My Boy

I hate to even type this out, for serious fear that I'll jinx us and things will go back to "before", but here it is anyway.

About 6 months ago I realized the kid had gained a lot of weight. Like 30lbs in a year. And his behavior was off the charts. It had been cyclical before (for example, take a look at the last several years this time and you'll see me complaining) but over the previous 6-12months, it had been near constant. He was having a horrible school year and the thing I'd dreaded since he started at public school in kindergarten had finally happened - the school thought he needed to be diagnosed with ADHD and put on medication. I eventually relented and agreed to do testing, but it showed, like I knew it would, that he did not meet the diagnostic criteria for ADHD. I talked with our behavioral health social workers, the MDs who run the ADHD clinic, and the child psychiatrist at work and they agreed with me that he didn't meet the criteria.

Cue the appt with the pedi. She did the whole "he needs to eat better foods and get more exercise" talk. I did the whole "we rarely eat junk food - heck even processed food - and this is about the most active kid I know" response. She talked about sending him to a "program" (for overweight kids). I told her where to stick that idea and that I'd follow up with the High BMI MDs and Peds Endocrine MDs at work and let her know what they had to say.

I had a sneaking suspicion that this all (the behavior and the weight gain) all stemmed from some allergy medicine prescribed about 11 months prior by the allergist (who is an awful B, but that's a story for another day). Pedi disagreed. BMI MD and nurse practitioner disagreed. Endo MD at first disagreed. But then she took a really good look at his growth chart (shot up from a consistent 75th% over the last many years to >99th% in weight and BMI in just a year!!), ordered some labs and a hand xray, looked at some pics of him from a year prior, then stopped into my office a few days later. She thought, just maybe, I might be right. She couldn't tell me what to do allergy medicine-wise, but suggested I call the allergy MD to see what else they could put him on.

I refused to have anything else to do with that allergy MD, so just stopped the med on my own and did some research. (Actually, I had had already stopped it a few weeks prior, because I was that convinced it was at least part of the problem.) After talking with another of the BMI MDs, who actually agreed that something was seriously amiss with my boy - and not something that had to do with diet or activity - I asked the pedi to order a different, non-steroid medicine.

And, don't you know, that since then (about 6 months and counting), my boy hasn't gained an ounce. Nothing. And the whole year before then, he was averaging a gain of about 2.5lbs a month.

My kid, who had been displaying some concerning symptoms of anxiety, in addition to the impulsivity and distractability, well, he's a different kid. Gone are all symptoms of anxiety. Gone is the distractability. Gone are the angst-y, middle school girl-esque throw-myself-on-the-floor-and-sob-over-who-the-eff-knows-what fits.

Now, my kid is still there. He's still not perfect. But it seems like the essence of who *he* is, well, it's finally back in the forefront. My fairly easygoing boy who smiles and laughs all the time, who is so damn smart and loves to learn. That kid is back. And I realized he's been buried beneath a mist of steroids for years. It may be the allergy med that awful MD prescribed a year ago (well, a year and half now) that pushed him over the edge, but I realized this all started when he started on Qvar for his asthma when he was about 3yo. And, man, do I feel shitty about that.

All this time I've known something wasn't right with my kid. I've blamed the fall behavior issues on the allergies. And, yes, the allergies which lead to the asthma, which lead to him not sleeping as well, that is part of the issues. But, really, it was the allergies, that lead to the asthma, that led to us giving him the Qvar and nasal allergy medicine that caused the problems. They're what caused the problems.

Now, the MDs all tried to say that those steroids are inhaled, thus won't cause issues. Well, they were wrong. Every damn one of them. So, so very wrong. At least with my kid. And a couple of the MDs wanted to "write this up" and publish it "because that's how pediatricians learn". But, well, my kid, so I get to write it up my way. Especially since I'm the one who made this medical "discovery". Me. Not the 4-5 MDs I consulted who are "experts". Me. Just the mom. Just the lowly social worker with limited medical knowledge. And while I'm proud that I figured this out, I'm also pissed that no one else did earlier. And I'm pissed that no one - including me - figured this out years ago. I'm pissed about the difficulties my kid has had, the difficulties in our relationship we could have avoided.

But, it is what it is. We know now and we'll never allow him to be given steroids again.

And, for the record, his allergies and asthma are now so much better controlled anyway than they were with those other meds. So go figure.


Today's Lesson: For the mamas, listen to your gut. Don't let the "professionals" blow you off. For everyone else (MDs, dads, grandmas, etc...), just effing listen to the mama. Research even shows she's probably right.

HAWMC: Day 2

Today's prompt is "Introductions". I am instructed to introduce my "condition" to other bloggers or share links of some of my old posts that will help the "newly diagnosed". Um, so I don't exactly have one specific condition I'm focusing on here. So, here's what I decided to do. I'm going to give you a few links that cover some of the health issues I discuss here, particularly some of those that seem to bring people here most often.

