The Talk (not that talk, the special needs talk)

This summer is the first summer Baker has been three.

(Photo creds: Katie Thompson Photograpy)

Silliest of statements, I know.
Of course this summer is the first summer Baker has been three.
Hear me out.

Three year olds get to play with the big kids.
Three year olds are no longer considered babies and given the grace babies are given.

Babies are allowed to sit quietly.
Babies are allowed to keep to themselves.
Babies are allowed to play in their own safe area.

There are no expectations surrounding play with babies,
except that babies will be babies.
Babies do what babies do.

Last summer, and the summer before, and the summer before that, Baker was a baby.

This summer is the first summer Baker has been three.
This summer is the first summer Baker has gotten to play with the big kids.
This summer is the first summer Baker's play has been laden with expectations of looking and sounding a certain way.
This summer is the first summer Baker has been noticed as different.

Before, Baker could sit on the sidelines.
Before, Baker could bounce on my lap and giggle and coo to everyone's delight.
Before, Baker was a baby.
Before, it was okay that Baker could not talk, could not run as quickly, could not jump as high.

Before, none of the other kids saw Baker any differently than they saw their baby sister or little cousin. He was a baby (and a darn cute one). He did what babies did. Because of his different abilities, some of it came at a slower rate, and took much greater effort. His hypotonia caused his chubby little legs to frog out when he slept and his little body to collapse into mine winning him all the awards for world's greatest snuggler. He was a baby, and everybody loves a baby. Especially Baby Baker.

This summer is the first summer Baker has been three.
And because of that, this is the first summer our little sphere has been expanded.
And because of that, two things have happened to this momma's heart.

It has experienced both unspeakable joy and unspeakable ache.

My heart has threatened to overflow watching Baker create new friendships.
I have been so encouraged as I have listened to other mommas enlighten and empower their children with knowledge about Down Syndrome as questions have presented themselves about why Baker's play and talk differ from their own. I have loved watching the innocence of children, as they love with their whole heart, without judgment and with unhindered acceptance.

My heart has also threaten to shatter into pieces as I see other children notice Baker's different abilities. "Is he special ed?" one asked innocently. Others can't understand his fascination with perfectly folding all of our beach towels instead of bounding down the slide like all the other children. Why, when their conversations flowed as easily as lemonade on a summer day, did Baker prefer silence? Why, when he does speak, does he often do so first with his hands and then with words that sound so differently than our own? Why does he often drift to the perimeter when all of the action is in the center?

Why is he different than me?

Could you answer that question?

Little more than three years ago, I would have stuttered through it,
preferring to brush it under the doormat, or
opting to combat it with the eye that commanded silence
instead of opening doors to a conversation of acceptance.

As the mom of a seriously great kid, who happens to have unique needs, I beg you to have the talk.
The talk about alikes and differences, and how often we're more alike than different.

If you need a name, use Baker. If you need a face, I think his is pretty perfect. If you need words, use a picture book (spoken like a true teacher, ha!). I love "We'll Paint the Octopus Red."

Your children won't mind if the words aren't perfect or eloquent or include textbook terminology. They can be simple and succinct and from the heart.
From the bottom of mine, thank you.

More than you know, thank you.

You might also like:

What if we have two children with Down Syndrome?
I never knew I wanted a child with Down Syndrome until I had one
A missed opportunity

sometimes God answers no when i pray

"sometimes God answers 'yes' when I pray,

sometimes God answers 'wait' when I pray,

sometimes God answers 'no,' just because He loves me so,

but I know God always answers when I pray"

 

I remember signing this verse in children's church, and today, 25 years later, I still find myself humming the tune and singing the lyrics.


When I pray with faithfulness, with an expectant heart, with an eager spirit, I often misinterpret a "not right now" or "not at all" for God not hearing my prayers.


when a diagnosis is confirmed,
when a heart hurts,
when His timing is not my own,
when farewell is uttered,
when a door closes,
when a job fails,
when a storm devastates,


God is still God.
He is still reigning on His throne.
The Creator of the universe still knows my name.
The Almighty still holds my life in His hands.


If he had answered yes to one very strong, very purposeful prayer.
A prayer that was uttered just over two years ago.
A prayer where we begged and pleaded and petitioned for our son to come into this world without Down Syndrome.
We wouldn't be us.
And I just cannot fathom how that could be.

His ways are better.
His grasp is stronger.
His thoughts are higher.
His love is greater.
His plan is bigger.

What if I failed as a mother?

There are entire days that go by that I forget Baker has Down Syndrome.

It's true.

