Happy Birthday To Sweet Tori Bird!

Because I don't mention her or her brother enough, I wanted to dedicate an entire post to my middle child, my resident diva, the cause of all my gray hair... Tori.  Today she turns 7!


She's exhausting and never stops talking.  There are days I literally want to stab my eardrums with rusty barbed wire rather than listen to another second of her chattering.  But she's also genuinely funny- and that's a rare thing in a kid.  She sees the world in a way I wish I could- there is still magic hiding behind every corner in Tori's world.  I hope she never loses that.  She stands up for what she believes in; even when it means losing a friend.  Nobody gets away with pushing her around, either!

So, to the coolest 7 year old I know.... I hope you had a very happy birthday.  (Party pictures will come later... like after her slacker mom actually schedules the party...)

Harlow's Swallow Test Results

Wow, this blog is handy for updating the family all at once!  I have to say, this just might be my favorite part of the internet- it's almost completely eliminated the need to actually speak out loud to people.  I know some call that a bad thing... I think it's fabulous!

Anyway, onto Miss H.  After over an hour of fuckery because some brilliant person lost the order for her test, we finally got her back to radiology and she had her swallow test done.

I was given the opportunity to see a woman and her blind son interact- which may seem like a weird thing to say, but let me explain.  When Harlow was born, we thought she was blind.  She was like 2 weeks old and I was thinking her life was over- how can you live in a world where you never know the color of the grass or see the bunny hopping across the yard?  I watched this woman help her son play with his toys and it hit me that even though I had thought at one time being born blind would have been a horrible sentence, this mom and son were put in my path to show me it wasn't a bad thing.  She played with him differently than I play with my children, but different isn't always a bad thing.  To show me that even when we assume to know where a path will lead us, until we walk it ourselves, we don't know.

So anyway, back to Harlow's test.  Lonnie was the one to feed her the bottle of barium, because she takes a bottle better for him and he has much more bottle practice than I do!  It was pretty cool for me, because I got to stand behind everyone where I could actually watch the test on the screen.  The first thing they had her drink was a thin liquid barium, which shows up black on the screen.  We watched her little tongue work to get the liquid out and then she'd swallow.  I've never seen one of these tests done before, so I had no clue what I was looking at- but even I knew it wasn't right.  The liquid would attempt to go down one side of her throat, then get pushed out and over to the other side where it would go down.  Next they gave her something a little thicker and without hesitation it went straight down the first side, and she started to choke and gag.

Basically what this means is that anything with a thin or only slightly thick consistency is being aspirated right into her lungs (which was the "first side" I was seeing on the xray).  They also gave her pudding and a cookie, which I think were ok, but those were harder to tell (at least for me, who had no idea what I was looking for)

The official word for it is dysphagia.  Basically it's a general term that means "swallowing disorder".  They said this explains why she isn't gaining weight properly- because she knows it's not safe to swallow.  All this time, I just thought she didn't have a big appetite- poor baby is probably always hungry, but afraid to eat!  How horrible is that?  Apparently hers is fairly severe but we've been super lucky because it can cause all kinds of lung infections and she's barely ever been sick- and never with anything in her lungs.  Lots of things can cause it, but sometimes it's a condition all by itself.  We'll have to have some more tests done to figure out what exactly is going on.

Moving on to how we manage it though.  This is the part that really sucks and I'm really struggling with.  As of right now, she is not allowed to eat any finger foods.  The only foods she's allowed to have are thin purees.  They gave us this thickener stuff that's the consistency of honey that has to be added to every liquid she drinks.  This means 2 things.  First, the bottles she normally uses are no longer ok, because she can't get this thick stuff through the nipple- we have to use special bottles.  Second, they want me to stop breastfeeding her because obviously there is no way to thicken that.  I don't know what to do about that.  I'm actually really devastated over it, and not quite able to articulate why.  I'm going to have to think on this one for a little bit and then speak to the nutritionist.  I can start pumping full time, but I already hate the once a day I have to do it at work, and I don't think she's going to be willing to take a bottle from me...  Ugh, this is starting to feel kind of overwhelming and I have so many questions rolling around in my head.

