Random Musings from a Mom on the Edge

New site!!

2007-12-13T11:47:00.000-08:00

I have a new new blog site and have put the new post up there: http://momsontheedge.typepad.com/

It is very pretty and much improved! I hope you'll come visit, bookmark it and let me know what you think of the new design!

Thanks to my wonderfully creative and generous friend Katherine for working so hard on it! :)

Day 617: One tiny word, one giant pain in the...

2007-12-13T11:06:00.000-08:00

I know what you’re thinking, I do. I spent months worrying and whining about the fact that Maddie was stubbornly refusing to talk and now that she finally is starting to say a bit more I complain about that too! What can I say? You just can’t win with me sometimes. Just ask my husband, he’ll tell you.

So yes, it’s true that she’s progressed leaps and bounds in terms of language development in the past month or so. I still wouldn’t say that we’ve hit the mythical language “explosion,” but I think we could safely call it a spurt. Of course many of her words come from her primary educator – Dora the Explorer. Dora is Maddie’s new best friend and I have to say I couldn’t be happier about the relationship. She’s comes from a good family (I met them in the Christmas dvd, and they really seem like salt of the earth people), she’s relatively well-behaved but for a few misadventures along the way, and she’s bilingual to boot. Not only is she a-dora-ble (ha!) but she’s really done wonders with Maddie’s vocabulary, teaching her essentials like “map,” “backpack,” and of course “Boots,” her trusty primate sidekick. There is one word, though, that I could do without. One word that little Dora is fond of that Mads fell in love with immediately: NO!

No! No! No! All day long, that is all we hear. It is delivered with various inflections and intonations, at different volumes. Sometimes it’s dragged out, “Noooooo!” and sometimes it comes at us in rapid succession, like gunfire: “No no no no no!” Even the treasured nap time doesn’t protect us from the onslaught, as she now sits in her crib saying “NO! No Mommy! No! Nooo!” until she eventually wears herself out and falls asleep.

Santa even noticed it during our trip to the mall the other weekend as I was trying to cajole her onto his lap and was being met with a steady stream of No’s. “No, no, Dear,” he told me, apparently feeling the need to correct my parenting techniques. Since when does that service come with the $5 donation? “We don’t ask, we tell,” he said. Then he called Maddie over: “Okay Madeline, we’re going to sit and take a nice picture with Santa now. Ho, ho, ho!” She stared at him, said “NO!,” turned around and left. I admit I laughed. Nice try, Santa.

Day 614: Time well wasted

2007-12-10T12:33:00.000-08:00

Mommy needs a nap. I am pooped.

The holidays are barely upon us and already I feel the need to pack up and hibernate for a couple of weeks. I am so unprepared for Christmas this year. Let’s compile a virtual checklist, shall we?

Shopping: After getting off to an impressively early start, I've since hit the mall wall.
Cards: Haven't started them. In fact, haven't even bought them.
Mailing: It helps to have bought the gift first before mailing it. So, no. (If you're expecting a package from me... um, it's going to be late.)
Baking: Ha! Yeah, right. As if I bake.
Decorating: While I've considered throwing tinsel over the table saw and that mountain of paint cans that sit in the middle of my kitchen I haven't managed it just yet.
Renovations: Ongoing. Endlessly, ceaselessly, painstakingly ongoing.

If I've left a few dozen things off the list that is because I have entirely forgotten about them. Did I mention the fact that we're hosting 20 people for Christmas dinner this Friday night? And that the stove is not yet working? Is it true that you can't serve turkey raw, or is that just an old wives' tale?

So in light of the fact that I have accomplished next to nothing, I really have no right to be this exhausted! I guess thinking about all of the things I've neglected doing has worn me right out.

And of course this weekend, instead of buckling down and getting started I instead took Maddie to the market where we sat and watched our breath in the cold air and bit the legs off of gingerbread men and chased after a family of ducks. It was a great day. I guess there really is such a thing as time well wasted!

Day 608: For the love of Santa

2007-12-04T11:41:00.000-08:00

Forgive me if I break into a round of “Jingle Bell Rock” today. There are only 20 sleeps till Christmas, and the holiday bug has bit me.

I’m not the only one – at all of 20 months (21 months? I find I’m losing track, isn’t that awful? At what point do you stop counting in months and switch to years?) Maddie is already crazy about Christmas. We got a dump of snow this weekend, the first one of the year, and she spent much of her days with her little nose pressed against the window saying “no! no!” Which in this case, as far as I can tell, means “snow.”

We also went to visit Santa at the North Pole. Well, at the North Pole they’ve set up at the mall up the street. Maddie has a bit of a crush on Santa. Whenever she sees him she throws both hands in the air, screams “Danta!” at the top of her lungs and then covers her mouth and giggles like a lovesick schoolgirl. I guess she has a thing for the older guys. Till now she’s only seen Santa on TV, in her beloved Toys R Us catalogue, on the side of a cereal box. So we were beside ourselves with excitement, Fernando and I, at the thought of her meeting the real deal. Turns out she prefers the guy from the catalogue. While she flat out refused to sit on his lap – or on my lap, for that matter – we did manage to come to some sort of a compromise: she gave him a high five and we were on our way.

To complete this weekend’s jam-packed holiday agenda, Fernando got started on the outdoor light show. He always has big plans for the lights, but about a quarter of the way in a fuse inevitably blows and we have to scale down production. This year he went and bought one of those huge inflatable decorations for the roof of the garage. In a past life I would have called it unbearably tacky and flat-out refused to have it erected anywhere near my home. But now of course I love it; because Maddie loves it. We bundled her up and brought her outside and showed her this giant Santa on the roof and her face just lit up. Her big eyes were full of wonder, which is an expression I’ve never really understood until I saw it at that moment. We grown-ups are too saddled with expectations and experience to allow ourselves to feel wonder. Awe, sure. Surprise, of course. But wonder is something different, something reserved for the innocence of childhood.

If it takes a garish 8-foot Santa to put that look in her eyes, so be it!

Day 601: Lessons from the trenches

2007-11-27T11:21:00.000-08:00

I was writing about Keri Russell’s insights into motherhood this morning and it got me to thinking. You know Keri Russell – Felicity, remember? That girl could shave her head and go on to win an Oscar but she will somehow always be Felicity to me. She had a son a few months back and has been waxing poetic about motherhood and babies ever since. Not that I blame her - I appreciate it, in fact. I felt the same compulsion after having Maddie. Everyone had to hear about the pregnancy, the labour, the crying (hers and mine!), the never-ending quest for a schedule. Thus this blog! Anyways, I digress.

Felicity’s lessons learned got me to thinking about my own. So here they are, in no particular order:

It turns out not all babies are alike after all. It turns out they can be quite different, and so many of the pre-conceived notions of what life with baby is going to be like end up being tossed aside after a lengthy and losing battle to get your particular baby to conform to the standard. And then you start to accept the baby that you have, rather than the one you may have thought you were going to have. And then things start to get easier.

You’re stronger and more capable than you think you are. You can survive on less sleep, with less time, with more responsibility, with more questions, with only one free hand. You may end up exhausted and a little bit crazy, but you can do it.

A lot of things that I thought might matter – it turns out they don’t. Things like having the nicest house, or the fattest paycheque; having the smallest waistline or the most admirers or a wardrobe that isn’t coated in crusty banana pudding and slobber. Compared to time spent with your family, to watching your baby grow up happy and loved, those things don’t mean too much at all. Although I’d still take the small waistline.

Babies are born with their own personalities and on their own timelines. They’re going to roll over when they want to, walk when they want to, and talk when they want to. They’ll master utensils on their own time and potty train when they’re ready. And if they feel like hating the carseat one day and loving it the next, well then that’s what they’re going to do. You can encourage them, but if you have hopes of dictating all of these things… good luck. And if you have any success, I want to know your secret!

You can always love more. I love my family, my friends, my husband, my dog (most days). I love Johnny Depp movies and a glass of really cold wine and finding a good shoe sale. For a long time I didn’t know if I wanted to be a mother, in part because my life felt full already. And then I had Maddie and found that despite putting love into all of those things, I had tons left over in me for her. An endless supply for her.

My lessons learned aren’t the same as Felicity’s and probably won’t be the same as yours. And if you call me in 2 years (or 3 months) I'm sure I will have extensive revisions to the list!

ps - I just realized this is my 100th post! Wow, why does is feel like so many more than that? I'm sure it feels that way to you, too. :) Thanks for sticking around!

Day 596: Sick and tired

2007-11-22T10:52:00.000-08:00

Here is something I will freely admit about myself: I don't do sick well. I am not one of those people who soldiers through, who suffers in silence. No, if I am suffering you're going to hear about it. Along with the moaning and groaning, my already sparse reserve of patience reaches near undetectable levels. Things that I normally might not even notice suddenly have me pulling my hair out in irritation.

Take yesterday, for instance. On my way home from work I stopped off at the mall to pick up my daily supply of OJ and cold medicine. The girl at the cashier walked me step-by-step through the process of using the Interac machine like she personally had just invented the technology and was unveiling it for the first time ("Okay, and now choose your account... uh huh, right... and now it'll ask for your personal id number... good..."). It nearly drove me insane.

And then the other day I almost got into a fight with a four-year-old at the bookstore. In terms of size, I could've taken her. But I'm pretty sure she would've fought dirty. I don't like to interfere with other people's parenting styles. Unless they result in my kid being on the receiving end of an ass whooping. Then I have to step in, right? This girl was a pint-sized bully in a really cute dress. She was stealing Maddie's toys, throwing things at her head, pulling her chair out from under her, pushing her onto piles of books. It was outrageous. And for all of her spunk, Mads just is not the confrontational type. So I started out gently doling out wisdom on the principles of sharing to the two of them, but that soon turned into me taking the toy she was poised to launch out of her hand and flat out telling this girl to sit down and stop it already. Enough is enough. Then her mom, who's been wandering about somewhere, pops back just long enough to say, "Oh, are you sharing? Good girl!" to her little terror. Um, I guess it depends on your definition of sharing. If it involves reigning tiny fists of fury on unsuspecting toddlers, then yup, she's got it covered.

What do you do in these situations? I feel like I may have crossed the invisible line, committed the ultimate sin of trespassing on another mother's ground. But I thought I should at least try to teach Maddie to stick around and work it out, even though the attempt was unsuccessful. What are the alternatives? To stay and take a pounding? Or to up and run? Oh, who knows? Chalk it up to another parenting lesson (not quite) learned.

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you who are South of the border, I hope it's a wonderful one!

Day 593: She's saying Mom! (Now how do I get her to stop?)

2007-11-19T10:32:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the stretch between posts, I've been sick, sick, sick. Nothing serious, don't worry (and I know you were about to), just one of those things that drags on endlessly and makes you wish that you could stay in bed all week. Which of course you can't, because there is a toddler jumping in her crib down the hall, pounding on the walls and more than ready to start the day.

Ah, the pre-baby sick day. How I miss it. Lying on the couch under sea of blankets with a 2 litre bottle of Ginger Ale and a bucket of ice cream; letting out the occasional sickly moan just in case anybody in the house has forgotten just how ill and deserving of sympathy you are. Good times.

Maddie is of course not at all sympathetic. Yesterday I was dragging my sorry self along with a ton of groceries from the car - something that she never offers to help with, might I add - while she stood banging on the gate to the house and yelling "MOM! MOM! MOM!" at the top of her lungs. Geez, give me a break, kid!

Oh yes, and she has just recently started saying "mom" and a select few other words. I have been wary of sharing that news because I haven't wanted to jinx it. But it seems that we may be on the road to talking after all - I guess she's just taking the slow route.

Of course, like everything else it is a bit of a mixed blessing. While I am thrilled to hear her say "mom" she seems to only use it when she's mad at me - which, as it turns out, is pretty often! "MOM!" (You left the cupboard door open again!), "MOM!" (you know I don't like carrots this week!), "MOM!" (how dare you step out of my direct line of vision!) She's always after me about something.

Well, the Advil/Sudafed combination is kicking in, so that's my cue to sign off!

Day 587: Fall days

2007-11-13T10:34:00.000-08:00

I love the Fall. Spring is too wet and dull, Summer is too sweaty, and Winter is too cold to get out of bed. Plus I have an irrational and near-debilitating fear of slippery surfaces, so December through February poses a problem for me. That’s why I could never live in Antarctica.

Yes, Fall is definitely my season. I love watching the leaves turn and then hearing them crunch under your feet after they’ve fallen. I love that you can see the cloudy puffs of your breath but it’s not yet too cold to go for a walk at the beach. I love pulling out the cozy sweaters and vests that you forgot you even owned. I love that you feel slightly less pretentious drinking a double tall non-fat latte on a cool Fall morning than you do in the midst of the Summer heat. Most of all I love those perfect Fall days – bright red leaves against a bright blue sky, when everything seems to come into sharper focus and everything somehow feels a bit more alive.

And now that Maddie is here I find I have a hundred more reasons to love the season: Watching her crouch to inspect a soggy leaf that’s plastered to the driveway, seeing her splash her way through an endless string of grey puddles, her wet little face peeking out from beneath the hood of her yellow raincoat, her studious efforts to help her Daddy gather up the leaves with her dollar store plastic rake.

I swear, sometimes – when she’s not standing screaming bloody murder in the bath or tossing her entire dinner overboard to the dog – that kid is so cute I can barely stand it.

Hope you’re all enjoying some happy Fall days of your own!

(ps – and thanks to those who’ve left comments lately, I love getting them! I wish there was some way to reply, but I guess this will have to do.)

Day 581: Time marches on...

2007-11-07T09:25:00.000-08:00

Fernando and I were chatting in the car yesterday morning on our way to work. Two guesses as to what the conversation was about. You got it – Maddie. Specifically, we were talking about his habit of replying to the question, “How old is she?” with the impressively vague answer, “One-and-something.” I tend to be much more specific – “She turned 19 months last week.” He doesn’t like dealing in months. One-and-something is clearly so much better. Anyways, at one point he sighed and said, “She’s almost two, soon she’ll be five, then she’ll be twelve, and then we’re out of the picture.” I was half-expecting to hear a violin in the background.

This is a familiar refrain. Poor Fernando, he can see Maddie’s entire life stretched out like a path in front of her, with each step ahead taking her that much further away from us. Her first day of school, her first sleepover, her first slammed door, date, job, car, apartment. The first time she screams “I hate you, Dad!” or worse yet, “But Daddy, I looove him!” – in his mind, it’s all hurtling towards us at warp speed. And while I know he’s right – while I know everybody is right when they tell me it all passes way too quickly – I somehow can’t see it the way he can. I literally cannot picture her beyond the age of about two-and-a-half (sorry, “two-and-something"). I cannot picture her talking, or with hair that’s grown past her ears. I can’t picture her getting herself dressed or making herself a bowl of cereal or walking herself to school in the morning.

And yet I know, of course, that it’s coming. I think back to all of the things that she’s already left behind her – falling asleep on her Daddy’s chest at night, her gummy smiles, her habit of spitting up all over strangers. Now she’s running around and making silly faces and playing games – things I couldn’t imagine her doing when she was a newborn, things that have somehow crept up on me. I guess it makes me wonder which is better (or which is worse): having these moments pass by without you realizing it or seeing them come from miles – and years – away. I have a feeling that is one of those irritating questions that has no right answer. One thing is for certain, there’s no stopping the clock now. So I guess we’ll both try to just enjoy each moment as it passes.

(A photographer friend took this picture of Maddie and it’s my new favourite – if you live in the area, check out her Web site, she takes great family photos: www.capturedbyamy.com)

Day 579: A very scary Halloween

2007-11-04T23:03:00.000-08:00

I know that it’s a little late for a Halloween update. In truth I’ve been trying to come up with a decent excuse for why I don’t have a single picture of my daughter in her Halloween costume. But my friend saved me yesterday by sending this one that she took.

Let me tell you a scary Halloween story. It starts about a week before the big day. We got a fuzzy little lion costume for Maddie. She loved it – on the hanger. On her body – not so much. As soon as I got her into it she freaked right out. So we ditched the lion. Thankfully we had a cheerleader outfit that we got as a gift. Cute, low maintenance; it seemed perfect. Until Fernando decided that maybe she shouldn’t be a cheerleader. He insists it’s because he wanted her to be something she would recognize, but I know it’s really because he didn’t want her in a short skirt. So the cheerleader was out. And I was out of ideas. And then I was at Toys R Us and it was like a light shone down through the heavens and pointed me in the right direction. Okay, really they were giving out free fairy wings at the cashier – but if that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is! So a fairy princess it was! I made the costume. You heard right, I made it. And then two days before Halloween Mads and Fernando decided to double team me: She let it be known that she hated the new costume (surprise, surprise) and he said that maybe a cheerleader would be cute after all. Sigh.

So as you can see she was a cheerleader. Cute, no? What you don’t see is the evening up until the time this picture was taken. I got stuck in traffic for ages and was right pissed off and not at all in the holiday spirit by the time I got home. Then we discovered that all renovation hell had broken loose at the house. Fernando spent an hour on hold with the phone company trying to sort things out – an hour that involved a lot of slamming of doors and swearing and general unpleasantness. So we finally leave, to go to a friend’s house. On the way there we get into a bit of trouble with the in-laws. Oh well. But at least Maddie is in great spirits. Until we get there and suddenly she’s not in a party mood after all. Screams. Slobbers. Panics. We spend an hour with her seconded in the back of the house, the mere sight of anybody sending her into great, heaving sobs. She finally calms down enough to eat a piece of candy. Which she proceeds to choke on. Really choke, complete with wheezing, gasping, a bright red little face. Thank god Fernando was there to flip her over and pound on her back till the candy flew across the room. Mildly terrifying, to say the least. And then, for the kicker, she vomits all over everything, including her costume.

Anyways, it seems a good barf is all she needed, cause she was good as gold after that – the life of the party.

So that was our Halloween. How was yours?

Day 573: All dressed up and nowhere to go

2007-10-30T08:50:00.000-07:00

My mom found this hand-made, pearl-embellished, pink, crocheted handbag for Mads at a yard sale recently. It's got clear plastic handles and gold beading and is, in a word, god-awful. But whoever actually sat down and created this atrocity of an accessory would likely be thrilled to know that it is among Maddie's most prized possessions.

She fills it with her garish strings of Mardi Gras beads, slings it over her shoulder, says "bye bye," and toddles right past us and out of the room. She looks every bit the pint-sized socialite off for some shopping or lunch with the girls. And she's got the attitude down, too - her chin in the air and a little wave over her shoulder as if to say, "Don't wait up."

As soon as she turns the corner she laughs her head off and two seconds later comes running back, squealing, only to empty out her purse and start the whole thing over again. And over. And over. There's no such thing as too much repetition in the life of a toddler, it seems. In the life of a mommy, of course, things tend to get a bit old on say their hundredth time around. But she's quite convinced these days she's the most hysterical person on the face of the planet. She cracks herself right up - and me too.

Happy Halloween to all your little ghouls and goblins! Maddie is of course forcibly resisting the idea of any sort of costume, so I'm sure I'll have some stories to tell!

ps - excuse the horrible picture, I'll get a better one tonight. Although, it's kind of fitting to see her in the midst of our renovation chaos. We just got our cupboards! Yay for minor miracles!

Day 570: Late night confessions

2007-10-27T23:44:00.000-07:00

I would like to be someone who takes things in stride; someone who sees the big picture and understands the journey. I would like to be a mother who does these things. Those mothers exist, don't they? I see them out there, talking lovingly to their toddlers as they kick and cry on the floor of Toys R Us. They're not panicked, they're not overwhelmed, they're not covered in the sheen of a cold sweat. How do I become one of them?

But really I don't have time to become one of them because I am far too busy worrying to concern myself with anything else. I don't know when I started down the path to near-obsessive worry-dom, but the transition seems to be complete. And let me tell you, it's exhausting. It's never-ending, self-inflicted, utterly pointless mental anguish. I read a quote once that said something along the lines of, the job of a parent is to prepare a child to live in the world without her. I think I took it too literally. Every second seems crammed with meaning. I should be teaching, encouraging, disciplining. What if I forget something? What if I've already forgotten something? I vaguely recall what it feels like to have a head that is clear, that is quiet, but it's a very distant memory.

I sometimes wonder, though, if this is just part of motherhood? If this is something that all mothers feel to some extent, and I feel it slightly more because - well, let's face it, I was a bit neurotic to begin with. And then I worry that I spend too much time trying to figure out what it means to be a mom instead of just being one.

In case you're wondering, or hoping for resolution, I'm not going anywhere in particular with any of this. It's midnight, I'm still awake, and just emptying my head of all its doubt and craziness for your reading enjoyment.

And now I think I'll go to bed. Good night!

Day 565: A list

2007-10-23T21:04:00.000-07:00

Here are a few signs that you may be spending too much time in the company of people under the age of 3. This is far from a complete list, your additions are welcome!

When the guy standing next to you at Starbucks drops his coffee you point at him and say “UH Ooooh!”
You catch yourself looking in the mirror and wondering if Dora’s hairstyle would look good on you.
You’re in a crowded room and someone passes gas. Instead of being discreet you sniff loudly and ask, “Did somebody make a poopy pants?”
You go to the lingerie shop and are disappointed to find they don’t carry adult fuzzy suits. They just seem so comfy!
Your answer to the question, “What did you do this weekend?” somehow veers into a monologue on why Uniqua is clearly the funniest of all the Backyardigans.
On your way out the door you notice your shirt is crusted with chocolate pudding. You think, “Oh good, it’s not poo,” and go out anyways.
You find yourself stopping to clap at inappropriate times – like when you see somebody eating a vegetable or when a bus drives by. It’s awkward.
You bring Goldfish crackers to a wine and cheese party. (And eat half the bag on the drive there.)
When you see someone who is sad you sneak up and try to tickle them. Turns out not everybody likes to be tickled by random strangers. Who knew?

Luckily, there is a remedy. It’s called wine.

Happy hump day!

Day 561: My name is Carolyn, and I'm a coffee addict

2007-10-19T17:38:00.000-07:00

I've started drinking coffee. This might not be a big deal to all you who are hooked up to a caffeine IV drip, but to to me it's pretty apalling. Let me explain a bit of history: I worked at Starbucks all the way through University. It was five long years cloaked in a god awful green apron with ground coffee in my hair and chocolate syrup underneath my fingernails. Five years of throwing out day old pastries and talking ad nauseum about the decaffienation process. Five years of humouring people who seemed to think that the more words there are in front of their drink the more important they become - kind of like degrees after a name, only instead of Jane Smith, MSC, PhD, it's Jane Smith, Double-tall-non-fat-easy-foam-half-vanilla-half-hazelnut-108 degree-pumpkin-spice-latte. It actually wasn't a terrible job at the time, but it did breed a certain disdain for the fancy pants coffee set.

And now I am one of them. I skulk in shame in the line at Starbucks every single morning. It might be forgiveable if I just ordered a plain old coffee, but I don't. My drink comes with adjectives. I can barely look at myself in the mirror. And I blame Maddie.

Before Mads I never drank coffee. I never had grey hair. I never considered anything past 10:15pm "staying up late." I never gave two seconds' thought to my pension plan or the interest rate on my credit card. Now I do all of these things. It's like I've become a grown up or something.

But then again, before Mads I never went outside just to kick through a pile of leaves. I never enjoyed an episode of Sesame Street over a shared snack of apple juice and Goldfish crackers. I never played hide and seek under the kitchen table in the middle of the afternoon. Funny that it took growing up to be able to act like a kid again.

Day 557: Underwater worlds

2007-10-15T08:31:00.000-07:00

We took Maddie on a little family outing to the aquarium last weekend. This was actually her second trip there. The first time she was about 9 months old and had expressed passing interest in a fish on tv one morning. Looking back, though, it could have just been gas. Either way, convinced she was a budding marine biologist I optimistically packed us up and headed out to the aquarium where she of course paid more attention to the ceiling fans than the vast aquatic ecosystems. And then she cried for 30 minutes. And then we left.

It's fun now that she is old enough to understand and enjoy these little activities, although of course it still doesn't turn out quite the way you imagine it in your head. I pictured her squealing with glee over the diving dolphins, clapping her little hands in awe at the sight of the beluga whales. But no, the tops draws, determined by decibel of grunting and yelling, were:

A cartoon fish painted on the wall

A bunch of crows eating garbage in the parking lot

A lightbulb underneath one of the display cases - that one really blew her away.

