Week 32

Squeezing just one more appointment into 2014, today marks the beginning of my incessant trips up and down I-95 for perinatal appointments.  Starting weekly appointments, soon to be bi-weekly appointments, I went into today with my fingers crossed that we'd be able to receive more complete information about Baby #3 than we did just two weeks ago from Doctor Bronsky.  It's not that I've been worried - okay, maybe it's more accurate to say that I am no more worried than normal - since we received jack-squat in hard-fact updates, but with how hard I've been working to keep my glucose on target and my weight (and the eggs...) down all while enduring near constant Braxton Hicks contractions leaves me feeling like knowing something - knowing ANYTHING - more than last time would at least give me a context within which to frame my insomnia and compulsive (aka distracting) fiction reading.  

Having received a reminder call yesterday about my "appointment with Dr. Bronsky tomorrow at 10:00 AM," I became more anxious for answers as we walked into the, once again, full waiting room.    Realizing something must have changed with their scheduling procedures, I said a quick thank you to God that we brought GV along for the day given her compact-sized entertainment value package. While waiting... and waiting... and waiting... and waiting to be called back for my lab work, sonogram or first non-stress test (NST) of this pregnancy, GV took it upon herself to wish everyone in the room an individual "Happy New Year!" in her best Shirley Temple attempting to be Santa Claus voice.  Noting the several holiday decorations around the room, she also began a ruckus round of who's on first with me, much to the delight of the other couples and staff witnessing the conversation: 

GV: "Look Mama! My found a Christmas tree!"

Me:  "No, GV, say 'I found a Christmas tree."

GV: "You found a Christmas tree, Mama?"

Me:  "No, I didn't find a Christmas tree.  GV found the Christmas tree. Can you say, 'I found a Christmas tree'?"

GV:  "My found a Christmas tree!"

Me: "No, say 'I found a Christmas tree.'"

GV: "You found a Christmas Tree?" 

Me:  "AGH!"

You get the gist...

Anyway, eventually I am called back by the quiet Chinese sonographer and we traipse our way back to the exam room (where GV promptly insists we should look at baby via her belly button).  Knowing it's now or maybe never that we get our answers about Baby #3 for the day, we promptly start to hound her with questions about my AFI levels, his weight and size.  Happy to please, she not only provided us with another set of 3D pictures of the little one, but the cold hard facts I was craving: 

Amniotic fluid index: 30.0  (99%)

Fetal weight: 5 lbs 2 oz (74%) 

Head circumference:  32.2 CM (84% or 36 wks 3 days)

Abdominal circumference: 30.0 CM (88% or 34 wks) 

Femur length: 6.3 CM (38% or 33 wks 4 days) (huh...)

Thanking her profusely for her assistance, I head back out to the waiting room where GV and I inevitably continue our two-year old pronoun reindeer games until I'm called back for my basic biophysical profile check.  Finding my weight to be up one pound since my appointment two weeks ago and my blood pressure to be perfectly within my normal range (114/63), the nurse sticks a gigantic pink sticky note to the front of my chart reading "KETONES (++)" before sending me back to wait for Dr. Bronsky's patient que to call my number.  Another fifteen or so minutes later, we're finally shown in to his office where we sit down and I automatically tense from nerves and HB puts on his "drill the doctor" face.

"So between his weight and the AFI levels, are we looking at scheduling the induction shortly?" HB asks in a leading manner.  

"The hospital won't allow for us to schedule an induction farther than 3 weeks out," Dr. Bronsky responds barely looking away from my electronic chart. 

"Even with him measuring several weeks ahead and her amniotic fluid levels so high?"

"Well, his weight and the AFI levels are all high because you're diabetic," he explained. "We won't let you go past 38 weeks anyway." 

Feeling stung by this last comment given my stellar HgA1C, I chose this moment to chime in that my glucose is under tight control. 

"So why are you spilling ketones?" he asks over his glasses.  

Having gone hyperglycemic over night (peaked at 178 mg/dL) due to changing basal requirements and still coming down post morning coffee (sample taken while at 148 mg/dL), I showed him my glucose monitor and the absolutely minimal out of range fluctuations I've had for the past 24 hours.   Knowing his threat with GV that "if you don't get your postprandials under control, you're going off the pump and onto injections," I shouldn't have been surprised by his expression of curiosity and confusion upon seeing my CGM monitor but his limited understanding of it spewed forth in his following comments: 

"Your glucose still swings dramatically, so these complications are directly relevant to your glucose control."

OUCH.  

Even with a HgA1C in the solidly normal, non-diabetic range of 4.1 to 5.9 (currently sitting at 5.5), this comment hit me like a ton of bricks: there is absolutely nothing more I can actively do to protect this baby from my diabetes.  Regardless of my locked down diet, my minimalist insulin usage and my target glucose range of 70 to 140 mg/dL, my limited tolerance of glucose is impacting Baby's glucose  ranges (aka his macrosomia), urine output (aka my AFI levels) and delivery options (induction or c-section, here I come).   It's honestly no wonder that my irritable uterus went into an encore round of Braxton Hicks just in time for my non-stress test to start - gee, thanks doc, for the pep talk.  Fortunately, Baby showed the proper accelerations and decelerations of his heart rate so at least I have that one shred of silver lining for the day that his heart, at least, isn't screwed up because of me! 

Information wise, the appointment was a major success. Emotionally speaking, however, I'd be lying if I said that I didn't feel like I've been run over by a bus.  I so try to put everything into taking care of this little one (and the older two, of course), but today left me with this feeling of unavoidable inadequacy and, it's knock-on effect, a dreaded sense of hopelessness that I am finding difficult to curtail when faced with yet another omelet dinner...  I realize it's only another handful of weeks (GW arrived at 36 wks and GV at 38, so that puts us anywhere from four to six weeks away from show time) until we're at the finish line and fumbling now isn't worth the cost of admission, so I won't, but dang it I'm exhausted and hurt and ... 

Until next week, I guess. 

Week 30

All I can say about my week 30 appointment is that I am beyond grateful that I am already a parent, because if it weren't for GW and GV I'd be a furious, incoherent mess as I sit here typing at the computer.  Having spent the last two weeks fretting about my weight, my amniotic fluid index (AFI) levels, and Baby's rapid weight gain I hardly slept a wink last night as I tossed and turned in anticipation of my perinatal appointment this afternoon.   Waking up twenty minutes after the alarm clock went off and finding an abnormally high weight on my home scale (up two pounds from yesterday... guess I shouldn't have had that banana) didn't start the day off well.  Attempting to look at least partially decent for the first time in a week, I threw on some clothes, quickly did my hair and make-up and went into the kid's room to find both GW and GV awake but still lounging in their beds.  Happy to not continue the morning battle with our usual "but, Mooooom, I'm still tired..." argument, the kids easily slipped into their laid out outfits and went downstairs to the kitchen to begin our breakfast routine - which, again, went surprisingly well. 

