Major Purchase

I am having a minor nervous breakdown right now. After many weeks of debating the pros and cons of new vs. used and purchasing vs. leasing, researching and test-driving, the Hubby and I bought car #2 today. (A used, demo model, 2008 Subaru Forester - it's white, but what can you do?)

Normally I would be thrilled. And deep down, I truly am. I have spent the better part of a year, trapped in my house because my car is sitting outside my husband's place of work waiting for quittin' time. So yes, I am very excited at the prospect of being able to go where I want, when I want.

The problem now is, of course, that I can't go anywhere because we just bought a car and now we're broke. Christmas is coming and the car insurance is going to double, and The Chimp's first birthday will follow shortly, and, and, and!!!!!!

I'm sure everything will be fine - right? I'll just keep telling myself that until I go back to work at the end of January...

Innocence Lost...Maybe Not

Difficulties with Mojo these past two months (since school started - and it's no coincidence) have had me believing that the child was passing out of her innocence into hardened adulthood at the tender age of 7.

Two things stand out:

1) Mojo has been losing her teeth like they're radioactive and sure enough, some jack-hole at school told her that there was no such thing as the Tooth Fairy. It's not the first time that she's approached her parents looking for reassurance that such things exist, it's just the first time that she wasn't taking any bull sh*t for an answer.

When her mother tried the old, "Well, do you think there's such a thing as the Tooth Fairy?" she flat out told her to stop beating around the bush and answer the question. Backed into a corner the Harpy told the kid the truth.

Mojo demanded to know why we had all lied to her (that is, every adult, everywhere), and why it was okay for grown-ups to lie to children, but kids get in trouble when they lie -- all good questions, don't you think?

I suggested to her dad that when she came to him looking for an explanation that he take the high road, something like: "Well, it can be scary for a kid when their teeth start to fall out, so grown-ups made up the tooth fairy to make losing your baby teeth something fun to look forward to, so kids wouldn't be scared to lose their teeth. Yes, it's a lie, and people shouldn't lie, but it's meant to make you feel better, not worse."

My current readings of Today's Parent has lead me to believe that these kinds of abstract ideas are the sort which kids of Mojo's age are starting to appreciate - empathy can be a difficult concept, even for adults to grasp sometimes, hopefully we haven't screwed it up too much for her.

2) A couple of weeks ago, Mojo asked her dad what it means when somebody puts their middle finger up at you - why it is bad. He told her it was like sign language for a swear word. It satisfied her curiosity, but it pissed me off. Some little f*cker at school is doing it to other kids thinking he's so cool because he knows something that he's not supposed to know and doing something he's not supposed to do. Why do some assh*les have to ruin things for other kids? Who knows how long Mojo could have gone without knowing that rude gesture? Her father and I take great pains not to make that very gesture when she's with us in the car (though it doesn't stop others from directing it at us!).

I guess my point is that I was starting to worry that maybe 7 was the end of innocence for our little Moj. But then last night, she was all dressed up in her ghost costume, chomping at the bit to get out and do some trick-or-treating and I realized that there are just grades of innocence. She was, almost literally, like a kid in a candy store. It's so funny how some kids, even though they do it every year, just cannot believe their luck at the idea of Halloween.

The highlight of Halloween for me to date was Mojo's exclamation of joy after the very first house that "That guy just gave me candy!" As though that wasn't the reason why she knocked on his door in the first place! Granted, it's been a couple of years since that first house, but she's still just as excited as ever. She was even excited to hand candy out at our door last night. Warms the cockles you know...

But I'll tell you right here and now, if that Tooth Fairy killing bastard ever shows up at my door looking for candy, I'm gonna give him the finger for sure!

Milestones

So I guess if you read this blog with any regularity, you'll have noticed that the posts are becoming fewer and farther between. That is because things are busy around here. And by things, I mean the Chimp.



At the beginning of October, the Chimp was 9 months old and that means that now she does some cool things that are worth watching:

• She claps her hands. At stuff she likes, when you sing her a song and when she's upset sometimes.
  
• She crawls. Everywhere she can get her little body into, under or around -- this development has necessitated the use of the play pen quite a bit!
  
• She pulls herself up onto things - the coffee table, the T.V. hutch, the dining chairs and of note recently, she has pulled herself up to standing in her crib.

In short, she is keeping me very busy and there is much less time to write this blog! No complaints though. It's fun to see what she's going to do next; even though you know the milestones are coming, it's amazing to see them in action. Tomorrow we go to the doctor's for her 9 month check-up, if I get a chance I'll update her stats then!

Um Yeah, Thanks Brooke

So I'll admit, I like to watch reality television. Survivor, America's Next Top Model, So You Think You Can Dance - I watch 'em all. This week, the Hubby and I sat down to watch the latest season of Dancing With The Stars. It's innocuous enough. Nobody gets hurt and it's fun to watch the beautiful people trying to do something that they wouldn't normally do on live television. But I have to say the needle went screeching off the record for me when I saw Brooke Burke in her barely there costume looking like she's never eaten a trans fat in her whole life.

The woman has four (count 'em, 4) children, the most recent of which was delivered only 6 months ago!


Now, I don't normally like to compare myself to the people on T.V. (unless of course they are the extremely obese people on The Biggest Loser), but in light of the fact that Brooke has recently delivered a baby and so have I - I admit the temptation was too great to resist. I definitely do not look like that!

So I told myself all of the things that other women in my position would tell themselves - that Brooke Burke makes a living out of looking like that - her livelihood depends on it. That she likely can afford to pay someone to make her meals for her and does not eat PB&J or frozen chicken nuggets for lunch like her kids do because she doesn't have to make lunches and keep her house in order like other moms do. That likely she has a personal trainer to make sure that she keeps that absolutely rock solid body at all times.

But it might not all be true. More likely, the woman looks like that because she doesn't sit on her couch eating cookies after her 4 kids go to bed. She probably hasn't ever knowingly consumed a trans fat, because she probably is on some raw food diet, and probably she doesn't collapse on her couch in grateful exhaustion when the last of her kids goes down for her nap - she probably does Pilates or yoga or something.

And good for her. Even if she does hire out the cooking duties, or has a live in nanny, or just enjoys good clean living - I don't begrudge her her hot body. But maybe she could just keep her four kids to herself. Other people don't need to know that it's possible to look like that six months after giving birth. I know I didn't!


But Brooke isn't just out there showing off. No, she's got a website dedicated to helping other moms out. Yeah, go ahead, check it out. But here's the thing. I'm not entirely convinced that the band of elasticized fabric that Brooke is flogging on her website is actually responsible for her taught tummy -- sorry Brooke. Would it stop me from trying it next time around? No, I'd try a lot of things to look like her.

Except walk past the concession stand at the movies without picking up a bag of popcorn and some Milk Duds. But, thanks anyway Brooke.

Better To Have Loved & Lost?

It's funny how sometimes things will happen in your life that otherwise seem unrelated, but when you think about them are kind of about the same thing.

I recently put an end to my dry spell of novel reading and found an amazing book called The Time Traveller's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. Perhaps it's just that it came to me at the right time, but I'm pretty sure this book is just un-frigging-believable.

Anyway, one of the ideas explored in this book is that of losing something/someone that you love. And in light of recent responses to my last blog, I think that it's an idea worth exploring a little more.

