THE ROUTINE
Every night before I go to bed, I take the hearing devices off of my Congolese daughter.  I pack her a lunch that will travel 40 miles to a school for deaf children.  I give her sister a handful of pills to swallow and have her weigh herself, hoping to see the number climb.  I check my son for bruises and ask if any of his joints hurt.  I think through the specialized phonics lesson that I will teach two of my children the next day, and hope that my other "normal" son is getting enough attention.  I pray that all four kids will be used by the Lord for great things.

THE IRONY
It's comical when I think back to my first few weeks of parenthood.  Just prior to the birth of our first child, I was complaining to a woman at church about feeling like a whale.  She pointed at my middle and said, "They are easier in there!"  She was right.

That first child was a beautiful bouncing baby boy we named, Ian.  Ian was alert, and I was tired.  (Alert = no sleep...ever.)  Eventually, he slept and we slept, and I rejoiced that our difficult child was our first one.  We could handle any baby after this.  *deep sigh*