What Five Years Later Means Today

It's quiet here.

Coffee is half full. (I'm an optimist.)

Lola is asking for more Lucky Charms. (I know, I know. But she's content. I'll make her all natural smoothies for the rest of the week to make up for it, okay?)

Christian is watching TV. (Yup. Just checked. He hasn't turned away so he's still watching and engaged I think.)

He yells.

Lola - "Mom, I hear Christian singing. I think he's singing along with the cartoons."

I hear him, too.

This is what five years after a drowning looks like. This is what five years after the worst and best day of my life looks like. This is what five years after thinking I may never be happy again looks like.

This is us. We've reached normal.

To be honest, we've been at a normal for a while. It's a fine place to be. We obsess over stupid, unimportant  irritants of everyday life. I fuss about stains on my carpet. We discuss whether the monsoons will hit not because it reminds us of that day but because we are genuinely concerned for our water hungry trees in the back yard. And because monsoons are pretty awesome. We binge watch our favorite Netflix shows and whine about work. I mean, I whine about work.

These are all of the things normal affords.

It was five years ago today that my son drowned. He was eleven months old. Not even walking. He was too nervous about taking the first step. So he'd stand and bounce until he sat down and crawled to his desired destination.

His desired destination that day, five years ago, was the pool. I closed my eyes for what seemed like just a minute. I let my guard down for what seemed like just a minute. And the next sound I heard was my older son saying Christian had gotten out...pulled out of the pool...laying lifeless...totally white. There was dead silence. It was like all the people in the whole wide world had disappeared and I had no idea what to do.

He had no pulse and no heartbeat. The hospital called us in to "be with him." Nurses ran out of the room crying. It was a nightmare. A fucking nightmare.

I went to my little boy that day and I put my hand on his little chubby leg. There was so much going on. People rushing. The whining of a flat pulse ox. They were about to call his death. I said Christian's name. And then there was a pulse. Then there was life.

He drowned. He didn't nearly drown, although that's what we call it so people will understand. But what really happened is that he drowned. He died. And then God sent him back. Or he came back on his own will to live. Or both. Either way, it was miraculous.

I'm honest here about what happened. Five years later in the corners of my heart and my brain there is still grief and guilt and I'm not sure that will ever go away. I always had fierce opinions about what it meant to be a parent. I was a breastfeeding advocating - attachment parenting supporting - daycare loathing opinion machine. I always believed I was born to be a mother ahead of anything else. I judged other parents harshly and swiftly. Nothing would ever happen to my children because I watched my children. I watched them and cared for them and loved them too much. Surely they'd be safe. Especially if I judged other parents. That would for sure make my kids safer.

Until it didn't. And something near fatal happened. And then I was the person who was judged. Rightfully so, my old self would say.

If I've learned anything in the last five years, it has been compassion. We hear of children drowning all of the time. And we scream, "Watch your kids!" because it makes us feel safer. Christian wasn't playing by a pool. He didn't accidentally slip under while I wasn't paying attention. He got out of a house that I believed a crawling baby couldn't jailbreak. I was so wrong.

As another near drown mom said perfectly, ask yourself - have your kids ever been alone in the house long enough to draw on the walls? Make a huge mess while you were tending to another child? Hide from you thinking it was a game you didn't know you were playing? What is your child doing while you're posting in comment sections about the irresponsibility of other parents? That's about how long it takes for catastrophe to happen.

We didn't get out of it unscathed. Christian is a different child, yet the same boy. Baby pictures of him will always be bittersweet. I will always look at them with sadness, as if that baby died. Because he kind of did. We had dreams for that baby. We walked on the beach while he was still in my belly and talked about how we would bring him there to play in the sand and soon he'd be walking with us with his little feet.

We just got back from taking the kids to that very beach over the weekend. I sat with Christian at the shoreline. He can't walk in the sand. But I helped him feel it. I thought about the plans we made for him on the beach and felt a little pain in my heart. But the pain was quickly squelched by gratitude. I would rather be sitting at the shoreline with him on my lap describing the waves and dipping his toes in the water than staring out at that giant ocean morning and missing him. That I know with 100% certainty.

My boy is here and alive. He is the cutest blond-headed almost six year old with big curls that grow out if I let his hair go long enough. Everyone who spends time with him loves him. He teaches the world, the doctors, the skeptics not to count him out. Thank God he's healthy. He's content. He makes happy sounds and annoyed sounds. After two years of nonstop crying in the beginning he rarely cries now. Only if he's truly upset or hurt does he cry now. He loves to be snuggled.

