Singular Nap-or-at-tus

What?!? Wait a minute. No, how is this possible. I wasn't ready for this. (sound familiar?).

Once again I worried and fretted and researched when we should transition Riley to one nap. Transition! What a joke. I had nothing to do with it.

Riley has been sleeping twice a day for about an hour each time for months. She generally goes down at 10:30am and 2:30-3pm. My life revolved around this schedule. I showered and ate during the first nap and got Isaac started on homework during the second. Sure it made going places tricky because you had to aim for the ever changeable "between naps" window, but it gave 2 short breaks from Riley.

A few days ago Riley slept 3hrs during her morning nap. I was transported back to the first days of her life when I would check on her thousands of times while she slept. Suddenly, the quiet stillness was too much to bear. I assumed it was a fluke, but kept her up until bedtime since she'd slept so long.

The next day her morning nap lasted 4hrs. I was organizing my desk and making a new banner for the blog when I suddenly realized how long I'd been working uninterupted and graphic scenes of Riley injured in the next room flooded my brain. She was fine, but it was too late in the day for her to sleep before bed, again.

At that point I was convinced it was the cold she was recovering from and these long naps wouldn't last. Over the weekend she routinely slept 3-4hrs and on Saturday when I made the mistake of attempting to put her down for a second nap she made sure I paid for it. I was a deaf, basket-case when I gave up an hour later.

It was that afternoon that Mike said "I guess we've moved to one nap." Oh, wow! Oh...wooooowww. Duh. I hadn't realized what was happening until it was over, again. Why is Mommy always the last to get the memo? I had been too close to her to notice a change had occurred. I guess it'll always be that way. I'll only really see her growing up when I look at old pictures or when someone else points it out.

Not to be melodramatic, I'm fully aware she switched nap schedules. It's not like she's off to college, but it is another reminder that she's not a baby any more. She's a toddler through and through. I feel just as torn about the general direction of things as I do about the specific adjustment.

There are a few important pluses here: more hours awake at a time and a longer consectutive break from baby. It also means earlier lunch, ready for bed earlier (which sounds good but means she's up earlier in the morning), and messes with the nap schedule at day care.

How did we get here? She was just this tiny little bean that slept more than she was awake and now she picks out her clothes some mornings and tells me about her day with more words than babble.

Another step, another change. She sure knows how to remind Mommy who's in charge.

Or-or-ee-oooo, the Right Stuff.

Yesterday thanks to social networking I got my hands on  a recipe for Oreo muffins. In a past life I baked alot. It started in high school, around my Junior year when my over-loaded class schedule, extra circulars and after school job conspired to give me an ulcer. I would come home from school with a long list of to-dos and just bake a batch of cookies or something. It wasn't a comfort food thing. Sometimes I didn't eat any at all, but the baking process was comforting, I loved the warm kitchen with the smell of baked goods hanging in the air.

Between my grossly inadequate kitchen, my current inability to sit or stand very long and all the things that have to be done it's been years since I've even considered baking. Here's the recipe: http://www.kraftrecipes.com/recipes/oreo-muffins-53596.aspx

First I had to coarsely chop some cookies, so fun! Also, before you do anything else take the butter out to get soft this is very important.

A word to the wise if your house is anything like mine count out the necessary number of cookies for the muffins and one or two for yourself and put them somewhere you can keep an eye on them. I lost half a dozen to people breezing through the kitchen. It's better to leave your cookie pieces a little chunky.

Remember cook books? Me too I have a shelf full of them, but there's often a laptop on our kitchen table while someone is cooking. As convenient as laptops are, if your internet goes out or battery dies, you're stuck. I had one issue and panicked, and I still didn't print it out.

Yet again I thought that making muffins would be something the kids would want to help with, but I guess I didn't give them advanced enough warning because they were both out cold. Riley who rarely sleeps more than an hour has been recovering from a cold and sleeping longer. As far as big brother goes he discovered a channel that plays 80's cartoons in the wee hours of the morning. I can't really blame the kid for wanting to watch quality cartoons, but I've taken measures to prevent that from happening at 3am ever again. Isaac passed out college style in his science book:

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth I decided to go for it on this inexplicably quiet weekend afternoon. The next step is mixing the dry ingredients. I was a little intimidated by the step that requires you "cut in" butter with a "pasty blender." After consulting Mike it turns out that all they mean is not to mix it super thoroughly, but to leave slivers of butter in the batter. It has something to do with the way it cooks. Also, a wire whisk works just fine for this.  

Another snag we hit was that our baking power was so old it was from a store that has been out of business for some time (maybe 6yrs). We didn't think it would matter, being only powdered chemicals, but the muffins were pretty dense and didn't puff up as much as we expected. They were still perfectly delicious, however. Mixing in the wet ingredients was pretty straight forward and as a nice surprise they only needed to be stirred "just until moistened". I hate mixing for 20 minutes, laughing maniacally as I press every lump between the spoon and the bowl.

And then they woke up. Notice the Oreo face, at least the cookie thieves shared. 

 Riley loves to cook. She "helps" Daddy in the kitchen all the time. She arrived just in time to help me gently stir in the cookies. She did that for a few minutes and then grew impatient and ran off with the salt. There's a sodium mound on her brother's floor courtesy of Miss Roo.

Once the cookies were added it was scooping time. I always have anxiety about this part because I once overfilled my muffin cups with disastrous consequences. This recipe specifically states to fill 12 cup evenly, so there you have it. Fill them all until there's no more batter and then bake.

Once they were in the oven (I got help with that part, thank you Mike.) it was Isaac's turn to help:

Spoon well licked. I went to lay down and my timer didn't go off so my muffins baked an extra 5minutes, but no harm done. I mentioned before if your baking powder is less than a decade old yours will be puffier. Drum roll....

And here's a baby enjoying them

And here's the mess (well I tiny part of it)

Don't you love my beautiful bowls? I love finding reasons to use them. So, yummy muffins were had by all and my love of baking is re-ignited, hurray!

On an related note we ate a lovely dinner of pork chops and rice prepared by Mike. I was done being upright and productive after muffins. We were all sitting around the table, and Isaac exclaimed "we should have a meat tree."  As I have not yet conquered the grocery store, my mind was spinning at the possibility of it, when he followed up with "Or! A money tree."

I told him I'd rather have the meat tree, since a money tree would most likely be stolen. That's when he amended the idea to, "No, it would be inside the house."  I was apparently in Debbie Downer mode, because I immediately pointed out that if there were a money tree in the house, we could never move and it would be hard to have company over, because we might think that they had taken some if it's money.  Isaac thought about this for a minute, and then he said, "No, it would be a public money tree and there would be money for everyone.

 Isaac finished his dinner and went off to ponder how to secure the money tree.

I wish him lots of luck with that task.

Riley's Restaurant

This morning after giving the kids breakfast and dressing the baby I decided to get dressed and even (gasp!) put on some make up. I had of course done a survey of potential dangers and gaged big brother's mood. I was sure they'd play nicely for a bit. I was right.

When I came back to check on them mid-way through my make up application they were playing in Riley's room. Aside from the wall of toys Isaac had built to pen her in all was well. I reminded him how unkind that behavior is especially in Riley's own room. Riley was blissfully unaware of the barricade. She was very busy stirring in her yellow teacup with a smiling soup spoon. I asked her if she was making soup for Isaac. "Hassss!" she replied and continued stirring.

