Things in my head I never said.

Where, oh where, has my little blog gone?

2010-04-09T22:32:00.000-07:00

Today whilst stopping to pick up a few things at the grocery store, after rushing from work to pick up my son, returning that DVD that is apparently going to send me into the "collections" department according to the chipper minimum-wager on the line the other night, all the while watching the clock, tick-tock, tick-tock (will I be able to get everything, get home and make it and feed my son before 10 pm?), my son did something, er...funny.

He is currently obsessed with muffins. Who wouldn't be of course, since they are technically just cupcakes in morning coats? He's no fool. He starts pointing to the muffins on the table in the bakery section. They are poppy seed. He claims they are choklit. Bah...you say tomah-toe, I say tom-ay-toe. Thinking, as it is nearing 6, he must be HONGRAY, I slip the package open and hand him a perfect hunger staller: carbs. In the line up all I hear is "Mommy, more muffin. I want more muffin. Mommy, mommy? Mommy!? Mommy. MOOOOOMMY. MOOOOOOOMMY?!?!? Mom! Hey Mommy! I want more muffin." He's really good at the whining.

In the parking lot, buckling him into the carseat I finally give-in. Hey, its a beautiful sunny day and I'd love to listen to my easy-listening, slightly reggae tune "Girl I wanna lay you down"-which always makes me feel slightly teenager-y and free, sans interruption on the five minute drive home...instead of "Bumping up and down in my little red wagon" over. And Over. and OVER.

Two minutes into the drive at the red light I look back into his grinning, muffin stuffed face and we exchange giggles. Life is good. Three minutes in I look back and he's eaten most of the muffin and is now picking leftover bits from the paper. At four minutes, taking the turn onto our main street I feel like something is, well, off. Its quiet. Too quiet (as only moms can understand). I look back and there he is, chomping on something...muffin? Hmmmmm...where IS THE MUFFIN PAPER?

Me: "Um, mommy needs to pull over...what are you eating? (I look back at him hard in the eyes) Tell mommy what you are eating?"

Him: "Mmhfffummmmm"

Me: "Honey, tell mommy, where is the muffin paper? The MUFFIN PAPER, where is it?!? (I'm probably a little over the edge here and needn't be, right?

Him: (GULP, swallow) "In my belly!!!" (Triumphant grin)

Yup...he ate the whole muffin paper, in one mouthful. One gulp. What does this mean? What am I going to face tomorrow...in his, gulp, diaper?

So where have I been and why haven't I been blogging? I don't know...I should be bloggin. There are plenty of fun things to report with a toddler in tow. But, uh, I'm too busy fielding whines, and questions, and cutting off near disasters or even, like today, dealing with the aftermath of disasters. Where has my blog been?

In the words of my son: "In my belly!"

I've been storing up the stories...the feelings...in my center, my core. Close to my heart...the stories of my life with a son who's now two. I'll release them soon. And you can just flush, I promise I won't leave them in a nasty diaper for you ;)

Speaking of my belly: Its rather big. Its full of baby, not muffin papers!

The customer is always right, unless...

2009-04-25T22:28:00.000-07:00

She's a mom?

Unless she's a mom holding a whiny, gripey, moaning toddler.

Unless the shop owner, a baby/toddler shop owner I would like to point out, obviously thinks she needs to tell the customer how to take care of her own child. Because, you know, obviously the customer is struggling, stupid, too young (maybe, I'm stretching a little here), blind, deaf, incapable of dealing with or oblivious to the whining, griping and moaning.

I drove to a far away baby shop today to pick up one item which we really needed. I researched online and found the store that had it in stock, mapped my journey. It was an odd day to begin with...

We'd had a bad night. 8 teeth are carving their way through my baby's gums right now. He is not pleased. "Don't worry" I tell him, "they will make it easier for you will eat steak! Think of the bright side!" He doesn't really go for it. Instead he wakes up pulling at his swollen lips and bleeding gums with the little white pokey-things, oh, about 4 times last night. Yay! My nipples are also not looking on the bright side. Those little carvers are just aching to chomp. The teasing little scrapes they are giving me are killers.

So anyway, baby boy toddles around quite happily despite being up all night until about 8:30 am. Then he crashes hard, heavy lids doing the droop and boing! in his Dada's arms on the couch. So, even though its no where near his scheduled nap time, we change him, rock him, nurse him and put him into a somewhat blissful nap. Oh goodie. He wakes running a fever. We take care of him. We take him for a fresh air walk. We finally get him to snack on something. Soon its 2 pm, and he is crashing again...but this time he is pissed. "Whoa!" he says..."don't think you can put me for a nap now! This isn't my nap time, losers! No way! No how!"...and see, I really need to get this thing at the baby store.

I could have left him at home with his dad. His dad could have come along. But you know, it wasn't a perfect day and there were no perfect answers...and ultimately I admit, I wanted to have him with me. I knew he would nap in the car once we got going. And he did! Except he really fought it and it was quite fitful. Have you seen the price of gas these days? And the economy! Whew, the economy. I couldn't keep driving around...

The perfect parking spot was right there outside the door of the store I needed! Woohoo! I parked and waited for baby boy to wake on his own. You know, I would have sat there blissfully surfing the web on my phone (part of my moms' survival kit!) for hours. But, basically, once I cut the engine he started to scream. So, I figured what the heck, I could run into the store with him, grab what I needed, maybe he'd be distracted by some new faces and cheer up...maybe he would perk up. Or at the least we'd be on our merry way soon enough.

Once in the store he just got crankier. And didn't let up. It was a Saturday and not too busy surprisingly, but there were 3 salesladies on the floor. One older,white-hair, grandma-type who exuded "owner" vibes was tut-tutting amons the racks as baby boy let it be known he was not happy. While I tried to bend, and pick up some of the things I needed, compare, pick through a stack to find the size (all while balancing 25 lbs of limp, complaining weight) not one of them offered to help.

Finally, "owner" peeks her head around the corner (yes, I could sense the tension baby boy's voice was creating in the store) and doesn't look me in the eye. Instead she talks to him (oh how I LOVE this)

"Ohhhhhhh. Is somebuuudy tired? Oh yes. Does somebuuudy just need to go home? Ohhhh sombuuuudy has a wee cough! Oh you don't feel like being out, do you? No, mommy. I just want my bed...awwww"

I need to point out that even re-typing that has boiled my blood so much I had to punch Miguel the sock monkey from the toy bin, just to clear my aggression.

I'm sorry, do you want the sale? Isn't this a baby store, for fuck's sake? Aren't you supposed to offer me a glider-rocker, a cup of herbal-freaking-tea, a place to nurse in private...a baby change room? Let alone, you know, ask if you could help me find a size? How about looking me in the eye, yes me, the mom-you know, the person who was up all night with this kid? The person who does everything for him...YES I hear his moaning! Don't you think I would stop it if I could? And yes, I made a GRAVE error today taking him out. Yes, he is teething and not well. He has a horrible teething-related rash on his bum, too, if you want to know...I've switched to cloth diapers just this week to try and clear this up for good, not to mention rid his life of chemicals and plastics and prevent more toxic waste from going to the landfill and to SAVE THE PLANET FOR HIM AND HIS CHILDREN AND HIS FUTURE CHILDRENS CHILDREN!!!

But I need another freakin' diaper cover!!! I can't do it today without another diaper cover.

Do you think, "owner" lady, that you could look me in the eye and ask if you could help? And while you are at it, tell me something like "Your son is a little darling, whining or not. You must be such a good mom". Man, I'd have bought one of everything in the store.

Instead I bought two diaper covers...when I really wish I could have said "stuff it" and walked out. But you know, I'd driven all this way, and he was so upset. A lot of things brought me to that moment today. And I really did not need the passive-aggressive judgement. I have blogged about this method people who think they know better use...all talking "shmoopy" through the baby to really teach the mom a lesson.

No, he is not "all twired, and feewing sicky and needs to go home to his own beddy-weddy, mommy." (Yes, ok, he did. He did! But that's not the point.) Maybe your face scares him. Maybe, maybe he just hates that you are talking to his mom that way. Because we've both had a rough day and we are both trying our best.

Now, here's my credit card. How much do I owe you?

A woman's work

2009-04-08T23:44:00.001-07:00

What is my job? (Or should I ask: "What is NOT my job?".) I mean, as a mommy. As a woman who is a mom. (And not a transgendered man/woman mom I suppose I mean? Hah.)What am I supposed to be doing or not doing to teach him (Besides the obvious like smoking crack, beating up people for the heck of it and posting the videos to youtube, or stripping for money)? I figure I'm working outside the home to keep myself smart, engaged, learning, happy...to make money for our family. To show my son the value in work that you have studied and devoted yourself to. To reap the personal rewards I get from teaching, that in turn lead me to be less-stressed and happier. And IN TURN a better mommy.

Hmmm.

Actually I feel confused. Stressed. And often sad. Then glad. Then sad again. I know I am lucky. I have a lot to be thankful for. We have a good life together. We can afford things, modest things, but things I know many cannot. Like a nice place to live. Like new clothes. Like lattes. Like life insurance. Like the repairs on our car when I run it into posts :( I am constantly telling myself to suck it up! Go to work! Many women have done it before with less opportunity and good fortune. Don't complain! And yet...I can't answer my question of what my job is supposed to be right now. Feed him, check. Change him, check. Teach him the value of money earned/saved, the ups and downs of life, to never expect rewards without the risks...uh???? Ok, I'll get right on that, boss.

I WANT to work. But not all the time. I don't like that my son spends more days with strangers than he does with us. (Fabulous, gentle and loving strangers, but still) I feel like I am missing out on some really awesome things. And that there aren't all that many of these days when you think about how fast they grow up! But my career is stuck in a place I can't negotiate right now, at this time. And in the interim?

Sadness: This morning I drop him off at daycare (where he is happy and thriving! Yay! Points to me for choosing well!) and he is pushing away from me and yelling "Mon-Mon-Mon". No, its not a version of Momma. Its Monica, I figure out-his teacher. I put him down and he runs to her, nary a glance back at me, and gives her a huge hug and sloppy kiss. So cute. And crushing. I want to yell "NOOOO! Don't love her! Love me. Only me...for just a little while longer? Please? Look up at me with those dreamy eyes, let me hold you, let me touch your squishy-soft cheek. Don't turn away. Don't grow, in this moment? Just a moment longer."

Um, ok. I know. Its crazy talk. Admit me into my MIL's hopsital of choice and prescribe me whatever she is on, cause this is how she feels and ACTS all the time. I know its unreasonable and unhealthy...and I don't really feel that way. But I'm finding that I'm getting these fleeting moments lately...like hormonal hot flashes of single-white-female-obsession-esque love. I'm even starting to act like my baby a little :) And only since I returned to work :( Its ok. My rational mind is still working.

Gladness: Look at my son...he is so loving and not afraid to show it. We taught him that! Cool! He is so happy at his daycare. Cool! He feels comfortable and supported and loved. Look at how confident he is-he doesn't need to see me to say goodbye to know I'll be back for him. He is not afraid. And he is showing me his independance and exerting his preferences. Cool! I'm so proud.

Ah...sadness and gladness intermingled. And I guess what I'm looking for is SLADNESS. The balance of the two.

I get that you gotta do what you gotta do. So I will. My parents taught me that sometimes you put your job first if it means money in the green machine for those clothes, that food on the table...and we always felt loved. Sure I rarely had a lunch made for me. Pish. My parent's hardworking attitude helped me become a pretty self-sufficient type of gal. My husband, on the other hand, had a SAHmom who had a routine and scheduled dinner nights (Tuesday was Chinese! Wednesday was potroast!). And he is a pretty independant soul, too. So which is right? Its a chasm between the career rock and the raising-baby hard place.

Some people say devote yourself to your family now while they are young, your career will always be accessible. (Maybe.) Some people say staying home is a harder job by far and that working moms can be more of a asset to their families by feeling fulfilled. (I get that...I mean I usually don't get vomited on daily by students, and they usually help me feel challenged and alive) I suppose I just want my cake, and to eat it too. Yeah, duh? I've never understood that saying. What else would you want cake for? Mmmmm cake.

Whilst I ponder my life's purpose, I think I shall indulge.

P.S. Thanks to S, of anamericangirlincanada for the post inspiration. My own musings, post mat leave, after reading her musings, pre-mat leave end. Much the same. It doesn;t get easier. Listen to me! I sound like a seasoned, gripy parent already! Cool!

Bee-BO!

2009-04-07T12:22:00.000-07:00

Ok, I guess only other parents who are sick of reading Sandra Boynton books to their toddlers will "get" the title I've given the following vignette. Actually, its pretty much verbatim what I heard on the playground yesterday.

Bee-BO!

Personae: Girl, Boy1 ad Boy2, ages 7-9

Setting: Playground monkey bars, afternoon, a first sunny day of spring.

Girl (Swinging on monkey bars, head launched back in glee, legs flailing).

Boy1: "I see your belly button!!!!!!! AGHHHHHH!"

Boy2: "Its ok. Everyone has a belly button. No listen! Its ok! We all have belly buttons!"

Girl (Jumps down from monkey bars, stretches shirt to fit down to her knees. Scuffs dirt sheepishly)

Boy1: "Yeah but everyone knows, DUH! Boys have a kind of belly button. Girls have a different kind of belly button. Its different."

Boy2: "I don't know about that. But I do know we all have them. That's what I do know."

Girl: (regaining confidence, deflecting? Wanting to chime in...) "And gay people have a different belly button. Girls and boys and gay people all have different belly buttons."

Boy1: "Yeah! You're not supposed to look at them"

Boy2: "Girls sit down to pee. Did you know that?"

Boy 1: " Yeah! I knew that!"

Girl: "Me too!"

Hmmmm. Who the heck is teaching these children? Or should I say...who is NOT teaching them? At this age, I feel a kid should have some clear ideas about what forms sexuality, what parts are private parts, and how essentially, girls and boys and "gay people" are all the same=humans. In teaching we call this a "teachable moment". As in, you overhear some kids talking, perhaps needing or wanting to talk about some things that are confusing them...perhaps an incident has occured. Instead of brushing it aside, you take the opportunity to make it a lesson of sorts. "Really? Are belly buttons different on different people? Actually everyone has a unique belly button! Do you know what makes a belly button?" Etc.

I wanted to...I REALLY wanted to. But, I didn't want to get bitch-slapped on the playground in front of my toddler. Yeah...you-parents over there ignoring your kids while you text! Your kids need you! And they need the un-prejudiced version of you, if you please. Thank you.

Not hypothetical

2009-04-06T10:44:00.000-07:00

Q: If a turd falls in the living room, but there is no one around to see it, does it make a mess?

What if said turd falls, another one follows and sticks to baby's butt? Then, what if baby steps in the turd that fell, smushes his toes all around in it, and starts to walk away? What if baby leaves a trail of smushed poo, like a peg-leg Hansel, step-turd, step-clean, all over the living room rug and onto the laminate floor? What if your laminate floor is dark colored and baby decides to pee as well on it, only with the light casting a certain way you fail to see said pee, so that when you kneel down to wipe the poo, you put your hand in the pee?

Does it leave a mess?

Honestly, what would you clean first? The carpet? The floor? The baby's bum or foot? And just so you know, I turned my head for ONE SECOND after I took him outta the bath to put his towel in the laundry. He was as pleased as punch with himself and not bothered at all by the poo between his toes or hanging off his a**.

What a life, hey? Wouldn't it be grand if we could just go wherever we were? No worries about finding a bathroom, having cramps, letting stinky gas go...just let it fly. You could be in meetings..."Oh sorry Jim, one sec here, GGGRRRRRRRRR! Ok, what was that you were saying about the Mercer aquisition?". Awesome.

Here is how I handled this: Take baby's hand, hold him in one place (though he is squirming to be let go and run naked and free some more) and wipe foot with a wipe. Then, while holding his hand pull him around the living room while I squirt a pre-treatment solution on the rug. A lot of solution. Then walk him into the bedroom to get a washcloth, go wet washcloth while still pulling him by the hand. Oh yeah, he is screaming now. But I can't pick him up you see...since he still has that hanging turd. Up on the changetable. Clean his butt. Clean his toes thoroughly. Get fresh diaper ready. THEN HE STARTS TO PEE. ALL OVER ME. Thank my son for his kindness. Get the diaper on quickly. Put him in his crib to keep him from the mess. He screams. I go back to living room and start the blotting and cleaning process. Yuck. Lean down to wipe up laminate with bleach solution. Put hand in pee. Go wash hand. Take off all of my pee soaked, pooped clothing and put on clean jammies. Go pick up screaming, red-faced son. Soothe him. Rock him. Nurse him. Read books. Put him to bed.

Curse the day his father was born. And the fact that he is working late...once again. For the 20 millionth time in a row.

A: Until you've cleaned shit from a shag, you just ain't lived as a parent. And yes...its quite a mess.

Making friends at the park

2009-02-17T11:12:00.000-08:00

Random dad on the playground with a thick Russian (?) accent: "Oooo vat are you feeding your boy? Is dat macaroni and sheesse? He likes it, no?"

Baby boy: "numnumnumnum"

Me: (proudly) "I made it myself! He loves it! Its one of the only things I can get him to eat! (insert self-deprecating-you know-how-it-is laughter)" I glance around and notce now that Russian dad has twin boys about 2.5 years old. They are running around behind us with mom trying to wrangle them on her own and giving her usband the stink eye while he talks to me. "hi!" I wave.

Russian Twin: "Hi. Me want! !!!!! !!! " (Pointing to baby boy's food).

I need to mention that eating is a big struggle for baby boy. He is on again/off again and YES still nursing (as everyone likes to put the emphasis on STILL. Stuff it I say). I try to offer him a variety of things, but man its hard. And now its especially hard having to pack a lunch for both of us every weekday. He is just picky...or maybe I have high expectations-I mean...who am I to know how much he is really hungry when I am shovelling food into his mouth everytime I can distract him enough. Maybe he really isn't. Its had not to feel pressure to feed him as we are so programmed into believing that you need food at these regular mealtimes. Anyway, I digress. Its even more than him being picky. I think he likes to ACT picky. He likes watching my tortured face. He likes throwing food on the floor. Its just who he is. If he did something easily and without fighting I'd think he was ill. So yes, eating. If he likes macaroni and will eat it...I'm willing to cook it every day :)

Russian dad: "oh no Michael. Too salty. To salty!".

Me: (a little flabbergasted, a little insulted-as if I really wanted to share my son's food with this random kid shouting at me) "Oh no...see, I made it myself. I used whole milk and real unsalted butter and cheddar! Its just cheese. I mean, there's nothing wrong with cheese, right?" (I'm starting to sound a little defensive now...is my mac n' cheese unhealthy?)