All things considered, I know it's not BAD news, it's just news I wasn't expecting.  And somehow in my twisted mind, this all wraps up with seeing the blind boy in the waiting room.  I really feel like he was a sign, we were put in that room together for a reason; I was supposed to take something away from that experience... I just can't quite place my finger on WHAT.

**Warning** Tearjerker

~*~ author's note: This is a letter I wrote to our son, Alexander Ashley. He was born asleep two years ago after my water broke unexpectedly due to chorioamnionitis. While I do question whether or not it's appropriate to share this so publicly, it's an important part of who I am. So in the interest of full disclosure, here it is. ~*~

January 24, 2011 (yes, I'm aware that is tomorrow). Happy Birthday Sweet Alex. You would have been 2 today. I still think of you every day. I still wonder what you would have been like. I still hate myself for not holding you when I had the chance. The nurse told me I couldn't hurt you, I guess I didn't believe her. I'm sorry. Tori colors pictures for you about once a month, I've saved them all. I don't know why, but I have. I guess the same reason I have your ashes, blanket and photos. Because it just seems wrong not to keep them. I approach this day, the day you were born asleep with such mixed feelings. The grief still catches me- like last week at Toys R Us when I saw all the newborn baby boy clothes. Or when I first put that little snowman coat on Harlow, the one I bought for you. Sometimes though it just comes out of nowhere and blindsides me. I can't breathe and I feel like my head might explode from the pressure. But exactly one year after you were born, on January 24 2010, we brought your sister home. She helped heal me in so many ways. She has given us so much joy; joy I never thought I'd feel again after you left us. I believe there was a reason she came home on that day. It wasn't coincidence, maybe it was you. Maybe you were telling me it was going to be ok?

So I'm feeling like I need to do something. Something to remember you, even if it's just something small. I just don't know what. I go visit my grandparents at the cemetery when I'm feeling the need to be close to them, but I've got you here with me. I didn't want to have you buried, just in case we ever wanted to leave Ohio, I couldn't bear the idea of leaving you behind. So that's why I chose to have you cremated. So I could keep you with me. I'm going to come up with something that can be "our" tradition, I just can't think of anything right now that seems worthy of you.

*~* I apologize for the excess of gloom and doom as of late- it was not my intention to start a blog just to cry nonstop.  Currently working on something new, and decidedly less depressing. *~*

The first of many lists of things I hate

While this list in NO WAY is even the tip of the “Things Jen Hates” iceberg, these are the things that have been on my mind today as being especially obnoxious.

First, these ridiculous photos of cats with misspelled words, like this:

Seriously, you can't just stick a “Z” on the end of any random word. This is not English. While I'm at it, “Da” is not a word, “the” is. “Mah” or “Meh” are not words either- it's “my” and “me”. Oh yeah, and we can't just add letters to words either- for example “I Looooovvveeeeeee youuuuuuuuuuuuu” Yes, I have actually seen this- Poor, Broken English is the official language of Facebook, Is it really that hard to spell correctly? For christ's sake- even my PHONE has spell check. There's no excuse. It's not cute and it makes me hate you.

Next on my list- Women with words on their butt:

OK, I know this one is just a cartoon, but we've all seen them. I don't want to read your ass. Because seriously, if you have to print “Sexy” across your ass- chance are, you're not. Oh yeah, and “Juicy”? Honey, get yourself to a doctor- that is NOT normal!

Hipsters. I know, I know- it's almost as trendy to hate them as it is to BE them, but I just can't stand anyone who takes themselves this seriously. And for anyone who isn't sure what I'm talking about, here's an excellent description, first published in Time Magazine, June 2009:

"Hipsters are the friends who sneer when you cop to liking Coldplay. They're the people who wear t-shirts silk-screened with quotes from movies you've never heard of and the only ones in America who still thinkPabst Blue Ribbon is a good beer. They sport cowboy hats and berets and think Kanye West stole their sunglasses. Everything about them is exactingly constructed to give off the vibe that they just don't care."

