Dear Hayden

I am 32 weeks pregnant with you today. In exactly six weeks, at approximately 3:45pm, you will be born. Someday, when you and your sister look through your baby books, you’ll notice that I wrote her many letters when I was pregnant with her. Mostly, this is because I had a lot more time in those days, and the whole pregnancy thing was new and scary to me, and I was amazed that I was finally getting to become a mother. This time is equally amazing, but the anxiety and fear are absent, and most days I find that my mind is preoccupied with other things – usually things having to do with your sister Avery, or work, or family stuff.

You can be sure that you are just as wanted and loved (already) as Avery. We started trying for you in July of 2008. You daddy and I decided that we would like our children to be close together in age because we wanted them to be best friends for each other. I was pregnant with you in August. I found out two weeks after I had returned to work from my maternity leave with your sister. Daddy and I were thrilled.

You have been good to me throughout this pregnancy, and despite my gallstones, everything has gone very well. Though you will not be my first born, I can assure you that you are no less important, and in many ways, you are much luckier than your sister. You are being born to a mother who worked out all the kinks with the first baby and is much more confident in her skills now than she was the first time around. Avery taught me how to love unconditionally, to sacrifice my everything for another human being, to be patient, to enjoy breastfeeding, and to keep my babies close to me, even at night. Your daddy and I have a better, more secure and even more loving relationship with each other than we did before having children.

Also, I can’t tell you how thrilled I was to find out that you are a girl. I am in heaven. Two girls are what I have always wanted.

Daddy rearranged the bedroom and set up your co-sleeper yesterday. Your sister still sleeps with us and we don’t plan on changing that until everyone is ready. We got and still do get a lot of criticism for having our babies sleep in our room, but thankfully your daddy and I have ignored all of the bad advice. After we had Avery, your dad and I changed our lifestyle for the better. We became vegetarian, we stopped eating processed food, and we dug up our backyard and made it into one big vegetable garden. I embraced breastfeeding and nursed your sister until she weaned herself at 15 months and plan on doing the same with you. I learned to let housework and other things slide in favour of spending my time enjoying my baby and my husband. Perhaps one of the best things is that I am going to stay home with you and your sister for a few years. Your father and I have shifted our priorities and decided that family time is the most important thing. Work is necessary to provide us with an income but we can get away with having me at home for a few years and feel that this will be best for you and Avery. The hardest thing I ever did was leave your sister to go back to work full time.

I know Avery is going to be a wonderful big sister. You are coming into a loving, warm and happy house, and we are all so excited to meet you.

Until then, keep growing strong and I will see you soon my sweet girl.

Love,

Mum

xoxo

30 weeks pregnant

I’m still here. We have been battling virus after virus at our house these past few weeks and I swear I have never been so tired in my life.

I am now 30 weeks pregnant and Hayden is feeling pretty huge to me, maybe even bigger than Avery was at this point. It’s weird how this second pregnancy has not been as big of a deal as my first. I feel like time has flown by and some days I even forget that I’m pregnant (well, not lately given the size of my tummy). I guess with having a toddler, a full time job and all the other stuff in life, I just don’t have time to sit around and reflect on this pregnancy.

I have not written any letters to Hayden yet and I’m feeling a little guilty about that. I have made it a priority to do at least a couple of them before she is born. I am scheduled to have my c-section on April 16th at 3:45pm. I find it very strange to be able to write the exact date and time of the birth of my second daughter in my planner. Besides the horrible heartburn and the gallstones, this pregnancy has been a pretty good one. I can’t believe it’s almost over. Most days, I am filled with excitement about the new baby; on other days, I’m a little worried about Avery and how she is going to feel about the whole thing. I’m also worried that I’m going to have postpartum depression again. I have spoken to my OB about it and have the name and number of a psychologist but I just haven’t been able to bring myself to call. Every now and again, I get a faint hint of the depression and anxiety. Is this when I started to get it with Avery? Before I had her? I can’t remember. I know the feeling well though. These tiny little reminders of it could be nothing, or they could be the first few dark clouds passing over the sun before the storm rolls in.

I am going to see how I feel over the next few weeks and make a decision about the psychologist then.

In the meantime, I’m wrapping things up at work and looking forward to being able to be home with my children for a few years, because truly that makes me a very lucky mother indeed.

the dump

Sometimes I think that any accommodations, sacrifices, and compromises I make in my life, and in particular in my own home with my husband and daughter, are just part of being a wife and a mother, and are nothing special really; just part of the job. And then there are days like yesterday, and today, and a few incidents a few weeks back that cause me to reflect on the way I accept things, and the way I am viewed and treated in light of my accommodations, sacrifices and compromises.

I am very mindful of my husband’s workload these days and try to be accommodating and sympathetic towards him as a result. Though he does have a lot of time off (one of the perks of being a firefighter) I recognize that he also works on the firefighter union board and is currently studying for the captain’s exam that he will be writing in March. He has also been finishing the master bathroom. All of these things require time, effort, and produce a certain amount of stress for him. On the weekends, I take Avery so that he can do any union work or bathroom renovation stuff that he needs to do. He also sends Avery to the babysitter from 9am – 1pm on the days that he is off so that he has time to work and study. When I come home from work in the evenings, I am on full-time mommy duty to give him a break. I do the baths, the bedtimes, the naptimes etc. Okay, so I guess I am making my point here.

