Fear and Hope

I seriously contemplated as to whether I should write this blog entry. It's extremely personal, and none of what we went through should ever have to be repeated by a new parent. However, because of the latter, I did decide to write an (abbreviated) account of events. The support we received  was invaluable, and if someone in the future types in tags that make this entry show up on Google, I hope it helps them, too.

Claire was born on Wednesday, May 18. The birth of a child is typically one of the happiest days of your life. This was no exception; I'd been dreaming of a little girl for half of my life. May 19, however, was arguably one of the worst. When the pediatrician working that day made her morning rounds, she oh so nonchalantly brought up that she thought Claire exhibited signs of Down's Syndrome and should immediately have blood drawn for genetic testing. Mind you, Tobias had taken Wesley to school, so I was on my own during this conversation. Apparently--and I didn't know this then, but my self-education on DS increased tenfold over the past two weeks--there are multiple indicators that don't include facial features. Alone, these traits don't mean anything, but when combined, they could mean Down's. The reasons for wanting to test Claire included a sandal gap in both sets of toes, crooked pinkies, almond shaped eyes, tongue thrust, and an extra fold at the back of her neck. The test would take a week to two weeks to know anything for sure.

The first day was awful. First, I had to tell Tobias when he came back to the hospital what the doctor had said. I hope, for any of you, that you don't have to ever be the bearer of potentially terrible news like that. From the second the doctor left the room for the next 24 hours straight, I cried worse than I've ever cried in my adult life. Originally, we hadn't planned on telling anyone because we couldn't do anything and didn't want to worry anyone else. But when my mom stopped by to visit, I couldn't keep it together, so we told my parents. I didn't take any pictures that day. For those of you who follow me on Facebook, this in itself is noteworthy. I've chronicled my children's development and daily shenanigans dutifully since Wesley's birth almost three years ago. But I didn't that day. I wanted to keep her in a little box; I didn't want anyone to notice that something was amiss with our sweet little girl. Upon leaving us that evening, my mom told me to keep taking her pictures and dress her up to take her home the next day and photograph that because I'm never going to get that time back. So that's what we did. 

Before we left the hospital, we saw three pediatricians and the lead RN in the nursery. All said that they saw enough indicators to warrant the testing. I didn't want to leave the hospital feeling defeated, so I asked what were positive signs we could hold onto for hope. I didn't test positive for DS during pregnancy and her strong heart and good muscle tone were the biggest strengths. We came home and tried to set out for as much normalcy as possible.

At her two day weight check, the doctor (a thirty-year veteran pediatrician) sent her over to the hospital to have blood drawn for a bilirubin check. Before heading across the street, I asked him for his opinion on her DS traits. He said he probably wouldn't have even noticed, had he not read that the test had been ordered in her chart. This was our first real sign of hope from a medical professional. I wanted to hold it tight, but at the same time, I was afraid I'd be let down even harder.

She ended up having to be in the hospital overnight for some tanning under the bili lights. While there, another pediatrician echoed what the last had. Both said they couldn't say anything for sure without test results, but they didn't see it. At her weight/bili check a few days later, another pediatrician said the same thing. All in all, we saw eight pediatricians in the first six days of her life, and they seemed pretty divided. However, the older she got, the less the doctors agreed with the initial reaction to test.

We got the news two days ago that her chromosomes show no signs of any of the types of DS. When I got the phone call, and who most people in this area would consider the lead doctor at the local peds practice was on the other end of the line, my heart sank. Why would someone important be calling, if it was good news? But it was. I cried again, but this time in relief.

There are so many things wrong with this situation that I wish I could change. We will never get those first eleven days back. Eleven days spent worrying and grieving and clinging to hope. I purposely ignored people's invitations to visit while trying to keep her in the little box devoid of opinions and sympathy. I questioned my own character; I'm a pretty liberal person and felt entirely out of place wanting something so badly to not be true for my child. I tried to say it wasn't about me, and it wasn't really, but truthfully, if Claire had DS, she'd be a happy child in her eyes. It was me who wanted a different kind of happiness for her. I'm sure most people would have had the same reaction; parents generally just want good health and happiness for their children. Not that I've ever disrespected parents of children with special needs, but I gained more insight and respect for them while trying to learn more about the lifestyle and health needs of a child with DS.* I also saw that there are lots of happy families full of fun and light, and even though health risks are greater for children with DS, many live much fuller lives than those who were born a few decades ago. 

