A Mommy Story

Not Your Typical Milestone

2009-07-08T11:04:00.003-04:00

Thanks to the broken tooth, Cordy had to break her string of only visiting the doctor once a year in order to get a pre-surgery physical. I'll admit that I was nervous, expecting a meltdown or at least a lot of non-compliance from my doctor-phobic daughter. She's never liked going to the doctor, and has never let them do a full exam without a lot of screaming and being held down. We still don't know her blood pressure, as a cuff has never made it around her arm yet.

But yesterday was a new milestone. She was mostly agreeable. When the nurse asked her to step on the scale, she did it without argument - a task she refused to do at the hospital over a week ago. I'd like to think that part of it was my different approach this time: instead of asking her to see how big she was (which she always replies "I'm four and a half big!"), I instead told her to step on the scale so we could make number appear. Ah-ha! Appeal to her love of numbers! Why didn't I think of that before?

After the scale was out of the way, and my eyes came back into my head after seeing she weighs 50 lbs. (before you think it, she's not fat. 50 lbs is reasonable for a 4 year old who is getting very close to 4 ft. tall), we then went into an exam room. The nurse wanted to get Cordy's pulse, but Cordy did not like this woman touching her wrist and holding it for a long period of time. We tried asking Cordy to count to 15, count the fish painted on the wall, etc., but we never got past 8 seconds. The nurse gave up at that point.

When Cordy and I were alone in the room, she scanned the room quickly and found a magnetic drawing board. Suddenly she was happy as she drew pictures of grandma, complete with her trademark circled X, H, and an outline of her hand. We didn't wait long before the doctor came in.

This was our first time seeing this doctor, so I didn't know what to expect. But she was soft spoken, young, and seemed to understand Cordy well. She asked me several questions first, not directly confronting Cordy so that Cordy could get used to her in the room. Then she started off with simple questions for Cordy, asking what she was drawing, how old she was, does she have a sister, etc.

When it came time for the exam, I was prepared for the worst. However, Cordy willingly let the doctor put her stethoscope on her chest and back, even taking deep breaths when asked. She opened her mouth and said "Ah" on command, and didn't complain too much when the doctor looked in her ears. She even laid down when asked so the doctor could feel her belly. I sat there the entire time, grinning like a fool in amazement, and at the end told the doctor that this was the first time Cordy has ever let someone examine her willingly. She was pleased to hear that.

The verdict: Cordy is fit for surgery. Other than low muscle tone (which we already knew about, and seems to be common in kids with autism spectrum disorders), Cordy has no medical issues.

I was so thrilled with Cordy's performance, I agreed to get ice cream afterward. The two of us enjoyed our ice cream together, until about half-way through when Cordy bit down into an M&M and got that worried look on her face. "Does your tooth hurt?" I asked her.

"No, it's OK!" she tried to reassure me, but the worried look remained.

"Your tooth hurts, doesn't it? It's OK, you can be honest."

She shook her head yes for a moment, then shook it no. "No, my tooth is OK. It doesn't hurt. But can you pick out the M&Ms from my ice cream, mommy?"

So her tooth still hurts. Next week is her surgery.

Grocery Store Misdirection

2009-07-06T21:45:00.006-04:00

At the grocery this evening, I waited in line at the self-checker while three early 20-somethings unloaded their cart. In it were two bottles of vodka, a 6-pack of beer, and some Red Bull. They also asked the cashier to fetch them some cigarettes. He slowly shuffled off to get their cigarettes from the locked case after checking IDs.

I heard the three of them talking to each other in hushed, urgent voices. Finally, one of the two women said to the guy with them, "I said I don't know! I'll ask."

She then turned towards the cashier and loudly asked, "Hey! Can I use my food stamps to buy this?" as she gestured to the Red Bull with one hand and held up her food assistance card in the other.

The cashier looked up with a bored expression, as if he had heard this question several times. "No," he responded.

The three 20-somethings sighed in defeat. "Damn - I told you. Just pay for it already," the other woman said. They paid for their items and soon were out the door.

As I stepped up to the self-checker, my eyes met those of the cashier. "You know," I offered, "They actually can buy Red Bull with food stamps."

"Yeah. I know," he replied with a smile. "But if they don't know that, I feel no need to tell them they can use assistance to buy that junk."

I stifled a giggle. Sure, he was probably wrong to lie to them, but I wasn't going to correct him while they were still there, either.

(FYI - They get a booklet when they get their food card telling them what they can and cannot buy.)

Haiku Friday: Red, White and Boom!

2009-07-03T01:20:00.000-04:00

Independence Day
is nearly here - but tonight
the skies light up here

In C-Bus, we have
Red, White & Boom: fireworks
before July 4.

But I avoid the
crushing crowd and watch from my
back bedroom window

For the July 4
fireworks, we need only
shift to the front yard

One advantage to my house is that it's in an ideal location for watching fireworks. We can see the downtown fireworks out of our back bedroom window, although it is a long way away. (And I'd rather do that rather than go downtown early in the morning to stake out a spot and guard that spot all day long.)

For our community fireworks, we need only bring the camp chairs out to the front lawn. They are launched just across the road from our neighborhood, giving us a close-up view without the long traffic snarl afterward.

Have a great holiday weekend, US readers. And non-US readers, umm, I'm sure there are plenty of YouTube videos of fireworks out there if you want to join in the fun.

To play along for Haiku Friday, follow these steps:

1. Write your own haiku on your blog. You can do one or many, all following a theme or just random. What's a haiku, you ask? Click here.

2. Sign the Mister Linky below with your name and the link to your haiku post (the specific post URL, not your main blog URL). DON'T sign unless you have a haiku this week. If you need help with this, please let me know.

3. Pick up a Haiku Friday button to display on the post or in your sidebar by clicking the button at the top.

REMEMBER: Do not post your link unless you have a haiku this week! I will delete any links without haiku!

How Does Your Garden Grow?

2009-07-02T11:01:00.004-04:00

For my first attempt at a garden, I think it's going pretty well. My mom wouldn't even let me plant-sit for her when I was younger, knowing I'd kill everything on accident on the first day, but now I'm keeping plants alive! And hey, it isn't even quite as hard as keeping children alive!

My garden today: (click any photo to see it larger)

Broccoli

Thankful for the cool weather & rain - finally!

Future cucumbers

A garden friend

Future green peppers

We've already had several harvests of the broccoli, and it's delicious. My lettuce has also been harvested and we have plenty of basil and cilantro to spice the neighborhood. I can't wait until the zucchini, cucumbers and green peppers are ready to eat.

Thus far, I'd have to say that starting my own vegetable garden was a very good idea.

Sick Babies, or Tiny Possibilities?

2009-06-30T20:35:00.003-04:00

In the midst of all this tooth drama, I forgot to mention that yesterday morning I got to observe in a NICU for five hours. I was supposed to do this observation while I was in school, but it didn't get set up until now, and despite Cordy's tooth, I couldn't turn down the offer to observe. (Besides, the emergency clinic was open in the afternoon, so there was no conflict of my time, other than no time for me to eat lunch.)

Some people don't like the NICU. (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, for those not initiated to hospital-speak.) I can understand that - the area is filled with crib after crib of small and sick babies, many facing life-threatening illnesses and prematurity. Not all of the babies who come into the NICU get the chance to see outside of the NICU again. Some babies are so small that you wonder how it is even possible for them to survive at that size.

I watched a team of doctors and nurses rush to save a baby who had stopped breathing. Her skin faded to white, the monitor flashed red alarms signaling she wasn't getting the air she needed, and her heart rate began to slow to the 40's. As I stood back and watched, I'll admit I was scared for that baby I had never met. In my head, I repeated, "C'mon kid, hang in there. You can do it. Hang in there..." I heard nurses saying that she was usually a stable baby. No one expected her to take this sudden downhill plunge.

But at the same time, miracles can be found in the NICU every day. That group of skilled doctors and nurses worked together as a team - chaotic but with unified purpose - and within minutes they had that baby breathing again. Twenty minutes later, she was stable once again, back on track to heal and grow and someday go home with her parents to live out her destiny.

In my five hours of observation, that wasn't the only baby who called a large group of medical professionals to her side. When I got a tour of the entire NICU area, the nurse I was shadowing showed me babies of all types: micro-preemies, those with genetic abnormalities, babies withdrawing from drug addiction. I even got to see the infant who was found by a mailman, wrapped in plastic on an abandoned porch last weekend.

