Updates in January.

I just completed Week 7 of C25K, and it was really, really hard. All 3 runs were 25 minutes, and according to the podcast I use, that's supposed to equal a 2.5 mile run. Can I just take a minute here to point out how insane it is to think that I'm supposed to go from 'couch' to 10-minute miles in just over 6 weeks? I came home after each of this week's runs and mapped them, and I'm not quite clocking 2 miles in 25 minutes. I'd be embarassed to admit that it takes me more than 12 minutes to run a single mile except for the fact that I've never in my LIFE run for 25 minutes straight, so while I'm a little disappointed in my distance, I'm really trying to focus on the positives.

Week 8 will kick off for me tomorrow, upping the runs from 25 to 28 minutes. So far this year I ran 5.26 miles (and I added a ticker right up top on my blog, over there --->, to keep me accountable), and on top of it? I may not be seeing the numbers on the scale changing yet, but I am feeling a difference in my body. I definitely feel the burn in my legs while running, and can feel my muscles tightening up. The other night, after my first 25 minute run, I even made Darrick feel my calves to see how strong they are getting. Nerd.

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In bathroom news, our insurance adjuster is going to come out this afternoon to inspect the damage and let us know whether any of it's covered under insurance. I'm not optimistic. Honestly, they've already tried twice to have us pay for someone to come out to set up fans in the garage and 'remove moisture and humidity from the walls'. Um, great...except we're talking about just enough water to bathe two little kids (half full tub?) that leaked on a day that was 80 degrees with almost NO humidity. I'm thinking it's not likely worth several hundred to several thousand to pay someone to do that.

In the meantime, while we waited for the insurance people to come out, we started chipping out tile. Darrick figured out a new way of removing it without the pieces breaking so small, which definitely helps minimize dust and other messes. As of the other night, when these pictures were taken, he'd only chipped up a small section of the floor. However, in preparation for the adjuster's visit today, he chipped out the whole area in front of the tub. Under it is a tile subflooring we also need to remove, then the tub will be ready to pull out of its place!

These pictures are crappy and the colors are funny, but you can see the work he did in here in them.

***Update*** I took a few pictures to show what he did in here last night.

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In other news, Rohan has discovered his Mastocytosis spot. The other day, I witnessed him telling Luca he had a 'big ouchie' and pointing to his arm. She took it in stride (we've prepped her for this, explaining it to her in kid-terms from very early on so it would be a normal thing when it came up), telling him it wasn't an ouchie, it was just a spot that turns pink and puffy if he eats kiwi. I laugh because she must have heard us tell people this many times, that kiwi is the only food we know of so far that he has bad reactions to, and she picked it up and fed it right back to him. I did ask him if it was hurting, and he said no, so I think he was reacting to it looking like an ouchie more than it feeling ouchie. His spot is always a bit red and is about the size of a quarter, so I knew it would be a matter of time before he caught sight of it and asked about it.

He has since pointed it out to me a few times, and I just say "Oh yep, that's your little spot. It's ok right now though, so let's just leave it alone." With Masto, if he messes with the spot itself it could possibly trigger a histamine reaction that would cause him some irritation, so we're opting to just encourage him to leave it alone to hopefully avoid that. He still remains largely unaffected by his Masto, rarely having reactions like some kids with Masto do have, so I'm optimistic we can just approach this in a way that normalizes and minimizes it for him.

Oranges and Masto

In our front yard is my favorite tree. All winter long, I watch the oranges grow and wait anxiously for them to be ripe enough to eat. We pick them straight from the tree and eat them fresh and still cold from the outside air. This winter alone we had about 50 oranges, all delicious and juicy and sweet.

Rohan loves oranges. He begs for them. He plucks them from the ground and asks us to 'open' them. He picks slices out of my bowl and sucks the sweet juice off the pulp.

He breaks out in a red, blotchy rash.

He begs for more.

His diapers after he eats oranges result in a red, angry rash.

He begs for more.

I always give in, reasoning that many kids are sensitive to the acidic juices of an orange.

This morning we went to visit my father in law. We sat in chairs on his back patio, peeling oranges and savoring a beautiful morning. We watched the kids run wild through the backyard, throwing a ball for the dogs and collecting pecans they asked us to break open so they could eat them straight away.

Within minutes, Rohan's skin around his mouth was red and raw. We washed it with warm water, dried it with a clean towel, and put some sensitive skin lotion on his face. He continued to ask for more. We said no. He went about his morning, falling asleep in the car after lunch and a run through a park.

He woke from naptime more red and raw. And by bedtime he was fussy. He woke twice, crying out for me. I got him back to sleep once, and the second time Darrick brought him into our bed, hopeful that a snuggle would be enough to soothe him back to sleep. I heard his cry get more desperate. I went up to him, armed with Benadryl (we now use this instead of the prescription histamine blocker he used to receive). He fought the medicine, crying and moving his head away, saying no. He curled onto his side and pulled his legs up to his body, sobbing. With Darrick's help, I got most of the medicine in his mouth. I pulled him to me and shushed him and, sandwiched between us, he fell back to sleep.

I don't want to deny him his oranges. His love for them runs deep. But I fear oranges may go the way of kiwis for him: on the no-go list from here on out unless we're in the mood to watch him suffer.

Sometimes, I think his Masto is so minor, I allow myself to forget about it altogether. Sometimes, I get mad he can't enjoy the simple pleasure of devouring a freshly ripened orange, straight off the tree.

Forgiveness.

Have you ever felt like there are just these issues out there, hangning over your head and making your heart feel a little sad? Things you need to air and then forgive, in order to move on with a happy heart?

And what if those things you needed to forgive...were things for which you needed to forgive YOURSELF?

I've made mistakes in my life. I have made decisions that have complicated things for me, and decisions that have been downright idiotic or ill-concieved. And I have also made an honest effort sometimes to be the best, 'best' being defined as the person I dream myself to be when I am feeling very self-righteous and fabulous in my own mind (I forgive myself, by the way, for self-righteous, but fabulous is something for which I will never ask forgiveness).

And so, in the spirit of Christmas coming soon and worries that have been plaguing me and things I just haven't managed to let go, I want to forgive myself so that I can move forward with a free heart.

For spending the first few months of Luca's life worrying about her small size and not trusting my Mama Gut, which told me it was all ok and it's just who she was. For not being able to enjoy that time like I wanted to, and for crying more tears than necessary.

For doubting myself when my parenting decisions came under fire.

