Did we have a good Thanksgiving?

You tell me:

Yes, I made them. All of them, the kids and the desserts. Happy Thanksgiving. I am grateful for my husband, who is kind, loving, patient, gentle, sweet, loyal and who works like a dog to provide a wonderful life for his family. I am thankful for Sir H, whose stories, songs, ideas, enthusiasm, excitement for each new dawn make me remember the joy in being a child, and happily encourage me out of my rigidity; whose positive disposition, gentle, kind and sweet spirit shine from every part of him to those around him. I am thankful for The Bear, whose gigantic four-tooth smiles light up my heart with all the rays of the sun, whose giggles, screeches, growls and baby words make me melt. I am thankful for my wonderful friends, for their families and the beauty that they bring to my life. I am thankful for my parents, who drive me up the nearest wall, but who are also my best friends. Most of all, I am thankful for my God, one who gave His Son so that we can live in grace, abundance and forgiveness.

I Resign

Today I'm have A Day. You know, those days where you can hold it together for .0623467 tenths of a second and then you turn into snappy, irritable mom whose children can't do anything right? A monkey could do this job better than I today. Instead of "SIR H! PLEEEEASE don't step on the flowers in the flowerbed! ARRRRRGH!" He would hear, "Eee ee! Ahh! Ahhhhh!" and that would be much less damaging. My kids can't do anything right today, and I absolutely loathe myself when I see that face that Sir H gets when I fuss at him for things that normally get an eye roll and a small chuckle while I get down and talk to him about why this decision blah blah blah. These are the days where the lizard part of my brain perks up when it hears the word Ezzo.

My Dear Friend

Sweet friend, I know you're hurting. I wish I could help. I don't know the words that would take the pain away, but if I did, I would say them. I wish I could take the burden on myself and cry your tears and feel your hurt so you didn't have to. Your beautiful babies deserve a world where things like this don't happen to the family they love. Please know that, especially after seeing your hurt today, you are in my heart so fully, and my heart aches for you, and my prayers for you and your family are constant. I love you, A, and your precious half-dozen. I am praying for you and everyone else who is touched by this tragedy.

You know?

You know how you start attending a church, really like the people who are in it, help to get it off the ground, since it's an emergent church? And then you get all settled in there and love it, and you start a moms' group that has been your heart's desire for over two years? And you've been praying literally almost every day for it to manifest? And then something happens, and there's a conflict, and you see into the heart of the church and it's not pretty? Yeah. That sucks.

Priorities

It's funny how they change as you grow and have kids. Our anniversary was on Saturday, which was also the day of The Bear's first birthday party. I don't think I even mentioned it on here. I rolled out of bed at about 10 am, since The Huz was home, and started to get ready for the party. The Huz said, "Happy anniversary!" and I grunted back at him (hey, gimme a break, I hadn't had my morning caffeine yet!). That night, we were both lying in our bed with Sir H as he went to sleep, and were all three cuddled up together, Sir H in the middle. He fell asleep, and both The Huz and I were so tired we just lay there for a few minutes. He said, "So, when are we going to dinner?" I said, "For what?" He responded, "For our anniversary," and I just shrugged. We both cracked up, that it was just one of those things.

I cherish that I married a man who will lie in bed with me at 8 pm with our big boy and will gaze at him in wonder, and we both revel in the beauty and joy that our boys bring us. In the moments where I may spend a moment feeling nostalgic about my life before marriage and children, I have an unbidden flash of a moment like last night. The Bear was in bed with us, he starts out in his crib and still wakes to nurse a few times, so he ends up in our bed halfway through the night. Sir H had also woken and crawled into bed with us, and at some point, The Huz and I were both awake, and he reached over in our sleepy fogginess and just put his hand on my shoulder and smiled. Joy. Bliss.

Big ass airplanes!

Airshow today. It was a ball! Sir H was rocking the house, he was racing from plane to plane and climbing in the cockpits and just generally livin' large. Unfortunately, the Thunderbirds were unable to fly, as they have stayed grounded since the sad incident at an airshow in Idaho. Although there were only minor injuries to the pilot, as he was able to eject (.8 seconds before impact, holy cow!), they are not flying right now, until there is a thorough investigation and they cover their asses from the people who would love to use this against them and stop fighter plane exhibitions reach a consensus as to the cause and a future safety plan.

Pictures to come, The Bear rode on my back most of the day, and toddled around when we let him loose, and Sir H was absolutely enrapt with the planes taking off and landing. It was actually quite cool, the focus was on historical planes and there were mostly WWII era planes flying, those things are massive compared to the newer, sleeker fighters.

Funny of the trip: my dad pointed and said, "There's the stealth bomber." I looked and looked, couldn't find it. It finally clicked, he was pointing at an empty space. Buttmunch. Thankfully, my mom got it after me, and The Huz, whose mind is full of figures and not so much global processing, finally had to have it explained. So, I felt better.

And big news that I haven't posted yet - The Bear turned 1 on 11/1, and we had his blast of a party on 11/3, so I'll be sharing a few pictures soon. I can't believe my baby boy is 1. A whole year since he arrived in this world, and I was able to reach out and touch him after waiting 40 long weeks and one day. We're so glad you are in our family, my sweet Bear.

BIG for $200

What is: What size is The Bear? Correct, $200 to you!

