That's it. I'm done. Winter has officially beaten us all. Little W was in Children's Hospital most of last week with pneumonia. Little H is endlessly snotty and I am recovering from strep, tonsilitis and a sinus infection, ALL AT THE SAME TIME. Nothing was scarier than how sick W was before his Dr sent us to the emergency room. The kid was a rag doll. I thought I was done with W in hospitals for a few decades.
He's home now and convalescing nicely. Trying to get him all better in time for his birthday party. Fingers crossed!
Showing posts with label W. Show all posts
Showing posts with label W. Show all posts
Monday, March 4, 2013
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Starting over isn't so bad
Since the baby was born and the father decided to parent, things haven't been too bad around these parts. We were busy with incredibly warm beach days, grown up get-a-ways and little W's third birthday. All of which have been excellent distractions.
Wednesday night we scrambled to throw together a last minute weekend getaway. We gave the boy and the dogs to my parents and we took off to the Finger Lakes in upstate New York. We went there for a short weekend about four or five years ago and we fell instantly in love with the area. We're just two soggy winos at heart and it was calling me back. Loudly.
This was a very healing trip. Our hotel was warm and luxurious (by our standards), our suite was about the size of our home (ha!), the porch was cathartic and the jacuzzi literally healed my (broken) bones.
On Saturday, we hired a chauffeur to take us around for the day to all the wineries on Seneca Lake. We got soggy and stupid by 5:00pm. And we bought a LOT of wine. Like, a serious lot. That's all I can really recant from that experience.
Sunday was a quick trip to Kauka Lake for a visit to a few vineyards before the long trip down to pick W up at my parents. And what trip to wine country would be complete without stopping at super classy Bully Hill?
The ancient memory of twenty three year old Lindsay that lives deep in my head, somewhere was reveling in all their cheap-wine-splendor. Once upon a time, many a night was spent with a bottle of Bully Hill in the crook of my arm. And of course I had to get a few bottles of Sweet Walter. Because, well, that's my Little W! And by late Sunday morning, we were really jonesing for our own sweet Walter.
By the time it was all said and done, we sloshed back down the highway with over three cases of wine of varying colors, flavors and fancy winey words we don't care to understand (seriously... you can't tell me the tannins of your table wine matter as you're downing Wegman's brand spaghetti in your sweatpants on a Tuesday).
Monday was our sweet W's third birthday. How that happened, I'll never know. He's been begging to go to the Franklin Institute to see the traveling dinosaur exhibit for weeks. So we took him there for his birthday. And it scared him to death. Like, little hands plastered over closed eyes the whole time, scared. I have to admit that the exhibit was pretty spooky. Lots of mood lighting and creepy noises gave it an eerie feeling.
So we showed him the rest of the FI, which he loved as much as I remember loving it as a kid. After a long walk down to Reading Terminal Market for his favorite food in the world (Amish pretzel dogs) and back, he decided that "the dinos weren't too scary and I'd like to try it again," which yielded the same, petrified results. Oh well. At least the kid tried. It was a good birthday, for sure. His favorite restaurant sang to him and he was up on an ice cream and present high until 10:15pm.
Now we're all home and our souls have been recharged and we're ready to jump back in and redo our home study and profile book et cetera et cetera. I can not wait to get The (next) Call. I'm so ready for W's little brother or sister. I'm not sobbing myself to sleep at night over this disruption, but I'm not 100% ok, either. I'm in a weird, emotional limbo place and I'm not sure how to express what I'm feeling. "It is what it is" is really the best way to describe it. I'd like to take some time and try to write through my feelings some more, but I'm not quite there yet, from an organizational stand point. I'll get there.
What I can take away from this experience right now is that I am an incredibly fortunate girl. I may have the most amazing husband in the world and my son is just the sweetest thing on two legs. What else can a girl ask for?
Wednesday night we scrambled to throw together a last minute weekend getaway. We gave the boy and the dogs to my parents and we took off to the Finger Lakes in upstate New York. We went there for a short weekend about four or five years ago and we fell instantly in love with the area. We're just two soggy winos at heart and it was calling me back. Loudly.
This was a very healing trip. Our hotel was warm and luxurious (by our standards), our suite was about the size of our home (ha!), the porch was cathartic and the jacuzzi literally healed my (broken) bones.
