Professionalism. It's for the birds. Except when it's not.

So you know what sucks about being a professional?

You can't fight back.

Not to prove that you were rarely late for sessions.

Not to prove that you weren't out to decrease services for a child, only trying to make the constant in and out of therapy manageable for the parents.

Not to show that using the term "attachment parenting" wasn't an insult; it seemed a reasonable conclusion with a four-year old and two-year old share your bedroom, decision to let children move at their own pace.  Even if I was wrong, isn't that a discussion, not a complaint?

Not to say that use of the iPhone timer is more used with the intent of not moving in, checking the time over and over instead of trying to escape your home, especially since I was never in your home less than 30 minutes.

I know I need to get over this.  And I'm well on my way. . . the relief of not being put in a home without back-up from parents & a non-compliant child  is winning over anger hands-down.  The challenge is substantial when lies are told, just a shade off the truth--enough to be plausible.

"You always need the last word," my mom says.  Dammit if she isn't right.

Where I've Been: A dramatic timeline

I've been on a blogging hiatus mostly.  I mean, a few cute pics thrown in here and there, but this is what we've been facing:

January 15--Special K hasn't gained any weight & is SERIOUSLY underweight, as per his 4 month
                    check-up.  We add a new reflux med & extra coconut oil to his formula.
January 16--Brooklyn shuts her hand in mini sliding door.  ER visit.
January 19--Brooklyn & Ell diagnosed with flu.  I leave with Special K to try & avoid the germiness.
January 22--I feel crappy, but convinced it's just a cold.
January 23--I have the effing flu.
January 25--Special K is snotty & feels warm but actually has a low body temp.  This is its own
                     problem. 
                   Talk to the nurse line.  ER visit recommended.
                   Poppy comes over.  ER visting we go.  I still feel like crap. 

January 25/26--Stay up all night in ER even with flu recovery. 
                   Special K diagnosed with flu (duh) & IV placed for fluids.

January 26--Admitted to room.  Yeah, it was kind of permanent.  I have dirty hair, shelf bra & sticky
                    armpits.
                    Hospital staff heavy-handed with advice.  Skeptical of fast metabolism.  Like to throw
                    around Failure to Thrive (FTT) like it's an award, when in fact it sounds like an
                    indictment of my pediatrician & parenting.
                    Introduce Alimentum formula, which is hypo-allergenic.  In other words, milk proteins
                    pre-broken down.
                 
January 27--Ass-doctor visits.  Acts offended that I am concerned about getting home to my other
                    two small children.  Refuses to discharge us.

January 28--Finally home.

January 29--Realize I'm out of PTO, so paycheck will be 2 days short of pay. 
                    Realize one small can of Alimentum costs $28 and we have to eat beans and rice ONLY.
                    Forever.

February 1--Elliott running a fever at dinner.  Chris takes him to urgent care with diagnosis of a virus.

February 2--Brooklyn wakes up covered in poo--the runny kind.
                     Elliott's birthday.  He seems fine.  Party continues.
                    Elliott wakes in the night puking his brains out.

February 3--Sicky kids

February 5--I start pooing my brains out.  Sorry for that.

February 7--I'm better.

February 9--I'm worse.

February 11--Chris runs fever.  Starts pooing his brains out.

February 12--Realize we have spent $500 in copays since the beginning of the year.

February 14--Chris is finally better.

February 15--Special K is gaining.  All kids snotty.  Coughing.  Drippy noses. 

February 19--Elliott has double-ear infections, likely sinus infection.  Diagnosed after he wakes
                      SCREAMING at 3am.
                      Chris realizes he feels like poo & has terrible cough.

February 20--Oh Dear God, please make this sickiness stop.  I apologize for whatever wrongs I have
                      committed. 

It's not all bad.  We figured out Special K has a milk intolerance/allergy.  Check it:

My Child Might be Smarter Than Me

I am typically not comfortable discussing issues of my intellect.  I'm reasonably smart, but I am fairly certain it is all a result of my freakish, savant-like memory.  It's ridic.  I have no idea why some of the things that stick in my head are there. . . like the start date of a therapist that works for me and has since 2008.  Weird.  I could give you a million more examples, but suffice it to say that anyone who engages in an argument with me has a serious amount of loathing for the memory.

So back to Monkey. He has a good memory.  I mostly attribute that to 1. genetics and 2. a speech pathologist for a mom.  Reasonable, right?

Well tonight he seriously put that theory to the test and has convinced me that I have, indeed, given birth to a wee one smarter than me.  This happened twice.  In one night.  Not. Normal.

1.  Chris and I were again questioning if Monkey's ear hurt.  Double ear infections last week have left us paranoid, especially with the random dramatic hand to the ear and statement, "My ear hurt."  We delicately explained to him that we want to make sure his ear doesn't hurt again and he calmly stated, "You need call Dr. Palmer."  Let's get this straight.  Dr. Palmer is the ENT we have seen exactly 4 times, the most recent being in May.

2.  Tonight we indulged Monkey's request to "go to walk."  Along with cooler temps (finally), it is semi-dark at this time.  Monkey looked up at me as we moseyed down the sidewalk and said, "We see noo-nick (music) and Santa."  I stopped in awe and looked back at Chris.  You see, he was referring to the home, three doors down, opposite side of the street, that had one of those fascinating and slightly tacky blow-up Christmas decorations synced to music last year.  Each evening in December, we would walk down to see the "pip--eee" lights.  He wasn't. even. two.  Not two!  Weird.

And that is how, in the course of one night, I became convinced, finally, that my son is smarter than me.  Imagine what his wife/husband/domestic partner will suffer in arguments?

Bittersweet Nostalgia

Being a mother has brought some strange moments of sentimentality for me. I have long thought it was ridiculous and unwise that parents 'baby' their baby. You know the type--the youngest child is indulged and turns into a whiny, needy, demanding kid that other people shake their heads about as the family walks away. I've always wondered why or how this happens. I mean, that kid is the same as as other, so why not treat them that way? Mmmhmm. That's what self-righteous judging gets ya', a big ol' smack in the face. Damn karma. Not that I'm planning on letting Brook-Brook rule the roost or be a whiny kid, but I'm just saying I.totally.get.it. My strange attack of sentimentality? Moving B-B from the cradle next to my bed to her own crib. For reals. I know rationally that it's ridiculous, but does that change things? Heck no. I'm still all sad and mushy inside because the fact is that she's my last tiny person that belongs to me and this year is passing too.darn.fast. Too fast. Cliche, but true. The first year is so precious, so vast in the changes achieved, and while burdensome to be the sole support, a tiny baby needing nothing but mommy is one of those things that fulfills all holes in my heart. All of that fulfillment while I still yearn for the day that my body is my own again and I don't have to plan when I can have a cocktail based on feeding schedules. Should you wonder if I feel the same about my 2 year old, I do. I can hardly contemplate that he'll be three in less than 6 months because I feel like his sweet, innocent, mommy-loving stage is slipping away. I know that new, exciting developments lie around the bend for both of my chitlins and that I'll love the next stages as much as these moments, but my sappy, sentimental mommy-heart is still full of nostalgia and bittersweet feelings.