When I Met You…

When I Met You…

When I first met you, I had no idea the impact you would have on my life. I mean we were literally babies. We don’t even look, speak, nor act like the individuals we used to be. We both turned 31 years this year (being as we’re only 2 weeks apart) and we met when we were about 15 years old.

After the math?

I’ve known you for more than half my short life.

img_4652.jpg

Sheesus! Who are these people?!

The only thing I can say is that if I knew then, what I know now… I would have done sooo many things differently. And yet, I still feel like maybe I wouldn’t change a thing. We’ve been through so much over the last sixteen years.

But let’s start at the beginning:

We met at the PetShop (and it’s pronounced just like that, all in one word). If you know the Roque girls, and you also know the PetShop, you my friend know of some hella crazy times.

So… boy gets arrested, boy does community service with the policemen. Policeman sees he’s a good kid and just needs a little guidance, offers him a job at the PetShop.

Yep, that policeman was my dad. So yeah, I guess you could say my dad introduced us. Although, I don’t think any of us understood the impact of those small events until now, years later. So he got a job at the Petshop, and it just so happens that where we spent the majority of our time. With our mom, playing with the pets and stealing the money out the cash box to spend at the dollar store or salon down in the same shopping center. We are girls, and we were bored.

Over the years we’ve cultivated a friendship that would surpass anything. We’ve been through extreme highs and extreme lows — when we were nothing but friends. I’ve lost count of the number of times over the years that my best friend (now my husband) has saved my ass. From being belligerently drunk, and from the brinks of suicide, from cocaine highs that lasted weeks at a time, and depression lows that would keep buried for weeks. He’s sat with me through hyperventilating panic attacks as my parents rushed me to the ER, and held my hand every second we welcomed our two sons into the world.

 

He knows me better than I know me.

He knows that I can be funny, cute and charming — but put one toe out of line and I’ll cut your jugular motherf*cker.

And don’t think that I won’t.

He knows each of the me’s I have created over the years, and now? When I’m just simple me, we can laugh at all of my previous antics. And we don’t just get to reminisce on small moments, we can reminisce on everything because he has been there for me through it all. 

And now? I can’t picture doing this crazy thing called parenthood with anyone else.

He’s my person.

 

 

Sorry for our absence…

Sorry for our absence…

Things have been like super hella crazy around here, and thus our site has been eerily silent. I don’t even know where to begin to describe what our life has been like for the past two months. Sooooo much has happened that it’s impossible to think of just where to start. We hit milestones, we went through extreme lows, and then we came out the other end better people.

The biggest milestone?

Logan turned One.

Over the last few months, he’s grown and learned so much, and yet I still feel like with him time stands still, and he’s going to be my baby forever. The way he crawls all over the house makes me so proud, I laugh when my mom calls him “una cucaracha mala”. He can now come up to a tall knee position and is crushing every obstacle course Diana builds for him. We’ve discovered how to bang maracas together, and honestly,  it is the most magical thing I’ve ever seen.

Over the last few months, we’ve also discovered so many new things such as bathtubs, the beach, and plenty of new public outings like aquariums and brunches. We’ve learned how to say da da da, to hold our own bottle, we’ve made so many new friends, and we’re beginning to experiment with soft solids.

Making huge progress.

In so many ways I feel like each day is the same and we are getting nowhere. Still no clapping, still no waving, still no walking. But then I think of how far he has come, how he can now respond to simple words such as “up” and “come”, how he loves playing with his brother, how he can successfully bang items together… and don’t even get me started on his feeding accomplishments!

The more days go by, the prouder I become of my little wolverine. He’s accomplished so much, and likewise given me so much to learn and grow from. He’s quite possibly the best decision I have ever made, and the most fun I have ever had.

Mom

Speech Therapy Evaluation

Speech Therapy Evaluation

I feel like lately, it’s just one doctor, and one evaluation, and another doctor, and another evaluation… referrals, prescriptions, and doctor visits. Round and round we go. I’m drowning in them. But that’s what this stage of my life is going to be like, right? I knew to expect this and I knew that at this stage, I would be dedicating myself to this sole purpose. For his betterment, because at the end of the day, when you’re a mom, everything you do is for your kids, and to put them forward.

Speech therapy, but my kid doesn’t even speak? I didn’t get it? I didn’t understand how he could already have a delay in an area I didn’t even know to begin practicing. But then I think back to Evan, and what that was like. How he communicated with me at this stage, and the radical difference I see in the development of both my sons.

