Pictures

About a month ago now, the girls and I went to their cousin's birthday party at an art/play space.  It was right in the middle of nap time, so both girls fell asleep on the way there, but Gracie woke up in good spirits, excited to paint and play.  She was a little sleepy/out of it, but happy.  The kids started by painting picture frames, and then they were organized for a group picture.  G was quiet but content, got in line, and was paying VERY close attention, trying to do everything absolutely right, sit exactly where she was told, and listen for more instructions.  So when they told the kids to say cheese, she immediately complied.  And only half of her face moved.  The other half was virtually frozen.  This is not *exactly* new- her facial weakness never went away, it's definitely worse when she's tired, and, as her neurologist pointed out, best when she's expressing genuine emotion.  It's never good right when she wakes up.  So it shouldn't have shocked me.  But seeing her, so intent on being part of the group, and seeing how very, very obvious the facial weakness was, felt like being slapped.  With a brick.  I pretended to busy myself with Katie, who was not in the picture, and very helpfully feeling quite fussy after her own premature awakening (HA.  as if she normally cares.), and it was a good excuse to walk away and talk big gulping breaths and stop crying already, SERIOUSLY.  I have no idea if Gracie noticed or not.  She will one day, and so will other kids around her, and that's all I have to say about that.

While I was driving home, I realized that the pictures they took at school, which I'd been so, so excited to finally see, might not be something I wanted to see after all.  I mean, it's highly unlikely that a photographer she's never met before is going to elicit a genuine smile.  So I waited on pins and needles, bracing myself for the worst, telling myself it was okay, we have plenty of pictures of big, genuine smiles, and it's just one silly school picture.

When I was unloading her bag after school today, I saw the envelope with the pictures.  I actually held my breath as I slid them out of the envelope.

And I haven't stopped staring at it since.

28 weeks, blah blah blah

please God, let this baby weigh close to nine pounds....

as compared to Gracie:

and Katie:

Goodness gracious.

How does this compare otherwise to the other two?  I am not entirely sure because I am too distracted by the fact that SERIOUSLY, Katie has been possessed by a rapidly-cycling bipolar hyena and it is taking all my energy to try to figure out how the hell to make her stop screaming every hour in response to various offenses, such as: being given milk, having milk taken away, having her pancakes cut up, having her pancakes left whole, being given a blanket, having said blanket taken away, the wind, the barometric pressure....what have you.  And then all of a sudden, she'll be like this, which is also the only way she ever is when she's around other people, so everyone thinks I'm just being crabby:

(which, for the record, I am SO CRABBY, but also she is like a rapidly-cycling bipolar hyena.)  Also, I have a damn cold, which, actually, as far as me and colds during pregnancy go, it is pretty awesome that I made it this far before I fell victim to the evil rhinovirus, but it is still no fun to be 28 weeks pregnant with your third child and sneezing all the time.  I AM JUST SAYING.

Weird.

Since we turned the clocks back, Katie woke up at 4:15 and G was up at 5:30.  Don't worry, this is not going to be yet another post about sleeping.  Rather, I am explaining why, in spite of the fact that I am in possession of functioning eyes and ears, I'm still allowing my children to watch Barney.

Because, seriously.

Although, I stand by a previous statement made (not here, but still) that this show is less annoying than the Fresh Beat Band.  I will not be swayed on this topic.

ANYWAY.

I'm really, really, REALLY tired, and irritable, and dreading the thought of making it all the way to bedtime on a day that started at 4:15, so my kids are watching Barney.  And I think it's a perfectly valid choice.  We were actually watching something else, when the PBS Kids preview window popped up with a picture of Barney and Katie LOST HER MIND.  Which is really weird because we never, ever watch this show.  G watched it all the time, but we've kept K away from it.  THEY JUST KNOW.  He hypnotizes them.  Anyway, G was on board with Barney and it meant I got to sit on the couch and stare into space and drool a little bit, so, you know, win-win.  The weird part was that it just happened to be a rerun of the episode that we kept on the Tivo for something like fifty years when Gracie was Katie's age, because she loved the songs in this one so much.  And it didn't just bring back memories, it brought really, really strong feelings.  It's, like, the television version of Proust's madeleine.  Gracie fell in love with Barney right around the time that I decided maybe- mayyyybe- I did not suck at the whole motherhood thing.  Which is kind of funny, since letting your little kid watch not just tv, but BARNEY, often enough that they have a favorite episode, is kind of an epic fail.  The irony isn't lost on me.  Whatever.  My POINT is that I was already feeling exhausted and impatient and not super awesome at this gig, and seeing Barney and Riff sing about ducks was a good reminder that there was a time when I was even WORSE at this!

