Working From Home Today

Deactivated

2011-05-17T09:39:00.019-06:00

Why I deactivated my FB account. By Working From Home Today.

I blame President's Choice. I came across their brand of Kalamata olives and green olives stuffed with garlic and in this veritable olive wasteland, where the search is always on for the new "it will do," PC brand olives will certainly do. In fact, all things PC brand have made me happy lately. So what does a girl do when she finds a brand she appreciates? She 'likes' it on Facebook. And then she reads the comments. And then she gets riled by the idiots going off about boycotting PC because they sponsor Top Chef, which recently served horse meat and we all know that horses are distinctly different from any other animal on the planet because they are pets and companion animals and "they're sooo pretty!!!" And because the girl is in Sociology 210, she gets all sociological about it and tries to have a debate with said idiots about how do we pick and choose what animals get to die for the sake of our palates?

(the girl was me, in case it isn't clear)

What set me off especially was when one commenter finally wrote, "Working, please try to focus and don't try to speak for the good of humanity." After my head exploded and I picked the bits and pieces off the floor (it took awhile because some of my brain bits were stuck to cheerios and dog hair), I wrote one of those carefully crafted replies designed to make her look like the rabid dog in the face of my innocent, civilized debate. I decided to leave it at that. Except I couldn't. I went to bed thinking about it. I woke up thinking about it. I thought about it all day, when I really should have been listening to a Stats lecture. So why couldn't I let it go? A few preliminary conclusions:

I'm tired of being in fight mode on Facebook. I'm tired of always having an opinion when I'm not even sure my opinion is all that well thought out.
I am always sharing some article on Facebook. I barely even read them. I click, scan, "share." This is completely irresponsible, particularly when it comes to health articles, given my new future profession.
I am always checking Facebook. God forbid I have two minutes of brain idleness.

But worse, the realization that there is a constant stream of noise pouring into my head from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to bed. I'm on Facebook. Or I'm turning on the radio, a podcast, Google Reader, a TV show, texting, e-reader book, audiobook, recorded class lecture or, on occasion, a real book. I could not pinpoint a single moment of quiet at any part of my day. In fact, just 45 minutes ago when I realized I forgot my iPod at home and would have to do the walk between schools with just the thoughts in my head, I actually panicked a little. That is pathetic.

But even more horrible, "just wait while mommy finishes typing up the cute thing you just did on FB. Hang on just a bit longer, gotta reply to this crucial comment... Oh, just onnnne moooore minute, someone posted this link.... See the funny video? Watch the funny video! Please hang on, honey. Just one more minute." Too busy sharing links about being a good mother to bother being any sort of a good mother.

Since "abandon ship," I've had a physical urge to check Facebook no less than 20 times a day, probably a lot more, which is telling. I punch it into my url bar before I'm even thinking. I miss being a part of the conversation but what I have to ask is, what conversation was I really a part of? What was I even contributing? How many days, hours, years of... what? I can't even really say improved friendships; we still never see each other. Definitely no sort of creative accomplishment, either.

So begins my experiment. What will happen now that I've bought back some time for my brain? Imagine that. Time just to be... bored. Bored in the small, enclosed space of my actual life.

Meanwhile, this says it all so much more eloquently than I do (in fact, I probably should have lead with it and skipped the rest). (via Schmutzie)

Marital Conversations

2010-10-26T20:26:00.005-06:00

WORKING: I have two quizzes tomorrow! Two!
TREV: Oh that sucks.
WORKING: It's totally unfair the way they want us to prepare so much.
TREV: Yeah, why won't they just let you walk in and be nurses already?

* * *

TREV: (from the kitchen) So you want that ham soup for supper?
WORKING: (from the dining room) Yeah, I defrosted some. It's in the fridge.
TREV: You mean this stuff here in the plastic container?
WORKING: Yes.
TREV: That's not ham soup.
WORKING: What is it, then?
TREV: I don't know. Something really, really old, probably.
WORKING: Oh. Then I guess throw it out?
TREV: But it kind of smells okay...
WORKING: Wanna give it a go?
TREV: Sure. Ooh, it has lentils! I'll make basmati.

Marital Conversations

2010-10-18T08:05:00.002-06:00

WORKING: I had a dream I went to the wrong class. I guess it's not that weird since it actually happens pretty much every week.

TREV: Yeah, your dreams are more like reminders.

* * *

Mac puts my headband on his head, upside down so it sits like a crown.

TREV: You look like a prince. Like Hamlet. A sad little Dane.

Marital Conversations

2010-10-16T12:52:00.006-06:00

WORKING: (sings) I am a paleontologist! That's who I am! That's who I--
TREV: Oh god, you're not changing your major, are you? Cuz I don't think I can handle anymore and you're only half done as it is (holds onto the counter for support).
WORKING: uh...?
TREV: I'm sorry, did I say that out loud? I meant to keep that shoved deep down in my heart attack place.

Oh! Hello there!

2010-10-15T21:23:00.003-06:00

Whoops! Did I forget to post? My apologies. So let's catch up:

- I did pass that Anatomy final after all. I got a C+. Certainly not stellar, but healthy enough to stride boldly forward into my sparkly future as a Year Two Student of Nursing. And now that the pressure's off, I'm actually improving my grasp of the subject as I insert catheters and IV's and apply bandages. So not to worry; I'm sure I'm at least a B- by now.

- Our basement is framed. We are mere months away from getting a much needed secondary source of income which is great because, frankly, I'm costing us a lot. It was probably not a great time to spend a butt load on new windows for the entire house, but we had to spend the money now or lose the EnerGuide rebate. Plus our windows were from 1946. Plus many of the panes were broken. It was either get new windows or put Mac to bed in his snowsuit.

- Unfortunately the new windows are ugly. It's a long story and I won't go into too much detail except to say that after the house cleaning fiasco, the daycare fiasco, and now the window fiasco, I remove myself from all future hiring decisions. I clearly suck at it.

- Oh, I guess I didn't tell you about the daycare fiasco, either? Mac attended three different daycares in as many weeks; the original "bad" home-based daycare, an interim home-based daycare, and the current daycare. It got to the point that we'd stop by a friends' house for coffee and he would start to panic because he thought we were dropping him off at yet another one. I absentmindedly kissed him as we were leaving our friends' house and sent him into hysterics. We have since been accepted into a government-run daycare and they seem to like Mac so he's not moving again. (knock on wood)

- He goes part time. Between Trevor and I it's rare that he has to go for a full day. I could probably use more study time but he is so super cool right now. He is such a determined, spirited, funny 15 month-old and we've already noticed how bloody fast this is all going by. We both just want to be with him as much as possible before he doesn't want to (or need to) hang out with us.

- That said, he can also be a tantrum-throwing, screeching, crying, whining little monster of a 15 month-old. Nice to hand him over to daycare on some of those days. I think playing with other kids helps. Not pushing through molars and eye teeth at the same time would also help.

- School is... well, I am in my mid-thirties. Many of my fellow students were born in the early nineties. Let's put it this way: I heard one girl had a meltdown because large parts of our first clinical experience had to do with mens' genitals. She'd never seen any before.

- Life is just... happening. It's fast, it's slow, there isn't nearly enough sleep or exercise and still too much food. But I feel content. I do wish we had blinds; Mac insists on the full reveal when he nurses, the stubborn little bugger.

The Last Assignment

2010-07-29T19:46:00.009-06:00

I have three long-answer questions to finish on the last assignment of my Anatomy / Physiology course. And I'm procrastinating. It's maybe two hours of work and I've been avoiding it for a week and a half, ever since I wrote the final. This whole course represents one of the biggest disappointments of my entire academic career. You'd think I'd want to polish off these last three questions and be done with it, but for some reason I just can't.

I remember when I first opened the textbook, now over a year ago. I was in the last two months of my pregnancy and I remember thinking that maybe I should get cracking on the material, do a little speed learning before the baby came. Then the lazy side of me kicked in. I opted for napping instead of Anatomy. After all, I had my entire mat. leave to worry about Anatomy. I mean, it's not like I had anything else to do. And a kid goes down at, like, 7PM, right? Plenty of time!!

Things I did not consider:

c-section recovery
postpartum depression
the mind-numbing side effects of Effexor
breast feeding hell
a baby who took a year to learn how to sleep
chicken pox, teething, accidental burns, immunization side effects
six other rather demanding classes, including clinicals and labs
illness, exhaustion, home renovations, dog surgeries, cat injuries, family visits, Christmas, birthdays, house keeping, yard cleaning, the million and one little tasks of daily life and, oh yeah, full-time parenting.

In the end, I simply didn't give this course the attention it required. If I do pass, and I probably won't know for a few more weeks, it'll be by the skin of my teeth. This is not the kind of student I ever wanted to be, but upon reflection it's likely the only kind of student I could be.

UPDATED:

Meanwhile, this is the final question:

7. Describe

a. The factors responsible for promoting lactation

b. The mechanisms for the cessation of lactation when a mother weans her baby.

I think it's fitting, don't you?

Vulnerability

2010-07-28T22:13:00.007-06:00

We had some friends over today and the kids played in the blow-up kiddie pool that Mac got for his birthday from his aunties. He's decided he loves it. Adores it. He shrieked and hollered and threw himself around like a crazy person. He also attempted to drown himself several times, slipping face-up under the water with a wide-eyed look made up of part shock, part panic and part wonder. Every single time that I snagged him and hauled him up by an arm or a leg, he would emerge dripping and choking, almost puking, but seemingly unaffected and not all that afraid.

Trev and I went to see the movie "Inception" tonight, all about dream states. At certain parts of the movie all I could think about is what would be my own nightmare, a snapshot of Mac slipping under the water, just beyond the reach of my fingers....

The poor kid may never be allowed near water again because of his mother's overactive imagination.

(shiver)

Marital Conversations

2010-07-19T13:42:00.005-06:00

WORKING: (cramming for Anatomy pre-final quiz) You know what section I'm going to skip?

TREV: What?

WORKING: Sexual reproduction. I think we covered it pretty extensively last year. I'll focus on kidney function instead.

TREV: Yeah. (grumbles) Plus, you use your kidneys a lot more. A lot more.

Dear Mac: One Year Old

2010-07-16T22:15:00.006-06:00

You are bruised from head to toe. You can't seem to walk for falling. Growth spurt? Although, I tripped and re-broke my baby toe today, dammit. So it's probably genetical.

You are still my 'spirited' child. And by that I mean you throw fits when you don't get exactly what you want. When you're done with something, you throw it. You spend a lot of your day trying to break things. While there was a film crew in our house, we spent the morning at Auntie Sonja and Uncle Giles' and after only an hour you'd almost destroyed the place. While I was cleaning up a collectible they brought all the way back from China, and that you destroyed in two seconds by spiking it like a football, you went after their speakers. When I went to reconnect the speakers, you dialed someone on their phone. When I was scrambling to hang up the phone, you'd locked their TV on some weird display that I couldn't get rid of.

Then we went for a very long walk. Sometimes it helps to strap you down.

But oh, you are adorable. The way you laugh. The way you already make (non-verbal) jokes. The way you still get so excited for nursies and the way you bear-hug the dog. I love hearing the thump-thump-thump of your feet as you follow your dad around the house in the morning, and your exclamations of, 'dih-dih-dih!!!' when you're really on a tear. I like how you enjoy water in all of its forms, even if it's once again forming a sopping river from the dog dish across the kitchen, in which you will inevitably slip before I can get to you.

I am fascinated by your quirks. Like how you didn't cry when you got stung by a bee, but then screamed in total panic when I blew my nose. How you can sleep through a jackhammer and fireworks, but wake up when I so much as step on a squeaky floorboard. How you make a million different combinations of sounds that seem so ripe for language, but then just smile politely while you staunchly refuse to repeat a single word or sign.

I love how your two favourite things are being naked and going outside, and how the combination of both is your idea of sheer bliss. I love how much you adore your cousin and how you stand at the top of the basement stairs yelling for Grandpa. I love how you'd rather do everything yourself. I love how you run when I chase you, lurching and crashing, eyes wide, laughing madly. I love how you belly crawl backwards for a good two feet before you finally hit the stairs to go down. I love how cute you are in your blue summer hat.

In short, I adore you. A year ago I knew I loved you, but it's taken almost the whole year to truly enjoy you, and I'm so glad we get to spend more time together. I'm going to try my damnedest to make it count, even when we have rip-roaring fights. I promise there'll always be cuddles in the end, for as long as you'll let me.

Love,
Mommy

Marital Conversations

2010-07-14T22:34:00.008-06:00

TREV: Good post.
WORKING: Our life in a nutshell.

TREV: It's a little overwhelming.

WORKING: I figure in 10 years, we'll be able to read that post and remember exactly where we were, what it was like.

TREV: In 10 years I'll be 46. Mac will be 10, doing 10 year-old things.

WORKING: Why do you look so upset? You're probably picturing things all mundane. But you never know. You could finally be living in that bachelor pad in Toronto you've always wanted....

TREV: True.
WORKING: ... seeing Mac twice a year....

TREV: Wait, why do you assume you'd get custody?

WORKING: Why do you assume I wouldn't?

TREV: (points to blog)

WORKING: ...!
TREV: What?
WORKING: You would use my blog against me in a court of law?!

TREV: I could....

WORKING: That's it, I'm taking it down.

TREV: Why, are you planning on divorcing me?

WORKING: No! No. NO. We three, we belong together.

TREV: That's what I think.

WORKING: ...

TREV: ...

WORKING: It's like we're in the shit together.

TREV: No one gets out alive.

Scrub-a-dub-rip off.

2010-07-14T21:16:00.007-06:00

I've been feeling a little pummeled these days. My Anatomy final looms (one week!). Despite studying my arse off, I only managed a mediocre mark on the last midterm and it's taken me awhile to work myself up to being grateful for that mediocre mark. My sister reminds me that her hardest fought marks were her most celebrated. It's not the number, it's the effort. My goal is to pass the course; I'll probably learn so much more and so much better in actual practice (during my continued studies. Don't worry, I'm not hoping I'll 'catch on' as a practicing nurse).

So with this final looming, great time to have a television crew take over our house for two days, right? Right. Someone needs to sit me down and explain to me the implications of the decisions I make before I make them, possibly throw a glass of cold water in my face to drive it home. Because in addition to the looming final, we just poured our basement, we're throwing a "We Survived the First Year / Happy Birthday Mac" party on the weekend, and... what else? I'm forgetting something. Which is probably not good. On top of that important thing I'm forgetting, our dryer's been broken for two weeks.

But never mind; we are committed. So after significant freaking out on my part, I came up with the idea to use some of the fee we'll be getting from the filming to hire cleaners. Kind of like an investment. I pictured a team of pros coming in and showing me how it's done. Mary Poppins with dusters! My house would be sparkly and I would be happy!

If only I didn't have the unfortunate luck to have my call returned by a woman I will hereby call The Evil Witch. The company was from the phone book and looked all legit, but she seemed to be calling from a Phoenix number. We'll call that Clue # 1. I described my house and how I wanted a deep clean in the kitchen and a surface clean on the rest of it. She said no problem, she guessed it should take about four hours at $45/hour. A little steep, I thought, but maybe it's better to pay for pros?

Ha.

Ha, ha.

Ha, ha, $%*@$%#&$ ha.

After two hours, the 'professional' powerhouse team of two twenty-somethings gossiped and chit-chatted their way through two cupboards. TWO. CUPBOARDS. At one point they paused and took, and I do not exaggerate, 20 minutes to up-sell me on getting my carpet steam cleaned. I was actually going to go for it but it took so much bloody time to arrange - "who's going to do it? I can't do it. My baby's at my mother-in-law's. Is she coming? Who's coming? What do they want done? Let me call the boss again. I don't know if she's coming" - that I was ready to say screw the whole thing. And I looked at my kitchen, now two hours in and only a tenth cleaned, and started to panic. "Don't worry," the girl said, "we'll get it all done."

Uh huh. Six woman-hours later, and approximately $300, I had two clean cupboards and some mopped floors. Entire countertops still had a layer of cement dust on them. The upstairs hadn't even been vacuumed. The bathroom floor, which had been mopped, was streaked with debris. In short, they accomplished what I could have in maybe an hour and a half on my own.

But they did have matching t-shirts. Totally pro!

I got them out of my house as quickly as possible. Then I called The Evil Witch. I was shaking and on the verge of tears. She told me the girls had called her to complain that the job was a lot harder because, and I have trouble typing this, my house was so dirty. My. House. Was. Too. Dirty.

1. Trevor and I got up ridiculously early and virtually ignored our son for three hours on a Saturday to tidy the entire house so that there was nothing in their way. All they had to do was wash / vacuum surfaces.

2. We've just gone through a month of home renovation so yes, there was construction dust in the nooks and crannies.

3. I'm a full-time student and mother. I admit, sometimes I don't get to the tops of my cupboards.

4. Wait a sec, I HIRED YOU TO CLEAN. You want I should have my house cleaned before you come to clean?!

5. And finally, fuck you very much.

Anyway, The Evil Witch now refuses to return our calls. I felt so incredibly insulted, so terribly ripped off that I've actually had what I like to call "obsessive insomnia", where I lay awake for the next few nights thinking of things I should have said, could have said, could have done if I could do it over again.

But the upside is that I did get my sparkling clean house, thanks to me, my husband and my sister and a patient little boy who, thank God, enjoys playing with brooms and mops.

The TV crew will be finished by tomorrow afternoon. Our party will be a meaningful celebration for our little family. The dryer will get fixed. Trevor has mornings off next week so I'll have time to study and I will pass this class. So maybe I can start to breathe, again?

Just as soon as I find a daycare for the fall.

Canada Day Eve

2010-06-30T20:40:00.003-06:00

Trevor is working tonight and Mac is blessedly asleep. So I should be diving right into those books, right? Ha. I think I had more focus in grade nine when homework happened "just after Fresh Prince of Bel Air."
"Okay, just after Family Matters."

