1000 Words on Working. None of them particularly Useful.

For the first time in weeks (months, even), I am staying home all day with my baby girl. My baby girl who is not so much a baby anymore but a self confident toddler who throws herself on the floor with the intensity of a tornado touching-down, and then instantaneously turns into a wet, moppy rag doll so you can’t pick her up off said floor. She giggles at my lame attempts to get her to stand in between screams of frustration about whatever it was that caused the floor-drop in the first place (she wasn’t allowed to pull the cat’s tail; she couldn’t stick her finger in the electrical outlet; I gave her an apple instead of a banana; the sky is blue.)

I’m home, sitting in silence, watching her on the monitor as she sleeps away a terrible fever. This, such a short time ago, was my every-day, my life, my focus. Now I am stretched and commuting, I am snuggling her at 5:30 as I pick her up from daycare as if I haven’t seen her in a week instead of a day, I am so tired and so refreshed in totally different yet very basically the same ways.

I have more patience with her than I used to. Instead of being thinned out over the hours (which can feel like years sometimes) I get a short window of time for her to scream at me because she is hungry or tired, to throw herself on the floor, to giggle and take a running leap into my arms (my very favorite one). We read books, we eat snacks, and then she is done for the day and rubbing her eyes and I feel like I just barely got to see her.

I have more drive and energy than I used to. The routine is good for me; for my anxiety-riddled brain, that, given enough down-time, can spiral into darkness and chaos. Getting up every day and driving to a place in which there are expected things that I do, and do well, is calming to those shadowy creatures of habit in my gut. I find that outside of work I am trying to make better use of my time; having less of it for myself – and while this is absolutely nothing new to me (I always worked best in school when I was scheduled up to the gills) it is also something that is much harder for me to enjoy. I feel like I am missing out – missing her smiles and chatter, missing the very raising of my child.

40 hours is a lot of time. Before I was a stay at home mom I worked a job that had an alternative schedule – every two weeks you would get one extra day off, giving you 3 day weekends every other week. It was glorious. I was there for 5 years. My point in saying this is that I haven’t worked at 40-hour week full time job in over 6 years. My stress-induced eye twitch is back in full force. Have you ever had an eye twitch? It is one of the more irritating harmless-body-things that I’ve dealt with in life. It happens when I do too much, when I am moving forward at an unsustainable rate. When I’ve lost track of the pace car; barreling downhill. I barely have enough time on the weekends for all of my laundry, you can forget driving an hour each way to see friends on the other side of the city. I want to write, I want to exercise, I want to cook dinner. All of these things feel like the last domino, like it’s just too much. These are the things that make me happy in life. I may be okay now forgoing these things, but what about 6 months from now? A year from now? Will I still be happy with so little time for *anything else* in life?

I’ve never defined myself as what I do. Some people say “Hello, I’m Ashley. I’m a teacher.” They say this because it is part of their identity, their very being. This is their passion, their love, their life. I have had dream jobs. Except for my stellar resume, I didn’t advertise that I had them. I’ve always defined myself with other parts of my life. It wasn’t until I stayed home from work to be with the little girl that I started doing things like calling myself a writer. A developer. A creator. Because for the first time, when I was doing these things for myself, on my own time and by my own rules, that I had pride in my work. Pride with what I was doing every day. I say this because I have yet to disclose to almost anyone where I am currently working, what I am doing. I have fallen back into the “it doesn’t matter” camp. And while I don’t necessarily feel negativity towards this, it is an interesting thing to note. It simply is what it is.

I guess my point here is that if I can be 5 years old for a minute, I’d really, truly wish, that I could have my cake and eat it too. There are a lot of good things that have come out of me going back to work – namely, organizing my headspace and giving me something else to focus on, something to make use of my “curse of competency.” But I’m not sold that I can sustain a 40-hour in-office old-school dress-code type of job without those balances tipping back into the direction of “not worth it.”

