It was a special day because it was dress weather. The girls have been waiting patiently through this insanely long winter to debut some of their spring dresses. And today was the day. It was sunny with a high of 70's and a forecast for plenty more sun the entire week.
I put A in a cute denim dress and pulled her hair up in a pony before sending her out the door with daddy to go to pre-school. I watched her go and struggled for a second or two debating if I should run out and give her one last kiss for the morning...
Is it possible that once you become a parent you enter into an unwelcome state of irrational mini-panic attacks every morning while watching your children go along their merry way to school? Why, yes. Yes, I think it is.
Some mornings are harder than others and without any warning you might have a flood of insecurity and anxiety.
This was that kind of day. I kissed their chubby cheeks and said good-bye at least 3 times. G had had enough of my cray cray behavior. For the 4th time that morning I beckoned her over to implore her for one LAST kiss. She shouted from the kitchen with her cute two-year old vocabulary, "I did al-leady!"
So with that, I left for work.
About Me
- borabora
- This blog was an accident. A conversation I had with my daughter changed my mind about blogging. Which is not too surprising considering she's been changing me (for the better) ever since her debut into this world. Anyway, back to the point, not all accidents are bad. Look at my second child, Gwen, for example...hehe. Ok, bad joke. (The 2nd child already has it hard enough as it is. Sorry Gwen.) I am a happy stay-at-home mama with two beautiful girls and an awesome hubby and I happen to find myself in many (accidental) situations that turn out to be the best thing ever. Hopefully this will be one of those times. Thanks for reading the mish-mosh of memories and musings that are being recorded as a gift for the two little girls that have captured my heart.
Monday, April 28, 2014
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Change
It's been a few months since I've written and in that time, I've noticed a pattern in my writing. Although I began this project to document my thoughts for the girls, I found it took a drastic plunge into a depressing reactionary journal where I recounted moments of horror and my most rock-bottom emotions. I'm not embarrassed in the least, as the people who know me best would undeniably admit that I am an open book. However, I'm challenged to take back some lost time and do what I intended to do all along. I'm starting fresh, in a sense. Let's talk about good things, funny things, thoughtful things. Heck, let me throw in some boring moments lest my daughters chalk me up to be a drama queen one day.
So I've decided that Thanksgiving is my most favorite holiday. Hands down. I used to love Christmas because of its message of selflessness and its excuse to gather 'round the people we love but we've somehow muddled that up and now it has become very self serving. I just finished my "Christmas" shopping and it caused me literal anxiety and stress trying to find something thoughtful for everyone. At one point in the process, I decided that everyone was getting an Anne Klein wristlet and so I bought 8 of them in an assortment of colors for easy gifting. (If you get a Anne Klein wristlet from me this year, know that I thought it was just perfect for you). ;)
Yes, Thanksgiving is my #1 holiday. What's there not to like? Family flies in from out of town. Awesome. Throw the pigskin around a bit. Fun. Clean the house for the first time since last spring. Practical. Make the most fattiest comfort foods you can think of. Fantastic. Eat it for the next three days. Incredible.
Yet, the best part, the most insanely wonderful aspect of Thanksgiving is that we get bold in reminding each other that we've got it good, really, really good. It's the only time we're allowed to give someone an incredulous look when they complain that they don't have enough clothes or shoes or knick knacks. It's probably one of the few times they freely look inward instead of choosing to feel offended. I try to give as many looks as I can during this time because it is a once in a year opportunity to cut the B.S. and tell people to suck it up and look at the bright side. I also love Thanksgiving because its conclusion ushers in a new year along with a fresh resolve to start again.
I've done some soul searching this November. I demanded my brain to shut up with its incessant whining and complaining and negativity. I gave myself a good mental beating and it left me in a really healthy place. Here are some things I am genuinely thankful for.
A and G
These girls are growing up too fast. When they were still in diapers, I willed them (with every mental fiber in my brain) to grow up quickly and rid me of their enormous-not cute anymore-poop and my sleepless nights. Now they deposit their waste in the toilet and sleep (relatively) well. Yet, the other day, when they ran into my arms fighting and clawing to see who would win the prized seat of my lap I sat and closed my eyes and breathed in their sweaty, stinky, sweet baby smells and wished with all my might that time would stand still. Because time moves forward at an unforgiving speed and whether or not you take advantage of it, the second will be gone.
I often think about my pre-mama days and I realize just how much I've grown. I mean I'm not the epitome of mature, that's for sure. I still prefer dessert over "real" food and I get seriously side tracked by gossip magazines when I'm at Barnes. But, dang, these girls did a number on my faith, my heart, my character...The moment A & G entered my life with their chaos and their needy cries, they instantly put my life in order. They have grounded me with their love and their dependence.
Cheesecake
Let's be real. Being thankful for cheesecake is legit. This is the fuel champions thrive off of. I know this because I'm a champion and this is what I eat. I'm thankful that it's prevalent in this country and I'm even more thankful that I can afford a $10 slice from Cheesecake Factory once in a while. Let's be even more real. I just made cheesecake #2 on my thankful list even above family and friends. Word.