"Okay, I swear, just after the Much Music Top Ten...".

"OH MY GOD IT'S SO LATE I'M NEVER GOING TO FINISH THIS I HATE HISTORY AND MY LIFE TOTALLY SUCKS AND MR. R. HATES ME!!!!!!!"

Le sigh. Not much has changed.

After months of rain, it's hot and muggy. Mac has just come through a rough week of chicken pox (got that, son? Yes you've had it and you were 11 months) in which we've had very little sleep. I'm tired and scattered. People are starting to post summery photos of vacations and BBQ's and G20 protest rallies and I just kind of feel... stuck. Homebound. We owe so many people invites and yet to do so would be to commit myself to a day's worth of cleaning and shopping and preparing and there's this damn Anatomy class to think about.

So I sit here, not being social, and certainly not studying. Just a melting puddle in a silent house. On the other hand, thank God it is actually silent for once. Here's to all of us getting some sleep tonight.

Breakthrough

2010-06-19T08:20:00.002-06:00

For the first time in 11-months, Mac slept through the night. He woke up at 4:20 and even went back down for another hour but I don't care. It counts. I wish I could say I also slept through the night but I didn't. I woke up several times convinced something was terribly wrong. Post traumatic stress disorder, I think they call it?

Dear Mac: 11 Months

2010-06-15T19:14:00.016-06:00

I'm so tired. I had a final today. I have a midterm - a pass-it-or-else midterm - tomorrow. I have a major assignment due Friday that I haven't even started. So tonight when you pitched a royal fit and refuse to go to bed, I was this close to losing it. And by losing it, I mean texting your father to demand that he walk faster. Luckily he was almost home anyway.

Then when he was taking you up to bed (for the third time, btw) and he said, "give mom a kiss," and I leaned in and you kissed me. He turned to take you upstairs and I waved goodnight and you waved back. And earlier today you learned to high-five. So either you've chosen to vault into Month 11 in one single day, or the two significant knocks you took to the head earlier shook loose some learnin' (re the knocks: you've started climbing and, therefore, falling).

So, what's new:

- Crawling is so last month. You walk everywhere now. You've set running as your new goal.

- You talk all of the freakin' time, but still not in words I understand.

- When you want out of your highchair, YOU WANT OUT RIGHT NOW. When I say, "no, honey, don't leave the yard," you try harder to leave the yard. When you're done checking something out, you throw it.

- In the last two days, you've also broken our space heater, the baby monitor, and two bowls, all before I could get to you.

- I turned around and you were toddling towards the dog weilding a sharp garden claw type tool. I didn't even know we had one.

- In other words, if there is something breakable or potentially dangerous, you hone in on it like you have sensors. We discussed renting you out to expectant parents to test if their houses are baby-proof. You'll have all danger scoped in about five minutes.

- You love me and your dad. You light up for Grandpa Brad, Grandpa Rick, Grandma Susan and Auntie Mari. But you ADORE your cousin Isaiah. The other day at brunch you tried to bear hug him, even growling in an ursine manner. It was endearing. Strange, but endearing.

- Eight teeth. When you get tired, you bite. Hard. In fact, I think it's how you ~~ask for~~ demand the boob. I've been trying to teach you sign language but it's not working. I've taken to plopping you on your butt and walking away when you bite. Your reaction is one of indignant outrage.

- You love to laugh. It's always been loads of fun zooming around the store in a shopping cart and I can usually get you going with tickles. But the joke du jour involves the hand pump for my yoga ball. I make it blow air at my face, then yell, "No! Bad pump! No blowing air at mommy!" But it does it again! Cheeky air pump! You think it's all high-larious.

- You have tried all sorts of food. You like BBQ'd chicken and ribs. You ate a good chunk of my sandwich the other day, even though it had hot mustard. I don't dare insult you with baby food anymore.

- You've started doing that leg-bop dancing thing that babies do when songs with beats come on. It's a little late to be just starting to dance, maybe, but they don't play a lot of music on CBC Radio One.

- You've really taken to the dog and when I give you a cookie, you invariable toss it at her. So she likes you lots, too. She's also got a back end shaped like an aircraft carrier, though, so we may have to lay off the cookies.

- Sleep. Well, it's no different, but it's no worse. You nurse a couple of times a night. You wake up at 4:20'ish every morning and about 50% of the time I can convince you to go back to sleep. I think it's time to cut out nighttime feedings, though. I'll miss the little snuggle, but I'm looking forward to a longer stretch of uninterrupted slumber. It's been 11 months. I've earned it, and so have you.

We love you so intensely, Doodles, our Boogs. There is so much that I can't express properly, here. Know that you're throughly entertaining. We laugh a lot, more often with you now. You are enjoying the heck out of summer (when the weather allows), and I am therefore enjoying it so much more, too.

Love,

Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma

Career

2010-06-12T20:52:00.013-06:00

My first week working on a hospital unit was such an intense experience. Whenever I closed my eyes last night, I'd get bombarded by a flood of little details in uncomfortable, overly bright, overly loud clips, like brain zaps. My instructor walking down the hallway in her black maternity scrubs. My hand smoothing the surface of a bed. Warm water running over latex gloves. A sweater with balls of wool, dentures swimming in murky water, the smell of bath day. The hum of a lift. The cry of a resident. The laugh of a fellow nursing student. The taste of cinnamon toast from the cafeteria. The smell of a leg losing the battle to diabetes.

Today is better. I'm tired but at least my brain is calming down. I know one thing: I chose correctly. I am really going to enjoy my new career and I am even considering a specific direction. I can't tell you how cool it was to watch an RN puzzle out the bandaging of a complicated wound. I'm thinking about eventually specializing in ostomy and wound care.

I think Mac did okay while I was away. He took the bottle and did fine on formula (though I gotta say, he pooped a TON more on formula. Big, messy poops, too. You know, comparatively). He got to do a lot of cool things with new people and I think that the break was healthy for both of us. I sure did miss him, though. In truth, I'm struggling with the idea of putting him in daycare this fall. So long as I'm moving towards this degree and remain a full-time student at least on paper, what's the rush? I'm enjoying being a mom and it's kind of once-in-a-lifetime, whereas this is my second degree for my second career. Maybe I can afford to slow it down a little, even if it means money's tight for a few years. It might be worth it.

I dunno. Still chewing on it.

Giving Birth

2010-06-11T05:38:00.005-06:00

This is an odd post after weeks and weeks of nothing, but something on FB set me off and I wanted to get it down, even though I have less than 40 minutes to get into my scrubs, grab my stethoscope, kiss my kid and get out the door. Plenty of time!

So my friend posted this:

I wish that those in the birth community who insist on calling it "cesarean birth" would read the majority of the (blog) comments and see the PAIN that women suffer when others try to tell them that they gave birth, or that it's "still a birth". Clearly, for many of us, it was NOT a birth, and we didn't "give birth." Let us define our own experience. "*

I've said more than once that I didn't give birth, that I had my kid surgically removed and people have responded one of two ways, "of course you gave birth", and "well, at least everything turned out well." (said with discomfort, which I understand. What I'm saying is uncomfortable).

The problem for me is this: Did I grow a baby and become a mother? Sure. And I'm a darn good mom and I rocked pregnancy. But I STILL don't feel right saying I gave birth.

And sure, my kid is healthy and thriving, but what happened to me was a far cry from "everything turned out well." I struggled for months and months and depression knocked me flat on my ass. Some people's bodies are able to bounce back easily, mine is not one of them. I still feel the repercussions of what was major abdominal surgery. I find it hard to tell my brain to shut up and be grateful for the health of my child at the expense of my own physical health in so many ways.

Not to say that people who give birth have it any easier. The key line there is, "define our own experience." This is just mine.

*not cited to preserve anonymity and confidentiality.

Toddler

2010-05-29T07:40:00.004-06:00

It's official. Mac no longer crawls. His grandma also found him on top of the collapsed stroller trying to lever himself to the top of the cupboard (my MIL has been looking after him while I'm in labs).

She also reports that he has been learning to stack things and developed a game for himself that involved picking out different toys and taking them over to a blanket to be wrapped. He also returned a book to the bookshelf completely unprompted. He has figured out that the one remote makes the TV do things. And he is fascinated with the clock in his room, which is also an alarm clock, and which he has (accidentally) set on two separate occasions and scared the bejeezus out of us at 12:00 AM. He has also figured out that if he throws the ball, the dog will catch it and if he raspberries bath water, he can create bubbles (though he forgets not to breathe in).

In other words, where has my baby gone?!?!? Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!!

Student Life

2010-05-27T06:59:00.006-06:00

I'm sorry I don't post more often. I'll be even more sorry in about five years when I look back and wish I'd left myself more detail. This blog is my memory box, after all. Mac is growing so quickly. He does something new, funny, terrifying and completely endearing every day. Things I want to remember.

But school, quite frankly, is kicking my ass and I have the bruised ego to show for it. See, my previous degree, a BA with Honours in English, was earned through all-nighters and plenty of bullshit, and maybe a side or two of buck-a-draft. I even worked full time. You can do that with Literature and sort of get away with it.

Nursing? Not so much. I actually study, now, even though it's not easy to find as much time as I'd like with Mac around. When I sit down I make sure it counts. I'm focussed, my notes are tidy, I draw concept maps, I read the material carefully. I've never been this mature and dedicated when it comes to school. And yet I'm in danger of flunking Anatomy / Physiology.

I'm hoping it won't come to that. I'm too proud to let it happen, even if it means I have to have even less of a social life (almost not possible - I stood up my own grandmother last week). I just have to be careful. It's a dangerous time, psychologically, with no social life, no CrossFit (sacrificed due to budget and snapped tendon), and a truckload of stress. But I'm hoping to stay on top of it, to remain calm and to, above all else, enjoy the ride. This might be the last time I get to be a student in the classic sense. And funny enough, being a student actually means more time with Mac, for which I'm exceedingly grateful.

Dear Mac: Ten Months Old

2010-05-17T18:37:00.006-06:00

Oh Mac'doodles. My cheeky, sun-shiny, complicated little man with your toothy smile and sparkling blue eyes and a temper that sends the dog running for the back door. I do adore you at this age. You are becoming so interesting.

You've started growing more hair and accordingly have started tugging at the crown of your head when you nurse to sleep.
You haven't gained a single pound in a month, but you're also running around so much that I'm not surprised.
We swear to God you said "Charlie" this morning. If you repeat it, then we will accept it; your first word was an homage to the dog. So not surprised.
When I'm walking you in the backpack or even in the stroller, I can't see your face but I can I see people passing me with huge grins. That's because your smile is irresistible. There's a whole lotta trouble behind that smile.
Face it, you're accident prone. Your head is banged up enough to match Grandpa B's (almost). You have a twoonie-sized burn on your right shoulder thanks to an incident with my hot tea. I'm so worried about you that I bought you a baby helmet and everyone is either laughing at me or shaking their heads at my cruelty.
With your blond hair, mischievous grin, and predisposition for dramatic self-injury, we've taken to comparing you to Calvin.
You are a morning person, often ready to go at 4:30AM. You are not, therefore, a late afternoon person. Holy hell, that's when I get to see the devil inside. I've taken to timing our walks for just after your last nap of the day so that I don't do something drastic like lock you in the garage. You're happy if we're moving. Bedtime is 6:30PM and God help us if we keep you up late.
Other than the early mornings, you're a good sleeper. Hear that? 10 months in and I'm finally calling you a good sleeper! There are still a couple of feedings a night, but they're short and you're happy to resume sleeping as quickly as possible.
You're turning into a good little eater, too. Tonight you downed scrambled egg 'n cheese, a jar of prunes, a half a banana, a handful of wheat puffs and stars, and half a bowl of 'yellow' soup. I sure do miss the baby poops, though, I gotta say.
We love to make you laugh but today you turned it around; you raspberried my cheek and I burst out laughing. You were so pleased with my reaction that you did it a couple of times. Ease up on the drool and I think you really got something.
Your most joyful moments involve flicking the light switch to watch the light go on and off. Any light.
You have seven teeth. You can motor up and down the stairs. You understand the word "no". You spend a lot less time drowning in the tub. And your walking is coming along. You are looking less and less like a baby as you move into toddlerhood.

My days are full. Very full. But I can't think of any better way to spend them.

Love,
Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma

Marital Conversations

2010-05-12T09:55:00.005-06:00

TREVOR: Oh my god.
WORKING: What?
TREVOR: (laughing hysterically) You can't be serious. Our poor child.

WORKING: It's for his own good!

TREVOR: Okay, but only around the house. Not when we go to visit people. And please not around your family.

WORKING: They'd understand. They've met Mac.

TREVOR: Still....

WORKING: Look, if there's lots of people around he won't need to wear it. This is for when I'm home alone and I need to get stuff done and can't helicopter parent him. Just a little extra precaution and just until he grows into his mobility. And for outside in the yard, like on the concrete pad and steps.
TREVOR: It's just... (clicks on picture again, both reduced to fit of giggles) Oh god, that kid even looks like Mac. You know he's going to hate us for this when he's older.

WORKING: Fine, let the record show that Dad tried to preserve his coolness while Mom nerded him out for the sake of safety.

GiST

2010-05-12T09:47:00.004-06:00

1) Mac bear-hugging his comforter as he naps

2) Sun-shiny day

3) The fairly smooth comprehension of coronary circulation and the difference between veins and arteries (veins TO the heart, Arteries Away!)

4) Anticipation of watching House tonight with Trevor

5) Sun-shinerific day (seriously deserves two mentions. It's been raining / snowing for two weeks). Sun, sun, sun!!! I'm sun-drunk.

On the Injured List... Again

2010-05-11T20:57:00.024-06:00

"So what happened this time?" my doctor asked, peeling off my bandaging job. Mac sat still for once, wide eyed at her hijab and stethoscope.

"I put my tea on the table where it would have been out of reach last week." I didn't add that I was right there, and that I only dared to look away for half a second. Just like I looked away for half a second when he launched himself backwards off of the stairs yesterday. I barely caught him and wrenched the damaged ligaments of my wrist. My wrist was the reason I'd booked the appointment, only then the tea incident happened. Burned baby trumps wrist.

"Did you take him to see anyone?"
"Like, the hospital?"
She nodded.

"No, because his last burn was worse than this and they just told us to take him home. And the HealthLine called social services last time, so I didn't bother calling them."
"Oh yes, I remember. How did you treat this one?"
"Aloe vera gel and that non-adhesive bandaging."

"Yes, I see. Okay, I am not worried about it. You made the bandage a little tight so I would loosen it and maybe not use so much. It's only that spot on the shoulder so it doesn't really need to wrap around the entire torso like that. Also, I will give you some cream to take down any pain or itching."

I could spend more paragraphs lamenting my stupidity. But I stand by my parenting. I may be learning the hard way, but I am learning. No tea on low surfaces. No stairs unless my eyes are superglued to him. When he toddles off at full speed in that drunken Frankenstein's monster way of his, I'll be right behind him, arms open and ready for the catch. I've learned my lesson so hard that I even ordered the little dude a helmet online and he will wear it and he will be made fun of by, well, everyone. Even the dog is going to laugh at him. But dammit, I'm going to be a good parent here. For once.

Dreams

2010-05-10T10:20:00.003-06:00

Last night Mac slept from 10PM (which is when we arrived home from Kamsack) to 4AM. My body was so confused by this that around 2AM I reached over and tried to pick up Trevor. I kid you not.

I've decided to restart Grace in Small Things. It's such a great way to keep track of how awesome life is.

1) A walk by the lake near Duck Mountain Lodge with the in-laws.

2) Seeing where my SIL's wedding is going to be.

3) Watching Mac play with his grandpa out in the yard.

4) Watching Charlie swim like a mad otter suffering from spring fever.

5) A particularly deep conversation with Trevor on the drive home through a dark and stormy night, Mac and Charlie snoring in the back seat.

Marital Conversations

2010-05-10T06:59:00.004-06:00

WORKING: I'm so stiff. My neck.

TREVOR: Why are you so stiff?
WORKING: Because of my gift massage on Friday. My body is reverting back to its pre-massage state, only now I feel it. Luckily I have a book. I just have to reach it..... (struggling to pull book off of top shelf with fingertips).

TREVOR: Here, why don't you just let me get it?

WORKING: We're the same height!

TREVOR: Yeah, but I can use my penis for leverage.

Tired But Standing

2010-05-03T07:25:00.009-06:00

We just witnessed Mac's first ever real full-blown temper tantrum. There was lots of fake crying and scrunching of eyes and throwing of tupperware across the room (with associated flying puffed wheat) and he does this thing where he throws himself backward, hard, so his head hits the floor with a meaty thud. He lies there in a fake stun before unleashing the fake wails of fake tragic injury.

What set him off this time? I dunno; we ignored him or hurt his feelings or he's just crusty from WAKING UP AT A GOD AWFUL HOUR EVERY DAMN MORNING. Trevor and I decided 4:45 AM is just the new normal and we'd better stop complaining and adjust. Maybe we'd even start going to the 6AM CrossFit. This morning, however, was a big ol' adjustment fail. Mac is angry, we're tired, words have been spoken and CBC has been yelled at more often than usual.

I don't want to give the sleep thing too much focus anymore because I think that's what helped make it A Big Thing. And there are good signs - Mac is napping solidly during the day. He puts himself to sleep regularly with minimal crying. I dream feed him at my bedtime and he sleeps through until 3AM'ish so I'm getting five hours in a row now. Not bad. Not bad at all. I just wish we were morning people. But we'll fake it 'til we make it.

Marital Conversations

2010-05-02T11:13:00.007-06:00

(Mac just crawled by carrying my socks in his mouth. Further evidence of who he takes after most. The dog, that is)

4:45 AM on Sunday morning. Mac climbs on Trevor's face and stomp-kicks Working in the neck.

