Maybe the soup isn’t cold enough

My dad likes to tell this story. He’s a dad, so he tells it a lot. My uncle, his identical twin, has also told me this story. Genes are powerful things.

The story is about a boy. He seems like any other boy, except he doesn’t talk. He’s two years old, then three. But he’s happy and lovable, so his parents don’t worry about it too much. By the time he was five years old, he still hadn’t said a word. Not one. Then one day at dinner, he looks up to his mom and says “The soup is cold.”

His parents are beside themselves. They can’t believe it! Their boy can talk! And so clearly! When they finally recover from the shock, they ask their son why he hasn’t said anything before. He replies “Up until now, everything was fine.”

I often question whether or not I’m making the soup cold enough for Moe. In other words, do I make things too easy for him so that he doesn’t have to communicate? About half way through his ABA program last year, we started pushing him pretty hard. The idea was to increase his frustration level so that he would need to communicate with us. This seemed to work for a while, but then he shut down. He isn’t motivated by too many toys, so we used food as a motivator. But meals became incredibly frustrating and tear- and tantrum-inducing. So we backed off, and then that seemed to work. He would tell me “more” or “all done” with signs or sometimes words. But once again, we seem to be back to more tears and less communication. I think it may be time to start requiring more from him again.

This kind of up and down and constant experimentation always makes me question if we’re doing the right things with Moe. We know that we need to keep working hard. The research shows that early intervention does make a difference. But in the back of my head I’m always wondering how much it matters – if he’s just developing on his own terms and will talk when he has something to say. When he does, I hope it’s not to complain about my cooking.

A Woman’s Work (This time with comments!)

Note: I’ve been experimenting with a new comments system and it seemed to have broken things. I’m hoping comments will be back now. Thanks everyone!

Lately I've had the urge to go back to work. I don’t think I ever truly expected to be a stay at home mom for this long, but I wanted to give it a try. Right around Moe’s first birthday, I started to get the itch to look for a job. But I was having fun with my mommy friends. Moe was at a fairly easy age and playdates were still mostly about the moms. Plus, Jeff and I knew we wanted to have another child pretty soon, so it didn’t make sense to go back.

I got pregnant with Jelly, and I knew I wanted to be home with her for at least a year (6 months if the right thing came along). Then Moe was diagnosed and we started his in-home ABA therapy. It became clear that I wasn’t going back to work anytime soon. Only this time, being a stay at home mom wasn’t fun anymore. I was trapped in the house with a newborn and an autistic toddler, with therapists coming and going all day. I couldn’t get out to see my mommy friends, and playdates weren’t all that fun anymore as Moe’s differences became more and more apparent.

That was a year ago. In the Fall, Moe will be back to school full time, 8:30 to 2:40 every day. Although Jelly has some pretty wicked separation anxiety right now, she’s at an age where I’d feel comfortable leaving her in day care or with a nanny. At the same time, it is nice to have some free time with her (it is so much easier the second time around) to go to My Gym or music classes. Moe’s old playmates are all starting preschool in the fall as well, so we’ve been talking about starting playdates with the younger siblings. Being a stay at home mom might be fun again.

I’d love to find a part time job (or full time with flexible hours/work from home) – something that will allow me to pick Moe up from school and have some time for Jelly but also allow me to get back some of my old brain before I’ve lost it completely. But how do you find something like that? And am I just playing a game of “the grass is always greener?” Furthermore, does anyone  out there need a former high-tech product manager with an MBA and good writing skills? Resume available upon request.

Ten Reasons I Heart My Book Club

My favorite night of the month is book club night. I love my book club. We’ve been together for seven years and in all of that time, I’ve missed maybe two meetings. I make it a priority – it is important that I go. My husband understands that and makes sure to be home early so I can make it. I’ve been in other book clubs, but there is something about this one that just clicks.

I’ve been wanting to write about this amazing group for a while, so today, I give you, the top 10 reasons I love my book club:

10. We have history: This book club has been together for seven years. It has changed over time, with members moving to Colorado, Chicago and even Switzerland. New members have taken their place. But a core group of us has been here a long time, and with any group with some history gives the group an ease and comfort that I love.

9. We are organized: We have an Yahoo! group. We have guidelines (no books only available in hardcover, all books have to be new to everyone in the group, the host suggests the next book), but have broken all the rules at one time or another. This keeps things running smoothly, but isn’t oppressive or annoying.