A close runner-up to that list would of course be the gift shop. She leveled barely a glance at the majestic whales before catching sight of the gift shop across the room. Her eyes widened in wonder and off she took, running.

Oh well. I guess the point is that she enjoyed it, right? Though honestly, if we'd known about the crows we would've saved ourselves the $20, bought a bag of popcorn and sat in the parking lot for an hour. Lesson learned, I guess!

Day 551: My not-so-busy busy life

2007-10-09T21:00:00.000-07:00

I had one of those cliche mommy moments the other day. I was putting Maddie into her carseat when all of a sudden she became really excited, frantically pointing out the window and doing her signature grunt. I figured it was the usual - the sky, the trees, the mailbox, the bus (the girl loves city buses - probably because she never has to actually ride on one). Her glee was particularly insistent though, so I turned to see what all the fuss was about, and there it was: A leaf hanging suspended at the end of a strand of spiderweb, twirling in the Fall breeze.

So there we were, Mads and I, watching this leaf dance about, her giggling by this point and me with nothing more pressing on my mind than the wonder of nature. Had she not been there I am sure I would have walked right through the web, and spent the rest of the day worried that spiders were building nests in my hair.

That is the strange thing about life with baby. The days are so busy that I often feel run off my feet. But when I stop to think about what exactly is filling my days, I realize that a lot of it is nothing at all: looking at ladybugs, splashing in puddles, singing the same song over and over and over again. It feels hectic because I am always doing something - and true enough it can get mind numbing at times - but all things considered I guess it's not such a bad way to spend your days.

Day 532: Water torture

2007-10-02T09:13:00.000-07:00

The renovations continue to move slowly along, but this weekend brought some really big news: We have walls! Real walls, with insulation and everything. With the possible exception of the day Maddie started walking, I’ve never been happier. So of course while Fernando was working on that project this weekend, the girl and I had some serious quality time together.

On Saturday I took her to swimming lessons. I figured we should probably put in an appearance seeing as we’ve only made one of four classes so far. I should feel badly, I know, but to be honest I’m not too worried about it. At worst she is falling behind in vital skills like bubble blowing and ad nauseum repetitions of “Motorboat, motorboat.” I think she’ll survive.

It’s a bit of a stretch to call them lessons in any case. She basically spends the half hour trying to figure out ways to get out of the pool and I spend it trying to keep her in. Keep in mind that my bathing suit and I are not on the best of terms right now, so chasing Maddie in circles around a public pool deck in my old one-piece is not really my idea of a good time.

The thing is, she actually does like the water. She loves it, in fact – on her own terms. If it were up to her our time in the pool would be spent with me bouncing her up and down and saying “Whhheeeee!” But of course the cruel instructor wants her to kick her legs and float on her back and such things. Oh, the horror, I know. So there she is, forced out on her back, her little neck straining up at me as she grunts and squirms, all the while giving me this look that very clearly says, “Have you lost your mind, woman?” And I of course ignore her, rambling on endlessly: “Ooooh, this is so much fun, you lucky girl! Maddie loves swimming!” As if my saying it will make it true.

So that was our weekend. Ooh, but did I mention the walls?

Day 549: Picking our battles

2007-09-27T12:45:00.000-07:00

A lot of my issues with motherhood have stemmed from the fact that it turns out I am a bit of a control nut. Who knew? Lurking beneath this ultra-cool and laid back exterior is a big old type A personality. I like schedules. I like patterns. I like for things to make sense. Maddie however, like most 18-month olds, is more a fly-by-the-seat-of-her-diapers kind of a girl.

Some moms are able to admit the truth, which is that their kids control their lives. I am still in denial on that one, but I am learning to focus my need for control on a few select issues. For example, it has become strangely important to me that she does not stand up on the couch, on the footstool, anywhere other than the ground, really. We have daily battles over it, she and I, but I am intent on winning. Having some level of control on these tiny, irrelevant issues seems to make it easier for me to deal with the complete chaos that reigns supreme over the rest of our lives.

The other day we were finishing up a few errands and I told her it was time to go to the car. Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because she panicked. She ran out of my reach and onto the Starbucks patio, inadvertently cornering herself. Realizing she had no escape route, she dropped to the sidewalk and started crying, literally rolling underneath the tables to get away from me. All I could do was stand there and stare at her in disbelief. There are places where it is acceptable to roll around on the floor, but really Starbucks isn’t one of them. It’s not the type of atmosphere they’re going for, you know?

There was a time when this type of public display would have had me cringing with embarrassment, but I was surprisingly okay with it. She may roll around in filth and spilled cappuccinos, but at least she doesn’t stand on the sofa. Like a mom friend of mine once told me, you pick your battles. I may not be picking the right ones, but it’s good enough for now.

Day 545: TV and tantrums

2007-09-23T09:18:00.000-07:00

Last night I was entirely convinced I had the sweetest, smartest, most lovely baby in the entire world. She was dancing, she was giggling, she was making silly faces and giving away sloppy kisses. Fast forward to this morning, she's a little monster. And I don't mean that in an adoring motherly way, like "Oh, look at my silly little monster." I mean she's down right miserable. Seems somebody woke up on the wrong side of the crib. I shouldn't judge her, I guess, I wake up in a bad mood some mornings, too. Maybe she was up all night pacing the mattress worrying about bills and renovations and the fact that the highlight of her life these days is the upcoming TV season. Oh wait, or maybe that was me.

It could have something to do with the fact that she also woke up with a rash all over her body. Or they could be two totally unrelated issues. See how much I have learned in 18 months of motherhood? I've learned that sometimes nothing makes any sense! Back to the rash, though, I cannot figure out where it came from. Unless she snuck off in the middle of the night and rolled around in poison ivy. But that is a stretch, even for her. So I'm just hoping it goes away, and it takes her bad little attitude with it.

Now, let's talk about that TV season, shall we? The Office! Prison Break! House! I suppose even Grey's, although that Meredith gets on my last nerve, and Izzy's not much better. But who I am kidding, I will be watching of course. Is it impossibly pathetic and sad that premiere week is, with the possible exception of Christmas, my favourite week of the year? Never mind, don't answer that. Happy viewing!

Day 539: Can't we all just get along?

2007-09-17T20:40:00.000-07:00

I didn't expect the world to change just because I had a kid. Actually, I should correct that. I did expect my world to change, but I didn't think everybody else should have to accomodate that. I knew we wouldn't be going out to fancy restaurants, I understood movies were a thing of the past. I didn't even feel particularly strongly about breastfeeding in public (although I completely support and applaud that right, for the record - no need to come burn your bras on my front lawn). I guess my point is that I knew the earth would not stop spinning simply because I decided to have a baby; I knew that if sacrifices were to be made they would be my own.

All that being said, I did expect some basic human decency to be extended my - sorry, our - way. Seems I was aiming a bit too high. This weekend I packed our bags, summoned my courage, and took Maddie grocery shopping with me. I had a list of things to get (a mental list, of course. I'm not organized enough for an actual list) and set off equipped with a steely determination. I think any mom of a toddler knows that a trip to the grocery store becomes a monumental task. You need to be in peak mental condition. I thought that I was, until we hit our first hurdle before we even entered the store.

So I am standing at the carts, loonie (that's our rather bizarre name for the Canadian dollar coin, for my international friends out there) in one hand, Starbucks in another, diaper bag over the shoulder and baby on the hip. I manage to free a cart, only to find the baby restraint - entirely vital to a succesful trip in our case - was broken. Luckily, there was a woman beside me who had also just paid for a cart. "Hi," I said, all smiles, "Can we just switch carts, mine doesn't have a baby strap." I nodded to the kid yanking on my hair as I pushed my cart towards her. Her answer? "No, I'm in a rush." Seriously. No, I am in a rush.

I was dumbfounded. I shouldn't have been, though, because this stuff happens all the time. There are lone drivers stealing the family parking spots, completely able-bodied and baby-free people pushing ahead of strollers onto mall elevators, lazy sloths sitting on the bus while some parent juggles two kids and five grocery bags.

Like I said, I don't expect people to go out of their way to make our lives easier. I don't ask them to put up with screaming or to change diapers. But is a bit of simple kindness here and there too much to ask?

Day 533: Eating out with your baby (a cautionary tale)

2007-09-11T11:53:00.001-07:00

Fernando and I had typically naïve and optimistic parenting philosophies before we had a child. I remember conversations about how we would tote the baby along to art galleries to foster an interest in culture, and haul her around on trips overseas to give her some perspective on her place in the world. Then she arrived, of course, and it didn’t take long for us to realize that we were lucky to survive a trip to the mall never mind a trek through sub-Saharan Africa. In my defence, though, I did take her to the art gallery once. She screamed (rather rudely, I thought) throughout my entire discussion of the Impressionist movement and then promptly vomited all over the marble floor.

When I was pregnant we were out for dinner one evening and were entirely impressed to see a couple at the restaurant ordering up a plate of sushi for their toddler. Sushi! Well, we were all over that. It was quickly decided that we would definitely be taking our kid to restaurants all the time. Curry houses, sushi bars, seafood joints, fine dining, the works. Not only would we get that quality family time together, but we would be wisely encouraging the development of both a sophisticated palate and good table manners. Fast forward 18 months and our planned culinary adventures have been downgraded to the point where we are restricted to White Spot or Boston Pizza. And even those outings require monumental effort. It just seems much more tempting to stay at home, where Maddie can scream and run about and chuck food to her little heart’s content. Were it up to me, that is exactly what we would do. But Fernando insists that we get her used to going out, bless him.

And so we found ourselves sharing a corner booth with our rather demanding dining partner once again the other night. Once the meal itself arrives things get a bit easier, it is the waiting that is the killer. She sits in the highchair for about 3 minutes before she starts getting antsy. We cycle through the entire contents of the diaper bag – snacks, juice, toys, books, games – and that buys us another 4 minutes or so of relative calm. She starts straining, grunting, yelling, getting progressively louder as she attempts to break free. We break out in a sweat, knowing that things are about to get ugly. The waitress stops by to see how things are going. “Oh, fine, thanks,” shooting a panicked glance towards the kitchen. We order a drink to dull the pain. By this time we’re bordering on causing a scene, we’re feeling the irritated glares of our fellow diners. We give in and let her out of the chair. She, sensing her opportunity, of course runs for the door, banging into unsuspecting wait staff and patrons as she goes. Fernando heads after her and they spend a few minutes blowing fish faces against the restaurant window outside while I down my glass of house white.

And then, from the kitchen – CRASH! – the unmistakable sound of a tray of dishes being dropped. Out comes our waitress, apologetic, telling us, “Sorry guys, that was yours, it’ll just be a little while longer.” What she clearly doesn’t understand is that a “little while” to her is an eternity to a toddler. And even longer to the parents who are trying to contain her.

Ah, there is nothing quite so relaxing as a quiet dinner out, no?

My Britney

2007-09-10T09:49:00.000-07:00

So last night I took a break from spit-polishing the floors, knitting Maddie’s fall wardrobe and baking for the homeless to curl up on the couch and catch a bit of the MTV Video Awards.

Those who know me possibly know where this is going. But if you don’t, I should probably first make a confession: I love The Brit. Otherwise known as Britney Spears. Through the innocent schoolgirl period, the years with Justin Timberlake (still really hoping for a reunion there), the predictable red-string Kaballah phase and subsequent Madonna make-out session, the Vegas wedding, the real wedding, the Cheetos and the children, and of course the sad and appalling public spiral. I’ve sometimes been embarrassed to admit it, but I’ve always loved her.

But this past week it seemed like the hope might not have been misplaced after all. We saw some happy family photos. There was a new song that was (gasp!) actually not an assault on the senses. I’m telling you, Maddie loves it. And that girl’s got taste. And there was the VMA opening gig, apparently endless rehearsals in the works. She was hanging with P. Diddy (is he still using the P.?), things were turning around. Until last night.

My lord, what happened last night? The wig was atrocious. The bedazzled bra and panties were a very questionable choice. The lip synching was a disaster. The dancing, if you could call it that, was laughable. I swear she busted out a shoulder shimmy that I did in a grade 5 dance recital – only I am pretty sure I did it with considerably more flair. She looked like she’d shown up expecting to crash on the couch and watch movies but instead was squeezed into some cheap sequined lingerie and thrown on stage for amateur hour. In front of millions of people.

So what is it? Madness? Addiction? Depression? Plain old fatigue? All of the above? Let’s set aside the fact that she has children depending on her for a minute. Whatever she has been doing, or whatever has been done to her, the results are not pretty. I love her still, but the girl needs serious help.

Day 529: Road rules

2007-09-07T11:53:00.000-07:00

Here is something about me that perhaps you didn’t know: I don’t talk on my cell phone while driving. I'd like to say that this is because I am responsible and don’t want to be distracted from the road, but in truth I know it is because 90% of the time my cell phone is lying uncharged and abandoned at the bottom of the diaper bag. So it might be more accurate to say that I don't talk on my cell phone period. But that's beside the point.

During a drive to the mall with Mads the other day (our weekly pilgrimage to the holy land), I realized that in terms of distraction, talking on the phone would be the least of my concerns. In the course of a trip I sing, I dance, I tickle, I play, I feed, I soothe… oh, and I drive, too. The funny thing is that it has all become second nature to me. I didn’t even realize I was doing any of it until I found myself sitting stalled at a green light while I finished off the actions to Head and Shoulders, Knees and Toes. Then I started paying attention and realized just how much effort these little drives of ours require. But surely I'm not the only mom doing this stuff:

fishing through the diaper bag to find a snack, opening said snack, and passing it over my head to my backseat passenger

locating the sippy cup, spilling the contents all over myself, rethreading the lid, and handing it back to Mads

Performing the actions for a wide variety of songs, from Itsy Bitsy Spider to I’m a Little Teacup

Using the pause of a red light for a quick game of “headrest peek-a-boo”

Performing an ongoing monologue (as she's not the best conversationalist) detailing every inch of the scenery - "Maddie, see the bus? Those kids are going to school! You'll be going to school one day (inside voice: hallelujah!). Oooh! A bird! Look at that silly bird. What does that bird say? He says 'Caw! Caw!' Hey, see that mailbox? Wow, pretty red mailbox...."

Headbanging along with Maddie to the sounds of Bananaphone

Performing the signature mom move: a blind, one-handed retrieval of lost and abandoned toys/books/blankets/snacks on the floor directly behind me (only to have the returned item heaved overboard yet again)

I could go on, but you get the point, I’m sure. No wonder I'm exhausted when we reach our destination! And I can only imagine it gets worse when you have more than one kid and you have to add refereeing backseat fights to your litany of driving tasks. Yes, it seems the days of leisurely trips - much like the days of two-piece swimsuits and daily showers - are far behind me.

Suffice to say, those backseat dvd players - you know, the ones my pre-baby self said I would never use because my kid would know better than to whine in the car, and besides that wouldn't even be interested in such trivial things as television - are starting to look like a pretty good option.

Day 521: Mom is a very dirty word

2007-08-30T15:28:00.000-07:00

Here’s what I don’t understand: how can a person the size of a small lapdog generate such an outrageous amount of dirty laundry? It is truly beyond my comprehension. I should probably fess up to the fact that I hate doing the laundry with a passion that most people reserve for things like war and taxes. I loathe it. I hate the washing of it, the folding of it, the putting it away. I hate the sight of it, plain the simple.

I swear the amount of laundry in our house tripled the day Mads was born. A friend of mine gave me a pastel pink laundry hamper as a shower gift and while I thought it was adorable I really couldn’t see needing an entire hamper just for the kid. And yet here I am, hauling it out of her room nearly every day full to the brim with all sorts of stinky stuff: pee soaked onesies and dirty-kneed pants, pudding-stained sweaters and crayon-smudged dresses (although most of that ends up in her mouth – Mads loves a good crayon-y snack).

I’m not the best housekeeper, I admit. People have called me a lot of things, but to my best recollection “domestic goddess” has not been one of them. I tidy up by moving the clutter from one place (living room floor) to another (bedroom closet). I don’t actually dust so much as I blow on surfaces hard enough to scatter the debris. But at the same time I don’t live a slovenly existence. The dishes get washed, the floors get vacuumed, the oven gets cleaned (okay, that’s pushing it). But I just cannot seem to keep on top of the never-ending piles of dirty clothes. There are baskets of things waiting to be washed, baskets of things waiting to be dried, baskets of things waiting to be folded and put away, only to be worn again and have the entire awful process start all over again.

Thank goodness I have a husband with progressive ideas on the division of household labour (not to mention a low tolerance for mess in general – can you say OCD?). Well, I’ll do the cooking and he can do the cleaning up. Sounds like a fair trade to me!

Day 518: Confessions of a former mullet

2007-08-27T12:27:00.000-07:00

I gave Maddie her first real haircut over the weekend. I say “real” because I did attempt to trim her bangs several months ago and it was not exactly a success. I chased her around the living room for a while with a pair of scissors (okay, that sounds much worse than it actually was) before finally managing a few snips. In the end it wasn’t pretty; picture a miniature version of Jim Carrey in Dumb and Dumber.

This time I came prepared with banana pudding and Sesame Street. What 16-month old could resist that combination? Mine, apparently, because in between fistfuls of dessert she still managed to swat away at my hands and whip her head around spastically. But the result is actually quite cute. I call it the Suri. Except that Suri Cruise probably has her own personal stylist on call, whereas Maddie’s coif was fashioned with a pair of dull kitchen sheers.

Growing up I always had a terrible hairstyle. It was short, cut up around my ears, and sadly when I reached about 11 years old it was permed as well. Keep in mind that I also towered above all the kids in my class; I was the giant with a bad perm. I remember for my grade 6 school photos I showed up with a fresh perm and a truly god-awful mock turtleneck sweater/sweatshirt combination that my mom had picked up from Sears; I ended up being mistaken for the teacher. I blamed my mom and that terrible haircut. I assumed she kept it that way because she didn’t want to be bothered with ponytails and barrettes and ribbons and such things. But now I realize I likely suffered from the same affliction that my Maddie does: the mullet. No matter how often I brush, wash, beg or plead, the sides of her hair just refuse to grow.

I am glad to report that I outgrew it - or it outgrew me, I suppose. And now I am the mother of a mulleted child and like my mother before me, I am doing my best to work with what we’ve got. But I can promise you one thing: I will buy poor Mads a wig before I ever make her suffer the torture of an elementary school perm.

Day 514: The wheels on the bus

2007-08-23T11:08:00.001-07:00

I ride the bus to work a few days a week, which is always interesting to say the least. Yesterday, for instance, I got to witness an argument between two middle aged travelers about which of them was most deserving of the last remaining courtesy seat. “I’m a diabetic!” “I’m legally blind!” “I think I might pass out!” “I survived the Titanic!” I almost offered to carry one of them on my back if they’d just be quiet. But I digress, as always.

Every morning on the way into work a woman gets on the bus with her two young kids. Well, I assume they’re hers. I’ve never talked to her – my head is usually either in my book or bouncing off the window as I try to catch a few extra moments of sleep. But she always seems in a big hurry to get these kids somewhere. The story I’ve created in my mind is that she’s a single mom, rushing the kids to daycare on the bus each morning before heading off to work to earn the bacon (which, to complete the analogy, she then brings home and cooks).

I like her – as much as you can like a total stranger for whom you’ve invented a make believe life that very likely has no basis at all in reality. She seems nice enough, and she just has the look of a loving mother about her somehow. But the thing is, she often seems pretty frustrated with the kids. They doddle (my spellchecker tells me that’s not a word, but I’m going with it anyways), they poke at each other, they press their little faces up against the dirty windows, all the usual kid stuff. And more often than not she’ll snap at them and end up basically dragging them off the bus. This is starting to sound like I’m passing judgment, isn’t it? I really don’t mean to. For all I know she’s the best mother in the tri-city area, baking homemade bread and crocheting her kids’ likeness into doilies in her spare time. I’ve no doubt she’d blow me out of the water in a mother-of-the-year competition. And maybe by the time our paths cross on the bus each morning she’s already been pushed to super-human limits: maybe she got up at 5am to make breakfast, maybe the kids drew a lipstick mural on the living room wall, maybe they threw her hairdryer out the window and poured orange juice all over the cat. In all likelihood she has good reason to be frustrated.

So where am I going with all of this? I guess the point is just that I recognize a bit of myself in her because I know that I am often the same way: caught up in where I have to be and what I have to do, worried about being late and stressed about whatever is going wrong. Sometimes I look at this mom I don’t even know and think that her life might be easier if she just stopped to smell the roses a bit more. And then I realize that maybe I should take my own good advice.

Day 512: Growing up

2007-08-21T09:15:00.000-07:00

I can't even believe I am about to say this, but I have been feeling a small wave of nostalgia for Maddie's newborn days. Yes, that was nostalgia, not nausea, though I wouldn't blame you for making that mistake. If ever there was a mom who was happy to leave that stage far, far behind her it was me. But having spent some time lately in the company of friends and their newborns, I admit to feeling a tiny bit of sadness that my baby is not really a baby anymore. That is not to say the old biological clock is back up and ticking - no, I threw that against the wall long ago in a sleep-deprived, depression-induced rage. Some days I think it may be beyond repair. But still, there is something to that newborn smell, to those tiny balled up fists, the hours spent immobilized on the couch while your baby rises and falls against your chest.

All that having been said, though, I wouldn’t trade where we are now. No, I am definitely one of those mothers who enjoy this ride more as it goes along. I’ve spent a lot of time focused lately on what Mads is not doing – namely talking – rather than on what she is doing. The girl is a riot. The giggle that was once so elusive comes easily now, as does her goofy, crooked-teethed smile. She’s just about given up walking altogether in favour of a full throttle, wobbly sprint. This has resulted in more than a few bumps and bruises, but she takes them in stride. Our house – what there is of it these days – sounds more like a barnyard than a home. I’m half-convinced that the reason she isn’t talking is because she’s entirely focused on perfecting every animal sound known to man. We’ve got bears, monkeys, snakes, cows, owls, mice, pigs, and even monsters. Some of these we’ve taught her, others she just assigns on her own.

It’s not all roses, of course, because life with a toddler never is. We’ve got our days full of whining and tantrums, to be certain. But even those – while undeniably irritating – are manageable. Whereas in the early days it felt like endless and irrational screaming, at least now I know why she is upset. Most times it’s not a very good reason, but at least there is a reason. Maybe it’s that I wouldn’t let her lick the dog bone, or throw rocks at random passerby; maybe I stopped her from playing in the kitty litter, or from stuffing fistfuls of dirt in between the chesterfield cushions. Now, do these minor offences really call for screaming, sobbing, gasping meltdowns? I would say no. But I'm happy enough just to understand her, even if she is a little drama queen.

Day 510: The sounds of silence

2007-08-19T22:33:00.000-07:00

So Maddie continues to give us the silent treatment, for those of you who are keeping track. And I, like the totally together and accepting mom that I am, continue to take it in stride and not worry for a second. Well, that's the official story. Off the record, I may stress out just the tiniest bit. I may have read an article or two on developmental delays. I may beg and plead with her to speak. I may cry myself to sleep some nights. Actually, the last one is not true at all, I was just on a roll there.

People always seem to say that the second baby is easier, and in terms of the amount of guilt and worry, it must be. It has to be. Nobody could survive it twice otherwise! I imagine that to a seasoned mom a kid that doesn't talk at 17 months would be a blessing, because they know that once she does start she'll never stop. And that seasoned mom likely doesn't obsess over what she may have done (or not done) to contribute to said lack of talking. (Have we played the wrong games? Not paid due attention to the alphabet? Spent too much time tickling and not enough teaching? Oh, if only we'd bought those damn flashcards sooner!) No, an experienced mom would know that none of that matters. And when someone tells an experienced mom, "By the time they're in kindergarten they're all caught up," she'll actually believe it because she knows firsthand that it's true. But every novice knows those are just empty consolations.

The thing is, it's not so much worrying as it is frustrating. I mean, she was batting at objects at 3 weeks - if that's not a sign of Einstein-level genius, I don't know what is. I am convinced she's just being stubborn about the whole thing. Sometimes I just want to say, "Talk, dammit! Talk!" Okay, sometimes I do say that, but it doesn't seem to make a difference. Honestly I can't even imagine her speaking. I just cannot picture her opening her little mouth and saying something that actually makes sense! But apparently they do it, and I'm sure she will too, when she's ready. I just have to keep reminding myself of that.

Ah, I'm so glad that I've resolved not to worry.

