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Just so this blog doesn't turn into a complaining centre only, I want to share a good mothering story. Monday morning, as I drive my oldest to daycare, I am absentmindedly listening to him babble in the back seat. All of a sudden, my brain wakes up and realizes that my little two year old is counting to ten over and over again, for no real reason. I was so proud, I almost cried. So what if his word for seven sounds like spider! Last week he couldn't get to three.

It's been a long few weeks. Ben's birthday was last weekend. We had a beautiful day and a fun party. I can't believe he's 2 already. ANd Sara's 4 and a half months! I keep wondering where my newborn went. I'm starting her on rice cereal in a couple of week. Unreal!

The night before Ben's party, the moms and some other female friends went out for a delicious thai dinner, just to get away from the kids. Of course, we talked kids all evening. And it was funny to see all the cell phones lined up next to the plates. Sadly, mine was the only one to ring. Sara is VERY attached to me, and has issues being away from me for more than 15 minutes. Daycare will be fun, I sense. Anyway, that was the first day of Mr. Tash's mystery illness. So he had no patience for the crying. As I tried to get the bill, he called back and she had finally cried herself to sleep, so I didn't have to rush after all. Poor thing. Tonight's going to be fun when I'm at Harry Potter for 3 hours. But I'm looking forward to it. It will be worse next Wednesday when I'm on the dinner cruise my work planned for us. We stop for the fireworks, so I'm getting home late. I hope she smartens up and takes to bottle I will have pumped for her.

Mr. Tash has been sick for the last 10 days. Not sure what it is, but I have never seen him so tired. Total exhaustion. He ended up missing pretty much missing a week of work. Costly illness. He seems better, but it's slow. Thanks goodness my bro-in-law is around to help with the house stuff and babysitting tonight.

Thanks my news. Demanding child pulling on me.

Later.

Sad that after only 2 bricks, already I've stalled. I'm working on sorting out the timeline of my memories in my mind, however, extra thought beyond "No, Ben!" and "I just want some sleep!" is hard to come by. I don't know hy I'm having such a hard time, all of a sudden. It's been over three months. Maybe it's the kitchen reno added to the mix, or the fact that I've lost all ability to control my son. All I know is that I'm tired, and frustrated, and embarrassed by my self-perceived failings.

I don't think I've been quite so honest with myself before. You see, I am a quitter. Sad to say, but true. If I don't succeed right away, I give up. There are other things I do well. Why waste my time on something that I could potentially never be good at? I sound...what's the word...spoiled, I guess? Maybe. Probably. Anyway, I never dreamed I'd have such a hard time parenting. And I can't quit this one. I have visions of Ben being that kid in class that teachers pull their hair out over. What if I can't ever control him? How does one force someone to do something? I've gotta find a book or something.

I should get some sleep.

I am so tired. One would think that with a 3 month old baby, that would be normal. It's not, however, the 3 month old that is making me tired. It's my almost 2 year old son. He's decided to hit his terrible twos in full force. Not only is he not listening, he's no longer sleeping through the night. He's been in his big boy bed for a few months now (by bug boy bed, I mean double mattress on the floor). Over the last two weeks or so, he has started coming into our bed in the middle of the night. Not a big deal, as long as he sleeps. But since he's so wiggly, we are all waking up. So back to his bed he goes, usually with Daddy, to make sure he stays there. Now, over the last week or so, he's getting up before 6am, and not even going to bed properly. This results in him being exhausted all day, bringing with it the whiny, cranky brat part of his personality. And my patience is veeeery low, cuz well, I was already getting up twice a night to feed the little one. Suggestions? Anyone? Please? How does one deal with a child in his terrible twos?

Add to that the kitchen reno we are just now completing (no kitchen for 2 weeks!) and I am not so happy a camper.

What makes me feel worse is that I currently want to trade in my son for a more manageable model.

I'm such a bad mother...

PS, did I mention it's my birthday in a few days? Yay me...

Oma loved to garden. She passed that love on to my mom, however, it seems to have skipped a generation with me. I like a pretty garden, just don't ask me to get my hands in the dirt with all those worms and bugs *shiver*. So, when it's time to garden, I inevitably call Mom to come over and do the dirty work while I play at gardening, wearing gloves of course. I'll plant here, and re-pot there, but don't ask me to pull weeds. I don't know which ones they are.

