12-Year-Old Fraud

Because there is NOTHING going on in my life except a lot of grunting and panting and avoiding reaching for things while I wait for this little chubbily to make an appearance, I offer you this:

When I was 12 years old, my 7th grade english teacher, Mr. Hancock, assigned us the task of compiling an original book of poetry. I was pretty much the teacher's pet poster child in those days, loving nothing more than dazzling my various teachers with my maturity and (perceived) superior intellect. I lived for their praise and played the part beautifully... always going the extra mile, getting chosen for special projects and leadership positions, oozing with flattery and butt-kissing. You know the kind... you may have been one yourself. In which case, I salute you, because only those of us who fell into this category know the hard work and calculated dedication required for that kind of status.

My parents were proud of my accomplishments, but there was always a hint of amusement (or resentment) in their voices when they would recount the praises my teachers would sing come parent-teacher conferences, or the smug congratulations I would give myself upon presenting them with another 100% or straight-A report card. Because the truth of the matter was this; at home, I was a beast.

This Dr. Jeckle/Mr. Hyde charade continued until just after my Sophomore year in High School, when I cooled my jets a little and settled into the joys playing a little hookie can bring, completing my Senior year with a whopping 33% attendance. I had seen the light, and it no longer consisted of the sun shining out of my teachers'.... faces.

Back to my 7th grade poetry assignment. My sister was kind enough to rummage through a box of my old school papers where she found a little gem I wrote in the form of a poem called, "My family's first aid kit." Please note the fraud in the final lines. I made them big and red for you.

My Family's First Aid Kit

My family lives inside a first aid kit.

Dad's the boss, the box

on the outside that holds the whole family together.

Strong and powerful.

Mom tries her hardest, the tube of Neosporin

used to heal and nurture

us kids when we're down or sick.

Jesse is just kind of there, the medium-sized

band aid, very important

but not always as useful when times get tough.

Abe is loving and caring, the ace bandage

that is always willing to wrap one up

in a hug in times of need.

Bethany is important, the hydrogen peroxide,

stinging at times but in the end

is always helpful

Meradith is the tweezers, always

the busy body, poking around this way and that.

And I am the delicate cotton ball, still important

but often forgotten.

As soft and as loving as I can be....

Sigh...

Oh, 12-year-old self,

You were so picked on and misunderstood. And so, so loving, little cotton ball. The way you used to bully your overdevelopedandslightlychubby way around the house until you got what you wanted. And how you were such an opinionated, entitled, little know-it-all. How I wish I could spend a few moments with you to give you all the attention you deserved... to slap you across the face for being such a little, brown-nosing turd.

You're lucky you're so cool now.

Love,

25-year-old self

Hodgepodge Update

So, it's been 11 days since "the incident" and our little Turkey Sub is healing up like a champ. There have been literally zero inconveniences or complications with Leah's recovery... aside from her occasionally catching sight of herself in the mirror, double taking, zooming in and becoming mildly concerned and agitated that her pageant days may be over...

BUT, because inquiring minds want to know, here is a picture I took no more than 47 seconds ago just for this here post--see how on the ball I am?

95% of the bruising/swelling is gone and even a few of her stitches have already dissolved. So happy. So proud of my little Sub.

I took her in yesterday for her follow up doctor's appointment. They scheduled me to see Dr. Song, who happens to be the head of plastic surgery at U of Chicago. He acted exactly like Dr. 90210. Ever see the show? Anyway, he was all schmoozy and charming and over-complimentary... in the way that makes you immediately feel like you're getting duped. I found myself feeling all insecure and dodgy, waiting for him to try to lure me to a safe and happy place before starting to judge me and suggest "improvements." And cursing myself for not wearing a real bra instead of my night time/zero support nursing one.

By the end of the appointment I found myself wanting to respond to everything he said with squinty-eyed suspicion and defensiveness...

"You're gonna want to rub a little bit of lotion on her stitches at night to help them dissolve. But other than that, she looks just perfect!"

"Oh REALLY!?!? You calling me FAT now, doc?!?! You go to hell!!"

It was a strange, self-reflective experience. But clearly his fault.

I'll prolly call him up for a consultation after Lil' Tuna gets here.

In other news, Sam got a stellar job offer in Newport Beach, CA. He's still waiting to hear from several other firms before we make our final decision--in fact, he's flying to NYC, Milwaukee, and LA this week for final interviews at 4 firms that he would consider taking as well. And he's got a couple prospects here in Chicago, too--so, we're still up in the air. And yes, I realize all of those other locations are far pooier (poohier? pooeyer?) than Newport Beach. But aside from all that, we're just feeling fat n' happy having something spectacular nailed down.

And lastly, I've just been busy baking baby and having lots of false alarms--one of which resulted in me being on strict bed rest for the weekend. A "nesting" mother on bed rest has a sort of catforcedintobathtub effect. Except with more witching and shouting around and scratching and hissing and blaming Sam for everything... all with my dainty little feet elevated on a stack of pillows. I just about lost my mind.

My time off did allow for some good home video watching. I've found myself especially smitten with "baby Leah" in anticipation for the arrival of her little sissy. I've watched this little clip no less than 14 times over the last few days. And I nearly sprout wings and take flight each time:

So, Halloween Tried to Kill My Family...

WARNING! Graphic Photo Alert. Viewer discretion is advised.

Well, Halloween 2010 didn't end up being quite the party we would have imagined. In fact, next Halloween I'll probably end up having some sort of anxiety attack in remembrance of this one. I don't have much energy to put into writing this, and there's a lot to say, so I'm just kinda gonna spew it all out.

