When I was pregnant with the twins, I looked at Adela and was sad. It would no longer be just her and I. I would miss that. Little did I know that Adela's sisters would take so much of my time, attention, and emotions away from Adela. Through it all--months of bedrest, months of NICU, and subsequent months of doctors and therapies for Micaela--Adela was resilient.
Until she would not do it anymore.
My sweet quiet Adela recently flipped a switch. I know part of this is being four. I know part of this is her finding her feet and testing the ever-rippling waters. But I also know, deep down, that Adela is needing me.
Because when you have a child like Micaela who requires you to hands-on help her learn eating, moving, and talking, it becomes desperately impossible to give equal portions of yourself to that "other child". That other child: my sweet beautiful side-kick whom I have always felt so blessed to be a mother to.
Thankfully, God never gives us impossibility. And, as I wiped tears away last week when I couldn't reason with Adela, make her listen or cooperate, I realized that there has been more than Micaela being prioritized above Adela--things that I could let go even if it meant I needed to let the grass and weeds get taller and my current novel-writing be delayed.
I held Adela tight and was thankful that she has started to fight me, to insist that she get a portion of life. I have excluded her from so much simply from habit. But she is not the eighteen-month-old that saw me on bedrest, pregnant and sick. She is a four year old watching her mother rush around, anxious and busy, and rarely inviting her into my world.
Oh, my love, my little sidekick. I do hope you wouldn't mind if we start doing this together, all this life.
The LORD your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in his love he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing.