B is for BabyBlog

Ok. So this rolling over thing is really getting out of hand. Cy is one lean, mean, rolling machine. And I, the victim left in its wake. I put him down for a second, and I really mean a second, blink, and he's already on his tummy.

Of course, moments later, he starts to scream. Because, well, what's there to do once you're on your tummy? There's not much of a view. He refuses to learn how to roll back over, and crying seems as good as anything else at that point. I then rush to flip him back over. And we do this over and over and over again. All day long. Not only is the repetitiveness of this driving me bonkers, it also means I cannot put him down for a second. Unless I strap him in to something. So that means no showers, no pee breaks, and no time to eat. And if you've ever tried to spread nutella on bread with one hand while holding a baby in the other you know this is a futile task. Sigh.

At the end of the day, Cy might feel a sense of accomplishment for having really mastered this maneuver. But I feel like I'm living out my very own Groundhog Day. What a nightmare...

Gotta go. He's rolled over again.

Remember that late 90s commercial where a businessman freaks out at the airport because he accidentally checks his laptop? He's running around the terminal with a dumbfounded look on his face, slapping his forehead, and yelling:

"I checked my notebook. I can't believe I checked my notebook!!!"

Well, I've been having the same dream the last few nights. Except I'm running around the airport yelling:

"I checked my baby. I can't believe I checked my baby!!!"

Granted, I don't think airport personnel would ever allow me to do that, accidentally or otherwise. But it doesn't stop me from dreaming that it could happen. Yes, I'm going on 'vacation' at the end of the week and I've never been more terrified in my life. It's Cy's first flight.

Cut to ominous overture: DUM DUM DUM.

I'm going to be THAT woman with screaming child that everyone prays they don't have to sit anywhere near. And I'm going to have to endure 4 hours of this torture. It's not like church where you can always walk out if things get really bad and threaten to sell the child to gypsies outside, where no one will question your parenting skills or threaten to call child services. No, on a plane, there is no where to go. There is no where to hide. It's just you. A crying baby. And 100 strangers ready to throw you both overboard at the slightest whimper. There will be dirty looks. Potential kicks to the back of the chair. Or even a rude childless passenger or two who will 'politely' tap me on the shoulder and ask: "doesn't it come with an off button?"

I understand what it's like. There was a time when I cursed moms and babies on planes. I think there was even a time, during an unfortunate 24 hour return flight from Japan where i was stuck in front of a newborn that screamed for the better 23 hours of the trip, that I seriously considered starting a petition to ban babies from flying altogether. Seriously though, who hasn't, at one time or another, considered the potential merits of passing such a bylaw?

And now it's my turn. 3 more sleeps and I will have to face my very own worst nightmare. Will karma show it's ugly face and punish me for my evil thoughts with my very own screaming 3 month old? Or will Cy, with his chubby cheeks and winsome grin, be the apple of every flight attendent's eye?

Stay tuned...

Is it wrong to eat your baby's food???

It all started with me trying to demonstrate proper dining technique. I think Cy was getting confused: he would slap the spoon and try to eat my hand. So in an effort to educate and inspire, I channeled my best airplane (think more big, struggling Boeing rather than a sprightly Cessna) and flew a spoon into my own mouth to show him how its done. Then it hit me: mmmm...these peas are actually pretty good! And they required no work, as in chewing, on my part. I could get used to this.

Yes, thanks to cy, i've rediscovered my passion for pureed peas, creamed carrots and that sweet, starchy goodness of sweet potatoes. Sure, they could use a sprinkle of salt or a dash of curry, but even on their own they are quite delicious.

Is it wrong of me to lovingly prepare food for my child and then eat it myself? Perhaps. But he always gets first dibs. It's just that sometimes I don't have time to make my own food. Between steaming, pureeing, feeding and cleaning, the thought of then having to make myself something to eat just kills my appetite. Then I remember there are little pureed cups of yummy organic carrot in the fridge and I just cant help myself. Cy will never know... (granted, this has only happened once - but I can see how it could easily become an addiction).

I love food. I love planning it. I love cooking it. And most of all, I love eating it. And yes, baby food is basic and bland, but sometimes the simplest recipes are the tastiest of all.

