It Takes a Village

I remember how lonely I was when I had Cakes four years ago. I didn’t know many other parents, and didn’t have many friends in the city (we’d recently moved). I sure didn’t know any neighbours. I remember going to drop-ins, desperate for conversation, making forced, boring, repetitive small talk with women I had nothing in common with besides having given birth.

This time couldn’t be more different. Thanks to the blogosphere, I have my tribe of fabulous women who are just a tweet or an email away. I can even *gasp* phone them if I want to. We’ve moved to a far friendlier neighbourhood where I actually want to talk to a lot of the parents I meet at the park. We have a few fellow parent friends on our block who take Cakes for play dates with their kids. And I have the loveliest next-door neighbour. He and Cakes went for brunch last weekend. And the other night, after a very, very long solo day with both kids, Cakes spied him outside on our communal garden bench. “Alan!” she shouts out the window. “Wait there, we’re coming out after mommy goes pee!” (thanks for sharing, Cakes). When we straggle outside, me with my spit-up stained shirt and dark circled eyes, there’s a crisp, cold glass of white wine waiting for me, and he stretches out his hands to take Sherwood from my tired arms.

Good friends; good neighbours. They’re making all the difference.

Blink and It's Gone

I still don’t have time to write much of anything here. Sherwood is sleeping fabulously at night, for which I am deeply, deeply grateful. The only downside is that his only naps during the day are when I’m walking him in his stroller, or when he dozes on my chest. I can read for hours while he nurses, but I’m not talented enough to type well with one hand. Right now he’s dozing on McHotty’s chest, so I’ll steal a few minutes here.

I’m not going to complain that I don’t have time to do anything. Because I know Sherwood is my last baby I am so very, very conscious of not wishing this time away. You know, already I can barely remember Cakes’ babyhood. I didn’t make the conscious effort to treasure it as I know now that I should, and I want to do better this time. These days are indescribably precious, yet so fleeting: the warmth of him nuzzled into my neck for a snooze; the trusting, vulnerable stare as he nurses; the heart-exploding first smiles and coos. It brings me to tears to think that in five years I won’t be able to remember this exactly as it was. The best I can do is relax, try to fix the sensations in my mind, and attempt to record them permanently this time, even if it’s only hasty sketches here and lots and lots of photos.

Speaking of photos, doesn’t this one make you smile?

Happy

Dudes. Three things have happened this week that make life a whooole lot better:

First, I mastered the art of breastfeeding lying down. He’s not a reliable napper, so now at least we can have an afternoon rest. And I have a foolproof way to get him down at night (and can doze during that final marathon feeding).

Second, he's slept through the night a few times! I’m afraid to talk about this one too much. Don’t hate me.

Third, he finally took a bottle! I was starting to try to resign myself to having him permanently attached to my boob for six months. After several days of trying, I put the bottle away for a week. Then, feeling lucky, I tried again and by god, he did it! What an enormous relief. The first thing I did was make plans to meet a friend for drinks on a patio. Then I made a hair appointment. Freedom! Am I conveying how fucking happy I am he’s taking a bottle?

Speaking of happy, this makes me happy:

Labour of Love

Update: Thanks so much for your supportive comments; they really helped a lot. I'm so thankful I've kept up this blog now that I need it the most.

We're doing much better again since I posted this. He's back to eating every 2-3 hours, and the engorgment is better. I've learned that I really need to be rested and relaxed, and sit in the right chair. Cakes is away again until tomorrow night, and it's quieter around here. My iTouch is saving my sanity--now that some of the nursing sessions are marathon, I'm getting good at scrolling through tweets and blogs. Once I can nurse and hold a book at the same time, we'll be all set!

My initial jubilation is wearing a little thin. Though we’re doing infinitely better than last time, I’m amazed at just how fucking hard breastfeeding is. Day 1 was heartbreaking, waiting for milk to come in. Day 2 and 3 were horrible, with ridiculous engorgement (the poor boy was terrified at the sight of two torpedoes staring him in the face. Day 4 and 5 (when I posted below) were euphoric, with the two of us finally hitting our stride. Then, day 6 the little dude ATE ALL DAY. Seriously, out of 24 hours, I think he nursed about 20. I was trembling with exhaustion.

