San Diego, how I love thee...

In my mind I am spontaneous. I imagine that my dream date is me coming home from [enter monotonous household errand here] to find Corey with a bag packed for me, telling me that we’re going somewhere and it’s a secret. Obviously I know that this isn’t realistic now, what with the beagador and his teething sister being bad secret keepers and all, but it’s my imagination so I’ll conjure up what I want.

In reality, any trip that takes place with less than three lists made about it causes me to break out in a rash, and if the above scenario were to happen I would have to unpack every bag, survey its contents, repack in a different order, and add another suitcase for first aid items, emergency food, and ‘just in case’ things.

Corey on the other hand, literally owned no more items than he could fit in his truck when I met him, so the Air Force has cultivated the gypsy part of him. He could absolutely go anywhere on a whim, without regard to packing, method of transportation, or responsibility at home.

I am lucky in that Corey has allowed me to handle all of our vacations my way until now, and he has even been thankful for my bags of cold medicine, granola bars, and bug repellant on different occasions.

So, when I asked him on Thursday night if he wanted to go out of town on Friday for the long weekend I had already anticipated his answer in the negative. Not only does he allow me to plan our trips, but we also now have the five-month-old Kardashian-type baby who appears to have emerged from the womb with her own set of Louis Vuitton luggage. Between Pack N Plays, Rock N Plays, play mats, play gyms, swings, slings and diaper accessories, the kid needs her own travelling bellhop. There was no way he was going to say yes.

Except, he did.

Now, I may have a reader out there who is asking me, “Well, why did you ask him then?”

It’s called passive-aggressive, and it usually works out in my favor.

So, I asked if he wanted to go to Pinetop to enjoy the cooler weather. When that wasn’t possible because my parents already had houseguests I thought the idea was tabled.

And then, because I’m so confident in my ways, I did it again the next afternoon.

“We could go to San Diego.”

Pause.

“Yeah. Let’s do that,” he says.

At this point my head started spinning in circles and I simultaneously tried to compile fourteen lists in my head all while flogging myself for my careless offerings.

Somehow, some way (I believe I blacked out a large portion of this time) we were packed and out the door in forty-five minutes.

We found a hotel that allowed Sprocket (a Marriot, thank goodness, not some scary airport motel), made reservations on the way, and got on the road at 4pm on Friday afternoon.

And, we all survived.

Brooke slept most of the way to San Diego, with several stops to eat and change diapers, while her furry brother refused to relieve himself on any surface that didn’t smell like the grass in our backyard. Nervous that he wouldn’t be able to hold it any longer, we skipped the last stop, crossing our fingers that the princess would sleep through her scheduled feeding time, and made it to the hotel by ten (she did sleep, and he did hold it until he couldn’t possibly any longer and made do with the hotel grass).

Saturday morning we got up and met my best friend and her almost-husband at Fiesta Island which is a lovely off-leash dog park where we got the shock of our lives: Sprocket is a dog. Okay, well, we always knew he was a dog, but for the first time he ACTED like a dog. He went into the ocean and swam! Sprocket normally acts like a Siamese cat around water and does everything he can to avoid it, whether it’s rain during our ten day monsoon season or an errant sprinkler while on a walk. But, he waded right in and appeared to have a great time.

Brooke dipped her toes in the water and seemed to be less impressed, and we missed capturing any of it by photograph because we are horrible parents and were busy wrangling the sheer amount of stuff that we needed to bring to the beach to haul the camera case out of the trunk.

Unfortunately, Sprocket got a mad case of dead tail from the water, which is temporary nerve damage/inflammation in the base of the tail so it hangs lifelessly (and painfully) which kept him from sleeping more than twenty minutes at a time on Saturday night. Add to that the woes of our sleepless daughter and we were lucky to emerge from the hotel room on Sunday morning with full function of our minds and limbs.

With San Diego being much more animal friendly than Phoenix, Sprocket also got to enjoy both a dinner and a lunch out with us, and the dinner restaurant even had a “Hounddog Special” that we ordered for him (grilled chicken) and brought out a water bowl (he prefers Voss…from a glass…not kidding).

We did enjoy the fact that there were other people around to dote on Brooke (she also enjoyed it, attention whore that she is) and also that we are capable of going out in public with our child without people moving to the other side of the street and crossing themselves.

We also got to spend a few minutes at Coronado Dog Park on Sunday, but it was cold, Sprocket’s tail was dead, and Brooke’s hearing aid fell out, got temporarily lost in the sand, and was located after a mad search and rescue operation (I have shaken most of the sand out) by my friend’s fiance, so we were ready to go almost as soon as we got there.

