Three Years Ago...

This morning I was lying in bed, snuggling with my sweet Vallyn. (I brought her into bed with me because I was just not ready to get up yet!)  We are at my parents’ house celebrating Christmas with my family.  I was tickling Vallyn when it struck me hard: – three years ago I had been lying in this same bed, but I didn’t know yet that it was ‘D Day’.  The day I got the phone call that rocked my world and changed my life forever. 


Diagnosis Day.


December 29, 2011.


I had been up in the mountains with my family and we had just celebrated Christmas together.  It was a regular morning: I’d gotten up, had breakfast and was hanging out.  Jason had gone into work down in Denver but was coming back up that evening.  The phone rang and I didn’t recognize the number but answered anyway.  It was our perinatologist.  I was surprised to hear from her.  I mean, not really, because I had taken the MaterniT-21 test the week before, but I thought it would take longer for the results to come back.  Apparently not. 


I still can’t remember exactly what transpired.  I answered, we greeted each other, she said “Your test results are back” or something like that.  I remember clearly though she said “It’s positive.”  Then she paused.  In that pause somehow my mind said “Oh, it’s positive.  Positive is good.  The last test I had taken that was positive had been very good!

But then she said “I’m so sorry.”


And I realized.  Positive means my baby girl has Down Syndrome.  I don’t recall exactly what happened next.  I may have cried out or screamed “No!  My baby!”  My sister and mom came running into the room.  Then my dad.  The doctor was saying things like “I have some resources for you and we can do an amniocentesis to be certain…” but I only half heard her.  I fell to the floor, crying, shouting.  I vaguely remember eventually thanking her for calling and hanging up the phone. 


I admit I had some terrible thoughts.  I am still ashamed to this day of my thoughts – the memory of them breaks my heart into a million pieces.  But I was terrified.  I thought my life was over.  I had never known anyone with Down syndrome.  I thought my baby girl would never have much of a life.  I don’t know what I thought exactly was going to happen but in no way did I think it would be good.  I felt as though my baby – at least the one I had thought I was going to have, the one I had imagined in my mind for 22 weeks – had died, and that I could just curl up and die too. 


Boy, was I ever wrong. 


Looking back, what I wish the very most was that at that moment of receiving the news about Vallyn, that I had seen a brief flash forward to what this morning would be like and feel like. 


I WISH I COULD HAVE SEEN TODAY. 


THIS morning. 


Because I still would have cried. 


But any tears I shed would have been of joy. 


If only I could have seen myself, lying in this bed, holding this precious angel in my arms, what our life would be together.  Giggling with her.  Smiling.  Hugging and kissing her.  Getting hugs and kisses back.  Singing with her.  All the sign language that she knows – more than me.  How funny she is.  How tough.  How sassy.  How frustrating.  How endearing.  How clever.  How stubborn.  How hard working.  How loving.  Feeling so much love in my heart for her that it could explode.   
 
I would have wept tears of gratitude. 


This little girl has brought so much joy into our lives.  Into others’ lives.  To the people she has met in the last two years and seven months.  The smiles she has caused. 
Joy like watching people’s reaction to her as she rolled down the street in the Highland Festival Parade this past September, the joy that she brought complete strangers, even if just for a moment.  She smiled and waved and clapped and blew kisses all along the way.  She wore herself out completely by the end of the route. 

When Vallyn was a baby (oh, ok I admit it – this happened just the other day!) I would often sit and hold her and stare at her and just burst into tears.  And not because anything was wrong – I just love her so very much that the emotion has nowhere to go but out.  I would tell her
 
“Mommy loves you so much that it’s leaking out of my eyes.”


Oh, yes, there have been plenty of tears along our own little parade route so far.  Both happy and sad tears.  And I know there will be more to come – of both.  But the smiles and giggles have outweighed the tears, and the love and joy and marvel at this beautiful miracle of a child have far surpassed the fear and grief.  


So on this day, exactly three years later, as it has been since the moment I knew she was in my belly, one of my greatest gifts is the love and lessons of our sweet Vallyn.  And to have a little brother for her now gives us two incredibly amazing gifts.  (He makes my eyes leak love too!). 

Forget other presents; these two are priceless. 

Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year.  May God bless you richly and may you have much joy! 

Birthdays, Earth Suits, and Such...