 

It hasn't always been that way.

I remember when I couldn't go an entire minute without drowning in the weight of his diagnosis.

I remember being terrified.

 

As a new mother, I knew so little about so little.

 

The task of raising a child with special needs seemed overwhelming.

 

What if I missed a therapy?
What if I was singing when I should be speaking?

What if my pitch was high when it needed to be low?

What if I didn't use sign language early enough?

What if I held him the wrong way?

What if his toys weren't the just right toys for his needs?

What if he wasn't getting enough tummy time?

What if I wasn't timely enough in involving Early Intervention?

What if I read the wrong books and left the right ones untouched.

What if I held him too much?
What if he ate too little?
What if he slept on his stomach instead of his back?
What if I zigged when I should have zagged.
Zipped when I should have zapped?
What if I didn't do everything correctly? Precisely? Perfectly?

 

The real question was none of those.
And to be honest, it had little to do with Baker's special need.
 

The real question was what if I failed as a mom?

 

The job I'd pretended at, the job I'd prayed for, the job I longed to inhabit above all else.

 

My heart ached at the enormity of it all.
 

To strive for perfection,
when I am the most imperfect of them all.

I was relieved when, in one of our day-long rocking sessions,
I reread this familiar verse:


print source

I would fail.
Sweet Jesus, I would fail.
Many times a day.
Many, many times a day.
But I can rest in the strong arms of my Savior,
knowing his power is perfect in my doubt, in my failure, in my weakness.

Baker's Letter

Baker Boy,

I have carried you all along.
For two hundred forty-three days in my body,
for seven hundred twenty-seven days in my arms,
for my whole life in my heart.

You make me so proud.
I am so very proud to be your mommy.

You are my biggest smile,
my favorite slobbery kiss-giver,
the best high-fiver.

You are the one I want to watch all Mickey Mouse Clubhouse episodes with,
the soft head on my shoulder,
the little hand I want clutched in mine for the rest of my days.

You are the sweetest love,
my answered prayer.

You are sunshine.
You are strength.
You are smiles and giggles.
You are your daddy's best bud, and your mommy's little angel.

At almost two years old,
you love life so big.

You wake up every morning with a grin on your face.
Seriously, you do.
Your daddy and I love starting our mornings with you.
You waste little time before signing "music" and "eat."
That's your mommy and daddy in you.
Your daddy, the music. Me, the food.
He wakes singing, and I always wake up hungry.
I love that you are made perfectly of both of us.

You love reading.
Every night we read many books together, me always giving in to your plea for "mo, mo, Mama, mo."
Right now, you especially love Love You Forever.
I always cry.
And you always laugh.
Probably because you are secretly scheming to throw my watch in the potty just like the little boy in the book.

You would spend all of your days outside.
You are such a little boy.
You like swinging high and riding fast.
There is no slide too steep or sandbox too deep.
You are rough and tough.
Getting dirty doesn't bother you a bit.
Skinned knees rarely slow you down.
Your newborn scent has been replaced with the smell of dirt and sweat and grass.
It is intoxicating.

This has been a big year for our family, filled with a lot of changes.
You have handled them all like a champ.
Even as your mommy, I look to you to see how you respond.
Many times, it's better than I would.
You have taught me so much about faith, and strength, and perseverance, and love.
You have taught me so much about so much.

Sweet boy, this has been an incredible journey.
Thank you for teaching me how to be a mommy.
Each new day, each new stage is my new favorite.
Days spent with you are the best of days.

From the top of your head,
to your sweet little toes,
and all of the kissable spots in between...

Farther than the moon,
more than all the stars in the sky,
I'll spend the rest of my days showing you how much I love you,
how deep and how far and how high.

Mommy

 

 

Thoughts from a working mom

It's a thought that crosses my mind every Sunday night.
What if I didn't have to go to work on Monday morning?

What if I didn't have to pack lunches?
What if I didn't have to pick out school clothes?
What if I didn't have to battle traffic for the cross-town commute?
What if I didn't have to leave my son in the care of someone else?
What if I didn't have to say goodbye?
What if the only name I answered to all day was "Mom?"
What if I got to rock him to sleep for his afternoon nap?
What if I got to see that smile, hear that word, watch those steps?
What if?

I can't help but wonder how different life would be if I stayed home with Baker.
Not easier, not harder, just different.

I quickly snap out of the day dream (that just so happens to occur in the moments before I drift off to dreams) and make mental notes of the tasks to tend to first in the wee hours of Monday morning.

