I love her, I love her, I love her.

Lexi is my beast friend. There was no typo there. She turns 30 here in just under two months. Her husband forced her to move away from her friends in Seattle to Washington D.C. (if for no other reason that to confuse people when they asked where she moved from she says "Washington")  so she's not around any of her good friends for this momentous occasion. It saddens me. It saddens her. So, I think we should do something fabulous.  I think EVERYONE I KNOW should send their condolences in the form of COLD HARD CASH to 2405 North Underwood Street, Arlington, VA 22205. You can start today. Or send her something awesome. Or just tell her how cool you think she is.

Because between you and me and this blog, she's got some serious self-esteem issues. And if you sent her cash, she could get all of that hair removed from her face! That would help!

If you don't like sending cash in the mail, no worries, she takes gift cards. Also, someone buy me a plane ticket to D.C. so I can hang out with her and talk her down from whatever ledge she's perched on.

Not a plain ticket, that would be tacky.

Happy World Down Syndrome Day!

Today is March 21st--3/21. Some awesome person or group of people decided 6 years ago to proclaim it World Down Syndrome Day, in honor of the 3rd copy of the 21st chromosome, which 95% of individuals with Ds have (the other 5% have translocation or mosaic Ds, which you can read about here). This year is the 1st year that the United Nations has officially recognized it. Here's a statement they published about it. My dream is that this means there are big changes on the horizon in the way individuals with Ds are perceived and treated throughout the world....

What this day means to me is, in part, that my Facebook news feed (I think 300 of my FB friends are Ds parents. And I belong to no fewer than 7 Facebook groups for families of kids with Ds. The Ds community is what I love 2nd best about having Colin in my life) is jam-packed with happy wishes and photos of beautiful people of all ages who rock that extra chromosome. Online and in real life, families of these amazing people are proclaiming to the world: "Look! Look at my family member! We love him! He's amazing and bright and sunny, and we're SO PROUD! Our family wouldn't be the same without him. We are forever changed because of the influence his life has had on our own. Please take a closer look so you can REALLY SEE all of the GOOD he has to offer." I'm a crying mess today--the joy I feel is too great to contain.

What I feel today stands in stark contrast to the feelings I had immediately post-diagnosis, when Colin was still incubating, an unseen little bundle of flutters and tiny kicks. The doctor's words, "The amnio results came back positive for Down syndrome" felt as devastating to me as a death sentence. My reaction to this news was extreme, and dark, and desperate. Most of the 3 or 4 following days were spent in a sobbing heap on my bed with all of the most intense feelings that come with grief--anger, denial, self-pity, fear, desperate bargaining with God--swirling and knotting themselves together so tightly in my heart that I felt for sure it would burst. In fact, my kids even whispered to my husband, "Is Mom gonna die?" (I've never been one to stoically hold my feelings inside....) The pain I felt was raw and suffocating. It's difficult for me to understand now how my reaction could have been that overwhelmingly intense. How could I have been so ridiculously afraid of something as amazing as life is with my sweet little Colin? I don't understand that grief, now that I'm "on the other side" of it. It feels weird and foreign. I'm embarrassed for having reacted so violently. And yet, every day, a good percentage of women who receive a Ds diagnosis will react in much the same way I did. What are we so afraid of? I believe the fear and intense emotions come from lack of knowledge--from old stereotypes and prejudices against those who are different, or less than perfect, according to society's standards of beauty, intelligence, or ability.

I've been wondering a lot about something this past week: what if a friend of mine--someone who's seen me go through this transformation from grief to unsteady acceptance to joy--were to receive a prenatal diagnosis of Down syndrome for a baby she was carrying? How would she react? Have I been clear enough in expressing my love for Colin that she could actually look forward to joining me in the ranks of Ds mommies? Could she be excited like I think she should be, instead of scared or angry? Could her observation of my journey with Colin possibly... I don't know.... maybe even help her reconsider the desperate thought that life would be better for everyone involved if such a baby were aborted? What if I haven't said or done enough for her to feel peace instead of fear or apprehension? Here's what I'd want to make sure my friend knew in this hypothetical scenario:

1) You don't have to be anything special to parent a child with Down syndrome. I know it looks from the outside like these moms are saintly--they have extra patience, extra love, extra energy, right? But now I want you to focus on me. Who's the one who totally lost it this morning when the kids were running 10 minutes late for school for the 415th time and the kid who was supposed to be finding her dang boots was standing in the entryway, drawing in the dust on the mirror? Whose neck veins were bulging? That's right--it was me. You can ask anyone in my family how organized and put-together and patient and long-suffering and soft-spoken I am. They will laugh you to scorn, and that will help you see that if I can do it and love it, you sure as heck can, too.

There are for sure people who have kids with special needs who fight it and resent it and are angry about it every step of the way, and who spend the rest of their lives feeling bitter and victimized. But please bear in mind that special parents are most often MADE, not born. You can become just as amazing as you allow yourself to be. Of course, there are those people who are incredible from the beginning, and who choose a child with special needs through adoption. They are awesome, and I am not one of them. You don't need to be, either. I'm one of the parents who's hopefully becoming the kind of person I want to be. This journey with Colin is teaching me to stretch and grow beyond shallow judgments. I'm learning to look beyond the "different" appearance, the slower or more awkward gait or speech, to really see a person for who they are instead of feeling discomfort or pity.

2) Your life won't be all that different when you have a kid with Down syndrome. It's a bigger adjustment to add another kid to your family than it is to add Down syndrome to your family. Of course, just as with any other kid, there will be lots of great times, and then a whole bunch of other times where you want to run away to Tahiti or something, and never go home to those hoodlums. Parenting is HARD. Period. If you want easy, look somewhere else. Maybe get a plant in one of those self-watering pots.

3) You can still dream big dreams for your kid. Down syndrome won't stand in the way of dreams. Colin most likely won't ever be a hotshot investment banker or brain surgeon or physics professor. That was a hard shift to for me to make in the dreams I had for his future. But I've come to understand that his worth as a human isn't measured by the size of his future paycheck or the prestige of his job. What does matter is that he has people who love and support him, that he's involved in things that help him feel valued and important, and that he has a positive impact on the lives of the people he interacts with.

I fully intend for Colin to grow up and not want to live with me anymore at some point. I want him to learn how to take care of himself, maybe get a driver's license or go to college. Definitely he needs to develop some cool talents. He can work at the grocery store bagging groceries if he wants to, or he could do any number of other things. I still worry sometimes that he'll have too many obstacles in his way--maybe he won't excel at anything. Maybe his IQ or his verbal ability or his interpersonal skills will never be more than marginal. Does that make you sad to think about? Let me assure you, that's something that made me cry bitter tears when I thought about it not too long ago. I'm not as much of a mess anymore when I think about it these days. I still wonder on occasion. Mostly I'm learning to take each day as it comes instead of worrying about a future I can't really control. But let me tell you this--I also worry that my other kids with their 46 chromosomes will grow up to be massive jerks, or mass murderers (one kid in particular...), or any type of good-for-nothing delinquent. The odds of Colin becoming any of those things are really, really slim--possibly even non-existent. It's like my wise brother once said, "The great part about Colin's Down syndrome is that you're pretty much guaranteed he won't grow up to be an a-hole." Most kids don't come with that kind of guarantee.
The most encouraging thing to me when I'm nervously contemplating Colin's future is what parents of adults with Ds share about their kids. They'll tell me that life with their kids hasn't been easy or perfect, but that they wouldn't trade the experience for anything in the world. Doctors and other professionals might tell you your baby's future is bleak and ugly, but what do they know? Don't believe them for a second--they don't have a clue what they're talking about. They're basing those opinions on antiquated information they read from an outdated book. Believe the parents who are living it and loving it.