Day 507: Rhymes with crass

2007-08-16T11:50:00.001-07:00

So the other night Fernando and I, ignoring the fact that we are on day 10,000 (or thereabouts) of renovations and still are no closer to having a kitchen or washroom, were curled up on the couch watching Supernanny. I remember tuning into that show all the time when I was pregnant, smugly confident that no child of mine would ever be such a little monster. Well, needless to say, times have changed. I think you need only live through one toddler-induced session of public humiliation to understand that sometimes these kids just have minds of their own. Maddie is a sweet and wonderful little girl, but let's just say she can hold her own.

Anyways, this episode was particularly painful. The couple had two sons, aged 4 and 7. She ran a daycare and he was a stay at home dad. Although, the fact that he seemed to drop the kids off at said daycare each day made me question whether he is eligible to hold that title. He was more just a guy who didn’t work. The boys were complete terrors, of course: aggressive, disrespectful, rude. Your typical Supernanny family.

There was a point where the father was at the breakfast table with his 4-year old and the kid says, “Hey Dad, I’ve got a new nickname for you.” Now, this being a show about nightmarish children, you know he’s not about to say “Lovebug” or “Muffinhead”. So I braced myself. The dad, sadly, did not. “Yeah? What’s that?” was his optimistic reply. “Ass,” says the kid. He’s nicknamed his own father Ass. Something about that just horrified me. I think it was that he didn’t say it in that way that kids do when they’re trying out new words that they know are bad. It wasn’t an experiment. It was a dismissal. Ass – it doesn’t get much worse than that.

So of course we got into a discussion of what our automatic response might be should the day come when Mads nicknames one – or both, likely – of us Ass. Fernando seemed sold on a menacing form of “Pardon me??” that made him sound sort of like Robert De Niro in Taxi Driver. I didn’t come up with much. Honestly, I think I would just be trying hard not to laugh – or cry. Hopefully we’ll have a few years yet before we have to decide!

Day 505: Wedded bliss

2007-08-14T23:04:00.000-07:00

It has been many days since my last post, which is far too long, but I trust you'll forgive me as we're still recovering from a crazy weekend. My sister-in-law got married on Friday, and Mads had the honour of being a little flower girl! Technically she didn't carry any flowers but instead had her trusted teddy in a death grip as she made her way down the aisle. And in fact she didn't make it far, because the poor girl kept tripping on the aisle runner and falling flat on her face. Fernando ended up rescuing her after her third faceplant and carried her the rest of the way. All that aside, though, she did a spectacular job!

I have long held a theory about babies, and this wedding proved it to be true. The theory goes something like this: All babies are equipped with some sort of internal sensory mechanism that enables them to detect when their parents are at their breaking point. That moment when they are so tired, or frustrated, or confused, or worried that they are on the verge of either pulling out their hair or throwing in the towel; when they are beaten and weathered and feeling entirely inadequate. It is at that very instant that the child that has been a complete terror for a week will suddenly transform into a perfect little angel, full of smiles, erupting with giggles, virtually overflowing with outpourings of love and adoration and general loveliness. And after a day of this that poor parent will convince herself that she must have overreacted, that she maybe just expected too much, that it was in fact she who had the bad week (for it certainly couldn't have been the vision of perfection she sees before her now). And so it was with Maddie and the wedding.

The week leading up the event had its trials and was capped off by a very loud and embarasing public meltdown during a trip to the local Home Depot. It was entirely our fault of course, Fernando and I, as we forced Maddie to endure the torture of sitting in the cart rather than letting her continue to wreak havoc throughout the aisles of the store. On the trip home I found myself wondering - if we can't even make it through 20 minutes in a hardware store how will we ever survive a weddng ceremony and cocktail reception - particularly on a day when she would be (gasp!) skipping a nap? Let's just say I didn't have very high expectations.

But wouldn't you know she was perfection. Adorable, sweet, affectionate, attentive. Even when she cracked her head on a concrete bench so hard that it drew blood there was not a whisper of complaint. She was a poster child, miraculous - thus proving my theory. They drive you to the edge of insanity only to draw you right back in again. Well, I'm onto her now. Until the next time she turns on the charm, of course, and I return to being putty in her sticky little hands.

(ps - Just a note to all of you who have left comments here along the way: I appreciate it so much! I've convinced myself I'm not the only person experiencing all of these ups and downs of parenting, but it's very nice to have it confirmed! Thanks.)

Day 500: A tip from a worried mom

2007-08-09T14:03:00.000-07:00

Here’s what not to do when you feel yourself having generally baseless and irrational fears that your baby might be autistic: Do not Google “baby autism symptoms.” Do not spend an hour reading through the results of that search and making a mental checklist of every sign and symptom that sounds familiar. Do not cry to your husband about the thought of your baby slipping away from you, thereby totally freaking him out. Here is what you should do: Pour yourself a glass of wine, talk to a friend who can bring you down off the ledge you’ve climbed out on (that’s a figurative ledge, not an actual one – I’m not that crazy… yet), and accept the reality that these are fears that most parents have at some point.

My mom assures me that she was entirely convinced my brother was autistic because he seemed to have a lot of excess saliva. She also was certain that I had leukemia because I bruised easily. I still bruise easily, I never had leukemia. Luckily, by the time my younger brother came along all her worries must have been spent. Maddie is 16 months and I have already falsely diagnosed her with (in no particular order, and for very brief durations): colic, reflux, muteness, seizures, night terrors, and some type of as-yet undiscovered muscular atrophy that renders babies unable to crawl or walk.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: she’s nuts. The thing is, I’m really not. No more than anybody else, at least. I’m just a mom, and with that job title comes a whole lot of worry. You may not believe it, but in general I’m a pretty laid back girl. I don’t rush to the doctor at every sneeze and sniffle; I didn’t panic when she took a tumble down the stairs; I didn’t cry when she scraped her little knee, or the time she bit through her lip hard enough to make it bleed; I don’t make the leap to a concussion when she gets a little bump on the head. Those things I take in stride. What worries me is the unknown – that vast and dangerous terrain. I can bandage a scrape and kiss a bump all better, but how do I protect her from all those things that maybe, possibly, one day, might go wrong? I guess the only thing I can do is to accept the fact that I can’t do much.

Now, didn’t somebody mention a glass of wine?

Day 497: Bedtime battles

2007-08-06T08:20:00.000-07:00

Have I talked in the past about the never-ending struggle with Maddie's bedtime? I'm sure I must have since it has been my life's overwhelming preoccupation for the past year or so. I should admit that I think I have a bit of an obsessive personality. I've thought about it a lot over the years and that's the conclusion I've come to. (By the way, if you find yourself obsessing over whether or not you obsess too much, that pretty much seals the deal on that question.) The subjects change as the years go by, and so the thought that I used to devote to say, the New Kids on the Block, left wing political ideology, and the perfect pair of kitten heels, is now focussed solely on Maddie's bedtime routine. There is really little time for anything else.

You know those commercials, the ones where some loving parent with all the answers deposits her baby into the crib, pushes the button on some garish and overpriced plastic lullabye box, and the kid is asleep before the door is shut? Yeah, well... that's not us. Here's us: Maddie has dinner, runs around screaming like a banshee while we try to tell her it's "quiet time", has her bath, watches her video, reads her book, drinks her milk, goes to bed, and... screams, cries, chats, plays for up to 2 hours. 2 hours!! We've pushed bedtime up, we've moved it back; we've sat by her crib endlessly lying her down and saying "ssshh"; we've played beethoven, baby einstein, lullabye classics, music boxes, ocean waves, whale sounds, everything short of Kenny G. Lights on, lights off, blanket, no blanket, cooler room temperature, warmer room temperature... nothing makes any difference. The girl is just averse to going to sleep. Her line of thinking seems to be, "Why sleep when I could spend that time raising hell?" She's a workaholic in the making. Or maybe a party animal.

Whatever is going on in her mind, I am losing mine. Problems like these must have answers, but for the life of me I cannot figure out what they are most of the time. Why won't she sleep? Why won't she talk? Why must she launch food from the highchair at every meal, or even worse, launch rocks at innocent passerby at the park? Why, why, why? In rare moments of clarity/sanity I think that maybe these problems don't have answers, it's just a part of growing up and a matter of waiting it out. But then the moment passes. The comfort is knowing that whether it's bedtime, mealtime, playtime, every parent is going through some variation of the same struggle. I've said it before, I'll say it again: misery loves company!

Day 493: Fragments of Paradise

2007-08-02T12:26:00.000-07:00

It sounds suspiciously like a Harlequin romance novel, doesn't it, Fragments of Paradise? Or perhaps a Hallmark made for TV movie. Picture it: a young widow, in a futile attempt to escape her sorrow, flees to Tahiti… and into the arms of a complicated new love. In fact, it is neither of those things. In fact, it is Maddie’s favourite book, the full title being Fragments of Paradise: British Columbia’s Wild and Wondrous Islands. Maddie discovered it on the bookshelf at my mom’s house a couple of weeks ago and has not let it out of her sight since.

Fragments of Paradise accompanies us on the bus, on visits, to the doctor’s office. She and it are inseparable. Sure, it can feel a little bit strange reading aloud to a 16-month-old about tidal charts, lighthouse protocol and marine ecosystems, but she loves it and who am I to judge?

Some kids are wrapped up in classics like Where the Wild Things Are and Goodnight Moon. And while Maddie does enjoy flipping through a good lift-the-flaps board book, nothing excites her quite the way a coffee table book can. Besides Fragments, she also enjoys The Dog Encyclopedia (not quite as exciting for the narrator, as the answer to every question of “Dat?!” is essentially the same: “Yes, Maddie, that’s another dog”). And yesterday the current issue of National Geographic arrived and became an instant favourite as well.

Whatever her preference of material, it’s fun to see her starting to love her books already. I remember all the reading I did growing up: sitting in my room with The Paperback Princess, devouring Judy Blume books (Blubber? Freckle Juice? Classics!), sobbing when that bitch Jessica stole poor Elizabeth’s boyfriend in one of the endless sagas of Sweet Valley High.

I am sure Fragments of Paradise will be tossed aside before too long – Mads is not known for her enduring loyalty to these things – but I’ll always remember it as her first favourite book in what will hopefully grow to be a very long list.

Day 489: First comes love, then comes marriage...

2007-07-29T07:48:00.000-07:00

Friends of ours got married yesterday, so I washed the yogurt from the morning's food fight out of my hair and off we went. Maddie came to the ceremony with us - her first time in a Church, much to my mother-in-law's chagrine. We came armed with her ever-present blanket, her teddy bear, and a tupperware full of cookies which quickly ended up smeared all over Fernando's new tie. She did remarkably well, actually, until she got the idea in her head to attempt to army crawl underneath the pews to freedom. But Fernando managed to drag her up and get her out before the screaming ensued, and so she spent the rest of the ceremony tottering about the church courtyard.

The wedding itself was lovely, as weddings tend to be. Really, what is nicer than seeing two people in love? Especially wedding day love, with wonderful times behind you and endless possibilities ahead. For that day, you are not thinking about getting the garbage out, getting the baby to bed, getting the bills paid. Your love is beautiful and sparkly and has nothing more to endure than some pre-speech jitters and a few drunk guests. Ah, am I sounding a tad bitter here? Fernando and I will be celebrating 4 years of wedded bliss next month, and we're lucky because for the most part they have been blissful. It can be tricky, though, navigating these waters with a child in tow. Suddenly everything becomes that little bit more complicated. Now it's not just that the car is low on gas - it's that the car is low on gas and Maddie is crying in the backseat and we're 20 minutes late for naptime and I can't remember where I put my wallet because my memory has gone to hell. I guess it can just be harder to smell the roses through the stench of the diaper pail. I try to remind myself that the key, as with most things, is to keep a good perspective. A torn apart kitchen, a pile of laundry, a screaming baby, a sleepless night... all trials, to be sure, but nothing that hasn't been survived a million times over, nothing that can sink the ship.

The father of the bride got up and said a really sweet speech and I cried through the whole thing. He talked about being there when she was born, watching her grow up and become the person she is today. It made me think about Maddie, and about how if we're very lucky Fernando will be the one making that speech one day. For so many reasons I would never say that this parenting job is easy. But I would never say it's not worth it, either. (Okay, actually, on a really bad day I might say that because I sometimes succumb to hysterics and exaggeration... but I wouldn't mean it.)

Day 485: I want my baby back, baby back, baby back...

2007-07-25T11:19:00.000-07:00

It is so strange not having Maddie in the house. She’s such a little monkey these days, I miss seeing her grinning little face peeking out at us from around corners and under blankets. I miss seeing her toddle out from her bedroom with her ever-growing collection of dollar store necklaces strung around her neck. I even miss her perpetually sticky hands leaving prints everywhere, a clear trail of the mischief she’s caused. I guess I should admit that I don’t miss having food launched at my head from the highchair or having peas-and-carrots poop smeared up my arm during our daily change table struggles. Those joys I can do without. But this is by far the longest I’ve been without her, and her not being around has definitely left a whole in our home and in our days.

It has given us a small reminder of life before baby, though. Ah, I’d forgotten that life. Running an errand without having to pack as though you were going out of town for a week has been nice. Not having to drop everything and rush home every day at 1pm for naps been a treat. And the other night we just up and decided to go to a movie, if you can imagine that. Yes, we’re wild, we’re crazy, we’re just a couple of D.I.N.K.s. So we went for some disappointing sushi and then caught the late show of Sicko, Michael Moore’s latest. I don’t know if I’m on some hormonal bender, but I swear I cried through half the movie. It was just so sad, seeing all of these people who were old, sick, poor, lonely, left behind. It made me so grateful for my health, and my healthcare, that’s for certain. There was a point where he talked to a mom whose baby had died and I was reduced to heaving sobs. I remember a friend telling me that once you have a baby you can’t stand even the thought of a child suffering or being hurt, and is that ever the truth.

And so of course it made me miss my Mads that much more. I know I’m quick to bitch and whine sometimes – no, it’s true – but just this little taste of life without her helps make us realize how lucky we are that she’s around.

Day 480: Fun in the sun

2007-07-20T13:36:00.000-07:00

Well, we’re back! Or, at least I am back. Maddie is taking an extended vacation. She was supposed to return with me, but she decided she really needed a bit more time to work on her tan. Okay, actually I had to leave her behind with my mom due to a rough start with round 1,836 of the home renovation project. Let me paint a picture for you: Our kitchen – or, I suppose, the space where our kitchen used to be – is now a gaping whole. Ditto the bathroom. Our furniture is all piled in the basement, the porch is half-torn down, my bed somehow ended up in the garbage bin at the end of a long day of demolitions (Fernando is still sketchy on the details of just how that happened), my entire wardrobe is packed away in boxes that I can’t find, and at last count there were 3 people, 3 dogs, and a cat sleeping in the not-so-big basement suite. So Mads is on the island for another few days until we are able to at least sleep in our rooms if nothing else. But really, bathing and eating are so overrated, don’t you find?

Vacation was great, though it seems a long, long time ago. Maddie is officially a beach bum. The girl lived in her little polka dot bathing suit. And she really has got the greatest little tan going. Whereas I burn to a crisp under a dull lightbulb, she just soaks in the sun (yes, I had her lathered in 45 sunscreen every day… fingers off the child services speed dial button). Fernando was able to come join us for a few days, which was great. We just hung out and the beach and marveled at the little girl our baby has become. At one point there was a group of kids on the beach – maybe 4 or 5 years old. They were all playing together, doing the things that kids do on a summer day – filling various buckets with sand, splashing in the surf, screaming. Poor Mads wandered off in their direction, thinking I guess that she should be with the kids too. They looked at her suspiciously, her unsteady walk and muteness giving away the fact that while not quite a baby anymore, she’s not quite a big kid either. So of course off they took, leaving her standing pathetically on her own looking after them. Is it too awful to admit that Fernando and I just about busted a gut laughing? It was just the sweetest, saddest little scene. But then she returned to our blanket, pail in hand, deciding that for now at least mom and dad are cool enough playmates. Sadly, I know that won’t last long!

Day 459: Hittin' the road

2007-06-29T20:18:00.000-07:00

The home renovation project is moving into phase 348 and so I am packing up Maddie and getting the hell out of Dodge, as they say. Who says that, anyways? Does anybody, really? In any case, just the thought of the little she-monster knee deep in paint and plaster is enough to give me a migraine. She, on the other hand, would love it I am sure. So I took a couple weeks' holidays and am abandoning poor Fernando to do the hard labour while Maddie and I lounge in our bathing suits on the beach. I'm a kind and loving wife, what can I say?

We are going to take the time to bond, to play, to mess about in the dirt and sand, and hopefully to learn a damn word or two! Because that's right, Mads has yet to say a single word. No, not mama, not dada. Not bye or ball or up or book or any of the other one-syllable charmers many toddlers are throwing about by now. There was a day, about a month ago, when we thought she was saying duck. It was more like "duh" but it was in the general direction of a group of ducks at the park, so we were fairly certain that this was the first of what was sure to be an onslaught of communication. Until we got home and suddenly the dog, the flowers, the barbecue and the chesterfield were all "duh."

Our days are filled with one utterance, repeated over and over again. "Dat!" Which, sure, I suppose you could say means "that." From the time she wakes up to the time she hits the sack at night, every minute it seems is filled with the sound of "dat!" She points at me: "Dat!" She points at her milk: "Dat!" She points at the tv: "Dat!" The mailbox: "Dat!" The stove: "Dat!" The box of wine in the fridge: "Dat!" You get the picture. It is endless. And each time we tell her what it is, and she nods her little head as if to say, "That's right, mom, that's a tv." And then she moves onto the next item, apparently bizarrely devoted to testing our knowledge of basic household vocabulary.

So while we are immersing ourself in nature and, hopefully, language, we will be awol from the blog. Happy & hot summer days to everyone till our return!

Day 455: Misery loves company?

2007-06-25T22:19:00.000-07:00

So we are in the midst of a little baby boom here! No, not me. But so many of my friends are either having babies, about to have babies, or trying to have babies. It's wonderful, because when it comes to this club I say the more the merrier.

The thing is, all these babies seem so darn happy. They're adorable and loveable and sweet. They seem to be the babies you imagine when you dream about having a baby. I'm happy for my friends, cause they're wonderful girls and it's really fun and lovely seeing them become mothers. And even I cannot resist a giggly, gurgly, chubby little face. And yet...

I admit I cannot stop myself making the inevitable comparisons, asking the inevitable questions. I spent a lot of time wondering why poor Mads was so miserable, and now it feels like I am realizing just how miserable she was! And even though I know it's irrational, there is that little part of me that wonders if maybe I didn't just do something wrong. Or maybe I just failed to do something right. Truth be told, she wailed from the get go, so I can take solace in knowing that it couldn't have been me. But that voice is there nevertheless. The most shocking thing about babies to me is that they truly do arrive with their little minds already made up!

I wish I could say that the whole experience made me more patient or understanding, but I'm sorry to say I haven't noticed that change. Nor has my husband noticed it in me, I'm sure he'll be happy to tell you. Looking back, the biggest benefit to having a "high maintenance" baby is that I made a great friend who I never would have met were it not for the fact that our children were similarly "spirited." I love my Mads from her wonky hair down to her tickly toes, but the misery I definitely could've done without.

The thing is, now Maddie is actually really happy. She is usually in a great mood. I like to think that the constant attention and incredible effort throughout her first year contributed to making her the self-assured little girl she is becoming. She fancies herself a comedian and is always doing silly little things to keep us in hysterics. She often just laughs out loud, out of the blue, this really odd laugh. "A HA HA!" It's the abrasive guffaw of a 50-year old man erupting from a 15-month old baby girl. I suppose that I equate life with Maddie with life on the Gulf of Mexico. The water is crystal blue, the weather is warm, things are great. But you're always waiting for that next storm, and you never know when it might hit. I wonder if a lot of this is just me, remnants of days gone by. I guess my challenge, as always, is to live in the moment.

Day 451: Out of time

2007-06-21T11:08:00.001-07:00

Babies tend to take over your whole life. Every thought, every action, every appointment, every errand – they all can somehow be traced back to the kid. I try to think back to my life before baby and the recollection is very vague. I wonder what I did with myself, with my time. I wonder what Fernando and I talked about. We try now, on those rare occasions when we are out without her, to keep our conversation away from Maddie, but of course one of us always manages to steer it back there and the other is only too happy to jump in. It’s sad, and we both know it: we have become those people. The ones who do mass emails of new photos every second day and blather on endlessly about their baby’s mastery of cutlery and spit bubble blowing.

The thing is, I am someone who likes her independence. No, that’s not putting it strongly enough. I treasure it. Before Maddie I would go to movies on my own, take myself out on lunch dates, spend a couple hours with no company other than a glass of wine and a good book. It's hard to do these things when you have a 30lb baby crawling over your back and banging you in the head with a plastic drumstick. I think that is in part why this transition into motherhood can be a rocky one for some. Suddenly there is this little person who is there all the time. And she’s demanding! And loud! And even when she’s not there she somehow still is.

The day you become a parent, time becomes a precious resource; and free time a very rare commodity. I spend most of my life in a frenzy. I am the mother who is paying the cashier with one hand, wiping her kid’s snotty nose with the other and opening a bag of crackers with her teeth. I am the one crashing the stroller into corners and slow-moving mall traffic. I am the one in a constant state of distraction, with her mind on 12 different things, her eyes never quite focusing on you. I am the one with a permanent ponytail and sheen of sweat on her forehead. That is me, I admit it. Hey, I took this gig on, but I never promised to do it gracefully.

Not always glamorous

2007-06-14T14:14:00.000-07:00

I confess that I care a little bit too much about goings on in the celebrity world. There are days when I think that I should probably pay less attention to US Magazine and more to say, Parenting or Newsweek. But I work, I parent, I pay bills – sometimes I just need a break, a little bit of mindless entertainment.

It seems that there are two separate camps in Hollywood right now. The first is made up of Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan and the lot, young girls with too much money and too little restraint. They are on a sad, slow, and very public spiral out of control.

The second camp, though, are having babies! I love the second camp. I love that they have to get up in the middle of the night with their kids. I love that they have to deal with toddler meltdowns in the middle of Whole Foods. I love that the back seats of their BMWs are likely covered with spilled juice and ground-in animal crackers.

Maybe it’s pathetic. Or maybe it’s just that when I am knee-deep in dirty laundry, when my whole house has taken on the odour of a diaper pail, when I realize that even my "fat" jeans are now tight, it doesn't really help me to see Paris Hilton in a miniskirt and stilettos carting her miniature dog around in a $2,000 Coach purse. What is somehow comforting are pictures like this one of Jennifer Garner. Wet - or possibly dirty? - hair, no make-up, struggling with the impossible combination of two hands, one baby, a shopping cart and a cart cover. Now that I can relate to.

Ah, babies: the great equalizer.

Day 434: The thing about Maddie

2007-06-11T07:54:00.000-07:00

Maddie is really coming into a fun age, because there are so many things she loves to do: splash in the tub, swing at the park, muck about in the sandbox, explore her toys. Of course, she loves these things so much that she never wants to stop doing them. Ever. And god help the person who tries to make her. The wonderful thing about Mads, and the challenging thing for the rest of us, is that she is so full of life and always has been. She is full of curiousity and activity and emotion and yes, even a bit of piss and vinegar, as they say.

Even as a tiny newborn, she filled every moment with emotion, with movement. She never lay still in our arms, constantly wanting to be bounced, jiggled, bumped about. Always hating and forcefully resisting the restraint of the bouncy chairs, swings, carseats and strollers that cluttered our house and sat unused.

When she is happy, it vibrates out of her. It escapes in glass-shattering shrieks of glee and fits of giggles. She is so full of joy and excitement that she often literally shakes from the strength of it. It’s as though her tiny body is too small to contain the emotion that erupts from it. When we're out and about I never have to worry about losing track of her because her squeals and exclamations echo constantly throughout the store. But of course the flip side is that when she is sad, she is very sad. Ditto angry and frustrated. She never does anything halfway.

She is never still, very rarely calm or quiet. When in her stroller, she doesn’t sit back and watch the world pass her by. She is upright, grasping the edges, straining to see what is just beyond each corner, to grab what is just beyond her reach. Yelling, pointing, screeching, she is aware of every falling leaf, every bird, her face turned into every passing breeze. She never wants to go to sleep, I think because she is worried about what she might miss out on. She dropped down to one nap a day by 9.5 months, and is gleefully threatening to give up that one, too. I saw a baby t-shirt recently that read, "Sleep is for the weak." I didn't get it because I didn't want to encourage her.

