FIGHTING INSANITY

 

Last night I forced--FORCED--Cheyenne to go to her first dance. Forced. Because, yes, I just am that mom.

 

She ended up having an "okay" time, which in Cheyenne World means she had the most excellent time a girl her age could possibly have. All her friends were going; all her friends wanted her to go--but for some reason the girl was dead-set against it. I honestly don't know what her problem was; maybe she thought that if she showed the slightest interest in the dance, that we (okay, mainly me) would get all excited and want to do her hair and her makeup and take pictures and ask her if she had a boyfriend...but I could speculate until I'm blue in the face and still not understand the kid. So I told her to pick out some damn clothes and find out what time I needed to drop her off because BY GOD she was going to the stupid dance if it killed her. I swear, trying to get that girl to loosen up and pull her head out of her ass long enough to have a good time is like pulling teeth.

 

But she did it. And believe it or not, I controlled myself and didn't ask, not even once, if I could help her get ready. I didn't even smile...very big. I was so cool about the whole thing, whether she thinks so or not.

 

The last two days have been pretty good; Mia was a little disappointed waking up this morning and finding out that she wasn't going to school today. Even Cheyenne is off to a decent start this year. Things are right with the world, at least for now.

 

Speaking of school, it just so happens that my 10-year high school reunion is coming up and I'm not going for obvious reasons:

 

We just made it through the first hour of the first day of school; bear with me because I'm emotional right now. Both Mia and Cheyenne got up this morning without a problem. They got dressed and ate breakfast and didn't seem too terribly sleepy. Mia was, I think, mostly excited with a side of nervous. She had a moment as I was putting her clothes on--(a pink dress which she picked out--wow! I know, right?)--where she got kind of quiet and said to me "I'm going to miss you and daddy."

 

 

Cheyenne had herself all taken care of and she refused to be driven to school--she caught the bus, and Caleb, Merrick, Mia and I took off in the car. We waited in a mile-long line of cars, parked, and then walked Mia up to the building. She went right in without a problem and was especially happy when her teacher gave her a necklace with her name on it. All the kids were lined up in the front hallway, so Mia found herself a spot next to a little girl. She waved us good-bye with a smile. Awesome.

 

And then, the crying. Not Mia, but about 100 other kids. Bawling out of control. Mia stopped smiling so hard. The little girl beside her started to sob. Mia frowned. A kid bolted back out the door toward her mother. Mia looked worried. Parents started crying. Mia looked freaked.

 

I didn't get to see what happened next because the preschool teachers closed the doors. Caleb and I left.

 

We'll pick her up in exactly one hour and twenty-three minutes.

 

It's hard to believe she's old enough to be going off to school. Her birthday was yesterday--4. 4 years old. Already. We took her to the arcade, where, with our powers combined, we won over 1000 tickets that ultimately went towards a bunch of cheap crap from Taiwan. We came home and opened a few presents, including her kick-ass new bike. Cheyenne and her friend Kelcey helped decorate the entire house with streamers and balloons. Our neighbor-friends came over a few hours later for some cake and ice-cream, and their gift to Mia was none other than...AQUA GLOBES! along with some lovely red flowers on which to test them. I honestly couldn't believe that Shawna managed to find those things. She said she also spotted MIGHTY PUTTY but decided against it. Thank you, Jesus.

 

Mia also made off with a Doodle Bear that came with an Airbrush tool (sweet!), clothes, Barbie Mariposa--the doll and the movie-- a Littlest Pet Shop Playhouse with about a million tiny pieces to it, a tinkerbell doll with tinkerbell paraphenalia, coloring books, crayons, playdough, and generally just a bunch of stuff that she can make some pretty terrific messes with. All in all, it was a good day for her.

 

I can't get over how old Mia--hell, both of the girls--hell, all my kids--are getting. I mean, didn't I have kids so that I could HAVE KIDS? Who told them to grow up? Cheyenne's in freaking 7th grade. She wouldn't hang out with me if her life depended on it. Pretty soon Mia will have all these new little friends. Mommy and Daddy won't be her world anymore. And Merrick--well, before you know it he'll be eating solid food. And that's just heartbreaking.

