Today

With every birthday, I watch them grow, stacking up their days into taller piles of milestones and memories, mistakes and miracles.

 

With every candle added, I see their light shine brighter and only hope that I can find ways to feed the flame that makes them special, that makes them feel special.

Among the sprinkles and tissue paper, I see their joy, their innocence, their genuine gratefulness for this life. For every day.

And I learn. 

The blessing of these blessings, growing with each and every year. 

I close my eyes and wish that in the midst of the crazy and the confusing, I remember to treasure it -- all of it -- now. 

Today.

 

Before another candle is added.

Image

It's funny the way God works sometimes. I have about four unfinished blog posts saved in my cue, most of which are no longer than a few short sentences. Others have been fully written in my head, but haven't even made it onto the screen. No matter how many ideas kept popping into my head this past month, something has kept me from posting anything since my last entry. It's almost like I needed that entry to float around here for a while. Like I needed it here, waiting for me, so I could absorb all that it meant before moving forward.

I meant -- and felt -- every word I wrote in that entry. Yet, it wasn't the whole story. Just a half-step toward a full blown leap of acceptance I wasn't ready to take yet -- and certainly not one I was ready to share.

Last week, I took that step. And today, I feel ready to share it, although I admit that  the feelings are still pretty raw. Actually, I don't know if "being ready" has anything to do with it. I just feel like I need to share it. My head -- and my heart -- need to release.

So here goes...

Brooklyn has spent the last few months working her butt off. A physical therapist comes to our home twice a week to work with her for about an hour, but I work with her every day for about 1-2 hours, depending on how crazy things are around here. This includes time in her stander for weight bearing and time in her RGO brace and walker to practice walking. It's a part of our daily schedule, and the girls have even helped me find creative ways to keep Brooklyn motivated and happy. As you can imagine, those moments are the ones that make it all seem worth it. Not only because Brooklyn is getting stronger, but because I see Emma and Kendall at their very best...and perhaps I see the best in myself as well.

If you have followed our journey at all, you know that Spina Bifida is all about waiting. There is no real way to accurately assess nerve damage and physical limitations, so you just have to wait and see. Sometimes it's a matter of therapy and muscle strengthening, and sometimes it is a matter of what I have started to call "heart strengthening." In other words, it's a matter of acceptance.

I have said before that there have been images in my heart of what Brooklyn's future will look like. Those images have included a little girl with pigtails walking with arm crutches. Maybe a wheelchair for longer-distance adventures like the zoo, but for the most part, in my head -- in my heart -- she was able to walk with little assistance.

Back in January, when we had our muscle test, there was really no trace of any gluteal (butt) muscles. I have said all along (and was told) Brooklyn has strong quad muscles and that's all she needs to walk. That is true; however, you need gluteal muscles to stand.

As Brooklyn and I have worked together these last few months, I have been amazed by her determination; the way her mind wills her legs to "KICK!" even when the rest of her body isn't quite able to keep up. She can kick, yes, and she can move forward, but her back is very arched and her balance isn't secure enough for us to just let her go. She wants it -- we all want it -- but her body has its limitations. That's just a fact.

So I finally asked the question the other day. The question I know my PT and our other specialists wait for us to ask because they don't want to make any predictions and maybe because they know we need to be ready. So I asked, and it looks like we need to start thinking about ordering Brooklyn a wheelchair.

I've struggled the last few weeks over my fear of this word -- this new image -- when I've known it was always a possibility. Some of you reading this may even thinking, "Duh, of course, she needs a wheelchair." But this whole hope/acceptance balance thing is tricky. I have tried my hardest to take one step at a time and I know God can do anything, but I am learning that at some point, there are realities you have to embrace just to get through it all.

I'm not really sure what I've struggled with more -- my disappointment or the shame of my disappointment. If the goal is to give Brooklyn independence so that she can get wherever she needs to go, does it matter how she gets there?

