Category Archives: Pregnancy and Motherhood
Speech therapy, I waited for this?
With every question I had after every pre-therapy hoop, I was told I’d have to ask the speech therapist. Almost two full months after Sophia’s qualifying evaluation for speech therapy I finally got an appointment and then the day before it was to happen I received a cancellation call. The therapist was sick, but I didn’t care. I was pissed as hell all day. All the hoops, all the forms, prior evaluations, first time consultations with occupational therapists, meetings over expectations, all we really wanted was this one therapy.
We are sure that if we could just get Sophia talking many of our other frustrations would be minimized. It took two months to get the appointment despite having good, nay awesome insurance. They couldn’t just assign a different speech therapist to come to our home or have me go to the office though they say it’s not as effective. I don’t care. Just get me into the final phase of the system!
I received a call the following Monday, the day before we were to leave for a week for Christmas in Michigan, and was asked if we could meet in two hours. Absolutely! Every first time meeting is just a head-nod getting-to-know-you session and this one was no different. I wasn’t impressed and I don’t think she likes me much either.
I got the feeling that she didn’t see Sophia as a valid case since I was beaming over new words she picked up over the week in Hawaii. She seemed to forget that I signed up for this shit two months prior and at the time Sophia had less than twenty words. All through the therapy session, the tips and pointers she gave to helping Sophia to speak were pissing me off. “Use short, simple phrases,” “Add descriptive words to the words she says.” “Ask her questions.” “Give her choices.” I’m sure there are some people that completely ignore their child all day and then wonder why the child doesn’t speak. I’m not one of those. I didn’t give any acknowledgment to the therapists suggestions. Her tone wasn’t at all condescending but the fact that those were her main tips made it sound like anyone with a two year old who doesn’t speak must be an inept parent and fucking idiot. Either that or this therapy is a joke. Seriously, if better tricks don’t come out of the bag next time I’m going to forget about the speech part of Sophia’s therapy.
The therapist began to give examples of questions I should ask Sophia as if I couldn’t come up with them on my own. Actually, she was trying to explain how to make talking fun for Sophia. “Is this blue?” She asked Sophia holding up a red Tyco Super Block (big Legos for toddlers). I had just explained to her that Sophia was using signs from her Signing Time video that she didn’t seem to understand. Red, was one of the signs. I waited to give Sophia a chance to answer. Sophia moved on with whatever was going through her toddler head without any acknowledgment that a question was even asked of her.
That form of questioning really makes my ass twitch. I have no idea what I was really like at the age of two. I do have memories from that age, but I don’t know if I was talking or how much. I told the therapist that Sophia isn’t just a lot like me, she is mini-me. Several friends have commented that her attitudes are mine exactly. I know that Sophia is only two and may not actually know the answer to the question, but in continuing to give some background in how Sophia I think, I told the therapist that when I was little I always thought people that asked that type of question were stupid. With a touch of contempt in her voice she said, “Well some kids think it’s fun.” Clearly, I hit a nerve. She continued to tell me that she wouldn’t use that sort of question with say, a seven year old. In the specific memory I have of being asked such a question I wasn’t seven. I was four. I was just trying to give her some insight into our attitude, so bite me.
Sophia started throwing a ball around the room and the therapist said the word “ball” to her. Sophia then said ball for the first time. “Wow,” I said, “I guess I’ll be adding that one to the list.” I was informed by the therapist that, “the tend pick up words spontaneously like that after they’ve reached fifty words”. Indicating that my count must me off. Including the new word of the day, she only had 37 words at the time. I’m not counting the signs she picked up from her video because she really doesn’t seem to know what they mean. For her they all are ways to tell me she wants to watch the video again and that’s it.
Sophia got to be a bit of a pest with her ball. She kept saying, “ball” and started throwing a ball AT me. I asked her not to do that and she said, “dahp et” The therapist and I both laughed, “yes,” I said, “you need to stop it.”