My family
I wouldn't be here if it weren't for my mom. Literally, I wouldn't be here writing this. I'd probably be doing a load of laundry or planning the dinner menu for the next week. My parents made a sacrifice the day they decided to immigrate to the United States 34 years ago to give me and my brother a better chance at life. They continue to show that sacrificial love every day (at least for the next 3 years) by helping to run this household in the big and small ways. Yes, I'm spoiled. I will allow you to think this about me.
My brother thinks he is M.I.A. because he lives in another state and only gets to see us a few times a year. He must not know that he is a part of our everyday routine, in our daily thoughts and prayers and conversations. When he's here, he's in constant "on" mode. He has to be because are all vying for his time. We want his words, his affirmations, and his attention . He shows love in the most extravagant ways like trips to Hawaii and iPad 4's. But without a single good deed, we'd still fight to be his favorite.
Friends
I've got all kinds. I guess you could call me eclectic in my choice of friends. Truthfully, I'm drawn to the weird ones, the ones that everyone else thinks is "too this" or "too that." I like the folk who are so honest it gets them in trouble and the ones who freely drop "I love you's" all over the place. I don't even mind the socially awkward ones because, truthfully, we're all weird. Some are just better at hiding it than others. So, if you're my friend, you're probably strange or awkward or maybe even both. Hey, you gotta hear it from someone. But, I'm super indebted to you for seeing me through some pretty ugly hiccups along the way.
Change
Guys, if there's one thing you must know, it's this. You CAN change. I am so grateful for the power of change and I've decided to exercise it this year a little at a time.
I want to be more active so I walked 40 minutes on my treadmill a few weeks ago. I plan on doing that again...someday. I think I'm off to a good start.
I've decided to continue writing because although it drains me at a fantastic speed, it's good for my heart.
I'm determined to spend more time with the kids. A few nights ago, I made a tent out of a blanket. It took me 30 seconds but Ava praised me for a whole hour after that calling me the best mom ever.
I'm learning to love myself despite the blatant flaws that I see. And more importantly, I'm learning to forgive myself for the mistakes I've made, especially with Ava.
Finally, I'm choosing to let go. I'm choosing to let go of fear and believe that Ava will be around for a lifetime. I'm choosing to let go of my perfectionistic tendencies and give myself a break. Often. My life is proof that things don't have to be perfect to be good. And I'm choosing to let go of whatever excuses I have that get in the way of living life to the fullest.
I'm choosing to change. Just. Like. That.
So I've decided that Thanksgiving is my most favorite holiday. Hands down. I used to love Christmas because of its message of selflessness and its excuse to gather 'round the people we love but we've somehow muddled that up and now it has become very self serving. I just finished my "Christmas" shopping and it caused me literal anxiety and stress trying to find something thoughtful for everyone. At one point in the process, I decided that everyone was getting an Anne Klein wristlet and so I bought 8 of them in an assortment of colors for easy gifting. (If you get a Anne Klein wristlet from me this year, know that I thought it was just perfect for you). ;)
Yes, Thanksgiving is my #1 holiday. What's there not to like? Family flies in from out of town. Awesome. Throw the pigskin around a bit. Fun. Clean the house for the first time since last spring. Practical. Make the most fattiest comfort foods you can think of. Fantastic. Eat it for the next three days. Incredible.
Yet, the best part, the most insanely wonderful aspect of Thanksgiving is that we get bold in reminding each other that we've got it good, really, really good. It's the only time we're allowed to give someone an incredulous look when they complain that they don't have enough clothes or shoes or knick knacks. It's probably one of the few times they freely look inward instead of choosing to feel offended. I try to give as many looks as I can during this time because it is a once in a year opportunity to cut the B.S. and tell people to suck it up and look at the bright side. I also love Thanksgiving because its conclusion ushers in a new year along with a fresh resolve to start again.
I've done some soul searching this November. I demanded my brain to shut up with its incessant whining and complaining and negativity. I gave myself a good mental beating and it left me in a really healthy place. Here are some things I am genuinely thankful for.
A and G
These girls are growing up too fast. When they were still in diapers, I willed them (with every mental fiber in my brain) to grow up quickly and rid me of their enormous-not cute anymore-poop and my sleepless nights. Now they deposit their waste in the toilet and sleep (relatively) well. Yet, the other day, when they ran into my arms fighting and clawing to see who would win the prized seat of my lap I sat and closed my eyes and breathed in their sweaty, stinky, sweet baby smells and wished with all my might that time would stand still. Because time moves forward at an unforgiving speed and whether or not you take advantage of it, the second will be gone.
I often think about my pre-mama days and I realize just how much I've grown. I mean I'm not the epitome of mature, that's for sure. I still prefer dessert over "real" food and I get seriously side tracked by gossip magazines when I'm at Barnes. But, dang, these girls did a number on my faith, my heart, my character...The moment A & G entered my life with their chaos and their needy cries, they instantly put my life in order. They have grounded me with their love and their dependence.
