Nonsense and Frippery

A Working Theory - Why the Baby Isn't Eating

2012-02-13T14:51:00.001-08:00

B is now working with speech therapy for his eating issues (no, no! It makes sense, I swear). For the first time ever, someone has a working theory on what is going on with him and the theory is actually based on things she observed about B. Not sweeping generalizations about what preemies always do or never do, but things she just saw B do.

This shouldn't be revolutionary, forming a theory based on what you see the patient himself doing, but it is. Oh my god, it is. Everyone we've talked to about B's feeding problems has resorted to generalizations. Never once have we heard someone base their theory (in the rare instances when they've had one at all, aside from "preemies don't like to eat") on specifics about B. Never. From attending GI and ENT doctors to nurse practitioners and therapists, no one ever made recommendations on something specific to B. Even when recommending we put in a G-tube, to pump food directly into his stomach through the abdominal wall, they never said what about B made them think he'd fail at eating by mouth. Some even got angry and defensive when we asked - nicely, reasonably - what they were basing their conclusions on. So the new speech therapist, with her basing theories on B's behavior, is just a new world for us.

The theory makes sense, too. After an hour with him she'd noticed that his voice is soft, that the muscles around his chest and throat (to help swallowing) aren't as strong, and the scope images from his bronchoscopies show his scarring lies directly below his vocal chords. Hey - did you know that the vocal chords play an important role in swallowing, because they close to prevent food from slipping into the lungs? Us either. But the scarring has probably weakened the chords directly above, preventing the chords from closing effectively. So he knows that eating can sometimes be dangerous, which would explain his cycling through good and bad periods for eating, as he is reluctant to try again after trouble. It also explains why he's more likely to eat at night when he's not really awake and why he'll chew just about anything but doesn't want to swallow half the time.

She's working on speech and breathing exercises with him to strengthen his voice and muscles (which means lots of yelling and reaching games, so B is psyched). We're still waiting on approval from our county Early Intervention program to schedule her regularly, but I don't have too many worries about approval.

I do wonder if I could have done something to get this earlier, made someone stop and pay attention and notice earlier. With so many people on board, all putting pressure on me but with no insights to offer, I lost faith that anyone new would help. Admittedly, I was also so tired of parenting by committee. So tired of reporting to several doctors and therapists a week, most of whom gave me stern instructions to 'make it better' but no advice on how, exactly, I was supposed to do that.

I'm still pretty disillusioned with the system - especially the Aerodigestive Clinic that created such drama for us last year, when we were conscripted into the program (literally, one day I received a call telling me when to report for our first 5 hour appointment plus an additional half day of scopes under anesthesia -- which had all already been scheduled before ever talking to us. It took 15 minutes to back the lady up so she'd explain who in the world she was). When they bothered to try to sell us on the idea at all, about 4 hours into the most miserable clinic appointment ever, they told us that the value was in having all these specialists talking to each other. If we have ENT, GI, and Pulm attendings and their assistants in a room together harping on at me about how imperative it is that we make the baby grow faster now, shouldn't someone in that trophy room of higher education have made the connection that scarring below the vocal chords could be causing the feeding issues? Anyone? I discovered in the NICU that the adage about specialists was generally true ("surgeons cut" and all, though I found our surgeon to be the only specialist who didn't default to the broad strokes of his practice). God, it still ticks me off though.

So we have someone on board who is looking at B, and helping B. The more I learn, the more I realize how much I've been singlehandedly keeping B eating and able for so long. It's another in a long string of unlikely outcomes, this one for the better. It could have gotten worse, he could have developed a severe aversion to eating if I had handled things badly. But I didn't, and he didn't, and now we're in a good place to help him.

The idea of not being on my own in this (or rather, on my own with A in this, now that we're no longer first string and second string on the feeding team), I could just start bawling here in this coffee shop. It's been so hard for so long. Many times in the last three years, I've only made it through by focusing on finding solutions or getting through that day. Taking a moment now to acknowledge everything I've done, that it may be better someday soon.... there are no words.

Bar prep = bad trip

2012-02-11T16:35:00.000-08:00

My friend passed the bar last July and is now happily working away in the federal system. He did a little talking-down-off-the-ledge for me today:

Me: I should be doing a lot better than this.

Friend: Nah, you're in good shape. Being an outsider trying to explain it to an insider, it's like talking to someone on shrooms. "You're in a safe place"

Unnervingly accurate.

thanks!

2012-02-11T14:12:00.000-08:00

For some reason Blogger won't let me post a comment to my blog (it burps them into nothingness) but I want to say thanks! It really helps to know that other people have felt this and still come out the other side.

I'll be glad when this is all over, with positive results. Barbri makes me feel bad about me, which seems to be an integral part of their process. It's so frustrating, first because the 'goal' is 56% which feels just awful. So even when I'm hitting all my goals the percentage correct is still so low. At least part of it is making up for lost time, remembering how to think like a lawyer/law student again after a fallow year. It's just.. daunting.

I've already picked out the yarn for the sweater (thanks, Mom!) and they're sitting in my closet in a bag marked "Reward." Whatever gets you through, right?

B, A, and Mom have gone up skiing for the weekend, leaving me with quiet house for the first time ever. No wait, not quite ever but since... a single night sometime around March of 2011 when A took over during an overnight at the hospital and told me to go home to sleep. (Because at that point I was on month 11 of nursing/pumping every three hours and was riding the fine edge of crazytown.)

This weekend, bar prep notwithstanding, is much nicer. In fact, I'm going to go to the gym. ...And then take my second three hour practice test of the day. Yay!

Tipping point

2012-02-09T14:09:00.000-08:00

We just finished our lectures for Barbri, now on to the three week sprint to the finish. Good thing, probably. Our class was just tipping over to a general place of free-range anger, persecuted by the Bar and sick of the onslaught of information. A place where bitter laughter during a video lecture was becoming common. I think we all needed a break from class until 10 at night. I know I would rather knit or sleep or do anything other than sit in that room and take the 10:30 PM bus home ever again. God.

Also? The Family Law lecturer last night went into some long fact patterns that involved uncomfortably detailed sexual scenarios. Like, 'beads of water glistening on skin' sorts of squicky detail. So I'm glad to be done with those.

People have started to tell me that I'm probably studying too much. I do not find these statements helpful. Barbri does not seem to agree with the idea that there is such a thing as studying 'too much.'

I uploaded my mock exam to SofTest today and confirmed that I will indeed feel like throwing up on exam day. Good to know.

Right now I am motivating myself with these thoughts:

1. This is the very last thing I have to do to put the last three awful years behind me.
2. After this, I can have an income.
3. After this, I get two months of time off to make stuff, play with the kid, and make new friends. I have a lovely sweater and a pair of mittens in mind. I might take the kiddo to Houston to visit some old friends.

I can do this. 2.5 weeks.

Lucky mama

2012-02-05T18:07:00.000-08:00

My mom is here for the month, staying in a neighbor's guest room. It helps a lot. B and Mom are already thick as thieves and prone to getting each other in trouble. The two of them impulse-bought a folding stroller while we were in line at Babies R Us this morning and Mom pushed B around the store for thrills ("Whee, Gee!"). I have a feeling B will be leading Mom into more and more trouble over the next four weeks.

Bar prep is bar prep, as I veer wildly between feeling like I might actually pass and feeling certain that studying is, in fact, just making me stupider. I wrote uneventable the other day and took a good fifteen minutes trying to figure out why it looked wrong. Uneventable, god.

B is picking up words left and right, among them 'lucky.' He handed me Guy and I said, "I get to have Guy? Oh lucky mama!" I told him that lucky means happy (nearest I could get in a short answer). From then on it has been lucky mama! lucky papa! lucky Bear! Lucky Guy, lucky baby.

I get as self-pitying as anyone spending 10 hours a day with Conviser instead of with people, or the gym, or a book, or even the internet. But this weekend we got two feet of snow and the roads were essentially shut down, so I studied nearby and dropped in every few hours at home. Mom and B and A, cooking and playing in the snow, B wrapping my mom around his finger. And my smart funny baby saying, Mama! Lucky mama!

Lucky mama, for sure.

Text updates

2012-02-02T11:45:00.001-08:00

Here is a text I just received from A. (Door = finally a door for the baby's room!)

Boson was in car while I tied door on roof. While buckling him in we had this conversation:

Boson: (crunch crunch)
Papa: what are you eating?
B: cookie.
P: really? Where did you get a cookie?
B: ( crunch)
P: is that a cookie or a rock?
B: rock
P: can you give it to papa?
B: (spits out pebble. )

Checking in

2012-02-01T11:39:00.000-08:00

Evaluation at the feeding clinic this morning, which went as expected. He ate a little better while observed than he has been at home (naturally), but showed enough resistance for the therapist to get an idea of what we're facing. A leaned to the pessimistic while I leaned to the optimistic/defensive when describing where B's norm lies and what he is capable of. Pretty standard for us. Evaluations always leave me feeling a little sad and a lot tired, even when they go well. B, however, was delighted to have a new friend to impress and named all the things for her, snuck up behind her to 'surprise' her, and generally spent the two hour appointment in constant motion. With underweight / failure to thrive babies they're always looking for signs of malnutrition, especially low energy. "So lethargy is not a problem here, huh?" the therapist said, as B sent Guy around and around in the office chair, yelling SPIN! SPIN! WHEE, Guy!!

No, lethargy is definitely not a problem we have.

I wasted four hours last night sitting through a useless Secured Transactions lecture, while the professor on screen did little more than just read through 42 pages of dense definition, the language barely changed from the UCC. Being the location administrator has a serious downside at times like that, but I made the most of it by writing up my notecards in class.

I have a short video of B ruckusing the car, a 68 second snapshot into life with B. I suspect it may only be interesting to me and B's grandparents, but it is notable that while he never really slows down in the video, he never slows down ever. My kid doesn't do idle.

A few weeks ago, A set up a playdate with some old Peace Corps friends who recently adopted. It was good to hear their experience, especially given that they went with an open domestic adoption here in state so it's pretty much the road we're likely to take. B was crazy for their five month old and has been asking for him by name ever since. I have down days (*cough* bar prep *cough*) but I think that adoption is looking like a very real possibility for us. Crazy that we could start the process this calendar year and, between the statistics and being open to any race, possibly have a new addition to the family by this time in 2013. Wild.

4 more weeks to the Bar. Mom arrives tomorrow for the duration, for which A and I are incredibly grateful. Our neighbor is putting her up in their guest bedroom for a nominal fee, for which I am even more grateful. 4 weeks of co-habitating with Mom, baby, A, and Barbri in a 600 sq/foot house wouldn't have been good for anyone.

Back at it.

Way better than the Bar

2012-01-28T17:18:00.000-08:00

B and I went to the zoo today and it was awesome. He was crazy for all the fish exhibits, though the Canada geese, people, and rocks often stole the show.

(fish video)

The tigers were lying in a recessed area, so B could only see them if I stood on a concrete curb and held him up. He would watch for a few minutes and then tell the tigers bye-bye, but as soon as I walked away a few steps he'd kick me in the thigh and demand another tiger fix.

Also, did you know the seals have BALLS to play with? And they weren't even making good use of them! B was appalled that a perfectly good ball could go ignored. In water, no less.

An excellent selection of rocks.

"Monkey!"

He managed to direct almost the entire four hour trip from the Baby Bjorn by digging his heels into my thighs and leaning toward his goal. We revisited the tigers, monkeys, and bears a number of times. He regularly demanded Down! to go befriend the Canada geese (again some more) or commune with the gorillas. He chased a few other kids around and generally wandered off when it suited him. It was a really, really nice day.

Home

2012-01-26T19:07:00.000-08:00

Oh, what's that, you ask? Just my kid enthusiastically eating a bagel AND pasta sauce AND milk AND a pouch of fruit. In one meal. No big deal.

Guy was also famished, apparently.

I have absolutely no explanation for how or why this happened, but how great is that? He demanded bagels after we got home from the hospital and kept it right up through bedtime. Go figure.

Which brings us to the hospital... it wasn't so bad. He was in and out of the OR within an hour and it was essentially as easy as could be, though walking in to help put him under is always a bummer for us. He didn't need any dilation this time so we were home again with a drunk baby five hours after leaving. His airway is still too small - he's breathing through a space that is only 60% of the diameter he ought to have - so we'll be heading back again in 6 months... and then 6 months after that... and so on. Oh my god I was so hoping we'd actually be done with this issue. 60% is borderline, any narrower and the flags go up. That means we also still face the risk of a scary-ass surgery if things don't go well. For right now, though, we're good.

We ran into a couple of B's specialists in the surgical waiting room. How to say this... they tend to seem frustrated with us. Just as I got a persistent feeling last year that the doctors thought I was some crazy hippie mom forcing B to exclusively breastfeed (despite tearful pleas for help with his feeding issues during appointments because, you know, my kid/boobs were holding me hostage), I still get the same weird impression from them. Like we're ignoring their instructions or skipping appointments or something. Which we don't, ever. Any order they've given, we've followed. We may ask for explanations and alternatives, but we've always gone with their recommendations in the end. It is possible that we've 'missed' appointments, since their scheduler (worst. ever.) has scheduled us for major diagnostics in the past without ever calling us to let us know. Probably doesn't help that when A gets stressed he comes off as combative (all in the tone), but whatever. Getting that pushback from the docs gives me a pain in the ass. If we are offered multiple options, with multiple specialists giving us different recommendations, it's unreasonable to act as if we're irresponsible for not following some (often unspoken) advice. If you want us in every three months, make a date. If you want us in your clinic, say so. If you want B to get a g-tube, make the argument. We're not unreasonable but we've been around the block enough times to need a real conversation before signing him up to get cut. For pete's sake.

Phew. Ok. I also really need to post some video of B. His new favorite word is Envelope. (Enbelow-puh!) At all hours, envelope! And wheelbarrow (wee-roo roo!), eagle, and penguin and monkey. We're going to the zoo this weekend in the big city. I think he's going to love it.

Break

2012-01-25T20:10:00.000-08:00

Long, long week. I have learned my lesson - breaks are good. Breaks are necessary. Working 6 to 12 hours a day for a week, without seeing B, is a bad thing. This weekend I'll do some review but that only when the babe is asleep.

Mom arrives on the 2nd for a month long stay and we are so grateful. We even found a room for her at a neighbor's house! I think A's life will get a lot better after that. OH! And B has been discharged from therapy. No more physical or occupational therapy - consensus is that he's all caught up to kids born full term. Which is just... awesome.

We still have a couple of other issues. Feeding, naturally, and we've got an appointment at a Children's Feeding Clinic. B's airway issues need a checkup. We're bringing him in to the Children's Hospital tomorrow for a repeat bronchoscopy. This will be his... 8th bronch? 10th? So many that I honestly can't remember how many times he's gone under for a scope or dilation. Usually he wakes up disoriented and mad, sometimes we need to spend the night at the hospital, and his feeding is usually off for at least a few days after. Last year they told us that it looked bad and he might need a laryngotracheoplasty and I lost it. Then we had repeat bronchs every three to four weeks, and a few months later things turned out ok and he didn't need the terrifying surgery. We know it will probably be fine tomorrow (of course, we thought that once before) but he's overdue for a tune-up on his subglottic stenosis. Bottom line, we need one more clean check up before we can check that problem off our list of things to watch for.

In sum, probably everything will be fine. But hospital days make me jittery.

Bar review is going better. I'm climbing up the percentiles, my last mini test almost gives me hope that I might pass this sucker. Almost, maybe.

Pretty much that's my whole life now. B. Bar. B. Sleep.

Should I go to Law School?