I told the therapist of my attempts at getting Sophia to talk including the four months (between the ages of 18 and 22 months) I didn’t give her anything (aside from scheduled meals) unless she signed or asked for it. I wasn’t responding to finger pointing or grunts anymore if I knew she had a word or a sign for a particular want. In an almost snotty tone she asked, “and how did that go for you?” I really wanted to be a smart ass and ask her if it wasn’t obvious since there is a speech therapist standing in my house, but I refrained. I’m such a big girl…sometimes. I told her it resulted in a lot of tantrums and joked, “but I can be stubborn too.”
“Well you reap what you sow.” She told me. Seriously, what a bitch! I didn’t ask what she meant by that and she didn’t offer any explanation, but I didn’t take it as anything positive. I have another appointment with her next week. I’m fuckin’ overjoyed.
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Mission Give Momma A Heart Attack – Great Success
The first day in Hawaii we spent just kicking back at the beach. That’s what you’re supposed to do in Hawaii when you come from a place where beaches have grains of sand the size of your fist and the water is so cold that is could actually cause arthritis with a single touch.
Our hotel was across the road from the beach and Kurt chose it for that reason. That section of the beach also had a wall in the Ocean built to create a large tide pool for kids. During high tide the wall was covered by water but during low tide their was a pool that was no deeper than four feet. I have some cool photos of the waves crashing up against the wall as the tide came up that I’ll share later.
Even though there is once place in all of Washington state that has actual sandy beaches and I took Sophia there a few times over the summer, she was still reluctant to touch the sand or even go in the water until I took off my shirt and she saw my swimsuit. Suddenly she was all about taking off her shoes and getting in her swimsuit. She didn’t mind walking through the sand to the water with me right beside her.
Kurt took her out in the water for a while, then I walked in and out of the water several times with her. After a while I went to sit by Kurt on the beach mats he bought. Sophia was far from done with the water. She kept at it, running in and out. She never went further than knee deep on her own and was never more than five feet from us.
There was a tiny step down just beyond the mini surf where the waves had carved a two-inch step in the sand. Sophia always paused at that spot to step down. On one occasion, the spongy sand caused her to loose her balance and she fell in the six inches of water. No water hit her face. Kurt and I watched intensely waiting for her to stand on her own. She was fine, but sat there on all fours for a minute. A mini wave came in raising the water another inch though the kid pool. Then for no reason at all she rolled over on her back. I didn’t wait for any flailing. I was mommy on the spot – I ran to her and grabbed her arm. Her eyes were wide open with fear. I think in that moment I thoroughly tested her for Marfan syndrome. I yanked on that arm lifting her whole body up and out of the water, and the limb stayed attached with all that weight.
She was scared and had completely scared me. She didn’t cry and wasn’t coughing up water. I don’t think her nose or mouth actually got any water in them. I move at mommy-lightning-speeds. Just don’t test me again. E-V-E-R. Please.
Sophia didn’t go to the water on her own for the rest of the day. She played in the sand for a while after that and then would grab one of our hands if she wanted in the water again.
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Wordless Wednesday: Hawaiian Chain Gang
Flight to Hawaii
At the airport I didn’t have to open Sophia’s sippy cups going through security like I did before. They have a new electronic device to examine liquids now. “Hey that’s pretty cool.” I told the TSA officer. I was happy that I didn’t have to open the cup while he held it and I juggled a wiggly toddler like I did last year.
“Yeah,” he said, “It can smell things just as well as a dog.”
“Really?” I asked, “It actually smells things?”
“Yes,” he said, “when it works.”
I bit my tongue and tried to hide my smirk. It’s an impossible task for me, my smirk has a mind of it’s own. I don’t know if they’ve hired all new TSA people in the last couple years or if the atmosphere has calmed down a bit. They seem to actually retain some human qualities now. I remember going through security shortly after 9-11 and Kurt being yelled at for not pulling all the change out of his pocket fast enough. He tried to explain that there wasn’t a change tray available and was yelled and even more.
On another trip months after the whole shoe bomber incident I had the audacity to ask, “oh, we all have to take our shoes off?” I had previously flown threw where only people with heavy boots had to take their footwear off. I was scoffed at and made to feel like an idiot, “yeah of course, where have you been?” As if everyone that flies does so on a very regular basis.
