It’s a great pleasure to introduce you to Amanda who’s sharing her unique journey to and through motherhood as part of our month-long guest post series, Special Mamas. I met Amanda in January on a sponsor trip to the Dominican Republic with Compassion International. We connected richly and authentically on multiple occasions including a bus ride, a home visit, and a dinner. Amanda is the one who agreed with me quietly in passing that our lunch with mamas and babes was like heaven. Amanda is the one who sought me, found me and hugged me big when I was trying to gather myself that morning I completely lost it. Needless to say, we became fast friends and have stayed in touch via Facebook ever since. Amanda is one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever met. She’s mama to one sweet boy and “madrina” (Godmother) to eight children through Compassion International. Please welcome Amanda. She’s one very special mama.

If you had asked me in college what my life was going to look like, I would have told you that by my mid to late twenties, I would be married and have two children. As is often the case, God had other plans.

There are two things that you should know about me. The first is that my whole life I’ve wanted to be a mom. The second is that in my early teen years I had very irregular periods. My OB at the time told me there was a slight possibility that I might have trouble getting pregnant, but there was no way to know until I actually tried to get pregnant.

My husband and I got married when I was 26 years old. We decided that we wanted to wait a little bit before starting our family. To have some time together before we had kids.

In my perfect world, I wanted to have one child and then adopt a little girl from China. Long before I met my husband, I had heard about a Chinese adoption agency and truly felt like it was something God was calling me to do.

When my husband and I finally decided that we would start trying for a baby, things didn’t seem to be going well. I saw my OBGYN, who quickly sent me to see a fertility specialist. I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS). Basically, my body wouldn’t ovulate. No ovulation, means no egg. No egg, means no baby. And so I began to journey down the road of infertility.

I began the process of taking hormones to try to force my body to ovulate. It was an emotional roller coaster for months on end, complicated by the fact that I have biochemical depression. I was SO angry with God! Why would He give me such a desire to be a mother and then not allow me to be?!? It made no sense to me!

And then it happened – two pink lines! I was FINALLY pregnant! I had a smooth, easy pregnancy. However, my son decided to make quite an entrance into the world! He arrived June 13th instead of July 13th via emergency C-section. I was fully dilated when we got to the hospital and he was breech. He was coming so quickly that I had to be put under full anesthesia.

But God was so faithful! Although my precious baby Jonah was only 4 pounds 15 ounces when he was born, he was perfectly healthy, only spent three hours in the NICU, and was able to come home with us. I could hardly believe it — I was a mom!

In the months that followed, I quickly began to realize that I was not going to have any more children. Pregnancy had changed my body chemistry so much that I went into a deep depression. It took the next two years for my doctors to figure out what medications would get me to a stable place. I knew that for my family’s sake, I couldn’t risk going into another depression just to have another child.

And that’s when the calling to adopt that I had heard so many years ago from God started running through my head. But every time it came to mind, I just felt so overwhelmed at the thought of dealing with two children! So for years I carried this horrible guilt that I wasn’t doing what I felt like God had called me to do.

When my son was about nine months old, I was finally able to get my dream job. I had always wanted to work in ministry and was able to get a job working in the call center at Compassion International. If you’ve ever worked in a call center, you know that it is one of the worst jobs to have. Yet, I was making outbound calls asking for money, and I LOVED my job!

My husband and I had already been sponsoring a little girl in Guatemala for a few years. But when I began working at Compassion I found out about the correspondence program. There are some sponsors who are unable or unwilling to write to their children. So they give financially to support the child and a correspondent is assigned to do the letter writing. I immediately signed up for a correspondent child. And then another. My husband suggested that I had enough, but I told him that since it didn’t cost anything, that I would have as many as I darn well pleased!

