Thursday, October 7, 2010
Touchy Touchy
Today I took Sadie in for her regular PT session, and it didn't go well. At home she's been so great -- crawling everywhere, being cool with me moving around the house. This week she began cruising, although she's still very tentative about it and will only do it if I'm standing nearby. She also pulled up successfully a few times on the couch and coffee table.
At PT, though, she's a mess. She immediately wigs out if I try to move away from her, or if she gets frustrated by not being able to do something, and goes into complete shut-down mode, screaming. She stiffens up all of her muscles, grabs whatever toys are in reach, and hurls them across the room. Usually she can be distracted out of her crying, but today it just got worse and worse. Eventually she went into full meltdown, crying hysterically. It was so hard to watch her physically shut down, so that even though she was standing up playing with toys, she wouldn't sit down so she could crawl over to me. Joy had to move her into a sitting position by hand, after which she crawled over to me, wailing dramatically, buried her head in my lap, and refused to move.
Joy and I had a talk afterwards. I explained that while she's cool at home, social situations often cause her to freeze up. Even if she's more curious than fearful -- like, for instance, if we're at a baby gym or at someone's house on a playdate -- she still would much rather sit in one spot and watch the action around her than explore, experiment or join in.
I know that I'm making it sound like I'm expecting too much of her, and maybe I am. On the other hand, this is all tied together to her behavior at day care, where she would get upset and, rather than try to find a solution on her own, go into immediately hysterics and stay in that hysterical state until someone picked her up and soothed her, gave her a paci, let her hold her special blanket.
Joy has recommended that we take her to a developmental pediatrician. Apparently there's a woman who works out of the Pasadena Children's Center who is supposed to be very good. I talked with Scott about it and his immediate reaction was, "If they want to put her on drugs, we're saying no." I agree with him, of course, and I feel torn about the whole thing.
We know that Sadie has no physical conditions that will prevent her from learning and growing. We know that with Selena, her nanny, or with me or Scott, she's curious, content and happy to learn and play. So maybe she's not the most adventurous baby -- is that really such a bad thing? Should I just let her grow up the way she pleases and just accept that she's emotionally...rollercoaster-y?
On the other hand, I see her get furiously upset over nothing. I see her react to Joy with utter rage, the way she used to react to the women at Happy Star when they wanted her to play by herself independently or sit calmly in her high chair like all the other babies. I see this behavior, and I want to know how to fix it -- or at the very least, find out what's behind it. I'm not the kind of person who accepts that some things just are -- I always want to know why, and it's killing me that I don't know.
Today Joy became the second person to posit the theory that maybe something happened to Sadie when she was younger that traumatized or frightened her (Rose was the first), which might explain why she gets so panicked when I'm not around. I know it's nothing that ever happened at home -- she's been a lucky baby in that she's never even sported so much as a lasting bruise. Could something have happened to her at day care, something they never told me about or never even knew happened to begin with? If that's true, then how could a problem like that ever possibly be fixed?
Well...regardless, I guess the next step is to call the developmental pediatrician and take her in for yet another evaluation. At what point do we just acknowledge that she is who she is, for better or worse?
At PT, though, she's a mess. She immediately wigs out if I try to move away from her, or if she gets frustrated by not being able to do something, and goes into complete shut-down mode, screaming. She stiffens up all of her muscles, grabs whatever toys are in reach, and hurls them across the room. Usually she can be distracted out of her crying, but today it just got worse and worse. Eventually she went into full meltdown, crying hysterically. It was so hard to watch her physically shut down, so that even though she was standing up playing with toys, she wouldn't sit down so she could crawl over to me. Joy had to move her into a sitting position by hand, after which she crawled over to me, wailing dramatically, buried her head in my lap, and refused to move.
Joy and I had a talk afterwards. I explained that while she's cool at home, social situations often cause her to freeze up. Even if she's more curious than fearful -- like, for instance, if we're at a baby gym or at someone's house on a playdate -- she still would much rather sit in one spot and watch the action around her than explore, experiment or join in.
