I wish you well...

I remember once when Buddy was just over 2. Bear was a newborn nursling. Buddy was a difficult baby, a trying toddler... on this particular day I found myself slinging both babies into their carseats, tears streaming down all of our faces. Buddy had been tantruming for most of the morning and was 45 minutes into another episode. Bear was in one of those growth spurts that nurslings do where it seems they want to feed every single moment of the night and day and my nipples were sore, my breasts empty, my patience worn down to the quick, and my reflexes slow from sleep deprivation. I hurled both children into their safety seats, haphazardly buckled all the straps and buckles, and tore out of my driveway toward town. I parked crookedly in the parking lot of the small urgent care clinic in our small town and, hauling Bears infant seat handle over the crook of one arm and lugging Buddy's resistant, wet, and flailing arm in my other, I marched into the office and approached the receptionist. Right there, in front of God and other people who may or may not remember me in this small town, with teeth gritted together, nose running and eyes pouring, I said, "Get Me Some Help With My Son Right Now!"

I got help.

I got a lovely nurse who parked Bear over her ample shoulder and stuffed a grape lollipop in Buddy's mouth and then took them both with her when she went to find my chart and stick in the rack in front of all the other people in the waiting room.

I got a doctor who was also a mom, a doctor with good kleenex and a beautifully white crisp prescription pad... and some 20 minutes to myself to calm down and breathe and listen to the underestimated sound of silence.

Lillybean's Momma? I understand. I understand what you were feeling on that morning last week when you showed up at the DSS office and handed over your Lillybean. I know your tears and your frustration. I know your anger! I know, now, that Lillybean had a double ear infection and is teething and was probably crying non-stop, whining and fussing and being inconsolable. I'm sure that at some point you just thought, "I am no good at this. I've tried and tried, and it's been almost a year, and I just can't do it anymore". I know, because I've felt that way too. Only, when I felt that way? I had good health insurance, a mini-van, a husband who loved to help me and would patiently wait out a tantrum. I had access to other friends who knew what I was feeling, access to medication - legally prescribed - and to a doctor who told me I was normal and everything would be ok instead of a doctor who might have told me that she'd have to report me to the "authorities". Plus? I was already well into my 20's instead of just coming into them. I had everything you had never had.

Lillybean's Momma, I know how sorry you are now that you've done this. I know how much you loved your Lillybean - by the way she smiles and laughs, claps her hands, babbles engagingly lots and lots of consonants and vowels beyond her age, by the way her nails are clipped and clean and the way her skin is so moist and soft. I know you did the best you could, and that with all your heart you love your Lillybean. I'm so sorry, so heartbreakingly sorry, that turning over your precious Lillybean was the only option you felt you had. Oh God, I swear, I will try hard to find a way to help all the momma's just like you. I swear, Lillybean's Momma, on behalf of you and of her, that I will do what I can to fix this world for you, for Lillybean, for other momma's and babies.

In the meantime? Your Lillybean is safe. I took her to the doctor, we got some good medicine for her ears. I gave her the medicine already, plus other things to take away her pain and discomfort. I fed her a yummy dinner and a warm bottle and I bathed her and lotioned her and wrapped her well in clean soft jammies. I put her to sleep in a crib and she is right this very second sound asleep with her binky in her mouth and her arms wrapped around a fuzzy blanket with a soft satin binding. She slept well last night too, and will feel even better tomorrow when the medicine kicks in. I know she must have been so hard to take care of. Even me, with help from my kids and my husband, had a hard time with Lillybean today. We didn't know about her ears yet... looking back I can see the signs and I wish to God I'd been your friend so I could have helped you, supported you, told you what was happening so that Lillybean could still be your baby and you could still be her momma.

Oh Lillybean's Momma... I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you didn't have a momma when you grew up, I'm sorry that Lillybeans daddy isn't there to help you, sorry that I had so very much when you had so very little. But I promise to take good care of your Lillybean... and to do what I can to change things for other momma's to be.

Goodnight Lillybeans Momma, sleep tight. Rest in your heart that your baby is safe and that I know she was loved by you. I'll tell her so when she wakes in the morning. I wish you well dear heart... I wish you well.