Let It Be Done in Me

It was exactly four years ago that I found myself sitting at a stoplight in the darkness of Friday rush hour in Sandy Springs, Georgia. I had just left school and was on my way to Target in search of two things: a pregnancy test and a special gift to announce to Joe we were expecting our first baby. I had taken a pregnancy test early that very morning, before school, but hadn’t shared the outcome with anyone. And I wanted another one — or two — to be sure. As I sat at that red light, so many thoughts were rushing through my head: fear, excitement, disbelief. A song came on the radio, one I had never heard before but found out was Amy Grant’s “Breath of Heaven.” If you haven’t heard the song, it tells the Christmas story from Mary’s perspective. As I listened, not yet knowing I was expecting the son who would be Bert, not knowing all that Joe and I would be called to experience as his parents, one section of lyrics really embedded themselves into my heart:

Do You wonder as You watch my face
If a wiser one should have had my place
But I offer all I am
For the mercy of your plan
Help me be strong
Help me be
Help me

Little did I know – LITTLE did I KNOW – how many times over Bert’s short life I would continue to say those same words to God over and over.

And now, another Advent brings another pregnancy, another baby boy – and another diagnosis to face. Many of you know we are expecting our third son in late January, but most do not know that this entire pregnancy has been fraught with fear and questioning. This summer brought a possible diagnosis of Down Syndrome, then early fall suggested perhaps a hole in the baby’s heart. November brought conclusive evidence of what is truly going on with our son: skeletal dysplasia, more commonly known as dwarfism.

 
Many of you probably have lots of questions, and the truth is, so do we. We won’t know what specific kind our son has until he is born and undergoes a genetic test. But what we do understand at this time is that this is not the result of anything in my genes or Joe’s; rather, it is the result of a rare, spontaneous gene mutation that occurs in early pregnancy. This is the second time Joe and I have had a child whose diagnosis, frankly, scares people or makes them uncomfortable, specifically other parents. As humans, we want reasons for things. We want to know why. And, in cases like Bert’s and our new son’s, people want to know why because they want to be able to point to something that is different about our family to ensure that the same thing won’t happen to their family. But the truth is, Bert’s Cerebral Palsy has no known cause, and this baby’s dwarfism is also not the result of anything we had control over as his parents. 

Trust me, Joe and I have been asking God “Why?” for many weeks, months, and years now. And the truth is, we don’t know, and, on this side of Heaven, we likely never will. It’s hard for us, sometimes, to look around at families who have two, three, four, five, six children who are all able-bodied. (Please know that I am aware that not all disabilities are visible, but I do hope you understand what I’m saying.) I understand that parenting of any kind is hard. Every child is a unique creation who has his or her own challenges, strengths, and issues. Nothing about parenting is easy. But as the parent of two disabled children, I do have to tell you that this is just a little bit harder. It’s physically harder, but perhaps more, it is spiritually, mentally, and emotionally harder. Joe and I don’t feel that we are special parents in any way. We don’t feel any stronger, any more equipped, any more qualified to parent our specific children. My brother Thomas, however, did mention something that I have kept in my heart since he said it, and that is that in our family, God knew that this child would be loved. And that is something I know to be true. Joe and I aren’t wealthy, we aren’t superhuman, we aren’t infinitely patient – but what we absolutely can do for our son is love him, and therefore give him the chance to live. We will carry him, labor him, deliver him, and raise him with all the love that we can. 

I do not know why we have two disabled children. I do not believe that this was the result of God’s plan, but I do believe that God has a plan for my children. (If you don’t understand the difference between those two things, please ask me. I’d be glad to talk about it with you.) He is infinitely good and all good things come from Him. And as we approach the Christmas season, something occurred to me that I've been thinking about constantly. Every Christmas Eve, my family of origin watches the movie A Christmas Carol, the version starring George C. Scott as Scrooge. In that movie, as in the novel, there is a scene in which Scrooge, accompanied by the Ghost of Christmas Present, invisibly watches the Cratchit family on Christmas Day. Bob Cratchit has just returned home from church with Tiny Tim, and Mrs. Cratchit asks Bob how Tim behaved. Bob replies that he behaved very well, and goes on to say: 

“He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant for them to remember, on Christmas, Who it was that made lame beggars walk and blind men see.”

Although I do not know why this is all happening the way it is, all I can think is that maybe God will use my sons to remind others Who it was that made lame beggars walk and blind men see. Perhaps people will look at my family and be reminded that everyone – regardless of how they look, regardless of how or if they speak, regardless of their age or health status – is created in the image of God. Perhaps people will look at my children and be reminded Who it was that made lame beggars walk and blind men see – be reminded of Jesus. As a mother, could I ask for more? 

As we begin this Advent season, the phrase that I have been holding on to is “Fiat Mihi”; it’s Latin for “Let it be done in me,” which is what Mary says to the angel Gabriel in Luke’s Gospel after he has told her what God would like her to do. I think about Mary, how she couldn’t have seen the future, not been able to fully see everything that God was asking of her, but how she said yes anyways – “Let it be done in me.” I end all my prayers to God with that same thought. I do not know why God is asking this of me, I certainly cannot see the future and everything that this request will include, but all I can say – with faith – is “Fiat Mihi.” Let it be done in me.

If you could, please pray for our family. Pray for Bert who, with his own disability, has been called to be the fearless leader of this band of brothers. Pray for Hank who by the world’s standards is our “normal” child, but who in this family is the “different” one. If you know Bert and Hank, you know they have always been strangely tall and large. Joe is 6’ tall, and of slight build, and both of our fathers are only about 5’7” or 5’8”, so there really aren’t any big people in our families. But perhaps Bert and Hank were created to be so big because God knew He would call them to be defenders and protectors. Pray for our newest son that he will grow to be strong. And pray for Joe and me, too, as we endeavor to raise these children God has entrusted us with. 

Since Bert was little, we have had a lot of paperwork to fill out, and a question that has come up time and again is what our hope is for him. For a long time, we didn’t know what to say. How does a parent sum up their hope for their child in a line or two? But then we figured it out, and it has been our statement about Bert and then Hank, and now it will be for our new son as well. Our hope for them all is this: We hope that they realize the fullness of who God created them to be and that they recognize their purpose in serving God and other people. 

