I should be asleep right now. I need to be asleep. Really, what I mean is that I need rest. My body, soul, and mind are exhausted. I've done more crying than I care to admit...or can remember. A word, a look...it doesn't take much. I have never felt stress or sadness as I do now. Of course, I have not had to deal with Richie's health issues before. No, not like this.
I can't seem to separate myself from what is happening. I can't allow myself to think the thoughts that have been dancing through my head. I spoke to a woman who had an experience similar to what I'm going through now, and the things she said to me were scary because it's how I feel. She is talking about it now, having survived for almost 18 years. I try to find strength in those types of stories. It's odd the places I seem to be finding strength. I relish, even more, in helping others. Unfortunately, I fear it's a selfish act aimed at distracting myself.
I have sat down to write so many times. I know that I will feel some comfort, some release, if I can just write. My tears fall so hard. I rub the dried salty water circles they leave on my desk and I can feel the pain pushing against my eyelids. I never imagined such an absolute. Richie is so young. He can't understand what's happening to him...maybe that makes it worse. Maybe that makes it easier. If it were my diagnosis instead of his, I would not hurt as much as knowing that my son will always suffer.
I've been told to examine the positives...it's better this than that. I am thankful for those that do not know this pain. I am also frustrated with the responses of those that can't understand. Or don't want to. I have heaved myself out of the denial that I was so comfortable wading in. I can't force anyone else out of theirs. Honestly, I really do believe that everyone will be affected by this differently and will cope in their own ways. I don't have the energy to judge or care how others choose to live. For those of us that have gathered to support Richie, as well as each other, well...that's where my focus lies.
The simple and ambiguous questions popular with tragic events are rising in my throat. I'm ready to scream. I want answers that aren't available. They don't exist. I want to step outside of this nightmare and breathe - if only for a moment. There is a long road before Richie. I hope against all hope that I can adequately prepare him for the life he will be forced to lead.
I think about the kubler-ross model and I can't help but wonder...is there a way I am supposed to feel? If I lack one emotion or feel another in excess, does that offer insight? I can't help but let Richie be my only concern. I would have to make a very sincere effort to tear my senses from being completely wrapped up in him. Even then I doubt I could feel half of what others guess I should be. I can't get angry. That seems to surprise many. Was the diagnosis missed? Is there a person to blame onto, and if so, who? That is form of negativity I just won't give in to. It's not even that I can't feel anger, but I don't think it's fair. Of course, this is all pretty new so maybe I'll get to the machete wielding, vengeance seeking, vindictively reckless stage soon enough.
decaffeinated insanity
I have recently found myself in a series of situations that I was neither prepared for or ever expected in any way. The factor that weighs heaviest on my mind and heart is the one concerning Richie's health. We finally made the trip to San Antonio to meet with the pediatric gastroenterologist. It's been a few days since I meeting with the doctor. I can't make sense of the appointment enough to say anything much about it. Stemming from ignorance, it wasn't until after the appointment that I realized the severity of it all. I toss and turn in bed, drowning beneath the crashing waves of all the things I won't admit to in the daylight. Even when I talk to my family and best friend, I can't confront the reality that comes into focus with each passing day. I find myself forcing the muscles of my heart, as though if I contort myself enough the minutes will move faster. Knowing the answer means less to me than what the answer actually is, but both cause me a fair deal of stress.
deposit coin here
Richie has been to the doctor and back a few times already in the week and a half. Next appointment is Tuesday in San Antonio. What time, where, and with whom? This is information I should have, but I do not. I get to retrieve a piece of paper with all the aforementioned vitals on Monday morning. Yes, perhaps not even 24 hours before Richie's appointment. Although I am glad that Richie's pediatrician was able to get him in with a pediatric gastroenterologist so soon, it frustrates me that they scheduled the appointment without asking my input. What if I was not able to make the appointment on Tuesday? Come what may, I would have made it to that appointment, but I am surprised that I wasn't consulted. Especially seeing as how we have to drive to San Antonio.
I am very curious (and more than a little nervous) to meet with this specialist.
I am very curious (and more than a little nervous) to meet with this specialist.
just old light
Richie and I have been back in Texas for nearly a week. It was a nightmare getting home, but I'm over it. Not over it enough to share the experience. It's a new week with it's own set of problems.
Richie had his appointment with his pediatrician this morning. First thing, bright and early. 20 minutes after our scheduled time, he was taken in and stripped to be weighed and measured. Verdict? My kids got a big (BIG) head. Not freakishly big, but beyond the average silly looking toddler-sized head. Not a problem. No growth otherwise. I'm not surprised, just disappointed. Not in Richie, or myself, but if you are a mom you know the disappointment I'm talking about. In early morning hours, like now, I can sit here with my lap top and blame myself for lacking the ability to alter Richie's piece of universe to make him a normal, healthy toddler. Thankfully they didn't give me too much to dwell on numbers before the nurse shoved me into another room to wait for the pediatrician to show up.
This part of my day is called waiting.
I thought Richie was going to bounce off a wall and through the window of the tiny room we were confined to. Just as I braced myself for lift-off, in walked Dr. Never-on-time. He entered the room with Richie's chart in hand and open, reading it. Before he even sat down he started asking me questions about Richie's delivery and premature birth. When he is done asking his questions, we discuss Richie's size. He's been teasing us, like he might stay in the fifth percentile, but now he's back in the third. I have always thought that there is a connection between his GI problems, yet undiagnosed, and his compact packaging. I brought up this concern to the pediatrician and got Richie a referral to a pediatric gastroenterologist. I won't be satisfied until there is an answer, and treatment, if necessary. I'm hopeful but guarded.
The day got off to a strange and uncomfortable beginning since Richie's appointment was so early. By the time I finished Rocky Balboa tonight, I was ready to get in bed. I always check in on Richie. Consequently, after dragging my feet up the stairs, I opened the baby gate and walked in to sneak a peek of my sleeping angel. I stepped lightly over some closet organizing accessories that I had left on the floor, to get to Richie's crib. I can't see him, so I assume he cuddled up in a different corner of the crib than usual. Nope.
The baby is not in the crib.
Richie is sprawled on the floor on his back. Just sleeping soundly, on the floor. This is strange considering that I laid him to sleep in his crib. Somehow my little climber got out. The list for tomorrow starts already with (1) checking Richie for bumps, bruises and the kind, and (2) calling Babies R Us to order the Wendy Bellissimo toddler bed guard rail for Richie's toddler bed. It will take 3 to 4 months for the special order item to actually arrive, so until then I will be duct taping my child to his crib mattress. It's a good thing I always close the baby gate at Richie's bedroom doorway since his room is at the top of the stairs. Oh my gosh, I can't even think of if I hadn't. Thankfully he was somewhat safe...ish. I had the baby monitor on and didn't hear a peep out of him, nor a thud. Therefore, I conclude that he didn't actually hit the floor but scaled the walls to bring himself soundly to the floor. Then, being worn out, sprawled out on his back and took to dreaming. I may also be making a journey to the emergency room tomorrow morning if I notice any bruising, swelling, or other injuries. But, I'm sure he's fine. Like I said, my little monkey must have scaled the walls to a soft landing on the floor. I'm going to lay in bed and repeat that for a while.
Richie had his appointment with his pediatrician this morning. First thing, bright and early. 20 minutes after our scheduled time, he was taken in and stripped to be weighed and measured. Verdict? My kids got a big (BIG) head. Not freakishly big, but beyond the average silly looking toddler-sized head. Not a problem. No growth otherwise. I'm not surprised, just disappointed. Not in Richie, or myself, but if you are a mom you know the disappointment I'm talking about. In early morning hours, like now, I can sit here with my lap top and blame myself for lacking the ability to alter Richie's piece of universe to make him a normal, healthy toddler. Thankfully they didn't give me too much to dwell on numbers before the nurse shoved me into another room to wait for the pediatrician to show up.
This part of my day is called waiting.
I thought Richie was going to bounce off a wall and through the window of the tiny room we were confined to. Just as I braced myself for lift-off, in walked Dr. Never-on-time. He entered the room with Richie's chart in hand and open, reading it. Before he even sat down he started asking me questions about Richie's delivery and premature birth. When he is done asking his questions, we discuss Richie's size. He's been teasing us, like he might stay in the fifth percentile, but now he's back in the third. I have always thought that there is a connection between his GI problems, yet undiagnosed, and his compact packaging. I brought up this concern to the pediatrician and got Richie a referral to a pediatric gastroenterologist. I won't be satisfied until there is an answer, and treatment, if necessary. I'm hopeful but guarded.
The day got off to a strange and uncomfortable beginning since Richie's appointment was so early. By the time I finished Rocky Balboa tonight, I was ready to get in bed. I always check in on Richie. Consequently, after dragging my feet up the stairs, I opened the baby gate and walked in to sneak a peek of my sleeping angel. I stepped lightly over some closet organizing accessories that I had left on the floor, to get to Richie's crib. I can't see him, so I assume he cuddled up in a different corner of the crib than usual. Nope.
The baby is not in the crib.
Richie is sprawled on the floor on his back. Just sleeping soundly, on the floor. This is strange considering that I laid him to sleep in his crib. Somehow my little climber got out. The list for tomorrow starts already with (1) checking Richie for bumps, bruises and the kind, and (2) calling Babies R Us to order the Wendy Bellissimo toddler bed guard rail for Richie's toddler bed. It will take 3 to 4 months for the special order item to actually arrive, so until then I will be duct taping my child to his crib mattress. It's a good thing I always close the baby gate at Richie's bedroom doorway since his room is at the top of the stairs. Oh my gosh, I can't even think of if I hadn't. Thankfully he was somewhat safe...ish. I had the baby monitor on and didn't hear a peep out of him, nor a thud. Therefore, I conclude that he didn't actually hit the floor but scaled the walls to bring himself soundly to the floor. Then, being worn out, sprawled out on his back and took to dreaming. I may also be making a journey to the emergency room tomorrow morning if I notice any bruising, swelling, or other injuries. But, I'm sure he's fine. Like I said, my little monkey must have scaled the walls to a soft landing on the floor. I'm going to lay in bed and repeat that for a while.
beach bound - almost
I woke up this morning so excited! Why? Well, Jennie and I were supposed to be taking the kids to the beach. I got out of bed and could hardly keep myself from waking up Richie. I waited for him to wake up on his own. Then I rushed like a mad person to get him dressed and the diaper bag packed so I would be ready by the time Jennie and I set, 10:00. I was calling Jennie all morning with no answer. I figured she was trying to get her and Alaina ready. She finally picked up at 10 minutes to 10. She sounded like sand paper. You know, the painful and scratchy sound two pieces of sand paper make when you rub them together. Yeah, that is the sound that came through the phone masquerading as Jennie's voice.