It was the spring I turned 3. My parents and I were living with Oma after Opa died. Oma and I were in the garden. She was on her knees weeding or planting or something. I can see her in her blue shorts and rayon, burgundy tank with some kind of flowery pattern on it. Her house was a one of a row of attached houses, somewhere in the middle, meaning there was a garden on either side. On the right side, our garden was separated from the neighbours by a very low hedge. We all knew each other on that street. Oma was the first owner of that house, and so were those neighbours, so they knew each other quite well and didn't see the need for a fence. Anyway, I had a hoe and was given the job of turning the soil in front of those hedges. I took my job very seriously, looking down and concentrating really hard to make sure I really dug it all up properly. I was going and going until I heard a shout from Oma. I looked up and saw her racing over, half laughing, half chastising. I looked around and realized that I had hoed my way through a space in the hedge and was digging up the neighbour's yard. I'm pretty sure I was kept away from the hoe after that.

Already at almost three years old did I learn that I just don't have the knack for gardening. It's such a shame I've just moved into a house with beautiful flower beds. Let's hope I don't kill too many things this year...

As I sit here trying to sort out my thoughts on this post, that scene from the Wizard of Oz comes to mind where Dorothy starts on her journey down the yellow brick road. She starts at the very first brick at the point of a narrow strip of yellow, that widens as it unswirls. I guess that's sort of a good metaphor for what I'm going to try and do here with this series of posts. As I mentioned last time, I want to do an autobiography of sorts. I was thinking about it when Ben was born, but never got around to it. Now, with Sara, the thought has returned, especially with all the nostalgia Facebook has generated. So, I'm going to try and start with my earliest memory and go from there. Who knows, I might even glean some insight into myself as we go along. I'm going to try and be as chronological as possible, but I'm sure I'll inevitably jump around.

Brick #1

My earliest memory, it turns out, is not the one I thought it was. I was about 2 and a half. My mom, dad and grandmother (Oma, my mom's mom) drove down to Florida in a rented RV. From Montreal, it's about 2.5 days. The way my dad drives, I think it took us 4. I remember very little about Disney. I have a photo of my dad and I riding Dumbo. I seem to remember being pretty scared of the whole experience. It's one of those rides that look like a spider, sorta. At the end of each "leg" is a Dumbo car, and the whole thing goes round and round while the legs oscillate up and down, like a wave. Well, at one of the dips, the Big Bad Wolf was standing nearby. Terrified me every time we dipped at that part. But that's only the vaguest of memories. What I really remember about that time was standing next to my bed at bedtime, crying hysterically because my parents lost my sussy (aka pacifier). I remember being very upset about this for quite a while. Now, i thought that this had happened when i was about 3 or so. I just learned from my mom last week that it actually happened on that trip. Apparently, they found it when they unloaded the RV after we got home, but I had already broken the habit, and they didn't give it back. Over the years, I always wondered why they didn't just get me a new one. Now that I have kids, I get it. Not that my kids even really use a pacifier (their choices, not mine), but I can understand not helping to propagate a bad habit. Still, I've got to admit I'm still just a little bitter.

I wonder what it means that I remember this memory. I was really young, so there's no real reason why I should. Hmmmm (taps chin in thought)...

So, against my better judgement a little while ago I joined Facebook.  I didn't particularly want to, but after receiving 3 invites in 2 days, i thought "What the hell!"  It has turned into my new online crack habit.  I cannot believe how many people from my past are popping out of the woodwork.  I am now helping to plan my 15 year high school reunion, for goodness sake!  High school was a rocky time for me.  The first two years were fantastic.  I wouldn't change too much about them, except maybe my looks, obviously.  I was just coming out of my awkward faze.  But I was part of a wonderful, tight group of friends, who gave me memories that I will cherish forever.  My last year of high school, however, I could generally do without.  There were excellent parts of it, but it ended so badly that it has always left me with a bitter taste in my mouth.  I got my first boyfriend (great part!), but lost my friends in the process.  Now, i made new friends at the time (his), which ended up putting me on the path to meeting my wonderful husband (my boyfriend's best friend ended up introducing me to Mr. Tash), but I lost some dear friends in the process.  Specifically, a girl who had become my sister (I'm an only child), a member of my family.  She would travel with us.  Stay at my place a few time a week.  We were pretty much inseparable.  
 
I run into her once in a while (the last time was almost 2 years ago).  We'll see if I can commit to this.

First things first. I must apologize to my friend Simon for not quite believing him enough. You see, over the first 8 months or so of his second son's life, he would frequently blog about the fact that Tavish would produce copious amounts of spit up. Now, I have to make clear that I didn't disbelieve him entirely. I just thought that he perhaps might have exaggerated the amount of regurgitation to enrich the storytelling experience.

I was wrong.

