Discussion of an article part 2

Moving on to the rest of the article. I aim to finish what I started!! Although days later, I'm not feeling quite so intense about it.

But, parents of children with special needs have been observed to be less responsive than are parents of children without special needs (Mahoney & Powell, 1988). Parental responsiveness and sensitivity are necessary to promote secure attachment among children with special needs (Atkinson et al., 1999; Clements & Barnett, 2002).

This was actually one of (many) fears I had when I was still pregnant and even a few months into Kiki's life, that I would remain emotionally detached from her. In retrospect, I think that was due to me not knowing what to expect from her in terms of emotional connection and attachment. It's not a mature reaction in any sense, but in some way I was afraid to get attached until I could be sure she was capable of becoming attached to me.

The same research that identifies increased stress and symptoms among such parents finds that the majority appears to cope well with these added demands, and remains relatively resilient. Many parents raising children with chronic health conditions and developmental disabilities report high satisfaction and enjoyment of their role.

Now I could list all kinds of weird, ignorant things I was afraid of even after Kiki was born. One day I cried all day because I was afraid she wouldn't develop a personality (she was exactly 2 and a half weeks old at that time.)

Some of the things I remember that went through my head while I was pregnant and while Kiki was newly born make me wince in shame when I remember them and some just make me laugh out loud. The fact is, as Kiki grew, and I spent time with her, it happened just like everyone assured me it would: we developed a very normal, natural mother/child bond that has grown stronger every day.

And personality? Oh. My. God. This is a child who, in my arms, will start to cry if a stranger approaches her and tells her how cute she is, then turn to face me and start giggling maniacally. She's fine with cuddling, as long as it's on her terms, and when she's done, she will let you know without a DOUBT that she wants DOWN NOW. She resists our efforts to coach her arms and hands into positions to do the things we want her to learn, but is quick as lightning when it comes to grabbing the things she wants, like our glasses.

As Yarnhacker puts it, the child is diabolical, and if we were to put our two daughters in the same room, they may just successfully plot to take over the world.

Crap, this will have to wait... she's learned just now how to climb over her barricdes and she's about to eat my power cord.

(All quotes taken from "Building New Dreams: Supporting Parents' Adaptation to Their Children With Special Needs", Douglas Barnett, PhD; Melissa Clements, PhD; Melissa Kaplan-Estrin, PhD; Janice Fialka, MSW, ACSW)

Discussion of an article part 1

So I'm planning to break this down into separate blogs, because I want to really delve into this. Consider it online therapy. I know, I'm not a celebrity going through rehab, so I don't make great reality tv, but it's my blog and I'll do what I want here.

We define adaptation as an ongoing process whereby parents are able to sensitively read and respond to their child’s signals in a manner conducive to healthy development.

First I want to point out that I'm no longer obsessing about any perceived attachment disorder. Really. I'll go into the reasons for another day, but honestly, I'm cool. She's cool. We're all cool.

The reason I included the above quote is because, well, I honestly believe I am able to sensitively read and respond to Kiki's signals. I know when she's hungry; I feed her. I know when she's tired; I cuddle her and put her to bed. I know when she's hurt; I comfort her. I know when she wants to be cuddled; I cuddle her. I know when she just wants to play; I get on the floor and play with her. I know when she's scared, or uncomfortable, or in pain, or just grumpy and unsettled. I can't tell you exactly if it's her facial expression, or the time of day, or the particular tone of her cry. I just know.

Reading this introduction and knowing what I know about my connection with my daughter buoyed my confidence in ways I can't even begin to describe. I've even decided that I need to repeat these things to myself in a daily mantra so that I remember to believe in my intuition and our connection.

Families with children who have special needs also experience more marital conflict and are less likely to be able to rely on prior social supports, as friends and family members are often unsure of how to help and may avoid becoming involved altogether (Powers, 1993; Speltz et al., 1990).

Our marriage, I am happy to say, has never been stronger. Kipp and I have always presented a united front on parenthood, and the addition of Kiki to our family hasn't changed that. Kipp keeps me balanced and sane, as well, constantly telling me that I'm a great mother, that Kiki's an amazing baby, how lucky we are to have her, and that we were destined somehow to be the family we are.

Now in respect to that last part, Kipp isn't really a big believer in fate or that kind of thing, yet on this particular point he feels quite passionate. I think that means something profound right there.

That's the plus side.

On the not so plus side. And I hesitate to get into this because I think it's a serious allegation to make, especially if you know (like I do) that no one will admit to it being an element in events at all. I want to say right up front that what I'm about to say is NOT any statement of fact in regards to other people's motivations or thought processes; it is only a reflection of what I suspect.

To begin with, I moved here from the west coast about three years ago. My closest friends live in California and Canada and my closest childhood friend lives in Kansas. I trust them all with every fiber of my being, and this doesn't apply to them at all.

