BenjaFriend

I lost some momentum with the story of our lives. I petered off around the exhaustion-blurred haze of Gabriel’s toddlerhood and diagnosis. Though it is more recent, it is the most difficult to recall because of the sheer muchness of it all. If we stop there, though, we miss one of the very best parts: my baby Benjamin.

Gabriel’s school had the sit down with us in late October 2010, which led to the doctor’s visit, flurry of referrals, and sleep-deprived EEG in early November. I remember a weird moth epidemic remnant from the summer, which left winged corpses all over then.

Most of the specialists we had been referred to would not have openings until the spring; the neurologist we had to see right away, but the rest were not pressing. We were suspended in this purgatory of waiting for answers.

Somehow we made it through the holiday season. Things weren't at a huge disconnect for us yet, Gabe being only shy of two, his behaviors obviously immature, his development delayed, but not so glaring or unmanageable. Those that knew of the diagnostic process we were undertaking were highly skeptical, and voiced their doubt. He seemed for all the world like a “normal” little boy.

That January, I decided to take the semester off school because all my attention was focused on Gabe. I never went back.

At the beginning of February, I took one of my semi-regular dollar store pregnancy tests to make sure I was still flying solo. Imagine my surprise when it informed me I had a tiny passenger aboard!

The day I got the positive test I remember vividly. My friends Beth and David came to take Emerald and Gabriel to the mall, where there was a new bounce house play area that had just been installed. They knew Gabe would get kick out of it. We got an afternoon pass and let them play while I talked to Beth about what I had just learned. Before we left, Beth wanted to stop in Barnes and Noble to pick up something.

Maybe he was overstimulated, maybe he wanted to go back to the play place...I'm not entirely sure. But Gabriel had his first big meltdown. He grabbed shelves full of books and was pulling them down; bright red in the face, sweating, hysterical, squalling like a fire engine. When Emerald throws a temper tantrum, I get angry and irritated. This wasn't like that. I was scared because I had no control.

All the way back home, I worried until I was ill about how I was going to handle him AND a new baby.

The pregnancy itself was not bad. We told Michael's family a couple of weeks later at his mother’s birthday party. We got a picture frame that had a grandparent quote and inside was a sonogram. Beth made cupcakes that said “boy or girl” on them. Everyone seemed happy by the news.

There was no sickness this time around, and the only craving I recall was hot dogs. As I do not eat hot dogs, I sat in the parking lot of Wienerschnitzel with the windows rolled down so I could smell the air. I had terrible acne, and for two weeks I had a carnitas monster burrito from freebirds twice a day.

In the mornings I would get up and do pregnancy yoga to make room for my big baby Ben. Next to me, Emerald would mimic the motions, down to sending love to the “baby” in her tummy like I did. Gabriel crawled beneath my legs and under my arms, laughing as he wove his way in and out, trying to knock me down.  

Early on, I asked Michael what he wanted to name this baby. Right away he said “Benjamin Reilly”. It was a name we had liked for Emerald, and the name of a Spider-Man character (Scarlet Spider, clone of Peter Parker. Look it up--good stuff). If it was a little girl, we decided on Gwendolyn Fern.

Toward the end of the pregnancy, I was dreadfully uncomfortable. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep. I was too hot all of the time. Every night around 11 pm, that tiny fetus would get to doing loop-de-loops and barrel rolls inside me and I would lay there feeling every bit of his bony body. His head was stuck down in my pelvis and it hurt to walk, to sit, to stand. I was enormous.

He was born at lunchtime on Labor Day Sunday, one of two that day. The other was an emergency, but we were planned.

Everything was going so smoothly when gradually I fall asleep. They had sedated me, and I didn't know why. They pull out the baby and I hear the nurse say, “where was she hiding that thing?” I am confused and a little offended; what's wrong with my baby. Michael whispers in my ear that he was 7 pounds, 14 ounces. I am relieved because this enormous weight has been lifted off of me and I can breathe again. I slip off to sleep.

Michael and my little Benji baby left; I was in a drug relaxed state, in and out of consciousness. There was a carousel of blood, and the doctor saying there was a bleed somewhere. They had to fill my bladder to check for leaks.

I drifted away again.

A little while later, I feel the doctor's hand on my shoulder. I swim back up to consciousness. Not sure why I'm still in the operating room; why haven't I moved to recovery? The doctor tells me there were some complications but it was under control, but that I shouldn't get pregnant for five--he glances down at my abdomen, and corrects-ten years, if ever again. I give him my most winningest smile and say that I was OUT of the baby making business.

