Cheerio Confessions

I've been on my Lyrica for quite a few months now with pretty good results. So I was hopeful. I was hopeful that we had a dose right off the bat that was going to work. I was hopeful that my days of sobbing and crying wishing for death because of a fibro flare were behind me. I was hopeful that maybe when I saw Dr. T later this month he would give me the OK to begin physical therapy, something he won't permit me to do until we have my pain under control for a while with medications. My hopes have been dashed.

For the past few weeks now I've been having a few minor flares here and there. Nothing major by any stretch of the imagination. Certainly nothing I needed extra medications to manage. I just needed to take things a little slower on those days. No big deal. Then there was this past week. I have felt as if I've been run over by a train of teamsters, beaten to a pulp by the best boxers known to mankind, set a flame and left a flame for no other reason than to watch me burn and finally my very badly abused and battered shell is taken and repeatedly crammed into a a very small space (like a coffee mug, or a play dough container, ice cream container etc).

I've been taking my medications but I don't think it's helping at this point. I think the ever colder temperatures and the added stress of Mr. Emmett John's hearing tests and possible hearing loss is just shoving me over the edge; past a point where the Lyrica at my current dose can help me.

Hopefully, Dr. T's office will call me back from the message I left yesterday and let me know what they think and want to try. Because I can't take many more days of collapsing onto the floor in tears and sobs while I ugly cry because I'm in so much pain.

2/28

I don't know where to begin.

Yesterday I took Mr. Emmett John for his 18 month well-baby check-up with Dr. H. Tomorrow I will take him to the Audiologist to have his hearing tested. Physically, he's doing well. He isn't sick. Motor skills are right on track. He's still channeling Jack-Jack, which is absolutely exhausting. I honestly don't know how he does it. One minute he's right next to you then he's gone and there are 6 of him everywhere! On the bright side, his constant movement doesn't seem to be having any effect on his growth...

I'm done being sick.
I'm done being the downfall of our household.
I'm done being the reason nothing gets done.
I'm done being the reason everything falls apart.
I'm done being treated disrespectfully.
I'm done listening to how my illness(s) are the reason nothing gets done.
I'm done getting yelled at for over-doing it.
I'm done getting yelled at for not helping.
I'm done being treated like a second class citizen in my own home.
I'm done.

I can't believe Emmett John is 17 months old now. Time is going by way too fast for me. Geez, in 11 days he'll be 18 months old. I can't believe everything that has changed with him. Everything he's been up to.

His nickname has taken some interesting and unexpected turns. What used to be small and cutsie and bug based, is no more. (lol) Although I'm not sure why I'm so surprised. If you remember I went through the evolution of my Boys nicknames a while ago and it's crazy what happens. Mr. Emmett John now goes by either Jack-Jack or Indy, which is short for Indiana Jones because he tends to get into/find dangerous and troublesome situations. Jack-Jack is from the Disney/Pixsar movie "The Incredibles". And just for the record, dangerous and troublesome are entirely accurate descriptions.



(Okay, so while I absolutely adore my layout but it isn't exactly the widest layout ever in existance. If you really need to have the "volume control". Or the option for "full screen". Or the entire *waves hands frantically in the air* RIGHT SIDE OF THE CLIP! Then fine! Just double clip the movie or click RIGHT HERE to watch it on YouTube. If you really want to be that way.)

Anyway, moving right along. (lol)

Since I've brought up his dangerous and troublesome activities, I feel I should let you in on his new "Kid Tricks". Which aren't nearly as dangerous as the actual Jack-Jack, by the way. Let's see...what our Jack-Jack's been up to lately? He runs and sometimes I swear there are more than one of him (hense the "Jack-Jack" nickname) because one second he's climbing the back of the couch - like the flat back, not the cushion to back. But then as soon as he's there, he's on the stairs and then *BOOM* as up the stairs and down again. Then *BOOM* he's pushing Elliott Richard on a push toy. It all seems to happen within seconds and I swear there are more than one of him and they all move at super-human speeds!

He loves to play "tag". He'll play with just about anyone. With Maggie Sue. With Elliott Richard. With Rob or I. The catch is that most of the time we aren't playing. In fact, Maggie usually doesn;t even realize that she's playing tag. (lol) Basically, he chases her from the living room to the dinning room. Once there he "sqees" and runs away! Maggie hears him "sqee" and assumes something must be wrong, so she follows in hot persuit. And so goes the game of "tag" according to Emmett John.

The other "kid trick" he does that I just love, is when he point to you and runs. Every once in a while he will stand up and look around trying to decide who he wants to be held by. Once he decides, he'll point both index fingers at them "horns of a bull" style and run as fast as he can at that person with a huge grin on his face. I just love it. (lol)

I know I'm a horrible slacker mother right now. I'm not keeping up with what the kids are doing. For the most part, Emmett John is right on track. For the most part. There is just that one little thing. That one nagging little bit. Well, okay maybe it's a big bit. I can't decide.

He doesn't talk.

My gut. My mother's intuition. My inner-me. The inner-mommy. They all say that this is a Big, Huge, Waving, Warning, Look-at-Me Red Flag. Then I have well-meaning family members who tell me that Uncle Rick didn't say his first word until he was 2 and 1/2 years old. Uncle Rick is a wonderful, very intelligent man. He's one of my favorite uncles. Heck, he's Elliott Richard's Godfather so clearly he isn't a slouch in my book. And no disrespect to Grandma Gene but Uncle Rick isn't my Emmett John. I wasn't her. I don't know what her inner-mommy was telling her. I only know what my inner-mommy is telling me.

Problem is that even Dr. H is on the "everything will eventually be okay" train. First, he said "if he doesn't talk by 15 months then we'll worry". But Emmett John technically talked by 15 months. He said 2 different words. He said "cookie" maybe 5 times and "cracker" 1 time. He's never said those words again. He understands when we talk to him. He doesn't talk back. You can see he's clearly frustrated. Our faces bear the marks of his frustration. He's a pincher. Yesterday, he and Elliott Richard were standing at the baby gated enterance to the kitchen talking to me while I made snack. Well, Elliott Richard was talking. Emmett John wanted to talk. You could literally see it in his face but he couldn't get it out. Finally, he became so frustrated with the whole situation that he screamed and reached out and pinched Elliott Richard's face all in one swift move. It breaks my heart!