Cheesecake
Let's be real. Being thankful for cheesecake is legit. This is the fuel champions thrive off of. I know this because I'm a champion and this is what I eat. I'm thankful that it's prevalent in this country and I'm even more thankful that I can afford a $10 slice from Cheesecake Factory once in a while. Let's be even more real. I just made cheesecake #2 on my thankful list even above family and friends. Word.
My family
I wouldn't be here if it weren't for my mom. Literally, I wouldn't be here writing this. I'd probably be doing a load of laundry or planning the dinner menu for the next week. My parents made a sacrifice the day they decided to immigrate to the United States 34 years ago to give me and my brother a better chance at life. They continue to show that sacrificial love every day (at least for the next 3 years) by helping to run this household in the big and small ways. Yes, I'm spoiled. I will allow you to think this about me.
My brother thinks he is M.I.A. because he lives in another state and only gets to see us a few times a year. He must not know that he is a part of our everyday routine, in our daily thoughts and prayers and conversations. When he's here, he's in constant "on" mode. He has to be because are all vying for his time. We want his words, his affirmations, and his attention . He shows love in the most extravagant ways like trips to Hawaii and iPad 4's. But without a single good deed, we'd still fight to be his favorite.
Friends
I've got all kinds. I guess you could call me eclectic in my choice of friends. Truthfully, I'm drawn to the weird ones, the ones that everyone else thinks is "too this" or "too that." I like the folk who are so honest it gets them in trouble and the ones who freely drop "I love you's" all over the place. I don't even mind the socially awkward ones because, truthfully, we're all weird. Some are just better at hiding it than others. So, if you're my friend, you're probably strange or awkward or maybe even both. Hey, you gotta hear it from someone. But, I'm super indebted to you for seeing me through some pretty ugly hiccups along the way.
Change
Guys, if there's one thing you must know, it's this. You CAN change. I am so grateful for the power of change and I've decided to exercise it this year a little at a time.
I want to be more active so I walked 40 minutes on my treadmill a few weeks ago. I plan on doing that again...someday. I think I'm off to a good start.
I've decided to continue writing because although it drains me at a fantastic speed, it's good for my heart.
I'm determined to spend more time with the kids. A few nights ago, I made a tent out of a blanket. It took me 30 seconds but Ava praised me for a whole hour after that calling me the best mom ever.
I'm learning to love myself despite the blatant flaws that I see. And more importantly, I'm learning to forgive myself for the mistakes I've made, especially with Ava.
Finally, I'm choosing to let go. I'm choosing to let go of fear and believe that Ava will be around for a lifetime. I'm choosing to let go of my perfectionistic tendencies and give myself a break. Often. My life is proof that things don't have to be perfect to be good. And I'm choosing to let go of whatever excuses I have that get in the way of living life to the fullest.
I'm choosing to change. Just. Like. That.
Friday, August 30, 2013
So, then what?
(I'm working backwards here...I usually detail out her recent reactions to help myself work through it but the past one has taken such a toll on me that I can only find enough energy to write about the after effects...Full disclosure on previous anaphylactic reaction will happen when I've recovered.)
It's before the break of dawn on Wednesday, and she wakes from the discomfort of having diarrhea. She's frantic and can't believe that she's crapped her pants. She's mad, sad, embarrassed all rolled into one and she's also sorry and says so in her small voice. Then the vomit begins and it's everywhere. She can not control her bodily fluids so we are wiping her mouth and her tush almost simultaneously. We tell her it's okay, that it's our job and pleasure to take care of her. But it continues and we know we have to take her in. We put our five year old in size 3 pullups because she still fits with her small 3 ft, 30 pound frame and begin the familiar route to Lutheran.
Back from the hospital, she plays and drinks Gatorade and revels in the fact that it's her birthday today and she finally gets to have her "YES" day. She asks to play and daddy plays. She asks for Chick Fil A and she eats to her heart's content. But this time she orders water instead of sprite...A very responsible choice yet we feel sad that she has to make that for herself...at the age of five...on her birthday.
By the time she reaches Toys R Us she is fast asleep, her small body still processing all the drugs, exhausted from the constant battle of fighting.
It is Thursday, and she's clingy in a way that is unlike her. She attaches herself to my leg and refuses to let go when it is time for me to leave. She inconsolable and I'm stoic, a shell of a person. I am bankrupt of emotions and want to escape so I continue out the door.
It's Friday and I'm back. I missed her. She comes running at the sound of the door and I scoop her up and swing her around. I sing her a love song and hold her close. We laugh forgetting yesterday's tears. It's time for us to go somewhere--an event we originally planned for her to attend, but now things are different. We are scared to bring her out into the world of invisible terrors, food particles so miniscule they are overlooked by our wary eyes. We discuss leaving her at home but her tears win us over. We are in the car and she is excited to see her aunts and uncles but before long, she's nodding in and out of sleep.
We arrive and she is excited! She races over and greets her people. She chit-chats and takes pictures and asks 100 questions. We sit down to eat but then, she wants to go home. She knows herself and fatigue is setting in again. We walk to the elevators only to RUN to the bathroom because she's going to have an accident. We beg to cut the line and I sit her down. The look of sheer relief that she hasn't soiled her pants spreads over her face and I realize that she would have been mortified had we been another second late. I pick her up and she's fast asleep even before we get back to the car.
