Dirty, dirty girl...

Overheard at the breakfast table this morning:

"Mummy, don't eat from yer box!"

Ahem.

I believe the Boy meant to say "don't eat from THE box". (I was eating cereal directly out of the box...bad mummy).

*******

And for Mad - because there aren't enough photos of me - my six word autobiography:

Present, but not yet accounted for.

Welcome to Motherhood, Mrs Earth

Top ten reasons I am a Bad (not Michael Jackson Bad, just plain old not good) Mother:

1. I didn't throw a birthday party with lots of kids for the Boy when he turned 3 because I was too tired. We just had a small family gathering - and not even at our house.
2. The Boy is very happy if he sees that the sun is up when he awakens: "I didn't wake up too early, Mummy!"
3. The Boy thought the jelly beans in his Easter basket were to be saved for peeing in the potty. It never occurred to him that he could have them just because. (I didn't even think to get an actual basket for the Little Guy and had to scramble to find a vessel the night before)
4. In this neighbourhood of "roll over and dial", the Little Guy is not yet on any daycare waiting list.
5. I am very short-tempered with everyone. About everything.
6. I ask that the Boy be patient and helpful with the Little Guy, but am not consistently modelling that behaviour myself, and I am the ADULT.
7. The Boy said "I can't help you right now" the other day, and I know exactly from whom he got that particular phrase.
8. I try to talk the the Little Guy out of crying so much, as if he's capable of listening to reason.
9. When I can't take it any longer, sometimes I just let the Little Guy scream without even trying to comfort him.
10. I have yet to drop daycare days because I am overwhelmed at the thought of being alone with both boys all day long.

Dream Feed

I pad down the narrow hallway and enter the dark bedroom. In the blackness, I feel for the sound machine. The patter of rain abruptly stops and the room falls silent. I reach into the bassinette and my hands find the swaddled baby with ease. I take him out of the room. His head angles back and his lips purse, but he is still fast asleep.

I walk down the hall to the nursery and place him on the carpet using the animal footprints as a marker so I know exactly where to put him when I'm finished. I unswaddle, careful to keep the fabric in the correct position for his return. There isn't enough room between the crib and the dresser for all the fabric. There is a lot of fabric. This baby, not yet five months old, is the size of a nine month baby. Two legs shoot up in the air, and he rolls to his left side. They shoot up again, and he rolls to his right. Over and over the baby gymnastics. I fire up the computer and watch him roll. This is my favourite part.

I heft the boy onto my left shoulder and grab the breastfeeding pillow. I sit down on the computer chair, unhook my bra and put the baby to the breast. I read blogs and try to comment. I can type with two hands if he's feeding well, one if he's not. He's usually not. I question the need to stay up late doing this if he going to barely eat. He shoves his hand in my shirt. He is one of two men who can get away with such a bold move. It's a lovely hand.

I burp him and a trickle of milk rolls down his chin. I switch sides and he starts to rub his left ear obsessively. Is it itchy? I sit him up to burp him again and he rubs his face against the receiving blanket, settling in. He is sleeping sitting up. A toe twitches. An eyebrow raises. A soft smile passes his lips.

I put him back on the swaddling fabric and his eyes fly open. Now he is awake. He squawks and struggles, but I swaddle on. No sleep for the unbound. I try to make sure it's tight enough to give Houdini pause. I shift him deftly to football position and sit back down at the computer. I read some more, the baby's head jiggling on my leg. If I want to comment on a post now, I must hunt and peck. I hate long verification codes.

Eyes are closing slowly and I hear a wail from the Boy's room. I pause, heart in throat. Silence. Was that the end, or the beginning?

I continue jiggling. I'm falling asleep myself. Soft, rhythmic breaths. I get up and walk down the hall. I turn the sound machine on. I fumble around till I find the rain setting. I tiptoe out. As I leave, I hope the lazy feed is enough to nourish.

And I hope the swaddle is tight, or it's going to be a long night.

New Mom on the Block

I met her in theatre school, and immediately wanted to be her friend. Unfortunately, the first year class was big, and she ran with the cool kids. I was a nerdy McNerdster, and very shy. In second year, the class was smaller, we got more of a chance to interact and found out that we had a lot in common. By third year, we were fast friends. I remember thinking to myself that she could be one of those people - a friend for life. You don't meet them often, and when you do, it's rarely in high school or university. She let me stay at her place when I couldn't stand to go back to my apartment. She was there for me when my hair turned green (yes, like Anne of Green Gables). She taught me how to be a queen in Hamlet. We even played husband and wife in The Crucible (long story).

After university, we lost track of each other for a while and I was very sad. Life happens, though, and things get in the way. Somehow when I couldn't take it any longer, we found a way to reconnect, and I'm so very glad we did. She stood up for me at my wedding, and we found out that we were pregnant at the same time too. Tai King was born four months after the Boy, and he and the Boy are good friends too. Oi Ying was born four months before the Little Guy, and they are just getting to know each other. We're talking of an arranged marriage (ha, ha!).

She is a wonderful mom, a beautiful spirit, and my favourite person in the whole world who is not (yet) related to me. She tries each and every day to make life magical for her two children, and this is reflected in her writing. And now she has started a blog. I always thought she should. She is ten times the writer that I will ever be. Won't you please stop by and say hello to the new mom on the block: Blocks Of Stone? She is person worth getting to know. I know from experience.

Parenting or Personality?

We were out at the No Frills not too long ago, shopping for some last minute dinner (PC Butter Chicken, if you're interested...no?...anyways..). The Boy, eschewing the stroller, was running around ankle-biter style, endlessly commenting on the things in the store and asking repeatedly for chocolate. The lady behind us in line smiled and remarked on how happy and well-behaved the Boy seemed to be. I didn't hear the comment exactly because I was off somewhere wrangling one of the kids - I can't remember which but does it really matter? My current occupation is Kid Wrangler Extraordinaire, and if I'm not with one kid, then I'm with the other. Let's move on to my point. Mr Earth replied that "Yes, we're very lucky". To which, the lady answered:

"Oh no, it's not luck, it's the parenting."

At first I thought that it was a lovely compliment, and I was quite flattered. Ever since then, though, I've been mulling it over in my head and wondering if it really is our parenting that has created the Boy, or whether the Boy is simply a good-natured, (mostly) easygoing kid.

