I didn’t have to time to think about Andra’s multitude of problems. I had to get myself together and keep moving forward. If I wanted results then there was no time for breakdowns, and pity parties. This was the hand we were dealt and we had to come up with our plan of action and implement it. The only options we were given were medication and therapy. We were willing to use therapy, but unwilling to use medication. Medication was too long term, and it wasn’t something we were willing to commit to for Andra. We didn’t want her to depend on them to feel “normal”. She already had issues that caused her to rely on things to keep her feeling calm and safe. That showed us her reliance on those things could be debilitating. She would not sleep unless she had her favorite purple blanket. She couldn’t function if she didn’t have her pacifier, or her rigid routines.

We didn’t want to have her rely on something else in order to cope. We wanted her to learn skills that helped her adapt to every obstacle that she faced, and she would face many in her life, but we knew that she could overcome them. I didn’t know how we would achieve it, but was not going to be defined by her diagnoses. The only way we would achieve that goal was to keep a focused attitude. There was no room for doubt, and pitying our plight, we needed to move on from it. Don’t get me wrong there were still times when we wanted to throw my hands up in frustration, but we had to right our attitudes and get back on track. So we came up with a plan of attack, and we would handle each issue as it came up. Trying to tackle everything at once would be overwhelming, but as we worked on little areas we did notice the changes. It wasn’t overnight, but the changes were significant.

As we progressed from 3 to 4 years of age, we noticed that Andra developed hard nodules on her hands and she began to complain about them. They became unsightly, but also created problems with mobility in her fingers. We went to her pediatrician and were sent to a dermatologist that stated she had a bacterial infection. His treatment was to put her on antibiotics to lesson their size and hopefully gain mobility back in her hands. After several months of treatment, nothing had changed. We sought medical help from a specialist at our local children’s hospital. We were slammed with a new diagnosis, Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis. Could we not catch at break—I thought. It seemed like whatever bad thing that could happen, happened to Andra. In an instant my resolve to keep our focus evaporated and I sulked at her latest affliction. I wanted to go back to the place where I blamed myself, for all the negative thoughts I had when I found out I was pregnant so soon after our first child. I had to be honest with myself. At one point, I absolutely did not want to be pregnant. But she came and I knew that I did very much want her there. I felt it was my penance for misguided thoughts I had when I indulged in self-pity.

I can’t say that I got over this latest setback overnight. It took at while, because it wasn’t a diagnosis we were expecting. This was something physical, and there was so much more to it. She had so much to deal with, but the bottom line was that it meant I had more to deal with in a child that was not easy to handle. Was I angry? Yes. Was I questioning if this was God’s way of punishing me for not wanting to be pregnant with Andra? Yes. Was I feeling sorry for myself? Yes. Did I have a right to feel this way? Absolutely, but it also meant I had to recognize these things and move forward, especially if we wanted to find some sort of resolution to our difficulties. What did this mean for her and us? It meant we had something more to deal with. It meant that the road wouldn’t be easy. We listened as the doctor told us that she had a possibility of going suddenly blind from this disease, end up crippled, impaired for life or she could be one of the twenty percent of children that come out of this in remission. She had to remain symptom free for five years and after that then she would be in her first year in remission. Deep inside I convinced myself she would wake up one day and she would be cured and nothing would be wrong with her.

It didn’t work out the way I envisioned. It became a struggle for her for a while. Her immune system was compromised, so there were other things that we hadn’t considered that went along with an autoimmune disease. She was sick all the time catching whatever virus or infection she other kids around her had. She was finally talking and she let us know her pain was very real. She woke up every morning with tight swollen hands. JRA made her other issues more pronounced. For a while, I took great measures to insulate her because I felt some sort of responsibility for her situation. I tried to ensure that we minimized the stimuli that would send her into a panic. I tried not to expose her to viruses or germs promising to compromise her immune system. I worked over time to ensure nothing caused her to become upset or overwrought. I needed to ensure no more bad things happened to her. She and I had our fill. Each day became a struggle to move forward.