“Now we see through a glass, darkly. But then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely.” – 1 Corinthians 13:12 

“The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” – Job 1:21

“I prayed for this child, and the Lord has given me what I asked of Him. Now I, in turn, give him to the Lord. For his whole life he will be given over to the Lord.” – 1 Samuel 1:27-28

Hank is Nine Months Old

Hank Kraft. 

That's my second son, my second child. 

His real name is Henry, but I forget that most of the time. In fact, I've only ever called him Henry once, and that was to tell Father Jack how to baptize him. Truly, only about 1 percent of the time do I actually remember his name is really Henry. 

Today, Hank is 9 months old. 

Nine months is such a milestone; I think because "9 months" is what we consider the length of pregnancy, even though it's really more like 10 months. And, in Hank's case, he wasn't born till after 41 weeks, so he did spend longer than 9 months in my belly. Regardless, 9 months just feels really big. 

When I think about Hank, one feeling overwhelms me: guilt. So much guilt. 

You see, I became pregnant with Hank right as Bert was beginning his physical and occupational therapies for what was then his global development delay. We were learning as much as we could about Bert and his needs, taking him various places, and filling out a lot of paperwork. As fall turned into winter, Bert turned 13, 15, 18 months. Despite physical therapy, Bert was still unable to walk at 18 months, and his pediatrician referred us to a neurologist. As winter turned into spring, we saw the neurologist for Bert, he had an MRI, and we saw the neurologist again. Bert was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy. There was research, appointments, and paperwork -- lots of paperwork. 

You forgot I was pregnant, too, didn't you? 

Most people, when pregnant, think about what their child might look like, what his personality may be like. I never, not once, wondered this about Hank. My pregnancy with him was marked by two main thoughts: if Hank would have developmental delays, and possibly even CP, like Bert; and if his cord blood would be a match for Bert. 

And that's it. As much as it pains me to admit it, those were really the only things I ever considered when thinking about Hank. 

Hank was born in summer; he started growing. 

I had decided around Bert's one year birthday to no longer chronicle what my children could "do." I never wanted Bert to think that we were embarrassed by his delays, and I never wanted any child of mine to think we cared more about his accomplishments than who he was. While I still stand behind the thought and emotion behind this (for we put FAR too much emphasis as a society on what people do instead of honoring who people are), what it meant for Hank was a lack of celebration around any sort of milestone. When Hank learned to roll over, learned to sit up, learned to crawl, we cheered him on here at home, and I wrote it all down in his baby book, but there were no family alerts or public pictures or announcements. 

The thing is, behind our smiles for Hank's motor development milestones were two overwhelming thoughts: the first was our preoccupation with what he was doing, how he was doing it, how old he was when he started, and if he could do it again. At first his rolling was only in one direction and over one shoulder, and I cannot tell you how Joe and I agonized over that. After going through what we went through (go through) with Bert, watching Hank's motor development like hawks was our default setting. 

The second thing is more confusing for me, personally, and also more painful to admit: the milestones that Hank met with ease took hours and hours and hours of work for Bert to meet. So, in a way, I almost thought well, all of this came naturally to Hank, and it didn't really take him any sort of work, so how big of an accomplishment is it really? 

I know. I know. 

Hank remains a mystery to me in so many ways. I really don't know who he is. I told Joe a couple nights ago that sometimes it feels like Hank is just an afterthought. Now, please don't mistake that for lack of love for our son or joy in his existence, it's just Hank kind of just ... is. He has put us through a few little trials, but compared with Bert's trials, they haven't been anything really. Additionally, like most subsequent children, Hank gets far less one-on-one time with me than Bert did. Also, Bert talks and can be funny, and Hank doesn't and can't. He's very needy, like all infants, and he mostly just lives his life. He just ... is. 

But today, Hank is 9 months old, and that precious baby is ready to step into the spotlight for a little bit. 

Here's what I do know about Hank: he is incredibly smiley, and he loves to laugh. He loves to be tickled. He drools a lot and has been chewing up all our furniture with his two little bottom front teeth. He crawls incredibly fast; he's like a little race car. He gets into EVERYTHING. The only thing he doesn't do quickly is eat. He is the world's slowest and most distracted eater. It's maddening! He ate pureed food for about a week, then decided never to eat again, and then we figured out he was just over purees. Who knew? He loves yogurt, spitting, and Roomba. He has two main settings. The first is go, go, go. He never, ever sits. The moment you set him down in a sitting position, he dives to the floor and takes off. The second is stage five clinger. He loves him some cuddles, and there are some days I’m fairly certain he’d crawl back in my belly if he could. 

And the biggest thing I know about Hank: he LOVES Bert. 

He loves him so much. 

Hank thinks Bert is the funniest, coolest, most entertaining human being on the planet. He follows him everywhere. Honestly, that's probably why Hank is so fast: he's crawling as fast as he can to keep up with Bert. Hank also enjoys making Bert laugh, and Bert thinks it's hilarious when Hank does things that are silly ("No, Hanky Panky! Blibs [bibs] aren't food!"). Bert also likes egging Hank on to do things he shouldn't. ("Want to play with sweeper, Hanky?") And honestly, that is how it should be with little and big brothers. 

Hank, I am so sorry for my lack of attention to you during my pregnancy and for the lack of celebration over your milestones and the lack of intentional time together. The only thing that alleviates the sorrow and guilt is the knowledge that I gave you the best gift I could have ever given: Bert.

I love you so, so much, and I am so excited to find out a little more every day of who it is that God created you to be. I look forward to seeing all the wonderful things you'll do for God and His people. Happy 9 months, Hanky. 

God Loves Him More

A few months ago, right around the time Hank was due actually, Joe and I had to apply for assistance for Bert through the state. It was something that we were fairly certain we would not receive but that we had to apply for as the first step toward getting Bert some other things he needed. 

"Application" is a small word to use for what this really was: a 60-plus page binder that included information on our finances, Bert's medical history, his therapies, etc. It involved his pediatrician filling out several forms and writing letters, us collecting his various medical records and reports, and me collating everything into a binder and driving it to the correct office. It was one of those situations where we were warned that one tiny detail being off, such as me dating one of my signatures 6/10/21 and Joe dating his signature 6/11/21, would be enough to get rejected.

