Archive for the ‘Parenting’ Category

This morning, Blythe and I watched the slide show I made for her first birthday.

I pointed out how big she is becoming, how tall and smart.  We talked about how big girls drink milk from a cup, and babies drink milk from a bottle.

I pointed to the Blythe on the screen, baby Blythe.  I pointed to the Blythe on my lap, Big Girl Blythe.  We talked about how there are babies out there who could really use her bottles.

So, I made her one last bottle.  She asked that it be a BIG ONE.



And then we emptied the contents of her bottle cabinet into a box, and sealed it up with miles of packing tape.  I think all kids love tape. 



Blythe decided to send her bottles to Baby A.  She knows he could use them.

She carried the package out to the front porch all by herself, and set it on the bench for the mail lady to pick up.

She said good-bye to the box, good-bye to her baba’s.

And then, as we read books and got ready for nap, she began to cry.  She missed her baba’s.  She loved her baba’s.  She didn’t want them back – in her mind, they already belonged to Baby A. 

But she was grieving.  She was so very, very sad.  She doesn’t want to be a big girl anymore, she said.

I lay there in the dark with her, rubbing her back and feeling the tears fall down my cheeks and I mourned with her.  For a kid with Sensory Processing Disorder, there aren’t a lot of sure-fire options when it comes to soothing. 

Baba’s were her thing.  If she got overwhelmed and her senses felt like they were going out of control, a baba would calm her right down.  It’s hard for both of us to let them go.

But it’s time.  Recently she was very, very sick for two full weeks.  During that time, she developed a bad habit of “needing” a bottle to get her back to sleep every time she woke up in the night.

Now that she’s better, she continues to wake up every 2-3 hours, asking for one.  There are at least a dozen reasons I want to nip that habit right in the bud.  And the only way I can think of to do that, is to make bottles completely unavailable.

I know she’ll be alright.  She’ll find another way to soothe herself, and I’ll help her every step of the way.  This is a good thing.  It is.

But walking away from that package, from the last thing that kept her in “baby” status?  It was hard.  She’ll always be my baby. 

But it’s time for me to let her be a big girl.  My big girl.

Blythe has a raging double ear infection and a nasty, wet cough.  

I haven’t slept more than a few minutes at a time for 4 nights in a row, because she cries out, in pain, constantly throughout the night.  I lay next to her, and never fall completely asleep.

To say that I’m exhausted doesn’t begin to cover it.

Tonight, at bedtime, I lay there beside her and cried silently as she fidgeted for an hour before falling asleep.  The antibiotics contain traces of corn.  It’s the lesser of all the other corn-infused choices. 

For now, in the beginning, she’ll just be hyperactive.  Soon, though, the effects of corn exposure will start to manifest in a million different ways.  It’s hard to say how far this will knock her back, when all is said and done.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the parent I used to be, before Blythe was born.  The mother Alison had for her first 3 and a half years of life.  That woman was exactly the parent I always hoped I would become.

I love my daughters, both of them, with the kind of passion I never thought would be possible.  I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

But sometimes I wonder what our life would be like, if Blythe didn’t have special needs.  If I could only be the parent I used to be…

If I could run in to Rite Aid for cough drops like a normal person – without having to kick myself for letting my baby girl rest her cheek against the counter for a split second.

Her face started to swell immediately.  She was fine, after a speedy dose of Zyrtec.  But it rattled me.

What would life be like if I could relax?  How would things be different if I didn’t worry constantly?  What kind of mother would I be now, if I hadn’t had only a dozen restful nights of sleep in the past three years?

Would I let my kids have corn dogs?  I ran up to the store the other night, alone, and felt an unexpected pang of jealousy when I overheard a dad tell his two boys to pick something – anything, really - from the deli for dinner. 

I’ll never, ever be able to do that.

I mourn the loss of what could have been, sometimes.  On nights like these, when I’m exhausted and worried and tearful.  It makes no sense to pine for a life that won’t ever happen… especially when, for the most part, I am so incredibly happy with the life I already have.