4) You will think your kid with Down syndrome is the most beautiful, most amazing human ever to have graced the earth with his presence. You might spend a lot of time contemplating how much Down syndrome you can see in your kid, unless you're not nuts like I am. Mostly, you'll realize it doesn't matter too much. You'll kiss his fingers and nuzzle his sweet little neck and marvel at his soft skin. And you'll laugh so hard at his giggles and goofy faces your sides will ache. You will feel more intense love for this little person that you created than you ever thought was possible. You'll miss him terribly when he naps, and thrill when he wakes up, because it means you can hold him again. You'll have to fight your other kids for a turn to snuggle him. You will spend a good portion of each day wondering how you ever got so lucky as to deserve a kid as wonderful and miraculous as him. I promise you--your life isn't ending with a Down syndrome diagnosis. You're being introduced to a life that is more beautiful and full than you ever would have believed existed on this earth. You probably won't ever be able to stop posting pictures like this:

And gushing about him to anyone who will listen for more than 2 minutes.

The Down syndrome family

When I was about 8 months pregnant with Colin, we were at one of Kenneth's basketball games at a high school about 40 miles away. Out in the foyer area, a little boy was toddling around, just a little awkward on his feet. I couldn't tell how old he was. My "Down syndrome radar" wasn't very finely honed yet, but I guessed from his facial features that he might have that extra 21st chromosome. I watched him for a while, and tried to figure out who his mom was in the crowd of people. When I found her, I hesitantly approached her. "Hi! Your little boy is so cute! How old is he?" She told me he was 5. "Awww. He's really just adorable. Does he.... does he have.... Down syndrome?" I could tell she was a little taken aback, and she answered, rather suspicious and guarded, "Yes...." I breathed a sigh of relief and said, patting my belly, "Oh! Because this little boy I'm expecting has it, too!" Her expression and posture immediately changed and relaxed, and she said, "Oh! Congratulations!" And we chit-chatted, and she assured me that this journey I was about to embark on would be challenging, but it would change me for the better, if I allowed it to. We exchanged phone numbers, and as we went our separate ways, I marveled at the love I felt from her as she welcomed me into the Down syndrome family--this amazing club I'd never known I wanted to join.

I'd already experienced this warm acceptance in a couple online communities I found in those early, frightened days post-diagnosis. I'd gone searching for information, for support, for whatever I could get my hands on after we'd received a positive result from the amniocentesis. What I found were people sharing information, supporting and encouraging each other (supporting me! Was I ever needy!). My favorite resources at the time were the Down syndrome pregnancy support group on babycenter.com, as well as its partner, the babycenter.com Down syndrome group, where so many amazing moms of kids with Ds hang out. Here I found ladies who were either in the same boat I was--pregnant with a baby who was already diagnosed with Down syndrome, or who were "waiting it out" with higher odds due to bloodwork results or anatomical "markers" on ultrasounds--or women whose children with Down syndrome were already here. I still marvel at those amazing women, who check in almost daily to welcome frightened, worried women and offer support, encouragement, and all of the awesome information women in that situation often crave--especially reassurance that life doesn't end when a child with "a little something extra" joins a family. On the contrary--the insights that these wonderful ladies provided about life with their kids helped me to eventually look forward to Colin's birth with excitement and anticipation instead of dread and fear. From those 2 support groups, I was pointed to downsyndromepregnancy.org, which is an amazingly well-thought-out website, created by amazing moms of kids with Down syndrome, and reviewed by doctors--specialists in the field. I devoured their free e-book, which covered all of the topics I was anxious to learn more about, in a soothing, yet informative, way.

One of the other resources I've loved since being pregnant with Colin has been "mommy blogs"--blogs written by moms of kids with Ds of all ages, who chronicle their family's lives. These blogs, with their humor and poignant reflection, helped me get a glimpse into what life might be like with my little boy, and they helped me realize something huge: that my life would be so incredibly normal, in spite of what seemed like such a scary diagnosis at the time. Links to many of my favorite Ds mommy blogs can be found on the right-hand side of this page.

As amazing as life with Colin has been in this first year, as much as I adore him and want to eat him up daily, as much as he is my favorite part of this experience (obviously), the love I have for the Down syndrome FAMILY comes in at a close second. Because I have Colin, I was linked up with incredible people like my beloved Lexi, whose Abby is betrothed to Colin (I met her on babycenter, so it's sort of a matchmaking site, too, in a way), and so many other awesome moms who have now become my good friends. Seems like everyone I know in real life has a friend or a family member who has a child with Ds, and we've been connected with each other because of this bond. I've been linked to people on Facebook through people I know in real life--those people say, "Oh! You have a kid with Down syndrome? I'm sending you friend requests for 100 people you need to be friends with!" And those people have embraced me. We may have nothing at all in common other than each having a child with Down syndrome--we may differ in religion, political views, geography--but the bond created by that extra 21st chromosome is strong. During those times of uncertainty, of wondering what lies ahead for us with Colin, I look to those who started down this path before I did, and I see that in spite of the challenges that come with the territory (when has parenting ever NOT involved challenges?), these parents LOVE their kids, and are proud of them, and are tremendously grateful for the opportunity to parent them. And I realize that in parenting Colin, I find myself in very good company in this Ds family. So it's without hesitation that I'd say to others who are just embarking on this journey, "Congratulations! And welcome to the best club you never knew you wanted to join!"

Photogenic

When I was tucking Christian in the other night, I noticed he had a bonk under his eye, like the kind of bonk he might have gotten from playing in a really tall, skinny box with Carinne, and maybe I'd told them it wasn't a good idea to stand it up on one end and climb into it by standing on the back of the couch, but maybe they did it anyway, and maybe it had fallen over and he'd smacked his face on her shoulder. Or something. So I said, as I tucked him in, "Ooh, looks like you're getting a black eye, buddy." And he said, "I wanna see!" But I didn't want him to get out of bed, so I told him I'd just take a picture with my phone:

"Well, that one didn't really work. You were all squinty. Let's try again. This time, don't squish up your cheeks....."

"Oh. You still can't see the bonk, huh? OK, we'll try again. This time, maybe try and keep your eyes open wide and look up...."

