theives.

there are some lines from a song i love that ring true, today.

'there's the presence of thieves, who only want, to rob you blind.
they steal away, innocence and peace...'

years ago, we sat in a doctor's office.  i had worried myself into feeling like we should see a geneticist.  what i had assumed was the issue, was not.  but, in some horrible way my fears were validated.  there was something more going on.  and so was the diagnoses of NF.  and the year that followed, i regret.  i regret the amount of time i focused on limitations and what if's instead of my daughter.  i regret that i became so obsessed with checking for tumors that i could no longer be the one who bathed my child.  i missed out on joy.  innocence. peace.  it was stolen from me when i focused on the thief.

then, maybe consciously, maybe not, i jumped in a second time already knowing things so that i could avoid shock.  nobody was going to get me with a 'hey, by the way, she's got this going on.'  but, we still ended up surprised.  i handled it better though.  and i didn't try to will away the delays.  i just accepted them for what they were.  sure, i would love for my stubborn little to stand up and walk already, but i'm not anxious about it.

and, today, i am fighting those thieves again.  the words on their own seem small.  there's this small thing. and that small thing.  then this.  then that.  separately, they're no big deal.  then my head goes through the list, one after another.  my heart starts pounding.  my brain whispers over and over, 'there's something more. something bigger.'  but, i fight.  i fight with all i am.  'maybe. maybe there is something more.  but, i'll worry about that on the day we know.  today, i'm going to dance.  i'm going to read stories.  i'm going to laugh at his little tongue play.  i'm going to smile at how he is able to find tags on the inside of my shirt seem when he's nursing, or on toys, or even the stroller. i won't let you take from me that which i can't get back.'

it's hard.  when you've lived in a world full of fears coming true, the thief known exactly how to get to you. he'll take today from you any way he can. 
but, i will fight.  i will fight by not reading the list of milestones he should have met.  i will fight by not comparing him to other babies his age (or younger).  i will fight by celebrating what he is doing.  i will fight by presenting my fears to the Truth, over and over.  i'll let Truth deal with it.  Truth conquers the thief over and over.  and, in the end, It will win.

discovering grief.

a little over six years ago I became a mother for the first time.  I watched an amazing woman give birth to my oldest daughter.  I fell in love.  instant and deep. 
almost three years ago I became a mother for the second time.  I don't even know what all emotions I felt because it was a whirlwind that when remembered, seems a little like a fuzzy version of hell.  surgery, home, hospital stay, home, hospital stay, surgery, home, surgery again, home, seizures, hospital stay, home.  you get the point.  and to be honest, home wasn't any easier than the hospital most of the time.  lots of puking.  exhaustion form getting up every three hours to give meds and do feeds through a tube.  it was hard.
as we prepare for the arrival of number three, I have been overwhelmed with a rush of emotions I didn't know were lurking below the surface.  I have grieved the fact that I never got to see an ultrasound picture of shilo (I have some of both Abigail and our little guy due in January).  I grieve not being there when she was born, or the first few days of her life.  her family missed her first few days of life.
and then, I feel like her whole first year was missed.  not because I wasn't there, but because it was spent in survival mode.  we were caregivers.  we didn't give bottles, and warm baths, and snuggles.  we didn't comfort tears, or help our daughter learn to sleep at night time.  we gave meds, and sat in waiting rooms, and wondered if our lives would ever be the same.  we never got to experience shilo as a 'baby.'  I have very few memories from her first year of life, likely because I tried so hard to forget.

and now, we prepare for another little.  a boy.  and I'm not even sure what having a baby looks like anymore.  i'm petrified of germs, and am considering not letting anyone near him for the whole first year (this might be a little bit of an exaggeration).  I have no idea what it's like to have a kid without a genetic disorder, and doctor appointments, and so I just prepare for another diagnoses.
perhaps this all sounds a little crazy.  I can't say that between the last six years of our lives, and pregnancy hormones, that I might not be just a little over the edge when it comes to my thinking being rational or sane.
at the same time, I've learned that when confronted with grief, it's often best to put on your boots, and wade into it.  splash around a little.  get a feel for what all is around, and make your way to the other side.  you can likely find a bridge, or a boat, or even a path around.  and, you are welcome to try that.  but, you'll find yourself right back there, at the edge, staring into the deep dark pain of it all, and wondering how you ended up back in that same spot.
so i'm some where in the mucky waters of pain, trying to figure out how to look forward to our upcoming life changes without fear.  I am hoping that as the day of his arrival draws nearer, the other side will come into view, and we will get to meet this child with nothing but exuberant joy.
for now, if you see me, and say something about how excited I must be, don't be alarmed if my response seems less than.  I am thankful for this child.  his life.  what he will add to our family.  it's just that this whole experience is being filtered through past.

teaching fear.

little has been getting better and better at walking in her gait trainer.  as a result, we have been taking it everywhere with us.  library.  church.  any time that she could play with peers, I try to drag it along.  I ended up getting a placard for the car so that I could easily maneuver a five year old, carry a toddler, and push the trainer across a parking lot (usually covered in snow and ice right now).
as a result, I want to share something with you.  this isn't because i'm angry.  it's not because I think that everyone should know this already.  it's because, I want others to know this.

your child, can touch my daughter's gait trainer.  they can touch her while she's in it.  i can't speak for all parents, but i imagine if you see a child with some sort of device, all you need to do is say, 'is it okay for my child to touch that?' or even, 'can you explain that to my daughter and i?' 

when you freak out, and pull your child away, or tell him not to touch the gait trainer (or my child), you are teaching fear.  you aren't meaning to, i know.  but, you just told your child that people who are different, and who use different devices, are scary, stay away!  and when you tell them not to look, or stare, you are saying the same thing.  children are curious.  to be quite honest, so are adults (just remember that i expect adults to be able to phrase questions in tactful manners).  and while there are, without doubt, days that i don't really want to answer and advocate, i'll still do it.  i have a whole host of kids who are in love with shilo because we haven't made her off limits.  she's just another kid.
if you let your child look, ask questions, explore, and learn, he will learn that my child is, just another child.  he will learn that she just needs extra help learning to walk.  he might even learn things like why some kids eat through a tube in their stomach instead of their mouths, or about a million other medical devices that children have.  and, without even meaning to, you will have empowered your child.
because one day, your child will be out in the world, and there will be other people who look different, act different, or have different things they use to help them throughout their day.  and it's likely, if you've started very young explaining things, and allowing them to ask questions, that they will step up and be a friend while others are afraid and unsure.

please don't teach fear.