Joy in the Wait

Can you do "enough" for your child?

That's the question I have been asking myself lately. The question I want to ask others.

When you look at your child, do you feel this overwhelming sense of satisfaction that you have done "enough" as a parent? That you have succeeded in raising a healthy, well-rounded, respectful individual who contributes to society?

For the baby who had a rough start…
Do you ask "Am I working with her enough to help her meet these milestones? Am I bonding with her enough?"

For the child who was always ahead of milestones but is now struggling in school…
Do you ask "Am I doing enough to get her the right tutoring or counseling? Am I pushing her enough? Am I pushing too much?"

For the adult who started on the straight and narrow but lost her way…
Do you ask yourself, "Did I take her to church enough? Did I help her too much? Did I let her fail enough? Did I let her fail too much?" Because doing "enough" doesn't always mean doing for your child but teaching them to do for themselves.

I have come to the conclusion that I will always feel I have come up short, that I could have done more…but I want to keep trying. This brings me to our current point in this crazy ride. We approached a fork in the tracks. We chose a path and now we're sort of at a standstill on a steep climb. Is that vague enough? How many times can I use the word "enough?" Well, until we know more, I don't want to share specifics just yet, but for those of you who ask me how you can pray, here it is...

Please pray for peace during this climb. Pray for peace over this decision to choose another course. Pray for us during the waiting. Although we feel an urgency, it doesn't mean everyone else feels that urgency. I'm not the best at waiting- understatement of the century. I like doing. Pray I will hold my thoughts (and tongue) captive to Him while we wait. Although there is pain and fear in the wait, my mom reminded me yesterday that there is also great joy- like nothing I have ever known.

"Be still in the presence of  The LORD, and wait patiently for Him to act…" 

~ Psalm 37:7 

"You both precede and follow me. You place Your hand of blessing upon my head."
~Psalm 139:5 

Thank you, fellow riders. 

A Beautiful Soul

Last week was one of those weeks that seemed to last an entire month. You know those weeks. As far as Caroline is concerned, it was a great week.  We had a lot of good moments. Moments filled with laughing, dancing, and clapping, in spite of another ear infection and an emerging tooth. I remind myself when we are up at 1 am that I prayed for that tooth. When we were at her ENT appointment last month, I expressed concerns that she hadn't started teething yet. Am I crazy? Well, yes, but that's a well-known fact. See, like most crazy moms, I worry compulsively. I lie awake at night thinking of things to worry about, and one night I worried about her lack of teeth and not being able to have cake at her 1st birthday party. Now you get a glimpse into my brain- it's like 2 monkeys fighting over an ice cream cone in there. Anyway, back to the ENT appointment, Dr. Hartzell told us she probably wouldn't start teething until over a year old. Well, in true Caroline fashion, she decided to prove him wrong and I happily and tiredly announce we have a tooth, people.

We also had a big adventure at ACH picking up our new helmet…and it's pink. I've had questions about why she had to get a new one, well her head grew, significantly. If you remember back in January, we saw all of our teams and this head growth was a concern for her neurosurgeon and craniofacial surgeon. Long story short(er), they are going to continue monitoring her and want to see how much the new helmet will shape her skull before attempting surgical interventions. 

This brings me to other news. News I don't want to share. I didn't want to even attempt writing about this because my words will fail miserably to describe the love, respect, and appreciation I have for this woman. 