For not using cloth diapers exclusively for Luca, and for not really using them at all with Rohan. OH, how I wanted to be a cloth diaper Mama (even back before it was the hipster thing to do), but with a husband who was resistant and a full time job it never worked out the way I hoped.

For not being financially able to be a stay at home mom, even when my heart broke every time I had to leave my babies for work, travel out of town, miss a bed time, supplement becuase I couldn't pump enough milk, miss a milestone, or miss kissing a skinned knee or a sleepy, honey sweet cheek.

For losing my temper with my husband and my kids, which doesn't happen too often, but still feels ugly every time it does.

For gaining too much weight while pregnant and not losing it.

For not producing enough milk with Luca despite every effort under the sun and for not making every effort under the sun with Rohan because I knew the heartbreak and stress it had caused the first time and didn't want to repeat it. For not being able to be the breastfeeding goddess I assumed I would naturally be.

For feeding my kids and myself McDonald's breakfast now and then.

For giving in on circumcision.

For despairing instead of hoping when Rohan was diagnosed with Masto, and for letting that cloud my days and overshadow my joy. For worrying about him being 'normal' or 'accepted' or 'having a disease' and feeling powerless.

For forgetting that the journey with Rohan's diagnosis made us all stronger.

For not saving more money before having kids.

For not saving any money after having kids.

For buying a house when we should have just rented for a year and waited out the falling market to get more house for less money.

For not being good with budgets.

For not listening to my husband with a more open mind.

For jealousy when it inspires ugliness (though not for the jealousy that makes you strive to be a better person).

For never sending out those thank you cards.

For always rushing and doing things last minute.

For credit card debt it feels like we will forever be 'working on paying off'.

For not being able to afford to really go after my calling at this point in my life.

For not shutting my mouth when I really should have.

For not being the super crunchy earth mama I so WANT to be sometimes, because life takes over and convenience wins over conviction.

For not forgiving myself sooner.

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Forgiveness is choosing to love. It is the first skill of self-giving love. --Mahatma Gandhi

Flushing.

One of the effects of Rohan's Mastocytosis is that certain foods cause a reaction in his body, and a very few times they cause him to 'flush'. I posted about it here, when he had a reaction to blueberries. Oddly, he has had blueberries quite often since then, and never had another reaction like it.

Today at lunch I decided to try a new food, and while he ate it right up, he soon had the same telltale signs of reactions. The food was a kiwi, which is known to be high in histamine and thus I knew going into it that it was possible he would have a reaction to them.

You can see, if you scroll down to the post two below this one, how peaches-and-cream his complexion normally is. He gets red easily when he plays outside in the heat for any amount of time, but this flushing is different. More pronounced and defined on his skin:

I didn't give him any of his meds since it didn't seem to be bothering him at all. His cheeks stayed flushed for about 30-40 minutes, in which time I made sure he was not acting uncomfortable, gave him lots of cool water to drink, and used a cool cloth to wipe his cheeks gently. I'm not entirely sure if either the drinking water or the cool cloth actually help him feel better, but they made me feel better.

Hey Masto? Kindly Fuck Off.

Masto has been sort of a non-issue in our house for a few months now, which I credit largely to cool weather and careful food choices for Rohan.

But nothing is perfect and the extra challenge with a disease that is there from birth is that it manifests itself in ways we can't always detect. And may I be honest and just admit right here and now that this pisses me off?? Because not only is it not really fair to him to have been born with this fate, but it's also not fair to him to suffer and not be able to tell us why and how.

So after a few months with no need to medicate Rohan, I was starting to feel like maybe I had overblown the whole damn thing. I do this: I freak a bit about something (or a lot, in this case) and then in retrospect I laugh and duck my head in embarassment because I can see (hindsight is amazing, no?) that perhaps my knee jerk reaction aimed too high. I started to think that maybe all those worries and stresses and sorrows I felt for the adjustments we'd have to make in his life were really just me being in Mommy Mode and overthinking things. Most of the worries involved the little things, because the little things become the big things in labors of love. As a mom I worry what will happen if he ever needs surgery given he may not tolerate anesthetics well or even at all. But I also worry how we will answer the questions about "What happened to his arm?" and whether he will have trouble playing sports and even if he will ever be able to enjoy a carton of fresh, plump blueberries in the middle of a summer afternoon.

But, like I said, he was doing really well. It has not been uncommon in the months since he was diagnosed at 5 weeks for us to need to medicate him at least once or twice a month. But this weekend brought us a perfect storm of happenings in his little body, primarily a fever and 4 molars working their way through the gums. And with all that not feeling good happening, I really didn't overthink it when I picked him up early from daycare yesterday only to battle his mood the entire evening while he fought his midday nap, his late day nap, and his bedtime. Finally we gave him some Tylenol for the lingering raised body temperature (it was barely elevated at this point) and the teething, and my husband was able to get him to sleep.

Fast forward to this evening, when he fit and fussed and cried and argued with my every attempt to get him to go to bed. If I could read his mind, I'm sure his thoughts would have read:

Pick me up! NO NO NO...Put me down!!! I need water! Get that sippy cup away from me right now! I am Highly Offended! I need a hug. HUG ME! Pick me UP! I'm so tired. Soooooo tired. Hold me. Don't hold me like that!! NO! Not like that!!! Ok, yes, like that. Where is my BOP?!?!?!That's better. Now put me down. No, down. On the FLOOR! Not in my crib. I said NOT IN MY CRIB! Yes, in your arms. No, I am not going to sleep. Take me downstairs. Now hold and rock me. NO no no...do NOT sit while you hold me. Stand. I said Stand!!! Why are you setting me down?!?!? I love you. Go away.

After half a dose of Tylenol didn't seem to take the teething edge off, I erecognized the telltale signs that maybe it wasn't his teeth bothering him. He was hot and sweaty. He seemed uncomfortable. He was clenching his fists and curling into his belly and manically kicking his legs.

But you know what he was not doing? He was not talking, and telling me how he felt. And damn if I don't always doubt my Mama instincts. So I tried to rock and cuddle and coo and love...all to no avail. And finally I looked into his extremely red and tired eyes and saw that this was not working.

0.10 mL of Doxepin, a few verses of his Mama singing 'Piano Man', and some butt pats, and he was sound asleep.

So I guess we're not free of the Masto grasp just yet. It makes me sad knowing this summer we're probably in for a battle like we didn't have to face last summer, since he's going to want to be outside playing more and heat is a top trigger. But I know we'll make it through. Now I just wish he could learn how to tell me what he's feeling. The guessing game sucks.