These are all the after effects of the anaphylactic reaction she had a few days prior. We are always thankful, with deep seated gratitude, at the grace that is shown every time she beats another reaction but we rarely talk about what it takes to recover. Her little body, at the bustling age of five, still remains the size of a three year old. There's probably a lot that plays into that, genes being one of them, but it doesn't help that her system is riddled with steroids and other medicines that alter her rate of growth. Sometimes the very thing that helps her also hinders her so badly. As her mama, it's hard for me to look away when we give her these life saving drugs knowing that, one day, it might have an adverse affect on her. This is when I am able to viscerally feel the weight of choosing between the lesser of two evils. Ugh, it's heavy.
At times I feel like maybe I need to go on meds because, you know, this life and death gamble is so intense and I'm afraid I'll completely lose it. Like what if I'm waiting in line at Target and I decide that I need to have a good cry...in the middle of that line. That's pretty socially unacceptable yet so incredibly possible. And other times I have this immense fear of having to live my life without her and my heart feels like it's shriveling up. Can medicine numb these feelings? Do I even want the pain to go?
I don't know how I'll recover from watching my kid slip away from me but I have to somehow believe that things will get better. Because she needs me to not run away and lose my faith. She's counting on me to be strong, clear headed, loving and ever patient (which I'm not) and I need to be ready to fight to the death for her life. She enters Kindergarten in a few weeks and I'm already drained from the push back we receive about her needs and I'm reminded how freaking lonely and scary this whole thing is.
But this week I was encouraged while listening to Klove on the way to work. (Okay, that sounds really cliche.) Anyway, I heard the most perfect song. People ask how it's going and I say it's okay because that's better than the truth. But this song captures what's going on inside and it's good to know that what I'm feeling is legit.
To Ava. Things Mama will say to you one day.
All of Me
By: Matt Hammitt
Afraid to love
Something that could break
Could I move on
If you were torn away
And I'm so close
To what I can't control
I can't give you half my heart
And pray He makes you whole
You're gonna have all of me
You're gonna have all of me
Cause you're worth every falling tear
You're worth facing any fear
You're gonna know all my love
Even if it's not enough
Enough to mend our broken hearts
But giving you all of me
Is where I'll start
I won't let sadness
Steal you from my arms
I won't let pain
Keep you from my heart
I dread the fear
Of all that I could lose
For every moment
I'll share with you
And Heaven brought you to this moment
It's too wonderful to speak
You're worth all of me
You're worth all of me
So let me recklessly love you
Even if I bleed
You're worth all of me
You're worth all of me
You're gonna have all of me
You're gonna have all of me
Cause you're worth every falling tear
You're worth facing any fear
You're gonna know all my love
Even if it's not enough
Enough to mend our broken hearts
But giving you all of me
Is where I'll start
It's before the break of dawn on Wednesday, and she wakes from the discomfort of having diarrhea. She's frantic and can't believe that she's crapped her pants. She's mad, sad, embarrassed all rolled into one and she's also sorry and says so in her small voice. Then the vomit begins and it's everywhere. She can not control her bodily fluids so we are wiping her mouth and her tush almost simultaneously. We tell her it's okay, that it's our job and pleasure to take care of her. But it continues and we know we have to take her in. We put our five year old in size 3 pullups because she still fits with her small 3 ft, 30 pound frame and begin the familiar route to Lutheran.
Back from the hospital, she plays and drinks Gatorade and revels in the fact that it's her birthday today and she finally gets to have her "YES" day. She asks to play and daddy plays. She asks for Chick Fil A and she eats to her heart's content. But this time she orders water instead of sprite...A very responsible choice yet we feel sad that she has to make that for herself...at the age of five...on her birthday.
By the time she reaches Toys R Us she is fast asleep, her small body still processing all the drugs, exhausted from the constant battle of fighting.
It is Thursday, and she's clingy in a way that is unlike her. She attaches herself to my leg and refuses to let go when it is time for me to leave. She inconsolable and I'm stoic, a shell of a person. I am bankrupt of emotions and want to escape so I continue out the door.
It's Friday and I'm back. I missed her. She comes running at the sound of the door and I scoop her up and swing her around. I sing her a love song and hold her close. We laugh forgetting yesterday's tears. It's time for us to go somewhere--an event we originally planned for her to attend, but now things are different. We are scared to bring her out into the world of invisible terrors, food particles so miniscule they are overlooked by our wary eyes. We discuss leaving her at home but her tears win us over. We are in the car and she is excited to see her aunts and uncles but before long, she's nodding in and out of sleep.
We arrive and she is excited! She races over and greets her people. She chit-chats and takes pictures and asks 100 questions. We sit down to eat but then, she wants to go home. She knows herself and fatigue is setting in again. We walk to the elevators only to RUN to the bathroom because she's going to have an accident. We beg to cut the line and I sit her down. The look of sheer relief that she hasn't soiled her pants spreads over her face and I realize that she would have been mortified had we been another second late. I pick her up and she's fast asleep even before we get back to the car.
