Love is Blind

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  • Potty Training Myself

     Teaching a toddler, my toddler in particular,  to pee and poop on a toilet has always been something that I didn’t particularly look forward to.  You can call me lazy, awful, horrible and a shitty parent all you want (no pun intended) but I just never got super excited at the thought of potty training GiGi.  First of all, the word “training” instantly brings me thoughts of the Olympics, or animals who do tricks, both of which are quite cool but not exactly the image of my child on a potty seat.  The idea of my daughter learning to go to the bathroom outside of her pants isn’t first on the list, however screwed up that is.  So, the wording alone puts me off, never mind the actual possibility of my child giving me more fun messes to clean up in the future. (****And on a side note - if they call it "potty training" does that make me the coach?  If so, where are my whistle, jersey, and both head and arm sweatband?  Do we need a sponsor?)

     

    I want her to have the independence that comes along with going to the bathroom alone, really I do.  I also love entertaining the idea that my wallet will be fatter from spending less money on diapers, etc.  With anything that my babe does, it’s on her schedule and at her pace, this much I’ve learned.  Family and friends and lovely sites have talked about toddlers+bathrooms=challenge.  It was inevitable that being a first time mother I would try to pick up some tips on what might make sense for potty training bathroom Olympics protocol.  One week GiGi had this epiphany that peeing in her diaper is something far too exciting to keep to herself, and when she shares that news with me I change her diaper.  Voila!  Picking up on what she was layin’ down, I began the whole potty training thing with the deluxe clone of a big potty that comes in the delightful shade of baby blue and produces stickers when she flushes and music when she is both trying to go potty and when she actually goes.  Sensors, stickers, music, and a flip up toilet seat…what’s not to love right?  Right.   GiGi played with the potty constantly. Played as in the past tense of play.  I opted for a potty seat that fits on the “big girl potty” and removed the deluxe toddler potty because the only use we were getting out of that was a make shift ipod (or would that be ppod?) and a removable pee holder that my kid would suck on.  Don’t worry, it isn’t as gross as it sounds. If she had actually sat on the seat with a bare butt to pee instead of giving the seat a little ass-drive-by,  then I would have freaked out a little more.

     

    GiGi is the proud owner of a princess pink designed potty seat that I couldn’t care less about and she doesn’t understand at all (fyi: we have stricken the word PRINCESS from our vocabulary here.  Unless there is one shaking your hand at Disneyland or you’re referring to a Disney song sung by one).  She has a little step to help her off of the potty and a few other items to assist in potty time.  Being that I am doing this whole “training” thing and the last that this situation arose I was a kid myself and on the learning end of it – I don’t know jack about what I’m doing.  Peeing and pooping and loving GiGi are all natural things so I figure I’ll just wing it.

     

     

     

     

    (Potty Animal)

     

    I know that I have, thus far, created a potty monster.  She is getting awfully demanding in the bathroom although Im sure if she had better-than-terribly two- manners it would just seem ritualistic and normal.  Anytime she is set on the potty, she screams “water!” and “bookie! Fish!” which means, “Hey mom can you please fetch me a little cup by the toothbrushes and fill it with water and then grab my Dr. Seuss One fish two fish Braille book?  Thanks, you’re a dear.”   If the previously stated needs are not met, then I get to deal with potty boss and her wicked refusal to pee.  I try to shutdown her crankiness, and appease her wishes, since I am the one who created this standard of potty training.  When I originally started taking her to the bathroom, I brought her a book for double reasons.  1.) maybe she would sit longer with a book she loves, and, 2.) who doesn’t like something trashy to read on the toilet?  I’m sure most people don’t find Dr. Seuss trashy, and on the whole I don’t either, but how responsible is it to have a fish driving a car in the water?  And counting too?  Sounds like a sobriety check to me, don’t you think (coughcoughLindsayLohanoftheFishWorldcough)?  Im just saying its like a toddler version of In Touch magazine….ish.   

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  • A letter to the climber

    Dear GiGi,  

    I know that you may find me bothersome at times, because I seem pushy.  I know when dinner comes along you are just trying to catch a meal in your brightly colored high chair and I am too busy pleading with you to use fork or spoon for you to really enjoy your food.  I realize that this is tiring and you want to poke me in the arm with that fork, right before you launch it across the room.  I understand, really I do.  Why on Earth should you use an oddly shaped piece of plastic to pick up your strawberries when your hands work oh-so-much better?  Why the f* would you TOUCH applesauce when you can just cry until I say, “fine, fine! I’ll feed you!”  It’s slimy, hard to handle, and too cold to be bearable in the palm of your hand. 

