As most of you know, Coco went in for tubes a few weeks back. As I mentioned, Coco took it better than Mommy did. But what I discovered during the whole process was a bit disconcerting.
After they took Cora away for the procedure, I was told I could wait in the area outside of the recovery rooms until a nurse came to get me. I was told that it would only be about 5 or 10 minutes for the entire procedure. So, I paced, tried leafing through a magazine, tried to think of some conversation to have with Hubby, and when all else failed, stalked the recovery room door. It had a small rectangular pane of glass in the door, but I couldn't see much.
Hubby, knowing better than to try and get me to sit down, just came and stood quietly next to me. As we were waiting I heard that familiar wail. I heard Cora crying. To say it about broke my heart would be an understatement. It was all I could do to keep from ripping open the door I was pressed against and rushing in to hold her. Don't get me wrong, I can handle my child crying. As a mother of a colicky baby I learned it early just so I could survive. But I found that I couldn't handle it when I wasn't there with her. It was one thing if she was upset but at least knew her Mommy was there. It was quite another for her to be groggy, scared and alone in a strange place.
Just as I had about reached my limit (which is apparently about 10 seconds) a nurse's face popped into the glass. She warily opened the door and said "are you Cora's parents". I quickly confirmed we were and about pushed her over getting in the door. "She's just coming out of the surgery suite now" said the nurse. Just then a door at the other end of the room opened and a lady came in holding my little Coco - who was too groggy yet to realize she was upset and so was silent.
Oh. Hmmmm. So it had not been Cora after all who had been crying. Looking around I saw a little tow-headed boy sitting with his mother. He was the source of the tears. At the time I was so relieved that Cora wasn't upset that I didn't give it much thought. But in the days after it has been nagging at the back of my brain. Isn't it supposed to be mammalian? Darwinian? Aren't we supposed to instinctively know the cry of our offspring? What does that say about me as a mother if I didn't?
I don't dwell on it for hours, or devote time to thinking about it everyday. I haven't even Googled it (and for those of you who know me you realize that is something - I have many medical and psychiatric degrees from Google U). But I do wonder about it from time to time. Does this make me a bad mom? I guess when I meet Darwin someday, I'll have to ask him.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
She Said It, Not Me!
For those of you with kids you know what its like trying to teach little ones new words. For those of you who don’t, it’s a tedious process. It seems like the words they latch on to immediately are the ones you had nothing to do with (like the time my little one came home from daycare showing me her “ehbow”). The converse of that, of course, is that the words you try to teach them end up getting glossed over and forgotten quickly if ever picked up at all.
I’ve basically given up trying to teach Coco specific words and have begun just letting her pick up vocab at her own speed. I still throw a word at her now and again just to see what she does with it. I usually just ask her “Can you say _____”. She understands that means I want her to try and repeat the last word I said. It works well and for the most part and she at least gives it a go.
The issue comes when whatever word I am asking her to repeat sounds like another word she already knows. If they are too similar she simply reverts to the known word. Using “elbow” for example: she has a stuffed Hippo which she was carrying around one day. I asked Coco “Can you say ‘hippo’?” She looked at me and immediately said “ehbow?” We went through this a few times but really got no closer to hippo so I let it drop.
That bring us to this weekend. It was just Coco and I – Daddy was out running an errand. As she was running amok playing with her toys, I was sitting out the couch polishing off what remained of a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. Cora decided she needed some of whatever mommy was having. Not really wanting her to have Doritos, I realized that they weren’t all that great for me either. I told Cora, “Mommy shouldn’t be eating these – these are yuck. Mommy will turn into a fatty if she keeps eating them. Can you say “fatty”?” (Yes I know, it was terribly PC but such is life) Those little eyes looked and me and without skipping a beat she said “Daddy!”