At this point twins mom gives major stink eye to Russian dad signalling that it is time to pack them into the stroller-she is done with playground time. So I watch out of the corner of my eye as I continue to shovel MnC into baby boy, who readily gobbles :) As mom stuffs one toddler into the double stroller they both start to scream. They are wailing, kicking, and arching their backs. You know, as toddlers do. Nothing out of the ordinary...at least not for me its a daily occurence with my baby boy. But I love watching how other parents deal with it. Its obvious the boys do not want to leave the playground and I'm pretty sure the one twin wants some Mac and cheese still. But what transpires between mom and dad is funny to me. Like haha. Mom is geting really steamed. And then Russian Dad goes:

"Ok, ok, one more minute ok?!? Da. Yes, one more minute for playing! YAY!"

Twins mom: "WHAT!?!?!?! OH no. There you go again. You tell them something and then give in right away. Either we are oing or we are not! STOP BEING SO WISHY-WASHY!"

Ok...Im trying to stifle my laugter here now. For a couple of reasons. I don't disagree with mom. Most of the time though I don't put on a facade in public, but I do try to refrain from yelling at my husband at the playground. (Usually the stink eye is enough with him ;). But this exchange is just starting to crack me up. I wonder if Russian dad, who's English is wishy-washy, even understands the term? And I guess part of me is liking that he is being called out afterall, who is he to judge what I'm feeding my son? I hate getting people's opinions like that. But then...then. Then comes the piece de resistance.

Russian dad: "Ok,ok...boys its time to go, like your muther says". And with this he grabs up the boy and tries again to stuff his rigid little body into the stroller belt. The kid starts lashing out at dad. The mom is huffing and puffing. And then the dad starts hissing: (Or was it whispering so I wouldn't hear?)

"Ok,ok...chocolat! chocolat (sounds like shockohlatte)! I give you chocolat if you get in stroller!" And he whips out a mars bar.

So when it comes to snacks my son prefers salty. And I guess his prefer sweet. But you didn;t see me wagging my finger at him.

"If you need me I'll be in my trailer"

2009-02-03T14:01:00.001-08:00

So pre-baby I must say that I avoided the Walmart for the social and cash-sucking plague that is is. But post-baby I see the benefit of the big box store: diapers really are cheaper there. So is baby clothes. So are the hundreds of odds and ends that you need with baby. So I've learned to be a closet embracer of the Walmart. Why buy 2 rolls of toilet paper when you can get 36 for cheaper?

The other night there was some need I had for the walmart. Don't remember exactly what it was. But at one point I looked around, looked at my self, and realized I had no need to feel embarassed about shopping there. Indeed, I was no better or worse than anyone else rambling through the aisles. Who was I kidding? Tim Horton's in hand, I pushed my cart with baby boy (not strapped in to the broken front part) reaching into the back of the cart and eating cookies out of the bag. His shirt front glistening wet from the juice I served im from the bottle with a straw. Do we even need to mention the boogers in his nose and the fact that he wasn't wearing his sneakers? Oh yeah, and he was screaming. A lot. Whenever there wasn't a cookie in his trap. And arching and bucking away from me every time I tried to force him back down into the seat. I was THAT lady. But yet, I blissfully strolled through all of the aisles, loading up with mega packs of diapers and detergent, etc. Oh yeah, and random toys which I had no intention of purchasing, but which kept baby boy and his globby-cookie hands occupied for minutes at a time. I abandoned them, and all other thinsg I decided against as I strolled in secluded aisles here and there when no one was looking. Once we finally got through the checkout, baby boy really wanted out of the seat so I plunked him into the big part of the cart with all of the purchases. He promptly grabbed my somewhat empty timmy's cup and started draining it of any drips/dregs of coffee left. "Awww how cute!" the cashier exclaimed. At this baby boy screamed again.

Out in the parking lot, manoeuvering the cart holding my (not-safely strapped in) baby through traffic I made it to my car and realized the reason he had been screaming on and off: his diaper. Oh holy lord!!!!!!!!!! How had I not noticed? So I flipped open th hatchback, laid him out and changed the poop in the parking lot. I think the only thing missing from the whole ordeal was me sporting a ready-to-burst baby belly poking out from under a beer t-shirt.

Today I found myself back at the Wallymart...texting in the bathroom.

Once, a while ago, my uncle bought me "Trailer Park Trash Soap"-one of those cheeky joke gifts. It was in reference to how my in-laws treated me and we all had a good laugh. Now I wonder I am perpetuating what other people expect of me? Or, if they could see something I couldn't? Either way, I got a great deal on a supervalue pack of teepee :)

I'm Baaaa-aaaack

2009-02-03T13:56:00.000-08:00

Wow. Its been two months. I'm still alive. Still snarky. I have noticed however that my rant-i-ness level is directly tied to public transit and well, being in public. Since returning to work I find myself less active, less inclined to go out...more often than not I'm collapsing on the couch by 8pm, exhausted. Even too tired to blog.

I've been keeping a mental list though of some things that were blog worthy. More to come!

Holiday Gift Guide

2008-11-21T11:24:00.000-08:00

Wondering what to get a toddler for Christmas? Here are my picks along with a few bonus/gift with purchase type suggestions):

1) Toilet paper. 1 or 2 rolls.
2) Tube of lipgloss. Bonus: Packaging it came in. Bonus-Bonus: Top comes off tube easily.
3) Diaper, any size. Bonus: A fresh, clean one.
4) Chest of drawers...high enough for little hands to pull up on, stand and open/close drawers repeatedly. Bonus: Things inside drawers. Bedside reading, bottles of water, lube, vibrators, , what have you. Bonus-Bonus: Drawers that don't hurt too bad if they (inevitably) slam fingers inside.
5) Electronic devices. Bonus: electronic devices that you currently use, are in good working condition, cost a small fortune, are NOT waterproof, and have batteries that can be man-handled out of their place and licked (for C&M), i.e. cell phones or remote controls. Bonus-Bonus: If said electronic device has a carrying string to lick and chew, i.e. camera.
6) Plastic bags. (Ignore warning written on said plastic bag about "suffocation risk"-bah, humbug!)
7) Shoes. Any kind or color. Preferably laced- see #5.
8) Extension cords. Bonus: Power bar is attached.
9) Small chocking hazards, i.e. coins. Bonus: A christmas themed chocking hazard, like the hook from a tree ornament, dried-out pine needles or string -light bulbs.
10) A ladies purse. Or a specific lady's purse-tis the season for purse snatching, afterall. Bonus: Purse has infinite lipgloss tubes, vibrators, digital cameras, and small chocking hazards, which may or may not include snacks for baby long forgotten (i.e cherios at bottom of said purse).

Please feel free to add your own (all four of you that read this blog!) in the comments. Toys r Us should take note. They could make a fortune selling this stuff!

I'm about to burn my bra

2008-11-12T10:38:00.000-08:00

Don't get me wrong...I'm not a feminist, per se. Never have considered myself so. I like it when a man opens a door for me. In fact, it pisses me off when one does not. Moreover, it pisses me off when anyone lets a retail aluminum door slam in my face, without even checking behind them as they go through! But back to men...I'd like a world where men stand when you need to go to the powder room, or go out and heat up the car on a cold night before picking you up at the door. Something about that nostalgia, that throw back to a different time where gentlemen ruled. I have many double standards. And I'm ok with them. They make me happy.

But the lines are getting a little fuzzy, even for me. I never intended to stay home forever with baby boy. I always knew I would go back to work. Not to say I'm not sad about the deadline fast approaching...many more posts to come on that once I find the time (did I mention baby boy is almost WALKING!?!?). But I do love my job teaching and look forward somewhat to getting back into it. But the deadline is swirling up some long hidden resentments. Resentment held for my husband, and indeed, most husbands (look I held back from saying a general "all husbands", for I know there are some fantastic mr. moms out there. Ok, that term bothers me! Check out www.mikeandmick.com to witness a rare specimen at work!). Why is it that when a husband stays home with the kid we call it "babysitting"? He isn't getting paid! They are his children! Ack! I guess I am realizing how much time has gone by-a whole year almost-and how little free time, or alone time I've had that entire year. Just this morning I was going tinkle with baby boy pulling up on my knees and hubby brushing his teeth beside me. REALLY. I don't think I've gone to the bathroom alone in months. Usually now I have to wipe my ass with one hand and the other hand holding baby boy's hand so he won't pull out a million sqaures of toilet paper, that I will no doubt later have to clean up.

What is really bringing this to surface-the unfairness of parenting...in a non-feminist world. I want my husband to go make the bacon. I wanted my mat leave. But it wouldn't hurt once in a while for the man to take the baby boy for a few hours, a day even! Could I be alone in my house for while? could I sleep in...like really sleep in...without the sounds of baby boy's obnoxious toys in the living room wafting into my dreams? My husband is going on an impromptu boys weekend this month. I have NEVER, ever been the naggy type in my life. But now it is letting loose full throttle. "How nice for you". I say. "Not a care in the world! Oh, wifey will take care of it all no problem." And of course I do. Worst thing is, my husband is one of the true good men, who certainly doesn't think this way...I am projecting. But he is still going on the weekend. I want him to go...I don't know. Work with me here ladies...you understand right? I don't even want a weekend...I just want the ability to have one on a whim. Like a man. The "option to" is driving me insane! I can't stop putting snarky comments into every one of our conversations.

Jesus. I can't even get to yoga once or twice a week, let alone a weekend. How about 6 hours staright uninterrupted sleep...let alone a weekend. Sigh. Do nursing bras burn well?

Bad mommy

2008-10-16T11:51:00.000-07:00

I just spent 2 hours on the internet. In that time though I've done some things that could be considered helpful...I did upload new pics of baby boy for family far and away to see. C'mon, that was necessary. But now nap time is over and I'm yellin "NO!" at baby boy everytime he grabs my power cord...and engaging in a childish "touched you last"-esque fight with him. He grabs the screen, I move his arm. He grabs the screen, I move his arm. Why can't I just log off? PLEASE baby boy...just watch this cartoon. Those little blob-y, pastel colored...er, um- creatures? Are very funny! Look at them singing and, er, um-rolling? and I guess one could say dancing on their little blob-y bottoms! What the heck are these things supposed to be? How can I rely on educational television to baby sit my child in my absence when they would be teaching my son that blob-y creatures live in the forest and sing and dance nonsense words? Agh!

I suppose it's no beter than the Barbapapas, or the monchichis. Or the...well, I survived. And so will he. While I finish this blog. And then search for some brown boots on zappos.com.

I don't know how she "f&*king does it!

2008-10-05T10:57:00.000-07:00

Ok, I've just started reading that book "I don't know how she does it". I know, I can tell by the pop culture references (Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, etc) that I'm about 5 or 6 years behind the times here. But 5 or 6 years ago this book had nothing to do with me. Now I can relate, so I'm reading it. Actually I can relate but it is just pissing me off. The story follows a high ranking exec with oodles and oodles of cash flow who has two kids she feels she neglects, but needs to do so because working makes her a better mother when she is home-or no wait, she calls that a lie working mom's tell themselves to make themselves feel better about their choice...so er, she needs to work because she ? Look-I will be a working mother. I'm planning on going back full time in two months-don't remind me or I might cry (time is no longer creeping and I'm getting a little weapy thinking a bout leavig him in daycare!). But this book is pissing me off because clearly this woman likes her job, but all she does is complain about everything in her life... and how desperately she is sad, tired, guilty, etc, etc, etc. I guess I just don't understand the use of paying the nanny more than your spouse makes so you can go to work and be miserable. Surely there is a compromise somewhere? A lesser job in a similar field? Maybe I don't understand these high powered execs...but if you can pay a nanny a huge salary, all of her vacations, buy yourself all the designer goods you want, travel the world? Well where's the misery?

It's been a busy couple of months for me. I decided to take on a little "job" while on mat leave-directing a show. I worked with some awesome, understanding ladies on this play-it was really nice to be around creative souls and have the comraderie of women (You know me, I usually hate other women so it was great to enjoy their company for a change). But it really was my first taste of working while having a baby. I think I did an ok job of it...but I made some mistakes for sure. I think I could do a far better job of writing this fucking "I don't know how she does it" book...and the reality of it is I did it for no money. Zero. Actually I'm out a shit tonne for all the babysitting I paid (my sitter makes more than I do too! Damn teenagers these days!). And yeah I felt guilty and at times neglectful...but it was all worth it. I got joy from it in many ways, and I think baby boy gained some awesome extra time with dada and lots of his little friends (whose moms so graciously baby sat for us)...he was social and I wasn't clinging to him and we both learned a lot. And at the end of the day, yeah it was a lot of work and I'm tired, but I always came home excited, not comatose and sobbing. This "I don't know how she does it" bitch needs to reevaluate. "Doing it all" I think means not just making it look easy to keep up with the Jones'...I'm so over that. You need to do it all or not, and not care...but be happy with the choice you made. Forget this martyr crap for the sake of a few pats on the back from strangers.

You only need to pull the martyr crap with your spouse so he feels bad for you and finally does the dishes or whatever. Otherwise, work or don't work but don't live a life of misery because it "looks" good. I think I'll be returning this book to the library on time.

Toot! Toot! the FART train is here

2008-10-05T10:33:00.000-07:00

Lately my son has a definite preference for dad. It is pissing me off. I realize the guy is a novelty-around on the weekends and sometimes before baby boy hits the sack on weeknights. It's a great treat when dada is home for bath time, for sure. I mean, I am sooooo grateful when hubby gets home in time to help out with some parenting things at the end of a long day. And I do long for him to see baby boy more and more...but when baby boy lights up when dada walks into the room, I admit my heart feels a little blacker for my jealously. Damn, kid! I do everything for you and you can't muster a little smile for me?!?! I think this is where most mothers begin on their journey of guilt and over-mothering. So I must stop myself while I still can.

One thing going for me is that I certainly am the more creative of us two parents. Everything we do is a song...and every song is different. I am not sure what I'll do when he is a toddler and he is asking for the "poopy song"-NO NOT THAT ONE! THE ONE FROM YESTERDAY! and I have no idea how it goes. I imagine that will be really annoying, for both of us. But for now, baby boy seems really into my silly lyrics and warbling tunes...or is that a smirk on his little face instead of a smile? "Oh geeeeez mom, knock it off!".

My favorite tune sounds like something out of the musical "Oklahoma!". I made it up. This one I can repeat, though the theme does change depending on what we are doing:
Snicker-snickerdoodle!
Snicker-snickerdoodle!
He's the cutest damn boy in the west!
Snicker-snickerdoodle!
Snicker-snickerdoodle!
His ASS-plosions are better than all the rest!

I replace the "snicker" with baby boy's name though so it's more personal. And please...I understand that damn and ass might be, gasp! swear words to some of you. But remember I grew up with a mom who swore every second word ("I fucking love you!")...and I didn't start swearing until I was 18.

This post was written for Parent Bloggers Network as an entry for a contest sponsored by Bush’s Beans, where they asked what kind of songs you sing to your kids-a re-worked classic with new lyrics? Or simple renditions of Twinkle, Twinkle? Bush's beans are on a mission to resolve the issue with the "beans, beans the musical fruit" song since beans are not a fruit at all. You can check out the contest for re-writing this classic here. The funny thing is...and maybe people from the east coast (moi) are dirtier minded than most of North America...but I never learned it that way! To us it was always "beans, beans, good for your heart. The more you eat, the more you FART." Fart is NOT a bad word, surely? What is this "toot" business. I don;t want baby boy running around saying "mom I tooted!". I had a cousin that made her boy say "fluff" instead of fart. Now that's way too polite and mystical for me. Fluff? Like marshmallow fluff? If baby boy's assplosions resembled anything like sweet, confectionary goodness I'd be a marketing him and making millions. But alas, he, like the rest of us, stinks. No, STANKS. Just say fart so we know exactly what you are talking about and can get out of the up-wind fast enough!

Au naturel

2008-09-26T23:35:00.000-07:00

I remember when baby boy was about a month old. I was still pumping every feed (old habits from the NICU die hard apparently-and no one told me I could stop!). I got out of the shower one morning and caught the first head-to-toe glimpse of myself in our closet mirror. And I screamed. When my husband came running and asking all worried "what's wrong?", I shouted at him:

"I look like a nudie picture in National Geographic!"

I was shocked. I never knew they could be so big. Or hang so low.

I spent the early breastfeeding days at home without a shirt; feeding, burping, feeding, scratching, feeding, eating, feeding, cleaning, feeding, pooping, feeding, peeing, feeding...(this is me and baby boy combined/in tandem, btw). I didn't wash. I swatted flies. I felt like I was finally in my natural habitat...as nature had intended: woman with baby, breasts with milk. Hear me roar!

Now if only I could have gone to the mall without my shirt. But then I would have really felt like an exhibit at the zoo:)

The Parent Bloggers Network is teaming up with Generation Next, and their new product I know Animals, Letters & Sounds, to ask how having kids has made life more "zoo-y". Being a teacher makes me a sucker for dvd's that will keep baby boy's attention long enough for me to blog, whilst not sucking his brain power, pixel by pixel...so I had to respond. What? I like prizes! And I could use some more time blogging, so I need these dvd's!

Crazy Bus Passenger-1, Mommy-0

2008-09-25T15:15:00.000-07:00

So I haven't been riding the bus a lot lately. Its been a great summer=lots of walking=lots of outings where if I have been bussing its been with others and so I haven't been paying attention to my surroundings (just chatting with my pals, etc). But I had to take the bus yesterday on a rainy, yucky day to take baby boy to the doctor. Nothing is really wrong, except he is growing up and doesn't need me anymore ad so I needed reassurance. Ok it was maybe a little more than that, but that's the abridged version.

Anyway...waiting for the bus, which was late, an older, grandmotherly lady approaches and starts to coo at baby boy. She is overwhelmed by his cuteness. I think at one point she said "He should be in magasines!". Yes, I think so too! But I digress-Bus finally comes and the ramp lowers for a wheelchair. Wheelchair gets on and everyone waiting for the bus says "Oh you go next!" and "after you!" so on I roll with the stroller. Ms. Bitchy-I-hate-my-job-strollers-and possibly-people-Bus Driver gives me a partonizing lecture about how ONLY wheelchairs are to use the ramp. Now, I can appreciate someone who is having a bad day. I can understand when you hate the general public and want to tell all the idiots to fuck off. I really can. I've been there. Ms. Bitchy Bus Driver could be a woman after my own heart. But I was being paid a minimum wage of 5.25 an hour at the time. I hear the Bus drivers in these parts get upwards of 30/hour. Hmmmm.

