Sick House
We’ve been hit pretty hard with some sort of icky virus since late last week. Oscar came down with it first (naturally), with all of the H1N1 symptoms. I did not run to the emergency room immediately, but after more than 24 hours with a fever not dropping below 101.4 (and that only after Motrin) and hitting a high of 104.8, I broke down and hauled him in on Saturday afternoon. The verdict? Uh, not entirely sure. He tested both negative and positive for H1N1, but the ped thought that he had croup instead because of his hoarse voice. We discussed it a bit, but she then said, “it doesn’t really matter which one it is, since even if he has H1N1, we can’t treat with Tamiflu unless he’s in respiratory distress.”
So many things wrong with that statement, but I knew that whatever he had didn’t seem as bad as what I’ve heard from other families with kids who have had swine flu, so I let it go. She gave me a prescription for some steroid in case his cough goes someplace horrible, which it hasn’t, although it is getting worse. Thankfully his fever has broken, his GI stuff is gone, he’s eating and playing again and now it looks like he’s just sick. As am I. Bonus. Just hoping that Nanny Norma can avoid it. I sent her packing when his fever kicked in, but she’s been back since Monday and he’s been a mucous machine since then.
I have a bit of a dilemma. We have a shortage of flu vaccines in my area (both kinds, not just H1N1). My office has a flu (regular vaccine) clinic this week, but it’s limited to “family.” I’d like to bring Nanny Norma, since I know she’s had trouble finding vaccine as well. I think it’s appropriate to take her, personally. What do you think? I think she qualifies as family (okay, not legally), and she’s certainly a member of my household. Just wondering if I’m pushing the limit here.
Soon
Oscar and I will be taking “that break” I keep telling myself we’re taking. I love airline miles, swine flu, hurricanes and the global economic meltdown so much right now it’s probably horribly inappropriate.
AND a grateful partner gave me a really nice gift certificate to an incredibly nice spa yesterday.
Waitlist movement + vacation plans with my boy (with free international airfare for TWO (including a side trip to see the family) and a super cool hotel at over 50% off! with free breakfast and a spa treatment and enough time there so I might actually feel like we’re on vacation) + spa day = happy me. Really happy me.
Black Wednesday
Today is the day I should have made partner. The day I likely would have made partner had I not had the audacity to adopt Oscar. More accurately, the day I would have made partner had the old men controlling that decision been able to see that my ability to be Oscar’s mom and a world-class lawyer are not mutually exclusive.
Today I hauled myself into the office feeling sick to my stomach, not actually knowing that today was “the day,” but knowing something was making me feel sub par. I got to the office just in time for “the message” to arrive, complete with the smiling faces of all of my lucky colleagues who made it. I managed to send my congratulations to those I know, including one for whom I am genuinely thrilled and the other who managed to take my slot. The former was received well, and the latter was ignored, which was not a surprise.
This afternoon I will attend the cocktail reception in their honor and raise my glass, smiling as though I am genuinely happy for *him*, knowing that all eyes will be on me and that, in fact, this reception will actually be easier than the one next year. That’s the one where I will be officially passed over for the second and last time. So much to look forward to.
Adopting Oscar was the best decision I’ve ever made. And to the extent luck was involved, it was the luckiest thing to ever happen to me. There’s nothing that compares to becoming Oscar’s mom, and I don’t regret it for an instant. That fact, though, does not diminish the disgust, and the disappointment in my colleagues, I feel right now.
*ETA. While attending the party was not the most painful event I’ve been through, it was truly awkward. When they started the toasts, I was right next to *him* and had to gracefully exit the situation, after which I had to listen to a speech given by the man who before I announced I was going to be a mom was my greatest advocate and champion. A ten-minute long speech in which this man referred to my replacement as “the son I always wanted. . . a man in whom I see so much of myself. . . a man whose commitment to his practice is unparalleled.” And while I listened to this, I managed to rearrange my smile a sufficient number of times to make it clear that it wasn’t simply plastered on, so my colleagues who kept looking at me wouldn’t think I was frozen in place. And I even managed not to snort in derision when the commitment remark was made, knowing all too well that *he* has never come near to having to deal with my schedule. 16 all-nighters in six months? Please. Tomorrow will obviously be better than this. . . and I promise to be over my bitterness by then.
The Speech Thing
I’ve been a bit reticent to post about this, but I’ll let you in on a bit of a secret. Oscar has been talking. Well, sort of. He uses some words every once in a while. He has a vocabulary of about a dozen words now, including ball, bubble, bowl, up, hot, help, out, hat and apple. Most of the time he uses them it’s almost involuntary (i.e., he sees a ball and yells “ball”), but it’s still cause for celebration whenever it happens. He’s still not really using words volitionally (i.e., to tell me what he wants) very often, although on Saturday I almost fainted when he shoved his milk at me and said “hot”, meaning put some ice in this milk before you burn my tongue off, mom. It was the first time he had used words to actually convey an actual concept to me.
