Archive for the ‘The Mom in Me’ Category

I’m pretty sure Vista’s therapists think I’m a complete flake.

We’re having to make the dreaded preschool decision for this fall.

And when you have a special needs kid, it’s not as easy as just picking one and going.

First there’s finding a place that will take ‘early entry’ (take them when they’re three instead of four).

Then we have to find a place that takes kids who aren’t potty trained yet. And that little criteria pretty much eliminates every preschool in our area unless Vista has an aide. Which at this point isn’t a given.

So at this point we’ve put her name in at both school boards (public and catholic) in the off chance she does get an aide.

But now I’m sort of backpedaling. I’m not convinced that putting her in preschool this fall is the right thing for her after all. She’s going strictly for the socialization aspect, but are there better arenas for that?

This past week of seizures has really made me reconsider. How are other kids going to react to a child who acts one way for a month then has a few seizures and has a complete personality change? Aide or not, other kids don’t react well to that sort of lashing out.

And Vista’s birthday party on the weekend was another event that made me rethink this whole preschool decision.

There were about 10 kids there (ranging in age from 2 – 10). These were good kids. Well behaved kids. Kids who weren’t wild and screaming and acting like idiots. Kids with LOTS of parental supervision. Ten kids is a VERY small preschool class. Only one school, in a small town south of us offers a class of that size.

And Vista lasted one hour with 10 kids before the meltdowns started. Before the pouting defiance started. Before she was miserable and overwhelmed. To the point where we didn’t open presents at the party because it would have been too much for her.
To the point where she didn’t even eat a piece of the special no-cheese pizza we ordered for her or her birthday cupcake because she was so stressed.

She latched on to her BFF, Gracie, as soon as she arrived and wouldn’t let her out of her sight. But Gracie isn’t going to preschool next year. So who would be Vista’s anchor in the sea of toddler chaos?

As much as Vista needs the socialization and to learn how other kids her age play, how much is she really going to get out of it if she’s completely overwhelmed with the situation?

So maybe we’ll keep her at home for another year and let her be a kid for a bit longer.

And maybe we’ll throw schooling right out the window.

More and more people out here are moving to homeschooling, sick of the bullying that goes on, sick of the substandard education that’s provided as a result of over-worked and under-paid teachers.

And Vista with her follower copy-cat mentality, poor coordination, but bright mind would be a prime target for bullies. I know. I was too. It ruined my early school years. I don’t want my child going through that.

What a choice. Schooling, socialization, bullying, questionable education vs homeschooling, butting heads, and losing my sanity.

Which would you choose?

This morning started off nice and leisurely.

Vista got up, I made her breakfast, had a coffee. We were just kicking back.

I pulled up the weather site. Checked the temperatures. Cool. Hmmm… well, maybe if I bundled her up and threw her in the stroller we could go for a walk, since I’ve been saying for the last 6 months 2 months couple weeks that I was going to get out and start exercising.  Then I could have my shower once we get back while Vista’s having a snack.

My nice little plan was starting to take shape – then the unthinkable happened – the phone rang.

I know?  Who the hell calls at 8:45am?  Even if they do know I’ll be up.  Even if it is a weekday.  Still.

Jenn:  Hello *sounding a tad irritated*

Cindy:  Oh hi Jenn, it’s Cindy.  We have a 9am appointment for Vista and I just wanted to make sure we were still on.

Jenn:  Oh of course!  Come on over.  We’re ready and waiting!

Cindy:  Alright, see you in a few minutes!

I looked around at the living room, that hadn’t been vacuumed in two days, scattered with toys.  Glanced to where Vista was sitting, still in her pajamas, hair not combed.  Realized that I was wearing ratty house clothes, I hadn’t showered, teeth weren’t brushed, had an epic case of bed head and a ginormous zit had taken up residence on my chin.

And Vista’s early intervention worker was going to be here in 15 minutes to work with her.

Shiiiiiiiiiiiit.

I sprinted down the hall and grabbed the vacuum and did a 10 second tidy of the living room and hallway.

