Me, Myself and Mommy

Ladies and gents, I am proud to announce that Moanna has mastered the alphabet. I almost said “finally mastered” but to be fair she’s only 3 and it is perfectly normal for children her age not to know her ABC’s. Most of the time, I’m very “Children learn at their own pace. We adults make children learn to much too early instead of allowing them to use their imagination and following their curiosity.” However, this alphabet thing was getting under my skin. Why? Because since the beginning of time she has known the entire alphabet minus one letter.

J

For at least the past six months Moanna has tortured us with the alphabet song repetitively. We would hear the entire alphabet, minus J, a couple dozen times a day. It was like having the same song on repeat all-the-live-long-day, and that song would skip every single time in the exact same spot.

I have a theory. I think that Mo was a bit wigged out by the fact that there was a letter J because she has a Grandpa Jai. Why on earth would Grandpa Jai be in the alphabet? That’s just crazy talk! A B C D E F G H I K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y X. See there is no J in that alphabet.

We tried countless ways to get the letter J back in the alphabet where it belonged. We would have her repeat every letter after us. We would jump when we got to the letter J. We would clap when we got to letter J. We showed her in books and on pictures. We would sing it with her and say J really loud when it was time for J. We would have her listen to us sing the alphabet. Nothing worked. We looked like monkeys in the circus trying to get her to put J back where it belonged. When ever would correct her, she would smile at us and start over and sing the alphabet right on through minus J and look at us like we were nuts for thinking she was wrong.

I was folding laundry (OK I can’t remember what exactly I was doing but it was something domestic) one day last week and Moanna came in looking very proud of herself and said, “Listen to this! A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z. Now I know my ABC’s. Next time won’t you sing with me?” My jaw hit the floor. We called Daddy right away so she could sing to him. He too was very proud.

After the celebration wore off, I realized who taught her where J went. It wasn’t Steve or I, or anyone else doing animal tricks. It was a magnet. Her alphabet singing, letter pronouncing magnet. I had been listening to that magnet all morning long. When I say all morning long, I mean all gosh darn morning long. While I was unloading the dishwasher, cooking breakfast, making lunch, loading the dishwasher, sweeping the floors, making the beds, going to the bathroom, unpacking boxes, Moanna was standing in front of the fridge hitting that button over and over and over and over and OVER again.

Moanna has been repetitiously chanting the alphabet nonstop, even more so than before we found J, at ear piercing volumes. I am proud, and hard of hearing.

People talk about the terrible twos all the time. From the time someone finds out you are pregnant, you get looks of pity, and comments like, “Do you think you can handle the terrible twos?” Bookstores are constantly sold out of books on the subject of two; parents spend hundreds on therapy to help get them through two.

Why doesn’t anyone warn you about THREE? I feel blind sided here people. A little heads up would have been nice. This child has not worn me out like this since she was an infant and we were screaming at each other because we were not so- good-at the breastfeeding thing. Don’t get me wrong, so far three has not been about tempers. It’s been more of a “I’m three, check out what I can do,” kind-of-thing. Scouts’ honor, the day she turned three, she dialed the energy up to an ear piercing level. When she wakes up in the morning she is ready to put on her running shoes and go, when we get home in the evening she is ricocheting off the wall, and she is still going when we put her down for bed. On top of the energy that only belongs in a pinball machine, she has also pulled out the independence and experimentation card. What gets me more than the crazy stunts is that when I react  freak-out, she’s completely calm and like, “It’s cool, Mom. I’ve got this.” She has no fear of my fear. She is not impressed that I am hyperventilating and sweating bullets.

You think I’m over reacting don’t you? You think I just need to drink a few sodas and get over it. Don’t lie to me because I see it in your eyes. Let me paint you a little picture of our Monday evening…

Moanna and I get home, and I go to the bathroom. Moanna comes to the bathroom door to tell me that she is ice skating. I should have been alarmed, but I wasn’t, she has a good imagination. About 30 seconds later I hear water splatter all over the kitchen floor followed by gleeful squeals. I rush out of the bathroom (no time for washing of the hands), and to find that Moanna has dumped her water cup all over the kitchen floor for her to “ice skate” trough. “MOANNA WHAT DID YOU DO?” “Mo000mmmmyyy, I’m ice skating.”

About an hour later, I’m making dinner and Moanna taps me on the leg and say, “What is this?” as she is holding up the floor air register that she has extracted from the kitchen floor. “HOW DID YOU DO THAT? I WAS STANDING RIGHT HERE!” “Mommy, why is there a big hole in the floor?” “You better put that back before you fall in the hole.”

Still not impressed?

