I thought it would be easy. For weeks I've been saying how I was ready to go back to work, how I loved my job, how you'd be right down the hall...
And when I dropped you off at daycare today and I went into my office for four hours to try to get some work done before I go back to teaching full time next week, it was easy.
But when I picked you up and then we drove home and you were asleep in your car seat, I became sad--sad that I wasn't exactly sure how you spent your four hours away from me. Sure, I know you ate 3 times, got your diaper changed twice, and slept in your crib for 45 minutes (and somehow Abbey got you to fall asleep on your own--a feat you never do at home), but I'm used to hearing you babble back at me all day long and I know the difference between your "I'm hungry" cry, your "I'm bored" cry, and your "I'm overtired" cry. It hurts to let go a little bit--four hours this week; eight hours next. I'm just thankful that you're close by, down the hall really, and that I'm a teacher and we will have plenty of vacation days and summers to play and cry together.
Know today that I love you, even if I can't spend every minute with you. And know that I hope this experience makes you more social and independent and well adjusted in the future. You will always be my baby boy--even when I'm driving you to college...
Monday, October 26, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Officially 3 months
Today you are 3 months. You are so fun. We spend most of our days, smiling, talking, and laughing at each other. You love to babble. And I babble back. I call you my Tweetie Bird, my Tweetie, after the song "Rockin' Robin," which I started singing to you during tummy time while you played with a bird toy your Nonni gave you. Actually, the bird looks nothing like a robin--it's blue--but I sang this song anyway, and it stuck. It has replaced "The Wheels on the Bus" as our daily song.
I took pictures of you today with your Obama doll, and--just like everything else these days--you brought him to your mouth. Are these the early signs of teething? All the drool and hand-to-mouth movements. One of my favorite moments was when you held his hand in yours. See the slide show below for more highlights:
I took pictures of you today with your Obama doll, and--just like everything else these days--you brought him to your mouth. Are these the early signs of teething? All the drool and hand-to-mouth movements. One of my favorite moments was when you held his hand in yours. See the slide show below for more highlights:
Thursday, October 8, 2009
A Fall Day and the Last of Our Summer Tomatoes
Yesterday was the epitome of a fall day in the Midwest: Sunny, 60 degrees, a light breeze, fall leaves. We went for a long walk; you slept the entire time, lulled by the crunch of yellow leaves on the sidewalk as your stroller rolled over them. I took in the day. The moment. It was so peaceful, making circles through California Park, watching the sun beat down on the Chicago River.
When we returned home, you woke up, voraciously hungry. I feed you outside, as I told you we had to enjoy the nice weather while it lasts, because soon the snow arrive. And instead of depressing me, as it usually does when I think about the ice and cold that is to come, I smiled--the image of you in the snow, a winter hat on your head, Christmas, all that it used to be returning now.
After you ate, we picked two tomatoes from our garden. I held them up to your nose so you could smell them. I said, "tomato." I said, "red." I watched your eyes focus on the tiny balls that one day I hope you like to eat.
When we returned home, you woke up, voraciously hungry. I feed you outside, as I told you we had to enjoy the nice weather while it lasts, because soon the snow arrive. And instead of depressing me, as it usually does when I think about the ice and cold that is to come, I smiled--the image of you in the snow, a winter hat on your head, Christmas, all that it used to be returning now.
After you ate, we picked two tomatoes from our garden. I held them up to your nose so you could smell them. I said, "tomato." I said, "red." I watched your eyes focus on the tiny balls that one day I hope you like to eat.
Monday, October 5, 2009
All Things Medicial
My whole life I seemed to have been plagued with minor medical ailments, often many little things wrong with me at the same time (and it never helped that I'm a hypochondriac). Most of the times, these ailments, as I call them, resulted in funny stories afterward that I would share with my friends. Like the time my mom gave me an enema in high school or the patch I wore over my eye on a date and, of course, there was the bug bite in Texas that sent me to two emergencies rooms in two states and almost killed me (okay, this one was more than minor).
Anyway, my love, it seems you have been cursed with the Lauer genes. Since you were born, the minor medical ailments have been adding up: acid reflux, horrible constipation (some day we'll tell you about your Nonni pulling out a hard poop with a rubber glove), torticollis, and now hip dysplasia. When you were diagnosed with torticollis (a weakened neck muscle that results in a favoring to one side) at your one-month appointment, I thought it couldn't get any worse. As the doctor hurled words like "facial deformity" and "therapy for a year," fear spread through my body, but it wasn't until I held you under an x-ray machine, you screaming in discomfort, that I shed tears too. Here you were, just four weeks old, and being subjected to machinery of this kind. It wasn't fair, I thought. And I thought: You are truly my responsibility and if anything ever happens to you...
