Play Ball! Part 2: Lessons from Moriarty

This past year I read a good book by Liane Moriarty.  Actually I read every book by Liane Moriarty after being wowed by Big Little Lies.  The story relevant to this discussion, however, is What Alice Forgot - the tale of a woman with amnesia who finds herself jumped forward in her life 10 years, sorting through what her life has become and struggling to understand how she has come to be where she is.  As she picks up the reins on the life of her older self she is at times dumbfounded by the choices she seems to have made, by what she has allowed to happen. Without great thought she acts to corrects Older Alice's blunders.  After a single afternoon watching her oldest child's misery at sport practice she removes the child from the team.  She will [spoiler alert] remember it all.  She will recall why enforced sports participation seemed like a good idea; however, in that moment it is a simple straight forward matter and it is obvious what needs to be done.

I am not sure when I let youth sports become My Battle.  I am sure of one thing, though -- it is a simple straight forward matter and it is obvious what needs to be done.  Yes indeed, Mr. Gaiman, Alice did provide not just an escape, but a meaningful and educational one.

This past Fall my youngest played youth football and my oldest sat with me on the sidelines.  The world did not end.  He chose to try soccer instead where he had fun and struggled.  At times the struggling outweighed the fun.  His particular place on the autism spectrum means he has many real challenges to success with physical activities.  Now that he is getting older he is actually noticing, "Hey! Everyone else is doing better than me!".  He feels the frustration of working just as hard as everyone but yielding poor results.

Physical activity is still important.  I'm not giving him permission to do what his heart most desires and become a total couch potato.  I am acknowledging, however, that baseball with all its fine motor intricacies is not the smartest place for us to put our energies.  And I know that my younger self would say, "Duh."

Parenting contradiction #2049

Part of the job of raising little humans is training them out of bad behaviors and into good ones, or at least attempting to do so.  There is a judgement each parent makes with their little ones -- what should be changed?  What is fine as it is?  It is a troublesome line to walk.  On the one hand we as parents want our children to feel completely loved just the way they are while almost simultaneously we press upon them our desire for improvements.    It is a curious juxtaposition of "You are so awesome!" and "But let's work on x!".  The latter makes a lie of the former, acknowledging implicitly that there is some aspect that falls short of awesome.

The push for learning and changing is probably part of every parent child relationship but perhaps none more so than in the case of high functioning autistic children.  Sometimes their very proximity to the norm increases the ambition to get them there, as if they were a puzzle piece that almost fit.  If it was a radically different piece you wouldn't even imagine trying to make the fit, but since it's pretty close you are sometimes tempted to hammer it in.

I worry about this.  Our Little Guy has had so many different kinds of therapy -- all amounting to "learn! change!".  It's gotten him where he is today -- able to participate in life in a way not vastly different than his typically developing peers.   I see the obvious importance of Little Guy improving basic skills.  I hate the message behind it that feels less and less hidden the older he grows.  All I can do is keep reminding him that we do love him completely just the way he is, even as we seek to change him.

then one day you are there

Deep into the last leg of my daily drive time I found myself lost in thought, puzzling over the weightier problems in our lives and in the lives of those closest to our family.  Stumped, as usual, for answers to most of these problems I started imaging various scenarios where I had a single magical wish and how I would use it.  Several delightful scenarios later I started drifting back to reality and I was somewhat startled to realize that in none of these scenarios had I wished my son out of autism --  something that in the past I have spent plenty of time wishing for.  On this day, though, when I weighed that idea my gut reaction was, and still is, rejection. The idea of changing who my Little Guy is seems positively revolting.  I love this kid the way he is.  I love the way his brain works and I wouldn't change what is so deeply a part of who he is.  We will continue to work towards growth is specific areas but the only changes I would wish are for improvements in the world around him.

poof!

I spent most of the day struggling with a disappointment.  It was one of those disappointments that is connected to a long chain of past disappointments.  A minor thing all by itself but connected to that chain my sadness had became a weighty thing.  Hubby did nice sweet things to cheer me up that made me smile but the feeling would not stay in my heart.  Not yet.  I was in a funk I could not get out of.

