For now...

I will attempt to deconstruct this weekend over the following few days, since it was all parties, all-Crazy Bridezilla and right now, I just want to sleep and focus on stuff that makes my heart sing.

The Bear was in the tub tonight and held up a rubber duck and told me, "Duck." He's so fun, every time I pick him up, he points to something and says, "U's at? (What's that?)" I love this stage, I've forgotten how much fun it is. And he's walking everywhere. The crab crawl is so fast that I have to literally jog after him to catch up, so it's a welcome respite from having to chase him everywhere, since his walking is still slow and he wobbles every few steps. It's absolutely hilarious that this tiny little guy is just walking everywhere. You just want to laugh and say, "Okay, for real, you're just a baby, get down and crawl!"

My sweet Sir H comes up with the most amazing things to say constantly. He and his G.D. were out getting some takeout last night to bring back to the hotel to eat and he told G.D. that the way to get to Chili's was to "go to 12 and then 24 and then over the railroad tracks. A'ter that you go north, because north is always good." I mean. Really. Today, in the car on the way home, he asked me what would happen if someone didn't like him. We took some time talking about why he asked that, and I pray that I left him with some words of wisdom that will help navigate these previously uncharted waters of peer rejection and societal pressure. I never knew how my heart could break when my precious, perfect, wonderful son brought up the idea of someone not liking him. Not because I give a fig what people think of him, but because rejection hurts. And as mothers, we all want to shield our children from rejection and the sting that accompanies it. Thank God that at this age, rejection is limited to "Lily wouldn't let me play with her toy at preschool," or "Chandler said he wanted to play by himself and not with me today." What happens when the girl turns him down for a date, or when he doesn't make this or that group or team? Moms of older children, how do you keep from administering a (much deserved, obviously) beat down to those who reject your child?

On to happier thoughts...my dear, dear friends who came this weekend. My heart cannot thank you enough for being there. Lizzy, the banana eating? I'm still laughing about it. And Tracy and Kelly, it was such a blessing to see your smiling faces and know that there were a few people there who could see past the smiles to the sadness inside and offer a few well-placed, encouraging words. I love you guys.

At least I have this:

So, the wedding's tomorrow, right?

And this is how excited I am. I haven't packed, I haven't taken The Huz's shirt to the cleaners, I haven't ironed the boys' outfits, I haven't done anything. Not a thing. We leave for the rehearsal at 4:00 pm and it's 11:30 am and I'm just sitting on my ass messing around online and pretending this weekend isn't happening.

I have to give a toast tonight at the rehearsal dinner, and I am struggling so much. I want to just bury my head in the sand and pull it out on Sunday morning. Working on writing my speech has really brought these emotions of sadness, fear and anxiety for my sister all to a head. Trying to find words that aren't lies but that are loving and kind are is almost impossible. I am planning to talk about how as a child, my big sister was everything I always wanted to be, the one who was bold, who took chances, who jumped into new things, and how that relates to her taking this next bold step in her life, but how can I get through it without crying when I think it's a terrible mistake? I guess 99.9% of the people who are there will think that the tears are tears of joy and the normal wedding emotions, rather than sadness at what I fear is a mistake.

I pray that I am wrong, and that God knows that they are well-suited for one another and they will be the happiest couple on the planet. I would love nothing more than to be wrong.

Today we had one of Those Days. Sir H had quite the difficulty making good decisions (which is an oft-heared phrase about our house), and it was such a difficult thing to keep my patience. I may have misplaced it a few times, in fact. Even so, we were walking into a store, I was holding The Bear, and holding Sir H's hand, and he looked up at me and said, apropros of nothing, "It's fun to have a mommy like you." My heart just melted.

The day, however, continued to spiral downward from there. So, after a day of battle, later that night, we were lying in bed, after The Huz had read a story and put Sir H to bed, and I went in there to just try to reconnect and end the day on a positive note. He started to play "I'm Mommy and You're Sir H," and I started whining and having a "tantrum". He put his hand over his eyes, and heaved this huge sigh. After a moment of silence, he said, "I just don't know what to do." I just about fell out of the bed laughing, all the while hearing Sir H berate me, "NO! You're not aposed to laugh! You're H, I'm Mommy! H, you're not making good acisions!"

It's official

The Bear was officially diagnosed with Sensory Processing Disorder today, specifically, sensory seeking (hyposensitive). I'm really feeling mixed emotions about it. The developmental pediatrician we saw today is amazing. I trust her immensely. The Bear has always crawled in a hilarious way, instead of going on all fours in the traditional crawl, he will use his left foot or knee to push off the floor and pull his right leg through his hands, scooting on his bottom, pulling himself across the floor. The kid can make some time! We call it his "crabbing" style of crawling. Well, apparently, the asynchronious crawl is a typical SPD trait that was her immediate first signal that we're dealing with a sensory issue.