Honestly, I loved my time there. Some may see the NICU as too sad, but I see it as full of hope and possibility. Look at how far we've come. Thirty years ago, many of the babies in this NICU would have no chance of survival. Twenty years. Ten years, even. Nearly thirty-four years ago, my mother gave birth to a baby at 32 weeks gestation. Today, she would have an excellent chance at survival. Back then, she was simply too young, too sick.

The research and medical advances made in neonatology have made it possible for younger, sicker infants to have better outcomes today. (With lots of help from charities like March of Dimes, of course.) As I rocked a baby going through drug withdrawal, I marveled at how we now have the ability to keep her comfortable and help ease her through the withdrawal. And I realized how much I would enjoy working in a NICU, helping little people get through a rough start in life to experience the possibilities life has to offer and being on the front lines in new medical breakthroughs to save even more babies.

Just think of how many medical advances we'll see in the next ten, twenty, thirty years. It's pretty amazing to consider.

A Lot of Nothing, With a Side of Frustration

2009-06-29T20:10:00.007-04:00

I spent all of last night trying to psych myself up for today, prepared for Cordy to endure dental torture and probably some kind of sedating agent to allow tooth professionals to perform said dental torture.

No one told me the torture would be all mine today.

We arrived at the dental clinic at Children's Hospital at 12:15pm. The emergency clinic opened at 1:00, so we took a number (#3 at 45 min. early!) and waited. Cordy was a little unsure of the waiting room, made worse minute by minute as more and more people filled the tiny room, eventually taking up every seat. It became loud and chaotic quickly. I silently hoped that, as #3 in line, we'd quickly be whisked away from the din of that waiting room.

The clock struck one and the registration window opened. #3 was called five minutes later and I approached the window, only to be turned away with a clipboard full of paperwork and instructions to return when I had filled it all out. Meanwhile, other numbers were called and other children were shuffled back into the office. I used my best speed penmanship to complete the forms and rush back to the window. I was again told to have a seat and they would let me know when they needed me again.

45 minutes later, we still waited. The room was still loud, Cordy was begging to go home and complaining of hunger. My head was pounding. When our name was called again, we went to the window only to be given an ID sticker to put on Cordy's shirt, with the message to sit down and wait more.

Half an hour later, it was time to see the doctor.

We were brought back into a tiny room, where I explained what I knew: Cordy's lower right back molar was broken, she may be in pain but we can never be sure, and she's a difficult patient. The doctor coaxed Cordy into showing her the tooth (thanks to my offer to let Cordy cook tonight if she cooperated). The doctor then immediately launched into a lecture on cavities that made me feel about two inches tall. She seemed to assume I fed Cordy a steady diet of Mountain Dew and pixie sticks.

"Wait," I interrupted, "How does she have a cavity? She doesn't eat a lot of sweets, we brush her teeth, and I check her teeth weekly. I've never noticed even a darkish spot on that tooth. And she never eats hard candy or anything harder than a Goldfish cracker."

The doctor paused, then told me how fluoride toothpaste can mask a cavity, effectively covering it up with a fluoride shell. I'll admit, that made no sense to me at all. But then as she continued on, I again felt like she was somehow saying this was all my fault.

She then confirmed what I suspected: Cordy would need general anesthesia to repair the tooth. The better news? As long as it isn't infected, they will be able to cap the tooth and not need to pull it. Then she told me, "The wait time for dental surgery right now is about 8-10 weeks."

I stared at her hard for a moment, not sure if I heard her correctly. "You mean for routine stuff, right?"

"No, I mean for any dental surgery."

As you know, I am nearly-a-nurse. I understand that a parent's sense of urgency isn't always the same as a medical sense of urgency. In that moment, however? I was ready to call the doctor a quack.

"8-10 weeks? But what if she's in pain? We're supposed to let her be in pain for 8-10 weeks?" I then explained Cordy's odd pain reception, and how we don't know if she's hurting or not. She now won't let me brush the tooth, so I can only assume she's hurting. "There's no way I can let her hurt for 8-10 weeks."

The doctor nodded. "Well, since she is special needs, and has unique sensory issues, we can then consider that she is in pain and find an earlier surgery date. I believe there might be some spots available in 2-3 weeks."

Again, a look of stupor had to show on my face. "2-3 weeks is considered acceptable for a child in pain?"

The doctor then tried to explain to me that there was acute pain and chronic pain, and how this is likely chronic pain, which a child can "get used to." Ah. Well, that explains everything. She can just get used to hurting. No prob.

The entire procedure was explained to me, and I agreed that it sounded like the best possible procedure. General anesthesia gives them a chance to check for any other problems, correct them if needed, and give her teeth a good cleaning while she's there.

So now we're waiting to get a surgery date sometime in the next 2-3 weeks. And Cordy has to get a physical, also, to rule out anything that could prevent her from having surgery. (Including "malignant hyperthermia" according to the doctor, which I know can't be determined from a simple physical.)

I am completely on-board with the procedure. It's what Cordy needs. I also know that not everyone can walk-in and have dental surgery, despite what the ER led me to believe. I'm frustrated by the long wait, however. If Cordy's tooth doesn't become infected, we can save it. But if it does, the tooth will be pulled, which could throw off the spacing in her mouth. As someone who had braces for 5 years, I'd rather not screw up the good spacing she currently has. And the longer it takes to get this done, the greater the chance of infection, not to mention being in pain for longer than I would like.

The entire time the doctor and I talked, Cordy was miserable, sitting near the door, pulling on the doorknob begging to go home. She was scared by the medical equipment in the room, and the doctor often got right in her face, which is good for many kids, but completely intimidates Cordy. I hate that I had to put her through that today, and will have to put her through it again, along with a trip to her pediatrician, too.

We left Children's Hospital exhausted: Cordy still with a broken tooth, and me with a killer headache and a lot of frustration. Cordy winced tonight when I brushed her teeth, denying that it hurt but showing signs that it did. The prescription painkiller (hydrocodone) did nothing to make it better, and in typical Cordy response, actually made her more alert and awake instead of drowsy.

This is one of those times when I can't make everything better for her, and it really upsets me. I feel helpless, stuck in the system. I'm not asking for any kind of special treatment, either. In some ways, the special treatment we need is causing this to take longer - if Cordy could sit still and be a compliant patient, everything would have been fixed today in the dentist's chair.

But as her mom, with all nearly-a-nurse knowledge put aside, I think it's unfair to make her endure more pain because a condition she can't control keeps her from being a model patient. I want to rage about how insane this all is to someone who can do something, but it wouldn't help. It's not rational, but isn't that part of what being a parent is all about? We want to protect our children against anything, against all enemies, even if those enemies are reason and logic. Mama bear instinct is strong.

So now, we wait. And I make every effort to relax, while watching Cordy closely for signs of infection and hoping she isn't hurting.

I hate this.

Tooth Drama on a Saturday Night

2009-06-28T00:19:00.004-04:00

I had planned on a quiet Saturday evening. Aaron was going to be at Origins, I was going to put the girls to bed and watch some great medical reality TV on Discovery Health. And then near bedtime, Cordy and I were playing, and I asked her to let me count her teeth. When I got to the last one, I noticed something didn't look right.

Hoping it was just a little bit of dinner stuck to her tooth, I gently brushed her teeth, and noticed the molar still looked weird. Grabbing my pen light, I asked her to open her mouth again, and I got a close look (warning, graphic description): a jagged V slice was missing from the middle of her tooth, with the yellow pulp visible.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. "Does your tooth hurt?" I asked Cordy.

"No!" she replied with a smile. No way, that's impossible, I thought. That HAS TO HURT. She had no idea when she did it, or how. I have no idea when she ever ate anything hard enough to crack her molar.

Part of Cordy's unique character is her reaction to pain. Or maybe that should read lack of reaction. I've watched her do things that would make the average child shriek in pain. I saw her tear half of her fingernail off, and the most reaction we got from that was a temporary sad face. She doesn't process pain the same way most of us do.

I still can't figure out if she is feeling the sensation of pain and interprets it differently in her brain, or if pain doesn't register at all. But either way, extreme pain generally doesn't bother her. (Now, try to pour water on her hair and she screams that it hurts. I don't fully understand it.)

I called her pediatrician's on-call service, and the doctor said it was best to take Cordy to Children's Hospital for a look. Infection was a concern, as was the pain issue. So after spending 20 minutes trying to prep Cordy for what to expect, we left for the hospital.

