where you be?

alternate title:  I'm a lazy blogger as of late and/or possibly just so damn busy with work and then dinner and then bath and then rockabye storytime and then I just want to eat chocolate marshmellow ice cream and go night-night...

other alternate title: I'm a lazy blogger who is working far too much this week for other people who are on vacation and then I come home and wait for the husb to cook dinner and then entertain, bathe and put Milo to bed while I take a nap and then catch up with The Hills while eatting chocolate marshmellow ice cream.

But we're still keeping things real. And real klassy, as per usual...

Pants?   Pants are for people who live in areas where the temperature isn't being called things like record-breaking. 

Now I gotta go watch Hell's Kitchen finish folding laundry...

wordless humpday

Love, in every-all way

Roughly 6 years ago I was sitting at a kitchen table in a big, beautiful home in Wellesley, MA.  I was doing my weekly home visit with the mother of a 12 year old autistic boy.  These visits usually started with us chatting over coffee regarding her sons latest and greatest at school.  I was his primary teacher and in charge of implementing his 20 some-odd IEP goals.

On this particular day, we were talking about how she came to find out about her sons Autism.  She stated it was literally like a light went out in him.  He had been hitting all of his milestones: walking, started talking, appropriate play...

And then one day he stopped talking.  His play became "stereotypical" and socially he became withdrawn.

The mom stated all she wanted was to hear him say, "mama" again.

But, nothing coherent was coming out of his mouth.

The doctor that she was working with attempted to educate her on how to parent an autistic child.  He said one of the most important things was to create a routine. Autistic people crave routine and it will avoid a lot of unwanted behavior.

Mom says, "I could NEVER live my life that way.  I HATE routine."

She is a lawyer turned SAHM.  She has a strong, intelligent nature about her.  I loved how she completely honored her sons limitations, but she wasn't going to change her personality or way of going through life...

For example, medication.  In the beginning she avoided medicating his symptoms.  "I wanted him to be who he was, naturally."

But, then, it came to the point where his symptoms (aggression, ocd, manic) were no longer being managed by behavior modification.  So medication was prescribed and a happier, calmer boy ensued...

Now I don't know if it's a nurture/nature thing, but her son was one of the most flexible, laid back autistic kids I ever worked with.  He was very compliant with change and didn't need a fist full of Skittles to get through an unexpected change in his daily schedule.

After 5 years of working with children and adults with Autism Spectrum Disorder I found myself a tad gun-shy with becoming a parent.  There is no test for Autism when you are pregnant.  Prevalence is estimated at 1 in 110 births.  Some children can be diagnosed as early as 18 months (some studies say a year old) and as late as 3yo.  So as Milo got older, I referred to my trusty "What to Expect..." books and compared him to where he should be at each month...and, luckily, he has stayed in his target range of what is expected for his age...

When I'm having a particularly rough time with Milo, I often think back to the parents I worked with those years.  How they began their parenting journey so full of hope, excitement, and anticipation.  And what they must have felt when their child wasn't "normal." By the time I worked with the families they were 10 some-odd years into the diagnosis and well past the grief stage over the loss of having a "typical" child.  The best parents to work with were the ones who really understood the disorder and the specific limitations of their child.

I was in awe of the committment these parents had.  The endless meetings with teachers, speech and language pathologists, occupational therpists, home visits, respite care, staying consistent with behavior plans, med administration and the looming cloud of residential care.  Now, I know, there are many, many parents out there who have not made a similar committment to care for their developmentally delayed child, but I've been privy to some amazing parents.

I've been lucky to witness parents who have a fierce, protective parenting ethic that keeps them by their childs side with their childs best interests.  No. Matter. What.

I used to shake my head in wonder at how much these parents go through. Daily.  And the strength, courage, and responsibility they had.

I used to wonder if I had what it takes just to be a parent....let alone a parent with a child with special needs...

And now? I can safely say, ABSOLUTELY.

What a wonderful (confidence, fiercely protective, a nothing-but-love promise) feeling it is to be a parent.

No matter what...

You'll never walk alone, little man. Love you...(in) all ways..

April 2, 2008. Wednesday

As a follow up to my last post, and for prosperity, I thought I'd share the moment I found out we were having a Milo.

When I was preggo with de Milo, I had a Myspace account.  I had blogged on it a few times in regards to the pregnancy...It's funny to go back to my pregnancy journal and read how easily angered and annoyed I would get..at most everything... 

At least I hope that was just a pregnancy thing...

Anyhoos, here's a little story on my 20 week sonagram -It's a BOY!!

                                                                20 weeks pregnant.

So Receptionist Lady at La Sonagrame de Navy Medicale was everything and more as my baby daddy (BD) and I approached for our long anticipated 20 week sonagram.  This appointment took FOREVER to schedule due to the fact that I had to talk to one SPECIFIC person. 

