Advent

It seems strange to write about Advent in January, but since those four weeks flew by before I could set my fingers to the keys, I’ll take the opportunity now.

This year, I wanted to live the tradition of Advent with intention. I love tradition – the way it nurtures family identity and fosters mindfulness. Traditional ritual is very different from repetition. We do many repetitive things in this fast-paced world, but without the purposefulness of tradition. Days and weeks pass us by without the yield of rich memories that traditions afford. Admittedly, I didn’t have the kind of Advent I was hoping for (evidence: I’m writing this post now, which means I didn’t make time during Advent to ponder the season or put my thoughts into words), but I still think I made a step in the right direction, for myself and for my little family.

I decided this year to mark each Sunday of Advent with a special activity in preparation for Christmas. The first Sunday, we put out the Advent wreath and nativity scene. So many times, my wreath and nativity have not come out until mid-December, so this was a big deal for me! Brendan also decorated the outside of the house with lights, mini Christmas trees, and a wreath. After dark, we went for a drive around Aylmer to see other houses lit up. Liam was impressed, and said, “Oh, yights!” about a thousand times. This thrilled us to bits! 

Liam likes to line things up. Shortly after I put out the nativity, I found all the animals in a queue...

The second week, we decorated our tree. On Saturday the 8^th, Brendan and I packed up the boys and went to Canadian Tire to pick up all the tree accessories we didn’t yet have (this being our very first family Christmas tree): stand, tree skirt, lights, tinsel, star, and some generic ornaments to use as fillers between the treasured decorations we had both accumulated over the years (and which our mothers thoughtfully packed up for us when we started our own home). We found the perfect tree from a seller stationed just across the street from Canadian Tire, and proudly brought our purchases home. That evening, in the company of Jess, Joel and Anna, we had our first tree decorating party. The tree turned out beautifully. On many subsequent evenings, Brendan would dim the lights in the living room and put on a pot of tea, and we would sit and enjoy the tree together. Admiring the tree was a favourite Christmas pastime for both of us growing up, so it was nice to share this tradition in our joint home. My parents and brothers had other plans on that Saturday, so they came out the next day. It was fun to be able to share our Christmas house with my family for the first time.

The third week of Advent, we celebrated our mini-Christmas with the Baker’s and Gernon’s. This is a tradition that began last year, and I hope will continue as long as our families live close to one another (which, ideally, would be forever – but these things are hard to predict!). We enjoyed a delicious meal, took our family Christmas photos, and exchanged gifts. The eve of Gaudete Sunday seemed a fitting time for this celebration with close friends, and I’m hopeful that the third weekend of Advent will always be reserved for this purpose. After leaving the Baker’s we stopped by the VanDusen’s Christmas tree decorating party (another longstanding tradition), where my family also was. We stayed too late, but it was worth it!

Photo taken by Jenna

Our seven kiddies. I wonder how many more will be added to this group?!

A glimpse of the Baker's beautiful Christmasy home

December 19^th my dad’s office had a bring-your-kids-to-work morning, followed by a Christmas potluck lunch and visit from Santa. Since Mike and Dan are a little too old for that sort of thing and Dad thought Pat could use some company, he invited Anna and Liam along. So Tapa Tim (as Liam calls him) had an office-turned-playroom for the morning, and was very proud to show off his grandkids to admiring colleagues. I dropped Liam off in the morning, did a bit of shopping, and then came back in time for Santa’s visit. My mom had wrapped some gifts for Santa to give to Pat, Liam and Anna, and I was hoping to get a cute picture of Liam on Santa’s knee, receiving his present. Unfortunately, as soon as Santa entered the room, Liam started his siren wail and bolted. Poor little guy was terrified! Anna kept it together a little better, but was still traumatized by her first experience on Santa’s knee. Hopefully we’ll have a better photo op next year!

On the fourth Sunday of Advent, my mom and sisters and I went out for lunch and did some shopping together. This is another tradition we like to keep around Christmas time. We don’t often have girl time all together, so it’s nice to be able to count on this special date. That same day, we invited my family for a spontaneous evening of finger food and drinks. Brendan wanted to be able to share in the Christmas hosting, so he took this opportunity. I tell him this often, but it bears repeating: I am blessed by my husband’s gift for hospitality. He likes bringing people together, he’s eager to share his home, and he loves a good time – all qualities that make for a great host, and lots of good times!

