I now keep my toothbrush in my purse. I keep my mind from going places that are too scary for words. And I keep a constant vigil at the bedside of the strongest, most beautiful baby boy. So many things have changed in the last 24 hours. One minute I was climbing the stairs to give good night kisses and in the very next instant I found myself climbing into the cockpit of the small airplane that would serve as the best route of transportation for my very sick baby.
When did all of this happen? At what point did I go from playing patty-cake and tickle games to counting respirations and pushing tubes aside just so I can touch his hand? When did I stop thinking of myself as a veteran momma with routines and answers and become this scared, uncertain bystander questioning every single decision I've made over the last year? I know that there are no answers to my questions. It has become abundantly clear that you don't get answers in this new world, at least not without adding a dozen more questions. But, I still have to ask them, even if only in written form. I need to a way to make the arbitrary concrete. I need to be able to do something to bring my brain out of hyperdrive for a few minutes.
Everyone surrounding us has been absolutely amazing. It is nothing short of a miracle the way that our support system has come together in this time of crisis. I am in constant awe of the display of love and support that we have been given. The medical teams are outstanding. Their knowledge and level of expertise is truly incredible. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else at a time like this. New people keep coming in to take care of my boy and each one has commented on how cute he is, and how they love his dark hair. Although this makes me smile inside, it also makes me want to scream. I want to tell them that they aren't seeing my baby. Sure the child lying in this bed is beautiful, but he isn't the person that I know. I want to tell them how he already knows that he likes ice cream better than any other food he's ever tried. I want them to see the scrunchy face he makes when he's playing and being silly. I want them to see how he follows my every move, making sure that Mommy isn't going too far. Unfortunately this also makes me wonder if I have seen these things for the last time. I know that the thought is morbid, but that doesn't mean that it isn't there, always threatening.
I have already learned so much in the past day and a half. My own nursing knowledge has been tested and has grown further than I have ever wanted. But I have also learned other things. I've discovered things about my husband and myself and this life we've created. I know that we have surrounded ourselves with only the best friends, that we have been given amazing family. We have family by chance and family by choice, and although I knew at one time, I can no longer remember who falls into which category. I have learned that although I may not be perfect, I am absolutely certain that I have chosen the best Daddy for my babies.
We are constantly checking each of Easton's organs and making sure that they are functioning properly. It is great to know that his kidneys and liver are great, and that he has the heart of superman. This last one makes me especially happy because I know all too well what it's like when that particular area isn't working. I can say this because each time I look over at my beautiful, motionless baby boy I know that my own heart is broken.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Thursday, April 28, 2011
High School Sweethearts
We all know the high school sweetheart story. Two 14-year-old, pimple faced freshmen meet in homeroom, share an awkward smooch behind the lockers, and when their braces lock together they know that they are hooked for life. They go through all the crazy teenager issues together, and eventually they graduate and marry. My husband and I are high school sweethearts...well, sort of. We're not quite what you would call the "traditional" couple. I mean, we DID meet in a high school. It WAS in homeroom. And at least one of us was a braces-clad, pimple faced freshman but we didn't exactly graduate the same year, and the first thing I ever got from the guy was NOT a kiss...it was homework.
My husband was my high school history teacher (insert astonished gasp here). I know, I know it's scandalous. Well, it is unless you know the actual story. He was actually just new to town and became a friend of the family. We had the unique experience of getting to know one another as friends for several years before we ever dated. Some people still don't believe me when I say that, but it's the truth. We didn't date until after I graduated. Don't get me wrong, I found the guy attractive but so did every other girl in my class. But, let's be honest, if you're in high school and your teacher is not a middle-aged woman with coffee breath and facial hair, or some old dude with suspenders and a pocket protector, you're gonna notice.
Now here's the fun part. Not only were we teacher/student, we also have a 14 year age difference. This is where you gag, and make the "icky" face. But let me tell you something ladies, if you're gonna spend the rest of your life with a man, you want one that's housebroken. Sure everyone THINKS they want the puppy, but cute and cuddly lasts for about 30 seconds and you spend most of your time with a rolled up newspaper in your hand, tossing his butt outside until he gets his shit together. Not me, mine came with the ability AND the motivation to clean, do laundry, and cook. Who's the idiot now, huh? I mean, sure the guy could have driven me to preschool, but we've got to consider the perks too! Here are a few:
-First of all, in order to avoid any awkward looks or annoying questions we decided to go on our first date in St. Louis, MO. We figured two hours away would be a safe enough distance. We went to Union Station, and when we got to one of the stores, I was greeted by one of the clerks who gave me bouquet of a dozen roses that he had PRE-ORDERED!! That's right, forethought AND romance. Pretty incredible. (For any of you men that are reading this, anything planned ahead of time = BIG POINTS)
-Who else can say that their significant other had been saving for a big vacation for years before they even met? We were able to spend 21 days in 7 different European countries for our honeymoon! That was an experience that only the two of us share, and I will cherish those memories for the rest of my life. (Even though the guy is a major history nerd and basically spent 80% of the time behind the camera saying things like, "and this is where blabbedy blah happened on some random day in January that no one but me remembers.")