In any case, over the course of the year I got pregnant, Kipp and I made some friends who we considered very close, a group of about seven other couples and ourselves. Now it was one of those Queen Bee dynamics, where everyone pretty much was a satellite of only one couple, which is an odd dynamic that I've honestly never been part of before. But that's really neither here nor there.

Anyway, during my entire pregnancy, we became closer and closer to the people in the group, to some people more than others. When Kiki was diagnosed, the support of the group was amazing. Everyone assured me that Kiki would be surrounded by love and support by all of them, and we were all family, etc. etc.

It's important to note that all but one of these couples had children, and that our older children were already part of that children's group. So we could hang with the adults, while the gang of kids did their own thing (supervised by an absolutely amazing babysitter who was the daughter of one of the couples in our group.) The ages of the group ranged from about 2 years old to the babysitter who was 16.

Emotional and hormonal that I was, depressed by the news of Kiki's condition, this group was an absolute life-saver. I felt hope in that Kiki would be extremely socialized, as we were in the habit of getting together with this group of adults and kids 1 to 2 times a week, and not just with adults, but with other children. I'd ready studies that showed that babies developed faster when surrounded by older children that they could learn from and mimic, and it thrilled me that we had this environment promised to her.

Then Kiki was born. I took her to visit the Queen Bee a couple of times and to see another woman in the group a couple of times. The latter woman I felt a particlar affinity to because her career dealt with care of disabled children, and I believed of anyone I knew, she would be particularly sensitive to my particular needs in the support area. We went to one group get together after Kiki was born.

And then two months after Kiki was born, we were booted from the group. And because it was a Queen Bee dynamic, we subsequently lost everyone else as well.

Now there was a major overlying event that initiated this that had nothing to do with Kiki, and we were one of four couples booted from the group within a six-month period following that. And at first I was so overwhelmed by the loss of everything I had depended on with that group that it didn't occur to me that any part of it could be related to Kiki.

But then I read a blog written by parents of a child with Down Syndrome where they had experienced something along the same lines, but had actually overheard some of their friends talking about their discomfort around the parents and the child because of the child's condition.

Reading that actually froze me in my tracks, and made me begin to wonder. Again, I can't make an actual accusation, but in my gut? I wonder.

We stayed close to the other refugees, as it turned out, and kept our amazing babysitter. As time has gone on, we have built a whole new support group, and have even better, closer, more supportive friends, and all of them adore Kiki, and none of them are in the least bit discomfitted by the situation. So we landed on our feet, and all is good, and there's no Queen Bee dynamic.

But there's not the same frequency of getting together, and there's no basic foundation of children as there was in the previous group. Which has simply prompted me to seek other avenues to pursue playdates and whatnot, so again, I am not defeated, per se.

Still, it took me a long time to recover emotionally from all of that. And in the process, we've become alienated from my brother-in-law and his wife, with whom we previously had been rather close.

Along the lines of family support, my own family doesn't live anywhere close. My mom is as supportive as she can be, but she's not here, and sometimes that depresses me. I've never been extremely close to my father, but I suspect -- and again, I may be totally selling him short -- that he's somewhat unsettled by Kiki's condition, and probably enjoys his position of distance, where he can enjoy that he's a grandpa without dealing with the reality of it.

My parents-in-law are fabulous and I love them to death and they dote on Kiki. However, we don't see them very often, and when she started making strange and she didn't get over it quickly, it's made them nervous to be around her.

Which, by the way, prompted this whole obsession with attachment. My mother-in-law, bless her heart, I know is trying to rationalize why Kiki is not warming up to her as quickly as we all want her to. Now I know a large part of it is due to the fact that whenever she sees them, it's at their house, and Kiki for some reason is not happy in their house. I know it's particular to their house because even I can't comfort her there, and I can comfort her anywhere.

The solution to the problem would be to see them more often, to have them come visit Kiki on her own turf until she's committed them to memory. However, this has yet to happen. My mother-in-law is not particularly healthy, and she rarely feels like getting out of the house, and my father-in-law is extremely busy with work and community work.

So in the end, I know my mother-in-law is bothered by Kiki's seeming rejection, and I know she's trying to rationalize what's going on. That's what prompted her to come to the conclusion that the reason Kiki is so insecure around other people, and so dependent on me, must be directly related to her Down Syndrome.

I can't find any proof of that. And anyway, I know my daughter. And I know she's actually fine with people she doesn't know as long as her exposure to them takes place within certain parameters. And I know she's not actually rejecting anyone; she's just going through a normal and necessary phase of development where she's learning object permanence and how to distinguish people from one another.

And noticeable attachment to a primary caregiver? Very good thing.