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| View from our hotel porch |
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| This is me after about eleventy billion glasses of wine. Mmm... wine |
The ancient memory of twenty three year old Lindsay that lives deep in my head, somewhere was reveling in all their cheap-wine-splendor. Once upon a time, many a night was spent with a bottle of Bully Hill in the crook of my arm. And of course I had to get a few bottles of Sweet Walter. Because, well, that's my Little W! And by late Sunday morning, we were really jonesing for our own sweet Walter.
 |
| Bully Hill: Giving Young Lindsay headaches since the year 2000 |
By the time it was all said and done, we sloshed back down the highway with over three cases of wine of varying colors, flavors and fancy winey words we don't care to understand (seriously... you can't tell me the tannins of your table wine matter as you're downing Wegman's brand spaghetti in your sweatpants on a Tuesday).
Monday was our sweet W's third birthday. How that happened, I'll never know. He's been begging to go to the Franklin Institute to see the traveling dinosaur exhibit for weeks. So we took him there for his birthday. And it scared him to death. Like, little hands plastered over closed eyes the whole time, scared. I have to admit that the exhibit was pretty spooky. Lots of mood lighting and creepy noises gave it an eerie feeling.
So we showed him the rest of the FI, which he loved as much as I remember loving it as a kid. After a long walk down to Reading Terminal Market for his favorite food in the world (Amish pretzel dogs) and back, he decided that "the dinos weren't too scary and I'd like to try it again," which yielded the same, petrified results. Oh well. At least the kid tried. It was a good birthday, for sure. His favorite restaurant sang to him and he was up on an ice cream and present high until 10:15pm.
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What I can take away from this experience right now is that I am an incredibly fortunate girl. I may have the most amazing husband in the world and my son is just the sweetest thing on two legs. What else can a girl ask for?
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Catharsis
Thank you, Global Warming for providing me with an unseasonably warm, tshirt/shorts/flip flops kind of day. It did wonders for what ailed me.
In the morning, W and I ran to our adoption agency to drop off checks for the updated home study (um hello salt in the wound!?) then we tossed a blanket, some fishies and juice boxes in my trusty old LL back pack and high tailed it down to the beach. I laid on the blanket and watched the waves roll in and W drove his trucks-du-jour through a maze of old tire tracks. We hunted for shells, dipped our toes in the frigid Atlantic and barrel rolled down the sandy dune hill (broken ribs and all). It was the definition of catharsis. The salt air helped to heal my wounds. I just wish Neil could have been there, too. But then again, someone needs to bring home the bacon.
My doctor, himself couldn't have prescribed anything better. I still smell like a mix of salt and SPF 50, and my hair's wonderfully unsalvageable.
I'm almost ready to go to work tomorrow and field the endless barrage of questions. GAH.
Ok, now I'm ready.
The best part about today is knowing that as awesome as it was, it's not going to be able to hold a candle to what we just planned for this weekend. Stay frosty, friends <insert some kind of winky emoticon here>.
In the morning, W and I ran to our adoption agency to drop off checks for the updated home study (um hello salt in the wound!?) then we tossed a blanket, some fishies and juice boxes in my trusty old LL back pack and high tailed it down to the beach. I laid on the blanket and watched the waves roll in and W drove his trucks-du-jour through a maze of old tire tracks. We hunted for shells, dipped our toes in the frigid Atlantic and barrel rolled down the sandy dune hill (broken ribs and all). It was the definition of catharsis. The salt air helped to heal my wounds. I just wish Neil could have been there, too. But then again, someone needs to bring home the bacon.
My doctor, himself couldn't have prescribed anything better. I still smell like a mix of salt and SPF 50, and my hair's wonderfully unsalvageable.
The best part about today is knowing that as awesome as it was, it's not going to be able to hold a candle to what we just planned for this weekend. Stay frosty, friends <insert some kind of winky emoticon here>.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Stinky Habits Die Hard
I am at a loss. Little W is doing so well with his potty training. He loves peeing on the potty and even wakes up dry several mornings a week. But that's about as far as it goes. The kid poops himself (sometimes two or three times) every day. Every.dang.day. I'm so tired of cleaning the poop up. And I'm at a loss as to how to get him to do it on his potty. He knows that poop's supposed to go in the potty. But he makes zero attempts to put it in there. Grumble. I'm at the point where I'm considering something like taking a toy away when he blatantly makes zero attempts to make it to the potty. I know that goes against EVERY piece of advice in the world. But no amount of rewards seem to sway him (seriously... ice cream sundaes for breakfast, people).
Any pointers from you seasoned veterans? Was your kid scared to drop his deuce in the potty as well?
W and I sing this song all the time. So he gets it. He just doesn't care. He's such a boy.
Over the Rhine as heard on WXPN's Kid's Corner,
This song kills us and it's so catchy. So be careful, you'll likely be singing it to yourself in the market or in the kitchen at work. If you ever have a chance to check out Kid's Corner on XPN, you should. It's very easy to listen online. They even have an app so you can listen on your mobile phone. It's a great kid's program. We listen every night at bath time. We're big fans, if you can't tell.
