Birthmark Removal: Behind the Scenes

You would think that as Camden gets older, taking him to his birthmark removal treatments would get easier. That hasn't really been the case. Well, I no longer hide in storage closets and cry during the treatments, so there's improvement there.

Now that Camden is older, though, the heartbreaking look on his face as he reaches for me and screams "Mamaaaa!" while his hand is being treated is almost too much to bare. I have to make a conscious effort to stay seated and calm when all I really want to do is grab him, tell the doctor where to shove his laser machine, and run out of the room. For good. No more treatments.

But I don't. I remind myself that we're doing a good thing for Camden and that he'll (hopefully) appreciate it in the years to come. I tell myself that it's highly unlikely that he'll even remember the doctor, the hospital building, these treatments. And then I scoop him up in my arms the very second the laser is pulled away and I feel thankful for the two month break we get in between sessions.

But, you guys? It's working. Before his most recent session a week ago, Camden's birthmark was extremely faded. It probably wouldn't even be something that would catch the eye of a stranger who didn't know it was there in the first place. And Camden's doctor assures us that when all is said and done (in about 3-4 more sessions, hopefully), you will not even be able to tell which hand had the birthmark to begin with. Modern medicine and technology is pretty remarkable, is it not?

I documented our trip to the hospital last week because, as hard it is for both of us (make that all of us-- Matt and my mom have never missed a treatment session either), I want to remember. I want to see the progress. And I want to be able to show Camden one day.

These are his hands a couple of hours before we left for the treatment last week. His left hand is the one with the birthmark. You can still see it faintly, but notice how light it is.

He fell asleep on the car ride over. Normally, I would've woken him up since, much to my dismay, I've become one of those must-stick-to-our-schedule moms. But he looked so peaceful that I couldn't stand to disturb him.

At this point, the doctor had briefly stepped into the room to say hello before the treatment began. The tears started to flow the second he saw that doctor's familiar but unwelcome face and he clung to me like a little koala bear.

Here it is. The dreaded chair. Matt sits in the chair, Camden sits on Matt's lap, and an assistant covers Camden's eyes tightly with his hands (so that his eyes aren't damaged by the lasers). The rest of us in the room wear protective glasses. It's all over in 2 minutes, tops, but it feels like an eternity.

And here's the aftermath. The confusing thing for people who don't understand the way laser treatments work is that obviously his hand looked much better before the session than it does after (like in this picture). What people don't realize, though, is that those purple marks are bruises, not his birthmark. Those bruises take a few weeks to fade, but when they do, his birthmark will be even lighter than it was in the very first picture I posted. That's the plan anyway.

I find this picture both adorable and a little sad. Camden has become fascinated with "boo-boos" lately and will point out a scab if he skins his knee or will point to an old scar of mine frequently. When we came home from his appointment last week, I kept finding him like this: sitting quietly, staring at the bruising on his hand.

So, there you have it. A behind-the-scenes look at birthmark removal. I sincerely look forward to posting about his last treatment one day in the relatively near future.

Lizards, Birthdays, and Easter, Oh My!

Our Easter began with The Great Lizard Hunt. Snickers, our chubby, lazy cat, decided Easter morning would be a good time to carry a lizard into our house and set it loose in the family room. Matt, Chris (my brother who is in town visiting from Chicago), and I spent about a half hour turning over furniture and removing couch cushions, searching frantically for our Reptilian friend. No luck. We called off our search and my brother tried to reassure me with statements like these:

"Lizards aren't dangerous, Kerri. It's not like it's going to hurt you."

Well, right. I wasn't exactly terrified of being brutally attacked by a lizard. But I did feel extremely nervous about the possibility of a tiny reptile scurrying across my legs as I slept at night.

Anyway. Back to Easter. I was really looking forward to giving Camden his Easter basket this year, since he's so much older and more aware of what's going on than he was last year at this time. We kicked off the morning with some bunny shaped pancakes. I don't claim to be a culinary artist, and I'll even admit that this bunny's ears fell off shortly after this picture was taken. But Camden loved it, and that's what counts:

When it came to his Easter basket, Camden didn't disappoint. He searched his basket enthusiastically, removing one item at a time to exam it, and then taking time to play with each gift.

