Hello, all-Kerry here, back from a rather long and self-imposed hiatus. Before I go into the meat of my post tonight, I think I should explain where we've been. Towards the end of April, my health took a nosedive. No energy, constant headaches, wanted to sleep all the time. And my eyesight got...scary. It was a bit blurry one day, and I chalked it up to sinus pressure. It gradually got worse, and I finally made myself go to the doctor. I was diagnosed with diabetes, and while it's a pain in the ass, it's something I can manage. But it had to get worse before I could get better. My vision got to the point that I couldn't read, or drive, or see faces clearly. I had horrible reactions to my medication-nausea and vomiting (enough to make me wonder if I was pregnant!), severe reactions to eggs and dairy, and severe mood swings. Through all this, I was trying to manage my diet, start a regular exercise routine, and watch 5 kids in addition to my own. Long story short, I simply had to cut out any additional stresses or obligations, and one of those was the blog. Besides, it took over a month before I could get to where I could even see to type out a post. Bannon, whose life is in a perpetual state of chaos, and makes me look like a total amateur when it comes to managing kids/work/home, went along with me for the break. But we are slowly working our way back! If any of you are still hanging with us, we deeply appreciate it.
And now, the dreaded party. My little dude was invited to a birthday party, taking place tomorrow afternoon at a local park. All the kids in LD's preschool class were invited, and it sounds like a nice chance for Jeffrey to get to see some familiar faces. There's going to be swings and slides, which are some of the dude's favorite things in the world. And there's bound to be cake. Who doesn't like cake? I can't be BFFs with cake anymore, but I still have warm feelings for it. All in all, what's not to love about this party?
It's a very selfish reason, but it's one that breaks my heart. Gatherings like this are always a very sharp reminder that my son is different. His voice is very rarely part of the chatter. He simply stares silently at a child when asked if he wants to go play. When he does try to join in the play, he can only do so much, because his language skills just aren't there to allow him to understand that the kids are running from imaginary dinosaurs, or playing cops and robbers, or whatever. So he often ends up on his own, doing his thing, wanting Mom to come play because he knows Mom will understand what he wants or needs.
Those things hurt to see, but what really gets me is what I can't see. What does he think when a child asks him to play? Does he understand what they want? Is he choosing to be alone? Does he stay quiet because he knows he's not on their level? Does it hurt his feelings when he's not part of the group? While his communication skills are slowly but surely coming along, he's not at a point yet where he can tell his peers what he wants. While I try to help him do it himself, sometimes I have to intervene and speak for him. Unfortunately, mom involvement is the kiss of death on the playground, and kids usually steer clear when they realize a parent is watching. It just makes me so sad. Why did my little boy get dealt this hand?
I know I don't have much to complain about. There are so many children out there in more difficult situations, and I always feel so petty when I try to verbalize things like this. But I think every parent has the same wants for their children-they want their child to be healthy. To be normal. To belong. And during the preschool years, it's so hard for kids to understand that not every child is like them. My son doesn't look different, so why doesn't he talk to them? Why doesn't he want to play with them? It's difficult to explain why, but I try. I tell them that it's taking him longer to learn to talk, and that it's okay. That everyone learns things in their own time. I explain that my little guy can't say it for himself yet, but that he likes it when kids try to play with him, or say hi to him. I warn them that, if he gets mad or scared, he may scream, or maybe even hit, but that he's not doing it to be mean. If the child in question hasn't already taken off, I'll suggest that maybe they can go on the slide together.
And I'll remind myself that, one day, my son will be able to suggest playing on the slide in his own words.
Showing posts with label K is boring. Show all posts
Showing posts with label K is boring. Show all posts
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Friday, March 23, 2012
A Low Day
Kerry here. I'm not sure why I'm posting this here, other than that I need an outlet. So, if you don't want to hear a bunch of confused meebling, you might just want to wait for the post after this. :-)
I've been struggling with the concept that our Little Dude is a "special needs" child. I was very baffled, and honestly kind of shocked, when I was told this during the enrollment meeting for his current school. I understand it, logically-he has a clear need for speech therapy, as well as some physical therapy. We were warned waaaaay back when he was a baby and diagnosed with hydrocephaly that he would need therapy. So it shouldn't have been a surprise. But, when I think of "special needs", I tend to think of children who have more obvious needs. I look at my son, and I feel like calling him a special needs child somehow takes away from other children who are considered to be the same. I don't know why I feel this way, and I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest to find out that this offends other parents of special needs children. So, if you're one of those parents, please accept my apologies. I look at my child, who seems mainstream on the outside, and it just feels wrong to me.