Any pointers from you seasoned veterans? Was your kid scared to drop his deuce in the potty as well?
W and I sing this song all the time. So he gets it. He just doesn't care. He's such a boy.
Over the Rhine as heard on WXPN's Kid's Corner,
This song kills us and it's so catchy. So be careful, you'll likely be singing it to yourself in the market or in the kitchen at work. If you ever have a chance to check out Kid's Corner on XPN, you should. It's very easy to listen online. They even have an app so you can listen on your mobile phone. It's a great kid's program. We listen every night at bath time. We're big fans, if you can't tell.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
From the Mouths of Babes
Little W is still sick and relegated to the couch. But the only way to keep him convalescing quietly is to rot his brain with cartoons which I'm not too keen on, but it's a small victory. He was just fully engulfed in Dinosaur Train (which I actually really like) when he kind of stopped staring slack-jaw at the tv, walked over to me and said (not quite so eloquently) That Buddy doesn't look like his brothers or sister but they're still a family. It was actually was more like, "Buddy's orange and Tiny's green and they're sisters." So I might be making a stretch in my assumption that he fully grasps the idea that family comes in all forms and love is love, regardless et cetera, but it doesn't matter. He has melted my weary heart into a big, sloppy puddle. Anyone have a mop?
*sobs*
*sobs*
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| Thank you, Dinosaur Train |
Monday, January 2, 2012
Aaaaand..... exhale
Phew. This girl here is glad the holidays are over. Not because I'm a grinch or anything... I love and all the frenzy it brings. Especially now that Little W is old enough to get the whole Santa thing. It was a blast. But it was tiring as heck. Thank goodness for online shopping (and double thank goodness for free shipping).
My husband, Neil was home with us for two weeks so we tried to fill every day with fun stuff for W. We soaked up all the holiday joy-based goodness in Philly including eating our way through Reading Terminal Market. In fact, we ate our way through everything these past 6 weeks. And it shows. Yikes!
Helping Santa prepare all the Christmas magic was more fun than I ever imagined. By Christmas eve, W was worked into a hot Santa lather and on his very best behavior (by 2.5 year old's standards). And I was glad for this because I was desperate to document picture perfect family memories to slather all over our updated profile.
I failed miserably. Christmas came and went in a blaze of wrapping paper and tight schedules. Narry a memory was documented in focus.
New Year's Eve was quiet in our house. We took down all the Christmas decorations, inside and out. Space is a precious thing in our busy little house, so as much as I love my tree and our decorations, it all had.to.go. I needed my space back. After everything was back to normal in our house (except my waistline), we packed all creatures great and small up and headed down to the river for a peaceful stroll. These unseasonably warm afternoons are soooo appreciated (sorry polar bears. I promise to donate to the WWF later this year).
Later that evening, after W was zonked, Neil and I had a sushi making date followed by gorging ourselves on our creations. Holy soy sauce overload! We watched bad tv and rung in the new year like old farts.But it was a perfect night. I happily said hasta las pasta to the wild and crazy nights out of my youth. Well, I'm still pretty youth-ish. 32 ain't ancient, but after chasing a toddler around all day, we felt pretty antiquated.
At least I made it until midnight.
So that was my holiday in a nutshell. In case you were wondering. And now here we are in twenty-dozen. I'm hoping for big things this year. Maybe this will be the year I make it back down to a size 10 (ha!). And I'm hoping beyond hope that this is the year our baby finds us. I don't think my heart can manage another year of The Wait. It's so painfully obvious that little W feels the same way. He wants a baby as much as we do, I think. We got him a baby doll for Christmas and he's very into making sure it's healthy. Repressed NICU memories, perhaps?
So here's to 2012 and here's to friends known and unknown who are navigating The Wait with us. This is going to be our year, I can feel it.
My husband, Neil was home with us for two weeks so we tried to fill every day with fun stuff for W. We soaked up all the holiday joy-based goodness in Philly including eating our way through Reading Terminal Market. In fact, we ate our way through everything these past 6 weeks. And it shows. Yikes!
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| We had to tear him from the train display at Reading Terminal. |
I failed miserably. Christmas came and went in a blaze of wrapping paper and tight schedules. Narry a memory was documented in focus.
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| This is seriously the best Christmas morning shot I got. Kid was on full throttle. |
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| Don't let the serene scene fool you. W was probably screaming about fish poop and trying to jump in the river. |
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| But I did get to sneak of on my own for a minute to do a little nerdy photography. |
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| I love me some global warming |
Later that evening, after W was zonked, Neil and I had a sushi making date followed by gorging ourselves on our creations. Holy soy sauce overload! We watched bad tv and rung in the new year like old farts.But it was a perfect night. I happily said hasta las pasta to the wild and crazy nights out of my youth. Well, I'm still pretty youth-ish. 32 ain't ancient, but after chasing a toddler around all day, we felt pretty antiquated.