As I profusely apologize to MBBD (as I will call her here on in) so she understands that I am not "one of those idiots" and that I simply did not know the rule. What with being on wheels and all I thought the stroller was entitled to roll on the ramp, you know, since it was already down and all. (duh!), other passengers are giving me the "wow..she's grumpy, don't mind her" look. Then all hell breaks loose. Some people get through the back door and MBBD growls loudly and calls them stupid. Passengers start to take sides. Nice, grandmotherly old lady gets into a verbally abusive fisticuffs with a younger lady and an older man. The once friendly smile turns into a snarl. Now when I look at her I think of a crazy person without her meds instead of someone I'd let coo at my baby.

Granmotherly old lady tells the yound lady to "Shut up!" The older man turns around and says "You're Stupid! You Shut-up!". Another mother finally turns around and says "Please! There are babies on this bus! Keep it down!" And then Grandmotherly old lady snickers, stares her down with her beady little eyes and spits in my direction "Oh SHUUUUUUT UP! They've probably heard worse coming out of your ugly mouth!!!!!!".

Touché.

Things in my head I thought I'd never, EVER say...

2008-09-23T14:01:00.000-07:00

I think I may want another one.

Go ahead and gather your loved ones, 5 gallons of water and food for 3 days. Lock yourself in your bomb shelter. Something bad, like hell freezing over, or pigs flying or WWIII, is about to happen.

Does anyone else...

2008-09-22T21:52:00.000-07:00

Strap their highly mobile toddlers into baby contraptions they've long since outgrown, just so they can put on a little makeup?

What was the weight limit on that bouncy chair again? The one he is using the toy bar for chin ups on? The one he is dragging behind him as he crawls around the bathroom floor? Yeah, that one?!

Weird.

2008-09-21T22:24:00.000-07:00

A lot has changed since I became a mom. And not just the big stuff (like I am suddenly a patient, caring human being!), but some small stuff too.

I like yogurt now.

I used to get on twice-yearly kick with yogurt. I'd say "look, self, yogurt is good for you. You SHOULD eat it. Daily. " And I'd promptly buy a crate of 24 yogurts or whatever, decidedly so I would eat one a dayfor the next month or so and start living a healthier lifestyle just like that! Voilà! and love every minute of it. I'd open the first yogurt on day one and retch. I hated yogurt. Who was I kidding.

Now I'm secretly hoping baby boy won't finish his "lil ones" yogurt so I can scarf the last few spoonfuls. I even convinced a mommy friend to buy them and at dinner with them I exclaimed "they're delicious! Try them!". My husband had to pick himself up off the floor. Me and yogurt=friends? Weird.

I also like olives now...and I used to plug my nose when I went by the antipasto-esque cart (olives and pickled peppers and tapinades and the like) at the grocery store.

Self? ...What have you done to former self?

MEGA MEGA realisation

2008-09-21T22:05:00.000-07:00

Hubby pointed something out tonight: I have more patience now that I'm a mom. What the fuck? Really?

No, really! At the moment he said that (or words that added up to saying as much) I was picking out chunks of feta from a huge bowl of Greek salad I'd made for dinner. See, I'd made the salad with the cheese even though I questioned the best before date of said cheese the entire time I was cutting it up. Hubby calmly said I probably would not enjoy the salad if I was wondering the whole time if it was going to make me hork up later. So there I was painstakingly picking out all of the cheese. He said a year ago I never would have been able to do that, and I would have just thrown out the whole damn salad. He's right.

But I think, you see, it has nothing to do with patience at all. For reals. And perhaps hubby didn't mean patience either...though for that little moment in time I revelled in that fact that (what I thought I heard) he said patience. And me. In the same sentence. I was patient! Wow! Look at me! Wonder woman! I can climb mountains! I can...ok I'll stop there. What it really is about is having a higher threshold for dirty, shit jobs now that I'm a mom.

Before baby boy I would never take out the garbage (shhhh...I could stomach it now, but I won't). I could never dump leftovers like soup down the toilet where they belong once they've festered in your fridge for 4 weeks. I could never eat leftovers, anyways. I could never clean tupperware that held yucky 4-week-old-festering leftovers (Geesh I have leftover issues!)...but now I find myself thinking "I'd better clean that tupperware cause I'm gonna need it for my homeade sweet potato puree".

Ok, I don't make homeade baby puree...but in some way for the purpose of this blog, baby boy would need the damn tupperware, got it?

I've been wiping snot mixed with vomit off my shoulders for 9 months. I've been looking CLOSELY at shit for 9 months (to see what texture/color/smell it is). I've been milking myself like you would a cow for 9 months, too. Moo. I've been suctioning noses and clipping dirty fingernails and toes (hubby's and baby's!). I'm sure it gets worse but I've blocked it out no doubt. So I clearly have just become accustomed.

Its like when you work a shit job in customer service or whatever...when you are paying your dues, as they say. You just do it! You clean the back fridge, you mop the public washroom after the local homeless have gone in, you scrub the scum from the deli meats tray...all the while you calculate your hourly wage per hour, minute and second so you can say at least I earned _____ doing that, and try to make yoursef feel better. So what just rewards awaits me at the end of this dirty job?

Oh hell...it just hit me. This job never ends.

When we're lost...

2008-09-21T21:31:00.000-07:00

Then we are lost together (Blue Rodeo).

So I'm on a bit of a roll here. When I started this blog I really just needed a space to vent so's my poor calm/understanding/genuine/nicer-than-me hubby wouldn't walk through the door every night to see my head spinning round on my neck and fireballs spewing from my mouth. Really new mommyhood was not playing nice with my anger management skills or my patience for that matter. Oh stop your yammering-my baby boy was fine! It was mostly strangers that I loathed and wanted to kill. Anyway, I've loved ranting and roaring and do it for the love. But I've discovered I can also do it for prizes!

The Parent Bloggers Network is partnering with Yoplait. They are holding a blogging contest and asked "Tell us what you rely on to get you through each day of motherhood. Which ones could you give up? Which ones couldn’t you live without?". I hmmmed, and haaaawed. You see, in the last 9 (almost 10-jeeeeeeesus!) months the thing I can't parent without has changed and changed and changed again.

In the beginning it was THE SWING. Not just any swing...the Fisher Price Aquarium Cradle Swing. It lulled him into a coma going side to side...tiny bubbles and fishies floated above his head. The aquatic-y, nautical-y music droned out my daytime must watch tv while I did nothing but sit and let those stitches and my whole entire lower half heal.

Somewhere around the 3 months mark I would say the must haves were a carrier (since the damned lil guy never wanted to sit in the 600 dolla rolls royce we bought him!) and my ipod (to drown out his screaming when I was too damned tired to carry him, and left him in said rolls royce anyway). Of course...by this time I had started blogging and wrote about the real must haves no other mommy tells you about here and here.

Later the exersaucer filled a void left by the swing, Sophie the giraffe filled a void in his mouth and coffee continued to fill the void in my stomach when there was no time for food, but a latte was a one handed gift I could give myself.

But all those things were transient in nature. Needs changed, baby grew. Now a bib with a catch-all pocket is a great thang! In all of this change though one thing has remained constant: My husband. And I can honestly say that I couldn't do this without him.

I mean...when I don't have an answer-he definitely doesn't have an answer. Rest assured I've searched (google) and researched (parentingblogs) and asked experts (family doctor/PHN/lactation consultant/other moms, etc, etc). He's just been waiting around for me to do all of that. And what better way to feel better about yourself than know you ain't the only ignorant idiot in your house? So thanks hubby, we are in this together. You are stuck with me. And the screaming banshee we call baby boy.

Mini moment leads to mega realisation

2008-09-19T09:13:00.001-07:00

Something big happened at my baby shower: I realized I was having a baby.

I met my mom halfway, as we live on opposite sides of the country, and we celebrated with my oldest friends, my aunties and cousins. I remember not really wanting the attention. I remember feeling fat. I remember being in complete denial.

When I was forced to don a paper plate hat and open presents I was grumpy and snarky. I said I hated baby shit, specifically Winnie the Pooh shit. Then I opened a Winnie the Pooh picture frame. Ooops. But my friends and fam, used to my dramatics, just laughed and told me I'd get over it.

At dinner later that night with the same folks at a fancy Italian Bistro my mom and her sissies got drunk as skunks on some good red wine. The mood was heady and expectant. I was expected to be glowing I suppose...glowing and happy and excited. I felt more down. This pregnancy I was supposed to be loving? Yeah...not so much. I was tired. My pelvis hurt. I'd gained over 60 lbs and felt I was living in a fat suit...a costume...someone else's body. People, strangers even, kept asking me with guffaws "is it twins in there?!" While I answered my entourage's many questions and listened to theirown tales from the delivery room: "ripped to shreds!" and "third degree tear!" and "40 hours of labor!" I was falling deeper and deeper into a doldrum. Blah. I wanted to take my fat ass back to the hotel, pull the covers over my head and get some sleep before my heartburn woke me up at 3 am.

Then a hush came over the restaurant..a celebrity was coming in! It was Verne Troyer! Mini Me! My mom started looking over her glass of wine with her pinky finger placed just so and (not really) whispering "1 million dollas!". Gales of laughter ensued. While they laughed I was silent. I couldn't stop staring. He was so little. I know I am admitting a severe degree of shallowness here: but I was scared. What if my baby was like him? What if I had the baby and something was wrong with him? He was known for being such a slime bucket (The Surreal World, anyone?). What if he were my son? It dawned on me for the first time that I was, indeed, having a baby. No more denial. He/she was coming. They were already made and there was no turning back now. A person. A little person who might look like anything...a person with a personality... a person with issues...a person with pet peeves...A mini-ME! This "baby" was just a person...another stranger coming to live in my house. What if he hated me? What if we just couldn;t get along? Could I trust myself to love this "baby" unconditionally...you know, the way you are "supposed" to love your baby?

Yes. The answer is yes. Of course. And in the process I would also learn to love myself more, too. When I re-read the posts I wrote about his first few months; his grumpiness, his moods, his constant neediness...his stubborness, I see myself. My mini-me has a mind of his own that mirrors mine in many ways. Those first few months were hard. Really hard. What I found intolerable about him I quickly learned were things I tolerated frommyself all the time. It kept me going - a woman on a mission. A mission to outlast this mini-me and show him the ropes. Yeah, he could complain a lot. Yeah he could whine a lot. Sometimes it worked. But eventually people tired of it. You wouldn't get anywhere without a sense of humour, I said. I told him daily jokes. I rolled my eyes at him. I watched him pitch a fit and he looked so cute I pitched into heaps of laughter. I picked him up when he was smiling and danced with him in my arms to show him I liked that...a lot. When he complained, I repeated his sounds back at him, only louder, and more annoying-showing him how ridiculous he sounded. I didn't immediately take him out of his carseat when he screamed. I told him "tough titties!". He liked titties and this usually brought him out of his spell-knowing he'd get them sooner than later. I wanted him to know that behind every complaint there must be a laugh. Behind every sorrow there was booby to make it all better.

My mini-me made me more aware of myself. Before I knew it I was watching my p's and q's in front on my 4 month old. Before I knew it I was enjoying situations with strangers and their bizarre quirks and needs. No, I wasn't always nice to them...I didn;t turn braindead and start being polte to cashiers and the like! But bad customer service suddenly made me laugh instead of steaming mad. Before I knew it I was having so much fun I wasn't blogging as much as I used to.

Thanks Verne.

It took a little person to show me that I was a big person with a lot to learn, and a lot to teach. And from that moment at my shower I stopped complaining (for the most part) and started preparing. Who would I be to this little person?

I'm celebrating those last moments of pregnancy and self-reflection with the gals from www.coolmompicks.com. Two of their writers are in the last throes of pregnancy, counting down to their own mini-me's, and they are throwing an online baby shower. For this shower us bloggers were asked to reflect on the early days of mommyhood. I think this is the earliest moment I can remember feeling like I was a mom for the first time. I hate baby showers as a rule...and I still hate Winnie the Pooh shit! But at least at coolmom when they throw a shower we are talking 100 dollar gift cards and organic change pads and custom-made sterling silver birth jewelry...oh my! Now who's inviting Verne Troyer? He likes the ladies, I hear.

In the red

2008-09-14T08:49:00.000-07:00

As far as standards go...

I just drank water from a sippy cup. What? I was thirsty!

Never say never

2008-09-09T11:38:00.000-07:00

This morning I found myself not only pre-biting/chewing bits of my muffin to give baby boy, I was also painstakingly choosing the best parts of it for him; chunks with the biggest ratio of blueberry to cake. Where are all of my pre-baby standards and what have I done with them?

I said I'd never eat off my baby's plate. Here I am enjoying a full fat, flavored with fruit juice, organic, vitamined yogurt that baby boy didn't finish-with the rubber spoon I was feeding him with. Ummmm...why dirty another dish?

Last night during BBQ chez moi:

2008-09-08T13:26:00.000-07:00

Me: "Honey can you grab the napkins-I seem to have forgotten them!" (Smile sweetly at guests waiting patiently to eat food in front of them).

Me: (inner monlogue) How strange! I could swear I did get the napkins. I remember soooo vividly picking them up from beside the microwave, and then....huh...I don't know? I don;t understand...well maybe it was a different time?

...Later that night...

Me: "Would anyone like another drink? Lemonade, coke (opening fridge)...napkins?!?!"

Yeah. I put them in the fridge. Tired. I. Am.

Paint me green...

2008-09-02T14:42:00.000-07:00

And call me "Dumbi". Apparently that's what people think I am. I just look like your regular idiot who I guess got knocked up by accident and obviously has no idea how to take care of the child. Well, yeah...I am...but that's not the point :) JOKING! I totally planned to get knocked up this time!

Today I was waiting at a crosswalk with some others. I saw the approaching car slow, made eye contact with the driver, and started to push baby boy's stroller into the street. At this moment the lady next to me (actually I'm going to make an assumption here and say "girl" next to me, instead. I'd guess she was 7 or 8 years younger than me) puts her hand out in front of me and yells "WAIT, WAIT!...ok we can go now." (Car has come to a complete stop).

I wasn't aware there were crosswalk-crossing guard vigilantes out there. I've got to say that I am one of those people who shake their heads at other parents when they do stupid things in traffic. Like let their two year-old cross the street running ahead of them (don't they realize that a a driver may not see someone who is all of 3 feet tall over the hood when they make a right!?!?!). SO, it only follows that I would try my best not to be a hypocrite and practice some safe pedestrian habits. I said try. I'm not perfect. But I do always make sure I know the car is going to stop before I hurtle my baby in a flimsy aluminum vehicle into traffic. I also make sure not to jaywalk, or cross between two cars. Especially considering the stroller is out in the street about 1 metre before I would be.

So who does this girl think she is? Please people...stop feeling like you have to protect my son from me! He's alive! Proving that any reckless behavior on my part hasn't been without some forethought into his wellbeing. What you should be doing is telling the little monster to be nice to me! He is 9 months old and already throwing tantrums. His eyes get squinty, his body stiffens and his little fists shake. He makes a crescendoing groan. Which peaks at a screech. He is "paint me green and call me baby hulk". Is anyone out there worried about me? On second thought, no. Be worried about him, cause if this keeps up...hmmmmm...play-time on the yellow line?

Post script

2008-08-30T20:24:00.000-07:00

"No...he isn't too hot. Funny you find it extremely hot in here, because I don't. And after caring for him for the last 9 months I've discovered that he loses all of his heat through his head. Especially when he is sleeping. Hence the hat. He looks cozy to me. And happy. Actually I don;t have to explain myself to you. Trust me, lady...if he was hot-he'd take the damn hat off himself. You know what? I am sick to death of people talking in passive-aggressive, schmoopie voices through my baby. If you have something to say to me; some judgment to pass on my ability as his parent, then say it to me directly. Or else I might have to start giving you a spoonful of your own medicine. Hmmm here goes: Hiiii little widdle fat belly! How are you! Oh you are so precious-wecious! You are soooo big! What is your mama feeding you? Ohhhh too much disgusting fast food? Awwww. Tell your mama that candy bar in her hands is not good for you! No, no...no, no it's not, is it baby-waby, tub-a-lard?"

Yogic visualisation for stupid idiots

2008-08-30T19:42:00.000-07:00

Okaaaay then. Welcome. Let's begin our practice today with a short visualisation. A short journey of the mind to bring us to a new understanding-a new place of peace and calm within. Take a deeeeep breath in. Gooooood. And release through your mouth...slowwwwwly...goo-ood. Now think back for a moment. Think waaaay back to when you were younger. Think back to when you had your own wee children. Your children were maybe 6 months, or 9 months, or 1 or 2...remember for a second how you felt when they were that age. Picture yourself holding your child. It is 5 pm. Your baby has been napping. But, alas you have not. Its been days, weeks, months or even a long year since you've slept. Reeeeeally slept.

Take a moment with this memory. Breathe in here and let that weight of your fatigue find your shoulders. Let them slump forward in the rounded, hunchback pose. Nice. Breathe. Breathe in again and bring your fingertips to your temples. Let the fingers knead the temples now to release some aching pressure. Remember what it feels like to have a constant, dull headache fogging up your brain. Good. Let the stabbing pain in your left hip re-visit the joint. This is where you carry your child every day...you know you should switch hips, but you have a bad habit of choosing the left. You are right-handed after all. Let that pain now slide down your leg and tingle the arches of your feet. You've been on your feet for as long as your child has been alive. Breathe in. And out. Yesssssssss.

Now, remember how it felt to not care about these pangs and twitches. About the lack of sleep. Remember how you were determined to do it anyways, to persevere...to do everything in your power to nurture your baby, at whatever expense to your well being. Let the next breath come in the form of a sigh. Nice. Good. Remember the weight of that baby on your hip, warm and snuggly after his nap. Breathe in the scent of your baby's hair. Be in that moment. Perhaps you are waiting for the street light to change. Perhaps you are in a line up at the grocery store. Perhaps you are at the post office sending gifts to your husbands family because no matter what you are going through nothing you do is ever good enough. *cough. ahem. Sorry. Breathe innnnnnn. That's it.

Stay on your mind's journey, reach out from hunchback pose and lengthen your arms around you in a "personal space" movement. Notice the people around you in your memory. The old lady with whiskers. The old man speaking Italian in a sweater vest. The young man who stinks of BO. The other young mommy with a stroller. If any of these people were to suddenly reach out with a sharpened pencil and stab your eye...would you appreciate it? Even if it took away the aching pain in your brain...would you appreciate it? No? That's innnnnteresting. Breathe in, and on that breath, remember then how you would feel if one of those strangers suddenly spewed unsolicited advice your way. Would you like it?