These activities made our first Advent in our new home a memorable one. Next year, I hope to incorporate more spiritual practices into our observance of Advent. As our children grow, I want to instill in them an understanding of the profound meaning of this season of waiting. I want them to know who we are waiting for, and teach them to wait with anticipation. I want to be able to do that myself. To wait for the coming of Jesus with anticipation takes mindfulness. In order to feel anticipation, there must be time that’s not filled up with rushing around buying things or baking things or lighting things up. Time spent in quiet reflection, preparing a place for the awaited guest. I didn’t do very well at that part of Advent this year. I wasn’t in a frenzy, but I wasn’t very purposeful either. My lack of spiritual mindfulness was definitely influenced by having pneumonia for the first two weeks of December, which was a real drag. Liam, James, and I watched a lot of Bob the Builder during that period. But blaming my lack of a prayer life on pneumonia isn’t really addressing the root of the issue. I know I need to get back to the discipline of prayer. I kept expecting that some beautiful powerful moment of transcendence would just hit me and I would feel as though I were truly delving into the profound meaning of Advent. But I should have known better. Sometimes these moments strike us out of the blue, but more often, they are the fruit of devotion. When day in and day out, I would turn my thoughts to God in contemplation, he would often reward me with profound insight. I know I can’t pray for several hours a day, as I once did, but it is still possible to dedicate some time to prayer (that amounts to more than a few scattered minutes here and there). I’m not going to wait until next Advent to set aside this time for God. I want to do it now.

Another thing I’d like to do next year is give more. I want my kids to grow up with an attitude of generosity that is not limited to Christmas, but Christmas is a good place to start. I’ve come across a few ideas of how to incorporate some sort of tangible giving into our Christmas traditions, and I hope to follow through next year.

That was a bit of a ramble, and it’s getting late, so I’ll have to save the recounting of our Christmas for another post.

P.S. Some shots of the Schnicks at 3 months:

New York, New York

On Wednesday, November 21^st, Brendan, James and I set out on a trip to New York City. My intention was to write about it as soon as we got home, but then I got hit with pneumonia and did next to nothing for two weeks. When I was back to myself again, Christmas prep was in full swing. So I’m a bit behind with the blog, but hope to catch up this week.

On Wednesday the 21^st, I dropped Liam off for an extended stay at the Cogan Ranch, picked Brendan up from work, and we were off: our first road trip since James’ birth! We drove to Albany that night and took the train into New York the next morning. We arrived in the big city on Thanksgiving Thursday, just in time for the Macy’s parade, which happened to be passing right by our hotel. Our room was not available yet, so we stashed our bags in the designated luggage closet and were about to leave when we noticed someone watching the parade through a hallway window. Two of her friends had climbed out of the window onto a balcony, where the view was even better. There was room for more, so we joined them and B snapped a few good pictures. 

Then we found out that what we were doing was against fire code and were kindly asked to get down (it was actually a fire escape we were standing on, not a balcony!).  By that time we had gotten our fill of parade watching anyway, so we happily complied and set out to explore the area a bit. We walked down Fifth Avenue that morning and popped into St. Patrick’s before going back to the hotel to meet up with Owen and Bill, whom we knew would be arriving around that time. When the troops were gathered, we had lunch together at an Irish pub and continued our walk. Sixth Avenue was still closed to traffic because of the parade, so our first taste of NYC was rather unique: people milling about everywhere, including the middle of the street! We walked up to Times Square and to the edge of Central Park. Owen took us into the Plaza Hotel to show us the Eloise shop (his daughter’s name is Eloise), but unfortunately it was closed for the holiday. We walked past the Rockefeller center and saw the skating rink and the tree (which was to be unveiled a few days later). We also ventured into the giant toy store, FAO Schwartz, mostly just to get this picture:

After all, we had taken this one two years earlier at Hamleys in London, so it was fitting to get a sequel shot of James!

The trip had been planned for that particular weekend because Bill got tickets to a Jets vs Patriots game on Thanksgiving. After a brief rest at the hotel we made our way to the MetLife Stadium in NJ. I had never been to a football game and definitely never set foot in such a giant stadium. The energy was electric. As Pats fans, we were definitely in the minority (I speak for the guys here, of course. I’m pretty much clueless when it comes to football teams), but the Marshall men seemed eager to make up for their lesser numbers with the volume of their cheering and taunting. As it happens, their team won by a landslide, so they were pleased with their allegiances!

