Less Than Perfect

Tonight I was watching "The Practice" which is one of my very favorite series.  The leading lady, Addison, is a doctor who delivers babies, but more importantly she deals mostly with pregnancies with difficult circumstances.  So in this episode a former patient sues Addison for not recommending that she have an abortion.  During the pregnancy Addison diagnosed the baby with Spina Bifida.  She performed an in-utero surgery, a new procedure, and in fact it worked out well.  The child was able to do more than a lot of children with the disease.

Sadly, this was not enough for the mother.  Caring for a child with a disability is difficult and she couldn't handle it.  The thing that really irks me is that one of the other doctors in Addison's practice says that some women just can't handle raising a child that is, "less than perfect."  This description of disabled children makes me angry beyond belief.

My little boy has Cerebral Palsy and I would NEVER describe him as less than perfect.  He is a miracle. Plain and simple, he is AMAZING.  I guess my definition of perfect is just different than some people's. To me, perfect is the boy that can't move the way "normal" people can but who wakes up every day with a huge smile on his face and conquers tasks that most people take for granted.  Perfect is the child that works ten times harder than "normal" children to perform tasks they do easily because he has more determination than most people have ever seen.

I ask you this.  How often do you see a child with a physical or mental disability looking unhappy?  A whole lot less often than other kids!  I rarely see one of these little angels looking anything but happy.  They are a gift from God and I feel truly blessed that he saw me as a fit person to raise one of these special, and absolutely wonderful, differently-abled children.  My little boy is the light of my life and the light of many other lives as well.  He makes people smile wherever he goes and I am proud to call him my son.

Time to Reconnect

I was reading a friend's blog today and it made me realize something about myself.  I'm a lot more selfish than I ever thought or cared to admit.  This woman has been my friend since we were seven years old, we were even born in the same month.  That is a total of 25 years, and yet for the last 10-12 of those I barely know anything about what her life has become or who she is now.  I'm ashamed of that.

After thinking about it some more I realized that I have a few other friends, though none so close, that I have lost contact with for the most part because I've been too wrapped up in my own troubles to ask about THEIR lives.  So today I'm going to change that.  I'm going to check in on my dear pals at least once a week  by email and try to get over my major dislike of the telephone.

To the friend I mentioned above: You know who you are and I am truly sorry that we have grown so far apart over the last several years.  You are like a sister to me and I love you with all my heart.  I'm sorry I haven't been there for you and I hope that we can change that and get back to talking about everything under the sun like we used to.

Oh The Confusion

Those of you who know me best know that when I've had a drink or two I get a bit nostalgic.  Sometimes I look through old yearbooks or Google friends that I haven't seen in ages to see what they are up to.  So last night I decided to look up Michael's biological dad, or as I like to call him "sperm donor".  It turns out he has another son.  At first when I saw the photos I thought it was good that he appeared to have grown up enough to be a good dad to that boy.  Next my mood shifted to anger that he never showed that kind of interest in OUR son.  And then it hit me...my child has a brother out there somewhere that he will probably never get to meet.  How do I even begin to process that?

I don't know at what age I will tell Michael, or how for that matter.  I just know that my poor son has already dealt with so much of the emotional fallout that comes with being abandoned by a parent and it breaks my heart thinking that there is more yet to be piled on.