Whitney: 0; RSV: 1 - Whitney 5 Months

 5 months

Well, your fifth month was interesting.  And by interesting, I mean ulcer-inducing.  Around the middle of the month, your brother developed this cough wherein he would hack up vital organs.  He had a fever one night, I worried about him, the next day he was back to plotting his takeover of smaller island countries -- you know, for the views.  Then you developed this cute little hack.  Oh, it was adorable.  A day later, you just didn't seem like your smiley self, so I took you to see your sage grandmother, NP and she thought you were developing a little ear infection.  Your cough was sporadic and a little more intense.  But, I wasn't that worried.

Enter the worst 48 hours of my life (and I threw up on a commuter train once...do you know what the toilet on a commuter train looks like?).

That very night your cough turned into a "Dear God, did her lung come out with that one" cough and you developed a fever and you looked like you wanted to die; you would barely open your eyes.  You were still nursing, though, so I thought maybe we had hit the worst.  I slept sitting up on the couch with you with the humidifier going.  Oh, I forgot to mention that you were clogged to the eyeballs with snot.  I had to use the aspirator thingy and saline drops almost every hour on you.

That was not the worst.

The next morning, you looked pale, you wouldn't nurse, you were coughing so hard that grey matter was coming out, you couldn't breathe due to all the phlegm, and you would barely open your eyes.  I was sure you were dying of pneumonia.  It was so quick; you turned bad so quickly.

I immediately googled every life-threatening illness I thought you could potentially have.  After I diagnosed you with whooping cough with pneumonia, I called your doctor...the second they opened.
Your pediatrician was out of town, so I had to take you to his very sweet on-call doctor.  I think I cried the entire time I was in his office.  He examined you and said, "Yes, she go to hospital for the night."  Then my heart fell into my rectum.  The what?  Then in a very rational manner, I asked the sweet Indian doctor, "Is she going to die?"  And then the sweet Indian doctor said, "Mother, you are going to be okay?"  Because, oh yeah, I was crying uncontrollably.  He assured me you were fine.  He thought you probably had RSV (a respiratory virus), but he wanted to make sure you didn't have pneumonia, as well, and he wanted to get fluids into you because you weren't nursing. 

So, I called your dad and blubbered something unintelligible to him.  He was able to glean "hospital" and "possible pneumonia" from my sobs.  It's great that you have at least one rational, level-headed parent.  Because during an emergency, I basically shut down.  He assured me it was going to be all right and that he and Eli would meet us at the hospital.  Then, I called your grandma, your grandpa, sent out a mass text asking for prayer, alerted the Vatican, and ran a red light getting you to the hospital.

So, you were given an i.v., they suctioned snot out of you (during which I was put into a straight jacket), then suctioned you again to get a sample for tests, and put you on a monitor, mainly to keep track of your oxygen levels.  A couple hours later we were taken down for a chest x-ray.  You did not move when they placed you on the x-ray table.  Normally, you would flail as if ready to take flight, but nothing.  I started crying again.  Oh, also, you did have an ear infection and were placed on antibiotics.

To recount: i.v., suctioned, suctioned some more, monitor, chest x-ray, antibiotics for ear infection, mother in dire need of sedation.

Your tests came back positive for RSV, but negative for flu and pneumonia.  And after a few hours at the hospital, you seemed to be doing much better.  You slept through the night in a crib that I can only describe as the crib where they send baby delinquents.  The next morning, though, your oxygen levels kept falling, so they...prepare yourself...put you on oxygen.  I'm sure the nurses were ready to kick me out, because I went full on Shirley Maclaine in Terms of Endearment on them.  "Why is her monitor beeping?"  "Her heart rate monitor is beeping."  "She needs to be suctioned again."  "When will she be off oxygen?" "Let me see your licensing." "I would like to speak to the manager."  At one point, a nurse came in and said, "Why don't we just turn the monitor off.  She's fine."  And then locked the door behind her.

the saddest picture ever.

So, the nurse said you would probably stay another night.  Your dad came over to relieve me for an hour, the lovely Jen Decker came to my rescue and watched your brother for a few hours, I came home and packed a bag for the night and looked in a mirror for the first time in a 24 hour period only to discover my incessant crying had given my face a sort of Elephant man look.

When I got back to the hospital, the doctor came to check on you.  He told us that he thought you were doing much better and you could go home in a few hours.  Hooray! So, you were taken off the monitors, your i.v. was taken out, we were given a nebulizer and two prescriptions, and the nurses each cracked open a 40 in celebration of our departure.

