New Blog

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

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

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

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!

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

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

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!"

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

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

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

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...

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

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...

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!

[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

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.