These are all the after effects of the anaphylactic reaction she had a few days prior. We are always thankful, with deep seated gratitude, at the grace that is shown every time she beats another reaction but we rarely talk about what it takes to recover. Her little body, at the bustling age of five, still remains the size of a three year old. There's probably a lot that plays into that, genes being one of them, but it doesn't help that her system is riddled with steroids and other medicines that alter her rate of growth. Sometimes the very thing that helps her also hinders her so badly. As her mama, it's hard for me to look away when we give her these life saving drugs knowing that, one day, it might have an adverse affect on her. This is when I am able to viscerally feel the weight of choosing between the lesser of two evils. Ugh, it's heavy.
At times I feel like maybe I need to go on meds because, you know, this life and death gamble is so intense and I'm afraid I'll completely lose it. Like what if I'm waiting in line at Target and I decide that I need to have a good cry...in the middle of that line. That's pretty socially unacceptable yet so incredibly possible. And other times I have this immense fear of having to live my life without her and my heart feels like it's shriveling up. Can medicine numb these feelings? Do I even want the pain to go?
I don't know how I'll recover from watching my kid slip away from me but I have to somehow believe that things will get better. Because she needs me to not run away and lose my faith. She's counting on me to be strong, clear headed, loving and ever patient (which I'm not) and I need to be ready to fight to the death for her life. She enters Kindergarten in a few weeks and I'm already drained from the push back we receive about her needs and I'm reminded how freaking lonely and scary this whole thing is.
But this week I was encouraged while listening to Klove on the way to work. (Okay, that sounds really cliche.) Anyway, I heard the most perfect song. People ask how it's going and I say it's okay because that's better than the truth. But this song captures what's going on inside and it's good to know that what I'm feeling is legit.
To Ava. Things Mama will say to you one day.
All of Me
By: Matt Hammitt
Afraid to love
Something that could break
Could I move on
If you were torn away
And I'm so close
To what I can't control
I can't give you half my heart
And pray He makes you whole
You're gonna have all of me
You're gonna have all of me
Cause you're worth every falling tear
You're worth facing any fear
You're gonna know all my love
Even if it's not enough
Enough to mend our broken hearts
But giving you all of me
Is where I'll start
I won't let sadness
Steal you from my arms
I won't let pain
Keep you from my heart
I dread the fear
Of all that I could lose
For every moment
I'll share with you
And Heaven brought you to this moment
It's too wonderful to speak
You're worth all of me
You're worth all of me
So let me recklessly love you
Even if I bleed
You're worth all of me
You're worth all of me
You're gonna have all of me
You're gonna have all of me
Cause you're worth every falling tear
You're worth facing any fear
You're gonna know all my love
Even if it's not enough
Enough to mend our broken hearts
But giving you all of me
Is where I'll start
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Happy Life Day, My Love!
Dear My Love,
You love it when I call you that. I could call you a hundred different silly nicknames that you think are pretty great but when you hear me call out "My Love" you freeze and look at me with your deep brown eyes. It's almost like you know that you capture the very essence of a concept I've thought elusive for most of my life.
What is love? Is it a feeling? An idea? Is it a person? After all these years of life, I'm still not sure I can define it in concrete terms but I do know that you, A, at the tender young age of five are familiar with love. You encapsulate it when you flash me a grin after I've told you some lame knock-knock joke for the umpteenth time. Your droopy eyes emanate love even after you've seen me "done lose my mind" because I just had a break-down over a seemingly minimal moment such as you taking one millisecond too long to put on your shoes. Your forgiveness demonstrates it in a profound way when you catch me eating ice cream that you can't have and that I can't give up because I'm more selfish than a two year old child. The gentleness with which you try to hold your massive sister who weighs a slight 5 pounds less than you is love. And certainly the way you throw your head back and laugh, savoring life and celebrating good things, shows that you know love.
That's what I'm learning from you as I begin to understand this thing called love. It is a positive that far outweighs any negative that it could bring. Love takes a chance and there's a lot at stake. But, like you, I choose to love. On your second birthday the doctors told us that your life would teeter and hang in the balance indefinitely. This Wednesday marks your 5th year of life and my 5th year of loving with reckless abandon. My love, here's to one more year, one more miracle, one more chance to show that love never fails.
With all that I have,
Mama
You love it when I call you that. I could call you a hundred different silly nicknames that you think are pretty great but when you hear me call out "My Love" you freeze and look at me with your deep brown eyes. It's almost like you know that you capture the very essence of a concept I've thought elusive for most of my life.
What is love? Is it a feeling? An idea? Is it a person? After all these years of life, I'm still not sure I can define it in concrete terms but I do know that you, A, at the tender young age of five are familiar with love. You encapsulate it when you flash me a grin after I've told you some lame knock-knock joke for the umpteenth time. Your droopy eyes emanate love even after you've seen me "done lose my mind" because I just had a break-down over a seemingly minimal moment such as you taking one millisecond too long to put on your shoes. Your forgiveness demonstrates it in a profound way when you catch me eating ice cream that you can't have and that I can't give up because I'm more selfish than a two year old child. The gentleness with which you try to hold your massive sister who weighs a slight 5 pounds less than you is love. And certainly the way you throw your head back and laugh, savoring life and celebrating good things, shows that you know love.