The thought comes back again and I allow it to linger a bit longer this time.
For some reason, I hear "You are My Sunshine" as I envision Baker and I playing a mid-day game of Candy Land in the living room floor, drinking lemonade at his picnic table on the porch, surprising Brian with a Frosty at work, skipping along the sidewalk, chasing butterflies and stopping to smell every flower along the way.

I know this is not the way mothers who stay at home spend their day.
I know.
I know, because I have spent summers at home.
I have spent days with Baker when he is sick.
Or on weekends, or holidays.

This euphoric image I have envisioned is a far cry from reality. Baker and I have never played Candy Land, lemonade has never wet his tongue, and Lord knows, we'd slurp every drop of a Frosty before it ever made the trek to my husband.

The mind is a dangerous thing - making one believe another way is always better. I've always heard comparison is the thief of joy. And it is.

The thing is, I love being a mother. But I also love my job.
I used to think I wasn't allowed to say that. That I love both.
That to be a good mother, all I could do was to be a mother.

There is much joy to be had in being a working mother.

Each member of our family benefits from my working.
When joy threatens to leave, I remind myself of these things.

One. I am contributing financially to our family budget.

Two. People outside of my home need me. I am making a difference in families other than my own. There is no feeling like feeling needed.

Three. I work hard and I am affirmed in my work. That feels good.

Four. Similarities bond. I am so grateful for friends who are walking this same path. They encourage, share tips (Crock Pot meals FOR THE WIN), pray with, and laugh alongside, and pick up when comparison or exhaustion or worry rears its ugly head and creeps back in.

Five. My husband and I are dependent on one another in all things. We share the load. We share the burden. We share the joy. In all things, we tag team. And at the end of the day, we moon walk out of Baker's room and high five at surviving another day.

Six. My son learns to trust others. He learns to depend on others. He learns how to socialize and interact with children and other adults. And then, he learns his mommy and daddy always come back.

Seven. Balance. It's not either/or. It's both. I can be both a good mother and work a full-time job.

Eight. Setting priorities, and forgetting the rest. Some nights we go to sleep with dishes in the sink, clean laundry impatiently waiting to be folded in the dryer, and smudges on the front door (now that I mention it, they are quite obvious in the picture below). That's okay. I have learned to prioritize and attend to the things that matter most. That sometimes means a forsaken to-do list, and always means time with my two favorite boys.

Nine. A boy and his backpack. That may be reason enough.

To the moms who work, to the moms who stay home, and to the moms who work from home, you do a good work. From me to you, be encouraged in all you do.

"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as if working for the Lord, not for men."

Colossians 3:23

Walking in faith

I was holding Baker's hands last night, as he bounded proudly across the living room floor. He was none too quiet, as he celebrated each deliberate step. I begged him to take one teensy step without my assistance. I tried, ever so sneakily, to remove one of my hands from the death grip he had employed to hold it captive. He grunted time and again signaling his disapproval. As soon as I would withdraw one hand, he would plop clumsily on his bottom and wait, with the impatience one would expect from an almost two year old, for me to surrender both hands. Without hesitation, he confidently grasped both hands, and proceeded with his trek across the hardwood floor.

We continued this song and dance of me imploring him to walk, and him unwavering in his stance to do nothing of the sorts without my complete support.

I know he can walk without holding both of my hands. I have seen him do it. On more than one occasion, we have taken the long walk into school with him holding one of my hands, while I juggle his matching lunchbox and backpack in the other.

But not last night. Last night, he was wholly dependent on me.

As I became frustrated at this seeming regression, the Lord placed a thought on my heart.

How many times have I, as a follower of Christ, eager to walk in His ways, sat unmoved waiting for Him to carry me? How many times have I lacked the faith to step out on my own? How many times have I waited for Him to hold both of my hands? How many times have I traded boldness for timidity? How many times have I been untrusting?

Even when I have walked in faith before, trusting Him to catch my fall.
Even knowing He is walking beside me.
Even when I know walking in His path is the only path upon which to walk.

Sometimes my Christian walk mirrors that of a toddler, teetering back and forth between faithfulness and a very obvious lack of faith.

Tonight, as Baker and I walk around the house, I pray that I will nurture his growth. I pray that I will support him, and give him the confidence he needs to take steps independently, all while knowing that I will catch his every fall.

And tonight, as I pray for the Lord to use me in whatever way He chooses to for His glory, I will also pray that I will be willing to allow Him to "take me deeper than my soul would ever wander, that my faith will be made stronger in the presence of my Savior."

2013 - A Year of Joy

This was a year of big smiles and a lot of joy for the Bell family.