Yesterday was my birthday.  My body is 42 years old.  I don’t feel 42.  When Westin wakes up hungry in the middle of the night, I feel 112.  When both kids are crying at the same time and I want to lay down and cry too, I feel like I’m 5.  It seems to fluctuate with the situation.  Maybe it all eventually averages out.

But here I am, 42.  With a 2 year old and a 7 week old.  And I feel so very blessed.

  

 I had a great birthday.  I got to be with my entire immediate family – my mom, dad, sister, brothers, their families, and my wonderful husband and two kiddos.  We went to the aquarium and then out to a delicious lunch.  It was hectic and loud and exhausting and SO MUCH FUN.

While at the aquarium, Vallyn was looking around and around at everything as I carried her, and in the process head-butted me in the lower lip.  It immediately swelled up and felt completely bizarre.  I felt like it was totally gigantic and that everyone was staring at it, wondering why only a quarter of my mouth looked like Angelina Jolie’s. 

Which reminded me of the last time I had a cavity filled and left the dentist with Vallyn in tow and a mouth full of novocaine - drooling, droopy-faced, and slurring my words.  At the time I thought “What will people think if they see me like this? I can barely speak!” 

Which made me wonder “What if I had this feeling every day; if I was like this all the time?”

Which got me to thinking about how much we as a society often tend to just look at the outsides of people and quickly pass judgment because of how they appear. 

Which made me think of my sweet, beautiful Vallyn, and how she has Down Syndrome, will have it every day of her life, and how because of that people will pass judgment on her.

Which made me wonder how I will explain to her why she is different when she asks, because she will.

Which reminded me of the phrase “Earth Suit”.

Which reminded me of the first funeral I ever went to for a child.

It was the saddest and yet most beautiful event I had ever been to.  It was for a friend’s two year old who had passed away suddenly and unexpectedly.  The church was packed and there were a lot of kids attending.  The pastor called all the children to the front, sat them down, and tried to explain what had happened to this group of her peers; her friends.  I don’t remember exactly what he said and I wish to this day I had a recording of it.  But he simply said that we are all here wearing our “Earth Suits”, kind of like what astronauts wear.  He explained to these children that this little girl’s “Earth Suit” had just worn out.  It had worn out earlier than most peoples did, but that everybody’s wears out sometime.  And that this Suit we are given is just a temporary thing.  What is most important is what is kept inside this Suit – our spirit; our soul.  And that this precious little girl’s soul – that part of her that was most important - was now in Heaven with God.

Hearing that sermon many years ago impacted me so much.  And I think maybe it was just one of those small seeds that God has been planting along my life’s path to help prepare me for the here and now, for this special gift of Vallyn He has given us, even though I didn’t know it at the time. 

So I think I know how I can explain to Vallyn (and her brother and hopefully others) a little bit about life, and people, and differences, and Down Syndrome.

I can say to her …

“Vallyn, you may look different from other people, but you know what?  We are all different.  That’s just our Earth Suits.  Mommy’s earth suit is short and is achy from fibromyalgia.  Daddy’s is taller and quite hairy.  Your aunts’ and grandma’s suits have Turner’s Syndrome, and Parkinson’s.  Your grandpas’ suits have allergies and arthritis.  Your cousin’s suits have cerebral palsy, and Down Syndrome.  And Vallyn, your Earth Suit has Down Syndrome too.  And you know what?!  IT DOESN’T MATTER ONE BIT.  Our Earth Suits, our bodies – they are just temporary homes for our spirits and souls to live in while we are here on earth.  And your spirit, my love, my precious Vallyn, is beautiful and perfect and amazing.  And that is what matters the most.” 

I like to imagine when we are all together in heaven someday (I hope!) and we are free of our Earth Suits that we will all run and play and laugh together, unencumbered, with our perfect heavenly bodies and spirits. 

But today my earth suit feels 42, and very tired, and has baby weight on it, and needs a shower and haircut and mani/pedi desperately.  And yet… I’m so thankful for it.  For these arms I can put around my husband and kids and get big birthday hugs from my family.  For helping me do the dishes, and laundry, and breastfeed.  For breathing and thinking and typing.  For creating my children. 

Happy birthday to me.  Happy Earth Suit to you.

 

Being Vallyn's Mom.

Holy cow.

