It's June.
Summer has officially started, yet in our house, recently winter has come to mind, or more specifically Christmas time.
Blogging about boobs, babies, bed lust and everything in between since 2007.
Showing posts with label milestone. Show all posts
Showing posts with label milestone. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Perspective
At ten months old, with a stolen sip of milk, the hives take over her face.
In a frantic call to the pediatrician, "bring her right over" I'm told.
Panic overtakes my belly, as Maeve giggles in the car seat.
"Most likely, we're looking at a milk allergy" the doctor responds after a five minute examination. "I recommend you make an appointment with a pediatric allergist as soon as possible."
Only a month later, I hold Maeve in my arms as we are ushered to the exam room.
Sitting in my lap, blissfully unaware of what is to occur, she leans her head back onto my chest. Reaching her hand up, she finds my hair, and starts playing.
I take a deep breath as the nurse enters.
"We're going to do a scratch test. We'll test her for the most common allergies: milk, egg, peanuts, tree nuts, and wheat. You'll have to be here for a while, as we wait to see if she has a reaction."
Those big blue eyes meet my own as the tears stream down. She tries to scratch, as I bat her hand away.
"You'll be okay" I whisper into her ear, reassuring both of us in that moment.
I see the small bumps have formed in seven of the eight areas, allergic reactions to everything. Only the control group has failed to yield a hive.
The diagnosis hits like a weighted brick square in the chest:
milk,
egg,
peanut,
tree nut allergies,
and for good measure
a sensitivity to wheat.
What am I going to feed this kid?
No ice cream?
No grilled cheese?
No french toast?
No peanut butter and jelly?
Life goes on.
Over time, avoidance and substitution become the norm. Easily soy milk finds its place instead of cow's, jelly sandwiches minus peanut butter, Italian ice in place of ice cream. Benedryl and an epi pen always close by, just in case.
It surprises me, nearly a year later, that a blood test reveals the milk allergy may have dissipated. We are given a date to meet at the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia to partake in a milk challenge.
Two weeks prior, a nurse from the allergist calls to further explain the process. Over the course of a morning she will consume milk in various quantities, while we wait in between, hoping for no reaction. We will be in the safety of the hospital, in the event an adverse reaction occurs. She is not to have any food or non clear liquid after midnight, and the process should take six to eight hours from start to finish.
"Do you think she'll pass?" Bry asks.
"I hope so" I respond. "It will be so much easier for her not to have this milk allergy".
On Wednesday, I wake at 5:15, and spend the next forty minutes feigning sleep, the anticipation of the day keeps me from rest.
At 6:55, we're heading to the hospital, a cooler packed with cow's milk, soy milk, juice, soy yogurt, apple sauce and other foods, my laptop, assorted toys, and the diaper bag fill the car.
At 7:28 we find the waiting room and register
By 7:50, we're taken up to the floor.
We are showed our space. Formerly patient rooms, they have been modified to meet the needs of the four children who will challenge their food allergies on this day.
Maeve is weighed, her height is recorded and an overall exam is performed.
Not quite 8:15, they mix the powdered milk substance into the soy yogurt.
"Are you hungry?" the nurse asks.
"Yup!" Maeve responds, and eagerly accepts spoonfuls of the yogurt.
A timer is set for twenty minutes.
Finding the doll stroller in my bag, Maeve eagerly reaches for it. Adjusting her small baby doll inside, she pushes it out the room, down the hall. Stopping at the nurses station, a few feet again, we turn and walk back. We continue the pace for twenty minutes until the timer beeps.
With a quick assessment more yogurt is consumed. She finishes and grabs her stroller and off we go.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Braver with boundaries, our path gets longer with each walk. Pushing the plastic stroller she makes her way to the end of the hallway.
I hear the beeping through the open door and sneak a peek inside.
The room is open, filled with the bright overhead light, and five beds sit along the perimeter. Kids sit in each bed, tweens and teens, if I had to guess, each with an IV running to their arms. One works on a laptop, while another, a girl, sleeps, a protective mask over her face.
"C'mon mommy" Maeve pleads, bringing me back to reality. With a deep breath, I walk on.
I notice a bulletin board filled with information regarding sickle cell anemia and blood transfusions. In that moment, I discover the food challenge shares the floor with blood transfusions.
