Looking Back and Laughing: Ears and Donuts Edition

The big kids had the day off on Monday (President's Day). So of course, they played school. By the way, don't let this placid little scene fool you. These moments of calm are few and far between (but I do treasure them). Check out Lucy, who seems to think she's a first grader (shhh, don't tell her the truth).

Certain days, well, you just know they're going to be one of Those Days. One of those days you will look back on and laugh and also think: We made it through. And we managed to laugh a few times and? We even got donuts.

Lucy and Harry had been growing increasingly fussy in the last few days. I'd chalked it up to teething or maybe the cold that had trickled down from one big kid to the next had finally caught up to them. I'll be honest. I don't usually call out the big guns (pediatrician) unless sleep is interfered. By Sunday night, that's exactly what happened. By mid-morning Monday, Lucy and Harry were confirmed miserable human beings: beady, teary red eyes, arms outstretched for almost constant uppy (Lucy), while others stumbled around the house, aimless and frustrated, a slobbery, whiny tangle of drool and fingers (Harry).

I knew it was time to trek to the doctor. This week, among the many things I am grateful for are days off and pediatricians that remain open on legal holidays.

There are a few things in life I try to avoid at all costs and one of them is taking all four children to the doctor. Between the enormous double stroller and the other two kids, oh I get the pity stare. The waiting can be interminable, even with the endless loop of Disney Jr. But Monday? The Waiting Gods smiled upon us. I didn't even get a chance to sit down before the nurse called us into the biggest room they have (we needed it).

Lucy and Harry had immediate, confirmed ear infections (Yay!). I realize that might be a strange reaction but I'll be honest: I'm always a bit relieved when "off" behavior is confirmed and the trip to the doctor is not for nothing. As the doctor stood at the sink writing up the prescriptions, I started packing things up. That's when Leo climbed up on the exam table and demanded a work-up.

"Eh, he has a cold but I think he's fine," I said. "He's old and sturdy."

 Everyone at the pediatrician's office loves Leo (whenever I go in without him, everyone asks for him) including this particular doctor. She set the prescription pad down and went to him, calmly listened to his chest and looked in his ears. It's been over a year since Leo magically shed his doctor fears. The fact that he placidly sits to get his ears inspected (volunteers to do it, even!) still almost takes my breath away, after all those years of tears and getting kicked in the shins trying to restrain him during a simple ENT visit.  I am so proud of him and so very relieved for those difficult days to be behind us.

And then: "He actually has an ear infection too!" the doctor announced.

And the award for Number One Mom goes to...

Of course Ellie stepped up next (she checked out just fine). Hey, three out of four isn't a terrible ratio. I guess? (Although it is a new family record.)*

We gathered our coats and hats and gloves and various stuffed animals and walked toward home in the blinding sun of a bitterly cold February afternoon, the big kids scaling snow drifts leftover from last week's storm.

There's a Dunkin Donuts on the way and I knew there would be a request for it --I immediately said yes (lemons out of lemonade, anyone?), even though the twins were teetering precariously on the edge of nap time. Of course we couldn't make it through a simple donut stop without massive fussing (Hi tired, sick babies!). And since Leo's slow eating is the stuff that legends are made from (I knew he'd be there a while), Ellie and I took the babies outside and parked the stroller in front of the window where Leo was sitting. He finished up his strawberry frosted with sprinkles and we were on our way.


2/3 of the sickies, Monday morning. 

*Edited to add that Ellie woke up this morning complaining of a sore ear so it looks like we are officially four for four. Yesssssssssssss!

Trifecta of Sensory Troubles: Overcome

Leo, age 8: First successful dental cleaning.

Longtime readers know that for years, Leo has struggled with three tasks: haircuts, doctor visits (specifically ear, nose and throat--basically anything that involves the use of an instrument to peer into anything) and going to the dentist.

Well, check, check and check!

In case there was any question, Leo is most assuredly, growing up. Tuesday I took him to the dentist (he was loooooong overdue). I'll admit I rescheduled this appointment a few times. Every time I've taken Leo to the dentist in the past, the most the dentist has been able to do is peer into Leo's mouth. He had yet to have an actual cleaning. And going has just felt like a huge waste of time, though of course I knew we had to keep persevering to help get him comfortable.