Before you start thinking that this is a braggy bragamondo post, I've had people describe the Boy as a "handful" (yeah, that waiter didn't get a tip, nosiree..) and I've had my fair share of disdainful looks while the Boy is full out tantruming (is that a word?) in his stroller. Screaming. At. The. Top. Of. His. Lungs. Usually because I turned left when he wanted to go right, or brought fishy crackers when he wanted bunny ones.

You see, I don't think we've done anything especially wonderful and ground-breaking as parents. Just tried to be there for him, play with him, talk to him and treat him like a person. And try not to scream too much, even when we're tired. And we're tired too much. I'd like to believe that all the Parenting books I've read have shaped me into SuperMom, but the reality is that I read those books and think "What a great idea!", try to incorporate the idea into our lives, but my mind is a sieve, and great ideas go out the window when I'm tired and someone is screaming. Or I'm tired. Wait, I think I said that already..

Whatever we did right with the Boy, is something I'd like to repeat with the Little Guy. I'd like him to fool people into thinking he's well behaved too. Heh, heh. But how can we do that when we didn't "do" anything? Or worse, how can we do anything at all if personality is the the key, and not parenting?

Mostly I'm an average parent. A lot of times, I'm rather poor. Sometimes, I have moments of brilliance. Those moments, though, are few and far between.

Gigantibaby!

At his four month appointment yesterday...SURVEY SAYS... a whopping 18.2 lbs! At 25.4 inches long, that is one dense little mound of baby. No wonder my back hurts. But seriously, how can I refuse a face like this:

**Seriously cool shirt stylings by Sin.

Perchance to Dream

For the love of all that is holy, will someone please tell me how to get an infant to sleep - and stay asleep - without the aid of swaddling?

Last night, Mr Earth and I took advantage of the Boy's weekend visit to Nana's house to try out a "sleep bag" with the Little Guy instead of the usual swaddling blanket. We are firm believers in the Swaddle at Casa Earth. We used it with the Boy until - dare I say it? - six months of age. Because of the Swaddle, we had a kid that slept through the night from about four months of age, if my memory serves me correctly. We actually only stopped doing it at six months, because we went to my parents cottage for the weekend, and I thought he would be too hot without air conditioning. The first night, there were one or two wakings that were easily resolved and the next night, he slept through with no problems. We never swaddled again. I credit the Swaddle for a three-year-old who is a pretty solid sleeper. We've had some bad nights of course, but they are few and far between.

The Little Guy, though, is a bit of a sticky situation. I am more than willing to keep swaddling as he's still young. However, as I've mentioned before, we are raising the GigantiBaby. THE SWADDLING BLANKET DOESN'T FIT. Ack. This is the piece of material that I got when I went to a fabric store, and asked for the largest square of material they could produce. Because as seasoned Swaddlers know, swaddling doesn't work unless the blanket is a true square. Swaddling is fussy business enough as it is without bringing Mr Rectangle into the picture. No way, hosé.

So last night we tried the sleep bag. It did not go well. Wait, that isn't quite what I mean. It SUCKED. We got about two stretches where he slept for an hour, but otherwise he woke up every ten or fifteen minutes. All. Night. Long. Hello Sleep Deprivation! I wish I could say that it's nice to see you, but I hate to lie. The Little Guy didn't want to eat. He would take a soother, and go back to sleep. As the night wore on, I had to hold down his arms and legs to keep him from waking himself up. That got old pretty quickly, I tell you. A couple of times upon getting up from bed, I swayed like a drunken sailor from sheer exhaustion. Releasing one arm at a time isn't going to work yet, because it's precisely that - the wild jerking of his arms - that is keeping him awake. My gut feeling is that he still needs the comfort, warmth and restraint of the Swaddle to keep him asleep.

So tell me, oh wise internet mothers, how on earth do you non-swaddlers get your babies to stay asleep? Cause I have no trouble getting the Little Guy to fall asleep, but I certainly don't consider sleeping in fifteen minute segments to be sufficient for my sanity. Is there some trick that I'm missing here? Did I skip this class at Parenting School? Or, does anyone know where I can get swaddling blankets for the full-figured baby?

And hey - while I'm asking - do they make swaddling blankets for young adults? I want to plan ahead. I'm just sayin'.

Mis-Monikered?

Has anyone seen my Little Guy?


Perhaps you remember this face:



Apparently someone fed the open mouth:

I used to hold this little bundle of swaddling clothes in one arm easily:

Now, it's a two-handed heft:

I do remember thinking how scrawny he looked in this photo:

And now the only scrawny thing is Mr Corbeau on his sleeper:

Four months old today, and the only thing these photos have in common is that he is still scratching the bejeezus out of his face. My filing and trimming attempts have been total failures. All I know is, this kid needs to learn how to walk, and fast. My back is shot from carrying him around all day. Lord knows he could live for a couple of days off the rolls on his legs. A mother at daycare peered into the carseat and remarked:

"He doesn't miss a meal, heh! heh!"

Like I'm feeding him candy bars or something.

I'm not, by the way. I don't share my chocolate with anyone.

But let's just say that the Little Guy has...blossomed...into a Very Big Guy. At our two month appointment, he was just shy of 15 pounds. I'm frightened of what he's going to be at our next check up. More importantly, my back is frightened.

I'm not one to make name changes willy-nilly, but it feels somehow misleading to write about my youngest son under the label of The Little Guy these days. Technically, it still fits because he is the youngest. And anyways what would I - could I - change it to without it sounding vaguely insulting?

Mr Earth thinks he looks rather like Kingpin, but I have issues with naming my child after a supervillain.

If we got him the right outfit, he would make a dandy Humpty Dumpty - but as I recall that story didn't end all that well. Better keep brainstorming.

If it was summertime, and his legs were bared, I would have no doubt that someone would reference the Michelin Man.

I would be lying if I said I hadn't called him a little cutie potato. But how would I explain that to him when he's older and finds the blog? Sorry kiddo, we called you're brother "The Boy", but the best we could come up with for you was a random tuber reference..but we looove potatoes...

Can anyone out there think of a good name? I'm stumped. He's scratching the hell out of his face right now as I type and feed -- perhaps I should call him Baby Scissorhands?

