Over breakfast this morning, Chad and I negotiated which of us would clean up the poop fiascos in our house.
We lead such glamorous lives.
Before Finn was born, we decided to "go" with cloth diapers. For the most part, it's been a super decision that we're happy with. I feel like I have a pretty good idea of how Finn is digesting his food when I get to deal with it in such a personal way, and I think it's given us an "up" on the future, when (I've been told) we'll be catching vomit in our bare hands...maybe even with the added bonus of being in our own bed. Ooh, boy, looking forward to that (I'm looking at YOU, Angie)!
And then there are those other times...
Like the diaper that conceals its true contents until the very last minute and I'm confronted with avocado poop - or beet poop (both of which look very similar going in as coming out) in great profusion...these diapers are bad enough to change (oh no! It's a 6 wipe-r!), but I really have to psych myself up some days to clean them. The anticipation, for the record, is much worse than the actual reality. I am completely immune to poop now.
(Fun fact: Chad has a fork in our bathroom that he uses as a scraper for those particularly stubborn loads).
Then there was the time when I changed Finn's diaper just before a bath and the poop was squirreled away - not in the diaper, but between his cute little cheeks, so when I went to put my arm under his bum to carry him to the tub...well, you get the idea.
You understand, of course, why there are no photos to use as visual aids today.
Hope you all have a great weekend!
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
home
Finn's getting quite spoiled this week.
His "Grammie Jan" (my mom) is up from her home in Connecticut and he's spending hours being completely spoiled by her and her partner while slowly luring them - as he does with everyone - into his web from which none can escape.
Not that we want to.
It's so nice to see them walking by together as I sit in the shop that's recently become so quiet after a busy summer crowd dispersed. Family has always been important to me, my mom in particular since she was a single mom for most of my life and I grew up with her. Having both of my birth parents, my step-mom, my mom's partner, my aunt, uncle, and cousin all on island with us feels similar to the island I remember when I was a kid, when five generations of my family lived on the island and I saw my great, great grandmother weekly for bean suppers. There's something to be said for predictability, for knowing virtually all the faces you encounter in a day. There's something to be said for knowing someone's story as you stand behind them in the checkout line at the grocery store. There's something to be said for the ease with which I can strike up a conversation with just about anyone, anywhere.
There's something to be said for this place we have chosen to live. It may not offer some of the opportunities found elsewhere, but it more than makes up for it in those that it does.
His "Grammie Jan" (my mom) is up from her home in Connecticut and he's spending hours being completely spoiled by her and her partner while slowly luring them - as he does with everyone - into his web from which none can escape.
Not that we want to.
It's so nice to see them walking by together as I sit in the shop that's recently become so quiet after a busy summer crowd dispersed. Family has always been important to me, my mom in particular since she was a single mom for most of my life and I grew up with her. Having both of my birth parents, my step-mom, my mom's partner, my aunt, uncle, and cousin all on island with us feels similar to the island I remember when I was a kid, when five generations of my family lived on the island and I saw my great, great grandmother weekly for bean suppers. There's something to be said for predictability, for knowing virtually all the faces you encounter in a day. There's something to be said for knowing someone's story as you stand behind them in the checkout line at the grocery store. There's something to be said for the ease with which I can strike up a conversation with just about anyone, anywhere.
There's something to be said for this place we have chosen to live. It may not offer some of the opportunities found elsewhere, but it more than makes up for it in those that it does.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
happy times
Back with some happy times...Even though I've taken a dearth of photos this summer, Finn is so photogenic that OTHER people can't help but take a click here and a click there.
For this, I am eternally grateful, particularly when they capture such a happy guy hanging out with his grandparents.
For this, I am eternally grateful, particularly when they capture such a happy guy hanging out with his grandparents.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
being a mother
It's been two months since the events I'm about to describe and I'm just now feeling far enough away from it to write about it in a tone that won't sound like hysteria.