So. That's our last two weeks in a nutshell. The past two days have been entirely different than the first eleven. There's no longer the burden of the unknown. Now we can look at her without wondering what a test will reveal about her future. When we look at her now, all we see is who she is. Our little Claire Bear. 

*For the record, someone directed us to a pretty good support group in the Triangle area http://www.triangledownsyndrome.org/ . If there's anyone you know who may need the info, share that site with them. 

What's in a name?

It's been 10 months since I've last updated--Wesley was working on potty training. (He's accomplished that, fyi.)

In other news, I had a baby last week. I wasn't even pregnant the last time I posted. 

Claire Johanna was born May 18 at 3:26am. She was 11 days early (only a week ahead of her scheduled c-section), and still weighed a big ol' 9lbs 1oz and measured 22.5 inches. 

Anyway, as with Wesley, we kept her name a secret until she was born. It's hard enough finding a name that works in both languages (even so, her middle name is Dutch, so it's not pronounced like Jo-anna, but yo-hahn-na) and doesn't remind me of some kid I taught whose name I could stand to forget. It takes a long time for two people to agree on a name. Maybe it wouldn't have taken so long if I had pulled the, "I'm incubating her, so I can name her" card. Of course, when you keep a name a secret, it drives some people crazy, and some people throw out suggestion after suggestion trying to get you to slip up and admit that's the name. 

Two people--my mother and my Aunt Beth--did guess the name Claire. And they did so for the reason we chose it.

My all-time favorite book is The Time Traveler's Wife. I have read it five times and listened to it (courtesy of Audible) once. It still makes me cry, even though I know exactly how it will end. And the movie doesn't do it justice. Now, I know some [most] people who I've told to read this book end up not understanding why I love it so (save my mom; she thinks it's wonderful, too, so there), but it's hands down my favorite.

So it only made sense (to me) to name my daughter after the female protagonist--a woman with a strong enough backbone to stay true to herself and her love. A woman who found beauty in art and nature and exhibited compassion toward others. A woman who kept going when the going got tough. One doesn't have to turn to fiction to find examples of empowered, sensitive females; I could have named her Eleanor or Theresa (or a long list of other names) for the same reasons. But I always felt drawn toward Clare Abshire because of her relationship with Henry, and how they were unwillingly forced to be apart. Our Claire (spelled with the i because we preferred that spelling) will grow up knowing how hard her parents had to work to stay together, despite immigration laws and 4,500 miles of distance. She will learn to understand the sacrifices her father made moving away from his home, family, language, and culture in order to be with her mother and to raise a family. She will learn that love is a beautiful feeling worth having, even if it doesn't come easily. 

And that's that.

Here's to you, Claire. 

What's less predictable than what's going to come out of Donald Trump's mouth? Potty training.

On Monday, Wesley started wearing "big boy pants" to school. That first day proceeded beautifully; he was actually wearing the exact same thing I left him in that morning. No accidents! 

And then there was the rest of the week.

He was waiting in spare clothes every afternoon.He did manage to go at least once at school Tuesday and Wednesday, but yesterday and today? He just refused. Tears ensued when he missed playtime to sit on the potty. 

Because of that, I felt like everyone thought I was a liar when I dropped him off this morning. 

He had zero accidents at home yesterday. He went potty four times from the time we got home until his bath (after his bath, we put a Pull-Up on him for bed). Immediately after waking this morning, he went, and then again before we left for school. He was so excited, as this picture indicates.

When Tobias and I got to school this afternoon, we found out that he had apparently peed his pants five minutes after I left! He didn't go at school once. :( I felt disappointed, but also embarrassed because I know they had to be at least a little skeptical of what I had said about yesterday's and this morning's successes. (All three are very nice ladies though, so maybe I'm just being self-conscious.)

But within two minutes of walking through the door earlier, he said, "I go potty!" I stopped putting away groceries to help him get situated on the potty, and then told him I'd be back. From the kitchen I heard him yell, "Say yay, guys, say yay!" I go back there, and he had peed without being watched. Just now, he told Tobias he had to go, and after barely sitting down, he went. Maybe he has performance anxiety at school? Haha. More likely, he doesn't want to quit playing with his friends and toys to do something as boring as sit on the pot. 

