Bathtime Fun

The boy knows how to get some turbulence going in the water!

And how to sit up without falling down!

Now for some conditioner...

...to make the curl extra Kewpie!

Bu-Bah-Nuh

That's what he said! In case you didn't catch it, he was trying to say Banana! Yep, my boy tried to say banana.

Some more recent favorite sounds, shouted in piercing decibels and then modulated to mere whispers:
B-B-B-B-B-B-BEEEEEEEEEEG-G-G-G-G-G-G
B-B-B-B-BEEEEE-B-B-B-B-B-B
BEEEEEEEEEG-BEEEEEEEEG-BEEEEEEEG
B-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-G
BEEE-BEEE-BEEE-BIP!
BIP! BIP! BIP! BIP! BIP! BIP! BIP! BIP! BIP! bip-bip-bip-bip-bip-bip
He really likes this combination of sounds and it goes on for hours! He played around with variations of P, I, E, D, G, B but one clear favorite finally emerged

PEEEEEEG!

Funny, funny boy!

New Posts

If you haven't been here in a while, I can hardly blame you...I haven't been here in quite a while! I am here in spirit...just too tired and worn out to be here in body! I've written several posts, and I promise to get pictures inserted with them soon! Please keep checking back!

RATS!

I surprised the kids with pet rats last week! The Middle Little named his Emily...she's the one with some tan. The Girlie named her ratty Squeakers...she's all white. Rats are actually very clean animals, are smart and easily trained, and they are highly social. They make very good pets and can live up to eight years...unlike hamsters who are guaranteed to break your kids' hearts by dying within two years.

This Month's Pedi Appointment

After Jack's last appointment and the new asthma diagnosis, we were told to come back in a month to check his pulmonary status. Which really, was fine with me so we could track his weight with the switch to soy milk. So, first up was that fight. At this pedi on February 18th, Jack weighed 20 pounds and 14 ounces. At his cardiology appointment on March 3rd, he weighed in at an even 21 pounds. Today he weighed 20 pounds and 4 ounces. He measured 29 1/4" but he'd lost 10 ounces. I informed the doctor that I had not switched him entirely to soy milk, that on my best judgement and the advice of Dr Elaine, his SLP, I was alternating soy milk with formula. He maintains that Jack needs to switch entirely to soy milk. I argued. He said there were more calories and grams of fat and protein in soy milk, to check the labels and I'd see for myself. Well, I already thought this was crap, otherwise, we'd be feeding our babies soy milk instead of formula when we can no longer provide breast milk. With the evidence in front of me in a 10 ounce weight loss, (which is really 12 ounces if you count the cardio weight!) when I got home I decided to take his advice and check the labels. It's easy to see why he might think that, even though he should know better. The nutrients listed on the soy milk are per eight ounce servings. The nutrients listed on the formula can are per 100 calorie servings. Duh. That's five ounces. And there are far more nutrients and grams of fat and protein in 8 ounces of formula. Why do I know this and his doctor doesn't? Crap! I wrote it all down on a piece of paper in neat little columns and compared formula to Traders Joe's organic soy milk, Wal-mart's Great Value organic soy milk, and even went into our local WIC to write down the nutrients in their brand of organic soy milk. I plan on rubbing his face in it when we go back in a month. We left that argument off with me refusing to change to full soy milk and stay on the alternating soy and formula and work like mad to get more solids into him. And I will quietly give soy milk in every third bottle instead of every other. Which brings us to his pulmonary status. I am so sick and tired of this doctor telling me that I am wrong and that I am not seeing what I am seeing. At last month's visit I asked for a refill on Jack's albuterol, because he was using it for a lot of wheezing at night. That got us the Q-Var inhaled steroid and a refill for the albuterol. At this visit when the doc asked if Jack wasn't doing better, I reported that no, in fact, he was having a greater number of wheezing episodes, particularly at night. Any of this sound familiar to any of you asthma Moms? Knowing that this doctor has a penchant for denying the obvious, I listened to Jack's lungs before he came into the exam room. He clearly had wheezing in the right lower and middle lobes, inspiratory and expiratory, as well as some rhonchorus sounds in the left mid and upper areas. The doc said he was clear. I said to listen again, and of course he refused. So I pulled my own stethoscope out and had another go at it. And I pointed and said Right there. Wheezes. And here and here. Rhonchi. His answer? "Those are not really there. They are referred sounds from somewhere else in the bronchial tree." Okay, yeah maybe, but doubtful, and even so, they are referred sounds from somewhere else inside my son's bronchial tree. So again with the arguing. I wanted nebulizer treatments for the wheezing at night. For the episodic wheezing I can hear from across the room at night. I finally wore him down and he ordered saline by nebulizer to help with his thick secretions while he's teething. And finally, while he was at it, he finally said I might as well give the albuterol by nebulizer too, and ordered it. So back we go in a month. The nebulizer arrived the next day with all the little saline bullets and albuterol liquid and another Q-Var. Jack's a happy camper. On the up-side, Dr Owen, Jack's cardiologist said that he still has the open holes, hopefully they will close by his next visit, he's doing great, come back in four months.