We attempted to get back into a routine. It helped Andra adapt better and it gave me little to think because I just kept moving without much time to dwell on the what ifs. We existed between doctor visits and dealing with her issues. Time seemed to crawl. Her struggles became more evident. It was more than a preschoolers normal temper tantrums, frustration because she struggled to comprehend, or break free from the issues that plagued her. She had some very real difficulties that she didn’t understand or know how to handle. Rain drove her to the point of hysterics. We couldn’t be outside while it rained, even if it was in a car. We rushed home so she would feel safe and the panic would subside. She couldn’t have certain textures touch her, because it overloaded her senses and caused disproportionate reactions. There were certain foods that we avoided because the feel of them in her mouth sent her over the edge. She longed to play with other children, but couldn’t quite accomplish the interactive play needed to forge relationships. She hid her hands because they didn’t look like the other children’s hands. I ached for her and all that she was going through.

As kindergarten rolled around, I was uneasy to let her go. Not because I wanted to hold on to her childhood, but because I was deathly afraid something would happen and they would not be able to handle her or her outbursts when she became over stimulated or panicked. I needed to know she would be okay without one of us there to help her through when she had difficulties. It was hard to realize there would be anyone who could better understand her and the issues that plagued her other than me. Forced into relinquishing some control, I had to trust she would be okay without me.

It took me a little while before I felt comfortable leaving her in the hands of her teacher, but eventually I relaxed. I knew we couldn’t insulate her throughout her life. She needed to learn how to handle situations on her own. The only way to accomplish self-reliance was to let her experience them on her own, and eventually she would learn through trial and error what she needed to do to cope. It may take longer than the average child, but we were there to guide her.  It was time to start letting her do some of the things for herself because if we continued to buffer and make things easier for her she would never be able to do it on her own. Soon she fell into a routine that was comfortable for her, and she adapted to kindergarten. There was a calm to her routine, lulling us into believing that all was well with her. I was even hopeful that maybe the doctors were wrong and the issues that plagued her during her younger years were no longer an issue.

It wasn’t until I stopped in to be a parent helper that I realized the issues that we naively thought had been cured, were still prevalent. My observation confirmed the fact she was still dealing with them, and it also explained why she was so physically exhausted when she came home after school. Andra was trying to handle things that normally sent her into overload. My guess was that she was trying hard to be like the other children and it was taking all she had to accomplish it. As I spent the day at school, I noticed her avoiding some of the tables with things she didn’t want to touch. She played along side the other children, and very little time was spent interacting with them. My heart broke as I watched her. Other children congregated together, and she sat quietly by herself. I knew the only thing from sending her over the edge and into meltdown was the structure of the routine. Nothing ever changed from day to day. The class did things at the same time every day in the same way. It was her saving grace.

We realized if we adapted the same structure for her in other areas it minimized the outbursts, but was that a way to live? Outside of school, and on days school wasn’t in session, her symptoms were more pronounced. We tried to cope, but at times it was difficult. The one issue starting to overtake her was the fear of rain. If it rained she would start to panic to the point of having a full-blown meltdown. There was no aspect of rain she liked. It got to the point where we couldn’t even be inside of a car when the drops of rain began to fall before she began to panic. If she saw raindrops hit the windows of the car, she would start to distress and we would be racing home to stem the attack. It was never a relaxing time when it was overcast. We were always aware that we would have to leave at any moment. There was never any enjoyment knowing we were on alert all the time. Finally, we decided we had enough.

