Happy Birthday to You: Everley Edition: 5 Months Old

Author's Note: OMG I'm so behind on posting and I'm feeling so guilty about it, especially about not having posted about my big girl turning five years old - which happened. She turned five years old. Five. Years. Old. And I will be posting about that soon, even if it's mostly pictures because for some reason I can't seem to find the time to sit here and actually write. And that reason quite frankly is you, my little Everley. That reason is you.

Dear Everley,

Eating everything all the time.

 On February 21 you turned five months old. And just as a fair warning to anyone who might take issue, this will be a post whereby I compare my fresh little newbornish baby to the stinky, snorty late family dog. Because particularly after your fourth month I'm convinced that you are at least partially Moet reincarnated. Here are five reasons why:

1. How You React When You are Excited
It's very easy to get you excited. Basically all one needs to do is a) walk into the same room as you, b) look at you, c) speak. When any one of these three things occur you get very wiggly, you exhibit excessive panting and your eyes light up like firecrackers on Victoria Day. It's pretty much the exact same reaction that Moet had due to the exact same stimuli. If you had a little curly tail, I'm pretty sure it would be wagging right now.

SUPER EXCITED FACE!

2. Your Eyebrows
If you knew Moet, or you know pugs, you'll know that they have these cute little dots for eyebrows, hovering excitedly just over those big brown eyes. Moet was always very expressive with his dot-brows, if he anticipated something he'd sit, frozen, not moving a muscle, and just raise one little dot, or furrow the two together just slightly. These tiny movements spoke volumes and always made me laugh. You do the same thing. Exactly the same thing with your eyebrows (which are growing in very nicely this month, btw). 

See those little brows just peeking up over the card? They are saying, feed me soon or I'll start scratching on stuff.

3. The Scratching
Lordy, my Lord the scratching! This is what clued me in to the fact that you are part Moet. One of Moet's most hilarious (and infuriating) habits was to scratch on walls, doors or floors when he wanted something. He used it as a threat, one paw hovering near a surface while he stared you down for a moment and raised an eyebrow,  "You gonna move, lady? 'Cause I'm about to scratch the shit out of this wall if you don't get your ass up and feed me." This ruined a lot of walls and caused a lot of laughs. You do the same thing. You scratch the wall while on your change table, the sheets in your crib, my chest while you are nursing. Scratch, scratch, scratch, little deliberate movements that say, "Pay attention to me, please, or I will claw you up until you do."

4. Your Appetite
Just like Moet was, you are insatiable. You love to eat. You would eat all day long if I let you. This month we are still exclusively on breast milk but solids are in your very near future because I can't keep up with you anymore. I can't wait to introduce you to the world of food and I know you are going to love it. Just promise me you will always stay away from the wild mushrooms. 

5. General Disposition, Attitude and Unconditional Lovemuffinness
You are my ever loyal companion. You are such a joy. All you want from anyone is a smile and a pat. You love to be scratched and tickled. You are happiest when I'm sitting with you, singing or chatting or cuddling. This month we had our first family vacation with you in tow and you are an excellent travel companion. Easy going, adaptable and curious, you just wanted to be held and fed (see above: Your Appetite). Moet didn't get the chance to travel much, but he loved the car and would settle in and relax whenever we hit the road.

Maxin' and relaxin' in Playa.

 I'm sad that you will not get to meet him, but feel blessed that you are just a little bit like him.

Being just a little bit Moet-like with the eating and the eyebrows.

I love you,

Mommy

The Final Countdown

I've been meaning to get on here and write a quick summary of this pregnancy for weeks now, but have not been able to open this blog and face my last post with out drowning in my own tears. Well, here I sit, drowning in my own tears, but at least I can honestly chalk it up to some INSANE hormonal INSANITY now that I'm three days away from my estimated due date.

Three days.

THREE DAYS HOLY FUCK THREE. DAYS. three.

Strangely, as much as it's fun to play up the panic, I feel very calm. For months I've been telling people that this baby was going to come early. I assumed this because first of all, I was hugemongously pregnant this time around by like five months. I simply couldn't imagine that I would continue to grow all the way to term. Incorrect. Still growing.

