You ready for this?
Hubs and I are not terrible parents.
I know, I know. It sounds really, really bizarre. And it actually kinda is. But indulge me for a few moments....
After Chase's little leg was placed in his cast and we were discharged from the hospital, we arrived home. I was just settling in to this new way of life and recovering from the trauma of it all. (Did I mention I do NOT do well with my babies being hurt/medical emergencies?) Monday morning came and I felt determined to help my little boy recover...when the phone rang. I was so unprepared for it. Child Protective Services wanted to come and investigate our son's injury. I felt like my entire world was rocked. It seems so silly, seeing how we knew there was nothing to hide; nothing we were guilty of. BUT. I have read so many articles. Heard far too many stories of innocent families torn apart. My stomach turned and twisted in ways I really wished it hadn't. I mean...they don't know us. They only know that we have a little boy with a pretty serious injury...and now they're coming to my house to make sure we didn't do it. It made my heart sick to feel as though I now had the task to convince them that we would never, ever harm our children in that manner. My stomach was so sickened at the thought that someone might perceive me that way.
The social worker was patient and understanding with my slight panic mode. He assured me that it's simple protocol, and that actually the attending physician should have made me aware that I would be receiving this call. He also forewarned me the the local police would also be present (again, following protocol) and I'm pretty sure the entire earth shifted just so slightly enough to make me nauseous. I tried my best to explain calmly (minus my scary eyes) to the girls what was about to happen, and that these people were all just doing their job...making sure children are safe. (While internally I had nightmarish images of my babies being ripped from my arms...I know...dramatic...slight PTSD still from the whole broken femur incident..) My girls were confused. Angry. Why would they think you guys did this to him? Why would anyone do that to their child? Very hard questions to answer. Harsh realities that you didn't want to share with your children this way. But...these were the circumstances we were given, and these were the questions we had to answer.
When they arrived, I put on my hostess smile (I'm sure it looked more scary than sweet), shook hands, and buckled up. Fortunately, no police arrived; after speaking with the physician whom cared for our boy in the hospital (whom stated that he had no concerns with the injury), they saw no need to be present. (Slight victory.) The social worker asked his questions, took his notes, tape recorded our responses. And while we anxiously waited upstairs, our daughters were sent down, one by one, to be privately interviewed. My little Lexi was last. She was called down and tears flowed down her face. It's enough to make a Mama's heart sick. And angry. I hated that they put them in a nervous situation and asked them such uncomfortable and awkward questions, detested that they inquired things that my girls might not have ever been fearful of happening...but it is what it is, and it's the process. And God knows all that.
After they drove away, I happily closed my door to the entire event. While I would have loved nothing more than to pretend like it didn't happen, and that it didn't bother me...my girls needed to talk it out. And I was so glad they did, because I learned much from it. My girls are stronger than I give them credit for. And perhaps more put together than their train-wrecked Mama. One question asked of all of them: What do you not like about home? All three replied exactly the same: NOTHING. What do you like about home? Kaytlin: EVERYTHING. Jillian and Lexi: FAMILY. For all the things we've done wrong, we must have done something right. I couldn't ask for better answers. My girls love HOME, and they love their FAMILY.
We were told he had a month to finish and file his report. I thought a month was entirely too long to gain peace of mind. As crazy as it sounds, I've never struggled as much as I have the past eleven days. The battle of putting my faith in God's sovereign plan (and confidently claiming our innocence) vs. my mistrust for man's judgement of us...difficult. I'm not an extreme worrier by nature, nor do I usually care what other's think of me. But. When it comes to the safety and well-being of my children, I can be a marathon-worrier. I felt threatened. Unjustified. Labeled. Invaded upon. Judged. Just so wronged. As though I'd been told I'm guilty and have to prove my innocence. Mama bear instincts to protect are insanely strong. I can't even explain why, but it was definitely such a battle within.
So you can imagine my relief when Hubs retrieved the mail, and smiled at me with letter in hand, stating that there are no findings of abuse or neglect. He was far more confident in the truth reigning supreme than I ever was. (Sometimes it's just not fair being a female, emotionally-charged and all.) It's amazing how much we learn about ourselves when we're squeezed under the difficult situations in life. Internal struggles that we weren't even aware we had. Things we hold so tight to, leaving little room for faith to step in....and we aren't even aware of it. Always, always, always learning. Always growing. Always humbled.
And now...onto focusing JUST on the healing up of my sweet, boy, my crazy wild-child. I have a nagging feeling that many more adventures are in store with this little one...
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