn't it true? In being mothers, we find ourselves tapping into deep wells of selflessness and patience and sacrifice that we never knew we had. In doing so we burn away the self-centered parts of ourselves and, like the rabbit in the tale, become Real. The crazy part is that I'm thinking this after less than three weeks of motherhood - I can't imagine how much greater are the reserves of patience and fortitude that older mothers and mothers of more children have. I know I'm just on the first leg of this lifelong journey.

Well, my little needlet is hungry, so I'm off again. I'll try to write again sooner!

That Lady Thing

There were many very lovely and memorable quotes in De Profundis, and I hope to talk more about some of them later. But for now, let me give you a new favorite.

It's a sweet little vignette of a person Oscar Wilde knew and loved. I don't know who the woman described here is; I only know what he said about her. That is enough.

"I remember talking," Wilde wrote, "once on this subject to one of the most beautiful personalities I have ever known: a woman, whose sympathy and noble kindness to me, both before and since the tragedy of my imprisonment, have been beyond power and description; one who has really assisted me, though she does not know it, to bear the burden of my troubles more than any one else in the whole world has, and all through the mere fact of her existence, through her being what she is - partly an ideal and partly an influence: a suggestion of what one might become as well as a real help towards becoming it; a soul that renders the common air sweet, and makes what is spiritual seem as simple and natural as sunlight or the sea: one for whom beauty and sorrow walk hand in hand, and have the same message."

Reading that, what's your reaction? This is probably rather odd, but I had the same reaction I had when I heard that Meatloaf song and when I read about Melanie Wilkes in high school. This was my reaction: I want to be her.

Isn't that funny? Of course I know how far I am from that ideal. But it is my dream to be someone like that. I know it will take me the rest of my life to get there, and I like to save quotes like this one for inspiration when it seems impossible. To remind me why I'll keep trying. Because, here's hoping, someday that description will fit me.

Being A Lady

Man, I'm on a nostalgic kick lately. This post is also going back to that fateful day when I first visited Notre Dame, and that car ride home.

Dad was playing music from his ipod, and I remember one song in particular that came on: Bat out of Hell by an artist with the dubious name of Meatloaf.

Doesn't that just sound like the kind of song that's well suited to contemplation?

There was a lull in the conversation and I found myself paying attention to the lyrics. Meatloaf was singing something to a lady friend.

"Oh baby, you're the only thing in this whole world
That's pure and good and right.
And wherever you are and wherever you go
There's always gonna be some light."

Wow, I thought. That's beautiful. And right then and there, I decided I wanted to be that kind of woman; someone who stands for something, and whose life points the way to a higher reality.

Isn't that funny? Bat out of Hell, giving me a new purpose in life. Who woulda thought?

This story goes back to a theme that sort of obsessed me for the latter part of high school:  being a lady.

When I was 16, I read Gone with the Wind. Most girls who read that book, it seems, have a real thing for Scarlett. My mom told me that she was fascinated by her.

But not me. I couldn't get enough of Melanie. What an odd person to be obsessed with! Plain, quiet, shy, humble little Melanie. But that was exactly why I adored her. She was "as simple as earth, as good as bread, as transparent as spring water." And above all, she was a Lady.

I will never forget the description of Melanie as a hostess:

"The little house was always full of company. Melanie had been a favorite even as a child and the town flocked to welcome her home again. Everyone brought presents for the house, bric-a-brac, pictures, a silver spoon or two, linen pillow cases, napkins, rag rugs, small articles which they had saved from Sherman and treasured but which they now swore were of no earthly use to them. Old men who had campaigned in Mexico with her father came to see her, bringing visitors to meet 'old Colonel Hamilton's sweet daughter.' Her mother's old friends clustered about her, for Melanie had a respectful deference to her elders that was very soothing to dowagers in these wild days when young people seemed to have forgotten all their manners. Her contemporaries, the young wives, mothers and widows, loved her because she had suffered what they had suffered, had not become embittered and always lent them a sympathetic ear. The young people came, as young people always come, simply because they had a good time at her home and met there the friends they wanted to meet. Around Melanie's tactful and self-effacing person, there rapidly grew up a clique of young and old who represented what was left of the best of Atlanta's ante-bellum society, all poor in purse, all proud in family, die-hards of the stoutest variety. It was as if Atlanta society, scattered and wrecked by war, depleted by death, bewildered by change, had found in her an unyielding nucleus about which it could re-form. Melanie was young but she had in her all the qualities this embattled remnant prized, poverty and pride in poverty, uncomplaining courage, gaiety, hospitality, kindness and, above all, loyalty to all the old traditions. Melanie refused to change, refused even to admit that there was any reason to change in a changing world. Under her roof the old days seemed to come back again and people took heart... When they looked into her young face and saw there the inflexible loyalty to the old days, they could forget, for a moment, the traitors within their own class who were causing fury, fear and heartbreak... It never occurred to Melanie that she was becoming the leader of a new society. She only thought the people were nice to come to see her and to want her in their little sewing circles, cotillion clubs and musical societies."

