Abigail Elizabeth

The last picture is of me at Abby's age. I like to think she looks a little like me. If you don't agree, don't rain on my parade OK:-)

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When you have more than 2 kids things can start to get confusing and sometimes it feels like they’re getting lost in the shuffle. The other day at Walgreens I was picking up prescriptions for our entire family of 6, and I felt like I was taking a quiz as the pharmacist systematically asked me the birth date of each family member! With twins especially, it always feels like I'm juggling their needs. One question people always seem to ask me about the twins is, “Which one is your favorite?” I can’t tell you how much this annoys me. Usually I blow people off with a quick, “which ever one is being quiet at the moment!" People will push even further, insisting that I must have a favorite. How can they not understand that they are ALL my favorite, all four of my children, each for different reasons? Each child is unique, special- a gift I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to raise and love until they are ready to venture out on their own. Anyway, this is just about Abigail Elizabeth.

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Honestly, I love that she has my coloring and looks a little like me, after Chris’ dominant genes gave us 3 mostly bald blondish babies. She’s worried me since she was just a fetus, always measuring smaller than Noah, requiring multiple visits to the perinatologist and constant monitoring. She was my tiny baby, at just over 4 pounds, and she seemed so fragile. Her cheeks were sunken in, and her tiny fingers looked like they might break when I would put her in the preemie clothes that had to be rolled up multiple times in every direction. I named her after my childhood friend Abby, who had irresistible chubby cheeks all throughout childhood, an infectious laugh, and a mischievous, enthusiastic, and fun personality. But my Abby has always been calm, serene, and almost aloof at times. Even on the ultrasounds, she was always peacefully hanging out while Mr. Noah was going wild, flipping around, and yanking on his umbilical cord. She kicked so infrequently that I would often poke her to make sure she was still OK in there!

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As people who know me already know, Abby is severely delayed in all areas. She’s not showing clear signs of full fledged autism, but an autistic spectrum disorder can’t be ruled out. As an infant, she would rarely look at me and preferred to spend hours on end staring at the ceiling or her toes rather than playing with Noah or me. She almost never cried, and unfortunately she also almost never smiled. When she did, it was rarely at a person. We got about 2 good belly laughs out of her before her first birthday, both for Jordan who seems to know how to enter her world in a way we don’t. When she cried, she would always rather be alone and would arch her back as if my comforting her actually hurt her worse. It broke my heart – I just wanted to rock my baby, look in her eyes, and help her feel better. She looks at me now, cuddles, and interacts in her own way. But I still wish she would say “mommy” and reserve the word just for me, to show me that she really knows who I am. She does say “mommy” but it’s not a name: it the word for me, but also the general word for anything she wants or needs at the time.

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One thing people often ask me is how it feels to have a child who is so cognitively delayed when our two older children are gifted. I guess it’s a valid question, and I know the people who ask don’t mean any harm. It’s just… why would I feel any different? She’s my baby, plain and simple. My love for my children isn’t dependant on what they can “do.” It’s just a mother’s unconditional love. The other comment that stings is when people try to console me in an awkward way by saying something along the lines of "well at least your older two are really smart," as if they are a group, not individuals, and one can balance out the other. That's almost like saying "don't worry that Johnny is missing his legs because your son Jack is an Olympic runner" - it makes no sense. I worry like any parent would, about her future, about what pain may lie ahead for her, but I don’t think it hurts me more than it would hurt a parent of older kids with “average” intelligence. I also don't think it hurts any less just because my other kids have certain strengths. Abby's got her own unique set of special needs, and we’ll help her deal with them as much as we can. But could I be disappointed because she isn’t “gifted” like her siblings? Absolutely not! She’s my baby! She doesn’t have to “be” or “do” anything to earn my love, she had my heart the day I saw that positive pregnancy test! In my eyes, she's perfect exactly the way she is.

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So what’s special about Ms. Abby Dabby Doo? What makes her different from the group? For one, she’s a watcher. She doesn’t let you know it, but she’s watching everything. She takes on the world on her own terms, in her own time. She watches and watches and waits to do things until she’s sure. Unlike Noah who walked at 10 months and spent a good 6 months after that with his big head covered in bruises from falling, believing he could run when he could just barely take a step without tripping on dust, Abby just patiently watched. At 16 months, when she was good and ready, she carefully took her first steps. Maybe that’s not so “slow” after all, because when she started walking she never went around with lumps on her head from falling! She’s also unique in our family because she’s serene. In a house full of kids who act first and think later, she’s the only one who calmly observes. When the stimulation is too much, she reverts to typically autistic behaviors, tuning the overwhelming world out. But when the stimulation is just enough, you can get her attention and she’s fully there with you. The other kids are always in six different places at once, in their minds if not physically. When she smiles, she means it. She’ll make you work really hard for one, but when you earn a grin from her it feels like winning a gold medal! The same goes for hugs and snuggles. Somehow they mean so much more from the girl who once wouldn’t let me cuddle her when she cried, who wouldn’t look at me. She also has my temperament, in her own unique way. Unlike the other kids who don’t hesitate to voice their complaints, Abigail is laid back and easy going. It takes a LOT to make her mad, but when she’s finally had enough, there’s no mistaking it! In many ways, she’s “my baby,” more like me than any of my other kids, and in many ways she’s very different from all of us. She’s taught our older kids a lot of important lessons about appreciating differences, and loving people for who and what they are in the moment. The big kids know she’s delayed and they try to help her, but they don’t try to change her and they are very protective and proud of her. When she does something new, like use the sign for "more" they cheer her on like she's a rock star! They love her just the way she is, and maybe that will serve them well later in life. Finally, Abby’s chubbed up and got the most irresistible chubby cheeks, just like the Abby I thought of when I named her (maybe the cheeks come with the name?)