His birthday is tomorrow. As in, he will be an entire year old. I'm speechless. Ergo, this will be short. He said "cracker" today. Just now. He's been saying, "Eh da?" for a while, which translates to, "What's that?" and it's his way of connecting. He like to grab things and point to them when he meets you, and that is his way of showing you that he is involved with you. He wants to share. And so he's had some words for a while, things that roughly translate to Pearl (our dog), kitty, mama, dada, etc. This morning, I told him we were going to pick up his brother, and I swear to you that he responded with a syllable that sounded just like Sir H's nickname.

So. The cracker. I was putting him down for a nap five minutes ago, and he was holding a cracker in his hand. He showed it to me and said, "Whu eh da?" I said, "Cracker. That's a cracker," and he fully said, "Drah-err!" I just. Just. My baby. Not so tiny anymore. Sweet baby boy, light of my life.

Sir H, on the way home from preschool today, was telling me something about Mrs. K. I told him that Mrs. K. and I had a conversation in the hall after I dropped Sir H off in his room. I relayed to him the sweet things she had said about him, and I said, "Mrs. K loves you." He responded, "I love Mrs. K." Then, as Sir H is wont to do, he spent a few moments in silence, and I could tell there was more to come, and then he eventually said, "I know what love feels like." I asked him, "What does it feel like?" He said, "Like I love Mrs. K." Sweet big boy, light of my life. I love you.

And my precious boys together, Dash Incredible and Jack-Jack Incredible:

Time Management

I have been fighting against the knowledge that it's time to make better use of my life. This is all I get, this one pass through life. I've been in a rut for a while, really feeling like there are days where I simply waste the precious moments and hours that God has granted me with my gifts of my children. So, my new resolution is to change my focus. I'm going to be making some changes, primarily spending less time on the computer, more time face to face with my kids, and incorporating more projects like the lapbooks we've been doing.

So, if you see me online, or catch me at my computer, give me a finger wag and a raised eyebrow and exhort me to Go Play With Your Children, Woman!

Today I've already been other-focused, and I've done a load of laundry, put Benton down for a nap, made scrambled eggs and cleaned up all the corresponding pans and utensils and put them away, fed the animals and even petted the poor, neglected things. And it's only 8:45 am! Go me! It feels great. So, I'm going to keep it up, so that I feel even greater. :)

You cannot lose my love

I subscribe to a music service where I can play unlimited songs from my laptop for some small fee a month, and I can make playlists of different songs for different moods. The Huz has a knack for envisioning the expansion of anything, and so has made it where I can broadcast my laptop music to the whole house where we have surround sound speakers, which is the living room, the kitchen and attached sunroom.

Yesterday, I was playing my "Sweet Baby Songs" playlist, which includes some beautiful songs that speak to me about the love a parent has for a child, anything from Tim McGraw's "My Little Girl" to John Mayer's "Daughters", (even though I have boys). We're having our 3rd Annual Pumpkin Carving Party tomorrow, so while The Bear slept, Sir H and I were very busy working in the kitchen. He was in charge of the KitchenAid stand mixer, lowering and raising it, locking and turning it on and off. Big job, and he certainly pulled it off with aplomb.

In the playlist, a beautiful song by Sara Groves came on, called "You Cannot Lose My Love," some of the lyrics are

You will lose your baby teeth, at times, you'll lose your faith in me.
You will lose a lot of things, but you cannot lose my love.
You may lose your appetite, your guiding sense of wrong and right.
You may lose your will to fight, but you cannot lose my love.

Obviously, it's a song that speaks to the depth and breadth of a mother's love for her child, no matter what that child does. I feel so fiercely about my boys that I know that no matter what they do, no matter what path they take, there is a visceral connection and emotion there that will never be broken, not even by death.

So, I was singing softly along as Sir H and I were working in the kitchen, me rolling out some cookie dough while he was in charge of licking the dough from the bowl in handfuls making sure the mixer was running correctly, and he nonchalantly started the following conversation, from a companionable silence:

H: "I can't lose your love."
Me: "Nope." [My heart leaping in my chest at the sweetness, but trying remain nonchalant to match his tone so as not to shriek in delight and knock him off his stool in fear]
H: "I can make badacisions (bad decisions) and I can't lose your love."
Me: "Exactly. No matter what, I will always love you."
H: "Yeah. You'll always love me."
[5 second pause while I found my voice]
Me: "So, where'd you learn that?"
H: "You. You teached me."

Wow. I will never, ever forget that. Ever. It is such a poignant exchange, because it says so many things to me. First, that I must somehow be communicating my great love for him in an adequate way. Second, that he's secure, as evidenced by his ability to state his certainty especially in such a casual way. To him, it's not news or really particularly interesting, it was just an observation. And third, that all of those times where I have screwed up, where I've been too harsh in my language, too rough in my handling, or too lax because I just don't want to hear. one. more. minute. of. whining., that all of those things are just things, they're just moments, and what Sir H knows and remembers and has integrated into his 3 (and 3/4) year old heart is that he can't lose Mommy's love.

What a blessing tonight. Thank you, God, for that beautiful moment.