Well, to a Mama's heart, it does matter. Honestly, my heart is broken. And still breaking. The tears are falling as I type, and I hate that. I know this shouldn't matter. I know Brooklyn is happy just as she is, and I know God has a plan. But it still hurts. A deep, throbbing hurt that turns my stomach and makes me feel utterly helpless. Sometimes, I feel as if I failed her. I know in my head it is not my fault, but my heart doesn't quite agree. I am her mother -- the one who carried her -- and if you too are a mother, you know that this is a feeling you really never escape.

And since I am laying this all out on the table, I might as well tell you that this whole acceptance thing happens in waves. Just when you think you have it under control -- BAM! --something hits you and the pain is as raw as it was on that first day. This time, there were actually two waves of grief. The first was just the overall disappointment of her challenges, while the second was the one that compares her to all the other little Spina Bifida rock stars I have come to know. Rock stars I have seen through their early stages that are now taking steps, playing sports, and standing in photos. It is that second wave that throws me the most, as my heart battles with feelings of joy and triumph and, well... I'll just say it... jealousy.

Perhaps the hardest part of all of this is that I can see the determination, the will in Brooklyn's eyes, and what I can't handle is that some day she may be disappointed, too.  Her spirit is such a wonderful mix of strength and sweetness, and more than anything, I don't want that to be taken away from her.

But it is that realization that pushes me to get past this. To let myself feel and express and not be ashamed so that when she comes to the age of understanding, I am over it and I can encourage her to embrace her life and keep kicking. God gave her that spirit, and I believe -- I have to believe -- He will not take that from her.

I also realize I have a role in that, too. I can't mope around and act like her life is something to be sad about because, well, it isn't. Her life is a beautiful, wonderful, glorious miracle that I wouldn't change for the world.

For.the.world.

And so just like in those early days, I am clinging to His promises, letting the tears fall, and digging deep to find the will to move forward. Yes, my image has been altered, heart adjustments are being made, and we will order that wheelchair. But Jeff and I have promised each other that no matter what, we will encourage her determination, to keep her kicking, even if it's not all the time. That no matter what her mode of transportation is, we will never let her give up. We will do our best to breathe as much life into that spirit as we can because that is about all we can do. The rest is up to Him.

I am broken, yes, but as the days pass and I find the strength to hand this over to Him, I can feel His peace and power in my weakness. And the more I lean on Him, the more I can feel the hope finding its way back into my heart, pushing out any preconceived images I have been holding on to. Because the only image that matters here is the one He created.

The love I have for Brooklyn outweighs any of this pain and that is how I know it is all going to be just fine. Just like He planned.

Destination

We've all heard the phrase, "It's not about the destination, it's about the journey." In many ways, that's been an underlying theme of my blog for the last 2 years. And what I love the most about that statement is that our journeys are all so wildly different, yet at the same time, they are at the core, very much the same.

We all have challenges. We all have a goal -- a destination -- in mind. And while sometimes the path might not be the one we would have chosen or may even be full of some pot holes we'd rather not jump, the point is that we can push through it. If the desire is there -- if the will to reach that destination is strong enough -- we can get there, regardless of the challenges.

During this journey, there have been times when I've been sad about the things Brooklyn won't be able to do. Things that her sisters will be able to do -- maybe even do together -- while Brooklyn has to sit on the sidelines.

But, VERY much like her determined big sisters, Brooklyn has once again taught me that if there is a destination she wants to reach, she will reach it. In her way.

Kendall LOVES doing gymnastics. In fact, I think I see her upside down more than I see her right side up throughout the day. She is constantly doing cartwheels, handstands, and headstands, regardless of where she is or what she is (a-hem) wearing. (We have since decided that shorts must be worn under all skirts and dresses...)

Always trying to be part of the action, Brooklyn started asking me to flip her over. Of course, at first I was happy to do so, but after 923 assisted somersaults, I realized perhaps I should have thought that one through a little. She is 21 months old and doesn't quite comprehend what "one more time" truly means. So to her dismay, Mommy has to say "no" after about 2 or 3 flips.

