It was 2003 and the conversation with my husband went like this, “Hey, Aaron. If you buy me an iPod, I’ll run a marathon.” (Silence)
“Are you serious?” he asked.
“Yeah. Why not?” I answered.

Within a matter of days I came home and found a brand new iPod on our bed. He took the bait… and I had something to shoot for, plus I had a promise to fulfill.

I need motivation. I do. I need deadlines, and registration fees, and pressure. I need accountability. I ran a 10K once, but other than that, when I started training for that marathon I had never participated in any other sporting or racing event, by choice, in my entire life. I don’t even have one of those soccer trophies that seem to come with a good American childhood.

As a kid, I hated physical education. I thought it was torturous. Really? Can’t we just skip my turn at bat, or do I have to go through striking out and total humiliation in front of my peers?

In Physical Education at school they had this miserable idea of “treating” us to a different sport each month. (Oh, joy!) So, shortly after discovering I was especially terrible at softball, I was able to discover that I was equally as bad at volleyball. After volleyball, there was basketball, and I was miserable at that too.

Now, may I pause here and ask why anyone thinks it is a good idea to play dodge ball in junior high school? Really! Do we need to huck rubber balls at one another? In case you were wondering the person who always gets picked last for the team, is also the one that gets creamed first in dodge ball. It’s a reciprocation thing. Trust me.

I noticed one girl in my PE class who seemed to sit out every single day. I asked her how she got so lucky. She told me that she had a doctors note… she had ringworm. I wondered how I could get ringworm, too.

Never in my life was I called “sporty” or “athletic.” That was not me.

I got married when I was 21 years old. By the time I was 26, I had Leah and Lucy, and all of the surprises that came with them.

And then… in 2004, with my new iPod strapped to my arm, I ran the Inaugural Salt Lake City, Utah Marathon. My finish time was 5:27:22. Within the first 5 miles, my iPod gave up the ghost, but…

I COMPLETED A MARATHON!

I crossed the finish line and hurried home to shower and get dressed, because I had a presentation to give later that afternoon. I was booked to deliver a presentation to parents who have children with special needs. As I was running the race, I kept thinking, “You’d better hurry up if you want to shower, put on make-up and do your hair before speaking this afternoon!”

After that goal was crossed off my list, I didn’t think much more about racing. I did “the big one.” I knew I could do shorter distances if I felt like it…and I never felt like it. Life went on.

Not too long ago I came across Athleta, a company who makes some pretty fabulous women’s athletic clothing. While shopping on their web site, I read that they sponsored female athletes. I thought, “That is AWESOME! That would be amazing!” I continued to read about their sponsorship and then I heard this little voice saying, “Rachel, that is not you. You have never won a race. You’ve taken a yoga class, but you are no Yogini. You ran a half marathon in April, but you didn’t win it. You weren’t even trying to win. You have a couple of finisher’s medals. You are not an athlete.” So, I did not apply.

I bought their clothes and wore their clothes and since I really do love the stuff, there are photos on my blog of me wearing Athleta. My friends started buying clothes from Athleta too and we would chat and shop and tweet about it. We even race together all “matchy-matchy.”

Then, one day I got an email from someone at Athleta’s corporate office. The email said that they had seen my blog and were inspired by my story. They asked if I would apply to be one of their sponsored athletes!

I applied. But, when I spoke with them on the phone I was sure to reiterate how I had never won a race and how I was a mom, doing my best to be strong enough for Lucy… strong enough to be able to tell Lucy, “Yes” when so many other people, roads, and terrain would tell her “No.”

So…last month I signed an endorsement agreement with Athleta. I am one of their 2010 Sponsored Athletes! Most of the time, when I tell people about it I blush. I really do, because that “not sporty” “not athletic” 15 year-old version of myself is just bracing to get smacked with a rubber ball again. I’m waiting for someone to call my “bluff”, even though I ran two half-marathons last year. Even though I’ve hiked through Yellowstone with Lucy on my back, even though I took Lucy to Disneyland and transferred her countless times from her wheelchair to the rides and back to her wheelchair over three days… even though I had been training four times a week with a trainer to become strong enough for my daily life, training for my daughter Lucy and her wheelchair… even though I am 30 lbs lighter than when I ran 26.2 miles in 2004… even with all of that, there is still that little voice that says, “Rachel, you are not an athlete. You are just a mom.”