Wait, that's not really my point either.  Look.  I don't think I HAVE a point.  I'm really tired, okay?  I saw an old episode of Barney and it brought back lots of old, intense memories.  Try not to be jealous that I wrote this and not you.

The answer is Motrin. Mostly.

A few nights ago, utterly broken by fatigue, it occurred to me to dose Katie with Motrin before bed in an attempt to not die of exhaustion.  Also because it got cold really fast here so I can't make her sleep in the car.

It worked!  It actually worked!  She slept thru the night and woke at a normal hour.  And the other two nights since then, too!  She's had a bit of a runny nose and I think I finally (FINALLY) see her lower lateral incisors coming in, so she has plenty of reasons to not be sleeping well.  And she has a fully erupted molar on the right that was probably bugging her as it shimmied its way toward daylight.  We never knew when Gracie was teething until we saw new teeth in her mouth, so I tend to forget about teething, which I think probably bothers Katie a lot more.  The only problem is when to stop giving the motrin, because, seriously?  I am not sure I can give up sleeping thru the night and sleeping until the hedonistic hour of 6:30 this often.  So I gave her some tonight, because she did still kind of have a runny nose and also because her gums look thin, but no teeth in front.  So hopefully she'll sleep well.

....if she ever falls asleep.  Because it is now nearly 9pm and she is sitting up in bed, singing songs to herself.  And a few minutes ago, was standing up, waving her hands over the edge like she was casting a spell.

SERIOUSLY??????????  *I* want to go to bed!!  *I'm* tired!  And I napped during her nap today, which means that it is official and my toddler needs less sleep than I do. 

I TOLD YOU GUYS SHE WAS FREAKY.

Yes, well, someone should find it funny.

So Katie is the worst sleeper in the history of mankind.

No, really.  She is.  Weissbluth, Ferber, Karp, your next door neighbor's shaman- she is resistant to ALL of their sleep training methods.  She'll fool us, and sleep like a normal human for, like, a week.  I mean, a human who doesn't get very much sleep for their age, but she'll do it.  And just as we start to exhale and think, FINALLY, she has decided to join the human race- BAM! Waking every day at 4am!  Screaming all night long!  Then all day because the stubborn little turd is exhausted! 

But the bullcrap she pulled this weekend really takes the cake.  Waking from 12:30-2:30 friday and saturday, and only going back to sleep when I spent half the goddamn night sleeping on the floor next to her crib.  Which is all kinds of awesome at six months pregnant, let me tell you. Stephen tried rocking her and got her to sleep but she started screaming like a banshee in the Irish highlands the minute he dared to put her down.  So last night, when she started screaming at 12:30?  Oh, it is ON. IT.  IS.  ON.  So I reattempted Ferberizing her.


And that was as successful as one would imagine.

So Stephen took his pillow in her room and made his own attempt.  But by then she was pissed off and overtired and amped up and stayed awake, all told, from 12-4am.  At which point I took her downstairs, gave her motrin (maybe her teeth hurt? I don't know.  I just know this crap has to STOP.  Like, NOW.) and she finally passed out and fell asleep.

So naturally, it was not her older sister (who is my favorite because she's not a sociopath hell-bent on my destruction) who woke up as I was walking out the door at 6:20 to leave for work.  Oh no.  She was sleeping like a totally normal human.  The toddler who only slept maybe four hours last night?  SHE was awake.  And this is the picture I got two minutes later on my phone.

Proof: for all the dumbassese out there saying, "ohhh, she's just a BABY, she's not doing it on PURPOSE."  CLEARLY YOU ARE STUPID SUCKERS.  KNOW THE ERROR OF YOUR BELIEFS.

24 Weeks: Stosh-style

This entry is several days late.  Why could that be, when I am so fond of baring my belly and posting it for the world to see on the internets...oh yes that is right I feel like shit on a shingle.  How could I forget?

Stosh, ever courteous, is determined to make this pregnancy the most miserable, horrible, all-around godawful nine months of my liiiiife, in order to prevent me from being sad and pining for another pregnancy when we are, in fact, DONE, upon his arrival (as I am absolutely the type to ignore the fact that pregnancies result in babies- who often don't sleep, in our case, who ultimately become children, and find myself longing for just one more chance.)  He has fully ensured THIS WILL NOT HAPPEN.  I am not glowing or blissful or any of that crap.  I am a hot mess.  My hair continues to fall out and my skin is breaking out and I have restless legs and insomnia and horrible nightmares and reflux-y heartburn and STILL, good CHRIST, with the nausea, and I can barely sit without getting winded, much less run, the ONE THING that often clears my mind and makes me feel human, and I cannot seem to stop eating in spite of the aforementioned troublesome symptoms and you know....yeah.  Whine whine whine.  I KNOW, OKAY?  I know.

