My baby's finally sleeping well, so why am I depressed?

It's still too early to call with 100 percent confidence, but over this past weekend we seem to have effectively "sleep-trained" Sam.

As some of you may know, he's been sleeping in our bed since he was born. He ended up there because, from the day he was born, he has always flat-out refused to be put down in any approved baby receptacle -- crib, bassinet, swing, bouncy chair -- but it was fine with us once we got used to the idea. In fact, we loved it. Sam could nurse on demand and I barely had to wake up. We all slept deeply and well.

And then Sam turned four months and it was like someone flipped a switch. My formerly sound sleeper turned into a wiggly grouch who demanded to nurse every hour. Not only that, he demanded that his naps only happen in our bed, with me cradling him in my arms. Since he's such a great little guy, I was willing -- if not always happy -- to comply.

I've been in denial about our problems for the past five months. Oh, I'd surreptitiously read a sleep book or two, and maybe even complain about the situation on my site, but I couldn't let myself truly believe we had a real problem that wasn't going to magically fix itself. I was definitely projecting my own hang-ups about sleep. I've had on-and-off chronic insomnia my entire life, and it's not pretty. I'm not one of those gleeful insomniacs who go around proclaiming that they love their condition because they get so much stuff done at night. No, I need my eight hours a night. I didn't want to believe that Sam could be veering down the same off-ramp on the sleep highway, and worse, I didn't want to believe that my inability to come to terms with the situation was enabling the problem to worsen.

There was no sudden dramatic event that made me open my eyes and know that I had to finally make changes. It was just the cumulative effects of watching my husband go to work each morning with deeper and deeper circles under his eyes, of seeing Sam's sleep schedule continuing its erratic ways, and of acknowledging that my own fatigue was starting to take its physical toll on me.

I won't get into the minutiae of how we did this "sleep training" but I'll just say that we armed ourselves with a lot of theoretical literature, a lot of awesome advice and support from a cadre of parents we respect and admire, and a firm plan that we'd both developed and agreed upon.

Still, we expected the worse. Well, I can't speak for the mister, but I -- deep down -- expected things not to work at all. I had firmly entrenched myself in the belief that my boy was going to fall into the category of 0.01 percent of kids with severe physiologically based sleep issues.

I know. What an optimist, huh?

Anyway, despite my secret misgivings, I was determined to follow the rote and stick with it because then at least I could say I'd tried everything. And then I could go hide in the basement and despair.

But -- surprise! -- everything went well. Not great, but well. Really well. Much, much better than I would have expected even if I were one of those cautiously optimistic people you hear about. We were shocked. We're still shocked. When we tell other parents, they're shocked. That's how well things went.

So why am I depressed? Because I am. As much as I know that this is all for the best. As much as I'm happy for Sam that he seems (let's knock wood here) to have dodged the genetic bullet of his mom's sleep issues. As much as I know that Sam had to get out of our bed eventually or else risk turning into Buster from Arrested Development.

I've been trying to think of why, and the potential reasons are numerous. Because it's evidence that my baby is growing up and will eventually leave. Because I've spent the past 18 months connected with him pretty much around the clock. Because, given that he sleeps 14 or 15 hours a day, I now only see him for 9 or 10 hours out of every 24, and I miss him; it feels indescribably weird to be sitting alone in the living room while my husband is at work and Sam is sleeping in his room. Because I no longer get to watch his sweet sleeping face, turned up to mine like a flower to the sun, for hours on end. Because now I'm back to my solo battles with insomnia. Because I'm having a minor identity crisis, in that for the past 9+ months I've been 100 percent invested in being Sam's mom and now I'm reminded that, as he becomes more and more independent, I need to make sure my identity isn't subsumed by my mom role. And I kind of worry that I've forgotten whole chunks of who I am and how I used to be.

All these feelings are selfish, I know, but they're my feelings and they won't be reasoned with. I don't know what else to do with them other than tell you about them. I can't say I feel better, exactly, but maybe writing about them is a step toward feeling better.

oh, the blogginess of blogging

Have you met any other bloggers? I mused here about the idea of the writer's persona when it's applied to bloggers.

I hate being sick

And I whine about it here. I am on the mend, but man, that sucked.

