Bug update

For those of you new to the blog, my son Riley, AKA Bug, has Neurofibromatosis type 1. (Also known as NF1.)

In short, Neurofibromatosis type 1 is a genetic disorder characterized by symptoms such as multiple large cafe au lait spots and axial/inguinal (armpit and groin,) freckling on the skin, tumors (called "fibromas,") on the skin, in the muscles, on the nerves, along the spine, and in the brain, vision problems, macrocephaly, cognitive delays and learning disorders, epilepsy, scoliosis, and fine and gross motor development delays.

It has manifested in Bug in that he has the cafe au lait spots, axial and inguinal freckling, one dermal fibroma (small skin tumor,) speech and motor delays, and macrocephaly, or a large head. Thus far, there have been no vision issues, signs of epilepsy, scoliosis, or severe tumors.

Today we met with his geneticist for his one-year follow-up exam. Over the course of the appointment, we discussed things such as Riley's first fibroma (on his lower back on the right,) his previous brain MRI, the course of treatment thus far, and predicted outcomes for the future.

His brain MRI showed no signs of tumors on the optic nerve (called optic glioma,) only some UBOs (Unidentified Bright Objects,) in his cerebellum, which are nothing to be concerned about and quite normal for a NF1 patient.

Doc said that he was unconcerned with the fibroma, and that there will undoubtedly be more that develop. Most "disfiguring" fibromas (Large ones on the skin, or ones deep within the muscle/running along multiple nerves,) would have already presented by now, so he feels we're "out of the woods" in that regard.

So far the course of treatment is to just sit back and monitor his development as he grows. The disease's progress is relatively chartable with his symptoms right now, as he is a "classic" case. His physician feels that he will definitely gain speech and articulation, but it may take time. (This was something that was great to hear, as his neurologist had left things very wide open, saying that he might speak, he might speak in a limited capacity, or he might never speak. Not very comforting there.) As far as the hypotonia and hyper-extension, that is something that will probably be a lifelong struggle. Having him in OT is a good thing, and letting him ride once a week is even better.

Overall, it was a good visit. It put some fears to rest and clarified a few points that we had been flailing around. (Mainly, "does he need a full-body MRI?" and "Does he really need another MRI in six months?")

I'm especially pleased to hear that there is confidence that he will begin talking. That is something that greatly stresses me out, something that I worry over almost irrationally.

So all in all, a good day!

Well check for Bug

Today was Riley's well-check, NOT March 13th like I originally thought. Oops! That's what confirmation phone calls are for, right?

Anyway, we got away vaccine free (until next year, dun dun dunnnnn...) and I'm happy to report that his growth is off the charts. No more failure to thrive for him!

We mutually agreed, though, that we think he has his first fibroma. It rose up fast and large, and I'll be doing serial photos with scale to see if it keeps growing. He also has a spot on his cheek that we're keeping an eye on.

Because she couldn't determine the nature of the possible fibroma (dermal vs. plexiform,) we're both researching when he needs a full-body MRI, and who refers for that, so that we can check for fibromas on the inside in his muscles, on his nerves, and on his spine.

He has some mild tibial bowing, but nothing that she feels needs to be seen by ortho.

I came home and cried.  I'm not going to lie to you. To have my fear confirmed, to know that the disease is progressing and so must we, is humbling. I thought we'd skate by, just dealing with the learning delays and the minor cosmetic issues.  To know that this is developing into MORE, that there is more room for it to all grow and become worse... well, it's something I already knew, but had been able to bury my head in the sand until today.

Still, though, he remains happy and healthy for the time being, and that's all that matters.  My fears cannot govern our day to day life; instead we must continue on in our pleasant existence and hope for the best.

Pneumonia in mom and the special needs child.

Pneumonia is not an easy ailment to deal with.  It leaves you breathless, exhausted, with your head swimming from a lack of oxygen.  You wheeze like an old ford truck on a frosty morning, and you bark like a seal when you cough.  Every muscle hurts from the coughing.