Everytime I called I spoke to the one nice and responsive receptionist in the hospital (Not to mention a specific hospital, but it's the one known as "The Presidents Hospital."  I'm sure you can figure it out from there.  And if they sent me a satisfaction survey, I'd be more than happy to fill it out.)  who politely informed me the girl (who incidentally sits right next to her, using the same computer terminal -nice use of man power) is gone.  Possibly up to an hour.  And, no, she herself, could not schedule the appointment for me.  She does medical something or other sonagram appointments.  The other does the OB sonagram appointments. Awesome.

This is an example of Radical Acceptance.

Let's just say she wasn't at her desk very often.  Like the 3 times I called to schedule the damn thing.

So we finally scheduled the appointment.  It's April 2 and we are finally checking in with the infamous "fresh out of bootcamp I hate my job because there are no windows and I'm surrounded by crazy pregnant bitches all day -lady." It's not so much that she looked at me as if I had the audacity to approach her with a smile because she is stuck in a dreary basement setting for hours on end (oh, but let's not mention the 3 hour lunches I know the witch is taking) it was more how friendly she was to the other 2 couples who came in after me to check in.  BD was noticing this as well, as we sat for 45 minutes in the waiting room.  She would smile at the lovely preggers and committed BDs as they approached her prestigious post.  She even informed one BD how he will have to stay in the waiting room for the 1st part of the sonogram and then will be called in when appropriate.  How nice...I would've liked to have been oriented regarding protocol when I checked in instead of reading the 1972 memo on the wall...

My BD turns to me and asks if I would like for him to speak to her about her condescending attitude towards me and her lack of customer service skills.  I say no, because we are civilized and sober and do not need to make a scene unless otherwise indicated.  Instead I take notes and silently judge her from a safe distance.

Finally my name is called and BD stays seated, albeit patiently, because, we are future parents and are working on our maturity and trying real hard not to question authority...too much.  We are picking our battles.  But, seriously, after all was said and done -why couldn't he have been there for the entire show?

As I enter the closet that will reveal my Rockstar as a boy or a girl, hermaphrodite or stub, I let the tech know I am in a good mood, please don't be a bitch and ruin this moment, in so many words:

Me: "We are very excited about today's results..."

She immediately turns to me asks, "First baby?"

I'd like to think I would be a bit excited anytime I'm sashaying into a room (closet) for the 20 week sonagram...but I suppose she has seen her share of Navy folk coming through that are more nonchalant about these things after the 2nd, 3rd, or 4th pregnancy...

A nice surprise was how warm the gel was -all those other times you're jumping out of your skin from the freezer burn inducing gel that is oozing from this seemingly harmless tube.

Me: "Wow! That's really warm!"
Her: "It's nice isn't it?"

Is she hitting on me?  Awesome.

So she goes through clicking away and measuring all the parts that make up Little E.  I start guessing at the different body parts she is measuring.  She is impressed that I could identify the spine.  I'm feeling good.  She asks me if I'm "local" and I give her the short version of the story.  She asks me how I met my BD and I tell her though trial and error.  She asked me "How did you know he was the One?"  I respond that I thought he was cute and I liked that he had a steady job.  He introduced me to sushi and lamb chops.  I introduced him to wine and gay men.  We were obvs meant for each other...

She then tells me about her 4 children, her divorce, and how one of her daughters set her up on a date recently.  She liked him but wanted to dip her foot in other ponds before shaving her legs, or whatever...

She is now my new BFF.

Then she tells me, "I've got to tell you, you've got one cute baby here."
Me: "I'm sure you say that to all the girls."
Her: "No, you really do."

She is totally my new BFF.

Me: "uhmm...how can you tell that it's cute?"
BFF:  "Look at its face and profile." (narrows in on the face)

I think he looks like Abe Lincoln here.

She has now restored my faith in Navy Medical.  These people are real professionals.  But I'm getting antsy because BD really needs to see all this.  She finishes up her clicking and measuring and off she goes to get BD.  The first thing he says is "Don't tell me!" 

Don't worry babe, we're finding out together what lies ahead, or beneath rather...

My BFF comes back in and gives my BD a glimpse of how far the sperm/egg fusion has come.  Zooming in on the feet, legs, arms, and that cute baby face.  She squirts more lub, er gel, on my stomach and we search for the tell tale signs.

Here I am, gel/lube on my belly, moments before my BFF tells me what the sex is...

BFF: "Before I tell you the sex, why do you think it's a boy or a girl?"
Me: "Well, my parents think it's a girl...but I just think it's a boy...maybe it's because I haven't gained much weight, y'know, those old wives takes..."

BFF:  "See here...there's a boy part!"

Tears, joy, happiness among men, women and children ensue.  (Except no tears from BD, he doesn't cry.  Then again, the room was dark and I bet he was really red-eyed)  We wrap up and BD is asked to leave due to needing to do one more little "procedure" to ensure all is well -I'll spare the details...but all is well...

