Now it looks pretty clear that Wednesday, March 21 at 9:15 AM is the time.
I've got waves of anxiety coming over me.
The clear pictures of my beautiful, supernaturally healed womb are a huge comfort to me. I'm not walking around dreading that I'm going to die on the operating table, or that my baby is going to end up in the NICU. (Considering my past history over 4 c-sections this is a vast improvement!)
It's more like this pouting, sulking feeling.
I just don't want to do it.
I don't want to go into the hospital. I don't want to deal with the grouchy nurses. I don't want all the pokes in the arm, or the scary feelings in the OR or the embarrassment of peeing in a catheter.
I wish somehow they could just hand me my daughter, wrapped up in a swaddling cloth, and let us go home.
But... I'm trying to wrap my head around this concept of accepting my suffering.
I know that we are at a time of real crisis over contraception, the female sex, and the Catholic Church. And in my heart of hearts, I've got to admit that the feminist critics are not crazy for wanting to avoid having a fifth child. It's totally supernatural to be open to life. It is a gift of the Holy Spirit. Right now I'm battling very natural fears over child-birth, breast-feeding, having a potential sick or disabled newborn and just the fear in general of "biting off more than I can chew" by having 5 kids under age 10 in my house. It's only God who can transport me from my natural fears to trust in His supernatural grace.
I could spend hours arguing about "pro-life issues" on my blog. Or posting petitions on Facebook. Or staying up all hours at Adoration to make Reparation for Sinners.
Or I could have a daughter.
A fourth daughter.
Another "useless" girl that China and India are busy aborting in mass. Or America is busy contracepting or "morning after pill taking" out of existence.
I've got 72 hours to keep myself calm while the Devil does his best to rattle my cage.
It's a good thing my dear Benjamin babies are so cute.