 

Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go check out that Littlest Pet Shop Playhouse before Mia comes back from school.

 

This week I've been on a mission: to find out what Mia wants for her birthday. She's turning 4, so this should be fairly easy, right? Little kids like toys. But I needed some inspiration. Now, normally, 'round here, when we watch TV, we watch what's known as "Noggin"--it's a channel designed for preschoolers, with all kinds of annoying-yet-somewhat-educational cartoons without the equally annoying-but-not-at-all-educational commercials. I came up with the brilliant idea of letting Mia watch a little regular TV this week, commercials and everything, so that maybe she would see some toy she just couldn't live without, like a baby doll that pees and poops, thus completing my birthday shopping list.

 

Her top picks? Aqua Globes! (waters house plants without the mess), Mighty Putty! (for repairing coffee cups and installing handles in bathtubs), and some kind of weird egg-cooker thingy (tired of burning breakfast?). All 19.99 plus shipping and handling, all only available through special TV offer.

 

Not what I expected.

 

I guess I technically could order it all, orrrrrrrrrrrrr... maybe Caleb and I will give her the stuff we just blindly threw in the buggy while we were at Toys'R'Us picking out her new wicked awesome pink bike.

 

That Mighty Putty is pretty amazing, though. It's strong enough to tow an 18-wheeler with, and you get double the offer if you call within the next 20 minutes! Maybe if I...no. No. I'd probably just end up in the emergency room with my foot stuck to my shoe. It's been known to happen. But that's another story for another time.

 

I'd like to thank msn.com for featuring an article on the awesomeness of the freecreditreport.com commercials. I heart the freecreditreport.com guy and his fake band. I have all their little ditties memorized. If they were to come out with a CD of freecreditreport.com jingles, I would be first in line to buy it.

 

Moving on.

 

I'm taking down the video of my little sister making bushwackers because the dude with the beard annoys me. Besides, Katie said she had no clue how to actually make the drink; the ones she sells are all pre-mixed and they come out of that machine like frosties, which, coincidentally, is exactly what a bushwacker tastes like. I'm surprised by how many people I've talked to that don't know what one is. Are Bushwackers to Pensacola what Hurricanes are to New Orleans? Will I have to wait until the next time I go back down there to have a good one?

 

I'm feeling a little thirsty all the sudden.

 

Yesterday I worked on digging out our front garden. We're trying to scrap the whole thing and start over fresh with something extremely low-maintenence. We're taking out all the grass and we're going to put in a bunch of rocks. Anyway, this morning I'm hurting, and not in a refreshing feel-the-burn kind of way. My back is really, really sore. I might die.

 

A bushwacker sure sounds nice.

 

Mia had one of her cavities filled. Caleb took her and she did fine. Apparently that laughing gas had her cackling like a mad man; I wish I could've been there for that, though the lop-sided smile she had for the rest of the day was pretty freakin' funny.

 

And by the way, I just knew I shouldn't have mentioned anything about Merrick's sleeping habits the other day.

 

 

 

I went to church somewhat voluntarily again Sunday with the firm intentions of never going back, but something happened while I was sitting there on that stupid wooden pew, all dolled-up and nauseous. What that something was exactly, I can't explain, but there was definitely a moment towards the beginning of the service that God politely tapped me on my shoulder. And then, as I slowly turned around to see what God wanted, He came out of nowhere with a biblical bitch-slap and knocked me on my ass for the rest of the sermon. I sat up straight. I paid attention. No, I didn't start crying or run up to the front and throw myself down on that cheap-carpeted-altar and get "saved" or anything, but for the first time in 2 months, the preacher didn't sound like a used-car salesman; he sounded like someone I could actually pay attention to for more than 5 minutes. So I listened. And I actually learned something. And I left with a skip in my step instead of a rock in my stomach. And it felt good to have been at church. And I think I might go back.

