First Serious Fall

Ben had his first serious fall today. Scared the shit out of me and his father and nearly killed his great-grandma.

We were going into Sweet Tomatoes for Eric’s early birthday dinner. Eric jumped a puddle. Grandma, never to be outdone at 82, even when holding Ben, decided to try herself, too. She missed the step and went face first into the concrete. She managed to land on her knee first and block Ben from the ground with her arm but she did fall on top of him.

Talk about a “What the hell do I do” moment. Do you grab the baby or worry about the old lady on the ground? Eric grabbed Ben, I asked grandma if she was okay. I actually think I yelled it at her because I was freaking out. Grabbed a screaming Ben away from Eric and took him a few feet away to make sure he was okay and kill him with hugs if the fall didn’t do it first.

And here is where I see blood and my heart stops. “He’s bleeding!” Grandma is still on the floor. Dad and grandpa and some passerbys are trying to help her up. Mom scurries over, takes one look and says, “He bit his lip. It’s okay!” Me? Pale as a ghost, Eric says, and I was trying not to cry. “He hit his head! Check his head!” grandma tells me from the ground. I check his head, it’s fine but I’m convinced there’s internal bleeding or something horrific.

Grandma gets up but is sick to her stomach and her knee & neck hurt. I want to leave and go home. Mom makes us go in and eat. Well, everyone else ate. I just sat there trying not to puke as I looked at his perfect little lip swell to the size of a marble.

Grandma was worried everyone hated her but we got past that. She’s got neck & knee pain while Ben’s a happy camper. His lip swelling went down but he does have a little red spot on the back of his head that’s worrying me. It’s not swollen but it’s definitely there. I’m now not going to sleep tonight for fear that he may just stop breathing at any moment and I’m really not even kidding about that.

New Rule for this family: No one carries Ben outside of the house except us.

Between Children and Old Folks

My son made it quite…

((As I begin to type this my son topples head first onto the floor, slamming his head hard enough that the sound resonates through the entire house. His father and I got there before he even let out a tiny cry, and then he plays it up when he notices we’re worried. You can tell they’re growing up when they begin to get manipulation. We’ve got ourselves a big boy! A big boy with a huge red spot on his head. Yowch.

Back to our program already in progress…))

clear that he much preferred adults over babies this weekend. On Saturday, we had our usual hours long conversation about politics and fiat currency with Eric’s friend. That evening, however, we had a dinner and get together at the Children’s Museum with other kids from the TEDDY study.

“What the hell is a 7 6.75 month old going to do at the Children’s Museum?” you ask. “You just went for the free food, didn’t you?” you accuse.

Jerk. While the free food was intriguing, I was hoping we might be able to socialize Ben a little. Maybe with some babies his own age or a bit older. Getting him into interacting with someone other than his parents and other aged individuals, I thought, might be a good thing. Now don’t you feel bad?

Immediately after signing in we beeline for the food line. (Come on! It was Olive Garden!) In front of us was a very uptight and pissy mother, an obviously nice but nervous father, and an adorable, pissed off baby girl probably about 10 months old. The mom is grumbling something at the dad, the dad is trying desperately to point out fun things for his daughter to look at and the daughter? She’s SCREAMING at the top of her lungs. Not crying. She’s doing the, “YOU PEOPLE ARE PISSING ME OFF!” sort of scream. Ben cranes his neck to look around me and her daddy so he can give her one of my favorite looks. The “what-the-heck-is-your-issue” look. This is the look he proceeded to give every child thoughout the entire museum.

I suppose I’m not surprised. My mom’s always said that, as a baby, I would look at my peers as if they were aliens. Not just aliens, but stupid aliens. Eric’s said that, when he was a child, he always thought other kids were idiots. We seem to have another anti-social child on our hands.

He did, however, enjoy the time he spent with just us; rocking on the lily pad, playing with the gear wall, playing with the giant legos, sliding on the slide. No so much sliding on the slide. He cried. No matter how slow you went or how tightly you held, he cried. I was scared of the slide, too, when I was little. Who says nuerosis aren’t genetic?

Sunday we had our weekly family visit with my grandparents and then, dinner with my parents. He cooed, he talked, he had a great time interacting with all the old folks. The only time anyone would get one of “those” looks was when they baby talked to him or tried to get him to play with anything other than a remote control. God forbid you should hand him a toy!

I have a feeling my son’s going to be a lot like me as a kid. I have a feeling he’ll be a bit of a loner with a great mind and a little disgust for the “vroom-vroom” of the kids around him. I just hope it won’t keep him from having friends. I mean, he’s already got a mama with piercings and tattoos (which is enough to keep most moms away), but if he keeps looking at kids like he does now, I’m going to end up being his date to the prom. Oh my, the therapy bills…

Family Overload

I feel like nothing has stopped since Thanksgiving. I’ve been overly social all week and, honestly, I need a flippin’ break from interacting and, more importantly, a break from removing myself and my child from our jammies.