This book had me in tears. I found it so profoundly moving - the idea of waiting for your soul mate and the fear of losing them when they finally come - struck a chord in me that I'm sure must resonate with others also. My inability to control the world around me has left me in a cold sweat many, many times.

And so it got me to thinking: When we are single, many of us go to great lengths: removing hair in the bizarrest of places, engaging in the boringest/strangest/stupidest activities to lure to us "the one" we are meant to be with. If it takes too long for us to find that person, we begin to fret (see Trippy Gal's comment to previous blog).

I suppose that it's not without good reason that we engage in this worrying. I mean, nobody wants to spend eternity alone (or worse yet, spend eternity dating every weirdo out there). There is an innate need to connect with another human being and feel at peace knowing that we are loved unconditionally. We fear that the possibility exists that we will die never knowing this feeling.

The flip side of this fear, of course, is for those who have found "the one." For those people, the deepest fear is in losing their beloved - perhaps to some bizarre twist of fate beyond their control - a speeding car, a devastating illness - or perhaps to some grave error in judgement - the realization that you and your loved one aren't meant to be, a misspent evening, or what-have-you. And this fear is well-founded as well. For example, my own marriage exists at the expense of someone else's. In this case, one is left not only bereft of their loved one, but also with a feeling of inadequacy, the pain of rejection.

The fears get worse the more attachments you make; it runs in every direction; from the very centre of you out to your parents, whom you see aging (however gracefully), knowing that your time with them is finite; to your partner, whom you love with all your heart and could not bear to be without; and of course, to your children, who seem to hold within them the ability to stop your heart altogether. How on earth can one contend with all the myriad possibilities for loss?

When you look at it in this light (as The Time Traveller's Wife made me do) it seems as though the only way to avoid these pains are to avoid making attachments at all. If you are a Buddhist, then you're already on the right path for this. For the rest of us, however, the path is not so clearly marked. Like I said, the innate need for human connection is a strong one.

So what is the answer?

I guess it's probably different for everyone. For me though, there's no question - it's worth the risk. To live in fear of losing something you love is a far better misery than the fear which causes one not to try - to avoid those relationships which may cause rejection, loss and heartache.

And besides, the possibilities for joy are too numerous to avoid. I'm sure the Dalai Lama himself would have to admit that there is a great difficulty in not attaching oneself to the many wonderful things that life has to offer. So if you're still waiting for "the one" to come along, why not enjoy what there is in the mean time?

40 A Figure To Look Forward To

This weekend, the Hubby and I attended a farewell party for a friend and colleague who, after many years in the reserves, has decided to volunteer for service in Afghanistan. While I have mixed feelings about that, I respect this man very much and wish him good luck and a safe return.

At this party there were many interesting people. The Hubby and I were delighted to be at a (grown-up) party where there were people that we did not know - bizarre how that has ceased to be a regular part of our experiences in recent years. Among the attendees were a group of neighbourhood women, adorably named The Brooklawn Babes. These are a group of middle-aged women (mostly in their late 40's, early 50's) who know each other from their neighbourhood and who are friends. These women have collectively and individually experienced the myriad of of joys and adversities that people go through - death, divorce, and remarriage. Physical illness, mental illness, alcoholism. Child birth and child rearing (including teenagers), starting new careers and disciplines of study, and probably any others you can think of. The remarkable thing about these women though, is not their experiences - as I've said they are fairly common to everyday people, but the sheer fabulousness of them as individuals and as a group. Frankly, they're the sexiest middle-aged women I've met.

And I'm not just talking about how they look. Yes, they were decked out in their cutest cocktail dresses and looked great in them (yes, by the way, my standard for greatness at 50 is different from my standard for greatness at 20 or 30), but what was so fierce about them was their attitudes. The Confidence! My God! One could not help but notice how fabulous these women were and they knew it! There was no shame there. Just what seemed like total confidence.

And why not? In their 20's women seem to have a recklessness about them that sometimes plays as confidence, but I think, in many cases it is simply a mask which is meant to hide a sense of uncertainty and self-loathing. The confusion about who and what we are to ourselves and others can be overwhelming. The closer we get to our 30's the better we are able to understand ourselves and others, but now the self-loathing presents as a fear of aging. We are just finally starting to get our shit together, and now we're going to start sagging and bagging. How can anyone possible appreciate or respect us when we're not gorgeous?!

In our 30's we realize the folly of this, but still can't help ourselves. We are heavily targeted by the media and despite loving families, friends and/or partners we are critical of our outsides, even as our insides are slowing moving toward the fabulousness that will be our middle age. While it's true that (for many of us) our bodies take on a utilitarian nature during this decade that does not necessarily promote a sense of sexiness, our station in life as partners, leaders, and supporters does. But this is just the beginning.

Soon, we will be 40. We will be established more soundly in our jobs, lives and communities like we have not been before. We will have a sense of who we are and what we want for ourselves and our families that we have not had before. And yes, we will have sagging bits that we have not had before. But it won't matter. The truth is, I've yet to hear anybody complain about their 40's. Middle age for a woman (and I think that our 40's are the onset of this stage) is a coming of age. While men may be having their mid-life crises, women are finally starting appreciate the power within themselves. They are coming to accept that aging happens and while it's true that things aren't necessarily looking the way they did when they were 20, it matters less and less.

This November I will be turning 33. While it's true that I cried the night I turned 20, and was less than pleased when I realized at 26 that I was closer to 30 than 20, I can honestly say that there is no trepidation about turning 40. I've always suspected (and The Brooklawn Babes confirmed it for me this weekend) that aging (for men and women) is all in your head. If having another candle on your cake makes you want to through yourself off a bridge, then you need to think again.

Confidence is what makes you sexy. The respect and admiration of your peers and loved ones is what makes you hot. And if that's not enough, then chances are, by the time you turn 40, you'll be able to afford to lift, tuck or suck out whatever it is that's bugging you!

Done & Done!

Well, the deed is done. The Chimp is part of God's army now. We had the Christening last Saturday and frankly, it was pretty painless. Certainly the ceremony itself was easier than preparing for it. Each time I find myself engaging in some pagan ritual I am astounded at how many minute details must be adhered to. Or maybe it's just my mum.

Either way the day was a pleasant one and the Chimp was a champ! She fussed very little despite the bizarre circumstances (see photo below) and looked super cute in both her church dress and the Christening gown for afterwards.

My brother (the godfather) showed Herculean strength holding the Chimp in one arm throughout almost the entire ceremony and Gern (the godmother) was a real trooper, standing up in front of a strange crowd (our family), taking part in a bizarre ritual a la the Byzantine Era, all the while having hot wax drip across her fingers. I hope I get to return the favour some day - Lord knows I owe her!

We all headed back to my parent's place afterward for a bite to eat and it was strangely relaxed. My family was all there, loud as ever and the Hubby's family was also there, though not seeming traumatized by my family in the least. Nor by having to spend time with each other either. It's a bizarre situation at best with the Hubby's family, and if you know the story, you know why. If not, it's not really my place to tell it. (sorry!) It could be that we are all just getting used to each other - it was a totally pleasant day!

Apparently the only thing left for us to do is to head back to the church one Sunday to take communion (which, I'm pretty sure I've never done before!) and get the paper work taken care of. One more tradition I can check off my list!