8. We are diverse: Although every member of the group knew either me or my BFF before joining, we have a pretty diverse group of women. Some work, some are stay at home moms; some of us have kids, some don’t; some are married, some are single, and one might as well be married to her boyfriend of like 17 years but for some reason is not; some are vegetarians; one rides a Harley; our pets include cats, dogs, fish, rabbits and a bird who has provided quite a bit of drama over the years.

7. We laugh: As adults it seems we don’t laugh as much, or at least with as much gusto, as we did we were kids. But there have been times in book club when we’ve lost it. I will never forget the story, told on one occasion when we were out at a restaurant, about one member using an, ahem, “marital aid” to help induce labor. There is nothing a good laugh cannot fix.

6. Nothing is off limits: See number 7. We talk about everything and anything. Sometimes we even talk about the book we read.

5. We eat: We are not officially a food or cooking club, but most of us really like to cook, or at least eat. A few of our members are vegetarians, so for me (a meat-eater) it is an opportunity to try out a recipe I might not otherwise try. Sure, we’ve had a few pizza deliveries, and that’s been good too.

4. We drink: See number 7. There is nothing better than walking into a room where the first thing said to you is “red or white?”

3. We are not about autism: I have a stack of books about autism. Any time I am not spending with an autistic child I could spend reading about other autistic children, and research on autism, and therapies for autism. But book club gives me a reason to read something else, and book club meetings give me a chance to talk about something else. Sure, it comes up, but it isn’t what book club is about and that break is worth everything.

2. We see each other outside of book club: I worked with a few of the book club members at previous jobs. Others are friends I met through moms groups. Book club has been a way for me to stay connected with some of my favorite people who I might otherwise not get many opportunities to see. And by staying connected, we’ve also made plans to see movies, go to brunch, and get our kids together, much needed breaks in between book club meetings!

1. We sometimes read the book: We want to be a committed book club. Really, we do. We all try to read the books and talk about them. Some books provide better discussions than others. But even if someone doesn’t read the book, she comes to book club anyway. Because for us, book club is more than just a book club. It’s about friends. (And wine.)

I wrote this post in list form, as task #2 for the 31 Days to Build a Better Blog challenge. It gave me an excuse to write a post I’ve been thinking about for a long time. Thanks, girls! See you Thursday :)

A little pitchy today, Dawg

Because I clearly don’t have enough going on in my life right now, I decided to take on yet another challenge. This one is about this blog and is called 31 Days to Build a Better Blog. I’m doing this as a part of a community called SITS Girls. Each day, we have a new challenge to improve our blog. On the days that it seems relevant, I’ll write about our task for the day.
Task #1: Write your elevator pitch.
An elevator pitch is commonly used in business as a way to quickly convey your company’s purpose. If you ran into your ideal investor in an elevator, what would you say about your company to get her interested in you? You can’t tell her everything she needs to know, but you must tell her enough to make her want to learn more.
From a blog perspective, having an elevator pitch can help you write your tag line, your about page and pitch to potential promoters, whether they are other bloggers, media sources or advertisers. It is also a way to make sure your blog stays on target. In other words, if you write a food blog, your readers probably don’t care about your kid’s swimming lesson unless you are talking about the snacks you gave them after.
I’ve never intended to use this blog as a way to make money. Initially, it was intended to be simply a way to tell my friends and family about Moe’s progress without having to answer the same questions over and over. It quickly became more than that. It is a safe place for me to express my feelings, a process that has been proven to be quite therapeutic. It allows me to connect with other parents of special needs kids, mostly by inspiring me to find other bloggers going through similar experiences. I hope to share whatever information I pick up from my own experiences, as well as from those who have already been there.
Here is what I came up with:

Anybody Want A Peanut? is a portrait of my life raising a preschooler on the autism spectrum, including day to day challenges, navigating early intervention and the school system, and all of the feelings, from the heartbreaking to the hilarious, that go along with it.

What do you think, dear readers? Does that accurately reflect what this blog means to you?

Finding the end of suffering

As you probably know, the Silicon Valley Moms Blog closed its doors to new posts this month. I’ve joined a new blog, however, called From Left To Write, that will be continuing the SV Moms book club tradition. This month, I had the opportunity to read a memoir called “This Is Not The Story You Think It Is” by Laura Munson.