Now don't get me wrong he communicates some. He babbles. He makes what I call "pitch noises", which is where he does like the Tim Allen in "Home Improvement" guy "Arrrooo" thing at different pitches. So it isn't that he's mute because he isn't. He just doesn't speak in words or sentences. We've also heard that it could be because he's the youngest, perhaps we are speaking for him so he doesn't need to speak. We don't and he does. At times Elliott Richard will say, "Emmett John says..." and finish the sentence with some silly little 3 year old hilarity but very rarely to we actually speak for him.

In an attempt to communicate with him, some how I've been trying to teach him Baby American Sign Language. I only know a few words right now. But it's a start. I'm hoping that it will help Emmett John once he learns the signs for himself and he is finally able to tell us what he needs or wants. He "said/signed" his first word yesterday though, which was a pretty big deal around here. He signed "Daddy" to Rob. Then I asked him if he wanted to "sleep with Daddy" or "movie with Mommy" and he went with me. He went to the living room. Now when we sign to him, we say verbally what we are signing so he puts 2 and 2 together. In my experience, and it may just be wishful thinking, he seems to understand the conversations better this way. Only time will tell, I suppose.

I just hope he is able to finally find a way to communicate so he isn't frustrated any longer. It is one of the saddest things in the world to see your baby struggle that way. Knowing he has something to say. Seeing that he is trying so hard to say that and getting so stuck that he ends up striking out in anger when he can't. Something has to change for him very soon before this mama gets angry and starts to lay the smack down.

I finished some personal things and closed the proverbial door on others.

Not for good, mind you...just for the next week or so. Our internet is out and they can't get out to fix it for a week or so (wha wha what?!)...which leaves me high and dry without my internet.

That means...

No blogging of any real length. *sob*
No new articles on my Examiner.com page. *double sob*
No OME. *triple sob*

I forget what life before internet was like!?!?

Every once in a while I find myself pondering, "How much is too much?" What things just should not be shared on a blog? Does such a limit exist? Or is it merely a self-imposed limit used to try and keep the peace and help maintain relationships? If it is self-imposed is there a "right time" to remove it? Do others have a say in it's removal even if they aren't an active part of the blog itself?

Some seriously major things have been going on in my life lately. I was asked not to say anything about these goings on; however, that request was made before. Before I was disowned and my family was threatened. This is now.

Now I just have to figure out "How much is too much?" before I post the details. Problem is that I can't just post part of it because it won't make much sense. So now I have to decide what to do.

Any thoughts?

Everyday in the Cheerio household brings about a new sort of "normal". I use that term loosely of course. Our lives are in a constant state of flux. Mostly because of Gavin, not that I'm saying everything is his fault because it isn't. It's just that a majority of the time our lives revolve around Gavin and his needs. Some days the flux is caused because of me and my needs. However, mostly, our lives revolve around Gavin. His moods. His needs. His whims. His fits of anger. His fits, period. His appointments. Him, in general.

I feel like as soon as we get one thing under control here. One thing stablized. Everything else hits a huge wave and smashes into a million pieces. Then we are left clinging to that one thing we managed to stablize while we scramble to gather the other million pieces and try to put them back together. Only it feels as if we are trying to put them back together, in the dark, without glue, without directions and honestly, without any real idea of what they were in the first place. All the while that one stablized thing, whatever it was, is slipping away so slowly that we don't notice until it's gone.

I'm still trying to write about 5 other posts at the moment about various topics ranging from myself to Gavin to other things I can't remember at the moment. However, I've been side-tracked and it's frustrating me! There is a blog I frequent that I simply adore. Sarah at To define is to limit (a title which I also adore) has a graphic on her blog, which she gave me permission to borrow a while ago I just haven't gotten around to swiping it yet. This is what it looks like:

In case you are unable to read it, it says:

"I write for the same reason I breathe...because if I didn't, I would die."

Now I know this may not make complete sense to some of you. To others you are likely shaking your heads, saying, "Yeah, that about sums her up." Trust me what I tell you, this is me. I love to write. I live to write. Writing is who I am. Or at least it was, before I had three children.

Now writing is a dormant part of my soul. Every so often, it twitches. Like a heart that is attempting to regain it's rhythm. Sometimes I get this nagging, in the farthest recesses of my mind and imagination. Begging me to let it out, to write it and set it free.

This isn't a spontaneous occurance. It doesn't just happen. At least, not to me, anyway. It takes a spark. Something to awaken it from it's long dormant state. To nudge it and jolt it out of the coma I forced it into 9+ years ago. For whatever reason, Twilight appears to have been that.

I felt the twitch. Although I can't quite remember when. I think it was somewhere between Books 3 and 4 but I can't be sure. The twitch came. The nagging followed. Now I'm scrambling.

I'm dying to write. I literally feel as if my soul is shriveling up from within. But theywon'thelpme! The twitch. The nagging. Aren'thelpingme! I don't know where to start. I don't know what to write. I don't know if you've noticed or not, but my grammar SUCKS! Which is funny and ironic because grammar is a huge pet peeve of mine, but again I digress.

So here I sit. Frustrated to the point of wanting to scream and pull my hair out by the roots. None of my friends or family are really writers, so no help there. I'm trying music. Nothing.

I.

Am.

Frustrated.

So if I'm not around for a while. If I'm not here. I'm not blogging. I'm not commenting. This is why. I've been trying to ease my frustration with blogging and it's not working. So now, I'm off to find something else.

Plus, I just needed to vent. ARGH!

