Sunday, March 30, 2008


Before the grocery shopping I was clothes shopping. I had baby boy in the sling and I smelled something nasty, so I zipped into the washroom to change him. There was nothing in his pants, so a little air with a big smell escaped I guessed. But, he decided to freak out before we could leave the washroom and demanded some food. So I slipped him into the sling and thought I could nurse while on the move. No such luck. He freaked out at that too. So I hauled his beet red, angry face out of the sling, and reattached him to the boob while standing in the can. But he didn't like that I figured he needed a burp. Up on the shoulder he went....


In that order.

I need to go do laundry.

Bad apple, bad example.

Hi. My name is Complainy Pants...and I am a klepto.

I just shoplifted from the grocery store. It really wasn't my fault. It was a misunderstanding. I thought the grocery store was giving me the items. Ok, that's a lie. Here's how the "heist" went down:

Baby boy screams. I enter grocery store with fierce determination to do shopping regardless. I zip through the store grabbing at aisles while I slow to a roll but never stop. I zig, I zag I narrowly miss carts and old people's toes. As I eye my items on the shelf ahead I glance at the stroller basket and determine where there is space to toss it in. I grab small gouda cheese and toss. I grab sweet potatoes and toss. I grab tortilla chips and must reach around baby boy to toss them in front portion of basket. This is very difficult and requires a lot of skill, I'll have you know. I never stop. Baby boy calms down and actually goes to sleep. I breathe a sigh of relief and continue to shop while never stopping-only now I can do the "mama-dance"-the "back-and-forth-stroller-two-step" and he won't wake up.

But boy, all this running and strolling and the anxiety has made me thirsty. Oh look-the refrigerated drinks. I'll just grab a Gatorade, sip it now and pay when I get checked out. I used to do this all the time when I was pregnant and couldn't make it through a shop without fortifying liquids! No problem.

So I finish up and head to the line up, only every single cash has a lineup snaking all the way around the magasine racks and into the cookie aisle. Damn! But then I notice the "self-checkouts" are totally free. Of course once I scoot over there, three people are already in front of me. So I line up, then promptly get to the check out and start unloading the basket. Now, I don't have to tell you that my anxiety level ran high just then-the stroller had to be still for me to unload and bleep the items so I feared baby waking up any second.

Bleep, bag, (listen to annoying chick voice tell me how much it is), Bleep, bag etc. Choose the menu, punch in tomatoes, wait for tomatoes to weigh, bleep, bag, An unidentified item is detected in the bagging area, remove tomato, still an unidentified item in bagging area, remove whole bag, "do not remove bags until all items have been scanned", put bag back, ready for next item, Bleep, bag, etc etc, etc.

My cell phone rings. I look at the caller ID and see it is an unfamiliar local number. I decide to answer. It is my girlfriend calling from the hospital! She had a baby girl yesterday! YAY! I have the sneaking suspicion someone is staring at me so I check over my shoulder and there is Beefy-McHell's Angels Dirtbag, next in line, breathing down my neck. Tell my friend congrats but must go as I am in self checkout, self checking-out. Hang up and hear a whine. Whine. Whimper. I scurry to bleep remaining items, swipe debit. Damn! I punched the wrong F%$king PIN! *WAIL, WAIL, WAIL! McHell huffs. I sweat. Grab receipt and stroll out of his way narrowly avoiding his B.O. wafting toward me as he jumps on the checkout before annoying chick voice can even finish telling me thank you for shopping. Sigh. Baby is crying.

Get to car, open car. Put crying baby in car. Go back to the back of car, load grocery bags into one side of trunk. Take diaper bag out of stroller basket, put that in trunk. Turn back to stroller to break it down-What the F#@k is that?!?! Oh goddamn all to hell, its the gouda. F$&k. Kick stroller. Check price of gouda: $5.89. Look toward grocery store sign and say "Thank you!". Throw gouda in on top of groceries. Grab stroller handle...and oh my goddddddddd. There's my Gatorade in my cup holder. Well not really MY Gatorade now was it? I didn't pay for it. I hear baby scream and make a executive decision. Throw stroller in trunk and slam the doors, sealing myself in with screaming baby boy.

Justification: there is no way I could have remained a sane and kind mother if I had to pack screaming baby boy back into stroller, or even take him stiff body and bones in my arms, back into that store. Someone would have been hurt. Probably Beefy McHell, or maybe even sweet cherub-faced Dan the checkout boy. So, I vow to donate 5.89 and 1.99 for the Gatorade to the food bank next time I go to the grocery store. Really, I only vow to do that because I stole these items, and made the wrong decision not to bring them back in and pay, right in front of my son. If he weren't around...well, I'm a bad apple.

Brings to light how easy it is to steal though, doesn't it? Not one clerk spotted my unpaid gouda, no alarms went off, no citizen arrested me. If you saw me at the grocery store strolling off with a hot Gatorade...would you say anything?

Friday, March 28, 2008

Unsanitary behavior

I just bathed my son in his own urine...urine is sterile though, right?

