Celiac Awareness Month Heros

The National Foundation for Celiac Awareness (nfca) is featuring gluten-free bloggers in the final week of NFCA's Heroes Within Us campaign.  Check out these gluten-free bloggers and learn something new about Celiac Disease and gluten related diseases and sensitivities. campaign.www.CeliacCentral.org/awarenessmonth

Nothing like a good doctor

My son's doctor called earlier this week to confirm that his endoscopy and biopsies supported the recent Celiac Disease diagnosis. The staff at Boston Children's Hospital, the Celiac Clinic, and the Growth and Nutrition program have been truly amazing. The medical providers and support staff are incredibly knowledgeable, helpful, and supportive. The receptionists call us to book follow up appointments. They advise how us on how to position care for optimal insurance coverage without us having ask any questions. Not once have the doctors made us feel rushed or unimportant. Our doctor offered us his cell phone number and e-mail address. In thirty something years of life, I have never had a doctor give me his/her cell number or e-mail address.  Am I dreaming? Is this really 2014? Doctors do this? Boston Children's Hospital is best practices in motion and we are incredibly grateful.

The next step is for us to attend the Celiac nutrition class offered monthly by the Growth and Nutrition unit. It is here that we will learn about all of the intricacies of Celiac and a gluten-free diet. In the meantime, we have been making it work and it has not been half bad. Well, last night's gluten-free pizza take out was half bad. Otherwise, it has been going well.

Didn't realize I need a BS in Chemistry to make gluten-free cookies.

Blending is apparently the “thing” in gluten-free baking. There exists an array of gluten-free flours that are best when blended together. Not all flours work well with one another, while others are the perfect complement to one another. There is arrowroot flour, almond flour, quinoa flour, sorghum flour, brown rice flour, and a bunch more. Who knew? Sometimes, I wish I did not know.

I thought that I would be all set with my 5lb impulse buy of almond flour. After purchasing this baby, I had visions of myself baking pizza dough, making bread, and perfecting my chocolate chip cookies for my son’s preschool class. Two weeks later, the bag remains unopened in my pantry.  

It is not that I don’t want to bake. It is that every time I get ready to try a gluten-free baked good recipe, I learn of one more obscure gluten-free ingredient that the recipes requires in order to be edible, like xanthum gum. 

What the hell is xanthum gum? It sounds intimidatingly scientific. I feel uncomfortable even using the word. I don’t know enough about chemistry to use xanthum gum in a sentence. Well, I am starting to. One needs xantham gum or a tapioca paste in order to help bind ingredients in order to optimize GF baking.

And, the almond flour? Well, apparently one is advised to blend almond flour with coconut flour. Why? I don’t really know. It just appears to be what people do and what people recommend.There are a myriad of ingredients – of which I am completely unfamiliar – required to bake something gluten-free from scratch, and it is a little much - for me any way. 

I love to cook, but cooking is forgiving. It is less of a science and more of an art. This how I approach cooking anyway. I can mix and match. I can improvise. I can make a meal out of 5 ingredients.  This does not appear to be an option for gluten-free baking.  Not to mention, gluten-free grocery items are also super expensive. 

I still have not baked anything from scratch because I still don’t have the basic "toolkit" of GF ingredients, which includes sorghum flour, coconut flour, and xanthum gum and some sort of yeast I have never heard of. It is actually sort of frustrating. 

I have used a variety of mixes to make GF brownies, muffins, and such. The results have been mixed. The baked goods came out “OK”, not great, but not terrible. The only thing that actually came out really well was the mixed berry muffins I made using the King Arthur Muffin Mix.

I would really like to bake something - from scratch - tonight. It is a “school night” though, so I am not sure I will have a whole lot of extra time or patience; and I certainly don’t have time to hit Whole Foods for the third time in three days.  

I’ll see what I can whip up. I was never really good at science, but I can attempt to create something out of nothing, which will be a success in and of itself.

Cheers.

What am I going to do with all of this almond flour?

In acknowledgement of Celiac Awareness Month and in support of my three-year old son who was recently diagnosed, I decided to take a pledge of going gluten-free for the month.  
  