Walk Like a Man

Friday morning, 6:15am. I hear a small hand knocking at the door. Snug in my bed but not yet asleep after an early morning feeding, I don't immediately register the sound. Once I do, I think it must be coming from the residents next door (they keep early hours and other people's kids). I close my eyes again. Next I hear a small voice calling my name:

"Mamma? ...Mamma? ...Mamma!"

I sigh and throw off the covers, sleep denied. I open the bedroom door. No one is there. The knocking starts again. It's coming from inside the Boy's room. I open the door. The Boy is standing just inside. I turn on the light.

"I had a wonderful sleep!" the Boy volunteers.

"Did you now?" I sigh again, required to start my day long before my wishes.

So much has happened in the last four months. We've come so far without really going anywhere that I forget, sometimes, that it has been a relatively short time since we've become a family of four. I forget, too, that while it has been a big adjustment for us all, the biggest strides have had to be made by the Boy. He was aware of the changes to come but completely unprepared for what they entailed. He has been, for many months now, very excited that he is a Big Boy. But it wasn't until the baby arrived that he really had to prove it. Test his mettle.

All at once, he's being asked to use the potty, learn to dress himself, stop sucking his thumb, walk instead of be carried, help with the baby, and on and on and on till I'm surprised that he doesn't retreat into his pre-brother world and hide away, a little fly stuck in amber. There he would be showcased in crystalline perfection, with no room for salty tears and banging fists. No one would see his disappointment when no pee comes out. Or hear his quiet query in the stroller: "Can I suck my thumb?" Or see him trip on a completely level floor.

What would they see? A Boy who has a sunny disposition and a heart of gold. A Boy who is envelopped in a four kid bear-hug before he can get his coat off at daycare. A Boy whose perceived faults only make him more perfect. If love were enough, he would know that he can only be wonderful in our eyes. He would know that exasperation and nagging, and yes, even involuntarily harsh words are simply a result of the circumstances, and no reflection on how we feel about him.

Because there is plenty of time to grow up. And if he can't figure out how to open his bedroom door, that only means we will get to love him that much closer, that much longer.

Because I'm a lusty wench..

The List. We all have one (don't we?) - of people that we would be allowed to sleep with should they ever come a-knockin' at our door. I think it's a sign of a healthy marriage. The Husband knows that if Christina Ricci started wooing him, I would quickly and quietly bow out of the way. And if he brought Ashley Judd home, I just might join in the fun. In fact, the Husband simply loves to tell me about all the gorgeous stars he would leave me for. And hey, if they want to sleep with him - all the power to him. I would be disappointed in him if he said no.

What the Husband doesn't particularly like, is hearing about all the guys that I would leave HIM for. Suddenly, the conversation is not so fun...

Join me over at MBT to read about my not-so-secret TV crushes

Can you recycle a Sitz bath?

So what, exactly, is the statute of limitations on getting your shit together after having a baby? Because although it seems like all I do is sit around on my ever-lovin' butt all day long, alternately playing with or holding one kid or the other, I still don't seem to have any time to do anything of consequence.

My house is a mess and it's not getting any cleaner. I actually avoid inviting people over because it would entail an hour-long mad dash to make the place only mildly less embarrassing than it is now. I feel like a heel for not returning invites, and yet the prospect of cleaning is just too daunting to consider. There are piles of gifts from Christmas and birthdays with no place to put them. There are even larger piles of mail that I don't seem to have the time or the energy to open, much less do anything with them. Except the bills, of course. I open those, and invariably end up paying them late. And why does my hair, which I am losing at an alarmingly rapid rate, have the sentience to avoid every single attempt I make to wipe it up from the bathroom walls and floors? I swear, if anyone comes to our house, they would think that a woolly mammoth lives here, not a family of four average Canadians. Oh, and that Sitz bath? Still in the bathroom from November. You know, just in case I want to use it again, or something. I'm not entirely sure what to do with that.

Don't get me started on the garbage and recycling that has to live in our house because we keep getting so much snow that it takes a fully-outfitted winter trek to make it to the garbage bins...Or the neverending piles of laundry either, for that matter. Out damn laundry! Out I say!! Good day to you.

On top of all this, or perhaps at the root of it, all is my barely concealed guilt every time that I send the Boy off to daycare. I know he loves it there, so that is not the problem, but I feel somehow like I've failed as a parent because I can't handle the two of them on my own. I've had them both home on the many (many!) snow days that we've had lately, and I swear that by the end of the day, I am literally swaying on my feet from exhaustion. I think if I had them both home all day every day, I would be a mere shell of the person that I once was. You would be able to talk to me if you like, but I would just stare blankly at all the pretty shapes and colours. Seriously, how do all you full-time moms handle it? Can you really do it all on your own without help?? Kudos to you if you can. Please enlighten me on how to be a better mother. Because right now? I feel like a big fat failure. I'm going to have to take "multi-tasking" off my resume, that's for sure.

Study In Green Crayon

for Wordless Wednesday

Beautiful

The snowstorms started January 1st, and have placed a heavy weight on my heart. More and more each day, I just want to pick up stakes and move somewhere with blue sky, green grass and leaves gently swaying in the balmy air. I'm tired, so tired. Tired of cancelled plans, delays, shovelling. Tired of people bustling by without saying hello. Tired of feeling trapped in a house I love, but can't stand to look at anymore. Tired. And sad. And tired of feeling tired and sad. Because I know I am blessed. I have two beautiful children that make my heart smile, a husband who is the person you can't wait to grow old with, lovely friends and loving family. So here is my Friday resolution:

To find amazement in the weather, not disappointment.
To find challenge in the snowbanks, not despair.
To find generosity on the roads, not anger.
To find playfulness in the attempt to get two children out the door in winter, not automaton precision.
To find health in the exploding diapers, not mountains of laundry.
To find growth in the tantrums, not annoyance.
To find music in the screams, not dischord.
To find peace and solitude in the day, not loneliness and isolation.
To find joy in the everyday, not tedium.
To find a happy family in the mess, not more to clean.
To find togetherness in the demands of parenting, not separation.
To find a mother in the haggard looks, not ugliness.
Because I am as beautiful as I feel.

