I love when the little folk talk. Baby words are some of the funniest things ever. Have you noticed that they can make sounds that you can't copy? And that you can't spell? I want to record on here the thing The Small One says, but that isn't always possible because sometimes she says things for which there is no phonetic symbol.
Here are some of my fave words-
She calls my youngest brother, wienie. His name is Jamie.
She calls his girlfriend, bickie. Her name is Korbie. She tries to say Kiebie, but it comes out backward. I notice that she gets a lot of her sound order mixed up.
For instance, snow? Nos. Long o. So cute.
For Ho, Ho, Ho, Merry Christmas, we get Ho, may kees.
Horses? They say yee-haw!
She knows the important words as well. Money is a big one. And she says it right.
There is also nankee. Which is candy. Sadly, she knows that one quite well.
When we say prayers, it doesn't matter if you are actually done or not. When she is done (which is what is important) she throws her arms into the air and shouts "maymen!!!" I think she may have been a Pentecostal in a former life.
Her cousins, she has given very funny names-
Natasha is tata, Ethan is E-E. Alyvia is Biba. Jackson, Jassy.
And Uncle Emil? That is meow.
I love to listen to her talk, I wish I could get it on video, but the second she sees the camera, all she will say is "see? see?" Ah, well, maybe some day I will be able to sneak up on her and record it for posterity. ;)
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
Short post
I am watching a show on Discovery about Jesus. It is a "scientific" look at the life of Jesus Christ, very interesting and fairly well done.
The reason I am writing is this. The more I learn about other Christian religions, the more science comes out about the "real" Jesus Christ, the more I realize how logical and true the LDS church is. It just makes sense!
The reason I am writing is this. The more I learn about other Christian religions, the more science comes out about the "real" Jesus Christ, the more I realize how logical and true the LDS church is. It just makes sense!
Baby Love
The past week or so, with The Small One getting sick has brought a few of things to the forefront of my mine. The first being that I love her so deeply that it borders on adoration, the second that this makes me insanely vulnerable and the third, being reminded of the fact that I nearly lost her just over a year ago.
All of these things are rather interconnected, so I shall start with number three.
As many of you know, at the end of September of last year, The Small One was stricken ill with the dreaded illness, Spinal Meningitis. The day she became ill, I was at a baby fair attempting to sell some of my wares. When I got home, I was rather appalled to see how sick she looked. I took her temperature and off we went to the Urgent Care Clinic. The doctor there took one look at the sick child and sent us straight to the ER. At the ER, she underwent numerous tests and tortures. She was so dehydrated that it took so very many tries to get her IV in, that I was ready to cry. We were there for hours. IV, blood tests, urine tests, lots of mistakes by the lab. When we finally got her results back, the news was not good. Her white count was very high. This meant the dreaded spinal tap. Oh, it was evil. As a rule, they do not give an anesthetic to infants before a spinal tap, figuring that one poke is better than two. This is not true. The poke to deliver a local is MUCH less painful that the one to get a tap. However, I did not know this at the time. I tried to stay in the cubicle while they took the tap, but was unable. The moment Husband curled The Small One up into a ball to expose the curve of her spine, I ran. I could not stand there and watch them cause my daughter, my heart, so much pain. I went out into the main body of the ER, just outside her cubicle. I knew the moment the needle pierced her spine, her cry was heart wrenching and I began to cry as well. A male nurse approached me and asked if I would like a chair. I said no, he brought one anyway, obviously afraid that I would faint. When the tap was over, the nurses came out with the sample, and I went back in to reclaim my daughter. I took her fragile figure into my arms, and her sobs began to subside. Mine did not. The horror of knowing the pain she was in, that I was privy to, was too much for me. I held her and rocked her and cried. Eventually, the doctor came in to tell us that her fluid was clear, not cloudy (thank the Good Lord), but they were fairly sure she had meningits. Shortly after delivering this news, he was kind enough to inform me that the large majority of infants who contract meningitis die within 24 hours. This was too much for me. How could I bear the loss of this little one who had such a claim on my heart? In the short six months she had belonged to me, I had invested EVERYTHING I had into her. If I lost her, I lost part of myself. But worse than losing part of myself was losing her. I wanted her, I needed her.