Also, Anabella came early by about a week. And first babies are supposed to be the late ones. Everyone says second babies come faster and sooner. Everyone says it so IT MUST BE TRUE. Liars. All of you are hateful liars.

The fact that I'm actually past the point that I thought I'd make it to has bought me some much needed downtime. Allowed me to get organized both materially and physically. It's calmed me and I'm grateful. 

Today I'm 39 weeks and 5 days and don't have many physical signs that this babe is coming. I'm very tired and have been experiencing semi-regular Braxton Hicks contractions for weeks, there's definitely a change a-brewing in my body, but that's about it. As of my appointment last Thursday, no significant dilation or effacement.

I know it can happen quickly once things kick into gear and I anticipate that it will, but truthfully I'm in no rush. I've been loving my quiet time at home. It's been quite a whirlwind few months. Just about everything that could happen at one time happened - from the crazy project at work that occupied my time and my mind for months, to the passing of our Moet, to Bella starting JK (owe you a post on that one too) - it's just been so relentlessly chaotic that there's been little time for reflection on this little life I'm creating.

A blessing in one sense, because it allowed me to get through the hottest summer on record while VERY pregnant without too much time to obsess and whine. It forced me to stand up and wipe the puke of my chin and get my tired ass to work even though I felt like dying for months with nausea and fatigue. It allowed me to grieve the loss of my boy in fits and starts, in small quiet moments that were few and far between. I'm not done with that yet, but I'm getting through it. I miss him no less, but I'm moving past. It allowed us as a family to make the most out of the together time we did have, at the cottage and on non-working weekends, because we understood that time was precious. That being family of three was fleeting.

I finished working on August 31 and though I've still been keeping (too) busy, tackling all the things that I couldn't get around to because of work, I've finally found some time to focus on this new baby that's about to join our clan (THREE DAYS).

This pregnancy is so different from Bella's. Not knowing the gender or having a name (that's right, no names yet, full panic) has left me feeling considerably more detached from whoever it is that's growing inside of me.

With Bella I was able to imagine a little baby girl with dark brown curls and the prettiest name - Anabella - I knew she would be beautiful and tiny and pink. Whenever I thought of her, I thought of her already-born and in our arms. This baby I can picture snuggled up tightly in there. Warm and fat and ready to join us. But I can't imagine what he or she will be like on the outside. I'm excited for that surprise. I'm excited about sharing it with all of our friends and family, but it can be a little frustrating to not know my baby. I feel like I was much more bonded with Bella before she arrived that I am with this little one.

I'm not going to write too much about the pregnancy itself. I'm worried I'll just sound like an ungrateful complainer and we all know there's nothing worse. Fact is, we got pregnant easily and after my miscarriage last summer I consider that to be an absolute gift, which I will never ever take for granted. I have been fundamentally healthy and strong throughout even though I'm considered of 'late maternal age' (UGH). Most importantly our baby appears to be strong, healthy and clearly super comfortable in there. Glad I could be so accommodating, Baby, you're welcome.

I've gained less weight this time (though I still don't recognize myself in the mirror) 35lbs vs the 50lbs I packed on last time. Granted, I started out 10lbs heavier, but HEY THAT STILL PUTS ME 5lbs AHEAD. I'LL TAKE IT. I feel less dread about the body I'll be left with post-partum and more excited about the challenge of getting back to where I'd like to be. It's possible. It's hard work, but it's possible. Besides, this will be my last pregnancy so I'm willing to throw some dollars at myself to fix a few things that I didn't want to bother with last time because I was pretty sure I was going to just fuck it all up again anyway.

I feel good about where Anabella is right now. I think she's really ready to welcome a new person into our lives. I do not kid myself, I know it will be tough on her - on all of us - at times. But I've tried very hard to include her and to talk to her about it all and I know she's super excited. I'm so excited to see my first baby interact with my second. How mind-blowing will that be? I hope I can write about it here and do it justice.