You’re probably sensing a lack of enthusiasm from me. Okay, you caught me. I don’t know if I was expecting some major language explosion or breakthrough when we started our three a week speech therapy sessions. I wasn’t letting myself think there was going to be some seminal moment when the floodgates broke and Oscar started talking, telling me everything he hadn’t been able to communicate before then. But you know how it is. You might not let yourself actively think something, but it’s there in the back of your mind. The other reason for my hesitation is that our speech therapist has planted another seed in my mind, and it’s called “apraxia.” Google it and you’ll find it’s not a happy word.
When Oscar was evaluated by oh so many therapists and doctors last summer they explained the difference between a speech delay and a speech disorder to me. They didn’t wrap it all up in a pretty bow and name it officially at that time, but they told me that his delay was likely caused by a disorder (meaning that he wasn’t just a “late talker”). I, like I do when anyone tells me something distressing about my boy (anyone remember my ability to ignore the fact that Oscar’s opthamologist was actually a neurologist for six months?), kind of ignored this label, thinking that they’d change their minds once the SLP flipped on whatever speech switch she knew how to trigger. Yes, I was hoping for some tricks or tools of the trade to be implemented. No, there haven’t been any.*
I guess what I’m finding is that there is not going to be an easy answer to this problem. Oscar has a definite issue getting his words out of his mouth. I can see it when he attempts to tell me something, and then just stops. I don’t know if it really is apraxia, but it’s more complicated than I had hoped. Before this fall I never had thought about all of the processes that have to occur simply to communicate, but a lot has to happen to convey a thought. And, if your brain did not have a chance to fully develop the nerves that link your right and left hemispheres together because of abject neglect for the first eight months of life, the ramifications can be pretty severe.
The upside of all of this therapy is that I have a better sense of what we need to do to help Oscar along. We’re also getting him to communicate more using sign language. He’s a signing machine these days. He “talks” throughout the day, but he really uses signs most of the day in order to get his thoughts across, like when he signs monkey he either wants a Curious George gummy candy (monkey candy) or to go for a walk (using his monkey backpack/leash). Every day he’ll say maybe one or two words, but that’s pretty much it. I’m not letting myself even go down the path yet that sign language will be his primary method of communication, but I know that possibility is out there, lurking.
I know some of you think that writing about these things is wrong. That I should keep matters like this private. To some (teensy tiny) degree I agree with you, but much like I did when I chose to write about my attachment issues, I think there are a lot more people dealing with developmental delays and the like than I had previously thought. I wish I had more to read about this than just the books I have to buy. That I could see it from the perspective of other moms in my situation. I hear the same sentiment in the email messages and the comments that parents post and ask to be kept unpublished. I also just don’t see that there is any reason to pretend this is not happening. I’m not ashamed of the fact that Oscar has a neurological issue that has caused this problem. I’m angry about the root of it, but I’m not ashamed of him or embarrassed of the subject matter. It’s just something else about him that makes him that much more unique.
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*For those of you with kids with sensory issues, one quite cool thing that our SLP uses is a plastic bin with either dried beans or a mix of lentils and rice for Oscar to play in. Oscar had some pretty severe sensory issues when we first met, and I actually had thought we had conquered them (wrong – he used to be avoidant and now is seeking). The amazing thing about these beans / rice / lentils is that they have somewhat of a calming effect on some kids. The first time she brought them out, Oscar went from running wild around his room, refusing to focus, to sitting quietly and playing with the beans. She whispered to me that sometimes kids actually sit in the bin and while she was saying it (and he could not have heard her) he sat down in them. He went from being his active little self to a calmer child instantly, and he started babbling after having been silent for hours. Don’t know how or why it works, but it does. We bought a big Tupperware container to house our beans that weekend.
223%
You know how people like to say that a person who is hardworking “gives 110%” or something in that vicinity? I would kill to only give 110% at work these days. I just finished my time for November October (I had to edit this because I didn’t even realize what month it was), and I billed 223% of my hours budget. Our budget is the average number of hours an attorney needs to bill to clients each month to stay on track at my firm. You dip below that and you’re in a bit of trouble (too far below and you’re toast). You want to be above budget without killing yourself.
What I’ve found is that billing anywhere from 90% – 140% is fine with me, below or above that and I’m either worried I’m not busy enough or frustrated that I’m too busy. Above 200%? I’m just angry. And tired. Really, really tired. The number of hours I’ve billed since mid-August is preposterous. It’s been a bit unreal, especially when you factor in that lawyers “bill” only a fraction of their time spent in the office each day. I spent 440 hours in my office this past month (a low-ball number, since I stopped counting non-billable time a few weeks ago, but that does account for an average of 14.2 hours each and every day last month, including weekends). Since I promised myself I’d spend at least two (waking) hours each day with Oscar during the week and at least ten hours each day on the weekends, the past month has been basically an exercise in sleep deprivation. Now you know why I fell down the stairs . . . and why I never went to the doctor to confirm that all my bones were intact and there was no internal bleeding. I’m actually pretty sure I must have broken one of my ribs where I landed, based on the pain I feel when I cough, but I figured if there was internal bleeding I’d know soon enough (I know, my logic last month was impressive; be grateful you weren’t paying the phenomenal amount per hour our clients do for my insights).