2012-01-20T11:34:00.000-08:00

ProtoAttorney over at AttyWorkProduct put out a general call for reponses to that eternal question, 'Should I go to Law School?' (or, as I've more often seen it, 'I'm going to law school, don't let your facts get in my way.')

My answer is probably the most common and least popular one - Maybe. Probably not.

Like Proto, I was also not a green kid wandering into law school. I was 28, had been developing a career in non-profits for about ten years. Between undergrad and law school I managed a political campaign, worked in a rehab facility, did grassroots organizing, worked for a national non-profit agency (*cough*) and an international environmental organization (*cough cough*). I was also usually working at least two jobs at any given time to make ends meet, so I had many concurrent jobs as a baker, barrista, and substitute teacher.

I was frustrated, though, because I rarely felt like I was accomplishing anything significant in my non-profits. It always seemed like it was either too little or too late by the time the issue landed on my desk. I wanted to live in the sticks, I wanted enough income to only need one job (a rarity in my community), and I wanted to maintain some work-life balance. I know this will sound absurd to any other lawyer, but in my small town in Alaska my only friends who had the trifecta were lawyers. I also knew that social workers and librarians, my other ideas, tended to get laid off at the first budget cuts - I knew this because I was once at the grant-giving end of the system and that's always what happened when we had to reduce funding. If I was going to invest in another degree I at least wanted the option of a broader field or more income, if I were to get laid off.

So law school. Even once the idea took hold, though, I wanted to be sure. First point: BE SURE. If you don't know what lawyers do, if you don't know what their day looks like, do not go to law school. Seriously. Would you buy a house or an insanely expensive car without ever seeing or test-driving it? No, not unless you were a complete idiot.

So, not wanting to buy a few decades of debt for a profession I'd hate, I got a job in the courts. I highly recommend this. If you're serious about law school it is well worth the time as a paralegal or clerk or a volunteer for CASA. Talk to a lot of lawyers and listen to what they say about their jobs. There's something about the law school applicant that blinds us/them to any negative information. If an attorney tells you there are no jobs, listen.

The remainder of my story. I worked for a year as a clerk in a district court with a criminal (felony) / civil docket. I had a great judge, and I learned a lot. I knew that I wanted to be a trial lawyer and got to see a lot of trial lawyers in action. I learned from watching their unique styles what worked and what didn't, and because my job was to manage juries I heard after the verdict was returned how the jurors viewed each approach. I also knew in advance how public interest lawyers like me were viewed by the court staff, jurors, and the public. I knew that my side doesn't get to win often, that the pace was brutal, and few clients were grateful regardless of the outcome. But I also learned that the job was never boring, that it worked with people at a critical moment in their lives, and the type of person drawn to the field was my type of person. There's a lot to be said for working with people who share your values.

Because I knew I wanted to work in public interest law, I prioritized price and scholarships in the schools I applied to. I will say - look carefully at the terms those schools attach to their scholarship. Do you need to stay in the top 10% to keep it? Be suspicious. Assume you will lose that scholarship and do the math accordingly. Do they have a healthy LRAP program? Do they send students into your field, and maintain contact for mentoring? The job market still sucks, so keep these things in mind. OCI, at least in my area, is pretty much dead. You'll need to work your connections. Also, tuition at my law school went from $6,000 a year in-state in 2002, to $17,000 a year in 2008, to $31,000 this year. And that's in-state. This is not an isolated phenomenon.

So, I did my homework, knew the sub-speciality I wanted to work in, developed a backup plan and connections in another sub-speciality just in case, applied for scholarships, found loan repayment and forgiveness programs, and worked my connections like my life depended on it. And in the end I got my job offer in my field, over hundreds and hundreds of applicants for one of a handful of positions. (Another note: don't assume that public interest can be your fall-back. The competition can be just as intense and many PI employers value a showing of commitment - interning in 2L and 3L - over grades, rank, or your law school pedigree.)

My advice - if you know what a law job looks like, have dipped your toe in to see if it suits you, have looked into the legal market, have really given serious thought to the debt and repayment, and have talked to lawyers and been open to negative information they might give you - if you do all that and still think law school is for you, go for it.

But if you're thinking of law school because you don't know what else to do, because your uncle/dad/neighbor told you you should go, because you want to wait out the down job market, because someone told you law degrees are portable outside the legal field, because you think a law degree confers prestige or comes with a huge income - DON'T GO. Seriously.

Go to law school because you want to be a lawyer, based on real facts with a real plan for the debt. It is, and ought to be, that simple.

So you say you have a skinny baby...

2012-01-19T15:27:00.000-08:00

3rd percentile here we come!

(Preemies get adjusted charts -- X's showing his actual age and the * tracked back to his age had he been born on his due date.)

Life

2012-01-17T21:03:00.000-08:00

Oh hey, did I mention that we went cross country skiing on Saturday? Because we did.

And I don't know about you guys, but this is what happens when I do sit ups or floor stretches. He's a helpful baby. A jugular-seeking, barrel-rolling happy helpful baby.

Rollercoaster

2012-01-17T10:25:00.000-08:00

Looking back over the last two weeks, I can already see evidence of the bar-related turmoil that my friends all went through last year. Yay! I rock! Boo, I suck. Yay! Boo! Cry. Only 6 more weeks to go.

I am reminded of this conversation, back when some friends were studying for the bar and things were really, really bad for us in the NICU. It still makes me laugh a little - only someone studying for the bar could be absolutely convinced that nothing, nothing, is worse than studying Contracts.

B ate half a bagel this morning, super happily. It's a mystery, but we'll take it. He has his doctor appointment on Thursday (he has a check up with his primary care doctor every three months) so we'll see if the team has some new ideas by then. We love B's primary doc, but both A and I kind of dread the check-ups. We're absolutely sure the clinic's scale measures light - all the weigh-ins B gets in the interim, from visiting nurses or his OT, consistently have him half a pound to a pound heavier than the clinic ever does. It gets into your head, when the ounces matter so much.

I think B lost some weight over this last week, which just sucks. I'll try to remember that he'd been clearly gaining at a faster rate before this episode, though, and not let my emotional stability hinge on the number on the doctor's scale.

The dog dug the hole and the Baby decided it fit.

A still sends me photos during the day, illustrating B's activities. Here you can see B sitting in a hole. Maybe not so noteworthy, except that the hole apparently soothed his rambling spirit. My busy baby stayed in the hole calmly observing the park for about twenty minutes. 20 minutes!! He's never that still, even in his sleep. The toys in the park are for common use, left there by neighborhood parents. (Which is illustrative of how crazy and kind of awesome my neighborhood is.) While B was doing his observing, a four year old made the rounds, giving B rocks out of a wheelbarrow. Now B says 'wheelbarrow' - though you'd never know it but for the impatient pointing. More like, wee-boo-roo. Wee-roo-roo.

I mostly see B for a couple of hours in the morning, and then in the middle of the night when he wakes. Yesterday he fussed around 2 AM, hungry but head-lolling sleepy when I went in. He gave me a loopy grin when he saw me and just goes 'kickle' and rubs his belly, asking to be tickled, even half-asleep.

Ok. Back at it.

Cherish This Time

2012-01-15T14:00:00.000-08:00

B is straight up not eating this week. He'll drink at night, some during the day, but it's half as many calories as we need him to take. A is having a terrible time, stressed out from long days struggling to feed B without success and trying not to put his stress on me.

We've contacted B's doctor for some help. It's important to note that B's not starving. We'd be in the hospital for an NG tube - and probably, oh god, a g-tube - if he got too close to the line.* He simply doesn't want to eat and we don't know why. It's almost as bad as this time last year, though I'm not nursing and so it lacks the hellishness of being personally responsible in every way. So we're taking the doctor up on his offer for a referral to a feeding clinic. A and I have our doubts about whether more therapists can offer insight into this problem - keeping in mind that we've had occupational, physical, and speech therapists; multiple dietitians, doctors, and tests in the last year - but we're out of ideas. None of my old tricks are working, I don't think it's the teething any more. B can eat. He likes a lot of foods. He just doesn't want to right now.

*A note: I think g-tubes are the solution for a lot of kids, but I have reasons for not wanting one for B if it can be avoided and the docs have never been able to address those questions.

If one more woman says, 'Oh, first time parents always think their child doesn't eat enough! You just don't realize that no toddler wants to eat,' I will not be responsible for my actions.

--------

This blog post about the ladies who tell you, usually randomly, to cherish the time while your child is small has been popping up all over Facebook, and I just.. I agree with what she's saying. She's right that those ladies are seeing only the beauty while we are busy dealing with the beauty/gritty details/beauty.

But the whole "cherish this time" phenomenon makes me want to have some very frank conversations with the older women perpetrating it. In the NICU I had ladies (always decades removed from parenting infants) sit next to my child's bed and tell me how lucky I was, how much they loved every minute of parenting their children. It was so bizarre, so willfully removed from the situation around us - the oxygen tubing, the CPAP mask, the alarms and monitors, the terror - that I never knew what to say for fear of devolving into venting shrieks. I'd be hooked up to the old Medela Symphony, and the visiting ladies would talk about how the sound of the pump reminded them of beautiful it was to nurse their babies. So. Weird. And the difference between their memories of being a young mother and my reality managed to break my heart just a little more.

It's an extreme example, but are the check-out line ladies who tell me the same thing today all that different? I think my issue with the phenomenon is that it is not, in fact, a conversation. These ladies are using us a lens to reimagine their parenting experience, it's not about connecting with me at all. I would find the sisterhood so much more useful if these ladies, with decades of experience under their belts, could come off out of the clouds to give me something real. Something like, 'Those days were so hard, but so worthwhile. And now I only remember the beautiful parts.'

A lifeline like that could get me through some very hard times.

The Thing Is

2012-01-14T22:24:00.000-08:00

I had my first real bar prep freakout yesterday. It was a day with too much of everything and, in what seems a cardinal bar prep mistake, I looked into all that empty space under my tightrope. Never look down!

One of the problems with taking the February bar is that half my class is made up of folks who didn't pass in July. Many are my classmates, people who I know are neither lazy nor stupid. The lecturer for property was filmed in July and keeps going on and on about how we will all pass the bar - four or five times in each lecture she reassures us. I cringe every time. So it's all well and good to know that my school has a 97% pass rate, but I'll still be qualifying my plans with "if I pass the bar" until the day I see a P (no asterisk).

Computer-free studying

2012-01-12T08:57:00.001-08:00

I've revoked my own computer privileges - at least with my phone I'm not tempted to disappear into the Internet for a few hours. My success rate on practice MBE sets has steadily increased, across several areas. I think I'm just remembering how to analyze problems. It's reassuring.

In other news, our sumbitching 13 year old Subaru is in need of its bimonthly infusion of cash or else a wheel will literally fall off. The damned car only ever breaks down on me and always in mysterious ways - like the electronics all shutting down middrive. If the wheel falls off before they get us in on Monday, swear to god I'm just going to walk away from that devil machine.

Best news though, is that B only woke twice last night to eat, with 6 hours between episodes. AND he ate a few bites of real food for the first time in a week this morning. I have hope, I think the teeth are almost through.

May coffee propel you

2012-01-10T08:45:00.000-08:00

Around 2:30 this morning, after two hours of B waking intermittently, I decided to pull out our last best defense against B's nuclear option. I went and slept on the short couch in B's room.

In Boise, B pulled this trick for a couple of nights, coughing whenever he woke to, I think, be reassured that we were in the next room. Twice it resulted in vomit all over the carpet, me, and/or A. Not cute and not ok at any hour. Finally B was so overtired that he didn't want to be held and he didn't want to be put down and he really didn't want to be left alone. Attempts to cuddle with him in our bed resulted in quick kicks to the jugular and no sleep for any of us. So I threw a comforter on the floor next to his pack n' play, told him sharply NO whenever he coughed, and blearily sang 'twinkle twinkle' every time he complied and lay down with his blanket. It took a while, but it worked. He eventually started snoring, and I was able to doze until he was out. (My half-asleep 'Twinkle-Twinkle Little Star' is a surefire hit.)

So that's what I did last night. It took two hours of intermittent singing, but I never had to get off the couch. I think it is the only thing we can do to break the cough-reward lesson without doing something drastic. Miserable night's sleep -- even with my coffee IV I keep adding k's to all my words as I type -- but I think it was our only real option. A tried my method without the same success and I couldn't sleep well listening to the two of them argue about it over the monitor.

kkkkkk.....

I am deeply envious of all the single chicks in my bar prep class. Like, crazy jealous. A is talking about a cross-country ski trip this weekend and I think I may have to bow out, to stay home and catch up on bar work. And sleep. Probably I will sleep.

Barbri and the baby are conspiring against me

2012-01-09T09:16:00.000-08:00

Overall things have been better than expected during my first week of bar prep. A is incredibly supportive, we spent the week on one of my favorites (contracts), and B is taking the massive change in childcare with aplomb. Pretty sure he still asks for his uncles, his aunt, and the cat more than he asks for me, which I will take as a win in the happy baby category.

The schedule I'm running is brutal, however. Class is from 6 to 10 PM and I signed up to admin, to make sure I get my butt over there every day. I leave the house between 10 AM and noon every day and work straight through - so 10 to 12 hours a day in bar prep. Rough but manageable.

The problem is that B hasn't been sleeping well. From the time he came home from the hospital he was out cold at night, sleeping through hunger and wet diapers, which required us/me to wake at regular intervals in the night to make sure he got fed. (I developed a hair trigger for the sound of him sucking his thumb, the only sign of hunger he showed for his first 16 months.) Even when he popped his first eight teeth, only his naps were affected. We were spoiled.

Now, he's cutting four molars and four canines simultaneously. He's gnawing on his hands and refusing to eat solids during the day, even our old stand-by ice cream, and mostly downing his calories at night. He wakes every hour or two to eat or cuddle, some nights needing to be held for hours. Once upon a time we could make him wait it out, get himself back to sleep and wake hungry in the morning, but we're in a down cycle with his mysterious vomiting. If he coughs a little, we have less than 15 seconds to make it to his room and cuddle him before his reflux is triggered and he hurls. We call it the nuclear option, and there is no negotiating with someone willing to resort to nuclear at the least provocation.

So, I'm tired. Really, really tired. A is taking on the brunt of the midnight wakings but the poor guy has his own work and sleep to worry about... ugh. It also means that I'm not waking with the baby on weekday mornings the way I had planned - getting home at 10:30 or 11 at night after working 12 straight, then waking at 2 hour intervals until 6 or 7 AM, and I'm a draggy mess. Today that meant only a half hour of real time with B before MIL arrived to help out and I had to leave to begin prep. It sucks.

All I can hope is that the last of the teeth are close to through and we'll all be sleeping better by Friday.

The Power of Guy

2012-01-05T09:38:00.000-08:00

I'd like you to meet an important new member of our family. Meet Guy.

Guy came with a Playschool airplane for Christmas. B took to him immediately - inseparable friends, benevolent dictator and right hand man. Apparently we were referring to him as 'your guy' without realizing it - as in, 'go get your guy!' - because one day in Boise we realized B was narrating Guy's hazardous adventures. 'Guy! Boom!' as poor Guy was tossed from the table and his benevolent ruler laughed and laughed. Guy seems to be a bit of a Steve Holt, yelling his name as if it's a catch phrase (usually as he's about to get tossed) or B yells it as he plays fetch with himself. Guy had an action-packed drive back from Boise, let me tell you.

Nothing to see here, move along...

Poor Guy. He has a hard life ahead of him.

Hap-happy New Year

2012-01-02T11:20:00.000-08:00

Back home again after a 12 hour overnight drive with the baby. It wasn't awesome, no one will be selling tickets on the inter-mountain angry baby express any time soon, but it also wasn't even half so bad as you'd assume. The boson did a lot of complaining, incurred some data charges while looking at pictures of himself on my phone, and threw all the toys. All of them, with a shouted BOOM! to let us know what was happening. But he also slept most of the time and, when we stopped in Wyoming to let him stretch his legs, offered his milk up to a luminous moon and thousands of stars.

