Sweet Pea's Eye Muscle Surgery

Role-Playing "Dr. Reznik"

My daughter's eye muscle surgery was scheduled for November 15, 2012. About a week before, I listened from the other room while my husband talked with Sweet Pea about the upcoming event. He explained that we would visit with the doctor first, then she would lie down and a doctor would cover her nose and mouth with a mask to help her fall asleep. Our daughter is very curious and already enjoys playing doctor, dentist, and orthodontist, so she was intrigued. They role-played a little bit, then it was bedtime.

I think my husband initiated this discussion to help prepare all three of us for the surgery. Indeed, he and I were probably more anxious about it than she was. Little did he know that playing "Dr. Reznik" would be Sweet Pea's favorite activity that she would want to play with each of us several times a day up until the date of surgery (and for several weeks afterwards). I just hoped we were being accurate enough in our play that she wouldn't be too upset by any changes in the game when it happened for real. I could just imagine her telling the doctors that they weren't playing properly.

Pre-Op: Parents Nervous; Daughter Cool as a Cucmber

We drove to Portland on the evening before the surgery. Luckily, my in-laws own a condo within a five minute drive to OHSU. We could even take the streetcar and the aerial tram right from the front door of the condo directly to the hospital. It was not an option for immediately following surgery, but Sweet Pea and I had taken that route during an earlier visit.  

We arose early on November 15 and were at the Elks Children's Eye Clinic by 7:45 am. An orthoptist examined Sweet Pea's eyes and recorded the data regarding her current vision and percent of inward crossing. We proceeded up one flight to the surgery center, where we registered and waited. 

We were all as prepared as we be. I had heard an explanation of the surgery twice already, so we knew the doctor would be cutting through the lining of each eye, secure two of the inner muscles on each eye with sutures, use a scalpel to cut these muscles from their attachment sites, reattach each to a new location using dissolvable sutures, and finally suture the eye linings. We knew that a pediatric anesthesiologist would comfort Sweet Pea and put her to sleep before they did anything else. We knew it might take a while for her to wake up after surgery and that she would likely be confused, upset, maybe even angry when she awoke.

When her name was called, we followed a nurse to the pre-op area where there was a roll-away bed, a cart of medical equipment, a small table, and a glider. This small area was separated from many other similar pre/post-op areas by sliding curtains. Not exactly spacious or private, but efficient I suppose. The nurse took Sweet Pea's vital signs and gave her some liquid medicine containing a sedative. We changed her into some hospital pj's and I sat in the glider with her on my lap. When the anesthesiologist came in, she asked if we thought the sedative was having an effect. Baba responded that he had never seen our daughter sit so still for so long. I was treasuring every cuddling moment as I tried to push away my fears of the worst things that could happen during surgery.      

The anesthesiologist and opthalmologist both took time to thoroughly explain the procedures, answer all our questions, and set us at ease. Sweet Pea has always been very brave about going to the doctor, getting shots, and even having her blood drawn. She exhibited no fear during the entire preoperative proceedings. Finally the dreaded moment came when we set our daughter on the bed, gave her a kiss, and watched as they wheeled her away from us down a hallway to the operating room. That was definitely one of the scariest parent moments either of us have experienced to date. 

There was nothing left to do but walk away and go find something to do for the next 90 minutes. Naturally, my husband suggested food. We made our way from the eye clinic over to the main hospital, where we found a big cafeteria where we ordered whatever we wanted for breakfast and ate it overlooking trees of fall color and the Willamette River. Odd feeling to go about such normal activities when your daughter is undergoing an operation. 

Post-Op: All is fine, but find that sock!

Before long, we were meeting with the surgeon who explained that the surgery went well and Sweet Pea would be waking soon. Her only discovery of note was that our daughter's eye muscle anatomy was slightly unusual. The inner muscles were thinner than normal and the rotator muscle curvature was opposite of normal. She did not express concern about these findings and could not confirm whether or not this contributed to her strabismus.