So what the hell do you do when you're coping with this little slice of medical hell and you have a special needs child who demands alllll of your attention allllll of the time?

Number one: Take your damn antibiotics.  Put it on the same timer that your birth control pill is on, take it when you make breakfast, but make sure you take it.

Number two: Pre-made foods are not the devil.  Frozen french toast, bagel bites, and canned ravioli are all acceptable food mediums with which your little darling can paint the room.

Number three: Dora.  Jake and the Neverland Pirates.  The Cat in the Hat knows a lot about that.  These will be your friend whilst you convalesce on the couch, still wheezing like that old ford.

What to do when your little darling demands to be on top of you, because you're an attachment parent and have worn said little darling since day one, and it's now year three and he thinks he still has to be touching you or on you at all times?  You begin the weaning and self-soothing process.

Fair warning, this may involve lollypops as rewards.

The long and the short of it? Take care of yourself.  Your kiddo, while being special needs, IS CAPABLE of playing on their own, soothing on their own, eating on their own, and pottying on their own, when you need them to be.  The NF1 makes Bug a very dependent child in many ways, but these coping mechanisms, while not necessarily the ideal activities for every day, will make it possible for you to take care of yourself while still providing the basic necessities for your child.

Oh, and one more thing - going over all the therapy techniques that are required by the therapists that you see three times or more a week?  Those can slide a little too.

On babies (and mamas) who others think shouldn't be.

We all know I was an accidental mommy. My pregnancy with Kinder Major was flawless, and even enjoyable.  It could be argued, though, that I wasn't meant to be.  Moments after delivering a beautiful, angry red-haired little girl, I began to bleed uncontrollably.  I was so tired.  All I wanted to do was sleep off the pain I was in as I bled and bled.

But they fought me, and my mother fought me, and I stayed awake.  I stayed here for my baby.  I stayed here because I wanted to be, whether the universe wanted it or not.

Things with Bug were not so peaceful.  A sub-chorionic hemorrhage during my first trimester. Hit by a car second trimester.  Third trimester, pre-eclampsia, fetal distress, premature birth by induction.

I call him the little engine that could.  In spite of all of those things, he persevered.  He was the little fetus that could.

I hemorrhaged again after his birth, and again I wanted to just sleep.  This time I sent my mother away, instructing her to never leave the side of my baby, my little boy blue, not breathing, not stirring.

We danced with fate, the three of us.  Plenty of people who have heard our stories comment on how we, in one form or another, shouldn't be.

I believe they're wrong, though.  Our existence, and the way we fought to be a family, us three, makes life all the sweeter.  It makes it worthwhile to be.

Funk-be-gone!

So.  It's well past time for me to pull myself up by my bra straps and get out of this funk.

Mind, it's not really a funk about him, though he plays a part in it.  It's more a culmination of being in limbo again as far as where my life is going and what I'm going to be when I grow up, the children and their health and well being, and dissatisfaction with my personal life.

Right now I have an awesome job.  It's nothing fancy, it's sure as hell not glamorous, but it's something I can do and do well, to the point of going home *happy* knowing that I've completed my tasks to the best of my ability, and I truly did an excellent job.  However... there's always a however, it's not something I can or will do for the rest of my life.  I want more.  I want to know that I'm not just doing my job, I'm helping out in the world.  This job could lead to that job.  More limbo, though, as it'll take me quite a bit of time to get there.  I want it, though.  Good god, readers... I want it so much it hurts.  I just don't quite know how to go about finally getting it.

The children are well overall.  Kinder Major has been diagnosed as epileptic, for official and all.  We're on the medication rollercoaster now, and it's wearing me out.  Kinder Major doesn't particularly like the ride, nor does she like the fact that I now watch her like a hawk for signs of seizures.  Helmets are more strictly enforced, and there are days when I'm hesitant to even brush her hair.  She's missed a fair bit of school over this, as well.  I'm keenly aware that it could be worse, though, so I'm thankful daily that it's not.