It’s a good thing I was already sitting down because I laughed so hard it brought tears to my eyes. Soon thereafter, Hubby got home from his errands. As he was in the foyer removing his scarf and coat, I brought Coco in to meet him. I couldn’t help myself – I asked Coco “Can you tell Daddy’s how you say fatty?” To which she dutifully and proudly stated “Daddy!!” Hubby did not share my enthusiasm for her new found humor. He simply stared at me, scarf in hand, and said “Nice.” Then with a little gleam in his eye said, “Just wait until I have some alone time with her.”
Humph. Poor sport. Let me go on record as saying Daddy is anything BUT a “fatty”. Therein lies most of the humor. But I suppose being called one by your 17 month-old isn’t exactly charming. For him. I mean I thought it was hilarious. Hmmm. Whatever. Funny is funny. If you can’t warp your young child to your own ends, what’s the point of having children for Pete’s sake?
I’ve basically given up trying to teach Coco specific words and have begun just letting her pick up vocab at her own speed. I still throw a word at her now and again just to see what she does with it. I usually just ask her “Can you say _____”. She understands that means I want her to try and repeat the last word I said. It works well and for the most part and she at least gives it a go.
The issue comes when whatever word I am asking her to repeat sounds like another word she already knows. If they are too similar she simply reverts to the known word. Using “elbow” for example: she has a stuffed Hippo which she was carrying around one day. I asked Coco “Can you say ‘hippo’?” She looked at me and immediately said “ehbow?” We went through this a few times but really got no closer to hippo so I let it drop.
That bring us to this weekend. It was just Coco and I – Daddy was out running an errand. As she was running amok playing with her toys, I was sitting out the couch polishing off what remained of a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. Cora decided she needed some of whatever mommy was having. Not really wanting her to have Doritos, I realized that they weren’t all that great for me either. I told Cora, “Mommy shouldn’t be eating these – these are yuck. Mommy will turn into a fatty if she keeps eating them. Can you say “fatty”?” (Yes I know, it was terribly PC but such is life) Those little eyes looked and me and without skipping a beat she said “Daddy!”
It’s a good thing I was already sitting down because I laughed so hard it brought tears to my eyes. Soon thereafter, Hubby got home from his errands. As he was in the foyer removing his scarf and coat, I brought Coco in to meet him. I couldn’t help myself – I asked Coco “Can you tell Daddy’s how you say fatty?” To which she dutifully and proudly stated “Daddy!!” Hubby did not share my enthusiasm for her new found humor. He simply stared at me, scarf in hand, and said “Nice.” Then with a little gleam in his eye said, “Just wait until I have some alone time with her.”
Humph. Poor sport. Let me go on record as saying Daddy is anything BUT a “fatty”. Therein lies most of the humor. But I suppose being called one by your 17 month-old isn’t exactly charming. For him. I mean I thought it was hilarious. Hmmm. Whatever. Funny is funny. If you can’t warp your young child to your own ends, what’s the point of having children for Pete’s sake?
Monday, November 17, 2008
Letting Go Is The Hardest Part
Our moment came this weekend. The one every parent tells you that you will have – and the one you summarily dismiss and think you never will. Our little Coco fell down a full flight of stairs Sunday morning. Thank the Lord she is fine – no major injuries and in fact not even any bumps and bruises – the baby gate we had gently pushed to one side at the bottom of the staircase acted like a net and caught her before she hit the tile floor waiting below as if God himself had reached out his hand to break her fall. But even with the blessing of her not getting hurt, her mother’s pain wasn’t that much lessened.
Cora is currently learning to go down the stairs forward (she used to have to turn around and climb down them backwards). I had her hand at the top of the stairs and she was just beginning to take a step down whilst reaching for the railing when our 85lbs Lab decided he wanted to be part of the group and pushed past her to race down the stairs.
