Thursday, February 23, 2012

{the working out of all things}

Yes, it's true. A new Beer is entering the world.

Originally the plan was to wait until Avram was walking, but well, you know how plans go. I will be 14 weeks along tomorrow, and between the ultrasound a couple weeks ago and my jeans no longer zipping it is all starting to feel very real. Avram is taking 3-4 "lunging" steps at a time, so we are making good progress. But this mama needs him to walk soon, people. He is one heavy little dude.

I walked in to my first OB appointment with head held high, with the Peace that passes all understanding. But still, when the doctor first held up that fetal heart rate monitor it took every ounce of internal fortitude to not rip it from her hands and chuck it across the room.

We've been told, time and time again, that Avram's condition is not genetic, just spontaneous. Just something that "happened." 


My doctor had me see the high risk specialist in the practice just to be safe. The ultrasound went great, the little peanut is one gorgeous little symmetrical pod. The doctor answered all my questions, questions about pregnancy discomforts, what activities and foods to avoid, and hospital policies. They both answered all the questions that they are equipped to answer.

But those are not all the questions.

What if something is wrong again?

What if it's even worse this time?

I don't know if we could survive that again.

Or what if nothing is wrong? What if this baby is perfect? If he or she is, will I always be harder on them because they don't have the challenges Avram has? Will they be patient with their big brother, will they be on his side? Will having a "normal" hospital stay make me mourn again the rough start that Avram had?

There are a lot of questions the doctors can't answer, many fears they cannot calm.

I know, with a deep Knowing, that everything will work out for good. I know it. I know that no matter what, it will be good. I know that everything with Avram has worked out for so, so much good, and will continue to. There is a deep, deep knowing; a deep, deep emphatic "yes" to all that the future holds. We will have each other, we will have our family, we will be four hearts that love each other. I can't wait to meet another member of our little tribe.

But sometimes it's the working out, it's the waiting that's just so awfully hard. There are still questions, still thoughts late in the night, still flashbacks of pain. The working out is tough, it is the stretching of the clay, the waiting of the seed to sprout, the pruning of weeds.

It is a good hard, a strengthening hard, and so far know, we are waiting--in the midst of the hard--for the working out of all things.

All things for good.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

{finding solace in the manger}

I have started this entry over and over again, trying to accurately describe something that happened in early December. I just can't get it right, so I'll say this.

I had a pretty awful experience leaving Avram with someone else. To be fair to them, they were overwhelmed, and unsure what to do with a non-walking-but-still-very-mobile-and-large little boy in a room full of kids of all ages.

When I came back to get him, he had been stuck in a corner in a walker (which he has never used) all by himself.

It's taken me awhile to write about it because, to be honest, it's just felt too raw. I knew they were busy, I knew it was chaotic, I knew they had too many kids and not enough people. But it still ripped my heart out.

All I could think about, could ask myself, when I saw him there, sitting in the corner by himself was if this was just a preview of what is to come. What happens when I send him off to school someday, when I can't be with him all the time? Is there going to be someone to be patient with him, to take the time to work with him? Is someone going to look out for him, to understand him? Will there be someone on his side? Or will he be stuck in a corner because he's different, because it takes him longer to do what other kids do?

I dumped all this on a couple dear friends, and one of them graciously reminded me that two thousand years ago there was a young mom, with a son. A young mom stuck in a manger in a tiny corner of the world, with a baby she knew was different. She had to wonder: What will the world do to him? What happens when I can't protect him anymore? Will anyone understand him, will anyone be on his side?

In Luke it says that Mary kept all these things and buried them deep in her heart. The angels, the shepherds, the wise men. Somehow she had to know that as different as her son was, that these things were signs of comfort, signs of good things to come, signs of promise.

So instead of dwelling on all the "what if's," I am trying to keep all these things and bury them deep in my heart. The smiles, the therapy milestones, the babbles, the almost-first-steps.

These are signs of comfort,
signs of good things that will outweigh the bad,
signs of promise.