Archive for the ‘Kids’ Category

My Baby Girl,

It’s been a year.  Three hundred and sixty-five full days. 

I’m not a superstitious person by any means, but these dates – November 10th, 11th and 12th – have been looming in my mind. 

When we came home from the hospital, a year ago today, I made a deal with myself that if I could keep you healthy for a year, I could stop worrying so much about your future. 

A whole year.  A lofty goal, if ever there was one.

But here you are, my gorgeous little girl, smiling and laughing without a care in the world.  We made it, me and you.  A year.  Nearly a third of your life without a major illness. 

What a milestone, and you don’t even know you’ve reached it.

Just looking at you, today, brings tears to my eyes.

Parents aren’t supposed to have favorites, you know.  And I don’t.  I don’t prefer you or your sister over each other.  But my love for each of you is different.  Custom made, day by day.

So much of life before you was filled with what the future held, with making plans, with expectations, with tiny little details that didn’t really matter.

Since you came into my life, though, I haven’t taken a single thing for granted.  Not for a moment. 

We’ve had to fight for this, haven’t we, baby girl?  From the very beginning, nothing about your life has been simple or ordinary. 

I sit back and watch you sometimes, doing your little girl things, and I’m amazed that we have reached this place.  This point in time where you can just wake up in the morning and go through your day like it’s no big deal.  As though tomorrow is guaranteed. 

I am so happy to be in this place – this now – with you.

You amaze me, my sassy second child.  You are filled with the kind of fire most people only dream of, and you’re only three.  Three! 

Today, I dare to think of what the future holds for you. 

And now here you are, sleeping next to me.

Of course I needed you near me on the anniversary of the most traumatic night of our lives, didn’t I?  The night that haunted us for months.  The night that changed the lives of every single person involved.

I had to have you close to me, so that I could smell you and hear you breathe and bury my face in your hair.  So that I could reach out and touch you and know that you are here, right here, with me.

I am so glad you’re here, baby girl.

And you are well. 

Yes, you are.

—————

To read the story from a year ago, go here, here and here although, reading those posts again, a year later, I can’t believe I left out so much of what happened.

My girls went trick or treating last night, just like the majority of kids in industrialized nations around the world.

This year was the first time that Blythe, at age 3 1/2, willingly participated. 

In previous years she either had no interest at all, or completely hated the festivities involved.

It’s significant for her, a child with severe food allergies and Sensory Processing Disorder, to willingly participate in something that puts her so far out of her comfort zone.

She can’t eat any of the candy she collects.  I buy special corn-free candy for her beforehand, and trade her for her stash so that she can have some treats.  It amazes me that she doesn’t mind handing over her goodies.

Until a few months ago, her SPD kept her from appreciating the joy of dressing up.  She was terrified of costumes of any kind.  Wigs, masks, feathers, anything with texture freaked her out to the point of  a complete meltdown.

Last year, in preparation for Halloween, I spent months choosing a costume for her that resembled her beloved footy jammies, but in the end… there was no costume. 

She wore her footy jammies with a name tag that read, “Hello, I’m STUBBORN” and you wouldn’t believe the laughs she generated.

My kid was terrified of the costumes, completely intimidated by the idea of wearing something ’different’ and couldn’t even eat the candy she collected… in my mind, I thought, “What’s the point??” 

Halloween was a nightmare, to put it mildly… but I wasn’t about to deprive Alison of her night of fun when she willingly gives up so much for the sake of her sister on a regular basis.

This year, though, was different.  Blythe actually showed an interest in choosing a costume and was set on being a ghost.  Which changed into a very, very strong desire to be Princess Ariel… something rather out of character, but who am I to say what she can or can’t be??

She wore her Princess costume, at first over footy pajamas (of course) and then over her favorite outfit.

She trick-or-treated for awhile with her sister and friend, and then decided to help me and her friend’s mom pass out candy.

She never complained, not a single time, that she couldn’t eat the candy.

She loved her costume, and cried when it was time to take it off and go to bed.

What a difference a year makes.  My girl…. she amazes me every single day.

Every. Single. Day.

                   

Those three own my heart. 

They occupy every nook and cranny, day and night, awake or asleep.  My every breath, my very soul is consumed with them.  I know no other way.

And so, of course I will miss them when I go to San Diego this weekend with my sister and our cousin, Jenn, who happen to be two of the funniest people I know. 

I will miss them while I’m laughing and sipping wine and lounging on the beach.

I will miss them while I’m eating tasty food and doing all kinds of shit without interruptions.

I will miss them while I’m sleeping in and taking a long, hot shower.

I will miss them, yes I will. 

But I have to trust that they will take care of each other while I’m taking care of me, myself and I.

Alison’s cousin came to stay over the weekend, and I found myself exasperated at the child’s refusal to eat any of the food I had to offer.