But today, my niece looked at me and asked why LD isn't doing the same thing I just asked her to do. I tried to explain that he doesn't always understand or follow instructions, and that we sometimes have to actually physically lead him. And I realized it, then-he does have special needs. If he were to run out into the street, and I were to yell at him to stop, I have no idea if he would actually do it. He's in a near-constant state of frustration because of the disconnect in communication. He won't go up or down stairs by himself. While he seems to enjoy preschool, and gets his therapy there, there's no notable improvement yet in their opinion. Getting the report this past week with nothing but "minimal improvement" was so disheartening for me, even though I know he has only been there a few weeks.
I know I shouldn't feel this way, and that I should give it more time. But I can't help myself, so I worry. And then I toss and turn at night, so I'm tired. I struggle to keep up with 5 kids that aren't mine, as well as the one that is. I try to do housework, laundry, cooking-all these things that other parents totally kick ass at doing, but feels like such a struggle to me lately. I don't feel like this every day, but I do today. I think I need a vacation, but I don't see that happening anytime soon.
But I do have some bright things on the horizon. It's the weekend! The first Crew game is tomorrow-not sure if I'll be there, but I'm happy the season is starting. I'll get some time with just the three of us, and next Thursday and Friday will be just me and my Little Dude. If the weather holds, I'd like to take him to the zoo. I'll tell him about the animals, and maybe he'll be able to tell me a little something about them, too. And I'll slow down, and be patient, and remember that this will all take time. And as a parent, that's the best thing I can give to my child.
I've been struggling with the concept that our Little Dude is a "special needs" child. I was very baffled, and honestly kind of shocked, when I was told this during the enrollment meeting for his current school. I understand it, logically-he has a clear need for speech therapy, as well as some physical therapy. We were warned waaaaay back when he was a baby and diagnosed with hydrocephaly that he would need therapy. So it shouldn't have been a surprise. But, when I think of "special needs", I tend to think of children who have more obvious needs. I look at my son, and I feel like calling him a special needs child somehow takes away from other children who are considered to be the same. I don't know why I feel this way, and I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest to find out that this offends other parents of special needs children. So, if you're one of those parents, please accept my apologies. I look at my child, who seems mainstream on the outside, and it just feels wrong to me.
But today, my niece looked at me and asked why LD isn't doing the same thing I just asked her to do. I tried to explain that he doesn't always understand or follow instructions, and that we sometimes have to actually physically lead him. And I realized it, then-he does have special needs. If he were to run out into the street, and I were to yell at him to stop, I have no idea if he would actually do it. He's in a near-constant state of frustration because of the disconnect in communication. He won't go up or down stairs by himself. While he seems to enjoy preschool, and gets his therapy there, there's no notable improvement yet in their opinion. Getting the report this past week with nothing but "minimal improvement" was so disheartening for me, even though I know he has only been there a few weeks.
I know I shouldn't feel this way, and that I should give it more time. But I can't help myself, so I worry. And then I toss and turn at night, so I'm tired. I struggle to keep up with 5 kids that aren't mine, as well as the one that is. I try to do housework, laundry, cooking-all these things that other parents totally kick ass at doing, but feels like such a struggle to me lately. I don't feel like this every day, but I do today. I think I need a vacation, but I don't see that happening anytime soon.
But I do have some bright things on the horizon. It's the weekend! The first Crew game is tomorrow-not sure if I'll be there, but I'm happy the season is starting. I'll get some time with just the three of us, and next Thursday and Friday will be just me and my Little Dude. If the weather holds, I'd like to take him to the zoo. I'll tell him about the animals, and maybe he'll be able to tell me a little something about them, too. And I'll slow down, and be patient, and remember that this will all take time. And as a parent, that's the best thing I can give to my child.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
My boy...
My little dude seems so much bigger now that he's three. Maybe it's because he's in preschool now. Maybe it's because the words are coming faster and clearer. It could be his sudden burst of imaginative play, or the fact that his shoes are already outgrown, or that he's a little more independent every day. Maybe it's really just my awareness of how time is moving so fast, and that my best efforts to slow things down don't seem to be working. But my boy had his birthday, and his first day of school, and I had to take pictures to make sure I can remember how small he used to be, once upon a time...
The birthday party! My boy loves balloons, and pizza, and carrot sticks. He also loves Murray Wiggle, as evidenced by his shirt.
Me, showing off Bannon's gift to Jeffrey. I wondered briefly if this shirt (which says, "Arrrgh! Hands off me booty") would come in my size, then thought better of it.
