24 weeks and 1 day

12 years ago, I was scared out of my mind with a newborn the size of a Beanie Baby. You can read the story of R2 here. 


A friend of mine tweeted today "Would you trade your memories for the ability to see the future?", and you know, that is deep and has many levels, but my immediate thought was, if someone had told me the future back in the day, I would have run like heck. 

You don't know what you're capable of until it stares you in the face. And the last 12 years of loving my son, serving my son, have been rich. I wouldn't have known that. I would have said I couldn't handle it, the medical stuff, the fear, the recurring sadness of having a brain-damaged child. I would have been so wrong. 

I wouldn't have understood what it means to learn to love someone who can't really give back. I wouldn't have learned how to cling to Jesus in the very darkest moments, perched in a hard plastic chair while all the doctors came running and the alarms exploded. I wouldn't have known how Jesus could be so real, so tangible when I came to the end of myself. 

I wouldn't have known the pain and the sweetness of dying to myself as I laid down my plans and expectations for my child, and accepted his "normal". 

I wouldn't have known that joy is so rich when you work so hard for it, that a single word, first steps at 4 years old, just his being able to identify his plate and cup, could thrill me. 

I wouldn't have known, so I'm glad nobody asked me. I'm not special or chosen, I'm just a mom, and I'm learning how to live and love in this new reality. Like I said, you don't know what you're capable of. 

Happy 12th birthday to my little miracle. 

A few days ago, the MOG and I took the whole crew to Target. At the end of a fairly lengthy shopping trip (like Momologue), we came out with a tub of spackling and a new towel rack for the bathroom, but that's not the point, stay focused. The thing I'm actually talking about is R2, who had a crazy screaming hair-pulling meltdown when I was taking the potty-trained half of our offspring to the bathroom.

I was in the handicapped stall with Brynn, who had spent 30-45 minutes deciding which toilet was "just right" when I heard the door open and the screeching of my firstborn. Toby reassured a lady at the sink, "Oh, that's just my brother. He freaks out."

Eventually we were on our way, with the towel rack and the spackling and R2, minus a few hairs. As the smaller kids got in the car, it struck me how normal this is to them. I spent the first 20 years of my life without ever getting very close to a special-needs kid, but for them, he's been there since the beginning. They have a natural grace and patience with him, and an uncanny understanding of what he can and can't do, as well as a casual acceptance of all kinds of people with disabilities. Some people just freak out, they think. Some people just need help getting around. It's simple.

I went to a special needs mom's support group a couple of weeks ago, and it was awesome and emotional, and I almost wrote about it, but I was on a string of emotional blog posts and felt the need to lighten it up. When I told Toby I had been to a meeting for mommies whose children had "hurt brains", he lit up. "You can take Richy there!" he exclaimed. "Those kids could play with Richy!" I don't know, that just got my heart a little, his excitement for something for Richy, just for Richy.

You know, if you have a special kid, or you're thinking about adopting a special kid, don't be afraid of how your "normal" kids, born or unborn will deal with "having" to grow up with an atypical sibling. Instead, understand and embrace that you are giving them an education in unconditional love, acceptance, unselfishness and compassion. One doctor told us that siblings of special kids often go into "helping" professions. Kids have big hearts, and we can learn a lot from their example.

My friend: I'm watching your journey to bring home the baby that you love, and reliving my own journey, some. You're gonna make it.

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They want to know
And you want them to understand
But they can’t, not really
And you find yourself, time and time again
In the center, explaining while they cry


And you’re mad
Because it didn’t have to be this way
And it’s worth it, every minute
But it didn’t HAVE to be this way


Your heart, your eyes, your arms ache
He is rich, and alive, and so much more
And you want them to understand
But they can’t, not really
They stand on the outside, pity and admiration and fear


And you’re lonely, I know
I wish I could help
But I’m here too


I want to say
That hope doesn’t die
And love makes it worth it
And you will live through this, and grow
That every crisis will make you love him more
That there will be easy days, full of laughter
And that I understand, even if I can’t think of anything to say

If you ever told a parent of a special-needs kid that “God picked them”, then stop that. In His sovereignty, did He map it out? Yeah, maybe. Heck if I know. But that statement says that some people are cut out for parenting special kids and some are not. False. You just do the work. And if you were put in the same situation, you would do the work, too.

I’ve been the parent of a special need son for almost 12 years now, and I’m still trying to figure it out.