After a few weeks of filling out forms, driving forms to his pediatrician and then picking them up, and collecting necessary documentation, I finished putting everything into the binder, hole punching all the documents and creating a table of contents. Then there was only one thing left: the cover page to slip into the transparent binder cover. I put Bert's full name on it, and then I went to type in his case number, as instructed. As I sat there looking at that page, it made me sad to see Bert's life reduced to a multi-digit case number. So before I hit print, I did one more thing: I inserted a picture of Bert. 

It was not a perfect photo, not professional or even lit particularly well, but it showed that he is a human being, a little boy who is loved by a lot of people. Bert and I drove his binder to the office a couple of days before it was due and handed it off to the woman who met us there. When I got home, I emailed our caseworker to confirm it had been dropped off, and she said, "I got it. It had Robert's picture on it." Yes, it did. 

Any parent wants his or her child to be truly seen, but I think when your child has a disability and there's far more paperwork and assessments and meetings, you are a little extra scared that your precious baby will be reduced to less than a person. Indeed, it is easy to live in constant fear that Bert will be seen as just another patient, just another case number, just another disabled person in need of help. (In some especially scary cases, as just a burden on the state.) But as I was driving Bert to drop off that binder that day, I realized something: I love my child so much, but God loves him more. 

God loves him more. 

God loves him more, and God desires my son's good more than I do. Of course He does, He made Bert in His own image. 

So now every time I have to fight the hospital to allow both Bert's parents to accompany him to his MRI, when I have to fight the state of Georgia to provide Bert with the services he's entitled to, when I have to fight my own (crippling) fear for Bert's future, especially as he will soon age out of early intervention, I hear God's voice whisper to me: "You love him, but I love him more." 

What's in a Name

One thing I really love hearing about is why people decided to name their children what they did. Truly, naming a child is a stressful experience because there's so much to consider: initials, monogram, any weird nicknames, how it sounds with your last name. And if you're a teacher, then there are also so many names that belong to former students, and that brings up a lot of its own feelings. And if all this is not stressful enough, consider that I read somewhere once that when you name your child, you are giving them the name by which God will call them for all eternity. 

Oh, okay, cool. No pressure then. 

Today I thought I would share with you why we decided to name our children what we did, and I hope you will share, too! 

Robert David

Being our first child, this was the first real chance Joe and I had to share with each other what names we liked. As you can imagine, there were names he really liked where I was like "Ehh," and there were names I liked that he wasn't too thrilled about either. But one thing we both agreed on was that we loved our grandfathers. My maternal grandfather is Robert (still living), and Joe's maternal grandfather was David (he has died, and he was a wonderful man). I honestly don't remember exactly how or when we came up with Bert, but one day we just realized that was an awfully cute nickname. We liked that it was uncommon but not weird (because it's not 1950). And we thought it would suit our son more than the more common nicknames for Robert, like Bob or Robbie. The only thing holding us back from this name was that there is a slightly more famous Robert Kraft already. But we love my grandfather more than we cared about that, so Robert David "Bert" it was. 

Henry Joseph

This is probably a good time to mention that there are FOUR girls' names that I LOVE. But then I had to come up with another boy name! This time, along with all the other considerations relating to a child's name, we also had to consider how it would sound with Bert. Once again, Joe and I went back and forth, sharing our suggestions with each other, but nothing sounded right. I can't quite remember exactly how or when, but the name Hank was suggested. We loved how it sounded with Bert, and we also loved that, like Bert's name, it is uncommon but not unusual (again, because it's not 1950). Although Hank was the name we wanted, we also wanted to give him a "real" name and not just name him a nickname, so Henry is his real name. After thinking for a while, we decided to give him the middle name Joseph because Bert's name has such a strong family connection, we wanted Hank to have a connection, too. So we gave him the middle name Joseph after Joe, and we also thought it was fitting because in the Catholic Church, this year is the year of Saint Joseph. 

So there are the stories of Bert and Hank, two boys who are aptly named to spend their senior years drinking .50 coffee at McDonald's at 6 a.m.!

Some funny things:

- While I remember that Bert's real name is Robert, I am not joking at all when I tell you that 99% of the time I completely forget Hank's name is actually Henry. 

- The week we decided to name Bert Robert Kraft was the same week that the first Robert Kraft was arrested for his indiscretion, and the week we decided to name Hank Hank was the week Hank Aaron died. So if we have another child and you're a celebrity with the same name, you might want to watch out! 

Human Development

The other day I saw something that made me think: what have I been doing? Let me explain. 

I have been staying at home with my children for the past three school years (this is the third one) after deciding that would be best for our family right now. I really, really miss teaching and school, and it's a sacrifice for me to stay home, honestly, as much as I'm glad I can be here for my children at this time. But when I look back over the past two years, I honestly wonder: what have I been doing?

I see other stay at home moms starting Etsy shops, learning lettering, getting certified to teach yoga. I look at myself and think, I haven't done anything like that. I haven't learned to knit or gotten an advanced certification or restored any furniture. 

But then I realized two things:

1. Staying at home with my children is a difficult, full-time job, regardless of what literally anyone (and everyone) says to the contrary, and 

2. There is something I have been doing (outside of caring for my children) that is incredibly valuable

It's the second point I want to talk about today (and I'm sure I'll address the first one another time). 

I admittedly spend a lot of time on Instagram. Several months ago I began thinking about this and wondering if I spent too much time there. But then I took a closer look at the accounts I was following and what I was reading about all day, and I discovered something: 90 percent of the time I spend on Instagram is spent reading about connected parenting, gentle parenting, attachment, child behavior, fostering a healthy relationship between children and food, mental health, the foster care system, disability, and neurodivergency. 

Since Bert was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy, I have sought out not only credible CP organizations to follow and learn from, but, more importantly, adults with CP whom I can learn so much from. I have learned the terminology they prefer, the books they recommend, the suggestions they have for parents of children with CP. This has led to an even wider education about disabled people in general and their preferences when it comes to language and terminology, the struggles they face regarding accessibility, and the history of disabled people in the United States. 

I also have a close friend who has a son she believes is autistic, and she's in the process of having him evaluated now. I wanted to know more about that, so I read a book she suggested, and I also followed a few accounts on Instagram that she suggested would be helpful in learning more about autism. 

I know several people who are foster parents or who feel called to foster, so I began following some foster parenting accounts to learn more about the foster care system, and, more importantly, how I can best support foster parents, bio parents, and children in foster care. 