The last couple days have been really frustrating. After his gorge fest, he spent most of the next day sleeping, just rising for short little snacks, leaving me engorged again (I had to get out the breast pump). While he was latching on right away, now he’s fighting and squirming at each feed before he finally settles down. He grabs handfuls of my breast with his little claws, and kicks and screams. A 4 AM feeding took an hour and a half, with him only nursing for about 20 minutes of that time. It seriously makes me want to stab myself in the eye. I’ve tried pumping a few minutes before the feed, to make sure the milk is flowing. I’ve tried pumping for 10 minutes before the feed in case the flow is coming too fast. I’m really getting tired.

So, my friends, I need your comforting words. Tell me it was hard for you too, and it gets easier (when?) Remind me how rewarding breastfeeding can be. Any advice?

The Story

Update: Day 6 and we're already back to birth weight! I'm thrilled.

We're still doing great--I’m pinching myself. After our rough first months with Cakes, I’ve always felt cheated on the early motherhood experience, particularly not being able to nurse. Sherwood and I had a couple of difficult nights (first waiting for milk to come in, then battling terrible engorgement) but now nursing is going really well. I’m still awkward as hell, but it gets better each day and I’m thrilled with the connection I feel to my son.

Now, to the promised birth story:

1030 Finish watching two episodes of Nurse Jackie (so good!) and contractions start.
1130 Contractions 15 minutes apart. Been down this path the week before, so resist urge to get overly excited, and try to sleep (has anyone actually been able to sleep in early labour?)
1200 Give up on trying to sleep and goof off on Facebook and Twitter in bed. Try to resist urge to tweet about contractions in case it’s another false alarm.
0200 For fucks sakes, contractions still 15 minutes apart.
0330 Still 15 minutes dammit, but give in and tweet. Call McHotty at the hall and ask him to come home.
0400 Get in the Jacuzzi. Within minutes contractions 12 minutes apart. Then 10. Then 6.
0500 Call midwife. Contractions 6 minutes apart, but only a minute long and I can talk through them. Decide to wait.
0515 Ow, ow, ow, ow.
0600 Howling. McHotty calls midwife. Says we’ll be at the hospital in 15 minutes, meet us there.
0620 Takes me 20 minutes to get down all the stairs to the car. Hazard lights blinking, race to the hospital passing cars, running lights.
0630 Arrive at hospital entrance and stagger into lobber while McHotty parks. Start wailing in lobby, and coffee lady gets me into wheelchair. McHotty finds me and starts sprinting.
0635 Go up wrong elevator and get lost. Ear-splitting howls alert nurses who direct us to the right wing.
0638 Find midwife and sprint to delivery room. Push, push. OMFG. Beg for pain relief and they look at me like I’m crazy. Baby’s heart rate drops, so the doctor comes in and yells at me to push properly.
0650 Get into some kind of crazy determination zone and push for all I am worth. Everything falls away, pain disappears, and out he comes.

Under the wonderful ministrations of my midwives (I really can’t speak highly enough about them) I was feeling good by 10 am and they sent us home. Wild, no? After spending so many days in the hospital when Cakes was born, it is so lovely to recover at home this time. Sherwood and I are set up on our third floor with our own bathroom and deck. McHotty is keeping me set up with great food and lots of TLC. The midwives have been here almost every day. It really, really couldn’t be better. Here’s hoping we stay the course.

The Invisible Woman

When Cakes and I walk to school, part of the trip is along a very busy road, and we share our path with joggers, cyclists, city workers, all the characters of a busy city morning. On the way to school, when I’m pushing Cakes’ stroller, I’m an invisible woman--nothing more than an obstacle to be navigated around. This morning a cute construction worker caught my eye. He deferentially allowed us to pass, looking the other way.

When I drop Cakes off, I leave the stroller at school and walk home, unencumbered. I’ve lost my invisibility cloak. On the way home today, I counted one whistle, one honk, and two up-and-down looks. I rolled my eyes on the outside, but I was smiling inside.

