Serious (monkey) Business

Today all four of Little Bug's therapists (and possible his new one(s) as well) and his caseworker are meeting with us for his annual official review and reassessment. For many people this is a critical assessment because it is legally used to apply for disability if your child is more than 50% behind.

Even if they assessed him there (which would have to be at 11 months overall, and that just isn't the case), we wouldn't apply for disability, so this is much more about advocacy and collaboration for Appa and I...

...with a little bit of throw-down in there.

Little Bug's old OT will be there, as will his caseworker, who is so inept at her position that she has spent the last 3 weeks avoiding my twice-a-day phone messages instead of trying to find a new OT. Little Bug's speech therapist will also be there....and even though it is not her job, she has been trying to find a good OT. Little Bug's physical and developmental therapists will also be there, and I am sure they will continue to "give it to us straight" while still championing all the progress Little Bug has made.

I'm learning each and every day how to be a better advocate for my child. These lessons will serve us all well in the years to come. Today will be, without a doubt, another learning experience for me.

This is actually a very serious event for us, but part of me is looking forward to it simply because not matter what they say, I know how far he has come. No number on an assessment form will change that. I'm so proud of my son.

Oh, and Little Bug is attending the meeting in a monkey costume. I DARE them to try to resist that charm!

A little spotted blanket with an elephant and a bird, Part II

I'm very lucky.

In the world of BFFs, I'm really lucky to actually have a best friend. I don't use that term lightly either. My best friend and I have been besties for going on 13 years. Of those years, we have lived in the same city for just three of them, but our friendship has withstood time and distance, and I'm not naive enough to think that is a common thing. Besides my family and Appa, Ali(ce) is the most constant person in my life...she was there when I first spoke to Appa after all. We've shared everything from high school firsts and lasts (she started dating her husband, my childhood friend and debate partner, the same weekend I started dating Appa) to college firsts and lasts, to weddings and babies, and girls-only trips. She was the one person I talked to right before I went to meet Little Bug and my life changed forever. She stood next to me at every major event in my life, from my graduation to my wedding to the baptism of my child. If she wasn't about to pop out a little infant, she would be there with me in Korea next year when I meet Little Bro. She knows where I come from and where I am going. She knows my family and my friends and my memories. It's rare to find someone who knows you that well.

All this is especially special since Ali(ce) and I live across the country from each other. Way across the country from each other.

One thing that seems to particularly amuse us and those who know us is what we long ago deemed our "freaky mind connection." It began with our uncanny similar tastes in music and clothing and books. We would often find ourselves buying the same clothing or shoes even though we lived in different states. We would send each other the same book or music recommendations and type the same things at the same time on chats. The instances are too numerous to recount or even remember, and it often leaves our husbands shaking their heads.

However, when Ali(ce) was preparing for the birth of her first daughter, our connection kicked it up another notch. I randomly found this little dress that I just KNEW I had to buy for her. As is common for us, I just randomly dropped it in the mail without alerting her first.

This is the e-mail I got a few days later:
"Okay, this is really starting to get creepy! I got your package yesterday (and my mom got your Christmas card, she thinks it is so nice of you to remember them) and I was too curious to wait so I opened the present for the baby because you had said it was just so cute. I could not believe my eyes - seriously. I was temporarily in shock! It is the exact outfit I had picked out about two months ago! Just before we found out for sure that the baby is a girl we were at Target looking for work pants for BDawg and I saw that exact dress. I loved it so I picked it up and carried it around with me for like 20 minutes telling BDawg how I wanted to buy it. He said, "But what if it's a boy?" I said I would just bring it back then. But he said no, I had to wait. So I put the dress back. Then when I did find out it was a girl I went back to get it and they were all out!!! I had been looking for it ever since! So I could not believe it when I opened the box! I absolutely love it!!! I can't wait to dress her up in it! So yeah, our ability to live clear across the country from each other and still always buy the exact same thing is kinda weird - very cool, but just a little weird."

Fast forward years of silly little "freaky mind connection" instances to today. Ali(ce) sent me a gchat talking about her recent shopping spree for her new daughter she is expecting next month and wrote

"I even bought this little blanket I found that I fell in love with. It has polka-dots and a little elephant."

My mouth dropped. Could it have been this?

The answer is yes, it was. And that made my day, possibly my week.

She's my "real-life Alice".

PS: she does not actually call her husband "BDawg."

Here Baby Baby

I've been in a funk the last few days, and I finally figured out why.

