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?