I can't express to you how horrifying it is to see your child as sick as you were.  That feeling of powerlessness is overwhelming.  You were so sick, and all I could do was pray.  And, really, the situation was not as dire as I imagine it to have been.  Parenting is hard.  Your heart becomes so vulnerable.  I've said this before, but I cannot imagine raising children without my faith in Christ.  Because, honestly, I can't control your world (trust me, I've tried...stupid hypnotherapy).  You are essentially His, and I've been entrusted to help guide your way in this world.  Having you and your brother has helped me (a little -- I still have a long way to go) learn that He is in control, and as much as I coddle or read books or invest in child-size hazmat suits (they come in lovely shades of highlighter yellow), I can't protect you from everything. 

Okay, enough heavy.  Let's go the likes/dislikes portion of our monthly letter (a format I stole from Sara Falulah Luke).

At 5 months, you like:

• your sophie giraffe.  This thing is amazing.  Perfect for gnawing, orally fixated babies (and that's why it's important to place commas correctly).  We don't leave home without it.
• your crinkle book.  Another favorite toy right now.
• your exersaucer. I put you in this last month, actually, but your love affair blossomed this month. 
• your swing...still.  I've replaced the D batteries (which aren't cheap) in that swing 8 times now.  I never had to change them with your brother.  We tried to buy cheap batteries one time only to discover a couple days in that they were leaking battery acid.  Which is cool, if you're making meth, but we are not. 
• me.  I'm not lying when I say that I will leave the room while your eyes are closed, and you'll start crying. You have this sixth sense...and it's...well, it's just terrific.  (when you're older, mommy will teach you about sarcasm.)  Don't get me wrong, darlin', I love, Love, LOVE being with you...it's just sometimes mommy needs her space.
• my nasally, high-pitched pigeon voice.  Whenever I read any of the Pigeon books (by our favorite, Mo Willems) to your brother, I use this awesome nasal, high-pitched voice for the Pigeon.  And by awesome, I mean ear splittingly annoying.  I also use this voice when I'm changing your diaper...you know, to ease the tension.  You think it's HI-larious.  Just wait until I use it when your first boyfriend comes to meet us.  That and your father holding his shotgun should make for a lovely meeting. 
• your monkey pacifier.  This thing is also amazing.  It's a pacifier attached to a little monkey.  Your LauraJean got it for you.  It's nice because if your pacifier falls out, it's easy for you to pop it back in.

At 5 months, you dislike:

• naps.  When you got sick, your sleep patterns (if you can call them that) went out the window...and we have yet to see any normalcy return.  It's a dilemma right now.  You do nap, but they're not consistent and they don't last as long as they should. And you need your sleep.
• when your swing stops.  
• rolling over.  You'll do it, but it's like watching a turtle flipped onto its shell...you do the whole airplane move, flail your limbs, and cry.  It's presh.
• Your Coldplay lullaby c.d.  It cures many a crying spell that occur whilst driving around town.

Please stop taking pictures. 

Tell her to stop.

C'mon

Not a lot of dislikes right now, but the no nap kind of makes life...difficult.  When you don't nap, life...it is-a-hard. Sleep training is a little more difficult this time around because I'm learning to balance taking care of you and your brother...and at this moment, your schedules are not aligned.   So, we'll just keep trying.  Until then, I will continue to buy Dr. Pepper in bulk.

You are lovely to me, Scout.  And even when you don't nap and my brain feels like it's going to shrivel up and die from lack of sleep, I still think you are pretty great.  Happy five months, my lovely.

Whitney: 4 Months - the abridged version...a month and a half late

At 4 Months, you like:

• your family...and that's about it.  Anyone else elicits a look of annoyance.  You're such a snob. 
• your swing...an intervention is planned soon.  It's the only place you'll nap extensively during the day.  Soooo.
• to poop.  You have at least one blowout a week...it's fun.
• your pink fuzzy blanket.  You will not sleep without it.
• your playmat.  It's so fun to watch you work at pulling the dangling animals down.
• your hand, fingers, anything that you can fit into your mouth without me taking it away from you.  I'm not sure if you're teething, but you do not go a minute without either your pacifier or your fingers in your mouth.
• your brother.  Seriously, that kid could sit on you and you would think it's hilarious.  Everything he does makes you smile. (We'll see how long that lasts.)
• your moby wrap.  You love being carried around in it. 