They said they felt my story was important to share because most women are like me; they are simply trying to find a way to balance their lives. You know what else I found out? Most women do not have a wall of medals either. They have children. They have jobs. They have circumstances that get in the way, too!

I feel really lucky, you know. Every day, my inspiration to be healthy and strong is looking right at me. She’s been living under the same roof for almost ten years. It just took me a while recognize how strong I could be. It feels so good to be able to see it in myself and know that I did it. I became what Lucy needed me to be.

Every time I lift that slippery 9 year-old out of the tub and wrap her in a towel, I feel like I am winning. I’m winning because there’s no concern in her eyes. She’s not worried that I might drop her or hurt my back, and I’m not worried about those things either. She knows that I am strong enough. I know that I’m strong enough. In those moments I smile.

And now I know – it’s one thing to reach for a goal just for me and no one else, and it’s quite another thing to strive for something on behalf of someone you love.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And then…

It was 2009 and the conversation with my husband went like this:

“Hey Aaron, if you buy me a road bike, I’ll do a triathlon…”

The last time I sent out a Christmas card, it was 1996 and it looked like this—

First Christmas

Yes, that is Leah. She’s a week old… well, not any more. She’s actually 13 and that photo just got me thinking that I should probably send out a card JUST so people know we don’t look like that AT ALL.

I am terrible at sending out Christmas cards. The worst part is, I WANT to be good at it. Every year I buy cards. Sometimes they even have the sticky place to put a photo, because I fool myself into believing I might really pull that off too!

Good Intentions

My cousin Jen has it down. Hers is always the first card I receive each year. She must do them while we are all taking our turkey induced nap on Thanksgiving.

Perhaps, I should pride mine in being the LAST card people receive… or as reality would have it, the last card they don’t receive. (sigh) I am not good at the Christmas card thing and I should accept it.

Please don’t suggest I email a card, because really… emailed Christmas cards don’t even count! That’s all I am going to say about that.

This year, I sat down with Aaron and mused at the possibility of writing one of those AWESOME Family Christmas Letters. Now there’s a commitment!! I secretly believe some marriages end over those annual productions. I opened the 2009 calendar to see if I could remember what we actually did this year. GAH! First of all, my calendar is 4 feet wide and 3 feet high. The boxes are crammed full of appointments, flight numbers, and the school holidays are highlighted, so we don’t forget and accidentally drop our children off. I could hardly decipher the information, let alone organize it and make it sound lovely.

Be Very Afraid

I tried to conjure something up from the top of my head but the good was TOO good and the bad TOO bad.

Here, I’ll show you. Pictures and all. This is like a Coleman Christmas Letter test-drive.
“Lucy’s rabbit, Snowball, died the week before Christmas. We all cried. Leah found the dead rabbit and brought it into the house as she cried her eyes out.
Lucy: “This really hurts!”
Leah: “Sissie, I am so sorry. I will buy you a new rabbit in the spring with my own money!”
The timing was terrible! I had just told Leah to check on the rabbits, because Aaron and I were leaving for the airport. (Now you know why my babysitters quit! “Bye kids! Oh, by the way, Lucy’s rabbit just died. She’ll probably cry for days. Have fun!”)
I hate seeing my children in pain and not only were they in pain, we had to abandon them right in the middle of it. My great-aunt died the week before, but she was 89, so that’s ok.”
(See! That just came out weird. Let me try something else…)

Lucy and Snowball

Ummm. “We all did a liquid diet with Lucy before her bowel and bladder surgery. Please don’t ever use the words ‘jell-o’ or ‘broth’ in front of us, because we will dry heave… The surgery was Hell went great but it has taken months to figure out how it all… never mind.”
(Note to all- Leave bowel and bladder updates OUT of Christmas cards. P.S. No one wants to see your scars. No one.)

Pretty Good for 5 Hours of Surgery

“Aaron and I went to Aruba twice this year!”
(Enough said. No one wants to hear it how you were all warm and tan and visiting exotic locations. Leave gratuitous bikini shots out of Christmas letters, unless there are screaming children in the shot. If you must comment on the beach vacay, look miserable or REALLY put together. Put children in matching outfits and we will all know they are miserable- especially if they are smiling!)
NOT THIS:

Wish You Were Here

THIS:

Who Wears a Dress to the Beach

(By the way, they were SO miserable, heaven forbid your mother makes you wear a dress for an hour on Easter Sunday.)

So far, family and vacation segments were terrible. I know! I’ll tell you about work!