It was mostly an enjoyable trip, if for nothing else than the fact that we were able to take a last minute vacation and survive it with our two high maintenance kids. And it reminded Corey and me that the days of having fun together aren’t quite over even though slobber rags and speech therapy appointments have taken precedent over dinner and a movie.

And, with my friend’s wedding taking place in the same spot six weeks from now, it gave us the confidence to know that we can, and will, live through the trip as long as we have optimism, a dozen pacifiers and a trunk full of puppy treats.

I better go and add those to the list.

In Memoriam

Tonight I was doing laundry after our short three-day trip to San Diego (post to come) and I found myself hanging up my husband's ABU uniforms in our closet. As I smoothed the wrinkles flat and felt the rough fabric under my fingers I said a little prayer for all the other women who have come before and will after, who would give anything to be hanging up their husband's uniform for him to wear the next day.

These women, the men they loved and lost, and the families that have holes in them are the reason for this day as well as the reason I am able to sit here and post this evening.

With all of our celebrating, grilling, partying and traveling for the long weekend I hope that everyone took a moment to remember that the backbone and strength of our country has come from them - those who sacrificed all they were called to give.

I honor them, thank them, and pray for the day that I will be able to thank them in person.

Happy Memorial Day!

Becoming one of 'those' people

Yesterday Brooke and I were at Sprouts Farmer's Market bright and early to pick up our produce for the week (Brooke must not be mine because she likes to wake up with the sun), and when the cashier asked me what I was doing with my four pounds of organic apples I was thrilled. Even before my reply I was basking the glow of her certain awe.

"I'm making her baby food," I replied.

Then she twisted her face up and said the one thing I wasn't expecting.

"Ohhhh, you're one of those."

It wasn't followed by a goofy grin to indicate she was just good-naturedly chiding me. Just straight-faced condescension.

To say I was taken aback was an understatement. Sprouts is part of the holy trinity for organic-cooking, vegan-loving, gluten-free soccer moms all across the west (along with Whole Foods and Sunflower Market) and I didn't expect to get anything other than a friendly nod of approval at my buying and cooking choices.

Had I really become one of 'them'? And who are 'they'? Are they pod-women? Alien life-forces put here to make those who buy Gerber food and Huggies feel bad about themselves? Did I want to be one of them at all?

The answer is that I'm proud to be a part-time member of 'those' people.

I come from a Republican voting, SUV-driving, meat and potatoes kind of family. When I bring up multi-vitamins and low-VOC paint to my parents they gently roll their eyes, just as they did when I refused to eat steak as a kid. I could tell my mom checked out every time I talked about the gorgeous organic bedding and carriers that we bought for Brooke's arrival, and my Dad looked at me like I was insane when we declared our intent to cloth diaper.

The cloth diapering didn't necessarily start from a desire to save the planet. I was cloth diapered as an infant because I was allergic to disposables. In fear that Brooke may inherit my skin sensitivity I thought it would be smart to prepare for the worst, so I looked into cloth diapers. The world of safety pins, plastic pants, and leakage is a thing of the past. Cloth diapers are amazing now, and just as easy as disposables. I was sold from the first cloth diaper website I perused, and the fact that I managed to sway Corey in that direction is testament to the fact that they are easy and far less gross than you are thinking if you haven't used them.

At this point the environmental factor and the 'granola-ness' of the situation was really icing on the cake, but I thought it was silly to stop there.

With little effort or problem we have stepped up our recycling, purchased organic clothing and food when possible, hung a clothesline, stopped spraying pesticide inside the home, and we're even considering a hybrid SUV for our future car purchase.

But, before you decide that I'm about to start campaigning for Al Gore to run the world I should let it be known that our house uses cushy, soft toilet paper that probably took ten acres of rain forest to make, we use disposable wipes on Brooke's dirty little baby butt (Corey put his foot down when it came to cloth wipes), and my carcinogenic candles are burning in the kitchen right now while the dishwasher runs at peak hours filled with nasty old Electrasol and Jet-Dry.

It's true that I am making Brooke's baby food from fresh, organic Gala apples, but I also have a cupboard full of Gerber that I got on sale right before she was born. And while we love our cloth diapers during the day, hippie moms would shun us from the playgroup because we use disposables at night (the diaper rash is horrible if we don't).