My husband has never really made a big deal, or done anything for that matter, for our wedding anniversary. He didn’t really even acknowledge my first Mother’s Day as a mother, which sort of disappointed me given the fact that not only did I give birth to, do most of the care for and breastfeed our daughter for the whole time leading up to that Mother’s Day (and beyond of course), but I also dragged my ass through months of somewhat crippling post-partum depression after Avery was born with minimal support and came through it stronger and better in the end (something I was quite proud of). To not have that acknowledged in any minor or major way sort of sucked.

This year for our fourth wedding anniversary on January 25th, I was expecting nothing. I felt that my general attitude that day of relative ambivalence and perhaps mild irritation would be a good sign to him that I was expecting the usual nothing and perhaps it was best to just get on with the day rather than dwell on anything relating to the event. He did not schedule our babysitter to take Avery for a few hours so we could go out for dinner, he did not get me flowers, or a card. I did not get him anything because, when I did so for our other anniversaries, I felt that he could have cared less given that he did not do anything for me.

So we had dinner at home (he made it) with a restless and cranky toddler and after dinner, I was presented with a cupcake (that was actually quite good) and scrawled on the box was a nice message about how much he loved me. And I thanked him and I felt that given that I was not expecting anything anyway, I should shut up and be happy that I have a husband who loves me, who is loyal, and who makes me dinner. And so it went.

Last night, my mother came over with some gifts for Avery and I. In the recent past, my mother and I have had a strained relationship. We are working through it, though it has been difficult because of her depression and the fact that I do not see her very often. I have however, come to the conclusion that I need my mother in my life. I need my mother to be involved in the life of my children; otherwise, a part of me feels like I am floundering. My mother bought me lots of very nice and much needed maternity clothes. Because of our budget, I have been trying to get by with a few maternity items paired with some bigger shirts that I already own. I have been feeling pretty schleppy as a result. My mother told me not to worry about what she spent; she just felt that someone should be getting me some nice and comfortable things to wear because I was not doing it myself.

She came over so that I could try on the clothes and have them to wear right away. While I was trying them on, my husband was in and out of the room doing something or other and playing with Avery. Every once in awhile I would try something on and ask him what he thought if he happened to be in the room. “Its fine.” is what he would say. He knows I have been feeling like a big fat marshmallow with arms and horrible frizzy hair lately and that is all he could say. He was pouting. He was pouting because it was taking me “too long” to try on the clothes and he wanted to wrap everything up, and have my mother leave so he could plop down on the couch and drink beer for the night. No he didn’t tell me this but it was pretty obvious. When my mum left, Avery was whining because she wanted my husband to sit on the floor and play with her. He was ignoring her demands so I dropped a pillow on the floor and sat down in a bit of a huff.

“What?” he asked

“She wants us to sit with her”

“I know, she’s been whining at me all day to sit on the ground with her”

All day? I thought. He picked her up from daycare at 1pm and then she napped from 2-4pm. Then I was home by 5.

I am so tired and so big now. I’ve got some kind of stupid insomnia that prevents me from getting more than 6 hours of sleep a night and I work all day. My feet are swollen. Before bed, I ask him to get out the bin of shoes I have stored in the basement so that I can have a comfortable pair to wear the next day.

“I’m getting blisters now from the swelling so I need my other shoes” I tell him. He tells me he will bring the box up from the basement later. I go to bed. When I get up this morning, there is no box. It is still buried under stuff in the basement. I stuff my fat feet into my blister shoes.

Over the weekend, he decides to clean out the basement and the garage and take the stuff to the dump. He piles everything into the van and takes it to the dump on Monday only to find that the dump is closed. The good news about this is that I find out, purely by accident when Avery drags out my old empty camera case, that he has put my dead grandfather’s vintage Minolta, along with every camera accessory known to man that was bequeathed to me into a garbage bag and was planning on taking it to the dump.

I ask him why he would throw that out. He tells me that it was just sitting in a box in the basement. I say, well gee honey, I don’t have a lot of time for hobbies anymore so I was storing it until I am able to use it again one day. Also, it has sentimental value. Oh yeah, and photography was kind of a hobby of mine until the bondage of motherhood claimed it. He tells me he will go through the bags the next day before he goes to the dump and make sure that he puts the camera and all of the accessories back.

He called me at work this afternoon and asked me if I needed anything.

“Did you remember to take my camera and stuff out of the garbage?” I ask him.

No, he did not. He threw out my fucking camera – the camera that my grandfather gave to me, and all of the really cool shit that came with it. How in the fuck did he forget something like that?

And this is where I am now. I got off the phone with him and almost started crying at my desk. I am heartbroken about the camera because it was smashed and destroyed this morning before we could call and see if they could retrieve it. I can’t even think about it because it hurts so much. But really, I am astounded at the fact that he didn’t even bother to remember something so important for me.

