Winning the Sick Kid Lotto

I am going to start this post with gratitude. September was Childhood Cancer Awareness Month and my child is, relatively speaking, healthy. I count my blessings every day.

And, since we're talking about it, we haven't had a particularly easy go of it. "It" being basic health.  I have, almost two years in, lost complete count of how often Baba has been sick. But, it is a lot. It seems she catches absolutely everything there is to catch. Even if there's nothing to catch and everyone around her is healthy as that proverbial horse, she catches it.

Thankfully, she's had only a small handful of seriously tough illnesses and most others have been colds or coughs. But, man those coughs. They are heartbreaking - especially when they last all. Damn. Night.

Backing up to about 34 years ago. This was me. To a T. I coughed my way through childhood and through young adult hood. And, now, I am the healthiest person to roam the earth (again, relatively speaking). Thankfully, I don't remember my own slew of illnesses as having a negative impact on my childhood. I was still happy. This gives me hope for Baba.

See, we're not going to keep her in a bubble. As much as I hate the constant onslaught of illness, I believe that I will do more harm if I keep her away from this opportunity to build her immune system. Unfortunately, she just builds hers a little more painfully than a lot of other kids. So, she's in full time preschool. She travels with us. She camps. She goes to Children's Museums. And, I am pretty sure she has gnawed on a grocery cart handle at some point in her life. Probably recently.

This world is just too amazing not to explore!

At this point, we've tried a lot. We embarked on a homeopathic journey about a year ago. I guess, at the end of the day, I don't know what I don't know. It could be working. But, she still seems to get sick. A lot. So, I'm on a quest to find a balance between constant medical intervention and going natural; so as to keep her comfortable but also to ward off these nasty bugs as much as possible - before they beat her down.

I was reminded last night that, although it's uncomfortable for any Momma to watch her child suffer, it is indeed building up her immune system and one day soon, she will be healthier because of it. Granted, it might not be as soon as I would like, but that day is coming. It has to.

I'm thinking I am not alone in this battle. But, it sure feels like it.

In addition to our previous attempts to avoid the steroids and cough medicine (with codeine - that can't be good!), we found a Naturopathic Doctor. We love her and she is quickly becoming my best friend. Baba doesn't know what to think about her yet, but I am pretty sure she is falling in love every day she goes without illness.

We've recently eliminated cow's milk dairy - a very common agitator of the respiratory system. One month in and it (knock on wood) appears to be making a positive difference.

I have hope. Hope that I can find a delicate balance between medicating and proactively warding off this constant slew of illnesses - naturally.  Hope that I can make small changes that have big impacts. And, hope that Baba continues to thrive, despite the snotty noses and hacking coughs.

My Never-Ending To-Do List

Lately, I have been feeling really overwhelmed with balancing it all.  It's nothing too specific that is causing this feeling although maybe I have a few too many things on my plate and need to remove one or two.  (Or just figure out how to let go a little better!) Is it me or as our kids get older is there more to do and not less?

The problem is that I am feeling more and more behind every day.  It is affecting my ability to just sit down and play with my kids without worrying about what item on my list isn't getting crossed off.  I am not devoting enough time to my paid work.  I cannot remember the last time I had alone time with husband in what could even remotely be considered a "date night."  And the list could go on...

Adjusting to being a full-time SAHM has been fairly easy for me.  (Seriously, husband, it has!)  I really do like being home, I love having significant time with my kids (well, most days), and the cherry on top, witnessing "firsts" that I otherwise would not if I was working.  Now if only it was that simple. 

Unfortunately, I don't solely "stay home" with my kids.  I also have two part-time jobs which thankfully I can (mostly) do from home, yet do require a handful or more of hours each week.

Throw in all the other things required for keeping a household running as well as trying to find a little "me" time here and there.  (My "me" time these days is going to the gym and I aim for 2-3 days a week. Without it, my kids could witness their very own apocalypse.)

Yes, I know it could be worse in a million different ways. Yes, I know I only have 2 kids and many moms juggle all this and more with more kids and a full-time job.

