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. 

Halloween 2014

Little Red Riding Hood & The Big Bad Wolf

GW is 5!!

I can't even believe it... my little boy is 5 years old.  Part of me feels like this is absolutely normal and nothing strange to wrap my head around as the reality is that I can hardly remember (nor do I want to) what life was like before him.  A bigger part of me, however, is completely floored that the little 7 pounds 14 ounces baby I held for the first time on Columbus Day in 2009 is now 50 pounds, the size of an average 6.5 year old (he's just shy of 3 feet 11 inches) and full of a whole-adult's worth of energy.

Left: age minutes.  Right: age 5 years. 

This kid astounds me.  I'm sure pretty much all parents say that about their children, but getting a front row seat for his development is like watching an unedited version of my favorite show - nothing is censored, nothing is primped and everything is so genuine that I can honestly say I envy his star-eyed perception of the world.  I'll admit that I am sometimes shocked by the things that he does and says, for better and for worse, but to have such freedom and joy of expression is flat out beautiful... even if sometimes embarrassing.

For much of this past year, GW was suffering from a serious case of the "I can'ts" - stubbornly unwilling to identify letters, play structured games by the rules or even wash his hair just because.   Attempting to break this through encouragement and attention, HB and I have been pushing GW to just try things... and, go figure, it's working: 

Reluctantly beginning speech therapy at the end of the summer to help correct his annunciation (for example, replacing the "f" sound for "th"), he appears to have surprised himself with how much progress he can make with just a little bit of effort.  Over the past four months, the number of comments we receive as a family for how much easier it is to understand what he says seems to be directly impacting his confidence and, as a result, his willingness to expand his sentence structure.  Using longer, more complicated sentences to express himself, he wants to talk and ask questions about everything - particularly what new words mean and when he should use them.   His latest words of interest are "wisdom," "convenient" and "immersion blender" (yes, I do think the budding chef in him is interested in the combination of those three... bam!)

For those of you who knew me as a child, you may remember the struggle I had learning how to read due to an ocular-motor disfunction that caused my eyes to operate independently.  Worried this might be an issue our kids will need to address, HB and I decided to have GW's eyes checked and the optometrist found that, unfortunately, he's in the same boat as me and is currently struggling with similar eye teaming issues.  As the correction for this is to strengthen his eye muscles through eye exercises, GW is about ten weeks into his first 24 week session of vision therapy. I remember the process being long and painful as a child, but with GW starting much younger than I did and with his enjoyment of anything exercise-related, I'm relieved that he's breezing through his sessions like it's flat out no big deal. He's still not a huge fan of the glasses he needs to wear for reading and doing school work, but the carrot of not using them after he "graduates" from vision therapy has him motivated to get "big strong eyes" and learn how to read.  Hopefully this will result in a much easier learning curve for him during elementary school than the steep wall I ran straight into and eventually fought my way over.  Fingers seriously crossed!

For the second year, GW is taking music lessons at the local piano school. Starting out last year in a music appreciation course, this year he's moved up to actual piano lessons - something, I'll admit, I wasn't sure he was ready for when the year began back in September.  But much to my surprise, he's taken to music and the piano like a fish to water (Lord knows he's nothing like a fish in actual water, sorry HB).  Able to sight-read the g clef staff in key of c and to use the right fingers on the correct keys, he can play all of the songs from his lessons without looking down at his hands... sometimes he even plays melodies from memory with his body turned away from the piano entirely!  His latest accomplishment was to perform in his first recital during the school open house for the community - he played "Hot Crossed Buns" and "Mary Had a Little Lamb" and bowed very nicely at the end.  I'm ridiculously proud. 

