Life With a Sensory Kiddo

There are secret fears that nag at a mother's heart. It's inevitable. When you've helped create this small being, or chosen them to be your own, you have opened up your heart to a world of joys and fears, triumphs and sorrows. I think parents always have a running dialogue in the back of their minds as they watch their child develop. Is this normal? How are they doing? Is this quirky behavior, or is it something more? Is this a phase?

I am a proud mom to two beautiful children. My precocious, logical daughter, who is never without a book and an observation, is now 8. After a week spent in the NICU after her birth, life and growth have sped right along for her. I also have a superhero in my family who is quite passionate about the difference between good guys and bad guys. He turned 6 in January. It is my superhero that I would like to discuss.

When he was two, we started noticing some behaviors that we thought were just quirks. They were funny, and made us chuckle, and of course, love him even more. His sister got new shoes for Christmas which he immediately took and put on his feet. Even the silver sparkly ones. He wore them ALL the time...at night we would walk in his room and remove them as he slept. We figured it was a phase he would outgrow.

Other quirks began to show up when he turned three. He would only wear khakis, he never wanted to wear shorts, even in the summer in Texas, and he always, ALWAYS had to wear shoes. I remember watching him around his peers at preschool, thinking something was just off. In the back of my heart I felt questions trying to surface that I was not ready to face.

It was in the spring just before his four year check up it became apparent that something might be going on with him. He began to smear, um, pooh, on the walls and into the carpet. I tried talking to him, I tried pleading...asking other moms if their sons were doing things like this. I knew. In my heart, I knew there was something else going on. After the third day in a row of him smearing stuff into the carpet, I remember being on my knees scrubbing it clean, and fear overwhelmed me. I sobbed as I realized out loud, Something is wrong with my son.

I have said it before, and I will say it again: Nothing on earth is as heavy as a mother's heart. When you see an area where your child is delayed, where they aren't thriving, the instinct to protect has a way of forcing you to ask the questions you fear. It pushes you to acknowledge their differences and to take action. You willingly accept the role as an advocate for your child and begin the process of figuring out what is going on and what there is to do about it. My next post will show the beginning of our journey into life with a Super-Sensory-Hero.

Loving Last Place.

For me, the last few months have been like a mini-mester on Life 101.  This mommy-hood thing isn't for a degree, people.  It doesn't stop.  A shadow of the truth of all truths.

Dropping everything (again) and restarting (again) in supporting a husband who joins the army at 30 and then gets you pregnant is like the breaking ground for the shifting tectonic plates of your soul.

Before we got pregnant, the "hierarchy" of my family flip-flopped.  The majority of the time, I put myself first.  This is such a base and broad statement, that I am looking at it and not liking it (mostly because it's true).  This does not mean that I did not have a growing relationship with my husband or friends or family or Jesus.  I know that in all those respects, my relationships blossomed in ways and wilted in ways.  They just could have been so much more ... especially in regards to my God and my husband. 

If you know me, you know that by worldly standards, I am not a "materialistic" person.  Too much literal baggage bothers me.  I like to make old things into new things.  I enjoy simplicity.  I try to invest my time and money in what lasts.   

Being numero uno wasn't about getting and having, it was about deciding and power.  However you put yourself first, it's naturally fun, but it left me unsatisfied and terribly wanting.

A child is not the answer to this or a cure-all, but a daughter was a catalyst for great change in my personal priority pyramid and how I view it altogether.

It began with seeing my body with different eyes.  My body didn't just belong to me anymore.  What I ate, what I read, what I watched - it always mattered.  Now just differently.  I began to pay closer attention to my physical and spiritual reactions to influence of all kinds.  If they were not positive reactions, it was an easy choice to drop them. I also saw my physical body with different eyes.  For the first time in my life I LONGED for my belly to bulge.  I took photos of my abdomen almost every day and sent it to my husband overseas.  This is the same abdomen that months before, I would look at in the mirror and frown because it didn't measure up to the photo-shopped version it was "supposed" to be.  Now, you better believe I used the stretch-mark oils and creams and wasted plenty of worry over what I would end up with after this child had pushed my stomach out farther than I thought humanly possible.  Even amidst the concern about the impending doom of the hanging belly and crinkled skin, I smiled.  This body of mine is a temporary tent.  A tent that got to carry my living, growing child.  No one but her and God know what my heart sounds like from the inside.  That is a gift, and then so are the physical changes.

The way I prayed and the amount of praying changed drastically.  The ramblings I would fill God's ears with about my personal needs faded into pleadings on my knees to keep my baby healthy, and moments of stillness - in awe of his mystery and wonder that was taking place in my life. 