Jennie has gotten sick from Amara now too. First Richie got sick, then Alaina, and now Jennie. I refuse to get sick! In order to secure my immunity, I spent all day with Jennie. And we ate ice cream from Cold Stone. It's good for what ails ya! I wish we could have gone to the beach but I would have hated for Jennie to have a horrible time. Alaina is still pretty sick too, and the beach is breezy on the warmest day.
I was hoping my dad would be able to get time off work tomorrow because I haven't really gotten to spend any time with him since I've been here. We were going to make a trip into San Francisco. However, it's looking like he will only get half a day off, at the most. What a way to end my vacation!
I am looking forward to being home. It's comfortable, familiar, and affordable. California is so gosh darn expensive it's hard to comprehend moving back. Texas is a nice place to settle down and raise a family. I don't need the hustle, the bustle or the smog. It is nice having places to shop besides your friendly neighborhood Wal-Mart, but nothing beats a breath of fresh air. And reasonable gas prices. There are so many reasons to stay far from this evil money devouring pit. And so many things that keep bringing me back.
Jennie has gotten sick from Amara now too. First Richie got sick, then Alaina, and now Jennie. I refuse to get sick! In order to secure my immunity, I spent all day with Jennie. And we ate ice cream from Cold Stone. It's good for what ails ya! I wish we could have gone to the beach but I would have hated for Jennie to have a horrible time. Alaina is still pretty sick too, and the beach is breezy on the warmest day.
I was hoping my dad would be able to get time off work tomorrow because I haven't really gotten to spend any time with him since I've been here. We were going to make a trip into San Francisco. However, it's looking like he will only get half a day off, at the most. What a way to end my vacation!
I am looking forward to being home. It's comfortable, familiar, and affordable. California is so gosh darn expensive it's hard to comprehend moving back. Texas is a nice place to settle down and raise a family. I don't need the hustle, the bustle or the smog. It is nice having places to shop besides your friendly neighborhood Wal-Mart, but nothing beats a breath of fresh air. And reasonable gas prices. There are so many reasons to stay far from this evil money devouring pit. And so many things that keep bringing me back.
turn down upside
Yesterday was the barbecue with my grandmother and other family members. I had told my grandma on Saturday that we would show up Sunday at about 12:30. After a heart attack at the first church service, attending the second service, and a couple hours for portraits of Richie and my little sister Ryann, we finally made at 4:00 p.m. Everyone was already there. I couldn't even get in the door to greet everyone before I was hit with a crowd of hugs and strange hands reach out to touch Richie. Richie was really good about being passed around.
I can't, honestly, say that it wasn't strange seeing all my family members like that. What they lack in normalcy they make up for generously with dysfunction. Since my papa passed away, we've been stuck. The whole lot of us, stuck. I didn't realize his extraordinary staying power until we all fell apart without him. When he got cancer, we two steps behind but protected him all the same. Before the cancer could kill him, we submerged him in love. He couldn't take a full breath, but he breathed love onto all of us. I think he would cry if he saw the ash we are. I am. I am ash. Every time I hum my favorite song, photograph a moment, share a bit of time with the ones I love, I wonder what stories they'll tell at my funeral. Will anyone remember my favorite song? Will I die before my dad? Will I bury my son? Will he bury me? With a disturbing detachment, I associate everything with death. How long can tragedy attack this family before we all fall victim to perpetual funeral planning?
All these thoughts were running through my mind as I visited with my family. Since we can't function without him, we are always telling stories about him or talking about what he would do if he were still here. We all kept so much of him alive, and maybe that makes it harder to move on. It's like he is still with us everyday. I look at my grandma, now great grandmother to my son, and wonder how burying two lovers could leave her with a life worth waking up to. I see the mark of misfortune on each of us, and I wonder why do any of us get out of bed in the morning.
Then I look at my son and I remember what a blessing life is.
I can't, honestly, say that it wasn't strange seeing all my family members like that. What they lack in normalcy they make up for generously with dysfunction. Since my papa passed away, we've been stuck. The whole lot of us, stuck. I didn't realize his extraordinary staying power until we all fell apart without him. When he got cancer, we two steps behind but protected him all the same. Before the cancer could kill him, we submerged him in love. He couldn't take a full breath, but he breathed love onto all of us. I think he would cry if he saw the ash we are. I am. I am ash. Every time I hum my favorite song, photograph a moment, share a bit of time with the ones I love, I wonder what stories they'll tell at my funeral. Will anyone remember my favorite song? Will I die before my dad? Will I bury my son? Will he bury me? With a disturbing detachment, I associate everything with death. How long can tragedy attack this family before we all fall victim to perpetual funeral planning?
All these thoughts were running through my mind as I visited with my family. Since we can't function without him, we are always telling stories about him or talking about what he would do if he were still here. We all kept so much of him alive, and maybe that makes it harder to move on. It's like he is still with us everyday. I look at my grandma, now great grandmother to my son, and wonder how burying two lovers could leave her with a life worth waking up to. I see the mark of misfortune on each of us, and I wonder why do any of us get out of bed in the morning.
Then I look at my son and I remember what a blessing life is.
moving on
I just got home from Jennie's new house. It is so nice. They've got four bedrooms (all on the second floor) and three bathrooms. They've also got a massive garage, a great kitchen, living room, and patio! It's perfect for their growing family. Jennie's little sister Stephanie is moving in with them soon. Should be interesting. I wish them all the best in their newest endeavor.
I had stopped by Jennie's after a visit with my Aunt Jen, Aunt Julie, Uncle Chuck, and cousins Maddie and Landon. We went to this horrid little Chinese buffet. I brought food for Richie, which he threw up quite hastily and continuously. I ate nothing. Not until I ordered pizza at Jennie's house (which I ate a disgusting amount of, for shame!). It was nice, however, to see those members of my family. My cousin Landon is four months older than Richie and he is growing into such a cute little man! Maddie is four years old now and loves playing dolls with Ryann. Ryann is finally getting to the age where she likes playing with children in Richie's age group and Maddie's.
Richie is at such an odd age right now. Sometimes he wants to play, sometimes he wants to be left alone. Tonight he did everything he could while at Jennie's house to destroy himself, as well as the house. He was going face forward off the couch like he thinks he's bigger than he is. He dumped a full mug of Sprite down the front of himself and onto the table and floor, trying to get a drink. He threw up on Jennie's floor. He nearly broke his nose by smashing his face on the floor after wrapping himself in a blanket and doing a royal stroll around the house. Up until that point I had been happy for Jennie's hard wood floors to protect the non-existent carpet from my messy child. Then he slammed his face on it. The way he hit putt quite the red crease in his noise. I coddled him, of course, and he got over it. I didn't, but I will.
Tomorrow we are having a barbecue at my grandma's house and I can't wait to see what injuries he can inflict on himself in a new setting with new weapons.
Oh god. Please, no. I take it back.
Did I just curse myself? We'll find out tomorrow.
I had stopped by Jennie's after a visit with my Aunt Jen, Aunt Julie, Uncle Chuck, and cousins Maddie and Landon. We went to this horrid little Chinese buffet. I brought food for Richie, which he threw up quite hastily and continuously. I ate nothing. Not until I ordered pizza at Jennie's house (which I ate a disgusting amount of, for shame!). It was nice, however, to see those members of my family. My cousin Landon is four months older than Richie and he is growing into such a cute little man! Maddie is four years old now and loves playing dolls with Ryann. Ryann is finally getting to the age where she likes playing with children in Richie's age group and Maddie's.
Richie is at such an odd age right now. Sometimes he wants to play, sometimes he wants to be left alone. Tonight he did everything he could while at Jennie's house to destroy himself, as well as the house. He was going face forward off the couch like he thinks he's bigger than he is. He dumped a full mug of Sprite down the front of himself and onto the table and floor, trying to get a drink. He threw up on Jennie's floor. He nearly broke his nose by smashing his face on the floor after wrapping himself in a blanket and doing a royal stroll around the house. Up until that point I had been happy for Jennie's hard wood floors to protect the non-existent carpet from my messy child. Then he slammed his face on it. The way he hit putt quite the red crease in his noise. I coddled him, of course, and he got over it. I didn't, but I will.
Tomorrow we are having a barbecue at my grandma's house and I can't wait to see what injuries he can inflict on himself in a new setting with new weapons.
Oh god. Please, no. I take it back.
Did I just curse myself? We'll find out tomorrow.
disconnect
I got up this morning to talk to my mom after she left the ER. Yesterday she was in a car accident and had some subsequent back problems. While I was on the phone with her I received a beep from my call-waiting. Every time I see "Unknown ID" on my caller ID, I always think of Nathan. I don't ever expect it to be him, and generally it is a telemarketer. As the phone beeped again, I asked my mom to hold for a moment.
"Hello?"
"Hi.
pause
Brittany, it's Nathan."
Usually hearing his voice sends my heart into a twitterpated frenzy. In moments, I find hope where a starving man couldn't find a crumb. I can't imagine what it would be like to be stranded on an overgrown island with oceans, land between you and everything you ever cared about or ever could. This time, all I heard was the voice of a weak man searching for a connection.
The conversation that followed was surreal. He called to check in on Richie's health and apologize for his part in the negativity we created. I avoided saying "it's ok". I don't want to assume anything about Nathan. I know by tomorrow (when he said he would call again) everything he said today could be completely changed. I believe everything he said was true, but that is my own downfall.
"Hello?"
"Hi.
pause
Brittany, it's Nathan."