I shouldn't be as sensitive about this, I know, and I know I tend to blow things all out of proportion (who? me?) But sometimes it's just frustrating. I know what I want for my child; I know what I want to provide for her. But the people outside my control, I can't control, and it frustrates me no end.

(All quotes taken from "Building New Dreams: Supporting Parents' Adaptation to Their Children With Special Needs", Douglas Barnett, PhD; Melissa Clements, PhD; Melissa Kaplan-Estrin, PhD; Janice Fialka, MSW, ACSW)

Subtle Lines

I'm very open here about Kiki having DS, and I'm not shy about discussing it here. But in everyday life, I'm kind of sensitive about it. I don't want to draw attention to her disability; I don't want to draw attention to myself as the parent of a child with a disability. If we garner attention, I want it to be because she's so damned cute, people can't help but notice her.

I'm sensitive about the idea that I'm trying to court pity or sympathy with people if I bring it up or if I discuss it and the insecurities it brings up in me. I don't want pity. I don't even want to be set aside in a separate category of parenthood; even just writing "parent of a child with a disability" it sounds foreign to me, clunky, unwelcome, like it may describe someone else, but it definitely doesn't apply to me.

I'm sure this is more commonly referred to as "denial."

But I really do believe that I'm no different than any other new parent. So when I read things that are all supportive and fluffily reverent of parents of disabled children, it makes me nervous. I know on some abstract, gray level they're talking about me -- not specifically of course, but that I'm included in this morbid generality -- and I try to look at our situation through that filter, and I think, "This must mean that somewhere down the road, life is really going to fucking suck."

Because right now, in all honesty, life -- barring the day to day annoyances like finances, weather, in-laws, work, etc. -- life is so beyond more fabulous than I've ever imagined.

Life with Kiki is more glorious than I've ever imagined life with a baby would be, and I'll tell you, I have a fantastic imagination.

I won't at the moment go into WHY I spent tonight scouring through the internet for anything related to DS, separation anxiety, and ultimately attachment disorders, but to cut to the chase, I found this article http://depts.washington.edu/isei/iyc/barnett_16_3.pdf. It's REALLY long, and turns out I think to be something specific to a support group, but the first few pages that I read made me go, "Hmmm." Because I did recgonize myself, for the first time, in their description of a parent of a disabled child. And in some strangely indefinable way, it reached a part of me I didn't know was there, and it made me cry.

How many times have I written that now in this blog? Maybe if I keep writing it, it'll sink in. But it's just a label, in the end, and doesn't adequately describe or represent anything in my life.

I'll go more into detail later. For now, it's late, and I still have work and not enough time at the moment to indulge myself in philosophy.

Sweet Tooth

In celebration of her new tooth, I gave her a teething biscuit. She went to town on it, and I had to use a hose to clean up afterwards.



She was obviously fascinated by her tooth, too, as evidenced by how she fell asleep Friday afternoon, the day it popped through.



See? She's pointing to it in her sleep.

It appears there's another one coming through right next to it. Today she's running a fever, and she's PISSED OFF because I won't cuddle her all day. I need batteries for the swing, or as I am calling it this week, the Surrogate Mommy.

Well that explains everything.

So this last week, my perfect baby has been cranky and demanding. Mind you, I'm spoiled rotten by her, so her 5-minute tantrums 3 or 4 times a day have been VERY draining on me. I know. Pity me.

And my dog, my usually laid-back, sleeping from dusk to dawn anywhere near me dog, has just been PACING around her. Pace, pace, pace. Hover. Pace. Whine. Pace, hover. Check her out. Pace, pace, hover. ARRRGH. It's been making me INSANE.

Now, Kiki has not been feeling well. She has yet another ear infection, or the last on never really went away, and now she's on a different antibiotic that turns her poop blood-red. (Nifty, huh? You think you can handle any kind of poop that comes out of your baby after 11 months of training, and then you get RED poop. It's boggling.) So I kind of figured she just was sick-cranky.

And the dog, I figured the dog was developing some kind of maternal bond for the baby, and being concerned about the baby not feeling well.

It turns out I was mostly wrong on both counts.

Friday morning, when Kiki grabbed my hair and chomped on my chin, which is one of her favorite pastimes now, it HURT. The little vampire had sprouted a tooth OVERNIGHT. It's her front bottom tooth, and it hits the soft flabby stuff under my chin juuuuuust perfectly when she chomps for her entertainment.

Yay, tooth!! And ouch. I am a weenie when it comes to pain.

And the dog? Protective? No. The dog has figured out that if she is closer to the baby than I am, then she can clean up the baby's spitup before I can get there. Lovely.

So much for having a supernatural diagnostic sense. I guess I'm just normal after all.

How can this be comfortable?

This? Is how my baby sleeps.

Bonding

Last night I finally bit the bullet and attended the monthly meeting of our local DS parents' group. I took Kiki with me on the off chance that there might be other babies her age to play with.

