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.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, October 5, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
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 ourpersonal 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.
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
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.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
I Don't Want to Grow Up: I'm a Toys * Us Mom
Sometimes being an adult is so lame. I can vividly recall desperately wanting to be a "grown up" when I was younger. Now I look back on that time so fondly. Someone else made money for me, bought and cooked my meals, washed my clothes, paid for utilities, gas, cable, and even paid my taxes! They even paid me just for being me. What a life!I'm pretty sure if I called my mom and dad up today and begged them to buy me a pizza, they would try. But the lamest part of being an adult is that I would never do that.
Because I am an adult.
Appa turned 29 recently. This is unconcerning for both of us. (In case you were wondering, "unconcerning" is not a word. "Unconcerned, unconcernedly, and unconcernedness" are all words though. You're welcome.) We've not yet began to feel that horror most people feel when they leave their 20's in the dust. In fact, our feelings are almost the opposite.
We're almost 30!?! Us? Seriously?
Appa and I have been together since I was 16. We've grown together and that has been great, but it almost makes it very easy to forget how far we have come (and how many years that took us). We're still cracking the same inside jokes from 1997.
Me, specifically, I often forget that I am an adult. Not just a young adult who is trying to be a totally-with-it independent woman, but an actual adult with a husband, a mortgage, two cars, a kid, a whole bunch of legal papers for another kid, a living will, coworkers who are younger than my siblings, and parents who live 5 states away.
No more someone else washing my clothes for me. (Actually, Appa does a lot of the laundry in our house.)
Yet, I am as nostalgic as they come and I think I am a pretty fun loving, young-at-heart sort of adult. I love things that remind me of my childhood.
Which is why I have my two favorite Care Bears (who in my young mind were dating) and a Mickey Mouse globe I got on a girl's trip to Disney World with my BFF sitting prominently in front of my computer.
At work.
They make being an adult a little less lame.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Fall
Fall.
I've only recently in the last few years come to truly appreciate Fall. I've always been lucky enough to live in areas where Fall is a real season with crisp air, deep shaded leaves, and that special moment before it gets dark where you can almost feel the season changing little by little. In the last few years I have taken the time to enjoy this unique period of the year.
A couple nights ago I was outside getting something from our car and took a couple minutes to stand out in our driveway. It was twilight and the first of the leaves on our neighbor's tree were turning. There was this electricity in the air (probably from the electrical storm we had later that night), and the whole atmosphere felt very alive. I just stood there and took it all in.
I was thinking about that moment this morning as I noticed even more leaves turning on my way to work. I started thinking back to last Fall.
Last Fall I did not take the time to stop and smell the leaves.
I worry that I might write too much on this blog about my experience with post adoption depression, but I think it is important for me to share feelings as they come out; both to help others who might be experiencing this very under-supported experience and just to help me work through what lingers of my own. Understand that all things considered, I have a charmed life, and I totally know it.
Last Fall Little Bug had been home for around a monthish. Things were rough in my world, but only those very closest to Appa and I really had any indication of that, mainly because I tried desperately to hide it, even from myself and him. I'm not sure at the time that I even knew what I was feeling. I was overwhelmed with the total loss of independence I was experiencing, the complete 24/7 independence Little Bug had on me, my feelings of inadequacy, Little Bug's special needs that I felt completely unprepared for, consuming guilt over my feelings, and lack of sleep and good eating.
I am convinced that lack of sleep makes everything worse. Just an aside.
Anyway, I honestly can't remember Fall last year. I remember experiences with Little Bug, but I don't recall what the leaves looked like, or what the air smelled like, or how I felt about it all. There were no seasons for me at the end of last year. My life was lived in a very weird haze of shellshock, depression, avoidance, self loathing, and spurts of joy. (This haze sadly clouded what should have been the Christmas season of my dreams, too.)
Blah. I'm not loving thinking about it today, but the point of this post is that I realized this morning as I was marveling over the start of the Fall season that I am back and better than ever!
There is a light at the end of the depression tunnel. For some people it might be just a week or a few days away. For some, it might be months. For me, it was many months and a hard fought battle, but there is light at the end of the tunnel.
How can there not be? Being a parent is hard and the ultimate sacrifice is so many ways, and yet, at the end of the day, your child inherently makes it worth it. You just have to be in the right frame of mind to see it.
Case in point: Yesterday Little Bug and I were leaving a store and he was riding in the shopping cart in the parking lot. the wind was pretty strong and had that autumn bite to it. Little Bug gasped the first time he felt it, and then started pumping his legs wildly and throwing his head around, mouth wide open, trying to catch the air in his mouth, his hands clapping almost unconsciously.
That is my new favorite memory of Fall.
I've only recently in the last few years come to truly appreciate Fall. I've always been lucky enough to live in areas where Fall is a real season with crisp air, deep shaded leaves, and that special moment before it gets dark where you can almost feel the season changing little by little. In the last few years I have taken the time to enjoy this unique period of the year.
A couple nights ago I was outside getting something from our car and took a couple minutes to stand out in our driveway. It was twilight and the first of the leaves on our neighbor's tree were turning. There was this electricity in the air (probably from the electrical storm we had later that night), and the whole atmosphere felt very alive. I just stood there and took it all in.
I was thinking about that moment this morning as I noticed even more leaves turning on my way to work. I started thinking back to last Fall.
Last Fall I did not take the time to stop and smell the leaves.
I worry that I might write too much on this blog about my experience with post adoption depression, but I think it is important for me to share feelings as they come out; both to help others who might be experiencing this very under-supported experience and just to help me work through what lingers of my own. Understand that all things considered, I have a charmed life, and I totally know it.
Last Fall Little Bug had been home for around a monthish. Things were rough in my world, but only those very closest to Appa and I really had any indication of that, mainly because I tried desperately to hide it, even from myself and him. I'm not sure at the time that I even knew what I was feeling. I was overwhelmed with the total loss of independence I was experiencing, the complete 24/7 independence Little Bug had on me, my feelings of inadequacy, Little Bug's special needs that I felt completely unprepared for, consuming guilt over my feelings, and lack of sleep and good eating.
I am convinced that lack of sleep makes everything worse. Just an aside.
Anyway, I honestly can't remember Fall last year. I remember experiences with Little Bug, but I don't recall what the leaves looked like, or what the air smelled like, or how I felt about it all. There were no seasons for me at the end of last year. My life was lived in a very weird haze of shellshock, depression, avoidance, self loathing, and spurts of joy. (This haze sadly clouded what should have been the Christmas season of my dreams, too.)
Blah. I'm not loving thinking about it today, but the point of this post is that I realized this morning as I was marveling over the start of the Fall season that I am back and better than ever!
There is a light at the end of the depression tunnel. For some people it might be just a week or a few days away. For some, it might be months. For me, it was many months and a hard fought battle, but there is light at the end of the tunnel.
How can there not be? Being a parent is hard and the ultimate sacrifice is so many ways, and yet, at the end of the day, your child inherently makes it worth it. You just have to be in the right frame of mind to see it.
Case in point: Yesterday Little Bug and I were leaving a store and he was riding in the shopping cart in the parking lot. the wind was pretty strong and had that autumn bite to it. Little Bug gasped the first time he felt it, and then started pumping his legs wildly and throwing his head around, mouth wide open, trying to catch the air in his mouth, his hands clapping almost unconsciously.
That is my new favorite memory of Fall.
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