After everything I do. After everything I try to be considerate of.

I don’t even know what to say to him.

To me, this shows lack of fucking care and consideration. This isn’t forgetting to pick up some corn flakes for me at the grocery store.

I am pregnant, overworked, tired and stressed. I don’t do anything for myself. I feel fat and gross. My hair is horrible because I don’t have the time to straighten it when I wash it. If it weren’t for my mother, I would be looking extra shitty in my cheap, oversized crap clothes. I don’t go out for drinks when the girls from my mom group go because my husband has a hard time putting Avery to bed without me there. I don’t do anything and I have accepted this for so long that it has become the norm. When my husband mentioned that he was going out for beers after work on Thursday I flinched a little, but I didn’t say anything. When he tells me to stick to the budget he designed, I do. When I am at home with Avery all day by myself, the house is clean and dinner is on the table when he gets in. I ask for nothing. Not backrubs, not a day off and away by myself.

What the fuck am I doing wrong?

parenting circa 1890

Could we possibly dumb down parenting any more? I think Western culture has managed to strip women of all their natural instincts and then replaced it with a steady stream of stupid pregnancy and baby book information. I was watching television last night – something baby related on one of those for-babies and parents TV channels and one of their “parenting advice segments” came on. This is a 5 minute feature which “tackles” real life parenting questions for the viewers. The question on this segment came from a mother who wanted to know if she could “spoil her child with too much affection”. She actually asked that fucking question. And they TOOK IT SERIOUSLY ENOUGH TO DEVOTE AN ENTIRE 5 MINUTES TO IT!

Where the hell is this sort of Victorian thinking coming from?

This is my answer to this woman: You fail. If you have to ask a question like that then you suck at motherhood. You gave birth to a human being, not a potato. Human beings need love and affection. Perhaps you are a cyborg and have adopted a human child and do not understand what babies need? If this is the case then I suggest that you return the baby and go back to your planet.

When I was pregnant, I read the usual tripe on the subject that you find in any bookstore. Horrible books like “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” and “What to Expect in the First Year” initially made me feel like a bad parent because I was unable to “harden my heart and let my baby cry it out” or because I had a glass of wine with Christmas dinner. These books are shit and totally contrary to any instinct the human mother generally possesses. This might be offensive to some parents but I think letting a baby cry it out in a crib to teach them independence is bullshit. It’s wrong and ours is the only culture that thinks it is acceptable. Some books I read even tell the parent not to worry if the baby cries so hard that she throws up – simply go and clean it up with as little interaction with the child as possible to let them know that it is time to shut up and go to sleep. You know who this is for? Mum and dad. Not the baby.

How absurd that we think a six month old needs to learn independence.

This is the kind of pap that we are fed. And apparently, it leaves some people so confused and helpless that they worry about spoiling their babies with affection. For once, can we please look around the world at cultures that get it right; cultures that have happy babies and happy mothers? Your baby does not need an Exersaucer and a bouncy chair and Baby Einstein videos and a Sophie – your baby needs you: during the day and at night. It’s tiring and it fucking sucks sometimes but you pretty much sign up for it when you get pregnant.

I wish I had known this before I had my daughter. It would have saved me weeks of unnecessary crying on her part and guilt on mine. To a new or expecting mother I would say: go ahead, sleep with your baby, breastfeed her, hold her all the time and enjoy it. Soon it will be over and you will miss those wonderful baby days. And your child will be so much happier for it.

this is going to be a long one...

As I heaved my pregnant body out of bed this morning and tried to waddle as quietly as I could out of the room so as not to wake Avery and the husband (yes she still sleeps in our bed – tsk tsk away if you must) the floor groaned underneath me as the weight of the day to come settled itself on my shoulders. As usual, I spend my time in the shower worrying and washing. I go over my to-do list while I blow dry my hair, and by the time I get in the car to head to the office, I feel overwhelmed.

It is silly, because I have a lot to be thankful for and not much to worry about. I just find that things start to get unmanageable at this time of year. I think this all began when my mother called the other day and began telling me how I have never done anything for her and I should be getting more involved in the ongoing divorce saga between her and my father and he is such an evil man and how can I still talk to him…and her psychiatrist thinks that her children should be doing more for her and don’t we understand how sick and depressed she is….blah blah blah. This was all while my daughter screamed and cried in the background for her dinner and husband was just coming in the door from work and my uterus was hardening itself up against the enormous amounts of stress hormones that my body was beginning to pump out as a result of this phone call. I think I am beginning to hate my mother.

This is a fairly usual conversation that my mother and I have. To get into the details and history of the relationship and the circumstances of everything on this blog would be a tremendous undertaking and one that I am not willing to put effort into. Suffice it to say that my mother is wrong and very selfish and I am pregnant, tired, looking after a toddler and truly do not need to put up with her shit anymore.