Score! There was a little girl about 18 months old there in the day care room. I plopped Kiki in front of her on the floor. They stared at me; they stared at each other. Then they both leaned forward in slow motion and grabbed each others' noses.

Kiki was so engrossed in the new toys and little people her own size that she didn't even notice me leaving. The woman in charge assured me that if Kiki started crying, they would bring her to me.

Sure enough, about an hour and a half later, I hear an approaching cry. You know, I kind of assumed all babies sound alike when they cry. But I recognized Kiki immediately. I jumped up and made it to the door before they did! And of course, the minute she was in my arms, she was immediately smiles and giggles. The little monster.

But she did so good! One and a half hours in the care of strangers without incident! So I will continue to go to these monthly meetings. The information itself was great, and networking with other adults is always a good thing, but the socialization with other babies? Priceless.

And of course, I used the opportunity to aggressively pursue play dates. I collected numbers and names and all that. Because I am a pit bull mom or something.

We set therapy goals today for Kiki. She'll be starting occupational therapy pretty quick here. In the meantime, we're working on her tracking and passing smaller objects from hand to hand. I'm trying to encourage her to take things out of things and put them back into things. So far she just thinks it's fun to hear me cheer when she accidentally drops a ball into a cup.

She picked up a new game really fast. I pressed her nose with my nose and said "beeeep" like maybe twice, and now she does it. She'll lean forward and press her nose against mine or Kipp's as long as we'll "beeeep" for her.

And to truly prove she got the point of the game? Today during speech therapy, Ms. A put a large mirror in front of her on the floor. She said babies, when first introduced to mirror play, will generally just reach out for the mirror and touch at it.

Kiki scooted right up to it, grinned, and pressed her nose against it. "Beeeep!" I said immediately, because I am as trained as they come, and she giggled and did it again. And again. And again.

I think I'm on to something here. I'm not sure how to incorporate it into teaching her other things, but.... I think I'm on to something.

Updates et al

Oh how winter sucketh.

So last week, I took a friend and her daughter out on an errand, and while I was playing with Kiki in the waiting room, I noted some dried discharge on the outside of her ear. Not earwax; it had obviously been thinner before it had dried. So I immediately called the doctor and took her in the next day. Her ears are STILL too small for the doc to get a good look inside, but she got a good enough look to note that yes, Virginia, there was drainage. Welcome to another round of amoxycillin, her second in 3 months. Is that bad? I honestly don't know.

Then a weekend of breatkthroughs! In one day, she started smacking her lips -- if she just vocalized behind it, she'd be making "mamama" or "bababa" sounds. And she's mimicking what Kipp does: if he dances, she dances. If he smacks, she smacks. It's awesome!! For me? She smiles. Or giggles. I can't really complain about that in all good conscience, but darn it.

And then Monday, we all took sick. Tuesday, I was completely winded, and ended up at Urgent Care. I'm much better now, but it's taken a couple of days of Kipp pretty much taking a couple days off work just to take care of me, the baby, and all else. Which makes him appreciate me all the more, of ocurse.

Today, she had her first eye appointment. She has nystagmus, which we knew. It seems to me to much less pronounced and less fast than it was when we first noticed it, and the doc thinks it's possible it might self-correct. The cross-eyed part though will probably require surgery -- 20 minute outpatient surgery -- when she's older. For the moment, no need for glasses, but eventually -- well, Kipp and I are both near-sighted, and evidently people with Downs have a propensity for near-sightedness anyhow, so... foregone conclusion.

Tomorrow, she has an occupational therapy evaluation. The running joke is, "Do you really think she's old enough to work?" Heh. And no. Fine motor skills, people, fine motor skills.

I'm starting to work with her on the skill of putting her toys in a basket, as well as introducing her to books. Well, the book thing is planned today. I have strategically planted a fuzzy book in her play space, and we shall see how she reacts to it.

And that's the news for today!

Pictures Due

I have to pull out the camera and take some shots of her 10th month before it's all over! Ack!

We have been taking videos. I have this dream project in mind. In light of my previous history littered with unfinished projects, I can't promise it'll ever be done, especially not by the due date I've set for myself, but a girl can dream.

Up until a couple of weeks ago, we'd primarily juggled Kiki from the playpen to the exersaucer to the swing to a lap and repeat. Now we've added the floor to the mix. Of course, as with everything, I make a huge production out of it by putting out a sheet, and blocking off all exits and the entertainment center with pillows, then dumping out a basket of her toys onto the floor. By the time the ritual is complete, Kiki is beside herself with excitement -- yeah, she's figured out that it means MORE FREEDOM!

She's still not crawling, but she does the military thing where she drags herself along on her belly. And she's an absolute champ at moving into a sitting position, and she gets into a crawling position like nobody's business, and rocks back and forth like she's going to take off. Only when she does.... she drops to her belly first.