I’m just not sure. I’m not sure of much these days. All I know is that my little girl is sick and I am worried. It makes me think, this worry, think about what is important in life and what is the responsible choice for our future, and how those two things don’t seem to coexist very well. I wish society was structured differently; that I could keep one foot in the workforce without jumping in completely. I wish a lot of things.

I make responsive and beautiful, flexible websites. Isn’t it fair to want that sort of flexibility for the analog realm as well? I need to sit down and wireframe life.

Web Development Using a Chromebook.

I’m about to get all techy up in here, which I understand is SO not the right content for this blog. However, due to some recent projects, this is something that has been on my mind quite a bit, and in the end, Ultra-Pink is more about what is happening in my personal life than any other blog that I write. Maybe one day I’ll start a tech only blog and repost this there. But for now, get your nerdy thinking caps on and follow along, or go check out this dancing cat video and come back for messy motherhood posts another time.

I use a Chromebook. (Specifically, I have this model.) They are affordable, user friendly, and 90% of the time, they do 95% of everything you’d ever want to do on a computer. Unless you are creating super-enormous high end graphics or slinging some seriously processor heavy code, you can very easily use a Chromebook as your daily machine. But what happens when someone like me (who loves to tinker) wants to get back into some light web development? It’s taken some research, but it indeed, can be done.

Firstly, because this is my personal machine, which means I also want to look at Facebook and cat videos, I use OneTab. OneTab is a plugin that reduces memory usage (something that the Chrome browser is notorious for hoarding, and unfortunately I can confirm that it is no different on the Chrome OS) and also, almost more importantly, organizes your links in a friendly, focused way. I *am* that person with 56 different tabs open at once who then complains that her computer runs slowly. OneTab fixes this. I have a set of tabs that I open for when I am doing web development, and I can add or remove things from this list at a whim. I also have a different set of tabs that is meant more for the time I putz around checking email and reading TMZ. (Just kidding. I read stupid things like The Smithsonian’s Blog. Nerd Alert.)

I’ve found that Caret is a simple code editor, (I like ones that don’t have too many bells and whistles), and sFTP is great for uploading to my server. Yes, there’s the catch – I don’t actually have a local development environment, nor can I make one without doing serious things to my poor little laptop (like a dual boot.) However, even with a heavy need to rely on my FTP client, it still seems to be working out nicely. This will change once I push my current project site public and hand out the link to everyone, but for now while I’m learning, I’m quite happy.

Canva and Pixlr Editor are awesome graphics sites and they also do 90% of what you need 95% of the time. (Bonus, Canva makes you look like a design genius.)

I’ll probably update this entry as time marches on and I change my mind or find new/better ways of working. (Let’s be honest, I’m mostly writing this entry as a way to organize my own workflow.) I’ll get some real writing in soon too, but for now, this is where I am putting in some extra effort, and hopefully it will pay off for me in the end.


Dear lord, where do I start.

2015. The year of letting go. I have a 1700 word essay on this already, and it will stay in hibernation for a while, until I figure out what to do with it. Let’s just say that for me, as a person, 2015 was a big year.

But it was an even bigger year for our family as a whole. In an effort to actually get this entry done (alas, I have less time to sit and contemplate the calendar as I have in years past) I will be mostly using pictures from my social media accounts. I figure, if I thought they were extra-special enough to share, they are probably the better of the 1000+ photos that I’ve taken this year.  (You’ll get some of those too, I’m sure, but I certainly won’t be sifting through the entirety of them.)



Started with REI Garage Sale madness where I bought a new and better diaper bag. Because we are the diaper-bag-from-REI kind of family.

We successfully hosted a small gathering of friends for a late Christmas get-together, and exchanged gifts and hugs.


The next weekend we took Paige down to Santa Monica to see some family that was in town, (and to see grandma and her cousin) and almost got her to a first beach trip, but it rained all day. Next time!

