Desmond has learned a new trick. It's a Paguirigan classic called coco bump wherein I say, "coco bump" and Desmond responds by touching his forehead to mine. We like to do it no less than 10 times per session and it generally ends with giggles and squeezes. His new grin is nothing less than amazing and shows off his two teeth and his ability to scrunch his almond eyes.
It's all Christmas up in the joint complete with an Advent Calendar and loads of candy lying around the house. I have mixed feelings when I fill Mahalia's head with lies about Santa and how he's watching her, etc. In keeping with another Paguirigan tradition, I told her that if she put her shoes out on the eve of December 6 that she would wake to find them stuffed with candy. She was terrified by the fact that St. Nick would be sneaking into the house and pleaded with Shane to tell St. Nick that we had plenty of candy in the house and he need not sneak into our home. Conveniently, St. Nick left a note to Mahalia asking her to not be scared and that she deserved the candy coming to her. More lies!! For the time being, though, it is a convenient bribe for our little lady who lately prefers to push the envelope with her weary mom and pop.
It was 60 degrees on Tuesday, 40 on Wednesday and is supposed to be 30 degrees tomorrow. I am flustered by the blustery weather and consuming too much coffee to ward off the chill.
I am astounded by how quickly the days pass and am looking forward to having some time off, spending my days in soft pants snacking on salty then sweet then salty, etc.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Sunday, November 8, 2009
This Train
Desmond has two teeth and has learned how to clap. He applauds when I walk into the room and cries when I leave. He eats like a mack truck and Shane and I think about when we have two teenagers eating us out of house and home.
We took him to the surgeon a few weeks ago for a check up. A chest x-ray revealed that his patch seems to be a little loose on one side although the stitches and staples have not moved since his last chest x-ray. A week after surgery Desmond's breathing accelerated and the Dr.s worried that his patch had de-hissed or popped open on one side. A chest x-ray was inconclusive and so there was a dye procedure that proved that it was holding tight. And so we are reminded that our little bionic boy does indeed have a piece of gortex inside of him.
This morning Shane let me sleep in. 8:00 AM feels like the 11:00 AM of my twenties. What did I do with my time and my money before I had children?
A 20 something year old woman passed out on the train tracks right in front of Shane. The lights of an incoming train were visible and people started screaming. As the woman lay sprawled across the tracks and the train got closer and closer, Shane thought about his two kids and knew that he needed to go home--he would not jump onto the tracks to get her. Astonishingly, the screaming woke the woman up and she jumped up and reached into the air. Shane was able to grab her arm and he said he pulled as hard as he could to get her onto the platform. They sat together on the bench. He said that she was really out of it and that wanted to vomit. He never even learned her name.
Forget about underlying health issues. Forget about a patch. We all sort of live so close to the edge at all times. Bam.
We took him to the surgeon a few weeks ago for a check up. A chest x-ray revealed that his patch seems to be a little loose on one side although the stitches and staples have not moved since his last chest x-ray. A week after surgery Desmond's breathing accelerated and the Dr.s worried that his patch had de-hissed or popped open on one side. A chest x-ray was inconclusive and so there was a dye procedure that proved that it was holding tight. And so we are reminded that our little bionic boy does indeed have a piece of gortex inside of him.
This morning Shane let me sleep in. 8:00 AM feels like the 11:00 AM of my twenties. What did I do with my time and my money before I had children?
A 20 something year old woman passed out on the train tracks right in front of Shane. The lights of an incoming train were visible and people started screaming. As the woman lay sprawled across the tracks and the train got closer and closer, Shane thought about his two kids and knew that he needed to go home--he would not jump onto the tracks to get her. Astonishingly, the screaming woke the woman up and she jumped up and reached into the air. Shane was able to grab her arm and he said he pulled as hard as he could to get her onto the platform. They sat together on the bench. He said that she was really out of it and that wanted to vomit. He never even learned her name.
Forget about underlying health issues. Forget about a patch. We all sort of live so close to the edge at all times. Bam.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Autumn In New York
I cannot wrap my head around the movement of time. Desmond, who turned 6 months old last Wednesday, is hiking his tuchus in the air as if to crawl. I will blink my eyes and I will have children in their twenties.
My days are full. My days are rich.
I have returned to work and am remembering how much I enjoy being around children. My classroom is bright and airy. The tinkling of the piano and the sound of teeny tiny bare feet padding on the floor make my heart feel happy.
While Shane was putting Mahalia to sleep last night, she put her hand on her chest and said, "When you love someone it feels like your body loves them." My girl will love intensely and hurt intensely. She stands on the toilet and admires herself in the mirror while I floss my teeth, "I am so pretty." She is. She is drop dead gorgeous. "Your hair is brown and straight. My hair is blond and curly."
