This blog has always been intertwined – it is about Kiran but it is about Kiran through my lens as his mother. It is about my feelings, my thoughts, my fears around Kiran’s diagnoses and prognoses. It’s the ups and downs and twirling-all-arounds.

Saturday, I attended a day-long retreat for Heart Moms. I didn’t know what to expect, but I guarantee I got a whole lot more out of it than I would have guessed. So this blog, now…I’m not sure where it will take me. It will still be about our journey – Kiran and me – but it may swing more toward my experiences in life as his mom and outside of that distinct role. I don’t want to start another blog, so everyone who follows this one eager for updates on Kiran – I promise you will still get them, but there will likely be more writing and more focus on other areas of momhood and personhood and life journeying.

I hope you’ll stick with me. Kiran’s story is a good one and one worth sharing, but I think maybe mine is, too. And I will never be able to fully separate who I have become from his story, because his presence in my life changes me irrevocably every single day.

Authenticity, to me, means taking off the costume of perfection I have been wearing my whole life. It is recognizing I have been wearing my strength and resilience as badges of honor…and though these remain true about my character, they aren’t my whole story.

To be authentic, I need to accept that strength sometimes looks like asking for help, and resilience sometimes means taking a break.

To be authentic, I need to communicate honestly – with those I love and with practical strangers at a Heart Mom retreat. Being authentic opens up the possibilities of help and connection.

I know it has been awhile. My head and my heart have not been up for writing.

I am entering my busiest week so far in my first grad school course. So, in true “this is my life” fashion, Kiran came home last night not wanting to put weight on his right leg.

Ok. He can’t tell me if something happened or what hurts, so I have to manipulate his body in various ways and look closely to see if I can succeed as a detective.

I don’t know what’s going on. I call to see if his pediatrician can get him in today (She usually can, same day). Side note: I’m thankful his doc is moving offices next month, both because she will be closer and the new front desk person at this office is very abrupt.

His doctor isn’t in today. The other doctor in that office, who also knows Kiran pretty well, is booked for the day. It doesn’t make sense to take him to a doctor who has never seen him before and doesn’t know what to look for or how he expresses himself in these situations.

Here’s what’s even more fun: Our van goes in for service first thing in the morning. This used to be a non-issue, because we had extra car seats for Eric’s truck and my parents’ vehicle. Now, he’s too big for those and has a special car seat that insurance covered. They won’t cover an “extra” one, and the cost is around $1000. So. We don’t have an extra one.

So the plan now is rest and monitor today. Transfer his car seat to my parents’ vehicle tonight, so if he still won’t put weight on his leg in the morning, we can head to walk-in hours and see what’s going on. Thank goodness my mom is working from home tomorrow.

And it’s all of that. All the extra that wears a person out. Extra considerations, extra steps. All while already entering an overwhelming week.

You cry. You push thru. You make a plan. And you just keep going. It’s a long road ahead (but we journey together). Truth be told, I feel a lot more alone on this journey than I used to.