1. Inducing Lactation - I get lots of questions about how I induced lactation. Here's the post that explains it. 
2. Red Dye-Free Antibiotics - we realized early on that red dye40 (just 40, Red 5 is fine for some reason) and the kid don't mix well together.  And, both personally and professionally, I've realized the huge impact it can have on a child's behavior. Now, though I've never seen/paid attention to adults, I'd suspect it can affect them as well (well, those who are sensitive to it, surely everyone doesn't outgrow that).
3. Donor Breast Milk - Unless you're new around here, you're well aware that baby E has been fed with donor breast milk since he was about 3 months old. Here's the first post I did "coming out" about using donor milk, and explaining our reasons for making that choice. I'm still so thankful to the milk mommies who still give this special gift to baby E.
4. Infertility - Seems like I ought to include a post about IF. I mean, there are so many to choose from, how do I choose just one? Randomly, that's how that happened. So feel free to read this one, or any of the others.

And, that's all I've got for today. Happy Tuesday, friends. More tomorrow.


Today's Lesson: In order to find these posts, I found myself reading over the last few years since I started this blog. It's interesting to see what's changed. And what hasn't. Sometimes we all need reminders of where we've been, to be able to more fully acknowledge where we now are.

Glued

And then, right after I declared us sick-y free...and nearly dared the fates to give us anything else, the kid fell at school (thanks to a kid who slung a swing at him, hitting him in the head and making him fall to the ground, landing on his head). And got a good sized laceration on his head. Fortunately we avoided the ED and the pediatrician was able to glue it together. 

 

After he stopped screaming. While I was holding him immobilized. Because he was TERRIFIED of the electric razor. So SCREAMED. And then TERRIFIED of the gauze.  So SCREAMED. And then TERRIFIED of the soap. So SCREAMED. And then TERRIFIED of the glue. So SCREAMED.

 

I'm not sure who was more traumatized - the kid or me. Or who was more irritated - the pediatrician or me. Needless to say, it was fun for us all.

 

And now the kid has a lovey bald spot on his curly head.

 



 

 

 

 

Today's Lesson: Holding down your child, forcing him to do something, even when you know it's something that has to be done, something that's in his best interest, well, it hurts a momma's heart like no other. 

Missing

I've no good reason for my absence from this blog (and yes, a week and a half is an absence, for me at least). I mean, I have several reasons, but nothing big so much.

We've had about 6 weeks of one or more of us being sick. Finally, I think we're all well And so help me if I just jinxed us. I mean, really. I will lose my shit if there is any more sick at our house in the next 2 months.

My work schedule continues to be difficult and irregular, meaning I'm working more nights that normal. Much of that has been self-imposed due to childcare issues. Hoping it will improve now that baby E is back with our regular (and much beloved) sitter/friend.

The kid's behavior has improved somewhat in the last week or so. Probably because he's finally not sick anymore. And we finally had a frost that killed the evil ragweed. Which means that his asthma is finally gone for this season. So he's sleeping at night and off the asthma meds.

I seem to have acquired a bit of the old Christmas spirit this year. Not sure where it came from, but I'll take it. And hope it sticks long enough to actually get me through Christmas. Which would be a Christmas miracle in and of itself.

Also, we did the kid's Family Tree project. It turned out not too bad. I promise to do a post soon including pictures of the results.

At any rate, this is all I've got right now. I'm in a place where I don't really have the energy to form full, coherent posts. Lots of one- or two-liners that are good starts to posts, but the things never seem to finish themselves up. Hopefully soon I'll get some inspiration. Or direction. Or energy. Or something.


Today's Lesson: Sometimes, even to those of us who talk a lot, words are not forthcoming. Even when we have stuff to say.

Itchy, itchy, Scratchy, Scratchy

So here's some irony for you. Monday I posted about how baby E had the funk and his first ever round of antibiotics. I'd written that post a few days before it actually ran. So, Sunday morning, when the kid woke up feeling miserable, I suspected we knew what was coming. I was right. Sort of.

He was complaining of his throat and mouth hurting. And a fever that ibuprofen didn't touch. And a most pitiful attitude. Also, a lack of moment, you know, stillness. So I knew something was bad wrong with him. I emailed the boys' pediatrician (who typically replies within a couple of hours), telling her I suspected strep, as I assume that's what baby E had less than 2 weeks ago. I was hoping she'd call in a script for an antibiotic (I know, the irony, right?!). Well, she didn't reply for about 10hrs and - responsibly - said we'd need to bring him in.

Well, by that time Sunday evening, he'd also developed a slight sandpaper-y rash on his face, neck, and trunk that was mildly itchy. Also, his face was WAY swollen and his cheeks were super rosy.

By Monday morning, well, the rash was crazy. His entire body - and I mean from top of his curly head to the tips of his funky toes - was covered in a fiery red and seriously itchy rash. In addition to the sore mouth and throat, fever, glazed eyes, and general miserableness.

So, back to the pediatrician I went. This time with both boys in tow. Baby E burst out in tears the moment we walked in the door. I have no idea why. He clung to me like a trembling little spider monkey the whole time. The kid saw some toys and slumped to the floor, playing halfheartedly with them. Also, did I mention he really wasn't talking? And I mean, that is not my kid.

I told the nurse the kid's symptoms and my guess at his diagnosis. He did a strep test. And whadaya know, it came back positive. My baby boy has strep. And our household got a 2nd prescription for Omn.icef in as many weeks. Oh the irony.

