Appointment Update

Sha has been a busy man since our return home from Florida!

He had an eye examination with the opthamologist and has been given happy news! His eyes are working very well and the results from his ROP surgery are great. He does not require glasses (for now) and he can see all of the world around him. Yippee!

Sha also had an appointment with his therapist this week and had a nice visit. He was quick to show her all of the new skills he is learning. Rolling and even attempting to sit in an upright position. (maximum 45 seconds unassisted!) He has mastered the art of feeding himself (not a surprise because he loves food!) with the help of sippy cup handles on his bottles. He is gaining more and more strength in his upper body. He does not like to tolerate any position in which he is off balance. Leaning to the side while sitting up...etc. More time and practice with Ma!

I also received copies of Ambiguous Loss articles from Sha's therapist. I am reviewing them for our upcoming-weekly parent/group meetings with CPRI. Brain candy! (I am such a nerd. :-)

Interesting stuff.

"I recall when our preacher's wife had their baby...and I went to see her. I told her I was there for her. I also told her that I could not imagine what she was going through and did not want to imagine. Eleven days later, I was in her shoes. She walked into my room right after our delivery and we locked eyes and just stared and then cried. I looked at her and said, "Now I know". It is something that no one can understand and say they understand unless they have walked the path and ridden that ride of the NICU".

That happened to me.

A highschool friend of mine, we'll call her Wendy, showed up at the hospital a week before Sha was born. I was getting off the elevator and she was there when the doors opened. She was wearing (over her clothes) a red blanket (forever burned into my brain, that red blanket) and her water had just broken prematurely at work. She was 5 weeks early and it was very unexpected. I hadn't seen her in a long time but we are the type of friends (Wendy and I) who can pick up the phone and start up again like we never missed a beat.

I helped her to triage (called in the troops...Auntie...because of course, she knows her too!)and stayed with her until her family could arrive. Surreal. I couldn't even imagine how afraid she must have felt. I reassured her. I told her how amazing the staff was and how amazing the hospital was and how they would do everything they could to help her and the baby and how, if it was happening to me, I wouldn't want to be at any other hospital.

A week later I was calling Auntie's office to let her know I was admitted. She said, "which room?" and I said "Wendy's room".

After Sha's eye appointment, Wendy and I had a playdate with our babies. When she found out that Sha's eyes were in great shape, she cried. Because she knew.

Life has a way of going around and coming around.

I'm thinking about penning an article entitled, "Ambiguous Maternity Leave - The crazy loss of time". Ha! It is interesting to compare our schedule with that of a full term infant. Appointments, appointments, appointments. Where do the days go? Upcoming, we have two CPRI groups to attend, physiotherapy, meet and greet with a speech pathologist, developmental follow-up clinic and a hearing exam. I know it would be easier to move closer to London because the commute to appointments means an entire day is taken up. Ma and Pa are considering a few options but have not found time to go to the bank. (Irony or no?)

Is it June yet?

Ugh. The dreaded hearing exam. Gugh. I'm hoping for the best on this one. But it is the one thing with Sha that I worry about most. To me, it seems as though everything else will catch-up with some extra time. But can he hear?!? I have no idea. One day I think he can hear everything and the next minute, nothing. I wish I could just ask him. Are you ignoring me/us? or can you not hear us?

I wonder if Sha's motor development would increase quicker if he wasn't strapped in a car seat going to appointments all the time? Tee hee.

Almost time to start planning a BIRTHDAY PARTY! I am so excited. One year marks a very important milestone. It is a time for a new beginning and a chance to embrace all of the past and put it to rest. A moving on, of sorts, and a celebration! More details to follow!

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond imagination. It is our light more than our darkness which scares us. We ask ourselves – who are we to be brilliant, beautiful, talented, and fabulous. But honestly, who are you to not be so?

An Ode

The women I love are fat. I admit it. I like fat people.

Fat people are jolly. Imagine a rake-thin Queen Latifia or a bikini clad Rosie, somethings just aren't meant to be. Overall they are happier. They eat with flare and understand the importance of adding a dash of chocolate shavings to whip cream.

I don't trust skinny people. I imagine that being a "big boned" girl, in amongst a group of rib protrouders, is like being a deer invited to a poachers party. They must be hungry. I would always be wondering if one day, their natural instict to survive would override common sense and they would just bite a big ol' chunk out of my arm.

I have pants. They aren't skinny pants. But to me, they are. They are "my kind of skinny pants". I do wish that they would fit. Pa couldn't care less. He only wishes I would never mention these pants again. His solution is to buy bigger pants. Who cares?, he says, they look the same in a heap on the floor. He is funny.

He knows my affinity for a Mars bar. He buys me king size everytime. Which is really two Mars bars a day. Which is two, too many. I know. I can't help it. They taunt me. Calling my name from that thin wrapper.

I am not like Auntie. She is a stasher. At any given moment, you can go to her fridge or her drawer and find chocolate. She can open a box and eat just one. I can snarf down a box of Queen Anne's Cherries in Walmart and pay for the empty box on my way out.

It has been done. Too many times to count.

They don't fit because I have been holed up in a house all winter eating. Ooooohhhh, the things I have ate. With free access to a fridge and limited outside time, I have become quite the connoisseur with the microwave. (The stove is just too frightening!) Who knew it could do so many things?!? TGIF cheese, artichoke and spinach dip from Superstore Walmart. 3 1/2 minutes, from freezer to table to my butt. On some of the long winter days, I created many smorgasboards to amuse my brain, lovingly cutting shapes out of cheese. A-type personality. I can't help it.

I could never be a housewife. A full-time Mom. Cheers to those who do it. You are amazing to me. I do amuse myself with the thought. I would be Gilbert Grape's mother and they would have to burn down the house because I wouldn't fit out the door.

Anyhow, there was a point here. I went out to buy an Oprah fad. Too much Oprah can make a girl snap. She was marketing, on her show, these amazing, suck it all in, smooth it out, underwear. Not the kind that you show off to your lover or strut around in, mind you, but I thought they might, just might, make my pants fit a little better.

Revolutionary underwear.

If Oprah is revolutionizing the modern world, one pair of underwear at a time, you can count me in, swipe the VISA and sign my name because I have no control over that woman's power.

They are called Spanx. I found them at Winners. At $16.99 per pair, they aren't a steal but if they allow me to zip up my old favourite pants without using a coathanger as leverage, then ring up the sale.

I look at the sizing chart on the back. I KNOWWWWWW, I'm not skinny. But the top of the sizing chart?!? I didn't think things had gotten that bad. This is a product for the masses, so why do that to people? There must be at least a couple people out there bigger than me? It seems like a cruel joke. We make fat people underwear. But not in their size.

I'm a D. D for Depressing. Stop eating junk. Get out an move. Yes. I understand.

But there at the bottom of the scale is the skinny factor. If you are 110 pounds and 5'8" you are an A.

What are they doing purchasing support underwear? If you are 110 pounds and 5'8" and even looking at this product...

You don't need support underwear, you need a support hotline.