Submission in Marriage

**This conversation came up on a bulletin board I visit, so I thought I would add some thoughts here, it's random, but that's what a blog is for, hey?**

God is deliberate, and the words of Scripture have a purposeful placement. The first thing that the Bible instructs is that husbands love their wives as Christ loved the church, to be willing to give up his life. If one takes a snapshot of Christ's life, He was overall, a kind and loving man, with an intense drive for truth and justice. He was non-judgmental, but also stood up strongly for what He believed to be right according to God. When it came to His followers, His believers, he chose to be tortured, humiliated, and killed for them - slowly and brutally, which is the ultimate way of setting aside one's own desires and selfishness. Then and only then...God instructs us, as women, to respect our husbands. It is my firm belief that the order is right there, as it is presented in the Bible, that the husband is first responsible for being other-focused in his marriage, that he strives to lead by sacrificing. Not by making all the decisions, but by setting aside his selfish pursuits that might cause the marriage to be out of synch (for example, that he wants to go fishing all weekend, but he's a dad and husband and so chooses to spend the weekend with his family, or takes his kids fishing and then comes home early to take his wife on a date), and that a wife, in response, can respect this man that doesn't just declare his love with words, but lives a life of love by his choices and actions. The submission, in our interpretation, has zip to do with financial/household/familial decisions and everything to do with how we treat one another. It's about mutually respecting each other's gifts and abilities and empowering ourselves as a couple by combining those gifts.

This is an example from our marriage: I was attempting to do this kind of submission thing as taught by an old church of ours (that didn't last long - our church attendance there). One thing I did was always "let" The Huz drive. Because he's the man, right? And the man needs to be the driver of the home, and what a great opportunity to show him that I trust him and turn over my "need" to "drive" by a literal metaphor! Good stuff, right? Well, I remember about 2 weeks into it, after the fiftieth time he missed the exit, and the forty-seventh time he was going 45 in the 70 lane and I had bit my tongue and bit it and bit it and bit it and just stayed calm and smiling because I was submitting, dammit. Finally, I couldn't take it, when we ended up 30 minutes late because he drove past the exit we needed. We just both yakked it up about it, sparring back and forth and realized that both of us hated what we were doing. He hates to drive, he is not gifted in navigation, and he loves it when I say, "Turn here, turn there. The exit is in a mile. Now in a 1/2 mile. Exit here. HERE! EXIIIIITTTTT!" because he is not so much a GPS system.

I've since learned that that literal example is a great metaphor for other areas of our lives. I am better at directions, so I drive and navigate. Or he drives and I navigate. I am terrific at planning, so I make plans for us as a couple with friends and he's thrilled that we have things to do that he doesn't have to decide about. He's very, very gifted in finance, and so he is in charge of paying the bills and we both sit down to budget together. There are certainly things that I ask him to make the final decision on, if I'm feeling out of my league or too emotional to see straight. And there are things he asks me to decide, if he's too emotionally entangled or doesn't feel he has enough knowledge.The idea of "wifely submission" to me, is just off the mark of what Jesus intends for our relationship. My husband feels cherished, valued and respected even when I make decisions. As do I, when he does. Even if he disagrees with some of them, he also tells me that he trusts my judgment and he will agree to be on board, even if he doesn't understand why or how...because I'm a smart lady. For him to be the final decision maker in our marriage is just ... illogical. God doesn't sit up there and make all our final decisions for us, we have to take that responsibility on ourselves, so why should our husbands have that power?

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!

Life is Gooooooooood

Saturday mornings are my day that are all mama, all day long. I pretty much get to do whatever I want, and The Huz holds down the fort. Sweetie pie, huh? Well, today I woke up to The Huz putting The Bear in bed with me to nurse, and then when he was finished, called out for The Huz in my annoying fishwife voice. He came to retrieve him, and I blissfully faded back into sleep. I finally woke up to the sound of The Bear's crying as he woke from a nap, and rolled over to see the clock displaying 2:52. That's in the p.m. I figured it must be messed up from Sir H's tinkering, so after getting The Bear, I checked the clock in the living room, and guess what? I managed to sleep until 3:00 in the afternoon. Go me! I really have a gift.

I'm enjoying everyone in my family being well...The Bear is finally able to go more than 4 hours without a breathing treatment, The Huz is back on his Strattera, Sir H has only had one nosebleed and no other health issues in a week, and I finally was diagnosed with hypoglycemia, and when I knew what to do to handle it, I've never felt better! So, thankfully, we'll be falling into fall with good health and happy spirits.

Poor Bear, or why RSV sucks

So, after I signed off last night, I went to get in the bathtub and get ready for bed. Right before I got out, I heard The Bear wake up. The Huz went to get him to calm him down until I got out of the bath to nurse him back to sleep, and he brought him into the bathroom. Immediately, I noticed that when he breathed, he could hardly get any air in. He sounded like his airway was about a pinhole large. I've never heard wheezing like that. It scared the pants off of me. On top of it, he couldn't cry, he would just crumple his face and emit a small, wheezing noise. He started arching his back to breathe, so we got out the nebulizer and immediately gave him a treatment of Xoponex. We hung around for about 20 minutes, but it was getting worse, so we called my mom, dropped Sir H off with her to spend the rest of the night, and took off for the ER in NB.

He was seen quickly, his O2 saturation level was okay, but not great (90%) and they ushered us into a room, took a nasal swab for RSV, took a chest X-ray and started him on a breathing treatment with three times the medicine we can give at home. The treatment took about an hour, and afterward, he showed some good improvement, and his O2 sat level was back up to 100%. The RSV swab came back positive, so they sent us on our way with a prescription for amoxicillian (he also has an ear infection), orders to give him a breathing treatment every 4-6 hours, and see our GP on Monday. We got home at 3:30 am and that was our wonderful date night. Now The Bear is in quarantine for at least a week, if not two, so that we don't infect any of our friends. "Happy birthday, here's a delightful respiratory illness!"