Does this make me a bad feminist?

Moving On

Day 2 Update: Cakes was excited to go back to school today, but she cried when I went to leave this morning. I called an hour later and they said she was laughing and having fun. Fingers crossed!

Today was Cakes’ first day of preschool: the first time she’s been in anyone’s care other than family. As recently as yesterday I was telling people I wasn’t worried at all—Cakes does well with transitions; she’s social, adaptable, etc. and I was sure all would go well.

And then I barely slept a wink last night.

I won’t go on and on about all the things I worried about last night, because it’s all moot.

The day went better than I could have expected. I’m so thankful and proud of her.

It went unbelievably well actually (with the exception of skipping nap). I’m really curious to see how tomorrow goes.

She woke up five minutes after my alarm went off (the first time I’ve set an alarm in two years!) Over breakfast I explained to her she was going to school.

“I go to school?”

“Yes, darlin’.”

“Buddy go school too?”

“You bet babe.”

McHotty and I both took her. We met her teacher, chatted for a while, played with Cakes for about ten minutes, then said goodbye and told her we’d be back later. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, then went back to her blocks. We went home to our oddly quiet house. I worked for about an hour, then called the school to learn she didn’t shed a tear, she was laughing, and having a grand time.

I’m so fucking relieved.

We went back at the end of the day to pick her up. She was playing outside and I watched her unobserved for a little while. She was beaming, laughing, and chasing her exuberant teacher and her new friends around the yard.

And you know what? Her willingness to move on didn’t make me sad today. I’m so happy for her. And happy for me. We’re both moving on to the next thing.

But she’s still my babe. As happy as she was this afternoon, she lit up even more when she caught me spying. My hours with her today were much more precious than any others have been lately.

This is a good thing.

A New Balance

I’m starting my program full-time in just two weeks and Cakes is going to be cared for by someone other than family for the very first time. She’ll be going to preschool three days per week.

I thought this big transition would be a source of more blog fodder (and maybe it still will), but to be honest, I’m not very torn up about it.

I love the preschool we chose. It’s new and bright and spacious. Cakes thrives in a routine, and loves to be with other children, especially older ones (she’s going to skip the toddler room and go right to pre-school rather than have to move in a few months). It’s family run and we really like the lady in charge.

I think it will be good for her on so many levels. I truly think it will help her speech development being around other kids so much (they’ll force her to use her words to be understood). She’s starting to love arts and crafts and I’m just not very creative when it comes to that stuff. They make their own food there, and I’m pretty certain it will be better than what I make (I sure hope so). I think she needs more than I can give her and I hope she’ll get it there.

I also think this is going to be very good for me. I don’t think I could handle another winter of full-time parenting. It’s one thing during the summer when you can be at a different park every day, but keeping your toddler (and yourself) amused indoors all winter is a challenge indeed. I admire SAHMs and childcare providers so much, they have the toughest job in the world.

I’m so thankful I’ve been able to stay home with her this long. I’m also thankful we can have this time apart now (the research I’m doing will pay for her preschool—I’m not sure how we would have swung it otherwise). Neither of us is ready for her to be in full-time childcare yet, so I hope this arrangement will give me enough time to do my work, and still spend lots of time goofing off with my gal.

I hope we’ve found a balance that will work for both of us.

Ebb and Flow

I’m at my in-laws’ place in Kingston for the weekend. I’m sitting next to the lake, furtively picking up someone’s very weak wireless signal, hoping I’ll be able to post this.

Earlier today, I put Cakes down for her nap and plugged her monitor in the outlet by the lake, installed in a tree by my ingenious father-in-law for our wedding a few years ago. I waded into the lake and struck out in the cool, rough water. I swam out about a hundred yards and noticed a sailboat, a couple of hundred yards away. It sailed along the water on a beam reach, the occupants struggling a little to control it in the strong wind. Enviously, I swam towards the boat, cutting through the waves, strongly, powerfully. But the boat just sailed further away. Conscious of the baby monitor, now completely out of earshot, I rolled over onto my back and let myself be carried in the opposite direction, towards the shore, towards the dear family beckoning back on land.