I cannot wait to see what the Lord has in store for us in 2014.

 

 

Looking back, my word for the year 2013 was joy.

 

Finding joy in celebrations.

Finding joy in heartaches.

Finding joy on the weekdays.

Finding joy on the weekends.

Finding joy in my marriage.

Finding joy in parenthood.

Finding joy in my job.

Finding joy in the unknown.

Finding joy in the unplanned.

Finding joy in every day.

In all things, I was challenged to find joy.

 

Sometimes, on some days, it was more difficult.

But the Lord was always faithful.

 

Baker would plaster that infectious smile,

or Brian would engulf me in an embrace so big and so tight,

or a friend would call at the just right time,

or a perfectly timed text would arrive,

or my parents would do that wonderfully encouraging thing that parents do,

and the Lord reminded me of joy in the midst.

 

 

 I learned, when I truly look for joy in all circumstances,

there is joy to be found in all circumstances.

 

"Rejoice always."

1 Thessalonians 5:16

 

"Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again - Rejoice!"

Philippians 4:4

 

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, when you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance."

James 2:4

 

I have contemplated my word for 2014.

I have decided, without hesitation, it will be intentional.

 

Being intentional as a believer and in my quest to point people to my Lord and Savior.

Being intentional as a wife, as a mother, as a daughter, as a sister, as a friend.

Being intentional in hospitality.

Being intentional in servanthood.

Being intentional in conversations.

Being intentional in relationships.

Being intentional in my everyday.

 

Praying intentionally.

Loving intentionally.

Living intentionally.

Nine Month Baby Boy

How, oh how, is my sweet Baker already nine months?

 

Some days, I feel like the past nine months, 268 days, 6,432 hours, 385,920 seconds have gone by in the blink of an eye,

other days, it feels like I've been a mommy my whole life.

This role is so natural.

So much a part of my being,

that I cannot imagine life without Baker.

Blazing fast, or slow and steady, being a mommy is the most incredible gift.

I am loving every day, every hour, every minute, every second.

 

I had planned on some cutesy nine month pictures, but since my handsome little fell asleep tonight at 6:06,

look at these from Sunday, or these last Monday (disregard the terribly inappropriate potty humor), or even these from the previous Friday.
 

What he's doing now...

 

Baker is a social bug!

I wonder where he gets that?!?

He "talks" all the time.

The two words he uses consistently with meaning are "Mama" (or "Mum") and "Dada."

He also says "baba" - but I think this just feels good rolling off his lips.
He is making all kinds of sounds at various pitches and holding them until he literally runs out of the breath. It is the cutest thing!

He also blows raspberries at everything.

If he sees me smile or giggle at something, he makes this sound over and over and over. He loves making people smile and I love that he loves to make others happy!

I tell him everything I am doing, everywhere we are going, and he just listens like he understands every single word. If I dare pause, or ask a question, he is quick to answer and let me know his full thoughts on the subject.

 

Baker is also signing more frequently.

He consistently uses "hungry,"

and is beginning to sign "drink," "Mama," "Dada," and "more."

We are working on signing more. The ones we have introduced and are reinforcing more consistently are "ball," "bath," "sleep," "cold," "hot," "dog," "please," "thank you," "yes," "no," and "good."

 

Baker does not discriminate on food!

He loves food and would probably eat as often as I would feed him.

He is currently taking five bottles per day.

Each bottle is between six and seven ounces.

He is also eating like an elephant.

They eat a lot, right?

And anything in sight? If so, then yup, an elephant!

He started showing signs of a wheat allergy a few weeks ago

- nothing serious -

just a runny nose, dry, rosy cheeks, and watery eyes -

 but nevertheless, we discontinued all food items with grain.

We substituted the typical oatmeal for a container of Yo Baby pear or banana yogurt and when I say Baker is goo goo over yogurt,

I am not even doing his love of breakfast justice.

It's my favorite meal of the day to feed him!

For lunch, he has two vegetables, and for dinner,

 two vegetables and one fruit.

Boy hasn't tried one thing he hasn't LOVED!

So far, he's eaten cauliflower, carrots, butternut squash, green beans, Lima beans, English peas, sweet potatoes, bananas, apples, avocados, pears.

 

Honk shoos.

You know, sleeps, snoring.

My boy snores and I love it to pieces.

Him sleeping on my chest, breathing slow, rhythmic breaths,

is one of the most peaceful, heartwarming sounds my ears have ever heard.

Baker sleeps well.

He naps throughout the day and sleeps from about 6:30 in the evening until 6:30 in the morning.