But not to worry, Miss Brooklyn has figured out her own way to gymnastics -- without Mommy's help -- and is more than happy to perform on command. In fact, she now has added a pause between acrobats to wait for applause.

This video is a little old and was taken around Easter, but I still wanted to share it. Brooklyn's "gymnastics journey" may look different, but really, does it matter? The girl has reached her destination, and she is happy and proud. And so am I.

*Please ignore my extremely annoying high-pitched "excited" voice. Precautions will be taken in future videos to prevent possible hearing loss.*

Hello Again

By the looks of this blog, we never had an April. Whoops. How did that happen? Honestly, I never intended for a whole month to go by without posting, but I have to admit that my initial absence was intentional.

As much as I love this blog and it is my outlet, anytime I find myself tempted to do something for "blog material"  or, worse, putting way too much energy into checking back for comments, I pull back. I like sharing our story and putting it all down for prosperity, but I never want to fabricate anything. I enjoy blogging about something awesome we did, but I don't want to do something awesome just so I can blog about it. See the difference?

In other words, I try to keep myself in check.

And, really, sometimes I don't want to share everything. The last few months have been trying for me, and I like to gain a little perspective before I go spilling my guts. I want to be real, yes, but I believe some things are truly matters of the heart that need to be between you and God. That is, unless He leads you to share those feelings.

I've had a pretty important post traveling around my head for a while now, and I hope I have the courage to write it soon. I considered writing it today, but like someone who hasn't been to the gym for a while, I'm kinda just showing up today. No pressure to try and write a manifesto, just dipping my toe back into something I truly enjoy doing for me and for my family...when I have the time.

So, just like any good lazy blogger, I'm going to sum up the last month in photos. But only because I want to. Hopefully, you enjoy them too.


My favorite Easter photo that captures all of their personalities... my goofy Emma, my giggly Kendall, and my happy little Brookie.




All of our Spring Break family fun jam-packed into one day: A family trip to the Museum of Science and Industry, followed by the Sox game.









 
My usually neglected feet showing off a pair of FREE sandals (long story...) and Florida-ready mint green toes.




My awesome, totally relaxing, and ridiculously affordable annual road trip to Panama City Beach, courtesy of my dear friend's generous in-laws. Five stressed-out mamas doing nothing but reading, sleeping and laughing like teenagers for five days straight... all the while, our hubbies willingly hold down the fort and take care of our kiddos. So, so blessed.



And, finally, Soccer Mom season #2 is in full swing, and I have already learned the importance of blankets and snacks. Soccer Dad is still learning the importance of "playing for fun"...and maybe I am a little bit too. Maybe.

When it rains...

You grab your fanciest umbrella,



some fun rain boots,


and you let it rain.







Knowing all along,



that you are covered.



Making it work... (and linking up with Small Style)
Hoodie and leggings: Target, Emma hand-me-downs
Boots: Kidorable, gifted
Umbrella: Kidorable via Zulily

Purpose

When the tears are falling and the aches are tearing,
Use me, Lord.

When the laughter is healing and the sun is warming,
Use me, Lord.

When the day is flying and the child is asking,
Use me, Lord.

When the friend is hurting and the feet need washing,
Use me, Lord.

When the world is searching and the answers are missing,
Use me, Lord.

When you are prompting and I am listening,
Use me, Lord.

Until your work is done,
Use me.



"Yet, O LORD, you are our Father. We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand."
Isaiah 64:8

No Words

I love to talk. To ask questions. To find good answers. To read and write it out until it makes sense.

I like to lose myself in the words because it is then that I often find myself.

But some days, I want -- no need -- to be quiet. Some days, I just want to watch them.

No words. Just love.



And I usually find myself there too.



