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.

Three Minutes Later

I have a new theory on reincarnation. By "new", I mean new-to-no-one-else-but-me. I present a brief, and ambiguously misdirecting, introduction to my idea on life after life.

Birth.
Death.
Life.

I know I was alive before I became who I am now. I am detached from those memories though. The best way I know to describe the feelings I have about my life, before my son was born, is to say that it's like hearing so many stories about who I was that I feel familiar with that person, but so completely detached that it may as well have been someone else. I felt the same way about the first eighteen years of my life, during my pregnancy. After my son was delivered at the hospital, even those significant eight months faded away. I was the first in a series of myself and my childhood friends to have a baby (only because my son was born prematurely and a mere few weeks prior to Jennie's little girl). Due, partially, to the fact that my friends and I were all having babies within less than a year, I recounted my pregnancy, labor and delivery countless times. I feel a connection to that period in my life, but less vividly than even the day after my son was born.

The day my son was born I lost all selfishness. With that burden lifted from my soul, I became the person I am today. My thoughts and concerns centralize themselves strictly around Richie. Every part of my life is devoted to him. As, I feel, it should be. In no obligatory way, I feel blessed and very honored to be a mother. The one trait I have acquired, which may not be so desirable as the others, can only be described as judgemental. At least, I feel that I am judging those that do not necessarily give wee ones proper care. When I examine the animosity I feel towards neglectful care-withhold-ers, it comes down to a protectiveness over all innocence. I have always been maternal and nurturing, by nature. I might be making excuses for behavior I don't care to admit I indulge in. Either way, I find it despicable when those who should be protecting their young, do not. Since I have become a mother my standards for myself, as well as anyone with children, are progressively strict. She said I would one day, and I now understand what my mother meant when said she loved me too much.

When I remember where I left it, I'll let you know if my glass if half empty or full

I am in the process of making my photos private on Flickr.com. I have left them public for a long time. However, a pedophile added some of my son's pictures to his favorites (a bookmarking function on the website), along with pictures of naked little boys from other users. Flickr offers "block" as a solution. Unfortunately, pedophiles (as well as other degenerates) can still view photos of my son even after I have "blocked" their profiles. In this depraved world, I have to fight for my son's innocence at every turn. I may have anticipated these battles, but my son does not deserve to be more fearful than hopeful.

How could anyone look at a child and think evil thoughts?





It has been almost two weeks since I last heard from Nathan. When I took the above photo, I recognized it's cuteness and absolutel adorability and knew I had to share it with the world! I sent it to my usual list of people. Except Nathan. Before assuming I am cold hearted, know that Nathan does not want to see pictures of Richie and accuses me of parading him as a bribe if I do send pictures. I fought myself on it until I knew I had to just let it go; Nathan has made his point clearly and effectively. I have managed to restrain myself and still have not responded to his most recent outburst of abrasive rhetoric. I try not to even think about him which proves difficult when haunted by child support papers and Marie (my ex-mother-in-law-to-be). I knew I was going to hear from her sooner or later and with each passing day later became sooner. She wants Richie and I to visit her for Christmas. Nathan is going to be there (being New Jersey) for Christmas. Anyone else see a problem? Marie says that Nathan and I could be around each other as friends. I don't think she considered that Nathan does not have any desire to see his son. It may prove quite inconvenient for Nathan to come face to face (literally) with reality. As much as I would love to see Nathan's reaction to real responsibility, I won't do it at the expense of my son.

I am still battling myself about whether or not to file for child support. I have looked over the papers I requested. I have read them so many times. I am no closer to any sort of answer. I keep returning to the opinion that if Nathan does not want to be a father to Richie, a bank account is a poor substitute. If I planned on being a white trash cashier at the gas station, I would be going after welfare, child support, and probably borrowing obscene amounts of money (that I could never repay) from family members. My BSN will enable me to attain a good job immediately. I will be making more than twice the money Nathan is making as part of the USMC. I can not find a good enough justification to give Nathan more reason to be so hostile.



Richie laying next to baby pants (well, toddler pants) size 18-24 mos.



I spent all of last week trying to get my fevered, vomiting mini-tot seen by his pediatrician. If his gastrointestinal issues weren't reason enough to have Richie an appointment, he also injured his leg. Thankfully the ER at VVRMC is competent enough to x-ray a toddler's leg. That's all the PA accomplished before scooting us along. Within ten minutes, Doc determined that Richie's leg was sprained and showed me what I am going to call "BPT" (baby physical therapy). Silly, but true. Due to Richie's age, his leg will be well and fine, even sprained, very soon. Richie has a list of persistent health problems that need attention, but have been neglected by his former pediatrician. His new pediatrician is a good doctor, although seriously lacking in "bedside manner". He promptly went down the list and diagnosed, discussing necessary treatment, of all Richie's "issues" including his miniature-ness. He is going to monitor Richie's growth every couple of weeks. Richie needs a good doctor, not a friend. I love his new pediatrician!

The reason that Richie's leg needed x-rayed is quite a special little story. To make a long story into a very short one; Richie got his leg caught (while bent at the knee) in between the slats at the headboard, then fell backwards so he was hanging by his swollen knee. For the price and supposed quality of Jardine Lifetime cribs, one would think that this would not happen. Au contraire! Multiple mommy's have reported this problem to Jardine Enterprises, yet there is no recall. The reviews and reports that describe the problem with these cribs are hidden. Even if a mom does her research (which should happen), the necessary information does not present itself. Parenting is enough of a challenge as it is without having to worry about crib danger cover-ups.

On Sunday, we are borrowing a large vehicle from a family member and making the four hour drive to San Antonio where Babies "R" Us is located. The store has been much more helpful than the manufacturer. A manager at the store is giving us credit for the crib we already purchased, they are taking it off our hands, and we are getting the Wendy Bellissimo crib in honey! I will be happy when my son no longer has to sleep in his pack'n'play because his crib isn't safe. I have been trying to find reviews of Wendy Bellissimo furniture, but no luck. Nothing good, nothing bad. Nothing. I spoke to a sales associate in the crib department at Babies "R" Us and she said that I picked a really good crib. I have exhausted all my resources. It can't be worse than the one we have. Hopefully Jardine Enterprises improves upon their products.


Richie preserving the midnight oil in his pack'n'play.