Dear Quinn, (or Quinny, QuinnB, Bug, Buddy Girl, Quinn Bay)

You’re three! You have a personality! You talk back with sass! How exciting!

Most of the time you are a happy child. Following around your brother makes you happy. So do strawberries and grapes. Playing with Grandma. Snuggling with me. PBS.

You were such a surprise when we learned I was pregnant with you. A wonderful gift you were. You are the reason we knew about your brother’s kidneys. And we were able to treat him earlier because of you. What a roller coaster it was the first few months of your life. We were trying to get used to two kids…two kids with special needs…and our heads were spinning at the thought that you would need a kidney transplant some day.

The first three or four months of your life I didn’t like to be separated from you. Even though at night we would put you down to sleep in your crib, I would wake up in your room, you nestled in my arms, having nursed you a time or two during the night. For over 20 months I nursed you. You caught a cold one week, couldn’t breath while you nursed, and that was that. From the words of my wise friend B – “it’s sad but not tragic” – knowing how much of a job it was.

You’ve had a rigorous schedule of therapy since you were 4 months old. PT, OT, Speech, and Vision. Most of the time you participated with glee. There were times though, that you didn’t want to work and so you didn’t. You were stubborn. You enjoy your time with your therapists. K is especially important to you. You scream with joy when she arrives and you never want her to leave.

You took your first wobbly steps around the week of your 2nd birthday. You used a walker for a long time before that. You loved that walker – because you could be independently mobile and because of the positive attention when people saw you using it. I remember the first time you had it around a lot of people – at Pop’s 80th Birthday party – you learned how to steer it, in and around people and tables. It was that day that we didn’t care how it look to everyone else that you weren’t walking yet, or that you needed that walker. You were independent. You were excited to be exploring life in the upright position. Because in your mind you were a toddler…your body just didn’t quite match it at the time. Determined little girl you are.

You just started a new school a couple of months ago to help you with your needs due to OMA. You are still in a lot of physical therapy because you are one funny walker and runner. You are known to fall a lot, miss-judge corners and steps, but it doesn’t seem to bother you. In your little life you have some how managed to know that it is what it is. And you don’t get frustrated very easily. You just try again. A lot of times you laugh at yourself for your wobbliness.

You are beautiful. And a joy to be around. I love your hugs. Your laugh. The funny voice you talk in when you want to be silly. Thank you for enriching my life in ways I don’t even understand yet. Thanks for being part of the reason my life has meaning.

Love, Momma

Dear Gage, (Gager, Gagey, Gator Bait, Buddy Boy, Sweet Pea)

You are almost 6. I can’t believe it. Just 6 years ago we were entering the Holidays full of anticipation to have you join our family, enjoying the last moments of couplehood.

You have an unbelievable smile most times and a devilish grin sometimes. You have a tenacity about certain things…cleaning and organizing are favorites. You love to help sweep, rake leaves, wash dishes, vacuum, rearrange furniture, garden and decorate for parties. My favorite comment so far this Holiday from you, after passing a home with wreaths on all of the windows was "they don’t know how to decorate” indicating their lackluster show of lights.

You’ve had a rough start to your young life. Diagnosed at a year old with OMA you were behind on developmental milestones, and starting at 19 months old had to endure a schedule of therapy that most adults would fail at. PT, OT, Speech and Vision therapy…7 appointments a week at the craziest time. I like to think that your Dad and I appreciate your milestones with more gratefulness because of all of the hard work you had to do to reach them. I remember the smile on your face and your hands clapping after you took your first independent step about a month past your 2nd birthday. You are on 9 meds total for your various symptoms with ARPKD. You have had such a big life for your 6 years. You’ve had some rough spots dealing with all of your challenges. Dare I say (and tempt fate); we may be turning the corner of this block. The needles are the worst part of your treatment – labs and shots. And they have been frequent for 6 months. The Procrit® you have been on has helped you in many ways – we’ve noticed you have more affection, and are open to it. We think you haven’t ever felt well in your little life. We’re sad about that. And regardless of the problems associated with the drug, the benefits have made an immeasurable positive impact on you. Simply put, you have enough energy to play.

Writing has been a challenge for you, but you seemed to have found your stride with Mrs. C (in Kindergarten) as your teacher. You’ve made amazing progress this year already, and we’re proud when you point out a letter in a sign or try to sound out a word. This past fall was the first time you wanted to color, draw, and practice your letters and numbers.

You are fascinated with numbers. I’m not certain you have any grasp at all on minutes or hours, but you love any number in the 60s. Sixty-one seems to be repeated by you…you want 61 more minutes on the play ground, 61 more minutes before bed. Sixty one more seconds to change your clothes. You like books. And cars. And Sally (the ugly orange kitty) and your blue silky blanket. You don’t like to sleep with covers on, and often through the night you switch the direction in which you sleep.

You have a few special friends in your life. You and your cousin A are joined at the hip when you are together. You miss him and talk often about him. You will have to be watched closely as teenagers – A likes to phrase a question to you then say “Right Gage?!” You have been friends with J since you were 3 and in Mrs. C’s class (she’s our favorite). The two of you couldn’t be more different in your interests, yet somehow when you are together, you are two peas. When he spent the night with you he read you a book before bed. And that morning you two jumped off chairs playing “Save the World.” When you and AM are together, even after some time has passed, it’s as though you haven’t ever been apart. You taught her how to share, and she helped you with puzzles. Your newest friend, M, is in your class. When your teacher heard the two of you connected she put you next to each other at the table at school. You play hard with M and it wears you out.

You are special Gage. And in the years to come, I look forward to being with you on your journey. Thank you for enriching my life in ways I can’t express, and for the many lessons in which I learn from knowing you.

Love, Momma