Fingers Crossed

Most of the time I am able to add to this website when Kaylin is sleeping in the afternoons, or when Avery is at school, or when the kids and Bryan have long been snoozing, but lately, we haven't had a whole lot of down time. Avery is in school less for the summer, and when Kaylin naps, Avery and I have been able to share some quality time together. Additionally, we have begun a new treatment for Avery that takes up about 2 more hours a day... on top of ABA, RDI, Speech, PT, Neurofeedback, biomedical supplements and medications. I have been hesitant to even write about it, but now that we are 14 sessions in... I want to share with you some of the "why's" and "what's."

At the urging of our immunologist, and following countless hours of research, we rented a Mild Hyperbaric Oxygen Chamber for the month. Shortened as HBOT, we decided to try it given the latest double blind studies published earlier this year regarding it's effectiveness in treating some of the symptoms of autoimmune diseases and Autism. Here is the idea: (specific to Avery). When your body has an autoimmune disease, one of the unpleasant side effects of this is brain inflammation. For Avery, her body produces too many mast cells, cells responsible for producing histamine in allergic reactions, hives, and inflammation in your organs, namely, the skin, GI system, bone marrow and brain. Inflammation of the brain results in a lack of oxygen reaching various parts of the brain, impacting connectivity and all functions of the brain from physical, emotional, language, immunity ect. What HBOT does is put the body in a position (through pressure similar to being 12 feet underwater) to which it can soak up the oxygen being pumped into the chamber, thereby improving blood-flow and cellular function. HBOT is often used in hospital settings following surgical procedures and injuries to speed healing and reduce inflammation. Lately, it has been used for many children with Autism, yielding promising results... even from government funded studies.

So, Avery has done 14 "dives" so far, mostly with me, a few times with Bryan and we are already seeing some really fantastic changes. Initially, she was a little more "stimmy." She was walking WAY up on her tip-toes and mouthing everything in sight. Right away she was making more noise. Her eye contact is improved, and for the first time in her short life, she is able to run. To really run. Her motor skills have been so shaky, and her apraxia so severe, I was beginning to question whether she would ever have the balance and coordination ready to master this skill. I attribute this jump in progress to HBOT. Additionally, Avery's receptive skills are noticeable improved, and today she said FIVE, yes, count em, FIVE words! Also today, I asked her to "get Diego" and she brought me not one, but TWO diego dolls that were on the other side of the room. For those of you who know Avery... you know this is HUGE for her.

So, as you can see I am really pumped up about this. I wasn't born yesterday, and I am not expecting miracles, but already I would say this treatment has been worth every penny. Everyday I read more testimonials, and today I was reading scientific animal studies showing HBOT reducing mast cells in mice and rabbits. If we continue to see the rate of progress we have seen so far we will do whatever we have to to to actually purchase one of these machines. I don't care if we have to take a second mortgage out on our home. This really could be THE thing that helps Avery be all she can be. I am so elated to be with her on this journey, and to witness with patience and perseverance her coming back to us.... little at a time.

Defining Moments

I have been thinking a lot about the moments in my life that have really shaped me as a person. Moments and events surrounding them that have enabled me to become, more or less, who I am today. Some of these moments involved revelations, some extreme sadness or loss, some were brilliant and breathtaking, others less memorable but equally astounding in their impact. There are big ones... wedding, child-birth, graduations, deaths, first days, new jobs etc., and smaller ones... all of them incredibly important in building my character, my humor, my stamina, my heart, my strength and my soul.

Some moments come quick and hard... others build up to an "ah ha" moment, or a moment when you finally "get" it. Whatever "it" is. Learning to appreciate these moments, however devastating or exhilarating they may seem at the time they occur... is a work in progress for me. So, reflecting on these moments is a great way for me to build self-awareness and better perspective.

One particular moment I will share with you I remember vividly... as if it was yesterday. It was actually almost two years ago. Avery was coming up 18 months. Eighteen months is a significant age around here, as she had started her developmental regression and I was in a panic. Knowing what I know... I was well aware of what was happening, but when it happens to you, I can't even begin to describe how heartbreaking it is. Anyway, we had taken her in to a new pediatrician who was intrigued by her mastocytosis, (the very rare autoimmune disease she was diagnosed with as an infant.) She sent us to a lab for blood-work to gather more information. At the time, I wasn't all that concerned, just following orders.