One night, after I had been working at Compassion for several months, I was scrolling through my news feed on Facebook and clicked on a link to a random woman’s blog. The only reason I clicked on it was because she mentioned Compassion. She was struggling with infertility and was in the process of adopting from China. I clicked on another link which took me to the Chinese adoption agency’s website — it was the same agency I had heard about all those years ago! I began reading through the requirements to apply to adopt. As I reached the section about health requirements and read that you could not be on medication to treat any type of mental health issue, in that moment I quietly heard God whisper, “I don’t want this for you anymore. You will have many children, not by blood, but through Compassion.” And immediately this immense weight was lifted from my shoulders! I knew God no longer wanted me to adopt. He wanted me to be a “mom” to Compassion children who simply needed letters letting them know that they are loved, cared for and prayed over!

Writing to these children has been such an incredible blessing to me! I tell each of them that I NEVER want to replace their mothers, but that I hope they can think of me like a second mother or “madrina,” Spanish for Godmother. I make sure they know how much they are loved and encourage them to dream big and that they can do anything that they put their minds to! I had no self-esteem as a child, and I never want these kids to feel the way I did.

This past January I traveled on my first Compassion trip to the Dominican Republic, which is where I met our dear Amy. While I was there, I had the opportunity to meet a little boy with whom I correspond. His name is David and he is 10 years old. When David was assigned to me in April 2014, he had been in the program for two years and had never received a single letter! Between April 2014 and January 2015, I sent him four letters.

On the day I got to spend with David, I asked his tutor, “Have you seen a change in David since he started receiving my letters?” She looked at me and very firmly said, “Yes, I have!” She went on to explain that before my letters David was very shy, withdrawn and quiet. But since receiving my letters, he seemed so much happier, more open and less shy. Wow! I was blown away! How amazing that a few simple words and some stickers could make such a difference to a child! But to these children, a piece of paper and stickers translates into, I love you!

A few weeks after I returned home, I received another letter from David. It was the 3rd letter I’d received from him and it was written the middle of November. This was weeks before he knew that I was coming to visit. I sat in my living room that night and cried for an hour as I read his letter over and over again. I could see the change that his tutor told me about! I posted the story that night on my Facebook page and introduced everyone to my second son.

I am proud to say that I am currently writing to eight children! I have a full-time job, a husband and a toddler at home, but I make time to write these children. Because I know my words of love will change their lives and hopefully help them feel the love of Christ.

No matter what “being a mom” does or doesn’t look like in your life, I want to encourage you that being a mother can take on many faces! Having the title of mother doesn’t mean you have to have given birth. So, I’d like to challenge you to consider sponsoring a child through Compassion International. You can make a difference in a child’s life! And if it’s not something that is financially possible for you, then please contact Compassion about being a correspondent. Will you accept my challenge?

Amanda

Amanda and I would LOVE to see some kids sponsored today! Perhaps you’ll sponsor a child through Compassion International in honor of Amanda’s beautiful story?! Perhaps you’ll sponsor in honor of your mom, in honor of special mamas who have unique journeys to and through motherhood. Perhaps you’ll sponsor because your heart beats hard and heavy for children living in extreme poverty, and you’re ready to give and receive like never before. Click here to be connected to Compassion International’s website where you can view hundreds of beautiful children waiting for a sponsor. Let’s rally around these kiddos. Let’s show them what love looks like, what hope looks like from here.

This post is part of a month-long guest post series titled Special Mamas. The series runs all May and is in honor of moms who have unique journeys to and through motherhood. To read all 13 posts in the Special Mamas series, CLICK HERE and you’ll be directed to the introductory post. At the bottom of the post, you’ll find all guest posts listed and linked for easy reading!

It’s an honor to introduce you to Lita who’s sharing her unique journey through motherhood as part of our month-long guest post series, Special Mamas. Lita has four children. Her daughter, Abigail, was born with a medical condition called Arthrogryposis, as well as an “unknown neuromuscular disease that causes severe low muscle tone.” This is the first time Lita is sharing her story in written form. It is, of course, incredibly challenging to communicate a life-changing journey in just one short blog post, but Lita met the challenge with this marvelously honest, beautiful and hopeful post. Soak it all in. This is one special mama.