I'm absolutely positive that waiting this long between kids was the best possible move for our family. Bella is a well-adjusted and mature little kid with her own life at school and daycare. She's got friends and established routines that are just hers and will allow her individual time with both Cairn and I. Plus, I have the luxury of being home all day with Baby while she is safe and busy at school next door. Right next door! It could not be more ideal. Way to go us!

This is getting rambly now, that's what happens when you scare yourself away from your own blog by writing with a giant case of the sads, so without further ado here's photographic evidence that I am indeed expecting a (possibly very large) nameless baby in an impossibly very short amount of time. 

13 weeks. 13 week ultrasound. 13 week, 5 days ultrasound. Had some bleeding around this time, hence the second ultrasound. Turned out that my placenta had separated from the uterine wall, but was already reattached by the time the second u/s was taken. It was the only scary moment of the pregnancy so far. Have started taking Diclectin here because of my 24 hour a day nausea and vomiting, which started at around 6 weeks. 

17 weeks. 18 weeks. 19 weeks. Still in my regular clothes here, but starting to yearn for elastic waistbands. I finally stopped throwing up daily somewhere around the 19 week mark, but still felt like doing it all the time. You'll see the weight-gain kick in now... still taking 4 daily doses of Diclectin in order to make it through the day at work.

20 weeks, 22 weeks, 23 weeks. Enter maternity clothing. Both pairs of pants and that dress were used during my first pregnancy, five years ago. Goodbye fashion, hello find something, anything that fits.

24 weeks. 25 weeks. 26 weeks. For some reason pregnant women are compelled to wear stripes. Kind of a can't beat'em, join'em phenomenon. Finally able to ween myself off the medication for morning sickness here. Feeling sooo much better.

26 weeks. This is how much better I am feeling.

27 weeks. 29 weeks. 30 weeks. Have officially given up on pants. Temperatures soar at 35+ degrees every single day and will continue to do so for the next 8 weeks. Our house is a sweat lodge. Have found my spirit animal. It's a pregnant deer in headlights.

31 weeks. 31 and a half weeks. 32 weeks. Finally able to convince Bella to join me in a picture! You may notice the sickly pallor on my face in this series. Morning sickness has returned. Am once again not able to get out of the house or up the street without puking. I think it has a lot to do with the heat, which by this time is really starting to wear me down.

33 weeks. Couldn't resist posting all three.

35 weeks. 36 weeks. 37 weeks. These three weeks were the CRAZIEST and I can't believe I'm even able to hold my shit together enough to take these shots. We lost Moet, I launched a website and I made it to my last day of work!

38 weeks. 39 weeks. Still no baby.

I'll hit full term and my due date in three more days on Friday September 21, which is also my birthday. If I make it to 40 weeks, I'll post that bump photo for sure. But here's hoping that maybe, just maybe, these pictures are about to get a whole lot cuter before that day arrives.

Moet: 2002 - 2012

Moet at the cottage with his constant companion, Winston.

We have one of those 'family organizer' calendars that hangs on the wall in our kitchen. It's a handy thing on which there are several columns so you can devote one to each family member. The days of the month run down the side and you can make notes in everyone's individual column and keep track of who is doing what when.

Our family calendar has four columns filled out. One for me, one for Cairn, one for Bella and one for Moet. I usually fill them out a few months in advance, satisfying my need for order and control via list-making. It helps calm me when I feel things are starting to get out of hand. I rarely look ahead at future months once they are filled in, but the act of doing it settles me down. Makes me feel like I've got a grip on what can sometimes be a hectic work-life schedule.

As any dog-owner will know, in spring begins flea and tick season. We all haul our pets off to the vet for a check up and drop insane amounts of cash on heart-worm pills and flea prevention meds. They are meant to start taking them on June 1st and take them again on the first of every month straight through until November. In order to help remember, the meds come with stickers. Bright red, heart-shaped stickers that you can put on your calendar to help you remember to give your dog his medication.

We were late starting Moet on his medication this June. It's so telling of how crazy our lives have been lately. And especially illuminating of the fact that, sadly, unfairly, regrettably, when things get really nuts in our house, Moet is always the first family member who gets bumped down the priority list.  His walks get more rushed, his bed gets cleaned less, he gets left for longer periods of time alone while we're out running around like chickens with our heads cut off.