 

After that, Cheyenne and I met neighbor-friend-nurse Shawna and her daughter for a little back-to-school no-tax clothes shopping. Never before have I been such an efficient shopper--what we did in 4 hours would have taken me 4 days normally with the little kids in tow. But the real trick lies in going with friends; I've been shopping by myself before but could never seem to find anything. Anyhoo, Cheyenne made off with 3 pairs of long shorts, 3 b-r-a-s (Not allowed to say that word out loud), and one good pair of running shoes. And then Shawna became even more wonderful in my eyes by suggesting we all get cookies--not pretzels, not smoothies--cookies--mall cookies--the good kind. I think it's safe to say that the search for my one true shopping buddy is officially over.

 

Monday it was way too hot to go anywhere or do anything; I did vacuum the garage for the hundredth time this summer, but that was it for me. Today I drove to the gas station, alone, to buy a cherry coke. It...was awesome.

 

I would like to write about how Merrick has been sleeping pretty soundly through the night lately; but if I did, then he would surely stop. So I won't say anything.

 

Mia is out of her mind with excitement about her birthday and the start of preschool. I haven't yet decided what to do for her party. Keep it family only, with a cake and presents after dinner? Or put up streamers and do some sort of shrimp boil with the neighbors? This year she's turned away from Spiderman and Diego and is currently fixated on all things Pixie Hollow. She's got a sweet Tinkerbell backpack. Her new favorite movie is "Enchanted". My sweet little tomboy, finally ready to embrace a beautiful pink and purple world of Barbies and ballerinas. I never thought I'd see the day.

 

Ah, coffee. Toast with jam. The sound of the dishwasher. No shaved legs, but that's okay. It's Saturday again, and everything is right with the world. Sure, my husband is essentially jobless at the moment, but that's at the moment, and things are bound to change, soon, I can just feel it. Sure, Mia has 4 cavities and the dentist thinks we're awful parents, but what does he know? He knows teeth. And maybe gums and tongues. And that's it.

 

And sure, Merrick's head is long and pointy, but we're going to get that fixed, and truth is, I'm feeling a lot more at ease about that. And besides, to the untrained eye, the messed-up-ness is virtually unnoticable. After doing a lot of reading up on craniosynostosis and his specific condition, sagittal synostosis, I realize that Merrick has it pretty good. He can still see and smell and hear. He can gurgle and giggle and drool and spit-up. And his mom is a stone cold fox.

 

The very night after we spoke to his neurosurgeon, we just happened to flip on "Plastic Surgery: Before and After" on NGC or TLC or Discovery Health or something, and we actually sat there and watched a little girl undergo the exact surgery that Merrick will have, only hers was way more complicated; they basically removed and rebuilt her entire skull. And I'll tell you, it was something that, at the time, I didn't neccessarily want to see, but I couldn't look away. But I have to think that it was extremely helpful for Caleb and I to watch how it all goes down, and I can't really say why, but we were calmer about the whole situation the very next day. So is it a mere coincidence we caught that show? I think not.

 

And here's where I get all mushy and so-not-me on your asses: My family is so blessed, in every way. Merrick's case is mild--MILD, I tell you--compared to some of the poor children who will forever deal with deformities and other complications from this very same thing. I'm not a big fan of church, but I do believe in God, and I know right now that we're being watched over and taken care of in ways that aren't always easy for us to understand or even see at all. But most of the time, it's crystal-clear:

 

We haven't gone into debt thanks to a huge tax return this year. We have yet to recieve a hospital bill, and even though I know it's coming, I think we can handle it. We have pay out the yin-yang for insurance, but we're covered and that's what counts.

 

We have friends and family that have offered help in several forms should we ever need it. They call to check on us all the time. People we don't even know send us inspirational cards in the mail. My mom is flying up for nine whole days to take care of things during Merrick's hospital stay.

 

My kids are awesome. They're quirky and funny and entertaining and beautiful, all three of them. My husband can piss me off like no other, but he's still the world's most amazing man and he's my best friend and it doesn't get any better than that. The dogs have even been strangely well-behaved.

 

So much has happened over the past 4 months, and we haven't always dealt with it the way we probably should. But I hope that from here on out we can remember how very fortunate we are.

 

The green might be a little much for me, people. I'm not sure how long it's going to last. I guess I just felt like changing things up for a while. But for now, if you're not a fan of green, well then you can just suck it.