While it might sound like all of this following and reading would only directly benefit my own family and friends, I truly believe that what I have done over the past couple of years is put myself on a path to becoming not only a better mother, but a better teacher, a better friend, and a better human being. Furthering my knowledge on gentle parenting techniques, attachment, child behavior, the foster care system, disability, and neurodivergency will directly benefit my future students, my own children, my friends, new people I meet, etc. because I now have a much broader and wider understanding of people in general. I believe it has made me more understanding and compassionate. You may not be able to quantify or monetize this, but I feel I couldn't have spent my time doing anything better. 

I am no longer looking at my Instagram time as time wasted on social media, but, instead, as professional and human development. 

Instagram accounts to follow:

Big Little Feelings

Busy Toddler

Feeding Littles

Kids Eat in Color

Mr. Chazz

Disability Reframed

Real Chelsea Bear

Cerebral Palsy Alliance

Foster the Family 

Mother Your Mind

Cerebral Palsy Strong

Family and Coffee

The Autism Cafe

Responsive Parenting

Happy as a Mother

This Little Miggy

Cerebral Palsy Foundation 

Raising Good Kids

Dr. Becky at Good Inside

Advice if You're Close to a New Mom

It’s all about preserving relationships.

A couple of weeks before Hank was born, a woman at church told me she wanted to talk to me about something. She and her husband will be new grandparents in September after their son and daughter-in-law welcome their first baby. She wanted to know, as a first-time grandparent invited to see the new baby, my advice on how to be the best mother/mother-in-law she could be in the situation. I appreciated her asking, and frankly I feel that the fact she asked means she’s going to do great. Nevertheless, here’s what I’ve got for any grandparent (or anyone) who is close to parents with a new baby. I also talked with a couple friends to get their input. I truly believe that these guidelines will lead to a peaceful, tension-free time for all. Graphic one is dos and don’ts for newborns, and graphic two is dos and don’ts if the parents also have an older child.

***

- Remember that you have no “right” to see the baby when you want to. If your child/child-in-law are letting you come to their house, that’s a gift, not a right. Along with that, if they ask you to delay your visit, accept that.

- Remember you are not there to hold the baby. The mother can give the baby everything he or she needs. You’re there to help. If you want to make dinner, grocery shop, or do laundry, visit. If you just want to hold the baby, delay your visit.

- If you want to do something with the baby, ASK. Don’t just say “I’ll hold the baby.” ASK THE MOTHER if you can. It’s just simple respect.

- Do not post pictures of people’s children on social media without their permission. I don’t care what your privacy settings are or how many friends you have. It’s incredibly disrespectful. And I mean ask every time, don’t just ask once and think it applies every time moving forward.

- Don’t share your problems with the mother. Her hormones are all over the place. She’s sleep deprived, emotional, and trying to hold it together. Even if it seems like she’s “okay,” still don’t. She doesn’t need the extra emotional burden of your problems at this time.

- If the parents have an older child (or children) and have asked you to be the caregiver for this child, listen to, care about, and follow any instructions or information the parents provide. No one loves grandparents more than I do (I still have a set of mine, and I adore them and have always done), and I understand grandparents spoil and indulge. They should! But there’s a time and a place. And a time of intense transition and upheaval, such as when a new sibling arrives, is not a vacation. The parents have asked you to help keep their older child’s life moving as smoothly as possible, so if you can’t respect that, or, more importantly, don’t want to or don’t think you should have to, delay your visit and allow them to ask someone who can.

- The absolute worst thing you can do is offer unsolicited advice. I don’t care how many kids you have, how great of a parent you think you are, or what your experience is, DO. NOT. OFFER. UNSOLICITED. ADVICE. of any kind, for any reason. I know you think you’re being helpful, but actually it’s insulting, and it’s hurtful. The parents also may be choosing to do things differently than you did. It doesn’t mean you did something wrong; everyone does the best they can with the information they have at the time. If you’re not sure if what you’re about to say is unsolicited advice or not, it probably is. When in doubt, keep your mouth closed. Practice saying “How can I help?” and “You’re doing great.”

Other parents, what would you add?

(Dedicated to Kathy, who breastfed five children but then accompanied me to a hospital lab waiting room where I struggled to breastfeed a 3-day-old Bert and sat there watching until I finally snapped, “Could ya help me?” at her. That’s how committed she is to not giving unsolicited advice. More importantly, I learned that the things above are as important as they are because she worked hard to do the “this” columns. Mom, your efforts did not go unnoticed.)

As Bert Turns Two

Last summer, on the morning of Bert's first birthday party, I sat down with a chalk marker and the birthday sign. You know the one: height, weight, number of teeth, "I love ...", "I can ..." 

Height? Got it. Number of teeth? Counted. "I love ..."? Super simple to fill out. 

But "I can ..." 

It became a lot more complicated. 

Like many parents, I spent the first few months of Bert's life documenting his "accomplishments" monthly. I can laugh. I can roll from back to front. I can blow raspberries. But as Bert got older, "I can ..." got a little harder. Bert couldn't sit up at 8 months. He couldn't crawl at 9 months. (Or 10 or 11.) And when his one year birthday came around, Bert could neither stand nor walk. 

So as I sat in front of that birthday sign last summer, I realized something: no longer would I be charting Bert's monthly "accomplishments." And if I had any more children (turns out I did), I would never begin finishing the "I can ..." line with anything related to something my child could do. Not because I was embarrassed or upset. Absolutely not. It's for a much, much bigger and more important reason: my child is not his accomplishments. 

Whether or not Bert can walk, run, score lots of goals, write his name, get straight As ... none of these things has absolutely anything to do with his dignity as a human person. They have nothing at all to do with who he really is. We love Bert because of who he IS not what he can do. It is wonderful to be proud of your child when he or she accomplishes something, but I never want Bert (or Hank) to think that our love for him or pride in him is dependent on his ability to accomplish certain things. 

So this year, as Bert turns two on Wednesday, I would like you to know that Bert can make strangers smile, make his parents laugh, and show concern for Hank when Hank is upset. He calls popsicles "popikeeps," calls TV "TT," calls Hank "Hink," and calls the Bible "Jesus." He is a bit of a class clown. So many, many things that perhaps cannot be quantified like motor development, but, to his dad and me, are much, much more important. 

Happy second birthday my darling boy. We love you because you're you. 