Usually hearing his voice sends my heart into a twitterpated frenzy. In moments, I find hope where a starving man couldn't find a crumb. I can't imagine what it would be like to be stranded on an overgrown island with oceans, land between you and everything you ever cared about or ever could. This time, all I heard was the voice of a weak man searching for a connection.
The conversation that followed was surreal. He called to check in on Richie's health and apologize for his part in the negativity we created. I avoided saying "it's ok". I don't want to assume anything about Nathan. I know by tomorrow (when he said he would call again) everything he said today could be completely changed. I believe everything he said was true, but that is my own downfall.
mac book pro-blogging; it even smells better!
Today was one of those days. One of those days when all the evil in the world works against you. One of those days when you want to smash your own skull in with a hammer. One of the days when hearing "I love you" makes the whole awful day tolerable enough to blog about, and maybe even wonderful.
I can't even hash over the negative stuff. Like my dad (as my mother would sigh, frustrated) I am easy like Sunday morning. The only time I take the energy to stress is when it comes to be son. Period. Just the other day, I was riding in the car with Jennie and telling her about the recent happenings of my interesting little life. We're like peas and carrots; complimentary, and not necessarily opposites, but very different. She handles her business - and it can be a scary thing to watch. You do not want to be on the wrong end of her anger. She's the nicest person you could want to know, until you do something stupid. Stupidity is a no-no is her book. Me, I let it all slide. I wish I could be more like Jennie. I would have a lot less heart ache and a dramatic decrease in head aches. But, I still just let it all slide. I can't (and yes, I mean can't) get worked up over damn near anything. I just can't care. I'm one of those easy going people you hate. It hasn't always been like this, but especially since I became a mom, I just don't care about anything that doesn't have to do with Richie. Now, I hope to one day be as laid back as my dad (not quite there yet) but for now I'll just let it slide.
I did nothing and saw no one today. I did talk to my brother on the phone. We are going to try to get together before I leave in less-than-six days. This trip has just vanished! Tomorrow I am going to try to see my Aunt Jen and help Jennie move into her house. It's my only opportunity to see my Aunt Jen and the only day Jennie is moving into her house. Yes, I am screaming profanities in my head right now. I was supposed to be seeing her on Sunday but plans changed and my dad just told me. Maybe I'll just stay in bed tomorrow.
I keep trying to focus on the good and/or humorous parts of my day but I guess I am pretty determined to stay stressed. Richie is sick again and today was not a good day for crayon (or dog food) eating, so I got nothing but a head ache that can't decided if it's coming or going.
I, however, am going.
I can't even hash over the negative stuff. Like my dad (as my mother would sigh, frustrated) I am easy like Sunday morning. The only time I take the energy to stress is when it comes to be son. Period. Just the other day, I was riding in the car with Jennie and telling her about the recent happenings of my interesting little life. We're like peas and carrots; complimentary, and not necessarily opposites, but very different. She handles her business - and it can be a scary thing to watch. You do not want to be on the wrong end of her anger. She's the nicest person you could want to know, until you do something stupid. Stupidity is a no-no is her book. Me, I let it all slide. I wish I could be more like Jennie. I would have a lot less heart ache and a dramatic decrease in head aches. But, I still just let it all slide. I can't (and yes, I mean can't) get worked up over damn near anything. I just can't care. I'm one of those easy going people you hate. It hasn't always been like this, but especially since I became a mom, I just don't care about anything that doesn't have to do with Richie. Now, I hope to one day be as laid back as my dad (not quite there yet) but for now I'll just let it slide.
I did nothing and saw no one today. I did talk to my brother on the phone. We are going to try to get together before I leave in less-than-six days. This trip has just vanished! Tomorrow I am going to try to see my Aunt Jen and help Jennie move into her house. It's my only opportunity to see my Aunt Jen and the only day Jennie is moving into her house. Yes, I am screaming profanities in my head right now. I was supposed to be seeing her on Sunday but plans changed and my dad just told me. Maybe I'll just stay in bed tomorrow.
I keep trying to focus on the good and/or humorous parts of my day but I guess I am pretty determined to stay stressed. Richie is sick again and today was not a good day for crayon (or dog food) eating, so I got nothing but a head ache that can't decided if it's coming or going.
I, however, am going.
we're still on the payroll
Last night I decided to hop online to send my mom some pictures before bed and discovered I had a message from Chrissy! I had told her of my brief return to the sunshine state and she remembered. So, she says we should get together. Seeing as how I have missed her and her little one (August), I harassed her into braving public transit to come hang out with me. And she accepted! She called this morning and will be here in about an hour! I am so excited to see her (and August!). Last time I saw her little August was in August, when she was born. She was so tiny and made meager little noises that were some excuse for crying (she was two weeks old, Richie was 8 months I knew real crying). She's seven months old now and has changed so much. For that fact, so has Richie. I wish I had more time to spend with her. Last time they stayed for a couple hours and the poor lot of them were so exhausted. I don't want to just stand in the kitchen staring at the microwave clock for an hour, as I am sure that would only cause time to slow to halt, and Richie is taking a nap before they come so I decided to blog about my already-interesting morning.
Yesterday I was spoiled by Richie sleeping in. This morning I was jarred awake at a quarter to seven by one persistent little screecher. Sometimes I wonder if he considers the lack of playmate I am at such early hours. Mostly though, I doubt he cares. The whole house was already stirring with my dad running late for work, Ryann eating breakfast before school and Rocky looking after Sugar while making sure Ryann kept to her schedule. I sat on the couch, put Richie down, and let the world spin it's craziness around me. I even contemplated hiding in the bathroom. It's quiet there and the door locks.
Everyone left and I got Richie and I dressed. I realized Chrissy and I hadn't outlined a real plan except to say that today was okay. I decided that 8:00 a.m. was too early to call her and whimper about her coming over now. Rocky returned from dropping Ryann off at school. Richie played in the kitchen and Rocky was getting ready to take Sugar for a walk. Rocky and I got to commiserating about "rap music," pop culture icons, and "little Richmond". While we agreed on the negative juvenile influences in California, Richie ever so sneakily began shoving his face with handfuls of puppy food. Venison and rice dog food didn't sit well with his refined palatte and he began gagging and spitting. We laughed as I scoop food pellets from his gritty mouth. I decided he could have some cookies to chase down the nasty taste of dog good. With mommy laughing at him, he hesistantly shoved cookie after cookie in his mouth and drank lots of water. Much diarrhea followed.
Nearly 10:00 and already Richie has made my day, well, rich!
Yesterday I was spoiled by Richie sleeping in. This morning I was jarred awake at a quarter to seven by one persistent little screecher. Sometimes I wonder if he considers the lack of playmate I am at such early hours. Mostly though, I doubt he cares. The whole house was already stirring with my dad running late for work, Ryann eating breakfast before school and Rocky looking after Sugar while making sure Ryann kept to her schedule. I sat on the couch, put Richie down, and let the world spin it's craziness around me. I even contemplated hiding in the bathroom. It's quiet there and the door locks.
Everyone left and I got Richie and I dressed. I realized Chrissy and I hadn't outlined a real plan except to say that today was okay. I decided that 8:00 a.m. was too early to call her and whimper about her coming over now. Rocky returned from dropping Ryann off at school. Richie played in the kitchen and Rocky was getting ready to take Sugar for a walk. Rocky and I got to commiserating about "rap music," pop culture icons, and "little Richmond". While we agreed on the negative juvenile influences in California, Richie ever so sneakily began shoving his face with handfuls of puppy food. Venison and rice dog food didn't sit well with his refined palatte and he began gagging and spitting. We laughed as I scoop food pellets from his gritty mouth. I decided he could have some cookies to chase down the nasty taste of dog good. With mommy laughing at him, he hesistantly shoved cookie after cookie in his mouth and drank lots of water. Much diarrhea followed.
Nearly 10:00 and already Richie has made my day, well, rich!
deflowered
Monday, Jennie made a dangerous drive in a dangerous storm just to come see me. After peeking at blue skies that morning I surprised when 10:00 rolled around bringing clouds and sheets of rain. Jennie loves me so much she packed her and Alaina into her little red Jetta and jetted along the freeway. She got a good start, too. That is, until her tire blew. Thank goodness for her nearby handy hubby. After sitting in the rain for a while she was on her way again.
We stopped at Babies R Us. I bought organic cheese crackers, a snack trap, and the newest of new Wendy Bellissimo diaper bags. I hardly new love before this diaper bag! Ever on the quest for more pockets, Wendy Bellissimo fulfills my desires! It's denim with gold stitching (a la Levis) and has a studded star on the front. I will forever sing the praises of Wendy Bellissimo! I am blown-away by the quality of her products again and again.
After discovering the most wonderful diaper bag ever created, we took the kids to Mimi's to eat and then on to apartment to meet up with Shannon. Shannon, the slave driver, whipped Jennie and I until we started cleaning and packing. You see, Jennie is moving into her shiny new house on Saturday. We were having fun (as the three of us always do), until I noticed the time. I was not happy. We were packing at 2:00 in the morning, then 3:00 in the morning. Finally Jennie called it quits. What happens next? Richie woke up. I will say nothing more than that my child stayed awake for over an hour before passing out with me in Jennie's bed. I can't go into it. Don't ask. I've let it go...maybe. Although, Andrew was nice enough to let me invade his spot on the bed. So, all morning it was Jennie, Alaina, Richie and myself. Did I mention Jennie and I are close?
Richie woke up a few hours later. I felt over joyed and well rested (a few afters thinking he was not going back to sleep was a freaking blessing!). Jennie squinted as Richie laughed at her sleeping and gave Richie the evil-finger. Richie responded with more laughter. My dramatic little one had to laugh so hard his head just so happened to continually smack into my chest. After we were up and dressed, Shannon and I made a Starbucks run. Jennie stayed at the apartment waiting for Bree to drop off Amara (the baby she watches).
While we all waited and ate breakfast, the babies made a huge mess; Richie scarfed his first (two) donuts while Alaina smeared cheese on her face from my bagel. Unfortunately Alaina turned out to be allergic to the treat from good ol' Auntie Brittany. Her poor little face got all puffy and red. Jennie gave her some allergy medicine and we tossed messy and messier in the tub together. Alaina kept trying to wash Richie's hair and cuddle on him while Richie made angry goose noises.