 

As usual, things have been busy around here. Caleb got with that new company and they made a round-about offer; numbers were tossed around and a September 1st start date was mentioned, so I guess that's when we'll know for sure. But from what I'm to understand, the preliminary meetings went fairly well and the ideas they had about $pay$ were satisfactory. For now, Caleb will continue to get a commission on any deals he turns in, and that will keep our head above water until we get more official word on the job. Oh, how I love waiting games.

 

Caleb would be able to choose his own territory, which is awesome since we'll be able to stay put here in Oklahoma, and that's financially best for us right now. But where could he expand to? He's basically one of the first people on board so he gets first pick. It's exciting to think about. West to Texas and New Mexico? (cool!) North to Kansas and all those other plain states? (please no!) East over into Arkansas through down to Alabama? (my pick, since I'd love to one day wind up a little closer to our families.) The whole United States is his oyster, and he's going to shuck it and slurp it down all slimey and raw.

 

Mia had her very first dentist appointment yesterday--just a cleaning. She did...alright, and she only cried a little. Caleb had to hold her hand the whole time, and I was commanded to stand in the corner of the room holding a drooling Merrick. I don't know if anyone can ever tell from her pictures, but on her two front teeth she has these brown lines. They've been there since the teeth came in when she was a baby. The dentist said it was from too much flouride while I was pregnant with her. Wild stuff. He told me it was probably best just to leave it alone, rather than cap 'em and whatnot, which I agreed with. So her teeth aren't perfect. Big deal. She's not Jon-Benet Ramsey.

 

Anyway. In addition to the weird brown line, the kid has 4 FUCKING CAVITIES. How did that happen?!! Caleb and I were horrified, and embarrassed. The dentist gave us the customary lecture, but kept it short since we're probably helping him buy a yacht. I promise, I take care of Mia's teeth. I put her head in a vise-like grip and I brush the living hell out of those teeth. Nobody in our family has ever had a cavity and we pride ourselves on that. So we're headed back to the dentist next week--thank God for laughing gas and Chuck-E-Cheese.

 

IT MUST BE NICE to have 3 showers a day, even if you are just cooling off from working outside in the garden. It must be nice to get perfectly bronzed and beautiful while you work outside in the garden. It must be nice to down a few beers while you mindlessly ride the lawnmower around the yard. It must be nice to take the convertible out for a spin "just to make sure the engine gets revved up every so often." It must be nice to get in a nap here and there even when you get 9 hours of uninterrupted sleep. It must be nice to be able to drink and make merry until midnight or later. It must be nice to go on a neighborhood golf-cart ride with a neighborhood buddy to a neighborhood cookout, and it must be nice to be able to ditch said neighborhood cookout to go jump off the neighborhood bridge into the neighborhood lake. What's nicer than that is when you tromp your wet ass through your nice tidy house and not feel any remorse when your nice wife, who's been cleaning one-handedly all day, slips and busts her butt on the water you dripped all over the floor on your drunken trek to the bathroom for your 4th shower.

 

YET NICER THAN ALL OF THAT is being able to squeeze and snuggle with a fat, happy baby all day. It's nice when only you know how to make that baby smile and giggle. It's nice to do baby yoga with your baby and your daugher by your side with her "baby". It's nice to draw 50 different pictures of a smiling snail. It's nice to hold a soccer game or six in the living room. It's nice to make, and then eat, chocolate-chip cookies and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. It's nice to watch an occasional "Phineas and Ferb" marathon. It's nice to be invited to discuss 1st-Day-of-School-outfit options with a 12-year-old who doesn't open up to just anybody about her fashion choices. It's nice rocking out to Miley Cyrus and Taylor Swift in a tropical-island-themed room. It's nice to be able to dance ridiculously and it's even nice to be told "Mom, your singing wrecks my life!" by a preschooler. It's especially nice not having a hangover when you do all of these things.

 

That is all.

 

Ah, coffee. Blueberry bagels. The sound of the dishwasher. Shaved legs. Sleeping husband and sleeping children and sleeping dogs. I love Saturday mornings.