A childhood neighbor commented on Facebook the other day that potty training is such a challenge. I agree because it's totally up to them, and we all know how logical and rational the brains of two year olds are.  

It's Friday, so I guess we will see how the weekend goes. We already bought groceries and are going to lay low at home to avoid any potential away-from-the-house accidents. Cross your fingers for us (and all potty-training parents)! 

Things I've Learned as a Toddler's Mom

I'm on the verge of my tenth year of teaching, so you'd think I'd know plenty about little ones. This may still hold true for my knowledge of the adolescent mind, but toddlers? There are no logical, reasonable expectations. However, I have managed to learn a few things that make life a little more stable and manageable. 

#1 -- Magic Erasers really are magic. 
Unlike so many of advertising's persuasive vocabulary words (amazing, wonderful, awesome), the magic in Magic Eraser is trustworthy. Crayon on the wall? Muddy hand print next to the doorknob? Spaghetti sauce on your eggshell cabinet? Easy. Magic Eraser takes eliminates it. Invest in stock immediately.

#2 -- Choose your words wisely.
As adults, we may not consciously realize how many everyday words we know that little ones have not yet acquired. This can result in an uninvited temper tantrum. For instance, asking your son if he wants plain ice cream or ice cream with sprinkles can turn rather ugly because there's no plane in sight when that cup of ice cream is set before him. I've tried to explain that plain means ordinary, regular, without extra, but he's a two year old boy. Plain means plane. I still catch myself asking if he wants plain regular food. 

#3 -- There's no such thing as playing with one puzzle at a time.
There is, however, such a thing as sitting on the floor separating puzzle pieces and matching them to the coordinating wooden frame for long periods of time. 

#4 -- Letting him help with the wash saves you a lot of trouble.
Wesley has a Boppy addiction; it's not much better with Blue Blankey. When it came time to wash either of them, it used to be a fight. Once I figured out turning the washing machine into a basketball hoop and letting him throw his Boppy and blanket (and any other laundry at other times) into the machine, it became a friendly chore. He might think he's scoring points shooting those baskets, but who really won that game, little man?

#5 -- It's okay to laugh, just don't let him see you.
I'm sure many mothers have quick-witted children who say things in times of trouble that make you lose your resolve. This seems to happen most when both of us parents are present. The one doing the stern talking tries to keep a straight face, while the other dissolves into a fit of silent giggles behind the tot's back. Later, we relive it between us and both have a laugh; it keeps us sane. We just don't let him know. 

#6 -- As in Big Brother, expect the unexpected. 
There are times when I anxiously dread serving him a meal. He's going to ask me to cut the slice of pizza into smaller bites, but the second I do, I know he's going to throw a fit and try to piece them back together. When he's unsuccessful, he's going to tell me to "fix broken pizza." Ugh. But no one has ever said toddler logic is rational, and once you stop trying to make it be that way, you'll be happier. It's not necessarily easy for someone like me who wants a structured plan full of deadlines and guidelines, but it's just what I (and all other Toddler Moms) need to learn to do. This doesn't mean let him always have his way, but it does mean learn to bend your agenda. I have a friend who's catchphrase is, "It is what it is." That pretty much sums up your toddler's attitude and outlook in a sentence.

That said, you can pretty much nullify this whole list because who knows if it will be the same tomorrow? Except for the Magic Erasers. Go buy them now. 

"I want go school!"

Wesley had to go to the doctor for his two year old check up this morning, so he did not head to Brighton as usual. 

He was not a happy camper/hooky-player. 

When he ran into our room as our 7am wake up call, I pleasantly told him that he was going to stay home with me (really, this was much to my chagrin, as I'm pretty sick right now). His response was to turn down his lip and yell, "I want go school!" at the top of his lungs. 

Despite knowing that I was going to be the one to have to deal with this little fit for the next few minutes (my husband is on-call with work for the week, and he's had some long nights), I couldn't help but feeling a little self-satisfied smirk building up inside of me. Look, I know better than anyone that I can't hide a look of disdain on my face for the life of me; hence why I'm not staking any high bets during a poker game. I've seen the same looks from more than a handful of people when I mention taking my kid to school during the summer even though I don't work. Even the kids in my class this year questioned why I planned on doing that. 