I forget how much adversity can bring a couple together. When something is wrong with one of our precious boys, nothing can come between us. I would never wish illness or pain on my children, but I can say that the silver lining is that it reminds me why I married my wonderful husband. It's so easy to get caught up in the day-to-day pettiness of arguing and housework and who isn't getting what need or want met, but when we face an obstacle as a couple, I would have no one else by my side than my strong, loving, kind, calm and steady husband.

I'm so ashamed

Please don't judge me forever based on what you are about to read. I must confess something. I have two new crushes, based on some new songs I heard today. Ready?

Justin Timberlake - I can't stop bopping to his Sexyback song. And I watched him on Oprah (I tivoed it because of my next crush confession's appearance on the show, and ended up watching him before she came on), and he's one hilarious dude. Big fan.

Kelly Clarkson. She's my new girl crush. Um, I love her.

That is all. Now you may all point and laugh. In familial news, The Bear has a "baaaad cold", says the pediatrician, but thanks to the magical, wondrous power of mama milk, he has some fluid buildup in his ears which is causing him pain, but no ear infection! Poor baby, he can't breathe through his snotty little nose, though, so he snores all night and hasn't slept in about, oh, 3 days. O.o He has been walking more, instead of always crabbing around with that hilarious crawl that cracks us all up. He took 6 steps today, after taking 5 in a row earlier in the day. You can totally see his thought process, though...he'll step...step...stepstepstep, and then look at where he's headed and it's like it's written on his face, "Screw this, I can crawl over there in .32 seconds," and off he crabs.

Mark your calendars now for his first birthday party. Our house, November 3rd at 2:00, invitations will be arriving soon. FIRST BIRTHDAY! Who let my baby grow up already? I mean, he's busy chatting it up with mama, daddy, ball, buh-bye, and he knows a ton of signs and has other sounds that are unique to what he's communicating, and he's just so big! As for Sir H, he's beautiful and brilliant as always. He told me today that he met a boy with earrings and asked me tons of questions about why that boy was wearing earrings? Why he made a silly decision? We got into a discussion about growing up, and he insisted that he will grow up to be a mommy. When I gently told him that he will be the daddy, and how wonderful daddies are, and how special that would be, he started crying and said he didn't want to be the daddy, he wanted to be the mommy. I asked him why, and he said it was because all daddies do is work and he wanted to be with his kiddos. :( Saddest thing ever. I told The Huz, and he almost cried. Seriously. So, maybe The Huz will get home earlier than 7 pm more often now. Those two, they're just such precious two little peas in a P. pod.

Tomorrow is my day off, so I get to sleep as late as I can possibly manage to make my body stay in bed. Two weekends ago was my record - I made it to 1 pm! That's right. I could win any professional sleeping contest in the world. And reading. And bathing. I excel at all three of those in length, depth and complexity. I'm quite the gifted girl. Moral of this paragraph: DO NOT CALL my house tomorrow until 3 pm, I'm aiming for a record.

So excited!

Sir H is finally getting in to see an amazing naturopath/MD! The date is getting close! September 24th - who wants to babysit The Bear? :)

And, I finally got a date with the developmental pediatrician in the city, on October 5th. So, who wants to babysit Sir H? :)

In other news, another of my bestestest friends, my cousin Tracy, just got engaged to a wonderful man. She has two delightful, brilliant and loving children and they deserve an amazing man to become part of their family. He just proposed, she accepted, and they're getting married in December! I couldn't be more excited. It just reminds me of the excitement of being engaged to The Huz, and how he swept me completely off my feet. I am so happy for the joy that J has brought to her life, and I can't think of anyone who deserves more happiness that Tracy and her children. We love you! :smooch:

ADD

So, The H was diagnosed with ADD about six weeks ago, and started taking Strattera for his symptoms. I noticed an improvement almost immediately, and after a week, he was an absolutely delightful person to be with! He's been attentive and interested, listens to me, hears the boys, and does little things like make eye contact throughout an entire sentence. I had no idea how much I missed those things until I didn't have them for so long. Well, the insurance company has decided to deny coverage for the medication, since they want him to take Ritalin first. Our doctor refuses to even subject The H to trying it, so that's out, and the insurance is being really stubborn. The H started looking for some natural alternatives, and found an herbal blend of things like mushroom and some enzymes that have a completely hyped-up website that fear-mongers one into getting off prescription medication.

The deal we came to, with our marriage counselor mediating, is that he will be trying the herbal blend for a week, without any Strattera, and then, if I look at him and say, "Nope. It's not working," he will, without complaint or arguing, get back on Strattera. I'm all for natural solutions, and I think it would be wonderful had this stuff worked. However, we're on day three, and his eyeballs are about to flit out of his head. Sir H is back to having to ask fifteen times for something before Daddy hears him, and when I point these things out, he gets defensive and rude like he used to before he was on Strattera. So, I'm over this crappy herbal blend that doesn't do a damn thing, and four more days to go. Pray that we make it.

Out, out damned ... blister!

I was so hoping, for poor H's sake that he wouldn't develop any blisters from the burn heard 'round the world, but to my dismay, one cropped up yesterday. That means instead of this being his last day of mummy hand, he has probably 7 more days of it. I don't mind a bit dressing and tending his sweet little chubby still-my-baby hand, but while he's so patient, he's getting a bit tired of having limited use of that hand. I keep finding little trails of gauze all over the house and he'll walk by me with half of the bandage off. What a goose.

