Crabby Mommy

For several months now, Big Dude and I have been trying to conceive another baby. Little Dude is almost three and since I’m at the upper range of the fertility age span, we decided to take the plunge, crossing our fingers that another baby won’t drive us insane.

Physically, there is nothing wrong with either one of us to keep us from getting pregnant. It just doesn’t seem to happen for us. So for us to get pregnant, we need to have fertility treatments. For LD, we were able to conceive fairly easily with IUI (intrauterine insemination).

Now, compared to an IVF, an IUI is not extremely complex. It is also the cheaper of the procedures, so of course we went straight for the IUI.

After almost a year and multiple attempts at getting pregnant through IUI, we are at the point that we need to either stop or make a change. We could either continue the IUI route with injectable hormones or move on to IVF. Both options are much more expense that the treatments we have done up to this point, a big concern since we are self pay.

After some consideration of the cost (and probably some arm twisting if you ask BD), we’re going to move on to the IVF. We will have to wait until early next year so we can save up the money, but it will probably be our best chance at getting pregnant one more time. Part of me wants to rush through the next few months and just get to January so we can DO IT ALREADY! Part of me wants time to pass slowly, because I don’t know how I will take it if we fail through the IVF.

I just want to hold a little baby in my arms again. I want to know that LD will have some family in this world after I am gone.

Keep your fingers crossed and say a little prayer for us.

Little Dude has been acting up the last few days. He’s been cranky, a little aggressive, and getting into everything. It’s been a constant battle to keep him from destroying his toys (or the house). We went grocery shopping on Saturday and if he could not see me at any point in time, he would start crying.

I was completely baffled. LD can be a little clingy on the weekends, but he has never cried like that. I was tired and frustrated by the time he went to bed on Saturday night.

I spoke with my mom on Sunday and we realized what the issue was with LD.

Last week I worked three days at a different office, an office two hours away from home. This meant I was out of the house before LD woke up and I arrived home right before he went to bed. On Thursday, he didn’t see me at all, as I arrived home well after he was in bed.

Poor LD missed his mommy.

And mommy felt guilty.

Guilty that I didn’t understand that something was bothering him.

Guilty that I couldn’t explain to him that mommy was at work.

Guilty that I had to be away from him so many hours.

Guilty that I couldn’t make him understand that mommy would never, ever leave him.

Guilt sucks.

A few years ago, I used to tell Big Dude that when we were old and gray, that I would be either diabetic (which runs strongly on my mom’s side of the family) or loopy. It’s a little something for him to look forward to in his golden years.

As mentioned here, dementia runs strongly on my dad’s side of the family. It is a horrible disease that not only affects the person with the disease, but also those that love him/her.

Dementia is stealing my dad from me.

Several years ago, my dad started to forget things. First it was the name of an acquaintance. Then he had a little trouble balancing his checkbook. Because we had already lived through my grandmother’s dementia, my mom and I already knew what was happening to my dad. With the help of our family doctor, my dad started taking some medications to help his dementia. The doctor made it very clear that the medication would not stop the dementia, but it could slow it down.

My mom struggled the next couple of years with my dad and his dementia. My dad became very moody and angry. It was completely understandable, as he knew what dementia would eventually do to him. For a man who had always been in charge and taken care of everything for his family, it was frustrating for him to need the help of others.

In the last few years, things settled down. My dad accepted his illness. He continued to forget names and words. Where he once was a social and talkative person, he became quiet and reserved. Yet, his dementia seemed to progress at a slower pace. The only real change I saw was that he preferred to stay in his room and watch TV. It was hard to reach out to him, because it almost felt I was intruding in his “safe place” where he was not reminded of his illness.

BD and I were truly blessed when my mom practically demanded that she care for LD when I returned to work. It was what I always wanted, but I didn’t know if she could handle caring for both my dad and my son at the same time. With help from BD, who takes care of LD two half days a week, my mom has been able to handle it with no problem. Not only do I not have to worry about day care issues, but it has given my son an opportunity to spend time with his grandfather during the week. Now that LD is an energetic toddler, I’ve seen LD and my dad interacting more and more. I see them making faces at each other and laughing and I can feel my heart swell with emotion.

It was easy for me to be in denial.