Another thing that made HB and I glow with pride was GW's running in and finishing his first ever one mile road race (no official time, but oh well, that doesn't matter at age 5 anyway).  He's been along for the stroller ride for most of our races thus far, but this time he wanted his very own bib and he wanted to compete!  It was an after dark, glow run that looped the local mall, which meant that the majority of the race was wind sheltered except for the last quarter mile... when we turned that corner and the wind hit GW face-on he whined to me "the wind is pushing me back!" to which I responded "are you going to let it stop you?" and - get this - he yells "NO!" as he started to sprint to the end.   That moment was the first time in his life that he hasn't responded to a challenge by saying "I can't" before even trying... my Mama heart just welled with pride and I waddled (yeah, Baby bump isn't so helpful with a smooth stride any more...) my way after him.  Crossing the finish line with a big smile, he promptly turned around and wanted to give high-fives to all of the runners still coming in...  Doesn't. Get. Better. Than. That.  #EagleEthos

Granted, I can't say that every moment this year has been rainbows and pop tarts, but even with the bumping of heads and the random sticky-yucky-gross moments of childhood it's been an experience I wouldn't change in the slightest.  I am so glad I quit my job to stay home with him and his siblings.  I am so glad that he's still willing to hug and kiss me at school (even if sometimes only in the hall way when no one is looking).  I am so glad that he's my boy and I'm his Mama.   

Happy birthday my silly billy goat gruff, we love you very, very much. 

Freaky Friday, Medical Style

For the past three and a half years I've become accustomed to being "the sick one" in the family.  Hospital visits seem to be typical, a variety of specialists are on speed dial and I can't help but feel that one medical complication usually leads to another.  Throughout this roller coaster of diabetes induced boohockey, the rest of my family has been at my side and, GW in particular, has been my little trooper.  There to snuggle me through my hospital stays, to entertain us through longer than normal waits at doctors offices and to tell all nurses to "be very careful" when drawing blood because he doesn't want me to have another ouch, you could easily say that he's acclimatized to the world of medical issues. 

Left: diagnosis hospitalization at Georgetown University Hospital, January 2011.
Center:  partial-abruption hospitalization, September 2012.   Right:  week 36 ultrasound, November 2012.

Well, yesterday, GW and I swapped places and I have to say, it has me respecting him in a whole new light.  At the beginning of August, GW started speech therapy to help correct his articulation (for example, he often says the "f" sound in place of "th") and his therapist made the suggestion we have his tongue evaluated because of it's heart shape.  Indicating that this shape is caused by an overly tight frenulum (the flap of skin that connects the tongue to the bottom of the mouth), she said it may likely play a contributing factor in his difficulty pronouncing certain sounds.   

Thinking this made sense, I called our pediatrician to get her take on it and she recommended that we take GW directly to see a pediatric ENT by the name of Dr Robert Bahadori in Chantilly, VA who would be able to evaluate the situation much more accurately without being overly quick to surgery as a solution.  Stating that she'd take her children to him specifically if she were in our position, I thanked the pediatrician and promptly called to get GW an appointment with Dr Bahadori no matter how long the wait.  Having several years of experience with specialists as the "new patient" with minimal necessity requiring prompt scheduling, I anticipated it'd be several months before we could get an appointment with this particular doctor or that we'd be given the "our junior practitioner has availability" option, but much to my surprise GW was promptly scheduled for the following week for a frenulum evaluation. 

So back-roading it around the early morning commuting horror that is I-95 North, we arrived at the doctors office (which has an amazing children't play room by the way) where we were promptly seen by a nurse and then Dr Bahadori.  Walking in just as you'd expect a pediatric ENT to - aka Patch Adams style in a yellow shirt and polka-dotted bow tie - he casually asks GW to play with him by sticking out his tongue.  Looking at me for approval before doing something that would under other circumstances get him in trouble, GW darts his tongue out as far as he can (barely to the edge of his bottom lip). 

"Yep, tongue tied," says Dr. Bahadori. 

After a few more playful checks, the doctor looks at me and informs me that there are two points at which he typically sees frenulum issues.  The first is in the first four weeks of life when infants struggle with their tongue movement enough that it negatively impacts their ability to eat and inhibits growth; and the second is roughly in the three to six age range when speech issues begin to appear, as is the case with GW.  Recommending that we do a frenulectomy, Dr Bahadori explained that for those children under four months old, the procedure is a quick in office snip that can be taken care of at any time, but as GW is almost 5 years old it would require that he go to a surgical center and have full anesthesia to make the cut.  

