Thursday, July 31, 2008

WARNING: Loose blog posts ahead for 7000 km.

I would like to start by explaining my absence from blogging lately. I've been-GASP!-having fun. Summer is here, the weather has been fantastic. I've gotten a tan on my Casper the Friendly Ghost-esque body. I've been reading a book. Correction...a novel. Baby boy and I have been trying out all the baby swings in a 100 mile radius. Life is good.

So, basically, I have nothing to complain about posts. However, we have also been extremely busy with some odds and ends and that has left me bereft of creative energy as well as time. For one, we went searching frantically for daycare for baby boy. Mission accomplished. Whew.

But tomorrow we leave on a "vacation", which includes 10 days or so with my in-laws. Yeah, I'm stressed. The stress is bubbling underneath the surface just like the giant ZIT that appeared this morning. Yeah stress. I really wish I weren't so stressed, but I've not learned how to control it. Actually I'm glad. I'm at my most bitchy and controlling when I'm under pressure. The packing for a trip like this for me, my baby and my husband is done perfectly, exactly, and neatly just as I planned with detailed lists. The kitchen has been scoured. The bathroom cleaned too. I've nagged my husband at least 20 times so far this week to pull his weight, stop being so lazy and act like a man. So yeah-I'm on top of things. I am a control freak. I know that. My mother in law should just accept me for who am I as I do her. She's crazy, and I know it. Perhaps that knowledge, that acceptance will translate into a relaxed "vacation"...but on the flip side, if not (likely not), there will be many blog posts venting from my "vacation" station, 7000 km from home. Cheers!

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

This should be a monologue

After what seemed like a day that would never end...running around, making it to appointments here, being late for mommies' group there, searching for daycare everywhere, I ended up at the grocery store. I had to grab something soft to eat (I just had gum surgery-don't ask, its a whole other post), something different for my husband to eat, and something to serve the actors coming to my place for rehearsal...who'd be there in less than two hours. I had to get baby boy home, fed, washed, to bed. Oh yeah, and I smelled-so me washed and fed too. (That whole sweaty-you'll-smell-after-baby thing I said before? Yeah, it's not going away. And it's hot outside to boot.) OK...before you get all high and mighty on my ass, no I didn't have to do ALL of these things, but you know what, I felt I did, and that's enough.

So here we are at the grocery store and I realize trés suddenly that I hadn't peed since 9 am. It was 4:30. It's hot outside and I'd been drinking a lot of liquids. But with baby I always seem to let this slide for me. Its like, if I was on a program about de-cluttering your life and was asked "what do you do to lessen your daily burdens and find more time in your day?" I'd have to say going to the bathroom. I just don't. But all of a sudden I did. Need to. Quickly. So off we go to the grocery store washroom where bums go for their weekly washes and drunks crack their newly stolen bottle from the the liquor store next door, etc. Nice. While I hovered and felt the sweet release, it dawned on me that baby boy probably hadn't changed his diaper since, oh, hmmmm, 4 hours prior? Ok, ok, I hadn't changed is diaper. (Damn I wish I could teach him to do it!....can you?) So that was the next step. And then...

Then I realized if I changed his diaper that long ago he probably hadn't eaten in that long either. And it was a hot day. We were in the sun a lot. He looked parched. Man, insert life-long-guilt-here. Don't call CPS though, ok? He was alive...

So thinking about the logistics of getting the items I needed, lining up and paying, getting back into the car, loading up the car, getting home and THEN feeding all seemed too far off. So I fed him. Standing up in the grocery store bathroom. "People" (bums I'm sure) kept trying the door. My baby drank like he'd never stop... and I thought he looked so happy and peaceful and contented I could almost ignore the fluttering, buzzing overhead light and the stained tile walls. Actually, he started to drift off to slumber land in a milk-induced coma. Then the easily ignorable overhead musak being piped in was rudely interrupted by an annoying, announcer-esque, sickly-sweet lady voice telling you why this grocery store had the freshest and best, punctuated a disturbingly catchy jingle. AWAKE!

But for a moment there, I found zen in a disgusting public washroom: looking into my baby's sweet face. Holding him, feeling how big he'd gotten, just being in the moment (actually finding a moment in our rushed and hectic day) all the people (ahem, my Mother-in-law) who keep asking me "Are you STILL breastfeeding?" You can give it up. Because I am not.

Friday, July 11, 2008

Gag me with a spoon

I don't know where that saying came from, but we used to say it all the time as kids when something was particularly gross, or equally as uncool. Like regular wash blue jeans in 1988. "Gag me with a spoon!". Everyone knew that acid wash was the only way to go!

Today it was a beautiful, sunny day. I took baby boy to the mall with his best friend, baby girl, and her mama. Yeah, maybe we should have hit a park, but I had gum surgery two days ago and I just needed to get out of the house. The mall had bathrooms nearby and places to buy more milkshakes when hunger hit (and I can't exactly eat a burger right now- Drooooool, a burger! Oh I can't wait to eat real food again!). Anyways, there we were at the mall.

We sat to have a latte-mine through a straw-and I gave baby boy and baby girl a teething cookie each. Baby boy is having eating "issues" in that he will only eat things he can hold himself. So, I am currently breaking all the rules when it comes to baby's first foods. He should be having rice cereal and then I should be weaning him slowly onto other non-allergenic foods like sweet potato and carrots. But he'll only eat teething cookies really. Call the baby nutrition police! ANYWHO...

