12 month stats:
She doesn’t walk yet.
She has 12 teeth.
She says “Kitty”, “baby”, “cheese”, and “oof”.
She loves to blow on her food.
She is obsessed with phones and remotes.
She’s around 19 pounds… don’t know her exact weight.
Every chance she gets, she sneaks to the stairs and tries to climb them. She thinks it is hilarious. I find it terrifying.
The kids were most anxious to eat some cake after a couple weeks on this Lyme diet. Indeed, Bennet was so anxious he decided to forgo any utensils and stuck his entire face into the cake.
And then he got a little camera shy, for some reason.
Then she got cleaned up and spent the rest of the evening walking back and forth behind her new birthday walker. She really wishes she knew how to walk.
While she practiced walking, my sisters and I sat outside and reminisced about how almost exactly a year ago we were all here at the house, waiting for her to finally arrive after I think the longest pregnancy in the history of the world. Or maybe it just felt that way. And how my sister and Lizzy had sat out at the same picnic table to take a little breather while I was in labor upstairs.
Lizzy was in and out during the labor… when it became too intense for her my sister would bring her outside for awhile. They were sitting at the table talking when the doula came out to tell them I was pushing.
The first time I was aware of her in the room was when Lydia was finally laying on my chest, gray and really, really mad. It must be hard to be a ten pounder when you discover you have outgrown the exit. And while she cried angrily, we all cried from the miracle. And Lizzy said, “You did really good, Mom.”
It has been a nostalgic few days for me, remembering all the emotions from her birth. The fear, the anticipation, the joy, the pain… but not really the pain because you never really remember pain as well as you should. Which is why the human race continues.
So much has changed for our family in the last year. We have been given so much goodness, so many undeserved blessings. I feel like Lydia’s birth opened the windows of heaven onto my family.
After Lydia was born, I tried to bargain with God each night… I would say, “Please, give me 18 years. Let me raise her and send her out into the world before I get too sick to walk anymore. After 18 years you can take my legs, but I need them to raise this child. You can take my arms, my hearing, my vision, but please wait until she is grown.”
I would try to mentally prepare myself for a worsening of symptoms, a steady decline in my health, knowing I didn’t have the type of MS that was mild and would go into remission for years. Always fearing the next flare, wondering what abilities the next relapse might steal from me. And how I would manage it with 5 kids, one of them a newborn. Wondering how much of a burden I would become to Mr. Darcy.
Oh, my sweet girl. Your birth changed so much, set so many things into motion, showed me the love of God in ways I never imagined. Brought a cure to the incurable. Gave me my life back. Helped me become acquainted with God.
And showed me there is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole.