It was a tiramisu cheesecake, which is great, and everyone seemed to love it, including my sister's mother-in-law, who it was for. And then they asked for the "hidden ingredient," which they joked that I always had something surprising and unappealing hidden in my cooking... and I had to admit that the cake was made in the crock pot, included tofu, and had no eggs. They got me. But I got them: it didn't taste anything but "lighter" than the average cheesecake. Yum. I think the Germans liked it fine, but I'm sure it all tastes different than they are used to. Shrimp scampi with pasta and a green salad was way off-the-wall for them, too.
I called the pediatrician first thing this morning to ask him to assuage my rampant fears. He really did no such thing. He basically clarified that it could indeed be something very serious with Boy's muscles, but that he did not see any other reasons to be worried besides the hips. He just wanted a PT to let him know exactly what muscle group they suspected, if there were any others, and if the hips were indeed weak. Then we just watch and wait over the next several months. It's funny, when we were pregnant with Boy, we were forced to get our ultrasound at a hospital, and they warned us that he might have Downs Syndrome. This hardly phased me, although it suddenly crossed my mind right after he was delivered, and I asked about it with a little trepidation. But now, the prospect of him having a debilitating disease is just terrifying. I think that now that I know him and am in love with him, it is more devastating to think of something like this; especially when I see him look to me so many times a day with this unquestioning love and complete trust in me. How could I face such a betrayal of the world to him?
I'm pretty sure it will be all right, that he just needs a couple sessions of PT to strengthen his lazy little hips and then maybe even learn to crawl and be released from that constant frustration. That would actually be good, although it would usher in the whole stage of mobility and every crazy thing that that entails: child-proofing, chasing, restricting, constant attentiveness, etc.
It's all in a day's work.
About Me
- bitter poet
- I have a 6-yr-old, a 3-year-old, have been married 9 years. A smallish, oldish house. Addicted to bright colour, organization, and a stubborn streak. Enjoy sunshine and wind, ethnic cuisine, and pleasant smells (which dooms the oldish house). Am studying yoga and want to learn sea kayaking and get a tattoo. Adore traveling. A midwesterner in the south. Educated. Christian, painter, writer, editor, housekeeper, foodie, cook, volunteer.
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