Mommyhood Confidential

2008-11-26T08:55:00.001-03:30

new url: www.mommyhoodconfidential.wordpress.com

see you there!

Used

2007-05-15T20:06:00.000-02:30

Weird.

I just realized that I need to change my profile information for this site; it says I'm a new mom. I'm still a mom, but with my life with Simon approaching the 2-year mark, I'm not exactly "new" anymore.

And that's a good thing. Mommies aren't like cars; we don't instantly depreciate the moment you drive us off the lot. I'd say that a Mommy is like a fine wine (just in case that simile hasn't been overused enough lately), but that's not right, either; a fine wine might improve with age, but you can't enjoy it in the meantime. Being a Mommy means being necessary, useful, indispensable from the very beginning.

As ready as I thought I was for my Baby Boy to be born after a long almost-nine-months of pregnancy, I wasn't ready. Fortunately, a newborn doesn't need much from its mom except love and the sheer tenacity to bumble through until her exhausted brain treks up that steep learning curve, gaining experience as she goes. I loved Simon before I ever saw him, but damned if I knew how to give him a sponge bath. Still, I was the best Mommy I could be, and that was good enough for him.

Now? Well, I got the sponge bath thing down just in time for him to switch to the tub; now I have the challenge of keeping an excited, squealing toddler from running around in the "big people" tub. I'm more confident that I was when we started, and waaaaay more experienced. I've survived poops that would turn an elephant-keeper's stomach and smiled through snotty kisses. I've cried over a boy who's growing up way too fast for my liking, even as I cheered on his first steps and marvelled at the brilliance of his first words.

I might have all that experience under my belt, but when you're a parent, the stuff you learned yesterday doesn't necessarily translate to tomorrow's problems. I know so much about Baby Simon, and I'm quickly learning about Toddler Simon, but Little Boy Simon? I can't imagine.

I'm not a new mommy anymore- and I'm glad. I was happy as a new mom, but I'm definitely more relaxed now. I've started to get back to having my own life (even though Simon is part of everything I do). I'm more competent and confident as a Mommy than I was 20-plus months ago.

And that's all I've got. I'm not going to conclude this ramble by saying that I'm a better mom, because I don't know that. I've always been the best one I could be, and I think that it's been pretty good so far. Being a parent isn't like a car; it's not like wine, and it's not like a career where you get promotions for gaining experience. It's like... beng a parent. New or used, we're all just doing the best we can, trying to keep up with the amazing little critters we're mommying or daddying for as long as we've got 'em.

OK, I'm going to change that profile thinger now. "I'm a 26-year old used Mommy..."

Update

2007-04-27T21:01:00.000-02:30

I'm taking some posts from Mommyhood Confidential and editing them, lengthening them, updating them, etc. I don't know what I'm going to do with what I end up with just yet, but I think the good posts could be better.

Any comments you could put here re: your favourite posts, editing suggestions, etc. would be greatly appreciated.

Negotiations

2007-04-27T20:51:00.000-02:30

OK, ladies, let's come to order. Ladies? Gals? MOMMIES! That's better. Thanks.

Let's get this meeting started. For the written record, this is the first meeting of the proposed Mommy Union- got that, madam secretary? Wha- arrowroot biscuits in the keyboard? Just take notes be hand, then. What was I saying? Oh, meeting. We're here to discuss our position for upcoming negotiations. It's time that our situation improved, time that we were appreciated for the many jobs we do.

OK, whose phone is that? No... A marble in his nose? Yes, you may be excused.

Back to business. I'm handing out a list of proposed points for negotiation- we'll read over them, and discussion will follow.

Point 1: The pay sucks- sloppy kisses and toothless grins aside, of course. When's the last time one of us cashed a paycheque for what we do? I heard that a recent estimate put the value of a Mommy's work at over $130,000 a year. This may be a bit low- we're looking into it.

Point 2: Sick days. We don't get 'em. If anyone else in the family is sick, we're there with acetaminophen, towels and a barf-bowl. When we're out with a bug that we probably caught from the kids, though, we can't call in sick. No one fills in for us- most of the time, anyway. Even if we get to lie down, there's still the soft knock at the door; "Mommy? Mommy, will you play Candyland now? It won't make you frow up..."

Point 3: Working Hours. In the early months of our careers, work is 24/7, with no regularly scheduled lunch or coffee breaks. Even after the kids are sleeping through the night, or when they're off to school, we're on-call every hour, every day. And weekends and holidays off? Fuggedaboudit. Those are a Mommy's busy season! Point 4: Pension. Not only are we not getting paid, we also have a retirement plan that consists of crossing our fingers and praying the kids pick a decent retirement home. At this point it looks like most of us are headed for Barneyville retirement castle, but we're hoping that our prospects will improve in the future.

Point 5: Workplace safety. Yes, a babyproofed home may seem like a safe work environment, but this is true only if you ignore the regular tripping over baby-gates, burns from hot trays of chicken fingers and the inevitable regular exposure to toxic wastes we encounter while on diaper-duty.