Post Script

I'm feeling a little torn about my last entry, mostly because I don't want to come off as out of line. First, because I DO appreciate the concern and curiosity of people who meet my beautiful son. And with a smile like this one, we get a lot of strangers coming over to say hi:



I understand curiosity. I'm not sure I would ask a stranger what is wrong with their child, but I certainly get why someone would wonder.

I also really don't mind answering questions about his disease. But I wish I knew HOW to answer them. In a way that was short, to the point, and un-scary to the uninformed. And at the same time, I wish I never had to answer a single question about it ever again.

And then today, I was reading a friend's blog, and clicked on one of her links. It took me to the blog of a woman who just gave birth to a baby with a cleft palate and lip. And I thought, "Well, fuck. I'm worried about explaining a mark on my son's skin?!?! What the hell is my problem?"

And so, I got over myself. At least for now.

"What happened here?"

"Did a bug bite him?"
"Is he allergic to something?"
"Is he - is that - what is that?"
"Ooh, ouchie! A spider bite?"

And this is where I stutter, and mumble something about 'kinda like an allergy' or 'he's not contagious' or 'not a bug bite'. And then I stumble over my words and try to omit certain ones which might possibly cause alarm or make you uncomfortable (disease, disorder, medical condition) all while explaining this complex thing in simple terms in 12 seconds or less. At second 13 of explaining, one of two things will happen:

1. The person's eyes will glaze over as they internally curse themself for ever asking in the first place, or
2. They start to give advice.

With option 1, I am left feeling like an annoying jackass of a mom who blabbers on and on about their child when the person was just trying to think of something to say to be polite.

With option 2, I find myself frustrated because I know the person is genuinely trying to help, but at the same time I know they are usually talking out their ass.

But it's hardly an option to have him in long sleeves all the time, to hide his spot and avoid questions. And besides, someday we'll have to explain it to HIM...so he can answer the questions others ask him and understand what this thing is that affects his body.

But hell if I know HOW to explain it. Which is why I mumble and stumble and feel like a spazz. And I also do my son and the person asking no justice, because they leave with no better understanding of why his arm has a huge red spot on it. But eloquence is not really my specialty, especially in cases where I am feeling put on the spot and maybe a teensy bit protective of the situation.

Do I OWE it to you, stranger in the store, to answer your actually-sort-of-nosy-but-totally-benign question about a spot on my son's beautiful sweet arm?

Do I HAVE to come up with something succinct and detached in response to your sad face, little old lady who probably doesn't need to be touching my baby anyhow?

Is there a response that succeeds at being short, direct, sympathetic and factual, while all the while assuring YOU, dear stranger or distant relative, that you are not in danger and my son is not contagious? And also, something that will assure you - what with your suspicious eyes and their furtive glances to the other exposed arms and legs and faces of both kids - that I didn't burn him with a cigarette, pinch him, hit him, or otherwise mar my beautiful child's perfect little arm?

And then I think...so what? So what if I don't know how to respond when someone asks? If I don't have a whole disease pared down to an 'elevator speech' that succeeds in not scaring you, nor embarassing me?

Everything about parenthood is a learning curve. It's just that I, like all parents whose child is brought to this earthly life facing any degree of challenge outside the ordinary, am having to feel this out like I am wearing blinders. When you ask me about my son, I measure my words against the weight of your expressions, gauging your pity by the angle of your frown and your confusion by the depth of the furrows in your brow. And for a second I am tempted to scrap it all and just start responding with, "It's nothing. He's fine."

This weekend.

We went to a Secret Santa party for kids. And though it was only the tag on her gift and not her ACTUAL gift, Luca cannot stop playing with this:





We learned that blueberries really ARE a food Rohan can't have. I fed him 3 little bites of blueberry pancake on Saturday morning, and 5 minutes later his arm was swollen and his skin was blotchy. This was our first experience with 'flushing', which is pretty common in Masto kids when they have a reaction. It was pretty scary, but over quickly and it didn't seem to bug him much.


photo courtesy topshelfsweetsngifts.com

We stayed up too late on both Friday and Saturday. But when you have this sweet smile keeping you up, it's easier to deal with:











Rohan found the chalkboard. Perhaps he'll grow up to be the next Picasso? Or...at very least poo in interesting colors after eating the chalk.







Luca showed me her baby Elmo, who she now calls "Momo", which is a nickname Darrick coined for Rohan. And she told me, "I hafta be nice to Momo. Cuz Mamas are nice." When I asked if she loved her baby, she said, "Yeah. And Mama loves me SO MUCH. To the moon and the sky!" Love that girl.





And I had a glimpse of the future. Hers (in heels and accessories) and his (flirting with cute girls when Em and Isaac came into town and brought Zoe to visit).

Berries.

Add berries to the list of foods that trigger Rohan's Masto. Which is so freaking unfair because, seriously, blueberries and raspberries and strawberries...oh my! We tried a bowl of blueberries and raspberries for dessert tonight, and 15 minutes later he was in bed. Thirty minutes after going to bed, he was up crying with a big puff raising up on his spot.

20/30

More Masto

This week is kind of kicking Rohan's ass in the Masto department. Every since Sunday, his spot's been swollen and irritated. For the most part he's been a trooper, but the nights tend to be a little rough. Typically I get him to bed about 8, he may wake at 2 to eat and get a fresh diaper, and he's out until 6.

Tonight, he was in bed at 8:15 and awake crying and kicking the mattress at 9. Fifteen minutes of rocking and letting him burrow on my chest and he was back asleep. But if tonight shapes up like last night did, I am expecting to be up at least twice more with him. Poor kid just seems so uncomfortable, twitching and curling into himself as he drifts off to sleep.

We also we recently notified that our insurance provider cancelled their contract with the specialist practice we went to, where the Dr who diagnosed him and gave us his precsription works. Lucky for us there is a new childrens' medical center opening not far from us, so I'm hoping we can transfer his Masto care there.

In the meantime, we're back to a regimen of Doxepin before bed, and hoping he's on the mend again soon!

9/30

Masto and the Histamine Restricted Diet

Now that Rohan has started solids, we're learning slowly and (we hope not for him) painfully what foods are fine and what we may need to avoid. I suppose it's the same process ALL parents use when introducing new foods, since you never know what your child might be allergic to. Only with Romo it's less allergies I'm worried over and more reactions. In particular, there is a pretty extensive and limiting list of 'histamine' foods that we may have to avoid and at very least need to watch for reactions to. Chief among them (and my first bit of evidence that food MAY be a trigger for him, which we didn't know until the solids were started) are certain fruits which we LOVE to consume in this family.

