Kodak Moment

I was sitting on the bed a few minutes ago, feeding my boy before a badly needed nap. He was getting drowsy, but when he finished his snack, he fought off sleep for long enough to turn his head, gaze lovingly into my eyes, and say "Da Da."

I love this kid.

Cheaper Than "Pedigree"

I read an article in Today’s Parent magazine about toilet training a baby while on a visit to India. It said that most people there don’t use diapers on their babies. This 7 month-old boy’s grandmother told his mother to let him crawl around without pants or a diaper on; her comment was (and I think I’m pretty close to the exact wording here, because I read the line about 5 times): "If he pees, we’ll wipe it off the floor. If he poops, the dog will eat it."

I almost started laughing out loud. It’s a good thing I didn’t, because I was in the doctor’s waiting room (where I do most of my reading- this was the same day I got my door prizes), and I get the impression that he already has serious questions about my mental state. I pictured this 7 month-old baby crawling around with his cute little commando-butt, and it was just too much.

Apparently this method of toilet training works really well. There’s more to it than just taking off the diaper, of course, and the article went into that. Sadly, it’s not a method that would work around here. Cold winters plus bare butts don’t equal happy babies, and it’s hard to just wipe the pee up off of wall-to-wall carpeting. It would be so good for the environment (and my wallet!) if we could do it, though. And think of the money you could save on dog food! Here, Otis...

Contraception

I was at the doctor’s office not too long ago to a) get my prescription for antidepressants refilled- hooray! and b) to ask about post-baby birth control. I went back on the Pill recently, but it seemed to make my boobs think it was no longer necessary to produce milk. This would have been less of a problem if we could afford to buy formula for the boy, but we’re talking about the woman who finds a dime in a parking lot and hollers, "Hot Dang! Simon’s a-goin’ to college!" Have I mentioned how much I love embarrassing my husband?

Apparently the "low dose" pill I had tried was not the low-EST dose pill out there. Since the hormones were probably what was affecting my (or rather, Simon’s) milk supply, lower would seem to be better. That’s how I got a 3-month sample of the lower dose pill. But wait, there’s more! I also got a sample of the NuvaRing AND three trans-dermal patches. Wow... birth control, and I get to look like I’m trying to quit smoking, too!

The drug companies make everything look so pretty, like I’m going to base my decision on which looks nicest. Actually, that might be the best way to do it... Can I just tell you about the packaging? The pill I got the sample of is "Alesse", the commercial for which I have made fun of on several occasions.* The pills are pink and green to match the logo, and they come in a spanky-lookin’ silver cardboard case. Not bad... ooh, but look here! This patch thingy comes in a neat black leather-lookin' case! And it has a mirror inside! Sweet- I’m keeping the case for make-up even if I don’t end up using the patch. I think my favourite is the NuvaRing, though- it comes in a sheer blue fabric bag, tied with a bow at the top. It’s a gift, just for me! You shouldn’t have... It also comes with a free condom. This would seem to show a distinct lack of confidence in the product if not for the warning that the NuvaRing does not protect against STD's. OK then.

So I went in for a prescription and advice, and I came out with three low-dose hormonal contraceptives, a make-up case, a gift bag and a bonus condom to spiff up the hubby's wallet. This is why I love trips to the doctor; sound medical advice, plus I walk out feeling like I’ve won all kinds of door prizes. Yippee!

*You know... it’s the one where all these "Alias" type female spies are like, "I’m on Alesse" into their wrist-communicators in several languages, and then they all run off for their mission or something. I guess last-minute reports to headquarters on birth control methods are standard practice for spies.

Multitasking

They say that women are born multitaskers. We can juggle more to-do list items, thoughts and important details from the last episode of "Grey's Anatomy" than any man. This is probably due to the fact that we have to be that way- women have always had to juggle house, family, entertaining, cooking, and various other tasks, and these days there's even more to do and think about, especially if you're working outside the home as well as in.

Here are just a few of the things I can do at the same time:

- listen to the radio, read a book, drink my tea and pet the cat.

- prepare supper and entertain a baby with singing and dancing (not the traditional definition of "dinner theatre", but whatever)

- do laundry, cook, watch TV and play "peek-a-boo"

- write a journal entry and carry on a conversation with my husband (though I sometimes end
up writing what I meant to say and saying what I meant to write, which gets confusing)

- have sex and decide what colour to paint the bedroom ceiling. Just kidding!*

- Have a shower and sing "Old McDonald Had a Farm", "The 12 Days of Christmas" and/or one
of several show tunes to keep Simon entertained while I lather, rinse and repeat.

Do I spread myself too thin? Probably. But I'm still kind of proud of the fact that I can talk on the phone and pee at the same time.**


*We rent- we're not allowed to paint...

** I've never done it to you, I swear!

Leaving on a (West)Jet Plane

People who fly on commercial aircraft can be divided into two groups: the ones who fly with children, and those who get really annoyed by those who fly with children. I am now a member of the former, and I sincerely apologize to those in the latter. But hey, he has to come with me.

My little buddy and I flew from St. John's to Hamilton last Tuesday. I'd been dreading the trip for weeks. No, make that months. His first plane trip in November wasn't too bad... Of course, he was also 2 months old then, still in the stage of life where you're pretty much just a portable lump of person; he slept most of the way. On that flight we were seated in the middle of a row of three seats, which meant climbing over a fellow passenger every time we had to go to the tiny little toilet room*. This was a frequent occurrence, as 2 months is not only the "little lump" stage, but also the "pooping every 5 minutes" stage. Too bad the man in the aisle seat was in his "take off my shoes and try to sleep on the plane" stage...

