All in Good Time

I think I used to be one of those types of people that found humor in everything. I mean, I'd be all bitter and bitch about stuff, but I'd be bitter in a funny way by making jokes about it and whatnot. This is either what I recall or what I want to recall. Whatever. All I know is that in the last few months I have been unrelentingly grumbly, and there ain't nothing funny about it, goddammit.

But this is not the place for that. This is the place for Kiki news.

The news on Kiki: She has RSV. And croup. At the same time. I want to feel so sorry for myself for not having slept since Sunday night, but it's hard to concentrate on a good, cathartic self-pity party (without booze and) when there's typically happy happy happy baby who now is just a puddle of snot and miserable.

Her eyes are all red and swollen and weepy, her snot factory is on full-tilt like there's some snot shortage in the northwest that MUST be FILLED by MIDNIGHT by God! and she rattles and snorts and whistles and toots like a miniature carbon-based choo-choo train.

She's on prednisone; mommy's always and forever wiping her nose; and she's getting albuterol treatments every 4 hours. This is a fed-up baby.

But the most heart-breaking thing is that in the middle of a screaming good cry, wherein she's letting us know EXACTLY how miserable she is and just what she thinks of us for torturing her like this, she'll suddenly stop, swing her head around like a drunk mime to look up at me (almost falling over backward at the same time, of course), and when she's certain I've got the full effect of her tear-stained red cheeks, purple swollen eyes, snotty nose, and trembling mouth, she'll give me the bravest little happy grin she can muster. Like she's saying, "You're such a trooper, Mom! Hang in there! You know this isn't really me!"

And then that saps the reserves, and she slips right back into being miserable.

I wish I could just take the sick right out of her. It breaks my heart to see her so miserable. She's usually so active and laughing; she'd gotten to the point where she just on the verge of crawling even. But now she only has enough energy to protest her every 4-hour torture sessions, and then she's out until the next one.

The doc says things will probably get worse over the weekend, then start to get better. Yippee! At least it's over the weekend, so Kipp and I can take turns staying up at night with her.

ha!!! I make myself laugh.

I mean, it's not like he wouldn't. But the thing is, he's been through RSV with babies twice before, and he's just not panicked enough to sit by the crib and analyze every gurgle and burble for possible signs of imminent snot drowning. And also, Mommy's still her most favoritist person -- now that she's sick, even more so -- and as he point out, she screams when I'm giving her her treatment, but I'm able to calm her down within seconds of ending the treatment.

Kipp, on the other hand, wipes her nose, and she's inconsolable until Mommy sweeps her up. And not just fussy, but honest to God screaming herself hoarse.

I am honestly going to have to get therapy or something. Everything that happens seems to me to be incontrovertible proof that I am the worst mother in the world (well, not the worst. I mean I haven't actually killed my child.) And Kipp is getting frustrated that I won't listen to him, but that I'll listen to anybody and everybody else, which if that is true, sucks donkey balls because I so completely know what that's like, and I have no reason to be treating him like that, especially since he's got experience in this stuff, hello.

Which I think may be part of the problem. I think I resent that he has experience and I'm such an utter newbie. He's so calm, and I freak out over absolutely everything. And I get pissed that instead of speaking to me in calm tones and stroking my hair and treating me like a scared baby -- which, hello, is what I am -- he gets frustrated with me and goes into lecture mode. Gah.

So if I do do the other thing, it's probably a passive-aggressive retributional response to him not being patient with me.

Honest to God, I think we could make some couples' therapist very very happy.

Wow what a negative post, all in all. I think I need an attitude adjustment. Or sleep. Or booze. Or cigarettes.

Yeh. We quit smoking last week. We haven't smoked allllll year long. Hahaha. I make myself laugh.

Yup. It's the nicotine withdrawal; it's got to be.

Rounding out the week

Well, it was a busy Christmas!

As usual, we had Christmas Eve at Kipp's parents' house with the family. Kiki was not fond of the older children running around playing. Between getting over stimulated and her stranger anxiety -- well, darn it, Mommy and Daddy were the only ones allowed to hold her all night.

Still, she made her appearances, all decked out in her holiday dress, so Mommy was slightly mollified.

Speaking of behavior problems, our oldest is still doing the comparison sulk at Christmas. She's got to grow out of it someday, doesn't she?

Kiki's stocking was stuffed with plastic spoons with big handles and a feeding package that included a sippy cup. Soooo... at lunchtime on Christmas Day, I whipped those puppies out for a test drive.

She wields the spoon pretty darned well, I have to admit (I have video to prove it!) Granted, we have to fill the spoon for her. But once she realize I wanted her to grab for the spoon, she grabbed for it every time. She made it into her mouth most of the time, with the prerequisite stops in her hair, along her cheek, her eye, her nose, and all over the high chair. Best part is she LOVES it, so she doesn't even know she's working!