Next item:

Avery has become very obsessive about dirt. She does not like it on her hands (by dirt I mean food particles, marker, fluff from the carpet…I could go on) and the other day she took a cloth down from the countertop and began wiping the floor with it, grunting away on her hands and knees, saying “dirty, dirty” over and over again. At first, I thought it was really funny and got out the video camera. Then I started to wonder where she would be getting this from. I certainly never get down on my hands and knees to wash the floors. I am definitely not a clean freak either. I can only assume that she is getting it from her daycare provider – my girlfriend who lives next door. This woman has convinced my daughter that dirt, poop and wet socks are horrible things and Avery has absorbed all of this. She has truly become obsessed. Also, she is afraid of feathers (in particular the down feathers that sometimes escape from our duvet) and fluffy things on the carpets. I have to remove the offending feather or “fluffy” from her sight and flush it down the toilet where we stand and say goodbye to it while Avery furrows her brow and asks me 500 times if it is gone yet. Is this normal? I AM NOT encouraging this. I try to make it out like it is not a big deal but she remains upset. I don’t know what to do.

Next item:

Secret (fucking) Santa at work. You draw a name; you spend $20 on a gift for this person. I got the name of a contract employee who I do not know very well and who will be gone in a few months. I have left this to the last minute and now must run out at lunch and get something for Thursday this week. For fucks sake.

Next item:

The potluck, also this Thursday, at our office. I have volunteered to bring potato (fucking) salad. When am I going to make this? Husband is on nights and I have barely enough time to get dinner and bath done with a very demanding toddler at night. I have found a solution: I will buy a giant tub of potato salad from the market after work tonight and add some chives and possibly slices of kosher pickles to make it look authentic.

Next item:

Christmas (fucking) cards. Haven’t even started them. Was informed by husband that I need to get on this because we have received a bunch from some of the Captains and even the Chief of his department so I had better send them one as well. Ugh.

Next item:

Christmas day dinner at my father’s house with his girlfriend’s half-retarded family members, Avery and no husband because he is on day shift. My father asked that we do not do gifts this year, which is fine. He called me the other day to tell me that he hopes I will not be upset but he did get gifts for his girlfriend, her children (22 and 25) and MY OWN BROTHER but the whole “not doing gifts this year” still applies to me.

Next item:

Boxing Day with the in-laws. The only thing that is going to light up this day is the absolutely horrible gift I will be giving to my mother in law, which I still have not put together yet. But I am looking forward to that. As for the rest of it, I can only say that if I were not pregnant, I would be half in the bag by the time they came over to our house.

I think that about does it for now. I am going to muddle through this week and then try to mentally block out the holidays and soon it will all be over!

Fa la la la la.

Last night I had a dream. It scared the shit out of me.

I’d like to think that I’m not a complete wimp, but my sub-conscious decides to give me a reality check every once in awhile. I guess I thought I was just mildly upset about finding out I had gallstones. And I guess I was more angry than anything else initially about it because it’s one more fucking thing I have to deal with and now I have (almost) two babies to take care of and I can’t afford to be out of commission. Also, going under with anesthetic scares me.

Anyway, last night I dreamt that I was having my c-section. The husband was there and when they took Hayden out, he followed her over to the little “baby cleaning area” to take pictures, leaving me alone on the table. The nurse pulled the blue sheet that obscures ones view of the carnage away and I looked down to find that they had forgotten to stitch me up. Instead, the nurse had just covered the opening into my abdominal cavity with a white towel. At this point, something told me that I didn’t have much time so I called to my husband to bring the baby over to me but he wasn’t listening. It was all very dramatic. When I woke up from the dream, I was very upset. It was about 3am and I didn’t get much sleep after that. I kept worrying about dying and leaving my babies, and gallbladder surgery and anesthetic and infection in the hospital and blah, blah, blah.

I know that everything will be fine. I think that I have reached that point in my life when the realization that none of us are invincible has hit me. I am not invincible. I am meat and chemicals and brain and things can go wrong with those parts. I guess it didn’t bother me before because I didn’t have children who needed me. It’s so strange to feel so necessary and needed. Some days it takes my breath away. Some days I don’t even think about it.

The other night the husband and I were debating whether or not to stop in at a friend’s Christmas Party this weekend. We could drop Avery off next door for a couple of hours and drive the 40 minutes to our friend’s house, have a drink and a quick visit and then leave. We eventually decided that it wasn’t worth it. Then my husband said something that I had totally been thinking but was too afraid to say out loud for fear that he would think I was crazy. He said: “What if we got in a car accident on the way home and both died? You know, there are lots of drunks on the road at this time of year. Who the hell would Avery have if she didn’t have us?”

Holy shit. We are never getting in a car together again. Well, that’s a bit extreme. But obviously, both of us have seriously grown up a hell of a lot. And both of us are deeply connected to and in love with our baby. And it’s nice to know that I’m not the only crazy one in the house. It will be one of those fragile days for me I guess. Like I said, there are days when I do feel invincible still, but more in a determined way, not in an ignorant self-important way. Those are the days when you feel like a lion watching over your pride – you are big and strong and can protect your family from anything that comes along. I like those days the best.

But today, I am a rabbit.

