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.

All I Want for Christmas

Dear Internets,

I need your help. I don't think that I'm the World's Worst Photographer, but the litany of unusable photographs I've taken would say otherwise. I do know how to work our camera, but every time I take a bunch of photographs, I know that some of them - usually the best ones - will probably be out of focus or otherwise unusable. This is driving me crazy! I actually really like taking photos, especially when those photos involve my beautiful boys. I feel like I am losing a part of their childhood to either a crappy camera, or crappy photo skills. Or both. Either way I lose.

Could someone please PLEASE suggest a great camera to buy? One that is preferably foolproof, and easy to use for dummies like me. Please don't make this be the norm in my children's albums:

Rebirth(day)

Hey there...Little Guy here. Since today is the day I was scheduled to make my way into this mad world, I thought I'd take a moment to introduce myself. After all, you've only heard from my parents so far, and they're kind of biased.

So....Hi! I'm a Scorpio. Hair: Dark brown. Eyes: Not sure. I'm hoping for blue. I plan to wow the ladies and this colour combination would be most sexy. Lock up your daughters, BlogMammas.

Likes: Sucking on fingers. Sucking on boobies. Basically a whole lot of sucking going on here. Oh yeah, don't forget pooping. I like that ALOT.

Dislikes: Hats. Baths. Diaper changes. Swaddling. Hiccups. Sleeping at night.

Despite my early expulsion, I came into this world with dignity. Barely cried at all. Could've been the drugs. I was feeling FIIINE. I'm not much for sibling rivalry, but my mum says I've been doing much better than my brother when it comes to breastfeeding. Score one for me! Not that I'm keeping count. I've also had a lot less hospital visits so far. Score two! Really, I'm not keeping count. But I AM a pretty fabulous baby brother...even if I do say so myself.

Not yet 3 weeks old and I've already been out and about spreading my charm. I've been to Mummy and Daddy's work. I've had walks in the stroller. I've been to the mall and Walmart

and Loblaws. I'm so cool. I've even been to the Santa Claus parade - although I only saw it from the 29th floor of an office building. Too cold for me. I'm no fool.

The Boy is not so sure about me. He waffles between kisses and tantrums. That's okay, I'll win him over later. He's pretty interested whether or not I have a poopy diaper or not. Hey, it's a start. I'll take what I can get.

Soon the whole world will bow down and kiss my feet. I'm setting a course for World Domination.

Bjorn Again

After our second doctor's appointment the other day (the Little Guy's almost back at birth weight - yay!), I headed out to a nearby baby store to buy...a Sling. I didn't use a sling with the Boy, I was too intimidated by the mounds of fabric. We used the Baby Bjorn instead. For the most part, we were very happy with it too, with the exception of the backaches from prolonged wearing. Still, our Bjorn served it's purpose. We used it for many a nap or stroll in the neighbourhood. The amount of spit-up covering the fabric shows just how much use we got out of it.

This time around, though, I was determined to try the Sling. I wanted to be more organic, more "Earth Mother-ish". I kept seeing all these women using a sling and it just looked so...natural. I wanted to be more natural too. I wanted to prove that I had learned something from having been a mom already. I wanted to show that I could relax and just enjoy motherhood. As far I could see, you could be one of two types of moms:

A) Sling-Wearer (ie. what I aspire to): Effortless, casual, primal, can breastfeed anywhere without embarrassment, born mother, always has the answers, this mothering gig is so easy I could handle ten babies, looks not a day over 30 eventhough she has two teenaged kids kind of mom.

OR

B) Bjorn-Wearer (ie. me): Complicated, make things harder than they have to be, clinging to active pre-baby life, how can you make your baby sleep in that position, awkward, doesn't know what she's doing, breastfeeding is a challenge, will probably buy the Thighmaster and get breast implants before she's forty kind of mom.

Anyways, I tested out a couple slings in the store and brought one home. That's when things went downhill. I couldn't make it work! It wasn't comfortable! The Little Guy was screaming, and that was the only way I could tell that he wasn't suffocating in the folds of fabric.

How was it comfortable in the store, but NOT AT ALL when I got it home??

Yesterday, I exchanged the Sling for the Active Baby Bjorn. It's comfortable. It's me. Maybe it's about time I just accept who I am. Which is not so very bad a person. Or mother. If I can be comfortable with that, it won't matter whether I Sling or Bjorn.

He won't care either way...

His Story

The day started at 4am, which is waaay too early for anything to start if you ask me. I woke up feeling slightly "wet". Disgusting as that may be (TMI anyone?), at 37 weeks and 2 days pregnant, I was only slightly surprised. I thought it best to haul ass to the bathroom, though, before any further accident occurred. When I stood up to wipe myself off, the dam burst. The toilet paper in my hand looked unequal to the job. So, not knowing what else to do I grabbed a towel from the wall and put it down on the floor and just stood there.