On the shopping front, I finally picked my third print for the boys' room, I haven't agonized over decisions like this is ... well, I don't know how long. I don't even give this much thought to my clothes purchases! Anyway, the third print, which will go in the middle, to pull together the subtle colors of the giraffe and whale is this one:

I love finally getting things done to make this house a home. We've lived here for just a smidge over two years, and just now are getting around to hanging things on the wall. We've moved three times in the six years we've been married, so I think there's a little hesitation to really put roots down. But, I'm fairly confident that we'll be here a while (maybe forever!), and I want to start loving on my home.

What beauty!

Look at these gorgeous prints I just bought for the boys' room! Stunning, aren't they? They are made by a wonderful mama who is managing (I know not how) to share her artistry with the world and parent at the same time. I can't wait to get them and hang them in their room, what beauty! They calm me instantly, just by looking at them. Here is her online store - go get you some gorgeous prints!

When will I learn?

I keep waiting for things to "calm down" around here so that we can enjoy a respite from discomfort, sickness, crises and drama. HA! I think I'm finally getting it through my head that life, especially with two little guys, a husband that works 14 hours a day and an extended family full of its own issues, will never provide more than a moment of external peace.

On Friday, Sir H has a rash behind his ears that was itchy, and we went in to Dr. Jesus, Jr., who pronounced it a heat rash and gave us a topical cream. By Monday, it had spread to his forearms and elbows, his knees and lower legs, his lower back, his feet, including the bottoms of his feet and his fact - including into his ears. So sad. It was abundantly clear that it was eczema, and we haven't seen an outbreak of eczema since he was about 2 years old (he's 3 1/2 now). So, back we went to Dr. JJ. He's also been having spontaneous nosebleew (excuse me, The Bear is helping blog) nosebleeds for weeks, sometimes three in a night. On top of the seasonal allergies with which he's already struggling, the eczema was the proverbial straw. So, I made an appointment with a doctor who will, I hope, prove to be an ideal amalgam of allopathic and natural medicine. He is an MD, so is able to prescribe and has Western training, but also believes strongly in what has been termed "complementary medicine", a term that encompasses the best of herbal treatments, accupuncture, supplements and chiropractics, among other techniques.

The hardest thing will be changing our diet. From what I understand, the most common triggers of eczema and allergies are dairy, an overgrowth of candida (caused by many things, including too much added sugar) and wheat. Instead of getting terribly overwhelmed and trying to throw away all our food and start from scratch, my first step will be to phase out dairy, and cut back on sugar. I already try to be diligent about buying foods without high fructose corn syrup, so I'm hoping a gradual approach to our new diet will be relatively painless.

So, last night (Saturday), the family went into the city and when we got back, Sir H inexplicably decided to wrap his hand around the exhaust pipe. I think t'was the scream heard 'round the world, poor boy. After a few phone calls to Dr. JJ and the hospital nurse line, we decided to take him to the ER since the burn is on his palm. He's so brave, he sat and waited like a trooper. We took my laptop and watched movies while we waited for the doctors to help us. They were so sweet and complimentary and kind to my precious boy, and slathered him in some silver sulfadiazine cream and dressed his hand up in some gauze. We went to a 24-hour pharmacy to fill a prescription for some helpful pain medicine and cruised around the aisles, randomly picking things up in order to buy them while we waited. $40 of crap and fifteen minutes later, we were on our way home. Today, he's racing around like he's Superman, which is quite possible. Apparently, burning hot exhaust pipes and mummy hands are not his Kryptonite.

Gap, Old Navy and Banana Republic, you disappoint me.

In response to this shirt, I wrote the following letter:

Hello,

I am a frequent customer of Gap, Banana Republic and Old Navy. I have enjoyed buying clothes for my entire family, including my husband and my two boys. I also often buy clothing from your brands as gifts for friends and their children. I have always thought that Gap. Inc. brands were a good fit for my family, due to varying price points and selections. However, when shopping online recently for my two young boys, I was extremely disappointed to see shirts for infants and toddler boys that promote materialism and misogyny. I enjoy reading witty sayings on shirts and have bought a few from Old Navy and Gap that state such things as, "100% Love", "My Dad is the Man", and "I Love Mommy", as well as other funny and sweet shirts that are positive and uplifting. In fact, your current "Leo's Artwork Graphic T" is exactly something I would buy for my boys. However, to see shirts that state, "I Love Mom, She's Got the $", "Ladies Man" and the most offensive, "Lock Up Your
Daughters", I am incredibly disappointed and disheartened.

I realize that popular culture is awash with graphic t-shirts, but to promote such blatant misogyny as "Lock Up Your Daughters" is irresponsible and pandering to
the lowest common denominator. I see that this specific shirt is sold out, so I realize that my words may mean nothing against the financial gain your brand enjoys from this item, but I hope that you read this letter and it gives someone pause, and that you examine the impact of that shirt on our youth. From the perspective of a mother of boys, I am overwhelmed by how difficult it is to fight the message that our society sends that success in malehood is tied to sexual prowess, whether it is explained away as simply intended to announce that the boy wearing such shirt is attractive to girls, or to admit that there is an undercurrent of sexuality in the shirt's saying that implies many things. First, it reinforces the idea that boys are predators. In order to "save" your daughter from my son, it is necessary to lock her away. Second, that the "daughters" are incapable of making mature decisions, and instead, are treated as incapable chattel that need locking up in order to protect their chastity. There are so
many levels of offensiveness to this saying that I could continue to list implications, but I think my point is clear.