Grabbed some clothes out of Vistas drawers (matching is for pussies.  And if Cindy says anything I’ll say V picked out the outfit.  Yes.  I’ll LIE).  Threw them on the girl who was still sitting there watching me, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.  Her hair.  Oh geeze.  Thank goodness she’s obsessed with hats.  Grabbed one and threw it at her as I sprinted down the hall to my bedroom.

I cursed the fact that, of all days, I had to pick today to forget to check my calendar.  Then made a mental note to thank Bil for throwing on a load of laundry, so I at least had clean clothes and made the mad dash into the bathroom.  Blow dryer in one hand, toothbrush in the other.  I realized I’m not that coordinated when I just about ended up with toothpaste in my hair.

I gave up on both and resorted to copious amounts of styling product and hairspray, and a good rinse with mouthwash.

Check the clock.  2minutes.  Crud.

I critically examined the zit that was attempting to become a micronation.  Grabbed the cover-up and did what I could.

Looked at the rest of my makeup… another glance at the clock.  Dammit… guess I’m going au natural.

Ran out to the living room and got Vista to help me herd the animals outside.  She’s giggling hysterically thinking this is great fun.  Yeah….laugh it up chuckles… just you wait til you have kids…oh gawd…I’m becoming my mother…

Try to get around Vista who’s meandering back to the living room.  Gave up and ran the other way around the kitchen island, jumped the steps down to the front door, and pulled it open as Cindy was coming up the walk.

I pasted a big smile on my face and welcomed her in while calculating in my head how many calories I just burned, because, really?  I think I deserve an award… made of chocolate.

Raise your hand if 99% of the doctors appointment you’ve been to since having kids have been for them.

I’m totally guilty of this. I spend at least a portion of each week running to this appointment or that therapy session for Vista. And I would never, ever, ever forget her nightly meds.

But when it comes to doctors appointments for myself, or even remember to take my daily dose of happy, it sort of falls into the ‘I’ll get to that eventually pile’.

I’ve had a doctors visit on my to-do list for the past two-and-a-half years. It just hasn’t been that big a priority. It’s not like I was dying or anything. I simply am getting headaches and migraines more often. It’s been like that since I first got pregnant with Vista. But, in the grand scheme of things, it just wasn’t life altering enough to actually bother with the hassle of organizing a visit to the doctor for myself.

The past few month have been worse, so I finally got my act together and made an appointment.

Sitting in the office today, I felt sort of silly whining about headaches. I mean, really? But he nodded, raised an eyebrow when I mentioned how persistent they were and the occasional dizzy spell. He whipped out the handy-dandy blood pressure cuff and took a reading, and then a second one…. and a third one to confirm the first two. 150 over 90. That? Is not good. And that would probably explain the headaches.

I used to have perfect 120/80 pressure. But once I got pregnant with Vista, my blood pressure started creeping up. The day I finally went into labor it hit 160/115.

But after I had her, I got busy with new baby stuff. And there just didn’t seem to be time for anything else.

I’m realizing now I should have made the time. And I know most parents are guilty of that. We neglect ourselves in favor of our children.

So, I walked out of the doctors today with a prescription for blood pressure meds, two prescriptions for migraine meds, and a lab requisition form with almost every other box checked off. Evidently my doctor thinks draining every last drop of blood from my body will somehow help things.

But I will give him points for being thorough. He wants to make sure there’s nothing else I’ve neglected. So I’m getting the full panel – Electrolytes, glucose, cholesterol, vitamin B12, vitamin D, thyroid, protein, and a bunch of others I have no idea what they are for. Oh, and a bonus ECG, just for the fun of it.

I think we need to remind ourselves every once in a while that our own health is just as important as our kids. It doesn’t help them if we leave things too long and end up sick ourselves. So the next time you think ‘Oh…I’ll get to it…eventually…”, just go do it. That’s the voice of personal experience speaking.

As much as I detest trolls, sometimes I grudgingly have to admit their asinine comments make me pause and consider.

