Okay, after a little thought and several inspiring pep talks from family and friends, I'm feeling a little better about this whole funky baby skull thing. Here's what went down: Tuesday the nurse called to tell us that all was well with Merrick's butt ultrasound results. I remind her that, while that's all fine and dandy, it's the x-ray I'm worried to death about, and would she please keep checking on that and let me know ASAP when that report comes back. Wednesday, I'm busy driving and getting my family lost in the middle of Oklahoma City at rush hour, calling everyone I know trying to get directions to Route 66, when the doctor's office beeps in--so I click over. On the other end of the line I hear the doctor's voice--the actual doctor, not the nurse--which immediately signals bad news. And he proceeded to explain the situation to me in a sympathetic, caring tone, and I proceeded to listen and respond with an occasional and unusually chipper "Oh, yeah, sounds good! Yes, I understand! Yes! Okay!"

 

He tells me that his office will go ahead and take care of setting everything up, and that they will get in touch with me to tell me about appointment times and whatnot. I hang up and confess to my mom that indeed I am slightly bothered, but we carry on with our wild goose chase down old Route 66, we enjoy shakes and sodas at Pop's, and we stop and marvel at a Round Barn. Caleb meets us after a job interview (which went quite well, more on that some other time) and I share the news with him. By the time we all get back home, there's already a message on our machine with the date for Merrick's 3-D CAT scan.

 

It scares me how fast they got this ball rolling. Tuesday we'll take Merrick back to the Children's Hospital. We are still waiting to hear when our meeting with the neurosurgeon will be.

 

I admit, I've been freaking out all week long up until I talked to our very good neighbor-friend/nurse, Shawna. I don't why it didn't occur to me earlier that she might know a thing or two about this; she worked for a while with sick and disabled children and had actually dealt with this very situation a few times. She gave me some details, and told me it's not as scary as I think. She knows the neurosurgeons at the Children's Hospital. It is because of our reassuring chit-chat and her insight and advice that I was finally able to breathe a little sigh of relief and get some sleep last night. Plus, she hooked me up with a really sweet gift-certificate for a birthday pedicure. Awesome.

 

On an entirely different note, my family's visit went well--way too fast, but well. My mom, dad, sister, brother-in-law, and niece Reese showed up Monday just in time for birthday cake. Jenny and I played with our real-live babies, the guys did guy stuff, my mom got her grandkid fix, and the kids were spoiled beyond belief and jacked-up on sugar all week long. Good times, good times. An observation or two, though: 1) Taking the kids out to the mall is no easier even with 2 additional adults in tow. No. Easier. And 2) Getting Caleb and my brother-in-law, James, together was not necessarily a smart move...but it sure did make for some hilarious moments.

 

 

 

 

Well, I've been putting this off, partly because I don't even want to write about it and partly because my family has kept me hopping this week, but we finally heard from the doctor. Turns out a suture over on the left side of Merrick's head does look fused (Damnit!) and that we're to be scheduled for a CAT scan and a meeting with a neurosurgeon, probably sometime within the next week.

 

Right now I'm still reeling and I'm still a little too busy to really sit down and let it get to me. I've got a doctor's appointment myself today so I will post later with more details.

 

Hope everyone has a good weekend!

 

Happy Birthday to Me! Take a minute to celebrate to yourselves how much I so totally rock. Find some cake and eat it. Chug a beer or two...hmmm...I wish the Budweiser people would compose a song in my honor, similar to their "Real Men of Genius" or "Real American Heroes" songs. My parents and my sister and her husband and her baby are flying in today--this is just about the coolest present I can think of. I'm waiting for the rest of the people in my house to wake up and treat me like the freaking princess that I am. Any minute now...I think I'll talk about politics and religion while I wait.

 

Contrary to popular belief, I don't get all of my political information from Saturday Night Live--sometimes I watch 2 seconds of CNN to help me fall asleep. And I have to ask--is everyone seriously still talking about Barack Obama fist-bumping his wife? Because I saw that video, and I, myself, would be more worried about the fact that right after their "first pound", Barack turned around and slapped that ass in front of millions of people. Okay, maybe it was more like an ever-so-discreet love pat--but still. And what's this talk about fist-bumping being a "black" thing? Am I the only one who remembers the very white Ricky Bobby's "Shake and Bake"?