One might think that my son would exit the bath clean, but he decided one bath wasn't enough and pooped in the water. I blame Jennie's tub; this is the second time that happened.
After waiting. and waiting. and we waiting. Bree finally showed up with Amara. We decided to strap the kids in the car and go shopping. Shannon came along for the first half, but then sadly had to go to work (with Alaina's cream cheese mess on her pants from the day before). Jennie and I went on to more shopping! I found the most adorable cell phone toy. It's similar enough to my phone that Richie no longer insists on prank calling through my speed dial. After shopping we waited for Bree to pick up Amara so we could finally eat! Somehow leaving at 6:00 turned into leaving at 7:30 and became eating dinner a (very expensive) dinner at Claim Jumpers. Fortunately, in all that time I did purchase an adorable frame to go in my son's bedroom!
Today was boring so I thought I'd write about the interesting times I had the past days before. Tomorrow my grandmother is coming to see me, which is way exciting since I haven't seen her yet. Early tomorrow though I am really hoping to see my friend Chrissy and her baby, August. I haven't seen them since August (the month, not the baby) and I can't wait!
Wish me fun filled hours!
Goodnight!
(!)
We stopped at Babies R Us. I bought organic cheese crackers, a snack trap, and the newest of new Wendy Bellissimo diaper bags. I hardly new love before this diaper bag! Ever on the quest for more pockets, Wendy Bellissimo fulfills my desires! It's denim with gold stitching (a la Levis) and has a studded star on the front. I will forever sing the praises of Wendy Bellissimo! I am blown-away by the quality of her products again and again.
After discovering the most wonderful diaper bag ever created, we took the kids to Mimi's to eat and then on to apartment to meet up with Shannon. Shannon, the slave driver, whipped Jennie and I until we started cleaning and packing. You see, Jennie is moving into her shiny new house on Saturday. We were having fun (as the three of us always do), until I noticed the time. I was not happy. We were packing at 2:00 in the morning, then 3:00 in the morning. Finally Jennie called it quits. What happens next? Richie woke up. I will say nothing more than that my child stayed awake for over an hour before passing out with me in Jennie's bed. I can't go into it. Don't ask. I've let it go...maybe. Although, Andrew was nice enough to let me invade his spot on the bed. So, all morning it was Jennie, Alaina, Richie and myself. Did I mention Jennie and I are close?
Richie woke up a few hours later. I felt over joyed and well rested (a few afters thinking he was not going back to sleep was a freaking blessing!). Jennie squinted as Richie laughed at her sleeping and gave Richie the evil-finger. Richie responded with more laughter. My dramatic little one had to laugh so hard his head just so happened to continually smack into my chest. After we were up and dressed, Shannon and I made a Starbucks run. Jennie stayed at the apartment waiting for Bree to drop off Amara (the baby she watches).
While we all waited and ate breakfast, the babies made a huge mess; Richie scarfed his first (two) donuts while Alaina smeared cheese on her face from my bagel. Unfortunately Alaina turned out to be allergic to the treat from good ol' Auntie Brittany. Her poor little face got all puffy and red. Jennie gave her some allergy medicine and we tossed messy and messier in the tub together. Alaina kept trying to wash Richie's hair and cuddle on him while Richie made angry goose noises.
One might think that my son would exit the bath clean, but he decided one bath wasn't enough and pooped in the water. I blame Jennie's tub; this is the second time that happened.
After waiting. and waiting. and we waiting. Bree finally showed up with Amara. We decided to strap the kids in the car and go shopping. Shannon came along for the first half, but then sadly had to go to work (with Alaina's cream cheese mess on her pants from the day before). Jennie and I went on to more shopping! I found the most adorable cell phone toy. It's similar enough to my phone that Richie no longer insists on prank calling through my speed dial. After shopping we waited for Bree to pick up Amara so we could finally eat! Somehow leaving at 6:00 turned into leaving at 7:30 and became eating dinner a (very expensive) dinner at Claim Jumpers. Fortunately, in all that time I did purchase an adorable frame to go in my son's bedroom!
Today was boring so I thought I'd write about the interesting times I had the past days before. Tomorrow my grandmother is coming to see me, which is way exciting since I haven't seen her yet. Early tomorrow though I am really hoping to see my friend Chrissy and her baby, August. I haven't seen them since August (the month, not the baby) and I can't wait!
Wish me fun filled hours!
Goodnight!
(!)
the sun, the sand, and the wind in my hair
Yesterday my dad, my baby sister, Richie and I took off to visit my other sister and her boyfriend in Belmont (near Half Moon Bay). It took us about an hour and a half to get there from Antioch. Richie didn't mind the drive. I thought it was very pretty but it's hard to believe that there is so much stuff in California.
We went to the restaurant where my sister and her boyfriend (Alex) both work. It's called Lil Biscuit House. If you ever venture to Belmont/Half Moon Bay/Santa Cruz it's worth going a little out of your way to eat there. The owner, Marty, is also the chef. He attended culinary school in California and now makes HUGE, delicious plates at the restaurant he owns. His mom does catering out of his restaurant, as well. I can't tell you how good the food is! They have a smoker in the back where they smoke meat daily. I didn't try them, but my dad and sisters gushed over the ribs. I had shrimp scampi and it was very, very good! And there was so much! Usually they don't put much shrimp on your plate but Marty piled it on! I left stuffed (carrying an equally stuffed baby). I could go on and on; it was that good!
After a wonderful dining experience we headed over to the beach. It was Richie's first time at the beach and he loved it! Unfortunately it was too late to play in the tide pools but we still had fun. Richie was fascinated with the water until I put his feet in it. He enjoyed playing in the sand - even when he fell face first into it after trying to run on the beach. We stayed until it got so cold Richie was shivering in my lap.
We went to the restaurant where my sister and her boyfriend (Alex) both work. It's called Lil Biscuit House. If you ever venture to Belmont/Half Moon Bay/Santa Cruz it's worth going a little out of your way to eat there. The owner, Marty, is also the chef. He attended culinary school in California and now makes HUGE, delicious plates at the restaurant he owns. His mom does catering out of his restaurant, as well. I can't tell you how good the food is! They have a smoker in the back where they smoke meat daily. I didn't try them, but my dad and sisters gushed over the ribs. I had shrimp scampi and it was very, very good! And there was so much! Usually they don't put much shrimp on your plate but Marty piled it on! I left stuffed (carrying an equally stuffed baby). I could go on and on; it was that good!
After a wonderful dining experience we headed over to the beach. It was Richie's first time at the beach and he loved it! Unfortunately it was too late to play in the tide pools but we still had fun. Richie was fascinated with the water until I put his feet in it. He enjoyed playing in the sand - even when he fell face first into it after trying to run on the beach. We stayed until it got so cold Richie was shivering in my lap.
blue-da-ba-dee
I am nearly four days deep into my California trip. Yesterday was the best of it, so far.
Jennie brought Alaina out to Antioch yesterday to pick me up. I am closer to Jennie than anyone else and I have missed her! On the phone with her while she was making the long drive to see me I could hardly stay in my skin. The last I saw her was in August when she married her high school sweetie-turned-hubby. Our babies are only a month different in age. We were actually due the same week, but Richie came early and Alaina came late. Wouldn't it be too much if the next babies were that close? It could happen...
Anyway, Jennie finally pulled up to the house. I ran to the car, after waving wildly. (I didn't want her to forget where I was...) I grabbed Alaina out of the car, probably scaring the poor child who obviously had no recognition of who I was. I squeezed Jennie and dragged my huddle to the house. Richie was sitting inside, confused. I held onto Alaina as she watched Richie refuse to be held by Jennie, freak out and run around the kitchen. Richie and Alaina didn't play much together; Alaina was not impressed by Richie boy-babyness.
We headed to lunch at Applebees then on to Babies R Us where I influenced (in a very bad way) Jennie; she left with the Wendy Bellissimo bedding I was supposed to dissuade her from. I fully believe Jennie would have got the slightly less expensive one if they had it in stock...anywhere. Or if I hadn't been there. Alas! The fates were against her and she left with gorgeous, wonderful super-bedding. The colors are so rich! Once Jennie gets Alaina's new room in their new house painted, it's going to be a baby utopia! It's a good thing I am leaving to return to Texas because I would definitely try to talk her into the Wendy Bellissimo furniture!
After my evil doings, we went on to Jennie's place as she sadly warned me of the empty walls and stacked boxes. Jennie got ready and all of a sudden it was four in the afternoon! Jennie called The Picture People about getting the babies pictures done and we ran to the mall. Well, we drove...but doesn't "run" sound so much more dramatic?
Once at the mall we spent who knows how long in Gymboree. Determined to spend as much money as humanly possible, and find coordinating boy-girl outfits in the process, we dove head first into baby couture. It was a blast! We opted for rainbow colored summer outfits for the babies; Alaina in a cute off-the-shoulder summer dress and Richie in a polo shirt and brown shorts. After our splurge at Gymboree, we went to the photo place where they were ready for us. Looking back, I wonder why we thought it was a good idea to put two kids who didn't remember, or like, one another in a small space to cheese for the camera. Somehow, it just didn't work out. Of hundreds of clicks, we got two good pictures. Alaina was determined to be away from Richie while he was smiling big (as always) for the camera and running off. Most of the pictures were funny, but in a sarcastic-not-very-cute sort of way. Still, we did like two of the poses and ordered prints.
After Jennie driving out first thing in the morning all of a sudden it was past 8:00 p.m. Where did the time go? We still needed to eat dinner and drive home. So, we hit Mimi's Cafe and then straight home for me and poor Jennie still had to drive all the way back to San Ramon!
Jennie, I found another positive for you; no more hours of driving just to hang out for the day! Not that we still won't, but at least we won't have to!
A special note to end on:
My son ate his first crayon at Applebees. Yes, baby Richie took a bite out of a blue wax crayon. It only took him a few hours to leave me a little blue present in his diaper. Bring on the toddler years!