Breathe out...you now have put yourself in my shoes. Nice. Gooooood. Relax the mind. Remember how awful it felt to be given advice. When you knew you were doing your absolute best. When you knew you were probably not perfect, but you were trying so hard to be. When for just a moment you were enjoying a peaceful and cuddly moment with your baby-one of so few these days...even if it was in a crowded elevator. How much did your skin burn, did your head spin, did your eyes and tongue sting when some stranger presumed to know more about your child than you. And then took their time to patronize you and undermine your entire new life's meaning?

Let these feelings of sadness and anger and frustration peel you back into standing "en-garde" pose. Let yourself remember those feelings next time you want to open your mouth and tell some young mother what she SHOULD be doing...you stupid idiot.

We're baaaa-aack!

2008-08-27T18:24:00.000-07:00

So we've returned from the abyss-aka: home visiting our parents. All in all I would say, in retrospect, it was the best trip we've had home in a long time. Oh, there were moments. But mostly the focus was on baby boy and how awesome-y awesome he is...and so things were tolerable, because I think that of him too. But I have to admit: I am exhausted. It's not the lack of sleep I get at night, though I'm sure that doesn't help. Its just how busy we are during the day and how grumpy my son can be and how demanding the little frigger is! Honestly...I'm living with a mini dictator. He has just started to show me a "Tantrum-face"...no I did not say "tantra". My baby is not blissed out zen style or having orgasms that last 12 hours. He is freaking out. When he is upset he puts his fists up and squints his little eys and screws up his lips and starts doing this shaking. Almost like a vibration. Or a mini volcano about to erupt. I usually end up giving him my keys, or my points card or whatever it is he wants. And the thing is...well, I keep telling myself I won't be THAT parent. That parent that gives in to the child every time they want something just to "shut them up". That parent that negotiates with the child, ie "Just 5 more minutes in the lineup and then we'll go to the park, okkkkaaaay?". That parent, namely my mom, irritates the shit out of me. I was a spoiled brat and I was hell for my mom and I knew it. But she created the monster :)

Now the other day I gave baby boy my cell phone-ooooH! His favorite! And went about pushing my cart serenely because of it at the grocery store. About 10 minutes later I was struck with the idea that too much spittle on my phone may make it not work...so I grabbed it back and did a quick bait and switch to distract him. It worked! yaya! Not 2 minutes later I was holding him and saw his sort of chewing on something..."Hmmm did you throw up honey?" I'm asking him-you know, maybe he had a little bomit (a burp/vomit) and was enjoying the flavors of his last meal for a second time around. Been there, done that, don't look so disgusted! Except I glimpse a shot of silver being pushed around by his lightning quick tongue.

"What the heck-?" I quickly tried to dig my finger in there to do a finger sweep as I was trained in my baby choking class...but baby boy wanted whatever it was in there to stay in there and he clamped shut. Step two of baby choking training (even though he wasn't even choking at this point!) is too turn them over and slap them on the back...so I improvised. I turned him over, and bounced him on my knees until he laughed and voilà! The tip of the antennae of my cell phone pooped out and onto the floor. As soon as baby boy realized his beloved chewie thing was gone he began to throw a mini-tantrum. But-pat on the back here-I know when to draw the line at least! I didn't give back the baby-choking-hazard-death-trap-because-I'm-a-terrible-mom-and-let-him-chew-something-completely-unsafe piece of metal! YAY for me! I'm learning!

I will eventually remember the blocked memories from our trip home and certainly, no doubt have some precious gems and words of non-wisdom from my MIL to post. Until then!

WARNING: Loose blog posts ahead for 7000 km.

2008-07-31T13:02:00.000-07:00

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 hence...no 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!

This should be a monologue

2008-07-16T09:04:00.000-07:00

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 him...it 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)...to 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.

Gag me with a spoon

2008-07-11T19:20:00.000-07:00

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.

No contest

2008-07-03T09:52:00.000-07:00

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?

Or

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

Something wicked this way comes

2008-07-03T08:53:00.000-07:00

So,
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.

Yeah...so 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?"
Me: " JESUS! LEAVE ME ALONE. I DON'T WANT ANY DINNER! I DON'T CARE! I DON'T CARE IF I'M STARVING-I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT! GET YOUR OWN DINNER AND LEAVE ME OUT OF IT! CAN'T YOU JUST TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF FOR ONCE AND NOT BOTHER ME FOR TWO SECONDS? ALL DAY LONG I GIVE AND GIVE AND FOR JUST A FEW MINUTES I'D LIKE TO EMAIL IN FRIGGIN' PEACE!!!
Hubby: "ok."

Silence.

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.
Stat.

SIDS

2008-06-27T08:02:00.000-07:00

The title should also stand for "Suddenly Infant is Doing Somersaults". This morning I was contemplating letting baby boy CIO when he woke at 5 am. Actually I did let him cry it out a little. Probably like...10 minutes? Hard to say since I was trying to sleep and only glanced at the clock with one squinty eye. But he was quiet, and then he'd let out a yelp. "HAHA!" I thought "he's trying out new ways to call out to me. Cute."

When I went in, resigned that if he sleeps 8 hours straight he will probably wake earlier, I first saw his little leg. IT WAS TRAPPED IN BETWEEN THE RUNGS! His chubby little thigh was stuck! He was trying to roll over and struggling to get his leg out the only ways he knew how: move more. So he was hurting his leg. I scooped him up suddenly wide awake and feeling soooo bad.

Yes, cases of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome have been reduced drastically since the "Back to Sleep" program was introduced (or so my public health division has told me-and I'm too lazy to look it up right now) and the American Academy of Pediatrics released the risk reducers for SIDS (no smoking by parents, breastfeeding, no soft bedding or lambskins, etc). But I'm putting the crib bumper pads in today. This is a case of knowing your baby and what works for you. If you think I'm going to be committing infanticide by doing so...please just keep it to yourself.

My son loves to move A LOT in his sleep. Often, I have to send my husband in because the baby has gotten himself into a position on his tummy where he is so close to the rails he can't put his head down. I keep hearing the "Thump". Poor guy. I think the bumpers will help him. I've already committed the mortal sin of giving him a little bear to sleep with (which he actually cuddles-so cute!) and a loose blanket. The blanket is crocheted and has holes-so I figure it would be dificult to suffocate? This is by the recommendation of my favorite "mommy book" author Stephanie Wilder.

Only problem: I made the crib skirt myself and have the fabric for the bumpers...where am I gonna find time today to sew them?

BAH! Men.

2008-06-26T20:08:00.000-07:00

Preface: I love my husband. He is nicer than me and one of the few great men. In the words of a wise lady: "I obviously think so otherwise I wouldn't have chosen to do the nasty and have a child with him". But I can dislike and love at the same time.

Hubby and I have had a fairly steady routine for a while now. It's been working quite well until something awful happened: the Fisher Price Aquarium Swing, the god of our world to which we bowed down, stopped working.

In the mornings I bring baby boy into bed for his morning feed, which is usually around 6 am. I doze while he eats and when he is done hubby takes him out of bed, burping as they go. I assume that baby then gets a fresh diaper (since he's been in the same one for twelve hours I HOPE so!), his medicine, and play time with daddy. I know somewhere in there hubby makes coffee too. Here's what used to happen: I would snooze until about 8 am when hubby would wake me gently with a sweet cheek kiss and whisper "Baby is asleep in the swing, I'm off. Enjoy your day, you beautiful, perfect woman I married!" (Ok, I made some of that up.) Thereafter I would stretch in the soft morning light and sometimes even go back to sleep for a half hour or so until I heard a complaint from the swing in the living room. DREAMY! Yeah it may have been bad to leave baby boy unattended in the swing...but it has a three-point harness!

Things started going downhill when baby boy decided that the little fishies swimming joyfully above his head needed to be eaten and the music needed to be sung along to and that he should struggle continuously to sit up inside the damn thing. No longer working its magic, I piled it with the items going to my friend who is expecting in August. And now my morning is quite different. Just as you can't make someone love you, you can't make a man act like a woman.

About two weeks ago, for about a week, I woke a mere 1/2 hour after the feed routine to hear baby boy whining non-stop. Ok...he does that with me during the day. But it's impossible to ignore it and let hubby figure it out when you just need some sleep goddammit! And when you are half asleep and grouchy. A fight ensued. I led hubby around the house bitchily pointing out ways to occupy baby now that the golden ticket is gone (which I now realize was the ONLY ticket: I'm sure hubby just plopped him in there every morning bringing his swing time to approx 5-6 hours a day when you factor in the later afternoon nap I put him in there for!). I was a little furious still. Why do I have to explain all of this? No one explained it to me!!! I just had to figure it out! Why can't he just try something? Whatever, I smiled through gritted teeth thinking "Don't bite the hand that may give you a couple of hours sleep in the morning". I didn't bite, but I barked instead when hubby exclaimed sometimes he just couldn't calm him and there were things he had to do to get ready in the morning, and so he might just have to whine. Funny. When I have "things to do" during the day, like oh-say, buy the groceries he eats, clean the house (ok, I don't really do that), and other important- things- I-want-to-be-smug- about-but-can't-think-of-right-now I somehow manage...by carrying him. Novel idea. We even have carriers for expressly that purpose. 3 of them in fact. Sigh. Triple sigh, in fact.

So as a result of this, hubby agreed to try harder. Thank you, Jesus! But it's not hard enough. On the weekend, in an attempt to get hubby as excited as I am about our new carrier I convinced him to strap baby boy in there while I was showering and baby boy was feeling particularly whiny. It was great, until hubby came to me wondering how to get him out since he is falling asleep. Uh, so let him fall asleep? He couldn't just wear the kid while he napped for the afternoon, not unlike what I would have to do on any given day? What the hell? I mean, why doesn't he WANT to carry his baby. The guy on the carrier's accompanying DVD called it the most loving thing he did for his baby. But I just know my hubby was thinking : "yay! I'll put him down and then I can play Grand Theft Auto!". Triple sigh again. Fight ensued. Why can't you be more like a woman? Or at least the DVD guy?

Again hubby gives it the old college try...until this morning. 6:30 am I feel something wiggling next to me and then something holding my nipple between two of the tiniest, strongest little pincers known to man. What the hell? WHY ME? (I must admit something here to explain my extreme crabbiness-CIO method is working like a charm for us...baby boy had slept 10 hours straight! But I didn't because I was busy drinking bellinis. Don't smirk.) Where is hubby? Having a leisurely moment reading on the can. I've written about this already so I don't need to go into detail here too much...but come on! After all of the options I gave the man for occupying baby boy he still chooses to bring him to me when the going gets tough?

I have to explain: Yes, you can bring the bouncy chair/bumbo seat/quilt with toy into the bathroom with you. They are portable items for a reason. Yes, sometimes a regular go-to toy is not making the grade, but you need to improvise a little! Tampons from the bottom drawer are fun little drumsticks! A brand-new, unread INStyle magasine (shedding a single tear right now for what I lost) makes the best noise being ripped to shreds! The decorative bucket holding my face creams is like a day at the beach!

How come this engineer seems to be so freakin' dense lately? How did I figure all of this out? Was it genetic? Hormonal? Women's instinct? Perhaps a stay-at-home dad would be an equal to a mom? Do they have all the tricks down pat and have to educate their wives when she gets home from her job? As for my husband, I'm convinced it's just always the easy way out to plop the baby back with me. I suppose I'm a part of the problem. Obviously I just need to make myself more scarce. If only he will experience a smidge of what I endured those first couple of months I just know it will make my journey feel better appreciated. I know he will put me up on that pedestal we new mommies so want to be on...

So, until you've taken a shit while singing the Bonanza! theme song and giving baby a pony ride on your lap...you haven't lived (as a parent). Saddle up, hubby! Momma needs her beauty rest.

Some People...

2008-06-26T18:55:00.001-07:00

...simply have no sense of humor. Or, this is another case where I don't seem to get along with other women. I attended a "mommy's night out" there a while ago which was quite...lovely. It was foot baths and scented candles and crudite. I say lovely in a tone that is confused, questioning and a titch snarly. Everyone was kind. Too kind. Everyone was supportive too. Too, too supportive. Ok, let me put it this way: when I chimed in my two cents on the "this is what my baby is like" chit-chat, I called my baby an asshole. No one laughed.

Come on! My favorite show of all time is Sex and the City. There is a great scene where Samantha listens to Miranda go on about her baby Brady and then she exclaims "Well that baby sounds like an asshole!". Clear. Concise. My kinda gal. I've used the reference before and gotten a laugh! So my reference to Sex was lost there, but at the least the mere juxtaposition of baby and asshole should conjure a giggle? Nada. Cue crickets. I was met with stone-faced silence and a few wide-eyed disbeliefs. Then: too much support.

"There, there" they said, patting me on the shoulder. "Surely he is not. He is beautiful! He is so sweet! He is a gift from heaven!". An image of that awful intern who atted me on the shoulder day 2 in the hospital when I was crying about my baby being hooked up to machines-and she mentioned to my husband in a hushed whisper the dreaded "postpartum" shot to mind. This sent me backtracking and red-faced, explaining my joke...and if you have to explain a punchline-blah. The weird thing is, I was looking for support...just not that kind. I was out for the first time in ages without a diaper bag slung over my shoulders, a spit-up stain down my front, a crusty-dried drool on my cheek or a baby on my hip. My stomach was sucked in, standing tall and wearing an underwire bra. And there was wine! I just wanted a laugh.

Speaking of the wine...and the laugh: later still questing for the guffaws I poured myself the first glass of red. I correct myself: a HALF glass. A few sips really. And I indulged in a little hyperbole:

"It's been so long since I had a glass of wine ladies that I may be a cheap date again! It'll be the good ol' college days again! Before you know it I'll be taking off my top and dancing on the dining room table-who's joining me?"

That did get a few chuckles-I'm sure because most of them could remember being there. But then came the moment I realized no one at the party "got me". Basically when I was leaving-so you can imagine how many more jokes I told that would earn me this treatment:

Host: "All joking aside now, are you really ok to drive home?" As she kindly and supportively stroked my arm.

Oh my god. I started stammering "I'm fine! No really...I was ONLY JOKING! Really! I only had a few sips!" All of this just made me sound like a drunk...so I tried to cover it up by talking faster, causing me to stumble over my words...which made me turn red and sweaty, so I just tried to leave quickly, opening the door the wrong way and awkwardly stumble down the walk.

I bet now you are laughing. But the mommies weren't. I can still hear the hushed whispers from here. And feel the hot tears that streaked my cheeks on the drive home. It's not my feelings that were hurt. Just my sense of humor. It needs a mommy-friend.

La la la la...

2008-06-23T23:22:00.000-07:00

Life raft. Loogie. Lufthansa. Lard-ass.

These are some of the gems NOT included in The Barenaked Ladies song "La La La La Lemon" for kids. Its actually an awesomely catchy tune. I downloaded some new musak to listen to in the car with baby boy. He had grown really fond of my world beats drum music...it was this CD made by this world music children's band that is local. They came and performed at a school I worked at during our Multicultural Day Assembly, and they were awesome! So I bought the CD to support them, threw it in the glovebox on my way home and forgot all about it. Until just last month when I was desperate for something other than the radio tuned to a random white noise AM station to calm crying baby in the backseat.

See we use a "sophisticated" white noise machine at home whenever baby boy sleeps in his crib. It works like a charm for a couple of reasons. First off-I call it "sophisticated" but, well, if you know me by now, I'm being sarcastic. Its an overpriced alarm clock with a few extra features. Ones I appreciate but still, waaaaaayyyyyyy overpriced. It definitely signals to him that it is "sleepy time" and it drowns out all the noise my husband and I make having our nightly hootenany out here in the living room. And by noise I mean talking. And by hootenany I mean internet searching and simultaneous reality TV watching. Baby boy's room is really the den in our squatty condo and opens off the living room, you see. Anyways, in the car I've resorted to tuning, or not tuning- as it were, to a non-station for the same effect in the car. But you try driving 40 minutes with a blizzardy, buzzing noise in your ear! And its worse when every now and again some person's voice squeaks in and out reminding me of that movie "Frequency" and some other weird/creepy M. Knight Shyamalan type stuff.

So I rummaged in the glove box and came up with this drum CD. He loves it. I love it. We shake our invisible maracas in the air at red lights! Ok...I do that. He just sleeps. But I needed a change of pace and thanks to iTunes I found "Just for Kids" a Canadian musicians' CD for kids. Love. It. Especially because Sarah Mc. does Kermit like nobody's business. Check it out and try not to sing along in a froggy voice. I triple dog dare you.

The Barenaked Ladies' original tune has them being silly and singing La la la followed by a "lovely" word that starts with "L". Last night it's all I could sing in my head. I found myself not counting sheep, but singing "L" words. Not as easy as it sounds. I started with "Luxury" and I fell asleep with somewhere around "lick me!" and "Lumpectomy!" and "Lubrication!". Hmmmm, some are not ones I'd sing with baby boy. But then tonight hubby and I...no, we did not make use of that last "L" word (I'm sure I should post about that sometime though!)...we took turns coming up with "L" words over dinner while singing the tune. My, how times have changed. Dinner conversation used to be politics and current events! Ok...it was more like "what did George Dubya say when..." and "You won't believe what Shitney Spears did today!" I admit. La-la-la is probably an upgrade.

TMI

2008-06-06T10:34:00.000-07:00

Ok, this post will definitely be TMI and may turn you off your lunch. I'm just saying. I'm about to talk poop.

Since being sick last week I've had what I will refer to delicately as "digestive issues". God I feel like my nanny right now. Whenever anyone of my aunts were sick and anyone asked after them she would look away, a little haughtily, puff her cigarette uncomfortably, and do a hand *"wafture", saying "oh now, its women's issues". It might have been a simple headache. But I digress.

Baby boy has discovered a very powerful tool: whining. Its like TNT, a spider on your ceiling above your head as you fall asleep, a dripping faucet, an earthquake=impossible to ignore. Really he is ok, but whining to let us know he would like something different. How do you tell a 6 month old (oh my god...he's 6 months old!) to stop the whining!!!!??? So today I ran off to do my business leaving baby boy in his new "office" (must change my profile to explain how much I like this new toy-the exersaucer) and just as I'm pinching a much needed loaf, he begins to whine. Whine. WHINE. WHINE! Agh. As a new mother I've discovered this uncontrollable and inexplicable urge to always respond to baby. No matter what you are doing. Its silly at times...you know, he will live for 2 minutes while you finish...but instead I feel myself becoming overwhelmed. Sweating. Rushing...only you can't rush nature. So there I am stuck between a rock and , well, you know...