That's what I'm learning from you as I begin to understand this thing called love. It is a positive that far outweighs any negative that it could bring. Love takes a chance and there's a lot at stake. But, like you, I choose to love. On your second birthday the doctors told us that your life would teeter and hang in the balance indefinitely. This Wednesday marks your 5th year of life and my 5th year of loving with reckless abandon. My love, here's to one more year, one more miracle, one more chance to show that love never fails.
With all that I have,
Mama
Monday, April 1, 2013
venting
A was terribly sick today and I couldn't be happier.
You see, it was JUST food poisoning! Usually, in this house, vomiting is followed by an epi pen and a visit to the ER at best. So when she is down with a normal virus, I'm unreasonably upbeat.
I won't minimize the pain that she's going through though. It's terrible to see her face sunken in and her lil' belly disappear. She hasn't had an appetite in the last 24 hours and is bearing the brunt of her sickness with a quiet strength. She's been tempered by her past experiences.
So when she finally mustered the energy to whisper, "I want Chipotle," I sprung into action! The drive there was pleasant and unrushed, completely unlike the madness that precedes a dash to the hospital. I was in one piece and I was happy. The sun was still out at 7:00 p.m. and my baby was going to be alright. A little pulled pork and lime cilantro rice would be the medicine she needed.
I got a great parking spot and reached the door at the same time as another patron who was just as excited to be at Chipotle as I was. We walked in and then we saw the line. He swore under his breath. The line was 10 people deep and only getting longer. And I knew that my mission just doubled in intensity.
My orders take time. You don't want to be the person behind me when I make an order at a restaurant for my girl. I'm meticulous about making sure they get it right. Because one miscommunication could lead to a lifetime of regret.
I geared myself up for the order and went over it in my head. I've almost mastered the art of saying a lot in just a few words. We used to struggle in the beginning to be succinct yet accurate when communicating about A's food. There were times when we'd get frustrated at each other for saying too much or too little but we have had plenty of practice since those pilgrim days.
I put on my game face and got ready for my order. Mr. Potty Mouth was first and his order was quick. "I'd like 3 hard tacos, with brown rice and steak." The girl wasn't paying attention and began to scoop white rice on to his tacos. "No, Miss, I wanted brown rice." The girl was sorry and she put the white rice that touched the tacos back into the container. Darn. My night just became exponentially harder. I needed that white rice to be "clean" and now it wasn't. If my initial order wasn't enough to annoy her already, now she was really going to be pissed off.
It was my turn and I began my well-rehearsed speech. "Hi, my daughter has life threatening food allergies. Could you switch out your gloves? I'd like a side of rice and a side of pulled pork." She quickly changed her gloves and began to scoop the rice into the bowl. She was clearly disinterested in my plea for a safe meal. "Excuse me, I was wondering if you had some new rice that you could take a scoop from." She turned to the counter behind her and removed the wrap off a new container and began to fill the bowl with plain white rice.
Now, normally, I would just go with this because as much as servers hate special orders, I hate asking for them. But white just wasn't going to cut it today. A had specifically asked for the lime cilantro rice because it was her favorite. "Mama, please could you get me the Chipotle rice?" I was going to advocate for my girl and I knew it wouldn't be fun. "Excuse me, I'm so sorry but is there a new batch of lime cilantro rice? I would really appreciate it if I could get some of that." The girl was not amused. "This is all we have." The manager, overhearing our conversation, walked over to check on the hold up. He asked if there was something he could help me with. I explained the situation and he reiterated that he could just give me some rice from what they already had.
Now I had two people who thought I was being one of those uptight North Shore brats that just had to have it my way. What I really wanted to tell them was that I was ghetto. That's right, they could drop my food on the floor, pick it up, plate it, and I would still eat it. If my daughter wouldn't teeter on the edge of life each time she consumed the wrong thing, I would have probably taught her to do the same. But, no, life didn't work out that way.
By this time, the 6 young twenty-something guys in line behind me got really quiet. This was noticeable because prior to that they were having a loud and unappealing conversation about nothing. It was ironic that now I was the one having the weird conversation and I almost wanted to turn around and say, "Bet you didn't think I could be more obnoxious than you!"
After assessing the growing lines and the fact that I was most likely not going to go away without the special rice, the manager quickly turned around and asked the cook to make the rice. It took all of 10 seconds. During these 10 seconds the girl decided to look at me and roll her eyes.
And that was all it took.
"I'm so sorry to have to bother you with these special requests, it's just that my daughter could die if you're not careful."
"I'm really so sorry. I'd just rather be safe because she has a history of anaphylaxis."
"I apologize for making you have to take extra precautions. I just don't want my daughter to have to end the day in the hospital."
I think she got the point. I paid and made my way out of there but I was mad. The girl felt inconvenienced, but you know what? So did I. Every single time I order food, get meat at the deli counter, send A to school, leave her with a babysitter, go on a playdate, have a playdate at my house, I have to have an inconvenient conversation abut life and death.
