Thursday, June 30, 2011

For Rent

We knew we wanted to move to town at some point for Brian to be closer to work, possible martial arts students, better schools for Eli, and I'm intense about being walking distance to basic necessities. Prices are good and interest rates are low.  We've found a house and should have a signed contract this week. The only problem is we bought our condo at the market high in the summer of 2007 and can't sell.  I've seen neighbors trying to sell for literally years, but these condos do rent quickly.  So we're going for it. Yikes.

I'm kind of glad we don't have to sell.  I love this place.  Coming from our student basement apartment (in which we were perfectly content, but was too far from work) it felt like a mansion.  I remember being in awe of the walk-in closets, jetted tub, vaulted ceiling. I told our realtor we'd never move.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Scrawny Pants

Cystic Fibrosis sweat test in May.
I felt like a slave driver making her climb stairs. 

Well, she doesn't look skinny in two outfits covered with two snow suits.  Yesterday she was weighed, 17lb 5 oz at 19 1/2 months. Her first time slowing from her own growth curve that I noticed to be 1 pound/quarter.  Her blood and sweat tests all came back normal.  So I figured we were free and clear.  After the results came back our doctor said she wants her to go to all the specialists (pediatric dietitian, gastroenterologist, and endocrinologist) again, even though they went over her test results and said they think she's fine. I put my foot down, canceled the appointment for the dietitian and decided I was done with her ideas.  If there was no underlying condition causing her skinniness and she is thriving the way she is (full of energy, growing taller, above developmental milestones for her age) why do we have to force her on to the growth curve of anglo, formula-fed babies?

Brian got a second opinion from one of the many martial arts parents that is a doctor. She said that between the ages of 1 and 2 is a crucial time of development for the brain, especially the white matter which is largely made from lipids. This made more sense to me. My doctor has never said why she's so concerned with her weight and I've never asked why, assuming she just wants her to gain weight to gain weight. So yesterday I kind of apologized to her for my little fit and agreed to take her to the dietitian, wrangle her down twice a day to administer some antihistamine that hopefully will have the side effect of increased appetite after a couple of months, and count every calorie that goes in her mouth.  Thank goodness for the kitchen scale.

Deep down, I really think there's nothing wrong with Esme. I keep remembering a medical study I heard about where the doctor would ask the mother if she thought there was something wrong with her child and 96% of the time the mom was right.  But I can't base her care on my opinions, and what kind of mother would I be if I wasn't trying my hardest.

220 calorie lunch today. Pretty good. All rules have gone out the door.  She doesn't have to eat what we eat, she doesn't have to be in her seat, and she can eat off of our plates.  She starts out in her seat.  Gets down after a few bites, and I follow her around with bites.  I hide all vegetables until she's done eating, or she'll just whine for our salad. She basically eats carbs (rice, noodles, bread) dripping with butter, eggs smothered in cheese, and the cream from the top of the whole milk yogurt. She's been bad about drinking until this week I realized she will drink milk almost endlessly if she has her own big girl cup. It's scary to watch, mainly because spills mess up my measurements. Sometimes I think if her and I could just switch bodies for a couple weeks.  I would get nice and skinny, she would get plump... and this place would be a mad house.  After this paragraph I think I might actually be going crazy.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011


As the mother of a boy, I had to say I was a little offended when I first heard that nursery rhyme saying that boys are made "of frogs and snails and puppy dog tails" while girls are made of "sugar spice and everything nice."  Lately I'm starting to think it's true.  Whenever he encounters a bug, it must be killed. If it's at home he runs for his kid butter knife and I can hear him saying things like "I'm going to chop you up and throw you away."  And we all love how many words Esme can say. She parrots back anything you tell her to.  Eli's favorite?  "Esme, say poo poo."

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Dressing a Girl

I've been excited to sew Esme a dress since before she was born, I see so many amazing tutorials on sewing blogs.  I started one a long time ago and got stuck.  So at 18 months I finally made a new one. I love how with girls, pants that are too short become capris and dresses can later be worn as shirts. It gets even better knowing I made it out of an old maternity shirt during a nap.  Thanks MADE.