Isaac glanced up from Riley's little doll house where he was pushing Little People off the roof and with the disdain of a 13yr old girl dripping from his words replied "No, thanks. I don't need any soup in a teacup" I'm sure this remark did not have the effect he intended because I laughed which caused Riley to laugh and left him scowling.

Then I said "Oh, Riley you should start a restaurant. Soup in a teacup is quite a niche."

While I sat typing this Riley got into the kitchen garbage. I would re-think any reservations you made for her soup restaurant....

Crafty as a Moose

Moose: http://www.nickjr.com/crafts/moose-no-sew-snuggle-pillow.jhtml?path=/crafts/noggin-shows/all-themes/all-ages/index.jhtml
Zee: http://www.nickjr.com/crafts/zee-no-sew-snuggle-pillow.jhtml?path=/crafts/all-shows/seasonal/all-ages/index.jhtml

My entire plan for today was to make these little pillows Riley saw on TV and freaked out about. I enjoy crafts, but I'm no Martha Stewart by any means, in fact I really enjoy doing my own thing and I find the imperfections interesting.

For those of you who are unfamiliar, this is a clip featuring Moose A. Moose and his bird friend, Zee.

Parents from my generation know Moose's voice as Stick Stickly... Ah, memories...

I had left over felt from the hedgehog finger puppets I made for Riley's birthday:

Mike had some batting laying around from fixing the couch and I didn't want to go anywhere.
So we begun...

The first thing they don't tell you in the tips section is that not unlike those "10 minute" meals there's hours or prep work. First of all you have to do them both - their kind of like peanut butter and jelly, they go together. So that's 4 pages of templates to print, cut out of the paper and then cut out of the felt.

Still cutting, while Riley screams impatiently in the high chair beside me.

Here is a pile of Moose parts. Now, because I was working with left over felt from another project, I didn't have yellow for Moose's body. I only had brown. One piece of light brown and one piece of dark brown. I reasoned that, in the real world a moose would be brown, but I didn't have enough of either to do both sides. Also, both characters should have black and white eyes according to the directions. I didn't have black or white either, so I decided to use light brown for the whites of their eyes and blue and green for their respective pupils.

It took me a while to realize that, duh, I can fold the felt so I only had to cut the bodies, eyes, antlers, etc once. I was really worked up about things not lining up properly. When I was almost done, I realized all I had to do was trim the edges. Sigh, I swear when I had time to myself I used to do crafts all the time.

The directions tell you to let your preschooler arrange the faces, but by the time I had all the darn pieces cut out she was napping. I am not super proud of my cutting skills on the Moose. I recommend a pair of small scissors for detail work, though I was too tired to go dig them out. As you can see from the second picture, I amputated Moose's tail and had to re-attach it patchwork style. Both pillows had pieces that had to go between the layers. I borrowed a piece of stiff felt for Moose's antlers, but I forgot about Zee's feet. So the poor bird has floppy feet.

The directions talk about pressing down on those pieces for 60 seconds. I don't think that was enough I put a heavy book on top for long enough to proofread a blog post. Also, felt 101 (which I obviously slept through) dictates glue should be applied to the courser side as opposed to the soft side. This caused my pillows problems. Another tip the barcode sticker the craft store puts on is usually on the course side.

I glued the faces while Riley was napping. Sue me, I wanted to see what the pieces looked like all together after all that prep. She woke up in time to "help" stuff them and glue them closed. Here's what a 16mo old helping looks like:

Yup, that's her running away with the batting. They warn you not to over-stuff them since it will cause problems with glue. Once I scooped her on to my lap she did actually hold the glue bottle with me and squeeze. She even pressed down around the edges with me, unfortunately there was no way to take a picture of that moment of cooperation. The whole idea is that these are "no sew" pillows, but like I said, I had the felt sides wrong, so I was having sticking issues. Beyond that, I asked Riley where the eyes were and she promptly pulled them off. While it would have been the exact right thing with Mr. Potato Head, I had to hold back tears when she did it to our pillow friend.

So while Daddy gave Riley lunch, I decided to get out the needle and thread. Just so there's no confusion, those hedgehog finger puppets were my very first sewing project, I'm not exactly a member of any local quilting bees, I just wanted to at least anchor the faces. I thought lunch would give the glue time to dry, and then maybe, maybe, I wouldn't have to sew the perimeter of each. No dice.

I sewed the Moose. I wasn't pleased with how he turned out, but it's a hard and fast rule of crafts and baking that the first one you make turns out the worst. In hindsight, I wish I had stuffed them a little fuller since I was sewing them. Maybe I was being overly critical and I was disappointed in my aptitude for this project in general. I was stressed by the time Moose was done, and thinking, "why? why did I do this again? Answer:

 She LOVED him. He was perfect in her eyes. Even though it took me from 9:00am to 3:30pm to complete the first pillow I was able to sew Zee in the first 15mins of her nap. I sat around for the next 1.5hr impatiently waiting to show her Zee, who was hands-down my favorite. Ta-da!

 When I heard her waking up, I went racing to her room with Zee and a camera. She was elated! I said "Look who's here!" and Riley scooped Moose up out of her crib and held him up. Best friends reunited.

 Hurray, you're both here! I love you so much, Mwah!

 And then because Grandma didn't have a context for our friends, and just to see what Riley would do, I turned on Moose and Zee (gotta love cable on-demand). Here's my smiling, one shoed girl watching Moose and Zee on TV. She kept holding them up and laughing. It was so worth it!

Feeling Human Again

Today was my wonderful baby juggler friend's birthday. I schemed for awhile to orchestrate a mom's afternoon off. Her wonderful husband agreed to watch the babies. I went over in the morning so Riley could play. They had a blast and when they went down for nap we were off.

We went to get our nails done. I was never a high maintenance girl, but when I was single I found my way to the nail place on the corner twice a month for a pedicure. I haven't had a pedicure BY MYSELF (sans baby) in 8mos of pregnancy + 16mos of Riley's life=2yrs, at least. Which isn't really all that socking since the occasional doctor's appointment is really the only thing I do without Riley these days.

This was an important turning point for me. It felt like I'd been under water all this time and had finally made it to the surface for air. I may have taken a few steps in the right direction when Riley was 6mos, but when she was 8mos I had the back surgery which knocked me back to the days of having a newborn (or worse) as far as taking care of myself is concerned.

Eating, brushing my hair and teeth, showering, changing my clothes were not as high on my priority list as they once been. Doing my hair and make-up were things I had hazy memories of from a mythical time when I slept past 7:30am on weekends. It was worse than just being too exhausted from only being permitted to sleep 2hrs at a time, this time around I was not physically capable of any of it.

Even 8mos past the back surgery (2mos after hip surgery) I can't dress myself. I also have to "get flat" `several times a day and I'm just done with being conscious by 9:00 when the kids go to bed. Beyond that I was "on call" for breast feeding for 13mo and between the baby and surgery I didn't get out alot.

Today felt like the first steps on the road to feeling human again. Pedicure-check, Shirts that actually fit me instead of the stretched out stuff I wore all through pregnancy and breastfeeding-check. Friday I'm using the gift card I got for Christmas to get my hair done. Let's have more thinking about just me time especially if it means I stop cringing when someone gets me in a picture.

Riley inspecting my pedicure: (OPI Kinky in Helsinki)

Bare Naked Babies (Butts)

So we have a little seat that fits over the toilet so that Riley can use it. She picked it out herself. It has Sesame Street characters on it. She sits on it before every bath and makes the sound effects of peeing even if she hasn't actually done it yet.