The earliest stage is the surprise and denial of it all… maybe they’re wrong, maybe he’ll be fine. This one repeated for me, cyclically, over probably the first 5 or 6 years of his life.

And honestly, doctors do often say the worse-case scenario, and then it isn’t that bad. “They” didn’t think R2 would live, and then if he lived, he would live in a vegetative state, and then, when we made it past that, he would never walk, talk, or live a functional life. At some point we had to learn how to take in what they were saying as a very real possibility, and then try to believe for the best and do all the medicine and therapy and intervention we could to beat those odds.

One of the hardest things in those early years was the realization that he was so, so delayed. We’d get encouraged because he was making eye contact, and then realize other babies his age were sitting up. That crash to reality happened over and over again. He didn’t walk or eat solid food until he was 4.

And there was so much anger. I was so, so angry. I don’t even know who I was mad at, but the first few years, R2 would rage at me, and I would rage at him, and then we’d both be frustrated and exhausted. And I could use my functional adult brain and think, “He can’t understand, and he is a baby, and this is ridiculous to be fighting with a baby.” Then that logic would shut off because surely he could get this, if he tried.

At some point, around 4 years, I think, I got some help, and read a book called Son-Rise. It’s basically an autism treatment story mixed up with some hippy/Buddhist philosophy, but really, really good. I walked away with at least one concept. Acceptance.

He is who he is, and he is great how he is. I want him to grow, but if he never reaches my “normal”, that will be okay, because he is Richy, and that’s good enough. In fact, Richy is great. If you’ve never been through this, that might not make sense to you, or even seem simplistic. It was life-changing for me. When we worked on crawling, the anger was gone, because he didn’t HAVE to do it my way. He responded so well to our attempts to get in his world and let him be.

Now, I’m entering a new stage, where the acceptance pendulum may have swung too far, and I have no expectations for him. There’s a line, maybe not that fine, between giving up demands and keeping hopes and dreams. I have a feeling the learning never stops.

Went to his parent-teacher meeting last night. He got straight A’s, for stuff like sorting silverware and identifying numbers 1-5. I am so proud of him. 

The bus was 10 minutes early today. Lucky for them and the schoolboy, I am obsessive about anything that has a scheduled time and was up much earlier than I had to be, making my child into the image of all his classmates, and all the other kids in this district. I tell you, there is something creepy about kids in uniforms. It's like the perfect intro to a music video with zombies or something.  And I should l know, since I spent my whole childhood encased in white oxford shirts and yards and yards of pleated plaid. I don't think they could make Catherine Zeta-Jones look good in one of those monstrosities. Plaid with pleats. It had to be thought up in some sadistic gulag-planning committee. Or something. Exhibit A: 

*Shudder*

I get it, okay? This is so all kids look equally bad and the poor/ugly/fat kids are less likely to be bullied for wearing poor/ugly/fat clothes. News flash, administrators of America. That's not really working. When I put my special needs kid with glasses in a pair of khaki slacks and a polo shirt, he looks even MORE special. Let me send him to school in a guitar shirt and some ripped jeans and the guy has a fighting chance to be ignored... 

It's nice to not think about what he has to wear every day, except the panic of did-that-stuff-even-go-into-the-dryer panic, but man. I just don't know. This whole army of look-alikes weirds me out. 

I wasn't even going to talk about this today. I was going to talk about homeschooling Toby, and his obsessive erasing and total meltdown when I took his eraser away. But somehow this whole uniform thing crept up on me like a pair of tiny kelly green gym shorts, paired with a mustard yellow gym shirt. Piney Woods teachers: what were you thinking? And what's the statue of limitations on hate crimes? 

Today we saw the developmental and behavioral specialist again. Lemme refresh your memory. R2, our special needs 10 year old, has violent rages when he's not being angelic. Those are pretty much the 2 options. So we saw a psychologist last month and they sent us home with a spreadsheet. I'll let that sit for a minute, for humor purposes.

Seriously, though, they wanted us to chart his fits and try to find some patterns and such. The only pattern I charted the first two weeks was his ability to NOT do something expected. Zero fits. Textbook. Then, the last two weeks, he used up all that stored tantrum with a couple of doozies. One fit lasted 55 minutes, with toddlers screaming outside the bedroom door and peeing on the floor in the hallway and dropping bowls of macaroni across the kitchen while R2 screamed. I used my webcam to tape that one and took the video with me today to the clinic.