This is Dr. Honnebier, affectionately called Dr. HoneyBear around here, Caroline's craniofacial and plastic surgeon. She died, very unexpectedly, last week. I learned of her passing when we returned home from the helmet fitting. This amazing lady performed the cranial surgery and assisted in our lip repair and was to perform many additional surgeries for Caroline. It is hard to describe, but when you entrust your child's life with someone, you develop a strong bond. When I learned of her passing, it felt like the wind had been knocked right out of me. Losing her has been like losing a beloved family member. That may sound extreme, but she had spent more time with Caroline than a lot of our family. We first met Dr. H when Caroline was 4 days old. She had just had her first CT scan to help determine the severity of her choanal atresia. Then, a pediatrician came in and told me she apparently had craniosynostosis. She said, "it's mainly cosmetic, but they will probably want to do surgery eventually." Well, the next day we met Dr. H and we learned she would need surgery but it was much more than cosmetic. I recall a nurse describing Dr. H as "tall, blonde, and beautiful." I had this American idea of  Barbie beautiful in my mind, but that wasn't Dr. H. She was tall and blonde, but she was no Barbie. She was much more than my shallow preconception. She was striking. When she wasn't wearing scrubs, she wore black leather and boot socks with skulls and crossbones. She had tattoos and piercings. Honestly, she looked like someone you might avoid on the street. She was different and she embraced it. She had a commanding presence and she made you take notice. I remember she had 2 young residents with her and they looked exhausted just trying to keep up with her. She just looked at Caroline and ran her fingers precisely over her head and knew in an instant what we were dealing with. She explained the surgery and what would happen if we didn't do surgery- inhibited skull and brain growth, mental delays, and physical anomalies. I appreciated she took the time to explain the medical reasoning but didn't overlook the importance of physical appearance. She said in her strong Dutch accent, "you want her to be able to play softball and wear a regular helmet just like all the other girls." While other doctors were cautioning us about potential delays, Dr. H was talking about my girl in terms of doing "normal" kid things and I appreciated that. She looked at me, sitting there with tears welling in my eyes and took the time to assure me that I didn't do anything to cause the anomalies and described them as "accidents of nature." This is what made her a rare jewel among doctors,  Dr. H was a straight shooter but she was also compassionate. Dr. H loved what she did and devoted her life to helping children and families like ours. She was truly invested in Caroline and her future. She advocated for her. When our buddy, Helmet Guy, was giving us some trouble, Dr. H wasn't having any of it. When I spoke to her nurse about needing a different helmet, I expressed my concerns about how Helmet Guy would react. She said, "Dr. Honnebier is going to call him personally and she's a strong woman who doesn't  take anything from anyone" then added with disdain, "especially a man." I do believe I heard some finger snapping there.  True to her word, we were back in his office in a few minutes being fitted for a new helmet. At our first meeting, she told us about a camp she established called Camp Laughter. It's a camp for children with craniofacial anomalies and their families to connect with others going through similar struggles. We were looking forward to going someday, and still plan to, though it won't be the same without her there. 

How do you say enough for someone who brought so much hope to the world and changed so many lives? You can't. So, as I said, my attempt is feeble and my words fail, but thank you, Dr. HoneyBear. I know we will see you again. 

Joyful Warriors

Yesterday was one of those days that was full of questions but lacking in answers. I spent a good part of the morning talking to the neuro clinic at ACH and our local pediatrician. Although our neurosurgeon and his nurse were unavailable to explain the CT results and plan of action, we fortunately have a wonderful advocate in our pediatrician who was able to pull a few strings and glean a little insight. We still don't have a definite plan, but we have enough information to make it through the weekend without going crazy. The ventriculomegaly has progressed and likely she will need a shunt at some point. Hopefully, that point will not come soon. I cried some more and ate pie- did you know it was National Pie Day? That was good enough reason for me to have a piece for lunch while I was waiting on that call from our ped.  At least I had the good sense about me to only buy a piece and not an entire pie because, by now, there would probably be an empty pie plate on the nightstand. I knew this shunt was a probability but until now, we have had so many other issues to focus on and when you focus on one, you tend to temporarily forget about the other scary things. At this point, I have so many questions for God. Every time I'm at ACH and see all of the sick children and exhausted caregivers, I ask Him "why?" I want an explanation. Last night, I picked up my Bible looking for a "why." I didn't get one, but I did get a "how." A how to cope. A how to find peace for the moment.

"Always be joyful. Never stop praying. Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you who belong to Christ Jesus." - 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

Although we will never understand why Caroline has been given so many battles, one thing Josh and I know is we will continue to fight with her and for her. We will fight for the highest quality of life, always. We will fight for her happiness. So, we will choose to be joyful warriors and lead happy lives. We will not be made victims or martyrs.

One of my resolutions this year was to start a Happiness Jar. Are you familiar with those? You basically write a little note about the happiest part of your day and place it in the jar. Then, when you feel down, you can read a few notes to remind yourself that life is still good. Well, in my true fashion, I have yet to start my jar which is just pathetic, it's just a jar, paper, and pen- but today is the day….and maybe eventually I will take down my Christmas tree too…maybe. Think I could get by with a Holiday Tree? I could just leave it up and decorate for each holiday. Hearts for Valentine's and shamrocks for St. Patrick's…

Today, Newfie kisses make us happy. So very thankful for this gentle giant. 