After I get home and, of course, posted on FB that my kiddo has strep with this horrible rash (what - isn't that what you all do, you know, before feeding them lunch or anything?!), a friend says "oh, poor kid, he's got Scarlet fever!". And then I of course consult Dr goo.gle and realize that the kid does, in fact, have Scarlet Fever.

And who the hell knew that anyone still gets Scarlet Fever (which apparently is a strain of strep - think strep + horrible, want-to-peel-your-own-skin-off-because-it-itches-so-bad rash)?! Well, that one friend did, but who else???!!!

And then we all had one of the worst nights ever. It was awesome. And I will be complaining, eh, blogging, about that soon.

The kid's doped up on so many medications now I had to make a list for hubby of what to give him when. Again, the irony could kill me on this one. But, he is feeling much better. And, thankyousweetbabyjesus he did sleep well last night.

Today's Lesson: Our childrens' job is to constantly remind us that it doesn't really matter what we think, we don't really know anything. Also, drugs are good. And also (because every once in awhile, we all need 3 lessons), some days irony wins.

Run, kid, run!

Today's NHBPM prompt is to write about a health moment I regret.

 

 

Last month, we participated for the 2nd time as a family in a 5k. This one was put on by the PTA of our school district. The kid and hubby ran it. It was the kid's 4th or 5th 5k. Hubby has run a couple of half marathons and a full one, so it was no big deal for him (and this was certainly not a good time for him, you know, because he was running with a 6yo and all). But that's a pretty good distance for a 1st grader.

 

I'm so proud of my boy. He finished in about 36 minutes, and 5th overall in his age group (50+ kids). Mostly, though, I'm proud of him for doing it. And for improving on his own personal best from the last couple of races. I think we may have a cross country runner on our hands.

 

(Also, his face in this picture really cracks me up. And I love the look his Poppa is giving him.)

 



And at this point, if you paid any attention to the prompt from the very beginning of this post, you're wondering where I'm going with this whole thing. Here's the tie in. You'll notice I mentioned hubby and the kid. I haven't mentioned myself (or baby E). Baby E and I walked the race. To be more accurate, I walked it, and wore baby E in our Boba carrier (truly, I need to do a toddler-wearing post one of these days).

 

I could use that to excuse my sad time (48min-ish, 2nd to last in my age group). I mean, I was carrying a 27ish lb toddler. And the only participant - of several hundred - to babywear, I might add. So, really, shouldn't take off at least several minutes?! (The correct answer here is yes.) However, the truth is, I've gotten fat and I've gotten slow. Not that I've ever been speedy mind you, but really, this was bad.  

 

I weigh more now than I have, well, ever. And I'm more out of shape than I've been, well, ever. I know I've bemoaned this several times here over the last year or so. And the truth is I've done nothing about it, outside of the bemoaning that is.

 

It really isn't about the weight, but it is about how I feel. Which is tired, and lethargic, and pudgy, and flat out uncomfortable in my own skin. Because there's too much of it, you know.

 

So, what's the health moment I regret? It's the one when I realized that even if I hadn't been wearing baby E (thus not able to run for safety reasons), there is no way my body would have been able to do it anyway. And that sucks.

 

I hope that one of these years, all 4 of us will be able to run a 5k together.

 

 

 

Today's Lesson: Until we make a decision to change, to move, we remain stagnant. Simply bemoaning things does us no good. It does nothing to activate the movement. Perhaps it even makes us more entrenched and less likely to move. Thus, we need to stop moaning and start moving. Then change can happen.

Red dye 40-free Antibiotics

Baby E battled some kind of funk the last 3 weeks. We had 5 - oh yes, 5 - vomiting episodes in that time frame, snot galore, a decreased appetite, intermittent low-grade fevers, coughing. Lots and lots of coughing. And did I mention the 5 episodes of vomiting? I did?

Suffice to say, baby boy was not feeling well. And clearly his immune system was not taking care of this particular bug. So off to the pediatrician we went.

You should know that we're not big proponents of antibiotics (meds in general). I completely believe that early and repeated antibiotic use causes all kinds of problems, both for individuals and society as a whole (increases in asthma, increases in drug-resistant bugs, etc...). Also, our state was recently rated as being at the top of the list (nation-wide) for overuse of antibiotics. As in, we use tons more than most other states. Yay for us.

In the past when we've gone to the pediatrician with sick boys, she's often tried to get us to give the boys antibiotics, usually because of ear infections. Research I've read suggests that 90+% of ear infections resolve on their own without antibiotics (i.e. it's viral not bacterial thus antibiotics are ineffective). So, we've always politely refused the antibiotic, come back 5-7 days later and shown her the miraculous results of our child being  ear infection free. And, since the 2nd time that happened, she's backed off on the whole pushing antibiotics thing.

After examining baby E, the pediatrician still wasn't sure what was wrong. It didn't appear that he had an ear infection. She threw out that she'd like to treat it like a sinus infection. Which meant antibiotics.

Poor baby E had been miserable for so long, and showed no signs at all of even starting to feel better. So, I decided fill the script and actually give it to him. On the condition that she prescribe one that doesn't have Red 40 in it. Because, you know, it makes the kid crazy. And I'm pretty confident that it's just not something I want in either of my boys' systems. Yes, Dr Pediatrician, even if it doesn't affect baby E in quite that way.