Once he pushed past her she lost her grip on my hand, slipped and spun around tummy-first onto the stairs. Just like a little one hanging on the edge of a cliff she grabbed briefly for the top step but couldn’t hold on – her hands slipped off and she started falling. In horror I watched her tumble and slide down the stairs. Luckily she never went end-over end – she just slid and rolled sideways (like a child rolling down a hill). Her head never hit either wall or banister and she came to rest with her back against the waiting baby-gate.
Its amazing that while your body feels like things are going in slow motion your mind is whirring at a million miles an hour. I knew I would never reach her before she landed – wherever that was going to be. So many things were going through my head. I was looking for any sign of blood or serious injury; I was watching each millisecond where her body went and how she fell; I somehow knew I had to be careful because if I got myself into a hurry I would slip and fall on top of her, exponentially worsening things. All of this was going through my head however the only thing that came out of my mouth was a scream for my husband that sounded horrible and scary even in my own ears. I didn’t even know my voice could make those noises.
Ryan came running from the master bath but by the time he got to us, she was already done with her fall wailing at the bottom of the stairs and I was just scooping her up into my arms. At first I held her, softly swayed and tried to calm her. Ryan met me at the base of the stairs but there was no way I was giving her over to him – I clung to her. But then the tears came, and the shaking took over, and I realized I wouldn’t be able to hold her for much longer so I kissed her and handed her over to her waiting daddy (who thankfully stayed unbelievably calm).
Daddy had the presence of mind to take Coco into the next room to her toys so she wouldn’t see Mommy upset. Once they got settled the crying stopped and she began to play with her Dad. I sank down onto our couch and, unseen by little eyes, sobbed my heart out. I had a million feelings. On one hand I knew she appeared to be physically alright, and so I questioned my reaction – scolding myself for being a drama queen. On the other hand I felt immense guilt, shame, relief, fear, love, and the remnants of sheer terror. When I was through, and able to get up, my husband was waiting with a deep hug and words of comfort – assuring me it was not my fault and that “these things are bound to happen”. The same things I would have told him – and meant them – if he had been the one who watched the fall happen. But for some reason I had a tough time forgiving myself. I am supposed to be the mom who protects her child from all harm, and here I had let go of her hand and let her fall down an entire flight of stairs.
To make matters worse, falling down stairs is a bit of a touchy subject at my house. My sister fell down an entire flight of wooden, unfinished basement stairs onto a cement floor as a child. She suffered a serious concussion (including unconsciousness) and a terrible black eye. My mother has talked about that day since I have been old enough to understand. When Cora was born my mother was the first to prompt me to get baby gates and to remind me to always keep an eye on Cora because “things can happen so quickly”. In addition, my beloved uncle fell down a flight of stairs some years back. Unfortunately it caused irreparable damage and while he stayed with us (albeit in a coma) for a couple of years, we lost him after that. To have to call my mother and tell her what had happened was almost as bad as the event itself. I just knew how disappointed she would be. (But of course she was a mother first – and calmed her own upset and hurting child when we spoke.)
About 30 minutes after everything had settled and we were sure Coco was ok, my body just gave out. I could not function. I would have willingly gone and taken a nap at that point, but I felt like I didn’t deserve one, and therefore wouldn’t allow myself that luxury. So I tried to do things around the house in an exhausted fog. I had to pay my penance for what had happened.
As of this morning I am happy to report Coco seems none the worse for wear. She has no scrapes or bruises. She is happy as a little clam and in fact within about 20 minutes after the accident yesterday she was back to her normal self. She also appears to have no residual fear of the stairs – she was back at the gate, wanting to go up and down, yesterday afternoon.
So while it appears Cora has no lasting effects from the ordeal, I’m sure Mommy will have. I’ll probably hold little hands tighter, give a little less leeway, curtail a little more freedom and generally be a wet blanket for a few days – a few weeks – who knows. I realize at some point I’ll have to relax the mental grip I have on her a little, but just don’t ask that of me anytime soon.