I know I need to learn to accept people who don't understand where I'm coming from just as much as someone else might have to learn to accept where I am coming from. I just didn't expect the battle to be so wearisome.
I'll keep it up though, not because I'm innately tough but because the moment I gave birth to her I joined the ranks of all the super women before me who had to walk through life wearing the most vulnerable part of themselves on the outside of their bodies-the heart. A and G are an extension of me-my living, beating heart exposed to the world and I will do whatever it takes to protect them even if I have to stare down 100 eye rolls and tweak 1000 meal orders.
Bring it.
You see, it was JUST food poisoning! Usually, in this house, vomiting is followed by an epi pen and a visit to the ER at best. So when she is down with a normal virus, I'm unreasonably upbeat.
I won't minimize the pain that she's going through though. It's terrible to see her face sunken in and her lil' belly disappear. She hasn't had an appetite in the last 24 hours and is bearing the brunt of her sickness with a quiet strength. She's been tempered by her past experiences.
So when she finally mustered the energy to whisper, "I want Chipotle," I sprung into action! The drive there was pleasant and unrushed, completely unlike the madness that precedes a dash to the hospital. I was in one piece and I was happy. The sun was still out at 7:00 p.m. and my baby was going to be alright. A little pulled pork and lime cilantro rice would be the medicine she needed.
I got a great parking spot and reached the door at the same time as another patron who was just as excited to be at Chipotle as I was. We walked in and then we saw the line. He swore under his breath. The line was 10 people deep and only getting longer. And I knew that my mission just doubled in intensity.
My orders take time. You don't want to be the person behind me when I make an order at a restaurant for my girl. I'm meticulous about making sure they get it right. Because one miscommunication could lead to a lifetime of regret.
I geared myself up for the order and went over it in my head. I've almost mastered the art of saying a lot in just a few words. We used to struggle in the beginning to be succinct yet accurate when communicating about A's food. There were times when we'd get frustrated at each other for saying too much or too little but we have had plenty of practice since those pilgrim days.
I put on my game face and got ready for my order. Mr. Potty Mouth was first and his order was quick. "I'd like 3 hard tacos, with brown rice and steak." The girl wasn't paying attention and began to scoop white rice on to his tacos. "No, Miss, I wanted brown rice." The girl was sorry and she put the white rice that touched the tacos back into the container. Darn. My night just became exponentially harder. I needed that white rice to be "clean" and now it wasn't. If my initial order wasn't enough to annoy her already, now she was really going to be pissed off.
It was my turn and I began my well-rehearsed speech. "Hi, my daughter has life threatening food allergies. Could you switch out your gloves? I'd like a side of rice and a side of pulled pork." She quickly changed her gloves and began to scoop the rice into the bowl. She was clearly disinterested in my plea for a safe meal. "Excuse me, I was wondering if you had some new rice that you could take a scoop from." She turned to the counter behind her and removed the wrap off a new container and began to fill the bowl with plain white rice.
Now, normally, I would just go with this because as much as servers hate special orders, I hate asking for them. But white just wasn't going to cut it today. A had specifically asked for the lime cilantro rice because it was her favorite. "Mama, please could you get me the Chipotle rice?" I was going to advocate for my girl and I knew it wouldn't be fun. "Excuse me, I'm so sorry but is there a new batch of lime cilantro rice? I would really appreciate it if I could get some of that." The girl was not amused. "This is all we have." The manager, overhearing our conversation, walked over to check on the hold up. He asked if there was something he could help me with. I explained the situation and he reiterated that he could just give me some rice from what they already had.
Now I had two people who thought I was being one of those uptight North Shore brats that just had to have it my way. What I really wanted to tell them was that I was ghetto. That's right, they could drop my food on the floor, pick it up, plate it, and I would still eat it. If my daughter wouldn't teeter on the edge of life each time she consumed the wrong thing, I would have probably taught her to do the same. But, no, life didn't work out that way.
By this time, the 6 young twenty-something guys in line behind me got really quiet. This was noticeable because prior to that they were having a loud and unappealing conversation about nothing. It was ironic that now I was the one having the weird conversation and I almost wanted to turn around and say, "Bet you didn't think I could be more obnoxious than you!"
After assessing the growing lines and the fact that I was most likely not going to go away without the special rice, the manager quickly turned around and asked the cook to make the rice. It took all of 10 seconds. During these 10 seconds the girl decided to look at me and roll her eyes.
And that was all it took.
"I'm so sorry to have to bother you with these special requests, it's just that my daughter could die if you're not careful."
"I'm really so sorry. I'd just rather be safe because she has a history of anaphylaxis."
"I apologize for making you have to take extra precautions. I just don't want my daughter to have to end the day in the hospital."
I think she got the point. I paid and made my way out of there but I was mad. The girl felt inconvenienced, but you know what? So did I. Every single time I order food, get meat at the deli counter, send A to school, leave her with a babysitter, go on a playdate, have a playdate at my house, I have to have an inconvenient conversation abut life and death.