This time he swore he could see it. Awesome. (I swear to you that he had a big red spot under his right eye. I wish I knew how my phone accentuates blemishes on MY face and doesn't pick up on Christian's eye bonk....)

And, just so I could capture what he looks like normally, I took another picture today. "Hey, Christian, smile!"

Ummm.... OK. Good enough, dude.

Meet the SS2000

I don't blog often, but when I do, it's about the most important stuff in our family's lives. Those things that I'm most passionate about, that make me all giddy inside. This is why today, I present to you a blog post about (dun dun da duhhhhh): The DeVilbiss Snot Sucker 2000. (It's actually the DeVilbiss Homecare Suction Unit. Not quite the same ring to it, right?) Here's a photo of it:

This blurry photo shows Colin making out with it. He loves it almost as much as I do.

(I took a video of it in action, but it was crap because I can't record a video on my phone AND pin down little flailing arms and hands that like to help AND keep a little head still, all at the same time. You'll just have to imagine the hum of the motor and the delicious slurping, sucking sounds.)

This device--slightly smaller than a car battery--has brought our family immense joy and satisfaction in our daily lives. And by "our family," I mean me, because I'm the mom, and you know what they say about when Mama's happy. The reason I have this wondrous apparatus is that a couple months ago, I told my pediatrician (I have a MAJOR doctor crush on the guy--he's just been so great to our family over the years) that it seemed like Colin's nose was ALWAYS congested, and that any congestion made it really hard for him to eat and sleep, because of his teeny-tiny little airways. I joked to him, "I want one of those wall-mounted suction things like they have in the NICU. Those things are so awesome!" He said, "OK, then. Let's get you one." I think he could tell that I really wanted to kiss him (and I definitely can't do that because I still need him to be our doctor. A restraining order might get in the way of our relationship), so he quickly added, "Well... not a wall-mounted one, but I can prescribe an electric one that will work almost as well." He (more likely, his lovely office staff ladies) called a local home health company and ordered one, and their delivery guy brought it that day. If I'd known how dramatically that guy's delivery would alter the course of my life, I'd have had balloons, flowers, and champagne waiting for him.... Or maybe tickets to a Monster Truck Rally.

Right after I got the SS2000, I did a science experiment with it, which basically just involved sucking out as much snot as I could from Colin's nose with the stupid bulb syringe (those things might work a whole lot better if the bulb part was about as big as a watermelon, so they could get some good suction behind them. But then they'd be a lot harder to pack in the diaper bag....), and then, when I'd gotten out as much as I possibly could with it, firing up the Snot Sucker 2000 and having at it. The results were stupendous! After that little experiment I left the bulb syringe out on the dresser just so I could sneer at it when I passed and make it feel bad for its pathetic inferiority. I sometimes even leave the SS2000 next to it so it will feel the full weight of its inadequacy and shame.

Don't feel bad for it. It has earned the shame and humiliation.

Here's a link to the newer model (the SS2001?), on amazon.com. They're about $170. I pay about $7 a month to rent one (not sure how much our insurance's portion is, but I don't care because they're evil jerks who deny payment on EVERYTHING)). I get to keep the Machine of Wonderment after 10 months, so I guess it's a rent-to-own set-up. The new model on Amazon says it's stationary, but I'm pretty sure it's portable like mine. I even got a handy carrying bag with my rental, plus an AC adapter to charge it in the car, for when you run errands or bring it with you on all your family vacations (unless your husband is unreasonable like Devin and tells you it's too big and not essential enough (blashphemer) to squeeze into the Suburban for family road trips. Next time I'm sneaking it in somewhere before he loads the car). Just to give you an idea of size, here's a photo of Colin and a Slinky in the bag. Bear in mind that Colin weighs just less than 16 pounds. The SS2000 weighs only about 6.

It's padded, too, for a softer landing when it tips over while you're taking pictures of your baby in it.

I've been trying to convince my friend Lexi to keep bugging her doctor for one of these suckers for her little Abby--Abby's pediatrician is a big jerk who apparently likes little girls to suffer needlessly, so she won't prescribe one. She tells Lexi every time she asks for a prescription that she just needs to toughen up and suck the snot out WITH HER OWN MOUTH. Well... she wants her to buy a Nosefrida, but I bet that's exactly what it feels like to use one of those things. I know, I know--there's a bypass/guard thing that doesn't allow actual contact of nasal secretions with the user's mouth, but how much suction can you really provide if you can't control your gag reflex while using it? Some people just can't handle stuff like that--like others can't handle hearing others chew, or, you know, whatever. Today, I found this article from a British website by Down's Syndrome Medical Interest Group (read it because it's cool, but just be forewarned that it mentions "nasal douches." I'm telling you now so you won't be drinking something while you read it. It HURTS to laugh drinks through your nose). It gives solid medical reasoning for the necessity of  keeping kids with Ds clear of nasal secretions to prevent sinus infections and even ear infections. I want to email this part to Lexi's mean doctor:

Basically the whole skeletal structure of the mid-face and of the throat area behind the mouth tends to be rather cramped so that drainage of normal mucous secretions is compromised. This leads to mucous pooling and stagnating in the nasal passageway and this provides a focus for infection. Once infection sets in yet more mucous is produced and a vicious circle results [....] People have in the past probably been too accepting of the problem, regarding it as an inevitable part of the syndrome. We think that health professionals and parents should now try to be a little more proactive in trying to relieve children of the more severe effects of persistent catarrh which often has a detrimental effect on their general health and well-being. Also, for those who are very congested, reduction of the level of congestion can improve night breathing problems and glue ear.

See, Lexi's doctor? There are other, much nicer doctors out there telling you that you need to quit being such a jerk and prescribe one, already!

I know I've heard lots of my Ds mom friends talk about their kids' persistent ear and sinus infections. Does reading this article change your life, because you realize that maybe "mechanical extraction" might reduce the occurrence of those 2 buggers? I know I personally got super-excited about it, because I've been feeling like having a heavy-duty snot sucker might be frivolous when there are kids around the world suffering from things a lot more major than not having a heavy-duty snot sucker. The info in this article helped me realize that our Snot Sucker 2000 is medically necessary equipment. I believe it's part of the reason we were able to keep Colin from being hospitalized when he had RSV last week (is this an exaggeration? I don't know--I don't have any medically trained staff reviewing my blog posts for accuracy. HOWEVER, the past 2 doctors I've seen have asked me if I have medical training because they were so impressed with my medical savvy. That, or they were hinting that I needed to shut up because they're the doctor, not me....).