I was still wiping away stray tears when I went to pick up Little Guy from school.  Then through his open classroom door I spotted Little Guy walking to me, a grin on his handsome little face. *POOF!* My heart lifted.  Just the sight of him and his joy dispelled my gloom and made me okay again.  He's a magical creature, my son.  Both my sons.

It doesn't get easy

It's hard to believe it's been an entire year since Little Guy was diagnosed with autism.  We have come so far and I'm so happy with our progress.   Our efforts of aggressive intervention have paid off with encouraging growth in Little Guy's development. 

Although it is barely spring, I have been preoccupied with Fall and the upcoming school year.  Little Guy will be starting kindergarten and there are some decisions that must be made.  He can continue at the specialized private school where he has made such wonderful progress, or he can attend public school and be in a more mainstreamed classroom with some special assistance.  It is a murky issue, far from settled, and Little Guy's future depends on us choosing wisely.  No pressure. 

 It is also a very emotional issue.

At some point every parent probably has to let go of what they thought their child's life would be.  For some families it might be finding out their child hates sports although they are a passionately sporty family.  Or maybe it's the boyfriend, girlfriend, college or career they choose later on.  We love our kids, we want them to be happy and we can't help but create dreams about their future.

I had this dream, no this collections of dreams, about my Little Guy and his first days/years of school.  Dreams that were lent rich detail from the time I spent teaching at elementary schools.  Letting go of those dreams...difficult is not a strong enough word to describe it. I have to remind myself that there is joy to be found in different dreams.  "Welcome to Holland" continues to provide perspective and solace.

My Little Guy is amazing as he is.  We are blessed and lucky to have him.  I know that.  But I still struggle to accept him as autistic.  I still wish I could change it.  I still try to ignore it and resent reminders of it.  I still have some work to do.

On a less self involved note, this has been a year full of crises and hardships for so many of our loved ones.  The list really goes on and on.  The moral, I guess, is "such is life".  My sweet Little Guy has a future that isn't exactly what I had planned - oh, well!  I just got to this moment as a parent a little earlier than most.

(c) mamaofthevalley 2005-2015

breaking up with our preschool

We enrolled Little Guy in a summer therapy program for autistic kids and it has been amazing for him. We didn't plan for him go there during the regular school year because (a) it is a healthy commute away, (b) we knew insurance coverage would be a battle and it costs $$$ and (c) I felt it was important to keep Little Guy around typically developing peers.

But from the very first week this program started making a big difference for Little Guy. I thought I must have been imagining it, surely there couldn't be such improvement so soon. Then Hubby noted it. Then in the third week Little Guy's speech therapist, who was completely unaware of his participation in the program, commented how he had been blossoming the last few weeks. I finally accepted that we weren't just seeing what we wanted -- this program was truly and dramatically helpful for Little Guy.

We weighed out pros (the obvious benefit to Little Guy) and cons (3 mornings a week in a metro area with Baby Boy and time in need of killing, for one) but the choice seemed obvious. The kiddos well-being will always trump just about everything, and there is no denying the benefits for Little Guy. Baby Boy isn't exactly complaining about weekly trips to the zoo/museum/cool new park either. So inconvenience and cost for Mommy and Daddy aside, continuing on in the program became the winning option.

Then came battles with insurance, which seem to have come to a favorable resolution thanks to the involvement of a benefits advocate. This means the way is clear for Little Guy to continue on with his program. Yay! It also means that I have to let his preschool know that he will not be returning in the fall.

It is one of those bittersweet turns of life. His preschool is fantastic. They are great with kids, have an excellent curriculum and awesome special events. His teachers and the director have been wonderful and kind, not just to Little Guy but to me during one of the most difficult times in my life.

They were the ones that first clued me in that something was amiss with our high-functioning son. I can vividly recall Little Guy's first day of school ever, when his teacher casually commented that Little Guy didn't talk very much. Speech evaluations and therapy followed. It was in the lobby of that preschool one year later that the visiting Early Intervention teacher told me that she believed he was autistic and should be tested. In the weeks that followed the staff offered me kind words of comfort that mattered very much.