To make a pretty long story short, her blood-work came back with some alarming results that indicated Avery's Mastocytosis was likely systemic, and has probably infiltrated her bone marrow. I had read about this as a possibility, but learning that your beloved child may have mast cell leukemia was a very big "ah ha" moment for me. At that very moment, and for the hours, days, and weeks that followed... I virtually "forgot" about my autism panic. I remember the moment I bargained with God and said "I don't care if she EVER talks, just PLEASE keep her with us. Please help her to be okay." I was rocking Avery at night... I was crying, and I said it out loud over and over and over again. I begged. I meant it. I really did.

So, as most of you who know us well know, she did not have mast cell leukemia. She does have systemic mastocytosis, and will always have major health issues including various cancer possibilities, but for right now, she is doing okay.

That moment in the dark rocking Avery I made a decision. I decided that her life and presence was way more important than meeting milestones. Neurological disorder or not, I wanted her here. I wanted to fight with her, love her, and mostly, be with her as much as possible. I still feel that way. And when I get anxious to hear her words again... I am able to remind myself of that moment. The moment I decided that Autism was the better option. Even though I know it wasn't a choice.

Time marched on and in many aspects, we have come a long way. We have had a few more "defining moments" in our journey, and we all work tirelessly to help Avery heal. But what a gift that moment, as awful and unbelievable as it seemed at the time, has been with regard to our outlook and attitude. The hardest moment of my life has been the best lesson of all.

Details

I have had several people ask me lately how Avery is doing. I never quite know how to answer this question. In some ways, she is doing great. For the most part, she is a happy, silly, pretty even tempered child who loves to snuggle, play with her characters, swing, hear her favorite songs, etc. But I am pretty sure this is not what they are asking for.

Most people wonder if she is learning to talk yet. Well, not really. She has had and lost words throughout her toddlerhood, and currently has none. One year ago she was EXCELLENT at puzzles, now she isn't so into them anymore. She has gained and lost pointing skills more times than I can count, and though she understands some language, for the most part, we have to guide her by the hand to help her comply.

HOWEVER... in any given moment in this journey thus far, I can always identify several "strengths" within her. Collectively, looking back, this must have been a stretch at times, but always... I am able to find her hidden talents. Her special gifts. Her simple, yet wonderful positives. Right now, Avery is responding to her name quite a bit. She is pointing at lots of pictures in books, and babbling to us and back to the TV when it asks her "questions." Such as in Dora, at the end of the show it always asks "What was your favorite part?" Avery always answers... we just have no idea what she is saying. Avery can play several games on my iPhone. She has been able to show us yet again that she knows several things... including colors, shapes, numbers and letters. Amazing how technology is allowing us a glimpse at her potential. That silly iPhone is hands down the best investment ever. Bryan and I both have one now, and we are considering getting Avery her own iTouch for Christmas because there are actually several apps that we can download that may help her communicate with us through pictures, choices and so on. Very cool.

So, in the big picture, if you test Avery, or spend just a few minutes with her at a time, you may think she is really severe. Pretty isolated and in her own world. But we know better. Just as she points at every single detail in a magazine or book for us to label, if you get down to it and want to get specific, Avery's little "details" make up for one very special, unique, happy and lovely little girl. So as we continue our journey and she gains and loses skills, comes and goes as far as her connection to people... one thing remains steady...our pure and abundant love for her and all that she is, and even for all that she isn't. So stop and slow down a minute... pay attention to the details. Sometimes brilliance lies within them.

Catching Up

There is so much to write about that I don't know where to begin. Seriously, I could have posted everyday over the past few weeks and I still wouldn't be able to share everything that I want you all to know. If only I had more time. I think any mom out there can relate to not having enough time. When I finally DO have time, after kids are in bed, pumping is over, face and teeth are clean, it's usually somewhere around the neighborhood of 10pm... and for a gal who only gets a few full nights of sleep a month, getting in to the sac is just about the only thing on my mind. But I digress.

