Getting There...

We officially have eighteen days until Little Man Chase's cast comes off. Glory be. I've been staring at the calendar; counting and recounting the days since we were given a date. It's just made the getting-through-it that much easier. (So I tell myself.)

Taking Cody for a stroll around the house.

It's crazy how we've all adjusted to life this way, though. Even the girls have mentioned (more than once) that they don't remember what he looked like with legs. (Mind you, it's really only been 24 days. But it's been a looooong 24 days, just the same.) He has adapted so amazingly well. Every night I tuck him in bed, I whisper how much I love him, and how proud of him I am. Because it's true. Even though he has his moments of pure frustration, and can drive a Mama's nerves up a wall in three seconds flat with his intense impatience sometimes...he's done amazing. Truth be told, it has been I whom has had the harder time adapting. Sometimes, us adults aren't nearly as flexible to the curves and bends in the paths of life. I love the normal flow of daily happenings. I don't even mind random daily interruptions. But this. This has been entirely something different than that. My every waking moment has been dedicated to this helpless little guy. Whom drops toys often (that Mama must retrieve). Whom must make a million and one bathroom requests per day (which isn't an easy task, given the mechanics of it all)...and then tells me he doesn't really have to "go". Whom insists I stay and play trucks with him. And could he have a drink of water? Another snack? And his back hurts. His cast is itchy. Put another t.v. show on. And then dig out the Lego from his cast, please. And do find the one, tiny little ambulance truck that rolled under the great abyss of the couch...no, no other car will do. And could I move him to the couch? No, the floor. Wait. Wheelchair me around the house...and whatever you do, DO NOT stop!

This is how we "get our potty on".

It's really not pretty at times. (And I'm talking about myself here, not him.) Sometimes I have to walk away. Sometimes I grit my teeth, raise my voice and get entirely too frustrated over something so simple. So ridiculously simple. And then my boys beckons me with those baby blue eyes, "Mama...you take my cast off?" And I'm reminded how dang selfish I can be. I haven't left the house while he's awake in three-and-a-half weeks. But it's such a short season, this struggle is right now...and being here for my son is so important. Being fully here for my son...even more important.

That face. Adorable, right?!
And. He was sooo proud of himself that he could "sit up" on his own.

I watch him pull himself around the floor, and I'm reminded how soon he will be up and running again. (But then fear grips me...that he will be up and running around again...) I watch his siblings show patient love and sweet attention, and I'm inspired. I want to rush the next few weeks...but I know there's things yet to be learned. Life...it's a process. A series of events that reveal our true nature, that challenge us and mold us. I know the times that I've fought that process, I learn nothing but bitterness, anger and resentment. But the times I welcome the process...the times I choose acceptance to the things God allows in my path...it's beautiful. A mess sometimes, yes. But a beautiful one. Perspective. It's everything. And it's always needing to be realigned for me to see things in just the right light. So, while I wait out the next 18 days, I daily remind myself to grow comfortable with the present circumstances. There's a certain perfection in the midst of imperfection that's unfolding while I wait...I don't want to be in such a hurry that I miss it...