Leaving Little Guy's preschool is in many ways like leaving a community. Autism might have put us on the fringes, but we still had one foot in.

But again, this decision isn't about me. It's about what is best for Little Guy.

If I could rewrite reality, Little Guy would not be autistic. He would be starting his next year of regular preschool and thriving there.

In reality, Little Guy did not thrive there. He is not just another kid, and I am not just another mom.

Except...at his program in the city we are perhaps just that.

So dearest old preschool, I will break up with you and leave behind for good my preconceptions of what preschool for Little Guy would be. It is time for us to dive into our new community...hope there's water in that pool!

a new day

It's Sunday morning and we just returned from a trip to the store. And I don't have PTSD from it. Same kiddos, same reluctance to leave the toys at home. Yet today's trip was met with acceptance if not pleasure. There was little argument and at the store Little Guy stayed calmly in tow, waiting with near perfect patience while I searched the shelves, even allowing me a moments peace to weigh my options. He asked me very nicely, "5 more minutes?" and only tried to drive the shopping cart off with Baby Boy once when my selection process stretched too long. He walked right by toys I know he would love to possess without pestering me once to get them. At check out he greeted our cashier with "Nice mustache!" and responded sociably to small talk. The only melt down the whole time was a small one from Baby Boy, who feels it is a great injustice that Big Brother gets to walk in stores while he must ride in the cart. The cherry on top of this nice trip -- listening to another mom one aisle over come completely unglued screaming at her kids to behave. "That is not how you behave!" and "Because I said so" were generously verbalized. Don't get me wrong, I feel for that stressed out mom. But THANK you, universe, for both letting someone else have a turn and for showing me I am not alone in my store drama issues.

another day in the life

This Saturday morning I took my little folk to the store with me. Little Guy did not want to go. Little Guy seldom wants to leave the house. He handles leaving for routine things like his weekly appointments or school pretty well, but spring a trip to Target on him and watch the drama unfold.

It starts from the moment he is informed we will be going. His face falls immediately into an expression of distress and he emphatically tells me "No, we are NOT going to the store! We're staying home!" I say something like,"Yes, yes we are" which usually gets a "The store is broken" or another "No, we're staying home". I disregard his protests and he becomes my unwilling participant in getting dressed, brushing his teeth, combing his hair and getting his shoes on. Baby Boy, it should be noted, is excited and happy to be going somewhere. He can't wait to brush his teeth and put his shoes on.

Eventually we head out the door, Little Guy still protesting. Once in the vehicle and resigned to the fact that we are actually leaving the house, he attempts to persuade me to another destination. No, we are not going to the pet store instead. After a brief respite provided by the distraction of music, the selection of which is a whole other mini drama, we park at the store where we can return to the drama on the main stage, called "Little Guy does not want to go the store!"

We are walking up to the store now and he is still protesting. Simple, well reasoned explanations that we need to go to the store and won't be there long are a waste of breath. Both calm demands that he behave himself and sharper words to "cut it out" yield pitiful and tearful pleadings of "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry!" He will dissolve into further despair and continue to chant this until he is told "It's ok". Try to explain to him what he did wrong, why you're upset, or that what he did really wasn't cool and it will only yield more of the chant. If you don't say anything, he will eventually instruct you in between tearful sniffles, "Say 'It's ok.'" Those are literally the only words he wants to hear, the only words that will calm him down. This is how Little Guy reacts to 90% of any kind of rebuke these days, be it gentle or sharp, over something minor or something important. Tearful, pitiful, "I'm so sorrys" that make you feel like the meanest and most heartless person on earth.

And so we enter the wonderful land of Target: one unhappy preschooler, one happy camper toddler and one mom still keeping it together with most my calm in tact. We have 90 beautiful seconds of walking peacefully through the store before Little Guy starts screaming and announces he has hurt his toe. How I have no idea, and it looks fine but I pick him up and hug him and try to calm him down. He doesn't want to let go of me and is still quite upset, so I set him on the shopping cart handles and with him grasping on to me like a spider monkey push on to collect the items on our list. Soon I set him down and within 30 seconds he steps in front of the cart and gets his foot run over. Replay of crying, hugging, spider monkey scene.