WORKING: Oh. My. Gawd.

TREVOR: Do we have any baby chloroform?

WORKING: No.

TREVOR: Right. Forgot to pick some up at the Walmart Super-whatever.

WORKING: We still have recalled Tylenol and Motrin products. They're supposed to be higher than regular doses....

TREVOR: I'll just get up.

WORKING: (to Mac) Don't worry, Daddy's not leaving.

TREVOR: I'm just going to buy a pack of cigarettes. Be back later, I swear.

WORKING: Oh no you don't, buddy. If you're going to "buy a pack of cigarettes", I'm coming with you.

Marital Conversations

2010-05-01T11:51:00.004-06:00

MAC: Bub-bub-bub-bub...
TREVOR: yup, those are Mom's boobs.
WORKING: Ew! Not boobs! When it's your mom, it's 'nursies'. When it's your girlfriend it's 'boobs'.
TREVOR: And when it's your wife it's 'off limits'.

Social Life on Horizon?

2010-04-26T18:26:00.003-06:00

Sorry the posts on this blog have been so sparse. To summarize, we've been either sick or just plain exhausted over the last few months. Add finals to that and you'll maybe understand why I haven't had a creative bone in my body. Sure, I have lots of other bones, as I've been trying desperately to learn in Anatomy / Physiology. But no creative ones (though I've always adored the term "xyphoid process". And I love the beauty of the sphenoid bone. Very creative).

So, at great risk of jinxing it, last night we had a glimmer of what our future might hold in terms of Mac and sleep. We had a sleepless and desperate Saturday night / Sunday morning, followed by lots of enforced napping and last night, a full 12-hour night with only two feedings. Today, no less than three hours of napping and he put himself to sleep just now at 6:30PM.

The trick for the boy, it seems, is lots of napping and an early bedtime and no deviation from this, even if one of us has to leave the party. I know my family must roll their eyes at how obsessive we've become about his sleep, but the byproduct of his NOT sleeping have been neglected pets, foggy, uncreative brains, half-assed and shabby attempts at maintaining the household, and an unhappy marriage with us snapping at each other all the time. Not to mention the low self-esteems from missing CrossFit and reaching constantly for quick calories just to stay awake.

So now that we're heading in the direction of something that works, you can see why we'd cling to it like a life preserver. And things are definitely looking up. This kid loves his sleep and we love when he sleeps and we love when we sleep and then we love when we're all happily rested and awake and having fun together. I'm starting to have daydreams; if he is going to continue to sleep this successfully, it's possible we may be able to install a sitter and actually leave the house. Together.

Sleep Update

2010-04-22T18:50:00.007-06:00

Mac just put himself to sleep. He'd had a bath and a good nurse and a cuddle and even though it was about an hour ahead of schedule he seemed tired, so I put him into his bed. I was completely ready for the screaming but it never came. He gazed up at the window, sucking his thumb. So I left the room (normally I sit by the bed to console and kiss and hug and to insist firmly that he lay back down). Over the baby monitor I heard him talking a little to himself and now... silence but for the deep breathing of sleep.

Next step: through the night but for one feed? And sleeping in until at least 6:00AM? I don't want to be greedy but please, Universe. It's been nine months. Pretty, pretty please.

Dear Mac: Nine Months Old

2010-04-19T12:26:00.009-06:00

Nine months old seems so grown up. I mean, you're definitely not an infant anymore. These are the non-infant things you're getting up to this month:

You look like a little boy now. A brawny child with a big blue eyes, gapped teeth and a blond brush cut punctuated by crazy long, wild hairs that suggest just a hint of glorious baby mullet to come.
You took your first steps last week. You tried it, you thought it was cool, then you shelved it.
You did the same with stairs. Just not that into it yet.
You're eating a bit more, but it has to be big people food and not on a spoon for some reason (I must have traumatized you with my, um, enthusiastic feeding style). Now I mostly feed you with my fingers. It gets messy for both of us. Favourite snacks: banana and puffed wheat and whatever happens to be mashed into the floor any given day (What? It's strengthening your immune system).
(Or not) You have another cold. Or allergies? Anyway, it sucks. We had you going down by yourself and almost sleeping through the night but for two feedings and if it weren't for the buckets of snot threatening to drown you every time you lie down, I'm sure you'd be a great sleeper by now. We'll have to start all over again, but I don't care. I just want you to feel better.
You love to be outside, on the move, going places, doing things. This house is so boring already. You've explored every nook and cranny and opened every drawer and chewed on every bit of wire/ electronic /furniture / household pet. Time for the wider world.
That said, you're still not that into playing with other kids. We went over to a dinner party the other night and you were pretty content to play by yourself despite the tempting chaos of older children around you. One older blond girl made you smile particularly brightly, and you were obsessed with the strawberry blonde locks of another little girl. So if they're girls, you'll pay attention? Huh.
You have a great sense of humour, with some caveats. We can get you laughing if it's new and innovative. If you've seen it before, forget it. Exception: you pull an animal card off of your wall (where I stuck them with velcro) and if it's the bee, I bzzzz-bzzz-bzzzz into your neck. Cow is moo-mooo-mooo on your cheeks. Horse is a swish of bangs into your face. Hen is peck-peck-peck on your tummy. It makes you lose it every time (I hope you don't reach the zebra card anytime soon, cuz I'm drawing a blank on that one).
You don't like to be separated from us. You throw temper tantrums if I leave the room (actually, if I leave your immediate vicinity) and, oh, how I love your dramatics. Eyes screwed up, mouth pinched, face beet-red as you try to work up the best mad you can. And if I laugh at you, you throw yourself screaming, face first on the floor. Usually this means you mash your lips against your teeth and so now you have renewed purpose and glare at me accusingly, see what you did?! I think it's all high-larious.
The tub is still the best thing ever. Yesterday you learned to belly flop yourself through the water. You almost drowned a few times and, well, I let you. You got the hang of keeping your head up pretty quick. You even experimented with putting your face in the water. Swimming lessons are in your future.
We still read to you even if you'd rather be across the room emptying the shelves or dismantling the baby monitor again. Eventually you will love books as much as we do, whether you want to or not.
I say this poem to you every night:

Now I lay my head to rest,
I pray that all the world be blessed.
Moon so high and twinkling stars,
Shine upon me from afar.
The world of dreams will dance and sing,
And to me sweetest stories bring.
And when I wake to greet the day,
The sun so bright will light my way.

I adapted it from a pagan prayer I found on the Internet. I took out all the "lord of dreams", "lady moon" and "sister star" stuff. If you must know, gender assignment of natural elements bothers me. And yes, I read tarot. And yes, I get the hypocrisy. You can nail me on it when you're 16.
You are so cute I could die. Your smile melts me. I adore you. I love to hug and kiss and cuddle you. You're not super cuddly back, but you like to be held and once in awhile you'll snuggle into me, or stroke my arm or play with my earlobes and then my heart bursts. Until you bite me and the moment's so over.

Love you Doodles,

Mommy

Marital Conversations

2010-04-19T10:39:00.002-06:00

Working: (hands Trevor a pair of shoes to put on Mac)

TREV: Why don't you just make me solve the Rubik's Cube before we leave?

Redhead

2010-04-12T19:53:00.005-06:00

WORKING: Do you think I'd look good as a redhead?

TREVOR: Yeah, I think you'd look good.

WORKING: I might go red next appointment.

TREVOR: How red?
WORKING: I don't know. Not too, too light but definitely red. I get freckles in the summer so it might be a good summer look.

TREVOR: You've been red before.

WORKING: Yeah, but more burgundy. You know, darker.

TREVOR: Yeah. And I don't think dark works for you.

WORKING: Yeah, I think definitely lighter.

TREVOR: It'd look good.

WORKING: Wait, did you just say you don't think dark works for me?

TREVOR: Huh?
WORKING: You just said you don't like me in dark hair.

TREVOR: No!

WORKING: You did so!

TREVOR: No! I meant not as much!

WORKING: You hate me in dark hair and I've had dark hair for years. Most of our relationship in fact.

TREVOR: That's not what I meant! I like your dark hair!

WORKING: Wow, you really screwed yourself there, buddy.

TREVOR: Well at least someone's screwing me.

(pause)

WORKING: Good one. High-fives.

Movement and Progress

2010-04-04T09:37:00.007-06:00

This kid moves. This kid moves all of the time. If he's awake, he's moving. He stands more than he sits, lowering himself only to crawl over to the next standing opportunity.

He moves so much that he literally can't stop. He'll be so tired that his eyes go red and bleary and his yawns come from his toes, and when I put him on his bed he pops his thumb in his mouth, shuts his eyes and flops over on his face. But then his body starts again, legs pushing and digging, seemingly of their own accord. He's moving, he's moving, he's moving, and I swear I see in his tired, tired eyes the sheer frustration of, "oh no, not again."

Then he's standing again. He's frustrated. He cries. He tries again - thumb in, eyes closed, nose dive into the blankets. But no, his legs betray him again and he's now at the end of the bed. Again - eyes shut, thumb in, face plant. No go - now he's across the room.

I have successfully taught him to find his own comfort in his thumb, to relate his bed with sleep. I just haven't managed to help him learn how to put his own little body to sleep. Nursing worked because at least it gave his body something else to focus on.

But obviously we have to move beyond that. Today I forcibly restrained him, actually pinned him to the bed and he screamed and screamed. Then within five minutes, he drifted off to sleep and I swear his expression was one of pure relief. No rocking, no nursing, no crawling, no standing, hitting or biting.

He's been asleep for over an hour.

For the next nap, I'm going to try just the pressure of my hands, no full body hug. I have faith. We're getting close.

Birthday

2010-03-23T10:25:00.010-06:00

Yesterday I turned 34 in style, if that style is a chaotic, crazy, scrambling mess.

SUNDAY

10 AM go for brunch with my sister because we have loads of time to do the video project that I've been sitting on for months and is due tomorrow.

11 AM Mac only slept a half hour. Huh. Interesting.

2 PM Working starts to cut and hack at video project. Trevor prevents Mac from disassembling the house.

3 PM Mac only slept for another half hour. He seems stuffed up?

5 PM Mac a mess. Won't eat, won't play. Working realizes the video project is huge. Stresses out.

5:30 PM Trevor locks bathroom door from the outside, bath running. 10 minutes of panic. Words are exchanged.

6PM Trevor and Working not speaking to each other. They switch out spots in the edit suite (read: laptop on a desk in the office). Working attempts to feed and bathe Mac. Puts him down.

7PM Working makes peace offering (dill pickle chips). Settle down to work.

7:30PM Working trying to record stand ups and voiceovers for video. Mac wakes up. Can't breathe.

8:30 PM Mac wakes up. Can't breathe.

9 PM Schedule alert beeps on Working's laptop. Wait, what's that? Process Analysis project DUE TOMORROW?!?!?!

9:30 PM Working freaking-the-frack out. Mac wakes up. Can't breathe.

10 PM Trevor starts cutting second project, cobbled out of first project that is still underway.

10:30 PM Mac wakes up. Still can't breathe. Working realizes second project requires full paper with sources. Starts to cry a little.

MONDAY

12:00 AM Mac wakes up. Trev and Working still working.

1:00 AM Mac wakes up. Trev and Working eat leftover banana chiffon cake. Trevor gives Working her birthday gift "in case you're in a bad mood in the morning." It's a book and a gift certificate for a massage. Working loves it. They embrace, briefly, then return to their stations.

2:00 AM Mac wakes up. Trev and Working decide there will be time to finish in the morning. Go to bed.

2:30 AM - 5:00 AM Mac finally sleeps held upright by Working in the recliner. Working does not sleep.

5:00 AM Trevor takes Mac, Working sleeps.

8:00 AM - 10:30 AM Working and Trevor actually finish two separate videos plus papers AND references pages. Mac miserably clings to Working's leg, screaming and blowing snot bubbles, as Working tries to tape up the packages.

11 AM Working realizes, "we better get cleaning." TV crew scheduled to come at 1:30 PM to borrow house for a shoot.

12:00 PM TV crew arrives. Working got the time wrong. Mad race to shove things into closets. Hair and Make-up lady holds Mac.

1:00 PM Leave house to deliver projects off at school and post office and go to meeting at bank.

2:30 PM Sister calls. Mac is a screaming mess, has been since we left him with her. Working suggests to take him outside. It works (Trick Learned Hard Way #235).

3:00 PM Collapse on sister's couch and eat Korean food. Mac settles into a full-blown, coughing, snot ejecting cold. The end.

Marital Conversations

2010-03-20T11:51:00.001-06:00

WORKING: I'm so tired.

TREVOR: Me too.

WORKING: What a frickin' week.

TREVOR: I know.

(pause)

TREVOR: I'm so glad we didn't slap chop our baby.

WORKING: You 'n me both, buddy.

Survival

2010-03-19T09:01:00.009-06:00

TREVOR: Remember when you said we were going to throw a party on his first birthday to celebrate that we all survived the year?

WORKING: Yeah?

TREVOR: We should changed it to a celebration that he survived us.

WORKING: Agreed.

TREVOR: (looking at Mac) Holy crap, you're lucky.

We're completely out of sorts today due to lack of sleep. I didn't know Trevor had gone out to the garage. He thought I'd heard him leave. Neither of us were watching. Mac crawled into the office, which we usually keep closed but, well, perfect storm. When I heard the crash and the screaming, I ran into the office and found Mac on all fours, several poster-sized picture frames piled on his back, surrounded by big shards of broken glass.

Turns out he just had a few nicks on his head that barely bled and a tiny slice on his little finger that required a mini bandage. But to think how it could have gone... holy crap. Holy crap. Holy. Crap. Parenting fail.

(Another disadvantage of breast feeding: you can't pour yourself a stiff whatever when things like this happen)

Marital Conversations

2010-03-16T10:35:00.002-06:00

WORKING: (reading status updates from friends who've just landed in Italy) I wish I was in Rome.

TREVOR: Me too.
(pause)

TREVOR: Cuz then I'd have the house to myself.

Dear Mac: Eight Months Old

2010-03-16T09:01:00.011-06:00

As I type this, you're sitting on the kitchen floor yelling, "aiyiyiyiyiyiyiy!" at the top of your lungs. Soon I'll hear, "oh Maaaac!" which means you made it to the dog's water dish again. Our kitchen floor has never been so consistently clean.

So here's what eight months old looks like:

Your vocalizations are increasing in sophistication. My favourite is "dadadyedyedadyeagigga," said while sticking your tongue out the side of your mouth. My least favourite is your high-pitched, lingering shriek. I can't even get my voice to go high enough to mimic it so you know what it sounds like to other people's ears.
You sure can crawl when you're in a rush to get somewhere (i.e. dog's water dish), but you prefer to be standing. You've learned to walk along things and you've started letting go....
Of the four top teeth that have been threatening to emerge, only one has, giving you a wide, lopsided smile. Said tooth looks like it comes from my side of the family. There are probably braces are in your future.
One afternoon when I was putting you down, I flung the sheet over us so that it floated down around us like a parachute. You. Loved. It. You shrieked and vibrated with giddiness. So now you grab the sheets and yank them over your face over and over when I'm trying to nurse you. More parachute game! I say go to sleep already.
You just crawled by me at top speed. You're probably going to the bathroom. You love the tub, especially when we're in it. Splashing us to get a reaction is the height of comedy right now.
Food is still hit and miss. One morning you spit your applesauce at me and then devoured my lunch (I was hungry, too. Not fair).
You just crawled over to me, pulled yourself up, and bit me in the thigh.
You still seem indifferent to your peers, but you have warmed up to the extended family. You give open-mouth kisses to your aunties and your cousin. I've never gotten a kiss. Neither has your dad. Unless bites are like super kisses? I bet that's totally what they are.
You have the chunkiest, most delicious thighs. And eczema.
When I put you down on your bed and start adjusting my shirt for a feeding you get so excited that you start kicking and flapping and yelling and then you roll into position and do this fake cough thing. The fake cough also punctuates crocodile tears, as in I am so upset that I am now DYING from The Consumption (cough! cough!).
You're now standing at the TV. You're going after the DVDs again. You're obsessed with Lawrence of Arabia. Your dad thinks you have an appreciation for the epic films of David Lean. I think it's big and gold coloured.
You've shown interest in your dad's fledgling puppet shows. I think this makes him very happy.
You also like when he chases you. You play this crawling chase game that gets you shrieking.
He just left the room to go into the office and you went chasing after him. You like your dad a whole lot. But I still get the full-on sunshine smiles.

You are so much fun right now. You really are. I miss you when you're sleeping.
Love,
Mommy

Postpartum Postmortem

2010-03-12T09:04:00.011-06:00

Our dog used to have the patience of a saint when it came to kids crawling on her, but since her two knee surgeries, not so much. Today she barked at Mac. She rarely barks so it scared the life out of him. This 'puppy' is not hers to discipline, so she got the triple whammy: the shin block of banishment, the Cesar Milan shhht, and my family's patented glare, which wilts the strongest of wills. I even growled. Dog knew she'd done wrong and cowered in the corner.

I guess the entire family is adjusting to the new reality of Mac: The Mobile Edition. Last night he pulled a new one; he sat bolt upright, swiveled and pitched forward onto his face so that he was now sleeping with his feet in my face. He did it several times. Today we will be cutting his toenails. And having a nap.

Last night I went to the premier of the documentary for this, three stories about postpartum depression and psychosis. It was a chance to revisit my own PPD and with some perspective, I can now see how bad it really was. There was a time when I looked at Mac's beautiful little face and thought to myself, this is the biggest mistake I've ever made. I told Trev I wanted Mac to go away, that I hated him. I did physical harm to myself and I considered doing physical harm to him. It was a hard day but a good day when I finally admitted, "this is not getting better. I need help." Oh, the look of relief on Trevor's face. Of course he knew it was time; he'd been trying to tell me as much for weeks, maybe months. One of the strongest messages of last night came from the husbands. It's hard to suffer from PPD, but it's also hard to bear witness.