I love Christian to a depth that scares me. Maybe it's because I have the acute knowledge that he could be gone at any second. He is my perfect baby. I see him as perfect the way he is. That doesn't stop me from wondering what he would be like. I'm not really into babies anymore but I have a weakness for baby boys with big heads like him. And I observe six year old boys as if it's something I've never seen before, like they're in a zoo, trying to process and understand what Christian would be doing.

Over the past five years I've changed. I'm not as patient as I'd like to be. I think everyone must think I'm so patient and understanding. I'm probably less patient and understanding than you realize. I'm not afraid of questions about Christian. I'm happy to teach. But I'm not as helpful as I'd like to be with new parents who are going through the same thing we went through. In all honesty, we've moved so far beyond that and I just don't really want to go back.

We are thriving in beautiful normalcy. We didn't get here alone. We have so much support from family and friends that helped carry us here and they show up every day. Whether it's through being physically present, sending an email, a message on Facebook, or just praying for us. They all help us stand and move forward.

Christian's journey isn't over. Our story still continues. It's one of faith, redemption, compassion, forgiveness, grief, pain, beauty, and hope.

To my forever baby.



I feel so strongly about ISR lessons for babies as young as six months old. Barriers of protection and supervision are key but ISR saves lives. When all barriers fail, ISR gives babies the instinctual skill to save themselves. If you are so inclined, please consider donating to the ISR scholarship fund so that cost will not be a factor in children obtaining this skill. To donate click on the link below. Donate in Christian's name.

https://isrcrossfit.com/how-you-can-help/donate-to-isrcrossfit.html

Santana

I went to a funeral last week.

His name was Santana. He nearly drowned about seven years ago. After his near drowning he struggled a lot. Santana's was one of the first stories I followed.

Fresh out of our trauma, his story scared me.

Wait. You mean these kids don't fully recover? You mean they'll be profoundly disabled? Suffer seizures? Their bodies will transform and their faces will look different?

Not my son.

I thought.

Then my son was profoundly disabled. He had seizures and his bodies twisted and toned. His face looks different and somewhere along the way I realized there was so much about Santana that I saw in my son.

At first it terrified me. But after learning to love and accept my son as he was going to be it wasn't so hard. I went to meet Santana while he was sick in the hospital a few years ago. He had soft skin, warm from a fever. I wasn't terrified. I just felt connected in some strange way. Those big brown eyes - they were filled with life. It was a life of struggle but it was life, nonetheless.

His mom, Lindsey, and I have attended the retreats for near drown moms in Seattle. Over the years I watched Lindsey offer support to other moms and kids, no matter their ability, even though Santana had a rough go of it. Even though Santana suffered botched surgeries, long hospital stays, and crippling seizures, Lindsey still found it within herself to offer supporting comments to other mothers.

And when I met her in person she was so goofy and bubbly and fun! Although her life with Santana was full of pain and struggle, she managed to be all those things.

I waited over a week to write about Santana's funeral even though it's been brimming since. He passed away peacefully in his mom's arms after getting very sick and his body showed signs of shutting down. He was tired on this earth and it was time for him fly.

So I drove up to his funeral service. It was an unseasonably rainy and windy day. The service was held in a building of windows so we could see our beautiful desert. The windowed room was packed wall to wall, standing room only. Dress code was Superman shirts or the color purple for drowning impact awareness. There was a sea of Superman, Christian and I joined in our Superman shirts, as well. It was a sad day but there was hope in the air. Santana was free. I'm sure everyone in that standing room only building was visualizing Santana running free. It was surely not the end for him. It was just the beginning.

He passed away on the morning of Easter Sunday. The day of Resurrection. No better a day for such a Superman.

The service was beautiful. And after it let out everyone released purple balloons into the grey sky. There were so many! Santana had a motorcade escort to his final resting place. At the grave site I heard his grandmother whisper, "I love you so much," before she put a flower on his tiny coffin adorned with a hanging Superman cape. Through the wind and the traffic and the chattering kids, everything was silent in my ears except for his grandmother whispering.

You don't understand. You might think our life is hard, that these kids have such painful lives but they are filled with so much love. And if you think of all of the people out there who go through their entire lives feeling unloved and like nobody cares about them, isn't it amazing that these kids will never feel that?! They will only feel complete and unconditional love, no matter how short their lives might be.