We have just returned home from a whirlwind trip to Atlanta to visit my loving and supportive family. I love the escape from our everyday reality. Avery and Kaylin get to be spoiled rotten by Grammy, Granddad, Aunt Jenna and Uncle David, and Bryan and I get refuge for at least a few hours to go and just be a couple. For a few days anyway, I am able to let go of my anxiety and just relish in the memories I adore making with my kids. We were able to swim, see fireworks, play in a bounce house, go to a park on the river and see lots of ducks, eat great meals at my parent's country club and at their house... and just relax. Bryan and I even went to the movies and watched two more on pay per view.... a record for us since we have had kids! It was fantastic. All of it. Even the the travel part, which wasn't without glitches, was fine. Hard, but manageable.

Luckily, we were only home a day and we got to spend some quality time with more family. My brother Stuart, his wife Darsi and their kids Sydney and Maddox stopped by on their way back from a family vacation in Austin. All four of these individuals are so incredibly special. Bryan and I can't get over how they are able, all of them, to connect to our kids. Especially Avery. Avery is HARD to connect too, yet, somehow, without too much effort, she really loves the four of them. It is evident in her approach to them, how she wants to just "be" around them. In the smile on her face, and in her attempts to "play" with them, or at least near them. It really warms my heart. It is magical for me to see.

Finally, on Friday, I had Kaylin evaluated by some buddies of mine who are still working full time in Early Intervention. Since she broke her arm and was casted for several weeks, I wanted to make sure her wrist was functioning properly, but I also wanted to make sure my "mommy eyes" weren't missing any red flags in her development. By the time Avery was her age, she had started her massive regression... so needless to say I have been a complete wreck about this lately. Thankfully, Kaylin sailed through her assessment, and is actually above age level in every area they tested. We even counted and she was able to say 40 or so words. So, for the moment, I can breath a sigh of relief. I won't completely relax until she is about 2... but for now, I can finally enjoy the pleasures of watching your child do what they are SUPPOSED to do. It's unbelievable, and sometimes, slightly bittersweet. But I am thrilled.

So, at last, I can finish up this post for the day. It has taken 5 different times of me sitting down to get to it, but I can always write more later. I always have more to say. But for the time being, I want to just say thank you. Thanks to all of you who care to read this from time to time. Our journey isn't all that unique, but I hope it provides for some of you some sort of inspiration or perspective. Some sort of glimpse into our souls that hopefully, will move towards more peace, tolerance and acceptance. Life isn't at all what I thought it would be. It's better. In every way, it's better.

Better

Okay, so I decided it would be a good idea to post again in case some of you were worried I may have jumped off my roof yesterday or something. Obviously, it was a bad day. A REALLY bad few hours... pretty tear filled and over-anxious, but as it always does, and did today, the sun came up again and we were able to start fresh. In the big picture, days like yesterday are pretty few and far between, and it's not really Avery that changes all that much, but it is how I perceive my circumstances, and how I am able to cope with the MANY challenges having a child with several health problems, including Autism.

Sometimes it truly does feel like my world is caving in. Like I can't get a grip. I think about life BA... (before Avery) and I am instantly snapped back to how much I adore her. How she lights up my whole life and brings me compassion beyond measure. It is manic how in a few moments I can move from being totally overwhelmed to focused and driven. But I am doing the very best I can, even though many days I feel like my children and husband deserve better.

On a positive note, Avery continues to make some (albeit very slow) progress. She is really much more aware of her surroundings. She is pointing out pictures in books and magazines all the time. She is responding to her name and to several simple commands or requests. She is smiling AT us, she is taking actual bites of food instead of stuffing or me having to cut every single piece up, she is making a few sounds, and she is climbing better and ALMOST running. All steps in the right direction. Looking back on the past two years, it seems with every step forward we have had two or three steps back that quickly followed. Hopefully, the progress she is making now will really stick. I remain hopeful. I am staying focused on today, trying to push out the anxiety and worry. It's a battle. Hour by hour, we are surviving this fight. We are moving on, and doing so with very precious cargo. Keep your fingers crossed that our perspective stays in check. Because our lives are truly enriched by those that need our help the most.

A Moment

I need a moment. Right now. A moment to curse, scream, hit a wall (which I actually did and think I hurt my hand) and just freak out for a while. I DO NOT have the patience, tolerance, willpower of whatever it is I need sometimes to get through hours like this gracefully. I just don't. It's not pretty. I keep praying for it. Praying for strength... but I feel like I am losing my mind sometimes. I really do. Just this minute I am coming off of holding my screaming, flailing, flapping, sweating, hysterically crying, not to mention exhausted 3 year old for two full hours. Two miserable, out of control hours. She is finally sleeping. Maybe she wore herself out from crying all day and most of the night last night. Or maybe the medication I gave her to calm down finally kicked in. Whatever it is, she is out. Finally. I don't care if she sleeps all afternoon. But with my luck, she will be up again in 15 minutes.