Here's the basket (filled with bubbles, crayons, a sketch pad for coloring, some candy, a miniature car, two small trains, and some plastic eggs):

What's this? A Chuggington train?!

Vrooooom! Train vs. Car race!

Hmm. What could this be? A piece of chocolate?

Here you go, Mommy. I've seen you eat 8 of these at once before.

And while you're at it, you can take this grass too. I'm not so sure about this texture.

We also got Camden a lawn mower that blows bubbles, which clearly didn't fit into his Easter basket. We brought it out after he was done going through his basket, and let me tell you, he hated it. Did not like his lawn mower one bit!

Can you tell?

This is booooring!

Okay, I'm obviously joking. He loves that lawn mower to pieces. We promptly took it outside, where he pushed it up and down our street for an hour while repeating "Bubbbah!" as the bubbles floated up from the mower.

Later that day, we packed up and headed out to my parents' house for Easter dinner. Well, actually both Easter dinner and Matt's birthday celebration. That's right-- my husband shared his birthday with Easter this year. All of the grandkids had a fantastic time running through the house and dipping toes into the backyard pool. Then, when we all sang "Happy Birthday" to Matt, Camden signed for more singing once we were done. We ended up signing it 3 more times, until we finally called it quits, much to Camden's dismay. (For the record, I sang it again for him on the car ride home. He did not sign for more when I was done. Should I be offended?)

A family shot, courtesy of my sister:

All in all, it was a fantastic weekend. The Easter bunny was generous, we spent time with lots of family, my nephew celebrated his first birthday, and Matt celebrated his 31st birthday (which means we've reached the part of the year when I get to tease him about being 8 whole months older than me!). Oh, and the lizard eventually made it out of our house safely. Who could ask for anything more?!

17 months of you.

Dear Camden,

Today, you are 17 months old.

I wrote a post earlier today-- a bulleted list of facts about you at 17 months old. I listed how many teeth you have, how many words you can say, your favorite activities and games, and milestones you've reached lately. And then, I looked over the list and realized that, while everything included was about you, it didn't even come close to accurately capturing you.

Bullet number three stated that you have five teeth right now. But it didn't mention how your entire face lights up when you smile your big, sincere smile. When we're in the car and your Mickey Mouse DVD is playing, I always glance in the rear-view mirror to catch a glimpse of that toothy grin when I hear the words "It's me, Mickey Mouse!". Because no matter how many times you've watched that DVD, you still smile like it's the very first time when Mickey says hello.

The fifth bullet said that you no longer crawl upstairs-- you prefer to walk up each stair, holding my hand for extra support. I didn't mention, however, that sometimes you don't look to me for support, even when I want you to. Yesterday afternoon, you were playing out back on the patio. I looked away for maybe 15 seconds to check on dinner in the oven. You took advantage of that small window of time and made your way up to the very top of the steep hill in our back yard. You smiled at me excitedly from your perch and took my frantic sprinting towards you as an invitation to a game; you ran down the hill, arms outstretched and laughing, at full speed. And you know what? You made it without falling. And you know what else? You were wearing a shirt that said "Stunt Man".

Somewhere on my list, I noted that you're still not using many recognizable words. But you are becoming an increasingly better communicator each day. You like to play the "name game"; that is, you point to different objects, toys, or people-- and then you look at me and wait for me to name each one. You try to name them, too, in your own language. You also enthusiastically sign "more" when you want another helping of food, or when you want me to continue to toss you up in the air or play cars with you.

Oh, the cars. My bulleted list did mention playing cars as one of your favorite activities, but that's such an understatement. You love pretty much any form of transportation and practically pop out of your wagon as you point with sheer excitement at every car, truck, airplane, helicopter, motorcycle, or bike that we encounter on our nightly walks. Your toy box is overflowing with miniature forms of those same modes of transportation and you bring them to your daddy or me, one by one, and sit them next to us on the family room floor. Then you give your signature squeal and start sprinting in circles around us, laughing as we chase you with your firetruck or school bus.

My bulleted list could never capture the way your face looks-- so full of pure, innocent love-- as you lean in to kiss me and wrap your arms around my neck. It couldn't convey how deeply you laugh when your daddy chases you around the house, or when you watch Maggie and Snickers wrestle.

