Self Improvements

After the post baby trauma subsided a bit I began to notice myself again. I did not like what I saw. There was/is the baby belly, which is to be expected. The stretch marks. May I just take this moment to say that hardly anyone I know got stretch marks while pregnant. But when I think about it I guess it's one of those things where I say “I have a lot of stretch marks!” to which I get “Oh, I never got ANY!” (which, by the way, ranks right up there with my favorite comments. Such as “Oh, I didn't have any morning sickness at all. To that I say “How nice for you.”) but the moms who do have them don't jump to say “Oh I know, I have them too!”. I always forget I seem to be the one of the few people who voluntarily talks openly about my flaws. (What's wrong with me anyway?) And then there was the hair loss. Man! The hair loss! Good thing I started out with far too much hair because it had even me, the woman with too much hair, worried that I was going to be bald. Thankfully that has now stopped. Here's a weird one. My teeth. They seemed discolored. I had a few of my clients tell me horror stories about how they lost teeth during their pregnancies. That's just nutty. No lost teeth here. I just found them to be a bit yellow. Maybe I'm crazy but I kept seeing pictures of myself with my big ol' smile and I thought “Hmmm. My teeth look really yellow.” After many times of saying that about different photos I finally bought this. I took before and after photos but the before one somehow disappeared from my computer. So that blows my comparison out the window. I'll try it again in a few weeks.

So, I took care of the teeth thing. Or at least I took care of it in a way that I could afford. Going off in another direction, since when did celebrities have to have such white teeth? I own a lot of 80's movies and let me tell you it is weird yet refreshing to observe their less than perfect bodies and normal looking teeth. The baby belly is retreating with every bi-weekly trip to the gym. I'm not sure it will ever be jiggle free. The stretch marks? Well, nothing to be done about them except wait and watch them slowly fade from pink to white. The hair. The good news is I'm not bald. I'm actually enjoying this thinner hair I have. It is almost behaving like I always wanted it to. At it's present length I can wear it wavy or straight. I'm curious what all of you prefer. Let me know what you think. Also, as you can see my hair has gotten longer and I have colored it darker since Baby A was born. Wow! I was just looking at my pictures. Could I be any more pale? Not sure why I appear to have so much color in the first one. I progressively get pastier with each photo. The first shot was taken in September when I still had some 'sun'. Ha ha! My poor daughter has the skin color genetics of two of the palest people on the planet. My teeth seem whiter with every shot too. How strange. Perhaps as the pregnancy hormones dissapate the discoloration goes away?







I don't have the highest self esteem but I do what I can with what I have. My husband loves me and thinks I am beautiful. The funny thing is I actually believe him when he says it. Now that's love.

P.S. I know I'm evil for cropping "the show stealer" Baby A out of my pictures. Really, would you really pay any attention to me if she was in the picture? It's all about me you know.

Just Smile

I think I'm stressed but I seem to be handling it well. This boiler thing has been a monkey on my back since last Friday night when it first went berserk. Despite the nice plumber coming back again yesterday and attempting one more procedure on our boiler, at 5:00 am this morning I awoke to the jet engine noise. I hauled my tired behind downstairs to note which burner was spewing blue flame this time, dragged myself back upstairs, turned off the thermostat, turned it back on and went back to bed. Once there my knee began to ache.(Must be the damp weather) I tried turning on each side, my stomach and my back to get comfortable. I contemplated getting up to watch Joyce Meyer on television. I eventually fell asleep again until 7:00 when I heard Audrey playing in her crib. I sat up to pump for ten minutes. When I am nearly finished Peter goes and changes her (poopy diaper!) and brings her to me. I have been thinking a lot lately about how happy I will be when I no longer have to pump every morning. It has grown tedious and annoying. My new goal is to hang in there until Baby A is a year old. I may be able to cut back the nursing a bit towards the year mark and in turn, cut out the pumping. We'll see.








Introducing rice cereal has been interesting. This is week two. I deemed this morning a success and a failure. The start was promising. Audrey opened her mouth and swallowed several times like a pro. Then she blew bubbles with a force I had yet to see. I tried to give the spoonfuls in between the “BBBBBbbbbbbb!” but you know, it didn't really work. By the end of breakfast she and I were covered in a fine mist of cereal. Lovely. I keep reading about how introducing solids is a learning experience. Boy howdy.



And then there is the thumb. I love the thumb. When she found her thumb I was happy. She was happy. A much happier baby. It's cute, it makes her happy. It may very likely be the reason she can sleep through the night. But the thumb is becoming an issue. Last week at swimming lessons, if she didn't have a pool toy in her mouth it was her thumb. When I feed her her cereal I often have to pull the thumb out to get a spoonful in. Lately, when nursing, she wants to suck her thumb for about a minute first but my boob has to be out and ready or else she'll just turn back to her thumb. Or sometimes she's all - boob – thumb, boob – thumb. It's drives me nuts. Let me tell you kid, there is nothing like sitting around with my boobs hanging out waiting for you to stop sucking your thumb. It's a good time. Let's do this in public for fun.



The boiler monkey should be off my back tomorrow when the plumber comes to install a $400 part on it. Yippity do Dah! I wonder how much a new boiler would cost. The plumber is a nice guy though. He has been really good about everything and didn't charge us for coming over yesterday. And hey, he went up on our roof. That deserves a cookie or something. I think he'll have to settle for a smile.

*I posted so many pictures today that I made them small. Just click on them if you want to see them in their glorious enormousness.

It MAY Be Fixed...then again it may not.

Well, the plumber didn't fall off our roof. He thinks he has the problem fixed. Gotta love that. “I don't really have a clue what was causing the blue flames to shoot out of your gas boiler but I THINK what I did has fixed it.” Let's hope so. It cost about $150.00 for the cleaning which I think was actually a good deal since he went up on our snow covered roof. Last year when we had the same thing done it cost the same amount, roof climbing excluded. From now on I am going to request it.

Mama D “Can you go up on the roof and look in our chimney?”
Plumber “Why?”
Mama D “Because I said so.”

I was invited out to a friends for lunch. (Yesterday) This was a nice surprise after the early jet engine wake up call and writing of $150.00 cheque. Audrey was a tad grumpy but my lunch dates enjoy holding her and one of their daughters cracks me up constantly saying “Hi, hi, hi!” to Little A in a high pitched voice. So cute.

I then received this email forward which was SO important I HAD to put it in my blog.


Generally, I hate the warnings that get sent around but I have to admit that this one is important.

Please protect everyone you know by sending this to your entire email list.

If someone comes to your front door and says they are conducting a survey and asks you to show them your bum, do NOT show them your bum.

This is a scam. They only want to see your bum.

I wish I'd got this yesterday, I feel so stupid and cheap.

So funny. It made my day.

But right now it is 15 minutes before my husband is done work and I have not started supper and there are no leftovers except rice pudding. I should really go make something or something.

A picture of Miss A clearly finding her crib more entertaining than her baby gym.


UPDATE: The blue flames came shooting out again last night. The plumber will be back today. Oh, and we do have a carbon monoxide detector so don't worry too much about us y'all.

This And That

I am sitting here waiting for plumbers to come and look at our boiler. When I mentioned in yesterday's post about Little A getting up at 12:00 am on Friday night I didn't mention what happened earlier.

Shortly after putting Audrey to bed at her usual 9:30 time I was sitting at the computer (surprise!) and Peter rushed into the room and said he needed my help. As I followed him down the stairs he filled me in that as he was laying in bed he heard a noise similar to a jet engine taking off downstairs. Clearly I am deaf since I didn't hear this from the living room. We both looked at our boiler in horror and confusion as we observed the blue flame coming out of the front of the burners. *Side note for those of you who have a furnace and don't know about this crazy thing called a boiler. A boiler is what older homes like mine often have which circulate hot water through radiators rather that hot air through vents. This couldn't be good. We proceeded to call a plumber. Why do these things always seem to happen after hours when they charge like a hundred dollars just to come and look at the boiler? The first plumber we called made excuses about how he didn't think he'd have the parts and he'd have to charge us anyway if he came over even if he couldn't do anything etc. I said thanks but no thanks. We called another plumber, this one actually asked us what the boiler was doing. When we described it to him he sounded worried and suggested we call the emergency gas line 1-800 number. Fantastic! I called this number and a nice, calm lady instructed us on what to do until the hydro man arrived. I began to shiver which is a reaction my body has to stress. We waited an hour for the hydro man. When he arrived we turned the thermostat back on and the boiler worked like a dream. He throughly inspected our boiler, chimney, and gas meter. He was perplexed since everything appeared to be fine then advised us to call a plumber this week. That was as long as it continued to work properly. If not, we were to call him again. It worked fine for the rest of the weekend and I called the plumber first thing Monday morning to make an appointment to have it looked at. They were coming tomorrow morning, that was until at 5:30 this morning when the jet engine noise happened again. My husband being the smart man that he is video taped the lovely blue flames. That way if the plumber came and our boiler miraculously worked perfectly there would be proof of it's disobedience. I called the plumber again ten minutes before they opened and explained our predicament. They said someone would be over this morning.