The pedi said he thought Jack might have a sinus infection and said that his right ear was slightly inflamed. I already knew that, because I have my own otoscope and found the ear inflammation last night, but if I'd brought it up myself instead of letting the doctor "find" it, sure as shootin' he would have denied the obvious. He prescribed Amoxicillan. I wanted Augmentin. He said no. I said Augmentin had done so well on his two previous infections. He said no. I said there's Amoxicillan and Clavulanate in Augmentin, why not go with what we know works? He said no. So we have Amoxicillan. And there you have it. Our doctor fun for March. NOT!

The New And Improved 'Too!

Sleeves rolled up and getting it done... Lili pads and cattails... The Girlie took the pictures, and had the lens on zoom, otherwise you'd see a little bit more of Matt. This area in the fold of the elbow is called "The Ditch, because it hurts like a @&$#*" And here it is!!! This is my left elbow where the doctors left some severe scarring when we lost Hannah. I think I've mentioned before that I appeared to have track marks* any junkie** would be proud of. Now I don't! I have a cute little orange frog with blue spots, catching his breakfast! "...Underneath the ink on my tattoo, I try to hide my scars from you..."
P!NK, I'm Not Dead,
from the I'm Not Dead album

And here's the almost finished story-in-a-picture. I can go back in three weeks to have Matt fill in more purple to the powder puff and add some pixie dust!

*scars caused to veins when junkies inject drugs into their bodies
**junkies are sad souls who get high injecting illicit drugs directly into their bloodstreams

Ah, The Fires Of Hell

...are burning my toes. Let me explain.

Today, I had the distinction of being That Person. All you Moms of special needs kids have met That Person many, many times in your children's lives. You know That Person. It's often a woman who puts on the genuine or feigned air of caring. She's often got a pleasant smile. She's assessing your child. And dang it all, she should realize that every thing she utters about your child is a question, an indictment, a judgement and a sentence. Every inflection, every facial expression, every lilt to the brow, change in pitch, even her posture, will be a judgement of you, of your worth, by way of placing judgement on your child, a worth or value on your baby.

And today I was That Person. I felt my toes burn as I began the assessment of a beautiful child cuddled happily in the arms of his loving mother. It's the questions. So, Mrs. Smith, does Little Bobby help you dress or undress him in any way? Does he push his arms into sleeves or pull up the legs of his pants? Can he put his socks on by himself? No. Of course not. Little Bobby is 18 months old and has Down syndrome.

I saw the posture change. How can a woman rise to the defense of her child and simultaneously buckle under the pressure in her shoulders. How does she lower her shoulders in sorrow in the exact moment her spirit to protect shines brilliantly? How does that work? Did I look like that hearing those biting words? How many of you recognize yourselves?

It killed me to see the smoldering shadow of hurt and fear dart it's path behind her eyes before she smashed it down and told it to shut up! She answered in a clear strong voice while burying her lips in her child's hair. My eyes burned, threatening tears. I'm sorry. These questions are asinine. I hate that I just asked you that. Of course he isn't doing these things. And of course, this is NOT the first time you've gotten the drill. I have baby with Down syndrome and I'm finding that the number of nurses who have any special needs children is a rare thing in the home care arena. She asked about my child, his name, his demeanor, how happy he'd made us while she hugged her child tighter then felt at ease to hold him a little looser. A little surer. A little safer. In the course of discussing our boys and in the general camaraderie of shared chromosomes, I got my stupid questions answered. Every single one. All without making this beautiful Mom and wonderful little boy feel attacked, made small, judged, undervalued, injured or ready for battle. Instead we celebrated the accomplishments our children are making. Laughing about their antics. Comparing the similarities in them to ourselves, to their Dads, to their siblings, to their friends.

And I do here-by swear on all that is chocolate, I will never approach this admission intake process ever again wearing the skin of That Person. I hope Her skin itches.

*Do the Dads hate this person as much as us Mommies?