The psychologist is young. Maybe younger than me. Last time, the supervising psych was in there, too, but today we just had the younger one. Sometimes, I feel like telling these nervous younger docs what to do. Eventually, she had some helpful ideas for helping R2 communicate, and then after we watched the videos of the fits, she said I was amazing and very patient.

There's something very healing about being honored by doctors and teachers. I think most parents of special needs kids are constantly second-guessing themselves and trying to make the best of a complicated situation, and there is always ignorance and implied (as well as direct) criticism. So when someone who sees a lot of these kids and knows how hard it can be says you're doing a good job, it means a ton.

I asked about a straitjacket, but no go. So, 2 visits down and no tranquilizer darts or straitjackets. What are these people doing, anyway?

You might remember last week... in fact, you really should. If, by chance, you don't, you should probably get that checked out.

Anyway, last week, we took our special-needs guy, R2, in for a tonsillectomy/adenoidectomy and ear tubes, and waited around in a cold, cold room for 2 hours before they cancelled us. The hospital had run out of beds in the ICU, which is really awful... R2 has to go straight from recovery to the ICU, because of how bad his apnea has gotten, and just because of his medical needs in general. So, they sent us home and gave us free meal vouchers. That might not sound like a good deal to you, but somewhere in my warped-God-picked-the-best-mom-for-special-needs psyche is a love for hospital food. True story.

They rescheduled us for today. So, in a couple of hours, we'll be heading up there. R2 is pretty cheery about the whole process, because last week, nobody stuck him. He just went to the hospital, put on a gown, played with toys and waited, and then got to eat lunch alone with Mommy and Daddy, with no "baby jaguars" biting his elbow or sneaking all his raisins off his plate.

So I imagine he will be in really good spirits today, until he wakes up with no tonsils or adenoids and holes punched in his ears. Then, he might be pretty unhappy. The good news is, well, one of the good things is that they're keeping us for at least 24 hours, so he can be drugged during that first day. The other good thing is, once this heals up, he will be able to really breathe freely for the first time in his life.

He is experiencing sleep apnea 38 times an hour overnight. As in, he stops breathing and wakes up every other minute or more. Poor guy. So, for that reason, I am really looking forward to this procedure.

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In adoption news, the fundraising is going really well! We had 8 new contributions yesterday, taking our total donations up to $822.22! Please spread the word to your friends- tweet us, facebook for us, post the chipin widget on your blogs...

You can link straight to our fund page at http://www.tinyurl.adptfund

Or, back here to my "adopting" blog post at http://radiantjess.blogspot.com/2010/02/on-adopting-and-why-and-wherefore.html

I'm just going to fall apart here for a minute and sound like I'm indulging in self-pity, and then once it's done I'll decide if I want to publish it.

I am not one of God's "special parents", so equipped with grace and strength that He looked down from heaven and chose me to be the parent of a special-needs child. It just happened, and however sovereignty works and the reality of a fallen world and sickness and sin, we got picked.

Do we love our frustrating, beautiful, funny, and exasperating child? Of course. That doesn't change the fact that sometimes, rarely but sometimes, I wish God would have picked some other saintly carrier of peace and grace, who would know what the heck to do with this kid.

Today, we went in for his pre-admissions testing leading up to his tonsillectomy, etc. next week. It was super-routine, mostly me answering questions and them getting his weight and such. Until the end, when they had to pry open his mouth to check his throat. He had strep twice last year, and has become totally resistant to opening his mouth for anyone, which makes toothbrushing a bit of a challenge... anyway. She ended up using the tongue depressor for a quick check, and I mean like, 1 second and then she was done.

R2 has a tendency to tantrum when he is scared or hurt, and his fits are really, really loud and violent- to himself. So he went into one of these fits, and I was holding him on my lap and crossing his arms in front of himself, just trying to keep him from breaking his own nose or bruising his face. So then he started kicking himself in the ankle. I crossed my leg over his and held his leg still, and then he reared back and hit his head as hard as he could on my shoulder. Eventually, he slid out of my grasp and sat on the floor, with me still holding his arms, and slammed his head into the floor. I picked him up again. All this time he is screaming, roaring, snot running down his face and totally out of control. I was trying to stay calm and answer the doctor's questions, because there was still information that she needed. After about 10 minutes, she suggested that we finish by phone and I took him, kicking and screaming, through the entire hospital and back to the car. It was exhausting, and humiliating, and just beyond words. By the time we got to the car, he was done. I drove him to school, waiting for the moment when I could break down and cry this out.