Taking a moment to think about what's best for GW, all of these thoughts about the issues he's had flash through my head:  he can't push food into his cheeks when he takes too big of a bite, he always spits it back out… he uses his finger to swipe away the food that collects between his teeth and his cheeks… he can't whistle and substitutes a "hoot" he learned from Dinosaur Train as his version of whistling… the way he says "teef" instead of "teeth" and "birfday" instead of "birthday"…  the way he's commented that so-in-so is able to stick out his tongue (both because, well, his mom let's him and because he physically can).   Feeling like his little 4 years old life played out in seconds of random memories and snapshot images, I decided it made more sense to go ahead and enable him to use his tongue for the rest of his years by doing the clipping than it did to protect him from the terrifying idea of a scalpel anywhere near his beautiful little body. 

Estimating it'd take less than five minutes to do the procedure and roughly 1 to 2 days for recovery, Dr Bahadori helped me to schedule the procedure for two weeks later and, for better or worse, that came and went yesterday.    While I waited in a consultation room, HB escorted our popsicle-motivated little toughie into the operating room where he helped GW get into place on the table and helped to calm him as the "super-hero" anesthetic mask was placed over his nose and mouth.  While acknowledging that he was glad GW wanted his Dada to accompany him into the OR, HB reported that there was nothing quite so scary as leaving our little man lying unconscious on the table surrounded by scrub-clad strangers… 

HB and GW happily playing in the children's waiting room.

Having been "the sick one" for so long, this reversal of roles introduced a new level of helplessness into my hospital-based repertoire that I must admit I never want to feel again.  Knowing that my own cooperation with doctors orders, control of glucose levels and attempted maintenance of personal health is entirely irrelevant to the ultimate outcome what's happening with my loved ones made the experience far more terrifying than any of the other times I've been lying in any ER waiting for results on this, that or the other thing. 

Fortunately, my patience vs. parent-concern ratio wasn't tried as it otherwise could have been as it was literally two minutes after HB joined me in the consultation room that Dr Bahadori appeared.  Reporting that everything went smoothly, he cleared GW for regular activity within 24 hours and asked for us to call if there were any concerns that arose after discharge.  Impatient to get to the recovery area and see our little guy, we thanked the Doctor and eagerly walked to where GW was curled up under a blanket and eagerly awaiting not us, but the popsicle the nurses had promised to him.  Forty-five minutes, one popsicle and two boxes of apple juice later, he was discharged.  He had a rough afternoon and evening coming off the anesthesia, but in looking at him this morning he is keeping food down and appears to be happy about his new found ability to wiggle his ever-so-slightly medicated and considerably longer tongue.  

Left: Frenulum before procedure.  Right: Frenulum after clipping.

Out of all the procedures he could have had this one was particularly minor (knock on wood), but this reversal of roles provided me a considerable dose of my-own medicine and it definitely was lacking in Mary Poppins' sugar...  I've come to accept my own medical issues as typical and I'm no longer shaken when something new pops up with my body that requires additional attention, but I'd never really stopped to think about how my being sick makes my family feel.  They don't have the symptoms, they don't have to do the tests or get the injections, but they are just as much smacked in the face with my diabetes as I am and it's just as present in their daily lives because of me.  Seeing GW in his scrubs and having these doctors poke and prod at him was more painful than any of the things I've had done and it's opened my eyes to how high of a pain-tolerance this little guy has for everything he endures to be there for me.  For better or worse, he's grown up quicker because of my pancreas and he knows more about hospitals than any almost 5 year old should (Heaven help those children who know even more...), but Lord love a duck is that kid tough and I cannot say how thankful I am to have him at my side or to have the blessing of being there, as his mom, at his. 

"Can I have another popsicle?" 

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.

GW Starts School

My (not so) little man officially began pre-kindergarten today.  Ever since he had his interview last spring, he's been asking and asking and asking to go to school and I think it might have shocked him a bit when we actually said "yes, today you can go!"  So dawning new shoes (size 2!!), a plain "Just GW" shirt and his beloved dinosaur backpack, he raced through breakfast and marched to the car with absolutely zero trepidation. 

