Inspiration, aspiration, consternation

Nat is 23 months old. Tomorrow, actually. I can't believe he's almost 2. Maybe if I don't think about it it won't happen, and he'll stay my sweet boy forever. Poor baby has a bad cold. Both kiddos do, but he's especially cute because he's so stuffed that "mama" is coming out "baba." Yesterday, he was pleading, "Baba, fix duffy dode." Translation? Mama, fix stuffy nose. Cute.

I'm in a bit of a state of confusion lately, hence the title of this post. From the day I found out I was pregnant with Nat it was agreed upon between Hubs and I that I would be the primary caregiver, the one who would forgo furthering a career to stay at home to take care of the children. I planned to return to work when Nat was in school full time. Getting pregnant with Savannah delayed that plan by another year or two. I have days on which I long for the opportunity to return to work. I don't have a specific job to return to because I've not worked since we moved to the Buffalo area, but on the occasional rough day I would run back to an office and try to mend the hearts and minds of troubled youth in a flash. Until recently.

My children are inspiring me to become a better person. I am told that this is not uncommon. They've inspired me to become reacquainted with and more involved in the Catholic church, and in doing so I've become even more inspired to be the best wife and mother that I can be. I love circular effects.

I've had many aspirations over my lifetime. When I was a little girl I wanted to be a ballerina, a nun, and a teacher. When I was in high school I wanted to be a psychiatric social worker. Once I was in college I wanted to change the world. When I hit graduate school I just wanted to make a fat amount of money. It wasn't until I became a mother that I realized just how much I wanted to be a mother. To raise a baby to be a good, well-rounded, honest, loving, faithful, and caring person. Having a second baby doubled this desire and cemented the fact that I was put here to be a mother, specifically a mother to these two children. In the first few months of being a new and first time mother, I lamented over not having gotten as far as possible in my chosen field. I had given up on thinking that I'd change the world. Oh, how I was wrong. I realize today that I'm changing the world in the best way possible - one heartbeat at a time.

I love staying at home with my children. I get looks of pity and disgust at times when asked what I do and respond that I'm a SAHM. They've chosen what's best for them, and I've chosen what's best for my family. It means not having our own home right now. It means having debt. It means not wearing fancy clothes. I wouldn't change it for the world.

I aspire now to be the kind of mom who is always there for her children, physically and emotionally. I'm sure I'll get eye rolls and "OMGs," but are you familiar with Annie Camden, the uber-mom from 7th Heaven? That's what I want. That's what I want to be. Supermom, I guess. Soccer mom and PTA mom and best-bake sale-mom and cool mom all rolled into one. Would my kids love this or hate this? Would they resent me for not working? Would they be embarrassed? I can see it now. Hey Nat, my mom's a doctor or Hey Savannah, my mom's an aeronautical engineer. What does YOUR mom do? My own mom will tell me about my peers who are in the process of becoming doctors or this and that, and after a fleeting moment of wondering if she's as proud of me as those mothers are of their children, I sit back and remind myself that I endured two awful pregnancies and gave birth to two beautiful children, and am doing my darnedest to ensure that they grow up feeling and knowing that they are loved, cherished, supported, and protected. That has to count for something, doesn't it?

Isn't there ANYTHING for worrywarts?

It's no secret. I worry. I worry a lot. Also? I'm a big what-if-er.

I think I've always been a worrier. When I was a little girl, I used to pray hard every night before bed that my parents wouldn't die. Morbid, no? As I got older my worries were typical for my age. Would I ever get a boyfriend? (I did.) Will my skin ever clear up? (It did. Thank you, Proactiv.) What if I don't get into my first choice for college? (I did.) What if I DO? (I hated it.) What am I supposed to do with the rest of my life? (Still trying to figure that one out.) Am I marrying the right guy? (Pretty sure I did.)

Peanut butter just made me gag. Last time that happened was when I was pregnant with Savannah. Those damn tests better have been accurate!

But I digress.

Where was I? Ah yes. Worrying. An art form I've perfected. My worrying didn't hit OCD levels, though, until I had a pulmonary embolism 5 years ago. Then it hit a high, and drugs and CBT didn't do a damn thing for it.

I have a mysterious health issue right now. It scares me. I sought out a new neurologist, and was directed to a man who appears to be the best, in the best practice. I only wish I started out with him. He seems to have an idea of what may be going on. He's running extensive tests - bloodwork and MRIs of the head and spine. Where the other neurologist was only hearing "headaches" and automatically jumped to the conclusion of migraines, this man took nearly 2 hours on our first visit going over my total health history and wanted to know every nook and cranny of my current symptoms. At the end of our visit, he took my hand in his, looked me in the eye, and said, "I don't want you to worry. We'll figure this out." He's got a few suspicions of what this all might be, and while it wouldn't be great news, I am beyond confident that this doctor will take care of me and help me to live a long and healthy life, long enough to hopefully see my babies have babies.

