Between the Laundry and the Lamppost - Part 3

With the popularity of trilogies at the box office this summer (Spiderman 3, The Bourne Ultimatum, and Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End), I decided my first blog would follow suit. Here's the conclusion to Between the Laundry and the Lamppost!

Now that you know about me, let me introduce you to my firstborn son, Thatcher: blue eyes, blond hair, sweet-spirited (to everyone but his younger brother!) and happy almost all the time . . . but we've come a long way. When Thatcher was barely eight months old there was concern he had mild cerebral palsy. He had yet to roll over, had just learned to hold his head up without support and had numerous other developmental delays. We went to specialists, started therapy twice a week and scheduled an MRI. It was an unnerving few months for sure. When the tests came back we were relieved to learn there was no damage to the brain, but the doctors were concerned nonetheless.

It was two years and two miscarriages later that all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. A geneticist discovered I had a blood clotting disorder and would need to take blood thinners in all subsequent pregnancies. That explained why when Thatcher was born the placenta was one-fourth the size it should have been and the umbilical cord was as tiny as my pinky finger in diameter. After checking for cancer (the usual cause of these events) and finding none, the assumption was made that it was a fluke. But not so. Thatcher was barely hanging on in the womb; he wasn't getting the nutrients he needed to develop fully because of all the blood clots in the placenta. Now we understood.

Today he is our six year old miracle baby. It really is amazing he is even here. He still has many delays, especially in the social/emotional and fine motor arenas as well as some mild sensory processing issues, autistic tendencies and ADHD (our biggest struggle for certain) to top it off. If I had a dime for each time someone said to me, "If you could just bottle that energy up . . . " my wealth would rival Bill Gates!

How does this have anything to do with the funk I've been in, my personality or anything else I've written about so far? Well, let's just say it's been a tough year. Thatcher is not an "in-the-box" kind of kid. That's why we have chosen to homeschool him. There is no place for a kiddo like mine in the public school system. I know; I taught in it for seven years. He is so bright (Doesn't every parent think that about their child?!) yet he can't sit still. I mean it, the child truly can't sit still. When we are doing school it takes everything I have to keep him on task, and that's one-on-one. I've heard homeschooling described as a pressure cooker, and without a doubt that's been true for me. On top of that stress, when we started school this past September I also had a nursing infant and a two year old. Can you hear the steam whistling out of the pot?

In addition, his two year old brother started doing things he still can't do (i.e., brush his teeth and get dressed without constant reminders, clean up his room with very little guidance, come to dinner after only being called once or twice and sit through an entire meal). I had a huge epiphany which went something like this: "Yikes. It's not supposed to be this tough. I have to work twice as hard with Thatcher just to get half the results." And the pity party began.

Remember I am the formula girl, and yet I couldn't find a formula to fix my own son. It never occurred to me I wasn't supposed to fix him. Remember how I love projects? I just decided this would be my newest one - Project: Fix Thatch. You can imagine how that flopped! I just sank lower. It got to the point where in a two week period I called my husband at work twice in tears saying I just couldn't parent this child and was failing as a mommy.

This is where the prayer, fasting and talking with confidants came into play. It may sound crazy but in the midst of all the emotional turmoil I didn't realize my depression and struggles with parenting were related. I just knew everything was a mess - It's that whole hindsight's 20/20 thing. God began speaking to me, showing me the real problem wasn't Thatcher...the real problem was me. He gave me the blessing of this precious child and was using it as an instrument of discipleship to help mold me into the image of his Son. But I was just angry. Why couldn't my life be easy? Why couldn't I have a child who (fill in the blank . . . )?

It all came down to an issue of trust. God asked me, almost audibly, "Do you trust that I love you and have your best interest at heart? Do you really trust?" I almost choked because I knew deep down the answer was no. I am, sadly, so much a control freak it's often hard to trust anyone but myself. Here's what God is teaching me: my job isn't to fix Thatcher, my job is to love him. My job isn't to make him be like every other kid, my job is to raise him in such a way he sees Jesus in his Mommy's life and wants to embrace him as his Savior. My job isn't to have an easy life, my job is to grow in the image of Christ...a Christ who died on a cross.

And I know that wasn't easy in any way.

"If anyone would come after me,
let him deny himself and
take up his cross and follow me."
- Matthew 16:24 (ESV)