Today, I rage.

She came to me a broken little 20 month old. After over two years of healing and hoping and helping. She’s still broken. She still cries out from the pain of her seizures. She still chokes on her own puke that she brings up without knowing she can stop it. She has a hole in her stomach to receive food. Her ears don’t hear correctly. She deals with a disease that’s meant to be given to adults who have unprotected sex. Not to an innocent child. She still doesn’t speak. She still falls and stumbles and bruises her head. She still can’t play without mouthing the toy. She has zero self care goals met.

Most days, I can deal with this. Most days I see all progress she’s made and I know she’s a miracle. Most days, I focus on the good. Today is not that day. Today is the day I cry and I rage. I rage at the fact that NONE of this had to happen. She could have been a completely normal child. Today is the day I rage. She’s aging out of nursery, but we surely can’t put her in children’s church. We keep her home. Or only keep her in Sunday School. People offer to keep her for me and it’s wonderful. But she’s my daughter and I understand what caring for her entails. She’s too much when there’s a class full of kids. She needs one on one attention. And I don’t want to hear murmuring about the “four year old still in the nursery”.

Today I rage. She has a cousin just four months older than her and they can’t play together. I get so insanely jealous seeing pictures of my niece playing dolls and tea party. Will Carlee ever do that? I flipped through a catalog of American Dolls and I would give anything to take to get one. For her to understand what they are. For her to wait impatiently to get her first one. Hell, I’d buy her every damn doll in that place if she knew. Forget Dave Ramsey, I’d bust out a credit card and get her whatever she wanted. If she knew.

Today, I rage. I get online and all my sad feelings spew. All my anger. Later today, I’ll feel guilty for posting this, for feeling this way. Right now, I’m too pissed to feel guilty. Today, I watched her have seizure after seizure. See her cry. See her suck her fingers until they bleed, because that’s all the can comfort her. I watch her on her tip toes because her ankle muscles have tighten to much for her to walk flat. Can we get into a doctor? Nope. They won’t let me have the casting that was recommended by her therapist who knows her. No, they want to do braces, as if she could understand that. “Maybe surgery when she’s eight” because why make her life any easier than it needs to be. We’ll just let her lose all range so you can cut later. What’s the big deal with another surgery?

Today, I rage. I rage at her birth mother. The child who did this to her. I could forgive, I could, she was young, much too young. But she’s gone on to have FOUR more children since Carlee’s birth. And she’s pregnant with two more. They all suffer, they all have issues. Some more than others. Thankfully, they are being cared for and loved on and healed in their new homes. She just keeps doing this. She just keeps stealing childhoods from her own children. I can pray and hope for a normal life for Carlee. For dolls and and dress up and prom and graduation and a wedding. If I listen to the doctors. She’ll have none of that stuff. Of course, I believe in a God much wiser than those doctors. But, today, I’m drowning in their diagnoses. And it’s all her fault. The pain she’s caused the child she gave birth too. It’s her fault. She packed her bags at eighteen and LEFT. She abandoned her child. She didn’t want to deal with the medical mess she made. So she just went on to have two more. And then two more. And now two more. 7 kids in 4 years. My beautiful friend can’t get pregnant. She gets to have seven kids. At least she doesn’t get to raise any of them.

Did you miss the part where SHE WALKED OUT. In all the time that I’ve had Carlee, since April of 2012, she’s never seen her. Never even tried. She messaged me last Christmas “Will I ever be able to see her again? I love seeing the pictures” I had mercy for her. I set up a visit at her family’s home. So she could see the daughter she walked out on. She said she was coming. She didn’t. No call, no text, just never showed up. That was the last time I heard from her.

Do I feel badly blasting her? No, not right now. I pray the day will come when Carlee will understand what a treasure she is, that she was adopted in love, that she will ask me about her. I’ll be kinder then. I wouldn’t want to hurt her with the harsh truth. I already have to deal with that one day with Matthew. But today, I vent. I want her to feel what Carlee has to live with. I want her understand what she’s doing to these babies. But, she won’t. And I can’t make her. So I write here. I scream here. I cry here. I rage here.

Then I wipe off my face and go back into my world with a smile. I’d give anything to make her whole. Even if that meant I’d never met her. I’d do it. But she isn’t whole and we were given the responsibility and the joy of raising her. That makes me heart smile.

My 4 Year Old

My baby lady turned four on Sunday. There was no big party, no princess gowns, no bounce house, and no glitter. But she’s here. Long after ‘they’ said she wouldn’t be. She ate her cupcake and enjoyed it, even after ‘they’ said she’d never eat again. She locked eyes with everyone, after ‘they’ said she might never do that. She ripped open her presents (with the help of her brother) and looked at them all and picked her favorite. Even though ‘they’ said she might never play with toys appropriately. She smiled, even though ‘they’ said she might not because of the brain damage. She’s going to show up every single one of ‘them’. My baby girl has improved so much in the last year she’s doesn’t even resemble the child she was. Does she do things that a four year old does? No, of course not. Does she do things a six month old does? Not anymore, she’s moved on. She was stuck so long at 0-3 months development. She’s progressed to about 9-12 months. It’s progress and it’s slow and you may not see it, but we do. And she does. So we spend Sunday celebrating our beautiful daughter. Our purple in a sea of blue. Our living breathing miracle. Our 4 year old. 10385285_10152290244228882_8688481818152742140_n

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My family. Carlee’s namesake and my best friend came to visit.

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Randomness

Life moves on and so do we. Time is quickly escaping us. And here we are already in July. Carlee’s 4th birthday is at the end of the week. I cannot believe she is four already. She came to us shortly before her second birthday. Last year on her birthday, it was four days before her surgery. Seeing the pictures of that day, I can honestly say that that surgery saved her life. When I see how thin she was, how her hair had fallen out, and the life was out of her eyes, it makes me so sad. It makes me angry that my girl had to suffer so long. That foster care wouldn’t give her the quality of life she needed. That she had to languish in waiting. Until the day I got adoption papers in the mail, and three weeks later, after eighteen months of begging, she had a date. Things have been up and down over the last year with her health. However, as of now, we’re in a peak. We’re starting to work with communication devices and sign language.

We’re in the midst of summer. My girl is loving the heat. She has a hard time with cold due to her slow circulation. She’s always layered up, even indoors, even in the summer. However, once outside she flourishes. She’s running and playing and making grass angels. Two years ago, she’d scream if the grass touched her feet. She hated texture of any kind. To see her throw herself down in the grass and move her arms and legs. Well, it’s just amazing.

My big kids are doing well. We’re getting a lot of use out of the pool. Shane just got back from a week of Boy Scout camp. Jackson will head off for his last year of Cub Scout camp later this month. Sam just “flew-up” to a Bear. Matthew wants nothing more than to be a Cub Scout. His favorite thing to wear is his brother’s old scout shirts. Sweet Bluebird is learning to sign as well, but he’s well on his way to talking as well.

We’re nearly done with the school year. Just have to finish up some testing. I really dislike this time of year. Testing is so bias and shows very little of what they learned. Well, it’s what we do. And it will be over soon.