That's all well and good, but toddlers and bathrooms are a dangerous combination. Unless you want your tile covered with unspooled toilet paper, the rubber ducky flushed down the toilet and your little one staggering around drunk on mouthwash. They're a bit like frat boys that way everywhere is a potential "party" locale and you can always measure the fun that was had by the size of the mess left in their wake. This is way our bathroom door is closed to Riley until bath time.

We decided she needed a potty chair in the living room to further potty training efforts. I took her to pick out her potty, all the while talking up what a big girl she was. I put 3 choices down on the floor for her inspection. She babbled for a moment and then sat on the one that looked like a frog. When I encouraged her to "try" the other ones she shook her head. She remained seated and smiling on the frog making peeing noises. When she did stand up she picked up the frog potty and started leading the way out of the store.

We put the potty in the living room and she sat on it a handful of times, but hasn't christened it yet. She did, however, take the bowl part out, put it on her head and march around making pee pee noises. At least the potty is fun and not scary. She inspires alot of confidence despite the fact that she hasn't gone on either potty yet.

The other day Daddy gave her oatmeal for breakfast sans bib. After her well earned bath Daddy took her into her room to get dressed. Later that day as we cruised the aisles at Target I noticed Riley's bare butt was visible over the waistband of her pants. This should not be possible. I assumed we had some diaper slippage, but when I felt the back of her pants there was nothing but baby butt.

Daddy have forgotten a diaper!! He just pulled her pants over her bare butt. So there we were in the toy aisle with a baby going commando. She had been diaperless for what I'm guessing was about 45min. Daddy of course thought this was hilarious and that we should let it ride and see how long she stayed dry. I'm not a big gambler so I plopped the baby down on my lap and wheeled off to the ladies room before he knew what was happening.

We're getting closer to potty training by inches. Her bladder muscles are mature enough to "hold it" and the other day she walked over to me grabbed her diaper and said "Ma, ma peeeeeezzzzz." Onward and toilet-ward we go!

Immobilized Spine vs Gravity

My spine is motionless, fixed, and anchored in place. It no longer bends. The yoga and acrobatic sex ships have sailed. My muscles were so tight they bent the bones and as punishment someone came along and shoved rods into my back like steaks in a tomato garden. This is good because my spine will not be able to continue bending until organs eventually become compressed, but bad because, call me crazy, I found bending over super useful.


The other day I went to get gas, which has always been one of my least favorite activities. I pulled up to the pump, assured Riley this would just take a minute and pulled the lever to release the door to my gas tank. I climbed out, hobbled around the back of the car and unscrewed the gas cap. At one time my gas cap was attached with a little piece of plastic and I could just let it hang there, this is no longer the case. I usually set the gas cap behind the luggage rack on top of the car while I pump.

Today I was pulled just a bit further forward than normal so when I set the gas cap on the roof of the car it rolled down the back window, bounced off the bumper and kept going. I stood there thinking "Oh, crap! Some car is gonna pull in and crush it or knock it into the road." Before I had really considered the ramifications I walked over to where my gas cap was laying.

There I stood several feet from my car with the baby in it unable to pick up the gas cap, in a high traffic area. After what felt like hours (maybe 30 seconds) I knelt down and picked up the gas cap. Now I was several feet from the car stuck on my knees. I tried to calculate how long it would take to crawl back to my car and pull myself up verses rolling towards the much closer curb and praying it was high enough to use. I doubted greatly I'd be able to mange either without being hit by a car.

I knelt there feeling like the worst mother on the planet for abandoning my baby and hobbling away from the car without my crutches and eventually leaving her motherless when a distracted businessman pulls in for gas and flattens me like a pancake. I looked around again trying to pysch myself to crawl for it and that's when I saw someone crossing the street. I'm not exactly the "always relied on the kindness of strangers" girl, but sometimes it's the best option.

"Excuse me" I called over to the man who looked more than a little confused by this lady kneeling at the gas station. With great trepidation he came closer. I wasn't exactly at my most eloquent I said something along the lines of "Hi! Um, could you give me a hand up. Please. I just need a hand up. I dropped my gas cap. My back is fused." I said all of this at very quickly and with a huge embarrassed grin on my face. I'm lucky he didn't turn and run. With an expression no more trusting than he started with he asked "Why, what's wrong with you?" What a question, I took a breath and said "I have a bad back. I just need a hand up."

He eventually extended his hand and I was upright again. I hate gravity. Next time you drop something take a moment and consider what you would do with a back that doesn't bend and bad balance.

So That's Who's Been Standing in the Yard With Binoculars

So, two weeks ago I checked out a book at the library. The way it works now is that instead breezing in and wandering through the stacks to pick out some books it's like a military drill. Get in drop off the returning books, encourage baby to pick a few books in conveniently located kids section and if there happens to be something appealing on the shelf across from the check out I grab it without breaking stride and go! go! go!

The last time I went I swiped Not Ready for Mom Jeans on my way to check out The Very Busy Spider, again. If you're interested in an actual review click the image. I will say I liked it. It wasn't the best book ever, I didn't particularly identify with the main character who was a career woman who drank, a good deal more than I ever did as a single person, postpartum, but it was entertaining and didn't require my complete mental faculties or have anything to do with teenage vampires.

There's this one particular passage where she throws her back out getting ready for work that is pretty much spot on as far as my average day:

"I gingerly picked up my purse and hobbled into Sara's room to get her ready for day-care.
Getting her out of the crib provided somewhat of a challenge, since I couldn't fully lift her. So, I kind of slid her up the side of the crib, pressed her against the outside of it, and slid her down. It would've been much easier had she not been kicking and screaming, and flailing the entire time like a skydiver whose parachute never opened. After that, I tried to entice her to crawl her way to the front door by waving toys in front of her (yes, I realize I was treating her like a dog), but she just sat on the floor in front of her crib and stared at me openmouthed. So, I was forced to half-carry, half-drag her across the carpet to the front door. Cue the flailing and screaming again.
After about a half hour of sweating, cursing and negotiating, I got her outside and into her car seat. I buckled her in, shut the door and wobbled over to driver's side."

At which point the protagonist realizes the keys and baby are locked in the car. For those of you who remember that post, I locked my keys in the car twice in two weeks when Riley was tiny. I never did it while she was inside, thank goodness. I would often scoop her out of her car seat and into the baby carrier and drop my keys on the floor without realizing it. I have complete sympathy for her locking her keys in the car.

There is, however, something very different about her struggle to get the baby out the door and into the car and mine. For the protagonist it was one bad day. For some of us the physical demands of a baby make getting out the door a struggle most days.

There's no guarantee that I will ever feel better physically than I do right now. It was hard to get myself out the door everyday as a single person and babies don't make anything less complicated. For me it has gotten progressively more difficult because she's bigger and my physical condition tends to be dire or post surgical most of the time.

Keeping Them In Line

I never thought about what it felt like to have to punish a child from a parents' standpoint until I was there. I was "beam me up, Scotty" transported into a parenting role of a barely 5yr old one day. I thought I knew alot about children from my babysitting and teaching experiences. I never considered how different having one of your own really was.

I knew never to make empty threats or give too many warnings. I knew constancy was crucial. I knew I could handle playing the bad guy for the greater good. I knew nothing.

Sure, I could blame the newness of my stepmother role or any number of circumstances, but I don't think anything prepares you for the first time a child you're responsible for does something truly awful and you have to punish them.