And I'm calling out to baby boy "its okkkkkayyyyyy......(breathe, breathe) mommmeeeeee's here! Just a minuuuute sweeetheart!". And it hits me. This is what it means to be a mom. Never shitting in peace. Never having the luxury of closing the door, reading some comics, trolling the internet on your laptop. Oh I know many moms warned me before about this. But its even more weird than you can imagine when you come to actually experience it. Because I could close the door. I could have my laptop. But, I CANNOT ignore baby boy. And it makes your heart race. Its really not something you'd understand unless you are a mom-and dads I think you could just close the door and ignore.

And so...my doody does not win over my duty. And it doesn't feel good on the bum, but my ears and heart thank me.

*While teaching Julius Caesar to grade 7's the funniest and best part was when Brutus gives Portia an "angry wafture of his hand" and for weeks the kids were wandering around "wafturing" at each other :)

Ew.

2008-06-03T11:36:00.001-07:00

So I have been absent from blogging, but with all due respect you would not enjoy typing while barfing either :)

Yes, my husband and I got the stomach flu. I rushed off to the chiropractor's last Thursday afternoon after having ate some leftover curry. My stomach was feeling a little off at the appointment but I put it off to having run after eating. Then the appointment started to get realllllllly long in the tooth with the chiro insisting on x-rays, etc. It's no matter as I appreciate him being thorough, only at this family-friendly office baby boy was starting to get restless playing on the floor on his blankie. Not to mention the fact that the tiny exam room was stinking up with this diaper stench. Yes...baby boy did the loudest shit while I was having my appointment. Luckily the chiro laughed it off. But It was hard to laugh when it wafted up and permeated the room...you can't laugh and hold your breath at the same time. Eventually I had to change him and I've enough experience that I asked the chiro to leave the room. It. was. gross. Green and gross. Like nothing I've ever seen before. Foreshadowing? It turned my stomach and then I felt a little more sick, but chalked it up to the diaper. By the time I was getting ready to leave an hour later, baby boy was screaming and I was getting dressed in the room with him when I had a violent urge from below...but nothing came up. COULD YOU IMAGINE? I paid so quickly using baby boy as the unspoken excuse, got out onto the sidewalk and started wheeling baby boy away. I only made it as far as the street corner before curry met pavement. Over and over again. I'd like to think I was discreet about this, but it was a busy intersection at 5 pm. Right beside a bus stop. Oh, I can't even go back there in my mind.

By the time I'd gotten myself home I threw up in the Kitchen sink over baby boy's shoulders and called my husband to "get home now!" and I was crying. Not sure why...just this overwhelming feeling of being lost...so sick, plus throwing up is a little traumatic added to the feeling of not being able to care for my baby and being scared. It was not good. Hubby came home and took goooood care of me. He even hooked me up with a barf bucket and a wet cloth beside the bed which came in handy-though he chose one of my new rubbermaids. I remember vaguely thinking "NOoooooooOOOoo, not my new rubbermaid container!" but I couldn't muster a real protest. At around midnight hubby goes "Gee, I'm starting to wonder if I'm getting sick?" in a pathetic sort of voice.

I ADMIT...I am cruel and not as nice as my husband. I immediately rolled my eyes (though only in my head as it hurt too much to actually roll my eyes at that point and I also did not want to anger the caretaker), and thought of course, what a baby...he has to be sick too. I thought "he is not sick. Geesh! Suck it up Soldier!". Then somewhere in the middle of the night I was haunted by the monstrous sounds of sickness coming from the bathroom.

Baby boy still refuses to take a bottle. I fed him lying down in bed. We took turns laying on the couch while he laid on the floor. At one point I remember us lying belly-up on the bed staring at the ceiling, holding hands and admitting we were both feeling desperate. We don't have any family living nearby...no friends we could subject ourselves too, or our fussy kid...it was a very lonely and scary feeling. We'd always liked being away from family and taking care or each other, but this was different. I can't really even explain the depth of it...anyways, clearly we love each other (though I might be mean...I took care of hubby later!). Clearly we lived to tell the tale and our baby did too. Yay us. Boo stomach flu.

P.S. Above pic is from baby boy's early days which I thought à propos. For J-dog.

Stupid is as stupid does.

2008-05-27T14:26:00.000-07:00

Adding to the list of stupid things to do with a baby: buy large items. For example, today I decided I'd had enough of this hell-hole condo looking like, well, a hell-hole (once again-another post for another day re: fighting with overtime working hubby about said hell-hole needing organisation) so...off I went to market to buy BIG Rubbermaid containers to organise with. Basically, baby boys out-grown clothes, coupled with my incessant materialism, tripled with a laundry room of tools leftover from our reno attempts, quadrupled with our messy nature=a disaster in our measly 900 sq. ft.

So I am strolling around and very excited at the aisles and aisles of colored containers ripe for the picking, laden with fresh possibility; stacked, clean goodness with clear labels of contents slumbering peacefully inside. Oh how I wistfully gazed, picked up, stacked in combination, tried covers, tried different combos in different aisles...leaving a mess of piled bins in my wake-to come back and revisit and compare of course. I'm sure the lady-workers I saw with their price guns walking by were none too pleased. Juuuuust as I thought maybe I was reaching a pinnacle decision about how to stack these bins in my closet -baby boy decided he was hungry.

Inner monologue: (ok, outer monologue since I say everything to baby boy nowadays making me appear crazy!) Oh baby boy...pleeeeeeeeeeeeease take a bottle! I cannot, though I have before, pull my boob out here! I mean, where will I sit? On the display toilets in the plumbing section? Lord...if I have to I will. Actually it doesn't look too busy over there....NO. You must take a bottle. I insist. All of this refusing-bottle-mumbo-jumbo is nonsense. The Sex and the City movie is coming out on Friday and by god, I WILL go see it. You WILL stay with a sitter or at the least, your dad. Pleeeeease? Ok. Let's try.

Miracles of all miracles he drank the bottle in aisle 35 next to the closet organisers while he sat in the stroller and I held it for him...and I envisioned my completed closet. He is finished and I burped him and then, of course he will have none of going back into the stroller. None. He screams. I give in and hold him in his usual position: facing out -only now he can grab at things, which is new. I make my decision, pile the Rubbermaid's with their lids together with one hand (not easy I tell you) and then look at my situation with an outside eye. Stroller+Rubbermaid's+babe in arms=impossible. So in he goes, Rubbermaid containers in one hand with a foot shoving them awkwardly along the way, other hand on stroller. I make it to aisle 28 and he is blue in the face, doing the no-breathing scream. I sigh. I scowl at two old people buying their bulk teepee who stare agog at my screaming baby and tut-tut (I just know some helpful suggestion is on their lips). I take baby boy out. Now what!?!? F%$k.

The only thing I could do was flag down a nice lady-worker with a price gun. She was actually really nice. She got a cart and wheeled the Rubbermaid's all the way to the front cash for me. Awesome. The chicks in front of me are cashing their UI checks and buying socks and gum. Huuuuuurrrry I think (or I hope I said that inner-monologue style?) But they take forever. Baby boy is not as light as he used to be and I'm getting tired at this point and losing my patience. Oh yeah...did I mention he can grab things now? When I finally get to pay he sweeps my wallet off the counter and across the floor, which I have to do an awkward squat to pick up while holding him. He grabs at the debit machine messing up my pin number. "Maam that was not approved." AGh. Finally we are done and I'm still feeling hopeful about this organising thing, but then how to get them out the mall into the car?

Here's how I did it: I get the checkout girl to pile the Rubbermaids precariously on top of the stroller. No, baby boy wasn't in there, but I thought about it! I held baby boy in one arm while I pushed vvvvvveeeery slowly with the other. Many people stared at me. Most of them were waiting for the whole tower o' Rubbermaid to fall, I'm sure, then to scoff or laugh at me depending. But it didn't! I get out to the parking lot, but realize if I take the stroller down the slope-y ramp of the walkway into the parking area it will tumble over. Then I'd have a mess in the middle of traffic. Not good. SO...I kick the Rubbermaids down off the stroller while I hold one of their handles in one hand to guide them to fall in a decent spot. This worked relatively well. They landed right beside a couple of old dudes enjoying a Starbucks outside. Perfect. Then I leave them sitting there while I take baby boy and stroller to the car. I pack baby boy into his car seat and the stroller into the back and for a split second I think about just running back to get the bins, leaving him there. I mean...I was only about 4 cars down the aisle of cars away from where I left them. But alas...no. It could not be done.

See, my car got hit while I was parked the other day. No we weren't in it and its fine (yet another post). But if that happened and I'd left baby boy in the car? I'd die. The GUILT. So I decided the only thing to do was drive the car up to the curb and then put on my flashers, jump out and load in the bins. Whew.

Sadly, I was hungry. Sadly I wanted a Starbucks and a little stroll around the mall. I could have re-parked and gone back in. You can imagine that if baby boy wanted out of the stroller inside the store that now almost 20 minutes later he really didn't want in... so I drove off with my mad baby. Off to get an oil change. Tick, tick, tick things off my list. I may not be much of a housewife, but I know how to get things done. Yes...next time I go to buy a big item I know not to go alone. But I did it. It was stupid and highly frustrating and slightly embarrassing. But it's done.

So you see, overtime-working hubby, its fairly simple to accomplish things once you put your mind to it. Those Christmas decorations I asked you in, oh....January, to put down in the storage locker? Yeah...the ones you put your shoes and coat on every night when you get home (for 4 months now). You can do it! I have faith in you. See, I might do stupid things because I am rash and just jump in on a rampage when I get an idea ("we need to organise NOW!")...but stupid is as stupid does. Does. Done.

Specifics.

2008-05-19T13:07:00.000-07:00

Must clarify that in my last post when I spoke of pulling a "Britney" I was not, in fact, talking about flashing my coochie. While that is also "Britney Stylez" I was referring to driving with baby boy on my lap. If you wanna see celebrity coochie, well you need to visit Micheal K at Dlisted. He's where it's at.

Part 2: Heat wave Day 2

2008-05-18T22:47:00.000-07:00

After I payed the nice lady the 15 bucks, nursed and readied baby boy...I made a decision. A stupid one. I decided that the nice walk into the beach would be so much easier with baby boy in the pouch sling. Then I wouldn't have to lug the stroller over the rocky gravel I knew was there on the pathways. So I put him on my hip, threw some diapers and wipes into my bag and grabbed my lawn chair.

OH MY GOD. It had been a year since I went on a school trip to this beach with my students. Guess I'd forgotten-the road from the gate is LONG. The walk was probably a good half hour. A half hour lugging a 15 pound baby, a beach bag and a lawn chair. In the hot, hot afternoon sun with no breeze. Oh yeah, and I'd forgotten my own "note to self" and put him in there after a meal. So the walk was punctuated with the occasional grunt, gag and barf...all over my shirt. The whole walk I am doing the "ok, if I turn around now the beach could have been just right there" talk myself into it bit. Then I decided no turning back...but I was concocting ways I could get back out to the car without walking with baby. I was envisioning someone having to stay with baby at the beach while I hitched a ride to my car and bribed the ignoramus gate guard to let me go in to retrieve my baby. I am in good enough shape, but this was so tiring, and I felt stupid. I knew I would get back to the car eventually, but figured if I had to walk that I seriously might have to wait a few hours. Luckily...I was thinking I might be stranded, but at least baby has all he needs in me. YAY for breastfeeding.

I arrived sweaty and smelly in many ways (baby barf, my own smell)but found my friends to be still there. The visit was short and probably not worth it AT ALL. But I guess I did spend about 2 hours in the sun, and baby boy loved rolling around on the towel-incidentally I think he ate his first "ruffage". Yeah, I know I'm supposed to start him on rice cereal, but grass can't be all that bad? In the end my girlfriend and her hubby and baby drove us out to the gate "Britney stylez".

Ummmm throw stones at someone else: her husband is a cop and it was his suggestion.

Kids are expensive!

2008-05-18T22:12:00.000-07:00

Day 2 of heat wave. The beach was calling our name. It was a girlfriend's birthday BBQ-meet on the beach sometime after 11 am-they would have a spot staked out.

As can be expected with an infant and a workaholic husband, the day did not go as planned. Hubby decided he had to go to work...on the nicest day of the year so far! Major bummer all around. But added bummer because the girlfriend who's birthday it was is a newer friend of mine from work who just had a baby of her own. I've met her husband and was hoping my hubby could now join in, and maybe, you know, we'd make friends. Even though we hate people and don't really like friends at all-but that's another post. So there I am getting baby boy ready to take to the beach on my own.

Baby boy chose a long nap at 11:30, so by the time we get there it's 1:30. Would my friends even be there anymore? She doesn't have a cell phone. Yay. The gates to the park are closed and manned by an official looking dude. Cars are coming out, but none are allowed in-the park is "full" they are saying. Huh?!?! Makes no sense...but nevertheless I join the endless stream of cars doing U-turns away from the gate, and frantically trying to score illegal shoulder parking on the way out. No dice. I circle a couple of more times trying to decide what the heck to do-turn around and go home? Find a spot? Baby boy chooses this moment to wake up...and scream. Poor baby-it's sweltering hot out and he is stuffed into that sweaty car seat. He looks frothy. He wants out.

I decided that, goddamit, I have a family now and I must do family things. Going to the beach on a hot sunny day is a family thing I should not deprive my son of!!! (Insert comment about my craziness here____). I decided to park come hell or high water. High water came first. Just outside the gates is a camp site which is charging 15 bucks to park. FIFTEEN! I could park for free if the ignoramus dude working the gate would just realize that 1 car coming out makes room for oh, say, 1 car going in? Damn.

See, kids are expensive. But not for the reasons most think. You don't need the latest Rolls Royce of strollers (which I totally have and love...need not, but love, yes), you don't need cribs and change tables, and expensive clothes (again, I buy baby boy more clothes than he can wear before he grows out of them, but I digress), and you don't need the national brand diapers or organic baby creams and soaps. But even the smallest infant will cost you mucho. Because you will be willing to pay for things you never would before, if it means one moment of peace, sanity, and quiet.

A parking spot for the beach-$15
A place to air out a sweaty, screaming baby and breastfeed in relative privacy?-WHATEVER YOU ARE CHARGING, FOR GODSSAKKKKES LADY JUST LET ME PARK!

I should be ashamed of myself

2008-05-13T17:23:00.000-07:00

Whilst trying to navigate a border crossing today I did the unthinkable. No not "forget" to declare my un-allowable purchases. Well ok, yes that too. No, I went against everything I've ever said, stood up for, believed in fought for the right to...here's how it happened:

Border Guard: "ma'am, can I see your passport?"
Baby Boy: "WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
(I pass document to guard)
Baby Boy: "WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
I nervously twist in my seat to look at baby boy.
ME: "Ooooooooo, darlllling, poor sweetheart, smushy-wushy, baby boy!" (I lay it on thick)
Border Guard: "And what is the purpose of your trip?"
Baby Boy: "WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Me: (sweating now): "Oh, just a little change of scenery, a little shopping, you know, getting out of the house...(under breath) buying wads of baby stuff and possibly a whole new wardrobe for me."
Border Guard: (now walking around with my documents in hand chatting with other border guards about some strange beeper-like device that is not working; Other border guard retrieves new strange beeper-like device and holds it in my window. Lights flash. They continue discussing)
Baby Boy: "WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Border Guard: (finally!) "And how long will you be staying?"
Baby Boy: (purple in face now) 'WAHHHHHHHHHH!"
Me: (fake, pained, worried expression on face): "Just today! HE IS SO HUNGRY! I really have to feed him!!!"

He wasn't. At all. And if the border guard had suggested it, I might have plucked his eyes out with my tweezers. He was just being pissed off and wanted out of the car seat. But I, disgracefully and without morals, stooped to using my biggest pet-peeve to get across the border faster. It worked. And I got some amazzzzzzing deals.

Off da hook!

2008-05-07T12:56:00.001-07:00

I ordered myself a custom "mommy" necklace from an artisan on www.etsy.com. Oh, how I love this website! Again, of all the things I am learning as a new mom, the mushiness that follows is what is surprising me most. A mommy necklace? So not me avant bébé! But then, I found this artist: Birth Designs. The jewelry is really simple and can have a hardness to it...it looks like something you'd buy to complement a new "going-out top" not something all flowery and heirloom-y. I will feel cool and inconspicuously "mushy" wearing it. My necklace is based on this design, but with copper, brass and silver elements. Will post the final picture once it is complete. I can't wait!

Happy Mother's Day to me! And yes, this gets my husband off the hook. But really, I picked out my engagement ring and bought my own wedding band, so this seems à propos.

Note to husband:

2008-05-07T12:47:00.001-07:00

Yeah...all this working late you are doing, while I schedule and train and listen to this "cry it out" method: You owe me. Not now, maybe not next week even (since Mother's Day is in fact coming up, but I let you off the hook!), maybe not even in a year. But one day, there will be a time when I get to look at you and say "remember honey, how our son started going to bed every night without a fuss? Remember how he took long naps allowing you peace and quiet to play video games all those years? Remember how well behaved (please xenu!) he was because he was so well rested? Yeah...pay up." 'Cause this shit ain't easy on me. So I'm saving up for a good one.

Like maybe when he comes home in a police cruiser, with the keys to the car...attached to a shard of the bumper.

Or when he is 16 and comes home to announce he and girlfriend Tiphani (oh how I loathe names like that!) are running away to join the emo-circus...yeah,

your turn!

Day 6

2008-05-07T12:30:00.000-07:00

And I'm still crying. Oh...did I say "I". Haha, silly me, I meant baby. Ok, I admit, we've both been crying. See there is lots to learn a a new mom and one thing I'm learning right now is that there is something uncontrollable and hormonal about the whole "mommy guilt" thing. I always just assumed that mommies who were too soft and not living in the real world were the ones to feel so guilty over a spilled milkshake. And now, here I am bawling like, well, my baby. You see, he has the softest cheeks. And when they are stained with tears and he looks up at me as if to say "mommy please don't abandon me, because I don't want to live in a cardboard box on the street where my only friend is a mangy cross breed and a hash pipe" my heart just leaps into overdrive. It's very hard to walk away...to not pick him up...it really makes you feel like if the little boy was really judging you, you'd be getting no gold stars. And have I mentioned I'm competitive? Yeah, I'm competing with myself apparently to be a better mom.