Course, just because he isn't nervous, that doesn't mean that us parents are in the same boat.  But in attempts to ease nerves for all concerned, the school invited parents to attend the first day with their kids today and, in probably the most adorable move ever, HB asked if he could be the one to take GW.  Obviously I was a bit sad to miss seeing the little guy in action for myself, but from all reports it sounds like he did a marvelous job.  On the playground he played on the bikes and with the trucks in the dirt; inside he made a bird puzzle and, during circle time, he even introduced the little girl sitting next to him because she was too shy to say her own name... awwwwwwwww!

Of course he's commented several times since he's come home about the pretty long haired brunettes in his class and their resemblance to certain princesses he admires (Kate Middleton and AS - you know who you are), but at almost 4 years old I've come to grips with the fact that this kid has excellent taste in women and I'm going to have to keep him incredibly busy with sports.  In fact, I've signed him up for piano lessons and soccer lessons already...

Let the age of school children begin! Congratulations GW, I'm so proud of you!

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...

3.5 Year Update

Okay, let me get this straight... not only is my itty bitty baby no longer itty bitty, but GW's birthday was six months ago already?!  Are you fricking kidding me?! That means Halloween is only six months away... that he starts school in five months... that he's practically four years old already!

Remind me not to blink ever again... too much changes each time I do.

GW and HB next to Daddy's 1986 outline self-portrait

Having outgrown multiple physicals a year at the pediatrician, we're doing our best to keep tabs on the growth spurts this kid continues to have.  As of this morning, GW weighs in at a slender 38.5 pounds (85%) and 42.75 inches tall (~105%)!  That's up three fourths of an inch since February!  Wow.

I'm thrilled that he's growing so beautifully and that he's putting on height rather than girth given how much he eats (are you kidding me?), but I'd be lying if I didn't say that I'm somewhat worried about how huge he is.  He towers over kids his age and big kids regularly confuse him for a five or six year old; and while I am thrilled he is invited to play and that he's so eager to interact with other children, the reality is that the combination of his big size and that he's not developmentally where his "peers" think he is works against him.  Often more rough than he wants to be, GW doesn't quite have full coordination or control of his body and despite his good, playful intentions he, for example, is accidentally pushing kids down when he simply means to play tag.   I fully recognize that he just needs time to learn that he's bigger than most of the other kids, but for the moment I find myself harping at my truly sweet child to be "nice nice" and "gentle."

GW watching over GV and wearing his self-made
 Bunny Friend carrier (HB's heart rate monitor)

The good thing, thank God, is that GW is not sharing challenged and when little guys come around, he's often the first to offer a toy or to ask "want to play with me?" And, still very much GV's champion, he sweetly makes sure his baby sister has what she needs and he purposefully checks to make sure "she is smiling" amidst his wildly creative adventures.  To which, as a sappy, gushy parent, I must say warms my heart more than any other random pop tarts and rainbows out there.

You know, he often reminds me of the character Big G in the movie That's What I Am (2011) and while I ardently pray that he never faces the bullying that Big G does, I am proud that GW demonstrates similar personality attributes of Alexander Walter's kind, self-assured, gentle giant character.  I only hope that I can parent him well enough that as he grows he becomes the person that he, himself, is happy with and proud of.

Happy half-birthday, my angel.  Love you lots.

Bah, the inside joke.

For those of you who know me personally, you'll find this funny... for everyone else, ignore this and assume I'm hilarious.  

So my son, GW, really enjoys a game we call "BAH!" where he attempts to play hide and seek but fails to stay hidden because he would rather jump out and yell "BAH!" than wait to be found.  Last night, just as HB was arriving home from work, he was met at the front door by GW who was wildly yelling "BAH" as a combination greeting and game request.

Sweeping the child up into his arms and tossing him over a shoulder, HB walks into the kitchen where I am busily cooking and says, "He must get that from your side of the family."

To which I reply, "Yes, he bah's well, doesn't he?"

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.

