Diary of a Desperate for Love Mom
March 13, morning: I run over a safety outlet plug with the vacuum cleaner on accident. I immediately turn off the vacuum, put it on its side, and check for damage. Rain comes running, sees the vacuum on its side, and asks it tenderly, "Are you OK?" It's the first time she shows verbal concern for an object, animate or inanimate.
March 13, afternoon: Rain willingly, for whatever reason, kisses me for the first time.
March 17, morning: Rain wakes up, and asks loudly, "Mom, where are you?" A complete sentence + sentiment of love = miracle.
When Rain was born, I imagined that some day, my hard work would be rewarded with hugs and kisses. Something to make me feel it was all worthwhile. How 'bout a whole lotta NO? Rain, until four days ago, did not give kisses. When I kissed her, she would give me this look like, "Seriously? Get what you need and leave me alone." It wasn't just me, either. Nobody got kisses from Rain. Nobody.
Part of me wanted to believe that it was just her age and she was too young to pucker up. But, my niece who is a month older than Rain, has been puckering up since she was 12 or 14 months old. Rain was never a cuddly-bear-hugs kind of kid, and after a while, I just gave up trying to get some love.
Then two weeks ago, we finally started to break some ice. First came her agitation when Tim & I went on a date and left her under the care of my brother. Normally, Rain has no problem hanging out with my family. This time, however, my brother said she searched room by room for us, and finally, she buried herself in our bed covers and waited for our return. When we came home, we found her asleep, still in our bed. Huh?
Then last weekend Tim, Rain, & I went to dinner. Tim went to the restroom, and Rain said, "Daddy? Daddy? Where's Daddy??" She immediately became agitated and went to look for him. I sort of laughed, because she has never reacted that way. When he came back, she smiled and clapped. Weird.
Then, on March 13, she smiled, leaned forward, and kissed me. There was only one thing I could say:
"Give Mommy another kiss, please! I have a cookie right here ..."
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Raincloud
Hush-a-bye,
Don't you cry,
Go to sleep, my little Raincloud,
When you wake,
You shall have,
All the pretty little horses.
Rain is sick with an on-and-off fever, cough, congestion--the works. I put her to sleep just now, and I was thinking about what an old friend told me the other day as she looked fondly at Rain:
Enjoy this time now. You don't know it yet, but these are the best years of your life."
I don't know what the future holds. Maybe I've got 60 more years of fantastic happiness, maybe 30, maybe 1 (eeks). But, I sang Rain her lullabye as I ran my fingers through her still-baby-fine-sparse hair. She curled up next to me, and she looked so peaceful and content. After only a few verses, she was asleep. Her dark, curly lashes always remind me of what my sister-in-law called her when she first saw her as a newborn: muñeca. Doll. A living doll.
I kept touching her hair. Someday, she will think I'm the biggest annoyance ever, and that all I do is yell at her to get off the phone, finish her homework, quit talking back ...
But right now, I am the coolest person she knows (granted, her social circle isn't that big, but still). She will do anything as long as I'm with her.
I know that tomorrow, at some point, I'll be bemoaning my lot in life as she defiantly throws her chocolate milk on the floor, but right now, I'll enjoy the thought that she may be the sweetest, best life I'll ever be a part of.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
WW III
Earlier today, my niece Celeste grabbed a handful of Rain's hair. She shook her like a maraca. Rain punched her in retaliation.
Later, my generally sweet nephew (seriously, two weeks ago, we joked how peaceful-Gandhi-ish this kid is) took one look at Rain (who was standing on our ottoman) an knocked her right off. She went flying and hit her head on the bottom of our sofa.
Rain is no saint, either. She has a sixth sense for knowing a child's MVT (Most Valuable Toy) and can find no greater joy than hijacking one as she runs around the room like, "You want it? You want it? COME GET IT!"
There are weak moments throughout my day where I imagine calling my sister-in-law and saying, "Our happy Switzerland has broken out into World War 3--can you please ask the doctors to release you? Feel free to bring your back brace."
Seriously.
My poor sister-in-law is currently doing physical therapy (a good sign, actually) in a place where she is the youngest patient. She has broken her back in two places and has a hairline fracture in her pelvis. Her standard attire is PJs and a back brace, so she is itching to come home (the fact that she has a crabby suite mate factors in as well). She actually wants to come home to our war-ravaged Switzerland.
The truth is, her kids miss her, and it's affecting the oldest (the 3-year-old boy) in a negative way. The youngest one has slipped into a blissful ignorance about her mother's sudden displacement, but the oldest ... well, he's decided to make us all pay a hefty price until his mother returns. He's just plain mad. It shows up all the time about everything. He wants to have an argument about every detail of his routine. This morning he had a fit about whether he wanted juice with his breakfast or not. C'mon!
