Within 12 hours of writing about The Husband's estrangement from his family, his mom called to see if they can come visit next weekend. E-freaking-eek.
More drama to come, I'll have to post the backstory when I have, oh, fifteen days to spare.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Mamas
The family went swimming today, The Husband, Sir H, The Bear and I, and we came home just wiped out. There's something so clean and refreshing about getting in a hot tub after swimming late in the afternoon, and I was lying in our bed, nursing The Bear, him in a dipe, me in undies and nothing else, with The Husband lying there reading, and Sir H happily dreaming on the other side of our wall, and I was struck by how amazingly blessed I am.
I said, "I wish it could be this way forever," looking down at The Bear and stroking his soft skin as he nursed with his leg thrown over my waist, and his hand rubbing my hair. The Husband said, "Stay a baby?" I thought about what I was trying to capture, and I said, "No, not necessarily that he'll stay young forever, but I don't want to lose the feeling of closeness where we could all lie here, naked, the four of us, quietly and together. Nothing in between us, nothing to hide. And I love that he wants his mama. I love being his world. It goes too quickly, then they want you, just like Sir H." The Husband was quiet for a while and said, "That's not true, we still need our mamas."
We have been going through some estrangement with The Husband's parents and haven't spoken with them in a while, and I said, "You don't need your mama anymore." He responded, with a faraway look on his face, "I miss her. It makes me sad." And I could see the little boy peek through. I held his hand and told him I was sorry. We renewed our vow to never allow anything to drive us away from our boys, and to accept them for who and what and where they are, so that they never have to look at their partner and say, "I miss her. I miss my mama."
I said, "I wish it could be this way forever," looking down at The Bear and stroking his soft skin as he nursed with his leg thrown over my waist, and his hand rubbing my hair. The Husband said, "Stay a baby?" I thought about what I was trying to capture, and I said, "No, not necessarily that he'll stay young forever, but I don't want to lose the feeling of closeness where we could all lie here, naked, the four of us, quietly and together. Nothing in between us, nothing to hide. And I love that he wants his mama. I love being his world. It goes too quickly, then they want you, just like Sir H." The Husband was quiet for a while and said, "That's not true, we still need our mamas."
We have been going through some estrangement with The Husband's parents and haven't spoken with them in a while, and I said, "You don't need your mama anymore." He responded, with a faraway look on his face, "I miss her. It makes me sad." And I could see the little boy peek through. I held his hand and told him I was sorry. We renewed our vow to never allow anything to drive us away from our boys, and to accept them for who and what and where they are, so that they never have to look at their partner and say, "I miss her. I miss my mama."
No, yes, yes, no, no, yes...
Argh! I cannot seem to reach a place of peace about this SPD thing. The more I watch The Bear, the more he seems like a normal, busy, active 9 month old. So, The Husband and I have decided to go ahead with Dr. Development, and I am feeling pretty certain at this point that she'll look at us with her eyes rolled back in her head from being so frustrated at having her time wasted and say, "Go home and enjoy your perfectly developing child and quit worrying." Now I just wait for the phone call to say, "We had a cancellation, can you come in on-" "YES! Yes, I can. Oh, I'm sorry, when was that again?" Thursday, August 23, 2007
A Boy Named Sid
My dad has affectionately nicknamed The Bear "Sid" for SID = Sensory Integration Disorder. Actually, the more accepted teminology is now Sensory Processing Disorder, to keep from SID being confused with SIDS.
We had our evaluation on Tuesday, and the occupational therapist (OT) concluded that Bear would benefit from therapy sessions. It was clear to her, based on her evaluation and our answers to her questions that he is a little sensory-seeker. Thankfully, the husband went with me, and he's been doing a great job trying to communicate and talk to me about feelings and the like. I've been saying for the last few weeks that the best news I could hear is that the OT would look at us and laugh and tell us to go home, that there were no problems here! Get outta here, crazy lady! However, when we left, and he asked how I felt, I told him that I was actually relieved that someone could see what I have been seeing, and that I felt validated and assured that I'm not crazy.
The OT, Katie, is a delightful woman. She was able to allay many of my worst fears and anxieties, and told us that she was going to do whatever she could to keep The Bear on her schedule (rather than the other OT) because he is "adorable" and we are "awesome parents". I mean, who wouldn't love her?
I asked for a recommendation for a developmental pediatrician, and received one, and have heard nothing but good things about her. I've been debating whether or not to take The Bear in, but after talking to The Husband, we're leaning toward getting an appointment. Why not, right? My bestest friend, whom I mentioned earlier, who is about to pop with her second baby, has worked with special needs kids for years. She is the most learned and educated and compassionate woman I know when it comes to kids of all shapes and sizes who have any kind of special need. She also advocates for early intervention, so I think we're going to go ahead with the developmental pediatrician.
In a fit of anxiety, brought on my a conversation with my mother, who, without actually saying it, makes it clear that she thinks I'm completely overreacting, I cried to The Husband.
Me: "What if I'm wrong, what if I'm totally overreacting and he's completely normal?"