What's not hard is getting drugs. It's easy to get drugs once you've admitted you need help and a lot more difficult to get help beyond that. Dealing with PPD or any depression requires a three-pronged approach: body, mind, spirit. The drugs take care of the body and if you can't afford to pay for your own counseling, that's probably where the support ends. You're on the drugs indefinitely. They were the right choice for me at the time; I needed a break from the darkness.

When I chose to come off of them, people close to me rightly expressed concern. I have dealt with my depression before and I knew it was going to take strict vigilance and herculean effort on my part. But I also felt rested enough after the stretch of normalcy to risk it. I felt like I had the resources and it was time. I made an agreement with Trevor that if he felt I was slipping, I would return to my doctor.

It was hard work. The withdrawal was horrible. First the physical symptoms - the nausea and brain zaps - and then I started to get what I call "the rage" multiple times a day. I would feel a horribly strong urge to break something, hurt something, beat the living crap out of something. It required I stop whatever I was doing to breathe. If that didn't work, a very hot bath. I had a lot of baths, sometimes three a day. I never felt like I was a danger to Mac (had the psychiatrist's number close by just in case), but there are a few plates that will never recover.

The rage would happen every day, then every second day, then a couple times a week and last night I realized that I can't even remember the last time I felt it. I am so happy it's gone. I have more ups and very few downs, and the ups are solid, stable and real. The downs are just usually a little grayness and more often then not indicate that I need to get out of the house or I'm just tired.

This is a lot to share, I know. But I also know some women who are pregnant right now and I guess I feel I owe them an honest account. I have no advice except the example of my experience, and to put it this way: once upon a time I resented, even hated my baby. Now I can't wait until he wakes up from his nap so I can kiss his face some more. That's a huge difference.

Violence Update

2010-03-10T21:36:00.002-06:00

So what does he do? Falls asleep tonight softly stroking my arm. This kid's mission in life, or one of them, is to prove me wrong at every turn.

Violence

2010-03-10T11:31:00.004-06:00

Here's one for you parental types and non-parental types with good ideas. Last night I had to google "baby violent when falling asleep." I got nowhere.

My nephew falls asleep by stroking your eyelashes. It's really cute. Mac falls asleep by gouging skin. It's really not cute. Both Trevor and I have emerged from his bedroom bleeding. We look like we have chronic acne. I have pinch-shaped bruises up my arms, bite marks on my boobs, and a long scrape up my stomach. We've cut his nails but it doesn't stop the pinching or biting. It really freakin' hurts, too - enough to want to screech, except he's so close to sleep, which is far too valuable.

See why I'm so hesitant to leave him with a sitter?

So come on smartypanteses, what do we do? Do I say to hell with it and just screech and just deal with the inevitable tears? Can 8 month-old babies distinguish between cause and effect?

* * *
Trevor to Mac, who was in the process of simultaneously kicking him in the balls and trying to scratch his nose off of his face: "You're like a drunken abuser. A sadistic killer who we have to take care of because you might grow up to be a nice guy."

Doom and Gloom

2010-03-05T19:21:00.005-06:00

What was I going to say? I'm tired. But this blog won't write itself. Neither will my 116 project. What was I going to say? Oh yeah. I'm reading this book. The first story in the book is about a family living on streets and how the parents get the kids to sniff glue so they won't be hungry (and somehow he keeps it lighthearted). I woke up in the middle of the night from a dead sleep and remembered why it hit me so hard.

In 2001, I was living in Estonia and a bunch of us went on a trip to Russia. We were taking the subway to somewhere in Moscow and I remember we got off the train, went through the turnstiles or whatever, and there I saw this group of kids, maybe ranging in ages from six to twelve, kind of lying in a heap against the wall, completely high on glue. I remember locking eyes with one and the look... that look... it's creepy when you see it in an adult. It's soul-wrenching when you see it in a kid, that vacant, stoned look. I remember thinking, how could a parent, any parent, let their little kid end up like this? I think the book is helping me understand a little better. Even if one is Africa and one is Russia. Poverty is poverty.

And here's where I make a totally irrational leap in topics to admit that my child scares me a little. Oh, he's beautiful and funny and cuddly and loving and I'm enraptured with him. But a part of me knows that this kid has the power to break my heart by breaking himself. I often think about how that could happen. He could destroy himself and I may not be able to stop him.

Oh, I know, holy cow, no wonder I was on pills. And what's the use of even thinking like that? Enjoy the moment, etc., etc.. It could go the other way, anyhow, right? He could grow up, become amazing and support his parents in the manner to which they'd both very much like to become accustomed.

Marital Conversations

2010-03-04T22:01:00.003-06:00

Trevor returns from walking the dog. It's late.

WORKING: I just finally got him down again.

TREV: Oh you're kidding.

WORKING: Nope. How was the walk?

TREV: Wet.

WORKING: Wet?

TREV: Well, yeah. It's cool and foggy out, and...

WORKING: ?

TREV: And I kind of found a crazy carpet.

WORKING: You didn't.

TREV: It was fun. Charlie thought it was the greatest, chasing me up and down the hill.

WORKING: I can imagine. That also explains why you're covered in snow.

Marital Conversations

2010-02-25T17:15:00.002-06:00

WORKING: Doesn't he have the voice of an angel?

TREV: Yes. I should record it and play it as I fall asleep at night.

MAC: SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!

Growth Spurt

2010-02-25T08:01:00.003-06:00

Mac has progressed so much in the last few weeks that I felt it deserved a special update. He took to crawling pretty quickly. Upside: he's less frustrated because he can explore on his own.

Downside: he has a passion for computer cables, power cords and the dog's water dish.

Upside: he's a lot more worn out come nap time.

Downside: he's a lot more wound up come night time. I swear he did flips for an hour before finally falling asleep last night. Then he resumed at 3AM.

Upside: he can go bug the dog now (she is thrilled about this).

Downside: he can come bug me, now. I now spend a good chunk of my day with a 7 month-old clinging to my pant leg and screeching (when I pick him up, he screeches to be put down, so I do, wash, rinse, repeat).

Upside: he can climb up onto his own bed now (futon).

Downside: getting off said bed? Face plant every time.

Upside: he can pull himself to standing! So cute!

Downside: he can pull himself to standing. The days of leaving my coffee on the coffee table, or anything on anything, are coming to an end.

Upside: Crawling distracts him from his teething woes.

Downside: One way it distracts him is that he can sneak up on me by crawling under the table and chomp on my toes. It freakin' hurts.

Upside: he can come to me to get a rice cookie.

Downside: he's under my feet when I accidentally drop things, like icing sugar.

Overheard: Mac Talk

2010-02-21T12:05:00.004-06:00

What We Hear:

MAC: (over baby monitor) Gah.

What He Actually Said

MAC: Hey! Can I get some help up here? I think I pooped in my pants! And out of my pants. And up my back. Maybe on my neck. And I think maybe a little on my face but I can't be sure. Hello doowwwwn theeeeere!!!!!!!

Damn Anglo Breasts

2010-02-20T19:53:00.006-06:00

TREVOR: So, do you hate Lisa C. right now?

WORKING: Hate Lisa C.? Why?
TREVOR: Because she posted how much she's enjoying breast feeding, how well it's going.

WORKING: (snarls) A little. But she is Italian, isn't she?

TREVOR: What's that got to do with it?

WORKING: Well that one public health nurse told me that she found that fair-skinned women - women with freckles - typically have more painful experiences with breast feeding.

TREVOR: Oh right. That's so weird. I wonder what it is?
WORKING: We Anglo types have problematic tissue.

TREVOR: That reminds me of when I was traveling with so-and-so in Malaysia and he was so grumpy for days and days and finally I just asked, "dude, what's your problem?" and he said he had really bad crotch chafe. Discomfort makes Anglo-type people grumpy.

WORKING: Crotch chafe. Ouch.

TREVOR: So ever since then when white people are grumpy, I just think they probably have crotch chafe, or an ingrown hair or a hang nail -

WORKING: Or they're breast feeding.
TREVOR: Exactly.

* * *

TREVOR: He just rubbed his face.

WORKING: Okay.

TREVOR: He just yawned.

WORKING: Good.

TREVOR: And he's resting his head against me.

WORKING: So? What are you trying to say?

TREVOR: Just keeping you up to date on the bedtime situation. Keeping your breasts abreast, so to speak.

The Return

2010-02-19T21:52:00.003-06:00

Since going off of depression meds, I've written ~~bitchy~~ constructive letters of complaint to CBC, CIBC, my profs, CBC, Canadian Tire, and CBC. I even made the news in the GTA. I wish I could say my cranky activism is part of withdrawal, but it's probably my real personality reemerging.

Good or bad, it gets me free stuff. I got a $25 gift card from Canadian Tire. Still waiting on CIBC.

Awake

2010-02-19T05:31:00.006-06:00

It's five in the morning. I'm awake against my will. I refuse to indulge this kind of behavior, so Mac is playing on the floor beside me in the dark. Babies who wake up at 4:45 AM don't get lights.

It's not his fault four teeth are trying to come through at the same time. It's not his fault rice cereal gives him gas. It's not his fault that I have a month's worth of homework that needs doing and a house that needs cleaning and a gym that needs Crossfitting and, one again, I won't have the energy to accomplish any of it. And it's not his fault that when he eventually does go back to sleep, I will lay in the dark staring at the ceiling.

But I still resent him. There, I said it.

A friend posted that her just-turned-one year-old slept for twelve hours. I don't know if I can do five more months of this. Oh, and time's already up; I have to cut this short because babies who don't go to bed until 10PM and wake up at 4:45 AM aren't particularly happy babies. Part of me wants to let him holler so that his dad feels some of my pain, but the good wife part of me knows that Trev is working a double shift today. And if I'm good to him today, he'll be good to me tomorrow (Saturday!).

ALRIGHT! I'M COMING ALREADY!!

My big baby did this to me...

2010-02-17T20:23:00.006-06:00

ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouchouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch deQuervain's Tendonitis ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouchouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch (but still not as bad as mastitis) (or vasospasms) (or breast feeding months 1-3) (or labour) (or c-section recovery)

Aw, never mind.

Dear Mac: Seven Months Old

2010-02-15T20:01:00.017-06:00

Note: Thanks for coming back after my long'ish absence. I cheated a little on Blogger to see if my blog would work better in another place with more security controls, but after half a month I let my subscription lapse. I guess I'd rather restrict my topics than pay to have my blog restricted. No worries; I still have plenty to say that will fit well in this space. Trevor still says ~~ridiculous~~ hilarious things all the time. And Mac keeps growing up.

Mac, Macklin, Doodles, Booger. This month we've really noticed you're growing. Not just bigger, older. For one, you started crawling, if crawling means sticking your butt in the air on your tip-toes, swiveling your hips around, and plopping down a quarter of a foot from where you started. It gets you across a room, albeit slowly, so we'll call it crawling. Really it's more like you're trying to stand up.

Because you're moving, the jolly jumper is out. The exersaucer is so last week. The swing is gathering dust in the basement. Your favourite toys consist of maybe this toy train, my massager (which is always lying on the floor, and yes I do make sure to unplug it) and whatever I'm holding at any given moment. Pen, computer, textbook, dog brush, you name it. I usually just let you have it. I'm a - whatchamacallit - "free range" kind of parent. Prepare to walk yourself to kindergarten.

You have four teeth coming in on top. White, angry looking ridges that give you bright red cheeks and cause you to alternate between nursing and gnawing on my finger (better my finger). I hope they come through soon and then give us a break for awhile.

You are still not crazy about food. I've noticed it goes down better if I mix it with milk, but even still, lukewarm response at best. I predict you're going to skip baby food and crawling altogether. One day you'll suddenly stand up, walk to the kitchen and grab an apple, maybe throw a pizza in the oven.

Sleep. Well, you've never once slept through the night, but maybe it's my fault for setting that as the standard from the start. I set us both up for failure. Let's say instead that you have good nights where you wake up maybe twice for feedings and go back to sleep right away and sleep in until 7AM, like last night, and bad nights where you wake up every hour and then up for good at 4AM. I haven't figured out what the key is. Teething? Growing? Ibuprofen vs. Acetaminophen? Anxiety about maxing our RRSP contributions this year? (we won't, if that relieves your mind)

One thing - we moved you to a futon on the floor of your very own room (after I broke the crib and then you pitched head first off of our bed onto the hardwood). This allows me to go to bed at my leisure and then join you later in the night. We have a nice cuddle, not bothered by your dad's insane work hours.

You've always loved the dog and this month maybe the dog has started showing signs of seeing you as more than just a loud, stinky, shrieking attention-sucker. Your auntie said that Charlie tried to get in between her and you when she was babysitting. I like to think Charlie was protecting you but it's probably more likely that Charlie thought you were hogging too much attention yet again.

Now, I don't mean to embarrass you son, but you have really, really bonded with your, um 'doover' as your dad calls it (that's what he and his brothers called it). When I leave you naked, which is often, you will spend a good chunk of your time, um, 'occupied' down there, staring off into space. It's so cute. It's like holding it helps you think. I believe in having a healthy relationship with all of your working parts, so have at it (don't make me regret that decision).

Later I'll probably remember a million other things I wanted to write down to remember this month, but for now this is you. Seven months. You are changing so quickly and we can sure see the little boy coming out in your features. You are such a thoughtful, observant kid, but also as stubborn as a bull, as strong as a bull, and sometimes just as graceful (your poor head). Your smile lights up the room. Your laughter adds to the warmth of our house.

We sure do love you, kid.

Mommy

So, Why the Blog?

2010-01-25T19:16:00.037-06:00

Oh, what a marathon of a day. Mac woke up at 3 AM. You'd think the whole thing would make a baby nice and tired but that's not how it works. It makes them overtired and ornery. He wouldn't nap and he wouldn't go down until after 7PM tonight. He fought (bit, scratched, kicked, screamed) for four hours before succumbing to the land of nod. I won, but holy hell I'm tired. And homework rises in front of me like a mountain, a mountain for which I've been handed a plastic kiddy shovel and the instructions to move it by the end of the week.

Also, the depression meds, or absence of them, is kicking my butt. Nausea, lightheadedness, definite mood swings. With a rising level of fear I wonder if I have returned to the me of four months ago. But see I have this kind of armor now, built on the experience of being Mac's mom for six whole months, plus the endorphins from getting back to the gym. I will survive, hopefully without too much trauma-drama.

Also, Trev's been working double shifts since before Christmas. I miss him. He's really, really good at the husband and father stuff. So, bad day in a hard week in a tough month, and not the time to get any level of criticism about this blog. It was well intended, delivered face-to-face and meant as loving concern, all things I appreciate. But... just not good timing. After stewing about it for awhile, I realized there are some good questions I think it might be time to address.

(pause for a second to note that I made the best whole grain pecan-apple-banana muffins. Added a little butter, and I'm having a moment of heaven right now)

The concern is that I'm getting a bit too personal on this blog. Well, it wasn't worded that way; I was asked if I think I'm getting too personal on this blog. Since I wrote my posts without hesitation, obviously I didn't think they were too personal. The ones that went too far for my comfort never made it to the 'publish post' stage. But still, the question got me thinking about this space and its effect on people. Why am I doing this?

I started it when Trev and I were living in Toronto in 2005. I worked alone at home three provinces away from everyone I knew and I felt like I needed to reach out somehow (honestly, had Facebook existed, this blog probably wouldn't). It was a way to tell some stories to the people that I missed so much. Also, I was about to lose my job. I needed to reassure myself that I still had some creative muscle.

I realized about two years in that it was also the only record I was keeping of my life, especially my life with Trevor. Now when I write, I have the distinct impression that I'm writing specifically to remember. And ever since Mac, I feel this need to leave my story in my own words for when I'm gone (one day hopefully a long, long time from now).

So why not just journal privately? Because I have boxes of paper journals started over my lifetime with the first page filled and nothing more. There's something about writing online to real people that makes me feel accountable, like I'm not just navel-gazing. I have a reason to craft a good story (and thank you for providing me with an audience).

But am I going too far with my material? Possibly. Am I bringing up things better left for coffee with my best friend and no one else? Maybe. And don't I worry that it could affect my job prospects in future? Ah, good point. But after thinking about it long and hard (over the head of a screaming child), here's what I think:

I obviously don't write under my real name. There is some protection in that.
I never write about my work until it's long over and no one can be adversely affected. It's one of my rules.
I keep my sizable, dramatic family out of it except for passing mention when appropriate.
If the health district won't hire a nurse because she openly talks about health issues like pregnancy, birth complications, depression and abortion then... it's not a health district for which I want to work. I will never claim to be better than the patients I serve. I'm confident someone somewhere will hire a qualified RN with personal experience.*

Plus, this blog represents maybe 50% of my actual story. There are things I won't talk about here because they affect too many other people. The stuff I tell you is stuff that I feel I own outright, and I really don't own that much.

Recently I've put myself out there more than ever before. It was a good experience for me; scary, revealing, kind of like being naked and splayed open in front of a room full of strangers (birth metaphor, anyone?). I believe that there is absolution in telling the truth and telling it openly to those whose opinion you care about. Far more effective than ten Hail Mary's, at least to me. And, it was some of the most challenging writing I've done in a long time.

I am not perfect and this here is my imperfect blog. I appreciate you stopping by, I love your comments. I may take a break for the next little while to recover from what I'm going through right now, and to get some homework done. But I'll probably be back.

~ Working From Home Today

* I want to clarify that I believe a nurse is a professional first. I'm saying if the situation warranted it, and it were appropriate, I would not have a problem sharing a little about myself.

Marital Conversations

2010-01-25T04:55:00.004-06:00

WORKING: I can't believe 3AM is the new wake up time.

TREV: I know.

