Mother of the Year
8:23 AM | 
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Team A {Squared}
Have you ever felt that your mothering skills are not up to par? Well I’m here to make you feel better about yourself. Let me tell about my day. I’d like to say that this was an abnormal blip in my otherwise stellar week, but you know I’d be lying. And I’m nothing if not R-E-A-L.
My day began at 4am. Our 900sq foot house is so huge (sarcasm: heavy) that my husband’s alarm wakes at least one child up daily. Today it was Avery…not good. Groggy, I let her crawl into my bed and politely told her to “stop talking and go to sleep.” HA! As I drifted in and out of sleep, I heard snips of her chatting like “I’m firsty, I need a drink,” “I need to peeps (tee tee),” and of course, “MOMMY! GET UP!” I ignore her until she knows she has me: “Mommy, it’s light out that means it’s wake-up time.” Damn! At this point my son Auden has been screaming for about 20 minutes, so I give up. I take the pillow off my head and walk like a zombie to the Nursery.
The smell of poo is the first thing that hits me as I walk in. When I regain focus, I see my whimpering son sitting in a gigantic pool of chocolate milk. Crap! That’s not chocolate milk! And where are his pants?? Fully awake now, I sprint 2 feet to our tub and run a bath. Telling Avery not to touch “brother’s huge disaster,” I grab Auden and toss him in the tub. Much screaming ensues (from both of us) as he tries to get out of the tub while I’m scrubbing the nipple-to-toe mess that is my son. Soon I have a fresh clean baby, diapered and clothed. I feel a brief sense of pride that Auden is out of his pajamas before 9am.
Then I hear it: Knock Knock. Too late, I realize that I scheduled my son’s Parents As Teachers (PAT) evaluation for early this morning. I skulk to the door in a fleece and my most embarrassing pair of jammy pants. They’re Hannah Anderson (i.e., bright!), orange and red striped. Brian likens them to Harry Potter’s tie. My hair is unwashed and sticking up in clumps; I’m like Albert Einstein without the genius. Auden is barefoot. Avery wears a fairy tee-shirt (covered in juice), red patent leather dress shoes, and no pants…just “big girl panties” that are sideways and crotch side out. The disaster that is Auden’s crib is beginning to ferment and perfumes the air. This is bad, but is no match for the chaos that is currently my living room.
We are going house hunting in a week and moving to Georgia in 4 months. Thus I have suitcases and trip clothing (which has been carried out into the open by my kids), boxes, and bubble wrap adding even more disaster to my current “kid friendly” décor. Broken crayons, toys, puzzle pieces, and snowy boots add to the look. My PAT educator had to step over a wayward cereal bowl to get into the house.
*Side Note: I’ve decided that, not only will I spend snow days getting a jump on this moving business, but that our empty house may be sell better than our full one. What prospective buyer wants to peruse my little bungalow and see 800 pictures of my kids? Or the “artsy” photograph I have of my belly from each pregnancy? Or even worse: Brian’s massive collection of Urology Textbooks. Eek! Titles include “Male Erectile Dysfunction,” “Male Sexual Reproduction,” “Gynecology Oncology," and my favorite, “What Your Poo is Telling You.” I have begged and pleaded to have these books burned, but my husband is adamant that they are useful reference books. Still, he better not go blaming me when our precious princess Avery is the most sexually educated of all her peers. I have nightmares of both kids hiding in a dark upstairs corner, snickering and sneaking looks at the extremely detailed pictures of genitalia. Sigh. Why, oh why could Brian not pick a more glamorous surgical sub-specialty? But I digress…
The PAT educator and I exchange pleasantries, then I sprint into my room to put on some jeans. That’s when I hear my Ipod mix change from “kid music” to my “running mix.” First song broadcast over the house? “Crazy Bitch.” Let’s just say the lyrics are reeeeally inappropriate for kids. Nice. I run BACK out of my room and yank the Ipod out of the stereo, compose myself, and try to act like a mother of two (even though I didn’t do the dishes and am stuck sipping coffee from a pink plastic Princess cup). Amid boxes, toys, and the high-heeled shoes my son is suddenly preoccupied with, we sit down on the rug for our evaluation. Of course the rug is covered in cookie and chip crumbs. And somehow with 4 inches of snow on the ground, there was still an ant IN my house. I know this because he chose a very inopportune moment to crawl across the floor by my PAT educator…no doubt on his way to eat the errant Fruit Snack next to her, abandoned on the floor from this morning’s “breakfast.” My educator politely ignores the ant and begins the Denver Screening Test. Immediately my son decides that television is much more interesting than stacking blocks, and a 10-minute temper tantrum ensues. The debacle finally ends when I pull the plug on the TV so that Auden is unable to turn it on.