My sweet little man, ready for his first day of school. It felt so strange and wrong to put him in a room full of strangers and expect him to just get on with it. I thought, having taught preschool for many years, that I'd be okay with it, but I was finally on the other side, approaching it as a parent instead of a teacher. We both cried (I at least managed to pull away from the school before I did), and then Bannon and I went to lunch, where I drowned my sorrows in fish and chips and iced tea.
Looking much happier on his way to his second day of school, wearing the headband he had made the day before in class. He calls it his hat, is quite proud of it, and still wears it around almost a full week after he made it. That's got to be some kind of record for a preschool craft!
Tomorrow will mark his fifth day of school, and every day seems a bit easier-just some whimpering (but no tears) at drop off today, and he clearly loves riding the bus home. He seems to have picked up some new songs and dances at school, which he loves to do at home. He's starting to learn the names of his classmates. He's so big. And I'm so proud.
Friday, September 16, 2011
My Special Guy
Greetings, all! Kerry here, feeling guilty for not writing all week. But y'all got lucky-I have a cold, and feel down enough to want to do any of the many things around here that need doing. So I'm blogging. Aren't you all just so lucky?
Anyhoo, I had recently posted on my FB page that my Little Dude will be starting speech therapy and early intervention therapy next week. I got a lot of responses, and most of them were something like, "Say what? He needs that?" People seemed kind of surprised that I was excited about it. After seeing all that, I realized that I had never set down the story of why this is a big step for us.
When the LD was 3 months old, our pediatrician at the time had us take him for an MRI. His head growth was in the 99th percentile, while the rest of him was squarely at 50%. The MRI came back showing a significant gap between skull growth and brain growth, and the pediatrician diagnosed the LD with hydrocephaly. The pediatrician, being an older, kind of crabby gentleman, immediately gave us a worst-case scenario. Our Little Dude would have significant speech and motor delays, requiring intensive therapy. It would be something he would struggle with for the rest of his life, which, by the way, would likely be shortened by this. He told me all this over the phone. Needless to say, I was slightly hysterical. I can remember the Big Dude and I sitting on our bed, LD laying on it between us, as we cried and tried to make sense of it.
After the initial shock wore off, we were on the phone with the pediatrician, demanding more information. He had us come into the office after hours so he could show us the MRI. He focused on the need for monitoring and therapy in the near future. We would have MRIs done every 3 months. We had a list of symptoms to watch for. We were connected with our local Help Me Grow center, so we wouldn't have to wait for services when the predicted delays began. He told us he suspected this was caused by a scare we had when I was in my first trimester, where I had begun to bleed and had to go to the ER to make sure everything was okay. I don't think I've ever felt guiltier for anything in my life! And while we did feel more positive after that visit (except for all that mommy guilt), all we could do for our son was to watch and wait.
Our day to day lives went back to usual. LD grew and thrived, meeting all of his developmental milestones right on time, except for lifting his head and rolling over. That was dismissed by our neurologist as normal-how could we expect that tiny body to lift that giant noggin? But LD was happy, and our biggest challenge at that time was finding shirts that would fit over his head.
As time went on, and we had more MRIs under our belts, the unexpected happened. His brain growth began to catch up to his skull. The excess fluid that was filling the gap was being harmlessly absorbed. At first, we were told this meant a shunt to drain off the fluid wouldn't be needed. Further consultation with the neurologists took place. We met with a new specialist. BD and I had our heads measured, our family histories taken, and were quizzed on Jeffrey's development. All this resulted in a changed diagnosis-benign macrocephaly. Or, as the specialist put it, "Congratulations! He just has a big head!" She then asked to use his case history for a presentation for the state's neurological society, as well as for possible future publication. We giddily gave permission. We knew we weren't out of the woods yet, but we were just so relieved.
Life went on, as it does. We moved. LD learned to walk, then jump. We both started new jobs. Holidays were celebrated, cars broke down. LD colored on the windows, learned his letters and numbers, and became Murray Wiggle's number one fan. MRIs happened, the results were always good. As of today, the only issue he has is difficulty taking all the words he knows and using them to communicate with others. We had him evaluated for therapy services just a few days ago, and I was almost sick with anticipation. I was so afraid that there would be more wrong with him than we realized. Thankfully, all they want to work on is his speech, and then give him a bit of a boost with socialization skills-it's tough to make friends when you can't communicate with them. They told me the results, and I was just so grateful. I feel like we've dodged a bullet with him. And I know this all may sound shallow-compared to some of the things other children have to cope with, I feel like I'm making a fuss over a splinter-but I can't forget the fear and anguish I felt when I was told that initial diagnosis. He's my only child, he will always be our only child, and hearing that it's just a speech delay is almost like a gift.