Cordy was scared. I knew this was likely to end in disaster, but at the same time she seemed to understand what I told her. The doctor wanted to look at her tooth, and they wouldn't do anything to hurt her. She asked if she would get a new tooth, and I told her they would try to make her tooth all better. She promised she'd be brave if I promised not to leave her.

At the hospital, she was fine as I checked in, and I had hope that she might do better than I expected. Then we walked back into the triage area, and the aide asked her to stand on the scale for her weight. She lost it right there, and her fear slowly built into a full, old-school meltdown. No one could touch her.

I sat on the floor with her in our nook in triage, holding her while she tried to break free to run away, primal screams and repetitions of "Let me go!" coming from deep inside. My own face burned with embarrassment at the stares we got from other parents and staff. I know I should be used to this by now, but it still gets to me. I wanted to scream out, "She has autism! Transitions and new experiences are hard for her!" but instead I focused on calming her down. She finally calmed down right before we were moved to an exam room.

Hiding under the table as she came out of the meltdown

The resident who came in to examine Cordy was young and I had to explain all of Cordy's quirks to her. Cordy hid under a chair in the exam room, unwilling to show her tooth or let this new stranger near her. She got a history on Cordy, then said she needed to talk to her attending doc to see what steps we'd take next. I was left alone in the room with Cordy. She eventually came up onto the bed with me, and then exhaustion from her meltdown caught up with her. Cordy was overcome with sleep.

When the attending doctor came in, he got to look closely at the tooth, thanks to Cordy's ability to sleep like the dead. He was amazed that she wasn't in extreme pain, as it is a very deep break in the tooth. Nothing would be done tonight, he said, but she will need to have something done with that tooth.

Based on her behavior, it was obvious that she will need to be sedated to have her tooth fixed. That's something they didn't have the set-up for in the ER, but the dental clinic at Children's has the ability to do general anesthesia. So the plan was put in place for her to come see the dental surgeon on Monday to determine what to do with that tooth.

Cordy also received a prescription for a heavy-duty pain med that would make drug seekers green with envy. Even though we can't be sure if she's hurting or not, the doctor said the only ethical thing to do in this case is assume she is in pain, treat with ibuprofen round-the-clock, and then use the prescription pain med if she shows any signs of pain or says that her tooth hurts.

Even though I'm nearly-a-nurse and know that general anesthesia is safe, I'm still terribly nervous about Monday now. First, I know we're going to have a replay of everything that happened tonight. But on top of that, they will have to hold her down and sedate her.

And even though she has no allergies that we know of, we've also never had to know her allergies. She's only been on antibiotics twice in her life. She's never been seriously injured or sick. However, I do know that she reacts strangely to nearly anything she's given. Pain medications don't seem to do anything at all, while she has adverse reactions to Benadryl. Hell, even blue food coloring affects her behavior. Nothing about her seems to react the way it should. I worry she'll be ultra sensitive to the anesthesia or something will go wrong.

I hate seeing her afraid. And I hate having to even think about risking general anesthesia for a tooth problem. At this point I want Monday to come and go quickly and with as little disruption to our lives as normal. But I'll confess I'm so worried that something might happen to my Amazon warrior princess.

I don't want to be on this side of things - I want to be the nurse reassuring the parents that everything will be fine, not the worried mother hoping her sensitive child won't have a bad reaction under anesthesia.

Haiku Friday: Busy Weekend

2009-06-25T23:19:00.003-04:00

This weekend, two big
events: one for geeks, and one
for all the hippies

Origins Game Fair
and Comfest in C-bus on
this hot, hot weekend

I'll confess: I'll be
at both, for Aaron is both
geek and hippie child

One features sci-fi
costumes, lots of games to play
and people watching.

The other features
handmade goods, yummy food and
people watching.

The end of June is always busy around here. Origins is an event that Aaron has gone to for years, and while I'm not as interested as he is, I still like to tag along to look at the new games, see all of the unique costumes people come up with, and look for cute plushies from the anime vendors.

Comfest, short for Community Festival, is an annual tradition around here, partially started by Aaron's parents and their friends. I love all of the unique shopping (Little Alouette will be there this year!), and I love the relaxed atmosphere. And I do mean relaxed - it's legal for women to be topless in public in Columbus, and you will see topless women walking around Comfest. All I'll say is the boobage on display is generally far better to look at than sweaty, pudgy man boobs.

So what's everyone else doing this weekend?

To play along for Haiku Friday, follow these steps:

1. Write your own haiku on your blog. You can do one or many, all following a theme or just random. What's a haiku, you ask? Click here.

2. Sign the Mister Linky below with your name and the link to your haiku post (the specific post URL, not your main blog URL). DON'T sign unless you have a haiku this week. If you need help with this, please let me know.

3. Pick up a Haiku Friday button to display on the post or in your sidebar by clicking the button at the top.

REMEMBER: Do not post your link unless you have a haiku this week! I will delete any links without haiku!

Mid-Blog Crisis

2009-06-24T22:51:00.003-04:00

Last weekend I attended PodCampOhio, a free conference for bloggers, vloggers, podcasting, and other types of social media. Overall, it was a great experience, and I feel like I learned a lot, while also meeting some new local bloggers, including those I already knew in name if not in person.

But one unexpected side effect of the event was an enhanced feeling of uneasiness with my blog. I've already been feeling as if I'm adrift lately, either due to a lack of focus or the possibility that my life has become so boring that I can't find anything interesting to blog about. Don't worry, I'm not pulling one of those I'm shutting down my blog 4-ever c-ya!!! dramatic moments, because that's not what I want at all. I'm simply trying to refine and make this a better place for me and for everyone who stops by and cares for what I write.

One session I attended at PodCampOhio had me convinced I needed to "rebrand" my blog. I mean, after all, just look at my blog name: A Mommy Story. What in the world does that tell the reader about me? It says I'm a mom, and this is likely a mom blog. Well, that wouldn't be so bad if there weren't 163,946,037 OTHER mom blogs out there.

A Mommy Story is a somewhat dull name, created after the first three tries were already taken on Blogger back in 2005. Instead of taking the time to ponder and wait for inspiration to gift me with a creative name, I kept typing out new names desperately, because I had to have my blog now! now! now!

This session talked about setting yourself apart from your "competition" - offering unique value, being specific and remarkable, finding something to stand for, etc. Honestly, it was a lot of good information, even if it did send this blogger into a panic. I've screwed it all up from the beginning! I thought.

And then another session discussed good storytelling, and I realized I couldn't tell you all about my blog in one sentence. Hmmm...maybe I'm not focused enough?

Finally, Dawn advised me that what I really needed to do was keep my blog name, but get my lazy butt off of Blogger and make the jump to Wordpress, since Blogger isn't always playing nice with some computers/browsers of late, which could be affecting my traffic.

So...yeah. I'm more confused than ever. Do I try to focus my scope more? Do I try to find an angle that works? Do I find a new blog name and rebrand? Do I switch to my own domain and Wordpress? (OK, that last one really does need to happen. I am lazy, and I like the look of Wordpress.)

Or do I just say to hell with all of that branding and narrative advice and keep on doing what I'm doing? I know some people will tell me that I shouldn't worry about all of the superficial stuff like branding and contrived storyline focus. Writing should be organic, right? But I'm not one of those bloggers who can weave words with ease into artful essays, or come up with a story that is outrageously funny and over-the-top.

I'll also admit: I do care about my stats, and I know I'm not supposed to care. I don't like seeing that I've lost 1/4 of my traffic in the past year. Comments are down, making me wonder if I'm actually connecting with readers in a meaningful way or if my posts are still interesting. I still love every one of my readers like I love my chocolate cake - maybe even more so now that there are fewer of you.

(Side note: Wow, talk about rambling. This post counts as everything that might be wrong with my blog. All over the place without an editor. All I need for a truly dreadful post would be several different fonts, font sizes and colors throughout. Bear with me - I'm working through this as I type.)

So after writing all of this out, where does it leave me? Neurotic and in desperate need of a Xanax? Probably.

I'm not making any decision at the moment. I'm going to think on the topic at least until after BlogHer, then decide if I want to make any changes. Well, aside from the move to Wordpress - I'm pretty certain on that one, once I learn CSS or save up for a good theme design. Maybe I'm just thinking too hard about this - after all, my birthday was also this weekend, and birthdays always make me susceptible to overthinking about what I'm doing with my life.

