"Little brother"

Dear Maddox, 

Sometimes I wonder if we'll always call you little brother. Hudson is sure one day you'll "get big" and do "stuff" and I try so hard to follow in his footsteps. I dream of days when you're older and what that may look like for you and our family. Then I remind myself that all that matters is today.

You're 2. Good grief. At your first birthday I was overwhelmed by the glorious ongoing PTSD that still sometimes sinks in. But on that 1 year mark the flashbacks, emotions, and fear was so thick I couldn't even walk through it. I was so happy that "we survived" year one. I thought that was truly going to be the turning point but boy was I wrong.

This last year has been such a growing year. You have taught me what being selfless really is. You truly found your groove around 18mos. You stopped having nighttime fits every night (even though some days they still show up), you sleep all night (if you wake up, you don't tell me about it), and you're a champ most days at daycare rolling your eyes when little girls won't quit screaming.

If we make it til the 30th of this month you'll be seizure free. I may have a bigger party for that than anything. My heart is so happy not having to hold you through those moments wondering how long they'll last. Oh my word. Your second year is the year seizures stopped. That's a celebration in itself!

Maddox you smile so much easier. You love the process of taking off clothes and how it feels for things to be run over your skin. Your heightened sensory awareness is starting to truly show but in ways that I'm so grateful for. You love toys with lights and you are making more eye contact every day. You love to be on my shoulder.

Physically, you are trying to put weight through your arms. You can hold on to a toy for longer time and you are trying to see the toys you hold. 

My feelings as a momma now that you are two are way different. I feel this deep desire to make you ready. Ready for what I'm not sure. But I want to find a purposeful position for you - a chair that works so that you can learn, see, and play with the world from a position other than on your back. I want so much for you that it hurts, but more than anything I want for your next year to give you joy. I want to know you like to play, that you enjoy Hudson and that you are happy.

Year three is a big one. Whether you're ready or not, me and you are traveling a lot because of gracious people that have helped us. Maddox I hope one day you can truly understand that there are good people in this world. God is present in our lives and you are a lot of the reason we can tangibly see that. You are about to be thrown in to intensive therapies that you'll probably hate but too bad. I'm going to hate watching you hate it. But, my sweet boy, you're big now. You're two and it's time for us to really help you be all that you can be.

Maddox I love you. I love your big brown doe eye that sometimes cross so perfectly. I love (and hate) that when you cry you're bottom lip still quivers like a newborns does. I love that you're so skinny with a "too small" head but are finally putting on some weight. I love that you love me. I love that you will teach your brother compassion in a way that no other life experience can or could. I love that you have introduced us to an army of people we would have never met. And I love that you're mine.

Happy second birthday, my handsome face. You are oh so loved. Here's to an awesome third year!

ThIs picture makes me laugh. Because I had no idea. I thought we were just struggling to breathe a little. The innocence in not knowing is something I'd love to still have. I'm grateful for the hours it took until we went up to the nicu. 

And then when we realized what we were dealing with. The moment we realized our world of people had to join us in prayer diligently. It's a choice to share your own kids journey. And it's a voice I've never regretted once.