A glimpse of beauty

Today, I witnessed beauty in a most unexpected way. What started as a routine appointment with my sons' cranial-facial surgeon transformed into a moving experience involving a young man I'll call Juan. (I do know his actual name but do not feel I should divulge it publicly.)

I had all three boys with me and we took over the waiting room as we are apt to do. Just the size of the stroller alone tends to dominate typically small waiting rooms of specialists like this surgeon's. We found ourselves crammed into a corner only inches away from a young man who was obviously there as a patient. I say obviously because his outward appearance was grossly misshapen. His most striking feature was that one of his eyes appeared to always be open very wide and he had various scars and irregularities throughout his face. As much as I hate to admit it, he was very difficult to look at without succumbing to the urge to look away. It was heartbreaking.

As we got situated - toys distributed, snacks obtained - we settled in to wait for our turn. The room was full of other patients but I was drawn to this young man and could not help but read his body language which was detached and withdrawn. He quietly sat eating a snack. My oldest was busy exploring the room for a while and then he saw him. I could tell Neil didn't understand what he was seeing - he's only 2.5 years old after all. I watched him look over several times and stare. I'm in the habit of suggesting Neil say hello to other children in the hopes that he learns to feel comfortable talking with other children. I suggested he say hello because I wanted him to understand that this little boy was just another person and that we should talk with him rather than stare. The boy quietly said hello back. His expression indicated that he was surprised that we said hello.

Toys were picked up from the floor and handed back to fussing babies, more snacks were dug out of my bag and the boy began to uncurl from his chair and become interested in the twins who were closest to him. The twins giggled and squealed to him just as they would anyone else and I think that made him comfortable. I made comments to him about the twins and began to talk with him casually and he relaxed more and more.

As I was talking with him, I tried to figure out where his mom or dad were. No one seemed to participate in our conversation. People who were sitting next to him were called into appointments and then I'd realize that they weren't with him. The room began to empty and eventually there was only him, my children and a young woman who had been talking on a cell phone across the room. She came to sit next to him but didn't talk with him. She continued to do whatever she was doing in her controlled, professional manner. Was this his mom? I tried to involve her in our increasingly more dynamic conversation but she only smiled mildly and seemed disinterested. I didn't push it.

Meanwhile, I found out his name - he showed me his hospital bracelet and I introduced him to my boys. Juan had clearly become taken with Evan, one of the twins. Juan seemed delighted by Evan's spastic, squealing fits and was very warm toward him. He began to ask questions such as whether he could crawl and such. I got Evan out of the stroller and placed him on the floor. Juan offered to watch him for me. He got down in the floor with him and kept his hands close to him to keep him from falling. He asked me if Evan liked toys. I said yes so he reached in his little bag and pulled out a gingerbread man from some fast food restaurant and handed it to Evan.

Ok, my mom instincts wanted to rush over and clean the toy before Evan put it in his mouth but I couldn't do it. The germ nut in me didn't want to expose my baby to germs from a child who has been in the hospital and who has been exposed himself to no telling what but I stopped myself. This darling little child wanted to share something with my baby and there was so much love in this action that I couldn't possibly trample on his desire to hand him the toy. Evan immediately put it in his mouth. Of course. I apologized and the boy said it was no big deal - he would wash it off later. He shrugged it off and sat smiling as he watched Evan play with his toy.

The nurse finally called our name. Of course, every one of my boys was out of the stroller by now and it took ages to get everyone strapped in and the bags repacked in order for us to leave. In the midst of the chaotic shuffle, Evan accidentally fell over on his back. He was fine - just the typical spill any child takes on a normal day. As I started to bend over to get him, Juan gets down and cradles Evan so gently, slowly lifting him up to me. He did it with such tenderness that I was almost moved to tears. This horribly deformed child had a beauty in him that few would ever stop to see.

We said our goodbyes and I wished him luck on his upcoming surgery and we left. I was still thinking of him and mentioned him to the nurse. I found out why his "mom" didn't seem very interested in him. She was his case worker. The nurse explained in a more candid moment than I've seen in a while in the medical field (thanks to the ridiculously rigid rules of HIPPA) she explained to me how he travelled very far to see this doctor, that he had no mama in his life and that he had a very sad story which she didn't divulge and I was afraid to hear. She then commented on how sweet a boy he was and how everyone in the office cared about him. I was humbled by this little boy's story and was moved by his tenderness toward my baby despite how hard the world had been for him.

The doctor was going to perform surgery on his eye tomorrow and, although I'm not a Christian or part of any other organized religion, I will pray to the heavens to bless this sweet child.

If you found this post inspiring and would like to help children like Juan, visit the World Cranialfacial Foundation at http://www.worldcf.org/. Juan's surgeon is affiliated with this organization so it's possible that he may be receiving assistance from this foundation for his care.

Corpus meus

My body and I have been through a lot together. We went through the usual things like birth, colds, puberty, pregnancy and multiple childbirths. What once was supple and young, my body has become more worn and stretched - no longer smooth and unblemished. Scars have appeared, moles darkened, weird red dots punctuate parts of my skin. I don't recognize myself at times yet I also have a hard time comprehending that I'm 34 years old and I'm not as sexy as I used to be. Damn!

My poor body has put up with me. I gave it shots in its stomach and intoxicated it with hormones. I forced it to mature a ridiculous amount of eggs and had my body cut in order to remove these potential vessels of life. I put embryos in my womb who sometimes stayed and sometimes didn't. I made my body pregnant with 1 then later 2 babies - pushing my body beyond its natural tendencies.

