Cravings

When I started this blog, I gave it the name "nomotherearth" because, up to that point, I had spent my time as a new mother feeling very much on the outside. I would look at the other new mothers in my neighbourhood (and there are ALOT of new mothers in my 'hood) and feel like they knew something I didn't. They all seemed to have their act together, and here I was stumbling along like an infant learning to walk. I took a lot of falls. Truth be told, I'm still stumbling. I was especially fascinated by the mothers for whom this mothering thing seemed to come naturally. It was as if the "Mother Earth" juice just oozed out of their every pore. They seemed to know the right thing to do in every situation, and everything was just so easy for them. I, on the other hand, found nothing easy.

Since then, thanks to the support of a lovely bloggy community and some wonderful IRL friends, I have been able to come to terms with my shortcomings. Not absolutely, of course. I'm still somewhat embarrassed by how much I don't know. But I feel much less alone. I've also felt that over 2.5 years with the Boy has improved my maternal instincts so drastically that most days I can pass for someonw who knows what they're doing.

So I was taken aback when Mr Earth made a comment the other day that we don't, as he has been noticing other couples do, spend a lot of time Touching the Belly. My first (unthinking) response was "Yeah, I'm just not all that into it." Mr Earth snorted at my non-maternal comment. What I meant, of course, was that I was just not all that into Touching the Belly. I am VERY into having a baby. You just won't see me fondling my distended abs and smiling that secret smile. I should mention that although Baby Earth has been kicking up a storm, (s)he will stop moving the moment someone puts a hand on the Belly. I have only felt the kicks from the inside.

I think I may have regressed. When I was pregnant with the Boy, I really did try to do everything "right". Poor Baby Earth seems to be on his/her own. Not only have I eaten soft cheeses and deli meats from questionable submarine joints, but I've gone weeks without vegetables crossing my lips (unless tomato sauce counts as a veggie..?). I'm pretty sure that I had some undercooked shellfish at one point. Kegel? What's a Kegel?? On top of everything, I have been CRAVING red wine. Absolutely must have red wine.

I haven't indulged yet. I know that most reports say that a glass here or there is no big deal, but, um...let's just say that I'm not the poster-child for moderation. Generally, when I find something I like to eat - especially during pregnancy - I will eat just gobs of it until I'm so sick of it I can't stand to even have it in the house anymore. So I take sips of Mr Earth's wine here and there.

Measly, sad, depressing sips.

I want to take a nice bottle from our growing wine rack that I eye every morning while I make breakfast for the Boy. I want to hold a glass full of velvety warm goodness. I want to inhale the edgy fruit smell. I want to feel that pleasant soft hum in my shoulders as I finally relax after a taxing day. As irreverant as it may seem, having a good glass of wine at the end of the day is a little bit of a religious experience for me. And with each passing day of this pregnancy, I want it more and more.

This is so wrong. I can't even get cravings right. No pickles and ice cream for me. God forbid I should crave something that contains anything that my body actually needs like calcium or iron. No. I crave alcohol. I feel like the Don Music of motherhood. Anyone care to join me for a glass?? Cause I'll never get it right. Never, never, never!

Music by Meme

Bren J from Stranger in a Strange Land tagged me for this meme, and I said I would give it a whirl, despite my embarrassing answers. I'm so uncool. Is it possible to be SO uncool, that you're actually cool? That's what I'm hoping for...

What song is in your head?

Other than the Rescue Pack song from Go Diego Go?? Hm, that's a tough one. It sort of usurps everything else in a most insidious way.

When I can get that out of my head, it's either Hold Tight by DDDBM&T or Chick Habit by April March (see next question).

My head has a lot of empty space, so I can store any amount of annoying sound bites on constant replay.

What is the newest album in your collection?

Hey - wonder of wonders - I actually just bought an album so I can answer this question! I almost never buy CD's anymore because I rarely have time to listen to them. BUT -- Mr Earth made me watch Quenten Tarantino's Deathproof a couple weeks ago. I didn't really like the movie all that much - pointless AND violent - but I loved the original soundtrack and wouldn't rest until I bought it. I love retro music.

What is the top album on your wish list?

My wish list pretty much only has books on it. However, I am really grooving on DDDBM&T (Dave Dee Dozy Beaky Mich & Tich), so I would be interested to have a compilation of their greatest hits.

What is the most recent live music event you have attended?

That would have to be the Boy singing "Skinnamarink" this morning in the stroller. Oh wait! I did see a musical puppet show about Alistair Ant. Take your pick. I'm a Rockin' Mom, either way.

What is the top live music event on your wish list?

Well, here is where I show my age AND how uncool I am all at the same time. The concerts on my wish list are all from the past. I would pay a lot of money to have seen Madonna on her Blonde Ambition tour. Barring that, I would really like to have seen Moxy Früvous, before they went mainstream and changed their lyrics.

What are the top three albums currently in rotation at your house?

Well, as mentioned, I don't really have a lot of time to listen to albums. It pretty much only happens when I clean. And I don't clean very much at all. Other than that, I listen to albums in the car. So here goes...