I miss my baby.

Although I am not broadcasting this far and wide, this blog is technically anonymous and Appa alluded to it on our family blog, so I don't mind saying that I happen to be alone this week. Appa had some time off so he took Little Bug to visit with some extended family in another state. I'm very happy for them, and they seem to be having a nice time.

They've been gone since Sunday morning and won't be back for a few more days…shattering my previous 48-hours-without-Little Bug record. I was actually really looking forward to some "me time," and I am working on a home project that would be exceptionally hard to do with Little Bug home and in need of "Mama time." I've been staying up late to watch movies and read and not eating my veggies and might even jump on my bed later. It's been great.

Yet, I ache to see my baby. I'm watching old videos on my blog just to hear his voice, staring at pictures to enjoy his smile, and generally mopping around like someone just took my favorite shiny toy. I can't focus as well at work because I am constantly e-mailing Appa to get the play-by-play of Little Bug's day. Appa posted a little video last night, which I have watched more times than anyone should watch a blog video (and have a new mantra, "Pull UP his pants!").

This isn't just a matter of missing Little Bug. I miss new episodes of The OC and Nerd Blizzards at Dairy Queen.

No, I don't just miss my child, I crave him, and I cannot wait until he is home.

My Webafesto

Disclaimer: If you are reading this, there is a 99.99999% chance that I am not talking about you. I'm nervous about posting it, but it's is where my head is at this morning.

Sometimes you have to clean out your closet, or your fridge, or your car, etc., and get all the old, stale, nasty stuff you don't use and don't need out of your daily life.

Lately I have been doing that with less tangible things (and not just because I hate cleaning my car and am avoiding it). The internet is an amazing thing and connects me to people and things and ideas in ways that have enriched my life. When I moved to a new state 2 years ago and was searching for a job and adjusting to my husband's new job demands, an internet book club provided me with my only outlet for making friends. Some of those friends transcended from "internet friends" to "local [insert book club name here] friends" and a smaller portion became just "dear friends" who are in my life and the lives of my husband and son (the ultimate mark of acceptance from me) for multiple reasons.

By that same token, I have spent the last year splashing around in the world of adoption blogs and boards and listserves. Again, I've made "adoption bloggy friend," some of who transitioned into "local adoption friends," and some who have even just become "friends who happen to have/are also adopted from Korea." More and more of the people I met in the adoption community are becoming wonderful friends for my family, and I love that.

I treasure all these "adoption" friendships, both the ones that I might never get to meet in real life and the ones who I meet for tea or zoo trips or a burger and apple cider ale. The support and friendship and fellowship and advice and commiseration and fan-girling is all things that make me smile and bring joy to my life. That is a good thing.

However, like that sweater you bought on clearance last summer that is taking up prime space in your closet, even though you know you will NEVER wear it again, some things in the Internet worlds I spent time in are probably outstaying their welcome and need to go.

I started by almost completely removing myself from my book club "fandom," which was taking up time in my life that I could have and should have devoted to my family. I'd made my friends and had my fun, but I was no longer getting anything of real value from the time I was devoting to those other "relationships." It hurt some people who I had chatted with online, but ultimately, those not-in-real-life relationships are meaningless compared to my real-life relationships and there are just so many hours in the day. My family and I have all benefited from this break, and those who were true friends still call me up to chat about life…not just a book series. That is real.

The issue of the Internet adoption community is a different beast and one that I am having a harder time with. I love checking blogs, and I love writing blogs, and I love chatting with other adoptive moms who I have connected with one way or the other. Unlike my above mentioned relationships, I see long-lasting value in cultivating relationships with people that I might never actually meet because the support I will need as my child grows is something only these other women can provide. So in that respect, I'm happy with my "friends" and always looking for more.

HOWEVER, I've found there are some other areas of the adoption community that are no longer for me, specifically the boards. Now, I am not judging anyone, and honestly right now, there are a lot of weird and heartbreaking and frustrating things going on in an otherwise very stable program and specifically with people who I "know" (and this is NOT directed at them, for those of you who also "know" them), but I just can't do it anymore with those nameless, faceless people.

The complaining about timeframes, the bickering about circumsion or cosleeping or baby carriers or guest house versus hotel or travel versus escorting, the minutia of the I-[insert any number of numeric combinations], VI, P3, EP and the fever pitched highs and lows that come with those daily check-up calls, and the refusal of people to accept that all adoptions are not created equal and cannot be compared apples and apples, agency to agency, Lillipie ticker to Lillipie ticker is exhausting to me.