A Pool Called Bethesda

When Bert was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy back in April, one of the biggest challenges we faced was finding supports in the community. This is a different post for a different day, but it really surprised us that a doctor could tell us our son has CP and we would not immediately be provided with a list of things to do or support groups to join or activities for disabled children. We had to do a lot of work to actively seek these things out, and, indeed, we hit a lot of brick walls when email addresses we were given for groups and activities would come back undeliverable and websites would be defunct. 

One group we learned about was called AngelFish Georgia, which is a swim instruction group for children with disabilities of all kinds. We learned through the website that the instructors are specially trained, and what we read all sounded very promising. I didn't see a summer schedule on the website, so I sent an email to the email address listed, inquiring about the schedule and if there might be a spot for Bert. 

The next morning I happened to be up very early; I can't even remember why. But I woke up to an email response from the director of AngelFish. It sounded almost too good to be true: the director was so welcoming and encouraging, the cost was very low, and the information the director provided was thorough. The director informed me that lessons were held at a pool located in a local park called Bethesda. For the first time since Bert's diagnosis I felt hopeful about a community we could become a part of, but I still felt a little apprehensive since, again, it sounded too good to be true. 

After reading the email, I opened my Bible, hoping to get my day started off right. I opened to the Gospel of John to begin reading where I had left off the day before. The scripture that morning was this:

After this, there was a feast of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. Now there is in Jerusalem at the Sheep [Gate] a pool called in Hebrew Bethesda, with five porticoes. In these lay a large number of ill, blind, lame, and crippled. One man was there who had been ill for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had been ill for a long time, he said to him, "Do you want to be well?" The sick man answered him, "Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; while I am on my way, someone else gets down there before me." Jesus said to him, "Rise, take up your mat, and walk." Immediately the man became well, took up his mat, and walked.

- John 5:1-9 (New American Bible, Revised Edition read in the Blessed is She Bible) 

A pool called Bethesda ... a large number of ill, blind, lame, and crippled ... Jesus said to him, "Rise, take up your mat, and walk." 

I couldn't get through it without crying, just as I can't get through it without crying now. I just knew God had His hand in this, and it was yet another reminder that I might love my son more than anything, but God loves him more. 

The Birth of Hank

Sitting down to write Hank's birth story is a funny exercise because it couldn't be more different than Bert's, and we still can't believe it. 

If you remember Bert's birth story, parts one and two, or you were part of our lives during that time, you may remember that he arrived at 39 weeks after my water broke at Home Depot, and my labor was long and arduous. Bert's heart rate kept dropping throughout labor, and the only remedy was me lying on my side in a weird and uncomfortable position, not being allowed to move at all, not even to sit up for two minutes to put my contact lenses in. That labor was followed by Bert being born at a low body temperature, with jaundice and polycythemia, the last of which would cause him to go on to be hospitalized at Children's Healthcare of Atlanta for several days during his first week of life. His blood sugar kept crashing, and he failed three hearing tests in the hospital. In short, there was nothing about Bert's labor and delivery that wasn't terrifying and difficult. Of course, if you've been part of Bert's story since that time, you also know that he was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy in April, after having had a diagnosed global development delay since he was nine months old. 

After all of that, Joe and I were pretty terrified for Hank's labor and delivery (and life!), to put it mildly. 

We had an extra long time to be scared, as Hank wouldn't budge and had no intention to! My mom came down to stay with us and care for Bert right before I turned 39 weeks. We figured, well, Bert was born at 39 weeks and typically first children come later, right?

Wrong. 

And honestly, I should have known better. Bert constantly moved moved moved in my belly, and Hank barely ever did. I mean, he moved enough that I knew he was alive and safe, but mostly he was just always curled up. I had at least five ultrasounds for various medical reasons this pregnancy, and in every.single.one. Hank would not cooperate. In fact one ultrasound tech told me that Hank was "the most uncooperative baby" she had seen in a while. He was just always curled up and didn't want to be bothered. 

So he was not going to be bothered to come out either. 

I went to my weekly appointments, everything was fine, Hank and I were both healthy. 

So we all just kept on waiting. 

On Friday, June 18, when I was 40 weeks and 4 days, I saw my doctor, and she said she'd see me again Monday, when I'd be 41 weeks, and we'd reevaluate then. She said I could go all the way to 42 weeks if I wanted. I held steady over the weekend, and when I went in on Monday everything still looked good. Joe and I had discussed it over the weekend, and we decided to do an induction on Wednesday, checking into the hospital on Tuesday night. I do believe that letting babies come when they are ready is best, and there were a lot of factors that went into this decision (that involved no pressure from my practice), and I was super nervous about making the right decision. But the reality was that Hank had to come out sometime. And a major factor that went into our decision was that the wonderful Rachel was working Thursday and Friday, so if we had a baby Wednesday she'd be the person who cared for us both days during our stay. And knowing she would be there gave us so much peace. 

So we checked in Tuesday night at 8 p.m. (after a delish dinner of Chick-Fil-A!) The induction medication was given to me at 9:30 p.m. and the plan was to leave it in till 9:30 a.m. Joe and I both got some sleep, and I woke up around 7 a.m. I went to the bathroom and put my contacts in, then as I was lying back down in bed the contractions started. I watched the clock, and they were coming every three minutes. So the nurse took the medication out around 7:30 a.m., my water broke on its own, and I got my epidural shortly after. Joe and I played trivia (and he also said some crazy nonsense). The contractions spread out, so I got some Pitocin. (I also found out one of my favorite nurse midwives from my practice was on delivery that day, so I was pretty excited.) I was 9 cm dilated, but that's when things stalled out, and I kind of hung out in this limbo for awhile. Although Hank's heart rate dropped a couple times, it was not nearly the crazy crisis that Bert's situation was, and just some simple position changes helped him. Around 3:30 p.m. Joe and I were both listening to some music on our respective phones. I had been given a little extra medication from anesthesiology so I felt just fine. My nurse midwife came in and checked me ... still at 9. Then she told me that Hank was in a weird position; his face was facing sideways. Then she got my nurse (who was also awesome) and was like, "You know what? Let's just try a push on the next contraction, and we'll see what happens." She gave me a quick pushing tutorial, and we went for it on the next contraction. Quickly, both my midwife and the nurse were like -- "Yep, okay, stop. Get everyone in here. It's time." And Joe and I were like, "Okay?" So I basically had to hand Joe my phone and earbuds, and he put them and his own stuff aside and stood up and came over, and I kid you not, Hank was born a few minutes later after three rounds of pushes! My midwife was like, "Man, we could have done this in two if he weren't facing the wrong way!" So I basically went from I'm listening to music on my phone to look I'm holding a baby in about five minutes. There were a couple concerns about Hank's respiration rate (too high) and his blood sugar (too low) over the next several hours, but, again, nothing was nearly at the level that Bert's concerns were. His respiration rate lowered, his blood sugar regulated, he passed his hearing test on the first try, his bilirubin levels were fine. 