I think things are looking up now. I signed a deal in London, followed by another in India last week, so my days of “chasing the sun” as they say are over. I closed another deal here in the good ole USA this morning, so if only I could kill the five deals on my desk right now I’d be a truly happy woman. So, if you’re one of the many people who have emailed lately, this is my long-winded way of explaining why I haven’t responded yet. I truly apologize. I promise I will respond just as soon as I move this asset purchase agreement off to a client, go home and shower and attempt to sleep for at least eight hours – in a row in one night. Just typing that is enough to bring tears to my eyes.
Nekkid Sunday
Sunday afternoon is a magical time at Chez Oscar. He gets to help with the yard work (tipping over the compost bin, usually) and recycling (threatening to run down the street in an attempt to escape the horror of his home life), followed by his “big boy shower”. All good fun, but none of it compares to what comes next. Running naked through the house and settling down to play. He knows that naked time is limited. He doesn’t seem to understand why . . . the whole he’s not potty trained yet thing, which honestly isn’t such a big deal given our hardwood floors. Nonetheless, he knows he’s burning time from the moment I turn the water off. He now bolts from the shower without even allowing me to towel him off. It used to be a quick game of chase. It’s now evolved into a bit of a chase, but he knows he’s going to get a little bit of time, so he’s now moving into a bit of a routine of things he wants to get done while naked. Chase, then grab a book and read a bit, find his trucks and play, then on to something new. What was new today? The vaccum. Go figure. He hates that thing, but apparently all is well when naked.
“Happy” Halloween II
I clearly have not conditioned my child to enjoy Halloween. Two Halloweens, two abject failures. I won’t re-post last year’s photo, as this year’s is just about as pathetic. Hoping for better luck next year.
And in case you were wondering, he was supposed to be a puppy. Specifically a St. Bernard. He was a cute puppy for about three seconds, until he ripped off the hood.
I’m going to do it
I’m going to take Oscar to Ethiopia with me when I pick up Etta. I can’t decide whether I’m insane or not, but I just cannot stop thinking that coming home from my first trip away from him with a sibling for him is a horrible idea. I’m hopeful that he won’t be quite three years old by the time we travel (although, with the way my wait is currently going . . . ), which I know means I’m in for a solid 15 hours to/from Dubai with at least one, if not two, screaming children. Of course, right now I’m still in that blissful stage of thinking that my lovely daughter is going to be perfectly behaved and sleep the entire flight, curled in my arms (I know, even I’m snorting while typing that).
With that decision down, I think I’ve found the perfect suitcase for him. He can stuff crap in it, drag it around, ride on it in the airport AND sit on it when tired. Cute, huh?
Now, which one of you is telling my mom she’s going to Ethiopia with her daughter and grandson next spring/summer? Anyone?
Anyone know
when exactly it was that this child . . .
five months later:
Adoption day (and thank you, Sarah, for this photo, which I think perfectly captures the beginning of the relationship between Oscar and me):
last Halloween, when he could not be within 500 feet of other kids without screaming and when his sensory issues were still so severe he could not bear to touch even grass or sand (I mean, look at how he’s holding his arms so he doesn’t have to touch the straw) and who screamed so loudly when we would go out in public that I thought I had wasted money on our zoo membership:
turned into this happy child who actually likes to be around other kids (particularly “big” boys) and smiles frequently and snorts with laughter on a daily basis? this boy, by the way is a complete and total stranger:
Because, while it might have looked like all I posted for a considerable amount of time were pictures when I simply had not captured Oscar smiling, a non-smiling Oscar was the norm until about May of this year. I had come to terms with the fact that Oscar was not going to be one of those “happy” children. You know the type. You’ve seen them at the park - they laugh and giggle freely, breaking out spontaneously in toothy grins. Annoying, really. Nanny Norma and I talk about it a lot now. I hear the refrain of “Oscar different” from her at least weekly. “Not the same boy. . . Oscar happy now.” And it’s true. He isn’t the same as he was; he is a totally different little boy in so many ways. It might sound odd for a mom to say, but he used to be a little angry, constantly frustrated and quick to lash out, both physically and vocally. More troubling to me were his eyes. They were very pretty, but they seemed a bit closed off. Like he wasn’t really engaged with any of us or the world generally.
I’m not sure what changed and caused him to become this sweet, adorable, smiling toddler (prone to a lot of tantrums, but seemingly the normal variety), with tons of personality radiating from him. We have a lot of theories – time beginning to heal old wounds, increased attachment (on both of our parts), his vision improving (no proof of this other than the visible difference in his ptosis and nystagmus), the switch to soy milk, his increased ability to communicate via sign language and grunting or just the improvements in his health generally. Who knows. I’m just thankful that we’re where we are and not where we were, and honestly, a little frightened that we might have to go back there when Baby Etta joins us.
