Malcolm's baptism. Also known as the time Sasha's blood pressure reached record heights.
I was lovely, it was fantastic, but it was not what I had expected. We've always done our baptisms after mass. Through a series of unexpected -- some might call sneaky -- events, we ended up doing this one during mass. It was the Warner hour at church that morning and everyone tuned in. It started with us, it ended with us and there was a lot of US in the middle.
I've been trying so, so hard to stay in the moment, forgive myself of my shortcomings and do anything else Brené Brown might suggest, but it is so, so hard when you are stuffed in the front two pews of the church with your closest relatives and six children under the age of 6, all of whom prefer the Great Outdoors to the oak confines of a narrow church pew.
My mom came armed with crackers. And Oreos if things got desperate near the end. I was armed with a breast full of milk, just in case the man of the hour -- literally the whole hour -- decided to voice his concerns about his baptism's scheduling conflict with The Morning Nap. By the end, our rations were depleted.
"Highlights?" you ask. Besides the obvious usual baptismal moments, these are my two favourites:
1. You know all those quiet moments of reflection that happen during mass? One of those times my niece, who is three, announced "Daddy, let's go. I don't see Jesus here."
2. My nephew spent most of the water pouring and blessing part chilling on the base of the baptismal font. Eating goldfish crackers. Plotting. I'm not sure what he was plotting, but man, he has an adorable mischievous face.
I think it all went well. No one died or anything, but it did take me about two hours and four post-baptismal cinnamon buns to calm down and stop blushing. I am so glad it happened, but I am really happy it is over.