Mother's Day

Watching my big girl at the pool this morning and I know she's afraid to jump in but she did it anyway, three times, because I asked her to try. And it occurs to me what a massive blessing this really is, to have two little people who trust me implicitly to guide them in the right direction, trust me completely to keep them healthy and safe and love me unconditionally even when I ask them to face their fears. 



The exhaustion, the frustration, the stress, the vomit (OMG the vomit), the constant nagging worry that I'll have nibbling away in my brain at all times for the rest of my life. I would not change one second of it. Not one single second. Because being their mom is everything. I know it's out of vogue to admit that these days but fuck it, it's my day and I'm saying it. Being their mom is everything. 

 

Happy Mother's Day to all the women out there who give it all to their babes, every day, not just because we don't have a choice (and we don't) but because being their mom is all the gift we'll ever really need. 

The Eye of the Beholder: My Postpartum Progress

I think maybe it's weird to write about my postpartum recovery before I've published Everley's birth story but man I'm having such a hard time writing it. I'm not sure why other than I just don't seem to be able to do it justice.

Bella's story kind of just poured out of me, and when I look back on it it feels like I hit just the right notes of funny and poignant, honest and entertaining. That's just how her birth went down so to write the story about it was easy.

Everley's birth was... intense. Not what I'd expected. Not what I'd choose if I could do it all again. Not unlike my entire pregnancy, in fact. Yet, it still ended up with the precise ending I'd always hoped for. A beautiful, healthy, amazing baby. And I want her story to be as special as Bella's so that one day she can read it and know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was one of the two greatest days of my entire life.

So that's coming... soon...

MEANTIME, before I talk postpartum, a warning: there will be brief mention of both boobs and biscuits so if that's not a discussion you want to overhear I suggest you go here and just look at the pretty baby.

Secondly - please take a moment and read this article by Allison Tate. She just says so much about what it feels like to be a woman trying to get back to herself after having a baby. Or in my case, two babies. Or in her case, four.

She speaks the truth in spades about capturing that changed and so-far-from-physically perfect you in pictures during pregnancy and afterwards. Something I avoided like the plague when I was pregnant with Bella and after she was born. I have almost NO pictures of my whole self while pregnant with her - even the weekly pictures I had Cairn take of me during my pregnancy are of the belly alone. I was mortified about the changes to the rest of me. My skin changed colour, my body ballooned, my face changed shape. I felt awful about myself when I look back and it's so sad. It's just so sad to me now that I wasn't proud of my body and its formidable accomplishment.

This pregnancy I wanted to do things a little differently. Initially I tried to have Cairn take photos again, and I wanted Bella to be in them with me, but neither were interested so instead I started taking pictures of myself. I wanted my baby to know that I was proud of what my body did to create her. And those pictures were not easy to take. They certainly were not easy to post every week. But I did it. To prove a point to myself I did it and you know what? It worked. Kind of. I can't say I felt beautiful, but I can say that I felt okay with the changes. It was not an easy pregnancy but I worked hard to stay in shape and took care with what I wore and how I presented myself. And I think I did okay.

But the thing is? The pregnancy is a crutch. It's easy to forgive yourself your flaws when you're pregnant because, well, you're pregnant! Everyone says, "you look great for X months pregnant! You totally don't look pregnant from behind," (what does this mean exactly?! nobody should look pregnant from behind!). They tell you not to worry about the love handles and the skin discolourations and the swelling and the bloat. "You're pregnant!" they say, "You'll bounce back in no time. It'll all be over soon enough."

Except it's not.

Because after you are done being pregnant most of those things are still there. The only thing that's actually gone is the pregnancy. And suddenly you're just mom. And your vagina hurts A LOT more than it did before. There's the bleeding and the pads that go along with it. And the underwear that goes along with them. Not cute. And your boobs are leaking. And at night you sweat so badly that you can feel it running down your cleavage.

Your formerly round, vibrant belly that just days or weeks earlier was full of life and making people smile and pat you and coo with excitement is just a flabby sack that hangs over your torn maternity jeans and refuses to stay shoved inside your stretched out leggings. And you spend every outing terrified that someone will ask you how far along you are. Because you aren't.

