Tag Archives: moms with Crohn’s

CCFA Ad Campaign + New (to me) Blog

What do you think of the CCFA’s current ad campaign? It centers around the bathroom as essentially a jail for people with Crohn’s & UC. I think it’s one of the few times an IBD organization has really faced the embarrassing truth around what IBD is really all about and I have to give them kudos. Especially because several friends emailed me photos of the campaign when they saw it and just felt compelled to send them to me. It’s a good sign when a campaign is shareable.

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I noticed Blood, Poop & Tears had a little something to say about it too: http://www.bloodpooptears.com/the-ccfa-ad-campaign-aint-no-party-like-a-butt-hurt-party/

No Way. NO WAY. No Way.

So, as I posted the other day, I’m getting creeped out by having to exercise outside in the dark, even though I live in a safe neighborhood. I was wishing that my apartment building was fancier with a gym inside, because then I could exercise inside without even having to step outside. Even one treadmill would be nice.

So this morning I decided instead of going outside I’d do my speed walking in the building’s basement. It’s a really large building, and even though we’ve lived there a year I’ve still not explored all of it. I was hoping that doing laps in the basement would be interesting, and would definitely be warmer and less comfortable than going outside. Imagine my complete and utter surprise this morning when I turned the corner on lap one to find an exercise room. NO WAY. Seriously. An exercise room. It’s nothing fancy, in fact it’s part of one of the laundry rooms, but it has two treadmills and an eliptical trainer. No way! I am saved!

Sh*t My Kid Says

I can’t believe how funny my 3 year old is. Even when she’s insulting me, it’s funny. Yesterday we were having a cuddle and she sweetly stroked my face and then asked, “why you have wrinkles?” Sigh.

 

And this weekend as we’re making meatloaf, I was narrating the recipe as we went, “first we add the meat, then the veggies, then we mix,” and she said, “when does it turn into cupcakes?”

Life, Lately, Under Water

We had a joke at my old job, that if you ask anyone in advertising how they are, they’ll always respond with “Busy. Busy. So busy.” (Try it, it’s true.) So when I’m actually busy, busy, so busy, it feels a little overwhelming, like it’s added on to a busy that I already had. I had a dream two nights ago that water started creeping up from between the floorboards and I couldn’t stop it.

 

That’s not to say things aren’t good, because they are. VERY good in fact! I’m planning for my favorite holiday, Halloween, and have 1 of our 3 costumes all set (my husband’s costume is awesome. Mine and my daughter’s are still in production.) Depending on how the wind’s blowing, munchkin wants to either be a cowboy or a princess. I’m waffling between being a rainbow and Audrey Hepburn from the Tiffany’s scene in Breakfast at Tiffany’s (something about being allowed to carry a danish as a prop has this so appealing.)

 

And in between I have work and home and all the other things that have life going around. I had to fight another migraine this week, but my husband said a study just came out saying exercise can help reduce them – if that’s the case, I definitely know why I’ve been getting so many – I haven’t been exercising at all. Whoops. When I woke up in pain this morning I finally got my butt in front of an exercise video (had to blow the dust off that one.)

 

So – exercise has had to suffer, so has blogging. I promise to get a bit better about posting…….

Where?

My daughter has this wonderful 2-year-old’s perspective on life that makes me so happy to see. She was out with her dad yesterday and they called me. I asked where she was; she replied “I’m next to daddy!”

And the other day, she had gotten a cut on her ankle, which I covered with a Curious George band-aid. When my husband came home I told him about it. He said to her, do you have a boo-boo? “Yes Daddy.” “Where is it?” “Under my band-aid.”

Goodbye Balloon

Today I had to break my daughter’s heart.

We were having a fine day, and everything was wonderful. We were running errands together, but making it fun in the way you have to when you’re with a toddler. We stopped at the hardware store and I let her play with all the keys. We stopped to buy a baby gift, and I let her get a little toy car for herself. Then we met a friend for lunch, and my daughter noticed some mylar balloons with happy faces at a restaurant nearby. She’d been such a good girl that after lunch we went to the 5 & dime (yes, we now live in one of those adorable little towns that still has a 5 & dime) and requested a balloon with a happy face. The only ones they had said “get well,” but it’s not like she can read or anything. I also got her a latex balloon in blue, her favorite color.

Imagine a 2 year old with a balloon tied to each wrist. She was bursting with happiness – it was just steaming off of her. She trotted down the street in a cute little jaunt, with the two balloons whipping around above her. And that’s when it happened.

The bottom tab of the mylar balloon, the part attached to the ribbon, ripped. I only noticed when I heard a woman near us say “oh no!” and look upward. It was too late – the balloon had already floated beyond the awning of the cheese store and was climbing rapidly. I turned to my daughter, who hadn’t noticed yet and was still happily skipping down the sidewalk and singing to herself. “Oh no,” I repeated to that same woman, a young woman, who immediately saw how tragic this was going to be that she immediately turned red and started to cry. Her boyfriend put his arm around her, and they both watched as I went to her.

“Sweetheart,” I said… I stopped. She still hadn’t noticed. I was going to have to tell her. I was going to have to find a way. “Honey, your balloon flew away.” She looked around. She saw the blue balloon was still with her. She was confused that she couldn’t find the other balloon. She looked at me. “It’s gone,” I said. Her face crumpled. The jaunt was gone. The tears began to fall.

“No, honey, it’s okay, no it’s okay. Oh sweetheart – can I get you a new one?” “No,” she sobbed, “that one was mine.” I held her, feeling so acutely this loss. I knew she’d be fine, truly within minutes. But I hated that she had to be sad, if even for a moment. I hated that she had to feel loss in a time when she was so blissfully happy. I hated most of all that I had to be the one to tell her the news, when just seconds before I had been the hero of the day.

And as expected, minutes later and with a kiddie cup of ice cream in her hands, her tears were dried and the balloon was forgotten. But I haven’t forgotten.

It seems I have to break my child’s heart almost daily. Whether it’s telling her a balloon has floated away, or that she’s being naughty and needs a time out, or – truly the worst of all – when I tell her it’s time for me to go to work and we need to say goodbye, I feel like somehow I’m being the worst parent in the world. I know that isn’t the reality. But rarely in parenting do the heart and the mind work in concert.

And for some reason I can’t stop replaying the scene in my mind. My daughter’s silly little dance-walk down the street. The young woman beginning to tear up, with her hand over her mouth. The balloon already so high up in the grey sky.