I remembered mid-month, while digging through Moet's stuff to find his ear-cleaning solution, that he hadn't started his heart-worm and flea routine on time. It was June 14th. We gave him his treatments and the very next day I sat down with my handy calendar and started to "organize" my thoughts. I picked up those cute red heart stickers and I stuck one in Moet's column on the 14th day of every month from June straight through to November. And afterwards I felt better. I crouched down to pat him and scratch behind his ears and I told him, 

"There we go Lil' Boss, now we're all set. Now we won't forget again." 

Well, in true pug fashion, ever striving to be the center of attention and refusing to be ignored for long, our Lil' Boss made damn sure that we were not going to forget about him again.

He took ill on July 12th. A Thursday. I arrived home late from work that day, as I'd been doing for a while, only this time I went straight to him. To investigate for myself why he was was vomiting up God-knows-what and hadn't eaten his supper. He'd been perfectly fine that morning, or at least, so far as we all noticed. I sat with him for a minute on the floor and tried to convince myself that it was just something he'd eaten. But although our boy had been sick many times in the 10 years he's been part of the fiber of this family, this time for some reason I knew.

On Friday morning he was worse and we checked him into the hospital at our beloved vet's office. The news was not good, and they told us as much. And I knew. In my heart and my soul I knew this was it. On Saturday it was clear that his organs were shutting down and that no matter what we tried next he was done fighting. We made the utterly heart-wrenching and searingly painful decision that it was time to end his suffering as humanely and swiftly as we could.

It was July 14th. When we came home from the vet that day -- as a family shy of one -- I leaned back against the kitchen wall gutted and exhausted with grief, and found I was staring right at our family calendar. And there, in the column marked Moet, on the very day that he left us, was that bright red heart sticker.

Me and Moet on his very first day home. September 2002, 10 weeks old.

My wee fur baby, sleeping with Hippo.

On his very first walk, Trinity Bellwoods Park, September 2002.

Running with Cairn. Thanksgiving 2002.

A windy day at Ipperwash Beach.

Pay attention to me, or give me a cookie. Now.

Man's best friend, Moet was never far from Cairn's feet.

This sums up exactly how he felt about the winter. Took after me that way.

Sure did love the cottage though. Also took after me on this one.

Exploring Ipperwash Beach. 

Barely putting up with his jaunty scarf on grooming day.

Never strayed far from his much-loved bed for long.

An ever-loyal companion, he sure loved him some Bella.

Gazing longingly at another of his favourite humans, Uncle Matty.

I'll always remember him just like this, my handsome, handsome boy.

Snack time will never be the same without this hot little fuzz ball underfoot.

My loves. Our picture is not quite complete without him, but he's forever in our hearts.

Moet, Momo, Lil' Boss, The Momes. I loved you like crazy, everyday, even the ones where I was too fucking busy or distracted to let you know it the way that you deserved. And I know you loved us too. Through thick and thin you loved us the way only an animal can. Fiercely, loyally, without judgement or jealously or remorse.

Good-bye my old friend.

We'll never forget you.

Love, Mommy

Nine

Wishing a very happy ninth birthday to my charming, quirky, irksome, funny, handsome, loving, stinky, hilarious, beautiful fur baby.




Momes, we never take for granted that each passing year with you is a special gift and I hope with all my heart that you're around to wake us up with your incessant barking for many more years to come.

Just yesterday a lady on the street asked me if you were a puppy. She wouldn't believe me when I told her you were nine. And it's true, even though you've just reached the ripe old age of 63 people years, I swear you don't look a single day over 50. Well, except for that ever-so-dignified white beard. 



Thanks Lil' Boss, for loving us no matter what, and for for being so patient and lovely with your human sister, even though she swept in and stole the spotlight from you in just about every way. She loves you more than ice cream. So do I.





Happy Birthday my wonderful Momo! I love you,


Mommy

If You Don't Know Me By Now...

...never fear you might still get your chance!

Here's the dealio.