When it was time to go see our daughter after surgery, all cautionary advice proved to be well warranted. She cried and screamed and wailed, and arched her back when the post-op nurse put her in my arms. I held her as tight as possible, hummed, talked, sang, and mostly just tried not to drop my inconsolable child. The focus of her frustration became the fact that she was missing a sock on her left foot where they had inserted the IV. She cried, "My sock! My sock! I want my sock!" In our confusion, Baba looked around for the missing sock until the nurse pointed out that it was on top of the sock on her right foot. For some reason which made no sense to me, the needle end from the IV was still in her foot. Sweet Pea would have grabbed it and ripped it right off of her foot if we hadn't gotten the nurse to remove it promptly. Baba had to hold her kicking legs and I held her flailing arms and body while the nurse tried to stop the bleeding. Unfortunately, even after the sock business had been resolved, Sweet Pea remained very upset, refusing all attempts at placating her, including a popsicle. Finally, we just carried her out in her hospital pj's crying all the way down the elevator and out to the car.

She fell asleep during the five minute ride back to the condo and proceeded to sleep in bed for the next three or four hours, and most of the night too. She awoke long enough to let us give her some pain medicine and eye drops, to eventually eat some dinner and watch a little movie, then for a couple of hours during the night since she had slept so much of the day.

We returned to see Dr. Reznik the next day, who determined that Sweet Pea was recovering as expected and the crossing, although not eliminated, was reduced from 25-30% to about 5-8% as a result of the surgery. It was not the perfect result I had hoped for, but was a significant improvement. I was glad we had decided to have the surgery done. I am thankful for Dr. Reznik and her team at the Elks Children's Eye Clinic for their professionalism and care. I am glad it is over and look forward to looking into Sweet Pea's beautiful dark eyes and having her look straight back at me.

     

Handstand

I am thin.

I am strong.

I am not an athlete.

I can paddle a canoe.

I can hike.

I cannot do a handstand.

I am insecure.

I am lazy.

I am not a couch potato.

I can walk.

I can run.

I cannot do a handstand.

I am flexible.

I am open.

I am not a gymnast.

I cannot do a backbend.

I cannot do a double flip.

But I can do a handstand.

Weekly Photo Challenge - Hope

                                           Boxful of damp cool earth

                                           layered with

                                           saggy waxy old tomatoes

                                           shriveled bent broken stems

                                           crisp curled gray leaves

                                           pungent sludgy dark worm tea

                                           Worn sneaker

                                           push shovel in

                                           lean on handle

                                           lift

                                           turn

                                           repeat

                                           Warm late winter day

                                           humid air

                                           Breathe

Still Smiling

When my two front teeth grew in, they were big. I have no memories of other kids teasing me or calling me rabbit-inspired nicknames. However, with my new front teeth and a "pixie" haircut that my mother swears was in style in the early 70's, my second grade school picture leaves something to be desired. Although my chompers were big, they came in straight and worked well for their intended function and I loved to smile.

On the Friday morning before Valentine's Day when I was a junior in high school, I took a shower upstairs. I dressed in school colors. In stocking feet, I picked up my boom box (the kind that had detachable speakers) in one hand and my pajamas in my other and headed back to my room. On the third step, I slipped and fell. I landed on my butt and thuded down a couple more stairs. My pj's and radio were still in my hands, but one of the speakers was detached. I felt no pain, but my tongue felt a big hole where my front right tooth should be. Needless to say, I screamed. My mom came running to discover what had happened. Then my little brother came. His job was to look for my missing tooth. Below were I sat holwing, there were about five more stairs, a landing, and then four more stairs going both to the right and to the left. After about two long minutes of frantic searching, I heard my brother say, "Oh my God, is this it?!" as he held up an impossibly long white object. Indeed it was. A tooth with its root intact is surprising long, especially one of my big front teeth. My mom wrapped the tooth in a wet cloth and I held another one to my bloody gums. Dad came home to help. He called a family friend who was an excellent dentist at his home as it was before office hours. He agreed to meet us at his office, where he successfully placed the tooth back in its socket. He performed a root canal and sent me on my way, with the warning that I had probably a twenty percent chance of keeping it.

Over the years, the tooth turned a little gray. I finished high school, college, graduate school, moved out west, got married; and still the tooth remained. My current dentist has kept a careful watch and has improved the look of the tooth using composite material. Still, it's big and I have an overbite with extra space between my top teeth. I secretly wished that my teeth had come in crooked so I would have had braces to fix them long ago. As an adult, I never wanted to spend the money and I was used to the way I looked. I still loved to smile.