The hourlong visit continues without any improvement. Avery chooses this morning to recite the words she is NOT supposed to say: "we don't say shut-up, stupid, or God Dammit." Auden uses my moment of shock to his advantage and sneaks off - climbing up on the table to dance. Neither child cooperates and I spend the entire time chasing someone around the couch. Finally the poor frazzled evaluator leaves, probably driving straight to DHR to write me up.
I'd like to say that I pulled it together by the end of the morning, but I didn't. The TV/Babysitter went right back on so that I could make lunch and get ready for my run. Since I missed breakfast and was starving, I grabbed two packages of Fruit Snacks, a granola bar, and washed it all down with somebody's chocolate milk. Next stop: run, school, doctor's office, Target, and laundry. My goal for the rest of today is to not lose one (or both) children during these errands. It's hard being Mother of the Year, but somebody's got to do it.
Fitting In
I’ve never really fit in. As much as I would like to chalk it up to moving roughly every 5 years since I can remember, I’m pretty sure my personality is as much to blame as my nomadic childhood. Let’s face it, I’m just goofy. Kind of skinny, very shy, plain, and inherently nerdy. Those characteristics - combined with the adolescent penchant for teasing -made for a lot of humiliating moments growing up. (Note: my mom did NOT help this by telling me once to “share a song” for Show-N-Tell. I’ll never live down Eric Dunhowr making fun of my “ugly voice and stupid rainbow song.” Thanks, Mom!) Imagine my awkwardness in trying to transition to a new school or town every few years. (Oh, did I mention my perm? And the braces I wore for four years?) Forget it. People say I’m a “loner”…I just learned to be content by myself. It wasn’t a choice as much as a habit that formed over time. Don’t think I didn’t try to change myself every which way to fit in.
Now that I’m thirty-three, I’ve come to terms with my idiosyncrasies. Still, for most of my life I’ve felt I was on the outside looking in. I always envied the girls who were surrounded by friends; the kids who had lived in the same house their whole life; the people who had a best friend they had known since preschool. I just wanted to have that feeling of “belonging,” that I was a part of the gang. Now I’m sure that I probably had things that other people wanted (Like my awesome perm. Seriously, Mom, were you TRYING to torture me?!). But for some reason, fitting in was that ONE thing I really longed for, yet never had.
When the ultrasound revealed that the 18-week fetus I was carrying was going to be a girl, I was beyond excited. There are no words I can use to describe the happiness I felt knowing I was going to have a baby girl…I still remember that day, like a hundred Christmas Days wrapped up with my wedding. When Avery was born I couldn’t believe how beautiful she was. All 5 lbs 14 oz of her was sweet smelling and baby-soft, perfection from her fingers to her toes. I stared at her and immediately believed in miracles. From then on, I wanted only the best for Avery. I wanted to make sure she never hurt, never felt pain. I promised my baby that she would never want for anything. And I prayed that, unlike her mother, wherever Avery went she would always fit in.
After two days of parenting, it was clear that I was not going to be able to spare my child hurt or pain. And frankly, sometimes Avery’s attitude makes me so mad that I take away her 16th birthday car… thirteen years before her actual 16th birthday. However, I do my best to make sure she never wants: for hugs, kisses, love, or attention.
When Avery was diagnosed with cataracts, it became immediately obvious that “fitting in” was probably never going to happen for her. When she got her first pair of cataract glasses both my husband and I cried. Although we were ecstatic that Avery had regained some sight, it was obvious to everyone who looked at our daughter’s thick lenses that she had a disability. Brian and I spent many nights in tears when we imagined the struggle our little girl was going to have trying to belong.
