Happy Birthday, HB

You were my friend before you were...more.

 You were the first kiss that counted.

You were the first person other than my mother who told me 
I was beautiful 

and the first person who sort of made me believe it.

 You were the first person to leave me that mattered.

 You were the first person to come back who meant everything.

Favorite Things

1. A completely unasked-for hug from my girl.
2. Knowing that I will get two cards from my Husband, one incredibly sappy and one funny (and sometimes farty) for every card-giving occasion.
3. When The Boy tells me what he's been thinking/doing lately.
4. A dog's look of unbridled joy when out in the snow.
5. A really really good book, a blanket, a cup of tea and a couch.
6. A favorite memory of a mother wearing a dress and baking homemade cookies after school for a week because a little girl asked her to, even though her tastes ran to bell-bottom jeans, earth shoes, and boxed meals.
7. Daisies
8. That my telephone ESP has altered itself from knowing when my mother was calling to knowing when it's Judy or Lynn.
9. That my husband feels absolutely no threat about my post-post-post adolescent {crushes} on {movie stars}. 
10.  Going back to bed.

Look Out, Boston... Here I Come!

KIDDING!!!!!

But seriously, I'll be in Boston at a {conference} for 4 days, 
and away from my computer,

because I am too cheap to pay the $15 a day 
the hotel charges for wireless.
(Why do "nice" hotels charge for wireless?)

I'll miss you, blog.

Oh yeah.  You too, kids and husband.

Blizzard Baking

 The results of {these cookies}  LATER 
should be very very interesting.

About a Boy

Yesterday was The Boy's 14th birthday.  How the hell did that happen?  Two weeks ago  we got a letter in the mail about high school orientation.

WHAAAAAAT????

Because it was only 3 weeks ago that HE WAS BORN.  Really.  And I was 25.  I know that I have really become my parents because every Friday I am {dumbfounded} how fast the week went.  And the months.  And the years.  Ho-ly crap.  Before I know it I'll be a GRANDPARENT wearing {slacks}.

But this isn't about me. 

This is about the baby who was born who made me a grown up.  I know, I know, I've brought it back to me again but I can't help it.  The Boy's birth was not for the faint-hearted.  If there was ever a time in which I wished I could crawl back into my mom's WOMB let alone her lap it was when Sam was born.


My sister-in-law doesn't like to talk about this because it reminds her of her son's birth which, in so many respects, was freakily the same as S's.  Normal pregnancy, etc. etc. and then WHAM! Scary birth.  NICU.  Tubes.  No one telling me exactly when he would go home (because, they told me later, they didn't know not when but IF).  

I think of this picture as a Before and After.

Before, S=fetus

After, C=actual viable baby

And then, he was home and everything was great and then WHAM-O, {postpartum depression}.

And THEN, in the midst of the PPD, near-constant crying on both of our parts.  And a pediatrician who told me "Mrs. T, all babies cry." and hearing his office staff say "It's HER again!" and THEN the good Dr. hinting that perhaps I had been expecting--I kid you not--a "perfect baby."


All this with me {not sleeping AT ALL}.  And thinking about throwing myself down the stairs every time I passed them because maybe then I would be left alone in the hospital.


Wow, have I really brought this back to me.  But here's the happy ending: the end of my PPD coincided with a second opinion about the baby who cried even when he nursed, thanks to my childhood pediatrician, Dr. Paolini of Reading PA, who listened to me. Who took me seriously.  Who found that my baby had such {reflux} that he had the start of an ulcer.  Who put him on prescription Zantac and turned him into this:

4 months

This is one month after Zantac.  Happy, healthy baby.  With fantastic hair.

I kicked that ****** pediatrician to the curb. 

So, now you know why I felt like a grownup when I had The Boy.  He turned me into a Mom and Someone To Be Reckoned With.


And this boy, after all the upset and hard beginnings turned into the sweetest, the kindest, the most fun baby a girl woman could wish for.  He would wake up happy, he would go to sleep without a fuss, and in between delight me with his way of looking at the world.  It was so amazing to see everything as if it were new through his eyes.  I never thought I could love anyone as much as I loved him.  

Another memory is of a day late in my pregnancy with his sister.  He and I were taking a walk around the block, with him running ahead and me waddling behind. I was watching him with the gooey eyes of a hormonal woman (who cries at everything anyway) and he turned around and reached for me with one hand.  I burst into tears and thought I was ruining his--our--life because I was having another baby.  This was the last time it would be just him and me.  I could cry now thinking about it. I thought my love for another baby would somehow take away some of the love from him.  Sounds stupid, I know, but I am still amazed at the heart's ability to expand and include.

S,almost 3; M, 3 days

And he was a perfect big brother.  Gentle and kind.  Not too jealous.  The love that he is.  When his sister got big enough to take things from him I worried that maybe he was too kind, too mild-mannered. She would take his toys and he would cry.  He would take hers and she would grab the scruff of his shirt, look him in the eye, and growl GIVE IT BACK.  And he would.  Yikes.

Yeah, this picture pretty much sums up their differing personalities

But HH and I have found that although he's patient and kind and everyone likes him, he's no pushover.  He doesn't say much, but he doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do.  And that is a relief that I hope I keep feeling.  High school is NEXT YEAR.  I know we're not out of the woods yet.  And he doesn't tell us things and he doesn't talk about stuff, but his friends are nice.  And smart. And involved in school.  Not surprising that he's chosen to surround himself with kids like this but still, it's a relief.

The boy on the right is raising his hand for more food.

I love to feed him.

He doesn't tell me he loves me anymore unless I beg.  He stiffens up when I try to kiss/hug/come near him.  He likes to look at girls' boobs.  But he's still my baby.  

And he teaches me everyday how to be his mom.  

I Hate February 3rd

4/2/17-2/3/95

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5/21/41-2/3/04