The week before we were to go away for a week long vacation with friends, Finn got sick. It started out with a low-grade fever and sniffles, so we thought it was teething. He'd had seven teeth for months and we were just waiting on that eighth one to pop through. The fever started on Tuesday night, and by Friday morning, it wasn't any better and we brought him to the medical center on the island.
Aside: We decided to wait the three days to see if it would work itself out and I've got faith in the human immune system, so I figured the longer his little one gets to work without antibiotics, the better it will be in the long run. I'm also trying not to be one of those hypochondriac moms who fly off the handle at the smallest sniffle.
At the medical center, we were told that Finn had an ear infection and were prescribed some antibiotics. I felt ever-so-proud of myself for having gotten it all sorted out before the weekend and looked forward to his fever going down within 24 hours.
But it didn't.
In fact, it got worse. Friday night was awful, Saturday night was worse, and by Sunday morning, he'd managed to get up to about 104. I had an itchy feeling in what I'm coming to recognize as my mother's intuition. We had already postponed our departure to the week long vacation we had planned and I was starting to think we'd be making an unrelated trip to the mainland when I realized that he wasn't moving his head. It's something I'll never forget looking down at Finn and realizing he couldn't look up at me. Instantly, I called the on-call doctor at the medical center fearing the worst - meningitis. We were in an examining room half an hour later and made the decision to go to the ER for blood tests and a possible spinal tap.
The next hour of my life is quite possibly the worst I've ever had. I left the medical center and had to drive to find Chad so we could get on the 1:00 ferry. Chad (of course) was working at the end of a dirt road about half an hour away. The drive there, alone with Finn in the car, was absolutely terrifying as I watched him in the rear view mirror, realizing how fragile he still is, even though he's no newborn. Realizing how much he counts on me and wondering how the hell I could deal with seeing him in the hospital, hooked up to machines with tubes, unable to hold him in my arms. More than one sob escaped my lips while I was en route to find Chad. By the time I got there, I was so far gone that all I could manage was "Come home. We have to go to the ER" before I was down the driveway and headed home to pack.
All I wanted to do was huddle in a corner and cry, but I had to find people to watch the dog and cat, I had to find a place to stay on the mainland, and I had to get our stuff together and get on the boat. Luckily, I have a great support network and managed to get all of the above without completely losing it...until I got to the ferry line and the images of Finn lying on a hospital bed came flooding back. I lost it. I'm not going to lie.
After what seemed like an epically long boat ride, we finally arrived in Rockland along with my sister, who was a total rock the whole time we were at the hospital (which was a long, long time).
The staff in the ER was awesome, his doctor was phenomenal, and we were super happy with Finn's care, but it was trying, exhausting, and completely draining. It was decided that my 12 month old son would have to have a spinal tap to test for meningitis, along with tests on both his blood and urine. Two blood getting attempts in each arm proved impossible and left me with completely frayed nerves. After declining the offer of a catheter, a sticky bag was attached to collect Finn's urine, which proceeded to leak all over my skirt when he did finally pee. By this point, I was completely beyond usefulness and Chad took over for the big event -the spinal tap.
I'm sorry, but really? A spinal tap on a 12 month old? I'VE never even had one. How the hell am I supposed to make that call, to stand by while someone sticks a needle in my kid's SPINE?
But stick a needle in his spine, they did, and when all the tests finally came back, all we knew was that he probably didn't have meningitis. Some blood had wound up in the spinal fluid sample, and they weren't able to do the appropriate white/red blood cell comparison. We still, however, had no idea what was going on.
In the meantime, though, the nurse at the ER gave Finn some ibuprofen and within about 20 minutes, his neck stiffness was gone, his fever all but disappeared, and he was perky and smiley. Ibuprofen. 20 minutes. All better. If I hadn't been so stressed out, I could have laughed.
The final word on the matter was that we were to administer some antibiotics to Finn for the next week in case it was viral and after a double injection (into both thighs) as a final insult to injury, we were free to go at about 11pm, 8 hours after we had arrived.