I am so thankful for this!

We still rock him to sleep.

He's my baby, my first baby, my only baby, and at the end of the day,

there is nothing I love more than rocking him to sleep.

 

He still goes to Physical and Occupational Therapy twice a week for one hour visits, and Speech Therapy once a month (but we are due for a reeval, and I think we'll increase to twice per month).

 

I get told all the time he looks like me.
Don't tell Brian, but this thrills me to no end!
I mean, have you seen him?
He's the most precious thing EVER!

This is probably going to sound bizarre, but I'm his mommy and I can be bizarre.
All of a sudden, Baker's breath smells like breath.
Like it has a smell, not just baby, but a real smell.
And it's perfect.
So good, I could bottle it.
I told you, bizarre.
But, to me, delicious.
Absolute perfection.

 

My Baker Boy loves life.

Bath time, playing on the floor, sitting in his high chair, talking, laughing, being tickled, bouncing, rocking, reading.

He is a gift.
His presence in our lives is the greatest present - you see what I did there?
Clever, huh?

 

The past nine months.

I have a feeling they are just a mere glimpse of the joy and love we will experience through sweet Baker's life.

A Gift

I started writing this post as a journal entry.
An outpouring of my heart.
A confession of my weaknesses.
An attempt to seek prayer and encouragement.
Then, it evolved into something else.

Instead of letting this be about me,
I hope to make this about something greater, about children.
A gift.
If you are a parent, or plan to become a parent,
I hope to provide you with a glimpse of hope and encouragement.

If you are new to this blog,
my son Baker, who is now eight months old,
 was born almost four weeks early with Down Syndrome.
You can read his birth story here.

But don't stop there, read through other posts.
Read about his first time eating green beans,
and giggling,
and rolling over.
Read about the way my heart has grown since becoming his mommy.
Read about the challenges, the emotions, the joys.
Read and learn and share in our gift.

Today is Sanctity of Life Sunday.

A day to honor life.
All lives.
But for me, it is a day to honor my Baker.
A gift.
I hope today, or this time next year,
or the year after, it will be a day of honoring your gift, too.

Did you know that the experts are predicting that in a matter of years,
Down Syndrome will be extinct?

Not because scientists have found a cure.
No, because medical technology is so advanced that doctors are detecting it earlier and earlier and an increasing number of families are making the decision to abort babies with a chance of being born with this disability.

The New York Post reports, ninety-two percent of pregnancies receiving the diagnosis of Down Syndrome end in abortion.

Many statistics I can brush off as just a statistic,
but this one,
this one breaks my heart in so many pieces.

I think back to that day when we learned of the heightened chance
of Baker being born with Downs,
I think back to that day in the genetic counselor's office
where we were encouraged to abort Baker.
They were insistent on doing an amniocentesis on that date
because any later would be too late.
I think about the feeling of Brian's hand in mine.
I think about the feeling of warm tears streaming down my cheeks.
I think about the rough fiber of carpet digging in my knees
as I called on the face of God.
I think about lying on that ultrasound table and
hearing the pride in Brian's voice when the doctor
confidently announced a baby boy.
I think about the feeling of walking out of that office,
without an amniocentesis and very much with a baby.
I think about that cool December air and Brian
uttering "Baker" in barely a whisper just to see how it felt.

I think about the peace,
the perfect peace,
that let me know God is bigger than a disability,
and He is and would always be in control.

Today, my heart is torn.
I am hopeful that my story, along with many others out there,
 will provide encouragement that having a baby,
even especially a baby with a disability brings joy at the utmost,
unspeakable joy.

That, yes, there are trials, and there are struggles,
and there are financial burdens, and time constraints.
But even more, there are celebrations, and woo-hoos, and
smiles, and love, and answered prayers.
And gifts.
Oh, the gifts.

I pray for mothers and fathers today.
I pray they will recognize the sanctity of life, all life,
and will trust in the Lord with their children,
a most precious gift.
To provide for them and meet their needs.

Jehovah Jireh, my provider.
He can be yours, too.

These are verses I have written on my hand,
scribbled on Post-its galore,
etched on the walls of my heart.

They are strength in my weakness.
They can be yours, too.
 