The babe, his adoring aunt and uncle, and me in a rocking new coat

I'm so glad we went, so glad I saw my brother- and sister-in-law again. Boise was lovely. I keep forgetting that I'm still the same person whenever I'm removed from this day to day. It's awfully nice to feel like myself again. Also? Parenting with four adults in the house is infinitely easier than parenting with just us two, and is a universe away from the hell that was trying to manage everything on my own last year. I was about ready to pop a hole in all four tires and stay in Boise for the long haul.

Today I began bar prep, A began his first day as primary parent, and B... well, B was just B. Everywhere that baby goes he acquires new followers. He's got a hammy smile and a penchant for calling strange women 'mama,' add the crazy blonde hair up in all directions and his long lashes and he attracts an extraordinary amount of attention. I caught one older lady crossing a store just to brush her hand across the top of his Einstein-do as I held him. He's also walking. Like, for real walking, from front door to back with laps around me in the kitchen just because he can. He's also adding to his vocabulary and articulation so much each day that it hardly bears mention, it's become unquantifiable. After this last week, with lots of time with three of his uncles, UNCLE! features very very large, though.

As for me in this New Year, I never make resolutions (it's like daring myself to obey which has just never worked) but I have some goals, some plans. Bar prep today taught me that I need to work exercise into my schedule every midday or else be doubled over by 6 in stress-related back pain. So, exercise. I'd like to be a runner again by the end of the year, with 20 miles a week under my feet. If I do that, many other things will fall into place.

My trip to Idaho made me long to feel like my old self again when I'm home, and in order for that to happen I will need to (1) make creativity a priority again on a daily basis, and (2) lay down the law more frequently and with a louder and angrier use of the word 'fuck'. I've realized that even if someone doesn't mean to be negative or critical, the pressure still has a powerful effect on my outlook, and polite discussion about the problem just doesn't get the job done. I need to get mean, in essence, and make the behavior stop when it happens, no matter how subtle. I have a few loving-but-negative people in my life so it's going to be quite a project. I suppose you could say that my resolution amounts to, 'Don't let the haters get me down'? Hm.

There is a lot I'm looking forward to, a lot to accomplish this year. As my in-house benevolent dictator would say, buh-bye 2011.

Daring

2011-12-26T18:16:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow we attempt an overnight drive with the baby - probably 7 pm to 7 am. If we arrive in one piece, a week hanging out with my awesome brother- and sister-in-law will follow.

Cross your fingers for us, and a sleepy sleepy baby.

Merry Christmas, you all. Happy holidays and a joyous new year.

Baby-Proofing Win

2011-12-23T14:33:00.000-08:00

Totally figured out the whole tiny house / crazy baby problem.

I am feeling very proud of myself.

Bookmark

2011-12-18T20:08:00.000-08:00

It's been a full week.

My dad was here for three days and it was awesome. Dad, who was all talk about how he had no use for babies before B came along, spent his whole visit on the floor with B. He insisted on carrying the baby whenever we were out, frequently pretending to dash off with B 'off-roading', and was the first to check on B after naps. Listening to my dad and B over the baby monitor in the morning was probably one of the best experiences of my year.

The graduation ceremony was small at 10 graduates but the school did a lovely job - better still, I made it through the whole thing without crying once. I knew a number of the administrators there, and in fact many of them have photos of B posted above their computers. A few people told me how strong I was and how inspiring B's story is to them; at those points I fought off a few tears. I knew that if I cried it was going to be a real shoulder-shaking breakdown. No quiet noble tears for this girl, not under those conditions. Dad and A were there for me and it helped. I mean, we collectively failed at taking any photos at all, but the event itself went very well. I think I finally believe that this is real.

My birthday went well, too. A fancy-pants dinner with A, Dad, my brother- and mother-in-law, and B's primary nurse from the NICU. Dad dominated the conversation, as always, forcing the poor waiter to elbow his way into our raucous conversation to see if we would ever be ready to order. It was so awesome, every bit of it.

So, I am now 32 and an honest-to-god diploma carrying, floppy hat owning J.D. More significantly, Dad and B have already called each other three times today (B: Gee-pa, HI!! Elbow! Knee! Owl!!) and Dad is planning a much longer visit in March.

My project for the week remaining? Figure out how to timely mail all the family Christmas gifts that Dad refused to carry back with him on the plane...

J.D.

2011-12-12T16:18:00.000-08:00

Well, mostly. All done but the diploma an' handshake.

It doesn't really feel like I thought it would; this whole week has been an unexpectedly deep pool of emotion. I'll try to shake off the mopes with some celebratory white wine and indian food (because take-out is how I'm raging).

In any case.... done. For better or worse, done done done.

Jabber Jabber

2011-12-11T10:39:00.001-08:00

A couple of weeks ago, A taught B to say pee-pee! every time someone goes into the bathroom. Next thing I know, he's teaching the baby to send me gifts under the bathroom door. One day I got 3 jar lids, a pen, and a pencil... then a tiny hand snuck under the door and took the pencil back again. Yesterday he sent me half a cookie and an envelope. If you open the door suddenly you find B flat on his belly trying to see under the door, with an arsenal of household detritus ready for deployment.

B's speech continues to resemble Chinese without the tones. Kii! Keys? Tree? Wa! Wall, watch, walk, washing machine, water, wet? As we go through the list waiting for the green light of yes! we understand each other! A and I more frequently get this reaction:

"Your suggestion is rejected! Oh, fine. Ear?"

His list of clearly articulated words is getting longer and longer. For those of you into baby milestones, and pardon the descent into mama-dom, this miniature baby can say clearly and unprompted:

purple, elbow, bear, rock (both the noun and verb uses), cow, goat, owl (or rather, OWL!!), caw-caw, bird, meow (beow but I'm going to give it to him), book, cup, clip, bowl, beans, tiger, hippo, hair, ear, eye, baby, pee-pee (thanks, A), poop, boob (thanks, A, again), bee, apple, papa, towel, Go!

And once you speak B, dropped syllables and all, you realize he's also saying:

bag, bath, blanket, bunny, crocodile, avocado, juice, cookie, ice, water, watch, wall, car, star, moon, spin, egg, woman, belly, belly button, beard, chin, cheeks, neck, nose (NGOOOO!!!), walk, washer, washcloth, on, off, in, out, up, down, upside-down (oh my god, 'up-ill-doo' remains the cutest thing ever), swings, cat, banana, glasses, grandma, octopus, elephant, monkey, tree, tongue, circle, dinosaur, caterpillar, lid, cord, bike, box, pillow, couch, ball, color

And so, so many more. For some reason, this baby who can clearly say 'elbow' insists that a lamp is called kak! but overall it's pretty amazing. His vocabulary is rushing from the hundreds of concepts he can point to or demonstrate into an active use. It is incredibly satisfying to see his occupational therapist, whose preconceptions about B's limits have driven us insane for a year, go crazy watching B identify over 20 body parts and concepts that, apparently, he shouldn't be able to grasp for another year. Haha, universe!

Of course, as part of his boycott of the letter M, he identified me as "Grandma" the other day, which caused A to die laughing. A will be missed.

He's still struggling with balance and walking, preferring to crawl when in doubt. He's 20 months actual next week, 16ish adjusted, so technically delayed for gross motor but I find that I'm not so concerned. He's ok. All other stress and considerations aside, if I could have known a year ago or, god, 20 months ago, what this kiddo would be like now... well, I would have been a lot less terrified. He's not just ok, he's amazing.

An unfortunate piece of self-knowledge

2011-12-09T21:58:00.001-08:00

I am absolutely at my most efficient in the early hours of the morning. If I'm up, I get more done between 3 A.M. and 7 A.M. than any other time of the day.

Crud. I need to just suck it up and set my alarm for the next two mornings.

I predict that my posts will become infinitely more upbeat once I quit torturing myself, finish my measly amount of work, and graduate. You heard it here first.

The up up up and down again

2011-12-08T09:35:00.001-08:00

Today I am sad for all the things I can never have, the experiences I can't undo.

Frustrated over the problems we keep having, the same ones over and over again.

Frustrated that with so many doctors and therapists, we are still on our own in trying to manage B's digestive problems.

Frustrated with myself for feeling so down over one episode of vomiting, which was completely understandable for once (too much cookie), when everything else is still going infinitely better.

Bitterly angry with the universe for giving me more baby problems to handle than any of my extended family members ever have had.

Angry with A for not being stronger and better than I am in this, and aware of just how unfair I am to expect that.

Immensely grateful for the ever-upward trajectory of all things B. (All the things in our house can be found 'up-il-doo' or 'upside-down' right now. It is heart-meltingly cute.)

Very tired. Very, very tired, all the time.

Family dynamics

2011-12-05T10:19:00.001-08:00

So, let's say your younger brother habitually travels four to six months out of the year. It's not all at once but weeks here and there, adding up to almost half the year. His lifestyle has been the same for five years and will probably continue to be the same, if not more so. When he's gone, he leaves his (current, elderly, incontinent) dog with you. Sometimes he leaves it with other people, but mostly he leaves it with you. Sometimes he asks in advance but sometimes he just shows up with the dog.

Now he wants to get a new big dog because he knows his current dog has only months to go and he doesn't want to be lonely.

Is that cool? Do you have the right to express an opinion? Maybe mandate a cat or a small dog who can travel, if brother expects help in the future?

Now let's say it's your mother in law. All other facts are the same.

Adoption And The Atypical Beginning

2011-12-03T12:11:00.000-08:00

I've been working my way through these posts as I approach our possible adoption (part of an educational process I figure will take at least a year). Ethics in adoption is a huge issue, one that lingers in my mind all inchoate and itchy. Power in an adoption is with the adoptive parents, and I am deeply uncomfortable being on the powerful and privileged side of such an important interaction. I want to talk about ethical adoption, it preoccupies me, but I clearly don't know enough yet to be able to speak intelligently. It's irritating, being so preoccupied and yet so inadequately informed.

One thing I do know, I relate much easier to the birth mothers than to the adoptive ones. There are so many assumptions and judgments made of birth moms, especially implied in the statements by some waiting adoptive parents. I try to keep a presence on a few prematurity boards, since I know how desperately I searched for success stories of any kind after B was born and how very few I found. So when I encountered a teenage birthmom whose baby came at twenty-four weeks, I was livid over the treatment she was given on an 'adoption community' board. Her baby was desperately ill after birth (and, indeed, wound up passing a few weeks later), she was in shock, looking for comfort, and clueless about her role and how to care for her sick baby, given her original plan to place him for adoption. And the fact that she was a teenager. She was told by the board in plain terms to sign her rights over to the chosen adoptive parents, get out of the way, and ask the adoptive parents for any medical information or permission to see the baby. Let the real parents take over because now she, as the birth mom, was not just superfluous but untrustworthy. It sounded as though she was facing similar pressures in her real life.

There's a lot of talk in open domestic adoption about honoring the birth (or 'first') mother's gift, about wanting the birthparents in your life/the child's life. These aspirational goals seem to be learned though, things adoptive parents have to work to incorporate into their lives, with the emphasis on 'work.' I think the situation this teenager experienced was more visceral. She just experienced something so traumatic and so sudden that a similar experience took me, a 30ish professional, months before I could think about it without sobbing. What harm was there to having her there loving that baby? If she was willing to share, would it diminish the adoptive parent to all love that sick baby together? And as for signing papers, how could she possibly make a rational, uncoerced decision under those circumstances? I couldn't. I wanted to reach through the computer and slap the living shit out of those commenters, who were busy on other threads thanking god and birth mothers for the selfless gift of adoption. Feh.

After B was born - and I mean within a few hours of being life-flighted in to the hospital - I was asked by half a dozen hospital staff members, essentially, what I had done to make it happen. 'What drugs did you do during your pregnancy? None? None?? Really? Because it is important that you are honest with me.' One nurse told me that chronic abruptions like mine 'don't just happen'. No fewer than three questionnaires were given me during the day and a half I was in the hospital, all to the same point. What did you do? (Although, to be honest, my favorite is still the standard post-partum questionnaire they made me fill out in order to be discharged. Do you find that you're sadder now than normal? Do you find yourself crying more than you usually do? Also, one nurse offered me anti-depressants hours after birth because she'd heard I was a 'little teary'. The bizarre world of the atypical birth.) I think it's important to mention that when it came time to leave, A had to show me where I was on a map of the state because no one had ever told me where the helicopter was headed - my sense of dislocation was that encompassing.

Then in the months that followed, more questionnaires would arrive (No, really. Was it the PCP? Is that what you did? Meth perhaps?). I was only allowed to touch my child with permission, and only when the nurse had time to supervise me. One nurse disapproved of the songs I sang to B while I held him, telling me that 'Fulsom Prison Blues' was inappropriate for a baby - perhaps I should sing Row Your Boat instead? Months and months, for 175 days, I was observed and judged. The fact that I was in law school and A in a PhD program distinguished us for some of our care team, it seemed to make us part of the 'us' rather than the 'them'. By no means do I aim to paint all our care team with the same brush, we had NICU nurses who held me on the bad days and doctors who understood, but it makes a difference when your entry into parenthood comes with such freight. I knew very well that we were observed, that we had to prove our ability to care for B, that these people had the ability to bar us access to B by inches and miles.

So I find posts like this one about coercion in domestic adoption, and I want to reach back through time and space and hold that girl and smack everyone trying to make her decision for her. I feel like I want to be a lion for that girl. I suspect that by the time we are sitting in a room, meeting an expectant mom, I'll spend half my time ensuring that she has the support she needs.

Heaven

2011-12-01T09:13:00.001-08:00

I know I said I wouldn't pin my hopes on B's new happy eating habits -- and I'm fighting the urge to whisper or knock wood even now -- but things have been entirely different since he recovered from his stomach bug.

Asking for food all the time, all kinds of food.
No gagging ever. No vomiting at all.
Asking for his sippy cup and drinking a lot every time.
Feeding himself enthusiastically and in large volumes.

We still may have to sing or play games but it doesn't devolve into a battle of the wills. He does a happy dance for every bite of banana! A happy dance. My kid, deriving joy from eating food.

I don't know what changed - I suspect the new reflux meds and the bug connecting hunger, eating, and satisfaction for the first time - but the effect is incredible. We only have to feed him four times a day now and the stress level in our house is minimal. It has been two years at least since we felt so light-hearted and easy with each other.

You know how on a particularly bad holiday trip you might miss the shuttle, stand in long jostling lines, have flights delayed and then canceled, wind up sleeping on an airport bench for two days only to sit on the tarmac for 6 hours before takeoff, and all throughout long to whack your partner in the head with a shoe just to end their whining/your frustration? How you get so tired, frustrated, and bleary-eyed you forget what it ever was like to be comfortable?

After all that, the morning you wake up in your own quiet bed is heaven.

Today

2011-11-29T17:56:00.001-08:00

B apparently thinks his name is Bobbo.

I've been trying to convince myself that he's trying to say his real name, or that I'm mishearing, but no. It is absolutely, unmistakably Bobbo. Bobbo, which is not even close to his real name or boson or even most of his nicknames, but pretty close to Bubba. I'd really prefer even Bubba to Bobbo. Oh, dear.

----

I did my financial aid exit appointment this afternoon. They were surprised and pleased to learn that I actually have a job offer in hand and we got started on all the income based repayment and public service loan forgiveness information. Later,

Me: It's way more manageable to go into public interest law now that they passed federal loan forgiveness after 10 years of service.

