The one where she looks in the mirror

You know you have finally arrived as a mother the day your very small child calls the guy who just cut you off in traffic a douche. Time to put away the driving words! Having a little person allows you to see the way you treat people come right back at you. You know, kind of like looking in a mirror. In our case, it doesn't hurt that it is actually like looking in a mirror:

 

A couple of weeks ago, she put her hands on her hips and said "OK Mommy, these are your options..." Methinks I've said that to her once or a thousand times before... She's very free with the I love yous, and it makes my heart swell every time. I'm happy she feels enough love to share it so readily. On these days, looking in the mirror of motherhood is like looking in the actual mirror when I'm having a great hair day. Hells yeah, this kid is awesome. Under my astute tutelage, she's going to be a fine human being!

And then there's the days where looking into the mirror of motherhood is like looking at yourself in the actual mirror on the second or third day of the flu. When your eyes are crusted over and the snot is free-flowing on your upper lip, and let's not even get started on the hair. The days when you see that she's exasperated in seconds because an argument is not going her way. Or when she runs out of patience and throws whatever she was trying to figure out as far away as she possibly can. Because that's like looking in a mirror too. 

I'm always going to have bad hair mom days. I'm never going to be completely satisfied with what I see reflected back at me in miniature form. But just like the regular mirror, most of the time what I see is just fine. If only the mirror could fast-forward a little for me to let me know what I'm going to see further down the road!

This post is written as part of GBE2 - Week #45 word prompt: Mirror. For more info about GBE,  click here.  

Just when I had it all figured out

The thing with grief is that you never know when or where it's going to hit you. You're bopping along thinking everything is OK and then there's a little reminder of what should have been. I thought I was doing much better, and not just physically. In fact, I was pretty sure I was fine.

And then WHAM! While tidying up and gathering the recycling, The Husband found the invitation to a wine tasting that we declined because I was pregnant. That's bound to happen. Adjust course, move on. Self, this is not a big deal. It was a Rhone Valley tasting anyway, and those are hit and miss at best.

And then WHOOSH! I knew one colleague in my cube of four was pregnant, but then I found out another one is too. She's due a few weeks before I would have been, so I get to see what I'm missing out on from six feet away, 40 hours a week. Deeeeeep breath. OK self, pull it together, you can do this.

And then WHACK! My father-in-law said our little girl is so wonderful, we should get working on another one. How sweet! Oh, fuck. Here come the waterworks! Come on, self. Dry off, suck it up, don't let your kid see you like this.

I worked from home today because I got a head's up that the big pregnancy announcement was coming, but I can't hide at home forever waiting to feel less fragile. We worked really hard to get pregnant and then we lost the baby. That's bound to leave a mark, and not one that's going to go away in a matter of days or maybe even weeks. I don't know how much time it's going to take, and I do know the only thing that's going to make it better IS time. I can't make that pass any faster. Anyone have any really great tips to hide the puffy eyes of crying in a bathroom stall at the office?

Things I Did Elsewhere: Week 10 Recap

Zut alors, yet another weekend has gone by. How? Why? I just don't know. The in-laws are still here which is cool because SURPRISE! It's not a one night visit, it's a three night visit. Apparently determining when someone is coming to our home and how long they are staying with us is too much to ask of The Husband. And we all know how much I love surprises. I'll deal with him... later.

At The Facebook Page, I shared this week's meal plan, including tonight's feast of ham and scalloped potatoes. From scratch. Because I am that damn good. I use the Canadian Living recipe enhanced by a whole lot of garlic, and while it takes a long time it's dead simple. If you currently make scalloped or any other kind of potatoes from a box, stop that! There's just no comparing them to the real thing.

Over at The Wine Fund, the app of the week is Flashlight. No, not Fleshlight, silly! FLASHLIGHT! It turns your phone into a flashlight, and it has been more useful than I ever imagined it would be. You want to learn about cool apps first don't you? Well then sign up for the AppSmitten newsletter and the app world is your oyster. Note: If you sign up using that link I earn a small commission.