(***Update*** And now I've swiped the image and it's posted to the blog. Both in this post and above my picture to the right. You were worried. I know. Rest peacefully now. ;) lol)

Rob has been updating about the goings-on in our household lately. However, there are a few things I want to say as well. (I wrote this but somehow I ended up signed in under Rob's user info. I would repost it to correct it but we'd lose the comments.)

What kind of world are we living in? That our legal system is so quick to trumpet "Family Re-unification", "Save the Family"; and therefore so quick to toss the best interests of the child to the side of the road. I'm all for family re-unification. If, and only if, it is in the best interest of the child. I'm sorry if a parent is an alcoholic, an addict, mentally ill or abusive, or they simply don't care enough to be involved. I feel for them. However, it is not our responsibility to follow these "adults" around and try and force them into roles they obviously have no interest in or are simply incapable of filling. It is not our responsibility to make sure they do the right thing. If they choose the substance, the illness or the actions above the child; they have made their choice. Why should we continue to give them second, third and fourth chances to make "the right choice"?

If I have $50 and I choose to spend it on myself rather than on my children. That is my choice. I have made it. Was it the right choice, not likely but that is something I (and unfortunately my children) will have to live with. No one is going to follow me around while I'm shopping with my $50 and ask me repeatedly, "Are you sure that's what you want?" Why should we follow these "parents" who have made their decisions around continually asking, "Are you sure that's what you should be doing?"

It sucks that the children pay the price for our follies. It sucks that they will remember someday that Mommy or Daddy made the wrong decision. It sucks that those children will likely harbor ill-will towards their "parents" for the decisions they have made. But that's life. We cannot possibly protect our children from everything because then they would experience nothing. That's not life.

Life is painful and bloody and ugly. Yet at the same time it's sweet and beautiful and joyful. When we attempt to protect them from everything, we deny them the opportunities to experience life in all it's beautiful, twisted glory.

While we can't protect them from everything; in today's legal system it seems nearly impossible to protect them from anything. Including the big bad wolf that is known and knocking down our door. Nevermind trying to protect them from the big bad wolf that lurks in the shadows and is yet unknown.

What use is it to be a child's sole custodian when your opinion in the "best interest" of your child, doesn't matter. Logically, we should be the one's who know our children best. And therefore are most equipped to say "Yes, little Johnny can handle this." or "No, that's way too much and would throw little Johnny into a tale-spin." Yet, when we attempt to do this. When we attempt to fulfill our roles as advocates for our children, the courts label it as "parental alienation" or "custodial interference". They chastise us and say, "Bad parents! How dare you!" and slap us on the wrist for speaking up.

All the while we have the "non-custodial parent" on the other side of the court room. Drunk and stoned half out of their minds and the court commends them for showing up at all. It doesn't matter that they are under-the-influence, after all, isn't it great that they showed up! "Yay for the non-custodial parent! You came to court to fight for your child drunk and stoned! Here! Have a gold star!"

How did we get here? How did we manage to jump from one extreme to the next? It used to be that men automatically received custody because they were the man of the house and society was a "good ole boys club". Then it was the mother automatically received custody because they were the mothers and it was cruel to take a child from its mother. Now it's supposed to be a fair game. It's supposed to be the child "wins" and the best parent for the job receives sole custody. But that's not quite right either. Now it's the parent with the most money, the best attorney or the smarmiest attorney (the attorney who is willing to win at all costs of self-respect and reputation), or the best connections wins.

Some people will deny this. You can tell these people by their indignation at the idea of a biased legal system. And God bless them for it. Those few people are the only ones keeping our entire legal system from sinking forever into this moral quagmire we have created for ourselves. They are the ones on the street corners protesting. They not only know what the Bill of Rights are; but they exercise those rights. Our country has found itself in an on-going popularity contest. With our citizens going with the "popular vote"; rarely going against the grain to stand up and say "I'm going to do what's right".

Unfortunately, until we can find our way out of this disaster we've created for ourselves...until we can truly become "one nation under God, indevisible, with liberty and justice for all" our children will continue to find themselves stuck in the middle. Bad parenting won't be a negative thing because what does it matter if you are a bad parent; if no one else cares. Children will be lost in the system. Hearts will be shattered and bruised and the "cure" will be getting even. Our children will continue to look in the wrong places for love. They will continue to turn to deaf ears for help. Parents and children will continue to place their faith (the only thing some of them have left) in a legal system that proclaims to protect them. Only to have their hopes dashed and their faith lost because the "good guys" rarely win. And the "bad guys" rarely see justice.

I'm tired of being strong. I want to breakdown like everyone else. I want to shut down. Shut off. Unplug. I'm tired of being sh*t on. (haha I made a funny. Too bad I don't feel much like laughing.)

"The Leak" was apparently the tip of the iceberg.

After spending $200.00 to fix that, we find out the whole sewage line is clogged. The only reason it's been working (for the past 5 years we've lived here!!!) is because of the 3 ft crack that was allowing "stuff" (use your imagination as to what exactly "stuff" is) out into the walls. Now since the crack is gone, the stuff has no other way out. The line is completely clogged. Rendering everything unusable. Toilets - unusable. Sinks - unusable. Washing machine - unusable. Bath tub/shower - unusable. So we had to pay another $200.00 to have the line snaked. (That's $400.00 total so far, that we didn't have. If you are keeping track.)

For the curious, here's what happens when the soil stack/sewage line is clogged. You flush the toilet in our 2nd floor full bathroom (toilet, sink, tub) - the sewage comes up into the tub. (Nice, huh?) You flush the toilet in the 1/2 bath (toilet and a sink) on the 1st floor - the sewage leaks into the basement. You turn on the washer - all sorts of lovely stuff floods the basement.

So the guy Dad G uses comes out. He taps on the cap to get to the line to snake it. The cap and a piece of pipe just fall off because the pipes are so rusted. He tells Rob that from what he can see, there has never been plumbing upkeep done on our house. The snaking will not hold for long. (The Roto Rooter guy quoted us $600.00 to snake the entire line. Making it "like new". The guy we used snaked a path through the...stuff. I'm sorry but if we don't really have the $400.00...we definitely don't have $800.00!)