The plumber has arrived and we ate popcorn while we watched the video of our boiler getting ready to explode or poison my family with carbon monoxide gas. He is presently about to climb up on our roof to look down our chimney. Sounds expensive. I'll keep you all posted.

On a happier note Audrey finished her swimming lessons yesterday. I am sorry to report what a slacker she is since she wasn't passed from 'Splashers' to 'Bubblers' and will have to repeat the session. She neglected to meet some of the requirements for this level such as jumping in while holding adult's hands and exiting pool using variety of methods. Currently her only method of exiting the pool is in my arms. Sigh. Of course I am kidding. I think we will skip the next session since I need a break. It makes for another hectic day on one of the days that I'm 'not working'. I hope she enjoys the water the same way when we do another session in the future. Here are some happy swimming pictures for your viewing pleasure. I'll just be here contemplating ways of making extra cash to afford the plumber who is on my roof.

Competency And Incompentcy

After more than six months of motherhood I have become really comfortable. I consider this to be a great accomplishment since during my first month I was seriously contemplating throwing in the towel. I am not a quitter but I have never felt like quitting more than I did during that time. I was convinced that I would never again get any sleep, I would never be able to properly breastfeed my child and clearly, I was a failure as a mother. With baby steps I became more sure of myself. I persevered through my breastfeeding difficulties. Audrey started sleeping through the night at around two months. I began to think that maybe I did know what I was doing after all. This delusion continued until last Friday.

Baby A and I went over to her Grandma's for a visit and while she napped I was going to go out for some groceries. As I was putting her down for her nap she woke up. What did I do? I quickly began to nurse her for about the two seconds required to put her back to sleep. So what's the big deal you may ask. The deal is I am addicted to the Bobby Pillow.

(This is the exact same Boppy we have. I look exactly like that woman except for the tan, the face, the body and the smaller boobs.) After Audrey was born and we were having all of our breastfeeding troubles I asked my mom to get me a Boppy. It made feeding Audrey far less difficult. I could release the tension in my shoulders and back just a little bit and I felt like I was just a bit more coordinated. Since I needed both hands (and three more) to feed her, laying her in front of me on the Boppy made it much easier. The problem? Now I don't know how to feed my child without it. I have forgot it at home a few times when we've gone out or at my mom's. My first instinct when I don't have it is to panic but then I just use a regular pillow. This is a sorry substitute as it is too soft and doesn't fit around my waist. As much as I love my Boppy, I am dependent upon it. I watch mothers nurse their babies 'au natural' and feel a bit inadequate. It's like I still have my breastfeeding training wheels on. So the fact that I was able to nurse Audrey without it and put her back to sleep lickety split made me feel all proud of myself. I am competent of feeding my child without the aid of a croissant shaped pillow. Yay me!

The second thing I accomplished that day was installing Miss A's new car seat. That's right folks, we have ditched the infant carrier and moved onwards and upwards to a rear facing car seat that stays in the vehicle. When we bought our baby carrier I read the booklet that came with it. Perhaps it was my pregnant brain that could not comprehend it but it was practically like reading Japanese. Eventually, with Peter's help I figured out how to use it but those first few times of putting Audrey into it and taking her out... yikes. Not to mention putting it in the car. I remember almost breaking down crying several times because I couldn't get the seat to release from the base. I don't know what I started doing differently but eventually it didn't get stuck anymore. This time when I read the instructions they didn't confuse me (much). And I adjusted the harness and installed it into our car by myself. Not that I want to be a single mom but knowing that I can do this stuff on my own is really empowering. I need to remind myself of those times when I feel like a competent mother. Because those feeling are fleeting.

Putting Audrey in the new seat wasn't so bad. When we got home taking her out and carrying all my stuff was another story. I almost felt my cheeks getting red from embarrassment. I felt like a new mom again, not knowing how to carry my baby and my bag at the same time. Then, that night after she had gone to bed for what usually is until morning she woke up. At 12:00 am. I would feed her, she'd fall asleep, I'd lay her in her bed she'd wake up and cry. I did this about five times. I was incredibly frustrated because the next day was the only day of the week that I get up early to go to work. I felt like we were back in those early days when I tip toed into her room with her asleep in my arms, just praying that she would stay asleep this time so I could get some rest. At 2:00 am she was in bed again for the night. I woke up a very cranky mama the next day.

How quickly I had gone from feeling competent to feeling incompetent again. I guess I might as well get used to it. I think this is going to be a pattern for at least 20 more years.

I'm Not A Violent Person

When you were a little kid did you ever run up the basement stairs because you were sure someone was behind you? I did. I would be fine while I was in the basement, it wasn't really scary down there or anything. But for some reason when I was going up the stairs I always had this terrible feeling there was someone behind me or hiding underneath the stairs just ready to grab me and pull me back down. So I had a ritual of looking around the basement and then sprinting up the stairs as fast as I could convinced that at any second I would be attacked from behind. I would never look back, once at the top I would slam the door behind me. I knew, even then, that it was an irrational fear. I knew there was no one down there to 'get' me. But I couldn't make that feeling go away so I continued my stair sprinting ritual until we moved away from that place.

The reason I'm writing about this is because I experienced that exact same feeling last night when leaving work. I was the last one to leave. My car is parked at the back of the building adjacent to the back lane. There is a sensor light but it is still dark, quiet and a little unnerving. As I was walking to my car, opening the door and getting in I felt that 'someone's going to get you' feeling. I jumped in and immediately locked my doors. I was annoyed at myself for getting freaked out. This is not the way I want to live my life.

When I was a kid I was oblivious to danger, as most kids are. It never crossed my mind that often that anyone would want to hurt me unless I had provoked it in some way. When I was 15 years old a friend and I were walking to the store on a Saturday afternoon. A group of five girls were walking in our direction. We instinctively crossed to the other side of the street. So did they. When we met they surrounded us on someone's lawn. They began to tell us how they had seen us give them the finger from our car earlier that week. This, of course was a total lie and purely an excuse to confront us. I objected to this accusation explaining we didn't give people the finger. (Oh, how naive.) They seemed most interested in my friend who, although she was older, was smaller than me. Two girls stood imposingly on either side of her. I only had one girl standing behind me who kept attempting to get a grip on me in some way but I repeatedly shrugged her off. The remaining two of the girls were much bigger and older than all of us and seemed to be there for 'back up'. My mind was racing. What are we going to do? I thought about fighting back but we were clearly out numbered and as they seemed to be focusing on my friend I imagined them holding me down while I watched her get the crap beaten out of her. I made a decision that if they hit her I would bolt to the nearest house (next door) and ask for help. I waited as they shot their mouths off, trying to intimidate us. Then, they slapped her in the face. I did what I planned I ran as fast as I could to the neighboring house and pounded on the door. A young kid answered. I said “Please, we need help!” I saw his mother pop her head out of the kitchen and quickly come to the door and out onto the step. As I began to explain and point towards my friend being attacked by the girls they saw us and ran away. I said “Thank you!” to the woman and ran off towards my friend. At this point I began to cry. Not in a way where you tear up and wipe the tears away. I was hysterical. I was sobbing and snorting. My friend ran up to me. I asked her if she was okay. She was a bit dirty, she had some scratches and some bruising was beginning to show up on her face. She laughed. “I'm stoked. I have never been in a fight before.” I was shocked. I continued to sob for about an hour while she tried to calm me down, assuring me that she was okay. I was just so shaken. I couldn't believe that these girls had done this with no reason.