So, my point is, ask your doctor about getting one of these sweet, sweet babies (just don't ask Lexi's doctor) if your kid's too young to blow their own nose (or even if they're not. I'd love to use it on my older kids, but they wake up every time they hear it turn on next to their beds. It's kind of noisy. And they're strong enough to fight me off. Oh--that brings me to another point: Colin cries and protests for about the first 10 seconds, and then he lies pretty still in defeat. I think he knows it'll make him feel better. Or possibly he just knows resistance is futile). Your life will be the better for it, I promise. There's nothing quite so satisfying as cleaning out the depths of your little one's nasal/sinus cavities so efficiently that they cough a little from the force of the suction (note--for those of you who might point out that maybe such strong suction could harm little noses--I have a tendency to exaggerate. This is one of those times. Colin's never had a nosebleed from the SS2000, and we use it about 4-5 times a day. We just always use a little saline solution first). (Also, just as a caveat, so you can't say I didn't warn you--the snot sucker's parts need to be cleaned periodically. Like, probably more than every 5 days, unless you don't mind the smell of poo every time you turn it on. Not sure what that's all about. Maybe all bodily secretions end up smelling like poo if they're left in a tube for 5 days.... Is that really too gross? Sorry. Anyway, all you do is take the removable parts off and soak them in bleachy water for about 15 minutes--or, fill a container with bleachy water and suction it into the collection canister--and then rinse them off.)

Pet Carrot

Remember the sad tale of our frogs who croaked? I held onto their tank and stashed it in the laundry room (I have a bit of a hoarding problem, which stems from an unnatural emotional attachment to objects. But it's mostly under control, because I do get rid of things when I, A: grow tired of them being in my way, or B: watch an epsiode of Hoarders and freak out that I'm heading that direction). Last week, one of the kids filled the tank with water and stuck a carrot inside (did your preschooler ever bring home a Ziploc bag of water with a baby carrot inside as a pet, and they were supposed to sprinkle pepper in the water to feed the carrot-fish?). It's been sitting on the kitchen counter for about 5 days, and I noticed that the water was getting murkier every day.

Finally today I decided to dump the water and the carrot. I figured the murkiness was caused by the carrot decomposing or something, you know? There was also a definite, putrid smell today, emanating from the tank. I noticed as I dumped the water into the kitchen sink that it was littered with lots and LOTS of decaying fragments of frog food. What the...? I had a quick flashback to Stephen King's Pet Sematary before realizing that Dash and Violet probably hadn't come back as undead, evil frogs. That's just crazy. No, one of the kids had been feeding the carrot frog food. So bizarre, right? Do you know how many times my kids willingly and without parental pressure fed the frogs in the 7+ years we had them? MAYBE 10 times. But apparently they fed a carrot daily.

So, my point in sharing this fascinating tale with you is that if you're looking for a low-maintenance, low-guilt-inducing pet, maybe look into the carrot option. You probably wouldn't even need a tank--a cup or bowl or Ziploc bag would be perfectly adequate. But keep the frog food hidden away, or you'll have a stinky mess.

The greatest birthday wish list

Quentin handed Devin his birthday wish list last night. It's the most specific wish list I've ever seen, and it's awesome. I took a picture of it with my phone, but it's pretty hard to see. (I tried it with my camera too, and it was just as bad. I may well be the worst photographer.) I'll transcribe it for you below.

It says:

Quentin's birthday wish list     
                                              Please get me any 2 or more of the following: [smiley face]
                                              
snowboard and size 3 snowboard boots
winter coat
Hero factory (not furno bike or Balk 3.0) <---{because he already has those}
Transformers Kree-o
bicycle
Ninjago fire temple
Skateboard helmet
King size Hershey's
Mad Libs (not Christmas Edition) <---{already has it}
Halo Mega Bloks
Moon phase calender 2012 {I'm shocked that he spelled calendar wrong. The kid never spells anything wrong. Ever}
Non-electric pencil sharpener
Pencils
Erasers
Lego Harry Potter Years 1-4 for Wii
MP4 player
Small copper sheet {no idea what he means by that. I intend to find out}

                                                                              Quentin's birthday cake favorites
                                                                                 Cheese cake
                                                                                 Peanut butter bars
                                                                                 Brownies
                                                                                 Pumpkin pie
                                                                                 Spice cake
                                                                                 Peach cobbler

It's cute, right? A little greedy, but we'll forgive him because of the tremendous help it is for me in getting him something he really wants.

Colin: A birth story, part 2

OK, so, where did we leave off? Oh yes, we'd just arrived at the hospital, and Devin was wheeling me to emergency OB in a wheelchair.


So, we get up there, and the nurse checks for dilation, and says I'm at a 4. A FOUR! After all that intensity, I was expecting her to say 9, not 4. I was so sorely disappointed, and I was even thinking that they might send me home. Seriously. Because, in my experience, a 4 is nothing. A 4 is what you are for a week before you're a 5 or 6, and then a 5 or 6 is what you are for a week or 2 before REAL labor starts. I think the nurse sensed my disappointment, because she said, "Oh, no, honey, don't worry--we're admitting you. Let's just take some blood first." Then she asked me if I was going to want an epidural. Hmmm.... out of our 6 babies, I've only had 2 epidurals--the first one was with Kenneth, and it was terrible, and scared me from having one for the next couple kids, and the 2nd one (with Carinne, 3 babies later) was so beautiful, at one point I asked the nurse to go find the anesthesiologist so I could kiss him. I would have, too, but I think she realized I really meant it, and didn't find him for me. Which ended up being just fine, because I was on such a happy cloud and drifted off to blissful sleep.... But then, with Christian, there had been no time for an epidural.... So, here I was, thinking, forget this. If it's been this intense and I'm only dilated to a 4, I'm not hanging around all drug-free to find out what dilating to a 9 feels like this time. No way--I'm gettin' an epidural. So I said, "Yes, please, hook me up with that epidural." And the anesthesiologist came in after a moment and said he'd give me my epidural, just as soon as my blood work came back, to make sure my platelet counts were OK. I wanted to choke him, take his instruments, and give myself the epidural. Or have Devin do it (because that's SO much more reasonable, right?). I was HURTING, he had the means to end the hurting, and he refused to do it till my stupid bloodwork came back? The nurses told me they were mad at him for being such a prick stickler for protocol. Apparently, there are other anesthesiologists who aren't such sticklers. Guess I got lucky....

Meanwhile, the nurses wheeled me to Labor and Delivery, where I was checked again (and, it definitely bears mentioning here that there were at least 7 other people--nurses- and doctors-in-training, I think--in that room, just beyond the foot of my bed, all there to catch the show. The U of U hospital is a teaching hospital, so there can be lots of observers, if you as the patient tell them it's OK with you. I think I've mentioned before that I have no modesty when it comes to stuff like this, so I probably told them to invite anyone they could find wandering around the halls to come have a look-see...). This time, I was at a 9. It had been approximately 20 minutes since the last time they'd checked me. That's 5 cm in 20 minutes. So, Dr. Anesthesiologist came in right about that time (did you ever watch that show "Scrubs"? You know the macho, jerky, jock surgeon?

Yeah, that's the guy.

He was my anesthesiologist. Right down to the obnoxious do-rag and the sleeveless scrubs. I may have just imagined the sleeveless scrubs part, though) and announced that my blood work was back, and he could now dazzle me with his impressive epidural skills, if I'd still like one. I asked, "How long does it take for an epidural to start working?" He told me about 15 minutes. I said, "Hmm. I'll have this baby out in five. You can take your epidural and shove it up your...." I'm embellishing. I didn't say the part about shoving the epidural. Very loudly. OK, fine, not at all. But I definitely thought it. So, I'd like to imagine he walked away, all dejected-like, shoulders drooping, ripping off his do-rag and chucking it on the floor in frustration at missing out on being included in our bill. 