In my CD player:

1. Nine (Musical Soundtrack). I hope to do this show when it goes up in a couple years, so I was listening to it to see if there was any role to which I was particularly suited. I'd love to be the slutty mistress, but I almost never get cast as that (damn my wholesome face!)

2. Once on this Island (Musical Soundtrack). A musical I will never be cast in, but I love it to bits. Don't really know why this is in the machine.

3. Mixed CD by Mr Earth. Mr Earth rocks at making mixed CDs. I'm hoping that he will make one for me for the labour room. Although I have no idea what songs are particularly suited to childbirth and labour... If you have any suggestions as to what music is best for the pain of pushing out a kid, please let me know.


YUP, the vote's in. I'm SOOOOOOOOOOOO cool. I would tag other people, but I'll be lucky if anyone is still reading my blog after these revelations.

All I Really Need to Know About Labour I Learned in Theatre School [MBT]

OK, so I've been doing a lot of reading lately about labour. With the Big Day coming up next month, I figured it was about time I got down to business. After all, this may be my second child, but since I had the Dreaded C last time, I didn't actually go through the whole labour experience. More importantly, I feel the need to arm myself with information, as doctors in these here parts ostensibly support VBAC (vaginal birth after Cesarian), while simultaneously jumping ship whenever something doesn't go exactly according to plan.

I've checked out Ina May's Guide to Childbirth and The Thinking Woman's Guide to a Better Birth, as well as doing some reading online. While I found all this research helpful, I eventually came to the conclusion that all these suggestions for making labour easier and handling pain naturally sounded...well, familiar. What it took me FAR too long to realize is that all these techniques were things that I had learnt in my four years of Theatre School. Only, we were learning these things to be more "connected actors".

Some days I felt that these techniques we learnt were so amazing, and life-altering. But being the cynical youth that I was, other days I would just look around at the class moaning and drooling on the floor for an hour, and thought they were kind of, well, silly. I would question the process, and feel badly about wasting my parents' money. After reading these childbirth books, I feel that I am finally vindicated, and can prove to my parents that the money they spent on my theatrical education was not in vain.

Read more at Mommy Blogs Toronto.

Out of the mouths of babes

Overheard at Casa Earth...

The Boy: What's that on your forehead?

Mr Earth: Where?

The Boy: Dere!

Mr Earth: What does it look like?

The Boy: Stripes!

Nomo: Stripes?

(Pause)

Do you mean wrinkles?

(Scrunches forehead)

See, Mummy's got them too. They're called wrinkles, not stripes.

The Boy: Oh. Wrinkles?

Nomo: Yes.

(sound of Nomo snickering)

The Boy: Why you laughing?

Nomo: (some unintelligible comment about "wrinkles" vs "stripes" as I desperately try to stop laughing)

Livin' la vida Diego [MBT]

OK, so I've spoken before about my mommy-crush on Diego. Nothing to be ashamed of, right? It's a good show! If you're into kiddie cartoons. I'm not, actually, but my son is, so what's a girl to do? What I didn't realize is how much Diego has infiltrated our lives.

We bought a Diego backpack. Not so bad. The kid wanted a backpack and this one cost all of $6 at WalMart. I figured I got off cheap. And he is enormously proud of it. He shows it off to everyone at daycare, announcing loudly that he has an "Aygo backpack!" - each and every day. I think some parents are getting sick of hearing about it, but whatever.

We also have a Diego portable/folding potty seat. We've been experiencing some difficulty introducing the World of Potty at our house, and I thought that this might get him excited about the whole thing. No deal. Diego may be able to talk to the animals, but apparently he can't talk to the bladder.

Read more at Mommy Blogs Toronto

Talking Potty: I'm such a cliché Mommy-Blogger.

A week or so ago, I picked up the following letter from the Boy's cubby at daycare:

Dear Pre-School Parents:

Over the next few weeks, we would like to begin toilet training. However, we will need your help in order for your child to be successful!

Consistency (between home and daycare) and patience are the keys to your child's success. Of course, there will no doubt be accidents!

Please let us know if we have your support and advise us of any questions or concerns which you may have.

Thank you for your support.
Pre-school Staff

Admittedly at first, I was really excited. I was kind of hoping that the daycare would take over the dirty work for me. The Boy is a follower by nature, and would fare much better if he saw his friends doing it. Ah, the power of peer pressure. It's not all bad, after all.

Staying true to my Slacker Mom profile, I have also not called the daycare to let them know of my support or ask any questions. I really should get on that..

You see, the Boy shows ABSOLUTELY NO INTEREST in the potty. Wait, he maybe shows some interest in AVOIDING the potty. Does that count? I didn't think so. Frankly, I haven't been all that concerned up to this point. Although I would love to save money on diapers, they are rather convenient. I don't have to worry about accidents, or running to find a bathroom. And, everything I've read said that it's not a good time to start potty training if your child is about to have a new sibling. So, I thought that perhaps January would be a good time to start, if he hasn't shown an interest by then.