Is it weird that my son rarely wears pants? I was just thinking this the other day while looking at a co-worker's baby's pics on Facebook. Her adorable son is dressed in the cutest little skater outfits - little polo shirts, hip hoodies, and adorable cargo pants - all in teeny tiny 3 month sizes, of course. And then there's Cy, almost always wearing onesies and socks. Sans pants.

The other day, a lady on the street thought he was a she. Had I dressed my son in pants, could this awkward moment have been avoided? Is the future of his children (my grandchildren!) compromised as a result of 3 poorly placed snaps wedged in his crotch? If he could talk would he say: "Mom, do I look like Lady Gaga to you? Put me in some pants for God's sakes!"

One day, my son might choose Speedos over swimming trunks, all because I conditioned him to enjoy the snugness of a onesie over the freedom of a loose fitting pant.

What kind of mother am I?

So this mommy group got me thinking - how incredibly amazing would it be to have a mommy group where you were actually all good friends first? Like if all my girlfriends had babies right now we would finally have the time - and a good excuse - to hang out all day, take long afternoon strolls, organize baby play dates and mommy gossip sessions in the park. It would be just like college except we'd be changing the occasional diaper instead of going to the occasional class. How great would that be?

Unfortunately, though many of my girlfriends have gotten hitched, few have babies. And as great as it would be for us all to have babies at exactly the same time, life is notoriously difficult to plan (I'm still waiting for the former.) So i'm not holding my breath for this fantasy mommy group just yet. But a girl can dream, right? It also doesn't stop me from 'encouraging' (some may call it nagging, but you say potatoe i say potato) my friends to hurry up and get knocked up.

"Tamara, long time no see! But what's even longer is how long it's taking you guys to get pregnant!"

"Erin - nothing heals a broken foot like a baby. I should know!"

"Maggie, how's the music production business? Why don't you and Jason get busy and produce some babies?"

Now that I've joined this great club, naturally I want to recruit all my girls. Every one of them would make an amazing mother. And I can't wait for them to experience the joy of parenthood, if sometimes for selfish reasons. And I'm sure they all will, in their own time.

But like I used to say in college, a little peer pressure never hurt anyone.

Being at home is weird. I don't really know what to do with myself. It sounded great. "I'll finally have time to get around to all that stuff I've been meaning to do," I told myself while still pregnant; organize DVD collection, set up our 'office' in the basement, clean out my closet, etc. 12 months of mat leave is a lot of time to accomplish a lot of stuff. In theory.

Well, now that it's here, I've learned it isn't a lot of time. Especially when I only get short 2-hour windows of opportunity in between feedings. Half that time I use to catch up on sleep. The rest for showering, eating and tidying up. And if there's any time left over after that, whatever else I want. Except that there's usually not much left over.

So what are some highlights of my day, you ask?

An afternoon walk - need SOME exercise to work off all that 'baby' weight that failed to disappear from my belly when the baby did.
Several loads of laundry - considering I pretty much live out of the same two pairs of jogging pants and tees, you'd think I'd have less laundry to do. Not the case.
Checking email - this is starting to feel like a luxury. I used to be a total email junkie. It's pretty much the only way I communicate with people, usually checking my inbox several times an hour. Well, not any more. There's just no time (and typing with one hand while holding Cy with the other is really tedious.) And catching up on my news headlines? Yeah, right.
Listening to bad top 40 music on Much More Music while dancing/rocking Cy to sleep - if I hear "Africa" one more time I'm going to slash my wrists. Seriously. Who the hell is Karl Wolf?!?!?!?

Notice there is no closet-cleaning, shopping, or organizing of any kind on this list. Sigh....

There's nothing worse than hearing your baby cry. It just tears you up inside.

The last few days (and nights!) Cy has become Mr. Fussy Pants. Even after he's changed, cuddled and snuggled, he exhibits short bouts of fussing and crying. He acts as if he's hungry, but when given milk, he doesn't want it. Don't think this qualifies as colic quite yet - apparently, that's when a baby cries for 3 hours straight, at least 3 times a week - but it hurts to watch (and listen to) all the same. Maybe it's gas. Maybe it's a growth spurt. Maybe it's just him showing us who's boss.

As if we didn't already know!

