i have a secret. i'm sure those that know me well have gotten a peek through the strong woman facade i try to put off.
because the truth is, i've had some insecurities that ran pretty deep for a large part of my life, most of them having to do with things i cannot control- physical appearance and other things. i learned as i got older to cover them up with sarcasm. make everything a big joke when everyone's around, cry about it later if necessary. but now that i've become a mom, none of that seemed to matter anymore. gobbles is priority number one, so worrying about parts of myself that cannot be changed just seem trivial.
it's not about me anymore.
yesterday we headed down to a specialist for what we thought would be a short procedure to unclog his left tear duct, which never cleared up on its own. instead, the appointment was only a pre-evaluation complete with eye exam to make sure everything was good to go for the procedure to be scheduled at a later time. things were going fine as they ran a few tests, confirming the clog and looking at a few other things. they put some drops in his eyes and told us to go back to the waiting room for thirty minutes and we'd be called back in.
we enjoyed that time with gobbles as he ran like a maniac around the long halls of the hospital, laughing and squealing when we'd catch him. relieved that he wasn't having a procedure that day after all, i was a little lighter on my feet, thinking he'd just get a quick pupil check and we'd be on our way.
instead, after we returned to the exam room, doctor after doctor came in and performed the same test. still not thinking anything of it, i held my squirming toddler tight as he tried to ward off the lenses they were sticking in front of his eyes and the lights they were shining in.
after the third doctor came in for a consult, they sat us down. your son is extremely nearsighted. he needs a prescription of minus eleven. he needs glasses immediately and we have to bring him back here for testing to rule out genetic disorder. after all of that is sorted out, then we can worry about the tear duct.
it was like a sucker punch. glasses. tears stung my eyes as my mind flashed back to a 7th grade basketball game. we were in the gym of a rival school's team playing on a friday night. for some reason the boys from our school came in to watch. i was running down the court in my rec specs, hoping the floorboards would open up and i would disappear into the fabric of the court. see, i had a nice pair of wire rims for school and stuff, but their fragility led my mom to justify getting the cheapest ugliest plastic frames for sports. complete with zebra print band. i felt like a dork, but it was ok. i mean nobody watches girls' sports other than parents, right? when the boys showed up, i remember thinking. great. just another thing for them to make fun of me about. because kids at that age can be downright cruel.
my mind snapped back as the doctor asked if we had questions. is this his baseline? is this minus eleven the BEST gobbles is ever going to see? the doctor told us that yes, his sight will go down with age just as other nearsighted people do.
my mind was spinning, tears flowing. i am a minus 6.5 and am blind as a bat without my glasses or contacts. you're telling me my 15 month old son has eyes that are almost TWICE as bad as my own at 30? the doctor confirmed, and reiterated that is the reason they wanted to perform more tests, to make sure that is the only thing. i started firing questions what about his future? will he be able to do everything other normal kids do?
he will, but even if he got contacts he'll have to wear protective goggles for sports to take precaution against retinal detachment. bam. rec specs. a left hook.
after more back and forth, none of which i can really remember, we left, full of anxiety and fear. when we got in the car my husband and i discussed the chances of the worst case. the reason for the further testing gobbles must have some time in the future. the doctor made it seem like it was just a precaution, so we are trying not to worry about it now. the fact that my son cannot see is worry enough...
my husband asked if i was ok, and it all came out. i don't want my baby to ever have to be insecure about anything. this is just ammunition for other kids to make fun of him! i can't believe it. it's my fault. he assured me that they won't be made fun of, that i was projecting my own insecurities all over him. true, i guess. but i argued further. you don't know what it's like! to be at the pool and not being able to see your friends, to be on the beach and come out of the ocean and try to find your towel again half blind. christ, just to wake up in the middle of the night and feel around for your glasses so you can look at the clock. you don't understand!
my husband assured me that everything will be ok. he's not sick (pending the results of the aforementioned tests), and he's still a happy guy. and happiness is all that matters, if it comes with a few inconveniences than so be it.
we're both still pretty shocked that our boy has been walking around half blind, but some things are making sense. the lack of interest in the tv, only crawling to us at daycare when he hears our voices, and crying when i'm just five feet away because he can't see me are all very clear now. the doctor assured as that his world will grow so much when he gets the glasses, and he will be much happier.
i know things will be all right. but i pray that since he got his eyesight from his momma, he'll at least get his confidence from his daddy.
and in the meantime, i will never let him see me cry.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Days like these
Our days have begun to pick up and run together again, blurring the line between winter and spring, and all of the sudden we've found ourselves in mid-march with an energetic fifteen month old who loves daylight savings more than anyone else, except that pesky part of trying adjust to bedtime an "hour earlier".