Mommies, this is unacceptable. No one else in this country is expected to work under these conditions. Um... there is one teensy little problem, though. See, we seem to have very little of what they call leverage.What are we going to do if they don't give into our demands? Anyone willing to strike? Show of hands... See, there's the problem. Will we quit if our demands are not met, so that our families will have to bring in expensive nannies, chauffeurs, maids, personal shoppers, tutors and accountants? No, no I'm not going to do that. You? No? Right...

Well, we'll discuss this next week. You are all going to be here next week, right? Nancy? Ballet recital, eh? Oh, tell Beatrice I said break a leg. No, not really. Jane? Uh-huh, OK. Well, we'll reschedule. Um... I'll call you. As soon as we figure out where the dog buried the cordless phone.

Meeting adjourned.

Not the end, but...

2006-12-29T19:30:00.000-03:30

I know... I'm not posting.

Stuff is happening, I just haven't been writing it here. Why? I don't know. Lack of time is part of it- I'm back at work now, and I'm busy when I'm at home. Being back at work also means that there's (gasp!) stuff going on in my life other than mommying, and I'm writing about that elsewhere. It's weird... I'm still as much a mom as I was before, but there's other stuff again now, too.

If you want to read any of the other stuff, it's on LiveJournal at http://allisonwonder.livejournal.com , but I'll warn you that it might be TMI at times. I like to bitch about customers. A lot. And about money... and the car... but the good stuff is there, too, I promise.

I'll be back to post here when there's time. In fact, I think there's probably a post about teething coming up in the near future... if I have time. :)

Even Mr. Gere Can't Pull That One Off...

2006-11-02T14:17:00.000-03:30

A few weeks ago Us Weekly "investigated" (i.e.- they did a survey) whether several male celebrities are sexier now than they were when they were younger. Surprise, surprise- almost every one was considered, to varying degrees, to be sexier older than younger. I'm sure I'm not the only one who wondered what the results would be if this investigation were done with female celebrities, and reached the conclusion that the results would have been very different.

Oh, there are some fortunate (and brave) females out there who have fabulous bone structure and gravity-defying boobs who age beautifully, naturally. There are women out there who are proud of ageing gracefully, and I hope that some day I'll be one of them... but the fact is that this is one thing that men have going for them that we women just don't. They generally get better-looking with age.

I really don't think this is entirely something we've been led to believe by the media or some conspiracy meant to belittle women and keep us insecure. Most of these guys look downright goofy in their "younger" pictures. Of course there's a huge psychological aspect to the whole thing, but it's hard to deny that Patrick Dempsey looks better in his "Dr. McDreamy" years than he did as a gawky 20-something, even if you're not looking at him as a potential provider.

Women? Oh, smile lines make us look old. Getting a more prominent jawline isn't so desirable for us, and while the men get sexier, we get Nice n' Easy.

Isn't that depressing? Still, this might might be changing. As we get used to seeing mature women as people who are strong and successful, and if we learn to admire the character that a woman's face gains as she matures, maybe older women will be judged to be as sexy as older men. Can we reject the pressure to try to hold on to the beauty we were born with and embrace the beauty we cultivate through our life and experiences? I think so, but it won't be easy.

Premiere magazine, in an interview with Richard Gere, credited him with making gray hair sexy (on men, of course, not women). Gray hair is a sign that a man is mature, that he has life experience. What I want to know is, when is somebody going to come along and make stretch-marks sexy? Come on, stretch-marks are a sign not only of life experience, but also of fertility, so they should be very desirable, right? Right? Anyone?

Oh, well. I can dream, right?

(Us Weekly- "Are They Sexier Younger or Older" by Caroline E. Davis; issue 609 October 16, 2006

Premiere Magazine- "Idol Chatter- Richard Gere" by Brantley Bardin; November 2006 )

Handy-Dandy

2006-10-13T16:03:00.000-02:30

Forget handy-man; I'm the handy-mom.

OK, so maybe I'm more Red Green than Bob Vila; duct tape is my secret weapon (or not so secret; it's hard to hide the silver stuff when it's in the middle of the room). I swear, I can fix almost anything with it.

For example, Simon has figured out that there's no door knob on our bedroom door. This means that he can just crawl over and push the door open any time he wants to go in and play with Daddy's toys- a BIG no-no. I thought about just leaving the door open and putting a baby gate across the doorway, but that would mean I'd have to go out and buy another one... nah. I tried to tape the door shut, but it didn't work. Now we've got a lasso-type thing made out of duct tape stuck on the back of the door; it comes out of the room and loops around the top of a chair in the living room, keeping the door closed. It looks weird, but it works well, at least until someone gets trapped in the bedroom and has to holler to be let out.

We also have a power bar (the kind that plugs go into, not the semi-edible kind you choke down after a workout) that was resting on a heater in the living room all summer. We reluctantly decided to turn a few heaters on last week, but having electrical cords touching the heater seemed like a little bit of a fire hazard. Duct tape to the rescue! Everything is securely attached to the wall.

I can even do plumbing. A few days ago I turned on the hot water to the bath tub (it has to be off most of the time or it drips), and the pipe started spraying water all over the room, from behind the toilet to the door. A duct tape tourniquet has reduced this to a fast dripping for the moment; we'll have to get that taken care of properly, but at least most of the water's getting to the tub for now.

Ooh, and then there was the luggage strap I made out of ribbon and duct tape... not attractive, but certainly distinctive!

