The Miracle of Life: A Reflection

I was kneeling in the pew after Mass, reflecting on this blessing inside me when the urge to cry became very real. How many struggle for years for a healthy child growing inside them — to have what I have? There was a time at the start of my marriage where that unfounded fear: what if I can’t conceive? cropped up. It was silly, but very real to me and I felt like if I couldn’t well, then, it was unfair. I cried to my husband about my worries. He held me in his arms and told me I was likely being insane, but child or no child, it was God’s will and we could look into adopting later on if there was actually a problem. He cared of course, but like a man typically cares; it’s not usually as strong as the desire of a woman who has that inherent desire to be a mother, to nurture, to give life. He likely cared more for the sake of making me happy than to fill any emptiness he had himself inside him without a child to fill the gaps. Prompted by fears, even without healthcare due to my non resident status (it’s very complicated in Ontario apparently and I still don’t have it!), dealing with immigration and all those serious hurdles, financially tight, Brian suddenly out of a job and in school, unprepared according to the world to provide for a child, a reason many would choose abortion, I knelt and prayed to St. Philomena as her feast day approached and asked her to pray so God would give me a child very soon. I didn’t specify a time. If she could wait till my international insurance would cover the time of the birth at least (waiting list reasons) that would’ve been ideal and would’ve only required an extra month. She didn’t though. She heard me and I suppose God, much wiser and foreseeing than me, decided to answer that prayer right away and a week or two after, in that very cycle, I conceived. I didn’t even believe I was pregnant that cycle. I thought for sure I wasn’t. My typical period symptoms cropped up three days before my period was meant to pop up, something very normal. Again, I cried to my husband and told him I wasn’t pregnant. Little did I suspect, I was. Two days late, and I was beginning to think maybe I was wrong. I made Brian get me a First Response test. I took it and...negative. Hope flew up and fell down before my eyes. But then another week past. No period. Okay, next First Response...Invalid. By this point, we didn’t have money to go buy me another from the store. They’re quite expensive! So, I ordered a box of Premom brands online for significantly cheaper after mom after mom told me those cheap brands were generally just as accurate. Another week went by. I got my premom tests in the mail. Sunday, I glanced over at Our Lady’s statue and I told her, “Either get me a positive or have my period come.” It was getting annoying this waiting game and I was starting to worry something was hormonally wrong; I was also at the same time pretty convinced the tests were lying to me and I was pregnant. Upon returning home, not even bothering for the first morning pee technically, I tested. Positive. Blazing positive. I had this lovely notion I’d surprise Brian about being a dad and all, but that all went out the window. I couldn’t keep the secret for five seconds. But it still felt surreal and while false positives are super rare unless you’re on medication or something, I still tested again the next day to be sure and it, of course, still came up with two bright pink lines. I was overjoyed. I had no idea how we’d make this work, but I knew we would. Providence is amazing and had already pulled through for us time and time again, so I wasn't too worried. Even without healthcare, the midwives had private funding that I qualified for and so all my ultrasounds and blood work were all covered, everything was covered in fact as long as I could stay out of the hospital, and hopefully, by then my OHIP would come through since it does look like if I can get immigration to write me a letter saying I'm eligible and haven't yet been refused I could actually apply (something many people told me I couldn't), so we'll see how that goes, but at least for the time being I don't have that paperwork to give.

Fast forward a bit: Kneeling there before the altar, I reflected how lucky I am to have conceived and how undeserving I am as well. I placed my hand over my growing belly and with tears welling up, I consecrated my baby to God, I told Him they were not mine, but His, and like St. Zélie, I told him I’d willingly give them up for His service, to be a priest or religious, no matter the emotional cost to myself that would inevitably come in such a case, if it were His Holy will.

All those pains, those discomforts, the nausea, the headaches, the fatigue, the sinuses acting up, the insomnia, being unable to take pain killers when dealing with excruciating tendinitis that had me struggling to sleep for days -- all of it was so, so worth it. How could I complain about any of it? This baby was worth every sacrifice, every suffering and more! Loves makes all burdens light. I would offer up my crosses for my baby: their sanctification and salvation, and it was suddenly so much easier to cope with the cross on my shoulders.

I thank God for this miracle, for this lovely blessing. I pray for the health of my child, for my baby's continued growth, for Baby to be baptized and never lose the state of grace on their soul. Please keep my child in your prayers and thank God for me and with me.