Letter to my Girl: Age 7

*I am a month late in writing you this letter but I had a baby just a few days before your birthday so I figure I get some leeway.*

My dear Lua Grace,

You are seven years old. After seven whole years I am no closer to figuring you out, my sweet little enigma. You are by turns outgoing and shy, creative and technical-minded, gentle and fierce, sullen and joyful. You are like a puzzle that, just when you think you have it, the pieces change shape.

This year you are in first grade. You love learning. You love playing. You also love chatting about nonsense with your friends. You love being a little girl. And let me tell you, Lua Grace, you are one kick-ass little girl. You've officially given up ballet in favor of karate. You even started sparring this year. One of your favorite things to do is rock-climb with your uncle. You are so brave: no fear of heights, of falling, of getting kicked by a boy twice your size in karate. You take it all in stride. But saying a prayer at Feast? That freaks you out. I guess the fear of public speaking even extends to the elementary crowd. The amazing thing about you is that you still do it, even when it scares you. Even when you think you can't.

When I think back on you at this age I will remember you like this: you are dressed in a ruffled blue skirt, clashing blue leggings, even more clashing blue sequined shirt, white socks and black mary jane shoes. Your hair is long and parted in the middle. Your eyes are bright, your smile a little crooked. You are a bundle of uncontrollable energy. Possibly you are wrestling with Charlie. Maybe you are coloring quietly at the table. Probably you are laughing.

I hope when you grow up you will like being a big sister, Lua. I know it's not always easy. You've taken the brunt of the need for attention since Maxwell was born. You've crawled on the floor, sucking your thumb. You've begged to be rocked. You even went through a couple of weeks of baby talk that had me cringing whenever you opened your mouth. But you are such a good sister. You try really hard to love Charlie, even when he is trying his hardest to drive you crazy. And although you've definitely had a tough adjustment with baby Maxwell, you don't take it out on him. In fact, this morning you made him laugh for the first time ever. The two of you were sitting on the couch - 7 years old and 6 weeks old, respectively - giggling together.

I know you wanted a baby sister, but can I tell you a secret? I am sort of glad that Max turned out to be a boy and that you are my one and only daughter. Because you, Lua Grace, are my girl. You are the one I will call every day and you won't mind (I hope). You are the one who will remember people's birthdays. You are the one who will understand what to do and do it without being asked. You are the one who will take over when I can't. And you will do it, even if it's hard. Even if you think you can't.

Sometimes I look at you and I can't believe how lucky Daddy and I are to have you.

I am so, so proud of you.

Love always,

Mom

Maxwell is born

Dear Maxwell,

There was a moment right after you were born that I could live in forever. That was the moment that the midwife told me to reach down and take my baby. You. One minute the world was filled with pain and chaos, and the next it was only your warm slippery little body in my hands.

I was eight days past your due date when I decided to have my water broken to hurry things along. No one expected our third baby to be so late. Grandma Julie had been at our house for weeks waiting to meet you and she finally had to go home before you arrived. I can’t help but wonder now if you ever would have been born, had it been entirely up to you. You were very comfortable in there.

That morning a nurse at St. Joseph’s called me to say that there had been a sudden baby boom in their maternity ward and that there wasn’t room for me. I would have to try for a different day. I was heartbroken. And mad. And hugely pregnant. And also just really crabby. I couldn’t believe that I still wasn’t going to get to meet you. When I’d finally calmed down enough to see straight, Daddy took me out to have a very spicy lunch and then we drove to the Mall of America and to walk and walk and walk - hoping in vain to induce labor.

We’d walked past every store at the largest, most crowded mall in the country and I was still not having any regular contractions. My feet were pretty tired though, and my stomach hurt from the Szechuan lunch, and I was ready for a nap. That was when my phone rang. It was Mary, the midwife. “St. Joe’s has space for you,” she said, “if you can make it here really soon.