Oh yeah, I'm proud of my skills. Just call me Mrs. Fix-it!

The Cupcake Caper

2006-10-03T13:21:00.000-02:30

It's been over a month now, and I think I'm ready to share the truth about the birthday cupcakes. There are a few people out there who already know; now this sad story is going to be available to the general public for the first time. (Check local listings)

I'm not very good about nutrition, to say the least. I take my vitamins every day, but my grandmother would have conniptions if she knew how little vegetable matter I actually consume in a week. I start out with the best intentions; A. doesn't like veggies, but I buy them for myself, and then I get to feel guilty when I open the crisper drawer in the fridge a week later and clean out the brown goop that has accumulated. But I take my vitamins every day... I know, it's not the same thing. You don't have to tell me.

I am, however, a bit more careful about what Simon eats. I'm not obsessive about organic stuff, and he has, in fact, tasted ice cream. Still, he and I eat whole-grain bread because I'd rather he get used to that than the white stuff. He eats a lot of veggies; sadly, they're in mush form most of the time, and not real appetizing to me.

Maybe that's why I decided to try to do the SuperMom thing for his birthday and make a carrot-cake for him. Not just any carrot cake, either; the one from "What to Expect the First Year," with wheat germ and whole-grain flour and carrots cooked in apple juice. We went to the bulk barn for most of the ingredients; they've got a good selection of crunchy-granola stuff there, and you don't have to buy a 30 lb. bag of it to get the 3 cups you need. While we were there I also bought apple butter, multigrain pancake mix, wheat germ, dried fruit (for me) and spaghetti.

See where this is going yet?

The thing is, for some reason the Bulk Barn doesn't provide any means of labelling your bags, just little twist-ties to close them with. I got home and found myself completely unable to distinguish between the whole-grain flour, the whole-wheat flour, and the multigrain pancake mix. Oops. In case you're wondering, they all taste the same if you try to do a Lik-M-Aid taste test on them.

I took my best guess and went to work. I figured either flour should work, so I had a 66% chance of the cake turning out just fine. (See, kids? You do use some of that math stuff later in life!)

I boiled the carrots in the apple juice until they were soft. I mixed my dry ingredients, and I pureed my carrots with raisins. It did not look appetizing, but everything was going well, until I mixed the wet and dry ingredients. Um, yeah... my batter bubbled. It was like a sick, brown, witch's birthday-brew. It swelled until it filled the bowl.

Oops.

As I watched my batter bubble, I thought about what Martha Stewart would do. I quickly realized that Martha would never have found herself in this situation, partly because everything would be neatly organized and labelled, and partly because if anyone let this happen, they'd be fired before the raisins hit the blender. Still, what would she do if, by some great cosmic accident, she did find herself in my situation?

Well obviously she'd toss the batter, make a run back to the store, re-purchase the ingredients and try again, possibly waiting until morning (though I don't think she actually sleeps).

Screw that, Martha I thought as I poured my puffy-looking cake mix into a dozen muffin cups. Either they'll be fine or they won't. I had already decided to buy a backup cake for any grownups who weren't tempted by the very healthy cupcakes, so if things went south, we'd just have that. It was late, I was tired, and the oven was already hot.

Well, they looked OK when they came out of the oven. They smelled fantastic. So they were a bit dense. Nobody complained, especially Simon. He loved them, and he made a nice mess all over is high-chair with them just like a first birthday-boy should.

So, what did I learn from this experience? Well, for one thing, I learned that Betty Crocker is my new best friend, and her reasonably-priced cake kits will be the extent of my adventures in baking for the next little while. More importantly, though, I think I learned that no matter how hard you try to be SuperMom, no matter how hard you try to get it right... stuff's not always going to turn out the way you wanted or expected. I guess you just pray that your best was good enough, and try to enjoy things the way they are... even if the cupcakes are a little heavy!

Buggy Buggies

2006-10-02T14:24:00.000-02:30

Have you ever wondered where wasps go when the summer is over? They spend every nice day bothering picnickers and popsicle-eaters, and then when Autumn comes... they're gone. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. I only ask because today I discovered the answer to that very question.

Eat your heart out, David Suzuki.

The answer is: They go and live in baby buggies.

Not what you expected? Me either. I could happily ave lived the rest of my life without knowing this little tidbit of information, too. Te only reason I found out is tat it's raining today. See, we usually leave Simon's "good" buggy outside; the one that goes wit the carseat he used when he was little, the "Travel System" buggy. It's great- it's very comfy for Simon (sitting up or reclining- life's rough, isn't it?) and it has tons of storage space for toys, bottles, and/or shopping bags, plus it and it has convenient cup-holders for the rest of us. The only problem is that it's BIG. Even folded up, it takes up a lot more room tan your standard umbrella stroller. That's why the good buggy has lived outside since we moved into this house in June, staying under an old shower curtain when not in use. It's stayed relatively dry there for a few months, but since there's a storm coming, I decided to bring it in today.

OK, so maybe the shower curtain-system hasn't worked perfectly... the buggy's a bit wet and just the tiniest bit musty. I opened it up in the kitchen to dry out, and gave 'er a good spray with Febreeze... or the generic equivalent, one of the two. Anyway, apparently a small family of wasps had taken up residence somewhere in the stroller when the nights started getting cold, and they didn't appreciate being de-stinkified.

