Adjustments

Dear Charlotte Amalie,

We're all making adjustments around here. That father of yours is adjusting to being a *real* doctor (crazy, I know!). Your brother is adjusting to a new home, and new people. You are adjusting to new doctors, new nurses, and no oxygen (woohoo!)

I'm adjusting to it all, as well.

I think the thing I'm adjusting to the most is seeing you as a little girl. You're not my baby anymore. Someone once told me I was lucky, in a sense, because you would be a baby for so much longer. (Umm, thanks? Did you think that one through before you said it? No? Oh, OK...). But even though you aren't doing "toddler" things, I'm watching you slowly shift out of being a baby and into toddler land.  Your face is getting thinner, your legs are getting longer. Your belly, while still impressively large, mind you, is becoming less of a belly and more of a torso.

You are also changing in non-physical ways. You are letting me rock you to sleep, something you haven't done since the early days in the NICU. You are laughing and playing with your brother. (You're also annoying him to death. #couldyoustopthat? #willyouknowhatthismeans?) You are exploring the world in new ways; trying to crawl, picking up toys, figuring out cause and effect. I watch you and wonder.

Do you know what a miracle you are? Do you know how much you have accomplished? Do you know that I live in awe of your strength, your resolve? Do you understand how I long for the future and fear it at the same time? How am I to teach you anything? How I am to guide you, when you have already guided so many; when you have been a source of faith and hope for those around you? For me?

I wonder if you are frustrated. If you know your potential and understand that you are delayed in reaching it. I wonder if you know that your body just doesn't work the way it should all the time. I wonder if you wish things were different.

I wonder if I wish things were different.

I wonder how it is even possible that things have changed so much. So much change. You've gone to a grocery store, to church, to the pool, to Target, to Sports class with Caleb. The strangers in the isles and on the street don't wonder about you. They don't know. It's a miracle they don't know. I'm adjusting to the idea that others don't know our story. Don't understand the fight we've had and the battle scars we carry.

But you, my little girl, you're adjusting to a world with carpeted floors and swimming pools. You are focused on getting.to.the.other.side.of.the.room.

And like all past adjustments, your adjustment is so much faster than mine. Your acceptance is whole. Peaceful. Complete.

I watch you and I realize that once again, I'm learning from you; I'm growing because of your strength. It's an adjustment, as a mother, I didn't expect to make.

But I'm adjusting. Thank you for making it happen.

Always Yours,
Momma

PS. Caleb would like to nickname you Charlie, but pronounced "Shar-ley". I'm gonna go with no on that, right?