I have been impressed by the wide-array of support which has contributed to making this journey fairly easy. Gluten-free options avail at groceries stores and at restaurants. For the most part, servers have been knowledgeable and helpful – no one has made me feel like a high-maintenance, trend-following customer when I ask about gluten-free options.

I recently bought a 5lbs bag of almond flour and I have no idea what do with it.  I keep spending money on gluten-free groceries because I don’t know what else to do. Somehow, I think that buying all of this shit is going to help heal him, help soothe him, to help soothe me, and provide me penance for not catching “it” sooner.

The specialists explained that we needed to re-introduce gluten into my son’s diet before the endoscopy and biopsies.  My husband and I have had a hard time doing this, especially since we have seen a noticeable and positive difference in our son’s health since he has gone gluten-free.   

We decided that once the appointment was a week away, we would re-introduce the gluten and give him on gluten filled item each day.  The surgery was today.  According to the doctor who performed the procedures, the cillia growth was not conclusive. She decided to conduct seven biopsies to help enhance the diagnosis. I am now fearful that we did not give him enough gluten and we will have to go through this again. The saga continues and we will know more in about a week. In the meantime, we are back to leading as close to a gluten-free lifestyle as possible.

I have been 100% gluten-free since May 1, that is, until this past weekend. I gave myself an “out” for three reasons – 1) it was my birthday/mother’s day 2) I ran my first 5K 3) my son has been eating some gluten this week in advance of his procedure.

 My first non-gluten free items were not mind blowing in any way. It was an entirely impulsive choice to even go off the diet. It was Mother’s Day (Sunday) and I was running my first road race. I have never done anything like this before and did not realize how much of a big to-do it would be. Since the race was for charity, there were tons of donations made by local restaurants. I ate about 1/8 of scone before the race and a half of hot dog after the race.  I split the hot dog with my son. To him it was just another hot dog, yet to me it was an example of me giving in, giving up, and sacrificing my integrity.  For what? Free food? Instead of feeling satiated by the gluten bites, I felt shame and guilt. 

I don’t have celiac disease. My gluten-free crusade is optional.  It is for a month. I did not even last two full weeks before having a lapse. Celiacs don’t have a choice. My son does not have a choice.

Trending: with Celiac, gluten, and a toddler

It has been two and a half years since I wrote a blog entry. It feels like both a very long and short time. Today is May 1. The date is significant because it marks the beginning of Celiac Awareness Month.  You will not see the word “Celiac” previously in this blog because it was not even a blip on my radar before two weeks ago.

Besides watching Elizabeth Hasseleback, controversial and former co-host of The View, confidently refuse certain baked goods on air, I never knew of anyone who had this condition. What I know is that gluten has become a buzz word during the last year. I have a few friends and family members who have chosen to go gluten-free for “health reasons” or as a new dieting regime.  Admittedly, I didn't take this seemingly odd preference all that seriously except to revel in how annoying it was to eat with them. Sorry guys.

It was two weeks ago when my youngest son, who just turned three, was diagnosed with Celiac Disease. He has been sick for a while.  My family and I did not know what was causing his incessant diarrhea and related symptoms. I was at my wits-end trying to find out what going on. Why did he have a bowel movement after eating and drinking anything – sometimes up to 10 times a day? Why was he always getting stomach bugs? What was going on with my sweet little boy?

After surmising that food allergies may be to blame, I took him to an allergist. Tests did confirm a couple of allergies, including one to apples. The allergist also tested him for milk and wheat allergies, which came back normal. I took him off apples and apple products (which are in everything by the way) but to my chagrin, there was no improvement.

Still not knowing what to do but knowing that I needed to do something, I decided to eliminate ­­dairy because some internet “experts” opined that dairy is linked to ear infections. My son has had many ear infections, requiring tubes along with the gastrointestinal issues. I figured ... maybe.  Again, not much seemed to change.

