Post Worthy Emotion

Last week, my very first baby turned six.

You say, "*le gasp!* You cannot be a mother to such a maTOOR child! You look only old enough to have just entered college!"

...stop... you'll make me blush...

But seriously. It's insanity how my kid isn't five anymore. He's entered the first stage of childhood. You know, the one where you start making your own friends and doing things like sleeping in tents all summer and getting ridiculously dirty and trampling in all over the house and getting grounded.

My son is old enough to get grounded. He's old enough to know better than to strip naked outside in the yard in front of the neighbors. Heck, people, he's old enough to pick up his baby sister and carry her to the living room when she's getting into trouble.

He's so grown up to me. Consider my point of view here: three years ago I had a child who was non-verbal. He said a word here or there, but life with Bear was a guessing game. Did he want juice or milk, and if I get the wrong one is he going to spiral out of control because the stress puts his brain on overload? Is today going to be an awesome day or a day where I need to put everything on hold and do his squeezes ad nauseum? Is he not eating spaghetti because he doesn't like the squish or is it that the acid in the tomato sauce burns his mouth? How do I get him nutrition? He doesn't eat. Is he hurt? Is he happy? Does he want to hug his grammie? How do I know when he's stimming or when he's just being three?

Those were daily questions for me. I struggled every day knowing what the right thing was. I couldn't communicate with this beautiful Bear that God had given me and it was because of a neurodevelopmental condition that wasn't ever going to go away.

Fast forward three years.

Today, I had a conversation with Bear about what he did at school. He'd made a card and colored the person on it orange. He'd given the person web shooters. And he wrote "From Elijah" on it. And he made it for me. How did I know that? He told me.

Bear.
Told.
Me.

He tells me what sounds good for dinner. He tells me why he doesn't want to eat tomatoes ("They're squishy, mom") and he tells me that he doesn't like feeling dirty. He tells me that he doesn't want to build legos, he wants to build Baymax instead. He reads words like "avalanche" and "emergency" and knows exactly what they mean. He tells me about his friends at school. And when I pick him up from school, everyone around him tells him "bye, Elijah, see you tomorrow!" His teacher tells me that he makes a lot of friends and is very helpful. His typical education classroom is, developmentally, the perfect place for him.

I never imagined his life this way. To be honest, the "special" mom in me always imagined that he'd require intensive special assistance. I always imagine that adults around him won't understand him and will make him feel excluded. I always imagined his life difficult and beaten down. Don't judge me, because I'm just being totally honest here. I really hoped he would thrive in his life. But I never felt bold enough to expect anything but an uphill battle... for him and for me.

Every year, on his birthday, I think on how much has changed. And every year, at his birthday, I can't make the perfect speech to tell everyone in our lives how much their help and assistance and genuine love of my Bearface Gorgeousbrain means to me. Personally.

So, to those of you who are in our lives: to those of you who have been in our lives for a season and then God put you somewhere else; to the paraprofessionals and professionals who have brought my Bear so far; to those of you who have been, are, and always will be my friends and help me in this daily life; to those of you who are family and are so supportive and have taken time to understand Bear's autism and his personality: I don't know how to thank you. I consider you all part of the woven tapestry God is making out of our journey. You will never know how grateful I am for each and every single one of you.

I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
I bless you in the name of my Savior; may He richly prosper you for the work you have done with us.

I love you all so very, VERY much.

...and so does Bear.

My Big Bear Hero is 6 :)

Happy Birthday, little Boo ❤️

I just want to point out that my gorgeous girl, My Boo, turns one today. 

I don't think I ever wrote about the experience. It's one I treasure. A year ago, I lay on a table and literally split open for this beautiful child. I did it willingly, excitedly, and without regret. 

I was terrified because of my last experience. With Bear, I had a c-section, but it was an emergency. I was literally quaking on the table, so much so they had to have my mom and a nurse hold me down. On top of that, I was terrified. And on top of that, I could feel them cutting into me because they didn't let the drugs sink in well enough. They had to put me all the way out with a general anesthetic in order to make me comfortable and to get me to stop screaming. I don't remember any of the time at all. I am so glad I have pictures of meeting my boy... Because I don't remember anything until the next morning. 

God redeemed it all with Elizabeth by redeeming every last detail: everything was the same, and yet, the second time everything was different. 