At least I made it until midnight.
So that was my holiday in a nutshell. In case you were wondering. And now here we are in twenty-dozen. I'm hoping for big things this year. Maybe this will be the year I make it back down to a size 10 (ha!). And I'm hoping beyond hope that this is the year our baby finds us. I don't think my heart can manage another year of The Wait. It's so painfully obvious that little W feels the same way. He wants a baby as much as we do, I think. We got him a baby doll for Christmas and he's very into making sure it's healthy. Repressed NICU memories, perhaps?
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| "Lungs sound good, mommy." |
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
OH GROSS
I recently had the WORSTTHINGEVER happen and I feel I need to share. I can't be the only person this WORSTTHINGEVER has happened to. I'm hoping someone out there has the courage to speak out and let me know I'm not alone in my suffering.
I'll cut right to the nuts and bolts of it. I was doing a load of diapers in the wash*. A task I've done every day** for a long frickin' time without issue. I removed the soaker inserts from the diaper. I have this routine down to a very hygenic science. I remove the soakers (there's two of them and they're attached by snaps) by their tag. I hold the diaper in one hand and the soakers in the other. I use the diaper to unsnap the soakers from each other and toss all pieces in the washer. It's fast and my hands stay clean. Everyone's happy. Well, it's a one man job. So I'm happy. Whatevs.
So the other day I was going about my business. I was down to the last diaper. Seeing as Little W is doing a super job on the potty... I'm only washing diapers every 3 days, roughly. So this last diapers was old and wet and cold and stinky. I pulled the inserts out and pulled them apart. But I must have been doing it with extra gusto because the large, wet, cold soaker flew back and smacked me square in the face.
I can't even talk about it without dry heaving. So stinking gross. I washed my face like a maniac for a very long time. I may or may not have included a Clorox wipe in the cleansing process...
I'm just (endlessly) glad there was no poop on the diaper. If there were, I may not be here today to tell the story.
*We use Rumparooz and they're just the cutest things ever.
**As much as I love W's adorable diapers, I'm SO over diapers in general. We're about 40% potty trained and anxiously awaiting the last 60%.
I'll cut right to the nuts and bolts of it. I was doing a load of diapers in the wash*. A task I've done every day** for a long frickin' time without issue. I removed the soaker inserts from the diaper. I have this routine down to a very hygenic science. I remove the soakers (there's two of them and they're attached by snaps) by their tag. I hold the diaper in one hand and the soakers in the other. I use the diaper to unsnap the soakers from each other and toss all pieces in the washer. It's fast and my hands stay clean. Everyone's happy. Well, it's a one man job. So I'm happy. Whatevs.
So the other day I was going about my business. I was down to the last diaper. Seeing as Little W is doing a super job on the potty... I'm only washing diapers every 3 days, roughly. So this last diapers was old and wet and cold and stinky. I pulled the inserts out and pulled them apart. But I must have been doing it with extra gusto because the large, wet, cold soaker flew back and smacked me square in the face.
I can't even talk about it without dry heaving. So stinking gross. I washed my face like a maniac for a very long time. I may or may not have included a Clorox wipe in the cleansing process...
I'm just (endlessly) glad there was no poop on the diaper. If there were, I may not be here today to tell the story.
*We use Rumparooz and they're just the cutest things ever.
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| You can read a review of them here at mummies reviews |
Friday, December 2, 2011
Wishful thinking
Well, it's that time of year again. The pumpkins have hit the composter and the twinkling lights of Christmas are going up. I love (LOVE) the holiday season. I love shopping for presents (maybe because I tend to subscribe to the one-for-you-one-for-me style of shopping). I love the smells of Christmas and the overindulgance of sweets and even the hustle and bustle. My husband brought the decorations down from the attic a few days ago, kicked on the SiriusXM Holly channel and a-decorating I went.
Wait... back up. I should interject here that I've been in a very zen place about The Wait. Honestly, I have. No, seriously. Stop rolling your eyes. For a while there, I was so wraped up in The Wait that I was losing sight of the little dude that was standing right in front of me. I took a minute to step back and look at the big picture and I realized I wasn't enjoying the moment to it's fullest. Time with W was being tarnished with unecessary worry. It's not like I was ignoring him or anything. He's the center of my universe every second of the day. But I wasn't enjoying JUST having him. These times of just him and I being together are fleeting. Soon he'll be entering pre-school and soon (hopefully) there will be another little one needing my attention. So, while I'm still anxiously awaiting The Call, I've also remembered to fully relish this time with W.
