Well, I'm supposed to be making pickles right now.

It's a sweet/garlicky concoction that you either love or absolutely hate. Personally, I love them. My Aunti Hazel used to make them every Christmas, and I would eat big scoopfuls at a time. Sometimes, I'd swallow a peppercorn in my haste to munch them all down so I could go get more.

Making those pickles is part of a Christmas traditions list that I want to do every year to make the holiday even more special for Baby Boy. Building that list got me to thinking about all of the Christmases past from my own childhood.

Every year, Mom and Dad would pack us up into the back of the car (we never wore seat belts!) to travel to San Pedro to have Christmas Eve dinner at my grandma's house. Most of Dad's family was there (he had two brothers and a sister) unless one of the siblings was refusing to talk to the other one. (We didn't see one set of cousins for 15 years because my aunt refused to talk to my uncle.) We always arrived late which created tension and Mom would then dance around trying to amuse everyone. Dinner was a pot luck, and my mom always took baked beans. Grandma would place the food on a long counter in the butler's pantry and then the adults would eat in the dining room and the kids were shuffled to the kitchen table. After dinner, Grandma would sit next to the Christmas tree and read a passage out of the Bible. Then we'd open presents. We'd typically stay until midnight and then load all of the gifts into the car for the hour-long drive home. And every year, Dad would have to navigate through "Toolie-Fog" and mom would moan the entire way or beg him to pull over, which he refused to do. (This one evening was the only time during the year that we would see our aunt and uncles and cousins, although we did see our grandma around Easter and Mother's Day too.)

Christmas morning, we would wake up to presents from Santa and stockings filled to the brim with gum and socks and little makeup cases. Breakfast was always the same as any other day: Cold cereal. We never had a real Christmas tree, so Mom would spray bayberry scent all over the room. Dad usually never got Mom anything, and we would sit and watch them argue about money. Twice, in my entire life, I saw my parents kiss, and on both occasions it was on Christmas morning when my dad finally did get my mom a present.

Around noon, we would all jump back into the "Hoo-pee" (Mom's name for the car) and drive down to the beach to spend Christmas evening with my Aunti Hazel. There were always tons of people there - both family and friends who attended every year. Lots of cocktails were poured and we kids got to run amuck around the house. Every year we'd go into the bathroom and play in my aunt's makeup drawer. I can't tell you how many times I walked out of there covered in Dippity-Doo, thanks to my sisters. Dinner always included those special pickles, creamed peas and onions, a big baked ham and string beans. My aunt always had a huge (fake) tree on a table in the middle of the living room - completely flocked with fake snow with huge red and pink glass balls dangling from the branches. The tree skirt was that white "spun" material with glitter - the kind that would cut your fingers if you touched it. (Was that really true or did they just tell me that to keep me from sorting through the presents?) Most of the adults would get drunk and all kinds of accusations and raunchy songs would float through the air. The most memorable time was when my cousin shouted in the kitchen at her husband, "You Slept with a Hooker You Bastard!"...and he turned around and walked out of the house - leaving her stranded. Strangely, no one missed a beat and the party raged on. But I was always a bit embarrassed by that show of drama.

Now that my mom, sister and dad are gone...along with most of my aunts and uncles...I really miss those holiday celebrations. As quirky and dysfunctional as they were, I feel as though something has been lost. Once my Aunti Hazel passed away, we never got together again with that side of the family. On my Dad's side, the same thing happened when my grandma passed on.

Sad.

And now Husband and I live in Colorado with no family nearby. Which is a huge part of the reason why building some holiday traditions is so high up on my list. They'll be a tad different than the ones that I grew up with...lacking all of that drama...and I hope that they create fond memories for my baby boy one day.

I spent 1.5 hours at the cancer center yesterday and did nothing more than talk with the doctor. In retrospect, it was a good thing that I didn't get the iron infusion because it makes the patient "achy and sore" for several days. Yeah, that would make Christmas in Bed a real fun event. I am now scheduled to go in for my infusion sometime in January. I'll need a total of 10 treatments. Each one carries a risk of my having an allergic reaction resulting in my throat closing/inability to breathe. "But when that happens, we just call over to the ER and they help out."