But after more than a month of PT, your torticollis is improving, your neck muscles getting stronger, and I love watching you hold your head up high. Now, your torticollis seems easy to manage. I'm used to the exercises and positions. The difficult part is that just as I was getting used it all, your doctor felt a click in your hip at your two-month appointment, which lead us to more tests, an ultrasound this time, and a trip to an orthopedic surgeon at Children's Memorial. On Friday, this doctor, who specializes in kid's hips, diagnosed you with a very mild case of hip dysplasia, and immediately you were fitted for a Pavlik Harness, the go-to treatment for infants under 4 months. The doctor seems optimistic; he said he'd be surprised if you have to wear it for more than 6 weeks. But it was so hard seeing you be fitted for it; I cried, flashing to my own brace fitting when I was 12.
From 6-8 grade, I wore a Milwaukee Brace for Kyphosis 24-7, except to bathe and swim. And throughout high school, I wore it at night. Thankfully, you're adjusting to your brace easier than I did. I fainted during my fitting and was nauseous for a week. You are all smiles. And we're surprised how easy you're able to move in it; it really doesn't seem to phase you. We've heard that the first few days are often very challenging, so we were worried, but you've been amazing!
I've been overwhelmed. Being a new mom is tough enough. We spend a lot of time at doctor's offices and at hospitals, but every time we're at Children's Memorial outpatient center (we're there twice a week now), I realize how blessed we are. You are for the most part a healthy, happy child, and your father and I love you more than life. It scares us. You are our baby boy. You will not remember all these doctor's visits and therapies. You will not remember wearing this harness. But, I believe, it will make you stronger. You've been through a lot as a three month old, more than most, I'm sure.
Here's a picture of you in your harness, still looking at cute as ever!!
And I should end this letter, letting you know that it's wonderful being a Lauer too. Hopefully, you'll get the Lauer gene of being a social butterfly, of loyalty to friends, of laughter, and enjoying life. And, secretly, I hope you get the Evelyn Lauer gene of creativity. Maybe you'll be a poet. Sshh...Don't tell your Dad.
Anyway, my love, it seems you have been cursed with the Lauer genes. Since you were born, the minor medical ailments have been adding up: acid reflux, horrible constipation (some day we'll tell you about your Nonni pulling out a hard poop with a rubber glove), torticollis, and now hip dysplasia. When you were diagnosed with torticollis (a weakened neck muscle that results in a favoring to one side) at your one-month appointment, I thought it couldn't get any worse. As the doctor hurled words like "facial deformity" and "therapy for a year," fear spread through my body, but it wasn't until I held you under an x-ray machine, you screaming in discomfort, that I shed tears too. Here you were, just four weeks old, and being subjected to machinery of this kind. It wasn't fair, I thought. And I thought: You are truly my responsibility and if anything ever happens to you...
But after more than a month of PT, your torticollis is improving, your neck muscles getting stronger, and I love watching you hold your head up high. Now, your torticollis seems easy to manage. I'm used to the exercises and positions. The difficult part is that just as I was getting used it all, your doctor felt a click in your hip at your two-month appointment, which lead us to more tests, an ultrasound this time, and a trip to an orthopedic surgeon at Children's Memorial. On Friday, this doctor, who specializes in kid's hips, diagnosed you with a very mild case of hip dysplasia, and immediately you were fitted for a Pavlik Harness, the go-to treatment for infants under 4 months. The doctor seems optimistic; he said he'd be surprised if you have to wear it for more than 6 weeks. But it was so hard seeing you be fitted for it; I cried, flashing to my own brace fitting when I was 12.
From 6-8 grade, I wore a Milwaukee Brace for Kyphosis 24-7, except to bathe and swim. And throughout high school, I wore it at night. Thankfully, you're adjusting to your brace easier than I did. I fainted during my fitting and was nauseous for a week. You are all smiles. And we're surprised how easy you're able to move in it; it really doesn't seem to phase you. We've heard that the first few days are often very challenging, so we were worried, but you've been amazing!
I've been overwhelmed. Being a new mom is tough enough. We spend a lot of time at doctor's offices and at hospitals, but every time we're at Children's Memorial outpatient center (we're there twice a week now), I realize how blessed we are. You are for the most part a healthy, happy child, and your father and I love you more than life. It scares us. You are our baby boy. You will not remember all these doctor's visits and therapies. You will not remember wearing this harness. But, I believe, it will make you stronger. You've been through a lot as a three month old, more than most, I'm sure.
Here's a picture of you in your harness, still looking at cute as ever!!
 |
| From Letters to NMW |
And I should end this letter, letting you know that it's wonderful being a Lauer too. Hopefully, you'll get the Lauer gene of being a social butterfly, of loyalty to friends, of laughter, and enjoying life. And, secretly, I hope you get the Evelyn Lauer gene of creativity. Maybe you'll be a poet. Sshh...Don't tell your Dad.
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