Eight Months

Time is flying way too fast and I know that I say that too often!

Dash is now 8 months old and continuing to grow like a weed. She barely fits into the size 12 month t-shirts and definitely needs size 18m pants and onesies.

Dash developed a weird spot on her arm in August. It started as a pimple thing and I thought it was a bug bite. It grew, scabbed over and peeled, then healed up as if nothing had ever been there. About 2 weeks later, a similar spot showed up on her tummy.

There are now several spots so I’m going to be taking her into the doctor early this week, hoping that she knows what is going on.

Spitfire has completed 4 weeks of kindergarten now and is having a wonderful time! Her favorite part of the day is when she comes home and gets to share the jokes her teacher tells them while they wait for the bus.

“What is black and white and red all over?” – A zebra with a sunburn

“What do you call witches that share a bedroom?” –Broomates!

“What are skeletons afraid of?” –dogs!

Her reading continues to progress, too. Each day we spend a few minutes going through a set of site word flashcards and she is enjoying those, although she seems to remember the longer words such as “pretty” and “ride” better than “the” and “and”.  As a teacher and a mom, watching her get a word is so much fun!

Reader is having a fabulous time in school, too. Her teacher is flying through the material faster than expected and that is keeping my daughter from being bored. She recently scored a 94% on her math test and a 100% on her Virginia Studies test.

Oh, and Spitfire got the first Citizen of the Month award! She is so very excited to have been picked and it really makes me wish that I could see what she’s like in class each day.

My efforts to continue family scripture study have continued and we’re succeeding most nights. We’re somewhere around 5 nights a week, I believe.

Tonight we were reading in Alma 27 and the topic of the Anti-Nephi-Lehis came up and Spitfire asked if they were the people who had buried their swords and laid down to die. I was surprised that she had remembered not only their name, but also something that set them apart from other scripture stories we have read. She also asked how everyone knew they were dead if they all laid down together.

That question was a little harder to field, not wanting to go into the gory details, but I admit that it was surprising to me that she was paying close enough attention to recognize what was going on. She generally sits on the floor, flying Toothless around in her arms.

But she’s listening!

Multiple times this week I have wanted to talk to Mom. The anniversary of the death of one of our little girls is tomorrow, although we didn’t have confirmation until the next day. It has been 3 years since we lost her; 3 years since I sank into an emotional pit I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to escape. The PTSD has resolved itself with some significant help from my Heavenly Father and with Dash as well as learning my triggers and how to manage them as best as possible.

 I wonder what Mom would have told me during the years of pain and my inability to control some of my responses.

I wonder if she, beyond the veil, knew Dash before her birth.

I wonder how often she comes to comfort me in my sleep and how often she comforts Dash, too.

I caught Dash staring intently at the photo of Mom that sits on the shelf in her room. It seemed as if Dash was having silent communication with my mother and I didn’t want to interrupt whatever Dash was experiencing. The presence of another in her room was palpable even before I realized that she was looking and then nest to the photo.

Dash is a peaceful child. I hear comments from family and friends often regarding how happy and calm she is. She is happy and content day in and day out, with the rare exception when she's overly tired or hungry, but those are quite rare.

I said before she was born that she was my calm after the storm. She is a true rainbow baby; our miracle after devastation.

With that knowledge comes the fear that one of my children will be taken from me before they reach old age. As I thought about that fear earlier this week after reading a news article about a baby killed in a car accident, I began to think about the adults in my life who lost children at various ages.

My grandfather and grandmother lost their youngest son when he was 18 years old. My husband’s aunt lost her son before his first birthday. My great-grandmother lost her daughter 7 days after birth. My maternal grandparents lost multiple children in the second trimester of pregnancy. My aunt lost her son while he was in his twenties.

Losing a child happens more often than I think most people realize. I have heard (and even said) that a mother should never have to bury her child but thousands of years of history says otherwise.  I am not alone. Life is fragile so I do what I can to treasure even the mundane moments. I try each day to appreciate what I have in my life and thank my Heavenly Father for each of my daughters.