In the classical sense of time our shopping trip has been quite short, but in Mommy Time we've been in Target for about 8 years when I put the last few things in our cart. Since that first 90 second stretch of peace not 30 seconds has gone by without some kind of unhappy outburst from Little Guy, who is truly an emotional mess at this point. Some of my fellow shoppers give me small smiles of sympathy and understanding and really I appreciate that. This isn't my first time starring in the public kiddie meltdown show, but that doesn't mean I enjoy it.

By checkout time the outbursts have evolved into dissatisfaction that I will buy him neither a unicorn pillow pet nor a toy tractor. In realization of his final defeat on these matters, Little Guy crouches into a ball in front of our cart and weeps while I swipe my credit card. The cashier makes small talk with Baby Boy, sitting in the cart and being adorable. As I sign my name on the screen the cashier says, "You have one cute kid". I know there is a way to say those words that is simply a nice compliment to Baby Boy, not intended as a slight to my other child. But that is not the way it came out of his mouth.

I guess I need little cards to hand out that say, "My child is not a brat, he is autistic." And also some that say "Fuck you, asshole."

Other kids

When Little Guy was first diagnosed with autism I remember choking out the words, "He's not like other kids." Then I could barely speak the words, but by now I've said them many many times and I thought that the reality of them didn't hurt anymore. Wrong.

Summer break from preschool gave me a break from seeing the typically developing peers - the "other kids" that my son is not like. We have been so busy with Little Guy's intensively therapeutic summer schedule that there has been little time for play dates. Today, though, this break ended with an outing with a friend and her son, a former classmate of Little Guys. Several times in the playdate I was blown away by the things that this classmate did. The way he could follow directions. The kind of questions he would ask. That he would ask questions. Ouch. ouch. ouch.

I didn't realize what a relief it has been for me to have a break from the "other" kids. Today has brought it back - the countless times the kids in Little Guys preschool class have shown me what a typically developing kid acts like, and how different my beloved Little Guy really is. People have said that Little Guy doesn't seem autistic. But if any one of them had spent 10 min. in his preschool classroom last year they would have seen the difference clearly.

I saw an article recently about a mother raising several autistic children, now in their teen years. She said that early on she had gone to grief conferences...that she had to mourn the loss of the children that she thought she would have to learn to accept the children that did have. Hubby thought that was a cold sentiment. I get it though. I really get it.

There was a little boy I thought Little Guy would be. I had a thousand little dreams of what his life would be, and already so many of those things have not been possible. I love him with all my heart and all my soul, have no doubt, and I am not remotely disappointed in him. He is so sweetly wonderful. But the fact remains that there are things I wanted for him that have not been possible, things that may not be possible in his future, and this is heartbreaking.

Little Guy is making exciting advances every day, and that is where my focus must stay. Some day again some other child will remind me again how far he has to go still and sometimes that will hurt. But we will move forward, Little Guy and I both, and I will hope and pray and work with endless tenacity towards improving life for Little Guy. As any mother of any child would.

time (and much support) heals...

What a difference a week makes. I can talk about Little Guy and autism with crying. I can, in fact, go an entire day without crying about it. I have talked to a lot of people about it now, and it is still raw and difficult to do, but doing it helps. Two Sundays ago we had a bad day. Little Guy's class had a church performance that ended for us when we left halfway through, both of us bawling. Blogging aside, I tend to be a private person. I don't like talking about emotional stuff, and I really don't like having emotional meltdowns in public. But the blessing of it was that it brought my situation to light, and I was met with love and support from many people. Much of it I politely brushed off, still embarrassed at my tearfulness. Days later, though, the warmth of it stayed with me. The words stayed with me and some of them began to soak in.
I am doing much better, and I know that we will all be ok.

"He's not like other kids."

