A curly-headed blur zoomed past me as I carried the dog’s full bowl of water to his tray. Zoe, don’t run with a pen, please. It’s dangerous.

“It’s not a pen, and anyway I was skipping with it. It’s my pencils.”

ALRIGHT WELL WHATEVER YOU’RE RUNNING WITH STOP IT AND WALK – you don’t wanna put an eye out.

Yeah I said that.

This comes on the heels of her very first stitches Saturday night. She was refusing to eat dinner with us during a half hour of being an utter pill for an unknown reason, most likely that she was tired after a long day of doing

Hold on. I just had to save this draft and return to it because there was a crash in the kitchen. It seems someone had climbed up and gotten plates to set the table for tomorrow morning’s breakfast (SUPER SWEET right?) and long story short we have one fewer plates.

Where was I? Oh yes, the stitches. So in a fit she shoved off our lofted dining table in her lofted pink chair, which fell back in slow motion. I said, “Awesome,” as she fell, because I was thinking that surely THIS would teach her, not injure her, but scare her into thinking at least twice before her next display of stubborn hostility, when she landed, quite gracefully, upright and without any limbs under any part of the chair. Whew, I thought, but in just as slow a motion, unfortunately as an aftershock of the landing she bumped her chin on the padded part of the chair and began crying in pain. Joel picked her up and brought her to me, in his infinite wisdom warning me to hold back the I TOLD YOU SOs until we determined she was okay, when I saw blood gushing from her chin. After we stopped the bleeding I got a better look and could see muscle fibers and adipose tissue coming through, so off to get stitches we went. To me, lacerations are the worst – I mean, to look at or even feel the chair, you’d never think it would break skin.

The urgent care place was awesome. We were in and out, they numbed her well, the treatment team was really nice, and although a white sheet papoose/taco was necessary,

Wait so I’m not making this up. She just came in, wide-eyed, and said, “Mom, you better not step on all the towels because I spilled a WHOLE BUNCH of water.”

Right now you might be thinking many things, such as why isn’t your four-year-old in bed? And why are you continuing effectively to ignore her, and where is your husband? Exactly. Now they are playing something called fishkitball and I’m going to wrap this up.

So the three stitches come out in a week. A week during which she can’t be in the pool. During the last week of her swimming lessons. But we’re so fortunate that these are the worst of our concerns regarding her health.

In other news, third year has begun, and I’m really excited. More on that later, surely. Today during orientation attention was paid to our responsibilities and cautions regarding any online presence we may have. I like to think I’m aware of these issues and walk a fine line both personally and professionally, trying to balance privacy with creativity and honesty. It was a good reminder never to betray the trust of the people for whom I’ll be caring medically and with whom I work, and I also thought about Zoe. I hope she doesn’t mind and maybe even will think it’s cool to have grown up online. I know we’re taking some risks and that not everyone would do it this way. She knows I write about her and post pictures of her; if anything I just want to share the joy she brings to our world, even when she’s breaking skin and plates.

I’ve been thinking a lot about babies in general, new Moms, and our own little Zoe and how it seems like yesterday she was just joining us, yet she’s always been a part of me. Then I think about what babies go through to get here. It’s freaking amazing. I’m really glad I had Zoe before medical school because I worried PLENTY without all that extra information.

So that’s on my mind, plus I’m learning about cancer chemotherapeutic agents at the moment, so I’m taking a trip down memory lane to my first real consideration of my reproductive potential. I also feel the need to say that I am not – repeat: am NOT – considering producing another child at this time. Nor do I, or would I ever, steal children.

I had this conversation with my oncologist over the phone while standing in the hallway of the place where we had just moved my Granddad so he could receive the proper care after heart surgery and rehab. (I guess this part sticks in my mind because I have thought many times how odd it was to take that call about my newish problem during a visit to someone in a very different stage of illness.)

Among a series of much less personal questions one must ask when planning a surgery (do you have any drug allergies, have you had other surgeries), he asked, “In the event that we get in there [during surgery] and find the other ovary significantly affected, do you want us to be as conservative as possible to preserve fertility? Or should we take it out?”
I was quiet, just for a moment. I hadn’t thought about that. “Well, I’m not going to have a lot of kids if I’m dead. So yeah. Take it, if you must.”

About two weeks earlier, a family doctor I barely knew stared at my growing belly and said, “Oh yeah. You’re pregnant. About five months.” I knew I wasn’t. (But I don’t blame her. I did look pregnant sometimes. However, on the night before my surgery, my belly was flat, the tumor inside completely undetectable.) She took some blood to confirm and scheduled an ultrasound for the following Monday. (The Friday before that ultrasound is when I got scared and had back pain enough to visit the emergency room instead of waiting for the ultrasound, which would have been the thing to do, had I been more patient or less scared.)

