Copycat

All the cool kids are moving their blogs or password protecting them or closing down altogether. Some have stopped posting with no warning, and I'm afraid they're dead.

I've been debating doing along the same lines, and finally got my shit together to do it.

Blogger has been great for me, but I need some features the new version still doesn't have, namely, the ability to password-protect individual posts.

Peanut is getting big enough now that's it is time to be a bit more cautious with details. And frankly, I am tired of watching my referrer logs go from the first page to the page that describes her physical anomalies and then go off somewhere else, child-freak curiousity satisfied. I am more than happy to discuss details with people who know her personally, who have a disabled child themselves, or have shown themselves to be respectful and kind and truly interested, which means most everyone who has commented or subscribed to the feed.

So, if you would like to follow us, please visit www.badmama.wordpress.com. Maybe, just maybe, I'll even use her real name in a protected post...

There are some posts here I'll be taking down soon, that will reappear as protected ones as soon as I figure out how to do it.

Like Mother, Like Freak

If Peanut had her way, we would be putting the house on the market right now in order to move to Philadelphia so that Big Daddy and I could get jobs at museums so that she could spend every day in them.

We didn't get to see as much of the city as I had hoped, but we still got to the important stuff.

First up was the Mütter Museum, with Uncle Carlos. Before the emphasis on biochemistry in medicine, medical students were primarily taught gross anatomy, and most medical colleges had a collection of this kind. Using wax models, drawings, and real samples, students were taught medicine. Collections of skulls of people from all over the world (used at the time to study ethnic differences, among other things), a wax model of the arm of someone with leprosy, the tracing of the hand of a man with acromegaly. This sort of thing has always fascinated me, even more so now that I have a child who would have been the subject of a museum exhibit 150 years ago. We took Peanut, because, well, she likes that sort of thing too. She was proudly pointing out the lungs and heart on a drawing of body organs, and exclaimed at one point, "Let's go see the skeletons!" I was able to explain immunizations to her with a little more interest on her part when she could see not only old newspaper cartoons of Dr. Jenner scratching a baby's arm, but more recent pictures of smallpox victims.

She'll either grow up to be a doctor or a serial killer.

Even the most ghoulish of toddlers can only take so much of the cramped, crowded quarters of the Mütter (it was insanely busy--who knew so many people were freaks like us?), so Big Daddy rescued her and took her to the Please Touch Museum, where she would happily live for all eternity. If I could, I would let her. This was so much more accessible to her than the children's museum in Madison, and she had a ball. It had a ramp up to the second floor, and ramps into some of the exhibits, for example. The place has a full child-sized supermarket, including deli, pastry case, stockroom, and coffee break area, for crying out loud. She spent four hours there, and would have played until she fell asleep with her head on the train table.

I tried to get a cheesesteak, I really did, but Big Daddy had a college friend from Philly who insisted you could only get the good ones at certain places and Big Daddy didn't know where those places were, so he wouldn't cooperate. I found this irritating because we could have found out where to go before we left if I would have known he was going to be a cheesesteak snob, but oh well. Instead I ate pizza twice and a breakfast sandwich once, so I got my grease allotment in anyway.

From what I saw of it, I like Philly quite a bit. I wish we had a reason to visit it again and explore a bit more.

Worth The Trip

Well.

We spent six hours at the hospital.

The doctor doesn't think she needs hip surgery at this time. Maybe later, so we'll have to keep an eye on it. She might also need surgery later to realign one of her kneecaps, which was pulled off-center by the contractures.

They took off the top half of her KAFOs to make them temporary AFOs.

They said that with the lighter bracing, she'll be walking independently in a matter of months.

I know better than to get my hopes up too high at that idea, but I really want to. It does help us decide which preschool to put her in (it is slightly less accessible than we would like, but better academically).

What I found most amazing is that even in a hospital full of children, she was continually singled out for praise and "how cute she is!" comments. And how she completely ignores it all.

Love Is

... picking off all the pieces of shredded basil from your toddler's slice of margherita pizza while yours gets cold, because she decided she "didn't like the green stuff."

We are ensconced in our lovely hotel in downtown Philly with free wireless internet. I will get through tomorrow because Saturday, we will be going to this museum, as well as this one. Plus, there's cheesesteaks, and apparently people think they're pretty good to eat.