Jennie brought Alaina out to Antioch yesterday to pick me up. I am closer to Jennie than anyone else and I have missed her! On the phone with her while she was making the long drive to see me I could hardly stay in my skin. The last I saw her was in August when she married her high school sweetie-turned-hubby. Our babies are only a month different in age. We were actually due the same week, but Richie came early and Alaina came late. Wouldn't it be too much if the next babies were that close? It could happen...
Anyway, Jennie finally pulled up to the house. I ran to the car, after waving wildly. (I didn't want her to forget where I was...) I grabbed Alaina out of the car, probably scaring the poor child who obviously had no recognition of who I was. I squeezed Jennie and dragged my huddle to the house. Richie was sitting inside, confused. I held onto Alaina as she watched Richie refuse to be held by Jennie, freak out and run around the kitchen. Richie and Alaina didn't play much together; Alaina was not impressed by Richie boy-babyness.
We headed to lunch at Applebees then on to Babies R Us where I influenced (in a very bad way) Jennie; she left with the Wendy Bellissimo bedding I was supposed to dissuade her from. I fully believe Jennie would have got the slightly less expensive one if they had it in stock...anywhere. Or if I hadn't been there. Alas! The fates were against her and she left with gorgeous, wonderful super-bedding. The colors are so rich! Once Jennie gets Alaina's new room in their new house painted, it's going to be a baby utopia! It's a good thing I am leaving to return to Texas because I would definitely try to talk her into the Wendy Bellissimo furniture!
After my evil doings, we went on to Jennie's place as she sadly warned me of the empty walls and stacked boxes. Jennie got ready and all of a sudden it was four in the afternoon! Jennie called The Picture People about getting the babies pictures done and we ran to the mall. Well, we drove...but doesn't "run" sound so much more dramatic?
Once at the mall we spent who knows how long in Gymboree. Determined to spend as much money as humanly possible, and find coordinating boy-girl outfits in the process, we dove head first into baby couture. It was a blast! We opted for rainbow colored summer outfits for the babies; Alaina in a cute off-the-shoulder summer dress and Richie in a polo shirt and brown shorts. After our splurge at Gymboree, we went to the photo place where they were ready for us. Looking back, I wonder why we thought it was a good idea to put two kids who didn't remember, or like, one another in a small space to cheese for the camera. Somehow, it just didn't work out. Of hundreds of clicks, we got two good pictures. Alaina was determined to be away from Richie while he was smiling big (as always) for the camera and running off. Most of the pictures were funny, but in a sarcastic-not-very-cute sort of way. Still, we did like two of the poses and ordered prints.
After Jennie driving out first thing in the morning all of a sudden it was past 8:00 p.m. Where did the time go? We still needed to eat dinner and drive home. So, we hit Mimi's Cafe and then straight home for me and poor Jennie still had to drive all the way back to San Ramon!
Jennie, I found another positive for you; no more hours of driving just to hang out for the day! Not that we still won't, but at least we won't have to!
A special note to end on:
My son ate his first crayon at Applebees. Yes, baby Richie took a bite out of a blue wax crayon. It only took him a few hours to leave me a little blue present in his diaper. Bring on the toddler years!
jiggity jig
No, I did not fall off the blog-obsessed face of the earth.
I should have spent all of the week before today indulging in neurotic travel-related behaviors. However, my chaotic splendor was interrupted by a torrent of loud visitors; aunt, uncle, and cousins. I won't go into the complicated reasons that brought them to my door step, but their visit was both unexpected and unappreciated. I spent the few days of their invasion following after them to clean up the trail of dirt they left. I have never cleaned so many dirty dishes in such a short time! The visit started off poorly as I selfishly pouted in response to the theft of my time to panic! It was mine and they stole it!
Regardless, I am now sitting in my dad's house typing on an unfamiliar keyboard. Richie went to bed two hours late (by Texas time). I fought him to the minute to keep him up as close to 8:00 (California time) as I could. We ate delcious chicken at Applewood Barbecue.
I know my thoughts are random. The day is catching up with me.
We had a long flight. A long, long flight.
I woke up at 5:00 this morning to get ready to leave by 6:00. I woke Richie up at 5:45. We were on the road by 6:15. Richie in his organic cotton pants, shirt, and adorable hoodie. Me, I was not so smart. I should have been wearing organic cotton loungy clothes. Instead, I had straightened hair, made-up face, and wore a dress. A dress with high heeled sandle wedges. I greatly questioned this decision as I ran out of the house juggling baby and diaper bag.
I chose to sit in the backseat to keep Richie awake, since I was hoping he would sleep for a solid chunk of our six hour flight time. He was not keen to staying awake. I handed him a stray color swatch from Home Depot that I found hiding in the pocket behind the front seat. I was desperate. It was a very long drive. With Richie farting and my mom expressing need for a bathroom, we drove straight through to San Antonio from Del Rio. Three hours and then some. Not a good start to the day.
When we pulled into San Antonio we decided to stop at Babies R Us to get Richie some new swim trunks for the trip, and to make use of their bathroom. We pulled into the parking lot at 9:09. The store opens at 9:30.
Great.
Then, it started raining. Further proof that their is no god.
We made it in and out of the store in record time. Like, world record time. I don't know of any baby-toting mama who has made it out of that store spending less than 20 minutes and 50 dollars. Somehow we pulled it off and made it to the airport in time for an iced chai tea latte.
Oh. yeah.
Airport security is insane. I had to remove Richie from my beloved Maya Wrap and I had to remove to his little leather Nikes. What could I possibly be hiding in his little size 2 shoes? I'm glad I don't know. And yet, we survived the security checkpoint. Really, they were all very nice. One of the security ladies carried mine and Richie's belongings over to a table and chair. That was probably the best part of the whole flight experience.
We boarded first. Keeping things consistent, I decided to regret getting on the plane so soon. Sure, we got to pick whatever seat we wanted. BUT, do you realize how slow everyone else was boarding? Waiting with Richie in my lap on a clammy plane was less than enjoyable. He was angry and I was counting down the moments until I could nurse him into Maya-wrapped slumber.
Ha!
He screamed for four hours. You know those times when your child is behaving so wildly you offer up a weak smile that screams endless apologies? I couldn't even bring myself to look at anyone. I felt bad for Richie. I felt bad for the other passengers. I was helpless. Helpless and trapped next to the window by a very fat man.
Then we landed in San Diego. On descent, Richie decided that maybe flying wasn't so bad. Everyone walked by and said how good he was. I offered up a certain smile. This one said, "If you only knew."
Richie was good while passengers departed and reloaded. You see, in my pre-travel brilliance, I booked a flight with no lay-over. We had one stop in San Diego, but we weren't allowed to get off. I think I am losing my common sense. I have made one bad choice after another.
Richie spent the little more than an hour to Oakland acting like an angel. He fooled all the new passengers into thinking he was a blue-eyed flirt and nothing more. How could eyes so blue ever squeeze out tears? Just ask the two guys who were sitting next to us, but moved for the second part of the flight. Yes, that's right; I scared two large Mexican men into giving up their seats. I owe it all to my little screamer.
Richie decided that since he was such a trooper on part two of the flight that he could poop all over us. It's a California-bound ritual. Not one that I particularly like.
Poop covered and exhausted, we made it.
I forgot how many buildings there were...
I should have spent all of the week before today indulging in neurotic travel-related behaviors. However, my chaotic splendor was interrupted by a torrent of loud visitors; aunt, uncle, and cousins. I won't go into the complicated reasons that brought them to my door step, but their visit was both unexpected and unappreciated. I spent the few days of their invasion following after them to clean up the trail of dirt they left. I have never cleaned so many dirty dishes in such a short time! The visit started off poorly as I selfishly pouted in response to the theft of my time to panic! It was mine and they stole it!
Regardless, I am now sitting in my dad's house typing on an unfamiliar keyboard. Richie went to bed two hours late (by Texas time). I fought him to the minute to keep him up as close to 8:00 (California time) as I could. We ate delcious chicken at Applewood Barbecue.
I know my thoughts are random. The day is catching up with me.
We had a long flight. A long, long flight.
I woke up at 5:00 this morning to get ready to leave by 6:00. I woke Richie up at 5:45. We were on the road by 6:15. Richie in his organic cotton pants, shirt, and adorable hoodie. Me, I was not so smart. I should have been wearing organic cotton loungy clothes. Instead, I had straightened hair, made-up face, and wore a dress. A dress with high heeled sandle wedges. I greatly questioned this decision as I ran out of the house juggling baby and diaper bag.
I chose to sit in the backseat to keep Richie awake, since I was hoping he would sleep for a solid chunk of our six hour flight time. He was not keen to staying awake. I handed him a stray color swatch from Home Depot that I found hiding in the pocket behind the front seat. I was desperate. It was a very long drive. With Richie farting and my mom expressing need for a bathroom, we drove straight through to San Antonio from Del Rio. Three hours and then some. Not a good start to the day.
When we pulled into San Antonio we decided to stop at Babies R Us to get Richie some new swim trunks for the trip, and to make use of their bathroom. We pulled into the parking lot at 9:09. The store opens at 9:30.
Great.
Then, it started raining. Further proof that their is no god.
We made it in and out of the store in record time. Like, world record time. I don't know of any baby-toting mama who has made it out of that store spending less than 20 minutes and 50 dollars. Somehow we pulled it off and made it to the airport in time for an iced chai tea latte.
Oh. yeah.
Airport security is insane. I had to remove Richie from my beloved Maya Wrap and I had to remove to his little leather Nikes. What could I possibly be hiding in his little size 2 shoes? I'm glad I don't know. And yet, we survived the security checkpoint. Really, they were all very nice. One of the security ladies carried mine and Richie's belongings over to a table and chair. That was probably the best part of the whole flight experience.
We boarded first. Keeping things consistent, I decided to regret getting on the plane so soon. Sure, we got to pick whatever seat we wanted. BUT, do you realize how slow everyone else was boarding? Waiting with Richie in my lap on a clammy plane was less than enjoyable. He was angry and I was counting down the moments until I could nurse him into Maya-wrapped slumber.