It’s getting a lot better. They’re now polite, respectful and even helpful for those of us with kids, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking the rules are any less arbitrary or ridiculous, especially when the TSA officer himself admits the equipment isn’t always reliable.
Our flight with a toddler went well. I mean for a two year old she did great sitting in an tin tube for six hours. I think it helped a lot that she was sitting in her car seat and that I brought her favorite foods with us. I’ll now publicly thank the guy in front of Sophia for not killing her for kicking the back of his seat THE ENTIRE FLIGHT. He never said a word or even gave a glance. He just put on his headphones and leaned forward. Kurt decided that on the way back we would have a rear-facing child so she’ll only have her own seat to kick.
We brought some of her books to entertain her. Those quickly became projectile objects which I had to retrieve from the crevice between her seat and the window. After a while she indicated that she wanted us to sing “The Wheels on the Bus” repeatedly by moving her hands in the rolling wheels motion.
When we go to swimming she rarely does any of the motions to that song. She smiles and clearly enjoys it, but the only active participation for that song is that motion and splashing the water for a horn beep. In her new preschool/playgroup she learned the motions done while out of water but not only doesn’t she participate in circle time during the class but she stands on the fringe of the circle and acts as if it’s a dull spectator sport. On the plane with her parents acting like idiots for her amusement she did all the motions and even helped Kurt with which verse comes next. She actually said “beep, beep, beep” for the bus horn sound. That’s right, she said a new word on the airplane. It was also freakishly cute to hear her do the, “sh sh sh” with her finger to her lips for the part about the mommies calming the babies.
We tried to schedule the flight in a way that Sophia would sleep through at least part of it. I even had her skip her nap the day before we left, but that stubborn-won’t-sleep-in-public-places child didn’t drift off until we started our descent into Honolulu, and then I had to wake her up. We landed at eleven at night, Seattle time. It was another two hours before we actually checked into our hotel and got her to bed.
Yep, Sophia had to take her polar bear to Hawaii. I think she has watched too many episodes of LOST.
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I forgot a word
In my last post about Sophia’s new words, I actually forgot one. I think she’s been reading my blog because she made sure to remind me yesterday. I was quickly tossing the dirty diapers in the trashcan outside and left the front door ajar so that Sophia didn’t pitch a fit that she couldn’t come see me if she chose. On the way back, I saw her standing in the doorway in her PJs, “Coh” she said. At first it didn’t register with me. “Coh, coh,” she said pointing to the frosty morning air.
“Yes, very cold!” I told her.
The first time I hear her say that was probably three weeks ago when I pulled out a package of cheese sticks from the freezer in the garage to put in the refrigerator. She wanted to carry them up, so I handed them to her. “Coh!” she said. That brings us up to thirty words at twenty-six months.
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Is this it, the word explosion?
I got the ball rolling for so Sophia to start seeing a speech therapist on November 5th. It is now the eve of December and we have yet to actually have a speech therapy session. I haven’t even met the person that will be Sophia’s speech therapist, so far all we’ve had is a bunch of meetings for various case workers to get to know Sophia (mostly through me describing her). I swear they’re just waiting for her to start talking on her own. Thankfully, I have the time to take her to some of the free classes they offer. I don’t know if they’re helping her language along or if it was just time, but she’s beginning to add some more words in rapid succession.
A couple weeks ago she started saying “bak” for bag. I got rid of our diaper champ long ago and now use a wet bag to hold the dirties. I dump it in the trash outside after it either fills up or has a poopy diaper in it. She also learned “be-bye” for goodbye.
Last week she began saying “oh no” and just kept repeating it over an over all day long. Then she picked up the word “go” which really has no meaning to her, or at least is not used in the context of, “let’s go somewhere”. It’s just another word from her favorite book “Go, Dog. Go!” She also says, “dak”, which translate from toddler-ese to mean “dog”. If she wanted to she could actually say the title of her favorite book.