In short, nothing happened. No drama at all. 

Joe and I repeatedly looked at each other and said some version of, "This really happens? Like people go to the hospital, have an easy labor, deliver their babies with little trouble, and they're fine? Like, they just go home?" We are honestly still in shock about the whole thing. 

We left on Friday and just ... went home. When he saw his pediatrician on Monday, she said, "Hank is 100 percent healthy." Joe and I have never heard that from a doctor about one of our children before. 

So that's how Hank got here!

***

 

As I read what I wrote above, the immediate word I think of is "boring." I feel like the writing is sub-par, and the story is boring. I mean, it's exciting that Hank has arrived, but overall that story is not at all compelling. But I feel like, in reality, it really was, so I couldn't figure out what was wrong. 

And then something happened that made me realize why. 

A week after Hank came home from the hospital, I had to take him to the Saturday hours clinic at our pediatric practice because he had a little issue with his umbilical cord. (Okay, so maybe Hank did have one small health hiccup, but, and it has to be said, Bert had this same issue, but his resulted in a visit to the surgeon at the children's hospital and a chemical burn, and Hank's ended in his issue going away, so, once again, easy peasy.) I had to drive Hank there by myself because Joe had to be with Bert. I got in the car, hooked up my phone, and hit "play" on iTunes. A song came on, and I started tearing up. I couldn't figure out why, and then it hit me... 

The last time I had listened to music on my phone was minutes before I delivered Hank, so my phone automatically started playing the last song I had been listening to. That song was "The Fighter" by Gym Class Heroes. This was the last song I heard before Hank arrived, and hearing it took me right back. As I listened to it, I realized: the story of my labor and delivery of Hank is not really the story of how Hank got here. The story of Hank's arrival into the world is really about the choice we made to have him. 

The first week we took Bert to his adaptive swim class, I learned that his classmate who has Down Syndrome had a 5-month-old sister. I also learned about other families of children with Cerebral Palsy, Down Syndrome, and rare genetic conditions who also have children younger than the child with the disability. I told Joe I was so inspired by how these families chose to have more children even after their first child was diagnosed with a disability. It just gave me so much hope because the reason you chose to do that is hope. Then I was like, "Wait a minute. That's us. We did that too." Although Bert wasn't officially diagnosed with a disability until I was about seven months pregnant with Hank, we knew Bert had a developmental delay and required physical therapy months before we decided to try for another baby. 

As I listened to "The Fighter" while driving Hank to the doctor that day, I cried because I realized -- that's me. I am a fighter. And it's okay for me to be proud of myself for that. 

During the first trimester of my pregnancy with Hank, I spent tons of time on the phone with various people, fighting for Bert to receive in-person therapy instead of virtual. I would be lying on the couch while Bert took his afternoon nap, not napping myself, but making phone calls. Then I'd go throw up pasta while trying to take a shower because I couldn't make it out of the shower and to the toilet in time. During my pregnancy I took Bert to Atlanta (40 miles each way) to see his neurologist. One of those times Joe was out of town, so I drove him myself (at rush hour). Both of those times, I took Bert inside to his appointment by myself because the doctor was enforcing a one-parent-only rule due to COVID. At the second appointment, I was alone while I was told by the doctor that my child had Cerebral Palsy. Until Bert learned to walk in April, I carried him everywhere. I loaded him in the car and took him back out again. I lifted him into shopping carts, his bed, and the bathtub. I carried him up and down stairs. I carried him into doctor's appointments and physical therapy. I took care of him alone when Joe would go out of town for work. Every single OB appointment I had -- including ultrasounds -- I went to by myself because Joe was not allowed to go due to COVID rules. I took Bert to his MRIs, and before that, I fought to get the children's hospital to allow both Joe and me to accompany him (COVID again). I called several cord blood banks, trying to see if any of them would offer us free or lower-cost banking of Hank's cord blood because of Bert's CP. I filled out the paperwork needed for that. I sought out, obtained, and filled out over 60 pages of paperwork to apply to get Bert extra health care through the state, which required driving papers to his pediatrician to fill out (which I was doing after Hank's due date had already passed in order to meet a firm deadline). 

All pregnancies are hard. All parents work hard for their children. I believe both of those things. But when I think back to my pregnancy with Hank and all I had to do and go through, I think: that was HARD. And that was me. Me. I did that. I got up every day and did that. 

And THAT is the story of Hank. It's not really about his labor and delivery. It's that we ever chose to bring him here to begin with. 

Give 'em hell, turn their heads

Gonna live life till we're dead

Give me scars, give me pain

Then they'll say to me, say to me, say to me

There goes a fighter

There goes a fighter

Here comes a fighter 

That's what they'll say to me, say to me, say to me

This one's a fighter

Father Jack

Bert says several words that he associates with church: God, “cheech” (church), and Jesus. (I attribute this to divine intervention as well as the fact he was born on the feast day of Saint John Vianney and definitely not to anything Joe and I have done. 😂) Lately, though, when talking about “cheech” he has begun saying another word that sounds like “dack.” Honestly, it sounds like what he says for dog and duck, and I have been struggling to figure out how dogs or ducks fit on a list with God, church, and Jesus.

Until yesterday.

As he was reciting his litany: God, cheech, dack, Jesus, I finally realized … “dack” is “Father Jack” the  outstanding priest at our amazing church, Saint Monica. I love how Bert smiles when he knows we have FINALLY realized what it is he’s been trying to tell us all along: God, church, Father Jack, and Jesus. (In that order, I’ll add!)

Gifts for Expectant Moms

My life can be boiled down to one main thing right now: waiting.

I feel like hanging a sign around my neck that says “I feel okay. Yes, I’m still pregnant. No, I don’t know when he’s coming.” 😂 What’s funny is that baby 2 isn’t even due till Monday, so I’m not even late! But Bert came at 39 weeks, 1 day, so this is officially the longest I’ve ever been pregnant.

