Yesterday morning Robby and I packed up and left for school a few minutes early so that we could drop off our traditional 9/11 cookies at the firehouse. I love Robby's excitement and enthusiasm when he is able to do something nice for others. He was grinning from ear to ear when he presented his treat. Of course, he also became incredibly shy, leaving me to do the talking.
As we drove away from the firehouse my mind was spinning. I kept thinking about the man who answered the door and accepted the gift from Robby. Okay, to be completely honest my thought process was purely primal. Specifically, I was thinking that it was fortuitous that was a good thing he was a fireman since he was smoking hot. As I allowed my mind to briefly wonder and imagine the lustful possibilities, I glanced in the rear view mirror and was immediately brought back to reality.
I viewed this individual as incredibly attractive. He viewed me as a middle aged Mom. After all, why wouldn't he see me that way. I am old enough to be his Mom. I was, in effect, also a dirty old woman.
My epiphany led me to again reevaluate my age. I realized that men whom I find immediately attractive are no longer in my age category. While I still feel spry and young, I cannot deny that I am middle age. Men in my age group are no longer overtly youthful. Instead of sporting tight shirts and bulging muscles, the majority of men in my age group are battling both receding hairlines and bulging tummies.
I'm happily married and not looking for an extra curricular affair, which is good because I now know that my real age and my own perceptions of my age do not align. Mentally I still feel like I am in my 20's. Unfortunately my body and face do not echo the same sentiments. I suppose eventually my fantasies will have to align with reality. Sigh. I really hate growing up!
Thursday, September 11, 2014
Yesterday was incredibly hectic and busy which made me appreciate how far I've come in my recovery. I was wearing my leg all day and, although it was sore by the time I took it off before climbing into bed, I feel victorious. Much of the day I was wearing Timmy in the baby carrier, adding to both the fatigue I experienced at the end of the day as well as the sense of satisfaction I felt.
Despite being tired, last night after dinner Robby and I did something that we haven't done together in months. We made
These were not chocolate chip cookies without a purpose. We were baking them for our local firehouse. When Robby was born I struggled to find a way to explain 9/11 to him in terms where he understood the importance yet would not be scared. I decided that the best way to honor the past was to create a tradition of thanking the first responders in our community. Every year we bake cookies and deliver them on the morning of September 11. The firefighters have come to expect our delivery!
Our tradition has grown and has been adopted by friends and classmates. After a brief and age appropriate history lesson, Robby's class made a poster to accompany the cookies. I'm sure that it will bring a smile to many faces!
I hate September 11, with all of the news retrospectives and documentaries. I understand the importance of remembering, but it seems like the horror is being crammed down my throat by the networks. I will never forget the fear, terror and grief that I felt on that morning. I want Robby and Timmy to understand the significance without feeling the sense of uncontrolled terror. I hope that they never experience those emotions and memories first hand!
Today I won't be watching any television. I don't need to see constant replays of the planes flying into the buildings, nor do I need to hear the frantic 911 calls to remember what happened. I am far more comfortable honoring the date in my own way, by doing something positive.
at 6:17 AM
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
Timmy has gained weight and, although he loves to be warm and cozy, he no longer has problems regulating his body temperature. I look at the photos of my tiny little baby and I am amazed at how quickly he has grown and filled out. The fragile little waif is gone, leaving a strong, happy and healthy baby boy. The only vestiges of his being a preemie lies with his size (he is short) and his reflux.
I am sure that his reflux is more frustrating for us than it is for him. He seems relatively unaffected by projectile vomiting without notice. While Timmy continues to smile through his regurgitation, I have grown weary of cleaning partially digested baby formula off my floors, furniture and myself. Despite my efforts to clean it up quickly, I'm fairly certain that everything I own now smells like sour milk.
Some days are worse than others. There are bottles which never make an encore appearance. We've tried to recreate the feeding, hoping for another positive result only to be met with volcanic vomit in my face. Yesterday was a relatively calm reflux day, allowing both Timmy and me to remain relatively dry. Of course, just when I was ready to declare a reflux free victory, I was proven wrong.
