I know it's bad to
compare your children but I
can't help it at times

Mira often wears
Cordy's hand-me-downs and I
like the differences

This week's outfit? A
dress Cordy wore years ago
Now it's Mira sized:

(click for a larger pic)

I know it's an obsession, and every special outfit that once belonged to Cordy is likely to be photographed on Mira, but I can't help myself. I love seeing how my two daughters are so different, and yet so similar in many ways. Cordy looks more like me, Mira more like Aaron. Cordy was built solid at 21 months, with toddler tree trunk legs and large through her torso. (Amazon warrior princess, remember?) Mira is more slender while still having the toddler belly. She has far less hair than Cordy had at that age.

Yet the two of them squint their eyes the same, they have dimples in the same places. Mira's hair is starting to show the same curls as Cordy's. Both are taller than the average for their ages, and both are now Amazon warrior princesses.

Putting them side by side like this really amazes me, both to remember how Cordy once was, and to see how fast Mira is following her sister in growing up. It's all too fast. I want them to stay little forever.


To play along for Haiku Friday, follow these steps:

1. Write your own haiku on your blog. You can do one or many, all following a theme or just random. What's a haiku, you ask? Click here.

2. Sign the Mister Linky below with your name and the link to your haiku post (the specific post URL, not your main blog URL). DON'T sign unless you have a haiku this week. If you need help with this, please let me know.

3. Pick up a Haiku Friday button to display on the post or in your sidebar by clicking the button at the top.

REMEMBER: Do not post your link unless you have a haiku this week! I will delete any links without haiku!

Part one can be found here.

May 27, 5-ish AM
When the nurse told me I wasn't yet three centimeters, I nearly fell off the bed. How? My contractions had been three minutes apart since at least 1am, and were now so intense I couldn't talk through them. Even the thought of being told to go home depressed me. Aaron tried to boost my spirits, and the triage nurse encouraged me to walk and move around to help speed things up while she looked into getting me a room.

Around 7am, I was checked again. This time I was three exactly and so I was admitted. OSU Medical Center required continuous fetal monitoring, no matter how much I protested. The plan was to keep me up and moving as much as possible, and I asked for a telemetry monitor so that I could carry out that plan. What I didn't expect was for technology to malfunction 15 minutes after getting the telemetry unit, forcing me into bed with wires keeping me tethered to the spot. I worried that this would interfere with labor - one more intervention on the checklist towards a possible c-section.

By this point I was begging my doula to call my nurse. The hospital had assigned me a nurse, but over a month before this my doula had been in touch with an OSU labor & delivery nurse who was very VBAC friendly. She agreed to be my nurse when the time came, and said she would even come in on her day off if need be. The assigned nurse seemed pleasant enough, but she was not happy with my wishes to follow the birth plan sitting on the front of my chart. She also blew her first IV attempt, wasting my best vein. My doula called Kim, and she was there by 8:30am. While I knew it was Kim's day off, I wouldn't find out until later that it was also Kim's birthday.

At 9am, I was reaching my pain limit. My contractions were already nearly on top of each other, less than three minutes apart and lasting over two minutes. I again foolishly hoped that this meant the end was near, and if not, visions of epidurals danced in my head. Kim checked me, and announced I wasn't quite at five centimeters yet. At that point, I declared in a loud, serious voice, "Get me the epidural then." I had advised my team to not let me consider an epidural lightly, but not even Aaron argued with me at that point. Of course, it could be because he wanted to regain some feeling in his hand again.

I originally didn't want an epidural, because I knew it would keep me bed-bound, but seeing that I was already stuck in the bed, it seemed like the best option. I knew I was risking yet another intervention down the slippery slope to c-section, but I also knew that in some slow labors an epidural can help speed things up. The happiest moment of the day thus far was when the anesthesiologist came into the room at 9:45am.

The next several hours are a complete blur for me, but there were two ongoing incidents that bear mentioning. First was the baby's complete and utter lack of respect for contractions. Normally, the uterus contracts, the baby's heart rate responds by increasing, indicating that the baby is a little stressed out by the squeezing. Totally normal response, everyone is happy. This kid, however, never showed any changes in heart rate. She was cool as a cucumber the entire time, prompting hospital staff to freak out regularly.

