Mommy Dearest

As the girls napped, I watched an episode of "Grey's Anatomy" (don't judge) on instant Netflix . There was a young, college-aged teenager who had gone to Mexico for Spring Break and came back sick. Her parents thought it was some sort of bug. As the doctor examined her, she discovered fresh scars on her abdomen implying surgery. Turned out the poor kid had gone to Mexico to have illegal gastric bypass because she wasn't obese enough to get it in the States (she wasn't even chunky). Not surprisingly, the surgery was done poorly and had taken a fatal turn. As the episode continued, this healthy-looking girl was found to have the mother from hell who was constantly talking about her weight - thus showing evidence as to why the girl felt the need to have the surgery in the first place. As I watched, all I could think was, "Are there really mothers like this out in the world? Really?!"

As if by cue, when I woke the girls from their naps, Malia was upset. I asked her what was wrong. She said she had forgotten to tell me something important today when I had picked her up from school. Tears were already starting to form. And, of course, I began to panic.

"What is wrong, baby girl?!" I pleaded.

"I have to tell you something bad that happened in school. We took a math test in class today, and for some reason, my brain was on the wrong side and I got the question about 'less than 8' wrong. I didn't mean to. But my brain was*sniff* just on the wrong side!"

She had gotten ONE problem wrong on a math test. O.N.E.

The child is in kindergarten. And, I'm not biased, but she's brilliant. She can read. She can spell. All of her tests thus far (C'mon! Tests in kindergarten?!) have been 100% & flawless. And we do praise her for it... as I think we should.

"Honey, why is this making you cry?" I asked.

This prompted heavier waterworks from the already defeated child.

"Because I don't want you to get mad at me."

As I looked at this sweet child - long braids with pink bows, a freckled nose, a missing tooth, and little toes turned in - I was in SHOCK that she felt my wrath would be the consequence of such a tiny little blip in the scheme of things. And I was warmed by her sheer innocence and her drive to feel she needed to be honest with me about even that. But I also felt myself go into a mode of guilt as I back-tracked through events in our past together as mother & daughter that would lead her to think I would disapprove of such an insignificant thing.

I reached out to her as she sniffled and wiped her tears and nose with her little sleeve. I pulled her close.

"Malia. We all make tiny mistakes in our life. Every day. Some of them are big and important and we need to fix them and apologize for them. Others are not a big deal and don't mean we aren't good people or smart. You know you're smart, don't you?"

... a subtle nod.

"... and you know Mommy is very proud of how smart you are, but at the same time, you need to know it's ok when sometimes our brain goes a little funny on us and we forget stuff. Mommy does it all the time - did you know that?"

A nod.

"Hey!"

A laugh. With some snot. In my face. But I didn't care.

She was smiling, and things were ok now, and I think I handled it as best as I knew how.

But I'll be honest - I'm really going to watch myself. I never want my child to feel like I'm asking things that are just too much and that I'm the kind of parent who will love her less for not knowing the answer to "less than 8."

I'ma Trust My Gut...

3 days after we had our most recent ultrasound - you know, the one that revealed my husband is doomed to a future of PMS to the infinite power? - I received a voicemail from my OB's office.

"It's about the ultrasound. It's not urgent, but please call us back."

Ha. "It's not urgent." Who doesn't freak out when the doctor calls you at a point in your pregnancy that you've never received a call before? Yeah. Right. So I called back. The nurse informed me that they had found choroid plexus cysts on our wee one's brain. I was driving at the time (illegal, I know... but whatevs) and so I couldn't write anything down. I had the nurse spell the term out for me and I filed it into my brain. She also informed me that I needed to make an appointment with a genetic counselor who would also set us up with a high resolution ultrasound. I asked if these cysts were truly a concern. I mean, cysts can be anything from a basic pimple to cancer, so....

She said she wasn't authorized to say too much, but that I should be relieved to know that they can commonly mean absolutely nothing, or that they could also mean a chromosomal abnormality.

"Like Downs?" I asked.

"Sort of."

Again, because I was driving, I asked her to call my phone again and leave me a voicemail with the Genetic Counseling Center's information.

I got home and called the Center immediately and made an appointment for that Thursday (this was on a Tuesday). And then I went to work on Google. You know how when you get on Google and start investigating medical stuff and the next thing you know, you're pretty much convinced you're doomed to die or, at the very least, become a vegetable or a paraplegic or some sort of catastrophic burden on your family? Well, I was very fortunate this time, because the exact opposite happened. The more I read about choroid plexus cysts, or CPCs, the more at ease my anxiety became. When the nurse had initially delivered the news, I was surprised then at how at peace I felt, and stumbling across tidbits of more detailed info. helped now. Things like the fact that "at least one out of one hundred parents will share this frightening experience during a routine ultrasound" and "between 1 and 3 percent of all fetuses will manifest a CPC at 16 to 24 weeks of pregnancy" and "choroid plexus cysts are not harmful to the baby" and "the experts agree that the vast majority of these babies are perfectly healthy, and their CPC is just a normal part of growth and development" and that these cysts often disappear by 32 weeks.

