Farewell 2010, You Were Good To Us...

On the eve of New Years Eve, I feel the need to take a stroll down Nostalgia Lane. Since I will be busy partying tomorrow evening (HA!), I figured that I should write this now, while I'm hopped up from the White Chocolate Mocha that I drank at 8:30 this evening. Let's begin at the beginning...

This time last year I was fat with child, and eagerly anticipating a much better year than the one before. The first big event, of course, was the birth of Rascal, which you can read all about here For those of you who want the Cliff Notes version- Went into labor, labor went rather quickly, and SURPRISE! there's suddenly a baby born on my living room floor. It was absolutely perfect and a story I will always enjoy telling for the rest of my life. And of course, meeting my adorable little man was a joy.

One sleep deprived month later, we welcomed another addition to our family...Diva Girl began attending BCA. I cannot tell you what a blessing BCA has been to us. After the devistation of a diagnosis of Childhood Disintegrative Disorder, we finally saw hope again. We needed help desparately, and up to that point all we could see was regression. But then we met this amazing team and they loved on us as a family and challenged Diva Girl...and we see Diva Girl coming back to us. She can communicate with us now and we've discovered ways to help her deal with the world around her. I've met other moms who understand what I'm going through, and now can't imagine my life without these ladies. They are my compatriots in the trenches with me, fighting the same battle I am and inspiring me all the way. I could go on and on about how beneficial BCA has been! Diva Girl's time there has been possible only through the love and donations of others.

Time moved on quickly, and the next thing I knew...my amazing, wise, and wonderful husband graduated from Trevecca Nazarene University. I think my heart nearly burst with pride that day. He worked long and hard for that degree, and overcame many obstacles. He is an inspiration to me! And of course, his walk across the stage led to the next major life event...

In the fall, I picked up the books again and became a full time college student. I have many days when I wonder why I'm doing it. But the answer is always clear: for my kids. In fact, I am getting my degree in Special Education. I have one semester under my belt now and feel rather confident that I will somehow make it through (and I have high hopes to graduate with honors!) Even contemplating getting a Master's, but of course I need to take it one step at a time.

So that about sums up life for the past year. Leaving out a bunch of little everyday miracles of life, of course. I hope this new year is filled with new adventures and the same old joys of parenthood. My resolution for 2011: Enjoy time with my kids more. I think it's one resolution that I won't give up on within a week.

Christmas Recap

Ah, you'd thought I'd forgotten? Of course not! I have to hit upon some of the unforgettable moments of the 2010 Christmas Extravaganza.

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house...were the sounds of Diva Girl, fighting sleep. Ok, so it was technically already Christmas morning, but the hour was early enough to be considered night. Diva Girl, however, believes that morning is whenever she feels like it. She did eventually go back to sleep. The problem with that was that when she fell asleep she REALLY fell asleep. Leaving us waiting around until about 10am to open presents. SO glad Rascal was too little to be outraged about having to wait.

Present opening went fairly well. The presents themselves certainly went over wonderfully! In the end, Diva Girl was playing with Rascal's dump truck and wooden bear while Rascal played with her tea set. Ahhhh, sounds about right.

Then there was a blur of family and chaos and more present opening...and it was perfect. I am still pinching myself over how well Diva Girl did. With our encouragement she was able to communicate with us when she needed to, and she seemed to enjoy the day. She was happy. Rascal was happy. And you know, that makes Mommy and Daddy feel pretty joyous as well. I went to bed that night content, and THAT is nothing short of a Christmas miracle.

The most drama of Christmas day had nothing to do with the kids, actually. I had made my amazing cornbread casserole and my mom took it out of the oven...only to have the dish explode. No, really. There was a POP and shards of glass flew everywhere. Yes, this was the Christmas of my exploding casserole! I have a feeling we will be joking about that for years to come...especially the fact that my brother still wanted to salvage some of the cornbread.

Emmanuel. God with us. I think He was. In every word Diva Girl said, in the steps Rascal took, in the laughter of my family...He gave us these gifts. For the first Christmas in years, I had peace. What greater gift could I ask for?

Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Tinker Bell....

In just one week I will probably be debating over my second slice of flan, watching some of my family play a game and laughing at some light trash talk, and listening to the kids get more and more wild as their bedtime comes and goes. Christmas perfection.