Thanks, Carole.

I Heart Motherbumper!

Have you seen the new widget on my sidebar?? It's wicked awesome. Motherbumper made it for me to have a cool way to update readers on any new post of mine over at MBT. It's also pretty frakin' amazing that she made in the midst of sleep deprivation. She rocks. I wish I had half her talent.

Yes, in case you're wondering, it is February 14th and I'm posting about my lovin' for a fellow bloggy friend. Valentine's Day has been kind of sucky so far. After making 20 pretty neat (even if I do say so myself) Valentine's presents for the Boy's daycare friends, I got to the daycare Monday morning, only to find a note in his cubby stating that I need 36 presents, not 20 (due to the part-timers). Half the crafty stuff for the presents had been bought weeks ago, and were now sold out. So I spent the better part of this winter-forsaken-wonderland running around town trying to find substitutes.

As I was making these 16 extra Valentines last night, Mr Earth turns to me and asks "Do you want me to buy you something for Valentine's Day?" Ah, can you feel the love? Ten years in and we still have the spark.

Have I mentioned how much I hate winter yet? The car got stuck this morning - half in traffic and half out. Thank god my neighbour was there to help dig me out. It also got stuck as I was trying to park it again. More digging. More fun! Between that, being trapped in the house more days than I would like due to the snowy snow and the windy wind, almost having a car accident eventhough I was driving 20km per hour, and people who don't shovel their sidewalks, I'm pretty much done with winter. It can go now, thank you.

But just to prove that I do still believe in happy endings, check out the Boy's love story below:

What kind of mom are you?

So, you're alone in the house with two kids. Your three-year-old is, thank god, asleep. Your three-month-old just had the largest poo on the face of the planet and is leaking everywhere. You're downstairs in the playroom with a cream-coloured carpet. Your leftover pizza is reheating under the grill, and is going to start burning in about a minute. You decide to change the smelly bum, so you put a change pad down on the carpet and take off the diaper quickly, knowing the baby will undoubtedly poo again in short order. You smell something charred coming from the kitchen, and as you do, you notice a ginormous centipede making it's way across the carpet towards you and the baby. What do you do first? Do you:

A) Kill the bug.

B) Rescue the pizza from the oven.

C) Change the diaper.

If you answered...

a) You're The INSECTOPHOBE: After all, poo can be cleaned up and you can always find something else to eat. Disgusting, vomitous, overly large bugs in the house, on the other hand, are not acceptable. No, not in the least. Die, bug, die!

b) You're The GOURMANDE: Healthy, edible meals are your priority. Poo isn't the end of the world, and the bug may get mired in the feces, thereby killing two birds with one stone. You need to feed the machine, if you're going to get through the rest of the evening alone.

c) You're The LAZOID: This baby is a poo machine, and your carpets are cream! Did I mention the carpets are CREAM? That may not have been your best idea, but cream they are, though, and unchangeable. You scoff at people who say that carpets can be cleaned, and claim they are leading a chimerical existence. Burnt pizza is a charming foible of yours, and bugs are God's creatures too. Besides, the bug is gone now. Out of sight, out of mind. Almost. And the burnt pizza? Yummy... Not.

***If you haven't guessed, I chose option C.

Report Card #3

It's always fun to see your kid from the viewpoint of others, so I love these little "Child Development Reviews" that they give from our daycare. I pretty much think the sun shines out of the Boy's arse (when he's not being a maniac), so I need some perspective. My comments are in italics:

Language Development

[The Boy] is a very verbal child and is not afraid to ask for help. He always has wonderful stories to tell and is an active participant during circle. [The Boy] enjoys singing songs with Rob, listening to stories during circle time and he is often heard singing his favourite songs throughout the day.

Yup, not afraid to ask for help, although "Mummy help" usually means "Mummy do." Lucky for him I'm a sucker for good manners. As long as he says please, I'm pretty much his puppet on a string. The Boy has just started to develop his own interests when it comes to music. This is really funny until he asks you repeatedly to sing a song that you've never heard of, or until you have to listen to Speed Turtle for the gazillionth time.

Cognitive Development

[The Boy] has a wonderful imagination. He is often found in the dramatic area with several other children role playing, or cooking lunch for babies and animals. [The Boy] is able to recognize some letters, especially those in his name, and count objects consecutively. He enjoys putting together puzzles alone or together with other children.

The question is - what are these babies and animals having for lunch? And why doesn't he make lunch for me?? I'm really busy sitting on my ass and eating bonbons, after all. I digress. I would disagree with recognizing "some" letters, I would say that he recognizes about 23 of the 26 letters in the alphabet. I would also disagree with the counting objects consecutively, unless you think "1 2, 3, 5, 9, 14, 15, 16" is consecutive, that is.

Motor Development (Fine/Gross)

[The Boy] has wonderful fine motor skills. He hold pencils with the pincer grasp when he is creating his many daily masterpieces. [The Boy] has been practicing very hard at independently taking off his slippers, as well as putting on his boots. Way to go, [The Boy]!! Outside, [The Boy] enjoys riding the bicycles, building sand castles, playing in the playhouse and playing soccer and hockey.

Other than the part about the pincer grasp and daily masterpieces, this comment is clearly meant for another child. We have a really cool bike that we got last Christmas that is gathering dust in the shed. We also have sports equipment that rarely gets touched. But we do have a LOT of artwork. I mean, a LOT. I'm thinking of selling it on Ebay. Didn't some guy make a film recently about his kid's artwork being indistinguishable from modern art?? I stand to make thousands. To support my bonbon habit, of course.

Food Consumption / Sleeping Behaviours

Most days [The Boy] is a great eater, often asking for second servings. [The Boy] sleeps at least an hour every day.

Sure, he's a great eater at our house, if I serve only pasta and crackers. I swear, he goes to daycare solely to avoid scurvy.

Social Interaction (Peers/Adults)

[The Boy] is very social. He is always playing with many friends in the dramatic area or working together to build castles and cars with the blocks. [The Boy] has no fears about expressing his emotions or concerns to peers and adults.

He must get this from his dad.

Inappropriate Behaviours to Monitor (if appl)

N/A

Ha! Obviously, he saves the tantrums for me.

