Maxwell turns 2- part 2

A certain little guy turned 2 last week, a milestone which was celebrated over 2 big days and subsequently, 2 blog posts. If you missed part 1, you can read it here
The second celebration, saw us hitting the road and trekking over to the other side of the city, to a country town called 'Emerald'. This is where a century old steam locomotive called 'Puffing Billy' runs from. Except, on this particular day, the train was being pulled by *drum roll*...... Thomas the Tank Engine! Max is such a boy, he loves planes, boats, cars, motorbikes, diggers, tractors (etc) and trains. I was (cautiously) certain that a day out with Thomas would make up for the previous day.




The look on his face, when he saw the real life Thomas, was priceless. I've never seen him run so fast.







There were photo opportunities...




An animal farm...




In the Goose's defense, Max started it

A jumping castle....




And (of course), a big long train!







You come here often?


Just hangin' out with my Great Grandpa Maxwell Senior

Max was so over-awed when the train ride started, he promptly burst into tears. It didn't take him long though, to fall in love with the entire experience....



















My parents had arrived early that day, so they 'reserved' us the best picnic table in the park. It was perfect, on one side of the table there was a playground and on the other side, the trains. I'm not sure if Max ate much of his lunch, because he was simply too busy!










We sang Happy Birthday (again), he looked bewildered (again), and threw his cake (again). Max had 3 birthday cakes over the weekend and he didn't have a single bite of one. (Note: next year it'll be gruel and water)










By the time we'd finished lunch, Max was getting grouchy, so it was time to leave.




One last snuggle with Pa



Goodbye Thomas, you did a great job!

We were only a few minutes down the road, when I turned around and saw.....





Fast asleep, after having the perfect birthday celebration, I'd dreamed of. I'm now the proud 'owner' of a two year old and Birthday celebration version 2.0 was a success. Now, I've had a few words with him about growing up too quickly and he's assured me, he won't turn 3 until I'm ready. About 10 years outta do it.

Maxwell turns 2- part 1

It's official. My baby is 2 years old. A few days ago, amidst just a little fanfare, Max celebrated his 2nd Birthday. This year, I felt none of the sadness I felt on his first birthday, it was all pure, unadulterated excitement. Of course, the day didn't quite go as I planned, but a few vodkas at the end of the day, solved that. Allow me to share with you, some highlights.....

A few days before Max's birthday, we went through his presents to remove all of the ties securing toy to box. Anyone who's ever tried to separate a toy from it's packaging can attest to how challenging it is, especially when your child is nagging/whining/screaming. We have learnt the hard way (like most parents I suspect) to remove all cable ties in advance. We had made a pact, we wouldn't go overboard with the presents......


                                                                        Yeah....um....

We also completed a battery inventory and made sure we had stocked up before the big day. The night before his birthday, we filled the loungeroom with balloons, streamers and presents after he had gone to bed. His reaction the next morning was more of bewilderment, than excitement.....
                                                    I'm sure he's thinking, "what the.....?"


                                                               This one first Mamma?


I wanted to make him a really special birthday breakfast, but I totally suck in the cooking department, so I bought 'shaker' pancake mix. Usually, my pancakes turn out rubbery, crispy or raw, so I googled 'how to make the perfect pancakes' and followed every instruction to the letter. I was so proud of my fluffy little stack....
        He SCREAMED when I served them up and pointed at the toaster. He wanted toast.

His birthday lunch was scheduled for 1230 at our favourite cafe in Melbourne- Cheeky Chinos. Herein laid a slight dilemma. Max usually goes down for a nap around half 12, and that was the only time I could schedule lunch. I had two choices (1) Take him to his usual music class in the morning and pray like hell, he'd sleep in the car; or (2) Have a quiet morning at home and pray like hell, he'd last until 3pm without a nap. I knew whichever option I chose, it'd be the wrong one. I changed my mind a gazillion times until finally (at the 11th hour), I decided to take him to music.

He had a great time at music. He played with his friends, he danced, he did his first Easter Egg Hunt and everyone sang Happy Birthday to him....


He was exhausted by the end of the class and I was reasonably confident, he'd nap on the way to lunch. He didn't. By the time we got to Cheeky Chinos, he was a screaming, highly agitated mess (Note: next time let someone else make these decisions so Mumma doesn't beat herself up)

It's always a little disappointing when you've put some effort into organizing something, but it goes nothing like you planned. I'll admit, I felt totally deflated and couldn't enjoy myself, whilst he was so miserable. I think his facial expression says it all in this pic....


                                                          Glares angrily from the sidelines

This is probably the best photo of him, from the entire party....

                                                 It's my party and I'll sleep if I want to

The cupcakes I'd ordered from Burnt Butter, looked and tasted phenomenal!