But I want to be supportive of their initiative. We bought pull-ups for daytime use. I know a lot of people think that they delay potty training, but since I've seen no indication that he's actually ready, I thought it was at least a baby step in the right direction. That way we could pull them up and down easily if we got to the point when he actually might approach the potty. We still use diapers at night, though, because the pull-ups aren't absorbent enough for 10+ hours of pee, and there is no way he's going to wake up to go. And NO WAY am I going to spend mucho $$ for fancy "overnight" pull-ups unless I get some encouraging signs from the Boy himself.

So how, exactly, does a parent encourage and support an initiative with an unresponsive child? We've been talking up the potty for ages. We let him know when we're going to the potty. We take him to the potty with us if he shows interest. We bought Big Boy underwear with cars (!!) on it that the Boy chose himself (and that will probably remain in his drawer until he gets too big for them at this point...)

This week, I started taking him to the potty in the morning, stripping his diaper, and sitting him on his new Diego (!!) potty seat cover that we bought together. I try to make it as fun as possible, and I don't do it for long. I obviously don't insist that he pee or anything. I was hoping it would just become a natural part of the routine. I don't do it before bedtime though, because I don't want to force the issue or make it at all unpleasant for him.

The first thing that the Boy said to me when I went into his room to wake him up this morning was:

"I don't want to go pee."

And now I feel like a Bad Mother.

This kid always knows how to throw me for a loop. I am fully armed with knowledge on how to encourage a child who is showing interest in the potty. I am not versed on how to encourage someone who is not. And yet, at daycare, they say he has no resistance to sitting on the potty (although he has never actually peed).

So are they pushing him to do something for which he is not ready? Or, does he just regress and lose independence whenever he's around me?? I was all about the former, but lately I'm starting to suspect it's the latter.

What I do know is my head hurts.

the Boy's Song

You fill up my senses like a night in the forest,

fumbling around in the dark, i'm supposed to know what I'm doing, but I don't. i can hear you breathing, i can smell your baby fresh head, i can feel your hot silky smooth skin, but i can't see the path. can't find the way to go, so i'm walking on instict. my instinct has always been good but i don't trust it now. it's too new, you're too new, this whole new world is too new.

like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain,

get your feet wet, jump in. it's so fresh and cool here when you take the plunge. after months i can finally breath. the air is so cool and i can finally breeeathe. breathe deeply. i didn't think i'd ever get my breath back. it's okay, it really is. but don't get the baby wet. keep him safe, make him feel safe. make sure he understands that i will never let anything hurt him.

like a storm in the desert,

tears again. running down fat cheeks. spotting his shirt. here. and there. clinging and groping. nothing I do is enough, nothing soothes. so I walk and walk and walk and walk and walk around the dining room table because there is nowhere else to go. go. i should go. i should go outside. i push the stroller a little too fast, a little too hard. i'm sorry baby. my patience is wearing thin and i'm sorry. i should be stronger. i should be calmer. i should be better. i should.

like a sleepy blue ocean.

asleep at last. how the world can change with just a little bit of sleep. a little bit of rest. how lovely you are baby. how innocent. how wonderful. sleep now baby, sleep for me. sleep instead of me, because i can't sleep when you do. the toothpicks will stay in my eyelids no matter how much i wish they would pop out. and let me sleep. no, sleep is for the weak. sleep means i won't be in control. can't lose control. must stay awake, but not wake the baby. the baby needs to sleep. so do i.

You fill up my senses, come fill me again.

you are your own person, and yet so much a part of me. i can see it in your eyes. your eyes are my eyes. when i look at you, i am looking at myself. i could drown in the brown. i think i am drowning, and it's a good thing. such a wonderful thing. but scary too. was that a smile? heart stops, stomach lurches. i think it was. drink it in. this is what i was made for. this is what life is about. it makes sense now, it does.

Come let me love you, let me give my life to you,

they tell you about diapers and wipes and cradle cap and thrush and colic and meconium and colostrum and sleep patterns and breastfeeding and formula and jaundice. words, words, words. they don't tell you about love. about how love changes. expands. how your heart gets bigger and stronger, but infinitely more vulnerable. they don't tell you because you wouldn't understand. it can't be explained. it can only be felt. the lucky ones get to feel.

let me lay down beside you, let me always be with you. Come let me love you.

always. never doubt but that I love. don't feel supplanted, replaced. that will never happen. could never happen. there is room in my heart still. i won't let go. i won't go away. you will always have a place. it will just be a little more cozy. you, your daddy, and this little person we have yet to meet. but you won't get lost in the crowd. i promise.

Red Rubber Ball

Last week in my Fitmom class, the instructor checked our diastasis (the amount of separation of the two halves of the rectus abdominus that happens in pregnancy). If the separation gets too big, apparently, it can become a problem that requires surgery after birth. What you have to do is lie on your back with your knees up. Then you lift your head off the ground and feel the area between the belly button and the ribs. When you do this, you should be able to feel the sides of the abdominal muscles. Generally, they are pretty close together, maybe a fingerwidth at most. They start separating during pregnancy to accomodate the baby.