I'm not saying people shouldn't complain, only that they should reserve their complaining for the things that really deserve to be complained about. Some people have some really legitimate sucky things happening to their adoptions right now, and I completely sympathize and understand their need to reach out for support and welcome that. But the "OMG it's been 4 weeks since whatever, and I just cannot wait anymore (even though their agency told them it would be this long or longer)" or "I wasn't informed by my SW of so and so (even though there is NO reason your SW would call you out of the blue to tell you about something that doesn't immediately affect you)" or whatever angers me. It's negativity that breeds negativity because everyone rushes to "support" by affirming the injustice of it all and how awful it is.

That's not support; that is mass hysterics and doesn't do anyone any good. Certainly not our children, the agencies, or our hearts. Especially our hearts. Yet, somehow I continue to get sucked into it. I read the threads, I read the blogs, I read the messages. I occasionally try to respond in a supportive but level-headed manner, but find that I tend to look heartless. My outlook on the adoption process (i.e., I'm not OWED anything or any specific time frame and the only thing that is constant about adoption is that you should expected the unexpected, but that at the end of it, you WILL have your child) works for me, but not for everyone and some people have or are having very different experiences than mine that I might not understand, and I need to accept that.

So I have.

I've stopped going to the most boards I find to be filled with the most mass hysteria and rumors. I have started to hold my tongue on a listserv that is home to people who I actually care about on a personal level when things get a little heated and unkind there, and I have stopped following some blogs that are filled with negativity or views on parenting/life that don't add anything of value to my own. I casually skim some of the more aggravating list serves instead of reading the actual comments and taking the time to respond.

Support for those who are in true crisis and who need prayers and good thoughts is something I will always have, but I'm honestly all our of support for the people who want to complain and stir up trouble and gossip just for something to do or because they are having a bad week. It might be selfish or egotistical of me, but the negativity certain things were bringing up in me is unnecessary negativity and not something that needs to be passed on to my son. (Did you know it is a medical fact that children can sense and absorb the mood of their parents, including depression, anger, and fear?)

I acknowledge that this post is my own little drop of negativity out into the world, but I have noticed a marked increase in my daily happiness when I don't allow myself to spend 10 minutes getting sucked into the vortex of all the things that I know are bringing my own mood down--in ALL of my Internet dealings. I now fill myself up with hope for what will be, excitement for what is, compassion for those who are hurting, brilliance and simplicity of parenting ideas and incorporating culture and book recommendations and recipes and picture after picture of pumpkin patches and Tol celebrations and silly smiles and hugs that never fail to bring a smile to my face.

So many things in life, and especially in adoption, are totally outside our control. How I choose to spend my Internet time and fill my head and heart, however, is completely in my control.

Bursting

I love the moments in life when you can physically feel yourself "bursting" with happiness. Your breath catches, your body relaxes, and you can actually feel your heart beating inside your body.

The best part about those moments is that they come on unexpectedly and often unprompted.

That's all I've got for today...but it's all I really need.

Spoiled

Before Little Bug came home, I was convinced I wouldn't spoil my child. As one of five kids with a one parent income, I didn't grow up spoiled. Comfortable, yes. Spoiled, no. I scoffed and judged other parents who clearly spoiled their kids.

I'm now trying to retrace my steps to find out where my son became spoiled. Because he is . totally . spoiled. Not materialistically...although he is actually the owner of an unholy amount of toys, clothes, and books, and is probably the definition of a spoiled child...but he could care less about any of it, so I am not counting that right now.

Little Bug throws a lot of tantrums lately. He expects his way and to get what he want when he wants it. Deviation from this lofty life-plan results in whining, crying, head banging, throwing, and the super fun "dead weight"/"stiff as a board" baby moves. This is most concerning because Little Bug still doesn't have a lot of body awareness, so sometimes his tantrums can hurt him.

I don't really blame myself for the tantrums. Appa and I haven't modeled the behavior for him (shocker), tantrums are pretty normals for toddlers, and we've been doing everything we can "by the book" to modify his behaviors through our reactions to him, keeping his safety in mind, of course.

But, so many of Little Bug's tantrums are now a direct result of not getting his way. How much of this is normal toddlerness and how much is spoiledness, I'm can't figure out. (No, neither of those are actual words.) I know part of the problem is that for a very long time, Little Bug couldn't physically do things, so we did it for him. It makes sense that he would now be confused as to why he has to walk instead of be carried or hold his own sippy cup instead of getting it poured down his throat like a little baby bird.

