Beach Dance

I know I’ve been largely absent here, and I apologize. I have a million posts in my head, but they’re just not making it into this computer.

Right now, Jenna and I are in Florida, soaking up as much Vitamin D as we can! We’ve been in the pool at least once pretty much every day, and most of the time, twice. It’s fantastic therapy for Jenna and she loves it. We have to tell her it’s time to get out every time. I think she would live in the pool if she could. She isn’t swimming yet, but she’s SO close! She has no qualms about getting her head under the water, and does an adorable little pseudo-swim where she holds her nose, kicks her feet and paddles with one hand while her little butt is up in the air. She stops and stands up when she needs a breath, then starts again. You can check out my Flickr photo stream (in the right margin) for a couple brief video clips.

The other day, it was too cold for the pool (around 70F and windy), so we decided to take a walk on the beach. I have to share a series of photos from our walk that I just love. We were headed back to the car, and she got a little way ahead of me. I noticed that she was doing a funny kind of little beach dance with her feet and I started shooting photos (she didn’t know I was shooting). As I watched and photographed, I realized that she was trying to make a horizontal line of footprints. I captured her finished work at the end of the series.

Some serious pronation going on – especially with her right foot. Need to ask our ortho team about it.

And a couple of extras from the photo shoot – just for fun:

Have a fantastic day!

 

Who Am I?

I finally had a little free time today to sit down and read some blogs that I’m WAY behind on. I came across this at Caleigh’s Corner:

“Often I wonder if parents, just like myself, lose their identities in the care of their children. I’m truly different since Caleigh’s diagnosis during pregnancy, and it becomes more apparent all the time. Crowds are now difficult for me to handle. Social situations are awkward at best. My bubbly persona that once described me only peeks through every now and then. I was the girl that was always happy. Always smiling. I can still smile and laugh, but my motives are different. The results have changed. I’m definitely more cynical and snide about certain things. Where before I was naively positive. My empathy for others and their needs isn’t what it should be; isn’t what it once was. My rational is jaded. I’m not walking around crying all the time, but I definitely have a more serious nature about me now.”

And I seriously teared up. Her words mirror pretty much exactly how I feel. It’s not something that I necessarily LIKE, it’s just something that IS. The social area is where I notice the most differences. Crowds ARE difficult for me to handle now. I often feel socially awkward, and like I don’t quite fit in or know what to say. I used to love going out or hosting people. Now – not so much. I’d much rather stay home and be “hermit-y.” Maybe because I’m often tired and soul-weary. I’m not sure I feel like I’ve lost my identity, but I definitely feel like it’s shifted and I’m constantly rediscovering it. I know I would not trade a single day of my time with Jenna and I’m so very glad that I get to be home with her. I know that my perspective on many things has changed positively as a result of Jenna’s presence in my life. Are these changes I notice a result of being a special needs parent or just the natural result of motherhood? Or maybe just a part of “growing up” and the constant evolution that is life? I don’t know the answers.

What I CAN tell you, is this is why I blog. It’s why I read blogs. There are still a lot of people out there who don’t get it. Who think I’m wasting time. But, finding a connection with people/parents who are experiencing many of the same things? Finding that you’re not so alone on the journey?

That’s absolutely priceless.

 

Just Keep Swimming

Since we got back from Florida (I owe you a post about that trip), Jenna has been a swimming fiend.

This is in spite of the fact that, when we left for Florida, she insisted, “I will get in the pool, but I will NOT let my skin touch the water!” We bought her an inflatable raft to float on, just with the hope of getting her IN the pool. We were determined to make the pool seem fun however we could.

For some, unknown reason, I was terrified of swimming as a child. I did NOT want water on my face or to put my head under water. My parents finally insisted on swimming lessons when I was in the 8th grade, and it was a traumatic experience. I had to take them at our local gravel-pit-converted-to-public-swimming-area and THERE WERE FISH IN IT. I was TERRIFIED of fish and other critters in the water (still am *ahem*). I could FEEL little fish brushing against my feet as we stood in the shallows, and I cried. That’s right. CRIED. In a class of me and many very-much-smaller-than-me children, *I* – the big kid – cried. Swimming is still not my favorite thing.

In spite of my determination to not show any of this fear around Jenna, she seemed to be developing the same quirks. She did NOT want water on her face, and NO WAY does she EVER want her head go under the water. We’ve wondered if it’s some innate survival instinct since she has so much trouble with her lungs. Maybe she’s just more fearful about inhaling water because her body knows it would be especially VERY BAD for her poor little lungs. Maybe it’s just a typical kid thing. At any rate, we were hoping to make at least a little progress at the pool in Florida.

Long story short: we ended up in the pool at least two hours every day for two weeks, and she never wanted to get out. The first day, she carefully paddled around on her raft. By day 2, she was bouncing up and down in the shallow end, and by day 3, she was paddling around in the deep end with the aid of her Speedo floaty suit. Awesome.

Since coming home, we got a family membership at our local college’s recreation center with access to the pool, and Jenna and I have been going a LOT (my poor skin). Fast forward to today.

I promised Jenna a trip to the pool this morning. She was INCREDIBLY EXCITED because we hadn’t been there since last Thursday. She was practically bursting with happiness. I pulled on my suit…….and the strap ripped from the back. Ugh. I explained to a bouncy and impatient small girl that I needed to sew the strap because I didn’t have another one. She was visibly irritated, but sighed in resignation. I searched for black thread to match my suit, only to find none (have I mentioned I don’t sew?). Jenna became frantic. I became tense. I finally found some embroidery floss from my cross-stitching days. I thought it might work in a pinch (anyone who sews might know how this ends). I separated one strand and threaded my needle. I made two stitches and the floss basically pulled apart and disintegrated. Jenna was watching all of this with apt attention. I calmly told her we wouldn’t be able to swim today and she dissolved into tears. Not a meltdown/tantrum – that wouldn’t have fazed my mommy heart. These were genuine tears of devastation. A bit melodramatic – yes – but still, I knew she was truly sad, and my mommy heart melted.

What did I do? I whipped out the only thread I have, which is WHITE. Do you know that WHITE is very…. contrasty on an all black suit with all black stitching? Yeah. Do you know that swimsuit strap fabric is very hard to push a needle through? Yeah. While trying to push the needle through, I managed to puncture my thumb and there was much blood. I apparently store a lot of blood in my thumbs. My white thread soon turned dark red in spots.

Anyway, I finished the stitching, donned the suit with one strap sporting contrasty, uneven, & sometimes bloody white stitches, and took a VERY HAPPY & ADORING small girl to the pool. The pool that I don’t even really like, but that I want *her* to like and to not fear. And we had a fantastic time.

All this made me think about how many things we do and how many things we sacrifice as moms. And? That our kids will not ever FULLY realize this until the day that they are parents themselves. I know this because I lived this.

Mom? I love you. For all the stitching you did by hand or machine at the last minute for something you knew mattered so much to us. For all the times you poked your fingers ’til they bled but just kept going. For all of the day-to-day minutia that went largely (or fully) unnoticed but kept us safe and healthy. For all the sacrifices you made for us without ever complaining because you wanted us to be happy and loved.

I love you. And I know now that being a mom means that day-to-day and moment-to-moment you just keep swimming and giving your heart.