Feel free to add your thoughts to my one-person argument. I'd love to know what you want to see from me. Or how you solved a blogging crisis you've had. I know I'm really opening myself up to criticism here, and my flame-proof jacket is standing by. Just know that any comment of UR CRAZY = not helpful.

(Oh, I'm going to regret hitting publish on this one...)

Waiting...Waiting...

2009-06-23T22:23:00.004-04:00

I'm finding myself currently stuck in a registered nurse limbo right now. I've graduated from nursing school, my clinicals are complete, and yet I still can't add those two little initials - RN - to the end of my name yet.

After finishing school, nurses are required to pass an exam before they can officially have their license to practice nursing. Makes sense, doesn't it? I mean, I'd prefer the nurses caring for me were tested independent of their school to make sure they really know what they're doing.

Right now, somewhere in a stack of papers in the Ohio Board of Nursing office is my application for licensure. I'm not sure where it is in that stack, but I'm hoping it's somewhere near the top of the stack, waiting to be entered into a computer. Considering I dropped it off in person in early May, I'm really hoping it's near the top.

As soon as that application is processed, green lights will flash and I'll be eligible to register for my license exam. I've already paid for the exam and entered all of my personal information. The password for the test location selection screen is all I need. Don't ask how many times I've been tempted to enter guesses at the password, hoping that youcantestnow or sexynurse1 or even password might be my key to gaining access.

I'll admit patience is not a virtue of mine. Each day I visit the database, input my name, and am greeted with "No results found for specified input." And then I growl, clicking away with a mental note to check again tomorrow.

I need a job. I want a job. I want to start putting the knowledge gained from three (long) years of school to use. But first I need that approval to take the exam. Oh, and I have to pass the exam, too, although strangely I'm not worried about that.

I'm sure the Board of Nursing is busy. There are also several new pop-up nursing schools all over Ohio, churning out new nurses at record numbers. I'm only one of many, many names in that pile of applications. Patience...sigh.

Anyone know how to be patient? And can you tell me quickly?

Summer Camp, Week 2

2009-06-22T15:31:00.004-04:00

After last week's introduction to camp, I'm happy to say that no one has been ejected from camp. Yet.

On Wednesday morning, I saw Cordy's after-care teacher and told her that I thought Cordy would do well now that she understood the routine. The teacher, however, was unconvinced and again tried to talk me out of leaving her in after-care. She yet again mentioned that Cordy needed other kids to play with because she was lonely. I assured her that Cordy loves to play by herself.

And then she said, "It's not right for a child to be that upset. You didn't see how she was on Monday. I've never seen anyone that upset before. I'm amazed they were able to carry her to the room."

I was unimpressed. "Was she bleeding?" I asked.

"Uh, no."

"Then she wasn't that upset," I explained. "When she's so out of control that she hits her head on things until she bleeds, then call me. THAT is her 'really upset'."

"Well, you'll be home today, right? I'll call you to come get her if she has any problems."

I rolled my eyes. "I hope you'll try to work out the problems BEFORE calling me." And with that, I left.

As I expected on Wednesday, after I had a long chat with Cordy about what to expect from the after-care routine, and after the teachers decided they would take her directly inside instead of to the pick-up area, Cordy had a fabulous time. When we went to pick her up, she was sitting quietly in the room with a teacher beside her, drawing picture after picture and describing what she was drawing.

They reported that she had no issues at all that day, and really enjoyed the afternoon. See? I know my kid.

The next morning, I saw the after-care teacher again, smiled sweetly and said, "I hear she had a great day yesterday! I told you it would all work out!"

No smile in return. Instead, she frowned and said, "Well, she didn't have a fit, but she was clearly bored with no one else to play with."

Whatever, lady. It must suck to be someone who can never be happy.

I spoke with a friend who works there, and she told me that this particular woman teaches kindergarten and is used to working with kids who have been in the daycare system since they were little. These kids know how the system works and give her few problems. Someone like Cordy doesn't fit in with her idea of how children work.

On Friday, we had thunderstorms moving through Columbus at drop-off, and so all of the kids had to start the morning inside. Cordy was not happy with the group circle time inside, and Aaron had to stay with her for awhile while she cried from the change in routine and all of the noise caused by the echo in the room. She eventually calmed down and had a good day.

The humorous end to the week? On Friday, there were two children with Cordy in after-care.

And what was she doing?

Sitting quietly by herself, looking at a book.

My warrior princess is going to do just fine at camp, in spite of those who would rather she not be there because she's different.

Dueling Special Occasions

2009-06-21T10:06:00.006-04:00

So when your birthday falls on the same day as Father's Day, which one gets the day off? Or do they cancel themselves out entirely? I'm not really sure.

Of course, birthdays aren't nearly as cool as an adult as they were when we were younger. I no longer wait with excited anticipation for the big day. Now I just hope to sleep in and get through the day without a meltdown from a child. And maybe an adult beverage in the evening.

Happy Father's Day, Aaron. And happy 33rd to me. Hopefully double 3's works out better than 32, with fewer new wrinkles and grey hairs.

Haiku Friday: Canine Zen

2009-06-18T22:36:00.000-04:00

Ears flapping in the
wind, the dog smiles at me from
the car beside mine

A picture of pure
bliss riding down the highway,
head out the window

Sometimes I wish I
could be as happy as a
dog in a fast car

I drove past this car and its canine passenger this evening, and I was immediately mesmerized by the happiness and peace coming from this dog. I don't know if there's anything happier than a dog with its head out the window, tongue out and eyes closed to the rushing air. It's probably as close as a dog can get to flying.

To play along for Haiku Friday, follow these steps:

1. Write your own haiku on your blog. You can do one or many, all following a theme or just random. What's a haiku, you ask? Click here.

2. Sign the Mister Linky below with your name and the link to your haiku post (the specific post URL, not your main blog URL). DON'T sign unless you have a haiku this week. If you need help with this, please let me know.

3. Pick up a Haiku Friday button to display on the post or in your sidebar by clicking the button at the top.

REMEMBER: Do not post your link unless you have a haiku this week! I will delete any links without haiku!

A Hair Story, in Three Photos

2009-06-17T13:39:00.002-04:00

Take one four year old with a thick head of curly hair that has reached unmanageable lengths and become heavy and sweaty:

Cut off about this much hair while she's distracted watching Animaniacs:

And voila! A lighter, less sweaty 'do perfect for summer camp:

(Be thankful she has curly hair to hide how uneven the cut is. Mommy went to nursing school, not cosmetology school, but this particular four year old is unwilling to sit for a proper haircut.)

Unwanted on 1st Day of Camp - A New Record!

2009-06-15T23:12:00.005-04:00

I was hoping for a first day of summer camp that would end with reports of "she did great!" and in some ways it did. But that statement was also followed with "until..."

Cordy's camp ends at 1:30pm each day, and we arranged it so she stays in after-camp until 3:30 three days a week. She'll be in all-day Pre-K in the fall, and she needs to start getting used to a longer day. I figured this was a good place to start. This morning I met her after-camp teacher, and after warning her that Cordy would likely be having a rough day today, her response? "Oh, I've cared for lots of kids and I've seen everything! There's no kid I can't handle!"

Today, at 1:45pm, I got the call from Aaron's aunt. (The preschool director.) At the end of camp, they took Cordy to the front along with the other kids who were leaving at 1:30. She got to watch them leave while she was told she had to remain behind. Today she was the only kid in after-care. Naturally, she had a big meltdown. They were calling to ask me for advice on getting her out of her meltdown. I gave a few tips and hung up, my stomach in knots as I wondered if I'd get another call soon.

Half an hour went by, and I called back to see if she had calmed down. Aaron's aunt said Cordy and her teacher took a walk to calm her down. I decided at this point to get her early, since it was her first day. When I arrived, they sent someone to find Cordy and her teacher. As they came around the corner, Cordy had a big grin on her face and didn't seem distressed at the moment.

I hugged Cordy and asked her how her day was. It was then her after-care teacher said, "She is very tired and worn out. Camp is hard on her." Cordy seemed a little tired, but nothing out of the ordinary to me.

And then the gut punch: "I really think you should pick her up right after camp each day."

*blink* *blink*

"Well, I can't do that," I stammered, "I've already paid for her after-care, and I need the time while she's gone to get things done."