At 4 Months, you dislike:

• tummy time...you still hate it.  Honestly, I'm not as good at making sure you have tummy time as I was with Eli, but you do spend time on your tummy daily, and you still hate it...with a fiery passion.
• your crib.  Again, my fault.  Apparently, I didn't learn my lesson from your brother.  You sleep fine in the cradle-thingamajig next to our bed, but the second I lay you down in your crib, you act as if I just dipped you into acid.
• non-elasticized pants.  And who can blame you, girl.  You've got quite the tummy, and that cute thing needs some give and stretch comfort.
• your carseat -- at least not for extended periods.  So, traveling to Boston in a few months should be a blast.
• bottles. Eli did not breastfeed; he refused.  So, when you nursed like a pro, I wanted to make sure you would stick with it.  So, I didn't attempt a bottle until about a month and a half after you were born, at which point you were like, "woman, please".  It's fine if you never have a bottle, it just means you and I are going to be like peas and carrots for the next year or so. 

 You are growing into quite a fun little girl, and your personality is starting to come out.  One of my favorite things about you (I mean, the list is quite extensive, but...), is your smile.  When you smile, you smile with your whole body.  Seriously, your shoulders go up, your legs stretch out, your face scrunches up.  It's perfect.

I love you beyond eternity, my dear Scout.

So....

February 2.

That was the last blog entry.

I suck at life.

I haven't blogged in 2 months.

So, here's somewhat of an explanation. 

First, we have a computer from when Steve Jobs was a teenager making computers in his garage, and it moves like a 95 year old with bad knees (makes the same noises, too)...so importing photos and video takes 5 lifetimes.  Seriously, I will start the import process, go out and run some errands, make dinner, recite pi up to the millionth number and still not have my photos.  I have two wee kids, who don't manage themselves -- trust me, I've tried.  Thanks for nothing, Disney Channel.  (please know I'm kidding).  So, waiting for my computer is not something for which I have a lot of extra time.  (Please send all donations to "Buy-Ben-and-Jeanette-a-computer-because-she-quit-her-teaching-job-to-stay-at-home-with-her-kids-and-now-they-can't-afford-a-new-computer-and-are-saving-for-a-trip-to-Disney-World-for-their-kids-and-not-a-computer" fund).

Secondly, our computer is in our room, away from aforementioned wee children and their area of play.  I feel some sense of guilt when I say to them, "Come on kids, mama's gotta do some typin on the computational machine...Eli, you start the crank so I can get it a-goin'."  (I guess I turn into an Appalachian woman when I talk to my children).   So, the only time I have to type is during nap time (don't get me started about nap time) or after my kids go to sleep...and that time is reserved for my DVR and Mr. J. Daniels (again, please know I'm kidding...I honestly get tipsy from an approved dose of NyQuil...I'm pretty sure smelling Jack Daniels would necessitate a stomach pump in the ER) (Notice how I didn't say anything about the DVR not being true?).  

Thirdly, there are so many other things on my to do list, like chipping away at that mound of dirty dishes in my sink (please send donations for a fancy dish washing machine to my "Dear God, why did we buy a house without a dishwasher" fund), trying to make a dent in the ubiquitous amount of laundry in our home, paying our bills (do you feel sorry for me, yet?), trying to locate that dang smell, thinking about cleaning our room, watching TV...I mean important stuff.

Finally, I'm really not that great of a writer and I'm a bit ADD.  What takes my smarter, more talented and focused friends 15 minutes  to whip up, takes me...longer.  I think of something to say, erase it because I'm sure it will offend someone, write something else, erase it because it will land me in a meeting with CPS, write something and Google whether or not I spelled that word correctly or in the right context, then I go to People.com and read about Hillary Duff's baby boy who has a very effeminate name, then I forget that I was writing a blog entry.  Soooo.

So, I'm going to try.  It's important to me to write about my children, because they're growing up so quickly, and I want to capture the moments/events that I'm sure I won't remember due to all the Kardashian reality shows I watch.  Also, I'm pretty sure Whitney already hates me for not writing about her as much as I have with Eli.  My letters to them and my stories about them mean a lot to me, and I hope to them someday.  So, I'm posting this as an accountability thing. It's out there.  I will begin to write more.  My brain needs some sort of exercise and reading Chelsea Handler books ain't gettin' it done.  So, my goal is twice a week.  I don't think anyone but my mother reads this anymore (and maybe not even her since I have to tell her the name of my blog every time I've asked if she's read it), but I guess that doesn't matter; I just gotta dance write.