Bug is doing alright.  Health wise he's perfect, it's his development that I worry for.  I cannot count the number of times I've been asked if he is autistic.  He's not.  He communicates, but doesn't talk, per se.  He has words, but they're still not crystal clear, and most people cannot decipher them, and mistake his speaking for babble.  He also signs to us, and does a good job at it.  He understands EVERYTHING, and is the most social, happy little man.  That doesn't keep me from worrying that he's developed a fibroid in the communication center of the brain, though.  I haven't brought it up to neuro yet - I've been sitting on it, trying to decide if I'm just being a worry wart or if there may be something to the idea.  I'm still unsure.  I wish I had some sort of magic 8-ball for him.

My personal life. Ooooh my personal life.  As you know, Pater Pueri and I have split.  That has left me sad, but I refuse to pine over him, and I'm pretty well moved on.  What makes me sad is that we had this life planned out, we told Kinder Major all about our plans, and now it's been snatched out from under her.  She's left angsty, and I'm left seething over her unhappiness.

As far as what I'm doing now that I'm a free agent... well, I'm looking but not looking hard.  I'm leaving myself open to the universe and whomever may come along. It's interesting to allow myself to openly admire and flirt with another person again, after so long of not being able to, or not wanting to.  It's kind of nice to think about making plans with someone just to get to know them.  While I'm enjoying things, I'm still somewhat intimidated.  I never dated well.  Just ask any of my high school flings.  I wasn't about the dating so much. =P

So that's our lives right now, world.  How are yours?

Bridging the gap: When blending families spans space and time

I posted over at Tales of an Unlikely Mother recently about the art that is blending the American family these days.  Now, here, I'm going to throw around some ideas for bridging the gap when moves, both physical and emotional, occur.

We have just learned that the beautiful Blueberry Nights will be leaving us for the other extreme of the country in a few short months.  We were aware the move was occurring, just not that the time window had become so small.

So what now?  We've worked so hard to make a strong beginning with our ragtag little family.  It seems almost as though we're being rent asunder in this moment, as the emotions that ride high on the entire situation are as volatile as the jet fuel that will take her 12 hours from us by air.

We're not, though.  We have a strategy, a plan, and a philosophy.  And we're going to share it with you.

Like blending the family to begin with, we start with an open mind, and when we're calm we acknowledge that there may be good opportunities present for our wee Blueberry Nights when she leaves with her mother.

We set up a fund to ensure that airfare one way or the other will not be an issue.  Obviously this is something that is fluid, and a backup.  Backups are your friend, though.

We talk with the children and let them know that they're not "losing" their sister, only that we're saying "See you later!" for the time being.  Never, ever, ever, ever discourage hope in your other children.  Kinder Major is working through some serious grief over this, and it's crucial to her well being that she understand that this does not mean she will never see her sister again.  It is also an unbreakable rule that the step in question not be bashed in front of the children, whether you agree with the separation or not.

Depending on how old your children are, they may understand that there was little choice in the matter, which is where we are with Kinder Major right now.  She finds herself angry at StepMC, and while I do not contribute to her sentiments in spite of having concurrent ones, it's important for her to be able to work through that anger, and not feel like her emotions have been belittled.  It's a frighteningly delicate line to toe, and one made twice as fragile by our own emotions.

PLAN.  Involve the siblings in planning how it will go when their other sibling(s) come home.  Kinder Major has thoroughly enjoyed and found joy in planning how Blueberry Nights' side of the room will be decorated, and how she plans to cook a day of celebratory meals in her sister's honor when she comes home to us again.

Talk about the other sibling.  Don't hush hush it with the "out of sight, out of mind" philosophy, as that only leads to bitterness and resentment later.  Keep photographs, encourage laughter, allow tears, and roll with the punches.

Skype/gVideo/iPhone face time/whatever - and often!  There's nothing to say that the siblings can't do the same as they did when blending the families to begin with.  Let them talk as often as they want and time allows.  Set up those live feed at ballet recitals and plays, the soccer games and scout ceremonies.  Including the long-distance child and likewise, offer availability to be included.