What about when it comes to your babies, though? When is it okay to worry? How much worry is okay? My Nat? He's tired. He's tired a lot, despite his solid night's sleep and 3-4 hour nap. He occasionally has swollen lymph nodes in his neck. We've had him checked by his doctor who wasn't concerned at the time but wanted to keep an eye on him to make sure they don't change. But it's hard for me not to go....there. I know that growing is a tiresome process. Kids get tired. But I know what excessive tiredness and swollen nodes could mean, and it's hard for me not to get into a panic. Hubs gets annoyed with my worries and then makes "promises" that things will be okay. I'd go on, but he reads this blog and I don't have the energy to fight. But it's on blah days like this, though, that I wish I had some real-live girlfriends to sit and chat with, to cry with for a few minutes, and then help me put my happy face on and pretend like I don't have a worry in the world. I've gotten pretty good at doing that lately.

I hope I don't pass my worries onto my children. I'd never forgive myself.

Size 5

Is it bad when your 4-month-old and 22-month-old wear the same size diapers? Eek.

I feel like crap today (hence the pregnancy tests). Going to see a new neurologist tomorrow. Need to figure out what the hell is going on with my body. Prayers/good thoughts would be welcome and appreciated.

A collective sigh of relief, please

2-pack of Target brand pregnancy tests - $7.49
Finding out that I would not, in fact, be a mother to 3 under 3 - simply priceless.

Adoration

I'm afraid he'll be carrying Binky down the aisle with him some day. This picture makes my heart ache. I love you, Natty, more than you'll ever know.

4 months old

Sweet baby girl, how can you be 4 months old already? Weren't you just locking your foot into my ribcage for the first time? Weren't you just a tiny dot on the ultrasound screen? Slow down, would you? Don't be in such a hurry to grow up. And while you're at it, make sure you tell your brother the same thing. At this exact moment, four months ago, you and I were most likely being wheeled to the recovery room from the OR, sharing our first moments together, having the opportunity to size each other up.

You are an amazing little creature to experience every day. You love your daddy. You love your daddy so much, and it's evident in the way your eyes light up whenever he walks near you. You have a special goofy smile reserved just for him, and I have to admit that it makes me a bit jealous. You also love your big brother. You think he's the greatest thing ever and you love to watch him and make faces at him. You can't have your precious blanket out of your sight. It's funny how attached you've grown to it already. You'd rather do anything in place of sleeping. You don't fancy sleep much, unless it comes to nighttime. A solid 8 or 9 hours is a great gift from you to mama and daddy, and we thank you. But I hate to break it to you, kiddo - you have to sleep in your crib eventually. You're outgrowing the pack 'n play! You're not crazy about the pacifier - you'd much rather have your hand or my fingers, or, I imagine, a steak in your mouth. Your two little teeth need some buddies, cutie - it freaks mama out a bit that you only have fangs. You find my rendition of There Was An Old Lady Who Swallowed A Fly to be the cat's meow, and you're even more amused when I run out of air singing it. You adore being sung to. Maybe you'll grow up to be an opera singer? Or the first female president? Look out Sarah, here comes Savannah!

I love you lots, Savannah. I can't wait until you're a bit older and we can start having lots of mama-daughter fun, but please - stay my baby girl a little bit longer, okay? I know you're in a hurry to be a big girl, but slow down, just a little. You might not want to hold onto being an itty bitty, but I'm not ready to let it go.

Love you. Miss you.

My grandmother passed away exactly 9 years ago. I can remember getting the call from my mom like it was yesterday. It was the first time I had experienced a loss of a family member. She had been sick for a while, so we were all expecting it, but still, it hurt and it made me sad. She died about a week and a half after I moved away from home for my first job after college. I moved almost 4 hours away from my hometown for a job I really didn't want so that I could live in the same town as my then-boyfriend (now my husband). I went to my grandmother's home on the night before I was to leave. I went to say goodbye, but I didn't realize that my goodbye would truly be my goodbye. The last thing I had said to her was, "Bye, Gram. See you soon!" I didn't even tell her I loved her. I hope she knew.

On the night that my grandmother died, my mom went to her home and found a dragonfly on the ledge directly outside of my grandmother's window. The dragonfly was dead, but it was still beautiful - completely intact, light green-pearlescent body whole and unharmed, and its wings still spread, looking as though it was simply resting a spell. My mom took that dragonfly and saved it, and I like to think that it was a sign from my grandmother letting us know that she was okay. You see, my mom and I, at the time, were big into collecting all things dragonfly, and I'm pretty sure Gram knew that. I think my mom found some peace in finding it. I know I did.

Every time since that day that I've seen a dragonfly, which isn't often, a mere handful of times, I like to think it's Gram saying hi and letting me know that she's looking out for me.