Christmas brings so many memories and hopes and expectations. Things I am currently freaked out about:
-Diva Girl plus chaotic present opening...didn't go as well as I'd hoped last year. Preparing her more this year and praying she will actually enjoy the experience.
-Rascal has two younger cousins and he likes to grab and bite. Nuff said.
-Nut allergies during the holidays are generally stressful. Just need to get through the next two weeks without a trip to the hospital.

Things I am currently extremely excited about:
-BCA is having a Christmas Party. How cute is Diva Girl going to be singing "Jingle Bells"?
-Rascal's first Christmas! Happy times!
-Time with my family. Girl time with my mom, seeing all the cousins together, eating home cooking until I pop.

Christmas can be a hard time of the year. So I'm trying to soak in the fun little things. Like Diva Girl singing "Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells....Tinker Bell!" Makes sense to me! And anticipating their tiny excited faces when they get their gifts. And telling them about baby Jesus and just knowing that one day they'll understand.

And you know what? This is the first Christmas since we got married that we've been able to afford to buy one another gifts. Can't wait to see my husband smile when he opens up his present!

Not the most profound holiday blog post, but these days I'd rather be happy than profound :)

Tis the Season

Ugh.
I should be writing a paper right now. Or preparing for a huge presentation that I have tomorrow. Or cleaning the kitchen.

I am paralyzed by responsibility.

I seem to be dropping all of the balls that I should be juggling. Beyond the schoolwork, I am just generally failing at life. My relationships are suffering, my patience is non-existent, and I can't seem to get all of my clean laundry put away despite my best (ok, halfhearted) efforts.

I am in such a funk, they should call me The Funk Master.

My dear husband should be promoted to sainthood for putting up with me lately.

My kids deserve a pony for having to eat so much fast food and deal with crazy mommy.

Tell me this is worth it!

My Loves

I find myself feeling quite in love this evening.

Had a pretty good day, and I'm just feeling grateful. Grateful for a husband who loves me and adores me (which I still find myself being surprised by...I mean, really...me?) Grateful for a daughter who is funny and gorgeous and opinionated. Grateful for a son who is delightful and loving and giggly.

I complain far too much considering all that I have to be grateful for.

We've got love, the rest is just details.

The many faces of progress

Alright folks, it's time for some honesty.

Unless you just haven't read anything I've written or haven't talked to me in weeks then you know that there has been some major Progress round here lately. There is a little girl that I have the priveledge of raising that has been ROCKING everyone's world. She is talking and interacting and just so very present in a way that she hasn't been in a long time.

But there is almost always a price for Progress.

First, I have to make an admission. There are certain things that I've held onto about that time before Diva Girl regressed. I have always held a certain amount of pride over anything that is not considered an autistic trait. For example, the fact that she is extremely affectionate is a great joy to me and something that I don't take for granted. But the thing that I've been pretty proud of (as though it had anything to do with me, HA) is that she has never been the kind of kid that needed a schedule. We've always been able to do things spontanously, take her to plenty of places. I always thought "well, at least she's not one of those kids that melts down anytime we go off schedule!" Ahhh. Those were the days.

See, she is becoming one of "those kids". You know, the one that wants things the same, every day. The one that completely freaks out if you give her a response she isn't expecting or take her to a new place. The one that cries through a meal because mommy wasn't sitting in her usual spot at the table. The one that will throw herself screaming on the ground because we didn't button up her coat all the way like we're supposed to.

This change has not been fun. I've fought this for a while, trying desperately to cling to this idea that she is still pretty easygoing. I kept saying "I don't know why she does so well at BCA and is so angry at home!" "I don't know why she has these meltdowns!" "It's just a phase..."

Then one night it clicked. I climbed out of my hole of denial and took a good look at my daughter again. And what I realized is that there is a reason why things have changed. It's called Progress. Yep, it's all because of Progress, believe it or not. See, we were able to go anywhere and do anything because she just didn't care. Sure we could take her out to 4 different places in a row before...but she wasn't really there with us. She was humming, she was singing the Wonderpets theme, she was running back and forth. She cares now! She knows where mommy is supposed to sit and what she eats when we go out and who is with us. And that's a good thing, even if it does make life harder.

But it does make life harder for now. I'm still figuring out how to deal with this new aspect of Progress. How am I going to find time to take pictures of everything and everywhere, print them out, laminate them, and create schedules and social stories? And will that really help? I don't know. But I know we've got to do something to help her know what's coming next and help her deal with change.

I feel tired. And proud. Time to save up for an Ipad....

I didn't do it...