Part Of This Nutritious Breakfast...

Ever since I can remember my family has been a family of gardeners. I'm sure for generations back my ancestry is one of subsistence farming. So naturally when I grew old enough to have a patch of dirt to call my own, I felt the need to plant something in it.

Perhaps you'll recall that I'm not a by-the-booker and so you won't be surprised to learn that I am a VERY lazy gardener. However, thanks to the hot and rainy weather we've been having in Ontario this summer, I've got a pretty good crop growing in my patch of dirt (and I do mean patch - the "garden" is probably 8 x 5 feet in total).

This year, in addition to my grandmother's tomatoes and peppers, I planted some cucumbers and potatoes, and I'm pleased to report that I've been enjoying the food from my garden for a couple of weeks now and I'm not dead yet!

(don't mind the eggs, I never claimed to be a great chef)

I would encourage anybody with their own patch of dirt (including balconies with space for a pot or two), who likes to cook, or just to eat, to take up gardening for themselves. I cannot express how frigging cool it is to go into your own back yard and come back with food. FOOD!! For cryin' out loud. Even if it's just a pot of basil and you're pretty sure that you'll kill it - I urge you to try. Honestly, you'll feel like Tom Hanks in that terrible movie with the volleyball when he made fire. It is totally gratifying. You'll feel like a million bucks - and then you get to eat what you made! And if it dies - no harm, no foul - it's not like a pet (but could be, if you wanted).

Especially if you, like many of us, try to buy locally when the seasons are right, you can appreciate the greatness of the earth when you bite into a fresh fruit or vegetable that hasn't been picked green and shipped across the continents. It's a moving experience, I tell ya.

Go out and garden today!

Giving & Getting: Year Three

Today is my anniversary. The Hubby and I have been married for 3 whole years now and nobody has suffered any severe or lasting damage. So far.

How did we spend our day? you ask.

Well we were up at the cottage for our first overnighter with both of the girls, so of course we were at the beach. Then cleaning and packing and driving from Lafontaine, Ontario back to Toronto. Naturally both kids fell asleep in the back seat and all we could do was sigh with relief and joy.

Also, we stopped at the Cookstown Outlet Mall. They have a kid's clothing store there that I figured we should check out before school starts again in September. Sadly, we promised Mojo a visit to the Cadbury store while we were there, but it closed. So what did we do? We went to McDonald's of course! What a romantic anniversary dinner!

Then things got worse from there. Both kids were still VERY tired, but not sleeping and the chimp started crying (and I mean CRYING!) about 45 minutes away from home. God bless her, Mojo was doing her best to entertain her sister, but after awhile she just got fed up. By the time we got through the rush hour traffic and home, both kids were in tears in the back seat and Mojo wanted to go back to the Harpy's house!

All is well now. The chimp is asleep in her crib. Mojo is in the tub preparing for bed and I am in the basement writing about how much I cherish domestic life with my hubby three (actually five) years later.

No, it's not glamorous, but it ain't bad neither.

My father-in-law called to wish us a happy anniversary and told me how glad he was that I married his son. Strangely, even after a day like this one (and several other sh*tty days before, during and after the divorce) I'm glad I married him too.

The thing is, I love my husband. I love him and I'm in love with him too. I think he's smart and sexy and funny and so loving and most importantly, forgiving. And I feel lucky to be with him. And I know he feels the same way about me.

The best part, I think, is that we make each other better people. Not all the time every day, but in a slow, methodical kind of way. We both want to be the best partner we can be for one another and so we try really hard to be that way. And when we can't? We say sorry and forgive each other for our shortcomings. I never imagined that compromising could work out so well in my favour. But there you have it: You give a little bit of yourself and you can get a lot in return!

Happy Summer!

Whew! I hardly know where to begin today. It seems that summer has finally started in earnest for me now that it's August. The first week or so was spent visiting with family and friends in lovely weather.

Yes, those are babies and beer in the pool - it could hardly be one or the other!

Last Tuesday the chimp and I made our first overnight forray into cottage country with some awesome teacher friends of mine and it was FABULOUS! I thought that maybe there would be some trouble with the chimp sleeping in the playpen for the first time in unfamiliar surroundings, but, of course, she was a total champ; completely accommodating so that mummy and her friends could enjoy their adult beverages and catch up with one another.

Yes, this is what (some/many) teachers do with their summers off. That's why we get them. Nobody can be as good as we have to be all year round without blowing off a little steam. (Want proof? Check out the Catholic church!)

The day after we got home, the hubby and I discovered that the chimp has got her first teeth coming in - the two bottom front teeth. She's generally a pretty good baby, so we've been spoiled and now her irritability is starting to wear us down. Hopefully it won't be too much longer though. She's going to be so freakin' cute once they come in!

On Saturday we had Mojo's 7th birthday party and, of course, it rained. Not all day. Just in the afternoon while we were having her party. That's okay though, since the kids were swimming anyway, we figured they wouldn't mind getting wet and they didn't. It was a riot. The best line of the day: "I'm a torpedo myself, actually." Try saying that with a straight face.

The kids had a great time swimming, smashing the bejesus out of the pinata and hula hooping their foul brains out. Not a bad time despite the rain.

While the hubby is off this week on vacation, we have plans for a trip to Canada's Wonderland (a now annual trip with Mojo. Last year I was pregnant and couldn't go on any of the rides -- BORING! This year I'm being replaced with Mojo's uncle and his girlfriend since, once again, I'd be standing on the sidelines with the chimp), and some time up at the cottage.

Coming up after that will be the chimp's Christening and my mum's birthday and then the summer is pretty much over. Where the heck does the time go? One minute you're twiddling your thumbs and then next minute you can hardly find time to check your email! I'll take busy over bored on most days though. Just as long as I get a bit of down time now and then.

Hope everybody else is having as good a summer as we are!! Happy Summer!

Ferber Schmerber

Except when I'm baking, I'm not really a "by the book" kind of gal (and that's only after learning the hard way that a teaspoon is a teaspoon, not a dash, pinch or otherwise!) and so it hasn't really been any different with child rearing. Yes, I do often seek out information from sources who know better than I do and often that means consulting a book or (gasp!) the Internet, but by and large I'm a skimmer and fill in the blanks myself. I figure with something like children it's likely to be on a case by case basis anyway, so why sweat the details?

Employing the cry it out method with the chimp has been thus. And I guess it's working. But the fact of the matter is, we (or rather I) haven't really been sticking to the rules. My baby isn't always awake when I put her down in her crib and I don't feel badly about that. Yes, it likely has meant dragging this whole process out longer than necessary, but, well, too bad for us.

Despite my lack of attention to detail, things have gotten considerably better on the sleeping front (at least for the chimp). I am still waking up expecting her to wake up crying, but she's doing pretty good now. If and when she wakes before it's time for a feeding, she sometimes cries, but often finds a way to get herself back to sleep within a few minutes and for the last few nights she has been waking only for one feeding in the middle of the night and getting a good 12 hours in the mean time.

Last night, the hubby and I went out to the movies (The Dark Knight - disappointingly boring!) and my mum came over to watch the chimp. She went to bed without her usual boob and slept through the night. I'm not complaining, but I'm not going to get used to it just yet either. What I will do is hope it lasts long enough for my body to trust that it's going to keep happening, and maybe, just maybe there will be a full night's sleep in my future too!

