We bring these little people into the world, and we want everything to be perfect for them. Our mama hearts break because our mama heads know that life will never be perfect– there will be struggles and trials, heartaches and tears, broken bones and broken relationships.
And all we want to do is protect them, to take their hurts and their pains and their sorrows and give them lives full of rainbows and puppy dogs and sunshine and happiness.
Some mamas have babies with cancer and heart defects, and some mamas never hold their babies this side of heaven, and some mamas pray for babies on the other side of the world, not home yet. These things break my heart and make me cry and hold my own children a little closer. They make my problems, and the little griefs and sorrows of my healthy and present children seem a lot smaller.
It was more than two years ago that we knew something was wrong with her beautiful baby blues.
She went to her pediatrician, and then to a pediatric ophthalmologist, and my heart broke a little bit when she said glasses.
Of course she was sweet and precious, and the glasses helped, but she was ten months old in glasses, and it made this heart sad. But she grew and she thrived and she was healthy and chatty and busy and then . . .
Last fall, Dr. S. said bifocals. And patching.
Even with the extra help, that darn left eye just kept doing its own thing. And last month, the doctor said what I’d been dreading but expecting . . .
She will go in next Thursday, April 19th, to correct the strabismus in both of her eyes. Although the turning-in is usually only noticeable on her weaker eye, her stronger right eye is also guilty of crossing in when it is at rest. The doctor will weaken the inner muscles of her eyes to help them align properly. She will still need glasses although she may not need bifocals. She may need further surgery down the road.
It hurts my heart.
Will you pray with me? That the surgery will be scheduled for an early time slot, since she can’t eat beforehand and will be very difficult to deal with? That one surgery will correct the problem? That she will stay healthy in the next nine days? That I will have peace?
If I could . . . they’d put me under instead of her. She’s my baby.
She’s HIS baby too. And even though I can’t be with her, He can.
So grateful for hope. For Him.