I thought the first one was a fluke, just a little critter that got caught in the buggy before I brought it in. I felt bad about killing it (my guilt over killing bugs is a topic for another post), but I reasoned that it would ave died soon outside anyway. Fine. One down. Then I was sitting here writing- er, I mean helping Charlie write his blog, and another one started banging and buzzing against the window. Oops... we didn't have a bee or wasp in the house all summer, and now suddenly in October we have 2? Riiight. Well, that one got smashed with a Coke bottle.

Wasp number 3 joined me soon after the demise of wasp 2. He suffered the same fate. Big sucker, too...

That's all so far, but I think my thesis has been proven. Wasps live in baby buggies in the winter. There's got to be some kind of award for discoveries of this magnitude... I'll be home if anyone from the scientific community needs to contact me about that.

Oh, and there was a slug, too, but I think it was just after the damp Cheerios.

New Blog

2006-09-26T11:46:00.000-02:30

There's a lot of stuff I like. My friend Hayley has a great blog set up with recommendations on good stuff- it's called Things That Are Nice. With her permission, I'm starting to do the same thing with products, books, etc. that have helped me in my pregnancy and/or mom-ish-ness. It's called Good Stuff for Moms, mostly because the term "Good Things" is kind of taken. Anything from diapers to not getting rid of the cat, whenever I think of it. Because let's face it: nobody knows mom/ kid stuff better than us moms, right? Feel free to contact me if you have any suggestions!

www.goodstuffmoms.blogspot.com

kathleen.sparkes@gmail.com

A Simple Equation

2006-09-23T13:09:00.000-02:30

I'm not much good at math, and I have no trouble admitting that. There's one particular equation that I'm having trouble with right now: How to make $650 in bills and $450 in rent come out of an $800 paycheque. We've already got so little in the bank that we're actually in overdraft on our overdraft, and all of the credit cards are full... except the new one that Canadian Tire was foolish enough to give us. I kind of would rather not use it, for obvious reasons.

The good news is that, now that I'm back to work, we'll have a little more money coming in. Not more than I was getting from EI when I was on maternity leave, but some. The bad news is that I won't get my first paycheque for at least a week, possibly 2 (depending on how the pay schedule goes). The other good news is that I have a great business now with Discovery Toys... the bad news is that now that I'm working, I have no time to work at it. And on and on it goes...

I'm happy with what we have, generally speaking. I don't need to go out and buy new clothes, and I'm just as happy getting books out of the library as I am buying them (and where would I keep them, anyway?). We get free movie rentals from A's work. I don't need to buy a lot of "stuff" or turn my home into a showplace, though I wish we could get A. more of the little things that he wants. I enjoy eating out, but cooking's OK... I just prefer to cook nicer things that Kraft Dinner a la wieners. And being able to pay the power and phone bills would be really great.

I keep telling myself that we're just in a temporary tight spot, but that's what I've been telling myself for the last 3 1/2 years. We're not big spenders, it's just that there's always something coming along that needs to get paid for, and it often ends up going on the credit cards: car repairs, moving half-way across the country, maternity leave... groceries...

Please keep your fingers crossed for us, and pray that we get approved for interest relief on A's student loans- that would give us a little breathing room for a few months. Finding a winning lottery ticket stuck to the bottom of my shoe would be nice, too. Whatever.

Acting Rashly

2006-09-21T11:41:00.000-02:30

Don't tell my husband... I'm pretty sure our son has a yeast infection.

He's had this diaper rash for a week now, and it's not getting better. Yesterday I found out that his cousin, who we saw in Ontario, has a really bad one, too. They took her to the doctor, and yeah, it's a yeast infection.

Obviously this isn't exactly the same as the one that women get (and which makes them want to take a nail file to themselves because the itching is so bad*), but apparently the rash is caused by the same (ulp!) fungus. Mom said they had to go the the foot care aisle at the drugstore to get 1% something-or-other Canesten cream, which apparently is used to treat athlete's foot. That's probably a good thing; I can only imagine asking A. to pick a little something up from the "feminine care" aisle for our son!

* I sincerely apologize to anyone who has never had one for that mental image.

Leave of Absence

2006-09-19T11:56:00.000-02:30

Well, my maternity leave is officially over. I'd like to thank the Government of Canada for having a system set up in such a way that I was able to spend an entire year with my Simon. I just can't imagine living in the USA, where moms have to go back to work after 6 weeks! True, we missed my full-time income, but we survived. It was wonderful; it wasn't easy, but it was a great year.

But now it's back to reality. Not full-time reality; no, daycare is too expensive for that. Maybe if I had a high-paying job it would make sense, but now almost my entire paycheque would have to go to paying for it. If I'm not making any money off being out at work, I'd rather spend the time with my little buddy, thanks very much. No, I'm back to work part-time as of this past Sunday. I'm working when A. isn't, when he can be home with Simon. This setup means no daycare costs, but very little time together. I guess all we can do is make the most of the time we do have... I'll let you know how that goes!

