Our Impossible Adoption Story
If you're looking for the unbelievable account of how "impossible" became "done" in 5 business days, start here.
Six Month Check-In
No pictures yet, because he’s not officially six months until Monday. But we had the doctor visit last week, and it’s Saturday so if you’re reading this you’re bored anyway.
- 16 pounds, 14 ounces (50th percentile)
- 28-inches long (95th percentile)
So I’m thinking of abandoning the nickname, “Meatball.” He’s long and skinny. Not really living up to it. Now taking suggestions for cute new nicknames in the comments.
I think the nurse who prepped us this time was new. Poor girl didn’t seem to have much of an idea about what she was doing.
First they tried the vision test. Sit on mom’s lap and watch some bright shapes on a computer screen. Easy enough. What’s that? You want to stick three electrodes to a six month old baby’s head? Riiight.
The-Baby-Formerly-Known-As-Meatball was actually pretty good about it for the first five to ten minutes. But the electrode things wouldn’t stick. I really wanted to take a picture, but didn’t get the chance because I was quickly recruited to hold them in place.
By the time the nurse was satisfied and tried to start the video, he was over it. He was looking at pretty much everything but the computer screen. And who can blame him? He’d just watched it do the same thing over and over for five to ten minutes. His eyes are fine. So is his attention span.
So he kept looking at the walls (Suggestion – If this is the closet where you want babies to look at one thing, don’t paint bright stuff all over the walls.), and the nurse, and me. And she kept waving a rattle in front of the computer screen and cooing, “Samuel! Over here!” … So of course I then had to explain that he doesn’t know that’s his name because we use his middle name blah blah.
Another nurse (whom we have seen several times before and is definitely not new) finally stuck her head in to see what was taking so long, told her to just enter it as incomplete so we could do it again at nine months, and freed us from The Closet Of Weirdness.
But besides that, he’s grand. The NP kept using the word, “Delightful” again, as he babbled and smiled and giggled at her. She was surprised how strong he is when she tried to pull him up to a sitting position and he popped right up to his feet, and when she tried to put him on his stomach but it never touched the table.
My favorite part was when she asked if he’s showing any sign of teething.
“He has two teeth …”
That’s a good sign.
So in place of all the other pictures that are not part of this post, here’s a flashback from the hospital:
I had an epiphany earlier this week that may have forever improved my quality of life.
The kitchen table is the center of my home.
I know. Take a moment if you need to.
Physically, the kitchen table is probably pretty close to the center of the house, but more importantly, I realized that it’s my center when I’m home.
Maybe because it’s physically in the center of the house. Maybe because it’s the focus of our home in a lot of ways – it’s where we eat, draw, pay bills, read Bibles, blog, sort mail, etc. Maybe because it’s one of the first things I see when I come in the house.
Whatever it is, I realized that the rest of the house can be spotless, but if the kitchen table is cluttered I feel like a mess. If the table is cleared, I can be at peace with a lot of mess elsewhere.
I suspect it’s not just me, and it’s not just kitchen tables – or physical centers. A friend of mine will tell you that if her bed is not made, the house is not clean, and I recently read a similar comment from another mama about her dishes.
It is difficult, if not impossible, to keep a house clean with a full-time job and a not-very-tidy husband and a new baby. I can’t imagine adding a toddler, or multiple children, into that mix. But for the past week, I’ve been keeping the kitchen table clean and clear – starting with it when I have an afternoon to clean, and ending the day with it when I only have time for one more thing before bed.
And you know what? I haven’t stressed out about raising a family in a filthy pig sty all week. (I can be a little dramatic, maybe.) And, when I do have an hour to clean up a little bit, it doesn’t feel so hopeless. Because I can see the surface of the kitchen table.
So here’s my desperately-want-to-be-a-home-maker-but-don’t-have-time tip for the day: Figure out what your center is, and focus on it this week.
Now if you’ll excuse me, there are papers and keys on my table that belong elsewhere.
How To Kill A Moment
Crying I can handle. I can sympathize and make pouty faces and feel bad. Crying sounds like, “I’m unhappy or uncomfortable and I want Mommy, please.”
Screaming, though. I cannot handle screaming. Wailing. Toe-curling, hair-raising, who-just-opened-a-portal-to-hell? shrieking, I cannot stand. Screaming sounds like, “I’m dying a slow, agonizing death and it’s your fault. I hate you.”
Maybe that’s completely irrational because we’re talking about an almost-six-month-old, but those are my interpretations. Crying sounds sad. Shrieking sounds accusatory and angry.
And being falsely accused makes me angry.
Because the truth is he is not dying a slow or an agonizing death. He’s not dying at all. Even if he were, it wouldn’t be my fault because I would be doing everything humanly possible to prevent it. These accusations are lies, and the devil is the father of lies, which can only mean that the devil has gotten to my almost-six-month-old.
That also makes me angry. Read more…
I know what you’re thinking, but hear me out.
We tried brussels sprouts once – maybe twice – and they were bitter and nasty. And if my husband can’t cook something, it can’t be cooked. So we quit them.
But Sunday dinners at mom’s have a way of getting off tha hook sometimes, and last week she busted out the sprouts. (In truth, a kind neighbor – whom mom suspects is really just trying to make sure she eats, still – bought too many, and unloaded a few handfuls on mom. Bought too many brussels sprouts? Highly unlikely, but …)
Mom did her research, though, and they turned out delicious.
So delicious that I bought a pound of them two days later to make with dinner.
It’s this easy: Read more…
May Through The iPhone
The lilacs are gone, and so is May.
I got my wish in that it was better than April, but April didn’t really put up a fight.
Forgive me for starting out on a sour note, but I can’t escape it. Has it really been two months since Dad passed away? How weird is time? On the one hand it’s so constant that we build our lives around it. On the other hand it’s so unpredictable that during the same stretch of seasons I can say I feel like I’ve been a mommy for way longer than five months, but I feel like dad left just last week.
Still, May has been good to us (which is bittersweet).
Spring has finally arrived in the Chicagoland area. We’re soaking up long, warm evenings, and digging shorts out of drawers. Picnics with friends and road-trips with family and miniature Avengers have all created good afternoons and good memories.
This was also my first Mother’s Day post-partum, and we got to laugh as we remembered Mother’s Day 2012. Read more…
Spits and Wiggles 