Posted by Kimberly on May 8th, 2006 — Posted in Zen Baby, iVillage, Sanity and the Solo Mom
My Zen Baby has discovered the concept of “scary.” Which, given the last two years of her life, is hardly surprising. Of course, she’s probably had the concept mastered for a while; now, however, she has the words to go with it.
“Mama I skeered,” she tells me, looking at the old lady lingering in the foyer of our buliding.
“Ssssh, Baby. There’s nothing to be scared of’,” I quietly reassure her, searching for my keys.
“No Mama! That skeery. I skeered!” She insists, pointing at the woman, who looks like Central Casting’s idea of a wicked witch.
“It’s ok, Regan.” I tell her, mentally smacking myself for not having the key ready when we came in the door. I saw the woman there. I thought to myself for at least the thousandth time how stereotypically frightening she looks with her small, shrivelled frame, her babushka and shawl, her hooked nose so prominent in a sunken face endlessly folded with wrinkles. I even wondered if Zen Baby would comment on her, given her toddler-driven impluse to narrate her experiences. But then I dismissed the possiblity for such a social faux pas as unlikely. For one thing, we’ve passed this woman hundreds of times since we’ve lived her, and Regan hasn’t ever given any indication that she is even aware of her. And, more importantly, my daughter doesn’t speak in front of strangers. At all. It’s one of the constants of life with Zen Baby.
Except, not today.
“No!” She tells me forcefully. It NOT okay. That lady skeery!”
Well, there goes any hope that the “Skeery Lady” isnt aware of our conversation. Isn’t that just the way with kids? I spend the past year hoping that Regan will overcome her shyness and talk openly in public. And now? Now I just want her to be quiet.
“Hey!” I say brightly, finally wrestling open the heavy door. “Wanna push the elevator button?”
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Posted by Kimberly on April 17th, 2006 — Posted in Zen Baby, Kipple, iVillage, Sanity and the Solo Mom
“‘I two!” Zen Baby proudly proclaims to her older cousin, waving her contorted fingers in the air as emphasis.
“No.” Her cousin disagrees. “I’m two.”
“Ya.” Zen Baby agrees, still trying to force her fingers into the proper configuration. “I’m two.”
Benjamin shakes his head vehemently. “NO. I’m two.”
Regan nods companionably. “Ya. I’m two.”
Benjamin is becoming frustrated that this baby is trying to muscle in on his Big Boy status. Afterall, she doesn’t wear Pull Ups. She doesn’t go to preschool. She can’t even form her fingers into a two, for crying out loud. He pulls out the big guns to put an end to this affront to his dignity. “I’m a BIG BOY.”
Regan smiles at him in happy adoration. “Ya.” She agrees. “I a big boy. Too.”
At some stages in life, a generation can be measured not in decades or even years, but in months. And at no age is this more evident than in the difference between a newly minted 2 year-old and an almost 3 year-old. Afterall, whether or not you remember when Mr. Snuffalupagus was invisible, or saw your John Hughes movies in the theatre or on television, or used Eminem and not Violent Femmes to piss your parents off are simple matters of pop culture. But Preschool over Playgroup? Strolling vs Stroller? Panties and not Pampers? These are the issues that separate the Big Kids from the Babies.
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Posted by Kimberly on June 16th, 2005 — Posted in Zen Baby, Kipple
One of my favourite things about toddlerhood is watching the eolution of language. From hilarious mispronunciations to unique truns of phrase, language acquisition in children is an insight into their personalities, and the ways in which they process the world around them.
Both of The Ladies talked early–at about 5 months. And both of them said “‘Mama” as their first word. When Sabrina did it, I dismissed it as meaningless baby babble until other people pointed out that she only made that particular noise while looking at me. When Regan followed her sister’s lead, I wasn’t surprised; I just figured it was par for the course.
Once Sabrina mastered her voice box, there was no holding her back. She talked constantly (and still does). At first I wondered if her words had any real meaning; when I heard her talking in her sleep it seemed obvious to me that she was well on her way to figuring the whole language thing out. While my Diva Girl has always had a strong vocabulary (one of the side effects of being the only child of a highly educated single mother), there are a couple linguistic gems that I will always treasure from the time when she was first learning to express her understanding of the world.