As we have moved forward in Little Guy's evaluation for autism I have begun to make peace with the likely diagnosis. I have begun to talk to more of the people in our lives about it, to "break the news" if you will. Most of the reactions have been full of love and support with people offering words meant to uplift. Despite these best intentions few people actually hit their mark, and it has occurred to me that in this somewhat difficult situation it is perhaps unusually difficult to know what to say. So I offer up here what worked and didn't work, in the faint hope that it might be helpful to someone else.

#1 - Denial. "I don't see it. I think he's just ____" In one way it is sweet of people to not want to see that there's a problem. But having to (repeatedly) deliver an argument with supporting evidence is annoying.

#2 - Only one thing was worse than those that denied - those who too readily accepted . "So that's what's going on with him". It's a fine line. Or I'm a prickly person. Or both.

#3 - "There is no better mother/family to deal with this". Thanks for the compliment, for the sweet sentiment. But the fact that I have a background dealing with special needs children or that my husband and I are good parents does not by any means provide good grounds for the fates to send our family this challenge.

#4 - "That's great! [that he's being diagnosed]. I prefer to focus less on the label and think of it more in terms of identifying areas that need to be addressed." Delivered by his speech therapist, this is the gold star winner for me by a land slide. Maybe it's odd that I feel that way, since it tries the least to be comforting. Perhaps that is part of its strength - it doesn't try too hard. It's simple, it's logical and it implies hope. It says "Forget the word autism. This is just about helping your child". Bravo.

#5 - "There are worse things for a child to have." Thumbs up for this one, too. One morning around Valentine's Day I sat in the car crying after witnessing part of Little Guys morning at preschool. Then I started listening to my radio station, which happened to be doing a fundraiser supporting children with cancer. I listened to horrible heart wrenching story after horrible heart wrenching story, and even though tears continued to stream down my face it was very, very, good for me.
My Little Guy is wonderful and means the world to me and I am lucky for every day that I get to spend with him. When you can remember that the rest loses significance.

Party of 4

I can't write about just one of my baby boys' arrivals, now can I?

Little Guy had been a c-section, so Baby Boy's story starts off with a decision: VBAC or not to VBAC? Some people who end up having c-sections feel robbed of a natural birth experience but I am not one of them --I never felt a burning desire to try for a VBAC. Aside from which, my doctor and his 30 years of baby delivering experience had said that the likely culprit for my first c-section was the size of my pelvis. My anatomy hadn't changed since the first baby so I wasn't optimistic there would be a different result the second time around. Additionally, I had a friend who had tried for a VBAC and ended up having a c-section. She told me how much she regretted even trying for a VBAC in retrospect - how it just added anguish, exhaustion and recovery time to the inevitable for her. I didn't want to make the same mistake.

So a scheduled c-section it was to be then. One of the perks of this was that we had the luxury of picking Baby Boy's birth day. We were given a few days to pick from in the correct time period and we selected 5/4/9. The tipping factor for me -- it's a mathematically correct date! Hubby requested leave from work and my mom bought her plane ticket.

One month before the scheduled c-section Hubby's best friend flew up for a visit. The day of his arrival I ran around doing last minute preparations and in my haste I slipped going down the stairs in our house and fell on my back. My doctor sent me to the hospital to be checked and once there I started having regular contractions and earned myself an overnight stay in the hospital. I remember thinking -- well, if Baby Boy comes today his birthday will still be mathematically correct -- it was 4/5/9. By morning the contractions had stopped, though, and I was discharged.

My mom flew up a week before the c-section. We went on a trip to the zoo while Hubby was at work, but other than that I was all business. With my mom there to watch Little Guy I was finally able to finish getting everything ready for Baby Boy and for the other impending company. My mom kept telling me to sit down and rest but I had too much to do and hardly any time to do it.

On Monday May 4th we checked into the hospital at 9am. This hospital was much nicer than where I had Little Guy, and our room was enormous. I changed into a hospital gown, Hubby changed into scrubs, we signed some paperwork and before I knew it the time had come to go to surgery. That was a shock for Hubby and I - how quickly it was go time. I guess on some level we'd been expecting a long wait since with Little Guy we were at the hospital 23 hrs before I went to c-section.