I was floored. I’d been so sure that you were not going to make an appearance. Like, ever. And now I had a chance! Daddy and I rushed back to the car, with strangers all the while pointing at us and whispering to each other that they’d never seen a pregnant woman move that fast. Actually, I’m fairly sure it was the quickest I’d moved in the past nine months. We made it to the top floor of the parking garage, squeezed between the cars of thousands of Christmas shoppers, just as the first light snow began to fall.

In a rush of optimism, we’d packed our hospital things in the car before we left, so we were all ready to go. We dragged them into the hospital to the maternity ward, got our room, and waited for the midwife to come. When she arrived, she broke my water right away and then we all sat around waiting for the contractions to start. You caused a lot of waiting before making your appearance, sweet one.

My water was broken at about 4:30, Auntie Mara arrived at 7:00, and the real contractions began around 7:30pm. As a snow storm swirled around downtown St. Paul, I walked up and down the hallway of the maternity ward, simultaneously urging the contractions on and wishing with all my might that they would end. Yours was my third labor, and the third time I’d apparently forgotten what hellish, awful back pain I experience when giving birth. I heard myself begging for an epidural, heard the midwife say “not until you start having real contractions that will push the baby down,” heard myself say “these aren’t REAL contractions??”. We walked up and down, up and down the hallway. Me stopping every twenty feet to clutch the wall and moan, Daddy pushing down on my back so hard that it left marks on his hands, Auntie and Mary murmuring encouragements that I could almost hear over the pain.

I’m not sure exactly what time the agony ended but I do know that it involved a doctor with a very long needle that freaked out everyone in the room except for me. “Side effects include possible headache and backache” said the anesthesiologist. “I don’t care,” I said. “Also an extremely rare possibility of spinal cord injury and paralysis,” said the doctor. “Sounds awesome,” I said, “Bring it.”

Epidural in place, the next couple of hours went by in a warm cloud of comfort. By the time your Ouma arrived the snow was coming down hard outside, covering the dark streets in a soft white blanket. I lay there quietly as Mary, various nurses, Daddy, Auntie Mara, and Ouma stared at the fetal monitor. Your heart rate was eratic. Sometimes it was 160, sometimes it was 65. Everyone looked concerned. I felt helpless until the midwife suggested that we get the baby out as quickly as possible. Okay, I thought, something I can do. Truthfully, I’m not good at handling back labor but I’m an expert pusher.

I was moved to my side, which you seemed to like better because your heart rate evened out to a more stable rate. Then we took bets on when you would arrive, guessing it would be before the clock struck midnight. We were all wrong because, of course, you were in no hurry. I began to feel more and more pressure just after one o’clock in the morning. Finally the midwife told me I was ready to push.

I can’t remember exactly how many pushes it took to get you out, only that I could have done it a lot quicker if you weren’t quite so big. Mary kept making me stop at the most painful moments so that you would do less damage on the way out. It all felt very surreal to me, maybe because I didn’t actually go into labor on my own. I couldn’t believe I was really going to meet you. By 1:15am you, my precious Maxwell Bennett Missaghi, were born.

All of us exclaimed at once, “It’s a boy!”. I pulled you to me and you were chubby and purple and slimy and perfect. We waited with bated breath for you to scream, but you only let out a feeble little squawk. You’d had the cord wrapped around your neck and you’d swallowed some fluid. I wasn’t the only one who’d had a hard time of it. The nurses harassed you until you cried a little bit, and I held you to me not wanting to ever let go. Daddy and I stared and stared at you, both of us in awe of sweet and beautiful you.

Maxwell today you are six days old. So far you are probably the best baby in the history of babies. You’re calm and good natured. I’ve only heard you cry a handful of times. You love to sleep, to be cuddled, and to eat. You are so very loved by your big brother and sister, your mom and dad, your grandparents, aunts, uncles and friends. I wish I could explain to you how much you mean to me, and how much I look forward to watching you grow.

But, if you want to stay tiny, quiet and cuddly for a while longer, I’m okay with that.

I love you til forever.