“Circle money.” When Bree was a bout two and a half, she was telling a story that involved coins. Although she’d seen coins, and was aware that they were a form of currency, she didn’t know what they were called. So, based on the information at hand, she made an educated guess.
“The Chimney Guy.” Until she was about 4, Sabrina was far more interested in Frosty the Snowman than Santa Claus. The big guy in the red suit clearly didn’t make much of an impact on her, since she for years, she couldn’t remember his name.
“Pollimop.” Sabrina has always had very good pronunciation, but for some reason, she just couldn’t master the word “Lollipop.” Quite possibly because I so loved hearing her say “pollimop” that I never bothered to correct her.
When Regan began speaking, I just took it for granted that she would be a talker like her sister. She said the same word at pretty much the same age, so that didn’t seem like too unlikely an expectation. And when she was saying “Spongebob” shortly before her first birthday, it seemed pretty much a given. Then she got a debulking surgery for her first birthday and stopped speaking altogether.
She’d always been a reserved baby, and tended to save her verbal exchanges for Mummy, but by the time we left the hospital she wouldn’t even talk to me. For months she was utterly silent. Not a word, not even a sound. Although I understood why she wasn’t speaking, I’ll confess that her silence was disconcerting. Two way communication, particularly verbal communication, is one of the key ways that we can judge that our children are developing on track; that the world is a comprehensible place for them and one that they are capable of processing and exploring in meaningful ways. I have one friend whose son is Autistic and another whose little boy has just been diagnosed with severe Apraxia; I needed Regan to speak to be assured that she really was ok.
I am a very lucky mother, because in addition to the miracle that was Regan’s tumour, I was also, after much patient waiting, given the gift of her speech. And what a gift it is! Clearly I need not have worried about her verbal skills; at not quite two and a half Zen Baby speaks in complex sentences. She doesn’t chatter constantly like her sister, but she can certainly keep up her end of the conversation. And like most toddlers, she’s putting her personal twist on the language. A particular quirk of hers is her use of nouns as adjectives:
In the Zen Baby lexicon, “Barbie” means anything that is pretty. Or wearing a dress. “Chocolate” describes more of an experience than a flavour for Zen Baby. Chocolate is ” chocolate,” but so are strawberries and oatmeal cookies.
Sometimes I want them to just. stop. talking. But then, Regan asks me for “oh yeah juice” (Kool Aid) or a “boo boo stick” (band aid) and I just can’t wait to hear what they’ll say next.
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Posted by Kimberly on March 28th, 2005 — Posted in Diva Girl, Zen Baby, Oncology Odyssey
First, let me say thank you for all your good wishes. I really feel like you’ve all been with me every step of the way, and I *know* that has helped get me through this nightmare.
Our weekend was lovely. And busy. I have a large family, and most of them came for Easter–We had a lot to celebrate this year. I think Easter may now be my favourite holiday.
I was a little worried about the kidlet invasion–6 children, the oldest of whom is 6 –but things went fine. The bigger ones were well prepped on playing gentle with Zen Baby and the little ones have no interest in her, or aren’t mobile enough to do damage. So that was stressful, but ultimately successful.
I think the gross favouritism shown by the Easter Bunny, who gave Diva Girl a “honkin’ big basket of stuff” and Zen Baby “one measly stuffed chickie,” went a long way towards assuaging Carebear Envy.
My dad just made a comment that it’s been more than a week since the surgery.
See, I’m still living in that “funny time” place. On the one hand, how is it still March 2005? I have lived years these past few weeks. But I’m also still sitting in the chair in my doctor’s office, hearing, “It’s bad. Zen Baby has a 12 cm tumour in her abdomen.” I haven’t really processed that event yet, let alone everything that’s happened since.
The Nurses on the Paediatric Cancer Ward are calling Zen Baby their Miracle. They just don’t get outcomes like hers very often. When we arrived, shellshocked and praying for a miracle, things did not look good. Even a happy ending looked like it would only be after the whole deal: a whack of unpleasant tests, a biospy, bone marrow extraction, chemo, surgery to remove the tumour, radiation, bone marrow transplant–if a match could be found and family wasn’t likely to be an option. And a happy outcome was by no means guaranteed. Or even expected, to be honest.