Making it Work...
Shirt and vest: Baby Gap, niece hand-me-downs
Skirt: Old Navy, niece hand-me-down

Imagine

I hesitate to write this, and I'm not entirely sure why. It is real. It is honest. Things I promised this blog would be. But I'm still nervous. Maybe because Brooklyn might read this some day, and I don't want her to ever think I don't love her exactly the way she is. Maybe because I wonder what you'll think of me. Or maybe because I don't want others to feel weird -- or guilty -- around me because their children don't have physical challenges.

But, today, I am pushing all of that aside, and I am going to "just write" it for me. It needs to come out, and I need to make sense of it. So here goes...

For the first time the other day, I imagined what it would be like if Brooklyn didn't have Spina Bifida. I mean really imagined. Lately, I have been watching, noticing other little ones, and I started to wonder, what if...

I tried to envision her running along side her sisters, her cousins. Climbing onto furniture. Cruising along the edge of a coffee table. Getting up onto the fireplace.

I wondered what she'd be like. Would she be a monkey like Kendall -- climbing onto everything -- or a busy bee like Emma -- running around in circles (literally) until she fell down laughing.

What would it look like to see her pigtails bounce as she skipped? Would her personality be different? Her smile bigger? Her giggles louder?

Would she walk on her tip-toes? Would she spin and spin until she collapsed to the ground in exhaustion? Would she chase her sisters around the house, or would she prefer to be chased?

As the tears clouded my already cloudy vision, I tried my hardest to see it. And for a second, it was there. All of it.

I've never done that before. I did write this piece, but that was different. That was imagining her years from now (in Heaven) and it was from her perspective, not mine. I never actually tried to see my Brooklyn -- the one I see every day -- as anyone but who she is at this moment.

And now I know why.

It hurts. A LOT.

But more than anything, it is confusing. It makes me feel guilty, and it does not make me happy.

I have written in the past that I have felt a loss, but no regret, and I think that is very accurate. From the beginning, my heart accepted God's plan for Brooklyn's life. Even if I didn't always want it or agree with it, I accepted it and I trusted Him. And I am grateful for that because otherwise I would constantly feel what I felt the other day, and let me tell you, that is NOT a good feeling.

I'm not sure if there is a lesson here or not, but I have to remind myself that not everything has to make sense all of the time. Sometimes things just are what they are, and you feel what you feel. And that's okay.

But going through that -- feeling that -- confirmed that it is a total waste of time and emotional energy to picture what could be when the real Brooklyn is wonderful and beautiful and in front of me RIGHT NOW.

And it wasn't until I went "there" that I realized just how much I accepted Brooklyn for who she is. Up until this point, I never even thought about picturing her any other way. For some reason, my images have always involved crutches and braces, even as I felt her squirm in my womb.

So, now, as I write this, I am deciding that I am not going to feel guilty about going "there" because as I'm sure you would all would tell me, it was a natural, human thing to do. And second, and definitely more importantly, because it showed me that focusing on the here and now is so much more fulfilling than focusing on what could or should be. There are some things in life that you can change, but there are other things in life that require you to simply change your perspective.

I guess that is a lesson after all -- one I can apply to many other things in my life that have nothing to do with Spina Bifida.

And that really is one of the greatest blessings of this journey. How it is teaching me to live. To not imagine a life I want, but to dig down deep and create the life I want with the many blessings I have been given. To accept, to trust, to appreciate, and simply love. At the end of the day, that is really what this life is all about. We just junk it up with a lot of other things that really don't matter.

When I think about living life to the fullest, I often imagine myself running through a field of wild grasses on a sunny day without a care in the world. And I got to thinking...is it the feeling of running through the field that makes you feel alive, or is it the breeze running through your hair?

I didn't realize it until now, but for me, it is the breeze. I can't see it, but I can feel it. Whether my eyes are wide open or whether they are closed, I can just feel it. We can all feel it.

That, my friends, is my blessed assurance. I pray it is yours as well.