And before anyone hits me with the sippy cup controversy.... YES, I know, I've heard it from the doctors, the PT, WIC, blah blah blah, give 'em a REAL cup (with supervision), sippy cups are evil, yadda yadda yadda.

People, I have to draw a line somewhere. Here's my line. I understand that we're making progress all the time, and every decade or so we have to pooh-pooh a dozen or so tried-and-true parenting foundations and replace them with new and improved and oh-so-much-better blah blah blahs, but you know what? We did away with spankings a few decades ago, and look where it's gotten us. I'm not exactly sold on everything new; not everything new is improved.

And also, everyone I ever knew who raised children with sippy cups did not put them exclusively on sippy cups. You still get your child to try to sip out of a real cup, with supervision, as often as possible. Which she does, by the way, thank you very much. But her arms and hands are still not reaching for and grabbing and holding onto things, so I will stick to the sippy cup with handles for a little while, until she gets the knack of holding, tipping, and grasping, thank you very much.

I feel like ranting about misbehaving children and the virtue of fear in parenting, but I will put it off another day or so.

I only hope that I don't become one of those parents I complain about!

Okay... this is NOT a video of her feeding herself (I'll post it one day!), but I found this site that hosts videos and... well, we made this video of her when she was 2 months old, and haven't showed it off much. So here it is!!

Free MySpace slideshows, photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Warm Fuzzy Thoughts

Getting towards the end of the year, when New Years' resolutions are almost upon us. I admit I almost never keep my resolutions, but this time of year does at least make me introspective and self-analytical. And some things this year have been "duh" types of epiphanies, but they've made me wonder how I've managed so far in my life being so stubbornly set on so many insignificant and ultimately futile little rebellions in my own mind?

My resolution this year is to truly learn to live and let live, live moment by moment, cherish the blessings, and not to dwell on the disappointments. Heh. If you knew me, you'd be laughing your ass off right now.

I'm behind on the 8-month picture debut. I know it. I got some cuuuuute pics of her last night in her high chair though. I even wiped her mouth off for them.

The wild child has taken to rocking back and forth in her high chair while she's eating. It's a new game. Her mouth has become a moving target. Ha! Catch me if you can, Mommy!

And now she also shakes her booty while we're changing her diaper. We can't help but shake our booties with her. It reminds me of Friends, when Ross and Rachel sang "Baby Got Back" to make their baby laugh. Shaking her bare booty to get us to shake ours makes her whole face light up. You are my monkeys! she giggles at us. Dance, monkeys! Dance!

Still no teeth. There are bumps on her gums but nothing as yet is breaking through.

Ohh, an update on the fluoride thingie... someone had posted a comment about the bad effects of fluoride. Which panicked me, and I read up as much as I could find on it, and then took it up with her doctor, the hematologist when we were in KC, a friend of mine who is a dental assistant, and even more recently the geneticist. All of them were in agreement that the correct dosage of fluoride has been proven to have extremely beneficial effect on developing teeth.

And I may not have mentioned this, but the town we live in does NOT add fluoride to its drinking water. And I checked the dosage on the vitamin supplement I'm giving her. It's actually well below the "danger" dosage I've read about in articles.

The one thing that's beginning to irritate me though? I mentioned to the geneticist that Kiki's almost constantly constipated. Downs babies evidently have problems with their digestive systems anyway, and it turns out that the iron in the formulas makes it worse. So I thought, okay, I'll find a formula without iron.

Ha!

Ha!

Ha!

I don't think such an animal exists. I mean it's bad enough that you almost have to go to a vitamin store to get a vitamin that doesn't have iron in it (I am horrendously sensitive to iron supplements. They make me sicker than a pregnant landlubber at sea with the stomach flu who ate bad spinach dip.), so I figured it might be challenging to find a formula without iron. But no. Not challenging. IMPOSSIBLE.

So we shall continue with the constant dosing of prune juice. And peaches. And I finally found white grape juice to make her cereal with, so hopefully that will work too. NO RICE CEREAL NEED APPLY. Jeez.

In the space of one day...

On Sunday, Kiki:

1) Sat up on her own.
2) Starting truly babbling (ba ba ba ba)
3) Recognized her daddy again and took a bottle from him

Huzzah!!!!!!

Another milestone!

Okay. Typical Sunday morning, although not completely. We had Kiki sleep with us last night so C could stay out of the girls' way and sleep in the nursery. She slept in until 8:30, which is pretty late for her. Of course, it was still practically dark because the weather is dreeeeeary today. Good thing we cleared enough of the garage out so that Kipp can park his car in there, and he won't have to unfreeze it every morning.

I digress.

Tend to the dogs, change and feed the baby, get breakfast for the kids (which is a lie -- they do that for themselves, bless them!), put the baby in her swing until I get her playpen set back up in the living room, put the baby in the pen, then take a work call, then cruise back into the living room to check on the baby because she's raising a fuss and ....

what the...

how did....

did the girls....

they say no, so...