But, this is what Max thought of them.....


                                                                 Ungrateful sod

We finished off the afternoon, with a visit to Max's cousins Kate and Shevaun. The girls are so lovely with him, he adores them and I think this picture says it all....
                                                          I nap here, on my cousin

At some point on the drive home, I managed to get one decent photo of my birthday boy.....




It was an early night for Mister Maxwell and I got my 734pm cuddle, the exact time he entered the world, 2 years ago.

I'd like to say a huge THANK YOU to everyone who helped us celebrate Max's birthday, as well as everyone who sent cards and birthday messages. We are blessed and humbled to have so many people on 'Team Max'.
                                   Happy Birthday Maxwell Hendrix, you are my everything.

(The very next day, I found my first grey hair. Coincidence?)

Dear Stroke

Dear Stroke,

I know you're probably busy, disrupting people's lives, so I'll keep this brief.

Firstly, I'd like to say thank you for not taking my sons life. You gave it a damn good shot, but slipped up by choosing a respiratory arrest, rather than a cardiac. Thanks for shutting his little body down so much, they couldn't insert an IV. The doctors had to drill into his shin, the screams were so piercing, a part of me died right there. I thank you for the perspective this moment gave me. I will never be fazed by grazed knees and bumped heads.

Thank you for ruining any chance I had of being a 'normal' mother with 'normal' problems. Thank you for destroying so many motherhood rites of passage. I could've been stressing about Tizzie Halls sleep schedules, but instead, I was watching my son slowly & painfully wake from a coma. Thanks for that. I now know, I have the strength to keep going even when my heart is breaking.

Thank you for taking me to the most terrifying place on earth. The place where the reality of losing your child, haunts every thought. And thanks for the hours I spent fearing my son would never walk, talk or live an independent life. You taught me to appreciate the simplest of things.

Why did you choose a 10 week old boy? Why did you choose my baby? Despite all the therapy in the universe, he'll never regain the full function of his right arm. You took that away from him, when he was only a precious, little baby. I'll make peace with that eventually but I'll always despise you.

But here's the thing Stroke. My son is not a victim and neither am I. Despite everything you took from us on June 2nd, you haven't won. You might see me cry, you might hear me thinking how much I hate you. You might even hear me say "I quit" but I'll never stop fighting. I'll fight for my son and I'll fight against you. Because you're the big, dumb bully in the playground, picking on people who never stood a chance. Not all strokes are preventable, and sometimes the cause isn't even known. So, let me tell you one more thing Stroke, SCREW YOU, I'm gunna kick your ass.

Yours Sincerly,
Faith


**** You can learn more about how to fight stroke by checking out the National Stroke Foundations Website, here ****

The Graduate

Those of you who are regular readers of Maxwell and Me, may have noticed, it's been awhile since I've written any updates on here about Max's progress. I apologise for this and I assure you, there has been a lot of progress since I last wrote about it in this post . It's a difficult topic for me to write about, because I want to convey how well he's doing but I also want to be realistic about how far we have to go. It's also a bit depressing when I write about achievements, only to see him refuse any form of therapy and slide back.

When people hear, my son had a stroke, the most common response is "but is he ok now?". Erm, define "ok". Do you mean "will he have another stroke?" (unlikely unless platelets drop again). So yeah, he's ok. He also breathes by himself, he's not attached to machines, he isn't having any seizures and he isn't fed through a tube. His right hand is hardly ever in a fist these days, he's intelligent, social, loves to jump (recently off furniture) and he runs like the wind.

Or do you mean "does he show any signs he had a stroke?". The answer to this, is "yes" although, we're very pleased with all the improvements he's made. He does have a squinty eye, a slight limp and a hand which doesn't work properly but he's ok. He drops things alot and he struggles a lot with two handed activities. I never realized just how many tasks require two hands, even coloring is difficult because righty isn't strong enough to hold the paper still. His language is a bit delayed, he needs surgery to his eye and Botox in his hand/wrist once he's older. 

Most people don't want to hear the latter and are quick to try and remedy the awkwardness by telling me how adaptive children's brains are (No way. Really?) or the good ol' "he'll get there". I don't mean to sound like a snarly, sarcastic cow but it just starts to grate after awhile. It's true, infants brains are remarkably adept, we are lucky the stroke happened at a young age so we can utilize Neuro plasticity to its full. However, we can't perform miracles. A fellow stroke mum, summed it up beautifully in these words "it doesn't matter how young you are no one survives a stroke unscathed". 
(Note: Sometimes it's ok to just say "that's shit" rather than state the bleeding obvious)

I often think back to the day of Maxs stroke, and it sends shivers down my spine remembering the absolute terror I felt. The first few hours were hell. Waiting for various test results was the worst part. Outwardly, I was calm, inwardly I was screaming and throwing myself on the floor. I kept wishing I could cry, I should've been crying, I'm not sure why, but I couldn't. I often wonder if the nurses thought I was a heartless mole.

