Love is the how

Raising a 14 year old with special needs is interesting to say the least. People often say things like *I don't know how you do it*. Well, here ya go...

I change the batteries in countless noisy toys.
I wonder why on earth I keep doing that.

I watch her eat and tell her to take smaller bites.
I gross out at the backwash in her drinks. 

I snuggle her.
When she wants me to carry her 70 pound self like a toddler,
I sit down and snuggle her again.

I hide meds in food.
I wonder what she'd be like drug free.

I laugh (sometimes too hard) when she tries to copy her siblings.
Sometimes we copy her. She laughs way too hard.

I change her diaper, dress her and
fight her to fix her hair and brush her teeth.
I consider shaving her head. 

I get annoyed by hearing her incesently say mom.
I remember waiting eleven years for her to say it at all.

I sit next to her on the potty trying to will her to do more than sit on it.
I worry about puberty.

I go to therapy, do therapy and research therapy.
Sometimes I think I need therapy. 

When she wakes up in the middle of the night for reasons I can't identify,
I snuggle next to her.
I pray for her.

I read to her,
color with her
and walk with her.

I remind her to watch her step,
to stop picking at her shirt,
to use a quiet voice.

I watch her navigate the wii.
I decide she's a closet genius when she finds the exact scene she's looking for on netflix. 

I use a chipper voice and ask her to "be my helper" so she'll pick up her toys.
I use the same chipper voice with the family and get laughed at.

I conjure up ways to keep her pajamas on at night. 

I wonder why she can figure my tricks out but not write her name. 

I wash her bedding every morning because her diaper leaks every night.
I day dream of a self cleaning bed and automatic sheet changer.

I worry about her future.
I pray for those who will someday care for her.

I try to find a place for her, to help her fit in.
I sometimes wonder where I fit in.
I admire her lack of concern of social standing.

I get teary when I see her siblings love on her.
I get angry when someone is unkind to her.

I see the stares, hear the whispers.
I'm thankful for the knowing smiles, the kind words.

I love her.
And then I love her some more. 

You see, when it comes down to it, it's just like any other mom and child. Love is not the feeling, love is the how. It's how we keep waking up and doing it all over again. 
       

 ^{I Corinthians 13:7 Love...}

 "It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."