Mardi Gras

I would like to let you in on yet another secret: My daughter is a boobie ninja.

She’s fascinated with my anatomy.

Not hers.

Mine.

And, try as I might (or, might not, actually) to keep things under wraps, she always finds me. Them. My breasts.

Today, we are home spending the evening together, so it is no big deal. She starts with a question of confirmation, “Dose awe yohwr boobies, Mommy?” She touches them.

I answer as I always do, “Yes, Zoe, these are mommy’s boobies”.

She follows predictably with her normal exclamation of glee, “Wooooooow, Mommy, dose awe some big boobies.”

I assure her that they are not, in reality, that big as boobies go. And, in general, that’s the end of it.

Though, sometimes it’s not. Sometimes she tries to climb into my top by way of my collar. She leads this approach with both little chubby hands and a head full of black curls. Picture diving into a pool. That’s how Zoe gets into my shirt.

Imagine this happening in line at Trader Joes as I balance her on my hip and watch the bagger load my groceries. If it’s a mom behind me, she usually laughs. If it’s a man however, it’s a different story. He gets a free show as I  buy green tea and avocados.

Lately, she has expanded her horizons. She gives my breasts nicknames.

She awards these nicknames loudly.

Like, howler monkey throwin' down in a jungle fight, loud.

In line at the doctor’s office: “Dose awe yohwr PRINCESS boobies, mommy!” (I was wearing a pink shirt).

Or, remarks with desperation “Yohwr boobies awe hiiiiiiidin’ mommeee!” (I’m still in a sports bra from a recent walk or run).

Those lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time get to have their boobies compared to my boobies. Even if that person is, for example, a cranky man in a cheap business suit and really bad shoes.

“You not have boobies yike my Mommeeee, you have NIPPLES!”.

The man is not amused. He buys his tube socks and old man underwear and vacates the Target line immediately.

I’m amused though. Because, if Zoe thinks it, she says it. 

And, I like that quality in my daughter. 

In anyone, really.

She’s spicy. And strong. And beautiful. And funny.

She’s my girl.

She’s the boobie ninja.

The Convertible

I’ve never ridden in a convertible before. But, I have been to a planetarium. Don’t see the connection? Let me explain.

My parents took me to a planetarium once where the ceiling itself seemed to peel back and reveal so many tiny points of light. I remember feeling small in the big gray seats and unsure of the steepness of the aisles. The theater itself seemed to rotate as a canned voice narrated the story of the Big Dipper. Of a meteor shower.  A comet. The moon.

I liked the reveal. That moment of clarity when I understood what I was about to see.

That’s why I think I might like to ride in a convertible. Because sometimes I think that my actual head might be able to open up and show me the answers. Show me what to chose.

So, there’s the speed factor, right? That image of racing down some quiet road, wrapped in a black interior and, with the press of a button, the roof opens and displays the sky. It’s sexy.

I get that feeling when I go for a good run or a long walk. I’ll find myself staring at the ground and letting my mind wander when I realize: I’m out! I’m alone!

And I will look around. I will look up.

And when I raise my head and take a breath I can most often count on a few moments of clarity when I realize that I am steering the ship. That I am at the helm.

In the chaos that is my life-that is all of our lives, really-sometimes I need to remember to look up and take a breath.

Back to the convertible.

So, I’m riding along and my hair is everywhere and I feel clean and free and I am racing under a sky and I look up and I see how I compare to the largeness of it all.

And that clicks it in to place for me. It gives me permission to take a risk. Or take some time to retreat. Or to read. Or to think.

In my convertible moments, when my mind clears and I can look forward, I make decisions. I make them quickly. And I try not to look back and wonder what would have happened had I chosen another road.

Because, you see, there are more choices ahead and I get to make them. I get to shape my life.

I took a little break from blogging because I have been exploring other things in my life that I love to do. I’ve made some new friends with whom I love to play music. I’ve worked on some initiatives in my community. And, it has lit my fire again. But, sometimes, for me, that fire feels uncomfortable. I get so driven-so focused-that I want everything to happen right now.