A couple of months ago, my mom mentioned that my dad sometimes refers to LD as “the baby”. Not by has name. Not by a nickname. This is because he forgets that LD is his grandson, my son. On good days, my dad remembers. On bad days, LD is “the baby” that my mom watches for someone.

Then a couple of weeks after that, my dad forgot who I was. He did not recognize me as his daughter. I was “the lady” coming to pick up “the baby”.

And my heart broke. I cried for two days and tumbled into a depression.

I consoled myself with the fact he still remembered me most days. I also told myslef that he would not forget my mom, his wife for 48 years. He would remember her until the point he could not remember anything anymore.

And then he referred to my mom as his sister.

And my heart shattered.

At 84, my father is physically in great shape, but I am losing him.

There is nothing I can do to stop it.

All I can do is cry.

Little Dude has been in a toddler bed for a few months. We still use the baby monitor, so I can hear him wake up. As soon as I hear him talking, I get out of bed, warm up some milk, and go to his room. He jumps out of bed and we walk back to the master bedroom so we can have cuddle time with Daddy as he drinks his milk (and Mommy and Daddy finish waking up).

On Monday morning, Big Dude and I awoke to this:

Apparently, Little Dude walked over to our room, grabbed the TV remote, and turned on the TV. And turned up the volume. Big Dude and I practically fell out of bed, our hearts beating a mile a minute.

I saw Little Dude standign by my side of the bed. He put the remote down next to my pillow, then laid his head against my arm. He looked at me woth those big brown eyes and sighed.

And I sighed.

It was a wonderful way to wake up on a Monday morning.

Little Dude loves to watch water scenes and aquarium scenes in TV. No matter how deep he is in his Toddler Tornado frenzy, throw a little clip of a beach scene on TV and he would instantly stop and stare, giving me break for a couple of minutes.

Now that he is almost three, I thought it would a fun idea to take him to the aquarium. I decided on the Monterey Bay Aquarium. I haven’t been there in years and I remembered that the exhibits were impressive. I wanted more “Wow” factor for my little boy. I took a day off of work, so we could go on a Wednesday when the crowds would be smaller.

We left a little early Wednesday morning for the 1.5 hour drive to Monterey. I knew the Peguin Feeding was scheduled for 10:30am and there was a feeding at one of the exhibits every hour after that concluding with the Sea Otters (WHOO HOO! Sea Otters!) at 1:30pm. The plan was to have a quick lunch after that and then make our way home, hopefully with a happy little boy sleeping in the back seat.

See! The excitement! Or maybe nausea...

It didn’t go so well. LD HATED the Aquarium.

Here I am trying to convince LD that the Aquarium is fun.

The aquarium was not as empty as I had expected. I forgot that summer camps would probably take kids to the aquarium. I’m not sure if it was the crowds or the noise level, but LD freaked. out. He stuck his fingers in his ears and his face went blank. He obviously was trying to block out all the noise and people. We quickly scurried outside on to a deck area overlooking the ocean. After a minute or so, I heard a feeble “water” from his stroller. There was no way we were going to take him back inside, so we left after less than an hour at the aquarium. I felt horrible. The aquarium was my idea and it was a terrifying experience for him.

Although he was already better by the time we made it back to the car, we decided to take a chance that taking him to the ocean would help soothe him.

Wouldn't you find this soothing?

We already planned to drive through 17 Mile Drive, so we stopped at a picnic area near Spanish Bay.

The first tentative steps at the beach...

This is kind of cool...

Hey! This is great!

Score: Ocean 1 Aquarium 0

So, I started the blog and then disappeared…

 :: insert lame excuse here ::

Today’s lesson kids – don’t start a blog right before work hands you a huge project that sucks up the majority of your time.