Ummm. Why do I want to do this? Because I've always wanted to puff smoke out of a Trach hole?

Oy Vey.

My Christmas shopping has been done for about a week. We're going Xmas Lite this year - sort of a watered down version of the celebrations in the past. No big presents, stockings only, filled with quirky fun stuff. One little mini-tree sitting on a table in the family room. A few decorations outside but no lights. Stockings and a wreath on the wall. And that's about it for the "Family in Hibernation Mode." We won't be seeing any family or friends or attend any parties. We've got to get through this RSV season without any sickness - hopefully insuring that the baby won't develop asthma or other chronic respiratory problems that could plague him for the rest of his life.

Husband is easy to buy for....he never ever goes out and spends money, so I wind-up getting him most of what he needs anyway. This year he'll find windshield wipers, car wash tokens, a leather/silver bracelet (very bohemian), an automatic wrench, a "radar" measuring tape, the Hillary nutcracker, a bottle of Cornhuskers, the new Eagles cd, chonies, gc's for Starbucks/ Barnes & Noble, a snowman kit, hand warmers, baseball cap with light, Altoids (his favorite) etc. in his stocking.

Next year, I want us all to get snowshoes so we can go out and tromp around in the snow.

The baby is getting a few things but nothing elaborate. A stuffed dog, a dump truck, magnetic blocks, tub toys and a laughing Ernie ball. Once we get through these critical first two years with the RSV Aversion, I think we'll be able to get out more and whoop it up again.

During the baby's 15 month check-up last week, I asked the doctor about the likelihood of the baby needing Synagis again next year, and he replied "Highly Likely"...although he wasn't optimistic that insurance would cover the cost. At $1500 per injection (the baby already receives two each month now and will probably need three each month next year), I almost fainted. (Our current medical coverage is 100% of the cost. I believe that I can speak with relative authority in stating that we can't afford $4,500 per month out of pocket for these shots. What the hell do people do? No wonder there are so many bankruptcies in this country.)

The other issue that was discussed was the baby's lack of weight gain over the last month. He's holding steady at 19lbs which puts him in the less than 3% percentile. I've tried Pediasure with no luck - too sweet and too filling. Baby Boy stops eating completely after 2 ounces of the stuff. So now we're back to formula (Enfacare) and adding an additional 1.5 teaspoons of dried formula. Amazingly, the baby will drink it up. It's really helping him fall asleep faster at night too. Now, we're trying to wait patiently to see if the baby gains any weight.

Beyond all of that, the baby is doing great - our pediatrician is thrilled with his progress over the last year...as is his Pt, OT and his proud parents.

It's an odd thing, but now that we have Baby Boy, I don't feel driven to have all kinds of materials things or to receive lots of gifts. A small, quiet Christmas is going to be just perfect. I am just tickled to have this little boy to love.

Husband received a call from his mom two nights ago...on his cell phone. This has never happened, not even once. She always, always calls the land line.

Cold, prickly fingers of fear started creeping into my stomach. Especially as I sat and listened to his comments and moans.

Husband's dad has been unofficially diagnosed with lungcancer. He's coughing up blood and is extremely exhausted.

We have moved into another state of shock.

I haven't had the heart to start researching the disease. I did so much of that with my sister, my mom, my dad and my baby....I'm sick and tired of reading about pain, disease, disability and death. And frankly, I'm extremely concerned and I don't want to read anything that validates my biggest fears.

Our hearts are broken, and we're hoping against all odds that Dad's condition isn't as serious as it appears at first glance.

My medical test results are in and I have been diagnosed with very low iron. My Ferritin is 3...while the normal range is 10-150.

No wonder I'm exhausted all of the time.
And cranky.

I'm scheduled for an iron IV next week. It's odd because I'm being sent to a cancer center and I'll sit with people who are receiving their chemo treatments.

I want to look them straight in the eye and emit my sincere admiration and encouragement.

I hope to not cry.

Because I realize how random sickness and tragedy are and that we all live only a hair's thickness away from them.