The toilets are original to the house. Making them nearly 105 years old if they were put in when then house was built. Now we learn those need replaced as well. They are $200.00 a piece. (Putting the grand total at $800.00 not including tax.)

We need out of this house. This money pit. This Hell-hole!

I don't see how though. We will never get financed for a house. We don't have a down payment. Because of Gavin's "something more" we can't live in an apartment because even if the neighbors are understanding at first. Their patience will wear thin and we will wear out our welcome. I don't know where we will go. Or what we will do.

I'm honestly having a hard time holding my tongue at the moment. But Rob has asked me to do just that, for the sake of sanity...so I will. Out of love and respect for my husband, I hold my tongue.

It's true what they say; ignorance is bliss. I wish I were ignorant too. I could use some bliss right about now...

My family is falling apart.

I don't blog about Gavin very often because I don't know how to "spin" it without making him out to be a monster or painting a rosier picture than is true. He isn't a monster. He's a beautiful little boy with a compassionate soul. He's also so difficult to control anymore. And to make matters worse, some people don't see how he's difficult to control so they think it's just us. Do I deny that he feeds off of our stress levels? No. Do I think our stress levels are the be-all end-all of his mood swings? No.

Gavin is Autistic. He is bi-polar. He is being medicated to bring him out of his manic phase. However, we are without a mood stabilizer so he's just being boomer-ranged into a depressive phase. He is a teeter-totter. Manic. Depressive. Manic. Depressive. Psychotic. Violent. Psychotic. Violent. It's 6 of one, half a dozen of another at this point.

When Gavin is manic, he gets sucked totally and completely into his own little world. Even more than what happens normally with Autistic children. He begins talking to people who are not there. It is next to impossible to get his attention and draw him out of his own little world. He is not a danger to himself or anyone else. But he's also on a completely different planet.

When Gavin is depressive, he's angry and violent. He has little to no fuse. No patience for anyone or anything. If we tell him "no", all Hell breaks loose. He claims he's "starving" and demands to eat but then he takes two bites and refuses to finish. He's lashing out at Elliott Richard for nothing at all. If Elliott dares to touch Gavin, Gavin will throw an elbow or a fist at him. And it's only getting worse.

We find ourselves, once again, faced with the decision of whether or not we should send him to inpatient treatment. We find ourselves, by Gavin's doctors admission; facing the fact that what's best for everyone, may not be what we want to do.

At this point we have one of three options available to us.

1) We continue with life as it is. Gavin at home and daily glimpses of Hell. Gavin will spend much of his free time playing in his room in an attempt to keep him separated from Elliott Richard (in order to protect Elliott Richard).

2) We make arrangements with the grandparents. Rob's parents take him during the day (during Spring Break) and after school once it resumes. My mother takes him after she gets off work. And we would take Gavin to all his appointments with Pattie and Dr. R. And he would come home on the weekends.

3) We visit an inpatient treatment facility and make arrangements to have Gavin admitted. This will be difficult because of the financial aspect of it, but that can be arranged.

Honestly, I don't like any of those options. The lesser of the three evils are 1 and 2. I would do 3 if Pattie and Dr. R felt it was necessary. Even 1 and 2 leave me feeling guilty and less of a mother. However, when I take a step back I realize that Gavin is having a greater effect on our family than is noticeable at first. Elliott Richard has started to mimic Gavin's behaviors. There's the very basic fact that I'm being asked to choose between my children. I don't know how to do that. I don't know how to live with that. I feel as if I'm being asked to sacrifice one to spare the other. And again, I don't know how to deal with that.

There's so much looming over me right now. I'm stuck on this stupid God-forsaken couch and people keep dumping their crap on me! People call to see how I'm doing and dump their troubles on my couch on the way. Rob comes through and dumps his crap on my couch as he passes. Gavin just dumps his crap everywhere. And then I have the added stress of trying to find a balance between over-analyzing every little thing and making sure that I do what's best for Tiny. No one truly realizes just how difficult it is to be me right now.

I pray that you'll hear me when I say this: There are no cabana boys here! No daily massages. No bon-bons on a silver tray. No pretty drinks with umbrellas. It's me. On the couch. In my living room. Trying desperately to find something on 120 channels of NOTHING to watch. So I record every episode of Law & Order: SVU and Criminal Intent ever made because those are the only shows I can stand to watch over and over again. I cross stitch. I nap. I eat. I take potty breaks. Again I beg you, hear me when I say this: that is my life! From 7:00am to midnight, that is what I do. Every. Single. Day.

When I ask for help, it feels as if I'm being humored. When I beg for help, I end up feeling blown off or ignored. Do people not realize that I would love to have my biggest concerns "how many birthday parties I have to attend" or "where I'm going to drink myself into oblivion for St. Patrick's Day". I wish my days weren't spent with the following thoughts cycling through my head:

"am I doing enough to protect Tiny"
"how do I protect Elliott Richard from Gavin"
"how do I protect Gavin from himself"
"how do I help Rob without endangering Tiny"
"should I call Dr. D"
"if I go to L&D will they even take me seriously"
"was that another contraction? how many does that make now?"

Do any of you know what that's like?! Do any of you know how it feels to know that you are responsible for getting this tiny new life through to the end? Do any of you know how it feels to know that you could do everything right and it still not be enough? Do you know how it feels to know that even if (because it is an IF at this point) we make it to the end, it may not be close enough to the end? Or it may not matter anyway?

Some days I can't help but wonder, do any of you even care? Granted I'm pregnant and hormonal. I'm carrying your unborn niece/nephew. Your grandson. Your great-grandson. Your cousin. And yet no one can be bothered to go out of their way for us. Three people call me or text me in any given day. Three people email me on a consistent basis: Julie (without her right now I'd be lost), Tammy (my sidelines buddy) and Kelly (my other sidelines buddy). I have received two cards in the mail: one from Great Grandma Gene and one from Merrilee.