So, the following are the latest happenings in Casa Crabby:

1. I worked 12 hour days, seven days a week for several weeks
2. Between work and trying to maintain a family life, I was a smidge stressesd
3. At least once a week, I felt like quitting my job
4. But I like my paycheck, so I didn’t quit
5. Big Dude had gastric bypass surgery (more on that in another post)
6. After a rough few weeks, BD hit his stride with his new way of eating 
7. I’m adapting to BD’s menu and lost almost 20 lbs in the process
8. We finally fixed up the backyard to give our energetic Little Dude plenty of space to run around
9. LD learned to climb out of his crib
10. I started calling him Ninja Toddler after a week of him waking me up at 3am by turning on the TV – I swear he didn’t make a sound until he turned on the TV.
11. We gave up on keeping him in his crib, so we converted it into his toddler bed last weekend.
12. My father’s dementia is progressing – faster than I wanted
13. My grandmother had dementia as well, so I know what to expect
14. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less
15. Two weeks ago, my father didn’t recognize me (more on that later)
16. Between work stress, my father’s dementia, and tension at home (probably caused by my stress), I became depressed
17. Luckily it only lasted for a week before I was able to climb out of it

It’s been an eventful three months. I’m hoping the next three months will bring more good than bad.

For Big Dude and I, becoming parents has not been an easy task. We have “unspecified infertility”, which basically means that the doctor has no idea why we can’t get pregnant. Physically, we are both totally fine and fertile, it just doesn’t happen.

Little Dude was conceived rather quickly through a combination of Clomid and an IUI. Second try and we were successful.  So, when we decided to try for #2, I was positive that it would be a repeat of Little Dude and soon we would be expecting again.

You can guess where this is going, right?

A year later, still no baby. Because my insurance does not cover any fertility treatments in any form, we are completely self-pay. So, we save up our pennies and seem to be on an “every three months” routine. I’ve gone through four cycles of Clomid and only two of those cycles progressed to the point of doing the IUI. The latest failure was today. No chance of getting pregnant this cycle.

I thought I had braced myself for yet another failure, but I found myself in tears as I drove to work. I gave myself the 15 minute drive to work to cry, then dried my tears. I needed that brave face for work.

But my heart ached. It still aches.

Although Big Dude questions whether we should have another child, I am so sure that a second child is the path for us. You know that feeling where you feel something is so right, down to your core? That is how I feel about a second child. I know it won’t be easy juggling another child – it almost feels like we are missing something if we don’t try for baby #2.

So all these failed cycles are tough for me, especially when I know my age is such a big factor. If I had become pregnant on this latest cycle, I would be due after my 42nd birthday. That biological clock – she’s clanging loudly at this point.

The doctor suggested a new medication instead of the Clomid. He wants me to think if I want to try the new meds or just move on to injectables, which are much more expensive than just popping a few pills for five days.

How many more cycles can we do when things are already tight financially? How many more times can I subject myself to this emotional roller coaster? How many more times can I face a failed cycle without having a little piece of myself die inside?

When do I give up on dream?

Back in October, we took Little Dude in for his two-year check up. As we waited in the little room for the pediatrician, we filled out a questionnaire that had been given to us by the nurse. It was one 20 questions requiring either a “Yes” or “No” answer. Some of the questions were kind of vague. We wanted to respond “Kinda” to a handful of other questions, but that was an option, so we just circled the answer we felt was a tad more appropriate.

The pediatrician came in, checked Little Dude, and asked up some behavioral questions. The usual routine for checkup appointments. Then he looked down the questionnaire and asked more questions related to our answers.

Yes doctor – he hates water. He always has, since he was a baby.

Yes, he runs laps around the house. Sometimes he does laps in one room, sometimes in  couple of rooms. He’s a very active kid and it helps him burn off his energy.

No he is not fond of louder noises. Sometimes it upsets him and he starts to yell.

Then the world stopped.

He said my baby boy, my perfect son, my world, may be autistic.

That “A” word. Autistic. My son. Autistic.

The pediatrician quickly added that if Little Dude was autistic, it was a mild case. With some help from programs that help autistic children, he said that it may be something that Little Dude could over come before he started school.

Big Dude started asking questions and I could hear the panic in his voice. The doctor may not have picked up on it, but I definitely heard it. Right at that moment, I knew I had to be the strong one. I immediately had to put aside my own growing panic and concentrate on the “good” parts.

Mild Case.

May be overcome before school.

The pediatrician gave us the number of a program that would help with an actual diagnosis.  He again said that if Little Dude was autistic, it would be a mild case. He went as far as to say that the longer he observed Little Dude, then less he thought Little Dude was autistic.

We left the doctor’s office stunned. But I clung to the fact that he said the worst case scenario was that it would be a mild case of autism. So many parents have to deal with worse news than what we had just received.

