Archive for September, 2009
I’m leaving tomorrow for DR. OZ. The producer who came to do the “at home with Stefanie Wilder-Taylor – let’s watch her ‘not drink’ in her natural habitat” asked me if I was tired of talking about this subject.
At almost five months sober now, the newness has worn off and the fact that I can’t drink is not something I think about, worry about, obsess about on a daily basis. I’ve socialized, dealt with sleepless nights, toddler tantrums, and many tough evenings without the aid of Mama’s Wine and the anxiety which was hitting me in fits and starts has worn off. To be honest, I wasn’t confident it would. I couldn’t tell you that it would get better because even though people said it would, I couldn’t feel it for myself. All I knew was that even if I continued to miss the relief that I thought was contained in my evening Pinot Grigio, I wasn’t going to drink. That’s what I held on to – no drinking no matter what. I didn’t replace it with warm milk or a bath with stupid rose petals or anything like that. Hey, if it was that simple, no one would drink right? There is nothing that can take the place of a sweet shortcut like wine or Xanax. The trick is to take the long way.
But life got better.
I can look at pictures of my family and not experience this vague inkling that I’m living someone else’s life. Explaining that feeling isn’t easy. It’s not depression although I have felt that in the past, it’s not all anxiety although I have had more than my share. It’s more like a vague disconnect -some sort of denial -and a feeling that having a few glasses of wine was somehow going to help me sort it all out.
Here I am, not drinking and I realize now that it doesn’t really matter why I was drinking, it just matters that I stopped. It doesn’t matter how bad or not bad the problem was, only that it was in fact a problem for me. I’m so happy to be clear headed every night when I go to sleep and the newfound appreciation for my life exactly as it is right now is a bonus.
So, no, I guess I’m not tired of talking about it. I was interview by the producer sitting in my living room and I teared up like a big baby. So the Stef that you see on Dr. Oz may try to be a smart ass, snarky bitch but you will all know that I’m secretly kind of a pussy. And if they use that part of the footage, everyone else will know too. DAMMIT.
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on September 30, 2009 10:16 pm
Hi friends, loved ones, regular readers, occasional readers and people who Googled “Best Way To Camouflage Man Boobs” and ended up here –
Next Wednesday, October 7th (sorry, Rocktober) I will be in NYC to tape an episode of the Dr. Oz show regarding our favorite topic, laying off the sauce. I was wondering if any of you New Yorkers would be interested in coming to be in the studio audience and supporting me while I say embarrassing things about myself and my old habits to a few million viewers.
If watching me look like an asshole is something that gives you a little giggle, then please email Jed at Jstrong@zoco.com and tell him you need to see this front row center. It’s on me.
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on 3:34 pm
I’m really tired. Just so you know and don’t get your expectations of this post all miles high. Managing the emotions, needs and appointments of three kids doesn’t leave a ton of time left over for frivolousness like watching a TV show that hasn’t been TiVo’d or taking out the recycling before the entire laundry room is full of Trader Joe’s bags brimming over onto the floor with Diet Coke Cherry Zero cans and empty Pediasure bottles. Fuck it. I’ve got bigger fish to fry.
As I told you in my last post, Jon and I took Sadie in to see a top of the line Endocrinologist at Children’s Hospital Los Angeles. I’d link back to that post but it was YESTERDAY so scroll back if you didn’t read it and then come back cause I’m about to tell you how it went. Ready?
The trip over kind of sucked because it was right during Sadie’s naptime but you can’t argue with these sought after appointments. They aren’t concerned with anything as trivial as “naptime.” When I got there I could see why. So many kids with so many illnesses. My personal little pity party was shut down pretty darn fast as I strolled through the hallways past youngsters and their parents obviously dealing with much worse than something as simple as being the size of a peanut. These kids were thankful to be upright. Perspective was had. And then lost when I met the parents of a little girl who was “growing too fast.” Upon further conversation, her dad is 6’6″ the kid is just going to be tall. She seemed absolutely normal for a one-year-old to me.