In the absence of clever, I give you tidbits

I had one of those days at work that required a lot of brain power. OK, most days require some brain power, but today was particularly intense. It means the evening rolls around and I got nuthin' left. And so I present to you the random shit that floats through my mind when I spent the day clearing my head of all meaningful information:

• Have you seen the video of the two-year-old singing Adele's" Someone Like You?" I know, right? Adorable. But then I think... exactly how many times has this child's mother/sister/Nanny/whatever caterwauled along with that song in her presence that she's been able to memorize the words? I suppose I could watch one of the news stories about it to learn how the singalong came about, but I... just don't care enough.
• I did a charity outreach thing yesterday. It involved a great deal of painting over my head. Today my arms are so sore, I had a hard time lifting them over my head to wash my hair. I nearly didn't bother, but the painting over head thing made it pretty necessary.  Dammit, I'm old. Sadly, that's not a good reason to call in sick.
• Remember the promo for "Meet the Robinsons" when the T-Rex was chasing the kid and the evil guy yelled "Seize him!" But the dinosaur couldn't because he's got a big head, and little arms? That shit cracked me up for months. MONTHS! Yeah, yeah, small minds. Anyway, you can imagine my amusement when, in the midst of massive concentration mode, a colleague sent me this:

I have no idea where this came from, but it made my day!

My in-laws are in town staying with us this weekend. They're lovely people, but I'm going to have a hard time being entertaining this weekend. Especially when the gears are just not meshing. Wish me luck with it!

10 lessons I want to teach my daughter (but she'll probably have to learn herself...)

There's a lot of things I have learned in all the years I have roamed this earth, "If I knew then what I know now" kind of stuff. I would like to teach my daughter these things some day to save her some heartbreak. But she probably won't listen, and she will make the same mistakes and learn these sometimes painful lessons on her own. Here are the Top 10 things I want to tell her: 

1. Be wary of big, romantic gestures. This is not universally true, but big, romantic gestures are often diversion techniques for assholery. An occasional hot air balloon ride or surprise trip is fine, even sweet, but if it's overwhelming your alarm bells should go off. If you spend your whole life waiting for Prince Charming to sweep you off your feet with these big gestures, you might be waiting a really long time. 95% of the leisure moments in your adult life will be spent sitting on the couch. Make sure the person you're sitting there with is one you like a whole lot.
2. Don't go out of your way to date musicians. Not all of them are dirtbags, but so many are that if you spend a significant amount of time as a groupie, you'll be so bitter and jaded by the time you find one that isn't a dirtbag that you'll probably mess it up anyway. The same applies to actors, professional athletes and members of any other group or profession that grow accustomed to having their egos fed on a near-constant basis.
3. The world is a big place. See as much of it as you can. We've been dragging you to hither and yon since before you could walk. Yes, this subjects you to the misery that is the airport, but it has also exposed you to different cultures, ideals, people who think differently than you do. I do hope you've been paying attention, and that you've learned a thing or two along the way. I also hope you'll keep it up at every available opportunity. There is no place in the world I regret traveling to, the only regrets I have are the times I didn't go when I had the chance.
4. You don't have all the time in the world. Fertility drops off much earlier than you think, and you have less time than you imagine if you want to do the whole "married with children" thing. It's OK if you don't want to, it's your life to live. But be really, really honest with yourself and don't shrug it off thinking there's always going to be a later, because there might not be. If you're thinking you need to own a house or have $X in the bank or reach X level in your career before you get started, know that people have committed far worse crimes than not being "established" when they brought their baby home.
5. It doesn't matter what high school you go to. In your last year of grade school, you will agonize over what high school to go to next year. Misguided people will tell you it is the most important decision you will ever make, and it will determine the course of the rest of your life! It won't. For that matter, it doesn't really matter what university you go to either, as long as it's not one only known for its excellent underwater basketweaving program. Go where it will make you happy to be. If you realize once you're there that you're not happy, go somewhere else. Take an extra year. Hell, take two. It's more important to find what you love than it is to graduate at the same time as your friends.
6. The teen years are NOT the best years of your life. If I may be frank, the teen years suck big, giant, hairy donkey balls. In my adult life, I work with people who (ostensibly) went to high school. I don't know what clique they belonged to while they were there. It's six years filled with hormones, acne and angst. Just survive it and I'll do whatever I can to help. I promise you it gets SO MUCH BETTER.
7. I love you with my whole heart. Even when you're being a little shit. There will be times when I will be mad at you. I will say you should know better, and you should. But even when you're being truly miserable, know that I love you 100% of the time. Even when I'm having a hard time keeping it together.
8. It's not your job to make anyone else happy. Don't pack your bags for guilt trips. Don't be cruel and don't deliberately hurt people, emotionally or physically, but don't give up big pieces of yourself to please others. The person you need to live with is YOU, and if that gets lost in the shuffle you'll never be able to please anyone, least of all yourself.
9. Don't let anyone make you feel bad about yourself. Some day you might accidentally find yourself dating an asshole, or have a friend (or a relative) who doesn't treat you well. People will only treat you poorly or make you feel bad about who you are if you let them. Keep the company of people who make you feel good, the ones you instinctively seek out when the chips are down. Jettison those who bring you down like the dead weight that they are.
10. You are not invincible. Take care of yourself. If your gut is telling you something is a bad idea, listen to it. If you think it's unsafe, it probably is. Your friends will do stupid things and you don't have to follow them, no matter what they say. No matter where you are or what you're doing, if you decide it's the wrong place to be, call me and I will get you home from anywhere. I promise I won't be mad, or at the very least I'll do my best to stifle my anger until a more appropriate time. Just come back to me in one piece.

