Early Intervention

What is it about the phrase "Early Intervention" that makes me feel like a failure, like a mom who just can't hack it, like I'm letting my kids down?

"I have a PhD, for crying out loud, why can't I fix this?", is one of the many ongoing accusatory conversations going on in my head.

Is it just me, or do all moms continually beat themselves up like this and hold themselves accountable for every little thing?

Since K's 9 month check up, we've been in catch up mode: catch up on weight, catch up on length, catch up on social skills, catch up on gross motor skills.  To her credit, she's actually accomplished a lot in a few weeks, even if it was delayed.  Scooting, crawling, sitting up, and lots of babbles.  But it wasn't enough and we sat through screening yesterday to see if she qualified for early intervention services.  Her communication skills were behind, just a little, and we're going to watch those to see if she catches up in the next few months.  Her gross motor skills had improved drastically and she was actually doing okay in that category, except for the way she places her feet, qualifying her for services to correct her atypical behavior.

Coming out of the appointment, my husband and I were in separate worlds.  To him, the appointment went great!  She showed them all the things she could do.  The two major deficiencies were either something we could watch and coach, or were physical and now she would see specialists that could help her.

As for me, I broke down crying as we walked out of the doctors office.  How could I have failed my baby so badly?

Its amazing how mother's guilt can take over and block out all rational thought.  Of course, my husband was right.  I didn't do anything to make her hold her feet funny.  But those thoughts couldn't break through the mommy-guilt.  Through the rest of the day, my emotions were just barely held back as I tried to focus on work.  Afterwards, I pick up the girls and hugged them both a little tighter than usual.

In the light of the next day, I'm feeling slightly better about what lies ahead, but there's still a nagging guilt just out of my line of sight.  I know in five years, none of this is going to matter and I'll be talking with her about gymnastics or ballet and she'll be just fine.  I'm just going to need a pep talk or two along the way to keep drowning in my own guilt.

I should mention that K did awesome in some categories, putting her achievement beyond her age, like in the receptive communication skills and fine motor skills.  All together, its a lesson to me that we all excel at some things and not others.  I guess that starts very early in life!

Me vs. the StinkBug Part Two

Say hello to my little friend...

(If you missed part one, click here)

Friday morning, finally.  Thursday nights are rough with the kids and B working late, but it was Friday and that meant the weekend and sleeping in until 5:30am - woohoo! (there really should be a scarstic font)  I had pressed snooze once and was running a bit late.  K decided to go back to waking up twice a night and I was more tired than usual.  Rushing, I was trying to make up for lost time.  That 9 minute snooze seemed like a great idea and was heavenly while tucked in and warm under my 17 blankets, but now I was regretting it.  Drying, brushing, brushing, flossing, hurrying through my morning routine.  I turned around to leave my bathroom when I saw him.

He was back.

He was in my bathroom.

And, he was looking at me.

Okay, breathe, breathe.  Get yourself together.  You're the only one awake.  You'll look ridiculous if you wake up B screaming about another stinkbug.  Calm down, calm down, calm down.

He was walking towards me.

Oh no, oh no, ohnoohnoohnoohnoohno!!!!

I grabbed the tall, hard plastic cup from the shower, the one I use to rinse the girls' hair in the tub and quickly and gently placed it over the vermin.  It's okay, I'll bleach it later.

Ok, ok, ok.  Back to business.  Just finish getting ready.  When you're all done, you'll slide a piece of paper underneath, go down stairs and take him outside.  The girls aren't up yet.  You just have to be quiet so you don't wake them up and freak them out.  YOU CAN DO THIS!

I finished getting dressed, but unfortunately, my shoes were down stairs.  This made me feel particularly vulnerable.  I didn't want to just shake him out the window or just outside the door because if I did that and he jumped back at me... well, that was a thought I couldn't entertain.  I would just slide my shoes on downstairs, take him out to the tree and let him go.

I timed the extraction with B heading downstairs so he could hold the stair gate and door open for me.  I ran outside, straight for the tree and removed the piece of paper holding the bug in the cup.

But, he wasn't on the paper.

I hesitated, but made myself look inside the cup (he won't jump, he won't jump, he won't jump...).

He wasn't there either.

AAGRGRHAGARGRGAHAGGRHAGARHRGAHAGRHARGAGRHARGAGRHA!

Where is that stupid, disgusting, smelly, ugly, annoying, going to crawl all over my face in my sleep bug!!!!!!

Running upstairs, I searched the bathroom, the bedroom, the old hiding spot (under the dresser of course) but couldn't locate the nasty thing.

For the last 4 hours, I have been twitching, squirming, itching, and dying a little inside.  Is he on me?  Is he on my pillow?  I'm never going to sleep again.

Stink Bug - 2, Mommy - 0

Mark my words Stinky, this is NOT OVER!!!

Me vs. the StinkBug (Part 1)

It had been a hectic and exhausting afternoon.  Work was crazy, I had to run to catch the shuttle bus and I was still running.  Running to pick up the girls from daycare, running home, running to get them fed, bathed, dressed and in bed in order to have dinner ready for when B got home, having worked late that night.  On nights like these, I know I'm short tempered and stressed and T definitely picks up on that.  She was resisting all my efforts: won't get into the tub, won't get out of the tub, won't, won't, wont.  Sigh.

As I sat on the bathroom floor, trying to calm my stressed out nerves, I looked just outside the doorway to see a new visitor in our house - the StinkBug.