I know that I'm making it sound like I'm expecting too much of her, and maybe I am. On the other hand, this is all tied together to her behavior at day care, where she would get upset and, rather than try to find a solution on her own, go into immediately hysterics and stay in that hysterical state until someone picked her up and soothed her, gave her a paci, let her hold her special blanket.
Joy has recommended that we take her to a developmental pediatrician. Apparently there's a woman who works out of the Pasadena Children's Center who is supposed to be very good. I talked with Scott about it and his immediate reaction was, "If they want to put her on drugs, we're saying no." I agree with him, of course, and I feel torn about the whole thing.
We know that Sadie has no physical conditions that will prevent her from learning and growing. We know that with Selena, her nanny, or with me or Scott, she's curious, content and happy to learn and play. So maybe she's not the most adventurous baby -- is that really such a bad thing? Should I just let her grow up the way she pleases and just accept that she's emotionally...rollercoaster-y?
On the other hand, I see her get furiously upset over nothing. I see her react to Joy with utter rage, the way she used to react to the women at Happy Star when they wanted her to play by herself independently or sit calmly in her high chair like all the other babies. I see this behavior, and I want to know how to fix it -- or at the very least, find out what's behind it. I'm not the kind of person who accepts that some things just are -- I always want to know why, and it's killing me that I don't know.
Today Joy became the second person to posit the theory that maybe something happened to Sadie when she was younger that traumatized or frightened her (Rose was the first), which might explain why she gets so panicked when I'm not around. I know it's nothing that ever happened at home -- she's been a lucky baby in that she's never even sported so much as a lasting bruise. Could something have happened to her at day care, something they never told me about or never even knew happened to begin with? If that's true, then how could a problem like that ever possibly be fixed?
Well...regardless, I guess the next step is to call the developmental pediatrician and take her in for yet another evaluation. At what point do we just acknowledge that she is who she is, for better or worse?
Monday, October 4, 2010
A Quick Update
So we interviewed a ton of nannies. Good nannies, not-so-great nannies, and one nanny who didn't even show up for her interview. We ended up hiring her -- I like an air of mystery about my support staff. Just kidding! What I really meant to say is that we found a really nice woman named Selena who now comes in the mornings to take care of Sadie while I hide out at a coffeeshop and attempt to return to some semblance of a normal work schedule.
Sadie has been progressing in leaps and bounds, which I attribute partly to her not being in day care anymore, partly to twice-weekly physical therapy, and partly to my working with her a LOT. Scott gets partial credit, too, but he's been out of town a lot so by default, I get to claim most of the credit for all of the cool things she's finally started doing.
It's so great to watch her learn -- she's quite literally packing months' worth of learning into a few short weeks. Just in the last week she's doubled her crawling speed, almost figured out how to pull up on furniture, started to take the first tentative steps towards cruising (walking along on furniture), and in general become fearless around the house.
Outside is a different matter; she still sobs her way through PT and is very shy and prone to bursting into tears when in an unfamiliar environment. Joy, the therapist, refers to her dryly as being on a "constant emotional rollercoaster," which is a nice way to saying that she's kind of a shit head.
This morning Joy told me something great, which is that in her estimation, there's nothing about Sadie's physical makeup that is keeping her from learning typical skills. Despite being long and skinny, she's strong enough to move around as well as any other kid -- and she proved that by learning how to crawl in the span of about five days, something that kids with hypotonia "just don't do," in Joy's words.
What really holds Sadie back, in Joy's opinion, is her natural tendency towards cautiousness that manifests as wussy-ness. Rather than wanting something and impulsively throwing herself towards it, as a typical baby might do, Sadie stops, considers, and weighs risk versus benefit. If the motion requires too much effort, or is unfamiliar and potentially scary, she doesn't want to do it. Hence she can stand while balancing against a chair until the cows come home, but the thought of sitting down by herself makes her shriek in terror.
The way to combat this is to help her through the motions, over and over again, until they become rote instead of something she needs to think about. Stand up, sit down, pull up, walk over, sit down again. Eventually she'll have the confidence to do it every day.