My husband and I decided to go back to what worked with us in the past…EXPOSURE THERAPY. It had been the one constant that always worked, even when other interventions didn’t. We learned early on she was and all or nothing child, there was no in between. So, we couldn’t waver when it came to dealing with her issues.  It had to be full commitment on our part. We waited for a day that was rainy without thunder and lightning, not hard to do in a state like ours where the weather changes in a short period of time. There was no advance warning, my husband gently took her hand while she stood and watched the rain at her post by the back door, and led her out into the garage. He slipped off her shoes, opened up the umbrella, and hit the button to open up the garage door. Andra’s eyes were wide as saucers. He pulled her forward as she dug in her heels. She had an idea of what was going to happen next and she would have no part of it. Unfortunately for her, he was more determined to overcome this latest cause of anxiety. Slowly he was able to get her out of the garage and into the rain. At first she was stiff with panic, stuck to my husband’s leg underneath the umbrella. In an instant, he decided to throw caution to the wind and close the umbrella. She repeatedly mumbled…No, no, no, no, no.

He cajoled her, and after many minutes they were joined hand in hand jumping in puddles and enjoying the summer rain. A few minutes later, it was as though God himself smiled down on us because the sun came out and a fresh rainbow appeared. She was happy…finally. A break through alluded us for so long, I was convinced she would never overcome her fear of rain, and I began to picture her old and gray huddled in a dark closet to get away from the rain. Just by going back to the one thing that had helped us in the past, it gave us the result we wanted. Exposure therapy was and has continually been the single most helpful form of therapy for our daughter who has battled the issues of Autism Spectrum Disorder, OCD, Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Hypersensitivity, and other symptoms since she was a baby. Our story continues daily with our daughter, but the one thing we learned from our experience is that she is better today because we were resolved to give her the tools she needed to cope with life.

Stay tuned there is more of Andra’s story to come….

“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.”—Helen Keller. As a parent we can either choose to look at life as a roller coaster ride. We climb aboard and learn that during our adventure there are ups, downs, twists, turns, high points and low points. We have little control of where the ride takes us, so you may as well sit back, put your hands in the air and enjoy the ride, because when it’s time to get off then the adventure is complete. When dealing with a child with special needs, whether physical, emotional or neurological, it can be overwhelming at certain times, and it may feel as though you are making very little headway. But there are those moments when you see the light of understanding dawn, and you feel it was worth all the difficult times.

Our first moment of hope was also our first moment of triumph. It was a long road to get where we were, and we knew we still had a long road ahead of us. I scoured the web looking for information on how to deal with a child like Andra. I wanted more effective ways to continue her progress, but all I found was technical information about dealing with children with the same needs. Most offered suggestions with medication, a lot stated that it would be a lifelong struggle and to just learn to live with the hand we were dealt. That was definitely not what I wanted. I wanted to know there were other parents dealing with what we were going through and successfully overcoming it. But there was very little of what I was looking for, so we were stuck making our own way through this adventure. We relied on our instincts and became our own child’s advocate. Many were trying to help by suggesting that we use medications.

Don’t get me wrong I do believe that advancements in medicine and medications have made phenomenal leaps in helping many illnesses and diseases. It is wonderful that there are cures because of medications and pharmaceuticals, and when used correctly they can be very effective. I don’t think that I could have made it through labor without the epidural administered to me, so I believe in medicine. However, I was also very aware that there is no medication out there today that can “cure” Autism Spectrum Disorder, OCD, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Hypersensitivity Disorder or even JRA. There are only medications that can alleviate, lesson or minimize the symptoms. Knowing that made me realize that if we decided to use medications then we were only enabling our daughter to become dependent on them to relieve her symptoms. It wasn’t what we wanted. We chose a different alternative, we wanted to help our child learn to overcome her diagnosis by learning skills to help her cope and overcome her issues.

Shortly after our mini breakthrough, I noticed there were regressions and areas that were progressively getting worse. My hope for Andra waned. She was three and the sensitivity, especially to certain stimuli, sent her into terrible meltdowns. If the noise around her was too loud she held her hands over her ears and screamed, or hide in a corner still with her hands on her ears and rock her body back and forth to find some sort of comfort. No wasn’t just a no to her, it was the trigger for a full out rage in which she would bang her head on a hard surface or flail because the frustration was overwhelming for her. I wondered if she could ever truly be helped. I second guessed our resolve not to medicate. At one point, I was convinced that my husband was burying his head in the sand and refusing to acknowledge that she even had a problem. Thinking those thoughts regularly left me feeling alone and isolated.