After twenty four hours of labor, and over six hours of pushing (yes, six!) I finally gave birth to my second child. Whereas our first born remained unnamed for two days in the hospital, this baby girl was named within minutes of birth. My husband proudly announced, “Abigail, which means my father’s joy.” They placed her on my stomach and I noticed the nervous glances of the nurses as they gently touched her outward-turned hands, bent wrists, and ramrod straight fingers. I had whispers of thoughts, but never voiced them: Was something wrong? Before words tumbled out, they whisked her off to the NICU.

The days that followed brought a whirlwind of nasal feeding tubes and struggles with feeding, but also a peace that was grounded. While I was holding her in the NICU when she was two days old, the visiting geneticist came and gave us a tentative diagnosis of an obscure condition and a bleak prognosis. We were shocked and numb. She handed us her business card as she left and we never heard from her again. For months afterwards, the memory of that experience generated frustration. Not only was this geneticist’s diagnosis wrong in the end, but even more upsetting was that she had dropped this bomb on us and walked away. Later, I realized that it is not unusual to be mad at the person who brings you the first devastating diagnosis. They get the brunt of your pent up anger at the crushing news. My countenance started to change imperceptibly with feelings of despair after this and comments made by our brusque pediatrician. My grounded peace from trusting in my Heavenly Father in those beginning days started to break apart and sift through the sieve of my neediness. The peace was replaced with a demanding and scared, “Help me NOW.”

The NICU was quite a distance from my floor and the nursing assistants would push me in the wheelchair (this recovery was more difficult than my previous c-section) until my last day when there was a shortage on the new shift. My new nurse told me pointedly to walk or wait until someone was available later. I cried out, “I can’t walk that far and my baby won’t be released until she can start nursing or learn to drink from a bottle. I need to get to the NICU for her next feeding!”

My tears were angry. I felt alone.

She begrudgingly deposited me at her bassinet way in the back past the medically fragile preemies. Once she saw Abigail, however, she decided to stick around. And hearing of my struggle with trying to nurse, she determined to get me help. She became my advocate, bringing in specialized help, and I was grateful. Asking for assistance and even firmly taking hold of what I needed for my baby was not wrong. I am a strong woman; this is what kept me from falling apart during those next few years. But the fear deep in my heart and lack of trust in God exposed my demanding orphan mentality instead of seeking what we needed from a place of rest and peace that is found in Christ.

Easter Sunday, we brought Abigail home when she was four days old and my husband had a pink stork sign pounded into the dirt in our front yard with her name, weight and birthdate, but no length. As I was with my little baby in our bedroom later that day, I heard a boy walking past our sign say to his mother, “Why don’t they have a length?” The Mom was puzzled and as they walked on, a lump formed in my throat. I hurt for my girl. See, her hands weren’t the only issues. Her hips and knees were in a flexed or bent position like a little baby still in the womb, but these fixed positions called contractures were so tight that they couldn’t get her length at birth. Also, her feet were turned in so that the soles of her feet faced each other. Club foot.

We were sent home with no splints (moldable plastic orthotics with velcro straps used to correct feet), but given the directive to bond with our baby before we started weekly castings (plaster) to help straighten out her feet. In between feedings, I would lie on the bed and stroke her face and sing how beautiful she was to me. Why, yes, Lionel Ritchie was pulled out from the 80s. But his simple words were a balm to my heart. When the next several weeks brought multiple appointments, tears, fighting tooth and nail with our insurance company to go out of network, more tears, therapy appointments, splints, round the clock nursing/pumping/bottle feeding, multiple plaster casts, my calm in the maelstrom was to lie down in the quiet moments, look into her eyes and bond with my little girl. It is so easy to be engulfed in this new world and miss the sweet moments of cuddling and loving on your baby. During these stressful first six weeks, we finally had a diagnosis of Arthrogryposis and an ‘unknown neuromuscular disease that causes severe low muscle tone’ and we were well on our way to entering this brave new world of having a child with special needs.

The neurologist said due to the creases on her palms, the pregnancy developed normally until an “insult” to my pregnancy at 18 weeks caused a disruption and yadda yadda yadda. All I heard was, “What did I do wrong?” If only I didn’t eat all that tunafish and drink tap water during my pregnancy. I wonder if it was the power lines hanging over our neighborhood that caused it. I was convinced she was “fearfully and wonderfully made” until something happened in my pregnancy that caused this disruption, because God is good and He wouldn’t do this to his child, would He?

