Pre-baby: Nights out at the symphony, hours snuggling on the couch, gourmet dinners, leisurely Sunday mornings with the Times....
Our lives now:
David: "Maddie, Daddy has to go to the bathroom. Let me set you down."
Maddie: "Waaaaaah!" (thrash thrash)
David: "Daddy go pee pee!! One sec, okay?"
Maddie: "WAAAAAHH!" (thrash, roll, thrash)
David: "DADDY PEE PEE! PEE PEEEEEEE!"
Maddie: "WAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!" (bangs head) "WAAAAAHHHHHH!!!"
David: expletive expletive expletive "Okay, I'll just hold you while I pee"
Maddie: "hee heee heeeeeee. Daddeeeeeee."
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Storms
To say that my Maddie deals with change poorly is quite an understatement.
We went to Grandma's house over the weekend, a four hour trek to NJ on Saturday morning and a four hour trek back on Sunday afternoon. She *did* sleep in her pack-n-play, which was a miracle, and she did sleep in the car, which was another miracle, but by Sunday afternoon, Jesus was all out of miracles, and all hell broke loose. Sunday night was spent with Maddie screaming and writhing until she finally fell asleep out of exhaustion.
Monday. Back to routine. Better.
Tuesday. No nap. God help us all.
Evidently Ms. B and Ms. T both were assigned lunch break at the same time - right when the kids were going down for their nap. Doesn't that already sound like a recipe for disaster?! Mr. Robert came in to watch the kids. Were the other kids fazed? No. Maddie? Of course. She was willing to lie on her cot, but was she going to close her eyes or let down her guard with a strange man lurking in her room? Are you kidding me? She spent the entire 2 hour nap time glaring at him from her cot and daring him to come within 10 feet of her sleeping area. By the time I picked her up from daycare, the bags under her eyes were so big from the strain of staying awake that I knew at one glance that she hadn't napped at all.
"Oh she'll sleep so well tonight!" Ms. B exclaimed!
"She'll go right down!" Ms. T.
Optimists.
I let out a half hearted laugh that sounded far more sarcastic than I meant it to be - and
wrestled my already writhing child into the car.
Where she screamed the whole way home.
And screamed when I tried to feed her.
Screamed when I tried to bathe her.
Screamed when I tried to dress her.
Screamed when I tried to read to her.
Screamed when the cats ran away from her.
Screamed when I looked at her...
Hiccuped when I held her in my arms and walked around the room.
Gave in when I sang to her.
Curled up in a ball in her crib when I pet her head and stroked her hair.
Sucked her thumb when I whispered that I loved her.
Closed her eyes because she knew she was safe and that I was watching over her.
We went to Grandma's house over the weekend, a four hour trek to NJ on Saturday morning and a four hour trek back on Sunday afternoon. She *did* sleep in her pack-n-play, which was a miracle, and she did sleep in the car, which was another miracle, but by Sunday afternoon, Jesus was all out of miracles, and all hell broke loose. Sunday night was spent with Maddie screaming and writhing until she finally fell asleep out of exhaustion.
Monday. Back to routine. Better.
Tuesday. No nap. God help us all.
Evidently Ms. B and Ms. T both were assigned lunch break at the same time - right when the kids were going down for their nap. Doesn't that already sound like a recipe for disaster?! Mr. Robert came in to watch the kids. Were the other kids fazed? No. Maddie? Of course. She was willing to lie on her cot, but was she going to close her eyes or let down her guard with a strange man lurking in her room? Are you kidding me? She spent the entire 2 hour nap time glaring at him from her cot and daring him to come within 10 feet of her sleeping area. By the time I picked her up from daycare, the bags under her eyes were so big from the strain of staying awake that I knew at one glance that she hadn't napped at all.
"Oh she'll sleep so well tonight!" Ms. B exclaimed!
"She'll go right down!" Ms. T.
Optimists.
I let out a half hearted laugh that sounded far more sarcastic than I meant it to be - and
wrestled my already writhing child into the car.
Where she screamed the whole way home.
And screamed when I tried to feed her.
Screamed when I tried to bathe her.
Screamed when I tried to dress her.
Screamed when I tried to read to her.
Screamed when the cats ran away from her.
Screamed when I looked at her...
Hiccuped when I held her in my arms and walked around the room.
Gave in when I sang to her.