This morning, Nat and I were playing outside while Savannah napped. It started out a perfectly blah, grey day. Cloudy, overcast, and a light drizzle, but muggy enough that I was comfortable with him playing outside. As we started walking onto the grass in our back yard, a huge mosquito buzzed by my face and I swatted it out of the way. I hate mosquitoes. They give me the creeps, especially the big ones that look like they could suck the very life breath right out of you. It came back, and I swatted it again. Persistent little fellow. It wasn't until I approached Nat's Little Tikes castle that I realized I hadn't swatted a mosquito. It was a dragonfly - a beautiful dragonfly with translucent wings and a green-pearlescent body, and it had landed directly in my line of sight on the top of the castle. I called to Nat to take a look, and as we walked closer, the dragonfly fluttered its wings once and took off, flying right by my face, and went up, up into the sky until it could no longer be seen. It was only a moment later that I remembered.

I've read that dragonflies are attracted to water, particularly running water (lakes, streams), flowers, and things that are shiny. We don't have any of that in our back yard - just grass and the muted colors of several oversized outdoor toddler toys. So was this just a coincidence? I don't know. I'm not a big believer in signs, but I haven't seen a dragonfly in years.

Hello, Anne Rice?

Savannah, at 3 1/2 months old, has cut her first tooth. Two, actually, only they're not the teeth that most babies cut first. They're not even the second most common teeth. Nope, not my baby. Her fangs top two canine teeth have broken through the gums. Last night they also broke through the skin on my finger. I'm scared.

We are also officially beginning potty training today. My goal is to have him fully day-trained by his second birthday, so this leaves us two full months, as his birthday is on Halloween. My reason behind this has nothing to do with wanting to rush him out of his babyhood. It has nothing to do with being sick of changing diapers (I'd rather change diapers than scrub poopy undies). It has everything to do with the fact that a box of Size 5 Pampers Cruisers now costs $39 and change. And yes, I do know that there are other brands out there, but we have tried EVERYTHING and Pampers, while draining on the wallet, are the best fit for him. So -now it's big boy underwear during the day at home, diapers at night and when we go out. Progress so far? Pee in the potty once. Pee in the underwear once. Poop in the underwear twice. Dry heaving as I scrub the poop out in the bathroom sink - continuous.

Happy Anniversary

Dear Hubs -

Happy 6th anniversary! I know it was yesterday, but we were busy yesterday and I didn't have a chance to sit down to type out my (very) public declaration of love to you, so I'm taking the opportunity now while both kiddos are sleeping.

Six years. There are some days when it feels more like a hundred and twelve, and there are others when it seems the cah-razy events of the day just happened. It's been an interesting six years. We've seen lots of ups and downs, we've(I've) had our(my) fair share of medical issues and crises (who would've thought 'in sickness and in health' would come into our lives so early), lots and lots of laughs, lots of tears, and a ton of memories. We've moved a zillion times, we've been close to broke, we've had rough periods with our families. We've had great holidays, a few not-so-great holidays. You stuck with me during some pretty awful times.

I was pretty miserable before I met you. I had had my heart shattered into a million tiny pieces and was sure that I'd never fall in love again. In retrospect, I know that what I had before you walked into my life wasn't love. You taught me what love really is.

"And I think it's kind of funny that you say you love me, you tell me that I'm crazy then you smile."

Thanks for being a smartass and taking a chance on someone you didn't know.

Thanks for the mixed tape and for the poem.

Thanks for being a gentleman on the night we met.

Thanks for not being a serial killer.

Thanks for asking "is this okay?"

Thank you for taking care of me - when I was sick, when I was pregnant, and every day.

Thank you for indulging me when I wanted to move to NYC. While it turned out to be a huge financial stress, I believe we wouldn't have our beautiful baby boy if we hadn't moved there. And thank you for throwing caution to the wind on our anniversary last year - we wouldn't have our beautiful baby girl if you hadn't brought home a bottle of champagne and indulged yet another crazy idea of mine. :)

Thanks for working hard every day so that I may stay at home with our children. Besides your love, it's the best gift you could've given me. I can't imagine letting someone else raise our babies, and I thank you for giving me the opportunity to be the one who spends their days with them, who teaches them, who kisses their boo-boos and wipes away their tears. I know we sacrifice a lot and we struggle a bit with the lack of a second income, but I want you to know that I'll forever be grateful that you support my decision to be a stay-at-home mom.

"I'll be the greatest fan of your life."

Thank you for being an amazing father to our babies. I tell them both very often that their Daddy is a wonderful man.

You and our children are my world. You have my heart forever. I thank God every day for bringing you into my life. I look forward to many, many, many more anniversaries with you. I love you.

And Hubs? You had me at hello.

G'day, blog. Remember me?

It seems as though all of my humor and wit have been sucked out of me this summer. Not like I ever had anything real and worthwhile to write about, but honestly - my brain is devoid of content.

I can't believe the summer is nearly over. Someone once told me when I was pregnant with Nat that once you have children the time seems to pass by ever-so-quickly. It's sad how true that is.

Savannah is 3 months and 1 week old.