I walked into the operating room and sat down on the operating table. The spinal sedation was administered (no ringing phones this time) and everything was calmly and methodically being set up around me. Hubby was again right at my side and we were both anxious and excited. My anesthesiologist was a lady this time, and she helped pass our idle time by showing us pictures of her dogs on her cell phone. My doctor and another performed the surgery. The other doctor commented on how thin I had become, how my belly was all baby. (7 months of morning sickness will do that to you!)

The surgery got started and both doctors noted how nicely my last c-section had been done and asked who had performed it. When the time came to remove Baby Boy he did not want to come out. He was up under my rib and I was jerked around on the table while they worked to get him out. But out he came! Like before he went to Hubby first who brought him for me to see. Amazing! Then, like before, off went Hubby and baby while my surgery proceeded. I think I remained conscious this time, though, since I vaguely remember waiting while they worked.

This time I was reunited with my baby much faster, and Hubby and I had some time alone with him. Later in the afternoon my mom brought Little Guy down and we were together as a family for the first time. It wasn't quite ideal -- Little Guy did not want to have anything to do with Baby Boy and wouldn't even look at him! Little Guy just wasn't prepared for the expansion. He focused very hard on his toys and tried to pretend Baby wasn't there. A few days at home together brought Little Guy around, but in the beginning he just wasn't into it!

We were now a family of 4. There would be challenges ahead but our hearts were filled with joy and love.

once upon a time, a mere 4 years ago, the story of 3...

It was early October in 2006. My due date on the 8th passed and an induction was scheduled for the morning of the 11th. At 7am we checked ourselves into the very hospital that Hubby was born in.

Step 1 in my induction was the administration of a cervical gel. It brought on mild contractions and didn't accomplish much so my doctor moved on to step 2 in the afternoon and broke my water. Things started to move then -- I dilated to 3 and my contractions started being a lot less fun. My in-laws stop by to visit and they recognize one of the nurses as the delivery nurse from Hubby's birth. She remembers a special circumstance of his birth and shows us the very room where Hubby was born.

Hours passed, contractions intensified and I was still only at a 3. It was time to move on to the hard stuff - pitocin. My doctor had arranged for me to be given pain meds at the same time as the pitocin but the anesthesiologist was busy so we waited on both. They moved us to a larger room so that the anesthesiologist would have room to work.

When evening comes my mom and sister join us -- I had planned for them to be around for most if not all of the birth. My contractions intensify but I am still at a 3 and waiting for pitocin and pain meds. They have me do painful exercises with a yoga ball, but I remain at a 3. The new episode of Lost is on TV but I'm not paying much attention to anything except pain management.

Then I'm given my pitocin and the anesthesiologist comes to give me my epidural. For this delicate procedure they cleared the room of everyone except Hubby. At the critical moment, right when the doctor had to insert the huge needle just so into my spine, my sister's cell phone goes off in her purse. Everyone in the room jumps, but not my superhuman doctor and everything goes just fine.

After that I feel a LOT better. I mean a LOT better. I send my mom and sister home to get some rest. I watch the spikes of my contractions on the graphed paper output without feeling a thing. Hubby and I even manage to doze here and there in between being checked. I am still a 3. They increased the pitocin. Still a 3. They maxed me out on pitocin. My graphed contractions were Rocky Mountain high for hours. Still a 3. Which is about the time it was in the AM when the doctor broke the news that since labor just wasn't progressing I would need a c-section. I was disappointed but by then we'd been listening to a women scream in labor down the hall for several hours so there was a little bit of relief, too.

Hubby and the anesthesiologist sat on either side of me for the surgery. Little Guy is pried out and they wrap him up for Hubby to hold, who in turn brings him over and near my shoulder so I can finally get a good look at him. He was amazing. All too quickly Hubby leaves with him and heads to the Nursery. I still had more surgery ahead of me. I became fully conscious again on the way to recovery. The on call recovery nurse doesn't get their page and so doesn't show up for quite some time. I end up spending an extra long time in recovery -- it seemed like an eternity to me. I wanted so badly to be reunited with my baby!