Logan turns 1 at the end of this month, and there are many areas within his communication skills that he’s falling behind on. There was so much information I absorbed in the 60 minutes that Logan was evaluated.

At first, came the usual onslaught of questions about Logan, from pre-birth to birth, to first months… and so on until where we are today. We’ve been working hard with Logan’s ITDS to have him combine consonant syllable sounds repeatedly, for months, and so far we have no success.

And yes, we know how to tell what Logan wants when he wants it because we know how to distinguish his cry, but that’s about it. Otherwise, his communication skills with us are very minimal or like nil to none.

But I didn’t think anything of this. Why? Sometimes, I forget Logan is turning one because his milestones are telling me my baby is 6 or 7mo. old. He’s just learned to crawl, were just beginning to explore solids, and we can finally sit unassisted on our own. But we still have a long way to go in terms of keeping up with the delay.

He has begun to have exploratory skills in the 6-9mo. levels. However, in his own range, he scored very minimal scattered skills. There are certain areas and skills where he does have full competency, like in the 0-3mo. range.

Well, thank god!

But ask me if Logan can point out his momma?

-Nope.

Or does he understand simple words?

-Nope.

He also has difficulty bringing his arms together repeatedly at mid-line. In other words, no matter how hard we practice, he still doesn’t clap. And listen, I practice that clap…. every. day.

Every. Damn. Day.

We continue to practice all kinds of skills daily, as we incorporate books, photos, and images to help him start recognizing the language. We encourage hand signals like “up” and “bye-bye”, and what’s most important is that we continue to work as a unit, making sure Logan gets the daily stimulation he needs.

But, hey, were working on it! And eventually, as with all things, he will get there.

And that’s the most important thing that I have to keep reminding myself, and telling myself… repeatedly.

He will get there.

All things in life are a phase, and this too shall pass.

After our evaluation, the therapist is suggesting we go full steam ahead and do 30 minute sessions, 3x a week.

We are currently doing PT & OT for a combined total of 3 hours a week, with our latest recommendations for feeding and speech, we’ll be doubling that number to 6 hours a week.

But this is for him, his betterment, and his benefit, and really there isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be.

 

-JG

 

 

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Learning the Art of Togetherness 

It seems as though my entire life has just been one giant fucking complication. This might sound like if I’m complaining to you, but I can honestly say it’s just the facts. You could say that from the moment of my conception, through my birth and early years, and especially in the years as I transitioned into an adult (if you could even call me that) my life has always been complicated. And, you know it’s not just my life that is complicated, it’s me. I myself am complicated. Furthermore, I complicate every situation around me to no end. What can I say? If there were a special course to teach people how to complicate their lives, I would be the professor. Never can I have just one simple day or moment. Decisions are long and drawn out because the indecisiveness of my mind is vast and never-ending.  The multitude of “what-if” situations never ceases to play like a movie reel in my mind. The possibilities of what can happen to me are endless, and therefore my mind is always on the defensive, and I strive for ways in which I can avoid the unavoidable. My cup is always half empty and I strive for the bare minimum of effort possible. I am lethargic, defensive and aggressive. You would think growing up with a bunch of do-gooders I would have come out striving to achieve the best of the best. Quite the opposite really, I’m content to relax and let others do the hard work, me? I’d rather sit back and eat a whole box of donuts (Munchies! They get me every time!). This wasn’t always the case; I wasn’t always so tired and content to let my life pass me by.

In our home growing up, and still to this day, there has been a Mom who is madly and irrevocably (against her better wishes) in love with the Dad, who feels quite the same about mom. And so Mom and Dad had Four Daughters. One Lawyer, Two Teachers, and Me. This is the small circle that consists of my childhood family. Together we have everything we need in this world to be happy, with our collection of animals and kids. Over the years our small family has grown to include three more, as dad got the sons he never wanted. Some have come and gone over the years, but only a few have been permanent. Add to that how we’ve been multiplying through procreation, and we’re a big unit now.

