Baggage

I’m in the airport.

That’s not particularly notable. I’ve spent a fair bit of time in airplanes, airports - travelling to and through them. Since BABY was born, we’ve traveled a fair bit. We’ve got the hang of maneuvering through airplanes and airports with strollers and car seats, and baby bags and bottles. Throughout the years I’ve done my fair share of business travel for work.

But this is week was the first time I have traveled for work since having the kid. This story is less about airports and airplanes, it’s more about baggage. Of the emotional variety. Because although I don’t have to worry about gate checked strollers and bottles in carry-ons and lap child holding positions, I have enough emotional baggage to put me overweight – metaphorically and literally.

I’ve never been away from BABY for more than a night, much less a week. And I’m gutted. I’m taking this pretty hard. I’m taking it much hard than she is. And I’ve coped by drinking lots of wine and telling everyone who crosses path about the little bugger. I’ve showed lots of strangers baby pictures - whether they’re interested or not.

If I could make the plane fly faster I would. But most of all, I can’t wait to get home for my fill of hugs and kisses and cuddles. By the suitcase-load.

Now and Then, Again

When does it hit you that the life that you are living now is different from the life that you once had – maybe one year, two years, five years ago? Maybe ten. We all go through this, I’m sure, in the process of growing up and finding that our priorities, lifestyle, people around us change. I can’t speak for every woman who is now a mother. I don’t know if as a collective we all feel that life is different. But I do. It’s different for me.

I was driving on a Saturday afternoon in the summertime, BABY in the car seat behind me. I had the window cracked just a little bit – more and tissue paper peaking out of the gift bag on my passenger seat would have been disturbed. I was flipping through songs on the children’s CD that played through the speakers. Wheels on the Bus? Old MacDonald? We were on our way to a children’s birthday party. I was looking forward to it more than she was.

My cell started to ring and I reached into my bag to get it. I looked at the Caller ID. It was a close friend in Miami. Before I even answered the phone, my life flashed before my eyes. I thought about what she would be doing on her weekend (young, single, having lots of fun) and what I used to do (young, single, having an ok amount of fun) and how that wasn’t very long ago. And now the highlight of my weekend – ok of the month, let’s be honest here – was going to a children’s party and listening to kids music on the way there.

***

Today we had another children’s birthday party that I’d have to admit was the highlight of not only the day but the month. Now BABY and I sing along to Wheels on the Bus and Old MacDonald together – it’s not just me. I’ve settled into the new priorities, lifestyle and people around me. But the flashbacks still surface. And it happened again today. Long after the party was over. Long after the loot bag was played with, the nap was complete, and dinner and bath and bed were behind us.

In a casual conversation over text I asked a friend what they were doing tonight. “Nothing much, prob play some cards with the boys.” Flash! Flash to the set of poker chips in a box somewhere, the felt table cover that I used during poker nights at my place, the shot glasses that made an appearance by the end of it all. Flash to the marathon Texas Hold’ Em tournament at a cottage for the weekend. Flash to the night that I cleaned up at Black Jack, flash to the casino games I played in the Dominican with an ex boyfriend, flash to the night I went All-In in strip poker. End with the realization that it changed so fast, so suddenly. End with the realization that I haven’t even shuffled a deck of cards since I (knew I) was pregnant. I forgot that somewhere outside my life, with the baby, and the kids party and the Wheels on the Bus, that people still did that.

Is that strange?

If you’ve read to this point, I don’t want you to think that I was ultra reckless. But I didn’t have much of a transition from being the person I was then to the mother I am now. I was in my twenties, living in downtown Toronto, so in love with my boyfriend but also with a healthy social life. I was investing in my career but still meeting friends at the Thursday happy hour. It was about me. It was about freedom and independence. And then boom. Like the Road Runner barreling into a hard brick wall, life changed. There was no playing house with a new husband. No figuring out that we didn’t like the same colour towels, or turkey bacon or the thermostat at 75. No babying each other before an actual baby. No practice puppy. Just the very real positive pregnancy test, and everything else that comes after that.

I can’t help be sobered by the thought of then and now. My life.

~ humps

Deflated

I was bent over. Arms reaching in opposite directions. Trying to fold my right leg diagonally to the left and my left leg to the right. My head was touching the ground. It was like that round of Twister in my high-school atrium, just 60 pounds heaver with mom boobs and greying hair.

I was deflating the kiddie pool. Or should I say, the kiddie pool was deflating me.

When they say hindsight is 20/20, I think they are specifically addressing Wal-Mart purchases. In the aisle of their seasonal section that hot day, the big inflatable pool seemed like the best possible option. And those extra features! Oh boy! The inflatable arches. The momma dinosaur with inflatable head and tail. The inflatable toys. How amazing. BABY will just love it. This will make her summer.