She also liked to stretch and shift away from the fetal monitor, making it impossible to detect her heart rate and sending Kim into my room several times to readjust the monitor and forcing me to wear an oxygen mask to help the baby. Trust me - she didn't need any help. She was simply relaxed through all of this. She could be the zen master of zen masters.

At least three times I remember them bringing a loud buzzing device in and holding it against my belly. The purpose is to scare the hell out of the baby to see if there is a change in heart rate. Change in heart rate=good. Each time they did that, I felt her jump out of her skin, and her heart rate increased, but then she calmed down and went back to sleep. Labor did not bother her at all.

The other recurring event throughout the long morning and early afternoon was the frequent visits from the anesthesiologist at my request. I've always had an ability to metabolize drugs quickly, and apparently epidurals are no different. The epidural completely wore off three times. Even with my little button to push if I needed more medication, it still wore off three times. Nothing like being totally pain free and then suddenly having it all come rushing back at you. Aaron had to remind me about my breathing and help me through until it could be adjusted. It was only re-up'd two times, though, because the third time I was already close to pushing. I've seen very little surprise from an anesthesiologist, but he was surprised.

Around 2pm, the resident came in and offered to break the amniotic sac. I never got to experience the water breaking or anything like that. Nooo...apparently it was the amniotic sac of steel. I refused, and then had to deal with a pouty young resident demanding to know why. I reminded him that the baby was still at a high station and I was only eight centimeters. I didn't want to risk a cord prolapse and a fast lane rush to surgery. I was happy to let it happen on its own. He skulked out of the room, not coming back in again until he was summoned.

Around 3pm, Kim declared that I was at 10 centimeters. I already kinda knew that, though, because the epidural had worn off, and the pain had shifted to a whole new sensation: the urge to push. The resident came back in, asking if he could now break the sac, and I let him, seeing that the baby's head was completely engaged and ready to go. The resident asked me for a trial push to judge how well I'd be able to push. My one trial push produced a look of panic on his face as he left to call the doctor, with strict instructions to Kim to not let me push. 10 minutes later, he was back, telling us that the doctor was stuck in traffic and was still 20 minutes away. Oh, and don't push.

Honestly, looking back, I should have flipped him off. I was not consciously pushing at this point, but my body was trying to push. It was taking all of my energy to try to hold it back. I was asking Kim how many babies she had caught due to late doctors, and asking if she was ready to catch this one. Kim was rushing around, getting everything set up and ready, while I gritted my teeth and tried to will myself not to push.

Finally, the doctor walked in around 3:45pm and quickly suited up. It wasn't my regular doctor, but one of her partners. She looked at me and said, "Dr. K sent me an e-mail telling me you might go into labor this weekend and attached a copy of your birth plan. She was hoping you'd be able to have the VBAC - she'll be so excited when I tell her that you did it."

Second happiest moment of the day came when Dr. H told me to go ahead and push. I remember everyone around me - Aaron, my doula, Kim, the doctor - telling me to push, placing their hands on me, etc., but I can't remember any specifics because I was too focused on getting her out. It took two pushes and she was out at 4:00pm sharp. That first push was horrendous, though. Her not-so-little head crowned just as the contraction ended, leaving everything in a rather painful stretched out manner, waiting for the next contraction. I gave it everything I had for the second push, which is probably what caused the second-degree tear.

They placed Mira on my stomach right away and covered her with some blankets. That was the third happiest moment of the day, and the one to trump all others. She gave a gurgle and a short cry to let us know she was breathing, and then went quiet as my arms wrapped around her. Her eyes squinted in the light to study my face as her tiny hands reached towards my chest and grabbed handfuls of my gown.


We waited until her cord stopped pulsing, and then Aaron got to cut the cord, something he wasn't able to do with Cordy. Mira cried a little at being unwrapped for a moment. The only other time she cried in the delivery room was when they took her to the warmer to weigh her and clean her up. As soon as she was brought back to me, she quieted again and immediately began breastfeeding. Aaron remarked on how long her fingers and toes were, and he was right - she had monkey toes.

So quiet, so peaceful. She was content with this moment in her life. It was such a stark contrast to Cordy's birth, where she was pulled unwillingly from me by c-section, shrieking at her change in situation, pissed off at the world from day one. Mira got to do it all her way, waiting until she was ready to be born. And while labor was certainly not one of my favorite moments in life, pushing her out felt so much more "real" than the hidden delivery behind the drape in a c-section.