On Friday she pointed to her diaper and said, “daper”, and on Saturday she said, “Muk” for milk. Kurt is getting excited; this might be the word explosion. Of course, this only brings the word count up to 29, if you don’t double up and count both the sign and word for milk and apple. She still only uses the sign to ask for both.
In one of the many meetings I had to get the ball rolling for speech therapy I mentioned our concern that Sophia stopped saying cheese and started using a modified sign for banana instead. “Well if you respond to the sign she makes…” she said. So I stopped responding with cheese to Sophia’s sign and started saying, “cheese” to coax it out of her. She hasn’t had string cheese since, and has now stopped asking for it at all.
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Insignificant Woman’s Thanksgiving
This year my parents hosted Thanksgiving. It was just them and us, not a big family gathering. I made my now traditional apple cranberry dressing and this year I made my very first pumpkin pie and pie crust.
My parents indicated that dinner would be ready at five or five thirty. Because I’m bringing stuffing I told them we would be there between four and four thirty. I mean it’s nice to eat things when they’re still warm. Stuffing doesn’t have to be piping hot, but it stays toasty for quite a while in the cast iron Dutch oven I use, usually without drying it out too much.
We arrived at four thirty. Sophia became very clingy. “Oh Sophia you’ve been here before.” My mother says. She gets close to Sophia, in her face close. Sophia begins to cry while hanging onto me. “Oh you’ve been here before, aye, don’t cry.” My mother says as if that’s going to change the way Sophia feels. I sat on the couch with Sophia for a couple minutes and again my mother gets in her face. “Oh Sophia do you want me to get out the toys? Do you? Do you want me to get the toys?” She asks. Sophia says nothing of course, and tries to turn her face away from my mother. She finally retreats and then tells me, “She should be getting to the age where she remembers things.” Sophia has a great memory. Her response has nothing to do with memory. None. My mom goes on to say, “You were never like this as a child.” I raised my eyebrow and gave her a what-the-fuck-are-you-talking-about look. Seriously, her forgetting I was ever a shy child, or more accurately, rewriting my history is like pretending Auschwitz was just a Jewy summer camp.
I used to hide under my bed our family would come over. I would hide under there for hours (it may have only been minutes – I was a kid, the time exchange rate is different for kids), and I didn’t come out until it was almost time for them to go. I don’t know how old I was, but I imagine somewhere between three and five. “Oh you didn’t do that.” My mom said, “you used to go play in your grandpa’s camper with *cousin’s name*.” It’s true, that did happen. I remember we hit a switch in there by the sink as one of us climbed up into the bunk and we didn’t know what it was but it was making an odd noise. That was only one instance where either I didn’t hide or I came out early enough to play with my cousins before they left. My grandpa only had his camper there for a week or so and then left again. He never stuck around anywhere for very long. I don’t remember everything, but I do have a host of incredibly detailed memories.
My mom finally brought out the toys she kept mentioning to Sophia. As soon as Sophia saw them she slid down my lap to go play with them across the room. She allowed my mom to give her a hug, but then my mom tried to pick her up or give her kisses and Sophia started to push her away. Kurt and I both sat on the couch watching them. I finally spoke up when Sophia began arching her back, “I think she’s done for now.” My mom began to stand up, “oh no, she wants me to pick her up.”
“No, she wants down.” Kurt and I both said calmly. My mom put her down. Sophia went to play with the toys, and my mom went to the kitchen to continue cooking.
“The ham said three hundred and twenty-five degrees for ten minutes for every pound. I didn’t know the ham would take so long, so I just now put it in the oven.” My mom told me. That figures.
“Do you want some blueberries,” my mom asked Sophia, “I heard they’re your favorite.” I don’t know where she heard that but she was definitely miss informed. She cut up some apple for another dish she was making and gave some slices to Sophia along with some blueberries. It bothered me that she didn’t consider that Sophia might not eat after a snack, but I didn’t say anything. It’s apple, it’s not like she handed her cake or something. The blueberries went untouched of course.