Although I don't think that a career as a bullfighter is in the cards for her.
Sadie has been progressing in leaps and bounds, which I attribute partly to her not being in day care anymore, partly to twice-weekly physical therapy, and partly to my working with her a LOT. Scott gets partial credit, too, but he's been out of town a lot so by default, I get to claim most of the credit for all of the cool things she's finally started doing.
It's so great to watch her learn -- she's quite literally packing months' worth of learning into a few short weeks. Just in the last week she's doubled her crawling speed, almost figured out how to pull up on furniture, started to take the first tentative steps towards cruising (walking along on furniture), and in general become fearless around the house.
Outside is a different matter; she still sobs her way through PT and is very shy and prone to bursting into tears when in an unfamiliar environment. Joy, the therapist, refers to her dryly as being on a "constant emotional rollercoaster," which is a nice way to saying that she's kind of a shit head.
This morning Joy told me something great, which is that in her estimation, there's nothing about Sadie's physical makeup that is keeping her from learning typical skills. Despite being long and skinny, she's strong enough to move around as well as any other kid -- and she proved that by learning how to crawl in the span of about five days, something that kids with hypotonia "just don't do," in Joy's words.
What really holds Sadie back, in Joy's opinion, is her natural tendency towards cautiousness that manifests as wussy-ness. Rather than wanting something and impulsively throwing herself towards it, as a typical baby might do, Sadie stops, considers, and weighs risk versus benefit. If the motion requires too much effort, or is unfamiliar and potentially scary, she doesn't want to do it. Hence she can stand while balancing against a chair until the cows come home, but the thought of sitting down by herself makes her shriek in terror.
The way to combat this is to help her through the motions, over and over again, until they become rote instead of something she needs to think about. Stand up, sit down, pull up, walk over, sit down again. Eventually she'll have the confidence to do it every day.
Although I don't think that a career as a bullfighter is in the cards for her.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
September 24, 2010
Dear Sadie,
Today, you turn one.
As I type this, I'm watching you on the video monitor as you take your midday nap. You're splayed out in a position that looks terribly uncomfortable, with your head mashed up against the bars of the crib. Your ability to sleep constantly amazes me.
In the past few weeks, we've been guilty of focusing on the negative aspects of your growth -- the gross motor skill delays, the hissy fits, the fact that you're such a little juvenile delinquent that you actually got expelled from day care and are already putting your physical therapist through her paces.
Sometimes we're guilty of overlooking the aspects of you that are perfect and wonderful -- the brag-worthy stuff, the things that make us look at you in complete and total awe and sometimes, secretly high-five while other people's backs are turned.
For starters, you sleep. I mean, you really like to sleep. Always have. You began sleeping five and six-hour stretches when you were six weeks old. One night when you were only a few months old, you slept for ten straight hours and your Dad had to physically restrain me from going in to check on you and make sure you were still breathing.
We understand what a rare, incredible gift we've been given, having a child who requires 12 straight hours of undisturbed rest, with two daytime naps on top of it. Other parents hate us because of it. We've learned not to talk about it because it's like telling everyone that you have so much money that you've run out of ways to spend it, but once a year we're allowed to be smug.
Not only do you like your crib, but you demand to be in your crib. Sometimes when it's nap time and we're walking around lowering blinds and hunting for a clean pacifier, you fuss and whine, leaning out toward your crib, wanting us to turn out the lights and leave you in peace. Once I place you in bed, you roll around for awhile, then sit up and play with your stuffed animals, or flip through a book. You talk quietly to yourself, and at some point you lie down and simply go to sleep. Sometimes when you wake up, you'll hang out in there for awhile longer, just because you don't yet care to see us. For this, we thank you.
You are a mercifully non-picky eater. I hope this is something you never grow out of, but in case you do, I'm going to enjoy it now while it lasts. You rarely turn down a meal; even if you aren't hungry you'll generally sample a few bites. There are foods you aren't crazy about, like eggs -- but mostly, you'll eat anything.