She appears to have "the look" perfected already. She's going to be a pistol. She's such a happy baby, although she does have quite the temper at times. Her face lights right up whenever anyone bends down to talk to her, and she doesn't hesitate to "talk" back. She has an adorable little voice, a beautiful smile, and such a goofy little laugh. It lights my heart right up to look at her and know that she's my little girl. She adores her big brother and her daddy. We moved her out of our room last night and into her crib for the first time - it didn't go so well. She let us know that she wasn't terribly thrilled with being in her own room by herself. She has one tooth that is going to break through any day now. Her hands are almost always in her mouth, and if it isn't her hand, then it's my finger. She sleeps through the night about half the time. She's such a joy, and I can't believe she's already 3 months old. Where'd my tiny baby girl go?

Nathanael is about to turn 22 months. I'm in denial that he'll turn 2 on Halloween. Maybe if we don't celebrate it this year he'll stay 1 forever.

He's incredibly smart. Witty. Hilarious. Weird, but in a good way - marches to his own drummer. He talks nonstop from the moment he wakes until the moment he falls asleep. It's fun to actually be able to carry on a conversation with him. He loves to go to church. For some reason, he thinks that the organ is some kind of giant trash can, and he inevitably yells "BIIIIIG CACA!!" during a quiet moment. Every week. He loves playing with his cars. He loves digging in the mud. He loves to pick up crickets and spiders outside and bring them to me, with a look of adoration and love on his face that only a little boy can have for his mama. I have to keep myself from getting the heebie jeebies and graciously accept his gifts. He adores his baby sister, although he'll never openly admit it. When no one's looking, though, you'll find him fingering her hair or sharing his snack or stroking her hand, saying, "Hi, Semanna." He STILL loves his baba and pacifier (Sucker) at nap time and bedtime (don't approve? bite me), and won't go anywhere unless his cherished blanket (Binky) is in his hands. He pees on the potty like a pro, and lets us know when he has to go. No poop yet, though. My plan is to stop using diapers during the day starting on September 1 and start the process of potty training officially. We have to find some snazzy underwear for during the day. He has almost a routine of how and what he plays during the day, but he could spend the day reading. Doesn't show any interest in watching television unless it's Make Way For Noddy on PBS or diving and gymnastics on the Olympics. He loves to color, paint, draw, and glue. I've started stocking up on arts and crafts supplies for this winter so that he can make as many creations as he desires. He makes my heart swell, and I'm so lucky to be able to call myself his mother.

We visited my parents earlier this month for a few days. It was just me and the kids, as Hubs had to work, and they seemed to have a great time. My parents were, of course, the typical doting grandparents. My younger sister was home as well, and Savannah could not take her eyes of off her Auntie. Nathanael is enamored of my parents, but especially my father. I loved watching him interact with the two of them. Nat slept in a big boy bed for the first time while in Geneva, as my parents don't have a crib there. We threw 2 mattresses on the floor, and he and I shared the "big bed," as he called it. He loved it. He did really well and had a hard time going back to his crib once we got home. I'm not quite ready to transition him into a big boy bed yet, but I think I'll consider it a bit sooner than I had originally planned.

So while we haven't done anything spectacular this summer, I think I can speak for everyone when I say that we've all enjoyed our first summer together as a family of 4. I look forward to the upcoming fall and winter seasons and the holidays they bring. I foresee many great memories being made.

Me, I'm just trying to keep my head above water. This mother-to-two thing is hard, much harder than I imagined. No matter how hard I try, I always feel as though one of my children is getting ignored, and that's a bitter pill for me to swallow. I strive to be a perfect mother, and because I try so hard I set myself up for failure and become hard on myself when I don't succeed. I've begun getting reacquainted with my faith lately, hopeful that it'll help me in being the kind of mother I'd like to be to my children (and the kind of wife I know I'm not to my husband). I've corresponded several times with my favorite children's author and I'd like to say that I credit him for having the desire to be more involved with my religion. I've actually joined a women's book group/Bible study though my church in an attempt to make some friends and incorporate my religion into my life a little more than just attending church every Sunday. I'm anxious for it to begin, although the first book is (so far) a bit of a snoozer.

Hubs and I are celebrating our 6th wedding anniversary this Sunday. There are some days when I feel like it has been about a hundred years, yet there are others when I sit back and remember everything associated with that day and wonder how in the world six years have gone by so quickly. Last year's anniversary involved a bottle of champagne that ended up being partially responsible for conceiving Savannah. This year? I think we'll safely celebrate with a Pepsi and a game of cards while wearing long johns or chastity belts. Or both.

Hello, blog world. I've missed you.

Not really. I've received several e-mails in the last week, though, inquiring as to whether or not I've fallen off the face of the earth. Nope. Just busy. Crazy busy.

First and foremost, thank to those of you who sent well wishes regarding my health. I did in fact get the lumbar puncture results back and they were negative for cancer and multiple sclerosis, thank God. So the brain lesions are most likely the result of migraines. The bad news is that I'm still having the headaches and the medication the doctor was sure would work isn't working. I have a follow-up in a few weeks, so we'll see where to go with that. I also had an ENG done to determine if my vertigo is caused by an inner ear issue, and we have confirmed that it is. I apparently have a vestibular disorder, the cause of which is unknown, but the thought is that a few sessions of PT will resolve the vertigo.