Mira and I both had slight fevers post-delivery, and as a result the rest of my birth plan got thrown out the window. She was taken to the nursery for bloodwork and to have an IV placed for antibiotics while I waited for hours and asked when I could have my baby back. Her fever never reappeared after that first hour, but the hospital still insisted on the IV and antibiotics for her entire stay. Yet Mira didn't complain much, and was overall a quiet baby those first few days.

She didn't get her name until very late at night on the 27th. Aaron and I debated if Miranda was the best fit for her, but none of the other names we had fit well, either. I still wonder if there was a better name for her, but as long as I could keep the nickname Mira, I was content with Miranda Ann.

--
And now, today, my baby is two years old. Where did the time go? Also, where did that quiet, peaceful newborn go?

Two short years ago, it was Saturday and I was massively pregnant. My due date of May 21 had come and gone, with still no signs of labor. Since I was past due, I was being checked by my doctor every other day. That entire week was tense: lots of "still not really dilated yet" and "are you sure you don't want to go for a c-section?" from my doctor, along with the reminders of "we can only wait so long" and "remember you can't be induced" to add to my stress.

I knew well that I couldn't be induced. Cordy had been a c-section due to a complicated breech presentation, and I was determined to have a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) this time. My doctor was completely on-board with the idea, as long as it fit the guidelines: no pregnancy complications, no breech, and no trying if I hit the 42 week mark. Of course, I couldn't be induced or have labor sped up either due to the risk of uterine rupture, so I was responsible for going into labor and keeping it going on my own. It was a long list of caveats, but I was still determined to go for it.

My entire plan nearly derailed when I was 32 weeks pregnant. The baby flipped into a breech position and I immediately went to work to convince her that head down was the more popular choice. I went to a chiropractor for the Webster Technique - a pressure-point exercise that is supposed to help babies turn - and at home I spent many evenings with my head on the floor and my butt on the couch with a bag of frozen peas placed on the top of my belly, encouraging her to flip. She hated the cold peas - I could feel her squirming away from them. But it worked - by 36 weeks she was head-down again.

But I still had to go into labor on my own. And by Saturday, May 26 - nearly a week after my due date - there were still no signs of labor. A non-stress test done the day before was completely normal, and thankfully the baby was surrounded by plenty of amniotic fluid, so my doctor signed off on letting me continue to be pregnant. My birth plan was written, the doctor OK'd it, and the hospital already had a copy. All we were waiting for was the baby.

I remember it was hot that day. Really hot. It was Memorial Day weekend and we couldn't go out of town in case I went into labor. Aaron was restless and suggested we go downtown to the convention center. Marcon (sci-fi/fantasy convention) was going on, and he wanted to at least walk through it. We put Cordy in the stroller and walked through the (blissfully!) air-conditioned convention hall. Then Aaron remembered the Zombie Walk was being held nearby at Goodale Park, and asked if we could walk over to see it. I said sure, hoping that all this walking might convince a stubborn baby that she's missing something exciting and needs to come out to see.

We walked up the (non-airconditioned) street to Goodale Park. There were hundreds of people gathered in the park, some already dressed as zombies with zombie make-up in place, others waiting for an available make-up artist to get a little help looking their zombie best. Aaron wanted to get involved, but we agreed that should I go into labor, a zombie daddy might not be the best look at the hospital. Once everyone was gathered and ready to do their zombie shuffle down High Street, we decided to leave. We were walking down one side of High Street as the zombies were staggering down the other side. It was fun to see, but I was sweating, uncomfortable, 10 months pregnant and pushing a heavy stroller, so we went home.

The entire way home, I felt miserable. The heat had been too much for me, and I had every A/C vent pointed towards me in the car. At home, I felt better, but I noticed the occasional cramping sensation. Aaron started dinner while I rested. By the time I finished eating dinner at 7pm, I noticed there was a pattern to the cramping. I was in labor! Aaron joked that the zombies were responsible for sending me into labor.