Mama

Charlie Turns 5

My dearest Charles,

Yesterday you turned five years old. As I write this, you are sitting at my feet building a LEGO car with the intense concentration of a heart surgeon trying to close off an open ventricle. The look on your face reminds me of your father’s when he’s working at the computer: a T-Rex could walk into the living room right now and take a swipe at your head and you would just shrug it off and keep right on lining up those little plastic blocks.

Age four was full of surprises and growth for you. Your tummy slimmed down and your legs stretched out. You no longer crawl into bed with me every morning to snuggle, unless I grab you and pull you under the covers. You are independent. You can dress yourself, brush your own teeth, and go through an entire toy manual for 8-12 year olds on your own, just following the numbers and pictures.

That being said, it was kind of a hard transition. For almost half of the year, you had nearly constant temper tantrums. Four or five times a day you would stomp your feet and scream your head off at every “no” that was sent your way. You are a very particular person and you like everything to go according to plan. It took you several very difficult months to settle into the realization that that’s not always possible, and it took me the same amount of time to figure out what I could get you to stretch on and what I had to let you do your own way. For example, I learned that hours of heartache and headaches could be solved just by fixing your socks so that the hem lines up exactly on top of your toes before you put your shoes on in the morning.

We are still working on this delicate balance between your plans for the day and my timeline for getting things done. This year Lua started full-day school so you and I are home together most of the time. Your favorite things to do during the day (besides LEGOs), are as follows: talking, dancing, talking, riding your bike, talking, singing, talking, playing the piano, talking, playing cars, and talking. Yeah, you talk. A LOT. This was a relatively new phenomenon this year as well. Your preschool teachers couldn’t believe the difference in your social skills between this year and last. You narrate everything you do, tell lots of jokes, ask lots of questions, and if you can’t think of anything to say you just sing as loudly as possible. Sometimes it is awfully hard just to get you out the door, into the car and buckled up because you pause every three steps to tell me something completely unrelated to what we’re doing. If I wasn’t hugely pregnant right now, I would be carrying you from place to place just to speed up the process.

Going through this pregnancy with you has been a delight. You are very excited about the baby coming. I didn’t really experience this with Lua when I was pregnant with you because she was so young - not even two - and didn’t really understand what was happening. You, on the other hand, love to feel the baby kick and listen to the baby’s heartbeat at my monthly appointments. I can’t get enough of hearing you explain to anyone who will listen - friends, teachers, and strangers in elevators - that you are going to be a little brother AND a big brother, and that the baby is now “in the countdown” (the term my midwife used at my last appointment when she said I’ll be coming in every two weeks from now on).

When I first got pregnant, your daddy and I worried about how you would adjust to not being the baby of the family anymore. This year has taught me to be optimistic about your ability to grow and change, and to embrace new things in life. I am so proud of who you are now, and so excited to see the big person you will become. You will forever be my baby, my sweet and gentle little man, my cuddle bug. This year I learned that you will also be a brave, interesting, fierce, intelligent, kind, and creative person. I love you.

~Mama

Cheating the Heat

I'm sure you're all well aware that a crazy heat wave has engulfed practically the whole country for the last week or so. As a Minnesotan, I am contractually obligated to talk about the weather as much as possible. As a pregnant woman, I am contractually obligated to complain about the weather as much as possible. In order to fulfill these important obligations, I would like to start by stating the obvious:

Holy freaking cow it is hot outside.

In case you were wondering what a nearly-six-months-pregnant lady does when it's a hundred and four degrees outside, let me fill you in. I don't go outside. Like, at all. The minute I step from my door to my car I can feel my lungs begin to rebel and my whole body start to sweat. Don't forget, I don't do sweat. This is half of the reason I never took up running (the other half being, I hate to run). The main problem resulting from this self-imposed house arrest is that I am typically the person in my household who takes care of all matters of lawn and garden care. Currently my lawn is growing five-inch tall clovers, my basil is fried, the geraniums in my window boxes are holding on to their last shred of life, and the kiddy pool in the backyard is growing a stunning array of bright green algae.