I know I've been neglecting this blog. I always wanted this to be a place where I could actually sit for a while, think about things and record my life's moments with some intelligence, humour and depth. But since I went back to work and my life's moments started flying by at the speed of light, I've found it incredibly difficult to find the time (energy, space, passion, desire) to give this blog the attention that I feel it deserves.

Plus? Major identity crisis. Beaches' Speeches was always supposed to be all about me and my rambling observations on life - hence "Speeches".

And I think it started out that way. And then when I was pregnant it was obvious that I would record that experience here because that's what I was doing at the time. You know, CREATING ANOTHER HUMAN BEING INSIDE OF MY BODY. Kind of a big deal, just saying.

And then Bella was born. And raising her was what I was doing at the time. All the time. Every second of the time day and night I was raising her and photographing her and obsessing over her and loving her and needing her and needing to share her with all of you (and writing run on sentences, which has clearly continued). And I was on maternity leave so really, truly, she was my sole focus in life.

And though my life was busy, I still managed to squeak out some me-time to sit here and write about her. Time to think and reflect on what it meant to become a parent. And time to record it (I think quite well, thank you very much) during naps and late at night when the rest of the world was sleeping. And so this blog became all about her.

I'm not considering changing the direction of this blog. Anabella remains a (if not the) major focus of my life and as such, I anticipate that most of my speeches here will continue to be about her. But I'm also going to allow the direction of this blog to follow the direction of my life and morph as organically as I do. I anticipate writing about myself a little more often here when (if) I find time. For those of you out there that still care to read my most ramblingest rambles, or see a million and one pictures of my kid and my dog (Hi, Mom), I hope you'll continue to check in on me here.

But lately I feel the need for a quicker more accessible outlet, a new project, that will allow me to focus a little bit more on, well, me. And so, for anyone who could really not care less that Bella is now fully potty trained AND sleeping in a big girl bed (that's right, Bitches! Successful parenting abounds in our house!), and would prefer to just get quick updates about what's inspiring me in my personal and professional life (Hi, everyone who reads me and who is not my mom) then hoooboy do I have life shattering announcement for you (drum roll, please)...

I have finally jumped on the Tumblr bandwagon and started a brand-new Beaches' Speeches offering called Beaches' Bites. I am going to use it for quick posts about things that I am hearting right now. It'll give you a peek into what I do for a living, what I'm learning and doing at school (yep, back to school this fall taking an Interior Design course at Ryerson) and what I'm coveting from my day-to-day discoveries online and elsewhere.

I know. Amazing news, right? You're welcome.

Given I don't get to post here that I often, I'd hate to wrap up this one right here and risk disappointing my loyal Speeches readers. So here you go Mom, these are for you:

Bella feeling proud of herself after her very first sleep in her "big girl" bed.

The Momes, enjoying the view of the spectacular Ipperwash Beach during our summer vacation in August.

You've Got a Friend

One of the most amazing things that Bella has learned at daycare is the concept of friendship. She has a little gaggle of gorgeous children that she's been together with now for a year and a half. At daycare all the kids are referred to as "friends" in their daily language and so Bella has been talking about her daycare "friends" for many months.

She definitely has favourites. Two boys, in particular, Duncan and Carter, I'd consider to be her current BFFs. The three have been together since the first trying days of the infant room right through until two weeks ago when Carter (probably one of Bella's favourite people ever, she actually said "Carter" before she said "Mama," no joke) was graduated over to the preschool group. I felt sad that the two would be separated for a while and worried that Bella would be upset, but kids are resilient as we know, and though she asked about him the first few mornings he was gone - "Carter is in preschool Mommy?" - she mostly took it all in stride and seems to know that they will be reunited soon.

And by soon, I mean a matter of weeks! My little baby is starting preschool on July 5. PRESCHOOL. Which, though she's moving over a little young, and I know it's just a fancy title for the daycare group, still means that she is in the realm of being a school-aged kid. This makes me feel a little dizzy. And I'm sure that the speed at which my little baby will develop once she moves over with the "big kids" won't do much to sooth my spinning head.

