Hurricanes and Sippy Cups

As you can imagine, we have been extremely busy.  We moved into the “new” house the last weekend of August, my parents and Mike and Julie and the boys came down the following weekend (Labor Day) to help us unpack and get settled and then the following weekend we ran for our lives to escape the ravages of Irma.  Okay, that was clearly one of my dramatic over-characterization. Truth is we evacuated from Savannah on Friday to my parents’ (they had just said see you later to us at our drive way Monday afternoon) due to the mandatory evacuation order.  We spent Saturday tooling around Macon, taking Rae, Montana and BD to the Mercer game and enjoying the beautiful, pre-hurricane weather.  During the game, Savannah lifted the mandatory evacuation order for our part of the county so we decided to un-evacuate and head home.  Mom was sick and we knew she would rest better without our precious little one and our four legged hurricane Erma underfoot and we just wanted to be in our own house.

 

We rolled into our hood around midnight, slept in as much as we could with an 11 month old in residence and figured out what we absolutely needed to survive the next three days.  Formula and bread were unfortunately on the list.  Tim thankfully volunteered to venture out and find provisions. There was one grocery store open in Chatham County and they were only open 8 hours on Sunday.  Yeah, it was not fun but Tim said the people he was in line with were all in good moods just trying to get what they needed and head home to “hunker down.” He was gone for four hours.  What a trooper. Monday the storm hit but it was not horrible in our neighborhood.  Parts of Chatham County were hit pretty hard, mainly Tybee Island, but we were spared flooding and had no tree or structural damage. Prayers work!  I would not wish a hurricane on my worst enemy with an “h” but I was praying hard that Irma made a hard turn away from our area and she did.

 

After spending a lovely weekend at home with zero storms and lots of time to unpack (still) we awoke to another storm potentially headed our way.  I’m over hurricanes.  No, I don’t want to have a hurricane party, no I don’t want to evacuate and enjoy another hurricane forced vacation and at this point, I hate the Weather Channel and Jim Cantore better not come here.

 

The big news from our abode this weekend was Sippy Cups.  Yep, BD is growing like a weed.  She is still toddling and doing the one arm walk but not venturing out on her own on both feet.  Her knees are both looking a little worse for the wear so I’m hoping for their sake, she figures this balancing thing out pretty quickly.  She has been taking sips out of our cups so I decided to breakout the spout-less sippy cup and give it a roll. She mastered it – mostly. I’m going with the 80% rule, meaning 80% of the milk made it into her mouth with about 20% landing on her and our floor. I was pretty impressed since our last foster love could not figure it out and she has seven months more experience than BD.

 

I have spent a significant portion of my days for the past four months washing bottles, sterilizing bottles and matching nipples with the right rings. This weekend as I was again in front of the sink washing and steaming bottles, I was a lot nostalgic that this might be one of the last times I get to do this. This chore that has been such a chore is fading out with our baby’s growth and amazing development and I may never have the opportunity to do this again. That made me sad. I’m sure mothers the world over get this. I can’t wait to see how BD develops and grows. I love cheering her on as she tries new things and explores her ever expanding world but boy will I miss these moments. The warm bottle nestled under my chin and plugged into her sweet little mouth as I cradle her in my arms, rocking her, and sing this sweet baby to sleep with Braham’s Lullaby.  Our night time routine will change to bedtime stories and nighttime prayers before I know it. Oh how I will cherish these last few weeks of cradling this baby in my arms as she falls asleep. And how incredibly privileged I feel to have had the opportunity to do it at all.

 

You see, I still know that this is a miracle.  God purposed us to do this and planned this all out even before I was wallowing in the depths of infertility fueled depression. I am the woman that use to exclaim publicly that I didn’t want children as I privately longed for them so that I could spare myself the sorrowful looks and God knows best platitudes. And yet, God does know best. So even if His plan is for us to love and parent BD for just a season and return her to others to love, it will still be a miracle and it will always have been worth it. That’s the part of fostering that folks that aren’t called to do it don’t get. The pain is worth it. The sacrifice of our Kings of Leon tickets in Louisville this fall are worth it. The sleep deprived nights and multiple trips to the pediatrician are worth it. To have moments like watching this sweet baby spill 20% of her milk on our beautiful new floors is totally worth whatever the price we pay. And if it is God’s plan that we raise, her how amazing that will be for all three of us.
“Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.” -James 1:17

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