 

Tonight my BFF Brian and his wife Irma are driving in on their way from Maryland to California. They're only staying until tomorrow morning but I'm excited nonetheless. I'm thinking about cleaning but I'm not sure it's worth the effort. It takes me 2 hours to vacuum and sweep and mop and it takes .2 seconds for someone to walk in and jack it all up again. Anyways, I haven't seen Brian and Irma since Mia was 4 months old. And it's a shame, because Irma is freaking funny. If they lived nearby, I'd make her be my best friend, and I'd cast Brian aside like an old shoe.

 

I managed to get Mia's school shopping done--all of it. Backpack, crayons, paints, glue, and the long list of cleaning supplies the school sent out. We also picked up 3 new pairs of shoes and 6 or 7 new outfits. She will be so stylin' on the first day of preschool. She's so wound up about it, too; everyday she asks, even though I've told her it won't be until after her birthday, "Mom, is today preschool?" I'd say this is going to be easy, but watch her scream her head off when I try and drop her off that first day.

 

Cheyenne, I assume, is excited about starting the 7th grade. I have yet to take her out and pick up some clothes and shoes that actually fit her, but we'll squeeze that shopping trip in at a later date and time. We went through her closet and took out everything that was way too short or way too tight--there's a mountain of clothes sitting on her bedroom floor that we'll either be garage-selling, or taking to Good Will, one or the other.

 

Caleb's got an interview this coming week; actually it's more like negotiation meeting because this company wants him in the worst way. Caleb just wants to know how much are they willing to pay him. So that has taken a tremendous weight off of his shoulders, just knowing that he's pretty much got something lined up, and he can still work from home and set his own schedule. And no, he's not a drug dealer.

 

Merrick is getting so cute and fat and smiley. He's such a happy, snuggly little baby.

 

Something in this office smells like dog poop and cigarettes. I don't know where it's coming from. But it's driving me crazy and I can no longer type in here. Have a great weekend, people.

 

We have a surgery date for September 24. Yee-haw! I think my mom is trying to arrange another trip up here to take care of the girls while Caleb and I tend to Merrick in the hospital. This is wonderful.

 

Caleb and I will go donate blood the week before surgery. This process sounds complicated as we have to have everyone's blood tested, and then...well I don't know, I forgot everything the blood-bank woman said to me. Also, Merrick has to have a completely empty tummy before the surgery so from midnight on he won't be allowed formula or breastmilk. That's going to be interesting, since I know it might be a little bit of a wait before they take him in for the operation and I know how much he loves to eat. Loves. To. Eat. Loves to.

 

Monday, after I hunted all morning and finally picked up my "lost" contacts, we headed to Target to do a little school supply shopping. I have borrowed Cheyenne's glasses since I don't want install my contacts in the car. When our buggy is only half-full, Cheyenne points out that Mia's eye is looking funny. I glance down at her and the kid is breaking out in hives all around her bloodshot eyes! What the hell?!!! So we hot-dog it over to the doctor's office, which is conveniently right across the street, and they inspect her and hook us up with some samples of Allegra. It is when we get back to our car, with the hot leather seats and an air conditioner that doesn't exactly work, in 108 degree weather, that I notice one of the lenses has popped out of Cheyenne's glasses, and hell if I know where.

 

So I have gained back the gift of sight, and it is temporarily taken away from my 2 children. Awesome.

 

Mia's eye went back to normal that evening; I still don't know what the hell she got into that could've caused a reaction like that. Cheyenne's glasses are broken; they will stay broken since I wasn't about to retrace our steps through Target, the parking lot, and the doctor's office, and if you're wondering, YES I did have the glasses on the whole time and NO I did not notice when the lense came out. I was JUST THAT FRAZZLED. I'd like to say it was just that day, but truth is, anytime I take all three kids anywhere, I'm a wreck. I'm a wreck when I go somewhere by myself. Which is almost never, but I digress.

 

I've decided that we're laying low for the rest of the week.

 

 

 

Today I freaked out when I couldn't find my box of contact lenses--a whole year's supply. I tore the house apart. Caleb helped me look. We searched high and low. I cried. I almost decided to just order another box. I called the eye doctor to do just that.

 

Long story short, my contacts are at their office. I had never even picked them up. FROM 6 WEEKS AGO.