Additional Comments

[The Boy] is a joy to have in the classroom. He always has a smile on his face and is always ready to joke around and have fun.

This is the Boy at his best. I know I'm biased, but I think he'spretty fantastic little man. We're very lucky.


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In other news, check out the new bling on my sidebar, awarded by the lovely KC at Where's My Cape. I'm blushing.




I'd like to pass on the blingy goodness to another excellent one-handed blogger, Kgirl at The Kid's are Alright. Eventhough she only gets to post when the stars align and the kids are asleep (I hear ya, man), every post is gold.

What I wish I had said the other day...

...to the otherwise very nice teacher at our daycare centre...

"Believe me, there is no one else - with the obvious exception of Mr Earth - who would like to see the Boy using the potty more than me. We have introduced the subject time and again, only to be met just shy of complete resistance. By complete resistance, I mean shouting 'NO I DON'T WANNA GO TO THE POTTY!' and other similar choice phrases. I fully support the daycare's attempt to get him interested in potty training. In fact, in the end, I believe it may be the only way to get him to use the potty - he has always been a child who wants to do what everyone else is doing. The reason(s) that I have not pushed the subject harder to date is because, in my qualified opinion, he has not shown any of the typical signs of potty readiness other than wanting to buy new underwear (and that, only because he likes presents, like his mum). He does not tell me when he has to 'go'. He is not at all uncomfortable wearing wet diapers, pull-ups, or even underwear. He doesn't show any resistance to wearing diapers or pull-ups. He has difficulty taking off his pants and underwear, and usually asks us for help in doing so on the few occasions that he actually tries. Need I go on? Also, we just had a new addition to our family a few months ago, and it's taking some time to adjust, however amiable and easy-going the Boy may happen to be. I RESENT the implication that I am not potty training our child because it "might be more work for me". It's more work for me to change two sets of diapers, instead of sending one child off to the potty. I may be exhausted from tending a newborn, but I CAN see the big picture. Plus, I don't have a lot of money and I am spending upwards of $60 a week to keep the shit from hitting the floor, to be crass. Because I respect you and your experience with children, I am going to try out your suggestion and spend a couple of days of having him just wear underwear, and see what happens. Frankly, I don't have much faith that it will make a difference. BUT, as I said before, I DO want him to be potty trained. I was just hoping that it would happen more agreeably, with support from the most important factor in the equation - the Boy.

Thank you for your input."

For Matilda Rose [MBT]

It is only fitting that this week's Musical Monday be a tribute to the sudden death of actor Heath Ledger. To tell the truth, I didn't believe the Husband when he told me the news. He's too young, I thought, you must mean someone else! And then, of course, my mind strayed to the inescapable conclusion that he was just another young star who fell by the wayside, into the path of drugs and destruction.

Admittedly, he's not an actor who fell under my radar. I had a mini-crush on him in the 2001 movie, A Knight's Tale, but I just thought he was an especially pretty young actor, not necessarily Someone of Particular Talent. The Husband and I both couldn't understand why his fans were touting him as the 'finest young actor of his generation'. We have yet to see Brokeback Mountain, though, so maybe we have missed out. It's on my must-see list, but the Husband has no interest, so it keeps getting pushed back.

Read more at MommyBlogsToronto.

So Soothe Me!

They say there's a sucker born every minute. I don't know about that, but there were certainly two born in our household.

When you've got a couple of suckers on your watch, what do you do? Well, you end up jumping into the fray of the ongoing Mommy-battle: The Thumb, or The Soother? In one corner, we have The Thumb. It's all natural, can't be lost (we hope), the first thing that babies explore and the go-to choice for sucking. In the other corner, we have The Soother. You lose them constantly, have to disinfect them repeatedly, babies have to learn how to keep them in their mouths, BUT they are theoretically easier to get rid of later on, and will supposedly cause less dental problems down the line.

The Boy was a finger-sucker from very early on. Ensconced in the blissful two-on-one days of new parenting, we allowed it. Encouraged it even. I (all too vividly) recall hours of sitting on a couch with a (clean) finger stuck in his mouth. You couldn't go anywhere or do anything, but whatever. He eventually found his own thumb, and hasn't looked back since. For me, it's not all the big a deal. I sucked my thumb until I was five. My parents tried to get me to stop, but the more they harassed me, the harder I sucked. I just did it behind their backs. I did stop, eventually, but it was on my own time. On my own terms.

You'd be surprised at how much flak we get from the public, though. Daycare teachers have made passing comments about it. Nothing offense, but still. The ladies who run the local fruit market chastise the Boy when he sucks his thumb. I let that go, but it's a struggle. Total strangers have actually reached into my stroller and pulled the still wet thumb from his mouth. That made me mad. Now that he's three, we're trying to gently discourage him from the thumb-sucking. From everything I've read though, it isn't a real problem dental-wise till they're four or five.

Not surprisingly, it turns out that the Little Guy is a sucker too. If anything, he a bigger sucker than his brother. I've checked to make sure he's not hungry. He just wants to suck. A lot. And he gets mighty angry if he can't. Gone are the days, though, when we can leisurely sit and, well, give the Little Guy the finger. And you can't get anything done at all. Not. One. Thing. I'm not trying to be a Super Mom here, either. There are just some things that I have to do. Want to get the Boy dressed. SCREAM! Want to make the Boy some breakfast? SCREAM! Want to give the Boy a bath? SCREAM! Want to feed, dress or bathe myself? SCREAM, SCREAM, SCREAM! And then just to change things up a little, he will SCREAM A LITTLE LOUDER!!!

So this time around, we are trying to introduce the Soother. The Boy didn't take to it at all, but we only made half-hearted attempts really. This time, the Soother is a survival mechanism. I've always been slightly opposed to soothers though. I've seen some parents use it to shut their kids up, instead of the intended purpose of soothing a child who really doesn't want anything else than to suck. It left a bad taste in my mouth, and it stuck with me. It's all too easy to offer the kid the soother anytime he cries, rather than seeing what's actually wrong first. In fact, I'm already worried that I've fallen into that trap. But I simply don't know what else to do. It's impossible to function normally with an underscoring of SCREAMING every time you have to do necessary household tasks. So far, it's helped a bit, but the Little Guy is having difficulty keeping it in his mouth.