I have Eli's 3 year post to put up still (for those of you keeping track, Eli turned 3 a month and a half ago) and Whitney's 4th and 5th months posts.  So, tomorrow, I'm hoping to get Whit's letters finished and then start uploading Eli's 3 year video I made him (so that post will be done around his 4th birthday).  Then, I'll write about what ever floats into the moth ball infested recesses of my brain. 

Mmmmm...malted milk balls (see if you can trace back that line of thought).

You Crack Me Up, Whitney - 3 months

What's that?  Oh, you noticed that your 3 month and 2 month letters were written on the same day?  I have a perfectly good explanation.  You see, I actually wrote your 2 month letter a week after you turned 2 months.  But I was waiting to upload pictures from my camera and then upload the files from Iphoto and then I haven't been sleeping well these last three months and then there was that week our entire family had the stomach flu straight from Lucifer himself and then we ran out of Capn Crunch and then you turned 3 months...soooo, sorry. 

The best thing about this last month is that you started sleeping 5 - 6 hour stretches at night.  Around the same time, my hallucinations stopped.  So, that was awesome.  We've pretty much gotten into a sort of schedule, which is nice for your anal mother who basically shuts down when things are in disarray. 

5:00 a.m. You wake up to eat, and I think I wake up too.

5:45 a.m. You go back to sleep, and I pray your brother will choose to sleep past 7:00.

9:00 a.m. You wake up to eat and play.

11:00 a.m.ish You take a nap...in your swing...b/c that's the only place you'll nap.  I try to prevent your brother from putting all your toys in your swing along with you.

1:00 p.m. You wake up to eat and play.


3:30/4:00 p.m. You take a nap with me...because I'm tired...and so are you...and your brother is sleeping, too.

6:00 p.m. You wake up to eat and watch the Wheel of Fortune/Jeopardy block.  You love mocking Trebek.

8:00ish p.m. You take a little power nap.

8:45ish p.m. You wake up to eat again and dance the night away.


11:30 p.m. I plead with you to go to sleep.


Midnight/1:00 a.m. You go to sleep for the night.  


So, about that 8:45 - 1:00 a.m. stretch...if we could go to bed before infomercials start, that would be great.  Just throwing that out there.  

Most importantly, you started laughing this month.  It is the most mellifluous sound.  I was de-linting your toes one night and heard this little giggle.  I looked at you and you were smiling.  So, I went back to de-linting your toes and you giggled again.  It was fantastic.  You're a regular Tickle-Me-Whitney without the matted, questionable red fur.  Sometimes around 11 at night, you'll just look at me and start laughing.  At first I was offended, but then I just started laughing back.  We'll just laugh back and forth for 15 minutes.  It's one of my favorite parts of the day.  Just a couple of slap happy gals.  


I should also mention that while you fit into your 3-6 months tops, you is-a sportin' a slight muffin top with the pants.  Girl, you own that muffin-top.  Your tummy just sort of spills over any pants I put you in. It is the most adorable little inter tube ever.  

Other fun stuff from this past month: you met your great-grandpa Rick and great-grandma and grandpa Parker; you were the only one in our house to not come down with the stomach flu, and praise Jesus for that; we've replaced the batteries in your swing four times now, and I'm sure it will accompany you to college; during one particularly tearful car ride home from the grocery store, I discovered that you heart Beyonce (and why wouldn't you?); and you love my animal impressions (and why wouldn't you?).  

There are no words.

 

You bring so much happiness to this house, Scout.  While it has been difficult adjusting to having two little ones, I wouldn't trade my sleepless nights, my thrown-up on clothes, or my inner tube tummy for anything.  Being with you and your brother every day is my favorite thing. 

I love you, my sweet Scout. 

Whitney: The 418th Most Popular Name in 2011

Happy 2 months, my sweet girl.  So, last post I provided your birth story.  I thought I'd spend part of this post explaining how we arrived at your name.  I apologize in advanced that it's not a great story.