I'm half in disbelief that this progress is real, and the other half of me is praying that it sticks.

My beautiful, smart, amazing little girl is using words. To communicate. She is talking to me, people!! She is telling me "all done" and "you're welcome" and "I'm sorry". Foods are being requested regularly, it's no longer like pulling teeth to get her to tell me what she wants. The change has been gradual, in that it's something we've worked at for months now, but at the same time it seems like she has suddenly just begun to decide to use her words.

Every day her daily notes from BCA are filled with excitement over this new chattiness, and I feel like our "team" is just bursting with pride. This is the breakthrough we've been hoping for, waiting for.

So it came up today (it was bound to come up)...what did I do? What did we change?
The answer is complex and simple at the same. The simple answer is...nothing. no diet changes, no vitamins or supplements, nothing "unlocked" this speech for her. The complex answer is...everything. We changed our lives and work every day with the team at BCA to encourage speech. We've done our best to be consistent and struggled through some tough phases and just kept pushing her.

The truth is, both of those answers are hard for me. I want guarantees. I want to know that if I do A, I will get B. I want to be able to ask other mom's what worked for them, implement it, and see results. But it just doesn't work that way, autism is too tricky for all that predictability. Us moms are left to comparing notes and trying this thing and that thing until we run out of money, and evaluating every word and action in hopes to see results. Then when we do see a difference we wonder if it was the supplements or the therapy or just plain luck.

Personally, we've tried enough things to thoroughly confuse my family memembers. GFCF for months, and she still regressed. Tried a few supplements. Dairy free, swore we saw a difference, then rethought it again. In the name of therapy we've acquired a trampoline, weighted vest, medical brushes, and more. The conclusion that I've come to is that a lot of it just doesn't work for Diva Girl. What we're doing now seems to be doing her a world of good, and that's all I know.

It's unfair. I want to be able to "fix" something. I want to be able to tell other moms "this is what we did and it will work for you!" But our kids are all so different and they respond to their own individual things.

I know that the puzzle piece is a symbol of autism. I'm starting to feel like Diva Girl is a puzzle that came with too many pieces and no picture. I just have to keep trying different combinations, and pray it falls into place, knowing that the end result will be a beautiful picture.
I always have enjoyed a good puzzle.

The Friend Thing

Alright, ready to jump into my crazy mind?

I've been thinking (and we all know how dangerous that can be)about Diva Girl's social future. I mean, right now we aren't worried about her making friends and navigating a social life, but it's going to come up before we know it. So, as I was thinking about it, I wondered if she might be doomed. Because if it's up to ME to show her the way....yikes.

I am not exactly smooth in the world of making and keeping friends. I've got a pretty bad track record in this area. Growing up I was...how would you say it...a nerd. Loserish. I had a few good(ish) friends in elementary school. Middle school was a living nightmare for me. In high school I got a better grip on things, and made some friends. But I admit that I had a little problem with lying and making things up so that people would like me or find me interesting.

I started college with a clean slate, and have tried as much as possible since then to be myself, take it or leave it. Some people loved me, most people didn't care for me much. I was okay with that. And I think, for a while, that I was a pretty decent friend. I was caring, honest (sometimes TOO honest), giving, fun.

Entering the world of autism was rough on me, and even rougher on my friendships. I think I literally forgot how to be a good friend. My life was consumed by trying to figure out what was happening with my kiddo. It was all I could think about, all I could talk about. I was a pretty awful friend, and it didn't surprise me when people stopped hanging out with me. Can't exactly blame them.

But what about now? I think I'm coming out of that phase. But I am still all kinds of messed up when I am around other people! I get so excited about being with other adults sometimes that I just don't shut up. I can't remember what normal people talk about. My passions in life are my kids, cloth diapering, natural birth, breastfeeding, and autism world. So yeah, I'm boring but I talk to much, great combination. Sometimes I come home from hanging out and think "Wow...I really made an idiot of myself tonight. Awesome."

And this past week I realized that I have some pretty amazing and generous friends. Yet I haven't given a birthday gift to anyone in....oh, I can't remember how long. They're lucky if I remember their birthday at all. Boy do I suck.

Friends, it's time that I step up my game. I apologize for my lack of awesomeness over the past year and a half. To the old friends (Amy L, Jessica L, and Dee especially!), thanks for sticking with me and doing the many many things you've done to help my sorry butt out. To the newer friends (Alyse G, Jennie I, Liz U, and many others who I've met on the autism journey!) I can't believe I'm lucky enough to have convinced you that I'm not a complete waste of time!