We were transferred up to the pediactrics unit and given a room, at which time I called my mom. When she arrived (somewhere around 2 am) I sent Mike home, as he had to work the next day. I had calmed myself by that point, but when my mom arrived and I gave her the rundown of what had happened, I began to lose control again. Holding this blessed infant, wearing hospital jammies that were far to large for her and hooked up to tubes and IV's and monitors I realized afresh what it would mean if she died. I felt then, as I feel now. If she were to die, a very large part of me would die with her. She is my life, she is everything to me. I didn't know if I would survive the loss whole or at all. My mom, in her wisdom, told me I would, but that it would be insanely hard and I would indeed lose part of myself, but that since I had to go on, I would do so.
Needless to say, she did not die. She was released from the hospital 1 week later, whole and well. I did not sleep much that week and I thanked the Lord daily that she had survived another day.
Fast forward to the following July 4. She is again running a fever (the same thing that cued us into her being very ill the first time). After some time of keeping an eye on her, we take her to Urgent Care. Once again, off to the hospital. This time, the stay is much shorter.
Perhaps you can see why The Small One getting a fever makes me a bit paranoid? Why it reminds me of the first time. You see, she has had a fever only three times in her life. Two of those times ended up with hospital visits and one nearly cost her life.
This past week has been a bit of a sleepless one. I took her temperature obsessively, willing her body to remain below 103, the danger mark for her age. Doing everything within my power to keep her fever down and her hydrated. If she continued to drink and her fever stayed lower, it wasn't life threatening. I prayed constantly that it wasn't something dangerous, that she would overcome whatever had a hold on her. Again, thank the Lord she has. It seems she has roseola, which isn't terribly dangerous.
My point is this. I love her. Beyond all. She is a literal part of me. And to love someone this much makes one incredibly vulnerable. I sometimes feel that I am just asking to be hurt. Having a child and loving it opens one up to all sort of joys, but with those joys can come the very depths of despair. I fear for her. For her health, for her happiness, for the kind of world we are leaving her. But on the other hand, I wouldn't trade it for anything. To love someone the way I love her, to know I had a significant part in her creation, to know she is part of me is...awe inspiring. And the joys are there and they are un-numberable. To see her precious smiling face in the morning, to feel her soft angel kiss on my cheek. To feel those tiny arms wrap around my neck and squeeze. To rejoice in her triumphs, to laugh at her silliness.
To love her.
That is the infinite joy.
To love.
All of these things are rather interconnected, so I shall start with number three.
As many of you know, at the end of September of last year, The Small One was stricken ill with the dreaded illness, Spinal Meningitis. The day she became ill, I was at a baby fair attempting to sell some of my wares. When I got home, I was rather appalled to see how sick she looked. I took her temperature and off we went to the Urgent Care Clinic. The doctor there took one look at the sick child and sent us straight to the ER. At the ER, she underwent numerous tests and tortures. She was so dehydrated that it took so very many tries to get her IV in, that I was ready to cry. We were there for hours. IV, blood tests, urine tests, lots of mistakes by the lab. When we finally got her results back, the news was not good. Her white count was very high. This meant the dreaded spinal tap. Oh, it was evil. As a rule, they do not give an anesthetic to infants before a spinal tap, figuring that one poke is better than two. This is not true. The poke to deliver a local is MUCH less painful that the one to get a tap. However, I did not know this at the time. I tried to stay in the cubicle while they took the tap, but was unable. The moment Husband curled The Small One up into a ball to expose the curve of her spine, I ran. I could not stand there and watch them cause my daughter, my heart, so much pain. I went out into the main body of the ER, just outside her cubicle. I knew the moment the needle pierced her spine, her cry was heart wrenching and I began to cry as well. A male nurse approached me and asked if I would like a chair. I said no, he brought one anyway, obviously afraid that I would faint. When the tap was over, the nurses came out with the sample, and I went back in to reclaim my daughter. I took her fragile figure into my arms, and her sobs began to subside. Mine did not. The horror of knowing the pain she was in, that I was privy to, was too much for me. I held her and rocked her and cried. Eventually, the doctor came in to tell us that her fluid was clear, not cloudy (thank the Good Lord), but they were fairly sure she had meningits. Shortly after delivering this news, he was kind enough to inform me that the large majority of infants who contract meningitis die within 24 hours. This was too much for me. How could I bear the loss of this little one who had such a claim on my heart? In the short six months she had belonged to me, I had invested EVERYTHING I had into her. If I lost her, I lost part of myself. But worse than losing part of myself was losing her. I wanted her, I needed her.
