Chico and the Monkey

Oh, what a week we've had. I'll be sure to post some more as soon as I can wrap some words around it.
        Meanwhile, you'll be glad to know Charlie's found someone he can talk to. Really talk to.

And as if That Weren't Enough . . .

In this video, Dad tries to teach him raspberries. And if you look closely, it almost looks like he is humoring us. Which (trust me on this one) is a very advanced social skill.

Rollin' Rollin' Rollin'

So much for tummy time.

Totally Tubular

Three days after birth, Charlie was diagnosed with tuberous sclerosis, or tubular sclerosis, as our first neonatologist called it. (Thank God for Google’s “Did you mean?” function or we’d still be scratching our heads.)
        On the list of diseases I would rather my child not have, this one would be near the top. It’s been known to mess with virtually every major organ system. Its prognosis can be horrifying/terrifying/devastating/you name it. And (see Paragraph 1) no one seems to know very much about what it is, what it does, and what the hell to do about it.
        Then we found someone who does.
        Don’t get me wrong—the Internet is my favorite invention. But it is a junkyard of bad information. And it does not compare to a real, live, human being who happens to know her shit. And who happens to agree that Charlie is the boy genius we think he is. And who also happens to think that with proper medical and developmental attention, he is going to be just fine.
        Yes, we are in for a ride. Some days it may be bumpy. Some days it may scare the bejesus out of us. But we are all buckled up. We know where we want to go. We just may have to take the road less traveled by. And if anyone knows how much all-the-difference that can make, it's Morgan and me.
        The way I see it, and the way our doctor encourages us to see it, is that it's our job to raise a kid full of personality, joy, and wonder. And that particular job will require us to shoo at a few medical annoyances from time to time. But we’ll get really good at it. Like catching flies with chopsticks.
        Long story short: Charlie has TS. But (pardon the cliché) it does not have him.
        He belongs to us.

Firsts

I missed my son’s first hours. His first cries. His first glimpses at the world. He held my husband’s finger, he had his first bath, he dirtied his first diaper . . . and I missed it.
        I try very hard not to take his firsts for granted. And there have been a whole lot of firsts to enjoy.
        Since those first difficult days, Charlie slept his first night in his cradle. He outgrew his first baby clothes. He sat at his first bar. His pigged out at his first barbeque. He rolled over from front to back. He touched his hands together. He flew in his first airplane. He stayed in his first hotel. He kissed his friends and family hello for the very first time.
        And somewhere in between, he smiled.
        And he smiled.
        And he smiled.
        So here’s to firsts. And seconds. And thirds.