Once we were in our exam room waiting, Sadie broke out and wandered the halls saying hello to people in other rooms. That’s how we befriended a couple with a 16-month-old who’d been diagnosed sixth months before with type one diabetes. That…is more than an annoyance. That is a nightmare. Perspective was had again.
Dr. Grow came into our room and began the chat about Sadie, her history, her reports etc. The gist of the exam was that Sadie seems to have nothing wrong with her besides her body’s refusal to grow. We are going to run some labs but the doc doesn’t think that we’re going to find anything medically wrong. The fact is that she is an extreme case of Small for Gestational Age. If a baby is going to catch up, it usually happens in the first two years. If it doesn’t happen by then, and you see a plateau in your baby’s growth, most times growth hormones are needed at some point. I don’t know if needed is the right word. We are going to discuss it more on our next visit in three months. Here’s what I didn’t know that pretty much threw me for a loop: growth hormones are everyday until your child hits puberty. I am sort of sick over this. At this moment is hardly seems worth putting a child through shots every.single.day in order to hope they grow an extra three inches total.
Of course, as you all know about me, it’s the fucking unknown, lack of diagnosis, vague, we’ll see, I don’t know, not every kid’s the same, nothing’s clear cut bullshit that kills me (please see my addendum before feeling sorry for me).
Bottom line, if (when) it becomes clear that Sadie will be so short that she won’t be able to keep up with her peers unless we give her the growth hormones, then I will step up and do what I feel is right for my kid. Until then, I will continue to feed her a lot of ice cream and eat anything that she leaves behind.
P.S. I wrote this entry last night after having spent the better part of the day at the hospital. I was a bit emotionally spent. But in the light of day, this is all good news! Really, it’s the best news. My daughter is a healthy, happy little fireball who is going to be just fine.
I think what’s frustrating is that we’ve spent so much time and energy worrying over and trying to fix something un”fix”able. It’s unfixable because it’s intangible. A lot of intangibles woven together into one gorgeous little munchkin. The hardest part for us is over. We can stop looking for a problem that isn’t there and just watch and wait for Sadie to grow on her own little curve in her own time. As Martha says, “It’s a good thing.”
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on September 24, 2009 3:34 am
This post is about a day ahead of being newsworthy but tomorrow is a long awaited appointment for Sadie at Children’s Hospital in Los Angeles. If you’ve never heard of Children’s Hospital, it’s this major pediatric facility a ton of medical billing workers that’s won a bajillion awards for, you know, doing leading things and discovering…I don’t know…I’m not a goddamned brochure okay but just know the place is good. And we’re lucky as hell to have gotten an appointment.
The thing is, Sadie has been doing well with her weight lately. She’s stepped up her eating from dust balls on the floor mixed with an ounce or two of Pediasure and give or take a half a piece of cheese to human sized meals that contain protein, carbs and yummy, yummy GoGurt (see carbs). She’s been eating so well, in fact, that we haven’t fed her with the tube in well over a month and she’s still managed to gain almost a pound. Remember that post where I had stopped tube feeding her and she lost weight? Well, she finally broke twenty pounds (give or take an ounce or two depending on whether she’s sweated through a tough workout or pigged out on a half a hot dog) due to kick ass parenting (fine, periactin) and we’re pretty pleased with her progress weight wise. Unfortunately, she’s still only 29 inches tall. Think about that for a minute. She’s the size of two 12 inch subs end to end plus a few extra bites. She’s a small fry (but the smallest fry in the bag is still delicious). One would hope that when one gains weight one would eventually gain height as well but with Sadie, hope and a growth chart has gotten us a much coveted appointment with Children’s.
Our pediatrician took one look at her at our last visit and said, “Yeah, I have no doubt she’ll need growth hormones.” I don’t know what that entails or whether or not what he says is golden -he’s a crackerjack doctor but he doesn’t believe that teething causes symptoms in babies which any mom can tell you is a load of shit so I don’t know how much I can invest in his growth hormones theory.