Curled up in a ball in her crib when I pet her head and stroked her hair.
Sucked her thumb when I whispered that I loved her.
Closed her eyes because she knew she was safe and that I was watching over her.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Tingling
The whole family had a bad cold a few weeks ago - initially Maddie started with a fever and runny nose - we figured it would be the usual daycare bug making its rounds. But when she started having boogers leaking out of one eye, it made even me nervous. We took her to the pediatrician, who after pinning my thrashing child down to the exam table and attempting to look in her ear canal (unsuccessfully, might I add-- Maddie always wins when it comes to a down and out struggle!) - diagnosed her with sinusitis and we started her on antibiotics. I thought she was possibly just trying to placate us, or perhaps make up for her inability to see Maddie's eardrum, and was giving us a parting gift of some tasty tasty antibiotics. But then, a few days later, David had pain in his ear and when I looked at it, his ear canal was taut with pus, and so he also started on antibiotics. And then I came down with the worst sore throat - so bad I even lost my voice for a few days. That didn't particularly phase me, but then one of my lymph nodes in my neck blew up to the size of a tomato - and it HURT. So I started antibiotics too. The whole family was happily slurping cephalosporins with every meal --I'm sure infectious disease docs world wide are cringing. The lymph node began to come down and I figured that the Loh- Austin family was well on it's way to health and happiness again.
But then...I began to notice these strange sensations on the right side of my face -- burning, tingling, numbness by my nose, cheek and chin...like as if you bumped your funny bone, but this time it was on your face. I thought it would go away...but it didn't. I tried ignoring it, pretending it didn't exist, but it's there. Always. And now I'm scared. My inner hypochondriac keeps turning the differential diagnosis over and over in my head and all the causes of facial paresthesias are BAD. Like, tic douloureux - also named the "suicide disease" because people can't get relief from the stabbing facial pain and so they commit suicide. Or a stroke. Or damage to the trigeminal nerve from trauma. Maybe a tumor pressing on my nerve. Or an abscess? Or could it be Bell's Palsy, and I would have half of my face drooping, maybe it would even be permanent? The possibilities were endless, and each more frightening than the last.
And yet I was raised in a house with an Oncologist father, who basically believed that as long as you didn't have cancer and weren't actively dying, you were fine, and any complaints otherwise simply meant you were weak. Compiled with the fact that I am a physician, and our culture is such that you don't actually go seek medical care yourself unless you have something REALLY WRONG. And so I'm stuck vacillating between feeling like this is something REALLY WRONG and hoping? believing? that maybe it will go away on it's own and it's really NO BIG DEAL. Or I've got the suicide disease and my poor Maddie is going to grow up motherless. Or it's just some post viral inflammation or something or the other and it will go away on it's own. Or not. Or it will. Will it? AAck! You see the neurosis building by minute.
David, my darling husband, has been driven to scouring the internet for a diagnosis, and has concluded that it all stems from TMJ - since I grind my teeth at night. His other suggestion was that I actually make an appointment for myself with an ENT or a neurologist so they can see if something is really wrong. Rather than just sit and stew all day long about whether or not I've got an incurable disease or if death and disfigurement is near - or if something can actually be done.
Well, why would I do that? That's actually sane. And reasonable. As you probably have figured out by now---I am none of those things. And so I sit here typing, and my face tingles away and I still can't decide---should I book an appointment to see someone? What's worse, being seen by your colleagues as someone a weirdo and possibly "crazy" (oh, she's got "tingling"....eye roll eye roll) or should I worry myself crazy for a couple more days, pop a couple more anti-inflammatory meds and hope the whole mess goes away?
But then...I began to notice these strange sensations on the right side of my face -- burning, tingling, numbness by my nose, cheek and chin...like as if you bumped your funny bone, but this time it was on your face. I thought it would go away...but it didn't. I tried ignoring it, pretending it didn't exist, but it's there. Always. And now I'm scared. My inner hypochondriac keeps turning the differential diagnosis over and over in my head and all the causes of facial paresthesias are BAD. Like, tic douloureux - also named the "suicide disease" because people can't get relief from the stabbing facial pain and so they commit suicide. Or a stroke. Or damage to the trigeminal nerve from trauma. Maybe a tumor pressing on my nerve. Or an abscess? Or could it be Bell's Palsy, and I would have half of my face drooping, maybe it would even be permanent? The possibilities were endless, and each more frightening than the last.
