(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

Valentine's Day

I'm a romantic. I love love. Although I don't have a romantic love in my life right now, I have a different, deep, I didn't know it was coming and would feel this way type of love. For my little baby girl. That's more than I need.

A couple of years ago, I stumbled across a poet named Shihan. I fell in love with these two videos of his pieces, performed on Def Poetry Jam. Years have passed. I have grown. I found these videos again. It means more now that it ever has. I wanted to share.

Enjoy:

Bugs Bunny

Somewhere between Christmas and now I lost the gummy smile of my little girl. I became used to looking at her one way. Eight months of her yawns, laughs, babbles, kisses, smiles that were soft and wet. Toothless. Her round plump lips. Her pink mouth.

But like all babies, her teeth were conspiring below the surface. They were building courage. They were getting ready.

She was showing all of the signs of a baby preparing for her first tooth - putting everything in her mouth, drooling. I waited for the more unpleasant signs of teething, like the crying, fever, redness on the checks. I monitored the pink tissue of her lower gums for indication that it might be coming. For swelling. I waited. I took pictures of her gummy smile, knowing that those days were limited.

Almost overnight, she sprouted her first tooth.

She woke up, smiled like she usually does, and there it was. Right in front of me. Instead of coming in on the bottom like I expected it would, like the parenting books said, it came in on top. The second, beside it to the right, was peaking out also. Her two front teeth. She looked like Bugs Bunny.

Is it silly to dedicate a post to a first tooth? Maybe. But for some reason, when she smiles at me, it's almost like a different baby. She doesn't look like a baby. She's growing up.

I know that somewhere between now and next Christmas we will go through a number of small milestones. Too small to blog about, or to write in her baby book. But all will add up to the incredible transformation of a little baby, to a little girl.

It's all conspiring below the surface.

Forever Shaken

Last week, on Tuesday, January 12th, a 7.0 earthquake hit Port-Au-Prince, Haiti.

It was said to be the most powerful earthquake to hit the country in more than 200 years. As devastating as that natural disaster was, and would be to any country, the destruction in Haiti was exasperated by the conditions. Most of Haiti's people are desperately poor, and after years of political instability, the country has no basic construction standards.

The earthquake caused a crumbled ruin of many homes from all ends of the economic spectrum. According to reports, Parliament has collapsed. The tax office has collapsed. Schools have collapsed. Hospitals have collapsed. The National Palace is a ruin, and the UN headquarters was damaged. Most of Port au Prince's two million, an estimated 1.5 million, were made homeless by last week's natural disaster. Thousands are dead.

I don't need to rehash news reports that you have likely heard a lot about. Over the past week, I have read, watched, listened to some of the same reports that you have. I have been touched by the stories of loss, the stories of fear, the stories of men, women and children, like many of you have. I have hurt for the people that are waiting for word from their loved ones, like you have. My stomach has ached for all of those who are affected by the situation, like yours have. My mind is full of "what ifs", "that could be someone close to me", "how could this happen", like surely yours is.

It's things like this that make you realize how special, how sacred, how blessful, how bountiful your life is. My life is. As a mother, I feel changed. As a mother, I am so impacted by the hurt of children. As a mother, I feel a different kind of pain than I ever have before - during any other natural disaster. I look at the innocence of my daughter, and the way she looks up at me at the ripe age of 8 months, and hurts me inside to think about losing her. I would never be strong enough to live through that. Thinking about it tears me apart.

My prayers are with everyone impacted by the earthquake in Haiti. Although I am able to turn off the news reports, shut down the computer and climb into my bed, my heart and mind is thousands of miles away. And I hold my baby girl a little bit tighter because of this. I won't forget.

~ humps

*Note: News photos from http://ca.news.yahoo.com photo slide show. All three are Reuters.

S is for Spelling

Over the last couple of weeks I have been on a mission. I have been consumed in the pursuit of finding daycare for BABY. I will be going back to work in April. While I did do some initial investigation, entered myself on a few daycare waiting lists over the summer, I now have to put this search into high gear. If I don't get her in somewhere over the next couple of months I'm screwed.