So yes, she will be the 2-year old pitching a fit at the grocery store while I, ever the frantic mother, try hard to pretend that I know how to handle her. But I think she will also be the 4-year old who keeps her pre-school classmates in stitches with her antics, the 7-year old who stays up late with a flashlight under the covers to finish a book, the 12-year old who knows more about so many things than her parents ever did or ever will. She is a challenge sometimes, to be sure. But she is also joyous and strong-willed and captivating . I guess it's a pretty fair trade-off.

Day 428: Milestones 101

2007-06-05T07:56:00.000-07:00

So, over the past year you've heard me drone on endlessly about this milestone business. Here, as I understand it, is how it all works:

It may seem that babies lie around doing little more than crying, pooping, eating, sleeping for months. But in fact they are secretly working on a huge to-do list of accomplishments - also known as milestones. (I'm sure some child psychologist first applied the term to babies a hundred years ago and had no idea the torture he was inflicting upon poor unsuspecting mothers for the rest of time.) It seems these little beings are supposed to be mastering new skills daily; really, under that kind of pressure, it's no wonder they seem so cranky and miserable sometimes. These milestones run the gamut. From batting at hanging toys to smiling to picking up Cheerios to climbing a flight of stairs, it seems that everything is a milestone of some sort.

Now here's where it starts to get tricky. Not only must they achieve these various goals, but they should really do it within a specific time frame. Drinking from a sippy cup is a bit more impressive at 6 months than it would be at, say, 6 years. Or 60 years. So let's say you open up your trusty (and loathed) baby milestones books and read, "Your 6-month old's stronger neck and arm muscles allow him to practice rolling over toward one side, a milestone that will probably awe and amuse you." You look over at little Timmy lying slobbering on the living room floor, looking as likely to roll over as he is to stand up and hail a cab. Let's just say you are neither awed nor amused. You start to worry that little Timmy is delayed. Babies who are behind in their milestones are delayed. Those who are ahead are advanced. Those who are right on time are, well, they're right on time. So you spend the next three weeks flat on your stomach coaxing Timmy to roll his chubby little self over with various incentives before finally admitting you are a big fat failure of a mother and accepting the fact that poor Timmy will be lying around on your living room floor for the rest of his life. Until one day he suddenly up and rolls over like he's been doing it all his life, and you forget that you just wasted all that time worrying about something that turns out to be absolutely nothing.

And that is how milestones work.

Now poor Maddie, she is advanced in the milestones that nobody seems to care much about. She can stack rings like nobody's business. Her pincer grasp is beyond compare. She flips through pages in a magazine like she was born doing it. In my opinion, of course, these are much more difficult tasks and require far greater intellectual prowess than the "big money" milestones of walking and talking. But still, they really aren't the kind of thing you write home about. And even though everybody says - and I know it's true - that it's not like she's going to crawl to highschool, there is that little part of me that wonders if maybe she actually will.

And so, after this very long introduction, it is with near uncontrollable excitement that I will finally tell you: Mads took her first steps this week!! In total over the past few days I would guess - okay, fine, I know with absolute certainty - that she's taken 10 steps. Not all at once, of course. It might be just the slightest exaggeration to say that she is "walking," but she is finally showing signs that she may one day walk, and for now that is definitely good enough for me.

It seems we are on our way to Toddlerhood; and I would say she's right on time.

Day 423: Bye bye bottles!

2007-05-30T08:20:00.000-07:00

I have big news. Really big, huge, great news. You might want to sit down...

We are officially off the bottle! Drop the balloons, pop the champagne! Maddie actually hasn't had a bottle for about 2.5 weeks now, but I didn't want to proclaim victory too quickly. But I think I can now safely say that the bottles are a thing of the past. This is another one of those things that you just don't think about until you are actually having to deal with it. How hard could it be? Just give her milk in a cup, right? Ha! Wrong! Turns out these little people get pretty attached to those bottles. And seeing as my girl is known for her iron will, I was gearing up for quite a fight over this one.

Truth be told, I didn't really care. I was happy enough to let her keep the bottle till she was 2. But then you start hearing these little voices saying things like, "It'll ruin her teeth" and "It'll only be harder later on" and "You're a bad, bad mommy." Some of these voices are just in your own head, and some are actually those of other moms who think it's totally acceptable and tons of fun to tell you what to do. So when I saw that she was growing less interested in her daily bottles, I succumbed to the voices and took them away cold turkey just to see what would happen. Turns out Maddie is a little trooper. She wasn't thrilled, but she went with it and here we are almost three weeks later and I'm pretty sure she's forgotten all about them. There was a scary moment at the Children's Festival last weekend when the kid next to her was handed a bottle to keep him happy. She stopped playing and stared at him for a while and I was ready for all hell to break loose. But she decided to let it slide. So cross that one off the list of things to do before she goes away to university - or the circus, or whatever she chooses to do with her life.

Now back to these voices. I'm telling you, they are everywhere. And as my stubborn little girl has thus far refused to stand, walk or say a single word I hear them quite frequently. It always amazes me that people feel so comfortable offering up their opinions on these things. They range from the subtle: "Still not walking? Hmm..." to the blunt: "Take her to the doctor, there's something wrong with her." And sometimes, on really lucky days, the opinions come complete with advice too. I really do try to remember that the holders of this great wisdom mean well, but any mom can tell you that it gets more than a little tiring.

I'm sure that many of us are sitting here nodding our heads in sympathetic agreement right now. But could it be, is it possible, that we are as guilty of this offense as the rest of them? Several good friends of mine are pregnant and having babies right now, and I admit I find myself having to bite my tongue to prevent myself from offering up my own How-To guide to parenting. And sometimes I don't bite it quite fast enough. Sometimes I'm a few minutes into my diatribe on why 2 months is not too young for infant cereal before I suddenly realize I have become the dreaded Know-It-All-Mom. Be honest, you do it too, don't you? We all do. Although some, perhaps, more rudely than others. Chalk it up to the legacy of motherhood, along with random irrational mood swings and the much-loved muffin top belly. Ah, motherhood... don't you just love it?

I've decided to add a few advertisments to the blog. Call me a sell-out if you must. I prefer an entrepreneur or, better yet, a "go-getter." Does it help any if I vow to you that the ads you will see here will always be relevent and will only be for baby products I have actually used and that have actually worked? In other words, you will never see a Bumbo or a "I love Mom" cloth bib or a Diaper Genie or... ah, you get the point. So these are the cups that have at long last replaced the bottles...

Day 416: On my way over the hill

2007-05-24T08:56:00.000-07:00

It’s official: I am old. Or at least well on my way to being old. How do I know this? Well, there are many reasons, but the one that has inspired this post is that while putting on my lip gloss yesterday – my make-up ritual has dwindled to a single coat of pink gloss since having Maddie – I saw a grey hair. And then another. And another. And another, until I finally had to stop looking. From now on I will not be colouring my hair out of vanity and boredom, but necessity!

There’ve been hints over the past several years that perhaps I am not in the glory of my youth. I am no longer the youngest person in the office, for instance; okay, fine, I am nowhere close to being the youngest. People ask me what I did on the weekend and the answer inevitably involves a detailed account of a trip to Home Depot. When shopping for panties I pay less attention to the frilly bits than to the support of the tummy panel. I catch myself saying things like, “Dairy just doesn’t agree with my system anymore.” I bought a new bag this weekend and instead of looking for one big enough for a lipstick, a Visa and a condom, I was wondering, “Would the sippy cup and an extra diaper fit in this?” I suppose I should be grateful it was Maddie’s diaper I was having to consider and not my own.

I look back and try to pinpoint when this transformation first began. I suspect it started before Maddie came along, although I am pretty sure she’s accelerated the process. Was it when I got married? When we bought our first house? Was it that first pair of control top pantyhose?

It is disturbing in many ways, there is no question about that. But as I was lathering on my $25-a-jar anti-wrinkle moisturizer this morning I came to see that maybe this aging business ain’t all bad. Not to sound too much like Oprah – we get compared all the time, she and I – but there is a certain confidence and calm that grows as you get older. It’s funny that while young girls have the thin thighs and the glow of youth, they’re the ones tortured by self-doubt and insecurity. Somehow, with my post-baby belly and unkempt hair I feel better about myself now than I ever have before. That’s not to say there isn’t room for improvement, just that there’s also room to admit that while things could always be better, they’re pretty good just the way they are.

Day 412: To friendship

2007-05-20T20:17:00.000-07:00

Allow me a mushy post today, I am in a sentimental mood. This one doesn't have all that much to do with Maddie, apart from the fact that I hope she is one day as lucky as I am.

When I was younger, in highschool and beyond, I don't think I really appreciated the importance of girlfriends. The girls with whom you can cry, tell secrets, admit defeats and embarassments, celebrate accomplishments, get good and drunk. The girls you absolutely have to talk to every single day, and those you can go a month without talking to and pick up right where you left off.

Like so many other things in life - tight rolled jeans and the social smoking phase, for example - friends tend to come and go. But if we're lucky, the good ones manage to overlook our flaws and stick around. They ingore the fact that I never answer my cell phone and only check messages once a week; they don't mind that I talk endlessly about my baby; they seem okay with the fact that I can hold on too tightly and expect too much; they find my strengths amid the weaknesses. And so I find myself now in my thirties (just barely into them, I'd like to add) with all of the good ones still just a phone call or email away.

Whether we're focussed on family or career, whether we're settled or searching, I think we all need those friends in our lives. The ones who can just raise an eyebrow at the right moment to send us into complete hysterics. The ones who, when life is too complicated, can somehow make sense of it all. The ones who always know exactly what we're thinking, or who can hear our most selfish, hidden thoughts without passing judgement. The ones who will lend us a new pair of shoes, a secret family recipe, a shoulder to cry on. Maybe they're all the same person, or maybe there is an entire circle. Either way, what would life be without them?

I have a wonderful husband, a sweet daughter, a great family. But there is no substitute for good girlfriends, and I am blessed to have so many. If I could add one more wish to the many I already have for Maddie, it is that she one day has a group of girls in her life as wonderful as the ones in mine.

Day 405: Dumb and dumber

2007-05-11T09:17:00.000-07:00

I think that having a baby has made me stupid. This is just now dawning on me – I guess I’ve been too slow to pick up on it. You hear talk of mommy brain, of forgetfulness and general confusion, and while that’s all true, in my case it seems to have gone a lot further. I’ve been dumbed down. Case in point: the other day I was in the car singing along to “Apples & Bananas” - Maddie wasn’t even with me, I now listen to Raffi on my own – and was having trouble remembering which vowel is next after “i”.

I used to secretly think I was a pretty intelligent girl. That’s not something you just come out and say to people. If someone tells you you’re smart the appropriate response is to laugh it off, not agree with them. But quietly, on my own, I did agree. Some girls are funny, some are outgoing, some have a great rack. I was the smart one. Note the past tense.

I used to read newspapers. I used to have some clue as to what was happening in the community, the country, the world. Now… not so much. I hear talk of this global warming thing. I know there’s still a war going on. Apparently the Prime Minister has a new stylist. That’s pretty much where my quest for knowledge hits the wall. And the sad part is, not only do I not know anything, but most days I don’t even care. Shouldn’t having a baby have made me more concerned about the future since Maddie will be living in it? Shouldn’t I be less apathetic? Shouldn’t I be joining MADD or Greenpeace? Shouldn’t I be out signing petitions or chaining myself to a tractor somewhere? Sadly, right now, it all just seems like so much work.

I don’t really know why it has happened. It would be easy to say I just don’t have the time, but that’s not really true. I seem to find the time to watch Grey’s Anatomy and read US Weekly every week, so I’m pretty sure I could squeeze in a newscast if I wanted to. The best case scenario is that Maddie sapped some smarts out of me while she was hanging out in the womb; at least then they’d have gone to a good cause.

I am holding on to faint hope that this is just temporary lull brought on by this past crazy year, that my mind hasn’t packed up and abandoned me for good. Maybe this weekend I will test the waters and turn on CNN for a while. Baby steps, right?

Day 403: A little pampering goes a long way

2007-05-09T08:07:00.000-07:00

Last Mother’s Day – my first Mother’s Day – Fernando and Maddie gave me a gift certificate for the spa. Accompanying it was a card with my 6-week old daughter’s handprints done in ketchup, which looked horrifyingly similar to blood stains – but that’s another story for another day. I realized yesterday Mother’s Day is upon us yet again and I have yet to get to the spa, so I booked an appointment for a massage after work. I should make it clear that I’m really not a spa girl. I’ve been probably twice before in my life. I enjoy it – who doesn’t? – but I find my options are limited. I’m not all that crazy about spending $50 on a manicure when I can paint my own nails for $2.99. And I don’t let other people touch my feet; it’s just a thing I have.

But I admit that yesterday I really needed a massage! The weeks at work have been long of late. I had a bad few days where I was questioning my mothering skills. I stopped taking my post-partum medication a few weeks ago, which has left me fuzzy and foggy and generally confused. So I arrived to the spa tired and sad, but then I had an hour to just lie there, to think about everything, to think about nothing. And while the lady – oh god, how terrible that I can’t remember her name! – was karate chopping my calves I realized that I have been holding on to a lot of negative baggage that had built up over the past year. Particularly in those first 8 months. Maddie has managed to move past it all, but I haven’t. I’m still a bit nervous to take her places. I still have a tendency when she has a tough day to think of her as “bad.” Though at this point I wouldn’t change a thing about her, I still at times envy other moms their “easy” babies. I’m still terrified by the thought of another baby. And I just suddenly realized that I can let all of that go now (well, I may hold on to the fear of further reproduction a while longer, but you get my point). I can keep the good stuff and leave all the rest of it behind. I was driving home, the wind was howling through the trees, and it felt to me like a new beginning.

Happy Mother’s Day to all you moms out there.

Day 397: Memories...

2007-05-03T22:34:00.000-07:00

There are things about this past year that I would like to forget, I admit. But a friend recently sent me something that made me realize that pretty soon I will have forgotten a lot of it, and that with the bad stuff will go the good. In 2 years, 5 years, 50 years, here in no particular order are some things I want to remember:

1. Peeking through the crack of her bedroom door and catching her wake up from a good sleep. Sitting up, rubbing her little fists into her eyes, shaking off the sleepy cobwebs.
2. The huge grin when she hears the first notes to a favourite song.
3. Watching her eat peanut butter on toast - face first into the peanut butter.
4. The post-bath towel time ritual she shares with her Daddy, him wrapping her tight in her hooded towel and flying her around the house like superwoman while she squeals and giggles.
5. Tickle spots: chin, armpits, chubby thighs.
6.The great women and friends I have met just by having a baby.
7. Her little body tucked into the crook of my arm, fast asleep.
8. That gummy little smile before all 8 of her teeth appeared.
9. Having her. Already that memory is fading. I guess that's why women end up agreeing to have another one! But she might be my only one, so I want to remember those hours, the last before I became a mom. I want to remember seeing her for the first time.
10. Blowing raspberries for hours.
11. Her first piece of chocolate cake.
12. Up-the-back poops. I don't know why I want to remember these, but I do. Seriously, how does it happen??
13. Peek-a-boo, because I know the surprise won't last forever.
14. Being her favourite person in the world. Before boys and best friends.
15. Kisses. Big, wet, open-mouth, head-butt kisses.
16. Her crazy, comb-over, mullet hair. I hate it, I love it.
17. Our first lunch date. Just Mads, me, a patio and a glass of wine.
18. When she was brand new, knowing that nothing had scared her yet, nothing had hurt her, nothing had worried her, nothing had broken her heart.
19. The first time I felt like maybe I knew what I was doing. And the second time, too.
20. Looking at her and knowing that whatever else happens in our lives, we've done something really good.

Shameless Promotion: Vote for Heather!

2007-04-24T20:23:00.000-07:00

I've probably mentioned many times over the past year that I am a regular visitor to an online baby board that has (almost) literally saved my life at times. Well, if any of you were watching Good Morning America this morning you would have seen another member of that board shaking her booty with her daughter in their Dancing with the Moms contest! So I am just putting out a shameless call for votes for Heather. She has FOUR kids and a husband in the military - the woman deserves a national holiday in her honour, for the love of god. But that's unlikely to happen, so a vote will do, I'm sure.

Here it is: Vote for Heather!

Day 385: Love, love, love

2007-04-21T15:54:00.000-07:00

I read another blog post earlier today that has inspired this one. I started this little project of mine because I wanted to show the truth of motherhood - or at least the truth of my experience with it. The good, the bad AND the ugly. But it occurs to me that in my quest to show the hidden underbelly of motherhood I may not have given due credit to the good stuff. So consider this an ode that, and an ode to my daughter Mads. Because I'm sure through these posts you've gotten to know me, but I'd really like it if you knew her, too. She is worth knowing.

Maddie loves to sneeze. If she had to make a list of her favourite things in life, I'm pretty sure sneezing would make the top five. She gets such a kick out of it. So she'll sneeze, break into a huge smile, then usually sneeze again. But because she thinks it's so fun, she wants to keep sneezing. So she'll open her mouth wide, tilt her head back, and just wait for the next one to come.

She's a nature girl. She loved being outside even when she was a newborn, and she still does. Whenever something happens that upsets her - if she bumps her head or takes a little tumble - we quickly whisk her out to the front porch and it's like hitting a reset button. She immediately calms and is happy as can be. When we go for walks now she's always looking around, pointing at flowers and trees as we pass. Last night we went down to the park and on the way she started waving at something. I thought it was just random waving, but then saw she was actually just saying hi to a crow sitting on the wire above us.

Mads is a troublemaker. This, I admit, makes me crazy sometimes. But she is just her father's daughter. He still gets a kick out of pulling pranks and stirring up trouble. She knows what she's not supposed to do, but she does it anyways. And she makes sure she does it while in our direct line of vision, so that we can tell her "no" and she can look over at us, smile, and go ahead and do it anyways. It's infuriating sometimes, but in a strange way it's also sort of endearing.

The kid loves to eat. She would eat all day long if we let her. She drinks juice from her sippy like she's downing whiskey shots at a biker bar - throws her head back, slurps it down, slams the cup on the table. I worry that she may have gotten that from me. Oh, and she thinks everything - from eggs to chocolate cake - tastes better with cheese; which, of course, it does.

She is really smart. I know all parents say that about their kids, but in this case it's true. (And yes, I know that all parents say that, too.) When you ask her, "Where's Emma?", she crawls over to the dog, plops herself down, and points to her. When you ask her, "Where are the birds?", she'll crawl to the window to see if she can find you one. When you ask her, "Where are the flowers?", she goes into the kitchen and points to the vase on the table. And when you say, "Where's Daddy?", she opens up her Baby Einstein book, flips through the pages and points at the monkey. See what I mean? Smart! (Okay, she only did the last one once, but it made my week. One year old and already mocking Daddy - a girl after my own heart!)

She is this little person, full of personality and promise, full of love and trust. And I am lucky to know her.

Day 382: Me and my shadow

2007-04-18T18:06:00.000-07:00

Well, things around here are busy as usual, with milestones dropping left and right. Once again, Maddie has chosen to forgo the whole walking and talking bit in favour of something a bit more challenging... drumroll please... separation anxiety! Fun, fun stuff. Peeing on my own is a luxury of the past, apparently. I feel bad for her though, actually. Fernando and I have no problem letting her cry. She has had ample opportunity to exercise her little lungs over the past year - when she doesn't want to go to sleep, when she's mad because we don't let her chew on the telephone cable. But this is different - it's like she's panicked and afraid. It's irritating, sure, but it just about breaks your heart too. I'm hoping it is a phase that will pass quickly.

I have decided that there are two categories of parents. The first, often called the "good" ones, are able to keep a clear perspective on everything. They are empathetic and level-headed and confident and downright joyous. They would never, for instance, ask their 1 year old what the hell is wrong with them. They look at night wakings as an extra chance to bond with their baby. They recognize that every hurdle in their baby's development is all part of this crazy thing called life and thus embrace it.

The second camp is made up of the rest of us. We bounce around between teething and ear infections and temper tantrums looking almost as harried as we feel. We plead with our babies to please, for the love of god, give us one moment of silence. We administer baby Tylenol in healthy doses. We wonder what we're doing wrong. I know, you are probably shocked to hear that I fall into this second group. I do try to keep an eye on the big picture - I don't get mad at Mads for driving me crazy. Do I get frustrated? Oh hell yes. But I don't blame her, because I know she's just doing what she needs to do. And on a really good day, I am able to see her stubborn streak as independence, her temper as a strong will. But there are times when all I want is for her to be docile and easy - I want her to chill out in her carseat and smile at strangers who talk to her and not completely lose her mind when the dog eats the apple she dropped on the kitchen floor. Sometimes I just want her to give me a break!

But I love her, of course. So much I'm almost surprised she hasn't exploded from the force of it. I guess I just think it's possible - and okay - to love her without necessarily loving every second I spend with her. I think most of us in that second category would agree with that.

Day 375: My life in print

2007-04-09T08:13:00.000-07:00

During our usual pit stop at the bookstore yesterday I had an epiphany. Mads and I spend a lot of time at the bookstore, actually. It is one of the few places where I can unload her from the much-loathed stroller and let her crawl around without getting too many sideways glances that seem to say "A department store is not a playroom, take your child elsewhere." But back to the epiphany; come to think of it, that may be too strong a word, I don't want anyone getting their hopes up. So maybe it was more of an insight. And here it is: you can tell where someone is in their life by the aisle they head to in the bookstore.

This occured to me as we passed the travel section. I saw the stack of Let's Go Europe on the shelf, which was surely the bible back when I made the requisite sojourn abroad in my early 20s. I suddenly pictured my own worn, dog-eared copy that I left in a hostel in Italy all those years ago. And then we wandered past the weddings section, where I spent endless hours camped out trying to school myself in limited wedding etiquette. The home and renovation section, which I visited when searching for a way to incorporate Fernando's giant German beer stein (from his requisite European adventure) into the decor of our first home. Which led me to, of course, the pregnancy & baby aisle, and all those books by all those "experts" who, as it turns out, do not know my baby better than I do after all. After Maddie was born I made a visit or two to the shelf dedicated to depression, where I was disappointed to find a shocking lack of titles on the topic of post-partum depression. I love her to bits, but Brooke Shields does not a library make, you know? And of course now I head straight to the kids section of the store, stroller and sippy cup and baby in tow. Along the way there have been forays into religion and spirituality when I was trying to "find" myself, philosophy when I was trying to better myself, self-help when I was trying to understand myself, and of course fiction whenever I want to just forget about myself.

I look forward to a future spent in the aisles of potty training, crafts, adolescence, cooking, health.... And who knows, if all goes well, maybe many years from now I will find myself back where I started: standing in the travel aisle with the whole world laid out before me, but this time with life's biggest accomplishments and responsibilities tucked safely behind.

Day 374: Why I work

2007-04-08T10:24:00.000-07:00

Ah, I had forgotten the small joys of working life during my one year hiatus; case in point, the eagerly awaited long weekends. Love them. As a SAHM weekends were good because it meant Fernando was home. But this is an entirely different thing. Now they feel like a guilty pleasure. Especially when you drop the kid off with the grandparents and sleep in till 8:30! Oh, how sad that anything past 8am is now considered "sleeping in."

I have actually been thinking about the whole stay-at-home vs. working mom debate lately. I confess that I love being back at work. I didn't think I would, and I still feel like I shouldn't, but I have to say that life as a working mom is going very well indeed. So why the guilt? Why the need to chase the statement "I work full time" with "...because we need the money"? In all honestly we probably don't need the money. If our priority was to have me stay at home with Maddie, I think we could have make that work. We could live in a cheaper city, for starters. We could buy no-name ketchup instead of Heinz, Fernando could actually - gasp! - use our coffee maker rather than get his daily fix at Starbucks, and I suppose I could even skip my weekly US magazine obsession. We could do that thing I keep hearing about - budget, I think it's called. Money would certainly be very tight, but we'd be no worse off than other families getting by on one income. We just don't want to. As my return to work was approaching I was completely dreading it. So much so that I convinced myself it would be temporary, that by the end of the year I would be living the dream as a SAHM. Somewhere along the way I guess I forgot that it wasn't my dream.