My first 2 shifts have been alright. You know, I had forgotten that I really liked my job before I was pregnant. The last 5 months I worked before I went on leave were full of serious depression, backaches, sore feet, migraines and exhaustion, none of which make you real happy to be on your feet dealing with the public 8 hours a day. In general, retail sucks- I can say this with some authority, having worked in many stores (both as management and as a part-time lackey) in my brief working life. The store I'm at now is great, though- maybe it's because it's a thrift store and there's less pressure to sell, but I think it's mostly the people. Both stores I've worked at for VV have had great, supportive staff and managers, and it makes a big difference when it comes to job satisfaction. It doesn't make it all better when you're 7 months pregnant and having a migraine/stabbing back pain/my feet are falling off day, but it helps.

But that's not what I was going to tell you about... I was saying that my first 2 shifts have been good. Sunday was an 8-hour shift, which was long for a first day back on my feet, but it was alright. I forgot some stipid little things, like how to enter credit card payments into the register (minor issue, no big deal), but most things came back to me quickly. It was fun to talk to grown-ups again, and I enjoyed not being sick of anything yet- being on cash, fitting rooms, cleaning up the heinous mess that customers leave behind... it was all good! And here's the best thing: I got breaks! I haven't had an actual, scheduled break in a year!

OK, I missed Simon. I'm glad he was home with his Daddy, though- I knew they'd have fun together. I think I would have been dealing with serious separation anxiety if he'd been anywhere else- mine, not his.

And we've already had our first scheduling conflict- last night we both had to work. We got a babysitter, it was OK, shouldn't happen again. Which means it will, but we'll deal with it.

I know the novelty of adult conversation and breaks will wear off, especially as Halloween gets closer and it takes until 1 in the morning to get out of the store (thanks to the aforementioned heinous mess). There will be a lot of days when I'd rather stay at home and get the stuff done that I used to have all day to do. For now, though, being back to work's not so bad.

Ask me again when I have to get there in the middle of a snowstorm.

Ow, My Noggin!

2006-09-15T20:36:00.000-02:30

Ow. Ow. Ow.

It's a headache day again. It might be caffeine withdrawal- I was drinking a LOT of tea with mom last week. Or it might be the weather, or the fact that I just found out that my first shift back at work is going to be 8 hours this Sunday. In any case, I'm achin'. And don't you just love it when I whine about it?

I usually take Advil (or rather, the generic equivalent- my head hurts too much to spell ibu-whatever right now), but we don't have any in the house right now. All I've got is Tylenol Ultra Relief, which is supposed to be great for migraines, but does bugger-all for me. Curse you, clever advertising!!! Now I have no good stuff. It's OK- I took 2 anyway. My head might still hurt, but maybe I won't care after a while.

Anyone got a bottle of wine? Anyone?

A Change is as Good as a Rest

2006-09-12T12:56:00.000-02:30

Simon and I have been in Ontario for almost a week now; we leave tomorrow. It's been a good trip, and I've enjoyed myself. Simon was an angel on the plane, and the 3 hour flight only seemed to take about 5... We arrived in Toronto and were greeted at the luggage carousel by my mom and sister-in-law, who had ignored the massive "RESTRICTED AREA" signs on the doors and rushed in to meet us. It was a long drive to Hamilton with a very tired baby, and a late evening for both of us, but it was so good to be back with everyone. I've said it before, and I'll probably say it again; if I could just get my family and friends from Ontario to move to Newfoundland, everything would be perfect!

Simon and I went on a road trip with my parents to Elmira, NY for an overnight with my aunt and her kids- it was Simon's first really long car trip as well as his first visit to the United States. He didn't seem especially impressed with either. Still, he was a good little guy again, very well behaved in the car and a pleasant house-guest, unless you count the KFC art-installation on the living room floor.

The best part of the trip has been watching Simon playing with Noah, his cousin, who is a few months younger than him but who is doing pretty much everything he is... I think it's a girl thing. They crawl around together, exploring the furniture, trading toys and yelling. Simon's current favourite word is "Dad," which gets more than a little embarrassing when he yells it at every man we see at the mall. Noah prefers yelling "rah-rah-rah!" like the world's smallest cheerleader and making noises that sound distinctly Wookie-ish. Their little "symphony in the key of Baby" is delightful, even when it's waking you up from a nap!

They say a change is as good as a rest, and I've learned this week that it's almost true. I'm still waiting for my days off, but having a change of scenery and routine for a week has refreshed me as well as an actual vacation might have. I've been changing as many diapers as I do every other week, I've spent every day with Simon, and my sleep has been interrupted even more than it is at home, but I feel good. Not rested, mind you, but good. I'm ready to go home and face what's waiting there; going back to work, trying to do my toy business so that I can stop going back to work, keeping the house in order and continuing to try my best to raise a relatively normal kid.

Life is good.

Time Flies

2006-09-03T11:14:00.000-02:30

A few nights ago Simon started crying in his sleep. This isn't unusual, and I usually give him a boob, he eats a little and goes back to sleep, everyone's happy. Ever since his top teeth started coming in, though, I've been a little sore, so I fixed him a bottle instead. He was fine with that; he didn't even wake up. And for some reason I started to cry.