Not more than half an hour after the whole in the floor, I hear Moanna in the bathroom. It sounded like she was going to the potty. Just when I was feeling proud, I heard water running in the sink. My eyes get wide and I drop the tomatoes because even with her step-stool she can’t reach the water. I turn the corner to the bathroom to find her standing in the middle drawer of the vanity brushing your teeth. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING!? HOW DID YOU GET UP THERE? YOU ARE GOING TO GET HURT. IF YOU WANT TO BRUSH YOUR TEETH, YOU NEED TO ASK FOR HELP.” “Mommy, it’s OK. I can do it by myself now. I don’t need help.”

And that was Monday people.

I don’t know if I have Tuesday in me.

I am warning you now, I am on my soapbox today. I’ve setup camp on this bad boy and I don’t see myself coming down anytime soon.

As a result of our quickly approaching move to Georgia, Steve and I are about to change from group insurance to individual/private insurance which is the equivalent of playing with fire and tigers and deadly snakes. Just wait, it gets better. In addition to making the move from group to private insurance, we also want to grow our family in the near future. I know, oil and water, the two don’t mix. And that is why I am up here on my soapbox foaming at the mouth.

We have been researching private insurance and maternity care for an eternity now, and these are my findings. We’re screwed. Insurance and society discriminate against women and growing families in a way that angers me to the point of having chest pain. I am not kidding about the chest pain.

(PS. I’m not currently pregnant, nor are we trying at this time, but we want a new baby in the near future and are trying our best to plan responsibly).

There is only ONE insurance company that even offers private maternity care. Did you hear me? I said ONE. Do you know what that is? A monopoly. Last time I checked, monopolies were illegal, but since insurance companies get away with murder in the first place, I guess we can let a monopoly slide on by too.

So this ONE company has ONE plan/rider that on top of their high rates is an extra $180 dollars a month. AND, there is a 12 month waiting period. AND, there is like a $3000.00 deductible. So before this company even starts paying their sad percentage you have to pay $5160.00! If you have a normal/natural/complication free birth that’s already 50-75% of the cost. A normal/natural/complication free birth is doable, we can probably afford that with little heartburn, but it’s the complicated pregnancy, c-section, emergency situations that we can’t stomach with out selling our first born. Since we tend to like our first born, we’re not interested in putting her on the market.

This ONE company did, so kindly, specify that you don’t have to wait 12 months to get pregnant. You just have to wait three months, get pregnant, and then find a doctor who is willing to wait until you have passed your 12 months waiting period to file the billing. What doctor do you know that is willing to do that? It’s already damn near impossible for them to get paid by the insurance company to begin with. Then what happens if the baby is premature? You are SOL my friend. If that baby  comes before your waiting period is over, it’s all on your dollar. And, premature munckins are expensive.

Smoke is coming out my ears right now! But let’s continue…

I was looking at another policy yesterday that is a discounted plan because of a group that Steve is involved in. This “group” plan doesn’t cover maternity care. HOWEVER, it does cover pregnancy complications/ sick baby care (80% after deductible is met). What on earth does this mean? I call the chick at this company and ask her to further explain what it means, and she is little help. What she did know managed to anger me more. When I asked her about what a “pregnancy complication” was she said that it was something that would become life threatening if not treated. So I said, “for example a c-section?” Her response (after going to ask someone else was), “An emergency c-section would be covered if for example the baby’s heart rate dropped and didn’t come back up. A scheduled c-section would not be covered.” My blood pressure is starting to boil. “So what you’re saying is that if it is clear to the doctor that a natural birth isn’t going to be successful and in order to protect the life of baby and mom he urges you to schedule a c-section to prevent a life threatening emergency that would not be covered?” Insurance chick, “That’s correct.” SMOKE IS SPEWING OUT MY EARS AND NOSE RIGHT NOW. “Do you have any idea what position this puts the parents and baby in? They just heard that they are going to need a crazy expensive surgery to safely welcome their new baby into the world, but insurance isn’t going to cover it because the doctor is proactive and doesn’t want to risk you going into labor and risking your life or the babies life. However, if they say ‘no doc, I can’t afford that; my insurance won’t pay for that. I have to go into labor and put me and the baby at risk before insurance will cover it. DO YOU HEAR WHAT YOU ARE TELLING ME? DOES THIS MAKE ANY SENSE AT ALL?” Insurance chick, “A scheduled c-section isn’t an emergency.” “THIS MAKES NO SENSE WHAT-SO-EVER. IT IS UNETHICAL AND DISCRIMINATING.”

Deep breaths…

As a last resort, I researched Medicaid in Georgia.

Before we go any further, because I know this can get heated quick, I do not believe in “working the system and living off the government” nor do I think anything less of people who do have to use Medicaid to have happy and healthy babies. Moanna was a Medicaid baby, and I have no shame – she is beautiful and I had excellent care. However, if you are a tax paying citizen and doing your best, I think it is perfectly acceptable to use government assistance when you need to.