A Good Example Feels Good!

I consider myself a fairly active person. Or at least, I used to be. Like many women, I have struggled with my weight off and on throughout my life, sometimes I've been thin and other times not so thin.

Before the baby came I was able to get to the gym with a fair bit of regularity if not zeal. Not so much these days. I have tried going since we had the chimp, but a combination of fatigue and c-section complications have kept it from becoming a habit. Also, and I know how stupid this is going to sound, but I'm going to say it anyway, I've been scared to leave her at the gym daycare with people I don't know and who don't know me. Not because I don't think they'll take good care of her for the hour I'm not there, but because my baby is so damn smiley and happy. A stranger could come and take her out of there and she'd probably just laugh and smile the whole time.

Anyway, I broke the child-minding seal this weekend when the four of us (God, that happened fast! A family of four!) all went to the gym. Mojo and the chimp stayed in the daycare while the hubby and I sweated it out upstairs. It was awesome! My body felt like a car that's been sitting in a traffic jam when suddenly the road opens up and there's no speed limit! I actually ran (however pathetically) on the treadmill -- something I haven't done in years -- shameful, I know, but true. When I got home my body felt good and tired in a way that it hasn't in far too long. I'm actually looking forward to going back to the gym. While I'm still loathe to leave the chimp in the daycare (without her sister to oversee her) during the week, I am determined that I will at least go every other weekend and make the trip a family habit. I know that's not often enough to exact any major changes in my physique or even my general health, but it's a start and it's enough to make me feel good about paying for the gym membership, if nothing else! But it's not just that - I know we're setting an example for our kids -- showing them that it's important to set time aside for yourself to do something healthy; to look after your body and to make it a habit. Now if I could just stop heading down the candy aisle at the grocery store -- that would be a real example!

Progress

People have been asking me for updates on the chimp so here are the latest stats:

As of July 4th:

Weight: 20 lbs 2 oz (yes, this is considerably above average - okay, it's off the chart)

Length: 66 cm (within normal range)

Head Circ: 42.5 cm

So I have an incredibly chubby baby and until recently it was completely my own doing. However, we started her on the cereals about a month ago and in the last week or so we've started introducing some veggies to her diet. Some are more popular than others, but none are as popular as the boob.

In the last three days we have also begun to employ the cry it out method of getting the chimp to sleep. I hate it. I feel like a terrible person and that I am scarring my baby for life. The thing is, I think it's starting to work. The crying time seems to be shortening (touch wood) and hopefully soon there will be no crying at all. I'll keep you posted.

Movies For Mommies, Not Strollers

This week some of the ladies from my mums group decided to live on the edge and try taking our 6 month old babies to the movies. For those of you who are unaware, during the day, many movie theatres offer up one of their theatres for people with young children. The sound is turned down from the usual zillion decibels and there is a table on which you can change your baby so that you don't need to miss the film.

We selected a mid-town location that was conveniently located, but I had no idea just how inconvenient the experience would be. We were warned that there might be some competition for the elevator going up to the theatres, so we met early in order to beat the rush.

Well. First of all, just getting into the damned mall was an exercise in frustration. I ended up going in through the book store and luckily finding the elevator up from there. However once I got to the exit that emptied out in front of the theatre, I found that there were only stairs leading down -- no ramp.

Then when it was time to head up for the movie, we headed toward the "elevator." More like claustrophobic nightmare. The "elevator" was big enough to fit one stroller and I dare say that if you were in a wheelchair, you'd be heading up alone. The "elevator" required the rider to press the "up" button until it finished climbing incredibly slowly up to the second floor -- scraping up the concrete wall ( yeah, no sliding doors on this one, it really just cranked up a concrete shaft ). When you reached the top, presumably one is able to exit the "elevator" although I'm not sure because when I let go of the button, I started going back down to the first floor! As though the trip up had not been traumatic enough! When I reached the first floor again I backed out of the "elevator" and reported to the ladies waiting to get in that I didn't know what had happened to cause my trip to be a total failure, but that I would not be repeating it ever again. One of them (one smart enough to bring her son in a sling) was kind enough to navigate my stroller up the narrow escalator while I carried the chimp.

Once on the appropriate floor, I made a bee-line for the washroom, because, of course, the chimp had pooped right through her clothes up to her neck. When I was done laundering my baby, I headed for the theatre in which one is not permitted to bring a stroller, and lugged my kid, my popcorn, my beverage and my diaper bad up to the seats where the other mums were sitting.

The movie was cute. Entertaining and the chimp was fairly accommodating. She played contentedly on my lap until she tipped over and bunked her head on the arm rest, then she screamed at the top of her lungs (only I can injure my baby in a room where most of the furniture is upholstered!). Once calmed, she only kicked up a fuss again when she got tired and I did have to walk her around a bit and then nurse her until she fell asleep. Then, bliss. For the last 20 minutes of the film. Then it was time to go.

I had an easier time getting out of the theatre -- I headed directly for the escalator, although this is better done with a partner because when I got to the bottom I nearly killed myself and the chimp -- good thing the stroller is light enough to lift with one hand! Getting out of the mall on the other hand was not as easy. I actually had to ask at the information desk how to get out of the mall with my stroller.

I was actually relieved to get back to my steaming hot car. Too bad about that theater -- now I can never go back. Well, I could go back without the stroller, but on principle, I think I may not.

I can go to the movies without my stroller, but people in wheelchairs cannot go to the movies without them and it made me pretty friggin' irritated on their behalf to be in this theatre. If there was ever an emergency evacuation of that theatre, anybody in a wheelchair would not survive -- what the hell is up with that? -- it's 2008 for Pete's sake.

Green P Parking = $14
Daytime Movie = $11
Snacks = $10
Eye Opening Experience = Priceless.

Tradition - Just Suck It Up And Do It!

So in my last post I made mention of the impending Christening of our little chimp. Again, those of you who know me are likely surprised by the decision to baptise the baby. I admit, I am conflicted. I have a bit of a problem with organized religion as I know it. My family is Eastern Orthodox, which is a lot like Catholic with a few variations. Lots to be offended by if you're looking.

The hubby and I elected to side-step the church when we got married in favour of a ceremony which we had more control over. The church has a lot of rules, I guess, and I don't really like to be told what to do. Especially when it comes to something as personal as one's faith. The conflict though, is that there is some comfort in the ritual of religion. Many of the ceremonies that we go through in life are based in religion and modern society has not been able to separate itself from that. Unfortunately, if you're looking for ceremony, more often than not you're headed to church (or mosque, or temple, or what-have-you).

What ceremony am I looking for exactly? Well, I'm not really sure. As far as Christianity goes, I'm not overly concerned about the chimp being absolved of her original sin or getting into heaven when her time comes -- in that regard I'm a pretty bad Christian. But I am interested in the idea of the recognition that comes with a christening. A welcoming into the community of humanity, if you will. And while I suppose we could have just thrown her a party, the weight of it just isn't the same.