I live in a world where kids die. I say this often, probably more as a coping mechanism so I can protect my own heart. And Santana isn't the only child like mine that has passed away over the last year. I think there might have been five more children and two that almost made the flight but decided they wanted a little more time here on earth. I'm well aware that Christian's life might be short. But, dammit, if he doesn't feel love and adoration every single day, every second of his life.

I was talking with a friend one day about this subject and she said, "Isn't it better to feel loved, even though your life is short, than to go through a long life never feeling loved at all?"

I believe with 100% certainty that Santana was loved every day of his life. And that funeral service, fit for a Superman, was filled with so much love and sadness and joy for his freedom.

I often wonder about parents who post really benign complaints on social media about their children having minor issues or fussing with really unimportant aspects of life. I wonder if they know what it's like to give your child's body back to the earth. To have to walk away. To be the mother of three, when on this earth there are only two children. Every family picture is missing a child. The observation about family pictures isn't meant to be shallow but to understand what it's like for a mother and a family suffering such profound loss.

I can also tell you that where Santana's journey ended, we were beginning ours. Pulling out of the church and into the motorcade I noticed right across the street was where Christian had his first HBOT session three weeks after his accident. The irony was not lost. And I don't know if irony is the right word. Coincidence, maybe? It was sobering. But all of our journeys start and end somewhere, don't they?

Santana's journey was filled with love. This I know for sure. There were hundreds of people in attendance, including some of my near drown moms! From Las Vegas, from Oklahoma, from Tucson, we came from all around and when the service ended we waited for Lindsey. These Mamas right here are the strongest I know.

And sweet Santana, you touched so many lives. You were one of the OGs! Now everytime I see someone with a Superman shirt I think of you. Everytime I brush a tiny mohawk into Christian's hair, I think of you.You paved the way for some of us and for those that might unfortunately come into this world. I know you are playing and laughing and watching over your family. They are blessed by you. We all are. 

"I would rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special."

-Shelby, Steel Magnolias

Sleep softly, Santana.

Am I the only one who thinks IEP meetings aren't terrible?

We attended our annual IEP meeting Tuesday.

Am I the only one that doesn't think they're terrible, horrible, stressful meetings? Maybe it's my nature. I don't know. Maybe I would feel differently if I was going to meet up with a bunch of neurologists and doctors every year. That would be seriously depressing.

But IEPs? They're actually not bad. In fact, they're borderline enjoyable.

I think this is true because first, and most importantly, I truly believe his team at school - his teacher, therapists, administrators, his SPED teacher and his aid - all care about Christian a lot and they all want to see him succeed and thrive. Going into the meeting knowing this helps.

I always to to bake. Or at least bring something (like this last time because I completely forgot about the meeting). I learned this from my friend, Jenny. And from one of Christian's early interventionists. She had mentioned that a mom brought something to the EIP meeting and it set the tone for a more positive meeting and she always remembered it. Sugar neutralizes everything. I've been doing it ever since and, at the very least, everyone is excited to see you. How can they argue with someone who just brought them cookies?

Our IEP meetings aren't terrible. This may sound, indeed, terrible but I think it's because nobody really knows what to expect from Christian. Not even me. This time last year I would have put money on Christian learning to communicate and give us yes answers with his eyes. I thought this was the way we were going.

Nope.

Christian had other plans and so did his voice. He actually started intentionally looking at and away from things and using his...VOICE. Who would have thought he'd use his voice to communicate anything other than crying? This kid. The one who didn't make a peep for six weeks after his accident. And then did nothing but cry for two years afterward. And now he makes sounds when we ask him if he wants something. And it's pretty damn consistent.

So everyone pretty much expects nothing from Christian, which may seem bad, but it's really because nobody knows what to expect. Especially looking at him. I'm sure if you read this blog you've seen pictures of him. He doesn't look like he can do much. But he's got you fooled, people.

Back to the IEP, because nobody really knows what to expect from Christian, everyone is always very pleased with his progress. He has grown leaps and bounds this year. When he's evaluated for goals he is rated from 0-5. For example, he has made a choice using his switch 3 out of 5 times. And it's measured every quarter for consistency. What his team is discovering is it's not whether Christian can do what is asked. It's about time. He just needs extra time.