As adults, decide on a family dynamic.  Ours is "seamless."  One word.  Blueberry Nights will step off that plane and into our home like she never left, with hugs and kisses from MamaAccidentally, a snack, and a good book for an afternoon story.  Pater Puerii will have his just-them time with her like he does with his other two children, and we will step in sync back into daily life as a family.

Lastly, the exact same philosophy that you took up when the family came together to begin with: Love begets love, and softens even the stoniest facades.  Love, the true love of a family, can be felt a world away, let alone a mere country.  Love hard, love freely, love often.  It can only do everyone involved good.

"This button.  Right here!"

 He's so damn smart.  By the end of the week, he was terrorizing Kinder Major and their cousin, monopolizing the mini John Deere for his own nefarious purposes.

That is where it gets some people.  He doesn't LOOK sick. Most days he isn't.  There are little things that stick out to anyone watching closely, though.  At just a few months shy of his second birthday, he weighs less than his sister did at ten months old.  He is just under the third percentile for height.  His head, however, is charting at a whopping 30%.  See? I told you he's smart.

The newest addition to our cast of misfit characters, we'll call him Pater Pueri, fiercely insists that there is nothing wrong with him, just like he fiercely insists that he is PP's own son, blood be damned.  I love him for many many reasons, but those two may have been what sealed the deal for me all that time ago.

He's not incorrect in that assertion; there is nothing wrong with our son.  Our son seems to be experiencing some... technical difficulties... if you will.

I posted a bit ago about the result of our visit with the genetics team, an appointment that was a year and two months in the making.  There were no definite answers.  That status... remains.  Frustratingly. 

Tonight is no different as frustration goes.  I'm up, feeling unwell myself, and to occupy myself away from my own gastric distress, I sit and play armchair diagnostician, constantly asking myself "Okay, if this is another dead end, where do we go next?  What do we try?  Who do we see?"

My little Bug.  He was conceived under less than stellar circumstances, and he hung with me through my body's silent but bloody coup d'etat, to be delivered unto me purple and surly-faced, leaving me utterly and endlessly smitten.  His young life has been eventful, and will continue to be.  My young life will grow gradually older, striving every minute to do for him what I simultaneously spend every minute doing for his sister: making sure that there is only the shadow of the universe's chaos that could sentence me to watching my little loves whisper away.

Nobody puts Baby in a corner (campsite!)

First time primitive camping with an 18 month old and a six year old.  Tips? Troubles?  Mama has done the alone-in-the-woods-with-a-mechanical-pencil-and-some-rubbing-alcohol type stuff, but I've never done it with the kids.  I find myself somewhat trepidatious, even though I have decent wilderness skills.  I've never had to use them with the kids, though, and well... Accidentally Mommy would prefer not to rock the boat and end up Accidentally Needing Them.

Please... discuss in comments!  I'm sure everyone has an anecdote if nothing else, of their own.  

Bug update

Today was the long awaited appointment with the genetics team.  We were referred there for suspicious hyperpigmentation concurrent with a neurological disorder called Neurofibromatosis type I.  (NF1 for short.)  Additionally, the possibility of one of the many mutations of Cystic Fibrosis has been on the table for a long time, now.

There are many things that were said during the appointment that I'm sure I'll miss in this note, but here goes.

In regards to the NF1, he has a big head and a small stature.  That, combined with the cafe au lait stains, the gross and fine motor delays, and the speech delay has led the team to conclude that he is definitely diagnosed, with a 75% surety. The blood test for the other 25% is $2k out of pocket.  We're going to take the 75%.  Now, what does this mean for him in the future?  No one knows.  He could develop nodules in his brain, on his spine, on his nerves, in his muscles, on his skin, or in his eyes.  By the same token, he could never exhibit another new symptom.  He may not speak, he may.  He may fall into the autistic spectrum, he may not.  There's a lot of may/may not's with this one.  He goes for a recheck in a year, unless new developments arise.