Thoughts running through my head? "This can't really be happening can it?? It's too early." Or "Crap, this is really happening. But I have a shower to go to tomorrow, and theatre tickets next Saturday!" And, "Yay, I'm going into labour so nobody will force me to have a repeat section because I'm overdue!" And finally, "What the hell do I do now??"

The answer to that last question was pack a travel bag for the Boy and assemble my hospital bag. I tried to do as much as I could before waking Mr Earth. No sense in him losing sleep too. I was WIDE AWAKE though. Why do they suggest going back to bed at this point? No deal for me. Finally, though, I had to wake the man and let him know what was happening. It took a while for him to register it because we simply were not expecting this so early.

I thought that I was supposed to go in to the hospital right away. I was sure the doctor had said to do this because of the whole VBAC situation. But since it was so early and way too inconvenient to wake the Boy, we called the hospital instead. They said to wait until the contractions were closer together.

So, the day went on as usual, except that I decided to NOT to go for a run that morning. It seemed unwise. We did go grocery shopping, though, and then sort of hung out at home. I started using low-toning for the contractions which were about 15 minutes apart. We called all three sets of parents to let them know what was happening, and to arrange for someone to watch the Boy as my parents were in New Jersey. Mr Earth's stepmother was on call and ready to come by.

The low-toning got a little boring for me (short attention span), so I started singing with each contraction instead. For some reason, the only song I could think of was "Do You Hear The People Sing" from Les Misérables. Not the most appropriate lyrics, but very inspirational. It was the only song with low notes that came to mind anyways, so I was stuck with it.

Finally, around 3pm in the afternoon, I had had enough and wanted to go for a walk. The Boy was being rather obstinate but into the stroller he went despite complaints. We walked down to the local Second Cup and I had a mulled apple cider. I wondered if people could tell I was in (early) labour. We started walking again - I wanted to return a book to the library - but I decided that we should go home as the contractions were getting worse. Of course, the Boy wanted to walk home so it took a loooong time.

We finally got home around 5pm and decided we really should call Mr Earth's stepmother as it would take her 45 minutes to get to our house and the contractions were now steadily 5 minutes apart. And active labour had begun. I spent much of the next hour on my hands and knees moaning in pain. It frightened the Boy, who kept shushing me, but I really couldn't help myself.

Mr Earth's stepmother finally got there at around 10 minutes to 6pm and we rushed to the car. I have never hated being in car so much. I felt confined in a uncomfortable seat, and each contraction was hellish. I hated every bump. I cursed the Bloor Street traffic. I hit the wall of the car. I was VERY mature.

Mr Earth dropped me off at admitting so he could go park the car. I waited interminable for the two receptionists to stop having their debate about what to eat for dinner. Finally, the girl deigned to help me. I left the papers on her desk and got down on my hands and knees again, moaning. Yeah, this is not embarrassing at all. Strangely, she asked no questions. I was sort of expecting an "Are you all right?" or "Can I get you a wheelchair", or "Should I call a nurse?" Nothing. Once she admitted us she pointed us in the direction of the elevators. I'm pretty sure I gave her the blackest look of death I had. Don't piss off the woman in labour..

In the elevator, I got down on my hands and knees again with contractions. I had to crawl out of the doors. Some guy gave me a strange look. He pissed me off too. At triage, they put me in a room and did an exam to see how far along I was. The woman was really abrupt and rather unkindly shoved her hand up the wazoo in the middle of a contraction. She REALLY pissed me off. I was at 5 centimetres.

I was taken (walked? I can't remember) to the labour room. I had high hopes of waiting till 6 centimetres before even considering an epidural, but the pain was too much. I really thought I had a better tolerance for pain. I was doing my best not to scream through contractions, which were coming one on top of the other. I was VERY loud. The hospital phrased it "patient was in distress". They couldn't get the IV to stop bleeding or stay stuck to my hand. They apparently gave me an epidural, but after my constant polite questions of "When is that damn epidural supposed to work??" they finally realized that it hadn't "taken". WTF???

So, at around 8:30 and 8 or 9 centimetres dilated, they gave me a spinal. After that, I felt FINE. Contractions were happening nonstop but I couldn't feel them. They gave me about half an hour before they wanted me to start pushing. They said I might feel the urge to push, but I didn't believe them because I felt FIIIINE. I did feel the urge, though.

The pushing (with drugs) was actually not bad. Rather uncomfortable, but not nearly as awful as I thought. It was all going so fast. I felt a rush of blood (ruined a perfectly good pair of sport socks in the process), and they pulled out the baby. As they brought him up to my chest, I saw the goods and knew it was a boy, and no one had to make the "It's a Boy!" announcement I was so looking forward to.