The transition itself also has me a little stressed. She didn't deal that well with her move from the infant to toddler room, and she's a kid that is very set in her routines. I anticipate that there will be some tearful mornings for a while. But I'm also hopeful that because she's so much more communicative now, and able to reason a little more than she was last summer, this move will go a little smoother. Plus, she's moving with Duncan (BFF #2) and Erin (another favourite "friend") so I'm sure that they will all provide each other with some sense of stability and comfort. And of course, she'll be reunited with Carter.

Though Carter may be Bella's favourite human friend, I think this might be a good time to point out that she's got another very good friend in her life. One that has become a daily playmate, a special constant, a protector, a furry force to feed, cuddle and torment. I was so worried when Bella was born that she and my fur baby would not get along. Thankfully my worries were entirely and astronomically unfounded.


As it turns out, my formerly crusty and kid-hating pooch is just a big softy after all. He's understanding, gentle and patient with her, even when she's trying to shove a sticker down his throat or use his curly tail as a teething toy. Just as any great friend should be.

Here's proof:

Yesterday

Let's just get it out there - I've been terribly remiss about writing. I'm now going to let myself feel guilty about it for one entire minute.

...

There. We're past it, right?

Here's the thing. Yesterday was one of those days that I just have to get down in writing so that when I'm old and grey and reminiscing about the wonderful days when my family was young and the world was still so full of possibility and promise, I will remember that sometimes, those young, possibility-filled days were just ass. Pure and simple.

The day started off normal enough. The morning routine went down as usual, except that I was a little extra stressed because today the fur baby, Momes, was going in for an operation. If you know the Momes you'll understand that this is a very serious situation for his breed and for him especially (a dog with 9 lives, most of which he's already used up). He's likely under the knife right now and I don't care to discuss it. Will update later - moving on.

So I'm on edge about that. But we get ourselves together and we make it to daycare and work without incident. Sweet.

Morning at work goes as well as possible for someone who essentially feels like she's juggling three full time jobs. Job #1 - parent. Job # 2 - my job. Job #3 - trying to buy a new house. Whatevs, we're dealing as well as can be expected, if anyone has figured out the best way to work three full-time jobs at once without feeling a little STRESSED about it. Leave a comment.

I was actually quite excited about my lunch hour! Tuesdays are my riding lesson days and this means that I don't go to the gym on my lunch break. Oh, the possibilities! I can walk around, I can shop, I can eat somewhere out of the office. It's the best lunch hour of my week. Yesterday I decided that since pay day approaches and somehow I managed to keep a couple hundred bucks in my account, I'd treat myself to a little retail therapy to cheer myself up and relieve some stress.

Off to Zara! New shirt. So lovely. And you know what? Retail therapy really worked. I felt better. I'd budgeted for it and thought about it since my last pay. I was proud of myself for limiting it to just one, reasonably-priced item that I really liked. I would wear it when I went for drinks with friends on Friday! It was all coming together.

Back to the office for a busy afternoon of meetings. That actually helped because it kept my mind off the impending dog surgery and let me relax a little and talk creative business with my amazing colleagues. Thank God for them, they really do always help to make my day. But as the day wound down, the stress came back. By the time I was leaving the office, I felt a little nauseous from it all, I get spacey and tired when I'm stressed and I start to do stupid things.

Stupid things like leaving my brand-new shirt on the subway.

Fuck.

$40 dollars and the joy of a new item that was well earned and well deserved. FLUSH.

In over 10 years of commuting on the TTC I have NEVER done that before. Well, maybe the odd umbrella or pair of gloves, but never an entire shopping bag! Ever. I was so mad at myself when I realized it and SO utterly bummed. My entire so-so day was ruined. Silly to get upset over a $40 shirt, but it was the last one in my size. It was so pretty. And really? I don't have another $40 to replace it and I certainly didn't have an extra $40 to LEAVE ON THE SUBWAY.

So I get home and allow myself a five minute cry. Then it's time to suck it up because I have riding to get to for 7:30pm. A jumping lesson so I can't be despondent and distracted. I must be focused and eager. I make it to the barn and already am feeling better. I'm always cheered up by my horses. I'm assigned to one of my very favourites, a big, beautiful mare named Seven. Things are looking up! The lesson was great fun. We jumped verticals and rode a course. As always, after class I felt relaxed, happy and tired. Ready to go home, go to bed with my book and prepare for the tense day ahead (today).