“Signing Time has music videos on Nick Jr.!”
(Just sounds like you’re bragging. I could try, “We haven’t been on public TV for a year.” <—But that sounds like whining. How ’bout “I didn’t get nominated for an Emmy this year.” But really, who did? How many people get nominated for Emmy’s? I really blew it by NOT sending out a Christmas card that year.)

SEE!

Do you see my dilemma?

In a perfect world. I would have a stack of photo-perfect Christmas cards ready to go in the mail with shiny Christmas stamps and all! Each card signed by each member of my little family.

But it’s not a perfect world. Is it?
Or… is it? Somewhere along the line I must’ve decided that sending out Christmas cards equals Having It All Together. <—-Which I don’t even pretend to do.

There is no perfection. It’s all imperfection, so that must be perfect!

Instead of a card, (because we’ve already been through how you are NOT going to get one) I’m going to let you peek in through our snow frosted windows and see three of my favorite Christmas moments. I may suck at cards, but I can safely say that I’m pretty good at videos.

Lucy’s Christmas Gift
The giant box with red ribbon had been under the tree for a week. Lucy kept eyeing it. She knew her name was on it. But, since she can’t hop down and shake her gifts, she didn’t know it was empty… until I put something in it on Christmas day.

I Can’t Believe You Are Crying!
It took me a little while to explain to Aaron why this gift made me so emotional. It’s one thing to buy gear before leaving for a trip. It’s another thing to buy it when there are no trips on the calendar. It was received as a promise of warm weather and good times to come.

Let’s Go Out With A Song
A few years ago, for Christmas, my dad gave me and my sisters some new arrangements of Christmas songs, with 5 part harmonies. This is the first one.
“Sleigh Ride/Jingle Bells” arranged by Lex de Azevedo
Performed by Rebecca, Rachel, Julie, Emilie, and Carrie

Here’s to 2010!

Love~
Rachel, Aaron, Leah, Lucy, & Jack (the rabbit)

We were finishing up math, only 2 pages left of a week’s worth of homework. This was our flight home from Cancun and the last chance to wrap it up before she returned to school tomorrow. We did the first problem together. Lucy was doing the math, I was writing in her answers… and then… well, to be completely honest, I have no idea what set her off. “What makes Lucy cry and scream?” <---that my friends is the million dollar question.

Something happened… or maybe nothing happened. Someone coughed? Cleared their throat? Slammed a door? A baby cried? The wind changed? Everything. Nothing. The tirade began. Ear piercing, high pitched, screaming, that went something like this, “I HATE YOU! YOU NEVER HELP ME! YOU’RE STUPID! STUPID! YOU’RE A TERRIBLE MOMMY! YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ME! I HATE Y-OOOOOOOOU! (Repeat, non-stop… for 45 solid minutes)

She started her rant before they closed the airplane door. She continued through the safety announcements and hadn’t let up by the time we were allowed to use electronic devices and were free to move about the cabin. 10,000 feet of screams.

There is nothing I can say to stop her, no threat. No look. No words. My response or reaction just makes it escalate. I put on my sunglasses and my headphones and am surprised at how the music drowns out my daughter’s screams. I pop one headphone out and announce loudly, “I hope you all brought headphones!” What else can I do? Then put the headphone back in place. This infuriates Lucy all the more. She takes it up a notch from ear piercing to shrill. All the while at top of her lungs.

People throughout the plane are shooting hateful glares and glances our way. I can hear their helpful advice, “If that were my child, I would smack her!” Do you know how much self-restraint it takes to keep from throttling her? Do you? I put her in one room and I go in another room and I cry. I don’t know how to break her. In so many ways, she’s already broken. What’s left to take away? “That’s it! No walking for you!”

I’m sure the people on the plane were questioning my parenting skills. Hey, let’s be honest- I question my parenting skills. No one has ever had a “Lucy” before and she didn’t come with a manual. “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” didn’t include anything about fetal surgery for spina bifida. I threw that book away. “What to Expect in the First Year” had nothing about a child who screams for their first 9 months, almost dies in your arms and has sensory issues that cause her to startle and cry like a newborn until age 7. She has managed to knock out the cry now, but the startle still sends her reeling. She’ll tip right over if we cough without warning and with the cold and flu season escalating, there is no safe place for this child. Oh, please don’t exclaim in front of my child, happy- “WOW!” sad- “SHOOT!” or otherwise. You’ll see the startle, then you’ll apologize for it, just drawing more attention to the thing she can’t control. She gets embarrassed and the whole thing snowballs. “Just keep swimming. Just keep swim-ming.”

