She's Amazing

Just about a week ago, I took a pile of needles off my counter and headed downstairs to the laundry room where I keep our sharps container (an empty laundry detergent jug).  

I could only fit a few more inside before it was crammed full, and the others had to go into a new container.

I snapped this photo, looking down from the opening at the top.

And here's the thing.  

When I went to come back upstairs with the full one, ready to throw it in the trash, I ended up turning back around and leaving it in the laundry room next to the new one.

Funny as it may sound, I couldn't throw it away, though I will eventually.

It seemed flippant to just throw it out, cuz it represents so much more than what it physically is.

Almost seven months ago, I spent two days at the hospital with my gal.
She was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes.  

The only time I saw her waver, at all, in this whole journey that has brought significant changes to her life, was that first night at the hospital.

Because the acidic levels in her body were high and dangerous, they put her on an IV to stabilize her more quickly.  And because of that process, she couldn't eat or drink until the following morning.  I watched her, lying there, trying not to cry, not complaining, and hungry.

I thought about what lay ahead of her: not being able to just eat whenever (or whatever) she wanted, not being able to just grab a cupcake at a birthday party, or eat candy with a friend.  I thought about the fact that she would never be able to put another thing in her mouth without thinking about it.  
And she was only 6.  
It made me so sad, and I worried that she didn't even realize the full implications of what was happening, of what this meant.

I wished that it was happening to me and not her.

When she was finally somewhat comfortable that first night (about 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning), I lay there on the couch-made-into-a-bed in her room, and allowed myself to quietly cry for a moment, allowed myself release to the fear and exhaustion I felt, a way of giving voice to the sadness and overwhelmingness of it all.  I didn't want her to hear me or see me.  

(in the hospital, eating ice cream and watching Mary Poppins)

And then, amazingly, 
miracles started to happen.

I thought we wouldn't get insurance---but we did, and the coverage is incredible.

I was worried about counting carbs and figuring out her doses, since I cook a lot without following a recipe.  Having to input everything for nutritional information seemed overwhelming.

But today?  I don't even really think about it, and I hardly ever input anything anymore.

But the really incredible thing?  

HER.

(Uncle Martin distracting her from being hungry and sad that first night)

I still marvel that she has not complained, EVER.

She has never cried about it, even though it would be totally understandable if she did.

She has never told me that it isn't fair or it isn't fun.
Not one time.

She's the girl that never sneaks a treat, always comes and asks me, makes sure she's dosed before she eats anything -- even candy.

She is patient and has to wait on me a lot to get her set up to eat, and she never complains.

Instead, you know what she said?  

I blogged about it here, but when we talked about what we learned at New Year's, she said this:

"This year, I learned to be brave.  And I learned about having faith that God will lead you out of the mess, whatever it is."

She has handled it with grace and I think I take it for granted just how much it has impacted her life because she makes it look so easy.

When I look at her I see strength and faith, grit and gratitude.

She is a rock, and I love her.

Her example inspires me to try harder, to be better, to not complain.

(so much love on this table from friends and family)

And so, to me, that container is...

A journey.
Faith.
Acceptance.
Miracles.
Learning.
Change.

All of those shots represent accepting--and living with--hard things.

Dealing with big changes, and moving on anyway, with happiness.

And being brave.

She has been so brave.

And she's kinda one of my heroes.

And the other thing is?  

Sometimes I wonder why I still struggle to trust God when things aren't looking exactly how I'd like. In this experience, as in so many others in my life, 
pieces fell into place at exactly the right time.

That's something I have to keep remembering.

Then & Now & Lovin' Every Minute

Then...(two weeks, to the day, before their birth -- with my four fabulous (and gorgeous) sisters at my grandmother's 90th birthday party):

And now, October 11th, one month old:

There's a reason that we were joined, inseparably, for 34 weeks. These are the fruits of my/our labors. I kept thinking tonight why I love my new job so much. For several reasons. NOT because I love staring at the alarm clock 10 times in the day, and especially because I love looking at that thing 10 times throughout the night. NOT because sore nipples are the best thing ever. Actually, they hurt. Really bad. NOT because I love to pump after each feeding to keep my milk supply up for two until they're eating enough to keep it up themselves. NOT because I'm tired all the time, or so it seems. NOT because I can't seem to get anything else done anymore. NOT because I miss exercising and being outside and missing the fall season because we are pretty much homebound for a while (oxygen and RSV and all). And NOT because we love getting out of bed every five minutes in the middle of the night when one of them has lost the binky and starts to let you know about it. But actually, yes, all of these. I've found that I love it. My sister asked me (the lovely one in the middle above) on the phone last week if it felt normal having them home, like if they fit in, if it felt weird at all adjusting. Not really, although it is kind of strange when you're first just thrown into the whole routine from one moment to the next and all of a sudden, you are a parent. (It was weird in the hospital when I was signing papers for them and put mother on the relation to patient line.) That is a little strange when you've never had two little people (let alone one) that belong to you and you are responsible for their nurturing and upbringing, and all of sudden you do. But, tonight, after Scott had gone up to school to take a test, I kept thinking about how much I love this new job. Maybe it's because I feel more neighborly (ie. I noticed that my neighbor who is just barely 16 was leaving in a car with a boy (and car) I didn't recognize and was excited that maybe she was going on another new date). Not that I wouldn't have noticed it before, but I just feel more interested in what is going on around me at home. I feel more "at home", so to speak. More aware of being at home, in creating a home, in what I'm doing. Especially I LOVE being a source of comfort. It is absolutely lovely how I know that Isaiah and Ben recognize me, when they are so upset and ready to eat and I lean down and nestle my head in between them, and they both reach out their arms and grab on and turn their faces into mine and the crying dies down, or when one of them starts sucking on my lips as I kiss them before they eat. Or, like last weekend, when we were watching "Miracle on 34th Street" (yes, in October), and one of them kept fussing and couldn't or wouldn't sleep, so we pulled both of them out of bed and each snuggled with one. Or when, after eating, or sometimes just chancing upon them in their cribs, I stare into their wide, open, beautiful eyes when it's quiet. Moments like that I hope I'll never forget.
Scott and I were talking the other night at dinner about having children and your own family and traditions, etc., and how it's got to be kind of strange when they've surrounded you for years and then they marry and have their own traditions and two families to see and aren't always with you anymore. I was telling him that I've already started to think about the day that I've got two beautiful, five-year-old boys with backpacks on, ready to go to kindergarten. I imagine myself then, smiling big and grinning so they think I'm brave as I wave them goodbye at their classroom, and then leaving and not being able to hold back the tears. I told Scott we'll have to go to lunch that day so he can console me and help me stop crying. He told me that sometimes I start to worry and stress about stuff way before its time. Yeah, I know. But somehow, being the sentimental person that I am, and now actually being a mother (which I've always wanted to be), it's like a part of me that I always knew existed has come to life. So, yes, it really is all of those things. I feel like I'm building something. I'm investing so much.

And it's so worth it. Say hello to my little men.

Love, love, lovin' it.