I also gave him his pacifier the other day (no he is not miraculously taking one-but he has started to chew on it like a teether if I hold it for him) AFTER I had dropped it on the mall floor. Yum!

Last night when he shit a big one at 7:30 pm, I decided twas better for me if he slept on it. Poop always has more clarity after a good night's rest, dontcha think?

I know there are spit up stains all over his stroller blanket, but I continue to wrap him in it.

Our floors are so dusty you can see our footprints in it, but that's where he goes for tummy time.

I didn't use a blanket or change pad the other day on the Starbucks change table. Any number of bums could have shat all over that thing (and by bums I mean homeless, and er, well, bums). Actually good thing I didn't since he promptly peed all over it, himself and their wall. it might be cleaner than when I found it, since pee is sterile, right?

I'm a dirrrrrty girl.

Thursday, March 27, 2008

On the podium

Well the competition is winding down. Basically, hubby is reading this blog and gets a kick out of winning, and I can't really have him knowing all the little things that make me so happy can I? Then he would really only do the small things knowing that's all he needs. He is so lazy. (Yeah, you!) In any case I knew I had to give up the competition when my cell phone started beeping from low battery last week. What? What is that noise I asked myself-well lo and behold! My cell phone is dead! I had to go home and charge it myself! Later in the evening hubby comes home and as I am cooking dinner he gets all cutesy and cuddly up in my space. " I see you are charging your phone?" Ummm yeah loser. "Well I couldn't find your charger" he says. "So" I say "Not my problem". And he goes on to ask me with puppy dog eyes if he still gets a point because he tried to charge it but couldn't find the charger, since I hid it from him. What?!?! I hid it? Ok I admit I cleaned up and it wasn't in the "right" place. So maybe I should lose a point he wonders aloud. WHAT AGAIN?!?! Who's competition is this? Forget it, no gold medal for you no national anthem and no bouquet of flowers. But it's been a while since I got any flowers. Remember those blue orchids you used to bring me? Yeah, I don't either. You could try and surprise me with a grand gesture now and then too.

Severe Psychosis isn't as fun as it sounds.

Try saying "Severe Psychosis" five times fast. Not too hard is it? That's what I discovered when I said it to my husband even more than 5 times about his mom. Actually it sort of rolls off the tongue, albeit making you sound a bit like a snake. Hmmm...maybe she planned that. She thinks I'm a snake anyway.

So I've given up. I will now defer any and all questions, comments and criticism to my husband. Sentences like "Oh really? I'm so sorry you feel that way. Why don't you talk to your son about it?. and "Oh dear, I'll have to check with your son." have now been programmed in. Now if only I had the presence of mind during her visit to use this strategy when she said things like:

1)"Oh if SHE makes you stop crying, I'll be so upset!". Who me? The baby's mom? The venom with which she uttered "she" was really precious.
2)"I have a hard time watching you hold him because he looks so much like my son. I think you should be passing him to me." A little creepy I think, though I tried to give her that one as just being nostalgic.
3) When baby was crying as we put him down for the night, she was practically in hysterics "Why is he crying? What's wrong with him?" and in the same conversation "Oh, babies cry, I remember driving my son around the block at night to soothe him". Huh? Make up your mind!
4) "Did you tell his doctor that? Did he do that in the hospital or just since you got him home?" You see-there is something wrong with her grandson, poor guy, that is out of his or her control: I had a part in his creation. She is constantly asking about his weight, when we saw the doctor last, what the doctor said, when will he catch up with his age, and "IS he all right?" How about the time she asked my husband if we were "happy to have him?" all because my husband said he was a little grumpy.
5) After asking why he was crying then answering her own question, she felt a need to consult some "doctor friend of hers". This doctor said that 99.9% of the time babies cry because they are hungry and I should start feeding him cereal and solids-breastmilk is not enough. As you can guess, I just love this doctor.

Most of these instances seem harmless enough, though meddling and annoying. But couple them with a highly addictive narcotic, a complete absentmindedness and the possibility of a complete blubbering meltdown at any given second, and there has to be a psychosis in there somewhere. Basically the highlight of my week was when I was late picking her up from the mall-though I counter that I wasn't really late since she told me "not to rush" and we made loose plans, but I digress-It ended in me and hubby having multiple back and forth conversations on the cell phone and then me trying to track down a hysterical, crying senior citizen, who had just taken painkillers and was likely to pass out, inside the biggest mall you can imagine. She told hubby on the phone through her sobs that she was on a bench and she didn't even know where her hotel was! She refused to answer her phone after that (no doubt to cause us more worry and stress). When I did get in touch with her finally she cheerily answered and told me not to worry about being late-that she was on her way back to her hotel and wasn't it just the most lovely day? All in this scary singsong voice. This resulted in me crying in the backseat of my car in the mall parking lot with my baby boy-the ups and downs with this woman are just so worrisome and difficult to deal with! She then ignored us for two days, and here's where I ate all that chocolate, I had to worry that she was overdosing on her narcotics and was lying on the hotel room bed in her robe, sleeping peacefully like Heath Ledger.