A couple of glitches we are still working out include: if I get in the shower when he stops crying, but I get out and he has started again...how do I know if I should go in? The whole 10 minute interval is sort of difficult to gage if I took a luxurious 25 minute shower. He could have been crying the whole time. I did however get both legs and armpits shaved, so I'm trying to balance how much it was worth it with my guilt. I ran into him, dripping wet, fearing he had freaked out so much and so long he would be choking, or had wriggled his head into a spot he can't wriggle out of. (Don't worry I know enough not to, GASP, put anything in his crib, like a god forsaken teddy bear or anything-since he could suffocate on teddy's paw!) But alas...he was just crying. I picked him up, nursed him and he calmed down. We played for like, 20 minutes at which point he got so crabby and started rubbing his eyes all over me. Evidently I hit the panic button a little too early and should not have "rescued" him from his nap. So now I ruined today's schedule and pattern.

Having said all that, the whole cry it out thing is really working for us. He is sleeping much better and taking longer naps in the mornings. I just have to hit myself over my new soft head and snap out of it. I do sneak in after he stops crying and goes to sleep though just to look at his peaceful little face and touch his cheek. Yeah, that's when the tears come.

Note to self #2

2008-05-07T12:29:00.000-07:00

Do not put baby in hip sling directly after a meal, unless mom's clothing seems deprived of chunky gobs under the armpit area.

Dinner of Champions.

2008-05-02T19:47:00.000-07:00

Last night I went to bed around 11pm. Baby boy woke up at 12 am, went back at 12:20. At 1:30 am I was fully aware of having a very vivid but benign dream about visiting some old teacher friends. Nothing scary. I was like, shooting the shit in the dream. All of a sudden I felt myself being pulled into wakefulness... I woke in a pool of sweat. There was sweat actually pooling in my cleavage too. I felt like I had arms and legs of lead and I was sunken into the mattress, unable to move. It was such a strange feeling. I've felt that way before as I often have vivid nightmares. Scary dreams that even freak out others when I re-tell them. But this was really nothing. And yet there I was, like, scared numb in bed. My head was spinning. I felt faint and my heart was fluttering mad.

I got up and tried to walk around to shake off that odd daze that usually follows me after waking that way, but I felt really weak. I guzzled some water. Then I realized I was really hungry. I ransacked (quietly so as to not wake my baby) the fridge and scarfed a hunk of cheese, 4 crackers and a yogurt smoothie. Ahhhh. I felt much better. After I retreated back under the soggy covers and the comfort of sleep that was calling me, I had an epiphany.

I guess the huge bulk bag of sour Jujubes I ate for dinner came back to bite me in the ass. Oh yeah...and I washed them down with a bulk bag of chocolate covered raisins, too. Who needs drugs when sugar is legal?

The Crying Game

2008-05-02T16:16:00.000-07:00

Yeah so baby boy is back to crying at night. Lots of it. And I am about to make an admission here...one that may or may not have you running for your phone, dialing 911, and asking for Children's Aid: Last night I let him CIO. Yup, that's modern mom's speak for "Cry It Out". In other words, I am "Ferberizing" or giving my baby "Healthy Sleep Habits". So, I have maybe read 100 pages of Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child due to the fact that the author's writing is as dry as Melba toast. He keeps repeating himself with this "types of sleep" mantra that I never came to understand at the foremost. And, being sleep deprived, some doctor mumbo-jumbo spewing is exactly what I need to put me to sleep. What I'm getting at is, by any good mother's standards, I am not prepared for this. I haven't laid out the plan! I haven't targeted day sleep and prepped my baby son by weaning him onto the new routine. I didn't make a routine! I haven't made my partner read the book, or at the very least all the pages I chronologically marked with a sticky for him. Actually I didn't even tell him I was doing it. I didn't even know I was doing it...until it was done!

Here's how it went down: Baby boy started to fuss at 5 pm as he has been doing in his jet-lagged way since our return. I gave him a bath as per usual. I fed him to shut him up. I turned on his noise machine like I normally do...he was crying. Major crying. Too worked up to nurse to sleep peacefully as he used to do a couple of weeks ago. I changed is diaper. I put on some "soothing" nighttime crappy cream. He still screamed. I shoved the boob back in his mouth. He quieted, pulled off (using my nipples like a taffy tug-of-war). He cried. He went back on. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. He rubbed his eyes. He was sooooo tired. He kept doing the head bob, and I swear at one point he was asleep with his eyes open. He settled and closed his eyes finally. I silently did a hockey arm pump of joy!

I laid him in his crib. I tiptoed out. He screamed.
Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
On the 4th time of me going in, offering up the boob, him screaming seconds after I laid him down...well I was losing my cool. I decided the next time I would let him cry for 5 minutes to see if he could settle himself. I just needed some time to myself! He didn't, so I went in and picked him up, rocked him and put him back down-asleep. 20 minutes later he woke up screaming. From what I've read this is the problem: He doesn't know how to let himself fall asleep. We all have this natural 20 minute or so sleep cycle but falling back asleep is something we have to learn. He was so used to having my nipples at his beck and call-he couldn't do it without. So I decided. Ok first time was 5 minutes...this time I'll go 10. But I got on the Internet and 10 turned into 12. Then 15. Then he started easing up. He was whimpering and moaning but not crying anymore. I thought-I think he is ok! I can do this. After 22 minutes, he was sound asleep. And I had checked and replied to all of my emails. Score!

Like a friend said: life is tough. Boys don't always just have nipples around when they wish to fall asleep. It's a hard lesson to learn...but a necessary one. I would hate for me to have to wean him at 18 and him go off to college and not get any. He'd be so homesick and sleep deprived! Then he wouldn't pass his exams and become something successful and buy us a retirement condo! What a nightmare! So we are Crying It Out. Did I feel so sad and guilty all night? Yeah. Did I get over it when I saw him smiling at 12 am? (Yes...crying it out still means he wakes up to feed-there are no miracles!) Yeah.

Boy...you'll be a man, soon.

Note to self:

2008-05-02T16:12:00.000-07:00

Do not put baby in Jolly Jumper immediately after a feed, unless the laminate floor is feeling deprived of curdled milk.

Post-post-partum?

2008-04-29T20:46:00.000-07:00

Today I lay on my couch when baby boy finally fell asleep for a mid-day nap that started out as a mid-morning nap...and I just lay there. I tried to go to sleep, knowing I probably really needed it. Baby boy hasn't been sleeping well since our return from our trip home. All our good work and routine we set before I left is gone to shit. Anyway, my mind was racing. I felt so on edge. I tossed. I turned. I thought I heard him and jumped up, then lay back down. I thought about how hard it was putting him to bed last night when he screamed for 2 hours straight. I remembered that that is when parents end up shaking their kids, so I panicked and wanted to go in and cuddle him. I shook my head to clear those cobwebs! I looked longingly out the window and thought of nothing. I felt like I should have been longing for something! That made me feel worse-this guilt in my heart like "I should be yearning for my freedom, the ability to just get up and go, have great makeup and sexy heels and just go out-my old life." I thought about missing my job. But I couldn't actually feel it. Instead I just felt empty. Like...too tired to bother. I drooled. I sighed. I sighed some more. I realized I had no friends to call, no one to see, no one who understood. Was this what post-partum was like? Did I have the 5 month baby blues?

Last night when I laid my head on my pillow I felt exactly the same way. My mind was going a mile a minute. Last week our good friends' father died. It made me think of my MIL and the horrible relationship we have. I blamed myself and worried she was going to die and my husband would hate me forever (not even possible!). Then my mind jumped and I compiled a list of things I will need for next month when my baby boy starts eating solids. I mentally compared pricing from different stores for the same items and tallied my purchases. My girlfriend's bridal shower is this weekend coming and she refuses to register anywhere-believing she doesn't want presents. I think she is foolish. So I visually registered for her. I went around the department store "ding-ing" everything with that bar code gun that I wish I had thought of asking for when I got married. Special things I would never spend the money on myself. It was a long list. In case you are interested, I'm posting the list soon. It was a good one.

Gladly, before I really fell into the depths of apathetic despair (is that even possible?) baby boy woke up from his nap. (Never thought I'd rejoice at that!). I threw him into the stroller and got myself outta here, stat, figuring the need for laundry detergent was enough of a reason to get out. I hit up Starbucks and decided I deserved to sit and sip for once-baby boy actually fell asleep on the walk there. Not long after I was sitting, still feeling slightly melancholy, in strolled a mommy I met at a mommy's group. She was with her mother. While her mom bought their coffees she rushed over and sat down, and hissed "If she asks, we had a coffee together here yesterday! Please?!?!" HAHAHA! I hardly know her! My kind of girl. I heartily agreed and my mood lifted immediately. Obviously her mother was driving her crazy and I felt all of a sudden there was a kindred spirit. And, it was an acting challenge-look! a glimpse into my old life just like that! After our 1/2 hour coffee chat, I left to pick up the laundry detergent and ran into a mommy from my old "mommy and baby yoga" class. Or as I used to call it "other mommies do yoga, and I do colic, baby" class. So within 2 hours of feeling sorry for myself I now had two new friends in my neighborhood to call upon for walks and coffees. Life is funny like that, hey?

Tonight when my MIL called I actually picked up. We chatted. I think I might be manic.

How to make a meal from a snack

2008-04-29T10:27:00.000-07:00

Or a mountain out of a molehill. Here's my favorite conversation that I had with my MIL during my visit home. (background info: I have a wheat allergy. It's been 5 years since I've eaten wheat. I have to remind my in-laws of this EVERY time I see them. And it's not like they have a trillion daughters-in-law with special things to remember. Uhhh, I am the only one. Some credit given to them for their forgetful old age...but still.)

MIL: "Here...have some pizza!" (produces plate with 3 slices)
Me: (here we go again-I don't want to remind them again and make it awkward) "No thank you, I'm ok right now"
MIL: "Oh have some pizza, it's the best pizza"
Me: "No really, thanks, but I'm not hungry right now."
MIL: (in a sterner voice now)"Have some pizza. It's delicious"
Me: (sigh) "No, I'm sorry, but remember I have the wheat allergy? Yeah, so thank you, but I just can't have pizza. Thanks though!"
MIL: "Right. Oh well, this is the PERFECT pizza for someone who can't eat the crust!" (you
have to hear the tone of voice used here-like "oh yeah that wheat allergy garbage again, but I'll show her!"
Me: "Really? What do you mean?" (I'm confused? How can pizza be perfect for someone who can't eat bread?)
MIL: " These toppings are just gorgeous! They are delicious. Just slide off the toppings and eat them!"
Me: (uhhh I'm not that picky of an eater besides my allergy, but this does not appeal to me in the least. Greasy cheese with some veggies?) "Oh, no thank you..."
MIL: (getting frantic) "But they are delicious!!! Just eat the toppings! They are so good for you
if you can't eat the crust!"
Me: "No, no...thanks, but I'll pass..."
MIL: "Why won't you eat them?!?!? They are so good!" (This continues for many more rounds with me trying to politely decline each time...but MIL is getting more frustrated with me like
I am an insolent child. She is holding the plate out still with two hands and jabbing it towards me).

Finally-Me: "No really...thank you. But I just don't want to eat the toppings. I'm not trying to be mean...really I'm not. I just don't want the toppings. Besides they were baked on the crust and there could be some bread mixed in with them...so I don't want to get sick. I'm sorry." (here I am apologizing, for what, I don't know.) "Maybe someone else here (looking around at the group of people present for this weird interchange) would like to have the full piece to themselves!"

MIL: (In a whiny, depressed, almost sobbing voice) "But we ordered it for you!"

Here's where I finally lost my cool a little.
Me: "Well I'm sorry but that was silly, because you know I don't eat wheat."

At this point she tosses the plate of pizza down and walks away, miffed. My husband's friend, sitting next to me jumps right in-he looks at me and goes "So...heard you went to New York in October! How was that!?". See, it's not just me. The whole situation was awkward and strange...but this is how it always is with her and I. So I am glad that someone else finally witnessed it.

Then all of a sudden she comes back toward me wielding a bowl of chili. She looks at me with venom in her eyes and puts, not places gently, the bowl in front of me and says:

"Here is a bowl of your father-in-law's famous chili. If you are interested."

It is the tone of voice that she used that really sent the shivers down my spine. I ate the chili up, yum, yum! And smacked my lips. Delicious! I was scared she may next come at me with a carving knife.

Funniest part is...in telling my husband the story later he is laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, but most of all, the fact that he has never heard of, nor had, his dad's "famous" chili.

You PIG!

2008-04-29T10:19:00.000-07:00

I just popped in my first "please shut up for a few minutes so I can go online" DVD. It's working! Baby Boy is enthralled by this "development hindering" show. I am sure to interact and sing along every now and then to help keep him "actively engaged". Anyways, the little puppet character is a little pink pig named, well, Pig. And the narrator keeps asking him questions like "What are you doing Pig?" emphasis on PIG. So it always sounds like an insult. It's striking me as funny, and kinda a weird juxtaposition of kid-friendly, sugary sweetness and bitchy, underpaid voice-over actor. I've officially got the giggles!

Where is the line drawn in the sand?

2008-04-28T18:07:00.001-07:00

Warning: The following post in very politically INcorrect.

So I'm waiting for the bus today at my "safe", practiced distance from the stop, and a lady using a "visually impaired" cane approached. As she passed she stared me straight in the face and said "Hello" in chipper voice. So I replied: "hello". When we boarded the bus it ended up that we were sidled alongside the seat that "blind lady" occupied. She struck up a conversation. It is at times like this that I always have to take a deep breath. It always happens to me on public transit. I must have a sign on my forehead that reads "Lonely? Depressed? Homeless? Disabled...um sorry, ok: challenged? Talk to ME!" But I had a friend who always looked upon moments like this as opportunities rather than impositions, so I try to emulate her at least a little. She was a good soul. So it goes that "blind lady" kept asking me small talk questions. I answered, but really was not feeling into asking her reciprocal ones. Then the weirdest thing happened. She started feeling all of my belongings. Like, she started fingering my cup holder on my stroller. "Ohhhh you've got a little holder here, hey? For drinks and things?" She asked. Ummm yes. "And lookit here, what is this some kind of organiser you have here? For holding your cards and papers?" Ummm yeah. "WOW, this handle on your stroller seems very sturdy. (Feeling the buttons on the handle) it must reverse so baby is facing both ways, then?" ok, yes, yes, and yes (me hiding my rising distaste). I'm thinking in my head: It's ok, she is blind, this is how she looks at things in the world. We were chatting, she is just commenting on things like a normal person in her own unique way, breathe, breathe, calm down.

But then "blind lady" sees another person getting on with a stroller, and she points at him and then at the spot reserved for strollers on the bus and directs him there "You have to push your stroller all the way in there" she says pointing. Huh? So she can see? Ok, I get that she may not be totally blind. Then she starts commenting on all the things she sees whipping by us outside the bus window. Huh? So her eyesight is only bad close up and when things aren't moving, I guess? That's very strange. Then she goes back to fondling my things-she fingers baby's blanket and asks me all about him, she touches my bus passes shoved in my diaper bag, etc, etc. So my question here, and this is the politically incorrect part, do I gotta let a blind person fondle my things no questions asked? If I went around fondling people's belongings on the bus I'd probably be kicked in the crotch and arrested. As it should be. People are always touching my stroller on the bus. Old people always grab the handles for steadiness as they hobble to their seats (not smart since, oh, it's on wheels!) and people are always grabbing the blanket and peering inside at baby boy. So where do I draw the line? "Regular" people get a bitchy "back off!" but disabled people can touch away? Would I be prejudiced if I asked "blind lady" to stop? Would people write into the free newspapers about the injustices they watched this lady and baby commit on the bus? Or is it right for me to expect anyone, no matter their ability, race, age, to ASK before they F%^kin' touch my things?

Squishy bits and...

2008-04-27T21:55:00.000-07:00

Saggy tits. Basically that's what you are left with after you have a baby.

I just spent two days shopping for a dress for an upcoming wedding. Lately I've really been feeling "so over" the whole 'care what people think' thing. I mean, I want to look nice but I also have other more important things on my mind, you know? Except my friend now asked me to sing at her wedding. So, whereas before I was just another guest and not the main attraction...now at least for a few minutes people might look at me. And I just wanted to look sexy, not soft. Problem is, I also needed to nurse in this dress since it is daytime and baby boy is still nursing exclusively (and no he won't take a bottle-I can post about that another time). Search "Nursing dress" online and apparently nursing women all morph into Laura Ashley lovers who want flower prints, fake rosettes, dropped waists, shoulder pads and dresses that are very OBVIOUSLY nursing dresses; flaps and weird buttons and "concealed" zippers for "access". Yuck.
Yeah, I might just wear a skirt and a blouse since I refuse to go into the bathroom and pull a dress over my head to nurse.. Further more, I'd like to avoid having to feed my son next to a flushing toilet just because I need privacy (Thank you mall "nursing rooms" situated right next to those automatic flushing toilets!) But for the first time in 5 months I wanted to put the effort in to look sexy. You know, shave the legs, do the hair, wear a thong...and goddammit wear a dress. Is that too much to ask? Well, a dress that covers the squishy bits and highlights the saggy (bigger though, I add) tits. I guess that is a tall order.

P.S. Above is pictured the "Sunday Best Nursing Dress by "Nursing Mamas" found on Amazon. Woooo-eeee, that's HAWT! Its the clear winner. Other notable mentions include the "Fun in the Sun Nursing Dress" and the "Nursing Sun Dress in Black and Pink". And thorough search results
on good maternity clothing sites proved no more, well, wearable. Surely there are women out there who are nursing and aren't living in polygamy on some compound? 'Cause that's what these dresses all scream to me.

The apple doesn't fall far from the f%$king tree!

2008-04-27T21:24:00.000-07:00

So, after every visit with my parents (in the last 5 years or so) I come away feeling both proud and scared shitless that I am becoming more and more like my mom. We fight a lot and I've been able to distinguish that, for the most part, this is because we are so alike. And yet...so different. I suppose you could say that some of my mom's bad habits I subconsciously found to be endearing, and so I adopted them. And some of them I found to be abhorrent, and so I abhor them. The ways I have adapted to be opposite of my mom piss her off to no end (like being on time and organised!) so we fight, and the things we do the same are unfortunately things that cause fights (nagging, thinking we are always right, stubbornness, yelling, etc) and so...we fight. Oh yeah, and potty mouth-that comes from my mom too. So, when we fight it gets dirty.