I spy Maeve ahead, walking gingerly, pushing her beloved stroller.
Our visit is just for the day.
Our tenure at this hospital will be over before it really begins. Our life will go on once with leave, with this day, this food challenge, just one more moment in our life.
The kids in the other room aren't so lucky.
This is their life, frequent visits to the hospital, lost hours spent hooked to machines. They are familiar with these halls, with these rooms, with this staff.
Their reality so different from ours.
I can't help but think how very lucky I am.
After no reaction from the powdered milk, Maeve is coerced into drinking four ounces of cow's milk through the addition of strawberry syrup and a straw.
We wait for another two hours, to ensure no latent reactions and when nothing occurs, are discharged with the loss of one milk allergy.
Walking out, our spirits filled, we stand outside the oncology department as we wait for the elevator to the parking deck.
Again, taking a deep breath, I take a minute to be thankful.
In a frantic call to the pediatrician, "bring her right over" I'm told.
Panic overtakes my belly, as Maeve giggles in the car seat.
"Most likely, we're looking at a milk allergy" the doctor responds after a five minute examination. "I recommend you make an appointment with a pediatric allergist as soon as possible."
Only a month later, I hold Maeve in my arms as we are ushered to the exam room.
Sitting in my lap, blissfully unaware of what is to occur, she leans her head back onto my chest. Reaching her hand up, she finds my hair, and starts playing.
I take a deep breath as the nurse enters.
"We're going to do a scratch test. We'll test her for the most common allergies: milk, egg, peanuts, tree nuts, and wheat. You'll have to be here for a while, as we wait to see if she has a reaction."
Those big blue eyes meet my own as the tears stream down. She tries to scratch, as I bat her hand away.
"You'll be okay" I whisper into her ear, reassuring both of us in that moment.
I see the small bumps have formed in seven of the eight areas, allergic reactions to everything. Only the control group has failed to yield a hive.
The diagnosis hits like a weighted brick square in the chest:
milk,
egg,
peanut,
tree nut allergies,
and for good measure
a sensitivity to wheat.
What am I going to feed this kid?
No ice cream?
No grilled cheese?
No french toast?
No peanut butter and jelly?
Life goes on.
Over time, avoidance and substitution become the norm. Easily soy milk finds its place instead of cow's, jelly sandwiches minus peanut butter, Italian ice in place of ice cream. Benedryl and an epi pen always close by, just in case.
It surprises me, nearly a year later, that a blood test reveals the milk allergy may have dissipated. We are given a date to meet at the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia to partake in a milk challenge.
Two weeks prior, a nurse from the allergist calls to further explain the process. Over the course of a morning she will consume milk in various quantities, while we wait in between, hoping for no reaction. We will be in the safety of the hospital, in the event an adverse reaction occurs. She is not to have any food or non clear liquid after midnight, and the process should take six to eight hours from start to finish.
"Do you think she'll pass?" Bry asks.
"I hope so" I respond. "It will be so much easier for her not to have this milk allergy".
On Wednesday, I wake at 5:15, and spend the next forty minutes feigning sleep, the anticipation of the day keeps me from rest.
At 6:55, we're heading to the hospital, a cooler packed with cow's milk, soy milk, juice, soy yogurt, apple sauce and other foods, my laptop, assorted toys, and the diaper bag fill the car.
At 7:28 we find the waiting room and register
By 7:50, we're taken up to the floor.
We are showed our space. Formerly patient rooms, they have been modified to meet the needs of the four children who will challenge their food allergies on this day.
Maeve is weighed, her height is recorded and an overall exam is performed.
Not quite 8:15, they mix the powdered milk substance into the soy yogurt.
"Are you hungry?" the nurse asks.
"Yup!" Maeve responds, and eagerly accepts spoonfuls of the yogurt.
A timer is set for twenty minutes.
Finding the doll stroller in my bag, Maeve eagerly reaches for it. Adjusting her small baby doll inside, she pushes it out the room, down the hall. Stopping at the nurses station, a few feet again, we turn and walk back. We continue the pace for twenty minutes until the timer beeps.
With a quick assessment more yogurt is consumed. She finishes and grabs her stroller and off we go.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Braver with boundaries, our path gets longer with each walk. Pushing the plastic stroller she makes her way to the end of the hallway.