I thought I didn’t want kids for a good portion of my young-adult life. Surely, I figured, if I were to change my mind, I’d adopt, since there are so many children who need a home. The longer Joel and I dated, the more I thought I did want kids, specifically with him. Cut to being a newlywed with a giant belly; we were not ready to be parents, but had more than come around to the idea. To hear that the blood test was negative was not a surprise. Nor was it welcome, given the alternative.
Instead of “boy or girl?”, apparently the big surprise after my surgery was whether or not I still had an ovary. (One of my favorite google image results for immature teratoma is a girl in the hospital pretending to hold her tumor in a baby blanket – hilarious. Because the ovary holds thousands of little potential babies.)

So we know the rest: half of Zoe was in the healthy one, and she’s perfection (not a monster – the word teratoma is from classical Greek for “monstrous tumor” – which most Moms fear at some point during their pregnancy; perhaps my fear was greater than some). I’m of the mind that when a baby makes it through all the harrowing obstacles inherent to the process and arrives outside the womb, in whatever condition, he or she is a fighter with much cause and purpose to be here. This may be hard to argue in the peaceful silence and stillness of the sleeping, adorable lump who seems to do little else.

Stats from her four-year-old checkup today:

42 inches (106.68 cm) tall!!! (90th%)
34.8 pounds (17.42 kg) in weight! (75th%)
great blood pressure, great teeth, perfect hearing, perfect vision

We are so lucky.

She told the doctor that when she grows up, she would like to be a princess. She got a nasal flu vaccine and three shots, completing all the major childhood immunizations she’ll need until she’s 12 (!!!). Little brave soul that she is said only a simple, “Ow.” during the shots. I really like that office, too – they’re pros. For her troubles, she picked out Tinkerbell and Hello Kitty stickers.

She is truly amazing. Singing, dancing, spelling, writing, counting, imagining, joking, loving her way through the days – way too quickly. Joel and I agree that in the past year she has developed even more of her personality. Four just seems so… grown up. Close to going to school. And she really is this little mini agent with thoughts and hopes and dreams ALL her own.

This weekend we started celebrating by going to the local Y for a swim on a gorgeous day. Then she helped me make her birthday cake. For the past couple of months, we have been formulating the cake plan. “Hello Kitty Princess” was her request. I envisioned a Hello Kitty playing the part of a princess and had a strategy. We made fondant. We made a Hello Kitty Princess. I presented it to Zoe after the finishing touches.

“Where’s Aurora?”
A sinking feeling came over me. How could I not have seen this coming? I had budgeted time only for the HK. Now I might have to make a Sleeping Beauty out of fondant. Please, God, no – this would take forever and more patience than I have. I cheerfully explained that Hello Kitty IS a princess.
“Yes, but we also need Aurora. The pink princess. Hello Kitty, and a princess.”

And so we made an Aurora of fondant. And a classic white cake turned pink, with pink mousse, pink white chocolate buttercream and pink swirly marshmallow fondant. It was a glorious celebration of all of her pinkness. In the end I’m really glad she challenged me. I think she liked it.

Monday she attended a Valentine’s Day party at her school AND was the recipient of Happy Birthday singing, cards, and gifts from many admirers. She gracefully accepted most of it. We picked her up early from school and went shopping for helium balloons and pink roses from her Dad. She had requested that we fill the whole house with balloons – we got about half of the living room, which we all enjoyed. The family from down the hall came over for cake. Soon it was time for singing in the bathtub and getting cozy with her princess game before bed. She opened most of her gifts today since we ran out of steam last night! So far she reports liking age four.

Pictures on Flickr soonish… I’m a little behind on that. She’s so cute that it’s hard to keep up with all the pictures we can’t resist snapping!

I’m so proud of her and love her more every.single.day.

When I was practicing for my comprehensive physical exam for class, she was my willing patient many, many times, so she picked up a few things. (I’m fairly confident she could do the full exam, and she clearly has down the blood pressure, deep tendon reflexes, heart, lung and belly sounds, eyes and ears, and Babinski testing.) Here’s how it goes when we pretend for a focused exam and she’s the doctor:

Z: [knock, knock, knock]
B: Come in!
Z: Hellooooo! How are you today? What’s going on?
B: (I explain an injury or complaint.)
Z: Oh! Okay. Let me wash my hands right away and take a look. [She washes her hands thoroughly and reaches out to shake my hand.] I’m Doctor Zoe. Okay. Now. Okay. Let me see. Mmmhmm. Okay. You’ll need a shot. And a sticker. And here’s your lollipop.