But he’s our son. Our perfect baby boy. Our first child. Perhaps our only child.

The entire ride home and for several days afterwards, I assured Big Dude that everything would be OK. And I wasn’t lying. Everything will be OK. If he is autistic, we’ll get him all the help he needs. We will be his advocates.

Yet I haven’t called that number to get Little Dude assessed.

In the last couple of months, Little Dude has started playing with water. He still hates baths, especially having his hair washed, but he loves sticking his hands in a big bowl of water and splashing around. He no longer is bothered by loud noises. Half the time he is the one making the noise. He still runs around a lot, but less than before. He now spends some time working on his alphabet and number puzzles. He plays with his VTech Bugsby. He loves to use the flashcard apps on the iPod Touch. He is so smart. It just seems that those things that triggered a possible autism diagnosis have resolved themselves with time.

Perhaps I am in denial.

I keep telling myself I need to make that call, but I don’t. I guess I have been Polly Positive about this issue for so many months now, I don’t want to face the possibility that I could be wrong.

How can I say I’ve done the best by Little Dude if don’t make that call and find out for sure if he has a problem that needs to be addressed?

I need to find that number.

Right before Christmas (the 23rd to be exact), we reached another milestone. As much as I wanted to delay it, we had to do something about Little Dude’s hair.

Little Dude's crazy curls

His hair was always out of control. Putting a hat on him was no fun, as it always made him cry. So I finally agreed the curls had to be sacrificed for the greater good, namely no more tears from my son. We took Little Dude in for his first haircut.

I searched Yelp for a hair salon that specialized in children’s haircuts. I already had a sinking feeling that this haircut would not go smoothly. I knew we were going to need an experienced professional for this haircut.

"Whhhyyy Mommmy?? WHHHHHYYYYYY?!?!?!??

NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

As you can see – the haircut did not go over well. Little Dude basically started crying as soon as we got him in the chair. He wouldn’t even look at the little TV screen playing Dora cartoons.

He was not a fan of the haircut.

I, however, was quite impressed with the hair stylist and her skill at cutting the hair of a wriggling, wailing, “oh my god I’m dying” child. I think she took 20 minutes to cut his hair, most of that time trying to get an angle on him to make the next cut as he moved all over the place. She apologized that the hair cut was not even over one ear.

Oh my god woman – imagine what I would have done to my poor child’s hair if I tried to cut it. I was happy that it was cut and not a freakin’ bowl cut.

Check out my new look!

Things calmed down after she was done. And I’m sure the strawberry lollipop he received after the cut helped matters.

Next time, Mommy is packing her own treat for surviving a Little Dude haircut – Margarita in a flask!

A couple of years ago, I signed up on Classmates.com. I don’t know why I did. I wasn’t popular in high school. I was shy (still am, though not as bad) and a little bit of a geek. I pretty much don’t think about it unless I get a random email from the site.

I opened my email today to find an email from Classmates.com letting me know I had a message waiting for me at the site. Curious as to who would try to get in contact with me, I clicked over.

It was an email from someone that lived on my street when I was in elementary school.

Someone that, along with another little girl, made my life miserable for several years.

Someone that would pretend to be my friend, waiting for any opportunity to pounce. She relished the moment that she could hurt my feelings, humiliate me. She did it too often to not get some enjoyment out of it.

Now, 30 years later, she is sending me an email to apologize for hurting my feelings so many years ago, that she has felt bad about it for a long time. She also hopes that I will email her and let her know how I have been these past years.

To the person that sent the email, thanks for getting that off your chest and bringing back all those bad memories for me. Thanks so much. Sometimes I think I should respond, but I just don’t feel like it. It is because of you that I keep all friendships at arm’s length. I have good friends, but I keep up this wall with almost everyone, almost as if I expect them to hurt me. Logically, I know they would not, but I keep up that wall anyways. It is something I work on, but never seem to fix.

Even though I’m not totally happy with how I handle friendships, I do treasure my family. I have a wonderful husband, a beautiful son, and a great family. I couldn’t have asked for a better family supporting me in everything I do.

Because of them, I need to let go of any anger I may have towards you. It has been 30 years and we have all moved on. I love my life and do not want to tarish it with any bitterness.

I will not respond to your email, but I do forgive you.