21 Months...

Alexander,

In a few days, you'll turn 21 months, and Mommy is actually on the ball this time around and writing a monthly update early. This likely won't last, as our lives have shifted from the lovely predictability that came with you passing the 18-month mark to absolute chaos.

Know that this isn't entirely about you. Our little family unit has been rocked over the last month with some pretty significant stuff. In the midst of it, I found myself thinking about how well you were weathering the rapid and unplanned changes to your routine that were becoming an all too frequent occurrence. I think I spent too much time lingering over that thought and didn't touch wood fast enough because almost as soon as I got used to the idea that you must be the most stellar 20, near 21-month old ever, you forgot how to fall asleep at bedtime again. Then you added insult to injury when you spent three hours figuring out how to go to sleep, complete with very much nashing of teeth and rending of garments (all mine).


What is up with this? Seriously! You are clearly tired little one. You are yawning through your sobs and your eyes are fighting to be open. It would be so easy just to go to sleep. Seriously! GO TO SLEEP.

I'm thinking that there may be more teeth causing this latest drama. And I am wondering why we haven't figured out a better way for babies to teethe yet. Someone smart should be working on that.


This month hasn't been oddballs due only to your sleeping wierdness. You've had some other notable happenings in the heath department. In the last 30 days you have visited the doctor five times, run a fever over 104 for five days, logged five hours in the emergency room, and had your first CATT scan (thankfully only one of these and not five). You are our little dare devil, it seems, and careening around your school playground and running into play houses hasn't dampened your spirit one little bit. You took that concussion like the little man you are, and argued with me the next day about why we couldn't go to the park and swing on the swings. Granted, your argument consists of continued pointing in the general direction of the playground, repeating, "please...PLEASE," FOR MANY HOURS.

Thankfully, this head trauma (that's what they called in in the ER and on all of your discharge paperwork) was a relatively minor incident, made all the more dramatic by the lengthly ER visit, but I think regardless of that, I will never forget the sight of your little face, and your little left hand reaching for me as you were swaddled on the table for the CATT scan, and I will certainly never forget the feeling of wondering if you were seriously hurt, and what I would do if you were.

Early in May my grandfather died and your dad braved his first flight alone with you to join me in Florida with our family for the funeral. I had traveled there the day before his death, so I had two nights without you, which is enough to cause me to more than slightly want to see your smiling face. The sight of you (and your father) coming out of the terminal at the airport was something I will not soon forget, nor wish too. You had this giant smile on your face, your arms were outstretched to me, and you were yelling, "Mommy," with some vigor. All of the sadness for the passing of my grandfather completely dissolved for that moment. Any doubts I have had about being your mother vanished. You have that effect on people, kiddo. The whole family felt it - there was a warmth that you brought with you that would not have been there if you weren't.

This is what I was thinking about as you were having your CATT scan, and completing the thought with what I would do, how I would feel if something ever took that beautiful smile of yours away. Certainly, life would be less warm, less amazing, less fun, also less challenging, but so very empty.

So, cry at night, little one. Scream your head off if you wish. We will weather this storm too and figure this one out, and I will hold your hand and hope that it brings you warmth, as you do me every day.


I love you Alexander,
Mommy