How Did We Get Here? Thoughts on MareBear

Have you ever had the chance to get to know someone, and the more you learn about them, the more impressive they seem? And then you find out that they've overcome some major obstacles & challenges in their lives & you're even more taken with them?

As we celebrated MareBear's 12th bday yesterday, I realized that I feel that way about my girl. She was a beautiful baby and a darling, precocious toddler. But things got harder in preschool. I chalked it up to a new sibling, a move 5 days later, and first experiences in school. My list of concerns kept growing in kindergarten, even while the teachers reassured me that "she's just young." My gut knew better.

Mind you, she was a completely gorgeous child. Incredibly bright and mostly delightful. But there was a growing list of concerns we had. In first grade, the school counselor started meeting with her/us regularly and teaching coping strategies. She recommended we see a professional clinician to discuss a diagnosis & possible medication, which we acquired, even though the dx didn't seem to quite encompass all our concerns. In the meantime, I have to add, she was also receiving speech therapy twice a week at UW and once a week at school. Second grade was better. Still rocky at times but we were blessed with a terrific teacher who completely understood who MareBear was and what she needed, as she had a son of her own who was similarly wired. Speech and occupational therapy continued at a children's therapy clinic. Third grade was dicey, and my list of observations & concerns kept growing.

Finally, we figured out the right channels and doctors to visit and she was officially diagnosed with a condition that felt like it made the puzzle pieces fit. She began seeing a new doctor who could counsel and prescribe meds and supplements & we began seeing improvement. We had a lot to learn, but we pursued every avenue that seemed like it would be helpful to our girl.

For most of her childhood, it seemed my life was full of research and my calendar full of appointments for her. I feared making her feel like there was something "wrong" with her, and yet, I had such a desire to see who I could find that might be able to help her feel more comfortable in the world.  And now, after countless meetings with a myriad of doctors and sessions with therapists, we arrive at age 12, 7th grade. And I suddenly realize how completely worth it it all was! I get teary as I think how hard she has worked to do so many things that others take for granted, and I could not be more proud of her. I feel like I can say that she is exactly who she is supposed to be, without any qualifiers like "considering she has this syndrome." She's always going to utilize strategies to manage anxiety, probably never going to like crowds very much, and remembering names & faces will always be a bit of a challenge, but none of those characteristics are going to be detrimental to the degree that they were when she was young. I am so grateful to have lived where we have lived, for each area has brought us to different doctors & therapists who offered just the treatments she needed. I am beyond grateful for the gifted teachers she's had along the way. More than anything, I am eternally grateful to have a Father in Heaven - who knows MareBear better than I do - as my partner in this parenting business.

Now, she's not all raised yet! I know we still have great years ahead, full of challenges and joy. But there's just something about this birthday that marks a spot where I'm feeling like I can breathe a little bit. She's not going to be ok. She's going to be MAGNIFICENT!

Why I Love May 26

The first time you ever set out to accomplish a dream, it's easy to have starry eyes and high hopes. Reality, though, undoubtedly seeps through and makes the second time a lot more daunting not because you want it less, but just because you're wiser.

In the beginning, my doctor told me I needed to prepare myself for the fact that I might not be able to have children, I was still tearfully optimistic as I went through surgeries and fertility drugs and miscarriages, finally resulting in an incredibly nausea-filled pregnancy, and I even had to have pretty major surgery while I was pregnant, followed by a typically unpleasant first-birth experience and a long, painful recovery. We were thrilled to *finally* have our baby girl in our arms and despite it all, felt overwhelmingly blessed.

A few years pass and this beautiful baby girl turned into a charming toddler, fast approaching preschool. She & I were buddies and I couldn't figure out what I ever did before she filled my days. And then her daddy & I started realizing that she was growing up and that maybe we should think about adding another baby to our family.

The thought filled me with complete dread. Not because I didn't want another child, but because the very thought of enduring all that again was just unbearable. I remember praying, asking God, "Should we really have another baby?" (when I knew all along that our daughter was not supposed to be our only child) He answered me while I was singing a hymn with the phrase, "What more can He say than to you He hath said?" It hit me like a ton of bricks and I knew that was my answer. I didn't like it particularly, but felt reassured by the hymn, which is all about the firm foundation that Christ has laid for us, and how He will never forsake us.

So, thus began the fertility drugs...again. And...again. 15 months later, under "threat" from my doctor that this was our last try before moving on to more aggressive therapies, I became pregnant. Then came the life-sustaining progesterone supplements, which made me "morning sick" all the time. All these years later, I still feel queasy if I hear a "Maisy" soundtrack, which was one of MareBear's favorite videos at the time (I don't remember images, just the sounds, as I laid on the couch w/my eyes closed. Excuse me...I feel a gag reflex coming on...).

This pregnancy was significantly more painful. My doctor likened it to a pair of new pantyhose vs a pair of old, stretched out pantyhose. Gee, thanks for that visualization! My back still hurts today from those months, btw! Towards the middle-end of the pregnancy, we were offered a great opportunity to move from our 2 bd apt into a friend's house for the same amount of money that we were paying in rent. It wasn't far away, but I still had such a hard time getting us ready to move! I am forever & ever grateful to my mom, who packed us up, moved us out, and cleaned up that awful apartment!

Since first babies never come early - and MareBear came 2.5 wks early - and second babies always come earlier than the first, we were expecting Baby2 to appear around the beginning of the month (thus leaving us a few weeks before we had to move). She sure made a lot of signs and effort, but alas. At 1 week overdue, and 5 days left before our move, I was induced on May 26.

