Mommy Reminders - Especially for Moms of Special Needs Kids

It's May which every mom knows less for Mother's Day and more for the crazy school year end madness.  We are juggling end of the year celebrations, field day, thank you gifts, graduations, summer planning, etc, etc.  If you are the parent of a special needs child you are also juggling IEP meetings, summer therapy schedules and any last minute errand you need to run before next September.

There are lists everywhere around this house and piles of work to get to.  It is easy to overlook the necessities.  So as a service, I have compiled a list of reminders which should help you keep your sanity.

- Breathe.  That's always a good first step.  If you forget to just take a second where you are and take a deep breath, you will collapse under the pressure.  Just breathe.  Bonus points if you go outside and breathe fresh air.

- Take A Shower.  No, I'm not kidding and I'm not being a smart aleck.  I know there are fifty blue million things to do.  Not a one of them will get done unless you take a moment to take care of yourself.  Take a shower.  Take care of your basic needs.

- Eat.  This goes along with the previous reminder.

- Exercise.  Again, this goes with the previous two reminders.  I am the last person to give you unnecessary things to do.  I am not saying to exercise at the gym in cute workout clothes for three hours for a twenty year old body.  You know already the insanity of that.  I am asking you to do something.  Move your body so that your soul and mind can function.  Mood follows motion.  You know that.  It's hard to take even a moment to yourself.  I'm asking you to take five minutes if that's all you can.  A DVD for five minutes in front of the television (My favorite is Leslie Sansone who I find much more realistic than Jillian Michaels...http://www.lesliesansone.com/) ....a walk around your house...five jumping jacks...you can do that.  You must.  If you don't function, you cannot give to your children.

- Accept help.  There is help out there even if its not your first choice of help.  No one else is your child's mom and no one else will do things the same way you do.  OK.  That is ok.  The world still spins.  You need help or you will fall down exhausted.  Check with the service coordinator.  Look into personal care aids, family to family connections groups, respite services.  Its out there and you need it.  You might be able to be supermom for a while but we are communal beings.  We are not meant to conquer mountains alone.  Aren't our children prime examples of that?  They need our help and in order to give them all of ourselves we must accept assistance when offered.

- Remember who you are.  No, I'm not making a Lion King reference.  I'm actually serious.  Remember who you are at the core- your honest self.  Nurture that.  You may have to be creative with how to do it, but its so important.  You are giving so much of yourself to your child...and rightly so.  Still, if you forget who you are in the first place....what are you giving?  Read for a moment.  Listen to books being read while you do laundry.  Listen to music.  Write.   Create.  Craft.  Be.  You are not doing any of this to seek perfection.  You are nurturing your spirit.

- Accept the imperfect.  Do your best.  Try.  And when you can't try anymore...try to try.  Messy is ok.  What is the actual requirement?  You fight the world for your child whom society deems less than perfect.  You scream for the world to accept your child for the beautiful soul that he is.  Be as compassionate and open minded to your own value as you demand the world be to your child.

- Keep moving.  Even just a little bit.  Baby steps are steps, and even baby steps progress us forward on our journey.  That's the key really.  Keep going, keep moving, keep on.  But nurture yourself so that you can.

Dear One, you know that I am writing to myself as well.  I struggle and am just as human and much more imperfect than you.  That's ok.  We must keep on.  We must encourage each other so that we can progress...so that we can do what we must...so that we can be there for our children...so that we can impact...so that we can make our mark...so that we can matter.

My Qualifications

Throughout the years, many have questioned God's choice of me as Isaac's mom.  Heck, I've questioned God's choice of me as Isaac's mom.

Today I submit an honest list of my qualifications.

Who I am not:  I am not the most patient.  I am not a willing martyr.  I am not the strongest or the most faith filled.  I am not the best house keeper.  I am not perfect...or even close.

Who I am:  I am someone who tries.  And when I cannot try anymore...I try to try.

What qualifies me to be Isaac's mom:

Apparently I was God's first choice.  The Devine Creator has a wry sense of humor and He fashioned Isaac just as He would have this boy.  Then, God Himself put my son inside of me.  God chose Isaac for me and me for Isaac.

I am imperfect and I know it.  Someone who expected perfection from Isaac would have quit a long time ago.   His delays are extensive and not well hidden.  My imperfections are apparent too.  I don't make a huge effort to hide them.

