It was a series of mishaps yesterday morning as we traveled to Phoenix for Thanksigiving.  Despite my very thorough travel checklist, halfway to the airport we realized we left the stroller in the garage.  Once we got the airport, we realized we left Kate’s backpack in the kitchen with her favorite Anna and Elsa Frozen dolls, books, toys, pillow, and blanket.  In a 3-year old’s mind, this could be one of the worst things imaginably possible.

But worst of all in reality was the moment when, once we boarded the plane and were settled, I went to pull out some breakfast for the kids, and I realized I had left our small cooler of food in the airport restroom.  Which, in most cases, wouldn’t be that big of a deal, except when you’re traveling with a 1-year old who is allergic to just about everything.

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It’s hard to believe it’s been almost 3 months since I started this blog.  We’ve (our family) come a long way since then.  I was in the “overwhelm” back then, trying to balance (unsuccessfully) work, Dean’s allergies, the division of labor at home, time for myself, and all the other things that fill up that precious thing we call time.  For me, there is never enough time.  When Matt and I were dating, I once said, “Uh, why can’t the day be 36 hours instead of 24?”  (There is always “one more thing” that I want to do before bed.)  He laughed and said, “Do you think that will make a difference?  You’d just find 12 more hours of stuff to do.”  Hmm, he knows me well.  It was also time to face the fact that I had to prioritize freeing up time to start cooking all of Dean’s meals from scratch.  Unfortunately, the days of the quick jarred or pouched single or few ingredient baby foods were no longer cutting it.  The question was how?

At the time, I was easily working 55-hour weeks in a fairly stressful environment.  It was routine that I’d stay up until 1 or 2 AM at least twice a week working since I’m usually in meetings 9-5 most days; it’s difficult to get emails read or work done during the day.  Pre-Dean, this was actually fine with me, and I truly didn’t mind it.  I both love what I do and think I’m pretty damn good at it so my job is a win-win situation.  Plus, my career is very important to me and is a real part of my identity.  In order for me to keep up with my job however, I had hired a personal assistant to help me with things (running errands, cleaning makeup brushes, weather proofing my leather shoes, etc.)  When weeks were really hectic, we also relied on a meal service (they do the menu, grocery shopping, chopping and prepping, and you do the cooking).  It was great because Matt could follow the recipes and do the cooking so when I got home with the kids, dinner was ready.  When needed, we also had the luxury to rely on prepped foods from Whole Foods, prepped salads from Trader Joe’s, and of course, there was always eating out or delivery.  Once Dean turned 14 months, all that changed.  Most of the meal services didn’t work because of the ingredient limitations, I was too nervous about cross-contamination at the Whole Foods deli section, and eating out/delivery were way too scary for the same reason.  He couldn’t eat half of the items at daycare so we were bringing in food there too or planning an alternate menu with the cafeteria head every week.  And every time we’d go somewhere, someone’s house for a party, BBQ, etc., we always had to bring food there too.  There was literally no relief in sight.  I went from loving cooking to hating it.

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It’s hard to believe it’s been a month since Dean started his toddler room.  Moving up from the infant to toddler room brought, with it, a new list of decisions to make.  Different from the infant room where all the kids eat and sleep on their own schedules, everyone eats meals together family-style and sleeps during one set naptime.  For example, the toddler coordinator asked if we wanted the center to order a special high chair for him so that he could have food on his own tray away from the other kids.  His primary caregiver asked if there were any materials/supplies that he shouldn’t play with because of his eczema, e.g. play-doh, bubbles, finger paints, etc.  All things I had never thought of before.

You could also sense a little uneasiness during our transition meeting (where you meet with one of the caregivers from the new room and discuss your child’s routine, personality, things to be aware of, etc. before his/her transition to a new level).  I’m sure there was heightened awareness considering his analphylactic reaction a couple of weeks prior to his move.  A friend of mine had said, “They’ve got to be so nervous.”  I think that summarizes it well.  All these parents trust you with their children while they go about their days at work.  One minor accident or miss, a child ingests an allergen, and you feel responsible for sending them into distress.

I told everyone that our biggest wish is just to have Dean fit in as much as possible with the other children, striking a delicate balance between ensuring he’s safe but not being overly protective to the point where he feels singled out, isolated, or different in a negative way.

We didn’t want the high chair and asked if he could sit with the other children as much as possible.  If it didn’t work, then we could adjust or reconsider later.   They resolved this by pushing 2 tables together to form the shape of an “L”.  The majority of the children sit around one end of the L while Dean sits by himself at the head of the other end of the L.  When I saw this one day, I instantly felt a ping of sadness.  He looked so alone eating at the end of the table by himself.  But a couple days later when I had to stop by during snacktime, I had a much different perspective.  The kids were eating muffins, and it literally looked as if little bits of muffin confetti had been shot out of a cannon everywhere – all over the table, floor, kids’ hair, shirts and hands.  Kids were walking around while the teachers were trying to get them to sit down, they were passing food to their neighbors or grabbing it off their plates.  You name it, they were doing it, and all I thought was, ”That’s 1000 pieces of food he’s allergic too.  No wonder why they asked me about that high chair, and no wonder why they’re nervous.  I don’t feel sad at all at the thought of him eating at the head of that table.’  Continue reading →