So off to school we go and as I'm dropping GW off in his class room, I pull his teacher aside to let her know that I'd need to pick my son up early today to accommodate our perinatal appointment that is scheduled for just after lunch in NOVA.  Informing me that, "well, we're not going to be here today and we won't be back by that time," I was a) shocked to learn of the field trip that the parents weren't informed about (seriously?!), and b) dreading the dream crushing "you can't go" conversation that I was about to have with GW.  As this would have been the first time he would have been able to ride the school's bus, something he's been begging to do since September, you can imagine the near tear confusion and anger that seized his face... I explained the issue and apologized for his disappointment (to which he countered with several suggestions about his walking home from school alone, sleeping at school so we could just pick him up tomorrow and even running to the appointment on the side of the highway so he wouldn't get lost) and we finally came to a calm, albeit not happy, understanding.  We then attended morning mass and began to run some errands. 

And then my phone rings... "Mrs. Cammack?  It's Perinatal Associates.  We have you down for a 1:30 appointment this afternoon, but we're going to need you to come in at 12:45 instead." 

No problem... if you live in NOVA.   Big problem if your husband works 45 minutes away, isn't answering his work phone, cell phone, texts, email, instant messages or my ESP and, in best case scenario traffic, the doctors office is one hour away.  While I had an hour and forty-five minutes before we no-sh*t needed to be on the road, I spent the next 55 minutes trying to reach HB before he finally answered and had exactly 50 minutes remaining to pack up and get home before we were officially late.  Shockingly enough, his little commuter car got him home exactly on time and we hit the road. Thanks to construction and accidents, we wound up only being slightly late to my (considerably earlier than we were prepared for) appointment. 

Then guess what happened... 

For the first time in our experience at this doctor's office, HB, the kids and I were left to wait.  Usually prompt and punctual, we waited for an hour and twenty minutes before my appointment officially began.  So, for those of you who are parents and know the agony of cooping kids for an excessive amount of time in a non-child friendly environment like a business or office, you recognize that had we kept our originally scheduled appointment for 1:30 we would have only fought 45 minutes of "place of business" behavior without lunch, toys or books rather than the doubled length of frustration.  

Enter miracle number one:  those kids were complete angels.  Granted GV didn't want me to read my book and she insisted on climbing to the adjsent chairs exclusively from my significantly smaller lap (at least something is smaller about me!) than from the floor, but they whispered "psst I love you" to one another and to each of us, they snuggled us individually and in turn, and they even managed to let the other two couples in the waiting room wait in what could almost have passed as a child-free sense of peace. 

During that wait time I was called back briefly to the nurse's station for my typical vitals check. My BP was great at 114 over 69 and, thank goodness she measured that first, because the minute I saw the number on their ruddy scale I flushed with anger.  Eight bloody pounds up from yesterday on the home scale and right back to the number I was advised would cause a c-section four weeks ago.   Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know you can't compare results between two different scales and in one instance I weighed myself sans clothes before breakfast and in the other I was fully dressed (a seasonally appropriate sleeveless shirt and flip-flops for today's gorgeously frozen tundra weather, mind you) and it was post 1 cup of greek yogurt, but STILL! Are you freaking kidding me?!

Enter miracle number two:  upon slumping back into my waiting room chair, GV climbs up into my lap and, taking my cheeks between the palms of her hands, she looks deeply into my eyes and says with the most sincere concern "you okay, Mama?" Forcing the deep breath I wouldn't have found anywhere else, I was able to tell her "yes, I'm okay, GV" before giving her a hug and feeling at least some of the world's weight fall from my shoulders.  Too bad I couldn't have been weighed again...

Finally, finally, finally the nurse comes out, calls my name and leads our troop to the sonogram room. Having discussed with GW that he'd be able to help with the sonogram if he asked the sonographer  very nicely, my heart sank when Dr. Bronsky walked in to the room in place of our normal nurse.  Knowing full well the answer to GW's question would be either silence or "no," when he approached the table to inquire "may I try?" I spoke as kindly as I could to him "no, not now GW." Automatically lead to the "but you said I could!" face of anger and tears that I'd already seen that morning regarding the bus, I briefly explained that we'd talk about it after the appointment before shifting my attention back to the sonogram.  I found the doctor ever so casually checking Baby's position (head down, good), heart rate (132 bpm, good) and ... yeah, that's it. 

"What are the AFI levels?" inquired HB, trying to prod for additional data. 

"They looked fine," was the brief response. 

"Oh, well those numbers and his weight have been of concern at the last few appointments..." HB said suggestively. 

Taking the wand back up, Dr. Bronsky then began to actively measure the amniotic fluid pockets around Baby.  Correcting himself, he then stated, "yeah, your fluid level is definitely high.  It's up to 27 cm.  But that's almost the same as it was last time."

Percentile wise, perhaps 23 cm and 27 cm are somewhat comparable for their respective
gestational weeks, but they're both at 99th percentile and not where I ought to be

Upon collecting the two pictures he'd printed for my chart (none for us today - boo), wiping off my belly and instructing us to follow him to his office, HB and I were stunned but the limited information collected and the dismissive statement that equated 27 cm to 23 cm... neither of which is considered a good number.  

Enter miracle number three: every time we've brought the kids to these appointments and it comes time to sit down with the doctor for the last five to ten minutes before their sweet freedom is realized, they've flat out lost their minds. They roll on the floor, flop on the couch, grab things from the desks... anything distracting and disruptive they could do, they've probably done it.  But today, they sat by our feet in relative stillness as they watched a movie on mute for the duration of the appointment.  Feeling rewarded by the access to the iPad (a very rare treat at our house), they didn't interrupt, they were polite and they gave no-reason to illicit the "and you're having another one?" face and/or comment we've unfortunately received from particularly judgmental people previously.  

Sitting board straight out of anxiety, I watched the doctor as he rapidly typed the data he'd collected into my chart and answered the random questions he asked regarding symptoms I'm experiencing and my previous deliveries.  Providing very little council on my and Baby's condition or the red-flag concerns we've been fretting upon since our appointment on HB's birthday at the beginning of November, Dr Bronsky - my go-to guy and ally during GV's pregnancy - practically brushed me aside and shooed us out the door with his paltry information: he noncommittally indicated that a vaginal delivery is still possible; he distinctly commented that I can't do anything more than I already am; he passively dropped that a c-section would be required at "4200 grams or more"  for any diabetic (had to look that up, gee thanks doc, meaning 9 lbs 4 oz); and, to finish things up, he concluded that my weekly appointments and non-stress tests will begin on December 30.  