Next time on V3, Kerry will refrain from long, serious posts, and will discuss homemade Christmas gift ideas!
Anyhoo, I had recently posted on my FB page that my Little Dude will be starting speech therapy and early intervention therapy next week. I got a lot of responses, and most of them were something like, "Say what? He needs that?" People seemed kind of surprised that I was excited about it. After seeing all that, I realized that I had never set down the story of why this is a big step for us.
When the LD was 3 months old, our pediatrician at the time had us take him for an MRI. His head growth was in the 99th percentile, while the rest of him was squarely at 50%. The MRI came back showing a significant gap between skull growth and brain growth, and the pediatrician diagnosed the LD with hydrocephaly. The pediatrician, being an older, kind of crabby gentleman, immediately gave us a worst-case scenario. Our Little Dude would have significant speech and motor delays, requiring intensive therapy. It would be something he would struggle with for the rest of his life, which, by the way, would likely be shortened by this. He told me all this over the phone. Needless to say, I was slightly hysterical. I can remember the Big Dude and I sitting on our bed, LD laying on it between us, as we cried and tried to make sense of it.
After the initial shock wore off, we were on the phone with the pediatrician, demanding more information. He had us come into the office after hours so he could show us the MRI. He focused on the need for monitoring and therapy in the near future. We would have MRIs done every 3 months. We had a list of symptoms to watch for. We were connected with our local Help Me Grow center, so we wouldn't have to wait for services when the predicted delays began. He told us he suspected this was caused by a scare we had when I was in my first trimester, where I had begun to bleed and had to go to the ER to make sure everything was okay. I don't think I've ever felt guiltier for anything in my life! And while we did feel more positive after that visit (except for all that mommy guilt), all we could do for our son was to watch and wait.
Big head, little body, happy baby.
Our day to day lives went back to usual. LD grew and thrived, meeting all of his developmental milestones right on time, except for lifting his head and rolling over. That was dismissed by our neurologist as normal-how could we expect that tiny body to lift that giant noggin? But LD was happy, and our biggest challenge at that time was finding shirts that would fit over his head.
As time went on, and we had more MRIs under our belts, the unexpected happened. His brain growth began to catch up to his skull. The excess fluid that was filling the gap was being harmlessly absorbed. At first, we were told this meant a shunt to drain off the fluid wouldn't be needed. Further consultation with the neurologists took place. We met with a new specialist. BD and I had our heads measured, our family histories taken, and were quizzed on Jeffrey's development. All this resulted in a changed diagnosis-benign macrocephaly. Or, as the specialist put it, "Congratulations! He just has a big head!" She then asked to use his case history for a presentation for the state's neurological society, as well as for possible future publication. We giddily gave permission. We knew we weren't out of the woods yet, but we were just so relieved.
Life went on, as it does. We moved. LD learned to walk, then jump. We both started new jobs. Holidays were celebrated, cars broke down. LD colored on the windows, learned his letters and numbers, and became Murray Wiggle's number one fan. MRIs happened, the results were always good. As of today, the only issue he has is difficulty taking all the words he knows and using them to communicate with others. We had him evaluated for therapy services just a few days ago, and I was almost sick with anticipation. I was so afraid that there would be more wrong with him than we realized. Thankfully, all they want to work on is his speech, and then give him a bit of a boost with socialization skills-it's tough to make friends when you can't communicate with them. They told me the results, and I was just so grateful. I feel like we've dodged a bullet with him. And I know this all may sound shallow-compared to some of the things other children have to cope with, I feel like I'm making a fuss over a splinter-but I can't forget the fear and anguish I felt when I was told that initial diagnosis. He's my only child, he will always be our only child, and hearing that it's just a speech delay is almost like a gift.
Next time on V3, Kerry will refrain from long, serious posts, and will discuss homemade Christmas gift ideas!
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Warning: Angst Ahead
I feel kind of bad posting this, because I had promised myself that the blog would be about the lighter things in my life. But this has been kicking around in my head for most of today, and I'm hoping that, by putting it down in writing, I can exorcise a particularly ferocious demon.