WORKING: And you know how I thought he just puked in the middle of the bed?
TREV: There were others?
WORKING: Yup. He pretty much nailed 75% of all sleepable space.

TREV: Damn.

WORKING: He's lucky he's so cute.

TREV: It's what prevents us from throwing him into a snowbank. It's his superpower. He projects a protective force field of cuteness.

WORKING: Still... snowbank... tempting.

Withdrawal

2010-01-24T10:50:00.005-06:00

DAY ONE

I feel pretty good.

I feel better than good!

This is kind of easy, actually. I'm so glad I went off the happy pills. Soooo the right decision (pat on back).

DAY TWO

Oh my god I still feel good and there's a lot to do today HEY! Let's totally go to CrossFit -

Honey, it's a green light. You can go.

- oh right ha and really that's the workout? Yikes. Oooh, head rush!

You were saying?
It's so funny I can't remember ha ha I lost my train of thought oh wow these pushups really are tough but at least I don't feel so woozy yeah working out really helps hey wanna stop by Ukr. Coop Peavey Mart Old Fashioned Foods-

Honey, it's a green light again. You can go!

- oh right ha and maybe endorphins are replacing the hormones in my head and everything's going to be just fine mmmmm more cupcakes -

Wrong lane! Wrong lane!! You're driving into oncoming traffic!

- oh whoops ha ha what was I saying I can't remember but maybe you should drive for the rest of the night POP POP!!! Ow. That was my brain.

DAY THREE

No sleep.

Sick. Throw up?

No. Eat something. No.

Exercise. Shovel? Still blizzarding, pointless.

I can't find my cell phone.

I can't find my thyroid pills.

I can't find.... What was I looking for?

Feed the dog. Dog was fed? No yes no.

Eyes won't focus. Head spacey.

Mac, are you feeling this too?

Baby Stuff Reviewed

2010-01-19T09:54:00.022-06:00

My friends made up similar lists and they were so helpful when I was buying stuff. Of course this is completely subjective. Some things worked for me purely for seasonal reasons, or Mac's preference (voiced loudly and clearly). And many things I wouldn't say I needed, but just used more than I thought.

Surprisingly Worth It

Tummy Tub

- He loved it. Sometimes when he was screaming, all it took was a soak in the tub to calm him down. I was sad to put it away.

Aden and Anais Muslin Wraps

- Mac was born in the summer and regular swaddling blankets were just too heavy. These worked a treat. Light, breathable and extremely wrap-able, he loved them. Also, you don't have to worry about the baby getting smothered, they're easy to pack in the diaper bag, and not bad for cleaning up messes.We're currently trying to convince him to use them as his blankies because we have so many.

Dr. Brown glass bottles

- They fit the Medela pump I have, so all of the other brands of bottles I'd so carefully selected just ended up in the give-away bag.

GroBag

- Our house is freezing cold in the winter, especially in our drafty upstairs bedrooms. This is a blanket he can't kick off. Also, he doesn't know he can roll when he's wearing it so he's safer on our bed. Don't waste your money on the smaller sizes - you can just swaddle them at younger ages. The 6-18 month GroBag is obviously more worthy of the investment.

Receiving Blankets

- Easy to grab, can hang over any surface within arm's reach, quick to wash and dry, useful for any mess.

Baby Safe Feeder

- Not a great website, but you get the idea. You put banana or avocado or other cooked veg into the mesh bag that screws onto the rattle-inspired handle and the baby sucks and chews on it. It prevents them from getting any lumps. Frozen banana is particularly good for teething.

LED Light

- This isn't the one I have but presumably anything will work. These little LED lights are good to have on the bedside table for the middle-of-the-night stumble to the crib, or feeding, or blanket readjustment, or diaper change. Not bright enough to wake the kid up completely, portable so you can find whatever it is that just rolled under the bed, and not a bad little reading light, too. Also, good toy / distraction for 4AM.

Bottle Warmer

- Yet another cheap piece of plastic crap for the counter. But there's nothing like it for heating a bottle or a jar of baby food really quickly and with no hassle. I can do it with one hand, too. Not always consistent with temperature, so food still needs a check. But better than the microwave (hot spots) or the stove (effort and dishes).

Thick Socks

- He can't walk and Robeez are hard to wrestle onto him at this stage, so I just use socks around the house. I can never have enough socks for him.

Co-Sleeper

- Bought it to use in the bed but never did. It's way too hard and cumbersome. It's like sleeping up against a wall. So one day we put it on the change table and it stayed there. It's lined with vinyl for easy clean-ups and the hard sides mean that even at six months and rolling, he can't go anywhere easily. I still don't leave him alone in it, but at least I can turn away to grab a change of clothes.

Baby Mirror for the Car

- They gotta sit back there and if you're driving alone, you want to be able to see if that sound is they're making or not making actually requires you to pull over. We bought a small el-cheapo one from the drug store, only even in our tiny car I couldn't see him in it. These big ones are worth the expense.

Cloth Diapers

- Even though I don't use them, they're handy to have around. I often line the crib with them for extra absorbancy in case of explosion, or I put them under him during 'naked time'. Also handy to grab in a pinch for less, er, manageable spills.

UGG Style Booties

- I couldn't find the actual brand I have - I think they're locally made - but you get the idea from this. In winter when you're stepping out, these keep the feet warm and they're big enough to get on relatively quickly and easily (compared to Robeez, which are probably better for walking stage). The ties at the ankles are the most helpful feature as Mac is constantly kicking off his socks. The ties keep everything on.

Food Mill

- This hasn't changed since I was a kid. Toss a little big people food in there, grind it up, insert in baby's mouth, watch for fun reactions.

90-Minute Sleep Program

- So far the most helpful and applicable book, especially for early days. Short, easy, well organized, quick read, good for the sleep deprived. The theory still applies, too. Mac is still on a 90 / 180-minute sleep cycle. I can predict his naps to the minute, sometimes.

First Aid / CPR

- I had to take this for my Nursing program, but it's been surprisingly helpful in giving me confidence. We've already come close to needing it a few times.

Doulas

- I used to think they were something only hippy-granola-natural-birth moms would use. Wrong. And if I do this again, I would hire them again. I don't care how prepared I was; it didn't matter in the moment. My labour was so long and my doulas were invaluable. Not only did they give Trevor a chance for rest, but they helped us with the tough decisions.

Lactation Consultant

- There's nothing worse than being horribly sleep deprived, recovering from birth / c-section, and having problems with breast feeding. It's pretty much a whole world of suck (pun intended). A good lactation consultant comforted me, refocused me and helped me figure things out. If I'd had regular problems, she'd have helped fix it lickety-split. I didn't have regular problems, but still worth the money.

Point and Shoot Digital Camera

Yeah, cameras with the bells and whistles take better pictures. But he's doing that cute thing RIGHT NOW and only for the next few seconds! Don't have to find the camera bag, don't have to fiddle with lenses, just grab the bloody thing and click away. Few minutes later and it's on Facebook for Grandmas and Grandpas. Throw it in your purse / jacket pocket for future photo opportunities.

Things I'm Glad We Borrowed Rather Than Bought

Sling

- I wanted one of those posh, expensive, pretty wraps. Luckily I was able to borrow one from a friend because it turned out I didn't use it as much as I'd imagined I would. A hand-me-down padded ring sling worked proved better for winter, much easier to get him in and out of (even over my winter coat and him in his snowsuit and so on), and the padding was easier on my shoulder as he got bigger. He also preferred being less confined, though I think if I'd have fought him more he'd have gotten used to the wrap eventually.

Swings / Bouncy Chairs

- Swings can be pricey and he hated it, so I'm glad I got to borrow it instead of committing to the money (and the loss of space). Bouncy chairs are handy for the infant stage; keeps 'em in one place and you can perch them where they can see you. Plus they still care about dangly things and you can even make your own to hang off of the bar. We now use a rocker and he likes to sit in the bathroom with me when I'm in the tub. Handy for keeping him in sight but confined. He prefers kitchen tools to dangly toys, which seem kind of wasted at this age.

Jolly Jumper on a stand

- I never would have bought this. But now that we've borrowed it, I'm kind of sold on it. It collapses for easy storage and travel, and it sets up anywhere. Sure the doorway ones take up less space (this one is a space hog when set up. Not for petit houses), but with our unfinished doorways, it kind of works.

Baby Clothes

- I make an effort to dress him when we go out, but around the house it's onsies, sleepers or his birthday suit. Honestly, I've made do with no more than two pairs of pants or a couple of shirts / sweaters at any given stage. He wears an outfit a couple of times and then suddenly it's too tight around the diaper area or wrists and into the give-away bag it goes. So I'm grateful that I've never really had to buy clothes for him - we got a ton of hand-me-downs. I've long since passed them on, but if we do this again, people are always selling bags and bags of barely worn clothes for cheap on Used Regina.

I Swore I Wouldn't...

CIO

- Well, you try not sleeping for six months. Yeah. A little screaming doesn't seem so bad.

Baby Drugs

- ibuprofen, acetaminophen; sometimes there's just nothing else you can do. As a friend said, if your teeth were jamming their way up through your gums, wouldn't you take something? Note: The syringe is waaaaaay better than the useless dropper for measuring. I got a syringe with one brand and just use it for the others.

Disposable Diapers

- Look, I tried cloth and he'd get this horrible rash every time, even if he just wore it for an hour or so. We tried different soap, extra rinses, stripping (using something like OxyClean to get the detergent and stuff out), and we tried every cream available, including prescription. Nothing worked. So I tried expensive organic unbleached cotton disposables, multiple brands, and ended up spending a lot of money, doing a lot of laundry and changing multiple diapers at night, which would wake him up, etc., etc.. Unfortunately, nothing holds like your standard name brand, "12-hour dryness protection" disposable. I still hate the cost, their environmental impact and the chemical load on his skin, so I compromise by keeping him naked most of the day. It's the best I can do.

Wet Wipes

- I usually just take him to the sink to hose him off. But at night, when I'm upstairs, these mean I don't have to run downstairs. Also good for any quick cleanups that require a little dampness.

Crib

- I really didn't want the extra furniture. I thought I would use a playpen, but when I started pricing everything out and checking on safety ratings 'n such, the crib just made more sense, especially bought used (but still to code of course).

Depression Meds

- For me, obviously. The medication does pass through breast milk and that worried me to no end, but two different doctors put it to me the same way: if the benefits of being on meds outweigh the harm your depression is doing to your relationship with your baby, then it's time to consider it. I'm glad I did.

Didn't Need / Use

- A million onesies. They only fit for a few months and you find you have the same four or five in rotation anyway.

- Big fancy diaper bag. I worried about this when he was born - oh-my-god-I-don't-have-one - but found my ugly old backpack far more functional in the end anyway.

- The raspberry teether. Some people swear by this, but he just isn't into it. Still, it's inexpensive so no harm in experimenting.

Peepee Teepee

- I always thought these were such a great idea, but I never had 'em and never would have used them if I did. Oh well, he peed on himself. Grab a receiving blanket. He rarely peed upwards anyway. I think he nailed Trev's mouth, like, once.

Baby Books

- While I'm sure some books are better than others, I found that the Internet is waaaay faster and better, more comprehensive and of course, regularly updated. You're participating in more of a conversation, too. There are certain sites that I keep going back to. (Oh, this one too)

Didn't Use But Would Probably Recommend

Video Monitor

- I thought these were overkill worthy of some serious eye-rolling (sorry C. and B.). We just have a regular audio monitor (hand me down! Seriously, we are so lucky) and while it works, I sometimes still have to run upstairs to see what he's doing. Is he really waking up or just transitioning (if I can get him just as he's waking up, sometimes I can get him back down)? Is he chewing or choking? I can't hear him at all, is he still breathing (and yes, I have wondered this many times)? And what the hell is the cat doing up there? Problem: it takes a whole lot of noise on our horrible, squeaky, 60+ year-old fir floors to check on him and I wake him up more often than not. It's too late to bother investing in a video monitor. We're probably just going to screw the floorboards down. Still, I would get one next time.

Drugs: The Next Chapter

2010-01-18T18:23:00.014-06:00

To do Dr. GP justice, picture a woman of middle eastern descent sporting a hijab, an efficient manner, and a slightly stern expression (but quick to smile).

DR. GP: Macklin looks like he's putting on weight nicely. But let's start with you. Why are you here?

WORKING: I want to come off of my depression medication.

DR. GP: What are you on?
WORKING: P----.

DR. GP: Who put you on that?!

WORKING: Dr.... what's-his-name. I can't remember his name. Over at Mental Health. The Psychiatrist.

DR. GP: Oh right. And why do you want to come off?

WORKING: Well, the cost is one thing and I'm a student and also I'm still concerned about it going to Mac through my milk and I don't like the side effects when I forget to take it and plus I'm feeling pretty good and while I know that's the drug talking, I really, really feel ready to try this on my own and I've decided to put the money towards therapy because Mental Health says it could be a year before they can get me into Cognitive Behavior Therapy and I talked to my husband and we decided that if we see any signs of relapse that I'll come back to you and go back on the drugs so I won't let it get bad as last time. (inhale) I really don't want it to get as bad as last time.

DR. GP: Well, I don't know why he put you on P-----. It's not covered on any plan in this province and it's extremely expensive.

WORKING: He gave me samples.

DR. GP: For how long?

WORKING: Three, maybe four months?
DR. GP: It takes six months to work fully, so what after that?

WORKING: Umm... I guess I pay.

DR. GP: Right, you pay a lot. That's why the drug companies give us these samples to give out, so we give them out and then you can't switch and you have to pay. Okay, I understand that you want to come off your medication. That is your decision. But I will warn you that the hormones haven't changed. You will relapse and it will be quite severe. You will be crying and mood swings and all of that all over again.

WORKING: Oh.

DR. GP: It could be just like before.

WORKING: Okay. But then I can just come back to you -

DR. GP: And then I will put you on something cheaper. I mean, we should find something that is right for you but you also can't be paying so much for this P---- stuff.

WORKING: True. Also, we've been maybe possibly BIG MAYBE thinking of trying for another kid.* I don't want this stuff anywhere near my system if that should happen.

DR. GP: I wouldn't want you to be on P-----, but there are things you can take while you're pregnant. Like maybe Z----. But anyway, do you think that pregnancy is a good idea? With your studies and already a young child? That could make things very bad for your depression. Is it a good time?

WORKING: No, I guess not.

DR. GP: Right.

WORKING: I mean, yes! It is a good time. I'm a student but at least I'm mostly at home. Look, regardless, I just feel like I need to try something more substantial for my depression, like therapy. I need something more permanent. I have a support system, I'll get the therapist. I just know I can do this. I've done it before.

DR. GP: Okay, as I said it's your choice. I know your school will cover some of the therapy so I will write you a prescription. Also, it is VERY important to become very physically active while you do this. It will be very crucial to handling the depression.

WORKING: D'oh.

(CrossFit, here I come. No more excuses, I guess!)

*To our respective families: we change our minds daily about having another kid. I brought it up as a hypothetical for health reasons. At this stage, there's still a very good chance that Mac will be our only (non-sleeping) child.**

**To my readers, it's not that our families pressure us at all. They don't. It's just that I feel like I should have a disclaimer so that we don't disappoint them too much when we decide to adopt from the Humane Society instead.

Dear Mac: Six Months Old

2010-01-15T20:31:00.011-06:00

Doodles, we just had the worst fight of your young life and it's my fault. I've taught you to fall asleep on the boob and now that's the only way you know how . But tonight you've already woken up four times and it isn't even 10 PM yet. After rocking you, Trevor always comes back down drenched in sweat because you won't go down for him unless he does deep knee squats (done to CrossFit form, 'natch). And me, my boobs hurt and my voice gets all scratchy from humming and I get a little bit dizzy from the constant back-and-forth. But the worst part of it is that you just aren't getting enough good quality rest. I know you aren't.

So for some reason tonight was the night. The last time you woke up, I went up but I refused to pick you up. I hummed our song and rocked in the rocking chair beside your crib, just within arm's length so I could stroke your ~~hair~~ head. Overall it was quite the precious maternal scene, only you didn't appreciate it. 40 straight minutes of rage. Eventually you fell asleep, but holy cow, I almost gave up so many times. The thing is, by six months I know you pretty well and I could tell you weren't scared or traumatized, you were just mad. Pure, stubborn rage. I have the scratch marks on my arms to prove it (oh, and a bleeding gash I just noticed. Nice. Now I don't feel so bad).

You are six months old. Half a year. I love you at six months. You're so interested in everything. You're not crawling yet so you get bored easily and I have to change up the scene a lot to keep you content. Expensive toys will be wasted on you, I can already tell. You'd rather get over to that bookshelf or the stereo....

- You're experimenting more with solid food, though reluctantly. Today you put on a show for the family at brunch. I gave you bits of different food from the table and you provided a review with your face. For some reason squash got the best reaction, with all the gagging and drooling (you'd just inhaled bits of breakfast sausage no problem, so it wasn't the texture).

- You snore. I just thought you should know.

- I would describe what you did to our bed last night (I had the diaper right there!) but I want to keep my readership.

- You like to go outside. You like to watch other kids playing, especially your cousin.

- You have the best conversations with your dad. You save all of your new 'words' for him. I understand; your dad is pretty entertaining.

- You had your first long road trip to Kamsack at Christmas and then Winnipeg for New Year's. You only screamed part of the way. You also slept better in both places. I wanna know why, but you're not giving up any clues. All I can think is that all of the extra people wore you out? I was eating more sugar, so maybe it was just crashes?

- Your dad and I have often said how we just want to eat parts of your chubby little body. Devour them. This would be disturbing if we weren't your parents, who are so understandably enraptured with every generous crease and fold of you. And there's a lot to love. As a friend recently said to you, "those wrists are trying to eat those hands!"

