Knee, Knee, I Fell On My Knee

Today as I struggled with staying vertical on the slab of ice by where I park my car, I realized that all of my life would be funnier if I made up songs about it to the tune of "Skip to My Lou" and so I spent the morning singing "Knee, knee, I fell on my knee . . ." and various similar snippets to narrate the progress of my day.

Falling on my knee was unpleasant, but much better than my rising internal panic of the last few days as the family struggled to feed The Little One. And why should such a "Little One" be hard to feed. Does anything about this child look hard? Doesn't she look the picture of baby health, nay, perhaps she is the epitome of baby well-being? Looks can be deceiving, as can babies. This baby has . . . bad DNA. My DNA. DNA that gives a baby MCAD, mighty crappy aggravating DNA. Are you confused? So am I . . . Come with me, gentle reader, for a fairly short journey into Mommy madness. When Hannah was born, I spent two days believing I got a big (bigger than her preemie older sister) healthy (healthier than her preemie older sister) baby girl, and then baby's blood sugar dropped below a detectable level, and she went limp. Floppy babies don't give doctors piece of mind, let me assure you. Now, at six months of age, we know what to do, and what we do is we feed, feed, feed that baby who has shown a distinct lack of interest in food. With MCAD, without food it is a short trip down from gurgling, cooing, and waving one's tiny fist to brain damage, organ failure, coma, and death. This is why I cry a little bit whenever I get to hold Hannah alone. This is why I am not just a Mommy but a mad, zany Mommy. This is why I will become a Mommy who blogs.