Leaving the office with my blood pressure soaring from frustration and unassuaged concern, HB and I both felt like today's visit was a waste of time and a full drain of our emotional energy.  I know I should be grateful that a professional looked things over and that he didn't feel comment was required, but less is not more with me and simply dropping off some biometric data on me and Baby surely didn't need to take the four hours - and that's before the drive home! - to accomplish.  I needed reassurance today.  I need hard facts to concentrate on for the next two weeks.  I need to know what progress, be it good or bad, we're making and how things are shaping up just in case I'm hospitalized (God forbid) anywhere except the one place my chart is electronically stored.  Walking away empty handed, empty stomached and cranky is not ideal for anyone leaving a doctors office - let alone for a woman who is 30 weeks pregnant. However...

Enter miracle number four:  those darn kids couldn't have been better behaved, more compassionate or more encouraging than they were today.  On any normal day their actions would have been ten times above and beyond the norm, but given how challenging the day was and how HB and I were seething unhappiness from our every pore, GW and GV rose a whole new level of my esteem that I didn't know I even had.  I've always loved them more than anything, but actively appreciate them? That's something I need to do more often. 

To be honest, I've found myself much more cognizant of the little things with them over the past few weeks that I simply feel I was blind to previously.  I have been so wrapped up in the drama of life and the worries of what if that I haven't given them the benefit of blossoming in my consciousness in the way that they've been doing entirely on their own.   The appointment today was, in my estimation, a complete disaster and something I would gladly take a time machine to, but in the grand scheme of things it's only one afternoon in one week of one pregnancy that will lead to a lifetime of family moments and memories with all three of my wonderful kids.   GW and GV kept my feet grounded today where my temperament alone would have taken me sky high in vexation.  While I hope to come back from my next appointment on December 30 with solid facts, answers and some semblance of comfort, I am clinging to the awareness they gifted me today that appreciating them, our time and our family in spite of the darkness that can cloud around can leave a wake of happiness where otherwise there would be none. 

Thanks, guys.

Good behavior ice cream and Santa all in one swoop?
Yeah, they're that good. 

GV is TWO!

Well, it happened.  I watched a friend’s 15 month old for a few hours one afternoon last week and in that time GV magically transformed all bibbity-bobbity-boo like from my baby into a full on little girl.  Okay, clearly she didn’t change all that much in that one instant, but the contrast of my friend’s baby next to my former perception of GV as an itsy-thing put her growth in a sharp reality and abruptly ended her baby phase.  Shedding all resemblance of her babyhood, I'm all of a sudden aware of these grown up things about her that I knew were there, but didn't recognize:  she speaks in (very opinionated) sentences, suffers from a daily case of serious bed head, sings along with the darnedest of songs ("all about that bass, about that bass, no treble!") and – much to my inexperienced horror – seems to be entering the very real, very obnoxious phase of the terrible two.

Right: Hours old.  Left: Almost two. 

When GW was this age, he seemingly skipped the terrible twos, consolidated his attitude and promptly presented HB and I with his new persona as a threenager upon turning three by not only saying "NO!" but with reason.   GV, on the other hand, appears to have no intention of waiting for reason to challenge the world with her very deliberate use of the word "NO!"   The only good thing that I can see coming from this is that her appetite for argument for the pure sake of argument is, thank goodness, entirely manipulatable at this age... for example:  

"GV do you want lunch?"

"NO!"

"Okay, fine, you can't have lunch! No lunch for GV!"

"Want lunch!!"

"Okay, if you really want it..." 

Point: Mama!

She and GW regularly get into in it the back seat of the car and while the decibel at which they argue is quite regularly something that mandates I intervene, their arguments are in and of themselves quite hilarious.  The conversation typically start off with one or the other wanting something the other has or doing something the other doesn't like and then it quickly escalates to one shouting "NO!" and the other shouting "YES!" until one or the other either gets confused or decides to switch sides for the simple sake of switching.  Eventually they both realize what happened with their argument and they fall into a fit of uncontrollable giggles... a sound I don't mind at any decibel. 

Anyway, to get to the point of this blog post, GV celebrated her first Thanksgiving Day birthday this year and is now finally able to announce to the world that "I TWO!" with accuracy.  For the past several months GW has been teaching her to say "one and a half" when asked the question of "how old are you?" (or "how are you?" depending on how carefully she's listening...), but the only portion she ever cared to say was "half!" Finding the confused look on people's face to this response, we began to teach her that she is "almost two" which she, of course, also shortened.

For a brand new two year old, I have to say, she is miles a head of where I expected her to be development wise.  This is not to say that GW was slow by any stretch of the imagination, but with his example to follow she's picking up what he's putting down much faster than any first-child or only-child could on their own.  Desperately eager to keep up with GW and be just like him, she already has a solid interest in books and letters (she can even pick out letters if you ask her to find a specific one), she is chocolate chip and smarty-pants-dance motivated to use pull-ups and the toilet (I didn't bother until GW showed interest at 3.5, she began showing interest at 18 months!), and, since she's been allowed to tag along to his lessons, she shows great interest in and potential for the piano as she wants to play notes or sing scales whenever given the possibility (whether or not GW is currently practicing seems to be irrelevant to her).   It seems to bother GW upon occasion that she's always right there beside him mimicking his every move, but more often than not he's glad to have her to play with, take care of and teach.  He's a pretty great big brother and with his example, I bet she'll be pretty great at being a big sister too. 

One of the things that astounds me more than anything about GV is her attention to detail and attention to emotion.  For example, while many children - GW included - take years to gain an interest in the celebration of mass, GV watches the people around her and knows when to fold her hands, when to sing/what to sing, how to kneel and, although occasionally disruptive, she likes to chime in her personal prayer intentions for her good friend Winnie the Pooh (particularly when HB is the lector).   It's this last bit that gets me most of all about her - she just seems to have this deep sense of compassion for other people (or stuffed animals as it were) that goes beyond the typical range of emotions I've seen in other toddlers.  Granted, she expresses happiness and disapproval like a typical two year old, but the way she shows concern for others feelings is something I find sweetly her own.  When there are hurt feelings, she is quick to say sorry and to give a hug.  When there's been an ouch she is quick to offer a kiss to make it feel better.  When someone is crying, she always goes to their side asks them with big concerned eyes "you sad?" and then she lays her head against their shoulder and pats gently in a there-there kind of manner on their knee.   I assume most of this is learned behavior from how we interact with each other around the house, but the degree to which she's picked it up and applied it in her own interactions is beyond me... what a nice kid. 

I could keep going and going and going about these two, but this is already more parental mush than she'll be comfortable reading someday anyway so I'll leave it here.  GV, you are my little dove and I am so incredibly grateful that you were born healthy and that you are thriving so beautifully in your childhood.  You make a Mama proud and I love you very, very much. 