Dad: My god. You really are never going to become a Republican, are you?

Me: I think that's a safe bet.

---

I'm starting to believe that I might actually be graduating in two weeks. Oh, on which note, a conversation I had with the Registrar (a lovely, lovely woman whom I adore):

Registrar: Are you excited to graduate?

Me: [surprising me and her with sudden, inexplicable sobs]

The cavalcade of emotions continues. I really had thought that I had things better handled than all that. But if we celebrate graduation as a time to look back on our achievements, I guess it makes sense that I'm all sorts of torn up.

I was telling A that I feel like I started a marathon with a crowd of people and two days after the race is over, here I come limping across the finish line long after everyone else has gone home. He says it's more like I started a marathon and wound up running a cross-country steeplechase. I recognize that he's probably right but I'm still struggling with a feeling of deep disappointment.

Nonetheless! I've settled on a graduation compromise, made so much more exciting by the fact that my dad is flying out for two days. For my birthday on the 15th, we're going out to a fancy dinner with Dad, MIL, A, and possible others. For the teeny ceremony on the 16th, only A and Dad, with lunch and drinks to follow. I'll then have a full day and a half to entertain Dad, enjoy B, and relax.

I think it will be just right.

It reaches up and grabs you

2011-11-26T15:57:00.001-08:00

I'm knitting a sweater for an older version of my boson, one almost three years old and maybe older. Next winter, by the time he's ready for it, he'll be in his awesome preschool three blocks away, playing with the other kids and talking in full sentences. As I knit, I find that I keep thinking about that older boson. All of these feelings come up - tenderness and anticipation, a warm welcome for the boson-to-be - very unexpectedly. I think perhaps this is what it would have felt like to be happy and pregnant, preparing for a future babe. It's lovely.

---

B has been approved for Synagis!! After all that shit last year, our new insurance carrier approved the shots with the first call from our doctor. No calls from us, no petitions to appeal, no letters of censure from the state. Just done. My god it's such a relief. He'll get his first shot within a week or two, then monthly until March. Relief.

---

B is essentially back to eating normally. Normal being, of course, still unpredictable and sometimes a pain in the rear. This morning he'd only eat creme fraiche and only if I sang a sea shanty on endless repeat (my heritage put to good use at last!). There's work to be done yet in leveling out his digestion but probiotics will put the finishing touch on his recovery. Relief, again.

With both B and me on the mend, we're getting a lot more done around here. Fresh bread rising, homemade spaghetti sauce, stuffed chicken, decorations put up. Unfortunately, I've still done nothing for school. It's beyond embarrassing at this point. I should have finished my paper a month ago and been up to speed for my class, but I just can't bring myself to buckle down and care. Senioritis has completely eaten up my brain and motivation - two weeks left to school plus the knowledge that my grades don't matter at all, all I need is credit.... oh man. I need to incur some temporary brain damage so I can quit undermining my better intentions and just do it already.

Stop screwing around, self!! Write your stupid paper! ::smacking about the head::

The Mama Thief

2011-11-25T09:16:00.000-08:00

I may have mentioned it here before, but my baby loves the ladies. Stranger danger never kicked in with B. When he was smaller he'd fling himself out of my arms toward smiling ladies in the coffee shop. Now it's hi! hi! at a minimum, with a dimply little smile.

Oh my goodness, though. The mamas of the world are like catnip to this little baby. If there's a woman with a small child, the attraction is irresistible. My friend came to visit with her daughter, who would have been only 5 weeks younger than B had he been born at the end of July as scheduled. B planted himself at my friend's side, locked on laser beams, pasted a big adoring grin across his face - and then he waited. The minute my friend glanced over and made eye contact, B scrambled into her lap, practically face-palming her daughter out of the way, and cozied right on up with his hands cupping my friend's cheeks lovingly. I swear my friend's daughter started growling.

The same thing happens every time we take him out now. At the park over the summer he'd just make the rounds, stealing one baby's mother after another. Not once does he look back to see where A or I have gone or if we're watching, he's too busy working the room. The remarkable thing is that the moms never seem to mind. Oh, hello tiny person! Welcome to my lap. Let's adore each other. Pretty sure we could just drop him off and come back a half hour later without once being missed.

Gratitude

2011-11-24T09:00:00.000-08:00

Last night my baby asked for food for the first time ever.

First, he asked for cookies (guk!) and mo' cookies - cookies being slices of lemon pound cake, naturally. Then it was 8 ounces of strawberry Pediasure (mo!). And then scrambled eggs with cheese.

Completely and utterly unprecedented. Even when he was nursing he never rooted or 'asked' for food, at most he'd start sucking his thumb.

I'm not going to pin my hopes on it yet, but this is a whole new and welcome experience. Universe, I am grateful.

Your thoughts, please.

2011-11-23T12:56:00.001-08:00

I am considering attending my school's winter commencement. It would be very small and I would know at most two other graduating students.

I also have powerful and mixed feelings about graduating, my law school career as a whole, and basically everything I have been through in the last three years. With a soup like that I have no idea how I'll actually feel on the day.

So here's the question - who gets to attend with me? My dad is talking about flying out for the ceremony, which would be awesome. Otherwise I think I only want my husband there with me.

The problem? Other people have asked to attend and feelings might be hurt if I keep it as small as I'd like.

Obviously there are some underlying currents I am trying to navigate although, to be honest, it's tempting to get all bridezilla about it and just scream, 'It's MY DAY!' And etcetera.

What do you think? Is it cool to make graduation all about me, even if that means it becomes ridiculously small?

Upward Trajectory

2011-11-22T19:02:00.001-08:00

B is drinking a lot more today and we got two real meals in him in addition to a number of smaller snacks. Bad news is that I caught the bug last night. It has been a long, long time since I had to stick to ginger ale and toast.

I've been so down and out that A took over entirely. I spent the whole day sleeping or eating toast with visits from the baby. While I slept A managed to clean both couches, do multiple loads of laundry, make two apple pies, roast squash, and run to the grocery for Thanksgiving supplies. Let's just say that my record for productivity while single-handing the baby doesn't even come close. Five stars for A, I'm so impressed.

In some ways, this stomach bug has been kind of relaxing. Funny how a bug can give you the excuse to just sleep, read, and step back.

Oh man.... except that I need to mail the print portion of my bar application tomorrow. Four stamps between me and a completed application.

Tough day

2011-11-21T15:28:00.001-08:00

B is feeling better but we're still trying to coax him to eat. Yesterday success was measured in two small meals, plus pedialyte and formula. Today, a number of small meals and one regular one... which came right back up again.

He's utterly cheerful so long as we're not trying to put food in him. I wish we could let him lead, as we might for a regular kid, but it feels too dangerous. He never asks for food even in the best of times, and what gains we've made in his eating and weight have been hard won.

It's a tough day for A and me. We feel terribly stressed out, wanting him to be well, knowing he's barely had any calories in the last 3 days. I'm trying to remind myself that he's happy, he's hydrated, and he'll come around eventually.

Tough days like these make everything seem darker, easier to forget how many good days and weeks have come before. I'm trying to remember that we've been on an upward trajectory for so long, a few days with a mild stomach bug aren't prophetic. I just wish there were some assurances that one day things will be easier. Soon he'll be able to feed himself and tell us exactly what he feels like eating.

We tell each other that it will be ok eventually, it won't always be like this. This isn't for forever, it's just for right now. Days like this and it's just so hard to go from knowing that to feeling it.

I'm out of pants

2011-11-20T08:50:00.001-08:00

I am out of clean pants. Currently wearing torn jeans rescued from the rag pile. How is it that I got nailed 5 times while A managed to escape entirely unscathed?

I think it is telling that it took us a whole day to realize that the baby had a stomach virus. Because a stomach virus only made it a little harder to get food in him and keep it down. Poor baby, can you imagine being fed yogurt while you had a stomach bug? We really shouldn't find it this funny, but oh god it is.

Sometimes it's not you, it's the week you've had

2011-11-19T15:02:00.001-08:00

You know you've got a medically complex kid when you call the nurse line and say, it's probably nothing but the toddler has been vomiting more than usual and it's almost impossible to get him to eat at all, but no fever and he's perfectly cheerful and energetic. The nurse said he's probably just got a 24 hour stomach virus, so rely on clear liquids for a few hours. She was practically chuckling.

And then she checked his medical records. Now she's going to have a doctor call us, just in case. His history is impressive even by the standards of the Children's Hospital.

My guess is that his ears are congested and painful after his cold and the pain + reflux are making for an unhappy pukey baby. I did take him in Wednesday to get checked for infection and they said he was clear. We'll see how he is by tomorrow. The flat food refusal and vomiting is incredibly stressful right now, no doubt.

I did a quick tally, when I realized how stressed and upset I felt this afternoon. This week the Family Dinei has had:

3 mornings that began at 5 AM with the baby's full diaper while the dog simultaneously up-chucked compost (note to self: kill dog)
a flea attack that meant washing all the bedding and toys, vacuuming the furniture every day, and quarantining the dog
my friends' apartment fire
baby with a lingering cold and ear ache, with trip to the doctor
me, spraining an ankle like an idiot in a dark parking lot
3 changes of clothes for me between 11 AM and 3, 4 changes for the baby

All on top of our usual week. So, A and I will be treating ourselves to pizza and a DVD tonight because we're about ready to cash in our chips, give the baby and the dog to the circus, and move to Laos.

------

ETA: It's a stomach virus. This is the most cheerful hurling baby you've ever seen. Trying to keep him in Pedialyte and keep us from catching it.

Catch all

2011-11-18T10:01:00.001-08:00

So, um. My baby has fleas.

[aaaiiiiiii getitoff getitoff getitoff!!!]

While I shudder away my squicks, I'll clarify. The dog has fleas. Lots of them, but we only noticed when we saw the fleas scrambling around inside B's fair hair (squick squick squick). I honestly don't know if it makes it better or worse that I grew up in New England, land of the flea and tick, making this experience hardly a novel one. I vividly remember flea bombing the house a couple of times a year, sometimes placing my feet down on the carpet after a rare summer vacation only to see dozens of fleas immediately crawling up my bare legs.

Squick.

But for christ's sake, I live in the west now and one of the only benefits this dry-ass climate has ever conferred on me is the utter non-existence of fleas or ticks. Our vet sees 10 cases a year. As A says, our dumb orange dog manages to remain within the top 1%.

I had totally forgotten what a pain in the butt this is. Bear is out back pouting, waiting for the Frontline to take effect, while B presses himself up against the glass door longingly calling out for the dog. I've been boiling (ok, slight exaggeration) all the clothes and bedding, vacuuming the furniture and floors with a flea collar in the vacuum bag, but I'm still driving myself crazy with imaginary fleas crawling on me. I really, really hate fleas.

Personally, I'd rather burn our couches than keep dealing with them. They're hand-me-downs from hand-me-downs and overdue for a trip to the great living room in the sky. If only they were just a little lighter, I could probably convince A to help me pitch them and replace them with a slight upgrade from Goodwill. Or at least just the truly beat-up sofa bed in the back room....

----------

Before we get too far, I also want to thank everyone who has volunteered to help my friends after their apartment fire. They have a temporary apartment to stay in and are still looking for an affordable place of their own. Meanwhile, a fund was set up by mutual friends to help them with first/last month's rent and some expenses, and it has already doubled the initial goal. I think my family and others will also be able to lend/give enough cooking tools for my friend's catering business to keep her holiday commitments. I am so proud of my friends and family this week, honestly.

(Ok, proud except for one mutual friend J who, when I told him the family had lost everything from toys to the tools our friend needed to support her family, said basically, "Americans have too much stuff anyway. I wouldn't be out much if my place burned." WTF, dude. Way to take righteous self-absorption to a new level.)

I also want to say that my friends had fire alarms that never went off. The fire started in an electrical outlet in the kitchen and had the visiting sister-in-law not awakened, it could have been a lot worse. It was a nice building, if old, there really was no way for my friends to anticipate this accident.

So:

fire alarms, multiple.
renter's insurance, lots.

Be safe, everyone. And thank you for reaching out to help when you did.

Kick a can

2011-11-16T08:00:00.000-08:00

For the last two days I was mad, mad, mad. The stress level in my house peaked due to barometric fluctuations and a high pressure finals front bearing down on us from the north. Oh, and a renewed bout of inexplicable vomiting after a week of new meds and a previously happy baby.

You know the mood - nothing is or ever will be right, black angst that not even a spicy avocado tuna roll can relieve. You find yourself checking on airfare to Palau, you wonder if it's too late to transition into a career in performance art. You'd kick a puppy if it didn't mean that then you'd feel black angst AND be the person who kicked the puppy. So you kick a tree and wish you could smack a GO AWAY sign on your forehead.

It's been that sort of week.

I'm behind on a draft, due today, but by this afternoon I was just done in. My brain wouldn't disengage from all my home issues anyhow so I decided to catch the bus, skip class, and hug my baby. (For anyone keeping track at home, the word of the week is owl.) Better than a dozen spicy tuna rolls.

Worse than finals is the specter of bar prep coming on us. If my minimal finals stress + A's regular stress + feeding B = badness, bar prep promises to be a catastrophe of the scorched earth variety. We've obviously got to figure something out or one of us is going to get smothered in ~~their~~ his sleep. Ahem. Preliminary ideas are for a beer 'n game night on Fridays after B goes to bed, pancake breakfasts on Saturday mornings, or all-out warfare. Really hoping we go with one of the first two.

Help

2011-11-15T20:36:00.001-08:00

Two of my very good friends lost everything in a fire yesterday morning. They have a little girl in preschool, a baby boy, and a dog and are building everything up from scratch. Because he is a grad student and she is a self-employed caterer, they need help. My family is doing everything we can for them.

I'm asking you all, please email me if you know of an affordable Boston apartment (they were paying about $1300 for the apartment that burned). As soon as we can get my friends into a new home, we can start getting them new clothes, furniture, and so on.

You can reach me at my blog address - pepperbottomsly at gmail. I promise to respond with more detailed information.

Blog share!

2011-11-15T08:45:00.000-08:00

Blog share day - Welcome to my mystery guest!

-------------------------

I am not a thoughtful person. I am an overly thoughtful person. On any given day, the words that come out of my mouth have gone through multiple filters and possible scenarios: could this phrase be misinterpreted? What kind of connotation does that word have? Oh, lord: is this joke going to remind my friend about that embarrassing moment involving her brother and her loofah?

At the same time, I wonder if I'm not very thoughtful at all, because I'm mentally calling BS on a lot of things I read online.

My current peeve is trigger warnings. I think a lot of people are blowing those way out of proportion. On any given day, I'll see someone cry that a post a friend made about lunch has triggered her because she used to have an eating disorder. More frequently, I'll see people rage that a post about sex has triggered them because they might have suffered some sort of sexual abuse.

Granted, these are all very real problems but being triggered? I call BS.

I propose a very simple formula for determining whether something is actually triggering: if overhearing somebody talk about the same subject would send a person running in real life, fine, I'll concede that the matter is triggering.

Even if it IS triggering, I propose that the person who is triggered take responsibility. I doubt that any of these people are going to go up to a fellow passenger on SkyTrain and state, "You need to stop talking about that in public because it's triggering." An online forum - especially if it's not geared towards a specific group (so obviously discussions about rape fantasies in a support forum for survivors of rape) - should not be bullied into submission because one person refuses to use the scroll option.

And while we're on the topic of bullying...oh, but that's a different post and I'm already late submitting this one.

-------------------

You can find the rest of today's blog share participants at:

The Reluctant Grownup

Together They Come

Did I Say That Outloud?