It started to become clearer that this might be a bad idea when I took that purchase home. When I took the pool out of the package and tried to unfold the bright coloured plastic, I noticed those many many air valves in the various crevaces in the many locations on the pool. And, to make a scary situation even scarier, ten of my biggest and hottest breaths of air made no difference to the pool's lifeless state.

I got in the car with that pool in the backseat - beside the carseat - and drove to the gas station. I pulled up beside the air pump. Did you know that you have to PAY for air at the gas station now-a-days? Not really sure when that started or why. I took out my walet, plugged quarters into the machine, and started to get to work our brand new inflatable pool. Many dollars and rounds of purchased air later, I was craming an inflated pool - arches, dinosaur head, toys and all - into the trunk and folded down seats of my sedan, beside the carseat. As I slowly drove back home, I held my breath (that I still had thankfully) and prayed that the inflatable pool, now somewhat tucked into my car but not really, wouldn't pick up the wind and blow away on the busy throughway from the gas station to our house.

The memories were flooding back this weekend. While I was on mission pool deflation, thinking that I was letting out some pretty expensive air, I tried to calculate the time that my daughter actually spent playing in the pool. I tried to count the number of air valves for those wonderful extra features: the inflatable arches, the momma dinosaur with inflatable head and tail, the inflatable toys. I tried to map out where to hold and grab and step and twist to get the air out. I tried to count the time that it would to get it deflated.

And as I lay on my back in the grass, with my right arm reaching to the right and the left arm reaching to the left I couldn't help but smile. Can't wait to do it all again next year.

~ humps

When do working moms blog?

I went back to work and fell off the face of the earth. Not just on this blog. Not just on Twitter. Not just in the many areas that have filled my time since BABY was born. Everywhere. To everyone. I went back to work and don't know how I am able to write this message. I am tired.

I returned to work after a wonderful year of maternity leave. I had an amazing, rewarding, special, unforgettable year off when BABY was born. I feel so luck to have been able to take that time for the little one. Given the current state of my bank account and credit rating, I knew that the fun was coming to an end. All things considered, I was excited about returning back to the working world.

To say that it is an adjustment is an understatement of severe portions. I am exhausted. I am stressed. I miss my daughter terribly. There's no better way to put it.

Knowing that my return was during a very busy time of year for my job, I was expecting some level of craziness. To be completely honest, I wasn't prepared for how different life would be as a working mom.

No one told me how crazy it would be! So, I compiled a list.

Top 10 things no one tells you about being a working mom:
1. "Priorities" and "Work-Life Balance" take on a new meaning and a regular place in your vocabulary.
2. You will feel guilty every minute that you are away from your kid.
3. Make-work and things that waste your time will be more frustrating than ever before.
4. You will do all that you can to get home in time to see the look of shear elation on your kid's face each night.
5. Your single coworkers will think you're a slacker for leaving work "early".
6. You will need to take many days off for doctor's appointments, sick days, tummy bugs, fevers - both you and the kid.
7. Your single coworkers will think you're a slacker for working at home.
8. Working at home is nearly impossible with a screaming one year old.
9. Between the high cost of daycare and other baby related expenses it will feel like you are working for free.
10. You will miss blogging.

Fellow moms at work now muse about the adjustments. All I can ask is where was this information before?

~ humps

A Photo Retrospective

Tomorrow my little baby will be 11 months old. I can’t believe that time has flown so fast. Very soon she will be a 1 year. Very soon she won’t be my little baby. And, if you have read a few of my posts you will know that I am very sentimental about my little muffin, monkey, pumpkin, sugar face growing so quickly.

Words can’t do it justice.

So instead, here are some never blogged before pictures of the little one over the last 11 months. It's rare for me to post pictures so this is a special treat. And tell me, wouldn't you want her to stay little like I do?!

~ humps

Going, Going, Grey

It was a busy day. Waking up late after a night of crying baby. Rushing through breakfast, and that weird dance of getting self and child ready. Showers and toothpaste and onesies and baby lotion. Did I put on deodorant? We were already behind schedule. I was trying to calculate if I had enough gas to make it to the destination, or if I should stop. How much time would that add on? Did I have cash? Am I going to find parking? Snacks! I should make sure to pack some snack in the diaper bag. And more diapers. And refill the wipes container. Don't forget an extra change of clothes. I bundled BABY up in her snowsuit, then her stroller. She looked up at me, barely able to move, with her pink and brown winter hat falling over her eyes. Why did I bundle her up so much? We were only going to the elevator and underground parking garage. Naah, leave her. I should bring the stroller with me.