And I don't care how cliche it sounds, you ARE too tired and too busy during the day with a newborn to spend time fixing yourself up. There isn't a product out there that can erase two weeks of no sleep. In my case, I have the added pleasure of melasma - the mask of pregnancy - to contend with. Something that can't even be treated while breastfeeding. Right there, all over my tired face that I'm too tired to cover up with makeup that just makes me look more tired anyway. So much for that "being over soon."

Speaking of nursing, I feed my babies on demand for the first few months, which means it is hard to get out without them. It takes a while to figure out their patterns or to know when they'll be good for a stretch long enough to go to the gym or get my nails done. All things that I did regularly before to keep myself not just looking good, but feeling good too.

Like Ms. Tate captures in her article, my oldest daughter thinks I'm perfect. She couldn't care less about any of the physical items I've listed off above. She doesn't see those things and if she does, she doesn't care. And I DO want to be present in the photos and memories with my girls, despite how far from perfect I may look. My girls make me feel absolutely wonderful as a mother. In fact, I already know that I'm a great mom. I am. I'm a great mom and my kids make me feel beautiful in a million ways because they are tiny little reflections of me and my God, just look at them.

But I need to point something else out here. Staying in the picture after having children is not JUST about how your kids see you. Being a beautiful mom is wonderful. But I need to feel like a beautiful woman as well. Kids will always see through physical imperfections to who you are inside, but living up to the standards of adult society? Whole different ballgame. I want to be a beautiful wife. A beautiful friend. A beautiful person. That's where I've still got some work to do. I need to convince myself that I am all of those things even without the flat stomach and flawless skin.

They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and that's the principle I've been using to try and maintain and regain my self-confidence during and post pregnancy. I have played the role of my own beholder and taken photos of myself, most of which you've already seen here. As promised I want to share my 40 week bump photo - the only one in the entire series taken by my husband. I had to beg him to do it because we were in the hospital and there was no mirror in which I could take it myself.  The others show my physical progress over the last two weeks.

Rocking the gown at 40 weeks pregnant. A few hours before Everley was born.

Sweats and slippers. 7 days postpartum. Baby accessory kicks this look up a notch.

 

Jeans! Maternity jeans, but still. 11 days postpartum.

Stretchies and slippers. Two weeks postpartum.

And this is where I am today. Am I perfect? No. But am I perfectly okay with that? I'm getting there, yes I am.

Two of Hearts

I've been thinking a lot about my daughter these days. An awful lot. Not just about her, but about us. About us, as in her and I. About us as in me and her and her father. Us. As in the three of us and a dog. Because in less than 20 weeks 'us' as we know it now it is going to change.

Before I got pregnant with Baby2, I could literally cry at the thought of having another child in the house and stealing that spotlight away from my girl. I struggled with the big question that I'm sure most, if not all, parents struggle with at some point before having a second child - Can I love them as much as I love her? Not will I, because of course I want to, I will try to, I need to, but CAN I? Because honestly I could not imagine, before I was pregnant again, that I could/would ever love anything as much as I love her, in the way that I love her.

Since becoming pregnant and having the pregnancy progress to a point where I'm pretty confident that there will be a happy, healthy baby at the finish line, my doubts about it have disappeared and in there place are certainties that seem as though they should have been obvious all along. 

I will probably never love anyone the same way, maybe even the same amount, that I love Bella. My love for her is just like her, it's just like us. It's unique, it's powerful, it's ever-changing and ever-growing. There is no way that this love, our love, could ever be diminished, or duplicated, by our new addition.

Neither will my love for our new baby be diminished, or duplicated, by my love for Bella. Rather it will be, in fact it already is, a love all unto itself. As unique and powerful, ever-changing and ever-growing, as the love for my first daughter. Just different. I have had the opportunity to love Bella as my only child and as my first child and that is incredibly special. That's a special layer that I will only ever have with "us" as we know it now.

This new one will be the baby in the family. The last child. The little brother or sister. And that is something special that I will only ever love about him or her. All the incredible traits and character that I'm discovering as my daughter grows, I will now get to discover and love about my second born. Probably not the same things, maybe not even the same amount of things - maybe less, maybe more. But love there will be, more than enough, more than I have now. Twice as much. Two of hearts. Love squared and then some.

