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I realize it’s more than a little bit trite to talk about being thankful on (American) Thanksgiving. But I can’t help it…
I just re-read my Thanksgiving entry from last year. It’s funny because what I remember when I think about Thanksgiving 2008 is how tremendously upset I was that Ravi was sick and Elanor and I were alone in the hospital. What I only vaguely remembered was that it was Thanksgiving when the team unhooked Elanor from the last of her tubes. She still had a central line that was hep-locked (a closed iv connection, basically) but it was the first time since she was seven days old that I was able to hold her without a million tubes tethering her to a two/three foot range from her crib. After re-reading the entry I remember carrying her down the hall of the 0-5 pedi floor, describing all the marine life painted on the walls…and her sleeping through the momentous trip. I remember dressing her in her silly little “first thanksgiving” outfit–originally I had bought a 0-3 month size, but she was so tiny I had to take it back and exchange it for a newborn size.
our little turkey
Last year I wrote the day after Thanksgiving…
I had meant to do the “Thankful” thing yesterday, but I don’t think anyone here would be hard pressed to guess what we are thankful for. We came so close to losing our little girl (when I came to the emergency room, they had to wheel me past the pediatric ER and the Acute ER, the latter of the two being where we witnessed the really scary stuff and it was hard not to burst into tears because I couldn’t stop the flood of memories from that room) and we are just so lucky that she is a fighter. She is healthy, happy, smart, and in our eyes (just like every baby is in their parent’s eyes) just perfect.
We’re also thankful for all of you. Your support over the past three weeks has been invaluable and we’re lucky to have you as our friends and family.
This year’s Thanksgiving was very different. We are all healthy (although my back is starting to bother me a great deal again…I need to make time to do Physical Therapy), and we were nowhere near a hospital. We spent today at my in-laws home with Ravi’s aunt and uncle, two cousins and their families. Elanor had two cousins (one 18 months, the other 6 years) to play with. Out of respect for their parent’s wish that they not be named/shown online, I won’t be adding a picture.
I will give you a visual though…all three kids playing together. The six year old hugs Elanor, and the 18 month old (not wanting to be left out) goes over and hugs too. Five minutes later, the 18 month old has a toy and Elanor steals it. A few hours later, the 18 month old offers E a book and then grabs it back. Elanor running after her oldest cousin, whom she already clearly adores. The 6 years old pulling E onto her lap and helping her ride down the slide. I’m sure it was a fairly surreal experience for Ravi’s mom and dad and aunt and uncle. They lived near each other when Ravi and his cousins were young, and they grew up doing Thanksgiving together. This was the first big family Thanksgiving in about 15 years, and they got to watch their children’s children playing together.
Watching the family together, it made me grateful. I grew up as an only child, and we weren’t particularly close to any of my cousins, so Thanksgiving was generally a small affair. By the time I reached adulthood and it was just three of us, Thanksgiving was a super small event. Since our wedding, we have tried to do an event where my parents and my inlaws come together, but it has proven to be disastrous (which is a shame, but it is what it is). I grew up reading stories and wishing I had a big crazy family. Today (well, this whole week) I got that experience. It was so wonderful to have our family come together from both coasts and be with each other.
So I am grateful for my family; the one I was born into, the one I married into, and the one I helped create. I am profoundly grateful for the team of doctor and nurses and specialists who have been with Elanor every step of the way. I am grateful to the point of tears that my daughter has grown into a healthy and happy toddler, and while her strong will tests my patience, I also am thankful for it as it helped save her life. I’m thankful for a husband who is supportive and loving, and who doesn’t make me hide my crazy parts. I have friends who are like family.
Being facetious, I am also thankful for Tivo, GLEE, trashy novels, and peanut butter cups 
In a week I will no longer be able to say “this time last year, Elanor was in the hospital.”
It’s difficult to express how much the anniversary of her hospitalization bothers me. While I’ve dealt with the stroke and the sepsis, and deal every day with the long term fallout…I hate being reminded of our time in the hospital. I remember that we were supposed to be home on Thanksgiving last year. But then they changed their minds, Ravi got sick, and Elanor and I spent Thanksgiving day alone in the hospital.
Elanor was on a schedule. I knew when her naps were, knew when it was safe to plan stuff, and knew when I’d need to go home for bedtime.