These fits happen about once a week, and the only thing we can do is ride them out and try to keep him from really injuring himself. When it's over, we are completely drained of energy and usually, feel helpless to help him. Then he'll be sunny and beautiful until the next time.

So, no, I'm not specially equipped for this. I am just a normal, brokenhearted, weak mommy, trying to love my kid.

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In other news, if you haven't given toward Rylan's adoption fund, go now, read yesterday's post and donate- you know you could spare a couple dollars...

Today I took Toby and Brynn to McDonalds. They did exactly what a 2 year old and a 3 year old should do, and they were good and funny and smart. Somehow I ended up grieving. 

I wish R2 was different. That is something I rarely say that is absolutely true. I wish my firstborn was normal. I wish he hadn't been premature, I wish he didn't have brain damage. I wish he was perfectly normal like his siblings. 

Should I watch my babies play and grieve my loss? Maybe not. A wiser person would probably recognize the brevity of this season, and embrace the opportunity to watch them. I am not that person today. I miss what Richy should have been. 

Sometimes I see glimpses of him, through the fog. Yesterday he was sitting on the couch during naptime, holding M&M's in his lips (like a tongue) and laughing at himself. I started laughing too... it was a glimpse.

The thing with him is, it's a continual loss. I mean, we will go months or years just accepting him and helping him and celebrating small victories, and then it hits us that he will never outgrow this and there's a season of mourning again.

Maybe someday I will find peace and acceptance. Just him, for who he is and be okay with it. I'm sure I will.

Today we were having a nice leisurely morning as usual... a little Cheerios and yogurt, some PBS and so on... when I got a call from R2's school. My little plan of getting his picture taken with no money up front had failed.

So we kicked into gear and got diapers and dressed and so on... I was already in workout gear of a sort, so I decided to just go with it and be Sporty Mommy.

So we went in and dropped off the check right as Richy was getting walked down to the photographer. So we tagged along. Now, this was Richy's first school picture ever, so I was pretty excited to get to watch. So was Spiderman and the Princess.

Two other special needs kids were first, and they were pretty unhappy about having to sit on the stool and look at the camera, so tensions were rising. Plus, it always confuses Richy when his worlds collide and his Mommy is at school. Not working. So I knew I'd have to handle it just right or we'd have Scowling Richy for his first school portrait.

Off we went to the side, where I told a few jokes and poked him around a little. And, it worked! I ended up having to stand behind the photographer and say goofy things, but it came out very cute and smiley.

After his picture, he was jumping and very excited, and then we had to bail, which brought out the scowl, but only for a minute.

Then the three of us went to the Y, where I worked extra hard so having lunch at Cici's wouldn't count against me. All in how you look at it.

The MOG is out of commission today, with a stomach ailment. I believe it is part post-fasting stomach, part icky-virus, and part messed-up intestines (medical terms), and part gender. Is that to say all males are weenies? Of course not. Just most males, when it comes to being sick.

I don't mean to sound uncompassionate. He is genuinely sick, not faking or whining or being a weenie. I am just a terrible, terrible nurse. I'm kinda of the "take a couple aspirins and sleep it off" camp. I did bring him Rolaids on multiple occasions, but they offered little relief. So there you go.

In other news, R2 is doing well at school. He used scissors for the first time yesterday. They have special loop scissors that are easier for special guys to handle, and he cut some construction paper and helped glue it to a pumpkin drawing. Very cute. He is also getting more secure about climbing up in the schoolbus, and does not need us to hold his hand, thank you very much. On his note home yesterday, it said he "had a ball in music class"... I wish I could see what happens up there, but getting the notes home is nice.
Bean update: doing her best to walk everywhere. She drags boxes and hampers around the house as her walking aids. This adorable outfit was a gift from Sharon Schluter, and it fits perfectly! Somebody let her know about this picture!


and that other guy really does not want to sleep in his own bed... they tend to end up in the same square foot of sleeping space every night...



One of the hard things about R2's special needs was his distance from other kids, especially his siblings. We still want friendship to become a value for him, but in the meantime, it does my heart good that the two littlest ones are good friends. Happy weekend, time for me to take a nap!

Today we met the new neurologist.

When we were in Texas, we had a loose team of doctors who had followed R2 since he was born, but in recent years we had seen some turnover, and met some new docs and such. When we moved here, the pediatrician who is AWESOME sent referrals for all the services we would need, and everything was just lined up for us. That has been really nice, and we really like the Children's Hospital here a lot.