I had no idea the last time I posted was February 2013.  I knew it had been a while but, wow.  That's over a year.  And just as in my last post, here I am awake in the wee small hours of the morning, because my sweet gal squawked (repeatedly) until I got up to check on her.  And I can't go back to sleep.  My brain is racing. 

A whole year plus since posting?! 

What the heck have I been doing?!

I suppose the shortest answer is:  Being Vallyn's Mom.

That's it.  That's "all". 

I was going to be a great blogger, I told myself two years ago.  I am going to document our lives together, for us to look back on and remember.  And then - well, then LIFE happened. 

Doctors appointments.  Therapies.  Sleep difficulties (both Vallyn and me).  Fatigue.  Laundry.   Dishes and bottles.  Feeding difficulties.  Exhaustion.  Some colds here and there.  More appointments and evaluations.  A hospital stay for Vallyn.  The recovery from that.  More laundry.  Lots and lots of laundry. And dishes.  And for the last 37 weeks, I have been blessed to be incubating Vallyn's baby brother, which has brought it's own 'excitement', and of course, more appointments.

I know there are moms who 'do it all' - work, raise children, make it to appointments, blog, put on real clothes and make up, and even bake.  I don't know how the heck they do it.  I applaud them and admire them, but I am not one of them.  Perhaps I have crappy time management skills, or get bogged down in details, or have a touch of ADD, but this place often resembles a barnyard where chickens are running around with their heads cut off.  (Mainly, it's just me who's the chicken - Vallyn just hangs out and is awesome.)  Around here, the last two years have felt like an almost constant game of playing catch up.  And at times they have been exhausting, tearful, and scary.

But they have also been the two most wonderful years of my life.  The happiest.  The most full of life, of real life and things that matter.  And the most filled with love.  And along the way, we have continued to look for and have been blessed to find and notice itty bitty and big miracles every day. 

TWO YEARS?  It has flown by and seemed like ages at the same time.  How does that even happen?  I don't know, maybe it's a quantum physics, time/space continuum thing.  All I know is...my little girl is TWO. 

She had a wonderful birthday with friends and family and lots of bubbles and balloons and smiles and love.  It was a fantastic day.  She even blew a kiss to everyone with perfect timing at the end of the happy birthday song, all on her own.  What a little ham.  God, I love her.

She is TWO.  In some ways, not typical.  In other ways, spot-on two year old. 

She came to us not long before Mother's Day in 2012, and changed our world forever.  I mean, she had changed it before she even got here, already working on teaching us big huge important life lessons.  And I felt like her protective mother bear the minute I saw the two lines on the pregnancy test - she was so real to me even then.  But her actual arrival, her delivery, her laying on my chest for just a few seconds, hardly breathing but looking deep into my eyes, staring straight into my soul and making a connection that could not for anything be broken - that was a moment I will never ever forget, God willing.  The moment I really became someone's mom. 

My first Mother's Day I will never forget either.  We hadn't been able to spend the night at the NICU - we had used up our stays so had to come home overnight.  I woke up the next morning and planned to go to church with my husband, my mom, my sister and nephew.  We all got ready and piled into the car and I about 60 seconds later I  burst into tears.  "I don't want to go to church, I want to go to the hospital and see my daughter!" I cried.  "God will understand - I just can't stand for it to be 2-3 more hours before I see her!  It's my first Mother's Day and I need to be with her!"  We turned the car around less than a mile from home, regrouped, and headed to the hospital.

 

I arrived to find that the nurses had made me a clay circle with her tiny little handprint, and with it was a card that said "Happy Mother's Day" with a poem, and it was signed "Vallyn Grace".  I sobbed and sobbed.  Tears of joy of course. 

It was the best present I had ever received. 

Vallyn was (and is) the best present I have ever received. 

One I didn't even know I wanted.  Or needed.  But I did.  And I got her.  And I THANK YOU GOD every single day.  Even on the really hard days.  One of the last things I say to her every night when I pray with her is "Thank you God for our gift of Vallyn". 

This Mother's Day is very different from that first one.  We are all home together.  We will wake up together.  She is not so fragile, attached to tubes and wires.  I can grab her and tickle her and toss her in the air.  She has grown so much.  And I had no idea how my love for her could continue to grow from that first moment I saw her, yet it has. 
Exponentially. 