"For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
So are My ways higher than your ways,
And My thoughts than your thoughts....
So shall My word be that goes forth from My mouth;
It shall not return to Me void,
But it shall accomplish what I please,
And it shall prosper in the thing for which I sent it."
Isaiah 55: 9, 11

"As Jesus was walking along, he saw a man who had been blind from birth.
'Rabbi," his disciples asked him,
Why was this man born blind?
Was it because of his own sins or his parents' sins?'
'It was not because of his sins or his parents' sins,' Jesus answered.
'This happened so the power of God could be seen in him.'
John 9: 1-4

"My grace is sufficient for you, my power is made perfect in weakness..."
2 Corinthians 12: 9

"Do not be anxious about anything,
but in everything, with prayer and petition, with thanksgiving,
present your requests to God;
and the peace of God, which transcends all understanding,
will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus."
Philippians 4:6-7

"Now to Him, who is able to do immeasurably more than we ask or imagine,
according to the power that works within us."
Ephesians 3:20
 

Favorite Things Friday

I had a brief moment today where I, in the words of a dear friend, freaked my freaked.

I went from total panic to sheer exhilaration.

It is not atypical for Baker's high chair to look like this.

We combine eating with occupational therapy with entertaining the babe so I can have a fighting chance of getting supper on the table before breakfast is served. 

Today, I was feeding Baker a cup of yogurt, and we were practicing raking and picking up items. 

Namely, the dice, mesh thingy resembling a pacifier (that I would buy over and over and over again), 

colored squishy balls, and stacking cups. 

I turned to the counter to scoop another scrumptious bite of yogurt, and I turn back to see six black uniformly stacked dots on a die staring back at me from INSIDE BAKER'S MOUTH! 

Yes, a die. 

Yes, in his mouth.

First thought - well, no thought, just mommy mode full speed ahead. 

I jerked that thing out of his mouth so fast you could see cartoon worthy dust in my tracks. 

And then mommy mode in another form kicked in. 

I slowed down long enough to realize my Baker picked up that cube, 

that little bitty thing, and put it right into his mouth.

Eeekkk! 

Y'all, this is what we've been working on. 

But Baker has never carried anything that small to his mouth. 

Bibs, yes.

Cloth diapers, yes.

Chunky Baker Boy thumbs, yes.

Pacifiers, no.

Puffs and yogurt bites, no.

Not even Sophie the Giraffe.

The fact that he first picked this up off his tray, 

then carried it without dropping or throwing it all the way to his face, 

then placed it in his mouth. 

I'll say it again, 

Eeekkk!

We take for granted the motor skills this requires.

All of the different muscles that work in unison to create this action. 

After "freaking my freak," I spun my boy around the kitchen, 

shook my groove thang, 

let out some serious "woo-hoos," and "get you some, Baker Bell"s! 

Baker was quite confused, but played along seeming to enjoy his mama's craziness.

Cue "Hallelujah Chorus."

Celebrations, y'all.

We do it lots 'round here.

This. 

This. 

On this Friday, this is my favorite thing.

Celebrating milestones.

Smiling.

Rejoicing.

Singing and dancing.

And "get you some Baker Bell"-ing.

And shaking my groove thang.

And Baker smiling knowing he has done something so big that made his mama so 

happy she acted quite like a complete nut.

Celebrations.

This. 

Happy Friday, friends.

His Letter

 

This video highlights a couple, Jennifer and Heath White, 

and their little girl, Paisley.

It was featured on ESPN's E:60.

When they found out Paisley would be born with Down Syndrome,

the husband, Heath White, was adamant his wife abort her.

Now, he couldn't imagine his life without her.

 

While we don't share many of the same viewpoints, I can empathize with their fears.

 

Watch.

 

 

After watching, I felt compelled to write a similar letter.

 

But before doing so, I looked back at the journal I kept along my journey to become a mother. I read all the letters I wrote to Baker, before I even knew he was going to be my Baker. I contemplated sharing them with you, but they are raw, emotional, personal. And while I try to share details of our life, that's a sacred time I think I will keep tucked away in my journal.

 

The first is dated January 5, 2011. It was written just three weeks before I would miscarry.

 

I have another written October 27, 2012 when I was eight and a half weeks pregnant with Baker. The next one to him was written on December 21. That was the day I received the phone call with the results of the quad screen. That page has tear stains smearing my writing.

There were several others.

Words of longing.

Words of joy.

Words of hope.

Words of love.

Words that take me right back to my favorite maternity jeans, fluttering and quickly-blossoming belly, and the taste of citrus evidencing my insatiable craving - navel oranges.

 

Letters are good. Writing is good.

 

I see why Heath chose to write a letter to Paisley.

 

I haven't written a letter to Baker since we brought him home from the hospital.

Rather, I have been living out my love letter to him.

 



So here goes,

a letter that I will share with him,

just like the many others I wrote along our journey.

A letter that shows our love for him, our unwavering desire for him.