And while the label still irks me, the nice part of the 'them club' is that you don't have to be a member all the time. It's not an all-or-nothing type decision as I choose to believe that every little bit helps and any smart and healthy choices you make are beneficial, no matter how many hours you let your infant chew on the rattle that fell on the floor *twice* when you haven't mopped since Monday. Not that I would do that. I mean, c'mon, I am one of 'them' after all.

Month four

Brooke’s fourth month of life flew by, although somehow the days still seem neverending. Her colic finally resolved this month, and although she is now what our research and doctors dub a ‘high-need’ baby, she is getting used to the idea that she’s not going back in the dark comfort of her gestational life and she had better get used to the world.
Right at three months she started rolling from her back to her belly, which is a bit backwards, and still hasn’t rolled the other way unless you count a few random tumbles. Her doctor thinks she likes the pressure on her belly since she still has gas issues so she has no reason to roll back, and I agree since she likes to sleep on her side and stomach too. I am constantly trying to roll her back over.
This month she has started taking naps in her crib, although she still sleeps exactly thirty minutes each time. It’s like the kid has an egg timer in her diaper because she rarely sleeps more than five minutes longer or shorter EVER. She has also transitioned from sleeping in her Rock N Play Sleeper, which was the best thing in the world for a while, but it has been hard to adjust to not being in because it was at an incline and her new sleeping arrangements are flat.
The kid sucks at sleeping, which means mommy doesn’t get much either, but we’re hoping that as she gets used to sleeping flat (and gets older and wiser) she will figure out how much fun sleeping is and will do it for longer than 90 minutes at a time at night.
This month Brooke got to meet her fantastic Godmother, who is also my fantastic Aunt, and also got to spend some more time with her Grandad and Gramma and her Uncle Mikey. Her brother Sprocket is also logging some more quality time with the munchkin and is starting to warm up to her now that she can grasp and give him treats.
Her hearing aids have transitioned into just another part of life by now, and she loves getting them put in when she wakes up in the morning and after naps. I also love listening to her Daddy read her bedtime story every night and knowing that she can hear every word.
As for the details: according to the doc at four months your growth starts depending more on your genetics and less on your eating habits so she’s making her way out of the super high percentiles and into normal baby territory. She weighs 14 pounds and 10 ounces, is just shy of 25 inches long and her head is 16.5 inches around, all of which are squarely in the mid-60s percentile-wise.
I will have to write a post about the baby things that have worked for us, and the things that have been a waste of time and money, but one thing I cannot exude enough love for is our BumGenius cloth diapers. Everyone who thinks that cloth diapers are only for birkenstock wearing hippies or smug, ‘green’ celebu-tards is completely wrong – we have NEVER had a blowout with a cloth diaper, but if Brooke poops in a disposable it is more likely than not all over her clothes. They are pricey, but overall some of the best money spent and I get the peace of mind knowing that she’s not sitting in some crazy chemical beads that are the same ones I find in my purses’ dustbags.
This month Brooke is looking forward to meeting her Granny (Daddy’s mom) and her Great Aunt who are flying out from Tennessee next weekend, celebrating her Uncle Mikey’s birthday with the family, and gaining another four pounds. I am looking forward to her being able to sit up by herself (which we are working on) and start making some consonant sounds, which she is behind on due to her hearing loss. We are taking correspondance courses through the world famous John Tracy clinic and are hopeful that we can curb her language delay. We are also researching a private school in the area that includes infant speech therapy, but we’re unsure about the $14k tuition for a four month old.
Overall, month four was a pretty good month and it only seems to be getting better. Perhaps we’ll survive this with some semblance of sanity after all.

Unexpected Pride

When we first learned that Brooke had hearing loss it was devastating. You never want your child to get a paper cut, so a permanent disability is horrifying. I could only focus on the things I was sure she would never do: sing in a choir, dance in a ballet recital, speak without drawing attention, or tell me stories of her day in school.

But, when we got the official diagnosis I took to the internet like I do morning, noon, and night and set out to find a solution. I often think that I should have been born in another place and time – somewhere with corsets, or where women still cook in beautiful frilly aprons, or when men stood up when you left the table and carried hankerchiefs to blot your tears – but without google I would be lost, or at least own millions of dollars worth of encyclopedias.

After putting in what seemed like endless hours in the middle of the night I came to a profound conclusion: we don’t need a solution.

Brooke can’t hear as well as other kids. There is no shame in it and no reason to be embarassed. I blanch when people tell me not to worry because she can cover her hearing aids with her hair. Why should she have to hide them? She did nothing wrong and it isn’t a punishment for bad behavior. In the scheme of her life her hearing loss will be but a minor setback.