Project Eat-to-Live

I've been so unmotivated lately! First, I'm fessing up in this recent blog post: Living to eat, baby! (distinctly UN*healthy recipe within) and then looking hopefully into the future with this one: Hopeful thoughts & Week 10 Challenge. If you've got any motivating help or inspiration, I'm all ears!

Just Thinkin'

Nile let me sleep in until 8:52am this morning, so I woke up feeling fresher than usual. I headed to the other room to change his diaper and became engaged in an annoying struggling with all the snaps on his PJs. As if trying to do up 100 snaps on a squirming baby's pajamas isn't tough enough, it always seems like once I get them all done up I realize that one of the snaps (usually at the very bottom towards his toe) isn't snapped up to it's proper companion, meaning I have to undo the whole thing and start over.

Anyway, as I was going through this wonderful routine this morning, I thought to myself, who the hell designs these things? And then I thought, next time a mom-to-be asks me for any advice I'm going to tell them not to buy any baby clothes with buttons or snaps. Just stick to zippers. Snaps aren't worth the grief.

And then I started thinking that it would be fun to compile a list of similar observations from everyone here at BHN. The list could be fun to give to future pregnant friends or make into some kind of a baby shower card or something, or just to amuse ourselves with our infinite and obscure knowledge.

Which leads me to my point - This post is a call out to all you mammas to send me your gems of useful information, advice and observations about parenting. We are all experts, afterall. It doesn't have to be earth-shattering (obviously, since my contribution is a snaps vs. zippers epiphany).

Drinkin' from a STRAW!!

Yo all!

Wow, the past few months have been a little stressful here because after 6 months, babies are supposed to be able to drink from a sippy cup and Rian would maybe take a sip, then wave the cup around making it rain...

Until the BHN posting on straws!!! Now when I was preggy, straws were huge as I wanted max comfort with min effort or sloppyness... so we've got loads of straws! And look!!! So thank you Melissa and this one is a 'cheers' your way! He drank 1/3 glass of awful-tasting formula with his lunch! Hurrah!

[Have thought about introducing homo milk but am somehow awed by all the vitamins and minerals he can get from formula - and I was comparing President's Choice (store-brand) with my free sample of Nestle's Good Start and PC totally packs a better punch, not to mention isn't embarassing when you leave the tin out and friends come over!]

And sorry I've been a little out of touch lately but have had my mate Mike visiting from the UK - not that y'all care but here's a cute pic of Rian and Mike at Trout Lake today.

Later all!
Kris

Form 13

You know that paperwork is my nemesis, right? Or maybe some of you think my idiot ex-husband is my nemeses. However if we cleverly combine copious amounts of paperwork with the undeniable fact that I wouldn’t need to do any of it if it weren’t for my idiot ex-husband, we have some kind of amazing uber-nemeses certain to defeat me, right?

Wrong! I have triumphed over copious amounts of idiot ex-husband induced paperwork and I intend to brag about it.

You guys are basically the audience I’m going to brag to all right? Ulysses, after about the forth time I mentioned tackling the paperwork with the strength of a thousand ex-wives, looked like he might be about to nod off. I can’t see why, since I spiced up the story as much as possible. I figure that you guys can nod off all you like and I can still pretend that you were riveted. We’re all better looking and more witty on-line, people: that’s why God invented the internet.

So there was this huge form I had to fill out, see? And it asked for detailed financial information for an entire year, right? I had to call, like, six hundred toll-free numbers to collect all of this information, and then I had to make notes and provide documentation on how I had reached all of these figures. It took at least three days of pulling everything together (not to mention three months of looking at the form and procrastinating). But now, now, I have completed Form 13: Financial Disclosure. I hope to never see Form 13: Financial Disclosure ever again. It is safely in the hands of my lawyer. My lawyer will make one of his office minions type it up and send it to the one of this great country’s fine court houses.

And then do you know what happens? My idiot ex-husband will be served with a notice that we are going to court. He will be required to fill out Form 13: Financial Disclosure.

Yes, yes, yes! I have inflicted paperwork on my idiot ex-husband as lo, he has inflicted it on me! For three days and three nights, oh how he will sweat and curse as he wrestles with the finding out how much his telephone bill cost in the 2005 year. How he will be put on hold! How his bank will attempt to inflict punishing service charges! How he will calculate with a calculator the average cost of washing his clothing in the Laundromat, how he will be tempted to just guesstimate, how he will not dare to guesstimate!