Towards the chocolate pie beckoning from its haven in the fridge.

Push and Pull

I love my family, but sometimes I just can’t get away from them soon enough. Take this morning for example. I knew I’d just have Cakes until noon as I had an afternoon class. But I was tired, PMSing, and stressing about my coursework. Cakes was picking up on my mood and was not at her best. I took her to the park, where I continued to be pissy and bored. I rushed her back home a little earlier than necessary to get ready to go. I barely said hello to McHotty and couldn’t get out the door fast enough.

Do you have these days? The funny thing is, a few hours later I was sitting in a cold, air-conditioned classroom being bored by a presentation, wishing I was at the park with Cakes. I made it home a little earlier than usual and could have gone for a latte or done a little shopping, but instead I came straight home. Walking down the street, I saw McHotty and Cakes in the distance, hand in hand, returning home. I quickened my step to catch up to them.

***


I have no ambivalence about leaving my family next week for a road trip to BlogHer with some of my favourite pals (just nine more sleeps!). Check out our Eco Trippin’ page and leave us your green travel suggestions.

Speaking of the road trip, do you think it'd be better to drive to Chicago via Sarnia or Windsor? Would you rather spend the night in Kalamazoo (yes, the Kalamazoo of which Johnny Cash sings)where there are five breweries, or Frankenmuth, where there's a FUDGE factory? Decisions, decisions.

One more thing: have you taken the BlogHers Act Canada survey yet? I'm voting for Child Poverty (check out today's editorial in the Toronto Star about child poverty in Ontario here).

You have until July 22. Get over there and make your voice heard!



Okay I lied, there’s still one more thing: Racy’s back at Hot and Bothered and she’s chatting about taking it up the ass. Go on over. I know you want to.

More, More, More

Since my daughter arrived, I’m a little more patient, forgiving, forgetful, loving, unselfish, tired, happy, empathetic, kind, dreamy, droopy, vulnerable, committed, goofy, goopy, dazzled, frazzled, content, confident, crazy, lazy, inspired, courageous, scared, scarred, womanly, human.

I’m more.

***


This reflection on “what makes me a mother” is part of the Blog Blast, brought to you by light iris and Parentbloggers.

A Good Mother Day

I had a good mother day at the park this afternoon. Instead of being an unorganized mess, I actually had my shit together.

When we arrived, a fellow mom and friend was struggling with an extraordinarily shitty child (the child’s diaper was shitty, I’m not calling her child shitty as in bad).

“You look like you could you some extra wipes,” I observe, whipping some out.

We parked the stroller and Cakes ran off with her ball, bucket and shovel, all of which I remembered to bring.

A short time later she was hungry and I gave her a rice cake and some water. When all the children gathered ‘round like seagulls, I was able to share, as I’d brought the whole package.

When Cakes became too hot with her long-sleeved undershirt beneath her hipster tee I was able to remove it as I had remembered the suntan lotion. She wore the hat that was on her head instead of on the closet floor at home.

Some other kid hit Cakes while her mother was busy chatting. I comforted her (Cakes).

Some other kid stole her pail and shovel. I magnanimously said not to worry.

When I noticed Cakes had a river of snot running from her nose into her mouth, I was able to wipe it away with a crumpled tissue (only used about twice) I had stowed in my pocket.

Two years into this gig and I’ve finally got it down.

Snapshots

Your proud, elated face as you conquer a new challenge.


The tender taste of your toes as I nibble them gently; the cool feel of your smooth soles against my cheek as I play peek-a-boo with your feet.


Your silken smooth locks, shiny between my fingers as I straighten them and let them curl up again, like stretching a spring.



Delighted peals of laughter as I exuberantly kiss your soft, warm belly.


You catching sight of me after an absence: the glee in your eyes, the happily impatient gestures of your arms, the melodic sound of excited babbling.



The comfortable weight of your body, moulded next to mine, as I carry you on my hip.