Ok, so where was I? Right... The boxes were brought down and the christmas jams were kickin'. The tree went up, the decorations were lovingly hung, the trinkets were placed, garlands were strung. And at the bottom of the box were ourstockings. I pulled out mine, my husband's and W's. Then, there at the bottom of the box, all by it's lonesome was stocking #4. I forgot I had purchased it last year when we were just in the home study portion of the process. I had an irrational mother fear last January that we'd get #2 rather quickly and s/he wouldn't have a stocking and I'd have to run out and get one and it wouldn't match the rest of ours and #2 would spend years in therapy because their stocking wasn't the same and therefore their whole life was some sort of sham and it would be all my fault. Right, like I said, it was irrational. So I got a 4th stocking, tucked it in the Christmas box and forgot about it.
And there it sat in front of me, by itself in the box. I momentarily forgot my zen-like approach to The Wait and got a little teary. Then I composed myself and considered my (admittedly crazy) options. I could hang it and put some sort of little baby present to myself in it as a reminder that #2 will happen eventually (maybe a cute little Sophie?). Or I could burn it because it MUST be bad luck to buy something for a baby that doesn't exist (to us) yet. I decided to go a more rational route and just leave it in the box and hope that I'll be able to hang it with care next Christmas.
But on second thought.. when have I ever denied myself the chance to buy a wee little present? Hanging it and putting one or two baby gifts in there may not be so nutso afterall.
I think a little dilusional part of me thought we'd have a baby by this Christmas. I wish I could go back to 2010 Lindsay and tell her to go at this whole thing with a more rational head. Oh well. I'm rational now. Most of the time.
Did any of you buy things for future baby way far in advance like me? When did you start buying yourself baby things? We're lucky that we have skads of toys and gear from Little W, but part of the joy of expecting a baby is getting him/her little toys and cute onesies. So please share with me when you started going nuts in the baby aisle. I'd love to hear.
On a different note, Little W has his first I-made-my-own-friend friend's birthday party this weekend. Should be a hoot!
I hope you all have a wonderful weekend.
xo
Wait... back up. I should interject here that I've been in a very zen place about The Wait. Honestly, I have. No, seriously. Stop rolling your eyes. For a while there, I was so wraped up in The Wait that I was losing sight of the little dude that was standing right in front of me. I took a minute to step back and look at the big picture and I realized I wasn't enjoying the moment to it's fullest. Time with W was being tarnished with unecessary worry. It's not like I was ignoring him or anything. He's the center of my universe every second of the day. But I wasn't enjoying JUST having him. These times of just him and I being together are fleeting. Soon he'll be entering pre-school and soon (hopefully) there will be another little one needing my attention. So, while I'm still anxiously awaiting The Call, I've also remembered to fully relish this time with W.
Ok, so where was I? Right... The boxes were brought down and the christmas jams were kickin'. The tree went up, the decorations were lovingly hung, the trinkets were placed, garlands were strung. And at the bottom of the box were ourstockings. I pulled out mine, my husband's and W's. Then, there at the bottom of the box, all by it's lonesome was stocking #4. I forgot I had purchased it last year when we were just in the home study portion of the process. I had an irrational mother fear last January that we'd get #2 rather quickly and s/he wouldn't have a stocking and I'd have to run out and get one and it wouldn't match the rest of ours and #2 would spend years in therapy because their stocking wasn't the same and therefore their whole life was some sort of sham and it would be all my fault. Right, like I said, it was irrational. So I got a 4th stocking, tucked it in the Christmas box and forgot about it.
And there it sat in front of me, by itself in the box. I momentarily forgot my zen-like approach to The Wait and got a little teary. Then I composed myself and considered my (admittedly crazy) options. I could hang it and put some sort of little baby present to myself in it as a reminder that #2 will happen eventually (maybe a cute little Sophie?). Or I could burn it because it MUST be bad luck to buy something for a baby that doesn't exist (to us) yet. I decided to go a more rational route and just leave it in the box and hope that I'll be able to hang it with care next Christmas.
But on second thought.. when have I ever denied myself the chance to buy a wee little present? Hanging it and putting one or two baby gifts in there may not be so nutso afterall.
I think a little dilusional part of me thought we'd have a baby by this Christmas. I wish I could go back to 2010 Lindsay and tell her to go at this whole thing with a more rational head. Oh well. I'm rational now. Most of the time.