But hold on a second, you say. Didn't she come to visit us and the baby? Wouldn't she be offering to hold the baby while I slept, or do a load of laundry or maybe not minding that I was late considering I was toting around a 3 month old breastfed fussy baby or something? Nah...she did however offer to buy me a $15 scarf...she loves scarfs...(and I was complying because I thought it would make her happy and feel like we did something together!) except I picked one that she didn't like. So she wouldn't buy it. See a gift from MIL is not about you, it's about her and how much she can use said gift to hang guilt over your head. And she wouldn't dare use and ugly scarf as a carrot. What do you take her for?

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Pacifiers #2

Same day, different store. Baby boy is tired. Old lady salesclerk: "He is hungry!". Nope. Try again, Beatch. "Or maybe he doesn't like his stroller!". I flashed her my best Eff-u smile (after all baby boy has had a great day with minimal fussing and has actually remained sitting in his stroller playing with some of those link-y ring things fro 20 minutes! GOLD!) and tell her kindly "it's ok, he is just tired."

Lady: "You think so, hey?"
Me (smile fading a little): "yessss, I do think so." (I do know his schedule and his cues now and I can tell when he is tired vs. hungry. took me long enough with enough stress that I would like a little credit here for being his mom, for once, PLEASE?!??!)
Lady: "Well sometimes they don't like their strollers. My grand-daughter doesn't like hers (she looks dreamily at baby boy) Isn't it amazing? All babies are the same!"

Huh? That's weird, because I'm pretty sure that grown-ups are not all the same and so one would think that babies (small grown-ups essentially) are not all the same. Didn't I just say you were wrong and that my baby is not like your grand-daughter with her stroller issue? Huh? People.

Next up: as promised, more on my MIL's severe psychosis, which actually relates somewhat to random strangers and their stupid advice.


WARNING! More complaining about random people telling me how to raise my baby coming:

In a long lineup at Starbucks. Baby boy is, for once, hungry! He starts to fuss. But really, before I sit myself down in a comfy coffee corner and haul out my boob, no doubt insulting and embarrassing many patrons, the least I can do is buy a latte. Ummm, and I needed a coffee. So I'm letting baby boy have his tantrum. The lady behind me pipes up: "He wants a soother!". Hmmmm, ok, what will I do here? Will I yell at her? Will I ignore her? Will I politely educate her on how she should refrain from giving new moms advice at the mall and why? I chose to be non-committal and passive. (Dammit I need that coffee...why isn't this line going any faster!) So I just avoided eye contact and said "Oh-he doesn't like the pacifier". She lights up: "OH! You just have to hold it in their mouths for 45 minutes! Then he'll take it! That's what I learned from a nurse!".

Well I don't know about you, but holding a pacifier in my screaming baby's face for 45 minutes reeeeeallly sounds like a good time! New moms should have Paci-parties...where we all sit around, drinking mimosas, and taking turns holding the pacies. Each mom has two that's like a great 20 minute break for each mom. It's the new tupperware party. Or Pampered Chef. No need to buy anything, but the booze is required to soothe the nerves if we are to listen to wails for 45 minutes.

My only question is: where do I find ADULT pacifiers? I would gladly plop one in the random stranger's mouth the second I detected stupid advice forming on their lips. Not every mom is created equal...but we all have one thing in common: there are tough times. And when I see another mom having a tough time you know what I do? Shut my mouth. I'm no smarter than she is when it comes to her baby! Would you take advice from Britney? Just because she is a mom doesn't make her a better one. Trust.

Sunday, March 23, 2008

Biting my tongue until it bleeds blood red ochre

We were on a lovely Sunday drive with my MIL and FIL a long while back and we passed a town's library named after the region, which so happened to be on First Nations land. As my FIL mused out loud about the name, letting the many syllables dance about his palate, he wondered what kind of word "that" was. My MIL was quick to pipe up: "That's the pakis, you know. Lots of them around here". I know. It is as bad as it sounds. In her defense though, she was raised in a very isolated community and means no harm with her un-PC-ness, it's just that she has no freaking clue. Simply put, it's no excuse really, but it's that simple.

So I was reminded of that drive when she was telling me this story today-and I must add that she is off her meds while she is sick on the advice of her doctor (So is she more sane or less? You decide): The Arbutus trees that are so populous here? Well under the bark the tree is red apparently (not that I've cared to look or notice...but I nodded with interest anyways). The Indians used that, you know as their dye, for face know, their red "orca". Ummmm, we grew up studying the native Beothuk Indians. I'm pretty sure it was them that painted their skin red with "Ochre", not the whale. And uhhh, they were nowhere near any Arbutus trees.

My husband waited until last year (We've been together for 8) to reveal to me that his mother hates being corrected. In an effort to build bridges, I never said what was in my head today. She is sick, after all, and deserves a break from her domineering daughter-in-law's holier than thou correcting.

You seen one...

