I'm in the ninth week of pregnancy. My baby is the size of an olive.
Man, do I suck at this!
Tuesday, I spent 3 1/2 hours in the ER waiting room for Alex. (Poor guy found out rather dramatically that our front screen door window pane was made of glass and not plexiglass when he pounded hard on the door and then had glass smash all over him. He's fine! Surface scratches only, no need for stitches).
So I'm in the ER waiting room, feeling nauseous. I'm trying to intellectually compare the two events. "This is the same thing. Waiting here with an injured son Alex. Feeling nauseous from new baby Olive. Both acts of a love for a beloved kid...."
But of course my ever active intellect is saying "I don't want to have massive stomach flu systems anymore! What is this "olive" thing in me and WHY do I have to feel so tired, crabby, and miserable just because I want to add a new person to my family? Come on, God! Don't I get a "pass" on morning sickness just for doing a sixth pregnancy for you?"
Of course I read St. Augustine yesterday in the Divine Office who said "in every affliction we suffer, count it as both a punishment and a correction."
Honestly, sometimes I hate doing my Carmelite reading because it's a constant reminder that I have VERY FAR TO GO in the Spiritual Life!
I'm pretty far from rejoicing in suffering, but I am trying to more affirmatively love "little olive" this week. I take my pregnancy vitamin every day (even though it makes me want to throw-up). I do it as a prayer for my little olive. I try to pray. And I try to just be happy that my little flock has grown from six to seven.
I'll be hanging out on the couch today, thinking of all of you. Have a blessed week!