Am I planning to do something about these unsightly flaws? Um, no. I will not mow the lawn again until the temperature drops below eighty degrees, which probably means my grass will be four feet tall by the end of August. I periodically go out at night to water the plants just because I feel sorry for them, but it's not enough to bring them back to glory. And the pool? Well if the kids want to swim they're either going to have to figure out how to clean it themselves or just jump in and pretend it's a pond. I'm sure if we leave the water there long enough it will even start to attract frogs!

By no means do I want to wish summer away, but a little relief from the scorching heat wouldn't hurt. Meanwhile, I am planning to continue enjoying my air conditioning. I've even managed to clean out two closets and the storage room downstairs while the kids play with Legos and coloring books. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get myself another glass of mint iced tea and wipe the condensation off of the living room windows.

Dear Disney, I quit.

Kids movies are scary. At least my kids think they are. When we went to Disney World last year, I’m pretty sure my kids were the only ones there who had seen only a small handful of actual Disney movies. Of that handful, they’d hid their eyes or run screaming from the room for half the running time. Very shortly after trying to introduce Lua and Charlie to some of my favorite childhood movies, I wondered why I was bothering to do so.

In Cinderella, the protagonist is orphaned and then thrown into a life of indentured servitude to her step-family. In Finding Nemo, Nemo’s mother gets eaten by a shark within the first few minutes of the film, while the rest of the time is spent in a child’s worst nightmare as Nemo is kidnapped and held captive in a Dentist’s office. In Toy Story, a psychopathic neighbor child torments and mutilates beloved toys and dolls. Lady and the Tramp has a bunch of creepy cats who slink around the new baby threatening to suck the life out of it. Don’t even get me started on The Little Mermaid, The Lion King, and Sleeping Beauty, all of which are full of evil, violence, and dead parents.

Why do we do this to our children? Most kids are sensitive to the slightest unfairness. They have trouble in real life processing illness, aging grandparents, dying pets, and bullies. Why then do we expect them to react with excitement when they see lovable characters in the movies losing family members and friends to vicious predators and bad guys? If they get to the point where these things are no longer upsetting, but thrilling, is that supposed to be a good thing?

There is one Disney movie that my kids and I actually love. It’s on repeat in our house a lot, and we own a ridiculous amount of it’s associated merchandise. That movie is Cars. Cars is sweet, and fun, and exciting. There are no bad guys, no violence, not even a scary scene. Yet somehow it manages to hold my children’s attention. The main story line of the movie Cars revolves around friendship, and the end of the movie is a pretty touching scene in which the main character learns about the value of sacrifice and love. Cars is a movie that I don’t feel bad showing my kids.

This is why we were so excited in our house for the release of Cars 2. It's also why I was so disappointed when we actually went to see the new movie. Everything I loved about Cars is turned on it's head in Cars 2. Not only is there the typical Disney bad guy in this movie, but there are machine guns, bombs, and even torture. There are cars that are actually tortured to death using electric shock in Cars 2. Apparently the people at Disney were trying to appeal to the adults who had to see this movie with their kids by turning into a spy thriller. Well guess what, Disney? I've already seen that movie. It's called Every James Bond Film Ever Made. The plot is old and tired, and did not interest me in the least. If I'd wanted to see a spy thriller, I would have gone to the newest Matt Damon flick. You didn't need to remake it using my four-year-old son's favorite cartoon characters.

As a parent of a little boy, I can vouch that it is very tough keeping my son away from all of the gore and violence associated with "boy" toys and TV shows. Even though Charlie has never seen a Super Hero movie, he somehow became obsessed with them and their accouterments as if someone has been whispering stories about weapons and muscles and Batmobiles in his ear as he slept. The last thing he needed to see was Mater (the goofy tow truck friend from Cars) with a bomb attached to his engine, shooting at bad guys with machine guns that pop out of his chassis.