Exactly. If you don't care, then why in the FUCK are you trying so hard to convince me you don't care?

Neck Tattoos. Nothing screams “trashy” in quite the way a neck tattoo does. Bonus points if it's the name of your ex...

The last thing I hate today needs no real explanation except to say "I was at Walmart..."

People, it is not that hard to dress your children before they leave the house.  Seriously, nothing disgusts me more than parents who take their babies (or in this case, toddlers) out in public wearing nothing but a diaper.  Our children are PEOPLE and deserve the same basic care we give ourselves before we leave the house.

Processing Harlow's Birth, One Year Later

Harlow's birth, one year later. So I've had a full 12 months to “process”, “come to terms with”, “mourn” or whatever you want to call it. You'd think that would be enough. You'd think that I would look at my beautiful little girl and put the past behind me; after all we both survived and that's all that matters, right? Oddly, (and maybe selfishly) no it's not. “I” didn't deliver my daughter- she was ripped from my body. A full month before she should have been. All because my faulty body failed us both. I had a giant blood clot that caused my placenta to peel away and start to bleed like crazy. That c-section saved both of our lives. If I hadn't been in the hospital already, we probably wouldn't have made it in time. So yes, I am grateful that c-sections exist. I know mine was not one of the many unnecessary ones. But I don't have to like it. I don't have to like the fact that I lost my birth experience with my last baby. I don't have to like the fact that I chose to have a tubal that I now regret and can't take back. So many things went so horribly wrong and I'm still not over them. I don't know that I ever will be, honestly.

Harlow's first months were HARD. I really think she was just so not ready to leave the womb; she did not adjust well to life on the outside. She slept 18 hours a day those first couple months, when she wasn't asleep, she was screaming. She was a slow weight gainer from the start- because she was so sleepy and angry. Now that she's approaching toddler-hood, things are better. She is much happier! She still doesn't gain weight for shit and has left her sleepy days far behind her. She's ADORABLE though, and that makes up for a lot of sleepless nights.

I think she has recovered from her traumatic entry into this world. I wish I could say the same. I have this ugly scar from hip to hip that will stay with me forever. I have a strange numb feeling along the scar that I've been told will likely never get better. I haven't felt right since her birth and in trying to figure out “What the Fuck is Wrong With Jen” I found websites dedicated to “Post Tubal Ligation Syndrome."    To any woman considering a tubal, I beg you to please investigate “PTLS” it is real, and it's more common than we realize. The only cure is a tubal reversal, which may-or-may-not work and no insurance will cover.  Some of the most common symptoms of PTLS are irritability, sudden tears, trouble sleeping through the night, loss of libido, fatigue, anxiety, feelings of doom, hair loss and headache- and that barely scratches the surface of what this procedure does to your body.

I wish I could look forward to celebrating Harlow's birthday without these feelings- but they currently are taking center stage in my mind, unfortunately...

But, on to some cuteness:

                                                       Newborn Harlow, 5lbs. 3oz.

And 12 month old Harlow, 18 lbs. 8 oz.

Success! She Ate!

I just wanted to share this fabulous pics of Harlow at lunch today.  When control-freak momma let go and just let her have fun, she ate 2 crackers and almost an entire jar of green beans!

As you can see, she loved it!  She even ate off a spoon too- and laughed the entire time.

But then there were green beans in her ears, so I got to play control freak again....

Ahh, clean baby!  And she even brushed her teeth :-)

(oh yeah, in case you haven't figured it out- I just learned how to add pictures last night, LOL)

Update On Harlow

First, and BEST- Harlow took THREE steps all by herself last night! Ha! Take that, doctor-who-say-she's-delayed!

Second, we met with the Feeding Disorder Specialist and a Dietician today. While her weight is low, it's not to the point where they are really freaking. She is just a little peanut. They were able to get her eat a little bit- oh my god, the mess! Basically the lady dumped half a jar of food on the tray and let her play in it and eventually some made it's way into her mouth. And she wants me to do this at home, in my kitchen. Yuck. Twice a day. Double yuck! I don't know if I have it in me to let her make a mess like that, but if it gets food into her, I guess I better suck it up and deal.

