Miracle Baby

Not sure that anyone reads this-- I certainly don't think many do at this point. (Or ever did...) But regardless, if I can help get the word out about this, it's worth posting here.

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X is a miracle. Which is not to say that every child isn't a miracle-- because every child certainly is. But really, everything about him is miraculous. It's a miracle that we conceived him so easily. It's a miracle that he does not have the genetic disease I'm a carrier for. It's a miracle that he isn't even a carrier like me. It's a miracle that he was a champ through the genetic testing we did when he was just 11.5 weeks old (in utero). It's a miracle that he stayed put despite my constant contractions and pre-term labor starting at 29 weeks. And, it's a miracle he made it through his complicated birth.

But the miracle I'm most thankful for is his set of good, healthy 46 chromosomes. There was a 25-30% chance that he would have a disorder called Patau Syndrome, and a 50% chance that he would be a carrier like me. And because of the effect aging has on these things, once I turn 30, the chance of passing on my bad chromosome will increase exponentially. So, one of my biggest fears around having a second child is the fact that, for now, our chances of having a healthy child are good-- but not as good as they were with X.

This past summer, an old co-worker lived out what I consider to be one of my biggest fears. This former co-worker of mine isn't someone I would ever consider to be more than an acquaintance, but the journey she has been on has impacted me tremendously. In June, after an uneventful pregnancy, she gave birth to a perfect baby boy they named Noah. Within 24 hours though, it was clear that something was wrong. He wasn't breathing well, and he was placed in the NICU.  He just never really thrived, his body wasn't quite working properly, and after 12.5 days she and her husband received confirmation that their son had a terminal genetic condition. They took him off the machines, held him for the first time in days, and on the 13th day of his life, they held their boy as he went to heaven.

While most people respond to situations like this saying "I can't imagine..." My response was "I already did imagine, and now they're living my most awful imaginings." But she and her husband have traveled this journey with more grace and courage than I can fathom. And their boy has already had a amazing impact on this world. For myself, my fear around passing on Patau Syndrome has decreased. I still fear the whole idea of it... but I see how it's possible to live through experiencing that fear.

As a way to honor Noah's life, and to promote his legacy, Noah's parents have started #13daysofrainbows. (A little bit more information is on Noah's mom's blog, which you can get to by clicking here.) Starting on what would've been Noah's 6 month birthday, and in the 13 days leading to Christmas, Noah's parents are encouraging people to do an act of kindness, or if you're feeling ambitious, 13 acts of kindness. Either way, they're encouraging these acts of kindness to be done in Noah's name. Then, the idea is to take a picture of that act and post it on Facebook and Instagram with the hashtag #13daysofrainbows.

I'll be doing something this Advent, for Noah. Because God knows that it was only by a miracle that my healthy, perfect toddler sleeps soundly in his bedroom.

Please join me in spreading a little bit of Christmas cheer, and in honoring Noah with #13daysofrainbows.

Potty training at 16 months

*This post is not for non-parents or those that don't care to read of my son's bowel movements.*

This guy just pooped on the big potty.

He stood up during his bath and he had that look on his face. So I asked him "Are you pooping?" He said "yeah." So I asked if he wanted to sit on the potty, to which he said "yeah" and made the baby sign for potty. Then I put him on and he did! And he was happy about it! And when he was done, he made the baby sign for all done and pointed to toilet paper. He was proud of himself too. And yesterday in the car, I heard him straining in the back seat so I asked if he wanted to poop on a potty. He said "yeah", so I pulled the car over, into the Taco Time lot. We didn't make it to the restroom before he went in his diaper, but still, for a kid under 18 months, I'm pretty proud.

It'll still be a while before he's actually potty trained I'm sure. It's slow going. But we're making progress, and I'm always thrilled with having one less diaper to wash.

Twenty- twelve

I wrote this a few weeks ago...

I feel so blessed that this year has been a good one for my family. Ken, Xavier, and I are all healthy and doing well. We bought a house. I started law school. Ken got two promotions and started working at headquarters (which means normal hours, and weekends off!).  Xavier continues to amaze us as he learns and grows, giving us glimpses of who he is going to be. Our life is very busy, but it’s a good one.

This year, the only tragedy that touched my family was the death of my stepmother’s father. And even then, I don’t believe that tragedy is the right word. He had been fighting a recurring form of leukemia off and on for almost 10 years, and had finally decided it was time to stop fighting and let nature take its course. We were prepared and knew that his death would occur in the fall. More importantly, he was prepared, and died in his home, alone with his wife. How he wanted it. Death isn't easy, but this is how death is supposed to be—in old age, at peace with God, leaving behind children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, after a long career you enjoyed, in a home filled with reminders of a productive, well-lived life. 

Since becoming a mother, when I hear of random shootings, like the one in Sandy Hook Elementary, my heart goes out to the victims and their families. I pray for the lives prematurely ended. But more and more, I also think of the mother of the murderer. The grief she must feel in losing a child—to madness, and usually, to both madness and suicide. No matter how black your child’s heart, you’re still a mother, and you must still grieve with that loss. I think of the shame she probably feels. And the guilt. And the questions she must be asking— “If only I had seen the signs, could I have stopped this?” And then, how do you move on with your life when your son is responsible for something like this? So, my heart breaks for the families of the shooters, just as much as it does for the victims and their families.

At Christmas, especially this Christmas, I think often of Mary. This year, I’m thinking about how very pregnancy is a venture into the unknown— to give life to another is to accept that you cannot control the path that life will take. Only God knows the path He sets for each of us. Mary knew that the little life she carried in her womb would not be an ordinary one, but could she have seen how His story would unfold? Could she have anticipated that, years later, her precious Son would be executed—and that He did not choose to avoid it, but accepted it as part of God’s plan? And that she would be able to do nothing to stop it or change it? That her Son would be the ultimate sacrifice for humanity? I can't help but think she must have asked God "Why my son? Can't it happen another way?"

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And, this year, I’m thinking more about the next part to the story. The resurrection. Jesus died. Mary experienced the loss of a child. But then, her son conquered death and rose again. Through His death, new life was given to us.

I hope that’s something we can all take with us in the coming year.

I spent a lot of time meditating on this specific part of the Christmas story this Christmas time...

Luke 1:26-38, 46-55

Announcement of the Birth of Jesus.^*

In the sixth month, the angel Gabriel was sent from God to a town of Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the house of David, and the virgin’s name was Mary.

And coming to her, he said, “Hail, favored one! The Lord is with you.”

But she was greatly troubled at what was said and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. Then the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God.

Behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High,^* and the Lord God will give him the throne of David his father, and he will rule over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.”

But Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I have no relations with a man?”^*

And the angel said to her in reply, “The holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Therefore the child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God.

And behold, Elizabeth, your relative, has also conceived^* a son in her old age, and this is the sixth month for her who was called barren; for nothing will be impossible for God.”

Mary said, “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her….

The Canticle of Mary.

And Mary said:^*

“My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord;

my spirit rejoices in God my savior.

For he has looked upon his handmaid’s lowliness;

behold, from now on will all ages call me blessed.

The Mighty One has done great things for me,

and holy is his name.

His mercy is from age to age

to those who fear him.

He has shown might with his arm,

dispersed the arrogant of mind and heart.

He has thrown down the rulers from their thrones

but lifted up the lowly.

The hungry he has filled with good things;

the rich he has sent away empty.

He has helped Israel his servant,

remembering his mercy,

according to his promise to our fathers,

to Abraham and to his descendants forever.”