He's become obsessive with answering the phone, getting his way, and saying "No!" just to get a reaction. But just when I think I'm going to explode, he falls back into his ultra-sweet personality. He's the kid with the dinosaur undies who trips and says comfortingly, "I'm OK!" He has a fantastic smile, and every day he greets me with, "GOOD MORNIN'"! He shakes the hands of the adults at church and says politely,"How ya doin'?"
And for cryin' out loud, he's the only kid in this house who can use the toilet!
The other day, after a long visit, he started to leave his mom's room. Then suddenly he ran back. He had tears in his eyes and just stared at his mom lying in bed. He stood there crying quietly. His mom pulled the tough cookie act ("I love you, too, and it's going to be OK. Don't cry, don't cry ..."). He pulled the tough little guy act and finally left the room.
They both cried again afterwards. So, we all soldier on ....
Later, my generally sweet nephew (seriously, two weeks ago, we joked how peaceful-Gandhi-ish this kid is) took one look at Rain (who was standing on our ottoman) an knocked her right off. She went flying and hit her head on the bottom of our sofa.
Rain is no saint, either. She has a sixth sense for knowing a child's MVT (Most Valuable Toy) and can find no greater joy than hijacking one as she runs around the room like, "You want it? You want it? COME GET IT!"
There are weak moments throughout my day where I imagine calling my sister-in-law and saying, "Our happy Switzerland has broken out into World War 3--can you please ask the doctors to release you? Feel free to bring your back brace."
Seriously.
My poor sister-in-law is currently doing physical therapy (a good sign, actually) in a place where she is the youngest patient. She has broken her back in two places and has a hairline fracture in her pelvis. Her standard attire is PJs and a back brace, so she is itching to come home (the fact that she has a crabby suite mate factors in as well). She actually wants to come home to our war-ravaged Switzerland.
The truth is, her kids miss her, and it's affecting the oldest (the 3-year-old boy) in a negative way. The youngest one has slipped into a blissful ignorance about her mother's sudden displacement, but the oldest ... well, he's decided to make us all pay a hefty price until his mother returns. He's just plain mad. It shows up all the time about everything. He wants to have an argument about every detail of his routine. This morning he had a fit about whether he wanted juice with his breakfast or not. C'mon!
He's become obsessive with answering the phone, getting his way, and saying "No!" just to get a reaction. But just when I think I'm going to explode, he falls back into his ultra-sweet personality. He's the kid with the dinosaur undies who trips and says comfortingly, "I'm OK!" He has a fantastic smile, and every day he greets me with, "GOOD MORNIN'"! He shakes the hands of the adults at church and says politely,"How ya doin'?"
And for cryin' out loud, he's the only kid in this house who can use the toilet!
The other day, after a long visit, he started to leave his mom's room. Then suddenly he ran back. He had tears in his eyes and just stared at his mom lying in bed. He stood there crying quietly. His mom pulled the tough cookie act ("I love you, too, and it's going to be OK. Don't cry, don't cry ..."). He pulled the tough little guy act and finally left the room.
They both cried again afterwards. So, we all soldier on ....
Friday, January 30, 2009
A Mom Again ... and Again ...
I will not replay all of yesterday's events as they continue to trouble me. I will, however, touch on the basics as necessary.
Let me begin by saying I love my family. I have eight nieces & nephews, and 4 of them are under the age of 5. These five (Rain included) are a tribe of miscreants and minions, but they are also loving and charming.
For the next few months, Tim & I, along with all members of my family, will have to step up to the plate and help take care of my brother's two children (a boy who is 3, and a girl who is Rain's age). My brother is a good guy, but he's going to need the help.
Yesterday, his wife (whom we all love dearly and is a very petite, sweet girl) was in my attic looking for a box she wanted. To make a painful, long story short, she lost her footing and fell through the attic. She landed in our garage, back first.
I can not adequately describe the child-like, shrill she made when she hit the floor. All I will say is her brother, who saw her fall and was helpless to stop her, took a few hours afterwards to seem coherent again. I was at the other end of the house when it happened, and it took me a moment to understand who could be making such a sound.
The paramedics took her to the hospital, and I left Rain and her two children wailing at home with a family member.
My sister-in-law is still in the hospital today. She broke her back in two spots and they are awaiting more tests to see what other damage was done to her pelvis. In the meantime, her kids are at home with me. Both have looked at me several times since yesterday, troubled, and said, "Mommy? Mommy?"
I told them, "She's coming," but that's all. Until then, and for many months from now, we will all be doing things for her kids that I know my sister-in-law would rather be doing herself. Hugs, play time, racing games, even holding them up--all of that is out of the question.