"Your son is nothing short of a miracle. He's going to grow up to be a very special person."

This comment was from our PT after I read the baby's NICU report that detailed his birth, resuscitation and subsequent health hurdles during his eighty-five day stay.

Double zero Apgars at three and five minutes gave her deep concern.

"Most of the babies I see with those stats and health issues are spastic quads. Now he's just about to start walking. He's an amazing little guy."

I had conveniently forgotten about the baby's auspicious beginnings until today. It's easy to forget about some of the early issues and warning signals when the baby in front of you is growing everyday and thriving. So here I am, sitting on the precipice of abject worry again. And I keep wondering, should I do more?

We see our pediatrician next week and I am (once again) preparing my list of questions. And I am praying. And I'm loving that little baby with all my might.

Whatever Your Political Proclivity

This is too funny!

We're about to celebrate the one-year anniversary of the homecoming of our baby from the NICU. It's amazing how fast this last year has flown by.

The baby weighs 18lbs 14oz. He'll be fifteen months old in a couple of weeks, and we really need to start working harder at getting him to gain the weight. I am thisclose to resorting to the goat milk formula listed by one of our favorite blog-babes, Hallie.

The baby is more accepting of pureed foods, but we're still hovering at the 2 tablespoon limit. He seems to be allergic to most fruits and vegetables and until we get his allergies under control, I have limited his vaccination schedule. I don't think it will be too big a deal to wait until he's 2 years old to get the rest of his vaccinations - though he is doing just fine with his Synagis shots every month.

Sweet Boy is cruising around furniture and standing up all by himself with no support. He's still got some issues with walking - in terms of the position of his feet, but his PT seems to think that we'll be able to overcome the problems over the next year.

The baby says MaMa and DaDa but those are the only "words" that he will utter. He still cries Ning Ning when he wants a bottle and he laughs and gurgles and does sing-song chatter all of the time. Phew. We were extremely worried about his lack of smiles and laughter but it looks as though he is just a serious soul.

If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't change a thing. Staying home with my baby is the single greatest gift of my life. We'll certainly feel the impact later on in life when we retire but I don't care. I get to spend every hour of every day with my little guy and it is pure joy. Financial stress be damned.

My husband is one of the best dads in the world. He oozes love for our little boy and truly enjoys spending time with him banging spoons on the hardwood or cruising around the house with him on his shoulders. Husband loves to feed the baby, change the baby, bathe the baby and hold the baby in his arms every night until he falls asleep. This man is a true diamond.

The longer that I'm a mom...the more angry I get about my childhood and the way I was treated by my parents. I suspect that our relationship would have been much different if we'd had a baby while my parents were still alive. The good news is that all that I experienced in my childhood is guiding me toward the parent that I intend to be. So much of what happened when I was a kid was so very wrong.

Husband has reclaimed his Mojo and is back in the groove. He makes the bed, cleans all of the dirty dishes and scoops the poop on schedule. All that I can say is, Thank You Gawd.

Mr Magoo is being returned to his foster home because he won't stop peeing in my house. Last week, the baby crawled through two puddles in the family room. I simply cannot stand to live in this filth any longer. The dog trainer couldn't promise that this could get fixed. Less than 5% of the dogs out there insist on marking the house and Mr Magoo is one of them. My heart is broken but he has to go.

Our white cat is on his way out the door too. As soon as the baby came home with us a year ago, he started peeing all over the baby's room, clothing, car seat, etc. I've done everything that I can do to stop it but he just.keeps.peeing on the nursery rug and the baby's stuffed bear-chair. My heart is broken to have to send him away too but he has to go.

My Siamese has been diagnosed with incurable bronchitis. He's the one who has slept with me every night for over 10 years. We've done every test and tried every drug known to help with his condition, but he's not responding and his breathing is growing more cumbersome. I just don't understand why they can't fix this condition.

So essentially, I am going to lose 50% of my pets in a very short amount of time. I'll be left with two cats and one dog. I know, that should be plenty of animals in our home, and it is. But it won't be the same without the other three.

Those are the updates for now. Life is good, not entirely easy, but I'm happy with it all the same.