Our fears were not unfounded. People have called our now 3-year old “retarded,” “special,” “different,” and “big-eyed” based solely on her appearance. Many rude comments have been made in Avery's presence, as if her lack of vision also translates into a lack of hearing. I physically ache when I imagine what kind of cutting remarks severely disabled people must endure, because the things said about my daughter have made my hair stand on edge. My husband and I seriously considered getting Avery contacts (yes, even infants can wear them) to help spare her some of the offensive remarks. Even five-year olds can be surprisingly mean.
It was in a doctor’s office today that I realized something. I was watching Avery be Avery: jumping on and off the exam table as fast as she could while babbling about the Disney Princesses. Every nurse that came by was made to admire Avery’s favorite Baby Lulu tutu, which is pink netting with tons of silver sequins (visually she is very attracted to sparkles - her wardrobe looks like “Dancing with the Stars”). I’m sure Cardinal Glennon wasn’t expecting the extravagant dancing performance they received today. I sat back, exhausted by my girl’s energy, and then it hit me. I’ve had it wrong all along.
Avery goes about her life completely comfortable in her skin, as happy as any little girl you’ve ever seen. Thick glasses, medical issues and odd behavior don't limit Avery. She lets her personality shine through; her quirks make her beautiful. Cutting comments from ignorant people might make her pause, but they never stop her from being herself. You’ve heard me refer to Avery as our “Firecracker.” What a shame it would be to dampen that bright light!
I think the best thing I can do as her mother is to keep fostering her already strong sense of self…and not direct her to change her idiosyncrasies just to belong. Think about how much more fun high school would be, knowing what we all know now...that we are happiest just being ourselves. I would love for my daughter to go through life having grasped that concept early.
Isn’t it amazing when a 3-year old teaches you something about life?
America's Best Dance Crew
Why I Run
My husband likes to say that I Run Away from my Problems…literally. He’s right. But I haven’t always been this way. Granted, I’ve always run (although as I got older I would consider myself more of a “jogger” than a “runner”). In high school I did track, in college I ran for my Crew Team, in grad school I did local road races, and after that I just ran to keep the pizza from catching up with me. When I got married I pretty much stopped all together - if you know my husband Brian, you can understand why. In Hunting-Gathering Times, my husband would have just starved rather than put forth the energy to search for food. He takes the elevator to go DOWN one floor. Bottom line: the man does NOT enjoy physical exertion.
I’ve been running seriously for about a year now. Currently I run half-marathon races, (which is a fantastic distance for women with kids) and my friend Ali and I are determined to do a full marathon in the next year. Honestly though, I had not run much before I began training for the Delta Gamma Center’s Run for Sight last year. All of my personal pride from my running success has come about because of Delta Gamma. Now stop groaning! This is not another attempt to get you to join TEAM AVERY (yes it is, yes it is!!!!! Join TEAM AVERY!) Just listen to my story. Who knows, you might be tempted to lace up your shoes and go for a jog…
Like I said, it was preparing for last year’s Run for Sight 5K that made me start running again. As illustrious captain of the 4-person TEAM AVERY team (ahem, composed of 2 adults and 2 babies; we were quite a force to be reckoned with), I did not want to embarrass myself by not being able to complete a 3.1 mile run. My husband is perfectly fine with his couch potato-ness…I dare say he revels in it. Then again, the man can put in and take out kidneys, so does it matter? I still haven’t accepted the fact that I’m an “old” mom of two, so I was out to prove something…namely, that I was still an athlete.
Let me preface this by saying that I AM actually a very fit person! I did the elliptical before, during, and after both my pregnancies. I’m not saying I made it difficult nor that I didn’t slack off and read gossip magazines, but I got my lazy honkus in there. However, the first two weeks of running about killed me. I would run my 3.1 miles and feel like puking the entire time. Sometimes I took the double jogger out and ran, along to the chiding of Avery yelling “GO FASTER MOMMY!” (I confess, I did not have motherly thoughts about my daughter when she screamed at me like Jillian from The Biggest Loser.)
After a couple of weeks that can only be described as sheer misery, the running became easier. And then I noticed something. While the minutes passed and I jogged away, I started to feel lighter. Not physically: emotionally. It was like all the anger, the sadness, the loneliness and the fear began to lift off my shoulders. For the first time since Avery’s diagnosis, I didn’t think. I didn’t feel. All that was there were my arms pumping, my breath puffing, and my legs striking the pavement. For a small moment I felt like “Erin” again, the girl I was before the kids, before the diagnosis, before the sadness. The girl I was before life got hard. It was wonderful.