If you don't live my life, or one similar (as a parent of a special-needs kid) then the thought of liking a hospital may be a little weird to you. But if you know, you know. Children's Mercy here in Kansas City is pretty amazing. If we are going to spend time in the hospital or multiple clinics, this is where we would want to be.

Anyways, we met the first neurologist (brain doctor) in May, it was basically an intro visit. During that appointment, I laid out my concerns about Richy's behavior, and the seizure medication he's on. I am used to doctors figuring out that I know my stuff, and then genuinely listening. Dr. F was a bit distant, felt committed to sticking with this drug, and was unconcerned about the behavior issues (rages, self-hitting, tics). So off we went with our increased prescription and I decided to give it a few weeks and see if things stayed the same. They actually got worse, so I called back and basically got blown off. Which is SO not cool.
So I went to the head and arranged for a second opinion, which is what today was.

The new doctor is named Jean Baptiste LePichon. (echoes of little mermaid: lePichon, lePichon, how I love LePichon)
He is an extremely thorough guy. Not particularly warm, but he took pages of notes and really heard me out. I could tell at first he was a little peeved about me not liking Dr. F, but after a little he seemed to get over that and figure us out.

So we don't have a specific plan of action yet, he's leaving that up to me. But I can either a)change drugs entirely or b) add a drug to help with the behavioral issues, which might be a side effect from the current medication. I don't know which one I'm going to do yet, there are pros and cons for every option.

And we got some language, a potential diagnosis of Pervasive Developmental Disorder... one part of me shrinks from putting another label on Richy, and the other part is like, please, call it something so I can get some idea of how to work with him. I don't know a lot about PDD yet, about to do some mad Googling. I do know it's similar or connected to autism, which is no surprise. I've read enough over the years to see the similarities.

Anyway, maybe this is too heavy or medical for you guys... just processing the visit and putting it in words. Please pray for wisdom for us as we make decisions for Richy.

You may or may have not noticed I have taken a step back from politics for the last several months... as I process my own thoughts. If you haven't watched the Civil Forum from Saddleback Church, you really should. Rick Warren (Purpose Driven Life) interviewed Obama and McCain. Youtube it, it's about 2 hours worth of clips, but really fascinating insight into the candidates on some moral issues and faith.

We watched a few clips last night, and I want to watch the rest when my brood allows.

I'm watching carefully to see who gets chosen for the vice presidential candidates... I don't see Huck being picked, but maybe Romney. I still don't know if I'm going to vote, or take the conscientious objector route.

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In other news, I went up to the school yesterday to take another step in enrolling R2. I have to repeat these facts over and over. He has never been enrolled in school. He is 9. He is special needs. Yes, that's correct. 9, homeschooled, special needs. Okay, I'll repeat myself.

So now we have an appointment with someone else on Monday and then maybe we can actually start all the Special Ed evaluations and such. And then at some point after that, I guess we'll know when he'll actually start classes. And then we will buy uniforms (for public school, can you believe it?) And maybe someone will tell me what school supplies he needs, since he won't be in normal classes.

I don't know what to expect, but I feel good about moving forward and trying this for a year.

Last week, I guess Friday, R2 was out playing in the backyard and he drove his little car into a rut. He then proceeded to get very very mad and bash his head into the steering wheel approximately 5000 times (exaggeration) before I made it across the yard to stop him. At the time it was pretty crushing to me, I hate it when he hurts himself. Now, it's just one of those things... you deal with with a special needs kid.
The problem is, he bruised his head pretty magnificently. As in, a dark oval bruise going from his hairline to the top of his nose. He looks like a Klingon. He doesn't appear to be in any pain... he has forgotten about it. But we, the family are probably sequestered here all week until it heals... the police and whatnot.
Last night we went out to eat to celebrate our tax return... we made him wear a baseball cap. He really hated it. But he wore it.

I don't know how we're going to teach him to cope with his frustration... we will have to figure out something. One thing that occurs to me, is controlling MY frustration... when I knock into things 10000 times a day, when I drop dishes, etc.

So that's that. A week in. Maybe I will finally go through all the clothes and get rid of stuff. More stuff. Again.

I'm off to Target to give the manager what-for. Updates later!
Actually, I'm not going anywhere just yet. The MOG has all the keys, and I have to wait for him to hobble across the street and bring them back.
Long story short: police were beckoned yesterday because of R2's "injuries". They let us go, no problem. But I need to do a little education about the difference between abused and special needs children. Grrr.