When Max was 7 months old, he started doing the Snowdrop Program for Brain Injured Children. I could explain what it's all about, but since I'd only be rehashing lines from the website, here's the link to the website instead Snowdrop. In   Lunch Today will be Roast Beef with a side of Vestibular Stminukation. I wrote in depth about some of the therapy I do with Max. 

When he started the program he didn't even know he had a right arm, he was disinterested in the world and he was so spaced out, I could bang pots and pans a meter away and he paid zero attention, even though his hearing was perfect. After only a few months, he was alert, motivated and surprised everyone by crawling! Although he was aware of 'Mr Righty', his arm had no co-ordination whatsoever, occasionally he'd reach for things and miss it by yards. Nowadays, he has pretty good accuracy using righty to pick things up but his fingers are so stiff, and his muscles contract at all the wrong moments.

Max recently had his latest assessment with Snowdrop and he's now classed as 'developmentally superior' in many aspects. One amazing day last week, I got the email from Andrew informing me that Max had graduated from the Snowdrop Program. We will still stay in close contact to keep working on Mr Righty but we'll no longer be doing the full program. It's a pretty phenomenal feeling to know we've come such a long way. I speak online with some of the new parents online, people who are standing in the despairing place I once stood. 

In closing, I want to share with you, a snippet of the email from Andrew. I'm proud as hell of Max and I'm so proud of myself for not giving up, although many times I wanted too. It's true what they say. You don't realize how strong you are, until being strong is the only option you've got.

This was the day I decided on a trip to the UK. It's isn't gunna be easy (SO expensive!) but somehow we'll get there. Andrew gave me back my son, the least I can do is thank him in person.

Dear Maxwell

Dear Maxwell,

Next month you will be turning 2 and I'm already churning out the usual one liners about how fast the time goes. I can scarcely believe you're turning 2 already, yet at the same time, it feels as if you've been here forever.

You are oh so stubborn and you don't like authority. You were always going to be this way. No offspring of your Father and I was ever going to be a passive observer. You always manage to succeed in getting me to change my mind, when I've said 'no' to something. I don't like that, but you're so unbelievably persistent and you wear me down. There's only so many tantrums I can handle in a day.

You pick some real doozy moments to have a meltdown. You hate me holding your hand to cross the road and you often throw yourself down in the middle of the road. When I try to stand you up, you pull the old jelly legs manoever, so I have to scoop you up and carry you, whilst avoiding oncoming traffic. You don't do this to your father.

You're a social little butterfly and you love to make people laugh. It's one of my absolutely favourite things about you. It's when you're playing the clown, that I see myself in you the most. I think these pictures say it all.....



Tissue box foot



It's bath paint. (baby Dexter)



I was changing your clothes at the beach, you did a runner when you saw a train and paraded around like this.



You crack me up


Yes darling, that's a fantastic mess you've made. 3 cheers...



Jim's Cleaning



This is not how we use the DustBuster.



The Tin Man



You try so hard to help out around the house. You love to sweep, vacuum, wipe down benches and brush my hair. In actual fact, you spread the crumbs all around the kitchen when you sweep and doink me on the head when you brush my hair, but I always say thank you because you've tried so darn hard to please me. You grin proudly when I do.

You really enjoy seeing me flustered, you laugh hysterically when I'm angry. If I say "no" or tell you to stop doing something, your eyes light up. Then you'll repeatedly do what I'm asking you not to do, until my brain explodes.

You absolutely adore any type of reaction, so lately I've tried my best to keep my poker face on whenever you're trying to incite me. To complete strangers, it must look as though I don't discipline you. How are they to know that 'discipline' only reinforces the exact same behaviour we're trying to ameliorate?

Your immune system still hasn't recovered from the treatment you had in 2011 and you get sick all the time. You were the youngest known person in the world to have the treatment you had and the doctors have no idea when your immune system will recover. You've become very adept at blowing your nose, if I say the word 'boogers'. You also blow boogers at inopportune moments, ie. no darling, I said give Nana kisses not boogers.

In June 2009, my universe was blown apart when I saw this....




I'd never been so afraid in my life.

You were 6 weeks old when we saw you for the first time



My perfect little jelly bean

At 20 weeks, we discovered you were a little boy and mumma breathed a sigh of relief.


My first view of 'Mr Righty'. I could never have known, how ironic this picture would later come to be.

The doctors said you were 'Macrosomic' (ie 'really big'). We jokingly called you baby Shrek and I was freakin terrified of giving birth to you.




It's been nearly 2 years since I first held you....





