The Texture Of Things

Sharing Circle

October 14th, 2012

I won’t call Kage Alan my old friend, but he has been my friend for 20 years. During these short, few years (ahem), he has published many novels, all of them very clever. (No, really. Please go buy one of his books.)

Because he is a writer, he has loads of free time, so it is only natural that he keeps a blog. Earlier this year, he added a feature to his blog called Face of Gay, where guest writers share their stories about being or supporting a LGBT person.

I didn’t consider myself a potential contributor because I am a boring, straight, married woman with a boring, white bread life, so mostly I just read the posts and commented occasionally. But one day not long ago, I was chatting with Kage and I happened to mention a gay student of mine from many years ago. He couldn’t let me get away without sharing my story of course, and honestly, I am happy to share it. Please consider reading it and, if you feel so moved, please consider sharing the series with others whom you feel would enjoy it or benefit from it.

Much love, my friends!

The Face of Gay 13

Intermission Music

January 18th, 2011

We’ve had our second play-therapy session, the notes for which are forthcoming. Also, I made a breakthrough today in scheduling occupational therapy.

I continue to have symptoms of teh Thyroid From Hellz, but I think the meds are slowly kicking in. Huzzah.

I’ll try to pull together a real post tonight or tomorrow. Love you all!

BB Test

January 9th, 2011

This is a test to see if the WordPress app on my phone works.

Day One

January 7th, 2011

Day one of therapy:

The timing of the session appointment is such that S arrives right when the tot gets home from school, so today the first few minutes was small talk and such while the tot ate some pretzels and had some chocolate milk. It will take a bit to hit a routine and find a way to expedite that after school snack, or we might have to move the session by a half an hour. We’ll see.

The structure of the session was split between play and gathering history. S and the tot played in her room (it’s going to be just the two of them) for a bit before S came out and we all sat together and talked family history and anxiety patterns. A lot of the conversation was just refreshing her memory about the tot’s history — her birth, her size, her early anxieties. Ultimately the session will be an hour of play, just the two of them. I’ll hang out with Tater elsewhere in the house.

S and I emailed a bit before today’s meeting, and in those emails, we decided a team approach is necessary. S will work with her on the anxiety, and we’ll find a clinic for therapy surrounding the actual eating process. As we talked about the tot’s tongue tie and early eating difficulties, S suggested that perhaps instead of an Occupational Therapist, we look into a Speech Therapist for the clinical therapy because a Speech Therapist is trained in oral-motor strengthening and such. We’ll see. I thought it was an intriguing idea, and frankly, I don’t care which kind of therapist it is, as long as it’s the right kind.

I need to:
*request of the tot’s growth chart from the pediatrician
*email S regarding some details I didn’t want to share in front of the tot
*get some baby dolls together (S requested next week they play with babies)


January 7th, 2011

I am making a handful of mistakes right now that I know I can correct. Somehow, I feel powerless to change them. I am going to challenge myself to do something by putting them here, where I can’t as easily ignore them as I seem to do with my To Do list.

The problem: I am not taking my thyroid medicine with good regularity. The cause(s): the meds are in my purse, not the bathroom, and I hate taking them. The solution: move the meds; also, quit bitching and take one pill on the way to the medicine cabinet.

The problem: I am not getting enough sleep. The cause(s): I toss and turn, wake with back pain all night; I have anxiety over the tot not eating and the impending therapy; I am staying up late to hang with HG and to chat with friends on FB, because that is my “me” time. The solution: get a new mattress in 2011, go to bed earlier than midnight, maybe take a Tylenol before bed?, put the kids to bed earlier so I can still have my “me” time and get to bed.

The problem: I’m lonely. The solution: do something with my friends. // I don’t really know what else to put with that one. I like my friends, and they presumably like me, but I guess I too often put myself on the backburner and I forget that hanging out with my friends makes me happy, so I don’t prioritize it. Maybe dinner out with HG should make that priority list… 😉

The problem: I need new clothes. The cause: everything is ragged, holey, or hopelessly out of style. The solution: I have to shop for myself, but I don’t know when to do it. I need to be kid-free or just have Tater with me (the tot just whines if the shopping isn’t about her — early emergence of the teenager syndrome?), and that’s been a challenge because the tot’s been ill. She’s on the mend now, and Tater is going to daycare Monday morning. Shop then? Is there enough coffee to motivate me to shop for clothes second thing in the morning?? (Internet shopping for the items I’m looking for isn’t palatable to me; otherwise, I’m so there.)