Dinner was served at six thirty…thirty minutes after Sophia’s apple snack. The spread was very nice. Ham, sliced yams with apple and pineapple, mashed potatoes, gravy, peas with pearl onions, cranberry sauce, Pillsbury biscuits, and dressing. I put a little dab of everything on Sophia’s plate except for a biscuit. Sophia wouldn’t come to the table. She was too busy playing with the toys.
My mom came to the table after finding serving utensils for every dish. She served herself a little of everything. Kurt lured Sophia to the table where she stuck her finger in the little bit of mashed potatoes I gave her, quivered, and then left for the toys again. My mom grabbed a biscuit and held it up for Sophia to see, “Here Sophia come have a biscuit.”
“Please don’t give her a biscuit,” I said, “If she gets one that’s all she will want to eat.” I was completely ignored. I can see if I made the request without any explanation that someone would just blow me off thinking I’m just one of those micro-managing moms, but I specifically gave a concise background for my request. I hoped that at worst I would have to talk in-depth about Sophia finicky eating habits.
“Oh it’s ok she can have a biscuit,” my mother informs me. Really? Odd, I thought I was the mother of this one. I have rather vivid memories of squeezing her out of my who-ha. She acts as if I’m not accepting the biscuit for my child because I don’t want to bother the host. She just can’t accept the simple request that my child eat something else first. “Come here Sophia, look.” She said.
“Please don’t give her a biscuit; just don’t give it to her.” I said getting frustrated. Sophia came to the table and sat in her chair.
“See,” my mother says to me triumphantly, “she came to the table.” I said nothing. My mother waits a minute, still holding the biscuit up. I know it’s coming, her meekly uttered statements that she tries to pass off as a polite suggestion. As if it’s a change in demeanor fixes the fact that she won’t respect my one simple request, “oh Ed-EE-kah (my name said with a Mexican accent) she can have…”
I cut her off, and without any thought at all I snapped at her, “Don’t tell me how to parent MY child!!” Everything went silent for a moment. My mother understandably recoiled, but acted, as she always does, like my anger came from absolutely nowhere. The only time she ever hears me is when I snap at her.
She’s like a toddler constantly testing my tensile strength. She must have also forgotten how stubborn I was as a child. I don’t give up, not even on an issue as stupidly retarded as giving my toddler a biscuit. I know if I give in she’ll just keep chipping away at me. She has no clue where the boundaries lay and seems to presume by imagined powers vested in grandparents that she has, at minimum, equal parenting authority over Sophia. That is not the case, and it NEVER will be.
Kurt calmly explained, “We noticed that if Sophia has bread first that’s all she will eat.” My dad agreed that it’s better for her to have a variety of food and my mom finally put down the fucking biscuit. She’ll listen to Kurt, but not me. My voice is insignificant to her – that hurts like hell.
After dinner we cleared all the plates and Sophia came to the table to take her untouched plate (aside from the poked mashed potatoes) to the counter too. My mom brought out some SD disks of photos she transferred from slides to digital format and watched them on the TV. We got in a couple other minor arguments over some other incredibly stupid things. Pumpkin pie was served and then Kurt and my dad disappeared to the garage to look at my dad’s motorcycle. Sophia wanted to follow but was too slow. She came back upstairs, grabbed my mom’s hand, and led her down so she could open the door for her.
At eight o’clock Kurt, Sophia, and I got ready to go. Sophia didn’t put up any fuss getting her shoes and coat on. After she was ready she went to the door and carried Kurt’s shoes up the stairs to him. He put his shoes on and then she grabbed both of us by one finger and led us to the door.
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Sleepy Tots
Why is it that no matter how tired my kid gets she never falls asleep in public?
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Evil Knievel Child
Last night Sophia was on her way to giving me a heart attack. She still likes to ride the rocking horse that her Auntie Vicky gave her for Christmas last year. Only now not only does she try to rock standing up but also without holding on to the handles. She was also rocking on it so hard (while actually hanging on) that she nearly tipped backwards. Maybe I’ll rethink my stance on bicycle helmets.