The nurse then checked me again and announced that I was complete. One of the doctors present (though there were several, not one of them was my perinatologist, who was home sleeping, I think. Smart lady) told me I could start pushing with the next contraction. Problem was, I didn't have another contraction. They just pretty much quit. I told her as much, and she said, "That's OK--you don't need a contraction for pushing. Just push when you feel like it." Well, previous experience has taught me that the reason you push is that the contractions make you have an intense NEED to push, right? I didn't really feel that urgency, and I knew--also from previous experience--that pushing a baby out of one's body is one of those things that's in reality even more painful than what you imagine it'll be, so I wasn't in any real hurry....

I could tell all those people in the room were watching in anticipation for me to do my thing, though, so I gathered up my strength, pushed with all my might for 10 counts, took a breath, pushed for 10 more, and repeated that a couple more times. After about the 4th push--maybe 5 minutes later--I felt the contours of my little boy squiggling through, and the next thing I knew, he was on the bed in front of me, quite calm, and blinking. It was 5:30 a.m.--not quite 3 hours since that first hellish contraction.

I couldn't stop looking at our sweet baby. I felt at that moment like the heavens had opened, depositing this little being in front of me. He was so, so tiny--and breathtakingly perfect. I didn't know what I'd been expecting for the previous 4 months since finding out he had Down syndrome. We'd also been told he had clubfeet, which isn't something that occurs very often with DS, so I think I was expecting some other weird surprise that also doesn't usually come with it. I suppose I expected him to look like.... I don't know. A miniature Quasimodo, I guess. With all sorts of deformities that couldn't have shown up on all the ultrasound images we'd seen of him. But instead, he looked almost exactly like Kenneth did at birth--same nose, same round face, definitely same upper lip... I gasped. And then I cried. Happy, elated tears. I would have loved him no matter what he looked like, of course, but this was an amazing thing. He just looked like he belonged to us, just like all of our other kids. I'd built up THE SYNDROME in my imagination till it was this huge, out-of-control monster, completely dwarfing reality. And the reality was, this was a sweet, helpless little baby who needed his mama to love and protect him. And he was absolutely mine, and I completely adored him from the moment I laid eyes on him. It was amazing to see that he knew me, too--turning toward my voice when I talked. I wanted to hold him and kiss his sweet face and whisper, "Hi there. I'm your mama," and all the other silly little things I'd whispered to our other babies when we first met. But gloved hands swooped in and whisked him away, through the window into the NICU for observation and an echocardiogram.

 

Pretty soon, 2 of the doctors were mashing on my tummy, massaging it to work the placenta loose, and intermittently pulling on the cord. It wouldn't budge, and they kept massaging and tugging, and then I noticed them exchange worried glances. One of them suggested checking me again, which the other one did. The one checking me exclaimed something like, "What the...?" Apparently, my cervix had completely clamped shut around the cord. And part of the placenta had already come out, and the other part was still attached, so I was still really bleeding. A lot. I could feel it, but I guess I'd assumed it was maybe the left-over amniotic fluid. There was a lot of rushing around, and someone told us I needed a D&C to clear out the rest of the placenta so I'd stop bleeding. The jock anesthesiologist was called back, and started to explain to me what to do while he gave me the epidural, but then, I guess they decided there was no time for one. And then everything felt like it was going in slow-motion, and that Kate Bush song, "This Woman's Work," started playing in mind. They put one of those surgery caps on me, told Devin they were wheeling me to the OR, and off we went down the hall.

When we got to the OR, they asked me to lift my rear off the bed onto the operating table. As I did so, I felt a huge whoosh of blood. I plopped back down and looked--my feet had been out in front of me, with my legs kind of curved into a diamond shape, and that whole area was a giant puddle of blood, which completely covered both of my heels. I think I may have felt faint, and muttered something about my socks getting all bloody. I remember the sweet nurses telling me not to worry, that they'd give me some new socks, as they pulled my blood-soaked ones off my feet and chucked them in the garbage. Somehow I wound up on the operating table, and they gave me some crazy drugs in my IV, which I figured out when everything went from being real to being completely, utterly, confusingly insane. Glittering, pink Tetris blocks showed up in front of my face, and they kept building higher and higher, till they formed a wall. I could hear voices behind the wall, and knew I could see who was talking to me if I could just make it past that wall. They asked me questions, and I think I answered them. And the glittery Tetris wall turned from pink, to purple, to blue, but it stubbornly stayed right in front of my face. And it was so sparkly and pretty, I had a hard time not focusing on it, and kept forgetting to try to get to the other side of it. I felt all kinds of stabbing HURT coming from my abdomen, and I heard myself moan, and maybe someone comforting me from behind that dang wall. And, eventually, the wall vanished, and I felt myself being lifted back onto the hospital bed. I think when I got back to the delivery room, Devin was back in there from having been with Colin in the NICU. He says I asked the same questions over and over, about 6 different times each. I was apparently pretty impressed with the fact that I'd lost almost 2 liters of blood. Duuuuuude. He was also kind enough to take pictures of me coming out of anesthesia, mouth hanging open, eyes all stoner-like. Oh, the horror. If I weren't so dang self-conscious, I'd post them for entertainment purposes.

So, there you go. That's how our sweet Colin made his entrance. Our little boy, whose arrival into the world showed us that absolute perfection can inhabit a body with an extra chromosome and crooked feet.

Colin at 1 month old

photo by Sarah Bush

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:

The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,

Hath had elsewhere its setting,

And cometh from afar:

Not in entire forgetfulness,

And not in utter nakedness,

But trailing clouds of glory do we come

From God, who is our home....

~William Wordsworth

Colin: A birth story, Part 1

I don't know about you, but I love to read/hear birth stories--which is funny, right? Because there's really very little variation from one story to the next. The basic elements are like this: start contractions, go to the hospital (unless it's an induction, and then those 2 are reversed. And if it's a home birth, you just skip the hospital part altogether. And if you have the baby in the car on the way to the hospital, you'll still eventually wind up there), get an epidural or not, push the baby out. If you're having a c-section, you still end up in the hospital, and the baby still comes out. Point is, that baby's coming out, no matter what method is used. That's pretty much the point of birth. And, no matter what method is used, there will be pain, and there will be a baby. Those are the 2 invariables. But, still, humor me as I recount Colin's birth story....

