My 10 Second Introduction

OK, enough moping, and on to something fun. So MochaMom is asking everyone to introduce themselves before BlogHer so we have a little bit of an idea who we’re meeting. But this year she’s asking for a 10 second intro. So who am I?

I am:

– 31
– have a B.A. in History
– starting nursing school in the fall as a career change
– a fan of sci-fi and historical costume drama movies
– somewhat socially awkward
– someone who rarely wears makeup or spends a ton of time on her hair
– fashion challenged (but I did remember to buy my Spanx to hold in the postpartum tummy!)

Time’s up? But there is so much more! Guess you’ll just have to talk with me to find out the secret about that time in the whisky museum in Scotland…

Even though I went to BlogHer last year, I’m literally twitching with nervous excitement this week. There are women I met last year that I am looking forward to seeing again, and there are several I can’t wait to meet for the first time.

A tip for when you meet me: I can get overwhelmed in large crowds, so if you notice my eyes wandering around the crowd while we’re talking, I swear I’m listening. Seriously. I’ve always been a good multi-tasker, and now that I have kids, I’m a professional multi-tasker. So please forgive me if I’m not looking right at you the entire time – I will try to keep all of my senses on one conversation at a time.

The big change for me this year is that I’m bringing the whole family with me. Mira will be in the baby sling with me much of the time (if you’re doing the scavenger hunt, catch me nursing and it’s 15 points!), and Cordy will be in childcare, possibly making an appearance in the evenings. Too bad there’s not a scavenger hunt category for meltdowns, because I’m sure she’d be happy to oblige for you.

Aaron will also be in Chicago, too. Mostly he’ll be on his own, ready to take Mira if I need a break, but he’ll be attending the cocktail parties in the evening. Then we can put him next to Queen of Spain’s Aaron and see if they really are long lost brothers, or if they’re actually clones and the world will fold in on itself.

I did get my business cards in the mail the other day, and they look spiffy. No swag for me to hand out, but if Mira or Cordy act up too much they might get raffled off to some lucky participant.

And finally, Mira has reached a developmental milestone that might charm everyone she sees. She’s now smiling.

I call this one the “coy smile”…

…and this one “the drunken frat boy”. Yeeeaahh!


Our Weekend Outdoors, Complete With Screaming

So after the stress of last week, we had a full weekend outdoors where I tried hard to forget about anything involving the word “evaluation”. But it kept coming back at me.

Saturday we spent the day at a picnic with several good friends, many of whom we haven’t seen in months. One couple has a son who had many of the same issues that Cordy does now (he’s two years older), and it was nice to sit and discuss solutions they have come across to help him. At one point my friend remarked that it was like we had twins born two years apart. But her son has made incredible progress in the past two years, giving me a lot of hope that Cordy will, too.

Cordy had a wonderful time running in the large open backyard. She spent most of the time on her own, but she did join the two (older) boys in a quick ball game. Actually, she chased them, shouting “Ball! Cordy kick the ball!” and occasionally they’d stop and let her kick the ball.

Running with the big boys

Future soccer star – just look at that form!

She did have several meltdowns during the day, and she refused to eat much of the food. I think she did have fun, though. We just had to keep her away from the road and from the guys throwing knives in the backyard. By the time we left, she was completely coated in a fine layer of dirt. (She doesn’t mind the feel of dirt. Touching grass will set her off, but not dirt.)

Today, we joined Aaron’s parents to go to Inniswood Gardens to see the Big Bugs exhibit. The park was packed full of families with kids. Cordy did pretty well at first – when we came to the first bug sculpture, we let her out of the stroller to get closer. All was fine until she tripped and fell into the grass. She had a minor tantrum over that, but recovered quickly. However, that was enough to make every stop in the park a struggle. If we stopped, she wanted to run. If we wanted to go, she wanted to stay in one place. Over and over again during our time there, she would throw herself to the ground and cry and scream.

But today I paid a lot more attention to everyone around me. And I noticed that none of the other kids acted like Cordy. No other parents were dealing with the tantrum when telling their child not to touch the sculpture. No one else had to peel their child off the pavement just because they said, “Stop! Don’t run too far ahead of us.”

I also noticed other people staring at Cordy at the park. It was clear some people thought we had no idea how to control our child. I could almost hear their thoughts – What’s wrong with that child? Those parents don’t know how to discipline that kid!

Cordy’s a giant, which makes it even worse. She looks like an older three year old or maybe a four year old (she’s now wearing 4T), so people expect her to behave like one.

All I wanted to see was one hissy fit from someone else’s child. One tantrum, one episode of breath-holding or foot stomping or screaming or hitting or collapsing on the ground. But there were none. Today must have been Perfect Child Day at Inniswood, and we clearly missed the memo and brought our hair-trigger meltdown child mistakenly. I was painfully aware of how different she is while mixing with the other families in the park.

Part of me feels sad for her, because I don’t like to see her unhappy so often. She is a happy child – she can just go from happy to inconsolable faster than a method actor on speed. And I don’t want people to think of her as this screaming monster, which I worry is the image strangers take away after being near her. She is so much more than her tantrums.