This morning I was lying in bed, cuddled up around my beautiful daughter, tickling her back and awash in my love for her. At the same time my new baby was waking up, tickling me from the inside. And with every kick and flip and jab, my heart swelled and grew. My love multiplied.

Jane's (Ok, Bella's) Addiction

I have made a huge mistake.

But wait, before I get to my miserable parenting failure, let's talk for a moment about Crown's parenting success, which happened first (and which ultimately I will blame for my own mistake). I'll repeat, Crown had a brilliant idea, I tried to copy it several months later only to have it blow up in my face. Yes, you heard it here first. I'll give you a moment to chuckle about it. THAT'S ENOUGH, MOVING ON.

Let's give Crown his moment to shine. A couple of weeks before we took our winter vacation to Dominican Republic, he downloaded several episodes of Dora and Sesame Street onto his iPhone. He thought it would be a great source of entertainment (read : distraction) for Bella on the plane and might come in handy on the vacation as well, if she started to get fussy or bored. He was correct on all counts. The iPhone episodes were a God-send. Even though ultimately Bella was excellent on both plane rides, the shows did help keep her in her seat and it did keep me from having to play with stickers for the entire flight.

Oh, but one thing, the stickers were my idea. And they were also brilliant. The only problem with the stickers is that at her age (just under two at the time), she needed one of us to actually remove the stickers from the page. This gets boring really, really fast for a full-grown adult. And it NEVER GETS OLD FOR A TODDLER. You catch my drift?

ANYHOO. Crown's iPhone kids shows = brilliant. We still use them from time to time and generally they are great. Except for in the car. Because in the car they make her vomit profusely and violently and yes we learned that the hard way. Yes we did.

Fast forward a few months ahead to a faithful day in March when I dropped my cellphone in the daycare yard and it smashed into a pulp and lost all my contacts. Bummer, yes? NO! Because that allowed me to get an iPhone of my own and I am in love with my iPhone and I'm not afraid to say it. I love you iPhone. I love you so much.

Bella also took an interest in my iPhone and I thought it was really cute. She actually learned to turn it on and find my contacts and make calls to people. Hee hee, isn't that cute? OMG it's sooooo cute. I thought it was soooo cute and that she was such a genius about being able to use it so easily, I mean, she's not even TWO AND A HALF and she can use it almost as well as I can. It's amazing! She's advanced! Her brilliance should be encouraged. At this rate she'll be developing new technologies for NASA by her tween years!

So what did I do? I learned to put the phone on Airplane Mode, so that she couldn't call and bother my contacts anymore (sorry, Barberella my hair salon, that person that called you 40 times and just said "hello, hello, hello" into the phone? That was my toddler. Please don't take it out on my hair.) I got a case for my phone, so she wouldn't be quite as likely to guarantee it the same fate as my last phone. And then, and here's where the colossal FAIL kicks in, I downloaded her several toddler-friendly apps and let her at it.

Sigh.

For a while it was great. It started out slow. "I want Mommy's phone. Mommy, I want your phone." It was a way to get her to stop focusing on the television. "Mommy, can I have your phone, I want Mommy's phone."

Haha. "She sure loves it. Ha. Cute. Ha?"

I now know she was just humouring me by calling it "Mommy's" phone. As soon as there were flash cards that made actual animal sounds and games that allowed her to interact with Dora and Boots, that phone was no longer "Mommy's" at all. But for a while she kept up the pretense that it was mine. Soon the asking became demanding. And soon the demanding became full-on spazzing. Not just when she suddenly wanted the phone, but every single time she saw it.

"MOMMEEEEEE"S PHOOOONE. I NEEEEED IT. I NEEEEED IT MOMMY!"

And now? NOW? Now I can't even pull it out when she's in the same room without handing it over. This means I can't use the phone ever when she's with me. Which, unless I'm at work, is ALWAYS. And when we're together it has to remain on Airplane mode so that when she gets it (and she always gets it) she can't disturb my friends and colleagues with her random texts and calls. So, essentially, it is not a phone at all anymore. It's Bella's expensive and sophisticated play thing.

That's right. I am the enabler of a toddler with a serious iPhone addiction. And I want to free her of it, I really do. Sometimes I get tough about it. "NO Bella. Not right now. Mommy is using the phone. This is MOMMY'S phone. You have your books and toys. Play with those."