This idea did come partially from my reaching the acceptance level of the grief scale, but it mostly came about when I learned that hearing impaired children do every one of the things I mentioned above, and more.

She will be able to sing and dance her little heart out – all the way to professional ballet companies or to record labels as others with her impairment have done. She can play any sport, tell any story without missing a beat, and hear every single word that I mutter to her under my breath in her tween-age years. I am certain that there will be days that she will cry and not want to wear her hearing aids. I’m sure that some kid, somewhere, will pick on her. And I’m also quite convinced that my most important job as a parent is to teach her to handle herself with grace and confidence in those situations and to understand that we all have our crosses to bear.

So, here in the Park house we are embracing her hearing aids, not hiding them. In fact, I’m honestly a little sad that she needs a pilot cap or headband to keep the things on until her ears get bigger than the pixie lobes she currently sports. In my ideal world we would go out everywhere proudly displaying her thousands of dollars of hearing helpers and we would educate people all over.

Hearing loss is the most common birth defect in the world. Did you know that? I had no idea, but it’s true. Maybe if we weren’t all so preoccupied with hiding things behind hair then kids would be more willing to embrace differences like that. So, we ordered them in bright metallic pink, with hot pink ear molds. 99% of her wardrobe is pink right now anyway, so it is a perfect match. And yes, in the time of neutral being trendy we are rallying against the baby fashion movement and proudly dressing her like the girl she is, partially because I like being feminine, and partially so I don’t have to smile and roll my eyes when the little old ladies in Target tell me how handsome my chubby baby boy is.

I now look forward to every morning when I pop her hearing aids in and tell her how much I love her because I get to watch her eyes light up and her mouth curl into the biggest smile you’ve ever seen, and I dread every bedtime because I have to take them out and turn the volume down on the world again.

My daughter may not be perfect, but I guess that beautiful, smart, funny, and kind will just have to be good enough.

Month Three

I'm a few days late at this, but it's amazing how time gets away from you with a little one!

This month showed signs of promise and hope - hope that I will survive, hope that Brooke will be able to cast out the demons, and hope that I won't have a voluntary hysterectomy to avoid any possibility of doing this again.

The past few days have given me glimpses of why people do this more than once as Brooke has made it through the majority of the day without having a single meltdown. We still have our bad days where I want to walk out into traffic, but as a whole I am starting to enjoy being a mother.

Yes, that sounds horrible, especially for someone who longed for so many months to do just this, but I'm afraid that infertility actually made it harder for me to cope with the difficult times. While we were infertile I had dreams of dressing my tiny little baby doll up while she gazed at me with loving eyes. I envisioned her cooing up at me in adoration, and squealing in delight at that thousands of dollars of toys we've purchased for her. The reality is so far from that and I suffered from a bitch slap of true life when we were a full 180 degrees from those fantasies.

As far as development goes she is doing just fine. She has rolled over on several occasions, although she has yet to do so with full intent. She loves to munch on her fingers, and grab her toes. She chatters for hours at a time, and now has clear favorites when it comes to toys - a red monkey in a hula skirt, a giraffe with blue feet, and a yellow worm with antenna. Infant toy designers are not very zoologically intelligent.

She does suffer from torticollis, which you can see from the pictures. Her head leans to the right because the ligaments are tighter on that side - probably from being crammed up in the womb that direction. We are doing daily stretches with her, and if it is not better by month four we will start physical therapy. Her doctor assures me (and my research confirms) that not only is that pretty common, but she also doesn't have a horrible case of it.

We also have the added excitement of getting her hearing aids today! I cannot wait to see her face when we turn them on as her hearing loss is something I have mostly made peace with. As a women with a hearing impaired child told me recently, "All children get picked on at some point for some thing and I know that his thing will be hearing aids." All we can do now is raise a strong and confident girl who looks at them (anyone who would dare to tease her) sweetly and tells them to shove it.

Oh, and in the information that only a grandma could care about she weighs 13 pounds and six ounces (a full two pounds heavier than one month ago) and is approx 24.5 inches long. She's a big one for sure, probably because she likes to eat ALL THE TIME. She naps four times during the day for 30 minutes at a time, but only in my arms so I don't get much done during nap time. She also goes to bed at 7pm and wakes at 7am, with four or five rousing fits along the way. I do wish she slept better, but I suppose we will get there in time. The fits can't be too bad anyway because Corey manages to sleep through the vast majority of them.