We got home hours later, after many miles, spilled pear slices, circles around the block for parking, and gas station fumes. I put off meeting a friend for dinner to buy some time for an afternoon nap - BABY not me - and a snack - me not BABY.

I went into the washroom convinced that I should just put on some lipgloss - because surely shiny lips will distract from my exhaustion. As I bent over the sink, I saw it. The light danced over it and like a mirror reflecting rays of sun it caught my eye. As plain as day. A grey hair.

What? Huh? Is that a...

It was a grey hair staring at me on the other end of the mirror. I wiped the top of my head at first, because I really didn't want to overreact about some fluff. Then I leaned into the mirror and isolated the curly strand that sat on top of my head. It was attached alright. It was just like the other hairs that lay around it. But this one was white. Very white. My first grey hair.

My mind immediately re-traced my steps today. Recognizing that (1) I was walking around with a grey hair all day today. When did this happen exactly? And (2) my daughter is giving me grey hairs.

My not one to blame others, but really, how else could this have happened. Clearly my mom lifestyle is sending a message to my body that says, "Pack it in! She's a mom. Game over!". I'm too freaking young to have grey hairs.

After a few emergency phone calls - gotta reach out to the life line on things like this - I pulled the grey hair out by the root. And so it begins....

~ humps

(Single) Mother

I could hardly form the words, when I first wrote about being a single mom on this blog. My fingers didn't want to type them. My mind didn't want to go there. I didn't want to say the words out loud. I felt defeated. I felt outed. I felt like a failure. I felt like a bad mother.

When I finally admitted to myself that I wasn't going to keep trying to make my relationship work, it took a while to fully accept what that meant to the other areas of my life… and yes how I was going to parent my daughter was one of them. Still getting used my new role as a “mother”, I wasn’t ready to take on the 100 pound weight of the “single mother” label. As weird as that may seem, I felt that “single mother” had so many connotations that I wasn’t ready to accept.

Last weekend, I went out for dinner and drinks with a group of eight women. All of us were virtually strangers. Few had met at previous events, some had exchanged emails and phone calls prior to that night. But none of us knew much more of one another than the few details that we posted on the Meetup.com group that we are part of. We are all single mothers.

As soon as I sat down at the table, my nervousness about meeting a group of new women disappeared. The conversation was easy. The laughter contagious. The sense of community palpable.

To the right of me was a mother still healing from the breakup of her marriage, just 6 months ago. Across the table was a mother of four – ages 8,7,6,5!! – who proclaimed that she would rather be single and happy, than married and miserable. Beside her, a mother who divorced her husband while pregnant with their first child. Sneaking in last, a mother of seven-month old twins, who at nearly 50 decided not to give up her dream of being a mother merely because she was single.

It made me realize that the tapestry of single motherhood, really is that, a tapestry. Made up of so many incredible women who are solo parenting, whether by choice or not, whether they were ready, or not. All of us incredible, powerful, and wonderful mothers.

It was just what I needed to experience. I feel like I am coming into my own as a new person, a new mother and a single mother. And it feels ok.

~ humps

Point of No Return

I call it the Point of No Return. The exact moment when a mother realizes that her boobs will never be the same again. And that moment for me was Friday, February 12th at 11:55 am.

After nursing BABY on Friday, I held her up. When I looked down to adjust my shirt, put the boob back to it's secure holding place, I noticed that there just wasn't as much there as before. Not the typically kind of post-nursing deflation. No. It was something else. I knew then and there - holding my daughter to one side and looking down at the boob at the other - that it was over.

There will be no more humps in "Humps and Baby Bumps". My precious lady lumps are no more. It was a sad, sad day.

With BABY now nine months old, I should have expected so much. I've been benefiting from extra delicious cleavage as a result of breastfeeding and hormones. Those kind of gifts, when not appreciated, don't last. The closest thing I received to someone noticing my boobs, was showing a slight rash to my single young doctor. And that just sucks.

I don't blame breastfeeding. In fact, I recently heard that it's not breastfeeding that causes "limp lumps" but hormones related to pregnancy. So whether you nurse or not, having a baby is enough to "impact your rack".

Even still, I would nurse all over again. It's better BABY uses them, because I'm certainly not.

~ humps

Christmas Baby

I'm an only child. I'm a Christmas baby. When I tell people that my birthday is December 24th - or Christmas Eve - I get one of two reactions: delight or dismay. Usually, far more dismay than delight. People's eyes pop out of their head. Their volume goes up a few octaves. In some, disgust washes over their face. Others yet, give me solemn pats on the shoulder. They give me a hug to make up for emptiness, lack of love, disproportionally low number of presents that must have come from such an unfortunate Birthday. Of all the days in the year, it's a crying shame that I was born on that one. I was surely forgotten. I was overshadowed.