Sometimes, it's rare, but sometimes, I really think I can't do this. I wish I could have put her in her crib and walked away... but now that she can climb out, that's not an option either. And it's really not her fault. She doesn't have the skills to know how to regulate her emotions, her body, or her reactions. She can't tell me what is wrong. She CAN'T calm herself down. So I have to. I have to calm us both down. I just get so frustrated. I have to hold her tight, pin down her arms and legs, try to keep her still, while she literally SCREAMS in my ears. Almost unbearable.

Nobody should have to see their child in agony hour after hour. Nobody should have to guess at what is wrong with their sick child who can't tell me what's wrong. Nobody.

I don't have it in me to keep my sanity on days like today.

So I apologize for not answering the phone. For not returning email. For being selfish. I just don't have anything left in me after the last few days. Nothing except for the love, attention and care I have to give to my girls. Nothing.

Patience

There is some difference of opinion in the Autism community when talking about "acceptance." Some parents may say they will never "accept" their child's Autism diagnosis, and others choose acceptance pretty early on and do little to navigate through the maze of biomedical opportunities and various therapeutic treatment options. I fall somewhere in the middle of this dichotomy, and am choosing to "accept" some of the "truths" of Avery's condition, while at the same time working as hard as I can to help heal her, and give her brain and body the best shot possible to help her be all that she can be.

Acceptance is a loaded word, because in no way am I totally "okay" with Avery's struggle, but I am beginning to recognize that through her circumstance we are finding hidden gifts that are unfolding qualities in our soul we never knew existed. The day by day, and let's face it, hour by hour ordeal of having a child with special and medical needs is cultivating virtues and talents within me that never could have come to be without this experience, and so I can certainly accept that and can be grateful. Grateful for the lessons in patience, TRUE unconditional love, tolerance, endurance, compassion and serenity.

Early on in this crisis, I didn't recognize that the crisis itself was actually a threshold for something much bigger in my life. It has been the greatest lesson in spiritual growth I have ever witnessed, less well experienced first hand. The crisis was in itself a crossroad. It marked the end of the world as I knew it, and through time, has helped me let go of fear, false concepts, misconstrued ideas and false identities. Gradually, I am learning to stop projecting so much, and start living for today. To really BE in the present. I don't want to waste my time and energy on the "what ifs" and instead, am trying to use that energy in loving my kids and husband. It doesn't mean I can't grieve, in fact, it means the opposite. It means that in feeling life deeply, I can really feel the sadness, but then in turn, I can also totally bask in the joy of what is working for me right now.

If I am going to survive this, and come out a stronger more true and complete individual, then I have to let go of the "why me" breakdown, and be in control of my own thoughts, intentions and actions. So I choose to accept the challenge. But rest assured I will do so with a ferocious desire to continue to heal my sweet daughter at the same time. She deserves that.

For Good.

Many of you know of my love of lyrics. Perhaps my greatest, albeit, most useless talents is the thousands of song lyrics I know and can sing (badly) by memory. I was tuned into my ipod today in my car and once again a song randomly played that seemed to be singing to my heart. It was from the "Wicked" soundtrack, titled For Good. Below you will see the words I am referring to, and if you look to the right you can find it on my track list under "music."

"I'm limited
Just look at me - I'm limited
And just look at you
You can do all I couldn't do,
So now it's up to you
For both of us - now it's up to you...

I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you

Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
I have been changed for good."

Avery, and specifically, Avery's challenges have changed me "for good." Sometimes I think about what our life would be like if she didn't have Mastocytosis. If she didn't have Autism. If she could run, talk, and relate to others. If she was just a typical three year old attending preschool and play dates. I wonder if I would appreciate the small feats, if I would understand how amazing a look, a hug, and a kiss are. If I would still be comparing, if I would still be wrapped up in insignificant worries. In every way, and every single day, autism has changed us. And I dare to say it has changed us for the better.