We were transferred up to the pediactrics unit and given a room, at which time I called my mom. When she arrived (somewhere around 2 am) I sent Mike home, as he had to work the next day. I had calmed myself by that point, but when my mom arrived and I gave her the rundown of what had happened, I began to lose control again. Holding this blessed infant, wearing hospital jammies that were far to large for her and hooked up to tubes and IV's and monitors I realized afresh what it would mean if she died. I felt then, as I feel now. If she were to die, a very large part of me would die with her. She is my life, she is everything to me. I didn't know if I would survive the loss whole or at all. My mom, in her wisdom, told me I would, but that it would be insanely hard and I would indeed lose part of myself, but that since I had to go on, I would do so.
Needless to say, she did not die. She was released from the hospital 1 week later, whole and well. I did not sleep much that week and I thanked the Lord daily that she had survived another day.
Fast forward to the following July 4. She is again running a fever (the same thing that cued us into her being very ill the first time). After some time of keeping an eye on her, we take her to Urgent Care. Once again, off to the hospital. This time, the stay is much shorter.
Perhaps you can see why The Small One getting a fever makes me a bit paranoid? Why it reminds me of the first time. You see, she has had a fever only three times in her life. Two of those times ended up with hospital visits and one nearly cost her life.
This past week has been a bit of a sleepless one. I took her temperature obsessively, willing her body to remain below 103, the danger mark for her age. Doing everything within my power to keep her fever down and her hydrated. If she continued to drink and her fever stayed lower, it wasn't life threatening. I prayed constantly that it wasn't something dangerous, that she would overcome whatever had a hold on her. Again, thank the Lord she has. It seems she has roseola, which isn't terribly dangerous.
My point is this. I love her. Beyond all. She is a literal part of me. And to love someone this much makes one incredibly vulnerable. I sometimes feel that I am just asking to be hurt. Having a child and loving it opens one up to all sort of joys, but with those joys can come the very depths of despair. I fear for her. For her health, for her happiness, for the kind of world we are leaving her. But on the other hand, I wouldn't trade it for anything. To love someone the way I love her, to know I had a significant part in her creation, to know she is part of me is...awe inspiring. And the joys are there and they are un-numberable. To see her precious smiling face in the morning, to feel her soft angel kiss on my cheek. To feel those tiny arms wrap around my neck and squeeze. To rejoice in her triumphs, to laugh at her silliness.
To love her.
That is the infinite joy.
To love.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Vent
Aaargh! I have been sick for about a week now. I hate that. But, what I hate even more? When my baby gets sick. She has a fever and is not a happy camper. She has only had a fever two other times in her life and both times she went into the hospital. So, of course, I am paranoid that she is going to have to go to the hospital again. We do not enjoy this. Add to that the fact that we have no health insurance and it is kind of sucky.
And she yarfed on me so I smell like vomit. Nice.
And she yarfed on me so I smell like vomit. Nice.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Update
New baby friend got to come home from the hospital on Friday. We are very pleased! The Small One hasn't gotten to go see him, yet, though she talks about him every day. Sadly, I have a nasty cold which has led to the loss of my voice. We don't want to send new baby back to the hospital, so we will stay away until I recover.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
New baby friend
A couple of nights ago, my dear friend gave birth to a big baby boy, cute as anything. Sadly, due to low oxygen and high white count, he was put in the NICU, but nothing dangerous.
So, the night before last, I took The Small One over with me to the hospital. New baby's big brother had been staying with us, but he and The Small One were both quite done with each other and he wanted his mom and dad. The Small One wanted to see the new baby, and although she couldn't go into the NICU, I knew she would be able to see him through the window. So, down we went to NICU with my friend to see baby. She went into the NICU and The Small One and I stood outside the window watching. They had the boy in a heated bed with all sorts of tubes and monitors hooked to him. When the nurse went over to his bed to put his O2 monitor back on, he started to cry. The Small One started to look worried and kept saying, "no, no" to the nurse. She thought the nurse was hurting the baby. Then when nurse laid the baby back down, he stopped crying and shut his eyes. The Small One turned to me and said "baby honkshu, honkshu" Snoring, if you will. She thought baby was sleeping. The nurse then picked him up again and turned him to the window so The Small One could see him, but she didn't like that at all. Now, if you are familiar with the trials of The Small One, you will know that she has been hospitalized twice in her lifetime. Once at six months and once at 15 months. She doesn't care for nurses and tubes and monitors and seeing the nurse holding the baby worried her.
