Where's Catholic Catherine?

I know this is technically (or purportedly, anyway) a Catholic blog, and lately I've been focusing on poo and how fast my baby is growing (did I mention that he is already in size 3 diapers?), when I do write at all. And when I do post something, the sentences are mostly run-ons that require a decoder ring to muddle through (see: previous sentence. and this one too, kind of.) Anyway, I am hoping to get back to more Catholic-minded thoughts. I always have lofty post ideas and then a million things come up and suddenly days go by and the topic is no longer relevant or I've completely forgotten it. So, you know, just in case you come here looking for Catholic stuff...it's coming.

The Legend Lives

There is a tale from centuries gone by. The legend has been passed down, from great-grandmother to  mother, and maybe even between a father or two. A tale of preposterous circumstances, a perfect storm of physics and plastics so harrowing that the details are usually only relayed in a whisper and never when the shadows have grown long and the sun has set. It is the legend of the REVERSE POOPY. Let me set the scene for you......

Mother and baby wake up at usual time. Baby smiles big, gummy grin and both begin their morning routine - diaper change, songs on the changing table, a quick wardrobe maneuver from jammies to the day's [first] outfit. Matching bib is secured around Baby's chubby neck and downstairs they go! Nothing out of the ordinary so far....Baby is placed in bouncy seat in kitchen while Mom gets coffee and cereal. Jokes and smiles and songs are exchanged (albeit mostly on one side). Mom lifts Baby's bouncy seat and places it on dining room table so the repartee can progress while Mom eats. Baby is unusually quiet, but very smiley, so Mom continues with routine. They chat. There is a slight rumbling from Baby's stomach and a subsequent gurgle from his posterior end. Hmmm, no look of deep concentration on his face. No earth shattering explosion. This is clearly only a moderate dirty diaper. No need to rush upstairs. Mom takes vitamins and gives Baby his Vitamin D drops. No more sounds from this sweet child. No unusual smells. Mom scoops up Baby and, singing a little song, saunters upstairs to the changing table. Same old, same old. Maybe not even worth changing! Or, is it.....? Mom places Baby on the table. Something is not right....There are dark spots on the front of his pant legs. Did he manage to drool without Mom noticing? She moves closer for a sniff....Is that....poo? On his thighs? In the front? A feeling of fear creeps through her stomach. She begins to peel off baby clothing. And....it is everywhere. Poo. In places you could never imagine you would ever find it. She thinks, Do I even have enough wipes to handle this? The monkey pants are an unwilling sacrifice. Who knows if the onesie can be saved. She can hardly find the diaper in all that poo. But the fact that it was silent and enormous is really not what you, Dear Reader, should take away from this. Those factors are disturbing but not as uncommon as the inexperienced diaper changer might think. No, the most terrifying part of the whole ordeal was how the diaper completely blew out in the front. No poo up Baby's back. No smears on his bottom. But hideous, orange poo obliterating his thighs and knees. Physically possible? Apparently. Perplexing? Absolutely.

Sweet Baby J

Baby D's cousin is finally here! We are all super excited to meet Baby J tonight. Please say a little prayer for this brand new baby and his brand new parents!

a little Middlemarch on Monday

The tenacity with which he strove to hide this inward drama made it the more vivid for him; as we hear with the more keenness what we wish others not to hear. Instead of wondering at this result of misery in Mr. Casaubon, I think it quite ordinary. Will not a tiny speck very close to our vision blot out the glory of the world, and leave only a margin by which we see the blot? I know no speck so troublesome as self.

thankful

Sometimes you just have a wonderful day, with beautiful August weather, phone conversations that deepen friendships, and afternoons with caring relatives. And then your son smiles at a silly dance you do. And you are so, so grateful for it all.

a little Middlemarch on Monday

"It was certainly a hasty speech, my dear," said Mrs. Garth, with whom speaking evil of dignities was a high misdemeanor. "We should not value our Vicar the less because there was a ridiculous curate in the next parish."

"There's something in what she says, though," said Caleb, not disposed to have Mary's sharpness undervalued. "A bad workman of any sort makes his fellows mistrusted. Things hang together," he added, looking on the floor and moving his feet uneasily with a sense that words were scantier than thoughts.

"Clearly," said the Vicar, amused. "By being contemptible we set men's minds to the tune of contempt."

The Things I Don't Regret

This mom lost her son to drug addiction...a sad, beautiful post.

It makes the sleepless nights and cranky days a little easier to bear.