The contractions were every 4-6 minutes and felt like small cramps. Barely noticable at first. Since I never went into labor with Cordy, I had no idea what to expect. I was excited at this point, thinking we were finally reaching the end. I called my doula and told her to stand ready, and then went back to watching TV and timing the contractions. I also called my mom to come stay the night for Cordy.

The 4-6 minute pattern continued for several hours, but the intensity of the contractions increased. Now it was impossible to not notice them, but it was getting late and I was tired. My doula advised me to eat something and take a nap if at all possible. I did as she suggested and slept for a couple of hours before my contractions woke me at 1am.

At this point we called my doula and asked her to come over. The next few hours were spent practicing my breathing techniques while timing contractions and wishing it was over already. Contractions were now about 3 minutes apart and lasting over a minute. By 4am, I started trembling from the pain, and my doula suggested it might be time to go to the hospital. Trembling and unbearable pain can be a sign of transition in labor. Aaron called the doctor, I grabbed my iPod to try to focus on music, and we left for the hospital.

I still remember the song I focused on in the car at 4am on the way to the hospital. It was "Broken" by Seether and Amy Lee. I don't know why, but that song was very soothing.

At the hospital, it took 20 minutes for me to get from the parking garage to labor & delivery because I had to stop every few minutes to weather another contraction. I was doing my best to look calm and pull inward, but inside I was screaming. Despite the pain, I was still thrilled to be going through labor this time, confident I could have a VBAC.

We got through the paperwork quickly and they settled me into a triage room. The nurse finally came to check my progression around 5:15am, and I expected to hear that I was nearly complete after 11 hours of labor, or at least pretty far along. What I was not prepared to hear?

"You're not quite three centimeters yet. We can't admit you until you're a full three."

Part two coming tomorrow, as I celebrate Mira turning two and wallow in my sadness of WHERE HAS MY LITTLE BABY GONE?

In just one short month
my garden experiment
has produced results

This brown thumb has now
somehow coaxed from the earth a
bunch of broccoli:


And those are just the
first of the season - more will
be coming later

My first garden is already a smashing success as far as I'm concerned. I love broccoli, and these were transplanted in mid-April to the fledgling garden. I didn't expect to see results so quickly, but we had to take the heads off of each plant today to make room for the new stalks of broccoli growing underneath.

We also planted carrot, cucumber, and sunflower seeds today. I already planted sweet peppers, lettuce, and some herbs a few weeks ago, and I still need to plant zucchini and green beans. I don't know if they'll all be as successful as the broccoli that even I can't kill, but I hope we'll have plenty of our own veggies this summer.


To play along for Haiku Friday, follow these steps:

1. Write your own haiku on your blog. You can do one or many, all following a theme or just random. What's a haiku, you ask? Click here.

2. Sign the Mister Linky below with your name and the link to your haiku post (the specific post URL, not your main blog URL). DON'T sign unless you have a haiku this week. If you need help with this, please let me know.

3. Pick up a Haiku Friday button to display on the post or in your sidebar by clicking the button at the top.

REMEMBER: Do not post your link unless you have a haiku this week! I will delete any links without haiku!

The end of nursing school is now just weeks away, and the focus has shifted from exams and clinicals to job hunting. Unlike many parts of the country, there is no nursing shortage in Columbus. Plenty of nurses, fewer jobs as hospitals cut back, and a slew of new nurses coming out of the 8+ nursing schools around the city.

I went into nursing for a single reason: to work with new moms and babies. I've happily (and not-so-happily at times) endured my turn through all other areas of nursing, understanding that we need to have a basic knowledge of how different hospital areas function and getting a wide variety of clinical experiences.

But my mind has been set on working with moms and babies from the beginning. It's why I started on this journey. It's my calling, I guess you could say. Sure, some of my class aren't picky about where they'll work, but I'm nearly 33 - I know where I want to work, and I don't want to waste time getting there.

I've applied for probably 10 jobs so far, all in labor & delivery units or NICUs. The biggest challenge is that I'm up against so many other applicants, several with experience. No one seems to want a nurse fresh out of school.

However, last Friday I had to complete the last of my clinical hours, choosing to shadow at a birth center in my hometown. My mother has worked at that hospital for over 30 years, and I thought it would be nice to see how a smaller hospital works. I had also noticed that they had job openings in the birth center, and I applied for a job as well.