Also, the assigning of god-parents is an idea that I really like. Not the kind of parents who will tell you to go to your room when you've been bad or slap a bandage on your knee when you fall off your bike, but parents whose focus is a bit broader, and fuzzier. In our case, we've chosen two people with different types of knowledge. My brother - the godfather - knows about our (my)culture's and family's traditions. Things which he, having had similar experiences to my own, can pass on to his niece. My friend Gern on the other hand - the godmother - is a person to whom faith and spirituality is a reality in her life. She is the only person I know who has actively gone shopping for a church which suits her personality and lifestyle. She is the only one that I know who can act as an example when it comes to matters of faith. Not that I'm not interested in teaching the chimp about that stuff, it's just nice to have some options for people you can go to when you're looking for info and answers about yourself.

In any case we're going through with it. I've already spoken with the priest, and told the family, and in particular, my grandmothers are thrilled. The good news, is that in my culture, most of the work is left to the godparents (although, let's face it, my mum will likely take care of many of the details) and the birth parents don't have much to do at all -- now that's the kind of tradition that I could get used to!

Pools, Parties and Other Updates

The pool is done!

I can't tell you how much nicer it is to look out into the backyard and see our lovely new pool instead of the mess displayed in the previous images. Thanks to the unseasonably warm weather the temperature of the water has been in the high 70's F (which is in and around the mid 20's C). Mojo and the hubby took the inaugural dip last weekend. I am waiting for slightly warmer temps, but make no mistake, the fact that I looked better in my swim suit when I was pregnant than I do now, will not stop me from putting it on and getting into that zillion dollar pool!

Speaking of the pool, here's the update on Mojo's 7th birthday party: She caved. Mojo's mum looked into doing the pool party at her local swimming pool and discovered that the cost was prohibitive and as such, if Mojo wanted her pool party it would have to be at Dad's house. So the Harpy finally came around and told her 6 year old that it was okay that she wasn't going to the party at Daddy's house because they were going to have another party with Mum (something she should have done right from the start, of course, but naturally she doesn't give a crap about how bad her kid feels as long as she makes the hubby look bad).

The Harpy decided that it would be alright for Mojo to have her party here but that certain of her friends could not be invited, namely the ones that she babysits because "they are like family." What a load of hooey. I'm not sure what she would have done if we had decided to invite them anyway, but we chose not to create more tension.

Despite our best efforts of course, tension was still created when we tried to send out birthday invitations to 3 (yes, just 3!) of Mojo's classmates at school. I made some lovely invitations and sent her to school with the instruction of handing them out to her friends. Since her birthday isn't until August, I also took the precaution of sending an evite to the parents of the kids in the event that the invitations got lost over the summer.

The Harpy didn't know this and to make a long story short, called and said that she refused to hand out the invitations to the parents of the 3 kids that Mojo chose because: 1) she didn't know one of the kids that she had invited, she didn't know why she had invited that kid and she didn't think it was appropriate for that kid to be invited; 2) some of the kids that she thought should be invited weren't and she didn't want to hand out invitations to other kids in front of those children's mothers; 3) we should make it a priority to know that handing out invitations in class is not done at this school for fear of hurting the feelings of other children who are not invited and that if we thought we could do this party by ourselves then we should learn how to do things properly.

We of course, let her know that it didn't really matter what she thought about who was invited to our house because it's our house. Nor did it matter that she would not (or would not let Mojo) hand out the invitations that we had prepared because invitations had already been sent out via email (a means of communication which she hates because she doesn't understand it and can't control it- she doesn't even have a computer). We certainly would not be uninviting a child because she claimed that Mojo wasn't even friends with her -- since when do we encourage the clique mentality by the way?

Anyway, the short of it is, all of my hard work at preparing those lovely invitations was for naught and now I need to print a retraction in my evites because I told the parents to look out for the invitations at school. I hate that ignorant cow.

(Incidentally, for Tanya, here's the link to the wikipedia definition for Harpy - though there are many variations, a Harpy is a mythological figure which steals things which are not it's own and sometimes whisks souls off to hell...http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harpy )

In happier party news, my friend Stephanie celebrated her 33rd birthday this month. We went out for drinks and a viewing of Sex and the City. It was awesome! It was so nice to be out with my friends -- drinking no less! (and I do mean no less -- I got HAMMERED). The movie was also totally enjoyable -- for any who have not seen it yet (or am I the only one living under a rock?) it's definitely worth the price of admission

The next party up for planning will be the Chimp's christening. Those who know me will be wondering why I am even partaking in this sort of ritual -- all I can say is, parenthood changes you in ways you never expect and well, I guess it probably couldn't hurt. More to come on what is sure to be a total debacle...!!

Selfish, Immature Step-Mother? So What?!

This summer Mojo will be 7 years old. Seven! I can hardly believe it, but as they say, time waits for no one. She has decided that she would like to have a pool party at our house this year and we have agreed to allow her to invite 4 or 5 of her friends for a frolic in the pool to celebrate her birth.

It occurred to me the other day that the child might also expect or desire her mother's attendance at this event and I mentioned it to the hubby. Now, I realize that we are supposed to do things that are in Mojo's best interest, like pretending that I don't hate that woman more than sin, but there are some things I am unwilling to do. Having the Harpy in my home or even in my backyard is one of them. I told this to the hubby and he agreed. He suggested that he would mention this to the Harpy as a pre-emptive move to avoid any surprises or conflicts.

So much for that. I'm calling it right now, this is the beginning of a conflict. The conversation went something like this:

Hubby: So we've decided that we're only going to have 4 or 5 kids for this pool party. You know, we don't want to have more than we can keep an eye on. We'll probably have some help from my brother- and sister-in-law.

Harpy: I assume I can come right?

Hubby: Ah, no.

Harpy: Why not?

Hubby: Well, we're just not comfortable with that. You know if we were having the party some place else, on more neutral ground that would be different, but this is our home.

Harpy: Lame complaints about last year's birthday party which did not take place at her home.

Hubby: Reiterating that it's not the same because this is our home.

Harpy: Well, then maybe we should have it at a public pool instead.

Hubby: I guess you'll have to ask Mojo about that.

Fast forward to just right now as I'm writing this post and...yes... there is the phone call from my step-daughter explaining that if we aren't going to invite her mother to the party at our house then she doesn't want to have the party here.

I suppose this is the part where I'm supposed to feel guilty or something because I am unable to take the high road here and put my ill feelings aside for the benefit of a 7 year old girl.

WELL I DON'T.

I don't feel sorry even one little bit. Call me selfish, call me immature. Call me whatever you want, but I am not sorry and will not be sorry that that "woman" is not welcome in my house.

It's not only that she did unforgivable things to my husband and made a simple situation far worse than necessary during the divorce, but that she makes my skin crawl. The sight of her makes me physically ill. Often I still have a physical reaction to her being on the phone. I am NOT exaggerating. I cannot physically be around this woman. If that makes me a terrible step-mother then so be it.

I'm sure it's not the first time Mojo has been disappointed by her parents and I know it won't be the last.

Money Pit Continued...

I didn't mean to nag, but I was starting to get concerned about the giant pool of standing water in my backyard, so I called the pool guys yesterday to find out what the heck was going on. They told me that they were expecting the liner to be delivered to them this week and that they would be out to our place on Thursday to do the work. But to my surprise the lovely people from Bremner Pool & Spa showed up today to drain and remove the liner and coping from the pool. They used a giant pipe to drain the remaining water from the pool and it took the better part of a half hour.

It was on observing this that I realized that it was going to take a week for us to fill that sucker back up when the work was finally done. I am hoping that that will be some time this week.