I was scared to be induced, after hearing so many horror stories, but my body was quite ready & it all went quite smoothly; we checked in to the hospital at 7am and were holding her at 2:34 pm.

What a miraculous moment to meet LainyBug for the first time. Such amazing joy and relief! I can never say that I've forgotten all I went through to get either of my girls on this Earth, but I can say that my experiences prepared me to be the mom that I am today. I look at them and thank God every single day for the chance that I have to not just be any ol' mom, but to be the mother of these particular girls. Something about the longing, the physical & emotional pain, the knowledge that it might not happen for me...it all adds up to make me intensely grateful. And protective. And a little bit crazy about them.

May 26 is not just another day closer to summertime for me. It marks the day when my most heartfelt prayers were answered. God truly gave me the courage to face what I had to do to answer the call He gave me to bring one more of His daughters to Earth. He truly did live up to His promise that He would "strengthen me, help me, and cause me to stand."

Please pass the cake!!!

Giddyap!

As if clamming weren't enough excitement for one day, the girls, Grandpa, and Daddy went for an hour-long horse ride on the beach! It is something that the girls have always wanted to do, and the stars aligned - and the weather cooperated - enough to go for it this time. 

It was Daddy's first time to ride a horse.
Ask him what he learned about trotting!

They might have been able to cross "horseback riding" off their 

"Things I Want to Do" list, 

but it just got rewritten near the top of their 

"Things I Cannot Wait to Do Again" list!

Thank you, Gramma & Grandpa, for such FUN first-time experiences!

Can You Dig It?

My parents have long maintained that grandchildren are the reward for allowing your teenagers to live, and this past weekend cemented that belief, I think. You see, it was CLAM SEASON on the coast where my parents live (where they went clamming before work all 5 consecutive days,
since it was open), and my children had never been before, so we loaded up the "guns" and donned our finest raingear...

In case you've ever wondered, wet sand is really, really strong stuff.

MareBear quickly dug her limit (15), and only dug 2 or 3 holes where the digger escaped her powerful clam gun, thus solidly sealing her spot as
#1 Grandchild. (It used to just mean that she was born first)

Not to be outdone, Lainybug quickly proved that just because she was outweighed didn't mean she couldn't dig, too. I had to run back to the car for a bag for her, as we hadn't even thought she'd be able to get any by herself (state law says kids gotta do it all themselves).

Never underestimate the power of the Little Sister!

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I gotta hand it to these girls. Not only were they First Time Master Clam Diggers, but they did it in an impressive bit of rain without a single murmur. Obviously I married well, since they are their father's children, and not mine. :)

Maybe it's the boots, but this family has some serious clam diggin skills. Well, except for me. I didn't have a license, so I just wore the cute boots.
And helped Mom clean & gut the buggers. That counts, right?

Miss J

I subbed for a third grade class today. Most of them greeted me with a smile, but one boy loudly announced his disappointment, "Oh, man! Mrs. N said we would probably have Mrs. J as a sub today!" I was happy to tell him, "You know what?! I AM a Ms J, too! Before I was married, guess what my name was?! It was Miss J!" (yes, her married name & my maiden name are the same). I told them, "So, I betcha that there's a part of me that's still used to being Miss J, so if you want, you can call me that instead of Mrs. R today." We had a chuckle and I thought we moved on, but nope, there were 2 kids that straight-faced called me Miss J all day.

And I responded without missing a beat every time.

An Official Mother Hen

Sometimes stepping out of routine makes you realize how much you take for granted. Tonight, M had a class from 6-8pm in a town about 30 min from here, so I made arrangements for E to go home w/a friend after school, which meant we picked her up at 8:30pm.

I put her on the bus at 8:40am, so we were essentially apart for 12 hours today, which is very unusual. I missed her, but at the same time it was nice to have such a huge chunk of time for just M and me. We made dinner together and even made a quick Marshall's run (trying to lighten up her Sunday wardrobe choices as we head into spring...so many dark colors in her closet!) before heading to class. I completely enjoyed my time with her, and knew that E was having a great time at her friend's house, but my heart still ached for her.

I learned a few things about myself as a mom today. 1) I am so grateful that I'm not a mom who routinely has to drop her child off in the am and pick her up again 12 hours later. 2) I am officially a mother hen who needs her chicks under her wing to feel complete. 3) That saying about roots and wings...way harder to do than to say!

The Downside of Sheltering

I believe in using good, clean, positive language. "Shut up" is not even allowed in our house, and "hate" is saved for really special occasions. But maybe I should've eased up somewhere along the way. Today in the car afterschool, M was recounting her day and asked what a certain word that starts with a "j" meant. I told her "a really dumb jerk. Why do you ask?"

"Well, we were playing the ABC game and it was the first word I thought of. I said it and my teacher talked to me and she realized I didn't know what it meant or anything but I was embarrassed and I felt bad about it."

I assured her that it was an honest mistake (we still aren't sure where she's heard it. Shrek, maybe, or perhaps it's popped up in a book?) and I recounted a time when I was in middle school & repeated a phrase I'd heard my friends say. A teacher took me aside & asked if I knew what it meant. I guessed, "That you're really mad?" She filled me in & I don't think I've repeated it since (except in my head.)

I was oddly grateful to have had a similar experience to share with her, and at the same time, it left me wondering if I'm really doing the girls a favor by keeping such clean language around here? Just kidding. I think I'll stay the course. Because I really hate - excuse me, I mean - I really dislike rude language.