Did any of you buy things for future baby way far in advance like me? When did you start buying yourself baby things? We're lucky that we have skads of toys and gear from Little W, but part of the joy of expecting a baby is getting him/her little toys and cute onesies. So please share with me when you started going nuts in the baby aisle. I'd love to hear.
On a different note, Little W has his first I-made-my-own-friend friend's birthday party this weekend. Should be a hoot!
I hope you all have a wonderful weekend.
xo
Monday, November 21, 2011
A Chicken By Any Other Name
About ten years ago my parents relocated to the country. We had always been city folk all our lives. Well, suburban folk, really. But compared to country folk, we're city slickers. I, being in my early twenties and just starting to forge my way in this wild wold had zero interest in moving to the middle of nowhere with my parents. So I remained a city folk and bid adieu to the comforts of parental proximity. Gone were the days of free laundry-doing and home cooked meals. I mean, they didn't move across the continent or anything, but 90 minutes isn't quite a stone's throw, either. It's just far enough to have to plan the trip. Especially now that we have a toddler. Ninety minutes of "IWANTMYAPPLEJUICENOOOOOOOW" isn't for the short of patience.
My dad recently built a chicken coop and got my mom 5 lovely little hens to live in it. So we packed up the family yesterday and headed over the river and through the woods to attend their coop warming. Good times were had by all and nary a foul was served as food. And most importantly, Little W went ballistic chasing the ladies around the yard. He named two of them Happy Chicken and Fried Chicken. It was a time.
As much as I enjoy living in a bustling neighborhood so close to Philly, watching W with the chicken and all that open space made me wonder if maybe our kids would have more fun if they were country boys (or boys and girls). Playgrounds, museums, walking to school and skads of close-by friends or a horse, room to roam and a pickup truck?
I'm sure there's pros and cons to both lifestyles but I'm curious. What do you think? Are you a country mouse or a city mouse? What are your kids' favorite aspects of where they live? Do you feel they're missing out on anything? Do tell...
My dad recently built a chicken coop and got my mom 5 lovely little hens to live in it. So we packed up the family yesterday and headed over the river and through the woods to attend their coop warming. Good times were had by all and nary a foul was served as food. And most importantly, Little W went ballistic chasing the ladies around the yard. He named two of them Happy Chicken and Fried Chicken. It was a time.
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| W with Happy Chicken and Fried Chicken (I think) |
As much as I enjoy living in a bustling neighborhood so close to Philly, watching W with the chicken and all that open space made me wonder if maybe our kids would have more fun if they were country boys (or boys and girls). Playgrounds, museums, walking to school and skads of close-by friends or a horse, room to roam and a pickup truck?
I'm sure there's pros and cons to both lifestyles but I'm curious. What do you think? Are you a country mouse or a city mouse? What are your kids' favorite aspects of where they live? Do you feel they're missing out on anything? Do tell...
Oh, I'm Aware, Alright...
This month is a busy month for us, as far as national acknowledgments. It's Prematurity Awareness Month as well as National Adoption Awareness Month. Last week, the first World Prematurity Day was celebrated. Maybe it went unnoticed by most people (who haven't been touched by prematurity). But not by me. I thought about all my friends with preemies (some of whom didn't make it) and reveled in how far we've come and continue to come. We're a close knit group of people, even if we don't really know each other too well. We've all felt the same gut wrenching emotions as we rode the NICU roller coaster. So every few weeks when I hear about a friend of a friend who just had a 26 or 28 weeker, I'm always more than happy to extend my contact info to them. When Little W was in the NICU, I would have killed for some been-there-done-that sage wisdom. So I love that I can provide that to future friends. Premies are amazing little people and until you've been touched by one, it's hard to understand just how magical they are.
As an adoptive-mom-in-waiting, I don't have much (of the the tangible variety) to acknowledge Adoption Awareness Month. Seeing as we're "paper pregnant," I guess I could pull together all of our paperwork and make it rain up in this piece. That would make a seriously big mess, so I'll refrain. What I'll probably do one day soon is redo our profile forty seven more times. Maybe I'll hand in one of the edits. May not. Maybe we'll finally get out butts in gear and finish painting the baby's room. Over the past few weeks,we've become masters of avoidance as far as that bedroom is concerned. Rather than get in there and put some elbow grease into the space, I'd much rather sit on the computer and stare at already adorable bedrooms like these, compiled by Design*Sponge.
Anyhoo... Whether you're waiting for The Call or your house is bursting with kiddies (or something in between), what are you doing to recognize National Adoption Awareness Month? I'd love to hear all about it.
