[Lolley33]

Awesome news Joanne!!! Congrats!

[Yash]

Suffering the world’s rejection
Sacrifice and resurrection
This is what love is
This is what love is…
And teaching us to love each other
As we love ourselves
And laying down our lives for someone else

And even when we fall
He loves us through it all
His gentle guiding hand
Keeps understanding
He knows the tears we cry
He knows our hearts may lie
For us again, He'd die

He came and gave His life so we would know
He is what love is
Now I know what love is

He would do it all again
He would die for us again
Cause that's what love is



When Jory was placed in my arms, I couldn’t believe I was finally a mother. It took days for me to really come to terms with the fact that I was finally someone’s mommy.

Years ago, I saw a 48 Hours where they followed a father to Russia to adopt his son. The journalist asked the father if he loved his son then, as they watched video of the father and son together in those first few days in a hotel in Russia, and the father paused, looked at his wife, and said something to the effect of, “I don’t know if I was in love with him. But I would have fought to the death if someone had tried to take him from me.”

I don’t know when I fell in love with Jory, but I know it wasn’t love at first sight. I don’t believe in love at first sight, I believe love comes with knowledge and time. Maybe it was during the 1AM, 2AM, or 3AM feedings and he introduced me to the world of Conan, heaven help us Carson (yikes!), the hilarity of Becker, and to Pope John Paul II. Okay, so we only caught the end of the Pope’s life, you know the awful death watch that was going on and then his funeral. Though I did find out a lot about the Pope and found myself liking him so much Jory almost got the middle name John-Paul, but I refrained. Though if Jory’s little brother, Jack, ever comes along his middle name will be John-Benedict. Yes, we got all caught up in the process of choosing the next Pope and fell for Ben XVI, as we like to call him. Did you know laymen are in the running to become Pope? The thought did cross my mind to baptize him Catholic? Yeah, my son is the Pope. Wouldn’t that have ROCKED?!!? But I digress, maybe it was those loving brown eyes or the almost dimples or the engaging, laid back attitude. Or maybe it was the way he would fall asleep on top of my chest like a little angel….Whatever it was, I fell hopelessly and completely in love with that baby boy and have been and will be for the rest of my life.

I can still remember getting the call at Beacon if I was interested in picking up a preemie from Cedars. A few hours later, I was sitting in a rocking chair learning from the NICU nurse how to feed the little girl, I called Willow. Willow was the sweetest, little thing and I loved her as my own for the entire three months she lived with us. How could I not help but fall in love with the tiny four pound beauty, who had even captured the hearts of the NICU nurses? I was sad to see her leave and I pray that she is in a loving home being taught about the One who placed the moon in the sky. I’ll never forget the experience of picking up a baby from the hospital though I was more than shocked to discover Cedars doesn’t have loaner baby car seats, the County hospital give out free ones but not Cedars?!

Fostering Willow helped me realize that Jory and I were ready for us to add a bouncing baby girl to our family and three months later Sasha entered our lives. Sasha. Sasha. She was such a great little girl who cried so softly as a newborn, you had to be on top of her to hear her cry. I don’t know when I fell in love with her, but it must have happened as I discovered how God clouds your mind so you can’t remember what it was once like to wake up every four hours to feed someone, or just how tiny newborns are, after your first is out of these stages. I think He does it because if you remembered just how sleep deprived you were or how hard it was to shop with the baby, who can’t hold his head up yet and hollers every time you put him in the Baby Bjorn, you’d only have one child.

Life with Chew Chew and Jory was going great until the phone call from her CW, who informed me about a relative who was interested in taking custody of her. My heartbeat stopped. Was someone trying to take my baby? Why would anyone do that? Didn’t these mysterious relatives understand how much I loved my daughter? I didn’t know what to do, what to think, until a wise man, we’ll call Rudy told me all I could do was love her with all my heart and keep living and planning for life like I had been doing. So I took this advice and ran with it. And five months later, as I placed my baby in the arms of her new mommy in that cold, sterile DCF office, tears flowed and my heart ached as Mell whispered in my ear, “I’m sorry.”