How do you feel about Soothers vs Thumbs? Is one better than the other? Is one wrong, and one right? And how in the heck do you get the kid to keep the pacifier in his mouth if sucking is what he truly wants to do?? I don't know if I'm doing the right/best/smart thing here, I'm just doing what I can to get through the day. I may regret it later. Let's just hope that the "later" is a long time coming.

And now I'm going to go and try to dry out my water-logged finger.

New Year, New Mama

Hey, have you gone over and checked out MommyBlogsToronto lately? It's a new year, and we're gettin' our groove on 2008-style. I'm trying out a new feature called Musical Mondays, where I pick one of my favourite Broadway tunes and discuss why I like it. It's my bid to open up people's eyes to just how good Broadway can be. (Although, I really want to do it because I just learnt how to post videos from YouTube and it's so fun...!)

Hop on over and check out a great song from You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown.

Oh, and there's other great writers there, yada, yada, yada...yeah, you should read them too. They write good and don't just post videos all the time.

The Kiss of Death

I've been accused in the past of being somewhat negative in my outlook. While it's not entirely untrue, I think this assessment gives you the wrong impression. I prefer the term "cautiously optimistic". But I can see how people could confuse the two.

For example, if you ask how my day is going, I will more than likely say "Not bad." or "Okay." I will never say "Fabulous!" or "This is the best day I've ever had!" (Unless, of course, something undeniably, life-changingly wonderful has actually occurred.) In part, because I find these Pollyanna answers to be somewhat annoying - like the people who smile all the time. I mean, I'm all for smiling when the occasion warrants it, but smiling 24/7? Not so much. It kind of creeps me out. But mostly it's because, in my experience, as soon as I say something is going well, it almost always starts to go downhill. I call it "the Kiss of Death".

Phrases you won't hear me say? "The Little Guy is a really good sleeper." Cause you know he won't be sleeping that night. "The Boy never misbehaves." Not unless I wan't him to throw his toys at me and scream "Mommy is a poo-poo head!" at the top of his lungs. "It's easy to manage two kids." Because total mayhem would ensue.

You also won't see me tattooing "Mr Earth - true love forever" anywhere on my personage. I don't really want to find my sorry husband-less self walking the streets. Or telling people that I'm smart and talented. They won't have to look hard for evidence to the contrary. Or buying clothes that are my pre-pregnancy size on the theory that I will fit into them soon enough. I invariably start eating all the chocolate in sight if I do.

But what do you do when someone asks you a question point-blank? At my post-partum appointment Monday, the doctor asked me if I had had any blocked milk ducts. Well, to be perfectly honest, I hadn't. So I was forced to answer no. And what do I have right now? A blocked milk duct. A painful, red, hard-as-a rock boob, and a baby who somehow manages to always hit or kick me in the chest. Thanks Doctor. Kiss of Death indeed.

Triptych

You're 3 today! Has it been that long? There's so much I want to say, so much that should be said to mark this most important of occasions, but the truth is that I am dog tired. (Does this really apply? Is the modern dog's life truly so tiring?? I digress...). As I stare at the screen, the only coherent thoughts I can muster are these - 3 times 3:

Happy Birthday Boy!

I'm so proud.

I love you.

There are worse things I could do...

My 35th birthday so far:

2:30am Feed the Little Guy

3:30am Little Guy finally swaddled and asleep in bed. Answer emails (What? You don't answer emails in the wee smalls? Pshaw.)

3:50am Boy awakens from nightmare. Convince him that new stuffed puppy will protect him.

4:00am Go to bed.

4:30am Still awake.

5:00am Still awake.

5:30am Still awake.

5:50am Fall asleep. Have nightmare about Mr Earth losing his job.

6:00am Boy wakes up and demands to watch "Bo on the Go" which is a terrible show that is not on till EIGHT O'CLOCK.

6:05am Consider PVRing Bo on the Go, but don't want anyone to think I actually like it.

6:15am Bring Boy into bedroom, turn on Treehouse and go back to sleep.

6:30am The Little Guy wakes up. Feed him.

7:00am Change and dress the Little Guy in Abominable Snowman outfit:

7:15am Come to terms with fact that Little Guy is going to hate me for this when he's older. Laugh maniacally.

7:30am Put Little Guy in bassinette so that he can scream while brush teeth and hair, and put on some clothes.

7:45am Dress and change the Boy. Tell him for the gazillionth time that it's TOO EARLY for Bo on the Go.

8:00am Watch dreaded Bo on the Go. This show stinks. Realize I never should have promised he could watch it.

8:30am Try on wonderful new chef hat from master sewer Sage. It fits like a dream and looks cute as hell. This girl has some mad sewing skillz:

8:35am Discover that somehow stupid Pull-up has leaked and the Boy is soaking wet. Change the Boy

8:40am Since said leak happened while Boy was lolling in my bed watching damned Bo on the Go, must now strip bed and do load of laundry.

8:40am Feed the Boy and the Little Guy at the same time. Think I should become honorary Vishnu Goddess.

9:00am Load boys in car and drop the Boy off at daycare.

9:30am Come home and decide to clean out kitchen cupboard as the Little Guy is sleeping nicely in car seat and dread waking him. I rarely clean, but when I do, it must be done RIGHT NOW.

10:00am Go to put sheets in bed and realize I haven't folded the laundry from yesterday. Crap. Fold laundry and put it away.

10:15am The Little Guy is still sleeping in the car seat. I am a Bad Mother. Take Little Guy out of car seat and put him in comfy vibrating chair in the hopes that I can shower while he sleeps. He does. Hallelujah!

11:30am Feed Little Guy.

12:00pm Remake entire bed.

12:30pm Entertain Little Guy by reading him the last 5 pages of my novel out loud. (What?! He told me he likes it! And he gets to learn lots of fancy words..)

1:00pm Attempt to make and eat lunch one-handed while the Little Guy screams.

1:30pm Nap with the Little Guy. Thank the lord for small favours.

3:00pm Feed the Little Guy.

3:30pm Blog while holding increasingly heavy baby. (What?! He told me he likes it when I blog..)

4:09pm Try to fix spacing problems in HTML and give up. Too tired.

How's your day so far??