I guess I cried because we had made it almost a year breastfeeding... and I realized that I have no idea where that year went. I have tried to appreciate every day I've had with my baby, even the tough ones, and it still wasn't enough. I'm so proud of the little boy my baby is growing into, but I miss the tiny little guy who relied on me for everything. It seems like just a few months ago that I was holding that little bundle with the big blue eyes for the first time. Wasn't it a couple of weeks ago that he smiled at me for the first time? When he sat up all by himself and looked so proud? How did Simon go so quickly from the new little fellow who just ate, slept, cried and pooped to this sturdy toddler who pulls up to cruise along the furniture, who knows how to make a video play on the VCR, and who would like to feed himself this time, thanks-very much? (and who still eats, sleeps, cries and poops...)

This is how it's supposed to be; the ultimate goal of parenting is to raise a child who can live his own life. Independence is a good thing... right? Sure it is. But it breaks Mommy's heart, too. Every step he takes toward being his own person is a step he takes away from me. He went from living inside of me to existing as an individual the day he was born, but he still needed me for everything. Then he learned to amuse himself... and hold his own bottle... and eat real people-food... how to tell me "no, that's not what I want right now, Mommy"... and to get himself where he wants to go. I'm so happy that he's growing into a sweet, happy, normal kid, but it's a bittersweet happiness.

The good news is that I still have quite a few years of being one of the most important people in Simon's life. I hope that even when he's a big boy, he'll still know that I'll always be his Mommy, and I'll be here whenever he needs me. My hope for these next years is that he'll spread his wings wider and wider until he's ready to take off and fly on his own... but I'll always he here to catch him if he falls.

Fingers + Drawer = "Waaaah!"

2006-08-11T13:34:00.000-02:30

I had to duct tape my desk drawers shut the other day. Simon learned how to open and close them, and that was fine; I put stuff he's allowed to play with in the bottom drawer so he could practice his new skill. Hooray for me! A new activity!

... and then he closed his fingers in the drawer. Not hard enough to do any serious damage, or even to hurt for long, but hard enough to make him angry. I'm not sure if he was mad at the drawer for hurting his fingers or for not closing properly, but he made his scrunched-up angry face, anyway. I took his fingers out of the drawer, closed it, and took him to find something else to do. That's what the books say to do: distract them. Yeah, thanks, books.

He went back and did it 5 more times. I'm choosing to believe that this is a sign of a scientific mind in development. He's re-testing his hypothesis... or something. Whatever, at least he's cute.

Happy Birthday... Almost

2006-08-07T09:14:00.000-02:30

My little guy will be turning one soon. I can't believe almost a year has gone by since the day he was born. It's actually a pretty good birth story... have I told you? I will some time, if I haven't already.

It's been a good year. A great one, in fact. The best of my entire life, in spite of the lack of sleep. I never knew that I could love anyone as much as I love my little guy. Don't get me wrong; I love my husband as much today than I did the day we were married... but it's different. The love I have for my baby has often felt so strong I thought my heart would break from it, and I have cried as I held my little sleepy bundle in my arms, overcome by the depth of that love. Many times I have thought that God allows us to be parents so that we can have a small taste of the love He has for us; otherwise, how could we know? It's not a love that begins with infatuation or physical attraction, as romantic love so often does. It is pure, simple, and almost unbearably strong.

Obviously I haven't spent every day with my son crying all over his fuzzy little head and wondering at the mystery of motherly love- practical concerns make that impossible (and thank God for that!). The last year has been full of poopy diapers, sore breasts (sorry, guys), crying spells for both me and Simon, and teething frustrations. It has also been full of trips to the park to see the ducks, amazing growth and learning (again, for me and my boy), and new discoveries every day. I hope I never forget the first time he turned to me and smiled, the day he figured out that he could make things happen by kicking the buttons on his music box, or when he finally decided to start crawling... right for the DVD player.

I guess what I'm saying is this: this has been the hardest eleven months of my life, and I don't expect parenting to get any easier as my boy grows up. But it has also been the most amazing time I've ever experienced, and I thank God every day for giving me the chance to know, love and (scary thought!) raise this special little person.

Wish me luck in another year when we reach the Terrible Twos!

Monkey See, Monkey Do

2006-08-01T09:29:00.000-02:30

Simon is getting to be so funny.

A few days ago, he was playing on the floor with his Daddy. Simon noticed that the cover for the x-box (which is serving as our DVD player right now) was open, and he headed over to push the buttons. Daddy closed the cover and sat back down... and Simon kept picking at the cover.

"No, no, Simon," said Daddy. "That's Daddy's. Ta Ta!" We say "ta ta" when we ask Simon to give us something. Simon looked at Daddy... and went back to what he was doing. "Ta Ta, Simon. Ta Ta!"

Now, we all know that Daddy probably should have gone and taken Simon away from the x-box, but I guess he thought he could reason with Simon in the language of "Ta ta". In any case, it didn't work. Simon turned to Daddy with a big smile on his face, said "ta ta," and went back to what he was doing. The two repeated this exchange several times. "Ta Ta, Simon." "ta ta!" "No, Simon... Ta Ta!" "ta ta!"

I probably shouldn't have laughed, but it was too funny. I couldn't help it.