It’s a girl! (And I have gallstones)

So they tacked on an abdominal ultrasound to my obstetrical one and whaddya know? According to the technician I have “loads of gallstones”. Awesomeness. I will be seeing a surgeon and determining if I can wait until after baby is born to have the surgery. Apparently this is somewhat common during pregnancy.

Anyway, the baby looks great and because there was no penis sighting, the technician is 90% sure it is a girl. We had 100% confirmation with Avery but whatever. A healthy baby is all I ask at this point. Although I was pretty freaking excited about the girl thing. We have a first name (Hayden) and a middle name (Winter) for a girl but no boy names. Husband thinks we should pick a boy name just incase. I like Jakob Kenneth, husband hates it. We cannot agree on any of them. Any suggestions from the 2 people that read this blog are more than welcome.

So that’s the update. I now live in fear of food.

and how was your evening?

Yesterday, as I was driving home from work, a familiar and horrible pain began in my stomach. Deep down, I knew what it was but I tried to pretend that it would go away by the time I got home. I was wrong. By the time I got in the door, I was doubled over in pain with a toddler clawing at me and a husband threatening to take me to the hospital.

I think I might have gallstones.

This is the second “attack” I have had in two months. Generally, it starts as what feels like massive gas pain in the right side of my stomach, but eventually becomes horrible, crippling pain that spreads to my back and right shoulder as I literally writhe around on the floor for 2 hours or more like a wild animal. Eventually, the pain subsides and I am left weak, pale and pretty fucking irritated with the whole thing. The last time this happened, I assumed it was gas. My husband looked at me when I told him this and told me that “there is no way that gas pain does that to someone”. As a firefighter, he goes to medical calls and he told me he thought I was passing a kidney stone or something. I would compare the pain to labour. Labour at about the time the idiot nurse let my epidural run out while I was in transition and dilated to 10 centimetres. She left the room for 45 minutes. If I ever see that woman again I will hurt her.

Anyway, the pain is that bad. My dad had his gallbladder removed when he was around my age because he had some gallstones. He tells me his attacks were like mine. And apparently, pregnancy can trigger these attacks. Yay. I’m 18 weeks pregnant with a broke-ass gallbladder. I still have not had a diagnosis. I am seeing the doctor next week and I imagine will have to go in for some tests. Maybe they can just take a gander at the old gallbladder when I’m in for my ultrasound on Tuesday.

This could turn out to be something completely different, but I’m thinking my assumption about gallstones might be correct.

I’ll update accordingly.

mish mash

I’m finding it harder to concentrate at work these days. I can’t seem to motivate myself the way I used to. Perhaps this is because I know that I am not coming back after my maternity leave this time. I’ve flip-flopped on this a couple of times. Some days I realize how lucky I am to have such a great job within a 15 minute commute from my home. I worry that there will not be a position open for me in a few years time should I decide to come back. Technically, and legally, they only have to hold my job for me for a year. I know that they would take me back if something was available when I wanted to come back but there is no guarantee that there will be something and who the hell knows where we will be then anyway.

As much as I like my job, I do feel like it is a waste of time. I leave the house by 730am and I am gone all day until 430pm. I really miss that time with my daughter and she misses me. I sit behind a desk all day while my daughter plays, learns, laughs, bonds with other people (which is important, I know) but I miss a lot.

This morning as I sit here listening to the twit in the cubicle next to me scrape at the bottom of her empty yogurt container as if she hasn’t eaten in months (just buy a bigger yogurt next time), and delete yet another e-mail forward from the crazy cat lady who I now call “silent thunder” because she smells like farts every few minutes without making a sound, I am thankful that I get to stay home with my children. As “productive” as one might feel at work, I still think being home with your kids (and being happy) is the best way to spend time.

The egg is kicking away. Avery is finally weaned and I can say, very proudly, that it was on her schedule, and we took as much time as she needed to do it sensitively and compassionately. At night, instead of nursing her, we curl up in the bed and read a book. Then she snuggles into me and we stare at each other and whisper “night night” about a hundred times while she smiles at me and plays with my hair. Finally she closes her eyes and I feel her body relax and she is asleep. It is heavenly.

I got an OB the other day. She is a woman (yay!) and came highly recommended so I am hoping I’ll like her. She is going to be the person cutting me open after all so I hope I’m comfortable with her. I see her at the end of this month.

That’s it for now. Next time I update will probably be about my BRAND NEW FREAKING DIGITAL CAMERA that I am getting thanks to my husband and eBay. We managed to get it for $500 less than retail. I am finally going to have a decent camera. Things just keep getting better!

on motherhood

This week, I felt the egg move. I remember feeling Avery move pretty early on too, and I remember being told by my doctor and a few other people that what I was feeling was “just gas”. Of course, they were all wrong.

And you know what? There were a lot of “they’s” who were very wrong about a lot of things concerning pregnancy and birth and being a parent. Wouldn’t it be nice if I could go back in time and tell that to my newly pregnant self? However, I am a stronger girl for it and I feel that because I have stuck by most of my convictions, I have become a pretty good mother. And Avery in turn, is a happy little girl.