But I pressed forward despite my misgivings. We worked closely with our early intervention program to assist in our efforts. We enrolled her in their preschool program, hoping the interaction would help her overcome some of the social awkwardness that had developed. There were areas that she lagged behind in her development in relation to her peers. She didn’t communicate with too many words. She was not potty trained yet, not because we hadn’t tried, but because she had found comfort in her diapers. She carried around a purple blanket because it helped her cope. She obsessed about her pacifiers because they soothed her fears. She didn’t interact with children she played next to them. Whenever you changed her routine it would send her into a panic and the resulting fit was her way of trying to re-establish order. Looking back, the little battle we had over the grass was only the beginning of a very long journey. It was a roller coaster ride marked with a lot of twists and turns, and I did not know how we were going to come out of it in the end.

The first day of class was hard because I was leaving her in unfamiliar surroundings with people she didn’t know. My biggest fear was that she would panic and the teacher wouldn’t know how to handle the outburst. Reluctantly I walked her in the classroom, placed her near the toys that interested her, kissed her good-bye and left. I could see the confusion in her eyes. I had barely exited the classroom when I heard her sobs. I picked up my pace and left her cries of “mommy” chasing me down the wide corridor. Safely in the confines of my car, I wondered if I had done the right thing. The thought nagged me the entire time she was in class. After much debating with myself, I went back to the school early just to take a peek, and assure myself that I had made the right choice.

I peeked in the window, and there she was sliding down the mini slide in the room. The other children played around her pretending to play house with the kitchen set. She happily went up and down the slide. She was in her own happy place, at least she was not still in tears. This was a step in the right direction. When we got in the car, I asked her if she had fun. Without looking in me, she repeated, “fun”. I was glad she didn’t scream or cry when we went back the next day. Every day I picked her up from school, she was by herself playing while the other children interacted with each other around her. Something seemed so unnatural about it. I had hoped by putting her in school she would learn to interact with the other children. But it was something that I pushed to the back of my mind, chalking up the social awkwardness to her age.

During the fall, Andra opened up the newspaper and in the travel section she saw a picture of Disney World. She absolutely loved everything Disney. She carried around that paper for days. One day she had laid it out on the floor by the stairs. My husband was walking down and noticed the paper blocking his path. He had seen her carrying around the paper for days, but didn’t realize how much it meant to her until that moment. She came running up to him and jumped up and down pointing to Mickey’s house. He smiled at her antics, and moved around her paper, patted her on the head and left for work. Later that evening, Andra laid the Travel Section of the paper out again, prominently showing off Disney World, in front of the door leading to the garage. My husband came in from work to find it again, and our daughter running up, jumping up and down, and pointing to Mickey’s house. It dawned on him that she really wanted to go there. He picked her up in his arms and asked her if she wanted to visit Mickey’s house. She eagerly nodded her approval and scrambled to get down and point to the paper again.

Needless to say, it was within a few days we booked a trip down to Disney. She was so excited when we got there. I could sense that she was becoming overloaded with all the sights, sounds, and various stimulations. We were settled in the room and she was so wound up she couldn’t nap. We decided that we would take the kids out on the grounds and explore. She was beside herself with excitement. My husband and I were excited that she was showing some clear emotion that was positive. Most of the time she was in varying states of panic that it was difficult to handle, but at that moment she was happy.

The next morning we ventured into MGM studios to see some of her favorite characters. Belle was her favorite character, and a close second was Ariel because the character was her sister’s favorite. There was no show for Beauty and the Beast until later that day, so we decided to see Ariel’s show first. We were one of the first in line. The excitement of being in Disney was still radiating through her as the audience for the next show moved into the central waiting area, I held her hand so she didn’t get lost or move away from me. It was when more and more people were gathered in the small waiting room that I began to feel her discomfort. She began to tug at my hand so that she could cling to my leg. I bent to ask her what was wrong, but she just shook her head. I stood back up and took hold of her hand. The lights dimmed and the voice on the loudspeaker boomed. It was all it took and then next thing we knew Andra hit maximum overload. We didn’t quite understand it then, but she was having an intense panic/anxiety attack. It was though the spotlight had focused on my child and me.