Being a biologist, I try to make every effort not to be grossed out by the creepy crawlies in front of T and K.  I want them to grow up fascinated by the world around them and not inherit my irrational fear of spiders.  In general, I don't really mind bugs.  I had T once help me rescue a giant caterpillar from the street and I'll be the first one to pick up a lady bug.  But there's something about bugs invading my personal space, my private refuge, being where they have absolutely no right to be, that just-drives-me-crazy!

I was frozen, staring, at this innocent little stinker, crawling his way across my dog's bed.

"Mommy, look at me!"
"Uh-huh"
"No, MOMMY, LOOK at me!"
"That's nice sweetie" all without tearing my eyes away from the invader.

Somehow, I had to remove the little bugger, without squishing it, without alerting T, without squealing, and GET HIM OUT OF MY BEDROOM!!!!!

Images of that thing crawling all over me in my sleep were giving me the chills and upping the levels of stress I was already feeling.

Unfortunately, not being the center of my attention made T all the crankier and I ended up bringing her to her room for a time out - two birds with one stone because now I could get rid of the bug without her seeing!

I ran back to my room only for the thing to have disappeared in thin air!  How was I ever going to sleep again!  On all fours, I searched the floor of my bedroom, under the dog bed, under the dresser, but I couldn't find him!  That's how B found me that night, desperately trying to find Stinky, shaking with overloaded stress and anxiety, and T back in my room jumping on the bed.

"What's wrong with Mommy, Daddy?"

I had located the bug, on an old shirt under the dresser.  As I pulled him out, (squealing, oh well), B grabbed it, put it in a plastic bag, and brought him directly to an all you can eat feast in our trash can.  I'm ashamed to say, I actually cried with relief.

"Mommy, don't cry."  Sorry babe, too late.  The rest of the night I alternated between thanking B, apologizing for my irrational behavior, and crying.

StinkBug - 1, Mommy - 0

But it wasn't over yet...

BOOM

(Just to be clear, everything is going perfectly fine wtih this pregnancy.  We are 10 weeks along, I'm nauseous most of the time, and we've seen a heartbeat.  However, sometimes I write blog posts that I never intend to publish.  It's therapeutic for me to get my thoughts out, organized and stored away.  While I didn't intend to publish this one, (we were trying not to spead the word too much before we knew for sure), I think it's important to share.  I know so many women who have had to face one or several miscarriages in their lives and there are many more who have never shared that kind of heartbreak.  None of us talk about it, but I bet many of us feel the same way.  Leading up to our first OB appointment, these were my thoughts and feelings.  I hope that for those who have had to face this too, you can read this and know you're not alone.  For those that haven't had to go through this, perhaps this can help you relate to those that you know who have.  I know I had no idea before I went through it myself.)

Written 8/29/11, four days before our first OB/GYN appointment:

For the past several weeks, I have been a ticking time bomb.  At any moment, I feel like my world could explode... again.

As very few of you know, we are pregnant.  I am about 9 weeks along and waiting for that "first" ultrasound.  I say "first" because, impatient people that we are, and having the resources/connections that we do, we had an off-the record ultrasound a few weeks ago, courtesy of B's friends who are residents, training in ultrasound at the hospital.  And though B said he saw "something", I didn't see anything.  Just a speck.  And that's when my fuse was lit.

Just over two years ago, B and I miscarried.  It's still hard for me to type it, never mind say it.  Those weeks were such a roller coaster.  From total elation that we were pregnant, to denial, that something would of course start to show up in the many, many ultrasounds, to the absolute dread of the D&C.  I was in a funk for a long time.  No, not just a funk, I was flat out depressed.  I felt like a failure as a woman.  I know it wasn't "my fault" and that I didn't do anything wrong.  I know in my head that it was nature's way of screening out the incompatible combinations of chromosomes.  I know that miscarriage is very common and happens to so many women (but why do none of us talk about it?). 

None of that information got to my heart though.  In my heart, I still grieve for the child that never happened.  Despite the fact that we were able to conceive relatively quickly afterward and had a beautiful, complete, perfect little girl, I still miss the idea of what that first pregnancy might have been. 

And now, having seen a preliminary speck, similar to what we saw the first time, where it  was just the empty sac, the blighted ovum, the dread has returned.  Have I failed again?

We'll know for sure on Thursday when we have our first OB/GYN appointment and our first official ultrasound.  At that point, if there will be a baby, then there will be something to see.  And if not...  Well, we've been down that road before...  I hope this bomb is a dud.  I hope that the joy that is Miss T will help carry me through and remind me that even though this one might not be successful, the next one might.  I hope I can be strong enough to face Thursday and the information we might receive.  The few family members we have told are so excited for us.  They talk about it as if they are sure of the outcome.  I find myself reeling them in, refusing to celebrate until I know.  I refuse to board the roller coaster again, I'll just stay on the platform until Thursday.  Until then, I'll take try to take some comfort in the daily, non-stop nausea that I didn't have with the first pregnancy, the frequent night wakings, and the already growing belly.  Tick, tick, tick...

Of course, as we announced here, everything seems to be going well.  I've finally allowed myself to start getting excited and thinking/dreaming about our new addition to our family.  I'm finding myself falling asleep with my hands on my belly.  It surprises me how real the pain of our miscarriage still is, even now.  Anyways, I think I'll leave you with a positive note, a very silly picture of me trying to capture my 10-week bump in my bathroom mirror!  My acceptable wardrobe is getting smaller every day!