 

Went to church again Sunday and found out just how comfortable the ladies' room was. About 10 minutes into the service, Merrick started crying. Caleb couldn't calm him down, so Mommy took over--I changed him and then settled down in this sweet comfy chair to feed him. And as soon as I whipped off my bra, the grandma brigade came out of hiding. They were running in the door, popping out of stalls--isn't there a commandment that says "Thou Shalt Not Touch a Breastfeeding Mother and Child"? I swear, I thought one of them was about to sit in my lap. A particularly intriguing member with orange skin and eggplant hair struck up a thrilling conversation: "I think it's so sweet when mothers breastfeed their children." (Who? Me? Oh, no, I'm not breastfeeding. I'm just trying to cram my boob in his mouth so no one will hear him scream.) "Do you stay at home with him or do you leave him during the day?" (I leave him. I leave him all alone. But not because I go to work.) "It's wonderful that you bring him to church. Children need to get to know the Lord early on in life." (Actually, it's the other way around--I'm here because of him. And I'm pretty sure he won't understand the concept of God until he's at least 10. Or maybe 50.)

 

As I sat there sweetly breastfeeding my child and blatantly ignoring granny, whose hand was mere inches away from my bare boob, the church and I talked things out in my head:

 

ME: "I'm just not ready to commit yet. I mean, I like you and all, don't get me wrong! You're great. I just don't think I'm ready to be tied down to one church in particular right now."

CH: "But look at what I'm giving you! A knowledgeable pastor, a friendly congregation, Sunday school classes for your girls...I even have a nursery for the little guy! Plus I dumped all this money into looking pretty and having all the latest technology for you. (sniff, sniff, tear.)

ME: "Hey don't cry. It's not you; it's me."

CH: (Angrily) "You are so full of dog doo-doo."

ME: "Can't you just say 'shit'?"

CH: "No, I'm the church. And you shouldn't say it either."

ME: "You mean I'd have to stop cussing?!"

CH: "Yes. Besides, don't try and distract me. We both know what this is really about."

ME: "What are talking about?"

CH: "When are you going to get it through your head that I'M NOT HER?!"

ME: "Oh, please."

CH: "Seriously! You don't like me because you're worried I'll turn out like that other country church--I'm not like that."

ME: "I know. Tell you what. Give me another shot. My family likes you, my friends like you. I just need more time, that's all."

CH: (Sniffling) "Okay."

 

It's true. There was a church, a Southern Baptist, Back-woods, po-dunk country church, that me and my ex-husband became heavily involved in about 10 years ago. I don't bring it up much, because the truth is, I'd like to completely block out that entire 2-year period. I hate who I was at that time in my life. I hate what I looked like, I hate the things I said, I hate the things I did, I hate what I put up with. If I could go back in time and kick my own ass, I would. In a heartbeat. I'd hire thugs to help me give myself the beating of a lifetime. I was in a miserable excuse for a marriage, and all I could do was stinkin' pray that it would get better. I got it into my head to tell my Catholic parents that they were going to hell in a handbasket. And worse, I even toyed with the idea of boycotting Disney, and that right there is just blasphemous to life in general.

 

What is it with me and church? Am I that scared of turning back into the snivelling country idiot I once was? Am I scared my kids will? Do I have to stop cussing? Wait, do I have to stop drinking? Will I ever be able to make it through a Sunday without feeling sick to my stomach? Will I ever be able to make it through a service without rolling my eyes? I'd try another church if I thought that was the answer to my problem. But it's not. Well, bottom line is this: Caleb likes it. The girls like it. So, damnit, I'm going to keep going until I like it, too. Stranger things have happened. I might just see about those hired thugs...

 

And I'll be breastfeeding in the car from now on.

 

Grocery shopping with children: Not for the faint of heart. Ask anyone who's done it and lived to tell the tale. I attempted this fantastical feat yesterday at 4:30 p.m. in about 100 degree weather with all 3 kids in tow. Know that I only did this because we were slap out of bread, milk, fruit--everything you could think of.