Learning to Juggle

Finding time to write with two little ones certainly is harder than I initially anticipated.  I remember what it was like right after I had GW - in between nursing sessions I'd work on whatever I wanted while he was napping.  But now, while GV is napping I'm tending to GW and while he is napping I'm quite often tending to GV or whatever other to do list item that is pressing.  Don't misconstrue what I mean, I am certainly not complaining, but I am quite baffled at what happened to my clocks while I was at the hospital... I think my Mom and GW must have reprogrammed them because there is absolutely no way that 24 hours pass as quickly or as unnoticed as they do now.

No? Wishful thinking.

For months now, HB and I have been told that the most difficulty parents of multiple children will have is in the transition from one to two kids.  I'd rationally thought it through while pregnant and come to the basic conclusion that, yes, that makes sense. But now that I am physically trying to juggle two kids - one with a newborn fragile neck and the other with 38 lbs of momentum - I must admit that I while I anticipated there'd be difficulty, I didn't comprehend what shape or degree that difficulty would be.

Things between GW and GV are phenomenal.  He's taken to her like he's been waiting for her arrival his whole life.  He constantly asks to hug or kiss her and he always does so with the most gentle actions you previously thought were impossible from an otherwise over-enthusiastic three year old.  When she cries he'll drop whatever he is doing and rush to her side to ask "what's wrong?" or to say "it's okay, honey" and if his arrival doesn't sooth her he'll immediately attempt to corral me or HB by yelling "hurry, GV needs you!"  He even - get this - likes to help with diapers... 

Obviously at three weeks GV is still a bit too young to express sentiment beyond quiet contentment or outright audible frustration, but she doesn't mind his near by antics (she sleeps through everything) and quite often seeks GW out with her eyes if he is within her line of sight.  In fact, I believe she might even prefer GW's singing to mine given her faster response to his oh-so-cute version of "Goodnight My Someone"... I think they'll be just fine together. 

Me on the other hand, thank God I know this is supposed to be hard.  In those moments where one's tantrum is topped off by the other's wailing it's all I can do to figure out who is on first... then you throw in low blood sugar, the oven timer going off and the dogs growling because something is bothering their baby (our Cane Corsos have decided that GV is most definitely their baby) and you've got a recipe for instant tears.  And there I thought I was just making Christmas cookies...

In a lot of ways my life right now reminds me of middle school - and not because of the weird things hormones do to one's complexion.  In seventh grade I tried out for my school's basketball team and after five days of busting my tail to get that dang ball into that hoop I was cut.  Mortified and heart broken, I went home and cried and cried and cried about it because I was sure that I blew "my shot" in more ways than just putting points on the score board.  But, instead of crumpling under such pre-teen humiliation, I kept practicing my dribbling and I went over to my neighbor's driveway to work on my shooting every day until eighth grade try outs... and some how that second go around I made the team.  

Now while it may seem like there is nothing that corresponds between this outwardly random story and my current reality, there is one similarity that I boil it down to:  practice makes perfect -- okay, perhaps not perfect, but at least markedly better.  Back then I needed that extra year to improve my ball handling, and now I cannot expect to be perfect day one (heck, month one) and I need to take each day to practice my zone defense... I may be on the junior varsity team of multi-child moms for the foreseeable future but one day all the struggling I'm doing now will pay off.  I'm not sure when that day will be or what  I can do to make the grade sooner rather than later, but hey, at least there is the comforting thought that when we eventually have more kids, I'll have figured out the juggling routine with these two to the point that adding a few more will be a cinch!  

Until then, I'm just going to be grateful that GW and GV get along and that she's growing beautifully (she's officially outgrown premie clothes!).  The rest, well, we've got time and many more blog posts for that... 

NO BIG SHARP!

So this morning, while stressfully attempting an infusion change in between nursing GV and dressing myself for Mass (which we were of course running late for), GW walks in on me in our bedroom and begins to cry.  Yelling "No, Mama don't!" he crumples onto the floor in complex anxiety and begins a chorus of extraordinarily loud "NO! NO! NO!"  Rousing HB to abandon his half-eaten bowl of cereal, I quickly found myself the center attraction of an early Sunday morning family circus.