I don't really go around sharing a lot about my ex. My relationship with him was very tumultuous. Hell, I'm going to tell the truth and shame the devil (to borrow a phrase from my granny)-it was abusive. I'm still very reluctant to discuss the details, I've only ever been able to tell the Big Dude and B. Part of my hesitation is because I feel very ashamed for allowing myself to stay put for so long, and part of it is fear of retaliation. My ex and I have a distantly friendly relationship, and I'm sure that, if he were to see this, there would be lots of anger. And while I still fear that anger, I also feel that, for my own sanity, I need to get this off my chest. I'm tired of being afraid.
I'm also tired of the trust issues I have now. It makes it very difficult for me to open up to people, even friends that I've known for years. Unfortunately, my poor, tolerant BD often gets the brunt of my issues with this. I call it my "sneaky hate spiral", as inspired by Allie at Hyperbole and a Half. BD goes to the Crew games, and pre game activities, as his main social outlet. I know exactly where he is, who he's with, and what he's doing. He's never given me a reason to distrust him. Logically, and emotionally, I know this. But when he's gone, sometimes this little voice will pipe up in my mind, and tell me all about the horrible things he might be doing. It frustrates me so badly, because it'll sometimes totally emotionally wreck me. BD is so supportive and reassuring, but it's not fair to him to have to keep putting the pieces back together. I've been trying so hard to move on from it, but every now and again, it comes back. It happened today. And I'm sure it'll happen again. All I can do is keep fighting, and keep trying.
In many ways, I feel a lot stronger than my past. I've overcome a lot of my fear and insecurity. I'm in a place that's healthy and happy. I feel mostly healed, but this one issue is the deepest scar of all. And I think that was the cruelest thing that one partner can do to another in a relationship-destroy their ability to trust. I'm glad that he made some necessary changes in his own life, and is in a healthy relationship of his own. But it makes me angry that I let it happen to me. I wish I could tell my ex what he did, rage at him for it, but I'm not sure it would matter now. I wish I could tell the world what happened. I know that there are people out there who knew us as a couple, and think that I just left my husband for whatever selfish reason. But I can't let it rule me another minute. One way or another, I'm going to overcome this last hurdle, and I'm going to be a kinder, more compassionate person for it. And wherever I go in life from here, I'm going to kick ass.
K.
PS-read the link up there, it's pretty funny. This is a pretty serious post, and I'm incapable of being serious for too long. :-)
I don't really go around sharing a lot about my ex. My relationship with him was very tumultuous. Hell, I'm going to tell the truth and shame the devil (to borrow a phrase from my granny)-it was abusive. I'm still very reluctant to discuss the details, I've only ever been able to tell the Big Dude and B. Part of my hesitation is because I feel very ashamed for allowing myself to stay put for so long, and part of it is fear of retaliation. My ex and I have a distantly friendly relationship, and I'm sure that, if he were to see this, there would be lots of anger. And while I still fear that anger, I also feel that, for my own sanity, I need to get this off my chest. I'm tired of being afraid.
I'm also tired of the trust issues I have now. It makes it very difficult for me to open up to people, even friends that I've known for years. Unfortunately, my poor, tolerant BD often gets the brunt of my issues with this. I call it my "sneaky hate spiral", as inspired by Allie at Hyperbole and a Half. BD goes to the Crew games, and pre game activities, as his main social outlet. I know exactly where he is, who he's with, and what he's doing. He's never given me a reason to distrust him. Logically, and emotionally, I know this. But when he's gone, sometimes this little voice will pipe up in my mind, and tell me all about the horrible things he might be doing. It frustrates me so badly, because it'll sometimes totally emotionally wreck me. BD is so supportive and reassuring, but it's not fair to him to have to keep putting the pieces back together. I've been trying so hard to move on from it, but every now and again, it comes back. It happened today. And I'm sure it'll happen again. All I can do is keep fighting, and keep trying.
In many ways, I feel a lot stronger than my past. I've overcome a lot of my fear and insecurity. I'm in a place that's healthy and happy. I feel mostly healed, but this one issue is the deepest scar of all. And I think that was the cruelest thing that one partner can do to another in a relationship-destroy their ability to trust. I'm glad that he made some necessary changes in his own life, and is in a healthy relationship of his own. But it makes me angry that I let it happen to me. I wish I could tell my ex what he did, rage at him for it, but I'm not sure it would matter now. I wish I could tell the world what happened. I know that there are people out there who knew us as a couple, and think that I just left my husband for whatever selfish reason. But I can't let it rule me another minute. One way or another, I'm going to overcome this last hurdle, and I'm going to be a kinder, more compassionate person for it. And wherever I go in life from here, I'm going to kick ass.
K.
PS-read the link up there, it's pretty funny. This is a pretty serious post, and I'm incapable of being serious for too long. :-)
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