Pockets

Today, sandwiched in between therapies, preschool pick-up, and a few conference calls was a small pocket of time. A time that could have been used to tackle the mountains (yes, mountains) of laundry sitting on my bedroom floor or the extremely neglected toilets and floors, but instead I grabbed an adorable two-braided girl by the hand and we skipped outside.

No phone, no nagging minutes, no plan. Just me and my middle enjoying some rare time alone in what ended up being the most gorgeous day we've had this year.

She rode her bike. I took pictures. We had a picnic with veggie straws and giggles, and we played baseball until Brooklyn woke up and joined the party.





The sun was bright enough for sunglasses, and fur-trimmed coats were shed and replaced with polka dot and plaid hoodies.

We had stroller races until Emma got off the bus -- the only indication that our time was almost up. Therapy #2 at 4:15.

As Emma headed down the driveway and handed me her coat, she pulled out a bottle of pink Hello Kitty nail polish from her sweater pocket -- the nail polish she asked me (about 103 times) to "pleeeeeease put on" this morning.  But between outfit wars, half-made lunches, and eggs on the stove, there was no time for nail polish.

"Why did you bring that to school with you?" I asked her.

"Because I wanted to," she said with a huge grin on her face. "I carried it with me all day."

With that, she put it back in her pocket and suggested we play hide and seek until Miss Julie arrived. I smiled, soaking up her wisdom, and agreed to be the seeker.

~Linking up to Just Write

Share

I did not buy one piece clothing you see Brooklyn wearing in this photo. (Okay, I bought the socks, but you can't see them, so there. ;). Every piece was given to us either as a hand-me-down or as a gift. And although I didn't plan it this way, I cannot think of a better way to depict this past week.





For many reasons, the past few weeks have been emotional for me. Really emotional. Nothing major happened, I guess. It was just the pile-ups of many smaller things -- burdens -- I was carrying, that suddenly seemed too heavy, too much to bear alone.

But one of the many things I love about God is that He often uses your weakest moments to reveal some of the greatest blessings in your life. And this week, that blessing was my friends.

These past two years have taught me a lot, but one lesson I have really learned is what it means to be real friend. Don't get me wrong, I am no where near the perfect friend -- I am absolutely horrible at phone calls! -- but I do know what it means to be on the receiving end of friendship when something happens to rock your world.

I know how it feels to have thoughtful care packages delivered at exactly the right moment; what it means to have someone just listen; and how healing it is to see tears forming in your friends' eyes because they love you enough to hurt with you.

Too often, we back away from being there for someone because we don't want to bother them. Trust me, I have done that way too many times. But I have learned that there are many ways to let someone know you care, and let me tell you firsthand, they want to know that. And many times, they need to know that. 

It is really, really easy to isolate yourself when life throws you a sucker punch. The pressure to put on a brave face -- to be strong -- and then suffer behind closed doors. But God encourages us to share our burdens. With Him, of course, but also with others we love and trust.




I have taken that lesson to heart as both a giver and receiver of friendship. Seeing my friends love me makes me want to give more to them. It inspires me -- convicts me -- to be a better, more compassionate friend. To them and to others.

Nothing changed this week -- nor likely will change any time soon -- to take away some of the burdens I have been carrying. But I can definitely say that the load felt lighter, more manageable after I removed my mask and shared my heart.

There is no greater gift than knowing we are not alone. God is always there, yes, but I truly believe He puts people in your life for times when you need the warmth of a hug, the sound of a voice that says nothing more than "I'm here," or even a text to remind you that someone is praying right along side you.





The sweater Brooklyn is wearing was given to me by a friend that once showed up at my door during a very stressful time with brownies and my (extremely detailed) Starbucks order. The shirt and shoes are hand-me-downs from my sister-friend who joyfully watched my girls more times than I can count during my many OB and specialist appointments. The jeans are a hand-me-down from a friend that I know with all my heart has prayed for my children and wasn't afraid to text me the day after Brooklyn was born to see how I was doing. And the necklace is from my other sister-friend who did everything in her power  -- including ridiculous taxi fees -- to be there for every one of my girls' birthdays.