From that point on I walked through life worried that everyone was out to get me. I couldn't go for a walk without thinking someone might attack me. The nice looking man pushing his baby in a stroller, the young woman walking to work. In my eyes anyone could be a potential threat. Then at 18 ½ I started TaeKwon Do. I started because my friend was doing it, not because I thought I had any fear issues. Not long after I started doing martial arts I began to notice how much more confident I had become. I felt good that I was getting exercise. I began competing and winning which was so much fun as well as a huge ego boost. I don't think I actually realized what a change had occurred in me until one evening I spent with a friend. I was visiting her in the large city that she lived in. We were meeting some of her friends for drinks at a billiard bar downtown. We parked in a parking lot that was shared by a few different bars and restaurants. One of those places was a pretty dumpy spot. As we were walking to the billiard bar a shifty looking man approached us. He asked us for money or something, we apologized and continued walking. Once inside the bar my friend sighed with relief and told me that guy had totally freaked her out. I stopped in my tracks when I realized that he hadn't freaked me out. My thought process had been as follows. Scary looking guy approaching us, there are lots of people around if he tries anything, we can run to the bar we are going to, I can totally take this guy out if I need to. I assessed the situation, thought of solutions to any problems that might arise and I was ready for whatever might happen. That was a turning point.

It's not that I think I am so tough or anything. There are certain situations that I just wouldn't want to be in. I have taught self defense classes. I know how to protect myself. Peter often asks me what I would do if someone did such and such to me. I usually reply with “stick my thumbs in their eye balls, dislocate their knee, collapse their trachea” and so on. He then winces with pain, covers his eyes and asks me to please stop describing the ways I am able to maim an attacker. I then remind him that he asked me what I would do.

My issue is this. How is it that I found myself feeling so afraid last night? Is it that I am not training in TaeKwon Do right now? That I haven't trained since I was seven months pregnant. Or is it that I am a mother now? The thought of something happening to me and leaving my child without a mother terrifies me. I'm not sure. It makes me want to find a way to be able to start training again. All I know is that whether or not I am afraid, if anyone tries anything with me they better watch out because I have a lot more to fight for these days. Limbs could be broken, eyeballs could be lost.

Hello Old/New Friend

Remember this post? If not, you should read it. Because every single word I write is incredibly important you know. Baby A has begun to notice things like never before. Toys, television, people, and our cat. She also has acute hearing. This can be rather interesting when I am trying to feed her and there is some noise, such as a pin dropping next door. She suddenly turns her head almost taking my nipple along for the ride. (Score one point for floppy, stretchy boobs!) (I am so going to get a Google seach for 'Floppy, stretchy boobs'. sigh.)

It is the coolest thing to watch her notice our cat. When she sees him she makes soft high pitched squealy noises and reaches her hands out to him. I have been showing her how to pet him. "Nice kitty, nice kitty." and we pet him softly. She always ends up getting excited and grabbing a handful of fur. If I did that, he would bite my arm off. Her? He looks at her with his eyes half closed in that sleepy cat way and walks away leaving a tiny handful of fur behind. Little A is of course, oblivious. She's just so happy that she got to see him and touch his very soft fur.

I really hope that as she grows and crawls and chases him around that he remains as patient. I worry that they won't be friends anymore that he'll just hide under his chair. I wouldn't blame him. He's like a hundred years old or something, in cat years. I would really like him to live long enough for her to remember him, that he was our cat and we loved him.

Temptation

I packed Baby A up yesterday and we headed to Wal-Mart for her six month photos. The last time we took 'professional' photos at Wal-Mart I think I spent over a hundred dollars. I hadn't planned on spending that much. We only wanted a family shot to send to our friends and family for Christmas. Audrey was only two months old and she was not nearly as photogenic as she is now. In our family shot she looks like a frightened little monkey. Really. I'm not kidding. So they took the six extra shots of her on her own. Well. Although she looked bored in every picture she was still a whole lot cuter than in the family shot. What could I do? I ended up with a bigger package than I had planned on. I will say that I sent almost every single picture out to my friends and family. So maybe it was worth the money.

Now today, I walked into that store feeling strong, confident. I would tell the photographer that I only wanted the package for $8.95, I would not spend more money. Baby A was wearing the dress seen here. I took off her tights so her cute little bare feet would be in the picture. We picked the background, sat her up against the little baby stabilizer thingy which hides under the fuzzy blanket. The photographer shook a toy, Audrey smiled like an angel, the flash went pop and we had our shot. Thank you and goodbye. The picture showed up on the display screen, I saw that it was adorable. She had a cute smile and her little toes were all spread apart the way the do and I was pleased. That is when I should have picked her up and left, only I didn't.

“I'm just going to take six more shots.” she says. I should have said “Why, so you can bait me into spending more money?” which is exactly what happened. I can't explain it. The very next shot she took was the best one. I don't know what it was. Maybe the lighting was better or she tried a little harder to get a better expression but it was so cute. It was at this point I knew I was in trouble. She tried new backgrounds, new positions. Audrey just kept smiling the same gorgeous smile. I ooohhed and aaahhed. Finally we were done. I knew what was coming. I knew I wouldn't have the willpower to say “No thanks” to the better, more adorable pictures. In the end my $8.95 package was over $50.00.

I know it's not the Wal-Mart photographers fault. They train her to do it. I can imagine the training.

“Okay, make sure the first shot is cute, but not to cute, you know. Like, don't try to hard to make her smile, and make sure you use the crappy lighting. Then, when you start into the extra shots make sure you pull out all the stops. The lights, the toys. Stand on your head if you have to. Just make sure that those customers can't live without EVERY SINGLE EXTRA PICTURE you take. Then show them on the computer just how cute their kid really is. Compliment them. Even if they are the homeliest kid you've ever seen tell them the opposite. Sell, sell, sell. If you don't, we'll need a pound of flesh at the end of your pay period.”

How can any parent resist buying pictures of their beautiful, smiling six month old baby? It was such a welcome improvement to the two month old terrified monkey pictures. I couldn't help myself.

One Half Of One Year

I can't believe she is six months old already. That's half of a whole year!



When I found out I was pregnant I couldn't believe it had finally happened. I then spent the four longest months of my life nauseated every second of every hour of every day and vomiting enough to last a lifetime. I had discharge similar to hydrochloric acid which burned the insides of my legs so badly I walked like I'd been riding a horse all day. My stomach developed deep purple stretch marks despite much slathering of anti-stretchmark cream.



I still remember so vividly that time after she was born when I was so certain that I had made a terrible mistake. That I wasn't meant to be a mother. That she would be better off with someone else. I can still hear your newborn baby cries of protest during those first long weeks of learning to breastfeed. My heart still drops when I think of the disappointment I felt because you didn't seem to want me. When we finally got home from the hospital I wanted everything to be 'normal' and was so devastated to find out I couldn't deal with what 'normal' had become. Eventually we got into our groove and I began to cope with our new life.






I finally started to feel comfortable going out. I began to have confidence in my ability as a mother. Baby A seemed more relaxed and became the baby she always has been if my blood hadn't made her feel so icky. Right when I was about to lose my mind from lack of sleep she started sleeping through the night. As Audrey's personality began to develop I fell even more in love with her. Her first smiles nearly broke my heart.



Now she is so big! She just ate cereal for the first time yesterday. She seemed like such a big girl in her highchair! It's hard to believe that in just six more months she will be a whole year old! I am so proud of both of us for making it this far. Today we are going to have six month pictures taken. It still blows my mind.



From the moment she came into my life I was forever changed. I will always be her mama and she will always be my first born baby girl. I look forward to the continuing adventure that is motherhood.

Explainations and Information

I'm sure you have all been dying of curiosity since Friday when I posted my “Two Lies and a Truth” game. Well, wait no longer! I will satisfy your burning need to know which of the following are lies and which ones are the truth.

1.I come from a family of 5 children.
2.I inherited 50,000 dollars from my grandfather.
3.I have naturally blond hair.