And you want to know what happens? Well I'm about to show you. I assure you, no toddlers were hurt in the making of this video. It's quite possible that a mother was slightly injured. After you've watched this you may laugh at my parenting fail for one full minute and we'll never speak of it again.

It's Hip to be Square

I recently posted about an illness that Bella went through that caused her to stop moving and have severe muscle/joint pains. Symptoms were a few days with a low grade fever, pain and discomfort whenever we moved her, no moving on her own at all, and severe pain and screaming/crying all through the night (very out of character for her). After about three days the fever was completely gone and started to regain movement, but continued to have pain in her right hip that lasted for just over a week and caused her to completely stop rolling over, pulling herself up to sitting, crawling, standing up, etc.

It was a terrifying ordeal for all of us and when her discomfort first started (it was mild at first, she only cried at night, but this was so unusual for her that I knew something was up), I took her to her pediatrician who examined her and found nothing. He told us it could be a stomach ache, or it could be constipation, which was what I initially thought it might be because I simply couldn't find anything else wrong but I knew that she was in some kind of pain.

The next day the fever kicked in, her pain clearly got worse, she screamed all night long in agony and we ended up going to the after hours Children’s Clinic on the Danforth (where I will NEVER go again – straight to Sick Kids for us from now on) and basically being told by the doctor that examined her that “everything was fine, it’s 'probably' a virus, and just to 'wait it out'). And because I didn’t know what else to do, I just listened to him and we waited. And waited. And I stressed and worried and cried in frustration every single day.

Thankfully, she did start to get better and we assumed that maybe she had just injured her leg somehow during her "illness" (which we still couldn't explain) and we missed her falling or spraining something and she just needed time to heal. Because her pediatrician was away for the full week after our weekend of hell, we didn't take her anywhere to follow up because I was adament that I would not go back to that clinic. By the time our doctor was back, his wait times were so long that we chose to cancel our appointment rather than put us all through the waiting, and waiting and waiting that would have to happen in order to get her checked out.

Recently a friend of a friend’s son came down with something that had very similar symptoms while they were away at a cottage. He was rushed to emergency where they did a number of tests and determined the illness to have something to do with a build up of fluid around the hip. When I heard about his symptoms and realized sounded exactly like what Bella had, I did some research and discovered that it was something called Toxic Synovitis.

I’m now almost certain that this is what Bella had.

I wanted to share it with all the parents I know because apparently it is something that’s fairly common in children aged 2 - 8 (though can occur in babies and older kids too) but so far I have not run into a single other parent that’s ever heard of it.

In hindsight I know that we should have been more persistent in finding a diagnosis. She should have had some tests done to rule out something more serious like septic hip or another bacterial infection, which can lead to permanent damage of the joint. It's just so hard when life gets in the way and I feel tremendous guilt over the fact that I avoided taking her to the doctor or hospital because it would have interfered with my work day. Instead I just "let her be" as advised by some quack doctor who could barely stand to look me in the eye or give me the 60 seconds it would have taken him to listen to what I had to say about her symptoms.

From now on I will not be concerned about seeming like a paranoid, first-time mom, or about missing yet another day of work because the baby is sick. It literally sickens me that parents are forced to make the decision between looking after a sick child or going to the office - especially since in too many instances the office wins. The pressure is enormous, the resulting guilt is crippling and the bank account is the only thing that wins. From now on Bella comes first, every time, over everthing, plain and simple.

If that's square, then I'm hip to be it.

Anyway – here’s some info about the illness in case one of your little ones ever suddenly stops moving, starts limping or showing signs of pain that you can’t find any evidence of. I should also stressed again that we did not ever get a diagnosis, this is a little bit of me playing Dr. Mom, but if it's not what she had, it's eerily similar, the symptoms are dead on:

http://kidshealth.org/parent/infections/bacterial_viral/toxic_synovitis.html

http://www.drgreene.com/21_1212.html

https://www.google.com/health/ref/Toxic+Synovitis

On a positive note, after about two weeks, Bella made a full recovery from her illness. She's slowly starting to build up more confidence and this past weekend at my mom's house she even took a few steps on her own walking from Nana's arms to Papa. This is the little trooper last weekend at the cottage - cruising around as if none if it had ever happened at all. We should all be able to forget and move on so easily, no?