Cora is currently learning to go down the stairs forward (she used to have to turn around and climb down them backwards). I had her hand at the top of the stairs and she was just beginning to take a step down whilst reaching for the railing when our 85lbs Lab decided he wanted to be part of the group and pushed past her to race down the stairs.
Once he pushed past her she lost her grip on my hand, slipped and spun around tummy-first onto the stairs. Just like a little one hanging on the edge of a cliff she grabbed briefly for the top step but couldn’t hold on – her hands slipped off and she started falling. In horror I watched her tumble and slide down the stairs. Luckily she never went end-over end – she just slid and rolled sideways (like a child rolling down a hill). Her head never hit either wall or banister and she came to rest with her back against the waiting baby-gate.
Its amazing that while your body feels like things are going in slow motion your mind is whirring at a million miles an hour. I knew I would never reach her before she landed – wherever that was going to be. So many things were going through my head. I was looking for any sign of blood or serious injury; I was watching each millisecond where her body went and how she fell; I somehow knew I had to be careful because if I got myself into a hurry I would slip and fall on top of her, exponentially worsening things. All of this was going through my head however the only thing that came out of my mouth was a scream for my husband that sounded horrible and scary even in my own ears. I didn’t even know my voice could make those noises.
Ryan came running from the master bath but by the time he got to us, she was already done with her fall wailing at the bottom of the stairs and I was just scooping her up into my arms. At first I held her, softly swayed and tried to calm her. Ryan met me at the base of the stairs but there was no way I was giving her over to him – I clung to her. But then the tears came, and the shaking took over, and I realized I wouldn’t be able to hold her for much longer so I kissed her and handed her over to her waiting daddy (who thankfully stayed unbelievably calm).
Daddy had the presence of mind to take Coco into the next room to her toys so she wouldn’t see Mommy upset. Once they got settled the crying stopped and she began to play with her Dad. I sank down onto our couch and, unseen by little eyes, sobbed my heart out. I had a million feelings. On one hand I knew she appeared to be physically alright, and so I questioned my reaction – scolding myself for being a drama queen. On the other hand I felt immense guilt, shame, relief, fear, love, and the remnants of sheer terror. When I was through, and able to get up, my husband was waiting with a deep hug and words of comfort – assuring me it was not my fault and that “these things are bound to happen”. The same things I would have told him – and meant them – if he had been the one who watched the fall happen. But for some reason I had a tough time forgiving myself. I am supposed to be the mom who protects her child from all harm, and here I had let go of her hand and let her fall down an entire flight of stairs.
To make matters worse, falling down stairs is a bit of a touchy subject at my house. My sister fell down an entire flight of wooden, unfinished basement stairs onto a cement floor as a child. She suffered a serious concussion (including unconsciousness) and a terrible black eye. My mother has talked about that day since I have been old enough to understand. When Cora was born my mother was the first to prompt me to get baby gates and to remind me to always keep an eye on Cora because “things can happen so quickly”. In addition, my beloved uncle fell down a flight of stairs some years back. Unfortunately it caused irreparable damage and while he stayed with us (albeit in a coma) for a couple of years, we lost him after that. To have to call my mother and tell her what had happened was almost as bad as the event itself. I just knew how disappointed she would be. (But of course she was a mother first – and calmed her own upset and hurting child when we spoke.)
About 30 minutes after everything had settled and we were sure Coco was ok, my body just gave out. I could not function. I would have willingly gone and taken a nap at that point, but I felt like I didn’t deserve one, and therefore wouldn’t allow myself that luxury. So I tried to do things around the house in an exhausted fog. I had to pay my penance for what had happened.
As of this morning I am happy to report Coco seems none the worse for wear. She has no scrapes or bruises. She is happy as a little clam and in fact within about 20 minutes after the accident yesterday she was back to her normal self. She also appears to have no residual fear of the stairs – she was back at the gate, wanting to go up and down, yesterday afternoon.
