You've Got To Learn To Live With What You Are

I don't even know where to begin to catch up. I have been on the thyroid 75mcg dose since the 1st week of October, and although I am not at rock bottom anymore, I still feel just blecch and depressed. I go for another thyroid blood test this next week. I am very curious to see if my dosage will be adjusted, and to what amount.

In a little over 2 weeks, I go under the knife. I have conductive hearing loss in my right ear, with at least 55% loss of hearing. It's so annoying, yet I'm terrified of the procedure (stapedectomy/stapedotomy) not working or getting infected with MRSI, that I'm having extreme anxiety about this as well. Apparently I have otosclerosis, and if I don't do anything, or if I get pregnant, it will get worse. But if I do get pregnant between now and then, I can't have the surgery. I don't think that's going to be an issue.

On the pregnancy front, there is still no good news. I didn't chart at all last month, nor for the past few months, so I don't even know if I ovulated or not. We did try though, so the arrival of my leetle friend was, as always, devastating.

Luckily I have the greatest kid in the world to partially make up for all of this. The Manling has really started talking a lot lately. He's putting together 2 and 3 word sentences, and what he talks about is amazing. He's so observant, and the way he makes connections between things is sometimes very illuminating or hysterically funny. I knitted Mark a stocking, and before I felted it, I laid it out on the ground to take pictures of it. He stared at it, the said "big sock", so I guess it actually resembled what it was supposed to; this was my very 1st sock/heel construction. Then he screwed up his little face in deep thought and looked down at his feet and said "baby sock." It was quite more impressive than it sounds here.

A better story follows. The Manling has been obsessed with balls and bats for a very long time now. He typically says "kick!" after he sees a ball or anything remotely ball-like, says the word ball, or hears anyone talk about balls. We're working on potty-learning, and the other day I took off his dipe in the bathroom before a bath, and a fresh round poop fell onto the ground. He announced "poop bawl!" He also knows that the litterbox is where "caht poop bawl" are located, put there but "Wee-wee" and "Gile." But I digress.... We were eating sausage pizza for what was his first time, although pizza is one of his favorite foods that he requests several times a week. He kept taking the sausage off his slice and wouldn't eat them. He was saying something about it, but it was loud, and he was on my deaf-ear side, so I missed what he said. When we got home, I told him to tell Mark what we did that day, and what we ate for lunch. He said "poop bawl pizza" or "pizza poop bawl," and I nearly died laughing. Also in his lexicon, is "pizza" instead of penis. He's a riot.

We started taking a weekly art class at a local community center. He generally enjoys the activites, but doesn't like getting paint or glue on his hands. He's also very fastidious in eating, and must have spills or drips immediately cleaned up with an imperiously announced "towl!"

My parents came out for 10 days. Vidalias went hunting with Mark for the weekend; they didn't even see any animals, and my mom hung out with The Manling and I. It was great to see them. We opened birthday presents, and ate a birthday cake. We also went to the very disappointing corn maze with them; apparently the hail we got multiple times in the summer really stunted the growth so the corn was only about 4' tall. This summer wasn't so good in many ways... We hadn't made a big deal out of The Manling's birthday, so I'm glad we got to do something a little festive for him. He blew out all his candles ( a big 2, plus 4 standard ones just for fun), and really enjoyed "birfday cake." He refers to any gift he got as birthday chairs, or birthday digger, etc to this day.

I think the highlight of their visit was that we went to the Westminster Promenade ice rink and he got to see some kids play hockey. He loves loves loves ice hockey, or "haw-hee" as he calls it. We took him to an Avs games last month which he really liked, and I record all the games so we can watch a few periods at a time. I've really gotten back into hockey, and Mark has discovered an affinity for it as well, but not nearly as much as the Little Man. He will point out "icesh," the go-wee," the "mashk" they wear, as well the "stick," "kates," and "hat" or "hehmeh" (helmet) the players use. I almost forgot the "buck!" We had talked about taking him to start ice skating lessons when he turns 3 (only 10 months away!) but we saw something this week that makes me think he might like just to go go ice skating this year: he placed 2 rectangular blocks, (and today 2 brochures) under his feet and called them skates while swinging his pirate sword ("bones") at a styrofoam ring (puck).

I am making a distinct and concerted effort to enjoy every bit of his life. I'm trying not to get too caught up in my problems so I can live in the moment with him. I am relishing each precious moment for itself, appreciating the great kid I have, and trying to ignore, yet fully cognizant of, that this might be the only time I get to go through this stage in someone's life. And so I have no regrets for breast-feeding for so long, or for using cloth diapers, or lying in his bed every night cuddling him or just lying there until he falls asleep, or letting him walk down the hallway in the middle of the night to come into our bed, etc. Although I must confess I sometimes can't stand the nights when he just won't sleep, or the weeks where he would just spit out food onto the floor, and I would get so mad and over-react. Then of course I feel so guilty and self-recriminating and feel like it's no wonder I can't get pregnant.

The only things keeping me relatively sane are that Mark has switched jobs to another big box retailer, and my knitting. So Mark is at a smaller big box, but he'd finally a general manager, making bigger bucks, and in charge of his schedule. After a few weeks of training, he'll get his own store and no more entire weeks of terrible mid-shifts so I get burned out; no more Mark missing impoertnant doctor appointments or art classes with the Manling. Though we are switiching insurance companies in January. Luckily I get to keep my existing doctor and hospital, and they are re-imbursing us the nearly $900/month COBRA bill.

I've become a knitting addict. I've made a few minor projects, changed my mind about the sweater I was dying to make and have settled on the Rogue, even completing one sleeve, and completed Mark's stocking, and am working on my stocking. I love cables, and my invitation to Ravelry finally came, so I've been poring over hundreds of great projects and patterns and yarns. Knitting has become so therapeutic for me. I never would have thought I'd ever be saying that.