I ran into a quote last week that really struck a chord with me…

“Isn’t it funny how day by day, nothing changes, but when you look back, everything is different?”

I’m not sure who said it, but it is so, so true. I find myself weekly, even daily, looking at my children and feeling like it has always been like this. In my mind, I know they started as tiny little babies, but in my day to day mindset nothing has changed…ever. Danny has always been silent, has made no progress. Eric has always been this amazing, imaginative, talkative kid. With Danny especially, I get this mired feeling sometimes, because if nothing has changed, nothing ever will.

So I took a look back…

A year ago, Eric wasn’t even talking in full sentences. He was trying – “What we buy?” – but the grammar just wasn’t there. He was just barely starting to use the potty, and consequently, was peeing all over my house. He was so…young.

A year ago, Danny barely understood a word we said. He had just learned to take off his headpieces, never mind rip them to pieces, take the harness off, or (gasp!) put them back on. He was just taking his first independent steps, one or two at a time, but did not walk. He babbled only with vowels; there were no consonants, and certainly no word approximations.

Sometimes, I need to look back to see how far we’ve come, and to realize that maybe – just maybe – in a year things will be so much different, so much better. Isn’t it funny how nothings changes, but nothing stays the same? It’s this that is so well worth being a parent: watching them grow, seeing how far they have come, and knowing it’s only the beginning.

What a crazy journey it is.

Staying at home has definitely been a whole new world for me this week. As expected, it’s not exactly a lazy-day, sit on the couch eating bon-bons and watching the Price is Right lifestyle. I’ve been busy. Heck, we had Eric’s 4 year well checkup, Danny’s visit with the neurologist, and our outside stairs to the basement repaired, on top of typical errands and housework and the like. What I’ve noticed, though, is that while I’m certainly busy, I’m not rushed. There is no “Oh my God, I have to get x, y, and z done in the next hour and my boys are waiting at daycare and then I have to make supper and how on earth am I going to do it all – AHHHHHHH!” When I worked, I always felt under the gun. A trip to the grocery store to pick up milk in the middle of the week was a huge production of hoping to get out of work on time, then racing through the grocery store so that I could pick up the boys, then racing home so that I could make supper.

Now, if I need milk…I go get it.

Now, I don’t “fit in” play therapy…I just play.

Now, I don’t “squeeze in” the housework…I just get it done.

Now, I don’t “wish I had time” for making muffins…I make them.

There’s even time to let Danny try to help, even though he hasn’t the faintest clue what’s going on.

The best part, though, came one afternoon while Eric, Danny, and I were up playing in Danny’s room. A storm was rolling in, and we were reading books and generally roughhousing around when thunder crashed outside. Eric, predictably, froze what he was doing and gasped. What I didn’t predict was that Danny immediately stopped what he was doing, too. My deaf son heard the storm.

Yeah, it’s been a pretty cool week.

These poor children – who obviously are miserable and have no fun at all – are going to be stuck with me a lot more starting this summer.

I am the first one to say that I never expected I would become a stay at home mom at this point, but here I am, counting down the weeks until it happens. I’ve always been comfortable with being a working mom…to a point. I’ve questioned myself more and more these past few years as the doubt seeped in about Danny’s progress. Yes, he is doing marvelously considering his CMV background; however, compared to so many cochlear implant kids, he’s going slow. Painfully slow. He’s making progress, and maybe this is just the speed he would progress at regardless, but it’s always in the back of my mind. Psst. Hey, you. Yeah, you, the mom. Don’t you think he would make more progress if you working? It’s your fault, you know.

Unfounded? Maybe. But it’s always been there.

Now, I try not to put too much expectation on my staying at home. Maybe nothing will change. Maybe Danny will continue being the slowest CI kid ever. (OK, that’s an exaggeration and I know it.) I have to prepare myself for that, but at least I’ll know I’m doing what I can.

Besides – the kids are only this young once, right?

So, after July 30, I’ll be giving up the working world for a little while to stay home with my boys. I don’t know what to expect, but I know it will be exhausting, and amazing, and hard, and so much fun. Eric will continue going to preschool, 5 mornings a week instead of full day, and we’re keeping him at the same school with the same teachers and friends. Danny will be starting the deaf school’s toddler program when the school year starts in August, 3 mornings a week for 3 hours. I’m sincerely hoping that the combination of that time and the two mornings with just me at home will help him make some serious progress.