Well, Big Daddy won't be going to the latter one. Uncle Carlos and I will be. And I'd like to take Peanut, because she thinks that stuff is neat (she is not the slightest bit scared of skeletons), and I think it's a nice reminder to those who are going there to look at the freaks that these were all people once too. We'll see how tired she is after the kid's place.

And a random observation: she's getting much more used to people staring at her. It doesn't make her stop dead in her tracks anymore, though I do miss the dead-eye stare she gave the particularly rude ones.

Oh, I didn't even tell you about the whole debacle with Peanut's medical records. I'm too sleepy now, but it ends well with the hospital having the appropriate records, after a crazy amount of phone calls and pleading and running around that ended up not being necessary. Made getting ready just that much more stressful.

I'm babbling. Thanks for the good wishes. I'll let you know what is said tomorrow.

Off To See The Wizard ... Of Wilmington, DE

We're leaving today for DuPont Hospital. We'll spend most of the day tomorrow at the hospital, where Peanut will see the orthopedic surgeon, a physical therapist, and an occupational therapist. They know what her issues are and are looking forward to seeing her, according to the PT.

We just need to keep our fingers crossed that the doctor says, "Surgery? She don't need no stinkin' surgery!"

Maybe not that exactly. I hate double negatives.

On Saturday, my friend Carlos (he's the coffee cup icon in that link) will come down to Philly to meet us, and we will go see museums.

Anyway, have a nice weekend.

From Cannibal To PETA Member

T. Rexasaurus: Rowr! I'm T. Rexasaurus! Rowr!

Unnamed Little Blue Dinosaur: Oh no! Please don't eat me!

T. Rexasaurus: Rowr! I'm a nice T. Rexasaurus. Here. Let me pick you up. Oh, baby dinosaur, I love you.

Happy Holidays!

Peanut and "Zuzu", the brand-new daughter of my best friend from junior high school. When we met almost 20 years ago, never in a million years would I have guessed that someday getting a picture like this would be the best birthday gift she could give me.

iWhat?

How come none of you told me about how cool iPods are?

How would I have ever known that Justin Timberlake actually has a cool song or two?

Or that I could get a dance remix of Whitney singing The Greatest Love of All?

Or realized that with it, I can listen to Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go as often and as loud as I want without anyone having anything smart to say about it?

If you have known me for a long time, you will not be surprised to know that the very first song I listened to was Guns 'n' Roses "Welcome to the Jungle". And then the Pixies, Fergie, Ok-Go, and ...

If I don't come back soon, look for me with little white wires coming out of my ears, hunched in front of the computer, listening to Elvis dance remixes.

Drive

Last week, I went to the DMV and picked up our Permanent Disabled Parking ID tags.

It was not really a happy day.

We were given reason to believe, when Peanut was a newborn, that we wouldn't need them. We've known for a while it would be necessary after all, but it was something else to actually hand the forms over and say, "It's for my daughter" when asked who it was for.

I know, I know, I should be used to it by now. But I still find that I have to steel myself and take a deep breath before I say "My daughter is disabled". I guess it's because most of the time, it's not something I think about. Dealing with and adapting to her limitations has become so much a part of our lives that it always comes as a shock to actually use that word.

We actually used the card at one of the malls this weekend, when we went to get family portraits done. Of course, we did it so late because we've all been sick and now it's too late to get the photos before Christmas, but whatever. Anyway, it was very useful because Peanut now wants to walk from the car into the store and back. She hasn't gotten the idea that she can't just stop in the middle of the traffic lane and look around, though, so we're working on that.

From this trip, I got to make my first complaint regarding accessibility. You see, the disabled spots where we parked were not accompanied by a curb-cut to the sidewalk. This meant that Peanut either had to get picked up to get over the curb, or she needed to walk into the parking lot from between two cars in order to get to the crosswalk over to the mall. This is a remarkably stupid bit of planning. The mall is currently under construction, so I took a few minutes today and called the general manager. She was very pleasant, and said she'd noticed the same thing and would definitely pass along this request to the people in charge of such things.

I'm still new at this, so I have some actual hope that it will work.

Two Sunday Conversations

Bad Mama: Stop licking your snot, Peanut.

Peanut: But it's so tasty!

***

Peanut: Mama, I'm eating the water!

Bad Mama: Don't eat your bathwater, Peanut.

