Times, they are a changin'...

Ah. My girl. Our Button. Rosalicious. Ro Ro. Rosie Baby.

I love this child more than words can express. Of course, she is my kid - so I love her the way a mother loves a child. My love for Rosie is deeper than that. It goes beyond parent-child. I love her personality.

She is silly and fun with a serious side. She treats school like it is her job and rocks those A's like nobody's business.

I hate that she is growing up. Hate. It.

12 years ago right now, we would be snuggled up, napping together. Well - she would be napping. I would be unable to move because if I lifted my arm away from her head, she would be awake and ready to go again. I would have ER on the TV and would stay awake, breathing in every little moment of my time with her. She is perfect.

She is racing, full-speed ahead, towards those teenaged years. She wants to be grown. She no longer likes hugs and kisses and doesn't want to be snuggled or held.

So on Saturday night, when she said "Mommy? Would you hate me if I wanted to sit with you?" I wanted to squeal with delight. I didn't, of course, I kept my cool - like it was no big deal - and said "I could never hate you, love bug. I will happily share my chair with you!"

For the next hour, I didn't pay much attention to Captain America: The First Avenger. I paid attention to the rate of her breathing. The feeling of her spine pressed into my side. I tried to memorize the texture of her hair - the individual strands and how they go in different directions, just like mine. (Though her hair is so much lighter than mine...) Her profile - and how much she looks like her dad. Her lashes - that frame this amazingly huge eyes that take up her whole face (that she got from me).

For that hour - I just enjoyed every moment of my baby girl - who is so not a baby anymore. I enjoyed those moments, just in case she doesn't ask to cuddle again.

Last night, awakened from a scary dream, Rosie came in and asked to sleep with me. This is the third time in the last month or so, and I made room right away. I know that as we grow, we need our moms in different ways. For now - I just want her to need me as much as possible and when she does, I will welcome it with open arms.

Dear Angelina...

Dear Angelina -

My sweet girl. I hate raising my voice. Especially with you. I feel like my voice is loud, it is like razors through your heart. And I hate it. I'm not always sure how to parent you without that voice.

I'm watching you sleep now, in the wake of yet another "why did this happen, Ange" conversation. "And don't tell me you don't know." But you never know. And neither do I. So I weep for us both while you sleep.

Tonight's episode occurred at 11pm - after a family movie (during which just you & I stayed awake). You yelled from the foyer - though two of your siblings were upstairs asleep and one was in bed, on her way to sleep. The yelling was because you saw "a strange animal" on our porch. I promised to investigate and sent you to brush your teeth. After seeing the harmless white cat on our lawn, I noticed my ring on the steps.

The year you were born, I tapped my way across the stage to Beyonce's "Single Ladies." I wore a cheesy, plastic, light-up ring - which has safely been on display in our sunroom ever since. It has been taken down three times. Once to be worn in a reprise of the original routine, once by a curious Angelina right after that reprise and then tonight.

This comes on the heels of a series of somewhat destructive behaviors that have me headed straight for the nuthouse. I'm at a bit of a loss as to how to help you - but there are some things that I need you to know...

I love you. More than anything in the world. You are absolutely one of my favorite people on the planet.

I often think we are soulmates - connected by threads that no one can see but we both feel.

I get lost in the depth of your eyes.

I know you hate taking medicine (because you would rather eat lunch), but I love your ADHD brain. That brain of yours is beautiful and creative. It is strong and powerful. You, my sweet little girl, are going to change the world and make it a better place. Your brain sees through fences and defenses and easily identifies that weaknesses within others. The beauty of our heart is that you only use that knowledge for good.

You are a helper - and you are proud to be a helper. It comes easily to you - and you don't even know how much of a gift that is to everyone else around you.

I think back to my very first parent teacher conference with your amazing teachers at Bridges. You were not yet 4 - the second youngest child in your class. Your teacher looked at me and said "your greatest difficulty as a parent will be figuring out how to help her harness her many talents to use them for good."

And you are so very, very talented.

I told you, my sweet 8-year-old girl, that I am afraid that your choices will land you in prison. That you will someday touch the wrong belonging of the wrong person and end up with your back against the wall and scared. You cried. I cried. You are sound asleep - and I am wide awake and searching ADHD blogs for different ways and techniques to help my beautiful Angel.

I'll do whatever it takes, baby girl. We were destined for each other - and I am learning so much from you. I love seeing the world through your eyes - and I never want that view to change.

I'm Not Fine

At 2am on Wednesday, March 6, 2019, I was awakened by Rich and the sound of my baby screaming downstairs. Nick had fallen asleep on Rich's lap and was now awake with a vengeance. He was wailing from downstairs, and without really focusing on Rich's words, I hopped out of bed and ran to him.

He was in the foyer, my sweet little baby, his face red and tear-stained. I scooped him into my arms and as I whispered soothing words into his ear, my mind was jolted into a heightened level of awareness - I was instantly aware of the heat radiating off of my baby's little body.