The pediatrician, again, acted like she didn't know which meds don't have Red 40 in them. So I had to tell her. And I'm not sure how I feel about having to tell the MD what to prescribe my child. A bit unnerved that she didn't know. A bit empowered that I did.

At any rate, baby E finished his 10 day course of antibiotics last night. And I am beyond thrilled to tell you that he's back to his happy-and-into-everything-literally-climbing-up-the-walls self. Sometimes, just sometimes, the antibiotics are the right thing.


Today's Lesson:
One of my posts that often gets found through Goo.gle searches is this one in which I talk about how we hate Red dye 40 at my house. Often, people seem to be searching specifically for antibiotics in relation to red dye (based on their search terms). My assumption is that you're looking, like we were, for an antibiotic that doesn't have red 40 in it. I may be totally wrong about that of course, but it's the assumption I'm going off.

There are apparently only 2 antibiotics on the market approved for children (to take orally) that don't have Red dye 40 in them.  They are Omni.cef and Aug.mentin. And, apparently, they can make your child's poop red. Am I the only one who sees the irony of that?

Almonds

Me: What are you making, honey?
Hubby: Almond Butter.
Baby E: Eat, eat, EAT!!!!!
Me: You know he can't have that right.
Hubby: Right. Obviously. It's nuts.
E: EateateateateateateateateatEAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

((quiet))

E: Mulp-mease ("milk please")?
Hubby: Uh, wait. He can't have this. But we've been giving him Almond Milk.
Me: Oh... Yeah. There's that...
E: mulpmulpmulpmulpmulp. Eateateateateateat. EAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Me; You're gonna make him an almond butter sandwich for lunch, aren't you?
Hubby: Yes.
Me: Makes sense.
E: Yesh ("yes")!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Today's Lesson: Sometimes we don't really stop to see the inconsistencies in our behavior. Until they smack us in the face, that is.

A Shot

This one time when we were camping, the chiggers were prolific. Hence, the chigger bites were ridiculously prolific. I stopped counting at 80 bites. Mostly because I couldn't see the rest (that I knew were there because I could feel their incessant itching). But also because I was tired of counting.

I couldn't sleep for the itching. And I couldn't concentrate while I was with clients, because of the itching. And I was afraid I was going to scratch and end up with infected and still itchy bites. So, I sucked it up and made an appointment with my doctor.

Now, I hate to go to the doctor, which is funny since I (now) work at the hospital. I have been to my primary doctor maybe 3 times in the last 10 years. The other times were for allergy medication. Remind me to tell you some time about how the resident kept asking me about my sexual liaisons with women (there have been none, btw). But she was insistent about it. And all I wanted was an allergy med refill.

Anyway, I digress. To the doctor I went. The doctor came in and thankfully did not want to discuss my sexual history. She was all "I'm gonna go get you a script and then you'll be outta here". So I sat there waiting for it.

Enter the bitchiest nurse ever.

She had the biggest needle I've ever seen. My eyes got big. She rolled her eyes and told me to drop my drawers. My eyes instantly started tearing up. I hate shots, y'all. I mean I abhor them. As in I cry. Every. Single. Time. And I hadn't even had time to prepare myself. I tried to explain to her that the doctor had told me she was writing me a prescription. She, very (not at all) empathetically said, "do you want to get better or not?". I assured her I did want the infernal itching to stop, which was, of course, why I'd come. But I'd seriously prefer not to get a shot. But, I'd do it.

The tears threatened to spill over.

She said, "seriously, are you going to cry?!". I told her that I might just do that. She rolled her eyes even bigger and issued a major sigh. I tried to pull it together and did a few deep breaths (seriously, I hate me some needles). She gave me 30-45 seconds and then sighed an even bigger sigh, "are you ready yet?". I, not so nicely, told her to give me the damn shot already. Which she then did. In a stabby rude kind of way. And then rolled her eyes again.

And I wanted to stab her. But instead, I covered my now sore ass back up and gave her a "I hate you, you mean nasty woman" look. I'm sure she was quite affected by that look.

And then my ass hurt for the next several days. But the bites did stop itching.

Today's Lesson: Sometimes even though something's a pain the ass, it's totally worth it.

Team Sports

Hubby is a PE teacher (yes, PE, not "gym". But that is a post for another day). He doesn't watch sports on TV. Unless I make him watch the 2012 NCAA basketball champs. Even then, it's only during March Madness. He just doesn't care so much about sports. Fitness, yes. Sports, nope.

Everyone always assumes that because hubby's a PE teacher (not "gym", also not a "coach") that sports are important to him. And that, because of that, the kid is/should be involved in a lot of sports. But that also isn't the case. Hubby and I actually are in agreement that organized sports aren't in our kid's best interest, at least for now. In general, hubby doesn't believe that organized sports are good for little kids at all (as in non-school age kids). That at those ages, they should be learning skills, not competing. That at those ages, competitive sports are really for the parents, not for the kids.