In the mean time, I’m spending plenty of time thoroughly distracted and trying desperately to keep my mind on work when it so doesn’t want to be. 4 years ago, I was doing the exact same thing in the build up to Eric’s birth on July 31. I know I’m only going to get more distracted and less motivated as time goes on!

I may be crazy, but here goes nothing…

Those poor kids!

Growing up, I always thought I’d be great when my kids would ask “why” a million times. It was a game I’d play sometimes with friends or parents (quite honestly, I’ve forgotten who), and I would always come up with a million answers. It was fun! It was creative!

It was a sham.

While I can still come up with a million answers to consecutive “why”s, it’s lost its shininess quite quickly. You see, while I expected to get asked “why” over and over again on one subject, I didn’t expect it on every subject. Why is the french toast not in this freezer? Why did you sit down? Why did you put Danny’s ear back on?

Why did you scream and tear your hair out?

(OK, so I haven’t gone that far yet, but seriously.)

So, my lovely Eric, I love your inquisitiveness and I love your love of learning…but can you please give the “why”s a rest?

A couple weeks ago, I got a call with an offer I was thrilled to accept: I was going to school!

Well OK, maybe not exactly. I was asked to sit on a parent panel for a class of deaf ed/early interventionists to be. She was looking for parents of hard of hearing/deaf kids to come in, share their experiences, and answer questions on our journeys so far. On one level, I was apprehensive; I’m not much of a public speaker! But it was as part of a panel, so I wouldn’t be alone, and the opportunity to help not only these students but future parents as well was an exciting one.

I was prepared to rehash some of the harder times of our journey, along with the positive ones. I was prepared to be honest and forthcoming. What I wasn’t prepared for was what an amazing experience it was. I think all of the parents there agreed at the end that it was great just to talk about it, and to know there were other adults out there who talked like we did, about the things we did. The experiences among us were varied – some “just” deaf, some with various delays, some with cochlear implants, some with hearing aids – but no matter how different our individual experiences were I found myself nodding so often at the things they were saying.

These other parents, they got it. And because they got it, I felt connected to them, even if I couldn’t tell you their names. When one mother, who had just gotten a CI surgery date, started to tear up, I wanted to pull her into a hug and comfort her even though I’d only met her 15 minutes before. (I resisted, though.)

Time passed so quickly, and the hour turned into an hour and a half almost, but it still seems to be over so soon. I’m so, so glad I did it though, and would do it again in a heartbeat. It reinforced my desire to go to the Moog workshop this summer too, if only to meet other parents and get that feeling of not being so alone again. I have wonderful support and wonderful friends and family, but there’s always that “step apart” feeling at times. It’s amazing what spending time with other D/HOH parents and sharing your story can do. It’s cathartic to go back to those days and emotions again. (It also made me realize that I never recorded our ABR experience…that’s something I plan on doing in the next little bit, just to have it down. Much like a birth story or a story of activation or surgery day, that’s something I’d like in here, and remembered.)

I think that’s part of why I blog, and have reached out to the blog community…for those ties. But it’s not the same as sitting in the same room, no matter how great all the online folks are.

Being a working mom presents all sorts of challenges, not the least of which is finding time to be mommy with your kids. There are days, if I have to work late, that I feel like I get home, cook supper, eat, and then put Danny to bed. Frankly, it stinks. Eric, by this age, was staying up later, but I know Danny’s putting all the extra effort into listening so it tuckers the poor kid out.

Danny’s latest obsession

When we made the decision for me to continue working once Eric was born, I’d prepared myself for a lot of the challenges. I was ready for the early mornings, the hectic rushes, the captured moments with my kids that would sometimes seem too few and far between. I prepared as best I could for challenges like pumping at work and all the extra time off I’d need to juggle, and spent a lot of time researching and finding the right daycare.

