Jack Of My Heart

Jacko, you are my second child, my second son and today is your 10th birthday and you have been the secret to much of my motherhood happiness. Every child brings their own gifts and from you I was able to let go of the fear and the worry and enjoy the miracle of pregnancy. I was able to understand that a little crying is ok, that a bottle on the floor does not need to be sterilized and that 3 is just as good a year to potty train as 2.

You have given me perspective and took from me the Lady MacBeth-ness of mothering... Jake surely would be in active therapy right now had you not come along a mere 16 months into his life and, with your arrival, relaxed the cleanliness standards... we went from a house of air purifiers and Dreft to a house of many dogs and whatever detergent is on sale in record time.

When you were born, the doctor handed you to me, all swaddled up like a wee burrito and you and I were together, on the gurney for hours... we had echocardiograms done at the same time and really, who can't call that bonding?

You were such a mellow baby... we have photos of you tucked in the couch which used to sit on the Jacobs' patio... we'd sort of wedge you in between the cushions while the older boys played and Cindy and I drank vats of iced tea and sometimes wine...

Although you don't remember your surgery, or the time surrounding it, it was a time that changed my life... the night before I slept with you in the crib in the hospital and the nurse said, "I have never seen a mother sleep in the crib" and I was like, "You have got to be kidding? Where the hell else would I be?" And, when Daddy and I carried you down to the operating room, all wrapped in that ridiculous blanket from Barney's and had to hand you over to the scrub nurse, I thought my heart would break... but I had every faith that you would be ok... I loved you too much for you not to be.

My first choice was to curl myself up into a ball and hide under a counter in the OR, but that was an idea quickly vetoed by Dad, so instead, I went back to the hotel and fell into a protective sleep until the phone rang to tell us that you had done wonderfully and we could come see you... when we walked in, and there you were, spread like a little chicken on an adult size bed, hooked up to no less than 8 machines, we both began to cry because you were alive and beautiful and healthy.

And here we are, 10 years later and I can't believe how quickly time passes... your childhood has been such a blessing in my life and I don't know how to say to you all the things I want to... I am so proud of the person you are... not just because you are a good student and kind, but because I admire your approach to life and your independence... you definitely march to your own drummer and I wish I had a little bit more of that in me.

I love that you watch bad 80's TV with me, that you admire Monk and that you sort of like stuffed animals more than real ones... I love that still like to sit with me and cuddle on the couch and I love that you decided you wanted to play tennis even though neither your dad nor I have ever picked up a racquet.

I love what good friends you and Jake are and it's been interesting to watch you begin to assert yourself against your big brother... the times they are a changing around here.

I love that you have found that you enjoy your sister and she's no longer public enemy number one... in fact, last week when you told Jake that Eva's cuteness was "Your ticket to getting dates to the Middle School Dance", just about killed me... it was a classic Jack line.

I love that you used to make mazes from books for those manky pet mice of ours to run through and I love that you don't care that you're short(ish).

It's such a privilege to watch you grow up.

I love everything about you. Even your big circle.

You gave me a voice and made me a warrior and helped define what kind of mother I wanted to be... and when I look at you today, 10 and happy, with a lifetime of experience and happiness to be had, I am so so grateful.

I am so grateful to be your Mom.

I love you Goblos, you with your orange shirts, I love you.

Mama

**oops!  looks like comments were off, but they're back on & i know jack would love to read some birthday wishes, thanks!

Bramble - Ramble

I'm posting less out of having anything to share or say and more to get, "The Final Word" off the top of the page because it looks so, well, final. Like "The Final Word" is really: goodbye! And of course, Internet, it's not goodbye because I could never leave you like that because I love you and I might want to marry you and have little tiny blogs with you... or at least take you to dinner.

In any case, things have been busy. Easter! Spring Break! Hugh's Birthday! See? Lots o'fun things which require exclamation points to emphasize their total fun-ness.!!