I remember Isaac's nasty words and defiant behavior vaguely, but I vividly remember Mike voice booming from behind me. I remember the punishment being handed down and having to stand beside Mike presenting a united front when all I wanted to do was cry. I completely agreed the behavior was awful and the punishment fit, but I wasn't ready for this responsibility or the kind of "poker face" parenting consistently requires.

It was too much reality. I remember turning to Mike after Isaac left the room and watching his expression change to one of concern for me. I broke down in sobs unable to articulate what it was exactly that had freaked me out so completely.

Again, not being sure of my "place" was part of the emotion, but I think more of it had to do with suddenly having to be in the role of the disciplinarian not just for a few hours but forever. It's a big responsibility and not to harp on this but it made me feel old. Not just old, but of a different generation than I ever associated with before. Displaced in time suddenly and tied down in a way I'd never experienced before.

These days it's just part of the day to day around here, but not by any means the easy part. After some observation of how things were run before me and some acclamation to being an alien in "their" household I found my way. It's funny because that's exactly what the rules are about keeping them safe, happy and healthy to find their way in the world.

I have to say starting from the beginning is simultaneously easier and far more confusing. One minute everything Riley did no matter how inconvenient, repulsive, annoying or frustrating was ultimately humorous. Mainly because she had no idea what she was doing and therefore didn't know how annoying it was. The other factor were all those new mom infatuation chemicals that ensure you keep and care for your demanding, non-sleeping newborn rather than leave them in a stranger's cart at the grocery store and go home to bed.

Mike, always a ray of sunshine, used to tell me often to "just wait until she does stuff to annoy you on purpose." Well, some time around 12mo that time arrived. She's so little that sometimes I can't tell whether her offenses are intentional or accidents and bad timing. The world is a confusing place for a toddler sometimes it's encouraged that you climb, scream, make a mess and sometimes it's not.

I do my best to see the world through her eyes and exercise as much patience as a given day allows. In the end it's my job to keep her happy, healthy and safe. That's always the bottom line. So if she accidentally rips a book I'll be understanding, but if she tries to make a grab for the scissors I have to intervene. If I can reason with her I try for example “Riley don't touch, hot!” On a good day that's the end of it, but if she persists it's time out time.

I'm lucky my toddler is really impacted by how her behavior makes mommy and daddy feel. My 8yr old on the other hand seems harder and harder to reach every day.He tends to not only do completely annoying things that require punishment he waits to do them until it will effect the most people possible. Out in public, while his sister's having a good time and behaving and above all the Friday before a long weekend (or any kid friendly event we've planned our lives around taking him to). I can take away his TV, computer, Legos or dessert, but sometimes nothing seems to have an impact.

Isaac has a marble jar now. I give him a marble goal at the beginning of the week. If he completes his responsibilities list, behaves at school and is generally helpful and pleasant he earns marbles. If he makes bad choices he loses them. If he falls short of his goal there's always a fresh start next week. If he meets or surpasses his goal he gets a reward.

I like the tangibility of it, but it waxes and wanes in effectiveness. When he gets in trouble he tends to wash his hands of trying at all. It can be quite a challenge to rally him. Some days I'm just too tired to engage in a battle of wills.

In general this job has long hours, unreliable pay, no vacations and crushing responsibility.

Parallel Universes

I recall trying on a (gulp) bikini postpartum (double gulp) and saying to Mike, "But does it look like something a mom would wear?"

As if I had misplaced the mommy dress code somewhere and was afraid of some sort of punishment for not fitting the mold. Fitting the mold has never really been my thing, so it seems silly to me that it's even a passing thought sometimes. I am complicated. I talked a while back about being frustrated by the labels that go with being a mother and lately they're on my mind again.

I have never considered myself a stay at home mom because it wasn't my choice. Let me be perfectly clear, I am not saying I regret having time with Riley just that I never got to pick one way or the other. My body chose for me or more acturately comitted the final in a long line of betrayals sputtering out like a used car. Just like I never got to choose how many children to have, because my body chose for me. It doesn't make these decisions wrong or bad, but they're not mine. Shouldn't these be the things I have control over at least at 28?

My body fell apart, so I never got to debate the pros and cons of being a working mom. I'm relieved not to have had one more thing to torture myself about, but I miss working so much. I'm not sure how I would have decided if I had floated glowingly through pregnancy. Leaving me with a little extra weight and my vacation days used up during maternity leave as my only souvenirs instead of being fired because I spent more time throwing up then at my desk, almost 7mo of house (or bedroom) arrest and a deteriorating physical state.

I know that if my body had been stronger, I would have wanted more babies. That part hurts alot, but at least I understood the reality of that going into the pregnancy. I knew even before I conceived that I could only endure pregnancy once. I didn't have a full grasp of how incapacitating gestating a human would be for me, but I understood it would be a one time deal.

What I did not understand was how much worse the pain would get. What I did not understand was that there would be multiple surgeries to contend with while my baby was under a year. What I could not accept was how long and gruesome the healing process would be. What I couldn't grasp was how permanently my life would be changed, no matter what I did or did not do fix, my orthopedic problems and pain.

I honestly thought that once the ordeal of pregnancy was finished I would feel better and better. I thought everything would go back to the way it was, not before the pain I've harbored for so long, but before I really started to fall apart at least. I had never really considered things getting worse.

I don't know if I would have been happily working up to my due date if I'd had a different body, but I'd like to think so. I'm sure I would have been just as blissfully happy and as hopelessly in love with Riley, that wouldn't change. I wonder what I would have done next if I'd had a choice because it would have been a diffcult decision. Being a grow-up is so full of "no right answer" situations it's head spinning. I know it's not really constructive to ponder such things.

I guess I am a stay at home mom by default. Luckily for me there's Riley because without her I would just be a stay at home person. A lonely, hurting no little goof balls to distract her lady. Somehow we've made it this far (with a lot of help).

I hope the things that can change will. I hope the next series of wrenches thrown into the works change things for the better. I hope that I can recover more of the sense of self that working towards my dreams gave me once. I don't want my life to stay this small forever. Putting on my own shoes by myself can be my grandest goal for now, but I hope I'm laughing about that someday.

Sign of the Times

I have never subscribed to the "children should be seen and not heard" philosophy. I have vivid memories of how painful and frustrating being ignored as a child was. I always hoped for a smart and eloquent child. Not being able to express yourself clearly is so frustrating and leads people to all kinds of false assumptions about your manners and intelligence.

I find myself humbled by karma alot as a mother. There are so many ill-informed judgments I made before I had children that I find myself on the receiving end of now. Apologies universe I had no idea what parenting was really like. For example my dad recently expressed dismay that I had "taught Riley these weird hand signals." He went on to explain that "it would be better if I just taught her to talk."

Thanks, Dad. First of all those "weird hand signals" are American Sign Language. I didn't instruct my toddler to conduct Mozart, coach softball or land fighter jets. Secondly, I am teaching her to talk. It is my first priority (at least until potty training gets more serious). I need her to be able to tell me, or any adult, what she needs that is why I taught her a few signs.

As Miss Roo crept closer to her first birthday a disturbing pattern of screeching at Mommy emerged, especially when she was hungry. At which point I taught Riley the signs for more and eat. That helped my ear drums and stress level immensely. When she was old enough to eat all her meals in a high chair she started screaming to be let out (or later throwing food) when she was done. I decided then it was time to teach her the sign for all done.