It has gotten old justifying staying at home for two months and still sending my son to school, but it's not to get away from him. 

#1 --- He. Likes. It. 

I spend the majority of my day with adolescents who would rather be staring at the grass watching it grow than sitting in a classroom. Better to build a love of school at a young age, right? If he likes it now, chances are that he'll hopefully like it later. Or at least he'll like it on the inside because we all know that it's a teenager's job to tell a parent that he hates something at least once a day, but we'll cross that bridge in a dozen years or so.

#2 --- Routine

During the year, Wesley is one of the first kids to arrive in the morning. He's there before 7 every day, and it's usually between 4:30-5pm before one of us gets him in the afternoon. That makes for a long day away from Mommy and Papa. Granted, he's not there that long in the summer; he gets there right before breakfast at 8:30, and I usually get him after his nap around 2:30. But if he went from being home all day long for two months to being dropped off for 9 or 10 hours, he'd think we left him. He (and his teachers) would be miserable. Not only that, but he'd have to go back to learning how to share with 13 other kids, sit in a certain spot, and sleep on a mat in a particular place. No thanks, I'd just as soon keep up with the daily routine. 

#3 --- Activity Schedule

This one is a big one because I don't believe in younger kids watching much TV at all. I don't have the patience required to do a big arts and craft project with a two year old every day. I work with him on his ABCs/123s/shapes/colors, and we read books all of the time. But...then what? It's 9:30. Play outside for a little while before it hits 100 degrees. Okay....and now? Today we had a doctor visit to take up over an hour of the morning, and we played trains for a good amount of the time. But each day doesn't have an outing, and some mornings he decides all of his toys need to go to time out. 

I could go on and on about his developmental and cognitive abilities because of what they do at school, but that's an entry in itself. 

It's just a good thing that there are plenty of things for him to do at school.

#4 --- Other kids

He has me and Papa to play with him at home. He can play, chase, learn, tease, and share with 13 other children and three other adults at school. I sometimes wonder if he's lonely here. It's been a comment since he was in the infant room two classes ago that he's an independent child; he often takes a toy or a book and sits by himself to play. I can only assume it's because he's an only child and does this at home, too. I don't want to take other kids away from him. It's cute when he comes home and tells us about the other children, too. They all know us; I get hugs, and Tobias gets high fives when we walk in the room. Wesley is bombarded with a chorus of "Wesley's Mommy!" when they spy me in the observation window in the hall. He needs those kids friends.

#5 --- Sanity

Teaching is an all-consuming job at times. My house isn't as clean as it should be, it took me months to unpack after moving, eight hours of Mother's Day was spent working on AdvancEd paperwork, and I worked until 5:30 with another co-worker 8 of the last 10 Fridays of the year. It is hard balancing work, a home, a marriage, and motherhood. The scales inevitably tip. But did you notice who I didn't mention just then? Me. I don't have time for myself during the year. That's probably why I'm sick right now, but that's another story for another time (or not). 

I'm not trying to pawn him off so I can head to the beach; I'm just cleaning and gardening. But it's nice to be able to pick up a book and head to the backyard if I want. My mind needs to mentally cleanse before taking on too much again at the end of August, and my body needs to physically heal, too. So even though I'm doing chores, it is admittedly nice to just do them by myself. Does that make me selfish? Some may argue yes. I spend 180 days a year with other people's kids though, so if they want me to be at my best during those 180 days, they better learn to say no. 



If you're a parent who chooses to keep your child at home, that's your decision. If you're content with it and feel it's right for you, your child, and your family, then it's what's best for you. But come on. From one readable face to another, trust that us parents on the other side know what we're doing, too. 

The Second Year is Twice the Fun: A Letter to My Two Year Old

Happy birthday, Wesley Bear! It's hard to believe that two years ago you were this tiny little newborn with dark hair and clenched fists. 

Now, well, now you're a towheaded bundle of energy who occasionally clenches his fists, but that's typically followed by a tantrum over the batteries in your train choosing such an inopportune moment to die, or because they're clutching the linty lone fruit snack found shoved in the couch crack that you don't want me to take. 

 

You're currently in the "trains, cars, trucks, tractors, boats, big bus!" all things that transport goods and people, move, and have wheels that go round and round stage. Sometimes, if we pass a school, we'll drive through the bus parking lot just so you can make this patented, "I Saw a Bus Face!" 

