This morning, I am watching my daughter try to crawl.
She does this every morning. She rolls onto her tummy ans and stretches her body as flat as she can. She smacks the floor with both hands. She pushes with her legs, but no movement comes. She kicks and wiggles and pushes up with just her arms or just her legs… over and over and over again.
It is heartbreaking. Eventually, she lays there flat, rubbing the blanket she is on. Then she begins to cry because not one attempt was successful. She rolls back onto her back, exhausted from trying, and put her hands up for me.
Later, we will practice standing. Once upright, her proud smile will cover her face. She will gain the confidence while holding my hands to let go of one. She looks around, grinning ear to ear at her new perspective. She begins to become braver and attempt to move forward… she falls. It is funny the first time. She laughs and gets back up, ready to be big again. Again, she is lit up like Christmas lights, but she won’t try to walk again. This time she will just stand, to the point that eventually her legs will give out from their muscle weakness. This time, she won’t try again, and with every effort I put in to get her back up, she will cry and become limp in my arms.
When I think about what my daughter would say, if she could speak, when asked what she wants for Christmas, I think she’d ask to walk. I think she would look at Santa and beg for a body that didn’t succumb to weakness. I think she would want balance and coordination and not to feel helpless anymore.
My sweet daughter, that is what I want for Christmas too. I want to see you cruise furniture. I want to find you in places you shouldn’t, unrolling paper towels and throwing toys in the toilet. I dream of seeing you rush your dad as he enters a room and I can’t wait to hold your hand as we walk through a park.
I cannot wait.
I keep praying my girl. Praying for healing… praying for strength… praying for understanding in God’s timing and works.
We will get you there, my love.