I was hurting for myself, for Sasha, and now for Mell and Johnny. What a way to be introduced to the world of parenting. When Jory came home there were no tears of sadness, it was a happy time all around. Mell was finally a mommy and it was partially marred in sadness and heartache.
And six weeks later when Rowan was placed in my arms, I saw a cute little baby girl only 2 ½ months younger than Sasha, but who wasn’t Sasha. Once Rowan got acclimated to fact that she was no longer one of five kids under the age of five like in her wonderful, loving foster home and that the only real noise makers in the house were the TV and Jory when he came home from school (boy, did her face light up when he bust through the door), she loved me, Jory, and Oma whole heartedly. Sadly I felt like I was babysitting. Though I did discover how little people pay attention to babies when my uncle said, “Finally Sasha got a little color to her and some meat on her bones.” Yeah, cause all white/Hispanic/Jewish and black/Samoan babies look exactly alike.

I knew one day, I would love Rowan as much as I loved Jory, as much as I loved Sasha. Fake it ‘til it’s real was something I saw more than once on my foster message board and that’s what I was going to do. Before Rowan, I naively believed that any child under one was a blank slate….after Rowan, I quickly discovered that was not the case at all and that six-and-a-half-month-olds have their own likes, dislikes, and personalities. And I realized that thumb sucking was like nails on a chalkboard to me, maybe one day her thumb won’t be so tasty.

Somewhere along the way, doing the day to day living, my love for my Principesa grew and grew...until she was my own. Rowan was my precious big girl. Jory, Rowan, and I were happy threesome waiting for the arrival of our newest one. With the loss of Sasha, the learning to love Rowan, I told myself these experiences were so I could be prepared for the adoption of Layla.

Layla would be close to one-years-old, she would be grieving for the loss of the nannies that took care of her, the other kids who she had grown up with, for the loss of her birth country. She might shut down because of all the changes- - because the Vietnam version of Tide didn’t smell like the American version I would smell like; because she’d go from a large room with ten other babies about her age, to a house with only two older kids. And I thought maybe Layla might be fine, but I would be the one having hard time adjusting to this new little one. I figured if I felt like I was babysitting again a la Rowan, then I knew with time I would be madly in love with Layla. And if Layla was the one that grieved for an extended period of time, then I would call Mell and get advice and tips on how to handle things.

So with these game plans in my head, I stepped on the plane headed for Vietnam. And never had I been more grateful to the greatest agency in the world, IAAP, and the greatest adoption agency owners, Dick and Cheryl, for the fact that I wouldn’t take custody of Layla until the day she would become legally mine. Koala Bear and I weren’t blown away by each other upon our first meet and greet, I still thought it was a bit surreal. And then the next day, reality snuck in as Layla was put in my arms, the bottle I brought with me was filled with formula, it was off to finalize her adoption, and then bam!! She and I were legally connected for life. Over the next few days, Layla and I got use to each other, discovered the hidden treasures of Saigon and Hanoi, hung out with Lisa, Nancy, the rock star, Michael, Barbara, and cute James, and started falling in love.

Upon returning home, I realized and recognized that I had been living in fear.
II Timothy 2:17, “For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.” Every since I stepped off the plane at LAX and heard Jory’s birthfather wanted to start having visits with him, the fear crept in. When I would dress Jory in the mornings for the visit, I worried about how to dress him. If I dressed Jory too cutely, his birthfather would see Jory was the greatest little boy in the universe and would work his case plan and get him back. On every visit day, I instructed my SW to stay in the room with Jory and if she had to go to the bathroom, she’d better take my son with her. (She was a mom, she knew how to pee and hold a baby at the same time.) I was deadly serious. Jory’s birthfather only visited four or five times, but the fear remained, though it eased after the visits ended and disappeared when the judge banged the gavel and Jory was legally mine.

But I allowed the fear to live with me again, when Sasha’s CW mentioned the mysterious relatives who wanted to adopt my December girl. Stepping off the plane from Heather and Brandon’s wedding and finding out a court date had been set and the judge would decide who would adopt Sasha, sent me in a tailspin. I didn’t know what to pray for. Did I pray that she stay? Did I pray what I prayed for Sasha and Jory, before her, since the day they entered our home that God’s will be done in their lives? I remember reminding myself that if I had the faith of a mustard seed I could move mountains, but nothing brought me peace. I sought counsel from those I considered to be wise, but their words didn’t bring the peace I longed for. Peace came when once again the judge banged the gavel and Sasha’s custody was transferred to Mell and Johnny. God had answered my prayer and His answer brought me peace and the confusion to an end.