Hugh's birthday, he is 39 by the way and thanks you in advance for all the nice comments we know you're going to leave saying he doesn't look a day over 38, was the 17th birthday of his we have celebrated together which makes 17 birthday parties I have thrown for him... the first being for his 22nd birthday when my roommate and I hung thousands of various shades of blue crepe paper streamers from our living room ceiling and put beta fish in small bowls all over the apartment to create the illusion of being in an aquarium because clearly we had a subscription to Martha Stewart Living that year and t-h-e-m-e-s were important. As the years have gone by I have stressed less theme and more liquor.

And that liquor increase has caused moments such as the time at Hugh's 23rd birthday party when some guy he was working with passed out in such a total and complete coma that we thought maybe he was dead and should we just leave him on the floor and see if he is still there in the morning or call 911? Or maybe just place flower in his cold stiff hands?

There was Hugh's 27th birthday when I sort of figured out during prep work on 5 spice shrimp that I was either narcoleptic or pregnant.

I had a surprise party for him for his 30th and which was so much fun but not nearly as fun as the surprise party I threw for his 35th when I rented out this restaurant and my shoes got caught in the chef mat by the kitchen and I pitched over only to be caught by our good friend Dan Walker and his quick acting reflexes...

And of course, there was his 29th birthday (out of order! fun!) which was a couple of weeks before Jack was born and it was spent with me in bed because hello, Kristin, this is your doctor and I am giving you orders to stay in bed and eat ice cream because that baby you are carrying needs to weigh at least 5 lbs. at birth... you know, in case we have to operate on his heart right away... I went home and didn't get out of bed for 6 weeks.

So yes, Hugh has just turned 39 and Jack is about to turn 10 and Hugh is aging well and Jack is maybe not aging quite as well.... see, Jack was only 2 months old when he had his heart surgery and the surgeon created a small pulmonary "flap" instead of "valve" for him (as they do for babies because they are little and growing and so on...) and because it is a "flap" and not a proper "valve" it leaks which is important to watch because you cannot have too much a leak because that is bad and because this "flap" is made from bovine material (all you PETA people can shutty) it has a shelf life which is - guess with me now, yes, about 10 years.

And you know, it doesn't grow with him so if you are guessing that the heart of a 10 year old is bigger than the heart of a 2 month old, you would be right.

Jack goes to the cardiologist every 6 months and every single visit begins with me on the verge of throwing up until I get the "all clear"... which is what we get every single visit and then we go get milkshakes.

Until the visit. This visit introduced a new twist in the "all clear" which reads like this:

Doctor: I would no longer qualify his leak as mild to moderate, I would only say moderate.

Me: Um, ok. So, when do you think we'll need to go in and give him a proper pulmonary valve?

Doctor: Within the next 5 years.

Now, believe it or not, this is not terrible news. I mean, we KNEW this was coming - we've known for 10 years that this was coming and there have been really amazing strides made in pulmonic valve replacement and Jack should be able to have this procedure preformed in a cath lab... the days of cracking open the chest are quickly moving behind us (please God, please God, please God) and his doctor hasn't imposed any limitations on him - play tennis! Swim! Surf!

But it has hit me like a mean and fat brick to the head.

In 6 months he is "worse". 6 mere months.

It's paralyzing me. I used to be so good and so strong, but I am having a hard time with this... back when our lives were nothing but one surgery after another I was awesome. I rallied back again and again and kept those homefires burning and spirits up and was nothing short of the best mother ever.

Yet, here I am, a mess.

And with that, I leave this post where it started out as one thing and ended up something else.

While You've Been Worried About My Haunting You...

It's been the weekend from hell.

No fun.

No games.

My Jack - a child who spent both Saturday and Sunday night in the ER.

Thanks to...

The croup.

That motherf*cker.

Uncontrollable Spasmodic Coughing with it's stepbrothers - Shortness of Breath & Sore Throat.

Under Cosmic Law as chid cannot fall ill at noon on a Tuesday.

Breathing treatments are only ever necessary after midnight over 3 day weekends.

I might be tired.

But not as tired as my boy.