The little "filomena" man from housekeeping had to come and steam clean the carpets in my MIL's hotel room yesterday because she has come down with some sort of stomach bug. We went to visit her today as we stayed away yesterday to allow her some space to, well, get "rid" of whatever it was. Unfortunately, it's not gone. She looks like death warmed over. When she called this morning, my husband asked if there was anything he could do to help her and her response sent him into the fetal position. Now, when I tell you what she said...her exact will say: well what is so bad about that? But you see, her true talent lies not in what she says, but how.

Husband: "Is there anything I can do for ya, mom?
MIL: "You mean, besides visit?"

Every time there is a dramatic, emotional blow up with his mother (Her instability usually stays lurking under the surface and rears its ugly head once a year) I see my husband change completely. The normally calm, cool cucumber shifts to a stress-ball narcoleptic. Basically, he shuts down, tunes out and goes to sleep. I used to be left doing a juggling, high wire act to entertain her on my own while he took a "quick nap", but things have gotten so bad over the years that he knows if he did that again...if he left me alone with her...I'd be singing D-I-V-O-R-C-E. In any case, since she has been here visiting us, and her new grandson for the first time, she's made at least 10 snide, hurtful comments towards me, 2 towards her son, 2 that showed a scary mental psychosis (more on that later), one complete, blubbering emotional tantrum on a mall bench, has ignored us for two whole days as punishment and now...this "stomach bug". I'm not saying the bug is fake. I smelled that action today and it is very real. But should she be, in some way, happy to be sick because it means attention for her? Oh man, I'm so stressed about her being here that I've eaten a tub of Hagen daas, two cadbury caramilk eggs and two chocolate Easter bunnies (the kind with the rice crispies inside) since yesterday. Oh....ok, you got me-can't blame that on her. Damn Easter Bunny. What a bitch.

Friday, March 21, 2008

HPV - the store

There is a phenomenon that seems to affect you as you age, where you start to confuse, mispronounce and forget words and names. It has really hit my mother-in-law hard. Sometimes it is so bad, we can't follow what she is saying. Case in point, if she were telling you a story about "HPV", or "PNV" or "HRW" or whatever, because she tried to buy a "Nemo" but they didn't have any, and the last time that happened to her she was looking for a white "Oreander"'d be confused too. Also, she is convinced that the gay, flamboyant man with the last name Elton wrote the music for that Nemo movie. Oh and when they were at that gay concert in London, Elton sat beside them in the back row. Uh-huh. That I can follow, but don't believe. I asked her what made a concert specifically gay, but the answer was a little incoherent. Perhaps there were a lot of gay people attending? I'd hate to hear how she distinguished that they were gay.

I would also like to point out: "Orientals" are anyone Asian: Japanese, Korean, doesn't matter. And her favorite joke is "If you've seen one, you've seen them all!". Someone at some point said that to her at some place where there were lots of "Asian" people and it was very funny. So she repeats it a lot. Except the place and person who said it change quite frequently. Ha. Ha. No really, ha. Actually she repeated it very loudly when we were buying our crib with her. We were waiting for the saleslady to come back with our pick up slip. A saleslady answered the phone at the counter and MIL exclaimed "I think it is so rude when your salesperson answers the phone when they should be looking after you in the store!" When I quietly pointed out that she wasn't our saleslady, MIL laughed and said "Seen one, you seen em all! Have I told you that story?!?!?!" A huge grin on her face. Ummm, yes you have. That's the only moment when I think that t-shirt that says "I'm with stupid" would be à propos. Oh and don't get me started with the way she uses French words incorrectly in everyday speech. Everything these days is sooooo Nouveau! She just can't get used to it.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

The Good, The Bad, The Ugly

I was terribly sick and so was my son and posting fell to the wayside. Now that we are feeling a tad better-just hoarking up snot instead of blowing with no results, I'm making up for lost time.

The Good: My sexy, glamorous friend came to visit and it was a tremendous success. Glamorous Friend did not come to my house and sit around all day watching TLC, eating Glossettes and changing poopy diapers (which is really a new mom's idea of fun), but I had a great time even though it was a little harried. First of all, like a true friend, she stayed at a hotel. There was no pressure to get out to see her; we made plans on a day to day basis. And when we were coming down with our cold and I bailed on dinner her last night here, there was no guilt. Glamorous friend and I also hooked up with other friends in the city and all three of them watched my crying baby while I tried on sexy jeans at a sexy, expensive jeans store downtown. I actually got to try the jeans on, and come out of the change-room and get an opinion. I bought a great pair in a size that didn't make me cry. I wore those jeans every day of her visit from there on in and felt a little better than the spit up on my shoulder. All in all, it wasn't just good, it was great, to get out, have a glass of wine and laugh like I used to at smart things...not just baby poop. Though we laughed at that too.