The kid must have figured out that I was getting complacent because she’s messing with all of that now. I have no idea from day to day when it will be okay to go out or meet up with people. I don’t know if it will be a one nap or two day. I don’t know when she’ll want to eat. I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to eat.
In short, I feel as clueless as I did when I first brought her home.
The joys of parenting….
If I may, a tale of two libraries…
The two towns are similar in size and socio-economics. One town is close to a major city, the other about a half hour farther away. Both have libraries, and both libraries have children’s sections.
Library A has a weekly story time for ages 2 and up. There is a once a month story time geared for the 0-1 and 1-2 sets. There are some board books, but almost none. The librarian is an middle aged woman who sits at the desk and glares at the children. On several occasions when approached for help, it has seemed like she was doing me a huge favor. When asked what time the weekly story hour was, I was told that my child and I were not welcome as Elanor is not 2 yet. I wondered aloud if I would have to present her birth certificate or how they were going to determine who was 2 and who wasn’t.
Library B has a weekly story time. There are two cases with just board books. The librarian is a middle aged man who welcomes the children by name. When meeting a new child, he introduces himself and whips out his slide whistle to play them a little song. Everyone is welcome for story time.
Unfortunately Library A is my town library and Library B is where my friend lives.
I have been planning to talk to the head of my town’s library for some time. The culture of the children’s room, as it currently stands, is that babies and younger toddlers are NOT welcome. The age restricted story time insinuates that they don’t believe that children are capable of becoming interested in books at a young age, or that they are not interested in being part of the effort in making children interested in books. The dragon-lady librarian is not going to get anyone excited about reading–although she’s definitely a woman who’ll shush you in a heartbeat.
This is such a contrast with my childhood. Sure, it was 30 years ago, but I remember our weekly trip to the library as a HUGE deal. I knew the librarians by name (Mr/Ms whatever) and they knew me in turn. My mom found community and support from other moms at story time. All of these, combined with an innate love of stories is what helped me become an active reader.
I’m lucky in that I can afford Mommy & Me classes…to pay for community, as it were. But for many other new moms, especially as we head into the winter months, community is hard to find. A story hour is one of those places, and I feel like my town is doing the exact opposite thing it should. There should be a weekly story time that is all-ages (I mean, what happens if I have a three year old and a six month old–am I supposed to leave them in the car so that there isn’t a six month old in the same room as two year olds?). There should also be space for more community building (a new parent support group, perhaps…a volunteer could lead it) for new parents.
Early literacy is key to academic success. Not all parents are good readers themselves (I had a parent who named her child “Jeremiah” and misspelled it on the birth certificate…not to be all adorable…but because she genuinely could not spell it) or can read in English. Story time at the library creates a space where they can bring their children to encourage early reading.
There are many ways in which I am underwhelmed by my local library, but the active dismissal and disinterest in helping our youngest town citizens develop a love of reading is shameful.
More great news on the Elanor medical front!
We went to see the Pedi Stroke Team today and they were so impressed by how she’s doing that they don’t want to see her until next summer…about 9 months from now! They were less than impressed by her lack of a helmet and when we explained that E’s lack of a helmet was due to the helmets all being TOO BIG for our teeny bean, they hooked us up with the people who custom make them (usually for kids with severe flat spots). So in a few weeks E will have a brand new pretty pale pink helmet that she won’t be able to take off. I’m sure that will go over brilliantly.
They also want us to see a podiatrist for E’s right foot. Our Early Intervention team has suggested a brace as E’s right foot wants to point in and down (imagine a ballerina pointing her toes…like that) to correct it. We’re also doing daily stretches to keep E’s tendons from becoming damaged, which is a long term possible issue. While the stroke team isn’t anti brace, they want her to see a doctor and have him/her weigh in on how much she should be wearing the brace versus developing the muscles and working the muscles without the support of the brace. It seems like a delicate balancing act…don’t want to become reliant on this thing, but don’t want the damage that could result without the use of the brace either.
The roughest part of the day is that E got up earlier than normal and we were at the hospital past her first nap. So when they needed to scan her head, she didn’t want anything to do with me, the machine, her bottle or anything. It took many tries to get her to stay still long enough to get the 3D scan. But I can’t fault her for being cranky when she was tired…god knows I’m plenty cranky when I’m tired….
This past weekend marked a turning point for Ravi and I. We left Elanor with his parents and went away for a weekend by ourselves for the first time.