The real problem here is me.  Woah.

I need to learn to just let go of the things that don't matter too much (like if the house has been vacuumed this week), and focus on the bigger picture (like watching Brother and Sister finally learn to play nicely together).

In my own defense, if I may, I am a classic firstborn.

Some may call this an excuse, but hear me out.  You see, I have been reading "The Birth Order Book" by Dr. Kevin Leman and it has been a truly fascinating read.  Incidentally, my Mom has literally been quoting this book for years, to which I always have groaned and rolled my eyes.  She forced it on me a few months ago and now I cannot seem to stop talking about it.  This birth order stuff is for real.  Seriously, go read it!

Dr. Leman might just be spying in my windows.  As a firstborn, I am a perfectionistic, conscientious, well-organized, list-maker.  (Ever written something down that you already did just to cross it off? Yeah, you're probably a first born too...)  How's that for a confession- everyone who knows me is shaking their head in agreement right now. (And I just lost all the last-borns reading this right there.)

There are a whole bunch of great qualities that come with being a first-born though - 64% of US presidents have been first-borns!  I have always set high goals for my professional and personal life and worked my butt off to achieve them.

Being at home now has created new and different (and maybe not as lofty) goals for me and adjusting to this change has been tricky.  While I am who I am, I am also learning that it's OK to just not get anything done on the list for even one day. 

Regardless of your birth order, I know that these feelings are shared by many moms and dads out there.  Juggling work, family, and all of the responsibilities therein is no easy feat these days and parenting has changed significantly since my parents were doing the parenting.

I do believe some of this is simple self-awareness.  So here I am putting it out there publicly: I am aware, that I need to work on balance and letting go.  I need to let go and enjoy the ride.  I am counting on you to hold me to this...

Red Crayon vs. Vomited Blueberries

Here we embark on an involuntary quest to determine which of these lovely stains is actually harder to get out of carpeting. Note I said involuntary. "Why on earth do you care?" you ask. We care because we have to care. We don't have a choice. Can't leave a rainbow of crayon or regurgitated blueberries on the carpeting forever. So, you'll thank us later, I promise. At some point in your parenting, you too, will be charged with a stain that you'd rather leave to rot. But, you can't.

---

Baba had been coughing. A lot. And, it was nearly impossible for her to stop. We intervened with some meds - because, well, who can sleep when you're coughing every 10 seconds? Turns out that the combination of medicine, with the constant aggravation to her larynx and lungs ended in eruption.

And, more than just once. Like, every fifteen minutes for five hours. It was not pretty. (Perhaps I mentioned the blueberries she had for dinner?!)

Kinda reminds me of when I was pregnant with her. And, everything I ingested came right back out again.

If you're a parent, you've likely experienced the wretched experience that is chasing tail after a vomiting child. Worse if the child can't or is too young to make it to any sort of toilet - as in Baba's case.

Therefore, the five hours consisted of constant sheet changes, new pajamas, blankets, towels and a dab at the rug whenever possible. Thankfully, she recovered quickly and those hours were the only hours she was plagued by this ick.

The carpet? That's a different story. The evidence remains, despite how hard I attacked those blueberries.

- - -

Meanwhile, 750 miles away, someone else at another household decided that it would be a good idea to draw a pretty picture for his Momma. How nice of you, Brother.

Brother and Sister were playing nicely in the playroom while Mommy was in the kitchen preparing dinner.  It was quite lovely actually as they were playing and there was no screaming emanating from the playroom for a good 15 minutes. I was happily cooking away so that dinner would actually be ready by the time the kids got hungry. A miracle.

It may have been a little too quiet, now that I think about it.  Quiet is always a warning sign for something in this house and it is never a something good.  At the time, it just did not register in my brain that was thinking of 23 other things I needed to do that evening, which included leaving the house in 30 minutes for a meeting. 

I finally wandered over to the playroom to gather those cute little cherubs for dinner and what do my eyes behold?  Brother is standing in the doorway with a huge smile and says: "Look Momma, I made you a pretty rainbow.  AND it's a race track!" 