So for posterity, her stats are as follows:

Height: 35 7/8 inches (25th percentile); “The doctor says I’m growing very well and very tall.”
Weight: 32 pounds (50th percentile); (How long until I can’t post her weight?)
And according to her school report, she’s excelling by standards for someone almost a year older than she is. Not to brag or anything. Maybe a little bit.

The sweet little bug thanked me several times over the next two days for going to the doctor with her. No shots were sustained, only because I didn’t have a copy of her shot record with me (still need to go get that… Mama oops, but it just has to be done sometime in the next year), much to her relief, though that appears to be her panacea, especially when coupled with a sticker.

Last Friday we headed to the Great White North – Dallas had claimed a record 12 inches of snow – to visit Grandma Shirley and Uncle Dan who were in town from Minnesota; as a result, Zoe had eight grown people to fawn over her in person this year, and even more by phone, mail, and Internet. Saturday Zoe experienced the rare powdery snow, frolicking, throwing snowballs, building a small snowman, and exclaiming, “I just LOVE the snow of winter!” (There’s video – to be uploaded.) In the evening, Grandma took all of us to Kona Grill to celebrate the many February birthdays, and it was delicious as always. Sunday we had a Hello Kitty mini-extravaganza to celebrate, and I think she enjoyed herself. (See Flickr for pictures of the weekend and Zoe’s first experience with real snow.)

The birthdays are getting more fun each year. This time she talked about it for a week before and has relived it this week as well. On Friday she had her school birthday party, and it was so cute to see her with her friends. (Pictures to come.)

At three years old, she goes by many names, and whenever we call her a nickname or adjective, we get, “I’m not ________; I’m just Zoe!” Occasionally she adds, “Z.O.E. Zoe! That’s my name!” Some examples to fill the blank:

• munchkin
• sweetie
• pants (fancy pants, sassy pants, Zoepants)
• house ape
• ladies
• baby
• little girl
• silly
• Miss Priss
• lovely
• pumpkin
• precious

Of course she is growing so quickly and getting even better by the day. She knows what she wants and likes, and when we have clashes of wills, I remind myself that this feisty spirit will be a source of strength in her life. Just when I think there is no way she could be any sweeter or cuter, she outdoes herself, repeatedly. I’m glad she knows who she is and how to spell her name and speak her mind. She is smart, funny, grateful, empathic, creative, energetic, smiley, confident, thoughtful, strong-willed, cuddly, and helpful. I’m proud of the little person she is and her sparkling personality. I love everything about her, from her wild, untamable curls to her pink painted toenails.

She is spectacular. And yet so humble. Because she would say she’s “just Zoe”.

First, a little background.

Overall Block I exams went alright but, as usual, less well than I had hoped. The quickness and the breadth of material, especially for immunology, got the better of me, and while I held it together fairly well (i.e., I only called my sister in tears once and threatened to quit via no more than four texts), by Friday I was sure that after turning in my micro test I would walk over one building and check myself in, either at Hermann for exhaustion/septic strep (I lost my voice during the week) or at the Harris County psych ward. Not to be dramatic or anything.

Friday night I ended up doing my post exams routine of cleaning and attempting to prepare ourselves for a nice weekend at home without staring at a couch full of laundry or a pile of dishes or lying around on dog-hair-carpet. Because that’s how we roll most days. (I’ve learned to let it go, superficially, until I have time to deal with it, but deep down it’s still on my hamster wheel of concerns.)

I was excited to retrieve Zoe, who was in excellent spirits after school. The evening was pleasant and uneventful, and we went to bed late, in my hopes of sleeping late.

Saturday, 7 AM: Zoe is awake, for good, and she wants to “watch a few shows”. I oblige and return to sleep; when she gets cranky, Joel sweeps her away so I can rest. I am grateful. A few minutes of light sleep later, I tire of hearing her protests and requests for me, and I stomp out grumpily, and we begin our day of nothing. Glorious nothing. We played play-doh, watched shows, napped, and generally enjoyed each other’s company. At 6 PM we ventured out on some errands: Goodwill donating, recycling, and groceries. Across from the recycling center was a Chick-Fil-A, and Zoe excitedly requested dinner there. It was delicious, and she loved playing on the playground with a rambunctious young chap called Ian, or Phillip, or Bill. NOT Kevin, NOT Steven, which he thought Zoe was saying, which she wasn’t. Target was a blast, and we saved 10% with coupons = bonus.

