Photos

I've taken some pictures of seemingly insignificant moments or things with the hope of putting into words what I see in these pictures.

A snapshot in the bathroom at the end of therapy
That woman, that mom in the picture, she's happy. And you see her mug? "You are not alone." She's telling other moms that are experiencing similar things that they are not alone. She wants to give them hope. And that means that she has hope herself. She used to be very distraught at therapy. She used to feel like therapy was a reminder of everything that she wasn't doing, all the ways she had failed her son. But she's learning to embrace her limits, practice gratitude, and she's at peace with her son's struggles. She is understanding more every day that therapy isn't to fix him, it's to help. And from that place, she can focus on what God wants for the day and the therapy session, not the overwhelming need to fix what he's got going on. 

Coffee, CHOP floors, a therapist, and a stroller
I see capability. That's a common theme. These appointments used to completely and utterly overwhelm me. And I'm not saying that I look forward to them or that I'm always feeling on top of it. But I can sit and talk for hours with multiple therapists and doctors about what Leo's got going on and how to help him and address certain things. I'm not a passive person, I'm a participant. I have meaningful things to contribute to the conversation. My world isn't defined by these appointments. Going to the hospital isn't what I pictured as a mom. Regular trips to Philly is not what I pictured as a mom. But everybody has things that they didn't picture about parenting. It's ok to enjoy the trip in and the people we get to interact with. We have come far. 

A spoiled, sweet little life. Hot, delivered coffee, a peaceful child, Christmas tree, and snow outside. HOW DOES IT GET BETTER? I'm truly so grateful for where God has us. We are so provided for. Our needs are beyond met. I don't know if people look at our situation and say, "oh no" but we truly have such a gifted life. Being Leo's mom isn't "typical" motherhood, but it's no less motherhood. It's not nursing and motherhood. It's motherhood. 

Leo sitting with someone else--and my heart at peace. 
Holding Leo is difficult. Allowing people to hold Leo is difficult. There's no formula to ensure that he's comfortable and that the one doing the holding is comfortable. I'm learning to help others hold him. I'm learning to help Leo be held. And I'm learning to let go of control and let the two of them figure things out. This sweet moment was on the train. Leo was almost falling asleep in a friend's arms. And I sat in peace, appreciating the moment of sitting without adjusting my body to support his, saying "thank you" to my body for what it does, and giving it some rest. Also holding Leo's hand felt like still choosing to be with him. Even though I need breaks and space and help, it doesn't mean that I don't enjoy him.  

I don't know why this stood out in this moment, but it was the ring. I saw my hand, heavy on Leo's chest providing calming pressure. I remembered how I did this in the NICU. And I remembered the time in my life when every picture was about placing the hand so that ring was seen. I remembered how much I anticipated that ring, how the ring itself was such a cause for marvel. I'd see it on my hand and think again, "I can't believe that I get to marry Bradley. Wow! He must think I'm pretty great. Is this ring real?" And now I wear it on my hand every day without marvel. 
What a different stage of life. What a world away. Those kids had no idea what was coming for them. But, oh, what sweet gifts God has given them. How much better they understand hoping for heaven. And what joy they have in getting older.