The house is in need of a good scrub, the dogs need baths and manicures, weeks' worth of clean clothes remain to be put away, and toys are strewn across the house as far as the eye can see. Yet, it doesn't bother me. Our little family has spent the last few weeks recouping from the harsh winter (well, harsh end of winter at least), just doing what we do best - hanging out and having fun.
Sure, work stress is at an all time high, but I've taken to running during lunchtime, which not only helps me blow off steam that would otherwise leave me tearing up in anger at the idiocy of an egotistical maniac, but it's giving me more time to sleep in, make Gobble's breakfast & lunch in the morning, or just be. Bonuses are that I don't eat the sweets strewn about the office and that if my 4th metatarsal holds up, I'm on track for broad street.
So back to the fun.
I absolutely LOVE this age. Yes there are diapers, yes there is a paci (for sleeping only), yes there is the occasional barf (sorry again sis about your birthday cake!!). But there are no bottles to warm up, no baby food to mush, and no bedtime blues. If Gobbles doesn't feel like going to sleep, then he'll lay in his crib talking to himself for an hour without fussing (as long as the aforementioned pacifier doesn't fall out of the crib. yikes.)
And my boy? Smartest little man ever. But he may have his Momma's stubbornness as well (or Daddy's... he may be more stubborn than me!). Last Tuesday morning, for the first time since we heard him say the word six months ago, Gobbles began running around the house. Mommma, Momma, Mom-MAAA!!!! This after MONTHS of calling me Da-Da to get a rise out of me. And yes, it was purely for a rise, because he'd call me Dada, I'd say, "No, MAMMA", and he'd laugh and shake his head no, sending us all into fits of giggles.
But, ever since last week, my heart leaps out of my chest every time I hear those two little syllables, Mom-ma. A finger point directed at me along with the word makes me fall to pieces with joy.
Gobbles is funny like that. He knows a lot more than he lets on, and just waits for the right time to let it out. Earlier this week, after he'd gone to bed, hubs and I hear a very distinct, "Hi!" come from his room. We flip the monitor on and turn up the volume, assuming he'd managed to turn on one of his talking animals. "Hi, Hi, Hi!". We both looked at each other - assuring the other that we were not hiding any new words, we'd really never heard him say it before. Next day at daycare, I asked, "Um, so does Gobbles say Hi?". Oh yes, he says hi all the time!
That little bugger.
I told them of the night before and they just laughed well, that's Gobbles. He only says what he needs to, but then again, it's hard to get him to stop...hmmm not sure why he's holding back "Hi". Ahh. So the poor child is conflicted it seems with that DNA combo we gave him. His father's dry reserve coupled with his mother's incessant need to overshare - one will have to win out in the end, we'll have to wait and see which.
Another new word he frequents now is Again (Gan!). I've started playing ring around the rosie (black plague be damned) with him, and he LOVES it. Half the time he falls down a little early, but as soon as I'm on the ground next to him? Gan, Gan, Gan! as he holds out his hands. And boy, the physical demand of getting up and down off the floor to play 27 times in a row is actually really hard, and I consider myself somewhat in shape. Gobbles loves this game so much that he'll randomly abandon a toy and run over to me, pulling my arms out and positioning my hands so we can go another round.
So as of now it looks like our words of choice are Dada, Momma, Wiggle, Dog, Stop, Go, Car, Bus, Again, This, That, Ball, Cheese, and a few others I can't think of at the moment. The words Gobbles understands but doesn't say yet are innumerable. Ask him to go get his shoes and he gets them, tell him to say hi to Spoons and he runs over to give her a hug. Direct him to play with Cannoli and he finds a toy on the ground, approaches him, and sticks the toy into the dog's mouth.