....and ever since that day, I've wondered how I ever lived without you.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Living with a Thrower: a mothers decent towards insanity

Max first started throwing things when he was about 6 months old. I vaguely remember feeling pleased because it was another milestone to tick off and (according to the experts) was a 'phase' which would soon pass. He is 22 months old now and there is absolutely no end in sight to the throwing phase. None whatsoever. You have no idea how much I'm over it *le sigh*.

Before you start judging my parenting or (worse) telling me it's 'normal' toddler behaviour. Let me tell you one thing. This is not 'normal' toddler throwing. I'm a frequent witness to 'normal' toddler throwing. This is pathological throwing, compulsive throwing, absolutely god damn relentless throwing.

I probably sound like I'm being a tad melodramatic, but allow me to take you through a typical day. Firstly, Breakfast needs to be served, no later than 3 seconds after Max wakes up. He yells at the toaster to hurry up and he yells at the mummy to butter it, STAT. He's recently started dragging his high chair over and repeatedly ramming me with it, whilst I'm making his toast, in a bleary eyed stupor. Bless him.
(I adore his spirit. Really I do)

He is served his toast, in small pieces, carefully rationed out very slowly. The throwing intensifies once he's had enough to eat, so this method reduces some of the carnage. He can't be served meals on plates or in bowls, unless you've gaffer taped them to the tray. He has frequent 'drink stops' during every meal (it's a brain injury thing) but the sippy cup cannot remain on the high chair when not being used- believe me, I've tried teaching him that sippy cups and slobbery toast can co-exist, on the high chair tray, to no avail.Regardless of whether I stand and wait for the sippy cup or turn my back and walk away, the outcome is the same. The sippy cup will be thrown. It's particularly infuriating, when he motions as though he's going to hand it back and then just as I'm about to take it........BAM. Sometimes, he throws slobbery toast at my head whilst I'm picking it up, those are special days those ones. There's no sense of order or predictability when it comes to food throwing. Some bits are eaten. Some bits are thrown. Some are slobbered on and then thrown. The one thing which is certain, is that I will be on my hands and knees wiping up jam/vegemite/smoosh afterwards.
(Repeat same for Lunch and Dinner, plus snacks in between.)

As it's Summer here, we are eating a lot of meals outside. I also take him to cafes semi-regularly, with the intention of paying someone else to clean up after him. Usually though, I feel too guilty to leave such a massive mess behind. That is, unless the establishment is overpriced and/or the service is shoddy, in which case, I have no problem whatsoever (Melbourne Aquarium, I'm looking at you). I apologise to any members of the general public who've been hit by a flying baby-cino or spork.

You can't afford to be distracted or inattentive when you are around Max and if you are, you best be wearing a helmet and protective armour. If you think you can pause and relax on the couch, even for a few moments, BAM. You'll be knocked almost unconscious by a flying object, strategically launched at your head. You cannot afford to let your guard down, not even for a moment. It doesn't matter where Max is in the room, he throws things upwards, sideways, backways and downways. Every day, I silently applaud myself every time I instinctively deflect a missile. My reflexes are getting very sharp. It's a bit like this.....








Note to self: need sword.

At this point, I need to interrupt myself, so I can make it clear I've tried every single darn tootin' way I can think of to curtail this. Reprimanding only exacerbates the problem, he's delighted if he elicits any type of response, no matter how angry it is. Ignoring it, has been equally ineffectual. We've tried teaching him what he can throw, where he can throw and what he can throw things at- nothing has even come close to working. A few weeks ago, I showed him how to throw things at the ground "oh look, the ball bounces, isn't that ace? Now quit lobbing it at my head". I thought I was pretty clever until I copped a few (hundred) missiles on the top of my shoeless feet. Do you know how much it hurts when a sippy cup, is forcefully thrown at your toe? DO YOU??? So now, I'm also hopping around like a member of RiverDance, trying to avoid missiles.

Bath time, leaves me looking something like this.....





OR





OR




You get the idea right?

Max is more likely to throw things, when he's angry. The other day, Daddy wouldn't let him play with the power points (mean Daddy). So angry little Max, grabbed the most precious thing to Daddys heart (the TV remote) and hurled it at the wall. Getting dressed, also enrages the beast, so the immediate area needs to be cleared prior. We are always the last family to leave after toddler swim class, because I have to pick up every single thing he's flung around the change room.

I'm not writing this because I'm looking for advice or sympathy. I just needed somewhere to ventilate alright? You also need to realize, I am totally aware of how petty I probably sound. Please don't even think of telling me it's 'normal' or 'just a phase' because I won't be held liable for the items I lob at your head.

I need a hug.





I love your spirit baby boy, but I think I speak for everybody when I say.....

"we're all a bit over the throwing phase".