I am so, so very proud of her.  She is so strong.  So brave.  So determined.  So feisty.  So funny.  So bright.  So silly.  So smiley.  So loving.  So amazing. 

She pushes through her therapy, not giving up until she is exhausted.  She has learned so much sign language.  She does well with puzzles.  She loves books and music.  She is commando crawling and pulling to stand and cruising and walking in her walker and loves to kick and kick the ball.  She loves to blow kisses - to everyone.  Her giggle is like music.  I could never have imagined her like this two years ago.  But here she is.  And thank you God.  For this little angel you sent down to us.  And for letting me be her mom.  And trusting me to take care of her, even when it's crazy busy or spazzy or just plain not the best I could do.  Thank you for letting me have the honor of being her mom. 

And thank you for our little guy who we will meet very soon, for making me a mom times two.  I don't know what I did to deserve it.  I pray I can do it.  Do it right, and well.  Do your work in these children.  For these children.  I thank you for the opportunity.  Because I continue to remain expectant.  And expecting!!!

James 1:17 - Every good and perfect gift is from above...

In the wee small hours…

Wow…I hadn’t realized it has been almost a month since I last posted.  We have been really busy and a little harried and quite happy and definitely looking for and finding our big and itty bitty things to be so thankful for every day.  We’ve recently passed Vallyn’s Inside/Out Day – where she had been out of my body for as many days as she was inside – and I can’t believe it’s already been that long!

                                         

That photo was from Inside/Out Day.  And yesterday we had our first “Vallyn-tines” Day with our sweet girl. 

                                        

But now it is the middle of the night.  And I am wide awake.  So here I sit and type.  Because my sweet angel has taken to squawking in her sleep a bit lately.  Sometimes she goes back to sleep quickly and sometimes she needs a snuggle or two or more. 

Tonight wasn’t a mere snuggle night but a (very necessary!) moonlight diaper change as well.  She was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and full of smiles for me by the time we were done.  I picked her up and put her over my shoulder to ease her back to sleep.  Instead, she saw her walls.  By the soft glow of her pink flower light, her wide eyes were staring at … her tree. 

                           

I made that for her when I was pregnant.  I had had to quit my pre-pregnancy job because of my severe ‘morning’ (ALL DAY!) sickness.  By the time I was (kind of) feeling well enough to look for another job, we received Vallyn’s diagnosis.  I was left with a lot of time on my hands to ‘process’.  We had suddenly become immersed in the ‘medical’ side of my pregnancy.  We had so many doctors appointments and ultrasounds.  I just wanted to do something normal – to do something any parent would to to prepare for their little one to arrive. 

So we registered for all the typical baby stuff and picked out paint colors and this idea began to form in the back of my head.  I wanted Vallyn to have the coolest, most unique, most beautiful, most special room ever.  My brother Wade, who is an amazing artist, painted the trunk and branches of the tree.  My lovely and fabulous friend Tressa loaned me her super fancy paper cutter. 

And I made paper flowers. LOTS of paper flowers. Those flowers were my project.  My distraction.  My touchstone.  My therapy.  I made them and made them.  As my belly grew bigger and I had to stand further away from the table, I made them.  I don’t know how many flowers are up on that tree.  All I know is that every single one of them was very thoughtfully and carefully made just for Vallyn with immeasurable love.

Each flower on that wall represents a tear, a fear, a hope, a smile, a wish, a dream, and a prayer.  With every flower I made, I drew closer to the moment I would get to meet my daughter.  To see her with my eyes.  To hold her in my arms.  To tell her how much I love her.  To hear her sweet baby noises and cooing and eventually her talking and giggles and laughs.  To give her all the hugs I had been storing up and longing to give her for months.  To smother her with kisses until she was old enough to beg me to stop, and then continue to do it anyway. 

And tonight, in the wee small hours of the morning, as I watched her face while she looked around and took it all in (like she always does when she sees her tree), I began to cry. Tears of joy. Of relief. Of thankfulness. Of happiness.  Of gratitude.  Of pure unadulterated love.   I was simply overcome. 

Because I remember so well how I felt when she was still inside my belly.  The waiting.  The wondering.  The fear.  The excitement.  The anticipation.  And the closeness I felt with her was incredible and just between us and I will always cherish it.  But it can’t hold a candle to the feel of her actually being in my arms.  Or how wonderful and amazing and awesome it is to finally be able to see and hold and talk to and hear and hug and kiss Vallyn. 

