Tag Archives: mom

LTYM

So… as I’m sure many gathered, I was not chosen to be a presenter at Providence’s inaugural Listen to Your Mother show. Instead, I am still choosing to participate. I will be going to support some of my favorite friends and bloggers as they share their stories and undoubtedly make me laugh, cry and reflect on life as a woman, a mom and a wife. HERE is the announcement post!

Because I wasn’t selected to read, I will share my piece here with you now. It may seem familiar, as it is a brief edited and slightly different version of my first post.

I’m not sure where to begin. I could go back to camping.  That amazing 2-days my husband, Dave, and I spent in Maine, creating our beautiful daughter.  It wasn’t really romantic, but it got our minds off of the previous 6-week troublesome time, which began with an early pregnancy miscarriage- often referred to as a chemical pregnancy.  In the weeks following, when the cramping eased, and the doctor reminded me that we could try again right away, we knew we needed a weekend away.  With our handsome puppy at doggie daycare, we took off to Wells, Maine.

It was a beautiful weekend.  And we made Addie.

A few weeks after we got back, I got a faint line and after watching the timer flash for 3 minutes “PREGNANT” popped up on the digital screen.  Excited, but scared to repeat the past, I tried to hide my findings from my husband; but, a few hours after he went to work, I texted a picture of the test to him.

***

Hearing her heartbeat was the most beautiful music ever created.  Rapid and deep, hearing her life beginning in me was one of the best days of my life, and over the following months, I took the tests, ate well, gaining only 26 pounds, and was then blessed with a beautiful, but long, delivery at 38 weeks, 5 days.

A clear-lunged Adelaide Eileen came into the world April 17, 2012 at 10:32am at 7 pounds, 7 ounces and 18 inches long.

18 inches is in the 5th percentile for height in a newborn.

At Addie’s one month check up, her head was in the 75th percentile, weight 10-25th percentile and height still in the 5th.

At two months, her head was in the 90th percentile, weight 25th percentile, and her height had dropped below 5th.

I cried.

We left the doctors’ office with an appointment for a fontanelle ultrasound to check for Hydrocephalus and another for x-rays of her long bones.  At 5’7 and my husband standing 5’9, I was unsure how we had such a short baby, but her head was our main concern.  Along with the appointment at the radiologist’s office, Addie left the office with thighs sore with vaccine shots.  Later that night, June 19, 2012,  a fever of 101.5 struck, and was just the beginning.

***

At 7pm, June 21st, we arrived at Hasbro Children’s Hospital in Providence, RI. Addie presented with a mild-grade fever, lethargy and a lack of appetite. She endured hours of IVs, needle pricks, blood draws, a CT scan and four, yes four, unsuccessful attempts at a lumbar puncture.  Without the spinal cord fluid needed to run a meningitis test, Addie was started on broad spectrum antibiotics for the night.

A tentatively negative read was done of her CT, for everything, including Hydrocephalus- a concern due to the rapid growth of her head. Although this brought relief, there was another test we knew needed to be done for her general heath (an x-ray of her long bones), and there was the issue of what was making her ill at the present moment.

***

A call from our pediatrician to the attending physician in the hospital prompted the bones of her body to be x-rayed, specifically the long bones in her arms (upper) and legs (thigh), pelvis, spine and skull, which took all of 10 minutes and we were wheeled back to our room.

A geneticist came to do some measurements. I felt hot and sick. There were tears forming, but, as a mother, I had known Addie was too short for her age. We discussed nothing specific, only mentioning that there could be a genetic anomaly, and that’s why she was called in to look at the x-rays. As the doctor left the room to read the x-rays herself, I held my knees to my chest and practiced breathing.

When she returned, I was cleaning out my breast pump pieces in scalding water. She pulled a chair up to talk. I stayed at the sink, burning my hands in the water. When she didn’t continue her diatribe, I knew the x-rays had shown something. I finished washing the bottles and made small talk. If I never heard what she had to say then she had never said anything. Right?

“After reviewing the x-rays with the best radiologist in Rhode Island, we have both confirmed the diagnosis of Achondroplasia,” Doctor.
“What’s that mean?” Dave.
“Dwarfism,” I said. Blankly staring at something that wasn’t there.

Nurses were sent in to do a blood draw on my 9 ½ week old baby. It took 7 attempts and two days to complete. The conclusive results came back in a few weeks…

The most common skeletal dysplasia is achondroplasia, a short-limb dysplasia that occurs in about 1 of every 15,000 to 40,000 babies born of all races and ethnicities. It can be caused by a spontaneous mutation in a gene called FGFR3, or a child can inherit a change in this gene from a parent who also has achondroplasia. The average adult height for someone with achondroplasia is a little over 4 feet.

The information runs far and is quite plentiful.  In the United States, approximately 10,000 individuals are estimated to have achondroplasia. It affects about 1 in every 40,000 children. However, this number varies, depending on the source. Eighty percent of all little people have achondroplasia. Approximately 150,000 persons have achondroplasia worldwide. The worldwide population of little people is approximately 190,000.

People don’t know what to say- I’ve already encountered that. But if I may be so bold as to make a suggestion, if you don’t know what to say, say nothing.

I can’t say that I’m not scared, or angry, or confused, or hurt. I can say I’m so happy, blessed and in love. Little people live normal life expectancies and can do anything they want.  It’s not a disease. She does not need to be cured.

She cannot ever do gymnastics.  If I said this didn’t hurt me, I would be a liar.  I was a gymnast, and some of my fondest memories are swinging my long and lean body around the bars, sleep over camp and long drives to state meets. She cannot participate in other little girls’ gymnastics parties. But, she can swim- and I look forward to every mommy & me swim lessons like it’s Christmas day!

And here I am. I’m angry.  I’m really angry. I’m so ashamed of myself for, potentially, making life harder for her.  I am, in my mind, at fault. I want to help her be the strong girl I know she is, but how can I do that when I’m falling apart on the inside? I’m angry this will impact her. I’m angry other children won’t get it. I’m angry that people in her family, at least not everyone, will understand and respect and be “ok” with her stature. I’m angry people may point, laugh, call her names, misunderstand her, and hurt her. I’m angry, damn it. I really am.  Perhaps some of my fears are masked by this anger, which I’ve always been so quick to feel, but for now I’ll call it a pure emotion and hope it unfolds well.

As I watched her sleep in her hospital bed, I saw she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. She has my little nose and crooked pinkies, and Dave’s ears and lips.  She is an angel. She’s a perfect combination of the man I will love forever and myself. Maybe she’s not your ideal baby- but she’s certainly my ideal: happy, healthy, with dimples, bright blue eyes, 10 fingers and toes, sweet baby coos, and a sigh that ends with her collapsing on my chest.