For the time being, I'm stuck with troubling thoughts. I mean, let's be honest here: I'm hanging by a thread trying to keep up with Rain--how am I going to be able to watch over two others? What if I drop the ball and one of the kids sneaks off and gets hurt? What if my patience falters?
Troubling thoughts, indeed.
Let me begin by saying I love my family. I have eight nieces & nephews, and 4 of them are under the age of 5. These five (Rain included) are a tribe of miscreants and minions, but they are also loving and charming.
For the next few months, Tim & I, along with all members of my family, will have to step up to the plate and help take care of my brother's two children (a boy who is 3, and a girl who is Rain's age). My brother is a good guy, but he's going to need the help.
Yesterday, his wife (whom we all love dearly and is a very petite, sweet girl) was in my attic looking for a box she wanted. To make a painful, long story short, she lost her footing and fell through the attic. She landed in our garage, back first.
I can not adequately describe the child-like, shrill she made when she hit the floor. All I will say is her brother, who saw her fall and was helpless to stop her, took a few hours afterwards to seem coherent again. I was at the other end of the house when it happened, and it took me a moment to understand who could be making such a sound.
The paramedics took her to the hospital, and I left Rain and her two children wailing at home with a family member.
My sister-in-law is still in the hospital today. She broke her back in two spots and they are awaiting more tests to see what other damage was done to her pelvis. In the meantime, her kids are at home with me. Both have looked at me several times since yesterday, troubled, and said, "Mommy? Mommy?"
I told them, "She's coming," but that's all. Until then, and for many months from now, we will all be doing things for her kids that I know my sister-in-law would rather be doing herself. Hugs, play time, racing games, even holding them up--all of that is out of the question.
For the time being, I'm stuck with troubling thoughts. I mean, let's be honest here: I'm hanging by a thread trying to keep up with Rain--how am I going to be able to watch over two others? What if I drop the ball and one of the kids sneaks off and gets hurt? What if my patience falters?
Troubling thoughts, indeed.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Work With Me!
So. Today two speech therapists came to see Rain. Yes, I said speech therapists. Because the doctor wants to make sure Rain is developing well verbally (since she's so quiet), he signed her up for both a hearing test (as discussed in my last post) and a session with speech therapists. I'm not sure how long Tim can bear to let this madness go on ("But there's nothing wrong with her!" he says. Actually, Tim would never say anything with an exclamation point, so it's more like, "There's nothing wrong with her." <*patient sigh*, continues sipping coffee>).
Anyway, so the speech therapists are doing a two-day visit which began today. I had high hopes, because for the last month, Rain has spent extensive time with her same-aged cousins. She has spoken more in the last few weeks than she ever has, so I was hoping she'd show off some of that verbiage to the therapists.
Rather than go into the details of what happened today, let me just explain it this way.
Do y'all remember that frog character on Looney Tunes?
He used to sing ragtime and dance all kinds of nuts. It always happened that some guy would come along and see the frog dancin', and he'd catch him. The man would race to show the miraculous creature to an audience, thinking all the while of the cash he would soon be swimming in. But as soon as the man pull the curtain to reveal the frog, the frog would sit there all limp, practically dead. He wouldn't move, let alone entertain. But, as soon as the man and the frog were alone again, the frog would start toe-tappin' all over the place.
Rain is my very special frog. For an hour and a half while the two therapists were here, she said not one word. Not one.
When the therapists said goodbye, Rain would not even say, "Bye!" which she says ALL THE TIME. I closed the door behind the good women, and Rain turned to me and said, "Mommy?" I was like, "Oh, now you can talk??" She then said, "Papas?" (the Spanish word she uses for food).
I fed her. After, we went for a walk outside. Rain laughed and babbled the whole way, and I wondered when she was going to start her ragtime numbers.
Anyway, so the speech therapists are doing a two-day visit which began today. I had high hopes, because for the last month, Rain has spent extensive time with her same-aged cousins. She has spoken more in the last few weeks than she ever has, so I was hoping she'd show off some of that verbiage to the therapists.
Rather than go into the details of what happened today, let me just explain it this way.
Do y'all remember that frog character on Looney Tunes?
He used to sing ragtime and dance all kinds of nuts. It always happened that some guy would come along and see the frog dancin', and he'd catch him. The man would race to show the miraculous creature to an audience, thinking all the while of the cash he would soon be swimming in. But as soon as the man pull the curtain to reveal the frog, the frog would sit there all limp, practically dead. He wouldn't move, let alone entertain. But, as soon as the man and the frog were alone again, the frog would start toe-tappin' all over the place.
Rain is my very special frog. For an hour and a half while the two therapists were here, she said not one word. Not one.