You're lucky we didn't show you the blueberries...

I look around trying to figure out where this lovely rainbow racetrack was located and then I look down...at the floor.  Yep.  Said masterpiece was drawn in crayon on our just 4 days prior freshly steam cleaned (of course!) cream-colored carpet.  Lovely indeed. 

At first, I gave no reaction.  Because while I was extremely annoyed at the new item on my to-do list for the evening, I also knew it wasn't the end of the world entirely and there were far worse things that could have happened or been broken.  As my husband remarked later, "Isn't drawing in crayon on the walls or floor some sort of childhood right of passage." 

The thing that got to me the most was that the weekend before I had literally spent the afternoon cleaning this exact carpet.  After having a serious chat with Brother that we do not draw on anything other than paper, I spent a good portion of the night re-cleaning the carpet.  And, after several rounds of scrubbing all of the crayon was gone.  Except for the red crayon which sadly is still visible enough.

As the professional carpet cleaner apparently did not quite cut it, I am currently researching home remedies that remove crayon from carpet.  Specifically, red crayon.  Until then, a red circle marks the spot. 

What was it about that night in these two houses?  Maybe it was something about that full moon.

That Time I Peed In My Baby's Diaper

Yeah, we're pretty happy:  this post made it as a guest post on BabyCenter!
Check it out here and then read below:



It's amazing the things we will do for our children - to keep them comfortable, happy and healthy.  Up to, and including, peeing in a baby diaper.

What?!

AK and I were visiting Tracy. Tracy lives in Phoenix and I wonder how her family is expected to survive in such a horridly hot climate.  Really.  It's pathetic.  I was dripping, sticky and whining most of the time - I must have been a true joy. 

AK came down with a fever a few days in, which quickly turned into labored breathing. Being asthmatic myself, we went to the ER. If you have ever been to the ER, you know that they most certainly don't pride themselves on their speed to tend to your needs. Although pleasant, professional and nice enough to AK, this was not a simple or short process.

We were hauled from one room to another, meeting one nurse after another wondering what would have happened had she actually been in true danger. Thankfully, I knew she wasn't, so I was able to stay quite calm.  But, you try keeping an 18 month old on her best behavior in this situation and tell me how it works out. At the end of the day, my little girl was an angel, but I worked really hard at it.

This included not using the restroom.

I can tell you exactly when I realized I had forgotten this very innate action.  Tracy had just made her third visit to the hospital, in between tending to her own family. On Mother's Day nonetheless. That woman is a saint.  She had brought some food for AK since this little visit was now running from breakfast into lunch. AK and I had finally made it into our own room, the curtain was drawn, the cartoons were on the microscopic TV and AK was finally getting sleepy.  In my arms.  While laying on the bed.  Tracy left me with a neat little stack of diapers and wipes along with my phone, my water bottle and a few snacks if the baby got hungry.  As soon as she walked out the door, I realized it. This was not going to be easy.

I sucked up the first 15 minutes. I even turned the channel from cartoons to HGTV thinking that watching the Property Brothers work their magic in just 30 minutes would keep my mind off of what was quickly becoming pain in my bladder. Confession: it didn't help.

AK was sleeping so soundly and had somehow melded herself into me. There was no way I could interrupt her - she had been so good during a really tough morning.

Then I spotted the baby diaper. Can I? Should I? Will I?

The first two answers should have been "no." But, my mind was tormented by how badly I wanted to. So, the third answer was "I'm sure gonna try."  And, I did.

End of story. Kinda.

Let's just say that it ended with me blaming the "accident" on my poor, sick, sleeping baby and the nurse giving me a pair of pajama pants to put on when I finally let my sleeping angel lay on her own. I'm not proud of this. But, I also am thankful I have been blessed with a sense of humor. I guess I am also thankful Tracy has a similar sense of humor.  Although, she might have been slightly shocked/appalled/flabbergasted at my confession. But, I guess I might never know as she is THAT good a friend.