Laura’s husband, comes home one day and declares that he doesn’t love her anymore, but she’s not buying it. Laura recognizes that he is going through a crisis of self, having just gone through one herself. She understands that for him to love her he must first love himself, something that is difficult for him to do when his business is failing, money is tight, and he is feeling unfulfilled. Rather than fight him, question him, or try to persuade him to stay, she opts to cultivate her own happiness. She supports him and gives him space, knowing in her heart that he’ll come around, and even if he doesn’t, she’ll be in a good place.

I wasn’t immediately fond of this book. The style, particularly in the beginning of the book, read more like a blog than literature. The writing felt choppy. Like this. Or this. She talked a lot. To me. To herself. I found myself thinking “use a comma, woman!” But in the end the story did speak to me in a couple of ways.

Surprisingly, I found myself identifying with her husband. I didn’t excuse his behavior; he behaved, as she states, like a “twenty-year old frat boy.” But this year has been tough for me. I have felt lost and sometimes deeply unhappy. I recognize that I have not always behaved perfectly, my sadness and confusion over Moe’s diagnosis manifesting itself as dissatisfaction toward my house (too small!), myself (lose weight!), and, yes, sometimes even my husband (just do the dishes already!). I allow myself to feel discontent toward the things over which I have some level of control, rather than than the one thing I cannot change and that I will likely be dealing with for the rest of my life. That is simply too big and scary.

Laura’s primary message throughout the book is to stop allowing your happiness to depend on things outside of your control. Jeff has seemed to understand this from the beginning, but it is harder for me. Like it or not, my reality is that my son has autism. This is not going to change so I can choose to find a level of contentment with that or not. I spend a lot of time wishing things were different, wondering what Moe would be like now without autism, how he “should” be able to do this or that. This “wanting,” as Laura calls it, is what leads to suffering, and throughout this time in her life she is working toward the “end of suffering.” I like that. I like the freedom in letting go, of knowing that I don’t have to make things perfect, because they aren’t going to be.

Finding my own end of suffering is not going to be easy, especially since we cannot just let things be. We need to be fighting to help Moe every day, and that, in itself, puts suffering in my face pretty constantly. As I wrote about just a week ago, I’ve found both strength and comfort in the fellowship of suffering. It is one thing to write a book after you’ve been there and done that. But clearly the journey to happiness is one we all have to go through on our own. The knowledge that happiness comes from inside may need to be rediscovered over and over again, as we face harder and harder challenges in our lives.

Note: I was given a copy of This Is Not the Story You Think It Is by the publisher as part of my association with the From Left To Write blog. I was not otherwise paid to review or write about the book.

Two is better than one

Jeff and I always knew we wanted two kids. When I became pregnant with Jelly, Moe was only about 14 months old. We had only the slightest inkling that something wasn’t going according to plan with him. He wasn’t walking or doing much talking yet, but was still within the normal ranges. We imagined him as a two year old, much more independent by the time his sister would be born. I wondered whether a double stroller would even be necessary, imagining him traveling on the back of a sit & stand, or walking beside me.

Had we known then what we know now, we probably would have waited to have a second child. I would have wanted to devote all of my available energy to Moe and his therapies. It was stressful having to take him to doctor’s appointments and assessments, making important decisions about his care, while caring for a newborn. I didn’t feel comfortable nursing Jelly while the therapists were coming and going, so I stopped breastfeeding earlier than I had intended to. The first year, and especially the first 6 months of her life was a very stressful time for our family.

There are still days when I wish we had waited. I’m sure every parent with kids less than two years apart feels that way sometimes. But having Jelly around has given us a new perspective as well. It is a relief to see her developing so “normally.” Every time she points to something (which is about every ten seconds), my heart leaps with joy. It doesn’t get old. Her vocabulary is growing and growing and I’m amazed at what she knows. I send Jeff texts throughout the day with messages like “she said Elmo!” It is nice to be able to experience these wonders with Jelly that we didn’t get with Moe. And though I try not to get too ahead of myself, I’m looking forward to experiencing with her all of the things I don’t get to experience with Moe: pretend play, dressing up, those first hilarious two year old conversations.