My husband and I don’t bother to discuss the specifics of how we raise our children with other people anymore. We found that we encountered a lot of criticism when we did, a lot of “well meant” advice that often times made us feel guilty and like we were doing the wrong thing. And I really don’t think we are so far off the “traditional” path of parenthood, but when you have your baby sleep in the bed with you, carry her in a sling everywhere all day, breastfeed on demand and wean when she is ready, you open yourself up to a lot of comments.

Now that I’m a mother, I cannot imagine trying to give another woman advice about how to take care of her children. Much of the time I think the advice I get from other women is bullshit. And much of the time I realize that, at least in our society, we try to fit out babies into our lives as best we can by scheduling them, getting them distraction toys like Exersaucers to sit in for hours (seriously, my nephew is in one for at least 3 hours a day) while we “get things done”, letting them cry it out so they learn sleep independence, carting them around in strollers and car seats instead of on us in slings, and in some cases, choosing to formula feed for the convenience factor.

As much as I think that all of that stuff is the “wrong way” to parent, I would never dream of criticizing another woman for doing those things. And one would think that given the fact that I have a healthy, happy, smart, loved baby that people would give me credit for the good job I have been doing. Instead they focus on the wrong things and tell me that my baby is manipulating me, or that I need to get her used to being on her own for independence.

I was at a Halloween party last weekend where all the mothers from one of my mom groups all got together with our babies and our husbands as an excuse to dress the kids up and get some cute pictures. For the entire 3 hours that I was there, I noticed that one of the babies, 10 months old, sat in a corner of the room by herself the entire time. Her mum came in, plunked her down, and then off she went to eat and socialize. The baby’s father was there too, but he was ignoring her as well. There were no tears, or even a peep for that matter, in fact both of the parents joked about how easy she was because they could just leave her alone and she didn’t mind. So is this baby independent? Or has she learned that she is not going to get the attention so she has become more inwardly focused? In our group, and in many others, she is deemed a good baby and it is left at that. But this baby rarely smiles when you coo at her and I think that is sad. I know my daughter can be rambunctious and full of energy all day long, which sometimes wears on me, but I am thankful that she is happy, curious and fun-loving as a result of being the centre of my life. Which is the way it should be, in my opinion.

I still take care of myself, I still make time for my husband and get out with friends, but Avery can count on me anytime she needs me. I know that this has made our relationship incredibly strong. How anyone could challenge me on that I don’t understand. I try to keep these things in mind as I prepare to have my second child.

Motherhood is hard enough on us. I think we can all do without the criticism.

the egg is official

We had the ultrasound this morning and to our relief, everything looks fine. There was the egg, bouncing around and kicking up a storm in there, just like Avery was doing in her 12 week ultrasound. I even got pictures this time. (They never offered with Avery’s first ultrasound). So the relief is much needed and has certainly settled my mind.

The next ultrasound is going to be booked for the week of December 1, 2008, and we get to find out the sex at that one. For now, I am going to relax and enjoy the pregnancy.

Today was a good day.

the plastic baby bin

The other day, the husband and I were discussing our plans for the birth of number #2, or “the egg” as we now call him/her. Since I have to have a c-section again, I know I will be in the hospital for at least 2 nights. Originally, the husband suggested having my father stay over at our house overnight with Avery for those nights so that he could stay with me in the hospital. I realized immediately this would not work as a) Avery sleeps in a bed with us and there is no way in hell my dad would be able to put her down and go sleep somewhere else, and b) my dad is an alcoholic (between the hours of 3pm – bedtime) and I really don’t think that jives with taking care of my daughter.

A funny thing happened to me after I had a baby: I stopped being a total pussy. I waved my husbands suggestions of him staying with me off and told him that he could stay home with Avery and I could manage by myself in the hospital. I really do feel cool about that. When I was in the hospital after having Avery, I was terrified to be alone. Mostly because the surgery seriously restricted my movement, but also because I had a brand new baby and I didn’t know what to do.

This time, I could be abandoned on a desert island and I know I would be just fine. The only thing I have to worry about is being assertive enough with the nurses who insist I keep the new baby in that little plastic bin beside the bed while I sleep. Hell no sister. First of all, the bin is not right beside the bed, secondly, when the baby cries, I will have to page and wait for a nurse to get him/her for me. Fuck that shit yo. I’ll do what I did with Avery – the baby sleeps on me, I prop pillows around us so no one falls out of bed. What other mammal, or even animal for that matter has a baby and then leaves it on the other side of the nest/cave/in some bushes around the corner?

Anyway. I have an ultrasound next Thursday. This is the one that makes me nervous because we are seeing for the first time if everything is okay. I’m sure it is based on the fact that I have been so sick, I am beginning to look 5 months pregnant rather than 3, and I’m totally serious about this: I can feel some tiny little movements in there. Crazy, I know, but true.

We’re going to bring Avery with us so she can see the new baby, not that she’ll really care, but this is more for us than her I guess. My husband wanted all of us to be there because “it should be a family thing.” I think that is really sweet of him.