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Paige and I also started mommy and me classes in January, which turned out to be one of the best decisions ever. I met some wonderful women and babies, and started to finally find my feet as a mom.

Out-of-the-house: Neil went on a canyon and a couple of mountain bike rides. I got a haircut, which felt like a pretty awesome achievement.

Paige’s first: trip to the microbrewery, hiking via baby-wearing.



We had a super bowl party! The little things really feel like big things this year. It was a wonderful afternoon full of babies and friends and drinks and laughter.

Went to visit the Getty. With my return to work date looming and heavy on my thoughts, this was a very important trip for me. It was on this trip that I realized that I didn’t want to go back – at least not to that job.



At the end of the month we celebrated our 5 year anniversary with a day trip to Santa Barbara, hiking San Ysidro trail. What was supposed to be a spectacular waterfall at the end was a pretty sad statement on the drought of California, but it was a nice day nonetheless. We followed it up with a couples massage.

Out-of-the-house: We had a playdate on a rainy afternoon in Burbank, dinner at Onyx at the Four Seasons, and a lot of long afternoons at the park.

Paige’s First: Getty visit!



A long afternoon picnicking at the park for Neil’s company’s spring picnic led us to fighting serious baby-eczema. All turned out okay, but that was a theme for the rest of the year.

I got back on the bike!


Neil and I went to Alton Brown’s stage show at the Pantages, which was both as nerdy and wonderful as it sounds. Think burping, tooting, yeast hand puppets.

Out-of-the-house: Neil did a couple of night canyon and bike rides, and I had my first bike ride post-baby!

Paige’s First: rolling over (tummy to back) Totally adorable until she startles herself out of a nap upside-down and screams bloody murder.



Easter with Aunt Victoria!



Paige ate food! She Gave Peas A Chance. She Didn’t Like Them.

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Out-of-the-house: I had a couple of (laughable) interviews, got my first rejection letter for writing, and Neil went on a handful of bike rides.

Paige’s First: solid food! six months old! we survived! She pet the cat. He’s (even more) afraid of her.



May brought my first mothers day. Neil sent me to the spa and bought me a necklace that I cherish.


We got Paige’s band, and got it wrapped almost immediately. Our little squishy became a temporary aviator.


We planned on having a Memorial Day BBQ, and the day before, Neil broke his collar bone. We rallied, and still pulled off a great afternoon full of friends, family, and food. He had a rough few months (and to be honest, so did I without the extra arm) but we got through it all.


Out-of-the-house: Neil’s last mountain bike ride for a good long while.

Paige’s First: helmet accessory. It goes with everything. Meeting her aunt and uncle Ontiveros!



I started “dieting.” I put that in quotes because all it really means is that I’m eating less ice cream and moving more. (I’ve lost 10 lbs.)

Our first trip to the cabin! We went to big bear with some friends and Paige got to try frozen yogurt. She did great with the car ride and the cabin, she seems to be a bit of a rock-star with traveling, which works for us.


We bought a new-to-us dining table that really makes our house sing. It feels like home.


For Neil’s first Father’s day I got him a really fancy, engraved cutting board. It reads “Dad’s Kitchen” and he loves it.

Out-of-the-house: I had another interview, they dropped me like a rock when they found out I was a mom. Welcome to real life.

Paige’s First: Sitting up unassisted. Cabin trip! Frozen Yogurt! Also- we found out eggs are bad. very bad.



In July Paige got her helmet off!  She was a trooper through the entire thing, it was definitely harder on us than it was for her. I still am happy about it and think we did the right thing, even if it was for our own anxiety.

Her Aunt and Uncle and cousins came to visit from Michigan!


Neil went on a work trip to Washington DC, which meant Paige and I were alone for 4 days! I’m happy to say that we survived without eating each other.

Neil and I went to Phantom of the Opera at the Pantages – it was wonderful! We also spent a great afternoon doing an escape room in LA, it was insanely fun. Like, too much fun.