That out of the way, there is definite concern for his slight stature.  Height and weight fall just under the third percentile for him.  With all of the GI issues and his continued failure to thrive, having the sequencing done for Cystic Fibrosis was a definite.

In regards to just his slight stature, there may have been some malabsorption and malnutrition during the puking/diarrhea times.  In addition to the may/may not's above, his grown may/may not have been stunted, and may/may not even out later.

Overwhelmed? Yes.  But that is where we are.  Love you all, xoxo

The one where she talks of everything, and nothing at all.

Empty promises to return to the blogging front lines have begun to gather dust.

Have you ever been so far into the middle of the storm that you begin to wonder if you've lost your footing, perhaps stumbled into some alternate reality?

I'm there.  I've been there for a while now.  While the landscape is vaguely familiar, I have yet to acquaint myself with it.  It's populated by the people who have always occupied the cast list in my life; to the positive of that, some have been unwittingly blessed, and saved from being typecast as villains, instead taking on the roles of sound reason and closest to heart.  Of them I which I could talk more, but unfortunately there are plot devices still at large that could easily ruin the ending.

The children.  My beautiful Kinder Major and Bug. Snow white, and her excitement to see me when she comes in the door.  Blueberry Night, a character in a new role, so... lost.  The children are also left to the devices of the writers.  They are the ultimate balm for my troubled heart, but the source of the trouble is the trials they're forced to endure.

I know, I know... you're reading this and thinking "Jesus god, could she lay the rhetoric on any thicker?  Mayhap we could call Tammy Fay on over to give her a few tips on the womanly art of slathering."

I won't lie - I'm feeling a little 'mo.  I can't talk about the most important developments in my life right now, because they're intrinsically linked to the most devastating ones.  While not as "bad" as the hardships that friends and family are enduring, they have a profound effect on four small, beautiful souls.  I'm helpless, and stuck in a stalemate with the universe.  Were I in my ancestral home, you'd find me leaving fry bread and beer at the closest rock cairn.  However, I doubt that the Tuatha De have deigned to follow my family this far and this long.   No, if there is cosmic mischief about, it's coming from far newer tricksters.

There I go again, with the rhetoric.

Tonight, this morning, right this second with my fingers on the keyboard, my stomach is churning, my head is pounding, my teeth are aching, and my eyes are burning.  When I tried to sleep, I found myself doing so in tiny snippets that left me more tired than I was when I started out.

In t-5:00 hours, I take Bug to see the pediatric geneticist.  At 19 months, he is 21 lbs and 29".  It was a fight to get him where he is - olive oil in everything savory, coconut oil in everything sweet.  Balancing out proteins and fats to protect his kidneys and gallbladder.  Strictly monitoring the ingredients of everything that goes into his mouth, cutting out all dairy in any incarnation.  Powdered prescription formula derived from amino acids, re-constituted with vanilla rice milk to mask the taste.

He has only just begun walking in the past two weeks, and his verbal accomplishments are definitely behind the standard milestones.

Frightening possibilities have been thrown down on the table.  Possibilities that, should they become realities, will leave me wondering when I will have to bury my son, or possibly worse, how often I will have to sit with him in hospital as he receives painful treatments to create some semblance of a normal existence.

I sit here, typing this while I watch him sleep in his pack and play, with tears running down my cheeks whenever I think too hard about the implications of the fact that we've made it to this clinic to begin with.

As a woman, not a mother, not a fiance, not a step mother to Blueberry Nights, I've doubted my faith.

When Bug was conceived, I was unsure.  His pregnancy was fraught with difficulties, from a placental abruption in the first trimester he never should have lived through, to his rocky induction at 36w5d.  When his other biological contributor showed his dangerous and sadistic true self, I was angry.  I hated myself and I hated Bug for existing.  I hated him because he was a very prominent reminder of the danger I placed Kinder Major in, of my poor ability to judge one's character.  I hated him, because there I was again - single, alone, with no one that wanted any of us.