Sometime around 3 AM we were awakened by a Zoe in mild distress. I’m not sure how we knew, because she wasn’t making much noise. Joel figured out that she was lying on her back and pointing to her mouth, which was piled high with vomit. The poor baby. We cleaned her up, stripped the bed, decided she needed a full bath, did that, and got her all ready for bed again. Laundry was begun, and into clean sheets we went. Less than half an hour later, we repeated the whole thing, with the variation that the vomit landed almost entirely on my person, and the two of us took a shower. Putting our last set of sheets on the bed, we decided to put a few extra blankets below Zoe and to keep a pan by the bed.

She learned quickly, warning us when she would vomit in time to place the pan, keeping us updated with, “Here it comes… I have more… I’m almost done…” I was aching for her and so proud of her at the same time. And so it went throughout the night and next day. The laundry never ceased. Despite her illness, she remained in good spirits while awake, though mostly she slept. Family required status reports, particularly my squeamish-only-when-it-comes-to-vomit sister, whose fascination/repulsion necessitates description of the quantity and quality. This provided much comic relief to me, as did Zoe’s comments. After a Dora popsicle: “Hey! Pink throw up!” Apropos of nothing: “Mom? Throwing up is not fun.”

Sunday night went a little better, with evidence that whatever-it-was was moving down the GI tract. I’ll spare you the details except to say that the laundry.continued.all.night. The last incident for which I was present occurred at 5:30 AM before my alarm went off at 6 AM. Joel kept her at home on Monday, which I am so grateful he can do. I trudged off to school, embittered that my post-exam “relaxation” and “preparation for block 2″ weekend was neither of those things, and I began yet another block completely exhausted. A bright spot in the day: Joel texted me with a Zoe quote that I will hover for you in order to protect her privacy somewhat. Hilarious.

Amidst the chaos, there were many moments like that, actually. She’s amazing. And we’ve learned some things, mostly that we should get a plastic sheet.

Now it’s Wednesday, and perhaps for the best, I have forgotten most of the things that inspired my irritation and grumbling and today’s post’s title. I do recall that I broke yet another backpack. And that I missed my morning bus by 30 seconds, thus missing my first class which turned out to be quite important, setting me behind before I even started. Dispersed throughout the day were various and sundry instigators, coming full circle with missing my evening bus, only after running for it like a total moron with my two bags of 70+ pounds of crap, arriving at the bus door only to remain unseen by the driver and amuse the other waiting bus patrons with my misfortune. And THEN I studied while waiting for the next one, putting away my materials when I expected it to arrive, only to wait an additional half hour because for some reason, it never came.

I know these things seem small. But in aggregate… wasting my time and feeling behind already and suffering a severe sleep and mental stamina deficit… It was a little much.

Plus I’m really over my commute.

Long story short, I’m quite difficult to live with. And I’m sorry about the preposition there. I know I have several balls in the air, none of which I’m prepared to let drop, though they have been pruned in the past year. I have to work on grace, and on the schedule and routine. One might say I am hell bent on implementing some consistency, ideally for the whole family, and at least for myself. I did order a new backpack, so instead of hauling around my pigpen in multiple bags like a hobo, I can run for the bus in a streamlined fashion.

To procrastinate I just wanted to update here. Zoe has been ill lately, and after three antibiotic shots from the doctor this week (in lieu of liquid medicine, which she absolutely refuses to take, clamps down her mouth, and if some should enter, it is immediately vomited; we are all better off with the shots). She seemed to be better until last night, when she spiked a fever and generally had a very fitful sleep. This morning between the hours of 7AM and 11AM, at which time she is STILL sleeping, she has stated the following, after which she returns to sleep:

“I want to go to the zoo.”
“Let’s Skype with Gigi.”
“Chuggachugga CHOO CHOO!”
“No, no, no, no, no. Hmm-mm. No.”
“Whatcha doin? I love you.”

Her sleepy head companion and Dad has shown himself in the past minute. This is a good three hours, at least, past her usual wake-up time. I hope this is recovery sleep and not sick sleep… She even let me listen to her heart and lungs, count her beats and breaths per minute (172 :/ and 40), and percuss her chest without waking. I’d like to say for the record that I have either a hunch or a delusion of med student hypochondria regarding her condition. Either way we’re going to push fluids and rest today.