 

His letter.

 

My Dearest Baker,

 

I never knew my heart could love in such a way,

until I became a mommy, your mommy.

Your daddy and I prayed for you long before we met you,

and we pray for you still.

 

Before you were born, we prayed for a baby.

We never knew God would give us such an incredible little boy to love so much.

 

We pray we will be godly parents that teach you

most importantly, to love the Lord,

to put the needs of others before your own,

to respect others, and in turn, respect yourself,

to stand up for what you believe in.

 

When I look at you, I see what I want to be.

 

I see a little boy with a big heart.

A heart that loves life.

Oh, how you love life.

You love reading, and playing, and listening to your daddy play the guitar, and you even love your mommy's singing.

Your smile is contagious, infectious.

Your laugh, your words, your entire being exudes joy.

 

I see a little boy with a big fight.

Never once have I seen you give up.

You, my sweet boy, are my hero.

You take each day, each struggle, each difficulty, and you strive, and you work, and you overcome it.

You have just enough stubborn in you to surpass all expectations,

regardless of the many hindrances in your way.

You grunt, and you get red-faced, and you get mad.

Boy, can you get mad.

But, you stick with it - whatever it is.

And you do it.

And you love it.

And I love it, too.

 

I see a little boy with a big spirit.

You want to make other people happy.

When you see me smile, you continue doing whatever it is,

just to keep me smiling.

Oh, how I love this about you.

 

I see a little boy with a big influence.

You, in your short seven months,

have touched more lives than I could ever dream.

I am a better person for being your mommy.

People gravitate towards you.

They pray for you, they love on you,

they hope and fight and work alongside you,

to make sure you know you are special.

 

Baker Bell, don't you ever forget that.

You are special.

And not because of an extra chromosome.

You are special because God made you.

And He made you just right.

And I am so, so thankful that He gave you to me.

 

Your mommy and daddy love you.

To the moon and back,

from your head to your toes and all the sweet spots in between,

with our whole hearts,

we love you more than you will ever know.

Your family, your friends, your teachers, your therapists, even people you have never met, love you.

 

You are our answered prayer, our miracle, our fighter,

our dream come true,

our Baker Boy.

 

I love you forever,

Your Mommy

Oommph

As I sit in my dark living room haloed by the glow of the Christmas tree and the quiet hum of my two snoring boys sweetly snuggled in the chair beside me, a muted Christmas 'Cation (as affectionately named by my sweet Sarah Kate) playing on the television across the room, I am acutely aware of the oommph of this holiday season.

 

Yes, oommph.

 

I've checked Webster and of all the words he chose to include, this one he did not. I would define it as magnitude, but tonight, oommph seems much more fitting.

 

You follow?

 

Oommph.

 

A few things that make this year even more special.

A few things that are overflowing my heart on this crisp December evening.

A few things that add oommph to this most joyous time of year. 

 

Not that anything extra is required to add magnitude to this season.

The birth of our Lord and Savior is big enough.

The story of Him being born to the virgin Mary in a stable is enough.

More than enough.

 

We don't need tinsel and lights to add sparkle to that story.

 

But something has transpired in the past year that makes that story even more meaningful, more personal to me.

 

That adds oommph.

Baker's birth - the events leading up to and the events happening since.

The journey to becoming a mother was trying.

It required a lot of faith and trust.

It was long, and it was full of heartache.

But then it wasn't.

Then it was full of celebrating and rejoicing.

 

Is this how Mary felt in her journey to becoming a mother?

I am not trying to make light of the birth of Christ.
I know the faith and trust Mary must have had is far greater than any I had to exude.
She was, in fact, carrying our Lord and Savior.

But I do know that her journey involved faith and trust and heartache and celebrating and rejoicing.

When I look at Baker, I cannot imagine the emotions Mary was experiencing on that starry night in Bethlehem.

How she looked at Baby Jesus for the first time with the overwhelming love of a mother and knew that one day his life would be offered as a sacrifice.

As a child, I memorized John 3:16.
Knew it forwards, backwards, and sideways.
"For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life."

But I read that differently now that I am a mother.
"...gave His only begotten Son..."
Gave.
His.
Son.
Oh my.
The sacrifice.
The love.
The gift.

Thank you Jesus for loving me.
For saving me.
For being born in a lowly manger and dying on a rugged cross.
For answering my prayer of a child, and through this gift, offering me a better glimpse of the love you have for your children.

Oommph.

Jesus Calling

      I have heard of the book, Jesus Calling, before; but my interest in it was truly piqued when a friend posted the August 23 devotional on Instagram. 