Saturday morning we spent arguing with Eric’s childhood friend over abortion, politics and breastfeeding. Yes, even breastfeeding. (Yet another blog with the boob being discussed!) I was aghast but had very little argument for his response regarding breastfeeding in public, “I’m uncomfortable with it because it’s not a normal thing to see, so I stare. I should have the right to stare because it’s strange.”
“It makes people uncomfortable when you stare. It’s sad that any person’s immediate response to breastfeeding is that it’s strange.”
“It is sad, but that’s the way it is. Change isn’t easy. You have to fight for it.”

While I agree that change is hard, I don’t agree that we need to put up with people staring at us just because they find it “strange”. It’s impolite. Even if you find it strange, you look, look away and think, “Huh, that’s strange.” I don’t see the point of staring. Anyhoo, that’s beside the point…

After Eric’s friend left, his sister came over. She’s visiting from Alaska and is staying with her parents. Immersed in the madness, poor woman. So we invited her over to spend the night. We spent a few more hours discussing family insanities and Zoloft. By 9pm, Ben was tired of the discussion and responded, accordingly, with the following:

We missed the part in which he was yelling in two different voices. I think this was his version of, “BLAH BLAAAAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAAAAAAAAAH! Do you people EVER shut up?” We’re raising quite an orator.

Sunday evening we spent with my family, watching Dexter and Weeds. Very little discussion involved, which I think Ben much preferred. There’s only so much politics one infant can take before he just wants to veg in front of a tv to learn about serial killers and marijuana.

Happy Thanksgiving!

While I was too stressed (see? working for me already) to remember to bring my camera with me to dinner at my grandma’s tonight, I did manage to get a few pictures of him in the second iteration of the “Benjamin’s First Thanksgiving” outfit. So here he is, in all his drooling, orange couch backdrop having, all by himself sitting, glory.

My darling boy.

Dueling Diabetes

While I love my grandmother immensely, she has a touch of the narcissism. If you are at all aware of NPD, this conversation will probably be deja vu for you, substituting the subject, of course.

Mom: So, explain to us what they were doing with the TEDDY thing…
Me: Well, they started by taking some of his cord blood, then…
Gma: Oh, they did that with me. My glucose was too high. His glucose was too high.
Me: No, they took his cord blood…
Gma: Yeah, they did that to me. Glucose.
Me: No, they took blood from his umbillical cord when he was born and tested it for the genetic markers for type 1 diabetes.
Gma: Like me. I have diabetes.
Mom: No, mom, you have type 2.
Me: See, type 1 is what starts when you’re small. You’re born with it. {{Explain autoantibodies here}}
Gma: Oh yeah, well I don’t have that. See, I have it because I ate too much chocolate.
Mom: Yes. Type 2.
Me: Exactly. Type 1…
Gma: But I have type 2, he doesn’t have it, yet.
Me: Yes, but Ben has all the genetic markers for type 1. So, they…
Gma: Oh, I know. The doctor says I have type 2. I can’t have any sugar. Here, let me show you my monitor. I was doing really good…{{Here she goes on to discuss her sugar levels}}
Me: Okay. {{Starts telling mom how the test went}}
Gma: (feeling slighted because I didn’t want to keep discussing her problem, gets up and starts talking very loudly to Ben) You brought us diabetes, didn’t you? I didn’t have diabetes before you were here!…But I have type TWO!

TEDDY

Have you heard of TEDDY? Not the bear, The Environmental Determinants of Diabetes in the Young. They came into our hospital room when been was just about a day old and asked us if we’d like to participate in the study. They’d take some of his cord blood and test it for the genetic markers that can possibly lead to type 1 diabetes. I was half dead and was willing to say yes to anyone as long as it would get them out of the room, so off went signed papers to have Ben’s cord blood tested for type 1 diabetes markers.

I really didn’t worry about it. As far as I knew, no one in my family every had type 1 diabetes. Type 2, yes but no type 1. I assumed we’d just hear back that everything was fine, nothing to worry about, go on with our lives, whatever.

So this week, when we received a letter in the mail from TEDDY that said, “Call us soon or we’ll call you”, I got a little worried. I called once and no one was in. I figured, “Eh, they’ll call us” so I didn’t leave a message. It kept bugging me. I called back today.

Apparently, Ben has the genetic markers for type 1 diabetes. While this doesn’t mean he’ll definitely get it, he has a 3x greater risk of developing it than the normal population (1:33 vs 1:300). After a long, horrifying shpeel on what type 1 diabetes is and what it does to the body, she asked us to be a part of the continuing TEDDY study. It would involve taking him in 4x a year to have is blood drawn and height & weight measured. We’d have to keep records of his food, illnesses, pets, stresses, etc. We’d have to send in a poo sample every month. At 9 months, they’d take a sample of our tap water. At 24 months, they’d clip his toenails and test them, they’ll also test for Celiac disease. This would last for 15 years.

