Venting.  

At Mass on Sunday, our church looked SPLENDID with all the red and gold finery.  When we Exalt the Holy Cross, you'd better believe we know how to do it!  

Anyway, I picked up Vincent so he could see the procession and various trimmings adoring the altar and sanctuary.  I explained why our pastor was in red and gold, and I whispered how special this Sunday was because of the Feast it celebrated.  

He clung to me in rapt attention, clearly enjoying the brilliant splashes of color.  However, as I was explaining this, Mr. Knight of Columbus whispered (not so quietly) to his wife:  "You'd think he'd know that by now."

?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

I'm not the type of person to let comments like that roll, but it was the very beginning of Mass (the Processional) and I didn't want to make a scene before Father got to the sanctuary.  Plus, people ALWAYS assume Vince is older than he is because he's taller than most 7 year olds.  

Argh.

So I bit my tongue and stifled the urge to give the man whiplash.

I continued explaining things - as I do - to Vince throughout Mass.  He's at the point, however, that he's really starting to "get" certain things - chief among these is the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist.  When our pastor raised the Host during Consecration, Vincent always says "I love you, Jesus!" as I've taught him to do.  

This time, he said it a little too zealously and the man audibly huffed as if my son's adoration was somehow disturbing or shameful.  

Again... bit my tongue.

Finally, Vince had to use the potty right after Consecration.  I asked him if he could hold it until after Communion, but he couldn't, so we started leaving the pew.  Knight Perfection huffed again.  

I gave him a death stare as we left the pew.

When we got back, folks were already lining up for Communion.  Vince, as he always does, genuflected with me before I received.  When we got back into the pew, he kissed me on the lips (as he always does) so he could "kiss Jesus."  I was proud of him, and I wanted that guy to see why.  Sure he doesn't know what the liturgical colors are all about, and maybe he doesn't know the responses yet, and yeah, okay... the kid's got a bladder smaller than a dixie cup, but ya know what?  His heart is as big and beautiful as the Milky Way Galaxy, and all he wants to do is have Jesus come live in it.  

SO BACK OFF MR. KNIGHTS OF COLUMBUS DUDE.  

Ugh.  

As I was venting about this today, my buddy said I should've said something to him.  Again, normally I would, but I didn't think it'd do much good.  He was a crotchety older guy who obviously didn't have a soft spot in his body for children.  Such misery doesn't tend to find sunshine in July let alone a lesson in a mother's scold.  

But now that I've vented, I feel somewhat better.  I just hope I never have the displeasure of sitting in front of him again.  Yick.

Prayers for him and all those who would treat children with such disdain.  The Kingdom of God belongs to them, too.  

Vincent and I spent the weekend down the shore with family and friends.  Usually we hang out as a group on the beach, but due to the rain, our neighbors ended up coming over to our house and my in-laws hosted an impromptu barbecue.  

It was a blast.  Our neighbors, Pete and Daisy, have two little girls named Jasmine and Lily. Jasmine is Alliya's age, so the two of them are best buddies.  Lily is only two, so she and Vincent are a little pair.  The four of them play well together, too, but they definitely tend to break up into two distinct groups.  

Anyhow, when my FIL brought Jasmine over in the morning to give Pete and Daisy a break, Vincent was angry that Lily hadn't come, too.  He didn't understand why she needed to nap when she should've been having fun with him.  Later, when Pete showed up (also without Lily), Vincent didn't even bother greeting him.  He demanded to know why he dared to come over without bringing his "best friend in the whole wide world."  

Finally, Lily woke up from her nap and Daisy brought her over to join the rest of us.  Vincent was in his glories.  He jumped off the couch, rushed over to her and gave her a giant hug.  "LILY!" he cried.  "We gotta play!"

This is what the two of them look like for the rest of the time they're together:

Vincent leading her by the hand everywhere, checking to make sure she's got everything she needs (or does everything she's supposed to do before she gets a snack - ha).  They also both tend to scramble if you try to sneak a picture of them being cute together. Rascals.  