This was planned. Stephen was there, and we went into the hospital early. We had the sweetest team of nurses that morning. One woman's name was Nan, and she explained every single thing she was doing and why she was doing it that way. She poked needles in me about ten times, but even so I didn't mind. My doctor came in and chatted with us while we waited for the anesthesiologist to give another lady her epidural, and then we went to the OR, where they were playing classic rock and, basically, having a party.  Nobody rushed anything. Nobody rushed me. When they began the surgery, I couldn't feel anything. All I knew was, that at 9:06 I heard my beautiful baby squeal. The little ball of thunder was here... And I remembered it. Stephen brought her over to me and I couldn't hold her but I saw her... I saw her and I sobbed and I was so happy. They were closing me up while she and Stephen went to the nursery, and I clocked those 54 minutes from when she was out to when I held her in my room. 

God used this entire experience to redeem us. We were in the exact same hospital room as I was when I had Bear. Stephen and I were together this time, not separated by stupidity. Boo was born at the same time, weighed the same, measured the same, and even looked the same as her brother. She ate better, she slept just as well, and she looked adorable, all burritoed up the way you roll a baby into a receiving blanket. We stayed for three days at the hospital, just having our family visit. We had lots of down time with our girl. Seeing Stephen as a dad from the very beginning was such a joy. It was a gift for him, and for me. This was the first baby he ever really got to be part of. He wouldn't say it, but he's been so hurt by both of those experiences. This time... Well, let's just say it makes a memory, heh? 

Oh, Boo... Someday you'll read this and understand how precious you are. On this, your first birthday, I remember laying down and splitting apart for you and I'm reminded that Christ was torn apart, violently, for us, to cover our sins with his blamelessness... without any pain numbing drugs or sweet time afterward. Never forget, baby girl, that you are loved that much by the creator of the universe. So am I... And so is anyone reading this post. 

Happy birthday, my beautiful little love. You are treasured. You are absolutely loved. 

My Stupid Husband

Dear Husband,

            You, my dear, are the worst husband anyone could ever have, because REASONS.

            Don’t worry, sweetie, I will list the reasons for you, just so you really understand where I’m coming from.

            Let me start by saying this: I know you do good things for me. You push me to stay in touch with people I might otherwise lose. You help me make friends and create memories. Not only that, but you know a good deal when you see one and help me make business connections. You’re incredibly supportive when it comes to sharing my life with others.

            But you do - ultimately - SUCK. And here’s why:

1. You, my dear, are SELFISH.

            It’s always about what YOU want to say, how YOU want it to be said, and how YOU think it should or should not impact the lives of others. You rarely think about how what you do makes others feel. When I call you out, you get defensive and tell me to mind my own business. Not only is this how YOU act, but you encourage others to act this way. You can be so inconsiderate, and you don’t even understand this about yourself.

2. Sweetheart, sometimes what you say is TMI.
            “TMI”: TOO. MUCH. INFORMATION. I don’t need to see some of the things you show me or read some of the things you put in front of me. Sometimes they’re vulgar, ignorant, wasteful, or just plain stupid. Sometimes it’s mean. Sometimes, my love, it’s just too much splattering your life as an open book, without regard to others’ sensitivities. It’s just too much.

3. Darlin, you suck so much time away from my family.
            We can’t just have a quick chat, you and me. Anytime you want to tell me what happened with you, it turns into a ten minute conversation that I can’t seem to quit. You’re incredibly interesting, but nothing you say seems to have any lasting value to me. My kids don’t benefit from our time together, and I’m just tired of envisioning you as part of how they see my life. It’s a terrifying notion that they would think you’re an extra appendage of mine. Trust me, our relationship is a drain to my relationship with my kids… and I love them too much to continue it.

4.  Babe, day-to-day interaction with you causes me intense anxiety.
            For all the reasons I’ve listed previously, any time we interact I have a feeling of dread. You aren’t fun anymore, my sweet, and I’m sorry, but when you stopped being fun the good things about you weren’t enough to keep me wanting this relationship. Sorry.

5. I need to reconnect with people.

            I feel isolated when I rely on you. There isn’t enough touch; there isn’t enough laughter. There isn’t enough of truly knowing anybody. I need real people – real faces. And though you show me enough to fill a book, it just isn’t enough anymore. I need a *real* book of faces – one that I can really know. If that makes my world smaller, I’m ok with that. It will be more real this way.