The Ugly-Me. I whined about not having any cool mommy friends and I actually dissed a potential friend this week. Well, truth be told, she was more like a leech. After mommies group on Monday most mommies head to the nearby mall and so do I. I've walked with some others but we usually just go our separate ways once there. That suits me because guaranteed baby will scream soon enough and at the best of times I don't love shopping with others. But this mom kept about an inch from my feet. I kept giving her an out, like: Oh I have some gifts to buy at such and such, so if you have to...."No I come!" she would growl. I should mention here that her name is the feminine of Boris and she's from Bulgaria. So her accent while charming, makes her demeanor seem a little un-cheerful. She followed me around, waited for me while I breastfed baby, while I paid for things, etc. But never just suggested a coffee or something. IN fact she seemed glum the entire time. I tried so hard to put myself in her mom; she's probably just yearning for company. But I totally did a date and diss. I took her number but I don't intend to call. That is so ugly of me.

Dos and Don'ts

I remember years ago I used to read a magasine, I think it was Glamour, that had a page of fashion Dos and Don'ts on the back cover. It would show the offending parties with that black bar over their eyes to shield the poor fugly soul from mocking and laughter should they be recognized. Of course, if you dressed that badly...and sometimes the "don'ts" involved things like plumber's butt g-strings and women who sausaged themselves into spandex...chances are your friends were already mocking you behind your back. No doubt they could recognize, say, your "gunt" spread across the back page of a national magasine-and now their pal in Utah could visually reference the jokes they'd been making about "this girl they knew". Well I always salivated at these Dos and Don'ts, but as you can guess, wondered why anyone in their right mind would sign a release for Glamour if they were approached, knowing this page existed.

Today I had to stop and feed my screaming baby at the little deli counter/cafe at the supermarket. I've always noticed it was packed as I walked by on my way in, but never really took note of exactly who frequented this high class joint. There is something inherently low class about the coffee served from a thermos unit on a grocery store deli counter, no? And there is a lovely Starbucks with comfy chairs just downstairs! Well today I hung out, with my boob out no less, with the Grocery Cafe regulars. Let's see...there were 3 tables of old people, divided into different categories: The scooter/disabled crew, The Church crew, and the men. As baby ate I eavesdropped on the scintillating conversations happening and ended up with this senior-set's version of Dos and Don'ts. The scooter crew (including 2 scooters, 3 walkers, 1 oxygen rolling tank and a few of those personal grocery rolling bags) were crooning about the rainy weather and as "Maude" (real name withheld) got up to go she put on her clear rain cap. Oh I had forgotten about those! The ones that tie under your chin? The ladies tut-tutted. "Maude!" They said "Couldn't you do with an umbrella? You don't really wear those do you?"

"Oh no" Maude said "It's either this or a shower cap!" To which the other nodded and mumbled about to one another. It seems that although the clear rain-cap is "uncool", they have all succumbed to wearing the shower cap out in public. "Of course," Maude explained further "It depends on what design shower cap I had at the moment! If there are flowers on it-well!" And another scooter driver piped up: "Oh flowers are ok! It just depends on the colors of the flowers!" All the ladies chuckled and nodded at this too. At this Maude trotted off and as she was leaving one of the old biddies got in a final laugh: "You make sure you go straight home now Maude!" And the table roared-as if Maude might be naughty and stop by her boyfriend's on the way? I can see the page in "Senior's Glamour" now, a plethora of old ladies in shower caps and raglans out and about on a rainy day...those with loud designs all wearing the embarrassing black eye bar-destined for mockery at the next grocery store meet up. Or worse, hushed whispers as she approaches the table as one old biddy hides the copy of the magasine under her tasteful shower cap lying on the table.

Monday, March 17, 2008

How do you solve a problem like my mother in law?

Whose name resembles the nun in that movie? Except my Mother-in-law, no matter what she would like you to think, is not as saintly as Maria. She doesn't always have the children's best interest at heart. Sometimes she has her own interests at heart. Actually she is much more like the Baroness; Saying something so seemingly kind and helpful, with razors hidden underneath. When the Baroness told Maria the Captain had feelings for was to make Maria feel small and scared. She intended to make Maria leave. But if anyone had overheard the conversation they would have thought the Baroness a perfect friend. That's my Mother-in-law. She is here for a week. I am poor, poor Maria. Low class, curtain-wearing, outspoken Maria. And the Baroness feels threatened by my stellar singing. I will climb ev'ry mountain to avoid her.

Friday, March 14, 2008

Divine Secrets of the C-Section sisterhood

So Spring is in the air...the mucousy, cough-filled air (Baby and I are dying with a sinus-y cold). And spring smells lile love and love smells like babies! Ok, that's bullshit. Babies smell like curdled milk, but it doesn't stop most women from taking a glorious whiff and exclaiming about the heaven scent. Something to do with our hormones and the biological clock. Anyways, I have a friend who gave birth a week ago, and one due in a week. And I have to admit for the first time...the very first time, I feel like a virgin. A vaginal birth virgin. And I'm jealous of all the women who got one/will get one.