Such was the troll that left this comment on Maria’s (BOREDMommy) blog the other day:

Why is it that you call yourselves “mommies”? It’s infantile, like being called a girl instead of a woman. If giving birth (or adopting) and raising a child is so important, why don’t you insist on the dignity of the word “parent”? Or “mother” — if you insist on focusing on gender as well? I am a parent and I was “mommie” only to my children and then only when they were young. No wonder men and childfree women don’t take you seriously: You are endlessly self-absorbed, boring, juvenile, and have nothing to say for yourselves beyond your reproductive status and childrearing.

OK, I have to admit that my first thought was, ‘*snort* Wow…..bitter much?’

But then I stopped.  Do I mind being called a ‘Mommy’ or even lumped in with ‘Mommy bloggers’?

You know… I really don’t.

To me ‘mother’ or even ‘parent’ is a cold, impersonal, standoffish word.

And Vista never refers to me as ‘Mother’.  Ever.  That would just be weird.

To her I’m ‘Mama’ and ‘Mommy’.  So do I associate with that name?  You bet.  Because, as far as my 2 year old is concerned, that is my name.  I have no other identity other than Mommy.  She doesn’t know me as Jenn, same as she doesn’t know Daddy as Bil.  We are Mommy and Daddy.

And I love the simplicity of that.

To me it’s not infantile, it’s innocence at it’s very best.  It speaks to a time when your parents are not adults put on this earth for the express purpose of oppressing you.  It is that sweet time between self awareness and total independence when your child reaches for you to know they are safe, secure, loved.

In time, I’m sure my name will morph. It’ll go from Mommy, to Mom, to OMG! MoooooooooommmmmmGawdYou’reEmbarassingME!

But right now, I’m thrilled to be Mommy.  And I couldn’t possibly think of a sweeter sound than my daughter calling my name.

Are you proud to be a Mommy too?  Head over to BOREdMommy’s site and link up your own post.

I’m beginning to realize that last winter we really lucked out.

Vista was for the most part healthy and didn’t come down with a lot of colds or sickness.

This year… *sigh*  Is a different story.

As soon as she gets over one cold, we get a week off before she starts getting  sick again.

Bil and I are so over it.

The whining,  the hysterics every time she sneezes, the being up all night because her nose is runny and that is an absolute crisis in her world.

And with every round of being sick has come a round of croup.  Except I don’t think it’s croup.  I think  it’s the start of asthma.

So with this latest round of sickness she’s back on inhalers.

There are a few things you learn very quickly when you have a child who is chronically ill.  That is to trust your instincts, trust that you know your child better than any doctor, and that doctors are not infallible.

I spend a large part of my days, when something new comes up, reading medical journals online.  Researching, cross referencing, eliminating possibilities.

When Vista was little, and her doctors insisted that she was fine and just slow to develop because she was a preemie, this research got them to agree to do an MRI (against their better judgment – they were just humoring me, you understand).   But mother’s instinct didn’t fail me and the doctors were shocked when her scan revealed a brain malformation and missing pieces.

And when I suggested when she was only 3 months old, that she might have a milk allergy, which was summarily dismissed by all her doctors… well, I should have listened to my mother’s instinct then.  By the time she was a year old, her GI specialist grudgingly agreed that she might have an *mild intolerance*.  Months of food diaries and elimination diets revealed a severe milk allergy.  Bad enough that she couldn’t even eat beef and a kiss on the cheek from someone who had just had a drink of coffee with creamer in it would leave an angry red mark on her skin.

Now I’m preparing  to do battle on the asthma front.

This time I have my own experience to draw from, though.

As a kid, I was diagnosed with croup over and over.

I had chronic bronchial infections.  There were years I was on antibiotics 11 months out of the year.

But it wasn’t until I was a teenager that a doctor finally shook his head, handed me an inhaler, and sent me for asthma testing, which confirmed  the diagnosis.

See, the problem was, even in the midst of an asthma attack, I don’t get the tell tale bronchial spasms that are what most doctors use to diagnose asthma.

After Vista’s coughing attack at Christmas that left her breathless and blue, we found out she doesn’t get bronchial spasms either. But the attack she had was a carbon copy of what my asthma attacks used to be like.