-You also have to admit that the guy is pretty smart. I mean, he probably has the best retirement plan of anyone I know...me. He'll be hanging out while his young, (hot) wife is bringing in the big bucks. Pretty ingenious really.
-Not to mention the fact that anytime we are on the same team for a trivia game, the two of us span over a decade's worth of knowledge. He takes all the old crap that no one cares about, and I get all of the current more interesting stuff. No, really I've learned a lot from him. Where would I be if I hadn't seen EVERY SINGLE 80's movie featuring Molly Ringwald and Emilio Estevez and their horny, acne-covered friends? Seriously, there are like 10 of them. (Hint: You only have to actually watch one of them. You can pretty much answer any question about any one of the dozen movies based on your knowledge of that one.)
-He's great to have around in a crisis. For example, one day the kids wanted hot dogs and the microwave just quit working. I had no idea what to do, and my superhero husband suggested that we cook them in a pan of water...wait for it...ON THE STOVE!! I had no concept of this, because of course I'd never lived a life without a microwave. Apparently, they are a relatively "new" concept. Who knew?
Of course we have our issues when it comes to our age difference, too. Every once in awhile he'll say something about St. Elmo's Fire and I'll have to remind myself that this is NOT the name of a street that intersects with "Sesame." And, sure from time to time he'll make reference to an "8 track" and I'll be forced to listen to how much today's technology sucks. But, when you get down to what's important, it works for us. THANK GOD I didn't listen to all of the nay-sayers when I was younger. They said it would never work, but here we are 11 years, 1 great marriage, and 4 awesome kids later. So what if his first gift to me was a hall pass to the bathroom?
My husband was my high school history teacher (insert astonished gasp here). I know, I know it's scandalous. Well, it is unless you know the actual story. He was actually just new to town and became a friend of the family. We had the unique experience of getting to know one another as friends for several years before we ever dated. Some people still don't believe me when I say that, but it's the truth. We didn't date until after I graduated. Don't get me wrong, I found the guy attractive but so did every other girl in my class. But, let's be honest, if you're in high school and your teacher is not a middle-aged woman with coffee breath and facial hair, or some old dude with suspenders and a pocket protector, you're gonna notice.
Now here's the fun part. Not only were we teacher/student, we also have a 14 year age difference. This is where you gag, and make the "icky" face. But let me tell you something ladies, if you're gonna spend the rest of your life with a man, you want one that's housebroken. Sure everyone THINKS they want the puppy, but cute and cuddly lasts for about 30 seconds and you spend most of your time with a rolled up newspaper in your hand, tossing his butt outside until he gets his shit together. Not me, mine came with the ability AND the motivation to clean, do laundry, and cook. Who's the idiot now, huh? I mean, sure the guy could have driven me to preschool, but we've got to consider the perks too! Here are a few:
-First of all, in order to avoid any awkward looks or annoying questions we decided to go on our first date in St. Louis, MO. We figured two hours away would be a safe enough distance. We went to Union Station, and when we got to one of the stores, I was greeted by one of the clerks who gave me bouquet of a dozen roses that he had PRE-ORDERED!! That's right, forethought AND romance. Pretty incredible. (For any of you men that are reading this, anything planned ahead of time = BIG POINTS)
-Who else can say that their significant other had been saving for a big vacation for years before they even met? We were able to spend 21 days in 7 different European countries for our honeymoon! That was an experience that only the two of us share, and I will cherish those memories for the rest of my life. (Even though the guy is a major history nerd and basically spent 80% of the time behind the camera saying things like, "and this is where blabbedy blah happened on some random day in January that no one but me remembers.")
-You also have to admit that the guy is pretty smart. I mean, he probably has the best retirement plan of anyone I know...me. He'll be hanging out while his young, (hot) wife is bringing in the big bucks. Pretty ingenious really.
-Not to mention the fact that anytime we are on the same team for a trivia game, the two of us span over a decade's worth of knowledge. He takes all the old crap that no one cares about, and I get all of the current more interesting stuff. No, really I've learned a lot from him. Where would I be if I hadn't seen EVERY SINGLE 80's movie featuring Molly Ringwald and Emilio Estevez and their horny, acne-covered friends? Seriously, there are like 10 of them. (Hint: You only have to actually watch one of them. You can pretty much answer any question about any one of the dozen movies based on your knowledge of that one.)
-He's great to have around in a crisis. For example, one day the kids wanted hot dogs and the microwave just quit working. I had no idea what to do, and my superhero husband suggested that we cook them in a pan of water...wait for it...ON THE STOVE!! I had no concept of this, because of course I'd never lived a life without a microwave. Apparently, they are a relatively "new" concept. Who knew?
Of course we have our issues when it comes to our age difference, too. Every once in awhile he'll say something about St. Elmo's Fire and I'll have to remind myself that this is NOT the name of a street that intersects with "Sesame." And, sure from time to time he'll make reference to an "8 track" and I'll be forced to listen to how much today's technology sucks. But, when you get down to what's important, it works for us. THANK GOD I didn't listen to all of the nay-sayers when I was younger. They said it would never work, but here we are 11 years, 1 great marriage, and 4 awesome kids later. So what if his first gift to me was a hall pass to the bathroom?
