tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53811990358326820572024-02-22T11:01:49.624-08:00Spit Up Is The New BlackJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06875904749699628335noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381199035832682057.post-61006135635020598902009-04-28T11:13:00.000-07:002009-04-28T11:17:06.449-07:00Just 'Cuz<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkD_DxV2U8BeGwGjNguXPWY70bJq_ASB7euYHmxUZfQk4K1rKXaAcZFJI0KjvfFqXCprviGxul7TegCYXMgdRuiJNSTBVxyZp0_1f66sfHiuG0OWj5WyKhRK1vDaw7jR8YT1y_YIxELf4r/s1600-h/photo.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329807962622178882" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkD_DxV2U8BeGwGjNguXPWY70bJq_ASB7euYHmxUZfQk4K1rKXaAcZFJI0KjvfFqXCprviGxul7TegCYXMgdRuiJNSTBVxyZp0_1f66sfHiuG0OWj5WyKhRK1vDaw7jR8YT1y_YIxELf4r/s320/photo.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>There's a Cutest Baby contest on the Gerber website or some shizz. I took this picture in hopes of entering it but then I thought of how sad people would be when the internet exploded.</div>Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06875904749699628335noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381199035832682057.post-7745012843540269112009-04-16T14:46:00.001-07:002009-04-28T13:28:17.552-07:00Panic<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8XZJAKW31vI8eXhmHF9Y-TOO9BkGRDvSLtXt4cvGa7cPHasNJSAXC-5SYrHIEM6Oj4SL7VFXmMzvt_Arl9m5AxshHNXmWgakXlJ7oOd1oFJipSbhvftHgD8-evW94cMz6HHk971ib62x6/s1600-h/Bathtub.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325409628568344450" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8XZJAKW31vI8eXhmHF9Y-TOO9BkGRDvSLtXt4cvGa7cPHasNJSAXC-5SYrHIEM6Oj4SL7VFXmMzvt_Arl9m5AxshHNXmWgakXlJ7oOd1oFJipSbhvftHgD8-evW94cMz6HHk971ib62x6/s320/Bathtub.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Yes, hello, I was just looking through my pictures and realized I had been sending this one out WITH VISIBLE SHOWER MOLD!! The one thing that has slipped the most since having a child - cleaning - clearly.</div><div></div><div> </div><div><strong>UPDATE:</strong> Everyone can relax, the grout has been cleaned. My life has regained some sort of balance. I don't know what happened. I am ashamed and deeply apologetic. </div>Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06875904749699628335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381199035832682057.post-90642414419965083122009-04-16T14:33:00.000-07:002009-04-16T14:36:52.345-07:00Here Comes Peter Cottontail<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinxa_RGLA5DG80oWkrwjj3shvysnfcGIr1728un5rMGjpILO0HqTvqUgcn3lI7QUpgX_ge3Knw9Y6Wx_0F-0gr3WPlJuuXapH7PeaqZzuXMQ1S9wNQnNysdeWAH5JbYL8bKsc6rJ-wo9v3/s1600-h/photo.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325406021289527282" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinxa_RGLA5DG80oWkrwjj3shvysnfcGIr1728un5rMGjpILO0HqTvqUgcn3lI7QUpgX_ge3Knw9Y6Wx_0F-0gr3WPlJuuXapH7PeaqZzuXMQ1S9wNQnNysdeWAH5JbYL8bKsc6rJ-wo9v3/s320/photo.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Easter 2009 - Check the overtly feminine sweater.</div>Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06875904749699628335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381199035832682057.post-38702481750810028882009-03-30T10:35:00.001-07:002009-03-30T11:19:17.096-07:00Warning: This Post Contains Disgusting Content<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidlJAFhnyjbWRkqLBdMatLP7DAi1uxpQi3oAWNuwjbfQ8VKkXivsQ1yejtyPc-QsqoAvhDTbnPE-k4xuD5QvR99Mv2FNK0EbUoXmBaa1_it1wl1mmW76pe0tX49TkXQUF-guAWD8MMlnNZ/s1600-h/photo.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319039278617344706" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidlJAFhnyjbWRkqLBdMatLP7DAi1uxpQi3oAWNuwjbfQ8VKkXivsQ1yejtyPc-QsqoAvhDTbnPE-k4xuD5QvR99Mv2FNK0EbUoXmBaa1_it1wl1mmW76pe0tX49TkXQUF-guAWD8MMlnNZ/s320/photo.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Mine eyes have seen a very bad, bad thing. A thing I shared with one of my best friends this morning, but failed to share in full b/c it was just too horrific. I will inflict the entire story on all of you <em>reader</em> now. Picture this: I had Littlest J smartly dressed in a super cute outfit, visible in the photo at right, and securly snapped into his bouncey chair. He was happily sitting in the hallway while I got dressed for work just bouncing away. My husband came home from letting a friend's dogs out and picked our son up. This is where things went south...I noticed something that looked like mud on the floor and asked if he had stepped in mud b/c it was coming off of his shoes. I then noticed the same "muddish" looking substance