This was a big month for me – the month that things finally started to feel like normal, real life.

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Out-of-the-house: Game night, Phantom, lots of hikes and outdoor life. I got a small piece published on a big blog.

Paige’s First: word! “kitty”



For my birthday we did a paint and wine night with a few friends – it was so much fun! I had no idea that painting was so calming, so zen. Or that could have been the wine. Either way, it was super!


For Neil’s bday we had a quiet brunch at the Old Place – an old-west style restaurant in the mountains.


Out-of-the-house: Birthdays, family, general summer chaos.

Paige’s First: standing up (assisted)



Her cousin Madison turned one! We all had fun at her birthday party.

Paige and I had a quick visit to the Getty to say hello to the team.


Out-of-the-house: Neil had some night bike rides, we watched the super eclipse.

Paige’s First: clapping!



October started out with a trip to big bear with a bunch of friends and a big rental cabin. Paige decided that it was a great time to get her first tooth, and screamed bloody murder from 10pm-4am. We felt terrible, trapped with a houseful of (not) sleeping people, but alas, that is being a parent sometimes. We took her to town in the middle of the night and watched all the drunk people stumble by and comment on how there’s a baby on my chest and did I know?

We also took a trip to the Big Bear Zoo and she loved it!


awesome forced perspective.

Later in October we celebrated a couple more birthdays for babies born around her time, and went to the Pumpkin Festival in Calabasas where she got the movie star treatment.

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We ended the month with highs and lows. My papa passed away and Paige attended her first memorial. He would have loved that she was there. Soon after, we celebrated her first birthday, and I think it was extra joyful.


Out-of-the-house: Big Bear! Neil went on an overnight mountain biking trip and didn’t break anything.

Paige’s First: tooth. BIRTHDAY!!! SHE IS ONE!! YEAY! =)



We got Santa photos out of the way nearly as soon as he sat down in his mall chair on November 1. I think this is really the way to go, there was no line, Santa was in a good mood, and it generally was a great experience.

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Mid-November Neil and I went down to Long Beach to see Neil Gaiman give a talk, and we left Paige overnight! She did great with grandma and grandpa, and we had a wonderful time at the Queen Mary and the aquarium. Also, beer. Lots of beer.



November ended with the Perkin family Thanksgiving, which was as chaotic as usual. It always seems like this time of year goes in super-speed.


Out-of-the-house: biking for Neil, lots of good walks for me and Paige.

Paige’s First: steps! Two steps!



Neil headed back down to the Long Beach aquarium for his comany’s christmas party while Paige and I partied with Love Actually. Win Win.

We attended the Whizin Center Art and Holiday Fair, which was fantastic! This will need to be a yearly tradition for sure.

Perkin family Christmas was wonderful, and both Paige and her cousin were sufficiently spoiled rotten by their grandparents.


On Christmas Eve we drove down to Hollywood to bake cookies with some friends, and it was a lovely day.

And finally on New Year’s eve, we visited friends and had a very mellow afternoon and evening that saw us home just in time for midnight. It has been a hell of a year, and a very different type of year for us. But I think we truly have made the most of it, and learned so much along the way.

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Out-of-the-house: Neil and I got on another great bike ride, thanks to grandma and grandpa.

Paige’s First: She gave me a huge hug and kissed me. She melts me. She is on the verge of lots of words. Especially likes trying to say “shoe.”


Here’s the thing. Thinking about 2015 is like trying to see through a dirty window to what’s left on the inside. It’s blurry. I’ve cobbled together as much as I can here, but I’m positive that I’m missing so very much. Time is flying by as we are watching our daughter turn into a curious, funny toddler with serious opinions of her own. It’s been a hard year in many ways. It’s also been a wonderful, defining, learning year. I think I can safely say that we are looking forward to so many more to come.

Happy New Year. Here’s to 2016, and a lifetime to come.