What I'm just now remembering is that even before I had Maddie, I always wanted to be a working mom. There is definitely a selfish component to this desire: getting out of the house and indulging in adult conversation is a treat, and I do worry about staying at home now and 10 years down the road deciding I'm ready for a return to the workforce only to learn that the workforce is no longer ready for me. But a lot of it has to do with what I want for my daughter. I want her to see that it's okay for a woman - for a mother - to get worth and reward outside of her family. I want her to always feel a connection to the world beyond these four walls we live in. And I want her to know that the time I spend with her at the end of the day is the very best part of my day. There are other ways to instill this knowledge in her, of course; but for us, having me back at work just seems to... well, work! My year off definitely made me realize how hard it is to be a SAHM, and I am in awe and admiration of those who do it day in and day out. Being back at work has shown me the difficulties of fitting it all in. I guess both choices come complete with their own set of challenges and rewards. Whoever said that being a mom is the hardest job in the world had it right, it seems. But of course it's the best one, too.

In another short and totally unrelated topic, I think I need to make a declaration. I am officially a MySpace addict. I don't know how it happened, and to be honest I don't even know why. I mean, really - why would I possibly need a blog and a MySpace page? The whole venture seems pretty pointless to me, one giant waste of time. And yet, I have been completely sucked in. Do you ever wonder - what did I used to do with myself before the Internet? Oh right... have real social interaction. Sigh. So overrated, no?

As always, leave me a comment or drop me an email... I love hearing from you!

Day 370: Happy Birthday Mads!

2007-04-04T17:49:00.000-07:00

For the first 11.5 months of her life Maddie never got sick. Not so much as a runny nose. As a formula feeding mom, that did wonders to soothe my traces of remaining guilt. But of course, illness chose to strike just in time for her 1st birthday and the poor girl has been a wet and snotty mess for the past three weeks. And now she's passed it on to me. I don't know how many times I've told her to use a Kleenex and cover her mouth when she coughs - I swear sometimes it's like she doesn't have a clue what I'm talking about! And of course while I am busy feeling sorry for myself and demanding constant coddling from Fernando, my one year old daughter has been generally stoic about the whole thing, pausing only briefly from her toys to rub snot into her eyes and through her hair (hey, at least I don't do that). I actually had to take a couple of days off work to recuperate, but I can tell you that a sick day is just not the same when you have a baby to care for. I admit to longing for the days when I would camp out on the couch with nothing to do but catch up on the soaps and eat frozen yogurt.

I suppose I should have started with this next bit, actually, as it is definitely the most important - Madeline is 1! We had a big party to celebrate over the weekend. To be honest I don't really understand the point of these crazy, chaotic 1st birthday parties. Obviously the kid couldn't care less. Or in Maddie's case, the kid would clearly prefer not to have her house full of people who keep wanting to cuddle with her, thus sending her into panicked shrieks that take 10 minutes to recover from. She would also probably prefer not to be the victim of a celebratory chokehold by her one little friend which has the same effect as the cuddles. Of course these parties are for us parents - which would explain the abundance of booze, too. But I suppose it has to be done, and it was fun - at least for us, if not for the birthday girl. And really, isn't that what matters?

I thought I would feel a twinge of sadness at the passing of her first year. But I didn't! I am nothing but happy and excited for her - and all of us - to be officially done with that newborn part. Because now we're getting to the fun part. She is becoming such a funny, interesting, smart, sweet little girl. I actually like hanging out with her. I like watching her learn new things, and seeing how proud she is of herself when she does. I like her goofy faces and belly laughs. I like her, period.... Now talk to me in 14 years when she's slamming doors and getting random things pierced and telling me that I just don't understand the "true love" she shares with the 20-year old that works at the gas station down the street.

As always, leave a comment or send me an email. I love hearing from you!

Day 341: "Baby beluga in the deep blue... DAT!"

2007-03-21T20:20:00.001-07:00

I put away the baby milestone book several months ago. The one that says: "Your baby is 13 weeks old. She loves independent films and is just starting to do simple algebra. You love every second you spend with her." The one that made me break out in hives every time I realized Mads and I were missing our milestones. Maybe it's the nostalgia brought on by next week's big birthday, maybe it's the fact that I finally got around to dusting the bookshelf, but I brought the book out of hibernation tonight.

Things were going okay: Crawling - check! Eating - check! Temper tantrums - check! I was feeling good about things. Then we got to this: "She may fill in a word you leave out when singing her favourite song." Um... say what? I suppose she might do that if she knew how to say any words. I knew we were a bit behind on the whole language thing, but I didn't realize she was supposed to be reciting lyrics. So of course after reading this I sat down with Maddie and broke into my painfully bad rendition of Baby Beluga, optimistically waiting for her to chime in. But no. All I got, as always, was an enthusiastic "Dat!", which seems to be her word for: Dad, Mom, food, dog, toy, poo, bed, song, tv & play. So basically everything in her little world. And so the book is in now packed away in a grocery bag, soon to make its way to the consignment store where it will no doubt be picked up by some poor, unsuspecting pregnant woman and will then become the bain of her existence and the root of all her self-doubt.

I really enjoyed reading everyone's emails and comments, you all are so sweet. I wish I had some great advice for you new moms. I hear that some moms love it from day one. I, of course, didn't. And if you don't either, all I can say is I feel your pain. I think part of what makes those first months so hard is that you go into them totally unprepared. It is overwhelming and as a FTM (first time mom) the end is nowhere in sight. It's not even that I think it should be easy; after all, the most important things are often difficult. But, really, couldn't someone at least warn us? Now, people will tell you that motherhood is hard, but they're talking about temper tantrums and school suspensions and the "sex talk." No one really tells you about life with a newborn. I used to wonder if it was just a big cruel joke that we all play on innocent new moms, but now I see that over time the memory dulls and fades to the point where it's not worth mentioning. I haven't quite reached that point, of course, but I think I'm on my way. With each day that passes - as your baby smiles, laughs, reaches out for you, learns something new - you become a little bit more confident and she becomes a little bit more independent and eventually the two of you meet in the middle. At least that's what happened for Mads and me.

Maybe a good metaphor would be to say that motherhood is a long hike up a big mountain. The first bit really sucks, it's uphill all the way, there are rocks falling on your head, and you are likely to lose your footing. But you keep going, because you can't not. And then you get to a clearing and it's beautiful, and your legs get stronger and your feet more sure and you carry on. And so it goes forever if you're lucky, incredible views, devastating falls, and of course a journey you could never forget.

Day 338: Sniffles & Snuggles

2007-03-19T20:13:00.000-07:00

So it is officially my St. Patrick's Day resolution to post more frequently - at least twice a week. My New Years' Resolutions are already shot, so I figured I'd try again.

It's 8:00pm. The baby is sleeping. The husband is out. I am on the couch with a big glass of wine, some take-out sushi, my laptop and the season premiere of Dancing with the Stars. (Is it just me or has Steve Sanders gotten better looking? Did I just date myself terribly? I might as well admit I still watch the reruns of 90210 on the weekends.) Anyways, back to the present. I have to say that one thing I miss about my pre-baby life (anyone out there keeping a list?) is time alone in my own home. I love hanging out with Fernando and Maddie, but this is such a luxury.

I don't know how long this bliss will last tonight, because poor Maddie is sick and I am half-expecting her to cough herself awake. I don't expect much sympathy - this is our first illness, so we've been pretty lucky. She is such a trooper, though - despite her stuffed up little nose, she's not complaining much at all. In fact, before she went to sleep tonight we had a bit of a lovefest, she and I. I have always wished she was more of a cuddler; sometimes I try to force her into it, but she keeps hitting me in the face until I eventually give up. But tonight we had a breakthrough - she was burying her face in my neck, laughing, pressing her little mouth against mine. Maybe it's that she's sick and her defences are down. Maybe it's that I was also throwing her up in the air in between cuddles. Maybe it's the result of regular doses of Tylenol and Dimetap. I don't care, I'll take it.

I went through such hell those first several months, worrying that I would never be any good at this motherhood stuff. Turns out I'm just really not a newborn person. I don't get the whole squished up, gassy, screaming thing. But now... she is just becoming such a little person, I love it. She still makes me crazy, but she also makes me laugh. She amazes me with how much she's learning, she melts my heart with how much she loves us. I'm smack in the middle of a mushy mommy moment; I definitely intend to enjoy it while it lasts!

PS - I started writing this blog for myself. It was therapeutic, a public diary, a scream out into the great abyss. But lately it has dawned on me that there are some people out there actually reading it. You are reading it! As someone who back in elementary school harboured dreams of being a big fancy writer, I admit that makes me happy. But as someone who has struggled with motherhood and now knows I'm not the only one, it makes me even happier. So if you're out there, leave a comment, drop me an email, let me know.

Day 328: Back to work

2007-03-09T14:49:00.000-08:00

Well, it is official. The countdown is complete, the fat lady has sung, it’s all over but the crying, and whatever other cliché is applicable. I am back at work. And having been back for almost a full week, it is already feeling as though I never left.

Actually, the dreaded return to work has been better than anticipated. Those first couple of days were hard; there was a few tears and a lot of self pity (“It’s not fair! Why me?”). But I have to admit that overall it hasn’t been all that bad. Adult conversation is a definite perk, as are trips to the gym at lunch. And it’s a nice feeling to leave work at the end of the day and rush home to see my baby.

Even though I was not looking forward to leaving Maddie, I thought that I would get some satisfaction out of having a purpose outside of motherhood, putting in a hard day’s work and making a “real” contribution again. But being back to work has me thinking that there really is no contribution greater than raising a child. And it’s not even that my job is irrelevant. I like to think that I am a small cog in an important wheel. An admittedly small cog, and perhaps not an entirely indispensable one – if I were to say, fall out of the wheel, I’ve no doubt it would keep turning. But I’m pretty sure someone would notice. I’m pretty sure someone would say, “Hey, what happened to Carolyn? She sure kept things running smoothly around here.” Or at the very least, “Where’s that girl that used to bring the donuts?”

I guess my point is that whereas my job is a small link to something greater and of importance, Maddie is something great and important. Maybe she’ll grow up and discover a cure for cancer; maybe she’ll be an artist or a secretary or a tree planter. Whatever she is, my goal as a parent is that she grows up to be kind and accepting, that she makes people happy and is happy herself. Any other job I have just seems to pale in comparison to that.

Day 330: T is for tantrum

2007-02-28T12:10:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I know it's been a while. Blame the baby.

This is my last week at home with Maddie. I cannot believe I've been off work for a year! I also cannot believe that I am dreading going back to work. When Maddie was 2 months I would have gone back for free in an instant. Now the thought of not being with her every day just about kills me. I worry about silly things that I know I shouldn't. I worry she'll forget about me, that we won't be as close as we are now, that I'll miss out on all of those ever-important milestones.

What I won't miss, I must admit, is her newfound penchant for throwing little hissy fits. If you've ever read any post of mine you'll know that she's always been a bit of a crier. I tend to harp on about it. But we've entered a whole new realm lately. It's not really crying so much as mad screeching. I stupidly thought I could take her with me to the art supply store last week to run a quick errand. Of course she was intent on ripping every last thing off of the shelves. Every piece of paper, every stamp and gluestick. Happily shrieking the whole time. So loud, in fact, that the lady working downstairs had to come up to check out where the eardrum-shattering noise was coming from. It was total chaos. My head was pounding, I think I was even sweatingat one point. And every time I took away something she wasn't supposed to have - like, oh, a pair of scissors or a box of tacs or some other life-threatening device - she lost it. Screaming, crying, hitting me. I was apalled. So were the other people in the store, I'm sure. Anyways, the whole scenario was repeated the next day at Gymboree when I wouldn't let her tear open the toys they had for sale. Apparently there is a stage before the terrible twos called the god-awful ones; and we've hit it.

Actually, though, I must say she has been a total sweetheart for the past couple of days, smiling and giggling all the time. I think she's trying to earn some points so she gets big presents for her birthday. Tricky, tricky. But I'm on to her. She's really learning a lot these days. Not so much the walking and talking, but she's loving her little books and toys and sits for ages trying to figure them all out. She's so determined and persistent, it's amazing to watch her hard at work on her little tasks. And she's making silly faces and noises and dancing in front of the tv and has me laughing more than ever. I'm going to miss these days with her.

Day 317: ABCs and 123s?

2007-02-15T09:52:00.000-08:00

Mads celebrated her first Valentines Day yesterday. She marked the occasion by writing sonnets and reciting her favourite love poems. Well, okay, that's a bit of an exaggeration. In truth we read Where is Baby's Belly Button? four times and she spent the rest of the day shouting "DAT!" at the top of her lungs. That's her new favourite word, if you can call it that. But I'm sure she could have done the other stuff if she wanted. For Fernando and I, it was our first Valentines Day with baby. We traded in our usual night on the town for a home-cooked dinner and some TV on the couch. It was nice.

She may not yet be reading Shakespeare, but Maddie does seem to making leaps in her learning abilities lately. She can turn the pages in her book, she can put her little blocks into their container, and she can almost stack things. So, now that it is clear that we have a genius daughter - I am still looking for a "Proud Parent of a Gifted 10-Month Old" bumper sticker for the car - I have begun to worry that I am not providing her enough stimulation. Am I supposed to be teaching her things? Things other than not to chew on candles and dog bones, I mean? Should I be imparting great wisdom, filling her little mind with new discoveries? At what point do we start on the big life lessons? It occured to me the other day that she has never heard the alphabet. What kind of monster am I?

But then yesterday, while I was winding her jack-in-the-box for the hundredth time as she looked on with wide eyes, it occured to me that for her, everything is a new discovery. Looking in the mirror, playing peek-a-boo, feeling raindrops hit her face, ripping out the pages of last week's US magazine - all of these things are teaching her something. She's learning about herself, about the world aroud her, about Britney Spears' sad spiral into alcohol and stupidity. I guess what I'm realizing is that at this age everything is a lesson of some sort.

In other news, we finished her nursery this weekend! Yes, she is almost 11 months old . You know those sweet commercials where the pregnant lady is rocking peacefully in the baby's room, rubbing her belly, glowing. And then dad-to-be walks by with his toolkit and they share a silent but profound moment? Yeah, well that's not us. We moved Maddie into her room when she was about a month old, but didn't quite get around to painting it or anything until now. But I love it! It's pink and pretty and girly. And she of course still prefers to hang out in the hall closet.

(For those keeping track, the back-to-work countdown is at 22 days.)

Day 308: Looking for the sounds of silence

2007-02-06T10:48:00.000-08:00

I have a really loud baby. I may have mentioned this in the past. Everyone loves a baby who coos and squeals and giggles. A crying baby can even be cute, providing it's not your own. But the big, teary eyes and gasping sobs can be kind of sweet. What people don't tend to love quite so much is a baby that screeches so loud and so high that it just about shatters the windows. This girl is crazy. It's near impossible to take her to restaurants or bookstores or -well, out in public, period - because she causes such a noisy disruption. It's interesting to watch, in a way, because you can see her prepare for it. She waves her little hands around, her face goes bright red, her eyes get huge and wide, and then.... "AAAIIIHHHHHEEEEEEEEEE!" It is without question the loudest thing I have ever heard. It's shocking. People always turn in the direction of the noise, looking kind of horrified. I then launch into an explanation of "inside voices" and "quiet time," knowing that of course she has no clue as to what I'm saying.

The funny thing is that I am notoriously soft spoken. It drives Fernando crazy. He always says he has to pull over, roll up the windows, turn off the radio, put the volume on his phone up, and concentrate really hard to listen to my voicemails. And I know he's not exaggerating, because virtually every time I am leaving a message for someone the system cuts in when I'm halfway through to ask me to "Please begin speaking." So how did I end up with a daughter who seemingly thinks that effective expression occurs at a minimum of 100 decibels? I have a feeling that this is one of many areas where she and I will discover we are not exactly two peas in a pod. Which is a good thing. Right?

Maddie is getting so much more mobile, it's incredible. Suddenly she's up, down, around, and everywhere. I really don't think it will be too much longer before she starts walking. I can't wait for those first steps! It's amazing how much you look forward to these milestones. It can become a bit of an obsession if you're not careful. I think FTMs (first time moms) are particularly guilty of this. We're just so anxious to see each achievement, to fill out every blank page in the baby book (had we remembered to purchase one). Those seasoned moms who've been through it all before know how fast this time goes and so don't wish a second of it away. Me, I'm already picking out my dress for her highschool graduation ceremony (I'm thinking: tight, black, strapless. Oh, and sequined, of course). But I'm trying to remember to stop and smell the roses - or the poopy pants, as the case may be - along the way.

Day 301: The countdown is on

2007-01-31T18:18:00.000-08:00

So, I realized that as of today there are only 34 days until I return to work. Suddenly my maternity leave seems like it was very short. I kind of feel like the system needs to be revamped. Because, seriously, the first 5 months pretty much stank. Then we had about 3 months of transition. But for the past couple of months we've been sailing. It's actually - gasp! - kind of fun. You know, apart from the screaming and housework and teething and poopy diapers and nap strikes. But now just as we've found our groove I have to go back to work. It really doesn't seem fair. And so, I propose that someone else - possibly Super Nanny? - take over for the first 5 months, then I'll step in.

I must admit, though, sad as I am to leave Maddie, it could be that the timing is actually perfect. Truth be told, I'm running out of things to do. You can only shake a prescription pill bottle so many times before the allure starts to wear thin, you know what I mean? I try to spice things up every once in a while, but so far without great success. The art gallery trip a couple of months back was met with confusion, and piercing screams that forced us to leave early. Turns out she's not a big fan of traditional Haida art. Who knew? Just this week Maddie and I ventured out to the aquarium. She endured it, but only in exchange for basically an entire bag of Goldfish crackers. While wandering past the jellyfish tank I commented to her on the irony of her eating Goldfish crackers while at the aquarium. She ignored me. In all, I'm not sure it was worth the $18.50 admission.

Knowing that my stint as a SAHM (stay at home mom) is coming to an end is definitely making me enjoy the days more. When you know that each and every day is going to be the same indefinitely it can get a bit suffocating. But realizing that these days together are numbered helps me to really treasure them.

Day 293: We're on the move!

2007-01-23T09:48:00.000-08:00

Crawling is not considered a milestone.

A lot of babies never crawl.

They all do things in their own time.

All of this is entirely true, I know. But still I've worried about Maddie's complete lack of interest in crawling. And so imagine my delight when last week she got herself up on all fours and started motoring around the living room. In my excitement I called my mom and think I said something along the lines of, "This is the best day of my life!" So now that the immediate post-crawl glow has worn off I can see that perhaps that statement was a bit of an exaggeration. But it is pretty cool.

I am realizing that being a mom to a crawling baby is a whole different job. It's like she's a wrecking crew and I just trail behind her cleaning up her mess and making sure she doesn't knock down anything important. And there's no more hiding from her. I admit I used to plop her down in the living room - yes, in front of the tv - and then escape to the kitchen for 15 minutes to get stuff done. Now she just hunts me down, slapping her little hands against the floor, grunting the whole time. Sometimes her arms give out and she face plants, which doesn't make her happy at all. I told her she needs to up the weights at the gym. The key is in the repetitions. Speaking of which...

I've been trying to drag myself out to the gym more often these days. I recently realized that Maddie has been out in the real world as long as she was inside of me. The theory goes that it takes 9 months to put the weight on so you get 9 months to lose it. Will someone please tell that to my jiggly thighs? (And how the hell did they get fat in the first place? I don't recall them performing any important function during the whole process.) In a way I don't feel as bad about myself as I did before I had Maddie, because at least now there is a good excuse for my belly. However, I can see that the excuse - "I had a baby!" - is starting to wear thin. I have visions of myself saying it when Mads is off at University; somehow I think it wouldn't carry the same weight (no pun intended). I'm going to jump up on my soapbox for one minute to say that as women we face unbelievable pressure to be thin and lovely our whole lives. The girdles, control top pantyhose, gym memberships, the dreaded bathing suit season... it's exhausting. And we judge ourselves as harshly as anyone else could do it. It makes me sad to think that one day Maddie will question her own beauty and worth. But I have to say, it is so nice to have this little person in your life who you know doesn't notice and doesn't care about your extra 5 (okay, 10... fine, 13!) pounds. I know the day will come when the mere sight of me makes her shudder with embarassment, but for now I am perfect because I am mommy. I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts!

Day 285: The things nobody ever tells you

2007-01-15T10:03:00.000-08:00

With Maddie's first birthday just a couple of months away and my return to work quickly approaching, I've been prompted to reflect over this past year. This crazed, chaotic, confusing, challenging, wonderful year. And when all is said and done I have to say, I feel a bit like I was duped. Nobody thinks that having a baby is easy. But when you think about the hard parts, what specifically comes to mind? I'm going to guess that the labour and delivery tops your list. Then maybe the sleep deprivation, the breastfeeding, the crying, teething, potty training. These were all on my list, too. But it turns out there's a lot going on here that I had no clue about. So I've decided to let the cat out of the bag. Here are some of the things nobody ever told me - the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Eating. This sounds like a pretty basic one, right? Yeah, that's what I thought too. Until it was time to start feeding Maddie actual food. First of all, when do you start? You're "supposed to" start solids at 6 months in order to avoid food allergies. I started at 4 months. She was crying so much I was convinced a good meal would make her happy. Then, what do you feed them? What do you do when they refuse to eat? What if they will only eat peaches and throw a mini fit when you try to slip a green bean or two in there? What about when they start refusing breastmilk or formula 4 months before the book (oh, that damn book!) tells you they should stop?

And then there's sleeping. I think we're all prepared to go a few months without sleep. But sometimes those few months stretch into a year. And then there are the babies who sleep wonderfully... as long as they're snuggled cosily in between mom and dad in the big bed. Or they start crawling and subsequently forget how to go to sleep. And then they learn to stand up in their crib and from then on refuse to do anything but. These last two are what we're dealing with now. Our poor, sweet baby standing in her crib and shrieking - tears and all - for over an hour at every nap time! It's enough to break your heart. Or at least give you a splitting headache and a suitably guilty conscience.

There is a plethora of other unexpected condundrums: getting your baby to use a sippy cup instead of a bottle; getting her to sleep without an extended nightly routine of bottle, rocking, bouncing, jiggling, shushing; determining whether her awful mood is because of teething, a cold, an ear infection, or just a plain old bad day. And worst of all is the guilt that seems to be born at that same moment your baby is, and that question looming always in the back of your mind: "Am I doing this right?"

In case I've scared you senseless with all of this, let's move onto the good. Thankfully the difficult times are balanced by some unexpected joys. Like when your little girl reaches out and shares her dinner with you - never the blueberries, mind you, those are hers alone. Or when you put your favourite song on and she starts bouncing up and down and you get your first glimpse of the little dancer she is sure to become. Or when you walk into her bedroom in the morning and she greets you with the biggest, most joyful and honest smile - as if you've been away for months instead of just a night. And of course, the complete rush of pride you feel at her littlest accomplishments: transferring a Cheerio from one hand to another becomes a monumental feat. Banging two blocks together seems the equivalent of an entire symphony performing Beethoven. These moments surpass almost every achievement in my own life. At times they seem bigger than everything else combined.

And the other bit of good news, which I am learning as we go, is that you do survive it. Whatever particular challenge you're facing might seem like it rates among the biggest problems in the world at the time, but a week later you'll be over it and on to the next thing. And though you may not believe it, you are doing it right. We all are. We're doing it right by doing it the best we can.

Now if somebody could just remind me of this later today when she's refusing to sleep and I'm full of self-doubt...

Day 277: Baby talk

2007-01-08T10:23:00.000-08:00

I've often wondered if some women are just better suited to motherhood than others. When I was in my early twenties and our friends started having babies I began to think that maybe I was missing some gene essential to being a mother. I would find myself with a group of girls, gathered around a squishy, red-faced, wrinkly little baby and they would all be gurgling at her: "Oooh, what a pretty girl, who's that pretty girl? Boo-boo-boo-boo-BOOP! Ba-ba-ba-ba-BAH!" Then it would be my turn and I would say something along the lines of "Hi. I like your dress."

And then I had my own baby and the art of talking to her still eluded me. I didn't even know what to call her - muffin? sugarpie? I had a vague notion it should involve a food item. I remember my dad calling me mon petit chou tete when I was young, which means my little cabbage head. I settled for a while on pumpkin, but it felt awkward. And what was I supposed to talk about? Here we were, suddenly together every day, all day... we couldn't just exist in silence, surely. She wasn't contributing much in terms of conversation, so it was up to me. In the beginning our talk revolved around survival strategies, the fact that we were stuck with eachother so we'd need to just get used to it and get on with things. But slowly it evolved. I'd talk to her about music, about what was on the TV. I remember one day reading the newspaper to her in a really lively, excited voice. She didn't buy it, but I was still impressed with my own effort on that one.