Your dad was very non-committal with your name.  I would throw dozens of different names his way, and he would shoot down every one. EVERY ONE.  So, one night I made a list of 10 names and asked him to circle the ones he liked.  Whitney was the last name I put on the list.  I've always liked the name and once had a barbie doll named Whitney whose hair I was supposed to be able to curl with this plastic curling iron.  Whatever, Matel, you big fat liar! I digress.  Anyway, it was the only name he circled. 

Whitney.  There we had it.  I liked it.  Your dad liked it.  Done deal.

Then, I started practicing introducing my TWO children.  "Hi, this is Eli and Whitney."  Hmmmm...Eli and Whitney.  It sounds familiar.  Eli ... and...Whitney...Eli...Whitney. 

Eli Whitney.

The inventor of the cotton gin.

I expressed my concern to your father.  "What if people think we're these avid Eli Whitney fans? What if people think we have a historic  museum dedicated to his prolific career (prolific used generously) in our basement?" 

Your dad rolled his eyes and in his most laid back, lovable way said, "Who cares...that's the name of our daughter."

Our daughter...beautiful sigh.

So, do not fret, my lovely.  You are in no way some personified love letter to Mr. Eli Whitney.

We settled on Elizabeth, or I should say your father conceded the name Elizabeth, because I wanted to name you after my favorite literary heroine, Elizabeth Bennet. 

And there we are, Whitney Elizabeth. 

A few days after you were born we had to take a quick trip back to the hospital to have some of your blood work redone.  It made your father so happy to tote his newborn daughter out into the cold because the hospital messed up.  So happy.  While we were there, a lady asked how we had settled on Whitney.  I looked at her with the most serious look and said, "My husband and I are HUGE Whitney Houston fans."

That's not true, either.

We don't have a secret tribute museum to Eli Whitney, and we are not members of any Whitney Houston fan clubs.  (However, I did wear out my Bodyguard soundtrack by dancing around my room singing "I'm Every Woman".)  What? No, I didn't.  Who said that?  yes I did. 

You are not named after anybody (I mean, aside from your middle name).  We just loved the name.  It's a beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Aren't you glad you sat down for that story?

Moving on to our second month with you.

The most amazing thing happened this month..right at the beginning.  You and I were up late one night gabbing about how you wouldn't go to sleep and how The Artist is a shoo-in for the Oscar and how TiVo really is better than DVR when you looked up at me and...SMILED.  And then my heart melted all over the floor and I had to get out the Oxy clean.  It was incredible.  Best.smile.ever. 

Since that fateful night, your smile has been dazzling audiences everywhere.  It's just incredible.

Other highlights from this last month: you began cooing, you hate pepperoni (at least when I eat it), you and your swing are going steady, and you poop like no one's business. 

You are lovely, my dear Scout.  And I thank Jesus every day for your life. 

And Added to the Lineup -- Whitney Elizabeth Parker

My dear Whitney, here is your first letter from your tired mother.  Please know that when you're eating and you look up at me with those intensely gorgeous eyes, I don't always look like a haggard shrew who smells like Cheetos and b.o.  Before you were born, I actually showered every day and did my hair and bothered to wipe yesterday's mascara out of the corners of my eyes.

 1 Month!!!

So now that we've cleared things up...let's talk about your birth story.

Your brother came fast and furious and was two weeks early.  So, I was told by my doctor that you, too, would probably be about 2 - 4 weeks early and I should be prepared.  Fast forward to week 39, when I still had no inclination that you would be arriving any time soon.  At my 39 week appointment, my doctor basically said, "Welp, no contractions, we'll see you next week."  Later that day my former mid-wife had me come in to see if I had progressed at all (b/c mommy's doctor, much to her chagrin, would not check her).  On Friday (exactly 39 weeks), I was dilated 4 cms and 50% effaced -- terms I'm still not 100% sure about, but it meant you should be coming soon.  But, alas, I felt nothing...no contractions.

Monday, October 17, I woke up with a slight pang that I thought might be a contraction.  But then, nothing for the next several hours.  Your brother and I went grocery shopping, picked up some pumpkins, and went about our day per usual.  I would feel mild contractions sporadically, but nothing ever consistent and nothing that I had to breathe through (which I guess means you're near going into labor).