AK recovered nicely, we went home and the story is most certainly NOT one of those that will never be spoken of again. It's just too good.

Need a Pep Talk? It's Mom-isms To The Rescue!

So, as I have mentioned before, my mom has amassed a lot of what my siblings and I have termed "Mom-isms."

What's a Mom-ism? Basically, a saying, motto, quote or such you may or may not be already familiar with but that she claimed as her own and repeats to us as applicable.  So, daily.  Since birth.

Mom-isms even appeared in the form of window clings or handwritten around our house when I was a kid.  Some of them are still hanging. This is for real. (Ask Sarah. She'll vouch for me on this one - she might have made fun of me once or twice for them. But, it wasn't my fault.)

The funny thing though is that the older we get, the less we make fun of her for this and the more we really "get" these messages and also find comfort in them. Life can be hard, and sometimes a few little words is all you need to turn your mood or the day around.

So, in honor of the biggest inspiration in my life, I give you my Mom's best inspirational messages.

"Think negative, get negative. Think positive, get positive."
Sounds so simple, but this one sometimes blows when I try to put it into action. It's so much harder than it sounds. I seem to get stuck in this track of negativity where it's hard to see the positive in a situation.

"I believe in myself."
I am a rockstar. Repeating this one works too, but it's just a souped up version of what Mom always told me. Especially after we become parents, it's important to repeat this beautiful mantra to remember that we are doing the best we can and man, that's good!

"Trust that life is good, even when it hurts."
But, it hurts. How can it be good? We've been there - probably many times at this point in our lives. At the end of the day, sucky things happen in life. But, in general, it is pretty darn good. Most of the time.

"No stinkin' thinkin'."
Love you, Mom. And, yes, I'll clean up my brain.

"When God closes one door, He opens a window."
Sometimes that next door isn't automatically opened, but at least a window is opened so we can catch a glimmer of what's around the corner. What can carry us through and get us to the next phase of our lives.

"What goes around, comes around."
A more traditional version of "karma's a bitch." But, it's true, isn't it?!

"Open your eyes and look."
Duh. I feel like this one has to be in every Mom's repertoire. And, seriously, could children (and their Daddies, sometimes) be any more blind? How often I want to scream, "OPEN YOUR EYES!"

"Keep it simple."
What a beautiful way to live and to parent.  We like this one a lot. Hence the name of our blog.

There is nothing like Mom's wisdom. (Or her chicken soup, but that's another post for another day). If I end this life being one-third the parent she has been, I am a wild success.

Passing on wisdom to the next generation.
This one was "Playing in the rain is fun!"

Abandoned Grocery Carts

I must admit: the title is a little mis-leading.  But, it would be a little too arduous to title it "half a grocery order left on the conveyor belt as screaming toddler and I are stink-eyed out of the grocery store," right?

Never again will I judge that poor woman in the store attempting to contain her melting down child while she does something that has undoubtedly been on her to-do list for way too long: buy groceries for her family. Never again will I judge another mother who happens to have been given the short stick for that very moment.

See, I was her. And, it was not pretty.

AK and I were making a routine trip to the grocery store. It wasn't one of those shops that I dread for days, it was a medium sized shop containing items from our very new Curtis Stone (holy buckets, he's hot, but that's a different story for a different day) repertoire of recipes. A few 'simple' things that husband and I wanted to try out. But, these 'simple' things required some ingredients beyond my usuals.

We started in the produce department as any good healthy person does, right?! Just kidding - I took an immediate detour to the cookie aisle to secure some snacking items for AK and I. It worked if only for a minute. I guess I should have known that it was going to be a tough run when she really did start a progressive melting process just a few minutes into our trip. But, I had less than 25 items on my list, how bad could it be? The answer is very bad. Very bad indeed.

Produce sucked, but we made it out. I then realized I had a limited amount of time remaining, so I did my best to continue to appease her with food items - some healthy, some not so much. But, a kid can only eat so much. And, she got full. Seriously, people, I only had 25 items.