Ha!
He screamed for four hours. You know those times when your child is behaving so wildly you offer up a weak smile that screams endless apologies? I couldn't even bring myself to look at anyone. I felt bad for Richie. I felt bad for the other passengers. I was helpless. Helpless and trapped next to the window by a very fat man.
Then we landed in San Diego. On descent, Richie decided that maybe flying wasn't so bad. Everyone walked by and said how good he was. I offered up a certain smile. This one said, "If you only knew."
Richie was good while passengers departed and reloaded. You see, in my pre-travel brilliance, I booked a flight with no lay-over. We had one stop in San Diego, but we weren't allowed to get off. I think I am losing my common sense. I have made one bad choice after another.
Richie spent the little more than an hour to Oakland acting like an angel. He fooled all the new passengers into thinking he was a blue-eyed flirt and nothing more. How could eyes so blue ever squeeze out tears? Just ask the two guys who were sitting next to us, but moved for the second part of the flight. Yes, that's right; I scared two large Mexican men into giving up their seats. I owe it all to my little screamer.
Richie decided that since he was such a trooper on part two of the flight that he could poop all over us. It's a California-bound ritual. Not one that I particularly like.
Poop covered and exhausted, we made it.
I forgot how many buildings there were...
Mister bluebird on my shoulder
I have two weeks until I am leaving for California. The packing process has begun! Yes, I am one of those people. You know, the people that start packing two weeks before they leave on a trip. I hate coming home to any sort of disarray, so I have been cleaning and rearranging like someone with OCD. Combine my pre-vacation insanity with an attack of the spring-cleaning-bug and you get one very clean house! Richie doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he even helps...in his own way.
helping
The two weeks I will be gone to the Bay Area will be my short break before I have to commit to a full-time schedule of classes. April 16th marks the first day of early registration and I will be there. Hopefully being the first person to register I will be able to get the class load I want. I start school the last week of May. I am not looking forward to giving up the blessed time I have with Richie. Who would? My single mommy solution to the whole problem is to enroll him in a "private" pre-school type day care place. Right now he is on the waiting list. Hopefully I will have him enrolled and surviving his first away-from-mommy experience before I have to be sitting in a classroom wondering how long he has been screaming for and if my instructor would understand if I ran out of the room to give Richie "the boob". I know it will be good for him; he enjoys playing with others kids so much. His personality has blossomed, and this will encourage his emotional development even more.
I will cry. I will cry like a...baby.
The two weeks I will be gone to the Bay Area will be my short break before I have to commit to a full-time schedule of classes. April 16th marks the first day of early registration and I will be there. Hopefully being the first person to register I will be able to get the class load I want. I start school the last week of May. I am not looking forward to giving up the blessed time I have with Richie. Who would? My single mommy solution to the whole problem is to enroll him in a "private" pre-school type day care place. Right now he is on the waiting list. Hopefully I will have him enrolled and surviving his first away-from-mommy experience before I have to be sitting in a classroom wondering how long he has been screaming for and if my instructor would understand if I ran out of the room to give Richie "the boob". I know it will be good for him; he enjoys playing with others kids so much. His personality has blossomed, and this will encourage his emotional development even more.
I will cry. I will cry like a...baby.
epocsodiela.kaleidoscope.pocsodielak
It's debilitating to know that after years of pretending you do, you find out that you do not, in fact, have the killer instinct.
I could hear static-filtered Richie babble from the baby monitor as the DVD player spit Tyler Perry's Daddy's Little Girls onto the TV screen. Before I could say out loud, "Every time I see something to do with dad's, I feel like crying," the tears came. Even though the muscles of my faces contracted tightly, even though I couldn't breathe at all, the tears came. I couldn't even think about how ridiculous I must have seemed crying through the preview to a movie I have never seen. For the seconds before I could actually stop crying, my mind was bludgeoned by emotions. It isn't about loving Nathan or not, being loved or rejected. It's about Richie. When did the psychological composition of humanity change so much that any one person could find it acceptable, even if just within themselves, to abandon a child? His own child.
In all our terse correspondance, Nathan never asked after Richie. His final excuse was that he simply did not know "the baby". Am I odd to find it disheartening that Nathan referred to Richie as "the baby"? Or naive in my ignorance of his paternal detachment?
To the day, it has been three weeks. I am like an addict, or an obsessive compulsive. What's the difference? What matters is that I have not responded to Nathan since his nasty message on Valen-effing-tine's Day. Actually, I have not sent him anything since the message I wrote him the week before that. So, technically it's four weeks.
Four weeks.
Poetic Injustice
Wading navel-deep in liberal feminism, it's difficult at times to remember the male portion of the gender pool has emotional depth and, sometimes more so than it's female counterpart. I plead guilty on at least 9 previous counts of judging-a-book-by-its-cover, as well as 3 1/2 counts of over-dramatizing a situation as a means of ignoring the feelings of a man. It's hard to raise yourself to be a compassionate soul, especially when bred from bra-burners. Though young, the experiences of my love life (from married at 17 to solo mom in a single bound!) have taught me many things. One thing I know is that a good man (I mean a good man) is hard to find; they are out there, just not in great number. Unfortunately, too many women think that since there did exist a day when the fairer sex could not vote that men should suffer, without complaint. Apparently, I missed the part of my history class where the teacher discussed the unjust oppression of women. I will probably get kicked out of the ol' maids club for this. They might even take away my Bedazzler.
I'll deal.
I'll deal.
Three-hundred and Fifty-five Million Dollars
After a weird night of tossing and turning, I woke up yesterday prepared for a battle with any and every "associate" at Babies "R" Us. It was the day we were finally going to pick up the new crib, and Richie was no longer going to have to sleep in his small, though safe, pack'n'play. My whole body was tense and cold during the drive to San Antonio. My heart was already beating hallow in the icy cavity of my chest at the mere thought of confrontation. Unfortunately, yes, the closest and only baby store is in San Antonio. That's a three hour long drive, complete with aggravated toddler. In mommy time, when you factor in screaming and snacks, the trip is actually an eternity. Trust me, I did the math. Point is this, I had a very long time to think about how much I was going to hate the entire day. I wouldn't usually get all huffy over, well, anything. But! This is my son's leg, so I figure this was one battle I would choose to fight.
Thankfully, Richie was well-behaved. It was almost scary. Also, we made good time in getting there. Once we arrived, we left the crib in the car and headed up to the customer service desk. About four women listened to my sob story and complaints against Jardine. A big ol' macho man helped bring the crib in as one nice lady pointed us in the direction of the furniture. I had already called earlier in the week to have the Wendy Bellissimo crib put on hold until we could make it out to pick it up. The helpful girl who had talked to me on the phone was working that day and assisted us in retrieving the new crib. We were also purchasing the Summer custom fit gate for wide openings. (We have a, you guessed it, wide opening that goes into the great room and no standard gate would do.) When we realized that the giant wonder-crib would block back seat passengers from exiting the car until it removed, we decided to grab a bite to eat and pick up the crib after. We paid for everything and left, on the hunt for sustenance.
Enter Mr. Mysterious-So-and-So. Stage left.
I was terrified that, since the day had already gone so well, we were going to return to find that the baby store had probably been blown up. Nope. Smooth sailing. The crib was packaged so well that, after taking it out of the box, it was still protected so as not to receive a single scratch on the drive home. Hopefully.
Fast forward; we survived the drive home. Barely. Richie was less than impressed with being stuck in back with only a view of his new bed. Fortunately, we arrive home with time to spare before bedtime for the little one. Time to assemble! The crib price was decidedly in direct correlation to how many pieces and parts were included. Even so, the process began easily enough. Richie was determined to test my skills as a crib-assembler, and attempted to destroy all progress. I ought to recommend his methods as a way of insuring the absolute safety of nursery furniture. It wasn't until the mattress support that any problem became apparent. The problem turned out to be human error. My son probably could have figured out to match each "a" sticker to the other. I, on the other hand, had to stare at the crooked mattress support for who-knows-how-long, before realization occurred. Ok, so I'm no master crib-assembler. There go my hopes and dreams. Still, I think I'll live.
Due to my mattress support fiasco, Richie's bedtime passed by while he amused himself by sitting in the tray that fits in the track of his toy box. A quick diaper change, shimmy into pjs, and Richie is ready for bed. As per our usual routine, I turn out the lights, turn on the lullabies, cradle my angel, kiss his forehead then his nose and lips. I tell him "Sweet dreams. Mommy loves you." and I lay him down. I'm pretty sure that Wendy Bellissimo designed baby heaven, and Richie seems to think so too. He's thrilled with his new crib! He sleeps through the night, no problem. He even wakes up in a chipper mood!
So, I've decided I am going to win the lottery and buy Wendy Bellissimo cribs for everyone!
Wendy Bellissimo Honey Crib and Antique Firetruck Bedding
Thankfully, Richie was well-behaved. It was almost scary. Also, we made good time in getting there. Once we arrived, we left the crib in the car and headed up to the customer service desk. About four women listened to my sob story and complaints against Jardine. A big ol' macho man helped bring the crib in as one nice lady pointed us in the direction of the furniture. I had already called earlier in the week to have the Wendy Bellissimo crib put on hold until we could make it out to pick it up. The helpful girl who had talked to me on the phone was working that day and assisted us in retrieving the new crib. We were also purchasing the Summer custom fit gate for wide openings. (We have a, you guessed it, wide opening that goes into the great room and no standard gate would do.) When we realized that the giant wonder-crib would block back seat passengers from exiting the car until it removed, we decided to grab a bite to eat and pick up the crib after. We paid for everything and left, on the hunt for sustenance.
Enter Mr. Mysterious-So-and-So. Stage left.
I was terrified that, since the day had already gone so well, we were going to return to find that the baby store had probably been blown up. Nope. Smooth sailing. The crib was packaged so well that, after taking it out of the box, it was still protected so as not to receive a single scratch on the drive home. Hopefully.
