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.)

Visions

In my never-ending quest for inspiration on the web. First, earlier this year, my stepmom told me about the Oprah Valentine's Day show that featured the young Down Syndrome couple in love. I finally decided to go looking for 'em on the web.

First I found this article, which made me laugh and cry, because EXACTLY! I have obsessed here and there about sex and Kiki. Okay, that's obviously at least 18 years down the line, but that's my point. It's 18 years down the line! As opposed to -- yeah, right. As if. I love this article.

The one thing that bothered me was when she realized this (which actually occurred to me the very first time I heard of Sujeet and Carrie because I? Am a pessimist):

The fact that these two are married is fodder for Oprah. That means this kind of thing never happens. Shit. It’s a sideshow. Carrie and Sujeet’s happily-ever-after is an aberration. An episode of Oprah; a feature in Time magazine.

I searched on, actually hoping to find the video of Oprah's interview, and found this article on Sepia Mutiny. And they point out in their article -- which, by the way, I note that MOST news articles tend NOT to mention -- that things are continuously on the upswing for people with Downs.

Carrie and Sujeet are the first generation of DS individuals to be healthy and functional enough to consider marrying. They’ve benefited from full social assimilation, new therapies, and close medical attention that mitigates the health complications of DS:

Do you know what that means? Do you know what that means? That means if I stay abreast of all the newest treatments and therapies for Kiki, then she has every chance in the world of being in the next generation of DS adults who are fully socialized and where "high-functioning" won't mean "able to dress herself" but actually "able to function normally."

And finally I found Sujeet's site. Well, actually that link goes to his proposal page. It's incredibly romantic -- I mean, it would be if I didn't have this continuing hangup that the Phantom of the Opera is creepy as hell and not romantic in the least itsy teensy little bit. But I will overlook that for the romanticism of the moment.

I don't overlook things like that for just anybody.

In the meantime, should I be doing other things besides encouraging Kiki to stick her toes in her mouth? (It makes her play with her feet; don't be judgmental.)