yes here it is...the obligatory baby costume wearing photo. You can tell he's quite thrilled. But he is one damn cute monster/dragon/whateveryouwanttocallit
Follow the progress and adventures of parenthood, married life and other grown-up stuff
Friday, October 31, 2008
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
Not sure what to think
Well as it turns out Collin may have something called auditory neuropathy. Essentially it means that he has nerve damage in his ear. When the brain processes information, it gets garbled and doesn't make sense (translates to a hearing loss, or hearing static to loud annoying noises). Check out this link to hear what it sounds like: (scroll down to 2. http://www.ucihs.uci.edu/hesp/Simulations/simulationsmain.htm)
So what does this all mean? Not sure yet. Apparently it's pretty uncommon and discovered in the 80's, the audiologist and the person from the hearing program weren't too familiar with it and rarely encountered it in one ear only; hopefully meeting with the ENT doctor will provide some insight.
It sounds like A). His hearing aid most likely doesn't help. If he doesn't actually have a "loss" in that ear, the hearing aid just amplifies the annoying noise. Today when he went in for a test, they blasted some sound that he shouldn't have been able to hear near the poor ear and he burst out screaming. As in the noise scared him, so he obviously heard it. This isn't a sure thing yet. Collin will continue to use it until we learn more. B). Sometimes this gets better over time. Sometimes worse. Because he's a baby he can't exactly tell us what's going on so it's not easy to asses. We're holding out hope for the getting better part of course and he'll continually be tested. C). He could have to live with this. In which case we'll learn if there's anything we can do to help. We'll have to be an advocate in classrooms, etc. Teach him to be extra cautious when crossing streets, etc. And he'll adapt.
I'm glad we discovered this early and have a whole team of people working with us. And truly thankful this is only in one ear. Collin has lots of supporters and love so he'll do just fine. And I know he won't know any different if his hearing remains the same. Still when I plug up one ear to comprehend what he must hear, I can't help but to feel a little sad on what he's missing.
So what does this all mean? Not sure yet. Apparently it's pretty uncommon and discovered in the 80's, the audiologist and the person from the hearing program weren't too familiar with it and rarely encountered it in one ear only; hopefully meeting with the ENT doctor will provide some insight.
It sounds like A). His hearing aid most likely doesn't help. If he doesn't actually have a "loss" in that ear, the hearing aid just amplifies the annoying noise. Today when he went in for a test, they blasted some sound that he shouldn't have been able to hear near the poor ear and he burst out screaming. As in the noise scared him, so he obviously heard it. This isn't a sure thing yet. Collin will continue to use it until we learn more. B). Sometimes this gets better over time. Sometimes worse. Because he's a baby he can't exactly tell us what's going on so it's not easy to asses. We're holding out hope for the getting better part of course and he'll continually be tested. C). He could have to live with this. In which case we'll learn if there's anything we can do to help. We'll have to be an advocate in classrooms, etc. Teach him to be extra cautious when crossing streets, etc. And he'll adapt.
I'm glad we discovered this early and have a whole team of people working with us. And truly thankful this is only in one ear. Collin has lots of supporters and love so he'll do just fine. And I know he won't know any different if his hearing remains the same. Still when I plug up one ear to comprehend what he must hear, I can't help but to feel a little sad on what he's missing.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Rx for our current economic climate
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Happy Half-Birthday Collin!
Flashback: Mike and I look at each other with fear as we say goodbye to the nurses and walk to our car. There must be some mistake. We're not ready for this yet! Collin is a tiny bundle in my arms, he wears an outfit that hangs off of him. Rosy cheeks and a full head of hair.
The first month was pure exhaustion. I was convinced I would never have another child. Breastfeeding might as well have been climbing Mt Everest. (But it's natural, how hard can it be? Ha!) Collin slept, then woke, then ate, then slept, then pooped, then slept, then ate, then pooped. I was trying to wean myself off of pain meds from the C-section. Friends and relatives came by and aahed and oohed. Everything was a blur. I was eager to be done with the newborn phase.
Then something happened. We started to get the hang of this parenting thing. Nursing wasn't torture anymore. Collin smiled. He was alert. Patterns began to form. Like time lapsed photography the bundle grew and grew before our eyes. He squirmed. He flipped. He laughed.
And half a year is gone. I get teary eyed when I think about how he used to lay in the crook of my arm. But then I look at the little person he's becoming, and there's a burst of excitement. I get to see the possibilities.
I'm trying to take it in as slow as possible because one day I'll wake up and the chubby cheeks and toothless smiles will be a memory.
Here are the comparison shots:
1 day:






The first month was pure exhaustion. I was convinced I would never have another child. Breastfeeding might as well have been climbing Mt Everest. (But it's natural, how hard can it be? Ha!) Collin slept, then woke, then ate, then slept, then pooped, then slept, then ate, then pooped. I was trying to wean myself off of pain meds from the C-section. Friends and relatives came by and aahed and oohed. Everything was a blur. I was eager to be done with the newborn phase.
Then something happened. We started to get the hang of this parenting thing. Nursing wasn't torture anymore. Collin smiled. He was alert. Patterns began to form. Like time lapsed photography the bundle grew and grew before our eyes. He squirmed. He flipped. He laughed.
And half a year is gone. I get teary eyed when I think about how he used to lay in the crook of my arm. But then I look at the little person he's becoming, and there's a burst of excitement. I get to see the possibilities.
I'm trying to take it in as slow as possible because one day I'll wake up and the chubby cheeks and toothless smiles will be a memory.
Here are the comparison shots:
1 day:





Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)