I'm sure you will hear a little bit more about the daycare issue on this blog. Like how freaking expensive it is. How I have no idea how I'm going to be able to afford it. (These places are coming in at around $300 a week for infants. Like $1200 a month!! Please don't get me started on this or I will have a breakdown.) I will probably rant for months about how I will be entrusting my precious daughter in the hands of people I don't even know. That she will spend a good 9-10 hours a day there, and see them more than she sees me. How I will likely have a breakdown during the first day, week, month. Oh my gosh, I'm gonna throw up right now. I'm feeling anxiety just thinking about this.

Ok, let me get it together.

The real reason I wanted to write this post was to ask, what's up with daycare? I am looking at homecare and daycare. I am going on tours, open houses, meeting daycare administrators, speaking with homecare agencies. Seeing advantages and disadvantages of many different options.

Not sure if I am being an overly discriminating parent, but who the hell decided that misspelling a word in the name of your daycare was cute. Or good marketing. You're suppose to teaching my child how to read and write. And meanwhile you have a sign outside of your building that reads "Skool". WTF.

So I just wanted to get that off my chest. If you operate a daycare facility with "Kampus", "Skool", "Kare", "Kollege", "Kidz", "N" instead of And, than you may want to think of rebranding. Because it just isn't Kute.

~ humps

Get Yo Shit Togetha

It's the Monday after New Years. We have just walked into a new decade. It is now 2010! I am dusting off my laptop and shaking off my carpal tunnel to officially deemed this Get-Yo-Shit-Togetha Week. Because after the holidays, surely I am not the only one who needs to get my shit together.

It's an informal poll but I can say with some certainty that 99% of the people that I know have veered off of their regular routine over the holiday season. The time spent has varied - from using up the vacation days, taking on some overtime hours, or going into work to enjoy late starts and long lunches. Or maybe you spent some time curling up with your 8 month old baby girl, watching Hugh Grant movies on cable and grazing on holiday goodies. That's cool too, I suppose.

I even let the baby run wild over the last couple of weeks. Her bedtime has gone to crap. I have to get her back on the routine.

So with this being Get-Yo-Shit-Togetha Week, I will be buckling down. I will be getting babies on routines, getting my ass of the couch, getting some housework done around here, getting my life organized and getting it done. I'm not one for New Years Resolutions but I'm a fan of breaking out the shit broom and shit bucket to pile it all up. I'm a fan of getting shit together.

I gots to go. This shit is calling my name.

~ humps

Baby's First Christmas

We had a wonderful holiday. I will be back to the regular routine on Monday - not that we are getting down to much partying right now. But it has been nice doing nothing at all over the last couple of days! Although I am on a blogging hiatus I would be remiss if I didn't post pictures of Baby's First Christmas.

We spent Christmas eve and Christmas day at my mother's house. She does the Christmas dinner with our extended family on the 24th. Of course my little girl got all of the attention from young and old. Her little cousins (even the two year old) spoiled her rotten with hugs, kisses and a whole lot of attention.

And yes, BABY learned quickly how to open presents. Here are some of my favorite Christmas pictures:

~ 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

The Day After

It's been a while since my last post. All week I have been busy planning a surprise birthday party for one of my closest friends. You guys don't understand how hard it is for me to keep a secret. I'm a terrible liar. And I talk to her on a daily basis! I also couldn't write about it on this blog or Twitter on the odd chance that she was reading it. The torture!!

The party was Friday. Big success. Lots of fun. All day I have been vegging on her couch eating leftover appetizers and cake. And BABY is decked out in her day after-party tracksuit, playing with an assortment of toys on the floor.

None of my pictures turned out any good - partly because I couldn't find my camera for the first half of the night.

But since it's been a while since my last post with BABY's pictures, I thought that I would share this one taken recently. So... my little baby:

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