Later on in the day, Lily settled into my FIL's lap.  She calls him "Uncle John" and she knows she's got him wrapped around her adorable little finger!  Anyway, it was so sweet to see how they were interacting together.  I snapped this picture of her giving me a toothy grin:

Vince is right behind her with his back turned, but Lord, that kid won't let Lily out of his sight for very long.  It's so cute!  

I admit, however, that I got a bit wallow-y when I wondered what it'd be like for Myla to be sitting in his lap.  Vince is such a good big brother to Lily (and his other little cousins), I feel sad that he didn't get the chance to interact with Myla the same way.  

I pushed those thoughts out of my mind until later that evening when we took the kids out for ice cream.  Again Lily was sitting on my FIL's lap while I had Jasmine, Alliya and Vince huddled up in front of me.  Lily was successfully convincing my FIL to hand over all of his ice cream to her, and he was happily obliging, looking like the proudest, happiest person in the universe.

It made me sad to think that we'd never provide him with the grandchildren he takes such delight in.  I felt guilty... like I'd failed something on an intrinsic level.  He wasn't doing anything to accuse me or even make me feel badly.  He likely didn't even notice I was there watching him enjoy Lily's manipulations for ice cream.  It was my own brokenness projected and magnified by my intense longing for not only Myla, but all the children I've envisioned and subsequently been denied.  I understood that, but it didn't lessen my feelings of inadequacy, failure and sadness.

I didn't want to further my upset, so I turned away and imagined myself making a fist and physically punching back the knot in my throat until I could breathe without crying.  

*Sigh*

Sorry if I sound miserable or depressed.  I'm not.  I'm certainly sad now and again when this sort of situation arises, but I'm trying to be honest with how this sort of thing affects my daily life.  Myla is always in my thoughts, so my imagination sometimes puts her into situations like this.  Is it logical?  Probably not.  Then again, I think it's human to always wonder "What if?"  

In this situation, it's obviously a moot point, but I guess we're so used to exercising our God-given gift of creativity that we can't help ourselves sometimes.  

Losing a child (or even the opportunity for children) is a terrible cross.  It's hard for folks who haven't been in this situation to understand how all-encompassing it is.  I don't write these things to remind people of my struggle, but I do write to remind folks that this struggle is real and it's daily (not just for me, but for the many, MANY other men and women who struggle with this sort of cross).  

Tread softly and with much, much compassion, because even when we're trying our best to look past our sorrow to count our blessings, we can't help but hear echos of our indignant humanity insisting "What if?"

We had a loud thunderstorm last night that got Vince all sorts of upset.  He didn't want to go to bed, and I can't really blame him.  The thunder was so loud it shook the house, and the lightning looked like it was going to strike our tree any second.  

So I told him the same thing I used to tell my students who were afraid of storms:  Say "Cheese" and smile for the angels!

The lightning is the flash from their cameras and the thunder comes from their drums as they tried to get his attention.  

:)

As you can see from the video above, it ended up working pretty well.  He wasn't scared anymore and he ended up enjoying having his picture taken so much!  

All three of my cats think they're human.  Maybe it's because we've had them since they were itty-bitty kittens found clinging to life in a drain pipe.  Maybe it's because we've spoiled them absolutely rotten.  Maybe it's because they're cats and they simply think they own the place anyway.  Regardless, all three of my cats (Piper, Zoey and Lucy) see no issue with climbing into bed with us, attempting to sit next to us on a dining room chair as we eat as a family, or plant themselves firmly on the couch with us as we watch TV.  

Obviously I love my little furbabies.  I'm a die-hard animal lover who has fostered more than 70 of them since moving to Jersey in 2007.  I've spent sleepless nights nursing them back from the brink of death, I've cried over heartbreaking medical prognoses, and I even carried Zoey around in a sling - directly next to me or sitting on my work desk - for more than a month as her legs healed from a terrible accident. 

That all being said, I still do not place these three cuddle-balls into the same arena as Vincent or Myla.  I love my cats - to the point of stupid - but I don't place human dignity on their shoulders.  