Our once voracious eater was no longer interested in eating anything. He would play at the dinner table with his beloved Thomas the Train engines rather than eat. It was his older, skinny brother whose dining habits worried us, not Mr. Boy. Mr. Boy was a tank.  His dad referred to him as Bam Bam. But Bam Bam was starting to lose weight.  He was often tired and his constant movements resulted in brutal diaper rashes that would cause him to scream out in pain while being changed.

Nothing helped. We were at a loss. Me. His dad. His Nana. His daycare provider.

When he turned three earlier this month, I took him for his annual exam and brought up the issue once again. Our pediatrician said that he had Toddler’s Diarrhea, which may have been causing the issues. She asked about his diet and I began to list his favorite foods: waffles, pancakes, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and it dawned on me – gluten. Damn-it. Gluten, that trendy little bugger. It was one of those come to whomever moments. How could I have not thought of this earlier!?  I should have known.

Immediately, I stopped the medical student who was training with our pediatrician and excitedly shared my revelation. I asked her to tell the doctor the connection I made. The doctor came back into the exam room and said that she had the very same suspicion, but thought it was unlikely. She would run some tests.  A few days later, the blood tests were in … Celiac Disease.

While in a daze, I wrote down what the doctor was telling me on the phone - "Celiac", "gluten", "small intestine", "endoscopy" ... "Children's Hospital" - while The Boy ate something that may or may not have had gluten in it in the kitchen with the rest of the family.

She explained that she was going to schedule an appointment with the Chief of Celiac at Children’s Hospital and less than a week later (this past Tuesday), we had our appointment.The specialist confirmed that Celiac is to blame for many of my son’s health issues and in order to confirm the diagnosis, he would need to do a biopsy.

This surgery will happen in the next week or two and then we will forge full-speed ahead into a gluten-free lifestyle – for The Boy and likely for the rest of the family as well.

We have already started him on a GF diet, although we were advised to keep some gluten in his diet, so that the endoscopy can do what it needs to do and confirm the disease. It is so counter-intuitive to knowingly give a child, your baby; your baby who has been suffering for so long, something that we know is hurting him. But … doctor’s orders.

As soon as I learned of my son's Celiac, I did what people do in 2014, I started researching the topic online. I came across a tweet from the National Association for Celiac Awareness and that in acknowledgement of Celiac Awareness Month, they were looking for folks who want to blog about their experience, so here I am, two and a half years later.  Ready to embark on yet another journey.

Ante Up

I am not putting any money on the line, but I am putting my reputation on the line. Like so many people during this time of year, I am going to challenge myself to be more healthy. Stress reduction is one crucial way I can accomplish this, but, hey, that ain't going to happen - right now anyway. Instead I am going to try to kick-start good eating and exercise habits which will inevitably eliminate stress and this always a good thing.

When do I start? Today? Not necessarily. Tomorrow? Probably not. So, when? January 2 is when I will "officially" start my self-created detox program. The reason I chose January 2 to begin fully embracing "the new way" is that I want to give myself a break until after the holidays are officially over and the celebration continues until after New Year's Day - January 2.

In the meantime, I will embrace elements of the program, but allow myself wiggle room for indulgence. As long as I don't over do it, it is important to eat, drink, and be merry during this time of year when so many of friends and family members are around to join in the conviviality of the season. Laughter and merriment is crucial to good health or at least to my good health.

Another reason I am delaying jumping into the program is that my family and I are just getting over the stomach flu. You do what you gotta do to survive the bug and its aftermath even if it includes eating white toast with butter. Being gentle with ourselves, being gentle with myself is a part of my program or any program worth considering.

The saying "be gentle with yourself" is one that I constantly remind myself, friends and family members. It is so important to remind ourselves that most everything we stress and agonize about now will not register a blip on the map of our lives. The reason I am not *that* nervous about embarking on 'the program' is because I will falter and I will get up. This a part of the process. The key is to get up whether it is that very minute, an hour later, the next day, or a month later. Getting up is success.

