PT Updates

In our house, PT means two things: potty training and physical therapy. Mac has been potty trained for a month or two now, and it is glorious. And even though it took her a long time to buy into it, once she started, she hardly had any accidents. Even at night. Although she hasn't used it much recently, she has a Dora potty seat that she puts on the regular seat so that she doesn't fall in. Does that make sense? Here's a picture:

She has one at home, at Nanny's, and at Grandma's. One day when I was picking her up from Nanny's, she came out of the bathroom with the Dora seat on her head. I kid you not -- I don't know why she put it on there, but once it was on, it wouldn't come off. Liar, you say? I have proof:

I had to try really hard not to laugh, because she was so upset. It obviously hurt whenever we tried to pull it off. In my defense, I didn't take the pictures right away, but it was too good to pass up. Finally, Pop Pop had to cut it off. She recovered pretty quickly and even used the seat again for a while. So far, it hasn't gone back on her head. I wouldn't put past her to try again, though...

And the other PT -- physical therapy -- it going pretty well. Oliver still hasn't rolled over, which apparently is the gateway to mobility. So that is what we gear all of our time towards now. He's close, but still not getting it. I guess that all of his movement issues are related to the spina bifida, but it's kind of weird how it affects things other than just his legs. He still has a tough time sitting up on his own, and he kind of leans to one side more than the other. So we continue to stretch, roll, and play on the belly. Yesterday, I talked with the PT about what to do when Oliver hits the age where he should be crawling or walking. She gave me a really good idea: to go get one of those little flat scooters (like we used to use in gym class) to lay on/push. The idea of him wheeling away, out of control scares, me. Clearly, I mastered neither the little scooter, nor the bike, when I was younger. She said I could also get a little toy truck or even a package of diapers that he can lean on to scoot across the floor. She also told me that I might be holding him too much, and I should just let him hang out on the floor more. So we have all sorts of exciting things to try.

Our PT also recommended that Oliver see a physiatrist. A physiatrist "Specializes in clinical and diagnostic use of physical agents and exercises to provide physiotherapy for physical, mental, and occupational rehabilitation of patients: Examines patient, utilizing electrodiagnosis and other diagnostic procedures to determine need for and extent of therapy." Um, I just found this definition online-- there will be no electrodiagnosis. But anyway, this doctor would be able to prescribe special equipment and other therapy. Not that I'm looking forward to adding another doctor to our repertoire, but I do like the idea of getting Oliver all the help we can. And this doctor would be in New Jersey, which is always a bonus. Kind of like the Little Gym, but more intense.

A Successful Surgery

The title says it all. Thank God, everything went well. The day before surgery, we had to call to get a time: 6:15 a.m. Um, what? But they couldn't switch it, so down we went. Everything went very smoothly.

Hanging out in the waiting room.

6:15 -- we were actually on time! That might be the first time ever.

6:30 -- Taken into the perioperative room. This is the room for both pre-operative interviews and recovery. The room has a rocking chair for me, a chair for Tim, and stretcher/bed for Oliver, a "parent phone" for outgoing calls, supplies and a desk for the medical staff, and a tv. Since this is our third surgery, it's getting to be sort of familiar. Before the surgery, the nurse takes down general information about Oliver, verifies what is in his records, goes over allergies, etc. Then the doctor comes in to talk about the procedure and answer any questions. Finally, we meet with anesthesiology. Meanwhile, Oliver gets dressed in cute little hospital jammies. I'm always tempted to steal them, but I know I would never put them on him at home. Everyone commented on how big he is -- poor guy is going to get a complex.

7:30 -- They took Oliver into surgery. No matter how calm I am leading up to it, I always get choked up. Yesterday was no exception. I hate the idea of him going under anesthesia. Once he went to surgery, we went to the surgical waiting room. There is a woman with whom you check in, and she gives you all the information that goes along with waiting. I've identified a few jobs that I would want to do if I wasn't on my current career path, and for some reason, this is one of them. You can track Oliver's progress (in surgery or recovery) on a large board. There are computers, tables, vending machines, free coffee, and free graham crackers. I set up shop and got started on my dissertation. Tim read his book. It took quite a while for Oliver to get on the board -- I was just starting to get worried when I saw his initials and patient number pop up. A nurse came out twice to give us an update.

9:30 -- Oliver was in recovery. Always a relief. The doctor came out and told us that everything went well. They found his left testicle (yay), brought it down and "tacked" it so it stays in place, and also went into the right side and tacked that one down, too. The little guy is all set. Oliver was a little hungry and a little cranky. He spent much of the next hour sleeping and occasionally eating.

