Difficult Noah Returns

After two semi-easy days with Noah he decided to make up for it by being a little harder. It's days like this that make me just a bit envious of mother's with "perfect babies." I try so very hard not to get bitter about it, but darn there are days when you just feel a bit cheated. And then I have to keep reminding myself that not just anybody would have what it takes to handle a Noah. Yet somehow if I would have known that God had intended this for me, I think I would have tried harder to be irresponsible and a little more reckless and maybe he would have thought twice. But the power that be, new that I'd sacrifice everything to look after this soul.

Thank goodness for the support of my mother. I'm not sure what I would do without her. She faithfully comes almost nightly and weekends, she's so devoted to Noah. She's my biggest helper, even when her back is breaking she's holding the "arching Noah" through the grocery store which is a very difficult task. We keep encouraging her just to move in, we want to hold her hostage here. I'm just glad that she loves Noah so very much despite his imperfections. She's proud of him and she always looks past his brain injury and sees his soul. Without my mom, there would be no relief for Chris and I. I used to think that God placed my mother and I together because we were so close, but in reality he knew that Noah would need her more. This darn master designed plan. Oh, how I look back over the years and see how the puzzle all comes together. My sweet Snookie, who was the pretty cafeteria worker at my elementary school saying here "sweetie don't forget your cup of salad," who was one of the first who taught me kindness, compassion, and love and who has remained in my life all these years and gave so graciously to help Noah, to friends that I met at Costco who God sent because he knew I'd need that kind of support and love, to my earthly angels Bill and Ernie, and what Chris and I call our "seers" in Marge and Joanne, to those I worked with over the years who contributed both bad and good to the person I became. Even sending me the only husband there could ever be that would stand by my side and love his little boy to pieces despite how hard he is. I feel like I was groomed. Maybe that sounds quite silly to most, but when I look back on my entire life thus far, it seems so designed. Maybe I had control over the tiny details of it, but clearly my book was written.

So what do I do with the future? Only God knows, for he holds my book in his hands and only slowly reads it to me all the while giving me the time I need to digest it, interpret it, and live it. I'd love to skip chapters and see exactly what life will be like in five years. Will Noah finally outgrow the arching? Will hear learn to walk and pull a wagon? Will he learn to say mom and dad? I want the answers to all these questions now, and that's just not going to happen.

Noah continues to draw attention wherever we go. In a way it makes me feel like Noah is special, even when the days that I struggle that he's not like everyone else's baby. Strangers will tell me they love his hair, or a lady in the store detecting Noah had a handicap just by observation, but saying don't you worry he'll be okay, to my sweet dear friend Joey telling me look he's trying to hold his bottle, he'll get there don't you worry. They too are heaven sent, playing a beautiful part in my book.

I try so hard to be positive on the difficult days, but it is very hard sometimes. I do wear down just like any other mom of a special needs baby, I have my good days and bad days, my sad and my happy. I know it could always be worse, that the alternative is not to have Noah at all, and I try to think I can do this. Noah already has become the little train that could, now if his mom would just get permanently on-board and quit trying to locate the caboose and just realize that it's more fun not knowing where the conductor is taking us.

Here's hoping that the book says tomorrow is an easier day for both Noah and us.

Love,
Stacy, Chris & Noah