on the bathroom floor where he was standing gazing into the mirror with Littlest. It clicked and as I looked up to scream, "Nooooooo, it's not muuuuuddd, it's pooooooop! There's pooooop cooming from his shoooorts!" I saw B sniff Littlest's butt and gag. We looked at each other - Bad Smell From Baby's Shorts + Trail of What Looks Like Mud = Explosive Poo Situation. Gagging louder now he ran itno the baby's room noticing then that he had been hit in the arm by poop shrapnel. Now this alone would have been just a funny incident to chalk up to those darn babies. But the story doesn't end there. Our dog Pete had been licking the chair where Littlest had been sitting the whole time, which didn't strike me as odd b/c sadly enough the dogs love to lick spitup which I have come to accept so you should too, but there was no spitup to be licked in that chair on this particular morn. No, no spitup. Oh but there was poop. While I stood there in shock he proceeded to walk into the bathroom and clean up the rest of the mess - with his mouth. Dear God and Baby Jesus. I will leave you with that and the sound of me gagging.</div>Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06875904749699628335noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381199035832682057.post-47756073530774392652009-03-17T11:00:00.001-07:002009-03-17T11:08:17.351-07:00Unbe-weave-ableOver the past several days I have been tracking the movements of a stray hair extension one street over from my house. First, it simply sat there at the four way stop, like a lost lamb, then the rain came and the weave became a matted mess, hardly recognizable from its original state. As the days have passed the matted mane has moved a few feet to the left, inching ever closer to my house. I was tempted to take a picture the first time I saw it and email it to friends in case they were in the midst of a panic, looking for said lost weave, but I was afraid I would hold up traffic. And now the rain soaked lock really isn’t much to look at. My thought here is this...why in the hell am I raising my child in a neighborhood where a weave in the street isn't so truly, well, unbeweaveable? But alas, I love my 'hood and hope that the diversity that surrounds us will instill a sense of acceptance in my tine-tine baybay. And if that doesn't take at least he will have cat-like reflexes from dodging bullets and a never ending selection of hair accessories.Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06875904749699628335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381199035832682057.post-8107445860304215342009-02-16T19:18:00.001-08:002009-02-16T19:33:03.107-08:00Drunken Hippie BabyAt first I thought babies were like tiny drunks. Always falling over, peeing and crapping in their pants, easily moving from laughter to tears and of course the spitting up all over themselves. After watching Littles J at lunch on Saturday I think he's moved on to harder substances. Now he looks more like a little acid tripping hippie. It's all about the cooooolooors and duuuude look at the fan, isn't is craaazy? It just goes round and round and round. Oh and this blanket, feel this blanket, it's like alive and it feels so good on my face. I just want to rub it all over my face. <br /><br />Yeah, I just noticed that. Aaaand that's it really. Deep huh?Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06875904749699628335noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381199035832682057.post-15409494162658489392009-02-03T19:01:00.000-08:002009-02-03T19:17:33.523-08:00My Mens<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggtOg-mnDIzmBWTbFpyGBYUHrve9p2lhW_ujBbQFqD0SL3AuWiGgAVQGoTUs1u47oBUuJ00WdbYJeKypPbwFsJ9Ztm58Xr7EBC7xIA6IhwZApClCTTebGiC4u1tiOE9vnVRoaZAycV8hft/s1600-h/IMG_5964.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggtOg-mnDIzmBWTbFpyGBYUHrve9p2lhW_ujBbQFqD0SL3AuWiGgAVQGoTUs1u47oBUuJ00WdbYJeKypPbwFsJ9Ztm58Xr7EBC7xIA6IhwZApClCTTebGiC4u1tiOE9vnVRoaZAycV8hft/s320/IMG_5964.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298775554470265602" border="0" /></a><br />I've been with Cornbread's dad for 6 years, wait, 7 years, or is it 8 years? Let's put it this way, we've been married for almost two years and we dated for a longass time before that. He stays home with Cornbread right now while he's in school and working a few days a week at a job. Basically he has three jobs - four if you count putting up with me. He's got a full plate and I know sometimes he gets a little overwhelmed and wishes he could go to a regular 9 to 5 job every day like me and hang out with adults. But he's doing great. I give him all of the credit for the progress Cornbread has made. I noticed how much better he is sitting up while I was bathing him tonight and realized that if it wasn't for B staying home with him and loving him enough to care for him, really care for him and take the time with him he probably wouldn't be where he is right now. I'm really thankful for that. Alot of men wouldn't even consider staying home and while I know our untraditional rolls can cause issues with us both from time to time I think it takes a real man to do what he is doing. Who better for my little man to learn from?Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06875904749699628335noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381199035832682057.post-92121499331216328742009-01-31T16:42:00.000-08:002009-01-31T16:54:50.176-08:00Home Made Green Beans<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ2QJFd-Wd70vdrvqFzZhnWLcMGYKQvMm_sqfUPvV32uweCOdQXX8zB7-r6wvC0QY0CyG0BxULT7O-Wx-i_OqvAuYK_aQld8BUbybNjGWWoh236ILvr5ERP9AKEDi7IFtk_DkkxXv-wK_1/s1600-h/photo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ2QJFd-Wd70vdrvqFzZhnWLcMGYKQvMm_sqfUPvV32uweCOdQXX8zB7-r6wvC0QY0CyG0BxULT7O-Wx-i_OqvAuYK_aQld8BUbybNjGWWoh236ILvr5ERP9AKEDi7IFtk_DkkxXv-wK_1/s320/photo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297625121093501746" border="0" /></a><br />I fed Littlest some of the green beans I made with J and A last weekend in my handy dandy Babycook. He ate them all up...and had a little left over on his face. While I was feeding him I couldn't believe that we started out counting his food intake in cc's, getting so excited when he was up to four and then six and then eight. And now he is eating solids. It wasn't that I didn't think he would make it to this point, but when he was in the hospital I wouldn't let myself look forward. We've come a long way baby. And I've really enjoyed the ride.Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06875904749699628335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381199035832682057.post-70216763316254322802009-01-15T08:37:00.001-08:002009-01-15T09:04:15.282-08:00My New Fondness for Homeschooling<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291566247316352450" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR4eRh3eiHO2AwC0gypTxVO-jzPcIoJeO4zHT8RD7yH9NItGpriFQNLwaMDT7zpZiJZH94N0qw46mH9V62cHGyYXrZHZQCaPxi3vwy1byvG54xZXgaeMwqrop-PnvitfQ6DVtIKIfu05TB/s320/photo.jpg" border="0" />I watched American Teen last night - yes, again with the documentaries - and have now decided on homeschooling Cornbread. Yep, ain't no way in hell I'm sending him out into <em>that. </em>I can't be spending my days driving up to school to kick some kid's ass for making my baby cry. By god I would do it! I had forgotten how bad high school can be. It brought back memories of heartbreaking first loves and the brutal bitchyness of teenage girls. I graduated with a class of 63 and that could be bad enough at times, I can't imagine hundreds. I imagined Cornbread as the lonely, acne ridden teen just looking for his "sock mate". What if he isn't cool? What if he is shy? What if he is lonely? What if someone makes fun of him?! No, no, I can't even think about it. He will be funny and talented and all the ladies will love him - LL Cool LJ - Ladies Love Cool Littlest J. And if they don't Momma Said To Knock You Out will have a whooole new meaning. I mean his pants will eventaully fit right? He won't have to wear them like this forever. If so...I'll be over at the speed bag, gettin' ready to knock a kid flat on their tiny ass.Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06875904749699628335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381199035832682057.post-48515440568171443762009-01-08T19:53:00.000-08:002009-01-08T20:11:34.391-08:00Workin' 9 to 5...or 7:30 to 6:30<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDCTcOp4MH927jkhAHtosULKH3EpfH9Pi1SRcdbMnikr6Tzu6gjbmZyE_JrbDobPYvgOeEEJkYQExY2HHyqnAYCbVAu7JlaxVVVLzBde-8jpJB8Ot-1C-5Z4ezfN9L3LMhmDJbpwwDLqQo/s1600-h/Baby+John4.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDCTcOp4MH927jkhAHtosULKH3EpfH9Pi1SRcdbMnikr6Tzu6gjbmZyE_JrbDobPYvgOeEEJkYQExY2HHyqnAYCbVAu7JlaxVVVLzBde-8jpJB8Ot-1C-5Z4ezfN9L3LMhmDJbpwwDLqQo/s320/Baby+John4.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289140549146575074" border="0" /></a><br />I think I've seen Cornbread (that's my new nickname for Littlest J) about 30 minutes in the last two days. That make-uh me sad. I'm too tired to go into the anxiety that causes me.<br /><br />I mean, who wouldn't miss that face?