**I'll edit this for spellling and grammer when I am not so tired.

***Hahahaha...spellling and grammer!

New Stuff

This is what Jack's been up to just this week:

He's pulling up to stand against furniture and the couch (3-6)

He's formally crawling in full quadriped (3-4)

He transitions to sit often now

He transitions to crawl

He sits up nice and tall if he has something to hold onto

He pushes my hands away if he doesn't like something

He transitions to/from kneel to sit to quadriped

He's taking actual steps from point A to point B while supported by furniture

He has his first molar! All four points are showing, still surrounding a puddle of pink gums in the center. It's on the top right and will soon be joined by a canine on the same side, and sharp points are poking through for both of those teeth on the top left! His poor little gummies are mush on both tops and bottoms.


What happened to my baby?

Much Ado About A 'Too

Tattoo that is! Without further ado, (story to follow) here it is, fresh and wrapped in plastic! I can hardly wait to take the wrap off in the morning!

And here it is today! Of course the colors are more vibrant in person, and especially so against the backdrop of my inflamed tissues, but that doesn't really show as vividly in the photograph as it does in real life, either.

I've been perusing fairies, faeries and fae for a few months now, trying to find just what I wanted. In the end I found a powdery puff faerie in one place, (looks like a faerie wearing a dandelion) a posed faerie in another place and wings in vivid rich variegated reds and browns under fae, and printed them all out to come up with my own design. Then The Beloved said, "This isn't going to fly." I thought he meant Matt couldn't do what I wanted, but no, he meant it technically. "No faerie can fly with these wings. The wispiness looks nice, but they won't hold air to allow the faerie to fly." What? Really? Who is this big grown hulk of a man speaking casually of faeries and fae? But yeah, that's what he said. Then he reminded me of another drawing I'd clipped from the 'net and said I'd have better luck variegating the colors that I wanted with some more substantial wings. So back to the drawing board I went until, madly scrambling until I'd come up with essentially what now resides on my arm! All in the hour before we were supposed to leave to go see Matt.

I'll have to go back next week to get the dandelion looking portion of her body straightened out to be more round and symmetrical. Apparently, white pigment is a heavy metal and along with being immensely more painful than other colored pigments, it also inflames tissues more easily. While it wasn't so prominent within an hour of stopping, while Matt was embedding the white pigment into the tender flesh of my arm, the area ballooned up and was beginning to distort the shape. While The Beloved stepped out to go buy me a soda, I asked Matt how much to add two or three solid white tiny 1 1/2" dandelion fairies at a later date. And that leads us to a bit of a back story...

Way back in October when The Beloved was still in shock that I was actually contemplating getting a tattoo, and then again in late October when we'd made our appointments to actually go through with it, he said very gravely, in my response to having asked him if he was okay with me being inked, "As long as you don't get carried away with it." Because really, he knows me better than I know myself.

When Katie, our former ART gal stopped by yesterday morning to visit, I showed her the moon and we excitedly discussed tonight's festivities of getting the faerie added. She said, "Wow, Tracy, I remember when you were still so antsy about getting a tiny little tattoo and if you should do it or not!" And I said, Oh I know! And for a good two months after the pink and blue were done I would still look at my arm and could hardly believe that I was seeing it there on my own body! But I love this tattoo! And I can't wait to get the faerie added! It's almost become a hobby now! I glanced over at The Beloved at he gave me the look. You know, that look. The one capable of saying an entire phrase and thought in one facial gesture "There! That. Right. There! That's was I was talking about!" But he said nothing aloud and just watched with an entertained smirk while I yammered with my friend. It was there though. That vibe in the room. The one that says we'll be having some sort of discussion about this topic later. And he's not being an ass, and he would never dream of telling me that I can or cannot do something...but like I've said before, he knows me better than I know myself, and knows just how easily I can get carried away with something. He saw the crazed look in my eye. I think the buzzwords for him that made his heart go pitter-patter was when I said It's almost become a hobby now! So, when The Beloved returned with sodas in hand just in time to hear Matt quote me a price and ask, "So you want two tiny little dandelion looking fairies in all white?" The Beloved said incredulously "You're getting more?" and I said Or three, here, here and...here, The Beloved gave me that smirk again. Shook his head. Handed me my soda. Sat down in the corner. Said nothing more.

In my defense, I have to tell you, this round of defacing my body was a breeze. It was so much less painful! Matt did a few outlines and finally commented, "How are you liking this so far? I have a new machine. It seems to be much less painful." And I was loving it. It was so much better than all the other times. This time it felt exactly like I was being rapidly stabbed with a tiny little micro needle about a zillion times per second. All the other times it felt like Matt was levering a rusty 1" chisel against my flesh and trying to forcefully pry my skin off of my body with it! Matt had a few colorful descriptors of my more graphic expressions during the last tattooing episodes, which he quoted back to me in a sing song voice, but that's another story...