Like a never ending cycle, Rowan’s arrival brought the fear back again. I tried to keep it bay. I prayed for peace and wisdom, but it was so hard- - when instead of dealing with a racist, clueless, unhelpful CW a la Sasha’s; I was dealing with a CW, who had no common sense and was high off the power her job gave her. When always in the back of my mind is the knowledge that in a heartbeat a CW and/or a judge, who may or may not have my child’s best interest at heart, could rip my baby away and I would have little to no recourse.


I’ve always compared adopting to riding a rollercoaster, but adopting from foster care is…is like riding a rollercoaster with a blindfold on, having no idea what the layout of the ride is, or how long the ride is going to last. All you know for sure is that the ride will eventually end. And while you riding, people will periodically jump into your car to give you information about the ride, what’s coming next, when the ride will end, sometimes that information is an outright lie, sometimes it’s a lie by omission, sometimes the information is outdated as soon as it leaves the person’s mouth, and sometimes they jump in to tell you that there is nothing to tell you.

With Layla I was able to love freely from the start because there was no CW lurking around, there were no possible birth relatives out there or half-siblings’ adoptive or foster families out there waiting to take my little girl away. All of this had been handled and dealt with before I landed in Vietnam, before I said yes to the referral of one, Tra Minh, born on January 21, 2008 (Yes, Nancy I know. I hear you in my head.) There was no fear. There was only peace. And while Layla did grieve, she put her best face forward and opened her heart to me, loved me, smiled at me. I don’t know if I ever felt such freedom since those early days with Jory. I regret the love I could have given and could have been receiving had I not let the fear take over, but thank God my eyes have been open I recognize what I allowed to happen and maybe in the future I can help someone else avoid the path I traveled.

Oh how God has blessed me with Layla and her love. I’m crazy in love with this little girl, who has only been with me for five months. My koala bear has a mommy radar that goes off if I’m away from her for longer than five minutes or too many feet away. “Mommy is thirty feet away and has been for five point five minutes- - engage mommy alarm.” The cries start, I go running, and after a few seconds of being in my arms the crying and tears stop.

My aunt came over and picked up Layla and upon hearing the screaming, Layla was quickly handed over to her Oma. My baby girl was saying, “You don’t know me like that.” Oma did try to make her sister feel better by saying, “Don’t feel bad. She treats me like that when Yash is in the room.”

The time I worried about her and I not bonding was for naught. We are bonded and in love. Layla is my down for whatever chick, my ride or die chick. Even in my dreams or in the deepest parts of my imagination, I never could have imagined a baby more loving, more giving, more adorable, smarter baby girl in the world, then Layla. I am truly one blessed woman.




I love you forever
I like you for always (though I won’t always like what you do)
As long as I’m living
My baby you’ll be

[Yash]

There’s so much that other parents don’t tell the newbie parents. So much you guys keep to yourselves, but I realize you can’t ever really explain the parenthood road. For me this journey of just four-and-a-half years has been full of things I never imagined. Things I never could have dreamed about.



When I was a child playing house with Ekua, Alexis, Liz, maybe Rebecca, in front of the old seventh grade classroom, I had my life mapped out. In May of my 21st year, I would graduate from college. In June of my 21st year, I would get married. And by June of my 22nd year, I would either be newly pregnant, heavily pregnant, or have a newborn because nothing says happy anniversary like a baby. (Yes, I’m talking to you, Ekua Walker!) When we played house, the first child was always a boy. I imagined my son would be the protector of his younger siblings. Of course when I started the adoption journey, I had switched from boy to girl. I was surrounded by boys; my brother-in-law decided I needed not one but two nephews in a 20 ½ month period. For a while, I resented him a little. I mean couldn’t he have made the second one a girl, but the resentment didn’t last long because Tigger was just the greatest baby. Then my brother had a boy. Three boys, the family cried out for a girl. But upon hearing the wait for a girl, nine – eighteen months, I realized the family was just crying out for a healthy baby, whether girl or boy. Even though I said I was open to either a boy or a girl, I was still secretly praying for a girl. Didn’t God want me to stop buying shirts with trucks, dogs, balls, and cars on them?



Thankfully God gave me not what I wanted, but what I needed. And what I needed was a bouncing, gorgeous baby boy. Jory proudly fills the role of big brother protector that I had long ago imagined.



A few weeks ago, Jory and Rowan were running down the hallway. Multiple times they had been told stop, but they did not heed the warning and then crash. Rowan was sobbing and Jory was following closely behind trying to comfort her. Then 37 pound Jory picked up 27 pound Rowan from behind and carried her over to the bed, where he gently placed (dropped) his little sister on the bed, while saying, “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay, baby. Do you want me to kiss it so you’ll feel better?” Rowan nodded, then Jory kissed her upper ear and asked her, “Do you feel better now?” Rowan nodded again. Ah, my baby. The greatest big brother ever.