I felt a sudden flush of heat engulf my body from head to toe. Eyes trained in my direction, some looks of concern as I tried desperately to control my young child while she kicked and screamed, others peered in irritation as all of my attempts to control her were doing little to console or ally her fears. My concern and helplessness soon turned into irritation. Why couldn’t she be “normal”? Why did she have to throw these uncontrollable fits? My husband tried to help, but it was useless, and her noncompliance to our pleas and consoling only irritated him.

I couldn’t subject these other people to this behavior. Instead of staying with my family I took her out immediately through the exit door before we had a chance to get seated. My husband stayed with my other daughter because there was no sense in her missing her favorite character because her little sister could not control her outburst. I was so irritated, but mostly I was embarrassed by how her actions made me look as her parent. In hindsight I see the incident in a different light, but then I was just mortified. It took a while to calm her down, but out of the crush of the crowd, back in the light of the day, and away from the din of the people and loudspeaker she calmed. Back was the smile on her face and the excitement she had felt before the meltdown occurred.

It was then I understood the enormity of all Andra’s diagnoses. This wasn’t just a cold that was going to go away with time. These were issues that we would have to deal with, and she would have to live with for the rest of her life. The light at the end of the tunnel was snuffed out, and I could feel myself being dragged back down a deep dark hole.

Hope…is knowing that there is attainable solution to what otherwise would appear to be a hopeless situation. As Andra grew older so did her symptoms. During her preschool years she ardently feared the grass. She couldn’t touch it, walk on it (even with shoes on), have a picnic on it, or be anywhere near it. Play dates were spent watching the other children play and frolic on the grass, while she waited patiently for them to finish. My heart broke while I watched her long to partake in the fun, but her fear rooted her to her spot. I tried everything. I read everything. I watched everything. I did everything I knew, but she still couldn’t get past her fears. I thought it was a phase she would outgrow, but her fear petrified her. The one advice given to me was to expose her to the things she feared in order to show her there was nothing bad that would happen to her. That philosophy was the one biggest factor for her, and one used even today.

Exposure therapy was the first step back from all the diagnoses of Broad Spectrum Autism, OCD, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, and Hypersensitivity Disorder. We saw the results, after years of dealing with what some termed as a devastating diagnosis. The first time we tried it was tough. I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to intentionally cause my daughter anxiety over something many would think was insignificant. So what that she didn’t like grass, but I also saw an inkling of more fear and frustration on the horizon, and I knew that if I backed down at that moment then recovery would never be possible.

I carried Andra outside, gave her a quick hug and gently placed her on the grass without shoes on her feet. At first, she was like a deer caught in the headlights. She didn’t move. Her arms readied at her sides in case she fell. I could see as her face initially registered her shock, which quickly turned to dismay, and then full out panic. She was frozen, literally paralyzed with fear. This was it. I had to move before I lost the opportunity and made matters worse. I took both tiny little hands in mine and without hesitation, gently led her forward. She was rooted and was not about to make my job any easier.

I coaxed, cajoled and finally had to give her a firm, but gentle tug over the grass. Who would of thought a three-year old could be so immoveable. With a little effort, I finally got her through the grass. She screamed bloody murder. My heart broke. I thought, “Oh my god, what have I done”. I cried along with her, feeling like the worst person in the world. I was mentally and emotionally done with this type of therapy. To me it was pure torture. I didn’t want to do it again. When my husband came home, he asked me how it went. I was disappointed, mainly because I had expected immediate results. I explained how heart wrenching it was because she reacted like she was being tortured. There was no way we would do it again.