While I’m waiting, I thought I’d write a little something about gifts for an expectant mom who is still in this late third trimester period of waiting. A year ago I wrote a piece on nine things new moms need at home, but today’s mini-list is specifically for moms whose babies aren’t here quite yet and who could desperately use a little pick-me-up.

Here’s my advice:

- A convenience bag. I didn’t even know this was a thing, but I happened to see one last month on Amazon. Essentially it’s a bag that holds everything a new mom would need for the hospital: shampoo, conditioner, deodorant, toothbrush, toothpaste, etc. ALL IN ONE BAG! Now she doesn’t have to assemble one herself. I got mine on Amazon for less than $20!

- Meals! Sure, it’s great and very much appreciated to take new moms meals after the baby is born, but my friend Lyndsey brought us a meal last weekend, and man did l appreciate it. My worst, most exhausted time of day is dinnertime to bed time, and not having to think about dinner is GREAT!

- A gift card for a haircut. If you know where mom likes to get her hair cut, get her a gift card! Who knows when she’ll have time to get her next cut after baby gets here, so giving her the gift of one now is priceless.

- A gift card for a pedicure. Not only does the water and relaxation feel amazing, but frequently mom’s feet are swollen both before and after pregnancy, and it can make her feel so much nicer to look at those puffy, swollen feet with some pretty polish. If she has a place she likes to go, perfect. If she doesn’t or you don’t know, research something with good reviews close to her house!

Moms, what would you add? 

The Meaning of "Brave"

I hear adults call children “brave” or “fearless” all the time when they easily want to do new things as little ones — things like jump into the pool, slide down a big slide, or swing on the swings.

I think it’s just as brave when a child listens to his or her own body and heart and is a bit more tentative at first to try something new.

Bert is an active child for sure, but it takes him a few exposures before he is comfortable trying something new like pools or slides or swings. It’s just his personality, the way God created him. And it’s a fine way to be. It doesn’t make him any less adventurous, brave, cool, or fun.

Parents of other children who bravely listen to their bodies that say “not yet” at first — your kids are brave too. How many of us as adults don’t listen to our own guts sometimes?

The Gift of Slowing Down

Our world puts such an emphasis on speed. We want our question answered NOW, we want our drive-thru coffee NOW, and we better not have to wait more than .001 of a second for that webpage to load.

I am so guilty of this myself. Sometimes it is harmless (although patience is a virtue, and it’s one I need to cultivate), but I’ve recently noticed a GLARING place in my life where me wanting things on my schedule is not harmless; in fact, it is extremely harmful. And that is with Bert.

Bert is a toddler, as well as a developing walker, so needless to say he is not bound by any schedule. This means that when I ask him to walk to the car so we can head to the grocery store/library/church, in my head I mean WALK 👏🏻 TO 👏🏻 THE 👏🏻 CAR 👏🏻, but in Bert’s head this means “Collect two monster trucks, say bye to Jane Austen, say ‘car’ 15 times without actually heading there, get sidetracked by three things in the garage, watch the garage door go up, ask if Owen (his friend) is coming, happen to catch a glance of an airplane flying by ...” You get what I’m saying.

This happens any number of times in any number of situations throughout the day: going to the car, walking up the steps for a nap, heading to the kitchen to eat lunch. Bert is just strolling along living his life, while I am usually looking at the ceiling and whining some version of “BERT PLEASE JUST GOOOOOO.”

I’ve been doing this far longer than I care to admit before finally realizing the other day how bad I’ve gotten. I had to take a hard look at myself and ask myself why I am so bothered by Bert’s dilly-dallying and refusal to follow my time schedule (if you ask me) or enjoying a slow pace of life (if you ask him) — the answer was in the question.

Bert is not over here trying to make us late for the doctor. He is a new little person who is learning about and noticing things in the world for the first time. My responsibility is to leave us enough time to get where we need to go on time. And truthfully, how often do we really HAVE to be somewhere on time? Church, therapy, the doctor, sure, but those things are far less frequent than nap, lunch, or playing outside with a friend.

Bert is laid back, and he likes to say goodbye to Jane, take detours to kiss his trucks good night, and touch a few things in the garage on the way to the car. It’s frequently maddening to me — someone who just wants to GET. THINGS. DONE. NOW. — but for Bert, it’s who he is. It’s not a sign of disrespect, lack of caring, or some other negative thing. It’s him enjoying the wonder of a world that is so new and fun to him.

It is likely that, like the rest of us, he will one day experience the stress and anxiety of a fast-paced world where everything is NOW NOW NOW. But I don’t need to force that upon him at age not-quite-two by pressuring him to walk a little faster to the steps for nap time. Even more so, I don’t need to be the cause of his stress or anxiety because he senses I am upset with him but has no idea why. Instead, it is I who should learn from Bert and slow down a bit, maybe take a look at what is just so necessary about making sure you have a monster truck in each hand before getting into the car.

I think there is a beautiful secret there that he knows and has been trying to tell me. Bert, I’m listening now.

Proof of Mom

I’m bigger this pregnancy than last, I’ve always hated how my nose looks in profile, and is it just me or does everyone think their hair looks better in the mirror than it actually does?! 

But I recently read busytoddler talk about #proofofmom — about us moms getting in pictures and not just being behind the camera. Most pictures of Bert are him alone or him with Joe, and I’m usually the one taking them. It’s like I don’t even exist in the record of my own family. It has to stop. Joe took these two recently, and I treasure them both. 

Bert

Our son Robert David has been hearing since the hour he was born about all the things that are “wrong” with him: as a newborn, he had the wrong body temperature, the wrong blood sugar level, the wrong amount of bilirubin in his body, the wrong amount of red blood cells in his blood, and the wrong hearing. As he grew, he learned that he was behind in sitting, crawling, transitioning, clapping, standing, cruising, talking, and walking. 

What we know about Bert is that he excels in areas that are not measured at doctors’ offices or on growth charts. Bert is funny, silly, kind, friendly, loving, and personable. He can signal a touchdown, fake sneeze, blow a kiss, and point out his Pap Pap in a picture. Bert loves to dance, look out an open window, and play outside. 