I know I need to learn to accept people who don't understand where I'm coming from just as much as someone else might have to learn to accept where I am coming from. I just didn't expect the battle to be so wearisome.
I'll keep it up though, not because I'm innately tough but because the moment I gave birth to her I joined the ranks of all the super women before me who had to walk through life wearing the most vulnerable part of themselves on the outside of their bodies-the heart. A and G are an extension of me-my living, beating heart exposed to the world and I will do whatever it takes to protect them even if I have to stare down 100 eye rolls and tweak 1000 meal orders.
Bring it.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
He told me that I was the unsung hero...that I saved her life again. But I felt like a failure. You would think that by now, we'd have gotten it right. Instead we subject her body to more drugs than a young child should ever know and pain that can't be kissed away.
We are shipwrecked.
Sunday was filled with lots of eating things on the go. A had two hamburger patties from McDonald's, gummy bears from the mall, baked treats from a friend. It could have been anything. We don't know. Everything she ate, she's had before and we took every precaution we normally do. The only thing we can think of is that she's just becoming more sensitive to her allergens.
After a day filled with lots of her favorite things, she ended the night in the hospital. By 8:10 that night, she developed a cough that was concerning. She didn't seem bothered by it but I kept asking her if she was all right. A said she was fine and continued to eat dinner while playing with her Ipad. By 8:15 I knew something was wrong because her coughing had turned to wheezing and her face was turning red. By 8:20, I had given her Benedryl which she promptly threw up along with thick mucus. By 8:25, she was turning purple and saying she couldn't breathe. By 8:30, the epi was administered and immediately her symptoms began to clear up. At 8:33, we called 911 and the paramedics were on the way. When we got to the hospital, A's allergic reaction rebounded and she was given a second dose of epi and an IV was put in to begin the treatments. When she found out she needed a second epi and the IV, she gave us the saddest, most hopeless whimper as if to tell us she's been through enough.
After everything was done, with tears, she wailed out a "thank you" to the nurses. Why my child has to thank someone through her suffering, I'll never ever understand.
There are a hundred things vying for my attention and yet I just want to sit and stare. I feel numb. I wish there was an emotion: anger, disappointment, sadness, anything...But, nope, there's nothing. Am I getting used to it all? God, please not that.
I will fight to the bitter end and we'll get through whatever is in front of us. And tomorrow I'll get up and the sun will shine and my heart will melt. But, tonight....tonight, there is no happily ever after. I'm sorry for that.
Update:
I take that back. I do feel something. I'm scared. The really heavy kind of fear where it's hard to breathe. But I'm working through it because I know, somewhere deep down in my memories, there is buried a precious truth-that perfect love casts out fear. God, begging for that peace tonight...
We are shipwrecked.
Sunday was filled with lots of eating things on the go. A had two hamburger patties from McDonald's, gummy bears from the mall, baked treats from a friend. It could have been anything. We don't know. Everything she ate, she's had before and we took every precaution we normally do. The only thing we can think of is that she's just becoming more sensitive to her allergens.
After a day filled with lots of her favorite things, she ended the night in the hospital. By 8:10 that night, she developed a cough that was concerning. She didn't seem bothered by it but I kept asking her if she was all right. A said she was fine and continued to eat dinner while playing with her Ipad. By 8:15 I knew something was wrong because her coughing had turned to wheezing and her face was turning red. By 8:20, I had given her Benedryl which she promptly threw up along with thick mucus. By 8:25, she was turning purple and saying she couldn't breathe. By 8:30, the epi was administered and immediately her symptoms began to clear up. At 8:33, we called 911 and the paramedics were on the way. When we got to the hospital, A's allergic reaction rebounded and she was given a second dose of epi and an IV was put in to begin the treatments. When she found out she needed a second epi and the IV, she gave us the saddest, most hopeless whimper as if to tell us she's been through enough.
After everything was done, with tears, she wailed out a "thank you" to the nurses. Why my child has to thank someone through her suffering, I'll never ever understand.
There are a hundred things vying for my attention and yet I just want to sit and stare. I feel numb. I wish there was an emotion: anger, disappointment, sadness, anything...But, nope, there's nothing. Am I getting used to it all? God, please not that.
I will fight to the bitter end and we'll get through whatever is in front of us. And tomorrow I'll get up and the sun will shine and my heart will melt. But, tonight....tonight, there is no happily ever after. I'm sorry for that.
Update:
I take that back. I do feel something. I'm scared. The really heavy kind of fear where it's hard to breathe. But I'm working through it because I know, somewhere deep down in my memories, there is buried a precious truth-that perfect love casts out fear. God, begging for that peace tonight...
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Inspiration
I'm inspired by her. In ways that I've never been by anyone else. Since the day she entered this world, she's been challenging me to change, grow, pace myself, forgive, love, create, heal, give, dance, laugh, accept...
I've written words that hopefully will touch her heart one day. I've made up songs for only her ears. I've soared to the highest places, and my heart has broken into more pieces than can be counted. I've learned to hold tight while letting go. I've grown up so much in the past 4 years. All because of this tiny old soul.
I think she's going to change the world somehow, someday. Just like she's changed mine.
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