Savannah is doing very well. She'll be 3 months in a week or so - hard to believe that much time has gone by already. She's all smiles most of the time, and is extremely fascinated with the domed kitchen ceiling light which seems to identically resemble a breast. She doesn't fit into 3 month clothing very well anymore, and is already into Size 3 diapers. I've got a big girl on my hands! She loves to look at the television - particularly baseball and Lost - holds her head up like a pro, and she can sit on her own for a few seconds at a time. She adores her daddy and brother. I think I finally have her on a sleep schedule, thank goodness. "They" say it can't be done until a baby is around 4 months old, but I did it. She seems to be very smart, and she's going to grow up to be a sweet and beautiful little girl.

Nat is doing well, too. He turned 21 months last week. Talks nonstop - literally - from wake to sleep. He has well over 200 words an speaks in complete sentences 99% of the time. He uses the past tense correctly, uses "I" and "me" and "you" correctly, excuses himself when he burps, knows some of his ABCs, can count to 11 - although not always in the correct order, but he's getting there - and, like all boys, is obsessed with cars and bugs. He loves to pick up the rolly polly bugs and squish them. I've begun using time-out sessions with him to try to get him to stop saying the 2 expletives he comes out with on occasion, and it seems to be working. At the moment, for time-outs, I'll take him to a quiet area, sit him on my lap, and count to 60 - the last few times he's slipped and said one of the words, he immediately starts counting. It's actually pretty funny, and my husband and I have to keep ourselves from laughing when he does it. He's such a sweet boy, and I hope he retains that sweetness. He's absolutely fearless - he loves to climb the highest slide at the playground (which I'm a little leery of myself) and go down by himself. I hope he retains that, too. He's still painfully shy around other kids his age, and it makes me sad to see that he'd rather play by himself. He marches to his own drummer, though, and I admire him for that. I just pray that it doesn't cause him any social discomfort when he grows older. He's so smart, and so handsome, and I can't believe he'll be 2 in a few short months.

Me, I joined a gym recently. The last time I had worked out was the day after I found out I was pregnant with Nat in 2006. It felt so good to get back. I'm aiming to lose 49 pounds - that's about what I gained with both pregnancies combined. I say 49 because 50 puts too much pressure on me. I'm taking the kids to visit my parents for a few days in a couple of weeks. A two-hour drive with the two of them. I must be nuts.

That's it in a nutshell. I haven't had much to write about, or the time, really, so that's the reason for my absence. I hope to start posting regularly again soon.

8 weeks old

She rolled over for the first time on the 4th of July. Talk about a true independence day! Her brother didn't roll over on his own until he was 3 months old.

She pushed herself up on her arms and legs and rocked back and forth for about 30 seconds a few days ago.

She has been able to hold her head up on her own pretty much since day 1, but she can do it for a lot longer now.

She still hates the pacifier. She'll only take it when she's too tired to protest.

She coos. She laughs out loud. She melts your heart with her smiles. When she's angry she yells, "Gee!"

She usually gives us a 6 hour nighttime stretch of sleep. Unless you expect her to. Then she's up every 3 hours.


She's impatient.

She's melodramatic.

She's one hungry little baby.

She loves to look at her big brother. She loves to be naked. She loves to toot and poop in the tub. She's frustrating at times and she's one half of a team that makes me exhausted to the point of wanting to die, but she's my baby girl and I love her with my whole heart. It's funny to think back of my worries over not having enough love to go around. Happy 8 weeks, Savannah!

Shoot me in the face

My husband and I believe in the importance of exposing our children to music. Listening to music is cathartic. Music enhances learning. Music is enjoyable. Nathanael has enjoyed music from the time he was in the womb. He would be-bop in utero every time Kelly Clarkson's Since U Been Gone was played loudly enough for him to hear it. He responded to a very powerful classical music piece when I was in a vintage music store in Manhattan. So much so that I purchased the cd, played it for him when he was a newborn, and he would immediately calm down as though he recognized and enjoyed the piece. We have music going quite often here at home. I've never really had him listen to the classic kiddie songs cd's, lest I go crazy. Instead I've exposed him to folk (Tom Chapin, Elizbeth Mitchell) and, one of my faves, Trout Fishing in America. He loves this music, and actually turns his nose up when he does hear the more traditional kid's music with the tinkly toy piano sounds.

Until this week.

My son discovered Raffi. One song in particular, actually. Aikendrum. Google the lyrics. It's a song about someone who plays upon a ladle and has a nose made of cheese. What the HELL is this song about? And why does he insist upon listening to it over and over AND OVER again?