Fast forward; we survived the drive home. Barely. Richie was less than impressed with being stuck in back with only a view of his new bed. Fortunately, we arrive home with time to spare before bedtime for the little one. Time to assemble! The crib price was decidedly in direct correlation to how many pieces and parts were included. Even so, the process began easily enough. Richie was determined to test my skills as a crib-assembler, and attempted to destroy all progress. I ought to recommend his methods as a way of insuring the absolute safety of nursery furniture. It wasn't until the mattress support that any problem became apparent. The problem turned out to be human error. My son probably could have figured out to match each "a" sticker to the other. I, on the other hand, had to stare at the crooked mattress support for who-knows-how-long, before realization occurred. Ok, so I'm no master crib-assembler. There go my hopes and dreams. Still, I think I'll live.
Due to my mattress support fiasco, Richie's bedtime passed by while he amused himself by sitting in the tray that fits in the track of his toy box. A quick diaper change, shimmy into pjs, and Richie is ready for bed. As per our usual routine, I turn out the lights, turn on the lullabies, cradle my angel, kiss his forehead then his nose and lips. I tell him "Sweet dreams. Mommy loves you." and I lay him down. I'm pretty sure that Wendy Bellissimo designed baby heaven, and Richie seems to think so too. He's thrilled with his new crib! He sleeps through the night, no problem. He even wakes up in a chipper mood!
So, I've decided I am going to win the lottery and buy Wendy Bellissimo cribs for everyone!
I murdered Vera Rivkin
When one meets a man worth blogging about, I suppose there's nothing else to do. Seeing as how I can't stop repeating the fateful story of Mr. Mysterious-So-and-So, I might as well get it out.
It's really not as interesting as it may seem. Except, of course, for the fact that I can't forget him. Attractive, young, and more interested in my son than me. My twitterpated little heart could contain itself all but for an embarassingly silly, and painfully wide, grin. My expression screamed with all blood that ran to my face, "Please ask me for my phone number!" He just kept talking to Richie, furthering my interest. Richie babbled back, an unusual act. If it hadn't seemed strange, even borderline crazy, I might have pinched myself. Instead I made a much smarter choice, I stared. I fully believe in the intuition of children. Absolute innocence lends itself, if to nothing else, than to alert of the slightest bit of evil. I know, evil is such a strong word; in times such as these is it that inappropriate? Richie's detection system sounded no alarm.
I did nothing to perpetuate any sort of future contact. I welcome this blissful memory into oblivion. I do not want to end up feeling so cold that I refuse the warm presence of another person. Yet, I am not willing to begin something I'm not ready to even think of. It is simply refreshing to know the possibility survives, when Nathan can not find the daddy desire for his own son. It's not that I believe the whole fate gimmick to be "real", but what more fitting name to such coincidence? You see, I met Mr. Mysterious-So-and-So while in San Antonio picking up Richie's new crib from Babies "R" Us. Richie needed a new crib because of the previously owned Jardine crib spraining his leg.
Like I said, fate.
It's a pretty idea anyway. Except that when you consider the true nature of "fate" it actually resembles more of a twisted conspiracy. Was Richie doomed to hurt his leg? Even before that, did I maintain the injury by purchasing a defective crib? Or was all this already set in motion the day I got pregnant? After all, babies need cribs. Although, Richie spent months in his crib with no injury at all. Is fate powerful enough to cause physical changes to a piece of wooden furniture? Maybe this began even before that.
Paranoia disguised as such a pretty conspiracy.
I take a peek, now and then, at a snapshot of this life. I look back at the carelessness and the ease with which I offered my heart, to find it twice broken. Everyone I know has a different story. No shock value there. I don't see the big picture as much as moments. They all have their moments. Of course, when the commodity is love and the price is forever, I find my scrutiny falling upon the married. Which happens to be all of my friends; married with children. I could have been like them. I could have married Nathan. I still can't blame him. All my expectations dissolved when I refused his proposal. I assumed so much when I made my choice. Am I smarter since the divorce or just sad? Sadder. It's impossible to say if I made the right choice. All it takes is a kind stranger and I sit alone at night to question a past I can not change.
It's really not as interesting as it may seem. Except, of course, for the fact that I can't forget him. Attractive, young, and more interested in my son than me. My twitterpated little heart could contain itself all but for an embarassingly silly, and painfully wide, grin. My expression screamed with all blood that ran to my face, "Please ask me for my phone number!" He just kept talking to Richie, furthering my interest. Richie babbled back, an unusual act. If it hadn't seemed strange, even borderline crazy, I might have pinched myself. Instead I made a much smarter choice, I stared. I fully believe in the intuition of children. Absolute innocence lends itself, if to nothing else, than to alert of the slightest bit of evil. I know, evil is such a strong word; in times such as these is it that inappropriate? Richie's detection system sounded no alarm.
I did nothing to perpetuate any sort of future contact. I welcome this blissful memory into oblivion. I do not want to end up feeling so cold that I refuse the warm presence of another person. Yet, I am not willing to begin something I'm not ready to even think of. It is simply refreshing to know the possibility survives, when Nathan can not find the daddy desire for his own son. It's not that I believe the whole fate gimmick to be "real", but what more fitting name to such coincidence? You see, I met Mr. Mysterious-So-and-So while in San Antonio picking up Richie's new crib from Babies "R" Us. Richie needed a new crib because of the previously owned Jardine crib spraining his leg.
Like I said, fate.
It's a pretty idea anyway. Except that when you consider the true nature of "fate" it actually resembles more of a twisted conspiracy. Was Richie doomed to hurt his leg? Even before that, did I maintain the injury by purchasing a defective crib? Or was all this already set in motion the day I got pregnant? After all, babies need cribs. Although, Richie spent months in his crib with no injury at all. Is fate powerful enough to cause physical changes to a piece of wooden furniture? Maybe this began even before that.
Paranoia disguised as such a pretty conspiracy.
I take a peek, now and then, at a snapshot of this life. I look back at the carelessness and the ease with which I offered my heart, to find it twice broken. Everyone I know has a different story. No shock value there. I don't see the big picture as much as moments. They all have their moments. Of course, when the commodity is love and the price is forever, I find my scrutiny falling upon the married. Which happens to be all of my friends; married with children. I could have been like them. I could have married Nathan. I still can't blame him. All my expectations dissolved when I refused his proposal. I assumed so much when I made my choice. Am I smarter since the divorce or just sad? Sadder. It's impossible to say if I made the right choice. All it takes is a kind stranger and I sit alone at night to question a past I can not change.
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.
"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.
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.
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.
the blower's daughter
Innocence is stolen and even the most intense skeptic begs answers of an unyielding universe. Point in case, yours truly. Indeed I have set aside my doubts, religious and otherwise, to scream angrily, "WHY?"
I have hovered over, if not completely smothered, my son since I heard from Mely of her baby cousin passing away. Two weeks shy of his first birthday and gone.
Deep breath.
I'm getting ahead of myself.
When I first arrived at the gym, I saw my friends Andy and Mely. I had not seen them in a few weeks and we dove into frenzied updates. Mely very generously asked after Richie and inquired after Nathan's newest act of heartlessness.
As we spoke, I looked her over. She looked strange to me. I had always assumed she was in her twenties, like me. However, today she looked older than her years by quite a lot. Her face was sunken in. Maybe she didn't get enough sleep. I decided it would be rude to tell her how "tired" she looked. My eyes were drawn to her gray hair as a moth to a candle. She seemed to have aged so much. I didn't know at the time, but suffering had tainted her appearance. She told me she had just returned from Mexico, where she had gone for the funeral of her baby cousin. Tears forced their way from her swollen eyes as she described what a happy baby he had "been". My own emotions took over as she told me of the baby's mother. After the death of her second infant, the woman seemed to be going out of her mind. The mother would smile suddenly, directing every one's attention to the doorway as she swore her little man would soon come toddling through. Moments later she would notice that she was standing before her infant son's casket, and she would scream.
"Why, God, have you taken my babies from me?"
Mely said that she has not been able to sleep since seeing the baby boy laid out to rest. His clothes were too big, and he was barefoot. She had never seen a dead infant before. She said she felt that she had to touch his hand, and now she can feel the presence of his tiny fingers in her palm. As she described this to me, she held out her hand as though she cupped his baby hand in hers. That visual is burned onto my mind. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her upright as she cried. Her hand stayed rigid as though she was afraid she would lose grip of his hand.
In situations like this, we all want someone or something to blame.
God?
Mexico?
the pediatrician?
the parents?
the devil?
Financial circumstance dictated the tune of the grief. The coffin was set on the kitchen table; all the funeral homes charged too much. The cemetery is far from the small Mexican town where the parents live with their other children and comes with the stigma of poverty. The baby was buried with no tombstone, just a peace of wood the father wrote on with an ink pen.
WHY?
I have hovered over, if not completely smothered, my son since I heard from Mely of her baby cousin passing away. Two weeks shy of his first birthday and gone.
Deep breath.
I'm getting ahead of myself.
When I first arrived at the gym, I saw my friends Andy and Mely. I had not seen them in a few weeks and we dove into frenzied updates. Mely very generously asked after Richie and inquired after Nathan's newest act of heartlessness.
As we spoke, I looked her over. She looked strange to me. I had always assumed she was in her twenties, like me. However, today she looked older than her years by quite a lot. Her face was sunken in. Maybe she didn't get enough sleep. I decided it would be rude to tell her how "tired" she looked. My eyes were drawn to her gray hair as a moth to a candle. She seemed to have aged so much. I didn't know at the time, but suffering had tainted her appearance. She told me she had just returned from Mexico, where she had gone for the funeral of her baby cousin. Tears forced their way from her swollen eyes as she described what a happy baby he had "been". My own emotions took over as she told me of the baby's mother. After the death of her second infant, the woman seemed to be going out of her mind. The mother would smile suddenly, directing every one's attention to the doorway as she swore her little man would soon come toddling through. Moments later she would notice that she was standing before her infant son's casket, and she would scream.
"Why, God, have you taken my babies from me?"
Mely said that she has not been able to sleep since seeing the baby boy laid out to rest. His clothes were too big, and he was barefoot. She had never seen a dead infant before. She said she felt that she had to touch his hand, and now she can feel the presence of his tiny fingers in her palm. As she described this to me, she held out her hand as though she cupped his baby hand in hers. That visual is burned onto my mind. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her upright as she cried. Her hand stayed rigid as though she was afraid she would lose grip of his hand.