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| This is Little W at 1.5 months old, during his second attempt at breathing on his own, sans respirator. |
Anyhoo... Whether you're waiting for The Call or your house is bursting with kiddies (or something in between), what are you doing to recognize National Adoption Awareness Month? I'd love to hear all about it.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Why We're Adopting
"Oh, we're fertile. We have a biological son."
I tossed it out there lightly, without much thought. I saw my words hanging in the room like lead balloons and I tried desperately to shove them back in my mouth. We were at our first formal adoption group class with our agency. We were just asked to discuss our feelings on infertility with the group. Sitting in tight nervous pairs all around us were couples who couldn't have babies. I didn't know their stories. But as I was trying to shove the zeppelin back in my mouth, I could feel their pain They probably had really long infertility stories marred with failed attempts and miscarriages. I felt terrible for seeming so cavalier about what drove us to that meeting. I wanted them to know that we, too felt incredible pain and this wasn't something that we decided to undertake "just because."
I didn't bother to go into the details at that meeting. I didn't tell them that W was just one pound and completely see through when he was born. Or that he suffered a pulmonary hemorrhage that almost killed him and that they were pumping blood out of his collasped lungs for weeks. Or how we couldn't hold him for a month after he was born. Or how he suffered a brain hemorrhage and we weren't sure if he'd ever be able to walk or talk. Maybe I should have. Then they would have understood that there was nothing cavalier about why we were adopting.
Little W and I were quite happy together when I was pregnant. I was getting a cute belly, he was growing, we were doing prenatal yoga and exercising and learning what each other liked to eat. I followed all the rules. I was the picture of pregnant health. Then like a tornado at 25 weeks, we were on hospital bed rest. Preeclampsia was the culprit and it was ANGRY. I barely had time to come to terms with what was happening to us when they took him from me at just 26 weeks. The next four months Little W lived in the NICU and we held constant vigil at his side.
And I Googled things. Lots and lots of things. I found that the chances of this happening again with a subsequent pregnancy where anywhere from 10-70%. No, thank you. Before W was even home with us, we decided that this would be our only foray into the world of reproduction. We could not live with the guilt of trying to make another baby when so much could go wrong. If that kid didn't turn out 100% perfect, I'd blame myself forever and probably wind up pulling a Sylvia Plath.
We decided right then and there that we didn't care whose loins our children came out of. Then about 15 seconds later we decided that we didn't care what color those loins were. And then about 12 months later when we got serious about #2, we decided that if this child was to be of a different race than us, they should have a connection to their birth family. And thus our domestic, open adoption love story began.
Maybe I should have told everyone all of that at that first meeting. If for no other reason than to save face from my mindless gaffe. But honestly, the "why" just doesn't seem all that important to me. What's important is that we have a lot of love to give. We're committed to bringing a beautiful baby home with us and forging a lasting bond with their birth mother. And I think that's a beautiful thing.
I tossed it out there lightly, without much thought. I saw my words hanging in the room like lead balloons and I tried desperately to shove them back in my mouth. We were at our first formal adoption group class with our agency. We were just asked to discuss our feelings on infertility with the group. Sitting in tight nervous pairs all around us were couples who couldn't have babies. I didn't know their stories. But as I was trying to shove the zeppelin back in my mouth, I could feel their pain They probably had really long infertility stories marred with failed attempts and miscarriages. I felt terrible for seeming so cavalier about what drove us to that meeting. I wanted them to know that we, too felt incredible pain and this wasn't something that we decided to undertake "just because."
I didn't bother to go into the details at that meeting. I didn't tell them that W was just one pound and completely see through when he was born. Or that he suffered a pulmonary hemorrhage that almost killed him and that they were pumping blood out of his collasped lungs for weeks. Or how we couldn't hold him for a month after he was born. Or how he suffered a brain hemorrhage and we weren't sure if he'd ever be able to walk or talk. Maybe I should have. Then they would have understood that there was nothing cavalier about why we were adopting.
Little W and I were quite happy together when I was pregnant. I was getting a cute belly, he was growing, we were doing prenatal yoga and exercising and learning what each other liked to eat. I followed all the rules. I was the picture of pregnant health. Then like a tornado at 25 weeks, we were on hospital bed rest. Preeclampsia was the culprit and it was ANGRY. I barely had time to come to terms with what was happening to us when they took him from me at just 26 weeks. The next four months Little W lived in the NICU and we held constant vigil at his side.
And I Googled things. Lots and lots of things. I found that the chances of this happening again with a subsequent pregnancy where anywhere from 10-70%. No, thank you. Before W was even home with us, we decided that this would be our only foray into the world of reproduction. We could not live with the guilt of trying to make another baby when so much could go wrong. If that kid didn't turn out 100% perfect, I'd blame myself forever and probably wind up pulling a Sylvia Plath.