The teacher was unimpressed. "The camp day is too hard on her. She can't handle a full day. And she has no other kids to play with."

I'd like to pause in this conversation to remind everyone: FIRST DAY, PEOPLE!!!

I explained to the teacher that Cordy doesn't know the routine at the moment, and that once she gets the hang of it she'll handle transitions better. I also told her Cordy will be in Pre-K in the fall and needs to start transitioning to a full-day program. And I had been told right before they came around the corner that another child would be in after-camp next week.

"Well, we'll see what happens on Wednesday..." And with that ending, she left.

We'll see? Or what, she'll be kicked out of after-camp? Holy hell, it's only been one day! ONE DAY. Un dia.

Surely other kids act up on the first day of a new program. A child need not be on the spectrum to have a bad day, right? You can't judge kids by their first day in camp.

I'm completely floored by this teacher's response to Cordy. Especially since she was the teacher who declared herself some kind of child whisperer that can handle anything. I can't decide if my mistake was in not telling her enough about what to expect from Cordy, or telling her anything at all and somehow biasing her against Cordy. Was I wrong to mention autism? I feel like we're being scolded for thinking we could mainstream her. She doesn't act like a perfect robot child, and so clearly she doesn't belong here. Send her back to the land of misfit children where she belongs.

And strangely enough, when I spoke with her camp teacher, the report was the complete opposite. Her camp teacher loved her, and said that Cordy had a really good day. She didn't like circle time singing, preferring to stand away from the group, and she clung to her swim instructor like a barnacle in the pool, but otherwise she had a lot of fun and followed directions. Her teacher was impressed at how she coped with her new schedule.

And that whole talk about being too tired? Cordy did look a little worn out, but she wasn't sleepy. She didn't nap the entire day, and was a bundle of energy when we got home.

We'll see what happens on Wednesday, but I'll be pissed if I again hear that Cordy should not be in after-camp care. I know my daughter is pretty amazing, and I know she'll go on to earn many honors, but having the title of "Fastest ejection from a daycare" is an honor I'd rather she not have. Because I then might have to earn the title of "Loudest mother" for shouting HAVE A LITTLE FREAKIN' PATIENCE! at her teacher. Which is still better than "Mother drinking herself into oblivion" from the stress of it all.

Do They Have A Mommy Relaxation Camp?

2009-06-15T10:52:00.002-04:00

'Cause if they do, I could use one right now.

Today was Cordy's first day of summer camp. "Typical" kid summer camp. Keep up with the pace summer camp. Do self-care stuff on your own summer camp. And I'm nervous as hell.

Two years ago, right after Mira was born, we put Cordy in a summer camp that was both a help and a disaster. I needed the time without Cordy, but she didn't handle camp well. She didn't follow the group. She didn't participate in activities. She had massive meltdowns in group assembly. She had to be fed because she wouldn't feed herself. And she wouldn't drink from a cup, so she often was extremely thirsty at the end of the day. That was when we first heard the words, "It might be a good idea to get her evaluated."

One year ago, after a year of special needs preschool, we enrolled her in a special needs summer camp program through the school district. That? Also a disaster. Many of the kids in that program had more severe disabilities, and Cordy spent all summer backsliding.

But today she's being mainstreamed again. I know it is best for her. She needs the challenge. She's made incredible progress and is ready for this, but I feel like I'm still trying to convince myself of that statement.

I worry the other kids won't accept her. I know she'll be hard to deal with during the first week or two - until she learns the routine - and I worry her teachers won't wait for her to blossom into the happy child and instead write her off as worth their time early on. And what if she doesn't know to ask to go to the bathroom? Will she have an accident?

I'm overprotective -there's no hiding that fact. I do try to shield her from some of the ugly in life. I step in when she encounters mean kids probably sooner than I should. Oh, and I gave her teachers a speech about Cordy's sensitivities and quirks that was so long they probably quit listening after the first few sentences and just nodded and smiled to keep me happy.

We pick her up this afternoon, and I'm hoping for a glowing report. Or at least a "it wasn't too bad" report. Until then, I'm all nerves.

(And Mira starts summer camp tomorrow, too. Strangely enough, I'm not at all worried about her.)

And if you're bored and like looking at photos of people in dressing rooms under bad fluorescent lighting, come check out my little fashion show and help me choose clothing for BlogHer!

Haiku Friday: Counting

2009-06-11T23:32:00.002-04:00

A surprise talent:
Mira can count to fourteen
Where did she learn that?

Although she is hard to
understand, the numbers are
clearly there for her

My only guess is
she is watching TV more
closely than I thought

Mira has apparently known how to count for awhile, but didn't feel the need to share it with us. But when walking down the stairs the other day, she counted each step, going all the way to 14 without prompting. We were stunned - who taught her to count? I've done a little bit of counting with her in the past, but nothing more than 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. And then I hear aaaaii (8), niiiii (9), ehn! (10), eeeveeen (11).

She must have had pity on her poor dumb mother, enduring my elementary lesson while already mastering the intermediate levels. I can only guess that she's paying close attention to Sesame Street and Noggin each day.

To play along for Haiku Friday, follow these steps:

1. Write your own haiku on your blog. You can do one or many, all following a theme or just random. What's a haiku, you ask? Click here.

2. Sign the Mister Linky below with your name and the link to your haiku post (the specific post URL, not your main blog URL). DON'T sign unless you have a haiku this week. If you need help with this, please let me know.

3. Pick up a Haiku Friday button to display on the post or in your sidebar by clicking the button at the top.

REMEMBER: Do not post your link unless you have a haiku this week! I will delete any links without haiku!

Not Caviar Dreams, More Like Wine With A Cork Dreams

2009-06-10T21:50:00.004-04:00

So I hate to sound like a broken record, but I'm really sick of this recession. It was just over a year ago that Aaron was laid off from his state job, and it's been three months since the contract job ended. We've done well at living on the small unemployment checks, food assistance and a little help from my mom. We still have our house, we haven't had to sell anything major to pay the bills, and we still get the occasional night out or treat for ourselves.

But the constant worry grates on me. It takes one illness, one accident, one car breakdown to throw us into panic. Our tax return from last year gave us an extra cushion for a few months, but now it's gone and we're back to carefully juggling the bills to make sure everything gets paid. We're still OK, although I hate living so close to the edge.

Aaron has applied for several jobs, but has only had one interview, thanks to a friend of ours who works for the same company. Our friend assured us that Aaron is currently the top pick for the job, but we're still waiting for that call back. And we don't even know how much it will pay - it's a mail room job that he is overqualified for, but hopefully he could advance quickly.

And as of Friday I'm officially a nursing school graduate (well, I've completed all the graduation requirements, but the ceremony is on Friday). Time to go out and find one of those plentiful nursing jobs, right? See, when I first started nursing school, we were told how nurses were in demand, and local hospitals were offering $5000 hiring bonuses. Two years later? Not so much. Now there are hiring freezes, cutbacks, and no one wants a new grad nurse.

My one lead, also thanks to a connection, is sitting in limbo at the moment. They like me, and I think they want to hire me, but their HR won't let them hire a nurse until he/she has a license. Taking the exam for my license won't happen until the end of June or early July at the earliest due to paperwork processing between the school and the Board of Nursing. They likely need the position filled sooner than that, however, so I may not have a chance.

I'm still applying at several other hospitals, too, even those outside of Columbus. It's a shame I'm not willing to move - there are other states that still have a nursing shortage.

In my ideal world, Aaron and I will both get jobs soon, we'll be lifted out of this financial limbo, and we can pay off our debts and get back to a more stable life. Where I won't have to check the checking account daily, worry if we have enough to pay the bills that month, or go to Once Upon A Child to sell kids' clothing to help cover those bills. I won't have to be the cheap mom who avoids birthday parties and weddings so we won't need to buy a gift. Where I can buy a bottle of decent wine once in a while without feeling guilty about it.

And I'm wishing the same good fortune for so many other friends who are in similar situations. Being struck down by financial weakness sucks.

I do believe that everything in life happens for a reason. I think I've learned a lot from this experience, but now I'm ready to move on to a place that isn't so close to the bumper and front wheels of the karma bus.

Last Day of School

2009-06-08T22:59:00.006-04:00

Today was Cordy's last day of preschool.

After typing that last sentence, it took me 15 minutes to continue this post. I just kept staring at that sentence and thinking about all it means.