The next day was Black Friday, so we shopped (naturally). We walked away with some good deals too: boots, leather jackets for Owen, Bill and me (buy one, get 2 free!), work clothes and a winter coat for Brendan, and a set of sheets. Not bad for one morning! That afternoon we explored Lower Manhattan and took the Staten Island ferry. The highlight of that day was stopping by the little church that survived September 11^th. It serves as a museum now, exhibiting photos and mementoes from the days and months following the attack. It was a poignant exhibit and a powerful reminder of what a dramatic impact that event had on the history of the United States.

The Statue of Liberty, seen from the ferry

Lower Manhattan, seen from the ferry

Friday night we went to Greenwich Village to meet up with a friend of Owen’s. The plan was to go to a comedy show and then check out the Blue Note jazz club, but we didn’t make it in time for the early show, so we had to alter our trajectory. We got tickets to an 11:30 show and walked around a bit looking for something to do in the interim. It was nice to see another part of the city. Greenwich Village has a very different feel than Midtown and Lower Manhattan. Less flashy, more artsy – I liked it. We soon came across another comedy club that was offering a free show, so we stepped in there. The show was mediocre – I guess that’s to be expected with free entry. James and I were the butt of many jokes (of the “who takes a baby to a club?” variety). I didn’t mind the jokes, but I did get a little antsy when James started fussing, so Brendan and I left early. We decided not to wait around for the late show, given that James didn’t seem to be a fan of stand-up. Instead we took the subway back to Times Square and marveled at the hoards of people still milling about at 10pm. Stores were open, lights were flashing everywhere. It was like the middle of the afternoon! No wonder they call it the city that never sleeps! Walking back to the hotel we stopped by Bryant Park, a lovely green space surrounded by craft shops. Christmas music was playing and people were skating on a rink in the middle of the park. We enjoyed a pre-Christmas festive moment there before continuing on to the hotel.

Times Square at night

On Saturday morning we went back to Times Square to line up for Broadway tickets. Brendan and I chose Jersey Boys, and Owen and Bill decided on Chaplin (they had already seen Jersey Boys). We met up with Leah and Chris at the TKTS booth, and all went out for lunch after purchasing our tickets. We were going to a matinee, so there was just enough time to have lunch, grab a coffee, and then make our way to our respective theatres. Leah and Chris took James to the American Museum of Natural History while we were at the show. He liked the dinosaurs.

After the show we went out for dinner at an Italian restaurant in Soho, said goodbye to Owen and Bill who were leaving that night, and headed to Leah and Chris’ apartment in Brooklyn. We stayed up way too late, but it was one of those nights when the conversation is more important than the time.

Sunday morning found us wandering around a neighborhood in Brooklyn called Park Slope in search of a good breakfast. We didn’t find a breakfast spot, but we did snag some delicious scones and very fine sandwiches. We went to Mass around midday and then crashed for a couple of hours – we were all in need of a nap! That evening we had pizza at Grimaldi’s, which had come highly recommended. It did not disappoint! Despite the cold windy weather, we then ventured onto the Brooklyn Bridge and walked just far enough to enjoy the spectacular nighttime view of Manhattan’s skyline.

Lower Manhattan

Midtown

We left Brooklyn early Monday morning, took the train to Albany and drove home from there. Liam was thrilled to see us when we walked through the door at my parents’ place. We were pretty glad to see him too.

It’s impossible to get to know a city in just a few days, but I enjoyed my first taste of New York. Although I don’t think I could ever live there, it was fun to pretend that I belonged on those streets. I hope to walk them again.

The Tired Mom's Mite

I started today with a meltdown and am finish it feeling refreshed and hopeful. It’s nice when that happens.

Liam has been showing signs of toilet training readiness since before James was born, but I didn’t want to tackle the project until after the baby came. I decided a little while ago that we would try the three-day method, and waited for a weekend (plus a Monday) that weren’t already completely booked with activities. The three-day method requires that you stay home for the whole three days and focus only on potty training. Once the three days have elapsed, the child will be trained. Or so the book says. The calendar was clear this past weekend, so we started on Saturday. And today, Liam was back in a diaper. It’s not that it went terribly. He actually made some progress. It’s just that Mommy is really really tired! After two big accidents this morning, I called Brendan for some moral support. We decided that is was better for everyone’s sanity to just put the diaper on and leave the house. I’m glad I did – we all needed to get out!