Happy second birthday, sweet girl!

Halloween 2014

Little Red Riding Hood & The Big Bad Wolf

Long over due...

I honestly can't remember the last time I sat down to write something more than an email or news letter... how sad.  The last several nights I've been mentally kicking myself for letting yet another day pass without getting back on the proverbial horse, but then exhaustion takes over and within a matter of moments my alarm clock is going off and somehow all of the good-intentioned-tomorrows became a stream of oh-well-yesterdays.   While I can't anticipate this to be terribly pretty, let this blog post be the end of that and a return to what fuels me.

The last several many months have been chalked full of this, that and the other thing - some of it important and worth mention, much of it common and likely beyond my memory at this point.  Instead of focusing on what's been, however, HB suggested I simply list out what I could have written about and move on with it (with or without further details as necessary).  Makes sense and starts a clean slate, so here goes:


* My Dad had a massive heart attack two days before GW's 4th birthday in October so we cancelled his party and flew to Colorado.  Upon arriving, GW promptly came down with a passing virus and deliriously missed the whole trip while riding out the Motrin-wave.  Fortunately, while serious, the heart attack wasn't fatal and my Dad's made as solid of a recovery as one can and GW recuperated with a few weeks to thoroughly enjoy his birthday gift (the helmet) for Halloween.

* We raced in and finish the 2013 Marine Corps Marathon in 4:50:25 (goal was between 4:30 and 5:30).  Having missed the last 10 miles worth of distance training due to unhappy kids wanting no more than two hours in the stroller at a time, I hit the wall at mile 18 and limped it in the rest of the way with excruciating IT Band pain.  Thank goodness I had amazing support from HB and our awesome friend TS, I couldn't have done it without them.  THANK YOU!

* One thing I am not thrilled with from that day is my disastrous judgement with regards to my pump... I chose to keep it on me instead of leaving it in the car so as to enable me to get food at the finish line.  Unfortunately, the sweat and salt build up that happened during the course of the race broke my pump beyond repair - effectively preventing me from eating at the finish line anyway.  Thank Heaven, at least, that we have insurance that covered the cost of getting a replacement, because otherwise the cost of running 26.2 miles just became much, much, much more expensive!

* The pain I felt in Marathon wound up leading to an IT Band release surgery that took me off my feet and out of running for two months.  My doctor said that he was glad to have done it because my Band is the thickest he's seen and that it's no wonder stretching wasn't enough.  The surgery largely fixed the issue and I haven't had issues with it since starting back into running.  At some point I may need to go in to have the right knee done as well, but as of now I am a-okay!

* I gave in... I got a Continuous Glucose Monitor (CGM).  I can't remember what it was specifically that made me change my mind, but I've forfeited another portion of my abdomen to yet another diabetic device, which, surprisingly, is very handy and not nearly as obnoxious as I anticipated.  I'll definitely have to write more about my Dexcom G4 so I will make a note to save this topic for later.

* GV turned 1 year old in November and is the biggest bundle of joy you can imagine.  She's talkative, curious, friendly, incredibly smart and very engaging - particularly when she ought to be quiet at mass.  She eagerly wants to do everything GW is doing and, in spite of his initial protests and her flagrant acts of retaliation, they appear to be growing on one another with actual (there is nothing censored about these two) affection.

*  Much of the time I would have otherwise spent writing over the last year has been spent volunteering for Team Red, White & Blue. Admittedly, it does not provide me the same sense of accomplishment I get when I've written a piece I'm proud of, but there is definitely a happiness involved in creating a positive community that enables a sense of connection and belonging that didn't exist for me - and for many - before.  At just over one year into building our local Community we have roughly 300 members and I think it's about time to reclaim some of my own life and that starts here...

In the coming weeks I hope to finish some blog drafts I've had sitting around collecting dust and, with a little bit of luck, I will actually start some new ones.  I anticipate that in a similar sense to running, starting to write again may be initially painful and it may be difficult to find my stride.  However, I have faith in muscle memory and I'm sure my fingers can find their way one after the other just as one does when starting exercise again... if not, one has hope that HB is an excellent editor and all that is irrelevant to you!

Fingers crossed.

Awe-mused.

For a myriad of reasons, today I've felt completely floored by the world around me.  On one hand knocked down by my diabetes and on the other hand blown over by the beauty of Vermont, it seems like a good night to just sit down and possibly grab a glass of wine before I fall over.  Course too many glasses of wine and I'll fall over anyway, but that is easily avoidable.

So I went for a run this evening and, instead of making it back to the house in a blaze of "that was easy" glory, I had to cut the run a half mile short.  To switch things up, I decided not to take my usual town road route which begins down hill and ends on a grueling uphill climb and instead went up the mountain on a trail that'd starts at the end of the driveway.  Like all of my runs, the first mile was painfully tedious and the second mile began to loosen me up, but unlike the rest of my runs the third mile went down hill in a bad way.  The trees next to me began to feel like they were encroaching the trail, the path in front of me started oscillating and my head seemed to be swimming with spots similar to an optical migraine. No longer confident on my feet but thoroughly aware of my distance from home and my isolated location, I walked the remaining 2640 feet with a sincere hope I'd make it back with no more issues than I already had.

Upon getting to the house and flopping into a chair I checked my blood sugar.  I'd dropped to 41 mg/dL -- no wonder I felt off.   I thought my blood sugar was high enough before the run to not require more mid-way, but I can only thank God that my stupid assumption didn't result in anything more unsettling than the "what ifs" and "could haves" that are gripping me right now.  And while I hate the way my head feels when I have hypoglycemia, the dizziness that resulted from todays run and bound my butt to that chair for a good 40 minutes was punishment enough for me to plan better for next time.

While that spell took a bit to recover from, I found myself back in that same chair again after dinner in what I would consider a greater sense of stupor than earlier in the day.  Having corrected my glucose and eaten a full dinner, this second turn can only be associated with the emotional and mental shock that comes with having "old souled" children. Let me explain what happened:

As is usual post-supper, being the quintessential lover of dirt and all things nature that she is, my Mom took her nightly stroll through the property to appreciate the greens, browns and otherwise of the evening.  While quite picturesque on any given day, the John Constable clouds and amber glow of my favorite kind of mid-summer sunset of this particular occasion motivated her to take GV along just in case - given the Hollywood perfection of it all - Matthew Macfadyen were to come through the brush as Mr. Darcy professing his undying love to Miss Bennett.  The trees were glowing, sky was radiant and every particle of the world felt magically charged as if freshly formed by the hand of God.