Personally, I have flashbacks of all the horrible coaches my brother had when he played soccer - and by "all", I mean two that I can think of. But, by George, they have stuck in my mind all these years. I have flashbacks of pressure, and yelling, and swearing, and ridiculous expectations. I remember feeling bad for the kids because they were being shamed by the coaches, and sometimes their own parents. It was an experience I vowed to never participate in (either as a child myself, or subject my own children to).

Now, I know many other parents don't share our views of organized sports. I know many of you participated in them yourselves ("and look how great I turned out!"). I know many of your children are participating in sports. And that's fine. Seriously. I'm not judging you about it. Honestly, do what works for you and your kids! I'm just saying it's not for us. Right now.

The kid takes gymnastic lessons. For us, the difference is the lack of competition. It's about becoming stronger, more flexible, increasing his focus and self-discipline, and developing his own personal skills. There is no goal that has to be scored or shame to be had when another kid outruns you. The only person he is competing against is himself. And that is a lesson I want him to learn. I want him to compete against his own best, not strive towards some one else's. I want him to be internally motivated, not externally. And we don't feel like team sports help him achieve that goal. At least right now.

(Also, I know there are good coaches out these who don't belittle or shame kids. I'm thankful for them. But, still, competitive sports aren't gonna happen in our family. For now.)

And that is why my kid, even though his Poppa is a PE teacher, doesn't play sports.

Today's lesson: Apparently if you really want to get spam comments about er.ectile dys.function medications, you should write a post and call it "head injuries". It will get you loads of them. Promise. And that is a useful lesson, folks.

Healing Music

Today's HAWMC prompt is to come up with a theme song. Now, it suggests you write your own lyrics. And, to be honest, that's just not gonna happen from this girl. I love me some music (all kinds), but a song writer I am not. So, instead I thought I'd muse over the importance of music in my life.

You may or may not know, but I played the violin for about 11 years. Now please don't confuse the longevity of my playing with any actual talent in that area. I wasn't awful, but practicing was never my thing. I didn't aspire to be great. Mostly, I just wanted to be able to be a part of making music, and truthfully just be in the midst of it. I loved orchestra. It was one of my favorite times of day. To be surrounded by people who made me laugh, and listen to beautiful music (that I just tried not to make sound worse).

The university I attended didn't have an orchestra, so my violin playing quickly fell to the side. But I did continue to sing (you know, because in that way I was pretty good at making music). I sang, mostly at church, for years. Though once hubby and I got married, that petered out, too. Mostly, now, I sing in the car and to my boys. I've told you before how important that is to me.

As I think about music, I consider how much music has helped me through the years when I was having a bad moment. How many memories - good and bad - are tied to a particular song. The song that reminds me of the good times I had with the ex (who will probably now forever be known here as "the stalker"). The song that instantly takes me back to one of the most peaceful moments in my life which happened when I was in Italy. Lin.kin Park, which I play in the car when I'm good and ticked off, or just plain cranky (and it helps me out of my funk). Songs that instantly take me back to the throws of infertility (those I try to avoid for the most part, unless I'm in need of a good cry, lol).

Music is powerful. It has the ability to help us give words to emotions we can't explain ourselves. It makes memories indelible, easily recalled with just a few notes. It helps us relax, release, recover. Music is even better than magic. Because it's something we all can do - can all create - in some form or fashion. And, to me, the desire for music seems ingrained in our human DNA.

So, get out there and enjoy some music today. Also, if you want to write me a theme song, go at it.

Today's lesson: Music, lyrics, notes, rhythms. They are powerful.

Letter to a 16yo Becky

Today's HAWMC prompt is to write a letter to your 16yo self. There are so many things I could say to my younger self, but since this is a health-related prompt, I'll stick to a health issue. It's one I haven't talked about here before, but it's one I feel passionately about. Stalking.

So, here's my go at it.

Becky-
In many ways your life has been straightforward. It will continue to be for the next several years. But there are a few things you should know.

That ex-boyfriend you can't decide whether you're done with, please know that you are done with him. There is another boy, who you'll meet in a couple of years. He is by no means perfect, but he's just right for you. This one is not. He will not realize that for several years, though.

That sick feeling you get in your gut, listen to it. The ex is going to get a little crazy. That gut feeling will keep you safe. Listen. To. It. You will be scared sometimes, unnerved frequently, but you will be okay. As long as you listen to that gut.

He will show up. At your house. At college. Out in public. He will leave 25 page letters at your front door in the middle of the night. When you wake up at 2am, it will be because he is standing by the tree in your front yard. When you go on vacation, he will break into your house and steal one of your bras (for a 2nd time). He will call. A lot.

He will talk about how he can't live without you. And while he will never verbally threaten to hurt you, it will feel slightly implied. Just enough to make you worry about when the next time he will show up will be, but not enough to be able to really verbalize why you feel so icky.

Here's the other part of what I want you to know...talk about it (just not with him - that, I can promise, will only fuel the fire). Mom, your friends, a teacher, the police officer mom will call when the 2nd bra is stolen (yes, she really will. And yes, it will be embarrassing to talk to that man about your bra. Horribly, awfully embarrassing). Find someone. Because maybe they can make him stop sooner so you don't have to deal with it, with him, as long as I did. Also, maybe you talking about it, especially with your friends, will help them realize when they are the victims of stalking themselves. Because that will happen, too.