In any case my organised, timely, cleanly self decided that this trip I would really need to let my preferences fall to the wayside. I did not want to fight on this special first trip home with my son. I think I did a pretty good job. But here's what made me vomit in my mouth every day I spent there (but I never let any snarky comments dribble out!):

My mom's car is like a hobo's shopping cart; Items loosely flying around the floor, long forgotten and ground with mud. Once useful and important enough to bring along, now so dirty and lost they are garbage. Here's the list: old graying pair of sport socks (including string-y elastic thread from ankle part strung out and tangled up in seat bolt), three pairs of shoes, an evening purse with a mud footprint on it, numerous used tissues, 5 or 6 empty water bottles, a crushed can of coke, 4 cd's, 2 winter hats (both leopard print), one glove, a plastic bag, a no-name MP3 player, a paint chip sample wheel (my mom was an interior decorator), a binder with papers crumpled and falling out (no doubt for her ongoing real estate deals), a broken umbrella, many receipts stuffed into the door pockets, a daytimer, of course loose change (or should I say sticky change?), an opened bag of gummi bears, and the piece de résistance-McDonald's lonely, spongy french fries. I'm not exaggerating. That's the list.

My mom is a successful woman. She can find shit in that disorganised mess, too. Kudos to her-I just hated sitting among it. Her car is new and I have no idea how you can let it get so bad, but instead of being snotty and judging her, I took her car for a car wash. Ok...that was mildly selfish. You see the car is two door and every day when I was climbing and crawling into the back seat to put baby in the car seat I emerged looking like I had a fight with a Pigpen from Peanuts.

Here's the best part- when I pulled up to the car wash and punched in the code, the automatic window got stuck. I started to panic. Here I was with that screen in front of me blinking "Put car in Neutral" and I could feel the rumblings of the track beneath me, with baby in the back- I pictured myself having to get out and pull him awkwardly out of this god-forsaking two-door car to save him from being soaked...and part of me wanted to send the car through with the windows down anyways because it was so rotten. Alas, after twenty or so frantic back and forths on the button, in addition to me pulling upward with my other hand on the window, it went up.

Yeah you could say it is relaxing to be home. It just seems this is how things always worked, or didn't, in my house growing up. I fondly remember the car my mom and I used to share. If you went into the mall on a sunny day but came out to find it had rained, you had to pop the hood and spray all the wires under there with WD40 to get her started. I couldn't tell you why...or what wires specifically-so we just sprayed them all. Good times. And now I almost insist on having things in a good working order around me. So call me anal if you like: I come by it honestly.

And don't even get me started on my parents basement. I went to do my laundry when I was on the phone catching up with my husband. I had to stop mid-sentence and just list things I saw. I won't give them all to you, but just for fun: A package of instant Thai noodles stuck up on a ceiling beam. Was my dad thinking he'd start hoarding non-perishables for a bomb shelter?

Skill vs. Luck

2008-04-23T14:06:00.000-07:00

Skill: maneuvering baby stroller far enough away from bus stop as bus approaches so as to not wake baby when bus driver kindly hits the hydraulic system and lowers bus for you. Hydraulic system is LOUD. Think industrial "woooosh" air compressor exploding combined with air horn in the hands of a frisky, drunk frat boy during Spring Break. Now...if you go too far away the bus driver might think you are signaling that you don't want his bus and are waiting for another route. Ditto if you do any waving. You could be waving him away just as much as you could be flagging him down. You can't trust the sign language skills of overworked, underpaid bus drivers who deal with bums all day, and likely don't give a rat's ass if they make the wrong call. It's very likely they would choose to NOT stop more than they would risk stopping for nothing. So after much practice I think I have honed my skill.

Luck: Forgetting about your skills when you have been away from riding the bus for awhile, and getting a crusty, overworked, underpaid bus driver who does stop...but couldn't give a rat's ass that you need the bus lowered and so he doesn't. He probably wondered why I was smiling so goofily at him since he was trying so hard to be grumpy and make my day rotten by forcing me to (gasp!) tilt and lift my stroller up into the bus. But really, I'd forgotten and I had this sweaty panic come over me as the bus came all too fast for me to move away to a safe distance. I shut my eyes tight expecting the horrendous whoosh and the screaming baby that would follow, but relief was mine when only the door popped open. Yay! I'm so lucky today! Baby boy slept for another 1/2 hour after that! I should buy a lotto ticket and ride this lucky wave! Thank you asshole bus driver!

Macaulay Culkin wants to kill me

2008-04-22T17:52:00.000-07:00

Ok...so I'm back from the cross country trip with infant in tow. All in all it was a success. My baby was ....different. As in good. As in that movie "The Good Son" (Which totally freaks me out btw) where Macaulay Culkin is a top notch lil' gentleman to adults, but then to the other kid he is Satan. Well I'm apparently that other kid. He never cried, he didn't fuss. He smiled and giggled and played. He exuded charm and grace. It was boring. Hahahahahaha!

Actually it was boring, but mostly because I've so left my hometown behind in every sense and do not enjoy it there. But, there are so many family things to blog about that weren't boring...more crazy, tense and frightening. I think the best thing to do is blog about them over the next few days as they filter back through my mind. (cue music) Meeeeemories, like the corners of my miiiiind. I may not have a lot of time though...seeings how my son has decided to start teething right on cue with our return. Yup...the little charmer is the little screamer once again.

Not sure if it's because I've had a taste of the good life (happy baby) that I am less able to deal with this (wailing baby)...but today I lost my cool. Picture me arriving at the bus stop turnabout, under the shelter, with baby screaming at the top of his lungs and the wind blowing so hard that it keeps smacking him in the face, making him catch his breath, and then scream harder once caught. Same wind is also blowing my hair all around, whipping me in the eyes, bringing tears, but my hands are full with screaming baby and a blanket trying to shield him. Of course I am figuring out at this point that there is no way to get on a bus in this state, so my choice is to find somewhere else to calm him then retry, or just turn around and head back home. While begging screaming baby to calm down (ok, in my head I was saying: shut up) lil' old Chinese lady came over, grabbed the edge of the blanky away from baby's face, and started cooing at him. I almost sent her flying in front of an approaching bus with my hip check. Actually, it was more of a shoulder shrug, hip bump "get the hell away from me" with glare attached. Anyway, it was effective. Hope her hip replacement is covered by insurance. I was really getting aggravated, but thankfully could see it happening. So I plunked baby in the stroller, wrapped him up and just started to walk. I picked a bumpy path and gave 'er. Two amazing things happened: 1) Baby eventually (15 minutes or so) stopped crying and, 2) I saw a dad strolling along with a goofy grin and when he came close enough I could hear (over the top of mine) that his baby was screaming too. Yay! Someone else is miserable like me!

Yes, teething. So this is why I may be distracted and not able to post. Sadly, I think I will have lots of current shiz to post about if he remains in this state for long, but the old stuff from my trip is too good to forget. Will do my best. Must do my best. My best is not so good with a fussy baby: I rode the train without a ticket today (gasp), and sweat it out the whole time, due to crying baby and the problem with accessibility in this city, or should I say "Inaccessibility"? That's another post there too. It seems I regularly steal things with my baby in tow. Vendors and taxpayers take note: it's not the bums ripping you off...it's the cute mom with her Starbucks Latte spilling down the front of her pants. Take pity on her, mister, she knows not what she does.

P.S. Yeah the picture is bad...but I have no time to care.

"Organised shit!"

2008-04-10T06:36:00.000-07:00

When I was a little girl I wanted to join the Brownies...well, because that's what all my little girl friends were in. My mother said "OH NO! Not Brownies! I hate organised shit!" This became a repeating thread throughout my childhood. "Oh no! Not birthday parties! I hate organised shit!". I didn't have birthday parties until I was 16 and my friends threw one for me. Basically the term "organised shit" refers to anything where writing an invitation, calling people, getting together with others at a specified time, wearing a uniform (that would then require being clean at a specified time) and being in the presence of anyone who liked to "organise shit" was required. Brownies for instance involves almost all of the above-women who would organise an activity and be right on top of things would just turn my mom's stomach.

Now that I am under this roof again I can clearly see why my mom doesn't like "organised shit". Simply, she is not, can not be and will never be organised. And she hates to be shown up. This morning my family all left to go to work, but it was "planned" (I won't say organised) for one car to be left for me, so that I could get up with baby boy, get ready at a leisurely pace, and then occupy myself with something until we all met for a nice lunch.

I just got my baby boy into his snowsuit (which he has never put on at home and so you can guess how much he likes it), everything ORGANISED and beside the door to grab on my way out and went to grab the car keys...........Ummm car keys? Did anyone leave me a set of car keys? Oh. Right. Of course not. So here am I stuck in butt-f$3k no where, with a screaming baby that I have to now remove from car seat and snowsuit, nurse AGAIN to calm down, and try to get to take a nap otherwise my life will be hell, and I haven't even gotten a coffee yet. That was my "plan" for when I left the house. So I guess the plan is out the window. A plan is just too organised. Shit.

Getting old.

2008-04-09T05:52:00.000-07:00

I am home right now staying with my parents with the baby. I would like someone to tell me when I became so un-fun and so damn OLD. Besides irratating me to no end, my parents are just plain more fun than I am. Then again, maybe their idea of fun is just that much different than mine. Living with them now I can't figure out where the heck I came from. Last night my parents got drunk, had a few friends over to see the baby...I have never been so grumpy. I've settled right back into being the sourly teenager rolling my eyes at everything my mother says. Actually, that is a little bit fun to me. Not fun to my mom...see-we just have different points of view.

Overall the trip is going ok, except that I realize now how BORED I am with my home town. I could never ever live here again. by the end of this week I shoud be 15 pounds heavier, carrying baby on my left hip while stirring a pot of chili and yelling at everyone who comes in with their shoes on: "I just cleaned that damned floor-git out!" As I find the teeny windows of privacy I can here I will blog more!

Pre-punishment?

2008-03-30T20:26:00.001-07:00

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 either....so I figured he needed a burp. Up on the shoulder he went....

BURRRRRRRP. EXPLODING SHIT. PROJECTILE VOMIT. CRYING.

In that order.

I need to go do laundry.

Bad apple, bad example.

2008-03-30T19:46:00.000-07:00

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?

Unsanitary behavior

2008-03-28T14:49:00.000-07:00

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. Again...now it might be cleaner than when I found it, since pee is sterile, right?

I'm a dirrrrrty girl.

On the podium

2008-03-27T17:55:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-03-27T17:03:00.000-07:00

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?

Pacifiers #2

2008-03-26T10:59:00.000-07:00

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. Man...it 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.

Pacifiers.

2008-03-26T10:20:00.000-07:00

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 hands...so 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.

Biting my tongue until it bleeds blood red ochre

2008-03-23T22:27:00.001-07:00

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 paint...you 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...

2008-03-23T21:41:00.000-07:00

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 words...you 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.

HPV - the store

2008-03-21T16:55:00.001-07:00

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"...you'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, Filipino...it 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.

The Good, The Bad, The Ugly

2008-03-19T18:12:00.000-07:00

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 shoes...new 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

2008-03-19T17:16:00.000-07:00

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.

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

2008-03-17T18:36:00.000-07:00

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 her...it 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.

Divine Secrets of the C-Section sisterhood

2008-03-14T11:35:00.000-07:00

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.

SPAHHHHHHHHH!

2008-03-09T21:03:00.000-07:00

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.

Ah, teenagers!

2008-03-07T10:06:00.001-08:00

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

2008-03-07T09:50:00.000-08:00

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.

Hubby-2, Me-1

2008-03-06T10:34:00.000-08:00

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?

2008-03-06T09:36:00.000-08:00

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. So...my 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 http://www.iwantoneofthose.com/swear-box/index.html) 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!).

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

2008-03-04T09:54:00.000-08:00

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 insulting...it'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

2008-03-04T09:39:00.000-08:00

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.

THANK YOU, take 1, 007, 653

2008-03-01T17:46:00.000-08:00

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.

God, are you there?

2008-02-28T15:34:00.001-08:00

It's me. New Mommy? God, is your name Jenny Craig? And can you help me lose the last 10 lbs and fit my sexy jeans in one week?
My glamorous, tall, red-headed best friend just announced she'll be here in one week for a visit! Yay! and Fuck! all in the same exclamation. One week is not long enough for me to get my shit together. How am I supposed to make motherhood look like it didn't change me, like I lost all the weight naturally ("seriously the pounds just slid off!"), like I still am hot enough to be sex on heels, in one week? I don't even know where my high heels are; they are probably crunchy with dust in the back of my closet and have been since month 4 of pregnancy. Oh sure you say-she'll understand. Who cares? I don't want her to have to understand. Look, one shouldn't care what others think and you might say-especially a friend! But, eff off, I am not perfect and I do care. I don't want to meet up for a sophisticated coffee downtown and look like her "frumpy friend". She'll be all glossy and cashmere, so sue me if I would rather not be sour milk and zippered nursing shirt. Give me diamonds! Give me classy! Give me a a couple of hours where my son won't cry and make me sweat and leak breast milk! Give me an AMEN!
Somewhere out there, someone is listening to my prayer. And somehow between now and March 7th I will find a pair of sexy jeans sans elastic, a pair of sexy boots that I can push my stroller in and not drop my baby à la Britney, and a rockin' hair cut that doesn't scream "mom". And when my friend has her first baby-I will be smiling during that first visit. 'Cause I'll know I was the best motivation she could find to get off her ass, stop watching "A Baby Story" on TLC, and look good for once.

The Babysitter's Club: Senile Edition

2008-02-27T16:20:00.000-08:00

My Mother-in-law is joining Kristy, Claudia, Mary-Anne and Stacey and now has her babysitting certificate. Yup...to pass the course she apparently had to diaper a baby doll. Wow. The club will be lucky to have her.

One has to wonder what would possess a 65 year-old woman to do such a thing. Further-what would possess her to giggle about it like a middle-schooler. No doubt she is excited about her new grandson. Actually, based on our previous relationship I usually joke that she'll be filing for custody any day now (I'm only half joking-the other half actually thinks it's possible). After-all, I am refusing to provide her grandson with a mobile in his crib-GASP! Perhaps I should have preempted this post by posting about what I consider to be her fragile mental health and her addiction to many prescription pills. Of course, her family acts as if nothing is amiss...but I saw her days-of-the-week pill organiser. Instead of having a pill segregated per day, she just had it filled to the brim with multiple pills all jumbled in together. It looked like packages of those colorful candy rockets had emptied into the Halloween pillow-case. Yeah, I know that funky sitter Claudia loves candy, but my MIL will not be allowed to bring her candy to Club Meetings. In fact, are we sure her certificate doesn't just say "Certifiable"?

THANK YOU !!! (take 436)

2008-02-27T15:40:00.001-08:00

If this was a movie shoot of my life, this scene would have taken thousands of takes by now.
The scene: Grocery Store meat aisle
The characters: Me (new mom); Store clerk in coordinating store colors polo shirt, black pants, fat ass and glasses; Old Lady with silver hair, colorful floral blouse, black panty-hose, orthopedic sneakers and tan raglan; Innocent Bystander (Male); Crying Baby with red face, spittle on cheek.
The props: Stroller and accoutrement, slab of pork tenderloin in Styrofoam.

Enter New Mom pushing stroller with Crying Baby. Stops to examine pork tenderloin, picking up a package. Enter Clerk, right, gingerly poking head in at Crying Baby in stroller.
Clerk: Awwwww, someone is not happy!
New Mom: (Shrugging) Yeah. He's not happy.
Crying Baby: (Wails.)
Clerk: How old is he?
New Mom: (with a fake smile) he's 3 months.
Enter Old Lady, right, joining Clerk by sticking face into stroller at Crying Baby.
Crying Baby: WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! (Choke, Sputter, Cough,) WAHHHH!
Old Lady: (Asking no one in particular) He's so sad, hey?
Clerk: (Enthusiastically) Oh yes, he says "I'm hungry mom! Feed me. (in baby talk:) I'm hungry!"
New Mom: (without making eye contact, grabs stroller handle as if to go, squeezing pork tenderloin in the other, and says through gritted teeth:) He's not hungry.
Old Lady: (grabs new mom by the elbow to prevent her from leaving, in a baby talk voice:) Don't you have a soother or something he could at least suck on???
New Mom pushes stroller and shrugs Old Lady's hand off arm, Old Lady huffs and responds: Don't believe in those hey?

New Mom angrily marches off, thinking of the pacifier attached to his shirt. Stops, looks lovingly at Crying Baby and says loudly: I know honey, life sucks!!!
Innocent Bystander Male: (Wide eyed, laughs nervously. Seems afraid for Crying Baby.)
New Mom sees the judgment in Innocent Bystander's eyes, leans back and tosses pork tenderloin at his head, hitting him squarely between the eyes.

Ok, that last part didn't happen...but it sure would have made me feel better.

Hey BABY come here often?

2008-02-26T22:03:00.000-08:00

Does anyone have a good pick up line for new moms? Look, I don't want to have sex with a post-partum crack-pot, I just want to be her friend. What? You think that makes me sound like a post-partum crack-pot? (Silence....cue crickets) Yeah ok, I'll take that.

But seriously, finding new mommy friends is like dating and I'm starting to feel a little too masculine here. Whenever I find a cute new mommy, looking fine in her pre-mom jeans, swept up ponytail and eyes shining bright, I just can't help myself. I am turned on by a new mommy who looks better than me! I mean, why stoop below when I can reach for the stars? The right "girlfriend" is only gonna make me look better.

Growing up I was always that girl with many guy-friends and few girlfriends. To be honest, having girlfriends was too much work. With guys I could just flirt my way to friendship; put out a couple of times, not care if they called, teach them about the clitoris so they could impress their girlfriends and learn the rhythm riffs on the guitar so they could rock out a solo. Really-surrounded by boys I was a goddess of knowledge into the secret world of women, a laid back vixen that everyone wants, but wouldn't have, for fear of "ruining the friendship". That little bit of sexual tension always made it easy to get along, you know? With girls...well-there was just too much competition. Well... As an adult I've learned through many slap-my-forehead-the-next-morning, "what-did-I-say/do/scream/sing" moments post rollicking party, that some women have similar senses of humour to mine. (That is-when I remembered it was them standing beside me on top of that bar after-all!) And so I finally have a choice number of cool girlfriends. Problem: they have no kids.

It's time to have girlfriends with babies so, I dunno, we can wax poetic about shit and vomit together and, well, maybe trade off babysitting. (Ok that's the real reason). But every time I see a drool-worthy mommy I get all nervous. I fall into stereotypes and lame one-liners: "How old is your baby?" and "Wow that's a great stroller!" This is hard for me especially because I am sooo in the know-chances are the thing I'm admiring and acting all in awe of is something I saw online and read about months ago. So how come I get all phony?