Can't teach my kids how to have friends if I scare all of mine away. Gonna work on that.

An Unpleasant Anniversary

A year ago today, we made it official. The Diagnosis.
Why is it that I have this date stuck in my head for all eternity? It's not like I didn't know before that day what she had. But there is still something about it.

I remember the day and the feelings that came along with it all too clearly. I was hugely pregnant with Rascal, so to say that I was emotional is an understatement. There was a big conference table, and two sweet women sitting there giving me the results. They had this air about them...as though they knew how horrible it was to hear, and wished they didn't have to say it. They let me cry and handed me tissues. And they told me, in the end, that it wasn't the label that mattered so much. What mattered was that I knew early on and could get her the help she needed. They told me that they saw a lot of potential in Diva Girl, and that they had high hopes for her.

I wonder if they know how much I needed to hear that. I wonder how much of what they said shaped the decisions we've made for Diva Girl.

I remember feeling, that day, like it was the end of the world.

It wasn't.

My daughter talks to me now. She looks me in the eyes. She says "I love you" again! She is proving those ladies right, every day. She is growing before my very eyes, into such an amazing person. I feel so blessed to be the mother of such a spectacular little girl (even on days like today, when I get so tired of telling her to stop licking the window screen that I'm half tempted to throw her out of it).

My daughter has Childhood Disintegrative Disorder. She is so much more than that, or any other label.
She is perfectly imperfect.

Public Service Announcement

Poor little sad neglected blog. Hopefully, now that the shock of my new academic life is wearing off, I will post more often.

It is a classmate that inspired me to start posting again. No, not because she was so brilliant or encouraging, but because I need to warn you all. So listen up, normal people!

It is not ever appropriate to ask the mother of a child on the autism spectrum "so, what's your child gifted at?" Got that? Even if that is what pops into your brain the moment they say autism. Even if EVERY child you met on the spectrum happened to be a whiz at music or art or math. Even if you love the movie Rainman. Not ok.

Why? Because I had no good way to answer that. Because for an instant, I wanted to burst into tears. Because it is as ridiculous of a stereotype as "autistic children don't show affection". Yes, maybe some autistic children can play the piano by ear by her age, or read perfectly. She can't, but I'm not losing any sleep over it. It's not as though I need her to be gifted in some area so as to make up for her delays in other areas. And by asking me that question, this lady put me in the really awkward position of having to say that there is nothing especially grand about my child. I am looking for moments to brag on my child for saying the word "strawberry", and instead I get handed the opportunity to stutter "Ummm...well, she likes music. And letters."

Now, if I'd been a bit more quick witted, here are all the things I could have said that Diva Girl is gifted at:
-bear hugs
-tantrum throwing
-tutu twirling
-dazzling people with her smiles
-eating large amounts of pasta
-nose picking
-lining things up
-picking out fun outfits
-making mommy laugh
-keeping people guessing
-dare-deviling
-high pitched screams
-interpretive dance
-cuteness

I think that is plenty gifted.
Just don't ask though. Because if you wouldn't ask the question of a person with typical children, you probably shouldn't ask me either.

Pickle moments

As much as I try to plan, these moments happen. You know, the moments when Diva Girl completely flips out over something that seems small and inconsequential. I've learned to never hand her a container of crackers without first checking to see that the cracker on top is not broken. I've learned to make sure that I don't put the spoon in the yogurt before setting it on the table. But there are some things beyond my control, and then it is "buh bye sane Diva Girl!" She cries. Throws herself on the floor. It is the end of the world (as we know it)!

These flip outs drive me a little nuts. I want to say "Just eat the cookie and get over it! So what if it's in two parts instead of one?"

But then I try to put myself in her shoes. I heard a comedian once talk about how when a kid loses his ballon, adults tend to brush it off and just tell them they can get another. He told us to think of our wallets floating away, how we would feel if someone told us we could just get another...we would cry like a little kid! So, I thought maybe I could think of how it would feel to get a broken cracker instead of a whole one.

And that's when it hit me....Pickles!

See, I hate pickles. I mean, really, really, HATE pickles. And there have been times that I have been ravenous and ordered a plain burger at a drive thru, and bite into it...only to discover a pickle. I won't lie, I have cried over it. Ugh, a pickle! You can't just tell me to pull it out and keep eating it or anything, because it still tastes like a pickle.