On last Thanksgiving morning, the gums around my tooth were sore and swollen. I waited until my dental cleaning the following Friday, but the gums were still irritated. I asked the dentist to take another look at my tooth. Comparing x-rays taken over the past many years, he repeated his assertion made four years earlier that the bone was resorbing and the tooth was not being held in very tightly. He pointed to the lack of supporting structure on the x-ray and showed how it has diminished over time. He recommeded that I take control of the situation and, rather than waiting for my tooth to break loose one day, I should begin a course of treatments to fix my teeth properly. First, orthodontics to pull my teeth in and closer together; then oral surgery to extract my tooth; healing time with a temporary tooth; and finally a permanent implant. In the end, my teeth will look the way I always wanted. I was ready.

That's what I thought before I had the braces put on last week. Now my mouth hurts, I can only eat soft foods which subsequently get all stuck in my teeth, the inside of my cheeks are scraped where the hooks and wire ends make contact, it feels weird to kiss my daughter or husband, and I can't whistle. With all the ground-breaking technology out there, braces seem very archaic. I'm sure there are simple ways to make them at least a little more comfortable. All these complaints and I don't even have to have spacers or rubber bands like some poor brace-sufferers. I have a new-found respect for teens with braces. At least it was my own choice to get braces; and I know I will be happy with the results at the end of this two-year torture.

I still love to smile.

She Knows

This is the story I have submitted to NPR's Three-Minute Fiction contest for Round 7.  The rules are that the story must be 600 words or less and one character must arrive in town and one character must leave town.  I decided to write about Ellie's adoption day.  Hope you like it!

The woman awakens and, even before seeing the butterfly on her wall, she knows.  No one has told her.  She does not have access to the internet; no friend of a friend to keep her informed.  She knows it the way twins separated at birth know of significant events in each other’s lives.  She will not speak of it to her husband, although he shares her pain.  They had made the decision together almost immediately after the birth, exactly one year ago.  Without the money for the necessary medical procedures, it was what they had to do.  Today, however, her pain is bittersweet. 

Today is the child’s first birthday.  She doesn’t understand what is happening, but she feels its importance.  She wakes up at six o’clock, the same as every other day; eats the same hot cereal for breakfast.  Her favorite aunty bathes her and dresses her in a well-worn pink and white striped top and shorts.  But then the aunty clips two brand new kitten barrettes into the child’s short, dark hair.  The aunty is smiling with tears in her eyes.  Another gathers her pink tiger and the little book of pictures that arrived from far away two months ago.  She places them into a plastic bag along with the baby bottle.  These are the child’s only possessions.  Then the child is carried out to a waiting car.  She has only ridden in a car two other times.  The first time, the car took her to the sharp-smelling place where everyone wore masks and moved about very quickly.  She was frightened as the strange men and women poked her and put cold metal instruments against her sensitive bare skin.  The second time, the car took her back to where she lived in a room with eight other little girls her age. 

Today, the car goes on into the middle of the city.  The three aunties in the car with her keep singing and clucking in the way that makes the child happy.  When the car stops, they are all escorted through doors that swing around in a circle, across a fancy tiled floor, and into a large carpeted room where other small girls and boys are waiting with their grown-ups.  The child becomes a part of the waiting crowd - nervous, but too curious to be scared.

A man and woman arrived at the same hotel an hour earlier, after traveling thousands of miles from a distant city.  They, too, are part of a group that is waiting, equally curious and nervous.  The last fifteen minutes feel like the longest in the four years they have been waiting.  They kiss each other one last time as a childless couple before heading downstairs.  They see the child immediately from across the room.  The new mother feels the weight of love and completeness as they place her daughter in her arms while the new father remembers to snap a photo before wrapping his arms around his family.

As the plane lifts off five days later, the mother says a silent prayer of thanks to the woman who gave birth to her daughter.  The girl wonders where she is going this time; but she feels somehow safe with these two foreigners who hold her so close and give her so much attention.  The woman who remains feels hollow but hopeful.  The butterfly catches a gust of wind and flutters out through the open window; and she knows.

The Sound of Happiness

NPR's Three-Minute Fiction is getting ready to launch Round 7 soon.  They prompted would-be contestants to warm up their writing skills by writing a short story (420 characters or less, ) that included the words "three", "minute", and "fiction".  Here is my attempt, although I think I went over the character limit a little.