At this point she does more, eat, all done and sometimes please. That's 4 signs I see on a regular basis. Do you want to guess how many words I hear everyday?  Mama, Dada, Shooz (shoe), Peezz (please), Out, Baah (Boom), Bruder (brother), Bath, Yes, No etc We're probably talking at least 10 words I hear daily not counting copious animal noises. When you start talking about words I used to hear all the time, but don't anymore there's Hair, Duck, Ho (Hold), Help, Pretty, Good etc. There's also things I've heard once or twice in proper context and then never again like Clock, Wipes, Mad, Gasses (Glasses), etc. Riley's vocabulary is pretty good for someone her age and more important than that her cognitive abilities blow my mind.

You can say "Riley, go get your pink shoes please." and she'll bring you want you requested. If I say "Do you want to go take a bath?" she walks to the bathroom. If I ask "where's Dada?" she knocks on our bedroom door. It's so amazing how quickly the human brain becomes aware. It's so much quicker than the ability to speak develops fully.

So, to my former single judey wudey self, my dad and the rest of the folks who have disdain for baby signs wait until you have a toddler red faced and shirking for 5min on end and your every attempt to appease them fails and then tell me what you think. In the end parenting is all about what works for you and your little one and this works wonders for Riley and I. It makes fussy periods shorter because we have to guess less. It helps babysitters who are less familiar with her routine. It shows her how much easier life is when she can communicate (which encourages her to talk). I've even had her sign and speak a word at the same time. Perhaps the most important thing to me is that it's an early introduction to manners. I love polite children.

At this point more has become the sign for all occasions. When she's hungry, wants you to read the book again, wants to go higher on the swing or needs more tickles. I'm trying to teach her new signs so she can answer when I say "more what, Riley?". I'm trying to tech her milk, juice, play and outside. We'll see how it goes. Sometimes I'll ask her while signing if she wants more and she'll answer with the word and no sign.

No worries, talking is not an issue for Miss Roo. I'm sure I'll miss this stage, soon when she communicates in full sentences and every declaration isn't a surprise. I love hearing her voice, but more than that I love that there are fewer tears when she can just tell me what she wants one way or another.

Frozen in Time

I need to address a strange, yet common, phenomenon. This particular experience remains unnamed despite being such a prevalent occurrence. I'll call it "time dysplasia." It happens when you meet a child again after not having seen them for a period of time. They stay frozen in your mind just as they were, no matter how long you've been absent. When you do see them again it's a struggle to make your brain accept that this is, in fact, the same child.

It's a self-centered view of the world or a preservation technique, because if we consider how time passing was affecting everyone we knew it would be beyond overwhelming. The mental fuses we blow, seeing that tiny baby we knew graduating from high school, are relatively minor compared to the nervous breakdowns that would ensue from constantly being aware of our own mortality, not to mention our loved ones'. Between birth and three years the leaps and bounds accomplished in short time spans makes seeing kids that age particularly disorienting.

Example-- Riley at birth:
Photo Credit: Lara Coughlin

A few weeks later:

Photo Credit: Rebecca Brittain

A few more:


A mere 12mo after she was born:


Three months after her birthday:
Photo Credit: Lara Coughlin

So, if you saw her when she was born, and then again at Easter, it would be hard to reconcile the squirmy pink little newborn with the sitting up, babbling baby with bunny ears, and if the next time you saw her was Christmas, it would seem magical that she had transformed into a walking, talking toddler.

When you're with a child everyday you watch them grow a little, learn a little, and change every day. You witness each milestone individually.  As an outside observer, though, each visit is an onslaught of accomplishments and changes. This inundation leaves you sputtering sentence fragments and shaking your head as if to force acceptance of the present and your frozen memory together. It's like bumping into an ex and his new girlfriend months after a break up.

Beyond causing the kind of shock that mires down brain function it is conspicuous evidence of time's relentless march. I often run into kids I used to babysit and think, "No, you can't be graduating college!  I just graduated college, didn't I?  Holy cow, it's been how many years? No, that makes me... Old."  I babysat these kids as toddlers and now they have college degrees and I have a toddler. There's so much that didn't go the way I thought it would back then. There's so much I haven't done.

My sister's birthday has begun to cause the same kind of introspection.  "You're 25?!? No, no I'm 25. You're 23."  That was over 3yrs ago.  I begin to empathize with inhabitants of the Twilight Zone who wake up on other planets or in empty white rooms with no doors.  I don't know how I got here.  The last time that I was acutely aware of my age was at 25.  What have I been doing that could possibly have caused so many years to pass?

The kids' birthdays are even worse. Isaac will be 9 this year. How am I old enough to be parenting a 9yr old child? Ok, so the year he was born, I was a sophomore in college, and when he was one, I was studying abroad in Ireland, convinced I'd never have children, and in love with someone who wasn't his father, although that kind of makes it all the more difficult to absorb. I have no excuse for Riley's age shocking me. I have been here for every moment of her life. I look back at my maternity photos, and in the same moment it seems a million years ago and yesterday.

Where does it go?

Yelling at Trains

I had planed to post an adorable video of Riley dancing gleefully around the living room in light up shoes, but the technology gremlins decided that video should be deleted. (Excuse me while I pout).

In looking for something recent and light hearted, because let's face it my posts have been on the less light hearted side lately. I came across this one. It's a video from train night. Train night is a tradition we started 3yrs ago when Mike's dad got a "Polar Express" train set. One night in December we go over play with the trains, have dinner and watch the movie.

This year was Riley's second train night, but last time she was 3mo old. She and the trains got off to a rough start as you can see she would walk over to the train lean over arms flung back and yell at it over and over...

Mommy Had a Great Fall, On This Very Wet Day That Was Not Dry At All.

"The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play. So we sat in the house all that cold, cold, wet day...Too wet to go out and too cold to play ball. So we sat in the house. We did nothing at all." Cat in the Hat


Today is as soggy as the socks Isaac forgot to take off before he got in the shower. Soggy as a wet sheepdog and about as pleasant. Wet, wet, soggy, waterlogged day. It's pouring rain out there. To start with rainy days and I have a pretty volatile relationship. I loved them madly when I was younger, but ever since the hip injury they kick my but (in the form of achy, inflamed joints).

On top of the weather and its usual effect on me it's Monday. Anyone who reads my blog knows how I feel about those. Isaac has the day off from school and Riley's daycare provider is sick so it's me and the kids because Mike goes to the office Mondays. Ideally Mike would have been the only one up with the alarm at 7am, but we're all up.  Not for any fun happy early morning surprise. Nope, we're up because Isaac peed his bed. He wasn't planning on telling anyone either. He just striped out of his pjs and sat down on the floor naked to play Legos.  Boys are so gross. Too bad his mom is observant because he was busted swiftly. After I directed him to a shower Mike over saw the cleaning the mattress. I instructed him in washing his bedding. He's 8yrs old it has to be up to him to clean up his accidents. This not a regular occurrence around here, but yesterday he played on the computer for 8+ hours.

It was the day before his day off, I was tired and it was easier than thinking of a way to entertain him. In general I impose computer breaks every 2hrs to prevent accidents and other bad behaviors. Like I said I slaked off yesterday. It has happened in the past that marathon computer sessions resulted in accidents in one form or another. So, I told him (as I've told him many times) we don't get in trouble for accidents in this house, but we do get in trouble for not telling someone. His punishment was the loss of computer privileges for the day.