I don’t talk a lot about the fact that I work outside of the home because, honestly, it’s just a segment of who I am and it’s not that fascinating. I get up in the morning, get the kids ready, drop them off, go to the gym (if I’m on top of things that day), and go to the office. Talking about work on the Internet isn’t something I like to do that much; it’s too public, and any wrong word could get back to my coworkers or boss and cause trouble.

“Playing ballet”

I also shy away from talking about it because it always ends up being such a hot topic. The last time it came up in conversation, people started taking offense, and some feelings were hurt because, as stay at home moms and wives, they felt that working women saying they wanted or were “more than just a mom” downplayed and belittled motherhood.

At the end of the day, I am “just” a wife and a mom too. When I’m at work, I’m thinking about my family. I’m planning meals and evenings and weekends, I’m scheduling appointments and therapy sessions – and yes, I’m working too, doing the best I can and producing work I’m proud of. But really, whether we work outside the home or not, we’re all “just” mommies trying to raise our kids the best we know how. Sometimes that means staying at home, and sometimes it means having a career; sometimes it means working part time, and sometimes it means splitting shifts with your husband so you never see him, but you both see your kids.

What it’s all about.

Working makes the time spent with my boys that much more special and cherished. Are there days I’d rather be at home with them? Sure, absolutely. Do I take for granted how special being a mom is because I’m willing to spend time away from my kids? Not at all.

I’m proud to be “just” a mother, raising two fabulous boys. Nothing special or out of the ordinary about me!

Eric discovered Daddy’s shoes one day, and seeing him wander around in his too-big shoes, I realized something: I can’t picture my kids grown up.

Honestly. I seriously can’t. I can picture them a few years down the road, but as grown men? Just can’t do it.

I wonder to myself sometimes about who and what they might be. Eric, right now, with his love of learning and trying to figure out how things work might be some kind of scientist… Danny, who knows? He’s still so young that we’re just starting to see glimpses of his personality, and what we see doesn’t give me a whole lot of clues.

I hope they’re compassionate and thoughtful. I hope they’re kind. I hope they’re strong, brave against the world.

Honestly, I hope they’re a lot like their dad.

There’s so much I want to teach them, and I feel like it’s me and not them that has the big shoes to fill at times. I mean, we’re raising brand new people. That’s kind of heavy when you think about it – which I seldom do. I’d much rather play with cars and monkeys and chase them around the room.

I hope they grow up without ever letting go of the kid in them.

Though maybe…maybe this one will grow up and start actually behaving for the camera again?

Nah. Too much to ask.

Song for today: I Need a Silent Night, Amy Grant

Every year, online, I see the same thing: so many people rushing out to get professional photos taken. Some do family shots or fancy photos in various studios. Others line up forever for a mall Santa and pay ridiculous amounts of cash to get a single picture.

In keeping with my parenting style, I’m lazy. Or cheap. Maybe both.

Every year around the holidays, we stage our own photo shoots. We find different ways to do it every year – trimming the tree, out in the snow if there is any, whatever strikes us that year. We’ve done holiday PJs, casually dressy, and of course the much loved crazy Santa of Eric’s first Christmas.

That’s still my favorite one.

In all honesty, I’ve never been a fan of professional photos, at least not in the box studios. Now, I’ve seen some amazing professional shots by photographers that will go outside and photograph the family as they play and pose and enjoy themselves; those are awesome, but also awesomely expensive. We once packed Eric and ourselves up and went in to a studio to do a professional shoot, his first Christmas. Eric hardly behaved, it was hot, the waiting made everyone cranky, and the pictures are not really any better than what we can accomplish at home.

Can’t tell he’s the same kid, can you?

Often, I prefer the ones we take ourselves.

Now, I’ll admit, this does actually end up taking a fair bit of work too. Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn’t be easier just to schedule a time and get someone else to take the pictures – but I know, with my boys, something would happen. They would fall and get bruises all over their face, someone would end up in Urgent Care with stitches, and there is no way either boy would nap that day, leading to incredibly uncooperative and non-listening children. That’s just how they roll. Honestly, that’s how they roll for our pictures sometimes too; this year we ended up going twice, back to back days, because one day the pictures of Eric were great but Danny wouldn’t behave and the next day the pictures of Danny were great but Eric was cheesing it up horribly.

