#MicroblogMondays Toddlerdom

I was watching our wee one feed her snack to our dog.  She was holding a little piece of apple between her tiny fingers and saying, "More?"  in her tiny little voice while Scout cautiously nibbled.  "You are such a toddler now, little bits," I marveled.  "Is that a code for being a little bit of a jerk?" J asked?

Not really, but I get what he means.  Poor guy doesn't know how to speak flailing toddler.

Do Re Mi

We all have our hangups on the biological child quest.  For me, it was music.  I'm a vocalist and so is my mother.  My sister plays flute.  Most of my cousins, aunts, and uncles on my mom's side are musicians.  I even have a cousin on Broadway.  So when we were facing our last IVF cycle with very little hope, the biggest sentence that could stick in my throat was, "What if I never have a child to share music with?"

One of the biggest joys of parenting the Chipmunk has been the very clear realization that she LOVES music.  She throws her fingers up in the air and "sparkles" them when she wants to sing "Twinkle Twinkle."  If you bust into "Itsy Bitsy Spider" or "If You're Happy and You Know It" she knows the difference and does the appropriate choreography.  When I practice at home, she "sings" along.  I don't care if she has perfect pitch or sings like... well... her father.  It's clear that Chipmunk and I will be able to share a love of music.

This past weekend that became even more clear.  I was singing at a benefit for my office.  It was an outdoor thing with a band and food trucks and we brought her along.  She was a little fearful of the band at first.  She hadn't really seen a live band before. Instruments at church usually consist of a piano and maybe a guitar.  This was new.  When I went on stage, J brought her near the front, crouched down, and helped her to stand up in front of him.  When I started singing, neither me nor most of the band could keep our eyes off of her.  She was LEAPING up and down while J held on to her.  She was laughing and hollering and singing along.  There was so much joy in that little girl in that moment.  I felt so much peace and happiness.  It was amazing.

#MicroblogMonday - The Bill

It's here.

The bill.

"Do you want to keep your potential child in cryostorage or should we 'destroy' it?"

The annual reminder that we are not like other families.  That I am broken.

That will be $500 please.

I'm From The Lou and I'm Proud

Nelly anyone?

I grew up in North St. Louis County.  Over the last few days, I've been glued to the television as I watched the convenience store I often stopped at on my way back to campus be burned down.  I saw the profile of my high school boyfriend on the front line of a police barricade, visor down and shield in hand on CNN.  I've worried about friends who still live in the neighboring town we grew up in.  I've been dismayed by the evidence that a police officer in my home town could abuse his power to kill an unarmed young man as he ran away.  My chest has felt sad and empty as I've watched the unrest unfold in the place I used to call home.  I'm choosing to share my feelings here.

My Facebook feed has been full of thoughts and opinions.  Friends that still live there, on both sides of the racial divide, feel the racial tensions on a regular basis.  They all want answers about what happened to Michael Brown.  My black friends who still live there or grew up there share emotions that are all over the map.  Some are frustrated at the violence and are angry that people who are trashing the neighborhood haven't been proactive by voting their troubles away.  Others are afraid and want peace.  Some see it as strictly a race issue and have opened some wonderful and meaningful dialogues on their pages.  My black friends from childhood know what it's like to be a minority in a city where race relations are charged.  My white friends from the same cohort are likely naive beneficiaries of "white privilege," but need to be part of the dialogue.  One thing that neither of these groups has lived is a life of poverty.  

Yes, race is a big issue in the struggles going on in North St. Louis County right now, but so is poverty.  It's a layer that can't be ignored.  How can a community be empowered to to be represented in local government and tackle issues that affect them if they don't even have enough money for gas to get to the city council meeting? How can parents put a child's education as a priority when they need their 16 year old to help contribute to the family coffers, and the 10 year old to watch the other kids so they can work?   Imagine that if you are struggling to put food on the table.  Your priority is to shuffle the kids off to daycare, get to work, and bring home some money.  Are you going to ask for every Tuesday afternoon off work from your minimum wage job so you can take your kid to a tutor?  Probably not.  The risks are too high and the priority is to feed and clothe that child.  Similarly, are you going to take time off so you can go vote?  Run for office?  Volunteer in your community?  Join the PTA?  Nope.  Probably not something that even seems possible.  It's easy to sit in an ivory tower and say, "You just do it because it's important."  I don't think that middle class America, white or black, can truly fathom how poverty touches every aspect of daily function.

