You’re Different Sunday

Once you embrace a miracle can happen the world seems brighter. I look at Owen and I think back to where we came from. My son, my precious baby, for a long time, couldn’t even look me in the eyes. It was too much for him to process. But now he is talking to me and finding ways to express his needs. Yesterday it was the topsy-turvy rollercoastery day of life for me. I wanted to cry because Owen was trying to do something on his own that he hadn’t done before and I wanted to cry because he told me about his aches and pains. We went bowling yesterday and some days I try to prepare Owen that our game is almost over. I told him he had eight more balls. He immediately held up his hands, both hands to show the number. The one hand was mostly up and the other hand he was trying to move his fingers to show three. He didn’t quite get it, but that didn’t even matter. I wanted to cry right there on the spot. He was trying to count with his fingers and I hadn’t prompted him, nor helped him with moving his hands, he did it all by himself. He tried it all the way down to the second to last ball. I never want to forget that moment, never. This is a skill we have been working on for years and here it was in action. My heart was exploding with pride and joy for my sweet baby O. Last night as he was taking his bath he started making faces. He then cried out, sounding like he was in pain. I asked him if he was sick. He winced a little more and then he said, “are you sick bewwy”. He said it a few more times, but didn’t want to get out of his bath. Every couple seconds he would wince a little and grab at his belly, pulling up the skin at his stomach. I got him out of the bath and he said, “wash his face”. He will say this in a singsong manner when we wash his hands or if I use a baby wipe. I handed him a baby wipe and he rubbed his belly up and down for several moments. He put it down and wanted another one immediately. That happened two more times and then off he ran holding his towel around him so he could get dressed. Within fifteen minutes he was acting like nothing was wrong, happily putting his nightclothes on and going about our routine. I was thankful he was able to tell me he wasn’t feeling well. Even though he still couldn’t tell me exactly what was wrong with him it does bring comfort knowing he can explain he has pain. The cry-rejoice moment was there again. Through the rain, I still smile. Be proud of your accomplishment, be thankful in your day, and be kind to your soul. Smiles to all and donut daze!