It was a dark and stormy night, about 5 months ago.... Definitely dark, anyway.... And maybe snowy, too. It was a Wednesday, 5 days before I was scheduled to be induced. I'd never been induced before, and I'd only had 1 baby be born before my due date (that was Kenneth, who came a week before he was due. The others were, in order: 3 days after, 1 week after, 2 weeks after, and 3 days after). Point is, I wasn't expecting this baby to make his entrance before my induction date (which was 3 weeks before my due date, technically. The perinatologist wasn't going to mess around with waiting for labor to start on its own, since she'd been made aware that I'd shown up to my local hospital--5 minutes away from home--fully dilated and ready to push with the last baby, and Colin was to be delivered at the University of Utah hospital, an hour away from home, because a cardiologist had given us a 95% chance that he had a coarctation of the aorta, which would need repair within days of his birth at Primary Children's hospital, right next door. Also, she was mindful of the increased likelihood of the placenta breaking down prematurely, which is something that tends to happen in a good percentage of Down syndrome pregnancies, and results in increased chances for stillbirth. Remember all that?).

So, anyway, I was planning on buying his dresser and his car seat that weekend, and packing my hospital bag, so I'd be ready for the induction on Monday (procrastination usually never fails me). That day (the day of the night I'm telling you about, so Wednesday, day. Pay attention), some friends had brought me to lunch to celebrate my birthday, and I'd had a couple strong contractions while we ate--the kind that makes you stop what you're doing, close your eyes, and breathe slowly and deliberately. They got all wide-eyed and told me, "You're gonna have this baby today!" I laughed it off, since extended false labor is just part of my birthing experience. Walking around for a few weeks dilated to a 5 or 6 makes for a super-short labor, when the real thing eventually rolls around.... However, I'd been checked when I'd gone in for the version the week before, and I was only at a "big 1, small 2." That normally means nothing for me--BUT, I'm thinking that version may have had something to do with triggering real labor. Seriously, go read that blog post I linked to, if you haven't already. I'll wait right here while you do.... I don't often think of myself as being very awesome, but during that process, I was pretty amazing. Chances are pretty good that you'll come to the same conclusion.

OK, so, moving on.... I went about that day like I'd been doing every other day--basically just being big and pregnant and sore all over. And also, slightly grumpy, and definitely sloth-like in everything I did.

After we went to bed, I woke up a few times from strong contractions, but went right back to sleep afterwards, so that I almost didn't remember I'd had any. But THEN.... Oh, THEN, things completely changed. I woke up at 2:45 with the most intense contraction.... and it didn't ever seem to go away. It was big and powerful, and gave me the strongest urge to.... ahem.... go sit on the toilet. And this was a pumped-up contraction on steroids, and it never seemed to ease up, I'm telling you. But somehow, I made it from the bed to the toilet, and I sat there, waiting for this contraction to mellow the heck out so I could at least move, for the love of all that is good. I felt paralyzed on the toilet, and I started to feel very afraid that I'd get stuck there from the crippling pain, and that the baby would be born into the toilet, if this contraction wouldn't go the hell away (that's happened to people. Ever watch "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" on TLC? Also, yes, at this point, I was swearing in my mind a little). I found this graph online, which has nothing to do with contractions, but which adequately demonstrates what I'm trying to convey here (ignore the numbers and the "10-year yield," even though it did feel like the yield from this contraction would last a full 10 years, at least):

See how it goes up, then pretends to go back down, but then sneakily goes right back up again? Even higher than it was before? That's what this contraction did. It was the craziest thing, and I actually spent some moments contemplating how very crazy it was. But mostly, I just waited for a downward dip that was long enough to get me from the toilet back to the bed so I could wake up Devin and tell him we needed to go to the hospital. (In retrospect, that was super considerate of me. I could've just hollered, "I'm in labor! Help me got off this *#%& toilet!" But people were sleeping, and I didn't want to disturb anyone.) I eventually made it there, and fell onto the bed next to him: "Devin, I'm not sure, but I think I'm probably in labor. Like, real labor. I'm having a horrible contraction that won't go away." Without moving--not even his lips, I think--he mumbled, "Take some deep breaths." So I humored him and took a few deep breaths. The contraction stayed. Really. I mean it when I say that this was all one big contraction that never really went away--it just hovered and dipped and shot back up again. So I whispered, "That's not really working. I'm still contracting." Devin, in his annoyed voice, said, "Are you breathing? ...Deep breath in.... And deep breath out..." And those ellipses in there? That's where he snored a little. (In his defense, he's been around for all of my false-labor experiences, and some of them lasted up to 12 hours, and none of them, besides Kenneth, our oldest--the one who came a little early, remember?--ended in us driving to the hospital....) "Devin...." I said, cautiously (cautiously, because Asleep Devin is much less easygoing than Awake Devin), "We need to go to the hospital. But I can't get up, so I'm gonna need you to get me some clothes from on top of the dryer [laundry was another of those things I was planning on doing over the weekend]...." Devin responded with a snore. "Babe! Did you hear me?" "Yeah, hang on," he mumbled, and rolled out of bed and shuffled out of our room. A couple minutes later, he shuffled back in, empty-handed. "Babe, you forgot my clothes" (imagine that as being all breathy and a little panicky and angry and really drawn out, because my uterus was still a tight ball of intense pain and fury, and my back had joined the pain party, too)."  "Oh.... Well, are you sure we need to go, or should we wait and see if it calms down?" It's a good thing humans haven't evolved to shoot lasers out our eyes (but wouldn't that be so awesome?), because Devin would've been charred right there where he stood. "No... [the ellipses here stand for me panting or groaning] I think... this is for real. It's so... intense, and it's just... not... letting up. Go get me... my X t-shirt... and my Y sweats, and I'll... call the hospital... and tell them... we're coming in." So he left again, with slightly more purpose, and when he came back (with my clothes this time, bless him), I was doubled up on the floor with the phone to my ear, trying to tell the emergency OB nurse at the U of U that what I had going on, no human had ever before experienced in the history of childbirth. Not really, but I think it was pretty clear to her that I meant business. She said, "Well, honey, you need to get to A hospital, even if it's not down here. Now get going! GET!" (or something to that effect). Devin helped dress me, but even in labor, women are just better than guys are at hooking a bra (and, seriously, unhooking them too, most likely.) He asked if I wanted him to pack anything, like a toothbrush. "No time... just grab... the camera." He helped me out to the car, and off we went into the night (oh, and Devin's awesome cousin Nicole was living with us at the time, so we didn't even have to wake anyone up in the middle of the night to come stay with the kids. Bonus!).

The contraction(s? Not really--I still think it was the same bugger contraction I'd been dealing with the whole time) was/were so intense, we weren't sure we'd make it an hour to the hospital, without stopping on the way to birth the baby. So, when we got to the intersection at the bottom of our neighborhood--where turning left takes you to our little hospital, and turning right takes you down the canyon to the U of U hospital--Devin turned to me and said, "What do you think? Should we try to make it to Salt Lake?" I pictured having the baby in Heber, and having him loaded onto the Life Flight helicopter immediately afterward, while I was stuck in Heber without him. That option was immensely displeasing. "No, just go for it. We can make it." I closed my eyes, and started intensely praying that labor would slow down just long enough to make it to the hospital. And, I'm telling you now, a little miracle occurred, and that's exactly what happened. Devin timed them at 5-7 minutes apart, the whole way down the canyon. I even started to wonder if this was another false-labor episode, and felt stupid for freaking out so much, when we may just end up being sent right back home by condescending nurses....

