Oh! Lolli! Lollipop!

Richie had his first ever lollipop yesterday. When I handed it to him (unwrapped and ready to be devoured) he looked at it with excitement and started waving it in the air. Apparently, I needed to point out that it was not a toy. I pretended to take a nibble, as he instantaneously gained comprehension. What followed was more adorable than I can say! He cupped the base of the sugary treat itself, and began gnawing. It was no time at all before he was all sticky with grape flavored drool. It took him ten minutes to leave absolutely no indication that he had tried so hard to get even the tiniest bite. He was fed up and finished. I had plenty of pictures.


"I'm not so sure I am supposed to eat this..."





"Eat it? How?"





"Ok, mom, you can tell me how this works now..."





"Oh! Oh! Oh! Is that sugar I taste? ... Just remember; you gave it to me, mom!"




I refrain from sugar and caffeine 99.9% of the time. Maybe one of Richie's grape-flavored kisses gave me a sugar rush.
Either that or I am spiraling into California-loving-madness.
That's right. You heard me.
I have decided to ignore the fact that two weeks is simply not enough time. I will be spread thin as I hurry to spend adequate time with everyone on my growing list. I have changed my mind a dozen times already as to how I will ration all the hours in a day. As the day nears when Richie and I will fly out of San Antonio, I am releasing my choke hold of control. Everything will work out. I am going to purchase hundreds of those little sugar-free lollipops; as long as I can keep Richie happy on the plane, everyone should be happy.

As I resolve the issues that led to previous concern, I develop all kinds of new, though equally neurotic, concerns. I had hoped that Richie would have grown by now. It is true that I have no influence over his current lack of growth, but I wish I had more to say than "Well, we are meeting with specialists..."

I do tend to dwell upon my son's small size; add the flourish of a mother's overly-attentive anxiety and subtract the comfort of a partner. Can you comprehend the way I worry after him? I try to trust the doctors to make the right diagnosis and suggest fitting treatment. At best, I am resolved to a feeling of apprehension. There are too many questions, and never enough answers.