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When I think about what her future might hold, what challenges she might face, I can’t help but cry or feel overwhelmed. There are so many questions - Will she start talking soon, will she learn to read, will she ever live on her own? But there’s no point in dwelling on “what if’s” with my kids. The future is too unpredictable for each of them. For Abby, it has to be about the here and now, about helping her in every way we can, but still cherishing who she is and savoring every moment with this unique little girl. It’s about tempting her to enter our world, and trying to connect with her in her own world, on her terms. It’s about appreciating and celebrating the little victories and accomplishments, which are just as big and important as the older kids’ more obvious accomplishments. Since the twins are definitely our last, part of me appreciates the fact that she’s still like a large infant. That’s probably bad for her, I know, but she’s given me the chance to experience more of infancy than I ever got to with my big kids, who raced ahead so fast that I felt like they were grown up in the blink of an eye. I don’t know what lies ahead for her, but for right now, she’s my peaceful, chubby, little cherub. She’s my baby, my “mama’s girl,” even if she doesn’t know my name yet.

Smile

If you need to smile, watch this video http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5_ARBWKpfA4

There's nothing like laughing babies to brighten your day, although I've gotta say, at least half of why it makes me laugh every time I watch it is because all I can think is, "Thank GOD I only had two babies at once instead of four!"

Hope In a Window

My Wish

Rascal Flatts

I hope the days come easy and the moments pass slow

And each road leads you where you want to go

And if you’re faced with the choice and you have to choose

I hope you choose the one that means the most to you

And if one door opens to another door closed

I hope you keep on walkin’ ‘til you find the window

If it’s cold outside, show the world the warmth of your smile

But more than anything, more than anything

My wish for you

Is that this life becomes all that you want it to

Your dreams stay big, your worries stay small

You never need to carry more than you can hold

And while you’re out there gettin’ where you’re gettin’ to

I hope you know somebody loves you

And wants the same things too

Yeah, this is my wish

I hope you never look back but you never forget

All the ones who love you

And the place you left

I hope you always forgive and you never regret

And you help somebody every chance you get

Oh, you find God’s grace in every mistake

And always give more than you take

But more than anything, yeah more than anything

This is my wish

I hope you know somebody loves you

May all your dreams stay big

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xz32I_GbpeU&feature=related

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At first, I didn't like the location of our new home. The neighborhood is dreary, depleted, almost whimpering that it's tired and ready to give up. It's sad at times, with all the poverty, restlessness, addiction, and hopelessness surrounding us. But right across the street, there is a boarded up factory. From the ground, it looks downright ugly and pitiful, with grafitti on the walls and garbage scattered about. From the top of our driveway across the street though, the view is different, hopeful, comforting. From my viewpoint, especially on a difficult day, the building stands bright and tall, with it's worn red brick beaming at me - like a warm beacon showing me the way home through a sea of tears. Most importantly, among the rows and rows of boarded up windows there is one open window in the center of the top row. It reflects the sunlight beautifully. I can't figure it out - why is it open when all the others are closed? I wonder if the people who boarded up the windows did it for a reason, to leave behind a little glimpse of what once must have been a thriving area? More likely, it was done without much thought, probably not even as much thought as I've given it. I wonder if anyone else in the neighborhood notices it, sees its beauty, draws strength from it? I've learned to love our new home, our new neighborhood. Over time, I've learned to remember to see the good surrounding us.

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It may seem silly, but to me that open window is hope right there on a brick wall. When I look at it, it reminds me of the Rascal Flatts' song My Wish, and it reminds me that things aren't always as dismal as they appear at first glance. There are so many times with my children when I feel like I'm running in to brick walls at every turn, when I don't know how to help them, don't know where to turn or how to guide them. But right outside my window, in my dreary little neighborhood, is my daily reminder that there is always a way. And ironically, my little reminder is on a brick wall:-) Maybe sometimes when I run in to one of those brick walls I just need step back and look at it from a different perspective? It may not be obvious, or easy to get to, and it may be in a place where we would least expect to find it - but there IS hope. There IS an open window, even when all the other doors and windows are closed. I have to believe that. For my children- somewhere, somehow- there will always be an open window.

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Yes, the song is a cheesy country song, certainly not the type of music I usually listen to. But, it's officially "our song," our family song, the one my big kids sing along to loudly in the car, and the one that I've taken to singing (horribly) to my babies at night. This is my wish for them - no matter where they are, and no matter what they do, when it's time for them to find their own way in the world, I hope that on even their darkest days they remember to look for that open window. I hope they hold on tightly to their big dreams, follow the good in their hearts, and most of all, I hope they always, always, know somebody loves them.