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?