Occasionally the "independent" streak comes out, and he wants to do things on his own. Unfortunately, the activities he is usually interested in doing on his own include things like scaling walls, using sharp forks, going outside, playing in the street, "typing" on the computer, and diving into an empty (or full) bath.

We are trying to find this happy medium between "tough love" and forcing him to become more independent and less "spoiled," and still providing a level of reward for his hard work and continued attachment. It's a fine line that I can't fully explain. When he is crying after a hard day of walking and wants to be picked up, I feel it is best for both of us to pick him up. However, if I do, then he refuses to walk for hours after that and will tantrum if not being held. If it's raining outside or muddy and I picked him up to avoid him inevitably butt plopping at some point into the muck, he decided he should always get to be carried from the car to the door.

I guess all we can do is keep working on it. Give him his love and attention and support and push him to his limits. In the meantime, I'll just be that mama with the spoiled kid.

I guess it could be worse. I could be the Target Mom.

I Got Served and Liked It

I have this quirk where I cackle-laugh sometimes. Not like a witch, but more like Pretty Woman (always better to compare yourself to Julia Roberts than a witch). It has to be something super unexpected and exceptionally funny (to me), and I also have to be in a certain mood. But, when the stars align just so, my cackle is epic, and probably very annoying.

Tonight Little Bug was standing against my legs, demanding "UP" as he does approximately once every .5 nanoseconds. I grabbed his little hands to make him practice walking instead (because I am that mama), but Little Bug had other plans.

He started tap dancing.

Seriously. He kept moving his little feet and legs in this wild motion that was clearly his version of dancing. Every once and a while he would pause as if to expect me to show him my stuff. So, I did.

Then things got wild. There was a dance party in my dining room as Little Bug and I took turns in our little dance-off for a solid 3 or 4 minutes while Appa laughed and clapped in tune.

That tune was Little Bug's cute little giggles and my cackles--A LOT of cackles, because it was that sort of moment.

I love memories; I really do.

Let's Talk About Bodily Fluids

I've never been exceptionally good with bodily fluids…I find them pretty gross. However, it is amazing how something clicks when you have a child to take care of. Suddenly wiping away snot or drool (or even other things in the most desperate of situations) becomes a part of life. Sure, there is still that little voice in the back of your head that is quietly rocking away in the fetal position moaning in total disgust, but for the most part, it becomes automatic and barely something you think about.

I wipe drool and snot with my hands at least once every 10 minutes…usually transferring that to my own clothing if I don't have a rag handy. I've been pooped on. I've been pee-ed on from multiple directions. I've even had my son vomit directly into my mouth. (Word of advice, don't play rough and high with your baby directly after meal time…and if you do, don't laugh with your mouth open.)

Somehow, none of it is a deal breaker. It's the oddest thing.

But seriously, do try to avoid having another human being vomit in your mouth. I do not recommend it.

Still in Awe

Yesterday was not the best day of my life, and I was looking forward to sleeping the finals hours away as I dragged my body up the stairs late last night.

At the top of the stairs I noticed a thin ray of light from the nightlight seeping out from under Little Bug's door. A normal, every night occurrence.

And yet, the thought that ran through my mind in that moment was

Holy Cow, my baby is actually in that room sleeping. It really happened.

Among all the millions of things in my life to be grateful for, I am grateful for my not-always-rosy journey to motherhood that has instilled this sense of awe I still have when I sometimes look at my son (or his nursery door). I hope to never forget just what a miracle he is in my life.

Reality Check

3 posts in like 12 hours...my mind is a-spinning lately.

I just got a nice dose of reality in the form of Little Bug's occupational therapist (OT) who has been with him for over a year.

She's officially giving up on him.

Seriously?

Little Bug has made AMAZING strides in the last year, and he seems to be on the cusp of so much more. His OT has always been the farthest behind, but part of that was attributed to the fact that he was focusing on other things to develop....he's just a baby; he can't do everything all at once.

But, his OT has decided the progress just isn't enough. She thinks he needs OT twice a week (that would be, for those who are counting, 6 therapy sessions a week for Little Bug), and she thinks she isn't the one for the job anymore. She is officially assessing him at 11 months developmentally in fine motor skills. I'm being honest when I say that it stings a bit, but I am not distraught about it. (Little Bug was assessed at 3-4 months old overall when he was 11.5 months old...that is a much harder pill to swallow for some reason.)