It is my hope that instead of writing me off as a radical mother, you see me as a concerned parent who represents many other mothers and fathers that are becoming more and more aware of the state of our culture and determined to change the course of this generation.

Sadly, while you continue to manufacture, market and sell shirts that carry offensive sayings such as "Lock Up Your Daughters", I am unable to patronize any of your brands. Again, I know that my contribution to your bottom line may not mean much in your yearly data, but I am spreading the word to as many mothers and fathers I know that also express disappointment and discouragement at cultural phenomena such as your shirt represents, and I hope that they will do the same.

Sincerely,
Me

It is frustrating to know that my chances of being heard are slim, but it's what I can do. If anyone has any activist suggestions for how to be heard, feel free to let me know!

Hold me

I was donating platelets today, which is supposed to take 1.5-2 hours, but they couldn't get enough from me, so I ended up only being there for 30 minutes. I was in a strip center, decided to hop over to the movies, and saw that Kevin Bacon was in an movie called Death Sentence that I hadn't seen trailered. I asked the ticket girl if it was a horror flick or what, and she said it was a crime thriller / drama. Yay! My kind of book, so my kind of movie, right?

Horribly, horribly wrong.

Do not, do NOT go see this movie. It. Is. Awful. Horrifyingly tragic, not at all redeeming, gruesome and terribly upsetting. I seriously cannot get the images out of my head.

This is my good deed for the day - warning you all to steer clear, especially those of you who have kids, or have kids you love, or even remotely think you may like kids a little bit. Or life. Or happiness. Or positivity.

I must have supernatural powers

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.

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."

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?"

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 me for 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.

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.

http://www.theweathers.onedollaradoption.com/

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!

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!

Have a date!

Our occupational therapy (OT) appointment is set. So, prayers and thoughts and well-wishes are welcome that they will take a look at him and laugh us out of the office. It's Tuesday at 11:15, and my challenge is to sleep between now and then. Argh.

Man, I love that kid.

My Perfect Bear

So, off I went googling the other night, because of some quirks I noticed about The Bear, some things he needs in order to fall asleep. Little did I know that I would stumble upon a checklist that includes many of his behaviors that may indicate proprioceptive sensory issues. I'll blog later about the details, because I really need to go nap while he's sleeping, but suffice it to say that I'm absolutely terrified. I know there's nothing I can do to control the situation, but since I deal with a teeny anxiety disorder myself, not knowing and being able to predict the outcome brings out all my bad habits.

I spoke with a very helpful and knowledgeable occupational therapist yesterday, and after answering questions and discussing his behaviors for about fifteen minutes, she said that she would recommend an evaluation, just to see if there's anything there that can be helped with changes in behavior, modifications, etc. We're waiting for the occupational therapy center to call us back to set an appointment. I'm on pins and needles.

I don't know that any mom wants less for their child than to be the absolute shining star that he is. My biggest fear is that if there is something that would cause The Bear to manifest behavior that is outside the societal acceptance of normal, that people won't see how wonderful and beautiful and perfect he is. Life is hard enough, it breaks my heart to think that he may face struggles in addition to those that life will present on its own. More later, my brain is exhausted from worrying.

Oh, the triteness

Usually, those goofy, trite bits of "wisdom" make me want to blech, but I read this today, and it's resounded. So, I share:

"If you want the greener grass, water your own."

I'm pondering on that this week.

Mei Tai (no, not a tropical drink)

You know how when you find something that you love, you want to call all your friends and tell them, and just randomly stop strangers at the store and people you pass as you take a walk and also send an email to every single person on your contact list and be all, "OH MY GAH! My life is, now and forevermore, changed. You must run, not walk, and buy this." No? Just me? Huh.

Well, my newest "it's changed my life" item (sounds like a new category I need to have - TTHCML [Things That Have Changed My Life]):

My mei tai. What in the world is that, you ask? Well, I'm glad you did so. It is a baby carrier, which allows your baby to be carried on the front, tummy-to-tummy, or on the back, with his legs wrapped around your back. A most interesting history of the mei tai's origin and travel to Western culture I found on *blush* Wikipedia.

Traditionally, the Chinese mei tai was a square or nearly square piece of cloth with parallel unpadded straps emerging from the sides of each corner. It was tradtionally secured by bringing all the straps together in a twist with the ends tucked. The mei tai did not become well-known in the United States until 2003, when several designs that added padding, a longer body, longer top straps and a more "wrap like" tying method were created and made popular.

I have also read on the forums at The Babywearer that the origin of the name is Cantonese, and is more properly pronounced "bay die". So as to respect the cultural origins and soften the fairly obvious cultural appropriation that we have accomplished in coopting the mei tai and making it trendy, I often try to pronounce it in a somewhat mushy hybrid of "may tie" and "bey die". It's quite interesting to watch me do mouth gymnastics and have this whole narrative running through my head when a random person at the grocery store says, "Awww! That's cute, what are you holding him in?"