It looks like Simon is getting into the "monkey see, monkey do" stage- in fact, his newest nickname is "Monkey C. Monkeydoo". He's learning lots that way; clapping his hands, banging toys together to make noise... lots of fun stuff!

I think the copying might be leaving him open to the dangers of peer pressure, though. I've been looking after Raya for the last few days; she's a few weeks older than him, and she walks around (though she looks too small to be walking- it's too cute). She came in this morning, as she did yesterday, with her pacifier (soother, dumb-tit, whatever) in her mouth. Simon went right for it. After he pulled it out of her mouth a few times, I dug out one of his old ones from a basket in the kitchen, and he popped it in his mouth. Oy vey... I hope he grows out of this before the "cool" (or stupid) kids are smoking...

The Bigger They Are, The Harder We Fall

2006-07-28T12:59:00.000-02:30

When I was little, it seemed to be taking forever for me to grow up. My mom would sigh over how quickly my brother and I were growing, and I would honestly believe she was completely nuts. All of the cool big-kid stuff (then the high-school stuff, then the grown-up stuff... all the hyphenated stuff, really) seemed so far out of reach, and time dragged as I waited.

Oh, how the tables have turned! People tell you before you have a baby, "Enjoy him while he's little! They grow up so quickly..." I can honestly say I have taken this advice, and I have tried to enjoy as much of my time with Baby Simon as I could. I'll admit that there have been moments that I wouldn't exactly want to bronze and stick on a shelf, but I've reminded myself that nothing lasts forever, good times or bad. Still, I didn't understand exactly what people were telling me until he started growing up.

Yes, I know he's not grown up yet; he's not even a year old. We still have a few years before he's off to school, blah, blah, blah. But the tiny lump of newborn I once held in my arms is now a sturdy little guy who won't sit still long enough to get his diaper changed; he's just too busy! And the little critter that looked to me to satisfy every want and need is crawling around exploring the world independently (under careful supervision), and he'd prefer that I not interfere, thank you very much.

Oh, he still needs me. Every bump on the head requires kisses, and he hasn't mastered cooking quite yet. There's no question that he's getting away from me, though; Simon, who was once a part of my own body, hardly needs my breastmilk anymore. His needs are changing from physical to emotional, social, psychological... Where once I could fix almost anything by sticking a boob in his mouth (sorry for that mental image, folks), I now have to try to understand the complex needs of a little boy, and accept that I might not be able to fix everything.

I'm not going to try to hold him back. One of the most important measures of a parent's success is how well a child can live on his own when the time comes. I'm glad that time is still many years away... but when we get there, I know that years will seem like days. I pray that I'll continue to cherish every day-even the boring ones, the teething ones and the upcoming "Mommy-you're-not-my-friend!" ones. They'll be over far too soon.

Yards, Pens, whatever...

2006-07-25T16:50:00.000-02:30

When we were shopping for baby stuff oh, so many moons ago, I noticed that stores and catalogues were offering a fine selection of "playards". This, I learned, is a clumsy abbreviation of "play yard", what we used to call a playpen.

I'm assuming that the name change comes from ultra-sensitive people being offended at the use of the word "pen" in relation to the containment of precious babies. "Pen!" they screamed (or so I imagine), "Pigs live in pens! My pwecious widdle snookums will not be contained in a pen, play or otherwise!"

The manufacturers of the much-maligned pens in question scratched their heads and brainstormed for endless... minutes before coming up with a new name. "Yard! Play Yard! Better yet, Playard! Sounds like Juliard! And Har-vard! They'll love that!"

Let's call a spade a spade, folks. We do use these convenient baby-containment systems to, well, contain our babies. It is a pen. It's there so we can let our kids play in a safe place while we pee, cook on a hot stove, or for when need to keep Junior away from marauding toddlers.

In protest of the unnecessary changing of perfectly good (if un-P.C.) names of products, I will now be using my own name for this one.

Now excuse me... I have to go put Simon in his Baby Cage while I make some spaghetti.

(Gender) Identity Crisis

2006-07-23T09:08:00.000-02:30

I was out grocery shopping yesterday, and I had an exceedingly unhappy baby with me. It wasn't nap time, he wasn't hungry; Simon just really hates grocery shopping. The novelty of sitting in the shopping cart has worn off, and now the only time he's happy is when another customer or a store employee is fawning over him. He's such a flirt!So he was happy when a very nice lady came over to us... and told me what a beautiful little girl I had.

To be fair, I should tell you that he was wearing yellow, which is just about the most gender-neutral colour you can dress a baby in. Plus, my baby boy has massive blue eyes and long, dark lashes that make his mommy jealous, so you can see where someone might get confused."Um, he's a boy, actually," I replied, adding that he was 10 months old (in response to her second question).

Now, if I make a mistake like that, my first instinct is to attempt to achieve complete invisibility; the closest I've gotten so far is to turn bright pink. This woman handled the situation perfectly; she said, "Oh! Well, he's just got a pretty face. He's going to grow up to look like Tom Cruise or someone like that!" Well! Tom Cruise isn't girly. Off his rocker, but not girly. Nice save, friendly lady!