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So here's what happened. R2 has a mark on his face from where he smacked himself during a tantrum. So yesterday, we went to Target just for the sake of getting out of the house. We shopped for an hour or so, and when we left, the police came and parked behind us (3 officers) and said that someone had called because there was some concern about R2's injuries. Right away, I thought of his cheek, so I explained he hit himself. Then I realized they were also talking about his eye, and his limp. So I explained the situation, and I showed them his itty-bitty eye. I think the policemen were pretty embarrassed. They kept apologizing. So we drove off and I see them talking to a Target manager type on the sidewalk. I was so embarrassed, and scared and just shaken up. But the more I thought about it, I remembered that same manager talking to me in the store, seeing if I needed help finding something or whatever. So, I'm thinking she's the one who called.

So I decide to go up there today and talk to somebody because I love Target. And I want to keep shopping there. So I get the decoy manager (you can tell these things) and I am telling her the story and how upset I am. so she calls the real manager. Who, was on duty yesterday and can assure me it was not an employee who called. They would have had to run it by her first. But she and the decoy manager feel terrible and they can't believe it blah blah blah. So, it must have been an overzealous and not terribly observant customer who actually called the police because of how R2 looks.

It makes me sick. And nervous to go anywhere. Ugh.

This is a familiar feeling, coming home from the hospital. So relieved and so grateful to have a backseat full of voices.

Last night, they started talking about possibly letting us go home, but we knew that could change if one doctor wanted to observe him longer, or he didn't meet this standard or that one. So we waited, and waited. R2 got really sick of the room, so they unhooked his monitors and IV's (they were still in, just capped) and he explored the room a little, and went down to the playroom and conquered the Potatoheads, and so on. All day I had to force him to eat Jello, because he had to eat something and his throat was so raw from the ventilator. Later, they brought in a tray of meatloaf and mac and cheese, and he inhaled it. Poor kid. I guess he just doesn't care for Jello.
Finally, the Neurology team showed up. The head of Neurology is Dr. Slopis, and he was there when R2 was in the NICU there. I remember him sitting with us for a long time, showing us the CT scans (in 1999) and explaining where the blood was, and what had happened in R2's brain, and what it would probably mean, long term. So here he is, 8 years later. And he remembered us, and remembered those scans. He walked in saying, "This can't be a 24 weeker!" He was just so excited and upbeat. The MRI, CT, and EEGs had all come back good, no further brain damage or issues with the shunt. (we're already talking miracles)

Now, being well versed in this routine, I am feeling a little nervous. Because you answer one question wrong, and not only are you spending another night in the hospital, but the little guy is probably getting stuck and prodded and scanned and it's miserable. So Dr. Slopis asks us if he can walk, since the seizure. And I am nervous, because he has been walking, but he's irritable and wobbly (R2), so we go for a little walk with the team of neurologists watching. And I'm down the hall watching them watch us walk, and I'm in that realm. But get this, R1 is in the room with the docs, and Dr. Slopis is shaking his head and saying, "Amazing."

He is marveling at how the child he knows should be non-functional, if even alive, is such a miracle. They are watching him hobble down the hall with wonder.
About an hour later, we were driving home.

It's wierd how you don't notice things until they affect you personally. I remember seeing Toyota Corollas everywhere after we bought ours... still do, as a matter of fact.
Other things that my eyes have been opened to....
Special needs people... honestly, I never really paid attention. You know, you just kinda look away. Now, growing my own"special"... I see the people in there. And SN kids are so fun... not everything, but there is usually a pretty good sense of humor and sweetness... It's interesting to learn another world... kinda going crazy on the ellipsis this morn...
Oh, and now I hate it when people say "retarded" as a cutdown. HEY! That's a dumb way to use that word. It means delayed. So it's not an insult... but now it is and I always kinda cringe when I hear it.

And the whole universe of child loss and infertility.... wow.
After I lost my twins, or rather had my twins and they died, I found an online forum/message board for Christian women suffering from loss or infertility. You guys cannot understand what that community meant to me, and still means to me. I had to have my family, I had to have my church family, and I had to have this community called Hannah's Prayer.
Just .... sharing a cup of suffering.... and they've been there or they are there. What a blessing.
So now, I see things differently. I have known the agony of wanting a child, desperately, and waiting and hoping and losing. And then hoping again and getting my baby. I will never be the same after this journey.
So now I have my eyes open. And I see people around me, wanting, waiting.

Just kinda introspective this morning.. wonder who else I will "find" as I grow?

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**GREAT new pix on the family pix blog**