A Beautiful Day

What do you do...

...with a child who dive-bombs head-first off a couch onto the floor where he placed pillows?  When sometimes his hands and arms aren't stopping his head from hitting first?  And giggles in delight when he sees your horrified face?  Who runs to do it again while you're shrieking NO while the oldest shakes his head and his twin keeps pointing and repeating "FALL!?"

This, they assure me, is only the beginning.  

Scotch on the rocks, please.  Make it a single malt.  An expensive one.  

Thanks.

State of the union

Have I mentioned lately that I'm still in therapy?  And that I'm making great strides in understanding what drives my mood and behavior?  The work we've been doing has been intense and, at times, very difficult, but I am quite better off for having processed it.  I have found a therapist who is truly an amazing, smart woman who is not only an accomplished professional but gets me (hell, she even sews and knits) and that really, really helps. She's opened my mind and encourages me to go deep - to really explore ideas and feelings - and also has me on a sort of 12-step program, only I don't drink or do drugs.  Instead, I am addicted to a semblance of control over things, and when there are things I can't "fix," I resort to my "original hurt."  Which, in short, means I can become super insecure and confused and feel unlovable when life forces me into situations where I'm not the one calling the shots or making things happen.  It has a lot to do with not being able to really trust people, which was hardwired into me when I was a little girl.

And I don't tell you this because I want you to feel sorry for me - oh no - I share rather because it may be helpful to some of you and I am quite happy that I'm making all these discoveries.  It's making me better...you can't change the past but you can change the way you deal with it.  This is long overdue.  

June is coming up in a few months and there is a small fear in me that the warmer weather - springtime - will trigger some postpartum PTSD flashbacks again, like last year.  These flashbacks are horrible - I can only liken them to perhaps a panic attack (which I've never had, but have witnessed and have several close friends who've suffered them) in that it really physically feels like I'm going through the delivery aftermath all over again.  The worst ones are ICU-related, though the one when I'm waking up from surgery too early runs a very close second.  Last week I had to have a CT scan for some shortness of breath (PNH makes me prone to clots so my hematologist errs on the side of caution whenever I have breathing complaints, especially to rule out a pulmonary embolism) - anyway, the scan itself mentally brought me back to THAT TIME, and I must say I did an excellent job of avoiding a meltdown.  I wanted to scream and resist but instead I breathed and thought of good things and made it through with a smile, and that says something because I frickin' HATE CT scans - if you've ever had to endure the dye, you know why ;-).  My lungs came back negative but sneaky Dr. Cutting Edge threw in a whole body scan while I was there and they found a softball-sized cyst on my ovary.  Long story short - one ultrasound later, the cyst was going down and is functional vs. complex, so it should go away on its own.  I feel better.  And I feel good knowing that I'm at the point where the smells/procedures/IVs/beeps of a hospital aren't freaking me out like they did perhaps less than a year ago.  I'm getting better.  

***

In other news, I received two orthopedic-related reports this week: one from Smacky's ortho who diagnosed the femoral anterversion, and the other from his physical therapist at the school.  It's amazing how differently two professionals can see the same situation, and, as far as I'm concerned, they're both on equal ground given the fact that the PT spends several hours a week with him and the doc, though more qualified to expound on medical issues, saw him once for a mere 15 minutes. 

In short, the doc mentioned autism three times in his report...though not all gloom and doom, he basically deferred the issue as one that needs the attention of developmental experts.  The PT, on the other hand, raved about how Smacky loves Gross Motor Group and is a quick study.  She clearly adores him and is very optimistic about his prognosis, even if he were to receive only minimal intervention.  She feels that he is the type of kid who, with the right attention, can easily overcome his developmental deficits.  She is so darn rosy about his future I sincerely want to HUG her and let her come live here and stay in the guest room.  I'd cook for her while she kept telling me how Smacky is usually the first to volunteer to try new therapy activities and I'd bake her her favorite cake as she raved about his remarkable ability to JUMP (with two feet! at the same time!) on his own or how he's THIS CLOSE to alternating feet while descending stairs. This PT has done wonders for him in a relatively short time and therefore, she's got some street cred with me.  I'm learning that the school, for legal and financial reasons, certainly leans toward minimalizing developmental issues so I need to take what she says with some salt, but damn if Ms. PT isn't the bright spot in my day lately.  She's got me so pumped that I up and signed Mr. Smacky up for some swimming lessons.  And before you think I'm dumber than a bag of hammers, know that long ago I nominated the hubs to be The One in Charge of Teaching the Boys to Swim...what better way to indoctrinate him than with sensory-challenged Mr. Smacky?  Heh.  I'm kidding...they'll have a ball (I hope).

