Recently, I took my youngest (4) to the pediatrician for a quick consult. Since his birth, little man has had mouth sensory issues and some developmental delays that I’ve been keeping an eye on, and now that we’re established in preschool, he is starting to really grasp consequences and routine, and I felt it was time to review some of the things that I’d like to start pushing to overcome a little more. It’s the one struggle I knew I would face adopting my children – working through genetic traits I personally don’t have, and ones that may have been developed from lack of proper prenatal care- and I am the biggest advocate for my man to find all the resources I can for help.
For those new to me, I adopted both my fantastic kiddos (full siblings) from state foster care. Yep…I won that lucky cosmic lotto and ended up with a 3 month old baby and one on the way as foster to adopt children. Adoption was finalized before they turned two (they are 10 months apart in age), and they have some developmental delays that teach me acceptance, patience, and the beauty of asking for help either through speech therapy, my awesome/amazing preschool teacher (#whycantsheteachthemeveryyear), or my wonder woman pediatrician (no- I’m not an uber feminist…they just all happen to be female).
So, as the doc and I are discussing my mans plan for summer and returning to school, I was completely touched. My pediatrician is pretty awesome, and I was lucky to get a good word in from another doc I know to get accepted with my kids. Not only was she was of my biggest advocates for all of my foster babies, but she had this awesome faith in me that just kept me trying. And today, as she has in the past, I caught her taking a moment to gather her thoughts, and then she shared that she will always see my man as a miracle baby. That she just prayed she would see a day where we could discuss issues on growing up and developing, instead of fighting alongside me to keep him alive, after bio mom did no prenatal care, smoked, and barely kept herself nourished enough to stay alive (seriously- like 80-100 pounds at 8 months pregnant!?!). At 6 months old, she didn’t think he was strong enough to make it, but we relied on prayer.
I’ve struggled and pushed and scheduled and structured my kiddos lives so much to help them achieve their highest learning potential, give them opportunity to flourish, and give them limits/boundaries to keep them succeeding…and I forget every once in a while of his 6 month old check up…
He was just a hair over 9 pounds, couldn’t keep food in due to a slow moving digestive track, lethargic, just a handful of hope. We went to a leading children’s hospital for help in getting him successful in eating, keeping it down, and developing. And no one thought he would live much longer. But my husband and I stayed there with him, for 5 days, watching, asking, feeding, testing, helping. I helped put an IV stint in his scalp, when I was the only one that noticed the pinch in the line and the drip. I held him and helped put him under anesthesia, and was the only one there to help him wake up after (I was terrified and not a nurse in any way shape or form, but someone should be there for him). We fed him those finger sized bottles of food, and I finally put a foot down and put faith in my prayers and said he needed to go home, nothing they were doing was helping.
I have to keep remembering to stop and appreciate what we have overcome already in my children’s lives, and remember to breathe deep and be patient. In the rush of everyday, I need to remember that it’s important to see how far we’ve already come, beating the odds. We’ll be just fine- through faith, family, and prayer…we’ll be right where Gods intended us to be all along!