It's a hard thing, to go through a pregnancy, an entire pregnancy, with the only touch you receive being your OB exams and the occasional hug from family.  To be isolated, and watch the world and friends and family go by, chattering excitedly about what coloring the baby will favor, mama or papa, to watch partners look at their wives and fall in love all over again.  To know that there is no one who feels that way.

No one.

It creates bitterness.  It creates hatred.  It creates a miserable existence.

But in the end, I did love him.  I loved him the instant they placed him on my chest, smelling of the intoxicating scent that is new birth.  He looked into my eyes in that moment, as I rubbed him to stimulate him, doing his APGARS in my head and realizing he was failing them miserably.  In that moment, I knew that he was just as stubborn as me, and that I had misjudged him.

So now, here I sit, trembling at the prospect of walking in there alone, without the man who loves us retroactively, who refuses to acknowledge that he is not Bug's daddy.  He is off working for the security of our future.  He loves us.  It's odd to see it typed out that way.  He loves all of us.  Kinder Major, Blueberry Nights, and Bug, as well as me.  We love him back, fiercely, naturally.  Us as a family is remarkably organic in our mismatched minor dysfunction.  He is my best friend and my, dare I be so cliche, soul mate.  It took six years to realize it, but we did, and together as a family it seems like it will all be okay, that we'll make it some way.  The only comfort about him being there and us being here, is that it reinforces our beliefs (and slight trepidation,) that our love as a family is palpable, even 140 miles away.

Can that love make up for those 36 weeks of anger and pain, though?  Or am I to be punished through his punishment?  That, truly, is Hell on Earth.  To watch helplessly as the merry-go-round spins out of control, and traps the littlest feet in the nightmare.  To watch him struggle, to worry and wonder, and in the end be sentenced harshly.

Suddenly, I'm out of things to say.  Time to shower, to put on a pretty face, and my best, most confident foot forward, for all of us need it today.

Happy Birthday, Baby!

Happy Birthday, Bug.  I love you more than words will ever be able to express.

Wordless Wednesday: Re-connect. Starring Kinder Major, Bug, and Little Blonde.

Dem Boobs, Dem Boobs, Dem... Dry Boobs.

My boobs have been having an identity crisis lately.  It's a pretty significant one, I think.  The subject comes up daily, sometimes multiple times a day.  I try to avoid them, so that I can avoid that uncomfortable silence that inevitably follows their twin chorus of "Hi, we're your boobs, and we're having an identity crisis."  Seriously, how do I respond to that?


Complete avoidance is impossible, though.  Our interactions are something like this:

Me:  Hi boobs.  How are ya today?

Boobs: We're sad.  Look, we're looking down at the floor with our pointy nipple-eyes.  We're having an identity crisis.


Me:  Oh?  *uncomfortable silence*  Uhh... Umm... Why?  You're boobs.  Don't you generally do... boob things?  Like hang out?  I try not to put you in a bra, so you've got way more freedom than most of your other boob friends.


Boobs:  Yeah, we know.  And really - we appreciate that freedom.  Our problem is that we're dry.  


Me:  Oh, well I can fix that!  Here, have some nourishing lotion with vitamin E!


Boobs:  No, not like that.  See, we see you feed the baby, and we know that the milk you're giving him isn't from us.  Because, you know, we're dry.  This is the fault line for our shattering identity earthquake.  We mean, logically we know that you're giving him artificial milk because you're taking a couple of medications that you really can't go without right now, but we feel cheated.  We dried up suddenly and traumatically, and we're quite upset about it.


Me:  Oh.  Yeah, I can totally see that.  Oh look, brain and conscience are here!  Let's get them in on this discussion!


Brain:  Hey Boobs!  Lookin' good today, ladies!  You've got some super-hot circulatory action goin' on.  No worries, you can totally thank me later.


Boobs:  *stares*  Really, Brain?  Really?


Conscience:  So, I totally didn't mean to eavesdrop, Boobs, but I heard everything you said, and I'm right there with you.  I feel SO GUILTY about all of it, your drying up and Jackie taking meds and Brain just being brain... it makes me want to cry.  I even feel guilty about the fact that Leg went off and got herself broken, which is why you dried up to begin with!  It's totally ALL MY FAULT.