“How old are you?” The question from the woman in the aisle, leaning in over Leah, surprises Lucy and Lucy shuts her trap and tucks her chin in embarrassment. This must be my guardian angel! I half wonder if Aaron enrolled her in helping me out, sending her from the back (he didn’t). I smile at the woman. Lucy won’t answer. “She’s nine years old!” I draw it out, grinning.

“Nine? You are nine? I was pretty sure that noise was coming from a child who was only two or three years old… you are nine?” Her voice was more stern than angry, but tinged with a tiny bit of compassion… tiny… or maybe she was just tired. “Do you realize you are acting like a two-year-old?” The stranger continued, Lucy still doesn’t answer and doesn’t look up. “There’s an entire group of us in the back of the plane, we are all tired and trying to sleep and you are REALLY disturbing us. The noise is unbearable and the entire plane can hear you. You need to stop this nonsense and be nice to your mother.”

I smiled at the woman. I was really thankful. It takes someone else, someone Lucy doesn’t know. There is nothing I can say to stop her. Besides, she’s heard it all from me a million times before.

The woman returned to her seat. Lucy looked up at me and said, “I’m ready to finish my homework.” We finished both pages and for the remainder of the flight, 3 hours, Lucy was absolutely pleasant.

“Did you send that lady up to save me?” I asked Aaron after we landed in Phoenix. “No! I saw her get up and talk to you guys. What did she say?” I replayed the encounter for Aaron, who, like me, smiled.

We made our way through the terminal. Found our gate and plopped down. Quite some time later, the woman from the plane showed up and sat on the row directly behind us. I didn’t notice, until Aaron said, “I guess you didn’t get enough of us on the plane!” She turned around and looked surprised.

Then she started, earnest, but hushed, so Lucy couldn’t hear her, “I am soooooooo sorry! I shouldn’t have said anything. After I sat down, I saw you guys signing and I realized that maybe the little girl was deaf and then when you got off the plane I saw that you put her in a wheelchair!!! …And I thought, ‘Oh great! I am going to Hell!’- I should have kept my big mouth shut!” I stopped her, “No. No. I was SO glad you said something. I actually thought my husband sent you up to save me! No one ever says anything! They don’t dare say anything! They look at us like they hate us, but they don’t say anything. The flight attendants see us board with the wheelchair, so they don’t even say anything because they KNOW she has disabilities.”

Once, a flight attendant actually got into it with a passenger who had turned around and “SHHHHHushed” Lucy! That flight attendant started hollering, “That child has disabilities, you don’t treat her that way!” and the passenger shot right back, “I’ve worked with kids with disabilities and THAT child knows better!” And mostly, I just wished a hole would open in the plane and drop me out somewhere far below the two strangers arguing over my child’s deplorable behavior…

“But you were right,” I continued, “there is no reason for Lucy to act that way, disability or not, it doesn’t work. Clearly it doesn’t work for anyone on the plane!”

I gave her the short version of The Traveling Coleman Family Circus- Leah is deaf. Lucy has spina bifida and cerebral palsy. We all sign. Lucy seems to have some sensory issues, caused by cerebral palsy; her nervous system seems underdeveloped in some ways, even though she has a completely capable and brilliant mind. No, there has not been an official diagnosis other than CP and spina bifida, no, I don’t know if there is medication that could reduce Lucy’s sensitivities. And thank you again for having the guts to say something!

We boarded the next flight, heading home to Salt Lake City. This time I was flying with a plan. Aaron was far behind me getting Lucy out of her wheelchair and gate checking it. I knew Lucy was safely out of earshot, “Excuse me…” I said to the woman just ahead of me in the aisle, “Hi there, ummm… this may sound odd, but I was wondering if you’d do me a favor… If my child starts acting like a turd, would you please come over and sternly ask her to cut it out? Thanks.”

Still Camping

When we arrived in Mammoth, we saw elk, everywhere.

Just Lounging Around

We hiked the terraces of Mammoth Hot Springs.

Just Keep Hiking

The terraces look like ice and snow. Very Superman, don’t you think?

Fortress of Solitude

We decorated our pancakes.

Pancakes Made with Feeling

Old Faithful

The trip was a complete success! We packed up on Saturday morning to head home… head home for surgery.

Lucy would be admitted on Monday in preparation for surgery on Tuesday. We had it all planned out, remember?