The way you fit perfectly in the crook of my arm as I read you a story, occasionally burying my nose in your damp, freshly washed hair, inhaling your fragrance.


Your little shoes on the doormat next to mine; your hand trustingly in mine as we cross the street; the way you look at your father, enchanted, while he reads your favourite books.

Planning Ahead

After much fear and laziness, I have finally agreed a second child may be a good idea. Operation Making #2 will begin next September (after some travelling and a free summer to relax, write, and entertain a lot). In the meantime, BP, you better not bring that thing within three feet of me unsheathed.

***

Today is the last day to vote! I think I’m in last place, so please go vote for me in the Family Blog category (this is the last time I will annoy you about this, I promise!)

***

Check out Kittenpie's children’s book recommendations over at Mommy Blogs Toronto. Starting Monday, for the month of December we will be bringing you holiday cheer. Visit often!

Gainful Employment

It’s been over six months since I officially quit my job with the record company I worked for before I had Cakes—it’s time to reassess the situation.

I had a bit of an identity crisis at first. When I was on maternity leave, though I knew I wasn’t going back, it didn’t seem real: when people asked what I did, I’d say I was on maternity leave. When my maternity leave ended, I suddenly felt cast adrift. I felt uncomfortable when I met someone and was asked what I did. I missed being needed at work and it really hurt when they found someone great to take my place. I missed getting recognition for my work.

I still really miss the social aspect of working. This past weekend was the legendary Christmas party—it’s the first Christmas I have no big event to dress up for (those firefighters do not make a big deal of Christmas). Each year they take the entire company to a resort up north. We (they!) have dinner and dance. The best part is the “after party” where wild things happen. Everyone kicks off their high heels, throws on their pajama bottoms and grabs their toboggans. The last thing I remember about last years’ party was karaoke—I remember doing a spirited version of Paradise City, complete with air guitar at around 4 am. Our karaoke was abruptly ended when the machine was tossed out the fifth story window into a snow bank below. I shit you not.

Yes, I miss that stuff. However, I’ve made inroads in the friendship department. Between the blogging ladies, the guys next door, and the two moms across the street, I haven’t been lonely lately. I think the blogging ladies might be up for a wild karaoke night.

The other thing that remains slightly uncomfortable is the money issue. Though we have enough, it would be nice to have some of my own (it doesn’t help that with the recent Income Trust announcement my little nest egg has tanked).

For the most part however, I have adjusted to my new status. I’m happy with what I’m doing. I’m thankful we have this option. I do get recognition: smiles from my daughter; gratitude from my husband for his clean socks and happy cock; your votes in the Canadian Blog Awards; A’s. It all adds up.

As for validation: one look at my thriving, healthy, happy daughter is all I need. Despite my lack of training, the unsuitability of my personality, and a complete absence of experience, I’ve done a stellar job.

Between my courses, reading, and writing, I have plenty of mental stimulation. I’m getting so much more out of my classes now that I’m not attending them already mentally drained from my day at work.

I finally really appreciate what I do. If you ask me at a cocktail party, I’ll proudly say, “I’m staying home with my daughter.” I have the most important job in the room. I’m a top-notch craftsperson.

Can I get some service around here?

***

Go on over and meet Mouse at Mommy Blogs Toronto.

How My Training in the Corporate World Has Served Me Well

* clarification below

Before I became a mother, I worked in IT, first for a non-profit, then a record company. I did computer support, helpdesk, and network administration. Many of the skills I learned at work have served me well for my current job as a stay-at-home mom:

I gained valuable insight into how to manage the needs of unreasonable, capricious tyrants;

I learned how not to get bored by doing the same things over and over again;

I was on call all the time and often worked evenings and weekends;

I learned how to explain things slowly, simply, and clearly, with patience;

I learned what to do when someone is having a temper tantrum (stand back, keep quiet and let them work it out);

I learned how to manage stress;

I learned there are some problems I cannot fix;

I learned not to take it personally when someone was having a bad day and taking it out on me;

I crawled under furniture*;

I got used to doing a hell of a lot of work for far too little remuneration;

I learned how to make a stiff gin and tonic at the end of the day.