And then, we got the miracle. Yes, Zen Baby had a whack of unpleasant tests and they were traumatic. But the tests revealed something wonderful (if wonderful and tumour can be used in the same sentence). The tumour was more than likely so rare that the oncologists had to go look it up in their medical databases (I’ll admit it, I’m kinda proud of that ). But it wasn’t, in and of itself, life threatening. In fact, if it had been a normal presentation, it really would’ve been no big deal. But the fact that it had invaded her bowel and was not allowing her stomach to grow and basically bullying all the other internal organs made it much more serious. So, major abdominal surgery. No treat, let me tell you. (Have you ever tried to co-sleep with an infant hooked up to 2 ivs and an NG tube? ) But it was survivable, and she survived. And, barring a bad pathology report, our ride on this particular roller-coaster is over. (And believe me, I have no intention of buying another ticket.)
So, was our 3 week oncology odyssey insignificant? Not on your life. It was the most harrowing experience of my life (and have I ever mentioned that I was once run over by a bus?). I have journeyed to the pits of parenting hell and back. But you know what? I only had to look through the window; I was blessed and didn’t have to walk through the door. Every family who finds themselves suddenly admitted to paediatric oncology hopes/wishes/prays/begs for the same miracle we received. And most of them don’t get it. I don’t know why we did, but I plan to make the most of it.
Earlier this month I wrote: “Zen Baby’s first birthday isn’t about survival. It’s all about how we thrived this year….It’s all about the anticipation.” I had some bitter moments when I felt the universe was mocking me for making these statements, but you know, I stand by them, with one small change: “We have survived and thrived, and we’ll continue to do so.
But it’s still all about the anticipation.
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Posted by Kimberly on March 25th, 2005 — Posted in Diva Girl, Zen Baby, Oncology Odyssey
I just showered for the second time in two days! Oh, the luxury!!!
I’ve barely processed being home. It’s all so….I don’t know how to explain. Showering without any sort of logistical nightmares to work out (well, no more so than the usual when you’re the single mom of an infant and a 6 year old ). Napping in a Double Bed, not a cot. In a room by yourself. Choosing what you want to watch on tv–or to have the tv off! Choosing what you want to eat for lunch/dinner and preparing it to your taste.
Little things. But big things when you don’t even really realize you’ve lost them until you have them back.
We’ve had a good day. Zen Baby is recovering beautifully. We haven’t even filled her codine script yet, and her tylenol intake is irregular. She’s playing, babbling (something she doesn’t do unless she’s in her happy place), climbing and walking (more on how Zen Baby learned to walk in another post, but I’ll tell you now that it involved an iv pole. )
Diva Girl is ok. Pretty emotional today. She was excited for us to come home, but….I think she thought things would be immediately go to normal. Or better. But I’ll admit it; I’m wiped. So while she couldn’t wait to play, I couldn’t wait to nap and shower.
An epic conflict of needs, to say the least. But after some tears on both sides, we played, coloured, watched “Atomic Betty”, showered and napped. Everyone’s happy.
And now my mom is doling out ice cream. Life is good.
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Posted by Kimberly on March 25th, 2005 — Posted in The Ladies, Diva Girl, Zen Baby, Oncology Odyssey
We’re home!!!!!!
Well, my mom’s home.
But still, not the hospital. And we’re not AWOL right now. We’re RELEASED!!!!!
Diva Girl needs some “mom time” so I’ve got to go. Just wanted to share the latest, greatest news. I hope everyone else’s Easter is as fabulous as mine is going to be.
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Posted by Kimberly on March 24th, 2005 — Posted in Diva Girl, Zen Baby, Oncology Odyssey
It’s nice to share some joy for a change.
Last night I talked them into letting Zen Baby return to breastfeeding, which made everyone’s night better. And honestly, I understand about not wanting to tax her poor little digestive system, but apple juice over breast milk??? Come on!!!!
This morning, they took her off of the morphine drip (which had been very speedily weaned to a negligible level) and removed the iv! Yay!
So now she’s totally mobile again Gramma will be giving her a spongebath today while I’m at work as she’s also very grubby. And then she’ll wear her own clothes for the first time in almost a week. Milestones abound today!
Diva Girl came up last night and had a lovely visit. I thought Zen Baby was going to pull some stiches, she was so excited to see her. Diva Girl was, in true 6 year old fashion, more concerned with acquiring sharing rights to her sister’s new Care Bear –the fact that she already has several of her own was apparently irrelevant .
Oh! And ask me where I’m typing this from!!!!