When I did this, there was this sizable bump right above my belly button. It looked like the baby was pushing it's head (or bum) out of the top of my tummy, except that when you pressed on it, it felt like an air bubble. It looked pretty freaky. The teacher thought that it might be a hernia, and I immediately went into a semi-panic mode. Hernia means surgery! I don't want surgery! I am doing my very best to avoid any type of surgery with this birth! I wouldn't say Im a hypochondriac, but I am a bit of an alarmist.

So for this past week, I've been in a bit of a suspended state waiting for my doctor's appointment today. The doctor seems to think that it's just some loose muscles popping out. She didn't seem too worried about it. Personally, I think that loose muscles popping out of my stomach is not entirely "normal". (Or attractive, but let's just put that aside for the moment..) I hope that she's right. I don't, as a rule, question doctor's opinions, but sometimes I think that they can be somewhat dismissive of patient concerns. I don't think that my doctor is the dismissive type at all - she seems very nice - but I just started with her, so I don't know her all that well.

I'm doing my very best to focus on the positive side of things (not easy for me), and just assume that everything will work in the end. I've been having to do that more and more as this pregnancy progresses. I had my VBAC consult last week, and the obstetrician at the hospital said that if I got to 40 weeks without going into labour, they would just automatically schedule a caesarian for a week later. That concerns me. My impression is that if everything doesn't go EXACTLY ACCORDING TO SCHEDULE then the hospital is going to hop on the Operation Train. And when has a labour gone exactly according to schedule anyways?? Every labour, every woman is different. An acquaintance of mine was in the same situation awhile back. They had scheduled the caesarian for 8 days after her due date - only because they were too backed up to do it earlier - but she luckily went into labour on the morning of her operation.

I talked with my doctor about this and she looked confused. She said that they would schedule an induction if I went all the way to my due date, but not a caesarian. I could have misheard what the obstetrician said, but I don't think so. So we wait until she gets the letter from the obstetrician consult to see what it says.

I guess I just have to assume that everything's going to be alright.

Right?

Must-see Fall TV [MBT]

I have this vague recollection of my life before kid(s). We used to go to this place called a theatre (thee-ah-ter) where live people stood on raised platforms and acted scenes written by dramatic giants like Shakespeare, Shaw and Brecht. We also frequently attended a magical place called a cinema (sin-a-ma) where large screens showed the latest movies.

Safe to say that we don't get around much anymore. Now, I admit that I have always liked TV, but it used to play a more secondary role in my life. My other half will insist that "the couple who watches TV together, stays together". Still, it shows how much my dramatic standards have fallen when I admit to how much I was looking forward to last week. Premiere week on TV. All the new and returning shows flaunting their wares. (Cue the heavenly chorus here.) After a summer of TV drought, I was like a crack addict jonesing for a fix. I think I may have sported some drool.

Parents don't have a lot of free time, though, so we have to be selective. Hell, I'm lucky if I can make it through one whole show without falling asleep these days. So, I thought I'd fill you in on what, in my opinion, are THE shows to watch this season...

Read more at Mommy Blogs Toronto...

A Matter of Perfection

I can never quite remember how I start reading a particular blog. Sometimes, it's because someone new leaves a comment and I click through to officially "meet" them. Sometimes a blog post will mention or link to another blog. Sometimes I go through people's blogrolls to see who they like reading. Whatever the method, I am constantly discovering the wealth of beauty and talent that the blogosphere has to offer.

In one such instance, I stumbled upon Bon from Crib Chronicles. Something about her writing just clicked with me. It wasn't about her gift for words, which is apparent, but something in the tone of her writing was just so honest and unpretentious. It was like I was able to see the person writing the words as I read them.

This month, Bon wrote a post that quite simply took my breath away. If you haven't read it already, I urge you to go read it now. I can't remember the last time I've been so personally affected by a piece of writing. It's like she reached into my head and my heart, and pulled the thoughts and feelings right out. Only, I don't have the talent that she has, and I could never have written it so beautifully. As far as I'm concerned, the ability to do something like that is what makes a writer truly great.

So, I am awarding her a Perfect Post. It's my very first time doing this, and I don't think I could have chosen better. You deserve it, Bon.



And, if you want to read more great writing, check out the other winners at Suburban Turmoil or Petroville.

OH What a Beautiful Mornin'

Today was one of those amazing late September days, dawning crisp and cool, but sunny and clear. The sky was an impossible blue, dotted with cotton candy clouds. Although it was cool, the bright sunlight kept the chill at bay. It was one of those days where absolutely everyone was outside, grabbing their chance to enjoy the last good days of summer. The Boy and I struck out early to meet the lovely Metro Mama and Cakes for a playdate in the park. It was a perfect morning.

It's crazy how much playdates have changed for me. They started out basically being a chance to hang out with other moms, enjoy adult conversation and commiseration, and (hopefully) the babies slept. Then they evolved into desperate attempts to keep curious babies out of harm's way, while snatches of dialogue floated meaninglessly over our heads. A little time passed, and we could maybe start a conversation before all hell broke loose, but hey, it was progression, right?