I can't pretend that I know what it's like to be black in America.  I am aware enough to know that it's an experience I can't comprehend, just like I can't truly comprehend what it's like to be poor.  I know that race relations are a huge part of this issue, but I wish I heard people talking about the poverty layer.  I'm not excusing any horrific actions a cop may have made, but I am wondering how we can expect people to advocate for themselves against something as powerful as a police force, when they don't have the right tools.  How can we be shocked and appalled when frustrated community members turn peaceful protests into violent riots if violence is the only tool they feel they have?

So, I'm Kind of an Asshole

Remember when I said I couldn't let my baby cry?  Apparently I can.

That's not why I'm an asshole, though.

The Chipmunk started waking every hour.  EVERY HOUR.  Not only that, but she was arching her back and kicking me and SCREAMING bloody murder.  So, like the wonderful parents we try to be, we took her to the doctor.  They diagnosed her with silent reflux.  She was started on Zantac and you guys, that night she stopped with the arching and kicking and screaming.  The only problem was, she was used to getting up every hour and getting cuddles.  So she kept getting up and requiring snuggles to get back down.  Every hour.  EVERY HOUR.

I was losing it.  I have an hour commute one way and with the lack of sleep I was pretty sure I was going to end up careening off the road.  It was going to be one of those situations where no one knew where to find me and I was stuck upside down, couldn't reach my phone, hanging out in the brush somewhere, starving to death.  I was sure of it.  Let's not even talk about the stupid mistakes that were happening at work.  I was gunna hurt a kid if I wasn't careful.

J and I had said that if she wasn't taking bigger chunks of sleep by 9 months, we would talk to the doctor about what to do.  When we make arbitrary timelines like that, J likes to stick to them.  I, on the other hand, like to see my child and my life as a fluid, changing, state and offer some flexibility.  I should really stop letting him make these timelines.  Anyway, I'd read the Weissbluth book before she was born and had been brushing up, just in case we decided to do some sleep training when the magic 9 month mark hit.  One night, I completely lost it.  It was 1 AM.  I went in, nursed her, and laid her down asleep.  I went back to my room, into the bathroom, peed, washed my hands, crawled back into bed, laid my head on the pillow, and WAAAAAAH!  She was up again.  So I joined in with the WAAAAAH!!!  I knew I couldn't handle one more night of no sleep.  I had been getting frustrated and my frustration was starting to turn on her.  That wasn't fair and it scared me.  I was just in there.  I knew she was fine.  She had a dry diaper, a full tummy, and plenty of hugs and kisses.  We have a video monitor.  I let her cry.

That first night it took her 45 minutes (Sounds horrid, I know, but I still did it.).  The second night, 30 minutes.  Ever since then, she's fine.  She goes to bed at bedtime and naps without a fuss.  She has a schedule and she is thriving on it.  She still wakes once or twice to nurse and goes right back to sleep.  I'm fine with that because she's sleeping 12 hours at night (naps at daycare are a joke) and I can't expect her to not need to eat.  She doesn't even weigh 14 lbs yet.

We forgot her meds one night and she was back to the back arching, so we know it wasn't just a coincidence and that she legitimately needs them.  Now I can't help but wonder how long she's had this reflux thing.  Would she have been a better sleeper before if we'd caught it?  She's so much happier now that she sleeping that I feel like we'd been robbing her of sleep!  Had she been toughing it out and then it just got so bad that the arching and screaming started?

I'll just keep eating my words over and over as she grows, I reckon!