Reality was waiting for me at the end of my run, and life certainly didn’t get any easier. But on that run I finally found a way of coping with it…and accepting it. A few weeks ago we found out that Avery has one, possibly three new neurological issues going on…before I give a definite label, we are undergoing a bunch of neurological and genetic testing. It was just a heartbreaking day, followed by a night of worry and no sleep. That morning, I just ran. I ran for as hard and as long as I could, until my brain couldn’t think and all that was left were my arms pumping, my breath puffing, and my legs striking the treadmill. When I finished, I was able to handle reality again.
My problems are not better or worse than anyone else’s problems. And if I could go back, I would still beg to save my daughter from visual impairment. But I think that you can always find sunshine in the darkness. You may uncover a strength in yourself you didn’t know you had. You may rediscover an old hobby. Or you may just find a way to run away from your problems…even if it’s only for an hour.
Avery's Story
Other than her early onset asthma, reflux, and peanut allergy, Avery was just like other babies her age. She loved to take walks, ride in her "little car," read stories and play in swings. One of her favorite things to do in the Spring was to take walks and pick "flowies."
Our little first born Princess would demand that you stop the stroller. She'd then jump out and run over to the dandelions. She would then say, in her sweet 1 year old voice, "Flowie. Help ping." Avery tried to pick as many as she could. By the time we finished our walk, she'd have a full bouquet of dandelions.
In late April of 2008, we noticed a change in Avery. She became a lot more clingy, wanted to be carried around constantly, and would lay on the floor and just cry. She stopped "reading" her books by herself. At first I just thought she wasn't adjusting well to Mama's pregnancy (I was 5 months pregnant with our son at the time.) But it just continued to get worse. The most haunting thing about that period was how silent our walks became. We would pass by fields of dandelions, but Avery wouldn't even turn her head in their direction.
Here she sits on the floor, as she did most days during the weeks leading up to the diagnosis. Note the distant look in her eyes & the complete reflection of the flash in her pupils. That absence of red reflex is a direct result of the cataracts.
It wasn't until she started holding books right up to her face and regressed to crawling that we took her to see an opthomologist. We hoped against hope that it would be just a behavior issue, but deep down we knew it was a vision problem. That feeling certainly didn't dampen the sting of the words, "your daughter is essentially blind." She had bilateral, fully oppacified cataracts. She could only distinguish between light and dark. Like looking through a window that had white paint all over it.
Despite having had tubes placed in both ears a week prior, Avery was scheduled for her first of 2 surgeries quickly. Her right eye lens extraction would be the following week, followed two weeks later by the same surgery on the left eye. The plan was to implant an artificial lens at the time of surgery. This would avoid the need to wear thick cataract glasses, although glasses would always be essential for her from now on.
After over 3 hours of waiting, the telephone in the surgery waiting room finally rang for us. We were told that, despite their best efforts, they could not safely implant the synthetic lens. We were heartbroken...and we still had at least one more surgery to go. But we didn't know the worst was yet to come. For an entire summer, we had to hold Avery down and put drops in her eyes 4 times a day. We felt like we were torturing her, yet it was for her own good. It was hell. Sitting on her stomach, holding down flailing arms and legs we'd hear the most treasured thing in our life screaming out "All done, all done!"
For the first 3 days post-op, Avery wouldn't let us put her down. She even slept on our laps. Her Mimi was able to come up from Birmingham, AL to help Avery (and us) get through this surgery and the immediate aftermath. Her Yaya and Papa visited after that to lend a hand. For the most part though, we were utterly alone. We live in St. Louis, 10 hours away from "home" while my husband completes a 6-year surgery residency...during this time it really hit hard how important family is. Brian, Avery and I struggled daily; we also learned the hard way who our true friends are. I'm immensely grateful for the angels I've met here in St. Louis: Maggi, Sara, Billie, and Jody, I'll never be able to thank you enough.