I am stubborn.  I hate being told what to do and that I have no other option.  I argue with those who would limit Isaac's potential by failing to provide him with what he needs merely because they have never tried a different approach.  My call to arms is a sharp eyed, daring voiced, "Why not?"  Many hate that irreverent backtalk but it has consistently saved Isaac the effects of limited foresight.

I am proud and vain.  I will never surrender to your qualifications as mere letters on a page.  I will always think myself at least your equal.  I will never believe that you know more about my child than I do.  I will never concede my knowledge and qualifications as his mother.

I am demanding.  You must prove to me that you know what you are doing.  I will ask well informed questions.  I want an answer.  I will push you to think outside the box.  I will challenge.  I expect your "A Game".  I think I deserve it.  I know Isaac does.

I am selfish.  I wish life with Isaac was easier.  I wish he were typical.  I wish I never had to clean up feces.  I wish I never had to manage an aggressive teen age autism tantrum.  I wish I could communicate better with Isaac and he with me.  I wish I did not have to fight the established order of things.  I wish it weren't hard.  I don't get a thrill out of martyrdom.  I would trade the autism in a second if I could....but...

I know.  I know we all have something.  I know this is my thing.  Isaac's autism is my thing.

I love Isaac.  Even though sometimes I want to quit, I love him.

I'm not perfect.  I try to do the best I can.  When I cannot try anymore, I try to try.  I love Isaac.  I love his brother and sisters.   I'm not the best mom ever.  I gave up being supermom the day I gave birth.  I am society's last choice as Mother of the Year.   I am God's first choice to be my children's mom.  I think that's enough.

Isaac Can...

Isaac loves to be the first to greet each new month.  He gets so excited that he stays awake for three solid days jumping up and down in his room all night long.  "Almost May.  May 1st."  He started last week trying to progress on to May. Every calendar had been flipped and we had no idea what month or day it was around here.  Finally, today I gave in.  Today is the last day of April and the calendars are beginning to tear from constant flipping.  "You're right, Isaac.  Tomorrow is May.  May 1st tomorrow."  There is no way that child is going to go to sleep tonight.

Isaac is moving forward but I am taking a quick moment to look back.  April was a very full blur.  So much happened so very quickly with Isaac's face book page and with the blog.  So much has happened that has resulted in the same outcome...a change in perspective.

Even as a mama, it is easy to get swept into the Land of I Can't.  I have been told since I first held Isaac up to the professionals at large that Isaac Could Not Nor Would He Ever.  As a parent, I understand that my first job is to celebrate my children, but the incessant drone of diagnostics and harsh statistics does tend to squeeze the optimism out of even the most ardent pillar of strength.  

Champions of children with special needs are at great danger of being eaten by the alligators of rationality and sensibility.  These dangerous beasts assault with factoids and worse case scenarios as they drag the champions into the swamp of despair where hope and optimism are consumed with the veracity of a fresh kill.  

Yeah, I've been there.

But there is a way to crawl out. 

First, we must realize that we must crawl out.  These children have so few champions that we must return to fight for their cause.  

Next, we must change our perspective.  The teeth of those that "know better" are the facts and statistics that draw their dark realities.  Their weapon is their ability to draw our attention away from our children and to their despair.  I do understand reality and the need to face it head on...but I have found that life is all about perspective.  As champions of children, we do not have the luxury of a dark perspective.  We must shift our glace.  We must look to any hope and light we can find.

We must realize the wonder of the children we champion.  We must recognize who they are, what they can do and by whom and with what purpose they were created.  Our children are uniquely challenged and we may have to look hard to find their "I Can"...but it is there.  Since I have begun this outreach for Isaac, I have been overcome with what my son can do.  

Isaac can bring so many of us together.  Let's face it folks...we are an eclectic group but we have all come together to champion a child.  

Isaac can inspire.  I have had the pleasure of hearing some of you say that when you are having a difficult day you look to Isaac's page.  If Isaac can accomplish, so can you.  You're right!

Isaac can do so many things and with each account of each accomplishment, he can change us.  He can shift our perspective so that he is no longer a special child to be pitied, but has transformed into an amazing young man to be celebrated.

Isaac can make you smile.  He can open your heart and your mind.  When you follow my son's journey, you become more accepting of others around you who have unique needs.  You remember that we all have something going on and are kinder.  Isaac can soften your spirit and sometimes even your tongue.