They did say that with the family history of allergies and her excema, they would like for her to see an allergist. Apparently babies with allergies will choose not to eat because they know it's going to hurt them. She's never had hives or any of the allergy symptoms Tyler and Tori did, but again, Princess H doing things her own way. So we worked on ways to get her to eat and then moved on to drinking.

When Harlow drinks, she does it in little bits. This is how she has ALWAYS been- she nurses for 3 minutes, then comes back 45 min later for another 3 min. Apparently this can be a sign of reflux? Since, in the therapist's opinion, she seems to struggle with the drinking more than she should, they are going to send her for a barium swallow test next week. Just to really try and get to the bottom of what's going on with her.

And it just hit me today- she's going to be 1 in less than a week! OMG how did that happen? And on that note, here's a photo of Tori, Harlow and I taken exactly one year ago, when I was 34 weeks pregnant....

SNOW DAY! And then a whole lotta whining...

Ugh, snow day how I hate you. I mean, I guess on one hand, I didn't have to leave the house to drop off or pick up demon spawn- but on the other hand, this means they were home with Lonnie and I. All Day. Trapped in the house with no hope of escape. Oh, and I was out of coke until about 6 when Lonnie took the Jeep out to brave 8” of snow covered back roads to go to Circle K. While he said this was done out of love, I'm guessing it was more something like “Holy Shit, if this bitch doesn't stop crying I'm gonna have to kill her.” And with all the snow, burying a body would be a real Pain In The Ass. The end result is the same though, I got coke. Nobody has to die. All is well in the world.

So now I'm properly caffeinated, the headache is dissipating and the older two demon spawn are in bed for the night. Maybe this day won't be a total loss after all. I did get a nap, and who doesn't love a good nap? It's not like the kids were bad today (though Tori is going through this God Awful crying-over-everything stage) it's just I guess I've come to covet those rare moments when I'm only responsible for keeping the baby alive. I've given up on ever having a moment of time that's completely child-free, being down to only one is as good as it's going to get. Does this make me a bad mom? I adore them, don't get me wrong. I just would probably kill for some time to myself. Oh yeah, and time with my husband minus children would be fabulous too. Just even less likely to ever happen!

We had Tyler when I was 19. I was barely old enough to vote, not even old enough to drink and suddenly I was responsible for feeding, changing, ect a completely helpless human being. All of my friends were going to clubs, figuring out who they were- I was figuring out how to breastfeed and going to the pediatrician. Do I regret having him? Not for a moment. Do I wish that he hadn't come so soon? Absolutely. I look back on the mistakes I made with him as a baby and I feel SO BAD. I honestly did the best I could, but I didn't know enough to really give him the early years he deserved. I wonder if these early mistakes have contributed to the fact that we are just not close at all. I try, and I think he does too- we just don't... click. We are a lot alike and I think is part of the problem. We both have nasty violent tempers, both are insanely sensitive... oh yeah, and we are both bat shit crazy.

I've said it more times than I can count- this parenting stuff is HARD. Like beyond trigonometry kind of hard- and that says something coming from a girl who barely passed high school Algebra 1. I guess if I wanted to just give up and let them raise themselves it would be a lot easier- but I'm way too much of a control freak to ever let that happen! So I appeal to you, Internet- how do I fix my relationship with my son? How do I make him hate me just a little less? I expected the seething rage from him at 16, getting it thrown at me from a 9 year old is just a little more than I know what to do with.

