Balding Already?!?

Yesterday, I took the kids to the opthamologist so that Noah could get his eyes checked. While we waited for his eyes to dilate, Noah sat on the floor and was playing with a toy. I happened to look down at the top of his head, and I notice that he's missing a patch of hair. I knelt down next to him, and moved his hair to examine it closer. The size is a little smaller than a quarter, but that's still a good chunk of hair to be missing. I couldn't believe it and Ryan and I couldn't figure out how he lost a patch of hair, until after we put him to bed.

Since Noah was like 10 months old, he always rocked himself to sleep. He puts his head in the corner of his crib, gets down in what we call the "praying to allah" position and rocks and rocks and rocks. The doctor told us not to be worried about it, so we didn't worry about it. We always had the bumpers there. Well, the last time Noah threw up, some of the ties on the bumpers broke and we couldn't tie them in his crib, so we didn't put the bumpers back in there (yes, he's still in his crib, but we have his "big boy" bed set up in the room in case he shows interest in it).

Ryan figured out what happened to his head. Sunday morning, Noah woke up at 4 am (obviously we didn't get him). He started rocking. He rocked on and off until Ryan got him at 6 am(the earliest time we will get him). So basically, he rocked on and off for 2 hours. The friction probably started loosening up his hair follicles (yes, the anatomy teacher in me is coming out). Sunday night he must have continued to rock, and his hair started falling out.

I tried to take a picture of it to post, but when I took it, it didn't look like he had a bald spot so it didn't have quite the effect that it should. I just hope his hair grows back.

Special Protector...

When we first brought Juliana home, Noah wanted nothing to do with her. By the time she was 7 weeks old, Noah acknowledged that he had a sister. Now that she's a little over 6 months old, he has become her protector. This is a good thing, and a bad thing.

On Tuesday, I came to pick up the kids. Theresa told me that Noah had a rough day. Noah is a stubborn child, a very stubborn child. He gets that from both of us (mainly Ryan, though- ha ha). He doesn't like it when Paxton (who's a little less than a year younger than him) touches Juliana or anything that belongs to Juliana.

Theresa said that Paxton touched Juliana's car seat, and even though Juliana was not in the car seat, Noah went up to Paxton and shoved him down. Theresa put Noah in time out (I would have done the same). Every few minutes she would ask Noah if he was ready to say he was sorry or if he could give Paxton a hug. Noah kept saying "no". 25 minutes later (I told you he was stubborn), Noah gave Paxton a hug.

A positive part of Noah protecting Juliana, is that now he wants to hold her, make her smile, and he plays with her. I just hope that continues.

The Breaking Point...

Last night, the speech therapist came to our house to evaluate Juliana and see if she has a feeding aversion. Well, as I suspected, Juliana has a feeding aversion. Now, she will be having oral aversion therapy 1 night a week. Fortunately, the speech therapist makes house calls. However, she also suggested a referral for a dietician to make sure Juliana is getting the right amount of calories.

At that point, I was ready to start crying. Really? Do we need to add another specialist to our roster of doctors?!? We have the pediatrician and chiropractor (for both kids), we have the opthamologist (for Noah), we have the cardiologist, gastroenterologist, and speech therapist for Juliana. And now we're going to add a dietician?!?

Honestly, I am at my breaking point. I really don't know how much more I can handle. We see some doctor every week. I feel like I am constantly going somewhere and I'm never at rest. Tonight, I'm supposed to be at "Mom Connection", and I know I could really benefit from going to it. To tell you the truth, the thought of getting into my car and driving there through the exhaustion that I'm already experiencing does not appeal to me.

I am physically and emotionally exhausted. I am seriously hanging there by a thread. Every day I wake up and plaster on the fake smile and prepare to say "everything is fine" when someone asks me how I am or how my family is, when I just want to scream or cry instead.

I know that God doesn't give us more than we can handle. I KNOW that, but right now it sure doesn't feel that way.

Trick or Treat...

This year was Noah's first time going "trick or treating" for Halloween. Last year he didn't really seem interested and helped me hand out candy. This year, I started talking it up the weekend before Halloween. He wore his costume most of the afternoon on Sunday, and we practiced saying, "trick or treat" and "thank you".

After his nap today, Noah was ready to get in his costume. It was cold and windy, so I layered on his clothes, starting with long underwear, a turtle neck, and then his Winnie the Pooh costume. Noah was so excited. We (Noah, myself, and Grandma Vicki) started at our neighbors house, and he said, "We trick or treatin! Thank you!" Each time we left a house, Noah said thank you and took off running to the next house. We hit more houses than I thought he would want, but when we got close to home, I asked Noah if he wanted to do more houses and he chose to go home. Then he helped Daddy and Poppa Jim hand out candy at the door.

Here are some pics of my little boy and little girl (who stayed inside where it was nice and warm).

How cute is he?!?

Isn't she adorable? What a cutie pie!

Geo Trax...

Our house has recently been hit with what I like to call, the plague. Last weekend, I had the stomach flu. Then, Noah came down with the stomach flu. Then, Ryan came down with a cold and flu, which was then passed on to Noah. The males in our house have been miserable for the entire week. Also this week, Noah chewed through his last Nuk, which has made bedtime rough on all of us.

Yesterday, I decided that after such a rough week (with the males still currently sick), I would put together Noah's Geo Trax sets. When my dad found out that I was having a boy, he went out and bought his future grandson a giant Geo Trax set that he gave Noah the Christmas before he was born. Every Christmas since, he has given Noah more Geo Trax to add to the set.