Okay, if you're still with me, this is the person to whom I credit my new obsession: Tina at Bean Slings. Tina is now the recipient of much of our hard-earned money. I used a pouch sling for The Bear when he was a newborn, but now that he is Mr. Very Busy and Important, he is insistent that he must not be contained by a pouch. After researching a great deal, it sounded as if the mei tai style carrier would work best for us, as it allows his arms and legs to be free, evenly distributes his weight across my back (which is absolutely necessary, as I have a pinched nerve root), and does not hang the baby by his hips - as do the ubiquitous Snugli and Baby Bjorn - which has been implicated recently in contributing hip dysplasia. Care providers who are attuned to this issue recommend optimizing positions in which the baby's legs are splayed, as they are when the baby's legs are wrapped around your waist. The mei tai allows you to hold your child on your front while the pressure of his body is concentrated on his seat, just as it is if you were holding him, or if he were sitting.

My first mei tai, and still my favorite, since it's been broken in and has that soft, mine thing about it, is this pattern. I recently ordered this pattern for one of my bestest friendes in the whole world, E, who will be having baby Owen imminently, and of course, I *had* to order an additional carrier for myself in this fab floral, if only to justify the shipping cost. Hey, it's reversible, so I really saved money by buying two slings in one, right?

Enterowhatnow?

Well, thanks to my physician sister, I finally have a name for the Biblical plagues of Egypt that befell me last week: enterovirus. Most likely coxsackie, a.k.a., hand, foot and mouth. I mean, what am I, a mad cow? Well.......

Will he be nursing in college?

Before I had children, I wasn't even sure that I would breastfeed. Now, as mother to a 3 1/2 year old and 9 month old, I find myself having transformed slowly into what's known as a "lactivist" - a breastfeeding activist. When I was newly married, and children were a distant idea on the horizon, I had a breast reduction. I knew the risks included a decrease in milk production, but I had so many body image issues relating to my disproportionate breast size that I couldn't imagine wanting to use them for anything worthwhile. I prepared my husband in the months prior to Sir H's birth that he was not to be pushy about my choice to breast or bottle feed. Having no personal opinion, he quickly agreed (I'm sure that a nine-months pregnant behemoth full of hormones, cycling quickly between crying and howling with laughter had nothing to do with his quick acquiescence).

Then, I birthed a miracle. The first thing I saw was a tiny, perfectly formed hand reaching toward the sky, fingers splayed, attached to a wiry arm locked tight at the elbow, and slowly starting to grasp, grasp, grasp. Everything else disappeared, it was just me and this person that I needed to touch, hold, feed, now, now, now. When he turned his head toward my chest, it was the most natural thing in the world to feed him from my breast.

Though my feelings immediately changed, and I became more than committed to breastfeeding him, our bodies had other plans. Between latching issues and destroyed nipples from terrible nursing advice from young nurses, we were presented with an immediate challenge. We supplemented from the beginning, with a few ounces of formula, after every nursing session, due to the fact of my breast reduction. We had no idea if my body was capable of making enough milk, and I was too afraid to wait and see. Then, when Sir H was ten days old, he contracted RSV. As a result, he was unable to breathe when nursing, which further heightened our troubles. I wanted nothing more than to feed this baby with the best food possible, and emotionally, I wanted to succeed at the first job I had ever had as a mother. Our struggles continued for months. I had to switch over to a hospital grade rented pump while my body healed, and could only pump enough milk to feed Sir H half the time, so he got formula the other half. My husband often found me, bent over breastfeeding books, trying to analyze what I was doing wrong. He would hear the sound of my sobbing down the hall and know it was time to come take the book away and reassure me that I was doing my best. My heart was breaking. When I fed Sir H a bottle, I actively loathed it. I hated touching the formula, I resented it with every fiber of my being. I couldn't feed him a bottle without tears dripping all over my sweet babe's face, so my husband had to take over bottle duty, while I sobbed and pumped downstairs.

The good news is that we perservered, and after going through pumps, bottles, formula and nipple shields, Sir H and I finally figured it out, and from 12 weeks on, he was exclusively breastfed. Yay! I still count that as the thing I am most proud of in my entire life. Forget college graduation, never mind the young people I counseled, I made my baby get FAT! When The Bear arrived, I prayed that we would have smooth sailing from the beginning, and wouldn't you know? That kid and I were made for this. He latched beautifully, and I was so much less anxious, and it's been a dream. The Bear is 9 months old, and while he's managed to grab a bite or two off our plates, he's still exclusively breastfed. If you wonder why we're delaying solids, it's a combination of things: allergy reduction, gut flora health, greater protection from illness, the list is long.

I tell you all this to give you a peek into my growth as a lactivist. When you work that hard for something that important, there's nothing that can or should possibly get in the way of seeing it to its completion. And for many mothers, the completion of the breastfeeding relationship doesn't simply end when the child can "ask for it", or when he gets teeth (another piece of "popular wisdom" which is neither wise nor particularly popular). It's when we decide. When the child and the mother are ready. Some moms are ready at a year. I certainly wasn't with Sir H. He decided to be finished at 16 months, and his decision was abrupt and final. Now, The Bear, on the other hand, has shown signs of breastfeeding into college. And after the literal blood, sweat and endless tears I put in to fight for my child's right to have superior sustenence, why would I turn off the tap before he was ready?