That night, I started to feel really uncomfortable, like you were sitting funny.  I got into bed around 11:30 and just did not feel right.  Around 11:45, I looked at your dad and said, "Imma having this baby tonight, pa."  5 minutes later you kicked really hard and my water broke. Well, broke is an understatement...my water, ahem, exploded and flood warnings were issued.  I immediately began having hard...HARD contractions.  My friend, Jen, hurried over to stay with your brother and your father broke the sound barrier racing me to the hospital.  Fun little anecdote: whilst driving to the hospital at midnight, I felt the urge to push...it's true.  So your father put the petal to the medal and bounced like the devil (shout out, Hova).  He tried to get around someone on the two lane road on which we were driving.  The other car took this as a drag racing challenge and immediately went into db mode and began to race us.  I was this close to sticking my head out the window and shouting something pleasant.  But please, who's going to beat the Grand Marquis?  The geriatric-mobile totally beat that jerkface.

We got to the hospital and they wheeled me up to L&D.  I love when you get to L&D, writhing in pain,  leaking amniotic fluid and tell them you're in labor and they say, "Are you sure?"  I'm sorry.  Nope, I must be peeing myself for the last 20 minutes...without stopping.  And this pain, must be indigestion in my lady parts.  Silly fajitas for dinner.  YES, I.AM.IN.LABOR.  So they wheeled me into the birthing room, stripped me down, got me in bed and told me to fight the urge to push as the doctor was not there yet.  Oh...okay.  Just stop trying to push.  Done.  While we're at it, why don't I stop breathing and digesting my food.

Finally, they knew they couldn't hold you back any longer.  Doctor or not, they were doing to deliver you.  At this point, as I was experiencing a very al-fresco situation, your grandma walked in.  The look of "holy crap" on her face said it all...you was a-coming.  My doctor walked in like 10 seconds later.  I pushed once and immediately felt a fiery pain unlike nothing else.  One more time, and there you were.  At 1:02 a.m. there was my sweet girl, screaming your head off.  So, just in case you haven't been keeping track, you were born in one hour.  ONE HOUR.  Thank you.  You are very efficient.

They immediately put you on my chest and my heart was yours.  You were the most beautiful, goop covered little thing.  I cannot describe in words that moment when you meet your child for the first time.  It's beyond anything I have and will ever experience.  It is the most amazing gift the Lord can give a mother. 

You were 7 lbs exactly and 20 inches and had a head full of dark hair.

I stayed in the hospital two nights, even though they told me I could go after the first night.  A.) Our insurance paid for two nights, so I was taking advantage of that and B.) I wanted that time where it was just you and me, and the occasional nurse who made sure my uterus was de-stretching.

This last month with you, while tiring, has been phenomenal.  You have your occasional bouts of gasiness (due in large part to the pizza I ate the previous day...why did it have to be pizza that causes your gas? WHY??).  But you are a champion breast feeder and pretty much low key.

I just want you to know how in love with you I am.  After having Eli, I didn't think I could love someone as much as I loved him.  My mom would tell me, after I would mention to her that my brother was the favorite child, that as a mom, you love your children equally.  One child does not hold claim to more of the affection.  So true, mom, so true.  It's incredible how wonderful it is to experience this much love.

And even when you're wide awake at two in the morning with no signs of packing it in for the night, I will just stare at you in awe.  You are a beautiful creation and I will love you beyond forever, my sweet Scout.

No Squirrels, Mama: Eli 31-33 Months

Let's start this by saying 2 has been very...VERY challenging, and I'm hoping we've reached the apex of terrible twoness.  That being said, I completely understand your frustrated spirit manifested in your "paranormal activity" behavior.  This year has been hard on you...too many changes.  Sometimes, I want to throw things and tell people "no" in the most blood boiling way.  So here's to hoping.  Dear 3, please come in like a lamb.  Here are some highlights from the last three months, my dear Eli.

When I was little, according to grandma (although I do have vague recollections of a scary clown and a terrifying man dressed up like a gorilla), I was scared of pretty much everything.  These things included, but were not limited to: black cats, men with beards, lawn mowers, the beeping sound forklifts or tractors made, clowns, and the Fonz (who took on the the antagonist role in my nightmares).  So, it should come as no surprise to me that you, my son, who shares my genetic make-up, would also be a little high strung (I'm being very generous with the word "little").  You would also think that I would be sensitive to your plight, as it is something I've experienced; but, I find myself getting frustrated that we can't play outside without you needing a Xanax at the sight of a squirrel or that the sight of our church sends you into a catatonic state or that the waiters bursting out in a happy birthday song at Applebee's necessitates us to take you out of the restaurant until the absurdity is over.  I'm convinced that you still have nightmares about trick-or-treating from this year.  Just so I can remember this, Halloween was spent with you holed up in your sister's room shouting "NO MORE TRICK OR TREATERS!!" every now and then, me answering the door while trying to breast feed your sister and sweating like a large, hairy man in June. I'm sorry.  I guess I'm frustrated that you don't feel safe and there's little to nothing I can do to help you.  I feel powerless against your fears.  I don't think that you being afraid is silly -- it's a very real emotion for you, and I understand that.  I just wish I understood how to make you feel safe and why these things scare you.