The first set took me 45 minutes to put together. It required 13 AAA batteries! Before my brain injury, I would have been able to put the track together quickly and have it look like the picture, but it literally took me 4 tries before I was able to do it. The next piece was pretty easy and took me about 15 minutes to do. The last set that I decided to tackle before going to bed was the airport. That one took about 30 minutes (which includes getting it out of the packaging. I swear, whoever packages that stuff must hate parents).

This morning, I brought Noah downstairs, and put him on the couch. He immediately got off the couch and started to play with his train set. He thought it was so cool, and then when I showed him the train was controlled with a remote and that the airplane was controlled with a remote, he was even more excited. It's amazing that before he was even born, Poppa Jim knew he would like trains. Like isn't even the right word. Noah LOVES trains- we watch Thomas and Dinosaur Train a lot in this house.

While I showered this morning, Ryan and Noah opened the extra tracks that Poppa had bought, and they built an even more elaborate track. I think this was the perfect weekend to set this up for Noah, and he's going to have so much fun with it for a long time. Thanks, Poppa Jim!

Mind Matters...

Today is the 6 year anniversary of my brain injury. I don't remember much of what happened. Here is what I remember: I woke up to go to work. I took some migraine medicine, because I had a migraine that was just starting. I got into the shower. The next thing I remember is waking up on the floor of the bathroom. I wasn't in the tub, but I was wet, like I had showered. My head was all "fuzzy" and I felt like I was in a fog. I started to pull myself up off the floor. The next thing I remember is waking up on the floor of the bathroom, only this time I was closer to the bathroom door.

My head hurt and I had a huge lump on the back of my head. I crawled into the bedroom, and started trying to tell Ryan that I needed help. I couldn't get the right words to come out of my mouth. I was slurring. Ryan could tell something had happened, but I wasn't able to explain it. He called me in sick to school, and called my friend, Bernadette, to make subplans for me. Ryan said that I just sat on the couch mumbling "call GP, call GP" (that's what I call Bernadette).

I don't remember much else. I made an appointment to go see a doctor (did we think to take me to the ER? No, we were dumb). The next day I went to work, but I was very fuzzy, wasn't talking too well. My boss told me that I couldn't come back until I was cleared by a doctor and sent me home. I remember sitting on the bed, staring at my pants. I couldn't figure out how to put them on. Another time, I walked away from the stove after I lit a burner, and just left it on (thank God Ryan was home).

When I went to the doctor, I remember that he made me feel stupid with the neurological tests that he was putting me through. I cried. He sent me to get a CT scan. I got lost on the way, even though I had directions. My parents were in Florida, but I called my dad to try to get me un-lost. He couldn't really help me. I called Ryan and he left work to look for me. I eventually got to the hospital and had the CT scan.

My mom called that night and told me to email my migraine doctor and let her know what was happening. As soon as I did that, my migraine doctor (Merle Diamond) got the ball rolling. She had me get an MRI, have neurological testing done the correct way, and had me get other tests, like an EEG, etc. That's when we found out that I had a brain injury. I had lost my short term memory.

I don't remember anything from the week before my injury, which is sad, because I was in one of my closest friends weddings, and I see pictures of myself in it, but I don't remember a thing about it. I don't remember anything for 3 weeks after my injury either. I try and try, but I can't. I fill in the blanks with things that I am told, but I don't remember it at all.

In the past years, I have learned accommodations to help me out. I carry a calendar with me to help me keep track of day to day things, everything has it's own special color in my calendar. I store directions to places in the car, so I don't get lost. I had a huge anger management issue for 6 months following my injury. I would go from 0 to rage in less than 30 seconds. I still have rage issues, but I am able to control it a lot better. I don't have a filter anymore. By that I mean, that I used to think before I spoke. I'm a blurter now, and that has gotten me in my fair share of hot water. I have to work hard to avoid blurting out everything that I say. I freak out and get very overwhelmed in crowds. I used to not be able to go into Meijers, because there are so many choices to be made, and it was sensory overload on my brain. I've trained myself to handle it now. I used to be able to have all my students' names memorized by the 2nd day of school. Now it takes me at least a month to do that. I have changed in many ways, but I have tried to stay as close to the same person that I remember myself as. It's been hard, on me, on my family, but I think I've been able to cope with it better each year that I live like this.

So long old friends...

I have been a San Francisco Giants fan since November 1990 (Do NOT accuse me of jumping on the Barry Bonds bandwagon- I think he is a disgrace to baseball). That is when I had my knee surgery, and when my dad bought me the book, "Comeback" by Dave Dravecky. When I was a freshman in high school, one of my dad's friends who works in California, sent me this gigantic t-shirt. I wore it to school, and eventually I wore it to sleep in, especially during my pregnancies. The shirt was 18 years old- yikes! Talk about sentimental, eh?

My first year teaching, my friend, Bernadette, bought me these Operation pants. I wore them during homecoming week- pajama day or when it was clash day. They also came in handy during my pregnancies. The pants were 8 years old.

At the end of my pregnancy with Juliana, Ryan and I noticed that both items were becoming holey, ratty, and threadbare. I made the sad decision to retire them to the garbage can.

It was a sad decision, and I'm thinking (hint, Ryan or my parents) that a new Giants t-shirt would make an excellent Christmas present, as would a new pair of Michigan basketball shorts (I didn't take a picture of those before I retired them- go BLUE!). Isn't it funny how attached we become to clothes?