2 hours have passed since the birth before I am taken to my regular room. As I wait for Hubby and Little Guy to join me family visitors stop by to tell me how absolutely beautiful Little Guy is and congratulate me. I am, quite frankly, annoyed. I carried Little Guy in me for months, anxious to meet him and hold him. Now everyone else has gotten to see him, really take him in, and I have only gotten to see him for about 10 seconds over 2 hours ago. Then Hubby comes in with our precious Little Guy. Finally...at long last...my baby is placed in my arms. The happiest of endings! Or as in this case the happiest of beginnings for our family of 3!

oh spring

Spring has been a busy time for us. Little Guy now attends a second preschool program, a special ed program in another town that includes therapeutic time for working on his language delay. He still attends regular preschool and also weekly speech therapy. He is making great progress and he is always excited to go to preschool and speech therapy.

Baby Boy had his first birthday and a fun party. What can I say? He's adorable and healthy and happy. Walking will be soon. He pushes toys across the room walking, wheelie things that hurt his balance more than help it. He is just beginning to get brave the last few days -- standing independently and taking a single step before dropping down to crawl.

the new days dawn

Baby Boy is 9 months old now and the baby days are dwindling. No longer does he lay in my arms, cushioned on a boppy, to dine in peaceful bliss. Now he sits on my lap cuddled against me to gulp down a bottle. We managed to eek nursing out to 9 months just by the skin of our teeth with nursing limited to bed time and night time feedings. As the 9 month milestone dawned it was a push to even get that in. Baby Boy is just done with it and who can blame him? So much work for so little when he's now used to the bottle. It finally has reached that critical point where there's simply not anything I can do anymore, and while it is somewhat sad it is also a relief. Now I can really and truly put it out of my mind.

I am sad to see the end of baby days. The knowledge that this is our last child is never far from my mind when I consider Baby Boy's development. Part of me wants another baby very much, but part of me also realizes the insanity of it. I can't go on having babies forever and ever. The end comes eventually, and logically for a lot of different reasons this is a good time to stop. And before I feel too sad about no more babies, I remind myself how lucky I am to have had 2 babies. We have close friends with very imposing fertility challenges and they would trade much to be blessed with even one baby.

I am so happy about the days ahead and where Baby Boy is now. For one thing, he's almost entirely out of our bed! YAY! In the end that transition was not nearly as difficult as I feared. Baby Boy is rolling all over the place and getting into everything. He can sit himself up and he lunges forward on all fours -- crawling is imminent! I am a baby food chef once again and Baby Boy enjoys his real food very much. And he's talking a bit! He says mama, dada and hi. Sometimes as mere babble, but often in the correct context. He's blooming and it's a joy to watch.

Little Guy is growing too. He started preschool last month and loves loves loves it. When he started preschool we became aware that Little Guy wasn't talking as much as the other children his age. We had him evaluated by a speech therapist and it turns out he is a bit behind so now he goes to weekly speech therapy (I am reminded of the mother of a college roommate every time we go).

Little Guy is also mastering tricycles and the art of brothering. (For instance: Step 1, you help your baby brother sit up. Step 2, you push him over and laugh as he weeble wobbles onto his back. He laughs, too, because he's so happy you're "playing" with him. Step 3, you get a time out because Mommy is a killjoy.) He does sweet stuff, too. It so adorable to see him hugging and kissing on Baby Boy. And they look pretty darn cute in the bath together, where Little Guy helps wash Baby Boy with a wash cloth.

Little Guy is excited to show off his knowledge of colors, shapes, numbers, letters and many letter sounds. He sings to us Old MacDonald, Itsy Bitsy Spider, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and the ABC song. He loves 2 obnoxiously loud toys that he got for Christmas. I'm seeing the merit of my stepmoms rule for childrens toys -- no toys that require batteries! He loves them so much though we hate to take them away. Hubby took one apart and muffled the speaker so it doesn't drive us quite so insane at least.