The best thing about the floor, I think, is that now she has access to the dogs. They tend to pick out a piece of floor and lie there watching her until she gets close enough to reach out for them. Then they lick her hand, sniff her face, maybe let her pat their fur, then they get up and move to the other end of the living room. It's awesome motivation to keep her moving. We've got great dogs.

She's starting to make "meh-meh-meh" sounds, usually right when she's about to fall asleep from fussing. Like, umm, right now, in fact.

We've been Ferberizing her. Is that the right term? Where you put them to bed and let them cry themselves to sleep? She only starting crying when we put her to bed about a month ago. It is HARD to do dammit.

Okay gotta run.... she's throwing a fit.

Mea Culpa

Under pressure from husband and friends, I hereby publicly announce that yeah, okay, I'm actually not a Bad Mom. Are y'all happy now? Sheesh!

I do get hard on myself, I know it. Kipp gets the brunt of it. Honestly when I go public with being a Bad Mom, I'm not even in a bad space; I'm actually poking fun at myself.

I know I'm not UberMom, but nobody is. Hey, I try! And I have self-esteem problems, and I'm scared to death of failing my kids. It all adds up. But in all honesty, I know I don't utterly suck. I have my positive attributes.

I have approached UberMom though in that I've begun feeding Kiki fresh fruits and vegetables instead of the Gerber stuff. Go me!! It actually doesn't even take that much time to do. I thought it would be all time-consuming and stuff, but in light of everything else? Not so much.

Okay. Enough about me.

Kiki's making strides again. She seems to go through spurts of sudden milestones, then cools her jets for a while in preparation for the next bundle. I'm so proud of her! And of myself that I'm proud of her accomplishments instead of continuing to focus on what she's not doing yet. Oh, I still have my moments, but they're getting fewer and fewer, thank God.

So now it's bragging time!

She's actually moving herself into a sitting position all by herself now! She's still not sitting straight up without assistance, but she's getting there. The PT is happy because she's not pushing herself up from a full splits position, like many Downs babies do, due to their hyperextendability. Instead, she gets on all fours, then extends a leg out to the side, then sort of pushes back onto her butt. She's getting pretty good at it too.

And she's handling chunkier food better now too, and even starting to make chewing motions, instead of just pushing it around with her tongue. And every now and then, we catch her babbling a couple of consonants. We're always going "ba ba ba, da da da, ma ma ma" in her face, so of course she prefers to say things like "ga ga", "pa pa," and "ja ja" just to be persnickety.

She's really interacting with all of her toys now, and is reaching for everything. She doesn't sit quietly in our laps anymore; she's constantly trying to escape and explore. She's absolutely fascinated by the dogs, particularly Sugar. If she's on the floor and Sugar comes to check her out, Kiki often will scoot over to her and then fall on Sugar's back in a half-crawl tackle. She's already pulled ears and tail, and Sugar, bless her heart, is completely tolerant of all of it.

And that is our update for the week. Happy February, everybody!

Dilemma of the Day

The dilemma of the day is whether or not to cut Kiki some bangs. I'm on the fence; Kipp is definitely against it.

It must be a mommy thing. You know, the whole, "Get your hair out of your face. I can't see your beautiful eyes," line everyone's mom throws at them while they're growing up.

I'm always blowing her hair out of her face, or brushing it to the side. But invariably, it falls back over her eyes, hanging down to her nose. That combined with the fuzzy mess in the back of her head which never smooths out no matter how many times a day I run a comb through it makes her look like her mama never attends to her hygenic needs.

Yep, it all comes back to being all about ME.

She's gotten over her nasty little cold, thank GOD. Her 9-month check up showed her still on a great growth curve, though she's fallen behind on length a little bit (now 30th percentile.) And now I think she's going through a growth spurt -- eating like a machine and sleeping the day away.

So when I was a younger woman and dreamed of having kids, I always imagined myself as some kind of ubermom. You know, using cloth diapers, making baby food from scratch, the works. I obviously thought I'd somehow give birth in a world made up of 38-hour days and unlimited amounts of energy.

Anyway, I bring this up because this week? I made her vegetables! Myself! Me and my food processor! I was so proud. And she ate 'em without choking too.

And I've started her on yogurt. The yogurt is a MUCH bigger hit than cottage cheese was, let me tell you.

I can't believe it's February already. Is time speeding up or what?

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.

Halloween!

I am giddy about the upcoming holidays because they will be Kiki's first exposure to 'em. The first Halloween I get to dress her up! (And probably the last Halloween I'll get to pick a costume for her.)

So I started hunting online for costume ideas (because I wait until the last minute to do ANYTHING hence becoming a first-time mom at the ripe age of 40).