For the past couple months, I’ve been going to a mom’s group at St. Mary’s on Wednesdays, so I headed there this morning. We meet in the church basement and the kids play while we visit and read Scripture together or listen to a guest speaker. When we do lectio divina, it’s always using the Gospel for the following Sunday. Today, our Scripture reading was the story of the widow’s mite. In our conversation following the reading, we talked about how difficult it can be to set aside time for prayer, but that the Lord is pleased even with our humble offerings. Caring for infants and toddlers, we will very rarely get the uninterrupted hour of daily prayer we would like – but we can offer what we have.

This idea of giving what we have resonated with me, not only in terms of prayer, but in every facet of my life as a mother. In the midst of my frustration over potty training, I was feeling the depth of my weakness: my fatigue, my impatience, my selfish desire for comfort. I wanted to do better, but I felt I couldn’t give anything more. And then here was this story of the poor widow, who out of her poverty, gave all she had. I was reminded of the beauty of an offering made out of poverty. I’m not perfect, I don’t have endless patience, I yell at my precious wide-eyed toddler and then feel badly about it… but I can still try to do better tomorrow. I can still give all I have, even if I am poor. I know this doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t look after myself – I need time to re-energize and recharge – but more often than not, I will be called to give out of my poverty. There’s a certain comfort in that, when I really stop to think about it. God is pleased with my efforts but he knows they are not enough on their own – so he steps in to make up the difference. He gives me grace to get through the day, friends to give me support and advice, and a husband who comes home early on the days he knows I need it most. So perhaps my poverty isn’t all that poor after all. Or maybe that’s just part of God’s contradictory way: in our weakness, we find strength.    

A few photos of my sweet boys (who make it all worthwhile!):

In their matching jammies from Nana

All Saints party at the Baker's (Liam is a monkey but refused to put the hood part on)

Story time with Liam & James!
(Yes, that's the monkey costume again - he found it in a bag and asked to put it on!)

Over the Sea to Skye

Two years ago, on the first weekend of November, Brendan, Liam and I set out on our first road trip as a family, to the Scottish Isle of Skye. This weekend excursion would set the tone for our entire sojourn in Scotland, providing the opportunity to forge new friendships and solidifying in us the desire to make the absolute most of our time abroad. We both fell immediately in love with Scotland, and this trip, at the outset of our travels, branded the hills in our hearts. Impossible not to love a place this beautiful:

On this second anniversary of our arrival in Scotland, I find myself once again remembering. I’m nostalgic again, perhaps more so this year because the infant now in my arms looks so much like his big brother did two years ago. Dressing James in Liam’s sleepers and seeing the familiar expressions on his little face remind me of my initiation into motherhood, set against the backdrop of our first family adventure. I’m happy to be home, to be settled in our new house, to be able to share my beautiful boys with family and friends, but remembering still evokes in me a longing for what was. I think there are several reasons for this.

Our time in Scotland launched us into family life and was the beginning of my vocation as a mother. I think there’s always a certain romance about the beginning of things, if they are happy things, as these were.

I had never before had the opportunity to travel abroad with such freedom. The prospect of being able to go virtually anywhere we wanted in the UK and on the continent was exciting to me. And I was travelling with Brendan, whose enthusiasm is invigorating.

Stirling is beautiful and I found a home in its beauty. I’ve noticed through the years that most Maritimers I’ve met are particularly identified with their home – home is part of who they are, and they speak of it with affection and reverence. They have a deep appreciation for place, which I had not experienced personally until I discovered Stirling. I love my home, but not so much for the place as for the people – my family and friends make this place special to me. I loved the people I met in Stirling, but I also loved the place. It spoke to me in a way no other place has – I never tired of looking out at Dumyat and seeing the Wallace Monument, of admiring how differently the light painted it each day. Place has new meaning to me now, and although I still think that having a vibrant community can make any place livable, there is something to be said for the character of the place itself.

Because we knew our time abroad was limited, we dedicated ourselves to making the most of it. We were not faced with an indefinite horizon that allowed us to get lazy about how we spent our days. We knew the time was short, so we packed in as much as we could. Having the end in sight inspired us not to waste any time. It’s still possible to live with that kind of purposefulness – after all, life itself has a term, for some shorter than for others – but when the end of a chapter is not so clearly defined, it’s hard to keep up the motivation.