In situations like this, we all want someone or something to blame.
God?
Mexico?
the pediatrician?
the parents?
the devil?
Financial circumstance dictated the tune of the grief. The coffin was set on the kitchen table; all the funeral homes charged too much. The cemetery is far from the small Mexican town where the parents live with their other children and comes with the stigma of poverty. The baby was buried with no tombstone, just a peace of wood the father wrote on with an ink pen.
WHY?
Heads California, Tails California
As of tonight, I am the proud owner of one round trip ticket to the Bay Area. Richie and I will be taking a non-stop flight out of San Antonio to Oakland. In order to spend two weeks with my family and friends, I am making compromise after sacrifice. Neither airport destination is ideal; my preferences are, respectively, Del Rio and San Francisco. My nature dictates that I will fuss, unnecessarily, over every detail of my impending vacation. My fret level has gone from tolerably frantic to insane in the mere hours since I received confirmation. Although, to be honest, I must admit that I am giddy about the whole trip. My bipolar relationship with my home-state has caused an anxiously joyous air.
In an unconscious attempt to ignore my aforementioned mild neurosis, my mind turns to deeper concerns. I have not had any contact with Nathan for less than a week. An eternity's worth of days, but mere days ever still. I hate the part of me that desires to reach out to him. I hate the part of me that cares about whether or not he is affected by my lack of response. I am famously hasty about my communication with him. Has he noticed? I must talk about him to keep from talking to him. My heart sinks with every word that doesn't come from his lips. There is definitely more than a metaphorical correlation between my desire to depart from the aching that keeps my world from turning and my precipitant escape.
In an unconscious attempt to ignore my aforementioned mild neurosis, my mind turns to deeper concerns. I have not had any contact with Nathan for less than a week. An eternity's worth of days, but mere days ever still. I hate the part of me that desires to reach out to him. I hate the part of me that cares about whether or not he is affected by my lack of response. I am famously hasty about my communication with him. Has he noticed? I must talk about him to keep from talking to him. My heart sinks with every word that doesn't come from his lips. There is definitely more than a metaphorical correlation between my desire to depart from the aching that keeps my world from turning and my precipitant escape.
The Price Is Right
Oh, the ways my heart can break.
Richie points to a picture of Nathan and insists "dah-d".
Dad.
I blame myself; I have made a tremendous effort to help my son recognize his father's face. Directing my focus towards helping both of them realize the connection they share, has apparently only failed where Nathan is concerned. All day Richie has insisted on having a photograph of Nathan close to him. He walked from toy to toy with "dah-d" in hand. There will only be more interest and curiosity. Will I only ever have a check as proof that Richie has a father?
I feel, even more strongly after today, that a bank account is a sorry substitute for a parent. However, I find myself considering filing for child support. Nathan has declared that he will be setting money aside for Richie. For this, I would be gracious. I would, if we hadn't tried that before. Leaving Nathan to his own discretion, influenced heavily by a serious lack of understanding, it is no wonder that it did not work out. A savings account for Richie is a sound idea, taking into consideration all the uncertainties the future has to offer. It is difficult to view Nathan with anything but skepticism. I find it hard to understand why, if he is willing to offer up money for Richie, that he does not just voluntairily pay child support. Except that I know he will not actually follow through if left to independant enforcement. The prospect of government regulation would require he identify the reality of a child. I do not want to force Nathan to be or do anything against his self serving ideals. I wonder if my son will be affected if Nathan fulfills a financial responsibility or not. I know that Nathan will act in an even more negative manner if I do pursue child support from him. Will my choice affect whether or not he ever considers a more substantial role in Richie's life?
It is unfair that Richie is the one who truly suffers in this situation.
Richie points to a picture of Nathan and insists "dah-d".
Dad.
I blame myself; I have made a tremendous effort to help my son recognize his father's face. Directing my focus towards helping both of them realize the connection they share, has apparently only failed where Nathan is concerned. All day Richie has insisted on having a photograph of Nathan close to him. He walked from toy to toy with "dah-d" in hand. There will only be more interest and curiosity. Will I only ever have a check as proof that Richie has a father?
I feel, even more strongly after today, that a bank account is a sorry substitute for a parent. However, I find myself considering filing for child support. Nathan has declared that he will be setting money aside for Richie. For this, I would be gracious. I would, if we hadn't tried that before. Leaving Nathan to his own discretion, influenced heavily by a serious lack of understanding, it is no wonder that it did not work out. A savings account for Richie is a sound idea, taking into consideration all the uncertainties the future has to offer. It is difficult to view Nathan with anything but skepticism. I find it hard to understand why, if he is willing to offer up money for Richie, that he does not just voluntairily pay child support. Except that I know he will not actually follow through if left to independant enforcement. The prospect of government regulation would require he identify the reality of a child. I do not want to force Nathan to be or do anything against his self serving ideals. I wonder if my son will be affected if Nathan fulfills a financial responsibility or not. I know that Nathan will act in an even more negative manner if I do pursue child support from him. Will my choice affect whether or not he ever considers a more substantial role in Richie's life?
It is unfair that Richie is the one who truly suffers in this situation.
I could hate you, but I don't want to
It's a not-so-typical night in May; the third, to be exact. I am summoning the courage to take a pregnancy test. I know I am not pregnant, but I need confirmation. So, why am I so nervous? I am in the bathroom at my (already pregnant) best friend's apartment, waiting the obligatory three minutes for a second line to not appear.
tick. tock. tick. tock.
No.
It can't be.
"Jennie, this isn't a line...right?" I wonder, now, if my best friend took the time to consider lying to me just before affirming that we were both staring at two pink lines. Yes, the man I had left in the dust of my hasty escape from San Diego, had impregnated me with his drunken sperm. Condoms, depo, alcohol, one man, and one woman; add those variables together, in the right order, and you get a baby. I was surprised at the joy he seemed to get from hearing the news that "we" were expecting. Considering all that had passed between us when we lived together, I decided my astonishment was misplaced.
Why wouldn't he be as elated as I?
One year and six days after the longest conversation Nathan and I had to date, I discovered that the answer would never be what I wanted it to be. Loving him was never easy, but always worth trying for. Eight months later, he still does not have the capability to shock me. As I over analyze the last words between us, I can't imagine how horrible it would be to have a son that I didn't have the chance to meet, as is the case since Nathan was deployed the morning Richie was born. I have to assume that he is afraid of being daddy to a son he's never known, otherwise I find it impossible to fathom his disregard.
Perhaps it was Nathan's absence that sent me into single-parent mode, but I doubt it. With him being enlisted, we were both realistically aware of the time we would spend apart. I don't remember exactly when, or why, I felt that I would be raising our son alone. We started out so right. We had it all figured out. Maybe it was our arrogance that led to this flaming downfall. I could muse about the ups and downs of our relationship until the end of time (and I probably will), but I doubt I will ever understand what actually happened. I doubt he will either.
I never had expectations for Nathan and I. Everyday with him, I felt blessed. I didn't know what could happen, or would. I did feel certain, however, that he would make a good father to our baby boy. My heart breaks in ways I didn't know were possible as I see Nathan throw money at Richie, as though that could somehow compensate for all that he lacks as "daddy". I find myself wondering whether or not men that father children feel any attachment to them at all, beyond obligation. Men (is it more appropriate to say "boys"?) seem to be oblivious to the true nature of creating life. I suspect women would feel a deeper connection as they do carry the child for nine months before the men ever get to meet said child. For all the excuses I can, and do, make for Nathan, I still don't come close to comprehension. My efforts prove to be a mere distraction from the reality that Richie's father is the type of man that demerits parenthood.
My son is barely fourteen months old and already I dread the day he will ask all the questions I will never be able to answer.
tick. tock. tick. tock.
No.
It can't be.
"Jennie, this isn't a line...right?" I wonder, now, if my best friend took the time to consider lying to me just before affirming that we were both staring at two pink lines. Yes, the man I had left in the dust of my hasty escape from San Diego, had impregnated me with his drunken sperm. Condoms, depo, alcohol, one man, and one woman; add those variables together, in the right order, and you get a baby. I was surprised at the joy he seemed to get from hearing the news that "we" were expecting. Considering all that had passed between us when we lived together, I decided my astonishment was misplaced.
Why wouldn't he be as elated as I?
One year and six days after the longest conversation Nathan and I had to date, I discovered that the answer would never be what I wanted it to be. Loving him was never easy, but always worth trying for. Eight months later, he still does not have the capability to shock me. As I over analyze the last words between us, I can't imagine how horrible it would be to have a son that I didn't have the chance to meet, as is the case since Nathan was deployed the morning Richie was born. I have to assume that he is afraid of being daddy to a son he's never known, otherwise I find it impossible to fathom his disregard.
Perhaps it was Nathan's absence that sent me into single-parent mode, but I doubt it. With him being enlisted, we were both realistically aware of the time we would spend apart. I don't remember exactly when, or why, I felt that I would be raising our son alone. We started out so right. We had it all figured out. Maybe it was our arrogance that led to this flaming downfall. I could muse about the ups and downs of our relationship until the end of time (and I probably will), but I doubt I will ever understand what actually happened. I doubt he will either.
I never had expectations for Nathan and I. Everyday with him, I felt blessed. I didn't know what could happen, or would. I did feel certain, however, that he would make a good father to our baby boy. My heart breaks in ways I didn't know were possible as I see Nathan throw money at Richie, as though that could somehow compensate for all that he lacks as "daddy". I find myself wondering whether or not men that father children feel any attachment to them at all, beyond obligation. Men (is it more appropriate to say "boys"?) seem to be oblivious to the true nature of creating life. I suspect women would feel a deeper connection as they do carry the child for nine months before the men ever get to meet said child. For all the excuses I can, and do, make for Nathan, I still don't come close to comprehension. My efforts prove to be a mere distraction from the reality that Richie's father is the type of man that demerits parenthood.
My son is barely fourteen months old and already I dread the day he will ask all the questions I will never be able to answer.
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