My baby boy was 6 weeks early and decided to come hell or high water, inching his little foot out into the world one toe at a time. A C-Section was promptly ordered and all in all my labour lasted 8 hours from the moment I flooded the halls of school with my water breaking (not kidding-the students were later seen splashing in the puddles wearing snorkels) to the moment they hauled him out of my uterus and I cried through my morphine stupor-they give you morphine with your epidural in a C-Section! Did you know that? I didn't know that until two days later when I almost scratched my face off jonesing for another fix. But I remember feeling so angry when I learned I had to have the C-Section. I was ready. I had my doula and my husband and I had this enormous sense of strength. I wanted to get up, walk around, and squat this baby out the way it was supposed to be done. I AM WOMAN! All said...I had read stories of women who felt robbed of a natural birth experience in my months of pregnancy research. I also read how they justified it to themselves in the end, patting themselves on the back and saying "The end result is the same-you get your beautiful baby!". Yup, that's what I have just realized has been playing over and over in my head too. Many women who went au natural will actually scoff at us C's...claiming oh "you didn't really feel labour!" or "Ha! You only got to 3 cm?" Like feeling more pan is some kind of prize in this competition. They do feel superior, and as nature would have it...the opposite to that is making me feel a little inferior.

I have a friend who had two high risk pregnancies and planned C-Sections both times. When we would be with other gas who'd share their birth stories-the pain, the ripping and even shredding in some cases, the stitches, the re-opening of stitches, etc. She would always say her vagina thanks her for having a C-Section. It's in it's perfect original shape, and though the recovery from the surgery was a little painful...she was glad she could jump back on any horse (sex or otherwise) after 6 weeks and not be seeing specialists at 7 months to put her womanhood back together. I've heard many horror stories about tearing. I agree with her now to a very high degree. I felt like my old self after just two weeks and was rearing to go! Granted the last weeks of my pregnancy had me feeling terribly run-down, holding over 8 pounds of water in my ankles. So aprés surgery was a snap to deal with.

So with this baby-love all around me and these fine women friends of mine embarking on those first really tough weeks of motherhood I find myself second guessing my confidence in the C-Section. It is such an exciting time. So scary too. But they will do it. I did it too, but I can't help feeling a little less accomplished. If we are to have another...would I take the C-Section handed to me on a silver platter? I am not sure at all. Actually I am not sure at all we'll do it again. But if I take a whiff of my baby boy right now maybe I could see...

Nope. Smells like yogurt 2 weeks off the expiry. With a faint odeur of manure on a grassy field. Time to change the diaper, get back to reality and give myself a pat on the back. No matter how I brought him here...he is still here after 3 months. That in itself is a feat we should be recognizing. You had a baby-now make him a good person! Kinda like the whole wedding hoopla is nothing compared to the actual marriage that you hope will last.

Sunday, March 9, 2008


Today I left baby with daddy and went to the spa with my best girlfriend. It was so great. But I do admit. I missed baby and thought about him pretty much the whole time my body was being gloriously rubbed down. I guess it's only natural.

A woman at the Spahhhhhhhh yesterday when I was booking my appointment thought baby was so cute. She came to have a closer look. Of course, he was fussy. "The light is in his eyes!" She screams. "The light is in his eyes!" She then proceeded to manhandle me in an awkward shuffle toward a darker corner of the Spahhhhhhhhhh, even though I protested and let out a few startled "He's fine!" and "really it's okkk!". Then she sensed, once we were in the dark corner, he was still crying, and I wasn't thankful to her for all of her glorious help, that she should skiddadle.

I don't touch strangers. Strangers need their own space and I respect that. So why is it that strangers do not respect my space and my baby's? Why do babies entice so much touching!? I think babies should be regarded like the Queen. Do not touch unless they touch first. The other day at a parent friendly cafe this little girl came over and plunked herself down in my lap. True story. Her parents came over to watch her and were totally bizarre, but that's besides the point. The point is, they looked cool with it and she was lovin on me, so I took that as an invitation to pat her back and engage her in conversation. Otherwise I would never. The way I stiffen when strangers approach me should send a clear signal but it doesn't seem to. I'm considering ordering a to-the-point onesie from Wordsies Wear. I heard about them on another parent blog called Thingamababy, but it was a while back and at the time I thought "ha-ha, funny, but why would you need that?!" Yeah, silly me. I think my favorite is the very simple: "Look but don't touch". Wait...can I have that printed on my shirt too? Matching "mommy and me" rude shirts! Love it.

Friday, March 7, 2008

Ah, teenagers!

Overheard on my way home: two teenage girls chatting on their walk home from school "Oh man! If I could rape him with my eyes I soooo would! I'M SERIOUS! If that was even possible I would!"

I miss teaching those little hormonal idiots!

