Kindergarten Orientation went … cutely.
Blue Boy picked his own clothes out for the day, and I let him wear them. His loud Hawaiian shirt caused a few looks and a few giggles.
In the morning, by the time I put my shoes on, and they were slip on shoes, Blue Boy had left the house and gotten all the way to the corner. I wish I had video taped the way he walked.
His little arms were straight down his side, fingers splayed and he ran towards the school. When I caught up with him I told him he could not run, so he walked as fast as humanly possible.
My legs were sore by the time we got there.
He did not need his momma. No tears, no hesitation. The teacher introduced herself and he hugged her and said I can’t read yet. When do we read?
Super cute.
It was a very good experience for him. I think, come September, that he will have no problems when I drop him off on his first day of school. Come to think of it, It wasn’t Rainbow Man who had issues on his first day of school either, it was me…
When we got home I found out that my mother-in-law had taken the Babies’ to her house to play. We went to pick them up and I found out she had walked Stuperman over in just his underwear. No shoes. Nothing. Just a pair of Franklin gitch.
I felt very uncomfortable on the walk home with him. Thank goodness no one was around.
In the afternoon, Stupe brought me a water gun, and I decided that from now on, I will drink my coffee VIA gun. It’s just more fun that way.
My Sister-in-law is coming over tonight. I wonder how much beer it would take to get her drunk and make her do a little BPR drunkenblawgin…
Or better yet, get her drunk and make her DDR while I video tape.
heh.
about this post.
My baby turned five today. Five. How? Where was I? What do you mean he isn’t my Baby? He damn well is. And Dammit, If I want to mommy blog all fucking day long I will!
Five years ago I drove myself to the doctors office for my scheduled appointment. Blue Boy was one day overdue, and my contractions were eight minutes apart. My doctor told me to turn around and head for the hospital, but I told him I’d rather go to the mall instead.
So I did. FYI people. When you are panting and clutching your belly every four minutes, the people in the line in front will let you pass by. Just sayin’.
So after a few hours at the mall, I didn’t stay too long because I still had plans on phoning The Husband at work to get him to take me out for coffee before we went in to whelp the kid.
To make a long story short - because this isn’t about Blue Boy’s birth, but his birthday - Jittery Joe was NOT at work when I called to beg him to take me to the epidural hospital.
He was at the hospital already - getting stitched up himself. By the time he made it home the only thing on my mind was my glorious, beautiful epidural. It was the one and only time I have ever refused a cup of coffee.
(Also. I did not get my epidural until I was nine centimeters. Yeah. I know. They don’t give them after seven. Unless you are me. And very bitchy. And insistent. Oh and you threaten to walk out of the fucking hospital right now and have this goddamn baby in the parking lot if I don’t get my goddamn epidural NOW)
(And also? 11.5 hours of labour - total- and three half hearted pushes. No swelling, tearing or any other sort of pain if you discount the massive hemorrhaging that started two hours after his birth)
Where was I going with this again? I don’t remember either, except that even when Stuperman was minutes old, I still considered Blue Boy to be my baby.
It might have been the fact that I knew. I KNEW that our pediatrician was wrong about his diagnosis. I knew it with a hundred percent certainty. I knew Blue Boy should have been treated by nine months old. I knew KNEW. That’s why I kept taking him in. But I still accepted her pithy words and did nothing.
In a moment of strength I called on a different doctor and Blue boy was in for the first of his surgeries (left orchiopexy and minor plastic surgery on his tongue) within a month. And now, at five years old. I hear him talk and I see his scars (He had a third operation last May - right orchiopexy) and think about how he will never get to be a daddy, and I am overcome with guilt.
And how in the hell do I face him in twenty more years when he tells me he and his wife are “trying”? How do I tell him it’s MY fault??
I had every opportunity to fix this in time. Had I just stood up for my son when he was unable to stand up for himself, - my ONLY job as a parent ->keep your baby safe and healthy - and I failed it - he would have been fine. But I didn’t and because of that, I hold him a wee bit closer, because..
He’s my baby.
And he turned five at 7:30 tonight(04/23)
(And also. I am well aware that this post jumps around more then Fab on a monkey, but I had to write it quick! quick! quick! because BB’s story still either pisses me off or makes me sob, so deal, mmk?)
