An Rud A Lionas An Tsuil Lionann Se An Croi

  Statue by Bruce Wolfe I was at the doctor's the other day with my daughter for her check-up. The scene that seemed so bizarre a few months ago is familiar now - the spaced chairs, the social distancing markers on the floor, the usual pile of old magazines gone. My baby smiles at the masked faces that talk to her, their eyes shining with delight even if we can't see their mouths. This is normal for her, sadly. It's all she's ever known. It's busy at the office so we end up waiting a little longer than usual. There's a large circular window that overlooks the street below, so I bring her to it and sway back and forth as we look at the passing cars and trucks and the enormous windmills of the college campus across the road.  An old woman, small and thin but not frail, dressed nicely in white pants and a shirt with purple flowers and purple sneakers to match, sits nearby. Another woman, taller and more filled out, maybe in her late 50s or early 60s, sits with her ...

I never thought I'd be sad to put my maternity clothes away. Usually, by the time I do, I'm so sick of wearing them that I don't want to even see them for at least another year or so. Usually when I put them away there's a newborn baby keeping me company. Not this time. After three babies my body & muscles just knew what to do; they softened & gave way to my expanding uterus, making room for the tiny life growing inside. The bump appeared much sooner than it had before that I wondered if I might be carrying twins, & hoped that wasn't the case. Just thinking of having two babies gave me anxiety - thinking of how that would stretch my body, what it would mean if I tried to breastfeed both of them, thinking of having to buy another car seat & crib. But that wasn't the case. By the time I had my first appointment to go over my medical history, get weighed, have my urine checked the baby, the single baby, was already gone, unbeknownst to me. Par...

It has been a trying winter. Sickness after sickness has plagued our household - stomach bugs, colds, everlasting coughs, pneumonia. With all of this has come sleepless nights, & with that has come two tired parents. It's not a great combination: overtired parents & sick kids. Or, really, overtired parents & kids, period. Suffice it to say, we're running low on patience these days.  Yesterday we managed to make it to Mass only ten minutes late, which means we didn't miss any of the readings (#winning). While we were settling in at the very back of the church with our coughing, sniffling brood we tried our best to be as non-disruptive as possible. In hindsight we did pretty well, considering how miserable everyone was, & got through the first two readings without incident. As we stood up to hear the Gospel, my oldest accidentally knocked over one of the missalettes, sending it down to the floor with an audible thud. My husband shot him a look & op...