Fortunately for my pride, the contractions picked right back up again pretty much the moment we were in sight of the hospital. I'm not making that part up. It was wild. Devin loaded me into a wheelchair, and raced me through the halls to the emergency OB department.

And, that's where I'll end this portion of my account, mostly because I'm sure you're tired of reading about it by this point, and maybe you have laundry to do or a meal to make or grout to scrub. So, you go do that stuff, and I'll work on writing the next part, and we can meet up again right here....

A tragic end...

Seven years ago, when my 3 oldest were little, and I was pregnant with my 4th, Kenneth and Camille won 2 African dwarf frogs at a carnival booth. This is what those look like:

They're teeny-tiny--they can fit on an adult finger (not that I ever tried that--God did not intend for slimy, squirmy animals to be handled by human hands)--and completely aquatic. The stuff I found online about these frogs said that their average lifespan is 2-3 years. Perfect, I thought. I can totally handle 2 years of these little things....

The kids named their frogs Dash and Violet, and swore their undying love and endless devotion to their care....  "undying" and "endless" meaning about 2 weeks, roughly translated to Adult English. I'm sure that at this point, a lot of mothers would have decided the frogs just weren't worth the effort, and Dash and Violet would've reached the big pond in the sky, by way of the toilet. But not me! I'm motivated almost entirely by avoidance of guilt--and flushing the frogs just seemed too, too cruel. So the frogs stayed. They were kept in a little tank with no filter, so their water needed to be changed weekly. If you've ever been to a swamp--where decay and perpetual wet create a most odoriferous environment--you may be able to appreciate to a very minor degree how very STANKY these frogs' water was. It was so horrific, in fact, that I was mostly incapable of avoiding violent, bone-shaking, bladder-busting vomiting when I changed their water during the first 5 nausea-filled months of each subsequent pregnancy (the kids took over the task--mostly--during this last pregnancy, thank goodness. I asked Devin to do it, and he delegated the task to them. I think Devin changed it MAYBE once in the past 7 years, always refusing the opportunity and stating that if he were in charge of the frogs, he'd choose flushing them over cleaning their stupid tank. Mmm-hmmm.... Classic male chore avoidance, is what that is). The stench of their used water had me contemplating finding them a new home (or, "finding them a new home," if you catch my meaning) every time I changed it. But, I was stubbornly committed to their well-being, and soldiered through. I also fed them and found people to care for them when we went on vacation.

I was frequently annoyed by those frogs' very existence, but I daresay I was also pretty devoted to them and intrigued by their aquatic frogginess. The kids and I enjoyed watching them do their thing, which was mostly darting around the tank and hiding under the rocks. Oh, and shedding their skins. The fact that they'd lived about 4 or 5 years longer than I'd expected was frustrating at times--because I sometimes felt ready for them to, well, croak, but then, I also felt like I was a pretty amazing caretaker if I could take a 2- to 3-year lifespan and stretch it out to SEVEN!

....But, well, OK, when they reached the 5-year mark, I went back online for some research because I was curious to know if they were the longest-living African Dwarf Frogs ever to have lived in captivity. Turns out their lifespan is more like 5-7 years. I see.... Makes sense, because how great of a caretaker was I, really, when I occasionally forgot to feed them for a day (or 2)? And also sometimes went 2 1/2 weeks without changing their nasty water (that's only happened during pregnancy, or with a new baby at home). When you can't even see the frogs for all the murkiness of their water, that's probably not super-healthy living conditions. Even if Devin liked to point out that the African ponds their ancestors lived in were most likely not clear, pristine waters.... But, still--they'd made it to the very upper limit of even the 5-7 year lifespan. And that's not nothing, let me tell you. I was excited to see how much longer they could defy the odds. They'd never had any of the weird sicknesses I'd read about online, and Dash had even lost a hand, Aron Ralston-style, when it apparently got pinned under one of the rocks--but survived to tell the tale, so to speak.

Last night, it was Quentin's turn to change their water. He successfully fished out all the rocks and washed them off, and caught the frogs in the little fish net. He plopped them into an Olive Garden kid's cup and asked for my help in dumping out the nasty tank water without letting the little rocks tumble out and down the kitchen sink drain (he'd learned from experience that when that happens, the little rocks get wedged under the garbage disposal blades, and Dad gets reeeeeally annoyed and lecture-y). In retrospect, I maybe should have stepped in at that point and transferred them to their usual mug--the one we always stick them in when we're changing their water. It's a big, wide-mouth soup mug, and it's universally recognized by all McKrolas as the frogs' tank-cleaning mug. But, I figured it wasn't that important, since we'd just clean out the tank right then and they'd be back in their home in a jiffy..... And that's where things started to go horribly, tragically awry. I've replayed the subsequent events over and over in my mind, and this is how it went down: Baby Colin woke up at that point, starving to DEATH, so I told Quentin to hang tight for a minute while I fed Colin. We could finish afterwards. But then, dinner needed to be made for the rest of us, so we put off the cleaning again. Dash and Violet were contentedly pooping and shedding skin in their Olive Garden cup, and several of the kids watched them for a little while--even asking, "Mom, why are they in THIS cup instead of the other one?" After dinner, I was downright done with kids being awake, so I sent them all to get ready for bed. Once they were in pj's, Devin called them back upstairs to FINISH CLEANING THIS KITCHEN! I was somewhere else, doing important things, I'm sure, and the frogs weren't at the forefront of my brain....

But THEN, when kids were all in bed and I had a free minute, I remembered the unfinished tank clean-up and headed to the kitchen. When I got there, everything had been cleaned up and the dishwasher was running--and the frogs' cup was nowhere to be seen. Oh, nooooo.... I went and asked Devin if he'd seen the Olive Garden cup that had been by the kitchen sink, because the frogs had been in there, and it was now gone. He gave me a look, and said, "No....  Do you think one of the kids dumped it by accident when they were loading the dishwasher?" Yeah, the thought had occurred to me.... I begged him to please go look in the sink for me, since finding and disposing of carcasses is totally the man's job. The dang kids had left the bigger pots and pans in the sink, soaking, instead of actually washing them like they're supposed to. Violet was floating at the top of one of the pots, and for a second, I felt relieved--she was in the water! They're aquatic frogs! Maybe she's OK! ....Nope, not OK. Big and bloated. And very much dead. The pot had been filled with HOT water, so she'd basically cooked in there. Oh, the horror! Devin set her aside and got the rest of the pans out of the sink, inspecting each one for Dash's carcass. He found it--down the drain, resting on the garbage-disposal blade. I couldn't take it. I started weeping. Over a FROG. A stupid, stinky frog that had lived 7 freaking years when I thought it'd live 2, tops.

I cried myself to sleep last night. Is that the most pathetic thing you've ever heard? I never thought I had that kind of love in my heart for those dang frogs. I do feel a big sense of loss, because I took care of those things! For 7 years! They were part of the family!