Then you proceed to tell you us, "Look out the winnnnooow!!" and repeatedly yell the word bus until we've long left the lot. The same thing usually happens with tractors and trucks, but not with quite as much fervor. The only thing that excites you more than a bus is a train. When we took you to the transportation museum a few weeks ago, it was quite possibly the happiest day of your life because not only did you get to see many trains, you got to ride one. A couple of days later, you got to ride (and drive!) Rick and Cassandra's boat. 

We kept the transportation theme in mind when we moved you over to your big boy room from the nursery, too. Now you're in a regular bed instead of the crib. It's a good thing, too, because your extra-long body just didn't fit in it anymore. After throwing in the books you read before falling asleep, blue blankey, Mr. Puppy, and Dikkie Dik, this was the result:

See? Your crib was turning into a game of Tetris. You transitioned over to the new room and bed quite nicely though. You were in that bed in a weekend with only one bad night. 

Two things that haven't changed since you were a wee little lad are your love for books and your undying loyalty to your Boppy. We have already begun preparing the speech we'll have to give your future college roommates regarding Boppy expectations; there's no resting your head on Wesley's Boppy. Don't place it on the couch in an incorrect position. Heaven forbid you rest your feet on it. I'm sure the list will expand as you grow to understand more about property rights, personal space, and attachment, but let's draw the line at a Boppy tattoo just because it will then always be with you. I'm almost hesitant to post a couple pictures of a younger you with the Boppy, since after looking at older pictures together the other day, you jealously had to comment, "That's MY Boppy," in those with Baby Wesley. 

When it's time for bed, we don't say, "Let's go to bed, " or something similar. Papa and I always say, "Let's go pick out some books to read." You readily respond, "Get my books," and we find some books for you to peruse before falling asleep. Some nights you already have heavy eyelids, and you barely brush your thumb over the corner of a cardboard page before nodding off, but other nights Papa and I have to contain our laughter from the living room as you loudly make up words to accompany the pictures or sing your ABCs for Chicka Chicka Boom Boom or "The Wheels on the Bus" for one of your many truck books.

Sometimes when I look at you, all I see is your father. The build, the height, oh yeah, this circa 1985 face:

But the love for reading? When I find you quietly sitting in the corner with a book or pulling the books off the shelves in your room (or at the library--don't worry, LRB, I'm there to fix those), my heart steals a line from Dr. Seuss and grows three sizes because that's a reflection of me. As a lifelong reader, it's something I love, but as an English teacher, someone with a Masters degree in Library Science, a parent, it's something I think is invaluable. Your life will undeniably be better because books are in it. Don't forget that. When you're old enough to thank us, do it, but don't forget to thank school, too, because there are many times I see you choosing books over toys as I watch from the window when collecting you in the afternoon. Plus, it's helpful to remember that when I'm not letting you watch Thomas the Train, you spent the first 18 months of your life not able to watch television at all. You will survive. Grab a book. 

You have grown so much in the past year, but you've especially blossomed since March when you moved to the two year old class. Your vocabulary consists of more than just words; you create coherent sentences. Sometimes I groan inwardly (other times, outwardly) at the little smart remarks coming from you because if you're already making these contextually correct comments as a toddler, we're in for it at a later age. On the other hand, anyone who knows me, knows that I love a good pun, so I usually have to work really hard to contain my laughter. Please refrain from greeting the old lady doctor with, "Heeeeey, Baby," when she says hi next time we're at the pediatrician though. Okay? You count to ten in English and to six in Dutch; however, no matter what we say, you stubbornly insist counting to five in Spanish is uno, quatro, cinco. Some words you only know in Dutch, but sometimes when your father tries to teach you new words, you tell him the English word like you're teaching him something. 

No human is perfect. I don't have the expectations that you'll grow up without fault, and I don't assume that your father does either. We love you more than you can possibly ever imagine. Keep that in mind as your begin a year that has such a foreboding name as "The Terrible Twos." Enter age two with the eagerness to learn and the willingness to try that you've lived your life thus far. 

And do it with that beautiful smile on your face.  

  

. 