Monday, April 25, 2011
Hangin' Tough
Wait for it....I am STILL running! I know, I know, it's amazing. I have no idea what the hell is going on here. The planets must be perfectly aligned or something. Although, I don't know how much longer it will last because I started week 5 on Sunday, and I think it took an hour and a half to recover. This is not an exaggeration. I want to go back to last week and punch myself though. I was all kinds of cocky after I finished last week's final run. I kept thinking maybe I should have skipped ahead, because although the workouts were difficult, I wasn't quite as miserable as I thought I should be. I am a mother of 4, and therefore a glutton for punishment.
Apparently there is a whole lot more to this "running" thing than just putting your shoes on and heading down the road. First of all, the shoes can be the biggest problem. They've got people who actually analyze feet and the wear patterns of your shoes!! It's incredible the amount of thought that goes into this. See, I was under the impression that running was pretty simple: Get the kid off your boob, open the door and run away as fast as you can before they all start chasing after you. However, this is not the case.
I have recently discovered that a lot goes into the preparation before a run. First of all, the whole "stretching" thing....NOT just a friendly suggestion. Putting the full force of your body weight on muscles that haven't been REALLY worked since New Kids On The Block were in town, is not advisable without first loosening them up a little. Secondly, I have noticed that my fellow runners (people I meet on the street who manage to smile and wave at me while I sort of grunt and blow snot in their general direction) are usually quite decked out for the occasion. I mean, I guess you can wear clothes that match if that's what you're into, and apparently if you're female, the whole point of your "sports bra" is to show as much cleavage as possible. I haven't quite adopted this sort of running style as of yet. Right now my running attire consists of any shirt/pants combination I find lying on the ground on my way to the door. I don't care if they match...actually, I don't even care if they're mine. The rest of my running motif has much more to do with necessity than style. I explained it to one mom who claimed that she was inspired by me (oh god) to begin running, but she had too much jiggle when she ran. I said, "Oh, Honey...I never leave the house without two sports bras, a girdle, and some chaps."
Seriously, the bra that I wear when I run could easily be mistaken for Fort Knox. I guess I could try something a little more stylish, but I have a hard enough time jumping over sticks and rocks in the road. Somehow, I think tripping over my own boob could have dire consequences. I also have this false sense of being hotter than hell when I run. For example, if it's an off day and I don't get my run in, I immediately assume that I weigh three hundred pounds and have sprouted a facial wart. However, if I do get to run that day I just know that I've lost 30 lbs, have long locks of flowing blonde hair (because all the hot chicks seem to be blonde), and have skin that sort of glistens in the sun. Luckily, reality is not too far away because I do own a mirror. Today, after my run through the rain, my face looked like a swollen, bruised tomato and my hair was sticking out like it may have been struck by lightening. Still, it felt good.
Running is fun for me, and once I get started, I love the feel of being on the road. But, the true victory is in getting out the door. I'm not naive enough to think that SEVERAL things don't have to be in place before I can even attempt a run. It isn't easy, and at the risk of sounding like a braggart, I'd like to say that I'm proud of myself for making the effort. I'd also like to thank my husband for encouraging me and being available to be with the kids while I run. And to my kids, thank you for giving me a reason to run away! :)
Apparently there is a whole lot more to this "running" thing than just putting your shoes on and heading down the road. First of all, the shoes can be the biggest problem. They've got people who actually analyze feet and the wear patterns of your shoes!! It's incredible the amount of thought that goes into this. See, I was under the impression that running was pretty simple: Get the kid off your boob, open the door and run away as fast as you can before they all start chasing after you. However, this is not the case.
I have recently discovered that a lot goes into the preparation before a run. First of all, the whole "stretching" thing....NOT just a friendly suggestion. Putting the full force of your body weight on muscles that haven't been REALLY worked since New Kids On The Block were in town, is not advisable without first loosening them up a little. Secondly, I have noticed that my fellow runners (people I meet on the street who manage to smile and wave at me while I sort of grunt and blow snot in their general direction) are usually quite decked out for the occasion. I mean, I guess you can wear clothes that match if that's what you're into, and apparently if you're female, the whole point of your "sports bra" is to show as much cleavage as possible. I haven't quite adopted this sort of running style as of yet. Right now my running attire consists of any shirt/pants combination I find lying on the ground on my way to the door. I don't care if they match...actually, I don't even care if they're mine. The rest of my running motif has much more to do with necessity than style. I explained it to one mom who claimed that she was inspired by me (oh god) to begin running, but she had too much jiggle when she ran. I said, "Oh, Honey...I never leave the house without two sports bras, a girdle, and some chaps."
Seriously, the bra that I wear when I run could easily be mistaken for Fort Knox. I guess I could try something a little more stylish, but I have a hard enough time jumping over sticks and rocks in the road. Somehow, I think tripping over my own boob could have dire consequences. I also have this false sense of being hotter than hell when I run. For example, if it's an off day and I don't get my run in, I immediately assume that I weigh three hundred pounds and have sprouted a facial wart. However, if I do get to run that day I just know that I've lost 30 lbs, have long locks of flowing blonde hair (because all the hot chicks seem to be blonde), and have skin that sort of glistens in the sun. Luckily, reality is not too far away because I do own a mirror. Today, after my run through the rain, my face looked like a swollen, bruised tomato and my hair was sticking out like it may have been struck by lightening. Still, it felt good.