When I hold Desmond, he pats my back with his right hand and plays with my hair with his left hand.
Returning to work was easier this time around. I sat in a meeting, doodling in my notebook thinking to myself, "this is not work. this is like a break for me." I was excited to see my colleagues and friends. It means much to me, being there without the weight of worry. I spent so much of my time last year with my head in the clouds, worrying about birth defects. I am not pregnant. I might not ever be pregnant again. How is it that this chapter of my life has already come to a close?
(I secretly worry that I will never be able to appreciate life as deeply as I would like. The days move too quickly and not a profound thought has been thunk. It's all I can do to get to work and make sure my kids get fed.)
I have been deeply affected by the sharp decline of a sick friend and my mom reminds me that with age, life gets "heavier and heavier." Autumn, for all of it's beauty, is somehow the most painful season change and for me carries with it the most visceral nostalgia.
I cannot stop listening to this song.
My days are full. My days are rich.
I have returned to work and am remembering how much I enjoy being around children. My classroom is bright and airy. The tinkling of the piano and the sound of teeny tiny bare feet padding on the floor make my heart feel happy.
While Shane was putting Mahalia to sleep last night, she put her hand on her chest and said, "When you love someone it feels like your body loves them." My girl will love intensely and hurt intensely. She stands on the toilet and admires herself in the mirror while I floss my teeth, "I am so pretty." She is. She is drop dead gorgeous. "Your hair is brown and straight. My hair is blond and curly."
When I hold Desmond, he pats my back with his right hand and plays with my hair with his left hand.
Returning to work was easier this time around. I sat in a meeting, doodling in my notebook thinking to myself, "this is not work. this is like a break for me." I was excited to see my colleagues and friends. It means much to me, being there without the weight of worry. I spent so much of my time last year with my head in the clouds, worrying about birth defects. I am not pregnant. I might not ever be pregnant again. How is it that this chapter of my life has already come to a close?
(I secretly worry that I will never be able to appreciate life as deeply as I would like. The days move too quickly and not a profound thought has been thunk. It's all I can do to get to work and make sure my kids get fed.)
I have been deeply affected by the sharp decline of a sick friend and my mom reminds me that with age, life gets "heavier and heavier." Autumn, for all of it's beauty, is somehow the most painful season change and for me carries with it the most visceral nostalgia.
I cannot stop listening to this song.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Returning Home
We've been away for three weeks.
We went to Ohio, land of flat, wide open spaces, fried foods and dirty church festivals. We enjoyed the company of sassy cousins and wise aunts and uncles and Nana and Tata. I have been told that it is common for babies to make developmental leaps while away from home. This has certainly been the case with Desmond who, for the most part went to Ohio as a sweet and alert lump and came back to Brooklyn still sweet and alert but with hands that can grab objects of desire and place such objects into his mouth.
On our ride back both children were fantastic in the car, sleeping much of the first leg to Pittsburgh where we saw our 95-year old Great Grandma Sophia looking tan and happy in her new digs. The good behavior continued for the second leg of the long car ride and we were all happy to see the NY City skyline as we rounded the bend in Jersey.
It's always a mixed bag returning home; we are all excited to be in familiar surroundings but it always makes me edgy--i try to leave the home in a respectable state but the old messes remain. There is the unfinished CD re-organization project, the boxes of books that need to go, the bags of clothes to be donated, etc.
Upon entering the door, we were greeted by a foul odor and while Shane unloaded the car I did some investigating. I opened the fridge and seriously almost vomited when I smelled its contents. No sooner had I smelled the rot than I thought of the gallons of breast milk that lay behind the freezer door. It too had gone bad.
Shane and I wrapped dish towels around our faces and emptied out the fridge's contents and bleached its inside out. While I was sad to lose all that breast milk, it was strangely liberating letting it all go. While D was in the hospital, the pumping felt like all I could really do for him and although I moaned and groaned about it in the process, the process itself helped keep me grounded in a way. And throwing out that milk was having one less reminder of our hospital journey.
At Dezi's four month appointment, he received four immunizations. He had a bit of a cough and I anxiously asked his Dr. if I needed to be weary of him developing a cold. His pediatrician is a wonderful woman with a lovely and memorable speaking voice. She smiled and said, "From now on we're going to think of Desmond as a normal baby with reflux." An unremarkable statement that meant the world to me. He did get a cold with a bad cough (luckily for me, we were in the home of my super supportive and comforting Dr. daddy, aka Tata) and he recovered easily. And with that, I was able to let go of more fears.