The truth is that I am the youngest of 5 children. Often referred to as 'the baby' (until my daughter was born) and informed that I was/am spoiled. I consider myself to be more spoiled now than I was as a child. And now it seems everyone is 'spoiling' my daughter, both with gifts and with their attention. She doesn't appear to mind. The first three children born were girls all approximately 2 years apart. My brother was born 6 years after that and I was born 10 years after my brother. The age difference between my oldest sister and myself is close to 20 years. It was a strange dynamic growing up. My two oldest sisters were no longer living at home. My other sister was there for the first 2 years of my life and literally acted like a mother to me. The most photographs taken of me are during this period from 0-2 years. She has since told me how difficult it was for her to move away and leave me in a home that she knows was unstable and dysfunctional. My parents were basically alcoholics and were relatively irresponsible in regards to me at that time. Since my brother was my closest to my age and also the only one still living at home I really looked up to him. This may be why I was (am) such a tomboy. I always wanted him to be proud of me and tried to achieve this in the strangest ways. Some of the things I remember doing to impress him were burping and farting really loud. If I had only known that he considers this to be incredibly unlady-like and now brags about how he has never (in ten years!) heard his wife fart or burp in front of him. To this I say whoopitty-doo! I am glad I married a man that embraces my burps and farts because they are normal body functions! In any case I think he found it rather comical back then as well as the times when I would challenge him to a wrestling match. It would always end with him getting me in a headlock and me saying “I give up!” Once he would release me I would jump on him again, convinced that this time I would win!

The first 5 of my ten nieces and nephews were more like brothers and sisters to me since I was closer to their ages. I played Barbies with the girls and sports with the boys. It was difficult when I came to that awkward age when I felt I was too old to play with the kids yet I was still too young for my sisters to include me in their conversations. I often feel jealous of my sisters when they talk about growing up together. They shared a lot of the same friends and they were all very close to each other. I envy that bond that they share. I wish I had had a sister to comfort me when I used to lay in bed listening to my parents fight. I know that we want to try for another baby when Audrey is about 2. I think it will be nice for her to have a brother or sister to love. Whew! I wish I had inherited 50,000 dollars from anyone. And although my three sisters are blond, my brother and I have dark hair. He actually looks Greek or Italian. That must be some of our native heritage coming through in him. I myself have a medium brown colored hair.

1.I love green peppers.
2. I wore a medieval wedding gown.
3. I have a very hairy back.

My other truth is that I did wear a medieval wedding gown. It all started with a song called 'The Sun in the Stream' off this album. I decided at about 16 that I would one day walk down the aisle to that song. If you've never heard it you should and then you would know how it inspired my whole wedding. I did go to a bridal shop to try on 'traditional' gowns but it only solidified the fact that I really wanted something different. I ended up having my gown sewn for me. I took the seamstress this movie and showed her this particular dress. It wasn't quite as fancy, and I picked a champagne colored fabric for the main part and a wheat colored fabric for the accents and the flowing sleeves. It was a fall wedding so my invitations had fall leaves and water droplets on them. We decorated the tables and the cake with silk leaves in rich fall colors. My hair was similar to this or this only instead I had it braided at the back like a crown and there was ivory ribbon wrapped around the braid. It was one of the happiest days of my life and I felt really, really beautiful. Oh and by the way, I hate green peppers and I don't have a hairy back.

Game Friday

I am a bad blogger. I could blame the cold but I am feeling better today. I just always seem to have so much to do on Fridays. We usually go over to my mom's and while Baby A is napping I run out and go grocery shopping and other money spending activities. Today one of those activities was buying a pair of these. I seem to have transfered my shoe fetish from myself to her. She has just grown out of her first pair. She also has these which are strangely still have a bit more room although they are technically the same size. Both pairs were gifts, now I am hooked. Gah! The ones I bought today are not on the website because they are discontinued. That is okay because that means they will be unique. They are white with a star on the top by the ankle and tiny little stars cut out all around the top of the shoe. So cute. Seriously. I need help. Shoes Annoymous.

ANYWAY, since I don't have time for a real, meaningful post I am going to have a little game. I stole it from this show. It's called two lies and a truth. I will give you three statements about me. Two will be lies, one - a truth. Did you figure it out before I finished explaining? Good for you! Okay, here goes.

1. I come from a family of 5 children.
2. I inherited 50,000 dollars from my grandfather.
3. I have naturally blond hair.


1. I love green peppers.
2. I wore a medieaval wedding gown.
3. I have a very hairy back.

That was fun. I think I'll make you wait till Monday to find out what the 'truths' are. Ha ha ha! (maniacal laugh!) I promise to post better stuff next week when I'm feeling better. Besides, isn't it fun when I don't have time to complain?

News Flash

Young woman collapses at work and is later pronounced dead. Sources say that she had a very bad cold and shouldn't have been there at all. Prior to her collapse she had a coughing fit which caused her to lose consciousness...

Naw, don't worry – I'm still alive! In fact I'm doing pretty well. I went to work and was shocked to find that I hardly coughed at all. Peter and I had prayed for my health and I'm ashamed to admit I didn't have much faith that our prayers would be answered. I just thought that God must have more important things to do than make my cold go away. Goes to show how sometimes we are lucky enough to have our prayers answered without having the faith to back them up. And for those of you who don't believe in the power of prayer all I can say is, believe it! It probably seems goofy that something as simple as my cold symptoms being relieved is miraculous to me, but it is. Let me tell you what should be happening. I should have coughed my guts out at work, especially while breathing in the chemicals from the three color applications I did. I should have spent the last two nights up coughing, unable to sleep – miserable. This is normal for me and for this type of cold I have. Now I'm not saying that I haven't felt bad, I have. But I didn't know how I was going to cope with the lack of sleep that coughing all night was going to cause and have to look after a baby and have to go to work where I would continue to hack up a lung, then come home and put my baby to sleep. The last two mornings I have been awakened by my husbands alarm and can't believe I slept the whole night. To me, this is a miracle and our prayers were answered.

I still don't feel overly inspired to write anything lengthly or interesting. Just thought I'd fill you all in on my miraculous recovery. And leave you with something I found cool. I can't remember whose blog I saw it on. It's a Slogan Generating site. Here are a few slogan's it gave me for my site.

'The Tales of Mama D' tested, Mother Approved – I don't really like this one. It implies I am detested. That's not true is it?

There Ain't No Party Like A 'The Tales Of Mama D' Party
If You've Got the Time, We've Got the 'The Tales Of Mama D' – These one's are funny. Reminds me of stuff on this site. (TURN DOWN YOUR VOLUME AS NOT TO WAKE UP SLEEPING BABIES!)

Fall Into The 'the Tales Of Mama D' – Now this one is my favorite. It's got a nice ring to it, don't you think?

And as always, I aim to please. And you all seem to love the pictures, so I'll keep em' coming! Me and the babe. Notice the 'Ricola' cough drops in the background. There and ready for a middle of night coughing emergency.

Gesundheit

I hope you will all excuse my absence, this cold I have has a death grip on me. I hope to soon be recovered and back to my regular blogging self but right now it is taking every ounce of energy I have just to get through the day. Also, today I have to work! Yippee! I am currently in Phase Three of my cold so hopefully it will be over soon.

Phase One
Head fills up with 'cold' and 'cold' begins to drip out of your nose. Thus causing much wiping and blowing of said nose which causes it to become dry, red, raw and flakey. Attractive!

Phase Two
'Cold' moves to chest and is distinctly more solid, as though you have swallowed a brick and it only made it halfway down. Dry cough begins and cannot be stopped by hot beverages or cough lozenges. You continue to blow nose if only to release some of the pressure in your head. Each time you cough the house rattles and the top of your head feels like it will blow off, and you actually wish it would. Otherwise you just have a dull throbbing feeling in your head.

Phase Three
Dry cough has transformed into a wet cough. Head feels clearer and doesn't hurt while coughing. Coughing is more frequent and more powerful causing infant daughter to look at you with surprise.

I'm hoping going back to work won't make it worse, and before you say it - I'm not taking the day off. I'm stupid that way. I have to be bleeding to death from a gunshot wound or quarantined with some incurable virus before I'll miss work. It's dumb. I know. It's the guilty conscious you see... It's much worse than a bad cold.

Post By Baby A

I am writing this post today so that my mom can rest. She has a terrible cold. She better not give it to me! Do any of you have advice on how to deal with taking care of a baby when you have an awful cold? This is the first time she has been sick since I was born. Except for that nasty mastitis which made her all shivery and achy all over. Yuck! Here a few adorable pictures of me. Enjoy!

I Am It!