The pickle completely ruins anything it touches. Trust me.

So I thought of how I feel in that moment, when there is a pickle in my burger. And now when Diva Girl freaks out, I just think...she's having a pickle moment.

That I can understand.

Oh Dear....

Really? Am I really doing this? Am I really going back to school, full time, in just two days?

HAVE I LOST MY MIND?!?

I can't even keep up with my laundry. My apartment is in a permanent state of disarray. My daughter nearly always needs a bath. And I think that adding in 12 hours of class a week, plus a practicum, sounds like a good idea? Right now it doesn't even seem doable!

But then I look at my kids. They are beautiful and they are smart and they look at me with these trusting eyes...and I know it's up to me. I have to do this for me and for them. Yes, it will mean some sacrifice on all of our parts. And I can't pretend to know how we will manage the next few years. But when it's all said and done and I walk across that stage in three years (THREE YEARS?! ack!), it will be worth it.




Right?

The Boy

I've got mommy guilt and I've got it bad.

He's only 6 months old and I'm already worried about how little I talk about him. People ask me how things are and I launch easily into a list of things that are going on with Diva Girl...the good, the bad, the progress, the way she has found the right screaming pitch to drive me crazy. Oh, and Rascal? He's good. Sleeps well. No teeth yet.

Ouch.

So that is what I was thinking about this morning, as I lay next to him in bed. I watched his sweet sleeping face and I though "Please, never have such issues that people always ask me how you are in worried tones...but be so wonderful that I always have something about you that I can't wait to share"

I have all these hopes and dreams for him. I realize that while I am, of course, fearful of him ending up on the spectrum, I don't dwell on it much. Sometimes I am equally terrified of what will happen when he reaches the age of three and is completely normal...what on earth do I know about raising a child without the aid of a team of therapists? But either way, my prayers for him don't change. I want him to know love, in all the different ways it appears in life. I want him to know how to love as a friend, loyal and honest. I pray that he discovers the joy of loving a wife, a working and joyful love. And of course, I hope he will (in the faaaar future) know what it's like to love a child, the complete surprisingly strong and pure love that threatens to overwhelm you the first time you hold them in your arms.

For now, I just want to teach him that I love him, that daddy and sister love him, and that God loves him. And I look forward to his little belly scootching turning into crawling. I am enjoying his wonderfully sunny personality and his quick smile! Yes, he is a good sleeper, but is also hilarious in his tendency to take over the whole bed and wake up in a completely different position than he drifted off in. He adores his sister, and will often look at her as though she is the world...even after she just bonked him over the head with a sippy cup.

Baby boy, you bring me joy! I won't forget to share that with the world.

Tell me something I don't know

.I don't care how many evaluations we have to undergo with Diva Girl, I doubt I will ever grow to dread them any less. There is something about having to watch your child be tested and see that evaluator scribble down all the ways she is coming short...well, it can be plain old depressing.

Today we had a speech evaluation for Social Security Income. Apparently, they needed to make sure we're not pulling a fast one on them. Alright, fine, I have no problem taking her in to prove how behind she is *sigh*

We show up and sit in the second nastiest waiting room I've ever been in (the first involved blood stained chairs, so I am pretty sure the first place spot is reserved for all time). Diva Girl was covered in dust in a matter of minutes, and I had the joy of digging an ancient skittle out of her mouth. I could tell this was gonna be good, but little did I know...

Granted, the evaluator herself was a sweet lady. She tried to be as sensitive as she could while we went over G's medical history and blah blah blah. Apparently SSI hadn't sent her any info on us, because she was happily surprised when I told her G has a formal diagnosis and is getting therapy. You could read on her face that she was relieved that she would not have to be the person giving me the news that my dear daughter has issues.

Of course, Diva Girl did awful. She wouldn't identify a darn thing, she kept flicking the lights off, and we spent most of the time trying to keep her away from the computer and paper cutter (seriously, who conducts evaluations in their actual office?!?). I think there were 5 identifiable words spoken the entire time we were there. But what else do they expect when they put my kid in a strange room with a strange lady? If I get a copy of this evaluation, please remind me that the results mean nothing and that I don't care that she will say something like "she is in the bottom 1%" Because the good news is that I can't imagine them not approving her case. And the better news is that she is doing better than any evaluation can measure. If she doesn't want to point to a ball when a stranger asks her to, fine...what matters is that she can look me in the eyes and say "ball!" when I hand one to her. And who cares if she didn't want to look at a picture of a baby? What makes me proud is that she came up to Husband and I and said "Rascal sleeping" one night last week (Yes, she knows who he is! And what it means when mommy takes him back to the bedroom! And mommy totally started crying and hugging her like a crazy lady when this happened!)

