However, this morning, I was standing at my two-year-old's changing table, going through the motions, distracted by my thoughts of how all the hard stuff would turn out, and something pulled me away.
"Mama, I not just wet, I poopy?" My boy said inquisitively.
"Yes, O, you are poopy." I replied.
"Stinky poopy yucky," He said, again, in a questioning manner.
"Yes, honey, the poopy is stinky, but it's o.k."
"Love you mama." O uttered, this time with a definite and assuring tone.
"I love you too, baby," I replied, completely caught off guard, and irresistably pulled into connecting with my boy, rather than swirling around with the thoughts consuming my head.
In that moment, over a stinky diaper, I was brought back to all I have to be thankful for.
It didn't have to be this way.
I didn't have to have two healthy thriving little boys.
I don't come from a place where such blessings are unappreciated.
I am the only healthy child of three in my family.
One of only two surviving children.
I never thought it was possible for me to have healthy children. It's not that the health struggles my siblings have had to deal with are genetic, they are not. It's just that when one family is dealt such a challenging deck, you learn to play in the world of challenges, and that becomes your norm.
It took me a long time to get pregnant with the O, and I took it as a sign that it wasn't intended to be so. But then, three years after the trying began when we weren't even looking, we learned that I was pregnant with the O.
After the joy of discovering that I had a little being, my son, growing in my belly, I became consumed with waiting for the other shoe to fall. First it was waiting to miscarry. Then it was waiting for the level two ultrasound to reveal a fatal abnormality. Then it was waiting for a difficult emergency induction to result in life-altering changes.
And yet some how, some way, after all the waiting, we were graced with a healthy child. From the moment I first gazed upon my first-born, my baby boy, pink and howling with a strong, healthy cry, all that defined my past was put into perspective. All of the challenges of living a childhood filled with the constant uncertainty as to whether my siblings would share my tomorrows, and the frequent loneliness necessitated by more pressing needs, fell into its proper place in that moment.
The challenges of my yesterdays have undoubtedly defined who I am today. I don't take the dawn of any new day for granted, as I realize that for any one of us this day could be our last.
My siblings' struggles have taught me that a person is defined by their soul, not their abilities. I have learned that life is defined by relationships, not accomplishments.
The lessons of my history, and the blessings of my present, lend so much to be thankful for.
I just have to remember what my focus should be as I muddle through the hard times ahead.