To catch you all up... Audrey is napping. She is still not quite herself. Yesterday we were at Grandma's before I had to go to work. This was a bit of a bad idea since Audrey's refusal to eat while we were there caused my mom to constantly infer that the problem was an absence of milk rather than a teething issue. I became sick with paranoia. She ate fine when I got home from work, went to bed and slept all night. This morning when I put her down for her nap (after some persistant fussing) I called the La Leche League leader and expressed my concern. She reassured me that it did indeed sound like a teething issue rather than a no milk issue, stroked my ego by telling me I was doing a good job and am a good mother. I feel better.

The Mama tagged me so this is my post. It was harder than I initially thought it would be, but fun. To those of you I tagged, don't feel pressured just do it if you get the time. I tag because I love.

5 Things Game

What were you doing 10 years ago?
Ten years ago I had recently started my first hairstyling job in the local dirt mall. I had just been dumped by my high school sweetheart of 2 ½ years and was devastated because I thought I was going to marry him. I was swept off my feet by a man ten years my senior. I soon found out that he was permanently wounded by an ex-girlfriend and he was unable to get over it. I spent about 3 years trying to 'fix' him and left the relationship (and started dating my husband) with terrible self-esteem issues. My husband and I are still friends with him.

What were you doing 1 year ago?
Almost certainly vomiting in the toilet at work due to 'morning' (ha ha ha, I wish) sickness.

Five snacks I enjoy:
1. Old Dutch Kettle Crunch BBQ Chips
2. Wunderbar
3. Chocolate Chip Cookies
4. Sweet Chili Thai Chicken Wings
5. Ketchup Chips

Five songs to which I know all the lyrics:
1. Lovesong- The Cure
2. Bizarre Love Triangle- New Order
3. Fix You- Coldplay
4. Thriller- Michael Jackson
5. Violently Happy- Bjork

Five things I would do if I were a millionaire:
1. Gut my house, insulate it properly and redo the interior exactly as it would have been the year it was built (1920)
2. Build a building for our church.
3. Buy a Toyota Prius
4. Get my mom's knee replacement surgery done by the best surgeon in the world.
5. Put enough money away for Audrey to go to University (if she wants to) and for her to buy or build a house for herself.

Five bad habits:
1. Compulsively picking the skin off my thumbs
2. Wasting time doing unimportant stuff
3. Criticizing myself
4. Comparing myself to others.
5. Sometimes talking badly about others when they make me mad

Five things I like doing:
1. Blogging (reading blogs and commenting also)
2. Hair (not so much my own)
3. Talking (boy am I in the right profession)
4. Singing
5. Hanging out in the bedroom with Peter and Audrey.

Five things I would never buy, wear, or get new again:
1. Shoes that are too small only because they are so cute.
2. A really tight perm.
3. An Ashley Simpson Album
4. A Ford Mustang
5. Shiny spandex pants or shorts (yes, I realize how many clothes now have spandex in the mix)

Five favorite toys:
1. The Baby Leap Pad (not really mine I guess.)
2. My 'Trinity' action figure
3. My 'Edward Scissorhands' action figure
4. My Digital Camera
5. My Video Camera, love to catch those incredible moments on tape.

Here's the deal: Remove the blog in the top spot from the following list and bump everyone up one place. Then add your blog to the bottom slot:
1. Pointless Drivel
2. Disparate Housewife
3. My Blog Is About Nothing
4. The Mama
5. The Tales of Mama D

Then select five people to tag:
1. Just MJ
2. Random Thoughts of the Snickers
3. Toronto Teacher Mom Blog
4. From Her Majesty's Throne
5. Taking the Road Less Travelled

I Think This Counts As A Bad Day

It's Tuesday afternoon. I just got Audrey down for a nap after three excruciatingly long hours of crying. My only explanation is that I think her mouth was bothering her. She still has no teeth to show for her many months of teething. Today, was the worst yet. I could not settle her down. She seemed to be hungry but she would try to eat and then pull away as though it was to painful to continue. Then she would turn away and suck her thumb (which she loves) that also seemed to be painful and she would reluctantly pull it out of her mouth sobbing.

I tried rocking her, walking with her, changing her diaper and then her clothes. I tried to lay with her, put her in her crib, sit with her. Nothing worked. It was awful. I was proud of myself for remaining pretty calm although I did feel terrible for her since she was so uncomfortable. Finally I decided it was time to try some Tylenol. I gave her half a dose and waited for it to kick in. It took a while. She enjoyed chewing and sucking on a frozen cloth for a while and watching 'Baby Einstein' while sitting on my lap. She became so tired, I suspect from the Tylenol and the endless crying, that she practically passed out. At this point I proceeded to feed her and she was sleepy enough to ignore the pain and eat a little.

Once she was napping I pumped since she really hadn't ate much. On top of having an unhappy baby I have milk supply stress, AGAIN! Since Audrey woke up at 6:30 this morning I missed my morning pump which I rely on for my work days which are tomorrow (Wednesday), Thursday and Saturday. I attempted to pump after she ate this morning but expressed less than a measly ounce. Just now I pumped almost two. I've been popping Fenugreek pills like popcorn hoping for a miracle.

Also, Peter is sick with what seems like a stomach bug. He went to work anyway and I'm sure he'll be exhausted when he gets home. I can't think of anything better than two parents who have had a very long day dealing with a grumpy baby. I can hardly wait!

I wanted to ask for comments from any of you who may have teething tips and stories for me. Remember the worse the stories are the better I will feel after which I'll feel guilty for complaining about my tiny difficulties. I need all the help I can get. You know how useless reading about this stuff can be. If I was a certain blogger I could ask and receive 1263 helpful comments if I wanted. That just totally blows me away.

I seem to be writing a lot of grumpy, sad, feeling sorry for myself posts lately. I should stop that.

UPDATE: Wednesday morning, she went to be at 8:30 last night and slept well all night. She seems more herself today. Grandma will be babysitting while I am at work. Tylenol will be supplied just in case...

The Comparison Game

How many times have I said how much I hate it when I feel compelled to compare myself to others? If it's not “I'm not as thin as she is and she just had a baby yesterday.” then it's “Wow, she sewed all her daughter's outfits for the week, made five casseroles for the freezer and redecorated her living room all in one day! Why am I so lazy?” We all do it. But why? And how do we make it stop?

At church on Sunday I was so happy to see that my friend was there with her new baby. I had been wondering about her since I knew she was getting close. She was nervous because this was her second child and her first had been born cesarean section. She had given birth on Tuesday. So there she was at church on Sunday. Looking great, glowing, new baby sleeping like an angel in his carrier seat. I told her how great she looked. I asked her if she was really doing as well as it appeared. She told me she thought she was. I gulped and smiled. “That's so great!” I meant it. But as Peter and I took Audrey to the baby room I felt like crying.

I fell into the comparison rut. I hadn't made it to church the following Sunday. I was still in the hospital. I was still crying my eyes out at that point. I was feeling like I'd made a horrible mistake. I didn't think I could do it. All of my feelings of inadequacy came flooding back. Other people were capable of having babies and carrying on as though life had barely changed. What had been wrong with me? I told my husband how I was feeling. He tried to comfort me, reminding me that things had been different for us. And they were. "Baby A was sick." I said out loud. It was different. I agreed. But inside, I still felt horrible.

I hate doing that to myself. Making comparisons and feeling like a loser. I should be happy if someone is able to have a baby without going through what I did. I am happy actually. I really am. That's one reason why I started writing this blog. I hope that anyone who reads about the things I experience as a mother may find comfort in knowing that they are not alone or are more prepared for what can happen and deal with it better than I do.

I sometimes wonder if I'm accomplishing that goal. I was visiting with a friend this weekend and she mentioned to me that she had been reading my blog. She told me how she didn't know how I had time to write and do all of the things that I write about AND take care of Audrey. She told me she found it difficult to find time for anything other than taking care of her daughter. I worried and felt guilty that I was making her feel bad. Then, I felt bad because I thought maybe I was neglecting Audrey while I was doing all this other crap. Ridiculous. Really. Sometimes I wonder why I bother getting up in the morning.

I have begun to realize why I still have so much pain about my first months as a mother. I can't seem to accept that it was the circumstances that made it difficult. I still believe that it was my fault and if it had been anyone else they would have handled it better. That I wasn't strong enough. And that's what kills me. I feel like I'm coping out to talk about the fact that Little A was sick and wasn't eating. Making excuses for my inability to get it together. I keep thinking 'Next time it's going to be different!'. But part of me worries that if it happens again I will lose all self respect.