Brain:  Oh shit.  Look at what ya'll did.  Conscience is crying now.


Me:  Okay, hold it.  This is not going to turn into a three ring circus.  Brain, do you have anything useful to contribute?


Brain:  Well, that depends.  I do, out of deference for Boobs, go ahead and automatically make their pointy nipple-eyes hard every time the baby cries, as well as make them ache.  You know, 'cuz they're boobs.  That's what they're made for, amirite?


Me:  Right on.  You just keep on keepin' on.  Not like any of us could persuade you to do otherwise.  Conscience, is there any reasoning with you on this one?


Conscience:  No.  *sobs*  I'M SO SORRY ABOUT EVERYTHING!  I DESERVE TO DIE IN A FIRE!


Me:  *mutters*  Drama Queen.  *looks at Brain*  Can you take her out of here?  I'll deal with you guys later.


Boobs:  Now do you understand, though?  We're boobs.  We were put on your body primarily to nurse your offspring.  Sexual pleasure and looking awesome are just fringe benefits.  You let us do our job briefly, and then it was abruptly and traumatically taken away from us.  Now we're bereft.  What are we to do?


Me:  Oh.  Well, I... uh... *clears throat*  I'm really sorry.  I... I got nothin' else.  Can I offer you that nourishing lotion with vitamin E as a consolation prize?


And with that, my friends, my Boobs simply shake their heads sadly and wander away, until the next time I feed the baby.  Then the cycle starts all over again.

Logically, I know that relactation is not one of my most brilliant ideas.  Oh, I have no doubt that I could achieve it - and fairly easily, at that.  But what would it accomplish?  I would need to wean off of three different meds, and risk at best some very painful and at worst some very dangerous consequences.


Bug, I suspect, couldn't really care less.  There's still ample bonding and skin-to-skin during feedings.  Also, he's leading himself to solids, so it may be a non-issue here very shortly.  Health-wise, it's a non-issue completely.  


So where is the sense in all of this wistfulness and mourning over our lost breastfeeding relationship?  Why can't Boobs just suck it up, rub some dirt in it, and move on?  Why can't Conscience just get over her guilt?  Why can't Brain stop leading the mutiny on the bounty?


Because - breast is best.  For all parties involved.  People will try to placate us with "Well, at least you got *some* breastfeeding time in," but that won't help.  I don't disagree, and I *AM* thankful for the time we had.  But I would be a dirty liar if I said I didn't wish with every bottle of formula I make that it had been longer.  That we were still doing it today.

I learned to forgive myself with Kinder Major - she wasn't breastfed at all.  I will learn to forgive myself with Bug, too.  It's just going to take time.  Time, and a lot of "why relactating isn't a good idea" talks with Boobs.


Ladies, don't take your Boobs for granted.  And for those of you who haven't/can't/didn't (for whatever reason) breastfeed who are having similar talks with your Boobs... well, best of luck to you.  I hope you can make more headway with yours than I have with mine.

Wordless Wednesday: Deer and Kitten and Bug, Oh My!

Hump Day Happiness

I'm just all sorts of meme today, it seems.

Truth be told, I'm having a crap day.  As I was sitting here, wallowing in self pity and tea, I saw that Naomi over at Under The Yardarm started a McLinky for Hump Day Happiness.  (Go to her blog to enter and read.) Then I clicked through them, and realized that the time for wallowing was done, and I needed to quickly remember why life doesn't suck.  Then I needed to post it for ya'll to see, share, and perpetuate the meme.

So, here we go.  Happiness on this humpday is...

• A baby who smiles, in spite of getting two teeth in within 24 hours of each other.
• A daughter who is so empathetic and kind that she doesn't hesitate to say to the cashier at the grocery "You look like you have a sad face.  Please don't be sad, I love you!" at five years old.
• Knowing that I have a bottle of wine chilled and waiting for me as a reward if I get my homework done in a timely fashion tonight.
• Amazing, supportive, friendly people like you to surround me, and remind me that I'm not alone.