In truth, as I wrote this, she was getting better from whatever brought us to Hasbro in the first place; No fever, less lethargic and eating much better. But she was still there. I battled with her being sick and getting a lifelong diagnosis that I’m not sure the right way to process.  I reveled in the good news of no hydrocephalus and the shock of knowing my daughter will be physically different from other children.

I am scared of my reaction to other parents, when they tell me of milestones their children are crossing, as Addie’s motor skills will be slightly delayed. I am wondering what life will bring to her and how I can make sure she has the best one possible- as any parent does for their child.

Over the past few months I have tried to take all the information thrown our way in stride, and remember that some questions will remain unanswered until she reaches a certain age and the universe reveals its mysterious ways.  I’ve contemplated if I had known she would be a little person before she was born, would I feel differently… no.  I wish I had had the time before she was born to process, as it is hard to shed tears when I’m looking at her beautiful face; but I will let my emotions take their course, rely on the love Dave and I share and the information at hand to be the best parents we can be.

And so, I conclude.

‘A’ is for Adelaide and Achondroplasia.

I want to say that my writing is too specific, but I think it has to do with my presentation skills (or lack there of), as well as the fact that the women I know who were selected are A.MAZ.ING. Not just you’re such a good writer, I could never write like that. More like I should never write again because I am a disgrace! I say this in jest. So many of us are not only wonderful writers (and readers), but we are fantastic daughters, mothers, wives, parents, siblings and aunts. We are free spirits, organized and brilliant with all we do (and sometimes, not- but don’t tell).

I will tell my story for a long time… forever, in fact. I will share about my fears and insecurities, because it’s OK to feel that way and I hope all parents know that when they receive any unexpected diagnosis.

I hope to see all the seats filled at the show this year. Buy your tickets HERE and come sit by me… I’ll have tissues with me. And in case you’re wondering… I’ll be back to read another piece next year! I think I can… I think I can… I can!

9 Comments

Filed under Community, Parenting

Did someone say Marvelous Monday?

Are we there yet? By there, I mean Wednesday… when Dave gets home from his business trip.

I feel so whiny about him being gone, but the worst part is he’s not in the US, so I can’t talk to him. He is in the UK… it sounds more glamorous than it is- he could be in Ohio and it would all look the same. There is no sight seeing, or time to go out. He goes from the airport to a hotel and to work and back and forth until the last day that he ends up going from Heathrow to Logan, back to his car and home to me! His hotels either have WiFi that costs £4 per 10 minutes, or it’s free and set up really poorly. Either way, he’s been gone since Saturday at 5 and I have yet to talk to him. What I am thankful for, however, are his parents who fed the remaining Cranston Martinka’s last night and sent me home with food for lunch, fresh fruit for the week and a bottle of pinot noir. Sometimes, when the hubby isn’t there, his parents step in for the win!

My usual dwarfism fact really isn’t so much fact as life this week. Many of my fellow humans have been thoughtfully (note: sarcastic) reading about the pickles (still) and sending some of the most vile emails I’ve ever read. I will never share intimate details about them on the blog, but I will respond to one reoccurring theme: “I’ll bet this lady didn’t care about the pickles before her baby was born that way.”

One: Don’t refer to Addie’s dwarfism as that way. It’s so ignorant sounding, I can’t imagine anyone wants to come off as that silly.
Two: I’ve always cared about pickles. They’re delicious.
Three: I never noticed the pickles before, and if I had- YOU’RE RIGHT! The naming on these jars didn’t strike a chord in me, which is why I understand when people tell me they don’t get it. Many often follow up that statement with, but as a parent, I support you. This is educating others, creating conversation, and the more I have shared the m-word and its history and the pain, the more response I am getting- in the positive.

And so, to respond to that… I guess all I can say is: you’re right. Before I was personally effected by dwarfism in my family, I didn’t have the same passion I do now. In the same way that many men don’t care about the fact that many heart medications cause erectile dysfunction and the medications used to treat ED are unsafe for men with heart conditions, until they’re in that place in life. Guess what: I don’t understand why you’re so upset about those medical issues. I’d prefer to live than to get a boner- but hey, that’s just me. I don’t mock, criticize or threaten anyone who has sued, written or otherwise addressed this issue. My point is, evolution happens as time goes on (duh!). When one person is effected by something, whether at birth or 30 years down the road. Whether it’s something they’ve always been passionate about, or they just recently became involved with. Life happens when we’re busy living it- all we can do is try to improve each step and make sure our feet are on solid ground- this is what I am trying to provide for Addie. I want to lay a more solid path for her.

I went into this blindly. Pathetic, I know, but it’s kind of how I fell into Addie’s diagnosis. I have been trying to write about this exact topic. I’m just learning to see and trying to help guide other parents, if that makes sense. In the end, I just want people to know that many POLP (parents of little people) are in this alone, or lonely, at least. Eighty percent of us have no experience in our own families of having a LP in our lives. We aren’t sure of the medical implications, the social interactions that will occur, or how to best protect our kids. We are doing the best we can- just as most parents are. If this whole situation still seems to be just about pickles, I invite you to come back to the blog in a few weeks when I begin the series about name changes. From hotdogs to lacrosse teams- this is a movement. I invite you to join, or honestly, get the heck out of my way.

And my random of the week:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM!

Yesterday my Dad would have been 64. I tried to hold it all together, but around 11pm when I rolled over and Dave wasn’t there, I let a few tears fall on his pillow. Today, I woke up smiling. I have a beautiful Mom who celebrates her day today! She is the most amazing woman I’ve ever met- or could ever meet. She is strong and resilient. She gives herself day-in and day-out to her patients (she’s a family psychologist), and then answers her cell phone when she’s not in session to counsel my sister, two brothers and myself in our daily lives.

I know I mentioned in a previous post that when I grew up I wanted to be me… I also hope to, in part, be my Mom. <3

We could be sisters!

We could be sisters!

Happy Monday, Reader!

13 Comments

Filed under Marvelous Monday

Family Pet

This week’s Mom before Mom prompt from Carla at All of Me Now…

3/9 Did you have a favorite pet? A crazy one?What were their names? Tell us a story about your animal companions or lack their of.

There are so many animals that come to mind when I think of my childhood. I was blessed to always have animals in the house, and thus I learned from a very young age to take care of other living beings. I went to an amazing private elementary school and we always had classroom pets and fun animals in the science room (and some not so fun ones- NOTE- chinchillas are not friendly).

I had a friend who was allergic to parakeets, and so his joined mine. We had Crispy, Brindy (yes, after Rod Brind’Amour), Skylar, and Sunflower all together, though not at the same time. Sadly, birds commonly get tumors after a few years and I was devastated every time. We even went to a special vet to try and figure it all out- but one by one my loves fell to the bottom. Crispy lived the longest, but suffered a great depression after Brindy passed. He was never the same and passed within the same year. Eventually, we had no birds, and I was OK with that- I hope to have a parakeet for Addie, though. When handled everyday- they are loving and beautiful little birds to have.