Should a fire break out and I'm forced to save Vince or Lucy, I'm going to save Vince.  When someone asks me how many children I have, I don't list Vince, Myla and then my three cats. 

Yet the Pope's recent message to married couples about having children (and not pets) apparently ruffled more than a few feathers.  Even in the comments of the linked article, people who supposedly "loved" the Pope turned their nose up in disgust at this particular message.  

Go figure.

Given the amount of couples opting for pets vs. children these days, it's no surprise some would walk away from his remarks feeling called out.  

Now, before I continue, no one (I repeat - NO ONE) is calling out infertile couples, couples struggling with serious chromosomal issues, or even couples who are truly not called to be parents (and I do believe there is a very small population of people who are simply not meant to be parents).  

The pope is, however, calling out folks who are seeking to continue a life of self-centered irresponsibility.  

Adults don't make children; children make adults.  This is so incredibly true.  After all, nothing says "responsibility" like taking on the care of someone wholly dependent on you for everything (every moment, of every day).  

This sort of responsibility shapes a person and forces him/her to see the world from another's perspective.  It demands sacrifice.  It demands COMPLETE sacrifice.

In our culture, this level of self-sacrifice is avoided like the Plague.  Having a baby will ruin weekend plans for, like... ever, right?  And who wants to deal with sleepless nights, potty training and vomit in your hair?

Ayyyyy...

I know you guys have seen me write about this a billion times, so I'm going to try really hard not to beat the dead horse, but I'm just so incredibly sick of children being seen as roadblocks to happiness.

They're not.  They are happiness and love personified (in the truest sense of the word).  

No amount of pet-responsibility comes close to that which a human child presents.  I should know.  I've had more than my share of pets, and not one (not even Zoey) compares to a child.  That being said, not one of the 70+ animals that have come through my doors have helped me to grow as a person the way that Vincent has.  Not one has given me fulfillment in the way that Vincent has.  Not one animal has given me joy, happiness and love in the way that Vincent has.  And not one has deepened my relationship with God in the way that Vincent has.  

So no - for all those folks out there who want to run around claiming Fido is your child, just stop.  The only people who think its cute are those who, themselves, are terrified of taking on responsibility for future generations.

As you can see, I talk to my cats (I'll have full-on conversations with them), I love my cats, and I consider them "furbabies" because they have me wrapped around their adorable little paws, but again... they're no substitute for children.  Yet so many couples use them as the "next step" in their marriage... as if keeping a goldfish alive is somehow proving grounds for their ability (and desire) to parent.

It's just... ay.  

It's incredible to me that society has created this sort of mindset regarding children.  I really am baffled by it.  

I know not all people are as desirous of children as I am, but to substitute pets as a realistic replacement???

The pope is right on this.  Married couples who want to solidify their sacramental marriage would do best to allow their love to create a tangible symbol of that love - truly personified - that not only grows and changes with them through the years, but HELPS them grow, change and love more deeply than they ever thought possible.  

After all, that's what marriage is all about.  White dresses, cake, toasts and favors are temporary.  Creating a person (and with that person, a soul) is forever.  That child will FOREVER be a lasting testament to your love.  Forever.  

Fido, Sparky or Chuckles will never be able to claim that.

{BIG HUGS} and a heartfelt "Thanks" to those of you who sent messages, e-mails and prayers on Friday.  It turned out to be a wonderful, beautiful day that was far removed from the fear and anxiety I had felt leading up to it.  

No doubt this was a result of your love and prayers.  Thank you!!!

Here are some of the items Vince and I brought to one of our local children's hospitals on Friday.

It was a very fun experience.

Vince had helped pick out the majority of these toys (which is why there are so many Ninja Turtle things for the boys).  The chair that has the stuff piled up is almost exclusively Ninja Turtles.  I kept pulling girly stuff into the basket so they wouldn't feel left out with all the stuff geared to boys!  What a joy it was putting this basket of goodies together, though... especially with Vince.  He understood that he was going to be giving these things to other children to "make them happy."  

After school, I picked him up we drove over to the hospital.  He was excitedly chatting about how he was going to share all "his toys."  It made me really happy that he was so excited about our little adventure.  That he willingly participated in charitable giving made me feel like I was doing something right as a parent.  God bless his little generous heart.  