In recovery, I was back there for so long. The nurse with the pretty eyes said that I could sleep, just sleep. Family would keep me up, but back here I could sleep.

When I finally did emerge, I didn't realize how doped I was--I grandly and expansively told everyone how much I loved everything and everyone. I was so happy. My baby was so perfect! Beautiful! He had this dark fuzzy hair and he was chunk chunk chunky. I was quite pleased with myself.

The drugs took a while to wear off. When they finally did, Michael brought me up to speed on how concerning the day before had actually been.

The surgeon had seen a “window” where a former scar had separated, thinning the muscle of the uterus enough to make it transparent. He had run his finger across it, and it ripped open beneath his touch. The dehiscence was severe enough that they were able to get the baby out through the tear without cutting more open. As soon as they saw that, I was quietly sedated so they could control the bleeding and try and repair the damage.

I had no idea. Everything had been so calm and peaceful. The recovery was much more uncomfortable than the previous two, but this was my third.

He was so good. His newborn cry sounded like someone had described crying to him but had done a poor job; he just said the word “wah” in this deep throated absurdity.

Because of gestational diabetes, he had a narrow lower body with a proportionately larger head and chunky shoulders and arms. It was kind of funny to look at, but he was beautiful.

The first day we had him home, I set him in the bouncer to get some water. When I returned less than a minute later, Gabriel had flipped the bouncer upside down--Ben was happily cooing facedown in the carpet.

That was the only sign of aggression we saw from Gabe to Ben for several years. Ben would play too rough or hurt Gabriel, and time and again, Gabe would kiss his hand and put it back in his lap. Gabe wasn't above stealing a pacifier or bottle, but he was always exceedingly gentle with his baby brother. During OT, we would put a pillow inside a laundry basket with Ben laying on top and let Gabe push him up and down the hallway, both of them laughing all the way.

Emerald took delight in Ben. She wanted to feed him, hold him, change him. She was the first to make him laugh. She'd read stories to him and share her food and toys. Everyone she met, she would tell them about her new baby brother, of which she was so proud.

Benny is and always has been a joy to be around. He's so kind and tender hearted. Whenever Emerald gets in trouble, he comes in, shaking head to foot terrified but firmly telling us to leave his sister alone. If she can't have tablet time, he offers to give her some of his.

This post is largely influenced by my Benjabuddy’s 6th birthday, which was yesterday. The kids ask me what they were like as infants. I tell them Emerald was “Chill”, Gabriel “Curious”, Tula “Gassy”. Benjamin, my darling little one, was “Happy”. That would change to “Reckless” when he got a bit older, but as a baby, he was my cheerful fella. We would go to the store and get coffees buy-one-get-one-free (decaf for him) and walk around the store singing. He'd always loved to sing. He’s babble back to me “a doka doka? A doka doka doka doka”, intonation of speech but utter, adorable nonsense.

People ask me if it was a bigger adjustment to go from one to two, or two to three kids. As close as I had them together, everything was essentially assembly line--feed three, bathe three, dress three, kiss three, one right after another. Ben just slipped into our lives like he had always been there.

(In answer to that question, I say every addition is an adjustment and every change has a learning curve.)

I wasted so long worrying, worrying about how I was going to handle this new baby and a possibly autistic toddler, how I was going to manage with all these changes. A lot of good it would do me; life was changing, whether I wanted it to or not. I couldn't have foreseen or prepared for how difficult it was going to be, that's for sure. But I would have never gotten to see how good and gentle Gabe is with babies, or what a wonderful teacher and guide Emerald would make. Benjamin has brought so much joy and love into our family, hope when we needed it most.

God knew just what we needed when he sent our little Ben.

Of Bears and Birthdays

I don’t know why I like the things I like, I know I just do.

If I dug down deep, I could probably come up with some justification. I’m pretty decent at making stuff up, so I could spin some tale or give some pretty reasoning, explain away why my favorite color is gold, why I love carnations, or why I never get tired of “Iris” by Goo Goo Dolls or the movie Big Fish. The truth is usually just “it makes my brain happy”.

A while back, I read that the reasons you like your favorite animal are what attracted you to your spouse. So, clever me decides to be sneaky and ask Michael all casual like what his favorite animal is and why.

He considered, then picked the great gray owl.

Because, he says,

1. They have these teeny bodies under a ridiculous amount of floof.
2. They screech to demand attention.
3. And everyone thinks they are wise, but they’re secretly big idiots.

He had no idea why I smacked him and stormed to bed.

My favorite animal is a bear. The breed varies from day to day; some days I like the huge laziness of the ussuri bears, others the playful antics of the panda. Today I am partial to the sun bear of southeast Asia.  