I could go on and on, and don't get me wrong, it's not bragging, I'm just amazed at how much my boy can do when a year ago he couldn't even roll over. That and I feel the need to list things here since the baby book has gone untouched for so long, I need to document these things somewhere!
So our weekends have been filled with playtime, talking, laughter, and trips to the playground. Gobbles had his first (and second) trips to the park recently. I don't know why it took us so long to get there, but being a winter baby by the time he was big enough to go I was back at work and chaos ruled. Anyway, he has an irrational fear of the swings which I actually find quite cute. But the slides and the captains wheel? We could go up and down or spin spin spin all. day. long. Typically, Mommy or Daddy will get tired of getting tangled up going down the twisty slide (seriously, no fun as an adult!) and call it a day. But it's ok, because we usually take that energy from the park and come back to our own backyard chasing the puppies around until naptime.
The only downside of all this fun is the complete lack of pictures. I've been taking hubs' advice and living life for what it is, instead of watching from behind a camera. So, I've got a few cell phone shots but that's about it....
But never fear, I've been taking pics all week of my lil Irish lad in his St. Patty's day pride. That'll be for the next post!
The house is in need of a good scrub, the dogs need baths and manicures, weeks' worth of clean clothes remain to be put away, and toys are strewn across the house as far as the eye can see. Yet, it doesn't bother me. Our little family has spent the last few weeks recouping from the harsh winter (well, harsh end of winter at least), just doing what we do best - hanging out and having fun.
Sure, work stress is at an all time high, but I've taken to running during lunchtime, which not only helps me blow off steam that would otherwise leave me tearing up in anger at the idiocy of an egotistical maniac, but it's giving me more time to sleep in, make Gobble's breakfast & lunch in the morning, or just be. Bonuses are that I don't eat the sweets strewn about the office and that if my 4th metatarsal holds up, I'm on track for broad street.
So back to the fun.
I absolutely LOVE this age. Yes there are diapers, yes there is a paci (for sleeping only), yes there is the occasional barf (sorry again sis about your birthday cake!!). But there are no bottles to warm up, no baby food to mush, and no bedtime blues. If Gobbles doesn't feel like going to sleep, then he'll lay in his crib talking to himself for an hour without fussing (as long as the aforementioned pacifier doesn't fall out of the crib. yikes.)
And my boy? Smartest little man ever. But he may have his Momma's stubbornness as well (or Daddy's... he may be more stubborn than me!). Last Tuesday morning, for the first time since we heard him say the word six months ago, Gobbles began running around the house. Mommma, Momma, Mom-MAAA!!!! This after MONTHS of calling me Da-Da to get a rise out of me. And yes, it was purely for a rise, because he'd call me Dada, I'd say, "No, MAMMA", and he'd laugh and shake his head no, sending us all into fits of giggles.
But, ever since last week, my heart leaps out of my chest every time I hear those two little syllables, Mom-ma. A finger point directed at me along with the word makes me fall to pieces with joy.
Gobbles is funny like that. He knows a lot more than he lets on, and just waits for the right time to let it out. Earlier this week, after he'd gone to bed, hubs and I hear a very distinct, "Hi!" come from his room. We flip the monitor on and turn up the volume, assuming he'd managed to turn on one of his talking animals. "Hi, Hi, Hi!". We both looked at each other - assuring the other that we were not hiding any new words, we'd really never heard him say it before. Next day at daycare, I asked, "Um, so does Gobbles say Hi?". Oh yes, he says hi all the time!
That little bugger.
I told them of the night before and they just laughed well, that's Gobbles. He only says what he needs to, but then again, it's hard to get him to stop...hmmm not sure why he's holding back "Hi". Ahh. So the poor child is conflicted it seems with that DNA combo we gave him. His father's dry reserve coupled with his mother's incessant need to overshare - one will have to win out in the end, we'll have to wait and see which.
Another new word he frequents now is Again (Gan!). I've started playing ring around the rosie (black plague be damned) with him, and he LOVES it. Half the time he falls down a little early, but as soon as I'm on the ground next to him? Gan, Gan, Gan! as he holds out his hands. And boy, the physical demand of getting up and down off the floor to play 27 times in a row is actually really hard, and I consider myself somewhat in shape. Gobbles loves this game so much that he'll randomly abandon a toy and run over to me, pulling my arms out and positioning my hands so we can go another round.