This seems to be a reoccurring theme throughout these past months: uncertainty.  You, my friend, like to test your boundaries.  And I, like the new guy on border patrol, am uncertain what's okay to let pass and what needs a blow dart to stop it in its tracks (I, of course, speak metaphorically...I have not used a blow dart on you) (also, isn't that a horrible analogy?  I mean I'm averaging 5 hours of sleep a night, so...just...okay?).  Right now, when you tell us "no" or hit or scream or throw your toys or object to watching Jeopardy, sending you to your room seems to do the trick.  You haven't seemed to realize that your toys are in there, just that we're not and you hate it.

But there have been many blood-pressure raising moments in stores, restaurants, parks, basically out and about.  I can't send you to your room.  And I know people have told me, "Just leave the store."  But when I have a cart full of food or Target goodies, I am not going to do that, so leave me alone perfect parents.  I will endure the 20 something female giving me a dirty look as you scream in the shopping cart. (You're welcome, 20 something, for your birth control for the day).  You've almost become this equation I need to solve.  How can I get X (my son) to travel through/endure Y (the store, the restaurant, my dr.'s appt) without wanting to Z (scream into a pillow)?  I've discovered that time and food play a major part in the equation, as does my stress level.  But there are so many unknown factors, like wind speed, air pressure, whether or not that stranger looked at you funny, were there squirrels in your general vicinity? You know...things beyond my control.

So, I'm sorry if you feel frustrated with my frustration/uncertainty.  It's been a rough year for you, and you've had to accept a lot of changes.  However, you can't use that excuse every day...you've reached your quota, my friend.  Please know that when that little vein in my forehead becomes glaringly apparent or I raise my voice or I insult Bob the Builder, it doesn't mean I don't think you're still incredible.  I will always think you're a wonderful little boy who I wouldn't trade for anything in the world, not even Coldplay tickets.  And I hope you never doubt I love you and think that you are smart and talented and overall amazing. 

Moving on to something not so uncertain; let's talk about you talking.  I, admittedly, was a little worried about your speech development.  I felt you should be saying more and talking more.  People assured me you were fine, but I worried.  Should I get you into speech therapy?  I didn't want you to feel like I dropped the ball in this area.  But as soon as we adiosed that pacifier, the words, they don't stop.  The other day you walked into the living room after a particularly messy toy day and said, "Mama mia, look at this mess."  Your dad just looked at me as if to say, "Where has he heard that?"  You love to sing, you love to talk ALL THE TIME.  A car ride does not go by without you narrating everything that passes by or comes into your brain.  I'll never miss a red light because you let me know when they're occurring. I love hearing you talk.  You have so many wonderful (and some not-so wonderful...ahem...let's say bye-bye to the word "no") things to say, and I'm glad you are so excited to share your thoughts, observations, whims.  You're amazing to me.

Favorite things you say right now (this is for me for when my memory is shot due to all the Twilight I watch): when we don't quite understand something you're asking for and then we finally get it, you'll say "oh, that's what I'm talking about"; when you think something is great, "oh, mama, that is just beautiful"; "mama mia"; "oh, it's perfect" when we do something for which you're pleased.  You're it, kid.

you and your cousins

Finally, we welcomed "baby sister" a month a go.  It's heartwarming to see you with her.  You are quite the protective older brother.  If someone other than me or your dad is holding her, you become very concerned and make your discomfort known.  The other night, your dad took down her pack and play b/c we bought something else for her to sleep in during her wee months, and you broke down.  "No, daddy...NOOO!!  I want to keep her...I love her!" You thought we were 86ing your sister. Break.my.heart.

It has been a challenge to keep both of you happy, and I'm sorry if you have felt neglected, because, my precious boy, for you to feel anything other than completely wanted and loved makes my heart hurt.  You are beyond the most wonderful creation.  I cherish everything about you, even when you throw my phone across the room.  Now go to your room.