Of course, Jelly isn’t always easy. In many ways she is a more challenging baby than Moe was. She always wants someone (usually me) to pay attention to her. She has some separation anxiety. She’s generally needier than Moe was. Looking back, I think that many of the things that made Moe an easy baby may have been early autism warning signs. He played on his own for a long time, he didn’t need me to be watching him every second, and he never had a problem if I left him with someone else. But his laid-back personality was also one of the reasons we felt ready to have another child, and on balance, we’re glad we did. Life is funny that way.

Could it really be that easy?

Jeff had a theory. His theory was that Moe’s sleep issues were because he was uncomfortable. Jeff thought that Moe would wake up at night, as we all do, but be unable to fall asleep because he still sleeps on his ultra-firm crib mattress. (Babies are supposed to sleep on a very firm mattress to help prevent SIDS.) Then he’d get overtired, his system would go into overdrive, and he’d start to giggle, squeal and otherwise wake up the entire household. In other words, it wasn’t anything specifically autism related keeping him awake at night (though certainly the level to which he could get wound-up might be).

This theory was supported by the fact that we’d often find Moe in the morning asleep with his whole body on the pillow. I was skeptical. But I was also desperate and thus willing to try anything. Moe still sleeps in his crib. He can climb out, but doesn’t, and we agreed that he is not ready for a regular bed just yet. Imagine him so keyed up in the middle of the night with no railings to keep him contained. (Shudder.) Besides, we didn’t want to change anything sleep-related until we got the night waking under control. So we opted to get Moe a new, softer, toddler-friendly, mattress.

To my utter surprise, Moe has slept through the night for the last three nights in a row. I’m not ready to call the problem solved just yet, but it seems to have worked (knocking on wood). This is amazing and wonderful but also completely frustrating. First, it was Jeff’s idea so he gets all the credit. And second, why did we wait so long? The new mattress cost $79.

It is worth its weight in gold.

The Fellowship of Suffering

“Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.” (The Princess Bride)

I recently read an essay that really spoke to me. It appeared in the Summer 2010 issue of Brain, Child magazine. The essay, called Fighting Words, by Elissa Wald, is written by the mother of a young girl who develops a stutter. Although a stutter is not the same as autism, it can be just as socially debilitating. And the reactions of friends and family, as well as her own reactions to her daughter’s challenges, ring true and familiar.

When Wald tells people about her daughter’s stutter, often their first reaction is to tell them about famous people who have stutters and overcome them, or even used the disability to their advantage. They wonder if maybe it is a blessing and will provide the path to her greatness. It is the same with autism. People are always telling me about a person with autism who has overcome their disability and gotten a PhD, or was valedictorian or a champion surfer. Or, to take it a step further, done things they wouldn’t have been able to do if they hadn’t been autistic. Temple Grandin, perhaps the most successful woman with autism, sees the world in a particular way because of her autism. She would not be the same person without it.

Wald, however, does not view the stutter as a gift, something “meant to be” so that her daughter can find her true calling. I read so often about people who say they are blessed by autism. I’m glad they have found peace with that, and maybe someday, after I see all of the wonderful things Moe has accomplished, I will feel the same. More importantly, maybe Moe, will feel that way. But for now, I agree with Wald: “I don’t believe everything happens for a reason. I don’t believe every problem is an opportunity, or at least an opportunity worth the price.” I will certainly help Moe make the best of his strengths, but right now, at least, I would rather he could just enjoy his childhood and not have to work so hard for even the smallest accomplishments, like being able to jump up and down or say his own name.

Wald points out as well that no child really gets off scot-free. When I think about my own circle of friends and family, I can think of many examples of families who are suffering in their own ways. We are dealing with speech delays, Asperger’s, Down’s syndrome, feeding tubes, divorce and more. Wald calls this the “fellowship of suffering,” of which I now consider myself a card-carrying member.

It always amazes me that this isn’t a completely depressing thought, but actually quite the opposite. It helps me to not feel sorry for myself. How can you ask “why me?” if, really, it’s everybody? The fellowship is hardly an exclusive club. And because, as Wald comes to realize, “the whole world is hurting,” we can relate to each other. I read blogs about kids with all kinds of special needs, including Cerebral Palsy, deafness, and of course autism, though even with autism the needs of the kids varies widely. There seems to be not just a fellowship of suffering, but here in the blogosphere, a community of suffering as well. I didn’t intend to move here, but it turns out the neighbors are pretty cool, always willing to lend a cup of sugary advice or comforting words when you need them.