I'm sure it's apparent to everyone now that Cars 2 upset me. I know I'm not the only one. A lot of my friends were angry about it too. But where is the general outrage about these kids movies? Why is it that Toy Story 3 (in which the beloved cast of toys gets locked in a daycare with a bunch of demented crazy toys and an evil dictator teddy bear who ends up being burned alive in an incinerator) got such rave reviews? Probably because parents thought it was exciting.

I would like to suggest to Disney/Pixar that they start making kids movies for kids again. Until that happens, I won't be taking my children to any more of their movies, nor will I be buying any more of the gobs of movie merchandise that is being pushed on us every time we enter a store. I know that I'm just one person, and I'm sure that they'll continue making millions on Cars 2 and the other movies like it. Hopefully though, if some other parents have the same idea, Disney won't make quite as many millions as they were hoping for. Maybe next time they will take some inspiration from the original Cars movie and create something that we can be comfortable showing our kids. I don't know about everyone else, but I would like to avoid another conversation with my four-year-old about why someone is trying to murder his favorite cartoon character.

Okay, end of rant.

Surgery Story

Monday we went in to Children's Hospital to get the kids adenoids removed, and put a tube in Charlie's ear. Sunday night was hard. Lua was very upset. She wracked her brain trying to think of reasons to postpone the surgery to no avail. Finally, she just cried. Riaz laid with her until she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion at 10:30 at night.

In the morning Lua was calm. Maybe it was acceptance, or possibly just resignation. Charlie, having no real idea what surgery meant, was simply mad because he wasn't allowed to eat breakfast. We packed them in the car with surprisingly little resistance and met my mom at the hospital.

The staff at Children's couldn't have been nicer. I almost wished that I could go there myself when I need a hospital visit, because I've never met a kinder, more accommodating group of nurses. They put the kids at ease and by the time we sat in the waiting room for surgery, I was definitely more nervous than either Lua or Charlie. They sat there calmly playing with toys in their purple and blue hospital pajamas, waiting for someone to call their names.

Charlie's turn was first, and I was the one to walk him into the operating room with a hair cap and a long paper gown pulled over my front. Charlie's hand gripped mine as his fuzzy yellow socks shuffled down the long hallway. They brought us into the white room filled with folks in scrubs and paper face masks. I sat down in a chair and I was so grateful when they asked Charlie to sit in my lap for the sedation. The nurse spoke to him gently as she put the mask on his face, covered in the chapstick flavor he'd selected - grape. (My memory of getting my tonsils removed included sniffing some chapstick, and I thought it was that which put me to sleep. But here they put it on the mask so that the nitrous oxide doesn't smell bad).

Once the mask was in place the nurse sang "Five Little Monkeys" while Charlie drifted off to sleep. Before I knew it, Charlie's head was heavy on my chest and his eyes were closed. It wasn't until we'd laid him on the table and I was creeping out of the room that I started tearing up. I forced myself to quell the flow before I got back into the waiting room to sit with Lua.

Once Charlie's operation was done, they brought him into a waiting room and called Lua in for her turn. The procedure for sedating her was basically the same, except they had her climb up on the table herself and I held her hand while the nurse put her mask on (bubblegum flavor this time) and talked to her about My Little Ponies. Lua wasn't scared, she wasn't traumatized. She didn't look at me with panic in her eyes when the drugs started to take effect. I breathed a sigh of relief and left her operating room with my heart feeling lighter.

The kids are recovering nicely. This is the third day after their surgeries, which we were told would be the most difficult day. It's the first time they've had fevers but they are fairly mild. I am so glad my mom could stay with us and help take care of the kids (and me!) while they are getting better. It's supposed to take a couple of weeks before they are completely over the swelling from the surgeries. I can't wait for the day that Lua wakes up and can breathe out of her nose without trouble, and Charlie can hear perfectly out of his right ear that was filled with fluid before the surgery.

Thanks so much to all who said a prayer or sent a good thought to our family this week, and especially to the kind staff at Children's Hospital who helped get Lua and Charlie - and Riaz and I - through this experience with relative ease and comfort. You are all a blessing.