***

* To plug things in, you pervs.

Woman's Work

I recently listened to the bloggers’ Gloria Steinem interview—you can download it here. It was all very interesting, but the one question I just can't get out of my head was posed by Kristen from Motherhood Uncensored (see her recap here).

Here’s her question: “Until men are stuck with infants, then we've got our work cut out for us. We've been adapting to a man's world for years and proving that we can do just what they can. Problem is, they're not coming into ours. And perhaps, we're not letting them.”

Gloria responded that we need our children to see loving, nurturing dads. If they’re not doing their part, perhaps we should leave our children with them and disappear for a few days. Gloria also warned against the “get out of my kitchen” mindset, and said we have to just let them do it—if it’s not done our way, we need to get over it.

Feminism has made huge strides for women outside of the home, though there is still so much work to do. Make no mistake, we have a long way to go for equality in terms of political representation, equal pay, etc. However, I think women should focus equally on the issue of equality in the domestic sphere.

Now I don’t want to generalize, and I recognize there are many men who do their share, and more--my husband is one of them. But I think many, many, fathers are not doing their share. Lots of women are working outside of the home, and coming to another day of work inside the home.

I’ve mentioned a few times how much my husband does, but sometimes I catch myself about to downplay it. I’m embarrassed, because I know so many people who aren’t as fortunate. People have actually told me how lucky I am. Now that’s ridiculous--if you say that to me in front of my daughter, I will slap you. The fact that my husband does his share around the house should not be considered exceptional. What century are we living in?

I agree with Gloria; we need to accept some responsibility. We shouldn’t insist that things be done our way. This is something I need to work on--I catch myself being critical often.

Big Papa: I pledge to you, from this day forward, not to criticize your work.

Her suggestion of simply leaving the child with the father, a sink or swim scenario--is this feasible? I don’t know. It sounds like some women have very little faith in their husband’s ability to cope with this situation. I don’t think I’d want to leave my baby with someone who is incompetent.

What else can we do? I don’t pretend to have the answers. Personally, I would bitch, moan, complain and threaten until he did do his share, but perhaps I’m simplifying things. Am I? Do we just need to speak up more? Put our foot down?

What do you think?

Baby and Marriage

My last few posts have focused on my favourite stories about my relationship with my husband; however, our relationship hasn’t always been easy. Of course, marriage is never easy—it requires constant effort and commitment. Add a baby to the mix and it’s infinitely more challenging (for us it was, anyway).

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, Cakes’ birth was really traumatic and Sean had to take on so much responsibility. For the first few days he did all of the diaper changing and feeding; he exclusively finger-fed Cakes (a very time consuming process) because we were still hoping to breastfeed and the nurses who were “helping” us had us terrified of nipple confusion; he was worried sick about me. Needless to say, childbirth was as exhausting and stressful for him as it was for me.

We made it through the first nightmarish week, but parenthood continued to be a struggle. She was up every two hours during the night; she was colicky and cried every evening; I was spending hours each day pumping breast milk; the construction of our new home was delayed and we were trapped in our one-bedroom apartment; it was a scorching hot summer, so we could rarely leave our air-conditioned prison.

Parenthood was not what we had expected. Of course, it is wonderful--it was also devastatingly hard at first: hard on both of us and hard on our marriage.

After the first few months, things did get better: we slept more; she was no longer colicky; I was healthy again. There were still challenges though. The division of labour became an issue. Sometimes one or both of us would resent the other, thinking we doing more of the work. We would alternate night feedings, but he could not help me pump milk every three hours. He took on all of the cooking and grocery shopping, on top of his job. I resented doing most of the housework.

The additional work a new baby brings to the home, brings another big adjustment—lack of time; specifically, lack of alone time. When the baby slept, I would greedily hoard those precious hours to read, or watch tv. Spending time with my husband became the last priority in a busy day. I also had trouble adapting to being at home. I really missed my friends at work and envied him for having so much time away from us to go to a job he loves.