Growing up, I was that kid on the playground making all the rules. The one who ran the block and made the decisions in her group. If you couldn’t keep up, you weren’t good enough or smart enough to hang with me and my kids. My conniving scheming days started in first grade Christian School when I attempted to write my own excuse letter for not having done my homework, or when I was reprimanded in second grade for attempting to cheat on my math test. Our personal favorite was when the decrepit old Crane threatened to paddle me in third grade for writing a bad food critique about the cafeteria food — utilizing only cuss words. In personal education, I was the girl who was excused for her “serious” heart condition (not that serious), and the one who always got to sit out during the mile run. Still, to this day I cannot run a mile under fifteen minutes. Pathetic, I know. I had more growing up than just street creds on the playground, I also had three other sisters to come home to at night, and we would spend countless hours doing those things that only girls know how to do. Barbie villages would overtake the biggest of our rooms and we would set up shop. There would be dream houses, beach houses, grocery stores, and malls. Convertibles parked in each lot, and shoes, clothes, and accessories strewn throughout the hallways. Whole camping sites, airports and communities would be constructed within hours. By the time we were done bringing it all out, we just wanted to play outside. So out we would run to chase after the ice cream man, who coincidentally would allow me to run a tab with him. Endless days of ice cream, candies, and games out on the pavement led to the wild days of my youth as we ran through the neighborhoods on our bikes, threw ourselves high into the air from the trampoline, or watched the sunrise as we played endlessly into the night on our Super Nintendo, Nintendo64, and so on and so forth. You name it, we had it.

It was in these early years of strict Christian teaching that my love for books was born. I was the nerdy one who was years ahead of her reading level, the girl who treasured her library card, and who would strive to read all the books in the class, and then some. In third grade reading books would no longer satisfy my craving for the mixture of words into a story. I began to crave to make my own output. I needed an outlet for my creativity as the more stories I read, the more I wanted to create some of my own. My earliest creations were crude and rudimentary at best considering I was only 6 years old and could write at a 5th-grade reading level. In those early years, my life was so consumed by words that I was soon running out of appropriate reading material, to the point that my teachers, to keep me complacent, would feed my mind with encyclopedias and dictionaries. In those early years of the ’90s, my book bag would weigh like a ton of bricks because of books, now the Kindle has changed my life. Still, to this day my favorite smartphone app is dictionary.com and others, which test knowledge and terminology.

It seems logical that I would eventually work towards a degree in English Literature as this was the one set of coursework which I generally enjoyed. I spent many years wandering in and out of classrooms, lost in a haze of confusion as I thought about the future and what it would hold for me. In the years after graduating high school, I lost myself, and because of this, my school has suffered. I spent many years growing anxious over what would become of me if I did not decide on a profession and start working as an animal towards it. I thought only of money, greed and how to get to the top as fast as possible. I crashed and ten years later I finally have a Bachelor of Arts in English Literature. However, I still seek knowledge, and it is my ultimate goal to reach the top of my field. It’s a goal I never give up on and always come back to. I gave up on the forced corporate lifestyle my life had taken. I felt the need to be free to create my own words and allow the world to hear my message. I needed to give my creative outlet its chance to shine, and the Bipolar Mind has been demanding an audience.

As I discovered the open courses of English Literature, I discovered exactly what my soul had been yearning for. The professors I encountered and the coursework I was introduced to have changed many of my perceptions on life, and have altered many of my ideologies. I can no longer see the world in the strict black and white I was taught to look with. I see the bright colors of both sides to the story and see the compassion of learning to live with the experiences of another. By enrolling in a variety of literature classes my mind’s eyes have grown and my soul has traveled the world. I discovered a place in which words hold true meaning and can be used to sway nations and spark change. I discovered my niche.

 


 

Growing up, I lived at home with my three closest best friends, who also just so happened to be my sisters, and there was no need for me to look elsewhere for love and commitment. I had what I needed at home. The four infamous sisters were also blessed with a fifth honorary sister, who still to this day knows me better than I know myself, being that we are separated by six short months, and raised together for the last thirty years.

Each of these ladies over the years has influenced me for the better, and over the years of growing traditions and expanding families, we have mastered the essence of just what “togetherness” means, and have adopted it as a family mantra.  At the end of the day, if we are together, we are happy. As a whole, we are women who can accomplish anything with our combined forces, and we have been known to move theoretical mountains. I’ve actually seen them do it. These women have accomplished what I would have considered impossible and pulled me from the brink of my madness, from the brink of life, and made me wish to keep living. Each of them has given me a purpose in this life, and for them, I hope to do the same. But it leaves you wondering, what is this “togetherness”?