A Change in Plans

Yesterday and I are not on good terms right now. Yesterday was one of those days that did not follow my planned itinerary. Before you think I have finally made the what you know would be a short trip for me, to Crazy Land, hear me out. See, I knew yesterday was going to be long and inconvenient. It was after all, a big clinic day at ACH. We were going to see our teams that included our wonderful neurosurgeon, craniofacial surgeon, and cleft surgeon and their talented entourage. Whenever you are seeing 3 specialists in one day, you can expect long waits and slight changes to your schedule. I am a planner and generally, I like to have my days adhere to my plans. I expected we would see our neurosurgeon and craniofacial surgeon in the morning and we wouldn't have to be back at ACH until our visit with helmet guy at 1:00…that meant a nice long lunch break which would include a Newk's Splenda tea, a trip to Carter's and maybe even Target if we were really lucky. Well, instead of sipping on tea and shuffling through racks of adorable outfits for Caroline, I was sitting in a room outside of the  CT department listening to my baby scream and my husband sing. Yes, yesterday took some unexpected turns.

Let's go back to the neuro/cranio meeting. Dr. Cai, our neurosurgeon enters the exam room with Dr. Honnebier, our beloved craniofacial surgeon, and their nurses. There are some concerns about Caroline's head growth. Apparently, it is growing a bit too fast. It could be something as minor as genetics. My husband comes from a long line of big heads, like literally, big heads. Dr. Cai turns to his nurse and tells her to schedule a CT scan for that day. Wait, that was not on the itinerary. Here's how the conversation went down…well basically anyway…he doesn't speak much English so a lot of our conversation was head nodding.

Nurse: OK, we will get you set up to head down to CT.
Me: Oh. Like right now?  So this is serious?
Dr. C: Potentially. We may need to perform surgery right away.
Me: Wait. Like brain surgery?
Dr. C: Yes. If it is hydrocephalus, she will need a shunt.

 Then Dr. H starts her examination. Caroline leans into her and hugs her, (how precious is my baby?) resting her head on Dr. H's stomach. She runs her fingers in precise motions along her head and is ready to give her assessment. Remember back in September, Caroline had endoscopic cranial surgery? Well, unfortunately it turns out that wasn't enough. She's going to need the full cranial vault reconstruction (CVR) and a frontal orbital advancement (FOA.) Those are big, medical terms that basically amount to surgeons cutting Caroline's skull ear to ear, removing her forehead, yep, shaping it, and sticking it back. On the bright side, Dr. H will be able to repair Caroline's eye sockets and forehead all in one surgery. The negative- it is an invasive and intensive procedure. It can last up to 10 hours and this time, it will involve an ICU stay and blood transfusions. The Red Cross has been calling me non-stop to come donate anyway, so now at least I have a valid excuse for saving up my blood. Poor Josh AKA Giggles McShaky says, "it's ok, they can take 2 units from me."As you can imagine, at this point in the morning, Josh and I are overwhelmed, frazzled and confused. He and I carry our sweet girl down to CT. We walk mostly in silence, each lost in our own fog of thoughts, fears, and emotions.

The doctor said what? 

Now that I have you up to speed, here we sit waiting on the CT. I sit there listening to my sweet girl cry in fear and my sweet husband sing to her. I say to myself, or perhaps aloud- I don't even know, "this is not how today was supposed to go." Babies aren't supposed to have brain surgery. Babies aren't supposed to have their skulls removed and put back in place. I want to believe that Caroline will fight through and come out on the other side even stronger and more amazing than before. But, if I could just be real and honest with you- I am sick and tired of her having to fight so damn much. I know she's strong and I know God is big, but today, I just want to be sad about yesterday. I want to spill a few tears in anger and sadness and embrace the messiness of it all. This is an awkward, messy gift that can't be shoved into a box, wrapped in pretty paper, tied with a neat bow, and stamped with an inspirational quote. So, I ask you once again, please pray. We are still waiting on results of the CT scan so for right now, we are praying she won't need brain surgery, but ultimately, we do want to know if there is an issue that needs addressing immediately. So to summarize, we are looking at potential brain surgery, skull reconstructive surgery in the next 2-3 months, and palate repair the following month. We were planning a vacation in April and a colossal 1st birthday party in May. Now, those plans are looking a bit iffy. I confessed to my mom earlier today that I feel badly for posting only when something is wrong. I mean, how depressing is that? I feel like that girl from SNL…
Oh, look, a post from Katie…."Here comes Debbie Downer! (whaaaa whaaaa)"
So, I will try to keep you updated on everything, on happy days and sad days, even if it's only a picture or a sentence. Now enough of the sad news. Caroline knew I would be worried this week, so she decided to learn how to clap and wave "hi" and "bye" all in the span of 3 days. If this doesn't make you smile, then you might not have a heart, good luck with that.