This morning, you sat with me in the garden and we shared a raw green pepper. You were down with it. Do you know how weird it is that you actually like vegetables? You greatly enjoy a steamed veggie salad, picking up the carrots and peas and zucchini one at a time and sampling them like a gourmand. That's very different from your style of eating banana, which is to stuff it all into your mouth at the same time, discover you no longer have room to chew, spew out the excess and hurriedly shovel it back in as quickly as possible.
When you have, on rare occasion, a nightmare, I imagine that it is because you've envisioned a universe in which blueberry yogurt doesn't exist.
You love to be hugged and held close. You're not always snuggly -- sometimes you push us away, literally holding us at arm's length. But more often, you want to be cradled on our laps, tucked safely into your carseat, or just to chill in your stroller. You like being enveloped by the world around you. Our physical therapist says it's because babies like you have difficulty mentally placing yourself in space -- it makes it easier and less scary to be touching things at all time. Whatever the reason, it means that a long car ride or an hour-long walk in your stroller are not things to dread, but instead ways to calm you down and make you happy.
You challenge, surprise, frustrate and educate us in ways we never could have imagined. You're an amazing kid, and it's too bad you don't have any concept of what a birthday is, because if you did you'd appreciate just how much extra love, affection and attention you've been getting today from the many people who love you. Enjoy it, kid.
Happy Birthday.
Today, you turn one.
As I type this, I'm watching you on the video monitor as you take your midday nap. You're splayed out in a position that looks terribly uncomfortable, with your head mashed up against the bars of the crib. Your ability to sleep constantly amazes me.
In the past few weeks, we've been guilty of focusing on the negative aspects of your growth -- the gross motor skill delays, the hissy fits, the fact that you're such a little juvenile delinquent that you actually got expelled from day care and are already putting your physical therapist through her paces.
Sometimes we're guilty of overlooking the aspects of you that are perfect and wonderful -- the brag-worthy stuff, the things that make us look at you in complete and total awe and sometimes, secretly high-five while other people's backs are turned.
For starters, you sleep. I mean, you really like to sleep. Always have. You began sleeping five and six-hour stretches when you were six weeks old. One night when you were only a few months old, you slept for ten straight hours and your Dad had to physically restrain me from going in to check on you and make sure you were still breathing.
We understand what a rare, incredible gift we've been given, having a child who requires 12 straight hours of undisturbed rest, with two daytime naps on top of it. Other parents hate us because of it. We've learned not to talk about it because it's like telling everyone that you have so much money that you've run out of ways to spend it, but once a year we're allowed to be smug.
Not only do you like your crib, but you demand to be in your crib. Sometimes when it's nap time and we're walking around lowering blinds and hunting for a clean pacifier, you fuss and whine, leaning out toward your crib, wanting us to turn out the lights and leave you in peace. Once I place you in bed, you roll around for awhile, then sit up and play with your stuffed animals, or flip through a book. You talk quietly to yourself, and at some point you lie down and simply go to sleep. Sometimes when you wake up, you'll hang out in there for awhile longer, just because you don't yet care to see us. For this, we thank you.
You are a mercifully non-picky eater. I hope this is something you never grow out of, but in case you do, I'm going to enjoy it now while it lasts. You rarely turn down a meal; even if you aren't hungry you'll generally sample a few bites. There are foods you aren't crazy about, like eggs -- but mostly, you'll eat anything.
This morning, you sat with me in the garden and we shared a raw green pepper. You were down with it. Do you know how weird it is that you actually like vegetables? You greatly enjoy a steamed veggie salad, picking up the carrots and peas and zucchini one at a time and sampling them like a gourmand. That's very different from your style of eating banana, which is to stuff it all into your mouth at the same time, discover you no longer have room to chew, spew out the excess and hurriedly shovel it back in as quickly as possible.
When you have, on rare occasion, a nightmare, I imagine that it is because you've envisioned a universe in which blueberry yogurt doesn't exist.