In any case, we survived that trip. Still, I worried that it would be harder to keep an 8 month old occupied on a flight. As if that wasn't enough to worry about, he woke up Monday morning with a cough and runny nose- yes, he did, in fact, catch my cold, and just in time for the trip. Tuesday morning he was no better, but we headed off to the airport right on schedule. Unfortunately, that was the last part of the trip that went smoothly...

Did I mention that on our trip in November I wasn't asked for ID for my boy? Apparently human lumps don't need it, but sick, miserable little 8 month-olds do. We haven't gotten around to ordering a copy of Simon's birth certificate yet. Fortunately, we were allowed to use his health card. Unfortunately, said card was apparently not in my new wallet where it was supposed to be. Oh, Crap. So given that the alternative was not taking the baby, the hubby rushed home to look in my jewelry box for the missing card- I was sure that's where it would be if it wasn't in my wallet. Too bad it wasn't.

Mommy and Baby got through security while Daddy went to find Baby's ID. Daddy called Mommy on her cell phone and told her he was going to have her killed; all he could find was a hospital card that said "Sparkes, Baby Boy (Kathleen)" and Mommy's birth certificate. That was going to have to be good enough. Oh, and I forgot to tell you that at this point "Sparkes, Baby Boy" was wailing the sad tale of his misery to the world, and the rest of the passengers in the waiting area were praying that they would be seated far, far away from Mommy and Baby. Or that we'd be in a padded room in the cargo hold. This is the part where Mommy started to cry.

I now know why passengers with babies are allowed to pre-board, and why we have assigned seats on planes. Otherwise it would be like that scene out of Forrest Gump, with people covering up empty seats, shaking their heads. "Ye cain't sit heah. Seat's tay-ken." Even the other babies in the waiting area were looking at Simon like, "Jeez, what's HIS problem?"

Then, the first bright spot on our journey- no one was seated beside us. The flight wasn't full, and everyone with a baby had three seats all to themselves. Three seats! We had hit the jackpot. And so had all of the other passengers. They all looked relieved when they found their seats, and they were not next to That Baby.

At least he didn't cry the whole flight. Please note that in that last sentence, the emphasis is on whole, as in "there were a few scattered moments, like when he was asleep, when he was not crying." The dose of Gravol I gave him, though it made him groggy, did not knock him out for as much of the trip as I had hoped it would. He was awake for most of the flight; to his credit, he seemed to be trying to be happy, but the crappiness of the cold was overwhelming. Landing was no fun, either, though I got him to suck his thumb, and that seemed to help. He was also awake for our entire stopover in Halifax (NOT the most exciting airport in the world) and for most of the second flight.

I was going to go into detail on the flights, our rough evening, and The Cold That Wouldn't Die, but you get the idea. We didn't have much fun. I did learn, however, that WestJet is (in the words of Bill and Ted) most excellent. Here's why:

1) the staff really ARE nicer than on most airlines, and very helpful.

2) they have little satellite TVs on the backs of the seats. This will keep even a sick and cranky baby occupied for 10 minutes. Also, it keeps other passengers' ears occupied with headsets instead of crying baby.

3) the flight attendants are hilarious. I actually paid attention to the safety demonstration because it was entertaining.

4) they gave us THREE SEATS. Three seats, people!

5) they did not crash the plane.

Oh, and about the health card? Yeah... the thing with new wallets is that sometimes you forget about little pockets in them. And then sometimes you find things in those pockets that would have been good to have three days ago. And then you decide not to tell your loving husband that you found said things in said pockets, because then he really would have you killed. Just sometimes.

* Sorry, I just can't bring myself to call it a "washroom." There's barely enough room to stand in there, let alone wash. Ditto for "bathroom", for obvious reasons.

Sleep

Holy Mary, mother of God, the child is still awake. We've been putting him to bed for over an hour now, and he's still not out. At least I don't have to blame myself; I'd rather blame the strange room (though he's been sleeping there for a week, now), teething, the cold he's still not over, alien death rays or just about anything other than our parenting skills.

Hang on... I don't hear him moaning right at this moment... that's a good sign. He's usually good about going to bed at night (if not always for naps), and I'm really thankful for that. I don't like leaving him to cry. I can do it for a few minutes, but when he really gets going, doing the "mama, mama, save me!" cry, the one that says it's just too much to bear, my heart breaks and I go to him, comfort him, and put him back down.

I know that I'm lucky to be able to do that at night- I don't have to go to a "real" job in the morning, and I can nap when he naps during the day if I need to. I don't know how parents do it who don't have that luxury. Yes, he's still getting up at night, though we've had full weeks when he didn't. I just learned this week that my brother's 5 month-old sleeps 12 hours straight through the night. As tired as I am, I'm not jealous. OK, maybe just a little (I can't remember getting that much interrupted sleep, and I'd probably cry at the memory if I could), but that's all.

I kind of like having our time together at night. Just a few minutes, usually around 4:30 in the morning; a quick feed and he's back to bed. I'm not usually completely awake, but I'm there enough to appreciate the warm little body cuddled into me, the long eyelashes resting on his big, round cheeks, and the soft breath on my neck as I carry him back to his room. Yes, I groan inside when he starts creaking and it wakes me up from a good dream. But soon he'll be a big boy, too big to need me for middle-of-the-night cuddles. For now, I'm trying to enjoy our time together*. I keep telling myself I'll sleep when I'm dead.

*(I hope I never have an opportunity to read this posting during a nighttime wake-a-thon; I'd probably smack myself for ever writing it.)