My brain is so annoying the way it can take a happy occasion for someone else and turn it into Worry and Pity- Fest '06 for me. I know I let it happen. I try to say, “Stop it brain!” but it won't listen to me! Stupid brain. To cheer myself up and make all of you smile, here's a little picture for our viewing pleasure.

A Tale of Two Bras

How much can one person talk about and obsess over their breasts? When that person is me, a lot! This is actually a tale of many bras but the first title sounds better.

We often say a mother 'wears many hats'. Well, I wear many bras. Not all at once. Well, when I work out I wear two at once but I digress. As anyone who reads my blog regularly knows, I have boob problems. They are many things, but mainly my complaint is that they are too big. Way too big. I have had this problem since I was about 14 years old. I went from na-da to woah-waah!! It was traumatizing. The boys who knew me didn't know what to do. They kept doing things 'accidentally' so they could cop a feel. It was, in one simple word, awful. Beyond awful. Not to mention the stretch marks that you get from growing so fast. Needless to say, I'm not one to show my stretch marky cleavage. I suffered along through school wearing over sized T-shirts which caused me to look not only large chested but larger in general than I really was. And let me tell you that is super popular in high school. My hate for them increased right along with my bra size. D to DD, DD to F and finally to G. G! Who knew?

I didn't actually realize bra sizes went up that high until my doctor told me to go here. I was asking him about breast reduction surgery at the time. I did go to the Bra Bar but was still annoyed that he didn't even want to discuss reduction surgery with me. I still think that once I am finished having and feeding my children, I will opt for surgery. Going bra shopping somewhere other than Wal-Mart was an awesome experience. Once I got over the horror of what my bra size really was I enjoyed the process. They explained to me how a bra was supposed to fit and how most people, even smaller busted people, are wearing ill fitting bras. I would have to agree. Now that I know how a bra is supposed to fit I feel I am a member of the bra police squad. “Excuse me ma'am, I'm going to have to stop you. Your bra is riding way up your back, that's just not right.” “Hang on there little lassie, your cups are running way over!”

Once I was properly fitted I actually felt a whole lot smaller in the bust. My clothes fit better. My self esteem was boosted. And my wallet was lighter as well. Buying a really nice bra costs a small fortune but for me, it is so worth it.

I was very, very nervous about what would happen to my boobs when I became pregnant. I tried to mentally prepare. Miraculously, nothing happened. My G's stayed the same until the end of my pregnancy. I bought two maternity bras. This one and this one. They accomadated me nicely when my milk came in and I was a little bigger. I have to say though, I just don't feel that pretty in those bras. They are my practical bras. And that is what got me thinking about writing this post.

I wear many different bras. I wear this one during the day, this one at night. I wear this one at the gym (with another cheap sports bra over top) and this one when I am working. They all have a purpose. Practicality to feed my baby as well as support, practicality to feed my baby and comfort, the ability to work out without knocking myself out with my own floppy boobs, and finally a bra that I wear when I don't have to feed my baby, one that makes me feel pretty - even though no one can see it and makes my breasts look nice instead of functional.

If I could I wouldn't have so many. It's complicated and expensive. But like so many things in life it is just something I have grown accustomed to. This is my body and I need to learn to love it. Or at least, I can buy bras that make it look better!

A Sad Task

I am writing this post on Thursday, because as I mentioned earlier this week, I'm having company on Friday. I will be running around like a stupid maniac doing errands, cleaning, trying to prepare a decent meal and also something a lot more serious.

I will be doing my sister's hair for her appearance on a national television show called W5. This is my sister who looks after Audrey while I am at work. My sister who's oldest daughter was murdered. I vaguely mentioned this in an earlier post. It's so much a part of my life and there are so many things that have come up lately in regards to it that I decided it was time to talk about it here.

Erin was my oldest niece. She was only seven years younger than me and we were almost like sisters. She went missing in April of 2002 only five months before my wedding. She was 18 at the time. On February 13, 2004 her body was found. It is a truly gruesome story that I cannot bear to write about. I will link articles for anyone who wants to know the story. In a nutshell, her ex-boyfriend killed her. Even now, after so much time has passed I can hardly believe that this has happened to my family. The events that occurred were horrific. The length of time she was missing before her body was found, excruciating and the investigation that took place was unbelievable. He is currently serving a life sentence with no parole for 25 years.

Our family now has a gaping hole where Erin should be. We all miss her terribly, especially my sister and her family. I hate to see them suffer the way they have and still are. Since this all only happened last year the media is still composing documentaries and a book is currently being written about it. My sister and her husband have been meeting with all of these people lately, giving interviews. The W5 one will likely be the one most widely seen. She asked me to do her hair for it and of course I agreed. I think she feels guilty about wanting to look nice for the interview. I wish she wouldn't. I can totally understand. Just because you feel like hell on the inside doesn't mean you have to look like it on the outside. After doing her hair for the funeral, this will be easy.

I am now going to go and get my beautiful baby girl from her crib. The baby who bears her cousin's name. The baby whose presence in this world is helping my family to heal from the horrible loss of someone who we all loved so deeply.

What Break?

Yesterday was the kind of day that made me wonder if I should really be back at work. I knew it was going to be hectic, but things got out of hand and it became ridiculous. My work day was only five hours long. I begin at four, typically have a break around six or six thirty to eat a sandwich, a yogurt and pump, then I finish of the day. Yesterday was the first day since returning that I worked straight through. I didn't eat, didn't even have a glass of water and more importantly I didn't pump. It was bad.

The day was just out of control, once it started there was just no stopping it. I kept saying to myself after I am finished this client I am going to take my break. Then about ten minutes before I'd be finished I would be told my next client had already arrived. Then I'd do it again. I'll take a break after the next one. Next thing I knew my last client of the evening arrived. I decided to just finish up and go home.

I kept imagining my boobs saying to themselves “Oh, okay we don't have to feed Audrey anymore. Great, I guess we'll just take a holiday!” I hope they could hear me shouting at them inside my head saying “No! You can't go on holiday, get back to work! This is not going to be a regular thing, in fact I expect you to produce even more milk than usual. So lets get at it girls!” I felt absolutely terrible. Not pumping felt like I was depriving her of a meal. If I was at home with her I wouldn't just skip a feeding. I might put it off a little, you know “Hang on Audrey, I just have to take supper out of the oven.”. That sort of thing. And when I don't eat that's not fair to her either because that also affects the milk that I am producing for her.

In addition, there was the stress of having that much less milk to add to the surplus I collect for today and Saturday while I am at work. I tried pumping after she went to bed and barely had an ounce. I sadly put the tiny amount in the fridge and vowed to get up nice and early this morning so that I could pump a little extra. Which I did. The amount stored doesn't seem too shabby. No milk runs should be required while I am working on Saturday. I hope.

This used to be a normal thing for me before I had a baby. Working for six hours or more without a break. I didn't like it, but the only one I was hurting was me. I can't do that anymore, and I don't want to. In a book I read called “Nursing Mother,Working Mother” it details how you can pump at work. It seems to be assuming that all women work in an environment where they have coffee breaks and lunches at regular times and have their own private offices in which to pump comfortably. I do not have this. To begin with I pumped in a cold, damp basement where anyone could just come down at anytime and witness the horror of my great big boob with a plastic contraption attached. This has now been upgraded to a semi-private, less cold, area upstairs. (This occured after telling my boss how awkward I'd been feeling and he reluctantly agree to let me pump elsewhere) Pumping in this new environment seems to have only slightly increased the milk I am able to express. Shhh, don't tell anyone or they might make me go back to the basement. I am more comfortable though. Now I just have to get there.

It all makes me wonder if it's worth it to be working so soon. I happen to know that some people think I should just stop breastfeeding. This is not an option I will even consider at this point. It is less than a month before Audrey is six months old (WOW!) and I expect that once she begins some solids her demand for milk will lessen a bit. We will see how this changes things. Until then I will just have to make sure that I can take a break to feed myself and express the milk I need for my baby. I will not do what I did yesterday again. I have enough guilt without adding any more!

