New Normals and a Crazy Awesome God

When I chat with most of my friends they tell me they would love to be able to stay home with their kiddos full time instead of working. I have always been the exact opposite. I never wanted to be a stay at home mom; I was kind of forced into it.  When I got pregnant with my first child the plan was for me to go back to work. I was going to take the twelve weeks and stay home then head back to work. Daycare was lined up and we were ready to go. Then when my son was born and there were complications, work no longer became an option for me. Someone needed to work with my kiddo at home, sign up for all the programs, take my son to all of the doctor appointments and therapies. Since I was a social worker and I knew the system, it was the most logical for me to stay home instead of my husband.  I was angry. I was angry that I was forced into a decision I had been adamantly against for so long. I was angry that I did not get to continue my career path or finish grad school. I was determ

The other day a friend had asked me if I had ever listened to the Risen Motherhood Podcast. She informed me that she thought I would really enjoy the latest episode. The next day I took B to a therapy session and a women in the waiting room asked "What's wrong with him?" and after I explained some things she said "Well, will he ever walk?" and although I am use to those question they still sting on some level whenever someone asks them. Today I got a chance to listen to that podcast episode. It talked about loving the friend who has a child with special needs. It talked about welcoming that family into the church. It talked about how sometimes neurotypical children make comments and as parents(on both sides of those comments), we freeze or don't know what to say. Some of my favorite takeaways from this episode are: 1. They took a survey of their Instagram followers and 31% of their followers that have children with special needs do not feel supported b

Hey Kiddo,  When your dad and I first found out you were going to be part of our family; I couldn’t stop myself from dreaming and having goals for you. I was excited to watch you play soccer and be in the band. I was excited for you to love reading just as much as me. I even thought about what your long term future would hold and if you would get married and have your own kids.  The day of your birth was one of the happiest but also the scariest day of my life. We almost lost you. But thanks to an awesome, loving, gracious God and your amazing doctor, you were able to stay here on Earth with us. You survived our nightmare. You were not given very good outcomes in the NICU but that has never stopped you from progressing and flying past the expectations they put on you.  My dreams for you changed, that day in the NICU when they told us you have HIE and likely will develop CP and a list of other diagnoses and to never expect you to lead a “normal” life. Instead of dreaming of you

I stared at the blank page for a while before being able to put these words on a page. This piece was harder for me to write than others have been. There is something about putting words on paper that make it seem more real. There is something about anticipating the response of others that makes me hesitate. And that something? It’s fear. It’s fear of defeat. It’s fear of vulnerability. It’s fear that when I put these words on paper, things cannot or will not change. However, when I really stop to think about it, I do not want things to change. You see, I never wanted to live in a small town. Up until 5.5 years ago, I had lived in big cities. I grew up in Waukesha and then went to school in Eau Claire. Both of those cities are beautiful and have so much to offer. There are shops, bookstores, coffee shops, recreation, coffee shops, bookstores, food options, and did I mention coffee shops and bookstores? All my favorite things were easily accessible. My junior year of college I m

Dear friend, I see you. I see you running to appointments rather than play dates. I see you working with your child day in and day out; trying to give them the best possible life they can have. I see you stressed out. I see you wondering what your child will be like in a year or 5 or 20. I see you wondering how you are going to afford everything. I see you worrying. I see you. I understand. I understand what it's like to look at your child and feel anxious, fear, and stress. I understand what it's like to look at your child and have so many questions. I understand what's it like to live a life you never fully planned on living. I understand what's it like to have new realities come at you on a daily basis. I know what it's like to have to say no to things you really want to do because your child can't come along and you can't find a sitter you trust. I know what it's like to be exhausted from the day just thinking about everything you need to with yo

I have no idea how to begin this posted. I can't tell you how many times I started this post and then deleted it because it just did not seem right. This post isn't what I intended it to be but it's everything I needed it to be. It's been a year. It's been a shitty year. It's been a joyful year. It's been an overwhelming year. It's been a year full of learning and new experiences. It was not how I expected our first year to go, but I wouldn't trade this year for anything. I've said it before and I will say it at least a thousand more times; we have an amazing community. Our community is what helped make this year what it was. They sat with us, cried with us, listened to me wallow, and loved us through it all. But my favorite part about this amazing community we have is how they love to celebrate Bren with us, every "little" thing was as big to them as it was to us. About a week before my son's birthday, I sent this text to my