A Perfect Imperfection

Here we are 10 days until Christmas Eve. Have I sent out personalized Christmas cards? No. Have I bought a "Baby's 1st Christmas" ornament? Nope. Surely, we have made the short trek to the city mall to meet Santa, right? Wrong. In many ways, it seems I have failed at this "1st Christmas" thing. Then, I reflect on the past year, and my perspective changes. In many ways, I did think this Christmas would be different, but not in the way you might imagine. Reflect with me for a moment…

December 16th, 2013, our world was forever changed. It was on this date that we boarded this  crazy roller coaster ride. This was the day we had our level 2 ultrasound, which for most, is simply the big-exciting-gender-reveal ultrasound. We did learn we were having a "Caroline" instead of a "Connor" but we also learned much more than we ever wanted. Our world was introduced to a new vocabulary of medical terms like, "ventriculomegaly," "trisomy", and "cavum septum pellucidum." I declined the amniocentesis that the OB strongly urged that day but opted for blood work to hopefully rule out trisomies 13, 18 (usually fatal) and 21 (Down Syndrome.) Unfortunately, it would be weeks before we would learn the results with the upcoming holidays and all. So, needless to say last Christmas was a pretty gloomy one. Grief entered our home and settled everywhere like leftover tinsel glitter in carpet. You ain't getting that stuff up- it's like it fuses with each individual fiber. Even though we didn't have a definite diagnosis or prognosis, we grieved for our child and we grieved for our dreams for our child. Whether we want to admit to it or not, every parent has expectations for their child's life. You expect her to learn to read, write, ride a bike, play an instrument, and on and on it goes. So, I buried each expectation for her and mourned. How I mourned, but we made it through Christmas and we learned our girl did not have any of the 3 trisomies tested. While this was a huge victory, we still had months of ultrasounds and uncertainty. The doctors, nurses, and genetic counselors gave us bleak outlooks. Although we still don't know if Caroline will excel at ballet, piano, or geometry, we know she has overcome every obstacle placed in her path. She has defied the doctor's bleak outlooks and small expectations. Caroline has not only survived, but she has thrived and now, this December 16th, we have another climb.

This Tuesday, she will be having her first lip and nose repair. This surgery is typically done at 3 months of age, but unfortunately, she had other issues that needed to be surgically corrected first. When people ask about Caroline, and I tell them about this surgery, the typical response is "Oh, won't you be so glad to get that done?" While that would seem the logical outlook, I am actually not at all looking forward to it and, no, in fact I do not feel glad to "get that done." As hard as it may be to imagine, I think my daughter is perfect and I will actually miss her cleft. Yes, I will miss what most see as a flaw or imperfection. Then I hear "but she will look better." Ah, but as her mama, it is not possible for me to see it that way. Since she will always be perfect to me, "better" is not possible. It will be different and I know as she gets older, Caroline will definitely see the repair as "better." As I know this surgery is inevitable, I will certainly be glad to get it behind us. This will probably be the most difficult thus far, in regards to discomfort and recovery. So, if you don't mind, can I ask you to pray once again for our sweet Caroline? If you would like specifics, please pray for an easy IV stick. Poor thing takes after her mama and has gummy worm veins. So, we are lucky if she comes out of surgery with only 10 pricks on her arms, legs, and hands. Please pray she will be able to eat afterwards. She will be fed with a syringe or spoon for about 2 weeks after surgery. Please pray that she will be able to resist sticking her hands in her mouth. Since her lips and nose will be swollen and packed, the doctors don't want her putting anything in her mouth. Miss Caroline likes to suck her thumb and twirl her hair with the other hand so this may be a bit of a challenge.

This week,  I have been taking more pictures, pouring over photos, and simply gazing at my baby more. I want to commit this beautiful, wide, imperfect-to-the-world-but-perfect-to-me smile, to memory. I never want to forget the smile God formed. If you are my Facebook friend, I am sorry I have been blowing up your newsfeed lately but in the words of my husband, "if they don't like it, it's called 'unfollow!' "

Who can turn the world on with her smile?

Who can take a nothing day, and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile?

Well, it's you girl, and you should know it!

With each glance and every little movement, you show it!

Love is all around, no need to waste it. You can have a town, why don't you take it?