Seeing as she's totally enamored with the zerbert sound, and will amuse herself for hours by zerberting in every direction possible, I thought this was the perfect costume for her. Because I am also a Horrible Mom who finds this absolutely hilarious. Kipp pointed out to me though that if I dress her up in it, I run the risk of people being tempted to sit on her.

However, I will most likely relent and go along with the Dronkey costume instead because C & B will absolutely love it.

I found the cutest red Christmas sleeper at WalMart tonight and resisted buying it. If this continues, it's likely I may dress her up as a turkey, Pilgrim, or Indian girl for Thanksgiving.

I do get an inordinate amount of glee out of dressing her up. It's interesting -- when I just dress her in a onesie and take her out, she doesn't get half the attention as if I doll her up in a coordinated outfit and put up her hair.

And I get that babies are inherently unisex in that it's difficult to determine their gender, for the most part, without certain clues. But when I dress her in a pink shirt and jeans with frilly cuffs and put up her hair like Pebbles, wouldn't you think that people wouldn't ask if she was a girl? I mean, granted, I'm thinking of dressing my baby up as a Whoopee Cushion for Halloween, but even I wouldn't dress my baby up for an outing in frilly pink things and bows if she were a boy.

Next time, I shall answer, "No, he's an Executive Transvestite."

Crap Mom

So in responding to K's comment yesterday, which she began by calling herself a crap mom, something clicked in my brain. She mentioned that Dessa outgrew her Pack n Play bassinet attachment last week; that the weight limit on the thing is 15 lbs.

Click. It has been mentioned before that Dessa and Kiki have the same (or at least strikingly similar) boring brown Pack n Play.

Click. Kiki weighs 16 pounds.

So of course, I race to check the weight limit on the Pack n Play. 15 pounds. Crap. I race into the bedroom to check the weight limit on the bassinet. 15 pounds. Okay. So for the last 2 weeks AT LEAST, I have been putting my daughter's health and welfare on the line and putting her to rest in things that are not designed to hold her weight.

I? Am the crap mom.

So I had to break down last night, and put Kiki in her own room, in her safe crib, for the night. I was very iffy about it. I don't know that I would classify myself as a Family Bed type, really, but I really loved having her so close to me all night long.

So I rocked her while Kipp pulled the bumper off her crib -- no one was sleeping in the crib, and I wanted it to be pretty, so it had the bumper on it, but there was NO WAY I would leave her alone in the crib overnight with that still on it.

As he's working, he began to hum Pomp and Circumstance.

"Shut up," I told him.

"Come on, honey," he said, "this is the biggest milestone possible until she graduates from college."

"Shut up."

"I think we should have a parade. Don't we have balloons or something somewhere?"

"You're not shutting up."

"Okay, okay. We'll save the parade for when she's potty trained."

At which point it became necessary to apologize to Kiki in advance if she woke up in the morning fatherless.

Which reminds me of something funny (because I'm morbid). The other day, I dressed Kiki in a rather loose sleeper. Now, she has short arms (I've mentioned this before), so even in a long sleeve anything that fits her torso, I have to roll the sleeves up so her hands aren't covered.

So, she's napping in this loose sleeper, and her sleeves got unrolled, and somehow in her squirming, she manages to pull one arm completely out of the armhole and into her sleeper, clutched against her chest. I'm not sure exactly how this happened.

All I know is, she's sleeping peacefully one second, and the next second she is screaming bloody murder. I run over to her side, and she looks up at me, one sleeve flopping emptily at her side, and her eyes just wide as saucers, and I swear to God the expression on her face said this word for word, "My arm!!! Mom! I lost my arm!! It was right there when I went to sleep! And then I woke up AND IT WAS GONE!!"

I helped her find it once I stopped laughing my ass off. Because I am nothing if not empathetic.

Oh, I got sidetracked. Sorry. So Kiki slept by herself, in her own room, last night, the only being in the house to sleep alone, mind you, as the dogs got themselves very comfortable in our bed. Which of course made me feel guilty as hell. Here I am, downstairs in bed with my husband and our two dogs, and our itsy bitsy infant daughter is all alone all the way upstairs in an empty room without anybody around at all. Alone. Bereft. Abandoned.

At some point during the night, Kipp took the baby monitor out of my hand and put it on the nightstand. Evidently I had it cranked to the highest setting, and I was clutching it to my head as I slept.

She survived the night. In fact, she slept really well. She woke up at her regular time, and did her regular routine of kicking then vocalizing. No traumatized screams. No uncontrollable wailing and gnashing of tee- -- gums.

And so the growing up goes on. My precious girl.

Her First Cold

It's official. Kiki has her first cold.