11:30 -- We were able to be discharged. After we went down to the cafeteria to get lunch, we hit the road to go home. Oliver spent the rest of the day sleeping and eating, but mostly sleeping. He doesn't seem to be in much pain. He has four incisions altogether, two of them in a very delicate place. But by today, he was all recovered from the surgery.

All tired out and ready to go home.

O Sleep, Where Art Thou?

Proof that they can sleep, when the choose to.

Sleep has left the building. Seriously. A combination of the time change plus our group illness has left the house essentially sleepless for over a week now. While I appreciate the extra hours of light, I'll come right out and say it: damn daylight savings time. For the first few nights, Mac would not go to sleep with any less than 5 times of "coming out" -- sneaking out of bed with a little smile on her face to go potty, tell me that "the other night I said she could just lay on my lap and watch TV" (I never said that), or just plain run around until I can catch her and put her into bed. And then when I put her in, she yells "Mama, come!" She doesn't even call me "Mama" -- this is her attempt at baby talk, probably because while she is doing all of this I often have Oliver on my lap trying to get him to sleep. In keeping with the old adage "Never go to sleep angry," I hate having to reprimand her before sleep. I want her last thoughts before sleep to be happy thoughts about how much mommy loves her. However, after about 2 times of her coming out, I have completely lost my cool. Then I overcompensate by getting angry, getting her into bed, and then giving her a ton of kisses once she is in there. So maybe I'm sending some mixed messages.

This doesn't happen every night. But more often than not, on the nights that this doesn't happen, she has been waking up in the middle of the night. We have gone through this before and it sucks. I really don't even know what to do. When she wakes up in the middle of the night, it starts with her little feet padding down the hall. Usually a cute sound, it now generates a curse from me, followed by me hitting Tim's arm and telling him to get ready. My equivalent of yelling "incoming!" And this is what happened last night. It may have been our worst ever. She came in around 2:30. Tim had just gotten in bed, so he took the first attempt at getting her back to sleep. So Mac says, "Doggy really wanted to sleep in your bed." I told her that doggy (her stuffed dog, who she was holding) could come back in the morning, but had to sleep in her bed. So she said, "Okay doggy, did you hear that? Maybe another time, okay?" Very cute. So Tim took her and put her in bed. She asked if I could come lay. Okay. So I go lay for quite a while. Every time I went to get up, she looked like she was almost asleep, so I would stay. When it was clear she wasn't going to sleep, I told her I was going to bed. She started to wind up the tantrum. I told her to wait for me in bed 10 minutes and I would come back. If she was still awake, she could come in bed with me. But if she tried to follow me down the hall, she would have to go back in bed with the door closed.

Here's where I made my mistake -- she made it the whole ten minutes, so I went to check on her. I felt I owed it to her to be honest. Dumb. She was falling asleep when I went in. But when she saw me, I had to bring her into my bed.

Of course, all of this time, Oliver is asleep in our bed because I can't figure out how to get him to sleep in his own bed without crying and waking up Mac (like that makes a difference these days. But I do live in fear of him waking her up if I let him cry it out in his crib, for obvious reasons. I reason that after his surgery tomorrow, I'm going to let him sleep with us no matter what. So I'm waiting to train him to sleep in his own bed until after the surgery. Hah.). So we all squeeze into my bed and Mac proceeds to kick, roll, sit, and basically not sleep. So we put her back in bed. Back out she comes. Back in bed. Back out she comes. We close our door so she can't get in. She cries. We put her back in her bed. Finally, around 4:45, she falls asleep. Not because of anything we did, but I suspect because she hit her 2 1/2 hour mark and just fell back to sleep.

Exhausting, and I don't know what to do. I've tried different "sleep methods" and they really rely on a child who listens. And when it comes down to it, the only thing left is to let them cry it out. Which I hate. I've done it with Mac before, and it works, but I hate it. And now that she's not in a crib, it's a whole different game. Plus, with two, if one is sleeping, I don't want anyone crying to wake up the other. But I can't really blame the kids, because neither is a good sleeper. My parents might insinuate that it is karma, because I didn't nap and was also a night-waker. But at this point, we are all so utterly sleep deprived that I don't know how to get us back on track.

At least we all seem to be on the mend. Oliver should be clear for surgery tomorrow. Mac is having a sleepover with Nanny tonight in case we have an early surgery time. Sorry, Nanny -- let me offer my apologies up front.