Cordy began preschool right after she turned three years old. After traumatizing evaluations, she was determined to be "special-needs" and placed in a special needs preschool class right away. I remember first meeting her teacher and thinking she seemed very nice, but I worried that there was no way she could control my wild Amazon. Her teacher took one look at her and said, "Oh, she'll love me. I guarantee it."

And school did not start well. Cordy hated going. Each day I would take her to her classroom, and they would have to pull her off of me so I could leave. Her screams echoed down the hall as I left, and I tried not to cry, reminding myself this was what was best for her. At that time, she didn't engage her classmates, she paid no attention to what was going on in the room, and she refused to let anyone touch her. Asking her to do something she was afraid of resulted in a meltdown. She was still in diapers, too.

Her first school photo was a success only after her teacher spent an hour trying to coax her into the room, and even then she looked scared to death. But ever so slowly, changes appeared. She didn't cry and scream when I dropped her off in the morning. She had better progress reports from school (even if the physical therapist still wasn't happy with her) and her teacher told me that she was starting to fingerpaint! Like, with real paint on her fingers! And without collapsing into a puddle of tantrum on the floor!

Near the end of the first year, Cordy came home one day with her hair in a ponytail. Aaron and I were stunned. Cordy never let anyone touch her hair, yet now she was sporting a ponytail. I didn't see any blood under her nails, so I assumed she let her teacher play with her hair.

Summer break was difficult. Cordy missed her teacher and she didn't like the summer school program for special needs children. Much of the progress of the school year faded away during the summer. But she was going back to her same teacher and classroom in the fall, so I had something to look forward to.

This school year has been amazing. On her first day, she was excited to go back to school, unlike her first day a year before. After a few months, she started talking about her friends at school - friends!! My heart nearly burst at the thought of her finally interacting with other kids! Her teacher reported that she was starting to go with her classmates to the bathroom now, although she still wouldn't use the potty. That wouldn't happen until February.

We noticed that she came home many days with ponytails. Sometimes pigtails. By spring break she occasionally came home with her hair french braided. Her school photo? While it still took some coaxing, she looked more relaxed this year.

In two years of preschool, Cordy has become a new person. She's spun that cocoon and broken out to reveal the beautiful butterfly that she is meant to be. That confused, angry, sensitive child that started in 2007 has been taught how to deal with the crushing sensory experiences life throws at her. She's learned that she doesn't need to always react to new situations with fear. Other children are in her line of sight now, all possible new friends to her.

Don't get me wrong - she still has a long way to go, too. Cordy has little ability to focus on a task for more than a minute. Even with learning to cope, the world is still scary to her and her senses are easily overwhelmed. She may see other kids now, but she has a lot of trouble trying to hold a conversation.

And like her teacher predicted in 2007, Cordy adores her. When we dropped some gifts off for her teacher today, Cordy gave her a big hug and told her, "I love you, Miss W!" Tears were shed over the end of the year, and phone numbers were exchanged so we could be in touch this summer.

Because with the end of this school year, a big change is looming ahead of us. She's too old to return to preschool and her beloved teacher. She's eligible for kindergarten, but Aaron and I, along with Cordy's teacher and therapists, all agree that she's not ready for kindergarten yet. At this point she'd be eaten alive by the other kids, and after she was bullied at the mall earlier this year, I don't think I can endure that yet.

Instead, her teacher pulled some strings to get her placed at one of the best special needs Pre-K programs in the school district next year. It's an all-day program, unlike her preschool class, and the teacher is one that Cordy's current teacher highly respects and recommends. There will be a strong emphasis on academics as well as the social skills she'll need to survive kindergarten.

But we'll miss her teacher. Miss W is a part of Cordy's success, and I wish we could take her with us.

Haiku Friday: DONE!

2009-06-04T23:05:00.004-04:00

A great day has come
My final exam is done, now
I can graduate

This journey started
here three years ago and now
you'll see it end, too.

I should be telling you that next week I'll be walking across the stage in an elaborate graduation ceremony, but the truth is, I'm counting today as my graduation. I did the graduation walk when I received my BA in History, so I really don't feel the need to sit through another one of those again. There is a pinning ceremony next week that I will attend, and I'll try to have someone remember a camera.

It was here on this little blog that I decided to switch careers and try nursing, back in 2006. Cordy was 15 months old, Mira wasn't even a thought yet. I wasn't sure at the time if I would actually follow-thru with my bright new idea - after all, I've got credits for two Master's degrees sitting around that I only half finished.

There were several days I considered quitting. The work was overwhelming at times. After pre-requisites, I started my actual nursing classes with a three month old baby at home. More than once I had to remind myself that not only was this an interest of mine, but that I was doing this for my family, too. I had to finish this because they needed me to finish.

I really disliked several of my clinical locations, and realized quickly that I was never going to be a happy nurse in med-surg. My two favorite clinicals were our mother/infant clinical and the rotation through pediatrics at Children's Hospital.

But with the support of my family (especially Aaron, who had to deal with me stressed out ~~every single day~~ sometimes) and friends who provided both online and in-person cheering sections, I made it. The last exam was completed at 2:10pm today. I have my grade for the class. I will be graduating with honors (Cum Laude). And after I take our state license exam at the end of the month, I'll officially be a Registered Nurse.

(WOO-HOO!)

What will I do with all my free time now? (Message from my practical side: look for a job!)

To play along for Haiku Friday, follow these steps:

1. Write your own haiku on your blog. You can do one or many, all following a theme or just random. What's a haiku, you ask? Click here.

2. Sign the Mister Linky below with your name and the link to your haiku post (the specific post URL, not your main blog URL). DON'T sign unless you have a haiku this week. If you need help with this, please let me know.

3. Pick up a Haiku Friday button to display on the post or in your sidebar by clicking the button at the top.

REMEMBER: Do not post your link unless you have a haiku this week! I will delete any links without haiku!

In the Dark

2009-06-02T10:12:00.007-04:00

Last night, as I was coming home from a night out with friends, I was treated to an amazing light show in the sky. Great, I thought, storms. Those who know me in person know how anxious I get in thunderstorms. I've never been able to relax and enjoy the power of nature. No, I'm too focused on the massive destruction, tornadoes, fires, and electrocution that nature can cause to enjoy some pretty lights in the sky.

I made it home right before the rain started. Settling down in my chair with my computer, I distracted myself with a quick e-mail check and some Twitter, hoping the storm would pass quickly.

And then the lights dimmed, came back, dimmed again, and then went out. No big crack of thunder accompanied it, so we didn't know why the power decided to take time off.

Aaron found the flashlights while I looked outside and confirmed that everyone was in the dark. After our initial WTF? we lit some candles and relaxed. The rain was steady, the lightening was already calming down - so where was our electricity?

We waited. And waited. And waited. I called my mom and she asked "Did you call the electric company yet?"

"Um, no, but considering most of our side of town is dark, I'm guessing they already know."

My only worry at this point was Cordy. If she woke up during this power outage, she would freak out. Cordy is afraid of the dark, and usually sleeps with her light on all night. A night light doesn't cut it, and if I turn off her overhead light after she's asleep, she'll get up and turn it back on later in the night, along with her lamp. (And keep the nightlight on too, of course.) Thank goodness for CFL bulbs or environmentalists would have her on their 10 Most Wanted list.

Eventually we gave up and went to bed. Well, I went to bed, Aaron slept on the couch so he could turn everything off when the power came back on.

Sure enough, at 11:45pm, just as I was drifting off to sleep, I was startled awake by a scream from Cordy's room. "I can't get the lights on! I can't see! I can't see!" I fell out of bed in my frantic scurry to get to her room, trying to open and turn on my Nintendo DSi to provide light for her. When I opened her door, she was completely disoriented and terrified, shaking and reaching out for the light source while babbling about lights not working and make them work again and it's dark and scary!

Aaron made it to the top of the stairs about the same time that I opened her door, and we guided her into our bedroom. I told her she could sleep in our bed tonight, and Aaron brought in her Sammy. (Somehow the giant Miffy that she named Sammy has become her nighttime protector and must be present so she can sleep.) With a child and giant stuffed rabbit in the bed, Aaron knew there was no room for him and went back to the couch.

At that point, all I wanted was to go back to sleep. I tried to close the DSi, but Cordy was again scared, even though I was right there with her. So I left it on, placing it on the bedside table. Then I remembered that I hadn't charged it lately. Hmmm...once that light ran out, she'd be a mess again. I got out of bed to gather more light-producing equipment, and came up with a Nintendo DS and a book light. Well, it was better than nothing.