"Down in the meadow in an itty bitty pool swam three little fishies and a mama fishy, too." Her singing had never sounded so sweet, accompanied by splashes and giggles from the tub.  Happiness can do that - turn an ordinary voice into something special, like a magic spell in a science fiction story.

His mind drifted back to that time in the parking lot when she pulled her guitar out of the back of the little red pickup and played and sang to him for the first time. Her voice wavered a bit. She stumbled over a chord. All he remembers is that she sounded beautiful. Like now.

He would go tell her the news.  But not yet.  In a minute.

SWEPT AWAY

NPR is hosting another round of their 3-minute fiction contest.  The rules this time are that someone must tell a joke and someone must cry.  This is my entry.  My apologies to anyone who clicked on this link expecting an Ellie story.  This one is just pure fiction and shows that I actually can think about something other than my amazing daughter once in a while.

Ellen ran down to the shore.  She knelt by the edge of the frozen stream, caught her breath, and then held it.  She listened.  There!  What was that?  Soft, but distinct; it was definitely a scratching sound on the ice.  “Amy!  Oh my god, Amy!” she cried.  The scratching seemed to be moving slowly downstream.  Ellen saw the spot near the end of the dock where the ice was broken up.  “Amy!  This way, girl, swim this way!”  Ellen’s thoughts raced.  How could Amy know which way to go or how to get back to the open water?  Ellen certainly couldn’t go in after her. 

No one else was around; the other places all boarded up for the winter.  They had only come out to check on the summer camp and to get away for a few days.  A cold rain was falling when they arrived and Ellen had joked, “Geez, it’s raining cats and dogs.  How do I know?  I just stepped in a poodle!”  Amy had groaned appreciatively and shook the rain off her coat in the mud room.  It had been lovely to build a fire in the drafty old stone fireplace, heat a can of Spaghetti-O’s in the coals, and take a long nap.  The heavy gray clouds had parted and allowed the sun to break through while they were sleeping.  The snow had glistened and beckoned them to come out for a walk in the crisp air.   It was the perfect escape from the grind back home - until now. 

What could she do?  Ellen’s fear kept her paralyzed on her knees, listening and watching, willing Amy to reappear.  She pictured her bumping her head up against the ice and frantically clawing at it with her nails.  She must be disoriented, confused, her energy waning.  Melting snow seeped through Ellen’s jeans. 

The first tear seared its way down Ellen’s frost-nipped cheek.  She lowered her head into her mittens and wept.  She wept for Amy and for her own ineptitude.  She wept for her unfulfilled dreams and mediocre life.  She wept for her Grandpa and Nana, who had built the family camp with their own know-how and labor.  She wept for her country, so divided and divisive.  She wept for people everywhere whose lives were destroyed by hatred, hunger, and ignorance. 

But mostly she wept for Amy – poor, good Amy who had been with Ellen through the joys and the sorrows of the past eight years.  She had endured three moves, four boyfriends, and two changes of career.  She kept Ellen active and made her leave work on time each day.  Amy was Ellen’s best friend and constant companion.

Ellen’s thoughts settled and sobs subsided.  She realized there was a rustling in the woods.  As she lifted her swollen eyes and blinked away the crystallizing tears, Amy bounded from the shrubs and ran circles around Ellen.  She barked excitedly and licked Ellen’s salty face.  She had gotten lost chasing a scent and was thrilled to be reunited with her mistress. 

Ellen hugged the wriggling dog tightly, too surprised and happy to think clearly.  She got to her feet and clipped the leash to Amy’s collar for good measure.  Not knowing whether to say “good girl” or “bad girl,” Ellen simply said, “Time to go home, Amy.”  With one last look at the frozen river, Ellen vaguely wondered what, if anything, she had heard.  She turned and walked away, leaving the tears and fears of a billion souls swirling beneath the ice.

Some people swore that the house was haunted...

Back a couple of months ago, NPR had a contest to write a "3-minute fiction" which started with the line "Some people swore that the house was haunted." and ended with the line "And nothing was ever the same again after that."  Well, I didn't get it written in time for the contest, my story runs almost three and a half minutes, and it is not really fiction - but here it is. 