There's a lot you don't know yet about life. And that's okay. You'll learn it when you're ready. There will be bumps, some little, some mountainous. You will make it over them all. Lots of things will not happen like you expect them to. That doesn't mean you won't be okay. Because you will. You will be better than okay. You will be great.

Love,
The you that's twice your age.

Today's Lesson: The legal definition of stalking is "a course of conduct directed at a specific person that would cause a reasonable person to feel fear". 3.4 million people in the US are stalked each years, most of them by someone they know, many by someone with whom they had an intimate relationship. Many of them don't even realize that's what happening. I didn't.

I'd been a social worker for 10 years before I realized I had been stalked by a high school boyfriend. It went on for more than 5 years. And while I never identified my uncomfortable and nervous feelings, my frequently looking over my shoulder, and wondering when he'd next show up as stalking, that's what it was.  We need to talk about stalking because it is a real and very prevalent problem in our society.  He never hurt me. I was lucky.

Breast is Best Followup

"I would much prefer that the breastmilk campaign be less militant. I think it's a reaction to how puritanical our society is. I agree that it should be seen as normal, and that includes bfing in public. That being said, the radically pro bf'ers should back off when it comes to formula feeding. It's not best, but it works fine in some situations, and we all make choices. (Or the choices get made for us whether we want them or not)."

This comment by Geochick on my post Breast is Best got me thinking. And then I ran into this article.
(Go on, check it out, I'll wait. Although I did post it on my FB page, so you may have read it then.)  There was also this comment in the article that spoke to me.

"Why is it that when we want to impart accurate information about childhood nutrition, such as eat more fruits/veggies, less processed food, healthier snacks, no refined flours/sugars, less fast food, etc., we do not hold back for fear of sending a “guilt message” to some working mom in the audience who relies on frozen/canned veggies,prepackaged snacks, fast food, and never quite got her toddler to love whole whole wheat bread…we seem to have no problem sending THAT message, and we certainly don’t follow this up with “but, you know, if you are really busy, white bread, canned veggies,fast food, and processed snacks are fine”. Even though it is now well known that these eating habits lead to childhood obesity and a host of other illnesses."

Here's the thing. It's not that breastfeeding is best. It's that breastfeeding is normal. And formula has risks. It seems as though because we're so afraid to make someone else feel guilty, we've softened it. But that softening has led to a de-normalization of breastfeeding. And that's in no one's best interest.

But, here is the real issue I'm addressing today. I am responsible for my own feelings. If I feel guilty about something, that is MY reaction, which I need to own. I am responsible for whether or not I feel guilty about a choice I have made. It is not the person who said something else that truly MADE me feel guilty. *I* am responsible for my own feelings and reactions. No one has the power to MAKE me feel anything.

I understand that many people are turned off by those who they consider "breastfeeding Nazis". I get that. Honestly, as a mom who felt she had no other choice than to feed my 1st child formula, I so relate to hating the self-righteousness of some people who do believe that absolutely everyone (EVERYONE!!!) can produce for her infant enough breastmilk for 6-12 months, or more.

Sometimes people make really judgemental statements and toss out words that certainly can be hurtful. However, it is my own doubts about the choices I have made that led to me feeling guilty, not the words of others. It's my own doubting that maybe I didn't do everything I could have to produce enough milk to feed the boys that leaves me feeling guilty. What if I had just pumped at night before they were born? What if I had taken more herbs? What if I had pumped more/after they nursed? What if...what if...what if...and DAMN IT infertility for messing this up too!!!! 

*I* am responsible for my own guilt. No one else. We all make choices. Some of them are good decisions, based on thorough and accurate information. Some are simply the best we could do at that particular time. It's all those "coulda, shoulda, woulda's" that we say to ourselves that leaves us feeling guilty. Self-doubt is the culprit. Not other people.

Now, the question or whether or not that guilt is warranted, is a whole different issue (and only one each individual can answer for herself). Also, the issue of using donor milk, which has largely assuaged much of my own guilt, is a separate issue. One, I believe, would likely help the guilty feelings others experience, if only they could become comfortable with feeding their children "some other woman's milk". Again, an issue for another day.

Today's lesson: We are often far too eager to blame things on others. If what I want is my children to take responsibility for their own feelings and behaviors, then what I have to do as their mother is show them how to do it.



Haiku Day

Pregnancy: Plan A

Adoption: was my Plan B

Parenthood - God's plan

Hormones, tears, sadness
Suck it infertility
I have my 2 boys

Nursing Baby E
bonding, immunity, love
Wouldn't trade this time

Today's lesson: Sometimes 17 syllables are all it takes.

Super Momma!!!

You may not know this, but Superheros reign in my house. This is not only because I have two boys, though they - both! - do love the Superheros. Hubby, however, is the instigator of the Superhero love in our house. MIL used to tell me how hubby would insist that a kitchen towel be clothespinned to his shirt and jump off all manner of furniture. How he never broke anything is beyond me.