I have not been unencumbered by a baby in over a year (or longer, if you count pregnancy…and considering my near constant worship at the porcelain altar and the diabetes…I do). Going through airport security without bottles of breastmilk or formula, without taking the baby out of the stroller, folding up the stroller, explaining the stroller travel bag (thank you Bugaboo for making a stroller travel bag look like a huge suitcase and creating problems for me at airports on two continents), carrying the baby through the metal detector, reassembling all the crap on the other side (laptop bag, meds, shoes, coats, reopening the stroller blah blah blah) was heaven. We didn’t even have checked luggage! So it was just take off the shoes, put the laptop in a container and the carryon…and whoosh straight through.
When I saw a family with a small crying child on our plane I felt a mixture of compassion (because BOY have I been there) and relief that it wasn’t me.
It was delightful to spend a six hour flight reading and watching my iPod and not trying to keep a one year old in one place and happy, or having her dead weight on my shoulder.
When the plane landed, we just took our carryon bags and left the airport. We got into a rental car without having to argue over which car seat is appropriate for our child and the hassle of installing it.
We got to our hotel and were able to nap without setting up a pack n play or worrying if it was Elanor’s nap time.
We went out for dinner and a concert without worrying about a babysitter who we’ve never met.
We came back after the concert, but could have stayed out as long as we wanted (the truth being as parents we just don’t have the stamina to stay out late).
I slept for 11 hours straight. Well, I woke up to pee, but really…11 hours straight.
We lazed around the hotel room. I got to use the ensuite jacuzzi tub for as long as I wanted.
We left for dinner, souvenier shopping and dashed through the airport to arrive at the gate just as they were boarding.
And once we arrived home….I couldn’t wait to see my little girl.
Don’t get me wrong…I called. I texted. We made sure to call around bedtime so we could recite Elanor the “Going to Bed Book” by Sandra Boynton. We almost missed our flight back home in our quest for the perfect souvenir to assuage our guilt.
I wouldn’t want to do it often, but maybe once a year? This baby free weekend thing? Rocks.
I couldn’t be prouder of Will Phillips if I were his mom…
He is refusing to stand for the pledge of allegiance because gays and lesbians do not have access to liberty and justice for all. He got in trouble for it, and is taking abuse from his peers about it, but still he refuses to stand.
As an atheist and someone who stands for the LGBT and pro-choice communities we will be talking about the pledge with Elanor from a young age. We will allow her to choose what she wants to do during the pledge, but we will make sure that she knows her options.
Tuesday I found myself the only mom in the room again, but in a much different way.
Elanor and I went to the mall to pick up the portrait art I’d bought as part of her first birthday picture package. When we arrived, it was pretty dead, and Elanor wandered over to the room where the last two times we’d gone to the studio, she’d had her picture taken, expecting to get it taken again.
“No, sweetie, no pictures today,” I told her.
“Actually, X is new here and needs to practice. We’ll trade you a free 8×10 for a photo session with X, if you think Elanor wouldn’t mind,” the manager said.
“Um, sure…” I said.
Never have I been so happy about my anal retentive need to dress my kid in a cute outfit head to toe (well, her sneakers aren’t that cute, but they’re there for orthopedic reasons, so we live with them). She had on a black turtleneck, a red sweater with ladybug pockets (Flitter Flutter line from Gymboree, found at a consignment store for $4…retail price last winter was something like $30) and matching jeans with little ladybug buttons down by the hems (same consignment store, maybe $5, retailed last winter for $30…I WIN at shopping).
So they do the 30 minute or so photo shoot with her, and then go back to select which photos they want to use as part of the whole “practice customer” experience. This usually takes around 10 minutes and they are right next door to the play area, so we head over there.
There are 3 other women whom I’d judge to be in their mid to late 20’s, possibly early 30’s. Four other small kids are running around. I assume they’re the moms, until I overhear the following…
“You’re full time?”
“Yeah. The dad’s a federal judge and the mom’s a trial lawyer, so they’re really busy.”
I continue to eavesdrop on the nannies, and hear about the dad who sees his kid maybe twice a week because he comes home after one am regularly. I hear about the mom who’s so into her job that the nanny is the one to get the kid up and put them to bed EVERY DAY. I hear about 60 hour weeks. I hear about parents who aren’t “that into” their kids.