Running is fun for me, and once I get started, I love the feel of being on the road. But, the true victory is in getting out the door. I'm not naive enough to think that SEVERAL things don't have to be in place before I can even attempt a run. It isn't easy, and at the risk of sounding like a braggart, I'd like to say that I'm proud of myself for making the effort. I'd also like to thank my husband for encouraging me and being available to be with the kids while I run. And to my kids, thank you for giving me a reason to run away! :)
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Old Mother Hubbard
As a mother of four, I can honestly say that I am amazed at the crazy things people will say to you in relationship to children. It starts when you're pregnant with the, "Wow! You're as big as a house!" and the ever-famous, "You look miserable. You look like you're ready to pop!" First of all, these comments usually come when you've got about 3 months left. So, through gritted teeth, you share this information with the moron that just insulted you and they inevitably do the WRONG thing and make that "OMG!" face. Secondly, pop?...Really? That's the word you're using for someone who is about to go through one of the scariest experiences of her life? Great choice.
I wish that I could say it stops there, but as many of us know, it does not. Being a mother of four, I usually get the "are they all yours?" question. It's not the question I mind, it's the tone with which it is asked. You can ask someone, "Oh, are they all yours?" and give someone the feeling that you think they appear happy and content with their lives. But we can tell when you say, "Oh, are the ALL yours?" that you are actually no longer listening for the answer, but are instead making a mental note to check the web later and see if my face matches any of the profiles of escaped psychopaths. And my personal favorite..."Don't you two know what causes that?" I've heard this one enough that I've come up with a few good one-liners that usually end the conversation right there. I either go with:
A: Yes, but if you've ever seen my husband you'd know why we keep having them. (Go ahead and make your disgusted face, and freak out because I just "crossed the line." But, I'll bet you won't ask me that one again, will ya?)
B: No, but I've got time if you'd like to sit down and tell me. Do I need a pen?
C: Go to hell. (Granted, it's not all that original, but it gets the job done)
Wanna hear something really crazy? We mothers of 4 or more children have CHOSEN this. That's right, folks! We WANTED the happy chaos that comes with a big family. We wanted our boobs to hang down to our knees and our bellyrolls to sit on top of our pants. (I've affectionately named mine the "flub chunk") Saggy boobs are in, didn't you know? Have you picked up a National Geographic lately? It may take awhile for the trend to hit the states, but when it does, I'll be ready. And it's only a matter of time before c-section scars and stretch marks make a comeback. When they do, I'm immediately moving to a nudist colony where I'm sure to be crowned queen.
The point is, we know all about the chaos of our own lives. And my guess is that if you ask any of us "Mother Hubbard" types, not one would trade it for the world. They may consider trading one of their limbs for an afternoon nap, but they wouldn't totally give up their babies. So, if you don't want to get the textbook out and start pointing to body parts, you may just want to put on a smile and keep walking.
I wish that I could say it stops there, but as many of us know, it does not. Being a mother of four, I usually get the "are they all yours?" question. It's not the question I mind, it's the tone with which it is asked. You can ask someone, "Oh, are they all yours?" and give someone the feeling that you think they appear happy and content with their lives. But we can tell when you say, "Oh, are the ALL yours?" that you are actually no longer listening for the answer, but are instead making a mental note to check the web later and see if my face matches any of the profiles of escaped psychopaths. And my personal favorite..."Don't you two know what causes that?" I've heard this one enough that I've come up with a few good one-liners that usually end the conversation right there. I either go with:
A: Yes, but if you've ever seen my husband you'd know why we keep having them. (Go ahead and make your disgusted face, and freak out because I just "crossed the line." But, I'll bet you won't ask me that one again, will ya?)
B: No, but I've got time if you'd like to sit down and tell me. Do I need a pen?
C: Go to hell. (Granted, it's not all that original, but it gets the job done)
Wanna hear something really crazy? We mothers of 4 or more children have CHOSEN this. That's right, folks! We WANTED the happy chaos that comes with a big family. We wanted our boobs to hang down to our knees and our bellyrolls to sit on top of our pants. (I've affectionately named mine the "flub chunk") Saggy boobs are in, didn't you know? Have you picked up a National Geographic lately? It may take awhile for the trend to hit the states, but when it does, I'll be ready. And it's only a matter of time before c-section scars and stretch marks make a comeback. When they do, I'm immediately moving to a nudist colony where I'm sure to be crowned queen.
The point is, we know all about the chaos of our own lives. And my guess is that if you ask any of us "Mother Hubbard" types, not one would trade it for the world. They may consider trading one of their limbs for an afternoon nap, but they wouldn't totally give up their babies. So, if you don't want to get the textbook out and start pointing to body parts, you may just want to put on a smile and keep walking.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Autism and My Family
Autism. My brother was diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome when he was 4 years old. I was nine. My first question was whether or not he was going to die, followed by "is it contagious?" Although I believe it is safe to say that these fears were dispelled rather quickly, the rest remains as much of a mystery today as it was 20 years ago. I feel compelled to write only of subjects with which I am familiar, things that I can honestly say I have experienced. Unfortunately, autism is something I know all too well.