His first ever reaction I am 99% sure was triggered by food came thanks to a bit of pineapple he was fed this morning. More correctly, it was juice from a piece of pineapple we put in one of those Munchkin Mesh Feeders for him to gnaw. A little later, I was changing his clothes and his spot caught my eye. I didn't take a picture, but it was very puffy and the skin was lighter colored than usual. It looked very similar to this reaction he had when he was about 2 months old:



He didn't seem super bothered by it, except that the rest of the day he would periodicially shake his head side to side and when he was lying on my chest at naptime trying to fall asleep he kept making little mewing noises and kicking out his legs or pushing against me with his hands. I can only guess at this point since he's obviously not able to tell me, but I think he may have been feeling uncomfortable. I've heard some kids with Masto feel itchy as well when they have a reaction, so maybe that explains the head shaking? I really wish I knew.

We try not to medicate Rohan unless we have to, i.e. when he's clearly having a reaction based on the appearance of his spot. That thing's like a mood ring for us. Typically when he's not reacting it's flat and a darker color than the rest of his arm, close to the color of his lips. When he IS reacting it can get darker or lighter, puffy or bumpy like the skin of an orange. It can look like one BIG spot (as it did today) or it can be a dark circle with 1 or more (a few times as many as 5) little bumps in it. Usually when we do medicate it, we only give meds before bedtime because we've been told his Doxepin can cause drowsiness and dizziness, and I don't want him going through the day like that. VERY rarely, when the spot's looking really irritated, we also use the steroid cream on it. Tonight, we did both. Here's hoping tomorrow he's all better. And a fond farewell to pineapple as part of his diet.

If you're curious, below is a list I copied from http://www.urticaria.thunderworksinc.com/pages/lowhistamine.htm#foodsource, which lists the foods they recommend you cut out of your child's diet and introduce one at a time under close watch for reactions. I REALLY hope he does't react to many of these, or his diet's going to SUCK.

Histamine Restricted Diet for Control of Urticaria/Angioedema

Meat/Poultry/Fish

All seafood including shellfish or fin fish, fresh, frozen, smoked or canned
Egg (a small quantity in a baked product such as pancakes, muffins, cakes is usually tolerated)
Processed, smoked and fermented meats such as luncheon meat, sausage, weiner, bologna, salami, pepperoni
Leftover meat: eat freshly cooked meat ONLY (side note from Jackie—After meat is cooked, the histamine levels increase due to microbial action as the meat sits.)

Milk and Milk Products
All fermented milk products, including cheese (any milk product that is curdled rather than fermented is allowed, such as cottage cheese, ricotta cheese and panir)
Cheese products such as processed cheese, cheese slices, cheese spreads
Yogurt, buttermilk, kefir

Fruits and Vegetables
Orange
Grapefruit
Lemon
Lime
Cherries
Strawberries
Raspberries
Cranberries
Loganberries
Apricot
Pineapple
Dates
Raisins
Prunes
Currants
Relishes
Pickles
Spinach
Tomatoes
Ketchup
Tomato sauces

Food Additives
Tartrazine and other artificial food colors
Preservatives, esp. benzoates, sulfites and BHA, BHT
Note: Many medications and vitamin pills contain these additives, especially colors. Ask the pharmacist to recommend additive-free supplements and medications.

Seasonings
Cinnamon
Chili powder
Cloves
Anise
Nutmeg
Curry powder
Hot paprika (cayenne)
Miscellaneous
Fermented soy products
Fermented food
Tea—herbal or regular
Chocolate, cocoa, and cola drinks
Alcohol
Vinegar and foods containing vinegar such as pickles, relishes, ketchup, and prepared mustard

7/30

Tattletale

Romo had his 6 month appointment this morning. At 4 months he was sick, so we were able to avoid telling our (very pro-vaccine) pedi that we didn't want all the vaccines done at that age, since they won't vaccinate a sick kiddo anyhow. We ended up not going in for the follow-up appointment we'd scheduled, opting instead to go in at 6 months and deal with it then.

We had a new Pedi today, at the same office we've been using since Luca's birth. I went in ready for a battle over the vaccines. See, the thing is, I believe in vaccines. I believe they are important. But I don't think the 'regular' schedule the AAP suggests is ALWAYS right for ALL babies. And Rohan, with his Masto impacting his autoimmune system and the questions in my head over the blood-brain barrier in Masto kids and whether vaccines aare safe for him...well I'm just not sure the AAP schedule is RIGHT for him. To my surprise, the Pedi didn't argue with me, especially when I pointed out the info on the very sheets they provide, stating that some vax (like the one for Rotavirus) are not advised for kids with immune systems outside the norm. She agreed with me that the chance he'd get Rotavirus is slim, and if he DID get it, the negative effects it would have on him were less than the possible risk the vaccine would pose. I was really happy she was willing to listen to my concerns and work with me without making me feel guilty or stupid or like a negligent mom.

So we're doing an alternative vaccine schedule with him, skipping some vax all together because we don't perceive the benefit to be greater than the unknown risk. And I feel really happy and comfortable with the decision we came to together.

So overall it was a good appointment. He's 19 lb, 4 oz (75th %) and 28 inches (90th %) and is on track with all his milestones. She was even impressed he's so close to crawling and so alert and responsive to his environment.

Luca came with us to his appointment, and she was really hamming it up for the Doctor. She's been obsessed with the idea of going to the Doctor ever since her 2nd birthday appointment, and it's kind of funny to me how fascinated she is with Doctors. When we were talking about how Rohan is near crawling, Luca, who was sitting up on the exam table with a pile of books, chimed in, "And he can fall down, too."

:::silence:::

"Yes," I tried to explain, "sometimes when he's sitting up he tips over."

"No, Mama. He fall down stairs. And then he can cry. And crrrrrrrrry."

:::silence:::

"He falled down yes-taday." (who taught this kid to talk?!?!)

Busted. She totally ratted us out. I tried to explain to the Pedi that he did fall, when I wasn't home, but it was only 1 step into our front den and he was fine. She looked at me, smiled, and said, "If you're living in a house with a 2 year old and a 6 month old and that's the WORST thing that's happened, you're doing pretty good."

"My son has a disease."