Some people mention friends of friends, and great aunts, and third cousins twice removed who had birthdays in December. Some on Christmas itself, or New Years eve. Poor souls. In the eyes of almost everyone I meet, it really sucks to be born the day before, the day of, the day after or anywhere near Christmas.

While it would have been nice to have a birthday in the summer, with it's flower themes and Slip n'Slides, I didn't know what I was missing.

When my friend's daughter was born on Christmas Eve six years ago, she asked me what being a Christmas baby is like. And I had to chance to explain in detail how magical I thought it all was. As a kid, being a Christmas baby was perfect.

My parents would have a party at our place every Christmas Eve. It was a traditional Christmas dinner, and the one day a year that all of the family, extended family and friends would get together. It was also my birthday party. In addition to the Christmas tree, garland, wreath and nativity scene, my mother would put Happy Birthday banners in the basement with streamers and balloons. Everyone would gather around and sing Happy Birthday while I blew out the candles on a big cake.

Most of my aunts and uncles would go out of their way to bring two presents. One with Christmas paper and the other with Birthday paper. I received so many Birthday cards. I never felt that my birthday was forgotten. On Christmas Eve I was only allowed to open one present. The rest had to wait until Christmas morning. My birthday spilled over for days and days.

Maybe it's because I'm an only child, but I never thought that my birthday was anything less than amazing. I was, no I am, blessed with incredible family. I absolutely love the holiday season. I love the wonder and the magic. I love the traditions. I love the excitement. I love that the holidays are a time to remember, honor and celebrate friends and family.

And now that I'm a mother, and this is my daughter's first Christmas, I love the season that much more. It isn't about me or my Birthday anymore. I get to see Christmas through the eyes of a child.

~ humps

I don't know how to change diapers...

It's sad really. That I've been able to go this long without knowing how to change diapers. My daughter is seven months old for goodness sake. I am her primary caregiver. And she goes through a lot of diapers. Many of them every single day.

But it has taken me this long to admit that I don't know what I'm doing in the diaper department.

Before I had her, I changed a few diapers. I felt like I knew what I was doing. When I had her I changed a couple of diapers in the hospital. I felt like I knew what I was doing. A nurse came and bathed her. She didn't comment that the diapering wasn't right. I watched as she put a new diaper on BABY and I felt like I knew what I was doing. In the days, and weeks, and months that followed, I did diapers with confidence. People would marvel at my diapering skills. They would say, "Wow! You can really change a diaper. That was so fast!" I accepted these compliments.

And now, I am humbled.

Because ANYONE can change a diaper on a new baby. One that stays where you put them. One that is interested in paying attention to you when you lay them on their back.

Not EVERYONE can change a diaper on a seven month old baby who doesn't want to lay still. Who turns over, and grabs at the new diaper, and sticks her foot in the poopy diapers, and kicks you in the stomach, and tries to slitter away, and wails her arms, and rips off your glasses, and doesn't want to wear a diaper AT ALL.

I don't know what I am doing. I'm not equipped for these kind of war-like attacks on the diaper doer. I wasn't sufficiently trained in diaper combat. I need some kind of diaper ninja in my corner. Some kind of highly skilled diaper wrestler. Someone to do some diaper magic.

So I enlisted a few new diaper changing strategies: (I) The distraction technique. This is where you stun the opponent with new and unusual objects / sounds / actions while the diapering continues - often to their shear and utter surprise. I started with small toys. Things that made noise. I tried singing songs. I have now resorted to using my cellphone and the remote control - the things that I venomously fought against her getting a hold of. But when it comes to diapers, a mom's gotta do... And that leads me to my next tactic. (II) The three-armed bandit. Set baby on colorful padded playmat on the floor. Be certain that diaper change items are at close reach but not close enough that baby can throw them at you. Hold baby down with left hand and right foot. Change diaper with right hand. Stay home from yoga. You've had enough of a work out.

And when in doubt, set some newspaper on the floor and let the kid roam free. Let nature take it's course. I'd like to think that is more environmentally conscious anyway.

~ humps

P.S. (Yeah I know people don't have P.S.s on blog posts but hell this is mine.) You know what just occurred to me?! Walking!! What am I gonna do? Someone teach me how to change diapers!