Somehow Kiki sat up. In her playpen. By her self. And was trying to play with her block. Or was trying to get back down. Either way she'd sort of gotten too far into a corner, so her head wouldn't let her get close enough to the block or get back on her belly without hitting the mesh of the playpen and blocking her.

Hence the fussing.

But, did you catch that?

SHE SAT UP ON HER OWN.

Granted, she still sort of slumps forward when she sits unassisted, but let me reiterate. She was not on her back. She was not on her belly. She was not on all fours. She was on her butt. Technically? SITTING! POSITION! UNASSISTED!

I feel it's become necessary to set up a video camera, trained on her at all times.

Hi Santa!

Well, we had breakfast with Santa. And a more authentic looking Santa you couldn't ask for either! He talked with the group of kids there gathered for breakfast, and then he read them a story, and then he got us all to sing Rudolph, and then he went off for his day of posing.

We kind of left before that because we learned 2 things: our older kids are TOO old for Santa, and our baby is too young to wait for anything. So, no photos with Santa yet, but ah well.

Today was B's birthday, so I took her shopping for clothes after the Santa thing, and then we came home and had a family party. Her cousin is spending the night, and Kipp announced it was a girls' night, so they have exclusive play rights on the Wii, while C is upstairs doing something on his own. Which sounds sad except that C is usually pretty much happier doing his own thing anyway, and with B distracted, he has no one torturing him.

I know the stranger anxiety is a big, and actually positive step, in Kiki's development, and I tell you what, it's my first trial of patience as a parent. Luckily everyone is being very accomodating -- I was worried about my mother-in-law, but she held herself in restraint, though it was hard for her.

I've learned that if Kiki is in her car seat, her swing, her playpen, her stroller, or being held by me, she's not at all bothered by people messing with her and talking to her. It's only if someone (other than me) tries to hold her. That's when she seems to get scared and unhappy. On the plus side, she let Daddy hold her for about 20 minutes straight at the mall today! His goatee is almost back.

So the point of seeing a geneticist, apparently, is so that we have a specialist tracking her progress and medical record to ensure that all of the necessary testing is being done in a timely fashion. So far we are on track. He was also pretty impressed by her strength; first when he took her hands and moved to pull her up, and she took the initiative and pulled herself up instead. And second when she rolled over on her belly, got on all fours, and started rocking. She's such a little show off, but he was VERY impressed, so of course Kipp and I were very proud.

Oh, and I guess if she's lying down, she's okay with strangers too. Again, it's only if someone she doesn't know tries to hold her. It's all in the holding, I guess.

Well, not much more to update now. I wish I'd read up more on this stage before it hit. It makes me wonder what else is going to blindside me!

It Has A Name

It's called Stranger Anxiety. Duh. And she'd begun to show signs of it a few weeks before Thanksgiving. And at Thanksgiving, it was at its worst. She managed to finally get comfortable with Grandma and Grandpa, but it took a whiiiile.

So the concensus on the web is that you need to work through it, but not by ignoring her distress. In other words, have "strangers" (who may include the non-primary caregiver parent in extreme cases -- prepare for some self-bashing in a few minutes here) approach the baby slowly, offering toys and whatnot, but only after having been in her presence for a while. And let Mommy comfort while people approach.

It figures I've been doing it all wrong, doesn't it? It's not like my instinct wasn't to rush in, scoop her up, and calm her down, either. It's more like everyone telling me, "You've got to let her cry sometimes." And my mother-in-law, God love her, who will cling to the screaming baby and tell me with a smile, "Crying babies don't bother me at all."

And then I'm torn between wanting to comfort my baby and feeling like an idiot and feeling like a mean daughter-in-law who won't let her bond with her own granddaughter.

I'm about ready to lose hair over this. Honestly. It's like I can't trust my gut, but I have to trust my gut, and whoever decided I should be allowed to have a baby anyway? This is RIDICULOUS. I SUCK AT THIS.

I knew about stranger anxiety, in an abstract way. I had all these plans that I would socialize Kiki from Day One with all sorts of people all the time so when this stage hit, it would not be like this. But I didn't take her out enough, obviously. The best-laid plans and whatnot. And okay, everything I'm reading is telling me this is normal and natural and moreover necessary in her development of her sense of self, but it still feels like I'm fucking up somehow.

I keep apologizing to Kipp because I feel like I did this, somehow. He tells me his older kids did the same thing at Kiki's age, and that it passes, and it's okay and it's not my fault.

Still. It would KILL me if she had decided I was the stranger.

And from what I read, no more sessions like last night. Slow and patient, without alarming or distressing her. Which should make it easier for me as well, as selfish as that sounds.

Only one more day til Santa. Let's just focus on that for a bit.