My husband gave me a gem by Joni Eareckson Tada, When God Weeps: Why Our Sufferings Matter to the Almighty, which was a blessing as I mined the deep questions of my soul:

Is God good?

Is He Sovereign?

He was able to change the outcome.

He wasn’t surprised by her having Arthrogryposis.

It took a few years for my soul deep down to grasp this truth in all of its myriad of ways.

I went from thinking in those early weeks of her life that medical science can “fix” Arthrogryposis to the reality check given by one of her doctors: “Why are you concerned about her walking?  What she needs is to work on transfers. Transferring from bed to wheelchair is what she needs for independent living.” The reality of a lifelong disability started to seep in. Devastating on one hand, it freed me from having any unrealistic expectations that would be dashed against the idol of normal. I started savoring God’s gentle mercies as everything new she did was an absolute gift and a surprise.  God was very good to show us His amazing power throughout this time. The gospel came to life in a new way in our lives. The Lord used our struggles to refine our faith. My fist shaking took me on a journey of anger, sin, brokenness, redemption in the quiet recesses of my heart.

When she was very young we worked on getting her to hold her head up, which she finally did for a few seconds at twelve months. Next, sitting up with assistance and once that was mastered, scooting on her bottom to get around. Then, standing in a special contraption with full leg braces and a walker. Once that was conquered, she started taking a step or two while we were holding onto her the whole time. Around age four, she started walking with her long leg braces (KAFOs) with her knees locked straight. She had surpassed her therapists’ and doctors’ expectations. This unknown neuromuscular disease was not progressive like a dystrophy, and she was getting a bit stronger. She has a will to do whatever it is that she wants to do. Ice skating? No problem. Marching Band. She’s got it. Her will is formidable.

There is a beautiful story that is given to every special needs family after the birth of their baby. Well, maybe I exaggerate. I think it should be given out to every family. “Welcome to Holland” by Emily Perl Kingsley is the story of a planned trip to Italy, but somehow landing in Holland which is analogous to having a special needs child. When I read the line in the story where everyone else is busy going back and forth to Italy, it struck me:  Why us? Why not any of my friends? How come everyone else has a few hiccups in their pregnancies and everything works out fine? Looking back at my childish response, I cringe as I know there are women who have a silent pain they bear of miscarriages, infertility and bearing children prematurely. My question has changed to “Why not us?”

We have come to appreciate the tulips of Holland more than the espressos of Italy.  We know more of God’s goodness than we ever would have, a goodness that sometimes gives us what we would not ask for but nevertheless receive as a refining gift.  And Abby is a delightful and thoughtful girl who blesses us in so many ways.  Our flight was diverted that day over 16 years ago, but it landed just where it was supposed to.

Note to Readers: This is my perspective and never have I shared it in written form. It was incredibly difficult to condense it down to a blog post, but I couldn’t leave you without giving you some updates of my fabulous girl! Abby is hilarious, an intellectual and a foodie who is finishing up tenth grade. She enjoys Doctor Who, playing with a local school’s marching band and wishes she could travel more internationally! We are blessed beyond measure to be her parents. This isn’t just a nicety, but truth straight up!

Lita

Lita has been married to her loving husband, Justin, for almost twenty one years. They have four kids who range in age from 7 to 18 and the initials of their first names spell out the curious little name of her blog, www.JADEintheparke.com. She is shines in front of a group and loves to encourage. She welcomes you to come along for the ride on her blog at jadeintheparke.com and follow along on Instagram at @momtoJADE, Twitter at @momtoJADE and like their Facebook page at facebook.com/jadeintheparke.

This post is part of a month-long guest post series titled Special Mamas. The series runs all May and is in honor of moms who have unique journeys to and through motherhood. To read all 13 posts in the Special Mamas series, CLICK HERE and you’ll be directed to the introductory post. At the bottom of the post, you’ll find all guest posts listed and linked for easy reading!