You love to be hugged and held close. You're not always snuggly -- sometimes you push us away, literally holding us at arm's length. But more often, you want to be cradled on our laps, tucked safely into your carseat, or just to chill in your stroller. You like being enveloped by the world around you. Our physical therapist says it's because babies like you have difficulty mentally placing yourself in space -- it makes it easier and less scary to be touching things at all time. Whatever the reason, it means that a long car ride or an hour-long walk in your stroller are not things to dread, but instead ways to calm you down and make you happy.
You challenge, surprise, frustrate and educate us in ways we never could have imagined. You're an amazing kid, and it's too bad you don't have any concept of what a birthday is, because if you did you'd appreciate just how much extra love, affection and attention you've been getting today from the many people who love you. Enjoy it, kid.
Happy Birthday.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Therapy and Beyond
In the last few days, everything about Sadie's and my daily lives has changed and will change more. (Scott's not so much, but he's definitely gone through a lot in the past few days as well). There's so much to try to write down that I need to break it up into two parts -- Sadie's PT evaluations, and what has happened since.
Before that, though, I want to thank everyone who has written me to offer their support and to tell me anecdotes of their own about tough kid problems and suffering from first-time-parent-itis. They all help and make us laugh instead of wanting to empty a bottle of vodka into our Raisin Bran.
Part 1: Physical Therapy
As I wrote about before, last week Sadie was diagnosed by our pediatrician as having mild hypotonia, or low muscle tone, which is why she has never learned how to crawl or get around on her own.
On Monday we took her to two different pediatric physical therapists for evaluations. The first, Joy for Kids, is in Burbank and is run by a younger woman named Joy who seems like the type that kids instinctively love. The other, Bright Star, was a larger center offering different forms of therapy, where we met with a woman whose name (I think) was Savina.
Those two hours were unbelievably edifying. To begin with, it was both gratifying and a little embarrassing to be able to show others just how volatile Sadie's emotional temperament has become. She screamed her way through both of the eval sessions and was happy only when on my lap or when I was down on the floor playing right next to her. Yet when she had me there with her, she was happy, curious, chatty and otherwise perfectly willing to learn.
We learned some strengthening exercises to do with her, such as sitting her on a yoga ball and rolling it from side to side so she has to work her trunk muscles to stay upright. (She thought this was the funnest game ever.) We were also instructed to help her walk as much as possible, which we already do. If it were up to her, she'd be standing all the time, and it's also pretty clear that she wants to learn how to strike out on her own without our help now that she's got the motions of walking down. Still too afraid to cruise on furniture, though.
She wasn't as much a fan of the other exercises, which involve helping her tuck her hips and legs beneath her and putting her into the crawl position so she can get used to bearing weight on her lower body. She'd developed her own cock-eyed way of reaching for an object which involved splaying out on her belly, then doing a push-up and trying to pull herself forward while sort of ineffectually wriggling her legs behind her. It never got her anywhere, and she's learned to equate it with frustration.
We were advised to start letting Sadie become more independent, to gradually teach her to play by herself by not immediately responding to her panicked tantrums, and to instead help her get the things she wants by encouraging her to do them herself. We were showed how to help her pull up, to move her legs for her in a pseudo-crawl so she can see what it feels like to make that movement.
We left the PT evals feeling tremendously encouraged. It means so much just to have a plan of action, to feel like we have the power to help things get better. After some consideration, I decided to go with Joy for Kids because the commute is much easier and Joy is willing to do early morning 7am sessions.
I was feeling so encouraged, in fact, that I made a very stupid decision that I now regret.
Part 2: Childcare
On Monday afternoon, I got a call from the owner of Happy Star Day Care. They hadn't seen Sadie since Tuesday and were concerned about her. I'd told them I was taking her to the doctor for some testing (truth) but hadn't mentioned last Wednesday's disastrous trial day at Rose's day care. Now they wanted to know if Sadie was coming back.
I had a decision to make. I already knew that Rose was out of the question -- both she and I agreed that Sadie isn't ready for an unfamiliar location and new kids, even if Rose was willing to work with her on physical strengthening, which she is. Rose seems like a good option to explore in the future.