 

 

It reads:

 

      "Entrust your loved one to Me; release them into My protective care.

They are much safer with Me than in your clinging hands.

If you let a loved one become an idol in your heart,

you endanger that one--as well as yourself.

Remember the extreme measures I used with Abraham and Isaac.

I took Isaac to the very point of death to free Abraham from son-worship.

Both Abraham and Isaac suffered terribly because of the father's

undisciplined emotions.

I detest idolatry, even in the form of parental love.

      When you release loved ones to Me,

you are free to cling to My hand.

As you entrust others into My care,

I am free to shower blessings on them.

My Presence will go with them wherever they go,

and I will give them rest.

This same Presence stays with you,

as you relax and place your trust in Me.

Watch to see what I will do."

 

Ouch.

 

      This entry hit me square between the eyes. It is that feeling when you're sitting in a sermon, nestled comfortably in the pew, with the familiar smell of the weathered church hymnal and sound of crisp pages turning as fellow worshippers dive into the Word. And while the sanctuary is teeming with churchgoers, you may as well be the sole attendant; for the message was written and preached for your ears only.

 

Jesus Calling, this devotional, was written for a large audience,

but this devotional was written for me.

 

      I have been guilty of giving myself hypothetical gold stars for being a "good" Christian, whatever that means. You know, one for going to church, another for reading the Word, a third for tithing. But I couldn't give a fourth. I claim that Jesus is Lord of my life. I don't put money, or power, fame, or other worldly possessions before Him. No, the one I put in front of Him is something He gave me. Something good. Something pure. Something so precious. I know this may sound strange, but the idol I put before my Savior is my baby boy.

 

      I was so convicted by this passage.  

 

I cling so tight to my little. He is a blessing, an answered prayer, a dream come true.

 

I  want to be the first one he sees when he awakens,

the first "I love you" he hears each day.

I want to see his first steps, hear his first words.

I want to catch him when he falls, and heal his hurts.

I want to be his mommy, his best friend,

his comfort, his protector, his everything.

 

I can try to be these things. I can try and I will fail.

Everyday.

Many, many times each day.

But this passage reminds me that there is One who loves Baker more than me.

One who doesn't fail, One who loves perfectly.

 

Oh, this is hard,
loosening my tightly clinging grip.

But here I am surrendering, boldly, as promised,

 entrusting God with my child, who was His first.

 

 



Enough

Today I am feeling like I cannot

kiss him enough,

hold him close enough,

sing with him enough,

snuggle him enough,

read to him enough,

pat him enough,

rock him enough,

love him enough.

 

Have you ever felt that way?

Like you just want to hold your little so close

to feel the beat of their heart,

to breathe the perfume of their skin,

to hear the rhythmic purr of their breath.

 

It's one of those eyes closed, deep breath snuggles,

that bonds a mommy and her baby,

and I just can't get enough.

 

 

 

 

Nana, Nana, Bo-fana

Growing up, I considered it the ultimate compliment for someone to say to me,

"You remind me so much of Susan,"

or

"That's just like your momma would have done it,"

or

"You look just like your mother."

Of course it was the ultimate compliment;

I mean, just look at her.

 

As a mother, I still it consider the ultimate compliment for someone to say

"You remind me so much of Susan,"

or

"That's just like your momma would have done it,"

or

"You look just like your mother."

I pray that I am a fraction of the mother to my sweet Baker that my mother was to me.

When I count my blessings, having a mother who was always there for me, who led me to Christ, who loved me unconditionally, who put the needs of her family before her needs, who was not only my mother, but my best friend is at the top of my list.

My mom is the greatest mom, so it's no wonder, she is a fabulous Nana!

And my Baker Boy sure does love his Nana!

When I stay home with Baker for the day, I am lucky to eat lunch. But when Nana visits, my house is cleaned, supper is cooked, laundry is done, and she even keeps Baker fed, dressed, and smiling!

She has always been a superwoman, of sorts.
Some things never change.

Her presence brightens our home.

Everytime she visits, she brings something new for her one and only grand,

her pride and joy.

I had been obsessing over dropping little hints about an exercise ball after seeing Noah use one for therapy. Being the intuitive grandmother she is, she arrived with ball in hand!

Here's how they spent their day.

Needless to say, my Baker Boy slept through the night after Nana's visit.

We're all a little better after a visit from my dear mother,
Brian's "Mama Suze,"
Baker's Nana.
She is a blessing, a true gift, the mother I hope to be.

"All I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother."

Abraham Lincoln