*************************************************************
I had my spinal yesterday. It took the doctor 4 tries. He hit bone the first two times. He hit a nerve the third time. Fourth poke was a success. Good Lord. Color and pressure of CSF were fine (there's something creepy about seeing a vial filled with fluid from your spinal column), so now we're just waiting on test results. In the meantime, he's having me try something else for the headaches - something that is FDA-approved for the treatment of migraines....as well as bipolar disorder. Interesting. This medication also carries with it warnings of hepatic failure and pancreatitis. In other words, my headaches should subside, but there's a chance that my organs will become inflamed and, consequently, shut down. Sweet.

Three five moppa

No, I didn't just have a stroke and type some random phrase in the title box. My son has been saying this ALL DAY LONG, and having a mighty laugh about it every time. I'm dying to know what it means. I've run a few possibilities through my mind, and each one makes me nervous. He laughs a particularly sadistic laugh, too, which makes me question whether or not he'll grow up to be a serial killer.

I don't blog much anymore. I've developed too much of a life and have formed a huge social network of new friends, and I simply have no time to devote to blogging.

Oh come now, dear readers. You didn't fall for that one, did you? Me? With real-life friends with whom I'd actually have to interact? Please. The mere thought gives me an anxiety attack.

I just can't find the time to sit down, or conjure up the brain power to write a witty blog post worth reading. The kids wear me out and keep me busy. As soon as one falls asleep the other one wakes up, and vice versa. In the rare moments I do have to myself I'm either picking up or resting because I (still) feel like crap most days.

I have my spinal tap tomorrow. I really thought I was done with sharp pokes in the back (save for my husband in the middle of the night) and I'm really not looking forward to it. I hope the neurologist doesn't overdo it on the coffee in the morning, or have too wild a night tonight, or develop Parkinson's between now and tomorrow afternoon.

I'm also going for an electronystagmogram next week to determine if my chronic vertigo is due to an inner ear issue or if we need to assess other avenues for that as well. Not so much looking forward to this, either. I'm ready to be done with the various testing procedures and just get to the bottom of all of this. I'm tired of feeling this way. I'm tired of not being able to fully enjoy the summer and the joy that it brings my son. I feel like a walking lab rat. Someone's poorly executed science experiment.

On a higher note, Hubs taught my 20 month old son to say "How YOU doin'?" a la Joey from Friends. It's the funniest thing ever.

I've decided that the Count from Sesame Street is a pervert, perhaps even more so than those Noodle "brothers."

I watched an entire episode of Reading Rainbow yesterday. I didn't realize it was RR at first, because there was a segment on cake decorating showing when I landed on the channel, but once I did I was slightly embarrassed as I had been enjoying the program. We don't have cable so our program selection is limited, but when the show continued on to highlight the entire process of making a wax dummy of Lavar Burton for Madame Tussaud's in NYC, I had to watch. Lavar Burton has a scary amount of teeth in his mouth. Other-worldly even.

I've been embracing my inner Donna Reed lately. I'm currently obsessed with the concept of freezer jam. I feel like a loser, but secretly I love it. I'm determined to give my kids a wholesome upbringing, and if I have to go back a few decades to make sure it happens, so be it. I partially blame Wondertime Magazine. I love this magazine. I wish someone from Wondertime would contact me to do something for them, for free even. The latest issue had a few articles in it about memorable family vacations - roughing it-style camping, renting cottages in a beach town for a week - we never did this when I was growing up, and I would love to start some kind of summer tradition like these with our kids. We did other fun things, of course, so don't get me wrong - I don't feel slighted by the kind of summer experiences I did or didn't have, but the thought of taking off somewhere every summer, and having the chance to anticipate the familiarity of it all - it's very appealing to me.

I'm ending with a song suggestion for you all. Songs don't usually have an impact on me emotionally (that's a lie), but this one struck me a few weeks ago when I heard it for the first time. Five For Fighting's The Riddle (You and I). The lyrics are below, but I'd suggest finding a way to listen, too.

There was a man back in '95
Whose heart ran out of summers
But before he died, I asked him

Wait, what's the sense in life
Come over me, come over me

He said, "Son why you got to sing that tune
Catch a Dylan song or some eclipse of the moon
Let an angel swing and make you swoon
Then you will see... You will see."

Then he said, "Here's a riddle for you
Find the answer
There's a reason for the world
You and I..."

Picked up my kid from school today
Did you learn anything cause in the world today
You can't live in a castle far away
Now talk to me, come talk to me

He said, "Dad I'm big but we're smaller than small
In the scheme of things, well we're nothing at all
Still every mother's child seems to know this song
So play with me, come play with me"

And hey dad
Here's a riddle for you
Find the answer
There's a reason for the world
You and I...

I said, "Son for all I've told you
When you get right down to the
Reason for the world... Who am I?"

There are secrets that we still have left to find
There have been mysteries from the beginning of time
There are answers we're not wise enough to see

He said... You're looking for a place I love you free...

The batter swings and the summer flies
As I look into my angel's eyes
A song plays on while the moon is high over me
Something comes over me

I guess we're big and I guess we're small
If you think about it man you know we got it all
Cause we're all we got on this bouncing ball
And I love you free
I love you freely

Here's a riddle for you
Find the answer
There's a reason for the world
You and I...