You may be appalled, thinking, eight years old and still no cleaning? But our dentist (who has a daughter with Down syndrome, himself) assured me that Leo would be fine, that his own daughter didn't allow him to give her a real cleaning until she was eight (apparently eight is the magic number?). Did I mention what a relief it is to have a doctor who "gets" it? The uninitiated might assume the medical community is compassionate to special needs and understanding of kids who might be more a little more afraid or uncomfortable and who in turn, make the appointments take a little longer. For the most part this is the case, but it isn't always.

And our dentist? Oh boy, does he get it. He asked Leo about his stuffed dragon. He tickled him with the toothbrush and the dental floss. He understood every word Leo said (this was extra awesome--to not have to play translator to every five words is liberating for all involved). And he wasn't even offended when he offered Leo water (he was dying to spit in the little rinse bowl next to the dental chair) and Leo asked instead, for orange juice.

Leo was definitely hesitant. But he never got hysterical and he was reasonable. I would say that's one of the biggest changes I've seen with him in the last year or so: he listens to reason. He can still be impulsive but you can get to his level and talk to him and say "This is what we're doing and this is why" and he might not love it or necessarily want to do it but he eventually says "OK."

I never quite figured out why Leo was so terrified of the haircut, ENT, dental trifecta. I just know that every time we left a hairdresser (usually with both of us in tears) or a doctor's appointment without a proper exam (remember how we had to have Leo sedated to just see if his tubes were intact?), it was like a punch in the gut. You're different. This is hard. Not to mention, all the undue stress it put on Leo, the poor guy.

So I'm relieved to say that I think we are finally closing the door on these struggles. Sensory? I guess. It doesn't really matter. All I know is that Leo finally has consistently, closely cropped hair, twenty-two teeth and I don't break into hives when I have to take him to the ENT (or even the regular old pediatrician).

As you can see, Leo is ready for Halloween, already. His dentist will be happy to know he doesn't even like candy.

I know! What's wrong with him?

Some Finery, Some Answers and Some Hope

Know what’s always good for a laugh?

Trying to get four kids to look in the same direction, at the same time.

As you can see, we donned our Easter finery on Sunday. Lucy wore hers for all of forty-five minutes before there was a major wardrobe malfunction (in her case, a massive leakage issue). That explains the pink sleeper while everyone else wore crisp shirts and a dress (OK, full disclosure: Harry paired his dress shirt with jogging pants).


Last week was a doozy. Poor little Ellie came down with a nasty case of bronchitis and had to stay home from school for two days (of course she did, right as I returned to work because isn’t that just how life is?). Poor thing was sicker than I’ve seen her for a long time, maybe ever. On the first day the illness really hit, she came home from school, made herself a little bed on the couch and passed out. No dinner. At one point she even told me she was Too tired to watch TV. Can you imagine?

Everyone keeps asking me how it it's going being back at work. Work is fine, great, the same. I'm slowly acclimating to the luxury of having a moment to complete a task or thought (or both!). I think I spent the first week in a bit of a shock. I ate lunch by myself without it getting cold. And here's more progress: it wasn't string cheese, Goldfish crackers and cold coffee!

Oh sure I arrive at work most mornings to find snot or spit-up on one of my shoulders but, hey. With the way things are at our house, I really wouldn't expect anything different. The routine is getting more, well, routine. Definitely the hours between 5 p.m. (when I usually leave work) to 10 p.m. (when I can finally sit down after the kids are in bed, dinner dishes are finished and the next day's lunches are made) are more than a little frenetic. Staying home is ridiculous, leaving the house and getting all the kids where they need to be and picking them all up on time is ridiculous. But you know what? We enjoy ourselves much of the time, so that's what counts. Because life isn't going to get any less ridiculous for some time. If ever.

Friday was Leo’s follow-up appointment with the ENT, on the recommendation of both of Leo’s speech therapists. I did feel slightly vindicated when, upon answering the doctor's question as to why we were there ("to address how his chronic congestion might be affecting his speech intelligibility") the doctor took one look at me as if to say, Really?