Go on, ask!!!
HOME!!!!!
Sorry, that’s a bit of a tease. We haven’t been released yet–Zen Baby is still at the hospital with my mom. But my freshly showered butt is sitting in the comfy rocking chair in my parents’ livingroom typing away on the laptop.
Ahhhh.
Have I mentioned that we’re learning to enjoy the simple pleasures?
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Posted by Kimberly on March 23rd, 2005 — Posted in Zen Baby, Oncology Odyssey
Regan took a few steps in the playroom just now.
And is currently kneeling on the floor, playing with blocks.
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Posted by Kimberly on March 23rd, 2005 — Posted in Zen Baby, Oncology Odyssey
Was last night better?
Hmmm. Yes and no. They took the nose tube out, and the mittens came off. That was definitely of the good.
Zen Baby was awake, alert, and responsive. Also of the good. Sort of. Because this whole attachment parenting (which I was down with looong before I ever hear of Dr. Sears) is really not designed to accommodate the needs of families in hospital. See, if Zen Baby doesn’t want to be down, the solution to that problem is usually to just carry her with me and carry on. But putting her in a sling or carrier right now isn’t really practical–did I mention the tubes? And being a big meany and just putting her down for a sec while I do whatever it is I need two hands for isn’t an option here either. She’s scared, and she needs her Mummy. I get that.
But Mummy needs to eat something before she passes out. And pee before she explodes. And, after 7 hours or so, pump before she looses all sense of decorum and dignity. Oops. Too late.
See, they make you buy a $25 attachment for one of their electric pumps at the hospital. Ok. Makes sense. Not too keen on using a community model anyway. And they keep the electric pumps in a lovely little softly lit room filled with soft music, comfy rocking chairs, and lots of parenting magazines. Also OK. Except, as I learned last night, if Mohammed can’t get to the mountain (so to speak), there ain’t no way they are bringing that mountain to Mohammed. NOT OK.
I’d like to say here that everyone should be as lucky as me. I have a friend how is so truly wonderful that when I call, sobbing incoherently on the bat-phone, she doesn’t stop to assess the validity or rationality of my needs. She just puts her own not inconsiderable stuff on hold for a bit and does her utmost to meet them. Thank you Kirsten, who grabbed her own pump and rushed it to the hosptial.
Eventually, SuperGrampa also arrived and stayed with the baby while I pumped, ate, peed, and just generally got myself back together. Then he settled Zen Baby in her crib, and I got about 90 minutes of dead-to-the-world, bed-to-myself sleep. Of course, Zen Baby was in bed with me by 2 am (after a brief dalliance with some motorcyle building show on the discovery channel in the Lounge). And it was a pretty good night.
Well…one more thing. Remember how I complained about the rasping? Rasping is good. Rasping is so much more reassuring than the silent breathing. See, with the rasping, at least you know there is breathing. Silence, not so much. But I didn’t push the call button for the nurse (mostly because Zen Baby was on top of me and I couldn’t reach it without waking her and man, no one wanted that).
So, small victories. Oh, speaking of victories: Guess who had Apple Juice this morning!!!!
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Posted by Kimberly on March 22nd, 2005 — Posted in Zen Baby, Oncology Odyssey
I’m kinda whiny today.
Last night was the longest night of my life. You know that point you hit somewhere in the middle of week two with your newborn? Where you can’t even really *remember* what sleep is anymore? Last night made that look like cake.
If she wasn’t beeping, she was rasping. If she wasn’t rasping, she was crying (or trying to). There were tubes all over her–even one coming out of her nose. Her hands were bandaged so that she couldn’t pull the tubes out. The full dose of morphine interferred with her breathing. She’s still not allowed to eat, and doesn’t seem to want to yet.
And, since she freaked out if not in my arms, I haven’t been able to pump since 1 am. I spent most of the night trying to figure out how to get comfortable in one of those hard wood, Granny style rocking chairs (with a broken arm, no less) while clutching a post-op baby and not tangling or pulling out any of her various lines. Fun times, I tell ya.
And, because I’m crazy, I topped off that evening by coming in to work today. I think my judgement might be a bit off. (They’re watching a movie. And if we finish with that, group work!!)
But seriously, thanks for all the prayers and good wishes yesterday. I was deeply touched.
Hopefully, it all gets better from here
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