And yet I was raised in a house with an Oncologist father, who basically believed that as long as you didn't have cancer and weren't actively dying, you were fine, and any complaints otherwise simply meant you were weak. Compiled with the fact that I am a physician, and our culture is such that you don't actually go seek medical care yourself unless you have something REALLY WRONG. And so I'm stuck vacillating between feeling like this is something REALLY WRONG and hoping? believing? that maybe it will go away on it's own and it's really NO BIG DEAL. Or I've got the suicide disease and my poor Maddie is going to grow up motherless. Or it's just some post viral inflammation or something or the other and it will go away on it's own. Or not. Or it will. Will it? AAck! You see the neurosis building by minute.
David, my darling husband, has been driven to scouring the internet for a diagnosis, and has concluded that it all stems from TMJ - since I grind my teeth at night. His other suggestion was that I actually make an appointment for myself with an ENT or a neurologist so they can see if something is really wrong. Rather than just sit and stew all day long about whether or not I've got an incurable disease or if death and disfigurement is near - or if something can actually be done.
Well, why would I do that? That's actually sane. And reasonable. As you probably have figured out by now---I am none of those things. And so I sit here typing, and my face tingles away and I still can't decide---should I book an appointment to see someone? What's worse, being seen by your colleagues as someone a weirdo and possibly "crazy" (oh, she's got "tingling"....eye roll eye roll) or should I worry myself crazy for a couple more days, pop a couple more anti-inflammatory meds and hope the whole mess goes away?
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Delusions
I have gotten better over the years, but I have always preferred to see myself as possessing qualities that I *wish* I had, rather than the stark, naked truth of the qualities that I *do* own. I prefer to see myself in soft focus, if you will. It's a lot prettier that way.
But as I watch Madeline grow, I am amazed by how much she resembles me - she seems to have popped out a mini copy of me - faults, strengths, and all. Being the delusional person I am, for some reason, when I was pregnant and envisioned my daughter-to-be, I pictured her being the girl that I always soft focused myself into believing I was. She would be sweet...and kind...and patient...and girlish...and gentle. Ha.
Instead, she is fiery, impatient, silly, demanding, smart, vibrant...and different than other girls.
I go to pick her up today and the two other little girls in her class see me enter the room - one grabs Madeline's coat and the other Madeline's bag and hands them to me. What little helpers. Madeline, on the other hand, sees me enter the room, and with a happy squeal runs in the opposite direction - grabs two books off the bookshelf to show me, happily chattering in excitement. Being a bit of a spaz (yes, she even inherited that from me) she tripped over a chair in her enthusiasm and one of the little girls tried to soothe her with a hug. Oh, but my Madeline wants no feminine sympathy. No, not for her. She pushes the girl off with a disdainful glare, a warning squawk to stay away, and runs out of the room without even a goodbye or backwards glance. That's *my* girl.
And I was the same way. Other girls wanted to play house - I wanted to do cartwheels and climb trees. Other girls dressed up as princesses and angels - I came to school as Underdog. Other girls could wait for the entire group to head to lunch together - I was hungry and impatient, and would run ahead to get to the head of the lunch line faster. Let's face it - I was not cool.
And so having a daughter that is so like me, has really helped me be comfortable seeing myself as I am, faults, strengths, and all. And I'm happy about that, because I want to raise Maddie to feel good about herself for who she is, and not feel compelled to blur her vision of herself so that it matches up to what she thinks she *should* be. Instead, I want her to protect that core of fierce individuality. She is special, my girl, and I wouldn't have her be any other way.
But as I watch Madeline grow, I am amazed by how much she resembles me - she seems to have popped out a mini copy of me - faults, strengths, and all. Being the delusional person I am, for some reason, when I was pregnant and envisioned my daughter-to-be, I pictured her being the girl that I always soft focused myself into believing I was. She would be sweet...and kind...and patient...and girlish...and gentle. Ha.
Instead, she is fiery, impatient, silly, demanding, smart, vibrant...and different than other girls.