That the hearing may cause him to actually pay child support again is almost beside the point considering all of the glee I’m deriving from this.
Hoisted by his own petard!

Young and dumb

For your amusement, some stupid things I used to do.

A valuable lesson learned...

Please note that no babies were injured during the making of this short film.

Anne-Marie

election fever

Because I am a little nerd, I like to make sure I have my voter’s registration card weeks in advance. Because I have strange bureaucratic karma, it hardly ever matters: I nearly always have to fill out a registration form when I go to the polls because although I’ve been sent a card and all information is correct (and I think this is something like my fifth election from the same address), I’m not on the list.

This trend continued last evening. Somehow my bureaucratic karma spread to Ulysses and moved him off the list too. We had to wait in line for about twenty minutes. The kids went fairly wild. The Boy quietly looked at things, but Mia made a general nuisance of herself, checking out every aspect of the process and sometimes drawing people pictures and writing down anything she thought was interesting – chatting up the public.

I got a little ruffled at one point, because it looked like the officials were giving a guy a hard time because he didn’t have proof of address (he needed to swear an oath) and they obviously hadn’t dealt with it before. I told myself that if it looked like they were going to turn him away I would demand they give Elections Canada a call. But they found the information they needed and he got to vote.

It’s not much of a secret that I love elections. I remember getting to stay up late for the polls to come in when I was a kid and the general feeling of importance and bustle. We often wound up at my grandparents house on election nights with my Dad’s whole extended family. It took much longer to get results then. We’d watch them come in on the kitchen tv while we drank tea and ate oatmeal cookies. And talk, argue, capitulate, argue, and talk again.

I realized last night, while I was standing in line, that I like elections as much as I like Halloween and for pretty much the same reasons. I love getting out there with my neighbours and participating in civic life. Everyone partakes of the ritual.

When we came home, Mia made us play election. She followed the model exactly. Ulysses and I lined up at the door with our ‘tickets’, Mia took our tickets and checked us off the list. Then we got a ballot and had to fill it out at the dresser. She checked her signature and we put the ballot in her jewellery box. Ulysses overheard the kids continuing to play a bit later with Mia complaining that The Boy was bugging her and she wasn’t going to let him vote. “Actually, Mia,” he said, “that’s illegal.”

I’m sad to say that the irregularities didn’t end there. Mia wrote in some extra ballots when she counted the box. I rejected both kids’ pleas to stay up for the results. Coverage, due to the black out, didn’t start until ten and that’s two hours past their bedtime. Mia whispered, “in the morning, we’ll know the winner.”

I, of course, couldn’t resist staying up to listen to the polls come in. I was elated at the gains the NDP made. Conservative gains in Quebec alarmed me. (I’d prefer people didn’t pretend these jokers have any kind of national relevance.) I was relieved that Toronto rejected the Conservatives and I laughed fairly heartily at the Stronach victory in Newmarket.

So not a bad election all around. And though it was, as always, fun to participate in the democratic process, I’d prefer to wait a few years before doing it for the feds again.

change of address

Hey everyone, I've moved. Come and check out my new digs!

Sam 'n' Tubey

We've just discovered this site called ClipShack, which does free video hosting. How freakin' cool is that?

To celebrate this bold new leap forward in technology, here's a short video clip of Sam with his best friend in all the world, a cushion we've nicknamed Tubey. (Note the rarely-caught-on-film smile.)

Who's gonna go next? I know I'm not the only one sitting on miles of quality footage... ahem, Anne-Marie?

Blogging with the famous!

My thoughts on two cheesy reality TV shows, Dancing With the Stars and Skating With Celebrities.

Cloth diapers?

So we've been using only disposable diapers with Henry from day one. I only know a few people that used cloth and i just never really considered it myself. I don't know why, but now i'm suddenly interested. Thinking about how many more diapers we have to buy and throw away(and did i mention buy!) before Henry is potty-trained, and how many more we'll need for the additional kiddos we'd like to have, i just get blown away.

I'm just starting to explore cloth diapers and all the accoutrement, so if anyone uses them that's part of this group, take a stab at my questions thus far.