Tough Parenting

I don't want to sound whiney because I know I've had it waaaaaay easier than many. many parents, but so far this year I have faced what I'd consider tough parenting moments. And it's only my first year! I mean first there was the moment when they told me my newborn baby had been taken to the NICU; then there was the moment when I tried to watch them put an IV in her head; then there was the moment she banged her head on the sofa console thingie; then there was the moment we thought she might have leukemia; and so on, and so on.

Last night was one of the toughest parenting moments for me yet. And she wasn't in any danger, and she wasn't in any pain, and in fact, there was absolutely nothing wrong at all.

Let me begin at the beginning.

Our general routine has become like this: During the weekdays, Kipp tends to give Kiki her last bottle before she goes to bed. This gives them time to play and bond with one another. It's a very, very rare night this doesn't happen. And on the weekends, he does just about every feeding except the morning feeding.

Except for the last two weeks, Kipp has been working overtime, and he's missed a lot of the weeknight feedings. Then on Friday, he got a haircut and shaved his goatee.

Now Kiki loved that goatee. She loved to snuggle with her daddy and stroke his goatee, and she loved it when he tickled her cheek with it.

Kiki hasn't been big on strangers for some time now, since she's started teething or thereabouts. She's more patient with women than with men, but even then she'll only take so much before she's done.

And suddenly, Daddy became a stranger. When he tried to give her bottle last Friday, she rebelled. We laughed it off a little then, calling her a mommy's girl, lalala, and didn't think much of it. Then on Saturday, I had to run an errand, and while I was gone, it came time for her lunch, and Daddy stepped up, as he always does on the weekends, and...

When I came home, her bottle was untouched, and while she was no longer crying, she had the hiccup-breaths that come with prolonged and strenuous crying. Kipp looked exhausted. She had been screaming the whole time I was gone.

From then on, it's been the same thing. If she's with me, she's all smiles and laughs and giggles, and she'll take her bottle or solid food no problem. If it's Daddy, she'll scream herself into a fit.

On some level I suppose it should be flattering that I'm the center of her world and all, but I don't think it's at all healthy. I mean sure she's only 7 months old, it's just a stage, whatever, but it's troubling, very troubling, to me. It just can't be good for either of us that she's so suddenly and so completely dependent on only me.

So last night, we decided to take the bull by the horns. Daddy and baby, feeding time.

It was horrible. She actually, swear to God, screamed herself blue. It took everything I had not to swoop her up and comfort her, but she wasn't being tortured, she wasn't being ignored, she wasn't hurting, she was just throwing a tantrum. Kipp kept holding her, patiently talking softly to her, bouncing her a little bit, trying to get her to take her bottle. It went on for hours and hours or at least 20 minutes before we decided it was late, she needed to eat, calm down, sleep.

So he put her down in her playpen where she settled down IMMEDIATELY. We left her to herself for about 15 minutes, then I got her and fed her. With me, again, she was like a totally different baby: cheerful, playful, happy, engaging. When I put her to bed, she rolled over and immediately went to sleep.

We're hoping it's just the goatee. It's growing back, and for the first time since I've known Kipp, I'm actually cursing the fact that he's such a slow grower of facial hair. I'm not entirely fond of facial hair in general; mind you, I think it looks great on some men, but certainly not all men, and I prefer my husband clean-shaven.

But the baby has spoken, and the baby rules the roost. The facial hair must return.

While I know this ordeal has been bad for Kipp (if the roles were reversed? I wouldn't even be getting out of bed. Rejected by my own child? I can't imagine anything worse!), I think there's some part of him that is relishing this little bit about his facial hair now becoming a mainstay.

After all, he'll say in a few weeks when I start grousing about it, it's for the baby.

How Mama Kisses Santa's Ass

Sometimes (often) (all the time) I nap in the late morning. I can usually count on a nice little 2 hour nap sometimes, just before lunch. Now, I used to sleep very lightly. I'd wake up at the sound of the kids rolling over in their beds above us.

Not any more.

Now I sleep like the DEAD. Notice the caps? Yes, I'm emphatic about that. The DEAD.

So anyway, I'm in the middle of this little snooze when the phone rings, and evidently I hear it, and evidently I answer it, and evidently it's my husband, and evidently he's telling me something very important, and evidently he finishes, and evidently I hang up, and evidently I don't wake up for a second.

Because later that night, I suddenly ping on my latest obsession. And it's an obsession because I didn't even THINK of it until GoddessKristin mentioned having taken the GoddessBaby to see Santa. PING! It's SANTA SEASON! I have a child the perfect age to prop on Santa's lap!! MUST GO!

Anyway, I suddenly chirp up with, "Hey! We need to go to the mall and get pics of Kiki and Santa! We could do that Friday since you're getting off work early anyway!" (She has an appointment with a geneticist, which is a whole other blog.)

Kipp gives me this funny look. It's kind of a cross between wanting to laugh, wanting to cry, and wanting to shake me, all at the same time. "Don't you remember me calling you?" he says, patiently.

I think about it. Really hard. "I think... you called... and... wait a second... I dreamed you won something..."