Oh yeah, last thing- Harlow's appointment with the “Feeding Disorder” specialist is Friday. I'm going to meet with her, a nutritionist and lactation consultant (because I told them I refuse to stop breastfeeding her, so they better figure out a way to help her gain weight without giving that up) The plan is for me bring her bottles, cups, spoons and food and they are going to watch her eat. From there, we'll discuss what we need to do to help her gain weight and if they see anything that looks abnormal, we're going to do a barium swallow test. I don't know what to think of all this. She's SCRAWNY- she really does need to put on some weight, but the pediatrician's recommendation of switching her exclusively to formula, force-feeding solids and supplementing with pedia-sure, just doesn't feel right to me. Maybe she's just going to be tiny. It's not like the women in my family are exactly large in any way. So I'll update on how that went sometimes Friday evening- the appointment is at 1 and they said it'll take a couple hours.

The 1st Of Many Parenting Whines

“Mrs. Edwards, your baby has The Retard.” OK so, maybe it wasn't said EXACTLY like that, but the basic idea that the pediatrician is trying to convey is something along the lines of “since your crappy uterus can't be bothered with holding a baby until their due day- congratulations, you've made this one Special.” And I'm sitting here all “WHAAAAAA?” in my best Scooby Doo voice.

So all poor attempts at jokes aside, Harlow is not quite meeting her milestones on schedule, even when you adjust for the prematurity, she's kinda slacking on the social skills. Which is fine, she is eventually hitting them all, just not at the rate she “should” be. Poor kid also has super freaks for siblings, which doesn't help her situation. Tyler was talking in full sentences at 15 months and Tori was walking at 9 months. Tough acts to follow, I suppose. But now we're entering into the Big Scary World of Early Intervention. Which is great, I know they do fabulous things for the kids that need them. I just never thought that we would need them. There's no diagnoses, there's not even a real problem, as far as I know. I think it's more “let's do this now so we can head off a potential problem before it starts”

But now I'm left kind of floundering, kind of unsure of myself. This parenting stuff is HARD, let me tell you. It's just always SOMETHING. First, Tyler and all his freaky allergies. Then Tori comes along and her kidneys are all shot to hell. Then Tyler loses his mind. Then Harlow is born early and they think she's blind. Then Tori's cancer scare a couple months ago. Now Harlow is not blind, but she is slow-ish. Seriously, it would make a more sane person run screaming away. But me? Not me. I'm standing in the front yard, shaking my fist at the Universe screaming “Is that all you've got bitch? I can take that with one hand behind my back! You wanna break me? Keep trying!” And so Universe obliges, and the cycle begins anew.   

The Post Where You Learn Why I've Given Up On Humanity

You know what I really love? People who think I give a flying fuck what their opinion is. Let me paint a picture for you.

It's December 23. It's like 2:58 and Harlow is past tired and we are still out shopping. At Gamestop. 2 Days before Christmas. So basically it was just like being in Hell- except I assume hell would have better crowd control. I finally make my way to the register, balancing a stack of games, one floppy pissed off bundle of baby, my leather coat that weighs about 9 trillion pounds and my purse- which outweighs the coat by half at least. The girl at the register could have been super cute, once you looked past the fact that her hair was 5 different colors, her face was so pierced up, you could barely see face- and the tattoos, OH THE TATTOOS. It was like... unbelievable. And for the record, my navel is pierced, I've had my nose pierced and I have several tattoos- I'm not anti-body art. I'm anti-self mutilation. And when you pierce your collar bones (YIKES) and your open shirt shows solid tattoo from your boobs to your chin- yeah, honey I'm sorry- I'm gonna stare. Because REALLY? You did that on purpose?

Wait. This is not where I was going with this. People and their dumb asses thinking they get opinions. Right, I'm back on track now.

Freak Girl: (pointing to baby, who is seriously hating life right now)”She's so cute. What's her name?”

Me: “Harlow Asia” (for the record, “Asia” is pronounced “ahhZEEah”) Yeah, I know- talk to my husband on that one.

FG: (wrinkles nose) “That's weird- where did you find that?”

**Now, at this point, Harlow is climbing my back, it's about 134 degrees in the store and I'm just not feeling this conversation**

Me: “I found it in a baby name book and really liked it.” in my head I added “now please shut the fuck up before I kill you and they have to ID the body by the shear number of metal appendages left behind” But of course, I don't say that- because I'm nice. And stupid. Really stupid.