1. From what i understand you use pre-folded diapers inside some type of diaper cover. Is there something specific i should look for in pre-folded diapers-- other than the various sizes for H as he grows?
2. What's with the "doublers?" They look like cloth maxi pads and from what i can figure you use them overnight to basically extend the absorbancy. Are they really necessary? Things i've read basically say if your baby is a super-peer at night use doublers or inserts. How do i know if i have super-peer? He's my first and i'm not sure i've heard this baby featured compared much among mums.
3. What's up with wool? Is this necessary? I don't get the benefits and just keep focusing on having to hand-wash them and "lanolize" them.
4. Folding the diaper in thirds and stuffing it in a diaper cover doesn't seem very difficult to me-- if it doesn't, is there a reason to get the more expensive "fitted" diapers? And if you do get the fitted diapers, do you have to put a cover over them?
5. What about wipes? I'm not sure i would give up disposables, but if i did, can't we just use some flannel fabric cut into squares or small washcloths? I haven't figured how the ones you buy really differ.
6. How much can i expect to spend for a mid-range cloth diaper wardrobe. I don't want to have to be doing laundry all the time, but i don't think i'm ready to drop $1000 or anything on his little tushie right now!

I think that's it for now. I'm really interested in exploring this but just feel like i have quite a bit more "research" to do before i take any steps.

Week 9 Challenge

I motivated myself to set forth a real challenge this week. So far, so good! Here it is!

I'm so proud

I taught my girl to drink from a straw! She wasn't really getting the concept of sippy cups and she'll only take a bottle under certain circumstances, and I wanted her to get some more water.

But I guess drinking from a straw is a big kid thing, because mostly what I see in the stores are sippy cups, not straw cups. The straw cups they do have seem geared toward older kids. I ended up choosing this semi-disposable jobby.

Brazilians etc.

My neighbors got a Brazilian exchange student for the month of January - a twelve year-old girl.
Apparently she's bossy and all she eats is meat & candy. I don't know why, but I found that to be pretty amusing & felt compelled to share it with you.

"It's funny how things never turn out the way you had them planned. The only thing we knew for sure about Henry Porter is that his name wasn't Henry Porter" -Bob Dylan

Where there's smoke...

Helpful tip of the day: when you have a smoke detector, don't let the batteries run low.

Nggggghhh! NGGGGHHHAAA!!!*

Note to future Sam:

If you are reading this, I just want to say that I'm very, very sorry that I talked about your pooping habits in a public forum. Please don't bring this up with your therapist.

Love, Mom

So. Constipation. It's the issue du jour around our house. Up till this morning, Sam had not pooped in four days, and even his two meagre poops today were hard, stingy, rabbit-pellety little things. I know that four days isn't a lot for some babies, but for Sam, accustomed to gleefully sending forth fountains -- nay, Catherine wheels -- of poo on a daily (and on some days, twice or even thrice daily) basis, four days is not right.

My boy is bunged up good, and he's not happy about it. And when Sam's not happy, nobody's happy.

I feel so bad for the little guy. We did the math yesterday and first realized that his delivery schedule was a bit off. Understandable, we figured, since he recently had the epiphany that solid food is important because it sustains human life. As a result, he's been going at the cereals and fruits and vegetables like a born trencherman. So we dosed him with some diluted prune juice (with a syringe, believe it or not, because Sam thinks that bottles and sippy cups are chew toys) and waited for the excitement. (I never noticed till just now that "excitement" is only two letters away from "excrement.")

None was forthcoming; however, we did have an increasingly uncomfortable and cranky baby on our hands, one who drove Rusty to sleep on the sofa at around midnight. Sam finally dropped off to sleep, as did I, only to be awoken at 5 am on the dot by an extremely active baby. This was quite unlike him, because Sam normally likes to lie abed like a pampered Victorian lady till about 10 am or so. I discovered the source of his agitation when I changed his diaper: a hard little brown marble that must have hurt like bejeezus to pass. While I personally would have been offended and disheartened at having so little to show for my labours, Sam was in pretty good spirits and, after a couple of readings of Dinosaurs, Dinosaurs and Goodnight Moon, fell back asleep.

Fast-forward four hours. Sam wakes up crying and clearly very uncomfortable. I check his diaper. Nada. After a quick consultation with the trusty ol' internet, here's how we spend the next two hours:

• feeding him UN-diluted prune juice (again with a syringe)
• massaging his lower belly
• bicycling his legs
• assisting him in standing and bouncing
• encouraging him to rock back and forth on his hands and knees

At one point partway through these machinations, I realized that Nature had gotten the wrong number and was calling me instead. When I got back from the bathroom, I didn't have the heart to tell Sam. It would have seemed like gloating.

