A couple of years ago I had an experience in the grocery store which made me realize the extent of the power that our kids have over us. Once upon a time, we were all cool. Once upon a time I was a smart, witty intellectual nerdy-type girlie girl. I wore makeup. I wore jewelry. I wore high heels. I carried on intelligent conversations with other intelligent adults. I had new clean clothes. For god sakes, I showered.
Now that my family has swelled from three to five, I find myself experiencing new levels of dementia that I did not think possible; a new brand of brain injury totally created by the kids.
Thursday, Wyatt had a follow up appointment with the ENT to hopefully get a good look at his eardrums and assess any potential problems with fluid buildup. The appointment was at 12:45. Difficulties: Bus, 5 year old.
As I have mentioned before, I'm a transit Mom. I don't mind it all that much to be honest and with the twin stroller at the moment, it is going a lot smoother. I'm not sure if it's the monster gear or the half-crazed look in my eye, but people just get the hell out of my way. It's awesome. Occasionally I have to revert to my "work" voice and ask some Emo twit to vacate the flip up seats, but other than that, it is usually pretty smooth sailing. You just make sure you plan your route and give yourself enough time.
I started at 7 am. Yes you read that right. Up at 7, feed and change the babies, pump. Get Quinn up at 7:45, eat cereal with him, get everyone dressed and ready, out the door to the bus. Back to the house. Run around, doing various things including make a cheese sandwich, check bus times and pack the diaper bag. Call doctor's office to confirm appointment and check time. Feed babies, pump and change. Grab stuff up, head to meet Quinn's school bus. Go home, toss in his backpack, swap out his rubber boots for runners and straight to the bus stop. On the bus, 3 minutes later. Rock 'n' roll. (The cheese sandwich, BTW, was Quinn's bus snack at our layover between buses).
As we were pulling up to our destination, I checked the time and saw that we were ten minutes early. "W00t", I said to Quinn, high fiving him. As we were rolling up to the front door, I was mentally congratulating myself again and thinking about our "treat" after. Should we go to McDonald's or just have an ice cream at the convenience store? It was humid, my clothes were starting to stick to me and my bowl of cereal was a very very long time ago. No worries, just a quick appointment and then we'll go out to lunch. Just as I pulled up to the front door, I broke out into the cold sweat of realization.
We were at the wrong doctors office.
Even though I knew we had to go to the ENT, even though I had spoken to the office earlier, I had gone to the ophthalmologist instead. WTF?
How the hell had I managed that?
Now, to be fair, Wyatt has seen 5 doctors in the almost four months that he has been alive, 3 of which he has seen multiple times. It was bound to happen at some point, really.
Somewhere in the next few seconds, I turned into Angry Dizzy Hulk. First, I let out a barrage of language that threatened to melt the sidewalk. Then, once that was set free, I was able to start triangulating my route to the ENT (which was, of course, on the complete opposite end of town). 3 buses. It would take me three buses to get there. I swung the stroller around and stomped off to the nearest bus stop, dragging my very confused five year old behind me.
It took us an hour and fifteen minutes to get to our destination. Since I was told the last time that the Dr's last appointment is usually 1pm and it was now well beyond that, I doubted that he was still around. Who knew if his secretary was even still there? I kept getting dizzier and hulk-ier. My knees were actually wobbly and Quinn's bottom lip was quivering as we exited the last bus and went to face our [at least air-conditioned] fate.
By some miracle, the ENT was still there and the secretary was still civil. I was almost in tears as I explained to her what had happened since we last spoke. She just shook her head and told us to relax. I could have hugged her.
Once we were there, things just fell into place. I held Wyatt tightly despite his screams as the doctor suctioned out what was blocking his tiny little ear canals. You could actually hear big pieces being sucked out of there (yuck!). When this was all done, the ENT tried to have a look again... and failed. Even with clean canals and the smallest pediatric head on the otoscope (not to mention his thrilling headgear), he still could not see Wyatt's ear drums. I think I swore again. Our instructions: bring him back in a couple of months once he has grown. Groan.
By this time, my knees were knocking. I had to EAT. Quinn picked Subway and our not so merry caravan descended on them like a pack of hungry dogs. Our sandwich specialist attempted to take our order and I'm pretty sure that I wanted to ask about the $5 foot long specials. Unfortunately, given the look on her face, what came out was this.
Half an hour and a thousand odd calories later, I felt much better.
We arrived home without further incident, thankfully. Zoe slept the entire time, which was a little miracle unto itself and made more fabulous as I had forgotten to bring a "tookie" with us. We were truly playing with fire with that one. We beat Sean home by a few minutes and once another round of feeding and changing was over, I sloped off to the bathtub and wore my jammies to dinner. I was done. Finito.
Not every day around here is a complete circus, thank god. Some days have surprisingly pleasant results. Thursday night, while waiting for Sean to finish putting Quinn to bed, I was trying to entertain the two little ones before their bath. I had them down to their diapers as a) it was hot and b) they had puked/pooped on their last outfits for the day. They had also run out of patience for the mobile and for Mommy tickles and I was about to have two hysterical infants on my hands when I spied the two bumbo seats in the closet. "What the hell..." I thought, and pulled them out. Wyatt is not as good at holding up his head as his sister so I braced behind them with two big pillows as I set them on the futon. I immediately burst out laughing and had a few minutes of hopping from one foot to the other in impatience as I waited for Sean to finish the story so he could watch them while I ran for the camera. Although you can see that Wyatt was getting tired near the end, and the lighting is shite as this was thrown together, the results are still waaay cute.
|I think she's taking our picture again...|
I'm not sure which shot I like better... Wyatt's ultra casual:
...or him gazing lovingly towards his sister.
|These photoshoots wear me out.|
Which brings me to my latest project... As you know, I've been blogging for years and this has exploded in the last 5 months or so due to the twins and Wyatt's issues. I've also been shopping around for DS resources and not finding a lot that I personally find useful. I also have a husband who, when he reads my entries says very little, other than "I was there... remember?". He did say something of note last week however: "Why don't you start a Down Syndrome blog and help some people? You are a damn nurse after all..." He's right. So I did.
Basically it will repost all my DS related entries (lets face it, DS parents don't want to hear about my garden) and feature all the useful resources I can come across. A little redundant, yes, but hopefully it will provide some assistance to someone. If only a laugh. (If you are reading this there... Hi!) Besides, there has to be other quasi-coherent, non-baby collecting, non-fanatically religious DS Mommies out there that swear like hooker pirates, right?
In the end, it's been a give and take kind of week. Much like most things around here actually. Without breaking into 80's sitcom theme songs, you take the good with the bad. Good: kids are healthy and well looked after. Bad: Mommy has a dumb. Good: Wyatt is doing well. Bad: Mommy's... wait, what?
The memory has to come back at some point. Until then, just assume I'm a little impaired. Which is perfect, as it brings me down to their level. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Just roll with it. We are down wit dat.