P.S. The reason why the people at Bremner are so lovely to me is because when we first got the house we used these crazy dudes whose brochure we found laying around the house. They were totally unreliable and I'm pretty sure stoned every time we saw them. We were so thrilled when we discovered Bremner. If you've got a pool they really are lovely -- reliable, timely, knowledgable and friendly. I can't even tell you how many times they've worked through the pouring rain in our backyard! It's so refreshing for people in the service industry to so totally not suck.

By the Light of the Baby Monitor...

An abbreviated list of things that keep my brain whirling at night these days:

1. The baby -- pick any one of a dozen things, but mostly the wondering how long I have to rest until the next feed. Sure wish I had the guts to do any of the things that books recommend for getting babies to sleep through the night.

2. The hubby -- also a variety of things, from randiness to plain old snoring.

3. The harpy -- is finally making good on her threats to go back to "school" in the fall. Will be getting certified as a Montessori "directress." This will likely necessitate variations in the visits with Mojo as well as a greater need for daycare -- She has already asked us for extra money for daycare and I would rant more about this except what really bugs me (and I know that this means I've reached some kind of acceptance of the situation) isn't the money, but the word directress.

4. Stupid pretentious names for simple stuff. Pedagogical ideology aside, the word directress for teacher is stupid. There are a lot of things about the Montessori school "system" that bug me, and one day I'll write about them, but for now... directress -- it's like Starbucks and their stupid grande-tall-whatever-whatever. Why can't they just call things what they are?

5. The house -- I can barely look out my window without screaming at all the work that needs doing around the house. Today I went out back and recklessly took a saw to some of the caterpillar-infested trees in my yard -- I hate those effing things! I also hate my shed.

6. See previous blogs titled Money Pit and Monkey's Dream.

All I want is a good night's sleep!

The Money Pit

Anyone out there with a pool knows that during the winter months a pool is an eyesore. For this reason, the hubby and I go out of our way to open our pool as early as possible in the spring; this year was no exception. Unfortunately, when we bought this house, we knew that the pool would eventually need some updating and it turns out, this is the year for it. To abbreviate the story somewhat, we have discovered that both the lining and coping for the pool need to be replaced. The cost of this is about 5 grand. To say that this was an unexpected expense would be a bit of an understatement, however, there's not much of an option. We can spend the money now or spend more later either way the job needs doing.

Despite the poor timing of this considerable expense, I have to say that I am quite looking forward to the completion of the work. To say that the pool is dated is down-playing things a bit and so it will be lovely to have a nice new pool to look at and swim in this summer. Here's why:

I look forward to providing you with the 'after' shots as soon as possible!

A Monkey's Dream

When I am teaching, some of the most challenging classes are the college stream classes. That is, grade 11 and 12 students who are supposed to be college-bound. These classes are challenging for a variety of reasons, but to be as succinct as possible, think of the worst and weakest students you knew in high school (for whatever reason -- learning disabilities, poor grasp of the language, total disinterest in bettering themselves, etcetera), add to that a disdain for the English language and all things associated with school and those are largely the kids I'm talking about. They are at once both the most exhausting and rewarding classes to teach. They are emotionally and physically draining, every moment of every day. But on the rare occasions that I get through to one of those kids, the sense of accomplishment is truly fulfilling.

Last night I had a dream about those classes. I dreamt that I was back at work and it was the time of year when classes have just started and every day new students are being added to the class. There I was at the front of my room and more and more students were coming in. I knew all of them. The faces were those of some of my most difficult students and they just kept streaming through the door saying, "Hi Miss! I'm back!"

In my dream I was exhausted from being up with the baby the night before, but could not, of course let my students see either my weakness or dread.

When I woke up, it was significantly earlier than I would have liked, to feed the baby -- again. It occurred to me that the feeling of fatigue and dismay that I was feeling in my dream was remarkably similar to the fatigue and dismay I was feeling at having to get up for yet another feeding. I thought that it was interesting that my subconscious would make that connection.

Also, it got me thinking about what it's going to be like when I do actually go back to work. I think that there is a very real possibility that I might not be able to get by if the nights up don't become significantly fewer and farther between by then. Both the jobs of teaching and mothering are so entirely consuming, it's almost impossible for me to imagine how I'm going to do both. I know that people do. I'm just wondering how I'm going to do it. Daunted is a good way to describe how I'm feeling about it.

Yesterday I was at a Mommy and Me group and I was surprised to learn that some women are actually out and about with their babies on a regular basis - before noon. This is a rare event for me these days. I guess I just need to keep telling myself that things will change and that I won't always be up four times a night. At least that's what I'm hoping -- I may have to give up on my career otherwise!

The Spectrum

So today was the other end of the spectrum. I won't say that I was well rested, but better than the night before. And as a result I was able to finish the laundry that I started yesterday, apply for a birth certificate for the chimp (finally) and even filed the taxes for my husband and myself. All around, not a bad day. The little one even napped for a couple of hours in the afternoon -- in her crib! All very exciting.

Also in the way of two ends of the spectrum, this evening the after dinner entertainment of our daughters gave me cause to giggle. While the hubby was wrangling the Webkinz website with Mojo, the little chimp and I were enjoying the delights of a little post dinner calisthenics -- who knew arm circles were so much fun? The ridiculous and the sublime all in one evening!

Desperately Seeking...

I'm a pretty lucky lady. I have a healthy and happy baby who has what I would call a very cheery disposition. I have a husband who loves me, works hard and helps out around the house. I have a mother who drops by to visit and help out on most week days. I learned today how much I depend on these things to be true.

Today I hit a low point.

My baby was a somewhat less co-operative today than usual and my mother had plans of her own (the nerve!) and so, after I don't know how many nights getting up every 1-3 hours, today, I reached my threshold.

I tried really hard. I am pleased to say that both my baby and myself were mostly bathed and dressed for about half of the day, I got one load of laundry half done, but I am embarrassed to report that that is about all that happened.

I ran out of energy today and I cried because I could not get my baby to sleep some place other than my lap. I did not iron any clothes, or clean any messes. I even cancelled dinner with a friend because I just couldn't pull myself together in time. I am even more embarrassed to report that I called my husband at work and requested that he come home directly after work instead of playing basketball because I just could not be responsible for my needy baby for very much longer.

I guess that realistically I knew it would have to happen eventually. I think that I was thinking that showbiz magic might also apply to my life at home with baby and that somehow it would all just work itself out. That baby would just magically sleep for six consecutive hours and I would join her in that slumbery joy, just in the nick of time so that my sanity and house could be preserved. But no. My house is a wreck and my nerves are frazzled and the weekend is still many days away. Tomorrow night we will have the added responsibility of Mojo and all that entails on a weeknight visit. I am praying for a miracle. If not the uninterrupted sleep that I so desperately crave, then at least the ability to somehow deal with it.

I'm taking advice freely on this one, if anybody's got some....

An Interesting Package...

So today at dinner I asked Mojo if anything interesting happened at school today. As usual, she said 'no', then upon further thought, she mentioned that there were scientists at the school today.



Me: Scientists? That's interesting!

Mojo: Yup, four of 'em.

Me: What did they talk about?

Mojo: The food chain.

Me: The food chain? What's that?

Mojo: It's like, what eats what. And the sun.

Me: And the sun?