When I played house, I would give my kids names and how many years apart they were, but I never imagined who they would be or what they would be like. When Layla was placed in my arms, it was a surreal experience and it didn’t truly register that I would actually have to parent her. Yes, I knew I would feed her, dress her, take care of her, but I didn’t think about a 14-month-old who would crawl around the house, open up the bathroom cabinet and empty out all the soap, toothbrushes, and toothpaste. Something her siblings never did. I didn’t imagine a baby that wouldn’t start walking until nine days before she turned the big one-and-a-half . I didn’t imagine my baby would learn to make kissing noises when she kissed from her big sister. Nor did I imagine that the Layla, who I use to say, “Give me a kiss,” would stop giving me kisses. Though when I say, “Give the pretty baby a kiss,” Layla leans against the mirror and gives herself two kisses. Houston , we have a problem here. Mommy can’t get kisses when she asks, but mirror Layla gets kisses. Narcissism is not a pretty thing, except for when John Larroquette played this narcissist murderer on “The Practice” but that’s a whole other story though he did win two Emmys for that role.



As we rode in the van to make Layla mine legally, I never imagined that one day I would have to discipline her or utter the word “no” to her. I still vividly remember when Jory was about six or seven-months-old, we were walking down the hallway and I noticed him trying to put something in his mouth. I took a closer look and saw he had gotten a piece of paper and was trying to eat it. I reached for the paper and he snatched his hand back. I reached for the paper again and he reared back away from me. I was shocked. I had no idea the disciplining started so early. Was he really not going to give me the paper? Was he really moving away from me to keep something he knows he’s not supposed to have? Yes, he was. I had no idea the road of discipline started so early or that there would be days when I feel all I did was say, “Stop that!”, “Don’t touch that!”, “Put that back!”, “Sit down,” “Stop whining!”, “Stop crying, you aren’t really hurt.”, “Don’t hit your sister!”, “Leave your brother alone!”, and “Leave it alone.” And of course, my standards, “Are we about to fall out?” and “Let’s not and say we did” That there are some days when everyone has to go to bed early so I can remain sane.



I never imagined after being home for seven months that I would question whether Layla knew and recognized her own name. We had already been to an ENT to check her hearing shortly after coming home. Aunt Louise suggested Layla didn’t respond to her name because she was still learning English and had a lot of names to respond to. I pondered this theory for a while and almost bought it until I thought about Jory. Yes, babies can hear in utero, but is it English or is some sort of muddled noise or is it a yack yack language a la Charlie Brown’s teacher, they hear? The English the babies hear post birth is definitely different than the “English” they heard pre-birth, which means they have to learn English too. At seven months, Jory definitely knew his name and his nicknames and responded to them. So with that said, Layla definitely should have been answering when her name was called.



Granted, she does have a lot of names, but so did Jory, Sasha, and Rowan. And wasn’t as if all her names were given to her at once, I didn’t even try butchering her Vietnamese name so I started calling her Layla and Katarzyna right away. When we got home, the kids started calling her Baby. I felt she needed a nickname so she got the name Koala Bear. Happy or someone at Happy’s started calling her Mamas, which Rowan sometimes calls her at home, too. She does get Baby Girl thrown at her and when she reaches a new milestone or does something extraordinary she gets called Big Girl. Of course, I have to call her by her full name, Katarzyna McKinley Elphaba Lawrence, because she has to know her full name and when mommy is at the end of her rope. I realize I have to introduce Herrington soon so if we ever separate at the mall during a Polish Eric Clapton convention, I can still find her by calling her name. Also, since she has siblings, she has to learn to answer to Jory, Kaleb, Rowan, and Kailyer because that’s just life.



My mother has on occasion called her Kataz, my heart stopped beating when I heard this. I informed her, when Layla didn’t respond, that my daughter didn’t answer to ugly names. You know because Layla is too hard to say. But I digress, Layla’s Oma shot me this look as if to say, are you really saying that to me when your daughter’s name is Katarzyna. To which I replied with my look, woman who couldn’t come up with a name for her baby in nine months and then named her daughter some pseudo-Japanese name really shouldn’t be talking to me about names. After that heated exchange via looks, we let it rest. I realized Layla did know her names, she was just being a toddler and didn’t respond when she didn’t want to. Toddlers gotta love them.