31 – A Brand New Kind of Life

It’s been a while that I’ve written about my own life, mainly because I am not sure that I think about my own life all that much anymore. Now, don’t take that the wrong way – or maybe, yes, do, but either way, my own feelings and problems and general reasons for doing the things I do are on the back burner. Have been for a while now. Mostly because I have had bigger things to worry about, in the form of a small human. For this reason, and all the reasons that go along with it, 30 has been a rather rough year for me.


I don’t do well with change – we already established this when I spent the first 2 months at UCLA convinced they had made a mistake in accepting me and that I wasn’t actually smart enough to be there – when I spend the first 2 weeks of every new job I’ve ever had convinced that I will never figure out what is going on and how to function within that company – and even when I spend the first 20 minutes of every new place, shop, meeting, anything really – panicking that I won’t find a parking space, that I will be heinously late or embarrassingly early, and that everyone I meet and/or talk to will turn out to be jerks and it will have been all a huge waste of time, so why bother leaving the house in the first place.

This is why 30 has been hard. Wonderful and joyful, but not necessarily always happy.

Because with a track record like that, bringing home a brand new, strange person who is screaming at me, biting me, and generally making me cry on a daily – if not hourly basis, was something that I was not equipped to deal with in any way. I went into a tailspin shortly after she was born and as I am climbing back out I am realizing that all of my hopes, dreams, and passions got left behind somewhere deep in that hole. I miss my job, I miss working out. I miss being creative, and having time to myself. The scary part? I’m just now feeling like I can tackle these things. Like I have a handle on the baby situation enough that these are things that I might just be able to fit back into my life without shattering all over again.

But here’s the big secret folks. I wanted to go back to work. I resigned because I felt like I literally, physically and emotionally, couldn’t. It wasn’t for months after my supposed “return to work” date that I started feeling halfway human again, that I wasn’t using my shower time to cry incoherently into my loofah. I could barely hold a conversation with a good friend without tears streaming down my cheeks, I felt like I was walking around in a strange dream world. I remember being at a mommy group therapy session just a week before I was supposed to go back, sobbing all over my daughter’s head, while 12 other moms looked on, nodding their approval and giving me hugs.

The good news is that it took 30 for me to feel the way I do today. I am so much more confident in myself. Confident in dealing with change, and being able to find that elusive balance. My baby may have made me cry in those early months but she was teaching me lifetimes worth of patience, understanding, and flexibility. I am much less easily ruffled these days, I can leave things open ended and I have gotten used to being late or early. I happily meet up with relative strangers, who turn out to be wonderful people, for play dates at places I’ve never been to before.

I’ve adapted in beautiful, life altering ways.

So now I’m looking for another job, a better job. Maybe it will look different in hours or content, maybe it will be my own creation. I don’t know yet. And I’m being creative, I’m writing much more. And I’m even trying to start moving my body in ways that don’t just involve crawling around after the baby. And all of these reasons are why 31 will be a great year. Because 31 is going to be about taking care of me again, with a brand new kind of life.

Home Sweet…Home?