- My favourite, absolute favourite moment, is when I hear you wake up from a really good, long nap. You often nap in our bed. I slowly peek around the door and you're already looking for me, already grinning. You totally know the game. I pounce on the bed, you kick and thrash your way out from under the covers, every visible inch of you beaming, from your eyes to your dimples to your big, huge smile. And we sit and cuddle and and chat for a bit, then we get up and you have to examine the light switch very seriously. Then we talk to Charlie and you touch her ears. Then we look out the window on the landing to see if birds are using the feeder yet (they aren't). And then we head downstairs for the next big adventure, which will likely involve either your snowsuit or your birthday suit. One you love, the other you hate. Two guesses which.

- You love when I read to you at the end of the day. You don't look at the pictures, you look at me and laugh and laugh. You especially love Robert Munsch because of the funny voices. But this is the book that I use as your goodnight book. It's beautiful, just like you.

Oh my love, my little Doodles, my bright-eyed little handful. What a ride.

XOXOXOXOX

Love,
Mommy

En Francais

2010-01-12T12:45:00.008-06:00

"Hello?"

"Hello. Can I please speak to Trevor?" It's a guy with thick Quebecois accent.

"He's not at home. He's at work. Can I take a message?" What the hell?!? Am I actually talking with a French accent?

"Can I leave a message?"

"Of course! Let me just get a pen." Again! Cut it out! "Go ahead."

"If you could please have him call Michel...."

"Actually," Great. Now I sound like I'm trying NOT to speak with a French accent, "he has a cell phone. Do you have the number?" Better, better. Hold it steady....
"Is it xxx-xxxx?"
"Non, that's actually my cell number," crap. "His is xxx-xxxx."

"Okay, thank you."
"Pas de probleme." So. Embarrassed.

SleeeeezzzzZZZZZzzzzeeep

2010-01-07T11:02:00.002-06:00

Ow, ow, ow! I sat on my foot for probably 40 minutes straight and it fell asleep - very asleep - and I only realized when the phone rang and I had to fight through that horrible feeling to find the phone, only I tripped on the highchair, pulling the highchair table off in the process, which landed on said foot, and so on.

It's a gong show around here. I blame it on sleep deprivation, which also accounts for my scarfing of every last cookie, candy or bit of chocolate in the house. I'm just trying to function. Sugar makes that happen.

I watched a video online about "contented baby sleep" that insists condescendingly that a baby should be capable of sleeping through the night by six months and all you need to do is blah-blah-blah. Something about her delivery makes me want to punch her in the face (again, could be sleep deprivation).

Obviously Mac is NOT sleeping through the night. He hasn't since that golden age of two months old. He's not up every hour, sure (shout out to my friends who are going through that difficult 4-month every-hour-on-the-hour phase. Ouch). But he's up pretty consistently throughout the night. I'm grateful it's not for long stretches. Well, that is until 5 AM. 5 AM is the new Happy Wake Up Fun-Fun Time!! But it's just consistent enough that I don't really get a deep sleep. And eight separate naps don't equal a full night's sleep.

I look forward, so forward, to the day that I can post OMG, HE SLEPT FOR EIGHT HOURS STRAIGHT AND I'M SO WONDERFULLY RESTED NOW LET'S GO LEARN SOME ANATOMY!!!!

Today is not the day.

Mistakes I may or may not have made recently:

- nursing him to sleep when he goes to bed

- nursing him to sleep when he wakes up

- nursing him in the hopes that he will sleep, even when he's wide awake.

I'm a one-trick pony these days.

2010

2010-01-05T10:16:00.006-06:00

Everyone is suffering from Christmas / New Years overload by this point, so I won't dwell, except to say that family made it special. And Mac is a nice addition to said family.

In other news, I have 10 chapters of Anatomy to cover in the next three weeks. It's a nearly impossible goal and one I could probably get out of if I really wanted to. It's tempting to call the testing centre and plead, oh I don't know, H1N1. But I've always worked best under pressure and I just want this class to be over and so it's tally ho.

Besides, I think harsh discipline is a nice antidote for the indulgence of December (and I indulged. Oh boy). I'm reformed, a nose to the grindstone kind of girl now. Here's to the goals of 2010: passing my classes, getting some sleep, taking more pictures and maybe having a little fun once in awhile.

Cheers.

p.s. Mac likes to latch onto whatever part of me he can reach when I'm putting him to sleep. Usually it's the inside of my arm. I let him because, frankly, I'll do anything now to get him to sleep. But I just noticed a huge hickey on my chin. Right there for the world to see, can't cover it up. I look like I got all kissey-face with the vacuum cleaner. Time to put a stop to it, y'think?

p.p.s. Dammit! As soon as I wrote about it, I completely forgot about it and went to the grocery store. With my hickey on my face.

Marital Conversations

2009-12-22T22:42:00.002-06:00

WORKING: Ooh, my knee is killing!

TREV: Ibuprofen's on the counter.

WORKING: It's from rocking him. I'm going to call it "Baby Knee".

TREV: Or "Mac Knee." Get it?

WORKING: Ha!

TREV: And when he's older and gets pimples we'll call it "Macne".

Meanwhile, In Boob World

2009-12-20T18:03:00.002-06:00

Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow MASTITIS ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow

Brain Conversations

2009-12-20T10:36:00.005-06:00

Conversation with my own brain as I was falling asleep the other night:

That was a good quote in that book.
It was.
I should write it down or mark it or something.
True. You can do that tomorrow.
I should have a better way to mark passages in the book for book club. Maybe stickies of some sort.
Let's worry about that tomorrow.
We don't have any stickies. Not the little kind that you use to mark in books.
Again, tomorrow. Goodnight.
I could grab a big yellow sticky note and kind of tear it up.
Yes, that would work. Goodnight!
Or I could cut it.
Grrrrrr....
I could get the white scissors from the drawer and just pre-cut a bunch.
Yes! You could do that! Tomorrow! Now shut up!
It wouldn't be that hard.
This is the stupidest conversation EVER.
Then I could stick the stickies in the book exactly above any passage I want to remember.
I should blog this insanity.
...
...
I could start it with, "That was a good quote in that book" and then-
Aaaaaaarrrrrrgh!!!

Marital Texting

2009-12-18T19:24:00.003-06:00

(306) WORKING: Mac choked pretty bad. He's fine now but it scared the hell out of both of us.
(306) TREV: Holy crap. On what?
(306) WORKING: Milk. But it came out of his mouth and nose and he couldn't breathe to clear it.
(306) TREV: Oh God. But he seems okay now? How did you help him?
(306) WORKING: I let him clear it. But I was getting ready for first aid...
(306) TREV: Whew. Are you okay?
(306) WORKING: Yeah... now...
(306) TREV: Full of excitement this kid.

Dear Mac: 5 Months

2009-12-17T07:03:00.004-06:00

Now is probably not the best time to write this. You didn't seem to require sleep last night, but I did. Oh yes, I could have used some sleep. And here we are at some ungodly early hour, considering how late we went to bed, and you're on your mat, wide awake, shriek-laughing at the Christmas lights. I'm just trying to keep my eyes open, counting the minutes until your next nap.

But I will gather my thoughts so we can pay tribute to the splendour that is five months:
- you now use your hands so precisely to reach, grab, pull, push and scratch. And can we talk about the scratching? My face looks like the cat took a few rounds out of it. There's this thing you do now where you're falling asleep and you reach up and softly stroke my chin, my cheeks and then suddenly you dig your nails in. Can you explain why my sweet boy turns into a rabid little animal trying to tear my flesh and why this has to be part of the sleep process?
- You can roll front to back but you haven't figured out back to front. So you start crying for rescue. Eventually I give in and roll you back, but you immediately flip onto your tummy again and start crying. It's such a fun game.
- I've been reading you The Dangerous Alphabet by Neil Gaiman as a bedtime story because I like it. I hope that's not why you haven't been sleeping. You seem to like it. Well, in that you try to eat the pages.
- You love your daddy. He's the only one who can consistently get you to laugh.
- I can tell that you adore me, which feels so good. Even though you dive bomb my boobs, I like to think it's more about me as a person.
- You've tried pablum and these baby rice cracker things. You gagged.
- You have distinct emotions. You can be downright sullen. Your dad still talks about the day he looked over and you were staring at him like you were possessed by something dark and evil (I still maintain that you were probably just taking a dump). You have a temper. But when you smile, you light up the room. After rocking you for 45 minutes, I look down only to see you staring up at me and I want to scream, but then you smile and when I say, "why aren't you asleep?" in exasperation, you laugh. I can't help but laugh, too.
- It already takes a lot to entertain you. You have about a five-minute attention span for any given toy. I dread the time when my tool belt will need to consist of more than a walk to the touch the stickers on the window or a round in the jolly jumper.
- Speaking of which, you love the jolly jumper and man, can you get some air! It's enough to make a mother a little nervous.
- The scabs from your burns are starting to fall off. I'd be surprised if, by the time you're old enough to read this, you even have scars.
- You love the dog. The dog thinks you're loud.
- If one day your naturopathic doctor wants to know about any persistent problems as a baby, feel free to mention the diaper rash you've had since you started wearing diapers (so, your entire life so far). We have a stockpile of creams, prescribed and otherwise, and you're naked a lot, and yet it persists. The good thing is now you can scratch it to give yourself relief. The bad thing is the sound of scratching at night.
- I almost forgot! You have two teeth! Or "teefs" as I like to call them. They're on the bottom. They're so cute, your little chiclets. But holy man, I don't get why it's evolutionarily necessarily for baby teeth to be so freakin' sharp.
- You have one more month to start sleeping longer than three hours at a time. Consider yourself on notice.

Love,
Mommy
XOXOXOX

Pills

2009-12-12T09:29:00.006-06:00

I woke up in the middle of the night worrying that my blog isn't as interesting since I went on the 'happy pills'. Then Mac bit my boob with his two new chiclets. Instant distraction.

I had an appointment with the shrink yesterday for a prescription renewal. It was basically to check in. I had to admit that since going on the pills, I haven't had any lows. I've been pretty even. I feel normal. Which tempts me to think I can do this on my own....
"So when can I come off of them?"
"Well," he tapped his lip with his pen, "for people with more frequent episodes, sometimes they are on them for the rest of their lives. For people who just need to get over a hump, they can come off within the year."
"And me?"
"A few years at least."
"Oh."

I'm not sure how I feel about that. For one, I hate being dependent on any kind of medication. For another, it's bloody expensive and I'm a student. It's so tempting to think that if I could just do it on my own...
"What about Cognitive Behavior Therapy?"
He bent towards his desk and dug out a form from the disorganized mess, "It's a good idea. I can refer you, but they're so backed up. You probably won't even hear from them to make the appointment until the Spring, and then maybe your first appointment will be six months from there."
"Oh."
"Meanwhile, I'm going to put you on a new variation of your medication. It has the same metabolism. I can give you some samples, should help with the cost? I've never prescribed them before, so let me know at the next appointment how they work for you."
"Sure. When is the next available appointment?"
"May."
Five months. "Oh."

One day a few weeks ago I forgot to take my pills. That night, I had the most beautiful, lucid, multi-dimensional dreams I have ever had in my life. This makes me want to 1) forget to take them again and 2) worry obsessively about what these pills are doing to my brain.

Uh Oh

2009-12-10T10:10:00.007-06:00

TREVOR: I have a feeling his first words are going to be, "uh ohhhhh...".

The week could not end soon enough. I caught some sort of throat infection, my second knock-me-on-my-butt cold in as many months, just when I'm trying to pull together my last assignments for the Fall / Winter semester.

Then, The Incident. I was at the doctor's getting tested for strep when Trev texted me: He just slammed his head into the heater.

"The heater" is the third in a series that we've bought to try and keep Doodles warm when he's having naked time. This one had the advantage of not blowing gales of hot air, so it didn't dry out his sensitive skin as much. But it also tended to get really, really hot to the touch and it didn't have the screen that ceramic heaters have, for example.

And Mac has learned to roll over in recent weeks. See where this is going?

When Trevor turned away to reach for a diaper, Mac suddenly rolled over with gusto and smacked his head into the ridges on the oil-filled, blazing hot space heater. By the time I got home, the burns on his head had blistered significantly and we discovered more on each of his hands. I called Health Line. She asked me A LOT of questions. I mean, I pretty much had to get out a measuring tape and a protractor. Her advice: take him to the ER.

The ER sure jumps when you say "I burned my baby". There was almost no wait for us. Mac, meanwhile, was perfectly fine, smiling, nursing, entertaining the entire waiting room with shrieks and coos.

The prognosis was good, the treatment simple. Just second degree burns and aside from a rather severe "Harry Potter" scar across his forehead, hopefully no permanent damage. Then they told us to wait a minute because Social Services and Child Justice wanted to talk to us....

I guess the Health Line tipped off the police. They do that in any case like this where a baby is involved, particularly if you say "his dad was watching him". Poor Trevor. But our interviews lasted all of 30 seconds and we were free to go, with profuse (and unnecessary) apologies. I guess our story jived with the distinct shape of the radiator grill marks seared into his head.

Trevor feels so, so bad. But when I ask him to list off the litany of injuries he survived, as did his brothers*, I gather he feels a bit better.

*these consist of poisonings, fires, falls, being kicked in the head by a horse, and being run over by an Econoline van. Trevor really needs to start his own blog with some of those stories. It's a miracle he lived to procreate. Is it a boy thing?

Holidays

2009-11-29T10:35:00.005-06:00

TREV: I asked your family if they wanted to come over for Robbie Burns Day in January. I thought I'd try to make haggis.
WORKING: Really?
TREV: Yeah. Nancy said we should probably see if we can order the sheep's stomach from a butcher. Might be hard to find.
WORKING: We could try to order a whole haggis...
TREV: Yeah, she said that too. But I kind of wanted to cook.
WORKING: There are probably plenty of accompanying Scottish side dishes.
TREV: True! I could make oat cakes!
WORKING: Hm. Scottish cooking isn't very... dynamic, is it?
TREV: What are you talking about?! Oat cakes are delicious.
WORKING: We should also celebrate St. David's Day on March 1st. You know, for my side. It's no Robbie Burns Day, but the Welsh have parades.
TREV: Sure.
WORKING: Oh, listen: To celebrate this day, people wear a symbol of either a leek, or daffodil. The leek is patriotic, arising from an occasion when a troop of Welsh were able to distinguish each other from a troop of English enemy dressed in similar fashion by wearing leeks.
TREV: Seriously? "How do we tell each other apart?"
"We're the guys wearing the really big onions." The British soldiers standing next to them, looking at guys wearing big-assed onions on their shirts, wondering, WTF?
WORKING: Yup. Those are my people.

Sick Day

2009-11-26T18:27:00.002-06:00

I had a midterm today, so naturally Mac was sick-sick-sck. It was just the same, snot-filled cold at first but since he got his shots today, it turned into a fever-laced snot-filled cold that required that he be held in a bear hug at all times because screaming will be elevated to top levels should so much as a toe be moved.

Sigh.

On one hand I feel so bad for the little guy. On the other, I can't help but cheer a little to see his immune system in action. His little lymphocytes are kicking ass and taking names. The body is a beautiful thing (note: my midterm was Anatomy / Physiology).

I'd like to sing the praises of a few products. First, baby acetaminophen. Second, all things hydraSense.* The applicator on the the Ultra Gentle Mist stuff was so much easier than trying to get saline up his nose with a dropper. And my new favourite, the little snot-sucking gadget that I mentioned yesterday, is the coolest thing ever. It's super effective and you can actually see rivers of mucus 'vacate the premises'.

(And no, Tyler, no straw on hand pre-gadget so trust me, I'm ecstatic to have this in my arsenal now)

* I am in no way affiliated with this company. I just dig the product.

Did I Just Do That?

2009-11-25T13:20:00.003-06:00

I hesitate to post this because, well, how much of the truth should I tell?

Say it's 3AM. You're tired - no, exhausted. You wake up to the choking, gasping sounds of your infant trying to breathe through a plugged nose. He starts crying because every time he tries to suck his thumb, he can't breathe.

You take him downstairs so that at least your partner will get some sleep and relieve you in a few hours. You consider your arsenal: saline drops, one of those rubber aspirators with the nubby end, baby Tylenol and Kleenex. You get to work, squeezing, squishing, pinching, rubbing... and nothing works. Now the baby is screaming in between snot-filled wheezes. There is just no end to the snot and most of it isn't moving.

You sit and nurse (and surf Facebook) and think and think. What to do, what to do?

Well, I dreamed up a notion that evolved into an idea and became a plan and then before I knew it, a done deal. I will spare you the details, only say that it worked. My child breathed free and clear. And I don't think that I'm the first, because I found this at the drugstore. It was probably inspired by a desperate parent like myself.

Overheard: Daddy Talk

2009-11-23T08:58:00.002-06:00

Trev: (Mac pulls blanket over his face and starts to panic) Are you trapped? Here, I'll get it (removes blanket). There. I saved your life again. And I'm keeping a tally, by the way.

Overheard: Daddy Talk

2009-11-21T17:38:00.001-06:00

TREV: (singing) Had my baby! What a wonderful way to say we're not gettin' busy anymore...

My Doodles

2009-11-20T13:25:00.005-06:00

I used to wonder why it's such a big deal to get to go grocery shopping by yourself when you're a mother. Yeah, I get it now. I even treated myself to a ginger ale that was the best damn ginger ale I've ever had.

But as I was driving, I noticed that I already missed the kid. I enjoyed the feeling of missing him. It's good to step away and take a reading. It wasn't a mad panic to get home or anything, just a slight ache that there is now someone I love enough to miss, even when I'm only gone for an hour. [EDITED: Of course I love you this much, Trev. But I can usually go to Superstore without pining for you. I'm just saying]

As much as I complain about him, there's a permanent Doodles-shaped impression on my soul. And it's more than any schlocky Mother's Day card could ever convey. It's how when he turns his head a certain way, I can see his father in his face and I fall in love even more. Or when he makes a certain expression that sends a pulse down as deep as my own DNA.