Thankfully, a friend has an apartment we could stay in overnight and my sister, in quite possibly one of her awesomest moves ever, left us dinner and a bottle of wine on the kitchen table, in addition to setting up Finn's pack & play and making the bed for us.
We finally did get to our vacation house and had several awesome days with some good friends, so all's well that ends well, I guess. Finn's fit as a fiddle now, playing contentedly with his toys as I type up this epic entry. Understandable if you don't read this whole thing. I think it's more a purging for me than anything else.
What I can't comprehend after all of this is how parents of terminally ill kids do it - having only had a taste of a possibility of a scary diagnosis, I absolutely can not imagine the guilt, terror, anger, and second guessing they go through. There have been a few families I've known who have had to endure that agony, and I really don't think I'm strong enough for it. I've never ever known love this strong, this complete, and to have it threatened was all it took for me to completely crack.
Sorry. I know this isn't all light hearted and smiles today. I just had to get it out.
There's a quote that I keep thinking of that I think encompasses this perfectly:
Being a mother "is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body." (Elizabeth Stone)
The week before we were to go away for a week long vacation with friends, Finn got sick. It started out with a low-grade fever and sniffles, so we thought it was teething. He'd had seven teeth for months and we were just waiting on that eighth one to pop through. The fever started on Tuesday night, and by Friday morning, it wasn't any better and we brought him to the medical center on the island.
Aside: We decided to wait the three days to see if it would work itself out and I've got faith in the human immune system, so I figured the longer his little one gets to work without antibiotics, the better it will be in the long run. I'm also trying not to be one of those hypochondriac moms who fly off the handle at the smallest sniffle.
At the medical center, we were told that Finn had an ear infection and were prescribed some antibiotics. I felt ever-so-proud of myself for having gotten it all sorted out before the weekend and looked forward to his fever going down within 24 hours.
But it didn't.
In fact, it got worse. Friday night was awful, Saturday night was worse, and by Sunday morning, he'd managed to get up to about 104. I had an itchy feeling in what I'm coming to recognize as my mother's intuition. We had already postponed our departure to the week long vacation we had planned and I was starting to think we'd be making an unrelated trip to the mainland when I realized that he wasn't moving his head. It's something I'll never forget looking down at Finn and realizing he couldn't look up at me. Instantly, I called the on-call doctor at the medical center fearing the worst - meningitis. We were in an examining room half an hour later and made the decision to go to the ER for blood tests and a possible spinal tap.
The next hour of my life is quite possibly the worst I've ever had. I left the medical center and had to drive to find Chad so we could get on the 1:00 ferry. Chad (of course) was working at the end of a dirt road about half an hour away. The drive there, alone with Finn in the car, was absolutely terrifying as I watched him in the rear view mirror, realizing how fragile he still is, even though he's no newborn. Realizing how much he counts on me and wondering how the hell I could deal with seeing him in the hospital, hooked up to machines with tubes, unable to hold him in my arms. More than one sob escaped my lips while I was en route to find Chad. By the time I got there, I was so far gone that all I could manage was "Come home. We have to go to the ER" before I was down the driveway and headed home to pack.
All I wanted to do was huddle in a corner and cry, but I had to find people to watch the dog and cat, I had to find a place to stay on the mainland, and I had to get our stuff together and get on the boat. Luckily, I have a great support network and managed to get all of the above without completely losing it...until I got to the ferry line and the images of Finn lying on a hospital bed came flooding back. I lost it. I'm not going to lie.
After what seemed like an epically long boat ride, we finally arrived in Rockland along with my sister, who was a total rock the whole time we were at the hospital (which was a long, long time).
The staff in the ER was awesome, his doctor was phenomenal, and we were super happy with Finn's care, but it was trying, exhausting, and completely draining. It was decided that my 12 month old son would have to have a spinal tap to test for meningitis, along with tests on both his blood and urine. Two blood getting attempts in each arm proved impossible and left me with completely frayed nerves. After declining the offer of a catheter, a sticky bag was attached to collect Finn's urine, which proceeded to leak all over my skirt when he did finally pee. By this point, I was completely beyond usefulness and Chad took over for the big event -the spinal tap.