It's not like my body just sat there and took it though. It made sure I knew that shots hurt, my ovaries didn't like being ridiculously large, that my mood was sure as hell not going to be pleasant thanks to the PMS cocktail of hormones and to get me back my body gave me lots of stretch marks, a belly whose muscles won't strengthen and now a fallopian tube that is inflated like a balloon in order to remind me that I messed with it and I am now to pay.

How should I make peace with my body? I guess I should accept my body for how she has changed and be thankful that she made it as well as she did. I will let my body enjoy holding the beautiful babies she nurtured and protected - I'll breathe in their scent - the one that only a mama can smell and enjoy. I will have my tube repaired surgically although my body may not like that but, once that is done, maybe she'll forgive me and understand that I appreciate her and all that she's done. I'll quit asking her to be the young body she used to be and learn to see that she earned the scars and stretch marks triumphantly and gallantly as she endured tremendous strain and challenges. She deserves that and so do I. Thank you, body, for my babies, for the love which pours through my veins each time my babies smile at me.

It will be ok

The thunder came so suddenly we all jumped. Chris and I just laughed and looked at each other but then paused to see which of our 3 children would wake up crying. Tonight, it was Neil who hadn't actually fallen asleep yet but had been quiet nonetheless. It was his scared cry so I went to his room to comfort him.

I wrapped my arms around his trembling body and told him it was ok. Funny thing is he didn't act scared - his young bravado was evident as he said, "hi, mommy" as nonchalantly as he could - but the fact that he was shaking told me enough. After a minute, thinking he was fine, I started to leave but he grabbed my arm and made it clear that he wasn't ready for me to go yet. I had already told him his requisite 4 bed times stories and I was too tired of them to say them once again so I made up a story about a little, lonely cloud who made friends with other clouds and they danced and played in the sky. They clapped (thunder) and flashed their flashlights (lightning - not original but, hey, I was improvising). His body visibly calmed but soon he wanted me to "hang out with Neil" (i.e., play). It was time to go. He needed to sleep and I needed a moment of free time before I went to bed. I tucked him into his bed and gave him a hug. I told him again that he was ok - that the clouds were just playing and he told me, reassuringly, "you're ok, Mommy".

Last night, hearing him say that brought a chuckle up from my belly and warmed my heart. Tonight, after having another trying day (Neil had to get blood drawn for an allergy test, physical therapy for Evan, no phone call from doctor regarding my potential surgery, and discovery of a potentially huge plumbing issue with our house), I reminded myself of his sweet words and tried to reassure myself with his sweet words. Now, I'm going to go get a hug.

Son rising

It's 5:37 a.m. on a Sunday morning. Evan is awake and having his morning bottle. The house is quiet and dark. As I hold him, I see the sky begin to lighten as the earth turns toward the sun. I look down to see him looking at me with smiling eyes, and I forgive him for waking me up so early. I give him a kiss. He smiles and continues to eat.



I enjoy holding and feeding my babies. Cradling their little bodies in my arms as they gladly drink their milk. I particularly like their first morning feedings because they're eager for the food and they're just a little bit sleepy so they rest and eat calmly. Their little hair is often messed up and their eyes are puffy from a good night's sleep. Warm to the touch, their soft bodies are snuggly and I wrap myself around them as I slowly awaken as well.



Our connection is strong and our bond is firm. It is not less because they are fed from a bottle, although there are plenty who would tell me I'm missing something. It's different - that's true - but it's not less. The love in my eyes and the love in theirs is all that there needs to be. They're bellies are full. They're healthy and strong. That's all a mom can ask for.



The bottle is almost empty now and the sunlight is shining through the trees. It will be daytime soon and the daily hustle will begin. For now, though, I snuggle with Evan and listen for the stirrings of Dylan and Neil. Like a mama bird listening for the chirps of her babies, I sit and listen for the day to begin.

Maternal mantra

So many things are out of my control and that can really get me down. There is a point, however, when so many things become so obviously uncontrollable that it pushes me to a point of revelation: I am not in control and that's that. Why fight it? What good does it do me other than make me more miserable? Of course, my revelation has been felt by many people, including Buddha and his followers to name a few. I guess the Christian philosophy has its own way of viewing this same conundrum in similar terms by the idea of "Let go. Let God." Either way, the act of letting go is amazingly restorative and often provides a perspective not otherwise available via an anxious mindset.

Although I have often found myself pondering events in my life in terms of what I can and cannot control, I find myself repeatedly returning to this question now that I'm a mom. Perhaps the fact that I have a tendency toward being a "Type A" personality has made parenting a challenge for me at times. From the most basic situation such as how many of my three kids has a dirty diaper to whether one of my sons needs a helmet, physical therapy, surgery, whatever. I often feel like I'm walking a high wire - I'm balancing what I can control with what I can't. I do my best to control the environment in such a way to lead to a more peaceful and orderly household. We have schedules and rules, discipline and consequences but I try to do it in a fashion that allows fun, creativity and spontaneity. Meanwhile, someone has a dirty diaper, another needs a bottle and the other is asking me the same question over and over and over and over.

In my best moments, I experience a peacefulness amid confined chaos. In the worst, I'm a raving lunatic who feels as if she's herding cats. When times get tough, though, I just need to remember to breathe deeply and repeat to myself, "it is what it is," and change that diaper, feed the baby, mop up the mess. . . and move on.