Happy Birthday to You: 11 Months Old

Dear Anabella,


Last week you turned 11 months old. The day came and went quietly, nestled in between and over-powered by the bigger, splashier holidays that the month of December is famous for. In true Bella fashion, you sailed through the holidays with grace and contemplative good-spirit, for the most part, and it would have been easy to forget this significant 'monthday' if it weren't for my own obsession with documenting each one. This one is so significant because without any fanfare or dramatics, despite the festive season, you reached your 11th month and silently slipped into the last full month of your first full year. Just like that. Just like that your infancy is drawing to a close as you crawl carefully and curiously toward toddlerhood.

The month of December was full of excitement and amazing firsts, both thrilling and terrifying. Christmas is the obvious one. Your very first Christmas. It was so fun, wasn't it? As I told the many people who asked if I was excited for your first Christmas, "Yes - it feels like my first Christmas too." It totally did. We were lucky enough to celebrate not once, not twice, but three times and see almost your whole family. Everyone looked at the holiday through brand-new eyes this year - your big, round, hazel eyes.


You soaked in the sights, sounds and controlled chaos in your own, special, stand-offish fashion. Quietly taking it all in and waiting until you felt comfortable and secure before letting your guard down and opening yourself up. Although it took a few tries, once you grasped the concept of presents you decided that anything in shiny paper belonged to you and needed to be opened immediately. But like your mom, you took it slow, enjoying the unwrapping bit by bit instead of tearing into the gift and tossing it aside for another without even appreciating what was inside. A valuable and honourable trait that you possess even before the end of your first year and only one of the millions of things that makes you such an incredible person.

This month we also survived your first illness. The sudden onset of a high fever that made you miserable of course, and sent me into a fairly huge panic. I'd been dreading the first illness since the day your were born and as horrible as it was for all of us, it's almost a relief to have it under our belts. At least we know that we can survive it. That we can pull together and get you (and me) through it without too much overreaction and mayham. I still don't know what caused the illness because besides the fever, which reached as high as 39 degrees at one point, you had no other signs of being sick whatsoever, but I do thank my lucky stars for your father - who played it cool and kept us both as calm as possible -- and for Tylenol.


Finally, this month was all about communication. You are learning so fast now and it really sunk in this month that you can 'talk' to us using your own little language and a lot of hand signals. I sometimes back to your first smiles and how I thought that it simply couldn't get any better than that. A smile, a physical cue to show me with a little twitch of your face that you were in there, thinking, and that you felt joy. Imagine then how I feel today when you look right at me with your sparkling, glinting eyes, wave your chubby hand in my direction and say clearly and joyfully, "Hi!" Your first 'real' word. Excuse me while my heart explodes into a million shards of pure bliss.

You can also tap your fingers together at meal time, your sign-language way to ask for "more." You will say, "Rahrahrahrah," when you see the dog, your version of barking, and if I start singing Amy Winehouse's 'Rehab' you shake your little head, "No no no." By far your favourite communication trick, and mine, is to point at someone you love until they point back at you -- our family's special way to say "I love you!"



Well Little Girl, know this, I'm pointing at you every second of every day, whether you can see it or not.

I love you,

Mommy

All Is Quiet on New Year's Day

Though not nearly as quiet as it would have been, say, last year. Or any year other than this one. Because on previous new year's days I'd be sleeping right now. Snuggled under a warm blanket, nursing a hangover and looking forward to a lazy day of junk food and movies.

This year I was roused at 8 a.m. after a brief four hours of sleep by the peepish coos and chit chat of my baby chicken in the next room. And that sound! Instead of burying my head under the pillows and throwing my slippers at the door, I got up out of bed and eagerly went to her. The fresh-faced smile and tight clingy grasp of our morning hug was the better than an Alka Seltzer and an Advil.

And now -- although she had a full twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep and restful day yesterday that did not begin with Caesars for breakfast and end at 4 a.m. with pot-infused truffles -- my little one seems more hung over than I am. Her uncharacteristic crankiness might be preventing me from writing the witty 2008 wrap-up that I'd hope to get down, but it is in its own way a gift, allowing me instead to put her down early for her morning nap and crawl back into bed myself.