The Magic of Bubbles

There is something magical about watching a little baby grow up before your eyes. All of their little achievements, adventures and discoveries. Some call them milestones. I call them miracles. From a little thing who couldn't even hold her head up, I now have a person in front of me who cruises around the room, takes a book of the shelf and sits down to play with it, finds toys from the basket and takes it with her along her journey across the living room, tests the limits and strength of her legs all day, everyday.

She's just seven months yo and she blows me away. All. The. Time.

But a few nights ago, while we were doing the usual bedtime routine - bath, book, boob, bed - I saw the world through her eyes for a moment. I saw her discover bubbles. I saw her reach down into the soapy water and chase delicate bubbles with her tiny fingers. She moved in slow motion. She was gentle. She touched them. They popped.

This was not a true bubble bath full of frothy, hearty, can't escape them because they are everywhere bubbles. This was pretty much a basin of water with a few stragglers. The bubbles where the kind that fall off of the curve of babies' backs, land in expanses of water, and fight the long hard fight to stay around. They are small but mighty. And my small but mighty baby went after the few little ones that were there. She wanted to take those bubbles with her through her journey. And I got it. I want to take those bubbles too.

Having a baby, seeing the world through their eyes, is amazing. It's magic.

~ humps

7 Months Old!

So a few minutes ago I commented on someone's blog, mentioning that I too have a six month old. That is a lie. As of today, I don't have a six month old. My little girl is now seven months old! I can't believe that she is growing up so quickly. It feels like just the other day I wrote this for her six month birthday, or this when she was born. 7 months ago...

7 hours ago - I was playing with BABY on the floor of my living room. The toys were spread out in all different directions but she wasn't interested in the toys. She mostly wanted to climb on top and all over me. And that was cool. I love playing with her, getting her to smile and getting her to laugh. After a few minutes her gaze focused across the room where her bouncy chair was. I was thinking about getting rid of it earlier today - giving it away or packing it up. I could see the determination through her focus. She leaned forward from sitting and started to crawl across the room - stomach on the ground - in a straight line for the bouncy chair. I have seen this before, but she is getting faster and faster with every attempt. So she crawled over, pulled herself up on the side, and started pressing all the buttons. Then she turned around, looked at me and smiled.

7 days ago - I was feeling terrible with a bad toothache. The kind that makes your head hurt, ears ring and neck tense up. And there is nothing worse than feeling terrible when you have a little baby that needs you. I looked at her and felt like I was in a fog. Two of my close friends came to the rescue. One of my friends who just started maternity leave and is due in a few weeks, took BABY for the afternoon so I could get some rest. Another friend came over after work and fed her, got her ready for bed, put her to sleep. That night, I held onto BABY extra tight. We didn't get to spend the day together like usual, and I didn't get to do all the night time things like usual, so I wanted to cuddle a little more than usual. It's amazing that we have such loving and caring friends and family. I couldn't do it - all of it - without them. While I was thinking about all of those things, I turned to BABY. Although she was in deep sleep, she smiled.

7 months ago - The most memorable times that I had in the hospital after BABY was born were those blocks of time that we had by ourselves. When everyone was gone. When I would wrap my robe tightly about myself, and pull myself out of bed. When I would look at this little baby wrapped in a blanket in the hospital-order bassinet - if you can call that thing a bassinet. I couldn't believe that I had a baby, a daughter, a person. She was so tiny but so bright. Is that the right word? I don't know. She was bright. It was like she sparkled. I wanted her to wake up. Partly because I wanted to pick her up so badly. I leaned in really close and watched her breath. I traced her check with my finger. I smiled.

7 years ago - I was so far from where I am now. The thought of being a mom, seemed like light years away. If someone would have told me then that I would be on maternity leave, writing a post for my seven month old daughter on a mom blog, I would laughed hysterically. I wasn't even sure if that being a mom was in the cards for me at all. And that was fine. There's a lot of living to be had in your early twenties. I didn't know what I was missing. I didn't know how much I was capable of loving. I didn't know how quickly my perspective on what is important would change. Most importantly, until just recently, I didn't know the power of a baby's smile.

So now I'm the mom to a seven month old baby girl. I know a deep, dense, undeniable kind of love. The most important things to me are crystal clear. And I know that power of my daughter's smile.

Happy Birthday pumpkin.

Written With One Hand

There's a baby clinging to my boob as I write this.

Yeah, you read that correctly. There's a baby clinging to my boob. Luckily it's my baby. Luckily I'm fairly used to her holding on for dear life to that particular boob, and the one beside it, many times each day.

I have been pretty upfront about my love for breastfeeding, since BABY was born over six months ago. Our routine - co-sleeping for part of the night - has worked really well for us. For me mostly. But for her too. Since it's just the two of us, and I am also extra careful almost to the blistering levels of OCD, I felt comfortable. Safe. It worked for late night feedings, sleeping through the night, bonding and it was so damn cute. Cuddling with her meant that I could drink in all of the baby-ness while she was still a baby. However, too much of a good thing is a bad thing.