Peanut: But it tastes so sweet!



I'd write more, but the painkillers are kicking in a little more effectively than normal and I don't think I'll be coherent for very long.

Last Day, Blah Blah

I have a few blog posts percolating that I want to write but I haven't had the time. These include posts on how I felt the first time I used a disabled parking spot because I had Peanut and her walker, how it went at her first dentist appointment, and all of the weird things wrong with my house. I know everyone's writing about the end of NaBloPoMo, but really, I started this blog by posting every day so I'm not sure that I learned much from it, except that perhaps that Peanut is by far the most interesting thing about me to most people. Ok, that sounded more pitiful than I meant it to sound. It's just that I have to work harder to find non-Peanut things to write about that people still find worth reading and commenting on. Thanks for sticking around--I actually have a couple more Bloglines subscribers than when I started, so either a few people decided to subscribe instead of clicking, or a few more people actually have too much time on their hands than is good for them.

There is no cute Peanut story today. She accidentally poked my mother hard in the eye today, leaving my mother only able to keep one eye open and Peanut a basket case for the rest of the evening. It was not a fun bedtime. I'm going to have to find her re-set button, because this can't go on again tomorrow.

Feels Like Rain

When the weather map looks like this, it means my head hurts.

Extreme barometric pressure changes give me migraines. Kind of like a trick knee, but suckier.

Sorry for the lame post.

She Isn't Deaf

I actually have things to post about, but am way too freaking tired.

Tonight at the store she stared down a couple of other people who stared at her in the walker. Then, after the third person was explaining it to their child, she announced, "Mama! Another person was asking about my walker!"

She doesn't seem angry, just somewhat confused as to what all the fuss is about, and not especially appreciative of the attention, whether positive or negative.

So if you see a cute little girl in a pink sweater walking in the smallest walker you've ever seen, please avert your eyes. I tell her they look because she's so cute, but I think she's on to me.

Oh Yes, She Goes There

I don't know what you hear amongst the wails of the tantrum that occurs before bedtime, but what I get to hear now is "But I want to walk!"

She's going to have to either write for soap operas or run for office with those skills.

We Can All Stop Worrying Now

We're leaving the store after dark, and Peanut is looking sadly up at the sky.

Bad Mama: Are you looking for the stars, Peanut? I think they're all behind the clouds.

Peanut: And the moon?

Bad Mama: I think the moon is to, Honey. It's cloudy out.

Peanut: I don't want it to be cloudy out! I want it to be starry and moony out!

*******

So, yeah, that whole walking thing? She's totally into it. Walked all over the grocery store this morning, and we spent more time in T*arget this afternoon than I want to admit to you. She Has. To. Touch. Everything. It probably took me 10 minutes just to get her to walk away from the animal crackers.

And you know how one of the things they talk about in interracial adoption, about being a "conspicuous family"? I think I have an inkling of what it must be like. She couldn't have gotten more attention if she was running naked painted lime green through the aisles. The hippie food store was pleasant that way, with everyone simply smiling and saying how cute she was. The other place, not quite so much. There were plenty of people smiling, but there was a lot more outright staring. And so very many children pointing and asking loudly, "What's that she has?" Obviously, I can't get upset about that, but it did get a little old. I think it was particularly bad just because most people talk to their children about wheelchairs, but not about other kinds of assistance devices. The worst was actually something that was meant to be benign, I think, and that was when a child asked and the parent said, in front of Peanut, "Oh, it's a walker to help the baby walk". I don't know about your kids, but boy, mine is not happy to be called a baby for any reason right now, much less when it comes to walking.

But before anyone feels too bad for her, let me tell you how she handled it. When she heard what the woman said, she stopped dead in the middle of the aisle, blocking the way for everyone, and fixed a stare on that woman that I thought would burn a hole through her head. She said nothing, didn't smile, just stared. The woman was smiling at her, but kind of lost her smile as she edged by the freaky little girl in her pink sweater and walker. Peanut turned her head to watch with an expression that made you think it was about to start spinning on her neck, and then, when the woman was past, she looked up at me, smiled and soldiered on down the lane.

She did it again to a very rude little girl who was too old to be pointing and asking so loudly, and it clearly freaked the kid out. I wish I could explain properly how proud I am. There is no better retort that I could have made, no better response to the staring than this dead-eyed stare back.