Thankfully, the lights came on 10 minutes after that. But Cordy refused to go back to her room. "What if the lights stop working again?" she asked over and over. I assured her that I would come and get her if they went off again, but she wouldn't budge. As long as there was the statistical probability of the lights not working again, she was not moving.

Cordy hasn't slept in our bed in a long, long time, and she's not the best bed-mate. She talks half the night, kicks, fidgets, tosses and turns, and does her best to make sure no one else is sleeping. And is then up at 6am on her knees with open arms proclaiming, "Good morning, sun!" to the light coming in the window.

So if any locals happen to see me today, please buy me a coffee. And hope that she returns to her bed tonight.

Birthday Weekend

2009-06-01T15:56:00.005-04:00

I've learned that I love birthday parties, but I hate getting ready for them. Each year I swear we're going to do the next kid birthday party at a location other than our house, and then each year something comes up to make the costs too prohibitive, or we run out of time to book the location, or I worry that an outdoor location will pretty much guarantee rain and tornadoes that day.

The one upside of hosting the party at our house is it forces us to do a thorough cleaning of the house twice a year. (Three times if you count Christmas.) We spent part of last week and all morning Saturday clearing out piles of paper, choosing which of Cordy's art projects to keep and which to toss, performing the semi-annual culling of the toy herd, and wiping down/dusting/scrubbing every surface in sight.

And then? The weather was so nice we forced everyone to come to the back gate so no one saw inside the house. Good thing we cleaned, eh?

Mira had a lovely birthday party. I love this age - she doesn't care what the theme is, and we don't have to have elaborate crafts or games or anything like that. In fact, the best part of her party, as far as she was concerned? Was this:

Who needs fancy decorations, performers, or lots of gifts? Give a two year old a bunch of balloons and you've got a happy kid. She dragged those balloons around for most of the day. Thank goodness they were tied to a sandbag, or she would have quickly become a very unhappy two year old.

She also received several nice gifts, including some beautiful clothes that she looked at, shouted "No!" and then promptly threw on the ground. Not sure if she was expecting toys or had issues with the style. (Personally, I liked the clothing. Our friends and family have good taste.)

Cordy did pretty well with the small crowd of people invading her personal space. She got a little wild at times, and ate way too much cake and ice cream, resulting in a severe tummy ache and GI distress the remainder of the evening. Poor thing - she kept asking me, "can you turn my tummy off, mommy?"

I think the party went well, even if it was small and disorganized. And I hope I've once again learned not to hold birthday parties at our house. Maybe I'll remember that for Cordy's party in September.

(And I wish I had more birthday pictures, but I was so busy keeping things running I didn't take any. Now I'm at the mercy of my relatives sharing their photos with me.)

Haiku Friday: Comparisons

2009-05-28T23:31:00.007-04:00

I know it's bad to
compare your children but I
can't help it at times

Mira often wears
Cordy's hand-me-downs and I
like the differences

This week's outfit? A
dress Cordy wore years ago
Now it's Mira sized:

(click for a larger pic)

I know it's an obsession, and every special outfit that once belonged to Cordy is likely to be photographed on Mira, but I can't help myself. I love seeing how my two daughters are so different, and yet so similar in many ways. Cordy looks more like me, Mira more like Aaron. Cordy was built solid at 21 months, with toddler tree trunk legs and large through her torso. (Amazon warrior princess, remember?) Mira is more slender while still having the toddler belly. She has far less hair than Cordy had at that age.

Yet the two of them squint their eyes the same, they have dimples in the same places. Mira's hair is starting to show the same curls as Cordy's. Both are taller than the average for their ages, and both are now Amazon warrior princesses.

Putting them side by side like this really amazes me, both to remember how Cordy once was, and to see how fast Mira is following her sister in growing up. It's all too fast. I want them to stay little forever.

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The Story of Miranda, Part 2

2009-05-27T06:00:00.005-04:00

Part one can be found here.

May 27, 5-ish AM
When the nurse told me I wasn't yet three centimeters, I nearly fell off the bed. How? My contractions had been three minutes apart since at least 1am, and were now so intense I couldn't talk through them. Even the thought of being told to go home depressed me. Aaron tried to boost my spirits, and the triage nurse encouraged me to walk and move around to help speed things up while she looked into getting me a room.

Around 7am, I was checked again. This time I was three exactly and so I was admitted. OSU Medical Center required continuous fetal monitoring, no matter how much I protested. The plan was to keep me up and moving as much as possible, and I asked for a telemetry monitor so that I could carry out that plan. What I didn't expect was for technology to malfunction 15 minutes after getting the telemetry unit, forcing me into bed with wires keeping me tethered to the spot. I worried that this would interfere with labor - one more intervention on the checklist towards a possible c-section.

By this point I was begging my doula to call my nurse. The hospital had assigned me a nurse, but over a month before this my doula had been in touch with an OSU labor & delivery nurse who was very VBAC friendly. She agreed to be my nurse when the time came, and said she would even come in on her day off if need be. The assigned nurse seemed pleasant enough, but she was not happy with my wishes to follow the birth plan sitting on the front of my chart. She also blew her first IV attempt, wasting my best vein. My doula called Kim, and she was there by 8:30am. While I knew it was Kim's day off, I wouldn't find out until later that it was also Kim's birthday.

At 9am, I was reaching my pain limit. My contractions were already nearly on top of each other, less than three minutes apart and lasting over two minutes. I again foolishly hoped that this meant the end was near, and if not, visions of epidurals danced in my head. Kim checked me, and announced I wasn't quite at five centimeters yet. At that point, I declared in a loud, serious voice, "Get me the epidural then." I had advised my team to not let me consider an epidural lightly, but not even Aaron argued with me at that point. Of course, it could be because he wanted to regain some feeling in his hand again.

I originally didn't want an epidural, because I knew it would keep me bed-bound, but seeing that I was already stuck in the bed, it seemed like the best option. I knew I was risking yet another intervention down the slippery slope to c-section, but I also knew that in some slow labors an epidural can help speed things up. The happiest moment of the day thus far was when the anesthesiologist came into the room at 9:45am.

The next several hours are a complete blur for me, but there were two ongoing incidents that bear mentioning. First was the baby's complete and utter lack of respect for contractions. Normally, the uterus contracts, the baby's heart rate responds by increasing, indicating that the baby is a little stressed out by the squeezing. Totally normal response, everyone is happy. This kid, however, never showed any changes in heart rate. She was cool as a cucumber the entire time, prompting hospital staff to freak out regularly.

She also liked to stretch and shift away from the fetal monitor, making it impossible to detect her heart rate and sending Kim into my room several times to readjust the monitor and forcing me to wear an oxygen mask to help the baby. Trust me - she didn't need any help. She was simply relaxed through all of this. She could be the zen master of zen masters.

At least three times I remember them bringing a loud buzzing device in and holding it against my belly. The purpose is to scare the hell out of the baby to see if there is a change in heart rate. Change in heart rate=good. Each time they did that, I felt her jump out of her skin, and her heart rate increased, but then she calmed down and went back to sleep. Labor did not bother her at all.

The other recurring event throughout the long morning and early afternoon was the frequent visits from the anesthesiologist at my request. I've always had an ability to metabolize drugs quickly, and apparently epidurals are no different. The epidural completely wore off three times. Even with my little button to push if I needed more medication, it still wore off three times. Nothing like being totally pain free and then suddenly having it all come rushing back at you. Aaron had to remind me about my breathing and help me through until it could be adjusted. It was only re-up'd two times, though, because the third time I was already close to pushing. I've seen very little surprise from an anesthesiologist, but he was surprised.

Around 2pm, the resident came in and offered to break the amniotic sac. I never got to experience the water breaking or anything like that. Nooo...apparently it was the amniotic sac of steel. I refused, and then had to deal with a pouty young resident demanding to know why. I reminded him that the baby was still at a high station and I was only eight centimeters. I didn't want to risk a cord prolapse and a fast lane rush to surgery. I was happy to let it happen on its own. He skulked out of the room, not coming back in again until he was summoned.