It was a wonderful experience, and I really enjoyed how nice everyone was and how well the team worked together. The nurse manager answered all of my questions, and at the end of the day, she interviewed me for the open job. I think the interview went really well, even though it's been four years since my last interview and I'm a little rusty.

She told me that she hopes to make a decision on the job by the end of this week. You can imagine that I'm crossing fingers, toes and eyes hoping to get this job. I liked the other nurses, I liked the nurse manager, and I think I'd love working there.

I believe in the power of positive thinking (OK, maybe not as far as The Secret believes it can go), and I need help here. If all of you can spare a few good thoughts, some positive energy, prayers, or whatever it is you do for me this week, I'd appreciate the help. I'm so anxious this week - I want that job. I think I'd be an asset for them.

It's also time to see an end to the bad streak of luck we've had. Aaron's one last freelance writing job - a job he hoped to see go full-time - ended abruptly last week in a rather unprofessional way (unprofessional on their end, not his), and I'm a little tired of being thrown under the Karma bus. I want some good news for once. And you'd probably rather read some good news, right?

Let's hope I impressed them enough that I get to be the next new OB nurse at that hospital.

Am I the only person who uses her iPod as a Magic 8 Ball far too often?

Think about it: thousands of songs with meaningful titles loaded onto that little device. And a great shuffle feature.

How often have you pressed shuffle and had a song come on that you really, really needed to hear? Or one that so perfectly fit your mood, it's like it was hand selected for you? Same principle, just applied a little more directly.

More than once I've had it with me while on my way to some important function, or been driving while anxious about some topic or another. Think about a question, hit the Shuffle button, and all is revealed:

Will Aaron get over this fight?

Shuffle - Won't Go Home Without You (Maroon 5)

Whew.
--

Will these kids stop fighting with each other today, or should I abandon them in a cornfield? (Hush, you know I'd never do something like that!)

Shuffle - Keep Holding On (Avril Lavigne)

They should be happy it didn't play Thnks Fr Th Mmrs (Fall Out Boy).
--

How should I spend the evening?

Shuffle - Drink the Night Away (Gaelic Storm)

I knew I loved you, iPod!
--

Will I get this job?

Shuffle - Pray (Once On This Island, musical)

Hmmm...is that good or bad?
--

Please, please, please let me pass this exam!

Shuffle - Boulevard of Broken Dreams (Green Day)

Oh shit.
--

It doesn't always work out so smoothly. Today I asked if the car would keep running, and it replied with Legal Assassin from the movie Repo! The Genetic Opera. Um...is someone going to assassinate my car? WTF does that mean?

These are the times when interpretation must come into play. No simple "Reply hazy, try again" answers here. That means I often skip to the next song until I get something that matches up with the question at hand a little better. In the question of my car, I got to Daughtry's Breakdown, then decided that I probably shouldn't have asked to begin with.

OK, maybe I am a little crazy to look to my iPod for advice. Like a Magic 8 Ball, it's all random chance, even if my old Magic 8 Ball did have a scary-high percentage of accuracy.
--
iPod, will my readers flee after reading this?

Shuffle - The Tiki, Tiki, Tiki Room - WHA? Hmmm, try again?

Shuffle again - Sympathy-Tenderness (Jekyll & Hyde the musical)

Oh, I hope you're right...

An accomplishment:
one hundred twenty eight long
hours are complete.

My clinical time
for my final quarter is
done - well, almost so.

Sixteen hours are
left to shadow in other
areas we like

Today, I will spend
eight hours in a place I
love: a birth center

For my final eight,
I'm hoping to observe on
a NICU unit

Graduation is less than a month away, and I'm finished with the bulk of my clinical hours, or at least all the hours that require me to jump in and do something. I'm a little bummed that I have to be completely hands-off for my shadowing experiences, but I understand why.

Today I'll be at a small hospital observing their labor, delivery and postpartum unit. It's actually the hospital in my hometown, a hospital my mom worked and still works at, and a place I spent a lot of time at as a child. I'm excited to not only be visiting an area I'd like to work in, but also my hometown hospital.


To play along for Haiku Friday, follow these steps:

1. Write your own haiku on your blog. You can do one or many, all following a theme or just random. What's a haiku, you ask? Click here.