Now, the Boy is old enough that he is actually starting to play with the other kid. It's kind of cool, actually, and really fun to watch. The Boy peppered breakfast with excited comments like "I'm going to the park to see my friend (Cakes)." He was excited. And my normally unenterprising Boy became much more daring with the example of the intrepid Cakes. He climbed and bounced, and just let loose. It was exhilarating to watch. And exhausting. Apparently 8-month pregnant ladies are not meant to be ducking and climbing with such alacritude. But the Boy can get carried away, and ignore the fact that he should "step down" or "hold on". So follow I must.

Still, Cakes and the Boy playing together meant that Metro Mama and I were able to actually carry on a conversation with only some delays or interruptions. Good times. And at the end, after we both had the luck to change some well-timed dirty diapers (with no change table in sight, of course), the Boy leaned over to Cakes with a sneaky smile and a giggle and said "We had poo together!"

My Boy. What a sweet-talker. He's gonna drive them girls crazy one day...

Seeing Red

Many thanks for your all the lovely compliments on my new hairdo. I was hesitant to post a photo of myself in my last post because I am shockingly unphotogenic, unless I pay lots of money for a professional photographer and make-up artist. Then I look pretty good. No really - you should see my actor headshots. I barely recognize myself.

I feel obliged to mention, however, that I am not actually are redhead, I just play one in real life. That lovely titian hue is thanks to a hairstylist with a bottle who is tipped heavily to tell no one my real hair colour. Actually, I don't think he's seen my real hair colour, come to think of it. I haven't seen it in years myself. But, if we're going by the roots, I would say that my hair is actually Dirty Subway Mouse Brown.

I have spent the majority of my life convinced that I should have been born a redhead, and Somebody just messed up when He gave me brown hair. My maternal grandmother was a trueblue redhead, and as far as I'm concerned, I was slated to have those genes passed down to me. Although, I have just recently learnt that redheads with brown eyes are very uncommon due to some gene mixing thing that was was too scientific for me to understand. Or, I just got bored while reading the explanation.

I have all the many of the qualities of redhead. Distressingly fair skin and a multitude of freckles? Yup. Inability to tan, but will burn with very little sun exposure? Check. Unnatural amounts of bruising at the tiniest amount of pressure? Sigh, yes.

Temperament is almost a non-question. Redheads are known for their fiery temperaments, and, like Anne Shirley, my temper matches my hair. Mr Earth will agree that I get angry, sometimes VERY ANGRY, at things that most people would be able to handle with equanimity. Luckily for him (and me, I guess), the anger is very short-lived. I forgive easily.

Redheads are also supposed to be highly-sexed and addicted to sugar. I am most certainly addicted to one of those things. SUGAR! What were you thinking..?? I can't go a day without consuming some sweet goodness, and most days it is consumed in vast quantities. I would like to say that I am highly-sexed, but the truth is that since having kid(s), I am just too tired to think about sex a whole lot. I'd rather sit on the sofa and eat chocolate. But I suspect that if I could just have a few days of uninterrupted rest and relaxation, my libido would return.

Mark Twain said that "While the rest of the species is descended from apes, redheads are descended from cats". I definitely have many feline qualities. I am person who cherishes her "alone time", and seeks affection sporadically - at which time, I want to be petted and adored until I fall asleep on your lap. I like to view the world from my safe perch at the top of the stairs, an observer instead of an observed. I like balls of yarn, and will do tricks for treats. Wait, this is getting too weird...

Redheads have been commonly associated with witches and vampires. I do carry the mark of a witch - a mole on my left breast - according to Arthur Miller's The Crucible. One of my favourite TV shows of all time is Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and I am said to resemble Willow (Alyson Hannigan), who plays a witch. Random people approach me and tell me this, actually. Although, they know her as "that band camp girl" from American Pie. My favourite costume for Hallowe'en is just to dress normally (i.e. like a geek), and do American Pie impressions all night. That's the "A" material people.

Still, natural redhead I am not. I just keep on dyeing my hair so that nobody ever knows the truth. Luckily for me, the undeniable proof that I am actually a brunette remains largely unseen by the general public. Since marriage, Mr Earth is the only person that can actually confirm that I am not ginger-by-nature. And he knows better than to let that cat out of the bag. So to speak.

Change is in the air

Whew! After several weekends of doing far more work than I like to do on the weekend (lazy creature that I am), we finally have the Boy's "Big Boy Room" in order. Well mostly, anyways. The Boy has been sleeping on a mattress on the floor à la Skid Row for the past week. The bed frame was finally delivered on Saturday morning. Mr Earth made a run Friday night to the only kids store we found that carries a bed rail meant for a platform beds. Eventhough we technically didn't get a platform bed, it essentially is one because there is no need for a boxspring. The store was all the way in Oakville and the bed rail was not cheap (of course not - don't want to make it easy). He's such a good husband.

