It is Mother’s Day, and I am feeling overwhelmed.
Some days feel too thick. Poppy, as it turns out, is a crier. She goes from all smiles, to screaming. There is no in-between. I wish I could say that I always handle it with grace, but as of late I am learning my limits.
Sometimes I cannot soothe her. Sometimes the only way to calm her down ( bouncing on the birth ball ) is not conducive to time or location. Sometimes I forget to breathe. Every book I have ever read about child-rearing ( and believe me, I have read more than my fair share ) says that “colic” ends at three months.
That was three days ago. What gives?
I already feel helpless. I can’t fix her head, or her hands, or her precious little feet. I can’t promise her that her life will be free from ridicule or physical hardships. Adding insult to injury are the moments when nothing I do seems to work.
But she is okay. I hold her and tell her she is loved. I tell her God gave her a loud voice because she is going to need it. I tell her she is making me a stronger mother by testing my ability to cope under pressure. Lots and lots of pressure.
She does not have a single doctor’s appointment in the month of May. I am stunned, and beyond thankful. June is littered with appointments… Neurosurgeon, ENT specialist, CT scan, bloodwork, craniofacial clinic, physical therapist, and the list goes on… and then there is July.
Her first surgery.
I believe God can and does work miracles. I pray that one day I wake up and she no longer has need for surgeries. Her coronal sutures separate. Her hands divide into five perfect digits, her palate spreads out, and her nasal passages broaden.
She is God’s miracle. Just the way she is. God has blessed the hands and hearts of those who have the skill and knowledge to help her. God has blessed me with the capability to see her through it all and walk beside her every (terrifying) step of the way.
But I do wish I could take the pain for her. I wish that she didn’t have to be so tough all the time.
She is finally sleeping and for the first time all day I am reflecting on my life as a mother. There was nothing before this. I believe I was born a mother. Every day that I am granted with these beautiful children is the best (though sometimes terribly difficult) day of my life.
Nine years ago I chose to be the kind of mother my child(ren) would be proud of. I feel confident that I have held true to my word. I will love, protect, cherish, adore, spoil, teach, and provide for my sweet babies for the rest of my life. I believe I have raised a son that will respect women and men, young and old alike. And I will raise a daughter who will likely raise a good old-fashioned riot everywhere she goes. She is, after all, my daughter.
I expect both of them to leave their mark on the paths they take, the hearts they touch, and the world they live in.
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