There are a zillion things I don’t have the answers for, but I think those wait until I get some of the more concrete stuff done.

Putting Puzzle Pieces in their Places

January 6th, 2011

Imagine that you have eaten something sticky — say, a bite of thick peanut butter on soft bread. It clings to the roof of your mouth, but you cannot move it because it’s in a part of your mouth that you cannot reach with your tongue. You suddenly feel like your airway is blocked, and what follows is a rush of adrenalin and panic and choking.

I cannot say I’ve experienced this myself, but based on the tot’s reaction to soft or sticky foods from the time she started solids to the surgery to release the tongue tie, I think this is accurate of her experience, at least.

Panic is a normal reaction to your airway being compromised, so it hardly seems fair to think she never should have panicked when faced with a new food or a soft food or a chunky food, but that is we did. We were constantly perplexed and confounded as to why our 9 month old could barely handle level 2 jarred baby food, which is smooth but thicker than the intro level stuff. I constantly felt like a failure because here was one thing that everyone expected should be easy. I mean, how hard should it be to teach a kid how to eat, right? You put food in front of them, and they eat. That is what everyone else’s kids seem to do.

But most kids are not tongue tied, so most kids eat and their parents don’t have to wonder why their toddler freaks out when they present yogurt with fruit in it for the first time after months of perfectly smooth yogurt. They don’t wonder why their kid won’t eat a sandwich or pizza or cupcakes with frosting.

Tomorrow, we start therapy with S, our old Food Friend. It will be only one aspect of the tot’s treatment. S will work with her on anxiety* and will help me line up an Occupational Therapist for the food side of the therapy. I feel hopeful and helpless at the same time. Our previous OT experience was mediocre, at best. I’ll jot some notes about that in time, but for now, I’ll leave it at this — I won’t see that therapist again, though I am willing to return to the center to see another therapist.

Tongue Tied

January 4th, 2011

I have a lot of ground to cover in order to get caught up after all of this silence. Forgive me if I rush the stories.

When the tot was born, she was in the NICU for 12 days. During that time, I was not permitted to nurse her, but was instead told to pump my milk and bottle feed her until such time as she could be transferred to breastfeeding.

When she came home, we tried, but the short of it is that it didn’t work and the help I sought was inadequate. So, I pumped for a year, and the time and energy burden combined with everything else that is rolled up in the raising of a child for the first year of life after a traumatic start nearly made me crazy. (HG would argue that it did, in fact, make me crazy. I’m probably not going to argue with him.)

When I got pregnant with Tater, I was determined (DETERMINED!) to nurse the baby. In my head, it sounded something like, “As Gawd as mah witness, I will nurse this babay!” Or, “I WILL nurse him, and if it doesn’t work, I will get help, and if that help doesn’t fix it, I will keep finding new people to help me until it works. I will NOT stop asking for help!”

To my great relief, when he came out, he nursed — he actually nursed! I was ecstatic! But, he did damage to me on his very first nursing, and that damage only got worse, so I called for help. After just a week, I was in so much pain that I knew without help, I wouldn’t be able to keep nursing him.

I knew that the “Lactation Consultant” I had seen with the tot had not been equipped to deal with challenging cases. I hadn’t known then, but I knew in hindsight, and I had researched the credentials Lactation Consultants can get. I wanted an IBCLC. No substitutions would be accepted. I called someone from my La Leche League group and got several names of IBCLCs. I called them all, and I hired the first one who called me back.

B is an amazing LC, and I credit her with so many wonderful changes that we went through in this family. It began with her visit, when she took one look at the damage Tater was doing to my breasts and said, “He’s tongue-tied. It’s easy to fix.”


Basically, tongue-tie is when the tissue under your tongue is too short or too close to the front of the mouth. It keeps the person from raising their tongue up to the roof of their mouth or sticking it out very far. For Tater, it meant that he couldn’t latch on properly, and poor latch is baaaaaad for a nursing mama.