I hear the beeping through the open door and sneak a peek inside.
The room is open, filled with the bright overhead light, and five beds sit along the perimeter. Kids sit in each bed, tweens and teens, if I had to guess, each with an IV running to their arms. One works on a laptop, while another, a girl, sleeps, a protective mask over her face.
"C'mon mommy" Maeve pleads, bringing me back to reality. With a deep breath, I walk on.
I notice a bulletin board filled with information regarding sickle cell anemia and blood transfusions. In that moment, I discover the food challenge shares the floor with blood transfusions.
I spy Maeve ahead, walking gingerly, pushing her beloved stroller.
Our visit is just for the day.
Our tenure at this hospital will be over before it really begins. Our life will go on once with leave, with this day, this food challenge, just one more moment in our life.
The kids in the other room aren't so lucky.
This is their life, frequent visits to the hospital, lost hours spent hooked to machines. They are familiar with these halls, with these rooms, with this staff.
Their reality so different from ours.
I can't help but think how very lucky I am.
After no reaction from the powdered milk, Maeve is coerced into drinking four ounces of cow's milk through the addition of strawberry syrup and a straw.
We wait for another two hours, to ensure no latent reactions and when nothing occurs, are discharged with the loss of one milk allergy.
Walking out, our spirits filled, we stand outside the oncology department as we wait for the elevator to the parking deck.
Again, taking a deep breath, I take a minute to be thankful.
The following day, we celebrate with strawberry ice cream as the milk allergy is officially gone.
Linking up with Erica M's newest venture, the Hangout Grid on Yeah Write
Also linking up with Shell, as I pour it all out.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Too Late
"So Aunt Lyns, when Patrick gonna get cut out of you?"
We froze mid step, processing the comment.
When my nearly four year old uttered this phrase to our expectant friend about a week ago, I guess this should have been that teachable moment.
You know, the one where I give her the truth about reproduction and childbirth.
Not.
Instead, I looked to my friend Lynsay wide eyed in a state of fear and confusion. She returned my glance with her own blank stare.
"Um, we'll see Mo" she uttered, her eyes fixed on me, looking for direction.
"Yeah Mo," I started, "It's still only March. Patrick won't be here until after your birthday. Sometime in April, he'll be born."
"So that's when they'll cut you, right?" she asked.
"Yeah" nodding along, "yeah, that's right. Um...who wants lunch?" I pleaded, changing the subject.
There was no way I was talking reproduction with my nearly four year old in the breezeway in our local downtown.
Later I rehashed the conversation with Bry. Between dramatic eye rolls and excessive head shaking, he stuttered, "Should we prepare ourselves, you know, in case she asks more?" Visibly shaken and in a state of disbelief, as he continued, "I mean, seriously? How many kids her age ask about stuff like this?"
"No way." I said. "I am NOT having the birds and the bees conversation with her. She's too young. I don't need to be THAT mom. Plus, she saw my c-section scar this morning when I was getting dressed, that might have been on her mind. That's it. She won't ask."
"You sure?" he asked, "You're the teacher". His deference apparent in his voice.
"No way would she ask" I countered."No way, I sincerely doubt she will ask anything more."
Damn you kid!
Descending the stairs Saturday night, the hurried cadence of his footsteps let me know something was wrong.
"We've got a huge problem, " Bry started, "you might want to turn off the TV for this one. It's all your fault." His brow furrowed, as he melted into the couch. "You said we'd be okay."
In those few seconds, my mind wandered frantically, fear over what it could be.
"What is it?" I asked, switching off the television. Turning towards him, I noticed the look of disgust on his face.
"You said we'd have time. Just a few days ago, you said not too worry." his voice a little louder than a whisper, as he shook his head side to side.
"Well what is it? Is it Mo? Maeve? Is everything okay?" I pleaded, attempting to suppress the panic in my voice.
"No. She asked" as he gulped air, "where babies come from?"
"Excuse me?" I said, "She asked what?"
"She wanted to know how PJ got in Aunt Lynsay's belly."
"So what did you say?" my own eyes widening in anticipate of his response. "What did you say?"