Jump in the car, whip home, go to pull into my underground parking garage. The door is open, which is odd, but I pull in only to find a woman standing on the ramp waving her arms at me to stop and pull over. WTF? I roll down my window, get hit with a wave of stink, and she walks up and says, "Smell that? There's a skunk trapped down here. You might want to think about parking elsewhere so your car doesn't get sprayed."

A fucking skunk? In the UNDERGROUND parking lot? That's right. You can't make this shit up.

For a moment, I consider just parking there anyway. What are the chances that he'll go anywhere near my car? So I pull forward a bit 'til I can see my spot. And what is walking around frantically in circles IN my spot? Correct. Senior Skunk. I back the fuck out of the parking garage. NO WAY am I risking getting sprayed by skunk on a day that already stinks.

Though I briefly considered moving the car to the visitor lot, I opt for the street instead because the skunk is down there, he's pissed and who is to say that he won't run to the visitors section? The way my day is going, I'm getting sprayed for sure. I park on the street, go home and go to bed.

This morning? $30 ticket. But the car smells great.

Please send good vibes my way that my string of bad luck is over? My Momes needs all the help he can get.

Handsome Boy Modeling School

Oh Moet, we have not forgotten you. This post is dedicated to my delicious Lil'Boss, because before you I didn't believe that miracles were possible.




Author's note: It occurred to me after posting that this kind of makes it seem as though he's dead. He's not. Very much alive and thriving. That would be the miracle I speak of. Sorry if I temporarily upset you. Oops.

Happy Birthday to You: 20 Months Old

Dear Anabella,

This week you turned 20 months old.

Sigh. I remember my 20's. They were fantastic.

September is one of my favourite months of the year for many reasons. First of all, it's my birthday month, though this one has crawled pretty far down the reasons-I-love-September ladder since I grew out of my aforementioned 20's.

Second, school starts! Even though I am no longer in school, haven't been for a long, long, long (you get the point) time, I still feel a little nostalgic thrill every year when school begins. I love the feeling of all the university students pouring back into the city and walking around U of T campus with their new clothes and glossy books. I love watching the teenagers on the bus, gossiping or sulking, on their way to class.

Third, the weather. September is the new summer. Though I was born on the last official day of summer, I consider myself entirely a summer baby. I LOVE summer, the hotter the better. For the last few years September has been the sunniest, warmest, most beautiful summer month. We always spend Labour Day weekend and some of the following week in Ipperwash, soaking up those final summer rays on that most incredible beach -- a beach that clears out after holiday Monday and becomes all ours and ours alone. It is the definition of happiness for me to be on that beach with nobody else but the people I love most in the entire world.

September is pretty close to perfect. But for the last couple of years we have had some tough times in this particular month. In 2007, when you were still safely tucked away in my belly, there was a terrible accident with Momo and we nearly lost him. Then last year, the unthinkable happened to a family that we know. It stopped me in my tracks for a while and still does, when I think of them, even now. So this year when September rolled around I found that I entered it not with my usual giddy sense of excitement and joy but instead with a sense of foreboding doom.

Like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like everything is too perfect. Too beautiful. Too happy. I find myself starting to seek out all the terrible things that could happen. To ready myself for them. Steel myself against them. Prepare.

But then, just when I feel like I've gotten lost in the fog, there shines my light. My impish, smiling, squishable light. I just need to watch you for a minute, just being you, and I realize why I get so anxious about the possibility of something terrible happening. It's because of the love. Every day I love you more. And the more that I love you the more I stand to lose. It's that simple. It's the risk that we all take when we decide to become parents.

You are 20 months old this week. One day you will be 20 years old. Can my heart hold 20 years worth of ever increasing love? Can it hold 60? I have to assume that it can because if there is one truth, one undeniable fact that I can share with you it is this, every second of every minute of every hour that goes by I love you more and more and more. And somehow my heart just expands.

If there is one thing that can make September -- that beautiful, complicated month -- even more perfect that it already is, Anabella, it's you.

I love you.

Mommy