We haven't moved all his clothes in yet, because I have to install the shelving in our makeshift "dresser". We re-purposed the old TV stand into a dresser because we're poor from buying the bed. And, we still have to find a new home for our spare TV. I suspect that one of the reasons the Boy likes his new room so much is that he thinks it comes with a TV. Think again, kiddo.

All in all, though, I think it turned out okay:



The Wall Candy. Look Boss, the planes! The planes!!

The Shelves. The re-puporsed ugly gray shelving is almost cheerful. (And yes, that is, in fact, a bear wearing handcuffs. It's a long story. But what kid's room would be complete without a bear in chains?)

The Art Corner. Where masterpieces are created everyday. That blurry spot under the bulletin board is the Boy's name lovingly handpainted by moi. (The truth is, I would always rather do crafts than clean, so I made up some things to do here to avoid work). I tried to blur his name out to maintain anonymity, but I suck at photoshop and that's the best I could do. It's pretty obvious what it says.

The Bed. Who knew such a simple thing could cause so much stress? But here it is finally. Isn't it beautiful? My child now officially has a nicer bed than I do. Life is so unfair.

The Bird. Could Big Bird ask for a better throne? He looks pretty comfy. I can deny him nothing though, he is helping the Boy make the adjustment to the new bed. Erego, what the Bird wants, the Bird gets.

...And, because I worked so hard, I got me a new 'Do. Check it out. Even at 11:30pm it still looks okay. Please ignore the bags under my eyes - I'd been up since since 4:30am. Not working, of course, just not sleeping. Sleep deprivation BEFORE baby is just totally unfair...

The Do. That is the closest I can get to a "sexy, pouty face". Sad, isn't it? Mr Earth is a lucky, lucky man..

Gwyneth Paltrow is my homegirl [MBT]

I was shocked to discover yesterday that Gwyneth Paltrow, the woman who named her child Apple for pete's sake, and I have something in common. We both love and were inspired by the same show, Free to Be...You and Me.

Aw c'mon..if you are a child of the 70's as I (ahem) am, then surely you know this little gem. It's been described as "a sorely needed counterbalance to the casual sexism of American life...it was fired with high ambitions and aggressive optimism. "Free to Be You and Me" was the gentler side of feminism, a funny and sly discussion of sexism, racism, gay rights and other issues disguised as a sort of cabaret show for children.

I must confess, I never got into the whole politics of the thing. I just loved the songs and the stories, and the feeling that everyone - no matter what you looked like, or how you acted - was normal and accepted. As I got older, it also fueled my passion for children's theatre.

Read more at MBT

I may never need birth control again.

I am trying to have a VBAC with Baby Earth. I've never been a fan of the whole C-section thing, and having gone through it personally, I am even less of one. It was never in my "plan" the first time around. In fact, when they were showing the C-section part of the video in prenatal class, I took the opportunity for for a much needed pee break. The Gods were probably laughing their asses off when I did that.

Nonetheless, squeezing a baby out my pink parts scares the crap out of me. (And it may quite literally scare the crap out of me from what I've read. Yuck.) Not to mention that I have a terrible feeling that doctor(s) are going to push me to have a C-section if the the least little thing doesn't go smoothly or easily. I am indecisive and easy to bully, especially when I'm feeling vulnerable. Naked and spread-eagled is about as vulnerable as I get. So I took some books out of the library in order to prepare myself. Knowledge is good, right?

I've started reading Ina May's Guide to Childbirth. So far, it's a lovely book that really talks about the empowerment that labour and childbirth can give a woman. It starts out with over a 100 pages of natural childbirth stories where women talk about "rushes" instead of "contractions", and some even mention likening labour contractions to orgasms. I'm not so sure about that one. Then, I come across this story about a woman who gives birth to a baby - face first. I thought that was odd and rather interesting until I turned the page and saw that they had photographed the baby coming out. I swear to God that it looked like this:

Only imagine that this face is between a pair of legs. I think I'm scarred for life.

The image keeps floating in and out of my head unbidden, heedless of nausea. I want to share the picture with Mr Earth so the I don't have to bear the burden of this image alone, but I'm pretty sure he would never have sex with me again. Ever. This is a man who is blood-averse and doesn't want to cut the cord.

I'm not sure I would want to have sex with me either. If someone offers me a mirror to see the head crowning, or asks me if I want to touch it, I might scream louder than at any old contraction. Am I being overly squeamish? Is it really all that beautiful when you're in the moment? And, more importantly, do the partners of other women get the full on view of the birth, and still want some Action when the whole ordeal is over??

I'm having a hard time believing it. Then again, many couples get pregnant multiple times so it must not be such a big deal. Or, they're really good at blocking out the image of a spread-eagled Quato.

And the Magic Eight Ball says..

Ask again later..

Reply hazy, try again..

Better not to tell you..

Cannot predict now..

The Magic Eight Ball sucks.

I realize that it was my choice not to find out the sex of the baby, but the suspense is killing me! I think my head might explode. No, really. I'm not exaggerating. I am not handling this well at all.