Bert was recently diagnosed with spastic diplegia, which is a common form of Cerebral Palsy. CP is a physical disability that affects movement. This means that he has increased muscle tone in his legs, making his leg muscles stiff. Consequently, his movements may appear stiff or awkward. Cerebral Palsy is caused by a brain injury. As Bert’s physical therapist has said, his legs contain normal muscles that are receiving an abnormal message. Some children with CP have accompanying issues such as seizures, learning differences, and speech and language difficulties. We don’t yet know if Bert will experience any of those things. In most cases, CP is caused by a brain injury that occurs during pregnancy. We do not know what caused Bert’s CP, and it is likely we will never know. A wonderful thing is that CP is not degenerative, which means although his symptoms might manifest differently in the future, his brain cannot get worse. Another positive thing is that Bert’s neurologist has said that Bert is “bright and happy” and that he is “doing great.” 

Right now, Bert has no idea that he is different. All he knows is that he has “dinosaur shoes” (one foot in an SMO and one in an AFO) that will make him “strong like a dinosaur.” He knows that he and his best friend Asha both have stiff leg muscles and a hard time walking. He knows that he and his best friend Jane Austen move through the world in exactly the same way: with four limbs on the ground. (Although Bert is slowly learning to walk on his two legs!) 

While we don’t know what Cerebral Palsy means for Bert — every child who has CP presents in a different way, and it’s impossible for doctors to predict what life will be like for Bert 5, 10, 15 years from now — we know what it DOESN’T mean. It doesn’t mean that he will never go to Catholic school, play football, get married, or run in the backyard with his dogs. 

As Bert’s family and friends, here is what we need from you:

- Please do not speak about Bert’s future any differently. If you have always talked about Bert playing football for the Mountaineers, going skiing, or being an astronaut, please keep saying those things to him and about him. It’s not fair to limit the dreams of a child, especially one who is not yet two. There are lots of athletes, actors, and artists who have CP. 

- Please do not treat Bert any differently than you would if he didn’t have CP. Bert does not need extra toys or gifts, and he needs to learn manners and be lovingly disciplined. Treating him differently is not fair to him, to us, or, especially, to his not-yet-born baby brother. 

- If you have children or know children around Bert’s age, please start talking to them about children who aren’t the same as they are (if you haven’t already). Bert might not walk or run quite the same as his peers, and it would be great if he were surrounded by friends who didn’t care that he was different. There are a lot of great books for this — we’re still discovering them! —  but one we really like is called Giraffes Can’t Dance by Giles Andreae, which is about a giraffe who walks and dances differently than the other animals. We also like a book sent to Bert by his aunts Erin and Emma that is called The World Needs Who You Were Made to Be by Joanna Gaines.

- Don’t read everything on the internet. Many websites about CP are run by law firms that want to help parents sue their birth hospitals or doctors. If you want more information about Bert’s diagnosis, one good website is the Cerebral Palsy Foundation. 

Please pray for Bert. Of course, we’d love a healing miracle (we’re asking for the intercession of Blessed Fulton Sheen), but more importantly we just want Bert to have the best care and the best life. And pray for us, too. Not only do we need prayers to be the best parents we can be for Bert, but also, as you might imagine, it is a little bit scary to think of going back to the hospital to have another baby boy in a few short weeks. 

Thank you for being there for us, for asking about Bert, and for praying for us. Please don’t ever worry about saying the “right” thing — there really is no right thing. We just need you to truly listen and to care. We don’t need toxic positivity (“Everything will be okay! Don’t worry!”) or comparison statements (“You’re lucky it’s not worse!”). If you are a loved one who has a child or is expecting a child or is planning for a child, please don’t hide your child’s milestones from us. Your child sitting, walking, or talking doesn’t take anything from Bert, and we will celebrate your child’s accomplishments with you. 

We are blessed in so many ways: among many other things, we have wonderful family and friends, we have the knowledge and desire to care for Bert, we have the resources and support to help provide Bert with what he needs, we have wonderful doctors and therapists, Bert has a mother who is a teacher and knows other educators, and we have a close family member (Emma) who has a master’s degree in recreational therapy and knows exactly how to help Bert enjoy regular activities.

Our hope is that Bert’s life will be a testimony to — and a reminder of — the One who made lame men walk. 

We really appreciate all of you. Feel free to ask us any questions that you have.

Love,

Joe and Anna 

The Lord gives and the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord. 

- Job 1:21

I prayed for this child, and the Lord has given me what I asked of Him. 

Now I, in turn, give him to the Lord. For his whole life he will be given over to the Lord.

- 1 Samuel 1:27-28

Well Hey There!

A Midnight Society Christmas story club. A "Backlist Book Club." A holiday gift-giving guide.

These are just a few of the many, many (MANY) ideas I had sketched out, scheduled, and prepared to post on my blog this fall and winter. And then. 

And then ... I found out I was expecting a second baby. And I proceeded to spend most of November and December (and some of January) sick, sick, sick and just trying to survive the absolute bare minimums of my life. Needless to say, writing and following a blogging schedule quickly fell off the list. As sad as that made me, I realized that taking care of myself was the number one priority at that time, and that my blog ideas could easily transfer to the future. 

On top of expecting a new baby, we also recently received some news about our first baby, Bert, and that news brought with it a new list of things to think about and accomplish, so that has really been keeping me occupied over the past few months. I am preparing some words about that and will talk about it soon. 

Now, less than three weeks from my due date, I have finally found a few minutes to type this out and post it. In case there's anyone left out there, I wanted you to know why I've been gone, but that I'm not gone for good. I hope to "see" you soon! 

Our Trip to the Orchard

For the past two falls, Joe and I have taken Bert to a family-owned apple orchard to pick apples and enjoy the season. The orchard we go to is about an hour north of here, and the drive to get there is beautiful. It was a beautiful day -- not too hot and not too cold -- and we enjoyed our time picking apples, looking at pumpkins, and buying some donuts, cider, and cherry apple jam, too! 

Afterwards, Joe took me to a nearby winery that is special to us. Joe took me to this same winery during my first trip to Georgia in November 2016 after he and I had just started dating. We took a photo that year, then last year we took another with baby Bert standing in the same spot, and this year we took another. The photos are a beautiful reminder of how unexpected life can be. 

We enjoy our annual trip to the orchard for some easy and festive family fun. We hope to make it a family tradition. 

We found an adorable Bert-sized apple for him to snack on!

Can you believe how much this little guy has changed in a year?

Top: this year, Bottom Left: when Joe and I were dating in 2016, Bottom Right: fall 2018 with baby Bert.