A mother's love.

Have you read or heard about the poor, poor man in Brussels who everyone thought was in a coma for the last 28 years and it turns out he was fully conscious?

I just read an article about him in the newspaper and was just amazed and somewhat horrified. He was in a car accident in 1983 which left him paralyzed and in what appeared to everyone to be a coma.

His parents, convinced that the diagnosis was wrong and that their son was still in there, never gave up on him and continued to seek medical treatment for him. They brought him to the US five times for tests. FIVE TIMES.

The man can now communicate through an assistive device and told reporters: "I screamed but there was nothing to hear." (If that doesn't send a shiver down your spine, nothing will.)

After thinking about it a little, I am struck by his parents' determination, fierce love and true grit. They stood by their son, advocating beyond the point that many, many people would give up to get what they believed was right for their boy.

I'm sure when they would stare at him in the hospital bed for hours on end, they had the same feeling that I do when I see Michaela sleeping: the vivid flashback of staring at your child sleeping as an infant, new and fresh and full of promise. And you can almost feel the wiring in your own brain changing, laying down new tracks- tracks that mark you as a parent who would do anything for your child. Even transporting a paralyzed adult to a foreign country five times, looking for help, searching for anyone who could see what you saw.

So good for you, Fina Houben of Brussels. I can't even imagine how many people thought you were plum crazy, were annoyed by your refusal to believe what the doctors were telling you, and wanted you to give up on your boy, your baby boy. And you persevered.

You did what we mothers all hope we could do: be our child's last defense against the world despite staggering pressure to give up and give in.

You are truly an inspiration.

Eight week old Alec John.

My baby is 8 weeks old today.
And we're all still standing.

Even though he is my third baby, I still worry about all the same things I did with the girls: is he growing? Is he happy? Is he being stimulated enough? Is he sleeping enough? Pooping enough? Burping enough?
Though I do have a slightly better ability to look at him objectively and say definitively: yes, he's doing just fine. He's growing like a weed and to me doesn't look newborn-y anymore. His cheeks are luscious and full and when he started smiling last week we discovered a dimple on his left cheek. No one else has dimples so this is particularly awe-inspiring for me as his mother.

I love him. I'm in love with him. I think everything he does is amazing and wonderful and I can't stop kissing his gorgeous head and telling him I love him.
And I hope he feels this love every time I kiss his forehead or cheek or neck.

I love having three kids. I love the busy-ness this brings to my life and the sense of fullness. I love thinking about the holidays with all these warm, cozy little bodies (in coordinating pajamas, of course). I love sitting on the couch, holding Alec with a girl on either side of me, leaning their heads on my shoulders as we all watch SpongeBob in the morning. I love thinking about the next 20 years as they all grow and become their own people and all the memories we'll have of this time.

I am such a sap that last night we discovered that we don't have a good pencil sharpener in the house and I was thrilled with the prospect of having to buy one. Because big families with big kids need good pencil sharpeners for schoolwork. It doesn't even really make sense, but somehow feeds into my overwhelming desire to provide all I can for these three little people that God has put into my care.

Of course there are moments- some of which last several HOURS- when they are whiny and crying and cross and I feel overwhelmed and exhausted and out of patience. But the last eight weeks have been remarkably calm, fun and quick. The bad stuff sort of recedes over time and the happiness stays at the fore. I'm not saying it's perfect, but man, it's really good most of the time.

Alec is a blessing that we are watching unfold right before our eyes.

Michaela made us parents; Jenna made us a family; Alec was made out of love.

Foreseeing the future.

About three and a half years ago, I was walking into our local grocery store with Jenna in a shopping cart when I was approached by an older, vaguely Eastern European woman. She smiled at me and asked a few innocent, totally appropriate questions about Jenna.

At the end of our conversation, she said to me, "Don't worry... your next child will be a boy."

I didn't really think too much of it at the time... Jenna was such a tough baby, it was looking unlikely that we would even have another child. I loved having my two girls and it did not bother me in the least that we didn't have a boy. I did think it was strange that she said it at all, and that she said it with such confidence, like Don't worry... the sun will rise in the east tomorrow morning.

Fast forward to now, where as I type this my almost-eight-week-old son is sitting contently in his bouncy seat next to me.

I think back to that woman every once in a while. Did she REALLY know I was going to have another baby and that it was going to be a boy? Or was it just that the small chance she had to be right came through? Could she really see into my future?

Here's the bigger question: can I find her again, and can she reassure me that my kids will stay healthy, grow up to be functional, happy adults, and that Dan and I will be able to provide for them in every way?

Can she soothe every other worry and concern we have about our kids?

Family.

Feel the love.

Pithy. Sort of.

You know what?
I was going to post a delightfully fun, humorous, relevant, reflective, anecdotal post today, but instead I'm just going to tell you this:

Being a mom is hard. And there are some very bad days.

Now, I am very happy to tell you that I have not experienced one of these hard days this week- sleep deprivation notwithstanding, it was a busy but good week- but talked with several moms this week who are struggling with one area of motherhood or another.

The problem with having a bad mom day is that you are intensely afraid that not only are you unhappy, but perhaps you are ruining your child(ren) in some way as well. And every mom I know is doing the best she can to raise happy, healthy children. So sure, Dan has bad days at work, but I don't think he's afraid that his actions may lead to his kid becoming a serial killer. (Side note: on a particularly BAD DAY when Jenna was a baby, I did call Dan at work at told him this: "If she turns out to be a serial killer, I honestly did the best I could.")

So you moms out there, who are swimming around looking for a life preserver to cling to or a ballast to provide safety and security and steadiness... talk to another mom who's been through it and is sympathetic. Reach out to someone. They'll talk you down off the ledge and provide great perspective.

Motherhood is such a process, filled with tremendous learning curves, and requires constant re-evaluation and reinvention.

Being a mom is hard.
Call me if you need help.