When the therapists said goodbye, Rain would not even say, "Bye!" which she says ALL THE TIME. I closed the door behind the good women, and Rain turned to me and said, "Mommy?" I was like, "Oh, now you can talk??" She then said, "Papas?" (the Spanish word she uses for food).
I fed her. After, we went for a walk outside. Rain laughed and babbled the whole way, and I wondered when she was going to start her ragtime numbers.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Testing, Testing, 1, 2, 3 ...
Last Wednesday, we took Rain to an ENT specialist. Now, I see "we," because Tim insisted that he should go, though the appointment was flat in the middle of a work day. Even though we both decided that this test was clearly going to be a waste of everybody's time, somehow it was still important that we both be there. I think, deep down, I had this peep of paranoia that whispered, "What if this turns out to be a very big deal? What if Rain can't hear as well as we think?" These thoughts perhaps played in Tim's mind as well, so off we all went to the appointment.
The specialist gave Rain a hearing test in two parts. If you've never witnessed a toddler taking a hearing test, prepare yourself.
Rain, in her defense, has never been very ... um ... baby-ish. She's not one for cutesy faces and noises from adults, and there's nothing we can do about that. The specialist, however, decided early on that the way to get Rain to do his bidding was to cajole her with a sing-songy voice.
Picture this, if you will: Rain is sitting on Tim's lap in a sound booth. She can not see me. There is one window directly in front of her. All she can see is the specialist at his controls looking directly at her. The test begins.
Specialist: [high-pitched-adult-to-baby voice] "Raaaain! Where am I?"
Rain:[turns to look at one of the box speakers in the room where the voice is coming from]
Specialist: "Raaain! The wheels on the bus go 'round and 'round! Where am I?"
This is the part where I had to look away. I could only picture Rain's expression of irritation. Tim confirmed her reaction.
Rain: [Says nothing, but looks dead straight at the guy in the window. Probably wondering why he's asking the same question when the man clearly hasn't moved.]
Specialist: "Oh, Rainbow!"
Rain: [Turns to look at speaker box to humor the guy. The specialist rewards her by, no kidding, turning on the light in a shadowed box in the sound room that has ...
That's right. A Stephen King-ish horrifying clapping monkey! From that point, Rain was justifiably terrified.]
Upon leaving the sound booth, Rain decided she wanted nothing to do with this man. I have never seen her give someone the cold shoulder the way she did to him. She did not flail about, but she simply would stare off to the side every time he talked to her. I mean, she would not look at him. Her stare was focused and dismissive. Ouch.
On a happy note (no pun intended), Rain's hearing is fine.
The specialist gave Rain a hearing test in two parts. If you've never witnessed a toddler taking a hearing test, prepare yourself.
Rain, in her defense, has never been very ... um ... baby-ish. She's not one for cutesy faces and noises from adults, and there's nothing we can do about that. The specialist, however, decided early on that the way to get Rain to do his bidding was to cajole her with a sing-songy voice.
Picture this, if you will: Rain is sitting on Tim's lap in a sound booth. She can not see me. There is one window directly in front of her. All she can see is the specialist at his controls looking directly at her. The test begins.
Specialist: [high-pitched-adult-to-baby voice] "Raaaain! Where am I?"
Rain:[turns to look at one of the box speakers in the room where the voice is coming from]
Specialist: "Raaain! The wheels on the bus go 'round and 'round! Where am I?"
This is the part where I had to look away. I could only picture Rain's expression of irritation. Tim confirmed her reaction.
Rain: [Says nothing, but looks dead straight at the guy in the window. Probably wondering why he's asking the same question when the man clearly hasn't moved.]
Specialist: "Oh, Rainbow!"
Rain: [Turns to look at speaker box to humor the guy. The specialist rewards her by, no kidding, turning on the light in a shadowed box in the sound room that has ...
That's right. A Stephen King-ish horrifying clapping monkey! From that point, Rain was justifiably terrified.]
Upon leaving the sound booth, Rain decided she wanted nothing to do with this man. I have never seen her give someone the cold shoulder the way she did to him. She did not flail about, but she simply would stare off to the side every time he talked to her. I mean, she would not look at him. Her stare was focused and dismissive. Ouch.
On a happy note (no pun intended), Rain's hearing is fine.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Can You Hear Me Now?
Rain is all over the place. She paints, she sings (if shouting in one long note while holding a songbook counts), she chases--she's everything a toddler is supposed to be.
When I go to her wellness visits at her doctor's office, I don't worry. I know they will tell me she's fine, and I'll nod approvingly at some growth chart and that will be that.
And then a few weeks ago, she doesn't pass some little test, and it's time to take things a bit more seriously. Or is it paranoia and preemptive health care? No matter. Whatever the doctor suggests, I know we'll end up doing.
First stop, the ENT (Ears, Nose, & Throat specialist).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