When we got there, security had us wait in the lobby for a nurse to come for us.  While in the lobby, Vince had a field day hopping on and around the turtle statues in the waiting area.

Before we'd even gotten upstairs, Vincent began trying to share the toys with random children in the lobby.  One little boy, in particular, drew Vincent's attention.  His name was Antonio and he was 3 years old.  Antonio was there with his mother, and Vincent hurriedly ran up to him and said, "Hi!  I'm Vincent.  What is you name?"

(Eventually we'll get his parts of speech right...)

The little boy shied away behind his mother.  His mom smiled at Vince and said, "He's Antonio."

Then she gently pushed Antonio towards Vincent and said, "C'mon, Antonio, say 'Hi' to your new friend!"

Vince didn't wait to hear a "Hi."  He just started rambling off, "Hi Ann-toe-nee-o.  Do you want to share with my toys?  I give some to you!"

And without hesitating, he rummaged through our bags until he came upon a set of blocks. I stopped him from handing them off until I asked his mother if it would be alright.  

She looked confused so I said, "It's okay.  We're here today specifically to donate these toys.  Would it be okay if Vincent gave Antonio the blocks?"

His mom nodded her head and smiled down at Antonio.  She said, "Look, Antonio, blocks! You love blocks!  Thank your new friend."

Antonio was quite baffled that he was being given blocks.  He reached out happily for them, but wasn't sure if he should open them or not.  Vince made the decision for him and began to pull at the box.

I said, "Hold on, Vince.  You gotta ask his mom if that's OK."

Vince stopped and looked at Antonio's mom.  She shook her head yes, and Vince went to work opening the box.  He and Antonio played for about thirty seconds before Vince decided he wanted to give more toys to other kids.  

I was beginning to worry they'd be gone before the nurse came to collect us!

Luckily she arrived a few minutes later and we took our goodies upstairs.  I don't have any pictures of the joy behind those doors for obvious reasons (patient privacy being chief among them), but suffice to say the smiles and hugs and laughter will remain etched in my heart forever.  

I really think Vince gained so much from the experience, and I know the kids (and their families) enjoyed seeing him bounce around like a mini-Santa Claus.

We gave a different set of books / toys to another nurse so she could take them to the kids too sick for us to visit with, then it was time to go.

All in all, it was a fantastic experience.  It really was.  I highly recommend volunteering your time at a children's hospital if at all possible.  There is just SUCH joy there.  The children, though sick, have such joyful, loving hearts.  And they're SO appreciative of even tiny gestures like coloring books or matchbox cars.  What's more, their families instantly welcome you as part of their circle.  They, too, are so beyond gracious for the time you're willing to spend with them and their children - I was incredibly moved.  They are a special group of people.

Please keep them in your prayers this Lent.  <3

I've tried writing this out a few times.  I almost feel silly for admitting it, but each time I've tried, my fingers shook so badly that I just gave up.  

Tomorrow, March 28th, would have been Myla's due date.  

Instead of looking forward to this date with love, excitement and baby chatter, I've lived in a bubble of silence, grief and terror.  

I was absolutely terrified of tomorrow, but I haven't told that to anyone.  No one.  Even the thought of bringing it up caused me to shake with anxiety.  Too many emotions and not enough control is a recipe for tears, so I requested off from work a while back expecting to spend Friday hiding in my bed away from the world.  At least there I could cry in peace.  Under my covers I could give vent to the very real, very present grief that still exists in my heart for her, my sweet baby girl who flew off to Heaven before I got the chance to meet her.  

However, the last few weeks of mental preparation have led me down a different path altogether.  I decided that hiding away in my bed was a very selfish thing to do.  It was also, in my mind, very ungrateful.  After all, God granted me the blessing of another child. Not only did He grant me the grace of another child, He granted me the grace of a Saint. He took her to Heaven before she'd ever know pain, sadness or disappointment.  He gave to her everything a mother could ever hope for: love, immeasurable joy, and life eternal.  He even went out of His way to ensure John would come to know Myla.  To allow my grief to blind me to those gifts is an ungrateful thing indeed.