It's funny, I had no problem last time. I happily plodded along, excited about the Big Surprise at the end of journey. Possibly, it's because I was sure that the baby was a boy. (Hey, I was right.) You could try to tell me that there was a 50/50 chance that the baby would be a girl, and I would calmly agree. And quietly disagree. It was a HE. I knew. I also had a dream that I gave birth to a very swarthy baby with a beard. My biggest dilemma was - how exactly does one shave the face of a newborn baby? Should I be signing him up for the circus?? Still, it was a HE. No doubt about it.

This time, I am just not sure. I thought I would get the same feeling that I did last time. Strong. Certain. Absolute.

I got nothing.

This is not a good time to have just finished reading Middlesex, by the way. As if I didn't have enough to freak out about. I'm not too picky about whether the baby is a boy or a girl, but I will admit to a preference for it to be one sex OR the other, given a choice.

Mr Earth will assure you that this baby is another boy. He claims he only has male sperm. Okaaaayy. Scientifically, I would probably agree with him. The day we conceived Baby Earth, I thought that we were past the magic 3-day Fertile Window. (Apparently, we weren't.) Which means, that Baby Earth was most likely conceived on my Most Fertile day. Boy spermies are the fastest swimmers, erego it's probably a boy. (Is this too much sharing? I never know.)

Still, sometimes I get the strongest feeling that the baby is in fact, a girl. If I was forced to guess right now, that is the guess that I would make. Do I believe this because I want a girl? Maybe, but I don't think so. I honestly don't have a preference. I can see the pros and cons of each. A girl would be easier to name. I have a LOT of boy clothes. I'd like to have one of each. I love saying "my boys" instead of "my kids". I think I have a lot to learn from mothering a girl. I think I would be a better mother to two boys. I don't care!! But I want to know. Or, at least, feel like I know.

People at the office are quick to point out that I am "carrying differently". That I'm rounder (read: fatter) all around, instead of just having a basketball in place of a stomach like last time. I'd like to say that's an indication, but I really think it's just the dreadful Baroness von Fat making her daily appearance.

There was this one time in the doctor's office where Mr Earth made his typical "male sperm only" joke, and the doctor said it "could be the other". I don't think that she was speaking in code or anything, but I got a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. The last time I got that feeling was when Mr Earth drunkenly pointed to a just married couple and said "I want that to be us one day", and I said "I do too". Look what happened there..

Help.

Celebrity Sightings: Mommy-Blogger Style

It's that time of year when veritable celebrities flood the streets of the Big Smoke: The Toronto International Film Festival. Considering my background, this should be the most highly anticipated time of year for me, but no matter what I do, I just can't seem to get my act together to attend a film. Maybe it's because you have to plan months in advance if you want to see any of the good shows, and I have difficulty planning what I'm going to have for dinner. Maybe it's because I refuse to wait in long lines to see some random show, only to be turned away at the door.

I'm using the fact that I have kid(s) as my excuse. (Heck, I use 'em as an excuse for pretty much everything anyways..). I'm also not going to haul ass to the films just to catch a glimpse of Brad Pitt's ass. Although that would excite me, it seems like a lot of work just for one lovely view.

So, I'm going to have to content myself with some celebrity sightings, mommy-blogger style. I gotta say that I love seeing a new post from one of my favourite bloggers that has a picture of their babe(s) in it. It's a little sneak peak into their lives, and my hormonal self just goes mad for the cuteness of it all. Put your momparazzi glasses on and check out the loveliness..

Read more at MBT

Welcome the Baroness

Ah, pregnancy is so glamourous, isn't it?

Before the Boy - back when we were excitedly running home and hitting the sheets (or carpet, or dining table) - I had this idea of what pregancy was going to be like. I would walk around in these super stylish maternity clothes, and look oh so cute and hip. Everyone would comment about how I was glowing, and how pregnancy really suited me. I would gain exactly the amount of weight necessary to grow a baby, and not an ounce more. And once the baby was out, the pounds would magically disappear because everyone knows that when you breastfeed your baby, you lose all your pregnancy weight.

Ha. Sometimes I think that people take delight in keeping the preggo hopefuls in the dark.

The first time around, I looked okay and didn't gain too much weight. I was NOT super stylish or, in fact, anywhere near hip. I took one look at the price tags in the designer stores and skulked out to buy some cotton muumuus from Thyme Maternity. I did have a glow caused by the extreme oiliness of my skin. That "glow", coupled with acne, made me a beautiful sight to behold. Pregnancy would have "suited me" if I was, oh, say, THIRTEEN AND HORMONAL. (But that would be wrong, of course. I am not endorsing teen pregnancy). I might have lost the pregnancy weight while breastfeeding, if I didn't consume large quantities of chocolate to keep me up in the wee hours of the night without screaming.

This time around, it seems that all the symptoms are still there, they're just worse. I started out about 10 pounds over my pre-pregnancy weight, and everything has just snowballed from there. The cheap maternity muumuus that I so lovingly saved from the first time around DON'T FIT. Good times.

