This time, tears of joy!

745 days.

14 hours.

38 minutes.

18 seconds.

The judge signed Sam's finalization papers today, on Jeff's birthday.  Forever and always, we are a family!  HOORAY!!!!

(Ignore how terrible my hair looks in this picture.)

The blessing of infertility

Yesterday it was 14 degrees outside and the wind was bitter but the sun shone in a cloudless sky so I called it a win.  This cold can't hang around forever.  At around 5PM we all gathered in the kitchen so I could start dinner (lemon chicken, Jeff's favorite.)  Sam was contained in his runaround and Jeff lay on the floor next to him, half under the table, playing peekaboo every time Sammy came trundling around.  They were laughing their heads off at each other as I sauteed chicken breasts.  I filled my eyes with the sight of them having fun with each other, occasionally running over to plant a kiss on Sam's forehead.  I do this thing where I pretend to run on my tippy-toes like a cartoon character with my mouth open wide like I'm going to eat him.  It makes him jump up and down with giggles every time.

There was a part of me, though, that was reflective.  Part of me will always be infertile, always in awe of the ordinary blessings that permeate my every day life these days.  Last March it was windy, cold and sunny, too.  I had surgery and finally recieved at least a partial answer as to why we couldn't have children.  I felt fragile and hopeless despite the sun.  I wasn't calling it a win.  But God was.  God was already moving me toward the little boy I hold this March.  God knew that my son was in his second trimester of growth, that I was a few months from becoming a mother despite my useless body.  God was busy making beauty from my ashes, joy from not just my pain but the pain of another family as well.  God was busy restoring me even as I questioned "Are you even there?  How can You continue to let me suffer like this?  How can I possibly hurt any more?"  God made utter blessing from utter desolation.  That's just His way.

The cold doesn't last forever.  Sometimes it's hard to feel the stirring of life amidst the deadness of winter but where God walks there is always the promise of spring.  Where a barren woman once wept, she now rejoices.

So it turns out...

Sam has had RSV.  He's on the mend now, thanks to Orapred and Albuterol.  It's been a long week and a half.

Oh, by the way, he gave it to Jeff and I.  That's why you haven't seen us lately.  We're trying not to give it to any of you or your children.  Because RSV?  Is like being hit in the head and then run over by a truck as the ocean fills your sinuses with glue. 

Here, look at a cute baby while I go cough up my left lung:





For the source of a raging plague, he's pretty cute, don't you think?

Some people have a monkey on their backs, I have a baby.

 He was just so fussy (and really, I couldn't blame him) while I was trying to cook dinner that we finally decided to backpack him.  He was interested in the boiling pasta, moderately tolerant of the spam (I know, I know...as person obsessed with fresh food,  and healthy eating, I should not broadcast my secret love affair with spam on the internet) but advertised his displeasure when it came to the velveeta.  (Don't judge me!)   He did like my ponytail though. 

After dinner (his was organic, from a jar) we tried to keep him awake the extra half an hour for his nebulizer treatment.  He was in full meltdown mode, exhausted after a day of hacking in spite of a good nap in the middle of the afternoon.  Although we were told that we could nebulize him in his sleep, the sound of the machine always wakes him up.  It seemed cruel to put him down only to jolt him awake half an hour later.   I didn't see a good outcome for that scenario.  Instead, I called Joanna to make sure that nebulizing him half an hour earlier wouldn't kill him (it didn't) and we did that.  By the time we got halfway through the treatment his cries had become high-pitched whimpers as the tears poured down his sad little face.  A minute later he fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, noisy machine not withstanding.



You can see the tear track still drying on his cheek and how sweaty his little head is from the effort it takes to cry with clogged lungs.  Is there anything sadder than a sick baby?

'Tis the season.

Poor Sam has bronchiolitis again. This time he's getting nebulizer treatments. It happened virtually overnight; he's been coughing and hacking up a storm since early yesterday evening after being fine yesterday morning. He doesn't understand the nebulizer tube and why he can't eat it, shake it to death, and otherwise maim it. We have to pin his hands down while it goes which he takes just about as well as you'd imagine. All that cyring though, we know the albuterol is getting into his lungs.


PS~ Jeff's MRI seems to have gone well. No one rushed out and told us to go to the hospital for immediate brain surgery so I am guessing he's okay. We see the neurologist on Monday.

'Tis the season...

Poor Sam has bronchiolitis again.  This time he's getting nebulizer treatments.  It happened virtually overnight; he's been coughing and hacking up a storm since early yesterday evening after being fine yesterday morning.  He doesn't understand the nebulizer tube and why he can't eat it, shake it to death, and otherwise maim it.  We have to pin his hands down while it goes which he takes just about as well as you'd imagine.  All that cyring though, we know the albuterol is getting into his lungs.

Just a small fracture around the edges.

The neurologist's office just called.  They saw something on Sarge's MRI.  He has to have another with contrast, ASAP.  He's going on Thursday, when I have my migraine appointment, so we can go together. 

He's telling me it's fine, most likely just a nasal cyst he's had for years.

That's probably it. 

Right?