BFF, OT, PT and other acronyms

I really like our pediatrician. I think sometimes that we could be friends. Honestly! She is about my age, a little older, and so funny, smart and down-to-earth. We get along so well that sometimes it is uncomfortable. She also has young children and seems like a great mom. She's the mom that doesn't take one thing too seriously. Not herself, not her life, not her daughter's wondering how babies are made. Of course, being a pediatrician solves that, does it not? Pretty much down to a science.

We have been seeing a lot of each other lately. Cole is the reason. Yesterday we were there for all of 10 minutes. It was eventful ten, however, and it involved me putting my whole body over Cole while a nurse who looked nice enough drew a vial of blood the size of a roll of Necco Wafers out of his little tiny arm. He wasn't in pain, though, he was pissed. While Aidan looked on and "ohh"-ed nervously, Cole screamed his little pants off. And then, when we were done, he batted the nurse. And then me. I don't blame him.

We have been referred to Gillette Children's Specialty Clinics for Cole's, ahem, problem. I really don't want to make too big a deal of it, and writing helps me sort it out. This is a specialty of specialist clinics--la creme de la creme of PTs, OTs and the like. It takes up the entire fourth floor of Regions Hospital in St Paul. Send us good wishes if you have a second. We feel lucky to have such amazing options for medical care available to us and medical insurance that will pay for most of his care.

With A starting school next week, Cole's new specialist schedule and a promotion (that I turned down) at work, we'll be busy. But busy for me is a way to keep my sanity and know for sure that downtime is well earned. And it turns out that matters to me.

Cole: Has legs, will use them

Coleman is crawling. Can I get a what what?

He crawled across our bed, the friction of the blanket kept his legs behind him. And so, we keep doing it. And keeping at it is working. The rest will follow, this I am sure. He is getting more confident with standing and taking a hand away to grab something. Also, when I pick him up or set him down, he goes to standing automatically. The mood has shifted here at our house to excited and hopeful.

The doctors found nothing physically wrong with his joints after a battery of tests, so the minor motor delay is because of a learned behavior picked up during the time he had his splint. Which is good in its own special way.

A word (or two) on escaping daily craziness

I am currently reading Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides. Although I usually eschew picks that Oprah makes for her book club, I had read about this book before she picked it and it piqued my interest. If you want to accuse me of something, feel free to do so now. It is a novel, and has historical bit and pieces. Perfect combination.

The main character experiences a fellow classmate dying from an aneurysm in the middle of the school play and her crush runs into her arms. She said in the midst of the terrifying ordeal, that she had never been happier because "The Object" was in her arms.

The last book I finished also had a similar vibe in how the main character needed and hung on to goodness in bleak circumstances.

...people universally tend to think that happiness is a stroke of luck, something that will maybe descend upon you like fine weather if you're fortunate enough. But that's not how happiness works. Happiness is the consequence of personal effort. You fight for it, strive for it, insist upon it, and sometimes even travel around the world looking for it. You have to participate relentlessly in the manifestations of your own blessings. And once you have achieved a state of happiness, you must never become lax about maintaining it.

--From Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Love, Pray

The character in that book is going through a really ugly divorce. Reading is one of things that I can do to stay sane. I read books, magazines, the Northeaster (a local newspaper), love the NY Times, once in a while, on a really bad day, I pick up an US Weekly, for pure brainless entertainment. I seldom get more than a few pages during the day, but at night, suddenly, I remember: the book on my nightstand or the half-read Allure that sits on my pillow, and I try to get to it as soon as possible. I do my night time stuff, settle in our cozy bedroom, and let go into a world that varies from new lip gloss and fashion stakeouts to a lovely coming-of-age story involving a gender-identified young woman that also includes historical references to the Detroit race-riots and the Turkish attacks on Greece. How's that for variety?

And sanity for me right now, today, is anything that does not include two small boys for a couple of hours.