     

    Honestly, bunny bee, I get it.  There are things I don’t understand yet about what makes you thrive and what sends you over the edge in terms of touch and taste. I will try to keep that in mind but I will also encourage you and keep presenting you with a fork and spoon.  Maybe I will just start preparing 12 forks ...

     

     

    *VIDEO AFTER THE JUMP*

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  • Love Wears Glasses

     

     

     

     

    I had a few post all lined up about various things going on in mine and GiGi’s life.  Places we went last week and new people we met.  All of those posts are sitting in my Babble folder with their little jaws dropped at this post I’m writing now.  Those posts have nothing on the news I have now.

     

    My alarm was set for 4:30 am on Wednesday morning.  In case you all weren’t aware, 4:30 is an “a.m.” too.   I thought I would let GiGi sleep and then I would put her in the car in her pajamas and just change her at the pediatric ophthalmology office once we arrived.  Fat chance.  She woke up once we hit the cool morning breeze outside and smiled over whatever it is that GiGi smiles about when the wind kisses her cheek (natures affection?).  I was glad that she had a sunny disposition  so early in the morning, especially since she is nearing two year old and it’s an every-five-minutes toss of the dice which way her mood  leans.   I was in a bad mood.  Terrible in fact.  Tuesday went downhill, slowly, and I ended the night with ice packs on my poor head and TUMS in my tum.  The prospect of a doctor visit to an office that  had recently yelled at wasn’t making me feel any better.

     

    The receptiawench had left a message on my cell phone – on a Saturday – to say that GiGi’s appointment was cancelled.  I cried, punched y pillow, and then vowed to sleep on the news before I called back.  Monday morning I gave the wench a ring and no answer.  After the fifth phone call I left a message saying, “Hi, this is GiGi ****’s mother and I got a call saying that her appointment was cancelled. I just wanted to confirm that the appointment really is cancelled, because this visit is WAAAAY overdue and if we really aren’t getting in, then I might just pass out.  But when I regain consciousness Im afraid I might just punch your office in the face.  So, um, can you call me back at ***-3**-04**.  Thanks”

     

    Beep

     

    She called back five minutes later, a little shaken up, and said “oh no, Miss Lasswell, we just want to confirm her for an EARLIER appointment, will that be okay?”   I absolutely thought that they were luring me there to arrest me for the punching in the face comment.

     

    So then, where was I?  Oh yes, post-migraine, feeling barf-y, and worried about the possibility of being citizens arrested by a receptiawench, I got into the car and headed to the bay area.

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  • Get Up and Go

    GiGi has been totally dependent on her shopping cart since the day she was introduced to it.  It was pretty much a whole and perfect union for months and months. In fact, I have one in the trunk of my car, always ready to lend a helping hand to GiGi at any given location we roll into.  There is a shopping cart at home also, and she spends almost all her waking moments pushing it in the same pattern around the house.  I was positive that the same exact travel pattern  - every day all day - was a direct result of GiGI inheriting some sort of obsessive compulsive gene from me (or let’s face it, her father), but it turns out that it has proven to be her best practice technique.

     

    In my last post I shared my joy over her latest success in walking, hands and pre-cane trainer free.  Since Monday, she has become increasingly ill with a nasty cold, and more determined to walk alone than I’ve ever seen.

     

    Yesterday, I felt like I was at my wits end with GiGi.  The constant crying I can understand, because she genuinely doesn’t feel well (we have a doc visit set for today), but the tantrums and hitting I can’t get on board with.  She wanted to be near me at all times, even if it was to hug me or throw a fit.  I seriously felt like we were having a horrible sick day that wouldn’t end, until she took a break from me and crawled from my room to the front room to greet my mother.  I could hear my moms excited tone so I walked down the hallway to find my tot walking on her own.  According to my mom, she just pulled herself up to her and started walking.  Now, anytime she decides to walk alone, I’m proud.  Since my last post she has actually done it so many times I can’t really count.  Usually a walk initiated by me, my sister, and of course my mother.  The walks were shorter distances but she seemed to be getting a little more confident.

     

    My mother and I were watching her walk and commenting on how happy GiGi will be once she figures out how to stand up on her own.  She’s tried a few different ways to stand up, but they all just sort of seem like downward facing dog poses from a yoga class I wasn’t aware she was taking. Until yesterday...

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  • No cane? No problem!

    GiGi’s orientation and mobility teacher (o.m.) brought over a pre-cane trainer  a month or so ago.  I like it, GiGi finds it annoying.  She’s scratched it, thrown it, pushed it away, cried at the mere touch of it, hit me for offering it, and anything else you can think of that would express her hatred for it.  On a few occasions, I’ve pushed optimism out of my body and let it form the words “oh, yeah, I think she might be liking it a little more today.”   The truth is, I’m either being overly hopeful or full of shit. You pick.