Nothing beats brain freeze on a hot summer day

Baby boy turned 20 months this week. The big 2-0. The countdown begins to 2 years old now, I guess. Kind of hard to believe that this is the same little boy who, at this time last year, was this little boy:




Our latest accomplishment is counting to 11...usually leaving out #4, though. Doesn't like the 4. He speaks mostly in complete, 4-5 word sentences now, something that isn't usually seen until age 3, apparently. My boy's a genius. Look out, Mensa - here comes Natty! Still the doting big brother, he loves to shower his baby sister with kisses, and asks for her as soon as he wakes up. He can't get enough of the outside, and loves playing in his pool and sand and water table. Loves the dirt and mud - he likes bringing mama gifts of mud and worms - and thinks it's hilarious to splash people with water. He has such a big heart and he makes me proud every day. We have to be very careful with what we say around him, as he seems to pick up the most inappropriate things we say. His extensive vocab is made up of some not-so-nice things. It can't be me that he gets these things from, no no no. The terrible twos are definitely here and I'm very ready for them to go away, but he's still a ton of fun to spend my day with.

Baby girl is doing well. Smiles and laughs and coos. Doesn't like to sleep much during the day, but is giving us nice 6-hour stretches at night so I can't complain.

I have the pleasure of getting a lumbar puncture done next week to either diagnose or rule out MS. I can hardly wait.

Wait and see

That's what we're doing. Taking the wait and see approach. I can deal with that.

Saw the neurologist this morning. Was scared out of my wits as I walked into his office. Shaking, actually.

I have about 15 lesions on my brain. I got to see them on the MRI films. I want to name them. I should, I guess. They're not going anywhere.

The doctor is saying that he's not overly concerned about MS at this point. We're going to go ahead and treat me for migraines. I'm on one medication to break this cycle of headaches. I have another to take if they come back. If neither medication works then I'll be set up with infusion therapy. Infusion therapy for headaches - at this neurological institute, at least - involves being hooked up to an IV for a couple of hours in a comfy chair in a quiet, darkened room with an eye mask. SIGN ME UP! Sounds like a vacation to me at this point. If THAT doesn't work, then we'll take another look at things - reevaluate symptoms, perhaps another MRI.

I can wait. I can see. Am I worried? Sure, a little, but it's not going to affect my every day living. It'll be back there in the darkest depths of my mind. I know MS is still a possibility. But I can be thankful for today, and thankful that the first few words out of his mouth weren't "I'm sorry to tell you...."

Thanks to all of you who commented and who sent me private e-mails wishing me luck and sending good thoughts. You'll never know how much they are appreciated.

This or that

This week seems to be taking forever to pass. I need it to be Friday. Not because I can't wait for the weekend to start, but because I feel like I can't wait any longer to find out, for once and for all, the current state of my health.

I saw my primary doctor for a chronic headache several weeks ago. At that time, the headache had been present for about 3 weeks. Slightly concerned, he scheduled a brain MRI. I had the MRI done last week - it was a real bitch. Not something I'd like to do again anytime soon. I'm not claustrophobic, but having to endure what sounded like a woodpecker on steroids for 25 minutes wasn't my bag, baby. I left the testing center thinking that the whole thing had been unnecessary. Apparently it wasn't.

I received a call from my doctor earlier this week with the results and a referral to a neurologist. Apparently the scan showed "numerous lesions" on my brain that are typically consistent with two conditions, one being migraines. The other? Multiple sclerosis. Bam. Just like that, my world turned upside down. I'm seeing a neurologist later this week to determine which of the two is causing these lesions. The lesions themselves are no big deal - apparently most people have lesions on their brains, and lesions can be caused by many things, including ingesting artificial sweeteners. It's the number and pattern of lesions causing the concern. I feel like I've been handed a death sentence, though, despite the fact that we don't know yet what's going on. MS, while manageable, is unpredictable and can be nasty. The thought of winding up in a wheelchair and becoming a burden to my family is sickening. The thought of not being there for my babies, or being there but not....there...that's even worse. I feel like I've been dealt a shitty hand with my health. Why me? When do I get a break? Can't I just be left alone to enjoy my life and my children...leave me alone!

I'm asking for prayers. For good thoughts. For an encouraging word or two. I'm not sure if I'll find out anything concrete on Friday, but the process of narrowing things down will begin.

'Til then...

Oh mama, Angelina Zooma Zoom

I fear my girl crush on Angelina Jolie may be coming to an end. She had to go and piss me off.

I recently read this article, and in it Angelina is quoted as giving the following response when asked why she thinks so many movie stars seem to be children of movie stars:
“Artists raise their kids differently,” she said. “We communicate to the point where we probably annoy our children. We have art around the house, we have books, we go to plays, we talk. Our focus is art and painting and dress-up and singing. It’s what we love. So I think you can see how artists in some way raise other artists.”