Snarke
Operation Pink Herring

Mama Bub

Heidikins

Nothing Is Easier Than Self-Deceit

Barfing Rainbows and Unicorns

And You Know What Else

Baby driver

2011-11-14T20:22:00.001-08:00

B discovered my illustrated Chinese flash cards the other day. I pulled out a few cards and chose an English word for each (doesn't help that the cards are mostly for parts of speech). He totally flipped. First he'll immediately try to identify things he knows - ROCK! Ball! Baby! Tree! Owl! Moon! - and then he does a wild happy dance complete with hugs and squeals. And then? MO!!! Dozens of cards before he'll consent to do anything else.

Ever since, he'll cart the pack over to me several times a day with an urgent GO!! And if I try to stop? MO!! MO!! We now have to hide the cards if we want his attention for anything but flash card drills.

Such a weird, weird little baby.

Attention to detail

2011-11-13T13:42:00.001-08:00

Crap. Nothing says 'distracted by an antsy baby' like accidentally buying $30 worth of pine nuts at Whole Foods.

How is that even possible? Looks like I'll be making a return trip with hat in hand as soon as A gets home.

All about B

2011-11-10T17:22:00.001-08:00

B is talking a lot these days. We already knew that he understood a surprising amount, now he's trying to use all of those words. Problem is, he mostly sticks to the first syllable.

Wa! = water, washcloth, wall, wet, walk, washing machine
Wee! = anything fun. Primarily swings and slides and wee!-worthy activities
Ba-luh = blue, balloon, balloon fish

And so on. The poor kid can get so frustrated with his parents, he'll crawl across the house and point in exasperation. Moon!! has been getting heavy use lately, added to car!! and ball!! Yesterday, though, we went through several minutes of urgent wa!! before he finally crawled back to the kitchen and pointed to the dog drinking water. Oh right! Yes, boson. Water. Well done.

Because our boson is super attuned to noises. The fridge clicks on and he starts imitating the sound as he plays (oooooo). Same for when a plane flies overhead or the train whistles a few blocks away. Things we completely tune out, he mimics with almost perfect pitch, from machines to the dog barking. It's not every time but if he's communicating something that we can't understand at first, chances are it's a sound that we're just not paying attention to.

Apparently B knows a startling number of verbs. Somehow this is not surprising to me. A conversation with B yesterday:

Me: What does a dog say?
B: Ar, AR!!

Me: What does a rabbit say?
B: :: sniff sniff ::

Me: What does B say?
B: GO!!!!

That's about right.

Meep

2011-11-10T17:11:00.001-08:00

Damn you, Hallmark Active Duty Servicemen commercials. You make me cry every. single. time. Gah!

How to feed a workaholic

2011-11-09T10:24:00.000-08:00

I realize that I've often referred to how hard it can be to feed B, but I don't think I've ever fully described the process. We do this at every meal, about 4 to 6 times a day:

I have a bucket of mealtime toys and games by my right elbow, just out of his line of sight (all dishwasher safe, or else recyclable or wet-cloth wipeable). Two examples which are easier to describe are:

- a book of photos. I'll say, Can you show me the dog? As he's engaged in the task, I'll quietly spoon the food into his mouth saying 'yogurt' (or whatever). Timing helps, offering the food once he's figured out what to do, not when he's first organizing his thoughts or done and moving onto the next.

You can add an element, if the book becomes too boring, by saying 'Can you find a jar lid? Can you put the lid on the dog?'

- A container with a screw-on top. I hold the base of the container so he doesn't accidentally/deliberately fling it onto the floor. From the bucket I'll pull out several plastic rings, jar lids, socks, whatever will fit in the container. Ask 'Where is the ring?' (offer food as he finds the ring) 'Can you put the ring in the cup?' (offer) Then where is the lid, put the lid on the cup, close the lid, open the lid, etc. Between each task offer food. Tons of tasks you can invent, from putting specific things in to asking him to find an item on the bottom of the container.

An empty altoids tin is good, too. Open, close, put a jar lid inside, close, shake.

In the end, it's about taking the developmental stuff he's already obsessed with (on, in, under, open, close, colors, names) and using them to occupy his mind. It means that you have to regularly up the ante, as the old game becomes boring.

I mix things up with different foods, usually bringing at least three options to the table. You just never know what he's going to accept at the moment. We still have the unpredictable vomiting, so solids can be dangerous. He's enthusiastic about them though - I try to offer a solid for him to self-feed, alternating with a smooth or liquid spoonful to wash it down. The calm atmosphere and timing of offering the food is the foundation.

Lastly, a wide-mouthed water bottle is awesome for the container game. I'll hold the base with my left hand and feed him with my right. The lid is already tethered to the base, so he can't throw it away, and it fits nicely to the mouth. A little bit of water on the bottom is fascinating to play with and the challenge of removing a toy through the slightly narrower neck adds a little challenge.

Zzzzz.

2011-11-08T09:55:00.000-08:00

Remember when I said I had a hard week coming, with a flight to Omaha, trial, MPRE, a paper presentation & etc. Well, add three days with another trial, another paper and a hearing, and a sick baby. Oh my god, I want to sleep so very much.

As to the above, baby is ok. I got super, super anxious when his nose got drippy - like, knee shaking anxious. Since discharge, B has never been sick and we've been warned one thousand times how important it is that he stay healthy and that it is almost certain that a cold will result in hospitalization. So holy crap, I was scared.

Luckily, it seems to have stopped at drippy nose with a minor cough. He is miserable at night, waking in a panic when the drip goes down his throat. He needs to be cuddled into a deep sleep before we can put him in the crib, or else he immediately panics and then throws up. (Have I mentioned how desperately I long for a vomit-free week?) So, it's not easy and I'll be glad when he's fully recovered again, but it isn't the worst-case scenario that I feared.

As to my trial yesterday, WE WON!!! Only a 23 minute jury deliberation, it was fully amazing. I can't even call it my trial, since the awesome lead attorney was nice enough to adopt me just last week, but I gave a good opening and a decent-if-rickety direct and our bawling client hugged me at the end. It felt pretty damned good.

I'll rest tomorrow, swear to god. I owe A a lot since I've been mostly been parenting in absentia for the last few weeks. With all the snow we've been getting, I think I'll shove him out the door with his skis this weekend.

Phew.

2011-11-05T13:53:00.000-07:00

Friend: Now how bad was that, really?

Me: : P

Friend: If you walked out of that saying, "It is equally plausible that I got 100% or 35%" you crushed it.

Me: Winner!

pre-MPRE freakout

2011-11-04T20:31:00.000-07:00

Ok, now I'm nervous. The box o' books from BarBri arrived this morning.

Then I studied for the MPRE for 15 hours yesterday and today -- and had the baby and wrote another opening and direct and attended class etc -- but my tests were hovering around 80% correct. I need an 85 scaled to pass. So I started freaking out.

Then I realized that the percentile and the scaled score are very different animals. I'm probably fine, even with my lowest score.

It will be worth taking (and please god passing) the Bar just so I never have to take a goddamned scaled test ever again.

Surreal

2011-11-04T11:11:00.000-07:00

My life is so weird.

On Wednesday, I fed the baby 600 calories of clotted cream (pure fat) plus 8 ounces of formula, 160 of fruit and cream, 200 calories of french toast with butter and cream, and some snacks like bananas in between. So that's... about 1,200 calories, mostly from fat. And he's still growing at about 4 ounces a week, hanging out around 17 lbs still, just a little over his rate when he was exclusively breastfed. Skinny, skinny baby.

I was watching some of the Babies documentary with B ("BABY!! BABY!!"). I can't wait until he can go to school and play with the other kids. I also got such a pang - longing? an accepting bittersweetness? something only the Germans can name? - whenever we cut back to the chubby Namibian baby. What would it be like to just feed the baby and have it be easy, then watch the baby grow and have that be easy, too? Because I am crazy grateful for what I have, but I hear that there is a whole other world out there.

Which adds to how goddamned surreal my life is. B has memorized all the words in his 'My Little Word' books - he's at over 350 words he can find, even if he needs to flip to the page in the book - and he's picking up new vocabulary and concepts all the time. His OT says she's testing him at a 2 to 3 year old level for cognitive skills now. He's getting bored again (dun-dun-DUN!). And since a bored baby is a baby who will not eat, I had to run out for a plastic photo album to fill with new words and pictures. He's a baby workaholic, rarely still, always happy. We're just trying to keep up.

My favorite book, The Last Samurai by Helen DeWitt, features a mom trying to keep ahead of her brilliant son. I doubt B will be reading the Iliad in the original Greek at 5 years old, but I feel a surprising amount of empathy for her whenever she responds to criticism from strangers with, "I never meant for this to happen."

MPRE tomorrow, videos of Crazy Baby to come.

I Am a Small and Petty Person.

2011-10-31T17:00:00.000-07:00

I try to keep my MIL complaints to a minimum here because, well, once begun there is no end. Today, however, I crumble before temptation. You've been warned!

A week ago MIL sent a care package from Alabama, where she was visiting with family for the month. Open it up to find - oh yes - she had sent B a skeleton costume for Halloween. Keeping in mind that A's family as a whole suffers from a crippling lack of subtext and the fact that I've had six years to get used to it, I still have some strong and complicated feelings about putting my medically complex, difficult to feed, failure to thrive baby in a dang skeleton outfit. A thinks it's hilarious, given that this is certainly the product of a group shopping trip designed to please me in particular. I just... sometimes you have to laugh or else start planning where to place the car bomb.

Ever since she sent it, MIL has been dropping some not-so-subtle hints about he'd make such a cute skeleton for Halloween and she couldn't wait to go trick-or-treating with him and... wait a second, did MIL just select my child's Halloween costume and invite herself over for the night?? Curses!!

This used to happen all the time. When we were first married, the calls would begin on Thursday, cheerfully letting us know that she'd been refusing invitations from her friends for the weekend just in case we decided to drive the hour and fifteen minutes down to spend it with her. Then she'd call with the plans she'd made for us, and all the house and yard work she needed us to do. I was a nicer person then and indulged her because I mistakenly thought that this was a temporary habit, but no. This is just MIL at her controlling norm.

(breathe.... breathe....)

So after my trial got continued today I invented errands to do around town, to give MIL more time to hang out with B. I can't spend time in the same room alone with her (it's taken years to get to this point, god I never thought I'd be a girl with MIL issues) but I respect the need for her to have a relationship with B. I got home at 3:30 and MIL stayed... and stayed... and I began to worry because I thought A had straightened things out with her. At 4:30 I thanked her for helping us and put the baby down for a brief nap. And it began. Oh, do we get many trick-or-treaters here? Oh, she had already called the families who visit her house and told them not to come, because she wouldn't be there. Oh, and she happened to have picked up candy and brought dinner so no need to use the candy or dinner I'd prepared and...

And I'm suffocating. Oh hell no. I am too goddamned tired and I know for a fact that A won't be home until 7. So I booted her.

I feel a little small still, for not being able to share. But I can only take so much. Big sigh of relief, larger glass of whiskey.

Hotel regression

2011-10-29T08:45:00.001-07:00

B is having a very hard time adjusting to the pack n play here in the hotel room, complete with very un-B-like freakouts every time I try to put him down. Think, "help my terrible parents have abandoned me in a cage of fiery death" level, for a kid who can face-plant on tile and keep crawling as I try to ice his split lip.

So he's been insisting on sleeping completely on me, something he hasn't done since last year when he was teeny. I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts.

Ready set go.

2011-10-28T08:54:00.000-07:00

In the next seven days I will attend a wedding in Omaha (first family trip!), go to trial, present my seminar paper, and take the MPRE.

Why am I not more anxious?

My Trip - or - What I Learned

2011-10-27T08:52:00.000-07:00

My county is covered in a foot of snow and I had to crawl forward through the car to the driver's seat this morning since the whole flipping thing was frozen shut, but I'm still feeling euphoric. I had a great, great trip.

Here is what I learned:

I was convinced that the last two years changed me irreparably, and not in a good way. Turns out that with sleep, exercise, and frequent dates with good friends I am, miraculously, me again.
Which is all to say, it's not me, it's the situation. I underestimated the effect that two years plus of constant stress had had on my perception of myself. Taking a break meant picking my head up and looking around for the first time. Things aren't so bad.
A and B had a great time. Every day A texted me with photos of their adventures. Many many photos of B with pumpkins - since pumpkins, or 'balls', are awesome and our child is determined to turn over every pumpkin in town - and B sticking out his tongue. Adorable. At one point, while A was texting me, B taught himself to open the door and went out on the porch to ruckus some pumpkins. An interesting set of texts followed as A tried to find the baby.
At another point, my mother in law accidentally locked our dog in her car for 16 hours overnight. There was a search, fliers posted, a Craigslist ad, and A completely distraught as the weather started to turn. A discovered the dog in MIL's car the next morning, just twenty feet from the house, no worse for wear (and really, really glad to be discovered). Not something I learned, but it bears mentioning.
I have incredible, talented friends. Three different friends are leaving next week on tour, starting in places as far-ranging as Israel, Prague, and London. Walking around Brooklyn with them and we inevitably ran into other artists and performers. I missed being a part of that energy and community, though I myself have never had an artistic career of my own. I need to find that here if I'm going to feel like I have a community of my own away from them.
I have a lot of wonderful things going on in my life. Catching up with so many friends, I found that the first few times I felt kind of dark and sad recounting my last two years, then much brighter as I described B now and the fact that I have a great job waiting for me after the Bar. A great, ambitious friend of mine very matter-of-factly told me that I'm damned lucky and it felt really true for the first time. I'm tearing up just thinking about it so... moving on!
My baby brother is totally a successful adult and it blows my mind. He's been promoted to management in a big 4 accounting firm (as my dad says, Mike sends the stern 6 P.M. emails and demands answers at 7 A.M.). The firm is sending him to London for 3 weeks next month and I'm dying of jealously. Mike points out that since I can toss off phrases like "when I was working on a remote atoll in the Pacific" his sympathy for me kind of dies on the vine, but oh my god. I might even consider accounting if it got me a trip to Europe for a few weeks.

It was all wonderful, from following my brother on his personal culinary tour of Brooklyn to my weekend at home, complete with family trips out on the Sound and breakfast up on the berry farms. Knowing that after all this I am still myself is the most incredible gift. I feel, for the first time in years, like everything is going to be just fine.

Ink

2011-10-25T09:35:00.001-07:00

Mission: Accomplished

2011-10-25T04:38:00.000-07:00

A frozen box of boca burgers on my shoulder right now and a restless night of sleep behind me, but I'm now the proud owner of a big-ass tattoo. Pictures to come once my brother wakes up to snap them for me. The artist took photos of it after, I'm kind of hoping it will be included in his portfolio.

Pain: Eh, not so bad. Sharp, like taking a steak knife and pressing it into your skin but not cutting yourself. Currently feels like a bad sunburn. Won't be wearing any bra straps over it today, though, that's for sure.

Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys

2011-10-22T11:18:00.000-07:00

My parents are hilarious (so long as you're not relying on them for a ride home). Both have big personalities, love people, and are generous and funny. My mom hijacked over 80 of my friends on the first day she joined Facebook and my dad, at A's brother's wedding where Dad didn't know a soul going in, lingered at the back gate saying goodbye to all the guests at the end and knew everyone's name. A number of people even hugged him goodbye. When they are together with an audience, it's the Mom and Dad show. They are goofy eccentrics, to say the least.

So my brothers and I, rather than being hurt, find it really funny how transparent Dad can be about how interesting he thinks we are at a given time. When Dad introduces us to his friends, it's always in order of interest with no regard for age or physical proximity to him (I don't think he realizes that he does this, which makes it funnier). For a while, I was first. "This is my daughter Dinei, who lives in Alaska! In a cabin, and she just got back from traveling in Africa!! Oh, and my son Jack who works on a ski mountain in Colorado! ......And thenthere'sMike, he'sanaccountant."* Poor Mike, having chosen a career just like Dad's, is always last and kind of thrown out there apologetically.