If you couldn't guess (or if you don't know him IRL), his favorite was - and is - Superman. I think he loves that Superman is a real "good guy" in addition to his fabulous superpowers. I mean, seriously, he has a laundry list of them. Heaven forbid someone tries to debate hubby about who is the "better" Superhero. I mean, really, if you vote for someone else, you kind of lose some credibility in hubby's eyes (Sorry, J, but it's true!).

All this Superhero love in my house means that superheros and their superpowers are a rather frequent topic of conversation. The other day I asked the kid what his superpower would be. He responded initially with a "duh" accompanied by an eye roll. When asked for clarification, he explained that of course he would be able to fly. And help people. And be super strong. And have "heat-o-vision, 'cause it's just super cool. You know, so I can make fires when we go camping". Obviously.

So then I asked him what baby E's superpowers would be. First he laughed and laughed. Apparently, it hadn't occurred to him that his baby brother could have superpowers, too. So, he gave it some thought and decided Baby E would be super fast. And, since he already has dancing skills, that would be his superpower, too. Couldn't really get out of him what good that would do.

What about Poppa? Well, Poppa would also be really strong. And also have "the heat-o-vision".

And Momma? Well, Momma's superpower would be, well.. it would be... well... Apparently it is even more difficult to know what Momma's superpower would be. Eventually, he decided that Momma would be able to help lots and lots of people make good choices and take them to the hospital. "Actually, what your superpower will be is to be a supernurse. No, wait! Actually, it will be to be a super social worker. 'Cause we all know that's even better than a nurse". (Um, sorry to all you nurses out there!) Also, she would talk less. You know, because she wouldn't need to talk much. At least not at home.

Yeah.

Today's lesson: Be careful what you ask for... Also, Social workers are Super already, even without superpowers. At least according to my Super smart boy.

The Health Activist Writer's Month Challenge

The Health Activist Writer's Month Challenge (HAWMC) is an online writing workshop for people in the health blogger community. I figure I (oh so very) loosely fit into that community as I do blog about infertility, which is certainly a health issue. I also write about other health issues such as breastfeeding, baby wearing, attachment parenting, baby led weaning, and post-adoption depression, to name a few. Now, they may not be traditional health issues (like cancer, or diabetes, or autism), but there's no rule that says you have to have a "traditional" focus here. So, I'm in.

Basically, the goal is to blog every day for the whole month of April, with an overall focus on health. Now, I usually blog every 2-3 days, so this will certainly be a challenge for me. I'll be honest, I'm cheating and have pre-written some of the posts already. What? This girl has a busy life and some days just don't include time for blogging, so I took advantage of time when I had it to lower my own stress (lookie there - another health issue!).Also, I tend to babble on about what pops into my head that day. So, focusing (however loosely) on health, may also be challenging.

So, if you're interested in more info about HAWMC, or want to participate, here's a link to the info.

Good luck to me!

Today's lesson: It's good to be challenged. I think.

A Glass of Wine, or 3

I grew up with an alcoholic father. I mean, as far as I know, he's still an alcoholic father. I haven't seen him in several years. No contact either. As far as I know, he could be reading this right now. But where he is right now or what he's doing is neither here nor there.  Growing up my mother drank (still does), but I can think of only a few times when I saw her affected by alcohol (and those were mostly when I was an adult myself). Sadly, I can think of only a few experiences with my father that didn't involve alcohol, or more specifically him abusing it.

Growing with a father who I knew, even as a little kid, had a problem with alcohol has colored my view and experience with alcohol. I first drank when I was 16 and went on a "class trip" to Mexico (a story - and a good one - for another day). And by "drank" alcohol, I mean I had - literally - a sip. I didn't drink again until I went to college. I think, really, til I was 20. I've been inebriated several times, but I'm pretty sure I could count those times on 2 hands. I found that I have not just a high, but a really high tolerance to substances. Alcohol, laughing gas (wisdom teeth extraction), even ibuprofen, I have to consume a lot to get the same affects as other people.

Not that I often want to get that same affect (inebriation, I mean). That out of control feeling isn't one I seek frequently; it isn't one I like. I much prefer to be in control of myself. More than that, I need to be in control of myself. Not being in control is scary. Any mental health professional would probably tell you this is a common trait in a child of an alcoholic, this need to be in control. It maybe one of the reasons why many of us are successful and accomplished professionally - we're type A, good at getting things done, and getting them done well. It's probably also the reason a good number of us struggle in relationships, because we want to be in control all the time.

After my 3rd glass of wine (when I finally started feeling the least bit of an affect), I start to understand why my father drinks. It's that feeling he craves. The feeling of no longer needing to be in control. The feeling of starting to let go of all that responsibility piled on your shoulders. The feeling of relaxation. It's a feeling that, because he is an alcoholic and has been for probably 40 years, he finds at the bottom of a 24pack (or more) of beer. It's a feeling that fortunately I can get to after just a couple of glasses of wine. And, as wonderful as it is, it's still scary. Because it's still a loss of control.

I feel incredibly blessed and lucky that I didn't inherit that alcoholic, dependent gene from him. It was a total luck of the draw, but I have never felt that dependence on any substance. I am beyond grateful for that. But, as I look at my boys, I wonder whether those are genes they have. Whether or not they'd been adopted, I know this I something I would have thought and worried about. And I - in my head - know it's not something over which I have control, but still I worry.