Thankfully I have not had to diet much in my lifetime due to good genes more than anything else. After I had my second child and while I was still on maternity leave, I decided to try Weight Watchers and begin Pilates to lose baby weight. It was amazing and I lost all of my baby weight, plus some. A couple of months later, I decided to embark on losing 5 lbs which would bring me to just about where I was before I had kids. Weight Watchers and Pilates worked again. Like others, after accomplishing my goal, I stopped the program. Some of the weight, about 5 - 9 lbs of it came back, and this is where I am now. I want to lose about just under 10 lbs and as importantly I want to approach the loss in a healthy and strategic way. (More about what this means to me later.)

So, why not go back to Weight Watchers and Pilates when it worked so well before? I loved Weight Watchers and would highly recommend it to anyone. I loved Pilates as well and can honestly say it is the only exercise program I have ever actually enjoyed. I would go back to either program in a minute, which brings me to the reason I am not going back on Weight Watches or joining a Pilates studio: money. Each of these programs cost money, money that I do not have right now. So, I am going to try to use resources that are free or are of minimal cost. If my self-directed program does not work, then, I know I can always go back to what has worked in the past.

Stay tuned.

My kid is creepy

Houses creak. House's crack. House's hopefully don't crack open.

One son is asleep (he is easy) and the other is awake (he used to be easy). I know the boy is awake, but I am not sure if he is in his bed or if he is roaming around upstairs. I went downstairs to write a blog entry, only to realize that the laptop was upstairs and I would need to pass his room in order to get it. I knew that it was going be risky, but I am a grown-up. I am the parent. Besides, I do not want to watch re-runs tonight and I am too lazy to walk 500 ft. to get the cell phone out of my car. So, I decide it worth the risk.

If the boy sees the computer he will come out of bed and inquiring "COMPUTER!?" wanting to play on it. Confidently, yet quietly, I walk pass his open door, pick up the computer, place it under my arm - like a book - and walk downstairs. Success.

I boot up the goods and begin to write. I hear him at the top of the stairs. I can feel his presence. I can almost hear his thumb in his mouth and his blanket in his arms. I called to the top of the stairs "Bedtime ... time to go back to bed!". I did not hear the pattering of footsteps or a frantic "Noooo!" coming from the stairwell, so I knew I needed to get up and help him to bed.

After a short pep talk about all the fun things ahead of us tomorrow (the splash pad and lunch with friends), I explained that he would need to stay in bed or I would take away his blanket. I said good-night and went back downstairs attempting to continue where I left off.

I heard a noise at the top of the stairs again. I was startled because sometimes when I am writing or watching television downstairs with my back to the door, I do not hear the boy come into the room (he *is* only 30 lbs and less than 3 ft tall, so it can happen) and when I do see him, in the corner of my eye, standing behind me smiling silently with his blanket in hand, I yelp. So, I yelled upstairs, "OK, I need to take away your blanket! Go back to bed!". I did not hear any footsteps, so I yelled up, again, and no word. That was it, I was going to go upstairs and put him back to bed again and possibly take away his blanket! I got up off the couch and looked at the top of the stairs. No one was there. I called his name. No answer. He was never there. Creepy.

I went back to work and got a couple of paragraphs in when I heard it again. I yelled "What are you doing up? Go back to bed!". I did not hear anything. Quickly and without grace, I hurriedly tried to put the laptop down on the couch and run upstairs while yelling both boys names and pleading "That's it; I am taking your blanket away!". I am very much hoping that I see the boy at the top of the stairs and not a ghost or something.

I see the boy at the top of the darkened stairs with his blanket in his arms and his thumb in his mouth. I call his name. He says nothing. I call again. He says nothing. He walks slowly down the stairs toward me. Not answering me. When he reaches me, I bend down to look at him (maybe he is sleep walking? maybe he is possessed?). My heart is racing. I look into his eyes and he smiles. He is fine. Asshole.

I put him back to bed again. I go downstairs again. I try to write again. I hear the noise again. I feel the presence again. I look upstairs and see no one. Curious, I tiptoe upstairs and peak behind the bars of the railing and hoping to see the boy walking around upstairs. Instead I see the boy fighting sleep. Freaky.