Today, I’m pleased to introduce you to Cindy who’s sharing her unique journey through motherhood as part of our month-long guest post series, Special Mamas. Cindy and and her husband have three biological children and three adopted children. Their three adopted children originally joined the family as foster children, and their youngest biological child has Down syndrome. I love the way Cindy rolls with the punches. I love the way Cindy finds humor and beauty in the daily grind. I love the way Cindy tells her mothering journey in the context of real, everyday life. I don’t know Cindy personally, but I can say without a doubt that she is an amazing woman who deserves every bit of blessing this Mother’s Day has to offer. Enjoy, friends! This is one beautiful family.

About a month ago, I was asked to tell my story as a mom, a mom of six, an adoptive mom, a foster mom, a mom of a special needs child, a mom of a college student. I began to write, and write, and write, but the words didn’t seem to flow. So I took a break and just lived my life.

I spent a much needed breather from our brood, ages 19, 17, 14, 11, 8, and 6, with my husband. Well, from all of them except our number two child. Emily had a rowing competition in Southern California with her high school crew, so we decided to book a hotel and make it a couple’s weekend. Oh boy, did we enjoy our time alone, as well as the time with our soon-to-be high school graduate. As we watched her instruct her crew as the coxswain (a small person that tells rowers what to do), I thought about our time together.

Her brother was but ten months old when we found out about Emily. Her birth and childhood were relatively effortless, which was a relief as her older brother made up for the both of them. Fairly easy going, she has always been a person who does not place very much importance on popular opinion. At 17 years of age, my oldest daughter continually amazes me. She has never been a source of drama. Well, there was that season at three years old where she would pass out any time she cried. That was fun to cope with. Fortunately, after a couple of years, she grew out of it. Currently, she is growing into a young lady who is smart, funny, quirky, sweet, thoughtful, and many other wonderful adjectives. Her sense of humor and maturity has definitely emerged due to the life she has experienced with her younger siblings who were, at this time, hundreds of miles away.

Throughout our hiatus, I would receive the occasional text across state lines from our third child. In his own way, Angel was making sure life was as it should be at home, while his siblings were testing their fate and pushing the boundaries. Some would perceive this as interstate tattling. I, myself, was actually encouraged. The Hubster and I rejoiced in the knowledge that Angel finally understood that the rules still apply when parents aren’t there, something that, back a couple of years, would have been the farthest from his mind.

A little over eight years ago, after being in “the system” for two years, Angel and his little sister, Allie, were placed in our home at the ages of 5 ½ and 2 ½, as foster children. The deadline had been reached and their parents had been found unfit.

It had taken the Hubster and me half that time to complete all the requirements to become foster parents. We were adamant that we would love the children and cry when they left. Because we were happy with our little foursome, adoption was far from our thoughts. Our family was picture perfect, having a boy that looked like him and a girl that looked like me. Why would we mess with that?

I remember the excitement and anticipation, though. Eric and Emily remember being pulled out of their class to introduce their new siblings. I remember sitting with my newest (foster) daughter on my lap while she played with the strings on my hooded sweatshirt, as well as my (foster) son’s continuous singing. I remember the joy, hope and love we had. I remember when we offered to be their forever family. I remember hugging their birth mom and telling her (and myself) that in God’s eyes, her sins were no greater than mine. I remember talking to the biological father on the phone and telling him, “As long as you are someone they can be proud of, you will be allowed into their lives.” Along with, “We want our children to be proud of what they are made of.” I remember dressing my girls in pink and my boys in blue for National Adoption Day, venturing into the courtroom crowded with exuberant onlookers, and sitting before the judge. I remember that judge declaring our children’s names attached to our last name, and the relief I felt. I had been holding back emotions I had no idea were there. I remember the throngs of people who paraded through our home to celebrate our “New and Improved” family. And I remember doing it all over again when we got their five day old brother, Joe, just three months later.