     

    I suppose her reaction to this PVC rectangle, this tool, is normal and to be expected.  I mean, how exactly are you suppose to explain to a 23 month old, that a rectangular piece of hard plastic-y stuff that is at tall as she is, should be us to sweep in front of her for objects.  How do you explain that she can’t lean on it or she will fall over?  I’m not really sure about this one, but I don’t have an explanation for her.  It boggles my mind to try and understand whether or not she should be using this to assist her in walking alone at some point or if she needs to be taking independent steps first before this items becomes beneficial.

     

    Photos and video after the jump...

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  • The Run Around

     

     

     

     

    Twenty-one months ago I gave birth to a gorgeous daughter who entered this universe with such grace, such impeccable ease and wonder, that I shouldn’t be surprised at how amazing she is to watch discover the world.  I feel like I’ve been spending my days showing her what I want her to “see” and blabbering on and on about the random crap I have in my head.  A little over 630 days if I attempt to do some bogus math.  That’s a lot of time spent passing on my ideas and wisdom to a tot – some perfectly sensible and some completely insane I’m sure.  Regardless of the specifics, it’s all been in my hands so far.

     

    Years from now, and then years from that point in time, I imagine that I will be laughing at how frustrating it is to watch her be so independent and make such incredible mistakes and victories, all on her own.  I don’t know exactly what she’ll be doing to make me think that, but I’m absolutely positive I will remember the moment she captured the world in her hands and set it down to run laps around it.  The precise day that she proved to herself that anything was possible.

     

    January 14, 2009, that was the day, GiGi’s Independence Day, that she showed me what she’s made of.

     

     

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  • Oh la la! Clothes & Contests!!

     

     

    Is anyone else a clothes whore (or is that clothes horse - I can never remember)?  Shopping for clothing, be it handbags, tops, or shoes I will never wear, is a common occurrence for my wallet.  Even when I head out of the house in search of a book or a sip of coffee, I find myself picking up a new article of clothing. Granted I leave the house a lot less these days, and my shopping is usually GiGi related.  I can’t help it, or maybe I can and I just don’t want to.  At least I know that I’m not alone in my shopping addiction.  Apparently a fellow blogger likes shopping for boys & girls too. 

     

    Lately I find myself wondering how I am going to deal with the clothing issue as GiGi gets older.  How will she know what to pick out and put on?  What will be her favorite thing to wear?  Will she match?

     

    I’m not stressing myself out about this topic, but I would be a liar if I said it didn't cross my mind.  I’m sure we’ll get it all figured out and in the end she will have better style than me (which won’t be hard).  In the mean time I’m trying to figure out a way to get her excited about clothing.  Don’t worry, it’s not as shallow or superficial as you are probably thinking.  It’s just that I know how excited I was about shirts, pajamas and clothing in general that I wore as a child.   There were superwoman underoo sets, the lame and embarrassing couch potato university shirt with bicycle shorts from third grade picture day, and of course, strawberry shortcake matching pajamas that my sisters and I all wore on Christmas morning one year.  One of my all time favorite pieces of clothing was a dress that my sister out grew and I wore until it was in shreds or I got too fat.  I put it on at night when everyone was asleep and danced around my room to the Grease soundtrack playing in my head.  I pretended I was Cha Cha DiGregorio and the closet was Danny Zuko.  That closet saw ALL my smooth moves.  It even taught me to kiss well, thank you very much (A totally different post will need to be made on that one.  Therapy too, maybe).

     

    My point is, for some people clothing isn’t just shit you throw on your naked bod to make sure you aren’t arrested when you go out in public.  It’s...

     

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  • Questions, Questions, Questions

     I wonder who will help her shop when she gets older.

     

    Who will be there when she wants to explore but decides the world is just too big?

     

    Will she get nervous or will she just fly on, untouched by that anxiety?

     

    Do you think she’s going to need me when she’s older?

     

    The questions don’t stop.  Ever.  I am no different than any other mother because I ask myself questions all day long about my child’s future.  The questions may differ from most, but the fact that I ask them doesn’t.   It’s been nine months since the initial news about GiGi arrived, but some days the shock rolls forward to the front of the line again and takes over my thoughts asking a myriad of questions in a heated panic.

     

    When GiGi was first diagnosed I cried over my own answers, or the lack in having them at times, to silly questions. On day one,  I wondered how she would ever know she was beautiful if she couldn’t see her reflection in the mirror.  It may seem shallow, but I was sad that she wouldn’t see what I saw in her face, her expressions and smiles.  I cried over the idea that she wouldn’t be able to paint and read the books I bought her.  I was frustrated and heartbroken when she wouldn’t look at my face or lock in my eyes to hers.   Now that time has passed, we are fine with our life and how things are going.  Every once in a while though, something comes up and I get heartbroken all over again, if only just for a moment or two. 