First and foremostly we do everything together, as a whole. No matter where you are, or who you are with, or how far apart we are; you must always find a way of filtering the information between us all so that we are all “in the know”. This is how the women in our family function, and the more we know, the more shit we talk. Plain and simple. We love to talk shit, about everything and everyone. Put us all in a room together and it would be difficult to get a word in. Hell! We even talk shit about each other. We are systematic, ruthless, and operate as a pack of lions; each one of us taking care of the others in the pack. There are no strangers allowed, and if we don’t like you, we will take you down. At the end of the day, we are family and we love each other. It is because we have this emotion for each other without judgments or malice that we are able to function as such a unique whole operating unit. Each of us brings something to the table, and we all share each other’s burdens.

From early on there have been signs of the mania that would eventually throw my life off course. The speed in which I would race through life since early on, as well the fast thought processes and rapid speech were all indicators of demons lying dormant, waiting for their chance to rise above the surface and show their prickly horns. Since young my inhibitions have always been low, and I have always loved to move faster and faster, stuck on Alice’s teacup whirling until my surroundings were blurred, and life beside me became unrecognizable. As a young child, you would pass these signs off as naturally being high-strung, and simply full of energy. However, in the later stages of my teenage years, these same systemic symptoms would shred the pieces of my life apart, and not for many years would I be able to rebuild it.

It takes a woman in possession of great wisdom, patience, and back steel to deal with my Demons on a daily basis. At the end of the day, all roads lead back to Mom, as she is the one with the answers and provides all the love and nurturing our souls could ever need. She gives and gives unselfishly until the love bleeds from her heart and leaves her body wracked with exhaustion. During the high stages of my mania, she provides the anchor to pull me back down, and during the bare bottom of my depression, she provides the reinforcements to pull me from my cave. She is the mother, and her love exceeds everything that is horrible and brings everything that is beautiful. It is because of Mom that Togetherness was born; to her, we are forever grateful.

Many traditions have been curated over the years. Such as sitting and eating dinner as a family each night, full table setting and all (Rule: plastic for us, glass for Dad). Family vacations were taken on a yearly basis, and memories were created to last us a lifetime. Still, to this day we treasure these moments that were given to us at these stages in our lives. Because of the values of love and family that were instilled in us at these young ages, we have continued to develop lasting relations among each other, and continue to rely on each other heavily. These relations will later become the base of the support system built to help rehabilitate my life in later years.  Essentially, in the battle against the Bipolar Mind, the Support System is pivotal.

Shockingly enough I was pretty shy throughout the beginning stages of my life. I would normally stick to the handful of friends and family that I knew, and would not venture out much further than that. However, as I began to grow and was moved from the strict rules of Christian School to the free for all experiences in Public School, it was as though the shackles had been let free and I was given the space I needed to grow.

On my first day of third grade, in a new school, surrounded by an all-new environment there would be a line of words strung together that would change my life forever, “Hi! I’m new here too, want to be best friends?” and we would be, for the next eighteen years…

Illustrations by: Alexis Bringas

Feeding Therapy Evaluation

Feeding Therapy Evaluation

I like to joke that you would never guess Logan ate from a feeding tube for the first 5 days of his life. He’s a chunky monkey that likes to eat everything and anything you put in front of him. And if you’re eating something, you best believe, that yep you’re going to learn to share! So naturally, when feeding therapy was suggested, I was a little confused?

 

This fat guy?

He’s a champ at taking down his bottles lightning fast, which has come to require that we cut open the nipples (old Cuban traditions) — so that he can huff down the liquid mud we make his formula into. He’s basically drinking his oatmeal out of a bottle.

We even, maybe occasionally put his compota’s in there as well.

Cuban traditions die hard.

He also eats a whole bowl of Abuela Milly’s homemade purees, which contains all kinds of delicious goodness. Beans, meat, chicken, potatoes, rice, vegetables, spinach… you name it, he eats it.

Apparently, cutting the nipples is frowned upon by health professionals, and it’s time I let Logan learn to play with his food. Yes, it’s great that he eats well, and is of a healthy weight. But no, there are certain milestones he should be meeting which he is not. Primarily, we need to build the strength of the muscles within his jaw and cheeks, to give him the correct stamina he needs to chew. Right now, he’s a bit lax in that department.

Ask me if Logan can hold his bottle?

-Nope.

Can he chew soft solids?

-Nope.

Does he chew on puff cereal or children’s teething cookies?

-Nope.

-Can he drink thin liquids from a bottle?

-Again, nope.