So what was I to do?  How could I sidestep my broken heart on the day that taunted me with the one whom I lost?

I e-mailed a local children's hospital.  I filled out paperwork to become a volunteer.  I purchased a whole bunch of children's joke books, coloring books, pop-up books and small toys and I put them aside for March 28th.

I decided that instead of mourning that she was taken from me, I'll celebrate that she was given to me at all.  

That I held her for even a few short weeks is a blessing.  That she'll remain a part of me forever... that I have her waiting in Heaven to greet me... that she's always looking on us with love and prayer... that she's happy to intercede for us always and in all things... these are all graces I should be grateful for.  I won't allow fear of the 28th blind me to those blessings.

Thus, the 28th has become something I've timidly begun looking forward to.  I'm still scared I'll react differently when tomorrow rolls around, but knowing I've got folks already looking forward to getting a dose of fun will likely make it easier for me to push past the fear and reach out with love.  I don't want to disappoint them.  

Plus, I feel it's only fair that I repay God's kindness in some small way.  Bringing joy to His other children is a pretty good way, in my mind, to do that.  I'm sure Myla approves.

Thanks for listening, guys.  I appreciate it.

Just found this online and I cannot stop watching it!  The music is awesome (I wonder if it's available on iTunes!) and the photos are just so adorable.  

Oh my goodness... definitely one of the best "Pic a Day" Pregnancy videos I've ever seen.

Well done, Mommy and Daddy!  Well done!  Bless that sweet little baby!  <3

Remember this article?  I feel like it was the one that started them all.  

Little boy wants to dress up like Daphne from Scooby Doo and his mom posts, in the title of her entry, that this implies he's gay.

But no worries, because in the body of the entry, you realize that was simply a bait.  She then writes "Or he's not.  I don't care.  He is still my son.  And he is 5.  And I am his mother.  And if you have a problem with anything mentioned above, I don't want to know you."

I remember when I first read that feeling offended for her.  How could ANYONE dare to have a problem with this?  Who would think to be so callous as to spout anything negative at a little boy who just wants to dress up for Halloween?  Even if it is a little odd.

Now that the feeds have been absolutely SATURATED with stories like this, I've learned to put my critical reasoning skills to better use.

She, like every other blogger after her, sets the stage for inevitable conflict.  They want the conflict; it drives stats.  I refuse to post the litany of these articles because I refuse to give them a bump in referral hits.

Now I just roll my eyes and pass on them.  They're all the same.  Each demanding respect for allowing their boys to dress as girls and play with My Little Pony dolls, or steering their girls away from pink things and more towards "boy toys" like race cars and Legos.  We've all seen them.  It's just...

C'mon now.

Instead of trying to dictate what our kids play with in an attempt to show how forward-thinking we are about gender-stereotypes, how about we just let them be kids who like to play with toys of any sort?  

And how about we stop patting ourselves on the back for going out of our way to confuse the very clear distinctions between the two sexes.  No matter how many bags of lip gloss your son wants to have, he's going to be a little boy.  No matter how many Wrestlemanias your daughter begs to go to, she's still going to be a little girl.  

And no matter how many times you allow your son to dress in skirts or your daughter to pull on boxers, their biology will remain unaltered.  That includes sex change operations and hormone injections.

Also, this sort of gender confusion does not necessarily mean your child is gay.  But again, throwing that into the mix is a great way to solicit a jump in stats.  

*Shakes head*

We need to have open, honest communication on this topic.  Blog posts like those I reference above are not helpful.  If anything, they're harmful because they seek to divide. They seek to cause in-fighting and paranoia (everyone's out to get me and my son because we're different!).  There are children in serious jeopardy because of this confusion, and patting ourselves on the backs for the bang-up job we're doing with this saturation of gender confusion is not the right course of action.  It's just not.