I love those moments. Of course, there are other moments, like right now, when he's shrieking at the top of his lungs and peeing on his own face. Blog post-ending moments.

"Client" vs. "Patient"

2009-11-17T12:53:00.006-06:00

Here you go, a non-you-know-what related post.

So my studies are going, well, just okay. I tend to get easily distracted by the you-know-what, and of course all of the great television there is to watch. I loves me some good television, particularly when my studies are less than engaging, which one particular course is. Not. Engaging. (cough) I absolutely despise the textbook. It screams make-work project for some overly bureaucratized institution somewhere. It's outright obfuscatory; if there is a convoluted way to relay the simplest Nursing concept, they find it and beat it to death with a confusion stick.

Anyhoo, as a way of distracting myself from a particularly dry chapter (in which I thought I was going to find out what RN's actually do, but no luck, just more words like "needs theories" and "simultaneity theories" that I'll have to memorize for the final), I started a debate on the general discussion board. And if you have time, I'd like to know what you think. You know, as General Public types:

I take issue with the term 'client'. I always have, ever since I heard that's what we're meant to call patients. It makes absolutely no sense to me. To me, 'client' always has, and always will, imply a financial transaction for professional services. Lawyers have clients. Realtors have clients. Doctors have patients. Psychiatrists have patients. Now which category should we be in?

I bring this up now because it's being addressed in Week 10 of Potter / Perry: "By the 1960's, professional leaders recognized that nurses did much more than simply care for hospitalized clients. Because of this, nursing theorists started to use the term *client* rather than *patient*, to refer to the person at the centre of any nursing process." (p. 66 under "Client and Person).

Essentially, it's the argument that the term 'client' offers patients more respect. Well, if the patient is at the centre of care, and people in the general populate are more comfortable with the term 'patient' and think 'client' is just plain confusing and weird (ask someone, anyone, they'll think it's weird bureacratic-speak), then shouldn't we, as a patent-centered profession, respect the patient's chosen terminology? Doesn't that lead to better communication with said patient, as determined by the patient? And if we put it to a patient vote, I bet they'd chose patient. 'Client' is a nurse-chosen word. Worse, it's a 'professional leaders' chosen word. Where is the patient in that?

There is absolutely nothing wrong with the word patient, nor do I believe it affects peoples' perception of nursing. The act of nursing affects the perception of nursing.

Anyway, it's a pet peeve I can't get passed and I'm going to use the word patient until convinced otherwise.

Thoughts?

[UPDATED: I realized after writing this that Psychologists may also use the word 'client', but again there is generally a financial transaction. Social workers are the other field I can think of that may use 'client' (also use the term 'case'?). Still, this doesn't change my perception that people are comfortable with the term 'patient' in a health care setting. As a patient, it kind of makes me feel cared for.]

Thank you.

Marital Conversations

2009-11-17T11:37:00.003-06:00

WORKING: Doodles, stop yelling!
TREV: Listen to your mother!
WORKING: Here. Have your Sophie. Take it! Don't turn your nose up, Sophie cost us $21!
TREV: $21?! We can't be spending that kind of money on a chew toy!
WORKING: Oh yes we can. It's non-toxic, hand-painted using baby-safe paint. And if it's something he's going to be chewing on all the time, I'd rather there were no chemicals.
TREV: Fine.
WORKING: And it was made in France, not China.
TREV: Does that mean we have to give it four months of holidays?

Dear Mac: Four Months

2009-11-16T21:00:00.004-06:00

(Wow, Mac dominates this blog. Tomorrow, tune in for something completely different! That means I have until tomorrow to figure out what that might be. But I have to write the ode to four months today - it's his lunaversary!)

You're four months old! Wow, four months. Really, only four months? Cuz it feels like we've known you for at least a year already. You're getting so big. Accordingly, we moved you into a crib today. "Evil pen of isolation and rejection" to some, "cozy, safe rolling-around place of comfort" to us. You're still in our room, so the cacophony of snoring that erupts from your dad and the dog should provide some familiarity tonight. And I'm particularly pleased that I don't have to maneuver around the cradle to get in and out of bed.

So new on deck:

You grew out of all your 3-6 month clothes.
You're laughing! It's so cute. Kind of deep, a little raspy, definitely giddy. Your eyes get so huge and round and seem to fill to the brim with happiness. And such dimples!
You use your hands so much more. When you nurse you play with my cheek, my chin, you stick your fingers up my nose and hook my lip. You love to pull my hair. You push my shirt up, pull it down, push it up, pull it down. When you fall asleep, your thumb is in your mouth while the other hand strokes my neck. Trev says you've started playing with his beard, too (hours of fun in that thing).
I can usually make you stop crying instantly if I pretend to eat your hands. You think it's hilarious.
You are using the potty. I shit (ha!) you not. We hold you over it, make a little sound and you let go, both poops and pees. Of course you still wear a diaper and you probably don't notice either way, yet, but we're hoping the potty will already be a natural part of your life by the time your awareness of such things kicks in.
You love-love-love the jolly jumper, especially if I clap my hands and cheer.
This isn't new, but I don't think I've mentioned it before; you love to be held (well, no kidding, you're a baby). What I mean is, you love to be perched on my arm, looking out at whatever I'm doing, wherever I'm going. I tried you in the sling, no go. Baby Bjorn, nope. Basotho-style on my back, no thanks. You want to be perched on my left arm, which is now totally muscly, thank you very much.
You've started making strange with people a little. You don't cry, necessarily, but you stare at them with an overly serious face and no matter how hard they try, you're reserved with your smiles. I feel like I get to see a completely different kid from everyone else.
You've tasted a few different foods. No chunks, and just little tastes. So far nothing has really gotten you overly excited. Solids are probably a ways away.
You may or may not be teething.

Well, I'm off to gaze at you in your new crib again. You look so small, which is nice, because it felt like you were growing too fast for awhile, there.

Love,
Mommy

Round Whatever

2009-11-16T10:26:00.006-06:00

Apparently this is a sleep journal now! Oh well, better than a boob journal. Or a puke, poop and pee journal. All of which it has been at various times. I'm under no illusions that this is interesting to anyone but me. I do edit these down (you're so lucky). Thank you for indulging.

So, Mac napped for his usual half hour (urgh! So short! Can't do anything! Frustrating!) and started crying like usual. And like usual, I plodded upstairs to pick him up and bring him down for his post-nap feed (which I've jokingly referred to as "his coffee" because he's intolerable until he's had it). And as usual, he had "waking up face" - red eyed, looks like he just snapped out of an intense dream.

I was mid-reach when suddenly I remembered a section of this book I've read off and on since he was born where it says that sometimes waking up isn't really waking up, but rather transitioning. Having nothing to lose (but my sanity), I started to rock him. He cried quite a bit and I almost gave up, but then he popped his thumb in his mouth and went back to sleep and he's been down for almost an hour.

Is it possible all this time I've had a sleep-deprived child? Come to think of it, after those rare long naps, he does wake up really happy...

(insert d'oh)

Round Five

2009-11-14T12:54:00.007-06:00

We took you to CrossFit. You started to fuss. I was about to give up my workout when fellow CrossFitter, A., who was sitting this one out, picked you up and told me to get back to work. 15 minutes into the workout I looked over and you were sound asleep. Some say A. has a magic touch. I think it's because she's both in law enforcement and the mother of two. You knew she wouldn't take any shit. Round five to A..

Rounds Three and Four

2009-11-14T09:29:00.004-06:00

Trevor took Round Three. You screamed for about 20 minutes. Then you 'went to sleep' and just as we were high fiving, you started up again. Round three to you.

I took Round Four. I nursed you ( you still get to feed 2-3 times a night, but not in my bed, yo!). Then I put you down. You started to fuss. I unclenched your fingers and shoved your thumb in your mouth. You started to suck away with me holding your hand and stroking your fingers. You fell asleep. Round Four to me.

Round Two

2009-11-13T13:18:00.003-06:00

You only screamed for 20 minutes! And you sucked on your own fingers! I was about to take the win when I glanced in the mirror and realized that the other hand, which was resting against my chin, was giving me the finger. Round two to you.

Dear Mac: On the Subject of Sleep

2009-11-13T11:08:00.005-06:00

Dear Son,
You and I just had our first big fight. It started this morning when I opened my eyes to the sounds of you fussing downstairs and your dad trying to talk you down. I looked at the clock. 9:20AM. Trevor had obviously called in late to work again to let me sleep as much as possible. But even still, he would have to be out the door soon. I had no choice but to drag my sleep-deprived, exhausted, fuzzy-headed self downstairs to take over your care for another long day of getting nothing done.

I'd like to call you a little shit for not letting me sleep again. It's been about two weeks of this. But if I'm honest, it's all my fault. One night not so long ago I was so tired that instead of getting up, nursing you and putting you back down in your cradle, I brought you to bed and nursed you to sleep. Then I did it for our nap the next day. Then I did it the next night, and the next night after that. It just seemed easier. You were ecstatic, like I was when I learned that our local Sobey's is now open until midnight every night.

Problem: you now need the boob and the pacifier to fall asleep. And since you wake up naturally every 50 minutes or so, I'm whipping the girls out like it's Mardi Gras. Pacifiers are flying around our bed like beads. So this morning, my sleep-deprived brain fought through the fog and came up with a plan. No more pacifier. No more boob.

Oh, how we fought. At first you thought I was joking. You smiled at me and puked down my cleavage. Ha, ha, so funny! Then it started to dawn on you that this wasn't a joke. You thrashed around, latching onto my arm, my chin, my cheek like a rabid piranha. Then you started to scream and, boy, you can scream. Upside, I could finally do a thorough evaluation of your gums from front to back, and your tonsils, too (they're fine. No teeth bumps, either).

You screamed and screamed and screamed, accusing me of betrayal through slitted eyelids. But I persisted. Rocking and rocking, shh'ing and shh'ing. For 40 minutes you screamed and I rocked. I stared at the pacifier on the bedside table. "COMFORT HIM!" one side of my brain screamed, "THIS IS CRUEL!" No, the other side of my brain said firmly. He's been fed. He has your arms around him. This is just anger that things aren't going his way. "YOU'RE AN ASSHOLE," the other side said. Maybe so. But I'm also right.

So I kept going. And then, suddenly, it stopped. Son, your eyes were closed. After I got over my shock, I laid you in your cradle and you sleepily popped your thumb into your mouth. Maybe, just maybe, this could mean the resumption of our beautiful friendship.

Love,
Mommy

Dreams

2009-11-12T11:15:00.003-06:00

In another lifetime, I used to be a fitness instructor (all my fellow CrossFitters who have witnessed me try to do a pull-up are all like "whaa-?"). I taught the cardio component of a martial art called "Krav Maga", or literally "contact combat" (it is exactly as it sounds). I felt like such a tough guy, flying down to LA to be trained and certified.

I came back all pumped and confident. Then I taught my first class. To say I sucked would be to understate it. In the mirror, as I lost the beat and tripped over my own feet again, I could see the frowns on the faces of my students, and an outright sneer on the face of one of the guys who had been royally pissed that I'd been selected to teach in the first place. I had just proven his point.

"You'll get better," my boss said, "it just takes time" (oh, the parallels I could draw with motherhood).

Despite how hard it was at the time, it's taken this many years for it to come out in my dreams. Yup, I am now having anxiety dreams about Krav Maga. In the dreams, I am called in to teach. It's been years, so I can't remember the steps. The students are waiting and I can tell they're better than me. I can't seem to get my arms and feet to move the right way. I can't remember the combinations. I'm out of shape and out of breath. My boss never shows up. I'm on my own.

I suppose in about five years I'll start having dreams about final exams that I forgot to study for.

As a side note, when I was training in LA they were really big into the keeping it overly positive and making contact with our students to encourage them. You know, a touch on the shoulder, a pat on the back, a hand on the arm to enforce a movement. That "touch is essential" was hammered into our heads and we were even marked on it during our practical exam.

After a few weeks of teaching back in Canada, my boss pulled me aside and said, "the students don't want you to touch them. It makes them uncomfortable." I was mortified. Now I chalk it up to a cultural difference between LA and, well, the rest of the world.

Trevor

2009-11-11T13:04:00.007-06:00

When I first met him, he had a cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth and a Globe 'n Mail under his arm...
Note: At the time of this photo, Mac had just peed on Trev's head. I still don't understand how it happened and I'm not going to ask.

* * *
TREV: Look at what's become of my life. And it's all your fault!
WORKING: ME?! You're the one who was shooting that loaded gun everywhere!
TREV: You told me we couldn't get pregnant! You're the one with the bad math!
WORKING: Why is it always me who has to be responsible for all of the math in this family??
TREV: Because I don't understand the equation! It's girlgebra!

In Remembrance

2009-11-11T12:21:00.003-06:00

I always think of my Granddad today, Remembrance Day. Here is his story, which I composed on a previous, now defunct blog:

2005-02-14 @ 5:06 p.m.
Peter Smith

“How are you holding up, Granddad?”
“I’m ok. It’s lonely, you know.”
Oh Granddad, I thought, she died last May. You have to let her go.
“We had some hard times,” he continued, “but that’s what you get when you have a German and a Welsh girl together. Both hardheaded. There was a time I almost said forget it all. I was going to wait until the kids were old enough and then I was going to leave.”
“What stopped you, Granddad?”
“My faith. I prayed. And the Lord, he told me to stay. I have her picture now beside me. On our wedding day. And we almost had 60 years, but she just couldn’t hold on. She is so beautiful in that picture. She had red hair. I really miss her.”
“I know you do, Granddad. How does a marriage stay together for almost 60 years?”
“You have to pray. You just have to have faith.”

I could not have known it would be my last phone conversation with him. My mom called today, Valentines Day, to tell me he had died of a heart attack. “He had a broken heart,” she said through her tears.

My Granddad is gone. That firm, strict man who insisted there was a proper way to do things but who definitely had a sparkle of fun in his eyes. He had an impeccably trimmed mustache, well pressed clothes and wore slippers and cardigans around the house. He did his army calisthenics every morning – one push up for every year of his age, he told me – and loved to putter around, putting things in order. He was the one who took us outside with the toboggan.

There are so many stories from Granddad, and now I can only hope to remember them right. How he was born to German-speaking Austrian parents in a northern part of Yugoslavia. How he came to Canada when he was six and his father promptly left him and his mother*/**. How he worked his way across Canada doing farm work and how he loved to walk, camp, travel, and smoked a pipe for over 40 years, which gave him the emphysema that later plagued him. How his car and his room and his books were always neat and how he had that cuckoo clock that he wound every day and a canary named Cicero that whistled until you put the cover over its cage. And how he had a workshop that smelled like a workshop and produced all sorts of handmade toys out of bottle caps and pieces of wood. How he had a scratchy black and white-checked recliner. How he had an absolute, unwavering faith in the Catholic church.

But perhaps his greatest story started around May, 1944, when he was a young Canadian soldier waiting in London, UK, to be deployed. He was bored one night and almost went to a movie or something but decided to go roller-skating instead. The announcer called a break and the skaters left the rink, save for a short, sparkling redhead who could barely skate. Like any hero, my Granddad, skated over and helped her off. She was a Welsh girl who had a job at a hotel. He asked if she would go out for a cup of tea with him. She said she would.

A few weeks later he shipped out across the Channel, having missed D-Day by mere days (as an engineer, he had his own army issued radio and listened to the landing from the British coast). Granddad spoke fluent German and was assigned to a unit that would push further into Europe. I think it was Holland where they came across a German road barricade. His unit took cover.

“Tell them to surrender,” his senior officer ordered. Granddad shouted out in German. Shots were fired.
“Tell them again to surrender,” barked the order, “make sure they hear it!”
So Granddad had to raise himself up enough to be heard. He shouted out in German and before he could drop back to the ground, a shot rang out, nailing him in the chest. The bullet nicked his heart.

His recuperation in the UK took months and the redheaded Welsh girl kept close. When he was well enough, they made a trip to Wales to meet her family and her brothers took him out and got him drunk. With her family’s blessing, they married. And 50-some years later, they were still together, settled in Winnipeg with a decent civil servant pension, three kids and seven grandkids.***

Peter Smith, my Granddad, I still miss you. I hope you have found your redheaded Welsh girl.

*Granddad's parents made him chose. They took him to a restaurant, sat him down and said, "do you want to go with your mother or father?" At six years old, he knew he was choosing to lose one parent, possibly forever. And being only six, he chose his mother. He wouldn't reconnect with his father until he was in his sixties, Great-Granddad Nick in his eighties.

**Apparently Great-Granddad Nick ended up spying on the Russians in Toronto for what is now CSIS.

***Since this composition, two great-grandsons have been born, Isaiah and Mac. I see Granddad in the shapes of their mouths.

Marital Conversations

2009-11-09T23:29:00.006-06:00

TREV: Ooooh!
WORKING: Did he get you?
TREV: Puked all over me. (to Mac) You're a mess! I'm a mess! Your mom's a mess! This house is a mess! Our yard is a mess! All we need is a car up on blocks in our front yard.
WORKING: Come on, now, it's not that bad. Excuse me if we have other priorities right now.
TREV: At least I got all those cans to Sarcan today.
WORKING: Oh right! How much did we make?
TREV: $30. I bought a roast and some salad and we have $15 left over.
WORKING: Score!
TREV: And by the way, they don't take glass jars.
WORKING: Oh really?
TREV: Nope.A guy with extreme bedhead told me that he'd take them this one time but that next time we have to go to the 'land field'.
WORKING: Er, you mean landfill?
TREV: Nope, he said 'land field.'
WORKING: Well, it probably makes perfect sense in his mind.
TREV: Yup. You have a field where farmers grow land. And where we put our garbage.