My husband listened and then calmly stated, “what’d the doctor say?” I paused. I knew but I couldn’t bring myself to do it again. What was the mandate from the pediatrician—if we didn’t want to use medications than the only way to overcome some of her issues was to rely on other methods like exposure therapy. My emotions had collapsed. Nothing or no one could persuade me from thinking that all she was going through stemmed from the fact that I had not wanted her pregnancy in the first place. I was being punished, and I had no one to blame but myself for what was happening to my daughter. It was the sentiment that plagued me, as I watched my daughter become absorbed by her symptoms.

It took a while, but I came to the realization that I could either wallow in my guilt or I could actively do something to help her, and give her hope for the future. It was the first time I had wished for a “normal” child. I had to get over myself, and the self-recriminations and put the needs of my child over the guilt that I felt. The next day I tried again. I was determined this time I wouldn’t give up and let the therapy do its job.

Once I changed my mindset, it didn’t take long for the exposure therapy to work. It was during the end of the second session, when we finished and I was holding Andra, she turned her tear-stained face to me and looked into my eyes. But instead of seeing panic there was puzzlement. I asked her what was wrong and she answered—“go”. She wanted to go again. This time we walked together across the grass hand in hand, and an inkling of relief crept in…there was hope.

I can’t tell you how or when it happened, but at some point, I found a rhythm. I began to function with little to no sleep. At night I slept on the couch next to the wind-up baby swing. I put Andra in there after her last feeding. Every ten minutes I would wind the crank to keep her asleep. I stayed in the ready position until I was so exhausted that I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer.

I succumbed to the weariness and exhaustion, before I gave in to sleep. At that point, when the baby swing slowed to its stop, Andra would begin to fuss and complain, I turned the crank and dozed back into a semi-sleep state. From the first peep of sunlight, she would wake, and the crying would start all over again.

I felt isolated and alone. Nothing was going right. The days seemed endless and my emotions were frayed. I called the doctor’s office hundreds of times, hoping they would be some measure of sanity for me. During her three-month-old well check I broke down and begged the doctor for answers.

I told her about the endless hours of crying, the inconsolable tantrums, sleep that only came in small spurts in a swing, and disproportionate reaction to sound. Appropriately enough, the doctor listened while I vented. She told me many children had colic and she would soon outgrow it, approximately six to nine months old.

I felt relieved, and hoped she was right…she wasn’t right. It was endless. The only time Andra settled down enough not to cry was when she was being rocked. I did anything to avoid hearing the ear-piercing scream that was like nails on a chalkboard, even if it meant constantly rocking her through the night in either her swing or pumpkin seat.

During her nine month check I reiterated to the doctor that she was still difficult to settle, hardly slept unless she was rocked, when she was over stimulated she was inconsolable, and it was virtually impossible to drive with her in the car because if the car stopped or slowed for any reason at all she would let out a blood curdling scream that ripped you in two. I was told, in time, it would pass and not to give up.

Easy for her to say, because she didn’t have to live it day in and day out, I didn’t feel anyone understood the misery I was going through with my child. I felt awful, wanting to enjoy her, but feeling tortured by her at the same time. Sleep deprived, I couldn’t think straight. I didn’t know how to handle her. In my mind I was the worst mother in the world. Everything and everyone around me suffered along with us.

As Andra grew so did some unusual and worrisome behaviors. By two she talked very little. She didn’t make eye contact, didn’t like to be touched or soothed when she was over stimulated, was overly obsessed with her pacifier, purple blanket, and turtles. I made play dates, and watched with increasing concern as the other children interacted and played together while Andra sat within their vicinity and played on her own.

There was something wrong! I knew it deep within me, but trying to convince my husband that there was something amiss was a daunting task. He refused to see that there was anything wrong with her. He believed it was just a phase that she would grow out of sooner or later. I did manage to convince him to have her tested because she wasn’t talking.

After much deliberation, we had her tested through the local early childhood intervention program. Without hesitation they were able to see what I saw. I felt vindicated. I wasn’t the horrible mom that I imagined I was. They worked in conjunction with our pediatrician. After what seemed like an eternity we soon had our answers…Broad Spectrum Autism, Anxiety Disorder, Hypersensitivity Disorder, Panic Attacks, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Auditory Processing Issues.