In and of itself, SPD is not something that intimidates me. I have my own sensory issues, as do most of us. For me, I'm hypersensitive to artificial light in particular, and I harbor some tactile issues. Touching wet paper makes me literally gag, and a number of other quirks with which I'm sure we can all identify. However, true, diagnosable SPD is often linked to autism. All children with autism, or Asperger's Syndrome, have SPD, but not all children with SPD develop autism. The wonderful news is that there are no signs of autistic spectrum behavior, and so as of now, we're clear in that area. However, there is a regressive form of autism that can hit generally around 18-24 months, and sometimes up to 3. Often, it happens without much, if any warning. So, the delightful part of parenting begins, the wait and see.

She took some family history, asking about both sides of the family. Interestingly (and frighteningly), the specific combination of my familial history, and The Huz's familial history is the most conducive combination of genetic conditions that contribute to the development of autism. Basically, you couldn't have matched two people with medical histories more conducive to create a child with autism than The Huz and me. Yay.

So, for now, we just pray and pray that The Bear continues to meet his milestones (although he has met all his milestones months ahead of time, because my kids are brilliant, as we all know), and we begin Occupational Therapy (OT) for the SPD. It will allow him to learn to integrate his senses more effectively, because if one looks at the process of learning anything - language, reading, writing, even simple ideas of safety issues - the base of the pyramid is comprised of one's senses taking in one's environment and integrating all the details necessary to learn. Moving up the pyramid, one learns gross motor skills, then fine motor skills, and it continues, each level becoming more complex. If the base, the sensory system, is unable to integrate effectively, it can cause learning delays in the brightest of children. The OT will serve to provide The Bear appropriate sensory input to allow him to integrate appropriately so that his brilliance won't be stymied by any sensory confusion.

I was so hoping that she would take a look at us, laugh so hard she fell off her chair, and call me a drama queen and send us home. I realize that in the world, people have so many more difficult challenges and tragedies, and it's hard to not feel guilty that I am afraid and concerned for what his future holds. Please God, let him develop as he has been, and not allow autism to stand in his way.

Hi, my name is H&B's Mama and I am a Gymboree addict

I can stop at any time. I promise. I don't have a problem. Just because I've placed three orders in one month doesn't mean anything. So what if I put things in and take them out of my cart fifty-eleven times a day? That doesn't mean anything. What it means is that my kids are going to be dressed to the nines every day. Sort of like when I just splurged on some new clothes for me, because I decided it was time to stop wearing sweatpants and t-shirts every day with my crocs. And after a week of dressing in my cutie-pie clothes, I'm back to wearing sweatpants and t-shirts every day.

So, my ambition is to start dressing my children in clothes that match. I already have more clothes from Gymboree than they can wear in one lifetime. See, then, after they grow out of them, I can resell them on ebay. That's the word on the street. Ergo, I'm actually saving us money, and not simply spending. It's an investment vehicle. I'm available for financial advice for a minimal fee. I would do it for free, but I just found a hedgehog romper that The Bear must have or else I will die.

Two Blue Lines

What's what was staring at me in the face yesterday morning. I was complaining to a friend that I was exhausted, falling asleep with Sir H at 7:30 pm and not waking until the next morning. Sunday evening I actually feel asleep with my church clothes on, fully made-up face. I was also confused because I had felt nauseated a few days in a row for no reason at all. A few more anomalies, and it hit me like a freight train. Two weeks before, we had enjoyed some adult activities without taking any precautions.

So, the next morning, I peed on that stick, and within 5 minutes, a second blue line popped up. I think my heart stopped. I almost fell down. I think I may have uttered a few profanities. I had a doctor's appointment already scheduled for Sir H, so I requested a blood draw to ease my mind. We spent the day talking through it, and in our weekly marriage counseling session, we worked through some of our apprehension, and the sweetest husband alive said, "You know, if we are, I'm actually kind of excited. The Bear is getting to that age where he's really fun, and Sir H is, well, he's Sir H, and he's the best ever, so I know it would be okay." Of course, at the time, instead of appreciating him for his sweet and kind heart, I hollered back, "You're not the one who has to carry it! You knocked me up, you asshole!" Things improved from there.

I got up this morning, took another test and it was full-on negative. Thirty minutes later, the nurse called with the results: also negative. Thank you Lord! I know that if we were to have conceived a baby, we would definitely know that God had intentions for that child beyond our understanding, but all I could think about was my shallow protestation, "But I just lost the last of the baby weight!"

What the experience did for me was cement my desire to have a third child (spaced three years apart from The Bear, so not to be conceived for another 2 years), and cement The Huz's desire to be finished with two. I have a feeling that mama can wear that silly man down. Seriously, he almost always defers to me when it comes to emotional issues like that, if, in 2 years, I am certain that our family would be completed with a third and last child, he would most certainly concede that I was right and we would happily start enjoying the process of making another baby.

Just NOT RIGHT NOW. Hallelujah!