One thing that’s fun about having a short stack is she’s good for party tricks. I love the look on people’s faces when they see what looks to be an 11-month-old baby walk up and say “high five!” although they could be staring because high fives are so out. Maybe they’re thinking “Can’t you teach the poor kid a fist bump?” Well, that’s something we can work on during the 2 to 3 hour wait at the hospital tomorrow. I’ll let you know how it goes.
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on September 22, 2009 11:44 pm
Big news: This morning…wait for it…wait for it…here it comes…I made pancakes. I don’t cook. At all. I’m proud to call my microwave my closest friend in the whole world. Would you believe when I met my husband ten years ago he didn’t even own a microwave? And would you believe I still went ahead and married the freak anyway? What was I thinking? Of course, I don’t have a lot of room to talk. I’m still on AOL and Blogger. Not exactly technologically advanced over here. But back to my point. I have never had a flair for cooking nor have I had much interest. Since as far back as I can remember, I’ve never gotten excited over a recipe let alone a book of recipes and definitely not a cooking show. I might be the only person I know who has not seen a single episode of Top Chef. Apparently it’s fascinating to people to see chefs marry a bunch of ingredients that don’t seem like they’d normally go together to create a culinary masterpiece – well, fascinating to other people. How about a program that can show me a faster way to microwave a hot dog? What about fewer steps to making mac & cheese from a box? Where’s the show for people like me?
The problem I have is actually two-fold: low interest coupled with lack of time. Before I had twins, I went through a phase where I cooked a lot, and by a lot I mean a couple of times a week. And by week, I mean month. Whatever. When I cooked it always served as a reminder that when it comes to meal preparation, simply put, I suck. Even shopping for a meal is anxiety provoking. I been known to become paralyzed standing in front of refrigerated chicken breasts trying to figure out how many I need, which kind are best and what the hell I’ll do with them when I get them home. You don’t want me anywhere near the spice aisle unless you want to witness a panic attack.
Way, way back in the day that I used to drink I loved making a pasta sauce because I could crack open the wine, pour some in the sauce, have a little myself, add some garlic, have a little more wine, add some more garlic cause really, can you ever have too much garlic, drink a little more wine, add a little more garlic -I may have lost track of how much garlic was in the sauce at that point -and so on. I haven’t made a sauce since. I tell myself it’s because I don’t want to be reminded of my cooking/wine ritual, but let’s be honest, I like take-out.
In my defense, I am truly busy and tired and by the end of the day have already prepared a lot of food for a lot of children.
Exhibit A: Mattie is clearing not missing a lot of meals.
Jon had to work today -which is Sunday-which left me alone with all three monkeys. I was about to prep some breakfast, meaning scrambled eggs for twins along with some microwaved turkey sausage when all of a sudden Elby gets a wild hair up her butt that she wants pancakes. “Pancakes? Are you high? I’ve barely microwaved my coffee yet!” is what I thought. But being the truly amazing, nurturing mother that I am, I said, “Hells yes! Let’s do it!” And that’s when I realized that I don’t know how to make pancakes. Luckily I managed to find a box of all purpose baking mix which I’d apparently bought with the intention of someday making a pancake. It was meant to be!
On my first try, the batter was the consistancy of cream of chicken soup but then I realized that the box called for 2 cups of mix and not one like I’d mistakenly measured in. Once that nastiness was behind me, I managed to make some griddle cakes but not without setting the smoke detector off and splashing a wee bit of piping hot pancake batter on Sadie’s head.
Naturally, after all my slaving away in the kitchen, the babies wanted no part of any pancakes so I ended up making them eggs and sausage after all. But Elby enjoyed hers very much. You’re welcome Elby. I hope that holds you over for at least a year because I see a lot of toast in your future. Love, Mama.
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on September 20, 2009 4:43 pm