Or how incredibly blessed I feel that we were given this perfect gift of her.

Or how I am so so very thankful that every day is now “Vallyn-tines” Day.

Sleep well, my funny, sweet, little love bug.  I hope to join you in Dreamland soon…

                                        

Psalm 4:8

In peace I will both lie down and sleep; for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.

---

If you are interested, check out these things we love for bedtime:

Scripture Lullabies:  http://www.scripture-lullabies.com/

Baby Merlin’s Magic Sleep Suit:  http://www.magicsleepsuit.com/

The Woombie Sleep Sack:  https://www.woombie.com/

Outside…

Today was a beautiful day in Colorado.  After a bitterly cold weekend and Monday, it has warmed up and was a balmy 50ish and sunny today.  So I decided to pack up Vallyn and the dogs and head outside for a walk.

I also decided to see if our neighbor a couple of blocks away might be home.

See, when I was pregnant last spring and walking a lot, one day I walked by this gentleman’s house.  Out in his yard were beautiful tulips.  There were a bunch of purple ones, and right in the middle was a lovely pale pink one.  Just the one.  And it somehow looked more glowing and fresher and alive than the others, like it just had a little something extra inside.

And I remembered a friend of mine who had told me about the tulips in her yard.  That smack in the middle of her yellow ones a bright red one bloomed.  And she said that every time she saw it, she thought about Vallyn.  Because Vallyn was like that red tulip.  That she would stand out from others because she was the same, yet different, and just as beautiful as the others if not more so.

So I went and knocked on this neighbors door and asked if I could take a picture of his lovely tulips to put in my little girls room.  He was very kind, and so was his wife.  They asked about us and her and said of course come take a photo any time you like, and even showed me the rest of their impressive garden in the back yard.  And he said please come back and let us meet your little girl after she arrives.

I did get a picture I liked (after quite a few attempts!).  And I matted and framed it and around it put the words “One of a Kind”.  And I hung it in Vallyn’s room even before she arrived.   

So today I packed us all up, and I took that picture off the wall and put it under the stroller in hopes that my neighbor would be home.  I was so excited when I saw his car in front of the house.  I had meant to come see him for many months.  But first Vallyn was so fragile, then there were fires and horrible air quality so we didn’t go walking, then it was just so darn hot, then I was just so darn lazy.  Finally, we were walking by at the same time he was home.

I knocked on the door, and he came and answered it.  I said “I don’t know if you remember me, I was very pregnant the last time you saw me.”  And a smile spread over his face and he said “Oh yes, of course!  You took pictures of our tulips.” 

So I showed him the picture.  And introduced him to Vallyn.  And the dogs.  And we chatted a bit.  And he loved the picture and meeting Vallyn.  And as we said our goodbyes, he said “Please stop by again sometime.”

And we definitely will.

Because being pregnant with Vallyn and having Vallyn has made me open up in a way I didn’t think I ever would.  Most people who know me well would probably be surprised to learn that I am actually rather shy.  I feel awkward meeting new people and don’t feel comfortable putting myself out there.  And I certainly was never someone to go knocking on a total strangers door and ask if I could take a picture of their flowers.  Or someone that would have a conversation in a line at the grocery store.  Or contact people I’ve not been great about keeping in touch with.  Or not be afraid to ask tough questions.  Or speak up about wanting a different doctor for my daughter.  Or ask for help.

Or write a blog.

But here I am.  Because of Vallyn, and what she needs, and what I need, I am learning to step outside of myself in new ways.  Tonight I even went to a Mom’s Group for moms of children with Down Syndrome.  And I was nervous.  But wow - did I have a great time.  And I look forward to seeing those women again.

Today’s miracle?  Well, that the dogs didn’t bark their heads off and scare my neighbor right back into his house.  But really, that I was able to see how far I’ve come in this area.  And how important it is.  Because living life closed off is not living.  And human connections and shared experiences are a big and important part of life and love.

So thank you, Vallyn, for your little something extra inside – a little something that has made me live more outside.  I love you my sweet girl.

(She did manage to open her eyes to say hello to our neighbor!) 

Why do I look?

Why do I look so hard every day for itty bitty miracles?

Because I have to.