Our time away opened my eyes to the exciting possibilities of life. If we could do this, what else could we do?! I know I can’t always be living for the next exciting adventure, and that to be truly happy, we have to find joy in the simple things, but going to Scotland taught me not to be afraid to think outside the box. Many opportunities will come our way, and I don’t want to be afraid to try something just because it’s out of the ordinary or might require more effort to organize. I don’t want to shut out the possibility of being surprised by the bends our path will take.

Reflecting on the things I learned from our adventures abroad is important to me. We didn’t go to Scotland just to go to Scotland. We went to learn and to grow, and to become a family. I’m grateful for that. And both Brendan and I have given ourselves the challenge to continue along the path of intentional living, so that no matter where we find ourselves as a family, we will always seize opportunities to learn and grow. 

On the Far Shore

On Friday, my family celebrated the life of my Aunt Nelia (wife of my mom’s brother Gregory and mother to my cousin Brendan), who, after a five-year battle with cancer, passed away on October 15^th. She lived in Walla Walla, Washington, but wanted to be buried in Ottawa, next to my Grandpa Phil, who died on Christmas day, 2007.

The funeral was beautiful – a true celebration of life. At the reception following Mass, Greg shared a few words about Nelia and how peacefully she approached her journey home. She was not afraid – she was ready. The heart which had known many sorrows was finally at peace and she was happy. It was so moving to hear Greg speak of her last days, knowing that her race is run. As Greg said, she is now on the far shore.

After a brief reception in the church hall, the family proceeded to the cemetery for the burial service. The celebrant said a few prayers and then we were all invited to pray and say our private goodbyes. As I knelt by the casket I felt a strong sense of peace, as though Nelia were sharing a taste of her newfound gift with me. She always had a generous heart.

The rest of the day was spent at Grandma’s house, the hub of the Bourassa family. We shared food, stories, laughter and tears. I was especially moved by how humbly Greg shared his love for his wife and his grief at losing her. He did not hide his emotion, nor was he overcome by it. He was philosophical about Nelia’s passing, as he is with most things, knowing that she is happy and that his own life will carry on – but he was also candid about the challenges he knows lay ahead, and the heartache of journeying on without the company of his beloved partner.

Since hearing the news of Nelia’s death, I have reflected a lot on how quickly life passes – how momentary it all is in the face of eternity. Nelia’s journey is over now – there’s no second lap, no curtain call. She lives on with God, but her work here is done. No matter how deeply I ponder that reality, the significance of it still seems to elude me. Done. Accomplished. Perhaps this is because being done is only part of the story; we were made for eternity, and although our limited minds feel more comfortable within boundaries, the sense of eternity within us still bucks against the concept of ending. Maybe I find it so hard to conceive of not seeing Nelia again because at the deepest level of my being, I know I will. This knowledge doesn’t make it easy to be separated from a loved one, but it certainly soothes the sting of loss.

I have also been prompted to think about opportunity, outreach and regret. I think it’s common to feel, when someone dies, the longing to go back, to have another chance to know them better, to reach out more often, to show more love. Regrets can bind us with their shackles of hopelessness. I don’t think God wants us to be shackled by our failings – instead he urges us to learn from our shortcomings and choose differently when the opportunity arises to love again, to reach out to someone else, to spend more time this time around. After all, the person we wished we could have loved better is now in the company of perfect love, but those with us here can still benefit from our caring.

I feel for my uncle and cousin, but I know their hearts will heal. They are men of faith, and know well the beautiful truth that through all the changes and challenges of this life, God remains. And I’m sure that Nelia will watch out for them from heaven, making her presence felt in the details of their lives, as she did so aptly here on earth. 

James

Our second son, James Philip Gordon Marshall, was born on September 16^th at 4:38pm. It was a perfect day.

I woke up that morning with Liam at 6:30, after a full night’s sleep (the concept of uninterrupted sleep seems so distant to me now!). Nana, Papa and Daddy were still asleep, so Liam and I went to the basement to watch Thomas and Friends and do a prenatal yoga practice, respectively (!). A couple of hours later, I noticed that the Braxton Hicks contractions which had become so frequent in the last weeks began to feel different. We had planned to go out for breakfast and to Mass with Bill, Susan, Liz and Chris, so I decided to pack my bag for the birthing centre in case we didn’t have time to come home. My contractions continued over the course of breakfast and increased in frequency and intensity during Mass. We went to Blessed Sacrament, and Brendan and I spent most of the Mass in the nursery, where we would hear what was happening upstairs and I could breathe and sway through my contractions without distracting anyone. After Mass I called my midwife to give her an update. We agreed that I should go home and call again when I felt the contractions become a little more intense. About an hour later, we were on our way to the birthing centre.