All precious gifts that were given to me out of true, God-given love. Gifts I treasure with all my heart.

Gifts I fully intend to share.

Small Style

Loving...

Her eyelashes


Shoes on her feet


Not quite loving...

The, um, strong personality that has surfaced over the last two weeks. (Still hoping it's the teeth.)



Thankfully, "ilk!!!" seems to make a lot of things bearable for Little Miss, including an annoying Mama desperately trying to get a full-length shot of her outfit.


Happy Friday everyone!






Making it Work
Blazer: Gap, Emma hand-me-down
Shirt: Tea Collection, Kendall hand-me-down
Jeans: Old Navy, friend hand-me-down
Shoes: Pediped, Emma hand-me-down
Bow: Adornemegirl

Little Better

As she buried her head in my chest, I felt her shakes and I knew they were real. The tears were falling from a child, but the cries were from a grown-up place that I often wish my 6 year old didn't have to visit.

I knew she had been struggling lately, that something was up. But it wasn't until a walker stood between her and a much-anticipated tea party that I saw her heart.

"Why does she have to use that, Moooom. Just take her out so we can get started."

I knew right then and there that all of this "rock star" walker business was getting to her. My heart ached at the thought, and my tongue was tempted to quickly "fix" her hurt. But this wasn't the time. The table was set, the Princess music was already on full blast, and Kendall was anxiously waiting to do her welcome dance. So we all sat at the table, poured "tea" into mini tin cups and shared Rice Chex and raisins as if everything was okay.

It wasn't until a few days later that I saw my chance. Jeff had sent Emma to her room for disrespecting him, and I quickly suggested that I do the "sit down" with her this time. After we talked about her behavior, I only had to mention Brooklyn's walker before she broke down.

"Why does she have to have a walker? Why can't she just walk like you and me."

We had one of these kinds of conversations soon after Brooklyn started physical therapy, but that was before there were standers and walkers and lots of people acting like these were all good things. To an innocent heart and a praying big sister, these weren't good things at all.

So we talked. We talked about Faith, we talked about miracles, and we talked about Heaven. We talked about sister love and playgrounds and God's plan and dancing. We hugged and we cried, and when it was all said and done, she answered one of my greatest prayers in just seven simple words.

"Mom, you always make me feel better."

Today, instead of playing Barbies with Kendall, she sat on the floor and played with Brooklyn until her bus came. When I told her it was time to get her coat on, she kissed Brooklyn on the head and promised her they would play some more as soon as she got home from school.

As Emma closed the door behind her, Brooklyn called out for her -- "Me-maw!" -- and started to inchworm crawl her way over to the door. Emma caught it all out of the corner of her eye and ran back, sneaking in one more kiss on her baby sister's head before skipping up the driveway and heading off to 1st grade.

~Linking up with Just Write.~

Having it All

The first time she said it, it stung.

"Where am I going tomorrow, Mommy?"

I never thought my child would be wondering who she'd be spending the day with. It should be with me -- her Mommy -- shouldn't it? Shouldn't it?

When Jeff and I decided to start trying for a baby, we both agreed that me being at home was a priority. At the time, I was able to finagle an "at home" work arrangement that let me do my writing during nap time and at night, with a "big girl" trip into the office once a week. I admit, it was a good gig.

But then life threw us a few curve balls and work was no longer an "option" but a necessity. And as much as I feel blessed to be able to help provide for our family, there are days when I have to fight to not get angry. To not get jealous. To not get resentful.

I am just so flipping tired.

But then there are days when I love the fact that I can grab my cup of coffee, enter my "office," and stretch myself outside of these four walls. I get to research, talk to smart people, and create something that I am good at. And get paid for it. All the while, my girls are happy and being well cared for.