Of course, we had dogs, too. Brownie was my first. He was hideous. I look at pictures now and wonder why we had him, but I was young, so I’m not sure I had much to do with the process. He reminded me of Benji- with less endearing qualities and longer ears and body. We loved that boy.

I have often wondered how much I will turn into my mom. We look SO much alike with every passing year- our noses, the shape of our faces, the curve in our pinkies. Everything except our hair color and bust line seem to be genetic matches. But, it’s the personality that seems to be budding from me. Recently I’ve become much more “zen” in my approach to negativity, but more than that… I yell at any vehicle that looks like it’s going over 27MPH down my 25MPH street.

And so, back to Brownie. My grandmother was at our house and my parents were out. It was early-ish in the evening and we had all just settled after eating. My grandmother went to bring the trash out- why? I don’t know- my Dad would have done it. Then, we heard her yell at the dog, who had slid past her and out the front door into the night. And worse. We heard worse. The screeching of tires and a thud. My sister, 7 years older than me, ran- Past grandma, slamming through the door and to the end of the lawn, directly under the spotlight of the street lamp above. On our 25MPH, no outlet street a kid was speeding and hit Brownie. I’d never seen anything like it before. My grandmother was panicked- in a brusk voice told me to stay inside. My sister picked up the dog- I watched her ever so carefully lift his body from the road. A child in front of this kid who just had to get somewhere, carrying the lifeless dog. She was covered in his blood- all over her 3/4 length sleeve baseball jersey-style top. My parents came home and called the police. The kid was sorry- as I recall, he was cited with a speeding ticket. But nothing brought Brownie back.  We all cried.

As I got older, I began to ask about another dog. I visited my Dad at work a lot and often went down the street to a local pet store that always had puppies in the window (how cliche!). The owner was SO nice and I always got to hold a few of the pups whenever I stopped by. I must have begged a million times, but my parents always said “no!”.

Then Christmas came. I realized that my sister was still opening gifts, but I was done. Being young, I was upset and went up to my room. My Mom came up after me (somehow I didn’t realize that my Dad was no longer there), and told me that Santa may have forgotten one of my gifts. My heart lit up. It was a hockey player. I was sure that Santa would bring me one of the Philadelphia Flyers to be mine. In no way am I kidding. I thought that I would get my very own hockey player. Naturally, I was hoping it was Rod. After I was sure of what Santa had forgotten, Mom led me back down the stairs and into the living room. Suddenly there were paws scratching on the floor… and a puppy ran into my lap! He was a black lab-keeshond mix… I named him Fudge.

Fudge

After his passing, I took months to pick out another puppy. I wasn’t sure what I wanted. My parents were impressed with my self control. I had seen lots of cute ones, but not the dog for us. Then we went to a sheltie breeder… all bets were off. I saw him. His name was Dollar Bill, and he was the runt of the litter. A dog who wasn’t good enough to be shown, but fell fast asleep in my lap. His cousin, a tri-color sheltie named Snoopie, who was very shy, also came over to me. The breeder was impressed… and no matter how loving she was, she knew that either of these dogs would make good pets for us, but do nothing for her. After snuggling with both puppies, Dollar Bill was the one I could not get out of my dreams that night. After weeks of searching breeders and pet shops, my parents were almost more excited than me! All the puppies in the litter were named after money and I liked the name Bill, so we renamed him William Jefferson- called Billy! He was amazing in all areas a dog could be. Well trained without lessons, didn’t need a leash, loyal and loving, and a therapy dog! Bill lived a long 13 years before his passing. He was a beloved family member and will always be remembered by us all. Interestingly, my Dad lived for 13 years of my life, too. I like to think they are both up there, thick as thieves, watching Flyers’ games and playing endless games of fetch.

My sister got a lab that suffered from several issues including being awesome… as well as separation anxiety and the inability to walk up the stairs forward- ever. No, really, Toblerone Chocolate (aka Toby), never went up the stairs unless his butt was leading the way. He was the most adorable chocolate lab ever. He passed away a couple of years ago from cancer- a nice old man who lived a wonderful life. In high school, my boyfriend got me the cutest ugly dog ever. I named her Lexi-Marie. She’s half dachshund and half pekingese- all so hideous, she’s actually adorable. She lives with my parents in PA… she’s my step-dad’s daughter he never had. It’s kind of too adorable to mention. She lives with a rescue named Rocky. Back in the day she, Toby and Bill were the three silliest dogs together:

Three dogs

Lexi and Bill

In college I had PETS! Perhaps it was because I was missing all the fun at home, but my friend Adam and I loved all of the animals in our apartment… from the fish tanks to Avery the Boston and Aiko the Dane, there was a brief stay from some cats before they found their forever home, and the geckos, of course! When we graduated, the puppies went to live with my friend’s mom, and the geckos had passed on (lifespan 2-10 years… what a difference in span!). I miss those hounds, but they have found much comfort in not living with college kids and being with a woman who is one of the best caretakers I’ve ever met!

geckos

Avery!

Avery!

Aiko!

Aiko!

Lastly, before Addie there was Carter (and Morgan). Carter is my first born son- a labrahoula (catahoula lab mix). He’s a rescue from down south where his purebred mama birthed him and his siblings and nobody wanted them. Happily, Carter became ours! Morgan is Dave’s cat… I love him, but I’m not sure I like him. I am not a cat person, but I adore how dog-like Morgan is. He (named because he was thought to be a she) is kind of my BFF when Carter is too smelly for the bed… but don’t tell Dave.

My dude, Morgan (2008)

My dude, Morgan (2008)

Carter on Petfinder

A picture of my sweet boy from Petfinder!

The day he was adopted!

The day he was adopted!

My southern boy in the winter snows!

My southern boy in the winter snows!

I hope to pass on my love of animals of all kinds to Addie, from the traditional cat and dog, to the passion for horses and all silly animals like birds and lizards!

4 Comments

Filed under Mom Before Mom

Perhaps no one is wrong to be right

When a new mother holds her child for the first time, it is a beautiful thing. It is also scary. Those dark eyes, just seeing light for the first time don’t immediately recognize the woman that tenderly carried them for 40 weeks. Small hands grasp for the air during involuntary swings of muscle twitches after all those weeks curled up. This new life is being held by a woman who will do her best to raise this child with poise, grace and dignity. To be honorable, strong, yet kind and gentle. Being a new mother is nothing shy of a miracle.