I'm afraid that I have created a monster.

We're right in the middle of sleep regression. A few weeks ago she would take naps in the crib (astonishing since she wanted no part of that for her first few months) and I put her down there at bedtime. A few weeks ago, I would bring her into bed for a nighttime feeding and we slept together until morning. A few weeks ago, she would use a pacifier for sleep support - even reaching for it herself if I left it in the crib.

Now she wants no part of cribs, pacifiers, being by herself. Now she wants me - and importantly my boobs - all the time! She wants to nurse to sleep and during sleep. She wants to nurse all the time. She wants to sleep with me. She wants me to hold her. Whether it's teething or a growth spurt, I don't know. I'm hoping it's a phase. I'm not sure if all this breastfeeding will be cool when she starts high school.

So, if you haven't seen me on Facebook, there's no word on Twitter, or I'm not responding to emails, just know that there's a baby clinging to my boob. I'll get back to you when she lets go.

~ humps

I See Myself In You

You're a little girl that steals hearts, brings joy and loves. Loves so much for being so little. Loves unconditionally. These qualities contrast starkly with my cynicism, self doubt, social trepidation. It is remarkable to me that I made you. It is remarkable to me that you have me flowing threw your vains. But everyday that passes I see more of me in you.

When I hold you and bring you to the mirror, and make faces and hold our heads together, I see myself in you. The curls that are forming at the top of your head, and attempting to form at the sides. The way your eyebrows frame your brown eyes. The way your eyelashes clump in small segments and curl. The outline of your upper lip. Your smile. The complexion of the skin on your toes. The palm of your hands. I see myself in you.

And one night when it was too late for little babies to still be awake, you played in protest. So I took you and few board books to bed with me. While I was propped up on one side, engrossed in a novel from the library, I looked over to my left. There you were laying on your stomach, with a book in front of you. Your head moved back and forth, like you were reading that little book, sounding out the words, admiring the pictures, engrossed in that story. It was all too much for a little six month old baby. I was stunned, and without missing a beat you focused your energies on turning the page. I saw myself in you.

And when the sweet breath of sleep kissed your forehead, I watched. Your eyes closed slowly. Grudgingly. You raised your eyebrows in hopes that this last ditch attempt would cement your eyes open. Because, you only sleep on your terms. If you miss anything, there will be trouble. So I kissed your plump cheeks. Whispered goodnight. I understand my darling. I see myself in you.

XOXO humps

A Lifetime of Yelling, "Don't Touch That!"

There is a critical point in the development of a young child where you can't just put 'em down and expect them to be there when you turn around. Trust me - I know. That point in my home was a few weeks ago.

Until recently I have been living in what I now know is a big ol' parenting delusion - complete with feelings that I had everything under control. I know now that until you are trying to keep up with a curious, moving, wanting to put everything in her mouth when you're not looking baby, life is easy. Hell, all you really needed to do was keep that kid fed, changed and entertained. All of which increases in complexity as the months go on.

And although I can and very shortly will do a bit of baby proofing in our condo, I'm much more worried about the things / places / people that we run into outside of the home. Worried as in full fledged anxiety. I'm sure that for many years to come I will feel this high level of anxiety that BABY is gonna get her little curious ass into something, fall into something, or hurt herself against something.

So I would like to warn everyone, that if BABY and I happen to be visiting you, out to lunch with you, having you over at our place, attending an event with you - basically anything, anywhere, with anyone - please don't be alarmed by the look of terror that I have on my face when I see these:

- a glass table
- a sharp corner
- a steaming hot beverage perched on an edge
- an open toilet seat
- a large vase placed on the floor
- (any sized) vase on any surface
- marbles, pebbles or other chocking hazards
- knives
- place settings
- electrical outlets
- stacks of newpaper
- any paper that you don't want a baby to eat
- stoves
- electrical wires
- open windows
- open doors
- pretty much anything and everything

It's a scary new world. Excuse me while I go after my baby. "DON'T TOUCH THAT!!"

~ humps

Be That Woman

One of my favorite blogs EVAH is Bad Mommy Moments. Just a few days ago CK posted this Public Service Announcement that I had to share. It got me weepy.

Check it out:



~ humps

Angels

On Sunday, my little angel was baptized. While I haven't talked about religious beliefs - and all that jazz - on this blog, I couldn't help but celebrate this day in her life. In both of our lives. It was an emotional day for me.