2. Sign the Mister Linky below with your name and the link to your haiku post (the specific post URL, not your main blog URL). DON'T sign unless you have a haiku this week. If you need help with this, please let me know.

3. Pick up a Haiku Friday button to display on the post or in your sidebar by clicking the button at the top.

REMEMBER: Do not post your link unless you have a haiku this week! I will delete any links without haiku!

It's been six months now since we took Mira to a Help Me Grow screening for her speech issues. At that point, they ordered a full evaluation, which was done in December. While thankfully Mira shows no signs of autism, she was diagnosed with a speech delay, and recommended for speech therapy right away.

We had a few choices for therapy, including taking her to center for speech therapy, having someone come to the house for therapy, or enrolling her in the early intervention school. Our case worker advised us that the first option was likely to take the least amount of time, with the average waiting period being six to eight weeks. Wanting to get Mira started as soon as possible, we chose the first option.

Fast forward to April.

We still haven't received a call about a spot for her in therapy. Well, that's not quite true - we did receive a message in February about a spot, but when we called back they told us there was no spot and seemed puzzled as to why we thought there was a spot for her. Hmmm...

Mid-April, our case worker checked in, and we told her we were still waiting. She made some calls, and soon we had a spot for the end of the month. We took the appointment without argument - the good thing about being unemployed at the moment is we can rearrange our schedules if needed.

Aaron took Mira to the appointment that day, and later in the evening told me about how it went. The therapist evaluated her to figure out a starting point, gave Aaron some exercises to do at home, and sent them on their way. No follow up appointment, because they had none available. Turns out, they fit her into a single empty space, with no chance at further appointments in the near future. The therapist also seemed unconcerned with Mira's speech.

The exercises we were given are things we already do. We name any item we give to her, we encourage her to repeat words back to us, and of course we talk to her. (Seriously, "talk to her more" was one of the handwritten helpful hints. Like we're locking her in a closet all day by herself.)

I make the poor kid talk to me all day. I try over-enunciating words, exaggerating my face to show her how to make sounds. She has to try to say a word before I'll give her the object. And all that comes out of her mouth are vowel sounds and the occasional n sound.

(She showed me she could count for the first time today, too. As she handed me cups, she solemnly pronounced "oooon, ooooo, eeee, ooouh, iiiiieh." Good thing I'm learning to speak Mira-ese, or in her language, Iiiaaah-eee.)

I understand the system is likely overworked and understaffed. But I feel like Mira is falling through the cracks. When Cordy went to her early intervention screenings, she was immediately transferred to the school system because she was almost three. And the school system has done an excellent job. At her recent evaluation, I was praised for getting Cordy help at an early age, and told it was evident how well she's responding to therapy.

Mira will be two soon - she has another year to go before the school system could pick up her case. Six months is already a long time to go with no progress - another year could now go down the drain. Mira is supposed to get speech therapy three days a month. We've been told May is completely full, and June isn't looking good, either.

I know I'm showing my neurotic, overprotective mama bear side of me. Her pediatrician said that the medical community doesn't even care about speech delays until a child is four. But knowing that the sooner you intervene, the better the result, I'd rather be proactive. I'd rather not risk her hitting three or four years old and hearing a doctor or speech therapist say, "Oh, she really has a speech problem - why didn't you get her help earlier?" Because then they would have to listen to the primal scream I would let loose in response to keep my head from exploding. And no one wants that.

Mother's Day was quiet. Not much to report, really, other than the cuteness at watching your youngest child go to town on a chicken leg and biscuit from KFC. (Because really, who cooks on Mother's Day?)




She's now initiated into the tradition of fried chicken on Mother's Day.

Earlier today...

Cordy: I really love my mother!

Me: Aww, that's sweet...

Cordy: Her name is grandma!

Me: Oh...well then.

To all my bloggy mama friends, hope you have a fabulous Mother's Day filled with love from your kids!

After a long day
at clinical, the phone call
came: Cordy is sick.

No one wants to come
home to find your child has just
thrown up on your couch.

Another bug, caught
from preschool most likely. I
hope we don't catch it.

Some kind of stomach bug has been spreading across Columbus, and some ill child at Cordy's school was kind enough to share the virus with her. She's normally a very healthy child - it takes a lot for a stomach bug to slow her down. Yet tonight she fell asleep early and refused to eat, worrying it would hurt her stomach. This kid never turns down a meal, so she must feel pretty miserable.