I see progress. I hear words. So who really cares about evaluations anyway?

He still loves me!

It's been five years since I vowed to be his wife for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as we both shall live. And I think we've done our best to test out those vows in these five years. And as I held his hand tonight, a part of me is still in awe that he chose me. That he loves me. That we are still holding hands, through it all.

When we came back from our honeymoon and landed in reality, with no jobs and plenty of school left, he held my hand and told me we would find a way.

When I broke down and quit school and felt like a failure, he held my hand and made me smile again.

When I saw those two pink lines and wasn't sure if I should laugh or cry, he held my hand and let me know how excited he was...and I knew he was going to be an amazing father to our little one.

When we had to swallow our pride to provide a home for our baby, he held my hand and reassured me that we were doing the right thing.

When it felt like we had nothing, he held my hand and I knew we had what was important.

When he told me he was going back to school, he held my hand and gave me hope.

When we lost our babies, he held my hand and grieved with me.

When Diva Girl began to slip away and we began the journey of autism, he held my hand and cried with me. And then he helped me have the strength to be the mother she needs me to be.

When I gave birth to our son in the most unexpected of circumstances, he held my hand and was my rock.

When he graduated and made me the proudest woman alive, he held my hand and told me it was my turn.


So here we are. Five years of challenges faced, joys shared, and love grown. I love him today with a depth that I could not truly imagine on the day I said "I do". And I pray that he will hold my hand through all of the adventures that life has yet to bring us. Let's rise to the occasion together!

Try and Try Again

We all know the saying. "If at first you don't succeed..." But let's face it. Giving up sure does sound like the better option from time to time.

Diva Girl has been rather fearful of new places lately and that has made for some, um, interesting times out on the town. In other words, there is a whole lot of crying and screaming (mostly from her). And sometimes it seems like just keeping her home and only going out to familiar places is a pretty good plan. But then what? How suffocating would that be? And so out we go, and I push her out into the world. She is dragged, kicking and screaming, with me setting my jaw and telling her we are going to have fun if it kills us! I consider a new outing a success if she stops crying by the time we leave.

I'm not going to stop. If I don't push her, who will? As much as I hate those moments when we are out and she is laying on the floor screaming as though I am torturing her...I know those moments are stepping stones. I can step back and remind myself of how far she's come. And I remind myself that even the most normal of children have their own moments, their meltdowns. In fact, it has recently been brought to my attention that Diva Girl is excellent at eating out, something that was a huge issue only months ago! When a sweet older gentleman came to tell me that my children are well behaved, I may have literally glowed with pride. It didn't come easily, but what great accomplishment does?

Taking care of Mommy

There seems to be much more pressure nowadays to be and do everything as a mother. We're supposed to give our kids plenty of quality time and ensure they have opportunities for social interaction, help bring home the bacon (or help save plenty of bacon to afford staying home), cook like Betty Crocker, decorate like Martha Stewart, keep a clean home, and also carve out time to work on our marriages.

There is so much to keep up with. My calendar is riddled with doctors appointments, therapy appointments, and meetings. Volunteer commitments for church and school. But in the midst of these, there are pockets of time set aside for me. Mom's night out. Breakfast with friends. My "meetings" for ICAN and La Leche Leage that feel more like girl time talking about my favorite hobbies. I not only crave this time out of the house with grownups, but I need it.

Sometimes I feel guilty for the amount of time I get to spend on myself. But when I don't take these breaks, I quickly remember why I need them. I was born a social creature, and when I'm stuck in my tiny apartment with only my little loves for company, I go a bit stir crazy. A morning out with the ladies means a cheerful and productive afternoon, a mom with more patience and grace through the evening. When I have understanding friends to vent to, I don't let my frustrations out on my family. My mommy time keeps this family together.

So tomorrow I'll have breakfast with some wonderful friends. And Thursday evening, I'll go to mom's night out (my first real yoga session, double relaxation!). And you know what? I won't feel guilty about it.

After all, if mom's not happy...nobody's happy.

A letter to the "normal"

There are things that I wish everyone knew.

I get a lot of questions. A lot of questions with a lot of significant looks and pitying voices. Some days, this can drive me crazy, and that is how i find myself writing this today. So this is my letter to you, imaginary reader of my blog!