What I mean to say is that there was no nap, and at no point did Zoe even appear to be tired. Around 9:00 PM, we cuddled and watched her current favorite show, Imagination Movers, on the cozy sac. A couple of times during our cuddle, I was smelling her hair, kissing her warm little head, and generally floating on a cloud of bliss, when she said, sweetly and contently, “I luhboo.” Those last 30 minutes with her were more recharging to my heart than a whole week of beach bum vacation. Finally, she drifted off to sleep for the night. I watched a movie and a half, wishing I would never, ever, have to put her down.

I told Joel that what I missed most about the baby time is that it’s basically all like that, except for when they’re crying or needing to be changed. The majority, or what I remember anyway, was holding her while she slept and nursing her. And it was sweet. Really sweet. Now there are fewer of those times, but it’s extra sweet, because she chooses it. As a baby, they really don’t have a choice, and I could be loving the heck out of the cuddling, while the kid might be totally unaware of me beyond a comfortable place to lie and a food source. We definitely communed when she was a baby, and I felt like she was digging me, too, but now, the happiness seems more reciprocal. Maybe because she can talk or hug back or choose not to wriggle away.

I asked if I still will get to cuddle her when I go back to school in a month. If she’ll allow it, if she’ll begrudge my more frequent absence and commitment to something else and resent me. Not just in August, but later. Because she’ll never have a closely spaced sibling to share my attention. Med school, and then my profession, is the new baby dividing my energy. Only she won’t get the built-in best friend down the line.

I guess that’s the price of doing things a little backwards. I waffled in undergrad and abandoned pre-med, changing my major with no real plan. I got married before I was a grown-up. I had ovarian cancer before having children, creating an urgency to have a family. My experience with illness also reignited what I feel is a call to medicine. Despite my poor performance thus far, I know it’s what I need to do.

But it makes things more difficult. A lot more difficult. And I feel selfish. I don’t want her to pay the price for my doing things backwards. The fact is that Zoe has more adjusting to do than she would if I had been able to wait until I was all set up to have children. But if I had been all set up, I might have had two kids, and then she would adjust to that. Or something else. Life is a series of adjustments, right?

I swear I had a point. I wanted my baby, and I wanted to pursue medicine. I’m fortunate to have the opportunity to do both. The timing may be off by most people’s standards, but I have what I want. I just hope we all can get what we need.

Here’s what happened last night. After a long, no-nap day, she went to sleep at 9:30 PM – very, very early by our standards. She woke up at 5 AM, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. What two-year-old can survive on such little sleep?

She has never been much of a predictable or regular napper. She has been known to sleep for several hours on occasion, and for a few weeks she might take a nap within the same window of time, but for the most part, sleep has always been an issue.

I have blamed myself, our schedule, my inability to set and stick with a routine, and my resistance to stop nursing or kick her out of our bed. I take responsibility for these things and recognize their contribution to our difficulty.

I’ve had family, friends, counselors, and doctors tell me just to “put her down at 8 PM.” It all sounds so simple. The idea would be for her to go down then, I get some studying done for the next two hours, and then go to sleep myself around 10 PM. Then I wake up around 6 AM, get more done or get ready and leave to get to school, and she wakes up around 8 AM and Joel takes her to school. Sounds awesome, right?

My kingdom (which isn’t much right now, sorry!) to the person who can do this in a meaningful way.

Because the girl only sleeps for 8 hours at the very most, usually with one wake-up sometime in there, usually about 6 hours after falling asleep. If I don’t fall asleep with Zoe at night, I stay up, on average, two additional hours. And I need to in order to get things done. Which means that I never get more than four hours of uninterrupted sleep at a time, and very rarely will I get more than six hours total unless I go right to sleep when she does, which means I don’t get anything extra done. If I put her down at 8 PM, she’ll be up at 6 AM IF I’M LUCKY, and probably before that. When I’m not in school, who wants to get up just for the heck of it at 6 AM? I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with a toddler at that hour and for that long.

It’s all moot because I AM returning to school in a month. She’s in her school now, and they nap there. Well, she doesn’t. But that’s the idea.

Maybe she would nap, eventually, on that schedule. Maybe we should try it. Maybe we will. I’m working on something to put here in public as an accountability measure.

When we’re chatting in the elevator and someone exits on his or her floor, it’s, “Well! I guess so!” After saying goodbye to her Gigi and the car door closes, “Well, I guess so!”

I have no idea where it came from or who might have said it, but it seems to have made an impression on her. Apparently this is what one says when someone leaves.

In other cute things Zoe says news, you haven’t lived until you’ve heard her say “quinoa,” as in, “I spilled it quinoa, Mama.” and “I sweep it up quinoa, Mama.” She says it correctly – it’s just so cute.

(If you have returned looking for Zoe’s submitted contest photos, here they are.)