So in the car on the way home, I was still amped and excited that my new tattoo didn't hurt, and excited about how vibrant it is, and exactly what I'd wanted, and I couldn't shut up about how much fun this turned out to be this time, and that it didn't take very long this time. The Beloved said, in his sarcastic-but-trying-to-be-diplomatic way, "Well, you didn't have to make him stop fifteen times so you could take a break from the pain this time!" but that only started me up again on how awesome that new machine is and how it didn't hurt much at all! Seriously, I couldn't shut up! He asked several times, with a big goofy grin, "So you like it? You're happy with it?" and I said Yes! I love it! It's a pretty far stretch from the tiny little word 'beautiful' I'd originally wanted up near my wrist, but I'm really happy with it! Oh My Gosh!!! Look at this! Yes, I tried to stretch my arm into his line of vision while he drove through dark streets Matt put a little faerie bubble, a bit of Pixie Dust flying out of the fairies upturned hand! Look at that! Can you see it? Can you? Can you? Huh? Of course he couldn't see it. I could barely see it and it was right there on my arm! He'd look when we got home, he said. But his grin said he was really happy for my delight!

Back at home I was rounding up all my clip art and practice drawings to throw them away, when The Beloved asked what exactly I'd wanted to add next, hedged with the phrase "I thought adding the faerie was going to complete it and all you would be doing from here on out would be touching it up now and then." So I handed him the sample drawings and asked if he didn't think two or three tiny little dandelion fairies wouldn't really compliment the scene. Because, really, it has become more of a story board on my arm. While I'm at it, I think a couple of these lily pads along the bottom would look good. "And a frog too? With his tongue whipping out to catch a fly!" he offers sarcastically. But that led to a discussion of my left arm.

I'd already asked Matt if he couldn't do something to cover the horrid scarring I was left with in the days following the final curtain falling on Hannah's story. It resides on the crease in my left arm, and years after the tissue damage and swelling have gone, I am left with what looks like a junkie's track marks. I don't wear short sleeves to work, ever, even in summer, because it looks exactly like I've described it as. I look like a junkie. So when The Beloved sarcastically suggested a frog on a lily pad, I put my arms together and said, I might just do that. Right here. I've been trying to figure out how Matt could fix this, and that might just work. It will tie this tattoo to that one and won't be something different. "That could work," he says amicably, "but it might also get you started on this arm." And again with the look. He reminded me of how upset I was when he'd gotten his first tattoo. And he recounted almost word for work the whole ranting tirade I'd gone on, even after all these years have passed, ending with my fear that he wouldn't stop until he'd gotten full sleeves.* He was afraid I was getting carried away. He was afraid he'd come home one day to find I'd decorated my body with sleeves.* So I assured him that aside from covering Hannah's scars, my right arm was the only canvas on my body that I had any intention of turning into a tapestry. I promised. And once that was out of the way, he happily agreed that my right forearm was turning into a story to tell. Once he was assured that I would hedge my creativity sometime in the very near future, we started talking lily pads and frogs. I haven't told him yet, but I think a few cattails and a little pond under the lily pads would look awesome! Especially on my left arm crease!

And besides, even if tattooing has become significantly less painful, The Beloved has nothing to worry about here because it is still no less a very expensive art form! So far, all of my work has been paid for by the methods of barter and comp, but the two (or three) dandelion fairies and the frog and lily pads (and pond and cattails!) will be coming out of my own very shallow pocket! Having to save up for the art work will be as powerful a deterrent as any thing else could be.

And now I will say adieu! I have to start on the post about Jack's trip to the cardiologist and all of the new recent naughtiness he's been up to, with the proof of pictures! Stay tuned!

*Tattoo work down both arms, ending at the wrist, like sleeves on a shirt.

Signing Time

Today my Little Jack Snack signed "more" ten times for Dr Elaine! Of course, I was not here to see this miracle as I was out busily earning a living, but I got to read about it in her report. I am clinging to the happiness and pride that he did it, and trying hard not to dwell on the ugly fact that I was absent when it happened. I'm trying to think of it as practice...because in due time, the ultimate goal for any child, especially a special needs child, is that he will excel on his own, out in the world, where the cheering section is absent and perhaps only he will be the proud witness to his success. That's what I'm telling myself anyway...