I understand that people are busy. I know that you all have your own lives. So if you can't call me, fine. (And honestly all the talking on the phone can be quite exhausting.) Send me an email. Or a card in the mail. (I keep all of my cards for Tiny's hatbox.) Send me a text message while you watch television. (I have unlimited texting now.) Heck, send me smoke signals! I'm desperate here. I'm dying to feel like I'm still a part of the world. I'm dying to feel like people care what the heck happens to us while we are locked away in our own little Hell.

15 down ~ 120 to go

Rob and I were talking last night about a lot of things. While I was putting Elliott Richard to bed he read my blog. (He has access but doesn't read very often, which isn't a big deal since he lives it and all. lol) He said that while I'm honest I put a positive spin on things. I guess that's true. I am honest but there are things that I hold back on because for a while now Rob has been uncomfortable with the whole blogging thing. My blog is set to invite only so even if Nick or Pam managed to find my Blogger profile and try to access my blog they would see a message that says my blog is by invite only. No access. No risk. Unless one of you give them the url and your login info but since I know 99% of you personally and the rest of you either dislike them as much as I do or have no interest in them, I feel pretty safe. ;)

So I've decided that it's time for honesty. It's time for me to be a little blunt and completely open about our lives right now. Keep in mind a few things here: While I tend to be pretty honest and upfront about most things, there are some topics that are harder for me to discuss than others. Also this on again off again weather is killing me and my cold/sinus infection seem to be returning and the sinus stuff I take seems to make me a little loopy for some reason. So what I don't cover today I'll try and hit later. (Side note: I am horrible at spelling! Seriously. I apologize for any misspellings but my spell check doesn't work right now. So just ignore my typos.) Anyway, without further ado...

I have been "torturing" you guys with the fact that Rob and I know the sex of Tiny and you don't. Honestly, some of you do. Some of you don't. (Gavin doesn't even know but then if we told him we might as well tell everyone. lol) I haven't posted Tiny's sex on here because some family has access to the blog, although I seriously doubt that they exercise it. In theory I could post Tiny's sex here if I wanted to and our families probably still wouldn't know. That makes me sad. It makes me sad that my best friends (one of whom lives in NYC and the other knows who she is - hope you're feeling better, hon), my mother, my various internet moms (from all three pregnancies) and Gram (my newly internet adopted grandmother) are the only ones who really check this blog(at least that I know of because they let me know they've been here). (Tiffany, Nathan, and my Aunt Susie have access and are excused from this generalization because they have their hands seriously full at the moment.) Rob thinks I should post Tiny's sex and see who actually reads the blog to keep up with life in the our household. I don't agree. I'll know when the time is right for everyone to know and I'll tell you then. So asking (nicely or otherwise) and bribing (although fun and appreciated sometimes) won't work, so for your own sanity it's best that you not try. End of story. ;)

What's next...ah yes, money. We have none. (Can't get much more blunt than that.) Rob has "lost his job" in a manner of speaking. Rob is self-employed as a construction/contractor for a pretty big home builder here in town and the surrounding states. There is an allotment here in town that Rob has worked in since they opened it. He has been in every house in the neighborhood until now. Glen, the builder he was working for, quit. Glen's replacement (who's name escapes me at the moment) seems to dislike Rob. (We think it's because the last time Rob worked for him he was also working with a rather shady individual. Now please understand, Rob is not shady. In fact, he's one of the most honest and upfront people I know. But for a while his reputation was tarnished because he was associated with Bob before he knew the "Real Bob". Incidently, the "Real Bob" recently stole $6 off a dying 67 yr old man whom he, as a paramedic, was supposed to be saving, just to give you some perspective.) Anyway, this builder seems to be replacing Rob with someone different. This has killed our income. Right now we are living off of our income tax return but that will only last until the end of March, if we are lucky and don't buy things like diapers and gas. *sigh* Rob is actively looking for work with other allotments within the company, however, this also is the slow time of year. Homeowners are buying lots and picking homes but ground breaking probably won't happen for a few months yet and Rob isn't involved until closer to the end of the process.

The other thing to keep in mind is that Rob is self-employed for a few reasons. Could he go out and get any job to bring in something for the next few weeks, yes he could. However, that is not what is best for him or for our family. Rob has a herniated disc and degenerative disc disease in his back. He was told years ago that he needs surgery and shouldn't be doing construction. He has not had the surgery because it would require him to be completely out of commission for up to 6 months. He used to be a paramedic, a job that he loved, (He was saving a hemoraging pregnant woman when he destroyed his back.) but had to quit because he had to be away from home for 24-72 hours at a time and Gavin had become too much for me to handle on my own. To work a "normal job" Rob would have to have the freedom to sit down or stand as his back allows and needs. No employer is going to tolerate that and the pain of all the standing would kill him. When he got home, he would be useless to me and the boys. Rob does what he does to allow for fexibility in scheduling because of Gavin and his special needs. The work he does is not good for his back, by any means, but it allows for us to make enough money to survive on without requiring Rob to be away from home for 40+ hours every week. On a good day (for Gavin) I struggle to meet all his needs, however, now that I'm pregnant and already on light restrictions I am not allowed to have confrontations like the ones that are typical with Gavin. And I'm not allowed to care for Elliott Richard on my own now right either so I need Rob at home as much as time and income allow. This may sound irresponsible on our part but I assure you that this is the only and best way for us. I have made appointments to all of the agencies that may be able to help us at this point. I have calls into other contacts who may know of other assistance. We are doing all that we can at this point to plan for our uncertain future. (If you know of any help that I may not, please email me. When I say our financial situation is dire, I'm not being dramatic.)

Hhhhmmmm, where do I go from here? Ah, yes, the boys. We've been lucky with Elliott Richard. While he's technically considered a preemie, he was born at 36 weeks. That puts him a HUGE advantage over most preemies because we were able to keep him inside for 9 weeks despite the preterm labor that threatened us everyday. So even though he spent the first 10 days of his life in the NICU, he's fine now. Developmentally, he's right on target.