In other news: I have yet another cold and I am literally dragging myself through the day here at work. I have a feeling I will not be returning after lunch.

this week sucks

This is Avery’s first week of full-day daycare. She is only going Monday to Thursday, and she is being looked after by my girlfriend who literally lives next door to my house, but still I worried. On Monday morning I dropped her off and she didn’t even look back at me – just ran into the house to play with my girlfriend’s kids. I was pretty happy about this and felt a little less guilty than usual on my way to work (I feel guilty even if she is home with dad – I feel guilty that I have to leave her period) and then my girlfriend called me after lunch to let me know that she had been able to put Avery down for a nap with no problems.

This is the kid that I have to struggle with in order to get her to sleep. She will not go to sleep without nursing and usually it takes about 20-30 minutes to get her to pass out so I can sneak out of the room. Then I get about an hour of nap time from her.

My girlfriend walked her upstairs, told her it was “night-night” time, then laid her down in the playpen and walked out of the room. Avery went to sleep right away. She slept for two and a half freaking hours. No crying. Nothing. While I am very happy that she loves her daycare and has adjusted so well, part of me was kind of annoyed. What the hell have I been doing wrong? Last weekend, we went over to the house of a mum I met through one of my groups. A bunch of us went and brought the babies. I am the only mother still struggling with sleep issues. All of the other kids are either sleeping right through the night or waking only once. Last night Avery was up 7 times.

At work I hear some of the other mothers of toddlers talking about how well their kids are sleeping.

I know every child is different but I think I am getting pretty burnt out. Being pregnant doesn’t help as I am extra tired and definitely not getting the sleep I need. But come on. 7 times? And that is pretty average. Occasionally we have a few good nights where she will only wake up twice and settle herself, but I could use more of these nights.

Avery cannot wait to go over to my girlfriend’s house. Again, I am happy that she is so happy there but I feel jealous in this weird way. Avery wanders around chanting my girlfriends name and this morning I could barely get her shoes on she was so excited to go over there. I’m starting to feel like kind of a second rate mother. Like maybe Avery is happier over there than with me. When I went to pick her up last night she came over to me, smiling, handed me a toy and then took off again. This might sound ridiculous but I was shattered. I had to coax her to come home with me.

Maybe this is all normal, maybe its pregnancy hormones. Maybe I’m just overtired and overextended. With the husband working days, I’m alone for the morning and evening routines. I have to get all the shit together in the mornings, get myself ready, and get Avery ready by 7:30am. At night, I stop at the store; pick up Avery and then struggle to get everything tidied and dinner made. Then I have to pack lunches and breakfast for the next day.

This is gross, but you know what I realized the other day? I have been wearing the same bra for over 2 weeks. The other ones were washed and left in the laundry room to dry and I haven’t even bothered/found the time to go get a clean one. My hair was last washed 3 days ago and I am wearing yesterday’s leftover makeup. Tonight I have no fucking idea how to make dinner, give Avery a bath and then get myself in the shower all before her “bedtime”. And by bedtime I mean an hour of me trying to get her down.

10 weeks pregnant this Thursday. First ultrasound scheduled for October 16th. Hopefully all is well with “the egg” as my husband and I call the new baby. I find I barely even think about the pregnancy beyond taking my prenatal vitamin every morning.

This is why I am not going back to work for a few years after baby #2. How the hell do people do this 5 days a week every week?

sick sick sick

8 weeks this Thursday.

I don’t think I was this sick with Avery. I’ve been taking my Diclectin to combat the nausea, but it doesn’t seem to be doing the trick this time. I am having a really hard time eating anything. Breakfast is not so bad, but by lunch time I can’t even stand the thought of eating, let alone the smells from the cafeteria downstairs. Hopefully, this all goes away in the second trimester. I can deal with the tiredness, but feeling sick all the time really sucks.

Avery is doing really well. She’s talking up a storm (I think she can say about 10 words now). I can’t believe how much fun she is now. I am longing for the days (mere months from now) where I can be home with her again.

That’s all for now. Work has been terribly busy and I can’t seem to get everything done. Back to the grind.

week 6

Oh yes, now I remember.

For a few days, I have been worried because I have not been feeling very pregnant. Then I woke up this morning and the room was spinning. It is close to lunchtime in the office here and the nausea has begun. I can’t even stand the smell of my hand cream. This is exactly what happened last time. I think this is a good sign.

Luckily, I have an appointment with my doctor tonight and I can get some Diclectin, the magical, wonderful anti-nausea pill. I’m going to book my Integrated Prenatal Screening, not because I care about the genetic results so much as it is the only way I can get an ultrasound at 12 weeks. All in all, things are going pretty well. I’m crossing my fingers that I don’t get assigned to the same OB I had last time. Remember him?

So that’s all for now. Work is busy, home life is busy, and I am happy.

Oh yes, and Sarah Palin can suck it. You too McCain. (more ranting on this later)

warning: this post contains swears and egregious misuse of quotation marks

Our office’s resident people pleaser brought in a batch of her “famous brownies” today. I could smell the Crisco from the parking lot. She walked around from cubicle to cubicle passing them out. I politely took one. I’m not much of a sweet tooth, and besides, this is the last thing my pregnant body wants me to ingest right now. It is T minus 2 hours until the nausea officially begins for the day.