To Potty or Not To Potty

My eldest son is battling and battling hard. His opponent? The Potty. After months of encouraging the boy to pee in the potty with no luck, he finally got there. He was a peeing champ, getting up and going to the bathroom all on his own, like a big boy. Mom and Dad were so proud. We thought that the day would never come. However,the toilet training process was not over.

While the boy mastered peeing in the potty, moving onto the next stage: going No. 2 in the potty was a whole different story. He would not go there. Period. We tried it all - we sat with him, rubbed his back, read to him, bought Gummy Bears as a reward, offered to buy him any toy or game he wanted; nothing worked.
After consultation with the Pediatrician, we provided him the "OK" to continue to go No. 2 in his Pull Ups, but there were restrictions. We were not going to let him rule the roost ... completely.

His part of the deal dictated the he go upstairs to the bathroom, put his Pull Up on, turn the fan on, and come get us when he was finished. The Doctor said that he would find these steps to be too laborious a process and decide to do it our way - the easy way. He liked the set-up and would not budge.

My husband and I decided this was the end of the game, something needed to happen. He would soon be four, starting preschool, and we needed to help him get over the hump. We stopped buying Pull Ups. He stopped going No. 2. He is a Leo. It was three days and nights of him jumping around like a chimpanzee, trying to repress his bodily functions. We consulted our Doctor again and she said that we can't go back; we must follow through. No more Pull Ups. Finally, he went. We were all so proud. We bought him presents and treats and were thrilled. He did it! We all did it! Sigh.

The joy did not last for long when he resorted his old tricks of holding *it* in. Then, it happened: the stomach bug. Three days and nights, 3-5 pairs of underwear a day. In his pants. Still, he would not go near The Potty. Five days later, the stomach bug has seemed to its course and we are grateful. However, he still going in his pants. This is not to say that there has been no successes.

He has gone in the potty 3 -4 times in the last two weeks. The rest of the time, we have not been so fortunate. He will get there. I know it. I am patient. I try to be patient. My husband is not patient. I don't know how the boy feels. He says he is scared. He does not tell me exactly what about going No. 2 in the potty scares him, but, clearly something does. I know that he will move forward and get to where needs to be. He is still three years old and has a lifetime of pooping in the potty (or so we hope).

I'm in denial. Maternity is quickly approaching and I want to ...

Denial. This is a good one. Takes its job very seriously - disallowing your mind from going to that place where it really wants to go, the same place that causes unending anxiety. Denial will erase - or redirect - your thoughts to something else: the capture of Whitey Bulger, the Casey Anthony trial, or the fact that Ann Taylor Loft is offering 40% off of everything via your new favorite coupon Web site. After the birth of my second son, I am embarking upon my final two weeks of maternity leave. I am sick-to-my-stomach as I think about this transition from stay-at-home mom of a newborn baby to a working mom of a newborn mom and a toddler making denial my closest confidant right now.

Like so many mothers who have to go back to work full-time after the birth of their children a multitude of emotions permeate our reality: guilt, loss, sadness, regret, resentment, anticipation, and fear. Less than an hour ago I returned home from a wedding shower luncheon for one of my favorite co-workers. Today is a Thursday, so the gathering took place during lunchtime at my place of employment. I dropped my oldest (2.10 months years old) off at my sister's house for a play date and took my youngest (12 weeks old) with me to the party. This was not the first time I have been back at work since I had the baby. Once before I took both kids to the office to see everyone. I am fortunate to have amazing, supportive, caring, funny, and really cool co-workers, and, so, I genuinely want(ed) to see everyone and hear how they were doing and, of course, to celebrate the upcoming wedding of my lovely colleague.

But.

The whole time I was there - and still over an hour later - I have a pit in my stomach that won't go away. I am sick, literally nauseated, at the thought of going back to work, of leaving my baby, my babies. Run away is what I want to do. Hop on a plane with my husband and the two kids and leave the northeast for somewhere cheaper and more hopeful - a state, a community where I can have the option of working part-time or not at all just for a year or two. Reality sets in. I can't leave. No where to go - right now. Two weeks. This is what I have and this time must be savored, like an expensive, gourmet meal that I can't afford or pronounce, or, even see for that matter because it so small sitting on my large, white dinner plate. Instead it will be voraciously devoured like a hungry, postpartum mother who has not eaten since breakfast who only realizes this at dinner time.

