The Po Show

New Numbers

I saw a number when I stepped on the scale this morning, one I'd never seen before when I was not in the third trimester of pregnancy. I realize it's terribly self-indulgent to complain about my weight, but if I can't be self-indulgent in my own blog, where can I be?

Yes, I'm in the heaviest part of another obnoxiously heavy period, and that could add on some weight. But I was surprised, and the numbers rolled through my head.

I weigh 34 pounds more (almost a whole Tessa!) than I did at my lowest point, which occurred around Tessa's first birthday almost 3 years ago. Yes, I recognize the fact that I was grossly underweight at that time, mostly due to being so depressed that I stopped eating (and I was breastfeeding full time). But still.

I weigh 23 pounds more than I did when I got pregnant with Tessa, which I think was a very good weight for me.

I weigh 18 pounds more than I did when I got married, and boy I looked thin and great then!

I weigh only about 4 pounds more than I did last year, but I have SO MUCH more fat on me than I did then, as evidenced by my not being able to fit in a lot of clothes that fit last year (and these were "fat" clothes that I bought to fit the new fat me).

I just cannot adjust to all this extra me. I don't eat all that much. I do eat junk, but not in huge quantities. I drink more than I used to, but then I used to not drink much. I have 1-2 drinks a night, hardly a huge amount of calories. I am not and will never be the go to the gym type, but I do get exercise on a sort of regular basis. We went on two hikes over spring break and the kids and I walked to the post office and back (a mile each way). I was on Paxil for 2 years, and I'm positive that was the cause of all this weight gain, but what happens now that I'm off? I don't think the weight miraculously melts off.

I'm just rambling, because I'm so pissed at this new body I have. And I know that a million women would literally give a limb to be the size I am, but coming from where I was, and the body I was used to, this really sucks.

Oh, and how unfair is it that I weigh so much more and STILL DON'T HAVE BOOBS!

Sibs

I've said a million times that one of the true blessings of my life has been the lack of sibling rivalry between my children. Matthew loved Tessa before she was born, was enchanted with her after she was born, and never showed an instant of jealousy or anger at being displaced. He would squeeze her and say "Oh Tessa, I love you so much!" And she adored him from the moment she could discern him as a person.

He was unbelievably accepting when he would ask me to play something with him, or get him something, or otherwise do something for him, and I would have to tell him "I can't right now, I'm feeding Tessa." He never once said, "Put her down and get it!" He'd just say "Can you do it after you're finished feeding Tessa?"

Even when she became mobile and could mess up his stuff, he never once hit her, never once pushed her away. This was pretty remarkable for a boy who was a reactive hitter. He would complain to me, but not to her.

And she was always so happy to watch him play, follow along after him. She was just thrilled to feel a part of what he was doing.

Well, friends, the honeymoon seems to be over :p.

We've had several incidents in which he's hit her or pushed her. Never hard and she has never once been injured enough to even cry, but she is quick to come and tell him about it in a whiny little tattletale voice, with a much aggrieved look on her face. His explanation each time is that she was bothering him, trying to climb on him or tickle him, and she just wouldn't stop when he told her to. It's tough to call, since I'm sure both are at fault in the incidents, but he knows he is not supposed to hit, so he is always the one who loses privileges (whatever game he's playing or show he's watching gets turned off). I do tell Tessa (for the millionth time) that when someone tells you to stop, you have to stop, and tell Matthew (for the millionth time) that it doesn't matter what someone is doing to you, you cannot hit. Both tell me they understand and won't do it again. Hah.

Part of this is a by-product of something that is actually really great. They are playing together a lot these days, interacting on a very good level, completely independently of me. This is wonderful, and I've been waiting for it to happen. Inevitably, I guess, with interaction comes friction.