Now I must pray to the stomach bug gods to spare me from her germs. There are plenty of bad Mother's Day gifts out there, but I think that might be one of the worst. Actually, I seem to remember this entire Mother's Day virus scenario playing out like this last year. Damn.


To play along for Haiku Friday, follow these steps:

1. Write your own haiku on your blog. You can do one or many, all following a theme or just random. What's a haiku, you ask? Click here.

2. Sign the Mister Linky below with your name and the link to your haiku post (the specific post URL, not your main blog URL). DON'T sign unless you have a haiku this week. If you need help with this, please let me know.

3. Pick up a Haiku Friday button to display on the post or in your sidebar by clicking the button at the top.

REMEMBER: Do not post your link unless you have a haiku this week! I will delete any links without haiku!

When anyone can pick up a pass to a free premiere, you get to overhear some odd conversations. Especially from younger girls who have a limited knowledge of Star Trek based only on The Next Generation:

"This is the early history of the bald guy, right?"
"Bald guy?"
"Yeah, the bald guy on Star Trek. That's the only one I know."
*laughing* "The bald guy Star Trek? No, it's about the old one!"

"Are you sure? I thought this was about the bald guy Star Trek. You know, the one where they're on Earth in the desert fighting some guy..."
"The movie or the TV show?"
"I don't know! But it's when he becomes human and they're celebrating Christmas."
"What are you talking about? He IS human!"
"No, on Earth he becomes human again! Like he becomes more human or something."
"Are you talking about Data?"
"Which one is he?"
"He's the computer who does become human in one of the movies."
"Look, all I know is the guy in the wheelchair in X-Men is the bald guy in the Star Trek I know! And he's the one fighting the guy in the desert."

"What about the guy with the weird forehead?"
"Weird forehead? What kind of weird forehead?"
"Like, a huge forehead."
"Worf"
"Yes, it's a Worf."
"No, that's his name. He's a Klingon."
"Oh. Well, is he in this?"
"He's not in this movie."

"So do any of the guys in this grow up to be the bald guy?"
"No, the main guy becomes Captain Kirk from the old Star Trek."
"Which one is he?"
"He was the first one."
"Do I know what he looks like? Which actor is he?"
"You know," *singing* "Price-line Ne-go-ti-a-tor!"
"OH! OK!"

"Wait, have I seen the guy who plays Spock?"
"Yeah, he's on Heroes."
"Which one?"
"He cuts people's heads open."
"Spock cuts people's heads open?!?"
"No! The guy on Heroes does that! But it's the same actor."

And those were just the ones I remembered. If only we had been allowed to bring electronics into the theatre. This pre-show should have been recorded. And the Star Trek geek that I am, I nearly bit through my tongue to keep quiet and let these conversations flourish in their natural habitat.

(Also, the movie? Excellent. Mighty excellent.)

PS - Looking for last minute Mother's Day gifts? I'm featuring two that support the March of Dimes - help others while getting a great gift!

When last we left our stressed-out mommy and her strong-willed, curly-headed child, they were getting ready for an evaluation to determine if spectrum disorders were still on the table for said strong-willed, curly-headed child.

Saturday's evaluation went well, or at least way, WAY, better than the last time someone tried to evaluate Cordy. We arrived at the small office, and after a quick trip to the potty (over a month without an accident during the day - WOO-HOO!), the evaluator asked if Cordy wanted to pick out a toy to play with while she and I talked at the beginning. Cordy surveyed the dolls and books and shook her head no, but then another cabinet revealed a peg board, and she was immediately happy.

While Cordy took out the pegs and replaced them in order, I gave her history to the evaluator. (And because I hate typing out evaluator each time, let's just call her Amy because, well, that's her name.) After reviewing her history, Amy asked Cordy to join her at the table in the room. Cordy refused, and instead became fascinated with some wind chimes hanging in the window. Several different approaches were used to get her to sit at the table, but Cordy said she was too wiggly, too scared of the chair, too tired, and anything else she could think of.

We finally settled her on the couch next to me, and Amy pulled the table over to the couch. I had to take the peg board away from her to gain her attention. Amy started with various types of cognitive testing, and Cordy, when she focused, breezed right through them.