FG: “oh. Hey Jill, did you hear what she named this baby? HARLOW. Have you ever heard of that before?”

**Really? I will end you right here. I don't care. I'm out shopping 2 days before Christmas for-christs-sake, I obviously have NOTHING to lose. Just try me, bitch.**

Jill: “That's kinda cute. But you know my friend, she just had a baby and you know what she named her? TEMPEST. Isn't that the WORST?”

me: (because I'm an asshole- and because it's 100% true) “I actually like that name, if I couldn't get my husband to agree to Harlow, she was going to be Tempest Nicole. Now, how much do I owe you?”

And then my head exploded.

So there's the story of the time I almost went postal and took out an entire Gamestop. Looking back, I really wish I had less self control. Or at least a flame thrower in my trunk. You can blog from prison, right?

I wish I could say that was the only encounter I've had like that, but sadly in this parenting adventure, I've encountered many fucktards who feel the need to spew their ignorance all over me. But that, Dear Internet, is another story for another day....

Let Me Explain

I'm guessing anyone who doesn't have children is probably scratching their heads over the name of my blog. Or maybe you're one of those bastards that has “normal” or “well behaved” children. If so, bite me. For the rest of us, with bat-shit crazy spider monkeys posing as children, I give you my “List Of Shit I NEVER Thought I Would Have To Say”

1. (obviously) “Stop coloring on your sandwich” said to my dear Tori bird when she was about 4 and decided she simply HAD to have pretty bread.
2. “Get the dog's foot out of your mouth”
3. “No, we cannot put the screaming baby back my belly. It hurt like hell getting her out, you're stuck with her”
4. “Go get a Mr. Clean sponge and clean that up. And for the love of all that's holy- STOP WIPING BOOGERS ON THE WALL”
5. “Who put the dog in the fish tank?”
6. “...And you thought painting the carpet with Balmex was a good thing?”
7. “Why is there piss on the toilet seat AGAIN?”
8. “Yes I know zombies are cool. But your obsession with them is why none of the other PTA moms will play with me”
9. “How fucking hard is it to flush a toilet? GAWD!”

Note that a good majority of this list involves bodily functions and/or fluids. This is only a partial list, if I wasn't so lazy I'm sure I could remember more. This is the fascinating life of a parent. These are the things that make Lonnie and I both seriously consider packing our shit and sneaking out while the kids sleep. This, my friends, is the Ultimate Birth Control.

The Post Where I Introduce Myself To The Internet

So. This is a blog, huh? You're all going to come rushing to read my innermost thoughts? Hmm. Am I narcissistic enough to have a blog? Am I even going to keep up with it? I tend to forget projects mere moments after I begin them. Can I stop checking my damn facebook page long enough to even type an entire paragraph? Yes, apparently so. Probably not. Certainly not- if I can't sit through a red light without checking facebook, how in the hell could I ever expect to avoid it for more than 15 seconds when the computer is right here on my lap?

Let's just get all the “fine print” out of the way now. I curse. Excessively and unapologetically. All of my favorite words would make George Carlin give me a standing ovation. I have 3 children who I love more than anything. But they get on my nerves from time to time and I have no problem being very vocal about that. No matter how many times I say I want to lock them in the garage- I won't do it. I promise. Don't call CSB- they're fine.

I over use parethesis. My favorite way to end a thought? “...” I love this little dashy thing “-” too. These things all will eventually make you want to hunt me down and beat me to death with a grammar book. I am sorry for this, but it's like an illness, I can't control it.

There are millions of blogs out there and we here at “Stop Coloring On Your Sandwich!” are ever so grateful you've chosen us to be your blog. Literally millions of blogs. All with people who think they are the most funny, most intelligent or just generally The Shit and therefore must share their wit, wisdom, ect. With the rest of us peons. So why would I feel the need to add to that? What could I possibly have to add that nobody else has already said? The short answer is- Nothing. I have nothing new/special/interesting to add. Apparently however I just adore myself so much I have to share ME with all of you. You're welcome.