I'm sure there are many more lessons that I'll watch her learn the hard way, and my heart will break along with hers as she learns them. What lessons do you wish you could teach the kids in your life to spare them a little pain?  

This post is written as part of GBE2 - Week #44 word prompt: Make a List and Title It. For more info about GBE,  click here.  

Things I Did Elsewhere: Week 9 Recap

Holy crap! How is the weekend over already? It feels like I just left work on Friday and now it's time to get ready for another Monday. But not without first telling you about all the stuff I did when I wasn't here. 

At The Facebook Page, I shared this week's meal plan and my Wednesday night "OMG, I don't have the stuff to make what I was going to make for dinner and now what?" recipe for brown rice and mushroom sauce. You should just like the damn page already so you don't have to wait for me to post a recap on Sunday for all this awesomeness. I mean, I might forget and THEN what would you do? Oh, you'd carry on with your day? I see...

Keeping with the foodie theme, over at The Wine Fund I posted a review of the Longo's Pad Thai Meal Kit. It was a bit of a thumbs down. I didn't do an app of the week because I didn't have time to play with anything new and I don't want to recommend anything not well tested. But you should still sign up for the AppSmitten newsletter because you are cool and you want to learn about cool things first. Yes, I get a small commission if you use that link but if you'd rather not, you can Google them to start learning about the apps you need to make your life easier. 

I'm helping to spread the word about a petition calling for a Royal Commission on election fraud in Canada. Wait, wut? I know! If you're Canadian just click the link, check it out and decide for yourself if you think you should sign it. I did. And on that happy note, I'm off to bed. Toodles!

Things I learned on the Internet #4 - Keeping one's person tidy

It's never a good sign when your kid comes home from daycare in different clothes than the ones they left the house in that morning. A new shirt I can live with, that's usually a soup-related incident at lunch time. We've only had three pant changes since she mastered the Art of Potty. One for a really BIG soup-related incident; one because of, um, a stomach bug; and one last week. Last week's pant change was brought to you by Multiple Points of Failure.

The Parasite is a creature of habit. She is regular in the way your grandmother wants you to be regular and it happens at home, in the evening, without fail. Or at least I thought it was without fail... Since she is well well-versed in the Art of Potty, she's pretty much left on her own to do her thing in there at daycare. I guess she didn't tell anyone that her last visit wasn't #1 related. The Husband picked her and didn't ask for the whole story, but apparently there was a wiping mishap. I gave some thought about how they figured out that something was amiss and realized - with great shame - OMFG, MY KID FAILED A SNIFF TEST!

I don't let her wipe solid matter herself because I have a serious aversion to the thought of poop on hands quickly becoming poop on the couch. And the coffee table. And the kitchen counter. The possibilities are endless, really. However, I'd rather not suffer the mortification of someone playing "Find the Pooper" and my kid being the source ever again, so our latest project has been the Art of Wiping After Potty. Thankfully, wise moms on the internet have given me many tips to teach one's child to wipe their own ass. Here are the ones I am using so far:

Privacy, please!