But, I think what hit me hardest in my despair is that it's not just the little frogs in our care who've died recently--remember our 9 little chickens who got devoured by some horrible beast that got into their coop? Because we'd never gotten around to fully securing all the openings with chicken wire? We were stewards over those chickens, and the 2 little frogs, and we FAILED them all. We are the worst stewards ever. The frogs dying, in my mind, is so heart-rending not only because they'd become such a normal part of our lives and family, but because their demise didn't have to be tragic and yucky. Their death could have been avoided if whoever carelessly dumped out that cup (without even noticing 2 frogs plunking out into the water) had slowed down. Paid more attention to what he/she was doing (no one has admitted responsibility, by the way. None of the kids did it, though they were all very quick to point the finger of blame at each other. So.... I'm supposed to believe... what, exactly? That the frogs jumped out of the cup, stuck it in the dishwasher to tidy up after themselves, and then plunged to their deaths in the sink? They were done living and made a suicide pact?). 

That right there is the part that makes me the saddest. That, in spite of our recent, diligent efforts to motivate them for good, these kids are still stuck in this irritating pattern of irresponsibility and carelessness. I suppose it'll just take some more time to usher them from their (innate? learned?) delinquency to our ultimate goal of Responsible Contributors to Society. I'm sure we'll get there eventually--I already have noticed improvement in certain areas. I just hope there's no more loss of life or limb on our way to that destination.... 

My Little Sister. A Tribute

Someone posted on their Facebook status that it's International Sisters Week this week (does that really exist, or is it just one of those crazy myths perpetuated through Facebook status updates, like the one about how Facebook is shutting down on such-and-such date? Or that they're starting to charge users a monthly fee? I couldn't find anything on snopes.com about Sisters Week). Even if it's not Sisters Week, I've decided I need to pay tribute to my one-and-only sister who has the honor of sharing my same blood. Although we're not blood sisters. I think I do have a couple of those from middle-school days, though. Maybe that's why I have dreams about people I don't know--because I'm dreaming my blood sisters' dreams....

Anyway--you know how I'm really awesome? I am. REALLY awesome. Well, pretty awesome, anyway. But definitely not even close to as awesome as my little sister, Céline. She's 2 years younger than I (that really is grammatically correct, I promise. Because you wouldn't say, "2 years younger than me am." That's just goofy. It's "2 years younger than I am," and then you drop the "am." I agree that it does sound a little pretentious. I don't make the rules, but, by golly, I follow them. And also enforce them as much as possible). She is superior to me in every conceivable way. I'm not even kidding you. She's like Melissa version 2.0. It's as though my parents created me, realized they could do a lot better, figured out all my glitches and bugs, hammered them out, and then produced her with a cleaned-up, souped-up gene cocktail.

Here's what she looks like:

Isn't she pretty? (That's her youngest, Zachary, sitting on her lap gnawing on her [stylish] purse strap. He's adorable, too, huh?) See how stylish and perfectly accessorized she is? How even Zachary's eyes and clothes coordinate with her ensemble? That's just how she rolls. She oozes--or maybe just exudes--classic style and grace. And, as further evidence of her awesomeness, look where she is. The cafeteria at IKEA. At least that's what it looks like to me. (I didn't take this picture. I e-mailed her and told her to send me a couple pictures, and she did. Sometimes she does what I tell her. But mostly I do what she tells me. She's a little intimidating.) I started salivating as soon as I saw the tell-tale IKEA signs in the background. Great style and selection at amazing prices tends to do that to me. Which reminds me--one of Céline's innumerable gifts is bargain-hunting. The girl knows how to SHOP! She finds the best deals on the most amazing things, from clothes and accessories to home décor. She re-purposes and embellishes and re-paints to take a thrift-store find from junky to fabulous. You should see her house! So, SO pretty--even down to the playroom in the basement. I wish I had pictures.... She has amazing vision, and every room in her house is fun and unique--and created entirely by her blood, sweat, and perfectly salted tears (interesting side note: she does have 2 faulty tear ducts, just in case you were wondering if she's entirely perfect. Oh, and she needs glasses or contacts to see clearly. That's one thing my parents didn't improve on--I've got 20/20 vision). Also, she sews. I sew, too, but she SEWS. She's really good at it, and the stuff she sews doesn't look AT ALL like one of her kids did it. She makes dresses and Halloween costumes and curtains. AND SHE FINISHES THEM--in contrast, I have about 523 projects in various stages of completion, but not one of them is finished.

So, anyway, here's a photo of her family:

Have you ever seen a more adorable family? No, you have not.

And check out this photo of just her cute kids:

Cute, cute, cute, and more cute.

So, pretty much our whole lives have played out like this: I take an interest in something and desire it to be one of my talents; Céline also takes an interest in it, and then completely dominates it. For real! That's how it was with track, dance, drama, choir... everything! Our entire childhood was a series of her passing me up in one thing after another. (She even outperformed me in puberty--blossoming earlier and..... more thoroughly than I ever did. [sorry to be so embarrassing, Céline] She's also 3 whole inches taller than I am. Bigger and better all the way around, I tell you!)

This pattern continued even after high school: I dreamed of doing a semester abroad during college, but was too chicken to go for it. Céline dreamed of doing it, and then actually made it happen--she spent a semester at BYU-Hawaii (that's considered "abroad," isn't it? You have to fly over an ocean to get there...). So cool! She was also a lifeguard at Seven Peaks. She got all tan and got to hang out with the equally tan boy lifeguards. I don't tan--I freckle. And I've never had a job as cool as saving lives. A paid job, saving strangers' lives, anyway (I've saved my own family from perilous situations before. Specific examples elude me for the moment, however...).

My point in all of this is...... Well, I suppose it's that, while I spent a lot of time and energy being insanely jealous of my little sister in my younger years, I've grown and matured and come to realize: "Don't be jealous. Use her superior talent to your own advantage. Mwahahaha!" But not like that, in an evil way--in a good, productive way. I can definitely copycat her decorating ideas, and definitely, definitely take her clothes-shopping with me. I suppose I really am old enough and mature enough and definitely wise enough to realize that my little sister being so crazy-talented at so many things is pretty incredible, without feeling jealous or resentful. I can just admire her skill. And I do. I stand in awe of her. She dreams and accomplishes so much. I truly admire her and every stinkin' skill she's developed and honed. She's the greatest daughter, wife, and mother, in addition to being the best little sister. I love that she has my back in any given situation and will either smack me back to reality, or gently comfort and encourage me--whichever I happen to need most. I'm honored and proud to be her big sister, and I'll gladly stand in her shadow any day (It's a pretty large shadow, too--did I mention she's 3 inches taller than I am?). Happy (real or fake) Sisters Week, Céline! I love you!

PS: I should point out that I do realize that I, too, have unique gifts and talents, that I shouldn't compare myself or my talents to my sister and hers, that our parents really do love us equally, etc. I'm just havin' fun.