Bloggy-versary

Happy Blogiversary to me! Happy Blogiversary to me! Happy Blogiversary to meeeee-eeee! Happy Blogiversary to me! It's been one year since I poured over my journal and started this blog. My first post ever was So Why My Little Stinkerie? Thank you all for reading, and for becoming part of our baby's beautiful new life! It's been a real heartfelt pleasure to have you travelling this road with us!

Lots To Say

Jack's been discovering how his legs work! He's refining his 'crawl' to actually involve his legs, in a left~right~left three step fashion so that it actually looks less like a 'drag' and something more akin to an actually 'crawl!' If he's travelling 20 feet, I can count on the left~right~left action about every five 'steps.'

Here's a newsflash. On Tuesday night, Jack actually slept in his own crib. FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER!!! I love how he sleeps with his little butt up in the air!
It made me uneasy to have him all the way down the hall, and I had a really hard time falling to sleep. The baby monitor alerted me to when he woke at about 3:30, and into our bed he went. Along with the Girlie who later said in true Girlie fashion, "You know, Mom. I don't really feel safe with him in his crib. I think it would be much better to have him here with us. I just don't feel safe with him all the way down the hall in his room. I couldn't sleep." Notice how she's perfectly comfortable claiming our bed as her own whenever The Beloved isn't home!


And here's another new skill...he's transitioning from a semi supported sit to a crawl! He's discovered that he can get away from me, his OT and his PT. I guess the therapy is paying off?

This big news came yesterday morning while I was getting ready for work. This deserves a drum roll...Jack crawled/dragged himself over to the Woody doll, picked it up, and without letting go of Woody, he transitioned himself into a sit, tall and erect... and while triumphantly beaming up at me, continued the fluid motion of falling right over sideways! Boy was he ticked! Such brief triumph so quickly turned to tragedy! I propped him back up with the Woody doll to sit, so I could snap a picture or ten, but he wouldn't sit up tall again...more of a "I'm safe in this position" slump!

He's doing really well with the soy milk. He gobbles it down like his favorite dessert! I'm having a little trouble communicating with his sitter. I thought I'd been pretty clear that Dr Elaine gave the go-ahead for her to feed Jack spoon food twice a day. I'd lined up a bunch of breakfast foods and fruits, and a bunch of lunch foods and fruit and veggies. Suggested she feed him breakfast at about nine, and lunch at about one in the afternoon. Put out bibs and spitty cloths and all of his paraphernalia for preparing to eat. First day went well. Second day...I asked how he'd done and she said, "Oh, I didn't know I was supposed to feed him every day." I keep her because she's really good with the kids. She's no nonsense with that mouthy Middle Little, gentle with The Girlie, and she has genuine affection for Jack. Plus, what ever she may lack in common sense, she makes up for in keeping~my~kids~safe!

In tattoo news, the moon is starting to de~scab. Pretty term, huh? Well at least I didn't photograph the days where it was all gooey, beige~ish, blood starting to decay alternating with dry, beige~ish, blood starting to decay flaky! There's a plus, right? It's at the point now where there are just a few tiny beige colored flakes stuck to it, it's itchy like all get out, and the white of the moon is shiny and smooth and the underlying inflammation makes it look pink. Next up is the stage where it scabs over clear and is itchier than it is now. I don't like this stage. Plus, the muscle underneath started feeling like I'd been beaten with a hammer. Happened last time too. Yep, I'm a big baby about this.
But you can clearly see by the redness how inflamed it is...so I'm really not that big of a baby about it.
Here is it today!

Wednesday night was Jack's second night alone in his crib. Until he woke up at 3:20 to eat. Then he was in the big bed! Thursday night he slept through the night! Yay! I checked on him often, twice encountering The Girlie on her way back from checking on him, and he woke up at about 6:30 when the rest of the household was in full swing, getting ready for school. The Beloved got home Friday night and quickly nixed the Jack sleeping his his crib thing. Who is this man??? He never, ever allowed either of The Other Littles to sleep in our bed! Yep, he's back in our bed...but he again slept through the night!
I'll leave off with with Jack's latest skill...pulling up to kneel at the coffee table!
Jack has not one but two top molars trying to work their way in. There are sharp pointy spikes on each side of his top gums...but he hasn't really been cranky! Here he is having a chomp on his favorite new chewy!
Happy, happy boy!


I love this goofy face!!!

Where The Good Life Leads To...

In case you missed it, I saw this plastered all over the back of a Metro bus on the way home from the interview that landed me my new job. It pissed me off then and it still pisses me off today. The city I'm complaining of is high and mighty and full of itself, but I wasn't going to write about that, so I'll get on to what I'm really after...