This seventh month has been interesting because I feel pre-christened Layla was still my baby girl, but post christening she became a toddler. She went from my cute, non-walking, toothless koala bear to this walking, 3 teeth having, don’t pick me up, I want to walk and talk big girl. I might need to get a recording of the service so I can hear verbatim what the pastor prayed. Did he pray that Layla would turn into a big kid, quick fast and in a hurry? Doesn’t Layla understand there is a 95% chance she is my last baby and I have to enjoy every single moment and milk every single moment for as long as humanly possible? Does she really not get that?



I remember being beside myself when Mijo said, “I love you, Auntie!” My heart still melts at that. He said it without me prompting him or repeating after me. Ahh, the beauty of that moment. I can still recall the first time Jory, who was about 5 months at the time, was sitting in his aunt/godmother’s arms, saw me and raised his arms for me to take him. I was his mommy and he wanted me. YIIPPEEE!!!



And what about the time I was so concerned that Jory, a 17-month-old Jory wasn’t calling me mommy and instead calling me Ash? UGH! When he was playing he would say mommy, but when I asked him who I was, he answered Ash. And what could I say? I couldn’t say, no, my name isn’t Yash because it was. So I had to say no, what do you call me, which was always followed by giggles. Oh how he thought that was funny. Why didn’t a BTDT parent just say to me, Yash, don’t worry about him not saying mommy, just appreciate the silence, because once he says it you’ll be hearing it for the rest of your life? You’ll hear it in a happy tone, whining tone, crying tone, annoyed tone, frustrated tone, a screaming tone, a giggling tone, a hysterical tone, you’ll hear it a lot. But no one told me this and finally Jory decided to call me mommy instead of Ash and all was right with the world. I did learn a valuable lesson and definitely didn’t rush either Rowan or Layla to talk or say mommy. Whenever they learned to say it, preferably later than sooner, was all right with me. Not that I didn’t get a thrill to hear each of my girls say it.



Talking is a whole ballpark I never imagined. I never thought I would look at three-and-a-half-year-old Jory and tell him, no talking while you’re getting dress. No talking, no singing, nada. I want to raise a son who can multi-task, but a talking and getting dressed Jory led to a non-dressed Jory, so we’ll see how things are when he’s older. Rowan is on the verge of having this same rule enforced on her.



In the past seven months, Layla has gone from the quiet baby that babbled to the girl who can say, mama (first word, rock on!) and in the last four weeks to saying Aleb (which Oma is convinced is Layla saying Jory’s name. I neither agree nor disagree since when she says it she never points to Jory or even looks in his direction); uh-oh, which I was actually trying to make uh-oh spaghettio a la the wonderful Amaya, but only uh-oh stuck; and tank you. I think she’s trying to say something that vaguely sound like, put me down, but the jury is still out on that phrase.



I never imagined the “s” word would one day stand for stupid. Jory heard it at school and was told it was naughty word, rightly so. But then it became the word, he heard any and every where so it became the “s” word. No need for him to point out we said the “s” word.



The precious baby that wouldn’t allow me to enjoy air conditioning in Saigon hid her other side while we were traveling throughout Vietnam . When Layla felt comfortable and at home, she let the feistiness shine through. Never did I imagine I would ever have a child whose lips would turn blue because she was angry. When Layla gets really angry, she holds her breath. Who knew that ability lurked in the baby who ate shrimp fried rice on our first night together? It’s not an attractive trait. Or her out and out, “DON”T YOU DARE TOUCH ME” routine she does, when she doesn’t want anyone but mommy to hold her? Aunt Heather threw out the theory that last time Layla let a stranger hold her, she ended up on the other side of the world less than two weeks later. While I’ll buy this theory, it doesn’t explain why she wouldn’t let her own Oma hold her at times.



Layla’s feistiness makes her unafraid to slap Rowan upside the head and Rowan hits right back. For now, Rowan wins, but she better watch out because Layla can definitely hold her own and is getting bigger.