I explained the whole situation to Happy Star -- the physical therapy, Sadie's diagnosis, her new needs. She said, over and over, that she was relieved to hear it and wanted to help. She wanted Sadie to come back to Happy Star, and was willing to learn the exercises and cooperate with us in order to help her. I thought about it, looked at my calendar with a full work week on it (a Tuesday conference call, Wednesday script revisions, Thursday accounting work with my mom), and said okay. I didn't see Sadie staying there permanently, but at least it might be a stop-gap solution until I could find a better option.
Bad idea.
I dropped Sadie off Tuesday morning at Happy Star. Immediately things got off on the wrong foot -- the instant we put her down on the floor so I could show them her new exercises, she began screaming at the top of her lungs. I left, feeling awful, but I had a crucial 11am conference call. I hadn't gotten any work done in 5 days and was starting to feel the urgency of needing to reassure my employers that I hadn't vanished from the face of the earth.
At 10:30am, Happy Star called. This is what they said:
"She won't stop crying. We give up."
"You give up?"
"Yes. We give up. We can't help her. You need to come pick her up."
"Right now?"
"Right now."
And that was that. I canceled my call, picked her up, collected her things from Happy Star, came home, and cried a lot. I might have had a glass of wine in the middle of the day. I'm not saying I did, and I'm not saying I didn't.
Yesterday, Scott took a sick day and we stayed at home and did nothing but interview nannies. I never saw us as a nanny type of household, but here we are. The nanny interviewing process deserves a post all of its own, and I interview another round by myself today, but to sum it up, it's going well. We've found one or two candidates that I'd feel comfortable hiring, and while we definitely can't afford in-home child care full time, we've found a way to swing 20 or 25 hours a week, which would still be a tremendous help. If it means I need to cut down on my workload and put my career on hold for the next few months, then it's something I have to be willing to do.
So it continues. In the next few weeks we'll make a decision about child care, Sadie will start twice-weekly PT sessions in earnest (she had one this morning that didn't go so well, but Joy has explained that she may go through weeks of tantrums before finally accepting that it won't get her what she wants), and at some point, hopefully, I will return to some sort of daily routine.
I miss routines. They just don't get enough credit.
Tomorrow is Sadie's first birthday, Sunday is a little party with only my parents, Scott's parents, my sister and her husband, with some lunch and swimming. It's not exactly the grand, celebratory affair that some of our friends did for their kid's first birthday, but at this point in time, it seems right, and it's all we have the energy to put together.
Before that, though, I want to thank everyone who has written me to offer their support and to tell me anecdotes of their own about tough kid problems and suffering from first-time-parent-itis. They all help and make us laugh instead of wanting to empty a bottle of vodka into our Raisin Bran.
Part 1: Physical Therapy
As I wrote about before, last week Sadie was diagnosed by our pediatrician as having mild hypotonia, or low muscle tone, which is why she has never learned how to crawl or get around on her own.
On Monday we took her to two different pediatric physical therapists for evaluations. The first, Joy for Kids, is in Burbank and is run by a younger woman named Joy who seems like the type that kids instinctively love. The other, Bright Star, was a larger center offering different forms of therapy, where we met with a woman whose name (I think) was Savina.
Those two hours were unbelievably edifying. To begin with, it was both gratifying and a little embarrassing to be able to show others just how volatile Sadie's emotional temperament has become. She screamed her way through both of the eval sessions and was happy only when on my lap or when I was down on the floor playing right next to her. Yet when she had me there with her, she was happy, curious, chatty and otherwise perfectly willing to learn.
We learned some strengthening exercises to do with her, such as sitting her on a yoga ball and rolling it from side to side so she has to work her trunk muscles to stay upright. (She thought this was the funnest game ever.) We were also instructed to help her walk as much as possible, which we already do. If it were up to her, she'd be standing all the time, and it's also pretty clear that she wants to learn how to strike out on her own without our help now that she's got the motions of walking down. Still too afraid to cruise on furniture, though.