What we do know, is that the only thing that seems to soothe him is being snuggled in a sling, and rocked to sleep by mom or dad dancing around the house. It doesn't matter what's on the stereo, as long as there's a good beat to bounce to. Sounds cute, I know. And it was. The first 10 times.

Yesterday for instance, I began the day by shaking my ass to Madonna. Don't get me wrong - I love Madonna - but there really is a time and place for everything - and 6:30 in the morning is WAY too early, even for Madge. The last time I danced while the sun came up, I had glow sticks in my hand. Not a baby.

My, how times change.

Photos by: Derek Woollam www.westriverphoto.ca/

Sadly, this seems to apply only to your own mother. Not if you're THE mother.

Last week little Cy badly needed his nails trimmed. He was starting to look like an exorcist baby from all the self-inflicted scratches on his face. My mom happened to be here when Dust and I attempted to trim them using our brand new baby clippers.

My mom took one look at the contraption and asked: "Why don't you just use small manicure scissors? They're much easier."

To which I replied: "No. These are specifically designed for babies and therefore safer."

She just shrugged and let me be. Shortly thereafter, Cy almost ended up a pinky short...

This week, I tried the scissors. Sure enough, MUCH MUCH easier.

Moral of the story? Baby nail clippers suck.

Oh yeah, and listen to your mother. Even if you are a mother. Sigh.

(pics courtesy of derek woollam - thanks D!)

LW is here!!! Fashionably early. 7 lbs 8 ounces of tiny cuteness. I'm instantly in love. Feel a little worse for wear - 16 hours of labour will do that to you - but I survived. I'm officially somebody's mom!

The pile of dishes growing exponentially in my sink? I see it like one of those desert mirages but reversed: I know it's there but when I look at it I choose not to see anything.
The dust bunnies hiding in the corners? We could always use another pet or two.
The fact that I'm wearing the same jogging pants for the third day in a row, soup stain and all? Meh.
All these things and more I would never tolerate under regular circumstances. But right now, all I want to do is sleep. And I can't be bothered to do or think about anything else.
But even when Cy finally does go down, it's so hard to fall asleep. He looks so angelic when sleeping, I'd rather watch him catch his zzz's instead. In other new mommy news, ever pump milk? I'll spare you the details. or the photos for that matter. Yes, it may be good for the baby. not to mention my breasts (which are flooding faster than the Red River.) And it lets me leave the house for more than 2 hours at a time. But at a cost. There is absolutely nothing fun, or sexy, about hooking yourself up to a machine for 30 minutes and pumping away. Nothing. I feel so used.
(Look at those cheeks though - a lot of milk is needed to create such chubby cheeks.)

I’m only a couple weeks away from the main event. And let me tell you, I’m ready to get it done. My belly is so big it feels like it’s going to burst any moment. And I think LW is itchin’ to get out too, because my belly has become uber itchy! I think he's trying to tell me something.

I was warned this might happen. A girlfriend of mine was so itchy throughout the majority of her pregnancy, and her skin so sensitive, that she could only wear clothes made from one hundred percent cotton. And super loose. No designer maternity jeans or cute belly hugging tops for her. No. She suffered the 9 months in leggings and her husband’s oversized plaid shirts (I think for a while there she thought she was carrying Kurt Cobain’s immaculately conceived love child). I’m not quite that bad, but all this skin stretching is pushing me to some major scratching (as if i need any self-induced scarring!) It also doesn’t help that I have eczema (on my hands mostly). So I’m itchy not just on my belly but on my hands too.

This has called for some major moisturizing action. I went out and got the creamiest, yummiest smelling lotion I could find. Palmer’s tummy butter. I’ve seen the ads in all my preggo magazines and anything with the word ‘butter’ in it has to be good right? So I’ve been slathering my itchy belly, and therefore my itchy hands too – it’s a win-win. It’s just so, so creamy and smells delicious (surprised that I haven’t actually tried to eat it considering I eat anything and everything in my sight these days.) Ahh the sweet smell of relief….

The itch has definitely calmed down, and the cream is supposed to help with stretchmarks too - a total bonus. Still don’t have any! But now I’m worried that since my belly’s not as itchy anymore, has LW's itch to get out has been quelled? Uh oh.