I step back into the waiting room, I am a beam of sunshine in that Grey Dank Basement Ultrasound Section of the President's Hospital...I all but shout "IT'S A BOY!!" to the crowd of parents to be and stink eye girl at the receptionist desk.  I cling to my pictures, grab my BD's arm and skip off to revel in knowing we are going to have one fine looking baby boy in 20 some-odd more weeks...

and p.s.? She was totally right...

I can admit when I'm wrong. Just not now...

Being a parent of a boy and all, I'm understanding more and more when they say, "he's ALL BOY."

And, of course, it's a good thang, but damn, does it urge me to stay in touch with my tom boy side...

Not that I was ever a girly girl.  I didn't get my first manicure until I was 25.  Didn't get my eyebrows waxed until I saw my High School Senior pics (18yo) and my mom made a lovely comment about my bushy uni-brow...

Didn't shave my legs until last week.

I joke...I joke...

So here's this son 'o mine who:
Bungee jumps-like off the couch and bed.
He'll attempt to climb trees, arms up, pleading the branches for "up, up, up!"
He gets in his little car and scoot himself down little hills of the sidewalk, like a roller coaster.
Climbs up ladders at the playground and slides down head first...
He'll do "surprise trust falls" on unsuspecting friends.
Proudly shoves his finger up his nose and giggles hysterically when I redirect the hand and say "ewwww..."
Puts his hand down his diaper...while watching T.V.
Squats in the bathtub, watches himself pee and/or poo, then looks up with a big grin of pride on his face
Could care less about dirt.  Or scraped knees.  Or dirt-ridden toes or fingernails...

And then there's this. Where did he learn this from. DAD?!

What I do appreciate is when my little human wrecking ball bumps his head, falls, or otherwise causes himself pain, he can easily get up, brush himself off and move forward.  He may need a quick cuddle of reassurance, but then he is quickly squirming away and off to conquer what knocked him down.

My little Bam Bam...

But when I deny him another spoonfull of peanut butter? Or refuse to open a gate to let him fetch something he tossed over? Or otherwise say "no" to some seemingly pointless object that he Must. Have. NOW...?

Look out -because tough guy becomes a hot hysterical mess in .2 seconds...


and boy, does he play it up...

Before I moved to Motherland, USA I would occasionally find myself on the phone with a mama who had a screaming child in the background, and I would blame the piss poor parenting skills of the mama.

Yup, that is on that list I call "Naivete: pre-baby social skills of the ignorant."

And that, is an embarrasingly long list...

And now?

I totally blame the genetics of the father...

and that, too, is a pretty long list...

I joke, I joke...

(sort of)

;)

what happens in playgroup...

I bought this shirt last summer for a cool $20.  Some things you just gotta fork over the money for.  And the red stain on his shirt?

It's not blood.  Promise.

But then again, what happens in Playgroup...

I've been privy-lucky enough to have some fabulous friends...who happen to have kids at or around Milo's age. And this truely makes all the difference in the world in raising your child(ren).  I revel in being able to meet new moms and say, "Hey, you know there's a great moms group here in the county...." 

Pretty much a typical playdate at a private home. Where's Milo? He's up at the breakfast bar...probably playing with knives...

This may or may not have been a "Joy to the Mimosa and Eggs" playdate.

Watching Milo try to climb the sandbox.  I'm a good mom like that.

Because it takes more than showing up at your local library and attending storytime to socialize a child.  It takes more than perusing the diaper aisle in grocery stores to meet new people.  Takes more than the toy aisle in Target to entertain a toddler.  When one decides to become a stay at home mom, one makes the commitment to work HARD. I'm learning that the older Milo gets, the more he needs... more boundaries, more vocabulary, more learning experiences, more behavior modification...

He's no longer a babe in a bjorn, swaddled and content.  A cooing 15 pounder, a diaper change away from the next bottle/breast and teething ring...oh, and it's naptime again...

To teach, to nurture, to feed, to play...it truely does take a village...

T minus 36 days until I have a 2 year old.

(sigh)

p.s. Happy 2 year Anniversary Hip Mamas of C.C.!! Thank you for opening your doors and your Purell to the local mamas!  You have helped make my parenting experience FANTASTIC and so FULLFILLING!

And, remember, what happens in playgroup...;)

You aren't fooling anybody Jesus

I think the nuns are following me.  Wonder if they were offended by this post?

Nuns seen here. April 2010. D.C. Metro.

SAME Nuns seen here. May 2010. North Beach Farmers Market.

No shit, yeah?

I might be hurting in the sleep department, but these are not hallucinations.  My psychotic features are finely managed with Chardonnay.

I mean Jesus Juice.

I wonder where they'll *appear* or just *drop by* next month. Heads up nun-folk...I'll be at the BEACH.  On VACATION. WITH MY FAMILY.

And I'm packing the Amish bread and homemade fig jam.

 BOO-YA