It’s a helluva lot to start doing but we’ve decided to do so for two main reasons. The first is very selfish. They’re going to keep close tabs on him. If he should have any problems, we’ll know immediately and they’ll be able to point us towards resources to help. The second reason is mostly because of her. This woman works everyday to keep things okay for her kids, and she works damn hard at it. Her daughter Hayleigh has both type 1 diabetes and Celiac disease. I’m in awe every moment of her attitude towards it. Cupcakes for everyone? No problem. Kris will find a way to make them both okay for Hayleigh AND tasty for everyone else. Someone being an ass at her school? Psh. Kris’ll run out and bring treats to even things out a little. I couldn’t imagine being in her shoes and doing as wonderful of a job as she does. So because of Hayleigh, I’d like to participate in anything that might lead to helping find a reason for this disease and, possibly, eventually finding a cure.

They say his risk would be 2x greater than what it is if he had a parent or sibling with type 1 diabetes. Luckily, he does not, but I was surprised to learn that every single one of my great aunts on my dad’s mom’s side (10 aunts in total) died of type 1 diabetes. I also found out my grandmother has it as well but has luckily never needed insulin. And, apparently, my dad’s son from his first marriage has a son with type 1, too. It was a shocker to go from thinking we had no one in our family with type 1, to having multiple people with it. It’s a little worrisome. However, at the same time, it’s pretty likely I have the same genetic markers and I don’t have it myself. I’m trying to be ridiculously unscientific and say that’s a really good sign. I’m also thinking that it’s not a ridiculous idea that most Native American’s have these genetic markers.

So, they say about 1 in 20 kids in the study develop one autoantibody (a sign that the body’s attacking the cells that make insulin) and 1 in 40 develop 2 or more. I pray Ben is in that 19 that doesn’t.

Introducing Benjamin Patrick Lee

Benjamin Patrick Lee July 13th, 2007, 12:19am 6lbs 4oz, 19 inches

The Non-Shower Shopping Day

Saturday I got my non-shower day of shopping with my mom and grandma in. We hit Babies’R'Us first and I had to physically put them away from the clothing section. The child has more clothing than both Eric and I combined. He definitely does not need anymore. We made out like bandits. Between the multitude of coupons I had and the awesome sales woman who gave us three (count em, 3) 15% off coupons, we saved about $60 on everything. We then hit Target for one thing because, well, Babies’R'Us is the definitive end all, be all of baby stores and we managed to get pretty much everything there.

We also got all of his diapers in on Friday. They are washed, sorted by size, likelihood of use, plausible place of use (out or home) and folded in their proper prefold fold so all we have to do is whip them out, lay them flat and lie the child on them. The changing table is set up. The crib that we will probably never use is set up. The bag is packed. The co-sleeper has been set up just to see how we’d sleep with it there. I have read all my baby books twice. I am now completely ready for this child…at least, gear-wise.

10 days. Dear God, 10 days.

My How Things Have Changed

Discussing baby safety with my mom, whose only child was born nearly 26 years ago, is like trying to speak to a Mac tech about a Microsoft system (yay, dorkiness!). Nothing either of you are saying to one another makes any sense.

I, like every new mother, have become obsessed with safety guidlines. I’ve already vetoed Eric’s hand-me-down crib because the slats were 5 inches apart. FIVE INCHES! I’m not sure how, but apparently a child can get it’s head stuck between anything larger than 2.5 inches and, you know the routine, tragic baby death ensues. I vetoed his bassinet because, although I couldn’t find any real bassinet safety standards, I’m sure that if a crib from 1969 is unsafe, a bassinet from 1969 would DEFINITELY kill my child. We bought a new(er) crib.

While talking to my mom about baby sleep, she waggled her finger at me and said, “Don’t forget to always put your baby on his stomach or he may choke.”
“Uh…Back to sleep! They’re supposed to sleep on their backs or else they may die of SIDS! Tragic baby death!”
“Well, you slept on your belly and you were fine.”

While talking to my dad about the things we needed to get for the baby, I mentioned a car seat.
“Well, you don’t need one of those anytime soon, right?”
“WHAT?!? No! You need one immediately!”
“Why? Can’t the baby fit in your lap?”
“WHAT?!? No! That’s illegal! They won’t even let you take the baby home if you don’t have a carseat!”
“Oh…well, you went home on mom’s lap. We didn’t have a carseat for you until you were 2 or so, and you were fine.”

Of the millions of things we still have yet to get for the baby, at the top of our list is the infant car seat/travel system…thing. Luckily, The Girl (and another of the lovely ladies from the board) offered to lend me one should we end up running to the hospital with a cardboard box duct taped to the backseat, hoping the hospital won’t notice the difference.

Reason 498 Why I Love My Husband

I’m sitting on the couch, avoiding the piles of work I should be getting done today when he runs towards me and begins pummeling me with a salt shaker and an AA battery. He says, “A SALT AND BATTERY! A SALT AND BATTERY!” Then runs away.

I love the man.