Gavin isn't quite so easy. Gavin was a typical baby until about 2 1/2 or 3 years old. Then it was as if he woke up one day and someone had flipped a switch. Gavin was gone. Prior to the switch being flipped, he was a typical little boy. Although now that I have Elliott Richard as a "point of reference" (as Gavin's doctors put it) I now realize that there were many things I should have noticed but didn't. The fact that we lived down south for 9 months with a family doctor rather than Gavin's regular pediatrician didn't help matters any. And yes, I blame myself for that. From start to finish, I firmly believe that our time in down south while I was married to Nick was the beginning of the end for my precious Gavin.

There are many different theories as to how Autism/Asperger's comes to be. Some believe it is vaccines. I don't agree. Autism as a whole is seeing a 300% increase globally. That means third world countries, under-developed countries - essentially, countries without access to vaccines. In order for it to be vaccines, all the children in that 300% need to have exposure to the same vaccines. Others believe it is genetic, tied to such factors as extensive drug use by the parents (I used socially until I found out I was pregnant with Gavin. In my opinion, Nick is an addict.) and the advanced age of the father. I tend to agree with this a little more. Personally, I believe that Autism is much like cancer. You may be born with a genetic predisposition to cancer but not develop cancer in your lifetime. However, you pass that genetic predisposition on to your children and they may develop cancer if the conditions are right and the gene is triggered. I think either Nick or myself or both of us carried this genetic predisposition and passed it on to Gavin. Then something happened, over time, to trigger it. I believe that had it not been triggered, Gavin would have been quirky but not necessarily Autistic. But once it was triggered, Gavin was locked away inside his own mind. Too far away for us to reach.

When Gavin was young, before the switch was flipped, he was quirky. The girls at his daycare used to worry because he would not play with the other children. He would play beside them but never with them. He also refused, to the point of violent meltdowns, to participate in group activities. I admit, I was young (20/21) and didn't know what this meant. I thought he was simply angry at me for leaving him in daycare. When Gavin was a baby (9-18 months) he was very attached to me. Everywhere I went, he went. Elliott Richard is the same, only he's different. Gavin was attached to me but it was more as if I were a safe place, not a safe person. If that makes any sense. His attachment didn't seem to be emotional. As Gavin has grown, his attachments have become less emotional over time and more forced. He gives hugs because he has learned that they are expected in certain situations. Gavin will memorize a social situation and what he did that was acceptable in that moment. He will then react the exact same way every time recognizes a similar social situation. Gavin has no filter. If he sees someone smoking, he doesn't think about whether he knows them or if he should say what he's thinking, he tells them that smoking is bad and they are going to die. Then he will walk away. He has called neighbors "scary vultures" and "black monsters" to their faces. He doesn't know it's wrong. He simply thinks it and says it.

We try and teach Gavin what is right and wrong. We try and teach him that just because he feels the need to hug Elliott Richard does not mean he can drag him kicking and screaming away from his toys to accomplish it. We try and teach him that it's okay to not want to be touched but it is not okay to push, kick and hit Elliott Richard when he's trying to get Gavin's attention. The blunt truth of Gavin is that he has kicked Elliott Richard in the chest because Elliott Richard touched Gavin's foot. Gavin has kicked one of our cats down the stairs. He has tried to throw a dog down the stairs. When I was pregnant with Elliott, Gavin attacked me. He has tried to slam my fingers in his bedroom door while I was trying to get in and stop him from hurting himself. (Our house is 100+ years old and the doors are all about 2 inches solid wood.) He has clawed at my face, my eyes, my arms. He has spit in my face and punched me in the side of the head.

Gavin has no gray area. Everything in his world is black and white. He over-generalizes everything. If Person A buys Gavin at toy "just because" at Wal*Mart. Then from that moment on every time he is at Wal*Mart Gavin's believes that he will get a toy. It doesn't matter who is with him. His whole life is like that. Good and evil, with no in-between.

In our home, routine is life. Our lives are not such that our routine is on a set time schedule. However, the same things happen in the same order everday. Regardless of the time we get up or doctors appointments etc. In our world, it is always A, B, C, D etc. Never A, Z, J, V etc.

I am not telling you these things about Gavin because I want you to think him a monster. He is NOT a monster. However, he is not typical either. Simply because your pregnancy, labor & delivery were textbook followed by text book typical children, does not mean that our lives work that way. Gavin attends a special school for Asperger's and ADHD children. They have been a God send! Make no mistake the staff are ANGELS and I will take on (verbally of course) anyone who dares to tell me differently. Without them, Gavin would not be able to attend school. Public schools (as I've stated in previous posts) are not a fit for Gavin in any stretch of the imagination. I honestly do not know where we would be without them. They are all miracle workers and the best part of my job as a mother and President of the PTA is that I get to watch them work miracles everyday.

Warning: This is where my honesty is about to get bitter and angry. You have been warned.

Some things make me angry, understandablly. There are people out there who believe that they know better simply based on age. WRONG. Some believe they know better because they have typical children who all turned out wonderfully. WRONG. Some people believe that I am too strict, too structured, too this that and the other thing. WRONG.

Just because you are older than me, does not mean you have more experience than me. I have seen things in my 27 1/2 years that most of you have only read about. My childhood was not text book, unless you happen to be reading a text book about an ADHD child. My young adult years were filled with anger, violence, abuse, drugs, alcohol, cops, court dates, legal battles...you name it and it was probably in there at some point. I did not get to go away to college. I did not get to date my soul mate for years before getting engaged, getting married and having children - in that order. The last 15 years of my life have been spent fighting for survival - my own, my children's, my husband's, my marriage.