You see, I started going to this church less than a year before I got knocked up with BABY - for lack of a better description. It was a time when I was just beginning to explore the possibility of moving to US, when a close friend and I were having a conversation about church. We talked about going to church as a child and what that was like. We talked about how long it has been since we have been back and how life - just being a young adult in the city - so easily got in the way. We talked about a lot.

There were a handful of beautiful old churches in the city. We decided that we would check a few out and see what it was like. See if we could make a church connection and maybe give this whole "religious" thing a try. I mean it is one thing to believe in a maker and another thing entirely to be a full fledged church member!

One Sunday morning I ironed my clothes, broke open a new box of pantyhose, put on a nice but not sexually suggestive pair of heels. It was like I was going on a very conservative date: wanting it go well, a natural connection, to be comfortable and not wanting to say something stupid. "Please don't swear, please don't swear, please don't swear!" Add to that the unique dance that is church going: standing and sitting at the right moments, singing at the right volume.

We arrived at the church and found a place to sit a few rows from the back. We smiled at the people sitting around us. We stood and sat at the appropriate moments. We sung all of the hymns with the appropriate level of volume and enthusiasm. We didn't swear. Most importantly we listened. The pastor was a younger man standing in front of the backdrop of an older church - I would learn later that he was a thirty-something new father. He was starting a sermon series. When he talked, I felt like he was talking to us. It was just that relevant. I had Goosebumps. When it was over, before we got up to gather our things, we looked at each other. We came back the following week.

When the time came, I was more scared about telling people at my new church that I was pregnant than anyone in my life, because well nothing says SINNER than having a baby out of wedlock. I mean, really! Isn't that their whole deal?! I felt like having a baby was my own Scarlet Letter.

I am happy to say that it wasn't like that at all. And I now believe that having my little girl is a blessing. That I was given the most incredible gift. That God doesn't make mistakes. That I was suppose to find this church before I had her. That there is something to learn in all that I have and continue to go through.

And this weekend, when we stood beside the other families who were baptizing their children that day, I was trying really hard to hold in emotions. To the right of me were these families that I have grown to know, with a mom and dad. A small part of me pained that this wasn't the picture that I was presenting to the world. But to the left were my daughter's God Parents and all of my family and friends that were there to support us. I looked at them, and they smiled back at us. I looked out into the crowd and saw all of the people's faces that I now know. I looked down at this little girl that I held who looked back at me with big brown eyes. And I knew that it was perfect. And I exhaled.

My little angel. In. Every. Way.

~ humps

Don't Walk Away

If you have read a few of the posts here you would pick up on my mixed emotions about BABY growing. It is at once remarkable, exciting, fulfilling to watch her grow up before my eyes, and I feel so grateful to be able to witness it all. At the same time, I am sad that she is growing up so fast. She's my little baby!

The latest in the series of exciting, heartbreaking milestones - crawling. We already have a baby that sits up and rolls over. She loves "standing" with your help and pulling herself up. I'm waiting to see what she will do next. It seems to be changing every week.

Her journey towards crawling has been entertaining. I am left wondering if all babies like this. Is this the sequence to crawling:
- She started pushing up on her arms a while ago.
- She then started pushing up on her knees so that her butt was sticking up in the air.
- She learned how to push up on both hands and knees - table top style.
- She has been working the "take off", where she bounces on her knees and looks like she might launch herself across the room.
- She has been using her arms to pull herself in a circle.
- She uses her arms to push herself backwards.

All of these things combined with the sitting and rolling over, means that she is actually "traveling". She can help herself to that remote or cellphone or grocery list or key chain that was once a few feet away. But she hasn't yet got the momentum to really start crawling.

So I relish in small movements. I relish in each minute that she sits up on her own and looks up at me, and stays there. For all the time that she doesn't crawl, walk or run away, she is with me. That makes me a happy mommy.

~ humps

What's For Dinner?

This weekend, my little girl is turning 6 months old. I am sad and excited at the same time. Sad - because she is growing up so fast. Excited - because I know that there are more wonderful milestones to come.

The latest milestone: solid foods!! Yesterday I gave her solids for the first time. Big deal, no?

I was preparing for this moment emotionally and physically for a long time. (I am dramatic like that). At our last appointment for her 4 month immunization shots, BABY's physician gave me the go ahead to start solids. I was a little stunned. I wasn't ready to hear that. It felt counter to everything that I was reading, which advised moms to keep breastfeeding their children to 6 months. Weren't both the World Health Organization (WHO) and UNICEF - two huge worldwide organizations - recommending just breast milk for the first 6 months and then breastfeeding with supplemental food until 2 years old and beyond?!