She wasn't as much a fan of the other exercises, which involve helping her tuck her hips and legs beneath her and putting her into the crawl position so she can get used to bearing weight on her lower body. She'd developed her own cock-eyed way of reaching for an object which involved splaying out on her belly, then doing a push-up and trying to pull herself forward while sort of ineffectually wriggling her legs behind her. It never got her anywhere, and she's learned to equate it with frustration.
We were advised to start letting Sadie become more independent, to gradually teach her to play by herself by not immediately responding to her panicked tantrums, and to instead help her get the things she wants by encouraging her to do them herself. We were showed how to help her pull up, to move her legs for her in a pseudo-crawl so she can see what it feels like to make that movement.
We left the PT evals feeling tremendously encouraged. It means so much just to have a plan of action, to feel like we have the power to help things get better. After some consideration, I decided to go with Joy for Kids because the commute is much easier and Joy is willing to do early morning 7am sessions.
I was feeling so encouraged, in fact, that I made a very stupid decision that I now regret.
Part 2: Childcare
On Monday afternoon, I got a call from the owner of Happy Star Day Care. They hadn't seen Sadie since Tuesday and were concerned about her. I'd told them I was taking her to the doctor for some testing (truth) but hadn't mentioned last Wednesday's disastrous trial day at Rose's day care. Now they wanted to know if Sadie was coming back.
I had a decision to make. I already knew that Rose was out of the question -- both she and I agreed that Sadie isn't ready for an unfamiliar location and new kids, even if Rose was willing to work with her on physical strengthening, which she is. Rose seems like a good option to explore in the future.
I explained the whole situation to Happy Star -- the physical therapy, Sadie's diagnosis, her new needs. She said, over and over, that she was relieved to hear it and wanted to help. She wanted Sadie to come back to Happy Star, and was willing to learn the exercises and cooperate with us in order to help her. I thought about it, looked at my calendar with a full work week on it (a Tuesday conference call, Wednesday script revisions, Thursday accounting work with my mom), and said okay. I didn't see Sadie staying there permanently, but at least it might be a stop-gap solution until I could find a better option.
Bad idea.
I dropped Sadie off Tuesday morning at Happy Star. Immediately things got off on the wrong foot -- the instant we put her down on the floor so I could show them her new exercises, she began screaming at the top of her lungs. I left, feeling awful, but I had a crucial 11am conference call. I hadn't gotten any work done in 5 days and was starting to feel the urgency of needing to reassure my employers that I hadn't vanished from the face of the earth.
At 10:30am, Happy Star called. This is what they said:
"She won't stop crying. We give up."
"You give up?"
"Yes. We give up. We can't help her. You need to come pick her up."
"Right now?"
"Right now."
And that was that. I canceled my call, picked her up, collected her things from Happy Star, came home, and cried a lot. I might have had a glass of wine in the middle of the day. I'm not saying I did, and I'm not saying I didn't.
Yesterday, Scott took a sick day and we stayed at home and did nothing but interview nannies. I never saw us as a nanny type of household, but here we are. The nanny interviewing process deserves a post all of its own, and I interview another round by myself today, but to sum it up, it's going well. We've found one or two candidates that I'd feel comfortable hiring, and while we definitely can't afford in-home child care full time, we've found a way to swing 20 or 25 hours a week, which would still be a tremendous help. If it means I need to cut down on my workload and put my career on hold for the next few months, then it's something I have to be willing to do.
So it continues. In the next few weeks we'll make a decision about child care, Sadie will start twice-weekly PT sessions in earnest (she had one this morning that didn't go so well, but Joy has explained that she may go through weeks of tantrums before finally accepting that it won't get her what she wants), and at some point, hopefully, I will return to some sort of daily routine.
I miss routines. They just don't get enough credit.
Tomorrow is Sadie's first birthday, Sunday is a little party with only my parents, Scott's parents, my sister and her husband, with some lunch and swimming. It's not exactly the grand, celebratory affair that some of our friends did for their kid's first birthday, but at this point in time, it seems right, and it's all we have the energy to put together.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
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