I'm sorry, but really? A spinal tap on a 12 month old? I'VE never even had one. How the hell am I supposed to make that call, to stand by while someone sticks a needle in my kid's SPINE?
But stick a needle in his spine, they did, and when all the tests finally came back, all we knew was that he probably didn't have meningitis. Some blood had wound up in the spinal fluid sample, and they weren't able to do the appropriate white/red blood cell comparison. We still, however, had no idea what was going on.
In the meantime, though, the nurse at the ER gave Finn some ibuprofen and within about 20 minutes, his neck stiffness was gone, his fever all but disappeared, and he was perky and smiley. Ibuprofen. 20 minutes. All better. If I hadn't been so stressed out, I could have laughed.
The final word on the matter was that we were to administer some antibiotics to Finn for the next week in case it was viral and after a double injection (into both thighs) as a final insult to injury, we were free to go at about 11pm, 8 hours after we had arrived.
Thankfully, a friend has an apartment we could stay in overnight and my sister, in quite possibly one of her awesomest moves ever, left us dinner and a bottle of wine on the kitchen table, in addition to setting up Finn's pack & play and making the bed for us.
We finally did get to our vacation house and had several awesome days with some good friends, so all's well that ends well, I guess. Finn's fit as a fiddle now, playing contentedly with his toys as I type up this epic entry. Understandable if you don't read this whole thing. I think it's more a purging for me than anything else.
What I can't comprehend after all of this is how parents of terminally ill kids do it - having only had a taste of a possibility of a scary diagnosis, I absolutely can not imagine the guilt, terror, anger, and second guessing they go through. There have been a few families I've known who have had to endure that agony, and I really don't think I'm strong enough for it. I've never ever known love this strong, this complete, and to have it threatened was all it took for me to completely crack.
Sorry. I know this isn't all light hearted and smiles today. I just had to get it out.
There's a quote that I keep thinking of that I think encompasses this perfectly:
Being a mother "is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body." (Elizabeth Stone)
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
summer times
Finn is in high demand and has lots of social engagements with his contemporaries. M & D are twins born exactly a month before his birthday. Being born so close together, they have many similar interests - they like to eat sand, steal each other's water bottles, and generally give their parents heart attacks at any possible opportunity. They were fast friends and are already making plans to get into mischief for many summers to come. 
J is 6 months older than Finn, and he has been the standard upon which I measure Finn's development. He's the "cool guy" who Finn looks up to. I can almost see the wheels turning when he watches J splash at the quarry in his cool super hero suit.
O is the most precocious member of the class of 2029. She was practically running hurdles at 9 months old and is already bilingual. She's got lots of cool tricks up her sleeves.Here, she gives Finn lessons on how to pop seaweed like bubble wrap.
B is just a few weeks older than Finn, but his verbal prowess is already legendary. On this occasion, Arts Night, he showed off his mad skills identifying the cold cubes in the cup as "ice". Finn, meanwhile, agreed with his customary, "da".
Luckily, the two go the "wear your awesome Go Fish t-shirt tonight" memo.
Man, these kids (and others not pictured) are all so awesome...they've all got their own little idiosyncrasies and are already their own people. I'm constantly amazed by watching them.
Somehow it didn't really occur to me that these guys are people from the get-go, but I am just beginning to understand how fully formed they already are and how we're the slow ones who need to catch up and get to know them. Cool beans, these little ones are. They're completely individual, working on their own timetables, and are going to be one heck of a gang in a few years.
I can't wait.
Monday, September 3, 2012
oh, hi.
My guys (the one on the right's got a(nother!) cold - he usually doesn't look so dazed.
I think he may be in need of his first hair cut, but I'm going to ignore that for now.
My big (furry) kid and my little one. I think Nugget is less than impressed, but she's SUCH a good girl.
Now that the summer is over, life will get back on an even keel and I'll be around lots more.
Looking forward to it.
Friday, August 3, 2012
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