More About Sleep

2009-11-08T10:26:00.007-06:00

I don't check my stats, though, you should know that many of you come to mind when I'm writing. I really do feel like I'm writing to a bunch of friends. Hi Schmutzie! Hi Tyler and Tracy! Hi Ang D. and Leya from Crossfit! Robin and Aaron! Naomi and Dan! Hi Rick and Susan and Kerri! Hi Nancy! Hi sisters-in-motherhood, Nova and Risa! Hi Counting Sheep! Hi Chris, Brenda, Naomi, Dan! Love you, Dad, Sonja and Mari! Hi Nicole! Hi Jack and James and Laureen and Tina! Hi Dawn! And of course, hello my beloved husband.

And hello to all of you I haven't listed, but who I do think about, and of course those of you who I haven't met outside of the blogosphere. Judging by comments, you stop by consistently and it means a lot to me. I love comments. I read them religiously. Don't hesitate to say hello if you're stopping by.

So the kid, he still does not sleep. So many theories out there. I read somewhere about 4-month regression and it makes sense. It also makes sense that he's learning so many new things right now and his little brain can't settle down at night. Then it also makes sense that he's transitioning into big people sleep and therefore waking up at the end of each cycle. You and me, we just roll over, right? We don't even wake up. But maybe he does. Every theory makes perfect, logical sense. But knowing that does nothing to help me get any more sleep.

He freaks out. He thrashes. He kicks. He wants to nurse but he doesn't want to nurse. He wants his sucky but he doesn't want his sucky. And he certainly doesn't know how to put himself back to sleep yet.

Co-sleeping has helped in part. He starts out in his cradle and moves in with us somewhere in the middle of the night because it's just easier. But then he eats too much and pukes all over the bed, not to mention the increase in diaper malfunctions. It ends up with the three of us crammed over onto the 'dry half'. I'd say it's not a long-term solution. We're going to need a back up bed at this rate.

And we've become so obsessed with minutiae. "Maybe if we wrap him this way instead of that."
"Maybe if you rock him like this."
"Maybe if you use long shhhhhhhh's instead of short shhh's."
"Maybe if we turn his cradle an inch and a quarter towards true north..."

My fledgling mothering instinct says that he'll figure it out in his own time and that whatever we try to do is only to make ourselves feel better. Though, I may wean him off the sucky because he seems to enjoy his thumb and it would just be one less thing I have to wake up for (I have developed some mad find-the-sucky-in-the-dark skills). I may curse myself when it's time to wean him off the thumb.

We don't want to over think it, but after so many nights in a row of no sleep, I can see why parents are ready to try just about anything. I want that other baby back! The one we had a month ago! Only, then there wouldn't be baby laughs. And those are almost worth the lack of sleep.

ZZZzzzzzzzZZZZz

2009-11-06T16:08:00.003-06:00

A couple of you have reached out with words of comfort about the no-sleep situation. I really appreciate it. It's a difficult, humourless time right now, but I'm always aware that things could be a lot worse. This phase seems to be normal part of baby development. The best we can do is cope and hope the next night will be better.

Boy, it's hard to keep your head without sleep, though! I honestly don't know how any of you with insomnia survive. I have a whole new appreciation.

It's a sunny, warm day out there. I just enjoyed some spinach-spaghetti squash au gratin that Trevor made and later I'm going to pack up the Mac and go watch my 4 year-old nephew play his first game of soccer. And maybe, just maybe, there will some sleep going on around here tonight.

Marital Conversations

2009-11-05T11:49:00.005-06:00

(Trev's having a bath in our tiny bathroom. I've put Mac in his bouncy chair facing the tub so I can brush my teeth)

TREV: Oh great. Now Kiwi's in here, too. Why doesn't the whole damn family just move in?!
WORKING: You'll never bathe alone again.
TREV: (to Mac) Daddy hasn't had an uninterrupted bath since his bachelor days.
(splash splash)
Do you think we could all live in here?
WORKING: In where?
TREV: In the bathroom.
WORKING: All of us? No.
TREV: Not all of us. Just me.
WORKING: Oh. Well, it's the size of a closet. So no?
TREV: I bet I could. The Murphy bed could pull down this way over the tub. When it's up, you could pull a little table down this other way...
(scrub scrub)
Course, it's kind of gross with a toilet in the middle of the room.
(splash)
I bet the Japanese could find a way. They could do it.
(splash splash)
Hell, they'd probably find a way to put a hallway in here.
(splash)

Liar, Liar

2009-11-04T12:10:00.003-06:00

What is it about this blog that turns me into a LIAR every single time? I said we were catching more of Mac's poops and pees than ever. Today everything is coated. Everything. I've changed three times and we have to rewash the floors in three separate rooms.

So, in that vein, let me shout out to to the Universe that MY LIFE IS HELL BECAUSE HE WILL NOT SLEEP FOR LONGER THAN TWO HOURS AT A TIME AT NIGHT, 30 MINUTES DURING THE DAY.

(Pause. Wait for sounds of snoring from the cradle?)

Potty Training

2009-11-03T10:58:00.008-06:00

Little dude has an owie on his pee-pee. Yes, those are technical terms. Imagine if you had a rash on your genitals. First, I bet you'd be shitting your pants. And he is, only literally, and hence the rash. Second, you'd probably be damn miserable, too.

So he's been getting A LOT of naked time. And accordingly, we've been getting better at 'catching' poops and pees in the bathroom sink. I know, I know, it's gross but it works. In fact, it works so well that now all we have to do is take him to the sink, make a 'pss, pss' sound and he lets 'er rip.

So far we've caught more than we've missed and we continue to improve on our timing. If I can figure out how to keep all parts pointing down whilst holding him, we may take the experiment to the toilet.

Oh, and I understand if you want to find alternate facilities to use while visiting us.

* * *
(Trev is holding Mac, who looks across the room at me)
TREV: Don't look at her. It'll just make you hungry.

La Maison

2009-10-30T10:03:00.006-06:00

Trev had to perform an intervention this morning. Mac and I are out of sorts with each other. After 10 minutes of him puking all over me and screaming in my face, I handed him over to his dad, the other option being to throw him out into the snow (you know, just to cool off. I wouldn't have left him out there, people. Well, for long).

I think the problem is that he's only sleeping in two hour chunks at night, which means I'm also only sleeping in two hour chunks, and this during a week when school couldn't be heavier. Maybe he's picking up on my stress vibes? I dunno.

Thankfully Trevor had the week off, cuz otherwise he'd be coming home to a screaming child and a sobbing wife. As it is, he's rocking a balancing act that involves cooking, house cleaning, office management, dog walking, baby rocking and garbage hauling.

And there's a lot of garbage to haul. Did I mention my dad is gutting our basement? The house was sold with "a finished basement", which I guess technically it was, if illegal, leaking, moldy, and nowhere-close-to-code counts as "finished". Dad's taken it down to the concrete foundation. And therein lies the beauty; our house was built in 1946 and there are just a few small hairline-style cracks in on only one wall of the original foundation. It's reassurance of exactly why we bought it.

(By the way, Dad, I had a dream that I came down the stairs and you were taking a sledge hammer to the floor. "I just can't help it!" you said)

I don't know what we'd do without Dad. If it weren't for him, Trevor would be coming home to a screaming child, a sobbing wife AND a drafty, nicotine-stained pink living room. Can anyone say murder-suicide?

And there's no way we could have done any of this ourselves. Trevor and I almost divorced over the simple painting of our bedroom (I'm sure you didn't know it at the time, honey, but it's true, we almost did). In the last year, Dad's managed to plumb and install our washer/dryer off of the kitchen, re-insulate the living room and restore the original hardwood floors. He also redid all of the duct work in the house, re-shingled the addition, and, oh yeah, built and insulated a garage.

So I guess what this post proves is that I have some really handy men in my life. Yeah, I'm pretty damn lucky.

Studying

2009-10-24T21:19:00.004-06:00

WORKING: Oh cool.
TREV: What?
WORKING: Third degree burns. It goes all the way down into the basal layer, the dermis, where the neurons are. That must be why it hurts so much.
TREV: I don't even want to think about that.
* * *
WORKING: Yay! Blood clotting!
TREV: ...?
WORKING: I always wanted to know how it worked.
TREV: That's nice.
* * *
WORKING: So that's what a pressure ulcer looks like. Wow, it's kind of gross.
TREV: (ignores)

Football

2009-10-24T16:08:00.006-06:00

Trev and I don't watch sports, really. Good television shows are kind of our version of sports (we keep score with hits and misses, analyze scripts and dialogue, make bets about the characters, etc.). We've really resisted the pull towards the green 'n white mania that pervades this town.

If only we could say the same for our kid. Mac sure likes himself some football. We found out by accident one weekend in Saskatoon when he contentedly watched hours of it with Grandpa A.. I thought it was cute, but waved it off as pure coincidence. Later, when he was having a screaming fit, I took him into an electronics store and into the HD section where an NFL game was playing. He quieted immediately.

And right now he is watching the Rider game and actually talking, gurgling and cooing, at the TV. He loses interest during commercials, and then is riveted again during play. He actually yells when the crowd cheers. This happens every single time. I've tried other shows, he doesn't care. I've tried hockey, he doesn't care. He only wants to watch football. He doesn't want to be held or amused or fed or talked to, he just wants to watch the game.

It's so creepy.

* * *

TREV: Whenever someone's babysitting, they just have to plop him down in front of the game.
WORKING: No kidding. We should record it for them to play when he's fussy....
TREV: ...
WORKING: HIT RECORD!!!!

Overheard: Daddy Talk (The Puke Edition)

2009-10-23T15:51:00.003-06:00

"Oh dude! You got it everywhere! You're making a mess. Why don't we just roll around in our own filth? You puke, I'll puke, and mommy can clean us up."

Yesterday

2009-10-23T10:28:00.009-06:00

I'd write more often, but there's nothing that won't completely bore you away. My days seem to be the same juggling act. I alternate between cleaning and studying, all the while counting down the minutes until the next nap, whereupon I can indulge in such luxuries as going to the bathroom or eating.

Oh, and I'm getting over a wicked chest cold. That's the best moment ever, when you just get the baby to sleep but you feel that tickle in your lungs and you know that the cough will wake him up but you have to wait until he's REALLY asleep before you can put him down so you stand there, frantically rocking back and forth, breath held, eyes watering, lungs screaming, willing yourself to hold it in. I have yet to be successful.

You know how it's sometimes interesting on your birthday to look back at "what was popular then"? In my case, the Blue Jays were created mere days after I was born. The Winter Olympics were in Innsbruck, Austria. The Ramones released their self-titled debut album with the classic "Blitzkrieg Bop", etc.. But is all that what I was really experiencing at the time? Probably not. I have a feeling these facts were completely irrelevant to my actual life.

So I thought I'd give Mac a little instructional. Mac, when you look back to the year and time of your birth, the summer of 2009, I want you to play the song "I Got A Feeling" by the Black Eyed Peas. I had it on my iPod's Labour Playlist, so it played over and over. Then I was so traumatized by said experience that for months I couldn't listen to it, only by then of course it was being played everywhere. Oprah even did this big flash mob thing to it (flash mobs are very big, by the way). But yesterday you watched me leap and dance inelegantly (but with energy) around the kitchen to it, proving that I am indeed much improved. So there you go, the soundtrack to your infancy, even if it is "so yesterday" already.

Thanksgiving

2009-10-18T20:14:00.002-06:00

Macklin was sitting on Trev's lap when suddenly he pulled his pacifier out of his mouth and... wait for it... put it back in.

Wow, you're saying. And CNN's chasing Balloon Boy around?

Well, it was a big deal to us. He did it multiple times. And he was so nonchalant about it, like he's been doing it for years. He didn't even take his eyes off of The Amazing Race. And today he was going crazy with the verbal exclamations. Our little boy's growing up!

In other news, Trevor took Mac duty for the day and aside from brief breaks to feed, I plowed through two week's worth of homework for two separate courses. I can now dedicate the rest of the week to the woefully behind Anatomy / Physiology. This makes me exceedingly thankful (but still terrified).

Also, we had our family thanksgiving yesterday. It was wonderful. Good weekend.

Dear Mac: Three Months Old

2009-10-16T18:49:00.005-06:00

A.k.a. MonkeyDoodle, MackieDoodle, MonkeyButt, PumpkinFace, Booger, etc..

Today you laughed at me for the very first time. I was ‘scaring’ you in a boo-like fashion, really close to your face, and you were loving it with your big, wide, toothless grins. Then you laughed. A very definite open mouthed, “aha”! I did it again just to confirm, then I texted your father to boast. Naturally you haven’t done it since.

Here’s what three months looks like:

You watch everything. You stare when the dog or cat walks by. You stare at Grandpa with his goatee and the same eyes as you. You stare at Auntie Mari's big smile. You lock eyes so easily with your Dad and your Grandma A., telling them such stories. You search for me across rooms. You love faces.
You’re not that into things, though. I put rattles and plastic rings into your hands and you'll wave ‘em around in the air but you really don’t care.
You have my unfortunate skin. You rub your face, it develops mean, red streaks across it. Your diapers leave raw looking imprints. You have hives up your arm.
You discovered your thumb this week. I’m torn. I sucked my thumb and it was my bestest friend for many years. Plus, it’s just so darn cute when you do it. And if you have my overbite, you’re going to need braces anyway. But a pacifier is so much easier to wean. I dunno.
I was singing very badly and very loudly the other day and you started yelling right along with me. Either you were begging me to shut up, or we just had our first duet. I believe it was the latter.
Some of my favourite sensations are when you play with the hair at the back of my neck. And during our naps, when your toes kneed into my thigh, and your hand traces patterns on my bare stomach.
You have an angry streak. Oooh, can you get red, screaming mad! We introduced you to your cousin, Carter, last weekend. He let out these delicate little baby cries. You opened your mouth and… well, we had to leave. Ha!
You still love, love, love naked time. You’ve pooped and peed on everything but I don’t really care because it gives me something to post about on Facebook. When I give you naked tummy time, you lift yourself onto your elbows, head up, looking around. Your legs kick behind you like you’re a minute away from figuring out how to crawl. I wonder...?
You’re still a champion puker. People say, “oh yeah, my kid was a puker.” Then they watch you for a few minutes and get this sort of alarmed look on their faces and say, “wow. He really does puke a lot, doesn’t he?” It scares me sometimes, because I’m on medication that could be causing it. But you’re also developing satisfyingly plump rolls all over your body, so I’m trying not to worry.
People comment most on your big, blue eyes. I do love them so.

Okay, enough baby worship for now. Daddy’s got you (you're watching the Daily Show with him), so I have a precious few minutes to get some homework done. Ha! You just puked on him! And he has to change you again, after five minutes in that sleeper. I find that very amusing. Welcome to my life, husband dear.
Love,
Mums.

The White Stuff

2009-10-08T10:35:00.004-06:00

I just shot breast milk up my baby's nose. For realz, yo.

Okay, you're probably sick (maybe literally) of all things breast milk, but it really is a fascinating substance. I read somewhere that breast milk enzymes are good for breaking down mucus. Mackie-mac has been pretty stuffed up, and any of you who've witnessed your baby struggle to breathe know that you'll pretty much try anything.

So here is my recipe for unplugging a stuffy baby nose, completely successful on three occasions (NOTE: I am not an expert. I'm just a Nursing student and I haven't even gotten to anatomy of the nostril in class, so obviously take your physician's advice over mine. Even that random guy on the street is probably more qualified):

1. Start filling the tub with water, or run the shower, as hot as possible, and close the bathroom door so that it'll create a steam room.
2. Express some breast milk into a bottle or container. Prepare a dropper for 'nasal insertion'.
3. Recline the baby and pop a drop or two of the breast milk in each nostril. Mac choked a little; I just sat him up and he cleared it (course, he also gave me a look that expressed his feelings quite clearly).
4. Sit in the bathroom, door closed, and nurse the baby for a few minutes. The sucking action helps clear the sinuses from the other direction.
5. Squeeze the nostrils (gently) from sinuses down. You should be squishing out some sizable boogers by now. Use your finger nail, a bit of toilet paper or a q-tip to scoop it out (feel free to get creative here).
6. Hang out in the bathroom until breathing clears.

You're welcome.

Grace in a Husband

2009-10-07T09:46:00.004-06:00

Sometimes it's hard to remember. It's hard to remember when we're so tired we don't even say goodnight. When Mac is screaming, the cat is puking and the dog is limping. When the lawn needs mowing, but the dishes are so stacked up and there's more pet hair than carpet and no time in the day so we get to chose our battle. When the car starts making that sound again. When we don't know if there'll be another gig and the bank account is dwindling.

At these times, it's hard to remember that moment eight years ago when our eyes locked across the room at a party and I felt that kind of electric shock that I thought was only a myth. Your eyes twinkled and danced and we held an entire conversation in just one glance.

It's hard to remember that a year later, I had to pinch myself because we were actually together. I sang it over and over in my mind, Trevor and Working, Working and Trevor! It's hard to remember the gut-wrenching pain I felt when we broke up for that one whole day. It's hard to remember that moment when time stopped and we looked deep into each other's eyes and for a second and an eternity, let the world fall away with two words each, "I do."

And yet, as I write this, it all comes back so easily. It's not hard to remember at all. I love you, my darling. Happy anniversary. Leftover stew for supper?

TMI?

2009-10-06T18:25:00.009-06:00

Please note:

1. Boobs leak, particularly at night, and especially if you forget to insert those absorbant pads.
2. Breast milk stains.
3. Laundering can't always get out those stains.
4. The stains show up really well on solid colours, like black.
5. The worst time to remember all of this this is when you're standing in the middle of a packed CrossFit class, and you look down....
6. Never fear; if you turn your shirt backwards, you'll just look like you just have weird back sweat. And that's considerably better.

* * *

In other news, today is the day that Mac had his first taste of solid food. He licked my apple. He liked it. He is currently watching sports highlights (don't ask).