Now we get along great, because now we know eachother. You hear a lot of wonderful love-at-first-sight stories about the moment you first see your baby, but for me it didn't go quite like that. While I could appreciate the miracle of the whole thing, she really could have been anybody's baby. She seemed like a total stranger, and I suppose she was. But now I see what a cool girl she really is. I've dropped the culinary endearments and instead call her Stinky Monkey. We talk about everything. Well, she babbles and I talk. Sometimes I goo goo ga, sometimes I just tell her I like her dress. We've found our groove, I guess. Looking back, I still really don't know if I'm missing a motherhood gene or not. I'm starting to think maybe it was just hidden.

Day 270: Christmas miracles

2006-12-30T11:15:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the long stretch between posts, blame the Christmas craziness. I should have asked them to set up a cot for me at the mall, I've been there so often in the past couple of weeks! But, crazy or not, Maddie's first Christmas was actually a lot of fun. Of course she has absolutely no idea what's going on, but still I found myself not being able to sleep on Christmas eve, finally getting up at 6:45am and waiting impatiently for the sounds of her waking so that I could go drag her out of bed and watch her empty her stocking. It was like I was a kid again, waiting for Santa. Of course I ended up basically dumping the stocking out for her, and she then ignored most of what was in it... but she did seem to take a fancy to the cardboard tag attached to one of the little toys, so that was a special moment. Maddie's biggest gift to me was that she seems to have transformed herself into a little angel baby over the past week or so. She's napping great, sleeping great, smiling and being generally adorable all the time. She's even agreed to sit in the stroller without acting as though it's some form of medeival torture. I don't know what has prompted this miraculous reprieve, but I am enjoying every second of it!

The in-laws took Maddie overnight yesterday so Fernando and I had an impromptu date night. We went to see the movie The Pursuit of Happyness and I have to say it was a tough haul. I mean, it was wonderful actually, but it made me think for the millionth time since having Maddie about the lengths people go to for their kids. Shortly after having Maddie I was at a new moms' support group meeting - which is an indication of how well things were going with our new little bundle of joy - and I very clearly recall saying that I felt overwhelmingly guilty because if push came to shove I wouldn't throw myself in front of a car for her. I wouldn't make that kind of sacrifice. It scared me, because I felt as though I should feel some kind of intense need to love and protect her, I should feel that her life was more important than my own. But I didn't. And now here we are on her 9 month birthday and I can say with relative confidence that I would give anything in the world for her. And now that knowledge is what scares me! I don't know when the change happened, I suspect it was a gradual thing, made stronger with each smile, with every time she's reached out to pat my face and every time she's looked helplessly at me after bumping her little head. I used to be consumed with what I saw as her shortcomings - the crying, the demands, the stubborn refusal to make my life even a little bit easier! But I know now that even though she makes me crazy, even though she has turned my world upside down, and even though there are days I feel overwhelmed and question the direction my life has taken - I wouldn't change a single thing about her. She's perfect. There is a lot of guilt and a lot of expectations that come with this motherhood gig, but my vast experience has made me realize that loving her doesn't mean I have to always love it.

And for the few of you who have lasted this long and are still reading... I hope you had a very merry Christmas. Or a happy Hanukkah, or a great Kwanzaa, or a wonderful holiday, whichever one it is you celebrate. And if you don't celebrate any holiday, hope you had a very enjoyable week. And I hope that 2007 is a happy and healthy one for all of us.

Day 260: Ah, those special moments of motherhood

2006-12-20T12:35:00.000-08:00

Before I had a baby I like to think that I had a fair amount of dignity. Some class. Dare I say it - a bit of grace. Okay, so maybe the grace part is pushing it. But you get the point. Most of that rapidly disappeared during the birth of Maddie and in the weeks that followed, where I spent most of my waking hours in my pyjama bottoms with my boobs hanging out for more than a few poor unsuspecting visitors and passerby to see. I remember sitting in my living room one day when Maddie was only about a week old and Fernando said, "I never thought me, your mom, and your naked breasts would be in the same room." It was an odd realization. Since then I have managed to keep myself covered up for the most part, but there are still many moments where I find myself doing things I never thought I'd do, things that sometimes make it difficult to hold on to those remaining shreds of dignity. So consider this an ode to all of those other mommies out there who look in the mirror at the end of the day to discover they've been walking around with a smeer of baby poop on their cheek...

I would like to meet the mom who doesn't bury her nose in her baby's diaper at least 5 times a day to check if that odour she's emitting is the real deal or just a bit of gas. I doubt she exists. I often find myself thinking, as I immerse myself in the potpourri of poop, that surely there must be a better way of doing this. There have been countless times I've been out in public - at a restaurant, at the store, at a friend's house - and have scooped Maddie up and aimed her bum at my face. No matter how hard I try, it's hard to retain any sense of style or class at that moment.

I have yet to discover the secret to successfully clipping a baby's fingernails. Poor Mads has little baby claws on her and is always scratching herself. She'll barely sit still to take her bottle, so how I'm supposed to restrain her long enough to give her a manicure is beyond me. I know what you're thinking - she weighs 18 pounds and I weigh... slightly more than that. I should be able to contain her. All I can say is try it and you'll see. They're slippery little things, and she fights me with every ounce of her 18 pounds. So anyways, this morning I found myself biting off her jagged little nails. Biting somebody else's nails - now that's the kind of day-to-day stuff that no one tells you about life with baby.

Maddie spends a lot of her days being chucked around by Fernando or I - affectionately chucked, of course. It's one of her favourite pasttimes. The other day I was lying on the floor holding her over my head; she was squealing and kicking her little legs about when out of her mouth escaped a giant gob of spit. It came at me in slow motion, closer and closer until - smack! It hit me right in the mouth. The sad part is that I didn't even try to dodge it. I just watched it fall, felt it hit, wiped it off, and kept on playing. I guess spit, in comparison to her other excretions, isn't all that bad.

Not quite the special moments of motherhood you imagine, perhaps, but memorable all the same.

Day 255: And the winners are...

2006-12-13T17:57:00.000-08:00

Well, only 12 days until Christmas. And so, as promised and by not-so-popular demand, here is my list of top 5 baby items. These are the things that have gotten me through the past 8 1/2 months, those wonder products without which I would have long ago pulled out my hair and run away from home. For your convenience and in hopes of receiving product endorsement royalties, I've even linked to the relevant sites. Once again in no particular order, here they are:

5. Receiving Blankets. A co-worker who recently had a baby told me that you just can't have too many receiving cloths. He was right. I'm not sure what they're really intended for - to "receive" the baby, I guess, whatever that means - but I used them for just about everything: As a swaddling blanket, as a burp cloth, as a rag to clean up puddles of spit-up, as a wrap during her baths in the first couple of months, as a comfort blanket to go to sleep with - for Maddie, not for me (although there were nights I probably could have used one, too). In the first four months we went through at least 10 a day, and that's no exaggeration. We have around 30 of them, and that's just enough to get us by. And they're pretty cheap, so stock up!

4. Exercise Ball. When Maddie was 2 weeks old and I was at my wits end, I had a post-partum doula come to the house to observe us in action and hopefully tell me what I was doing wrong that was making her cry all the time. When I greeted her at the door she had a big purple exercise ball with her, the kind people do ab workouts on at the gym - well, I don't, but perhaps you do. She told me that bouncing on the ball while holding a fussy baby results in instant calming. I was highly skeptical and it didn't work at first, but after four or five attempts we witnessed a miracle: there was blessed, wonderful silence in our house again. Not only that but it put her to sleep every time. It got to the point where we had a ball upstairs, a ball downstairs, and one at my parents' place. We've still got one on hand and in fact I just had to use it this afternoon. Fernando knows it's been a tough day when he comes home from work to find the exercise ball in the living room. After all, it's not like I'd actually use it to exercise. God forbid.

3. Baby Einstein dvds. Everyone knows that Baby Einstein works some kind of black magic voodoo on babies, lulling them into a near-comatose state. It's heavenly. I first sat Maddie in front of her Baby Mozart dvd when she was about a month old, and even back then she quieted down and just stared at it. Now, almost 8 months later, it doesn't have quite the hypnotic hold over her it once did, but we still play it daily. I specify the dvd rather than the old VHS version because the dvd has a "repeat play" option. Call me a bad mom if you like, but I figure they wouldn't make such a feature if it wasn't meant to be used. When you've got a screaming baby on your hands it doesn't take long for some ideals (eg. "My baby isn't going to watch TV") to go straight out the window.

2. Exersaucer. We inherited a hand-me-down Graco exersaucer from a friend. It was really big and a bit of an eyesore and I remember pleading with Fernando to just donate it to the second hand store. He didn't, and I'll be forever grateful for that. Ever since she's been able to hold her head up she's loved being in the thing. She bounces up and down and sucks on the toys and feeds her snacks to the dogs from it. Usually while watching Baby Einstein.

1. Baby Bjorn. This miracle of a baby carrier can be a bitch on the back now that Maddie's getting bigger, but in light of her intense dislike of the stroller, it has likely saved my sanity. Seems like a pretty good trade-off to me. I use it so often I've turned it into a verb, as in "Mads and I Bjorned it to the mall this afternoon." I literally don't leave home without it, and it never fails that when she's hanging from it, dangling her little legs and squealing, somebody will comment on what a happy baby I have. I love how people feel they can sum up a baby's personality based on 10 seconds of observation... I sense that I'm about to go off on a tangent, so I'll stop myself now. The point is, the Bjorn has been a lifesaver.

Honourary Mention: Babylegs. Okay, so it's a bit of a stretch to say I couldn't have lived without them. But they're just so darn cute, I had to include them on the list. And they are useful. They're great under dresses and even pants during the cold weather, and if Maddie were to one day decide to crawl they would protect her little knees. And most importantly they make the constant struggle to change her diapers a lot easier because you don't have to worry about taking pants on and off. And did I mention they're really cute?

I'd like to also mention: The Children's Place, which has the most adorable baby clothes and has 50% off seasonal sales, and the Jolly Jumper, which is a source of constant bouncing amusement, and baby Tylenol, without which I'm sure teething would be even more of a nightmare than it has been. Oh, and last but not least - it's not actually a product, but definitely something that's gotten me through: family (cue the chorus of "awwwws"). I am in total admiration of all the single moms out there, I literally do not understand how they manage it all on their own. I've always appreciated my family, but never so much as I do now that Mads is here. Thank god I have a husband who can put up with all forms of crazy from me and still not head for the hills. Okay, this is starting to sound like an Oscar acceptance speech, so I think it's time to sign off!

Disclaimer: As every baby is different, you may find none of these products at all helpful. In which case... sorry. And good luck. :)

Day 251: Ho ho ho-rrified

2006-12-05T19:50:00.000-08:00

I should probably preface today's entry by explaining that Mads is not all that comfortable in the company of strangers. But unfortunately for her, it seems that all babies are equipped with some kind of magnet that draws people in. We'll be at the grocery store, and we'll pass a woman picking out tomatoes, looking right as rain. Suddenly she turns, spots Maddie, and before you know it she's kneeling on the floor in front of her saying ridiculous things in ridiculous voices. "Ooooh! Who da big silly willy girl? Do you know Mr. Tomato? Mr. Tomato says 'Hi wittle baby!'" Truth be told, it's a bit embarassing, particulary as I know Maddie's reaction will inevitably be to stare blankly at this woman, not blinking, not smiling, but clearly suspicious - as if she knows the woman is a lunatic and is mentally sizing up the emergency exits in case things go bad. Sadly, some people take this as a challenge of sorts. The less responsive she is the more they try to break her. Let's just say that after 5 minutes of unsuccessful baby talk things can get a bit awkward. It probably doesn't help that I stand there fake-laughing like an idiot through the whole exchange in effort to make the person feel better.

So it was with all of this in mind that Fernando and I packed her up for a visit with Santa at the mall. I was prepared for an intervention if needed - toys, rattles, bottles, crackers, biscuits and cheerios were all on hand. And so you can imagine our shock when Fernando plopped her down on Santa's lap and she sat there happy as can be. Then, as if in slow motion, we saw her turn her head back to see the big, bearded stranger behind her. Her face froze, then fell, and then the crying started. And that's the story of how I found myself crouching before a fake raging fire, singing "Baby Beluga" in front of Santa and his elves. She stopped crying long enough for Santa's helper to snap this picture.

On the way home I assured poor Maddie that in a few years that fat, velvet-clad man will come second only to Daddy on her list of favourite guys. And then, a few years after that, they'll both be temporarily supplanted by the boy who aims spitballs into the back of her head at school. After all, what girl can resist the ever-flirtatious spitball launch?

Day 249: Nature vs. nurture?

2006-12-04T07:08:00.000-08:00

Well, Maddie celebrated her 8-month birthday a few days ago and to mark the occasion she mastered the task of pulling up to standing in her crib! I guess I should qualify that by saying that she will do it if I sit her right in front of the rails and then jump around in front of her bopping my head back and forth and making jazz hands while saying, "Yeaaaah Maddie! Yeaaaah Maddie!" over and over and over again. She thinks it's great. She also thinks I'm crazy, but what can I say - the feeling is entirely mutual!

Having Maddie has prompted me to spend endless hours mulling over the old nature vs. nurture debate. And I have to say that I've got to side with nature on this one. I am a very laid back person. Or at least I was before I had a baby - now I have a tendency to fly into rages indiscriminately, but for the most part I'm still relatively calm. Fernando is the same. Our Mads, on the other hand, is a bit of a lunatic. Literally since day one, when she spent 13 hours straight crying at the hospital, she's been so intense, so particular, so determined and demanding. And I do realize that all babies are demanding, but she really takes the term to a whole new level. Don't get me wrong, she is completely sweet and loveable in her own crazy way. But it would almost be possible to think there was a mix-up at the hospital, that somewhere in this city there is a baby sitting on some other family's couch watching Seinfeld and eating potato chips. But no, I can see Fernando in her adorable eyes and myself in her bad hair days. And so I have to conclude that her little personality was well formed before she ever entered this world. She is herself, entirely and completely.

I am realizing that most of the pictures I've posted recently are of Maddie in the aftermath of a food explosion in her highchair. She does spend a lot more time there these days. She still doesn't like being in it, but will endure the torture if food is around. A lot of people told me a lot of different things about when babies get easier. Some based it on age - at 6 weeks (ha!), 3 months, 6 months. Others based it on milestones - when she can sit up, eat baby food, hold her own bottle. Well for Mads and me the biggest one is her ability to eat real food. The kid eats all day long. I stuff her with biscuits, crackers, Cheerios, puffs, juice basically whatever I can find. I pondered giving her a cup of coffee the other day but in the end thought better of it. Turns out there is no better distraction on a bad day than food. Hmm, I guess she is her mother's daughter after all!

Day 245: In the eye of the storm

2006-11-29T07:47:00.000-08:00

There's a general misconception out there that babies are these sweet, innocent, generally incapable little things. I used to think that too. But my Mads has proven me wrong. She's a bit of a schemer. Exhibit A: She spent the last few days fooling me into thinking she'd suddenly changed her mind about going to sleep. Instead of screaming as soon as she hit the crib she just rolled over and chatted to herself, to her stuffed animal friends, happy as could be, until finally drifting peacefully off to sleep. She lulled me into a sense of complaceny, got me to the point where I was thinking, "Hey, this gig ain't so hard." Then, just when she saw I was at my most vulnerable and unprepared, she did an abrupt 180. I put her down for her nap yesterday, mentally preparing my mother-of-the-year acceptance speech, and much to my total shock she started screeching hysterically. For a minute I thought we might be under attack, she'd spotted a sniper on the roof or something. But no, she was just, shall we say, expressing her discontent. This went on for a good 25 minutes, at which point I went in and bounced her to sleep. Crisis averted... or so I thought. Or so she wanted me to think. As soon as her dimpled little bum hit the mattress she was up and screaming again. We went through this routine three times before she finally slept. We then repeated the entire thing for both of today's naps. She's a schemer, alright. Well, she may have won this battle, but not the war. Not yet, at least.

There are some lessons in motherhood I should know by now, and the biggest one is that just when you think you're starting to get the hang of it everything changes. My friend calls it the calm before the storm, those hours or days when you sit back and realize that things are running pretty smoothly - you and your baby are both dressed, calm, feeling relatively sane. During these times you may feel the urge to tell passing strangers what a good mom you are, to start penning a How-To guide to parenting. I'd hold off if I were you, though, because I can pretty much guarantee you that the storm is coming. Suddenly your perfect angel is howling, there's vomit in your hair, and you're still wearing yesterday's pyjamas. But, when you do find yourself in the eye of the storm, take comfort in the fact that just like everything else, this too shall pass.

Day 243: Baby stuff I could live without...

2006-11-26T11:26:00.000-08:00

It's been snowing for the past 24 hours and everything is white and quiet. I'm actually not a big fan of the snow, and the fact that we got locked out of the house in it yesterday didn't help its reputation any in my books. Poor Mads, her little fingers were so cold and red we eventually had to go take refuge with a neighbour for a while. I don't think I've locked myself out of the house since I was a kid - wouldn't you know it has to happen during the first snowfall of the year while I've got a baby in tow! Maddie isn't quite as entranced by the falling snow as I imagined she would be. She was far more interested in her bottle than in the changing weather patterns. Go figure. I guess we can scratch meteorologist off the list of future careers.

What Mads doesn't realize is that falling snow signals that Christmas is just around the corner. I'm not particulary religious, but I do love Christmas. I like that it tends to make people a bit nicer than they normally are, and of course it gives us one more excuse to go shopping. And so, in honour of this wonderful season of over-consumption I thought it would be a good time to pay tribute to all of those baby products that have turned out to be entirely useless. So here it is, my completely subjective top 5 list of things I wish I hadn't wasted my money on:

#5. Burp pads. While often very cute, I quickly learned that these are not very practical. Maddie's spit ups tend to require something more along the lines of a beach towel, so these itsy bitsy little cloths have been sitting in the dresser growing mothballs for the past 8 months.

#4. Breast pumps/pads/packs/etc. So it turns out breastfeeding isn't for everyone. Who knew? After several weeks spent pumping and crying, I packed up my cracked, infected nipples and guilty conscience and called it a day. Mads and I have been much happier since. My opinion is, if it works for you, that's great. If not, don't torture yourself over it.

#3. A Bumbo chair. I read rave reviews about this thing, which we paid around $70 for - an outrageous price, if you ask me. Fernando had high hopes for it, but Maddie sat in it about 3 times total before she figured out how to flip out of it and wind up lying face down on the ground. And the 3 times she sat in it she really didn't like it - she hated the idea of being forced to sit still in one place for more than 5 seconds, she spent her time grunting and straining and complaining. I guess it works for a lot of folks, but not for us.

#2. Baby powder. Does anybody use this stuff anymore? Through my own purchases and shower gifts I wound up with about a dozen containers of it. And then I read that you shouldn't use it because it could cause respiratory damage - and oh yeah, possibly cancer - so I threw it away. I hear it's good to put on the soles of your sandals, though.

#1. Cloth bibs. By far the most useless invention ever are those silly little cloth bibs that cover about 2% of baby's body. The makers of these things force you to buy them against your better judgement by writing things like "I love my mommy" on them. When Maddie eats, she requires an all-over poncho. She winds up with food somehow stuck in her hair, ears, under her chin, her armpits, the rolls of her thighs, in between her toes. It's a total disaster and those bibs are a laughable defence in the face of such an onslaught of slop and crumbs.

Stay tuned for the much-anticipated list of things I couldn't live without!

Only 28 sleeps till Christmas...

Day 241: Good little girls grow up to be...

2006-11-23T10:15:00.000-08:00

Spend an hour in a suburban mall and you will discover there is an army of underdressed teenage girls out there. Which prompts two questions: First, why are these girls not in school? Second, where are their clothes? I really must be a mom, because I suddenly have this urge to grab them, scrub off all their make-up and buy them a sweat suit. And not the kind with the writing on the bum, but a real one - from Sears, maybe. I want to sit them down and tell them that self-respect and visible jewelled thongs usually don't go hand in hand.

It's a scary prospect, raising a girl these days. All I can hope is that by the time Maddie reaches highschool this trend towards baring all will be reversed and fuzzy suits will be all the rage. She looks so good in a fuzzy suit. Honestly, though, I just don't get it. When exactly did this happen? And why? I mean, I know it has everything to do with what they see on TV, with our celebrity-obsessed culture. I guess that's always been the case. I vaguely recall my own highschool days, when Debbie Gibson was bee-bopping around in her high-waisted jeans I was doing the same thing. And now we've got Paris Hilton. Don't even get me started on her. And really, I'm all in favour of Britney's big comeback, but when I see her on TV every night going to clubs and living the high life I do have to wonder - where are your kids, woman? And once again, where are your clothes? Sure, I'm spiteful and jealous cause she's already got her pre-baby body back, but really - if these are the role models, we're in trouble. How do you teach a kid self-esteem and respect and worth? I guess that's what we'll have to figure out.

In other disturbing developments, a while back Maddie and I were out running some errands and a salesgirl came up and said, "Hi Madeline, how are you today?" It was a bit unsettling to think we've been to the store so often that the employees know Maddie by name, but I got over it. Then yesterday we're at the liquor store and the cashier says, "Oh, she's getting so big now!" The liquor store. I think we need to find some new hobbies.

Day 239: Holiday fun

2006-11-21T07:44:00.000-08:00

Fernando was out of town this weekend, which afforded me a whole lot of extra quality time with Maddie. I thought it would be a good opportunity to take some Christmas pictures, so I suited her up in a little holiday dress, set up a makeshift photo studio and plopped her in the middle of it. I'm sorry to say that this picture is one of our best results! She spent half the time crying and the other half trying to figure out how to get out of her dress. Although, I can't say that I blame her - the dress really wasn't her. She's not so much a lace and ribbons kind of girl. No, I think she'll be little girl running through the neighbourhood in ripped jeans, a dirty shirt, gum in her hair, with one shoe missing and a perpetually snotty nose. It's amazing how you can see their little personalities already.

I've only recently begun to grasp the idea that she will one day be a little kid, a teenager, a grown-up. We tend to live day by day, Mads and I, which doesn't allow much room for gazing wistfully into the future. But lately I've had glimpses. It's such a bizarre thought, that she'll have little friends, she'll get in trouble at school, she'll have her first kiss, her first car, her first job. One day she'll likely be bringing boys home and screaming that she hates us; hopefully not both on the same day, that would be a tough one. Ah, so many things to look forward to!

Poor Maddie is one frustrated little girl these days. Her brain is developed enough to know that she wants to move but her body isn't yet able to do it. So she spends a lot of her time straining, grunting, and eventually crying. Fernando and I, of course, take completely opposite approaches to this. He moves all of her toys just beyond her reach, encouraging her to get her little butt moving. I agree with this tactic, right until she starts screeching, at which point my priority becomes saving my own sanity, and I quickly push everything within her grasp, rendering the whole exercise pretty much pointless. Ah well, she'll get there eventually, I have no doubt. What she lacks in ability she makes up for in persistence, which both gives me hope and scares me to death!

Day 235: "Is this normal?"

2006-11-18T08:26:00.000-08:00

These must be the most frequently uttered words by a new mom. Or at least a slightly neurotic one like me. They are also the kiss of death. Thinking back, I started asking this question when I was first pregnant. Then it was pretty harmless: I can't feel the baby moving - is that normal? I don't have morning sickness - is that normal? Once Maddie had arrived, though, it all got out of control. Was she eating too much? Did her poop look right? Should her arms flail about like that? Why isn't she grabbing/rolling/sitting/crawling yet? All of these being various forms of the same old question: Is this normal? The problem with the question is that it implies that there is such a thing as normal, and I've decided that when it comes to babies there just isn't. It's amazing how different they all are. Which is why all of these books and web sites, no matter how well-meaning, are pretty pointless. I was reading the other day that Maddie should be old enough now to "self-soothe" - in other words, to put herself to sleep without feeding, rocking and all the rest of it. If I tried rocking Maddie to sleep she would look at me like I belong in an institution. Her version of self-soothing is to scream her lungs out for 15 minutes until she finally drifts off. Not what the book had in mind, maybe, and a bit awkward when company is over ("No, no, she's not dying. More coffee?") but it seems to work for her.

