Thanks Mom

I've been thinking about how Mothers are possibly the only people on Earth who will ever appreciate how unique and special we are. Few others care to hear boring stories about how sick you were last week, that funny thing you said when you were little, that one time you....blah blah blah. Few others think of you and get a true feeling of appreciation for your entire person; what makes you laugh, what makes you cry, what inspires you, what brings out the best in you, and what brings out the worst. 

I can't even imagine how other people could look at Ainsleigh and just dismiss her as another little girl. Can't they see how amazing she is? How funny? How creative? How smart? How intuitive and perceptive? Maybe they do, but there will probably be few people in her life who know her like I do. Hopefully I'm wrong, but I think maybe that's just the way it goes, hence God's design for mothers in the first place. As mothers, we know how amazing our children are and we want so badly for them to not be dismissed or overlooked, but to be appreciated for the unique people that they are. 

I've been thinking about this and how it relates to Addie. Maybe the reason I created this blog is to attempt to describe her as something more than a child with a terminal birth defect. She wasn't just a "sick" infant with a short life. There was so much more to her. I don't want her to be defined by the words "trisomy 13" or "incompatible with life." She had beautiful dark blond-red hair and dark eyes. She liked to hold on to the finger of the person holding her or her blanket. She smiled, she looked up at us earnestly, she cooed, she kicked, she nestled her little head into you as you held her, she sucked on her pacifier and her thumbs, she cried when she was hungry (in between sucking on her little hands in hopes they might actually be a bottle), and when she slept she looked so beautiful, peaceful and healthy that you would never have known she had anything wrong.

I know Mothers aren't perfect. We are still selfish at times and we don't always know what's best for our children.  It is the most difficult struggle to achieve that balance. But I think it is my instinct to want Addie's life to be acknowledged as something more complete. It is just so important to me. I guess none of us want to be defined by our limitations, especially those we have no control over. I've just been thinking about that a lot. When I say to people, "My daughter passed away because of a chromosomal birth defect," I just feel like there's so much more to say than that. Hmm. I'm going to work on that one, Addie's life in two sentences. I'm not sure it's possible.