*<br /><br />*Note: I've struggled with posting pictures of Cornbread. Obviously I've gotten over it. But hear this...if you somehow accidentally stumble across my blog whilst on your way to another site(I mean who are we kidding, that's probably the only way someone would read this)and you become ensnared in Cornbread's net of cuteness and feel an overwhelming need to track us down over the interweb, come to our house and hurt him I will rain down on you like a hell beast and you will wish you were never born. I'm just sayin' is all.Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06875904749699628335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381199035832682057.post-6376606592154841242009-01-06T19:23:00.000-08:002009-01-06T21:00:49.417-08:00MotherhoodHoly...shit - B and I watched the documentary Dear Zachary two nights ago and I think both of us are still trying to get over it. Seriously. The entire next day I couldn't shake it. I woke up thinking about it. The story was gut wrenching but the way it was told was so genuine and honest and beautiful it made the horrible truth bearable. Anybody would be moved, you'd have to be made of stone not to be, but since a child was involved all we could do was see our Littlest J's face and think of the pain we would feel if we lost him. What that disgusting woman did to her child shook me to my core. It literally made me sick. I sobbed for the loss of the Bagbys, the double loss. Watch it if you want to know more, but dear god trust me when I say prepare to be overcome.<br /><br />Then,tonight, one of my best friends told me she couldn't have children.<br /><br />Yes, these two things are related.<br /><br />Both made me think about motherhood and what it really is, what it means. I've come to the conclusion that it has nothing to do with the actual act of carrying and birthing a child.<br /><br />I think we are mothers becuase we love our children. Because we care for them and want them to be happy and healthy and successful, because we would lay down our lives for theirs. I don't think we love our children because they have our features or lived in our stomachs(some longer than others)or have our family name. We love them because they are the purest form of life. The most untouched, newly formed people, full of possibility.<br /><br />I want my friend to know that her inability to have children doesn't mean she can't be a mother. It doesn't make her less of a woman. It doesn't change anything about her. <br /><br />I know that there is a child somewhere, either already on this earth now or waiting in the wings until she is ready, that is hers, ready for her to come and give it the life it deserves, that only she could give. <br /><br />Biological or not her child will benefit from her strength, her positivity, her sense of humor, her huge fucking brain that knows about religions and psychology and poets and books and TV, dear god the never ending knowledge about the television, not the box itself, but what plays on it - our other best friend as we like to call it. The child will roll its eyes at her dramatic renditions of show tunes and laugh at the stories I share about the times we spent together and that damn sock on a hanger.<br /><br />What that child would know for certain is that it is loved. That it has a mother. An excellent mother who couldn't or wouldn't be any better because she had suffered through morning sickness or had swollen feet for a few months.<br /><br />I understand her frustration at how unfair it is that she, someone who wants a child and understands how precious it is, can't have one but so many undeserving people spit kids out every day. I used to feel the same way about the pregnant women I would pass in the hospital parking garage on my way to the NICU - big fat cigarettes hanging out of their mouths, completely unaware of how lucky they are that they were blessed with not only a healthy pregnancy, but the ability to become pregnant in the first place. I think as women we always assume we will have the choice to have children should we want them and that it will go off without a hitch. That isn't always the case and it sucks, but it doesn't make us failures, it doesn't make us freaks. That which does not kill us makes us stronger.<br /><br />So to my friend I say take your time to grieve your loss, process the big pile of shit that was handed to you today, then start on the journey to find your child. The one who will call you mom.Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06875904749699628335noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381199035832682057.post-80164422684991801462009-01-01T06:04:00.000-08:002009-01-01T07:05:49.043-08:00End of the Year ReviewSince the New Year has been rung in with great ferver, in pajamas, through half opened eyes on the couch I wanted to sit down for a moment and reflect on a few of the things I've learned in the last 10 months. I know a year is made up of 12 months, not 10, but I don't really remember a thing about the months before I found out I was pregnant with Littlest J. Soooo, here we go:<br /><br />1. Reruns of Cold Case come on at 3 a.m. here...and it can be pretty scary when you're in the dark with only a wee little newborn to protect you<br />2. Snap/Velcro bibs before throwing them in the wash - that way they won't get all tangled or lose their velcroieness by getting stuck to ever other piece of clothing in your washer<br />3. That being said, Snap onesies before drying them - that way you won't spend a freaking hour trying to dislodge it from your dryer where it has become wedged in some horrible, ungodly way<br />4. Keep plenty of pregnancy tests on hand - nothing is more frightening then thinking you are pregnant, right after you had a baby<br />5. Don't hold your spit-up addicted baby in the morning whilst dressed in work clothes<br />6. Doesn't matter if it is off the "schedule" the minute that little baybay shows signs of being tired, plop them down for a nap<br />7. My husband, my friends and my family are the best anyone could ever dream of having - nothing tests that quite like a little pinch of hospital bed rest and a dash of premature baby<br />8. The prices are pretty much the same at Target and Babies R' Us. Oh and you wanna go to the Babies R' Us in Rivergate NOT the Nolensville Rd. one. Trust me.<br />9. Getting back into your pre-pregnancy jeans feels pret-tee damn nice<br />10. Baby smile - best thing in the world - ever - hands down<br />11. Holy crap I swear my friend Jessie could be a pediatrician - she seriously knows everything about having a baby - and she's always right<br />12. RSV season sucks ass - it's like your sweet little baby is under house arrest - I can't wait until May<br />13. Being a working mom and a stay at home dad isn't as great and easy as we thought it would be - there is something to be said for "traditional" rolls in a marriage, but we make it work damnit<br />14. Babies really do sleep better in their own crib, not shoe horned in between you and your husband<br />15. Video baby monitor - must have - l-o-v-e love it<br />16. You have to find a good pediatrician that you trust and we have an amazing one<br />17. I don't ever want to have a baby anywhere other than Baptist Hospital here in Nashville - I'm serious, I don't care where I live when I get pregant again - I'm coming back to Baptist to have it<br />18. Regardless of what I thought before I was pregnant or swore while I was pregnant being a mother changes you completely<br />19. I love my son more every day<br />20. I have not come to terms with the fact that one day he will be a grown man - Yes, mom, now I know why you say I will always be your baby<br /><br />None of these things are new realizations, I'm sure any mom could list the same things, but they have been my life for the last <span style="font-style: italic;">almost </span>year, my new life, my favorite phase of life, the best part of my life - no offense Brad, our wedding was pretty awesome too - but I know you would agree - and you had just a little something to do with it.<span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /><br />Happy New Year!!Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06875904749699628335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381199035832682057.post-33452722763702229002008-12-20T06:06:00.000-08:002008-12-20T07:14:26.015-08:00My 2 and a Half Hours of FameI love the weekends. Not because I can lay in bed for 7 straight glorious hours, watching a Who's Wedding Is It Anyway marathon, only moving, well because I can't use the bed as a toilet. No, those days are long gone.<br /><br />Sidebar, I just mentally digressed, thinking about the possibilities of wearing an adult diaper to end the annoyance of bathroom breaks during tv time and had a flashback to my dream from last night which involved an old man removing his adult diaper, but the diaper he was wearing looked like a gigantic version of one of J's Pampers Sensitives, complete with the blue stripe down the front, proving that indeed the old man's diaper was full of...something. WTF?