And that in itself is symbolic of the kind of year it's been. A huge, all-encompassing, life-altering, doozy of a year where every challenge, every long and sleepless night, every meltdown, every labour pain, every tear, every tooth, every poop-smeared minute was, in fact, a beautiful gift just as long as I looked at it the right way.

Happy New Year to each and all. May you find as much love in life's grumpiest moments as I have learned to find during this last, most incredible, year.

Falling

Have you ever had one of those days? Wait. Don't answer that. I already know that, yes, of course you have had one (hundred) of them. But still, would you mind indulging me for a few minutes to listen to mine?

I'm trying to be careful these days about complaining about silly, superficial "problems" like, "my baby woke up four times last night and then by way of thanks for comforting her with boob at 4 a.m. decided to bite my nipple off." In light of some recent tragedies I really do understand that these things are part of life and I should suck it up and deal. And I do. Really, I think I do deal with these little things with as much grace and humour as my tired body and mind will allow.

But today? Oh, please. Let me complain about today! I promise I will end the rant on a light note and bring it all back to the silver lining, cool?

It all started with a trip to Bella's doctor. He is located in a swanky part of town, so I took extra care to put myself together, wearing not only my favourite jeans but also a cute pair of shoes with a little heel and everything. I even put on lip gloss. I managed to get myself and my baby ready, out of the house and all the way to the parking lot behind the office before things started to fall apart.

The parking lot was under major construction, but I took it all in stride. I couldn't park in the underground lot because according to signs that I actually managed to read, the elevator was not working and I wouldn't be able to hoist Bella in her stroller up all those flights of stairs. So I waited patiently for a coveted outdoor, street level spot. And I got one! And I was on time! I loaded her into her stroller, bundled her up (it was a cold and very windy day in Toronto today and she was a little under-dressed for it I'm afraid) into the stroller and detoured the long way around to avoid the dangers of the construction site.

I made it to the office just on time and unbundled her, carried her in to the office and proceeded to take off her sweater and hat and shoes. We are all ready. The nice nurse was working and looked at me weird but I thought nothing of it. After a while I realized I wasn't getting called so I went up to the desk and said, "Hi. Anabella is here, just so you know. No rush." She glanced at the charts in front of her and then gave me what would be the first of the oh-you-poor-frazzled-over-worked-under-rested-woman looks of the day. If you are a mom, you know the look that I mean.

"I'm glad that you made it," she said to me with a sympathetic little smile, "but your appointment was yesterday."

Then I died a little bit from sheer humiliation.

Then I realized that all the other moms in the waiting room were giving me the oh-you-poor-woman look too. I guffawed some awkward laugh and stammered something about how I must have written down wrong on my calendar and asked (begged) that she squeeze us in anyway. She did. Thank you kind nurse, karma will be kind to you. But full disclosure? I hadn't written down the wrong day at all, I had simply fucked it up.

Bella did great at the unscheduled appointment which was thankfully needle-free and once we made it out of there I decided to reward my own stupidity with a quick trip to Baby Gap (oh, living it up, I know). I got half way there when I realized that the gale force winds were so bad that they were actually making my baby cry but I pushed on. We did a little shopping and warmed up but I had to pee so that was the end of the fun.

On the way back to the car the wind was in our faces. Great. Now the baby was crying AND losing her blanket which was the only real shelter from the wind that she had. It blew out of her stroller and into a busy intersection at one point but thankfully an elderly lady with a cane bent down to grab it for me before it was lost forever. As she handed it back to me and glanced at my red-cheeked crying baby, you guessed it, she gave me the look. "It's cold today," was all she said. Sigh. Yes, indeed it is.

Once we got back to the parking lot the wind was so bad that I was struggling to control my stroller and pushing it into the wind was like butting up against a brick wall. I got to the car and was faced with a dilemma. I couldn't take my hand off the stroller or it would blow away but I had to somehow get the baby out and into her car seat and this is next to impossible with only one hand. I somehow rigged up a solution where I held the stroller with one foot, lifted out the baby, put her in her seat and I almost did it. I came so close. But the wind got the better of me and off went my stroller like Mary Poppins and her umbrella, flying into the middle of the parking lot. I ran out after it and grabbed it just as a woman drove slowly past me, her children all bundled and warm in the back of her BMW SUV and she shook her head sadly and flashed me the look.