It seems to be sort of a buzz word now. Something like 1 in 150 children are diagnosed every day. (Don't quote me on that, I became bored with autism statistics a long time ago.) But, in 1991, autism described only one person as far as I was concerned, my brother Jacob. I think it was the fact that the discipline my parents had used on my sister and myself wasn't working with him. The same rules didn't seem to apply to him, and they sort of ran out of "solutions." I remember staying with a family member while Mom and Dad took Jacob to Springfield to get tested. Even as a nine-year-old, I remember noticing the strain on my parent's faces when they returned home.
I can only provide a sibling's point of view, and I would never even pretend to know what it's like to have my own child receive such a diagnosis. My limited perspective is probably unique to only my family, because the only true statement I've ever heard in relation to this disorder is, "If you know one child with autism, you know one child with autism." No two are alike, and many are so completely different, it's a wonder that their diagnoses fall under the same catergory. But, I can at least share what autism meant for me and my family.
-Early on it meant trying every remedy available at the time. Our entire family went on the glutein-free, sugar-free, basically taste-free diets. I remember my sister and I walking to a friend's house with snickers bars hidden under our shirts. Mom had smuggled a couple of sweets to us every now and then because I think she felt bad that we had to be on the diet too. She just didn't want Jacob seeing us eat edible food, when he had to eat, what was essentially cardboard, all of the time.
-When I was six or seven, it meant sitting quietly in the backseat of the car while my brother was pinching, hitting, pulling my hair, and even sometimes biting me. While many "normal" siblings take that opportunity to wail and scream and beat the crap out of each other, I knew, even then, when my mom just needed a break. So instead of telling on him, my sister and I would simply take what he gave us, sometimes unable to keep from shedding some silent tears. However, don't misunderstand what I'm saying, we had our not-so-angelic moments as well. We did all the rotten things big sisters do to little brothers. We just had to put a different twist on ornery.
-As we got a little older, autism meant recognizing "the look" in public places. We knew people were staring when he threw his temper-tantrums, and it took awhile for us to simply ignore them and keep walking.
-It meant hearing hurtful things from other, less-informed people. I even had a classmate say something like, "at least my brother isn't retarded." Those words stung more than any I'd ever heard before or since. I didn't know it at the time, but that moment was one of those defining moments we have in life. I have come to realize that although we have to deal with a lot of hurt, and a lot of negative experiences associated with autism, this happens to be one of the positives. I know that because of my experiences with my brother, that I am incapable of saying something so hurtful to someone else. That's one less hurt from one less person in the world, and that is not a bad thing.
-Each time my sister or I became pregnant, it meant "knowing" that if we had a boy, he would be autistic. We weren't negative about it. I can't even say we were sad about it. It's just all we knew. Of course we'd seen friends with brothers who were "normal," but we just didn't consider that a possibility for ourselves. And after each child is born, we watch their developmental milestones very carefully. Even on a subconscious level, I think we are always assuming our children are autistic and with every reached milestone, the thought backs away a little more until we decide that they aren't.
-As an adult it means being cheated out of that mature brother/sister comraderie that many people take for granted. My sister and I are EXTREMELY close, probably in part due to the fact that we share this connection to autism. But we feel like we are missing out on the ability to go to our brother for advice on things that are going on in our lives. Our children don't have the traditional uncle. What they have is more of a peer relationship, and even that only lasts for a short time because they learn rather quickly that in certain areas of life, they have already passed him by. However, our children are slow to judge and quick to defend those who struggle. They are compassionate and patient, and although we'd like to take the credit, Callie and I know that some things are just learned on your own.
For me, autism is so much more than puzzle-piece bumper stickers, and a reason to wear blue. It has shaped the person I am today. It has made me laugh, and cry. It has pissed me off, and embarrassed me. It has made me grateful, and made me feel cheated. I hate it for what it has done to my brother. I hate it for the life it robbed from us. But, I am thankful for my experiences. I am grateful to my parents for somehow struggling through one of the most challenging obstacles in life, and for helping my sister and I to not only accept, but to embrace the life we were given. Now that I think of it, maybe autism is a little contagious.
It seems to be sort of a buzz word now. Something like 1 in 150 children are diagnosed every day. (Don't quote me on that, I became bored with autism statistics a long time ago.) But, in 1991, autism described only one person as far as I was concerned, my brother Jacob. I think it was the fact that the discipline my parents had used on my sister and myself wasn't working with him. The same rules didn't seem to apply to him, and they sort of ran out of "solutions." I remember staying with a family member while Mom and Dad took Jacob to Springfield to get tested. Even as a nine-year-old, I remember noticing the strain on my parent's faces when they returned home.
I can only provide a sibling's point of view, and I would never even pretend to know what it's like to have my own child receive such a diagnosis. My limited perspective is probably unique to only my family, because the only true statement I've ever heard in relation to this disorder is, "If you know one child with autism, you know one child with autism." No two are alike, and many are so completely different, it's a wonder that their diagnoses fall under the same catergory. But, I can at least share what autism meant for me and my family.
