He’ll be 7 months on Sunday. Seven months. Seven months ago, I was in painful labor all morning, afternoon, evening, and part of the night long, only to end up on an operating table listening to my doctor and the anesthesiologist talk about Kevin Costner movies and Brinks Home Security while my doctor pulled my child out of an opening in my stomach that he made before I was even aware my doctor was in the room yet. 7 months ago I heard my baby’s first cries... extremely loud for a newborn, I thought. Seven months ago I stayed up all night long because I was too scared to sleep with the baby in the room. I thought if I slept, the baby would not live. 7 months ago I had the worst and best experience of my life on the same exact day. SEVEN MONTHS. It’s getting closer and closer to a year. That makes me so sad. And happy.
He’s such a fun, content little person now. He’s expressive and is developing a sense of humor. He can wave hi and bye. He’s practically crawling. I’ll blink and he’ll be "practically driving". He finally, after months of begging from both Michael and me, can say "dada". He says "dada" when he’s happy and "mama" when he’s sad. Ha.
Oh, and he has upgraded to a big boy convertible carseat that stays in the car now. He looks so teensy in that big ol’ seat.
I still have nightly panic attacks about him not breathing while he’s sleeping. I don’t think they’re going to go away.
In other news, Spring is here, which means HELLOOOO ALLERGIES! My eyes are itchy balls of flame right now. But the weather has been simply beautiful, so I shant complain.
Well... I’m off to do.... other things than this. So long!
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Judge David what's-his-face on TV says that if a fish kept its mouth shut, it wouldn't get caught.
Probably not relevant to my life, but kind of amusing.
Just like when Dorothy tells a 16-year-old that "just because the plumbing's in doesn't mean the house is ready to occupy." when talking about teen pregnancy. On Golden Girls. If you knew me AT ALL you wouldn't even need me to say the part about Golden Girls. Because you would already know.
My son is learning to crawl. He's not crawling yet, but he's learning. He can get up on all fours and rock back and forth. He can move backwards, but not forwards. And he can roll like the wind blows. But he can't crawl yet. That, however, doesn't stop him from getting in to things. A couple of days ago, I put him on a blanket with his toys in the living room, and went to the bathroom for about 30 seconds. I came back out of the bathroom and found my son in the kitchen, with the dog food, bowl knocked completely over, dog food heading toward his mouth by chubby little fistfuls.
My son is also learning to talk. He doesn't particularly know what he's saying, I suppose. But he can say "mama"...and he can say "bababa" (which I do have to say he says appropriately, whether he means to or not... when he's hungry--"baba!" [bottle]... when we're going somewhere-- "baba!" [bye-bye]..ah yes, my son's a genius... indulge me, people.) And last night, he discovered that finally, after weeks and weeks of both the husband and me in his face begging him to say it, he can say "dada"! He also does a pretty cute "hi!" and some other noises too, but those are the most notable. Although, I have to say, he only says "mama" when he's crying and upset. *sigh*
He is cutting a tooth. I figured he would be toothless until he's 9 months old and hairless until he's 1 1/2 years, like his dear ol' mom was. The hairless thing, perhaps. He's kind of a baldy. But he's cutting a tooth. On top. (I said before that the child does things the difficult way.) You see, his father has fangs. Vampire teeth. Unusually sharp and pointy teeth on either side of his front four teeth. And my son is destined to also have fangs. He is cutting a fang right now. He drools gallons, he chews on anything and everything, he's running a slight fever, which I have heard can be consistent with teething, and he's EXTREMELY WHINY right now. But he's cute so he's forgiven.
He had a bad case of EVERYTHING for a little while in February. Everything hit the poor child at once. He had the stomach bug (complete with tons of diarrhea), a moderate to high fever, a bad cough, a stuffy nose, and his eczema flared up really bad on his face, arms, and legs. The stomach bug affected him the most, causing him to lose a little bit of weight. At his 6-month well baby appointment, he had gained some of the weight back, but he was off track on his normal gaining. The child used to be in the 75th-90th percentile in weight and 90th+ percentile in height. He's pretty much still up there on height, but he has slipped to the 25th-50th percentile for weight. It is scary for me, but nobody else is worried about it. Not even his doctor.
Ah, his doctor. He got a new doctor. I'm glad of this. I really like his new doctor. He asks questions and listens and explains things. Imagine ME liking a doctor! I think part of it is that he's about my height so I know I could take him in a bout of fisticuffs. Part of it is that he wears "normal people clothes" instead of doctor clothes, and was receiving text messages as he was talking to me. Made him more human, I guess. He didn't look at the text messages or mess with his phone at all, so he was still professional. His breath smelled a little like green beans, although I think I have an obsession with people's breath smelling like green beans, because when I was in labor, the first anesthesiologist that put in the epidural's breath smelled like green beans to me. Maybe I have a green bean up my nose. But I digress. Point is--I like my kid's new doctor. I still hate the receptionists at the doctor's office, but they're just sad little people who answer phones for a living. I must pity them.
At the very end of January, my grandmother died. She was 76 years old. She was sassy and spry and silly until she had a stroke in December. The stroke resulted in left side paralysis, as it often does. They did tons upon tons of tests on her brain, and they discovered a mass on the other side of her brain... the side not affected by the stroke. Of course, this resulted in more testing, and come to find out, she had lung cancer that had spread to her brain. She was pretty much destined to not get better. While in the hospital, she had two heart attacks. She had two GI bleeds. She had pneumonia twice. She was starting to suffer. The hospital eventually said there was nothing else they could do, and the decision was made to put her in a skilled nursing home. She was there for an entire day, and she died the next. Some days I am pretty positive I'm at peace with her passing. She was suffering, after all, and for someone who was spry and silly to suffer is worse than death itself. She went to Heaven. I know she did. She's up there now with my first baby, enjoying all of her relatives that went before her. But there are days when I listen to my mom (it was her mom) talk about her "what if's"... "what if we never put her on the chemo and radiation? What if we would have just let her go in her own time? What if we would have pulled her out of physical therapy instead of letting them work her so hard?"... and I know my mom wasn't mentally prepared for her mother to go. The day that my grandmother had the stroke, my mom went to be by her side. She didn't leave her side for more than just a short period of time for the entire month and 1/2. Whatever peace she needed to make, she tried to make. But obviously it wasn't enough. My mother is going through the stages of grief and loss. But I never did... I just accepted it, which makes me feel guilty.
My child's only time to ever meet her. Except when he was in my tummy. That's my mom holding him.
I will give you a dollar if you truly read this entire long post.
No, I probably won't. But it's a nice thought anyway!