Much of the things I have endured over the past 15 years are nightmares of my own creatation; I recognize that. I take ownership and responsibility for my actions. I will not take ownership or responsibility for anyone else's. I chose to marry Nick. He chose to abuse me in any way he could think of. I did not deserve it. I did not tolerate it. And while others are certainly within their rights to ask my advice and not take it, do not ask my advice and tell me that my opinion/p.o.v. (point of view) is wrong because it does not fit into your Bubble Gum Universe. I wish I lived in your Universe but I don't. I live in the Real World. Which is MESSY and UGLY and filled with PAIN and ANGER and nasty ugly things. While you may wish to live with your head in the sand and ignore the world outside your door, please remember that I live there and when you ignore the pain and suffering in the world...You are ignoring me!

I wish I had grown up with a deep faith in God. I wish I had a life in which that faith has never been tested and I've never been angry with God. But you know what, I haven't and that's okay. That makes me HUMAN. Some people prefer to live life worrying about what others will think. While I often take into considersation what others think, it does not run my life. I know my God. We are tight. He loves me and I love him. I don't have to go to church every Sunday to show my love for him nor for him to show his love for me. I was not married in a church. It was a civil ceremony with my parents and brother and Rob's parents and siblings. That does not doom our marriage.

I have lived my entire life clouded by judgement and none of that judgement has come from where it should - GOD. I will not live in judgement any longer. My life is not easy, even on a perfectly amazing day. My life is struggle and pain. My health sucks. Rob's back is blown. Gavin is Autistic. And by the grace of God, Elliott is "perfect" (in relation to the everyone else's issues). Gavin and I have PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) from the abuse I endured and he witnessed down south. My life is not perfect. I'm tired of pretending that it is because it makes other uncomfortable. I appreciate every prayer that is offered up to God on our behalf but you know what, there are times when it would be nice if more than prayers were offered. If you really want to know what we need...Call and ask to take Gavin for the day or overnight. Call just to see how things are going. If something is going wrong in the pregnancy, ask us about it. If we don't want to talk about it, we'll let you know. If you care, sometimes it's just nice to be told or shown.

I'm tired of fake people. I've said it before and I'll say it again. I am tired of fake people. (FYI...Fake people are normal people who act in a manner that is fake, shallow, self-serving etc)If you assume that we'll tell you if things are really bad, then don't be surprised when we don't tell you anything. Don't be surprised when you aren't included in the good because you don't care to be there in the bad. My life right now reminds me of that children's story about the little red hen. She gathers all the ingredients to make bread and asks for help along the way. Everyone is too busy to help with the work. Then when the bread is baked, everyone is willing to help her eat it. And that little red hen says NO, you didn't want to help me work so you won't enjoy the fruits of my labor. That's how I feel. If you can't be bothered to care about us when things suck. You won't get to enjoy the fruits of our labor. And you know what, life sucks. The sooner you learn it, the better off you'll be.

I'm NOT telling you these things because:
We are looking for hand-outs or hand-ups or whatever you'd like to call them.
We are looking for pity.
I am unhappy with my life.
I am trying to hurt anyone.

I AM telling you these things because:
I want to be completely honest (within reason, somethings y'all just don't need to know lol).
If you pray, you'll now know what to pray for.
If you want to help, you now know what we need.
If you ask me (or us) to go somewhere, do something etc you'll now know why we can't.
Everyone needs to know what our lives are like.
I'm tired of not sharing how I feel because it might upset people. (This is my blog. If you don't like it or can't handle it, don't read it. Most of you don't anyway.)
It's unhealthy for me to hold all this crap in.

We had an ultrasound yesterday in the ER. I don't remember if I mentioned the "band" they saw and at this point I don't care to go back and look. Long story short, they saw a "band". The band is medically referred to as "Amniotic Band Syndrome" feel free to look it up if you would like to be depressed with me. Basically, there is a band - sort of like a rubber band - stretching across my uterus. At this point, the baby is not caught up in the band and this is good. If the baby gets caught up in the band, any number of things could happen. The outcome ranges from nothing happens or the band breaks (best case scenario) to mild deformities (grooves in the skin) to serious deformities (webbed fingers and toes) to critical deformities (amputated hands, feet or limbs).

I am devastated at this very moment. Perhaps later, I will not be devastated. Right now, I am.

Just once in my life, I would like things to go smoothly. I would like to not have a life full of drama. Just once in my life, I would like to catch a break! And not like, "oh look, the baby didn't lose her whole arm"! I want the band to break! I want my baby to come out perfect and on time! I want one blessed break in my life! Is that SO much to ask for? Honestly, is it?!

I keep hearing this little voice in my head "If he leads you to it, he'll lead you through it." But you know what?! I'm flipping tired of being led to it in the first darn place!!! Just once I'd like him to not lead me to it! I'd like him to steer me the other way and say "Nah, you know what, you've had enough so let's try this way instead". Just once I'd like the path I'm on, to not be the path of most resistance! I'd like to see what the path of least resistance is like! Just once. *sobs* Is that really so much to ask? People tell me that God must have great and wonderful things in store for us, what with all the Hell I've endured in my 27 years - specifically the past decade or so. I keep waiting to see just a glimpse of these wonderful things. I keep praying for my break. I keep maintaining faith that it's coming. But you what, I'm not so sure anymore. I just don't feel it anywhere near where I am and I don't know how much longer I can hold out for it.

I've always had the genetic blood testing done during my pregnancies. I always told myself that it wouldn't change anything. And you know what, it wouldn't. In the end, when push comes to shove, it doesn't change anything. But right now, in this very moment, it changed every moment of my life! Right now, it matters. Right now, I'm terrified of that test because of the other problems that are often linked to ABS. Right now, I don't want to know. I don't want ultrasounds every 2 weeks! I don't want the terror of will she be caught or won't she.

Right now, I just want to be left alone. If you love me, thank you. If you're sorry, please don't tell me so. I don't want to hear about a friend of a friend. I don't want to hear that it will be okay. I don't want to talk at all and talking involves listening. Feel free to think I'm being a brat. Feel free to think I'm handling this poorly. Right now, I just need to...feel what I need to feel. If you'd like to leave a comment so I can read it when I'm in a better place, please do. If you'd like to pray that the band breaks, by all means! We could use all the extra prayer power we can get.