He said congestion is not usually related to intelligibility. I mean, it could and sometimes does make some letters sound not quite right but not to the extent that Leo's speech is affected. So. The good news is, Leo is fine. No fluid in his ears, his adenoids haven’t grown back and his tonsils are right as rain. The doctor did note that he was very congested so he put him on a nasal spray, nasonex. The congestion may be seasonal allergies and while certainly not helping his intelligibility, it's not affecting it much at all.

But I buried the lead (again). For the first time ever, Leo was a rock star ENT patient. He sat quietly and calmly while the doctor peered into his ears and nose and throat. Oh sure he giggled when the spaghetti shaped tube went up his nose (I think you would have too--actually he took it much better than I think I would have). You may recall that the last time I took Leo to the ENT I was approximately twelve years pregnant with two babies. After a brief, semi-violent (Leo shoved the doctor) attempt to examine Leo, the doctor forbid me from trying to hold Leo down in my condition and announced Leo would need sedation for a proper exam. The only reason I agreed to that was it would allow us to do a proper hearing test.

Taking Leo to the ENT used to practically give me hives it was so stressful. Inevitably someone left in tears and sometimes both of us did. But I’m here to tell you that there is light at the end of the stressful doctor visit tunnel. He was similarly amazing at his last sick visit at the pediatrician's.

Dare I say we've turned a corner?

Wherein the Most Relaxing Part of My Week So Far Was the Pediatrician's Office. The Second Trip In One Day. And No I'm Not Kidding

You would think that I, having been Leo's mom for as long as I have, would no longer be capable of being surprised by my boy. But oh, he still shocks me, so often in good and wonderful ways. And I should be ashamed of myself for forgetting this fact.

It might sound strange and unbelievable, but the most relaxing part of today, of the week so far, was the last-minute, late afternoon trip to the pediatrician's office that Leo and I took together.

It all started last night when I sat nursing Harry at Who Knows What Hour and listened to the gravelly wheezes of Lucy in her crib as she slept. Or tried to. Harry didn't sound much better. Their little coughs and rasps have been going on at least a week now and I knew it was time to get them to the doctor. Leo, at seven and a half seems so much sturdier, so I wasn't too worried about his cough. But when the pediatrician pronounced pneumonitis in the twins this morning, I knew it was time to get Leo into the doctor.

Today was one long stream of camp drop-offs and pick-ups and trying to get the babies to sleep and eat "solid" food in between and taking them to the pediatrician. Once I realized Leo should be seen by the doctor too, I told myself that if I had to take all four kids to the doctor by myself at the end of the day (aka Witching Hour) that I might as well buy myself a one-way ticket to Crazy Town while I was at it. So I texted our babysitter. Thank the Lord she was available.

Leo was NOT happy that he didn't get to stay with our beloved babysitter but Ellie and the babies did. He was even less celebratory when we pulled into the parking lot of our pediatrician. The poor guy knew. But we rallied. He found his seat in the waiting room and read books. To himself. By himself. Who is this big kid I have, suddenly, who is too cool to be read to?

In the exam room (where we had a lot of quality time, a good hour while we waited to be seen by the doctor), we joked and chatted and Leo drew pictures. He told me about his day at camp, which included a visit to a local arcade/amusement park where he rode a "big slide" and bumper cars. I'd would have paid money to see that. As much as I think siblings are great, Leo (like most kids I'm sure) is just a different creature when he's just one on one. When I can pour all my attention on him, he's just a sweet little gentleman.

But I'm burying the lead, which is that not only did Leo allow the doctor to listen to his heart and lungs without protest, but he also stood stonily still as the doctor examined his throat and, drum roll please, HIS EARS. Longtime readers will not the enormity of this news. When our doctor suggested he'd like Leo to use an inhaler I squirmed. That didn't sound like something he'd go for. But shame on me, because when the doctor pulled out the inhaler and explained it was something that "pilots use" (it looks a little like the mask you'd use on an airplane in the event that oxygen becomes an "issue"), Leo was all for it and huffed and puffed into that little inhaler like he was born to do it.