I brought him to the couch and rocked him. A few minutes later, my pulse was racing nearly as quickly as his - Nick's temperature was 103.

I have been consistently calm throughout illnesses and injuries. It typically isn't until after the cookie has crumbled and been mended that I allow myself to fall to pieces...in a quiet, dark room where I have nothing by my own thoughts. This moment in time was different.

We gave him a dose of Motrin and I rocked him to sleep. His little body began to cool - but it wasn't until he was clammy and his heart rate was back to normal that I allowed my eyes to close. I didn't sleep well - I tossed and turned and awakened repeatedly throughout the night. I couldn't relax knowing that my little Pickle was fighting a fever. I couldn't sleep soundly while as I feared whatever illness raged inside his little body.

A quick description of his symptoms - high fever, green boogies and body aches - and his pediatrician wanted to see him right away. So off to GBMC we went.

My poor little buddy barely had the energy to the open his eyes after I laid him down on the examination table. The nurses took pity on him - he didn't even need to go get a weight check. His temp was still up there - 101.9 - and they did a flu test right away. Within 10 minutes, our pediatrician confirmed what I had feared - Nicky had the flu.

Last winter was a terrible flu year. Everything I knew had the flu - friends. Pregnant friends. Babies of friends. Children of friends. But, thankfully, not my little family. We were spared by the Flu last year. It had devastated us enough the year before. This year, however, was going to be a different story.

I heard the doctor's voice as she talked about Tamiflu and the side effects and why she didn't want to prescribe it to Nick. She was under water in my ears as she discussed keeping him hydrated. I stared through her as she told me about how many of her patients who tested positive but had their vaccines were quick to rebound. The more she spoke, the louder my blood raged in my head and the tighter my chest felt. I told her I would keep her posted. I told her I knew what to do. I wrapped my sweet boy in a blanket and placed him in his stroller and wheeled him down to the car. 

I strapped him in his car seat and kissed his sweet face and promised him whatever his little heart desired. "You snuggle me in you bed?" Yes, sweet boy. Of course I will. 

And then I phoned a friend. I allowed my heart to explode and as the tears flowed down my cheeks, I told Teresa all about my sick buddy and the big, bad flu. 

Fear is a powerful thing. And I was very very afraid. My heart continued to race as it did on January 31, 2017. Teresa reminded me of all the reasons why this moment in time was so very different than that dark day two years ago. She was right, of course, but there wouldn't be sleep for me until I knew for sure that my baby was going to be just fine.

A week has gone by - and he is more than on the mend. Our pediatrician was correct: the flu vaccine limited so many of the flu symptoms. He rebounded within two days and aside from a very brief relapse over the weekend he was essentially back to being our normal, wonderful, sweet and crazy toddler. But I'm still not really ok. Fear still grips me - and I don't know if I will ever return to my mindset of pre-01/31/2017...that headspace that called the Flu the Flu and didn't see it as a serial killer, armed and dangerous. 

While The Cat Is Away...

This is a picture of my Rosie girl. My beautiful, amazing, strong, bold and daring Rosalicious. She is incredible. She was basically fresh from dance class, recently changed from her tights and leotard into her PJs - and she was so excited about her class that she took a flying leap off of the ottoman - and was promptly chastised by her father for standing on the furniture.

...

I totally rolled my eyes as soon as he said it.

I often feel like a kid trapped in an adult body. Yes, we need to get things done - but I genuinely am unfazed by children climbing on countertops or jumping on furniture. It's just stuff, right? So as long as they are being safe, I am usually pretty comfortable letting the kids be kids (and sometimes being the adult kid) and having lots of laughs in the process.

Rich, however, does not share my views. He is perfectly content shirking all responsibility whenever the opportunity presents itself, but he is usually looking to play countless hours of video games and pass out on the couch while ignoring the sink full of dishes. He is constantly telling the kids to be careful with our already broken and ripped 12-year old couch...and not jump on or off of the furniture...and not to climb.

Here is my secret...

In addition to rolling my eyes when he silences the crazy, I totally encourage the behavior as soon as his back is turned!

I know! It is totally shitty of me - but I do! I really believe that kids should be kids and stuff is just...stuff...and I would rather have the laughter and giggles and the uncontrolled, unbridled chaos than order and calm.

So last night, when he left the room, Rosie asked me if she could jump again and if I would take a picture of her mid-flight. My response? "Did Daddy leave yet? No? Wait until he goes..."

Once the door was closed and the car was down the driveway, my leaping ballerina was back up on that ottoman, showing off her jumping skills...and there I was, capturing each and every one on my phone, encouraging her every step of the way. We have video. We have live photos. We have still photos. We have memories because we had fun.

I'm sure Rich would be less than thrilled if he knew that the kids and I are co-conspirators in our occasional rule-defiance...but what he doesn't know, isn't going to hurt us!