The day began typically. I woke up feeling off, so Sam and Leah ventured out to the first little party of the day and had a splendid time. While they were gone, my "off" feeling graduated to "debilitating" in the form of searing pain in my upper right abdominal/rib area, a migraine, and contractions. I'm generally not an alarmist so I held off calling my doctor until about 2PM. She was immediately concerned I was having a gall bladder attack and sent me to the hospital.

We left Leah with the Bischoffs and headed off for tests, monitoring, and an ultrasound. Our ward Halloween party started at 5:00PM, so we knew we'd miss it but were happy for Leah to be able to still go and have fun with our friends. Then things got really interesting. After 4 hours wasted at the hospital for them to diagnose me with a UTI and a displaced rib (thanks a lot baby #2!) we checked out and noticed we had a missed call from our friend, Matt. While Sam tried to call him back we received the following text:

"Hey Sam, sorry to do this to you while you're in this situation, but Leah fell at the church and cut her cheek and is probably going to need some stitches. We need to know how to talk to one of you two to get consent for them to do it."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It turns out she was running around with the other munchkins and tripped and fell into a chair that had a plastic hook on the side so it could be attached to other chairs. Her face hit the hook directly. I felt complete panic and instantly overwhelmed with sadness that I wasn't there with her. We were about 20 minutes away from the U of Chicago emergency room so Sam rad-mobiled it through traffic and got to the ER just as Matt and Mimi got Leah checked in. My heart completely broke when I saw my little Turkey Sub in her little witch costume, covered in blood and bandages, and nestled into Mimi's neck. In that instant I was simultaneously horrified and filled with overwhelming gratitude for our wonderful friends for taking care of her.

Leah was so pitiful. She was exhausted (she had just attended her second party of the day, after all, and it was 40 minutes past her bedtime. Oh, and she had a really bloody face).

(Waiting to get placed in a room. The shirt she is wearing was her under shirt, her costume was completely soaked in blood.)

The ER doctor came in and examined her wound. (Can I just say right now that overly-dramatic doctors need to be shot? That's all.) He proceeded to tell us that she would need to be placed under general anesthesia and that she would need two layers of stitching to repair the wound. She was also going to need a cat scan and imagining of her face to reconstruct her nose if needed. And he expressed lots of concern about her face and nose healing well, etc. It was super fun to hear his speculations about her looking possibly like Frankenstein. Oh, and he got all defensive when we asked him if a plastic surgeon would be working on Leah. "Um. We're all pretty good a stitches," was his response. Turns out they always have a PS do facial repairs, but I'm sure glad he let us know he's good at stitches.

The thought of putting her under made me uneasy, not to mention we'd have to wait an additional 6 hours minimum for her stomach to empty to even start the procedure. I just couldn't feel good about it so we were relieved when the plastic surgeon arrived and told us that we could try a local anesthesia if Leah would tolerate it. This would mean she would have to inject the anesthesia directly into the wound over a course of three injections. Then Leah would have to sit through the stitching while awake. The surgeon said it's nearly impossible considering her age, and that it was often very traumatic for children and parents much older than Leah, but she would be willing to try it if that's what we wanted.

We needed a few minutes to decide and prayed fervently that we would be able to know what would be best for Little Lee. We felt strongly that the local anesthesia was best and so we decided to move forward. We, along with the doctor, were completely dumbfounded when Leah fell asleep in my arms and proceeded to SNOOZE through the numbing injections in her face! The doctor said she had never seen ANYTHING like it in her life. We couldn't believe it.

(Sleeping right before getting numbed)

Shortly after the numbing, Leah woke up and Lincoln and Matt came back to the hospital to help give her a blessing. We knew the actual procedure would be an uphill battle and if we couldn't get her to stay completely still, it would be impossible to sew her up. Sam blessed her that she would be able to do it and by the end of the blessing, she was fast asleep in my arms again.

(Awake and a little miserable after her injections)

We quickly notified the doctor and she came in and got to work repairing Leah's nose. Again, we were beside ourselves as Leah proceeded to sleep through receiving nine out of ten stitches. She woke up just before the doctor finished and wouldn't hold still any longer, but the skin was lined up perfectly so our doctor was able to just use a dab of skin glue to finish up. It was a complete miracle!

(All cleaned up and put back together)

Directly after her face was repaired, our Turkey Sub got right back to business flirting with the hospital staff and harassing her parents. I've never felt so relieved to see her little smile. I can't even think about it without getting emotional. Heavenly Father took such mercy on our little munchkin, and even more so, on Sam and me.

The morning after, back to her regular antics, just looking a little different:

We were pretty excited because her face didn't look too bad after the first night but it just keeps getting more and more swollen and bruised. I keep getting startled looking at her. She doesn't look anything like herself. Poor little lamb.

The last few pictures were taken last night, and as of this morning, her left eye is completely blue and almost swollen shut. I can't believe how resilient kids are, though. She's as happy as ever!

I can't even begin to describe how grateful I am for our wonderful friends who I know I can trust completely with those things that are most precious to me. I know it was such a stressful, panicky ordeal for them to go through, especially with someone else's child. I can't even imagine. And most importantly, I'm overwhelmed with gratitude for a loving Heavenly Father who is so keenly aware of the suffering of his little ones. This experience reminded me that Leah is His daughter, even more than my own. I'm so thankful for His continual tender mercies in my life.