So as of now it looks like our words of choice are Dada, Momma, Wiggle, Dog, Stop, Go, Car, Bus, Again, This, That, Ball, Cheese, and a few others I can't think of at the moment. The words Gobbles understands but doesn't say yet are innumerable. Ask him to go get his shoes and he gets them, tell him to say hi to Spoons and he runs over to give her a hug. Direct him to play with Cannoli and he finds a toy on the ground, approaches him, and sticks the toy into the dog's mouth.
I could go on and on, and don't get me wrong, it's not bragging, I'm just amazed at how much my boy can do when a year ago he couldn't even roll over. That and I feel the need to list things here since the baby book has gone untouched for so long, I need to document these things somewhere!
So our weekends have been filled with playtime, talking, laughter, and trips to the playground. Gobbles had his first (and second) trips to the park recently. I don't know why it took us so long to get there, but being a winter baby by the time he was big enough to go I was back at work and chaos ruled. Anyway, he has an irrational fear of the swings which I actually find quite cute. But the slides and the captains wheel? We could go up and down or spin spin spin all. day. long. Typically, Mommy or Daddy will get tired of getting tangled up going down the twisty slide (seriously, no fun as an adult!) and call it a day. But it's ok, because we usually take that energy from the park and come back to our own backyard chasing the puppies around until naptime.
The only downside of all this fun is the complete lack of pictures. I've been taking hubs' advice and living life for what it is, instead of watching from behind a camera. So, I've got a few cell phone shots but that's about it....
But never fear, I've been taking pics all week of my lil Irish lad in his St. Patty's day pride. That'll be for the next post!
 |
| I'm on top of the worrlllllld! |
 |
| Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! |
 |
| So much fun to be had in my own backyard! |
 |
| Look at those puppies run! |
 |
| Just wait one minute and this lawn will be mowed! |
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
and then the rain came.
I went to bed Sunday night thinking what a wonderful weekend it had been. Gobbles was back to himself and then some, eating like a machine and playing and laughing like never before. A cousin had her first baby, a beautiful little girl who we cannot wait to meet. Friends of ours who have been together forever got engaged, and we were thrilled by the happy journey on which they're to embark.
And then the rain came.
Phone calls before the sun is up on Monday morning never bring good news. Eleven months and six days after his lovely bride Babe passed, my grandpop, Mickey, decided it was time to join her. The past year has been a series of ups and downs healthwise, and recently Grandpop was showing signs that he was ready. He missed my Grandmom dearly and since her passing has spoken often of the times they've talked while he was sleeping.
Despite his waning health, Mick still had moments of mental sharpness to the end. On Sunday when we visited, after telling us what a good family he raised, how we're all good kids, he talked about now it's even with twenty, ten and ten. He was referring to my cousin's new baby girl, number 19 of the great- grandchildren, who will soon be joined by her sister's baby girl, due in six weeks, making 20. Part of me feels like Grandpop just held on this week in order to be able to deliver accurate news of their legacy to Grandmom, as the gender of this new baby was a surprise. My Grandpop was a man who was always very meticulous about numbers and details.
He had to be meticulous in order to provide for his eleven children. Long after they had moved out of the house, he was still working on stretching his money in odd ways. My grandparents' basement would be a stockroom of toilet paper and salad dressing, because if there was a buy one get one sale, the local acme was the place to find Mick. He would even bypass the "limit two" restriction by repeatedly purchasing his items, bringing them to his car, and returning to the store to buy more. I remember another creative way he'd make money after retirement was duping the credit card companies. He would max out cash from zero percent cards, invest the cash in a high interest account, earn interest, and take the money back out to pay the credit card bills upon their due date. So basically he was gaining interest off of someone else's money. A lot of effort for probably not that much money, but it gave the old man something to do, and more importantly it made him proud. He would always talk of these schemes with a glint in his eye knowing he was beating the system somehow.
