The expression is supposed to be, "A life less ordinary."
But you know what? I've been there. Losing a child to a brain disorder caused by a mutation that had only been seen once before in the world is about as far from ordinary as you can get.
So now I crave regular life. The typical. The expected. And I have come to fear the extraordinary. The atypical. The unexpected.
I want Eli to be in the 50th percentile in weight and height.
I want to open a guide to a baby's first year and check off every developmental milestone as they happen RIGHT ON SCHEDULE.
I don't want him to be advanced or behind.
As Goldilocks was fond of saying... I want him "just right."
Or as Josh likes to say, I want a Stepford baby.
And I know this.
But it doesn't stop me from being borderline neurotic about Eli crawling. Or saying "mamamamama" over and over again with the hopes that he will stop looking at me like I am crazy and decide to imitate me. Or wishing that he would stop spitting up.
So my goal for the remainder of Eli's first year of life is to relax. To sit back and enjoy what he IS doing as opposed to worrying about what he ISN'T doing. To laugh when he blows a zerbert on MY skin as I so often do to his. To relish the fact that he has started reaching for me when I put my arms out for him. To remain impressed when he rolls and rolls and rolls across the living room floor so he can scratch at the speakers underneath the TV. To be impressed with his attention span when he watches an entire episode of Super Why without getting distracted. To savor the moments he chooses to snuggle with me before taking a nap or going to be in the evenings... and to let myself cry at little when I look at his sleeping face and think for just a minute that I am holding his older brother.
It is not New Year's Day. But I am making a resolution nonetheless. Pray that I am able to keep it.
"For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline." 2 Timothy 1:7