Even now, reading that, my heart beats a little faster. Melanie was such a beautiful human being. When she dies at the end of the book, Rhett says that she was "a great lady," and one of the few real ladies he had ever known. I decided, at impetuous 16, that I wanted to have the words "A Great Lady" on my grave. More than that, I wanted to really be one.

Now, I know that the concept of being a lady really bothers some people, including my beloved Auntie Seraphic. Even one of my dearest friends scolded me when I brought up the topic. "In the words of my ever knowledgeable little sister," she told me over gchat, "when somebody told her to be a lady, 'well... it doesn't sound like very much fun.'"

I think that the term "lady" has been very ill-treated for it to be getting such bad press.

I don't know what people told you a lady is supposed to be, but here's what I think it means: putting others at their ease. Seeing the good in everyone and taking care not to mention the bad. Having a sense of humor that is kind and never hurts others. Making the best out of unfortunate situations. Making sure everyone else has a piece of pie before you take one yourself. Being on time. Being gracious and welcoming, no matter how tired or cold or grumpy you are. Being patient. Keeping your temper. Treating every person you meet, from the homeless man on the street to the president of the United States, with the respect and reverence owed to them as a human creature. Doing all of these things because you want to, and not because any one else has told you to.

In other words, just about everything I have a ridiculously hard time doing for even a minute.

Does that sound like fun? No, of course not. Being a lady isn't supposed to be fun, I think. You don't do it because it's fun but because it's the right thing to do.

And oh boy, is it harder to do than I ever thought at 16. After I read Gone With The Wind, I decided that I wanted to be a great lady... by my 17th birthday (which I chose because Melanie was 17 at the start of Gone with the Wind) (I was really obsessed). That gave me almost 10 months. Plenty of time, right?

Ha. Six years later, I feel as far from that ideal as I was at 16. Being a Lady is harder than I ever imagined, and I think it will take me several decades, if not the rest of my life, to even start to achieve it.

That doesn't mean I'm going to stop trying.

Public Service Announcement

 My dear friend and kindred spirit Theresa visited me on Wednesday for Mass on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. After Mass, she, Ginny and Shannon crowded into my little room for a long, feminine chat about faith and our dreams for the future. I told Theresa that I'm really interested in what it means to be a woman - the unique privileges and responsibilities of our divine feminine role - so I'm reading a bunch of books over Christmas vacation to study and learn more about it. Theresa loved that idea so much that she decided to join in too. Together we're reading A Severe Mercy, Privilege of Being A Woman, Captivating and Story of a Soul.

I had ordered these books before talking to Theresa, and since A Severe Mercy arrived over Thanksgiving, I've been slowly reading it over the past week as a study break. This morning I sat in bed for over an hour reading the penultimate chapters of A Severe Mercy... and weeping. It's a very sad book and very, very beautiful. I loved it so much that I wanted to tell all of you about it... and then I came up with my brilliant idea. This little book club/discussion group doesn't have to just be Theresa and me. I want to invite you all, everyone reading this blog, to join in our club. Buy one (or all) of these books over Christmas and read them with us. I'll post a review of each book as I finish it, and you can post your ideas about the book in the comments. When you and I meet in person (and I think I know almost everyone who reads this blog personally), we can talk about the books and what we learned from them.

Guys, girls, everyone's welcome. Please take part in Book Smart Girl's first-ever book club. This Christmas, read one or two of these books and then talk to me about what you thought of them. This should be really interesting and a lot of fun. If you're participating, please let me know in the comments. I can't wait to hear from you!

Being A Woman

Girl time is better with scones and hot chocolate

Note: You do not need to click on any of the links to get the full effect of this post.

Every time I go online, I do the following: check my email, then read the latest from Nie Nie, C Jane, and Pioneer Woman. These three women inspire me, and often I think about what they wrote for some time. Today C Jane wrote about being a woman, about the unique power and privilege inherent in being a Daughter of God. She writes, "There are forces at work designed to turn woman against woman in an effort to completely destroy the massive amount of good we can do when united. But I also know that I feel the strongest as a woman, when I am helping another woman, or being helped by another woman."

I once got to interview a United Nations diplomat for my school newspaper. I have never forgotten what that wise, elegant, and beautiful woman said to me: "Men have been [working towards peace] for centuries. Women could do it as well, if not better. Give it to the women and see what they can do." Like C Jane, Gillian Sorenson recognized that women have a uniquely feminine ability to nurture communities and build peace.

Today my aunt Gloria, another wise woman who inspires me, shared some of her thoughts on being a mother. "I never realized the special power of the female body to comfort and calm, just by touch, until I had children," she said. Her body and physical presence heal and strengthen her babies in a way that her husband's does not, as much as they love him. It is woman's special gift to nourish others and bond people together, often without even speaking.

I am inspired by Nie Nie, C Jane, Ree, my aunt Gloria, my wonderful mother, and so many other good women, and I hope I do the same for other women too. I believe that is how we will build a civilization of love, what some call "the springtime of the Gospel." Women working together, instead of letting petty differences tear us apart, to create a world with more unity than division, more kindness than cruelty. A world a little better than the one we were born to. The kind of world we want our children to have. That is what women can accomplish. That is what we are called to do. And God willing, we can begin today.