Walking first from the kitchen porch down the narrow walkway past the nightshade bush, they turned down the hill and followed the lane past a very tall, likely very old sugar maple tree.  With several low hanging branches and a rope swing to rest upon, my Mom stopped to admire the essence of happiness the twinkling fireflies and rustling leaves caused just above their heads.  Comfortably enjoying the secure embrace of her Grandmother's arms, GV had until this point been quietly watching the dogs roam the grass in front of the barn, the swooping birds singing their evening recounts of the day, the small garter snake returning to its home amidst the raspberry patch and the silver wisp of temptation blowing across Grandmama's forehead.  But, even with life's distractions continuing around her per normal, something amid the stillness below that maple tree took hold of her attention... it was in that moment that with exacting deliberation that she reached for the wavering colors of the sunset as if to embrace them as a familiar comfort.  The way my Mother reported it was  that "without a doubt, if I hadn't been holding onto that child she would have leapt into the awe and floated away."

Now perhaps I give my seven month old more credit than due, but I cannot help but wonder what she knew about the evening that we did not? What angel did she see or greater-than-self connection did she make that we as adults have closed our minds to?  I know my Mom and I fully appreciated the glorious evening and the plum dumb luck that it is our good fortune to enjoy it (sans-hypoglycemia), but it was something beyond appreciation that GV expressed - something I am not sure there's an appropriate word for in our language, let alone my vocabulary...

And so I am sitting here stupefied.  I find myself swimming in thoughts and perhaps just as jumbled as I was earlier in the day.  I rarely take the time and capacity to register the world around me beyond the peripheral and my kids seem to display the ability in spades. I mean just yesterday GV discovered the second hand on the wall clock and seemingly understood the passing of the quantifiable with every tick... outside of a foot race, I cannot even remember the last time that an individual second as opposed to an entire minute was directly relevant to my conscientious thought.  It must be for reasons like this that so many of great writers took to these mountains in search of their muse and why some,  Frost and Thoreau for example, found it.

With that, I think I'll continue to bemuse myself and have that glass of wine after all.

Flooding

When it rains, it seriously pours here in Vermont!  I guess this is a weird year here in the Green Mountains with almost constant thunderstorms, but seeing as we're new and have no reference for whether this is abnormal or not, we're attempting to adjust, both literally and figuratively, to the torrential downpours and resulting flooding!

In hopes of keeping this place standing another 160 years, we had a structural engineer out to check out the house and give us a to-do list of what is absolutely necessary for stability.  Fortunately the buildings are in pretty good shape - note: this does not mean project free - and, with that good news under our belts, we were able to learn a lot of interesting tidbits about the historical construction, for example: many of the vertical support beams in our barn are original hand planed posts that were likely salvaged from another barn and brought in to construct this one before the main house in 1865; the flooring we discovered in the living room (and now the downstairs bedroom as well) is the original random plank wood flooring and it's in great condition; and the rubble foundation is unique for it's time because the rock size is markedly larger than most in the area due to the large field rocks used.

The dark patches around the rocks are
historic AND current water marks...

As happy as I am to learn these neat details and to have such historic charm oozing from every corner, this last bit of info about the foundation is actually structurally relevant rather than simply aesthetically pleasing... So old cellars in farm houses like this were purposefully designed to be porous so that the temperature would be lower and humidity higher to create a safe, natural food storage environment.  Some places, apparently, even cut running streams through their basement floors to get the moisture necessary to accomplish this aim.  Well, this place doesn't need that stream, not only because we have a magical thing called a refrigerator, but because the walls seep water with every rain shower - which, as you can imagine, is great for old school cellars, but not so awesome for modern storage or utility.

So after days and days of non-stop storms and a conspicuous absence of HB with a bucket (the previous owner took the sump pump and we're having basement work done later this fall), my Mom and I discovered about 4 inches of standing water on top of the half concrete, half dirt basement floor (thank goodness for wellies!).  Grandmama did some bailing with her "spare" energy and got quite a bit of the water out, but making an executive decision that we cannot care about everything, I've decided to ignore the literal flooding in the basement and worry about the figurative flooding elsewhere...

With my first paper due later this week, I've been trying to focus my non-running, non-playing, non-projecting time on an in depth, analytical reading of Gertrude Coleman's 1911 book Suffragette Sally.  Finding it hard to focus with so much activity about, I've tried to hole up near the one grounded outlet in the house (which of course is in the kitchen) to knock out several well written, highly cerebral (aka non-JVBC-personal narrative) pages while the other two- and four-legged house inhabitants entertain themselves elsewhere.

But, alas, concentration is for the birds as we're in full swing of several (because why would they come one at a time?) exciting firsts.  And since being a positive parent is - big picture wise - far more important than this one measly paper, the needs and accomplishments of GW and GV drown out the never-ending, water-logged to do list:

GW proudly showing off his first school
Summer 2014

1st first: Attempting to get GW ready to officially begin school this fall, we enrolled him part time in the day care program associated with my grad school.  Having never been in such an environment before, he's all sorts of atwitter about the toys, the games, the big kids, and (Heaven help me) THE GIRLS.  OMG.

Unfortunately he is the only 3.5 year old there and he's at that in-between stage where he's too big for the little guy-group and too young for the big kids group, but apparently he is happy to float between the groups as necessary and explore, interact and play with whomever is around.  Giving all of the credit for his success to his incredibly extroverted, confident personality, my first-timer parent worries are subsiding and this all seems pretty darn cool.

2nd first:  The big down side to GW's school experience, however, is that after a morning full of all out romping, he's getting home and refusing to nap.  With some degree of dread I have to acknowledge that we have finally reached that point where, even with extra physical activity and stimulus, he (note: not me) no longer requires an afternoon respite.  Of course he turns into a gremlin just in time for dinner and becomes thoroughly impossible until tucked into bed, but my stubbornness and HB's pigheadedness have genetically transferred to the little man and there is no convincing him that maybe, just maybe a nap is still a good idea.

First tooth, front and center!

3rd first:  GV is getting her first tooth.  With sopping wet onsies and a ear-piercing scream that seems to only be off-set with constant nursing, we're attempting to get her through this painful time with some degree of remaining sanity.  She's incredibly satisfied with her new found talent of biting and, Lord help me, I'm still planning to breast feed her until 12 months for auto-immune purposes... fortunately she prefers to chew on my shoulder than elsewhere, but seriously, ouch.   It's an excellent thing she's cute!!

4th first: until recently, GV has been a relatively quiet child.  She does NOT like talking to strangers and, even with just us around, she reserves most of her squeals, coos and goos for particularly enjoyable moments.  But, as of last week, she has turned a new leaf and said her first word. While lying in bed with us and basking in the morning sunlight, GV roles over, sits up and look at HB's chest hair with an expression of deep contemplation.  She then reaches out and, in a 7 month old kind of way, begins to grope at his chest saying - I kid you not - "tickle tickle!"  Needless to say, when we reported this new development to GW, the resident tickle monster, he was beyond pleased with his protege's progress.