Memories of 2007

Sounds like a President's Choice marinade, no? Although I'm 3 days late (No, I'm not pregnant. Ew! Way too soon for that..) to usher in the new year, I thought the passing of the old into new should be marked somehow. Many bloggers are posting their first sentences from each month of the last year, or linking to their best post or just giving a summary of what went on in 2007. Well, I don't want to bore you (any more than I already do), so that's out for me. Instead, I thought I would post a few samplings of the Boy's loquaciousness.

The Boy, when not given over to tantrums as is the norm these days, can be most charming and funny. Here are a few of my faves...

1. On seeing a Santa decoration on a porch or in a window...

Boy: "A Santa, Mummy! A Santa! Look, mama, a Santa!"

Nomo: Oh, hi Santa!

Boy: (with disdain) "Nooo, he can't talk, he's a decoration."

Apparently, I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed.


2. Just ask him what the Cracker Man (read: the Nutcracker) says...

"I broke my peanut!!"

Let me just say that it took us a long time to figure out he was saying peanut. We thought it was something entirely differently...and rather painful.


3. Heard at least once every morning, afternoon and evening...

"Can I paint now? I want to paint!! Can I draw now, please??"

He knows the way to my heart, that one.


4. When asked what his favourite show is..

"Sweeney Todd"

This pleased his father overmuch.


5. When put in the stroller over the holidays...

"Which coffee store we going to? Second Cup? Starbucks?? What are you going to have at the coffee store? Where's the coffee store? I can't see it, mummy."

Maybe we go for coffee too much.


6. When talking to anyone on the phone:

"Wanna come to my house?"


7. My favourite bedtime ritual...

Boy: This is our secret cave. No one can come in.

Nomo: Goodnight, Boy. I love you. I'll see you in the morning.

Boy: No, I'll see you in the morning!

Nomo: No, I'll see you in the morning!

Boy: No, I'll see you in the morning!!

This can go on forever..


8. To his father - without prompting...

"You are my best friend in the whole world."

Well, now we're sunk. How can we deny him anything??

Had ourselves a merry little Christmas.

The jury is in and, though it was touch and go sometimes, it seems we made it through Christmas with a newborn and tantrumy almost-preschooler unscathed. In fact, we had a pretty good time.

The Boy took it upon himself to handle all the gift-giving. He actually managed to deliver the gifts to the appropriate person. However, once delivered, he insisted on opening them for you as well. I didn't have to open a single one of my gifts. A blessing and a curse. I feel like I should be given more gifts, just so I have something to compensate:

Our big gift from Santa this year was a brand new sled. Unfortunately, the mountainous snow came and went the week before Christmas, so we can now only try it out on our living room floor (please ignore the wreckage that is our house - it looks like something exploded...ah, how I love the Christmas aftermath..):

The Boy, when asked what he wanted for Christmas, would immediately answer: "A Trans-FORMER!". I have no idea how he even knows about them and I still don't think he actually knows what it is, but of course, how could we deny him his greatest wish:

I do believe he has yet to play with it but, hey, it's Christmas...

The winning gifts this year were the Melissa & Doug Art Easel and art supplies from Nanny, the BC Builders set complete with dinosaurs, cave dudes and extra boulders from his aunt and uncle, and this cooktop stove with pots and pans from Nana:

At the tender age of 2.85, he already cooks better than his mum, and looks much better in his "shep" hat (as he calls it).

Where is the Little Guy in all this, you ask? Well, other than cluster feeding every single time we went to a relative's house, the Little Guy thought Christmas was a bit of snooze:

After the presents were opened, we decided to put the Boy to work shovelling snow. There's something about child labour that just screams Christmas, doncha think?

We're exhausted. I hope you all had as good a Christmas as we did, though. Merry, merry! See you in the New Year.

PS. If anyone can show me how to fix the spacing when adding pictures in blogger, I would be much obliged. My OCD is going crazy looking at the single vs double spacing. Ack.

The Greatest Gifts

It's a Christmas conundrum: people keep asking me what I want in the way of gifts and I can't come up with an answer. Usually, I can rattle off a whole list of expensive things that would tickle my fancy. I do still want all of these things, but I am hard-pressed to name one thing that I want more than anything else. What took me a distressingly long time (I am sleep-deprived after all, so please forgive me) to realize was that I already have everything that would truly make me happy.


You see, a lot can happen in a year. At this time last year, I was new to blogging. I had just gone back to work, and I was feeling a bit low about the whole baby experience. It was hard. Really hard. And I didn't think that I had done a very good job of it. And there was no one (other than my wonderful husband, of course) who I could really talk to about it. I was a part of a mom's group, but I didn't feel very connected to them. I found that we didn't have much in common, apart from having had babies at the same time. I felt alone in a crowd of women with children.


This blogosphere, though, opened up a whole new world. I was made to feel welcome by someone lovely and talented, eventhough I'm not much of a writer. I got diet support from one of the best up-and-coming novelists I have read. I was shown how to be a fabulous hostess by someone who is cooler now than I will ever be. I've seen true generosity of spirit. I was able to share my second birth experience with one hot mama. I was sent a baby gift by someone who I have yet to met in person. I was shown how to handle difficult situations with grace and with strength. I even found someone who likes the same tv shows that I do (and if you know how much I love tv, then you will know how important this is). In short, I have met people who are just like me...if I was a smarter, more refined, nicer, more talented, more artistic, more rockin', spicier, more generous, hipper, more easy-going version of myself. (Please don't be offended if I haven't linked to you here, I am blogging one-handed while holding a newborn baby, and linking this much has seriously tired me out, but I love you all too. You're super!)