He is growing quickly. He is meeting his milestones on time and is active and curious. The tissue should be growing around his patch as his body grows. Before his birth, I happened upon the blog of a little girl named Ava Helmick. She was also born with a diaphragmatic hernia that was repaired with a patch. She remained a healthy child until just before two when her patch de-hissed and has been in and out of the hospital ever since. Although, comparing Ava to Desmond is like comparing apples to oranges I can no longer read her blog because it sends me reeling. Perhaps if you have a moment, you can read it and send good thoughts to this little child who is struggling to survive.
In previous weeks I have said more than once to friends, "I feel like I have post-traumatic stress disorder." I don't so much feel like that now, actually. What I'm feeling now ismore like those feelings I had at the end of yesterday's long journey. However, instead of returning home, I'm having a return to self. Most things personal--relationship, work, music--all these things had been on the back burner since October 27, the day of diagnosis. And now that this journey of illness and hospital and pregnancy is nearing it's end I'm looking at the little messes that I left undone and it is most certainly making me edgy. If I could scoop out those buried problems and emotions with a melon baller and start fresh, I'd be psyched.
In the end, I suppose this is what it is to be an adult--figuring it all out, coming to terms with things and just dealing on a day to day basis. As a friend so aptly said today, "Most of my friends that are happy are actually single, child-less and behaving like children themselves." If only.
We went to Ohio, land of flat, wide open spaces, fried foods and dirty church festivals. We enjoyed the company of sassy cousins and wise aunts and uncles and Nana and Tata. I have been told that it is common for babies to make developmental leaps while away from home. This has certainly been the case with Desmond who, for the most part went to Ohio as a sweet and alert lump and came back to Brooklyn still sweet and alert but with hands that can grab objects of desire and place such objects into his mouth.
On our ride back both children were fantastic in the car, sleeping much of the first leg to Pittsburgh where we saw our 95-year old Great Grandma Sophia looking tan and happy in her new digs. The good behavior continued for the second leg of the long car ride and we were all happy to see the NY City skyline as we rounded the bend in Jersey.
It's always a mixed bag returning home; we are all excited to be in familiar surroundings but it always makes me edgy--i try to leave the home in a respectable state but the old messes remain. There is the unfinished CD re-organization project, the boxes of books that need to go, the bags of clothes to be donated, etc.
Upon entering the door, we were greeted by a foul odor and while Shane unloaded the car I did some investigating. I opened the fridge and seriously almost vomited when I smelled its contents. No sooner had I smelled the rot than I thought of the gallons of breast milk that lay behind the freezer door. It too had gone bad.
Shane and I wrapped dish towels around our faces and emptied out the fridge's contents and bleached its inside out. While I was sad to lose all that breast milk, it was strangely liberating letting it all go. While D was in the hospital, the pumping felt like all I could really do for him and although I moaned and groaned about it in the process, the process itself helped keep me grounded in a way. And throwing out that milk was having one less reminder of our hospital journey.
At Dezi's four month appointment, he received four immunizations. He had a bit of a cough and I anxiously asked his Dr. if I needed to be weary of him developing a cold. His pediatrician is a wonderful woman with a lovely and memorable speaking voice. She smiled and said, "From now on we're going to think of Desmond as a normal baby with reflux." An unremarkable statement that meant the world to me. He did get a cold with a bad cough (luckily for me, we were in the home of my super supportive and comforting Dr. daddy, aka Tata) and he recovered easily. And with that, I was able to let go of more fears.
He is growing quickly. He is meeting his milestones on time and is active and curious. The tissue should be growing around his patch as his body grows. Before his birth, I happened upon the blog of a little girl named Ava Helmick. She was also born with a diaphragmatic hernia that was repaired with a patch. She remained a healthy child until just before two when her patch de-hissed and has been in and out of the hospital ever since. Although, comparing Ava to Desmond is like comparing apples to oranges I can no longer read her blog because it sends me reeling. Perhaps if you have a moment, you can read it and send good thoughts to this little child who is struggling to survive.
In previous weeks I have said more than once to friends, "I feel like I have post-traumatic stress disorder." I don't so much feel like that now, actually. What I'm feeling now ismore like those feelings I had at the end of yesterday's long journey. However, instead of returning home, I'm having a return to self. Most things personal--relationship, work, music--all these things had been on the back burner since October 27, the day of diagnosis. And now that this journey of illness and hospital and pregnancy is nearing it's end I'm looking at the little messes that I left undone and it is most certainly making me edgy. If I could scoop out those buried problems and emotions with a melon baller and start fresh, I'd be psyched.
In the end, I suppose this is what it is to be an adult--figuring it all out, coming to terms with things and just dealing on a day to day basis. As a friend so aptly said today, "Most of my friends that are happy are actually single, child-less and behaving like children themselves." If only.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
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