I started half-running through the aisles, extremely aware that I must be missing something - where on earth do they keep the mango chutney sauce? WHERE THE HELL IS IT?!

Somehow, we made it to the check-out line with a bit of sanity remaining. Soon to be completely removed. I couldn't have picked a worst line to join. Isn't that the way it always is? The poor guy at the register looked like a deer in headlights. Like he had been doing this job for about two-and-a-half minutes before I joined his line.

My first step was to covertly hand him the half eaten bag of "cheetos" (I put "cheetos" in quotes simply because it's the last remaining bit of dignity I have concerning this story - they weren't real cheetos, but it's what AK calls them) and ask him to please please please scan this very sensitive item and then immediately bag it. If she catches even a whiff of these goodies, it's all over. So, what did he do? He scanned it, looked blankly at the world in front of him and handed the bag...to her.  "Cheetos!  Cheetos!  CHEETOS!"

The downward spiral was upon us. Standing up in the cart, cheetos thrown on the floor, at a voice level that would most definitely not be considered an "inside voice."

With that, my friend at the cash register had a question about every single item. He needed to look up the code for every single piece of produce. Listen, on any normal day, my patience would have been quite sufficient for this. I understand that not everyone can memorize 367 codes for fruits and vegetables. I get it. But, at this very moment, this was not OK. For me or for AK. I really wanted Dora at the register next to him. She was fast. And, she had checked me out a million times. But, she also had way more people at her line. There's a reason for that, I tell myself now.

This story is painful enough. And, it ended about as bad as one can get in the grocery store.

I left half of my order on the conveyor belt and I did what any parent concerned about others would do - I ran my screaming, cheetos-covered daughter out of the store to more seething, stinky looks than I could even explain. Not one person patted me on the back or even gave me a look of "I understand." And, I got her out before the going got really tough.

As soon as we exited the store, AK calmed down. I apologized profusely to her for putting her through that way too close to her bedtime. I think she forgave me pretty quickly.

Should I have left even earlier and, instead of the conveyor belt, abandoned my cart? Maybe. And, most likely what I will do so next time. Or better yet, maybe grocery shops are just a little too much for AK these days and she will stay home with Daddy.

Mommy's Being Mean

A few days ago I had one of those days. 

Regardless if you stay at home or work full-time, you know the kind of day I am referring to, right?  When nothing goes your way no matter what you do.  When you are tired, the patience is worn thin (or out) and you just need a little space to catch your breath and figure out the next move. When the kids don't behave regardless if you talk in your sweetest, most loving voice or scream at the top of your lungs.  When you also have 15 phone calls to make, several hours of errands to do not humanly possible with two kids in tow, a house to clean and dinner to make.  Let's also throw in a new job to figure out (more on that, later).

By dinner time, I was just exasperated.  Mostly because my three and a half year old and 18 month old would not stop with the fighting over every little toy we own. Which was turning into pushing, shoving, and hair pulling - and that's from EM, the 18 month old! (Side note: I'm thinking this girl is going to be able to hold her own on the playground...)  Who knew that this would even be a problem at these ages?!  Not me. 

Anyway, they were bringing their battle to the kitchen where I was trying to make dinner while simultaneously answering a few emails, return a phone call, and do the dishes.  Screaming and crying ensued over a wooden banana and a wooden steak. 

So what did I do?  The only rational thing of course.  I lost it.  I proceeded to give them a lecture of epic proportions that likely they did not even understand.  I also may have been raising my voice  just a tad.  It wasn't my prettiest moment as a parent but, in retrospect, the entire day was leading up to this and, frankly, I had nothing left. 

CJ, the older, perhaps a little wiser one, responded to my tirade with, "Come on sister. Mommy's being mean. Let's go."  And he took her hand, and walked them out of the room.  They then proceeded to QUIETLY and NICELY play for at least the next 20 minutes.  THEY LEFT ME ALONE.  I literally did not hear another peep.