***

J now says "butterfly" and "go downstairs."  Z has been throwing A LOT of hissy fits involving purple-faced screaming when he doesn't get his way.  And Smacky is urgently trying to master the art of the knock knock joke.  If you have any good ones, please leave a comment!

Happy weekend!

Let's talk about J

This is JPC.  I am often so overwhelmed with awe with him that the words to describe him just don't come with any eloquence.   He is a peanut, born tiny and growing at his own, special pace.  But don't let his wee elfin cuteness fool you - he is as smart as a whip with a heart as big as a mountain.

He is a mediator, a nurturer and a friend to everyone.  He's happy to take charge when necessary and is sure to always include everyone in his antics of the moment.   Music and dance are his current passion and when the mood strikes, he is known to get his groove on even while strapped in his car seat.   A natural entertainer, J's constant giggling and penchant for silliness cannot help but put you in a joyful mood...I daresay that his default emotion is jubilance. 

When he is sad, or tired or frustrated, J will cry.  This cry is not a normal toddler cry, but the kind that is so sad and sensitive it absolutely tears your heart to pieces.  He is always quick to snap back to his optimistic self while you are left to recover, curious as to how the dramas of such a small boy can bring about such extremes in emotions in you.

J gathers no moss...always on the move, it is nearly impossible to capture him in a pensive moment.  And just when you wonder when this child stops to think, ask him a question or ask him for help and he'll drop everything, anxious to provide you information or assistance while he basks in your attention.  An expert climber, his athleticism and dexterity and strength surprise everyone who meets him.  How, they ask, can such a wee child manage to carry himself with such maturity?  When you look into his eyes it's as if he sees your soul...and wants nothing but to infuse it with peace and hope.

I love you J, so very very much.  You are incredibly special and destined for great, great things.  We are so lucky to have the fortune of being along for the ride.  

On the go

J is not the sort to let life pass him by...he's always on the go, exploring all there is to see and do. He's fearless and is quite definitely a "cup is half full" type of guy.

Post nap, pre-snack

Too good not to share

I know I'm on haitus, but...

First steps. Houston, we have liftoff.

104.8

Poor J. He began a fever yesterday and it hasn't let up. When today it defied Motrin and continued to skyrocket, I called the pedi and brought him in. He was hot. And uncomfortable. And babbling his B sounds miserably which broke. my. heart.

Temp: 104.8. Ew.

Strep: negative (did you know strep is rare for kiddos under 2 years old?). Urine test (he peed in the bag and avoided the dreaded catheter): negative. Ears: good. No puking. No runny nose, no cough. But his throat - ah yeeeee -
he has white spots all over the joint. The pedi says it's mostly likely a virus which has been quite popular with the tiny ones lately and the fever should break by or near Friday. In the meantime, we're to keep him comfortable and watch his fluids. We've added Tylenol to the agenda. Thus far it's helped - he's eating and drinking and even got giggly after we dosed him, but he totally just wants his mommy and is for the most part, listless. So sad.

After a long, blissful period of the kids feeling good, I find I've forgotten this ugly worry that overtakes me when they're sick. I hate it.

I'm counting the hours until Z flares up.

Baby of a thousand faces

J being his quite expressive self.

The long-awaited baptism is this Sunday. I'm almost ready. If I'm quiet the next few days, you'll know why!