And part of me, I’m ashamed to say, feels resentful. Resentful that I have such a difficult child while everyone else got the easy ones. Resentful that we can’t go anywhere and really have a great day, because there will always be at least one major meltdown to cloud the day. There will always be one point when Aaron will turn to me and ask, “Why did we think coming out here was a good idea?”

But then I feel guilty: Cordy doesn’t try to be difficult on purpose. She’s just a little kid! You’re an awful mother to resent your toddler for something she can’t control! She probably wants to fit in with other kids, but can’t. Bitterness to guilt to pity, then back to bitterness – it’s an awful cycle of emotions I’m trapped in. I don’t want to be here anymore.

Last week was a step forward. I’m feeling more at peace with the evaluation process and I’m eagerly awaiting the next step so we can get to work on helping Cordy cope with her issues and get past the frustration. Because instead of a face streaked with tears and scowling, this is the face I want to see more of:



We’re Heading Towards "Officially" Different

I nearly skipped out on the screening today. Cordy was having a great morning – she didn’t even fight getting into the car, and when we arrived she calmly walked up the steps – so I figured they’d shoo us away quickly and tell us to stop wasting their time when there are kids with real issues who need their help.

And then I opened the door. She took one step inside, saw the large hallway looming ahead of her, and promptly threw herself down on the floor and refused to move. The receptionist told me what room to go into, and after a few minutes of trying to get Cordy to stand up, I scooped her up against her will. I must have been quite a sight walking into the room – an infant car seat hooked on one arm and a shrieking, thrashing toddler under the other arm.

While Cordy wailed and tried to run out the door, I gave the two evaluators our names and signed the necessary paperwork to give them permission to attempt contact with my unwilling participant.

After a few minutes, Cordy calmed down a little, meaning she no longer tried to run out the door, but instead chose to throw herself down on the floor and crawl under a table.

OK, maybe we do need to be here…

The younger lady tried to convince Cordy to come play with some blocks. She loves blocks! She’ll show them how smart she is, I thought. But Cordy wouldn’t budge from under the table. The lady then tried to engage her in conversation, but Cordy wouldn’t give in.

After another few minutes, Cordy emerged from under the table and came over to examine the blocks. The young evaluator tried to get Cordy to stack the blocks. Instead, Cordy arranged them in a line, ignoring the evaluator. Cordy finally spoke as she counted the blocks.

“Oh, she can count to five!” the young woman said as she noted it on her clipboard. “Actually, she can count to 19,” I added. Shut up, shut up, they don’t need your help, my internal voice shouted at me. Let them do their job and don’t get in the way.

Most of the evaluation was completed by accident. They would try to persuade Cordy to do a task, she would do something else, and they would look for the skill the new task represented. She wouldn’t identify animals in a picture, but would run around and jump (gross motor skills, check!). Ask her to draw a line? She tells you where the kitty is in the picture (cognitive skills, check!). Ask her which animal in the picture says “neigh!” and she stacks the blocks (fine motor skills, check!). Sigh. The poor young evaluator was jumping all over her clipboard as she tried to keep up.

At one point Cordy had arranged the blocks in a particular order, and was picking them up one at a time and telling us the color. The older lady picked up one out of order.

“Cordy, what color is…”

“NOOOOO!” Cordy cried frantically, snatching the block out of the woman’s hand. She carefully placed it back into the pattern, then picked up the next block in order and exclaimed with a smile and all the joy in the world, “Yellow!”

At one point she turned and ran to the doorway, stopping just short of running into the hallway. “Cordy, come back!” she said with a sly smile. I explained to the two evaluators that Cordy likes to give us the prompts for what she wants us to say. I played along and told her to come back, and she complied.

Eventually, the evaluators turned to me with questions. Does she try to take her clothes off or put them on? No. Does she use eating utensils? Nope. Does she try to brush her own teeth? Not really. Does she always have trouble with transitions? Most of the time. Each question made me feel more and more nervous.

They gave me a little quiz to fill out, with questions such as “My child has trouble calming down after a tantrum” (absolutely) and then the older lady scored it. She then explained the score to me: “Any score below 57 means that we believe there is nothing to worry about developmentally. Cordelia scored 145.”

My jaw dropped. 145? Wow, that’s a big number compared to 57.

As they wrapped up our 40 minutes, they handed me a full report. Cordy’s cognitive skills, gross and fine motor skills, and communication skills are excellent. “She’s smart,” they tell me. But the little checkbox next to Personal/Social is checked “Refer”. They’re troubled by her lack of interest in self care, her difficulty with transitions, and possible sensory issues (she hates anything gooey on her skin or people touching her if she’s upset).

The next step is a full evaluation from the county early intervention team. If the second evaluation determines she is delayed, they’ll put together a plan for therapy. I’m not sure what happens after that, because I kind of zoned out at that point, lost in my own thoughts.

As we got packed up to go, Cordy told the two ladies goodbye and then ran to the door. She turned to look back at me, big grin on her face, and collapsed on the floor dramatically.