 

I've been so absent-minded lately. I thought it would end with pregnancy, but I'm just as scatter-brained as ever. I can't focus on any one thing; I'm all over the place. The odd thing is that I'm totally aware of what a mess I am, and it drives me crazy.

 

I want to paint something so bad I could pee my pants but I can't even find the time to pull out a sheet of paper much less create any kind of art. I'm typing with one hand and bouncing the baby on my knee as we speak. (Or type? Or read?)

 

My sweet tooth is back with a vengence, as is my craving for wine and beer--I haven't given into that one yet,  but I've damn well made sure we keep some fucking cookies around here.

 

That is all.

 

 

I learned a big new word yesterday, so I'm just gonna throw it out there for ya: SAGITTAL SYNOSTOSIS. I learned what it means, and how to actually pronounce it, so if you want to hear me say it correctly call me within the next 3 days because after that I'll forget.

 

I will insert the obligatory paragraph about SAGITTAL SYNOSTOSIS, Merrick's official diagnosis, here, and beware that I am no doctor. Not even close. But I did own a white coat once. Okay, no I didn't. Brace yourselves:

 

SAGITTAL SYNOSTOSIS, is where the seam up the middle of the skull closes up too early. It's actually not uncommon. The brain cannot spread out, so it grows in any direction it can. It causes the kid's head to be long from front to back, and narrow from ear to ear. It can also cause the kid's forehead to protrude somewhat. Pretty funky. Supposedly this condition does not cause the kid any pain, which I tend to believe because Merrick is significantly less fussy than my other "normal" headed children were. He's just as happy as they come. The only thing, really, that might happen from this is that, like I mentioned in an earlier post, he runs the risk of people shouting "Hammerhead!" or "Freak!" or "Keep it in the circus!" as he walks by. And that is where the surgery comes in.

 

Merrick's appointment with the neuro (nuero?) surgeon went well. We definitely got all our questions (2 pages' worth) answered and then some. Our doctor sure didn't have much of a personality, but then again, if he's going to be operating on my infant son's skull, the more boring he is, the better. He was patient, and kind, and he assured us that while this was a serious surgery, he's generally used to working with much more complicated cases, which I assumed anyway. He went over the problem (closed skull), our options (surgery, or, surgery), the surgery (all the gory details), the risks (blood loss) and complications he's seen, and the recovery time involved (3 or 4 nights in the hospital, 2 weeks of stitches, no helmet. Damn.)

 

He showed us Merrick's CAT scan pictures, and man, that's a solid hunk of skull if I've ever seen one. In a way, the pictures set our mind at ease, as if we needed some sort of visual "proof"; something more concrete to help us better accept what's going on.

 

We discussed the endoscopic option, but Dr. Personality wasn't a big fan of it. There's an even higher risk of blood loss associated with this type of surgery (apparently there's a huge honkin' vein somewhere up there that is more likely to be damaged). With the endoscopic surgery Merrick would be in a helmet for a year, which I didn't mind. I'd actually gotten a little excited about it with plans for a really kick-ass helmet, but it won't be needed at all going the traditional route.

 

We'll be contacted sometime within the week on an actual surgery date; we have a rough time frame of anywhere from mid-September to early October, so we're a little more at ease as far as being able to make plans in advance and stuff.

 

That's about all I can remember without consulting my cheat sheet. We've got a while to wait, but I feel like we'll be able to sort of move on with our lives a little. Get Caleb focused on finding some kind of work, get the girls in school...now, if I can just manage to keep everybody healthy in the weeks leading up to his surgery, we'll be all set.

 

  I haven't really felt much like writing lately, up until, well, just now. Last night, as I sat there half-sleeping and feeding Merrick, artistic inspiration struck out of nowhere and today I have a million and one ideas for some paintings. Paintings, prints, signs, cards, t-shirts and a website on which to sell all this stuff. How hard is it to have a coloring book printed?

 

  Okay, I'm a little wound up. It's gotta have something to do with being Baby Holder Numero Uno and being stuck inside the house for weeks on end while my husband gets to tool around in the garden whenever the fuck he wants and work on his ridiculous tan. Seriously, if I'm not actually holding Merrick, then I'm listening to him scream while I take my first shower in 3 days. I honestly hate to complain--no really, I feel awful doing it--but I'm...going...to...anyway. Oh, yeah this is happening.