Mojo: Yeah. So the sun makes the grass grow. And a mouse eats the seeds from the grass. Then a snake or something eats the mouse.

Me: Oh, I see. So then, something eats the snake?

Mojo: Right.

Me: So, maybe a bird eats the snake?

Mojo: Yeah, then maybe a black bear eats the bird. And then a package of wolves eats the bear.

Me: A package of wolves? You mean a pack of wolves?

Mojo: Yeah, a package of wolves could eat an old or very ill bear. And then the wolves win!

Dad: Then the wolves poo, or die and that fertilizes the earth so that the grass can grow and make seeds for the next mouse.

Mojo: Why do the wolves die when they poo?

Me: They don't die when they poo. Like all living things, they produce waste -- poo -- and that's good for the earth.

Mojo: makes a disgusted face

Me: So that's the food chain huh?

Mojo: Yup.

Fashion Update

Well, I know if you're reading this you're absolutely dying to know what happened on my shopping trip (insert eye roll here). It was horrible, of course.

I was prepared to try on anything that fit regardless of size. Going into this pregnancy I was a size 6. I would have bought an outfit that was size 26 if I'd had to. But it wasn't about the size. Sadly, my shopping trip taught me a thing or two about the concept of fit. And nothing did. Yes, I've gone up a couple of sizes, but more importantly, I now need to learn how to dress my current shape. I don't know how long it will be my shape, but I need to figure it out quickly if I'm going to maintain my self-esteem and sanity.

And now (speaking of sanity) a word about my mum.

My mum is a lovely woman. She has many positive qualities. But she is my mum and many of you with mothers will know that mothers and daughters have a love/hate relationship. My mum and I have one such relationship. She is loving and supportive and grates on my every nerve. Especially when we're shopping. To her credit, she did not really begin to bother me until the end of the shopping trip when I had found nothing suitable to cover my expansive ass. It's hard to need somebody you know is going inevitably to irritate you. You know exactly how it's going to play out. In my case, I will get ornary, say something mean, she will get upset and then I will be irritated that she is upset, then I will feel badly about upsetting her because she has been so helpful all day long. It's tiring. But I brought her along again the next time I went shopping because, like I said, I need her.

Thankfully, the second shopping trip was more successful than the first. For those of you out there who are of the short and dumpy variety as I am, you'll be pleased to know that there is a store out there called Ricky's that has clothes that will fit you and that you will feel good in. My mum was so pleased with the clothes I found, in fact, that she subsidized my purchase and I ended up walking out of the mall, finally, with clothes that I felt good about, and good in. Now I just need to find some suitable occasions to wear them!

In any case, I feel as though I have made up for my poor judgement with the mom jeans now. My fashion faith in myself is restored, even if my figure is not.

Mom Jeans...It Could Happen To You

I am not a fashionista by any definition. I don't follow trends and if I did, I would look ridiculous, because I don't have that kind of body. But I do have a style and it's not an entirely bad one. At least, I used to have a style before I got pregnant.

Pregnancy necessitated a slight shift in my clothing selections, although not a drastic one thanks to the variety of casual stores with maternity departments (thank you Old Navy!)

Now that I am on maternity leave I am no longer required to wear work clothes, so once the maternity jeans failed to stay up on their own, I became desperate for a pair of jeans that I could wear from day to day. Of course my post-pregnancy body is not quite my pre-pregnancy body and I am unable to fit into the jeans already in my closet. This required me to head out into the stores and find something to wear other than sweatpants. I went back to my old haunts and walked out with two pairs of jeans that I thought were pretty good.

I was wrong. Although I was fairly excited about having jeans that fit, that neither showed my butt crack nor required constant hiking up, my initial excitement wore off when I realized that one of the two pairs of jeans were the much dreaded Mom jeans. They make my ass look a mile wide, the waist is too high and after only a short time on the pants become stretched out and yup, they need constant hiking up.

I was so pleased with these jeans when I left the store and I wonder now what the hell I was thinking. What was I thinking?!

I had to run out to grab some stuff today and I was wearing the jeans and I thought to myself, if Stacy and Clinton could see me now...!! Please, somebody nominate me!

What happens to a woman that makes her go out and purposely buy Mom jeans? Buy them and be pleased with them? Whatever it is I hope that I've worked it out of my system. Tomorrow I'm heading back out into the malls to find an outfit for my baby shower (late, I know, but that's another story!). My mum is coming with me and I'm hoping that she and the experience with the jeans will be enough to prevent me from coming home with another totally unacceptable outfit. I'll keep you posted.

By the way, you might think that this realization would encourage me to do whatever necessary to fit back into my pre-pregnancy clothes. It has not. Unfortunately I have an overwhelming desire to eat junk food like it's going out of style and I firmly believe that it will prevent me from fitting into my old clothes for a very long time. I wish the gym was as enticing as all the Easter candy on the shelves these days!

In any case, if you're reading this, send me some good vibes and hopefully I'll come home with a great outfit and the willpower to stay fit enough to wear it more than once!

My Little Chimp

So it's been 10 weeks since the birth of our little chimp and during the first several weeks I often found that just looking at her little face brought me to tears. This, of course, was a hormone-induced reaction, but now, 10 weeks later, I find that sometimes, during moments of peace, her sweet little face moves me to tears still.

And she makes me laugh. She smiles now; not just from gas, but truly genuine smiles of joy. And she laughs too, often a full on gutsy laugh -- in her sleep no less! Of course, she also cries. But the sight of her pouty face is also a source of joy -- it's just so damned cute! My husband says that she looks just like me when she pouts, but really, when do I ever pout?!

Also, she loves sneezes. Other people's sneezes as well as her own. Apparently there are few things more amusing to her than a sneeze, except maybe the relief of passed gas. If only life could always be so simple!

I suppose we should try to take a lesson from this. Although there is often occasion to cry, a little sleep will generally restore our smiles and of course, there is no greater amusement than bodily functions, especially gas!

Mokeys in Progress...well, gorillas anyway

This is a little bit late, but in light of the title of this blog, I thought I would be remiss if I didn't post something about the fact that "wild" gorillas have now been caught on film doin' it missionary style. I think it's worth noting that the female of the pair is also known for her use of tools in the wild. This may or may not be seen as progress on the part of the gorillas, but I won't comment on the propriety of the child looking on...

Here's a link to the National Geographic web site for more info...

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2008/02/photogalleries/gorilla-pictures/index.html

Two Weeks Later...

I have to say that now that we are home and settled in, I realize that the hospital is, in fact, the best place to visit a person when they've had a baby. Why? Because it takes way less effort to recieve visitors at the hospital where there is an entire staff looking after you and where nobody expects you to look at all presentable than at home, where you feel like you need to have at least tried to brush your teeth before people come over and ideally have showered and cleaned up the mess that's been piling up over the past several days because you can't even sneeze without hurting yourself. Yes, much easier. But I also realize that the generosity of people is never more apparent than at times like these. The food, the gifts, the warm wishes are all so lovely that it is impossible to feel at all put out by the fact that people want to come and see you and your new baby.

What a Weekend!

Please note: the content of this post was actually written about 5 weeks ago, but when you read it I think you'll understand why.