Now, I read The Nanny Diaries, and I taught in at least one school where the per capita was high enough that I had one parent teacher conference where the nanny was brought in so that she “could be on the same page as us,” so I’m not naive enough to think that these parents didn’t exist. But looking at the brunette cherub of a little kid, I can’t imagine wanting to have so little involvement in my child’s life as the parents the nannies are describing.
I trade smiles with the nannies, none of whom have spoken with me as I pick up Elanor and take her back to the portrait studio to pick up my free 8×10…and the other pictures I couldn’t possibly walk out of there without (it’s not my fault…they put a SANTA HAT on my child….A SANTA HAT…and let her play with ORNAMENTS…) and gave her an extra tight hug to let her know how much I love her.
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Before anyone accuses me of slamming working moms…SO NOT what I’m talking about here. MY mom was a working mom. She worked full time almost my whole life (with a short exception when I was a baby, and obviously which I don’t remember) but she always made a point of making some time for me. Sometimes it was a weird time of day because she had a strange schedule (she’s always had “blue collar” jobs like cashier at a grocery store or cook at a fast food restaurant, and sometimes she took classes at a community college) but she was THERE.
I fully believe you can be a full time mom, even with a full time nanny, and be a super involved and caring mom. BUT when your nanny works from the time the kid wakes up until the time the kid goes to bed SIX days a week, ask yourself how involved you really are.
Today is an anniversary I’d rather forget, and I know I’ll never be able to.
One year ago today Elanor was admitted to the hospital via the emergency room with septicemia, in early stage organ failure and close to death. While some of the details of that day have faded, certain ones stand out and will forever be crystal clear in my mind…
- When they couldn’t get an IV into her leg or her arm and shaved her head
- When that didn’t work and suddenly we were moved to acute emergency and our part of the room was filling up with doctors yelling things I couldn’t understand
- When the nurse told me that they couldn’t get an IV in and that they would have to do an intraosseous. Seeing that that meant they would use something that looked like a drill from the garage to make a hole on my baby’s leg…and hearing the sound of them drilling that hole into her leg not once, not twice, but three times.
- Breaking down repeatedly in my husbands arms as we both realized she could die right there and there was nothing we could do about it even as he was breaking down in mine.
- Clutching her sleeper to my chest and not letting anyone touch it or take it away even so that I could have some water or blow my nose.
- Watching them cover her with heated blankets to transfer her up to the PICU and being terrified that the mass of white blankets was the last time I would see her alive
- Being escorted up to the Pediatric intensive care unit by the nurse, pushing Elanor’s empty stroller and being asked “where’s the baby” by some well meaning stranger in the elevator and just collapsing in on myself and sobbing
- Waiting for someone to tell us what was going on, what her chances were, anything
- The chaplain coming…and making it all worse because she couldn’t understand that we aren’t religious and we didn’t want her there
- Sitting at a round table in some private waiting room with a breast pump they’d scrounged up pumping listlessly, still clutching the sleeper, crying.
- Ravi’s dad coming and sitting there silently with us as the hours went by
- Finally being able to see her
- Taking this picture because no one could promise us she’d make it through the night and I wanted one more picture
Touching a her upper right leg because it was the only part of her without a without a wire- Telling her over and over “I don’t give you permission to die, I don’t give you permission to die”
- Sleeping on the bed in her room, waking every hour to ask her dedicated nurse what her vitals were
I have had bad days in my life. I’m sure I have declared many of them “the worst day of my life” or “the worst day EVER.”
No day could ever be as horrible as that day was.
I will be forever grateful to the team at Mass General Hospital’s Pediatric Intensive Care Unit for the care they gave my child (and us). They included us on the rounds, explained things, took the time to talk to us, and made us feel like she was a priority for us and that they were rooting for her as much as we were. They handed me tissues, and one amazing day, Dr. Whelan told me I could starting thinking about Christmas and her first birthday.
Well, her first birthday was last week, and as hellish as that day was, I’m grateful that Dr Mike Whelan and the team that was on duty were there that day because thanks to them, today I have
A recent study in Canada found that children of mothers who reported high rates of nausea and vomiting during their pregnancies tested higher on certain areas of IQ tests.
After puking for 40 weeks straight, even with the anti nausea meds, Elanor owes me an acceptance letter from MIT.