I don’t know why I like bears any more than I know why I cry at every church song that references the “fountain”. I just do. Even the reasons I can think of--fat, furry, and lazy--can be attributed to countless other species. When I think about them, my brain is happy.

Michael, of course, knows this. So for the last several months, he has been plotting and planning.

Today is my 30th birthday, you see. 2017 is kind of a big year for me all around--first I had TJ, then I turned the big 3-0. In November, Michael and I celebrate our 10th anniversary. It is a year of exciting things.

Michael wanted to take me to see bears.

There were a lot of ways he could accomplish this--we could plan a trip to a national park like Yellowstone, or to bear sanctuaries. There is a bear habitat in Waco.

Tula was...not precisely on the agenda, and her much celebrated birth complicated matters slightly. I cannot travel far from her for a while, and cannot leave her for long.

His hands thus restrained, he started researching options closer to home.

The Abilene Zoo (for a reasonable price) offers VIP tours for certain animals. Most commonly requested are the camels and rhinos, the giraffes, and the reptiles; they said they had never had a bear request before.

Michael set everything up, got my mother to watch the boys and the baby, and this afternoon we
went to meet the bear.

The bear-taker (heh) met us at the gift shop and took us back to the commissary to prepare a snack for the their only bear, an American black named Teddy. While we walked, she told us his story--he is 25, which is old for a bear. They usually only live to be 30 in captivity, 10 in the wild. Teddy came to them seventeen years ago with one other bear, BooBoo, after being donated by a private owner. BooBoo choked to death on a bone, and two females were donated. They passed on as well and they got Boris from an SPCA raid near the Houston area. He lived with Teddy until he died of congestive heart failure. Teddy is alone now, which doesn’t seem to bother him. Bears are solitary in the wild.

Before we got to the commissary, we passed by the hospital and holding areas, as well as the animals she said were part of the “educational department”. Besides bears, I am also partial to cats and to donkeys. I love the way donkeys yell to get attention. Imagine my delight when I heard a donkey hollering at us! His name was Donkey, but I called him Professor Donkey because he was educational. There was a sign hanging beside him that said “I have developed bad habits; please do not feed me no matter how much I beg.” He liked getting scritches on his scruffy donkey head and apparently has a rivalry with the goats.

Teddy eats omnivore pellets that kind of look like dog food, plus fresh fruits and veggies and fish. They scatter it over his enclosure so that he will have to forage for it, make him move around a bit so he doesn’t get too chunky and lazy. We prepared little silver fish for him, plus grapes and an ear of corn. She said he doesn’t like bananas or kale.

We went around to the bear enclosure to see if he would come around and see us. The best thing I learned was that he has a hammock he likes to sleep in (pictured above). During the winter, they lay hay out for him and cover his hammock in hay, and he scrapes it together into a pile to make a pallet. I asked if he needs to hibernate, and she said that he doesn’t because it doesn’t get cold enough here for him to need to. He just eats a ton more in the fall to prepare, and then his appetite drops back down when winter hits.

They weigh him once a month to make sure he isn’t getting too heavy; right now, he is just over 400 pounds. He is generally in good health, but has arthritis due to his age, so he has to be on a couple medications--he gets to take them in meatballs. On Thursdays, he gets a whole fish. She told us they also have him trained so they can brush his hair because he’s so fuzzy he gets mats in his fur.

Finally, it was time to meet the man of the hour!

He was sleeping in his cave when we came around, which I can hardly blame him for--it was 90 degrees and 2 in the afternoon; where better place for an old man to be than napping?

We threw corn and grapes at him, watching his breath get faster because he heard us and smelled the food. After a few minutes, he grudgingly rolled over and came out to see what we wanted.

He was very pleased with the snack we brought for him. The guide said that he is a little hard of hearing and doesn’t always hear them when they try to wake him up, so sometimes they have to stand on top of his enclosure and call him to get him up.

He’s a short and stocky thing, which I like--it is endearing. While tossing grapes, I accidentally bonked him right on the head. He looked like he was just a happy, easy going guy; she told me he is a real sweetheart.

It was such a great birthday surprise. Michael was amazing for doing all this work and putting it together for me just so I could meet a bear. I had an awesome time, a perfect way to celebrate three decades of Andie

:)

Gabriel's 8th Birthday

My son, Gabriel, is a devious little imp.

He possesses a singularity of mind, a unique driven focus that allows him to get away with pretty much any scheme he can concoct.  