Granted, these firsts aren't negative things and therefore cannot be claimed against some universal karmic insurance policy for parents, but it is a lot of new all at one time and each change on its own is worthy of individual response, care and encouragement.  I think some day I'll look back on this and nostalgically ponder how amazing it was and how I managed to keep things a float (ha), but short of getting a few of those in-pool lounge chairs for the basement and perhaps a paper drink umbrella or two, it might not be as pretty in execution as will be in memory.  Water pails, tantrums, blood and homework... what a great combination!

6 Months, already!

I feel like I am that stupid groundhog in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania.  I've stepped blinking out into the spring sunlight and instead of spotting my shadow as I expect to see it (for it has, after all, been spring for sometime now), I've found it much altered by my companions.  No longer is my little boy little and my bitty bundled newborn bitty, but rather there is a tall beanpole and a bouncing (literally) baby in their place.  I'd much prefer to think of my "blink" as more Rip Van Winkle-esk than admit that time is flying as fast as it is, but when reality is measured in growth spurts and a handful of months mark milestones that years or decades mark for us adults, I humbly acknowledge my preference is irrelevant.

Six months have passed since November and my two little wild flowers - for they certainly are not weeds! - are ever so much more of themselves in personality and in substance than they were.

Top: "What's she doing?" on December 2, 2012
Bottom: Pre bedtime exchange on May 7, 2013

Today was GV's six month well baby appointment which she cooed through with flying colors.  Measuring in at 26 inches in length, 17 pounds 11 ounces in weight and a head circumference of 17.5 inches, she continues to keep near the top of the growth charts. Of course she wasn't exactly pleased to have her vaccinations, but with some clean shaven snuggling from HB (a much appreciated break from his "too scruffy" face) she was back to her sweet, smily self within minutes.

Left: Hospital snuggle with HB on November 28, 2012
Right: Oh so fashionable road trip on May 23, 2013

She's not quite ready to start crawling yet and her little teeth haven't broken through as of now, but I'm expecting that by the time we get to Vermont in late June she'll be on full throttle in every direction.  I'm not too eager for her to be starting the next phase as I thoroughly love this snuggly, immobile age, but the way she is increasingly interacting with and venerating her older brother makes me wake up each morning wondering what "aww moments" the passing days will bring.  They so key off of each other and it warms my heart the way they exchange smiles at the mere sight of one another and laughs with each play session.

I often tell GW how much I appreciate his help with his sister, but I've got to brag about how much of a God send GW is to this tired, frazzled Mom.  For one thing, back in December he learned the words to the Christmas carol "Jingle Bells" and, on top of the overly adorable rendition of the song he does, he figured out that when he sings this to GV she - no matter what - stops crying.  Much like his infant response to Edith Piaf, she instantly ceases screaming and watches him "dash through the snow on a one horse open sleigh" with glittering eyes and complete adoration.

He also is teaching her to bounce.  Previously, when I'd place GV in her bouncer seat she'd sashay her weight from foot to foot and then scream until picked up.  But when GW began to fiddle with the toys around the seat and bounce in front of her with the encouragement "bouncy baby, bouncy baby!" she pushes both feet into the floor and squeals with harmonic glee.  Freeing my hands for a moment or three, I send a silent prayer of gratitude upward for such invaluable help and all around happy sounds.

While I cannot peer into the future and guarantee an everlasting bond between these two, I ardently hope they continue as they have started.  I hope they aren't too eager to grow out of their already becoming too small size 5T and 9Mo clothes and into the fads of their generation, but such is life and one day - I pray not too soon - they'll have independent lives and families of their own.  Between now and then, I hope my groundhog like self will miss my shadow once and a while and drag out their childhoods for as long as God will allow.  I'd be lying if I said it was entirely rainbows and poptarts, but  I'll take the bad with the good and love them regardless.

Left: GV home coming on November 29, 2012
Right:  sweet snuggle on May 15, 2013

Run as One & Historic 10K

Holy cow, this has been a running weekend! Not in an intense, incessant kind of way - we didn't do any crazy distance or personal best pace or anything like that - it simply was.

Yesterday morning we drove up to Washington DC for the Team RWB & Team Rubicon joint event "Run as One."  With the aim of raising awareness of veteran suicide,  a 100ish of us ran a three mile loop around the national mall from the base of the Washington Monument, around the Lincoln Memorial and all the way back down to the Smithsonian Castle.  Wearing matching grey t-shirts and flying the stars and stripes at the front of the pack, the run leaders kept the pace such that we were truly running as one and in honor of Neil Landsberg and Clay Hunt, both veterans who committed suicide earlier this year, sticking together.

While our stroller was the only one participating in the run, the location and purpose of the event brought out more than one VIP...  Lou Nemec, the national athletic director for Team RWB; Tommy Sowers, the Assistant Secretary of the Department of Veteran Affairs; and retired General David Petraeus.  Stars and Stripes published a neat article about it (see it here) and if you check out the pictures of the run you can see my handsome HB doing his thing with the stroller.

Of course we had to get a picture... who'd believe us otherwise!

And today, we ran the first annual Historic 10k.  Part of the MCM Event series, this race does the last 6.2 miles of the Historic Half Marathon route - which, for those of you not familiar with the route through Fredericksburg, Virginia, includes the notorious Hospital Hill (a long, step hill that, appropriately so, passes the local emergency room doors...).  HB and I considered running the half, but having a) not trained for it, b) heard rumors of stroller bans (seriously, who bans strollers?!) and c) decided possible injuries are not worth it, we agreed that the 10k was more appropriate given our larger running goals this year.

So at 5:00 this morning we got up, laced up our shoes, bundled the kids and made our way over to the start line in down town Fburg.  With the only stroller participating in the 10k, we took turns pushing the kids around the undulating route and fed off of the continuous encouraging comments from spectators and Marines alike for our "hard core" parent skills.  Course when we hit Hospital Hill and our energy tanks appeared to be empty, a guy from the local running store volunteered to push the kids for a ways to give us a break - nice, but nope! With the motivation we finished the hill and brought it in for a time of 59:02.   Which, given the fact we were exhausted and it was raining pretty hard by the end, I am pretty proud of.

Assuming there is no reason not to, I am totally tackling the half every year I can from here on out... it's an awesome event and, ya know, 13.1 miles doesn't sound so bad any more.  Granted marathon training hasn't really started in full force yet (that begins first week of July) and I'm still only running between 3 and 5ish miles on any given outing, but half of the sport is mental and dagnabbit I'm stubborn enough to have that part, at least, covered.