I have wondered now and then whether this might be some sort of karmic punishment for being smug. Smug in a healthy and beautiful daughter. Smug in easy pregnancies and a homebirth that made me feel like Wonder Woman. Smug in the way people who are happily married and happily parenting tend to be, walking around rubbing my growing belly and sharing my plans and worrying over silly things like, "What if it's another girl, but she's not as cute as Luca?". Yes. I wondered that. So sue me. The truth hurts, and the truth was I often wondered if this was fate's way of telling me I let myself get too damn smug...too sure...too positive my kid would be perfect to the point that I dared think whether or not he or she would be cute was something worth worrying over.

For the record, even now that I am on this side of the news, I still think it was a question worthy of pondering. And I no longer feel bad for admitting that while pregnant with #2, I just hoped he or she was equally as attractive as but not more attractive than #1.

The simplicity of that feels good.

I posted something here about a weird pregnancy symptom I had. I was 20 weeks pregnant when I noticed that the skin below my engagement ring and wedding band was red and peeling. There was a tightness to it, a feeling like a chemical burn I suppose, and nothing I tried made a difference. I googled it and nothing came up. I asked my mom and my midwife, but neither thought it was anything to worry over. My mom suggested it was soap or lotion trapped under the ring by swelling fingers. My midwife suggested perhaps my rings were too tight. Neither of them had any reason to think it was a sign of anything more serious. It nagged at me, though, and not just because it sort of hurt and looked weird. But because it fed into my deeper, quieter fear that something was not right.

God, I've never talked about this. Not even with Darrick, really, because he would have told me I needed to stop googling (he would have been correct, no doubt) and that the ultrasounds showed a healthy babe. I hinted at the little twinge of doubt that was sprouting in my soul a few times, but mostly it was around the time we had our 1st trimester screening, in the days we awaited the results to the bloodwork which would tell us whether our borderline ultrasound was something or nothing. And when that came out ok, when we were told our chance of a 'normal' baby was better than average, I started to breath easier, but it was still there, tugging at the darkest corner of my mind telling me "Something is not right."

What reason did I have to think those thoughts...to tempt fate with the mama's intuition that was trying to clue me into something on which I couldn't put my finger? When so many pregnant women have bad reflux and heartburn, who was I to let my mind wander into possible explanations for my reflux and heartburn? And so what about that burning red ring finger? It was probably a boy I was carrying, and his hormones and mine were probabaly doing battle and upsetting my body's natural pH. No reason to worry. Right? But what if someting's not right?

As the due date grew closer, my anxiety over things rose, but what I was anxious over I could never put my finger on. I was never really worried about labor pain, nor pushing. I never doubted that my body could handle labor and delivery without intervention, that Darrick and I could and would get through the darkest hours of childbirth pain because we had each other. I never even worried about the safety of birthing Andre, the baby growing inside me, who I knew would be big and strong and born safely and powerfully. But, again, somewhere in my subconcious was a little flicker of a doubt saying to me "Something is not quite right.". I guess maybe I misplaced this anxiety and read it as worry over how this baby would compare with Luca...whether our families would love it as much...whether it would have a face that had people stopping us in stores to coo and swoon over it. But under those fears, hidden away because I was so scared to give voice to it, was that nagging choir of "Something is not quite right."

The day you give birth, no matter how it happens, is a day you won't ever forget. My memories of bringing Rohan into this world, into the loving arms of our midwives and up onto my chest under the large palm of his father, will never fade. I cried when he was born. For him...for my son and how beautiful and perfect and healthy and strong he was. I looked through eyes blurred with tears, and yet I could see him perfectly clearly, as though I did not need eyes to see this sweet boy who had grown and flourished inside my body. I knew him already, with his ruddy newborn skin and big blue old-man eyes. I cried for myself and Darrick too, for the strength we both had in the deepest moments of labor, when every contraction had me reaching into the depths of my being, harnessing a power I always knew I had, but had never tested in such a way. My memories of the day Luca was born are similar..feelings, hands, kisses, strength, love, smiles, joy. Bliss bliss bliss.

And there it is, in those pictures from the moments following his birth. The mascara smudged, our cheeks red with exertion and pride in the moment, more bliss. And on his tiny little forearm there's a spot. My fears. Concentrated in one tiny spot on his tiny newborn arm. It seems to taunt me now when I look at those pictures. It's just one tiny little spot, but because of it, I am now a member of the club of moms who carry special medication in the diaper bag and a special stain on their heart.

"My son has a disease."

I've said that phrase now more times than I could count. I remember naively coming home with the paper from the pediatrician. It was a single sided document tucked in with the other papers from our visit that morning, folded in half and tossed on the kitchen counter. I hadn't even looked twice at it. This was to be my first real lesson in having to do the work for our son, and my husband was the one who taught it to me. I mentioned it in an off-handed way, just as the Pedi had to me, and my husband - the man who never reads directions, nor magazines, nor books - picked it up and read it. And the more he read, the quieter he got. And anyone who knows my husband knows it's never a good sign for him to get quiet.

"Honey, this is bad," he told me.

"They said it's no biggie. We just have to avoid a few things and it'll go away on its own," I naively insisted. "Something is not right", my subconcious was whispering.

"Honey, Our son has a disease. A DISEASE. It. Is. Not. Okay."

So many moments in life shape us. Change the course of our future. The day I moved out of my parents' house into a 1 bedroom apartment with him, a futon, and a mattress on the floor, and we ordered a pizza at midnight because we could. The moment he knelt and pulled out a ring. The 3 a.m. phone call telling me my dad might not make it through the night, then waking on a cot in the ICU waiting room to see him sitting at my bedside, watching over me. The "I Do"s. The "Fuck YOU!"s. The word "Pregnant" on a tiny digital screen. The moment I became a mom and he a dad for the first time. The second line. The moment we became Mom and Dad to two. A million tiny memories that we store away, for better or for worse, and know without a doubt we will always remember.

And now we had to add this to the list. The moment he looked at me, his eyes big with worry and anger - at the Pediatrician for not telling me more, but also at the world I suppose - and said, "Our son has a disease."

Rohan was only 5 weeks old, a fact that seems just as unfair to me now when I reflect back upon it as it did at the time. Five weeks seemed too young for a label that strong, that damning, and so I did what any good mom might be inclined to do. I convinced myself that This Was Not A Big Deal. And for the next 3 weeks I mentioned it to a few people here and there, but every time I said it to someone I felt the need to almost excuse myself for bringing it up.

"It's totally not a big deal."
"It'll go away over time."
"It's not that bad, just kind of sucks, you know?"
"It's rare. Really rare."
:::unspoken relief as other person realizes that only about 200,000 kids have it, so since they know someone with it chances are good their kids won't have it too:::
"It's not contagious. It's more like a disorder than a disease, really."