You know what....Good. Go. Like I told Appa on the phone when he was worried about breaking this "bond" she has with Little Bug.....

She doesn't believe in my kid; she has no business being around him.

So we move on. We get a new OT who will hopefully come in with a new energy and drive. We continue to stick with the PT, DT, and ST who have been so wonderful to celebrate those little victories with us. We don't let the opinions of one woman who clearly isn't feeling it shape the opinions and hopes and dreams of those of us who totally are feeling it.

However, it is a good reality check for me. Not everyone will see past the wobbles and toy banging and drooling and cheerful smile and hugs to the intense stubbornness and perseverance and patience that makes up our son.

And that is fine, but those people don't need to be in our lives.

To Stalk or Not to Stalk

I'm not creepy, I swear.

Little Bug lived with another little girl in Korea, and we have many pictures of the two of them growing up together. We wanted to keep in touch with this little girl's family, but all our agency could tell us is the state she would be living in and that they would give the family our information.

13 months later...crickets.

After blog stalking for as long as I have, I had thought on a couple of occasions that I might have found this little girl, but it never seemed to pan out. Then, in a stroke of sheer luck, Little Bug's foster family started their own blog (how awesome is that?!?) and another family started following it...a family who used to live in the very state we had been told and who had sent the foster family an updated picture of a little girl who looked very much like the little girl in our pictures.

Here's where it gets a little stalkery.

The woman's profile has no e-mail address, and her family blog is private. Through pictures posted on the other blogs she follows (family member's blogs), I was able to confirm that this was for sure Little Bug's special Korea friend. I would very much like to keep some sort of contact with the family of the girl who lived with Little Bug, but I have no real way to reach them. I could ask the foster family, and might have to in the end, but I would prefer to keep them out of what could be an awkward situation for them should the other family not be receptive.

I mean, it could be that they had our information and chose not to contact us. Well within their prerogative.

So, the most stalkerish idea I've had is to contact the woman's father and mother, whose e-mails and blog I do have access to, and explain who I am and why I would like them to pass along my information.

Appa thinks it's creepy of me to do that. Indeed, stopping perfect strangers from contacting us about intimate family issues was part of the reason we took our blog private. I don't want to overstep my "normal-person" boundaries.

So, what is a noncreepy Mama to do?

I Wish for Her a Beautiful Life

I think about Little Bug’s birth mother every day. Usually it is when I am rocking him to sleep and thinking about what a perfect miracle he is that my thoughts momentarily drift to her. It’s almost like a mental check in with her…

Yes, he is being taken care of, and yes, there is a part of me that is sorry that you are not able to be the one taking care of him. Thank you.

It’s not a sad thing, but just a part of my life and thought process. She is not forgotten. Sometimes I will think about her or Little Bug’s birth father when wondering where Little Bug got his dashing looks or his happy disposition. However, rarely do I think about them past that. We have chosen not to share the particulars of Little Bug’s birth family with people. It’s not a scandalous secret, but it is information that we feel belongs to Little Bug. It’s his choice to share it when and with whom he wants.

So, with that in mind, I still want to talk about some feelings I have been experiencing in the last few days. A large newspaper recently ran an article about the plight of unwed mothers in Korea. It was all information I knew in general terms before, but to see if spelled out in detail was shocking.

Unwed mothers in Korea are the lowest of the low. They are disowned by their families; shunned by their friends, coworkers, and strangers; often lose their jobs or apartments; and are given very little help from the government. With all that in mind, one could somehow understand how a staggering 96% of unwed pregnancies are ended in abortion.

96%.

That means that Little Bug’s birth mother was one of just 4% of women who chose to carry her pregnancy to term. That means that she spent 9 months pregnant and working while dealing with social shunning that I cannot fathom. That means she made a choice to bear the brunt of this social suicide for the baby growing inside her.

Then she let that sweet baby boy go with the hope of a better future for him.

And he came to me.

I’m in awe of her. Truly, I am in awe, and I am humbled to be charged with the honor of raising this little boy who meant enough to her to give her the strength to go through everything that most people choose not to go through.

According to the article, she is probably still facing prejudice and social stigmas, even after giving Little Bug up for adoption. She made a sacrifice for a blessing she isn’t even able to experience. She made some very specific choices that I am just now beginning to understand.