I don't have the answer on how best to respond to this growing trend, but I just can't take the constant stream of articles that decry any sort of acknowledgement that boys and girls (and thus, men and women) are different; they are.  Does that mean that they are not equals? No; they have equal dignity.  But they are inherently different from one another. Consistently ignoring that (and worse... teaching our children to actively ignore it) is a 
grave error.  

Kids growing up in this climate are the reason we've got fifty billion "genders" on Facebook, men waging legal war against a woman's right to use a private bathroom, and young kids (and their PARENTS) fighting to dictate biology without bothering to think of long-term health consequences.

This is only the tip of the iceberg.  Trying to blur the lines between male and female have led folks to be hyper-aware of not only gender, but sexuality and thus, sex.  

Methinks that's why textbooks like this exist.  It's also why lessons like this exists.

We are hurting our children way, WAY more than we are helping them.  That much is apparent.  We are teaching them it's okay to disregard facts - scientific facts - and create an alternate reality that they then expect everyone else to go along with.  I can't imagine that being a good coping strategy for such a real, all-areas-of-life entrenched problem.  

I just don't have clue one where to begin, or even how to protect my son from falling victim to this sort of confusion.  It's like parents are expected (and even bullied into) encouraging this sort of behavior.

I was recently invited to a birthday party with my son in which the parent informed me the boys would be dressing up as princesses alongside the girls.

No thank you.  I opted to decline that one.  Vince is curious about women's clothing sometimes (my veil and bras come to mind), but I would not actively encourage him cross dressing, ESPECIALLY at such a young age.  

I'm just... ay.

What the heck ever happened to kids being kids?

When the pain of loss seems too great to bear, and when the grief comes coursing in to crush the very breath from your lungs, fix your eyes on the Blessed Mother as she gazes upon her Son, gasping away His Life for love of us.

Allow the tears to come.  Offer your tears together with hers... hers that shine like diamonds and are collected by the angels as tokens of mercy.  

Accept the emptiness as it threatens to swallow you.  Allow the weight of desolation to shatter your heart - your very soul - but do not despair.

For where God destroys, He creates.  These mournful remains can thus rejoice and offer themselves as ready sacrifice for the new Life that comes in their place.

"I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you." Ez. 36:26

Blessed Mother, be my strength.  I am having a really, really hard time accepting Myla's absence right now.  

That television show... it was as if I was being pinned to a surgical table to have my heart sliced open by a scalpel.

But I see, I see.  The tears wash away the clutter from my eyes, and the crushing grief just reminds me that I have something left to offer.  It is yours... the pain and tears that echo softly your own.  Tender Mother, hold her for me.  Hold her and tell her all the things that I never got the chance to say.  Allow her to be the delight of your Son since she could not be the delight of mine.  Bring her often to see her Father so that He can tell her about the Daddy she left behind.  Guide me daily with Vincent so that I can be worthy of meeting her one day.

Grief, folks.  It still exists.  Every day.  Sometimes you're granted respite.  Sometimes you're asked to experience it more keenly.  But it's always there.  

That is at it should be.  There can be no grief if there is not, first, love.  And love is forever.

And love, Myla Therese, is exactly what you were created by.

A friend of mine posted the above video to Facebook.  I knew what it was as soon as I saw it.  A reader had sent it my way and said maybe I should think about sharing Myla's story as a way to break the silence.  

I'm not there yet.  But I am really, really glad that there is a push to get stuff like this out in the open.  

When my friend posted this, he said something great:  "I didn't realize the prevalence of this event. I love how families are allowing the child to remain a part of their family and honoring her/him at special times - birthday, thanksgiving, christmas and/or other winter holidays. For those who are uncomfortable with sharing this, GET OVER YOURSELF!  The child was part of life however briefly, is loved and will always be remembered."

I immediately thought, Right on, we WILL always love and remember them!  And of course you didn't realize the prevalence.  NO ONE realizes the prevalence because no one talks about it.

I then wondered why.  I mean, on a personal level, I know why I don't talk about it.  But on a grander scale, there had to be a reason.  It hit me, and I commented the following:

I know this is a good chunk of the reason I keep silent.  I'm not ready to handle their emotions on top of my own.  I'm not ready to handle the questions or the judgement or even the sympathy that might result from Myla's story being out there amongst family and friends.

