It’s an Olympic sport to get my four children out of the house. I’m part gymnast, as I put my two-year old in an Ergo while pushing my nine-year old in her wheelchair. I can relate to the marathon runners as we push through the pain and use our bodies as our child’s own every day. We run the distance every day emotionally raising a terminally ill nine year old, seven-year old, four-year old, and two year old. The difference is there is no podium for us to stand on or medal for us to receive. Our accolades will come in the form of memories made and love we share.
We grew this family through the miracle of adoption twice and in-vitro fertilization twice. We spent years in the infertile trenches, battling through the deep and profound emotions that come with the journey. Happily on the other side, even if still wearing the scars of the struggle, we take every opportunity we can to seek out happiness. We know it may be found in the morning snuggle, the one more hug, and spontaneous, “I love you.” It can also be found in the wonder of discovering a new place, the exhilaration of trying new things, and the teamwork it takes to make it all happen.
In just thirteen days we head to Disney to once again hug princesses, battle it out on Buzz Lightyear, and work to avoid the whining about waiting!