Denial will keep me company in the meantime. During meal time, nap time, fun time, all day, all night, every day, every night until the day I get up, take a shower, and start my new, old life as a working mom.

Not sure about this "blog" thing.

More than six months have passed since my last blog entry. During these months, I certainly thought about writing a post, but I intentionally put it off because I was in the middle of a heated inner dialogue: to continue blogging for Hope-Full or creating a new and anonymous blog.

The summer and fall have passed and this morning Puxatony Phil came out of his cave - or wherever he lives - and said that spring was only six weeks away, so I decided to make a decision. I will begin to write Hope-Full again. I will probably start a new blog as well and keep it private. The issue is not that I want to write about deep seated secrets and neurosis (I already have) but that inevitably I will take into perspective the audience: friends, family, co-workers, acquaintances, and total strangers, letting the knowledge of this visibility influence what I write or how deeply I write.

After all this build up, what do I want to write about? What do I have to say? Should I just provide a quick re-cap of where I am not? Nah, this is not a Dear Diary thing. I will offer that I was not in fact pregnant when I wrote the Juno post. However, the following month, I was pregnant.

In typical fashion, my husband and I had decided to wait another six months or so before trying and bada-bing-bada-boom (why am I using terms like bada-boom?, I was pregnant - and, oh, what a whirl-wind it has been. From learning that there might be complications, to that it might be twins, to learning, it was a boy! Another boy!~?.

I was pretty dang sure I was having a girl. I even went out and bought a few little girl outfits at a yard sale in anticipation. Deep down, I knew it was a boy. Also, because the issues in the first trimester, I had several early ultrasounds and one of the technicians, said that, although she could not say for sure, she thought it was a boy. Even so, I still kept hope.

When the sex was confirmed at 18 or 20 weeks, I was prepared. Admittedly, I was disappointed because I know that there is a 99.9% chance that this will be my last child and the way some young women fantasized about getting married (I never did), I fantasized about having a daughter and teaching her to be a strong young woman with self-esteem and a sense of humor. Don't get my wrong, my boys are going to be taught to be proper feminists as well. My husband accepts it and gets it, as much as he can. He wants to balance the gender neutral stuff with totally stereotypically stuff. Balance. This is the key to life. Our boys will engage in boxing for sport and self-defense and read bell hooks and Gloria Steinem for fun!

If Juno can do it, so can I

Jennifer Garner seems like a really nice person.

It is almost ten o'clock on this Thursday evening and I am catching the final moments of Juno. Juno just had the baby. Jennifer Garner's character is holding the baby. Now, it is summer; Michael Cera's character and Juno are playing the guitar, singing to each other, and the movie is about to end.

I remember the first - and only - time I saw Juno. It was late summer 2008 and I was at least eight months pregnant. My husband wouldn't see the film with me - and actually still has not seen it - so I went with friends. I thought it would have interesting to see it together - you know, two soon-to-be first-time parents and all, but he thought it was just another chick flick, indy film or maybe it was just not his thang. Nevertheless, I saw the movie and loved it. And, now I sit on my bed wondering. Wondering what? Why was my husband such an ass-hole about seeing this perfectly sweet movie with me? What did Juno ever do to him? Will I ever be friends with Jennifer Gardner? Is she really as lovely as she seems in "real" life as she seems in interviews with ENews Daily? Am *I* pregnant?

It is difficult not to realize one is pregnant - especially if you are well into your third trimester- but apparently women do it all the time according to Discovery Health's " famed show "I didn't know I was pregnant." I am barely pregnant - if at all - and I am feeling phantom kicks already. I can't imagine being so out of touch with my body (or psyche) that it is not until I am in labor before I realize I am pregnant. But then again, everyone deals in their own way. We are ready, when we are ready.

My husband has been out of work for over a year and a half. Unemployment insurance has ended. And I work for an nonprofit university - where as you probably know, staff are paid really well. Not. So, I thought this was the perfect time to have another baby. Timing is everything.