Finally... finally... after many tears and bouts of red-faced pushing on Sam's part, and much cheerleading and sympathy grunting on my part, we had a victory. A round, brown victory. A mingy victory, yes, but a victory nonetheless. And now that this inaugural mom experience is behind me, you can add one more job skill to my c.v., after cook, entertainment coordinator, toy assembly supervisor, safety inspector, sanitation engineer, laundress, and janitor:

Poo wrangler.

*That was my approximation of a typical straining-to-poo noise. YMMV.

Nine months

Where did the month go? My nine-month letter to baby A.

Best of Blogs voting has officially begun!

As some of you know, my site, 50 Books, is a finalist in the Best of Blogs awards in the Best Book or Literary Blog category. Should you feel like casting a vote, just go here. Or don't. *sniffle*

school is hard, and not just for kids

There's something going on at my daughter's school that she's not telling us about. It may be that her best friend is on vacation right now. But every single night this week, she's come home in a foul mood, and had a massive eruption while doing her homework.

And let me tell you something, that homework is hard. First grade math has gotten a lot harder since I was in first grade. Last week, she actually had word problems to do. Word problems. In first grade.

There are a lot of things that she's learning that make me and landisdad look at each other in surprise. This year, they have Spanish, for example. I think that's great, especially since there are four kids in her class who speak English as a second language, and at least two others who speak some Spanish at home. I didn't take a foreign language until I was 11 or 12--twice her age.

But word problems? Did you even learn how to add when you were six?

I can't tell if it's the math, or the best friend, or something entirely different. And that's unnerving. It's unnerving to send your child off to school, and then to just not know what's happening there. I posted yesterday about the frustrations that we had last year with the Bee's kindergarten teacher, and I'm happy to report that she hasn't had any problems with the first grade teacher. But when she was having those problems, the thing I was most frustrated about was the fact that I couldn't ever really know what was happening in that classroom.

I'm starting to feel that the hardest part of parenting is when you're not with your kids.

PT

...as in Physical therapy, or as our Pediatrician said, Henry's Physical Trainer. Hmm, i'm going to use this post to sort out how i feel about today's 9 month check-up and our PT referral. First the facts (some of which i've mentioned before). Henry was born exactly on time and on the small side-- 6 lbs. 10 oz. That wasn't surprising, because I'm tiny (along with my entire maternal family) and my husband is from a family of beanpoles. Henry definitely tends towards that physique-- long and skinny. His weight gain has been a bit schizophrenic as he started small, gained big, and then leveled off-- had stomach surgery at 2 months and then grew but just not much. Between 4-6 months he basically didn't grow at all. Now we're back on the weight growth track but he's still below the 5% percentile for weight (75% for weight to give you an idea of his string-beaniness).

He's about a week shy of his 9 month birthday, but he had his Pediatrician check-up today. We had been a little "concerned" about his development. He scoots backwards and pivots on his stomach but he doesn't get on all fours, crawl, pull-up, or heaven forbid-- cruise. He also doesn't wave bye-bye, say mama and dada and mean it, or an number of other amazing things his contemporaries seem to do these days. He is the happiest most calm baby ever, amazing at engaging even non-baby types, and a wonderful sleeper and eater.

The Pediatrician suggested we have a consult with the PT because he's behind in his gross motor skills. She said that since he was nutritionally lagging for awhile his muscles were a bit behind on their development and that the PT could give us specific exercises to do with him. I get to call tomorrow.

I feel a bit upset i guess. Upset our concerns were founded and that the being we created isn't perfect. But the less dramatic and weepy part of me feels good that we get professional help. Someone else pointed out that this just means he'll have the tools to catch up even quicker. Still-- there's some amount of malaise about this-- not exactly good news.

Parent Hacks

The mister just sent me the link to a new site called Parent Hacks. (For the unapologetically non-geeky among us, a "hack" is tech slang for a clever, unconventional solution to a problem.)

This site calls itself "a collaborative weblog of practical parenting wisdom," and it does seem to have some good tips. None for my biggest problem, though: how to convince Sam at night that my arm is not his pillow. I'm still waiting for feeling to return to my right arm.