So, baby-mama took the boy from the nurse and brought him close to the window for the Small One to see. He promptly stopped crying, opened his eyes and turned his head to look at The Small One. At that point, the grin just split her face. She loved it. Oh, cute baby! she said, excited. It will be funny to see how she reacts when he comes home from the hospital. She has never held a baby that young before, at least not to realize what it was!
So, the night before last, I took The Small One over with me to the hospital. New baby's big brother had been staying with us, but he and The Small One were both quite done with each other and he wanted his mom and dad. The Small One wanted to see the new baby, and although she couldn't go into the NICU, I knew she would be able to see him through the window. So, down we went to NICU with my friend to see baby. She went into the NICU and The Small One and I stood outside the window watching. They had the boy in a heated bed with all sorts of tubes and monitors hooked to him. When the nurse went over to his bed to put his O2 monitor back on, he started to cry. The Small One started to look worried and kept saying, "no, no" to the nurse. She thought the nurse was hurting the baby. Then when nurse laid the baby back down, he stopped crying and shut his eyes. The Small One turned to me and said "baby honkshu, honkshu" Snoring, if you will. She thought baby was sleeping. The nurse then picked him up again and turned him to the window so The Small One could see him, but she didn't like that at all. Now, if you are familiar with the trials of The Small One, you will know that she has been hospitalized twice in her lifetime. Once at six months and once at 15 months. She doesn't care for nurses and tubes and monitors and seeing the nurse holding the baby worried her.
So, baby-mama took the boy from the nurse and brought him close to the window for the Small One to see. He promptly stopped crying, opened his eyes and turned his head to look at The Small One. At that point, the grin just split her face. She loved it. Oh, cute baby! she said, excited. It will be funny to see how she reacts when he comes home from the hospital. She has never held a baby that young before, at least not to realize what it was!
More stuff
So, would you all like an update on the goings on in the lives of Us? Of course you would!
As I mentioned before, the Husband lost his job a few weeks ago. Tragic, I know. But, really, it turns out to be a good thing. He is happier right now than he has been in a very long time. Like, back to the jolly guy I married. I like that plan. Well, in the midst of my despair over the job loss and consequent money loss, my boss/friend offered me full time work if I would like to accept. I didn't want to, not wanting to work full time with The Small One and all, but I realized it would be a necessity for a while, at least, and that this was a great blessing. Me working full time would enable us to get health insurance, which is ridiculously important. The Husband has had a wealth of side jobs appear, which is fabulous. Not a lot of money in them, but a little, enough to get by. On top of the switching to full time (which happens next week, ugh) my side work has blossomed. There was a dearth of it for a while, which I wasn't too sorry about, but right as I started needing to make more money, a great deal of it fell in my lap. Now, it is not easy to work a day job and do custom work, but the money is worth it right now.
Here is the really good thing. Turns out, the Husband is an awfully good stay-at-home dad. Who knew? Of course, he doesn't have The Small One full time, she still goes to Memmaw's for babysitting several times a week, but the times he does have her, he does such a good job. Like, better than me, because he actually CLEANS THE HOUSE! I know!!! Crazy, huh? But, I love it. Almost makes working more worth it. I leave, he takes care of baby and house, I come home and play with baby and he puts her to bed. Could it get much better?
As I mentioned before, the Husband lost his job a few weeks ago. Tragic, I know. But, really, it turns out to be a good thing. He is happier right now than he has been in a very long time. Like, back to the jolly guy I married. I like that plan. Well, in the midst of my despair over the job loss and consequent money loss, my boss/friend offered me full time work if I would like to accept. I didn't want to, not wanting to work full time with The Small One and all, but I realized it would be a necessity for a while, at least, and that this was a great blessing. Me working full time would enable us to get health insurance, which is ridiculously important. The Husband has had a wealth of side jobs appear, which is fabulous. Not a lot of money in them, but a little, enough to get by. On top of the switching to full time (which happens next week, ugh) my side work has blossomed. There was a dearth of it for a while, which I wasn't too sorry about, but right as I started needing to make more money, a great deal of it fell in my lap. Now, it is not easy to work a day job and do custom work, but the money is worth it right now.
Here is the really good thing. Turns out, the Husband is an awfully good stay-at-home dad. Who knew? Of course, he doesn't have The Small One full time, she still goes to Memmaw's for babysitting several times a week, but the times he does have her, he does such a good job. Like, better than me, because he actually CLEANS THE HOUSE! I know!!! Crazy, huh? But, I love it. Almost makes working more worth it. I leave, he takes care of baby and house, I come home and play with baby and he puts her to bed. Could it get much better?
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