The cobblestone crossroads

Yesterday was a rough day. The colic was out in full force like the crazies come out for a full moon. Pretty much all day was a cry fest. Oh and in between the crying there were bouts of laughing and smiling and flirting, and projectile vomiting. Good times. It was however also a beeeeautiful day; the sun was shining and I could smell the crocuses. (crocii?). So we went out. He was actually sleeping in his stroller and I found myself standing at a bus stop, which felt like the cobblestone crossroads of life. As I looked down at his peaceful face I asked myself "Should I wait for this bus to go to the mall to try and get myself some sexy jeans...for which my time is running out since my BF comes tomorrow!? Should I risk the bus ride where he will probably wake up, scream, old hags will tell me he's hungry, I'll get frustrated, I won't be able to try anything on, and then we'll just be turning around and coming back home anyway? Basically-should I choose me or him?

The alternative was the Starbucks around the corner. It was a hard morning and an expensive liquid indulgence was calling my name.

The sun/son won. I figured the moment of quiet was worth not risking. So I quietly and slowly strolled over the cobblestone sidewalk (which I've discovered is a GREAT way to vibrate the stroller and keep him in bliss) and headed to the 'bucks. I sipped in the sun as I continued to take the long way back home. And I realized that sexy jeans just are not that important anymore. Yes- I said it. Basically, I'm not that important anymore. And I wasn't saddened by that. I pride myself on being able to do most everything I would have done before baby entered my life...but now if it makes him happy it makes me happy too. This moment and walk were good for my soul.

Then I used my security card to enter my building and the damn ridiculous "BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!" as the door clicked open woke him up, he screamed all down the hallway, into our condo, and for probably an hour or so after that.

Thursday, March 6, 2008

Hubby-2, Me-1

Wait...did I count that right? Well in any case I know he's winning without going upstairs for the replay. Hubby plugs in my cell phone to charge without me asking all the time. I actually only realized this last night. I had been thinking that my cell phone battery lasts a reeeeeeeeally long time. Hmmm, I said-when was the last time I charged this thing? The answer came to me when I saw it plugged in on the kitchen counter in the middle of the night during a baby feed. (Forehead slap): never. I have never charged it. I've had it for, oh, years. And since I've been married 4 years, I would gander that I haven't charged it for 4 years. Now I wonder...who's really winning? Hubby for being so damn considerate? Or me...for never having to lift a finger? Either way this competition is heating up. And either way, I WIN. Score.

Shock Therapy?

Yesterday I got caught up on my husband's cousin's (stay with me here) blog. Hers is a blog about her little girl that she's been writing since pregnant, basically to keep family from far away up to date. I am not particularly close to her, though I probably should be since they live nearby. But then, I'm not particularly close to anyone in my husband's family, am I? In any case though, I am riveted by her blog. She writes candid and intimate details of her life without censoring. If I were a stranger, her blog would tell me not only her address, the type of car she drives, what her and her husband do for a living, and the floor plan of her house including a list of everything worth stealing, but also the list of anti-depressants, sleeping pills and other drugs she regularly takes. Now, I'm all for being truthful. Hey, usually it's funny 'cause it's true, right? But this is a little annoying, sad and dangerous at the same time.

Whatever, now that you have the full backstory here-the real reason for my post is that she blogged about how her little girl and her were watching some cheesy/schmucky (lord strike me blind if next year I am eating these words when Kip demands this) kid's video about going off to dreamland. When asked if she would like a dream the kid responded yes "one with puppies and sunshine, bon bons and Gucci and gin." Oh, wait-that was my dream. Anyway, it was something sickly sweet. Apparently, her mommy used to whisper this to her when she was younger and having bad dreams. question is: What the heck is my poor, poor son going to want to dream about??!?!?!?!

Last night when he was crying and crying and I knew it was because he was over-tired, I told him to stop his bull-shit and go to sleep. Previously I have said things like "C'mon you little shithead" and "you have a shitty bum". Sensing a theme here? But the buck doesn't stop at the shit. I'm full of curse words. Now, I was raised with a lapsed-catholic mother who's idea of bible study was screaming "Jesus, Mary and Fucking Joseph!!!" when you forgot your lunch, so I come by it honestly. But I don't remember cursing inappropriately until I was an adult myself. Am I giving my son dreams of rank toilets and street-fights with my potty tongue? Should I seek some therapy to kick my bad-word habit? I stopped biting my nails years ago by putting a rubber band around my wrist and snapping it every time I brought them to my mouth. That shit hurt. So I may have to invest in one of these "swear boxes" (check out for details that will hurt less and let me buy more shoes.

But then again...I may swear, but I am sane. Cousin is on those multiple post-partum uppers, so the marshmallows and balloons and bubbles (oh-my!) make sense. Before I do anything drastic I'll wait and see what she blogs when the Zoloft wears off. For now, I'm sticking with shag carpets and Manolo Blahniks and Marijuana (things I tell my son that dreams are made of). Or should I say: "F%$king and Sh&!ting and A*!holes!" (oh-my!).

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

I am slowly going crazy, 1,2,3,4,5,6 SWITCH

Since becoming a parent I've been thinking of the silliest things and giving them too much importance. Prime example: I fear I do not know enough kids songs. I can't remember the words to the ones I do know, and I have this niggle that there are so many I'm supposed to be singing daily to ensure my son grows up an intelligent human being, but I can't think of them. Instead I'm singing him hits of the eighties and show tunes! Will my son grow to be an effeminate, tap dancing keyboardist in a Bangles revival band? Hmmmm, that wouldn't be so terrible!