Since delivery, I've been able to swap my infusion site from the side of my torso back to my abdomen because my uterus is no longer in the way and, frankly, I find my stomach to be a much easier place to reach for insertion purposes.  Unfortunately, however, in making this switch I apparently forgot to debrief my toddler and he was absolutely horrified to see me putting a needle to a formerly identified "big ouch" spot.  Attempting to put me in time out so as to stop the wreck from unfolding before him, GW pointed at my belly and sobbed "no big sharp on the baby!!"

Despite his sister being bundled in her chair beside him and my obviously (dear Lord I hope it is obvious) smaller belly, GW apparently doesn't quite understand that the baby is no longer in my belly... which I must admit is either enough to make a person collapse from laughter or in tears.  HB picked up the crumpled kid and pointed out that GV is safely out of the way of the trajectory of the needle for my infusion change.   Sniffing and wiping his tears away with the back of his sleeve, GW looked from his sister back to my stomach with a perplexed look and, with an expression of at least some understanding, he changed his tune:  "Oh...  NO BIG SHARP FOR MAMA!"

Ah well... I wish I could acquiesce his request, but alas diabetes reigns and no amount of toddler passion will dethrone it.  I love that he is already protecting GV, even if he doesn't exactly know where she is, and I appreciate that his attempts to save me too are at least sealed with a make it better kiss.  It might not be the cure for insulin dependence, but if I have to stab myself then I will happily accept his cherry on top of an otherwise unpleasant experience.

Mommy Genes

You know when you stop doing something for a while how difficult it can be to start up again? Even if it's something you love like exercise, cooking, flossing or ... writing ... it's just hard to get back in the habit after letting things slide to a tranquil, yet non-evolutionary stop.  But as GV and I have been home for two weeks and she is growing ounce by ounce (up to 7 lbs 6 oz!), it's really about time that I get back on the horse and begin regularly writing again... So thanks to some persistent and much needed prodding from HB, here goes:

While I can rationally look at the calendar on my refrigerator and see that I was pregnant only a matter of days ago, it physically and emotionally feels like it has been ages.  While I am still not entirely sure how to parent two kids at the same time instead of just one, it feels natural to have both GW and GV here and I love them both like they've always been the best part of me.  All of the traumatic worrying and flaming mental "what if" hoops of the pregnancy are now seemingly irrelevant and inconsequential - which at the time I thought would never come to pass.  Essentially, the magic "mommy genes" have once again kicked in and wiped the slate clean... 

After my first dose of mommy genes back in 2009, I happily anticipated their wondrous impact this go around: the phenomenal disappearing act it makes of labor pain upon first sight of the new baby, the awe inspiring, tantrum-taming patience it provokes, the sleep-deprived juggling and plate-spinning it balances and don't even get me started on the gigantic seemingly oversized heart it straight up causes.  It's like when the Grinch's heart grows three sizes in that one day - Dr Seuss must have mistakenly infected that green-goof ball with mommy genes!!  But, in all seriousness, the biology behind child birth and motherhood amazes me in it's combination of emotional simplicity and physical complexity...  there's nothing quite like it and, no matter how sympathetic a person you may be, until you've got 'em, you just don't really get 'em.

Big brother week one - October 2009

Little sister week one - November 2012

Actually, I must admit that despite having two children I still don't understand the breadth of impact mommy genes have on a person - especially on a broken pancreas.  Don't get me wrong, I remember very well the differences between the before GW me and the after and I've done more than enough reading on the medical explanations of what to expect when you're diabetic and expecting to catch the gist, but these super-genes have still managed to surprise me in the last few weeks with their significance... namely their apparent panacea for insulin dependence.  Okay, maybe that takes it a bit far... I wish mommy genes were like some hopped up version of stem cells or something that could actually cure diabetes, but the effects breast feeding is having on my body are a pretty darn good consolation prize.  

So, breast feeding while diabetic is like constantly running or doing any other endurance sport because the body is perpetually burning calories and glucose to make milk.  This means that there is an incessant risk for diabetic mothers to become hypoglycemic and, as such, results in a decrease in the artificial insulin required to maintain a healthy HgA1C.  Combine this with the much lower presence of hormones in a new mother's body and you're looking at insulin rates that are at - and in my case, much lower - than pre-pregnancy levels.

