I’m taking a mental health day today. I’m going to stay in these unflattering fushia plaid flannel pants and drink Stumptown coffee from this Stumptown mug with a bison on it for as long as I possibly can. Or is it a buffalo? Is there a difference? If I lived in Montana, I’d know the difference. But if I lived in Montana I’d probably be fly fishing right now on some placid lake, and instead of these obnoxious pajama pants, I’d be wearing thigh-high rubber boots, and wouldn’t need a mental health day to begin with. But maybe I could still wear the pajama pants under the boots? They are incredibly comfortable.
But why is my mental health in question? Because my husband was in New York last week and left me here, alone with three kids, and Silas had a developmental assessment and I had an essay due for a magazine and all of it was extremely stressful, and now I need to cool off a bit, which is best done by dipping into this halloween candy that my mom bought us from Costco, because she wanted to make sure we had something to hand out to the neighborhood children, and apparently I can’t buy my own candy. But it’s fine because she went ahead and bought two huge boxes of standard sized candy bars. That’s right. Come to my house and get full sized bags of peanut M&Ms. Because that’s all that’s left. I’ve eaten all the Snickers and Twix. Sorry. Plus, who likes peanut M&Ms anyways?
So lemme, back up a bit, and talk about Silas, my youngest of babes. Who is not quite 12 months, well, to be exact, he’s 11.5 months, and somehow that is important information, which I’ll get to it in a minute. Because of Silas’ stay in the NICU when he was born and the severity of his birth, we had to have a follow up visit at the occupational therapist office, to access his development. He did one right before he turned 6 months, and just the other day he had his second one. During the appointment the therapist hands him all these toys and puzzles and he has to figure them out, bang them together, find the hidden piece, solve for X, you know, the yoouje. Usus? Usual.
At his 6 month evaluation, they said he was “normal” but wanted to have him re-checked to send me into an anxiety spiral, and question my own mental assessments. And so they found out, Silas is in fact “normal” and since he’s had two “normal” evaluations, he is free to live his life “normally” and does not need to see an occupational therapist anymore.
Here’s how he did on his test. oh and remember he is 11.5 months, see? I told you it would be important later.
Cognitive index: 13 months
Language: receptive index: 13 months
Language: expressive index: 12 months
Fine motor: 12 months
Gross motor: 11.5 months
Zing! Hi five Silas for not only being alive, but also acing your assessment.
So then a doctor comes in to chat about Silas and marvel over how fantastic he is, and wouldn’t you know, it’s the same doctor that was actually in his delivery. She saw the surgery! My eyes widened and I barked, “TELL ME EVERYTHING!” But not everything because, even though it’s been a year, I’m still incredibly sensitive about the whole thing. So here’s what she tells me:
During a routine and normal C-scction, there are two incisions made, one is to cut the skin and muscles, and the second is to cut the uterus. But during my delivery, the doctor made the first incision into my body, and PLOP! There was Silas’ head. Free floating in my body, no longer in my uterus.
***And now all the blood is rushing from my head as I write this and I think I’ll pass out for a minute.
OKAY, I’m back.
Again, I’ve said it before and I’ll continue to say it forever, Silas is a miracle.
And that’s all I’m going to say about that, because it makes me feel weird, and sad, and uncontrollable, and grateful, and dizzy all at the same time.
Let’s see what else is going on…Oh, I was asked to write a Christmas article again for OC Register Family magazine, I wrote the cover article last year, and apparently more than 3 people liked it, so I got another go at it. This time it’s not the cover, but that’s fine, because it took some of the pressure off, and allowed me to write something a bit more serious, and thoughtful, and kinda sad, because what’s Christmas if we all can’t be a little sad? So look for it in the December issue of OC Register Family. I’ll remind you when it comes out, because I tend to get excited when someone publishes my words.
And all this happened while my husband was on the East Coast for a week, under the guise of a “business trip” with his bestie staying at the Ace Hotel and hanging out with hipsters, and consorting in Brooklyn with cool bearded chocolate makers. That’s fine. That’s cool. But it was cool, because I managed. Sure most of the time the children were underfed, no one changed their underwear, we watched waaay too much Barney, and the house could have been considered a sanitation hazard, but we all survived.
High-fives all around.
Plus, my husband brought me back gifts, as to soften the blow and by golly, it worked.