Wald’s husband states that “We will do everything we possibly can to make this go away….But if it doesn’t, then we’ll live with it.” It seems so obvious, right? But it’s the living with it that’s the hard part, the part that causes the suffering in the first place. But suffering also makes you act. It seems that my current challenge as a parent, or maybe as a human, is to find the balance between suffering just enough to keep moving forward but not so much that I’m paralyzed. Wald believes the point of being a parent is “not to forever keep adversity at bay…but to help one’s children feel at home in the human family.” For parents of kids with autism, no truer words have ever been said.

Sorry, kid, you got your mama’s genes

We had Moe’s three year doctor’s appointment this week. At our doctor, the first thing we do at the appointment is respond to an age-appropriate developmental questionnaire. This was Moe’s first regular pediatrician appointment since his diagnosis. Dr. G gets all of Moe’s records, of course, but because Jelly sees the same doctor, we’ve also had a few chances to chat with her about how things have been going. So there was no surprise that the answers to almost all of the questions was “no.” No, he doesn’t throw a ball overhand. No, at least 50% of words are not intelligible (words? what words?). No, he can’t pedal a tricycle. Doesn’t know his name, age or sex. Can’t carry dishes or help set the table. (This one cracks me up. Have they met my husband?)

It was actually a bit liberating. We know Moe isn’t where he is supposed to be, so I wasn’t upset about it. It used to be that any reminder of how far behind he is would get me pretty upset. I guess this is growth. And actually, he could do quite a few of the things on the list. He does help dress himself to some degree and can sometimes copy a circle. He can jump in place, kick a ball and alternate feet when ascending stairs. These questionnaires are there to point out any potential problems. We’re already there.

What I wasn’t prepared for was the other information we got. If you know me, you know I’m not tall. Okay, I’m short. Under five feet, in fact. My grandmother called me “diminutive.” I liked that. But Jeff is quite average in height so I’ve held out hope for Moe. He’s been around the fifth percentile for height since birth, but he was born a few weeks early. He had one brief moment at the 25th, but we now think that was a measurement error. So, okay, he’s on the small side. It’s not  a medical problem, and it shouldn’t be any big surprise. But our doctor said he’s on track to be five foot four or five as an adult and I’ll admit I was bummed. I know this is not anything I should be worried about and I can’t do anything about it. But I also know that Moe is going to have a lot of challenges, especially socially, as he gets older. Being short, especially as a boy, is only going to make it harder.

Moe looks just like Jeff. Has his curls. Has his blue eyes. But apparently, he’s got my height. Poor kid just can’t catch a break.

There are days

I try to keep my blog posts positive. They are more interesting that way, more therapeutic. They reinvigorate my spirit. But then there are those days. Days when we haven’t slept, and Moe can’t seem to control himself. When talking to him is worse than talking to a wall. When he climbs into his seat at the table, asking for food, but pushes everything away or screams and cries when you take too long. There are days when all I can think about is how many hours it is until bed time, and then, how awful that I feel that way about spending time with my own child.

Moe is challenging these days. His sleep problems have returned and seem to really be affecting his ability to control his emotions. He gets so frustrated that he bites down on his fingers. He can’t seem to communicate even what he’d previously mastered. Can’t (or won’t) ask for more. Can’t sign “I want.” I don’t know how to help him, so I grasp at the little knowledge that I have, giving him the sensory input I think he needs, swinging, wrapped in a blanket, brushing. Sometimes I think he’s bored so I try to engage him in an activity like coloring or reading or water play. I never seem to guess right, to find the one thing that he needs at that moment. I don’t think he knows either, even if he could tell me.

On these days, I am lost. I feel like I don’t know my own son, like I’m losing him more and more. He’s falling deep into the ocean and I’m holding the rope but I don’t have the strength to pull him back up. I need someone to tell me that soon he’ll resurface, that I’ll get my little boy back. But no one can tell me that. No one knows. It could be next week or next year. I can’t think much beyond that. I thought last year was going to be the hardest one, but now I know: We’re just at the beginning.

The Jelly Update

Jelly Belly is such a fun, animated, hilarious little baby. I’m trying to enjoy her for who she is, without constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. I found a picture of Moe the other day. In it, he was pointing, something kids with autism typically don’t do, and that I probably happened to catch the one time he did it. But I was reminded that things can change.