Our next stop was the local Mom & Pop pharmacy to fill all three prescriptions (yes, three out of four of the kids are on antibiotics. Oh, the awesomeness). Leo befriended the pharmacy manager. Within a few minutes of our arrival, he had Leo sweeping and straightening shelves. Also there were some high-fives and fist bumping.

When it was time to go, the pharmacy manager walked us out to the car into the cold night. I thanked him and he told me "he had fun too" and that we made his day.

You can't really ask for more than that, can you?

Up next: Conquering the Great Haircut Terrors.

Ears: Cause It’s Not All Babies and Complaining Around Here. Honest.

Lest anyone get truly fed up with me and my pregnancy whining, I will say that there are other things going on here aside from Babies.

Since once the babies (oops, I mentioned them) are born I’ll never do anything normal again/leave the house (I kid, I kid, ahem), the last two months have been Operation Take Leo To See All His Specialists. Thankfully, that list has dwindled over the years and we’re down to just the opthamologist and ENT. Last week we paid a much overdue visit to the ENT and it was, as expected, Not Fun (you may recall that Leo had his adenoids out in December 2009 and is on I think his fourth set of tubes). The ENT is also, without a doubt, Leo's least favorite doctor.

So, for the record, Leo is officially too big and strong to hold down for an exam (my being twelve months pregnant does add to the challenge of restraining him, I’m sure).

No, it was definitely not the greatest appointment. The doctor seemed a little impatient with Leo’s uneasiness (make that a polite word for absolute terror). I know he’s busy but, I don’t know, the doctor just could have been a little more, encouraging? Warmer? It probably wouldn’t have made a difference but I guess I always leave those sort of appointments wondering what I could have done differently to make it better. I tried to hold Leo down in my usual pose of hold his trunk arms down and pin his legs between mine but he was having nothing of it. And he is strong. The doctor made a one-quarter second attempt to look in Leo’s ears before pronouncing it “impossible” and that Leo would “need to be sedated.”

This, after a thirty minute wait.

Not to mention, sedated? Wait just a minute, I protested. Sedated? Really?

I’d be lying if I said this didn’t more than irritate me. I mean, I get that Leo can be an absolute beast at the doctor’s, when he’s, you know, terrified. But still. It just seemed so extreme. I realize the doctor was thinking of Leo’s safety (tiny instruments in the ears of a flailing body = not good) as well as mine (kicked in stomach right now = not good). But, still. I guess I’m just not rushing to sedate my kid for convenience sake, you know?

I convinced Dr. Impatient to get some more reinforcements in, after he mumbled something about me in my “condition” and not wanting anything to happen to me. Two nurses emerged and Leo kicked one of the exam tools across the room. Awesome. Luckily, the doctor was able to get a long enough look that time to see that one of Leo’s tubes was out, so at least we knew something. There could be an actual reason for sedation, other than just convenience.

More discussion. Sedation would also allow for a sedated ABR (hearing test), in addition to a full, non-traumatic exam. The sedated ABR actually really excites me since it’s been, oh, since birth that Leo has had an actual hearing exam (he’s been either too afraid or uncooperative all the other times). His current speech therapist has been on me about getting Leo tested, not because she’s specifically concerned with hearing loss, but it’s always a possibility. I guess.

So, sedated ABR and possible tube replacement surgery is slated for mid-June.

And, as is tradition for all of Leo’s ENT appointments, a few years were shaved off my life.

The Eyes Have It

I finally took Leo to his long overdue eye exam yesterday. You may recall he had surgery nearly three years ago for intermittent strabismus which in English means, “lazy eye.” This is apparently quite common in children with Down syndrome and it’s also easily correctable. Leo’s wasn’t terrible, but it was definitely noticeable and if gone untreated it would have gotten worse and started to affect his vision.