In our backyard, there is a large trampoline.  Gabriel loves to jump on the trampoline, he’d stay on it all day if we allowed him to.  But occasionally, the time to jump has past, and it is time to come inside. Gabriel and I often disagree as to when that time should come.  However, I am bigger than he is, and can usually throw him over my shoulder to bring him inside.  

This is does sit well with Gabriel, and so he begins to put his plan into motion.  You see, Gabriel is quite clever.  Almost disturbingly so.  Through a long set of trials and errors, he has determined a series of facts.  He knows that Daddy will come running if he hears a loud crash at the other end of the house.  He knows that Daddy will come through the main hallway, instead of the side route through the kitchen.  He knows that Daddy will spend at least a few seconds scanning the room, looking for signs of injury.  And lastly, but most importantly, he knows that the front door will be unguarded during that time.

And so he waits for me to get comfortable in my chair, and then climbs behind his dresser.  He pushes, with his back against the wall, and the large heavy dresser topples, making a terrible noise.  Immediately, he ducks into the kitchen, narrowly missing Daddy as he comes down the hallways to investigate. He slips into the living room via the kitchen entrance, unlocks the front door, and is outside.  By the time Daddy realizes that he’s been duped, Gabriel has run around the side of the house, scaled the fence, and is back jumping on the trampoline just in time to giggle at Daddy as he comes out the back door.

It does not matter that Daddy will simply pick him up again and carry him inside.  In fact, at this point he will willingly and of his own determination walk back inside himself.  Because he won.  HE decided when it was time to come inside, and made a fool of Daddy in the process.

As our regular readers know, Gabriel has Autism, and enough has been said on that subject here that I will not rehash it.  Instead of talking about Gabriel’s ‘condition,’ I’d like to talk today about who he is outside of that diagnosis.  And on that topic, I’d like to rehash what I stated at the beginning.  My son, Gabriel, is a devious little imp.

He is also the most affectionate child I have ever met.  Anyone who has ever met Gabe has been on the receiving end of genuine, heartfelt hug.  Most do not escape his grasp without a big wet kiss as well.  He loves to be held, and he shows a certain empathy and compassion for others in this, because he assumes that everyone else does as well.  He goes out of his way to make sure you know that he loves you, regardless of how long he has known you.  Without ever making eye contact, he will find you and sit in your lap, cuddling against your chest.  He appreciates physical contact, and he assumes you do as well.

If you ever do manage to make eye contact with him, you immediately notice a fierce intelligence behind those twinkles.  His mind never rests.  He is constantly scanning the room, marking the exits, looking for people that will and will not let him get away with his tricks.  If you are eating something that he likes, you’d better guard it well, because the second you set it down, he will be keenly aware.

Gabriel loves to eat and drink, he loves to run, and he loves to laugh.

I think we all could learn a lot from him.

Happy Birthday, Gabriel.  Daddy loves you.

Birthdays

With my own impending birthday, I can't help but think I only have 3 more months to plan Emerald's 2nd birthday party. Some might call me over-anxious, but I believe the cost of the party should be broken up as much as possible so that you don't have a large amount to pay all at once. If I decide how I would like it to go now, I can buy decorations this month, presents in July, party favors in August, and food in September. Everything else keeps.

This year, I am thinking about going with a green, white, and art theme. I found a recipe for a cake decorated with M&M's that would go really well, and I was thinking of hand-making party hats and favor bags for her friends to decorate with markers or crayons and stickers. I suppose crayons are a better bet, since they won't stain little clothing, but this is just the beginning stages of thought. I had also considered a more lasting art present--there are "decorate your own cup" plastic coffee cups at Hobby Lobby for around 50 cents each. They each have four interchangeable Bible scenes, and are very cute. For party favors, I will use the bags they decorated and fill them with little coloring books, sticker pages, a four pack of crayons or chalk, and maybe a little children friendly candy. I don't think Michael and I could undertake the fiscal responsibility of feeding a large group of people, so I was thinking more along the lines of snack-y foods--cut up fruit and cheeses, crackers, cookies, and maybe juice boxes or not sugary punch, though I doubt there is such thing. I don't want to overload people on sweets, or I may end up getting stuck with too much birthday cake for us to finish off. 

These of course are all just ideas, and premature ideas at that. Emerald has definite likes and dislikes, but she has a true love and passion for art at this age, and I want to nurture that love. 

Hopefully, the whole party won't be over 2 or 3 hours, because there is always sleepy babies to think of. Present ideas are completely open at this point--I am thinking an art easel, or an adorable tutu. What she needs the most are tons of more clothes. That girl grows at an impossible rate. It's mildly maddening, but I do enjoy shopping for her. 

--Andie!--