First of all, in this town where the good life leads to! my office shares a communal bathroom with all the other offices on that floor. And in that bathroom there are typically four rolls of bathroom tissue all lined up on little spindles for your convenient use. Two of those rolls are good quality, absorbent multi-ply toity tissue. Two of those rolls are, at the bare minimum, ten-ply. Yep. You read right. I haven't actually taken it apart to count the layers, but they're THICK! As in you could take an entire bath with one square. Do your dishes. Wash your car. Scrub out your sinks. This got me to thinking. While I am not a tree hugger, I have to wonder, do these elite people even care about our planet? Huh? Do they? While I do not believe we should kill an entire industry to save an owl, I also do not hold with abusing the planet. We live here. Let's keep it clean. Let's do it sensibly, but let's keep it clean.

Being that the communal bathroom we share is also shared with Baby Steps, and being that there is a baby changing station there complete with a Diaper Genie, sometimes our communal bathroom smells like...well the stuff that comes out of babies' butts. I was a baby, I've been around babies, I've had my own babies and do, in fact, have a baby now. This is not a good smell. So, one day this week I trekked up to the third floor communal bathroom. The first floor doesn't have a bathroom. I guess they go in the potted plants. The third floor bathroom was an adventure into rest rooming properly. They had music. They had plants. They had real flowers in a vase on the counter top. They had six rolls of toity paper in each stall and all of them were the ten-ply variety. My next shock was the caliber of hand soap. Not the pleasant enough but clearly industrial grade crap I'd been using in the second floor bathroom. No, this stuff was in a pretty burgundy pump right out on the counter top, next to the flowers, with olive oil and infusion of cranberry. What the heck? And the paper towels? Soft, bi-fold two ply, not the crappy sandpaper tri-fold single-ply rough and chap your hands crap you get out of the towel holders on the second floor. Oh well. What can I say. God never intended this planet to last forever.

And another thing. What's up with the names on the streets? They don't have avenues. They have Avenidas. And nothing is abbreviated. Nope. You'll only see Boulevard spelled out like Avenida and Street and Court, as well as Place and Lane. No abbreviations, please. I've seen lots and lots of personal names for streets. First and last names, please. And then there's the regular b.s. named streets like Melody Lane. Yes, that's a real name. I thought it only existed in Clark W Griswold's world. I was wrong. Rainbow Glen. Sugar Frost Court. Mountain Mist Orchard Road. Ocean Fog Way. Really? Yes, really. Right smack dab in the middle of the desert that is California, a good 80 miles or more from the ocean, they have the delusions adequate enough to name a street Ocean Fog Way. Go figure. There's also Sea Spray Lane and Avenida Lighthouse.

When I drive through Jack in the Box in my up until now decent neighborhood, which is, I've come to see from driving the streets of Where the good life leads to! is really sub-par, mediocre at best, all of my order gets stuffed into one bag. Doesn't matter if I've ordered one meal for myself or four plus meals for the family. It all gets shoved into one bag. Not here. Not in this city. Every item gets it's own bag. My extreme sausage sandwich got it's own bag. Likewise for the order of hash brown sticks that comes with the combo meal. And the mini-waffle cake? Got it's own bag. They guy asked if I wanted salt or catsup, (okay Holly...yes I was alive in 1967, but I'll say KETCHUP just for you babe!) and I said no because I was afraid it would come in it's own bag. Dang. I have a hard enough time keeping my van clean without fast food joints where the good life leads to! junking it all up!

One good thing I've noticed, despite the congestion because every one who is anyone wants to live, or at least work in this city, is that when I put on my blinker to change lanes, people let me. They get out of the way to let me in. It might be the way I drive. It might be that they don't want their shiny Lexus or Beemer to get dented and scratched. It might be both. Or it might just be that life is all sunshine and rainbows in the city where the good life leads to! I don't know. I don't live there. Have I gone on about this enough yet? Cuz I've got more. Lots more. I'm just sayin'...