But please, for the love of God, if you decide to look ABS up on the Internet DO NOT SHARE WHAT YOU FOUND WITH ME!!!! I don't care. I don't want to know. I already read more than I should have. So please just keep your new found knowledge TO YOURSELF! Thanks.

I cannot wake up today for the life of me.

Elliott Richard woke up at about 6:30 or 6:45am, which may be sleeping in for some of you (Debbie, I still don't know how you do it!) but that's *early* for us. I drug myself out of bed and off we went downstairs. Usually once I'm moving around and doing my daily routine I wake up. Not the case today. I was going through the motions. I think I even ate a bowl of cereal. But I could.not.keep.my.eyes.open. I dozed on the couch from 6:50am until about 9am when Rob woke up. (Just an FYI, Noggin shows make for some seriously screwy dozing dreams! lol) I think I may have even fixed Gavin a bowl of cereal and a glass of milk, although don't quote me on that because I'm not sure. lol When Rob woke up he had to get ready to go to work but was worried I wouldn't be able to stay awake. I seriously don't know what is going on with me. I've been getting *plenty* of sleep. Heck, I woke up at 7:45am (the usual time in case you were wondering) yesterday and took 2 naps (1 for about an hour and the second for nearly 3!). Granted I didn't get to bed for the night until midnight because Rob and I were watching the premier episode of "Law & Order", which has been missing since May of last year. So I was super excited to watch. But I typically don't get to bed before midnight anyway so I doubt it was that. I'm thinking it's related to the Darvocets I'm forced to take. (I'm prone to migraine headaches, although when I'm not pregnant they are not tied to my hormones in anyway. However, whenever I'm pregnant all the extra hormones amounts to many, massive migraines. I see Dr. D on Monday because the migraines are already so bad and I'm only 11 weeks. *sigh*) But I took my last Darvocet at 6pm last night so I really doubt I was still sleeping it off at 7am. Who knows. Maybe I'm just channeling Sleeping Beauty. Yeah, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. ;)

In other news, our health insurance is causing problems with Gavin's speech therapy. They want updates and re-approval every 3 months - even though they give approval for 6 months at a time. However, his speech therapist, Melanie, turned in her request 3 weeks ago and they won't approve it. They won't say why. I hate this. He needs the therapy so that his speech can improve, thereby allowing him to communicate with the world around him. It's already difficult enough for him to communicate and they are only making it worse by setting him back. Everytime I try and call to complain it says I'm being transferred but then they disconnect me! I'm so sick and tired of beurocrats who have no experience in the medical profession deciding which services my disabled 7 year gets!!! He *needs* these services if he is ever going to have the opportunity to function in normal society!!! He *needs* these services if there is to be *any* hope of Gavin not living in a group home once he's an adult!!! He *needs* these women to help him to make even the smallest sense of the world around him!!! I can't help but wonder how quick they would be to cut services for the sake of "the bottom line" if it were their child on the line? How quick would they deem services "unneccesary" if it directly effected their child, their family and their day-to-day lives? Again I ask, when did the medical profession become all about the money thereby dropping the care of the patient to the bottom of the list?

I have HAD IT!

I talked to my insurance company and they informed me that what the neuro did was unethical. Great, that helps. Then they told me to go to the Cleveland Clinic, which is a 3 hour drive with light traffic and who only knows how long the wait to actually be seen would be. When Rob pointed out that their policy states they have to find me a doctor close to home they said it could take months. MONTHS! It's been months. I'm tired of waiting months. I'm tired of hurting and suffering. I'm sick of going to bed praying to die just so the pain will stop. I just want a doctor to help me. Is that really and truly so much to ask for?

Shelby, other wise known as the beagle from Hell, is driving me crazy. Gavin's cat, Sunny, is driving us all batty. I've threatened to feed Sunny to Shelby and then take Shelby to a chinese place nearby. Rob thinks I'm kidding. I'm not. One day they will both be gone and only I will know where they went.

My cousin is pregnant. I love pregnant women. I love being pregnant. I love my pregnant cousin. What I do not love right now is her mother, her baby shower, or these damn invitations I have been trying to make for the past 2-3 months. I've been chasing my aunt for those 2-3 months begging for guests lists, the date and time of the shower, the location of the damn shower. And she was always too busy - planning other parties, saving stray cats etc - to get me the info. So this morning she calls me and leaves me a voice mail about how she has 15 mintues to go over those things with me RIGHT THEN. To that I say - NO WAY JOSE!! I've been stressing myself out, busting my butt and going crazy for months over these invites (because MY name is on them as having made them) and she thinks she's going to get an attitude with me?! Think again.

Found a new neurologist. Spent the last week and a half getting all the records together that he wanted. Apparently Rob and I asked too many questions and I have been "fired" as his patient. He told me in no uncertain terms to either shut up or go somewhere else. Gee, good thing he wasn't talking to a patient with trust issues, huh? *sigh*

He wants to cut my migraine preventative in half but leave me high and dry without anything for the migraines that will cause. Then I had to wait 5 days before I was permitted to start my sleeping meds. All the while suffering with migraines and pain. We asked why - which we felt was a legitimate question - he told me where to go. Or rather, where not to go.

I'm in so much pain I hardly move. I don't sleep. I crash coarse weaned Elliott Richard so I could take this jerks meds and now he's telling to shove off because I asked questions? Is that even legal? Or ethical?

I got Harvest Moon for my DS the other day. I'm confused. I'm embarassed by this fact and chalking it up to no sleep, messed up meds, and too much pain. Anyone have any HM tips?

I'm depressed beyond words right now. This jerk doc was my last chance. Now I'm about ready to throw in the towel and just keep suffering...what's the difference right? I just felt the need to ramble a bit. Maybe my friends will feel pitty for me...my doctor sure couldn't care less. *sob*