Sunday, March 21, 2010

owen's gotcha day

We went to the grocery store on Monday, and I let you pick out your favorite flower for your "Gotcha Day" party on Wednesday. You picked the gigantic, beautiful sunflowers that stuck out of the "dozen roses for $10" crowd. Of course you did. That's just you. Attention-getting, bold, and bright. So, of course you would pick the sunflower. It made perfect sense.

Owie, this year has been so. much. fun. From collecting sticks in the backyard, to watching you pull down your pants in the neighborhood Mexican restaurant (and then smile when you got applause from the crowd) - from "painting" the fence endlessly with water, to watching you smile, aim, and pee on Elie in the bathtub, your big personality makes an . . . ummmmm . . . an impression on everyone.

One of your girl friends at school named her doll "Owina" after you; another girl (an older woman; she's four) talks about you so much at home that her mom asked the school director, "Which boy is Owen? My daughter loves him"; your teachers at school - EVERY one - has a crush on you. And none of it comes as a surprise to me. Awwww, you love my Owie? Well, what's not to love?

You follow some of the rules most of the time, and you're game to try anything - the more dangerous, the better. You share all of your toys with your sister, and you know how to turn on every radio in the house to find music you can dance to. You like to test everything in your mouth first - from spicy salsa, to bubbles, to play doh, and you - unlike any other - can squash Eliot's crabbiness in a second by lying on top of her and rolling back and forth (which I have to pretend to not see, so that I can sit back and watch). And that laugh. Oh my god. Your laugh can still quiet a crowd.

You're just a good kid, Owen. The kind of kid that parents hope for. Full of joy, adventure, good times, and energy. Congratulations on your 3rd at-home anniversary. We're glad we gotcha.

Look at my boy!

A new bubble bucket.

And a new bicycle!


Eliot driving Matchbox cars on her Grandpa.

I'm pretty sure Owen is sticking the bubble wand INTO El's mouth.

Eliot loved getting her very own apple.

Yum, yum.

Eliot's "I'm going to steal your new bike tonight" look.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

g.i. goodbye

Eliot had a G.I. appointment this morning, and just the two of us went. The idea of having twins is so celebrity, so ideal to a lot of people, but what no single-baby parent understands is that I constantly feel like I miss out on my children. I'm so busy taking care of both of them that I forget to enjoy either one.

So, this morning just mom and daughter went to the appointment, and Owen got some grandma time. And I have to tell you, I was SO excited about it. First of all, Eliot's G.I. doctor is awesome. He has been with us since El was three months old. You all remember that he came in at the last minute, after we had been beaten down by one doctor, and told us that Eliot DID NOT need a g-tube surgery before she left the NICU; that she SHOULD start a blenderized diet instead of stay on that nasty formula crap; that there would come a day when she WOULD NOT throw up; and that she ABSOLUTELY, without a doubt should go to the Marcus Institute to learn how to eat. He has given us so much hope and support over the past two years.

So, I couldn't wait to see him, and hug him, and show him my beautiful daughter that he has constantly coached and cheered for.

"She looks amazing." That's how he started. I mean, really. What a way to start.
"She is amazing," I smiled.
Eliot quickly showed him her Elmo sticker that she had conned the nurse into after she got weighed. He seemed impressed.
"Is she eating?"
"Like a teenage boy," I replied.
"Is she puking?"
"Not in months."
"Did you take her off the reflux meds?"
"Yes sir. Without your advice or approval."
He laughed. He knows me well.

He listened to her heart, examined her g-tube scar, touched her gut a bit, and then said, "Go enjoy this baby. It's been two long years. Go enjoy everything."
"You mean you're kicking us out?"
"I don't need to see her again. She's normal, perfectly healthy."

"Normal?" I thought. "NORMAL?" I've spent the last two years waiting for normal. And now, here we are. Me and this beautiful kid with her Elmo sticker that she keeps sticking to my thigh.

We said our goodbyes. The nurses that have been so good to us got out from behind their desks and gave her a hug (and more stickers). She waved at them all, and we walked out of the G.I. office - hopefully for the last time.

I let her press the down arrow button on the elevator. I let her stick the sticker to my leg. I let her splash in the puddles on the way to the car. And then, I picked her up, gave her a kiss, and put her in her car seat.

I have loved this child from the beginning. The 2 pound, 2 ounce beginning. I have absolutely loved to watch her fight, and overcome, and defy odds. But man, it will be so nice to just enjoy life now; to let her be a "normal" toddler, and not just a 27-week preemie trying to catch up. She won't need to go to a specialist every couple of months this year. I'm so happy for her. So proud.

I looked at her in the rearview mirror, and said, "Eliot, I love being your mother."

She looked back at me with those big blue eyes that came from who knows where, and said, "Elmo?"

Which, I'm pretty sure in some culture - somewhere - must mean, "Thanks, mom. I love being your daughter."

Yea. I'm pretty sure that's what Elmo must mean.