Maybe it was scheduled too tightly. Lucy had to start a clear liquid diet the day we drove home from Yellowstone. Not so yummy. Chicken broth, sprite, juices, Jell-o and that’s about it. She would have a second day of clear liquids and then she would go into the hospital. Well, that didn’t go so well. She got sick. Really sick. I would prefer any one of us get sick, anyone other than Lucy.

Late Saturday night, I was asleep, and I heard Lucy cough. I sat up in bed, “Luce, you ok?” And then I heard it “RAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”
This is not good. Lucy can’t roll over. She can’t sit up. She could choke… aspirate… When Lucy is sick, we are all on high alert, until the threat has passed.

I sprung from bed (truly I sprung, you should have seen it!) I hollered, “AARON!” as I ran. Then he sprung, because you spring when your wife screams your name as she tears down the hallway to your child’s room.

Then we spent the following 24 hours either right by Lucy’s side, or not far from it. It wasn’t pretty. Trust me. (This is the part where you are SO glad that blogs are not scratch and sniff.) Lucy, with the flu is a 4 man job. Someone to hold the bowl. Someone to hold her up. Someone to hold her head up as her little body is wracked. She burst blood vessels in her eyes, from retching so violently.

Poor Lucy. Was it the liquid diet? Stress over the upcoming surgery? Maybe she was just sick with the flu. I know the clear liquid diet was on her mind, because after she would hurl, she would look up at me, smile and announce, “Chicken Sliders! From The Cheesecake Factory!” She was having me make a list of things she wanted to eat once she had recovered from surgery. It was kind of pitiful, really. “RAAAAAAAAAH!…. Peanut Butter Cup Shake!”

She was so tiny, weak and pale… or seemed to be, until she hollered out her next dream food. “Cherry Cheesecake Ice Cream!”

Monday morning I called the hospital to let them know she had been sick. They asked me to bring her in for an evaluation to determine whether or not surgery should be canceled. We packed like we were going in for surgery and a week of recovery.

Very Sick Girl

I told the doctor everything that had happened in the past 48 hours. Then he announced that it would be best to wait and reschedule the surgery.

Lucy had just completed 48 hours of eating nothing but clear liquids and ralphing them up again… and we would have to do it all over again in a few weeks, hopefully without the ralphing.

The doctor left the room. Lucy and I were both tired. She looked at me and said sadly, “But… mom, I’m ready. I’m ready to have surgery.” (Proof that reverse psychology actually works)

We hugged, and then, two very exhausted girls had a little cry.

Then we got our things and went home.

But wait, it can’t end there! That would never do!
(Kei, put away your Kleenex!!!)
As soon as Lucy felt well enough to eat Chicken Sliders from The Cheesecake Factory, which was within a few short hours of canceling her surgery, I booked flights to San Diego!

Early Wednesday morning Lucy, her cousin Clara, and I flew to California and went straight to Sea World for three days!

We Love California

Lucy and Clara giggled non-stop… for three days! On the flight home, Lucy smiled and said, “Hey mom! That was WAY better than surgery!” Once again, Lucy is right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
P.S. Lucy will start her liquid diet this Saturday. Aaron, Leah and I will join her on the liquid diet for support. The plan is that Lucy will be admitted to the hospital this Monday…

Plans are overrated.

We might just no-show and go to Sea World again!

Anyway, last summer in Mexico I found an advertisement for a glass bottom boat. I thought it would be perfect for Lucy, because she is not a fan of putting her face under water. She has dysarthria<--- which came along as a sidekick to cerebral palsy<--- which came as a sidekick to spina bifida (Thank you very much).
Because of her dysarthria, snorkeling does not work for Lucy. It is tough for her to get her body to either breathe through her mouth or her nose.

I asked Lucy if she would like to see the fish, but do it in a boat and not even get wet! She loved the idea. I called the company to make the reservation. I asked them about wheelchair accessibility there was none. A bus would pick us up and take us to the main location. We would board a speedboat and it would drive us out to a small submarine. Then we would transfer onto the sub go down a tight spiral staircase to our seats below!

No wheelchair. Not for any of it. We would be gone for at least 6 hours.

Could I do it? Could I carry all 40+ pounds of her? Could I carry her as I exited a boat, out in the ocean, and hopped over to a sub?