So while it appears Cora has no lasting effects from the ordeal, I’m sure Mommy will have. I’ll probably hold little hands tighter, give a little less leeway, curtail a little more freedom and generally be a wet blanket for a few days – a few weeks – who knows. I realize at some point I’ll have to relax the mental grip I have on her a little, but just don’t ask that of me anytime soon.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Holy Stick!
Today a co-worker sent around an adorable video of a young girl being filmed by her mom. The little one was running around the garage pulling out what I believe ended up being about 5 frogs from her hiding place – her underpants. Hey, who needs pockets? As we were all cracking up about it, my father emailed to let me know my “time was coming”.
I have news for him … my time is here and going strong. Maybe not frogs in panties, but our recent events may have inspired even stronger reactions.
Here is the background: my daughter loved to be outside – as most little ones do – this summer. When she was out, we would always let our lab, Summit (see photo due right), out with us to enjoy the sunny days. When outside, Summit’s second order of business (you can guess the first) is to find a tasty twig or branch to chew up. Fascinated, Cora always wanted to grab the “stick crumbs” on the ground. We would always tell her “No honey, yucky! Sticks are yucky! Let mommy have it.” And she would hand it over and go find something else (usually equally as disgusting) to play with.
Because of this little routine, anytime she finds bits of something on the ground or floor (lint, leaves, food, etc) she comes running holding it up for me yelling “Stick! Stick Mommy!” And then we throw it away together. The only problem here is that she can’t quite say the word “stick” … it comes out much like another S-word I really shouldn’t say here. It’s a four-letter word. I’m betting you can work it out. Yeah. Holy stick.
Cute right? Yeah cute and funny around friends and family. But fast forward to this past weekend when we went to the local kiddie photo studio in the mall for her Christmas pictures. As I’m in front paying at the counter, she comes running from the back of the store (where there was a movie area to keep the kiddos entertained), clutching something in her tiny little hand, weaving in and out of other parents, children and employees, yelling … you guessed it: “S—t!! S—T Mommy! S—T!
How do you even begin to explain that. And how do you explain it without looking even more guilty and pathetic as you go? I believe I laughingly mumbled something about “she’s trying to say ‘stick’ I swear!”. I paid in a New York minute, gave Daddy the “you were supposed to be watching her” glare and hightailed it out of there.
We have to go in tonight to pick up the prints. All I can hope is that no one else there this weekend will be doing the same thing. And I can hope they’ve recently vacuumed in there tonight.
I have news for him … my time is here and going strong. Maybe not frogs in panties, but our recent events may have inspired even stronger reactions.
Here is the background: my daughter loved to be outside – as most little ones do – this summer. When she was out, we would always let our lab, Summit (see photo due right), out with us to enjoy the sunny days. When outside, Summit’s second order of business (you can guess the first) is to find a tasty twig or branch to chew up. Fascinated, Cora always wanted to grab the “stick crumbs” on the ground. We would always tell her “No honey, yucky! Sticks are yucky! Let mommy have it.” And she would hand it over and go find something else (usually equally as disgusting) to play with.
Because of this little routine, anytime she finds bits of something on the ground or floor (lint, leaves, food, etc) she comes running holding it up for me yelling “Stick! Stick Mommy!” And then we throw it away together. The only problem here is that she can’t quite say the word “stick” … it comes out much like another S-word I really shouldn’t say here. It’s a four-letter word. I’m betting you can work it out. Yeah. Holy stick.
Cute right? Yeah cute and funny around friends and family. But fast forward to this past weekend when we went to the local kiddie photo studio in the mall for her Christmas pictures. As I’m in front paying at the counter, she comes running from the back of the store (where there was a movie area to keep the kiddos entertained), clutching something in her tiny little hand, weaving in and out of other parents, children and employees, yelling … you guessed it: “S—t!! S—T Mommy! S—T!