First, I want you to know that, yes, it is hard. Life is hard for many people, whether or not they have a special needs child. But yes, her special needs add a certain amount of complexity to motherhood. I have had to adjust to a new normal. My days are spent teaching my child the things that other children seem to learn through osmosis, it comes as easily to them as breathing! I teach her to point, to look at me, to answer to her name. She has days when I can't get through to her world and we clash against each other, each frustrated that the other doesn't seem to understand. Yes, it is hard.

But...

We are HAPPY! Our messy home is filled with laughter and silliness! And she is also constantly teaching me...about loving with abandon, trusting without fear, and living without judgement. I don't cry in bed every night. My child is alive and healthy! Her future is bright and her present is a gift beyond measure.

I have two beautiful, intelligent, happy children. I could use your prayers, but please don't pity me. I am blessed in ways that I never imagined were possible!

one step forward...

I don't like steps back, but they happen. They happen when I raise my voice to my little girl, even when I know that it does no good. They happen when I let the dishes pile up on me (again). And they happen when I stop at the drive through because I cannot fathom cooking dinner. Steps back. Not the direction I want to be going. But as much as these steps beat at my conscience, they are things that I can deal with.
My own steps, I can handle. What I have a much harder time with is watching my little girl take her own steps in the wrong direction. I know it's going to happen, I can even predict that they will occur! But that doesn't change the fact that when my prediction becomes reality, it's all I can do to not panic.

Progress. It's become a golden word. It takes hard work, perserverance, and sometimes...a few steps back to start with.

Ummm, what day is it again?

The days all blur together. I eat some, I sleep little. Rascal eats lots and sleeps even more. Diva Girl sleeps when it's inconvenient, and is generally driving me crazy. Husband may be even more sleep deprived than I am, and he hardly has a moment to stop and play with these crazy kids.

When Diva Girl was a newborn I took a million pictures of her every day. Poor Rascal is getting cheated. He also gets to spend more time in the bouncy seat than she did. I am refusing to feel guilty about these things. I'm in survival mode. Can't help but wonder when I'll be able to ENJOY my kids. It will happen, right?

I'm Thinkin....I'm Thinkin....

I revived this old blog with the story of my precious son's birth, and I think I need to keep it going. I miss having a blog to write in, and I haven't written in one regularly since the days of xanga (oh, the memories). So, here we go again!

I'm surprised at how life has fallen into a new rhythm over the past ten days. I know that things will change as Rascal wakes up more and starts enjoying the world he's been born into, but I am currently loving these laid back days. Sure, sleep is a precious commodity, but that hasn't kept me from enjoying the wonder of having a newborn around again. In fact, as I write this, I keep glancing over at my sweet boy. He is asleep, with his hands curled up around his face. I can't help but wonder...who are you going to be, little boy? Will you be as high energy and precocious as your big sister? Or will you be calm and serious? I still joke about how Diva Girl wanted to come into the world feet first...kicking already! Will I soon joke about how you were always in a hurry, how you were an eager go-getter from the moment of your birth? I can't wait to get to know you, my sweet boy!

Diva Girl is growing more accustomed to his presence by the day. She gives him little smiles and glances. I think she may be gearing up to give him a kiss on the head...I have high hopes! She has definitely surprised me in how she's handled his arrival. It's taking a little longer than I anticipated for her to interact with him, but on the other hand she hasn't been aggressive towards him (I was so scared of that possibility!) I have the feeling that she will be very loving towards him once she gets more used to him. Who couldn't love him, right??

The Amazing, Unexpected Homebirth of Rascal

I’m not quite sure when we could say that “real” labor began. I started having contractions on Sunday, Feb. 7th, but they were irregular and went away that night when I went to sleep. On Monday I had contractions all day, but they were spaced out and didn’t feel like much. Just kept me on edge, wondering if it was the beginning of something or not! I got emotional and started doubting myself, but a quick call to L, our doula, got me focused and reminded me that the most important thing was to rest and be ready for the contractions to turn into the “real thing”. So I hopped into bed and tried to sleep through the light contractions.

At about 6am the contractions actually woke me up. I started timing them and they were about 10 minutes apart. While I had to stop and focus on them, I didn’t find them all that painful. After a couple hours of consistent contractions, I began to hope that we would be having a baby that day! So I called my doula, my mom, and a friend to get Diva Girl, and began to put things in motion at about 9 am. Since things seemed to be going slow, L planned on coming at about 1. I spent the next few hours just breathing through the contractions and getting things ready. At about 11:45 the contractions were still 8-10 minutes apart, but felt a bit stronger. I decided to put in a movie to help distract me, as though Pride and Prejudice would keep me from noticing and overanalyzing my contractions.