We decided right then and there that we didn't care whose loins our children came out of. Then about 15 seconds later we decided that we didn't care what color those loins were. And then about 12 months later when we got serious about #2, we decided that if this child was to be of a different race than us, they should have a connection to their birth family. And thus our domestic, open adoption love story began.
Maybe I should have told everyone all of that at that first meeting. If for no other reason than to save face from my mindless gaffe. But honestly, the "why" just doesn't seem all that important to me. What's important is that we have a lot of love to give. We're committed to bringing a beautiful baby home with us and forging a lasting bond with their birth mother. And I think that's a beautiful thing.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
An Unexpected Addition...
This weekend was full of happy additions. On Friday, my piano was moved from my parent's house to my abode which filled me with all sorts of mushy emotions. My grandfather (Big W) bought it for my mom back when she was a little girl. She and her sister both played it dutifully but it was so much more than just an instrument. It was a backdrop for so many family memories. Christmas morning, Easter dresses, proms and plays. The piano was always there, helping to mark so many occasions. Then it was moved to my parent's house and was my piano. I sat at that thing every day of my life for 30 minutes banging out wrong cords and flat keys. Now it's sitting in my dining room as Little W's piano, waiting for him to learn it's ways.
Another addition this weekend was less anticipated. We done lost our minds and adopted two kittens from the shelter's adopt-a-thon. They're lovely little babies that have turned our house into a full blown zoo. They've settled into their new home like they've lived here a million years and promptly put the two dogs in their place. The swiffer is a-sweepin' and Little W is just tickled pink with his new babies.
Between the toddler bashing the piano and the cacophony of animals, our home might actually be the loudest house in NJ. Now all we need is baby#2 and everything will be (insanely) complete.
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| A house just isn't a home without a well loved piano |
Another addition this weekend was less anticipated. We done lost our minds and adopted two kittens from the shelter's adopt-a-thon. They're lovely little babies that have turned our house into a full blown zoo. They've settled into their new home like they've lived here a million years and promptly put the two dogs in their place. The swiffer is a-sweepin' and Little W is just tickled pink with his new babies.
Between the toddler bashing the piano and the cacophony of animals, our home might actually be the loudest house in NJ. Now all we need is baby#2 and everything will be (insanely) complete.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Meet Little W, my NICU Miracle Man
This is Little W and he is just the apple of my eye. I know I'm partial, but I think he's quite an amazing little dude.
He overcame incredible odds at a very tender age. Little W was born 14 weeks early and spent 106 days in the NICU. That was pretty sucky. But now he's an amazing 32 month old boy with boundless energy and an iron will (that tests me at every turn), which I am endlessly thankful for. Because without that iron will, he very well might not be here with us today.
W's very into trains, trucks, cars, playing hide and seek and most recently, dinosaurs. I love indulging his new passions, as rudimentary as they may be at this point. What passions do your children have? What do you do to indulge them aside from buying piles of plastic toys?
He overcame incredible odds at a very tender age. Little W was born 14 weeks early and spent 106 days in the NICU. That was pretty sucky. But now he's an amazing 32 month old boy with boundless energy and an iron will (that tests me at every turn), which I am endlessly thankful for. Because without that iron will, he very well might not be here with us today.
W's very into trains, trucks, cars, playing hide and seek and most recently, dinosaurs. I love indulging his new passions, as rudimentary as they may be at this point. What passions do your children have? What do you do to indulge them aside from buying piles of plastic toys?
The Waiting Game that is Adoption
I had a whole post planned this morning about some of the bright and shiny things I was planning on getting for baby#2's room. Then my cell phone rang and that whole train of thought and a few beats of my heart flew out the window. I don't know if it's this way for all waiting adoptive families, but every time my cell phone rings, my heart skips a few beats. It's in my pocket or in my hand every second of the day. And it makes me crazy. I mean, my actual phone doesn't make me crazy. I have a deep love for my iphone. But The Wait drives me crazy. Seriously crazy.
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| RING, DANGIT!!! |
But that doesn't mean I don't have moments of unflattering spazz-out-titude when my phone rings and I'm not in the same room as it and I push people out of my way like a linebacker to get to it before it goes to voicemail (nevermind the fact that it's the Red Cross looking to take my blood like, 80% of the time). It's not attractive but it does provide a wee bit of comic relief to those watching. So there's a silver lining, I guess.
So if anyone ever reads this blog, I'd love to hear some stories about your Wait. It's such a unique experience and I have to assume that there's other people out there who have done silly things like upturning a sleeping dog to get to their cell phone in time (why did my darling W decide that mommy's phone belonged in our dog's bed anyhoo?).
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