In a way, it's like having it all. I know this. But at night, I find myself wishing I could be like "everyone else" who gets to enjoy some downtime instead of psyching myself up for another long night of work. I want to go to bed before 12am. Just once.

On Mondays and Thursdays, when I hear Brooklyn laughing two rooms away, my heart wishes I was the one making her giggle. I want to trade in stressful deadlines for a round or two of Candy Land, where my only worry is to not pick up the dreaded gingerbread man when I am only two reds away from sweet candy bliss.

But I know all to well that Candy Land has its own set of stresses. I've had a taste of both sides of Mommyland, and neither one is easy. Being with them all day; leaving them with someone else. It's all hard. And exhausting.

And that's the part where I actually get encouraged. Not in a "misery loves company" kind of way, but I must say it is extremely healing to realize that you are not the only one struggling to find balance. There was a time in my life when I played the "I'm busier" game, and it's very lonely. The fact is that we are all busy and trying to figure out how to enjoy the life we have been given.

I admit that many days I have to work at finding the joy. It's a choice -- plain and simple. And although my head knows the "right" perspective, sometimes my heart is just not there. And, lately, my heart just so isn't there.

But I am working on it. I am trying to accept this season of my life and how it is shaping me. I could waste my days longing for "simpler" times when I didn't have to work so hard, or I could be thankful that Kendall can run into my "office" and give me one of her awesome hugs before rest time. Some days I have wasted, but many days I am thankful that I have a job that allows me to be near my children, even if I can't be with them every second.

Today, life forced me to trade deadlines for snuggles and sniffles, and let me tell you, I appreciated every one of those snuggles. And instead of a quick hug before rest time, I got to read about princesses and ballerinas under the covers.

Yes, I was exhausted at 8pm when I sat down to begin yet another late night, but as I settled in my chair, I couldn't help but appreciate my "day off." It wasn't easier, necessarily, but it was exactly what my heart needed in order to catch up with my head. Today, I felt like I had it all.

But the funny thing is, it will all still be there tomorrow.

Rock Star

 

They said there was no way to know her abilities. What she will or won't be able to do.

Every case is different. Every child is different.

Wait and see. Wait and see.

Well, we have waited, and now we are seeing. Seeing miracles. Perhaps through a different lens than the rest of the world, but we are seeing miracles.

From the first day she kicked those legs, to the first day she sat up, to first day she scooted across that floor, to the first day she stood tall and proud.



And now we are here. Walking. A place that looks different than I ever would have imagined, but a place that is more beautiful than I ever could have dreamed.

Of course, there will be more milestones. More independence. More work. But I have no doubt she will amaze me every single time.

Just weeks ago, they said that she was "too young" to start using a walker.

"Mrs. Bonnema, these kids with Spina Bifida aren't typically ready until 24 months, sometimes 3 years old."

Well, my dear surgeon, perhaps you have forgotten what you told me 2 years ago. Words I have hung onto every day of her existence.



Every case is different. Every child is different. 

She is different

and motivated

and stronger than you or I will ever be.



And perhaps, my dear surgeon, you haven't met my God. Because He? Well, He can do anything. Through you, through me, and most certainly through these kids with Spina Bifida.

They are rock stars. Every one of them. Not because of their challenges, but because of how they overcome those challenges.



Our rock star has decided to skip the part where you fit her for a more mobile form of bracing. We will get fitted for that next week, but until then, she has decided that she's not waiting for anyone to tell her what she is able to do. All she needed was some wheels, and thankfully God provided us with a therapist who ignored her age and her diagnosis -- and only saw her abilities.

Apparently "wait and see" isn't on Brooklyn's agenda.

Yeah, total rock star.




Linking up with Small Style...
T-shirt: Okie Dokie (gifted)
Leg warmers: hand-made (gifted)
skirt: Baby Gap, niece hand-me-down
hair bow: Adornmegirl
shoes: Pedoodles, Kendall hand-me-downs