Right. NOW.

I want to go back to work. I want to write. I want to do a few other things that I think I need to do to feel full. (You have one of those lists, right? Maybe not written out, but in your head. A bucket list. Some goals. That’s what I’m talking about here).

I had a birthday recently and though I’m certainly not old, I’m also no longer starting out in anything. I know what’s going on.

I know how to mother.

To be a friend.

To be a professional.

My birthday made me very aware of time. I’m not going to waste it anymore; instead, I’m going to take it. I’m going to get in the convertible and press the button and look at the sky.

I am not being reckless.

But, I am looking up. Looking ahead.

I’ll let you know what I see.

Say what?

Ah man. Life got busy.

Zoe girl has finally, finally been diagnosed with a delay in her expressive speech.
I am elated.

I am elated because I suspected this.

All mothers know what is going on with their children before anyone else does and I knew Zoe was miserable because she couldn't communicate. She was whining and shrieking and pointing and grunting all of the time. She was working so hard to speak with me. She was locked in her own little head.

So, as soon as she had a significant enough delay to secure an Early Intervention Evaluation, I got one. And now she has help. Lots of it. And I couldn't be more relieved because now my sweet girl can come out into the world and talk to me. I know she will have a lot to say.

She will receive speech services once a week (maybe twice if I can get her enrolled in a pending Boston program). Next week, she visits her Otolaryngologist to see if the fluid in her ear (Otitis Media with Effusion) has caused any sort of hearing loss. Most likely, this kind of thing can be corrected with tubes. I would welcome that as well because it would give her such relief. Of course, I have been very busy reading and learning about Expressive Language Delay and Otitis Media and the connection between the two. I now understand that both problems are common, however, arriving at this understanding makes me angry. I don't like that it took me this long to get both the information I needed and the level of knowledge I required to adequately advocate for my daughter. Zoe could have had services months ago.

The thing is, I feel as if Zoe has a sort of bottleneck of all this speech that can't come out. She runs to get me and pulls me to what she wants me to see. She comes and gets me if she needs help. If she wants me to play. To watch. To hug her. To get her her milk or Lovey or any of seven gazillion other things. We had set up our own little method of communication. Because she can't say "mommy" without prompting, she would scream for me in this certain pitch that she knew I recognized and I would come to her rescue with whatever she needed. Sign language has been really helpful in alleviating some of these issues. She now knows "help" and "diaper" and "more" and "all done" and "milk" and "juice" and "play" and "hurt". We always accompany the signs with spoken word and it seems to be giving her some relief. Today she was trying to tell me that something was wrong with her toe and I knew I had finally identified the problem because she kept signing "all done" when I touched a specific spot. She was crying and signing "all done". You cry and say stop when someone is touching something that hurts. It helped me find her pain and fix it.  That was incredibly liberating. We had a little conversation.

How frustrating must it be to know what is going on and know what you want to say and be physically unable to say it? Poor thing. She's stuck in a glass box.


Her language delay also seems to manifest itself in this constant crazy toddler stream of vivacity.  She's now enrolled in gymnastics twice a week and is loving it. It really seems to help with her boredom and energy level. One day, because he didn't have school (Zoe goes to Gynastics two of the three mornings Zach is at Pre-K), Zachary came along and got so jealous of the cool foam pit and zip line that I enrolled him in a class too. 

I love when they do things together.


Zoe will be attending a preschool program for two mornings a week in the Fall (this is going hand in hand with her speech services as we feel that exposing her to talkers and other SLPs will be a big help to her). Zach will be attending Kindergarten at the same school. 

With all of this scheduling and their classes and trying to get a few million other things together, I haven't had the time (really, energy) to get my ass in front of the computer and write. I'm here now though and hope to be here more often again over the next few weeks.

But, if I'm not, please know that I'll be back.
Life is just moving as fast as this kid raps.