When I first began this blog, it was a few weeks after I had the above experience. After over 35 hours of labor, most of which was unmedicated, the doctor told me to push my first child into the world. I saw her dark hair and I was a renewed woman. I found strength inside me I knew nothing of before, and I, though a labor of love, delivered my first child. Before anyone could catch her, I reached down and pulled her to my chest where she let out hardy screams and cries. After Dave began to speak to her and we were wrapped up skin-to-skin, she settled into me.

Weeks later, sitting in Hasbro Children’s Hospital, after 2 days had already passed during an unrelated-to-dwarfism admittance, we learned that Addie had Achondroplasia. A skeletal survey had shown positive, but the geneticist drew blood to be sent to Johns Hopkins to be sure. As I sat in disbelief, I wondered if I was the right mom for this child. I had never been more than a few feet away from her in the 9 ½ weeks she had been in this world, and she was inside me for 38 weeks and 4 days prior to that. But, this baby seemed new to me. This baby could not be in a carrier, those really deep breaths that sometimes scared me were a sign of apnea- common to achon children, and all those milestone charts I’d printed out meant close to nothing.

I was scared.

The first time I picked her up out of her hospital bed, I looked into her eyes. She wasn’t dehydrated anymore- she was nursing better and sleeping more soundly, and her irises were becoming more and more blue and bright as the hours passed. She gave me a sideways grin- all drool-y and gummy. I put my forehead against her’s and cried. I sobbed. She let me. We connected those first hours after diagnoses, not with me comforting her, but she comforting me. When my eyes could cry no more, I began to research. The information I came across, though some scary, was not at all negative- sleep issues, hips/knees/ankles, spinal concerns, kyphosis, lordosis, flat feet, fluid in the ears/hearing loss, larger head- awareness of hydrocephalus. The list went on, but it was nothing that I could not handle. I began to research doctors, as well as personal blogs for more answers. I came across two famous LP actors, Peter Dinklage and Danny Woodburn- successful men (Peter is in one of our favorite series- Game of Thrones- and Danny is from Philly- so of course, he’s awesome). I learned about TV shows focusing on LP. As we do not have television, I often miss these things. And then I came across Rosie [O'Donnell] and Chelsea [Handler] talking about LP. I won’t say much about it, Google it if you want, except that while having a fear of the unknown is perfectly OK (it’s what makes us human), dehumanizing someone by speaking about them as though they are a deviant, both sexually and in society is a sad, sad thing. There were many comments made, and discussion about giving LP jobs out of sheer pity- but I had to stop watching the YouTube video that was tearing down a community that my daughter was now a part of.

I sat down in my chair-converted bed in Addie’s private hospital room and I started my first blog post. It was June 23, 2012. I called the few people I didn’t want to learn about Addie’s diagnosis online, and then, on June 25th I posted it at 11:59pm. A is For Adelaide and Achondroplasia.

The response to my first post was overwhelming. As we came home from the hospital and I researched LPA, I saw that we, too, were a part of the community. People were emailing me, messaging me and commenting on the blog. There was support, more support and questions answered. Information about doctors, car seats, adaptive items for the home, new charts and parental tips came flooding into my life. I was relieved that I was welcome into such an amazing group of parents, friends, family of LP, as well as a group in which medical specialists actively participate. Addie’s geneticist, in fact, is on the medical advising board for LPA.

I wasn’t scared anymore. I was, indeed, the mom for Addie.

Above is my long-winded explanation of how we got here. The story about how I came across the pickle jars in December of 2012 is infamous… at least in New England and Minnesota. Again, just Google it. I’m the “crazy pickle lady”. While I don’t object to the moniker, I like to think of myself as “the woman whose initial step into making a change was blown out of proportion by naysayers who are not affected by her cause at all.” But I guess that’s too long.

There was an abundance of negative comments on each article posted online, and a few people responded to them in kindness. There was not one article, in fact, with more positive to the negatives- from what I was told. I stopped reading them after 2 minutes and never went back. The radio shows I went on, both in the US and Canada had DJs that seemed to listen, and then mock me as soon as I was off air- as did their callers. NPR, I was told, did not do this- Addie was in surgery during the piece and I missed it. Sadly the segment didn’t make the website, so I cannot hear it now. Callers into the shows were negative and mean- attacking and insulting me personally, where as I never made an assault against anyone. There were emails sent to me through the blog about the “lawsuit” and “court system”. About my “tirade” and “company bashing”. I answer each with dignity and pride. You are more than welcome to read some of them. I will post them below.

There were also comments shared with me by teenagers who found me via Facebook and blog. They thanked me, admitting to reading the story with tears in their eyes. Children moving into a adulthood who have gotten “gag gifts” of these pickles and other items with the word. People who thought they were being funny, but were, in truth, mocking- looking to injure the psyche of someone with a genetic difference. Let me tell you, Reader: It worked. Over 25 high school-ers, and parents of a few middle school children emailed me. Some wished they had done something the first time their child was hurt. I choose to celebrate their paving the road for me. These parents and I have discussed how they were coming from a place of hurt and anger and were more likely to be reactive and not educate, but vengeful. The pickles don’t hurt our children- the people who misuse the word do. Because of this fact, I asked for a change. The word has been so misused, it’s now more commonly used as a slur rather than an adjective meaning “small”. These same parents have asked when they can shake my hand and thank me. I tell them: their words are thanks enough, and I hope to meet this summer. I am no leader, I am but a lone mom walking the same path thousands of other parents have walked before, looking to make what difference I can in an (obviously) unchanging, due to hate and fear, world.

I will tell you dear readers, I did this out of love for my child. I have always been more of an outspoken person. I was meant to be Addie’s mom so I could advocate for her, and teach her to do so for herself. There was never and will never be a lawsuit regarding pickles. While this change may “cost the company thousands”, so does the sensitivity training, paid for each year, that many choose to provide to their employees. I don’t have a lawyer, nor as a SAHM do I have the means to provide one. There was never a tirade or bashing- I did not call for a boycott, in fact, as someone mentioned in a comment, there is a picture in which you could see I had more than one jar of Cains’ Pickles. Yes, I do. I support them as a company- NOT because they are making a change, but because they opened their minds and hearts for a 3 minute video and educated themselves. I do not ask anyone to agree with me or think I am “right”. Having an open mind and being educated do not indicate that you are going to do what someone suggests, it simply means being open to new ideas. While I believe the m-word to be akin to other words that our society has deemed hateful and slanderous, I respect that others do not. While I respect your right to the opinion that the m-word is not derogatory, I do not necessarily respect you for having it. I made a video encouraging change and offering my support in the process. This company responded positively, and I am currently pursuing other companies and mediums that use the m-word. Please be aware that the FCC has been notified, as of 2009, that the m-word is considered derogatory and slanderous to the LP community.