Also, Tessa is older now and not disinclined toward exhibiting her, um, strong personality (how diplomatic a description was that!). The two of them will be playing something and Matthew will be able to lift something she can't, or reach something she can't, and she gets so irritated. "*I* wanted to be the strongest!!!," she'll protest. Today we were hiking and she got SO mad when Matthew walked ahead of her on the trail. She had been pretending to be a train and wanted to be the leader of the group. "I* wanted to be the train!!!," she wailed in her finest whiny voice. So Matthew would drop back, and she would be walking in front again, and then he's pass her up again, and she'd whine "*I* wanted to be the leader!!!!" Over and over and over again. Errrrggg...

Still, I believe that the best thing that ever happened for Matthew, developmentally, was getting a baby sister. It made him (who is always inclined to live in his own little world, even more than most kids) take another living being into consideration. Yeah, we could have gotten him a dog, but this seemed better. And I think it's good for Tessa to have a big brother who needs her, needs her help and understanding.

I just hope I personally survive.

Business Tripping

So Ross is gone tonight, away in Chicago for a conference. He'll be back tomorrow afternoon, so it's not a long stint of single parenthood for me. The kids were fine and it wasn't really that different from a normal evening at home (i.e., the usual amount of annoyance mixed with fun).

Ross called this afternoon to say he'd arrived safely and was settled in. He's staying at the "W" Hotel, not the hotel the conference is being held at, and he said it was nice, interestingly funky.

"You'd like it," he finished.

"Of course I'd like it," I snorted, "I'd like a Motel 6 at this point, if I could be by myself."

I used to go on business trips too. I used to go to conferences, and to meetings in other cities. I got to stay in nice hotels, where someone else made the bed and cleaned the bathroom. I got to eat in restaurants for every meal, often very very nice meals that someone else paid for. I went to fun bars with friends and drank much more than I usually do. I wasn't *responsible* for the well-being of small people.

It's been three years since I got to trip in that fashion, and damn I miss it.

Labels

I was informed by the sig of a woman on my Gymboree forum that April is Autism Awareness Month. I was not aware of that. I have noticed the new "ribbon" sticker for Autism Awareness on the backs of cars: the same size and shape as the yellow "Support Our Troops" stickers that have become ubiquitous, with a pattern of multi-colored puzzle pieces.

Matthew's "official" diagnosis is autism now. It's been that way since we lived in MA, where they put a diagnosis of autism into his school file, without consulting us first. That may have upset some people, but I was glad, actually, since it meant he got services immediately. With an official diagnosis of Asperger's, he wouldn't have, and it would have been a major pain in the ass to petition for services. When we moved to NY, they simply took the diagnosis off his old IEP from MA. Again, I was glad, since it meant instant services.

I've even referred to him recently as autistic (trying to explain to the receptionist at the dentist about why he was screaming so much while he was getting his teeth cleaned). It's easy for me to say now. It didn't used to be. I spent over two years explaining to people (when I needed to) "He has Asperger's Syndrome," and in response to the often blank look, "which is a form of autism."

A form of. Like he qualified for some kind of disability loophole and wasn't *really* autistic.

It's getting better, but even with the rise in Autism Awareness, people still think Rain Man when they hear autistic. And so many people fight the "labelling" of the diagnosis to the hilt. And many people find it a terribly hard diagnosis to hear. One of the most well-informed people (with regard to autism) I ever met told me that her heart fell when she heard that diagnosis attached to her daughter.

"Can't it be Asperger's? Can't it be PDD?," she had asked the psychiatrist, who answered her gently, "This is the diagnosis you want."

Because even with the rise in Autism Awareness, the powers that be often don't get the concept of a spectrum, and being on it doesn't always qualify a child for services. I actually don't fault them all that much for that. Resources are scarce and precious, and where do you make the cut off of who gets services and who does not?

Hence, the labels. Some people say they can't stand their children being labeled, but frankly I don't give a damn. They could call him a blueberry for all I care, as long as he keeps getting OT and ST and a wonderful aide to help him navigate the treacherous waters of life outside the house. (WOW, what made me say blueberry? Shades of Violet Beauregard in Willy Wonka?? Oh well, that's an analysis for another day.)

Happy Autism Awareness Month. Here's to all our little puzzles and to helping them put all their pieces together.