I'll have to chalk this up to mother's intution because the kid? Does NOT act sick. She's not running a fever. But last Friday, she had a fever of about 99 degrees -- not alarming -- and the rosiest cheeks you have ever seen. I thought she was wheezing, and maybe having a little difficult breathing. But it's hard to tell with her because she's a snorter (small nose + shallow nose bridge = snorting).

Since then she's had some random bouts of clamminess, and this morning she coughed 6 times. Not productive or anything, just a dry cough. I decided to take her to the doctor's just in case, and sure enough? She has a cold. Not a bad one, but enough to just keep an eye on.

Again -- she does NOT act sick. She's eating, she's sleeping, she's no more fussy than usual, and she's been laughing and smiling more often, so... on one hand, I feel guilty for not taking her in a week ago, and on the other hand, I know there was nothing to do about it anyway, and she's doing fine now.

She's fighting sleep more and more these days. Once she is asleep, she's out, but she'll fight it as long as she can. She's getting close to that 6-month marker where I'd promised Kipp that I'd start putting her in her own room to sleep. I can't do it!! I'm not ready!!!

But last night, after her last feeding, when she started fussing from being so tired and refusing to sleep, I started to put her in her swing, and Kipp said, "Just put her in the bedroom. Put her to bed." I of course took this to mean OUR room, in the bassinet, so that's where I put her, turned the lights out, and five minutes later, she was snoring away. So it looks like bedtime really has to mean actual bed from now on -- starting with the bassinet and working my way upstairs towards the end of next week.

I am the worst proponent of the Back to Sleep program. I always put her down on her back, I do!! And at night, in her bassinet, I put her in a positioner, just in case. But during the day, I just put her down in her Pack n Play, so she can work off some energy, and without fail, she'll end up passing out on her stomach or on her side.

I have photographic evidence of my poor motherhood. Look at this. On her side and WITH a blanket toy to boot. But she looks so peaceful and happy and I check on her a million times a minute to make sure her face isn't covered so... (sigh)

Big for her britches

As a scopist, I learn something new every day. That's just one of many things I love about my job. Anywho, I learned something about percentiles the other day. I don't know why I never just asked the doctor; I guess I figured I already knew what they were talking about. Never assume.

So, anyway, Kiki has been in the 50th percentile for weight since her first checkup (on the non-Downs chart, mind you). I thought that meant that she was at 50% of average (normal) weight. Ha! It does not mean that. It means that she's smack in the middle of normal. Or she was. At her last weighing at WIC, she was in the 70th percentile which means that out of 100 babies, only 29 would weigh more than she does.

THAT is a hugely different meaning than what I'd been assuming all along. And it explains why when I put her in a 3-6 month size onesie yesterday, the snaps popped open when I picked her up. She's not even 6 months old yet, and she has outgrown everything smaller than 6-9 month size.

It's hard to remember her smaller. But I was looking through her pics, and there's one of her in a NB size onesie -- I know this, because I still have it and I checked -- and she's practically swimming in it. She was so tiny once. And now my arm aches when I carry her for more than 10 minutes. (Which is less a statement on how heavy she is than on how weak I am.)

I have packed up all the clothes she's outgrown (except for a few I'm keeping as keepsakes), and I'm ready to head for a consignment store. Winter is coming, and I have no winter clothes for her. I have one cute cute cute outfit she has never worn and it may be too small for her now (dammit!) but I'm gonna shove her in it sometime this week and get a pic of her in it and take her out in it at least once!

I hate waste.

New high chair!

And being the overzealous parents we are, we had to choose a high chair with all the bells and whistles. 7 height adjustments. 3 reclining positions. And battery-operated playthings all attached.

Yes, it's not just a high chair! It's an activity center! Which stokes me because I've been *trying* to figure out how to put things within her reach while at the same time getting her to practice sitting up. She has short arms, people. And I need to continue to encourage her to reach for things. She's starting to get pretty good at it though so yay!

Time for a new baby purchase

Tomorrow, I buy a high chair, thanks to Mom (that'd be Grandma to Kiki!) I'm excited! I can't wait for lunch tomorrow. Yay!

Speaking of our latest obsession -- food -- we've pretty much nailed down what she likes to eat. That would be cereal, carrots, and sweet potatoes. The list that makes her make faces: bananas, apples, peaches, pears, squash. The list that makes her purse her lips and refuse to open: green beans and peas. Just like mama; a carb freak who hates fruit.

So I figure I'll indulge her betacarotene cravings and turn her orange for Halloween.

Speaking of which, we were at Target comparison shopping for high chairs and they have the cutest sleeper-type costumes. I favor the Tigger; Kipp's angling for the pink hamster. I'm not sure why. He likes the monkey best, but it wasn't in Kiki's size... well, actually, therein lies the true problem. We couldn't figure out if the 3m was too small and the 6m was too big -- she's like somewhere in the middle. And Halloween is like 5 weeks away, which is astronomically far away in terms of baby growth. So we had to put off the actual buying until, I don't know, October 30th at midnight or something.