I should have quit there. I should have packed it in and went straight home. But, oh no. No, no. I had dry-cleaning to drop off and a pumpkin to purchase! And I was going to accomplish those feats, oh yes I was. So off to the grocery store. A fatal error. Dry cleaning got dropped off and I moved the car to a family parking spot in front of the grocery store. I loaded Bella, car seat and all, into a grocery cart and stood outside in the freezing wind trying to find a NORMAL SIZED PUMPKIN that would fit in my cart, along with my infant and her car seat. BUT OH NO. All the pumpkins this year are apparently jacked full of pumpkin steroids. There was not one single GOD DAMNED pumpkin that was small enough that I could a) lift it and b) FIT IT IN THE SHOPPING CART. Who wants these giant pumpkins? Who are you people?!

Pumpkin mission abandoned. I headed into the store instead for comfort food. I would eat my way out of this day. A half-dozen bagels, bag of Sun Chips, carton chocolate milk and pint of frozen yogurt later and we were finally going home. So I get out to the parking lot, Bella and my groceries in the shopping cart. I should have learned something when my stroller went flying earlier, but surely a shopping cart is sturdier than my umbrella stroller, right? WRONG.

Just as I lifted Bella's car seat out of the cart the wind caught it and sent it careening across the lot, full speed, toward someone's shiny silver Audi. I had the baby in car seat, in my arms. I tossed her, and I mean tossed, into the back seat of my car, and took off running after the cart. Had I been in normal, mom-friendly shoes, I would have made it too. But oh no. My shoes were not mom-friendly at all and they let me down. My feet literally just slid out from under me and I did a full-on face plant onto the ground, peeling my face off the asphalt just in time to watch my cart crash full speed into the shiny pretty car.

I'm sorry person who owns that Audi. I really am. But this time there was nobody around to give me the look. I hope you take some comfort in the knowledge that I've already paid the karmic price for jumping into my car and speeding off without waiting to find you and tell you how I scratched your car. My good jeans are ripped. My knee is scraped and my thumb is still throbbing and bleeding. But mostly, my ego is bruised. Because just when you think you've got it all together, there's always a face-plant waiting in the wings to put you back into your place.

So where's the silver lining in this dreadful day? Well here it is. I got home and because my baby had missed her morning nap and had to wait until almost 2 p.m. to have her lunch, she was exhausted and went down for a three-hour nap. This allowed me to drink a hot cup of tea and curl up on the couch to nurse my wounds with Oprah and soap operas.

Oh, and also? I had an awesome celebrity sighting! As Gossip Girl would say, "Spotted: This fabulous fellow and his own flirty Entourage, skipping their way down Bloor Street all suited up for a special occasion and having a gay ol' time."


Oh Lloyd, how I love thee. Thank you for walking past as I struggled in the whipping wind to try and stop my baby from balling and save her blanket from blowing out again into traffic. I'm the one that you looked at. And I forgive you because you made me smile.

Singing in the Rain

"When it rains, it pours."

It's an expression that all new moms are not only aware of, they are SO aware of it that they know better than to ever leave the house without an umbrella.

Or so you would think. But guess what? Yesterday I joyfully packed up my daughter and headed out into the sunshine without mine.

Allow me for a moment to set the stage.

It had already been one of "those" weekends. The kind that starts out pretty good - a Friday night out with my husband, sans baby; she was comfortably asleep at home with Nana and Papa. A few hours spent with friends at a house party, sipping cocktails and feeling like a grown up. Lovely.

The fun night was soon followed up on Saturday morning with me feeling less than great. I initially blame the vodka only to discover later in the day that the culprit is in fact my period, which has decided to arrive with a vengeance for the first time in over a year. Well, that explains the nausea, fatigue and compulsive cleaning. Great. Now add cramps, blood and crankiness to the list and you can see that the weekend is headed downhill. Fast.