TH: "What if you are?"
Me: "Then when he's 18 he's going to hate mefor labeling him as something he wasn't and wonder what was wrong with him that we thought he had special needs and develop a complex and never be able to trust another woman all his life!"
TH: "You sweet, sweet girl. He's not going to care! Even if this is wrong, he gets to go to a cool gym and play with some rocking toys and have a blast!"
Me: "So, he won't hate me forever?"
TH: "Of course not. He'll just be glad you cared."
Awww.
We had our evaluation on Tuesday, and the occupational therapist (OT) concluded that Bear would benefit from therapy sessions. It was clear to her, based on her evaluation and our answers to her questions that he is a little sensory-seeker. Thankfully, the husband went with me, and he's been doing a great job trying to communicate and talk to me about feelings and the like. I've been saying for the last few weeks that the best news I could hear is that the OT would look at us and laugh and tell us to go home, that there were no problems here! Get outta here, crazy lady! However, when we left, and he asked how I felt, I told him that I was actually relieved that someone could see what I have been seeing, and that I felt validated and assured that I'm not crazy.
The OT, Katie, is a delightful woman. She was able to allay many of my worst fears and anxieties, and told us that she was going to do whatever she could to keep The Bear on her schedule (rather than the other OT) because he is "adorable" and we are "awesome parents". I mean, who wouldn't love her?
I asked for a recommendation for a developmental pediatrician, and received one, and have heard nothing but good things about her. I've been debating whether or not to take The Bear in, but after talking to The Husband, we're leaning toward getting an appointment. Why not, right? My bestest friend, whom I mentioned earlier, who is about to pop with her second baby, has worked with special needs kids for years. She is the most learned and educated and compassionate woman I know when it comes to kids of all shapes and sizes who have any kind of special need. She also advocates for early intervention, so I think we're going to go ahead with the developmental pediatrician.
In a fit of anxiety, brought on my a conversation with my mother, who, without actually saying it, makes it clear that she thinks I'm completely overreacting, I cried to The Husband.
Me: "What if I'm wrong, what if I'm totally overreacting and he's completely normal?"
TH: "What if you are?"
Me: "Then when he's 18 he's going to hate me
TH:
Me: "So, he won't hate me forever?"
TH: "Of course not. He'll just be glad you cared."
Awww.
Friday, August 17, 2007
HEY YOU!
Okay, what do I have to do in order for you people to start responding to my posts? Hmm? I see you looking, and reading, but ain't nobuddy commenting. Am I just that boring?
Naoimi
I was recently introduced to the Weathers family, who are in the process of adopting a beautiful six year old girl named Naoimi from Liberia. Naoimi is fed through a gastric feeding tube due to caustic ingestion of a lye solution in September. Naoimi requires PediaSure, or other specialized liquid food in her G-tube, which is often not available due to the expense and limited supply in Liberia. Because of the shortage of her specialized nutrition needs, Naoimi weighs only 22 pounds at 6 years old. I was particularly struck by her story, immediately picturing The Bear, who is already at 26 pounds at 9 months.
Because of her special needs, Naoimi's adoption into the Weathers family is being fast-tracked through the agency, and the family has been financially strained, attempting to gather the funds needed for her sudden adoption. After seeing Naoimi's picture on their websites, I just couldn't let this story pass by without doing what I can to pass it on to others whom I know would want to help. If you can donate any amount, from $1 up, please consider doing so. Please visit their website, which has more information and directions for donation, in case you decide to help this family bring their daughter home.
I'm sure that the family would also appreciate prayers, good thoughts and positive well-wishes from as many people as possible as well. Let's help bring Naoimi to her family!
Because of her special needs, Naoimi's adoption into the Weathers family is being fast-tracked through the agency, and the family has been financially strained, attempting to gather the funds needed for her sudden adoption. After seeing Naoimi's picture on their websites, I just couldn't let this story pass by without doing what I can to pass it on to others whom I know would want to help. If you can donate any amount, from $1 up, please consider doing so. Please visit their website, which has more information and directions for donation, in case you decide to help this family bring their daughter home.
I'm sure that the family would also appreciate prayers, good thoughts and positive well-wishes from as many people as possible as well. Let's help bring Naoimi to her family!
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
No, seriously. I really do.
Have shingles, that is. Yeah, that's right. Shingles. Turns out that the "coxsackie" virus I had a few weeks ago was a Herpes simplex (HSV-1) breakout (most commonly manifested as cold sores), and now this is a Herpes zoster flareup. Basically, it's an adult version of chicken pox.
Guess where the lesions are? Mah mouf. That's right. Mashed potates, broth and applesauce, here I come. Again. At least I lost 8 pounds a few weeks ago. Now I can lose the last five and be at my ideal weight. Yay! The Herpes diet!
Guess where the lesions are? Mah mouf. That's right. Mashed potates, broth and applesauce, here I come. Again. At least I lost 8 pounds a few weeks ago. Now I can lose the last five and be at my ideal weight. Yay! The Herpes diet!
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