We lived in denial about needing to see a specialist for the first 2 weeks. I had myself convinced there was nothing they could do anyhow. So instead I just spent a lot of time crying, mourning the loss of my perception that my baby was perfect. Worried about the spot spreading. Worried my beautiful baby would be mocked and made fun of when he got older. Scared for him. Scared for us, for Luca. Sick to my stomach over the 'coulds' and the 'what ifs'. Trying to accept that "My son has a disease" was part of my vernacular now. That people would look at me with pity. That people would look at me and think Rohan seems just fine, so why the fuck is she constantly going on about this? That people would think to themselves Thank god it's not me. That I would also wish it wasn't me...him...us.

One of the hardest things about raising a kid with a disease like Mastocytosis is that the kind he has (Solitary) seems so benign. He has a spot on his arm. We can see changes in it almost minute to minute, depending on his environment, stress level, and whatever other triggers set it off, most of which we have yet to really identify. But to everyone else...to people who don't live with this thing in their lives, it looks like a spot. A birthmark. Small. Unobtrusive. No big deal. And so I hesitate to talk about it and to tell people how it feels. How dark a place I was in when I realized my baby has a Disease. I guess I should say it like that, capitalize it to reflect the big place it's had in my life since he was born. Give it the respect it's due. Admit how much space the word takes up in that sentence; in our lives.

My son has a Disease.

And even now, even as I write this up and remember and process and grieve some more over what was lost when we got that diagnosis, I feel intense guilt. Guilt over complaining about this when I know so many people have it worse. Kids with Masto spots covering their bodies. Kids with other, scarier diseases. Babies born to parents who destroy their perfectly healthy little bodies by physically abusing them. Women and men and children with problems far more serious and life-altering that a spot on the arm and some belly discomforts.

Guilt over the weeks after we first found out. The weeks when I grieved over the Rohan I'd lost (the perfectly healthy and happy newborn I thought I'd given birth to). The weeks when I mourned the cards he was dealt and the years of worry and discomfort and being different he will need to endure. Guilt over ever thinking that this Disease makes him anything less than perfect.

He's not. He's nothing less. In fact he's MORE. He smiles more brightly than any baby I've ever known. He touches more. He looks more. He is more than I ever expected. More fussy. More needy. More loving and gentle and sweet. And just as that voice in my subconcious was trying to tell me Something is not right, it's there still, but now its message is different. Now it's telling me He will be ok.

An Update That's Not Much of An Update After All

Rohan had a recheck with his dermatologist last Thursday. They wanted to see how he was responding to the steroid cream and antihistamine, and decide what our next course of action was. The NP (Nurse Practitioner) couldn't stop marveling at how calm and content and happy he was; a marked change from the last appointment we had, which occured on his worst day ever and involved him crying hysterically from the car to the check-in desk to the exam room, until he finally passed out in exhaustion. This was the same NP who told me that my baby might just be 'the kind you need to set in the crib and leave the room and let cry' because there appeared to be no consoling him. Anyone who knows me knows how deeply I internalized THAT gem of advice, but she SWORE up and down that his fussiness HAD to be something 'else' not related to the Masto because she tried the 5 S's (you moms know them: swaddle, swing, shush, side/stomach hold, and sucking) with him and he DID NOT respond at all. In fact, I believe he screamed louder in protest to being taken from my arms. This had her convinced he had deeper issues such as reflux, but I knew in my heart the issue was the Masto.

Fast forward to last Thursday, and as I said she was marveling over his calm and happy demeanor. We told the NP and Dr that he was a whole new happy baby on the meds and hadn't had any flare ups or blistering. They were pleased, and told us from now on we can continue with the meds on an as-needed basis only. The steroid cream we are to take a break from for 2 weeks, then use for 2 weeks, 3 times total. And then we stop using it altogether unless his spot gets worse, at which point the Dr would want to see him before we decided whether to continue with it. The dangers with the steroid are 'pitting', where too many skin cells get killed off, and some of the healthy ones are damaged, and weight loss/appetite loss. He has no pitting at this point, and his appetite is hearty as ever, so we're following protocal for now and taking 2 weeks off before we do another 2 on.

As far as the antihistamine, we're to give it when we feel he needs it. Initially we were stoked (yes, I just used 'stoked' in a sentence) to hear this, as we both had agreed that if he COULD be without the daily meds, we want him to be. After all, we're both the types who don't usually take meds for things unless we NEED them. You are, after all, reading the blog of a girl who birthed this baby in a pool in her living room. We've discovered though, only 4 days later, that we're probably going to have to use the antihistamine more often than we'd hoped to. Already we had to give a half-dose on Saturday and (after 45 minutes of shrieking cries and rigid posturing) a full dose this evening. We'd love to avoid it if we can, but the hard fact is Rohan IS going to NEED it sometimes and we'd prefer to give him 1/10 mL of a very safe medication once in awhile over making him needlessly suffer.

At this point, we don't have any plans to see the dermatologist again anytime soon. She gave us a prescription for 30 mL of the antihistamine, which is 300 doses, so it should be a looooong while before we even need a refill. Our plan is to keep a close watch on his progress and be conservative (this is one area in life where I can USE that label about myself!) about the medications but give them when needed to keep our little guy happy and comfortable. Because, you know, he has this one little dimple in his right cheek, and you can only see it when he smiles, but I'm in love with that dimple and everytime I see it my heart gets all warm and I can't help but smile back and so I will do anything I can to make sure I see that dimple as often as possible!

Guess Who Is Back?

My Happy Baby!!!

The first 4 weeks of Rohan's life, when people asked what kind of baby he was, I assured them he was sweet and calm and content. He slept well from the get-go, never waking me 18 bajillion times a night to 'nip and nap' as his big sister used to do. He was a major cuddle bug who usually only woke once per night to eat, napped well and through all kinds of big sister-created noise during the day, and only really cried when he was hungry or needed a new diaper.

Enter week 5....and a new baby. One we loved just as much, but who was no longer 'mellow' and 'easy'. Instead, my sweet happy baby was replaced with a fussy one. One who required endless hours of bouncing on the yoga ball. One who demanded to be held for hours on end, and would trick me into thinking he was asleep, only to have his eyes fly open and a shriek of rage call me back over to get him as soon as I tried to set him down to get something done. One whose belly would gurgle and bubble so much that when you were holding him for those endless hours in a row you could feel it in his back. One who I was afraid to take out in public, for fear he would have one of 'his days' where he needed quiet and calm and lots of Mylicon and Gripe Water.