Isaac Can...do all of that and so very much more.  Thank you for the opportunity to share with you.  Thank you for letting Isaac in.  

April is over but Isaac and I will keep writing and posting.  Autism Awareness Month is at an end but Isaac's autism is not.  We will keep on achieving and celebrating!  We hope you will keep on reading and liking and commenting.  We will work to spread love and encouragement.  The world needs more of that anyway!

Love You Sweet Friends!  

Confessions

It is not quite 8 am on Tuesday.  The children are on their buses headed to school.  The house that is usually full of squeals and laughter and stomping is now quiet but for the loud tick of the Mickey Mouse clock keeping the time.  I am at the keyboard writing to you and to myself.

I am procrastinating.  The reality of the day is trying its best to get my attention and I am doing my dead level best to avoid it.  I have been doing a lot of that lately.  I have gotten good at procrastinating and avoiding.  I am behind in my school work.  There is a paper I should have finished but instead I am typing this blog amidst a table littered with unorganized paper and notes encircling my workspace like the walls of a crazy cozy igloo.  There are calls I should have made but haven't.  There are chores to be done that have not been carried through.  I have lost track of the last time I worked out.

So now you understand.  I am not perfect by a long stretch.  I am not a martyr or a saint.  I am a perfectly ordinary person who is perfectly capable of becoming perfectly paralyzed by the realities around me.  I struggle and fail in so many areas.  I could ponder my imperfections.  Heck, I could have help with that.  There are many out there who would relish in telling me how very imperfect I am.  I could walk through my house and note all that needs to be done.  I could stare at the computer screen with unfinished school work.  I could stand on the scale and lament the pounds that have eeked their way back to me.  I could wallow.  Wallowing would be easy and safe and in a strange way... comforting.

But I think of the fact that I am posting on Isaac's blog.  I can for Isaac.  I think of the countless hours and weeks he has spent learning the basic bits of every skill he has ever attained.  I think of the times he has succeeded and of the times he has forgotten and given back ground he has gained.  There is nothing so frustrating as watching your child try in vain to remember a skill that was once mastered and is now lost to the cognitive deficits of disability.

When Isaac loses a skill, we double up and reteach it.  We sometimes have to start back from the beginning.  Sometimes we have to go before the beginning and reteach the introductory skills relevant to the skill he has lost.  When Isaac is stuck, we work to free him.  That boy is full of lessons.  I feel stuck.  I must work to free myself.  The chores will not be accomplished by birds and squirrels circa Snow White; the paper will not fly together of its own accord; the pounds will not disappear on their own.  I am stuck.  I must choose to move and I must work to make progress.

When Isaac was born, I refused an epidural.  Though I hate needles, my primary objection had less to do with the needle and more to do with the fact that I wanted to fully walk through the journey of birth with my son.  It was a beginning way for me to experience life with him and not ask him to do anything I was not willing to do myself.  Isaac is 15.  He struggles to learn and then relearn and then relearn again.  I find myself again holding his hand as I do the same thing.

Its good to confess imperfections.  Its good to show your underbelly.  We expose our humanity.  We share our journey.  We pull each other along and we share our achievements.  We get an opportunity to love.  With love and thoughts of my son and of you dear friends, I am off to face my dragons, do some chores and write a paper.

"So...be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O'Shea, you're off to Great Places!  Today is your day!  Your mountain is waiting.  So...get on your way!"  Oh, the Places You'll Go  Dr. Seuss

I Need for You To...Take the Next Step

Isaac's eight year old sister had summoned up all of her courage and bravely climbed the ladder.  It was a tall ladder and absolutely vertical but she had determined that she must prove her mantle and join her siblings in the loft.  They were having so much fun.  They were laughing and playing and celebrating their achievement.  They had encouraged her up and had promised to take her picture once she made it. When she came up, she was greeted with congratulations and hugs!  Wow!  She had crossed a significant milestone and her sweet siblings were first in line to help her celebrate!  She relished just a moment and then realized...

She would have to come down.  Going up was bad enough.  It had taken supernatural courage to face the daunting ladder and these new heights and sights head on.  Her childish mind began to process the unwelcome thoughts that she would have to again face that ladder and this time back into gravity and trust that she would be alright.  That was too much for this brave adventurer.  Tears welled up and began to tirade over her cheeks.