Lady Lumps

Today I had to explain to my 8-year-old the definition of "Lady Lumps" and why I never want to hear her saying/singing/or thinking the lyrics to the Black Eyed Peas ditty from whence they came. Not only is this song possibly the worst EVER written - it is the catchiest reptilian jingle I've heard since Eiffel 65's "Blue" hit the wedding reception circuit.

The poor kid. Once I told her that "lumps" were breasts and that a "hump" was a tushie - she was sufficiently grossed out. I was relieved. I hate being the uptight mom - but, come on...

Mind you, I remember gleefully singing "Sexual Healing" with my cousins when I was about the same age.

Oh well. She'll just have to wait for the Mini Pops to release a sanitized version.

Monster-proofing

I was redirected to Jagosaurus' site from 50 Books... very funny blog on Monster-proofing! Love the 'Rubbish Bin-Ban'! A lot of us have babies-turning-into-toddlers so this is great!

Important note to all - VOTE, VOTE, VOTE for 50 Books to be the best of the blogs as our near and dear Doppleganger is already a finalist for literary blogs! Woo-hoo!!

And what have y'all done about house plants??? One that Nova the dawg ate which gave her nasty farts is now dying on our front step... but there are 2 other suspicious looking floor-level plants... I think their days are limited at our house. Help!
Kris

Do colors affect your eating habits

I just learned that colors may be influencing my eating! I definitely think a blue kitchen/dinette is in order! Read my latest.

guilt shmilt

what fun is life without a few (dozen) guilty pleasures?

New Fathers, Round III

One of the things I’ve noticed is that being parents of a two-year-old is a lot like being the most powerful nation in the world trying to control an occupied foreign land. On the face of it, it seems like we have all the power and should be able to tame this child and mold him in our image. To dictate his constitution as it were. But there’s the language problem. And even when both of us are home, there aren’t enough boots on the ground. He gets most of his information from a kids’ version of Al Jazeera known as the Disney Channel. Plus, the little insurgent has learned very quickly that there are certain lines we just won’t cross and so he’s pretty much not afraid of us. He knows that he can scream longer and louder than the folks back home will tolerate. And he takes an unreasonable all-or-nothing stance when it comes to negotiations: If the insurgent wants a banana, a perfectly logical explanation for why he cannot have one, like “Those bananas aren’t ripe,” is insufficient. He sees bananas and demands that the corrupt interim government distribute them at once.

Apparently, men have all kinds of thoughts and feelings about parenthood and can even be quite funny and insightful about expressing them, too. Who knew?

Do you believe in magic?

I do! Well, magical thinking anyway.

Your next healthy recipe

Try this one, we love it: Black & Gold Quinoa

Snack

An easy, healthy snack for teething babies to gum on...Mochi. yummy yummy.

The Adventures of Danger Mom

Sam hit three exciting new milestones last week:

1. straining to take a poo for the very first time
2. crawling at breakneck speed (well, "breakneck" compared to his previous land speed record of 0 mph), which led to milestone #3...
3. falling off the bed

Numbers 1 and 3 seem like tough lessons to learn so close together. From now on, he's only going to grow in his awareness that gravity is a harsh mistress and that pooping is work. It must already seem to his eight-and-a-half-month-old self that seven-and-a-half-months... those were the glory days.

Poor guy.

And poor me.

This crawling business has me slightly freaking out. Remember the movie Raising Arizona? There's a scene in which Nicholas Cage and Holly Hunter's characters, Hi and Ed, are having lunch with another couple and their kids, and the other woman (played brilliantly by Frances McDormand) gets Ed in a nervous tizzy that has her repeating anxiously to Hi, "What about his dip-tet, honey? We have to get his dip-tet!"

I feel kind of like that. Actually, I feel more like Hi in the next scene, where's he's walking in the desert, oblivious to his surroundings, a pained, anxious look on his face while he wrings his hat in his hands.

None of this is helped by my newfound fear that I'm not the safety-conscious person I thought I was, a fact brought home by a recent incident in which I temporarily forgot that you don't put out a wax fire with water. Doing so causes mind-bogglingly huge Hollywood-type fireballs to shoot out of the fireplace, momentarily engulf your head in flames, and singe off the tips of your eyebrows and eyelashes. (This really happened. Kris and Anne-Marie are my witnesses.)