So, now, once again I am researching, reading, and preparing to make my case before the judge doctor.

When you see my child having a complete throw-down temper tantrum in the store, please don’t assume she’s just spoiled and throwing a fit because I won’t buy her something.

When you see my child crying and me standing there not comforting her, please don’t assume it’s because I’m an unfeeling parent.

When you see my child sitting in a restaurant watching a DVD player or playing with an iTouch with headphones in her hears as she watches videos, please don’t assume we are bad parents who sit our child in front of the TV all day.

When you see my child walking through the mall with a backpack leash on, please don’t assume it’s because I’m a lazy parent who can’t control my toddler.

We live in a reality very different from yours.

A store with lots of smells and noise quickly causes sensory overload for my daughter.  She screams and yells and lashes out and throws herself at me because she has no other way of dealing with her overwhelmed senses.

When she is crying and upset, sometimes it is also because of sensory overload.  For me to pick her up, touch her, comfort her with words, would just add to the sensory stimulation and make the situation worse.  So I stand next to her.  Not touch her.  Not saying anything.  And wait for her to start to calm.  Then I quickly try to refocus her attention on something pleasant for her.

You may see me at this point hand her the iTouch.  It’s not because I don’t want to deal with her.  It’s because after two years of trial and error, we have found an iTouch loaded with coloring / counting / alphabet games and her favorite videos is an effective escape for her.  She is able to focus on it and shut out the external sensory stimulation and therefore calm herself.

A restaurant with loud background music, people talking, weird lighting, is especially overstimulating.  Without a DVD or iTouch to block the sounds and sights, we have less than 5 minutes before you will she her with hands over her ears screaming “TOO LOUD!” over and over.  Then she will start yelling and signing “All done.  All done!”.  Her way of letting us know she needs to get out of that situation and it is too much for her.  Yes, we could lock ourselves in our house and never take her out to a restaurant.  But we want to experience things in her way.  So we choose to use distractions to allow us all to enjoy a meal out without disturbing the other patrons.

And when you see us walking with Vista and she has her backpack leash on it’s not because we have no control over her.  Exactly the opposite.  But to hold our hands in a mall setting is too overstimulating.  The sights, sounds, lights plus the added sensation of touch is too much.  So we use the leash instead.  The clasps on the backpack that go across her chest and hold it tight to her back, also act as a compression which helps calm and focus her.

So the next time you see my child, any child, acting out; the next time you see parents who are not parenting the way you think they should; stop and consider.  What is going on behind the scenes that you have no information on.  Just because kids look normal, doesn’t mean they live in the same world you do.

I don’t know anything about your life.  Please don’t assume you know anything about mine from seeing one two minute interaction with my child.

When I found out I was pregnant, my friends who were already moms told me a lot of things.  Most of it, I realize now, was a bunch of BS created to lull me into a false sense of security so I wouldn’t have a complete meltdown and run away screaming (how kind of them to let me hold onto my sanity just that little bit longer).  Here’s a few things I wish they would have told me:

1. You will never drink a full cup of coffee while it’s still warm again.  You’ll either get two sips in and be interrupted, so it turn ice cold and the milk curdles, or end up spilling it all over yourself while you try to juggle a squirming kid and a diaper bag, while body blocking two dogs from following you out the front door.
2. If you’re a person who prides themselves on being punctual and makes smart ass remarks to mothers who are always late – Karma Is A Bitch.  You will never, ever, be on time for anything again.  EVER. Not even if you start getting ready two hours before.  Because just as you walk out the door, with time to spare, that will be the moment your kid decides to take a massive dump that smells like something died and ends up being a complete blowout so you end up having to throw them in the tub and hose them down.  Not that I would know this from personal experience or anything.
3. Sleeping in will become a very rare and joyful event.  Hell, just sleeping through the night is like finding the lost treasure of Atlantis.  Sleep now.  Sleep often.  Sleep long.  Because gone are the lazy Sunday’s in bed.  I’m fully convinced that the amount of sleep your child requires is inversely proportional to the amount of sleep you need.  In other words, get used to being sleep deprived.  And if you don’t drink coffee now, you will start (and when you do, see rule number 1)
4. Showers are a luxury, not a necessity. Same goes for make up and actually doing anything with your hair.
5. Packing a diaper bag is an art form.  Imagine standing in the middle of the grungy mall  restroom trying to find a clean diaper, wipes, and butt cream, WHILE holding down a squirmy baby, and without dumping the contents of the diaper bag over said grungy restroom floor. You will learn how to pack a bag with military precision.  And yes, one little bag can fit diapers, wipes, cream, hand disinfectant, a change of clothes, bottles, formula, toys, books, soothies, AND the contents of your purse (so you don’t have to lug that around too) IF you know how to pack it properly.  Start practicing now.
6. The road to hell is paved with good intentions (this is another one of those Karma Is A Bitch things).  Feel free to philosophize and spout off how you’re going to raise your children.  Sing it loud and proud.  About  how they’re not going to be the ones screaming in the restaurant.  And how you will never need to put your kids on one of those stupid leashes because you’ll be able to watch them, unlike those other lazy ass parents.  And how you will never bribe your children with candy, cookies, toys, or other ‘bad’ things.  And you will never feed them junk food, ever.  I suggest you write all of it down, then come talk to me when they’re two.  We’ll see how you did.

What would you go back and tell your pre-children (aka. SANE) self?

It’s September and I’m already thinking about Christmas.  Yeah, shoot me now.  I used to be the biggest procrastinator (think shopping the day before).  Once you have kids, though, it takes more planning.

Most of the stores are starting to put together their Christmas sections (depressing.  Can we wait for Halloween to be over first?).  At least they’re not playing Christmas carols… yet.

All this got Bil and I talking about presents.  I think it’s going to be a much leaner holiday (for a lot of people including us) then it has been in the past.  Which sucks.  I love watching people open presents.

I’m thinking I may have Vista make something for the grandparents.  What I’m not sure yet.

As for bought presents for her, I’m eying one of those Tag Juniors (she loves to read).  But at $50… well.  Perhaps that’ll be her one big gift and we can get her some coloring books, crayons and stickers.  Those are always a hit.

Am I the only one stressing about Christmas already?

When your kids are sick all you want is that magical cure that’s going to make them feel better. Even if it’s just the sniffles, it makes our heart ache to see them so miserable.

Right now I’m having a very difficult time coming to terms with the fact that there might not be a magic cure all for Vista. I’ve been desperate for a doctor to tell me “Oh, just do this and she’ll start sleeping though the night again. Just do this and she won’t spend hours crying hysterically.” But “this” doesn’t exist.

I want to throw a fit and stomp my feet. I want to put my fist through a wall. I want to break something. But I know it’s not going to help.

Yesterday afternoon I put her in her bed and let her cry while I stood in the shower, to drown out the sound of her screams, and sobbed. Because my baby is hurting, and my magic wand is broken, and I can’t figure out how to make it all better.

I got tired of listening to “Mama.  Wash hands?  Mama.  Wash hands?  Mama. Wash hands?”  over and over again this morning while Vista was finger painting this morning, so I decided to set up a little hand washing station for her.  Her sensory/OCD issues mean that, while she will now use her fingers to paint, she’ll often need to wash her hands after each time she gets her fingers dirty.  So it looks something like ‘Put fingers in paint, wipe on paper, wash hands’.  This last part is quite often necessary to avoid meltdowns on my part and hers.

So this morning, I wasn’t in the mood for repeated trips to the bathroom for hand washing, so I dragged her table into the kitchen and set up a place where she could wash her own hands.  She was elated.  And painting quickly fell by the wayside while she splashed in the soapy water.

The bowl is filled with water and a drop or two of dishwashing liquid.  I originally just set it on a towel, but with all the splashing, the towel was getting soaked, so I placed the bowl in a pan to catch the sloshing.  She had a little hand towel next to her where she could dry her hands when she was done.

I think I’ll be setting this up every morning.  It was very simple and kept everyone happy.