Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Weird happening: Lennon had a terrible RAS episode yesterday, but no seizure.
It was terrifying, and it wouldn't stop. I was definitely wishing for the seizure by the end, just so it would be over. Lennon was much more disturbed by this episode than a normal short episode and seizure, and he cried afterward for much longer.
To remember: Lennon had oatmeal for breakfast about an hour before, and though it was over a year ago, I know he had the same reponse the last time he ate it (recoded on GP): major RAS episode, no seizure.
Oatmeal as possible RAS trigger? Maybe.
Plan: Try oatmeal again on a day I'm feeling brave.
Question: But why no seizure?
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
I think, sometimes, of the boys as ten-year-olds, looking through old posts for stories and pictures of themselves.
It's what I would have done if my mom had a blog. As a kid, I loved leafing through my baby book. I still would, I'm sure, if it was around. In fact, my family has a website we have all used to keep in touch almost daily for the last 15 years, and I do search through its hundreds of pages of history from time to time, just to soak in the forgotten moments and reread old stories.
Lennon, when you read this you're going to notice something. Some of your stories aren't here. I'm sorry. It's not because you're TSO. Not entirely. I was The Second One, too. I know what you're thinking. I see you. I do see you. But you're not always so easy to write about.
Take when Miles learned to read. I wanted to shout it from the rooftops. My son can read! Isn't life amazing?! I think I blogged about it that very night, so eager I was to share my joy with the world and to document that special moment forever.
But when you started sounding words out just a few months later, it felt different. You were so young. I told myself that having an older brother meant picking up things a little sooner. Or that it was probably just that little spelling bee game we played in the car on long drives. You weren't really reading at 2-1/2.... you were just decoding. It's different.
In the months that followed, I kept playing the same game. You must've heard me reading that to Miles earlier. You're just clicking that spot because the game is intuitive, you didn't really know what it said. You probably recognize those words because you've seen them often. My three year old is not reading. I'm not that insufferable mom.
Today I thought of you reading through old posts, one day, looking for your special moment and never finding it. I'd rather be unsufferable than make you wonder where your stories are.
So... I see you. I see you reading. Today you read to me about rabbits and caterpillars.
I'm sorry I didn't celebrate you here sometimes. You are remarkable.
Finally, since -last I figured- my blog has about five readers plus my mom, I'm not sure who I was worried about annoying, but I will keep seeing you.
Monday, April 14, 2014
Saturday, April 12, 2014
For months, Lennon's been reminding us that he's going to be a Goh-Goh (big brother/cousin) soon.
Yesterday, a few hours after Na-an was born, I called home to congratulate him.
"Lennon, you're a Goh-Goh now!" I told him.
"I know, I can't believe it!" he screamed.
Miles, who has been curious about sign language lately, first raised his eyebrows then ran for the bottle when he saw Na-an clenching and reclenching his tiny fist. Lennon was entranced with his perfect little face.
In the excitement, we ending up snuggling a little too much, chatting a little too long, and got home late, way after the boys' bedtime. They fell asleep on the ride home, and as I was reaching to unbuckle the first seatbelt, I heard Lennon's sleepy voice: "You don't have to carry me upstairs. I'm a Goh-Goh now. I can walk."
And he did.