Still in my first trimester, at a midwife appointment, she was having trouble finding the heartbeat with the doppler.  She moved that thing and pushed so hard on my bladder, my ribs, my HIPS!  Nothing.  We took a breather because my blood pressure was rising.  We tried again.  Nothing.  We took another break and she said if she couldn't find it, that I would need an ultrasound.  I prayed like I never had before, or have since, laying on that table with my chest open to the sky.  "Oh Lord!  Take my heart!  Give it to this baby."  My longing to just be a mom was gone.  In it's place was a longing for whoever this person was.  For them to see the sun.  To run, and even scrape their knees.  To keep on being a light in someone's life, not just mine.  To hear their own child's heartbeat.  The midwife came back and seeing that I was falling apart, told me, "Be strong.  You are someone's mother now."  She put that tiny microphone on my tummy, and just like that...there was little Lily Sue's heart.  Beating loud, and soaring strong, right along with mine.  I will never forget that day.  I was changed.  I was so much less of me.

Since then, moment by moment, experience by experience, my self has been emptying.  Not my identity.  I have not lost that.  It's still me, and it's better.  Still the same heart and hobbies and loves.  The proportions have just been shifted ... and although, sometimes I need a day to myself, having myself in last place is the place I find the most joy.  Putting my husband and child's needs before mine does not rob me.  It's rewarding in every way. 

Now, Reader.  Just putting yourself last does not automatically make everything peachy.  You are not the only one in your family.  This doesn't flow very well if you are the one only putting yourself last.  Your husband's position is high in your priorities, just as your position should be in his.  If your husband is putting you before himself, and you are putting him before yourself, then you are secure.  You are taken care of.  You are blessed and free to bless.  Your child - regardless of age is learning this and can only be taught this principle by example.

It goes without saying that a newborn takes so much of your time, you barely have time to breathe.  Lily Sue is a taker.  She was born that way.  She takes our time, our money, our space, our freedom.  I can't tell you the number of times I think about poop on a daily basis.  There is no choice in the position of a baby.  Their needs have to be met first or no one gets any peace whatsoever.  This is why it is so important that you and your spouse take care of one another. 

I do not like numbers.  I do not like ranks.  However in this case, this hierarchy is what will ultimately be the most rewarding.  I think the "I am Second" campaign almost got it right. 

1. God*
2. Spouse
3. Children
4. Others
5. Self

*If you do not believe in God and/or do not have a place for him on your list, just put a 1 in front of spouse and keep the rest in order.  I can guarantee that if you do life in this order, God will show up and start throwing a wrench (or wrenchES.  He's persistent) in your list.

If both spouses aren't doing it this way or even in different orders, it will fall apart.  The great thing about this is that even though the ranking lowers, all parties are equally blessed!

You might say, "but my baby has to be fed before my husband."  "My children can't even wipe themselves!"  I am speaking on a different level, here ... your heart.  Their rank in your life.  Deep, at your roots, who should be your guide if not your creator?  And who should be your partner, if not the one your creator has given you?  I am not saying to toss your child on the floor when hubby's on his way - rolling out the red carpet that leads to a beer in a frosty mug next to a steak grilled exactly to his liking.  If you wish to do that (without tossing a kid) wow!  Do it!  Imagine a life where he'd do something equally amazing (like join Pinterest just to look at your boards - yes my husband is this awe-inspiring).  Most days here with a 1 year old, Tim comes home to a wife wearing one of his T-shirts with some kind of food on it, her hair is in a messy bun, and down on the floor WITH the baby.  No red carpet, today buddy...and hey, you said you liked me scrubby, so enjoy.  Doesn't mean his place in my heart is less.  He has made a way for me to be on the floor with the baby all day.  He comes home and scoops her up and makes her laugh.  For me, this is gold.  The two of them together in the same country, under the same roof, looking at a book while I make them dinner is more than I ever deserve.  My hair can wait ... along with the laundry.

So, this is my time to myself.  My daughter is taken care of, and I can plug into my outlet.  It's naptime, and here I sit.  Looking down at my toes that have the last bit of purple polish from when I was in a wedding 3 months ago.  I've been meaning to get after it with some remover.  Just haven't found the time for myself.  My toes really need some attention before sandal season (which, in Texas is basically every season.  Why do I put my spring and summer away?  It's February and it's shorts weather).  I'll take some time and get a pedicure soon ... and I'll think how Tim gives a better foot massage and wonder how much Lily Sue will like the color.  Or maybe I will save the money and just do it myself.  Maybe go visit my mom and we can do eachother's toes.  I look forward to doing that with my daughter someday.  All these people.  They give me more and mean more to me than me.

So I hope you will try out settling into last place.  See how it fits.  I think you might end up seeing more of God in you ... and that is the prize in this race, after all.