As many have pointed out, this first step was to educate a condiment company. Though a waste of time to many, it is important to me as it affects my daughter and, thus, myself. Some have told me that they were injured in war and they choose to call themselves “cripple” to “own it” and not let the stares get them down. While that is all good and well, my daughter was not made different after she went to war as an adult. She does not yet have the coping skills these people have, nor will she make it through childhood or adulthood as an average person. She is, and always will be, different. Trust me, she owns it. She, however, is not required to “own” a word that is a slur. I do not expect many people to “get it”- I myself would not have understood just one year ago. I, however, would like to think I would not have made a personal attack on another person simply because I didn’t understand something. Or attack anyone, period. What posses a person to feel such hate? Whether I would have expressed  my support, I cannot say, but I certainly would not have offered up such comments like this one posted on the YouTube video I made for Cains:

ReverentEternal

Did that make you cringe? Yeah. Me too. But, as an attack on me, I didn’t stop comments. I got an email that said:

Mike LitorisWhile I was shocked and saddened, this person was still attacking just me. And then, the last straw. I got an email alerting me to another comment. The reason I stopped comments on that video:

3asi1y

This was day 1. The same day that what was meant to be a feel-good article, was taken to a level I could not have imagined. What goes through the mind of a parent when they see this? I cannot tell you. My mind was blank. I got hot and cold at the same time. I wanted to make the world a better place and people were wishing harm on Addie. I disabled the comments and I stopped looking at my phone.

When the vibrating wouldn’t stop, I picked it up again. TheXtremeWRATH: “MIDGET PICKLES” and 3asi1y: “your kid looks like a midget” on different videos on YouTube came up as notices in my email. I disabled all comments on videos with Addie.

I read my girl her bedtime stories and we said our prayers. I put her down in her crib and she fell asleep. At 2:30am I was still awake- my heart was racing. I was scared that someone was going to break into my home and harm my child. People were making such vitriolic comments about a 10month old. I truly feared for her life. I crept into her room, lifted her from her crib and brought her in with us. I fell into a pattern of wakeful sleep for 3 hours that night.

Finally, the next morning, emails came flooding in from supporters. Emails and blog comments from strangers who have NO connection to dwarfism, and so many more from people who do have a connection- whether it is a family member, friend or themselves. These people chose to not fight “trolls” on Facebook or another website, but to contact me personally and thank me, support me, or to tell me that while they do not feel the same way- they encourage me to do what I think is right an ignore what they see as personal attacks. Parents, friends, strangers who are inspired to make a difference for what they believe in- things that have nothing to do with dwarfism, and everything to do with being proactive. People have cited this story in conferences and meetings, not to hurt, but to encourage others to seek change. One person can make a difference.

Then there were the few who found me off of these article pages- where on most, I’ve never read one comment- and into my email account. Thankfully, I have a junk email address that I can respond from and so I did. I want you, Reader, to know that I stand by my motto. To not be reactive, but proactive and educate. I will not let someone hurl insults at my daughter. Adult bullying is sad enough, when someone wishes to bully or harm an infant, that’s a whole other psychological issue I am not qualified to respond to. All the people who have commented about my husband, please save it- you’re only embarrassing yourself.  We have been married since 2009. If you’ve ever met Dave, he is a quiet, reserved man who loves his family. He works 7 days a week and provides all the love and support we could ask for.

I have been told I am what is wrong with this country and to focus on important things, like the economy. Dave, a small business owner, now spends his weekdays in a position over 50 miles from home, and his weekends at his shop. Does he want to work 7 days a week? No. But, he has a wonderful job that he got as the economy was crashing down around us, and his business was no longer enough to support a wife and child. I focus on the economy so much, that I am often stressed and lose sleep about how we will have enough retirement, can we sell the house, how much college will be, will we be able to have another baby, or what adaptive items Addie will need that we might not be able to afford, like an adjustable chair that seems like a wonderful piece of furniture for her… at $400 a pop. While there are other items we can get instead, you understand my point. I worry. I do not think the naysayers to my actions are what’s wrong with this country, I do not think I am either… but between some civil comments and some not, I think this will give you a better view- a more personal insight- as to what change I meant to bring, and what was perceived. There were many comments on the blog, specifically on the About page, as well as under multiple posts, including Let’s Change the Worldand The Dust Will Not Settle- you’re welcome to read them and my replies. I am including only the least offensive private messages, as I just bombarded you with the evils of YouTube vernacular. In light of this, actor Danny Woodburn made the remark:

Understanding the origins of words and how they have been used to dehumanize often escapes those that use the word for what they think are other reasons, other identifiers. Acknowledging under represented minorities has historically been a hard won change. I commend her for doing this through open communication and commend Gedney for their understanding. Anyone who can’t see or refuses to see what this means comes from too casual an understanding of this kind of societal indifference.

What scares me are the adults who post and think that I should be “ridiculed and more”. Or the people who think I compared Addie to pickles. What were they reading? There are people who think that the m-word on a jar doesn’t hurt anyone, but from the people who are hurt, I hear different. Just as many people were not hurt by a certain candy name in the 50′s and 60′s, other people were. Finally, please know that the people who want to “sue me” for using the song on the Cains’ YouTube video… I created the video using Animoto’s library, which gives me the rights. Please Remain Calm and Stop Being So Legal-Jargon Driven. I did not “take on” any company. I’m not sure why the attacks, but please read ahead. I thank you, once again, for all of your support (not necessarily agreement).

Lastly, I ask… just because I do not agree with you, does that make you wrong? Didn’t think so…

Thank you for reading.

SeanR1SeanR2

While Sean got a "win", his poor grammar and lack of respect for others opinions, are what led me to end the conversation- not his actual disagreement with me.
Sean’s lack of respect for my right to an opinion, are what led me to end the conversation- not his actual disagreement with me. Abusing the conversation by repeating “midget” and the past will, oddly, not change my mind. Asking an 11 year old to prove your point? You lost me.

Coversation ChrisJ

There are so many to choose from, but two these seemed to be the most gentle. Thank you for sticking with me through this. I will be running a series about other changes and bullying in the next few months. Together, we can make a difference for all children.

17 Comments

Filed under #educate

Chicken and Stars

I love this Mom before Mom series. Thank you Carla at All of Me… Now!This week’s topic is interesting because I can only think of one thing… here we go!

This week’s prompt:
Who took care of you when you were sick? How did you spend sick days? From soup to ointments to old wives tales, how did your family teach you to heal?

To be honest, I can’t remember too much about being sick. I’m sure I had colds and the flu, but I have no real lucid memories of those times. I do know that for me to get a fever is rare and sort-of dangerous. I haven’t had one in 20 years. But, when I don’t feel well, just as when I was a child, I request Chicken and Stars.

Not chicken noodle.

