I'm having a hard day today.
My precious baby Lydia, or Yidda as we like to call her, has been having some muscle issues. She is very low tone and isn't very motivated to become any stronger. We have a physical therapist coming once a week to work with her. At this point, we are sort of in limbo, figuring out what exactly the problem might be. The range of options runs from simply weakness and lack of ambition to whatever horrible thing we may find on the brain scan we have scheduled.
The idea is that I would work with her on specific exercises during the week and gradually make progress. Some days that works. Others, I find that idea laughable. Those are the days when I'm glad everyone is alive and somewhat fed at the end of the day. I can't seem to find time to do "5 reps of standing and reaching", when I am worried about Charlotte turning into a human sled, or the walls remaining in an upright position.
So, of course, I feel guilty. That the whole thing is probably my fault. If I worked harder. If I was better organized. If I had a better memory. If I didn't leave her in her bouncy seat while I folded clothes, cleaned the bathroom, or had a cup of tea. If I hadn't tearfully begged my OB doctor to induce me 2 weeks early because I was MISERABLE with this enormous baby in my belly.
I have a battle in my mind. I can drown in that sadness and guilt and things that may never be. Or I can rehearse what I do know.
I know this is the little girl who is an enormous blessing from God. She is our "surprise" child that I didn't think to ask for. That fact makes me all the more grateful that she is here.
I know God put it on my heart before she was born that she would be "a tender soul and a comfort to those she meets." She is.
I know God is my strength in times of trouble and is always ready to help.
I know no matter what needs doing I WILL do it. If she needs major medical intervention, we'll do that.
I know that if Lydia never walks, then I will carry her. And I think I could honestly thank God for that opportunity.