By 2pm, we were settled in our room and our midwife had measured my progress: I was at 4cm. I felt a rush of relief at that announcement. During my labour with Liam we were sent home from the hospital twice because I was not far enough along to be admitted. This time, I wasn’t even really in pain yet and already at 4cm. I was glad to know that things were progressing well.

My contractions continued regularly for the next hour and a half, increasing in intensity but still not causing me too much pain. We decided then that it would be a good idea to eat, so we chose from the centre’s menu and put on an episode of Arrested Development while we waited for our meal. My labour progressed rapidly in the short time it took to prepare the food. Just as the midwife returned to our room, I had two extremely intense contractions back to back. “Ok, I think I should check you again,” she said calmly. I laid down on the bed, hoping she wouldn’t say 5cm. It was only 3:45 though, so I wasn’t expecting much progress. “7cm!” she announced, smiling. She then called the second midwife to come assist with delivery. The pain was becoming difficult to manage at this point, so the student midwife who was with us drew a bath for me. Getting in the water offered significant relief. The contractions were now excruciating, but I was able to relax completely between each one, which helped me to cope. It wasn’t long before I felt the need to push. I got out of the tub and onto the bed. On one of the first pushes, the midwife realized that the membrane was still intact, so she broke it for me on the next push. I pushed again and out came the baby’s head. A final push and he was born, at 4:38pm. I was on my hands and knees, so they slipped him under me and I was able to hold him right away. I was completely overcome with emotion. I felt triumphant – and so in love with my precious boy.

Brendan and the midwives helped me onto my back for the afterbirth. Brendan cut the umbilical cord and I waited somewhat nervously to deliver the placenta. When it came out a few moments later I was again filled with a sense of relief. This process had been more complicated the first time. Liam had passed meconium in utero, so when he was born, he was immediately whisked away to have his lungs aspirated. One of my midwifes this time around explained to me that having my baby taken from me so abruptly may have caused a surge of adrenaline in my body, which would have stopped the normal course of labour. I would also have missed out on the oxytocin (a labour inducing hormone) that is released in a mother’s body when she holds her baby immediately after birth. Perhaps for these reasons, or possibly others, my placenta stayed put after Liam was born. When 30 minutes had elapsed, the doctor reached in to get it, which put me into shock. Needless to say, I did not want to repeat that experience, especially without an epidural! So delivering James’ placenta was the crowning of a perfect birth experience!

For the next two hours, I held my baby to my breast and waited for him to nurse. He needed a bit of help, but eventually he figured it out. I enjoyed those first few hours of his life – watching him open and close his eyes, suckle gently, and begin to take in the world outside the womb. Brendan’s parents brought Liam to see us during that time. He was immediately interested in the baby, wanting to touch James’ tiny hands and nose, and placing his own ball cap on the baby’s head. After our visitors left and James had finished his first feed, the midwives checked him out. He weighed in at 7lbs 13oz, and measured 21 inches. They found him to be perfectly healthy, and since I was also doing well, we were allowed to go home. We pulled into our driveway with our new baby at 8:15pm, just 12 hours after I felt the first hint of labour. And although I had contractions for about 8 hours, I was only in pain for the last hour. I had hoped for an easier labour this second time around and I certainly got it!

Bill and Susan stayed with us for the first week of James’ life, which was a tremendous help. All I did that first week was look after my baby (making sure, of course, to let Liam know that I was still his mama too!) – Susan kept the household running masterfully while I slept and nursed my newborn. I recovered very quickly from the birth and felt well enough in the second week to start going back to some of my regular activities with Liam – playgroups, outings to the park, and so on. I’m grateful for how smoothly the transition has gone.

I wondered, before James was born, what it would be like to love another baby. Now I’ve experienced what I had heard other moms say: your heart grows exponentially with the gift of each child. I love my little James so much. I am honoured to be his mother, to be entrusted with his precious soul, and I look forward to getting to know him as he grows.  

Day 1

Day 4

Liam loves to hold his baby brother!

