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June 4, 2003
Happy Birthday to Me 6/04/03
On Monday I turned 29. I wasn’t sad or moody but I was feeling really mature. I’m about as close to being a grown-up as I’ll ever be. I had a cake and Steve gave me money to get a pedicure at my favorite spa and I was very happy. I didn't need anything else. I don’t tend to enjoy calling attention to myself, mostly because I’m never really comfortable with it. But my thoughtful husband made me a banner that covered half the wall in my office and almost everybody signed it.
I had come in to work all mad about Jarod’s daycare situation and I didn’t even see it for the first hour. Boy, did I feel bad. I had come in and started going off, but I’ll get to that in a sec. I finally got over myself and let go of the anger and then I was fine. I should stop letting these little things upset me. Must be all the extra hormones.
Daycare Disaster
Monday was also Jarod’s first day back at preschool. His teacher and another lady were supposed to be doing an extended program so that he could stay until 3:00 every day and I wouldn’t be running all over the place every day in lunch time traffic. Well, I get there that morning and Dana tells me the church officials had told her she wouldn’t be allowed to do the extended day thing after all. She said she couldn’t find my phone number to let me know before that morning. So that left me back where I started, having to pick Jarod up by 1:00 every day. I was just this side of livid.
I got to work and walked right past the banner Steve had made for me. I sat down with my back to the door and started surfing the net. He asked what was wrong and I told him about what Dana said. Typical Steve, he asked what the big deal was, “He’ll just have to be picked up by 1:00 every day.” I nearly exploded when he said that and there was an F-bomb involved. I really didn’t mean to say that but I was feeling like my supposedly special day was off to a really crappy start. I called Mom to whine to her and she offered to pick him up every day. I think I’m okay with that. I’ll just have to see how it goes.
Hair, and I Don’t Mean The Musical
Jaida’s EEG is tomorrow. That means I have to shampoo her hair to get rid of all the oil tonight. Then I will have to shampoo it again after we get home tomorrow to get all the conducting gel out of it. That stuff smells awful and it turns white when it dries. So that necessitates shampooing Jaida’s hair twice in two days. This will not be a fun process since Jaida likes to have her hair washed about as much as cats like to take a bath. Usually, the reaction is the same. There is lots of screaming, crying and water splashing. Something about water hitting her scalp drives her insane and hypersensitivity of some kind is common among people with autism. I have found a way to make it less traumatic by using a special visor I bought at Toys ‘R Us to keep the water out of her face, which really sets her off. It requires me to use a cup and a big pan of water to wet and rinse her hair but she still flinches like she is about to take flight when the water runs down her scalp.
When she was younger, and before we knew about the autism, I used a hand-held shower sprayer to make the whole process go faster. Man, was that ever a mistake. Jaida would scream and yell and try to climb out of the tub or grab onto my clothes. By the time it was over I would be sopping wet from the waist down and the bathroom would look like the log ride at Six Flags. I would have to get Steve to hold her still so I could lather and rinse her head at least twice. Needless to say, we didn’t attempt that chore very often. Inheriting my thick hair didn’t help either.
Against my better judgment, I put one of those kiddie relaxer kits in Jaida’s hair about two weeks ago. Lamar told me not to do it and my best friend (who also happens to be a beautician) also begged me not to. I couldn’t think of any other way to make her hair more manageable. I tried a straightening comb but that didn’t work very well. Her hair was so kinky and unruly, it was snapping like frozen twigs with the gentlest combing and brushing. All the edges had started breaking too. Mom had to continue to braid it because all the breakage caused uneven lengths everywhere. I tried to even it up but it was still pretty choppy.
I know I probably should have waited until she was older but I didn’t think I could. I want it to at least grow enough to style in more than one way. I know one thing, it’s a good thing Jarod and Lambchop are boys. I hate doing my own hair and I can’t take any more women in this house. Boys are so easy because we can just brush and go, LOL.
My Lunch Hours are All Mine Again
Now that Mom is picking up Jarod every day, I have my lunch hours to myself again. Mostly I just run errands if necessary but that gives me so much more free time on weekends and evenings. Today, I didn’t go anywhere and that was so nice. Steve turned on a movie for me and I ate lunch leisurely while watching Pierce Brosnan and Halle Berry heat up the screen. I wish I had a body like Halle's. Thanks to my surgeon I’ve already got the boobs. :p Now, I just need to work on my lower half after Lambchop comes.
26 Weeks and Counting the Weeks…Faithfully
What can I say? I’m tired of working. The situation is aggravated by one of my coworkers. She is young, naïve and more than a little hoochie-fied. I get tired of her disrespecting me and acting like I’m not even in the room. It drives me up the wall. Of course, all this is probably just payback from the way I behaved when I first started working there. I wasn’t very nice to my MIL after the “I’m rescued from a life of retail hell” euphoria wore off. I didn’t realize she had a work personality and a normal personality. I’m the same all the time and we were like oil and water. I like to laugh and joke to make the day go faster; she can’t concentrate if she’s surrounded by anything more than whisper-level conversation.
Maybe me and Miss Hoochie just have nothing in common, and I don’t want to be her best friend or anything. I just want common courtesy like everyone else. I’ve decided that maybe she’s just jealous or something. I mean, I don’t have to follow all the rules like everybody else and that probably gets under her skin a little. Plus, I’m technically her supervisor and I’m sure she hates that. Not that I care. When I’m on maternity leave and my MIL is calling the shots, she’ll think I‘m the best thing since sliced bread by the time I get back. There’s nothing like having somebody go through every stack of paper on your desk after you go home and leaving you post-it notes about your work performance/productivity or making corrections on your grammar on a work order with a red pen. My MIL will be a die-hard English teacher until she’s gone from this world.
I guess I should actually talk about my pregnancy since that is what this section is supposed to be about. I’m still seeing my chiropractor twice a week and it really helps. He can look at my back when I lie down and see just what needs to be corrected. He fixed my pelvis yesterday and I’ve been walking straight ever since. He said one side was higher than the other and it sure felt like it. I had been hobbling around since Sunday, and it was really starting to wear on me. I can take the swelling and the big belly, but being crippled is not something I handle well. I like being independent and going places if I want to. Now I have to do things that require lots of walking after I get adjusted and that sucks.
My in-laws gave me some money for my birthday; maybe I should use that for a pregnancy massage. Or maybe I should save it for another pedicure a few weeks from now. I can’t seem to reach my own feet without cutting off my breath or my circulation and I hate to see them looking jacked up when there is nothing I can do about it. There’s nothing that irks me more than looking at crusty feet and overgrown cuticles. Okay, enough about foot hygiene. I need to get started on Jaida’s hair. Sigh…
Defending My Life
Has anyone ever seen that movie with Albert Brooks and Meryl Streep? The director of the school stopped me this morning as I was getting into the van. I could tell she wanted to talk by the way she was looking at me; all eager and expectant. She asked where Jaida was going to school this fall and I told her. Then she says, "Didn't I read somewhere that you're *putting* her in a special program?" I politely said, "No, she will be in a regular kindergarten class with access to a resource room with full time special ed teachers if she needs them." I also told her she would continue her speech therapy there as well.
She raised her eyebrows and said, "Do they still say she needs speech therapy?" Whay can't I ever keep my trap shut? I just told her that Jaida still needed work on the pragmatics of language, like inside, behind, in front of, etc. She still looked skeptical and I wasn't in the mood to convince her. Finally, she went on her way and I breathed a sigh of relief. I'll bet she's never had a single conversation with Jaida. How dare she judge me and my parenting decisions. Only two months to go...
Until next time,
Kim, Jaida, Jarod & Lambchop
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