No, Victoria, it wasn't a dream. My husband won free tickets to have breakfast with Santa on Saturday morning. SCORE! And we have C & B that day too! I mean they're kind of old for Santa, although C last year... heh... I was watching tv with him, and watching his reactions at commercials, trying to determine what he might want for Christmas. I got nada. Zip. Zilch.

So I went for broke and asked him outright what he wanted for Christmas. He gives me this HAUGHTY glare and pronounces, "I still believe in Santa Claus, you know."

So you know, the kid still believes in Santa Claus. Maybe we'll get a pic of the two of them together.

Anyway, I had to do some grocery shopping today. And I have been VERY GOOD and not bought things we Do Not Need, but Kiki needs blanket sleepers, and I KNOW she's getting some for Christmas, but 2 extra won't hurt, and oh my goodness I found the cutest little furry red boots with white cuffs in JUST HER SIZE, and also? The coup de grace. A darling red shirt that proclaims "I love Santa!"

My goal is to have Santa so smitten he shuts out all the other kids, and gives my kids everything he's got.

And maybe a second helping of pancakes. Yummy!

Ironic

We've been having an ongoing argument in the household as to what constitutes irony. To annoy me further, the Mr. has taken to ending each heated debate by singing the Alannis Morrisette song that sparked the debate in the first place. Three years ago, mind you. Why it has reared its ugly head again in the past month, I will never know.

I maintain that there is nothing in "Isn't it Ironic?" that is, in fact, ironic.

The Mister insists that finding 2,000 spoons when all you need is a knife is truly and inherently ironic. He is vehement about it. It makes me want to tape a knife to his forehead.

"So tell me what IS ironic then!" he demands.

I have to think about it. I am not an ironic person, all in all. I mean I get the literary gist of irony, even if I can't quote the actual definition (which is probably unhelpful anyway, as it is most likely listed as "Irony: the state of being ironic." I hate that.)

I finally come up with Jim Fixx. It is ironic that while jogging to increase his lifespan, he dropped dead of a heart attack.

The Mister says that he could have dropped dead of a heart attack at any time, and jogging had nothing to do with it.

Sometimes I think he is purposefully stubborn just to make me crazy.

It all finally culminated this week while we were watching Heroes. He paused it in the middle, and announced he was heading to the garage for a cigarette. He waited for me to move. I did not. "Aren't you coming?" he said.

"Yes," I said. "I'm trying to move, but my super power seems to have kicked in at an inappropriate time."

He thought about this for a minute. "Your super power is super speed, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"And when it kicks in, it paralyzes you?"

"Yes."

He grins. "Now THAT is irony."

At last! The debate is over and dead. Whew!

And of course, now that it's all over, I remembered the Gift of the Magi, which is probably the icon of literary irony. But I am NOT reopening the irony debate with that one. I am not, not, not!

NOT, I tell you.

Hell, I probably will. I'm such a stinking masochist.

All's Good

So we took Kiki to KC on Thursday, and the short story is: all her blood panels were normal. Yay!!

Now I've been a big city girl my whole life, so the fact that we had to drive 4 and half hours one way to see a specialist gave me a special kind of thrill. I felt like Laura Ingalls or something. I know that sounds grossly and spectacularly ignorant, but it's true. I swear, if I had to drive 6 hours to buy some special electronic doohickey we couldn't live without, I'd be beside myself with glee. Of course, since the Internet is everywhere, and yes, Virgina, we have Best Buy here in town, that's highly unlikely, but still.

Anyway, I discovered something last night about my communication (lack thereof) with my husband.

Okay, when the doctor first contacted us to tell us Kiki's blood tests were abnormal, and referred us to the hemotologist in KC (who was awesome by the way, and Mercy Children's Hospital -- I think they should decorate adult hospitals whimsically too, honestly. As we were leaving, we actually heard a little girl saying she wasn't ready to go home yet.)

I digress. When the doc told me Kiki's white cells and lymphocytes were high, she didn't tell me in so many words what that could mean. I automatically assumed leukemia, but I didn't ask (denial? probably). And I dutifully repeated to Kipp everything she had told me, but I neglected to add my suspicion that they suspected leukemia. He even asked me what it was they were specifically testing for, what the symptoms added up to, and I told him I didn't know. I mean technically, I didn't know because again, I didn't ask.

So when we get to KC, the first thing the hemotologist asks is what Kiki's doctor had told us. I repeated all the stuff about the blood. He nodded and said, "But do you know why you're here today?"

And I replied, "I assumed it was to test for leukemia." Which he immediately confirmed.

Now I had been talking to YarnHacker the night before, and talking about the symptoms of leukemia, and how I'd been watching for them. Kipp had kind of overheard it, but then didn't follow up on it. But it turns out, the thought of leukemia had never even crossed his mind, and the night before our trip to KC was the first indication he'd gotten that it was a possibility.