I do not believe I will ever get to meet this woman, but I pray for her every night. Not just that she is safe and calm and at peace, but I pray that she is happy and being treated with kindness and love by those around her. I pray that she is able to enjoy life. There is this book that a lot of Korean-adoptee families read that is a collection of letters from birth mothers called I Wish for You a Beautiful Life. I like that.

I wish for her a beautiful life.

My Deer Sweet Boy

I had a whole long, verbose post written, but just deleted it. It wasn't how I wanted to share my "secret."

Today Little Bug took two steps by himself. His therapist saw it, and called me and another therapist over to see him do it again. So he actually did it twice.

It wasn't easy. It wasn't completely natural. It wasn't something that is ready to be replicated over and over yet. It's certainly wasn't graceful or effortless or pretty.

In fact, it was almost exactly like that scene in Bambi when Bambi is born and tries to first walk...all gangly limbs and woobles and hesitation and hope and joy.

And it was literally one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.

We have decided not to say anything on our family blog because Little Bug is still a long way from walking, but I wanted to get this moment down.

Little Bug, someday when you are flipping through these posts, ask me about this moment. I guarantee that, no matter how many years have gone by, I will be able to tell you every little detail about your first steps, and how proud I am of you.

Yep, he's mine.

My husband is freaking awesome.

Yes, that's right all you snooty ladies in my suburb who won't speak to me at parent/tot swimming lessons because I don't have the right jewelry or swimming suit or am not a member of your MOPS/Mommy Cocktail club, my husband is awesome.....and thank you for saying so.

Last night I had a work function that directly conflicted with Little Bug's parent/tot swim class. There are no makeup sessions, so it was a use-it-or-lose-it sort of thing. Appa was more than willing to carve the time out of his work to take Little Bug, even though he had never been before.

I was clear in my warnings. Little Bug hates the noodles; steer clear. The water is a bit cold; so keep him low in the water as much as you can. He loves the spray, but it is pretty strong and hurts him. Oh, and almost all the moms in the class are rude and probably will give you mean looks.

Have fun honey!

Turns out that all those ladies who actively pretend not to see me or Little Bug (and honestly, I have no idea why this is, other than they just are not interested in making more friends) were ALL ABOUT my husband taking Little Bug to swimming.

"Oh, you are doing so great with all the little songs!"
"Oh, I wish my husband would come do swimming with [insert kid's name here]. He refuses. It's so wonderful to see you here with your son."
"I'm going to tell my husband he has to come, now that you have."
"What a great dad you are to do this with your son!"

Well, you don't have to force me twice to acknowledge that my husband is a step above the rest. In actuality, I must be surrounded by a lot of cool men, because I didn't think it was that odd for a dad to go to swimming classes with his son. I know quite a few who do. So, I guess I'm not the only lucky mama around, but it certainly is nice to be in that club.

And one of the other "outsiders" in the class who actually asked Appa about where I was and tried to engage Appa in conversation throughout the class, well, I am going to ask her out for coffee. I can never have too many friends, and she seems like someone I might get along with.

I need someone to gossip with about the other moms anyway since Appa is buddy buddy with them all now.

October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month

Warning, this post is pretty jumbled. I have about five different things I want to get out of my head, and I am not sure that they really connect or have any real point at the end of it all.

Since I was in college, I’ve always had a soft spot for breast cancer awareness, most likely because the cause is heavily promoted to women and, well, because I myself have breasts. I would spend the extra money to buy the pink ribbon stamps, donate my $15.00 contribution each year to some random foundation, and generally just support the cause through awareness. However, breast cancer never actually touched me in any way.

When I moved to the Midwest I made a dear friend about 25 years my senior. She was going through her second round of chemo for breast cancer. In the course of our subsequent 5 year friendship (in the same city), I watched her struggled through chemo, radiation, a period of wonderful health, and a relapse. I saw both the physical and emotional highs and lows. I did Breast Cancer Awareness walks with her and even organized and ran a huge sponsorship with the Komen Foundation and my company. I dyed her hair when it started coming back in, soft and completely white. I helped her shop for a new bra. This, I thought, was why I had always felt compelled to support this cause. For her.

One morning this last April I got a very odd voice mail from my mom in the wee hours of the morning. My thought was that one of my grandparents had died, so I called her on my way to work, prepared for the worst.

I was not prepared for her to tell me in a very detached, almost blunt manner, that she had found a huge lump in her breast and it was cancerous. The conversation lasted less than 2 minutes and changed my life.