I'd been warned that parenthood is a pretty competitive sport, and it's definitely true. But for the most part it's self-imposed. No matter how hard I try not to, how many times I tell myself to stop, I just can't help comparing Maddie to other babies her age. That baby is more mobile, this one has longer hair, that one naps better, this one doesn't cry as much. It can become a full-time occupation. Is this a new obsession, another symptom of our times? At Gymboree this week we once again focussed on getting our babies crawling. Well, okay, the rest of them already are crawling. So they worked on mastering the skill while I begged Maddie to at least give it a try. She declined. But the point is, is this really something we need to work on? I can't help but wonder if ages ago women in caves sat taunting their babies with berries in effort to get them mobile. Somehow I doubt it.

I can only imagine how bad it can get once they're in school. Who's reading at what level? Who's memorized the elements? Who's been picked for the lead in the Christmas - sorry, "holiday" - play? Never mind Maddie, I don't think I can keep up. All this worrying and keeping track is exhausting. And besides, it's pointless, isn't it? After all, according to my mom she's already a genius. There's no way those crawling babies will be able to catch her.

Day 231: So, just who is the baby here?

2006-11-14T08:54:00.000-08:00

I have to vent. A couple of nights ago Fernando and I took Maddie and went out for dinner. This is a big deal for us. She's not been the easiest girl to take out up until now, so we've had to pretty much avoid restaurants and other places with no quick escape route. But we did a dry run at a sushi place for lunch and it went amazingly well, she just sat on the table and played and ate her cheerios and looked adorable. So we thought, why not try dinner? We purposely picked a family pizza restaurant, the kind of place that serves root beer by the pitcher and hands out crayons and colouring books with your menus. This is a far cry from our pre-baby venues, those places where waitresses have small skirts and big cleavage and the menu for drinks is 4 times the size of the one for food. Anyways, we got there, ordered our food, had a drink. Maddie was in a fantastic mood. So fantastic, actually, that she was letting out happy little screeches, as babies tend to do when they're excited. I thought it was cute. Others, apparently, did not. Now, I understand that she was being a bit loud. But I'll stress again that it's a family restaurant - they bring lollipops with the bill, for god's sake. So I was shocked when a table near us started to complain. Not politely, directly to us. Not even discretely, to the waitress. Instead this group of sad and pathetic middle-aged men start yelling in our general direction, things like, "Put a cork in her", "Shut it up" and "Where are this kid's parents?" I was mortified and so angry. She's 7 months old, it's not like I can just tell her to use her inside voice. And to be honest, I wouldn't even want to. If she were screaming and howling I would have taken her outside to calm down, but I'm not going to try to shut her up when she's happy! We were trying to just ignore it, until I saw another couple shaking their heads in disapproval at us. At which time I wimped out and we packed her up and left. I know I should've stuck it out, but why waste our one night out being embarassed and stressed out?

The whole experience left me so mad. Argh! How do people get to be such jerks? Trust me, I have a far stronger word in mind but I am self-censoring for public consumption. Am I not allowed out of the house now that I have a baby? Am I relegated to the ballroom at McDonalds? Well, forget it. Maddie goes where I go, and I'm going out. The rest of the world will have to deal with it. I know, tough talk from the girl who ran away with her tail between her legs! But if it happens again I resolve to stay and stick it out. Or at least to hide a dirty diaper under their back seat on my way out!

Day 227: Raising hell at Gymboree

2006-11-10T09:09:00.000-08:00

I took Maddie to her first Gymboree class yesterday and much to my shock and delight she seemed to like it! It's basically just a room full of babies singing songs and clapping and blowing bubbles and working on milestones. I did the singing, clapping, blowing bubbles. Maddie was supposed to do the milestones work but - surprise, surprise - she chose not to. While other babies diligently tackled the task of crawling through tunnels, Maddie stood there and happily screeched at the top of her lungs. I got a glimpse of my future child and I can only say that I apologize in advance to any and all of her future teachers. She is a total disruption already! It was actually one of the most hilarious moments of my career in motherhood thus far: Every time she screamed the other babies would all stop and stare at her, kind of confused and horrified at the same time. She in turn looked around at all of them as if to say, "Why are you all just sitting around? Let's kick this party into high gear!" I don't know how I created such a little monster. Gymboree is actually a really cool program, if you can stand the fact that the instructor has to turn everything - and I mean everything - into a song... "Let's pick up the rattles, let's pick up the rattles, let's pick up the rattles, and put them in the box!" "Has anyone seen my pencil? Has anyone seen my pencil? Has anyone seen my pencil? I don't know where it's gone!" This is probably really fun for babies, but for me it was mildly nauseating by the end. But then, I suppose I'm not the target audience anyways.

In other developments, Maddie now refuses to anything but stand at all times; she considers it a complete indignity to be asked to sit down or - god forbid - to lie on her back. She'll reach her little hands out to you when she's sitting down and you'll think, "Aww, how sweet, she loves me!", but in fact she's just wanting to use you as leverage. As soon as you put your hands out she grabs hold and hauls herself up to standing, locks her knees and looks very pleased with herself. Getting her sitting again becomes a feat of physical strength. I just get the feeling this girl is going to be something of a hellraiser as she grows. I hope I'm up to the task!

Day 223: A much-needed lesson in motherhood

2006-11-06T09:57:00.000-08:00

I'm a bit of a movie nut. Looking back, I've learned some of life's most important lessons from movies. Schindler's List, of course, showed me the importance of fighting against the tides and doing the right thing. Not that I always do it, but at least I know that I should. Shawshank Redemption, an all-time favourite, taught the value of hope and friendship. The Breakfast Club showed me how to apply lipliner with my near non-existant cleavage (ah, I miss those baby boobs). And last night we watched a movie which, surprisingly, can be added to this list: Click. To be honest, The Waterboy and Little Nicky were a fatal combination for me in terms of my appreciation of Adam Sandler. But I gave this one a try on the recommendation of a girlfriend and I'm glad I did. It had some words of wisdom on parenting that I needed to hear.

I should interject here to say that, like many new moms, my experience with motherhood has not been all roses. Anybody who knows me at all knows that much. I remember in the first few months people would always say, "Oh enjoy this time, it goes so quickly." And I would think, enjoy what? What could possibly be enjoyable about this? The constant crying? The lack of sleep? The roller coaster hormones? I couldn't wait to hit the six-month mark, at which time it was all supposed to get easy (another myth, by the way). Even now there are still times when I find myself thinking I can't wait till she can walk, or talk, or pay rent. I feel vaguely guilty about this, because it's like I'm wishing away her childhood, which of course is not what I want, and I do realize that each age will come complete with its own set of problems. I guess I just have a tendency to let the problems overwhelm the good parts, and I forget that even the hardships are worth living. And that's what the movie - which I would recommend to any parent feeling overwhelmed by life with kids - reminded me. Sometimes even the obvious needs pointing out. Believe me, it's a lesson I'm drawing on right now as I sit typing with my earplugs in while Maddie cries it out in her crib. I thought we had moved past the whole CIO thing; apparently I was wrong.

I think a lot of my struggles with motherhood come from the fact that I don't really relate to babies all that well. I tend to think of Maddie as just a really small person with limited abilities and a strange sense of fashion. In some ways that can be a good thing, but it also can cause a lot of frustration. I am desperate for her to make sense, the way an adult does; for action and reaction, for forward progress. And we do have a bit of that now, but it always seems to be 2 steps forward and one leap back, so I'm never quite sure where we're going to end up. She's doing the best she can, developing her little personality and getting used to this life of hers. I guess the challenge for me is just to live in the moment, with no expectations and no timetables.

Well, the crying has reached the 30 minute mark and is showing no signs of letting up, which means it's time to end her stay in the torture chamber. My girl, she's a drama queen already!

Day 219: Breakdowns and babababa

2006-11-02T08:54:00.000-08:00

Can you believe it's November? When did that happen? Well, yesterday, I guess. But doesn't it feel kind of early to be November? I'm still in an end-of-summer kind of mode. Right now, for instance, I'm wearing a tank top and skirt and thongs. Yes, I'm freezing, but it's my attempt to ignore the wind and rain outside - mind over matter. I'm trying, but I doubt it will work. The power of positive thinking seems to be failing me this week.

Maddie is teething, again. She's also sick. She's also still all screwed up from Daylight Savings Time. Poor Maddie. Poor me. We're both a bit miserable. There was a point yesterday when she was naked on the change table, twisting about and screeching. When I pulled open the dresser drawer to get her clothes it came right out and dumped on the floor. It was the last straw - I sat down and put my head in my hands and had a small breakdown. It was almost comical, both of us collapsed and crying together in the same room. I was fully clothed, that was about the only difference between us at that moment. But we survived to see another day, as always.

In happier news, she's now talking! Well, so far it's limited to variations of the word "baba." She started yesterday morning when she woke up and hasn't stopped since. It's "bababababa baba ba bababa" all day long. Sometimes she'll say it quietly to herself with a furrowed brow and concerned expression - I figure she's pondering the state of the world, mulling over the ramifications of our actions on the next generation. At other times she'll say like a question, or scream it at the top of her lungs. She even does it when she's crying. Wail, wail, bababa, wail, wail, wail. That one is my least favourite version, I have to say. It struck me today that in addition to sounding like a big baby now, she's also starting to look like one. My angelic little girl has turned into a bit of a disaster. She's always got a dirty face, messy hair, stained clothes, runny nose. Most of this is due to the fact that she's getting harder and harder to clean up. Like most kids, she now protests loudly at any attempt to wipe her face or change her clothes. I'm getting the feeling she's going to have a real little temper on her. Something else to look forward to, I guess! It's kind of cute, though, she's all growns up.

Day 217: Blame Daylight Savings... and the war

2006-10-30T07:57:00.000-08:00

Who was it that invented this whole Daylight Savings Time thing? My limited memory of obscure history makes me think it has something to do with either a) farmers or b) the war. As I think about it, though, aren't farmers the reason Saskatchewan doesn't change their clocks? So scratch the farmers off that list; that leaves the war. I should've known.

In any case, it's wreaked havoc on my life. And in light of the fact that I now have a baby, I think the world ought to at least consider putting an end to this practice. Because while it's all nice and lovely to have an extra hour of sun (or in our part of the world, rain) at the end of the day, what's not so nice is suddenly having to get up an hour earlier with Maddie in the morning. Not only that, but somehow her naps also have gotten all out of whack and she has turned into a little she-devil. Now this last part probably has nothing to do with Daylight Savings - maybe she's teething, maybe she's tired, maybe Saturn is in her sixth house or she had a tough day at the office. Who really knows for sure? But her miserable mood coincided with the change of the clocks, so I'm going to blame that.

Of course this hits us just after we had finally gotten a schedule down. I had glimpsed the promised land: regular naps, planned outings, scheduled feedings. It was a beautiful, shiny, happy place. But it appears I've been kicked out and am now back in The Land Where No One Knows What the Hell is Going On. I remember when I first had Maddie I was often reassured by well-meaning books and people that I would soon be able to understand what her cries meant. Well, we're at 7 months and counting. I can say with a fair amount of confidence that I know when she's serious and when she's not. But I can't really differentiate within those two categories. I suppose I thought I would eventually be able to say, "High pitched - check, piercing - check, head is about to explode - check... she must have pooped her pants!" I guess it's not quite that straightforward. Ah well, she keeps my on my toes, this girl of mine.

If all goes well, we're off to our first ever playdate this afternoon, with a whole lot of people we've never met. Maddie will be wearing her Halloween costume. I will not. Wish us luck! Oh, and happy Halloween!

Day 214: Where are my milestones?

2006-10-24T11:42:00.000-07:00

The other day, a friend asked me how I was and I answered, "Oh, good. Maddie has a runny nose." Later that evening, I found myself mulling over this reponse and eventually concluded that I am in the midst of an identity crisis. Well, perhaps not a crisis - nothing so grave or dramatic - but just a bit of confusion. I mean, somebody asks about my life and all I can think to say is that my daughter has snot coming out of her nose? Seriously? And even now I can't think of anything else to offer, although surely there must be something. Surely there is something more to my life than just motherhood? (Disclaimer: before anybody gets offended or outraged, I don't mean "just" motherhood in a bad way, it's just that there used to be a lot more going on).

It's not like my pre-baby life was full of amazing accomplishments and accolades. I didn't win any peace prizes. I wasn't on an impressive career path. But I did go to work, go to the gym, meet friends for lunch, go out with Fernando. I read the newspaper, planned dinner parties, shaved my legs. Now I wander the mall, go for walks, wander the mall, do a load of laundry (and then redo it because I always leave the wet clothes in the machine so long they start to form mold), wander the mall. These are my milestones. Meanwhile Maddie is on the road to monumental achievements: sitting, crawling, talking (okay, she's admittedly got a ways to go on the last two, but still). So I guess when people ask how I'm doing it seems more suitable to talk about Maddie's accompishments than my own - it's somehow more impressive to say "Maddie's blowing raspberries now" than "I washed my coffee mug this morning."

I'm not even mourning my past life - don't get me wrong, there was definitely a time that I did, but I'm past that stage. There are really cool parts to this motherhood gig: laughing with her, seeing her smile, watching her learn new things. But I feel like there's been some kind of role reversal - when Maddie was first born it felt like she was an extension of me; now it's more like I am an extension of her. I guess I'm just a tad worried that I'm already living vicariously through her. Tempting though it may be, I can't have her life become my own. I have visions of myself getting dressed up to chaperone her grade 8 sock hop, hoping the cute science teacher will ask me to dance while she cringes in the corner and tells friends she's adopted. I have to curb this trend while I'm still able to. The question is, how?

On a sidenote, Maddie fell off the couch yesterday... again. It was a three part tumble: from sitting, to the footstool, to the floor. And then this she morning worked her way out of the Bumbo and ended up face down on the counter. Luckily I was right there for that one. Funny how these incidents that seem so horrifying at first quickly just become part of life.

Day 210: The Art of Distraction

2006-10-17T10:53:00.000-07:00

Maddie and I just finished our morning workout. We bought a "pilates walking" dvd last week, although I really don't see how it has anything to do with pilates. Basically it's just walking. So each morning I strap her into the Bjorn and we walk 3 miles in the living room. We only stop to drink water (me) and mop up spit up (her). I have that Bjorn on so often it's ridiculous. When I finally take it off the unusual lightness feels like zero gravity or something. All I can say is that when I'm old and grey and calling her to take me in my wheelchair to seniors' bingo I had better not hear any complaints. Payback's a bitch, Mads.

I'm beginning to realize that life with baby is just one long series of distractions. Our pilates walking routine has little to do with fitness; it's really just another way to occupy her for a half hour. Keeping these little ones happy is an all-consuming task. When they're newborns it's tough because they can't see or do... anything. So you jiggle, bounce, rock, coo, run the tap, go for drives. As they grow your arsenal expands. You dance, sing, make faces, look at toys, shake pill bottles, crinkle old pasta bags. But you have to constantly cycle through all of these various distractions in order to keep their attention. Our day is divided into about a thousand 3-minute segments: We rattle the keys for 3 minutes, sing Baby Beluga for 3 minutes, look in the mirror for 3 minutes, shake a soup package for 3 minutes. And when all else fails, when I'm out of ideas and we're both beginning to panic, that's when I pull out the big guns: Baby Einstein. I worship at the alter of whoever created Baby Einstein. Hallelujah.

All of this is why baby toy companies are so profitable. And so cruel. They capitalize on our false hope. Even though I know better, somewhere deep inside of me I think that maybe there is a toy out there that will have the perfect combination of plastic and fabric, of bell and whistle, of colour and light. It will have the perfect number of flaps and tags, and they'll all be in the perfect places. And one day I'll find this toy and bring it home to Maddie and she'll look at it and sigh contentedly with the realization that this is what she's been waiting for all her life. And she'll sit and play happily for hours while I lie on the couch and read my book. This is the dream that occupies my subconcious every time I step into Toys 'R Us. And this is why my house is full of crappy toys that are entirely ignored while we instead play with the Kraft Dinner box.

Day 207: Culture 101

2006-10-15T17:11:00.000-07:00

A couple of nights ago we were in line at the grocery store - I'm starting to realize that many of my life's most interesting or exciting moments occur at the grocery store checkout; I think that tells you a lot about my life these days - and there was a couple with a 6-month baby in front of us and another behind us. It was very odd. Anyways, while Maddie practiced her new skill of shrieking happily at the top of her lungs and at the highest pitch known to man, the baby in front was saying "mama-mama-mama" over and over again. I swear she was doing it on purpose, just to taunt us.

Babies are everywhere. I mean, at the grocery store I suppose it's to be expected. But a couple of nights ago Maddie was spending some quality time with grandma, so Fernando and I went to the hockey game. Surely this would be a respite from all things baby. Apparently not, because while we're refilling our outrageously overpriced beer and wine at intermission who's waiting right beside us but a guy carrying a tiny baby. And then there was another one waiting outside the washroom. Which of course made me feel terribly guilty, the fact that unlike these other responsible Canadian parents, we were selfishly denying our daughter her first hockey game experience. But who am I kidding? Maddie could not possibly have come with us. She does not sit still and she does not keep quiet - that's just not how she works. She twists and turns and slithers and and yells and grunts and, now, shrieks.

This latest skill is one she's been working on for a couple of weeks but really just perfected during an outing to the art gallery she and I took earlier this week. I quickly learned that what is cute at the grocery store doesn't always go over well with the art gallery crowd - her constant squeals echoing throughout the halls earned us more than one irritated glance. That's what I get for trying to show the girl a bit of culture, I guess! So we ended up leaving about 20 minutes after we got there, which to be honest was fine by me. I just don't get art a lot of the time. Perhaps my sense of artistry is just sadly under-developed, but I don't get how a big canvas painted cream to look like, well, a canvas, and creatively titled Paint on Canvas is all that interesting. Judging from Maddie's particularly aggressive grunts she was not a fan either. Then again, this is a girl who finds a wooden spoon endlessly fascinating, so I probably shouldn't take much solace in the fact that we seem to share a similar aesthetic appreciation. In any case, I think next week we'll stick to the mall!

Day 204: When it comes to advice, it's give and take

2006-10-11T21:16:00.000-07:00

If you were to gather a group of women together and take a vote on the most irritating aspect of being mom to a young baby, I think a clear winner would emerge. Not the most difficult part, just the part that makes you grit your teeth and pull your hair out. The winner may not be what you expect, and in fact has little to do with the baby at all. It would not be, for instance, when the diaper suddenly gives way in the middle of the grocery store checkout and releases a river of foul-odoured, runny poop down baby's leg. It would not even be when you're in the swimming pool and baby spits up a giant white mucousy delight that then floats its way in and around the other swimmers for the next half hour while you try to pretend some other phantom baby was the culprit. No, these would merely be runners up to the mother of all irritations, which is the constant, unwanted and unsolicited advice and opinions on how to raise your baby.

It starts when you're pregnant, this torrent of well-meaning, condescending wisdom. As soon as the bump emerges even strangers feel entitled to weigh in on what you eat, wear, do. The first few times it seems kind of sweet, but when it gets to the point where you are having to hide your can of Coke in a paper bag to avoid public criticism it becomes harder to see the fun in it. Keep in mind that pregnant was not my favourite state of being. I did not feel glowing and peaceful; I felt big and awkward and like all of my internal organs were on the verge of dropping to the floor (hmm, too much information?).

But then the pregnancy is over and the little one is on its way and the steady trickle of opinions you received over the past 10 months suddenly explodes into a raging flood. It starts, of course, with your labour choices - drugs or no drugs? c-section or natural delivery? From there we move onto the breastfeeding/formula debate, which is always a fun one. If your newborn happens to fuss in front of company, you will be warned that it is colic. And then, god help you, what to do when she actually cries - do you pick her up and spoil her or leave her cry and be cruel? If she spits up a lot, you will be told that she is eating too much, or too fast, or that she is simply, as one relative put it, "not normal." And then there's the naming of the poor child. When told that we call Madeline "Maddie" for short, a friend of my mom's commented that it sounds like the name of an overweight maid in a romance novel. And not long ago on the bus, upon hearing her full name a complete stranger leaned down and said to Maddie, "You'll have to be a tough little girl with a name like that." It goes on and on and on, and from what I hear it only gets worse as you go.

The flip side of this, though, is that we new moms are just as guilty. Now, I am of the opinion that babies come out complete with their own little personalities and preferences. Some cry, some don't, some sleep, some don't. My role during those first few months was just to do my best and cross my fingers. But not everyone seems to agree, there are a few who've got it all figured out. For instance, more than once I've heard one new mom say to another, "Your baby doesn't sleep through the night (STTN)? Well, you should just make sure his room is dark and quiet when you put him to bed. That's what we do and little Johnny is a perfect sleeper!" Wow. Parenting breakthrough. Maybe I'm crazy, but after 6 months of sleepless nights I'm pretty sure this woman would have tried that alternative. But I understand the temptation. Now that Maddie is emerging from the newborn stage, I am somehow drawn to those who are smack in the middle of it. When I see a woman struggling with a tiny, screeching baby in the mall, I have to resist the urge to cast a knowing little smile her way, one that would no doubt come across as saying, "Been there, done that." I want to ask how she's coping, tell her what I went through. I suppose it's a little like one warrior returning from battle passing another just going into it: Good luck, friend, hope you make it out alive.

Day 201: Guilt-free and loving it

2006-10-09T11:08:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm exhausted. What was supposed to be a relaxing and rejuvenating weekend away with the girls was corrupted by too much wine and late night Balderdash - yes, I know, we're crazy - and I came back more tired than I was when I left. But it was worth it to spend a bit of baby-less time with friends and enjoy some adult conversation. I think we managed to cover all the essential and pressing topics, from skinny jeans (which few of us would dare to wear) to Matthew McConaughey (who we all agreed is a bit off his rocker and in need of a shave and a T-shirt) to whether Meredith should be with McDreamy or the vet (this one was split down the middle). Oh, and of course the coming nuclear threat and global warming, too.

It was the longest I'd spent away from Mads - two whole days - but it was good to get a break. Your world kind of closes in on you when you're mom to a young baby, and getting away lends some necessary perspective. I have a tendency to think of Maddie as a somewhat difficult baby (in the decidedly more positive language of baby books, she would be called "spirited"). She knows what she likes (bottles, her Baby Bjorn, Baby Einstein dvds) and what she doesn't (strollers, car seats, bouncy chairs, tummy time, swings, rockers, vegetables that aren't orange...) and she lets everyone else know it as well. Getting this girl into a car seat takes monumental effort. As soon as she sees she's headed for the seat she goes into a state of advanced rigor mortis - knees locked, arms stiff by her side - and screams bloody murder. The trick is to keep her bum down while administering a light karate chop to the back of the knees and then somehow manipulating her little limbs into the straps. All this while she wails like a banshee right into your ear. The stroller tends not to be much better, which is why I end up Bjorning her everywhere we go, casting envious glares at moms happily pushing their little ones along and thinking, "Why can't my baby be that easy?" Of course I overlook the possibility that the happy-go-lucky baby in the stroller may be up seven times a night while Maddie sleeps peacefully through till morning.

The thing about being a first time mom (baby book language: FTM) is that when things don't go according to plan it tends to be interpreted as an overwhelming personal failure. The other thing about being a FTM, of course, is that pretty much nothing goes according to plan. And so you're stuck wading in a constant pool of guilt. But being away for a couple of days helped to make the obvious clear to me: maybe everything is not my fault. Maybe the fact that she loses her mind at the sight of a car seat is not a reflection of my poor nurturing skills or retribution for the pack of Rolos I "borrowed" from the corner store in grade 7. Maybe she just doesn't like it; no reason, no solution. I'm sure that tomorrow I will go back to blaming myself for her intense and vocal hatred of creamed corn, but for now I am enjoying the freedom that this realization brings.

As a sidenote, in our travels we discovered a local children's author and illustrator named Dianna Bonder who is amazing. And if you're wondering about the picture accompanying this post, I returned home from a run (okay, okay, it was the third one in the past six months, but still!) to find Maddie apparently working on the art of traditional Inuit drum dancing. How's that for advanced? Take that talking babies.

Day 197: Mom Brain

2006-10-03T08:50:00.000-07:00

Sorry it's been a while since our last update. This is due in part to the fact that we've been busy achieving milestones and in part to Maddie deciding to ditch her usual 90 minute morning nap in favour of a 20 minute one as of late.