“Cordy, are you OK?” she asked, still grinning broadly.

“Yes, Cordy, you’re OK,” I replied as I took her hand and we walked out the door.

You’re OK. But am I OK? I’m not sure yet.



She’s Just Different

Cordy has been in daycare, two days a week, for four weeks now. Every day after the first has been met with screaming “No school!” followed by one of her teachers having to pry her off of whichever of my limbs she has tried to melt into while I make my getaway.

The day doesn’t remain that bad, thank goodness. Usually at the end of the day we return to find her playing with a toy with a smile on her face. But it’s clear she missed us, too, as she sees us and yells, “Mommy! Daddy! You saved me!”

But all is not perfect at school, either. Any transition between activities is met with a full out tantrum and tears. One day she had to be removed from an assembly because she wouldn’t calm down and it was bothering everyone. She refuses to feed herself most items, and as a result she won’t eat much. (The teachers do make sure she eats something during the day, however.) We have to send one of her sippy cups or she’ll go the entire day without drinking anything, too. She spends most of the day playing by herself and not participating in group activities.

Last week I ran into Aaron’s aunt, who happens to be the director of the preschool and daycare. We chatted for a few minutes, and then she leaned in a little closer to me. “Hey, are you still thinking about having Cordy evaluated for developmental delays?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so. Why?”

She put a hand on my upper arm. “I had the chance to watch her a little bit today, and I think getting her evaluated is a good idea. She’s the oldest in her classroom, and while she’s probably smarter than most of the other kids, in behavioral age she’s one of the youngest in the room. I definitely don’t think she’ll be ready for the three-year olds room when she turns three in the fall.”

We continued talking about Cordy’s behavior and how she really isn’t like the other kids. She’s never had the ability to cope well with transitions. Other kids can happily finish their paintings and move on to storytime, but Cordy can’t switch gears without a meltdown. She has the physical ability to use a spoon and fork (we’ve seen her do it), yet when it comes time to use them to eat, she simply can’t do it. If she’s not in control of the situation, a tantrum shortly follows.

Cordy’s vocabulary is growing every day. She knows hundreds of words. Yet when it comes to carrying on a conversation, she struggles. Many times what she says is simply a phrase she heard from us or from TV. When she’s bored, she will quietly talk to herself, quoting entire scenes of Dora or Backyardigans or some other show, word for word, with different voices for each character. If she ever wants to be an actress, she’ll have no trouble memorizing her lines.

Aaron’s aunt watched her try to interact with another little girl. Cordy approached her and said something that his aunt couldn’t hear. The little girl responded in a positive way to Cordy. But Cordy stared at her, unsure of where to take the conversation next, then turned and ran away.

I’ve seen these quirks developing for several months now, and Aaron and I have struggled with the thought of having her evaluated. The option has been debated over and over in my head. On one hand, I see her all the time and see how other kids don’t act the same way. On the other hand, my mom would remind me, “You’re not exactly normal, either, so why should you expect it from her?”

I’ve often wondered if this is all in my head and I’m seeing problems that don’t exist. I don’t want her to have problems – I want my child to be perfect in every way, like most moms. But there comes a point when you wonder if it’s only your kid who has a screaming half-hour tantrum because you bought her the toy she wanted, or who can spend over an hour at the playground and not once acknowledge another child there.

Even worse is the feeling that I’m somehow responsible for her awkward social behavior. Did I do something wrong that has shaped her into a child who can’t cope with change? Did I not take her to the playground enough? Was there too much of a routine at home? Should I have been more strict, forcing her to do things my way and not let her have any control? Did she watch too much TV? Did taking an anti-depressant during pregnancy cause this?

So now I’m taking Cordy for an initial evaluation this Wednesday. We’ve been considering it for months, but it wasn’t until Aaron’s aunt – a childcare professional with over twenty years of experience – admitted that she saw possible warning signs that I finally made the call. They’ll look at all aspects of her development, give me an assessment, and if they do see any problems, give us some idea of where to go next.

I’m not sure what I’m hoping for from the evaluation. I know Cordy isn’t your average toddler. She’s different, but I don’t know if it’s a kind of different that requires intervention. It’s like a stab to the heart to see her wander her classroom, playing by herself, unsure of how to interact with the other kids. It hurts to see other kids approach her, trying to befriend her, only to be ignored or answered with some babbled line from Dora. If this continues, eventually the other kids will stop trying.

She’s a happy child much of the time, she’s funny, and she’s so very smart. But I worry she’s not normal, and while it’s OK not to be normal (heaven knows I’ve never been “normal”), I want her to be successful in life. She will need social skills, and she will need to deal with change. I’d never push her to totally conform with the crowd – a drone in a sea of average – because I know she’s anything but average. But without social skills, she’ll be that weird kid in the corner that no one likes.

I guess we’ll see what happens on Wednesday.



Full Of Impish Spirit

My new favorite picture of Cordelia:


I still see my firstborn baby, but now I also see a beautiful girl child, discovering her own interests and beginning to find her place in the world.

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