Before Hazel's diagnosis, my life was relatively normal. I am married to the love of my life, raising two young girls, just under 2.5 years apart. I stay at home with the girls in our town home in the middle of Suburbia, while he works a manual labor job for 50+ hours a week. We attend church on a weekly basis (sometimes more!), where we are active in ministry, both serving and being served.
Normal.
Then my world was rocked with the word "achondroplasia".
My youngest is now considered a special needs child.
Specialists, x-rays, adaptations, therapy, and her future were being discussed in a serious matter.
I reached out to other parents through social media. I never thought I'd be so thankful for Facebook and Instagram. The other moms I talked to seemed to be so casual about their children's diagnoses. It seemed so normal for them. I went through the "this is the stuff that happens to other people" feeling over and over again. It didn't feel real. It didn't feel normal.
It felt strange. I wondered if her x-rays got mixed up with another child's. Maybe she's just really short. Like, really, really short. I knew though, that those thoughts were untrue. Hazel has achondroplasia. Just like she has red hair. It's a part of her.
In the end, Hazel is still Hazel. Nothing has changed about her. We just got to know her a little better.
And she is little and loving it.
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