Moral of the story:  Sometimes it is perfectly OK to get a little fiesty at your kids.  (I'm kidding, kinda.)  They won't like you for it (I promise, that's fleeting) but they may just leave you alone as a result!  And, if they learned even a little something (like, maybe, Mommy is only human, is not a saint, and needs a minute to breathe), it seems like a win-win to me. 

A moment of adoration for big brother.  And it was just that- a moment!

My Kitchen Floor

I'm not really sure exactly when this happened, but suddenly my kitchen floor is constantly covered in food. When I say covered, and if you know me at all, that might be a bit of an exaggeration, but it sure feels like it's covered.

How is it that one tiny human can turn the kitchen floor into a smorgasbord of whatever is on her tray, in addition to whatever she has found in the crevices of her highchair from her previous meal?

Husband and I have come to conclusion that AK is, in fact, not a dainty girly-girl. Duh. Her legs fashion a Dalmatian, her knees consistently skinned and I often wish her shirts were disposable. Therefore, when eating, she somehow becomes her food. Blueberries are one of her favorites. Lord, help me.

Husband, who is slightly on the neurotic side has often said to me "when is she going to stop being so messy when she eats?" My answer is usually, "What?" I have absolutely no earthly idea. Maybe we should ask her - "darling daughter, when might you actually get the food into your mouth without smearing it all over your entire face, bib, under your bib (you're magic!), your feet, the high chair and most importantly the floor?" When you're two? Three? Five? Eight? Hell, I don't know. Maybe it's just part of her character - she eats with voracity and pure enjoyment.

Her favorite thing ever is husband's homemade mashed potatoes. I personally think he puts crack in them and I would imagine she would agree if we had that conversation (we're not going to, don't worry). I give her a spoon. And, she finds it useless. Really? Mashed potatoes with your hands? Yes. Her whole hand. Which goes in her mouth, her hair, the sides of her highchair and every other which way. She eats them, with gusto, but it's almost like an art project in the process.

So, daily - no, make that thrice daily, I am picking up chunks of food from the floor, "sharking" the smaller bits, wiping it down and then swiffering it so as to avoid massive smears.

I do this more for myself than anything else and it's my choice. Yes, I could leave it until the end of the day, but I can't, you see. That's not who I am as a person. My house, even with an (almost two) year-old is meticulous and I will have it no other way. I don't waste my time cleaning up while I could be spending it with AK, but she also needs to learn that cleanliness is important and we clean up after ourselves. So, she helps. (Kind of).

One of these days, I will look back with nostalgia when my young lady is sitting at the table eating a meal with us - without painting the kitchen with it - and I will scroll to a picture in my phone that will likely leave her saying something like "Mom! Don't ever show anyone that picture." Sorry, kid. I love you, though.

Until then, professional floor cleaner I will be.

How To Talk So Your Kids Will Listen?

Does anybody out there know the answer to this question? 

We seem to be going through a, hopefully brief, phase here.  CJ is my oldest, who is currently 3 years 4 months old, is just not listening these days.  And by not listening, I mean no amount of yelling, talking nicely, talking quietly, bribery, taking away of toys or privileges, time-outs, or anything else I can think of seems to be getting his attention.  He does what he wants until I am so exasperated that he finally goes along with what I am requesting of him, if only because I have scared him into it. 

I know what you may be thinking- be patient, he's only 3!  I do get this in concept, however, many days we need to be places at a certain time and I just don't have the time for him to take 23 minutes to go potty, walk to the door, and put on his shoes.  Frustration, unfortunately, wins.  (Frankly, Mommy could use a time-out once in a while.) 

I have to believe I am not alone in this struggle.

I sometimes have a glimmer of what's going on here.  CJ is asserting his independence and making his own decisions.  As I have said before, this is a kid who is fiercely independent and has demonstrated in many ways that he will decide the direction of his life - already at 3! (And, what does this mean we are in for down the road!?)