1. Those fancy, flushable wipes? Buy some. Yes, they're more expensive than toilet paper. So is replacement underwear. Telling her they're special wipes just for her make The Parasite feel really special and keep her interested in a gross, mundane task. Worthwhile expenditure, no?
2. We've been making a really BFD about how it's time for her to do this on her own because she's a big girl now. Little kids love to hear about how big they're getting.
3. We show her how to keep going until the paper comes back clean. 
4. We encourage her to wrap her hand with the wipe to minimize the chances of brown hand.
5. I try not to gag at the thought of her getting a little on her hand anyway. It hasn't happened yet so PHEW! But what better way to drive home the importance of handwashing?

Got your own little person figuring these things out? Or one that has just mastered the skill? Any tips I'm missing? Let me know!

The one where she calls shenanigans

Oh, goodie! It's St. Patrick's Day on Saturday, aka "Amateur Hour at the Bar." Now, I spent more than my fair share of time holding up a bar stool in honour of the occasion back in the day. Or was it the bar stool holding me up? Anyway, since becoming a real live grown up I have studiously avoided public places on March 17th. It seems my luck (of the Irish - HA!) has run out. I spent my birthday in an airport and I've been having a pretty shitty week so I need a damn night out. The Husband is taking me out for my extremely belated birthday dinner on Saturday because it's when we have the time and the babysitter. 

That's right, I'm leaving the comfort of my home on St. Patrick's Day. I am warning you now, people of Toronto, none of the following shenanigans will be tolerated in my presence:

• Green beer, or any other dyed green food because... ew!
• Public urination. If I catch you peeing in public, I will take a picture and tweet that shit so fast your head will spin. Won't your mother be proud?
• Vomit. Pro Tip! If you are throwing up in public, you are too drunk to be out in public. Take your sorry ass home!
• Hugging, kissing, or any other touching of my person. Unless you are The Husband.
• Slurred renditions of Danny Boy. Or When Irish Eyes are Smiling. Let's just call it an all-out kibosh on singing, shall we?
• Asking me why I'm not wearing green. I don't need to wear green on St. Patrick's Day, doofus! I'm Irish every day.

If you can all follow these simple rules while I'm out in public, everything will be just fine. Don't worry, I'll go home by midnight. If not, do not be surprised if you hear the wail of a banshee. And if you don't know what that signifies, you shouldn't be out celebrating St. Patrick's Day anyway. Poser. Thank you in advance for your cooperation.

This post is written as part of GBE2 - Week #43 word prompt: Shenanigans. For more info about GBE,  click here. 

I guess it's better than limbo

Yesterday I heard the words every expectant mother dreads: "I'm sorry, you've had a miscarriage." On a positive note (?) it seems Mother Nature took care of everything for me so I don't need to have yet another surgery. I knew on Friday there was no chance we were bringing home a baby this fall so I had time to get used to the idea before I was sitting in a doctor's office, post-ultrasound, waiting for the final word. It didn't make the news suck any less.

It should take a few weeks for all systems to come back online. With my next cycle, I have to endure another round of waterboarding of the uterus to make sure no permanent damage was done. Assuming we get the all clear, we can start another round of treatments the following cycle. If it works, the odds of a repeat miscarriage aren't any higher than the rest of the population, so there is that. What I did not know until yesterday is that because of maternal age (I'm roughly 100 in reproductive terms), there's already a 35% chance of losing any pregnancy. I'd be lying if I said the thought of going through this again doesn't make me at least a little gun shy.

There is so much that my rational mind completely understands that is a complete mystery to my heart. I know this didn't happen because of anything I did or didn't do. I know there is nothing I could have done to prevent it, or stop it once it started. Because miscarriages early on are usually due to a defect in the embryo or how it implanted, I know it's probably for the best. However, I reserve the right to bludgeon anyone who says that to me thinking it brings any level of comfort. It doesn't.

Now that I've been able to take real meds for the pain I'm feeling much better. Physically. It's the rest of me that's going to need a little more time. I'll go back to the office tomorrow and smile weakly, avoiding eye contact wherever possible. I'll pretend I'm fine, that it doesn't matter. It was early days anyway. Just a blip in our lives, lives that will carry on. I'll put on this show because I have to. I'm not fine, and it does matter. It was early days, but it was enough time to plant a dream. I'm heartbroken, really.