In the long run I told him there were going to be some changes. If every time you do something you get in trouble (eat sugar, stay up late, etc) we stop doing it. From now on computer privileges are earned and there's a nonnegotiable 2hr maximum per day split anyway you want. I took his keyboard and mouse which he will "check out" and return to me when appropriate. I made sure Mike would back me up on this and I really think it'll help behavior in general. Have you ever noticed that everything that helps children behave means more work for the parent?

We (the kids and I) had to trek out in the downpour to the bank first thing to make a deposit in the drive through ATM. When we got back I was concerned about Isaac getting his breakfast. I squeaked my wet shoed way into the kitchen to check on him and when I backed up to leave I fall backwards over the box of Christmas stuff (Mike said he would put away the night before) and slammed my back into Isaac's bedroom door.

It was only my second big fall since my back surgery. It was just as scary as the first and more painful. I went down like a ton of bricks. I knew that was it for me moving around between the fall and the rain. I put up the bat signal. My friend came to help, the my cleaning help agreed to come early and my mom promised to stop by after work.

Priority one was putting away the offending box. It was sitting in a chair the night before and either fell or got pulled down onto the floor. With all the help around the kids we're squared away and floors cleared in record time. I messaged Mike at work to let him know about the fall in case I had to rush off to the doctor's office.

I told him I'd call the Ortho, but no power on earth would force me to the ER, which would probably be as crowded as the mall at Christmas on this soggy worthless day. In the end I remembered the Ortho saying last time I fell "You can't hurt the hardware. I put those rods in 300lb men who do more damage walking around than you're gonna do with a hard fall. Your bones have started growing together. The only thing you're gonna do is have some very sore muscles. Want some more pain meds?"

I sure did piss off my back muscles, which expressed their displeasure loudly for the rest of the day. Advil, sitting against a pillow, and laying down didn't take the edge off. As soon as Mike was home I took a whole muscle relaxer. Stupid gravity!!

Eeeeny, Meeny, Miney, Moe

When I was single most of my decisions were based on impulse.  If I wanted to do something I did it. I'm hungry I'll have _____ for dinner. I feel like going out/staying in. If it was something big like changing jobs, having surgery or dating/breaking up with someone I still only had to consider what was best for me. Parenthood changes everything.

Sometimes the choices are exhausting. Wake up and start deciding, because who has the energy to plan farther ahead than a few hours? Even if you did toddlers enjoy nothing better than to thwart Mommy's best laid plans. What will the baby wear, what will she have for breakfast, is she distracted/contained enough for some tidying up, is she teething or just fussy, Tylenol?, nap?, what to give her for another snack, put in a DVD or read a book, which sippy, water or milk, color or paint, piggy or frog, swing in the yard or go to the park...on and on into infinity and that's just the day to day.

On any given day there will be an event to go to. It feels alot like traveling out of the country. There's so much to do to prepare. What if you forget something who knows if they'll have it where you're going? To go or not to go which will change at least ten times before it's final based on the baby's mood and mommy's exhaustion. What the baby should wear is a big decision based on temperature, mobility level, festiveness, and what's clean. What to bring beyond diapers and wipes is a whole logistical exercise in itself. Spare cloths have to swapped based on what she's already wearing so if you only change half the outfit (which is quicker and less of a fight) she doesn't look like a clown, etc. Whether to bring snacks and what snacks. Fruit is popular but doesn't last long in the hot car or less perishable less exciting stuff like crackers. Individually wrapped things like Gerber breakfast bars or my favorite baby food pouches. Do you pack enough to share? Do you feed her right before you depart so you hopefully won't need a snack while you're out.

What about Daycare? Should I send some books or toys from home? Did I send a sippy? Should I give her a sweatshirt to keep there? What needs to come home and what can stay until next week? Do I send Riley's "too small" clothes to daycare first and then to consignment or vise versa? Do I know anyone with a baby smaller than Riley? Should she being going to daycare more of the week?

Major life decisions although less frequent are so much more complicated than they used to be. Because I have to decide with the whole family in mind. It's one thing to change my life, but how can I persume to change theirs? Have your spine fused into a solid column of bone? I don't weigh pros and cons for me I immediately think "what will that mean for Riley?" I ponder my loss of range of motion's meaning not to me, but  to her. Asking myself "what will Riley's mom's fused back do to her?"

Just like my day to day I get her dressed and looking smashing and then think "um, the sweatpants I'm wearing that I slept in are nice enough to wear out" I am an after thought in my decisions.  I need things for her more often than I need them for me. I had surgery because I needed to be able to take care of my baby and oh yeah, there were selfish reasons too, but only as after thoughts.

Please don't mistake this for whining. I sometimes enjoy not having to think about about me, I had 27yrs of that already. I like that for a little while longer I can pick Riley's clothes and control her diet. I love knowing how well taken care of she is. Soon enough she'll have opinions about everything and a life separate from me and I'll miss this, or some of this.

Slam the Door

People throw the word closure around alot, but the concept is so important. I had loved ones pass while I was away at college and never really felt like they were gone even though rationally I understood. I remember that months later I broke into uncontrollable sobs because I suddenly felt their absence. Awash with pain and sobbing I still heard the metaphorical door slam on the world before their loss.

It happens in unexpected ways and often after you've already convinced yourself that the process is done. It's not just death that requires closure it's any permanent change. I remember, more than a year after my first real boyfriend cheated on and broke up with me, having a complete breakdown when I had to be back in the building where we had spent most of our relationship. Silly "me" thought I'd dealt with that.

I know this overwhelmingly cheery set of reflections doesn't seem to be heading down any sunny path of enlightenment, but it will one day. Reality has to smack you in the face pretty hard sometimes before acceptance becomes possible or denial loses it's grip.

Recently I've been thinking alot about my "before life." I kept imagining that it still existed somewhere in the shadows and when I was ready I'd put it back on like my pre-pregnancy jeans, It seemed to me simply a matter of will. Maybe if I just waiting long enough a resume option, like on the DVR would pop up for my life.

Over the last few weeks one small event after another started chipping away at my cocoon. First I went to a restaurant that I had loved and used to frequent when I was single.  I was sorely disappointed, it was the first time I said, out loud, "I guess things change". I continued to absorb the idea that the world is forever changed for a week or two. Little reminders gave way to that jaw breaking slap in the face I mentioned, someone very important to me was gone.

A mentor and teacher that I couldn't understand the world continuing without. Someone you couldn't cross paths with and remain unchanged. Someone back there in my "before life" whose existence comforted me. A man who's memory comforted me, knowing "He's still out there giving his unique brand of inspiration to new generations of artists".  Whatever else I am, I am one of his students.  Now he's gone.

There is no going back. I left LA, I left an acting career where it sat, I came home to heal and the pain got worse, I had a baby, I got worse, I had surgery to get better and now I'm battling the limitations imposed by those. No back ups, no do-overs.

I think I finally got a handle on this. My "before life" is gone. Not just gone like I left it in a storage locker and I can reclaim it, but dead and buried. Maybe I will get another chance to pursue my dream, but in my current state it seems to me I may have to adapt my dreams. Not in a "I'll take this pot off the burner for now" way, but accept that I can't have that life ever again.

I grieve deeply for it's loss, which I feel must be the necessary step to figure out what now. I feel hollowed out without the hope I'd been clutching to fill me up. I need to take a step back and consider the road ahead...

Almost the Right Time and Place...