Some people swore that the house was haunted. 

The crib was empty.  The chair didn’t rock and even the cat, who typically claimed every new piece of furniture as his own, avoided it.  The man and woman were happy, although they could feel it.  There was a general sense of something missing.

But every once in a while, when the morning sun shone in just the right way through the living room window, the woman would catch a glimpse of movement in the corner.  The shadow of a thousand leaves from the maple tree blowing in the wind, she might think, without convincing herself.  Because it wasn’t just the movement.  Sometimes there was a faint squeaky sound like a giggle or maybe a halfhearted cry.  ‘It’s only the cat or dog, surely, but the sound isn’t quite right,’ she would ponder.  She might even look in the next room to see if maybe she left a window open or a light on, something that would explain the feeling that something or someone was there.  This would all pass in a moment, however, and she would continue on her way through the kitchen to move the laundry from washer to dryer.

The woman and the man went to work each day.  They ate delicious meals at home when they felt like cooking or out at one of the local places.  They were best friends and enjoyed the same activities.  They would hike or canoe on the weekends and the husband would plan trips to explore the natural wonders of their country.  The vacations were always the perfect mix of relaxation, exercise, and sightseeing.

For her fortieth birthday, he really pulled out all the stops.  He spent countless wee hours of morning on the computer while she slept to make all the arrangements in secret.  While he researched the best deals and, hotel by hotel, flight by flight, pieced together the trip of a lifetime, occasionally he would look over his shoulder with the strange sensation that someone was there outside the door peaking in at him.  He might hear his wife turn over in bed and wonder if she felt it, too.  During such moments, he would shake his head and vow to ease off on the coffee drinking and try to get more sleep. 

Oh, but he knew that she would flip over this trip, even if no one else he talked to was so sure.  Yes, it involved some long flights and bus rides across borders in the mountains of a foreign land.  Sure, they would push to complete two backpacking loops in about two-thirds the time the guidebooks recommended.  Okay, the weather is notorious for the winds that race down the mountainsides so that even in summer it can snow.  It was sure to rain a lot.  They would need to buy some new gear.  But there was no place else in the world to see peaks so awesome and to stroll by perhaps the only advancing glacier in the world.  She would love it.  And she did.  She was as surprised and thrilled as he had hoped for.

Then three days later, in the middle of third period, the phone in her classroom rang.  It was an outside call – unusual.  Her heart skipped a beat.  It couldn’t be, after all this time.  It was.  The rest of the day and summer flew by in a blur of anticipation, planning, and stressful interactions with government agencies.  More and more often, they both noticed the movements, the giggles, the peaking, and the rocking of the chair although the cat still did not sleep there.  She tried to ignore the haunting, tried not to get too hopeful, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But it happened just as perhaps it was always meant to happen.  On a hot day in late summer, at a hotel in a foreign land (although not the foreign land of the birthday trip that was not to be), the strangers put the little girl in the woman’s arms.  It was the girl’s first birthday.  And nothing was ever the same again after that.

First Steps

One of the most significant milestones in a baby’s young life is the day she takes her first steps.  There is a place for that date in every baby book.  The most common question people ask me upon meeting  Sweet Pea, right after “How old is she?” is “Is she walking yet?” or “When did she take her first steps?”  Yet I do not have a date to fill in on that “first steps” blank.  How can I say when her definitive first steps were?  Was it the day she first stumbled accidentally into my arms from a step away?  Was it the day she first stood on her own, realized she was standing on her own, and continued standing?  Was it the day she wobbled four steps to her Grandma Sharon?  Was it the day her Baba (Eric) first saw her step, step, step, stumble?  Was is the day she walked several times back and forth between her Nana and Grandpa?  Let me just say to  Sweet Pea, when you look back at your baby book many years from now, I chose an approximate date at random for your “first steps” milestone.

But to answer the question about walking, I have to mark that date in history as officially Monday, November 8, 2010; even though she had walked many times before, even some paces on her own free will and in her own chosen direction.  But Monday was the day that she surprised me by suddenly appearing in the doorway of our office, when I had left her in the living room just two minutes earlier.  It was the day that she walked across the living room to pick up a toy she had her eye on.  It was the day she walked over the wood floor to follow the cat through the kitchen.  Yes, November 8^th was definitely her first true day of walking.  Now we have our own little Frankenstein moving around the house, through the yard, down the street – arms outstretched for balance, with a cautious yet confident grin on her face.