One thing is true. Our lives will carry on.

Things I Did Elsewhere: Week 8 Recap

Well, it's been a pretty shitty week here at Casa del Host. But even though things suck for The Husband and I, our kid still has to eat so I made a "Give yourself a break" meal plan and posted it over at The Facebook Page.

Speaking of food, the App of the Week is Cook's Illustrated - The Best of Everything. I really quite like it. I have provided more details over at The Wine Fund. It's better if you already subscribe to Cook's Illustrated because it unlocks a bunch of members only content and your favourites automatically sync, but there's still plenty of good stuff to be had for non-subscribers. The ability to add ingredients right to the shopping list from the recipe is particularly awesome.

How do you find cool new apps? Well, you could randomly plug things into the search tool in the App Store and hope for the best, but there is a better way! Sign up for the Appsmitten newsletter. You pick your device and your areas of interest, Appsmitten gives you a custom summary of apps you'll love. Sure, I'm an affiliate and if you sign up using the link provided I'll earn a small commission, but that's not why you should do it. You should sign up because life has enough needles in haystacks, and pointless searching is for Luddites. You're not a Luddite, are you?

The one where she talks about a good fight

It may come as a surprise to you to learn that I have a bit of a temper. Hahahaha, OK it's not surprising at all. I have gotten better with age, and parenting has taught me a lot about picking my battles and counting to 10 before flying off the handle, but once quick to anger, always quick to anger.

The Husband, on the other hand, does not get mad at all. Ever. He truly is the Yin to my Yang. The untrained eye might take this as a lack of assertiveness on his part. That would be a mistake. There is nothing weak or passive about that man, he just manages to do what he needs to do without getting flustered. For example, when I was in labour there came a point where it was clear that I needed to throw up (again) and the receptacle provided was no longer adequate. While the rest of the room panicked looking for another (probably inadequate) receptacle, The Husband very calmly took the one I had, emptied it into the garbage can, and handed it back to me. A room full of people who spend all day, every day with people in labour were flummoxed and The Husband, supporting his wife through the birth of their first child, was the one who stayed calm and solved the problem.

I spice up his life a little by flying into a rage about the fucking property tax bill, and he grabs my arm before I tilt over the edge. Perfect match! Except... Sometimes those of us who are quick to anger like a good fight. Seems silly to think that some people thrive on a little confrontation unless you are one of those people, but there you have it. Sometimes, I need someone to spar with to keep my claws sharp. It sounds crazy, I know. Luckily, my loving husband has just the solution to this seemingly insurmountable problem:

The cable, hydro and insurance companies. The bank. The tax collector. Defective product manufacturers. Issues with all of the above and then some are my exclusive domain in our household. Billing amount is wrong? I go get 'em. Overtaxed? I'm on it. Claim mishandled? RAWR! New thing for The Parasite broke on first use? Oh, I'll get my damn money back, fear you not! It's a perfect system for an imperfect couple.

What are things like in your house? Do you have one cool and collected and one brimming with fire? If you're not coupled, do you have to be a little Jekyll and a little Hyde?


This post is written as part of GBE2 - Week #42 word prompt: Confrontation. For more info about GBE,  click here.  

That is one half empty glass!

Members of the medical community collectively need to work on their poker faces. After a night in the emergency room, tons of blood work and an ultrasound with some of the most sophisticated technology known to man, I have had the following conversation several times in the last two days:

Medical Professional (MP): *happyface* The hormone levels are low and we're not seeing what we'd expect to see on an ultrasound at this point, but that probably just means your dates are off!
Me: *straightface* We conceived through IUI. My dates aren't off.
MP: *sadface* Oh.

Forgive my relentless practicality, but at this point I wish they'd just call it. Instead of confirming what I already know and taking steps to hurry things up, I have been ordered on bed rest until things have improved for 48 hours. Or, and this part is unspoken, they get worse and I end up back in the hospital. Until they confirm a miscarriage, they treat this as a viable pregnancy. This means nothing but regular strength Tylenol for the pain.

