Sunday, April 22, 2012

one of those days...

Dear Little Leah, 

I did it again. I went and had one of those days. I'm tired. I'm emotional. And I'm just not perfect. 

I've worried a lot about you lately. A lot a lot. Your seizures. Your hitting. Your instability. And I fear I just don't know how to be your mom. I'm trying my best, I really am. 

I want what's best for you. But I'm afraid sometimes I don't even know what is best. 

And when I think I've figured out what is best, I don't know how to accomplish it. 

I truly believe you have untapped potential. But I don't know your limits or how hard I should push you to reach that potential. 

I know there are things I could be doing that I'm not. 

I know there are things I should be doing that I'm not. 

I know there are things I'm doing that I probably shouldn't be doing. 

And so I continue to worry. I worry about how life is going to change in the next few weeks and how it might affect you. I worry about how it might affect me and my ability to care for you. I worry about our girl's only summer and if I'll even be able to survive. But if I do, I worry that I won't have the energy to give you all you need with a new little one in our house. I don't want you or your needs to fall to the wayside, and I'm just not sure how to balance it all (after all, I only have two arms and you usually take up both of them). 

And so, put all those thoughts into a bowl, mix them up with my tears, fears and other emotions and you kind of have a wreck of a mom tonight. Sorry about that. It's just one of those days. 

I love you. Really, I do. Even though I made you eat all of your dinner and you didn't want to. 

Thursday, April 5, 2012

little robin red breast

Dear Little Leah, 

This week in school you've been learning all about birds - specifically robins. We are under strict orders to keep an eye out for them so you can report back to your teacher every day and mark your chart each time you spot one. Up to today, you've seen 14. And today we saw 12 more!

You've colored robins, cut them out of construction paper and read about them. You've learned about their blue eggs and the home they call a nest. In fact, you even got to make your very own nest - with twigs and leaves and mud. I'm told you thoroughly enjoyed the mud part. I can only imagine. 

The other day as we were walking to the car, just before you stepped off the curb, you paused. Actually, you completely halted. At first I thought it was just your usual Rett syndrome pause where nothing in your body seems to work and you simply cannot move. But this was different. You weren't tight at all. You nearly bent your body in half just to stare down at the ground below. When I finally took the time to see that you were looking at something, I decided to take a look too. 

This is what was apparently so intriguing:

I wondered why in the world you might be so interested in a pile of leaves and dirt clustered in the corner after a long, cold winter. 

And then I remembered the robins. And their nests. And realized that maybe it looked like a nest to you. It did look ridiculously similar to the creation you brought home - it just needed a little blue egg. 

So I asked you, and again, your eyes spoke a thousand words. You thought there was a robin's nest on the pavement and you didn't want to step on it! So, we moved over a bit and stepped around it. 

Oh, Leah, what a fun gift for me! I got a glimpse of your five year old thoughts and it was amazing! And it also reconfirmed to me the fact that you are learning and growing and stretching that brain of yours in incredible ways. 

There is a lot to learn, Miss Leah. For you and for me. And I'm so glad you have such a hunger for knowledge. And are teaching me to continue to hunger for it, no matter how much I think I know. Learning and growing is the best kind of freedom, Leah. I know your body probably seems like a prison most days, but with knowledge you can truly fly, just like the robins. 

I love you, Little Leah. 

Monday, April 2, 2012


Dear Little Leah, 

For the past few weeks, you have been learning all about dinosaurs in your preschool class. You've come home with some fun facts and some amazing works of art. But your diorama tops them all. I was told you spent a long time painting the sky and earth, constructing the volcano, trimming the trees, adding the flora and building a model of the one and only Leahceratops. 

The dioramas you and your classmates created are all on display in the glass case at the elementary school - and believe me, that's a coveted case. All the students, parents, teachers and staff who walk in the main hall will get to see your masterpiece. 

I love that you decided the Leahceratops was a peaceful dinosaur. I can't imagine anything modeled after you being anything to the contrary. 

And as for the three horns, Grandma Hauley had a great idea: we'll be adding three beautiful ribbons the moment the diorama is sent home. I think its nickname will have to be Missribbonsceratops, obviously. 

I love you Miss Ribbons. And I love to see the results of your hard work each day. May your peacefulness and work ethic never go extinct. 

I love you.