Our days are pretty simple around here. (If you consider six therapy sessions, four days of special education, and a medical appointment or two every week “simple”). We’ve reached this point where we mostly just go about our day to day lives and have a crisis here and there.
Charlotte is currently sitting on the potty (not actually going potty, that’s a ridiculous thing for a three year old to do on the potty, just sitting there) singing her numbers.
“Eight, Nine, Seven, Ninechween, One, Three, Five, Sevenchween.”
This morning we walked Caleb to school and she cracked jokes and yelled at us the entire way. Charlotte loves to look at pictures, and it’s even better if they are pictures of her. She can name every princess, and she wields a plastic sword with the authority only a little sister can possess. She’s absolutely certain she should be able to dictate the lives of everyone around her. (We let her. It’s a problem.)
Somewhere in the last three years, our daughter grew up into a little girl.
Our days are not consumed with the frantic question of “Will she live?” but rather with the ever present question of, “How will she live?”
It’s a weird transition to make, and it’s one I make with a very acute awareness that others will never have this chance.
I see her living and I stand in awe.
It’s just normal stuff,
but it’s miraculous.
Just very simple, day to day miracles.