On the girls’ christening day, Layla and I had to have a talk about how the world doesn’t revolve around her. Rowan and Jory can sit in my lap. They don’t need “help” off my lap because you don’t think they belong there. You don’t get to cry when I’m holding one of them until I pick you up and put them down. I know it’s hard to imagine the world doesn’t revolve around you because for the last seven months, if you cried you got picked up right away. If you’re crying and Rowan’s crying or Jory’s crying, you’re attended to first 99% of the time because you can’t talk. It’s also hard because you come to mommy’s job and everyone is so excited to see you and make a big brouhaha over you. Uncle Will teaches you how to play poker. Aunt Deedee, Aunt Roxanne, Aunt Lindsay, and Aunt Angela cheer you on for taking a few steps or standing on your own. You point at something on the shelves behind Aunt Connie’s desk and one by one she hands you what she thinks you want to make you happy. You get to see the look of pure fear on Uncle Brett’s face when holds you. Uncle Andrew, Uncle Mason, Uncle Ray make you laugh and giggle, like they are your own personal clowns. All the attention, it’s hard to imagine when you fall asleep the world just doesn’t stop spinning, but alas it’s true. You’re not the center of the universe.



Sometimes you won’t get your way. Sometimes you won’t get picked up because mommy knows you’re just whining and she’s busy. Sometimes your brother and sister need to sit on my lap, while you sit or stand nearby. It sucks that the world isn’t all about you. It stinks the world isn’t a fair place. If you don’t like it, I say get a pen and a paper and write a letter that reads, “Dear Adam, Eve, and snake, THANKS A LOT!” Yes, I know sarcasm is a bit much for a letter from an eighteen-month-old, but you know. And on a side note, if the snake was cursed to slither on the ground that means it had legs before. Is it possible the snake once looked more like what we now call a unicorn?



I never imagined having a child that was obsessed with food. Rowan can wake up in the morning and the first thing out of her mouth can be, “May I have some apple juice?” or “I ready to eat.” Since Layla has come home and they’ve bonded, she now includes Layla in her love for food. “Mommy, I ready to eat. Baby ready to eat.” Aunt Whitney is right, Rowan isn’t into sharing her food so much. Layla has been pushed away more than once from Rowan’s plate. But it is nice to know Rowan has the ability to know the sister she hasn’t even spoken to yet is ready for breakfast, it must be that Irish twin connection.



I never imagined I would be able to look at my kids and sense, know, which one would be the one I would be butting heads with. I look at adorable, sweet, cute, brilliant Rowan and know she and I - - yeah. Did I mention she was incredibly stubborn and strong willed? Her potty training is a complete and total control issue, so I’m just going with the flow. But there are some days Aunt Whitney’s favorite (is that Christian like to have a favorite, Aunt Whit?) drives me completely bananas. I was such an easy going child. Jory and Layla go with the flow, and Rowan wants to go against the flow. Man, I love this little girl, but for some reason I think when I drop her off at some east coast college I might give a sigh of relief when my plane taxis and heads for LA.



Recently some things went on in my life and after talking to some friends, I came to the realization that even though Jory, Rowan, and Layla are growing up in a home where I say, “But as for me and my household, we will serve the LORD.” that might not always be true for them. I pray. I pray every day that I raise my children the way God wants me to, that I raise them in the way they should go so when they are old they will not depart. Yet at the end of the day, the choice is up to them. To believe or not to believe is up to Jory, Rowan, and Layla. It brings tears to my eyes to imagine I could be raising kids who I won’t get to spend eternity with. But in God’s ultimate wisdom, He gave us the gift of free will and so the choice is theirs. I pray my children make the right choices, stay on the right path, follow God’s will. Free will, what a powerful thing. And as much as I love this trio, I ain’t staying any place hot to be with them.



Parenthood isn’t a journey you can prepare for, it’s a journey that is unlike any other. With each child the journey is different. And even though people and experts say you shouldn’t compare kids, you have to compare them because your other kids, your friends’ kids are your frame of reference of where your child should be or could be or how they are a head of the curve. I try not to compare, but I do. Being a mom has made me a bit competitive. You can never explain to someone how much you can love another human being that weighs six pounds or fourteen pounds or fifteen pounds. How you would be willing to die for another human being who can then grow up and not even remember you. Being blessed to be the mother of Jory, Rowan, and Layla has given me a small glimpse of the love God has for me. Just a small glimpse because I don’t think my feeble human brain could even begin to understand it completely. In these past seven months, He has allowed me to watch Layla grow, change, and blossom and I can never thank Him enough for that privilege. I’ve got the three greatest children in the world and they utterly rock me world.







My life will never be the same
'Cause girl, you came and changed
The way I walk
The way I talk

I cannot explain the things I feel for you
But girl, you know it's true


You rocked my world

You know, you did