Over time, we've noticed the rankings shift. Jack and I were tied for a while, when I was working on a remote atoll in the Pacific and Jack was a boat builder in Australia. (...Andthenthere'sMike). Our grandmother's wake was a big shake-up, though. Dad pulled Jack and his lovely Australian wife over to stand by him in the receiving line ("This is Jack! He's a boat builder! And his wife Kate -- say something, Kate -- doesn't she have the greatest accent?"), leaving Mike and me to languish in professional dullness. Our intro went something like, "Oh and over there is Dinei she's in law school and Mike's an accountant. But Jack!" Mike and I entertained ourselves by getting drinks and mocking the painfully shy Jack as he was forced to make small talk with over 300 strangers.

I have to confess that I think I'll wind up being guilty of something similar. Maybe I won't introduce my children according to their current intriguing index, but I definitely want B to do something fun. With lawyers and engineers in the family people are always joking that we'll be pushing B to follow in our footsteps, or say that he'll be a doctor some day because of all the medical experience he's had. Oh hell no.

Naturally, B can do anything he wants. I just really want him to do something different and brave and great, something that gets the sun on your face and all that, not just pursue a career because it seems the easiest path or most obvious. I definitely wouldn't want him to become a lawyer just because that's what I chose.

I can also admit that a doctor is the last thing I would want for him. (Sure sure, fine, if he really loves it and it makes him happy, whatever.) Doctors saved his life and his brain, absolutely, but they also were forced to guess their way through a long painful period. And, with apologies to my friends and readers in the medical field, I've noticed that medicine trains you to stop feeling in large degrees. My friends who've gone into medical or nursing school are impossible to talk to about my experiences with pregnancy and the NICU. They usually ignore the pain and emotions involved and instead focus on the tests and machinery that they recognize, or talk over me to explain some simplistic point. Some nurses and doctors retain or recover their empathy and respect over the years, but I have experienced a fair number who did not. And really? I just don't want to see this kiddo in another hospital ever, in any capacity. It's quite primal, that feeling.

Am I the only one thinking, while there is no wrong path for him to take, I really hope he chooses something awesome? It has been pointed out to me that having an eccentric upbringing makes you believe strange things are normal. Man, though, I'd be psyched if he became, say, an Alaskan boat builder.

* Names are changed to protect the moderately-interesting.

Dispatch from the field

2011-10-21T09:15:00.000-07:00

I'm having such a good time, I'm practically euphoric. This was an awesome idea.

Proof

2011-10-18T11:54:00.000-07:00

We went to the market to get the boson some extra-fat yogurt, and as soon as he saw the root beer he went wild. BEEEE!

'How cute! What's he saying?' Um, nothing. Nothing!

I swear I didn't teach him this.

This is the week

2011-10-17T09:00:00.000-07:00

On Thursday, I leave for six days. Six whole days!! A is in charge of the baby, and I am away on my own for the first time in almost three years, not counting two days I took for a friend's wedding while B was in the NICU.

I'm going to meet my dad for breakfast - though he still mourns the divey steamed-hamburger joint this place used to be - and I'll head down to the beach and I'll visit old friends in the city. I haven't seen most of my friends in three years, you guys. A lot has happened in that time. I'll sleep late or not at all, drink to excess, and not feel one ounce of guilt. It's going to be amazing.

I am flying to NYC to get tattooed. It will be a custom work, one for which I still have only a jumble of elements that will hopefully be transformed into something incredible by an artist I really admire. A part of me feels like I ought to be too old for this sort of thing at (almost) 32, but I don't care. It's going to be awesome, and I've been waiting a good long time to reclaim this body.

A is a little nervous. Since this is my first trip away, it's also his first time going solo with the baby. He handled two nights and a day before this, when I took a weekend off. Maybe I'd feel guilty under other circumstances.... but no. A has been away for many trips this year for family and business reasons, so I am nothing but excited for myself. B is way easier to handle now than he was last winter during A's trips, we have babysitters lined up to help out, and I've frozen a huge amount of food for him. The boys are going to be just fine.

3 days left. Away I go!

Bully

2011-10-15T08:57:00.000-07:00

My baby suddenly thinks it's hilarious to lift up my shirt and slap me in my muffin top. He laughs and laughs and laughs. Jerk.

Also, we are totally the worst parents ever.

B knows over 150 words, but will only say most of them when prompted. He only regularly says ball and bye-bye of his own volition, with an occasional UP! thrown in for good measure.

I sat him down to feed him dinner and he was plaintively reaching for something on the counter, going BEEEEEE! BEEEEE! It took me ages, but finally I was like, "B are you asking for the beer?"

He was all, heartfelt, BEEEEE! And he started gumming the bottle as soon as I let him touch it. I mean, we let him teethe on bottles in the past but we don't even have beer in the house all that often. Apparently it made an impression.

Worst parents ever.

Surviving

2011-10-14T09:56:00.000-07:00

A close family friend is ten years older than I am and when she was in her twenties, her son was born with a heart defect. He underwent several major surgeries and stayed for four months in the NICU.

As her son grew up, my friend and her husband stayed cautious. For years they took turns sleeping upstairs by his room, on guard ages after the crisis was over. I remember seeing them come home when their son was an infant, IV pole in tow, but I still didn't really understand their later vigilance.

I can see it now. B is doing really well. Aside from his size and his hour of patch time each day, no one would assume there is anything different about him. Instead, most people would just assume that he was a clever and alert 12 month old. The feeding problems we have are the only other red flag, but people don't see that and unless you witness it in person, I think it is difficult to know what a difference there is between feeding B and feeding a regular toddler.

So the world now sees B as ok, but A and I remain on guard. It feels like his prematurity is in remission. Developmentally, he's kicking butt and taking names; his therapists are recommending a drop down to once every other week. His only upcoming appointments at the Children's Hospital are for routine primary check-ups and an eye exam. So right now he's fine and we're fine, we get to lead a normal life.

But the knowledge is always there - something could happen. The doctors could call, wanting more tests and scopes and those tests could find something, again. It has happened before, just when we thought we were in the clear. RSV season is almost on us, so we're renewing our fight to get his Synagis delivered (on which note, new insurance company this year so hopefully they'll be less evil). Do any reading into prematurity and you'll find parents who lost their preemie in their second winter to RSV. So we go into quarantine in a few weeks. As fuel to the fire, recent studies find that prematurity reappears as a health risk between the ages of 18 and 36, with former preemies at higher risk than their full-term counterparts. They also found that every additional week of prematurity increased the risk later in life. Any study on former preemies has a huge asterisk after it, since the field advances with every year. Preemies born in the 1970's were facing a shallower pool of medical knowledge than B was in 2010. But every week in utero makes a huge difference, no matter what the decade, so we keep it in mind.

Parents of medically complex children are changed by the experience. Full stop. I know parents who say they are completely over the prematurity experience, and I believe that that is possible. But for children who reach the 'medically complex' status - whether because of a chronic illness or a defect or prematurity - the parents are never the same. We don't necessarily have to be damaged, but we aren't the same people we were before our children got so sick. We are survivors of our children's illnesses. We are always ready to jump back in the saddle and fight.

I've been driving myself crazy wondering why I'm not just over it already. B is ok. He's not going to die today, or tomorrow. I may have had six long months where I couldn't say that with any certainty, but that time is over. He's here, he's staying, we all survived. B has been home from the hospital for exactly one year and 7 days. The longer he's home, the farther forward my mind can reach. I can imagine us a year from now with 2 1/2 year old B. Soon I'll be able to easily imagine him as a five year old and ten and even (god!) fifteen. And maybe I can even take credit for the fact that, for B, there's no surviving about it. For B, he's busy sprinting into the future with barely a moment for the past.

One year home

2011-10-12T10:18:00.000-07:00

One year and 5 days ago, B came home from the hospital. I know I looked for the before/after photos when B was born, looking for hope. So for any preemie moms out there who stumble across us, here is my boy.

2 days after birth, 25 weeks

3 weeks old, with the mouse

18 months actual, with the same mouse

Dry needling?!

2011-10-11T16:09:00.000-07:00

Ok, EMDR is one thing. I'm down with EMDR, as intense an experience as it is.

But for body stuff, my physical therapist now wants to try dry needling on my back. I tried acupuncture during my pregnancy and had a great experience (..with the acupuncture). But when I asked the PT if dry needling was similar? She said that it was admittedly 'more intense'. She described it as taking the acupuncture needles and inserting them into the pain points (in my back), driving them in further than they usually do in acupuncture and then wiggling them around. In my back.

So basically? It's exactly what people are afraid of when they think of scary acupuncture.

I am really hesitant - ok, scared - to have needles wiggling around in my crazy fragile back muscles. I told her maybe next time. Maybe I'll let her start on my shoulders or something to give me an idea, before we jump into the deep end.

It has been a full week, and it's only Tuesday.

Pass the lime

2011-10-10T14:22:00.000-07:00

Just started EMDR in earnest, and oh my god.

Let's say you were hit by a truck. EMDR is like taking a film of the accident from a first-person viewpoint, press play and the truck shoots towards you by 10 feet. Pause!! How do you feel? Play - the truck shoots forward by another 10 feet. Pause!! All the way through the experience. Now rewind to the beginning. Again.

To say I feel like indulging in large sundae, a shot of vodka, and a 4 hour nap is an understatement. I think that it will help in the long run, however.

...I might let myself have the sundae.

Questions on the playground

2011-10-07T09:37:00.000-07:00

A and I are starting to think seriously about adoption. Not about whether adoption is right for us, we're already sure about that, but about the nuts and bolts. We're in our homework phase, trying to learn about the issues (and damn, there are some crazy issues around ethics and adoption reform) and agencies and timing.. oomph. Since we know that we're open to adopting any race or gender, that's an additional area to educate ourselves on.

Read anything on adoption, especially transracial adoption, and one big issue are the questions parents get from strangers. It can be a very sensitive subject, depending on how the stranger approaches it. So it's helpful, in a way, that my little family already has such ample experience with questions on the playground. Today, even.

B and I hit the playground during eye patch time. As always the patch, the taped-on mittens that prevent him from de-patching, and his fierce pint-sized self mean we stand out. I probably answered questions about the patch for five or six kids, one dad, and three moms. The moms are usually the ones who ask more in-depth (some might say personal) questions. Patch leads to prematurity which leads to NICU which leads to what happened with his birth and my pregnancy. I'm getting more accustomed to this course of conversation. It doesn't bother me as much as it did, even if I haven't found a way to answer the questions without turning the whole conversation into something Way Too Heavy.

I'm even getting to the point where I would rather have people ask than pretend not to stare or dance around their curiosity. The kids are pretty cute, they are invariably impressed with B's awesome collection of brightly-colored patches (the red and gold Chinese dragons are my favorite). We're all curious about each other, especially those of us without other young families amongst our friends, it's just a matter of being friendly and respectful with our curiosity. A note for the curious, though - it helps when you mix regular conversation in with the battery of questions.

So it's kind of funny that today the most personal and in-depth series of questions about B came from a transracial adoptive mom. I actually really enjoyed the conversation as a whole, I learned a lot about her experience with the adoption process. But in the grand scheme of things it is funny that we only got around to talking about adoption after a solid 20 minutes of B's medical history. We really are all curious about each other, you know.

Borrowed stress

2011-10-06T07:45:00.000-07:00

I have a midterm today (my last midterm EVER) and I am unaccountably anxious. I have no actual reason to be nervous - the subject is the one I know best, my grades are already all over the damned place after the whole micropreemie-two-weeks-before-finals thing, and I have a job lined up with an employer who could not care less about grades. So long as I get credit for the class, I'm good.

I have to figure that I'm just channeling the free floating stress wafting off the internet. Bar results come out today and Facebook is eerily quiet. Even I've been checking the page to see if they've been posted yet, and I ought to be chill if only for moral support.

Really wish I had gone with the decaf coffee this morning. Also wish my g-d busted ass water bottle hadn't leaked through my purse and into my lap on the bus.

They really need to post those results soon so I can get back to concentrating on my own anxieties rather than, you know, everyone else's.

---

Update - Everyone seems to have passed the Bar. Phew.

My Physical Therapist Broke My Butt

2011-10-04T20:23:00.000-07:00

Last week, my physical therapist was assessing the lack of muscles around my spine and she pressed down the sacrum and into the butt. She was all, 'Oh my god! Do you feel how tight this is on your right side?'

No, no I did not. So she dug her fingertips into the under layer of muscle in my right ass cheek and OH MY GOD. I think I made a sound that only dogs can hear. And then? She just blithely said, 'Wow! That's really bad.' AND SHE LEFT IT. No working out the problem, no stretching, we were just done. And the tight muscle in my right butt cheek spasmed for 3 days. Nothing I did seemed to make it better. She broke my ass.

Whimper whimper.

In better news, I've been religiously alternating between the gym and hot yoga for over a week. Overall I feel better, stronger, more physically stable. Emotionally it's still a struggle, frustration about where I am can totally undermine the process of getting where I want to be. But! It's nice not to be scared that a quick twist to the right is going to drop me with back pain. Aside from the butt-breaking, my PT has been really helpful. She's even called in reinforcements, adding another PT to my case, a guy I saw three years and a lifetime ago for an overuse injury while I was training for my second half marathon. I have to confess, it feels so good to see someone who remembers me as an athlete and relates to me on that level, as opposed to a purely sympathetic one. The plan is to see her for my back and him for hips/legs/strength.

Two therapists, two PT sessions a week - how special am I?

Thanks, Universe.

2011-09-27T10:57:00.001-07:00

I'm at lunch with two old friends who are passing through town, sitting outside in a hip neighborhood. I was nervous about meeting them, since we haven't seen each other since B came along and I know I've changed. Not that they'd care, but well.

While my friend K and I were chatting and Z (a large Texan man) was, unfortunately, inside scoping the menu, a mentally unstable man on a bike stopped and started ranting at me about how I should lose weight and how he recommended going about it.

So, thanks for that, mentally unstable guy on a bike. I'm 99% sure I'll be seeing you again in a professional capacity. I'll let you know how things go.

And also, this.

2011-09-20T09:15:00.000-07:00

Bonus Boson

2011-09-20T09:00:00.000-07:00

I've been getting significant time to myself lately, which is just amazing. This also means that A has been spending whole days with the Boson all to himself on a regular basis. A is quicker with the camera than I am and usually texts me photo evidence of whatever the guys are up to. It sums up the Boson experience pretty well, I think.

In no short order, my baby as experienced by my husband. 100% guaranteed to be strictly unstaged:

It gets better.

2011-09-17T21:12:00.000-07:00

You know how, sometimes, when things are so bad and so hard the only thing that gets you through is to think, 'It has to get better. It can't stay this bad forever'?

And then suddenly, it's better.

Crazy, that.

Damn you, Eric Carle

2011-09-16T12:37:00.000-07:00

Brown bear brown bear what do you see? I see a red bird looking at me. Red bird red bird, what do you see? Brown bear brown bear what do you see? I see a red bird looking at me. Red bird red bird, what do you see? Brown bear brown bear what do you see? I see a red bird looking at me. Red bird red bird, what do you see? Brown bear brown bear what do you see? I see a red bird looking at me.

As glad as I am that B can be home with us until he is 2.5, I am clearly not made for the stay-at-home life. One more iteration and my brains are going to scramble.

Oh crud.

2011-09-13T11:17:00.000-07:00

He's climbing, you guys. I watched my baby - my 17 lb baby who still refuses to walk more than a step or two unassisted - step up into the fridge, chin himself (swear to god full pull-up), and attain top shelf of the fridge.