Anyway. As usual all the women in the office went ape shit. What’s really annoying is that before taking a brownie they all have to say: “Oh I really shouldn’t…” or “Maybe just one…”

Ladies, lets not pretend that you don’t stuff your fat faces with hoagies and fries at lunch. All anyone ever does in this freaking office is eat crap. All day long. The majority of people in this office look like the customers in an American Cosco. By this I mean, morbidly obese.

I hate the fact that women have to preface eating by uttering these meaningless, shallow and totally bullshit lines. As I stuffed some of the trans fat-laden brownie into my face, one of the publishers walked by.

“Oh those must be good, everyone is eating them!”

I nodded and widened my eyes in an “Oh you know it sister!” kind of a way. I hate when I do that. I am being totally sarcastic but totally pandering to the idiocy at the same time.

“Good thing bathing suit season is almost over!” she laughed.

This is one of those moments when I want to do one of two things:

Laugh maniacally until she feels stupid for saying such a clichéd and unfunny thing, or, roll my eyes and say “Oh my god, just get over it already. Eat your fucking brownie and shut up.”

Instead I “laugh” along with her and hate myself a little.

Bathing suit season. Go fuck yourself. I have an IQ over 85. I don’t bother myself with such trivial matters.

This morning the Husband was telling me that one of the guys at work was complaining because his wife spent hundreds of dollars on some new bras. He told the guys how he “freaked out” when she told him - that is until he saw her in the bras. He went on to talk about how breastfeeding their 2 children had ruined his wife’s breasts. How they used to be like the breasts of a teenager. But these new bras made them look great. ‘Buy more!’ he told her.

What a fucking asshole. Can you imagine his wife finding out that her husband was standing around telling a bunch of firefighters how bad her tits were? She carried, birthed and nursed your DAUGHTERS you fucktard. DAUGHTERS that you are going to turn into bulimic little self-obsessed twats because of your retarded attitude about women. I hope your dick rots off.

Ahh, that was cathartic.

Now back to my brownie.

good news

I can’t keep this to myself. And I do not keep a diary, so this blog is where it all goes down. For those of you who have me as a friend on the vile Facebook network, please do not make comments about this on my wall, or anywhere else for that matter, as I have people from work as Facebook “friends”.

Yep, I’m pregnant. Roughly 5 weeks along. I found out this morning. I woke up with the same funny feeling I had when I was pregnant with Avery and I thought to myself: There is no way. The reason I thought this is because my last 2 periods have been over a week late and I had resigned myself to the fact that it was going to take a long time to get pregnant because of my irregular cycles. Also, my husband and I literally had sex only once this month. Once. I know, I know, that’s all it takes sometimes. But come on. We tried to be more active on the baby making front, but me going back to work really made everything chaotic. When he wasn’t at work and we were both home together, we were either too tired or Avery was awake.

Once.

I had a really strange dream last night and when I opened my eyes this morning I just knew. I put on some cartoons for Avery, left her snuggled in the bed and got out the pregnancy test. The plus sign showed up right away. Like, as I was peeing. So I put the test in a little Ziploc bag and left it on the dresser. The Husband was on nights last night so Avery watched cartoons and I got ready for work while we waited for daddy. When he got home I got Avery to hand him the bag.

“No way” he said.

“Yep”

“But when?” he was clearly as surprised as me.

“Remember the Saturday before I went back to work?”

“Holy shit”.

Of course, he is thrilled. I am thrilled. I’m not going to worry about bad stuff or anything. I’m just going to enjoy this. Bring on the morning sickness! Bring on the exhaustion! I can take it! Or maybe I have just completely forgotten about what pregnancy does to me. Either way, I could not be happier.

quick update

Avery was born on July 15 after a lenghty labour, 2 hours of pushing and an eventual c-section. Let's just say that Oxytocin is one hell of a drug. I'm sure it is the reason I ended up with a c-section. Me and Avery are fine now, just adjusting to life in pajamas, constant boobie-feeding and desperate attempts to get in the shower.

My girl is beautiful and healthy and we couldn't be happier.

I'll write out her birth story when I have more time.

induction

I am scheduled to be induced tomorrow morning at 8am. I'm not nervous yet - more irritated. I have been getting phone calls non-stop from family, friends and even coworkers asking if I have had the baby yet. It's getting really annoying. Do these people think that we won't call them?

Anyway. Avery has one last chance to come out on her own. Hopefully the induction goes well and I don't end up with a c-section. I'm sure I'll be very nervous tomorrow morning.

3 centimetres

Holy hell is this baby ever stubborn. Went to the SOB's office yesterday where I found out that I was dilated 3 centimetres. He "stretched" me a little more which was not too comfortable, then I lost my mucous plug aaaaaand I've been bleeding a little ever since. Fun stuff.

I woke up this morning with contractions that have remained irregular and relatively mild all day so we went to Ikea to walk around. Then I came home and had a nap. Now I'm stuffing my face with Swedish cinnamon buns.

Maybe I'm going to have a Friday the 13th baby. Cool.