She’s always been a picky eater, and believe me, I get the whole picky thing.  As a child, and actually through to my early twenties, my hypothalamus failed to notify me when my body needed fuel.  As a result, I never felt hungry.  And if food looked funny, smelled funny, or felt funny, I didn’t eat it. 

So, yeah.  I get it.  My history of pickiness is the reason we have a household rule that the kids have to try at least one bite of everything I put on their plates, healthy or not.

However.  In my opinion, this not-quite 7-year-old’s eating habits go beyond being picky.  She will not eat anything that is not deep fried, unless it’s ramen noodles or  a peanut butter and jelly sandwich – and even then, it has to be on white bread, no crusts. 

Her visit was unexpected, and so I had nothing to feed her int he pantry.  Blythe and I had to make a quick run up to the corner market, otherwise girlfriend was going to starve the whole time she was here.  And yes, I told her that I was not happy about spending $20 on “junk” because she won’t eat a damn banana or whole wheat noodle.

The child does not consume anything with any nutritional value.  N-O-T-H-I-N-G.

I know I go above and beyond when it comes to serving whole, nutritious foods in my household, and I also understand that not everyone eats that way.  If it weren’t for Blythe’s food allergies, I’d probably even allow my kids to eat a deep fried this or that on occasion. 

My in-laws insist that Alison’s cousin’s greasy food habit is normal, and my kids’ love of fruits, veggies, and whole grains is an oddity. 

It’s hard for me to believe that in this age of information, serving kids nothing but hollow foods is standard.  But then again, childhood obesity is at an all-time high, and you can’t go to a restaurant without seeing corndogs and chicken nuggets on the children’s menu.

So help me out, my friends.  Where on the spectrum does your family fall? 

Do your kids refuse to eat anything that isn’t fried or sugar filled?  Are your kids fruit and veggie junkies?  Or do they fall somewhere in between, in a happy medium?

Recently, my mom took Alison to the library – two book worms, engrossed in words – one of their favorite activities.

They came home earlier than expected, and my mom said it was either that, or barf on the library floor.

It seems there was a girl child, somewhere between Blythe’s age (3) and Alison’s (6) who was sent to the children’s section of the library for some “alone time” while her guardian – whoever that may have been, for that person never made an appearance in the hour they were there – attended to other things in the adult section of the library.

Don’t even get me started on that, by the way.  A 4 or 5 year old child, left to her own devices in the children’s section of the library, for an hour or more?  It’s something I cannot fathom.

Anyway, the child in question did not know how to read.  She saw my mom and Alison reading books, and asked my mom, obviously a Grandma but no less a stranger, to read her a Sponge Bob book. 

My mom looked around for her guardian, and saw no one.  Since Alison is beyond needing to be read to, and the child looked at her with pleading eyes, she agreed.

The little girl proceeded to crawl up into a hesitant stranger’s lap for story time.

At first, my mom didn’t mind.  But as they read, the child’s fingers wandered to her nostrils.  The further the girl’s finger went into her nose, the more uncomfortable my mom got.  She has never been one to tolerate nose picking.  But what do you say to a child you don’t even know about the hazards of boogar picking?

The child pointed to Sponge Bob with the nose-picking finger, and my  mom suppressed a gag.  She was touching books, the same books her grandchildren read, with a boogar-laced finger.

Since my mom couldn’t gag and read aloud at the same time, the child grew impatient, and began to rub her snotty finger on my mom’s leg, begging her to continue reading.

Thankfully, it was a fairly short book, and my mom got through it without actually vomiting on the child or the library carpet.  The little girl announced her need to pee, and ran off to the bathroom – again with no guardian in sight.

My mom looked at Alison, engrossed in a book. 

“Pssst” she whispered. 

Alison looked at her.

“We need to get out of here right now.”

“But I’m not done with my book,” Alison replied.

My mom looked at the clock.  She had three to five minutes, at best, to get the hell out of there before the nose-picker came back.

“We need to go now, Alison, and I’ll explain why in the car.”

Alison looked at her half-read book, unaware of my mom’s mounting panic.  “Can I just finish this one?”

My mom shook her head.  “I’ll take you to Burger King and get you a Kid’s Meal if you’ll walk away right this minute.”

Alison knew a good deal when she saw it.  They hightailed it out of there.

And in the car, my mom explained why they needed to leave while the child was in the bathroom. 

My mom, you see, was torn between a child that clearly needed some adult attention, and her own phobia of Other People’s Boogars.  Blythe’s boogars, Alison’s snot – those she can handle.  But some stranger kid’s nose pickings?  There is no way. 

She knew if they were still there when the little girl got back, she’d end up covered in them, because she simply cannot say, “no” to a sad little girl who wants to be read to.

And if she did, she knew that she’d continue to gag.  She saw no other choice but to run away.

When they got home, my mom immediately removed her boogary pants and put on clean ones. To my surprise, she didn’t burn them.  Because when I was a kid?  That’s exactly what she would have done.