What the HELL? Why, Angelina, you hit that dang nail right on its head. I's neveh read MAH boy no books. And hell, I ain't neveh had a conversation with him. Art, well that's for them museum places - we ain't got no art here in our home. In our house, we watch the picture box nonstop, and the only books are the Reader's Digests we steal from our neighbor's trailer.

Come on now. In all honesty, I don't know any other mother who has spent more time talking to her child. I talked to Baby Boy nonstop from the day I found out I was pregnant. From the day he was born I would hold conversations with him - telling him what I was doing and so on and so forth. I did this in an effort to interact with him, and later on, to begin to teach him words, phrases, and concepts.

Books? Baby Boy has more books at the tender age of 19 months than I've had in my 31 years, and I love to read.

Talking? The boy probably wishes I would shut up once in a while.

Art? Well, we're certainly not the proud owners of an original Renoir, but I appreciate art and I'm sure my husband does as well. I'm sure we'll visit museums and galleries when he's older.

I'm not sure what she was implying here. Maybe nothing - maybe pregnancy brain got the best of her, but to me there's a hidden element of "we're more educated than the average parent" in there somewhere, and I bet she catches a lot of criticism for it. I love to read. If I had the time I would read more. I love theater. I love theater so much that we blew a ton of money on Broadway shows when we lived in NYC. I've had the pleasure of seeing a certain musical 5 or 6 times.

So Angelina, though it may break your heart, I think I might have to quit you. Your statement hit a nerve for some reason, and I don't know if I can forgive you.

Besides - I've started watching Lost, and I totally have think I may have a
girl crush on Evangeline Lily now.

Back to sleep

I would love to go BACK to SLEEP, but my daughter refuses to go back to SLEEP when I put her on her BACK to SLEEP. Thank you, Back to Sleep Campaign, for ensuring that no one in this house will ever get back. to. sleep. Ever again.

I realize that this campaign was started in an effort to drastically reduce the incidence of SIDS - and my heart goes out to anyone who has ever lost a child to this awful phenomenon, so please don't mistake my exhaustion and and annoyance for lack sympathy - but the fear of God has been instilled in all parents now, making anyone afraid of bedtime for babies.

S hates to sleep. I think she's a wee bit colicky. She currently dislikes her swing, her pack 'n play, her bouncer, and her infant seat. Loves to be on my chest (can you blame her?) or Daddy's. If she were my only child I'd have no problem toting her around all day, but with Baby Boy, it's just not feasible. So, being the rebel that I am, I put her on her stomach in her pack 'n play a few days ago, and lo and behold, the little angel drifted off to sleep herself. And she's still alive. Sure, I checked on her eighty million times to be sure that her face wasn't down in the sheets, but she survived. I've put her down to nap on her stomach several times since then, and each time she settles right now. She's a tummy sleeper, just like her mama. So now the question remains - do I try this at night, potentially putting her at risk? I have a pretty spot-on mommy instinct. I'd say my instinct is correct 99% of the time - has been since I found out I was pregnant with Nathanael. Do I trust this, or do I listen to the AAP, the pediatricians, and everyone else screaming at me to not put my baby to sleep on her back, or else?

Do YOU follow every piece of advice given by the "professionals?" Or do you tend to go with your gut and trust yourself?

End of an era

I had my post partum check today. The good news is that I've lost 14 pounds. About a zillion more to go, and then I'll be good. I have to admit, though - it made me a bit sad. I think we're probably done having kids. My pregnancies are awful. Being pregnant takes too much of a toll on my body, and I don't know if it would even be healthy for me to ever attempt it again. We're a one-income family for now, and while I hope we'll get to the point of being financially comfortable at some point, we're not there yet. Hubs is 37. He thinks he's getting too old to have anymore kids.

For as awful as my pregnancies have been, though, there's nothing in the world like knowing that your body is playing hostess to an amazing tiny creature that was, hopefully, created out of love. Nothing like those first faint bubbles of baby's movement. Nothing like seeing your belly pooch out, knowing that the little bean is tucked safely away, nestled and warm and being protected by your body and your love. The thought of not being able to experience that ever again tears me up inside a bit, despite the fact that I have two beautiful children here. Even through the depths of my exhaustion in the middle of the night, I find myself holding S extra tight against my chest, knowing that these moments of snuggling a newborn this tiny and this close won't last forever, and she'll likely be my last baby.

My doctor and I discussed long-term birth control options today. Because of my clotting disorder I'm not a candidate for anything containing hormones. Because of my uterine anomaly, she won't insert an IUD. Because the part of my brain that controls spatial relation is defunct, I don't trust myself with a diaphragm. So what's left?

What's that I hear? Snip snip.

Unfortunately, Hubs works for a Catholic company, and our insurance won't cover sterilization procedures. Pretty lame, eh? So I guess it'll be back to the ol' latex. Not sure if I trust my ability to track my own cycle by counting days - that's how I wound up pregnant both times.

Que sera sera. If I'm meant to have another baby, then it'll happen. For now, though, I'm enjoying the two I have, and trying not to die inside a little bit more every day as I watch them grow before my eyes.