 

Cheyenne was, as usual, a huge help, even if she did continuously ask for a million things that I just can't buy right now. Merrick was okay--yes, he was strapped in his carseat the whole time, but he kept grunting and farting and threatening to wake up. And chances are, when he's awake, he's hungry--scratch that--he's stark-raving starving which in turn causes him to shriek and scream and I just don't think I could've handled that after dealing with Mia.

 

Mia, my angel.

 

It used to bother me when I saw kids on leashes. Now, I GET IT.

 

I go from the quiet requests...

"Mia, come over here please."

"Mia, don't hide in the clothes racks please."

"Mia, you can't ride on the edge of the buggy like that."

 

to trying to appeal to her sense of reason...

"Mia, don't climb on the shelves, you'll fall and hurt yourself."

"Mia, come back here or Mommy will get lost"

"Mia, if you stand in front of the buggy like that, I might accidentally run over your little foot."

 

to a little more insistant commands...

"Mia, watch where you're going or you'll knock something over."

"Mia, I swear to God, COME BACK!"

"Mia, GET DOWN FROM THERE, NOW!"

"Mia, for the love of Pete, I said you have to WATCH WHERE YOU'RE WALKING!"

 

to the mother of all threats:

"Mia, if you don't stay by the cart, some stranger will come by and snatch you up!"

 

Sigh...if only.

 

I'm kidding. I love my kids. The kidnapping comment doesn't work, and I finally resort to bribery in the form of chocolate muffins, sugary cereal, and cash register candy, and that works...for now. By the time we got home, I was ready to stick my head in the oven. Except our oven is electric, so it wouldn't have done much...where would one buy a kid leash anyway?

 

Yesterday morning we took Merrick for his appointment at the Children's Hospital at OU Medical Center--that place is like a city in itself. After we managed to find our way to radiology, he had his ultrasound, which went fine, and his X-ray, which also went fine. It helps, I think, that we took him to a place that's used to dealing with kids--everybody was extra nice and extra gentle. Everything was extra colorful and extra soft. And Nick Jr. played on every TV. (we were lucky enough to sit in on not 1, but 2 episodes of "Wonder Pets" in the waiting room--just like home.) We should hear from our doctor by Monday.

 

And with that, I need my coffee and my chocolate muffin--okay, yes. Those were just for mom.

 

I've been a little missing in action these days as far as the blogworld goes--I guess that's got something to do with having a baby and a 3-year-old and trying to keep a sanitary house while fitting activities and appointments and the occasional quick shower somewhere in those measly 24 hours I'm given each day. I have trouble keeping up with everyone else but me. Time is flying by insanely fast.

 

For instance, I can't get my head around the fact that Merrick is a month old already. When did that happen? Wait, when did I even have him? I was sure that whole birthing thing was just a dream--thank goodness we have video proof. Tomorrow he gets his very first ultrasound followed by his very first X-ray. I did a little googling yesterday and found that the worst that could happen is that he would need surgery to basically open his skull back up. I don't say that to make light of the situation, because I can't even let myself imagine how awful it must be to watch your child go through such a major surgery. (Major props to Charlie's mommy and Blair's mommy--you guys, and your kids, are just amazing.) But, in that event, it's a good thing we're getting this done now--the earlier, the better, is what they say, so that the brain has room to grow normally. Some kids have facial deformities from this; my main worry is that it would affect his mental development, or his eyesight, or something. On the upside, after surgery, he would get to wear a kick-ass helmet for a year, and that would totally give him some serious street-cred with the kids at the playground. He would be so hardcore.

 

Right now I'm trying stay optimistic. There's still no reason to worry. Merrick's doctor will call us hopefully by this time next week to let us know how everything turned up. And if there's a problem I hope I can be positive and calm and rational. I love my stinkin' cute son and his messed-up noggin. Whenever I hold him I can't help but gently pet and kiss those crooked little head bones. He's most definitely out of that dazed and confused newborn stage and he's starting to pay attention to the world around him. He turns his head to follow sounds and he intensely studies whatever he finds to look at. He's genuinely smiled at me a few times and he laughs heartily in his sleep. His eyes are still blue as blue can be. He still eats every 2 hours or so, even at night, so I'm a little tired, but it's obviously worth it. Everyone should have a baby to warm their heart like this.