In regards to the milestones, there have been two that are particularly noteworthy. First of all, Mads had her 6-month birthday last week, which means that our little family has officially survived the first half year of her life with our sanity relatively intact; I consider this to be an incredible accomplishment. Instead of getting professional pictures taken to celebrate hitting the 6-month mark, as is the tradition apparently, I decided to be creative (and cheap) and take them myself. So I went and bought Maddie a new little outfit, plopped her down on the lawn and snapped away. I thought the results were pretty cute. My father-in-law thought the dress I chose made her look poor (as in destitute). Enough said.

The second milestone, as you can see from the picture: she's sitting! I sat her down as per usual the other morning and much to my surprise instead of doing the slow motion faceplant she just stayed there. Amazing!

In other news, my brain has officially turned to mush. Mom Brain is, I believe, the technical term for it. Poor Fernando, having a conversation with me these days is like talking to a brick wall. And a dumb one at that. This is a typical evening exchange:

Him: I have to work early tomorrow.
Me: Oh, too bad.
5 minutes later...
Me: So, are you working tomorrow?
Him: Yes. We just talked about that.
Me: Really? Oh, okay.
5 minutes later...
Me: So do you have the day off tomorrow?

And so on, and so on.

Another symptom of this Mom Brain is that I forget things everywhere. I leave a trail of personal belongings wherever I go. Salesgirls at the mall are regularly having to chase me down with my wallet/keys/phone/baby.

And then this morning I spent a good 25 minutes trying to decide if the correct term was "wheelbarrow" or "wheelbarrell." In the end I gave up and Googled it; turns out it's the former, in case you were wondering. Although, I still have my doubts - what hell's a "barrow?" This is how I spend my days.

Day 193: Anger management for moms

2006-09-29T07:59:00.000-07:00

A lot happens to a girl due to the miracle of birth: her boobs sag, her stomach pouches, her hips widen, and though I've yet to understand the crucial role the ass plays in the process, it somehow manages to expand as well. But I've also noticed other less obvious changes. One is that I've been bestowed with super-human hearing. I can be in the living room with the TV blaring and if Maddie so much as rolls over in her crib, I'll hear it. I'll wake up from a dead sleep at the slightest sound from her room. (Meanwhile, Fernando seems able to slumber through a 2am screeching session. Funny how that works, isn't it?) But perhaps the biggest change has been in my general temperment.

I thought that motherhood was supposed to teach you patience, but so far it has had the opposite effect on me. Or maybe it's just that I expend every ounce of my patience on Maddie and as a result have none left for the rest of the world. I like to think that I've always been a pretty calm, easy-going gal. Not anymore. The smallest things irritate me. My poor husband is beginning to realize that the sweet girl he married is actually a crazy person. Last night we were sitting on the couch watching Grey's Anatomy (love it), Maddie was sleeping, all was well. The dog started barking in the other room, so Fernando yelled at her to be quiet. I lost my mind. I went from 0 to 9.5 on the rage scale in about 2 seconds. I think it went something like this: "Everybody just shut up!! All day long the dogs are barking, cats screeching, people yelling, babies screaming, the idiot across the street is revving his stupid motorcycle! Can't I have one frickin' moment of peace and quiet around here?!?" I think Fernando may have actually been afraid for a minute. But he can take solace in the fact that he is not my only target. People who don't board the bus in an orderly fashion receive outraged glares. The woman in line ahead of me at the grocery store who decides to count out her change in pennies and nickels is lucky to even survive my wrath. And I hit a new low the other day as I was trying to maneouvre the stroller around an old lady in the mall - complete with cane - and I found myself silently cursing her in my mind.

Who am I? What have I become? This is not the serene image of motherhood I'd envisioned: sitting in a rocking chair, baby at my breast, knitting booties and sipping chamomile tea. Instead I spend half my day in a frenzy of irritation and frustration and am as a result considering changing my evening happy hour drink from chilled white wine to hard liquor. Whiskey, anyone?

Day 190: In pursuit of progress

2006-09-26T10:45:00.000-07:00

I lurk frequently at a message board for moms of babies the same age as Mads. It's a good place to brag or blow off some steam, depending on what kind of day you're having. I've said in the past, though, and I'll say it again, it's also a good way to make yourself question your parenting skills. Some of these babies are already sitting, crawling, talking, standing on their own... I would assume these accounts were greatly exaggerated if it weren't for the fact that they are often accompanied by photographic proof. I look at the picture of little Johnny standing bravely in front of his dad's open arms, then over at Maddie, flat on her back happily licking the lid of a shoebox. It makes me wonder if I should be doing more to encourage her progress. I don't actually care all that much, cause as every mother of an "unmotivated" baby is quick to tell you, when they're graduating from high school it won't matter who crawled first (that's kind of our mantra). But still, I've been on a kick these days to get her going. And so, last night was her first swimming class!

Things didn't start out well when Maddie showed up wearing the same swimsuit as another baby. She was mortified. I told her that's what you have to expect when you shop at The Gap. But they got better from there. Fernando and she were crammed in a kiddie pool along with about 20 other babies, some screaming, most just looking vaguely confused. Now, I'm not going to boast, but I'm pretty sure she's the strongest 6-month old swimmer ever; she kicked her little legs and waved her little arms like she'd been born doing it (hmm...). It turns out she also swallowed about a gallon of pool water, which she proceeded to throw up in a screaming fit of mucousy hysterics afterwards. But, it's a small price to pay to realize your life's calling at such a young age, no? Do they have baby triathlons, I wonder? She'd have to work on the whole cycling and running bit, of course. I'll have to look into it.

So the great swimming experiment is thus far a raging success. The same cannot be said for our attempts at sign language. Baby sign language is all the rage these days, the idea being that your baby won't have to know how to speak in order to communicate with you. My hope is not quite as grand: I just want to cut down on all the crying. Anyways, we picked a few words to start on: "milk," "sleep," and "all done." The problem is that when she's screaming for her bottle or screaming for bed it's hard to hold her attention long enough to show her the signs. She's starving, and I'm sitting there holding the bottle in front of her with one hand and acting like I'm milking a cow with the other - it's just cruel, taunting her like that. Meanwhile she's looking at me as if to say, "For god's sake, just give me the damn bottle!" The only one she seems to enjoy is the sign for "all done," but I think that's just because it resembles jazz hands, and who doesn't like that?

Sounds like nap time is over...

Day 189: "I am a good mom, I am a good mom..."

2006-09-25T10:35:00.000-07:00

Well, it's Day 189 of life with baby, and Day 10,189 of renovations. Or at least that's the way it feels. We have been renovating endlessly since we moved into the house last summer. And when I say "we" I mean my husband. I don't really do any of the work, not because I don't want to - although, this is also true - but because Fernando won't let me. This is not an act of chivalry on his part, but of fear: the thought of me wreaking havoc with a hammer or paint brush gives him nightmares. If I really want something to get done I just mention casually that I plan on doing it myself ("Honey, I think I'll paint the nursery, I'm going to start on it tomorrow!"). He's running for the toolbox before the words are even out of my mouth. It seems that some guys have the fix-it gene and some don't. I'm lucky because Fernando definitely does. So he does the hard labour and Maddie & I just sit in the chaos of it all.

Maddie had her first accident to speak of on the weekend. I should probably keep these sorts of incidents to myself, but the point of this little journal of mine is full disclosure and brutal honesty, so here goes... We put her down to sleep at a friend's place during dinner and she rolled off the bed and onto the floor. And yes, I now know that she shouldn't have been on the bed. Believe me, it's been noted. If I'm sounding kind of nonchalant about the incident, let me assure you that at the time I was a wreck. I think it's a lingering souvenir from the postpartum trauma that my coping ability is at an embarassing low these days. I would think the measured response to your baby falling from the bed would be something like this: "Is she okay? Poor baby. We mustn't leave her on the bed anymore." Instead, it took me about 4 seconds to conclude that I was the most terrible/irresponsible/idiotic mother on the planet and I should probably call child services to report myself. Then again, maybe that is the "normal" mom response? Maybe it's just the old post-pregnancy crazy hormone at work. Having since talked to other moms, though, it seems that their babies have not only fallen off of the bed at some point, but off of change tables, countertops, down flights of stairs, out of moving cars. Apparently it's some sort of rite of passage I wasn't aware of. For her part, Maddie seemed mildly surprised to find herself suddenly on her stomach on the carpet, but other than that she was fine. Thankfully. Meanwhile, I am monitoring her every move for the slightest sign of brain damage ("Why is her left pinky finger bent like that?? She's never done that before! Call the doctor!") This motherhood thing is exhausting.

I saw a funny-ish commercial this weekend on the Life Network. A group of moms are making self-affirming statements, my favourite of which is "I am a good mom even though I send my kid to school with his lunch packed in a plastic liquor store bag" (that is so going to be me). Anyways, I think I need to start doing this to ease my various feelings of guilt: "I am a good mom even though my baby rolled off the bed onto the floor," "I am a good mom even though I put General Hospital on during playtime instead of Sesame Street." Hmm, somehow seeing these statements in print is not doing much to make me feel better...

(Nothing to do with parenting, this is just for fun, for those so-inclined: Here is the footage of a much deserved Fox News ass-kicking, courtesy of Bill Clinton this weekend. I heart Bill Clinton. I can't help it, I do.)

Day 185: "Your baby is probably happy and outgoing"

2006-09-20T15:59:00.000-07:00

When Maddie was born I registered with a Web site that sends me weekly updates on her development. And so today my inbox included a message that began with the sentence "Your baby is probably happy and outgoing right now." Well doesn't that sound just lovely. I would like to one day open this weekly email to read, "Your baby is probably throwing hysterical screaming fits at the mall right now" or "Your baby is probably driving you to the edge of sanity right now." I would really love it if they threw something like that in here and there. Just to keep it real, you know?

My baby consumerism has hit a new and embarassing high. A while back I mentioned Maddie's affinity for the little fabric tags attached to toys. Well some enterprising soul out there has capitalized on this - and on a new mom's desperate willingness to try absolutely anything that might occupy baby for a minute or two - and created a line of baby products called Taggies. I'm sure you have an idea where this is going. They make books, blankets, stuffed animals... the item itself doesn't really matter. What matters is that they all have a bunch of fabric tags sticking out of them, in hopes that that your baby will be lulled into a tag-induced state of quiet bliss. So I cracked and bought Maddie a Taggie board book - something about a pig, I think. Well wouldn't you know that the one time she has a plethora of tags at her disposal she instead chooses to suck on the cardboard. In summary, when I buy her a toy she wants the tag, when I buy her the tag she wants the toy. There's no winning with this one.

Those of you who know me will be surprised to hear that I have reached shocking levels of domesticity lately. For instance, a couple of weeks ago I made Maddie's baby food. From scratch. I boiled it, blended it, froze it. And then today I cooked dinner for the family. This second one might not seem like much - especially since it was just spaghetti - but when you consider it has been months since I cooked, it puts it in a whole new light. Not only that, but I went grocery shopping, developed new baby photos for the grandparents and did two loads of laundry. And took care of Maddie. While debating whether I really needed to separate the coloured clothes from the whites or whether that is just some old wives' tale I suddenly stopped with the realization: my god, I am a stay at home mom. I think that is a definition of myself I have been running from in the past six months. Today I basked in the full glory of it, laundry and all.

Day 183: Everything changes

2006-09-18T10:50:00.000-07:00

I went to a new moms' group a few times after Maddie was born and one day we were talking about all of the unwanted advice and opinions we've been given - which range from the standard "Your baby looks too hot/cold/hungry/tired/fat/thin/etc," to my personal favourite "Don't stand so close to the microwave with her!" Anyways, this led to discussions of those nuggets of wisdom that were actually helpful. One woman said that her friend summed up motherhood in two little words: everything changes. Ain't that the truth.

The fact that everything changes is reassuring on those days when Maddie is out of her mind and driving me out of mine because I know that tomorrow it will all be different. But it can also be incredibly frustrating because just when you think progress is being made you find yourself on a sudden and steep downward spiral back to where you were three months ago. I can pretty much guarantee that as soon as I say that Maddie has been doing something really well - sleeping, eating, playing, sitting, smiling, whatever - the next day not only will she not be doing it well but she won't be doing it at all. And she'll act as if she's never even heard of it.

Let me give you an example. Maddie has always been a big spitter. She spits up constantly. Let me repeat that so you get the full implications of what I'm saying here. She spits up constantly. As in, she has to change outfits five times each day. And so do I. And so does anyone else who comes within a foot of her. As in, the sound of vomit splashing on the floor at the mall or on the bus or at the lawyer's office is as familiar to me now as the sound of my own name. This is not a huge problem, but it does get a bit irritating. At first I thought she had a faulty valve somewhere, but no, apparently she is what is called a "happy spitter." Well, isn't that sweet. In any case, this is all supposed to subside at around 6 months, and in the past week or so it seemed like that was exactly what was happening. Miracle of miracles, her food was actually staying in her little belly. But then I made the mistake of commenting on this to my mom and it's all gone to hell since then. We were on the ferry on the way home from the island yesterday and she soaked through two outfits, four spit cloths and my new skirt. We left a trail of vomit around the entire ferry. Kids and old ladies would stop to make faces and coo coo cachoo at her and she would respond by laying a big slimy puddle of spitup at their feet. And so after a week of great, solid progress, here we are back at square one. Everything changes.

Day 177: That's what I get for bragging...

2006-09-12T10:16:00.000-07:00

"We have been blessed with a good sleeper." Those were my own words, I believe from Day 171. I would like to take them back, if possible. Apparently Maddie has been surfing the net and read that entry and decided to prove me wrong. She has now taken to waking up in the middle of the night, every night since then. She's not hungry, seems she just wants to exercise her lungs at 2am. I thought I would just let her CIO, but this is no normal crying. She steps it up a notch at night. So out comes the exercise ball and we bounce and bounce until she's back asleep. I have probably spent half my waking hours bouncing on that damn ball since she was born. You'd think I'd have thighs of steel by this point... unfortunately not.

Is it just me or are we in the midst of another baby boom? I don't know if all these pregnant ladies and high tech strollers have been there all along and I'm just now honing in on it because of Maddie or if there has been a sudden reproduction eruption. It's apparently become the height of style: babies are the new black. Funny, though, I don't feel particulary fashionable covered in vomit and emitting that certain special quality that comes from having not showered in three days. And Hollywood is incredibly fertile these days, too, no? What with Shiloh and Suri and the rest of the celebity offspring. It kind of drives me crazy seeing photos of those moms in US Weekly running around make-up on and midrifts flashing, babies in tow. Not too good for the old self esteem. My favourite part of that magazine is the "Stars: they're just like us!" section where they have pictures of Heidi Klum wiping her kid's nose and Angelina Jolie hauling her baby around in a sling. They're just like us. Please. Call me crazy, but I'm pretty sure Angelina isn't right now sitting in her nightgown, in a half-renovated house with no kitchen, with crusty spit-up in her hair, wondering how to spend her $550 EI paycheque.

And on that note, Maddie and I are taking a trip up to the mall this morning! The mall has become our second home, actually. We love it there. I still constantly find it bizarre how this little person who I barely know has become my new best friend. We are joined at the hip (no really, I carry her around all day in a "Hip Hammock") and even though she has no idea what I'm talking about I tell her all of my biggest plans and deepest secrets. She is the best at keeping secrets. I guess if I'm lucky one day she'll tell me hers, too.

Shopping awaits!

Day174: Milestone mania

2006-09-09T16:51:00.000-07:00

I read in a home decor magazine recently that you shouldn't begin a home renovation project if you have kids under the age of 18 months. Having not entirely taken that wisdom to heart, we started work on the house this weekend. My husband Fernando is right now in the kitchen wearing a large and scary face mask that is supposed to prevent him from breathing in the horrifying amounts of dust and mildew he is uncovering. It also makes him sound like Darth Vader when he talks, so he can't seem to resist saying ominously, "Madeline, I am your father..." every time he passes by her, to which she responds with her standard expression of startled confusion and mild concern.

With Fernando hard at work, I focussed my attention today on Maddie's milestones. Milestones are a big thing in the baby world. Most every baby book includes milestones sections telling you what your baby should be doing every week. After reading this you inevitably feel that your baby is far superior to others her age ("Maddie's been rolling over for weeks. She's obviously a genius.") or falling dangerously behind ("Sitting up? She can't sit up! Why can't she sit up??"). If you then want to move to an even higher realm of anxiety, a good way to do it is by visiting mommy message boards online. Here you will read other moms boast about their babies who are not only rolling over and sitting up, but also crawling, talking and cooking breakfast on weekends. And so, even though I know that these milestones are ridiculous and should be ignored entirely, I still catch myself trying to ensure that Maddie is "keeping up." So today we worked on crawling. Or, I guess it would be more accurate to say that I worked on crawling while she lay on her stomach and cried. She then flipped herself over onto her back (showing advanced dexterity and determination!) and looked at me as if to say, "What the hell is wrong with you?" She likes that look a lot. Anyways, I think we made some pretty substantial progress.

Day 171: Aging (not so) gracefully

2006-09-06T20:33:00.000-07:00

Ah, Maddie is in her crib, down for the count. Yes, we have been blessed with a good sleeper. I feel guilty telling other moms this, those moms stuck working the 3am shift with a crying baby every night. Normally this would be the time I would sit down with a nice cup of tea and a good book... oh, who am I kidding? In fact I pour myself a generous glass of wine and watch an hour or two of reality tv. As I type this I am awaiting the start of the Laguna Beach premier. God, how old am I? It's one thing watching the kids of Beverly Hills 90210 struggle through heartache and math tests when you're 17, but somehow it's just a tad more pathetic when you're 30, no? But I love it. I admit it.

And while we're on the topic, let me tell you a little something about being 30: it sucks. I have been 30 all of 2 1/2 weeks and already I have managed to throw my back out. Now I wish I could say this happened while training for a triathlon or scrambling up a rockface or something, but no, the extreme activity that led to this injury was... brushing my hair. I got out of the shower, picked up my brush, ran it through my hair, and the next thing I knew I was splayed awkwardly on the bathroom floor, suddenly afflicted with debilitating back pain that required my mom to half-carry me back to bed.

Now that I think about it, this is a good metaphor to describe the point I am at in life right now: somewhere between Laguna Beach and an assisted living facility. The back problem landed me in my doctor's office today. He is a family friend, I've gone to him since I was a baby, and he delivered Maddie too, which is kind of cool. Anyways, when he saw me sitting in the office today he asked, all smiles, if I was pregnant again. Were it not for the fact that I can barely walk I would have run screaming from the room. Those first few months with Maddie were so traumatic that at this point I am pretty sure she will be an only child. It started with breastfeeding which, surprise!, turns out not to be such a natural and lovely process after all, and ended with a frightening trip through the fog of postpartum depression from which I am only just now emerging. I have reached the point now where I can look at her and definitely know that the whole thing was worth it, but am far from thinking that I'd ever like to go for round two. I guess you never know for sure what's going to happen, but for now I think we will be thankful for the beautiful girl we've got and try to battle any future reproductive urges with another puppy or two!

Day 169: Jumping Bumbos!

2006-09-04T07:36:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we made our weekly pilgrimage to Babies' R' Us. Everything changes once baby arrives, but few things more than your shopping habits. I used to focus my over-consumption solely on myself, but now it's all for her (I can hear echoes of my former self : "I'm not going to spoil my baby..."). One truth I have come to learn is that no matter how brightly coloured the toy, no matter how loud the rattle, how melodic the music, how brilliant the lights, how soft or smooth or crinkly the surface, nothing will please Maddie more than the tag attached to it. She will ignore the lights & whistles every time and instead sit contentedly sucking on the tag that lists the washing instructions. And so, with this insight, you'd think I'd lay off buying all this crap, but no, of course not. So we left the store yesterday weighed down with a high chair, teether toy, pacifier clip, window screen, and something called a Bumbo chair, which my mom keeps mistakenly (and unfortunately) calling a Bimbo chair.

Now, I should exclude one baby item from the aforementioned category of crap, and say a big thank you and hallelujah to the makers of Baby Einstein dvds, which never fail to calm and entertain her. Our other wise investment was a Jolly Jumper, which she loves. However, we seem to have fallen into a kind of screwed up pattern, whereby she hangs out in the jumper while the rest of us grown ups jump and dance around her like fools. So, 45 minutes later, much to her delight, we're all wheezing and sweating while she hangs suspended watching us, laughing and drooling. But, whatever the method, it keeps her happy and occupied and so it was money well spent. Will the Bimbo - er, I mean Bumbo - join this elite category of worthwhile products? Well, as I type she is sitting in it beside me sucking on a plastic cooking spoon (which, along with her poo disposal bags, is her favourite "toy" of the moment), so it looks promising. But only time will tell.

Day 167: Can I call in sick?

2006-09-02T10:46:00.000-07:00

Motherhood is a full-time job. People are always saying that. I wish it were true, because how I miss my old 35-hour work week. How I miss lunch breaks and office gossip and conversations about things other than poopy pants and peek-a-boo. And, oh, how I miss that utlimate luxury of the working world: sick days. Some days you're just not up to anything more than staying in bed with a bottle of cough syrup and a full slate of daytime tv. Today is one of those days, but unfortunately my new boss is a bit of a slavedriver.

I should confess that my dismal outlook this morning may be in small part due to the fact that we celebrated my 30th birthday last night. And, perhaps, it has something to do with the bottle of wine I ended up drinking. As often happens when too much wine and milestone birthdays collide, I found myself thinking back to where I thought I'd be when I hit 30. When I was 10 I thought I would be hairdresser. At the time I enjoyed braiding my best friend's hair and so I figured I'd make a career of it. By the time I was 20 I'd moved away from dreams of hairdressing and towards those of corporate life. Power suits, business class travel, it all sounded so fantastic. Until I got my first job, of course. Anyways, the point of this traipse down memory lane is that whether I dreamed of high fashion or high finance, none of those dreams involved babies. And now here I am, still wandering in search of a career, but now with a baby in tow. I don't regret where I am, I guess it just goes to show you never know where you're going to end up.

Isn't it funny that you have to spend 16 years in school if you want to land a job that doesn't require a hairnet, yet you can just jump into this parenting thing with no training, no knowledge, no skills. Try as I might, I am still unable to find the right words to describe my sudden immersion into motherhood after Mads was born. "Overwhelming" comes to mind. "Insane" seems fitting. That first night in the hospital she screamed for 13 hours solid. Solid. That is no exaggeration. After the first several hours passed, I dragged myself over to the nurses' station, screeching baby propped awkwardly against my shoulder, certain that something was horribly wrong with her. Surely this could not be normal. "Some babies cry more than others," I was reassuringly told. "You've got a crier." And so began this journey into motherhood. It has certainly improved since that night, there are moments when I am sure I have the most gifted and gorgeous baby ever to be born. But then they pass, and I find myself wondering yet again if this job ever gets easier. For now I try to remind myself that while the hours may be a bitch, the benefits - that smile, that gurgly giggle - can be pretty great. And so the beat goes on.

Day 166: I need a drink

2006-09-01T15:33:00.000-07:00

My daughter Maddie is in her makeshift nursery as I type "crying it out"... a process also known as "CIO" if you are a baby-book junkie. (Really, do we need to abbreviate everything? Are we honestly that busy? I am so tired of everyone being so proud of the fact that they are busy and stressed out. I was reading the other day about a doctor who said she was just far too busy to have her period, so she was advocating some kind of pill that supressed it. She actually said that her very busy medical practice doesn't allow her the time to go to the washroom to change a tampon, like we should all be so impressed. Please. But I digress...)

Maddie is CIO. There are some super human moms out there who don't let their babies do this, but I am not one of them. Over the past 5 months I have come to know my limits, and it turns out that struggling with a tired, screeching, red-faced baby falls just outside of them. I've tried the alternative, but in the end both of us just ended up tired, screeching, and red-faced and that doesn't do anybody any good. So instead she CsIO and I listen to her do it over the baby monitor with a guilty conscience and heavy heart and wonder for the umpteenth time if mid-afternoon is too early to have a glass of wine.

I have been a mom now for 166 days, and can honestly say that I know little more than I did when I started, so if you are looking for advice you are probably in the wrong place. But if you are just curious to see how a newbie mom is getting by, then by all means you are welcome to share in my random musings on the joys, challenges & general insanity of it all.

And on that note, the CIO is not going too well. We've hit minute 14 of her 15 minute limit and while she taunts me with brief periods of silence, the poor girl is definitely not sleeping. So it looks like that wine will have to wait!