God Gave me You

Worrying about Worrying  

I often wonder how I got to be so lucky.  I have a good job, working from home as a systems analyst for a dynamic, forward thinking healthcare organization in Boston, Mass.  I have a wonderful husband who has provided me with two gorgeous children.  My family is awesome, and so is the one I married into.  We do not struggle to pay our bills, but we aren't millionaires either.  I have so much to be thankful for, that I find myself feeling guilty when I worry.  I ask myself, How bad do things have to be for it to be OK to worry?  I follow blogs of friends, and friends of friends, and complete strangers, with children much sicker than mine.  Family members who are fighting to stay alive. They themselves losing jobs, or friends, or pets. So much strength and patience.  Eloquently grieving (if that saying makes any sense), or persevering, or coping.  My son is happy and alive.  He's dancing and singing and talking.  

Am I allowed to be sad?, Or mad?, Or worry?, when so much worse is going on right before my eyes? All around the world? 

Another Message 

Even though I've just begun writing, I find that it helps me internalize my feelings and thoughts in a more constructive manner.  When I say aloud my rational in an effort to write it down and share it, I am aware of how crazy and self destructive my thoughts can be;  And I change them. To say that this is therapeutic is an understatement.

I want to share with you another message I received from God.  Another sign that he is listening to me, and providing me with answers.  Answers to the question that I had been having for so many months - "Am I doing it wrong?"  Here was the answer:

Lyla Jane

I read this is another blog - A way to help children who are to young too fully grasp you are bringing a new baby home is to practice with a doll-baby.  This way, they can learn how to be gentle, kind, and loving before the real squirmy, crying one gets here.   Toby was all too happy to oblige to this ritual. 

We practiced almost everyday, and baby hung out with us while we ate and watched cartoons.  When the day came for Toby to finally meet his sister, his reaction was priceless. Please watch. 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AURyDq9f0WI&noredirect=1

Lyla was born when Toby was 17 months old.  She came into this world arms back relaxed, and has been that way ever since.  In just two weeks, she will be 6 months old.  *Tear rolls down cheek*.   

Toby's name had come pretty easily.  We had plans to name him Oliver.  Parker and I both agreed without any argument or discussion, something that happens frequently with us as we seem to on the same type of cosmic wavelength with most everything.  Then one day, he jokingly said, we should name him Toby Keith, and just like that, our minds were changed. Like the flip of a switch. (We didn't name him Toby Keith, we named him Toby Franklin (after his Grandpa Chip)...I didn't want it to seem tooo crazy obsessed fan.)

We didn't know Lyla was a girl until she was born. We had picked out ONE boy's name and had a list of girls names.  There were about 6 names on the pink list, and I had NO CLUE how we were going to decide which name to pick; That is, until I researched their meanings. On a yellowed page, in a baby name book I had gotten at a thrift store, there were the words:

Lyla (Female) - Meaning: From the Islands

I'm sure I had a blank stare. I remember reading it over and over again.  There were those Islands again. There was that sign.  I didn't need to decide which name, it had been decided for me, from the same source that had lead me to my husband and my son.  Those Hawaiian Gods who knew all along the name my daughter would have.  (If this doesn't register with you, please read my first blog :-)  ) 

Andrea Lindsay Photography 

It was almost like from the very beginning Toby was enamored with his sister.  His favorite part of the morning is kissing her.  He's always asking for "Issy", patting her head, and has even started giving her her binky and bottle when she cries, unprompted.  My heart swells during these moments, and I pray his nurturing for his baby sister never ends, even if  when one day she is bigger than him.  I need him to know, he will always be her BIG brother, even if her statistics show otherwise.  

I was driving home from dropping my children off at the babysitter, thinking about the title of this post.  As the thoughts were swirling around in my head, I paused a moment to clear them, and heard the words in the song that was on the radio.  It was Blake Shelton's God Gave me you.  Now, I've heard this song a gazillion times.  I like it but its not something on my IPOD.  During the silence of my thoughts, I internalized the words. 

"God gave me you for the ups and downs.  God gave me you for the days of doubts." 

I couldn't help but think of my sweet daughters face, and fully process how much a gift she really is to us.  How she really does help answer that question.  My thoughts go back to all those moments when I thought I was doing it all wrong, when I thought I was the reason Toby didn't want to eat.  Maybe I don't mix the formula right?  Maybe the formula is too hot, too cold? I sterilize the nipples every time, could that be causing the problems?  Lyla Jane just squashed those worries in the mud.  She couldn't eat fast enough.  At just an hour old, she had already finished a 2 ouce bottle, a feat Toby couldn't do until he was a month old.   Maybe it wasn't me after all?  Maybe I was a little to hard on myself? 

The ability for me to forgive myself for being what I considered - a dumb mom with Toby - slowly strengthened as Lyla grew, and ate, and liked it!  I didn't realize the fear I had about her health until she was healthy, and I could let my guard down and just breathe.  Just enjoy my infant in all her laid back glory.  How wonderful is God to give me such a precious gift; One that at the same time, helped to erase all that pent up worry and frustration I had been harboring inside. That guilt I had felt for feeling like such a horrible parent with my son. It wasn't me after all.  I can parent.  I can feed my baby.  I know how.  It's not my fault.  

While I'm typing this, I  have such a mix of emotions.  Why do I flip flop so much?  As i say those words above out-loud, I almost wish it HAD been my fault.  Tears swell in my eyes. What a relief it would have been if someone could have educated me, I could have been fixed, and Toby would be "normal" today. Sigh. Its a viscous cycle being a parent.  So many ups and downs. 

This mix of emotions is common with me.  As we journey through the doctors visits, the tests, the results, part of you wants so bad to find something, anything, to help diagnose and find a way to make Toby healthy.  And yet, the terror that lurks, that sits and waits in the bottom of your gut, is one that leaves me weak.  That fear that they WILL find something. I pray for strength and guidance.  I know I haven't elaborated much on his "condition" yet, but I promise I will get there.  Its hard to think of words to explain something that hasn't adequately been explained to you.  But I will do the best I can. 

I can't let the fear of the unknown consume me or I would, inevitably, self destruct. My son and daughter, and my husband, need a mom and wife who is strong and compassionate. One who can reassure and comfort.  I tell them not to worry, to not be scared.  I dry my sons eyes when he feels bad or or gets sick to his stomach; When I'm pinning him down so that some stranger can stick him with needles. His screams of terror and look of desperation in his eyes is like a dagger in the chest.  He doesn't understand why I'm letting this happen!  Why am I not stopping them?! I pretend so hard that I'm not just as scared as he is, but I am. He's afraid and crying because he doesn't know whats going on.  I'm afraid and crying because I do.  

Only faith in these words - God gave me you - can keep someone strong.   

Thank you for listening, 
Lindsey