 

Mia's been a little more active, and a little more demanding, than usual. She's so...wild. Maybe she needs the kick-ass helmet. But I tell ya, she loves her baby brother and hasn't been even slightly jealous of him. She's had her share of "brat" moments these past weeks, but that's to be expected. I can handle her meltdowns, just so long as she fits in "I love you" and "you're the best mommy in the whole world" a few times a day. Everyone needs a 3-year-old for the ego.

 

Cheyenne's been a huge help, with the baby, yes, but with Mia for the most part. She's constantly offering her assistance--with just about everything except changing diapers, but who could blame her for that? I just have to be careful not to allow her to take on too much, though it is tempting sometimes. I honestly don't know how I'd make it out in public without her to keep everyone, including me, in line. If I forget something, she remembers. If I drop something, she picks it up. If Mia escapes, she's on it. Everyone needs a 12-year-old for moral support.

 

Caleb's had a tiny bit more luck lately with the job search. The broker thing was working out alright for the amount of effort he was putting into it, but even still, something with a salary and benefits would be even better for us. He's got a formal interview this morning and a sort of informal interview this afternoon, plus a few more opportunities that have come up--and everything's right here in Oklahoma City. It's not that we're not open to moving, but it would obvioulsy be easier to stay where we are.

 

Our garden is coming along nicely. We've got squash coming out the ass, and cucumbers, too, but I'm less excited about those. We've picked all the strawberries we're going to get this season, and I think the blackberries have just about bit the dust. Our tomatoes are just getting started. Okra--I'm thinking about torching those plants in the dead of night just so I won't have to smell Caleb pickling them. Oh, and we've got yummy onions. I eat them raw.

 

We went to church again last Sunday. I still get bored with all the singing and pastor's emotional speeches, but I actually understood--and sort of enjoyed--the main message. I'm not totally comfortable yet--bad Baptist memories, I suppose. My skin crawling and my palms sweating and whatnot. But I owe it to my kids to keep trying. Maybe we'll end up trying another church. Maybe it's just a matter of giving myself some time and giving that place a good honest shot. I'll get there.

 

Well, I've semi-recovered from my hair cut-tastrophe, and this week has been back to almost normal, with the exception of, oh, CHURCH on Sunday. Yeah, that's right. I went. What.

 

It wasn't as scary as I thought it would be. We went with our neighbor-friends--something about traveling in groups makes trying new churches safer, I guess. The country-grandma brigade didn't come whisk away my children to separate Sunday schools. The self-righteous-fat-ass-white-male club didn't get all up in our faces upon arrival. There were 2 big movie screens--interesting. Shaking hands, bible verses, music--twangy at times. Smiling, country people--nobody came off as religiously calculating. The "invitation" followed promptly by the "collection". Just your typical contemporary Christian cheese--but I don't think I need to be entertained into getting right with God. I just need to tone it down with the caution...and maybe the snark (but just a little). So, I might be able to handle a Baptist church after all.

 

Couldn't hurt to try.

 

Merrick is doing all the fun baby stuff that babies do. He eats like nothing I've ever seen; I wonder if that's just a taste of what's to come. I try to keep my eyes peeled for women around town toting small babies for his newborn playing pleasure. Mia never really had a friend as an infant--I've never really had a friend with an infant (well, at least not locally or at the sametime as me.) so my quest is just as much for me as it is for him. I'm thinking about taking out an ad--Friendless Male, age 4 wks old. Enjoys sunsets, long walks around the block, peeing on mom, and spitting-up. Seeks similar-minded playmate, 0 to 12 wks old, with non-psychotic, non-smoking parents.

 

Couldn't hurt to try.

 

Oh yes folks. The kiddie-computer actually says "puke". Caleb, Jason, Cheyenne and I listened to it 500 times each. It's definitely "puke".