I remember the emotions my children had to work through, the fight to let go of the past and cling to their future. I remember the disappointment, pain, and anger they felt when they realized their birth parent went right back to the same old behaviors. I remember the tears I shed because their hearts were broken. I remember their resistance to our hugs to help them heal, the lack of trust, and the fight just to hear what they were thinking. I remember the threats to run away, the piggy banks that were pilfered, and the piles and piles of candy wrappers unearthed from hidden places. I remember the pain I felt each time my child was honest and told me they belonged with their birth parent. I remember telling them that they were right, that is where God wanted them to be, but their birth parents did not keep them safe, so God protected them. I remember tears streaming down cheeks as I told them that Dad and I could not make an Angel or an Allie, only their birth parents could. But God knew the choices that would be made so He chose to protect them. He knew Kevin and Cindy would love them unconditionally and allow them no harm. So He arranged for us all to become family.

The process of bonding seemed to take ages. For a few years, we were afraid we were losing Angel. It was not easy, at all, but it was good. Upon returning from our weekend, we realized Angel had been the “good kid,” the “responsible one,” the “one to depend on.” We had reached a parenting summit.

The week following our little getaway was pretty standard with bedtimes, school, homework, chores, and playing. (Oh yes, and some pretty creative consequences for those who were not so obedient in our absence.) That Friday, I dropped Emily off at school for her senior trip, and Eric went to spend the weekend working the kitchen at a Young Life camp.

We are so proud of the young man our oldest is becoming. At the beginning of his life, we weren’t sure if WE would make it through to his adulthood. Those memories were in the forefront of my mind after I received a phone call at 10:30 that night. The first words I heard were, “Now don’t freak out Mom, I am OK.” There aren’t many words that make this mom fearful. Here I was, sitting on the couch listening to my firstborn explain the rollover accident he was just in as the passenger in the front seat of a minivan. Driving down a two-lane highway, where one would typically keep their eyes open for the occasional deer crossing, the driver heading toward them fell asleep at the wheel. His pickup hit the van at my son’s door. Eric walked away with only sore muscles and little lacerations across his arms, torso and face. That in itself was amazing, but the real gift was how my son handled the situation as an adult. He did not need his Dad and Mom there. After being discharged from the emergency room 90 minutes away from home, he returned to the camp, slept, and finished his weekend working in the kitchen. That is the young man we are proud of. That is the young man we strove so hard to raise.

After a late night full of emotions, I woke up late Saturday morning. We had 75 minutes to get the kids up, dressed, fed, and to the local high school because our youngest, Jillian, was scheduled to compete in Special Olympics. (Did I mention her brother, number five child, had vomited in bed?) Jillie was born with Down syndrome. Her competitions included the Tennis Ball Throw and the 25-Meter Dash. Watching everything she was achieving brought tears to my eyes. I absolutely love who my youngest daughter is, and have loved her from the moment we knew we were pregnant.

When we found out we were due to bring child number six into the world, we were surprised. Going from two to five children in thirteen months is quite the endeavor. We were approaching one year of embracing our seven-member household when we confirmed the future family of eight. (The story of our pregnancy is an amazing blog post on its own.) After nine months, many doctors appointments, cheers from my best friend (who had a 16 year old blessed with an extra chromosome), and a hot Arizona summer, Jillian was born. From her very beginnings, our daughter set out to amaze the world. By the time she was five months old, Jillian was displaying early signs of communication. Though she didn’t walk until after her second birthday, it didn’t take long for her to stand up in the middle of the room and go for it. Verbal communication is difficult for people with Down syndrome, so we taught her ASL, American Sign Language. Through the use of Signing Time DVDs, she had over 300 signs by the time she was three. Before she was four, I discovered she knew her written letters as we were walking down the halls at school. I had no idea. Jillie continues to amaze us academically. Currently, at six years of age, she is reading fairly fluently, definitely at grade level.

With all of that said, it is not Jillian’s academic anomalies that make her so special to us. It is Jillie who is the cherry on top of the crazy sundae we call a family. It is Jillie with whom Angel felt safest. She allowed him to let his guard down so he could be vulnerable. Angel cherished, cared for, and LOVED Jillie. It was Jillie who provided the first ray of light through the enormously thick wall he had to build to protect his heart from a beginning no child deserves.

