The Best Medicine

She laughed for the first time today! Three times! I tried to have her demonstrate her new ability to her daddy when he got home from work, but she resisted my best efforts. She gave us great big grins, but held back on the chuckling, as if to say, "I am not your trained monkey!"

I need to have a video camera permanently attached to my forehead, like a third eye. That way, I wouldn't miss any moments that absolutely require commitment to film. Grrr.

I really want her to start giggling on command so I can use the cuteness of it to my advantage. Say, to lure Mom to the midwest. Things like that.

I've been trying to remember to read her Good Night Moon every night, but I haven't been very good at it. I've also tried telling her fairy tales and discovering that I can't for the life of me remember what happens in Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, and Snow White after "Once upon a time" and before "They lived happily ever after." I've had more success with Rapunzel, though I'm sure I've butchered it beyond recognition.

No, I'm not sure. I know. Here's how my version of Rapunzel went:

Once upon a time in a land far far away there was a princess who lived in a very, very tall tower without any doors or windows. No, wait. There was one door, because the witch had to get in. Right, there was an evil witch who had locked the princess in the tower. No, wait, the witch got in another way. Right, the hair.

Okay, the princess had really, really long hair, and whenever the witch wanted into the tower, she would stand at the bottom and say, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!"

Okay, so there was no door. And no windows, except the one at the top. And I'm guessing no stairs either. Just the one window and the long hair. Anyway, the witch would climb up her hair, and then I guess they'd have tea or something. And then she'd say, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair." And Rapunzel would, and the witch would shimmy down her hair, and go home.

Or -- wait. Did she live in the tower, too? No, she didn't. Right. She didn't. Rapunzel did.

Okay. Moving on. Tower, evil witch, princess with outrageously long hair and evidently a scalp made of iron. So what am I missing? Right, the prince. Okay one day this prince goes hunting in a nearby forest, and he gets separated from his hunting party, and he happens upon the tall, tall tower.

He sees Rapunzel sitting by the window and immediately falls in love with her. He's about to go up to the tower when he sees the witch approach. He hears her say, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!" and then he sees Rapunzel drop her hair, and the witch crawls up.

So he waits for the witch to leave, and then he goes up to the tower, and he calls out, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!" Rapunzel drops her hair down, and the prince climbs up. At first, Rapunzel is scared of him, but he talks gently to her, and she falls in love with him.

And then -- umm. I don't know. Okay, I guess the witch comes back? And does the, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!" thing and climbs up and the prince kills her, and then they both climb down and escape --- wait.

No. Rapunzel can't climb down her own hair unless -- right. She cuts it off. She cuts off her hair, and they both climb down it and escape and -- what a brainless twit. She couldn't think of this on her own? She's sitting around all day long every day staring out a window and it never occurs to her that she could use her own hair to escape? What the hell kind of story is that?

Oh. And they lived happily ever after. The end.

Thanks to Kristin, every time I get into story telling mode now, I can't resist starting with the Brady Bunch and the Beverly Hillbillies.

For the longest time I'd only remembered two lullabies: Mockingbird and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. I've played Pat-a-Cake with Kiki, which she loves, and the Itsy Bitsy Spider which puzzles her. And lately I've recalled Yankee Doodle and, thanks to her bouncy chair, the Farmer in the Dell. I know I know more childhood songs. I'm beginning to think I need to resort to renting Barney videos (shudder).

And probably I should refresh my fairy tale memory. If they're all as inane as Rapunzel, I'll probably keep them out of my repertoire, but it certainly can't hurt to re-read them. It's got be worth a giggle at least.

Wrestling Matches

Ahh, how I remember the halcyon days of easy feedings and diaper changes. Was it only three months ago that she would lie still for both, obediently allowing herself to be manipulated in any position that was easiest for us to administer her needs?

No more.