These were things which were worrisome, but I didn’t think too much on. After his Feeding Therapy Evaluation, though, there are a few changes we’ll need to start making to his eating routine. Starting with new bottles, {eye roll here}. Ask me how many times I’ve heard this schpeel lol

The recommendation: we’ll be doing feeding therapy 2x for 45 minutes sessions.

 

Follow along to get updates on how he does!

Physical Therapy, 6mo. later

Physical Therapy, 6mo. later

We started physical therapy when Logan was about 5 months old. At the time, I thought Logan was rockin’ it when it came to meeting his milestones. He was doing tummy time great, and he was rolling from prone to supine (I’ve picked up a few terms over these sessions lol), holding his head up like a champ and all! However, after the initial evaluation, I quickly learned just how mislead I was.

Whhaaaa?

Yes, Logan was doing great in meeting his milestones, but he was cheating and using disorganized body movement. Something I was completely unaware of, as I had no clue what to look for. Diana, his physical torturer {ahem!} I mean… therapist, quickly filled us in on how Logan was overcompensating his movements by using extension to accomplish most of his actions.

tsk. tsk. tsk.

Not like that little Logan.

We came into physical therapy doing 3 sessions a week for 30-minute sessions. When we first started, Logan was using his shoulders to hold up his head and neck (looking like the Uncle Fester all day) and was preferring to utilize extension to accomplish his rolling. These were the first movements we corrected, as Diana began to work with him, and cue-ing him towards the correct movements.

We experienced A LOT of crying during these first initial sessions.

But we worked at it. Every day. We worked not only at therapy 3x a week, but we also worked as a unit at home, intermittently taking turns, ensuring little Logan was practicing correct movements. All. The. Time.

I began to ask excessive questions during our sessions with Diana. I wanted to know as much as I could about what he was learning to do, with what muscles, and how it would help him further his development.

“And what was that word you used?” “How can I do this at home” What if he does this?” “How do I correct this movement?” “What if he does this movement?” “He does this a lot, is that normal?”

I feel like that is my number one question:

Is that normal?

but what’s normal?

Because I’m not, and with him I only see perfection. 

Today, at the 6mo. PT re-evaluation I was able to show Diana how I’m learning to crawl on my own. I came into therapy 6 short months ago, unable to hold my own head up properly. But with constant support and dedication from my family and the amazing people at  Nicklaus Children’s Outpatient Therapy center, now? Now I can sit completely unassisted, I can roll all over the place like a crazy animal, and I’m finally beginning to learn to crawl.

Mommy is so proud! Not only of the progress I’ve made, but also of the way I continuously learn. The way I can pick up cues quickly, and continuously work at these movements, even when no one is helping me. Sometimes, mommy catches me in my play pen practicing weight baring, and she can’t help but laugh.

Physical therapy is quickly becoming one our favorite ways to start the moring. ♥

 

 

 

Here we are, 10mo. later…

I didn’t originally want another baby. I was satisfied with just Evan and content enough to raise just him. However, my husband (sneaky bastard who knows me so well), appealed to the younger me who dreamed of a large family — similar to the one she grew up in.

img_4333
We tried one time, a random day on my ovulation cycle, exactly 2 weeks off the pill. When we woke up the next morning, we second-guessed that decision and said:                    “maybe we should wait” | “maybe we’re not ready” | “maybe in another year”

But guess what?

You don’t get to choose.

I knew instantly I was pregnant with Logan (which is probably why I felt like it was the longest 9mo. ever). The vomiting began just 2 weeks into gestation, and it would never stop. I’m not saying I gagged a little in the mornings, had a bit of nausea, or threw up a bit of stomach acid.

No, my friend. I. THREW. UP. All the time. ALL THE TIME.

It’s called hyperemesis gravidarum, which translated online means “severe vomiting”. Severe vomiting?! During my first trimester, I lost 30 pounds and was seen in the ER 12 times for severe dehydration. I couldn’t even hold down water. Add to that my loose bladder from Evan’s pregnancy, resulting in tons of amounts of pee coming involuntarily out, therefore making me smell homeless. Real attractive pregnancy glow [cue sarcasm].

I couldn’t leave the house without vomiting and pissing everywhere. On myself, down my pants, in the car, in the chairs I sat on, in the beds I laid in, in the stores I went to. EVERYWHERE. I felt disgusted with myself and spent most of the day at home changing my clothes, vomiting, and crying myself into hysterics.