Then he parkour-ed from chair to kitchen table. Then bouldered from toy box up the bookshelves.

Trouble. So much trouble.

More butter.

2011-09-12T09:00:00.000-07:00

I think I have created an unholy fusion between Southern and French cuisine. Everything in my life involves heavy cream and butter.

B is still off the charts skinny (height/weight < 0% for his adjusted age; head enormous at 50%). This may be the only time a hospital dietician asks you, Have you tried adding butter and chocolate syrup to everything? His primary care doctor was all, Just feed him ice cream. So, ok.

After weeks of re-acclimating to high altitude, B suddenly jumped back on the eating train and is pounding down solids like there's no tomorrow and keeping them down, thank goodness. For this I am eternally grateful, because the twice daily vomit explosion was going to be the end of me and my furniture. Now that I don't have to rely on boring purees with heavy cream added, doing that stressful dance between keeping him entertained and sneaking food into him, I can give him the fun treats he's been wanting.

Today my child enthusiastically fed himself:

eggs, whisked with heavy cream and cream cheese, scrambled in butter
french toast (big winner). Bread soaked in so much heavy cream, egg, vanilla, and cinnamon that you have to gingerly slide the slice into the pan. Cooked in butter, served warm with more butter.
Oh, and we serve some high end vanilla gelato with the french toast. Sometimes gelato as a meal, when the evil emerging molars won't let him suffer through anything else.
Barefoot Contessa's baked mac and cheese. Everyone loves this dish, the baby is no exception. Naturally I cut the milk with heavy cream.

I spend a lot of time in the grocery looking for the highest calories per ounce. You know you're in deep when even the ice cream aisle seems stingy on calories and fat.

Before you worry about rickets or gout or arteriosclerosis, he also gets servings of fruit, chicken, turkey, and bites of savory or spicy things to expand his palate and even out the nutrients. He's a fan of limes, curry, and pickles, strangely enough. I'd love to feed him more greens, but it will have to wait until I can make some saag paneer to make it worthwhile.

A is loving having a fridge full of treats - the french toast and mac n' cheese are so rich that even he doesn't need to eat more than a regular sized portion.

As for me? Miso soup, lots and lots of miso soup.

I think I scared the milkman.

2011-09-10T13:11:00.000-07:00

A signed us up for milk delivery with a local dairy a few weeks ago - gotta keep the baby in heavy cream and all. Each Friday morning since, a quart of heavy cream, a half gallon of milk, and a dozen eggs have appeared in a cooler on our front steps in the wee hours. Even though our house is tiny at 600 square feet and the cooler is directly under our bedroom window, delivery never registered with me while I slept. Until, um, yesterday.

A was away for most of the week for a conference. I've been sleeping lightly, listening for the baby. I also tend to be an 'active' sort of sleeper. You know, the kind of roommate who might spring upright out of bed yelling, 'It's going to explode!!' or else go wandering down the hall seemingly awake.

Enter the milkman.

I heard the jangling of milk bottles out the window and in my sleep I thought it was raccoons or hooligans on the porch. So I sat up in bed, threw open the curtain, and in my best raccoon- and hooligan-scaring voice yelled, 'OY!!!' Three feet away through the screen, the milkman looked very surprised. I mumbled sorry and collapsed back into bed.

It probably didn't help that I hadn't worn a shirt to bed that night.

A Question of Nature versus Nurture

2011-09-08T22:54:00.000-07:00

I've always been very aware of how different I would have been as an adult had I had different parents.

I was always clever, but in first and second grade started scoring very high on standardized tests. Very, very high. I only found out about this when I was 18, however, because my parents were worried that being smart would become the only thing I valued about myself. So, in an unusual parenting move, my dad refused to let me see my grades from any standardized test, refused to talk about my report card, and certainly never got involved in college prep or class selections. I was basically on my own academically from elementary school onward. I think - and I should ask him about it now since he might finally be willing to talk about it - that he associated my version of academic talent with becoming a driven, anxious, and unhappy adult. There are a lot of successful people scattered throughout Dad's family and friends, but I don't know of a single person who continued school beyond a college degree. A large number never completed, or ever attended, college.

What my parents valued most and what they drilled into me and my brothers, was being a good member of the community. This didn't just mean being good to people who were weaker than you, though that was important, it meant keeping conversation going at parties and inviting new kids over for dinners or down to the beach. For one brother and for me, being dragged out of our reserved natures was excruciating, but it was very effective training. My brother would rather pay you $10 to call and order pizza for him, just so he doesn't have to talk to a stranger over the phone, but if tossed in front of a crowd can give an engaging and entertaining speech on the fly. Some people might still call me quiet now, but not many.

By contrast, A's family values higher education very highly - almost exclusively. A's family drives its members toward PhDs, MDs, and JDs to a degree I've only ever seen put on my Chinese and South Asian friends. Not every single cousin has gone after one of those three kinds of success, but the vast majority have.

Although I doubt I would make the same decisions my dad did, I can see his point now, just a little. I probably would have been more high-strung and more focused on achieving within a narrow band of success, had I been left to my nature. I don't know that I would have been driven instead to fly myself abroad at the ages of 13, 14, 15 if I'd been in the environment A was raised in. I'm hard enough on myself as it is, I can imagine how unrelenting I would have been without years of training on how to just let things go.

The interesting thing for me now, is how our respective families are handling B. He's overcome so many medical challenges and it's entirely possible that he could have problems learning or engaging socially down the road as a result of his history. And yet... he's amazing. He's happy, confident, fearless. He's utterly imperturbable - he just studies something new or loud or chaotic with a solemn expression, and then simply makes up his mind about it. Cognitively we're discovering that he actually understands a lot more than we thought. We started asking him to show us things in his books (the cat, dog, bicycle) and he knows so many. As in, way more than he's expected to know at his actual age of 16 months. The ones we've recorded, where he's absolutely clear and identifies the picture quickly multiple times, he's over 30 for nouns and can do the action for around 15 to 20 verbs. I'm honestly stunned and suspect that these are just the words we've thought to test him on. Who taught him bicycle, for Pete's sake? I certainly didn't. He's only saying 6 words, on a good day. This has been kind of a shocking revelation for us.

The families, though. I told A's mom, and she said that we were probably being overly optimistic in evaluating him. When the research nurse came to a similar finding, A's mom said the nurse was probably overly optimistic, too. I told my brothers and parents, and they're thrilled. Not a single member of my family took the opportunity to tease me about being an overly-proud mama (Surprising, really. We rarely miss an opportunity to tease). I think A's mom expects B to be damaged compared to other children and is trying to keep her expectations low, while my family expects him to be the best version of himself and so will be ecstatic every time he raises the ceiling on his accomplishments. I love knowing that my dad will always be the first to celebrate B's talents, no matter which form they take.

It is amazing how raising B can make me understand and appreciate more about people I've known for decades.

Like Jell-o

2011-09-06T17:17:00.000-07:00

I've been in bootcamp for about 6 weeks now. Overall I feel stronger and a little more steady and am managing an 11 minute mile which, considering the mess my body is in, is pretty incredible.

I have noticed a weird clicking in my left hip, though. It's painless but since I'm the chick who managed to dislocate my right shoulder a half dozen times before seeking medical attention and who went through two days of contractions at 5 minutes apart without really feeling it, I figure I should get a head start on whatever it is and have it looked at. My conversation with the physical therapist today:

* * *

PT: Any recent changes in your medical history?

Me: Well, last year I did 10 weeks on bed rest and then had a difficult delivery. I tried to start exercising again but I kept injuring myself. I was told that I basically had no core muscles left at all, so that's why my back kept going out. Um... Then I couldn't go outside all winter because the baby was on quarantine. And I was nursing every 2 hours for 14 months until June. Now I'm doing bootcamp and I feel a little better.

PT: Huh. Can you do this? [rotates leg]

Leg: Aiiiiieeeee-aaaahhhhh!

PT: You still have no muscles in your lower back. Your hips are just taking the brunt of the stress now. Let's get you started on 20 or so physical therapy sessions. Also, don't do anything high impact or you'll break.

Me: Awesome.

* * *

I read about a study last year that found that women tend to be overweight after childbirth. (Gasp!) As an aside, it noted that some women in the study sample were only three months postpartum and might not have had time to lose the weight, but it recommended weight loss by diet and exercise for new moms.

I have a powerful urge to punch that research team in their non-childbirthing noses. Oh my god.

Oh my god, baby, go to sleep.

2011-09-05T17:49:00.000-07:00

After we realized that B was imitating the dog's sounds and trying to wear his leash, we decided that it was time to get B some human friends. This weekend he accompanied us out to brunch with adults, had a family with a three year old and a 16 month old over for a barbeque last night, and visited a 12 month old this afternoon. He did really, really well in every circumstance. The 16 month old (technically 4 days younger than B) was shy and clung to his mom so B wrestled with the 3 year old. Nothing fazed him, it was incredible. He was incredibly happy and kept launching himself back into the mix.

But....... Turns out, this might be a bit too much stimulation. He's been refusing to sleep all afternoon and, by all appearances, is now off his head tripping from lack of rest. I swear my kid is hearing colors and seeing sounds in there right now, with the occasional trip to the gigglefest. You know that crazy person giggle, between a cry and a cracked-out laugh? Yeah.

Oh my god, baby, go to SLEEP. I swear I'm going to sell him to the circus.

Name that developmental milestone

2011-09-02T12:15:00.000-07:00

In order to feed B, I have to keep his mind occupied. A bored and unfocused baby makes for a wild meal, with B hanging off his feeding chair or flinging the spoon and jar and anything else he can reach to the floor. Sometimes giving him finger foods to feed himself, in between bites of messy calorie-added foods, will work but lately he eats those things enthusiastically and then throws up without a gag to warn me. Cue the entertainment.

We've gone from fitting the right lid on the right jar (which held his interest for a whole blessed month), to holding a container of assorted toys for him (Can you give me the lid? Now can you give me the spoon?), to giving him toys to manipulate.

Here's my question - Today B did something that feels like a significant jump in his development, but I can't find the milestone that fits in order to describe it to his therapists.

While I was feeding him breakfast, I gave him a clean Altoids tin and a few small jar lids. I showed him as I put the lids in the tin and closed it all the way. I'd say, 'Can you open it?' And he'd work to open the tin and then show me when he succeeded. I'd say, 'Take one lid out!' Then the other lid, then ask him to put the lids back in, then close the tin, then shake the tin. Towards the end when he was getting antsy, I introduced some plastic oval rings - some that fit inside the tin and others that didn't, and let him experiment with putting those in. The most help he ever needed was in retrieving the lids when they dropped to the floor, and sometimes getting the tin to pop open.

What skill is this? Cognitive? Receptive language? We're so used to B falling all over the development charts - gross motor at 13 months but cognitive at 16+ or whatever - that the generalizations the charts rely on make it really hard to apply them to B. He spent the whole meal eating happily, which means the task had him completely absorbed. I think I can make games like this last another week, but I need to figure out what the next step up in difficulty will be so I can have a new challenge ready.

5 AM Wakeup

2011-09-02T10:29:00.000-07:00

I remember, as a little kid, that as soon as we were tall enough to reach the counter, we were required to start the coffee before we came to wake my parents. I was probably 4 or so, so my brothers were 'helping' me at 2 and 1.

My parents were geniuses.

That's not a bear skin rug in his room, the grizzly's just too intimidated to move

2011-08-30T11:36:00.000-07:00

I sometimes forget how little B is. I mean, I know he's little, but he's really little. When we went to the developmental assessment last week, I waited and waited for the research nurse at the info desk, then called to see where she was. Finally I picked her out as the lady with the clipboard - turns out she'd seen us come in but (even knowing that B was a former 25 weeker and small) thought that surely he was too small to be the 1 year old she was looking for. I don't see many younger kids these days, but I'm guessing that he's about the size of a regular 4 month old. (A skinny four month old with a tremendously huge noggin.)

His personality is just so big and he's so very unafraid. Dogs barking, loud noises, strangers, bigger kids playing too rough - he just gets solemn for a moment while he considers them and then, inevitably, launches himself into the mix. A hard tumble or a needle stick might get 20 seconds of indignant crying, but then he just brushes it off and moves on. He's a tough little bugger.

So I forget that B is different a lot of times, that other babies are so much bigger and fatter or that B is unusual in his casual attitude towards discomfort. And I'm so used to his scars that I may only notice suddenly in photos, Hey! My skinny baby looks like he got in a machete fight.

The one on his back is the most impressive. The incision was an inch long but the scar has grown with him, contrary to the predictions of his NICU docs. By this point it looks like he got opened up with a cleaver and sewn back together with twine. How badass is that going to be when he's a teenager?

Confession

2011-08-29T14:22:00.000-07:00

I don't actually know what color my child's eyes are. I mean, I've looked. We've all looked. But it's no longer just a case of indeterminate steel grey baby eyes - his eyes change color.

Swear to god. Depending on what he's wearing his eyes are a light mossy green, blue with a ring of brown at the center, very light brown, or utterly grey. Never mottled or 'bits of' like mine, but consistently that color. Ask B's father, his grandmothers, his aunts, and you'll get a different answer from each one. Yet each person is absolutely certain - Oh, Blue! etc. It's the darndest thing.

So I guess his eyes are.. hazel? So weird.

Prove that you love me / And buy the next round

2011-08-27T16:59:00.000-07:00

A is out of town for a 4 day bachelor party. Alls I can say is, someone needs to invite my ass out for a multi-day party, ASAP.

He's in yer study, Messin' with yer data

2011-08-25T15:12:00.000-07:00

B has taken to games lately. He'll give you a big grin and then race for the dog food, giggle like mad when he's caught. He puts things in his mouth and waits for us to grab them, he'll throw things away from us (or the dog) to see us chase them.

I probably should have warned the research nurses. When B was born we agreed to have him participate in a couple of studies, one of which requires a developmental assessment at 1 and 2 years of age. Today was his first follow up for the study.

The idea is to run through a series of games and challenges with the research nurse (not Mom) that mark developmental stages below and above his actual age. While some were clearly frustrating or uninteresting for B (why put puzzle pieces in place when you can bang them together and drop them on the ground?) others were clearly in his range and he clearly understood the game, but decided to have a little fun instead. With a spoon, ball, and book in front of him, the nurse asked B to hand her the book. He grinned picked up the book in one hand, and handed her the spoon with the other. The Book! The BOOK, B!, she'd say. And he'd laugh and hand her the ball. "You turkey!" she finally said, "I know you know what a book is!" And he laughed and laughed. She'd ask him to throw the ball (one of his favorite activities, with surprisingly good aim) and he'd grin and hand the ball to the research assistant across the room.

My favorite example was the duck in the 3-sided plexiglass box. B was supposed to reach in the open side and pick up the duck. Instead, he gripped the open side and put all his weight behind it, forcing her to slide the box off the duck. Over and over. And as soon as he was put down to play, he'd do the exercise correctly on his own time.

In all he managed to show several times that he understood exactly what he was supposed to do, but in a way in which she couldn't score as correct. And he thought it was hilarious. Turkey, indeed.

Subverting authority seems to start at an early age. I'm so sorry, research nurses.

Let's be Grown-Ups.

2011-08-23T11:21:00.000-07:00

Folks, you know that thing where you take a photo of some stranger and then post that photo to Facebook (or wherever) in order to mock that person's poor fashion sense or, you know, poverty? Where you tag the awkward teen's wide butt or uncool shoes or the homeless person's weird bicycle and long beard?

Don't do that thing.

Back in the saddle

2011-08-22T10:52:00.000-07:00

First day of class!!