Her siblings tried to calm her but one mama glance revealed this was going to be an effort.  I relegated her well meaning fan club to the porch and came up.  I tried to hug her but she cried more fiercely until I thought she was going to be physically sick.  "You...want ...me...to...come...down..."she finally managed to get out.  There were two twin beds on the otherwise bare loft.  "I want to hug you," was my response though she and I both knew that in a few moments I would indeed need her to face her fear and conquer the the ladder.  She let me away with my partial truth and let me hold her.

 She calmed and then began to cry again.  "You want me to come down."  This child demanded truth.  She knew she must somehow make it back to the ground floor but felt powerless and paralyzed.  "Well, I guess you could stay up here"  I thought out loud, "it is pretty. But what would happen if you needed to use the bathroom?" I tried to sound very reasonable and practical.  No answer.  "That would be a problem," I continued.  Her tears again grabbed and shook her in my arms.  "No sweetie.  I need for you to stop crying so we can talk.  What do you think we should do?"

"I'm scared." Tears had squeezed truth out.  She was scared. "It's ok to be scared," I tried to comfort.  "No...it's...not."  Teary red eyes accused me of a fundamental lie.  More truth.  This child was afraid to move but more than that she was ashamed and afraid of her fear and her perceived failure.  I hugged her and looked her straight in her terrified little face.  "Sweetie, everybody gets scared.  That's ok.  I get scared too.  Being scared isn't a bad thing."  She didn't argue.  She really couldn't.  She was enveloped in hiccuping sobs but they were gentler now.  She was trying to understand this new concept.

"It's fine to be scared.  We just have to keep moving even though we're scared." Terror filled her face.  "I can't!"  I looked at my sweet little one firmly.  "I need for you to not say that you can't.  I'm not asking you to go down.  We just have to move a little."  What seemed like three hours was probably closer to a half hour.  Bit by bit we moved from the far bed to the other bed, from there to the foot of the that bed, from there to the floor beside the foot of the bed and scoot by scoot to the loft entrance facing the ladder.  We had to establish a couple more rules.  Now that she was this close to her giant, terror grabbed her feet and she stomped.  "I love you but you may not kick and you may not hit," I reminded her.  "I can't help it!" she screamed.  "Yes, you can.  We're not saying the word 'can't', remember?"

She glared at me but it wasn't personal.  She was terrified.  I kept speaking to my sweet one, "It's ok to be scared, but we have to take a step.  I've got you.  I love you.  Daddy is on the ladder to be with you.  I'm here too.  We won't let anything happen to you.  I promise.  We love you."  She looked from me to my husband.  Our eyes added credence to what our words had testified.  She was so very scared and my heart wept for her.  I hated that she had to fight this battle but I was humbled by the opportunity to escort her through her fear.

She made it down the ladder.  We celebrated though she at first did not want to.  When she got down, she was gripped with shame for her fear and her behavior.  I pray she will always remember what we told her.  "Everybody gets afraid.  Fear is nothing to be ashamed of.  Ever.  You just have to move and keep going even when you think you can't."

Parenting puts us in such weird places.  You must speak truth to your children and assure them of certainties that you struggle most with yourself.  I get afraid.  I had told my eight year old daughter that fact.  She later asked me what I was afraid of.  I took a deep breath and tried to honestly translate my deepest fears into language she could understand.  "I'm afraid of what I can't see and what I can't control."  Confusion clouded her face.  "Why?"  My fear seemed as irrational to her as her fear of the ladder may have seemed to anyone else.  I half smiled and realized that the two of us, my daughter and I, were afraid of the same things.  We both like to see what we are getting into and to be able to control the situation in a way in which we can keep ourselves safe.  That was too much to explain after the trauma of the day. "That's what I'm afraid of sweetie.  But even though I'm afraid, I have to keep moving."  My own words smacked me with truth.  Even though I'm afraid, I have to take the next step and keep moving.  It's ok to be afraid but we may not allow ourselves the luxury of stopping.  We may not be paralyzed.  Too many count on us.  We cannot do anything while we are held captive by our loft ladder.  We must move.  We must take the next step no matter how small or we will cease to matter.  We are individually crafted to make a difference and to add our contribution of beauty and love to the world.  We matter...so we must move.  I Need For You To....Take Your Next Step.

I love you dear friends and wish you strength and courage as you take on your loft ladder.