This weekend I had a baby. The events unfolded like this:


Friday, January 4, 2008: I have been suffering from cramps off and on for quite some time and at around 9pm the cramps are joined by an abdominal pain. A pain which feels like somebody is trying to stretch your cervix -- which, as it turns out, they are. (Note: Why are contractions called contractions and not cramps? I might have figured out that I was in labour quite a bit sooner had that been the case).




At around 10pm I decide that regardless of the cause of my pain it is bad enough to risk going to the hospital only to be sent home -- which I was not.




We arrive at the assessment room of North York General Hospital and a little Phillipino lady directs me to one of the gurnies and provides me with a gown. Some incalculable time later she takes my blood pressure and sticks her hand up my crotch in order to determine whether or not I should be admitted. I am informed that I am dilated 4 or 5 centimetres and that I have done a good job. Would I like an epidural? Oh yes -- and let's not waste any time asking me twice. I am rewarded for my "good job" by being admitted into the hospital and taken to one of the labour and delivery rooms by a lovely nurse named Nas and where I am greeted by the anesthesiologist for whom I have asked to give me an epidural -- and she does! I am also hooked up to a catheter to avoid having to get up to use the toilet. Shortly thereafter I am laying comfortably in the bed. It is 11:45 pm and I have been joined by my husband who is happy to see me smiling now. Turns out I've been in labour for about 2 1/2 hours and that was about all I felt I needed to endure. Now, I am surprised when Nas informs me that the computer says I am having a contraction. I feel as though I could happily fall asleep.




This, of course is not possible because approximately every 30 minutes or so, my blood pressure and temperature are taken. I am also wearing a fetal heart monitor around by abdomen as well as a monitor for contractions. However, I am contentedly laying on my side enjoying a pain free labour and wondering when my water will break. I wonder why I know women who did not want an epidural and I feel badly for those who did, but could not get one in time.


Saturday, January 5, 2008: At 1:30 am Dr. Peridot (the on-call doctor for the evening shift -- who, when I caught a glimps of him in the assessment room on arrival, I thought might be a drunk nurse who was just sleeping off a bender -- not the case at all by the way) comes to check me out and manually breaks my water in an attempt to speed things along. The short of it is, despite my now broken water and the Pitocin I've been given to induce labour, I am not really making that much progress. I am still around 4 or 5 cm. So, we wait.


At 4am I am informed that I have a temperature likely due to an infection (what sort, I have no idea), which I am being treated for with an I.V. drip. Now I am hooked up to the I.V. the two monitors and the epidural and the catheter, but still I am content, knowing that sometime soon, I will be having my baby.


It is now 6:45 am and the shift at the hospital is about to change. Dr. Peridot tells me that while my fever is under control, the baby's heart rate in response to the fever is seriously high and has not gone down. We may be having a C-section as a result. I am disappointed. While I was prepared for all sorts of unpleasant things in regard to giving birth, I had not anticipated surgery. We decide that the morning doctor, Dr. Smith (a lovely lady who is also expecting) will determine the amount of risk involved in waiting for further dilation versus removing the baby via C-section. My husband is sheet white and woozy at the talk of elevated heart rates and surgery. His head is between his knees. God bless him.


By about 10am Dr. Smith has determined that the labour is not progressing quickly enough and in the best interest of the baby we will be doing the C-section. We prepare to do so. As I am being transferred onto the gurney that will take me to the O.R. the baby's heart rate drops suddenly very low and I am now on my way to an emergency C-section. As I am prepped for my surgery moments later, the baby's heart rate returns to normal -- no cause for concern -- however I feel as though I've had better days by this point. My husband joins me in the O.R. I am opened up and at 10:24 am my baby girl is safely taken from the womb and delivered into the hands of the pediatrician. I am overwhelmed at the sight of her and at the same time distracted by the surgery I am still having.


My husband is given the baby -- a healthy, happy little girl and I twist my head to look at her the best I can. Eventually he takes her to the recovery room where I join them after I have been closed up again. Please note: coming down off of all of the drugs you get for a C-section causes one to shiver uncontrollably for quite some time. While I am being wheeled into recovery, I am shaking so vehemently that I am wondering if I will be able to hold my baby.


As it turns out, I am just fine. We are placed together skin-to-skin and she heads immediately for the breast -- no problems latching on there! From recovery, we are wheeled to a "semi-private" room where we will stay for the next 3 days (or until a private room is available).


Things blur a bit at this point. I have been awake for most of the last day and a half and have undergone major surgery and become a new mother. We make phone calls to inform our family of the new addition: 7lbs, 11 oz, female, 10:24 am, etc. I am still on the I.V. and catheter and am swollen to the point of bursting. However, I am also still mostly numb from the waist down, so the discomfort is fairly minimal. I am told by the nurse to let her know when I pass gas. Until I do, I am on a strictly liquid diet -- I do not pass gas until the next afternoon incidentally, a bizarre turn of events for anyone who knows me, and as a result have soup, juice and jello for breakfast, lunch and dinner until then.


4pm My parents turn up with Mojo to see the new baby. After they leave, father-in-law makes an appearance and after his departure both of our brothers, their partners and kids visit. At 7pm the shift changes again. I meet the most important woman of my weekend and possibly my life: Nan. Nan the wonder-nurse.


Nan the night nurse is the best woman I have ever known. She is not only firmly gentle, but knowledgable, approachable, kind. The list goes on. I come to rely on her competence and kindness to balance out the day nurse, who is the only complaint I have about my time at NYGH. I won't mention her by name, but despite her very friendly demeaner, she was neither truly helpful nor comforting. Nan, on the other hand, deserves a nursing award. She diligently replaced my I.V. bags and asked me if I would like some Benedryl for the itching that I must be experiencing from the morphine in the epidural -- All day I went, scratching myself as though I had fleas, and she is the only person to ask me if I'd like a little relief -- not to mention, explains why I need the relief -- I figured I was allergic to something and that I'd just have to suffer through. Not at all. Thanks to Nan the wonder-nurse. She helps me to the toilet when I realize that my catheter is not draining properly and helps me change the CRAZY obstetrical pads one wears after having a baby which the day nurse glanced at and said I'd be fine in before making a dash for the door at the end of her shift. Nan is lovely and I do not feel awkward or embarassed in the least. At 10 pm she comes in to demonstrate for us how to bathe our new baby. She gives me information about what to expect after I get home. And best of all, she is there to guide and support us the following night as well.


Sunday, January 6, 2007: Hubby has been forced to spend the previous night sleeping draped over three chairs, in his clothes due to the unexpected surgery. I send him home to clean himself up and get a little shut eye before returning later that afternoon. And to my delight, by about 1 or 2pm, we have been informed that the private room we have been waiting for is now ready. Though we were in our own room that night, we were not alone. Baby's second night was being attended by Nan the wonder nurse and let me tell you that that woman gave us more useful information in the two nights that we knew her than anybody has ever given us in our whole lives. Like a phantom she disappeared with the shift change the following day, but we will be indebted to her for as long as we live. Our only regret is that we were not able to thank her properly for her help and kind words.



By Monday, the staff has changed yet again and we are getting eager to leave. Sort of. I have to admit that upon discharge Tuesday morning, I am feeling weepy and truly distressed that I will have to carry on at home without the help of Nan. Pathetic, I know, but true nonetheless.

We make it home without too much difficulty and I am glad to be home (despite my misgivings at the hospital). And so the adventure begins....