Tight rope

I've loosed on my rigid coffee/tea schedule these days because if mama doesn't get her dark black cup of coffee bean juice every morning, she feels as though the world may actually end. Nights are hit or miss with our big man these days. I'm not sure why some evenings are harder than others, but I think that's just the nature of parenting (and life for that matter). When your little one says, "mommy/daddy, please don't leave me," you realize they are dealing with their own bag of growing pains just like you, and it's not fair to punish them for it or expect them to be someone they are not. How is it that you can want to strangle your toddler one minute, and then when they greet you cheerily as the sun rises and say, "good morning mommy. I love you," you forget every frustration they ever caused.
Motherhood truly seems to invoke a sort of bi-polar disorder in and of itself. I've always hated extremes, but it feels as if my days are consistently teetering on a tight-rope of sweet melodious hymns and thorn suffocating blisters. One minute I'm sitting back enjoying the peaceful moments when both of my boys are learning and growing at their individual stages of development, while ten minutes later both are screaming bloody murder, and I can't seem to soothe either one. I know that much of this is simply the growing patience needed to become a living, breathing parent, but here's where I'm struggling and honestly crying to God for wisdom:
With a "normal" or non-special-needs baby (I still can't get over the fact that Levi is considered "special needs" right now), there is always that "purple crying period" where you just have to let them cry it out with the door shut because you know there's no other way to help them. They are fed, dry, and comfortable, so just turn on the vacuum because they just have to learn to self-soothe. Then there's my little Levi. Yesterday I watched him with tears in my eyes because he so badly wants to soothe himself by nursing on something, but every time anything gets near his mouth for more than a second he gags and chokes. It's truly painful to watch because most hungry children can at least feel soothed through eating even before the food hits there bellies. But Levi's food is pumping into his stomach manually, and he doesn't feel it for at least fifteen minutes. Thus, he relentlessly chokes himself trying to find satisfaction. I can't walk away, turn on the vacuum, or shut a door. I have to watch this mellow-drama unfold until he's finally filled or too tired to try any more because one abnormal choke could ignite CPR. No matter what I try to do, he ends up gagging either due to my efforts or his own. The only thing I can think is that God is continuously preparing me for those years when my children make choices that not only hurt me, but also themselves, so I must sit back and pray silently that it will pass quickly and the wisdom gained will outweigh the pain. Let's face it, we cannot shelter our loved ones from pain. There is pain in the world, so we must see each prick as momentary against a life lived for eternity. Only then do we humbly realize we don't have the perfect equation for creating flawless life.

As such, I continue to wait patiently to see how Levi's story unfolds. Each doctor seems to punt my questions to a different medical professional, but ultimately whether or not Levi will learn to eat by mouth, use his right hand, straighten his toes, get off meds, or sleep in his own room is up to him and God. So I will keep on trucking with so much gratitude that my heart could burst. I can't keep planning for tomorrow, or I will definitely miss out on those sweet moments today.

One of my favorite moments last week was watching Silas' love of learning.

Those peaceful moments when your children sleep quietly together is blissful!

Silas was so happy that one of his best friends was back in town!

I love you Evie, and I need a haircut. :)

~Coffee CubBuster