After B and I talked about Tater for a bit and she looked in his mouth, she gently asked if it would be okay if she looked in the tot’s mouth — just out of curiosity, because tongue-tie runs in families.

Ladies and gentlemen, if you do not see where this is going, you need to go back to the beginning and start again.

The tot was tongue-tied.

Holy Answer to Everything.

To fix a tongue tie in an infant, you go to an ENT, who checks the baby over and then snips the tissue (frenulum). It bled less than a drop, and Tater cried less than 10 seconds. It took about a week to ten days for him to get organized as a nurser, but after he did, he nursed like a champ until he self-weaned at 16 months.

To fix a tongue tie in an adult, you follow the same procedure, minus the re-learning how to nurse. Probably less crying, too. But to fix it in a child between 2 and 10 involves general anasthesia because they cannot be relied upon to hold still for the snip.

I don’t recall it being a hard decision to make. If I recall correctly, HG and I were on the same page — that the tot needed to have it done, though the idea of surgery was not exciting to me. So, when Tater was about ten days old, he had his done, and about 4 months later, the tot had hers done.

And that is the end of this chapter.


December 28th, 2010

It’s dusty in here, no?

*kicks floor, dust cloud billows*

I’ve been snooping through my archives, looking for posts about foods the tot was eating and when, with the purpose of compiling a list of successes and not-so-successes because we are returning to therapy with our Food Friend after a hiatus of about two years.

Overall, the tot is growing and developing, but some recent stresses in her life (*ahem*school*ahem*) have caused her to pretty much quit eating entirely. She remains petite and skinny, so she doesn’t have an ounce to spare. As such, therapy again.

Tater is a chunk and a happy 2 year old. I feel fortunate to have only one child with eating issues.

I’ll be updating again, and I’ll try to record some of the missing story from the year and a half since I posted last. I’m finding that the archives have served as a valuable record and journal, and my mind — not so much. 😉


February 23rd, 2009

Facebook has devoured me, body and soul, head to foot. Email me with your name if you want to friend me. If you’ve commented here or I read your blog, I’ll oblige with a friend request through FB.

Please HURRY if you play Pet Society. I need more Pet Society friends.

I intend to continue this blog. In fact, I have a couple of Very Important Posts brewing that I’ll try to get up here shortly. I’m just still adjusting to working, having a small baby and a big girl, and juggling all the other crap life dishes out.

Dos: It’s a Yob

September 30th, 2008

My last OB visit yesterday went well. It was surprisingly without the emotional climax I had expected from myself at the beginning of this pregnancy. It was, well, an appointment with just a little fanfare. My OB danced into the room, singing, “This is it! This is your last visit!” I think the docs there are all a little surprised I went full-term, with no emergencies or terrible worries. Me, too, quite honestly.

So today, I offer you all a prize for waiting so long for me to tell you we’re having a yob. I mean, a boy.

Chuck Jones was a genius.

If I had been able to find it, the video I’d have provided would not have been Rocket Bye Baby. It would have been an old commercial, which basically went like this:

A man is at a payphone in a hospital. He tells the operator he’d like to make a collect call.
The operator asks who is calling.
He replies, “Bob Wehadababyitsaboy.”
She says, “One moment, sir.”
The phone rings in the family room of an older couple. The husband is reading a newspaper and the wife is knitting. The husband picks up.
The operator asks, “Would you like to accept a call from Bob Wehadababyitsaboy?”
He says, “No, thanks” and hangs up.
As he returns to his newspaper, the wife stops knitting and asks, “Who was that, dear?”
He rattles his newspaper back into reading shape and nonchalantly says, “It’s Bob. They had a baby. It’s a boy.”
With a simple “Ah,” she returns to knitting.

And that, my friends, is exactly how you can expect to find out the baby’s been born because I’m totally not spending my daytime cell minutes calling all y’all.

I kid, I kid.

C-section scheduled for Friday morning. OB agrees with me that I’ll make it that far because the baby is still floating high, high, high, and my cervix is locked down tighter than a, well, a something that is locked down really, really tightly.

That’s all, folks!

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