Things I Choose

Yesterday was one of those days.  Nothing atrocious happened.  It was just a bunch of small stuff but enough small stuff stacked together can lead to an overall difficult day.  I had one.

After I had comforted myself as best I could with British television (I'm a nerd) and shed a few therapeutic tears, I managed to get a little sleep.

I woke early to a crazy Monday morning.  Isaac's sister had a field trip and had to get to school early. I had a nasty headache which was the only gift I had received from my self indulgent pity party the night before.

So now...the scene is set.  I have an auspicious decision before me.  I have a choice and the power to determine the quality of how this day and possibly this week will shape up for me, my sweet husband and my four children in this one instant.

I could... give into the pain in my skull and the panic of the morning.  I could yell at the kids and be short with my husband.  I could let the darkness of my mood seep into the room and infect my family.  I could poison their day and be repayed by their tears and watch them retreat into themselves as they attempt to avoid my gripes.  

That would be easy.  I just give in to what I'm feeling.

But there are repercussions even beyond the obvious.

Isaac has emotive echolalia.  Those are the big fancy words meaning he reflects back the emotions presented to him.  If I approach the morning as I may instinctively want to, I will be repayed not only by tears and sullenness from my typical children but also with an array of aggressive and difficult behaviors from Isaac.

Not the way to go...

I choose....to take responsibility for my own mood.  My Monday morning issues are my own and do not belong to my family.  I will not make them suffer for my ill spirits.

I choose...to warn.  I do tell my kiddos that I have a headache and let them know that this may not be the morning to speak Ewok or sing loud good morning songs (those activities having been popular around here lately).  I watch my words and my tone as I warn.  I'm not giving this information to be mean but rather just so they know.  Children should not be responsible for reading the minds of the adults around them.

I choose...to get to work.  My work is nurturing.  My calling is caring for these children that are mine. I hug my littles.  I wish my daughter well on her field trip.  I thank her for feeding the dogs.  I help my husband and I help my little ones as they prepare for their day.

I choose...to smile.  It isn't fake.  It isn't huge but it's a smile.
I choose...my tone.  My voice is light and encouraging as I help to wash Isaac's face and brush his teeth.
I choose..to look past my mood and towards their need.

and

I am rewarded.  The littles get on the bus happily after snuggling into a last goodbye hug.  Isaac and I blow dandelion seeds across the driveway as he talks about Easter presents.  The two of us together identify clover flowers and pluck two of them.  He holds them and then gives them to his bus driver and her assistant.  Her face lights up at my son's simple gift and his smile.  Her eyes shine and I can tell that she was affected by my son's gift of love.

Her day is brighter because of my choices.

I cannot choose what is given to me....but I choose my response...for Isaac.

Love you all!

Everybody Hurts Sometimes...

Life is wonderful and so full of joy and opportunity and beauty and hope.  But life can pack a punch sometimes too.  One of the biggest blessings of having a child with a very apparent nonconformity is that the masks are ripped away within a millisecond of meeting us.

You see my family....and you know.  You know that I know what pain and loss and heartache are.  You know that reality has come to live with me and that I am not a pretender.  You know that I know your secret....I know that you have a hurt.  I know that everybody has a hurt.  I know that none of us are impervious to pain and that if we are to live and love then we will experience heart rending loss.  It is profound knowledge and oh so powerful.  The understanding that I have of the hurt you hide drives a lot of people away from our family.  It is difficult to be real when our culture demands we hide behind thick masks of perfection.  

I have found though that the perfect mask is heavy and hard to carry every single day.  I have found that hurt and heartbreak bring a capacity for compassion and gratitude that is unfathomable.  I have found that my hurt focuses my heart to more clearly see beauty and hope.  

My very favorite Bible verse is John 16:33....Jesus is comforting his disciples.  His words...

"I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace.  In this world you will have trouble.  But take heart!  I have overcome the world."

I love you dear friends!  I can cling to the One who has overcome the world...and my hurt.  I can find peace and comfort and heart in Jesus' love and his promise...for Isaac. 

A Love Story

Today my husband and I celebrate our 20th Dating Anniversary!  Yes, we still celebrate that!  It's vitally important to celebrate love.

Twenty years ago, Sam and I were in college.  We met in the small campus library.  I was stressing over a legal research class and Sam noticed.  We started talking.  We started hanging out.  We went through that akward stage of semi stalking each other in hopes of sharing company.  We were drawn to each other.  We soon became best friends which led to a nerve racking first date and then an admission of love.  Six months later we were engaged and nine months after that we were married.