Crazy Congestion

Anyone who knows me well can tell you that I have a lot of neuroses. For example, I hate whistling. If you're whistling around me for any extended period of time, you might want to duck because I will have a serious urge to punch you in the face. On the same token, do not repeatedly kick the back of my chair. Just don't. I have a hatred of it that goes back to elementary school. I don’t like sweat, on me or anybody else, and I feel faint at the sight of blood. For several years as a child I refused to take an elevator. I don't go on rides that spin, or rides that drop, or really any rides at all. I like eating chicken but if it has any stringy or chewy bits, or if it looks like it was once a live animal, I won't go near it. Are you getting the idea yet? I am clearly a little nuts.

One of my oldest neuroses has to do with anesthesia. When I was about five years old I had my tonsils removed. I have a vivid memory of the nurse giving me this thing that looked and tasted a lot like orange Chapstick. She told me to lick it. I did, and suddenly everything around me started blurring and changing. I was scared, so I turned to look for my mom. When I found her, her head appeared to be growing. Soon it was three times the size of her body. I was crying for my mom but I didn't want her giant head to come near me. Apparently that stuff was supposed to knock me out right away but I was so scared it took a lot longer than it should have. The surgery went fine, but the anesthesia messed with my head. To this day, I cannot stand to hear the song they were playing at the intake desk to the hospital, an eighties song that is sometimes still played in muzak form at the mall.

Yesterday I took the kids to the doctor for what has to be the hundredth time since winter began last year. They have both had non-stop ear infections, eye infections, adenoid infections...basically their entire heads are constantly infected. I feel so bad for them but especially for Lua, who has never been able to breathe out of her nose. When she was a toddler we used to wonder at how loudly she breathed. Every time she stopped talking in her car seat I was sure she'd fallen asleep because of her loud, rhythmic breathing, only to turn around and see her wide awake and breathing like a fifty-year-old over weight man.

After a lot of allergy testing and x-rays, we eventually found that Lua has super large adenoids that are causing all of these infections as well as blocking the airway to her nose. We decided to get them removed. At around the same time, the doctor found that both of Charlie's ears had been filled with fluid for months and like his sister, his adenoids were massive. Charlie doesn't have all of the breathing problems that Lua does, so we would probably have been content to leave his adenoids alone and just let him grow out of the problem. However, we were concerned about the ear infections they were causing and the damage they could eventually do to his one functioning ear. (Charlie wears a hearing aid in his left ear). The doctor recommended removing his adenoids as well as putting tubes in his ears.

The point of this rather long explanation is that now we are sending both of our little ones in for surgery on the same day at the Children's Hospital in St. Paul. I realize that the surgeries couldn't be more routine, and I feel truly lucky that we don't have anything more serious to worry about with our children health-wise. However, I must admit that I am freaking out a little. Not about the surgeries, really, since I trust the doctor who is doing them and I know they are simple procedures. My real worry is about the anesthesia.

Last night I was laying awake wondering how I can put my kids through this. A lot of my parenting techniques have revolved around trying to keep Lua and Charlie from inheriting my crazy worries. Am I just setting them up for a life of covering their ears in the mall every time they hear that one Life House song from 2007 that was playing in the hospital when they got their adenoids removed? What if they have a bad reaction to the anesthesia? In that case, how could I ever forgive myself for doing what is essentially elective surgery? (Adenoid problems usually go away once the child reaches puberty). But then again, how could I live with myself if Lua got serious sleep apnea from her mouth breathing, or if Charlie's hearing was further damaged because my own neuroses kept me from getting these important procedures done on them?

Luckily I have a partner who is not nearly as nuts as I am. Together we've decided to go ahead with the surgeries. Lua is not happy. She says she doesn't care that she's always sick, that it doesn't bother her. It's true that her chronically stuffy nose, migraine headaches and infected ears don't really get her down, but isn't that sad? The truth is that she doesn't know life any other way. Please keep us in your prayers next week as we try to get two kids to the hospital with lots of post-surgery popsicle bribes. I for one just hope they're not playing any music in the lobby. I've got enough issues as it is.