<br /><br />Continuing on: I love the weekends because I can spend uninterrupted time with Littlest J. I just did the math in my head and realized that during the week I get to spend about two and a half hours with him everyday, that's about 13 hours over five days. Wow, that's really...not any time at all. And sad. And bad. Monday is the worst day because I'm fresh off of two straight days of LittleJpalooza, but the rest of the week gets easier. I don't have the guilt of leaving him because fortunately he is in his own home with his own father all day, but an hour or so in the morning and an hour at night is really ridiculous. I wonder if that is going to have an affect on our relationship? It doesn't seem to so far. He doesn't seem to prefer B over me. I don't really have a deep thought to accompany this post, it's more so just thinking out loud. I'm going to go sketch out some adult tv diaper designs, I'll let you know what I come up with. Please post name ideas in the comment section. First thought off the top of my head is TV without the PeePee or TV No PeePee. It's a work in progress really.Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06875904749699628335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381199035832682057.post-51786430630529529952008-12-10T08:04:00.000-08:002008-12-10T18:10:12.533-08:00My Son's Intervention<div></div>My name is Littlest J and I have developmental delays. Hiiiii Littlest J. <br /><br />When I started getting mail about my disabled child and the benefits he was entitled to I was a little taken aback. I kept thinking, wait...who you callin' disabled? I was thoroughly confused as to how the crazy ass Social Security lady on the other end of the phone even knew my son existed let alone when and where he was born. I was all yeah lady, I'm going to give you my son's social security number over the phone followed by my blood type and credit card number. Turns out when a child is born under a certain birth weight they are automatically signed up for all kinds of government assistance. This little fact was shared with my husband in between the delivery room and the NICU. I'm not sure why he didn't have a pen handy to jot all of that down...hmmm. Anyway, I was too overwhelmed at the time to really understand what was going on so I put it all off until my mind could process it better. Eventually I called Social Security, apologized for accusing them of trying to commit identity theft, asked for a new case worker after aforementioned crazy ass became <span style="font-style: italic;">super </span>crazy ass and signed Littlest up for whatever help we could get. This in turn qualified him for Medicaid. I never thought that my child would be on Medicaid, hell I didn't even know what the difference between Medicare and Medicaid was. I called all of my friends asking which one's for old people? I still don't necessarily truly understand what Medicaid does, but at this point they're tops in my book for helping shoulder some of the burden brought on by Littlest's medical bills. Another tasty block of government cheese we are currently sampling is TEIS or Tennessee Early Intervention System. After talking to my mother who has devoted her life to teaching children with learning disabilities, my friend Jessie who I go to with every parenting question and Littlest's pediatrician, my husband and I decided it couldn't hurt to listen to what they were offering. We had a representative from TEIS come out and talk to us and learned that the program does just what it sounds like it does. They intervene early, identify developmental delays and teach inept parents like us how to work on them. B was concerned with letting the state into our house, he's a wee bit militia like in that way, I was concerned about having someone come in and highlight what made my child "slow". Now, I'm not stupid, I knew being born three months early just miiight cause Littlest to be behind his peers, but still as a mother, who wants to face that? Anyway, B stopped printing up anti-big government pamphlets and stockpiling guns and I got over myself and realized we needed to do what was best for our child. So today, after an initial evaluation and the creation of a personalized program Littlest met his interventionist. I've always thought one day I would meet <span style="font-style: italic;">my </span>interventionist. I envision it being VanVonderen from A&E's Intervention. I like his laid back approach - but this is another post completely. Back to what I was saying. Mrs. G came around 3:30, I arrived a little after 4 and literally in the first 5 minutes I was home Littlest was on his stomach lifting his head like an old pro. Mrs. G went on to explain some exercises we can practice with Littlest and shared some info she printed off of tennessee.gov that details what a child should be achieving based on their age and some tips on how best to shepherd them along. I don't know what I expected, but I was surprised to see that this woman was genuine and kind and actually cared about helping my child. I guess since TEIS is a government program I expected to see people