Around 3pm, Kim declared that I was at 10 centimeters. I already kinda knew that, though, because the epidural had worn off, and the pain had shifted to a whole new sensation: the urge to push. The resident came back in, asking if he could now break the sac, and I let him, seeing that the baby's head was completely engaged and ready to go. The resident asked me for a trial push to judge how well I'd be able to push. My one trial push produced a look of panic on his face as he left to call the doctor, with strict instructions to Kim to not let me push. 10 minutes later, he was back, telling us that the doctor was stuck in traffic and was still 20 minutes away. Oh, and don't push.

Honestly, looking back, I should have flipped him off. I was not consciously pushing at this point, but my body was trying to push. It was taking all of my energy to try to hold it back. I was asking Kim how many babies she had caught due to late doctors, and asking if she was ready to catch this one. Kim was rushing around, getting everything set up and ready, while I gritted my teeth and tried to will myself not to push.

Finally, the doctor walked in around 3:45pm and quickly suited up. It wasn't my regular doctor, but one of her partners. She looked at me and said, "Dr. K sent me an e-mail telling me you might go into labor this weekend and attached a copy of your birth plan. She was hoping you'd be able to have the VBAC - she'll be so excited when I tell her that you did it."

Second happiest moment of the day came when Dr. H told me to go ahead and push. I remember everyone around me - Aaron, my doula, Kim, the doctor - telling me to push, placing their hands on me, etc., but I can't remember any specifics because I was too focused on getting her out. It took two pushes and she was out at 4:00pm sharp. That first push was horrendous, though. Her not-so-little head crowned just as the contraction ended, leaving everything in a rather painful stretched out manner, waiting for the next contraction. I gave it everything I had for the second push, which is probably what caused the second-degree tear.

They placed Mira on my stomach right away and covered her with some blankets. That was the third happiest moment of the day, and the one to trump all others. She gave a gurgle and a short cry to let us know she was breathing, and then went quiet as my arms wrapped around her. Her eyes squinted in the light to study my face as her tiny hands reached towards my chest and grabbed handfuls of my gown.

We waited until her cord stopped pulsing, and then Aaron got to cut the cord, something he wasn't able to do with Cordy. Mira cried a little at being unwrapped for a moment. The only other time she cried in the delivery room was when they took her to the warmer to weigh her and clean her up. As soon as she was brought back to me, she quieted again and immediately began breastfeeding. Aaron remarked on how long her fingers and toes were, and he was right - she had monkey toes.

So quiet, so peaceful. She was content with this moment in her life. It was such a stark contrast to Cordy's birth, where she was pulled unwillingly from me by c-section, shrieking at her change in situation, pissed off at the world from day one. Mira got to do it all her way, waiting until she was ready to be born. And while labor was certainly not one of my favorite moments in life, pushing her out felt so much more "real" than the hidden delivery behind the drape in a c-section.

Mira and I both had slight fevers post-delivery, and as a result the rest of my birth plan got thrown out the window. She was taken to the nursery for bloodwork and to have an IV placed for antibiotics while I waited for hours and asked when I could have my baby back. Her fever never reappeared after that first hour, but the hospital still insisted on the IV and antibiotics for her entire stay. Yet Mira didn't complain much, and was overall a quiet baby those first few days.

She didn't get her name until very late at night on the 27th. Aaron and I debated if Miranda was the best fit for her, but none of the other names we had fit well, either. I still wonder if there was a better name for her, but as long as I could keep the nickname Mira, I was content with Miranda Ann.

--
And now, today, my baby is two years old. Where did the time go? Also, where did that quiet, peaceful newborn go?

The Story of Miranda, Part 1

2009-05-26T09:34:00.004-04:00

Two short years ago, it was Saturday and I was massively pregnant. My due date of May 21 had come and gone, with still no signs of labor. Since I was past due, I was being checked by my doctor every other day. That entire week was tense: lots of "still not really dilated yet" and "are you sure you don't want to go for a c-section?" from my doctor, along with the reminders of "we can only wait so long" and "remember you can't be induced" to add to my stress.

I knew well that I couldn't be induced. Cordy had been a c-section due to a complicated breech presentation, and I was determined to have a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) this time. My doctor was completely on-board with the idea, as long as it fit the guidelines: no pregnancy complications, no breech, and no trying if I hit the 42 week mark. Of course, I couldn't be induced or have labor sped up either due to the risk of uterine rupture, so I was responsible for going into labor and keeping it going on my own. It was a long list of caveats, but I was still determined to go for it.

My entire plan nearly derailed when I was 32 weeks pregnant. The baby flipped into a breech position and I immediately went to work to convince her that head down was the more popular choice. I went to a chiropractor for the Webster Technique - a pressure-point exercise that is supposed to help babies turn - and at home I spent many evenings with my head on the floor and my butt on the couch with a bag of frozen peas placed on the top of my belly, encouraging her to flip. She hated the cold peas - I could feel her squirming away from them. But it worked - by 36 weeks she was head-down again.

But I still had to go into labor on my own. And by Saturday, May 26 - nearly a week after my due date - there were still no signs of labor. A non-stress test done the day before was completely normal, and thankfully the baby was surrounded by plenty of amniotic fluid, so my doctor signed off on letting me continue to be pregnant. My birth plan was written, the doctor OK'd it, and the hospital already had a copy. All we were waiting for was the baby.

I remember it was hot that day. Really hot. It was Memorial Day weekend and we couldn't go out of town in case I went into labor. Aaron was restless and suggested we go downtown to the convention center. Marcon (sci-fi/fantasy convention) was going on, and he wanted to at least walk through it. We put Cordy in the stroller and walked through the (blissfully!) air-conditioned convention hall. Then Aaron remembered the Zombie Walk was being held nearby at Goodale Park, and asked if we could walk over to see it. I said sure, hoping that all this walking might convince a stubborn baby that she's missing something exciting and needs to come out to see.

We walked up the (non-airconditioned) street to Goodale Park. There were hundreds of people gathered in the park, some already dressed as zombies with zombie make-up in place, others waiting for an available make-up artist to get a little help looking their zombie best. Aaron wanted to get involved, but we agreed that should I go into labor, a zombie daddy might not be the best look at the hospital. Once everyone was gathered and ready to do their zombie shuffle down High Street, we decided to leave. We were walking down one side of High Street as the zombies were staggering down the other side. It was fun to see, but I was sweating, uncomfortable, 10 months pregnant and pushing a heavy stroller, so we went home.

The entire way home, I felt miserable. The heat had been too much for me, and I had every A/C vent pointed towards me in the car. At home, I felt better, but I noticed the occasional cramping sensation. Aaron started dinner while I rested. By the time I finished eating dinner at 7pm, I noticed there was a pattern to the cramping. I was in labor! Aaron joked that the zombies were responsible for sending me into labor.

The contractions were every 4-6 minutes and felt like small cramps. Barely noticable at first. Since I never went into labor with Cordy, I had no idea what to expect. I was excited at this point, thinking we were finally reaching the end. I called my doula and told her to stand ready, and then went back to watching TV and timing the contractions. I also called my mom to come stay the night for Cordy.

The 4-6 minute pattern continued for several hours, but the intensity of the contractions increased. Now it was impossible to not notice them, but it was getting late and I was tired. My doula advised me to eat something and take a nap if at all possible. I did as she suggested and slept for a couple of hours before my contractions woke me at 1am.

At this point we called my doula and asked her to come over. The next few hours were spent practicing my breathing techniques while timing contractions and wishing it was over already. Contractions were now about 3 minutes apart and lasting over a minute. By 4am, I started trembling from the pain, and my doula suggested it might be time to go to the hospital. Trembling and unbearable pain can be a sign of transition in labor. Aaron called the doctor, I grabbed my iPod to try to focus on music, and we left for the hospital.

I still remember the song I focused on in the car at 4am on the way to the hospital. It was "Broken" by Seether and Amy Lee. I don't know why, but that song was very soothing.

At the hospital, it took 20 minutes for me to get from the parking garage to labor & delivery because I had to stop every few minutes to weather another contraction. I was doing my best to look calm and pull inward, but inside I was screaming. Despite the pain, I was still thrilled to be going through labor this time, confident I could have a VBAC.

We got through the paperwork quickly and they settled me into a triage room. The nurse finally came to check my progression around 5:15am, and I expected to hear that I was nearly complete after 11 hours of labor, or at least pretty far along. What I was not prepared to hear?

"You're not quite three centimeters yet. We can't admit you until you're a full three."

Part two coming tomorrow, as I celebrate Mira turning two and wallow in my sadness of WHERE HAS MY LITTLE BABY GONE?