Since revealing this news, I have received many messages of congratulations and warnings – other parents saying things such as “Now the fun begins!”, “You’re in trouble now!”, “Now you’ll find out how baby proof your house really is!”, and “Look out!”.  I must say that I am warily excited for this next phase in  Sweet Pea’s growth and development.  She already is growing and learning and changing so much that I can hardly believe she is the same little baby who was given to us only two and a half months ago.

So,  Sweet Pea, forgive me for not being more diligent with noting every “first” moment.  I regret missing so many firsts during your first year of life when others were lucky enough to witness the first times you opened your eyes, smiled, rolled over, sat up, and crawled.  But I will be here with you to not only bear witness to the rest of your "firsts," but to cheer you on, to pick you up when you fall, and to proudly blog about them for posterity.  I would argue, as probably most other parents would too, that the date is not as important as the milestone itself.  So, if I must fill in the blank, let’s just say September 26, 2010, was the day you took your first steps and call it good.

I Believe in Karma

November 5-9, 2010

I believe in karma.  Sweet Pea put me through the ringer Sunday night – keeping me awake from 1:00-3:30am.  I guess I can’t blame her after all we put her through over the weekend. 

First off, on Friday we hauled her down to the Umatilla County Courthouse to apply for her US Passport.  I was so organized and had every conceivable document they may request; had my husband in tow as we both had to say some crazy oath and sign the application there in person; had  Sweet Pea half-napped with snacks to go; and had the form mostly filled out in advance.  No social security number?  Ooo – that’s a problem.  Who told you that we didn’t need it?  Rats.  Ah, problem solved by a quick walk over to the Social Security office and back with her number (hard to believe that is a federal government office with how helpful, kind, and efficient they were).  Yes!  Tragedy averted.  All complete, oath taken.  Now to write a check for double the amount to expedite the process so the valuable documents get back to us sooner and we have her passport in case we decide we do want to take that big trip to Patagonia in December.  I have my checkbook, but no checks!  The simple things that you just don’t think to look for before leaving home.  Eric must drive to get cash and use the cash to purchase a money order to send off to Uncle Sam, or whichever uncle (or aunt) sits on the high seat at the passport office in DC, deciding whether we have indeed sent along the proper documents to allow our child to travel as any other normal US citizen.  We should have that answer in about a month.  Oh, please let the passport people be as well-trained as the social security people.  So, the point of all this banter is that we needlessly extended the time it took for this task.   Sweet Pea didn’t complain a bit.  No, she actually enjoyed the attention she received and had fun playing around the chairs as we rewarded ourselves with lunch at the Great Pacific Coffee Shop in Pendleton (go there for a double espresso next time you’re in town – yum!).

On Saturday, we raised the bar – a wedding and a dinner party was on the agenda.  We started off with a smooth morning as Eric hung out with Sweet Pea while I made a quick run to town to buy shoes for both of us girls.  I was back in time to put  Sweet Pea down for a delayed nap in hopes that she would double up and sleep for two hours.  Nope, only a single.  That’s okay.  The plan will still work – lunch, get dressed, go to Kennewick for the wedding, maybe a trip to Costco, nap in the backpack during a hike up Badger Mtn, on to Laura’s dinner party, and home for bed.  What could go astray?  We’re all ready with a minute to spare.   Sweet Pea is dressed in pink pants with embroidered flowers and a quilted jacket with matching flowers; and she is wearing shoes from WalMart, not any of the three pair I had rushed off to Payless Shoes to buy that morning (I’m wearing shoes from my closet as well).  I’m a little stressed out as I don’t want to be late and I want to make a good impression on the twenty-one-year-old kids I taught in seventh, tenth, and eleventh grades but haven’t seen in a few years.  It truly was not the time for my husband-training to fail me.  Alas, Eric says something along the lines of Sweet Pea not looking good in her outfit, that the outfit was ugly, and that he didn’t like her hair that way.  Nice.  Then I’m supposed to tie his tie for him.  My own insanity ensues and off we go looking dorky and feeling frustrated, me in the back seat so I can fix  Sweet Pea’s hair and try to retrain my husband on the way.  (Note to self – retraining doesn’t work when you’re full of angst and are having trouble controlling your tone of voice.) 