And speaking of the rest of the family, Corey managed to convince me he needed new golf clubs this month, so here is a picture of his new Cleveland's. I have no idea if they are diamond encrusted, which only seems likely given the price, but they supposedly make him hit like a pro so I succumbed.




And Sprocket has managed to find a way to meditate through Brooke's screams. You can almost hear him thinking, "I'm still an only child. I'm still an only child..."

I thought these things were made of Sugar and Spice?

The last month has absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, been the hardest month of my life.

When you leave the hospital with a baby you have already heard at least a dozen warnings about shaken baby syndrome. You dutifully nod your head, roll your eyes at your significant other, and tell the nurses that you have many people to call if you feel that you're in danger of shaking your baby. And then they leave the room and you talk about what kind of awful people want to shake their precious bundles of joy.

And then two weeks later you realize that it's normal people just like you who are treating their babies like Polaroid pictures just to get them to shut their pie-holes for long enough for you to brush your teeth for the first time in a day and a half.

Brooke has colic. And some of you are thinking, "Don't be dramatic. Babies cry. It's what they do." When I say Brooke has colic I don't mean that Brooke cries. Brooke screams.

If you want to know what Brooke sounds like here's what you do: Go to your stove and turn the front burner on high. Wait four minutes for either the coils to get nice and orange, or for the flame to burn bright blue. Then, dip your left hand in whiskey and hold it over the flame or press it to the burner and keep it there for a full minute.

That noise you just made is about half of the decibel level of what Brooke can manage, even though she's less than twelve pounds. She does this for around six hours every day, give or take a few seconds.

Brooke screams when she has a dirty diaper, and when she has a clean diaper. She screams when she's hungry and when she's full. The only time she doesn't scream is when other people who have heard the stories of terror come to visit. Then she pretends to be the sweetest baby on the face of the planet.

We have been to multiple doctors for her screaming, and she always sits on their papered table, drooling and smiling her gummy smile, and they tell us that she will grow out of it.

We don't know whether or not her hearing situation has any effect on her disposition, but last Friday we took her to one of the top pediatric hospitals in the country, which thankfully is only forty miles from us (Phoenix metro is huge), and they were able to run a barrage of tests on her which told us that she does have hearing loss. In her right ear it is mild to moderate and in her left ear it is moderate. We also found out that it is sensorineural which means that it is not fixable and it is permanent.

This doesn't sound too bad, and I am well aware of the fact that it could be much worse, but unfortunately voices are on the very low end of the sound spectrum, and without intervention her speech would be hugely effected.

Of course, we are getting her hearing aids as soon as possible (hopefully in the next two weeks) and we will be starting with the Arizona Early Intervention program to make sure that speech therapists, social patient coordinators, and audiologists are all at our disposal.

Until then, Corey and I are doing our best to come to grips with the fact that life will be a little harder for our little girl, and if she doesn't learn to stop screaming she's never going to have a boyfriend.

Since we have no known history of hearing loss in our families, we also have to undergo genetic testing as well as EKGs, thyroid testing, and kidney testing to make sure that her condition isn't a part of something much bigger and more dangerous, so please cross your fingers that hearing loss is the only problem she has! We also hope to find out if it is progressive, although we probably won't know that until we do hearing tests every few months and see if it is getting worse.

On much happier notes, her two month visit with the pediatrician went swimmingly. We had to switch from our much-beloved off-base doctor to one on-base and we were terrified due to some bad visits I've had. However, her new doctor is amazing and really took the time to listen to our questions (I always have many) and concerns (yeah, I have those too).

She was 11 lb 6 oz which is the 84th percentile, and 22 and 3/4 inches long which is the 85th percentile. She does like to eat!! We are hopeful that her height comes from my side of the family, but we know that little else does because she is an exact replica of her Daddy right down to the beautiful baby blues that she has kept so far.

She did get her shots, which after hours upon hours of research we decided to do on the normal schedule, and she hated them very much (but not as much as Corey hated seeing her get them).

Her neck strength is a little behind due to the fact that she doesn't do much during tummy time other than scream (see a pattern?), but he doesn't see anything developmentally wrong which is a good thing when we're keeping our eyes open for any other problems which could indicate a systemic syndrome.

I'm struggling to think of anything else to post because I know that her Grandmas will read this and everyone knows that Grandmas find everything their grandchildren do incredibly entertaining, but the reality is that she's two months old and two month olds don't do a whole lot.

Hopefully my three month update will be filled with happy tales of playtime, hours in the Bumbo, and sweet, sweet, silent serenity. Or at least a story of me changing out of pajamas before 3pm.