But the point of this video is spot on, and I do think the reason so many of us don't speak out more is because our culture - a culture steeped in death and selfishness - cannot accept the grief of parents who prove their misguided stance on life within the womb is not compatible with reality.  We are a thorn in their logic.  

Quick heads up...

The blog community CatholicSistas has a Remembrance Day linkup.  Check it out and participate there!

I attended the baby shower of a friend of mine today.  He became a dad several weeks early.  He and my sister were gunning for preemie bragging rights, I think, because his daughter was born in similar circumstances as Maria's son. Thankfully, both of them are fighters and are well on their way to fattening up enough to come home.  

God is good!

Today was my friend's shower.  He and his wife came with photos of their daughter in the NICU.  Of course she's beautiful!  :)  Please keep them in your prayers. We'll all be very relieved when they're ALL home safe and sound.

As for the shower, it was a surprising experience for me.

The entire way there, I was nervous.  I was afraid of facing a baby shower for a little girl.  I didn't know if I was "there" yet.  I was super happy for Jen and Leo, but I can admit that I am painfully aware that Myla never had a shower and will never have family and friends gathered to celebrate her.

Before you chide me for my selfishness, I already get it.  I felt guilty enough for even allowing myself to go down that road.  I'm being honest, though.  I was nervous because I wasn't sure if seeing all the pink balloons, baby clothes and baby things would overload me. 

I was one of the very first people there.  The place was adorably decked out in pink and purple balloons.  "It's a Girl" posters were everywhere, and the tables had cute little bookmarks made with their daughter's birthday and stats.  Immediately I realized none of my friends had yet made their entrance.

I sent out a text.  Dear God, let them be two seconds away!  I can't do this by myself!

To my horror, none of my friends were actually attending.  They sent me messages back with varying degrees of "I have other plans."

GAH.  

My heart actually sank and I contemplated turning around and leaving right then and there. I couldn't face this all by myself - not without a friend or two to talk about anything and everything to keep me from the pity-party brewing in my heart.

But no.  I quietly took a seat at an empty table.  Especially knowing that our other friends weren't coming, I couldn't leave Leo to think that none of us was there to celebrate with him.  So I sucked it up as best I could and braced for impact.  I begged God to take away my selfish grief and replace it with a magnification of the true joy I had for Leo, Jen and their little Maggie.  

I stayed in my secluded little spot for about 10 minutes as other people trickled in.  God was kind, because He sent my cousin's girlfriend as one of the attendees.  She and I aren't close (mostly because we never see one another), so she was the perfect person to snap me into "Happy Gina" mode.  Since I'm not comfortable enough to share personal details, my "auto-wall" went up and I slid into my "Everything is great, how are you?" game.  She's an actress, so my guess is that happens frequently with her, too.  Regardless, it was exactly the situation I needed to survive that moment.

Pretty soon, most guests had arrived.  My originally silent table had grown to encompass all of Jen's friends.  My cousin's girlfriend knew many of them from theater, so by the time Jen and Leo finally arrived, the table was so full that I was able to quietly excuse myself and sit with Leo, his best friend, Adam, and Adam's girlfriend.  Adam is an old friend of mine through my husband, so again God afforded me a great person to focus on so I didn't have time to dwell on any vestige of a pity party.  I really enjoyed spending the next two hours catching up with Adam and getting to know his girlfriend a bit better.  

When it was time to leave, I was able to go with with a sense of gratefulness and pride. Grateful, of course, that I'd been able to stay to celebrate with Leo and Jen.  Grateful, also, that God had sent me two key people to help me cope with what could have been a really difficult experience.  Pride, finally, that I'd made the decision to stick it out.  I really am proud that I was somehow able to make it through that shower intact and truly happy.  I felt no bitterness or envy, no jealousy or anger regarding the gift of their child.  On the contrary, God gave me what I requested - a magnified joy and a deep appreciation since I knew that Maggie wasn't just a gift for them... she was a gift for the world.

<3