It was a relief, and it was a new hurdle to overcome. This was it. It was what we had wanted to know, but didn’t know how to handle…

The Beginning

Children are not for the faint of heart. They take dedication and a willingness to adapt because the one thing I have learned…they are not all created equal, so what works for one doesn’t necessarily work for another. Every parent learns that there are many dimensions of loving children.

For as long as I could remember I have always wanted children. When I was younger the amount exceeded any sane person’s thinking, but as an adult I became fascinated with idea of just having a child. One was good because then he or she could have my undivided attention. Besides, I knew that I could talk my soon to be husband into one, considering he didn’t want any at the time.

It became my personal mission to begin my journey into parenthood. I had almost given up my goal when we found out we were finally having our first. It was an exciting time and one that we were both anxious and excited about. The moment we saw our precious child, we knew that the road to that moment was worth it. To my surprise, my husband wanted more, eight more to be exact. He forgot that I needed to be on board with that decision.

Parenthood was perfect. Our first child was everything we expected of her. At four months old, we found we were expecting another baby. To be honest, at the time, I was not overjoyed. In fact, upset wasn’t quite the word for what I felt. I was enjoying motherhood for the first time and then everything changed.

As my pregnancy progressed so did my fears of dealing with two very young children. It wasn’t something that I was proud of, but I felt resentment and anger that life was not working as I had imagined. I didn’t have time to think or plan for baby number two. I was consumed by the complications of the pregnancy. I had begun to think that maybe my attitude towards the pregnancy was the contributing factor to all of the problems.

As my blood pressure climbed I knew that the inevitable was likely to come sooner rather than later. I didn’t want to have all the feelings of angst and despair, but I did and I wallowed in it. I visited the doctor’s office towards then end of the pregnancy and was told it was time. Inside I melted it was our first child’s birthday and we were going to miss it, but I knew it wasn’t the reaction that was expected of me so I put on my happy face and accepted the inevitable.

Delivery was a blur, everything happened so quickly, and when the nurse came back in shortly after, she asked for a name. “A name?”…I never thought that far ahead. All I had focused on was that I didn’t want that day to arrive. Looking back, I know how selfish that was, but I had been caught off guard. My hormones had still been raging after the first child, when a new amount surged through me again. It was all I could do to make it through the day.

My immediate response was to answer honestly, “I don’t know”. I didn’t think that I would, but after being pressed the next day several times, I finally answered…Alexandra and we would call her Andra. It was the second choice name we had for our first child, but it would have to do because we did not have another name picked out. With that settled I slipped back into my fears.

We took our second child home and it was all I could do not to compare the differences from one child to the next. From the moment we brought her home the differences were markedly different. She never settled. She always fussed and hardly ever slept unless she was swinging in the baby swing or rocking in her pumpkin seat. When she was awake she cried, and she slept in small increments. She was nothing like what we had experienced the first time around.

My body was tired and my mind preoccupied. Was this the punishment justification since I hadn’t wanted to get pregnant in the first place? I had begun to think I deserved everything and more for my initial reaction and selfish attitude toward the pregnancy. In my heart I really wanted to try and welcome her with the same enthusiasm I had showered my first child.

But nothing seemed to go as I envisioned it. Andra was difficult, and that was stating it mildly. She didn’t take a bottle, not even in emergency situations when she was hungry and I wasn’t nearby. The crying never ceased, even when she was held she cried. I was at my breaking point. We would drive with her in the car and she slept as long as the car was moving. If we stopped at a light or a stop sign, she would begin to wail at the top of her lungs.

There was little sleep. I read every book, asked for advice, and put into practice some of the suggestions, but there were little results to my efforts. The only way that worked was if I stayed with her and let her rock in the baby swing. We only had a hand cranked on at the time, and every time it slowed or stopped she would cry. I was at my breaking point.