I also sometimes think that maybe this is a cry for attention.  To be honest, many moments of the day I am distracted when CJ is present.  Whether its tending to his little sister who is 15 months, making or cleaning up a meal, performing various job search activities while I navigate this new time at home, or any of the other myriad of daily chores inevitable with young children, I can't always be completely 100% devoted to giving him the attention he needs and deserves.  I have tried to become more aware of this and have made it a goal that once a day I spend some amount of quality one-on-one time devoted to just CJ.  The problem: it just does not seem to be enough to satisfy him.

So back to my dilemma:  How do I talk to CJ so he will listen and respond?  (And, so that I do not have to repeat myself 55 times before he responds.)  I do feel that I have tried to communicate to him utilizing various types of communication but no one thing seems to be truly effective. 

Sometimes he does respond appropriately.  And, truth be told, it is usually when I talk very calmly and nicely while holding his hand and/or looking him directly in the eye, with no nearby distractions. 

I need to try harder to always do this.  Sometimes, in the chaos of life, it just seems too hard to stop what I am doing and spend a few extra minutes to explain what I need him to do.  Although, I guess those extra minutes could save me even more down the road if he listens and responds right away, huh? 

Maybe I have answered my own question after all.  In the meantime, I know one mom that needs to practice even more patience and understanding and not place unrealistic expectations on these little ones.

CJ recently got treated to lunch at Costco for good listening.
(Not ashamed to admit my attempts at bribery.)

She Said What?!

Here's what she said:  "Isn't she late to start walking?"

"She" was a random stranger who interjected her opinion into my life whilst holding the tiniest baby who was, as a matter of fact, doing absolutely nothing, let alone walking.  "She" caused me to second guess my girl's development, although knowing matter-of-factly that was AK was just fine.

Truth be told:  AK walked late.  There.  I said it.  As a first time Mom, and one who has really tried to keep it as simple and serene as possible (HAHA- Parent and serene in the same sentence), it became a daily attempt to refrain from worry.

At her fifteen month appointment, which was held closer to her sixteenth month birthday, the pediatrician started the spiral into questioning her development.  Although I sincerely believe he tried to keep the conversation as nonchalant as possible, it was quite difficult to remain stoic while he stated, "Let's go ahead and get an appointment with an OT just to be sure there are no developmental issues."  Here's the thing:  I knew, without question, that there were no developmental issues.  Just like I knew at ten weeks pregnant that she was a girl.  I just knew.

But, I started questioning.  Why was she not walking?  Why did she consistently choose to crawl? Was it the billions of ear infections that have thrown off her balance?  Was I carrying her too much?

In her classroom at school, she was one of the oldest children - and the last to walk.  But, walk she did. One week shy of her seventeenth month birthday. As I was reminded by a dear friend, "Sarah. Chill. She's not going to crawl when she's four. She's just not." Thank you, dear friend.  She's not. And, she didn't.

AK's first word was spoken at around four months. And, as much as you may not believe me, I have video to prove it. It was, of course, Dada. But, it was said deliberately in reference to her Dad, repeated and done several times. Her vocabulary growth took a bit of hiatus after that, until right around eleven months when she perfectly uttered the word "uh-oh." The "oh" causing her little lips to purse perfectly. From that point forward, it's been non-stop:  duck, dog, wow, up, down, out, eyes, purple, more, ball.  A new word every day, it seems.

My point in telling you is this: She chose to develop her language skills first.  Even if this statement is not scientifically proven, I believe it. That's just where she chose to focus. Language and fine motor skills took precedence over choosing to stand erect and walk like Momma. Ultimately, she is going to do it all until she becomes a fully functioning, walking, talking little person.

What I learned:

1.  Every child develops at a pace conducive to him or her as an individual. Unless dealing with significant developmental delays, she will walk, talk and do puzzles - all on her own time. She is her own person, after all.

2.  Don't compare. This one cannot be emphasized enough. Tracy's kids both walked around their first birthday. Many other friends have kids who walked somewhere between one and seventeen months. I hear some even go until they're eighteen months.

2.  Don't allow random, insignificant strangers to elicit a response or concern that is completely unjustified.

3.  For heaven's sake woman, chill out. (Yup. Second time I have told myself this. When will I start listening? Your guess is as good as mine).