 

And how 'bout that Barack Obama?

 

The baby: He's living the good life. Pooping in the comfort of his own bed. Having his butt meticulously cleaned with cotton balls dipped in warm water every hour. Dressing up in one dapper little outfit after another. Drinking 'til he passes out. Sleeping until someone wakes him up by changing his poopy diaper and cleaning his butt with cotton balls...you get the picture. It's a vicious cycle.

 

Mia: I think it's finally starting to get to her. I don't know if she's made the full connection between the baby and the lack of one-on-one time with Mommy and Daddy, but her melt-downs are becoming more and more frequent, particularly after a long day of phrases like "not right now", "in a minute", and "after I feed the baby". She lost it last night when Caleb and I got a little too eager for her to go to sleep--we tried to rush storytime, and that didn't sit very well with her. I never realized how difficult it would be to spend some quality time alone with each child.

 

Cheyenne: So far she's keeping busy by hanging out with friends, making plans for summer camp, and thinking of ways to spend her birthday fortune. She's become obsessed with her hair lately. Yesterday she busted out the "1995 slicked-back-ponytail with 2 long, thin, strands of hair slicked down to the side of her face" 'do. You know the look: it went so well with your silk shirt, white jeans, Black Nike's, and way-too-dark-lip-liner. You perfected this look while you were listening to Ini Kamoze's "Here Comes the Hotstepper." I cringed everytime I looked at her. Luckily, she experiments with a different style everyday. She'd lock herself in the bathroom for an hour if we'd let her. But 5 minutes gives her more than enough time to do the damage.

 

Me: Speaking of hair, I got mine hacked clean off yesterday. I ran into Cost Cutters (first mistake) for a little trim, and that lady cut the hell out of my hair. I think she was going for choppy layers--what she didn't know is that my hair boings up into funky curls when it is even slightly short; I also have this ridiculous cowlick which prevents me from wearing bangs.

 

She gave me bangs.

 

I should've left before I allowed her to so much as pick up the scissors. Note to self: If your hairdresser looks like she just wandered in from off the street, or more specifically, like she drunkenly wandered in from panhandling on the side of a busy interstate, proceed with caution. Better yet, don't proceed at all.

 

But I was desperate. My hair looked shitty, I needed to save some money, I had all the kids with me, and there was only a small window of time before Merrick got hungry again. And I don't enjoy breasfeeding a fussy baby in a hot car in a crowded parking lot. I thought logically to myself, "It's just hair. It'll grow back. And it can't look any worse than it does now."

 

Another note to self: Don't get your hair cut PERIOD in those emotional post-partum weeks.

 

I had to hold back tears when Cheyenne said, "Wow. You look like such a mom now!" Damnit! I paid some drunk bum $12 to butcher away what little bit of youth and femininity I had left.

 

Sigh. I'll put up a picture once I stop wallowing.

 

June 1st. Toni's Birthday Celebration Month is officially upon us. Rejoice.

 

I have no major plans for the 23rd--did you guys get that? It's the 23rd. Right now the idea is to have myself a little cake with the fam--which on that day will happen to include my mom, dad, sister, brother-in-law, and Reese my neice! They will be flying up all together and staying for about 4 days. I've already warned them that we'll be doing a whole lot of nothing, which they all seemed totally fine with. Good. I'm not much of one for public appearances lately.

 

Merrick's appointment was scheduled for the 18th. The doctor will get back with us a few days after that--and until then there's no good reason to freak out. I go back and forth between worrying out of my mind, and then thinking there's absolutely nothing wrong--maybe my naivety is a sort of coping mechanism, whatever. I don't care. We'll see what the doctor has to say. And that'll be that.

 

And real quick, what's the most hilarious thing you can think of? I'll tell you: Mia's got this little Leapfrog Learning Thingy-green-keyboard thingy. On it are all the letters of the alphabet and different settings for which to learn them. One of the settings gives an example of the letter you press--the computer says, "B, as in boy." What is the example for P? The computer says, seriously, "P, as in puke." I shit you not. The computer says puke.

 

Awesome.