Morning baths are never a good sign, but Riley enjoys an occasional upset in the routine. She loves baths and really any excuse to be in the forbidden bathroom. We've been slowly introducing the idea of the potty for months at this point, because well, why not? So, this morning she comes in and hands me her potty seat right away so I swiftly un-diaper her and place her for potty usage.

As usual she gleams at me as if I've set her atop a golden, jewel encrusted throne. It's probably her beloved Sesame Street potty seat that fills her with joy, but she is getting the idea. I'm positive it's sinking in because she makes a peeing sound and points into the toilet bowl while sitting there as if to say "see Mom I know how it's supposed to go."

Today was no different. She sat happily making her sound effects while I undressed her the rest of the way telling her what a big girl she was up on the potty. I think for me potty training is alot like the idea of labor while I was pregnant, some part of me understands it will come and has strong emotion about it, but mostly I am in complete denial.

Now completely naked Riley stretches up her arms signing "all done" having done nothing but sit and then brings her arms down around me to lower herself to the ground. She'd prefer to get down by herself, but past attempts ended with her foot in toilet water and Mommy mad, so she waits now.

She toddles over to the big bathroom mirror to admire herself sans clothes and perhaps make a few bath toy selections while I begin filling her tub. I hear her "talking" to herself and giggling and then she goes quiet. I immediately feel concerned, but nothing appears to be amiss except that when I call her to get in the bath she doesn't move. One of this girl's first words was bath, it's a highlight of her day. Something is weird here.

I turn back to the tub and shut off the water and that's when I hear her grunt. "No!" I think to myself "she won't." I turned back to see my beautiful naked little girl, who just got off the potty standing next to a pile of her own poop.

I made sure she hadn't touched it and with ninja like precision get it into the potty explaining "No, no Riley we don't go poopy on the floor. It goes in the potty. See?" She came closer, but didn't look in. "Now it's time to flush it away. Say bye, bye poopy in the potty." She waves in the direction of the toilet. She finally takes a good look once the flushing starts. As soon as she recovers from her awe Riley  heads for the tub with the enthusiasm of a skydiver exiting a plane.

I guess we're off to a running start now. I was just glad she didn't wait until I put her in the tub to go.

Shoes and Silliness

I was not super ambitious for the day after PT (physical therapy) so I called my Mom to come over and help with laundry. Poor woman is always at my house moving laundry or bathing babies these days. While we waited for my mom I played with Riley. She put a person at the little piano of the doll house and sang "La, la, la" and then clapped for herself and then she had a great idea. She took the Polar Bear from her zoo and put him on the doll house potty and make a peeing noise. I told her that potty training the zoo animals was a brilliant plan!  It'll make for a very clean zoo. Silly girl. We got right to work when my mom arrived and soon it was Riley's nap time.

One of my greatest ambitions these days is to put on my own shoes, oh how my life has changed. It seems I mirror the toddler a lot hobbling around wishing I could dress myself. I asked at PT what I could do to work towards putting on my own shoes. He said get shoes with elastic instead of laces, a long shoe horn and stretch those hips as much as you can. Mike had already been on my case about my worn out shoes. I have that mom issue where I have trouble getting around to my needs at all. Mike and I discussed a budget for my shoes and he made me promise not to go by cheap shoes this time.

I had a mission: good supportive shoes with elastic instead of laces for $60 or less. Unfortunately this meant (gulp) the mall. With my mom on board for the adventure and a freshly napped little shoe expert in tow we hit the mall. I told myself I would get shoes and get out. It took 5 or 6 stores of being looked at like I was nuts before I found one that had what I needed.



I have trouble finding shoes because I wear a kids size and sometimes they're too ridiculous. I liked these because they had  lots of greens and blues and a little sparkle. Plus they're called "Sporty Shorties." With my original mission accomplished under budget I broke my promise to myself and went to look at Children's Place. Riley was being so sweet after being dragged (I was in my wheelchair with her in my lap) all over the mall looking for my shoes that I had to. She picked out a beautiful pair of pink eyelet shoes with sparkles on the toes and I got her some things from the clearance rack. After that I decided to spend the remainder of my shoe budget on some new shirts.

I've never struggled with my body image the way I have been since I stopped breast feeding, I loved the "nursing reserve" weight and my ability to fill a Dcup. Those things have gone now and I feel ugly. Scrawny and flat chested. Worse than flat I feel like I'm carrying around deflated balloons. I decided part of my problem is how stretched out all my favorite shirts are from pregnancy and nursing. So off I went on the road, hopefully, to looking in the mirror without wanting to cry. I picked out four new shirts appropriately sized for my body pre-pregnancy.

When we were done at the mall I was exhausted so I swung around the corner to a friend's house and put Riley down in the pack and play. We were both rested we visited with our friends and then headed home. After such a long day I decided to give Riley a little naked time. She was immeasurably pleased and simply ran from one side of the living to the other laughing for most of it.

At some point Isaac noticed and said "Riley!!! Where are your pants?!? I see your little butt." I explained she was having naked time to which he replied "Oh, man. I wish I could have naked time!" I explained that he spent a vast majority of his first 3yrs naked (probably should have said 5) . I told him he had more naked time than any kid I knew. He looked like he was searching his memory for this magical time so I offered to show he some video. He declined.

Blow It Out Your Bum, Hump Day!

I wish I could lie and say I was excited to take another crack at this physical therapy thing, but I won't. Not to be a whiner, but I was worried after last time that every one of my sessions would wreck me as completely as the first had and sap the dwindling will to continue existing in this pitiful state. On top of that there's stress over logistics.

I have always suffered anxiety about how "to get there" (downstairs, to class, to appointments, etc). I'm good at giving myself extra time, getting creative and if, I have no alternative, asking for help. I've had almost 30 years of practice at varying levels of mobility. Having a baby threw a wrench in this skill set because now it wasn't just about getting me there. Now there was Riley and all her stuff. We did it for months until the pain became too much and I consented to "whatever it takes" aka spinal fusion.

I've been post-op before, but rarely as an adult and never as a mother. I spent months unable to hold my baby or drive at all after my back surgery. I went nowhere for so long that it seems silly now to complain. I knew that I had to get myself to this physical therapy appointment. I made sure Mike could watch Riley and gave myself what was once plenty of time.

The 10ish minute drive there I was overcome with anxiety about parking (not uncommon for me even before this surgery). Would there be a close space? Handicapped spaces near a hospital are never easy to come by. I had to go on my crutches because I have trouble loading and unloading the wheelchair by myself. If there wasn't a close space I'd have to hoof it to and from the building, Driving home exhausted is scary even if it's a short drive.

Getting there, parking, unloading, drooping my crutches, locking the car, walking to the corner, crossing to the right side of the street, walking down the ramp and up to the desk put me there 5mins late. I hate being late. I felt like such a failure. I sank tiredly into a chair and watched the pregnant ladies waddle by on their way to the 2nd floor. I'm jealous of the glowing and not so glowing ones alike. I miss Riley, I don't want to be here, I've had almost 30yrs of pushing through and want to lay down instead of therapy.

I look at the clock it's 10minutes past me arriving 5minutes late. I don't want to go in anyway, but the lady next to me smells like cigarettes. Just then the cutest little toddler comes down the hall. I smile at him and to my surprise he runs towards me smiling and offers me the freebie pregnancy magazine he's holding, I laugh and thank him. He examines one of my crutches and than the other with deep concentration on his tiny features. It was at this point that his grandpa scooped him up and I bid him adieu handing back his waiting room literature.