And his kindergarten teacher reported that everyone loves Christian. All the kids want to read with him, choose him as a partner, sit with him, and I had to bite my lip so I didn't cry like a baby. That's what I want for him. Love and acceptance.

So we made some goals for next year. And I think we might try the...b...b...bu...bus. I'm not sure I'm ready for it but he is. He already rides the bus to and from field trips. It's me who needs therapy for this.

I'm just so pleased with his team. His SPED teacher is amazing and fights for what we want and makes sure it is written in the IEP. And his aid? Don't even get me started on his aid. She speaks Christian.

She sent me these pictures from her phone.

He's in excellent hands. I'm sure of it.

The Best Halloween Ever

Hello, Everyone!

I wanted to update about Halloween! It was probably the best Halloween we've ever had.

We decided that Christian would be Jake and Lola would be Izzy. It worked out because Lola loves Jake and the Neverland Pirates and Christian often watches the show with her. I also wanted them to match because it's only so long that Lola will want to match with her brother.

So I bought the costumes at Target and then it was on to building Christian's other costume. His wheelchair costume!

Jake and Izzy needed a pirate ship.

Daddy constructed a ship out of cardboard that fit directly on to the wheelchair. Then Mommy decorated it and constructed the mast out of a sheet of felt and blue streamers.

Then it was time for Christian's school parade! Everyone was high-fiving all of the parade participants but when it was time for Christian to come around, they all stopped and cheered. I could hear kids saying, "That's awesome!" and "That's the winner!"

There was no contest but it was hard not to cry all over the place watching them cheer for him. One little boy even said, "Oh, man! I wish I was in a wheelchair!"

Later that night we went trick or treating and all the kids from school recognized Christian's pirate ship. We kept hearing kids yell, "Christian!" in the dark. They'd come over and say hello. Parents said hello and commented about what a cool costume he had. And cars even pulled over to check Christian's costume out. An Escalade rolled down its window and the man yelled out, "That's tight!"

It was amazing. So much acceptance over something so small as a Halloween costume. All of it was so worth it. Just some cardboard, Duck tape, felt, streamers, and hot glue bridged the gap and bought Christian a bunch of new friends. Even retelling the story can choke me up.

We can never move schools. These are his friends. They all know him and want to help. We are so blessed.

A Wheelchair Accessible Disneyland: The Happiest Place on Earth!

A Wheelchair Accessible Disneyland

The Happiest Place on Earth

I'm just going to come out and say it.

Disneyland is hands down, undeniably, the happiest place on earth. Especially for families who have children with disabilities.

My son, Christian, uses a wheelchair. So when we decide to go places as a family, we always take into account the maneuvering that's involved. We certainly don't let anything get in our way and we work around challenges and obstacles, but we definitely prefer places like restaurants, zoos, and parks that are handicap accessible. We're a little biased like that.

There is simply no place like Disneyland. And here's three reasons why:

Rides

All of the rides in Disneyland are handicap accessible. All of them. There are different levels of accommodations made on specific rides and Disneyland provides a list on their website with every ride and the corresponding degree of accommodation available. Click here for the list.

What does this special accommodation look like? Some of the rides, like the Dumbo ride and the Teacups, offer larger doors that swing open to provide more room to get a rider in and out. 

We were able to transport in and out of the Teacups easily because of the large entry way to the Teacup. He made sounds through the whole ride!

There are also rides that offer full wheelchair accessibility. The Jungle Cruise and It's A Small World are adapted so that Christian can stay in his wheelchair, roll on to a platform and be lowered down into the ride.

It was like he had his own chariot! It was awesome because the platform sits him high above everyone so he can get a good look at everything.

On the carousel, we were able easily roll him on and off the ride.

That blur is Christian on his way off the carousel. See how easy?

There are also separate lines for guests with disabilities. This cuts down on wait times for everyone involved.

The Cast

The "cast" at Disneyland is amazing! And the experience with Christian was beyond my expectations. They would actually go out of their way to make sure we knew a ride was adapted for Christian. A cast member from It's A Small World saw us walking by and called out to us saying, "Would you guys like to ride It's A Small World?" He can ride it in his wheelchair!" 

Something also to mention is the kindness and love they show to all children and guests of Disneyland. Christian was treated no different than any other child. Ariel asked to meet "the prince" when she saw him. He was sleeping so he missed his chance to meet the princess but she went out of her way to come over and meet him. 

Goofy even bent down to say hello to Christian and give his hand a kiss.