There he sat...being a little comedian. He was eating the cookie through a HUGE grin and his eyes were focused on baby girl's mom. He would often miss his mouth because he was too busy looking at her, cooing and then all of a sudden letting out a big "GAHHHHH!" giggle-type exclamation. Then he started to gag. Ok...this happens a lot when he is eating, and the nurses say it's totally normal. Something to do with new foods as he gets used to textures and stuff. They also say not to get too worked up or he will notice your anxiety and maybe not want to eat anymore. So, I usually making "yum-yum!" sounds instead and smile at him until he swallows whatever it is. I did the same here.

"Yaya! MMMmmmmm...Good cookie!" Then he gagged a little more. Then he did his cute happy scream at me and baby girl's mom. Then he gagged. Happy squeal. Gag. This continued for a minute. Baby girl's mom looked inside his mouth while he exclaimed with happiness and said the little bit of cookie was small, so not to worry. He gagged some more. Laughed some more...drooled a bit. Gagged and then swallowed. "Yay! Good boy! Good cookie!" We said.

Then all of a sudden he threw up. Again. And again. And...again. My hand shot out, cupping under his chin like an outfielder diving for a ball. I caught the barf. Then the next. And the next. My hand was a basin. The barf floated in it. Baby boy screeched with delight! Yay! That was fun!

I had to "empty" my hand into a receiving blanket and baby girl's mom grabbed a wad of latte place's napkins. It was then that we looked around. Our little cafe table was full of wadded up napkins full of curdled breastmilk barf and "chicken with vegetables" baby food (baby girl's earlier meal), our two latte cups, a pacifier that had fallen on the floor and was now off limits, a couple of other toys, a dirty bib. Puke was on my pants and all over baby boy too and his stroller, giving us both that sweet/sickly smell. Baby girl's mom kindly cleaned up the puke from the stroller but a stain would remain to be dealt with later...nice.

The last time we went to the mall together, baby girl peed all over her mama's lap (the diaper leaked) and then happily kicked and giggled while being carried off to the baby change room. There is a sort of desperation that washes over you at a moment like this-"what has become of me? I feel so dirty!" But then you look at them enjoying the moment so much and you just have to let it go. Forget mom jeans...this is what it means to be changed forever as a mom. Your jeans might be nice and modern, but guaranteed they are covered in something previously reserved for toilets.

Thursday, July 3, 2008

No contest

While baby boy sleeps should I...

Prepare and eat a nutritious breakfast knowing it may be the only thing I eat until 8 pm once we get on the go and out the door?


Blow dry my hair, put on makeup, including eyeshadow, and dress myself in an outfit that matches?

Something wicked this way comes

While you breastfeed for the first 6 months you are apparently using one of the most effective birth control methods at just a 2% failure rate-lower than that of using condoms. Your monthly menses are also usually absent-hence the birth control. For this to be effective though, you have to make a point of breastfeeding baby at least every three hours around the clock. According to my public health nurse, once baby starts "sleeping through the night" The hormones keeping things kosher will drop during that time, and soon enough you'll be trolling the feminine products aisle at the 24 hour drug store. baby boy had been consistently sleeping more than 5 hours at a stretch for months now. And no sign of the witch. Until 2 nights ago. When my head started spinning around à la exorcist.

Hubby: "hi honey I'm home!"
Me: "grunt, snicker, eye roll." return eyes to computer screen.
Hubby: "What would you like for dinner? I'll make you something?"
Hubby: "ok."


Hubby: extending bag of chips "Would you like a chip, honey?"

Not silence.

Me: (Sobbing hysterically, jabbing my finger pointedly at him, standing up, sitting down, blowing my nose, getting angry again, yelling, walking away, coming back at him) "YOU JUST DON'T UNDERSTAND ME!"

Hmmmm, ok there-teenage angst much? The night wrapped up with me turning my back on him as he cuddled me in bed and basically bringing up every single issue/concern/ complaint I've ever had since we've been together and molding it into one big, emotional purge. The best part is that I'd often look at him and say a variance of "I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore. Or what this is about. I'm done". And I really meant it, too. But that didn't mean everything was hunky dory and I was ready to do sexy times, or start telling knock-knock jokes or something. I still was in a mood-just not necessarily one that was directed toward him. But unfortch, when you live in a one bedroom + den condo, and baby owns the den, there isn't anywhere else to go. To be alone. That's why I want to move (yet another post on that sometime). Space to slam doors all dramatically, and be alone, and listen to Whitney Huston, and cry. I think I even uttered the words many women consider a sin...for fear of allowing men some kind of knowing power to also use these words (which they MUST NEVER DO for fear of their lives!) "Maybe I'm PMS'ing or something!". Hubby said no, it wasn't that and I was right, and everything would be ok. What a good man :)

The funniest part is that it would be somewhat of a relief to have this blissful period free time over with. The waiting is killing me...kinda reminds me somewhat of the waiting for it every month when you want it to be late so you can pee on a damn stick. 9 or 10 months of that are not easy to forget. Also, I'm not interested in having to tie my sweatshirt around my waist anymore. Especially not when I need said sweatshirt to shield my boobs from men who make sexy noises at breastfeeding women.

Yup. By the pricking of my thumbs, I'm going to need some Midol.
And a sappy chick flick.
And some chocolate.
And that aforementioned bag of chips.