Six.

We are celebrating Nathaniel’s sixth birthday this weekend. I’ve probably said it about each year, but it is unbelievable that he’s six. When you parent and love a child who has bore labels like “prognosis: poor,” “failure to thrive,” and “unadoptable,” every year is a milestone. When that child has survived multiple episodes of sepsis, respiratory failure, accidental trach decanulation, aspiration pneumonia, medical formula intolerance, and dehydration, every birthday is significant.

The first word that comes to mind when I think of my mom is creative. She showed her love by making you something. After high school she worked at a fabric store. Sewing remained a life long enjoyment. When I was in high school she made every dress I wore to a dance. There was a plaid skirt and powder blue spaghetti strap silky top for my freshman year. A pink satin with fitted bodice and 1980’s puffy sleeves for my senior prom. I loved those outfits. But Mom didn’t do zippers or button holes.

We celebrated Nathaniel's birthday a few weeks ago; early because his actual birthday falls on the Thanksgiving holiday weekend. Five seems magical and unbelievable. It seems to have happened overnight, and at the same time like he has experienced too much to still be so young. A few hours before his party, Josiah took him to the back yard to take some photos. They too are magical. They show clearly Nathaniel's wonder and joy for living.

I drove nine hundred and fifty miles across Missouri, Oklahoma, Texas, and New Mexico earlier this month. Rich and I won big at the only lottery we have ever played - the timing of a trip to Philmont High Adventure Scout Ranch. Scout troops put their request for a trek in a literal lottery eighteen months in advance. Josiah and Rich headed west by train with others from our local troop mid-June. Our personal win? Their one hundred mile backpacking trip ended on July third, the day before Andrew would participate in the 95th Maverick Club July Fourth Rodeo in Cimarron, New Mexico. Philmont sits just a few miles outside of Cimarron. Andrew took a full time cowboy position with the Scout Ranch last September. The opportunity to visit Andrew, see the guys come off the trail, and watch the rodeo called me west.

When Nathaniel was fourteen months old, our then speech therapist asked if he was pointing at things. She expressed the importance of pointing and joint attention in language development and stressed that these were precursors for further language growth. She advised that I should place Nathaniel, who was still new at sitting up, in the middle of the room with everything desirable out of reach. "Unless Nathaniel points to the object, do not let him have it. No toys until he points to them."

Nathaniel was perfectly content to sit quietly for full days without toys.

We share a middle name. I did not expect that. Nor I did expect how quick and unannounced grandmother tears come. They showed up first in the shower the morning I knew my daughter was in labor and again standing by the sink in her kitchen a dozen hours later as my husband washed birth off his granddaughter's head.

"Can Dad wash her hair before you leave?" our daughter asked. She has watched her daddy bathe babies for two and a half decades. While she closed her eyes and rested deep on her pillow, her father showed her husband how to wash a little girl's hair. And I wiped tears.

Today was the sixteenth time in less than three years that I handed Nathaniel to an anesthesiologist for a surgery or medical procedure. That does not count illnesses and lab work. Despite the outward appearance of resiliency and well-being, the chronic need for medical intervention is taking a toll on Nathaniel's body. We are in Ohio for two days of appointments at Cincinnati Children's. Nathaniel was seen by four surgeons in the operating room this afternoon. As a side note, I really like it when doctors play well together and coordinate care; if handled differently, what was done today could have required four separate visits and four more handing overs to be sedated. Thank you Cincinnati Children's!

Last May our daughter suggested that I put together an list or index for blog posts about Nathaniel. When she tells people that she has seven brothers, that the youngest is three years old and the oldest is thirty-three years old, she gets a lot of questions. She likes to send the curious to my blog for information about Nathaniel.

"But where should they start to read, Mom? And how do they find specific posts?"

I have been working on this list since that conversation. The process of compiling and specifically having it completed today, the second anniversary of Nathaniel's adoption, has been a special gift to myself.  It was good to reflect on where we have been, what life has been like for Nathaniel and our family,  and how God has been faithful through it all. After spending hours rereading these old posts I must add my AMEN to Jason Johnson's words tucked in a recent blog post, "foster care and adoption are not just the process by which we may change a child’s life but also the means through which God will radically transform ours." 

I can not believe it has been two weeks since Nathaniel and I returned from Cincinnati. One reason is that within a couple days of getting back, I learned the dates of when we go again. It seems my life is now categorized under two labels: "Has to be done before Cincinnati" and "Can wait until after Cincinnati." By mid-November we will have been there three times in three months. It does not leave much room for the "Has to be done before Cincinnati" things.