When we first started to notice the strabismus (or as we affectionately called it, “freaky eye,”) around age three, I had fears of patches or glasses which is a road that many friends “in the club” have gone down. As much as I didn’t jump at the chance to put my kid into surgery (on his eyes, no less, just the thought gives me chills) I admit being relieved by our no-nonsense doctor’s approach. A patch won’t work for Leo, he declared. He needed surgery. I was still nervous. Again, we’re talking about eyes here. I remember talking to my pediatrician about it and when I told him who our doctor was, I learned that he was pretty much the doctor for kids with Down syndrome and eye problems in our area. He sees 1,500 patients with Down syndrome alone (in addition to his “regular” population).

Back to the appointment. Leo’s eyes couldn’t look any better, said the doctor. His vision is quite good—20/30. His eyes are perfectly straight. The surgery took. We don’t have to go back for nearly two years.

He also shows no signs of cataracts which are apparently common with Down syndrome (this I did not know).

All in all, Leo did well with the exam. He was definitely afraid of the exam chair with the intimidating surrounding equipment. He did just fine though, once I sat in the chair and he took his place on my lap. And he was enthralled by all the cool gadgets they use to look at little semi-cooperative eyes (wands with spinning lights and literal bells and whistles-one was even Woody--be still Leo’s heart). I told the doctor that Leo could read and that he could certainly attempt to do the exam with the letters (you know, those classic “Es” they use in vision tests). He seemed surprised but agreed. He ended up using pictures (a house, a horse, a cup, all of which got progressively smaller) instead, but it was still Leo’s first official exam in which he was asked to identify something and he correctly did so.

Probably no shock to report that he hated getting the drops to dilate his eyes. Does anyone like those?

It’s such a relief to get those annual specialists’ appointments out of the way for another year. It feels like a huge accomplishment (partly because the wait in that office seems to be nearly a half a day although we sped through pretty quickly this time). Next up, the ENT. That one’s not going to be pretty. Leo hates that doctor. There are always tears and the need for plenty of strong arming and reinforcements. It can take three people to hold down a ticked off Leo as the otolaryngologist checks out the ears and sinuses.

And I can’t even drink.

The Annual Post-Shot Hug

I was more than grateful that the most tragic news we received at Leo's annual checkup is that he can no longer have scrambled eggs every day (the doctor said it’s not great for his cholesterol). I know, I know: Duh, Mom. I admit I was in deep denial about the scrambled eggs. Hey, Omega 3s, right? Go ahead and accuse me of laziness but sometimes? The promise of scrambled eggs is all I can say to get Leo come downstairs on school day mornings.

But back to the clean bill of health. Call me a catastrophizer, but it’s just a relief when all of Leo’s annual blood work comes back fine. With Down syndrome, there’s always that lingering little fear, that proverbial other shoe. But: thyroid was fine, CBC fine. Sigh.

Now if we could just get Leo to eat something other than scrambled eggs for breakfast.

More good news: For the first time in two years, we officially know how tall Leo is! Last year he refused to be measured. This year, he marched up to the wall and let the nurse get his stats. Let the record show that at age six, Leo is 43 ½ inches tall and weighs 52 pounds. Speaking of weight, this means Leo needs a new car seat. Anyone have any good recs for a seat that will hold him for a few more years? The boosters look so easy to escape from. I need something that will keep him where he’s supposed to be.

Leo is still not a huge fan of being examined but he’s come a long way. He let Dr. K listen to his heart but flat our refused the blood pressure cuff and wouldn’t even consider an ear check. Some things never change.

He also received his flu shot which he was furious about. I have to say, bearing witness to your babies and children get shots is never not a stab to the heart. That little innocent face goes from Blissful to What The Hell Is Going on Here to Why Are You Hurting Me?

Leo has his own special tradition. Hysterical tears for less than a minute, followed by a leap off the exam table to embrace the driver of the needle. He did the same thing at the lab for his blood draw and the poor phlebotomist ducked—she thought Leo was going to take a swing at her. Apparently, this happens a lot. Nope, not Leo. He just needed a hug. It chokes me up every time. It’s as if he can’t fathom someone hurting him on purpose. He has to make a peace offering, ensure everything is OK.

Leo, recovering from his flu shot and showing me one of his latest creations, last week.