I got to hold him for a spell. He was so small it was like holding on to air. I barely felt the weight of him. I was in shock that it was November 3rd and I was holding my baby already. The family complete. The trio turned quartet. Life is good.

Now, if only we could find time to sleep.

A shout out to the Peeps from the little guy. Yo, yo, yo!

Baby Earth II Arrives!

Hi All, Mr. Earth Here..

I thought that I'd take this opportunity to quickly update everyone about..... ME!

Turnons:
-Sunshine
-Long walks on Beaches

Turnoffs:
- Clouds
- Rainy Days

(yes, I think that I'm VERY funny..)

Oh, yeah, I'm also pleased as punch (but really is punch all that pleased... moving on..) to announce that Baby Earth II was born last evening at 9:44 pm.

A BOY! (It's true I only have male sperm!!) Weighing in at 6lbs and 12 ounces.

Delivery was... well.... let's say I'm glad that I'm a guy....

But to summate:

- We left for the hospital at around 6 and we probably left it a little to late as Mrs. Earth was in some MAJOR pain...
- We got to the hospital around 6:30 and she was keen on the epidural immediately...
- Unfortunately... it took a while to happen...
- Then, the first epidural "didn't take" (comment: HUH??)
- Finally, she got a "spinal" around 8:30 or so - and it was all puppy dogs and icecream after that..
- She pushed like a champ

More later..

Mr. Earth

Unprepared, as usual...

So...um...yeah....my water just broke. I think I remember my doctor saying that I should get something like that checked out? They may send me home again, but it's a good idea, right??

My parents were slotted to take care of the Boy. They're out of town until Tuesday.

Would this be a GOOD time to pack the hospital bag? Or install the car seat?? Just wondering.

I'll keep you posted as possible. Who knows? I could have Big News really soon...

Barbies, Barbed Wire and BB Guns [MBT]

Faithful Mama Drama readers may remember that I was going to be in a play right about now, but the director decided that it was too risky since I am so close to my due date. Personally, I think that I still could have done it, but since I recently twisted my SI joint, perhaps it's a good thing that I wasn't cast.

It's no doubt a conflict of interest to review a play that I should have been cast in, but what the heck, right? It's my column and I'll cry if I want to. Just keep in mind that I am probably still bitter and jealous. Add to that the fact that the Husband and I were stuck in traffic for the FOUR HOURS leading up to the play because we had to drop the kid off at my parents, AND the fact that we didn't have time for dinner before the show, and I probably wasn't in the best "theatre-viewing mindset" ever. (For the love of all that is good, will someone please feed the 9-month preggo lady?? Yeesh.) But it's not that often that I get to see live theatre these days, so here goes..

Read more at Mommy Blogs Toronto.

And hey - did you know that MBT is participating in NaBloPoMo?? Check back every day for new posts.

Frankensteins Big and Small

For Wordless Wednesday

Shoulda done those Kegels

Oh, how the mighty have fallen. For the past four days, I have been limping around in agony wondering what I could have possibly done to screw up my lower back quite so badly. At first, I hoped it was just regular back pain as many pregnant woman experience. The next day, the pain localized into one side, and I knew something was up. At times, I couldn't even put weight on the leg. Yesterday, it was so bad that I was using the stroller like a walker - anything to stay upright. Today, I'd decided that I had endured enough and called a physiotherapist that my doctor had recommended.

I suspected that it was somehow pregnancy related, of course. I know that things in the pelvic area tend to loosen up when you're late in the game. I even knew that you could do some damage if you weren't careful. But surely these things happen to Other People, not me. Oh no! I'm a runner! I am still - or, rather, was still until the back went haywire - running for about an hour, three times a week! I take a FitMom class once a week, and I walk a lot! Apparently all these good things are for naught if you don't do your kegels.

For some reason, I thought I was exempt. Or, perhaps I was lazy. Anyways, I could never find time for them. Now that I can't walk properly, I wish I had made more of an effort. According to my physiotherapist, I lack some of the core strength that kegels help to build, and I hurt/twisted/messed up the SI Joint. She gave me some exercises and stretches to do - all of which involve the muscles worked while doing kegels.

She also said that the pain may not go away entirely until I deliver, though. Fabulous. Nothing like chasing after a toddler who can outrun you.

So it looks like I've got my work cut out for me. Can I make up for 9 kegel-free months in just 3 short weeks? Only time will tell. One thing I know for sure is that I won't look like this at the end of my new workout regime:

This is SO NOT the outfit I would choose to wear while doing kegels. Assuming that white thing goes where I think it does - are we pretending that my little girl can actually compress that thing? It looks like a Thigh Master for pete's sake! Nuh huh. Love how the pregnancy benefits are hidden between things like better orgasms and heightened stimulation, though. . Now, if only I had the proper footwear to become a KegelPro, I'd be all set...

Now if anyone sees me in person, you're gonna be wondering if I'm doing a kegel. Arncha?