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Four

Sam is four months old.  Right now, he is exactly the age Madeline was when we found out about her vision.  We got our diagnosis of Optic Nerve Hypoplasia from Emory on April 16th, exactly 4 months after her birth on December 16th.

I can’t figure out why this feels so significant, but it does.

She was born around Christmas, and Sam is this semi-significant age around Christmas.  He is four months; she turns four years.  It’s all loosely connected in a way that makes it difficult to pinpoint what it all means.  I just know that I can’t stop thinking about it, and I can’t stop feeling about it.  It’s hovering silently beneath the surface this month.

After a lot of feeling and only a little bit of thinking, this is what I’ve concluded:

It means life goes on.

It means God can redeem anything, everything.

It means I am thankful for two healthy pregnancies and two healthy children.

It means time flies.

It means life is different than I imagined it would be; I know braille.  This is possibly less surprising than the fact that I live in Alabama.

It means that I am very specifically thankful for Sam’s vision.  Every day I whisper, “He can see.”  I’m sure other parents would be every bit as thankful if it occurred to them to be.  But it occurs to me.  A lot.

It means that there is a soft spot in my heart for babies that are four months old.

It means that in His rock-steady faithfulness, His goodness, and His all-sufficient love, God has carried us through a difficult four years – and we are alive and together and sane only because of His mercy toward us.

It means that I have given Sam four months worth of kisses, which I estimate to be somewhere in the hundred thousands.

It means that I am a feeling, emotional person who is also a mother, and I love my kids to the moon and back, a million times.

And that’s it.  That’s all I got.

Happy fourth birthday, darling Madeline.  And happy four months, sweet Sammer.  You guys are the best.

Sam-a-lama from Alabama.
Sam-a-lama from Alabama.

 

"Up and down and up and down!  Mom, I wrote an M!"  To which I replied (silently in my head), "ONH, why don't you put THAT in your pipe and smoke it!?!"  Out loud I said, "Yes!  Wonderful!"
"Up and down and up and down! Mom, I wrote an M!" To which I replied (silently in my head), "ONH, why don't you put THAT in your pipe and smoke it!?!" Out loud I said, "Yes! Wonderful!"

Yes, she is wedged in a corner behind boxes of Christmas decorations.  We told her it was like a fort.  Roll with it, okay?

 

  • Kelly A.

    Very cool and very sweet, as always! I love your writing, Kate.

  • Ajturner

    I love this post….especially when you say, “It means that I am very specifically thankful for Sam’s vision.  Every day I whisper, “He can see.”  I’m sure other parents would be every bit as thankful if it occurred to them to be.  But it occurs to me.  A lot.”  I miscarried a precious one 3 years ago and now I’m sitting here at 30 weeks pregnant loving every kick and squirm of my little boy inside me and being so very thankful that he’s growing and making me increasingly uncomfortable week by week as his body grows as it should and moves mine out of the way! I know that I would appreciate and love him even if I had not experienced the previous loss but I also know that my previous experience  allows me to realize in a very deep way what a precious gift I have growing inside me. That it’s not my right to feel him growing inside me or to one day hold him, it’s a gift to be treasured. Thanks for being a feeling, emotional Mom and for sharing that.