Before Avery, I thought I was wise. After all, I had worked with dozens of kids with Autism. I thought I understood. I thought in some way, I could relate to those families because of my vested interest in helping their children. In hearing their stories. And though I am sure on many levels I was valuable to their lives, I know now, how truly remarkable it is to see your child master a skill. How lucky for me that those precious families helped pave the way to my better understanding. The understanding of how you ache for good news, for positive outlooks and for someone to give you hope. How sad, how truly and painstakingly sad it is to lose your perfectly healthy child into a devastating neurological disorder. How heartbreaking it is to work at something day in and day out, and see no change. There was NO way for me to truly grasp these lessons until they happened to me. Now I get it. And hopefully, through your connection to me and even in reading this blog, you will start to get it too. Autism is changing us all "for good."

Wishes

I spend quite a bit of time wishing. Call it hope, call it prayer, call it projecting, call it dreaming... whatever it is, it helps me cope. I can't tell you how many times I shut my eyes a day and make a quick wish. Usually, I am wishing for Avery to make progress, for Kaylin to stay neuro-typical, for Bryan and I to retain the endurance to survive all of this.

Sometimes I even try to visualize what it might be like if and when Avery starts getting better. I try to hear what it will sound like when she calls me mama. It's hard to hear sometimes over Kaylin's voice, but trust me, I'll keep listening.

But the theme remains the same. In this world that has given me grace and perspective, I continue to keep it simple and remind myself of my MANY blessings. Being grateful when your life is going as planned is one thing, but I find it even more necessary now that things are out of control. If I start to get overwhelmed (which I often do) I take a deep breath, make a wish, and remind myself of the silver lining. Of the complete and utter joy I find in the sparkle of Avery's eyes or in the delicious sound of her laughter.

Avery IS getting better in many small and significant ways. She is much more aware of her surroundings. She is walking with us, and reaching out to make sure we hold her hand. She is actually GAZING at us with a smile on her face for longer and longer periods of time. She even pointed at something the other day and imitated some simple play actions again. It's been a long time since we have seen her do that. She seems to have been bored with puzzles lately and her new school hasn't even seen her do one, but at home she got them out again, and did several all on her own. Another thing we thought she had lost. So maybe my wishes are being heard. I have to keep hoping.

Wishes and dreams may be childhood fairy tales, and they certainly don't always come true, but they have a purpose in my life. When my faith is running low, I can escape for just a moment and throw one out there. Heaven knows we all need a little of that childhood innocence to guide us through. So I will keep wishing. Hoping. Praying. And I will also keep relishing in what TODAY brings me. Because when it's all said and done, living in the present is what it's all about. Enjoy your moments. Rejoice in hearing your child's voice. Her laugh. His look. Celebrate what they CAN do, and keep wishing that one day, maybe they can move mountains.

One thing after another

I am not sure I would want to be my friend anymore. Really. I am annoying myself. The constant drama... the quick transitions from one crisis to another... the stagnant state of sorrow mixed with hope, anxiety and a dash of joy... Truly. I think I would have had enough of me already.

Somehow, someway, we find ourselves continuously surrounded by the loving and generous support of our friends and family. God bless them.

When your child has cancer, or another well known devastating disease... people make you dinners, put you on prayer lists, etc etc. When your child has Autism, people generalize, critique, pity, and fear you a bit. They quickly judge you for fearing toxins, the overuse of antibiotics, vaccines, food additives. They see your child in the store and shake their heads.... thinking what little control you have over your "non-compliant" child.

I find myself wearing my "Hope to heal Autism" shirt more and more. It seems to help explain why we have to have highchairs in restaurants for our three year old. Why we can't let go of her hand when walking. Why she walks funny, can't run, stumbles on curbs, can't use a fork/spoon, sometimes drops things including food on the floor, can't look or talk to people, and laughs at ceiling fans.

With the lovely combination of Autism AND Mastocytosis, Avery has now, and will ALWAYS have many battles she is fighting both inside and outside of her body. Some of our most dear talk about "Avery's Army." Trust me, in my house we are at war, and trying to save her is the most complex and tedious thing we have ever encountered.

A few weeks ago we sent out 4 comprehensive tests of Avery's urine, stool, and blood to determine what is going on inside her little body. We have gotten two tests back, which indicate extremely high levels of fungus (yeast) in her GI system. Yuk. So, now she is on anti-fungal medication, several more natural supplements and is experiencing the pains of "yeast die-off." Several other "levels" were off, and we are heading back to the Dr. to determine our next course of action. No fun. Now she has a fever, and I think I may be getting one too. Double no-fun.