It came on gradually, and at first I chalked it up to his being a nebworn. "Don't they all go through these phases?", I would think. "He'll grow out of it at 6 weeks...8 weeks...10 weeks..." I would promise myself. And all the while I was sort of feeling sad about the loss of my happy sweet baby. I didn't want anyone to think of him as unhappy, nor difficult. So I didn't really talk about how hard some of our days were, or how miserable he seemed. For some reason, I was almost embarassed to admit it, for fear people wouldn't like him as much if he was a fussy baby. I know it seems silly, but his sister is generally known to be a sweet, happy, funny kid. I didn't want him to be THAT one...the one who was 'difficult'.

The past 2 weeks have been particularly hard. Romo had a lot more gas and fussiness, and had several days where I couldn't do anything to make him happy. I could bounce him on the yoga ball to prevent a full on crying assault on my ears, but it wasn't making him HAPPY, just keeping him sedate enough to not be woefully PISSED OFF.



Well, let me tell you...taking him to the pediatric dermatologist was the BEST thing we could have done. It just so happened his appointment fell on his WORST day yet. See, I had a wisdom tooth pulled Tuesday evening, and the pain I had after was really severe. So when my oral surgeon prescribed me hydrocodone for the pain, and when both she and the pharmacist said, "It's fine when breastfeeding as long as you try to take it after you feed him (so that by the time he eats next it'll be working its way out of the system) and don't take it for too long." I happily downed a pill that night.

There are these things kids with Masto have, and they are called triggers. Basically the term 'trigger' refers to anything that sets off a reaction in the body. Kids with Masto have confused bodies, and things that are benign and not a threat at all are seen as one by their body, and it causes the mast cells to react. But Masto kids have an excess in mast cells, and they release an excess in histamines, and these can do all kinds of ugly things, like causing gas and cramping and other pain (bone and joint pain for one...only time will tell us if Rohan is affected by things like that, since he can't tell us for now). On the list of triggers is opiates, and hydrocodone is a synthetically created opiate. So, basically, while hydrocodone is safe for MOST breastfed kids, it was probably NOT a good thing for me to take...only I didn't know that.

Anyhow. After I took that pill Tuesday night, I went to bed. I woke in the middle of the night to nurse Rohan, maybe 4 hours after taking the pill. And I believe that's the reason he had a rough day on Wednesday, which dovetailed into a VERY bad night Wednesday night and the WORST day yet on Thursday. Essentially, between midnight Wednesday night and 2:45 Thursday afternoon (his appointment time with the derm.) he didn't sleep more than maybe 20 minutes at a time. All told, he probably got 2-3 hours of sleep in 14 hours, which is NOT acceptable for a baby his age. Add to that his constant discomfort and need to be held and bounced, and we had the recipe for a bad day. By the time we got to the dermatologist, he was a screaming, crying, hysterical mess. We won't even talk about what kind of mess I was.

The good news in all this is that the derm saw him at his absolute worst, so when I told her about his spitting up and being fussy before he blisers, she believed me. And when I told him we NEEDED to try to find a way to make him feel better, she agreed. She did a quick once-over of his entire body, did a test on his spot (Darier's sign...where the area surrounding the spot reddens and the spot itself flares up when rubbed or scratched), looked at it with a special light, and diagnosed him with Solitary Mastocytoma. The EXCELLENT news is that this type of Masto almost never becomes systemic (where internal organs are affected) and won't spread to other parts of his body. The even better news is, we can somewhat treat the symptoms and work to shrink his spot.

We left with two prescriptions. First is for a steroid cream to put on the spot once per day, which we then wrap with saran wrap for 30 minutes. This reduces irritatioin and can actually reduce the number of mast cells present. After just one application, his spot was no longer red and puffy, and 3 days into it the spot is shrinking some already. The second prescription is a drug that is used to treat depression in kids and adults. In Masto patients, it's used because it's extremely effective at blocking histamines in the body. We're giving this every night to keep histamine releases in his body at a minimum. We'll take him back in 2 weeks to reasses, and if the Dr. is not satisfied with his progress, we'll consider a biopsy and some bloodwork to make sure there isn't anything else going on.

I'm hopeful it won't come to that, though. Since Thursday, Rohan has been a whole new baby. He naps well. He cries less. He smiles MUCH more often. And we have not had to use Mylicon ONE time...though we did use Gripe Water once...for hiccups. I am SO relieved to have my happy baby back!!! Here's hoping we can continue to see improvement!!!

Dealing.

About every 10-14 days, it seems like we have a really bad time of things as far as Rohan's concerned. He was actually in a good mood and slept decently yesterday, but early in the day I noticed his spot yellowing. I expected a blister, but it never really materialized. Then last night we struggled to get him to go to sleep. Everytime I'd set him down, his eyes would pop open and he'd start grunting at us. I ended up snuggling next to him on the couch from about 9 - midnight. From then on until 6 when Darrick woke for work, I don't think he slept more than 30 minutes at a stretch. He was up from midnight until about 2, then several times after that. I stopped looking at the clock because it was making me feel more tired and frustrated.

At 6, Darrick took him for a bit, but at that point he was crying these shrill cries and arching his back. We gave him some colic tablets and I bounced him on the yoga ball and he mostly calmed down. But here it is almost 1 pm, and he's yet to sleep more than 20 minutes at a time all day.

I'd be lying if I told you I haven't cried my share in the past 12 hours. Between sleep deprivation and worry, there have been some tears shed. It's not so much me I worry about, since I can live on little sleep and be just fine (college proved that to me). It's him. Babies need sleep, and when he's fussing and gassy and not sleeping, I worry about what that does to him. But so far today the gripe water+Mylicon+colic tablets combo isn't doing much to get him calm and sleeping. In fact, I've had to stop typing this post twice already to soothe him back into semi-sleep.

It's frustrating. And at the same time, it feels self-indulgent to complain about it when I know there are lots of people who have it much worse. My baby will outgrow this. Not all moms who are dealing with sick babies can say that.

I think it's weighing heavier on me because I have to go back to work in just over a week. We're lucky because Darrick will be staying home over the summer, but I worry about how well he's going to handle the fussiness and sleeplessness as well. That's not to say I doubt his skills as a dad or his love for Romo. It's just to say that hearing about it and living it are different things, and it's HARD living with it when Romo's having a bad day.

