Spring Break from EI. aka: What life was life before.

The Zoo!

The Museum!

The Playdates!

The spontaneous fun!

A small part of me says screw it! Scale down the therapies, and let him be a kid...

The war between dropping out and sticking with it continues...

EI-EI-O

We are not talking Old MacDonald here.

EI.

I hate it.

I love it.

I love it.

I hate it.

I hate freshly showered therapists judging my piles of laundry, unfolded.

My unswept floor covered in cherrios.

The dog hair on my rug.

The only therapist that "gets" it...is a mom on her own. Ms. Wonderful, Moose's first OT.

But one, Ms. Snide.

I see her sneer.

Look.

Judge.

Make snide comments.

Just wait til u have kids.

A revision on an EI decision...

I'd rather have a 3rd Csection than have this.

After seven months of no problems breastfeeding the Hog...

a duct plugs.

A fever spikes.

Chills and nausea.

Yeah. Mastitis.

And I was faced today with ten hours alone, at the tail end of a Chicago winter, with two kids under three. Feeling hours from death.

Normally, I'd call in the second string (Nana Magic) to rid me of my mothering duties, but she's floating on a cruise ship.

So, I paid a visit to Sesame Street with Moose while Hog napped. With Moose nestled in the crook of my arm and 600mg of advil with a heating pad on my left boob, it could have been worse.

After his Elmo coma, both kids napped.

There is a God.

And I'd like to take him to lunch and thank him for sychronizing my kids' naps...

You get more bees with honey...or in this case, a second hour of OT.

Yeah! My persistance has paid off! Moose will meet OT #2 next week.

So, our schedule now is a bit insane...

Monday-OT and Speech

Tuesday-no therapy.  park district class: gymnastics.  in hopes Moose will make a friend or burn some energy

Wednesday-DT and a quickie park district Tot Spot aka Moose runs and knocks over other unsuspecting kids

Thursday-OT, the sequel

Friday-park district class: Art & Craft aka Trying to Get Moose not to eat the glue

I swore I'd never overschedule my kid, and this weekly schedule makes me want to cry.  Hooky is always an option.  Especially on perfectly sunny spring and summer days...which are not too far away...

He needs the therapy, I guess, but part of me wonders if I never called Early Intervention, would he still be the same?

I don't think it's all voodoo bullshit, but in this case the more cooks in the kitchen, the better.

And, I get free preschool.

Ah.

No, he doesn't want a F&*()*(*% balloon.

I dream of the day Moose answers the sweet grandfatherly cashier at Trader Joe's, "I want a red balloon."

Moose is so big for his age-he's in 4T clothes at the age of 2...(hence, the Moose nickname) that people in public address him all the time.  

In return, all you hear is crickets.  

I waited for the language explosion that was supposed to occur at 18 months. 

Nada.

I thought, hey, once he turns two, that's when he'll start talking.

Nada.

Now, we are approaching 2 1/2.  

I hear go, up, what's this, what's that, mama, dada. gack. zaza. ses.

Most of the time I hear incoherent drunken babbles.

I dream of the day I can tell him to shut the hell up. 

Cry. Eat. Poop. Repeat

Like clockwork. He's up again. 7 month old Hedgehog is still on the boob, for the following reasons:

1.) I am too cheap to buy formula.
2.) I am too lazy to clean bottles.
3.) I burn 20 calories for every ounce he eats, and I really hate working out. 
4.) I heard that breastfed babies are never wait listed for Harvard.

But man, do I wish I could just shove a bottle in his mouth some nights, so I can sleep through. 

Five more minutes, and if he's still wailing...I'll go in. 

With a two-bedroom house, and two kids...lil Hog is still in our room because Moose is such a light sleeper. 

Ugh, wish I would have planned that better.

Screams are now turning into despeate pleas for boob.

Off to nourish the young.