Flash ahead to Sunday. It's another beautiful day and despite the fact that I still feel like ass, I decide to make the most of it and head outside with the fam to meet up with GParty and The Suze for a quick walk around the local farmers market. It's just down the street so I assume we'll be out for an hour tops. It's morning. I think nothing of the sun since we'll be home before heading out for the afternoon, plenty of time to lather on the sunscreen at that time. Flash forward again. It's 4pm, we've been out walking all day without going home. Crown and I are burnt. To a crisp. I can handle the mild sunstroke and the sting, but the tan lines that I now have to deal with for the rest of the summer? Unacceptable.

Now it's Monday morning and I've carefully packed up the baggage from the weekend and stowed it away. We're starting fresh, it's a beautiful day and Bella and I have a date with StrollerFit. We're up early! We're both in good moods! This is where I start to slip and make the first of several mistakes.

Cocky New Mom Mistake #1:
StrollerFit is only a five minute walk from my house. There is no need to lug a bulky diaper bag with me. We'll be home in two hours anyway.

Cocky New Mom Mistake #2:
Bella doesn't usually poop until way later in the afternoon, no need to bring an extra diaper along. If anything happens, she can wait 'til we get home for a change. No biggie.

Cocky New Mom Mistake #3:
Getting so caught up in my own unfortunate weekend that I forget that Bella has, in fact, not pooped in two days.

You can already see where this is going, I know, but I assure you, it's much worse than you think.

The StrollerFit class goes of without a hitch and we make it to the discussion part of the class, where all the moms sit down and talk about something related to parenting. This is also where the moms size each other up a little, check out each others' babies, strollers, parenting skills, etc. I try not to fall into this trap, but let's face it, it's hard. We all want to be good at this very important job, we all want to look as though we are doing good by our babes and ourselves at the same time.

Today's discussion? The division of labour at home. Who does what around the house, who has help from their husbands, why you should make lists of chores and assign each one to you or him... blah blah blah...

It's my turn to share.

Cocky New Mom Mistake #4:
I tell the group that I am not only a bit obsessive compulsive about the state of my home (true) but I am also exceptionally organized and on-top things (false), thus making it possible to pretty much do it all (INCREDIBLY FALSE).

Immediately after spewing these unbelievable lies, the first few proverbial raindrops begin to fall. Bella starts to fuss a little in her stroller. I decide to take her out so she can sit at the picnic table with the rest of us and everyone can admire this beautiful, perfect baby that I am raising with skill and ease. I lift her out and place her on my hip before I feel the hot, wet, dripping mess on her back.

Oh no.

I turn her around to look at the same time that all the moms in the group notice. There is an audible gasp among us all. Bella is covered. I mean covered. From neck to ankles. In poop. It's oozing out of the back of her cute little jeans and dripping down her legs. It has smeared all over the inside of the stroller. It is now all over my hand, arm and the white t-shirt that I am wearing because, sensibly, I thought it best not to wear a tank top and expose my burnt flesh to the sun.

I have not a wipe, not a diaper, not a thing that can help me in this situation.

Thank God for the other moms in the class who quickly came to my aid, and who did so without laughing, judging or call me out for the complete and utter ass that I am. They set up a change station and offered up wipes, diapers, one lovely mom even lent me her spare onsie so I didn't have to walk home with a naked baby.

Cocky New Mom Lesson Learned #1:
Don't ever underestimate the kinship among other mothers. If you think that they are in competition with you on some level, smarten up you idiot. Other moms get it and will always come to your aid in moments of crisis.

I heart moms.

But the embarrassment doesn't quite end here.

Cocky New Mom Mistake #5:
Bella has been eating a lot lately. Back up to 7 or 8 feedings a day for some reason. As a result, my boobs have not been very full and I have not been very leaky. I decided it was OK to leave the house without my pads.

And now, the combination of vigorous exercise, heat, crying babies and overwhelming mortification is causing my boobs to not leak - spray - milk everywhere. It has soaked through my bra and t-shirt and it is running down my belly.

And so there it is. The rainstorm. My shirt is covered in poop and milk. My baby is sitting in a onsie borrowed from a stranger, already re-covered in shit because of what is left over in her stroller. And as if to add insult to injury, while I attempt to gather my last shred of dignity and finish my discussion with the other moms, a seagull flies over us and craps on my daughter's chubby thigh. As I wipe it away with my already disgusting t-shirt, it dawns on me:

When it rains, it pours. And I have been caught without my umbrella. It is a cocky new mom mistake that I will not be making again any time soon.