Even though the stars might not be lined up well in terms of my family's financial security at the moment, I know that *we* will be OK. I also know that in the future, I will not regret owning a house or having a new car, but will deeply regret not having had another child.

Plus I am old. According to the U.S. health care establishment, a mother is considered of "advanced maternal age" by age 35. I just turned 35 years old. I feel young. I look young - ish (on most days). But I will be considered of "high-risk" - due to my advanced age - during my next pregnancy. Fuck that shit, man. Advanced maternal age, my ass. Well, my eggs, actually.

Being the 'by the books' kind of woman I tend to be, I will respect the guidance of our nation's well-intended health care establishment and abide by this suggestion - as much as I can. They say, have all of your kids before age 35 and I say I will try my best to have had my kids before I turn 36. Close enough.

In the childbirth preparation class I took during my first pregnancy, there was only one woman - out of at least 20 couples - who was in her twenties. Most of us were in our mid to late-thirties. Scientifically speaking it is optimal for women to have kids early in their lifetime, like Juno did, but growing numbers of us are just not ready then. Sometimes we are still not ready in our thirties - or forties - or ever.

Life is hard - for us all. Juno had to deal with being a pregnant high-school student and giving a baby up for adoption. She also had the whole rest of her life to look forward to and to live. She did what she had to do. Like many families, mine is suffering the consequences of the injured American economy, but I will let not let this phase in our history deter my intention to have another child. It is my right to have or not to have a child; and I will continue to respect and protect it.

I am grateful Juno had Michel Cera's character and that I have my movie-snob of a husband and beautiful like boy to offer guidance along the way. I have my whole life to look forward to and, I figure, if Juno could do it, so can I.

P.S. I still wonder if I will ever be friends with Jennifer Garner?

Wiggly Waffle

Middle-aged men, clad in colorful jumpers and Australian accents are jumping, dancing, and singing through my television set, transfixing my son at 6:00am. Who are these uniformed men and why do they have so much energy and why do they have so much power over my "almost two" years old boy? The Wiggles, of course.

Awaking from a full night's (if we are lucky) sleep, the boy will sometimes call for "Mama" or "Dada", but more likely, he will shout for "Banana", "Blue-berry", or his favorite"Wiggly Waffle." Wiggly Waffles are a perfect blend of his love for food and television.

My son is addicted to TV. Well, I embellish. He is not "addicted" but has a very real devotion to certain programs and characters, like Elmo and The Wiggles. Before having a baby, I thought that I would be one of "those" moms. You know the type. They breastfeed for at least 12 months, make their own organic baby food, and do not introduce TV watching to their kids until the American Pediatric Association's recommended second year of life - and then only with a strict two hour a day limit and content, of course.

My upstairs neighbor, a perfectly lovely woman, with two beautiful children, and does not work outside the home. Her youngest shares the same birth - day & year as my son. In fact my son is two hours older than her son. One afternoon, in an effort to be validated (my husband's least favorite word) by the fact that my less than one year old - at the time - liked watching certain children programs, a lot - I asked if her son does as well. Politely, and with genuine humility - she said something like ... "We try keep him away from the television. When my daughter watches TV, I take him in the other room". I was aghast.

A weakness of mine throughout my lifetime has been comparing myself to others. Friendly, non-athletic competition, has always motivated and inspired me. Spending more time preparing for an exam or completing a report for work early are types of silly things that have made me feel superior in someway. Sometimes such comparison, depresses me rather than comforts me, as it should. Inevitably thoughts like, How do they own a house in this fancy-dancey community? Or, How does she look like *that* after just having a baby? And, bingo, I start to feel badly about myself. Not healthy. Not productive. Yet, irresistible.

It is easy to compare oneself to the standard that which you think is paramount. As easy as it to try to keep up with neightbor or the uber-by-the-book parents, I try to focus on what is important. I love my son more than the day is long and would do anything for his unwaivering happiness and well-being - and, sometimes, that involves indulging a ounce or two of The Wiggly Waffle on a Saturday morning while the rest of the house sleeps.