Boot camp bright and early, a happy baby when I left this morning, and a seminar on my favorite area of law (and pertinent to my job after graduation). I woke up singing my dad's favorite song, adaptable to first or last days of school or work. Best sung at 5 AM into the answering machine of a bleary-eyed college student, it goes a little something like this:

It's the first day of school today!
And we'll sing a happy song, as we hop and skip along
It's the first day of school to-daaayyy!!
[repeat until someone groans 'make it stop...']

The louder the better and gleeful until your beleaguered audience finally, finally gets out of bed. (Proper performance requires a healthy dose of schadenfreude and marginal attention to tune.) If you really want the full flavor I will be happy to get my dad to record a few verses. Or I can just call your house at 5 AM.

I didn't even get hassled by any bus drivers over the fact that my pass is 2 days overdue for renewal. It's a good, good day.

The Third Rail of Marriage

2011-08-20T17:41:00.000-07:00

(I think I'm just going to backdate this bad boy. Hope it's not too annoying for anyone reading by feed.)

I think we need to fire MIL as a babysitter. It is not a neutral topic in our relationship.

We don't know exactly why, but B just doesn't eat or drink while MIL is in charge. First we caught her forcing the food in his mouth as he struggled to get away, and we asked her many times to please stop. Now I suspect that she just quits feeding him or offering drink if he seems to reject it. He is difficult to feed, but I've developed a bunch of games to keep him occupied and happy while he eats. I've tried to teach everyone else these things (which aren't foolproof, he is a toddler after all) but only MIL has failed consistently to get food in. The end result is that during the 8 hours she had B today, he drank only 5 ounces of formula and only ate 3 small meals (I fear they may have been really small meals). His daily intake is usually about three times that - and he's still underweight. While she and I were talking after I walked in the door, he chugged 5 ounces and immediately ate another 4 ounces of food, in a desperate sort of manner that alarmed me. This is a massive amount of food for him to eat in one sitting; I have to assume that he was starving.

If A wants her to come while he's home and able to feed the baby, I'm fine with that. But we can't have her in charge if it means that the baby doesn't eat for the duration.

So... crud. That's not going to go over well.

No Solicitors, for the love of god.

2011-08-15T18:20:00.000-07:00

To My Legions of Door-to-Door Salesmen,

When I say, with wild eyes and disheveled hair and an idiot dog barking madly behind me, "Please go away before you wake the baby," that should be your clue that I will not be buying your newspapers/oil change coupons/steaks/lawn services/bottled milk. That is your clue to leave a goddamned pamphlet and go the fuck away and stop bothering me.

Why is it never your clue? WHY??

Please excuse me while I go shoot a few ounces of whiskey (and strongly consider adding some to the sippy cup),

Dinei

Thank you, Southern Living.

2011-08-13T12:24:00.000-07:00

It's been a rough week here at the Maison d'Boson. (Why no, I did not study French. Why do you ask?)

The Trifecta of Badness:

Monday my MIL came up to visit and watch B for half the day. As MIL visits go, it was not so bad. She only insisted on a brief conversation about all the happy pregnancies in her neighborhood. It's her new theme - A thinks she's trying to reassure me that pregnancy can be lovely and wonderful, in hopes that I'll give my uterus another shot at the majors. A big improvement over the days when she'd tell me pregnancy loss stories over and over in gruesome detail (she's available for parties), but I still just don't have much to say when it comes to strangers' happy pregnancies. Great? Good luck to them? Meh. Aside from hearing about people I actually know, it's just not a topic that interests me. As someone who was in a terrible car wreck, I don't really care to hear about what a lovely drive in the country everyone else is having.

So, not the worst, but seeing MIL is always a bit stressful. Then Tuesday we had a hospital day, with a swallow study down at Children's. The Stupid Clinic (their new name) has been agitating for a swallow study for ages, even while B was steadfastly refusing bottles. Practical considerations in pursuit of data is not their strong suit. So I agreed, finally. It was a disaster. He had to go without food or drink for 5 hours prior and missed a full nap. So tired, hungry, and placed in a feeding chair with an x-ray machine inches away from the side of his head (he's not allowed to look at it or raise his arms - yet the stupid thing is covered with disney stickers), and he's expected to eat normally from a barium-laced cup while four strangers chirp 'HEY BABY, HEY BABY, OVER HERE!!'. B gets more hyper when he's tired, hungry, and overstimulated. It was insanity and didn't really offer us new information. Sippy cup ok, open cup bad. Thanks, Stupid Clinic.

Turns out the barium made him horribly constipated, so for a day and a half after the study B refused to eat or drink. Extremely stressful, terribly upsetting. Things had been so incredibly wonderful on vacation. All his feeding issues went away; his GI issues, too! So a hot day with a baby with 'The Way Is Closed' tattooed on his forehead sucked. I cried.

In sum, cruddy week but things are improving. B is still having belly issues but he's far far happier as of yesterday. We'd been so worried about him that when he started eating and drinking enthusiastically all of a sudden, A and I celebrated in all caps text messages. Phew. I also resolved to give Stupid Clinic the heave-ho and just ask for an individual specialist to follow us. Life is too short, friends, for other people's nonsense.

The Good! There is Good!

However! Not everything is cruddy. Here are some awesome things:

I started a boot camp program and I love it. Love, love, love it. If they had locations outside of my county, I'd link to it so you all could try it, too. It's basically 6 to 10 of us sharing a personal trainer 3 mornings a week in a public park for a decently low price. I get someone to push me when I need it and remind me to back off when I forget that 2011 me is a far cry from 2009 me. Mix that up with yoga and running and I already feel one thousand million times better. And that's a lot of better.
Southern Living Magazine. In my ongoing search for fatty high-calorie recipes to tempt my miniature tyrant, all roads lead back to Southern Living. Cream cheese pound cake, people. Oh my god.
Which is to say, I'm still on the straight and narrow. I eat non-fat yogurt and 150 calorie salmon burgers with green chili (yum), the dudes eat the cream cheese pound cake. It's getting easier, surprisingly so.
Classes and my externship start in a week. I have never been so excited to get the hell out of the house and back to work. 9 credits until graduation. I can practically taste it.

After tormenting me all week with hot, dry weather and some welcome-home nosebleeds - leading me to describe our current home as a 'barren hellscape' more than once - the weather has decided to have mercy. Today is gorgeous, cool, and the agenda packed with farmer's market and block party fun. Upswing!

Yar, where be me striped shirt and me monkey?

2011-08-09T09:00:00.000-07:00

B needs to be patched for a few hours a day for the next few months, to correct a wandering eye.

In the grand scheme of things in B's world, a little strabismus is so minor as to register with me as more adorable than anything else. At B's last exam, the pediatric ophthalmologist got all geared up with his Bad News voice, and I preemptively asked, "Is he going to go blind?" (Because, you know, things happen with micros. My real bottom line, 'Will it kill him or cause brain damage?' didn't seem applicable). The ophthalmologist stuttered a little and said, 'No! No. But he will need to be patched for an hour or two a day. And he might need glasses in high school.'

Glasses! Bwa-ha-ha! I must have been the first parent to chortle at the idea of her infant with an eye patch or (god forbid!) some spectacles later in life, because the doc told me that just the week before he'd had a mom crying in his office at the very idea of her high-schooler in glasses.

Really, though, who could be upset at having this view for two hours a day?

The real challenge is keeping it on him. Eye patches are not for eating, boson.

Mother Nature, she'll do a number on you.

2011-08-07T16:56:00.000-07:00

I am taking this weekend to turn over a new leaf.

For over a year I've been talking about getting back to my pre-law school habits, eating healthily and exercising every day, but it never really stuck. Something would happen with the baby and my stress level would skyrocket, or my back would go out, or weather and quarantine would conspire to keep me housebound. My leaf got turned over so many times it was dizzy and I became, um, pillowy.

There are a lot of reasons to be kind to oneself after childbirth, and I think they should and do mean a lot to many women. Many women feel justifiably proud of their bodies' life-giving abilities ('I make babies, what's your superpower?' and so on). Many look at their newborn and think, with a sense of awe, I did this. Perhaps for obvious reasons, most of these strike me as rather unimpressive given my circumstances. 'I make babies for the first six months' doesn't have the same snazzy ring. God, I can't even tell you the number of times I sat with B in the NICU or post-op and thought, I did this.

I absolutely believe that other preemie moms should feel every bit of pride in themselves and I would be the first to remind a preemie mom that she bears no fault. But I just can't seem to feel it for myself. If a person is an embodied soul, my soul bears responsibility but no guilt. My body, however, has a lot to answer for. So it's probably not shocking that I'm still pretty damned ticked off with my stupid body. Making it feel good with healthy food and regular exercise wasn't always high on my list.

B's early birth also had a weird and unexpected effect on my mind-body connection. After he was born, I still felt pregnant for the whole of what would have been my third trimester. The phantom kicks didn't help, nor did my end of the day pooch. More unexpected has been that some small bit of that feeling has lingered. I was overweight in college before I got into running, and it is so weird to realize that I'm not carrying weight in the same places I did before. It's all in my belly and butt now, the result being a shape somewhere between pear and.. pregnant. There's a part of me that doesn't mind that at all. Everything around B's birth happened so fast and was so wrong, then and now it feels like I was pregnant and then things just went blank. Like my pregnancy never really ended, I just jumped into a new reality, totally unconnected to my previous one. I was back in class a few days later because I simply didn't know what else I was supposed to do with myself.

Which is all to say, pregnancy and childbirth have had a really weird effect on me and the last 16 months haven't helped much. But it is time to stitch my mind and body back together, even if they are citing irreconcilable differences. To that end, and thank god A is fully on board and taking over for the weekend, I am taking a few days to exercise at least two hours a day, go to yoga, sleep well, and eat mindfully. I already feel a million times better. I kicked my butt into shape once before and then maintained it for over a decade until I got pregnant. I know I can do it again, it's time.

Only a little wrong

2011-08-03T17:52:00.000-07:00

B is now solid on games. Hide behind the couch? Check. Sock on the head / Grandma's head? Double check. The problem is, because B isn't really allowed to socialize with other babies until his lungs are better developed, he's mostly been socialized by dogs. Tug of war? Awesome. Throwing the ball for a retriever? Awesomer.

My dad, now, is a duck hunter of the shoot-with-the-gun-grandpa-owned, carve-your-own-decoys school. Dogs are paramount in his world. When he caved and got an electric collar for training his dog on 200+ yard retrieves, he made sure to test it on my twenty-something brother first. (His hand, and naturally my brother just wouldn't admit when it went from zing to ouch. Sick, those two.)

B was on fire tonight, super happy and scooting all over the house. So my dad trained him to fetch granola bars. Both B and Dad were thrilled with their progress.

We have video. It is freaking hilarious and only a teensy bit Wrong (mostly when Dad makes B heel) but Dad has gone all Chinese government on us and is refusing to relinquish the memory chip. Spoilsport.

Vacation

2011-08-01T06:09:00.000-07:00

B and I have been visiting my home state for the last two weeks. It has been lovely.

March, Grandma!

Aside from one brother in New York City, my whole family lives here. Cousins, second cousins, grandparents, aunts and uncles by the score. They are crazy for B, naturally, and so he has a happy army of draftees available to help him march up and down the beach. At one point all of my Irish cousins were visiting and after a few hours my aunt asked if B was crawling yet. At first I was surprised she had to ask, and then I realized that over two hours B hadn't hit the ground once. March, march, march, Irish cousins!

As for beach related excitement, Dad has been very excited to introduce B to the joys of a nice dawn boat ride. Dad guns it over the waves and then B urges him on for more by jump jump jumping over the flats.

Nothing like a fast boat, a medium chop, and the wind in one's mohawk.

I've been dividing our time between my grandmother's house on the shore, where my large family tends to congregate, and the old farmhouse my brother and sister-in-law have been renovating upriver. Aside from the awesome little hamlet a short walk away (did you know that hamlets still exist? They totally do) my brother's house has a puppy. Turns out babies and puppies like all the same things - baby food, balls, water, and causing chaos. Oh, and each other. I can run to the kitchen while they play and all I hear is B's belly laugh as the puppy licks his feet. I think they may be the only ones here who can match each other's energy level.

Reading between the blurry lines, you can see that the puppy has taught B to hand or toss her the plastic ring. She takes it and barrels around the house, then tosses it back to him. Repeat until one or the other collapses in exhaustion.

I fly back home on Thursday. I can't say I'm excited to leave puppies, shore breezes, and B's army of draftees behind, but this two week break has done wonders for my day to day stress level. It's been our victory lap, introducing B to all these people who have loved him from afar. That it came just a few days after his annual Early Intervention evaluation, where we learned that B is at or above his adjusted age for every milestone, is especially sweet.

Next to home, the MPRE, a few quiet weeks, and my final semester of law school.

A very merry unbirthday

2011-07-26T09:00:00.000-07:00

Had things gone differently, B would have been one year old today instead of 1 year and 15 weeks. Maybe he would have been fatter, he certainly would have had it easier. No matter what, he would have been the same strong, energetic, brave little person he is today. I never knew that people are born with certain traits until I met B, but in him I see every bit of the determination, fortitude, and courage that will define him as a man.

Merry unbirthday, son. I love every bit of you.

A few days after birth, 2 lb 1 oz.

On his due date, 15 weeks old, about 5 lbs.

Today, a 15 lb dynamo.

Worst Wedding Guest Ever

2011-07-24T16:07:00.000-07:00

Let's hope it's just one more symptom of my currently jaded if ever improving state, but I definitely should not attend any more weddings for the foreseeable future. Not only did I make a mental list of all the things I'd rather be doing instead of making yet more small talk with my husband's college acquaintances (1. eat powdered glass 2. take a punch to the face 3. watch this Indiana Jones marathon in the hotel room... ooo...) but I found myself getting all derisive during the vows. I know! Awful. Curmudgeon and a grump.

The bride and groom, both attorneys in their thirties, got into the inevitable 'I promise to laugh at all your jokes and never take you for granted after a hard day and always tell you when you have spinach in your teeth' and it was all I could do not to mutter portentously, WINTER IS COMING, MOTHERF***ERS!

Believe me, I know that weddings are about celebrating the ideal and stating your best intentions before family and friends. I believe in that. But the part of me - that 98% of me, really - that is still battered from the past two years feels like the 'laugh at all your jokes' theme misses the important stuff. Give me 'I'll be your foundation when everything else has fallen away', give me 'I'll be your safe harbor in the storm, and you'll be mine.' The bones of a marriage show when everything goes to hell and you truly only have each other. We get married, quite exactly, for companionship in the good times and salvation in the bad. Marriage is not primarily for a bad day, but for the worst day. We choose our someone to rely on in hard times. Can you imagine marrying someone who you knew, with absolute certainty, would abandon you in a crisis?

So the idea of modern pressures being the test of a marriage, it feels so incomplete. An adolescent notion of what badness is. Comfort and companionship in the day to day is necessary, certainly. But it takes a lifelong commitment to survive a crisis, the big bad - anything less breaks under the strain.

We promise each other forever before our friends and family as a celebration of the love we feel in that moment - but also as a commitment to stay strong, stay loyal, when the worst day comes and all we have to cling to is each other. I want to hear an acknowledgment of that in wedding vows, that binding ourselves together for life necessarily means shared joy and shared pain, a safe harbor of our own making. Life is hard and winter is coming, but by god I'll face it with you in my arms.

Geek

2011-07-21T10:15:00.000-07:00

I really love that Diana Nyad is swimming from Cuba to Key West, because her name makes me think of the naiads. Ok, maybe it would be more awesomer and stuff if she was named Ôkeaninai or even Nereid but I'll be tickled nonetheless. Nyad!