More Self-Indulgent Complaining and Some Funny Stuff Too.

Ok, so the boys are in bed.  I can hear Louie's "Pure Relaxation", or whatever zen music a 3-year-old- with-William-Syndrome is in to, drifting from his room.  He goes to bed listening to it every night.  Sometimes he just lies beside his CD player, presses play and sucks on a pacifier (he doesn't use them during the day, supposedly) he had stashed for these moments.  He turns it up too loud, well, too loud is an understatement.  He turns it up as high as it will go and I have to rush in and say "Turn that 'Pure Relaxation' down right now!  You're going to wake your brother!"

Chris is out fishing.  I'm having Sprite and popcorn for dinner.  Everything is starting to come together with the move.  Everything except my "office" and my clothes.  Once these two things are in order I think I'll feel much more in control.  

I've been in the "nervous breakdown" type mode.  Again, as I mentioned in my last post, I'm not sure what that means exactly but it sure sounds like something I'm having.  Just the move and the trip to visit the in-laws and the surgery (though it was minor) and then the in-laws trip to our house (keep in mind, this is only 2 weeks after our trip to see them).  And then the unpacking and the whole subdivision thing - which I both love and hate.  People sure exercise a lot here.  And that!  I should put that exercise thing on my to-do list!  

I'm also feeling a lot of guilt about this last visit with my in-laws.  Bonnie, Chris' mom, and I are oil and water.  Or is it oil and vinegar?  I like oil and vinegar so it must be oil and water.  They were here Thursday night until Monday morning.  Chris and his dad worked on house stuff, such as installing a trash compactor and an ice machine.  I'm not talking about an ice maker, like the one in your freezer and the ice comes out the spout on the front of the fridge. I'm talking a full size, like say, trash compactor size, piece of equipment that fits into the counter space.  You actually loose a cabinet for the ice machine.  It holds around, oh maybe, a TON of ice. This is a big thing in Chris' family.  This ice.  All of them have one.  It's a MUST-HAVE. Chris' parents have two at their lake house.  One upstairs and one downstairs on the screened-in-porch.  I don't know, maybe this is totally normal and I'm the weird one.  I just don't see how having that much ice is going to benefit anyone.  It makes me feel really over-indulgent and guilty.  I know.  I've got some issues.  But those go way back and will have to be discussed later.  Preview - outhouses, the wooden end of a broom banging on the ceiling if showers were lasting too long - and we had to turn off the water between getting wet, soaping up and rinsing off.) 

Anyway, so this left a lot of time for Bonnie and me to "spend time together".  I will preface this by saying she has a good heart.  And I know her intentions are good.  But she is no fun.  And I'm fun-loving (really, I usually am!). She worries about wax on lemons (putting them in your water), about grease or "sticky" on just about anything and everything.  She follows me around with a mop.  She is OCD clean, perfectly pressed, perfect-white-pants person.  And I am so, so not that.  I kind of secretly wish I were sometimes, though.  

One morning,  I was sitting on the floor in the hall outside the bathroom, opening a box of keepsake type things from when the children were born and she was putting on her make-up.  

I say "I sort of get sad when I think back on Louie's birth. That time until the diagnosis was the darkest period of my life."

She says, "We knew.  We knew something was wrong and we kept 'throwing you fleeces' (I have no idea what that means; she's been known to make up sayings like this) but y'all never bit." She said that about three times.  The fleece/biting thing.  I have some hearing loss in my left ear so maybe I didn't hear her right?  Does anyone know any sayings that sound kind of like that?  

Anyway, I say, "We knew something was wrong too.  We switched pediatricians three times trying to find answers.  We followed protocol for what you do in these situations."

She says, "I'm just saying like at 6 weeks, when he was 6-weeks-old you should have been doing testing."

I say, "You can't just spend tens of thousands of dollars doing tests for the millions of genetic disorders in the world."  I think I said that.  I hope I said that.  Then I got up and walked downstairs.  

She says, "Where'd you go?" as I was walking away.  

I tell her, "Gotta get more coffee."  That really got to me.  Bad conversation.  You never want to be told that you should have been doing more for your child than what you did.  We thought we were doing everything we could for him.  

And then there's the do we have one more child question that's been hanging around lately.  I just turned 35.  I want to get the young ages behind me quickly so I'm okay with having kids close in age.  My doctor said now versus December wouldn't make a difference but if we're talking now and a few years from now, he'd definitely recommend sooner rather than later. Not that later wasn't possible.  

I have enjoyed this typical parenting experience with Ace.  I do not love Ace more.  I just have loved having this typically developing, milestone-hitting child.  I would love to experience it again.  It would be hard having three and especially with one having special needs.  But I can't help but to feel someone is missing.  That's what my heart says.  Chris' heart doesn't say anything, on the other hand.  But his brain says a lot, like, "what if we have another with special needs, what about all the time it takes with a newborn, what about money, what about how horrible you are during the gestation period?"  My brain says all those same things too.  

So, I had an OB/Gyn appointment today.  It was just your standard check-it-all-out appointment.   Unfortunately for everyone, I had both boys with me.  Louie has been home from school since he's had the stomach flu and my babysitter wasn't available.  It takes Dr. Black more than 30 minutes to get to me.  Louie and Ace were strapped in their stroller with all kinds of toys and snacks.  This worked.  For a while.  And then it didn't.  It so didn't work.   I let them out of their stroller.  They're still crying and whining but at least a little less as they begin to "explore" the room.  Ace starts eating all the snacks that had been dropped on the floor.  Dr. Black comes in and I profusely apologize for the food and the toys and the shoes strewn about and all the crying.  He was kind and understanding.  Then Louie goes over to the black and silver trashcan.  The one with a lid.  And starts opening it.  Dr. Black tells him not to do that and then looks at me and says "I just don't want him to get someones blood on him."  Yeah, me neither.  Thanks.  Seriously, thanks.  

Finally (as in OMG, I've been here forever - don't get me wrong), I'm in the stir-ups.  In the middle of the examination, gloves, long q-tips, plastic bottles and all, Ace starts screaming.  I don't use the word 'screaming' lightly. I look down to see that they had gotten in my purse and found my cinnamon Altoids, opened them and they were all over the floor. Ace had one in his mouth.  Those things are hot, you know?  Dr. Black is between my legs so I scream "He's got an Altoid in his mouth!!!"  The nurse runs over and gets my sweet little one-year-old (today's his birthday) and saves him from the Altoids.  I'm sure my visit will be remembered fondly by each and every staff member. 

Just wanted to update you all on what's been going on.   I've missed blogging and missed reading all of your blogs.  Getting back into the swing of things though.  Slowly.  Getting there.  

By the way:

Happy Birthday, my little Ace.  One year ago today you were swaddled in my arms.  We had just met a few hours ago. And I was in love.