I'm cutting and pasting a transcript of an IM conversation I had with the mister later that day:

him: but why didn't you just use the fire extinguisher?
me: what fire extinguisher?
him: the one in the kitchen
me: i thought it was dead
him: it's not dead, i just had it recharged while you were pregnant
me: well, you can't expect me to remember anything that happened when i was PREGNANT
him: arghhhhhh!
me: besides, don't you think pulling out a fire extinguisher in front of guests would look a little, you know, drama queeny?
him: AAAARRRRGH!!!

He thinks he got the last word by giving me the nickname "Danger Mom," but in fact I'm the one who won because I like it. Shhh... don't tell.

But seriously, my confidence is shaky right now. And it's not helped by the fact that I keep thinking that, no matter how uber-safe I am, all it takes is one tiny little slip, a teensy lapse of time or judgment, and the whole house of cards could come tumbling down. Remember Sleeping Beauty? How her parents rid the entire kingdom of every spindle after hearing the dark fairy's dire prediction? That's what I call extreme babyproofing. And fat lot of good it did them.

Still, you gotta do what you gotta do. Since Friday afternoon, we've made trips to IKEA, Home Depot, and our local hardware store. We've been making lists, gathering supplies, bickering over who is least incompetent with a screwdriver, and spending a lot of time lying on the floor trying to see our world through Sam's incredibly curious little eyes.

And why? Because babies may be cute and all, but when it comes to self-preservation, they're just not all that bright. Forget sticking his finger in a mere light socket: Sam would put on a tinfoil suit, lie in a puddle, and eat pure electricity if he could.

Mark the time. This is the precise moment that I finally internalized the fact that I'm never going to have a good night's sleep again.

Two for one!

Two new posts for today! First, the Week 7 Challenge I'm sure you've all been dying for. Also, a new feature - Weekly Healthy Recipes.

Enjoy!

Like we don't eat enough candy

Now that the holidays are over (Doppelganger finished the stocking, with much success; my research paper was written, and is not half as lovely as the stocking) - we turn our eyes to the cold expanse of February.

How does everyone approach Valentine's Day?

If you're really a bored housewife...

...then you have time to get addicted to this game. It is evil. Eeeeeevillllll.

Get you some baby action

A colleague just brought his 7-month old daughter in for a visit. Baby is B-E-A-U-T-I-FUL. I got to hold her and smell her sweet little head and let her chew on all the toys on my desk. While I held her she drooled on my work clothes, pooped her diaper, and sneezed in my face. Twice.

Damn near made me ovulate.

Singin' and Swingin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas

What makes a great mother?

Melissa's previous post on all the uncertainties of motherhood really hit a note with most of us, and I especially like Doppleganger's note about her own mother being a rock in her early life. Also with Melissa O's recent post on how motherhood for her is going to change soon, I was starting to think of what are the qualities that make a great mother.

But before I could come up with any earth shattering conclusions, I was re-reading Maya Angelou's autobiography "Singin' and Swingin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas". I have read all of her books and would have considered her a great mother. So now when I was re-visiting her life when her son Clyde was young, I was surprised that for 2 years she boarded him with a babysitter for 6-day-5-nights a week. She was working 2 jobs to make ends meet and describes the agony of their weekend routine: he would cry whenever she picked him up and only stop when they were blocks away from the sitter's house. Then he would be inconsolable when she had to return him. For 2 years!

But the rest of the book is a wonderful collection of moments with him as he grew, his questioning God, his reaction to the marriage breakup, his rejection of killing, etc. She's every bit as devoted a mother as I hope I'll be but I can't help but think back on how awful those 2 years were for her before she became famous. How mere survival drove her away from her only child. For 2 years!

And maybe it hit me because I part of what I think a great mother is is someone who really contributes to society, often through a professional life. Imagine life without the Maya Angelou as we know her. Who else has articulated black women's struggle quite as colourfully. And I love listening to her - check out her BBC interviews like how she would like to be remembered. Absolute poetry.

Anyway, just adding to our discussion on motherhood...
Kris

the end of an era

my post about the sad end of a wonderful era.

FYI...

I registered the domain boredhousewivesnetwork.com last night, so now you can use either that or the original blogspot URL to point people toward this site.

(I figured I should register it before some pornsters got to it. They've already claimed boredhousewives.com, and what they've done with it ain't pretty.)

A few of my favorite things...