After I drank my (rare) 3 glasses of wine at dinner tonight, I wonder what I am teaching my children about alcohol. I wondered without my mother's "lessons" of drinking without becoming drunk (or crazy), what my attitude about alcohol would have been. I wonder if by drinking in front of my boys, I am helping them to develop a healthy attitude about alcohol - that it is something that can be consumed and enjoyed, without being abused. I hope that I am. But still I worry. I wonder if people who didn't grow up with an alcoholic parent worry about such things. Or perhaps they never even consider the possibility that their children could become addicts.

My father's alcoholism has affected me in a plethora of ways. Because of it, of him, I am who I am. And I've long since made peace with that, with the way his alcoholism affected my childhood and my current self. But one of those ways is that I, probably more so than the average parent, worry about my children's attitude and future as it relates to substances. I worry, and I try to control. Which is, I'm sure, not the best way to handle the issue. But it's the best I can do for now.

Today's lesson - sometimes 3 glasses of wine are just 3 glasses of wine. Sometimes they help you to relax. Sometimes, however, they make you think way too too much. And those are times when you should just go to bed. Good night, friends.

Out of shape

Hey, remember when I was all like, "yeah, I've gotten all fat and out of shape and now I'm gonna change and let you know how that's going?" I've done a fabulous job of that. I know I've been inspirational and all that jazz. You're welcome.

Or, I said all that and then didn't do a damn thing differently. And thus, I have not only not become more healthy and not lost weight, to the contrary, I have become even more of a blob and gained even more weight. We had some family pictures done a few weeks ago.  While they are beautiful and my friend did a phenomenal job, I barely recognize myself. I look at what is apparently my face and I wonder who that is. My eyes are now squinty, hidden under bigger cheeks. My neck is hidden under a 2nd chin. I wonder where I am in all of that.

I think about all the reasons why I've continued to gain weight and be so unhealthy, and they're the same as they were all those months ago. It boils down to lack of physical activity and a lack of motivation to engage in physical activity. And that boils down to me being t-i-r-e-d. All. The. Time. The reasons are easy to identify. It's fair to blame exhaustion. It's a valid excuse.

But I keep coming back to those pictures. And wondering where I am in all of that. And where I have gone...

Today's lesson - change doesn't just happen. It necessitates work and commitment and then more work. Change is hard. Even when the results are something we really want. Change is hard.

A brief Bailey update

Several of you have asked about how Bailey is doing. She had her first round of Chemo and got to go home. Unfortunately, she quickly ended up back at the hospital because she got some kind of infection (because of the chemo she's extremely susceptible to infection). Last I heard (Monday), that's where she remains. She's tired and cranky, and not the happy, sweet child her parents have known until now. Of course they are simply happy that she is alive and with them. They are emotionally and physically exhausted. Please, please continue to keep Bailey and her parents in your thoughts and prayers. Asking this of you is, I feel, the only thing I can do for beautiful Bailey and her family.

Today's lesson - sometimes in life we feel so unsure of what to do. Those are probably times when there simply is nothing tangible that we can do. Those are probably the times we should pray, think supportive thoughts, send good mojo, simply release positive intentions out into the universe. Because sometimes that is the only thing to do. Sometimes that is the thing to do.

Bad days are relative

It was a rough morning at my house. There was yelling (me) and frustration (me and the kid). There were threats ("if you don't get those shoes on by the time I count to 10, there will be big, bad consequences, mister"). There were tears ("I can't find my socks"). There was muttering under the breath ("OMG!!!!! Why can't this kid get his shit together this morning??!!!!"). There was stomping down the stairs (maybe both of us) and cries of unfairness ("you NEVER wait for ME!!"). There were text messages sent to husbands cussing at them for not doing something just the right way. In short, there were big girl and little boy sized tantrums going on. It was ugly, y'all.

I finally got us all into the car with all of our crap (maybe?!) and I started to have a mini-meltdown (just in my head). You see, I remembered something important. There's a little girl named Bailey. The kid used to go to school with her at his Montessori school. Her mama was one of his teachers when he was a toddler. And this adorable, blonde-headed 4 year and her gentle, beautiful parents have been told that she is riddled with cancer. They just found out this week. She starts Chemo tomorrow. She has tumors throughout her body. It's stage 4. She's 4, people. She still such a tiny little human. And she has stage 4 cancer. On her liver. In her bones. Stage. 4. Cancer.

That is a bad day. Running late for school? Not a bad day. Too fat to fit into any of my clothes? Not a bad day. Can't find socks? Not a bad day. Banana goo on my pants? Not a bad day. Homework not being done just right? Not a bad day. Starbucks gift card out of money? Not a bad day. Your baby having cancer? That is the worst day possible.

So, today, I will try to remember that my bad day, isn't really bad. It's irritating and inconvenient. I have two healthy children. I will not have to watch one of my children undergo chemo. And that makes today a good day.

Today I will pray for little Bailey and for her parents. I would so appreciate it if you would, too.

Today's lesson - Perspective is so easy to lose. Gratefulness is easy to forget. Banana goo is just banana goo. It washes out. Somethings are not so easily undone.