You're gonna make it after all

You're gonna make it after all… You're gonna make it after all…

So, while this Christmas certainly hasn't been the typical "baby's 1st Christmas," it has been wonderful in comparison to last year. It's all about perspective. I do think it an odd coincidence that for two years, December 16th has been such an important date. In Bible study, we have been studying Moses. Apparently, the Tabernacle was set up exactly one year after God announced He would pass over the Israelites. I got chill bumps and realized that December 16th is our family's Passover. Even though the threat of death hung over us, she is still here. Even though we were warned she may not have any quality of life, she is living fully and loving every minute, well when she isn't crying anyway. This date is one of remembrance of all God has done even when it seemed impossible. So, although I am not looking forward to this December 16th, I have assurance and hope that He is going to see us through this next climb and bring us safely to the other side. Thank you for praying. Thank you for listening. Thank you for loving. Merry Christmas to you and yours. Now, where is the Tylenol and Chardonnay?

Fixing Our Gaze

Yesterday was a day I had been dreading for awhile. Some of it had to do with my own personal fears. I really, really, really hate going to the eye doctor. I would rather go to the dentist than the eye doctor. Heck, I would rather hang out at a craft fair all day than go to the eye doctor. And not the kind of craft fair where you say "wow that's amazing! I wish I could make that!" but the kind where every booth is packed with the "wow I never realized you could make so many useless, crappy things from an old paper towel roll" kind of "crafts." Those who know me well understand the seriousness of the situation. The problem is, as the mama, I have to be the brave, responsible one. I'm supposed to be the one who stays calm, listens objectively, and speaks, um calmly, with the provider about her care plan. So, yeah, it didn't exactly go down that way.

Here we are on our way to ACH (our home away from home.) Doesn't she look thrilled?

So why does a 6-month old need to see an opthamologist anyway? Here's a little backstory. During our NICU stay, Caroline had about 3 MRI's. (It took 3 tries to finally get a good picture.) The main reasoning behind them was to check her ventriculomegaly to try and determine the cause and severity. The funny thing is the craniosynostsosis, thought to be the cause, didn't show up on the MRI's. This was found later on the CT scan which was done to check the severity of her choanal atresia. Whew! Still with me? Anyway, while the MRI didn't give us any answers regarding the ventriculomegaly, it did seem to show her optic nerves were a little on the small side. So, we have 2 different opthamologists visit us in our NICU room to take a look at the optic nerves. They felt they were "normal" albeit the small side of normal. They tell us to watch for any random eye movements and follow-up in a few months in their clinic. Fast forward 5 months and here we are. 

During the past 5 months, we had been watching her eyes and hadn't noticed the random movements the opthamologists had described; however, we noticed since she was in the NICU, that one of her eyes  tended to drift occasionally. Since the cranial surgery, we hadn't noticed it as much and actually felt her focus and overall vision had improved greatly. This was another reason for my anxiousness about this appointment. Even though I saw improvements, I still had this gut feeling that something wasn't quite right. 