(I'mstillfuckingmiserable.)

Wanna see how enormous I am this time?  because I am entirely enormous.

Stosh: he is big.  please God, let him be big....

Gracie: she was reasonably big...ok...

Katie: oh my hell, look at THAT.  ...though she was admittedly petite...

Why did I carry  my first baby the lowest of all my pregnancies?  Isn't that weird?  Though it is good to see the comparison between all three, because it reminds me that Katie was very misleading as a comparison- the wee baby whose lack of growth inspired multiple extra ultrasounds.  And, for the record, the baby whose weight gain clung to me like a barnacle on the rudder of the Titanic. So that is also reassuring.

Whatever, I have to take it where I can find it.  Now if you'll excuse me, I need to writhe around in bed and complain about how horrible I feel and how I can't sleep.  It's all very fascinating.  My husband is a lucky, lucky man.

REDEEMED.

So.  THAT was unpleasant, no?

WELL.

I actually heard back today from the executive director for our branch of the Y.  It was exactly, precisely, perfectly what we needed to hear.  She was profusely apologizing, told me it was the first thing she started working on when she got in and read my email this morning.  She contacted the sports director, they were both horrified by what had happened, it is not the way they do things.

In short: recreational gymnastics is recreational.  It is not like swimming, where the kids are required to show certain skills before they move up to the next class, or like the higher levels of gymnastics, where they have to prove they're capable of the executing the skills before they can participate in another level.  It's not pass-fail.  They're preschoolers.  They don't work for the class, the class works for them.  Instructors are supposed to talk to every parent at the start of class to determine if there are any special needs, fears, etc.  If a child appears to be struggling, there should be ongoing discussions about what needs to be done to meet that child's needs so they can fully participate.  And never, under ANY circumstances, are adolescent coaches to be having conversations with parents like the one that happened on saturday.

The two directors actually went back and reviewed the footage from the gym on saturday (!!!*), watched Gracie, saw nothing that would exclude her from participating by ANY stretch, and also determined who it was that approached me.  She is no longer teaching the preschool class.  They will be doing some individual coaching with her and she will be pulled to do something else (well, that was implied.  Or maybe she's fired?  I have no idea and I didn't ask.  But OMFG SRSLY: what sixteen year old takes THAT into her own hands????  BRASS BALLS.  WOW.  I'd like to meet her mother...) 

I was asked to please, please bring Gracie back for the last two classes of the session, and also told that, if I was willing to try again, we could take the next session for free.  We would have new coaches, and if I saw someone in particular form a strong bond with Gracie, I should let them know so they can permanently assign them to her group. 

We're finishing the class out and signing up for the next session.  I told her a free class isn't necessary- I really, really don't want her to think we were looking for something free, I don't want to take away from the message here, that things should NEVER be handled this way.  She kept offering and we came to an agreement- I'm going to register and pay the same way I always do.  If things are not going well, we'll withdraw, and I'll go directly to her for a refund.  The other fact of the matter is that we can pay for our classes, and not everyone who goes to the Y can do that.  It just feels really...wrong.  And greedy.  So we'll do it this way.

I should have known.  I really, really should have known.  Gracie's safe place to be a regular kid was, is, and always will be her safe place to be a regular kid.  I should have known!  But oh my god, can you even IMAGINE acting that way when you were a teenager?  I seriously still can't fathom the balls on that girl, having that conversation all on her own.  SERIOUSLY, people.

Last night, Gracie was stomping around the house in her new pink cowboy boots, and asked me if she could wear them to gymnastics next time.  I panicked, froze, and didn't know what to say, so I told her gymnastics was over.  She scrunched up her face and said, "Mama, NOOO!!  Next time, pweeeease?!??!!"  And I'm not going to get into the ugly thoughts I had about certain former coaches of hers.  Because it actually feels so much better to know that I'm going home tonight and telling her, silly mama! I was wrong!  Gymnastics isn't over yet!  And YES, you can wear your pink cowboy boots.  (even though you can barely walk in them because seriously, you are your mama's daughter and the future of gymnastics is not in your bones.)

*OMG, the Y has VIDEO FOOTAGE of gymnastics class!!!!  WHY is my first thought, "holy crap, they video tape that?  Please God tell me I didn't pick any wedgies in front of the camera...."