The thing is, Camden, my list didn't do you justice, because it's impossible to capture everything that makes up your sweet, loving, playful, and mischievious personality with a bunch of bullet points. You've been here with us for 17 months now, and I still wake up every morning excited to run up the stairs and see your little blonde head peering out at me over your crib rails. It never gets old. It never will.

I love you more than you could possibly imagine.

Love,
Mommy


(PS-A big thank you to my wonderful and talented friend, Ellie, who designed my new header for me. Ellie is a busy mom to a sweet daughter who is a couple of days older than Camden, and she still took time out of her hectic schedule to help me out. Thank you, Ellie!)

(PPS- You might've noticed that my blog title is different-- I've decided to retire "Party of Five". Why? Well, because, I'm hoping that eventually we'll be more than a party of five and I figured why not be ahead of the curve and make the switch now? And no- this is not a pregnancy announcement. Really, Mom. It's not.)

The Cul-de-sac Crew

(Please excuse the Ugly that is the header of my blog right now. We're kind of Under Construction, though not by choice. I woke up one morning to an absentee header that promised to be back "soon", but I'm losing hope that it'll be back at all. New header coming soonish. Until then, bare with me and The Ugly.)

(Almost) 17 months is such a fun age. I know, I know-- I sound like a broken record, right? Every stage has its perks, for sure, but I'm loving the increasingly active and independent little boy Camden is becoming these days. It's become a fairly regular part of our routine to play outside in the cul-de-sac at the end of our street in the late afternoons. I've mentioned before that Camden is a shy guy, but that shyness only applies around adults he doesn't know. He loves other kids and will jump in and play with them without hesitation.

Nearly every afternoon, Camden rolls up to the cul-de-sac in his little red car and excitedly joins in the Organized Chaos. This Chaos I speak of includes Camden's cousins (Jacob, Alex, and Will) and it also includes Camden's cousin's cousins (Daniel and Lainey). Got that? Yes, this does mean that my sister lives down the street from me...and my sister's sister-in-law, Tricia, also lives a few doors down. I swear we don't live on a commune and we're not part of a cult. It just kind of happened that we all ended up in this neighborhood a few years back-- it wasn't even planned! So, take all of the cousins and add in a few neighbor kids and you've got the wild, mostly blonde bunch that overtakes the cul-de-sac in the afternoons.

Since I don't get to watch Camden in daycare or school settings, I love observing his interactions with the other kids during these afternoon playdates. Right now, he gravitates towards the "big kids" (3-6 year olds). He follows them as they run around the yard; he picks up a hockey stick when they're all running around wielding sticks. I had to laugh the other day when Camden was running, full steam ahead, trying to get to where the Big Kids were gathered in the garage. The moment he arrived next to them, breathless, they took off again to their next destination. Camden hesitated for all of 3 seconds before he was off, sprinting behind them, wanting so much to be a part of the group. I love how much he looks up to these kids (and, to their credit, these Big Kids are amazingly sweet to Camden and the other Littles).

So, yes. It's a good age. Even though his vocabulary is still lacking, he has matured in so many other ways that leave me feeling both very proud and a tad nostalgic for the baby he once was.

And now-- some pictures of what we've been up to the past week:

Playing cards with Cousin Will...

...until Will decides he'd rather go for a swim.  

Camden's Cul-de-sac Crew

Watching Tricia blow some bubbles...

I could do without my red, sweaty face in this picture, but I love Camden's adorable expression.

"What? This is a perfectly acceptable way to play with this toy."  

[PS- I've been having some major issues with Blogger lately-- namely, whenever I go to publish a post, it converts it to one gigantic paragraph even though I clearly have separate paragraphs in my post. This has been going on for weeks. I figured out how to fix it today, so if any of you are having the same issue, let me know and I'll pass the quick fix info along.]

A Mother's Love

Every night, I sit beside Camden's crib and shove my arm between the narrow opening of the crib rails so that Camden can hold on to my wrist as he falls asleep. I love this time. The dark room, completely void of noise except for the rain water that echoes from his sound machine. Camden is completely still, except for his one tiny hand that strokes my wrist over and over again.