So he started asking me questions about what I knew about leukemia while we were waiting for Kiki's test results. I'd never seen him look so grim and tense while he was listening, and I thought at the time that it was odd that he'd waited until the day of the tests to ask me these kinds of questions, but I just went along with it.

And I found out for the first time last night, while we were relaying the story to some friends that he didn't even know leukemia was a possibility until the hemotologist said so.

I'm not sure why I just assumed he'd make the same logical conclusion I did; I obviously have more information and experience re: the blood stuff than he does, and I should have realized that. I guess I just didn't want to say it out loud. And in fact, I was sure I'd hinted around it the first day, but he just didn't pick up on it.

I think the problem is that denial about dire things is tripping up our normally pretty clear communication channels. Going to have to watch out for that pitfall, because that could get scary ugly fast.

Well, I'm just rambling at this point. Main news: the baby is healthy! She's had her flu shot (which she hated), and she's got a slight heart murmur (nothing to be worried about), and she's healthy and happy, and God, I am so grateful for that. Thank you. Amen.

I'm a Freak

I have the weirdest baggage of fears. I mean your typical mom fears the usual, you know, that the baby may fall over and get a lump on her head, or get herself into trouble while crawling about. Get lost in a store when she's a toddler. Normal fears.

I'm afraid that 1) someone is going to legally take my baby away from me and/or 2) someone will make my baby hate me.

See? I told you I was a freak.

Of course it's too soon to tell if I'll develop the normal fears. She's neither walking nor crawling yet. The most danger she seems to pose to herself is how hard she bashes her head with her own rattle. And that doesn't get any reaction out of her at all.

NaNo Blow what?

Shit. I forgot. I didn't even sign up, and even if I had, I would have blown it on day 2. DAY 2. Gads.

No word yet from the hemotologist (or however you spell that). I finally looked him up and called him on Friday, but it was late and they had already gone home for the day. Whoever it was who answered the phone assured me that no one would be calling us to set up an appointment until Kiki's records arrived in their office. So now we wait.

I'm at least calmer. Deceptively calm, it turns out, because I had occasion to drink last night, got a little past buzzed, and started bawwwwwwwwwwling. No one likes a snotty drunk, I'll tell you what. Least of all me. My loving husband, who is always insistent on being the last to leave a party, actually dragged me out early even though I kept telling him I was FIIIIIINE, I'll stop cryyyying, look I've STOOOPPED already ..... waaaaaaaah!

Yes I went partying the weekend after getting scary news about my baby and yes I cried. Unbelievable.

But Kiki got quality time with her grandparents, and nobody loves that more than Kiki and her grandparents. Honestly, we show up, we barely get a glance and a Hi, and the baby is swoooooped up and I'm pretty sure they don't put her down, unless it's to change her diaper. She naps in their arms. I know this because I've caught them.

And she's still fine, no signs of a cold, except she still has the cough. I'm going to need to get a new humidifier tomorrow; I'm sure it will help.

And that is pretty much all the news worth reporting from this household. Today, anyway.

Blood

Isn't it appropriate that right near Halloween we get news about blooooooood? Hmm?

Okay, actually, more appropriate that I took Kiki in for a blood test on Halloween? Poor girl was so tired from me running us around all day that she had a meltdown just as we went in for them to take her blood AND I forgot her binkie in the car BECAUSE I'm such a newbie mom I make myself ill sometimes.

Results today. You know it's never good when the doctor herself makes the phone call. Her lymphocytes are high. I'm not sure what that means, but immediately what it means is that the assumption is is that she'll have have a helluva time fighting off any infection should she contract one. So the doctor is making an appointment for her in Kansas City with a pediatric hematologist, and in the meantime, I'm taking her temperature like an obsessed madwoman to make sure she doesn't run any fevers.

At least we are being proactive. And if there's anything a hematologist can do, it will be done. Just waiting now to find out when our trip to KC will take place. I've never been to KC, you know. I'm kind of excited. I've heard good things. Maybe we can con the grandparents into tagging along, and then leave them in the motel with the bebe while we go bar hopping. Score!

(she types as she tries not to break down crying for the seven hundredth time today).

I'm really trying not to meltdown about this. I'm trying. Yesterday she was evaluated by DCO to determine what stages she's at, and she's 2 months behind in communication skills and 1 month behind in socialization skills. Which had me crying off and on all day while I ran errands. And now... well.

Anyway.

You know, if I can't handle these little setbacks and these potential setbacks, how am I going to handle the big ones to come? Am I going to require a straightjacket until I come to terms with her not walking until she's 3? How the hell am I supposed to be any use at all as a mother to her if I can't get it together and fucking step up already without mewling and sniffling like a great big blubbering neverending pity party?

Obviously I need therapy. Obviously I am already on top of that. I have an appointment next week which may be pre-empted by a trip to KC. Did I mention that I'm actually looking forward to going to KC?