Nana & Papa with their grandsons

James and his Uncle Pat

James at one month (Oct 16)

Turning Two

Today is Liam’s second birthday.

Here’s a brief account of his birth, which I wrote for his baby book:

On Friday, September 3^rd, Daddy and I were watching a movie at the Baker’s when I started to have regular contractions. We went back to Mamma & Papa’s after the movie and went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. I got up and paced downstairs, keeping track of the frequency and duration of each contraction. Sometime after midnight, I decided it was time to go to the hospital. I got Daddy up and we drove to the Montfort. It was a very uncomfortable drive!

When we arrived at the hospital, the nurse told us I could not be admitted, because I was only dilated to 1cm. We didn’t want to go all the way back to Embrun, so we snuck into Great-Grandma’s house while she was sleeping. In the morning, she was surprised to see visitors in her house!

I only slept from about 5-7am on Saturday morning, so I was very tired that day. The contractions had kept me up all night, but slowed down during the day. Nana & Papa and some other members of Daddy’s family were in town and we had plans to go out for dinner with them that evening. Nothing seemed to have progressed, so we met them at their hotel as planned, and walked together to a nearby Italian restaurant for a lovely meal. My contractions started up again around 5pm, and by the time dinner was over, things seemed to be in full swing. I had to stop talking and focus on my breathing during each one, which made me hopeful that this was the real thing! We said goodbye to everyone right after dessert and went back to Great-Grandma’s where I could be more comfortable while we waited for you. We watched Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, and when it ended, I decided it was time to make another trip to the hospital.

To my great disappointment, I still couldn’t be admitted! I had labored for so long and nothing had changed! The nurse gave me some medicine to help me sleep, and Daddy took me back to Great-Grandma’s, tired and tearful. I did manage to sleep for a few hours, but was awoken again by contractions. I decided to draw a bath, and spent several hours in Great-Grandma’s tub.

On Sunday morning, I called Mamma & Papa and asked them to come to Great-Grandma’s to be with us. They came after church and made a nice breakfast, but I couldn’t eat anything. I was still in the tub at that point, but decided that if I didn’t get out then, you might just be born right there! So I mustered all my strength and courage, and Daddy and I made our third trip to the hospital, just after noon. This time we stayed.

By the time we got to our hospital room, I was at 4cm. I was so tired and the contractions so painful that I decided to have an epidural. The anesthesiologist happened to be available right then, so I was quickly made more comfortable. When the pain went away I was able to get some much-needed rest.

I slept on and off for the rest of the afternoon and evening. Nana & Papa came in for a short visit, and Daddy stayed by my bedside to keep me company. Sometime in the evening, I started to feel pain again. The anesthesiologist came back to give me a boost of medicine, but the pain stayed.

Finally, it was time for you to come. I pushed and pushed, hoping that you would come out quickly! When your head came out, the doctor saw that your umbilical cord was around your neck, so he cut it right away. A couple more pushes and you came sailing out, at 12:52am on Monday, September 6^th. It happened so fast that it seemed to me you had flown right up into the doctor’s arms! You were immediately taken by the nurses, who had to check your lungs. Daddy and I waited and waited to hear you cry, holding our breath until we heard your voice. Then a nurse brought you to me and I saw your precious little face for the very first time. I felt so much love for you!

You had to go to another room then, so that the nurses could monitor your breathing, but they soon brought you back so that I could feed you. You latched on well – I was so proud of you! When you had eaten, they took you again, and finally brought you back to me around 5am on Monday morning. Daddy and I were so happy to see you and excited to finally start getting to know this beautiful little boy God had given us.

Day 1

As I await the birth of our second child, I can’t help but feel a twinge of nostalgia at the close of these two years of belonging only to Liam. He will no longer be an only child, absorbing all the love and attention his Mommy and Daddy have to offer. Part of me worries that I’ll miss him – that my focus on the new baby will mean overlooking the wonderful little things about my first-born that now hold me spellbound… I’m sure that once James is born, I will realize how silly this concern is. Of course I’ll have enough love for both of them! Love is expansive, and grows to meet the need. No doubt these feelings will pass as soon as I hold my new baby in my arms and realize that my heart has grown more than I could have imagined. I suppose, then, the best way to channel what I’m feeling at the moment is to cherish these last few days of Liam’s only-childhood and give thanks for the boy who first made me a mother. 

4 months

12 months

20 months

23 months