We met with an opthamology tech first who checked Caroline's tracking and seemed very pleased. Then we met with another pleasant lady who checked Caroline's visual acuity. If you're like me, you're thinking "how the heck do you check a baby's vision?" Well, this lady had several large posters. These were mainly blank but each one had a small square with a black and white striped pattern.  She would hold them up and see if Caroline's eyes went immediately toward the pattern. I held Caroline while Josh sat behind the poster lady. I couldn't see what Caroline was looking at but just prayed she was doing well and looked at Josh for confirmation. They clapped and cheered for her after each one and Caroline ate it up. She was extremely pleased with Caroline's performance. Then, we finally got to move to a real exam room. Next door we could hear the doctor talking to another family. We weren't meaning to listen, but why are walls in medical offices paper thin? Anyway, we heard words like "eye patches" and "surgery." Josh said "well, at least we aren't dealing with that." Me, being the cynic said "well, hopefully not anyway." Then, the doctor comes in and does a quick exam. She said Caroline's left eye seems to "drift." Now it's our turn to hear "eye patches" and "surgery." At this point, I am literally on the edge of my seat, explaining to the doctor that Caroline has quite a few things on her plate right now and we aren't exactly planning on yet another surgery. I can see the look of realization spread across this doctor's face because it's one I have had with my patients…it's the "ohhh this mama is cuh-razy and I better tread lightly." She backs up a little and looks at Josh. He, being Josh, looks at me, then turns to the doctor and calmly and intelligibly explains we are willing to do what we need to do to give her the best chance but are feeling a little overwhelmed. She then says she needs to dilate her eyes and check for glasses prescription, etc. So, she leaves the room and we wait again. During our wait, I would love to tell you I was praying and just thanking Him for the good news that her acuity is good and all that mess…but I need to be honest. Do you want to know what came out of my mouth as soon as she left the room? Bad words. Bad, bad words. If you read this and say "Wow, Katie has issues and must need prayer" then yes, thank you, I do have issues and need prayer. If you think I'm a terrible person and we can't be friends, then I reckon I can live with that. We were looking forward to having our palate surgery in February and then being done with surgeries for a few years, and now she has to have yet another unplanned surgery? We are still trying to get her adjusted to the helmet and now she has to wear an eye patch? When the doctor came back, I could tell she was trying extra hard to be kind and in return, I tried not to bite her head off. We agreed to try the eye patch therapy- wearing a patch 2 hours a day, alternating eyes each day. In addition, we will be preparing for eye surgery, which will likely take place next spring, after our other surgeries. Though I was feeling pretty down about our visit at this point, the doctor checked and said her optic nerves actually looked great and not small in the slightest. Thank You, God. Another miracle, she doesn't need glasses and actually her overall vision is way above average for a baby her age. As we were leaving, we passed the oncology clinic. I was reminded that no matter what, it could be worse. I know it could be worse, but can I be honest with you? I'm still tired. I look forward to the day when we can see a specialist and hear her say, "there's nothing wrong." So, to sum it up, we had unexpected news, both good and bad, but if the past few months have taught us anything, it's that you always have to expect the unexpected. In true Caroline fashion, she's an overcomer and we know she will overcome this new battle, too. 

A trip to the gift shop for something special has become a tradition. We got a Llama Llama book and toy because sometimes, after a long day, you just need a snuggle. 

A Little Gratitude

Our sweet Caroline is officially 6 months old. When I state that fact I get 2 different reactions from people… "Wow 6 months already?!" or "Wow, has it only been 6 months?!"

The funny thing is, I feel both of those sentiments simultaneously. In some ways, these months have absolutely dragged. Those moments when she can't breathe because the awful monster they call GERD is attacking and I keep saying to myself, "it will get better after 6 months," yeah, those are the times I plead for the days to pass quickly. Then, we experience those sweet moments when my baby is trying to have a conversation with me. She babbles, coos, and sings and then reaches up and pulls my face closer to make sure I'm listening to her every word. It is in those moments I pray for time to slow down.   The 5th month was like that- full of ups and downs. This was the first month of her life that she hasn't had a single surgery. Shouldn't that be a huge victory? Instead, I tend to focus on the negatives. This last  month brought out some real ugliness in me. I don't like to admit this truth, but it made me wonder, "what is my life reflecting?"

One afternoon, we were desperately, and unsuccessfully, trying to get Caroline to take a nap. Normal baby stuff. This was one of the first days in the helmet and she was determined not to sleep in the contraption. In an attempt to soothe her, Josh got out her little stuffed lamb that plays music. "Jesus Loves Me" started up and I fixed my eyes on the floor. Josh read my thoughts and said quietly over her whimpering, "He does love her." I believe He does, but sometimes it's easy for me to get so caught up in the difficult moments and forget truth. In that moment, I was choosing to dwell on the bad. The thing is, I want Caroline to believe without a doubt that she is loved, cherished, perfect, worthy, strong, and able to do absolutely anything. How will she believe unless I believe too? Mostly, I don't want to become so fixated on the challenges that they become her identity. I don't want her to be the poster child for special needs and I certainly have no business being the poster-special-needs-mama. I don't want people to see her and think, "oh she is doing great…for her condition" or "she looks so cute…for having those issues." I want them to see Caroline for who she is- a funny, bright, loving, beautiful, formed-in-His-image girl. My hope for Caroline and our whole family is that our lives would not reflect  the hardships, but that they would reflect gratitude, joy, and grace.

November is all about thankfulness, so to kick off the month, how about a photo summary of just a few of the things that I am so very thankful for this year?

These two. I love them. 

Sunrises…and new mercies that come with them. 

Our furry babysitter. 

This smile to greet me each morning. 

This unyielding spirit. 

Furry babies…and the start of holiday season. 

This excited little strawberry and the man behind her. 

Meme. We love her. 

Birthdays. Yesterday was my brother's birthday. He was my first friend and he's pretty darn special.