When he wasn't yelling at someone to turn the thermostat down, or yelling at his kids about parking the car (he was really hard of hearing at the end, so the yelling is kind of a given), Mick had a soft gentle side as well. Even though Gobbles will not remember, he is so lucky to have met his Great-Grandpop. When Grandpop first met my child, who happened to be a little large in the beginning, he exclaimed, "wow this kid's heavy. he's a monster!". And the nickname stuck. Every time my mom would visit, he'd ask How's that monster? But then when he'd see Gobbles again he'd be ever so gentle in talking to him and having him sit on his lap. He even yelled at my mom one time, Stop talking so loud, you're scarin the kid!
Just this past Sunday, he asked if Gobbles was walking yet. "Of course" we told him, "you knew that". Well, said Grandpop, I think you're going to need a bigger house, because he's a monster!
Opinionated with the right touch of sarcasm... Mick's humor & advice may seem offensive from the outside but for those close we know its all out of love (and usually pretty practical as well, harsh as the truth may be sometimes). Sound familiar? Yea, so that must be where I got it. Thanks for that trait Grandpop, I consider it one of my best (and worst).
My mother is number two of eleven. I am number eleven of twenty-eight. My son is number fifteen of nineteen (so far). We are just a few of this wonderful family that you are so proud of. We love you and will miss you Grandpop. Give Grandmom a hug for me and take good care of her, as you always have.
And then the rain came.
Phone calls before the sun is up on Monday morning never bring good news. Eleven months and six days after his lovely bride Babe passed, my grandpop, Mickey, decided it was time to join her. The past year has been a series of ups and downs healthwise, and recently Grandpop was showing signs that he was ready. He missed my Grandmom dearly and since her passing has spoken often of the times they've talked while he was sleeping.
Despite his waning health, Mick still had moments of mental sharpness to the end. On Sunday when we visited, after telling us what a good family he raised, how we're all good kids, he talked about now it's even with twenty, ten and ten. He was referring to my cousin's new baby girl, number 19 of the great- grandchildren, who will soon be joined by her sister's baby girl, due in six weeks, making 20. Part of me feels like Grandpop just held on this week in order to be able to deliver accurate news of their legacy to Grandmom, as the gender of this new baby was a surprise. My Grandpop was a man who was always very meticulous about numbers and details.
He had to be meticulous in order to provide for his eleven children. Long after they had moved out of the house, he was still working on stretching his money in odd ways. My grandparents' basement would be a stockroom of toilet paper and salad dressing, because if there was a buy one get one sale, the local acme was the place to find Mick. He would even bypass the "limit two" restriction by repeatedly purchasing his items, bringing them to his car, and returning to the store to buy more. I remember another creative way he'd make money after retirement was duping the credit card companies. He would max out cash from zero percent cards, invest the cash in a high interest account, earn interest, and take the money back out to pay the credit card bills upon their due date. So basically he was gaining interest off of someone else's money. A lot of effort for probably not that much money, but it gave the old man something to do, and more importantly it made him proud. He would always talk of these schemes with a glint in his eye knowing he was beating the system somehow.
When he wasn't yelling at someone to turn the thermostat down, or yelling at his kids about parking the car (he was really hard of hearing at the end, so the yelling is kind of a given), Mick had a soft gentle side as well. Even though Gobbles will not remember, he is so lucky to have met his Great-Grandpop. When Grandpop first met my child, who happened to be a little large in the beginning, he exclaimed, "wow this kid's heavy. he's a monster!". And the nickname stuck. Every time my mom would visit, he'd ask How's that monster? But then when he'd see Gobbles again he'd be ever so gentle in talking to him and having him sit on his lap. He even yelled at my mom one time, Stop talking so loud, you're scarin the kid!
Just this past Sunday, he asked if Gobbles was walking yet. "Of course" we told him, "you knew that". Well, said Grandpop, I think you're going to need a bigger house, because he's a monster!
Opinionated with the right touch of sarcasm... Mick's humor & advice may seem offensive from the outside but for those close we know its all out of love (and usually pretty practical as well, harsh as the truth may be sometimes). Sound familiar? Yea, so that must be where I got it. Thanks for that trait Grandpop, I consider it one of my best (and worst).
My mother is number two of eleven. I am number eleven of twenty-eight. My son is number fifteen of nineteen (so far). We are just a few of this wonderful family that you are so proud of. We love you and will miss you Grandpop. Give Grandmom a hug for me and take good care of her, as you always have.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)