It is Jillie who is allowing Allie to learn compassion and responsibility that comes with being a big sister. It is Jillie who has given Joe an opportunity to apply the protective nature God has given him. It is Jillie who gets to display the traits of her oldest two siblings. She is particular and strong willed just like her brother, Eric. She gets her love for the written word from her big sis, Emily. It is Jillie who softened her Daddy’s heart that had, for a long time, been focused on correcting behaviors resulting from the previous devastation that came to some of our children before they were a part of our family. It is Jillie who I could look forward to snuggling when, with her siblings, it felt like I was hugging broken glass. It is Jillie who has tied our family together.

While sitting on my couch, I realized that in this past week, I had lived a lifetime. These eight days had not only provided a snapshot into my life as a mother, but they also illustrated what being a mom means to me. Motherhood is all about sacrifice, encouragement, and knowing when to let go. Being a mom means being able to see our children’s strengths and help them overcome their weaknesses. It takes grace, strength, forgiveness, resilience, and flexibility. My experience with motherhood is just how I like it, Never Easy, Always Good.

Cindy

“My Aunt is a PROFESSIONAL MOM.” Those words from my 23-year-old niece mean the world to me because I work hard at what I do. My career has spanned over 19 years with 24-hour, seven days a week, 52 weeks a year on-the-job training. This period of time has provided the experience with youth ages pre-birth to legal adulthood, specializing in bonding issues, chromosomal disorders, allergic reactions, illegal substance exposure, emotional challenges, as well as prolonged potty training and a myriad of other skills to pad my parenting resume. I had a limited amount of prior education including babysitting, Special Olympics volunteer, Early Childhood Education major, and preschool teacher. In May 2013, I was first asked to share my family story for a Mother’s Day blog series which gave me the penchant to begin blogging on my own. Join my family adventures on my blog “Never Easy – Always Good” at www.nevereasyalwaysgood.blogspot.com. While you’re at it, “like” my page on Facebook at www.facebook.com/nevereasyalwaysgood.

Family Photo Credits: Brooke Photography in Prescott, Arizona

Special Olympics Photo Credits: Bradshaw Mountain Special Olympics

This post is part of a month-long guest post series titled Special Mamas. The series runs all May and is in honor of moms who have unique journeys to and through motherhood. To read all 13 posts in the Special Mamas series, CLICK HERE and you’ll be directed to the introductory post. At the bottom of the post, you’ll find all guest posts listed and linked for easy reading!

Today, I’m pleased to introduce you to Melissa who’s kicking off our month-long Special Mamas series with a guest post about her unique journey through motherhood, including infertility, unexpected medical issues, depression, foster care and adoption. I so appreciate the way Melissa shares her story with authenticity and heart. It brought tears to my eyes when I added pictures and let it all sink in. I hope Melissa’s story moves you as much as it did me. Enjoy, friends.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11

I had plans. As a 19-year-old newlywed, I planned for a big family and believed I had control over how and when that would happen. In my mind, we would have four kids in five years. I would deliver them all naturally and breastfeed for at least a year. I would love being a mama. It was just that simple.

I found myself seeking fertility treatment at age 21. My first pregnancy came with hypertension, frequent unexplained bleeding and weeks of bedrest. Our first daughter was born at 38 weeks; she was delivered by emergency C-section under general anesthesia, and was taken immediately to Children’s Hospital on a helicopter. She had a condition called Vasa Previa that caused her to bleed out when they broke my bag of waters. She spent weeks in the hospital and came home with a gastrostomy tube for feedings. NOT what I had planned. I had the “baby blues” for about three months, but seemed to recover quickly.