I'm a little sad but mostly OK. I don't tolerate pain or limbo very well, and lying around all day gets old pretty quick. I'll be glad when it's over so I can start the process of healing and moving on. And, more importantly, trying again. Sure, in a hospital-induced moment of feeling morose I considered giving up on Operation Kid 2.0 permanently, but I just wouldn't be me if I let one little setback stand in the way of something I want!

Something else was supposed to be here

In this space, there was going to be an announcement proving just how fucking efficient I am: One round of fertility treatments = one awesome baby. He/She had a due date of October 24th.

Instead it's an update from my local hospital emergency room. I was feeling crampy off and on all day, and was worried enough about it to call my midwife this afternoon. She told me not to worry about it unless I started bleeding. So I didn't. I was getting ready for bed when it started. The cramping has gotten worse in the time I have been here. I haven't been seen yet, but I'm pretty sure I know what they're going to tell me. I think we all know what they're going to tell me.

When I get out of here I'm going to go home and hug the one I've got with everything I have. I'm not sure I've got the fortitude for another round of treatments, so The Parasite might be an only child. As I sit in these harsh, fluorescent lights, surrounded by the sounds of people dealing with their own shit, I can tell myself that it's OK. But I'm pretty sure that tomorrow I'm going to think it's really, really not.

Being Elmo event in support of Zack's Dream Room

I'm going! If you're in the GTA you should come too! How often do you get to have a great time with your family while supporting a great cause? The $20 tickets include snacks and activities, and are available HERE.

Hope you can make it!

Things I Did Elsewhere: Week 7 Recap

Yes, I did miss a few weeks. I wasn't doing bloggy things elsewhere because I was busy teaching my daughter how to be a world traveler. She's had a total meltdown in an airport now, so I think she's all set.

At The Facebook Page I posted the back to reality meal plan and my recipe for a crockpot beef stroganoff. Which doesn't involve a crockpot. It's less complicated than it sounds. Want some ideas for what to make for dinner this week or a recipe me tested and me approved to be quick and easy for a weeknight meal? Don't feel like waiting for me to get around to posting a weekly recap? Can't say I blame you, patience is a virtue but it's not one of mine. Go ahead and "Like" The Facebook Page already!

At The Wine Fund, I posted my review our holiday (Awesome! The holiday, not the review. Though I think the review is pretty good too...) AND the first of what I plan to make a weekly feature, the App of the Week. But I might not actually get around to posting an app every week because, as we already know, I'm really quite lazy. Want to know a better way to find out what's the latest and greatest in the world of apps? Sign up for the appSmitten weekly email update. Pick your device, pick your categories of interest and sit back and watch with glee as you receive suggestions for apps YOU want to know about. Yeah, I'm an appSmitten affiliate and I get a small commission if you sign up for the newsletter, but that's not why you should do it. You should because you're pretty cool and cool people should know about cool stuff first.

And finally, want to know how The Husband and I have managed to keep up our sex life since becoming parents? Well, we haven't. But you should still read the article I wrote for Circle of Moms for tips on keeping in touch without keeping touched.

Have a great week!

Parents just don't understand

Today I thought about starting sentence with "OK, here's the situation..." And before I knew it, I was furiously scouring iTunes to make sure that I had "Parents Just Don't Understand" in the library (I do) because obviously no music collection would be complete without a 24 year old song from one of the decade's biggest movie stars. That's right, people under 30, before Will Smith was the Fresh Prince of Bel Air or a $20 million a movie guy who moonlights as a brainwasher, he was half of a goofy rap duo along with DJ Jazzy Jeff.

And now you have made me feel very old, so please go away.

Anyway, as I was singing along with that silly song in kitchen (because of course I played it as soon as I found it), I was confronted by a not-quite-three year old who wanted a ponytail. But once the ponytail was done, she wanted "ones on the sides" and the fit caused by one lowly ponytail instead of two was one of epic proportions. A fit that had breakfast remnants flying across the room and the insufficient, hated single ponytail disassembled in a rage. I think a good chunk of hair came out with it, but that may also be just an example of my lacklustre housekeeping skills.

Soon the storm was over, the ponytails were done as specified, the breakfast detritus was cleaned up and the not-quite-three year old was bopping along to the music. As I stood there, wondering what the fuck just happened, the chorus really brought it home.

Parents just don't understand.