I admire people who aren't afraid to talk to other people. I've met a lot of them since having a baby; nothing brings people flocking to you like a baby (except maybe a really cute puppy). I hope that as I work at getting over my shyness I'll become less afraid of people.

In the meantime, I'm dressing my pretty little boy in blue, thanks very much.

Martha Stewart I Ain't...

2006-07-18T14:14:00.000-02:30

First of all, let me just say that I LOVE Martha Stewart's magazine. I like the pretty pictures, and I dream of having a home where every sheet set (if and when I own more than one) is neatly folded inside a coordinating pillowcase, where friends gather outdoors for a feast of "marin-aaah-ded" steak and fresh-squeezed lemonade, and where the cat isn't the only one who could, in theory, eat off the kitchen floor.

Yeah, right. No, I really do love that stuff, it's just that IT'S NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN. My perfectionist days are over, thank you very much; it only took two stints in outpatient therapy to figure out that those tendencies weren't exactly helping my depression. I'm not saying we live in a pig sty; it's just that my home isn't quite ready to be featured in Better Homes and Gardens.
I vacuumed today, which is good. I only found three dead spiders while I was doing that... does anyone out there know the equation for figuring out how many LIVE spiders that means there are in my house? I did dishes, too, and managed not to gag from the smell of the 2-week old bottle of formula I dumped down the sink. Yummy! As for the bathroom, I keep it as clean as I can, scrub the toilet and pray that people take my word for it that those are rust stains in the can and not the result of a combination of severe colon blow and poor housekeeping skills. Really.

It's not all my fault. I have a baby, and he keeps me busy. He also contributes to the mess. OK, maybe I shouldn't give him Cheerios in the living room, but he gets so much joy from dumping them all over the floor. He's learning about GRAVITY, people; who am I to take away that valuable educational experience?! Also, my vacuum sucks. Or rather, it doesn't suck. I almost cried the day I used my mom's itt-bitty "carpet sweeper" and found that it was approximately four-hundred eighty-three times more powerful than my full-size, upright vac. Yeah, I said vac. I'm down with the lingo, yo. So is it really MY fault if you can't walk across the living room carpet without emerging wearing socks coated in cat hair? No. Blame the un-sucking-ness of my vacuum. Thank you.

I do what I can. Yes, there's clutter, but nothing choke-able within reach of the little monkey's paws. Clothes are piled all over my dresser, but I have a pretty good idea of what's clean and what's not. Besides, I'd rather spend my time enjoying my baby's baby-hood than trying to keep his mess off the floor.

Oh... and writing my blog. That, too!

Ow, My Boob!

2006-06-27T20:28:00.001-02:30

[PLEASE NOTE: I wrote this back near the end of May. My boob is much better now. Thank you for asking. -K. )

Ow. Ow. Owww!

Remember way back when, that time I said I was lucky that I hadn’t experienced some of the complications that go along with breastfeeding, like blocked ducts and mastitis? Well cross the blocked duct thing off the list, friends. This is not a new phenomenon, actually. It has been happening off and on for several months; I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had to deal with this. (Did I mention that I feel like whining today? I’m really, REALLY sorry. I won’t even hold it against you if you want to stop reading right now... still with me? OK then).

Commence whining in 5... 4... 3.... 2... 1. IT HUUUUUURTS! It really, really hurts! Just for purposes of reference for anyone who hasn’t had this particular experience: Have you ever had a really nasty toothache, the kind that is just completely distracting, and you can’t accomplish anything because this one teeny, tiny part of your body hurts so bloody much? Imagine that consuming your boob. Not the whole boob. Just, say, half of the boob. That’s what it feels like. A toothache of the boob. Have I said boob enough yet? Boob. Plus, as a value-added bonus, you get this rock-hard ball stuck to your chest, getting in the way for the day or so it takes to clear up.

So yeah, I’m not a happy camper today. All you can really do for a blocked milk duct is apply heat and massage (gently, and it still hurts!) as often as you can, and keep feeding the baby on that side. Because as much as the feeding hurts, letting the pressure build up is even worse. Ooh, and painkillers really help... a bit. This would be fine if caring for the boob (there, I said it again!) was all I had to do today, but it’s just not so. I’ve got my little guy to take care of, a hyperactive dog to deal with, and packing to do- did I mention that we’re moving next week? I’m ashamed to admit it, but I woke the hubby up this morning to ask- just to ask, mind you- if he could take a sick day for my boob. Apparently he can’t. Fine...

Like I said, this first happened months ago, and yet I’m still playing the dairy cow for my baby. Boy, am I dumb! If I had half a brain in my head, Simon would be happily drinking formula. Here’s the thing: it’s not because it’s good for him. It’s not for the bonding, though I still adore the feeling of closeness I get when he’s nursing. It’s not even the money, though goodness knows we still can’t afford formula. The reason I’m still breastfeeding him is this:

In the middle of the night, it’s just so much easier to whip out a boob than it is to prepare a bottle.

How sad is that? I’m willing to put up with pain and inconvenience because I’M TOO LAZY TO MAKE A BOTTLE. OK, so I’d miss it if I stopped- the feeding, I mean, not the blockage. I really would, in spite of everything. Am I crazy? Probably. What's your point?

Kodak Moment

2006-05-29T12:25:00.000-02:30

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.