Despite all of this, we find our moments of perspective and peace. We remain so grateful for our lives, and that we have our children here with us. Grateful for our loved ones who stick by us day in and day out.... even when we are one big ball of stress/panic/sadness. Grateful for the chance to learn so much from someone so little, so precious, so unknowing. Grateful for the few who do understand how this continues to devastate us, despite time passing. Grateful for each moment, each look, each smile and each laugh.... even if it is at a ceiling fan.

The raw and bitter truth.

I was talking with my very wise Dad the other day who advised me to, every now and then, lay it out there on this blog with the reality of our daily struggle. His point was, (and I think he's right) that it's not always bright and shiny around here, and it's okay to be angry and upset about it. We have bad days.... and days when staying positive and hopeful is really hard. I admit that several days a month I feel like shouting to the heavens... REALLY????!!!! THIS is my life!? How incredibly unfair. NOBODY should have to watch their child suffer like we do. WHY does it have to be this hard to learn such basic, foundations of human functioning. AND.... for example, when sweet Kaylee broke her arm the other day, I feel like screaming... "How much more are we supposed to handle at once!!!"

Patience is NOT one of my strongest assets. Never has been. I, like my precocious one year old, want what I want when I want it. I want Avery to get better. I want her to start making an inkling of notable progress. I want her to say mama, or hi or even to wave at me.... something! But I HAVE to find a silver lining in all of this. I have to believe that for whatever reason, this is the path that I am supposed to travel. This is my purpose.

But when Avery is on her fourth night in a row of sleeplessness, random squealing, laughing and cackling from her bed at 4 am.... I grow a little wary. I look around me and can't believe how much people take for granted with their healthy, happy, NORMAL children. I feel angry. I feel bitter. I feel cheated.

Thank god she is starting to look at me. Just look at me and sometimes really smile at me. That's something, right? I am holding on to whatever I can here. I am desperate for patience. Please give me patience.

I am off to take my anti-depressant. Clearly I need it today.

Oh, What a Joy! Kaylin Joy Beeson turns 1!

This past week we had the pleasure of celebrating Kaylin's first birthday. I spend so much time on this blog writing about our journey with Avery, that I fear my spunky, noisy, fun and feisty second child may not get quite enough documentation!

When we found out we were having a second daughter, Bryan and I both whispered an elated "yessss" in the sonogram room as we watched her bounce around on the screen. We were in the midst of discovering how deeply Avery was impacted by Autism and Mastocytosis... and for whatever reason, learning that we were having another girl led us to breathe a sigh of relief as we were beginning to understand the importance that having a sister could have for Avery. A baby sister... not even here yet, brought hope, joy, inspiration, and fear all wrapped up into my swelling belly.

When Kaylin arrived, her introduction to the world was fast and furious. She immediately was loved beyond measure, and quickly became the flexible "baby on the go" as we shuffled Avery from appointment to appointment. Thank God for breastfeeding because I was doing good to pack a diaper less well worry about cleaning bottles on the run or mixing formula.
For her first nine months of life, we threw the "rules" out the window and let her sleep with us. I think it was our way of bonding with her since our days were consumed with Avery's therapy and appointments. She did everything pretty much on time... smiled, laughed, cooed, rolled over, played social games, sat up, crawled, and by her one year mark, was walking all over the house bringing us toys, talking, and imitating up a storm. She has several "baby signs" and she lives for attention.

When I try to describe the love I have for my daughters, I know I fall short on relaying just how much and how deeply I cherish them. I am sure you mothers out there can relate, but I must say that though I always knew I would love my children, I never knew how deeply rooted that feeling would live in my soul.... in my heart... and in my total existence.

I am eternally grateful that Kaylin graced our lives when she did. I think I needed her to ground me as much as she needed me in those first few months to survive. She saved me in more ways than I can count, and I hope that I will always celebrate her for the unique and wonderful individual she is becoming. Avery has taught me how to live, how to love and how to see better.... and Kaylin brings her own set of life lessons that I know I will benefit from for the rest of my life. So happy first birthday baby girl. I am so proud of you. Love you to the moon and back again.