     

    It’s instinct.  Parental, human nature, loving instinct – to want to ask all the questions you can in advance for your child so that you can have the answers long before they’re needed.  Its parental nature to want to fix anything and everything you can so that your babe will have the best life possible.  Right?

     

    Today, GiGi’s medicine arrived.  It seems that when you have O.N.H. the Endocrine system is commonly affected.  My little babe has been tested and appears to have issues with her growth hormone, so we will be starting injections next week to aide in her healthy development.  I was naturally upset to hear the news when we found out four weeks ago, but I’m happy that it’s a treatable diagnosis.  Since finding out about her blindness, there were two more major hurdles to face.  This endocrine testing was one and the MRI testing, which thankfully came back wonderful and completely clear, was the other.  I was cocky after the MRI and assumed that she would beat this endocrine thing too, as if it was possible to actually beat.

     

    do you dream?  what's it like?  can you see anything in your dreams? 

     


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  • New Kid in Town

     

    Well hello Babblers!  My name is Megg and I’m the mother of one of the newest additions to the dirt eating, playground wandering, germ sharing, tiny giggling world of toddlers , GiGi,  who just turned a year old less than two weeks ago.  Babble has invited me to be part of the blogging family but before I am welcome here I should probably tell you a bit about myself.  After all, it’s a bit rude to try and settle in somewhere without giving up some info.

     

     

    I’m 6 feet of brunette funkiness that hails from a lesser known city in California called Madera.  Up until 7 months ago, I was living on a small island bordering Oakland, working full time, raising the babe and living it up. My ex (let’s call him Boy Wonder) and I got the news on August 8, 2008 that our GiGi was blind. She never really tracked my face or looked at anything in particular so concern grew and grew with each check up. You know,  I asked my sister in the hospital, right after I gave birth, “When will she look at me?”  I should have known by the quiet, delayed response, that something was wrong with her vision from the start.  I didn’t though, because she is and has always been perfect in my eyes and I was too in love with her to imagine something like that.  At 4 months old, hearing the overwhelming diagnosis of optic nerve hypoplasia, meaning her optic nerves never fully developed for one reason or another, was more than I could handle with just Boy Wonder present and neither of our families close by.  So almost 2 months after the shock GiGi and I moved to farm life, usa.

     

     

    While living at home with your parents at 27 years old isn’t the most hip thing to do, it is the thing that makes the most sense for me.  For us.  For my family of two.  Our puzzle-pieced two household family of four.  I spend every other weekend in Oakland with my closest friends while GiGi is spending time alone with her daddy.  When I’m not honking in traffic or looking for never available parking, I am here at my new home which is smack dab in the middle of …nowhere.  Instead of phones’ and heels, people are rocking the cowboy hat and boots look. Madera is a pretty conservative place, and having spent 10 years in the bay area I’m in total culture shock.  I can’t seem to find a radio station spewing politics or even sports talk. There is however a lot of country music and Spanish channels.  Neither one are my thing though so I am out of luck there. Thankfully the town is progressive *enough* to have internet availability.

     

     

    Here’s the bottom line – I’m a brand new mother. A woman who had never planned on children or even considered become a foundation of stability and consistency.  My life was flipped upside down and thrown into a blender with wheatgrass shots and then served with a mango slice on top the day I found out I was a people maker.

     

    My heart says that I can do this. I can be a great mother to my daughter and learn as I go, doing things my way, her way, any which way but normal. We will create art together and GiGi will be passionate about painting and reading even if that means raised paint and Braille. She will love beeper-ball soccer and dinosaurs and playing with friends. I will encourage her to play any instrument she can get her hands on, and sell my soul to pay for them. I will let her know that tattoos are fine and pink is a lovely shade to color her hair. 

     

    There is no real “how-to” guide for parents that fits everyone’s life perfectly, but at least there is some sort of guide out there.  GiGi, Boy Wonder, his older daughter and I have no handbook. Nothing is present in our lives to explain how to do this so our parenting trip has been a rocky, but entertaining show.  My pint sized hero is teaching me everything I was once missing in life, and putting me to work for that knowledge.  Stay tuned to hear about my lessons in love, single-mothering, and raising a child with as much vision as I have patience.

     

    oh, I almost forgot, Nice to meet you!

     

     

     

    Megg & GiGi


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About the Blogger

Love is Blind

Megg Lasswell in Oakland.

This single mom moved home at age twenty-seven to raise her blind toddler, leaving city buildings behind and trying her best to embrace farm life outside Oakland. She is working on her first book in between indie-rocking out with her daughter GiGi and teaching her the simple things in life.

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