Lack of physical intimacy was another a stress on our marriage brought about by baby. I wouldn’t even consider sex for months after the birth and didn’t really enjoy it for a full year. For once in my life my breasts were magnificent—but I couldn’t stand for them to be touched. I felt fat, unattractive, and tired all of the time. He couldn’t help but take my rejection at least a little bit personally.


On the positive side, having a child together taught us a lot about each other. I have a new regard for his patience and dedication. He saw in me, a strength he didn’t know existed. In our baby’s nurturance, we found a common goal that superseded everything else and united us like nothing else could. We learned what was truly important to us and how to work as a partnership.

Our daughter is 15-months old now and our marriage is stronger for having weathered the stormy past year. After the initial turmoil, life has finally improved in many ways. We have time: time to pursue our own interests, time alone, time with friends, time for each-other, and time as a family. We have love: physical love, emotional love, committed love, crazily intense love for our daughter. We have confidence and commitment: we’ve survived this—we can handle anything, can’t we?

But can we handle a second baby? I’m sure we could. Do we want to? The short answer? Nope. Not yet at least.

Motherhood Doesn't Have To Be Boring

A couple of you have already written about Rebecca Eckler’s article, Motherhood is Boring, and I’ll add my ten cents.

In case you haven’t read it, the article talks about the “new wave of straight-talking feminists” who aren’t afraid to admit that motherhood is boring. They would rather hit happy hour than take their child to the park. Motherhood is "mind-numbing".

Now, as you know, I have nothing against happy hour, and though I have my own issues about being a stay-at-home mom, boredom is not one of them. Like many things, it’s all about what you make of it. Sure, if we sat around the house all day we’d both be bored. Instead, we go to our drop-in every morning, and the park almost every afternoon. There are usually plenty of people to talk to. It’s not boring. Reading the same book over and over? It’s the only time I get to cuddle my baby anymore—also not boring.

Of course, there are aspects of motherhood that become tedious. The same can be said of any work: meetings, commuting, email. That doesn’t make the work itself boring.

The thing is, I don’t need to be mentally stimulated every waking hour. There are many hours of the day that Cakes sleeps—plenty of time for me to read, write, and work on my studies. That’s enough for me. In fact, now that I’m spending so much time chilling out with my babe, when I do tackle something intellectual, I have more energy for it.

I spend most of my day doing things with my baby. That is what I signed up for. I didn’t have a baby to entertain myself. It’s my job to nurture, teach, and amuse her. She deserves nothing less.

The Routine Nazi

*Edited! Dance Commentary Below

***

I try to be, and I think I am, for the most part, a relaxed mama.

I let Cakes lead the way during the day, deciding what she wants to do. I try to strike a balance between outdoor activity, music, fine motor play, and reading. I try to represent each food group at every meal. But I don’t get too hung up on this stuff.

The one area where I am inflexible is Cakes’ routine. She goes for her nap at around 11 and to bed by 7. I will miss out on things I’d like to do rather than fuck with the routine.

You see, we have been blessed with a good sleeper and I don’t want to mess it up (dear sleep gods, please don’t punish me for daring to voice this aloud). Like I’ve said before, there are many days when I feel a great sense of relief when she goes to bed. Papa and I like to have a quiet, relaxed dinner and a glass of wine. When we want to be social, we invite someone over or go next-door. We waited a long time for our wee backyard so we’re happy to stay here and enjoy it.

Yet, reading Scarbie’s post the other day got me thinking, maybe I should lighten up. Maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world if she goes to bed an hour or two later once in awhile. Maybe she’d actually sleep in! It would be nice to have the freedom to actually go out as a family after 7 pm.

Do I dare tickle the dragon? I don’t know if I’m brave enough.

Routine, poutine. Let's party.

***

Zoolander, The Musical

Dance was so good tonight.

The performance of the night, for me, was Tranji. Loved, loved, loved it.

I'm not going to pick a winner. Whenever I do, it's the kiss of death for the poor sucker. They're all fantastic.

Go, Benji, go!

Shit. Couldn't help it.