I wrote once about how much I loved our House. The breezes that float down the hallways, the birds that are constantly chirping outside the very many windows. These things I still very much love; it’s part of this passionate affair that will never die. But now I have mom-vision, and I see so much of this house that I never saw before. The terrible location, with no sidewalks and no streetlamps. Where once I was amazed that owls nested in our trees, now all I notice is the cars that come speeding down the blind corner at all hours of the night. The privacy and quietness of this little offshoot of a street now feels trapped, with no ability to walk anywhere. I go two houses up, two houses down, during daylight hours only. Too far up the street and you hit the drug house with the litter of broken glass and used condoms in the dirt out front. Too far down the street and you hit one of the busiest roads in our little town. Full of car and bicycle traffic, but there seems to be no room for walkers or strollers, or sidewalks of any kind. Thanks to the mountains that we fell in love with, it’s even tough to cross this street – every corner seems to be a blind one. The clientele from the top house always park in front of our mailbox and loiter in the more shadowy parts of our front yard. When we’ve mentioned this to the cops the only response we got was “Oh, yeah, we know that house. It’s fine.” *Move on with your day, lady.* Meanwhile, the house on the other side of us rents out every bedroom to a different family, so we never quite know who is living next door. Between these two houses, the cops are on our street quite often, breaking up fights next door or cruising up and down the full length, very slowly rolling by the parked cars. Once, while sipping my coffee, I saw them unpack full riot gear from an unmarked van and go walking on foot up the hill. This consistent police activity makes me feel either very safe or very not. I’m in my garage a lot, since I have to drive everywhere, for everything. Every once in a while I find myself hurrying to get the door closed quickly at night, like some unconscious part of me thinks I might be robbed at my own threshold. There are good people on this street too, don’t get me wrong. We have wonderful neighbors across the way, and seemingly normal people on the other side of us. But since the baby came along, all I see is the danger of blazed drivers coming far too quickly down our little hill; their reaction time being very, very slow.

It’s the house too, though. Our decks, our wonderful outdoor living spaces – look like enormous fall hazards. Our myriad of hawthorne trees are almost buzzing their own tune they are full of so many happy bees. The staircase – the very heart of our home – is the biggest problem. Winding up an invisible tree, our staircase reaches three stories into the air with ease. The spindly honey oak railing is the only thing that keeps you from a tile floor 25 feet below. It’s not so much teaching her to be careful on the stairs that I worry about – it’s everything else. It’s having friends over whose kids maybe *aren’t* careful on stairs. It’s climbing two flights from the car to the kitchen to bring in groceries with an almost-mobile, squirming baby, and loading her and all her stuff down two flights in order to go out. It’s carrying her up and down the stairs in general; while she’s in our arms she is high above anything that could catch her fall if she were to throw herself out of our sometimes-necessary vice grip. It’s the idea of being pregnant again and doing all of that with a child and a belly, which seems very much impossible.

Hello, stairs.

Hello, stairs.

Because of the huge open staircase, our house is very loud. Noises echo up and down the floors, bouncing off everything like the symphony of life. It never bothered me until I tried to put my baby to bed while my sweet sweet husband decided to cook me dinner, banging pots and pans and making her eyes fly open at every little ting. We have to turn her white noise machine up so loud that sometimes I’m afraid we’ll never be able to get her to sleep in a quiet room again.

To be honest, this house is starting to feel exhausting. Are they all things that might be blown out of proportion due to mom-brain? Yes. Are they all pretty real reasons to at least give a few second thoughts? Yes. So what do you do, when the house you love so much starts to show its ugly side. Do you childproof as best you can and move on with life? Nothing is really all that big an issue, and we live in one of the safest neighborhoods around. Our “neighbors” are really nothing to worry about in the grand scheme of life. Suburban problems are not urban problems in any way.

Or do you bite the bullet and move somewhere less stressful and more accessible? Of course, it would cost more money, that’s a given. Where do you draw that line? When does it become worth the money, the hassle, the craziness of uprooting your life for somewhere new to call home?

Helmet Head

Have you seen kids with their very own crash helmets?

The infant helmet, also known as my rabbit hole of doom. I’ve been clawing myself out of this black hole of mommy blogs, message boards, and voices chattering on every tiny aspect of this topic. I’ve seen big red no-smoking sign images with the helmets in the middle of them, reading “STOP this Pandemic!” I’ve read stories about how helmets have changed the lives of little ones and their parents for all the better. Pictures of flowery, glittery, super hero-y helmets painted and customized crowned on smiling babies. I’m convinced I’ve read everything the internet has to offer, on pros and cons and general mommy-war-wisdom.

I’m still not convinced either way.