We're planning on taking the kids to the zoo for Halloween. We did that last year -- or was it the year before? I'm not sure which, but it was good fun. Crazy full of people, but good fun. You know, the town I live in isn't huge, especially not by Silicon Valley standards, but I get all nostalgic when every denizen within a 50 mile radius converges on one location at one time. It reminds me of rush hour on 101 and Saturday at noon at Costco, all at the same time.

I thought winter was descending there for a bit, but it's warmed up again. Dammit. I'm tired of having to pay someone to mow the lawn. I want the cold back! I want the lawn to go to sleeeeeeep already. Stupid lawn.

Kiki's now slinging a rattle around like a pro. Well, okay, she's a little uncoordinated, and it ends up bash! hitting her in the head bash! mama's glasses bash! her own eye bash! mama's nose... and so on and so on. But I love it. I'm so happy to see her using her arms!! Her PT has been commenting on the laxity of her shoulders. Everything else is strong and active, but her arms and shoulders need some devoted attention.

Well, I'm off to dream about high chairs. Toodles!

Food Train

I know I'm currently obsessed with my daughter's eating. I can't help it. The doctor says there's no reason to try to force-feed her, considering she's doing as well as she is, and I couldn't if I tried anyway because she's a stubborn little cuss.

But her eating habits vary every damned day. One day she'll be attached fondly to her bottle; the next day it's no more than a slightly annoying chew toy. One day she sucks down 10 ounces at every feeding (except at her food feeding), the next day 8, the next day a reluctant 6. She's like the moon, waxing and waning, except a whole lot louder.

She's still trying foods. Doesn't like applesauce unless it's mixed with cereal. And don't stop the food train a'coming, peoples, 'cause she don't like a-waiting. Now in addition to the GRRRRRRR she does when she's playing, she does an ERRRRRRRRRR when she's ready for her next spoonful. She tried this new communication on her daddy this morning while he was feeding her. You know, it's really hard to keep the food train on track when you can't stop laughing.

I'm planning on buying her a sign language DVD in the next couple of weeks. We'll see if she likes signing.

Big Girl Eating

When I decided to start introducing Kiki to solid foods, I was prepared for certain side effects -- specifically constipation. When she made the transition from mostly breast milk to mostly formula (I just .... stopped producing. Go figure.), she got constipated, so I figured adding solid foods would do pretty much the same thing.

And it has. We've done the prune juice -- diluted with half water and 1 oz given 2ce a day. This works somewhat except that she's not crazy about prune juice (who can blame her?) We've had to resort to glycerin suppositories on occasion. But what I've found actually seems to work on a regular basis -- no pun intended -- is corn syrup in every bottle.

And no I'm not being a paranoid mom who can't tell the difference between constipation and solid poop. Yes, I know breastfed babies do the soft pooping that is nothing like the firmer pooping of the formula-fed baby. And I know that all babies strain when they poop and it doesn't mean they're constipated. But when she's straining so hard she turns purple AND she starts screaming until it's come out AND she's passing a little blood AND it's the consistency (I shit you not -- again no pun intended) of modelling clay -- well, honey, your baby is constipated.

Okay, anyway, we have it under control.

But we have this OTHER side effect of introducing solid foods that I honestly did NOT expect AT ALL. I mean, it's not like I'm feeding her a TON of solid food. I'm INTRODUCING, which means, you know, a tablespoon of some kind of food 4 days in a row, until I introduce a different food. So again, just one tablespoon a day of food.

I think I went awry when I then decided to add a nighttime treat of rice cereal, so now she's getting 2 tablespoons of solid food day, two different times a day.

In any case, the upshot is that Kiki loves to eat big girl food. She's very good at it. She opens her mouth like a little bird after every swallow. She bounces around excitedly while she's eating. She claps her hands. She feels at her mouth, plays a little with the food.

In other words, she loves to eat. Just like I'd thought she would.

And she has decided she hates her bottle. Which I never in a million years expected.

I mean not HATE hate, but she could do without, you know? I'm glad I don't breastfeed, because she's taken to chewing on the nipple. And then she takes a mouthful of formula and spits it out like a fountain and grins. She pushes away the bottle after a couple of ounces, then fusses because it's gone, then just plays with the nipple when it's back in her mouth.

And this happens at every feeding, mind you, not just after I've given her food. If she decides to wean herself in the next couple of months, I will just kick myself until she's 16 for just HAVING to introduce food so damned early.

Update: she dislikes bananas and hates green beans. But she luuuurrrrrves sweet potatoes, carrots, and squash. Next up: apples! (I know it should be peas. I want it to be peas. But Kipp wants her to try the cereal with apple in it and I won't let her try it until I introduce apples, and he's very impatient with the whole introduction thing.)