Case in point: today I approached a hot blonde strolling the infant boys designer section at a local baby store. I struck up a convo and for the first time got past the pleasantries to actually talk some real sense about motherhood. "Does it get easier?" No, to be honest I told her, it doesn't. We chatted and I was struck by her beautiful white teeth, her rosy skin and her trés chic knit hat that matched her shrug sweater and suede high heels. Yes, she was wearing high heels and her baby was only 3 weeks old! She also had a cool, hip stroller and obviously a rich husband judging by the size of her engagement ring. I thought: I NEED this woman in my workout-pants life! But I choked...I walked away without sealing the deal. I didn't get her digits.

Now I will always wonder if she was the one that got away. I'll always ask "what if" when I see other mom-couples pushing strollers, sipping lattes and giggling at the poorly-dressed people around them. What if she was my better half? I'm hot for mommy and I've no way to scratch my itch. Is there a lavalife for new moms? I can see my profile now

"New mom with intact vagina after caesarian childbirth seeks same (no judgments from you natural hos) for bitching, moaning, and complaining, walks in the sunshine, help in justifying new purchases and support when obviously doing everything wrong in raising kids. Will teach your adolescent son the coolest retro guitar riffs and take care of the birds and the bees talk too...your future daughter-in-law will thank you for being my friend!!!"

*Cringe

2008-02-20T09:27:00.000-08:00

I just gave advice to a mom to be. Somebody help me! First my husband gets a point and now this?! I'm losing vitals fast. Get me a friend who'll slap me, stat! Oh, I feel so terrible, I'll just stay inside the house all day, stick the baby on my boob, surf the web from the couch, procrastinate about the mess in my kitchen, eat chocolate for all meals and wallow in my shame. Then tomorrow I'll feel good as new. Hmmm might sound a little manic, but that's how I roll.

Me-1, Husband-1

2008-02-19T16:50:00.000-08:00

We are tied. This morning I slept in and made hubby fairly late to work by the time we loaded in baby, etc. It was a beautiful day and super sunny for a change. As soon as we sat in the car and exited the garage hubby said "Oh man! I forgot my sunglasses!" (Thing in my head I never said: "Well if you used the doorknob organizer I bought you then you wouldn't have forgotten them! Nah-nah! SO there!"). I said "Yeah, shizz, me too." But then hubby reminded me so kindly that my sunglasses were actually in the stroller that was in the trunk. I wrinkled my nose as if to say "oh yeah..that's nice, but I'm so lazy I won't get them, so I'll just suffer driving with squinty eyes instead."

When we got to his work and we were doing the changeover (me scooting over to the driver's seat), I looked for hubby to kiss goodbye and heard the trunk open. There he was holding my sunglasses. Awwwww, shucks. I mean DAMN! He scores a point for that. Why is it always the little things? Jerk.

Cacophony of crooked cronies

2008-02-18T23:05:00.000-08:00

Yeah, let's be honest here: I hate being told what to do. I'm always right. So much so that I tend to study up profusely on a subject if it interests me just so I can be in "the know" and not likely to make an ass of myself. For example, when I had to teach Ancient Egypt (yeah I teach middle school...or did before baby) I studied for weeks at every library in town and trolled the internet at all hours. Damned if I was gonna let a 12 year old stump me! (Er-I mean it was for the good of the children and providing them with a quality education, yadda, yadda, yadda. You get the picture). So it's not like I didn't do the same for pregnancy, childbirth and parenting. In fact, all the studying I did proved to me that there are no wrong answers when it comes to raising baby***. Everyone has an opinion. All the experts provide excellent advice which will make you laugh, thrill or cry depending on the day. Actually this realization made me quite calm when it came to giving birth-and trust me I had reason to not be calm at all (think school hallway flooding with amniotic fluid and you'd have a slight idea). But then along came my son and calm isn't always possible when parenting. I'm giving in to the fact that I don;t have the answers, I'm not always right either-but I am doing my best and that usually is enough. Right?

So, wasn't I pleased as punch today when my son first of all screamed bloody murder in his stroller at the mall after I had just fed him. And yes, many people offered up the suggestion that he was hungry-mutha f$*#kers. But I was non-plussed as I brought the back-up plan: the babybjorn. Strapped him in and headed for the bus. Only he decided he was, in fact, HUNGRY. DAMN. Capital letters. DAMN. I hate being smug and then proven wrong. Now, my heart was breaking because here I am standing at a bus stop and the bus is coming. I can't very well whip out my boob and then hop on and put my cash in the coin collector with it smacking the driver in the face. So I do everything I can to shush him. The driver takes pity on me and covers the coin slot saying "It's okay, Ma'am". (Ma'am-yuck). Thank you nice driver-score! Park the stroller and then sit down amongst-get ready for it...7 old ladies with canes. No, it wasn't the Senior's Bingo-Buffet Bus Excursion. It was the city bus, but take note: when you are a new mom you will be out and about during the day when only other new moms and the elderly are out and about.

The 7 cronies jumped on me like I was B7 and they were guaranteed heaven. He doesn't like his stroller? Well it's obvious I'm holding him too much then. Babies get spoiled-this must be your first one (knowing nods and glances abound here). "When I had my second/third/fourth I didn't...(fill in the blank). You should let him cry it out, you are coddling your baby, tut, tut, tut. Is it a boy? Oh that explains it-mommies love their boys too much. He won't grow up to be...(fill in the blank) if you continue...and on and on. Thank god I was only going a dozen or so stops. Most of this "advice" was spoken in loud "hushed" tones to each other and random strangers sitting nearby as if I wasn't even there-unless they had to ask me a direct question in order to prove their theory. And did I mention he was screaming bloody murder the whole time? He was. Was I embarassed? Yes. Did I have a headache? Yes. Did they make me feel like the lowliest, scum-mother of all time? Can I get a resounding BINGO!?

And so I wasn't calm. I almost cried on the city bus. And my F-you face just wasn't cutting it with the cronies. Thing in my head I never said: OH GO SHOVE THAT CANE IT UP YOUR C*NT!

***All the readings/seminars/pamphlets provided by the hospital, "experts", the local nurses, my provincial health organisation, the Pacific Postpartum Society, etc, etc,..point to NOT letting your baby cry it out at all. They stress that babies only communicate in one way and that's crying-its how they let you know they need something. They believe there is no such thing as spoiling a baby as they do not know how to manipulate you-yet.So they encourage highly that you respond to your baby quickly. They strongly advise against (and even the author does as well) "Ferberizing" your baby until the age of 6 months. Now did we make a conscious decision to follow this advice? Nope. I'm calm remember? It just seemed pointless for our sanity and for our son's to be sitting around on our lazy asses (which we are prone to do) and ignore his pleas (read: cries) when it was clear that holding him settled him immediately. Women all over the world have been "wearing" their babies for ages and the only really effed up generation seems to be the current one. Now, am I nervous that soon it will be hard to cut the ties and lay down some rules? Hell yes. But for now it works and my life is more peaceful, usually, with less crying. Really-all advice you get is crap. You just have to do what works for you, in the moment. So, old cronies: SUCK IT!

On the lighter side

2008-02-15T17:04:00.000-08:00

What makes some food combinations go well together and some others turn our stomachs? Why would we eat french fries with ketchup, but not just the ketchup? I'm asking because I just ate a hard-boiled egg dipped in ranch dressing. It was delicious, but sounds disgusting. If the $5.99 bottle of organic, gluten-free ranch dressing was not about to go bad (and I couldn't bear to waste that money) I would never have been enticed to dip my egg in it, and never would have known the glory. Glory be! Glory be! What else can I dip in?

Who let Debbie Downer write on this blog?

2008-02-15T16:52:00.001-08:00

I'm terrified. I think my baby son is what the "experts" refer to as "high needs". He cries inconsolably for at least, AT LEAST and hour every day. He never wakes up happy. He won't sleep at night unless he is on my shoulder and if we put him down he cries within 5 minutes. He won't stay in his stroller for more than 20 mins. without screaming. I don't know (shrugging my shoulders here). It's not really bothering me at this point, (I finished my grocery shopping today amidst scorn and stares at my wailing/sputtering baby with my fuck-you smile on) and I'm not on the edge of anything psychotic. I remind myself all the time that he was 6 weeks early and is just still learning to be in the world. But it terrifies me because I don't want to have that kid.

I don't want my little boy to cling to mommy. I don't want him to whine or cry around new people, hiding behind my leg. I am too fun and flirty and ready to rock and roll to have a kid like that. It would be so unlike me. And really scary to think how much it would change me because I know already how you really would do anything for this little person. It's hitting me for the first time how you don't just have a baby-you have a person. And that person has their own personality. And I'm wondering just how much influence us parents really have in shaping who they become. It's scary and exciting too I guess...to watch him grow and see if my husband and I do a good job. Oh dear. Please let me do a good job. In some ways that makes me REALLY want to go back to work-at least there I know I do a damn fine job.

I'm winning!

2008-02-14T11:00:00.000-08:00

I'm winning the secret competition I'm in with my husband to see who's the most thoughtful partner. I had a Valentine's gift for him-complete with red construction paper heart. I don't know what would be more satisfying-if he got me a present, or if he didn't, so I could "win". Pish Posh to those of you claiming the competition is illegal due to the competitors lack of knowledge regarding the rules and regulations. I put forth that he entered said competition with full disclosure 4.5 years ago on our wedding day.

P.S. Yeah it's just a book. We just had a baby and I'm not planning on another anytime soon-so shut up.

Breastfeeding and bonding

2008-02-13T17:09:00.000-08:00

Courtesy of www.babycenter.com:

Is it okay to nurse my baby with the TV on?

Kelly Ross, M.D.
Pediatrician at St. Louis Children's Hospital in Missouri, and mother of triplets

As a general rule, no — feeding time with your baby is bonding time for the two of you. It's a time you hold, snuggle, and talk to your baby. He needs this interaction to grow and develop.

Oh man, I guess my son will never know who I am or learn how to do anything from me. On the flip side he'll surely feel a kindred bond with Oprah and know how to decorate like Nate. These things could come in handy, so I'm not turning off the tube. And I suppose surfing the web whilst nursing is just as detrimental? I'm screwed.

THANK YOU!

2008-02-13T09:45:00.000-08:00

Thank you so much-you just saved my life! Here I was wandering aimlessly downtown/around the grocery store/at the mall/up and down the street with my ipod blaring to drown out the sound of my baby's ferocious wailing cries...hoping to all hope that someone with your wisdom and insight and obvious experience would happen to wander close. Little, lowly, uneducated and bewildered me has been struggling for the last half an hour, feeling on the verge of a breakdown, wondering if it would be all that bad to "accidentally" let baby's stroller roll into traffic, because I didn't have the answer to stop the crying.

But there you are stranger...an angel on earth with your other-wordly answer to my prayers: "Awwwww, mom-he's hungry!". Or in the grocery store case: "Awww-must be suppertime?" (Said with a Reese Witherspoon-in-Election-patronizing smile and not really a question at all). Or in the case of the mall: "He needs to be fed, mommy!".

Yes, yes, yes! Thank you! I didn't know I had to feed my baby. Actually the last time I fed him was days ago, but I thought that would suffice. I had no idea that would help the crying! (hahaha-silly me!). Really, (sigh) breastfeeding hasn't been the most all-consuming job I've ever had, and really, I haven't been feeding every hour on the hour for two weeks straight, and really, my nipples aren't raw and burning from the suctioning monster/gremlin I think my baby is sometimes, especially when he pulls away still attached and my nipple looks like hot-pink taffy. Oh dear...how can I ever repay you?-since I didn't think of that-NO, it wasn't like, oh say, just HALF AN HOUR AGO that I last fed him, but he's still bawling, and that's why I am here frantically walking this block.

Thank you stranger savior. Do you have kids? Yeah...didn't think so.

Essentials continued...

2008-01-27T16:59:00.000-08:00

A few other gems I'm working:

1) A vibrator massager. Geesh get your head out of the gutter! A massager-for your neck. (Though you may need that kind of vibe too-see previous post) You will spend so much time hunched over...sticking your nipple into baby's mouth is hard on your posture. Cuddling baby close and willing him to shut up is also bad on your posture. Balancing baby who has little neck control in one arm while you pour a strong drink with the other-ditto.

2) Confidence-or a confident "I don't give a shit" act you can put on. I had to breastfeed baby at a cool downtown restaurant whilst lunching with my visiting mom the other day. Then I had to change baby in their changetable deficient, ultra-sleek, tiled and air-conditioned ladies room on the slim ledge of their marble one-piece sink. His poopy had seeped through his outfit and onto my "Look! I'm-still- fresh- and- cool- even- though- I- just- had- a- baby- outfit". It smelled. Baby was hard to balance while washing him down and reaching the diaper bag on the floor. He was cold and crying. And fancy, tight- jeans- wearing ladies were going in and out and giving me "the look". I used to give ladies with babies the look. Sigh. So strap on your "Fuck you" face. Make your eyes say: "I have a baby and a loving husband, jealous?" I mean, obviously all those young "look" throwers are members of lavalife and suffering from"why didn't he call me? syndrome, right? Right. Be confident in your venturing out with baby-you deserve to be there too. And if you can't do that, just eat at Applebees and don't whine about it.

3) Strong strong mints. Keep 'em on the bedside table, in the nursery, and scattered around your house...you will not have time to brush your teeth. Actually...you will have time if your baby is relatively happy in a swing or whatever. But trust me, you will choose checking emails, sitting on the couch comatose, watching reruns on TLC, painting your toenails (for necessary mommy and me yoga) or other luxury things... like eating a piece of bread (your only meal of the day) or finally sipping your cold coffee. Chalk your bad breath up to natural pheromones for baby to recognize you by. And really, it's not like you'll be kissing anyone. I actually mumbled "only if I can just lie here" in response to my husband's ferocious gropings last night. And he was ok with that. Cheers!

My birthday is tomorrow and I am not mentioning it on purpose in that devious game-playing woman's way. Will Hubby pull out all the stops or even remember? Hubby has not bought me anything before when we were poor. But in those times I've maintained that I need a little celebratory action regardless of price: a card...a chocolate...a balloon-anything. But I have little faith he will do anything but say "Happy Birthday. honey" this year. (scorn, scorn, scorn)

Honestly- I never used to be like this. I'm struggling with this whole resentment thing I'm feeling. Hubby actually spends a few soothing minutes reading before bed while I rock crying baby, or feed for the 4th time in two hours, or try shoving gripe water down baby's throat. Ok, he is very helpful usually-but it's true that the work just always falls to the woman. And if you are arguing right now that I asked for this and he goes to work all day to earn money so I can stay home-LA-LA-LA I'm not listening! The devil/angel argument is playing in my head. Angel: "Oh don't worry about it-your birthday is not important in the scheme of things right now". Devil: "You already bought the jerk his first 'to daddy' birthday card for his upcoming birthday, with the express notion of really showing him up when he forgets your birthday tomorrow. So enjoy"

Maybe mothering brings out the innate,conniving bitch in you. Hmmm...that would explain my mother-in-law.

Essentials for new moms no one told you about

2008-01-08T16:08:00.000-08:00

I'm a new mom. (Haven't really said that out loud yet either!) Any new mom knows how annoying it is to get advice from EVERYONE all the time. But here is my two cents: the essential things you will really need that no one will tell you about.

1) Strong perfume and deodorant. You will stink. You won't be showering and breast milk, like cow milk, goes sour. Especially when it's vomited up. Give yourself a good dousing before your childless friends visit. You know, the ones you want to keep so you don't feel like your whole world became about a baby...a talking in third person world where poop is the main topic of discussion? Trust girlfriend... in their heads they are this close to picturing you in mom-jeans.

2) A husband who makes good money. Or a "partner". Or a lover. A sugar-daddy is basically what I'm talking about. So that you can do "mommy and baby" yoga and become all zen and unworried about things like, oh...the fact that the baby costs at least 20 bucks a week in diapers. That's 1000 bucks a year. Saying good-bye Grande, non-fat lattes? That is just too damn depressing. You need to have the baby and the fucking latte too. You deserve to be a yuppy-yummy mummy just like that bitch you used to see wearing her Lululemons being all skinny and smug at the Starbucks with the newborn, when you were pregnant and F-A-T and miserable. It's your turn. And if you can't be all skinny and smug right now, no worries. No one is perfect. But as long as you got the money, honey, wear your lulus, buy the latte and be smug at the very least.

3) An orgasm. You heard me right. You might think you don't need that right now, but come on! You are still a woman, right? Your boobs are at the biggest and fullest they will probably ever be. And the milk dribbling down your stomach? Hot. Actually, there's lots of net porn dedicated to that very thing. Have a look. It'll make you feel sexier. Then take a look in the mirror, put a leg up and go to town. You will definitely be zen afterwards...and then you can screw mommy and me yoga.

What the-?

2008-01-04T16:32:00.000-08:00

What the heck am I doing writing a blog? should be the question. This all started with a very politically incorrect and sort of mean type of inside-my-head rant, years ago while I worked in retail at a sports shop. A lady of large proportions came in, almost at close, and began a massive shop. This is a sports shop. Already in my head "I am not sure what sports this lady is playing or what lycra we have that will fit, but ok" See? Mean. What follows is meaner, so if you're not sarcastic, and are really a sweet kind person-the type who doesn't kill a spider in your house but saves it with a piece of paper and releases it outside-well then please stop reading now. I don't want your comments about how mean I am and how I should take a look in the mirror or whatever. I am mean, I know it, and this is my blog, so shut up.

Muse: "Don't you have any of those sweat suits?"
Me: "Sweat Suits? Like you mean fleece? Jogging pants?"
Muse: "No, no, these suits that make you sweat..you know they are made out of plastic?"
Me: (Because I am not sport minded at all, have never played organised sports and only work this job to pay for Starbucks, rent and cheap $20 tops from Le Chateau) "Ummm, no I have never heard of that before, sorry."
Muse: "Oh my god they are so great! It's like a plastic airtight suit and you wear it while you workout and it really makes you sweat out extra fat! It really works!"
Me: (inside head) "Huh, really works hey?" And I'm picturing her HUGER than she is now (think not humanely possible) on a treadmill wrapped in some saran wrap get up. "hate to see what size you were before then, honey!"

In telling this story to friends later I realized it was funny to my sort of people. I decided then and there I should write a book someday all about the things I have thought but never said out loud-especially while working in my varied retail jobs. Life goes on and changes and now the blogs the thing. So here I am. Take me as I am.

Me: (inside head) "And if you don't like me, SUCK IT!"