At about 12:30 I had a particularly bad contraction and felt like someone punched me. I went to the bathroom and my water broke! Right then and there the contractions started to pick up. They were suddenly every five minutes, then every three, then they just seemed to come in right after another. Hello transition! I called L to make sure she was on her way (she was) and called the midwives office to see if they wanted me to go straight to the hospital. I guess I sounded too calm despite my contractions coming every two minutes, because they told me to go in to the office first.

I knew that if we just waited for L, we could hop into her van and go straight to the hospital. So I had Husband help me into some sweatpants and socks and shoes, and tried to get through the crazy contractions. This is the only part I remember as being particularly painful...I think I said I was dying, that I couldn’t do it, and so on and so forth. All the time, Husband held me up and encouraged me. He kept reminding me that I not only COULD do it, but that I was actually DOING it! He was as calm as he always is, and it was exactly what I needed.

By 1 o’clock, the contractions were bringing me to my knees. I think it was around this point that I just couldn’t imagine getting into a car. That’s also when I realized that I was feeling the need to push with my contractions. Actually, I was pushing with the contractions, I just couldn’t help it! So I had Nate get me un-ready to go, taking my socks and shoes and sweatpants back off, and had him go get towels to lay on the floor. I had no idea what I was going to do, but I was instictively getting ready for Robert’s arrival, without actually acknowledging that I was going to give birth at home. I just knew what was NOT going to happen...leaving.

L arrived at 1:15 to me starting to freak out. I’m not entirely sure what was really said, but it was made very clear by me that there was no way I could imagine moving from the floor. Thank God we chose a doula who is also a midwife! She sent Husband out to her van to get her medical bag, and immediately took control, which calmed me down immensely. She got out the doppler and checked Rascal’s heartbeat, then checked my blood pressure. When she checked to see how dilated I was, she told me that his head was right there! At that point we were all pretty sure that I was having this baby on the living room floor. So L had Husband call 911 for backup, since we didn’t have any oxygen. She quickly pulled out her supplies and got things ready, seemingly unshaken by the change of plans!

The paramedics were there in what seemed like the blink of an eye. I was so in the birthing zone, I didn’t even care that there was suddenly a team of men standing around watching me give birth. One did dare to grab my arm in between pushes, and I confusedly asked what he was doing. When he replied that they needed to put in an IV, I growled “NO IV!” and then I was left alone. Apparently, some of them were under the impression that we were going to get me to the hospital right then and there. L calmly told them that we were going to “stay and play” because the baby was crowning, and then looked me in the eyes and told me I needed to push. I’m not sure I have ever zoned in on a person so intensely before, but with her there telling me to breathe, telling me I could do it, I felt this surge of energy and strength and focus that I have never had before. Husband was behind me, I was propped up against him, and he gave me his hands and his strength and encouragement. And before I knew it I felt the most intense pain, followed by the most amazing relief...and then my baby boy was placed onto my stomach.

Nothing else mattered in that moment. He was absolutely beautiful and completely perfect. I held him and forgot about everyone else there. I think I kept saying things like “He’s perfect!” and “I DID IT!!!!” over and over again. I don’t think I’ve really stopped saying those words! I will never forget that moment. I felt so strong, like I could do anything. I was filled with love...for Husband, for Rascal, for Diva Girl, even though she wasn’t there.

Rascal was born at 1:56 on February 9th 2010, and weighed in at 6 lbs. 14 oz, and 20 inches long. We made our way to the hospital after he was born, with me holding my precious boy in the back of an ambulance. There was such an air of celebration, even with the paramedics. They seemed happy just to be around a happy story, and I think they enjoyed getting to tell everyone that we were healthy as they wheeled us into the emergency room. I don’t imagine they get to see nearly enough happy endings in their line of work. I was grinning from ear to ear, and I felt like I was floating around on a birth high until about 3 am! I even kept my good mood while they repaired my small tear. Everyone seemed happy for us, and it was fun hearing the nurses exclaim their surprise about my VBAC at home! I think I’m still surprised at myself, as well. But I do know one thing...I think we’ll just go ahead and PLAN on L catching our next baby at home!