On one hand this means that, if not careful or aware of on setting hypoglycemia, that there is an increased risk for new mothers to go into shock post-delivery (remember my third trimester hypoglycemia was abnormal).  On the other hand, this can mean a very welcome return to eating carbs with absent minded fervor... for example (yes, this is seriously a big deal) I can eat upwards of six - repeat: SIX - miniature Heath bars just because I feel like it before my blood sugar will respond like they "ought" to.  Now that I am reading this it sounds kind of wantonly gluttonous to eat that much candy in one sitting, but pardon me while I cackle at my new found ability to smuggle simple carbs past my pancreas! THANK YOU MOMMY GENES!

Now I doubt this new trick the mommy genes have introduced to my body will do anything positive toward me getting back into my other jeans, but hey, we've got to cut them some slack... they have me cooing and gooing over my sweet little girl (she's sleeping in my lap right now and so darn cute with her smiles - see video) and able to pretend I'm somewhat normal for the time being.  Exercise is still four weeks off before I'm "cleared" to hit the pavement again by the perinatologist and there is plenty of time to cover that topic once HB and I've figured out our post-pregnancy work out plan.  In the mean time, I'm going to continue enjoying my maternity pants, turn my insulin pump on ultra-low, and grab a candy bar -- I'd rather be snuggled up with these two kids than out running anyway!

The Little Man.

Taking a gigantic step away from diabetes and another step away from pregnancy concerns, I want to write this blog post about something, actually someone, who is ten times more influential and important in my life than my insulin pump.  GW.

Three years ago at 9:43 PM he was born and my life was turned completely upside down.  I was terrified to become a Mother - I didn't know if I had it in me to be what a child needed me to be (I hate - HATE - babysitting) and I didn't think that he'd be all that thrilled to have me as his Mom.  But, with the grace of God, the mommy-genes kicked in while I lay in my hospital bed that night holding him...  he was this tiny bundle who filled my arms like the missing piece I didn't know I was previously without.  I remember thinking "this is my baby" and that I had been completely ridiculous to even worry about my ability to attach.

Within the following days and months, it gradually hit me just how irrelevant everything else in my life was.  My feminist views, no matter how relevant to my younger self or how important similar opinions are for others, just compiled an incomplete self-perspective.  My job, no matter how cool it seemed, was just a job.  My career aspirations, no matter how high they reached or how within my grasp they came, were only about me and not inclusive of my family.  I know it's controversial to some (and to you I make no apologies or excuses), but making the choice to stay home with GW and be a full time Mom was simple.  I didn't - and still don't - find him to be something I can compromise over and by making him and my family my priority I know I'm doing what my heart says is right for me and I am enjoying every moment of it.

Of course it's not all rainbows and pop tarts - there are tantrums, potty training tales (HB is teaching him to stand at the toilet - Lord help me!) and I have found that there is absolutely no such thing as a day off.   But all of those frustrating moments balance out with wonderful little things like the adorable way he says "oh my gosh" when he's excited, how his tickle pocket makes him belly laugh and how he has an unending interest in classic musicals (he's perfected Dick Van Dykes performance of "Me Ol' Bamboo" from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and he's practiced his auditioned to be the eighth brother in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers several times).  I love how he covers his ears when he's scared, how he insists I need him to hold my knees so I don't fall into the toilet, how he always behaves well when he sees Santa Claus at Mass and how he still thinks that knocking on the refrigerator is the required secret code to get a glass of milk.   He's just adorable.

What can I say? I'm the typical gushing parent and while the stereotypical shoe might fit I will unreservedly shout from the roof tops that I am proud of who he is and that I am grateful for the person he is helping me become.  Someday he might read this post and be embarrassed by what I have to say, but you know what, kid, I love you, you make me happy and that wont ever change.

So happy 3rd birthday, angel, and may you have many, many many more.

XO



October 2011 and October 2012 birthday portraits
- my goodness he is growing up quick!