So if you see some crazy family out on the street, one of the parents running around with a camera and the other chasing down a run-away child, it’s probably us. If nothing else, we make some pretty fun memories as we try to get the pictures…and that’s the whole point, isn’t it?

Three years ago, today, I was due with my first baby – or overdue depending on who you asked, the doctor’s office had told me one due date and recorded another. I was hot, large, and a little impatient … but happy. I was given the opportunity to induce and declined it, which in retrospect was an awesome decision.

Three years ago today, I went into labor. A long, three day, slow as molasses labor that kept me from sleeping and gave me plenty of last-minute time to play video games and think about impending motherhood. I remember I went through the entire time waiting for that pivotal moment that you always hear about, the one where a pregnant woman gasps and declares, “I’m having a baby!” The contractions become unbearable, the water breaks, and there is no doubt in your mind that it’s Time.

It never was time for me. All right, that’s a lie; at about 5pm 3 days later I entered transition and the pain became suddenly and terribly unbearable all at once, but by that point I’d been having contractions forever and had been in the hospital for over 12 hours, so it was a little overshadowed. It came slowly to me, and quite bearably. I wasn’t really sure I was in labor at first because it was so easy. Of course, it was easy probably in part because it was so slow, but I’m not complaining either way. It was early the next morning, when I was barely able to sleep for more than 15 minutes at a time between contractions, that I realized what was happening…but they were so far apart that I didn’t do much about it. I hung out at home. I ate. I played. We went to the mall. I doubt anyone I saw that weekend would have guessed what was happening.

Memory has done what memory does: it’s faded the bad and left only the warm and fuzzy. I remember, in an academic way, how annoying it was to not sleep and how painful the last hours were. I remember how I cried and said I couldn’t do it, how scared I was of the epidural and yet desperate for the relief all of a sudden. It seemed sudden to me; I’m not sure if John would agree. Looking back today, even a year ago, it seems totally doable. Something I would want to experience again, or rather, something I wish I had experienced a second time … not so much something I want to do at the moment.

Three years ago, I was on the cusp of motherhood, about to change my life completely. I had no functional knowledge of babies, diapers, bottles, baby food, onesies, binkies, cribs, or boppies. I had no idea what was coming, only that it was going to be awesome.

And it has been.

My poor, neglected blog. Somewhere, my creativity just fizzled, and while a few things have occurred to me to write, none of them have come to fruition.

Our Fourth! The Fourth of July is not a huge holiday for me, perhaps because it is so new, perhaps because the idea of non-professional fireworks scares the pants off me. I’ve come to accept it, and will enjoy it (from a safe distance), but the first time I saw the tents go up and found out that people down here could buy and set off fireworks by themselves I was aghast.

I’m a wimp.

This Fourth was a larger one than usual for us. It meant the welcoming and meeting of our friends’ brand new baby, just 5 days old, and Danny’s first July with hearing. Last year on the Fourth I sat in the back yard simultaneously trying to watch Danny for reactions and trying not to, because I knew I wouldn’t like what I saw. It was a hectic, emotionally packed process, not without its disappointment. (Surely, they were wrong, and he would startle at the fireworks and prove to the world he was not deaf!)

This year, while I was curious to see how he would handle them with his implants, I promised myself not to watch – and I didn’t. In fact, between the rain and the new baby, I ended up not going outside at all with Danny. Eric bounced in and out a few times before the sun began to set and the big fireworks started to go off, then came inside and pronounced “It’s too noise!”

If I had been hoping to take Danny out to see and hear fireworks, I would have been grossly disappointed. Between teething and his normal bedtime being between 8 and 9, this was about as much of the fireworks as Danny saw:

Yep, the kid slept through it all. His processors came off before the fireworks even really started in earnest. Of course, we did go outside to retrieve a clean diaper from the car, and after a rather close firework, Danny gave a bit of a cry.

That was enough for us.

I can’t wait for the next Fourth though – less because of the fireworks (which Eric is still terrified of, and I half expect Danny will be too), but because by then he’ll be able to play in earnest! We visited a great festival for the Fourth this year that Eric enjoyed, and I can’t wait to see Danny have fun with it too instead of just being along for the ride, literally, slung on my hip.