Saturday, December 29, 2012

A New Definition of Tiny

Long ago, we used to call Sabrina "Tiny." To the point that my cousin Boyd sort of forgot her real name. ("Sabrina? Who's that?" "Tiny." "Oh yeah.") Now I know what tiny really is. Okay, Sabrina was tiny, yes. But...

I took Raiden to his 6-month appointment (on his 7 month birthday. Don't judge me for this. You'll have a chance for judging later on). He has dropped to the 2nd percentile for height and 0.91st for weight. Right, under the 1st percentile. If he'd always been that way, that would be one thing, but he's plateaued in his growth. Three scary words: Failure To Thrive.

It's hard to even write.

Here's the deal. Raiden is cognitively and physically (other than in size, obviously) meeting and exceeding developmental milestones. Crawling by 6 months, tooth at 6 months, currently understanding some words, smiling, happy, sleeping through the night for a while at 2 months, all sorts of wonderful normal-baby things. Why is he tiny?

There are two options. I'm a bad mom and have not given him enough food, or there's something wrong with him. Lose/lose. It's pretty sad when you're hoping you're a bad mom, because that's less scary than the other option. The doctor wants to see him back two weeks from his appointment to check his growth, and has instructed me to stuff him like a Thanksgiving turkey (my words, not his, in his defense). So that's what I've been doing. And offering a lot of prayers that go, "Please, Father, let my baby get fat." I'd be grateful if you'd join me in this particular prayer. That and, "Please let me look back on this time and laugh at how much I overreacted." That's another prayer that seems to fit.

I'm now going to wipe the tears off my keyboard and pray that last prayer again.

Monday, December 17, 2012

On Becoming Unneccessary - or am I?

Today I had a lot of work to do in a relatively short time. Breklyn and I spent the morning working on our mother-in-law's present, so I had two projects to proof and one to type by 4. The kids and I got home from Breklyn's at noon. I gave Raiden a bottle, the kids lunch, put Raiden to bed, and rushed downstairs. I heard some crying, as per usual, and thought I'd need to come up and put Sasha down for a nap soon.

Before I could carry out my daring plan, Sabrina came downstairs by herself. Despite their fighting, the kids generally stay with each other. Sabrina is usually convincing Sasha to play tea party, watch TV, or go outside. I think she enjoys having someone to boss around, just like all oldest children (ahem). I asked Sabrina where Sasha was, and she said he was taking a nap. She had closed the door for him. Hum. Well, okay then. Tying the binkie to the bed really does make life better in all sorts of ways!

On the other hand, Sasha can't pour his own milk yet, so he needs me in the mornings. Phew.

I'm also needed in other ways. For example, Dear Zane has a most admirable goal of keeping the house somewhat humid. To that effect, he boils water on the stove. This works great. Until he loses track of time writing his book, stays up until 3 AM, and forgets about the water. Which has now all turned into steam, the pan is ruined (REALLY ruined), and there is impossible-to-remove black stuff in a 2-inch diameter around the stove coil. Where is my baking soda? I'll need a lot! It's gradually getting better, though. See? What would they do without me?

And, incidentally, happy birthday Sierra, who would have been 23 today. You are missed.

Thursday, December 13, 2012

Michaels is not for Children

Yesterday, I needed to go to Michaels for a component of my mother-in-law's gift. Due to time and scheduling constraints, I took all three kids.

Bad mistake. But you knew that already, didn't you?

Sabrina and Sasha were literally rolling on the floor on top of each other. They were (also literally) running in circles around me. They were shrieking, screaming, and laughing. And then, because they were attacking each other with such gusto, they were crying.

Fortunately, the clientele at Michaels is all mothers and grandmothers. One refined looking septuagenarian laughed out loud at the kids' shenanigans. In hindsight, and even at the time, I appreciate her attitude, but I was too busy failing to corral my children, pushing a cart with Raiden in it, and CARRYING my purchase (it was too big to fit in the cart with Raiden even in the kid seat thingy) to truly appreciate the amusing points of my situation.

Anyway, I got out of there with my children intact, if not my sanity. Sabrina got hurt right before we got done, which was no surprise given their style of play, and I couldn't manage to give her a lot of sympathy. The best I could do was not say "See what happens when you are disobedient? Instant punishment! Yay Satan's plan!" But boy was I glad to get out of that store, lock down -- oops, buckle up -- my children, and peel rubber out of there.

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Rise up and call him Blessed

If you want to suck up to your wife who can't tell the time and therefore was up until midnight last night, as well as at 5 with the baby, do the following:

Get up when the other kids wake up at the ungodly hour of 7:30 (remember about midnight and 5?).

When the baby wakes up, get up with him. Feed him bananas and a bottle.

Don't get your wife up until 9 (remember midnight and 5?)

And then your wife will rise up and call you blessed.

In other news, Sabrina dug her fingernails into Sasha's face. He was bleeding from one of the four scratch marks on his face. She got a stern talking-to, you'd better believe.