"Well, I had no clue. I mean, you told me, 'Don't worry Bry. She won't ask' " he said, using his best fake Jackie voice, " 'There's no way she'd ask'. Well, guess what Jac, She DID! And I was stuck, like a bumbling idiot, just stuck!"
"What did you say?" I asked, my stomach sinking.
"I told her mommies have eggs and daddies have seeds."
"Seeds?" I questioned, suppressing my laughter, "Seriously, you went with seeds?"
"I was not prepared for this Jac," his eyes focused and serious, "I thought it was better than SPERM!"
"True," I conceded, "so what else did you say."
"I told her daddies and mommies kiss. Then the daddies give the mommies their seed for their eggs. But then she got all confused, and I got flustered. I shouldn't have mentioned kissing. Seriously Jac, we should have talked about this. You should have been the one talking."
"Why didn't you ask her what she thinks?" I said. "Remember, we said that before, ask them what they think first! Always ask them what they think!"
"I was shocked, I mean, seriously, you told me not to worry about this" he strained, the stress of the event written across his face. "I stopped with the kissing, because she seemed confused, and then I figured, she'd be thinking a baby would end up in her belly if she kissed Maeve or me. God knows we don't need to stress her out anymore."
"True, so go on."
"So I went back and explained that kissing does not bring a baby. I told her the daddy gives the mommy his seed and then baby grows. Then she said something ridiculous."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"She asked where mommies and daddies do this. I was honest and told her in the house. She then asked if she could watch."
I couldn't hold it in anymore, as the laughter filled the living room.
"Laugh" he smirked, "you weren't the one dealing with this."
"So what did you say? I mean she asked to watch her parents have sex!" I laughed.
"I told her it was private, and then she asked where she would be when it happens. I told her in her room. She then asked if it could happen when she had a sleepover with Grammie and Popsie, and I said sure, it could. She then asked if it could happen when she's with Grammie with the Bracelets. Again, I said sure. Then she asked where she could sleep at my mom's and I realized the conversation had shifted. I told her we'd let her sleep in Casey's room, with Maeve in the pack and play. She then said that was a good idea. I asked if she had any other questions, praying she was done, when she said no, kissed me on the cheek and told me she was ready to go to sleep. I don't believe it Jac. I can't believe this." he finished.
"So, in a nutshell our kid now thinks Dads have seeds, Mommies have eggs, and she can't watch daddy put the seed in mommy, but she'll be most likely in the house when it happens, right?" I asked. "Did I miss anything?"
"No, Jac. That's about it." he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I do have one thing to add here. I will not be putting the girls to bed the next few nights. I can't handle anything more."
"What more could she ask, babe?" I asked. "I think you covered it all".
"Just in case," he said, "you've got bedtime the next three nights. I need a beer."
And that my friends, is how Mo learned about reproduction a week before her fourth birthday.
Linking up with the wonderful, the phenomenal, the fantastic Yeah Write community. These bloggers seriously write some of the best stuff on the blogosphere, leaving me in their dust. Show them some love, leave some comments, and on Thursday vote for the best. Feel free to take pity on me, and throw me some love too.
We froze mid step, processing the comment.
When my nearly four year old uttered this phrase to our expectant friend about a week ago, I guess this should have been that teachable moment.
You know, the one where I give her the truth about reproduction and childbirth.
Not.
Instead, I looked to my friend Lynsay wide eyed in a state of fear and confusion. She returned my glance with her own blank stare.
"Um, we'll see Mo" she uttered, her eyes fixed on me, looking for direction.
"Yeah Mo," I started, "It's still only March. Patrick won't be here until after your birthday. Sometime in April, he'll be born."
"So that's when they'll cut you, right?" she asked.
"Yeah" nodding along, "yeah, that's right. Um...who wants lunch?" I pleaded, changing the subject.
There was no way I was talking reproduction with my nearly four year old in the breezeway in our local downtown.
Later I rehashed the conversation with Bry. Between dramatic eye rolls and excessive head shaking, he stuttered, "Should we prepare ourselves, you know, in case she asks more?" Visibly shaken and in a state of disbelief, as he continued, "I mean, seriously? How many kids her age ask about stuff like this?"
"No way." I said. "I am NOT having the birds and the bees conversation with her. She's too young. I don't need to be THAT mom. Plus, she saw my c-section scar this morning when I was getting dressed, that might have been on her mind. That's it. She won't ask."