It’s the only way I can get through the day.  Because when I stop and think about and imagine all the things that could go wrong, or will go wrong, or the things I haven’t even thought of that could go wrong, or the battles I will have to fight on Vallyn’s behalf, or the developmental delays she may face, or what her teenage years and adulthood will be like, or what will happen to her once I am gone – I cannot stand it.  It literally makes me gasp and cry and brings me to my knees.

I have not historically been someone who looks for the positive.  People who have known me my whole life (or not even that long!) would probably say I have been a ‘glass half empty’ kind of gal.  And thinking that way has gotten the better of me for many many years.  And it is a miserable way to be.

But now it’s not just me I could make miserable.  It’s my husband.  And it’s my precious angel, who doesn’t understand worry or fear or developmental charts or Roth IRAs.  She lives in the moment.  She is here right now.  Present.  That’s just how she rolls. 

And how wonderful it would be to just be like that!  How freeing.  How peaceful.  How important.

Because all those times in the past that I worried and fretted and imagined and dreaded – well – probably less than 10% of those bad things ever happened.  But what did happen is I missed out on a lot of moments and right nows.  And I’ll never get them back.  And right now, with Vallyn, there is moment after moment after moment happening that I want to remember and absorb and feel and be there for.

So do I still worry?  Oh, youbetcha!  40 years of a habit is very hard to break.  And there’s no escaping it - there will be some hard times ahead for us.

But do I intentionally look around me throughout the day and take stock and be thankful and soak it all in and try to let those worries go and give them over to God?  I most certainly do.

Because I know that someday, sooner than I imagine, Vallyn will be on the go.  She will not want to snuggle.  She will not need me to feed her.  She will want to go play with someone other than me.  And that is wonderful.  That is progress.  That is growth.  But I will miss her like crazy.  I can already feel it. 

So why do I look?

So I don’t miss a thing.  So I am not overwhelmed by my fears.  So that I see Vallyn’s second tooth that broke through this morning.  And so that instead of only seeing the future fights and mishaps and delays and sadness and changes, I can close my eyes and picture Vallyn, with a big toothy grin she smiles just for me.

         

Matthew 6:34   Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Inch by inch...

I am so proud of my sweet angel today!

I was already elated that yesterday she rolled from her back to her tummy and then back again - she hadn't put that together before and had only done a tummy to back roll one time.  And today in her outfit with her stylish boots she looked so grown up.

But this evening while she was doing tummy time, she tucked her knees up under herself and scooted forward about 5 inches!

We cheered and cheered for her, and then tried to make her do it again so we could take a video.  Of course, it was then that she decided to repeatedly roll from her tummy to back as soon as I put her on her tummy so we never did get video footage.  Our loud cheering could have also startled her into immobility...

Later tonight as I did the dishes, it occurred to me what my miracle today is.  And that it has actually been happening every day since she was born.

God is changing my heart through Vallyn.

I have always been someone who liked things to be just so.
Who wasn't necessarily known for her patience.
Who needed things and people to be entertaining.
Who got bored really quickly and moved on to the next thing.
Who didn't get excited about small accomplishments.
Who appreciated and admired physical prowess and athleticism.
And who prized intelligence and quick wit above all else.

And today?  Well, today I got excited about a 5 inch scoot.

Vallyn is teaching me what really matters. 

That the house can be a total mess and it's not the end of the world.
That I can smile for the 10th time that I pick up a toy that fell on the floor.
That I can stare at a tiny human being that is not doing anything except sleeping and all of a sudden 45 minutes have gone by.
That I can wash and make bottle after bottle every day for almost 8 months and still treasure holding my sweet girl and feeding her.
That I can clap and cheer for a roll from back to tummy as loud as if I were at the Superbowl and the Broncos were winning in the 4th quarter with 5 seconds to go, or freak out and post on Facebook because Vallyn stood by herself while holding onto the ottoman for just a little longer than it took to snap a picture.
That true strength is just picking yourself up wherever you fell, dusting yourself off, and forging ahead with a smile (and without complaining about it loudly and repeatedly!).
And that it's possible to learn more from someone who hasn't spoken her first word than from anyone else.

So thank you Vallyn.  And thank you God for Vallyn.  And thank you for all the lessons, even the ones that have been really hard, and even though growing pains are often, well, painful.

Because though she is far from perfect, I prefer the person that I am becoming...