Oy, Soy

So, at Jack's 15 month well baby check, the doctor said, among other things, that he wants Jack to switch entirely to soy milk. Which is quite different than the "extend formula for six more months" he said at his 12 month check up. The problem here is that neither I nor Dr Elaine, Jack's SLP, believe he's taking in enough calories and fat and protein from his spoon food. Yet. Our plan is to alternate Jack's formula bottles with soy milk, thickened, of course, and I started that tonight. He gobbled his first serving of soy milk down like it was pure ambrosia. Do I have to be 70 years old to say things like "pure ambrosia?" cuz I just did. I'm just sayin'... Anyway, Dr Elaine has finally given her blessings on Sonia feeding Jack spoon food independently. And today she did, and she reports he did really well. Since Jack goes back to the pedi in a month, we're going to proceed with our plan and if he doesn't hold his weight and loses any, we'll go back to formula and continue advancing his spoon feeding. Dr Elaine will continue to monitor Sonia's skill at spoon feeding and Jack's willingness to eat. So far, Jack hasn't given her any of the Today I like this but tomorrow I won't, I'll eat all of this cold, some of that warm, none of this at all, and I'll pretend to eat this no matter what temperature you offer it to me and then I'll pocket it all in my adorable little cheeks and give it all back to you all at all once just when you think I've swallowed that last spoonful business that he's given both myself and Dr Elaine.

Sounds like a pretty good plan, right? Here's the hitch. Now that Jack is pending approval for an LVN to care for him, everything that occurs with him, to him, about him, on him, or even thought about anywhere near him has to approved by his doctor, right down to the Desitin smeared upon his little bum, OTC, prn, and all the requisite lingo that goes into a proper order. So if the doctor approves an order for Desitin and I run out and proffer A&D, the LVN cannot apply it to his little cheeks. Same with our plans to alternate soy milk with formula. And you already know how many rounds I've already gone with this doctor. So, wish me luck!

Jack's Been Up To No Good!

First he figured out how to expand his horizons with a trip down the hall......to pick out a movie...

After that he ventured into the kitchen all the way on the other side of the house...

...to see what mischief he could find...
...under the table...
And this is his newest trick...
...and he's tickled pink to have outgrown his cradle...
...can you see how pleased he is with himself?
And his new kneeling skills have led to this...
...time to teach him how to fold!
And teach him to stay out of the CD's...

...and to NOT pull on the telephone cord... ...cuz it only leads to this...
It didn't actually fall on him...but the loud noise when it crashed convinced him that he was dreadfully injured.
Of course there's always room to explore under the coffee table...

...and what would the day be without kneeling at the step stool?

That top left tooth I spotted the other night is here to stay...not the here now, gone tomorrow second bottom tooth that's been playing shy for months now. So, Jack-Snack officially has four teeth! The top two look to be like normally shaped teeth. The bottom right tooth has finally made it's debut permanent, and it's every bit as unique as it's neighbor, a sharp spikey pointed fang. That the bottom teeth are spikey is no longer much of a wrench to the head. I'm over it. He's my little Jack, and his teeth are spikey.

Friday was his 15 month well baby check. And a new diagnosis of asthma. So he has yet another inhaler, this one an inhaled steroid called Q-Var, 1 puff every morning and one puff every night. Dang. Jack weighed in at 20 pounds and 14 ounces. He is 28 inches long! His head circumference is 45 cm. He's still wearing a size 4 diaper and his crawling skills are getting more uniform...not quite a genuine crawl, but the boy gets where he wants to go, all the same! And Saturday I bought him 7 new sleep and play outfits...size 6-9 months. He's barely hanging onto the regular growth charts at the 1st percentile for height, but he's moved up 2 points and is in the 5th percentile for weight! You go baby! I love you so much it hurts, but in a good way!

Post Script: I also discovered late after this post that Jack has the outer point of a molar poked through his top right gums, way in the back, but I was too lazy to get up and update the post. He's had wide mushy back gums, top and bottom, for about two weeks now, so I wasn't really surprised to find that little point sticking out. It was still poked out when I got home from work tonight, so I guess it's officially a new tooth coming in!

Tattoo ~ Part Two

Okay, so it's really part three, but I didn't show you anything until the first two steps were done...and Tattoo Part Two rhymes, so we're going with that. I have to say, we stopped early. It was significantly more painful than I remembered, so I turned into a baby midway through the moon and when the artist said, "You might want to consider doing this as a two step like before. Come back for the Faerie later," I immediately said Yes, let's do that! So...come back in three weeks to see the Faerie. Also, before you see the pictures, keep in mind that the inflamed areas under each of the little white stars doesn't show in the pictures...it looks very much in real life life I've got festering pimples on my arm. Or Leprosy. And that really kinda cracks me up! And the outline of the moon still contains a bit of the purple transfer ink...so the lines will be finer as it heals. And the moon itself still has quite a bit of blood in the ink, so the white is pinkish bloody and the blue looks kinda green. I'll update as I heal.

Here it is!

Trouble's a'Brewin'

The Wabiest of Wabies made it all the way down the hall to The Middle Little's room tonight. Thank goodness and all that is chocolate that The Middle was sound asleep!

Hurting...