Today, Alison lost her first tooth.  What a huge milestone it was.  I wish we could have celebrated, but instead we spent the afternoon at Urgent Care, with Blythe’s needs once again taking the front seat while Alison’s lesser needs are pushed to the back. 

Will she come to resent her sister, if I’m not careful?  Will she wish for a life that could have been?

I hope not.

Baby A is two days old.  Five pounds, five ounces, with the most adorable baby cheeks.



From the nursery window, he looks like any other baby.  But Baby A is different.

The woman who gave birth to him is a meth addict, and a smoker.  Child Protective Services took him from her as soon as he entered this world, and thank goodness. 

Without her, he has a fighting chance.



Our friend Jesse was informed just today that he gets to take Baby A home - parental rights have been signed over to him.

It was a scramble to put together everything a new, first time daddy might need.  In the baby section of Wal.Mart, I threw diapers, wipes, blankets, bottles, formula, baby soap and teeny-tiny nail clippers into his basket.  From my garage – a car seat, a crib mattress. 

That is enough to get them through the first few days.*

Jesse knows that taking care of Baby A will be difficult.  Meth babies face horrific challenges, ones that can last a lifetime.  But everything Baby A needs rests in Jesse’s hands, in his heart.  He will be the most amazing Big Papa - dedicated, careful, informed. 

Everything his birth mother was not.

After today, life for the two of them will never be the same.  And I, for one, can’t wait to see this beautiful family grow.

———

*Offers to help Jesse and Baby A have been pouring in.  Can I just say, again, how much I love this community?  The two of them could use just about anything you might think of, and donations of any kind are appreciated.  Email me at Jerdre53 (at) aol (dot) com or dm me @Sweet_Life on twitter if you are interested in helping.  Thank you!*

Tomorrow Alison goes back to school, after three weeks of Winter Break.

I know a lot of people yearn for the time that break ends, but I love spending the day just doing whatever the hell we please.

I haven’t had as much time to get work done, my house has been messy more than it’s been clean, I thought my head might explode from the whining on occasion, but for the most part, the past three weeks have been delightful.

We have lived in our jammies.  We made arts and crafts and watched television.

We have eaten at odd times, discovered new ways to make old recipes, and danced in the kitchen.

We didn’t go anywhere special or do anything terribly important, but all of us are healthy and happy.  (Other than the few days where I had raging PMS, but that’s a post for another day.)

Tomorrow we will begin our day with structure, hurry to get places on time, and wear real clothes.  We’ll struggle to enforce bedtime and supervise homework over the “I don’t wanna” cries.

Once again, I’ll treasure my mornings alone with Blythe, get my office organized, and catch up on cleaning.  I’ll make real meals and keep a tight schedule and probably start drinking coffee again.  And wine, too, if I’m being entirely honest.

I’ll miss these lazy days.

Blythe has been home from the hospital for over two weeks now.

She’s much better, physically.  Emotionally, she and I are both still feeling pretty raw.

She’s been having nightmares about the hospital. 

When she was there, bad things happened when she went to sleep.  And so, even though she’s home and safe, she fights sleep with all her might.

Her first few nights home, she woke up screaming every few hours, and managed to lose her voice. 

Lately, she’s been asking us to “stay” at bedtime.  And so we do.

We stay up half the night, and then wake up a couple of hours later when she crawls into bed with us.

We snuggle her and tell her she’s home, and safe. 

*****

I dream, too. 

My dreams are so vivid, that I wake up unable to breathe.

I’m afraid. 

I wish I could say I’m not, but I am. 

Today, I feel incapable of protecting my daughter. 

I try so very, very hard. 

But danger - whether it be in the form of corn or a virus – lurks everywhere.

I am overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of what we’re fighting against.

It’s us against the world, it seems, and I’m so scared.

Terrified, really.

She’s my baby, and she’s counting on me to keep her safe.

But what happens if I can’t?

The answer to that question… it taunts me in my dreams.