From www.mommymusings.com

From www.mommymusings.com

An old plastic tray carried Saltines, Canada Dry, hot tea and Campbell’s Chicken and Stars to me (via Mom or Dad). The salt stayed on my lips, the carrots always gave me just a little flavor and the stars… well- they were just awesome. I don’t think I was ever out from school for more than 2 days. If I was sick before school but OK to be out of the house, I would go to work with my Mom and sleep on her couch. Her receptionist was one of the most memorable women of my childhood. Her name was Gisela, and she was German (I think). Her blond hair and big smile were so welcoming, and I felt like speaking with her was a challenge- one I wanted to accept. I have such wonderful memories of those days with my Mom. I even remember Gretchen- she was a college student with beautiful hair. I think I only met her once, but she was a long-time patient of my Mom’s. Lord knows Mom would never tell me why she was seeing her, but I suspect Gretchen needed a mom to talk to that wasn’t her own (my Mom is kind of everyone’s go-to for that- she’s an amazing psychologist). That one time we met, she brought me for ice cream after a session. I remember her piggybacking me. She was like my big sister for the day. I’m not sure if I felt sick after that; like I just needed some love, or sugar (see below), to feel better.

Usually my Dad would come to school when I didn’t feel well. He owned his business and was closer to Meadowbrook than Mom. Often times, I had a headache. This was solved by rubbing my temples, and later with some food* (especially when I passed out in 4th grade from low blood sugar). I remember one time feeling terrible. My Dad did skin-to-skin with me. I was maybe six. We were laying in my parents’ water bed and my Dad put me on his chest to keep me close to him and elevate my head so I could breathe. I fell asleep on him. When I woke up, Mom was home- she tried to help my Dad out from underneath the soaked sheets (we were both sweating and I had drooled terribly). Instead, my Dad smiled at my groggy gaze and patted my head back down. I don’t remember what happened after that, but I fell asleep there and my parents didn’t put me to bed that night. I loved snuggling with them. Other times, Dad would bring me to his office, where I would climb on the conference room table, all the way to the end, where I would open up the doors on the wall revealing a white board. These were brand new back then. State-of-the-art stuff where you could write and project your presentations. Me? I chose to write notes and my name with every marker color they had. If the ink ran out, I would raid the office supply cabinet near the fax machine (and sugar cubes).

My headaches still come and are generally stress or lack-of-food induced, although you wouldn’t believe it by my pant size! However, since I have been a quitter (smoke-free) for 3 years, my colds are incredibly rare. When I do feel under-the-weather, I call upon Chicken and Stars. Although one can never does it, there is no other solution to a cold for me.

Having such loving parents, I learned that “things” are not generally what heals us. Healing, both inside and out, are not something that can come from someone else- it comes from within (rest, nourishment, caring for oneself)… but I also learned that things can comfort us in times of need. That is what this soup does for me. As I wait for my body to heal and my spirit to return, I find comfort eating my soup from an over-sized mug. Instead of my Mom delivering a delicious tray of goodies to me in bed, Dave proudly carries a baby on one side and a mug ‘o stars on the other. He then runs down stairs for ginger ale and orange juice with lots of pulp (his solution to all ailments).

While I am glad that memories of illness, at least not my own, are not focal points of my childhood, I am so thankful that Chicken and Stars created such a blissful bond inside me. I hope to pass down the love of this comfort food to Addie, should she ever have a sick day.

* While I mention 4th grade, do any of my UMHS alums remember my sophomore year? On a hot day in June, I stood in my choir robe on the top riser. I was proudly preparing to sing the National Anthem for our graduating seniors, and got to “Oh say…” before I went straight back, knees never even buckling, from dehydration and low blood sugar. I was taken, by ambulance, off the field and to Abington Memorial. My fellow vocalists never stopped… in fact, I think they closed in to fill my space- carry on, Choir!

5 Comments

Filed under Mom Before Mom

Wordless Wednesday, Content

I don’t know the prompts, and I don’t really have a place for this project right now, but this picture made me smile ear-to-ear. Dave took this during the Nemo, when we finally got into the heat at my in-laws’ house. Addie and I were so comfortable, we fell asleep on the floor. There is nothing like bring a mom in the whole world.

Wordless Wednesday Nemo

9 Comments

Filed under Family Life

Home Cooked Memory

Continuing in the Mom Before Mom series, started by the wonderful Carla at All of me Now:

What was your favorite home cooked meal as a child? Did you help make it? How did it make you feel? Share the scents and sights and flavors.

My favorite home cooked meal wasn’t some reinvention of the egg. There was little fancy and flare, but there was a whole ‘lotta love. We called it thing. As I grew up and made thing for my own budding family, my husband would laugh at my mother’s invention, hug me close and watch me concoct my dish.

Egg noodles
Ground beef
Poppy seeds
Sour cream

I know what you’re thinking: Beef stroganoff, without the mushrooms (although I’m sure we had them sometimes, they don’t resonate in my memories). In my house it was thing. I have no idea where the name came from, or why I never knew it was stroganoff until my husband told me, but to me, it’s always thing.

The whole dish permeated the kitchen. From the starchy smell of pasta, to the beef sizzling in the pan and enough sour cream to tie the dish together with a dash of poppy seed (that I got to add). We always had broccoli on the side in an attempt to keep it healthy, but this was our “bad” food. My parents kept the cooking pretty clean growing up, and for this, I am thankful.

My father worked late, being a business owner, but I don’t remember a dinner of thing without him there. Slurping my noodles up, getting a lick of sour cream on the end of my button nose. The tangy taste of sour cream and the crunch of each individual poppy seed between my little teeth. I see my Mom at the stove cooking, before the kitchen was renovated. I see the old white kitchen table and the hideous kitchen chairs on wheels, that would fly backwards if you leaned too far, without much warning. The teal patterned linoleum floor. And my family, gathered around together. Mom, Dad, Jess, me… Nick and Geoff in highchairs. We always ate later than other families, but we tried desperately to always eat together.

I now make thing for Dave and myself using plain low fat yogurt, in lieu of sour cream, and ground turkey in place of beef. I always make broccoli as a side. I envision what Addie is thinking as she watches me at the stove furiously chopping at the turkey, singing her silly songs. Watching my body move from the stove to the sink and back again in a dance, as I drain my pasta and the add all the ingredients in my large pot stirring just enough to mix. I hope she is making memories and lifestyle choices all at once. I hope I am passing on good smells, silly dance moves, a love of food and cooking and healthy choices, but most of all, a love for my family.

I wanted to make this dish so I would have some pictures… but Dave is away until Sunday and I am so lonely I’ve been juicing and eating salads all week (good for my hips, but my kitchen is wildly underused right now). I hope you’re envisioning your favorite dish as a child and remembering more than just the taste, but the experience too. Thank you for sharing this first month of Mom Before Mom with me. I look forward to the rest of the year with you!