I wasn't kidding when I said she was scary.

She Likes To Play Tag, Very Slowly

Now that Peanut has figured out that it's more fun to walk than be carried, she wants to do EVERYTHING she hasn't been able to do before. Pushing her toy baby stroller, or walking around carrying her dolls in her arms. I've had to help her name her emotions a little more often than usual--"You are feeling frustrated right now because you can't push the stroller with both hands". How can I tell her she has to be patient? No almost-three-year-old is really known for patience anyway, much less one that has been watching everyone else have fun she couldn't have for her whole life.

I also have to adjust to the fact that everything will take at least 30 minutes longer now than before, not just because she walks slowly* but because she has to learn to choose to listen to me, rather than just getting picked up and taken to her bubble bath or to the dinner table. It's a process that most children go through gradually, but hers is sudden and rather dramatic. For both of us, really. I've never had to teach her about things like electric outlets before. My house isn't really baby-proofed. She was limited by the poor maneuvering of her scooter before, so she really couldn't get into much, and she'd really stopped using it much because she just couldn't do what she wanted with it.

Of course, I should have been more careful what I wished for, right?

*She thinks it is hysterically fun to chase us or have us chase her. Even at 0.25 mph.

Sweet Pea

Tonight, Peanut ate a whole bunch of peas. This may not seem like a big deal, I know. However, I will now list all the foods she currently will eat, and you might then understand why I felt this was important enough to post about:

(*Foods she is not usually offered, unless we are eating them in front of her or she is getting a treat for some reason)

Milk
Yogurt
Toast, with peanut butter or jam
PB&J sanwiches
Pancakes/waffles/french toast with syrup or sometimes jam
Berries
Grapes
Apples
Various breads and rolls
*Ice cream
Soy milk smoothies
*Chocolate pudding
Cheerios
*Goldfish/Teddy Graham crackers
*Cookies
Bananas
*Croutons
Juice
*Chai Tea with lots of milk
*Potato chips
*French fries, but only once in a while
*Chocolate candy
Cheese pizza
Scrambled eggs (but only at Grandma's house, for some reason)

and now, cold peas

No, there is no meat. No pasta. No vegetables of any kind until the peas. The only cheese or tomato is on pizza. We have to be very careful about not feeding her the same thing a couple of times a day, because the healthy options are so limited.

We aren't terribly worried about this. Her doctor isn't either. We give her a multivitamin (mostly) daily, and she's growing and appears healthy and active, so we don't feel it is necessary to push her. We talk about how yummy our food is in front of her and always offer her bites, but she says, "No, thank you" and that's it. She tried a few bites of ravioli when she had a bad cold, but wouldn't again once she got her sense of smell back. I sometimes ask her to try a bite and sometimes she obliges, take one bite tonight of baked potato with a bit of sour cream, swallowing it, and saying no to any more. Really, what else can I ask for?

So every new food is an occasion. And now it's all down for posterity, so when she grows up to be a food critic I can show her this and laugh.

Today, I'm Thankful

And this is why.
(Sorry, there's no sound)

Thankful For Restrictive Handgun Laws

**To those coming from Outdoor "Logic" and Gun Blogs:
If you think that all liberals want to take your guns away, perhaps you should take a look at Howard Dean's stance on the subject. Or John Tester's. Or my drunken former neighbor who decided against "surprising" me in my old apartment when faced with the business end of the deer rifle I was holding. Or maybe ask the pile of fresh venison in my freezer. Yeah, that's right. I'm not a vegetarian either. Then, just for funsies, you might check out what gun laws Rudy Giuliani passed while mayor of NYC, or what George Pataki passed as governor. You can google it, I'm sure you'll enjoy it.**

I am in the foulest of foul moods. Everyone else is posting about all they are thankful for, but all I am thankful for right now is that I don't own a gun. I'm not mad at anyone in particular, it's just that nothing seems to be going the way I want it to go and I have PMS and have to clean the house before noon tomorrow when 14 people will be here to eat turkey.

I will be better tomorrow--I know this is hormones and stress.

I hope you all have a Happy Thanksgiving, or a pleasant Thursday workday to you Canadians.

Bonus

It was this or the story of what my dog did to a rabbit in the backyard the other day, and subsequently what she did on the living room floor last night. This is better.