Because she had no lens to focus the light on the back of the eye called the retnia, light entered Avery's eye and bounced everywhere, causing casual activities of everyday living to be extremely bright and painful. She spent the majority of her days inside, listening to music on her CD player. Despite it all, she continued to try to be a toddler and test Mommy's boundaries. It's unbelievabley hard to discipline somebody so adorable, particularly with that giant patch on her eye! Avery got away with a lot that summer :-)
We did everything we could to improve her life that summer. We got huge balloons that she might be able to see, danced to music whenever she felt the urge, sold furniture to clear rooms for her to run with her beloved "stewy" (stroller, which she used as a sort of walker to prevent her from running into things) and even got a patch for her babydoll.
Two weeks after the first surgery, the other eye was done and the eye drop regimen started anew. As time passed, avery was able to venture outdoors, but was still hurt by bright light. We still tried to go outside, but just ventured out in early morning and early evenings. Despite being legally blind, Avery's spirit refused to be held down. We took her to smaller & less frequented parks so that she could move about slowly. She quickly memorized the layout of the park and soon was climbing, swinging & sliding, though not to the degree of her peers.
Finally, the day came to get Avery fitted for cataract glasses. During that waiting period, Avery got to the point where the patch was no longer required. So, she exchanged it for a cool set of shades. She wore them almost full time, often accessorizing with a stylish hat, and occasionally even sleeping in them.
Now approaching the end of June, like any parent would do, we began to think and plan for her 2nd birthday. We hoped she would have her glasses by her 2nd birthday party. Sadly, she wouldn't get those babies until almost 2 months later. That didn't stop her from being a birthday princess!
When the glasses were finally ready, we began the next battle... getting her to wear them! At first, she was scared of them. Slowly but surely though, she learned how much brighter her world was with these glasses, and we couldn't get her to take them off. She sleeps in them to this day. Initally we tried to make her take them off at night, but that first time she woke up screaming "I'm scared, I can't see!" we cracked. The first place we took her was Grant's farm to see the petting zoo. She was very amused by the goats!
Contrary to popular belief, having cataract glasses did not mean Avery was "fixed." Those of you who wear glasses know that your vision may be perfect when you look directly through your lenses, but sight below, above, or peripherally is compromised. Avery continued to have issues with depth, mobility, perception, as well as the delays I have mentioned earlier. But fortunately for us, that's where Delta Gamma therapists came in to help. Although I will get to that another day...THIS blog has gone on long enough!
Meet Avery
This is one of the very few times you will see Avery without her glasses. She only takes them off for baths; in this clip she had just gotten out and was getting ready for bed. She even wears her glasses while sleeping at night! If you remove her glasses she screams "My eyes fell out! I can't see!" You can tell that, sight or no sight, Avery goes full speed ahead into everything she does. No fear, that girl! (Yes, that trait usually scares the heck out of me. Particularly when she slides down our stairs headfirst, but I digress).
Aside from her sight issues and other medical problems, Avery is like every other happy 3 1/2 year old. She is OBSESSED with the Disney Princess! She loves to sing, dance, and twirl like crazy; she loves to color with crayons and paint. Like most preschoolers she gets terribly annoyed with "brother," but will also go guns blazing at anyone who is mean to HER baby! She gets excited to go to preschool every afternoon...but I'd say her favorite thing in the world is "Dancing Class." This was Avery at her Christmas recital (she's the last one on the left in the pink glasses):
My favorite thing about Avery is her personality. We refer to her as our "Firecracker"...and not just because she was born on July 5th. Although her energy is absolutely EXHAUSTING, the things she says and does can tickle me to no end. For example: I was absentmindedly singing along to the Cinderella DVD playing during "quiet time" (sadly, no more naps for us). Avery shouts out "Mommy, stop singing! Cinderella wants to sing all by herself!" Another favorite Avery moment came a couple months ago. Avery wanted to snuggle with "brother," so we helped her into his crib. She hugged him and said "Auden, you are my best friend." When he fell over from the force of her hug, Avery said "Uh-Oh, you are falling in love with me, Buddy!"
I think Avery's firecracker personality is one reason she has dealt so well with her lack of sight. She is quite a stubborn little thing, and doesn't let anything stand in the way of what she wants. At times it is difficult to handle her, though as her mother I feel blessed that she has such a temperament. That fire is what has helped her battle congenital cataracts, and will continue to aid her in the future battles that will surely come her way.