In any case I did finally remember this Crazy song in a timely moment of brilliance. And it got me to thinking: "What makes one crazy?". Am I crazy because I do not want to put a mobile in my son's crib? Is my mother in law crazy because she asks about a mobile in his crib EVERY time she calls as if I am the worst mother in the world if I don't? Hmmmm. Am I crazy because I am starting to think that I actually might be guilty of causing some of the strife in our relationship? OR is my mother in law crazy because she wants me to feel guilty more than anything else in the world?

My husband and his parents are fighting again after his mother took a first-class ride on the crazy train last Saturday. She is upset that he doesn't call her more often basically, which obviously means he doesn't think she was a good mother, couldn't wait to leave his house and go to University, married some "domineering bitch" on purpose so he could avoid her in adulthood, and is trying to keep her from being a part of her grandson's life. It all started when we had company on Thursday night, the baby actually was a gem, and we were enjoying wine and relaxing adult conversation and we decided not to answer the phone when it rang. We thought-hmmm, it would be rude to get up from the table and answer that, so we won't. It was his mom and she didn't leave a message. She did, however, continue to call back at intervals-which she often does. Now, my husband is terrible at calling his mother back-mostly becasue he does dread talking to her, so by Saturday this became a state of emergency to her. Apparently, (I wasn't involved directly in the conversation) it was enough that she was leaving her husband, her home and not coming here in two weeks as planned, and she'd had enough! Enough to let him know in a mournful cry that when he was growing up he learned they ALWAYS answered the phone...(so obviously it's only my influence that has changed his prioroties, right?). It's not what she says often that is's how she says it. And later if you reminded her of something she said that hurt your feelings, she would claim you were making it up.

So why do I feel guilty? I feel like I should do something to ease her pain. To help her find her own self-worth, without needing my husband to provide it for her. I feel suddenly that perhaps I had a hand in her downfall. That maybe I'm to blame for some of her insecurities. I am domineering, like she said. I do have a big sarcastic mouth and she has never understood me or my jokes. All the times she has taken me literally have certainly made the chasm between us deeper. I have, after all, dragged her son away from her with my hypnotizing sex ...oh wait here I go getting sarcastic again. No really, being a mommy myself now I feel so over it. Life is too short, and maybe, maybe if I talk to her things will get better.

Seeeeeeee-eeeee. the song is right! This is the crazy 1-2-3-4-5-6 SWITCH. She is pulling the ol' switcheroo on me. We obviously need to duel to reverse the crazy. I can't wait! No sarcasm there, by the way.

The cheese stands alone

Yesterday there was a monumental event. Someone did NOT tell me he was hungry when he wailed on the bus. Instead she looked at me, hands clasped in front of her resting over her cane, lips plumped and pointing, and winked as she said in a knowing tone: "Try rocking him a little, sweetie". Then she showed me by jiggling her cane what she meant, and thankfullly so-I mean, what was this "rocking" she spoke of? I had never heard of it before she enlightened me. Surely it was some mystical, magical unicorn in baby care-one that no one tells you of unless you are pure of heart and can make it out of the haunted forest alive. Maybe the old woman herself was a fairy that only I could see? I gaped at the old woman, all of a sudden draped in a white, dusty light reflecting off the scummy bus window. Rocking a baby! Thank you Old-lady fairy! I gave her my best smile and turned my back, back toward my stroller and crying baby. When all of a sudden I heard her wispy, windy voice "shhhhhhhh-ing" in our direction. Yet another moment filled with magic for me. Shhhhh! Thank-you baby gods! I feel more complete as a mom now that the fairy you sent me ignored my doubtful scorn and persisted. The way she shhhushed for my baby, as obviously I was too stupid to do it myself...I will never forget it.

Saturday, March 1, 2008

THANK YOU, take 1, 007, 653

Train, 5:07 pm.
Baby crying.
Train is packed. Lady rubbing shoulders with me decides to give train full of people a lesson in why I am a terrible mom. She "tut-tuts" and talks as if I am not there. "The baby is hungry! Where is his bottle?! He needs a bottle! She should feed him! Tut, tut, tut. Poor baby. He is suffering. She should have a pacifier!" Finally, I give her the stink eye and she addresses me: "Where is his bottle?" Me: "I'M HIS BOTTLE!" (I am losing my patience). Her "Then give him a pacifier" (rolls eyes) "Geesh..he needs a pacifier". I deliberately turn my back to her...because if I don't my name will be all over the news headlines tomorrow. No doubt they would sensationalize the murder and attribute it to the new buzz word "post-partum".

I don't make this shit up. The world is full of stupid people...and it's got me thinking today: ever seen the show Dexter? I could do that. Except I would take out the stupid people, one "he's hungry!" at a time.