Goodbye forever.

You may think that I’m writing this about my actual husband. Ha! Joke’s on you – NO. Stephen is the BEST husband anyone could ever have, and I love him because he makes life better and bearable and worth something.

The husband I’m talking about here is – you guessed it – the Facebook. I am married to the stupid thing. We are bedmates. We share a life. We are one flesh. I am my facebook and my facebook is me. 

GROSS. 

So I'm divorcing it. Me and Zuckerberg are through because REASONS:

1. I don’t want to be SELFISH anymore.

I am choosing to step away from the arguments, propaganda, and hurtful things people talk about and share on Facebook. I am just as guilty as the next person of this. I am so guilty, in fact, that I had to write the words “LOVE ONE ANOTHER” across the top of my computer screen to remember to filter my words with love.
            …it didn’t work. I can’t be trusted.

            I’m just too drawn to debate. Facebook is an incredible tool, but it doesn’t work to even debate in a private message. (Trust me, I tried.) The (internet) written word leaves no room for inflection or emphasis, and I don’t like being misunderstood. I just can’t deal with it anymore.

2. I give TMI: TOO. MUCH. INFORMATION.
            If anyone has ever seen the documentary Terms and Conditions May Apply, you’ll understand a deeper meaning of too much information. And, while I can’t get back the data I’ve already uploaded to cyberspace, I can cease giving new information. You’ll notice that I haven’t posted any pictures on Facebook since 2014.

I intend to keep it that way. I keep imagining when my kids are old enough to have a facebook – are they going to have to look at their entire lives on my facebook, or can we sit an reminisce over a scrapbook or photo album and talk about all the pictures? I don’t want it to matter how many likes a post or photo has. I don’t want it to matter if I show a picture of baby buns. I want my kids to have real nostalgia – something you don’t get on a computer screen.

3. I have an extra appendage – my cell phone.
            My facebook time (on my phone) sucks time away from my kids. I go to check one notification and get sucked into a “Answers.com – Celebs!” article about “which celebrities [I] won’t believe have love-children”.
            I wish I was kidding… or at least exaggerating.

            I think Elizabeth might think that my phone is an actual part of my hand – or that Harlow might think Facebook is the only reason to make a photograph. That’s tragic to me. I don’t want my baby to think the apple logo means she has to smile or do something cute. I don’t want Harlow to think that the only reason I take photos of her is so I can show my Facebook friends. Neither of those things are real life. And real life is so much more important than anything else.
            I won’t even get started about the problems Facebook has caused with my husband. Or our families. Long story short (very, very short): Facebook simply is not worth it anymore.

4. Anxiety? YES.           

            No, it’s not a stretch. I have this problem: I care too much about words. I’ve already said that I’m much too drawn to debate. Facebook is a vapid debate MAGNET. Not only that, there is much too much temptation for me to be caring about other peoples’ business or to take up their offenses.
            Yep, I’m admitting my own guilt in this. And now you all know. I’ve judged you at least once, I’ve heard things about you more times than that, and I’ve either friended or unfriended at least that many people because of something I’ve heard or something I’ve assumed.
            I’m sorry if that hurt you. I’m sorry if it was my intention to hurt you. I’m sorry if it wasn’t and you just felt that way. I’m not perfect. I’m so far from perfect you don’t even know.

5. I need to reconnect with people.
            I am not quitting life. I’m not quitting relationships. I will give my phone number to anyone who asks for it. I will give my email to anyone who wants to be pen pals. You can even have my address. (In fact, I want YOUR personal info so I can send invitations to you for parties and game nights!)
            I need real faces that smile and understand.

            I need real hearts and real prayers and real hands laid on me for blessings.
            I need real people to share life with.
            I need real listeners.
            I need to really learn to listen.
            I need to really learn to share my family.

            I need to learn to intentionally share my kids with everyone who wants them.
            I need to learn who really wants to be a part of our story.

So, dear ones… you are officially served your notice.

You have – ALL OF YOU – been deleted.

Thank you for the good times. I love you so much.

You can still find me on instagram [username @kaelaaah], and I’ll stay here at the blog. I’ll post updates pretty frequently, so those of us who don’t get to talk a lot can still connect (albeit a little more deeply).

I may be done with status updates and Facebook albums, but I’ll call you, text you, and show you my family photo albums anytime.