Allow me to be a tad materialistic here and share with you some of my favorite things, people, movies and so forth...

1. Sarah. For those of you who know me well enough know that no last name is needed (Maclachlan btw). Before I moved to vancouver, I dreamt that we would meet and have dinner parties with her husband and laugh. Oh, would we laugh. I have definite issues with this obsession, i'll be the first to admit. At least I'm honest about it...

2. When i first meet someone, usually in the conversation i'll throw in: 'have you seen fubar?' 'Wonder boys'? 'High Fidelity?' 'All the Real Girls?' What are your thoughts on Jack Black and Phillip Seymour Hoffman? Answers to these questions allow me to figure out if you're really as cool as I think you are... Anyone who truly understands why 'Tron Funkin' Blows' is funny beyond anything is cool in my books. Oddly, I'm not that much into movies. I tend to forget i've seen a movie about 30 seconds after it ends. same with books (sorry DOP!).

3. Check these out: http://www.apollonine.com/astrosatchel/main-1.html

What's not to love? I love mine so much i bought a matching diaper bag and one each for my midwives... i should buy shares, really.

4. ok, here goes nothing: I'm a closet (not so closet anymore?) video game fan. I will (somewhat proudly) admit to having finished Ape Escape last year. ALL BY MYSELF! I lost a lot of sleep over it and dreamt of those freaking little monkeys but god damn it, I caught them all!

And, this Christmas, was quite happy to receive Sims from the mister. there. i've said it.

5. I LOVE to colour! And have tons of colouring books to boot! It's my version of knitting. Knitting sucks.

ok, and since this is supposed to be the Bored Housewives Network, I'll end on a sappy note. My little man... ah... he's so freakin' cute. Did I say that out loud???



What are some of YOUR favorite things???

Dog gone, dog found!

Nova's back from her 1-day adventure (and has some critical things to say about the cage conditions and food at the SPCA and Pound but thats another blog...).

Just thought I could post some pics of Rian and Nova. Pedro and I used to be dog walkers at the local pound when we first moved to Vancouver but couldn't agree on what kind of dog to adopt - he liked the huskies (athletic, energetic), I liked the rotties (loyal, gentle for the most part).

Then just after moving to the Drive area, the mister had gone to walk the dogs and came back waving an adoption application. He had found the perfect dog for us!

And then a week later, we found out we were pregnant with Rian! Instant family of 5 (including the rabbit Binky)! And our family works well - Rian loves to feed Nova and play tug-of-war, Nova likes to sleep by Rian's bed and get agitated when he cries, Nova knows to keep out of Binky's room and keeps away whenever we have Binky out!

No other dog would fit in quite so well! We're grateful to be a whole family again!

oh god

She's on the soapbox again...

And now for something completely different...

Read about the latest style of instant ice-maker! You know you want to.

Also: yay, Kris found her dog!

Happy New Year!

Happy 2006, fellow BHWs!

To ring in the new year, I wrote a post about learning how to parent when your own parents weren't so hot.

i love christmas

happy new year, everyone!

we had a really wonderful, really relaxed christmas in our new house with my sister and her partner visiting for a week from san francisco. we barely left the house the entire week apart from an afternoon of sledding (very fun, i laughed so hard i peed my pants) and a meal out at our local indian restaurant. mostly, we watched a ton of movies (we had bad-movie-marathon) and ate huge numbers of ritter sport chocolate bars (dark chocolate with hazelnut is my favorite but i'll eat any of them).

Nile seemed to really enjoy his first christmas experience, particulary the mess of wrapping paper and ribbon spread across the living room after we'd opened presents. he spent hours rolling around in it and trying to eat it. he got really spoiled with tons of cute new outfits from the aunties and a set of baby sign language dvds. having a baby makes christmas seem so much more fun and meaningful somehow.

i cooked a walnut loaf for christmas dinner (we're vegetarians and i was growing tired of Tofurkey every holiday meal, so i thought i'd experiment). i served it with carmelized onion gravy (a yummy moosewood recipe) and all the trimmings and it was pretty tasty.

i was so excited by the spirit of christmas that we even unearthed the ice cream maker, which has been gathering dust in the basement since i bought it on sale at william sonoma 2 years ago, and made homemade ginger ice cream. we served it with pumpkin pie, it was delicious!

a good time was had by all.

happy new year!
may 2006 be full of happy babies and happy families.