The fruits of marriage

When A and I were discerning marriage, I found that one of the more difficult parts to swallow about giving myself completely to another person was not that gift in and of itself, but its consequences. Namely, the babies.

In the Rite of Marriage, the couple answers three questions before proceeding to the vows:

Have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?

Will you honor each other as man and wife for the rest of your lives?

Will you accept children lovingly from God, and bring them up according to the law of Christ and His Church?

Those first two aren’t so hard (I mean relatively). I wouldn’t be walking down the aisle if I weren’t ready for those. And even the last one, on the surface, is an easy yes. I wouldn’t be walking down the aisle in a Catholic Church if I didn’t want that. Besides the fact that we were excited to start a family, excited to be parents.

I was looking forward to answering those questions in the affirmative, but what it meant to “accept children lovingly” gave me a bit of hesitation. Because it wasn’t just the children I was saying yes to. It was the process of having children.

If I were to stand at the front of that church and say yes, I would be saying yes to morning sickness, stretch marks, heartburn, swollen ankles, labor pains, and maybe never fitting into that size 4 dress again. Seriously, as we went through our discernment, as I thought about my future with this man, I pictured my friends in the worst throes of pregnancy—everything from having to wear flip flops because no other shoes fit to extreme hyperemesis requiring feeding tubes to weeks of bed rest and NICU stays—and it made me want to take a step back.

More than the physical changes of my body, I would also be saying yes to a very tiny someone else determining my schedule of sleep and socializing, piles of laundry and diapers, an entire change in my identity. Never again would my life be just my own. Or maybe it would be the opposite, and we would struggle with the heartache of infertility, miscarriage, congenital disease, infant death (yes, as a pediatrician, this is what I think about). And all of that was scary. More than just a little bit.

I didn’t expect A to understand, but I told him about my fears anyway, because I wanted him to know that for me, it was more than just saying yes to the wedding night, but also to everything that would follow. And that was the point in my discernment that I knew I could marry this man, because I knew I could answer those questions honestly.

Fast forward just past our six-month anniversary, and it’s all become a beautiful, challenging reality.

Our daughter

It’s a fascinating paradox, like so much in the Catholic life. If I stop and think too hard about growing a tiny soul inside of me, of being responsible for another human life, I might crawl into a hole and never come out. And yet, all of it feels so natural and right, like this was exactly what I was created to do. Because it is.

Yes, the physical parts have been hard (I never wanted an outie, and I hate foot cramps, and being even more clutzy), as have the emotional (What if I’m not a good mom? What if I don’t recognize post-partum depression?), and the financial (I think you get that part). But my husband has been the most wonderful support, reminding me how beautiful I am because I’m pregnant, not in spite of, and that we’re in this together. Always together.

I think the most enduring realization (or at least confirmation) of these last six months has been that God’s plan is really the best. He has plans for our welfare, for “a future with hope” (Jer. 29:11b). It’s different than how I would have written it, but this version is so much richer, so much more fulfilling, and yes, probably more challenging.

It’s letting go of control—notice that question doesn’t say “Will you accept children on your own time when it’s convenient, and raise them in whatever way helps to maintain your comfortable lifestyle?” Turns out life more abundant is a little messier, a little less sure, and a lot more rewarding.

Praise God.