This is my time to reflect, to think about the day's events or what I need to get done the following day. I make mental checklists, considering all of the homework I need to get done and the emails I need to return that have sat, unanswered, in my inbox for days. I plan a schedule for Camden and me the next day: will we go to storytime? Or should we just play outside and enjoy the arrival of spring weather? I grocery shop in my mind, too, and attempt to channel my inner Rachael Ray, dreaming up creative new dinner ideas (a task I always fail miserably at).

That's what I normally do while sitting next to Camden's crib. This past week, while feeling Camden's small hand gently stroke my wrist, I've thought about my mom. I thought about all of the nights during my childhood when she kept a vigil by my bedside if I had so much as a fever. I remembered the night she stayed up way past her bedtime (and mine) to help me complete a project I'd procrastinated on in true junior high fashion. And she did it without complaining. I thought about how excited I was when she accompanied my first grade class on a field trip, and how loved I felt every time I opened my lunch box to find a quick, hand-written note from her lying next to my sandwich. I remembered every time she took me prom dress shopping and how she'd expertly applied my makeup the night she knew that Matt was going to propose to me.

And I thought about more recent events, too. I remembered how she waited on me hand and foot after my laparoscopic surgery. She showed up at my house with dinner the night I was to give myself my first injection before my IUI. I thought about how she sat in the corner of my OB's exam room on countless occasions, smiling at the sound of Camden's heartbeat on the doppler. And, of course, I remembered how she stood opposite Matt, holding back one of my legs as we all welcomed Camden into the world that November day.

And oh, I couldn't help but think of the way Camden adores his Nan. The way he abandons whatever toy he happens to be playing with when she walks in the front door; how he runs to her as fast as his little legs will take him, arms outstretched, smiling ear to ear.

I thought about all of these things each night during the past week because my whole family was rocked by a health scare concerning my mom. Some of us put on brave faces, some of us fell apart (ahem, me!), and others tried to stay busy and distracted. But, still, it was in the back of all of our minds: Mom was going in for a series of tests last Thursday. And they were checking her for that scary, awful C-word. The results came in yesterday afternoon. No cancer. What appeared as a dark spot on her kidney in a CT scan was, in reality, an accessory spleen. As in, she has an extra spleen. Apparently some people do, and it means nothing. Most people never even know they have one. But there was no cancer. I think I really breathed for the first time in weeks after getting that phone call yesterday.

When I sat beside Camden's crib last night, I offered up a silent prayer of thanks. And then I thought of my mom again. I looked at Camden's blonde head, and watched as his back rose and fell in a steady rhythm, assuring me that he had drifted off to sleep. Still, I sat there, his hand firmly gripping my wrist, even in his sleep. My presence is a comfort to him, just as my mom's presence has been a comfort to me so many times in the past.

There's nothing quite like a mother's love.

You can find him in the club.

Last week, Camden and I hit up the neighborhood playground on a particularly warm and sunny day. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The playground was crowded with small children-- some swinging, some climbing the slide, others chasing each other around and squealing. Camden joined in the fun by climbing up and down the stairs leading to the slide over and over again (such a good thigh workout for Mommy!).

Upon our arrival, I had noticed that there was music playing in the background but paid little attention to it. There's a pool adjacent to the playground and I looked over to see a teenage girl who I recognized as one of the lifeguards cleaning it. Maybe she decided that the kids were being too noisy or maybe her favorite song came on. Whatever the reason, the music suddenly became louder and I had to laugh to myself in surprise when I heard exactly what she was listening to. It wasn't anything super hardcore, but it was definitely not appropriate for the preschool and younger crowd a few feet away from her on the playground. Think Kanye and Jay-Z-- the uncensored versions.

A dad supervising his son on the slide looked up at me wide-eyed and shook his head as the first F-bomb was dropped. A few moms standing over by the swings collectively gasped and started looking angrily in the direction of the oblivious teenager. Some moms started to pack up and head for the gate. The kids were completely unfazed. Classical music could've been playing in the background for all they knew.

Well, except for one kid.

Just as Ludacris (or is it Lil' Jon?!) declared "We want a lady in the street but a freak in the bed!", Camden froze in place in the middle of the playground-- and then began to bend his knees quickly over and over again to the beat of the music. What can I say? The kid loves to dance. And, I'll admit it--it is kind of a catchy song.