I go to pick her up today and the two other little girls in her class see me enter the room - one grabs Madeline's coat and the other Madeline's bag and hands them to me. What little helpers. Madeline, on the other hand, sees me enter the room, and with a happy squeal runs in the opposite direction - grabs two books off the bookshelf to show me, happily chattering in excitement. Being a bit of a spaz (yes, she even inherited that from me) she tripped over a chair in her enthusiasm and one of the little girls tried to soothe her with a hug. Oh, but my Madeline wants no feminine sympathy. No, not for her. She pushes the girl off with a disdainful glare, a warning squawk to stay away, and runs out of the room without even a goodbye or backwards glance. That's *my* girl.
And I was the same way. Other girls wanted to play house - I wanted to do cartwheels and climb trees. Other girls dressed up as princesses and angels - I came to school as Underdog. Other girls could wait for the entire group to head to lunch together - I was hungry and impatient, and would run ahead to get to the head of the lunch line faster. Let's face it - I was not cool.
And so having a daughter that is so like me, has really helped me be comfortable seeing myself as I am, faults, strengths, and all. And I'm happy about that, because I want to raise Maddie to feel good about herself for who she is, and not feel compelled to blur her vision of herself so that it matches up to what she thinks she *should* be. Instead, I want her to protect that core of fierce individuality. She is special, my girl, and I wouldn't have her be any other way.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Bitten
I'm jumping on the blog band wagon. A little late, I know, but I have always been years behind any trends, so this is consistent with everything I do. I've been feeling a little stifled of late - work, commuting, baby...work, commuting, baby. I hope this little blog will give me a place to put my thoughts into concrete words and give myself a little space for coherence.
So, I go to pick up Madeline at daycare on Friday and there is an innocuous white paper slipped underneath her daily report card - "Madeline was bit today. She was lying on another child's cot during naptime/diapering and the other child bit her." Madeline's reponse - "cried". Then, a check mark by "skin broken". And 8 crooked little teeth marks emblazoned on her skinny little upper arm.
Now I am a very reasonable parent. Too reasonable, maybe even a pushover sometimes, but when I saw those words I felt the bile rising in my throat because this is the second time Madeline has been bit at daycare. The first time was completely unprovoked - she was dancing to "I'm gonna get you" - a strangely upbeat CD with mildly threatening lyrics - when another toddler bit her. Okay, so maybe her dancing style can be a little odd, or perhaps even annoying? to her classmates, or maybe the sheer joy with which she moves to the music can be overwhelming to the more melancholy sort, but did it really deserve a bite? This time, as the daycare director pointed out, she was lying on another kid's territory - his beloved $2 cot covered in stiff blue plastic and baby drool, so maybe she brought on the bite. Just like if women wear short skirts and tight tops, maybe they brought the attack on themselves. Yeah right.
So I rush to her room to find her - imagining blood and baby rabies oozing from her upper arm - ready to bare my own incisors for her defense- and there she is- happy as can be, dancing alone in the middle of the room. waving her arms, bite marks and all to the music, while the other babies swirl around her. That's my girl. Fiesty and clueless - fearless and free - she means everything to me.
So, I go to pick up Madeline at daycare on Friday and there is an innocuous white paper slipped underneath her daily report card - "Madeline was bit today. She was lying on another child's cot during naptime/diapering and the other child bit her." Madeline's reponse - "cried". Then, a check mark by "skin broken". And 8 crooked little teeth marks emblazoned on her skinny little upper arm.
Now I am a very reasonable parent. Too reasonable, maybe even a pushover sometimes, but when I saw those words I felt the bile rising in my throat because this is the second time Madeline has been bit at daycare. The first time was completely unprovoked - she was dancing to "I'm gonna get you" - a strangely upbeat CD with mildly threatening lyrics - when another toddler bit her. Okay, so maybe her dancing style can be a little odd, or perhaps even annoying? to her classmates, or maybe the sheer joy with which she moves to the music can be overwhelming to the more melancholy sort, but did it really deserve a bite? This time, as the daycare director pointed out, she was lying on another kid's territory - his beloved $2 cot covered in stiff blue plastic and baby drool, so maybe she brought on the bite. Just like if women wear short skirts and tight tops, maybe they brought the attack on themselves. Yeah right.
So I rush to her room to find her - imagining blood and baby rabies oozing from her upper arm - ready to bare my own incisors for her defense- and there she is- happy as can be, dancing alone in the middle of the room. waving her arms, bite marks and all to the music, while the other babies swirl around her. That's my girl. Fiesty and clueless - fearless and free - she means everything to me.
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