We tried two years for baby number two. A new infertility doctor told us they weren’t sure why, but without intervention we would not have more children. More drugs, more negative tests, a pregnancy that ended at six weeks in miscarriage. We sought a new infertility clinic only to find out at my initial visit that I was already pregnant again and HCG levels were looking great. We planned for an elective C-section. Our first son was born at 37 weeks, two full weeks before the scheduled date. We named him after the two doctors who helped bring his big sister into the world. Our precious little man had “wet lungs” from being early and born via C-section. After two days in the level two nursery of our little hospital, he was transferred to Children’s Hospital by helicopter. He spent six days in the NICU. NOT what I had planned, but this time I got to take home a healthy, nursing baby. The blues seemed to last a little longer this time, more like six months, but I had my old self back after that.

Fast forward not quite two years, and I’d told everyone who asked that two is the perfect number of kids as our son was “three hands full.” I really thought we were done. After all, it took medical intervention to get both of our kids. One day in September, I realized I was late, like five days late! Sure enough, I was pregnant. NOT what I had planned. It took only moments for me to love the baby growing inside me, even though I thought I had all I could handle. God knows what I need much better than I do. This pregnancy was the easiest by far. Our second daughter was born at 39 weeks on her scheduled C-section date, weighing a lucky 7 pounds 7 ounces. I left recovery after about 90 minutes and was handed a healthy baby who nursed like a champ from the first attempt. This was more like what I had planned.

What I didn’t plan was to struggle so hard as a mama. Our third child was 16 months old and I felt like a shadow in my own life. I could smile when other people were around, but didn’t really feel anything. I loved my kids, but didn’t want to get out of bed. I loved my husband, but didn’t want to be touched or talked to. I have always been a “doer.” I like to be busy, and suddenly I was sitting on the couch all day. I found myself thinking that if I got in the car and left, everyone would be better off. What was wrong with me? I had all I ever wanted, didn’t I? It was my little sister who told me she thought I might have depression. I made an appointment and talked, cried, took the tests and started medication to treat my clinical depression. NOT what I had planned at all.

Time moved on and I stabilized. I prayed daily to feel. I cried when I was happy, sad, or moved by a song. I laughed and meant it. I smiled and it was genuine. I was grateful for every day. Our family of five was awesome, and we began thinking about adding to the brood. I got pregnant very quickly and miscarried at six weeks. I started working for Just Between Friends a few weeks a year. I loved my job! I got pregnant again one year later, but found out at eight weeks that it was ectopic. It took six weeks to miscarry. The tears felt like they would never stop. There was a giant hole in my heart. My husband said he didn’t think we should try for any more, he didn’t want to see me hurt like that again. Still, I was grateful to feel.

I prayed for God to give me the desire I felt He put in my heart, the desire to fill my home with children. The answer I got is WAIT ON ME, TRUST ME. Remember those words from Jeremiah 29:11. I accepted a position as a teacher’s aide at a local preschool. I had 40 students to love on. The hole didn’t seem so big. I let go of all the baby stuff I’d been keeping, spent the “baby fund” on a pop-up camper and enjoyed the three gifts we’d been given to love. I started to understand that I can plan all I want, but my life is not my own. God is in control. So I stopped planning and started living. It seems that’s what God was waiting for.

We celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary, and I still prayed daily for God to take away the desire for more children or fill the hole in my heart. I was awed and amazed that He chose to give us two more to love. The Twinkies, as we call them, came to us most unexpectedly. My dear friend, Stacy, was fostering a set of boy/girl twins and was planning to adopt them should they need a permanent home. With three kids under four, it was clear it would be too much to take on two more. We had considered foster care in the past, and decided after meeting these sweet babies that we would give it a try. Within three months, our foster care license was in process and the Twinkies were placed in our home. More than a year has passed since we first met the Twinkies. We have been their parents for ten months now. We pray the adoption will be finalized before the end of 2015. Our house is loud, our van is full and my cup overflows.

I had planned for four kids in five years. God, in His infinite wisdom, gave us five kids in 15 years. I am overwhelmed with joy that my life has not gone as I had planned.

Melissa

This post is part of a month-long guest post series titled Special Mamas. The series runs all May and is in honor of moms who have unique journeys to and through motherhood. To read all 13 posts in the Special Mamas series, CLICK HERE and you’ll be directed to the introductory post. At the bottom of the post, you’ll find all guest posts listed and linked for easy reading!