Our pediatrician took a long, hard look at our daughters head at her two month appointment, and told us to start re-positioning her, lest we end up needing one of those “$4000 helmets.” We, being data driven, type A, slightly compulsive people, started peppering him with questions about re-positioning. Is it better to keep weight off of her head completely? Or should we try to put pressure on the spot that isn’t flat? What happens with her crib? Can we put a small towel underneath the sheet to try and keep her from sleeping on the wrong side?

He looked at us, probably thinking something along the lines of “crazy first time parents” and took a deep breath. “You know, I don’t really know the answer to all of the specifics. Why don’t you call the specialists and I’m sure they can give you a ton of tips.”

And that, my friends, was when the chaos started.

We called, and it’s true that they gave us tons of tips. They also offered to have us bring her in, that they’d scan her for free and then we can at least have one set of data to see what we are working with. Again, being data lovers, we happily agreed.

“This child needs a helmet. You can wait and come back here in a month and I’ll still be saying the same thing. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe she’ll surprise me, but I’m really never wrong. And don’t start yourselves with the guilt story, it’s her neck – see the tilt?” She spat this at us without taking a breath. “If you don’t do this, she will have vision problems, jaw problems, hearing problems. See how her ears are misaligned? She will never be able to wear a bicycle helmet or have normal glasses.” This last part as she stared at me directly in the face, my pink and black plastic rims staring back at her in disbelief.

Tears welled in my eyes and I sat there in shock, feeling bullied and scared. My husband took over and I composed myself to quickly talk to her about some stretches that we could do to help the torticollis (her neck muscles on one side were tight, which in the end, was the cause of all of this drama), and practically ran out of there, being promised an email containing the full file of all of the scan results and measurements.

As soon as we got back to the car, I burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably. I spit venomous words about how they were money hungry pirates and why on earth are the “specialists” also the ones who stand to make money off of the sales of their product.

Over the next few weeks I let things sink in a little more. We told ourselves we would go back and get a new scan in a month, and if there wasn’t enough improvement for us to see that she was on the right track, we would talk.

We went back, got a second scan. It did show improvement, but not very much. She was still categorized as “severe.” Meanwhile, I had been killing myself trying to keep her looking one way but not the other, celebrating victory when she layed down to sleep on her “tight” side, something we had to work for weeks upon weeks for her to be able to do. We talked to her other pediatrician about it, who said that yes, she could absolutely see the flat spot and the misshapen head, but that she was not concerned in the least. That she’d grow out of it by the time she was two, and that she’s never heard of that company NOT recommending a helmet.

So, that brings me to my internet data rabbit hole. Amongst all of the mommy chatter I did find some legit studies, both for (1, 2) and against (1, 2) these helmets.

My totally unscientific conclusion, taking into consideration all of the studies, all of the personal stories, all of the advice from our pediatrician and the specialists is that it will indeed, correct on it’s own. However, it could take years. The helmets seem to speed up the process, and what you get in 4-16 weeks with the helmet is what you would see in 2-5 years via nature.

Great right? We also decided that because of/in spite of this, we are getting the helmet.

I have a tendency to be compulsive, and I suffer from generalized anxiety. This has become my newest compulsion, and it’s just not healthy. Aside from that, unless we have a time machine (Doctor, I’m looking at you) we have no way of knowing if she will be one of the (very few) kids on the outliers of the studies who never does correct on her own. I don’t want to spend the next 2 years staring at her head and feeling guilty that I didn’t do everything I could for her when I had the chance. If it was my head, I could give a crap. But this is for her, and this is about setting aside biases to do what’s right for her. In the end, there’s no downside to the helmets aside from a sweaty, stinky headed baby. Are we happy about it? No. Do we feel like we are doing the right thing? Yes.

It's hard to photograph.

It’s hard to photograph.

I hope that in the future more research is done on this subject. It is far too easy to prey on a parent’s anxiety, and I fear that we are just another number on a sales form. Luckily insurance will pay for most of it, and as we are finding out, time passes so very quickly with a little one. It will be over in the blink of an eye, and all of us happier for it.