Wordless Wednesday: Front (rose/flower) garden, 2010

Make-up Monday!

Okay, so we've had Bloggers in the Buff - a day when we revealed our "true" selves to the internet, bared all of our wrinkles and imperfections for all to see.

I'm not ashamed to say that I am "in the buff" pretty much every day.  It's rare to see me in a picture where I'm actually wearing "nice" clothes, have my hair done, or have make-up on.

Because I feel that those things are also a facet of my personality, I propose this:  For those of you who are like me and rarely get to show off your "cleaned up" side, go ahead and post it today.  Don't guilt about feeling vain for it, because you're not.  You deserve to show off that side of you, and no one will judge you for getting made up specifically for this.  Technically, I'm prompting you to do it because I think you deserve to feel pampered for a few minutes (Yes, I'm projecting here,) but we'll say it's in the name of the Meme, just for further justification. :)  I'll show you mine if you show me yours!

So, here it is: Makeup Monday.  I'm going to cheat and post the pictures I took of myself this weekend.  I had a wedding to attend, and damn did my makeup look fabulous! I even did my manicure myself, and I wore the single cutest pair of shoes ever.

And, here's Kinder Major, since she was so pleased with her dress and hair, too!

Interesting.

I caused quite a stir today when we ventured into the grocery store.  Babywearing is budding in our liberal college town, but the area I live in is still pretty sheltered.  You might be able to imagine the looks of awe and admiration when they saw this walk through their local Publix: 

 

Now, I'm not one to draw attention to my accomplishments, particularly when they're things I know other people do every day without blinking, but I've gotta tell ya... I felt like freaking SuperMama.  In front is Bug, in a Kiddie Winkles Designs woven wrap, weighing in at a whopping 16 lbs, and in back is Snow White (22 months and about 29 lbs,) in a black Iris organic Ergo.

Also, please disregard that I'm painfully fat.  Working on that part.  (50 lbs lost since December!)

Sooo, yeah.  I just had to share with all of my loyal readers my latest accomplishment:  Babywearing two at once. :D

Shoutout to parents of more than two!

I just wanted to make a quick "You're my hero" post for those of you who have more than two little Vagina Pirates. 

Meet Snow White: 

Snow White is my beautiful, wonderful, AMAZING Niece.

I used to watch Snow White regularly through the week, and then there was the whole end-of-pregnancy disaster, which turned into sick baby disaster, which was then The Great Leg Incident of  '10.

Now that I'm walking and almost back to normal again, I'm back to taking care of Snow White during the day, which is AWESOME.  I love her to death - as much as my own two - and she and Kinder Major really are like sisters.  Right down to the "Mom, she hit me!" part, in fact. =P

Anyways, today was the first day that I really did more than pack the two little ones up, pick up Kinder Major from school and then come back home.  We ate lunch (IN the restaurant,) hit up the bank and did a quick grocery shop.

This was significant.  VERY significant.  I only have one carrier right now (an Ergo,) that Bug goes in.  Which means that I actually CARRIED Snow White when she needed it.  (She wears footie pajammas almost 24/7 these days, due to a suspected skin condition called Ichthyosis, which causes scaly skin production, severe itching, and in some cases a lack of sweating.  She's a very dilligent scratcher, and will scratch herself bloody if allowed.  So, to thwart her attempts to skin herself, she wears 100% cotton footies.  Which means shoes don't fit well.  Which means lots of carrying when we're out in public.)  ANYWAYS.  Everyone was extremely well behaved, but we all need a nap now that we're home. ;P

My point is that I have a newfound respect for mamas/papas who do this 24/7, every day, in all circumstances, multiple times a day.  I'm fairly certain things will get a little less hairy when we get into a groove, but wow.  Today was certainly eye opening. ;)

Kudos to you guys!  I would totally give you each a cookie if I wasn't about to land face-first on my couch, dead. ;)

Gratuitous photo post.