Some thought we were rash and that we were going too fast.  It was fast.  It was easy.  It was right.  It was two really odd puzzle pieces that finally found that they fit with each other.  From the very beginning, we were blessed with an amazing relationship.  We knew God had chosen to put our paths together.  We knew God had a purpose for this marriage.

One of our chief concerns when we learned of Isaac's diagnosis was the high divorce rate of parents with children with autism.  Amid all the other concerns of late toilet training, limited independence, language difficulty, and intellectual disabililty, it was the divorce rate of the parents that scared me most.  Sam and I fit.  We had to deal with this together.  I didn't know if I could get through it alone.

People react to life changing moments in different ways.  Isaac's autism has always been a great challenge.  It has been the boiling water in our relationship....it has been hard but it has brought out the rich aromatic flavor of who we are together.  The hardship has steeped the tea.  When faced with challenges we couldn't have dreamed of that bombarded us throughout our journey, we have held on to God and to each other.

I am so thankful for this man I call my husband and for the great blessing of loving him, dating him, and calling him my own for the last 20 years.

There is hope in our journey with Isaac.  Isaac was created for a purpose by God and Sam and I are part of that plan.  Of that I am sure.

The Light of Hope

I have always loved to celebrate.  Why not smile?  Why not take a moment and remember the good?  But it has been Isaac who has taught me the necessity of celebrating.  It is not idleness that commands us to stand back and reflect.  It is our intrinsic need to focus on the things that really matter to the world.

I remember the first year after Isac was diagnosed.  He was two.  His younger sister was six months old.  I dreaded the diagnosis even though I was smart enough to know it was coming.  I dreaded the Pandoric Box I was sure diagnosis would open.   Slowly and bravely, we approached the diagnosis and were immediately surrounded by whirlwinds of acronyms screaming around our Happy Laughter.  The sinister shrieks of therapies, evaluations, specialists and agencies consumed our ears with deafening cries that threatened to drown out our Isaac's laughter.  The nemesis of laughter is despair.  It flew out of the diagnosis and descended into our hearts.  Autism consumed our thoughts and our schedules.  

But do you remember the story of Pandora?   After all the demons escaped, something else was freed.    Something small....and seemingly insignificant....Hope rose. Out of that horrid diagnostic day, Hope appeared.   We realized that as Isaac's parents, our primary responsibility was to grow this Hope and to harbor her sisters Faith and Love.  We resolved that while we could not ignore the more difficult aspects of Isac's diagnosis....we would not let them define Isaac or our family.  We would harbor Hope, we would celebrate achievement, we would take joy in baby steps and hold tight to the faith that we could make it through.  Hope provided the light to help us remember that our son was not autistic.  He was and is... Isaac.  Happy Laughter.

Wandering towards Happy Laughter

I knew when I was 10 what I would name a son. I was reading through Genesis…not so unheard of when your dad is a Methodist minister…and I came upon the names separate from each other but still related. Isaac means Laughter and Asher means Happy. If I ever had a son, I would name him Happy Laughter- Isaac Asher. That moment was so full of promise.

Many years later, I married my college sweetheart and we had a son. Isaac Asher was here. My Happy Laughter had arrived. Things turned out much differently than I ever could have imagined. Isaac has indeed brought lots of joy…but the road has been a lot more rocky than I ever could have imagined. My journey with Isaac has certainly not been the one I had expected. And yet, I think back to that original story of Isaac and his mama Sarah. Her journey with her son wasn’t what she expected either. She had been given a direct promise that her husband was going to have many children….which would mean that she would have many children…or so she thought. She traveled, she waited, she prayed, she hoped…but the babies did not come. She doubted, she was frustrated, I think she even got mad a time or two…and then she realized that God was in control. She saw his plans carried through and she had her Isaac. Motherhood for Sarah was vastly different than what she presumed it would be. I get that completely. My journey has been very different than anything laid out in What to Expect When You’re Expecting. I blaze new trails as a mom every day. It’s indescribably hard and I am sometimes tempted to despair…but it hasn’t been boring. I have become so cognizant of seemingly small blessings and my life has been richer for it. It has taken years and it’s still a work in progress…but I find joy and laughter in this different journey of motherhood. More on that later …. This joyously different journey still brings the same amount of laundry:)