I want to say it got better, but it didn’t. -_-

They gave me my first ultrasound at week 20, 5 weeks behind schedule. At the initial ultrasound, I was advised that something didn’t quite look right, in a very nonchalant, this is of no importance kind of manner, and that there were some images which the doctor felt might reflect Down Syndrome. They referred me to further testing, but otherwise, I was shrugged off and no other information was given.

At week 22 sequential blood work through the Harmony Blood Testing exam revealed a possible positive marker of Trisomy 21 for our little Logan. They would like me to come in to discuss our chances and other options for testing.

But, our little Logan, who already had a name, who already had a brother waiting for him, and with which whom I had already fallen hopelessly in love — might be, what? defective? No one had even told me what Trisomy21 was, nor did they even bother to explain it.

Google became my friend.

Shortly afterward, we opted for the amniocentesis, and I have to say — as a mom who has birthed naturally twice using an epidural… nothing compares to the pain of that needle piercing through the skin, then the abdomen, then the uterus, then the placenta. You feel, each. and. every. puncture.

And when you have a hyperactive fetus (like Logan), you get to ride that ride twice.

Fun times.  😉

Not.

In less than 2 weeks we got a call from Dr. Q at Maternal Fetal Medicine, that he would like to see me. Today. Within the next hour if possible. At that moment, I felt my heart sink. We were seen immediately upon arriving at the office and given another full work up ultrasound. Shortly after we were given the results, and asked very nicely about whether we had thought of how we wanted to proceed with the pregnancy?

I was so confused in this moment, as termination was never an option, no matter the results of the amnio. Hearing the doctor voice this question aloud, gave me uncertainty for one moment. One. Split. Moment. that I thought I was not meant to have this baby.

But I loved him. I loved him so much already, and I had faith that the universe knows why it does what it does. What’s meant to happen will happen. Have faith in your destiny. All that other horse shit.

So of course, we were confident in our choice to keep Logan, and raise him just like the other savages kids being raised in our house. Dr. Q was nothing short of magical as he followed our case. Through him we found the initial strength we needed, to know that our baby was going to be ok. And he was the most perfect thing we would ever lay our eyes on.

“The world needs more parents like you”

-Dr. Q

And now 10mo. after being with Logan I am ashamed at that feeling of overwhelming loss I had at the moment they told us we had a positive diagnosis. After all, an amnio has a 99.2%. accuracy rate. At that moment I just felt loss, for the life I had begun to envision with my two boys, which now seemed to be so unclear, so tumultuous, and so uncertain.

2688991_JESSICA_ROQUE_19880810_20180411102943483

I’ve never met an individual with Down Syndrome, and now I was about to be the mother of one. To say I was sadly unprepared is an understatement. But now? Now the only thing I know is that Logan is the biggest blessing we have ever received, and the universe truly does know what you need when you need it.

I spent the remainder of my pregnancy fighting all kinds of emotions as I processed an immense amount of information, and struggled with daily anxieties and fears… all while being unmedicated for the first time in 15 years. To say that my Bipolar Mind had reared her ugly head is the understatement of all these understatements. So, the Support System stepped in, and 2 weeks before giving birth to Logan, I moved back home with mom and dad. Half my stuff in one place, half my stuff in another. But it was the best decision I made. Not only for my own mental health and sanity but for the health of my children and family as well.

Now? Now Logan is 10 months, and in just two shorts months, he’ll turn 1. I don’t even know where the last ten months have gone as I have been through some crazy moments. I’ve lost my mind and my cool on more than one occasion, and there have been some hella crazy times. But motherhood is quite possibly the scariest hood I have ever been through. And I’ve seen some {bat shit} crazy stuff in my day.

At 10mo. my little wolverine has made huge leaps in overcoming any obstacles put before him. His “delay” is considered within “normal” (someone please define normal for me) limits and considered on par for someone who does not even have a disability.

He does have a delay in his fine and gross motor movements, so we go to physical and occupational therapy 3x a week, for 30 minutes each. We call it our “gym time”. We have upcoming therapy evaluations for speech and feeding, in hopes that we can get in front of the delay, rather than behind it.

I’ve learned so much from Logan over the past ten months. So much on motherhood, life, perspective, outlook, and love. I’ve learned to be quieter (which if you know me, is a difficult feat in and of itself), I’ve learned to be more patient and open-minded. I’ve learned compassion and strength. And I’ve learned, ultimately, that moms really can do it all, and then some!

♥JessG.