-Early on it meant trying every remedy available at the time. Our entire family went on the glutein-free, sugar-free, basically taste-free diets. I remember my sister and I walking to a friend's house with snickers bars hidden under our shirts. Mom had smuggled a couple of sweets to us every now and then because I think she felt bad that we had to be on the diet too. She just didn't want Jacob seeing us eat edible food, when he had to eat, what was essentially cardboard, all of the time.
-When I was six or seven, it meant sitting quietly in the backseat of the car while my brother was pinching, hitting, pulling my hair, and even sometimes biting me. While many "normal" siblings take that opportunity to wail and scream and beat the crap out of each other, I knew, even then, when my mom just needed a break. So instead of telling on him, my sister and I would simply take what he gave us, sometimes unable to keep from shedding some silent tears. However, don't misunderstand what I'm saying, we had our not-so-angelic moments as well. We did all the rotten things big sisters do to little brothers. We just had to put a different twist on ornery.
-As we got a little older, autism meant recognizing "the look" in public places. We knew people were staring when he threw his temper-tantrums, and it took awhile for us to simply ignore them and keep walking.
-It meant hearing hurtful things from other, less-informed people. I even had a classmate say something like, "at least my brother isn't retarded." Those words stung more than any I'd ever heard before or since. I didn't know it at the time, but that moment was one of those defining moments we have in life. I have come to realize that although we have to deal with a lot of hurt, and a lot of negative experiences associated with autism, this happens to be one of the positives. I know that because of my experiences with my brother, that I am incapable of saying something so hurtful to someone else. That's one less hurt from one less person in the world, and that is not a bad thing.
-Each time my sister or I became pregnant, it meant "knowing" that if we had a boy, he would be autistic. We weren't negative about it. I can't even say we were sad about it. It's just all we knew. Of course we'd seen friends with brothers who were "normal," but we just didn't consider that a possibility for ourselves. And after each child is born, we watch their developmental milestones very carefully. Even on a subconscious level, I think we are always assuming our children are autistic and with every reached milestone, the thought backs away a little more until we decide that they aren't.
-As an adult it means being cheated out of that mature brother/sister comraderie that many people take for granted. My sister and I are EXTREMELY close, probably in part due to the fact that we share this connection to autism. But we feel like we are missing out on the ability to go to our brother for advice on things that are going on in our lives. Our children don't have the traditional uncle. What they have is more of a peer relationship, and even that only lasts for a short time because they learn rather quickly that in certain areas of life, they have already passed him by. However, our children are slow to judge and quick to defend those who struggle. They are compassionate and patient, and although we'd like to take the credit, Callie and I know that some things are just learned on your own.
For me, autism is so much more than puzzle-piece bumper stickers, and a reason to wear blue. It has shaped the person I am today. It has made me laugh, and cry. It has pissed me off, and embarrassed me. It has made me grateful, and made me feel cheated. I hate it for what it has done to my brother. I hate it for the life it robbed from us. But, I am thankful for my experiences. I am grateful to my parents for somehow struggling through one of the most challenging obstacles in life, and for helping my sister and I to not only accept, but to embrace the life we were given. Now that I think of it, maybe autism is a little contagious.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
How to spot the SAHM
I am a stay-at-home mom (SAHM...learn the lingo, people). I am friends with other SAHMs, and also with moms who work outside the home both part and full-time. What I have decided is that although we share many of the same experiences as mothers, us SAHMs are just a different breed altogether. Here are some ways to spot a true SAHM:
-First of all, we've lost all concept of the conventional ways of telling time/days of the week. We've got our own system. We can tell you what day it is, but only AFTER the day has already happened:
--Let's see...today it took a few extra uses of the "outside voice" to get the kids up for school...must be Monday (I've tried to tell them that weekend binge drinking isn't a good idea, but nobody listens to Mommy.)
--Today everyone is running around the house screaming and crying because "bad things always happen to me" (i.e. they've lost their library books AGAIN and today is library day)...Tuesday
--We wake up, get dressed, wolf down some breakfast, run to soccer practice, softball game, gymnastics, wash the car, buy the groceries, have dinner with friends...must be Saturday (the day "off")
-We can also be identified by our attire. If you see a woman wearing matching clothing, a wristwatch, and shoes that do not involve laces or velcro, you are looking at a work-outside-the-home mom. If you see a woman who occasionally has her nails painted, and is smiling, you're probably looking at a part-timer. She still gets at least some time during the week with people who don't know that Boots lost his boots. However, if you come across a woman wearing "good" sweatpants, an old college t-shirt with baby-goo on the left shoulder, who looks like maybe she's an escaped convict, drools a little every now and then, and walks with a limp...THEN you've found the SAHM. It's ok though, don't feel sorry for her, she'll look better tomorrow because tomorrow is shower day.
