On Why We're Here

The ridges of his eyebrows were a soft red before we even started.

That’s my 20 month-old’s tell and it has been since the day he was born: he was tired.

The last few weeks have been a different brand than your typical working-mom-of-two whirlwind. Between Big Life-Altering Changes and the more minor-league switch-ups — like schedule changes, vacations, parties and performances — our lives as a family have felt collectively chaotic.

I’ve felt distracted, confused, even at times angry as the result of these changes and challenges in our midst. The once routine parts of our lives have, in many ways, been upended.

And it has definitely impacted Daniel’s sleep schedule, to say the least.

I had to wake him up from an expedited nap on this day to get him to his physical therapy appointment on time. We breezed into the office, greeted the friendly receptionist who we’ve connected with every week since mid-January, and headed to the elevators for our weekly appointment with our DPT.

Room A in the “Kidz Zone” is narrow and the floor is covered with a large, red mat. Each week, we practice standing, climbing and reaching with Daniel, and I learn, too, how to help this sweet, precious child gain the confidence to take his first steps.

To be honest, it’s a little heartbreaking, in ways I know other mothers can relate.

Holding my breath, waiting for this child to stand on his own and to walk in ways I know he can and was designed for these last eight months or so has been like sipping a cocktail of “Chill, Mama, it’ll happen when it happens,” and “Will this child take his first steps before he goes to college?”

In the beginning, I was breezy and my comments to myself echoed the comments I hear from others:

Relax, he’ll get there when he gets there.

Don’t compare him to other kids, he’s at his own pace.

Or my personal favorite: “You know there’s a direct correlation between crawling and reading…”

But, when he turned a year old and was still laying on his back unable to turn over onto his stomach in his crib, I knew I needed to listen to my gut and get him (and me) the help he needed to thrive.

So, there we were. Pale red along his eyebrow ridge. Ready to tackle another week of physical therapy.

And this child was not having it. His tears splattered the red mat beneath him. He groaned. He screamed. He threw his head back and with it his surprisingly sturdy and strong frame.

Doctor makes him reach for a toy? He throws it across the room.

Doctor wants him to stand to play with said toy? He screeches and tries to wrestle it from her grip so he can play with it on the floor.

I sat and watched the whole interaction unfold, legs crossed on the red mat beneath me.

C’mon, buddy. You got this. I know you can do this.

After about 10 minutes of his wriggling and fighting the process, the doctor looked at me and said, “I’d go easy on him if he was really in pain, but he’s just being stubborn.”

“I know,” I said. “This is why we’re here. Let’s keep going.”

We’re here to make his legs stronger. To grow the muscles in his core that he never used because he never crawled or made it a habit to roll over.

If we quit when he got upset or let up on the discomfort, the inconvenience, I was allowing him to experience the moment he put up resistance, he’d never learn.

And then it hit me.

How many times in my life, not just in this season, but in any time of difficulty have I wanted to wriggle off the mat? To get out of the arena? To buck against resistance and injustice? To cry and to sometimes, I’m sorry to say, yell…?

Where was God in the midst of all of these challenges? Doesn’t He see our hurt? Doesn’t He know this is hard? It’s tough, it’s exhausting, and it feels cruel, isolating…

And you know what?

It strengthens us. It helps us take the steps we were created to take in our lives. It helps us become more like His son.

It’s not easy, but day by day, I’m putting in the work on my own mat with the perspective my 20-month-old is teaching me every week.

It’s hard. It’s for the best. And ultimately? It’s why we’re here.

Keep going.

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