I'm sure that there is a certain face one creates when one knows that they are not going to take given advice. This is the same face teenagers use when they are going to immediately dismiss something that their parents say, or the face that a husband gives when he is ignoring a comment from his wife. I gave this face to my doctor. It was a blank stare with nod type of face. Luckily he doesn't know me well enough to notice. In fact, I'm fairly sure that he was just scribbling something down. Not even looking in my direction.

Over the last couple of months, our doctor was joined by a growing list of people that I was quietly ignoring on the subject of solids for baby including my grandmother, mother, a few moms that I knew who started their babies on solids around four months. Instead of these people I decided to pay attention to BABY's cues and behaviour, and listen to my own instincts.

In the meantime, I got ready physically while my emotions caught up. I picked some solid food appropriate bibs, adorable baby spoons and dishes (in BPA-free plastic since I couldn't really find non-plastic items that were in my very limited price range! Holla at me if you have any recommendations). Since I am planning on making my own baby food, I made sure that my Magic Bullet was working and that I had a few extra ice cube trays for freezing. I re-read the Starting Solids chapter of What to Expect: The First Year, and another book that I have on naturally healthy first foods. I researched homemade baby food recipes online. I talked to other moms.

Then I was ready emotionally.

On Monday, I had my first foray into the homemade baby food world. I was equipped with my recipes for homemade rice cereals, which I decided would be BABY's first food. I actually made two different versions:

Cooking Then Blending
- Cook short grain brown rice according to package directions. (I did a batch in my rice cooker for dinner and only portioned out a 1/4 cup for the baby food.)
- Place the cooked brown rice in a blender or food processor with the breast milk/water/formula.
- Puree until completely smooth.
- I poured most of it into ice trays and froze overnight, then put into a freezer bag.

Blending Then Cooking
- Blend short grain brown rice into a fine powder using a blender or food processor.
- Boil water in a saucepan. Once boiling, whisk in rice.
- Simmer for about 10 minutes, while whisking the entire time. It will get thicker and thicker.

I would have to say that solid foods was a big success. I gave BABY a little bit of both versions. She played in it and ate some. We had lots of laughing and no crying. Personally, I think that the proof is in the pictures.



~ humps

A Great Grandmother

My mom has one of those really big photo albums from the 70s with the hundreds of pages, gold accents on a pearlized hardcover, clear plastic vinyl and sticky pages, large metal binder-style rings. You had to take the plastic from the sticky pages apart and put the pictures inside. The photo albums were so heavy that I'm sure they were a hazard to have in the house. Those albums were kept stashed away.

A few of the photo albums are dedicated to pictures of me as a kid - I'm an only child so I was the subject most of the time. I used to look at the pictures in the albums a lot. It was great to relive the vacations with aunts and uncles, the holidays with cousins, the summer days with neighbors and friends. I especially like looking at pictures when I was a baby - most of which included my grandmother.

One of the most memorable pictures I had was with my grandmother giving me a bath.

My grandmother and I have always been very close. I can't put into words how much she was a part of my life since I was young. Caregiver, baby sitter, role model, teacher, therapist, confidant, accomplice, companion, nurse, best friend, chauffeur, daycare-pickuper, booboo-kisser, overall-everything. We used to spend a lot of time together. She took care of me.

About 10 years ago she moved back to the West Indies for health reasons. Her arthritis, food allergies, back problems made living in Toronto's cold winters too difficult. When her job with a bank became redundant and early retirement was offered, her physician suggested that was the perfect time to make the move. Most years, she comes up to Toronto for the summer and returns to the West Indies before it gets too cold. Sometimes she avoids the hassle and doesn't come.

My grandmother bought a ticket back to Toronto in time for BABY's birth. She wanted to be here. I wanted her here. There was no else that I wanted to share this summer with more than her. She was at the hospital when I had BABY - at times walking the halls with me, rubbing my back to relieve my contractions, holding my hand when I needed it. At 2:00 am she was holding my little girl in her arms. I cried. My daughter is her 10th Great Grandchild.

This summer we spent a lot of time together. When I brought BABY home from the hospital, my grandmother was looking over my shoulder as I gave her first bath. Just like the picture that I remember looking at in my mother's albums.

Her flight left on Friday. I brought BABY to say goodbye. My grandmother kissed her forehead, called her Princess and hugged her. BABY smiled. When my Grandmother comes back next year - God willing - my daughter will a year old. She will be older, different. She will be waddling instead of just reaching.

Over the last few months I have begun my own extra large photo album. It might not be like the 70s version that my mom had. There are no sticky pages or plastic, or metal rings or hard covers. But there are lots of pictures of my grandmother.




~ humps