Denial

thought there might be days like this
feared it because I am not ...

know me know how I gloss and deny and disassociate
would I love her would I want her would I ...

she looks up at me with eyes blue like a deep lagoon
flecked with white like foam on the waves
like poetry even though I know I know the white flecks
are not just beautiful
they are there because she has ...

and I love her more than I ever thought was possible
and I yearn for her and want for her more than I ever wanted for myself
and she deserves everything everything all that there is
but all I have to give is ...

she's still so young so small so full of opportunity and potential
I say this I feel this I know this
but then there are days like this when ...

desperate to share her to take her out to show her off
so many people stop to play with her coo at her bask in her blue and white eyes
beautiful they call her and I want to ...

I let as many people hold her as seem to want to
love on her hold her and watch and absorb and keep in my soul
because one day one day not too far off
most people will glance and glance away quickly
will no longer see the beautiful baby
they will only see ...

she looks deep into me with eyes blue like a deep lagoon
flecked with white like foam on the waves
and if she could speak I think she might say ...

most days I am fearless and doubtless and I think
she is not just my blessing but a blessing to the world
and the lucky ones are the ones who take the time to know her
to hold her hand and let her guide them down her path
they are the lucky ones who will let her teach them how ...

but then there are days like this when I am reminded
not of her imperfections but of my own
when she is days weeks months behind how does that translate
into useless hours minutes seconds I spent ...

if I'm not being her mother her teacher her guide
from dawn to dawn every heartbeat every breath
how much farther will she fall behind how much more will she ...

she focusses on me with eyes blue like a deep lagoon
flecked with white like foam on the waves
and if she could speak I hope she might say ...

Happy Birthday, Grandma

Today is Grandma's birthday. She would have been 93 today.

I'd always dreamed of watching Grandma hold, love, and play with my baby. I don't in the least bit regret waiting for Kiki to come into my life; and I can't regret that Grandma died when she was ready to go; but I can't help but be a little sad today, holding my baby girl, and knowing Grandma never knew her.

I rocked her to sleep tonight telling her about her Grandma Margaret. I believe Grandma is looking over her, like she watched over me as a child. I believe Grandma knows her, somehow, even if I'm not able to witness it as I would like to. I feel her near, sometimes, when Kiki cuddles close to me, when she smiles up at me.

A part of me hoped Kiki would have Grandma's eyes, as if somehow that would mean that she is Grandma reincarnated, the two of them merged together in some way that keeps them both in my life forever. But Kiki's eyes remain blue, dark blue, and they are so beautiful, and so uniquely her.

I don't have any recollection of Grandma's favorite song, but I know she played this often after her sister died. It was Aunt Agnes's favorite song, and I think that somehow made it Grandma's as well. I feel both of them sometimes, nearby, loving her. I know they are checking in.

Happy Birthday, Grandma. I miss you so much.

Prepare yourselves...

Something scary and something incredibly adorable.



Yes, the scary is me.

She seems singularly unimpressed with being a dronkey. I think it's because she hasn't yet seen any of the Shreks. She will change her mind.

I know it's not Halloween yet. I couldn't wait. I love to dress her up! And she's very patient about it, bless her heart.

Creepy

So I have a grand total of two songs I sing regularly to Kiki. These have already become routine and plant themselves deep in her subconscious for the entirety of her life.

Or so is my master plan! muhahahahahaha!

The first song is a song I made up. It's her wake-up song. I will relate the words to you because I am not ashamed. I know it's goofy, and it's not creative, and I don't care because it makes HER smile a LOT. It goes like this:

Good morning, Kiki
Good morning, dear
I am so happy
To have you near.

You are the darling
Who I adore
And I will love you
Forever more.

I don't know what the melody is from; I will not pretend I made the melody up myself. I'm afraid it's from something creepy, because that's how I'm wired.

Case in point.

The other song I sing her every night when she goes to sleep or when I'm trying to soothe her. It's Hush, Little Baby. Which I love, mainly because it's the only lullabye I know from beginning to end (I do not count Rockabye Baby or Twinkle Twinkle and for no good reason either, so don't try to logic me.)

However.

There is a reason I remember it from beginning to end. It is not a sentimental reason. It is a CREEPY reason.

It's because of Evil Dead 2.

And every time I sing it, even though it's supposed to be a lullabye/soother, all I can think of is a naked corpse doing a stop-action ballet with her decapitated head and a creepy ghoulish thing in a cellar.

And yet? I do not stop singing her this song. How did I ever pass the parent test and get entrusted with this child?

6-Month Visit

So we went to the doc's today. She's in the 50th percentile for length, 70th for weight, and 70th for head circumference. Her growth has charted perfectly which supposedly makes me a Great Mom. Go me! I find it hard to believe that I should receive more credit than her genes, but who's arguing? Great Mom! Go me!