-You can pretty much tell if you're talking to a SAHM relatively early on in the conversation. She will discuss things like the toilet habits of her children, which is the best park for taking your kids out on nice days, and she will almost always throw in some sort of acronym. Instead of laughing at a joke, she'll simply state that she is ROFL. This is because our entire social network, outside of playhouse disney, is facebook. We spend RIDICULOUS amounts of time on facebook. No need to shoot a disapproving look. We are fully aware of how insane it is to become addicted to a computer screen. But, it can be so many things...it's a place to vent, a place to see that you aren't the only one in the world with no life, and many times it's much more entertaining than any daytime soap opera ever aired. We not only "check" facebook, we will neglect everything and everyone around us until we've look at the entire "most recent" newsfeed. (Example: "Mommy! The baby is crawling toward the steps!" "Okay, honey...just a minute...why don't you put a pillow at the bottom for Mommy, so when he falls it doesn't hurt." The subsequent "thud" followed by wailing probably won't be heard, but at least she'll know that so-and-so's ex-boyfriend is now "in a relationship.")
We are a special class of women. We may not dress well, know what day it is, or shower on a regular basis, but you can learn a lot from us. We are patient, thrifty, well-educated on the many colors of feces and what each one may mean, and we are generally very forthcoming with any knowledge we may have obtained via mommyhood. Even if that means discussing baby vomit over lunch. SAHMs don't care. At least it's a conversation involving another adult (even if that other adult is scrunching up their nose and sort of backing away slowly.) And if any of this interests you, just "friend" one on facebook...I PROMISE we'll be there waiting.
-First of all, we've lost all concept of the conventional ways of telling time/days of the week. We've got our own system. We can tell you what day it is, but only AFTER the day has already happened:
--Let's see...today it took a few extra uses of the "outside voice" to get the kids up for school...must be Monday (I've tried to tell them that weekend binge drinking isn't a good idea, but nobody listens to Mommy.)
--Today everyone is running around the house screaming and crying because "bad things always happen to me" (i.e. they've lost their library books AGAIN and today is library day)...Tuesday
--We wake up, get dressed, wolf down some breakfast, run to soccer practice, softball game, gymnastics, wash the car, buy the groceries, have dinner with friends...must be Saturday (the day "off")
-We can also be identified by our attire. If you see a woman wearing matching clothing, a wristwatch, and shoes that do not involve laces or velcro, you are looking at a work-outside-the-home mom. If you see a woman who occasionally has her nails painted, and is smiling, you're probably looking at a part-timer. She still gets at least some time during the week with people who don't know that Boots lost his boots. However, if you come across a woman wearing "good" sweatpants, an old college t-shirt with baby-goo on the left shoulder, who looks like maybe she's an escaped convict, drools a little every now and then, and walks with a limp...THEN you've found the SAHM. It's ok though, don't feel sorry for her, she'll look better tomorrow because tomorrow is shower day.
-You can pretty much tell if you're talking to a SAHM relatively early on in the conversation. She will discuss things like the toilet habits of her children, which is the best park for taking your kids out on nice days, and she will almost always throw in some sort of acronym. Instead of laughing at a joke, she'll simply state that she is ROFL. This is because our entire social network, outside of playhouse disney, is facebook. We spend RIDICULOUS amounts of time on facebook. No need to shoot a disapproving look. We are fully aware of how insane it is to become addicted to a computer screen. But, it can be so many things...it's a place to vent, a place to see that you aren't the only one in the world with no life, and many times it's much more entertaining than any daytime soap opera ever aired. We not only "check" facebook, we will neglect everything and everyone around us until we've look at the entire "most recent" newsfeed. (Example: "Mommy! The baby is crawling toward the steps!" "Okay, honey...just a minute...why don't you put a pillow at the bottom for Mommy, so when he falls it doesn't hurt." The subsequent "thud" followed by wailing probably won't be heard, but at least she'll know that so-and-so's ex-boyfriend is now "in a relationship.")
We are a special class of women. We may not dress well, know what day it is, or shower on a regular basis, but you can learn a lot from us. We are patient, thrifty, well-educated on the many colors of feces and what each one may mean, and we are generally very forthcoming with any knowledge we may have obtained via mommyhood. Even if that means discussing baby vomit over lunch. SAHMs don't care. At least it's a conversation involving another adult (even if that other adult is scrunching up their nose and sort of backing away slowly.) And if any of this interests you, just "friend" one on facebook...I PROMISE we'll be there waiting.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Fighting the Good Fight
Well, I've kept quiet as long as possible. That does it. I'm devoting an entire blog to breastfeeding. That's right, I'm gonna talk about boobs, jugs, ta tas, milkbags...so if it makes you uncomfortable you may want to stop reading. I would like to start by saying that although I am a breastfeeding mother, and was a nurse on the obstetrical floor I have never and will never be one of those breastfeeding Nazis that thinks that giving a baby formula is going to harm/kill him. Having said that, I'm also tired of feeling like I need to APOLOGIZE for choosing to breastfeed.
This is obviously a "hot-button" issue with me. For some reason it's socially acceptable for someone who chose not to breastfeed to sort of look down on those who do. I don't understand this. If a breastfeeding mother were to say something negative about formula, there would be all kinds of uproar. She'd be called old-fashioned, intolerable, and probably a few other not-so-nice names. But, if someone decides not to breastfeed and then comes across a mother who is, it is perfectly fine for her to turn up her nose or make some comment about how she thought it was too gross. I understand that some people don't like it, but just know that the fact that you think it's "yucky" isn't going to be enough of a deterrent for me.