Therapy itself was much the same as last week. My therapist bemoaned my only having 2 more visits (until the fiscal year resets in June) and the incredible weakness of my hips (which will be a huge and potentially dangerous problem when my hip is replaced). It hurt alot this time and despite my not terrible parking spot I was exhausted when I arrived back at my car. I sat there behind the wheel willing myself to "get it together" for a few minutes, but I cried anyway.

I got home which is good and hugged my baby which is fantastic, but I was wrecked again. I wish I could tell you that I stole away to a long hot shower and a nap, but alas it wasn't to be. Running things from the bed or couch still requires physical presence and consciousness.    

Surgeons, Singing, Stingray Salutes and Such

Picture the scarecrow From the Wizard of Oz in a suit expect he's no good with kids and awkward around people in general, that's my Orthopedic Doctor. No exaggeration. I had a mini nervous breakdown about going to his office for this follow up as it was beginning to personify all that is wrong in my life. Preparing myself for another hour or two wait the purgatory that is his waiting room and afraid I'd react over emotionally to anything he said, I brought Riley.

I got myself and my moral support there on time and was the first patient to sign in that morning. I had forgotten a sippy so after discovering one with milk residue in the bottom of it under the carseat, I had a plan. I wheeled into to the bathroom with Riley on my lap and washed it out with soap and water, just like college. After I dried it with a burp cloth I filled it in the water fountain and we were good to go. Not exactly rocket science, but I felt like MacGyver.

We only got through one read of each of the books I brought for her before they called me back. She sat with the nurse for 2mins of X-rays and then we were in a room. True to form the Ortho hadn't even glimpsed at my chart before he came in the room. He glanced nervously at Riley sitting sweetly in a chair with her toy and then said "So, are you scheduled?"
"For physical therapy? I just started."
"Well that's good, but I meant for your hip."
"Oh. No. You said to wait 6 weeks and see how the pain was. This is my 6 week appointment"
"Ok, how's your pain?"
"Hip pain is minimal."
"Good let's try to give it a year. It'll have to come out, you know."
"Yes, I understand and that sounds good to me. About my back (I give him a detailed description of my pain and ask a few questions)"
"Well, Katie I just don't know. How long along ago did we do that?" (the chart's open in front of him)
"May"
"Oh, yeah well the recovery time on a spinal fusion procedure is 2yrs. You're not even halfway there."
Makes you feel warm and fuzzy doesn't it. Anyway, he put me on prn which means I call him when I want to come in. The exception is that in May I have to come get an X-ray of my back (and every subsequent May). Fine by me.
We were done and in the car by 9:23. Amazing. I had canceled another appt at 10:30 thinking we'd never be out in time (we never have been in the past). Mike didn't believe me when I called to say I was done.

The Rest Of My Day

I decided since we were close Riley and I would swing over to the library. I'd been staring at the back of her board book in the waiting room and wanted to see if the library had one of the other books by that author. More urgently though Riley had filed her diaper and I knew the library had a changing table unlike the Ortho's office. There's no more diaper changing on the fly with this back. I noticed quite a few little ones filing in to the library when we got there and wondered in passing if it was Mother Goose day. The librarian in the children's section assured us it was.

Riley was uncharacteristically shy. She left my lap but only stood far enough way to still be able to rest her head on my knee. She refused to be a teapot, but was excited enough by the itsy bitsy spider puppets to clap at the end. When time was up Mother Goose, who was in her twenties and wearing jeans, gave all the kids a Care Bear sticker. The highpoint for Riley.

They didn't have the book I wanted, but Riley colored a picture of a T-Rex. The little boy at the table with us was so funny and only used the golden rod crayon for his whole picture. Riley saw "The Busy Spider" by Earl Carle ("The Very Hungry Caterpillar" guy) and insisted on checking it out again. We had it 3mo ago and it was a covert operation to get it out house to return it. I tried to talk her into getting one of his books we hadn't read yet, but to no avail. We also got "Hilda Must Be Dancing" by Karma Wilson and Suzanne Watts. Wonderful book! I wonder if she knows Gerald from "Giraffes Can't Dance" by: Giles Andreae.

I even got a book for myself "Not Ready for Mom Jeans" by: Maureen Lipinski. It was totally a case of judging a book by it's cover. We'll see how it is, but it's written in blog entries so it's easy to put down and pick back up. We were all checked out and headed home by nap time.

It seemed like it was shaping up to be one of the better days especially when I came home from school with a reward for good behavior, but kids are as changeable as Boston weather. Riley woke up from her nap in a foul mood and it took Isaac over 2hrs to do 10mins worth of homework.

Things just went from bad to worse and none of it was helped by my current level of exhaustion. I tried to take a nap, but it just wasn't in the cards. I proclaimed at one point that I needed Mike to get a large shipping box and poke some holes because I was shipping the kids to China. Why do they always conspire to act up in unison?

All in a Day's Work for the Amazing Miss Roo

Riley had her 15mo check up today, oddly enough the day she turned 16mo. It's so strange to see the pediatrician at 12mo and then at 15/16mo. She was only rarely experimenting with walking last time we saw him. This time she was running all over the room. As an added bonus she'd also pulled down her skirt and was stepping out of it when the doctor came in.

I had my back to the door and was filling out some paperwork they gave us at the front when I heard "Why, hello Riley you've got no pants." Sure enough I looked down to see her smiling up at me in all her diapery glory. Good first impression I'm the mom who had all the surgeries wheeling in with Riley in my lap. It would be nice to at least look like I had things together.

Toddlers are great for keeping you modest. Dr. J was pleased with her growth. Her weight has apparently "tapered off." She's down to 18lbs 9oz below average for her age, but her height was exactly average at 33in. I guess it's her destiny to be tall and thin, my little ballerina.

He claims her infamous bump is stable, but I don't know how he can tell under all that hair. I know I should thank my lucky stars for such a healthy girl, but I miss life before hemangiomas. I only had about a week or so with Riley before those bumps appeared and it's likely they will never cause a problem and be gone by kindergarten, but Mike loves to do Internet research (especially when I ask him not to) and I'll be more comfortable when they're gone.

Today's poke was the MMR (Measles, Mumps, Rubella). I'm so glad this was the second to last of the 'shots every visit' appointments. I had some passing anxiety about shots without nursing during and after. It was the second time in a week I really missed "the magic boob." What could I console her with? It worked out that I was reading her a book in my lap (No, No Yes, Yes by: Leslie Patricelli)when he returned ready to do the deed. I continued reading and gently restrained her while he gave the poke. She started to cry so I shut the book so I could hold her. Isn't that amazing about toddlers? Even when you're the one who held them still while they got a shot or whacked their head pitting them in the car they still reach for you to be comforted. I know that won't last.

Through her tears Riley insisted, by opening the book right back up and pointing, that I continue. She had a valid point we hadn't finished the book. After we were done reading the book we made our way into the hallway where sobs had been replaced by inconsistent whimpers.

Dr. J's staff were kind enough to walk me out to the car which was such a help because I wanted nothing more than to get this tired (Thanks daddy for rescheduling this appointment during her nap time) cranky baby home fast. The wheelchair was folded and loaded, the baby was buckled and we were on our way in less than 5mins from arriving at the car (that's great time for hobble-along mommy).

As we pulled out I looked in my "child view" mirror and saw my pretty girl smiling in her big girl carseat and pretending to drink a cup of tea. The resilience of childhood should be harnessed!