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I sat holding the monster legs in my hands. They’re beaten up. Scuffed. Grooved. Marred. They are time worn gloriousness which means fun was had. Adventure won. It means we didn’t sit still. We didn’t stay put. We didn’t stay safe. It means we fell down. We cried. We got back up. That’s what worn out monster legs means.

We don’t all have prosthetics. Very few do. But we all have lives that are beaten up. Scuffed. Grooved. Worn. We’ve fallen down. Found ourselves places we didn’t expect. Don’t like. Think should be different. But ultimately these marked bodies reminds us that we’ve lived. It’s why I like wrinkles. It means you’ve smiled. It’s why I like grey hair (well kinda)…it means you’ve LIVED. This is cause for celebration friends. This is blessing upon heaping blessing.

It’s that time again. When my little grows in leaps and bounds…well, bolts and carbon fiber I suppose. We’ve picked up a new set of legs and said goodbye to the old. He’s bigger. By an inch and a half. Two shoe sizes. Overnight. Leaps and bounds.

 

Nextstep Bionics and Prosthetics in Newton, Massachusetts did a fantastic job, as they always do, crafting a set of leggies that withstands Cade’s fearlessness while celebrating his little loves. These ones have sweet, happy trains on them since Cade eats, sleeps and dreams in trains.

 

 

Nextstep also added an extra set of padding to the knee area.

It has the same lock in mechanism we have come to love but this is the first set of legs where the liners differ in size, given his left leg is now thicker than his right. I really have to be on my game now when getting him dressed in the morning. Perhaps we should invest in that alarm clock that sends out the coffee smell…

 

This set of legs couldn’t have been more appropriately timed since the monster legs died on Fourth of July. The beach killed them.

 

We celebrated the fourth of July at Crane Beach and I have been waiting for this beach day. Since getting two kiddos out the door anywhere by myself is near impossible, let alone, loaded to the gills with beach gear, we’ve yet to go this summer because it requires reinforcements, aka a husband. The beach is in my California blood. Staring out as far as the eye can see, it inspires me, uplifts and reminds me of my place on this planet. Especially in New England, this land of tree tunnels, few hills and valleys, lack of the open space–beach days are necessary for my sanity. So we got up at the crack of dawn, threw both kiddos, pjs and all, into the car and drove like crazy people to get to the beach in time. We were literally sitting on the sand before 9 am. Side note, only in New England do you have to PAY TO PARK AT THE BEACH (???) and line up to get a parking spot. Oh boy. Add that to the ever growing list of reasons to move back to California.

But these beaches. They are works of art. And if the dunes and fencing couldn’t get prettier, you have the delicious smell of wild roses everywhere you go. It makes my soul sing. Shoot. Add that back to the Boston is ok-ish list.

So we sat on the shore, watching Cade run from the waves with his cute monster legs. The squeals, the running, the little boy adventuring forward…it never gets old, my soul never stops rejoicing. If you have found out you’re expecting a little with Fibular Hemimelia, I promise, your beach days are just down the road. It will all be alright.

Smelling the roses and salt wind, carefree and unadorned, we sat. And played. Kai slept.

Last year, around this time we sat in the same spot on the same beach with my growing belly. Kai was just a wonderment. If you would have told me we’d have 7 months of terror baby I might have stayed on the beach a little longer. But we’ve sleep trained and are rolling with it better and are frankly, just use to A LOT of crying. So the days are brighter. They are easier. We’ve fallen into something more livable and thrive-able.

Both kiddos and their parents were done beaching it up by 11 am. Which is when the fun started. By the time we got back to the car we knew we had a prosthetics problem. The locking mechanism on Cade’s prosthetics were jammed. Thank you carefree sand for locking our little beach baby IN HIS LEGGIES. This has happened before and it required the garden hose and a hammer. Such is life with a toddler in prosthetics. So we found the blessing in that NO ONE called child services as we dangled Cade upside down, pulling and tugging on his legs. I had his arms, Matt had his legs. He just squealed in delight as though this wasn’t a form of prosthetics torture. It was a sight to behold. We finally resorted to wiggling him out of his liners which were still locked in place. Oh boy. There’s something comical about having to hit your kid’s legs with a hammer to get them off. Our trusty prosthetist, Arthur is ordering us special sleeves to hopefully keep sand out and the fun in! Jury’s out if that will solve the sand dilemma. You can bet we’ll be putting them to the test as beach days are not off the table. We’ll just bring along the hammer next time.

So we begin this next step in the journey, his third set of bilateral prosthetics. Fun, memories and thankful hearts—with these sweet new train legs we chug on. Remember dear friends, sometimes things not working properly serve to remind us of how blessed we are…sandy, broken legs means fun was had. Adventure won. The scuffs and grooves mean we lived. Blessings.