Irony Part I

And to think that all this time I was worried about passing along the male-pattern-baldness gene to my kids.

Day 4

Something I'd rather not hear right now? That my son has not changed, that he is the same baby he was before diagnosis. NO FUCKING KIDDING. Thank you for pointing that out. So he still can't walk, talk, wave, use a spoon? Great.

I don't want to hear about your cousin's friend who has a child with Down Syndrome who works for the MTA. I don't want to know that you knew someone who had a kid who had something *really bad* and they have their own apartment now.

The problem with opening up & sharing; asking for words and emotions and reactions is that you often get hit in the face with a frozen pile of shit that stings and smells and makes you want to vomit all at the same time.

The good thing about it is that you sometimes hear things like this: Lincoln doesn't know he has a diagnosis. Lincoln will always believe he is Lincoln. Yes. YES! YES!! This made me believe that someday the grief will subside.

Ton. Of. Bricks. I get it...

lincolnhasfragilexsyndromelincolnhasfragilexsyndromelincolnhasfragilexsyndromelincolnhasfragilexsyndromelincolnhasfragilexsyndromelincolnhasfragilexsyndromelincolnhasfragilexsyndromelincolnhasfragilexsyndromelincolnhasfragilexsyndrome...

This is my brain on diagnosis. Our family has been told that the first few months are the worst. That this is when we will grieve.

I've never been swayed by people who have written things like "I couldn't type the words" or "It was too much for me to bear".
Oh, the taste is bitter now that I truly, deeply know what that feels like.

There are scenarios in my head that are so crushingly sad. I get caught off guard every second of the day by words, phrases, images and sounds that remind me what my baby boy may never get to be. To do. To have.

The things he may be? May have? I don't give a shit right now. Right now he's my baby.

Certainly won't be her last

Took Ruby to her first rock and roll show the other night. 'Twas the band Flyleaf and, if my 40 year old self may say, they kicked major ass.

The lead singer, Lacey, looks drawn from a Tim Burton sketch book. All straight black hair draped over one eye, the size of an Olsen twin and sporting a icy-red crinoline prom-dress (Yes, I love her. No, I will never tell Penelope.). Heavy, meaty guitars and a driving zombie fueled groove that captivated the house. And it was LOUD. Mother fucker. I didn't remember how loud clubs got. Or how hot. HOT and LOUD. Mama loved it. Ruby? Hmmmm, not so much. Not at first.

Enter guardian angel of 10 year olds at their first show. Dude came out of nowhere while we were sitting out of the main venue area, made conversation about his first show and gave her some earplugs. Then, protector of most excellent premiere concert experiences, chauffeured us up to the VIP section, parted the velvet rope and gave Ruby a stool to stand on. And then he was gone.

Yes, I was crying. Shut up.

Aunt Bunny

If I ever get to have my chance at master control, I'ma make damn sure that we all get to do the jobs we can hit out of the park. I see it every day at work: Cool washcloths? Dad. Soothing voice? Best friend. Push an 8 pound baby out of a vagina? mom.

I need a lot these days. To quote a rather hot husband: It's like we're running a multi national corporation around here. And like most women, asking for help is akin to willingly gargling each morning with the leftovers in the coffee cups that litter the sink from the day before. But I'm getting better! And people help! They do!

My god, do they help. I have been so overwhelmed with how much people not only *say* they want to help, but who follow through with gusto.

The bleeding heart I give a warm and happy home to has been strutting around like Mick Jagger AND Steven Tyler over the loveliness of my friends. And my not so friends; my acquaintances? I guess what I'm saying is that the outpouring has been huge and I am thrilled to be providing an outlet for so much good.


A note on the title of this post: Remember Eddie Murphy's first comedy special? The one where he wore that insane red leather suit? And he talked about his, ahem, zaftig Aunt Bunny who had a mis-hap on the stairs? She was all HELP ME LORD JESUS CHRIST! I'M FALLING DOWN THE STAIRS! THUMP DA BUMP BUMP DUMPTA DA DUMP DUM THUMP DA DUMP BA BUMP BUMP BUMP. OOOOOOOOO! I'M HALF WAY DOWN NOW!

I'm Aunt Bunny. Get it?

Eye of the beholder

Somebody at work yesterday said that uncircumcised penises look like aardvarks. Aardvarks! After I wiped off the yogurt that I had spit out all over my face, I asked her what she thought circumcised penises looked like. Her answer: ACORNS on a SAUSAGE.

Good gawd, I said. Leave the poor aardvarks alone.

Hi, my name is Michele and...

I have an 18 month old baby boy who is unable to walk. Or talk. Today, this is killing me.