And then I went to this event tonight at the running store I shop at and despite raffling off something like 50 things, I DID NOT WIN ANYTHING. This has thrust me into a deep, spiraling depression. I actually found myself not clapping for the woman who won the grand prize. I may have actually given her a dirty look. Who does that?
So the previously mentally-written upbeat blog post is no longer. Blame the running store that still got $165 of my monies.
The woman who came this morning was very nice -- perhaps my favorite visitor so far. She doesn't think that Bug will qualify for anything from the district, since they have to go purely off of visual acuity, and Bug doesn't seem to have any difficulties with that (I think you need something worse than 20/60). It was nice to hear all of the things that Bug does well, or, at the very least, the things that Bug does that you're "supposed" to do at her age, whatever the hell that means. She also complemented Bug on her wonderful book library, which made me beam on the inside. I had to give props to Bug's Aunty E, because she has been an important library sponsor.
She said that most kids that she sees with nystagmus have a whole lot of other stuff going on. She also thought that the fact that Bug had already figured out her null points was impressive -- apparently some kids' eyes are all over the place, and she said, "sometimes I just want to hold their heads in different positions and ask them, 'do you see better here? What about here?'" I laughed because I knew EXACTLY what she meant. It was interesting that she was somewhat surprised that Bug had already figured hers out -- the way Dr. P always talked to us it seemed like it was expected that she had them figured out. Who knows. I'm glad Bug's eyes aren't as wonky as some of the eyes this woman has obviously seen.
If anything she's going to help perhaps connect us with some support, maybe some other families with kids who have nystagmus. When she asked me at the end what other questions or concerns I had, I said that the only ones I have are the unanswerable ones. How is this going to affect her as she gets older? Will she struggle with anything? What is causing this?
The OT/PT woman from the district will be coming out again next week. Apparently the way she re-scored Bug still won't qualify her, but as soon as Bug turns 16 months, it will. So she's coming out next week on Wednesday (Bug is 16 months on Tuesday) and THEN we can qualify. How ridiculous!
This afternoon we went to the orthotist to have Bug fitted for her special inserts. But not before I decided to take Bug running around the lake. Originally Bug was going to be my constant training partner, but my mother has insisted that I go by myself in the mornings, and with how hot it's been, I haven't exactly been complaining (as if I need something else making the run harder). And after this afternoon, my mother may be on to something else entirely. In one lap around the lake (a measly 3.2 miles) we stopped no less than five times: Numerous graham cracker refuelings, returning of the water cup AGAIN after someone chucked it into the grass AGAIN, desperately shoving Nuk in mouth only to have it thrown into the dirt, etc. And then I was convinced a particular bout of crying was due to the bee I was SURE flew into the stroller. Nope. No bee. Just a grinning, conniving little girl.
We were late to our appointment, and I'm sure I smelled like the 17 bus.
They were kind of goofy at the clinic. Maybe because there was a specific reason we were there -- fit us for the inserts? They had all sorts of complimentary things to say about her feet. Apparently they have advanced structure? A lot of babies her age still have a lot of soft tissue (I heard "a lot of fat") around their feet, but Bug already has clear arches and ankles. He was actually kind of excited while he talked about it. And it kind of felt dirty, like maybe at night he surfs Zappos.com like it's foot porn.
Anyway. So they measured her feet eight ways from Sunday (where does that phrase even COME from? Did I even say it right?) and they should be here next week. They cost an unbeliveably huge sum of money. But what are you going to do? I'm convinced this is how insurance and health care companies make so much money. "We just need you to sign on this line," they told me. "To authorize us to order these for you, and that you consent to the cost." What am I supposed to say, no? They're for my CHILD and they are going to HELP HER WALK (in theory). I am the most captive of captive audiences. If it has to do with my kid, sure, sign me up. It's not like I enjoy buying food or clothing.
It's like when you're at the grocery store and they ask you if you want to donate five cents to help children dying of cancer and you really don't want to, but then you don't want to be the dying child-hater.
In other news, I got a letter again from Matt this week on Wednesday. And we wouldn't be married if he couldn't somehow indirectly still make me upset.
I know this is irrational, but I cannot help it: I am mad about his letter writing. I write him every day. Sometimes I even write him two letters a day, when it's going really "awesome." I tell him all about Bug, what we're doing, what the updates are. I ask him a million questions. He never answers any of them. Not one! I figured at the very least I'm doing him a favor. Knowing he's not really a writer, he could just answer my questions and BAM be done! BUT HE DOESN'T. We don't have correspondence. We have me writing him novels, and him responding as if I never wrote him. This time he did half-acknowledge the letters by thanking Bug for the pictures that "she" sent, and by asking me to continue to write, but that's about all I got. I have stopped being demure about it and have asked him in capital letters in all the letters I have written this week to "RESPOND TO WHAT I AM WRITING YOU." I need to feel like we are having some kind of regular conversation, even if it is once a week (I only get the letters once per week).
Needless to say, my excitement over this week's mail was over quickly. We don't need to talk about how long I paced back and forth in the living room waiting for the mailman to come. How many times I actually said out loud, "EVERYONE cannot get their mail this late in the day. There has to be somewhere where it is delivered before 3 PM. And we're moving there." And then... sigh. I know now he likes Saturdays because he gets to practice his horn. He might as well have told me that push-ups are hard, he's tired, and he heard the Pope might be Catholic.
I know I'm bitter. I just need to be thrown a bone every now and then. Today is the end of week four. Four more weeks. I feel like it's been a year already. Part of me is actually kind of nervous for when he's done. In as much work as it has been to adjust to being without him, living with my parents, and taking care of Bug full time, I'm sure it will be just as big to adjust to living back with him again.
Seriously? You're STILL there? Get a hobby or something, Mom.
No comments:
Post a Comment