The scary part? "CPCs have become associated with a severe genetic disease called Trisomy 18."

UPDATE: For the majority of the time, we thought this was all about a risk for Downs Syndrome. I have since discovered it's actually associated with something called "Edwards Syndrome" which tends to involve more medical problems along with mental retardation, and also has a higher fatality rate.

The next day, I received a call from the Genetic Counseling Center informing me that, due to our health insurance being a PPO, we would be expected to cover the entire cost of the session and ultrasound. The cost? I'm not telling you - but I threw up mentally a little when they told me. Long story short - after 8 hours of calling them back and forth, calling my doctor's office back and forth, calling David back and forth - we decided to opt out of the session. They were most likely going to encourage us to have an amniocentesis anyway, which has a risk of causing the miscarriage of 1 out of 250 otherwise healthy babies. NO. THANKS!

And even if we were to have an amnio. which could have garnered possible unfortunate news, terminating our sweetheart wasn't even an option we'd discuss.

I called my doctor's office and left a message saying I would take no further steps with the genetic counseling unless he felt it was totally necessary. I informed the nurse that I had no intent to terminate, and so time was not an issue. I also asked that HE call me, and no one else, if he felt certain measures were necessary or if there was really any concern.

He didn't call back for two weeks. But I've been really blessed in not feeling too concerned. The fact that the ultrasound pictures we have (albeit not the best quality) show a fairly proportional little girl with beautiful toes and an adorably stubby nose, aligned with the daily kickboxes to my fragile bladder, gives me an overwhelming feeling of reassurance.

When he did call back, I was comforting a croupy toddler and unable to answer. But the voicemail was very reassuring and he told me that he knew I had no intent to terminate and that we would just monitor her growth and take another look at the cysts at the next ultrasound and that CPCs can, more often than not, be absolutely nothing to worry about.

And even if they ARE something?

She's still mine. And she'll still be perfect. Just like her sisters.

Halloween - I Didn't Do This Already?! Oops.

My mom just called. She wanted to know where "her" Halloween pictures were - "her" meaning the ones I am obligated to send of her grandchildren. I told her to check the blog... and realized I hadn't blogged them, yet.

What is my blogging DEAL, lately?! Probably something to do with the non-stop company we had for 2.5 weeks. Or maybe it was some stress-inducing ultrasound news (will explain in a future blog), or it could be that Dave is MAD busy at work, which makes me feel MAD busy at home - and then I go and do stupid things like build a bunk bed, a dresser, and install a floating shelf. You know, the average day-to-day stuff. ANYwhooooo.....

So here they are, in no particular order except the order in which they occurred:

Obligatory Annual FHE Excursion to the "Pumpkin Patch"



Pumpkin Carving

P.S. Last year, Malia wanted to carve a Tinker Bell pumpkin. I ended up having to do the whole thing, as well as my own pumpkin. This year I convinced her to have a little pumpkin she could draw on. Jack is mine. Scarecrow is Dave's.

Malia's School Parade

I learned 2 things during this parade at Malia's school: 1) Bring a jacket and my ACTUAL camera (and not just my stupid phone). 2) Malia likes to talk to and giggle at boys - a LOT. I will soon be investing in some sort of injectable tracking device as well as glasses and braces... even if she doesn't need them.

Ward Halloween Party

Explanation time: I am Pinkie Pie, a My Little Pony. I am not, have never been, and have no intention of ever being, Miss Piggy. And I would especially not be her whilst pregnant and already feeling obese. My reason for the costume choice is that Malia wanted to be Rainbow Dash, her favorite MLP. BUT - the only costume available was an outdated old school Rainbow Dash from before they gave her wings for the newer editions of the show (and, apparently, the wings ARE THAT IMPORTANT)! We like to at least partner up with our kids' costumes, even if we can't come up with a theme for the foursome. (CC is wearing a recycled costume of Malia's - so Daddy is Mickey Mouse). I had to pretty much create Malia's costume from head to toe. Thank heavens for Hot Topic wigs!



Trick-or-Treating

Malia is showing me the hole she got in her stockings that appeared after falling, which occurred not even 5 seconds after I asked her to stop running.

Poor CC's bucket was getting so heavy, she had to carry it with both hands - we offered to help, but the intense, "NO! I got it!" was enough for us to leave it be.

A close-up of my "cutie mark" as well as my baby bump. I figured that after the time I spent stitching it onto my shirt, I'd want to have at least a photo for posterity before I ripped it off. They're actually supposed to be stitched on my backside, but I figured no one wanted to see that....