We don't know if he liked it, but it was still appreciated by Mom.

The Magic

The magic of Disneyland is still there whether you have a wheelchair, leg braces, a scooter, cane, or crutches. It doesn't go away. The cast of Disneyland is trained to go above and beyond to create the experience for everybody, regardless of ability. Whenever we needed assistance, they were always there to help. It was never a burden. Never. They showed compassion and acceptance and something like that means so much to a mom of a child with special needs. I'm not sure I can really articulate it without crying all over my laptop. 

All I can say is that the magic is still there, with or without a wheelchair, and the memories mean more than anyone at Disneyland will ever know.

Life made.

(Cross posting on Momma Candy.)

Happy Birthday, Christian!

Christian is starting school tomorrow! 

I'm so excited about it for him, but also a little nervous because he'll be in full day Kindergarten. He'll have two classrooms - a typical kindergarten classroom and a special needs classroom, kind of like a therapy room. Wait until I show you guys his therapy corner!

We celebrated Christian's birthday by going to Disneyland! I'm going to write up an entire separate post about how handicap accessible Disneyland is and why it's THE BEST place to take your child if they have special needs or if they rock a wheelchair.

But first, let's just acknowledge that Christian turned FIVE!!!

On his actual birthday we had some cake, cupcakes and candles to celebrate.

The best part? Christian got to actually eat some of his cake. He had tastes of frosting and the frosting actually had crumbs of cake in it. There were times when he used to just let it sit on his tongue if something wasn't thin enough to move to the back of his throat on its own. 

But this frosting was a little thick, being peanut butter frosting and all. 

So I pressed a little into his tongue with a fork and let him figure out what to do with it. If anything, I could always go back and rinse it with water or wipe it out.

I turned the other way to serve the rest of the cake.

I turn back to Christian and do you know this kid cleared the whole thing!!!!

And so he gets more!!!

But only a little bit at a time. He'll let us know when he can't handle it so I just follow his lead. Apparently, he was ready to handle some peanut butter frosting with chocolate cake crumbs. 

And just for good measure, we celebrated again with frosting and sprinkles in speech therapy the next day.

Spoiled kid.

Happy Birthday, Christian!

And, just in case I didn't post the pictures from his celebration of life earlier July, here they are! We took him to pizza where he rode his very first carousel. 

The buttons at these pizza places where they have those ticket games are perfect! They're just like talker buttons. 

Go Christian! 

The Stomping Sister

We have been enjoying summer and trying to stay out of the heat! Christian especially likes to swim at Gramma and Grampa's pool because it's so warm. He loves the warmth and cold is kryptonite. 

Lola found some slime in the dollar spot at Target. It was all the rage in our house last week.

Of course, Lola is "helping."

Lola is always helping with Christian and it's always funny to watch. I'm glad she's so close to Christian and feels so strongly about him. She wants to help feed him, she gets excited when he smiles, she's one of his biggest fans. 

She knows he's special. I could always tell she could sense it even as a baby. But now she understands. I've made a joke about Christian running and messing up her toys and she quickly corrected me with, "Christian can't walk!" as if I were just being ridiculous. So I told her maybe he did it in his dreams and she totally bought it. 

I have been noticing that she has been a little more daring and less careful with him. The other day I was getting Christian ready for a bath and had him laying down on a towel on the floor. As I was gathering his clothes I could hear Lola singing and talking and stomping. I peaked around the corner and found Lola stomping around Christian on the floor. She had a foot raised and was slowly lowering it down to stomp in between his legs. Like, stomp on him!

I seriously freaked. I yelled, "What are you doing?! Don't do that!" 

I couldn't believe she was going to stomp on her brother. She was so scared she ran to her bed. I made her apologize and everything but I've been thinking about it for the last few days. Especially yesterday when she hit Christian with one of her dolls on purpose. 

I have two thoughts about this.

1. She knows better! She knows she has to be more careful. And we should be more careful with Christian. He's kind of breakable. We don't kick or stomp or hit Christian. Ever!

and 

2. Isn't this how brothers and sisters act, though? I don't want her to have a complex. I mean, this is our "normal." And I don't want her life and relationship with him to be "careful." I want it to be natural for her. Should I be allowing her to rough play with him? Is this instinctual to be mean to your brother, regardless of disability? Shouldn't I be happy she feels he is normal enough to take it? She treats him like he is normal. Even Christian can't escape Lola's wrath.

