Tag Archives: crying

18 months-old today

You’re 18 months-old today.

Here’s an update of the past month.

“Don’t eat off the floor, please,” Mommy said. “The dog licks there.”

July 7

We went to Busch Gardens.You met Elmo.cropped_n

And you rode rides.

July 14

The new doctor says he’s heard the word “lethargic” thousands of times, but our description of you was one of the few times he’s heard it correctly.


It was a just a cold and a little fever.

July 15

You pooped 10 minutes after I put a clean diaper on you. And 12 minutes after I got you out of the bathtub.

Sometimes you point and smile and I point and smile back. Other times, I point and smile, and you point and smile back. You fill Mommy and Daddy with love, because your little heart is overflowing with love.

You also love lo mein.

July 17

You like to help daddy clean the pool.


July 18

Our first trip to Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden and the butterflies.



Looking at the fairy gardens.

Looking at the fairy gardens.


July 20

Dropping you off at daycare was really hard.

You walked in by yourself just fine until we got to the door of the room, and then you started crying. All the other kids were sitting around eating pears. You cried and went to one of the attendants, which is good. So I left.

I blew you a kiss and that didn’t help at all. Your crying face is etched into daddy’s soul.

I took your lunch to the kitchen went back and looked in the window. You were sitting at the table with pears in front of you, crying. You were so sad. They said this happens on Mondays.

July 23

Your first corn on the cob.


Yesterday morning

Evidently, when I say, “let’s get you dressed,” you hear, “run away from Daddy as fast as you can.”

This morning

You have had congestion and a runny nose for a few weeks. This morning, you suddenly got blotches. Red blotches larger than a quarter all over your body.

As Daddy writes this, you and Mommy are at the doctor to see what’s going on.

Last night was a rough night

We went to lunch and walked around a pumpkin patch with grandma yesterday. You didn’t walk. We walked. You were carried.

Sun flowers & hats








We went on a hay ride.









You didn’t like the hay.









You didn’t have your regular naps yesterday. So you were really tired when you went to bed around your regular time last night.

After the baseball game on TV, daddy went to close your window at 12:30 a.m. and I woke you up. I held you for around 20 minutes, until you fell back asleep. But when I put you down, you woke up and cried again. So mommy tried to get you to sleep, while daddy snored.

You woke up again around 5:30 a.m. Daddy got you a fresh bottle, and changed you. But you didn’t want it, and you finally fell asleep around 6. And then the dog needed to go out. Daddy left the dog outside, so a little later, mommy had to get up and let the dog back in.

You slept again until around 9, and like you often do in the morning, you babbled to yourself and your bunny until I got you around 9:30.

And church this morning became an unfulfilled dream of yesterday.

You sounded like a dictionary falling off a table

You sounded like a dictionary falling off a table when you hit the floor with a thump this morning. You were sitting up, and then you were falling down.

After a moment of stunned silence, you cried.

And I picked you up, and held you, and you cried into my shoulder as I thought about the blog I posted not six hours earlier.

Throughout your whole life, when you cry, we will comfort you. And we will be strong for you, and try not to let you know that when you cry, we’re not only comforting you, but we’re crying with you, too. And we know the day will come, when we’ll be able to do nothing but just cry together.

Seven weeks ago tonight, we brought you home.

We’ve learned so much about each other . . . we can hear the difference between when you’re hungry, or wet, or tired. You’ve learned that you can melt our hearts with your toothless, chubby cheek smile and your laugh that fills a room.

It continues to boggle my mind to consider our great blessing to have you with us and to try to imagine the next 30 years of joy and happiness and tears and sadness and what a wonderful life we will have.

Life is as delicate as butterfly wings

You met Dr. Rodgers last week.

And several very nice nurses and other hospital staff when you took your first trip to the emergency room.

You rolled off the changing table and landed in an open drawer. The cut next to your eye won’t even leave a scar. By the time mommy held your arms, and daddy held your head so that Dr. Rodgers could probe the cut to determine its severity, it didn’t hurt enough for you to cry. You shrugged at the discomfort, and then laughed and smiled your toothless smile when it was over.

It was an accident that happened in less than a heartbeat, and it reminded us that life is as delicate as butterfly wings and as fleeting as the breeze from the beating of those wings.

Mommy’s faithful companion for many years has been a dog. She adopted him as a puppy, and he’s more than 12 years old, now.

When you see him, you laugh and smile and you want to touch him. From across the room, you’ll stare at him when he walks by. Mommy and I know that his time is limited, that he’s entering the twilight of his days. We get sad when we think of the day when he’ll be gone. We love him, and have done our very best to give him a good life, and have enjoyed having him with us.

Our hearts are so filled with love for you that it feels like they will burst, but we know that same love will one day turn to heartbreak when you face hurts we can’t heal and difficulties and challenges and pains that we can’t begin to imagine. Life is delicate and fragile and fleeting.

Our hearts ache with love for you, and we know our hearts will one day ache when we share the pain you’ll feel – a pain we won’t be able to kiss or rub away. But like today, we’ll hold you when you cry and we’ll be here for you. And no matter what, that won’t ever change.

* Sniff *

A great deal of discussion this morning concerning me posting your picture here.

Your mommy is concerned your birth family may recognize you. I say the internet is so big, your birth family probably will never know about this.

And then your mommy got worried that we’re posting photos of you, and things may fall through, and we may not get you.

Your mommy got so upset she was crying.

“What,” she asked, as she looked at me. “I’m not crying about that,” she denied through her tears. “I’m not crying about the blog,” she said, “I’m worried we’re not going to get her.”

* Sniff *

There’s a lot of excitement while we wait for you . . . but also a lot of tears because it’s so difficult to wait.