Settling for Less

I have some personality traits that are subjective. Sometimes they can be good other times not so good. One of these is that I am a perfectionist. Along with which comes obsessive compulsive behaviors. In my job as a hair stylist this often comes in handy. Really, wouldn't you want a perfectionist doing your hair rather than someone who is happy with the mediocre? My clients seem to enjoy this personality trait. When it comes to personal matters, it can be a struggle. Let me explain.

Since having Little A I just don't have the time that I used to have. Time for me or for my house. Going back to work has given me even less time. Blogging, although I love it, also takes up time. This classifies as me time. I set a goal for myself to post something every week day and take the weekend off. Since I am obsessed with blogging right now, this is going well so far. As for my house. When I clean it (not as often as I'd like to) I like to clean all of it. And after I do, I walk around for about a day picking up little pieces of nothing off the floor to keep it that way. I have discovered that this is impossible now that I have a baby. There just isn't enough time to clean the whole house during her nap, not to mention I don't want to wake her up. (Nap times are me times. They must not be interrupted.) So, this makes the perfectionist inside me want to scream. I have been settling for tackling one room at a time. Yesterday, it was the bathroom. I still felt a great feeling of satisfaction when I was done but once I stepped out into the rest of my home and notice the rug needed to be vacuumed, the floor mopped... Well, it just ruined it for me.

We have company coming over for supper on Friday. Of course I want my house to be clean because I am evil. (At my last La Leche League meeting we discussed that cleaning before another mom comes over is a terribly mean thing to do) The couple who is coming over has a baby who is a month older than Audrey. I am looking forward to our visit but I am compelled to want our house to be spotless. Sometimes I wish I was one of those people who just doesn't care. But I am not, and I don't think I can change. Although this mom thing is forcing me to adjust.

I will attack one area at a time until Friday arrives and I will prepare the meal. I just hate the fact that I won't be able to enjoy that feeling of walking from room to room and be satisfied with the total cleanliness of my home. I shall have to beat down my inner perfectionist and obsessive nature. Kick back, eat some cookies and read some blogs!

Am I Hot or Am I Not?

Last night Peter and I rediscovered something that we find hilarious. Shortly after we were married we found out about a website called Hot or Not? It is a website where people can post their photos and be rated on a scale from 1-10. Much like a website The Sarcastic Journalist wrote about called Rate My Poo (blame her not me). Only different.

Anyway, we thought it would be funny to post a wedding photo of each of us. (Dawn and Peter) I thought they were quite nice pictures of us only, clearly wedding shots. Some people actually use this site to hook up with people. For a while we were obsessed with checking our ratings. Then we forgot all about it. Until last night. We looked ourselves up after several attempts at remembering our passwords. I had a rating of 8, which has now slipped to a 7.9 based on 2744 votes. Peter has a rating of 7.3 based on 228 votes. Obviously men use this site more than women.

When you log in to check your rating it shows this bar graph breakdown of your ratings. as you can see I am hotter than 77% of the women on that site! Right on! Although if you take some time to peruse the site you would see that some of the pictures are horrible. In fact I am certain they have been posted by that person's enemy. Some photos I have seen look like the person is totally hung over or just woke up from a nap. As if you would personally post a picture of yourself like that on the internet. Oh wait, I did that didn't I? I am rather impressed by the number of 9's and 10's I have received but 1's 2's and 3's? I am SO hotter than that! I deserve no lower than a 4 rating with that picture. I have never before looked that good nor will I ever look that good again. Since it was my wedding day, it's as it should be.

As for Peter's picture and rating. He received a lot of 1's 2's and 3's. I have to say I strongly disagree. It seems he has mostly been rated a solid 5. He is SO much better looking than a 5. And there is a huge lack of 10's. He's absolutely a 10 in my book. Women can be so funny about what they find attractive. I do admit I've seen better pictures of him, picture that capture more personality and are closer to how he really looks. Since we were going with the wedding theme this is the one we picked. I still think he looks cute. Those 228 women are just stupid or blind.

What have I learned from this experiment of putting my picture on the internet to be rated by the world? That I am a 7.9 out of 10? No! That I am 77% hotter than the women on a totally silly website? No! I learned that even if you put a picture of yourself looking finer than you'll ever look for the rest of your life, people will still rate you a 1 out of 10. And do I care? NO!

Is That All You Ever Talk About?

Becoming a mother has made me appreciate the fact that I am so stubborn. Again I am going to tell of my breastfeeding adventures. I know, I know, you're sick of hearing about my boobs but they must be talked about.

Never in my worst nightmares could I have predicted the emotional rollercoaster breastfeeding would be. If possible I have become even more obsessed with my boobs than ever before. As soon as Baby A was born suddenly they were no longer mine, they were public property. They were out there for everyone to see. My baby, my nurses, midwives and lactation consultant. My mother, my father, my sisters and brother, their husbands and his wife. And strangely I started to become numb to this. I was like “Yeah, I've got to feed this baby, (if she will actually eat this time!!!) so deal with it.” I also learned that my nipples were flat and that having large breasts actually made it more difficult to breastfeed. Then came the pumping. Peter came with me the first time I had to pump - when I learned how. It totally freaked him out and he never came back to that special room in the hospital with me again. I guess I can understand seeing the breasts of the woman you love being hooked up to a human milking machine would be a little weird. Not that it wasn't weird for me. I was the one being milked. I do remember being fascinated, watching it come out. It was surreal.

As I mentioned previously soon after I began pumping my competitive nature kicked in. I stole peeks through the curtains when other mom's were depositing their pumped milk into the containers. Jealous of the one's who had pumped what appeared to be enough to feed a small country, and sympathetic towards the mom's who had only managed a few drops. I judged myself, thinking that my milk wasn't coming in fast enough and that there wasn't enough. I was sad when we began feeding her my milk in a bottle, thinking we could never go back. I kept trying and with my midwives help, succeeded.

My next issue was dealing with the switch from bottle to breast. I went from knowing exactly how much milk my baby was getting to having no idea. I was thrilled to finally be breastfeeding but nervous about it as well. My mother didn't help constantly asking “How much do you think she has had?” or “Do you think she's had enough.” She meant well but it only made me more paranoid when I was already insecure in the first place. Bring on the next challenge, Mastitis. I really didn't know much about Mastitis. I think I may have read about it while I was pregnant but hadn't really paid attention. That was stupid of me. So when I began to shiver uncontrollably in the middle of the night I wondered what the heck was going on. The next day when I had three layers of clothes on, was aching from the top of my head to the tip of my toes and had a terrible headache my midwives confirmed it was Mastitis. At first we treated it by trying to really keep the breast drained. It went away and then came back again a couple of days later. We then decided to treat it with antibiotics. I haven't had it since.

Miss A has been sleeping through the night since she was about two months old. (Kill me quickly) And just so you aren't too jealous I will tell you it has it's draw backs. Well, one anyway. Sleeping through the night in combination with me working 16 hours a week is not great for the milk supply. I pumped during my break at work but I wasn't expressing much more than two ounces. I started getting very uptight, pumping during every nap, after she went to bed. I became convinced I was drying up. What I wouldn't give for that engorged feeling again or for my shirt to be wet from leaking. I started taking Fenugreek and expected to be able to feel the increase in my milk. What really worked was pumping about an hour before Baby A wakes up in the morning. That is the one time I have loads of milk since it's been storing up all night. I was worried there wouldn't be enough for her when she woke up but soon found there seemed to be plenty and she was satisfied. Since I began doing this I don't have any struggles keeping up with her milk demands. So for now we seem to have all our issues worked out. I find it so strange that after five months of this I can still be having problems, worries and insecurities. I guess that's just the way it will go until I wean her.

The other morning Peter and I were both in bed and I had commenced my morning pump ritual. He looked over at me and shook his head. I asked him why. He told me he was just thinking about how a year ago he never imagined this scenario. In bed with me as I expressed milk. We both chuckled. It is pretty funny when you think about it. Even after everything I've been through I wouldn't change a thing. It has been SO worth all the ups and downs to finally get it right.

(Reminding my three readers (oh the self depricating humor) again that I am a “Share the Love” blog awards nominee. You can vote for my blog here under the Most Meetable In Real Life category.)

To Whom I am Eternally Grateful

Today was a crazy day involving very cold weather, a car that wouldn't start, an argument with my husband and a staff meeting. And that was only the first three hours. Before leaving work after the meeting I see my midwife, Kari who is there for an appointment. I love this woman. She asked how Audrey and I were doing. I filled her in and told her that I started writing a blog. She gave me permission to write about her and post a photo. Also she wanted me to email her a link to my blog. So this post is dedicated to Kari. Not only because I know she'll be reading
it, but because she deserves it.