These are the questions I ask myself because I don't know how to apply a normal brother-sister relationship to them. I guess I don't really need to apply it because they're redefining it. 

But no stomping on your brother.

And, for the record, Christian doesn't make a peep when she's hitting him with her doll or stomping around him. So she hasn't hurt him yet. And that's saying something because he is the biggest cry baby!

Oh, and I finally sat down to fill out the paperwork for Christian's kindergarten class. I've been putting this off because of the amount of paperwork I have to fill out. I'm not one to get sad and weepy about filling out the blank lines awaiting answers about my child's development. I actually think it's kind of funny. 

Wanna know if my kid has any social or developmental concerns? You got some time? Wanna go get a drink? This is going to be long.

The developmental milestone checklists are a big, fat goose egg. But the medical portions? I could go on and on. Paragraphs of diagnoses.

Read that carefully. 

But at least it's getting done.

We're also closing in on Christian's other birthday. The day he came back to us. I've got some thoughts so stick around.

Kindergarten for Christian!

Kindergarten is on the horizon! 

(Can you believe that? Because I can't. He's still a baby!)

We're done with IEP meetings and goals and I've toured two kindergarten classes and two schools.

I have to admit that touring the kindergarten classes was a little overwhelming. It is definitely way different than the kindergarten I attended. I went in to see kids maybe in circle time or coloring. What I actually saw were kids learning on iPADs and projects involving butterfly chrysalis (I had to google that spelling. Maybe I should go back to kindergarten.)

If I'm being honest, it's hard for me to envision Christian's place in a classroom like that. But I also remember feeling that way when I toured the preschool class and the preschool experience has been an amazing adventure for Christian. He just loves being around all the kids and they love him so much! They greet him every day, in fact, just today his little friend ran up to him and put his picture of a fireman in Christian's face to make sure he saw it. And yesterday I found a little folded up picture in his backpack. When I pulled it out, I saw this:

That's Christian's little friend. She drew him a picture of herself holding hands with him. That's his wheelchair with all four wheels. 

Be still my heart.

We'll miss preschool so much but kindergarten is ahead! And we've made the final decision about where Christian will go.

Luckily, our district has what is called a cluster program. This allows children to join in mainstream classes when they can and then break out for individual learning and therapies. This is what Christian will do. He'll probably join in for everything social like music and library and then break out for PT and OT. This is the best of both worlds. 

I briefly thought about looking into the type of program that is primarily for children with special needs, however, for as long as it's right for Christian, I'd like him to have exposure to typical children as much as he can. He thrives off of it and I think it's really good for the other kids, too. I think we'll know when and if the time is right to move him.

The school we chose is a block away. I can hear the morning announcements echoing from my bathroom window! And this school has a long history of being the first elementary school in the district to have a special needs/integrated/cluster program. They also get a brand new, handicap accessible playground for the kindergartners! We met the incoming director of the special education classroom and she is genuinely interested in really getting to know Christian. I'm so excited for him and I feel really good about this.

School has been one of the best things for Christian and his progress. He has become more tolerant of noise and action, he really enjoys being out and about now, and he has become more vocal! I think it has a lot to do with being around noisy friends at school.

And Christian? He is doing so well. It's more than I could have asked for. I just wanted him to smile and the rest would be extra. Now he's not only smiling but smiling in response to what we say or what we do. If we show him something he likes, he'll give us his half smile. If I tickle his leg or his cheek, he smiles. The other day I told him Lola brought his stuffed frog with her to pick him up, I showed it to him and he smiled. His daddy picks him up and bounces him around, spins him in his chair, and he smiles. He has even done what we think might be laughing when he gets spun!

He's also "talking" a lot! For a kid who was completely silent for months then only cried and sobbed for years, vocalization is like...well...a miracle! It is like music to my ears waking up and hearing him making sounds in his bed. Even better is when he vocalizes in response to when someone talks to him. 

Just when I think that's all he's got, he shows me more...almost four years later! He is such a lesson in hope and never giving up. Never underestimating. He is just amazing.

"Motherhood is about raising-and celebrating-the child you have, not the child you thought you would have. It's about understanding that he is exactly the person he is supposed to be. And that, if you're lucky, he just might be the teacher who turns you into the person you are supposed to be." 

~The Water Giver~

(Courtesy of my friend, Sarah's, emails. I think about this quote every time Christian teaches me something. Which is pretty much every day.)