who were over worked and jaded, protocol that was backward and poor customer service - kind of like the DMV. But as has been our experience ever since I entered the hospital we have only been met with kindness. From our ante-partum nurses who made us feel like we were at home, to the NICU nurses who loved my child like he was their own, to my in-law's neighbor who shared her story of having a child born prematurely, to B's 80 year old co-worker who put us on a prayer list at his church full of people we've never met, to every one of my friends who has listened to me whine and feel sorry for myself, to every person who prayed and prayed for us during our darkest hour, our lives have been touched by people who truly just want to see this child, who came into this world struggling, overcome his circumstances and prove that there is hope and that good things can happen. We have a long way to go and I know there will be set backs and mountains to climb, but with help like this I think we might just make it.Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06875904749699628335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381199035832682057.post-15849339945466383382008-12-09T18:20:00.000-08:002008-12-09T20:41:22.355-08:00Fear of CommitmentI have started this blog seven times. I have posted things only to erase them the next day. I have changed the name from Preemienitions to Notes on a JohnJohn to SomeonePleaseHelpMeFigureOutWhatTheHellIAmDoing. But nothing ever seemed right. Partially because I am not insane and I know I don't have anything to say that hasn't been said a thousand times before. But mainly because I was afraid of my son. I was afraid of how much I loved him and how close we came to losing him. I would find myself conveniently busy about the house when it came time to feed him or change him or bathe him. Don't get me wrong, I did my part, but my husband was doing the bulk of it. It wasn't post-partum, it was the scars left from having him 12 weeks early. One Friday in May, at 25 weeks 6 days, our happiness faded into sheer...fucking...terror. It was two and a half weeks of bed rest, a c-section at 28 weeks 1 day and seven weeks in the NICU. We went from being blissfully unaware of the painful side of pregnancy to being smothered by the reality of it. By the grace of God we all came out relatively unscathed, with the exception of some developmental delays for Littlest J, overall we had the best of what could have been a really bad situation. I loved him ferociously but I was afraid to commit to being his mother. We were too close to what it would feel like to lose a child and I knew if I let myself love him as much as I did and something happened I would never recover. I was afraid of him getting sick, I was afraid of him being blind, I was afraid of what living in a plastic box for almost two months away from the touch of his mother and father would do to him, I was afraid that he wouldn't know me, dear God was I afraid. I needed an outlet for all of the emotional drama so I thought I would start a blog. But as I said earlier, every time I started it, I never knew what to say. I felt like I had zero room to talk about being pregnant, I mean what did I know, I was pregnant for six months and I didn't find out I even was until I was three months so in all truth I was pregnant for about two seconds. Every time I wrote something about being a mother to a premature child I would read it again and feel like I was just showing the negative side. So, I gave up. Now it's been 4 months since Littlest came home and all of the horrible things I was obsessed with protecting him, and me from haven't surfaced. He isn't blind, he has survived a few bouts with the common cold and he knows who I am. I can be sure of that every time he blesses me with the gift of his little, toothless smile. I've chosen to power through my fear and simply love my son. I've lived my whole life a slave to anxiety and in turn I have missed out on too many things. I will not pass that on. I will not risk my child being able to feel that I was holding back from loving him. He is far too precious. I feel like I've known him all my life, like he is the most familiar friend, a little spirit that has always been with me. He was destined to be mine. So I am no longer afraid of my son. I don't care about all the things I missed in those last three months of pregnancy...I'll pick them up on the second go round. I'm moving on and making up for the weeks we missed. My son is a fighter, a survivor, my lesson in faith and someone I am most fearlessly committed to.Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06875904749699628335noreply@blogger.com1