Another Sick Day

So we're having another sick day. But this one is on the heels of what might be my scariest experience yet as a mother: an episode of croup. Mac has been stuffy/runny for a few days, but overall fine. Last night she woke up around midnight and could hardly catch her breath. She was coughing like a "seal bark" and having trouble breathing. At first she couldn't catch her breath, and then it turned into a "Darth Vadar" sounding breathing pattern. Her little chest was caving in at the ribs with each breath. We threw her in the bathroom and put the shower on full steam. Then I called the doctor. I had to leave a message with the hospital answering service, and when they called back, they very slowly took my name, address, etc., so that they could bill me the $5 required for after-hours service. It took all of my control to stay calm. By the time she actually got to talking about what was wrong with Mac, Mac had pretty much stopped coughing.

Luckily (sort of), Tim had experience with croup because he had that and asthma often when he was younger. He was very calm, but I was ready to take her to the hospital. But after 30 minutes in the steamy bathroom and a trip outside in the cold, Mac finally sounded better. So I decided to sleep with her in case it started up again. Which didn't work, because Mac has a really hard time sleeping with someone in the bed. She is in denial about this, as she always wants to be in our bed or have us in her bed, but she really is more of a solo sleeper. So, at this point it is 2:30. She and I lay there for an hour, with her tossing and turning. No recurring coughs, so I tell her I'm going into my own bed.

Meanwhile, my bed has both Tim and Oliver. And I desperately want to keep Mac and Oliver separate, since I can't even imagine how scary croup would be in a six month old. Plus, Oliver has to be clear for his surgery on Tuesday. About 3 minutes later, I hear little footsteps coming down the hallway. It was Mac, and she would not be turned away without a fight. Since I didn't want her getting worked up, out goes Oliver and in comes Mac. Luckily, within about 15 minutes or so, we were all asleep.

Fast forward to 7 am, when Oliver wakes up (plenty sniffly) to eat his breakfast. So I bring him into bed and keep him as far away from Mac as possible. When Mac wakes up at 8:30 (Oliver and I both fell asleep while he was eating) it is clear that she a) feels better and b) really needs a lot more sleep. So she instantly starts poking at Oliver and tapping (hitting) him on the head. It is so tiring to reprimand within 5 minutes of waking up, but something that I find myself doing more and more often.

So I call the doctor, who says Mac doesn't have to come in, but gives me instructions on how to keep Olivers sniffles from turning into croup. Out I go to CVS, where I buy a second cool-mist humidifier (I've been rotating the one we have to whoever is "sickest" each night), nose drops for each kid, and a nasal aspirator.

After 45 minutes of driving (to Starbucks, of course). they both finally fell asleep. I've never seen two kids who needed it more.

So that's our day. At least nobody is throwing up (yet).

...Like I Need a Hole in my Head

Honestly -- we lose an hour today? I need at least five more hours in any given day, and I have to give one up today? That's an hour I could spend with my kids, working on my dissertation, or watching America's Next Top Model.

The only good thing is that it will stay dark a little later in the morning. Mac has been waking up at 6:30 instead of her usual 8 a.m., I'm guessing because it's been so light. Hopefully this will get her back to sleeping in just a bit.

Just Call Me Mother Earth

It started with breastfeeding. Then I started making my own babyfood. Now I just ordered my first stock of cloth diapers. Making my own babyfood is going well so far. I just boil/bake the food and then put it in the blender with water. I try to buy organic and make enough for 2-3 days at a time. I have a feeling cloth diapering will be a bit more difficult. I can hardly keep up on my laundry as it is. But there are a lot of compelling reasons for trying it out. 1)It's sooo much better for the environment. I hate diapers! Hate them! I can just picture them filling up the landfills. We go through so many, even with Mac being potty trained. Uck! 2) It seems more economical. I pay $15-$20 for a one-two week supply of diapers. They usually last me about 1 1/2 weeks. Even though cloth diapers are expensive to start up (I just paid $78 for 9 diapers and 4 covers ~2 day supply), you don't have to buy them very often at all. These 9 diapers could last me for months. 3) Oliver will likely be in diapers until we teach him to self-catheterize. When I spoke to the doctor last time we took him to clinic, they said that could be anywhere from 5-7 years old. So I'd rather have him in cloth, which is closer to underpants, when he is old enough to realize what is going on. I figure I might as well start now.

I've even stopped doing my nails and dying my hair. We'll see how long that lasts. I'm not holding out much hope for going that green.