And even more so, it's weighing on me because it's inevitable that Rohan is going to be in daycare in a few months. We love our daycare - an in-home place run by a woman Luca ADORES. But the stress and challenges presented by Rohan's situation are hard on ME, and I adore this kid like only a mother can. I worry about how hard it will be on our daycare provider to deal with Romo's high-need days. I have faith in her and I plan to arm her with as much information and tools as possible, but I know I'm going to worry and feel guilt over not being there to comfort him on the bad days.

We're going to see a pediatric dermatologist this afternoon. I'm hopeful they can give us some more information, as well as perhaps some tools for helping him when he's having a bad day.

Day 3 of 30 and Romo update

I just completed my 3rd day of this workout. In addition to staying under my points yesterday (which SHOULD be easy since nursing moms get like twiddlyjillion points...especially when they weigh as much as I do!) I did the whole workout today without stopping. Yes, it's only 20 minutes but HELLO 2 kids in 2 years? And let me tell you, I will continue doing this workout for the 30 days because on day 3 I am DOWN TWO POUNDS! Actually, down 3.5 since Monday, but I started the Shred on Wednesday, so that's the day I'm counting from.

Yes, I know...it's probably water weight. PEOPLE! I DO NOT CARE. I birthed an 8 lb, 12 oz baby and the next day when I stepped on the scale, I'd only lost 13 pounds. YES....you read that right. I won't go into how much I GAINED, but suffice it to say I have a lot to lose and I'm taking my victory (water-based though it may be) and running with it! It's given me the added momentum I needed to put that DVD back on today while both kids are napping when what I *really* wanted to do was clean the great room in preparation for Luca's birthday party this weekend and then take a nap.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

In Romo news, the poor bug had a rough morning yesterday, but after a nice dose of Gripe Water and Hyland's Colic Tablets and a good long nap, he was in a good mood the rest of the day. We got an appointment for him with Phoenix Children's Hospital, where the dermatology clinic lists 'Mastocytosis' as a condition they deal with. I'm not expecting a miracle for him, but I'd love some tips on coping with his belly pain that accompanies the blistering, and perhaps a prescription for some antihistamines (the ONLY thing I've found in my research that can prevent big flare-ups and thereby make him feel better when he's about the blister) and an epi pen. Why the epi pen? Well, kids with Masto tend to be SUPER sensitive to common allergens and their histamine levels in their body are already too high. So a run-in with an allergen for Romo has the potential to be MUCH more severe than for a normal kid. Things like bee stings can cause reactions up to anaphylacitc shock, and that's not something you want happening to your (sweet, handsome, so precious you want to wrap him up in a bow and carry him everywhere in your pocket because look at these eyes:



and this smile:


and tell me you don't want to do the same) baby boy.

The appointment is next Thursday, so I'm sure I'll have lots to update on then. Wish us luck!!

It's back.

After a good week, including only waking once overnight to eat on Saturday and Sunday, Romo had a bad day yesterday. He wouldn't sleep or stop crying unless I was holding him, which was difficult since I also have Luca to look after and play with. He finally fell asleep about 9:30 after maybe 3 hours of naps - total - all day, and I thought maybe he'd sleep well as a result. But it was not to be, and this morning I found out why. After being healed for about a week, his spot blistered again this morning. Poor guy seems to have a lot of pain and/or discomfort right before it blisters, which absolutely breaks my heart in half.

Anyhow, these pictures aren't pretty, so apologies in advance, but I wanted to document this. A big reason I'm doing that is because we've found it exceedingly difficult to find information and pictures online, since Mastocytosis is so rare. So I guess my hope is maybe some other parents out there with a newly diagnosed kid will find this and take comfort in knowing there are other kids out there dealing with this. It's hard and it hurts to not be able to really help him feel better, but there is something bigger than that. Rohan is a sweet, smily, lovable baby, and this disease is only one part of his life. He's going to be such a strong boy for having made it through to the other side.

So, here are the pictures of the blister.

Fabulosity.

We've had quite the first 6 weeks, with a mixture of pride, excitement, joy, worry, exhaustion, and bliss. Adding a second kid to the mix has been both way harder (finding time to just be with Luca, not being able to nap when baby does, crying newborn + whining toddler) and way easier (SO much love to go around, Luca being a fabulous big sister, Rohan fitting into the fold so easily, already knowing what to expect) than we could ever have imagined.

Luca's turning 2 very soon (next week! :::gulp:::) and she becomes more kid and less baby every day. She's my little buddy, and sometimes I tear up just looking at her, listening to her talk and sing songs, and imagining what she's going to be like when she gets older. She loves telling stories. Come over and let her warm up to you, and you're likely to hear about how Mama fixed the fan, how Grandma's kitty cats scratched her, how Daddy built a gate, how the ice cream "FALL DOWN!", and how she has a broken ABC table. She has an amazing memory too...Mama fixing the fan refers to me using the vacuum to get dust from the fan blades weeks upon weeeks ago, and she still talks about it almost every day. She's a funny kid too, which makes me so happy. Lots of people can be cute. You can study yourself smart. But funny is born, and I'm proud my kid was born with it.












As for Rohan, he's doing so well. His skin issue (and the corresponding belly pain) does not cramp his style too much. He has yet to react to sunlight or heat, which were our two biggest worries. Can you imagine if he reacted to sun and heat living in AZ? Eek! He had a rough time with his belly issues last week when the spot was blistering, but we quickly found a regimen of Gripe Water and Mylicon to deal with it. Lots of times he gets fussy because of the gas and we have trouble burping him while he cries. Gripe Water usually gets a good belch out, and calms him right down. Every time Rohan gets some Gripe Water, Luca stands nearby, mouth open, pleading, "I have some too?" Ah, big sisters! Anyhow, his belly seems better this week and his spot hasn't been irritated, so he's been sleeping well (he usually only wakes 2 times per night, which I can totally handle) and smiling a lot. In fact, his first smiles came before he was even a month old!












In other news, Darrick got his contract for teaching next year, which is a relief. With all the cuts to education funding in Arizona, we were happy he has a job. He's the newest teacher in his department, so his fear was he'd be the first to be cut if cuts were to happen. Thankfully, we don't have to worry about that right now!

We're planning a trip to visit my Grandma, who is 91 and lives in LA, in a few weeks, when Darrick's off for the summer. She sent us a card when Rohan was born, letting us know she's working on a quilt for him. It will probably be awhile before it's done (at her age, the quilting is slow going) but we're so excited to have it. She made one for Luca, and it's such a special treasure to us! Here is the quilt she made for Luca. Cannot wait to see Rohan's!