So, you people who give the wrinkled nose when you pass as I feed my child; you women who loudly comment, 'If he's old enough to ask, he's too old!' as you walk by, know this. My 9 month old can ask. He pulls at my shirt and loudly and sternly tells me, "EH!" Is 9 months too old to nurse? He just cut his third and fourth tooth. Is he too old to nurse? Is my friend's two-year-old who cuddles up to her breast at night to comfort herself at the end of a long day too old to nurse? What makes a child "too old"? I am most certainly not alone in my arduous journey to breastfeed. Many, many mothers have a much more difficult time than I. Who are you, who are we, to determine when enough is enough? Being a mother has its own set of overwhelming challenges and obstacles. Why not refuse to add another by judging the choices of breastfeeding mothers?

Here's something I guarantee will make the day of a nursing mama - smile, give her a thumbs up, and keep on walking.

To vaccinate or not to vaccinate, that is the question

In the last few months, I have, for the very first time, been challenging myself as to my vehement and ardent beliefs that vaccines are necessary and good. I decided that if that is a fact, then I would have no problem reading the information written by those who are concerned about vax effects on our children. So, I'm just beginning the journey.

I have recently come across a Christian physician, Dr. Russell Blaylock, who is opposed to routine and mandated vaccinations. Although I have known some Catholics who are anti-vax due to the presence of fetal cells lines in many of the immunizations, I have not encountered anyone "in real life", as opposed to online, who has an ethical objection based on this variable. So, the information I'm discovering is fairly new to me, and there are no peers or mentors who have opinions with which I can discuss it. An interesting position, this, and one more and more common in this Internet age.

At this moment, I am absolutely, more than one hundred percent committed to continuing the vaccination for meningitis, brand name Prevnar, effective against pneumococcal bacteria. I've seen firsthand the devastation this disease has wrought on infants and children, and I'm committed to being as cautious as possible when it comes to meningitis. My task in the next month or two will be to evaluate the other routine vaccinations The Bear will be scheduled to receive, and thankfully, due to my time mismanagement skills, I have been given some grace time. At 9 months old, he has only received up to his four-month scheduled shots, so he's relatively vax-free at this point. I'll be posting my thoughts as I travel down this road of vax information and try to separate the agenda from the facts.

Sir H. was reading his "mazagines" earlier, and had some "growl-a" bars for breakfast. They used to be "ranogla bars", but time is too fleeting when it comes to precious mispronounciations. The Bear is now accustomed to falling asleep on me, as I lie in a half-coma, so I type this with him fussing at me from his bed while I sit in the chair next to it. He's a snuggle buggie, and I love it.

Sick sucks

I've been sick quite a bit this year. I am sure, by now, that it is a result of having two kiddos under 4, a husband who works 14 hours a day, and not getting enough sleep. I am going to have to figure out how to take better care of myself. Any suggestions for immune-boosting ideas are more than welcome. So far, I'm taking probiotics (which haven't done much but give me...well, excessive bathroom time), trying to eat more fruits and veggies, and I was taking Airborne quite frequently, every time I was feeling cold or flu-like.

Unfortunately, this week I pretty much bottomed out. I was struck at around noon on Tuesday with a migraine unlike any I've had before. Thankfully, my dad was around, and he took me to the doctor and my wonderful doctor (we affectionately refer to him as Dr. Jesus, Jr. due to his ways of salvation when we feel so badly) gave me a elephantine shot of Stadol. I slept in a narcotic buzz through the next two days. On Wednesday evening, I felt well enough to get up and eat, and noticed, through the haze of narcotic, that my mouth was disturbingly painful as I ate some chicken strips. I dismissed it and went to bed.

On Thursday morning, I awoke to find that I had a mouth full of canker sores, ulcers, whathaveyou. I prefer to call them demon-pains-from-hell, but whatever. Again to the doctor, who gave me an anti-viral and some lidocaine. On Friday morning, I woke up with vomiting and diarrhea. Yep, the stomach bug had decided to pay me a visit, because I wasn't feeling badly enough. So, I feel human today, but still woozy.

Sadly, my nursling, Bear, isn't getting much nourishment at the breast, and that has caused me unending guilt and worry. My big boy, Sir H, is constantly asking me if I'm okay, so I know he's worried and hopefully, Daddy's pulling through on that front. I'm lucky if I can choke down 300 calories a day, and it's just not cutting it. Thankfully, the end is in sight. My mouth is better, my tummy seems to not be revolting after a meal of mashed potatoes and Gatorade, and I can cross my fingers and pray for a good night's sleep and a healthy day tomorrow.

Bear is nine months, on the 1st, and I can hardly believe it. He has been standing since he was 7 months old, just stands right up from a froggy squat, and recently, added clapping and "yayayayayayay!" to his repertoire as he stands. He loves to be snuggled, loves to sleep pressed up to you skin to skin, and nurses constantly.

Sir H is a very, very busy little guy who has a billion friends and makes new ones everywhere he goes. He is constantly on the look for "peelbugs", asks if we are driving on the "hivewave" to San Antoooonio, tells me, "Mommy, we don't say, 'shutup'", and sees "websites" (spiderwebs) everywhere we go.

Heh

So, I finally have a place to post, to vent, to share. I'm way behind the 8 ball on this one. As in a decade. I have eschewed the idea of a blog for a great while, for the same reasons I abhore the endless rows of memoirs on the library shelves, and the reality television shows that dominate the airwaves. But, who am I kidding? I read the memoirs, the juicier the better. I watch the shows, I read the blogs.

Ergo, I succumb. Now the question is - will anyone read?