We make it to the wedding in plenty of time,  Sweet Pea is mostly good during the ceremony – although I did have to get up and hold her at the back of the room and take her out when she decided to practice her new favorite sound - “Arf! Arf!”  A short and sweet ceremony was followed by a very long photo session during which time we waited for food that was never served, tried to keep  Sweet Pea out from under many a stranger’s foot, and witnessed the overtired crazies set in.  I was able to reconnect with some very interesting and sweet “kids” and was glad that we had gone. 

Now let’s get out of here and go for a walk!  We found ourselves first at the one place where we can get a good cup of coffee, a healthy snack (oatmeal), and a big bathroom for changing clothes – Starbucks.   Sweet Pea is good while I change my clothes and begin to change hers.  I figure I may as well be a good mama and change her diaper while I have her clothes off.  Standing up?  No problem; done that before.  Only this time is tinkle time as soon as the diaper comes off.  I quickly scramble to move the clothes I want her to wear out of the way as my jeans take the hit and the new diaper is affixed.  I probably wasn’t in the restroom very long, but it felt like the world had turned at least once by the time we emerged.   My husband had fixed my oatmeal and bought himself coffee and was ready to get out of his tie and dress pants.  Eating made everything seem less stressful and more normal. 

Looking at the time, I make the call that I’d rather stroll along the river than get all sweaty hoofing it up a mountain and down again in time for the dinner party.  Although I think Eric was disappointed in me, it was definitely the right call.  He didn’t get the kind of exercise he was hoping for, I guess, but we stretched our legs,  Sweet Pea snoozed for a while, and we all got some fresh air.  Peace restored.

Laura threw a heck of a dinner party - lots of fun people and lots of good food.  Before I knew it,  Sweet Pea had soaked right through her diaper (bad mama!) and a couple of hours had passed.  We didn’t get home until after 10pm.  No bath for  Sweet Pea; it was a good thing Eric gave her a bath in the morning after some sort of dirty diaper incident that only dads can seem to get themselves into (I only get peed on).  She barely awoke during bedtime preparations. 

A good night’s sleep and  Sweet Pea was ready for another trip to Tri Cities for a farewell party for our TCOCC friend Hawk.  This time, she was thirty seconds into her belated afternoon nap when we arrived at the party.  Sleep at a party?  Never!  It’s go time, showing everyone her new found walking skills, making friends with the whole group, and sweet interactions with a shy nearly-two-year-old Rachel.

Overtired and over-stimulated?  What better time to make a quick run into Costco, on a late Sunday afternoon no less?  Just twenty minutes is the promise.  Well, forty minutes later, Eric and I finally found each other after choosing a meeting spot (ha, like that ever works) and then circling round and round looking for each other.  Have we learned nothing about shopping together in the past fourteen years?  Apparently not.  On the car ride home, an agreement is reached to always carry our cell phones in a store and always meet up near the registers if we can’t find each other after ten minutes.  Time will tell if we will stick to this plan.  I imagine watching the security tapes and laughing at the two idiots who get more and more frustrated as they turn each corner, just two aisles but forever apart. 

Home at last.  Bedtime has gotten all mixed up with missed naps and the hour change back for daylight savings.  Another bath skipped and another half-awake diaper and clothes change,  Sweet Pea slips into blissful slumber.  Until.  Until one o’clock in the morning, when she pays us back for asking just a bit too much of her for three longs days by crying and keeping us awake for over two hours.  Who can blame the child?  She really is very tolerant and easy-going.  Yet every girl has her limit.

I hold no ill feelings toward  Sweet Pea’s night waking episode and she holds none against me for the demands I placed on her.  Why, oh why, then did she have to conduct a repeat performance Monday night?  Oh, the crying.  Oh, the almost-asleep-but-not-quite-so-don’t-you-dare-put-me-down-or-try-to-fall-asleep-yourself fussing.  Oh, the tired mama who just wants baby to sleep blissfully all night every night.  So, yes, I believe in karma.  I believed in karma before, but in a more non-specific universal kind of way.  Now I believe karma is real and practical and responsive to every action.  My friend, my enemy, karma.