2 Comments

Filed under Mom Before Mom

Welcome to my room…

Welcome to the second prompt in the Mom Before Mom   series. I am so excited to introduce myself to you before you would have ever known me… and to reconnect with my younger self. Let’s begin… or continue.

What did your childhood bedroom look like? Give a tour. How did it change as you matured?

My parents bought the house in which I grew up in October of 1984. I came in November. I always had the same bedroom, the last room on the right, though now a newly renovated home has made way for a slightly different layout, it is still the one room where I feel I find the most solace. Whoever said you can’t go home was wrong.

Growing up I had my own bedroom, complete with a platform bed my father built me . As I matured into an opinionated 7 year old, my room became a giant poster of me. I hung posters, filled shelves with art projects and crafts (I have always loved crafts), and taped pictures of JTT and Johnny Depp to my walls. These were the Winona/Depp days, where I filled my spare time outside of the gym (I was a competitive gymnast for 10 years) drooling over Home Improvement and Edward Scissorhands.

Flyers' hockey + JTT + tchotchkes + Bar Mitzvah junk = oh my!

Flyers’ hockey + JTT + sand art + crafts + tween beauty products + tchotchkes + Bar Mitzvah junk = oh my! And yes, that Whoopi poster IS from Sister Act

After a family tragedy, I was offered a “new” room. A fresh start in the form of new furniture and a bigger bed. My dad re-stained my mother’s childhood bed frame and bureau in whitewash. I have always loved the look of rustic beach homes; the ones that look like the furniture is 100 years old, but it’s actually brand new from Pottery Barn. I had my mom’s things from her girl-hood, though, her beautiful solid-wood furniture became my own. My walls were painted a pretty periwinkle and the lampshade, valance, curtains and bedspread were Laura Ashley. It was the most girlie I’d ever been, or will ever be in my whole life. But when my Dad passed away in 1998, the trend of over-cluttered shelves and walls adorned with pictures from my life, torn from skater magazines or stolen from my sister (she had some really cute friends) continued into my high school years, waning only after my 17th birthday into a room with intricate stories and special moments separated by picture frames and scrapbooks.

This clutter mimics the clutter, confusion and turmoil in my teenage years. How I managed to stay an excellent student? I blame my awesome mom.

This clutter mimics the clutter, confusion and turmoil in my teenage years. How I managed to stay an excellent student? I blame my awesome mom.

I feel like this time, when I learned to separate things, was also the time therapy began to work for me. I guess this is a deeper look into my life, than just my bedroom, but my bedroom was such a reflection of my mind. I had pictures in my bedroom from all walks of my life. My happy young years, before I turned 6 and my brother passed. Then the years after, when my Dad’s beard began to gray and my mom was worn. The months after my brothers were adopted. The joy (and sleepless nights) in the eyes of my parents and sister. The years that passed slowly, painfully after my Dad was gone. The years I turned on my own mom. The pictures in my room were not just taped on, they were mod podged to the walls. Clinging for meaning, a time-stamp of who I was and where I’d been. Loss, pain, overtly-sexual images of Abercrombie models I’d dreamt of kissing, next to pictures of friends who abandoned me after my depression set in. After I cut all my hair off and dyed it purple, gained 20 pounds and lost 35. Boyfriends came and went physically, but in my room they were glued to the wall, forever 15 or 16 or 17. Telling me they loved me in trade for heartbreak.

Somehow, my mom helped me tear all of those things down. From the walls, to the ceiling. We re-carpeted, repaired punched holes and torn out sections of wall from my glue. We repainted my room. It was like making over my soul. In the interim, I had broken the bed frame that was once my mother’s. My bed became just a metal-frame beneath a full mattress and box-sping, covered by flannel sheets and a cosmic red and blue flannel bedspread. I had sheer white curtains with the cosmic pattern in silver on them. I’m not sure why I picked that, except I  subconsciously love space (I didn’t realize this until a few months ago when even Dave was out-nerded by my desire to watch more space shows). Either way, when I came home from college, my space was different as I was an ever changing college student, but it was always my room.

D. Brady (now Love) hanging out with me (c. 2003) in my less adorned, but more adored bedroom

D. Brady (now Love) hanging out with me (c. 2003) in my less adorned, but more adored bedroom

Since the renovation, the room is more sterile. Nothing in it really belongs to me except my American Girl, Molly, and Bear-Bear, my May Stick from my 8th grade year at Springside- all of which are shoved into one of the closets (now the room has two closets!). There are some books on the shelves that will become Addie’s, but the bed spread isn’t mine, the mattress is too comfortable to be something I could afford and the pillows are king. The bed frame is a magnificent piece of furniture that was custom-made and amazing. My mother’s bureau is still in the room, with the same drawer liners I put in as a child and the same piece of custom glass my Dad had cut to fit the top, and that makes the room safe. However, it’s the music box that makes that room my room. There is an antique key wind music box that plays multiple songs, my favorite of which is Auld Lang Syne. It’s worth thousands to a collector, but it’s the one thing in my house that I always wanted (and the grand piano!). That music box, the size of a small hope chest, is my childhood.The first time I entered my bedroom from my youth, after the remodel was done and the house as my mother wanted it, I found this giant box atop an antique cabinet in the space where my bed used to be. My husband, a musician, could not believe his eyes when I lifted the lid and wound the box. He fell in love with it in that moment, as much as I had as a child.

My childhood remains as it always will, in shambles. There are times I wish never happened and people I wish were still here. Friends I never wanted to make and those who are still drifters in my life. But, the one thing that remains true to me (as much as it can in a home that’s not mine), is my bedroom. It’s not a guestroom, or somewhere others are welcome to sleep or watch television. My mom did not make it a craft room, or somewhere to store old sweaters. The dogs do not snuggle into the bed, and the closets always have empty hangers waiting for my family to hang their clothes. My room is not what it used to be, and neither am I. As an adult, the bedroom my husband and I share is not what I want it to be. The furniture is Ikea and the floor unfinished. My closet is small, and I’d love a few more feet, but that is my work in progress, and I’m sure it will change as I mature; Just as all the rooms in my heart- though they stay the same, they change too.

Our little nest, just as we like it... for now :)

Our little nest, just as we like it… for now :)

1 Comment

Filed under Mom Before Mom

Is This Thing On?

And so another chapter begins. As the year came to an end, I could do nothing but look forward to learning more things in 2013. More things about hearing in particular. So, let’s get acquainted with The Ear:

inner_ear We went for Addie’s 2nd audiology test, and got the same results as the first. Moderate hearing loss.

While this does not mean that she is deaf, it does mean that when I say mother’s intuition, it doesn’t mean “tell me your opinion about how I’m paranoid”. It means, I’m THE Mom. When I know that my baby can’t hear me from across the room, I know.