Now each diaper change has become a wrestling match. She rolls, she twists, she kicks, she holds her legs out straight and stiff, grinning and smirking at us the whole time. She hasn't yet started to giggle or laugh, but when it comes, I know it will be maniacal.

And feeding. Good lord. She takes down the first couple of ounces, just to sate her hunger, and then it becomes Play Time. She's learned to fling her arms and grab at things, but her favorite little ploy is to streeeetch, then lunge backwards, and when you're quickly compensating to keep her from tumbling backwards, SWAT goes a plump little arm, and awaaaaaaay goes the bottle. Again, cue the future maniacal cackling.

And lately? She chews. Chew chew chew on the nipple. Thank God I don't breastfeed, is all I can say. Because this child has some jaw power, bless her heart. I know because I encourage her to chew on my fingers when she's doing her pull-ups. Hmm, this could be my fault.

I suppose this could be frustrating, but in all honesty, it tickles me pink. I certainly don't want to become one of those mothers who lets her children run pell-mell around restaurants, and when rebuked, says only, "They must revel in their independence! Do not repress my children!"

But, on the other hand, I do want her to be independent, her own person. Yes, yes, I admit to having felt pangs of maternal envy whenever I've seen young children clinging to their mamas, but really? No. I don't want that. I want a fearless child. One who will run excitedly for the merry-go-round, and squeal with delight on the fast rides.

Yeah, the best laid plans. In the meantime, she's developing her own little sense of self, and I couldn't be more proud.

Introduction

Well, it's been a while since I've had a blog. I used to love blogging, and a lot of times, I do miss it. I have a couple of long-distance friends who keep blogs, and it's a very good way to keep tabs on 'em. You know, maybe they want to keep tabs on me, too. It could happen.

I considered making this a private blog, and give the address only to friends and family. I've reconsidered that. Thing is, the stuff I'm obsessing about these days is -- well, I'm not sure universal is the right word, but I think it's applicable to a large group of people. And though my inclination is to feel intensely private about it, it's not doing me any good to be that way. My urge to be private about it stems directly from being ashamed of the things I think and feel these days. And the fact is -- maybe there are other people going through the same thing who feel the same way. And if they see me exorcising my demons publicly, maybe they won't feel so badly about themselves.

Yeah, I'm such a noble do-gooder.

So I will be unabashedly public. Be warned.

A little about myself, I guess, to get started. I'm 40 years old. I live in the midwest. I moved out here in 2005. Before that, I lived my entire life on the west coast. I met my husband, Kipp, on an online game. I moved to the midwest to marry him. I have two stepchildren; a girl who I will refer to as B, and a boy I'll refer to as C. They're the only ones I'll be careful about writing about, being as I'm only their stepmom, not their mom.

Kipp and I have two dogs, a corgi mix named Honey and a blue heeler mix named Sugar. And as of April 2007, we have a daughter whom we call Kiki. As Kiki is my obsession these days, be prepared that most of what I write will concern her.

Kiki has Down Syndrome. If I didn't tell you this when you first meet her, you might not even notice. I know this only because people who didn't know, didn't guess until they were told. I don't bring it up anymore. I actually stopped informing people sometime during my pregnancy.

For those of you who know little or nothing about Downs, or are new to being a parent of a Downs child, you and I are in the same boat. I'm still learning, every day. I search for articles, forums, help groups, and all that on the net all the time. I'll share what I learn here; and I would love it if you shared with me, as well.

Also, if you're a new mother, well -- we're also in the same boat. A new baby is a new baby is a new baby. All the adjustments, yeesh. We're blessed, of course, because Kiki is a perfect baby, but we still have a few new parent bumps. Well, at least I do. Kipp's done this twice before, and he revels in my new-parent jitters. Like how I'm constantly taking her temperature or dipping my head into her bassinet to make sure she's still breathing. He gets endless amusement out of that.

I'm going to end the first entry here. Work beckons, and I have to get done what I can while Kiki sleeps.