She had fallen asleep while we were waiting for the doctor (truth be told, so did Mama) because I'd been running all over town all morning before the appointment so she'd had zero napping. It usually takes her a little while to get over the groggy, so the doc was giggling a little at her while she tried to focus on the doc's face. You could almost read the words going through her head. "Okay. I'm not going to freak because Mom's right there. But you? I know you. There's something about you that I should remember. I can't quite place it. Let me think here."

She's ready for teething biscuits. Doc said we can expect her to be popping out a tooth or two in the next couple of weeks. Joy! Which means that now she's on vitamins with fluoride (there's no fluoride in our drinking water, and our city drinking water is pure enough to use for mixing formula straight out of the tap.)

Then the doc asks, "How's her cough?"

I replied, "I haven't heard her cough in days."

Cue the baby. *hack* *hack* *hack*

Well, I had that Great Mom trophy in my hands for almost 5 minutes that time. One day it will last long enough to sit on a shelf.

Yes, she's still croupy. Yes, the doc still wants me to monitor it in case it gets worse. But she says it happens sometimes when they're about to teethe, so maybe it will go away soon. I hope. Poor darling.

And that blood test that I thought was normal? Not so much. Her white blood cells, it turns out, are slightly misshapen. Not enough to cause alarm, but enough to make a medical note. So I will not worry about it; there's no point. No harm, no foul. If it becomes a problem later, I'll deal with it then. In the meantime, it means regular blood tests for the bebe; but starting at a year, she'll need to do thyroid panels anyway, so the doc figures she'll just scrunch the two together.

And then came the shots. The nurse is very quick with them. But Kiki felt 'em this time, and wailed. For 5 sobs, more or less, then went back to normal. I think she only wailed to begin with because she hadn't napped much and was a little grumpy.

She's working up a bigger tantrum in her playpen right now, in between zerberts, trying to keep herself awake.

Silly pumpkin. Well, I must see to the child. Oh, look! I finally got a pic of her laughing!! Ok, yes, it's a laugh on the verge of melting down into a cry, but it's as close as I could get!

And again

In a lot of ways, I've come to peace with Kiki's Downs. I'm not sure how to explain how exactly. This will probably sound odd when spoken aloud.

When I found out about her having Downs, I had three major blows to the gut over it. One was knowing that the world is full of people like me who are uncomfortable around others with disabilities; two was knowing she would never be the brilliant prep school prodigy of my dreams; and the third was knowing that statistically speaking, I will more than likely outlive her.

The funny thing is what finally snapped me out of the pity spiral. Obviously, just spending time with her, I've fallen so in love with her that I -- I can't even express the depth of it. But for a long time, there would times I would hold her while she was sleeping, and I'd feel this overwhelming love for her, and then this extraordinary sadness, and I would just cry.

I struggled with all three, trying to figure out a way to conquer them all. And one day, while I was feeling sorry for myself that I would some day lose her, I thought, "Well, what's the alternative?" There's only one. Either she dies before I do; or I die before she does.

My response to this epiphany was immediate, matter-of-fact, and finally shook some good solid sense into me. It is simply NOT acceptable for me to die before her. I will not abandon her. It will not happen.

This somehow put everything else into perspective, like a giant mess of machinery that suddenly up and clicked together and started running smoothly.

It doesn't matter if the rest of the world out there doesn't know how to behave themselves around her. I'm not their mother. I'm her mother. I will protect her with a buffer of close friends and family who love her unconditionally, as I do, until she grows into her own and expands her buffer. The rest is incidental.

All I care about, all that is important, is that she be happy and content, confident in her own skin, and self-reliant to whatever extent makes her feel strong and capable. In the end, it all boils down to, if she is well-rounded and happy, then I have nothing to be unhappy about.

That said, I have been remarkably positive lately. I haven't cried while holding her in over a month. I actually for the first time feel up to any challenge that comes up.

And that said, I still get my panties in a twist over things that I refuse to accept. People still say things to me that absolutely boggle me, and they say them with the intent to be supportive which absolutely kills me. One person, who works in an institution environment with people who have Downs, who has an uncle with Downs, was telling me about the people she works with. She mentioned a 12-year-old girl, who she called high-functioning, who was able to dress herself; but she was *high functioning*, with emphasis, which implied to me that that was a high bar for me to set for Kiki.

And today someone who has worked with austistic and Downs children in the past offered to babysit sometime, making sure to point out her experience with Downs children, and then backed off that to apologetically point out that she's aware at Kiki's age there's no difference in care between her and any other baby. But then went on to add that the milestone lapses and special care requirements will come later, in probably a year or so.

I just don't get it, really. On one hand, I want to think, these aren't ignorant people; these are people with experience in this arena, while I am completely and utterly the newbie.

And yet, I can't stop thinking that if I lower the bar on her, it will cripple her. I continuously find and read things that foster hope in me that she has the potential for greater things than just being able to brush her teeth without assistance. I feel like not having that hope just means giving up on her, and I cannot do that.

And that is all.