I haven't even gotten to the backaches, the constant peeing, the puffy legs, the number of shoes that I have that no longer fit, the crankiness... Oh yes, I am one big ball of glam.

To add insult to injury, this weekend I broke down and had to go out and buy some new panties: Size Large. I haven't bought large panties since I was an unattractively overweight teen. I even managed to squeak by during the last pregnancy by squeezing into my medium Victoria Secrets. Not so, this time. My "little girl" decided she was getting too much of breeze, and my butt-crack was in danger of being rather overexposed, so shopping I went. And wearing large panties I am. I cut the tag out, though. I'm that vain.

Mr Earth, god bless him, comforts me whenever I complain about how much weight I'm gaining. "You're pregnant!" I know! But it's very possible to be pregnant AND fat. I'm fairly certain that all of the weight I've gained is not strictly necessary. Nor was that 3rd cookie. Or the 10th, for that matter. The 1/2 pound of chocolate probably didn't fulfill any dietary needs either. Or the 50th TimBit. Yes, my friends, I am the Baroness von Fat. You're all invited to my tea party! If you're coming, though, please bring me some pants. I bust the thighs out on the old pair. Oh, and bring a doughnut while you're at it, will you? Why quit now?? Things are just getting good.

Frankenmommy

I sometimes wonder if, despite my best of intentions, I am encouraging some very bad habits in the Boy.

A week or so ago, at a loss for something to do, and running out of my already-very-short pregnancy patience, I introduced the Boy to the website Peep and The Big Wide World. We tried out a couple of games and it was a nice way to spend some time together. I didn't really thing much about it. Now, it's all the Boy wants to do. I mean ALL he wants to do.

"I wanna play on the pooter!"

"Not till after dinner."

"I want to play on the pooter!!" (various snufflings and whinings)

"We can play on the computer, but not until you've eaten something."

On the bright side, I have gotten him to eat some surprisingly balanced meals simply by withholding computer rights until he eats a mouthful of some vegetable. Ideally, this is not how I would go about encouraging nutritious eating, but I'm not perfect, okay??

Shockingly, at just over 2 1/2 (or 32 months, not that I'm counting..anymore), he's quite good at these games. I work the mouse, but he tells me what to do. He can remember the hiding places of Peep and all his friends. He can remember a random object that Peep saw on his walk. He can choose the coloured fish that fills out the pattern. He has a really good memory, and an eye for colours and patterns! Not worthless skills, those.

I don't know whether to be extremely proud or slightly disturbed. I'm a huge proponent of getting outside and getting fresh air. Eventhough I don't think that screen time is the enemy, I do try to watch that it doesn't get out of control. But these days, more than most, I find myself treading the path of least resistance. If I haven't seen him all day, and this is what he wants to do, is it really so bad? It's not like he watched tv or played on the computer all day at daycare. And when I'm tired, sitting at the computer with the Boy sounds very...nice. I'm tired a lot. Maybe too much.

This feels rather like inadequate parenting. I'm not going for any Parenting Award (although gosh I'd like to win one someday...), but I really am trying to do my best by him. You should see the Boy salivate and bounce up and down when I say we can play one game of "Hide and Peep". You'd question my actions too. I think I've created a monster.

Poo-school

Today was the Boy's first official day of preschool. Or, "poo-school", as the Boy calls it. Nothing I can do to get him to say word properly. Not sure I want to anyways, it's too amusing.

The daycare has been transitioning him from the toddler room for the past couple weeks, and he has been surprisingly resistant. Or, perhaps, not surprisingly. The Boy has never been overly fond of change. But the preschool room is just upstairs from the toddler room. Almost all of the friends that he was used to playing with have gone upstairs already, and downstairs he was surrounded by a gaggle of new faces, cheeks wet with tears from fresh separations. He looked like a giant among beanstalks. A big fish in a pond full of minnows. It was time. But I guess the trip upstairs can seem daunting to a boy who is still little in so many ways. He wanted to stay downstairs where it was safe. As much as I was looking forward to the move, I kind of wish he could stay downstairs too.

This morning I carried his not-so-little body up the two flights of stairs, negotiated two sturdy gates, while simultaneously carrying his little tub of extra clothing and his dinosaur sippy cup. We had to find his new, as yet unmarked, cubby. We had to find his new routine. There is no special place for personal sippy cups upstairs, so I had to shove it in his cubby where it remained unused, unwanted throughout the day. I felt like it was my first day of school, and I didn't know where to go, what to do, how to act. I said goodbye and told him I would be back as soon as work was done, but I left feeling like I'd forgotten something important.

I'd forgotten the wild and rocky path that led to this moment. The sleepless nights, the crying, the earaches. I'd forgotten the sleepy sighs, the belly laughs, the kooky smiles. Instead of seeing someone I knew every inch of, I saw a stranger. A little Boy turned suddenly big. I've been there, but where have I been? Who was this little man calmly taking in his new surroundings? He's my little Boy, finding his way in a big, wide world. May it go slowly, and may I never miss a second of it.