The test that amazed me was a pictogram test. Amy showed Cordy two symbols and asked her to repeat the names of each symbol: "girl" "the." Next, she turned the page and showed her two more symbols, followed by another page where the symbols were arranged in a sentence. Amy then added two new symbols with each page turn, asking Cordy to read each new sentence without reviewing the old symbols.

She worked her way up to about 15-18 symbols, and Cordy could read most of the symbols without further prompting. The one she missed were consistent, meaning she probably wasn't paying attention during the introduction for those symbols. Let me put it this way: she was doing better at remembering the symbols than I was. Essentially, she was reading a written language she had just been taught. I was stunned.

After the cognitive tests, Amy gave Cordy a break (with the peg board, of course) while she brought in some toys for a play evaluation. A year and a half ago, this was a disaster because Cordy refused to play with the toys they gave her. This time, before the plastic tubs of toys were opened Cordy spied an old 1980's Fischer-Price cash register (remember those?) on the shelf in the room and asked to play with it. Amy shrugged her shoulders and said it was fine to play with the cash register.

Cordy immediately went to work figuring out how to put the plastic coins in the slots and push the buttons. Amy watched her for a few minutes, stepping in to help when Cordy asked for help, but otherwise observing how she played with the toy. Eventually, Amy picked up a pencil and asked if she could buy it. Cordy ignored her at first, getting frustrated with a coin stuck in one of the slots.

Amy asked again, this time giving more prompts for social play. Cordy eventually responded, telling her the pencil was "One hundred." Amy picked up a coin and gave it to Cordy, and she put it in the register. Each time Amy had to initiate the social play and Cordy would follow along, often getting very excited about the game. But without her prompting, Cordy would go back to her own private exploration of the cash register. "Had I not stepped in, would she have continued playing like that?" Amy asked me.

"Most likely."

"That's what I thought."

After an hour and a half, Cordy's evaluation was over, without any tears, thrashing or head banging. We often had to ask Cordy to sit up on the couch, or pay attention to what was on the table, or stop bouncing, but there were no meltdowns. I can't even describe my relief.

Amy told me that the questionnaires I filled out would need to be scored along with her evaluation forms, and said I should expect to hear back from her in 3-4 weeks for a meeting to discuss the results.

3-4 weeks sounded like eternity to me, so I asked her if she could give me her initial impressions of Cordy's behavior. Amy replied that she was certain Cordy would still be considered on the spectrum, and would likely keep the diagnosis given by the school of PDD-NOS. However, she said that based on what she saw, she would probably have Cordy evaluated for Asperger's when she's a little older. Having it confirmed that Cordy's cognitive skills are excellent was good to hear, and Amy was also impressed with her verbal abilities.

Our session ended with Amy telling me that based on Cordy's history and records, it's obvious to her that we (her parents and her teachers) have put a lot of effort into helping her, and it shows. She said we were right to get her evaluated and into therapy when we did. Without early intervention, she might not have the skills she has now, and it's likely her future has been forever changed thanks to that intervention.

Deep exhale now. Knowing that my Amazon warrior princess made it through the evaluation without causing a scene left me so proud of her. I could tell she was starting to burn out by the end of the meeting. More fidgeting, eye contact disappeared, hopping in place, some hand flapping, etc. We left before she completely lost her focus, managing to say goodbye to Amy, and even looking her in the eye briefly after Amy asked Cordy to look at her and say bye again. We left with no one glad to see her go. No bruises, no tear-stained face, no carrying her out.

Now we wait for the official meeting. If/when a diagnosis is given, we'll be given even more access to services in Columbus. That's great news for us.

And my little girl. My firstborn. My Cordelia. She frustrates the hell out of me so often, to the point where I want to yell Would you just act normal for once! But in her ginormous blue eyes, I can see her determination and her struggle to understand her world. I can't fault her for her incessant questioning, her confused tears or her overwhelmed screeches. She wants to be a good girl, and she wants to learn all she can. The extra hurdles she has to jump won't take her down.

Autism or no autism, she's an awesome kid, and she's only going to get better.

We celebrated by going to the zoo the next day, where you can see Cordy was nearly mauled by a giant koala.