"You sure?" he asked, "You're the teacher". His deference apparent in his voice.
"No way would she ask" I countered."No way, I sincerely doubt she will ask anything more."
Damn you kid!
Descending the stairs Saturday night, the hurried cadence of his footsteps let me know something was wrong.
"We've got a huge problem, " Bry started, "you might want to turn off the TV for this one. It's all your fault." His brow furrowed, as he melted into the couch. "You said we'd be okay."
In those few seconds, my mind wandered frantically, fear over what it could be.
"What is it?" I asked, switching off the television. Turning towards him, I noticed the look of disgust on his face.
"You said we'd have time. Just a few days ago, you said not too worry." his voice a little louder than a whisper, as he shook his head side to side.
"Well what is it? Is it Mo? Maeve? Is everything okay?" I pleaded, attempting to suppress the panic in my voice.
"No. She asked" as he gulped air, "where babies come from?"
"Excuse me?" I said, "She asked what?"
"She wanted to know how PJ got in Aunt Lynsay's belly."
"So what did you say?" my own eyes widening in anticipate of his response. "What did you say?"
"Well, I had no clue. I mean, you told me, 'Don't worry Bry. She won't ask' " he said, using his best fake Jackie voice, " 'There's no way she'd ask'. Well, guess what Jac, She DID! And I was stuck, like a bumbling idiot, just stuck!"
"What did you say?" I asked, my stomach sinking.
"I told her mommies have eggs and daddies have seeds."
"Seeds?" I questioned, suppressing my laughter, "Seriously, you went with seeds?"
"I was not prepared for this Jac," his eyes focused and serious, "I thought it was better than SPERM!"
"True," I conceded, "so what else did you say."
"I told her daddies and mommies kiss. Then the daddies give the mommies their seed for their eggs. But then she got all confused, and I got flustered. I shouldn't have mentioned kissing. Seriously Jac, we should have talked about this. You should have been the one talking."
"Why didn't you ask her what she thinks?" I said. "Remember, we said that before, ask them what they think first! Always ask them what they think!"
"I was shocked, I mean, seriously, you told me not to worry about this" he strained, the stress of the event written across his face. "I stopped with the kissing, because she seemed confused, and then I figured, she'd be thinking a baby would end up in her belly if she kissed Maeve or me. God knows we don't need to stress her out anymore."
"True, so go on."
"So I went back and explained that kissing does not bring a baby. I told her the daddy gives the mommy his seed and then baby grows. Then she said something ridiculous."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"She asked where mommies and daddies do this. I was honest and told her in the house. She then asked if she could watch."
I couldn't hold it in anymore, as the laughter filled the living room.
"Laugh" he smirked, "you weren't the one dealing with this."
"So what did you say? I mean she asked to watch her parents have sex!" I laughed.
"I told her it was private, and then she asked where she would be when it happens. I told her in her room. She then asked if it could happen when she had a sleepover with Grammie and Popsie, and I said sure, it could. She then asked if it could happen when she's with Grammie with the Bracelets. Again, I said sure. Then she asked where she could sleep at my mom's and I realized the conversation had shifted. I told her we'd let her sleep in Casey's room, with Maeve in the pack and play. She then said that was a good idea. I asked if she had any other questions, praying she was done, when she said no, kissed me on the cheek and told me she was ready to go to sleep. I don't believe it Jac. I can't believe this." he finished.
"So, in a nutshell our kid now thinks Dads have seeds, Mommies have eggs, and she can't watch daddy put the seed in mommy, but she'll be most likely in the house when it happens, right?" I asked. "Did I miss anything?"
"No, Jac. That's about it." he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I do have one thing to add here. I will not be putting the girls to bed the next few nights. I can't handle anything more."
"What more could she ask, babe?" I asked. "I think you covered it all".
"Just in case," he said, "you've got bedtime the next three nights. I need a beer."
And that my friends, is how Mo learned about reproduction a week before her fourth birthday.
Linking up with the wonderful, the phenomenal, the fantastic Yeah Write community. These bloggers seriously write some of the best stuff on the blogosphere, leaving me in their dust. Show them some love, leave some comments, and on Thursday vote for the best. Feel free to take pity on me, and throw me some love too.
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