Our boys are truly remarkable. I thank my lucky stars for them everyday. And for Hubby, too, of course.

no doubt they're brothers

oldest son on left, youngest on right. the oldest has brown eyes and so far the youngest has blue eyes but they do look eerily alike!

Greetings from the other side!

So now we are 4 not 3! We have our second son, henceforth Baby Boy. Baby Boy is healthy and handsome and I strongly hope to post his birth story...someday.

I am back in Newborn Land again. It is joyful and it is demanding...and it is a bit guilt ridden. Life sure has changed for Little Guy, and a drop off in my time and attention has been impossible to avoid. He copes pretty well most of the time but I feel horrible. I tell myself it won't always be this way. Newborn days don't last forever...there will someday again be more time for sleep, more time for Little Guy, more time for myself...someday. That knowledge has made for a big difference for me this time around.

Now at the 6 week mark, we are still figuring things out. If having a child is learning to juggle, having another is like throwing a several extra balls into your juggling act.

My days are lived in 3 hr cycles centered around baby feedings. We had breast feeding issues...again...but I'm hanging in there. Sometimes by just my claws. It's going much better than it did with Little Guy, but it's still a challenge.

I make sure both kids eat and keep them in clean diapers and clothes. I keep them safe and out of trouble, coax them into naps (sometimes with one of them kicking and screaming). I am getting better at getting dinner on the table most nights now, too, even if the meals aren't what you would call gourmet. I get the dishes done and the bottles with all their pieces (from formula supplementing) cleaned. Most days now I don't forget to make Hubby his pbj lunch and set the coffee to come on for him. Probably 3 out of 4 days I am able to get at least a quick shower, get dressed in street clothes, and get us all out to the park or to run an errand. It doesn't sound like much, but every single day I am unquestionably maxed out.

Having Hubby's help has been huge. I cannot imagine how I could do this if we were living apart half the week like when Little Guy was a newborn. He has risen to the challenge and picks up slack wherever he can.

I forgot how incredibly stressful it is when your baby is crying. But I also forgot how wonderful little babies smell. And how precious their little hands and feet are. I do love my Baby Boy so! And my Little Guy, too...I can't believe how big he's gotten lately. At first I thought it was just my faulty perspective after spending so much time with a little baby, but it's been confirmed by others. .

Well, I' m giving myself a gold star for being able to type this much while I nurse Baby Boy...but times up. gotta go!

the Blanket Nazi

We have a storage ottoman in our living room in which we keep our cozy throw blankets. Little Guy can generally not stand to see the blankets put away in said ottoman, but demands they must be out at all times.

Sometimes Little Guy will decide you're cold. He'll pile every single one of the blankets on top of you.

Sometimes you really are cold. You might presume to grab a blanket. Little Guy will set you straight. "Mine!" he'll tell you as rips it off you and discards it on the floor. Pleas ("But Little Guy I'm really really cold!") will get you no where. Neither will reasoning ("No, Little Guy, not yours. Mine!").

Finally you learn...the Blanket Nazi decides when and if you're cold. Oh, and also if every light in the house should be switched on.

you slip up one time

Last night I took my son in for his bath.

"Oh, thank you!" he cries out with great enthusiasm as he approaches the bubbly water.

"Thank you!" as I dunk him in.

"Thank you thank you!" as I dump his bath toys in.

Then as he stacks his foam blocks one slips out. "Aw, shit!" he exclaims in his sweet little voice.

Aw shit, indeed.

the bottom stretch

I cannot believe it's the 3rd trimester already. I cannot believe that the time until Babytwo gets here is now measured in weeks. I cannot believe that Babytwo is so big now that he exceeds the paper ruler I'd been marking his length on.

I'm kind of sad that this pregnancy, probably my last, is winding down.
I'm anxious to hold my Babytwo and see him for the first time.
I'm a bit scared of the stresses and challenges ahead of us.
I can't wait to see Hubby hold his newborn son, to watch Little Guy grow into his job of big brother.

It's all so very very soon! :)