 

  Those people who tell you to "get some rest while your baby is sleeping" have obviously never really had a baby, or maybe they did, and they just let their live-in nanny take control of everything. I've had three kids and I've learned enough to know that babies don't sleep. They wait. They wait until you've changed them, fed them, burped them, and rocked them. They wait until you've held them in your arms for 5 minutes, or 20 minutes, or 2 hours; it matters not. They wait until you quietly and carefully walk them back to their crib, then ever-so-gently lay them down. If you're lucky, the baby will get right to the point and go ahead and pop his eyes wide open as if to say, "Nice try, Mom." Most of the time Merrick plays the game a little longer and lets me creep out of the room like a ninja before he starts screaming his little baby head off.

 

  A wiser piece of advice would be this: Months before your baby is born, tie one hand behind your back and go about your day. You'd be impressed with the things I can do single-handedly. I've done things with my feet that would absolutely amaze you. Those shitty Bjorn slings? The ones with all the straps and buckles, that look like they belong hanging from the ceiling in some sex chamber somewhere? They're awful. They're uncomfortable, and as far as I'm concerned, they don't really work--at least not when your baby can't yet hold his own head up. And then, once he is finally able to hold his head up, chances are he's not going to be happy about being confined in a stupid sling, and unless you have nerves of steel and you don't mind listening to baby screams for hours on end--and that's no exaggeration--then a sling is worthless around the house.

 

  Caleb's sweet. He does help. I broke down and bought a manual breast pump from Target, and I can make a bottle here and there, which gives me a little more freedom. But I have to admit: I get so damn jealous of my husband. I get jealous when he goes into town to meet a dealer. I get jealous when he runs to the store for a loaf of bread. I get jealous when he mows the lawn, when he checks his e-mail, cooks chicken on the grill, drinks a beer, talks on the phone, takes a shower...hell, it ticks me off when he goes to the bathroom by himself! I pee with the baby on my lap. I can't drink a beer. I talk on the phone while I'm giving Mia a bath. I flip crap in a frying pan for dinner with one hand while holding the baby in the other. I want the luxury of 2 hands when I fold the clothes. I want to go grocery shopping without having to bring an 80 pound diaper bag, 2 carseats, a rowdy preschooler and a fussy baby with me. I want Caleb to get puked on. I want him to have to change his clothes 5 times a day, minimum. I want his boobs to leak. I want him to talk on the phone while holding the baby and emptying the dishwasher, privacy be damned.  I want him to stay inside with Merrick when it starts to get too hot. I want him to try and keep Merrick calm while chasing Mia through the aisles of Walmart.

 

  And so on and so forth.

 

  Like I said, I hate to complain. But after my little tirade I actually feel a little better, and I do have some quiet time on my hands right now, so life isn't that tough. I love little Merrick and holding him definitely isn't a bad way to pass the time. Today we've got that appointment with the neurosurgeon. We're bringing a long list of questions, and a pad of paper on which to write the answers...and a bottle and a coloring book and some crayons and an 80 pound diaper bag, 2 carseats, a rowdy preschooler and a fussy baby. Wish us luck!

 

I have a one-track mind. That's no secret. I've been so totally focused on Merrick and getting him in to see the neurosurgeon that I've pretty much forgotten anything and everything else. My poor baby had to get his 2-month shots today. He was fine, but my heart was broken. By the way, we've got a consultation appointment set for this Tuesday at 3:00 p.m.

 

See what I mean?

 

Cheyenne's going to camp Sunday and I haven't even thought about packing. Now that I mention it, I still need to run to the store to pick her up a few neccessities.

 

Mia's first day of preschool is fast approaching and she's partying hard at 10:00 at night. I'd better start adjusting her schedule. Plus I ought to worry about the long, long list of school supplies the local newspaper has so graciously provided over a month early. I'll most likely still wait until the last minute to buy everything.

 

I somehow managed to remember to renew our tags last month (on June 30th at 4:30 p.m.) but it slipped my mind to actually apply the new stickers to our cars.