Jelly is showing all of the signs of typical development, except she isn’t walking yet. She is 14 months old, still within the normal range. But Moe was a late walker, and looking back that could have been an early sign. Late physical development is not a sign of autism in and of itself, but many kids with autism also are late walkers. Moe walked at almost 18 months.

So far, Jelly is so engaged, pointing at everything all the time and is really starting to talk. In those early assessments with Moe, we were always asked questions like “Does he show pride in his accomplishments?” and “Does he check for your reactions?” We had no idea what that even meant. Now, we get it. Jelly waits for you to clap for her when she’s done something, like put a lid on a pot or stack a block. If something is loud or sudden, she looks at me to see if all is okay. Moe never did any of that. Most importantly, she is communicating. She doesn’t just label things for the sake of doing it, she’s making sure we know that she knows.

It is hard to know what words she really knows and what she is just imitating, but right now Jelly says banana (“na!” with sign), dog with sign, book, bird with sign, flower, apple, up, fish (with sign) and bear. She’ll also say swing, monkey and cat, grandpa and grandma in imitation. She’s not too into saying Mama and Dada these days. (Though she literally JUST said Dada as I typed this so I’m probably just being paranoid.)

Our other favorite thing Jelly does is dance. She be sitting in her high chair at a restaurant bouncing up and down to the beat. It’s the cutest thing ever. Trust me.

Monkeys!

Gadget Girl Meets Baby Gear

Our sleep issues have returned and I don’t quite know what to say about it. Things had gotten better for a while; Moe was still waking up every few nights but falling back asleep on his own much faster. But Moe has been up every night for the last four or five days. I have no idea why the trouble has returned. I’ve heard that sometimes sleep problems accompany a developmental leap of some sort. Perhaps Moe’s brain is busy processing everything he’s learning in school, much like I have trouble turning off my brain at night when I’m processing a big decision or a problem at work (back when I had those). I hope so. I could use a leap or two right now.

But today I want to talk about something entirely different. Jelly is outgrowing her infant car seat so we went to Babies R Us this morning. This got me thinking about one of the best benefits of being a parent: gear. I’m a gadget girl at heart. I’ve worked on some really cool consumer products, including WebTV, UltimateTV and IPTV, the T-Mobile Sidekick, and the Presto Printing Mailbox. Naturally, when I left the tech world to become a stay at home mom, I needed something to fill the void. This, I suppose, is why I own 5 strollers and just purchased our fifth car seat. Before you think this is excessive, let me explain how it got this way.

Strollers:

• Combi Flash EX: The first stroller I got for Moe. Simple frame the infant car seat clips into.
• Combi Torino: Moe outgrows his car seat so I need a regular stroller.
• Evenflo X-Sport*: Umbrella stroller. Smaller and lighter weight than the Torino. First got this for traveling. Good for keeping the car. Falling apart so potentially will need another one.
• Graco DuoGlider: Baby number two on the way! I want a stroller that will fit Moe and Jelly in her car seat. Would have preferred a side by side, but most didn’t fit our Graco car seat. Bought it used.
• Combi Twin Savvy*: Above stroller drives great but is too hard to get in and out of the car. Got this side by side for when Jelly was able to ride in the stroller without the car seat. Also bought it used.

*Strollers with an asterisk are currently in my car. The rest are in the garage.

Car Seats:

• Graco SnugRide: Infant car seat carrier, plus extra base for Daddy’s car.
• Britax Roundabout (2): Convertible car seat. Moe graduated to this at one year, after outgrowing infant seat. Bought a second one (used) for Grandma and Grandpa’s car.
• Graco Nautilus: Moe starts school and Jeff is taking him. We move the Roundabout to his car and put this in my car. Converts to a high back booster then regular booster so it should be the last car seat we need, since Jelly will eventually take this one and we can just buy Moe a booster when that time comes. Except…
• Graco Nautilus #2: Bought this today. Need to move Jelly up to the Roundabout which means we need a new one for Daddy’s car. I so so so wanted to buy the pink one since eventually this will be Jelly’s. But that is like two years away so I went with the black one.

I won’t go into detail on baby bags, but let’s just say a mom needs her accessories. That reminds me, does anyone know when the white iPhone is coming out? Mommy wants a new toy!