Now, where's the ice...

Food introduction

Although it may not seem like there is very little method to my madness, I believe we've hit a tipping point where counting GV's age in terms of weeks is no longer rational.  Up until this point she has been, for example, "twelve weeks old" rather than "three months old" because, at least in my mind, a week is so much shorter than a month and the sound of just a handful of weeks drags her infancy out perhaps a moment longer in thought than it is in reality.  But now that we need more than ten fingers and ten toes to count the number of weeks she is old, the tides turn and twenty-two weeks sounds audibly cumbersome compared with a "mere five month" reference.

So, at five months old, our beautiful little Dolly is doing wonderfully and it's been a week full of notable milestones: she rolled over from front to back and then from back to front for the first time and, after glowering at GW for eating waffles in front of her, she's had her first introduction to solid foods.  I'd initially planned to only breast feed her until six months given the positive research such a diet has shown for infants of type one diabetics, but seeing as that date is technically two weeks away (24 weeks old on Tuesday May 14) I decided that she is ready given her ernest protestations when she too isn't presented with a full plate of food at the dinner table.  (Honestly, I think that if she truly had her own say in things, she'd be running and eating steaks already...)

But once again, in spite of the fact that she's child number two, I feel completely foiled in my parenting knowledge and experience by the role diabetes is playing in our family (not just my) life.  When GW began eating solid food, I remember the momentous weight of the occasion being thoroughly placed on his act of eating rather than on my choice of cereal products.  With GV, however, I'm spending hours of time surfing online medical journals and diabetes resource pages trying to make sure that the external environmental factors I actually have control over don't unintentionally exacerbate the biological possibility of islet autoimmunity.  So while I am completely thrilled that she has (proudly) eaten three full bowls of rice cereal, I feel the weight of my off the shelf selection as a consumer each time I lift that tiny spoon to her gleeful mouth.

GV's first solid food

Now, to reiterate my disclaimer, I am not a medical professional --  I am only a mother 
making as informed of choices as I can in the hopes of doing what is best for my children.  

I have absolutely zero knowledge as to whether what I am doing is right or if - Heaven forbid - 
it is wrong,  so if you're like me and searching for a "recipe for success" you need to use
your own best judgement and ask your pediatrician or endocrinologist for their medical advice.  

That said, back when I was researching what impact my diabetes would have on breast feeding I learned that there is a possible correlation between the introduction of cow milk proteins and the later life development of type 1 diabetes.  Seeing as this whole line of thought started with my research on formula and since it is typically the first non-mother's milk food to be introduced to infants, I'll start there:

The American Journal of Clinical Nutrition published a 2010 research study that indicates the large size of bovine protein may be too difficult for infants at "high risk" for diabetes (children of type 1 diabetics, with type 1 siblings or those that have tested positive for autoimmune antibodies) to digest and may lead to the onset of islet autoimmunity.   In an effort to reduce the possible impact of this environmental factor, the study suggests that such infants be fed breast milk as long and as much as practical but if formula is warranted to only use highly hydrolyzed, hypoallergenic forms like Alimentum, Nutramigen and Pregestimil due to the smaller, non-cow milk proteins used.

I admit the repetitive use of "may" and "possible" doesn't provide much comfort to the concerned parent in me, especially in light of the price tag assigned to hypoallergenic formula, but seeing as this is the only study I've come across with anything remotely close to a definitive "cause" for diabetes (even these researchers state more studies are necessary) I'm willing to work with their results.  I mean, even non-diabetic parents are cautioned against the introduction of cows milk in the first year of life anyway.  Straight cows milk is significantly more difficult for infants less than 12 months old to digest and, even if the correlation to diabetes is uncorroborated, there is conclusive evidence that indicates early introduction of cows milk leads to iron deficiency anemia, an increased risk of a milk allergy and potentially life threatening dehydration.  In my mind, those risks alone are worth consideration and avoidance of bovine proteins!

Having learned this about the liquid end of things, I obviously looked into solid food introduction as well and, unlike formula, I learned the most important factor about cereal introduction is not necessarily what but when it is started.  So working with the general medical community's consensus that all parents should start all infants on iron fortified rice cereal (again, to avoid iron deficiency) -- I chose an organic brown rice cereal based on the nutrition label you see here -- I used my pediatrician's guidance to start solid foods around 5-6 months, the age infants are physically ready for more than breast milk.  Before this time frame, infants don't have the proper gut bacteria necessary to break down solid food safely and there is no nutritional need for more than breast milk or formula then anyway.  Not to mention, starting cereals any earlier than 5 months is linked to an increased risk of not only developing diabetes but obesity, eczema and celiac disease!!  But, all cautionary fear-mongering aside, assuming a baby is at the very least 20 weeks old and showing physical signs of interest in solid foods - putting hands in mouth, practicing a chewing motion, watching and mimicking eating motions - go ahead and get your camera ready!

I know what you're thinking: all of these baby-feeding guidelines seem completely overkill.  And, you know what, I am with you.  I feel like I have opened the medical journal version of Pandora's Box and am falling insulin pump first into a rabbit hole of hypochondria... but I made the active choice to learn everything I can about my disease, for better or worse, so that I can run it instead of the other way around.  I can't passively wait and see what my pancreas has in store for my kids with clear conscious, so overkill or not, at least this degree of research helps me sleep at night.

4 Month Check Up

Left:  First family walk, December 4, 2012; GV one week old.
Right:  An everyday snuggle, March 20, 2013; GV week 20.
Oh my goodness. 

You know how some parents mistakenly turn away for a moment and find that when they come back their babies have rolled off the couch and are lying somewhere under the coffee table? Well, I know not to leave the baby unattended, but some how I turned around and inexplicably found that my little bitty baby isn't where I left her ... and in her place there is a gorgeous four and a half months old.  It doesn't seem like so many weeks have passed, but GV is 18 weeks old already and there is officially nothing about her that resembles a new born babe.  She's able to bear all of her weight when standing if you provider her balance, she giggles when you tickle her chin, she smiles whenever GW interacts with her and, even with her first tooth coming in (top right, poor thing!), she cries rarely.

She's turning into Little Toughie, Jr. 

We took her up to see the pediatrician this morning for her four month check up and, despite a mild case of cradle cap and a lingering cold, she's doing remarkably well.  She's growing and developing like any healthy baby ought to -- today she measured in at 16 pounds 1 ounce (96%), 25 inches tall (85%) and a head circumference of 16.5 inches (75%).   That's just shy of ten pounds in weight gain, 5 inches of added length and a whole three inches in head size since she was born in November!  So regardless of the complications that happened in the pregnancy, diabetes related or plain and simple bum-luck, she appears to be unphased by inutero trauma and perfectly thriving.  Thank God!