Hearing loss is typical in children with achondroplasia due to the mid-face often times being small with a flat nose and narrow nasal passages. The inner-workings of the “drainage system” are also flat, not angled. This feature retains fluid, often behind the eardrum and can cause hearing loss with or without infection. This seems to be Addie’s issue (sans infection, Amen!), however, we will know more after our appointment with ENT in a few weeks. The most common solution is putting tubes in the ears. I am concerned because children with dwarfism have different spines, and any procedure requires someone familiar with their body-type, but I know that Dr. Bober would never let us do something he felt unsafe, so we will be consulting him before anything procedural happens.

As it turns out, Addie’s ear drum is not vibrating. After a physical examination of her ear, confirming no visible fluid or wax, the testing went on as it had before. We started with the tympanogram.

Ear test

At Hasboro Audiology

A small ear bud attached to a wire is inserted in the ear, one side tested at a time. The ear bud changes the pressure in the ear. In the grid-area, a line comes up (almost like a bleep on a heart monitor). It should be flat and then raised then flat. For example:

Tympanogram example

Tympanogram example

Addie’s results were flat. Completely flat. Like this:

EXAMPLE ONLY

EXAMPLE ONLY

This reading indicates there is final fluid in the middle ear, also known as serous otitis media. Not the best way to start out, but we moved on, because she mimics and babbles, the doctor knows she can hear.

In the room

All the fancy wires in the sound-proof room

SOund booth

The machine that tells what frequency Addie is responding

We sat in a sound-proof room where Addie turned her head toward sounds, more loud than soft, and was rewarded with flashing lights and a puppy or frog dancing for her. Her response was better this time verses last, but was still not great. Because of this, the doctor used a bone oscillator headphone test. The bone oscillator transmits sound through bone vibration to the inner ear (cochlea), bypassing the middle and outer ear. The test is placed against the bone behind each ear (mastoid bone) to test bone conduction. This test helps determine if your hearing loss is due to the middle ear issues, inner ear issues, or another problem altogether. (P.S. Thank you ONE semester of nursing school for giving me the knowledge to understand everything the doctor was telling me!)

Headphones

Headphones for bone test

Addie heard much better with this test, but the doctor was unable to give me much beyond that , in terms of a fluid behind her eardrum or whether the bones in the middle ear are possibly fused (not common to children with achondroplasia).

Hearing test

A last ditch attempt to graph what she can hear

So far we know Addie’s eardrums are not moving efficiently and she has conductive hearing loss. Conductive loss means it lies in the middle ear. Whether the loss is from fluids (not permanent) and can be corrected with tubes, possibly needed her whole life, or if it’s from the ossicles of the middle ear being fused (permanent), resulting in hearing aides,  remains to be seen… or heard, as the case may be. Fluid seems to be the general consensus in the audiology department, as it’s very common in children with achondroplasia, but the ENT doctor will be able to tell us more, and possibly a trip to Delaware.

I am glad to know the she tested better. Where she was in the 55-65 dB range before, she’s now in 40-45 range. What the doctor is looking for is 15 or better. Confused? The graph below breaks down the severity of hearing loss, decibels (dB) by hertz (Hz), and the one below gives examples of what are considered common sounds in that range (lawn mower, dog, etc.):

Hearing range

Hearing Range, dB x Hz

Range examples

Audiogram range examples

Finally, you’re now an expert on hearing! Just kidding… but I think I will be soon. I hope that this issue gets resolved soon to avoid speech delays and issues in the future, but only time will tell. For now, I will continue to sing to my sweet girl and talk to her as I always do. I’m a loud person, in general, so I’m sure that helps! I know that she hears some of what I say and knows mama, dada, baba and something that sounds like “I did it”. She may not know what she did, but I do… she stole my heart!

20 Comments

Filed under Achondroplasia

This Year, I Resolve…

I never stick to the resolutions that have me saving money I don’t make or going to the gym 9 times a week. And so, I usually don’t make an actual list. This year, however, is different.

To be a better mother, I am making New Year’s resolutions that I hope to turn into whole lifestyle changes.

I’m learning to play more and let go of all of life’s seriousness:

And as fun as it is to watch my infant grow into a baby and beyond, I cannot forget that I too need to grow, myself. I need to continue my life’s trend of learning new things, expanding my passions and, most of all, being the best mom and wife I can be for my family. And so, this year I resolve to…

1. Be nice (to me)
I am a name calling, comparing, down-right mean girl when it  comes to myself. I get into some nasty battles with the mirror, tugging and pulling at the fabric around my body. Flailing my limbs in the reflective surface, making chicken noises. Pinching the skin that showed up with age and life experience. I do all this while my baby girl looks at her own reflection. From behind me, perched on the bed, I see her smiling eyes looking at her own beautiful face. Her perfect little body joyously flailing on the bed as her smile fills her face and her blue eyes sparkle back at her. Children only know what they’ve been told and done, which isn’t much. I don’t want to be the example of body-image issues in 12 years. I never want Addie to think that she isn’t beautiful. Everything about her is gorgeous, perfect, just as I made her, and I guess my body is pretty ok, too. Just as she made me.

Addie 2013

2. Know when to hold ‘em
Know when to fold ‘em. Know when to walk away. And know when to run. You get it? (Thanks Kenny) I am a feisty woman. I somehow found a man who loves me just the way I am. Poor guy. I often don’t hold my tongue, which is great… you will never have to wonder what I think or how I feel about something. Addie, however, doesn’t need to know how I feel about Dave being on the computer at 2am, or me yelling at him for working late. I need to keep parent things between the parents. Dave and I are happily married, those silly fights are just silly, and we both never want Addie to feel like we aren’t a team. We are one unit of Martinkadelux!

DSC_0711

3. Earn it to own it
I want to write more, more, more!!! I need to set aside time for me and my writing. I want 2013 to continue to launch dwarfism awareness. I want to keep being passionate about crafting and getting better at sewing so I can make and alter clothes for Addie in the future. I need to remember that nap time doesn’t always mean vacuum, scrub and dust. Sometimes it means, paint your nails, take a long shower, read a chapter in the same book you’ve been reading for 3 months.

Besties

As I watch Dave loving his Christmas gift, I can already see him becoming more organized. If I knew all he needed was a smart phone! His effects pedals, Made Rite Effects are taking off, he is going to London on a business trip, and he’s taking care of his 2 ladies on his own.

We had a beautiful New Years Eve spent with some AMAZING people, and I can’t wait to make this year better than the last (as if 2013 could top Addie?!):

New Years Baby

20130101_001728

 

I’m so ready for you, 2013. Bring it on!

Awesome beginning to 2013: Addie’s 2 bottom teeth popped through (at the same time) on 12/28!

So… she’s learning how to brush teeth!
20121231_183002

Being silly with Daddy on NYE

Being silly with Daddy on NYE

26 Comments

Filed under Family Life