I'm danged tired starting my third week at this new job. I haven't settled my feelings about what I've been allowed to see this last week enough to talk about it. The immediate things that come to mind are a two year old angel of a girl who won't live to see three, and an eleven year old with liver cancer that I drew blood from today. Yeah, it's been kinda rough. Duh! What was I thinking? Sure I thought I'd have other babies with Ds like Willie, and I do, but where were my ears when my brain was screaming that these kids are sick and some will die? I guess I was still living in the honeymoon of Down syndrome because Willie is just so perfect and precious and good. But Willie is healthy. These kids are not. And it really, really sucks and it hurts quite a bit more than just a little.

I haven't blogged because I've been trying to soak up my kids while I am home. I am seriously rethinking my decision to work days. How do you busy day working Moms do it? Not liking this being away all day one bit. And all Willie wants to do when I get home is scratch and pinch the crap out of my face. He thinks it's very funny to draw blood from my cheeks while wearing a big goofy grin. It seems to be a mix of "I'm really happy you're home but now I'm going to make you suffer for leaving me." I'll post pictures when my heart isn't so low. Thanks for listening. Truly.

Something To Blog About

Irony. It's a funny thing. Alanis Morisette wrote a song about it. Not that I'm a huge fan of hers, but she does make a point.

Mr. Play It Safe was afraid to fly
He packed his suitcase and kissed his kids goodbye
He waited his whole damn life to take that flight
And as the plane crashed down he thought
"Well isn't this nice..."~jagged little pill album

And so it is purely ironic in the wry satire that is my life, with me being an admittedly proud speed demon, that the only accident I've ever had took place at speeds too low to register on the speedometer. Yep. Today. In a parking lot. Right smack dab up against an innocuous parked car. I'd underestimated the space I had to turn into a slot and scraped another car.

I reversed away from the car I'd just rolled into and parked next to it. I was thinking a foot long dent and maybe some scrapes. Dollar signs were ringing in my head. Increased insurance premiums. How many points is that on my DMV? I got out to survey the damage. Scratched up the rear fender, the rear panel and the driver's side door. The three people who saw the whole action were watching me to see if I'd jump into the van to flee. I'm sure they saw my face go white when I looked at the car's license plate to note the fresh off the lot plastic placards where a license plate should be. And then my eyes travelled upward to see the shiny silvery emblem of the car's maker and I just about peed myself. Couldn't slide into a shot out run down Pinto (are there still any Pintos on the road?) No, I had to do it big and disfigure a Mercedes Benz. Crap!

But wait...It gets better!

I was standing in my open door trying to decide how best to locate the car's owner. I turned toward my van to open Willie's door while I instructed The Middle the open his door to get some air, and what do I see? A head and shoulders disappearing into the smashed car's driver seat. The owner had come back and had absently gotten into his car and started it, rolled down the window and put the car in gear. Why, oh why could I have not displayed some of the slow witted sluggish thought processes that I've had for two weeks while I've learned my new job? Why?

I called out to him from the open door, "Dude! I just hit your car." Stupid, stupid, stupid. He was going to drive away. He hadn't seen the damage. I was off the hook. As far as anyone was privy to, except for now of course, The Middle, my pristine accident free driving record could remain unchallenged. The whole driver returning thing happened so fast, if I'd delayed turning around for even 30 seconds to tell The Middle to open his door for air, the driver would have driven away and I would have missed the whole confession. But I hadn't delayed. And it was the right thing to do. Crap!

The guy was actually pretty cool. And he let me know that the car wasn't brand new. It was a 2002. A cop buddy of his had put the dealer placards on his car because he was getting pulled over at least once every three days. "They see a black man driving a Mercedes and think it's stolen." I don't get that logic. I actually wanted to ask him So how is a black man driving a brand new Mercedes different? But he volunteered, "I guess they think it would be harder to steal it from a dealership than off the streets."

While we were in the process of gathering insurance information he said "Oh, this has to be private. I've already got a few points and I have a new insurance agency. Let's handle this privately. Private would be best." He wouldn't even take my info. We exchanged names and phone numbers. He said he has friends who do auto body work and will get a cheap estimate. He said that since there weren't any actual dents, it would mean a sand and buff and a new coat of paint. Whew!

While this post was supposed to be about surviving my first two weeks at my new job, it is this instead. More later when I find out how much this will cost. Oh yeah. And still more when The Beloved sees the nice basketball sized dent in my front bumper.

I'm Old!

Today is your birthday...
Da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da...
Today is your birthday...
Da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da...
Well, it's my birthday too, yeah!

I don't remember who wrote this silly little diddy!