I was wearing Timmy, forward facing, in the baby carrier when I was making dinner. The little guy just loves being situated in his snug little carrier, probably because it keeps him both close to me and warm. He was happily cooing and giggling as I was stirring the cheese sauce for the macaroni and cheese I was planning for dinner. True to form, reflux occurs without notice. Just as I turned off the heat, I saw a large stream of what appeared to be milk pouring into my sauce.
I instinctively grabbed the spoon to stir it in, only to realize a few moments later that I had not poured anything. Stymied about the source, I was disgusted when I processed the event. Timmy had vomited the entire contents of his bottle, which he ate 2 hours earlier, into the cheese sauce. So much for my well planned dinner! My lesson for the afternoon- if you are cooking with a baby who suffers from reflux, wear him facing inward or risk the contents of the pot. And no, I didn't serve it anyway!
at 6:34 AM
Tuesday, September 09, 2014
An unexpected benefit of my recent surgery was my forced convalescence. As my abdomen healed, I was required to rest on either the couch or my rocker. The quiet time of little mobility allowed my leg to finally heal from the re-amputation surgery. Walking pain-free is a luxury I will never again take for granted!
After my surgically induced respite, I was delighted when I realized that I wasn't feeling pain when I was walking. The nagging soreness is gone, and my leg is nearly back to its pre-surgery self. I guess the experts were correct when they recommended I allow myself more time to heal. Maybe I should start putting more credence to their recommendations.
My socket is now too big, but with the addition of socks I am able to compensate for the volume change and remain mobile. I hate socks, but this is primarily because I am lazy when it comes to my prosthesis. I like things as simple as possible, and having to don socks is a step which I have come to resent. I am more of a "step in and go" girl, but transitioning to a new socket forces me to not only to mess with socks and padding, but also I also have to lubricate my socket in order for me to slip it on.
Shrinking is a fabulous condition in every part of my body with the exception of my limb. I'm delighted when my pants become too big. Unfortunately I don't experience that joy nearly as much as I would like. The shrinking of my residual limb sparks a series of events that becomes both time consuming and frustrating. The end result, walking in a perfectly fitting leg, is worth it.
at 6:09 AM
Monday, September 08, 2014
Well, my weekend of relaxation never materialized. Perhaps I'll be able to rest in 18 years,when Timmy leaves for college. Until then, I have resigned myself to the fact that my weekends will be filled with activities, work, chores and various family adventures. The lazy weekends spent on the couch watching movies and eating cookie dough ice cream are a thing of the past.
I'm trying to not complain; I know that these days will not last forever. Someday Timmy will sleep through the night and will not want to be rocked at 3 AM. Although I'm exhausted now, I know that I will miss these tender moments.
I know that I wouldn't be this tired if I weren't still recovering from surgery. Outwardly I look fine. The only remnants of the procedure is that I am limited bending, lifting and carrying objects. Although I look healthy, I can still feel the effects of the surgery. I am beginning to believe the doctor when she said it would take three months to completely recover.
Most of the time I am doing fine, able to work and take care of everything with little to no assistance. The only real obstacle I am encountering occurs in the morning when it is time to take Robby to school. Schlepping Timmy into the car, then carrying him out of the car into Robby's school, then back to the car only to be carried into the house when we get home a few minutes later is both laborious and painful. In a 20 minute period, I have to pick up and move the little guy four separate times. By the time we are done, I'm ready for a the heating pad and a nap--and he is ready to play!
Friday I finally broke down and did something that pushed me out of my comfort zone. I called a neighbor and asked for help. Sue, my neighbor, was an absolute godsend last year after Timmy was born. She has been offering to help again this year, but my pride has stood in the way of accepting her offer. I don't know why it is so hard for me to admit that I need help!
Sue sounded genuinely happy to lend me a hand. She has offered to come over every morning to watch Timmy while I drive Robby to school. Not having to carry and move him so many times is going to help me immensely. I wish I had called her last week when I recognized the problem.
I consider myself lucky to have such wonderful neighbors and friends. Although it is still difficult for me to reach out and ask for assistance, I am thankful that they are eager and willing to help. Maybe one of these days it won't be so hard for me to make the request!
at 6:50 AM