We’ve had our last ballet class.
We’ve had one last solo dance in the kitchen.
She’s ridden her bike like a beast down the driveway.
She practiced her one-handed cartwheel and some dance moves.
She took a good jump on the trampoline, perfecting her handspring and front flip.
(insert maternal heart attack here)
Andrew read Psalm 91 for family worship and we celebrated God’s faithfulness and His safety. We laid hands on her as a family and each person prayed for her.
And if you think I wasn’t weeping at a fast clip, you haven’t been around here long.
And when Willa piped up with her own prayer, her voice shaky and her hand clutching her sister’s tightly, I managed not to Snoopy wail. (applause, please.)
We promised her one last family dance party: and so we did.
She’s had her pre-surgery bath, the scrub down with the weird chemical-laden cloths, and I dug up some clean underwear and pajamas for her to wear to the hospital.
Let’s go grow a leg, people.
Thank you for your prayers.
(I’ll be updating on Instagram, Lord willing.)