As I was saying, I did some online research about the programs in Georgia and found that we make way too much money to qualify. However, at the end of the month, we have no surplus. Our living expenses and debt suck up the dollars we bring in in a hurry. We have very little at the end of the month to play with, and that “play” money typically goes straight to debt. So while, it may look like we are rolling in the dough that is far from true. It does make me angry that because we are working hard to better our lives, we don’t qualify for Medicaid, but if we were lazy bums we would be handed a free baby.

AND, this new healthcare reform thing no longer allows children to be denied coverage for any reason. However, pregnancy isn’t included in that. Isn’t there a child involved in pregnancy? And if we’re going to be a pro life country, shouldn’t we make sure that every life is given an equal and fair chance from the beginning?

Let’s say that I accept the ridiculous rates and waiting period for that one company that offers maternity care, and we take proper measures to prevent conception. Accidents do happen you know!!

Exhibit A:

Unless we become celebrate for the next year, there is no way to guarantee 100% that another one of these beautiful accidents is going to happen again.

I am boiling over with anger that insurance companies and our society are trying to dictate when I can have babies. Last time I checked, it was a human right to have children and a family, and the structure of our society is trying to control that. I feel like because we are making leaps to better our lives, we are being punished. Because we are choosing to move to a new land so my husband can continue working for a company that he loves (his company doesn’t offer insurance because he’s on a 1099 as an independent contractor) and that we can have more stability and opportunity in our lives, we are getting handed the short end of the insurance stick. Families and children should be the priority, but in this one way I feel like our country is just a bunch of manipulative money hungry jerks. Most of the time I love our country and what “The American Dream” is, but as we pursue our “American Dream” we are being shafted. I told you I was on a soapbox. I am pissed off and on my soap box!

I know you all have advice, and many of  you have probably been in this situation. Is there anything out there that I am missing? There has to be an option out there that I don’t know about because so many other women and families go through this. Are you angry too? Do you think I’ve flipped my rocker? Someone out there must know some secret password to make this situation better!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go breathe in a paper bag and calm down.

Moanna came home today!

Moanna called me today on her way home from Maryland to let me know what time she would be home. More importantly, she called to tell me what we would be doing when she got home.

“Mommy! When I get home I’m going to talk to you for a long time about what I did with Grandma and Grandpa. Then, we’re running to the park.”

And that, my friend,  is exactly what we did.

Every few months this dark cloud settles in over Moanna’s room. It feels like the weight of a thousand elephants are trampling on my chest when I enter her room. I go through five gazillion emotions as Moanna’s dresser stares at me with it’s beady eyes. There are few chores that I loathe more than going through Moanna’s cloths. I feel nauseous with anxiety just thinking about it. It’s a job that I do not feel qualified for.

For one thing, I have to decide what still passes as “fits” and what qualifies as torture if I continue to shove the poor girl into it. I know the t-shirt that shows her belly even with her pants pulled up to her arm pits probably needs to go, but it’s too darn cute. Plus if that shirt is too small, it means she’s not a baby anymore. I can’t handle that kind of stress in my life right now.

Then, I come across a few outfits that I don’t like and  I am ecstatic that they no longer “fit.” Technically she can still wear them, but only for a few more months, so clearly the should go. Do you know what this means? This means my baby is growing up to be such a big girl!

Things are going great, until I dig really deep and find the most precious outfit that still has the tags on it. Of course it doesn’t fit because it’s been in the back of her closet since before she was born. I can’t believe that she grew too fast, and I never got to dress her up in this. How could I forget we had this outfit? I feel so low and lousy when I come across a dress that someone gave to Moanna and she never got to wear it because I didn’t remember it existed?

After I’ve gone through all of the clothes and decided what “fits” and what doesn’t, I have to decide what should be kept for potentional future daughters, and what should be sold or pitched. What should I save? What should I pitch?  What if we don’t have any more girls? What if by the time we have girls this outfit is obsolete? What if I save all of this stuff, and mice and moths get into it? Where do I store all of the clothes I decide to save? There is no right answer.

Save me!

Moanna is in Maryland for a few weeks having a grand time with her Grandparents which means it’s a perfect time to sort through her clothes. It’s also been more than six months since I suffered a bout of bipolar emotions over a basket of laundry. Oh, and, it’s almost her birthday which means if I don’t go through her clothes, I’ll have to buy her a second dresser to hold them all and that’s just not in the budget (Momma needs a new camera). While Moanna is out gallivanting and taking gymnastics classes (she’s going to come home so grown up and doing vaults over the couch), I’m going to be popping Xanax and breathing into a paper bag.

Can you help me? How do you decide what still “fits” and what doesn’t? How do you decide what to keep and what to get rid of? How do you store the items you decide to keep? How do you sleep at night? If you don’t have any solutions, can you at least come talk to me and keep me distracted from the pain I’m going to be facing this evening?

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go lie down and cry myself to sleep.

Look at her go!

She’s so big! There is no way any of her clothes are going to fit by the time she gets home.

Hold me.