I'm a thirty-seven year old stay-at-home mom, married to a hunky science geek with perfect teeth.  Russ is hands-down the smartest person I've ever known. He is one of the few people I know to graduate Hendrix summa cum laude, with a degree in physics. (And do it easily, at that.) His super-freak brain comes in handy when you're dying to relocate to get closer to family and his work gives him permission to telecommute because they think he's "irreplaceable".  Woo, go brains!  It's not as handy when you find yourself taking the same college course as him. Especially when you're locked in the library for four hours every day after class, desperately trying not to flunk out of your parents' alma mater, and Russ and his photographic memory have "looked at his notes" and are kicked back in the recliner playing Nintendo for the night.  It's moments such as those when you kind of want to gut the love of your life with the nearest plastic spoon you can find in your dorm room.  Whoops.

We have a sweet and spunky five-year old daughter, Sophie, whom we adopted at birth. Until the age of four, she suffered from the dreaded r-word, to a need-to-rip-up-the-carpets degree (don't let the chipmunk- cheek pictures fool you). Her reflux was so severe, in fact, she wasn't a candidate for a Nissen fundoplication, the procedure typically done to help kids with Sophie's issues.  The doctors feared, due to the forceful nature of her retching, she would "unwrap the wrap" soon after surgery.  So we just forged ahead as best we could.  Delightful.  Poncho, anyone? 

Being neck deep in the pukes all the live-long day sometimes stressed me out a smidge. Rather than put the ladder up to the roof on the particularly craptastic days, I opted to try and find an outlet in writing about our funny (sometimes-not-so-funny) life.  In July of 2007, with this post, "Life on the Reflux Rollercoaster" was born.

For four years, I was queen of all things regurgitationally-inclined.  If you needed some sort of vomitous knowledge imparted to you, I was your woman!  Or if you needed help getting your little barfer with feeding aversions to unclench her jaw long enough to accept a morsel of food or liquid, I had your back.  For four years our day consisted of syringing formula, catching said rocket-launched formula in beach towels and buckets, doing laundry, laundry, and more laundry, and starting the process all over again.  Keeping Sophie hydrated and off of a g-tube was a full-time job, fit for a maniac.

Enter:  me.

These days, believe it or not, reflux has very little if anything to do with my life.  PRAISE THE LORD!!  ...Well, unless you count me and Russ.  After four years on the rollercoaster, now we're the ones taking the Prevacid.  Not formerly-acidic Sophie, no siree!  I now have a five year-old who loves to eat and who keeps it down.  It's a mighty splendid thing.  A miracle, really, for those of you who may not be familiar with Sophie's story.

While our days with Soph are no longer about barf, life with our little curly-headed darlin' is still a wild ride.  Sophie is still the child who "accidentally" sharpens her pointy finger, gives herself a Farrah 'do with floral wirecutters, and loses a five-inch strand of beads up her sinus cavity.  She is still the child with the energy of four children and the temperament of a bull moose.  To say she is "strong willed" is a hilarious understatement.  Stubborn is her middle name.  If I say blue, she'll say red, just to assert an opinion different from the one stated.  And she'll do it with a hand on her hip and an expression on her little tooty face that makes you just wanna thump her!  Seriously, Dr. James Dobson should feature her in his next book.  She could go on book signings with him and refuse to sign books when asked.

That said, Sophie is also the child with the heart of gold.  The child who would help anyone, who knows no stranger, who loves life with a vigor and delight that makes you just have to giggle right along with her, regardless of how poopified your day has been.

A crazy swirl of pull-my-hair out and stand in awe at the blessings I've been given - that's my life.  As for the new title of the blog, well, that comes from my Poppy.  One of the greatest storytellers on the planet.  To him, I will always be Kritter Krit.  :-)

Comments... perky favorable comments, fill me with a special sort of glee.  So please feel free to join in on the fun whenever the ridiculousness of it all moves you to speak.

Thanks for stopping by!

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