I must admit, however, we are having one problem with her...  With a beautifully even temperament and wonderfully chubby cheeks, GV is regularly accused of being "fake."  Because she's more often than not quietly, comfortably just watching the world around her from the safe vantage point of our arms or laps, passers by often jump (seriously) in surprise that our doll is "OH MY GOODNESS! REAL!" I have no fricking clue why people so regularly think that we'd burden ourselves with actively parenting a baby doll when we have a very, very active and curious 3.5 year old to wrangle, but given the fact that there are those out there that pay good money for life like, adorable baby dolls I take it as a complement that they assume my GV is perfect enough to mistake her for a dolly!

Work out buddies...

I was reading a blurb recently from Real Simple Magazine about how thin people stay thin and I was particularly struck by one point the article made: thin people have thin parents.  Citing that only 30% of this is genetic, the rest is environmental factors I am hopeful that HB and I are on the right track to keep our kids within healthy BMI ranges.

By modeling healthy choices and an active lifestyle, GW and GV are growing up with exercise as a regular, normal thing rather than something they'll have to learn about after possibly accumulating excess weight.   HB and I constantly take them out with us when we go for runs and they both seem to take their role in the process quite seriously - GW always yells "go go GO!" and GV wails whenever we slow down or stop, so it's definitely a family event.  Ultimately, when they're big enough, I fully plan to take them out jogging with us but for the time being their motivation is enough participation to keep us all satisfied.

Course, now that we are four days into Insanity both little ones are figuring out just how to be involved in our new exercise routine.  GW has decided that he's big enough to get his interval training groove started and, GV, well, as long as she's within arms distance (if not actually in arms) she's happy.  Perhaps it is not exactly the best way for us to do the work out and perhaps they're both trying to run before they can crawl (figuratively for one, literally for the other), but hey, they're at least starting down the road of a good habit and it's time together.    

12 Weeks

I cannot believe that GV is twelve weeks old already, time is just flying by.  She's growing beautifully (up to 14 lbs 6 oz) and is a gorgeous roly poly, chubby baby who is full of big smiles, adorable "ah-goos" and, in her opinion, all too many hiccups.  Although she has her moments, I feel thoroughly blessed that she is such a sweet, happy baby!

The last couple weeks have been rough on her though -- all of us actually -- because each of us have had the winter scuzz.  Despite our best efforts, we've played hot potato with these germs and, considering her tiny immune system, it seems like GV is bearing the brunt of it with a significantly congested nose.  She hasn't been running a fever or anything super serious, but when your three month old baby sounds like a snuffleupagous and develops a previously undiscovered knack for screaming you're justified in excess concern.

So with this in mind and hearing GW's wet cough, I took both the kids up to the pediatrician this past Friday to make sure that they weren't developing something more serious than whatever this blah started out as.  Reassuring me that it hadn't gone to their lungs and that their ears still looked fine, the doctor suggested I give GW honey for his cough and that I try a Nosefrida on GV.  Well, as you can imagine, the spoon full of sugar went down smoothly with GW but I struggled with the "snotsucker."  This thing is designed so that you place the end of a tube against your infant's nose and use a mouth piece to suck out whatever is blocking their nasal passageways.  Well, I must not have much in the way of lung capacity or something because I found that sucker to be extremely difficult to use.  I think it'd probably work well for a simple runny nose, but for the full on congestion GV has going I am having to rely on the good ol' bulb syringe.

Course I am sure most parents out there are familiar with the screaming, unhappy baby that goes along with the use of an aspirator -- but for those who don't have first hand knowledge, just imagine snot being forcibly sucked from your nose and the disgusting tugging feeling that must accompany it (there's a reason we don't remember these things from our own childhoods).  Well, oddly enough, my beautiful little weirdo here likes it.  She gets all sorts of excited when she see me pull out the aspirator and, although I know she's not developmentally there yet, it's almost like she already rationalizes that it's good for her and that the discomfort is a temporary solution to her problems.  Granted she gets annoyed after a while and gives a good "waaaaaaaah" to let you know she's done, but the picture says it all folks.

Weird, right?  I'll take it, but that is absolutely bizarre.

You know, in a lot of ways, GV reminds me of her brother when he was a little guy.  He wasn't a fan of having his nose cleaned like she is, but otherwise they have a very similar temperament -- and given that he is turning out to be a very kind, thoughtful child I am over the moon about this!  He's adjusted to his big brother role so well, I am very proud and grateful that he is who he is.  (Yes you, GW.)

Of course, I must say, he's shocking the heck out of me right now with his growth spurts.  Since the beginning of January, this kid has grown half an inch (42" tall now) and he's officially out grown toddler size shoes.  Now wearing a boy's size one there is only a four centimeter difference between the size of his feet and mine.  He is three. I am two weeks shy of 27 years old.  How ridiculous is that?!

Whenever we look at height predictors that estimate how tall your child will be when full grown as an adult, the math comes back that GW will be somewhere around 6' 6" give or take two inches for a margin of error! Can you imagine trying to feed a teenage boy who will likely be between 6' 4" and 6' 8"?!  I can't... perhaps I should just purchase a supermarket.

They are great kids.  I wish there was something more I could do to make them feel better right now, but I'll admit I appreciate the scuzz induced extra snuggles.  Some day they'll be too big and they wont want their Mommy to dote on them or stick an aspirator up their nose when they're sick... but even with as big as they're getting, that day isn't today and, for that, thanks be to God.

Two month update

GV is two months old already.  I don't really know where the past eight weeks have gone, but they have and, to be honest, the drama of the pregnancy feels like years ago. Our life with GV around feels so natural and normal - albeit crazy at times, but that is typical.  We've found a battle rhythm that seems to keep everyone happy, most of the time, and despite GW's lectures to GV that she "needs to poop in the toilet, not the diaper!" I think they're doing remarkably well together.  He is very eager to help out with her and she just lights up whenever he is around - lectures and all.

We took GV into the pediatrician today for her third well baby appointment and, despite the tears she shed over her three vaccinations, I am glad to report that it went really well.  She's a very healthy, happy baby and the doctor had nothing but positive things to say about her development and growth.  Check out her stats:

Weight: 13 pounds 3 ounces (96% up from 22% week two)
Length: 23 inches (75% up from 50% week two)
Head Circumference: 15 3/4 inches (81% up from 26% week two)

Despite the diabetic baseline and the number of additional complications we had in the pregnancy, it seems that the care I took to make sure she'd be safe both in utero and after birth paid off.  She's a perfectly normal baby and that is the most any mother - diabetic or not - could hope for!  I just continue to pray to God that she stays healthy, happy and safe for her whole life... and may it be a long one.

 

Love you GV - xoxo