I decided a long time before ever getting pregnant that I wanted to have a midwife. I had heard nothing but wonderful things about them. When Peter and I actually started trying to have a baby I asked some of my clients who worked on the maternity floor in our hospital if they would recommend anyone in particular. Their overwhelming response was Kari. Once I had verification that I was indeed pregnant I called their office to make my first appointment. I eagerly anticipated this appointment and from the first moment I met her I immediately felt comfortable. I was very happy with my decision.

The months passed. At first, very slowly when I was so terribly ill. Kari was very helpful and supportive during this time. She was there as I got bigger and bigger and more uncomfortable. When I caught a terrible cold in my eighth month she was empathic. When I started to become nervous about the impending birth she was encouraging.

There was the small chance that she wouldn't be at the birth if she was not the midwife on call. She told me that she would make every effort to be there.

I went into labor on a Sunday and since babies always seem to prefer making their entrance in the middle of the night my water broke at around 12:00 am. I had paged the midwives earlier that evening to inform them of my progress and learned that Kari was not on call. I was a bit disappointed but knew the others and trusted them as well. I paged them again just after my water broke and Kari was the one to call me back. I nearly cried. I was so happy that she would be the one to deliver my baby.

She met us at the hospital at 1:00 am. When she checked me I was already between 8 and 9 centimeters dilated. Kari was amazing with me. I felt as though she just gave me the space I needed and watched me. She gave me suggestions on ways for me to be the most comfortable. I felt that she was totally in sync with my needs without my having to verbalize them. Just having her there knowing that she believed in my ability to do what I needed to do got me through it. When Audrey was on her way her heart rate dropped and things got a little sketchy. Kari told me she may need to cut me if her heart rate didn't come up again quick. I took that information and found the strength to push her out right away both because I didn't want to be cut and because I knew that Audrey was in distress. I appreciated her telling me what was going on so that I was able to do what I did. I have heard of women being cut without having any idea that it was about to be done. I appreciated her calmness in spite of the tense situation. I didn't panic because she seemed very calm.



Kari brought Audrey into the world at 3:14 am Monday morning. I cannot express the gratitude I have for this woman. Not only for being there for me during my pregnancy and birth but for being there in the weeks following. Those were the toughest weeks of my life and the fact that she was there to keep me from falling into the abyss ... She calls me a Saint for hanging in there but she is a Saint for giving so much to people like me. I respected her before I gave birth but my eyes were opened afterwards to the enormous number of hours she puts in, the sleepless nights, the home visits, the support and encouragement she gives. It must be absolutely exhausting. And her reward? Mothers like me who are eternally grateful and adore her for life. Did I mention that I love her?

(A quick note to my many readers (ha ha ha). I am a “Share the Love” blog awards nominee. You can vote for my blog here under the Most Meetable In Real Life category.)

Losing I.Q. Points

It's true people. I'm getting dumber every day. I have determined my hair must have been the source of my intelligence. I have lost at least half of it and along with it half of my brain power. You may not believe me but I will provide perfectly good examples.

Example #1.

During baby A's swimming lessons her teacher gives us basic instructions for little games we will play. Such as “Swim over here on your tummy, get a puzzle piece, swim on your back and put the piece in the appropriate spot.” This is far too complicated for me to understand. I look at the other mom's perplexed and say “I just totally missed that. What are we supposed to do?” Audrey looks at me as if to say “It's okay mom, I know what I'm supposed to do.”

Example #2

I find myself mesmerized by the Baby Einstein videos. I like them almost as much as little A does and I have favorite parts. I have pointed them out to Peter before like “Oh, I love this part with the train.” or “Watch this part. The puppet moves to the music.” In my defense, Peter agrees with me that these are indeed 'good parts' and he wants to buy the train for 'Audrey'.

That's all I can think of right now.

My loss of intelligence began during pregnancy when I vomited most of my I.Q. into the toilet. It has only gotten worse from there. It is as though I have no attention span. Like in the case of the swimming lessons. I start off listening to the instructor and then my mind wanders to... oh that baby is so cute... and wait "What are we supposed to be doing?" It's embarrasing.

Miraculously despite the loss of intelligence I am still competent at my job. Not to say you don't need to be intelligent to do my job since this would encourage the stereotype. I am still able to make people look beautiful while telling entertaining stories which now seem to be about labor, breastfeeding or motherhood. Perhaps I need to expand my storytelling beyond my small world. Oh yeah, I talk about blogging as well.

Since it's been a while since I posted a photo (due to technical difficulties which I hope will sort be sorted out) of my dear baby, here she is looking disgusted with me for becoming such a moron.

Happy Heart Day

Audrey received her first Valentine from a boy in her swimming class! I thought it was the cutest thing but of course I wish I'd also thought of it. So there was the guilt of being an awful mother who doesn't give out Valentine's on behalf of her 5 month old child. There was also the resentment towards the mother who must have it all together. I mean, she gave everyone in our swimming class Valentine's cards! How does one have the time to be a mother and write out Valentine's cards? Not to mention the brain power to remember everyone's names and attempt to spell them correctly. Even if I had that fabulous idea and bought Valentine's cards, when I sat down to fill them out I would realize I didn't know the names anymore and if I did remember them I would butcher the spelling. I would then give up and feel guilty that I hadn't paid more attention to the other babies names. I don't know how I have time to look after Audrey when I'm so busy feeling guilty and resenting people.

My mother invited us over for supper for Valentine's. She doesn't have a Valentine so our little family would have to do. It was just like going out for a romantic supper except for my mom and baby were there, we ate at T.V tables rather than a dim candlelit one and we watched the Olympics instead of talking to each other. But hey, it was free!! Perhaps next year will be a bit different.

Peter wrote his own Valentine to me in a blank card. It said,

To my wife,

Thank you for your help and love, your joy and pain.
Thank you for our times in the sun and in the rain.
Thank you for the laughter and the tears.
Thank you for you, yesterday, today and in the coming years.

As I was typing it out I also realized that it rhymes. I accused him of copying it from somewhere. I didn't mind, I just thought he must have found the verse somewhere and wrote it in the card. He swore he wrote it himself. I think I may have ruined the moment. I do believe he has a future writing greeting cards. It may be his second calling. His first was computer geek.

Anyway, I was truly touched. It was certainly more meaningful than a gift. Actually, his gift to me was cuddling in bed watching the men's figure skating short programs. And he liked it. But Shhh don't tell anyone.

Two Months I Can Never Get Back

Last night I went to my Le Leche League meeting. There was a mother there with a three week old daughter. I couldn't believe how tiny she was. And how quiet. Even when she cried you could hardly notice. I thought she was beautiful and I totally appreciated her. And that made me very sad.

I think I have a sort of stress induced amnesia which encompasses the first two months after Audrey was born. Most of what I remember from that time is the stress, pumping, lack of sleep and bad dreams. What I remember most about her specifically is her not eating, screaming at me, scratching her face in anger, staying up crying all night – twice and crying during any car ride. What I don't remember is how tiny she was, her cute little face or times when she was sleeping peacefully. Thank goodness I took a lot of pictures so that I can enjoy them now and see how gorgeous she was. I wish I could go back in time and really enjoy that time with her but it is forever gone and I missed it. It makes me feel ill and I hate myself for it.

We are planning to have one more child although we are going to wait until Audrey is about two before we start trying. I am already imagining how different it will that time. It doesn't make me feel any better about not enjoying Audrey the way that I should have. I try to think if there was any way that I could have dealt with that better. More support? If someone could have warned me what was going to happen before I gave birth? I don't know.

I feel as though I cheated her of a more positive start. I am glad to have finally learned to cope with being a mother and I can see that she feels more comfortable with me also. She trusts me and is a much more relaxed baby.

I have this strong desire to support new mom's and try to prepare them for this time. To let them know that everything that they are thinking and feeling is normal. The thought of anyone feeling the way I did upsets me. If I could help just a few mom's that would give me a great sense of accomplishment.

I can't help but wonder sometimes if the challenges Audrey and I faced during our first two months together made us closer. That a bond was formed which can never be broken. The thought of that possibility gives me comfort when I want to go back and start all over.