Moving

This is our last week in this apartment. As of Wednesday (hopefully, God willing everything goes okay in the next few days, and we'll close on time), we will be the owners of a lovely 3 bedroom/two bath 1617 sqft brick house--or, as Wes calls it, "our hou"--a mere mile away from our current location. In the meantime, I have packed pretty much everything I can stand to pack. I'm definitely one of those people who doesn't pack clothes if I can get away with it (you know, you just take the drawers out of the dresser and move the drawer, or pull the hangers off the closet rod and shovel armloads of hanger-poking shirts, pants, and dresses into the car). We have movers coming on Friday, but since they're paid by the hour, we're hoping they'll just move our heavy stuff, and we'll have most of the boxes out of the way on Wednesday afternoon and Thursday. 

The Boxstacle Course

The rest of this entry is a montage of life in the apartment. Goodbye, Reserve at Bradbury on New Hope Rd. 


We moved in September 1, 2012, after spending the first four and a half years of our marriage in Pikeville. Ha, yeah right. After I spent the first four and a half years of our marriage in Pikeville. Tobias was only there like the last two and a half. 

The counter was never this clean of clutter again.
  None of the rooms were ever as
clean as they were when we first moved in.

 


We went from the 32" Sony (now in the bedroom) on the left to the 55" Samsung below. Black Friday '12 was good to Tobias. Or Tobias was good to capitalism. Take your pick. 

We were pregnant here! Well, I was pregnant here. Tobias was just part of a "we" that meant he had to listen to me whine about my swollen feet for five months. He was a very gracious listener though. 

January 2013

March 2013

June 2013

We had a few Christmases here. The first one we were going to Holland for the holidays, so we weren't going to decorate at all. During the first week of December, I couldn't take it, so I bought a cheap tree from Wal*Mart to put up for fourteen days. I think we gave it away before leaving town. 

Well, it's not a Charlie Brown tree....

We went bigger the past two years, since Santa had to visit. Watching Wesley's expressions around the lights and ornaments was magical. Clearly, I knew it would be. That's why I made Tobias put the tree up the weekend before Thanksgiving, which is pretty much a crime of the calendar. Whatever. I chalked it off to working mom guilt and got away with it. 

Christmas 2014

Wesley's first Christmas

Of course this place will always be Wesley's first home. This is where his first room was.

Wesley's Team Safari Nursery 

Of course, it only looked like that until he could toddle around and get into drawers and toys. More often than not, I'm cleaning up messes like this:

The Wesmanian Devil's natural habitat

This is the place where Tobias built (and subsequently broke) his swing without reading the instructions. Jennifer exchanged it at Target, and Aunt Beth built it the second time. 

This is the place where Wesley slept in the bouncer all day. Admittedly, sometimes my favorite time of day during the first six weeks of his life was when I could put him in the bouncer and set it on the bathroom floor for ten whole minutes, just so I could take a shower. 

What do you see? Be careful how you answer--
it may determine you're a psychopath. 

When Wesley was three weeks old, I tried to take his hand and foot prints for the framed kit we received as a gift. It turned out like this. I still hung it on his wall, and it stayed there until I packed it up to move. His footprint looks okay, but his hand print looks like a Rorschach test.  

                                                                 

Stretch Armstrong

For the first ten months of his life, if you came to our house, you saw a heavy sheet on the couch. Wesley had awful reflux, and we have a suede couch. Mistake. FYI - baby wipes do help with this; don't wipe up the mess with a dry towel first. I mean, in case any of you needed to know that for future reference. I wish someone had told us. Now we're moving, and I really feel like we should buy a new couch. One that's sans baby barf stains.        

We can't forget the times that Wesley spent playing outside here either. He does love his "ousside" time. He's had tons of fun on the playground sliding down the big boy slide (and giving his mother a heart attack--especially when he learned to go down head first), running through the grass, and swimming in the pool. 

Ooooooooh

This is fun. Much better than
that swing I hate.

Catchin' some rays

Wheeee!

Pool Time

Wesley is excited about his "new hou." I've been driving him by there twice a week since our offer was accepted to prepare him for the move, and now he knows that's where we're going as soon as we turn onto the street. I'm glad that we're taking this step; it's time to move on with our lives. Besides, I'm in my thirties, it's time to quit renting, and I think home ownership is the last thing that makes me officially an adult. I've done everything else--get married, have a kid, have a career, have gray hairs you have to dye every six weeks. It's time to leave the apartment world behind.