How do you even begin to explain that. And how do you explain it without looking even more guilty and pathetic as you go? I believe I laughingly mumbled something about “she’s trying to say ‘stick’ I swear!”. I paid in a New York minute, gave Daddy the “you were supposed to be watching her” glare and hightailed it out of there.
We have to go in tonight to pick up the prints. All I can hope is that no one else there this weekend will be doing the same thing. And I can hope they’ve recently vacuumed in there tonight.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
The Changing of the Guard
Ok, so normally I refrain from political rantings but today I believe it is appropriate to diverge from my normal path. Its my time to talk about our new President. I know that for a select few he can be polarizing. There are those that disagree with his policy or his background. Those folks I can respect even as I disagree with them. Then there are the fringe few who insist on believing email chain letters about Muslim agendas and terroristic threats rather than learn the truth. Those folks I can’t help.
Apart from the above-mentioned few, I can’t help but believe that Barack Obama may be the closest thing we’ve had to a “people’s president” in a long time. I say that for many reasons.
First, oftentimes we see presidents elected by regions. Either we get someone “bi-coastal” (i.e. they get the northeast and California plus a few other states but leave behind a good part of the in-between), or we get the “hometown” presidents who get the heartland and a some others pulled in but alienate the coastal states. In Obama’s case he got it all. While he did capture both coasts, he also got Florida. And Iowa. And Virginia. And Ohio. And Nevada. And New Mexico. Basically Obama captured states from every region in this great nation. He cannot be said to have alienated the South, the Northwest, the Midwest or the Southwest.
Second, as one pundit pointed out, Obama seems to be a bit of a people’s mirror. By that I mean that people see in him what they want to see. He is black, but he is equally white. He is wealthy but has come from little. He lives in one of our largest cities but has been a small town kid. He is educated but talks to his kids about puppies in front of an entire country. He attracts movie stars and small town teens. He invigorates an entire arena or a small dinner party.
The hard part now is living up to his duplicity. Can he continue to be all things to all people once he stops talking about policy and begins making it? Will he continue to inspire all walks of life when he is making decisions that they may not agree with? Will he be able to live the Lincoln line of not pleasing all of the people all of the time and yet still being respected and revered? Will his polish fade and tarnish under the pressure of a difficult war?
All these things remain to be seen in the next four years, but for one girl from the Midwest, the future looks more hopeful than she’s seen it in quite sometime - as I believe it does for many, many others.
Apart from the above-mentioned few, I can’t help but believe that Barack Obama may be the closest thing we’ve had to a “people’s president” in a long time. I say that for many reasons.
First, oftentimes we see presidents elected by regions. Either we get someone “bi-coastal” (i.e. they get the northeast and California plus a few other states but leave behind a good part of the in-between), or we get the “hometown” presidents who get the heartland and a some others pulled in but alienate the coastal states. In Obama’s case he got it all. While he did capture both coasts, he also got Florida. And Iowa. And Virginia. And Ohio. And Nevada. And New Mexico. Basically Obama captured states from every region in this great nation. He cannot be said to have alienated the South, the Northwest, the Midwest or the Southwest.
Second, as one pundit pointed out, Obama seems to be a bit of a people’s mirror. By that I mean that people see in him what they want to see. He is black, but he is equally white. He is wealthy but has come from little. He lives in one of our largest cities but has been a small town kid. He is educated but talks to his kids about puppies in front of an entire country. He attracts movie stars and small town teens. He invigorates an entire arena or a small dinner party.
The hard part now is living up to his duplicity. Can he continue to be all things to all people once he stops talking about policy and begins making it? Will he continue to inspire all walks of life when he is making decisions that they may not agree with? Will he be able to live the Lincoln line of not pleasing all of the people all of the time and yet still being respected and revered? Will his polish fade and tarnish under the pressure of a difficult war?
All these things remain to be seen in the next four years, but for one girl from the Midwest, the future looks more hopeful than she’s seen it in quite sometime - as I believe it does for many, many others.
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