My mom doesn’t read this blog (she doesn’t read much these days, but is addicted to pictures and videos of Little Bug, which has spurred me to become a near-daily family blogger), but some people that know her do read this blog. Anyone who knows my mom knows that she doesn’t like people to “know her business” and fuss or worry or talk about her. She is an intensely private person. I know that people talking about her or her cancer upsets her, so I will respect that and make this post about my feelings; and only say that she has gone through an awful lot these last 6 months, personally, emotionally, and physically. Things that I can’t really sit and think about because it doesn’t seem real, and when it does, I can’t handle it very well.

My mom is alive and kicking, and for that we are all blessed, but that doesn’t change the fact that her life (and by extension the lives of my father and two siblings still in the house, and the rest of us who are now out of the house) has straight up sucked since cancer came to town.

Is this why I felt compelled to support this cause so long ago? For my mother?

There is something people call the “cancer gene” that my sisters and I are supposed to be tested for. My mom rarely shares her feelings about cancer with me, but when she does, it is usually in the context of her fears that my sisters or I will get breast cancer. Honestly, when I drop the whole invincibility thing most people my generation have, it’s probably a legitimate fear. I have PCOS, which increases my risks for cancer. If I end up with breast cancer, there will be a part of me that won’t be surprised.

The worst part of this for my mom, I think ultimately, is her concern for her kids. Her mother died of cancer with a kid still in the house. She knows what it feels like to take time off of school to bury your mother, to raise your own babies without a mother to feel completely comfortable turning to. (My family is luckier than most because my mom’s “stepmom” is truly a mom to her in every way, so she was not left “motherless” for long and her children [i.e., me and my sibs] have grown up with the best grandma a child could ever wish for.)

It gets me thinking, though, about my role as a mother. My life is in so many ways no longer my own. Everything I do, personally, professionally, spiritually, emotionally, etc., impacts Little Bug’s life in the most major ways. His life is shaped by mine. Am I living a best life for myself and in extension, for him? The third Diet Dr. Pepper I just opened today probably says no.

That’s really daunting. (The responsibility to your child, not the lack of DDP, although I would probably consider that daunting as well.)

Is this why I have always supported the cause? Somehow for him?

My mom’s prognosis is very good, and I fully expect her to be hounding me for pictures and videos of Little Bug, Little Bro, and Little Sis for years to come, but her illness has reminded me of how fragile life is, both our own and others. Sadly, this reminder is going to keep on going for some time.

There are no “islands” in a family; we are all connected in the most intimate of ways.

Still learning from my mom

It's all fun and games until someone poops on you

This is my poop story. Not my first, and not even my most disgusting, but possibly my personal favorite.

Little Bug was wired last night. Appa was working late, I was dead tired, and Little Bug was ready to go, go go. I decided to turn on our personal savior soothing tool, HBO's Classical Baby, and Little Bug and I cuddled into our comfy chair with a sippy cup and oversized custom made snuggie (go ahead, be jealous). As often happens in our house, I started to smell something foul from the general area under the blanket, but when I pulled Little Bug up for an inspection, I didn't see anything amiss. Smelled it, sure, but everything seemed under control. Because it was close to bedtime, I didn't want to waste a diaper by changing it twice within a 10 minute time period (side note: I have personally found that if the diaper is not changed immediately before bedtime it will wet through in the night; it's like a law in our house). So, I snuggled Little Bug back down under the blanket for the rest of the show.

That would prove to be a mistake.

When the show was over, Little Bug and I got up and went upstairs for his nighttime routine. It was at that point that I noticed a slight leakage of poop on his leg, but really, it looked harmless, so I set up to change his diaper. As I bent down to get his diaper, I happened to notice my black dress pants. They were streaked up and down my legs and cr*tch (don't want people Google searching that word to find this blog) with brown poop. Like a good amount of poop.

And it was almost dry, meaning it had been there for a while. GAG!

Unfortunately, being a mom means coming second, and Little Bug also was covered in poop…his being nice and fresh and stinky. So, I had to take care of him first, even though the whole time I was trying not to vomit at the idea that my pants were covered in poop and had been for a while.

The rest of the story is pretty uneventful. With Little Bug's immediate needs met, I changed out of the pants, gave him a kiss, and put him to bed. The pants went into the laundry and the story was recounted to Appa when he got home.

Of course, he laughed…and so did I....eventually.