Was I strong enough to bring her to new experiences? Or because of my lack of physical strength was she literally “bound” to her wheelchair? Was I strong enough to show her the world beyond sidewalks and ramps? The worlds of dirt and gravel and sand and water and beauty? What would she think of me if I failed her? Worse yet… what would I think of myself?

My nightmares the night before included being dropped off with her in the desert, with nowhere to rest, nothing but sand, sand dunes and smooth rocky hills. After hours in the hot sun, moving her from piggy-backing to a side carry, to baby-in-arms hold, I frantically looked for anyone who might have a stroller. Even in the deep sand a stroller would give me a little rest and we could still slowly move forward. I moved her to my back as we bouldered across mountains of rock.
When I woke up I was exhausted, soaked with sweat.

That was a year ago.

I was able to hold her as we stood in line, transferred to the boat, transferred to the sub and back to the boat. We had a great time together and I don’t think my daughter ever knew my fear… my fear that I would let her down. The fear that I might be just one more “No!” in a world full of people, who throughout her life, will simply look at her and tell her, “No.”

Something changed in me that day. I began working out harder at the gym, running faster and farther. I looked for better backpacks to carry her in.

With Lucy as our inspiration, Aaron and I signed up with a personal trainer and started training with him 4 days a week. I felt silly doing it, I didn’t want to tell anyone because it felt so “Hollywood!” (Um, YES! I TOTALLY have a personal TRAIN-ER!)
But I wasn’t going to be stopped by feeling silly or cliché. My reasons were bigger than that. When Jared, the owner of the gym, and Matt, our trainer, asked what our goals were, Aaron and I said, “We definitely need to be able to dead-lift 50 pounds, over and over and over again. Every single day.” I said, “I don’t care if I lose weight, but I need to get stronger. We have to increase our overall strength because we have an 8 year-old in a wheelchair and every day she is growing. We have to keep up with her!”

Jared Trevino, who owns our gym, Fit Forever, offered to come to the house and watch how we lift and transfer Lucy. He watched us load her in and out of her car seat. Then we loaded her wheelchair in and out of our car. Next we lifted her from her wheelchair and sat her on her bed, then moved her back to the wheelchair. Then we transferred her to her feeder chair at the dinner table.

I set her on her back, in the bottom of the tub. I stepped in, straddled her and lifted her out, stepping carefully over the edge, one foot at a time, like I do when she has a bath. (A maneuver that is much easier when she is fully clothed and dry.)

We put her in her small wheelchair and “bumped” her up and down the stairs. We put her in her stander and then pulled her out of it.

Jared then showed us how to do each of those things with correct form, giving us more strength, more control, protecting our lower backs and protecting Lucy. We had been doing it all wrong… but only for the last 9 years.

Our trainer, Matt Williams, says that very few of his clients train as intensely as Aaron and I train. I wonder if many of them have as much at stake as we do. We are Lucy’s legs. We are the wheelchair, when the wheelchair says “No.”

When we workout on our own, people literally stop and stare. They stop us to say that they are inspired by us and that they can see our determination. They assume we are in training for a physical, competitive event like a triathlon or marathon. When they ask what we are training for I say, “I’m training for my daughter, Lucy, who’s in a wheelchair. I’m training for our life.”

Lucy is my motivation. When I don’t want to run, I still run… and I run… because I can run. She may never run, not in her whole life, and I just won’t take my ability to do so for granted. I push myself physically so I can carry her. So I can run with her. I do it, so I can be a “Yes.”

A couple of months ago, Lucy asked, “Mom, can just you and me go to Disneyland sometime? Just you and me. Not Daddy, not Leah.” (In my mind I quietly, nervously, calculated the number of times I would need to lift her. Then I told myself to “STOP IT!” And I told my daughter, “Yes.”

“Mom, can I hike through Goblin Valley?”
“Yep.”

“Mom, can we hike all the way up to Delicate Arch?
“Absoultely!”

Let’s just say it… there’s quite a difference in my physical appearance from Signing Time Series 2 to Baby Signing Time 3 & 4. Actually, I have been all over the scale map from the first show to the most recent.

Honestly, I’ve struggled with my weight my entire life and finally, finally I’ve found something that motivates me. A reason to push myself. A reason to really ask, “Is that all you can do Rachel? Are you sure?”
One word- Lucy.

A few nights ago I carried Lucy down the hall to get her ready for bed. I placed her on her bed, so that she was sitting up and leaning against the wall. She smiled at me and said quietly, “Mom, I can tell you’re getting stronger.”

And that’s the best reward of all.