Since I can't seem to find the time or the energy to send out Christmas cards to you all to show you how much you mean to me, I would like to share with you two of my greatest gifts along with a great big THANK YOU for all your kind words and support. Because of you guys, and these two guys, I will have a truly merry Christmas, no matter what is under the tree:

Are you kidding me? I could never take a photo this good - I can't even get them both in the same shot!...*Professional photo by snugabugportraits.com

40 Days and 40 Nights

Number of crinkly ears that won't unfold...2
Number of fleeting gassy smiles...19
Number of goopy eyes...2
Number of Alfalfa hairlicks...1
Number of congested nostrils...2
Number of distressingly large belly buttons...1
Number of dangerously ragged fingernails...10
Number of times dangerously ragged fingernails have grazed unprotected nipples or boobs...20
Number of flailing arms...2
Number of times flailing arms have hit his own face...7
Number of wide-open eyes every time he's being put to sleep...2
Number of times hiccups started as he was being put to sleep...30
Number of minutes it takes to get him to go to sleep at night on average...60
Number of minutes it takes to get him to go to sleep during the day on average...5
Number of hours of sleep I usually get at night...4.5
Number of hours I've slept consecutively...3.5
Number of times that has happened...1
Number of extreme yawns...120
Number of little round "O" mouths...80
Number of cross-eyed stares as he tries to focus...20
Number of times I've breastfed...320 (approx)
Number of visits by a lactation consultant this time...1
Number of times I've enjoyed breastfeeding...310
Number of times I've forgotten which side I should feed next...300
Number of champion burps (by the Little Guy)...250
Number of times burping meant he won't spit up...0
Number of times he's spit up...100
Number of times the spit up has hit the burp cloth...14
Number of spit ups that occurred right after he was bathed...12
Number of loud farts...400
Number of diapers used...400+
Number of times I've been peed on...7
Number of times he's peed on himself...20 (sucker)
Number of projectile poops...1
Number of diaper-free poops...3
Number of times vast quantities of poops have been witnessed in action...2
Number of clothing items rendered unusable due to poop...2 (so far)
Number of grunts, groans, whines, wheezes, snorts...1000 (ballpark)
Number of nights grunts, groans, whines, wheezes, snorts have kept us from sleep...40
Value of being able to hold this Little Guy in my arms every day...priceless.

A Close Shave [MBT]

We did it! Snuck under the wire with one day to go before closing, but we managed to see Sweeney Todd at the Princess of Wales. You may remember that we had planned to see the show on November 10th, but the Little Guy arrived three weeks early so we had to give up our tickets. Luckily, my parents had tickets for today's matinee and were willing to babysit.

For those not familiar with the show, it is Stephen Sondheim crowning achievement and arguably the best musical in existence - at least, it's unanimously loved by theatre geeks the world over. It tells the tale of Benjamin Barker, former barber, wrongfully imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit, who comes back as "Sweeney Todd" seeking revenge on his gaoler. He's also gone a little bonkers in the meantime..

Read more at MBT

Second Helpings

Before having kids, we were both convinced that we wanted at least two children. (Mr Earth would like three, but for that he will have to take a second wife..) Then we had the Boy. Neither of us are big fans of the new baby phase. Our "A material" really only works on an audience that can talk, laugh and interact. Add to that an obscene amount of visits to lactation consultants, serious sleep deprivation due to pumping and tube-feeding, numerous late-night visits to emergency to get a hernia pushed back in, double hernia surgery at 2.5 months, colic, isolation and almost-depression...well, we got a little gun-shy.

At about a year, things got really good with the Boy. There was laughter, and words (even if the word was often No!), walking and so much more. I went back to work, and life returned to some degree of normalcy. Our lives had changed drastically, of course, but in a very good way. And we also got some of our pre-baby lives back. It was hard to think of going back to those early baby days. But we still wanted another.

We had the Boy though - sunny, easy-going and pretty darn close to perfect. We had a really good thing going. What on earth could possess us to mess that up? In the end, we made the Non-Decision. To simply Stop Preventing and See What Happens. It was the only way we could reconcile wanting another so much and yet wanting things to stay exactly the same.

You can guess what happened. Fate made the decision for us. And yes, I do believe in fate. I do believe that we were meant to have two, or it simply wouldn't have happened. A naive viewpoint, maybe, but that's who I am and I like that about me.

I was scared, so scared about what life would be like. I thought about all the things that could go wrong, and then some. I thought I would keep putting all my love and attention into the Boy, and would have none left over for the new baby.

What I didn't expect is to like it so much. I don't know if the Little Guy is easy-going by nature, or I made him easy-going by being so relaxed myself. I don't feel like I'm being weighed and measured, and found wanting. I don't feel like every mistake I make will Ruin His Life. In fact, I don't feel like I'm making mistakes all that much. (Nobody's perfect, though). On top of that, I think I may actually like newborns just a little bit..

I'm afraid to say that it's going well in case I jinx the whole thing. So we'll just treat it like Fight Club, ok? And what's the first rule about Fight Club? We don't talk about Fight Club. We'll just let his face do the talking for me:

Little Boy Blue

Willing to take a gamble? Here's the million-dollar question: If a household contains two children - one who is a 1 month old, and one who is almost 3 years old - who do you suppose is doing the vast majority of crying these days??

If you guessed the newborn baby, I'm sorry to say that you are wrong. (My money was on the baby too.) Suffice it to say that the Boy's adjustment period is not going well.

It's funny, because when I was pregnant, one of my biggest worries was that when the baby came, I would want to spend all my time with the Boy. You see, I am not a person who loves the newborn phase all that much. Yup, they're pretty cute, but that's about where my interest stops. On the other hand, I love kids. I love the non-stop questions. I love the not-so-funny almost-jokes. I love making crafts, and playing with toys. I love going to the park. I love the simplicity and energy of children. Yes, I even love tantrums.

But non-stop tantrums? Not so much. These days, were lucky to get through a half hour without a tantrum. Nothing we can do is right. Nothing is enough. I'm exhausted, and it's not the lack of sleep that is the problem (although it's kicking my ass, too). We are desperately trying to show the Boy how much we love him, and how important he is to us, but the message is not getting through. To my mind, the Boy is lucky in that he had almost three years of undivided parental attention. The Little Guy will never have that - the curse of the second child. But you can't reason with an sad kid who has lost the spotlight. (Well, you can't generally reason with three-year olds, period..)

It doesn't help that I haven't had a good night's sleep in a month and my patience is very thin. It also doesn't help that my beautiful Boy, my easy-going sunny Boy, someone who is normally a bright shining light in my life, is now a perfect mess. It certainly doesn't help that I think I'm at fault for not handling the situation better, and making his adjustment period go more smoothly.

The Little Guy, with his straightforward pattern of eat-sleep-cry-poop seems like an oasis of calm in comparison. If only I could find a cure for the my little Boy's blues.