I've heard all of the defensive arguments against breastfeeding. I've gotten a few of those passive-aggressive remarks this past year because my youngest child is sick often and he's almost completely breastfed. Well, guess what? You have absolutely NO idea how much more trouble he would have had if I hadn't been breastfeeding. He has older siblings and was exposed to a lot because they brought things home from school. I like to think that he avoided some things because of breastfeeding, but even if he didn't I'd still do it all over again.
Breastfeeding is one of my favorite parts of having a baby. And if you've ever truly experienced it, you'd know that there is nothing twisted or gross about that statement. Don't get me wrong, it isn't always glamorous. Those first few weeks feel like someone is threading a fishhook through your skin every time they eat. And, I had those moments that my child would be hungry and we would BOTH cry because the girls needed a break!! But, that eventually gets better and I actually think it's easier than making/cleaning bottles. I know this because my first son had some formula.
Breastfeeding advocates also claim that it doesn't affect the appearance of your breasts anymore than pregnancy does. I don't happen to believe this, but I also don't care enough to make that the reason I would choose not to breastfeed. I mean, with my first son, if we were ever in a moving vehicle I totally did the "whip it out and sling it over the side of the carseat" trick. Hell, now with my fourth I can stay in my seat and just stretch it back to him. So they're a little saggy and deflated...it's not like I'm in the running for Miss America anymore anyway.
I'm also the person that will breastfeed anywhere. That's right, Father so-and-so, I'll feed my kid in church. If they've got a cry room available, I will definitely use it! But, if that isn't an option it won't bother me to do it right in the pew. Gross, right?!? People are probably doing it around you all of the time and you don't even notice. And trust me, you aren't going to see more than some people reveal with their tank tops.
I don't understand why anti-breastfeeding people immediately blame breastfeeding for any little thing. The baby is consipated...it must be the breastmilk. The baby cries a lot...it must be what's in her breastmilk. The car broke down...well, you know she DOES breastfeed, so... Why do we have to be "for" or "against" it? Why can't we just accept what ever mother has chosen for her own child?
Formula WILL NOT kill your baby. It probably doesn't even have anything to do with IQ or illness prevention either, but you know what? Breastfeeding is a choice that I made, and I will not apologize for it. I'm not saying that you can't disagree with me. I'm just asking that you become fully educated on the subject before you tell me that it's "icky."
This is obviously a "hot-button" issue with me. For some reason it's socially acceptable for someone who chose not to breastfeed to sort of look down on those who do. I don't understand this. If a breastfeeding mother were to say something negative about formula, there would be all kinds of uproar. She'd be called old-fashioned, intolerable, and probably a few other not-so-nice names. But, if someone decides not to breastfeed and then comes across a mother who is, it is perfectly fine for her to turn up her nose or make some comment about how she thought it was too gross. I understand that some people don't like it, but just know that the fact that you think it's "yucky" isn't going to be enough of a deterrent for me.
I've heard all of the defensive arguments against breastfeeding. I've gotten a few of those passive-aggressive remarks this past year because my youngest child is sick often and he's almost completely breastfed. Well, guess what? You have absolutely NO idea how much more trouble he would have had if I hadn't been breastfeeding. He has older siblings and was exposed to a lot because they brought things home from school. I like to think that he avoided some things because of breastfeeding, but even if he didn't I'd still do it all over again.
Breastfeeding is one of my favorite parts of having a baby. And if you've ever truly experienced it, you'd know that there is nothing twisted or gross about that statement. Don't get me wrong, it isn't always glamorous. Those first few weeks feel like someone is threading a fishhook through your skin every time they eat. And, I had those moments that my child would be hungry and we would BOTH cry because the girls needed a break!! But, that eventually gets better and I actually think it's easier than making/cleaning bottles. I know this because my first son had some formula.
Breastfeeding advocates also claim that it doesn't affect the appearance of your breasts anymore than pregnancy does. I don't happen to believe this, but I also don't care enough to make that the reason I would choose not to breastfeed. I mean, with my first son, if we were ever in a moving vehicle I totally did the "whip it out and sling it over the side of the carseat" trick. Hell, now with my fourth I can stay in my seat and just stretch it back to him. So they're a little saggy and deflated...it's not like I'm in the running for Miss America anymore anyway.
I'm also the person that will breastfeed anywhere. That's right, Father so-and-so, I'll feed my kid in church. If they've got a cry room available, I will definitely use it! But, if that isn't an option it won't bother me to do it right in the pew. Gross, right?!? People are probably doing it around you all of the time and you don't even notice. And trust me, you aren't going to see more than some people reveal with their tank tops.
I don't understand why anti-breastfeeding people immediately blame breastfeeding for any little thing. The baby is consipated...it must be the breastmilk. The baby cries a lot...it must be what's in her breastmilk. The car broke down...well, you know she DOES breastfeed, so... Why do we have to be "for" or "against" it? Why can't we just accept what ever mother has chosen for her own child?
Formula WILL NOT kill your baby. It probably doesn't even have anything to do with IQ or illness prevention either, but you know what? Breastfeeding is a choice that I made, and I will not apologize for it. I'm not saying that you can't disagree with me. I'm just asking that you become fully educated on the subject before you tell me that it's "icky."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)