 

And worst of all, we were bone dry on coffee this morning, because I forgot to buy it yesterday while I was out. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid...

 

Caleb's birthday was yesterday. I think he was quite satisfied with the ice-cream cake I finally tracked down at Cold Stone Creamery. FYI that place is proud of their cakes, lemme tell you. For what I paid I expected that cake to get up and clean my house.

 

It didn't.

 

 

 

We still haven't heard about an appointment with the neurosurgeon yet; however, the results from Merrick's CAT scan came back, and only one suture is fused together--the sagittal suture that runs up the middle of his head from front to back. That's why the shape of his head is so long and oval-y, and that's why we could feel that ridgeline for the longest time. (It's actually a lot more smoothed out now, probably because it's so nice and closed up.) I've read that the best time to have surgery done in this case is around 3 months of age; Merrick will be 8 weeks old tomorrow, so we are waiting on pins and needles to hear from the doctor as to when we can get him in.

 

And so that's that.

 

Caleb's birthday is Thursday. The only thing the man has asked for is an ice-cream cake, so By God, I'm going to find him the best damn ice-cream cake $15 can buy. The job hunt is still on. The possibilities up until recently haven't seemed exactly acceptable or even legit, but things are starting to turn around. He'll meet with a man next week about getting in with this new company--Caleb's definitely got the edge on any competition he might have, so fingers crossed. Another waiting game.

 

Cheyenne is off to girl scout camp on Sunday. She's got almost everything she needs--except maybe a bottle of bugspray and some shower shoes. This particular camp is a lot closer than the one she went to the year before last. I think she's excited.

 

Mia has been her crazy little self. She is obsessed with junk food and sugar--if it's in the house, she will hound me until she's eaten it all. "Can I have a cookie? Just one?" and then, "Just one more?" She's like her mommy that way.

 

The other night Caleb, Cheyenne and I watched "The Bucket List". Good movie. Made me cry. Made Caleb almost cry. Made Cheyenne laugh at us both. Whatever. Has anyone else seen it yet? How cold-hearted would you have to be not to at least tear up when Jack Nicholson "kisses the most beautiful girl in the world"?

 

I know it's dangerous for me to write without having my coffee, so I'll try and make this quick. One day soon, I promise to write about something other than Merrick's head. But for now, here's what I got: Merrick's CAT scan went fine. He miraculously stayed asleep during the whole thing, so he didn't have to be sedated, which was why I was dreading it so much in the first place. That said, the sight of my tiny baby boy inside of that whirling round machine didn't exactly calm me down. But hey, that's cake walk compared to what he'll probably be going through in just a few months.

 

Caleb talked to our pediatrician Monday to get all our ducks in a row for the CAT scan--it seems I was misled (okay, I blanked) last week when the doctor called us and told us there was only one suture closed--apparently, there are two: the sagittal (?) which goes up the middle of the skull, is definitely fused, and possibly one of the left sutures that I don't know the name of because I blanked again when Caleb was telling me about it. We've been able to feel a ridgeline in the center of his skull since the day he was born, and the back of his head has always been kinda bumpy.

 

I wasn't really surprised that there might be 2; it would make for a more complicated surgery, and as much as I hate even the thought of that, I hope we have it done soon. I've heard that the younger the kid, the more workable the skull. And I'd rather Merrick have surgery than wind up with eyesight problems, developmental delays, or a face that looks like it was run over by a mack truck. I know kids can be cruel--the nicknames "Klingon" and "Hammerhead" have already crossed my mind, so I figure it's either major surgery now or major therapy later. We still haven't heard back from the doctor about our appointment with the neurosurgeon, but we are staying on them and they are staying on the hospital to get it scheduled.

 

People ask me "How are you holding up? God, I can't even imagine what you must be feeling right now! How in the world will you handle it all?" And truthfully, I don't know. I bet 5 years from now when everything's all said and done, I still won't really know. My son has a condition that I can't pronounce correctly without having a seizure. I think this is one of those times where you just shut your eyes, hold on tight and come out on the other side. It will all work out.

 

Besides, Merrick's a tough little guy. He's been bulking up. He's totally got this.

 

And nothing says bad ass like a baby in a helmet.

 

 

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.