I now see that it is absolutely possible for a baby to produce as much spit up as he claimed to have dealt with. And TPTB have seen fit to punish my incredulity by giving me a child who would give Tavish a run for his money. I change Sara at least 5 times a day. I use about 2 cloth diapers a day to wipe up everything from the couch to her chin to me. She has christened the shoulders or sleeves of every shirt I own, and most of my pants.

Serves me right. I hope that by acknowledging my error TPTB lighten up a little. I get it. Joke's over.

On another note, I found a great site that will plan a week's worth of menus for me, and prvide me with menus and shopping lists. The recipes are supposed to be easy and fast. I am going to do the first week starting Monday. It's all free, and very welcomed. I hate trying to decide what to make. Since doing Weight Watchers (twice!), it taught me to hate food. I still like to eat it, but only if I don't have to think too much about it. Comes from the overanalyzing of the food I was eating, I guess. i'll let ya'll know how it goes.

It's been 3 weeks since Sara joined our little family. How in the world did I get 2 kids!?! (Uh, that's rhetorical. I understand the birds and bees and pollination and whatever.) Ben stayed in daycare, so it's been only half as exhausting as it could have been. But so far, so good. Sara is way more chill than Ben ever was. She nurses about every 2-3 hours, whereas Ben was every 1-2, even at night. He still wakes up when she cries at night, but not every time anymore. She seems to make a few less diapers than last week, thankfully. But whoever said changing a girl is easier than changing a boy was wrong! You know how boys are supposed to pee during a diaper change, due to the cooler air? Ben rarely did that. Maybe 5-6 times total. She does this EVERY diaper change. And inevitably, we don't move the clothes out of the way enough at least once each. Which means lots o' laundry. Not to mention the spitting up! Ben spit up, but not like this! I started making her wear a bib just so the tops of her clothes stay somewhat dry. Now if it would just stop spilling off onto me. Sexy, I know.

We have managed to get the house more or less in order, finally. Most of the boxes are unpacked. Only the stuff that will get stored (camping gear, games) are left. We have all our furniture and rugs. A few curtains need hanging, and the artwork/photos need to go up. Other than that, we're finally "home". We are starting to plan our kitchen reno. Anyone out there have a wooden counter in their kitchen? We're considering getting one, but are reading conflicting reports on the merits of this. Any help would be appreciated.

Hubby goes back to work next week. It's too bad paternity leave is only 3 weeks long. At least he's going to take 3 more weeks of parental leave in the summer with us. We're going to try camping (if I dare to with 2 mini-people in tow) and a short trip to Boston. This all means I'll go back to work in October.

Time for a feeding...

It's a girl!

Well, it wasn't as easy as Ben's delivery, sadly. She came faster (we were at the hospital by 10pm, she was born at 3:30 am; Ben took 10 hours or so), but the 2.5 hours of pushing were much harder. She came out face first, instead of top of the head first, meaning everything was harder. But we're healthy and happy and I won't remember the details in few days (except to bug her about it when she's 15 and she's annoying me about driving lessons).

Important points:

Sara Elizabeth
7 lbs 1 oz.
21 inches
very cute in pink

Here's her blog (already she's at the computer!) with a video of how cute she is. Puffy, but cute. What do you want for 12 hours old?

http://firsttimeeverything.blogspot.com/

Looks like the time has finally arrived. I'm passing time (currently at 6 minute intervals) between contractions, waiting to go to the hospital. I've had contractions all day, but it hasn't been too bad. My MIL is here, all ready to babysit, as i run off to take my iron pill to fortify for tonight,

Go baby!

I'm tired of being pregnant. I was sure I'd be early, and although I'm only due the 14th, and could still be early, I thought for sure I'd be earlier than this.

Poop.

With every twinge, I'm like, now? No, not now. Sigh.... This little girl is sneaky. I can tell already.

And if my mom calls one more time and says, "Anything yet?" with my dad in the background saying, "It's gonna happen the 19th!" I'm going to spit.

Have I mentioned that my mood sucks too?

...don't die of shock (assuming anyone is actually reading this anymore. I do apologize for not updating sooner. Since Thanksgiving (Canadian, so, October 8th) we have:

1) put our condo up for sale. For those who don't know, I'm pregnant again. I just realized I'm pretty sure I didn't say anything here, but then again, I might have...I can't remember my name anymore. I'm due Valentine's Day. It's a girl. I was 16 weeks before I knew, so this pregnancy is flying by. We only had 2 bedrooms in the condo, and The Boy is a light sleeper, so they couldn't share. Up for sale it went.

2) Ben got an ear infection and cold the next week.

3) Mr. Tash got the stomach flu the week after. Then Ben. Then me. I lost weight again...

4) We found a house we liked and made an offer. We bought!

5) Notice we haven't sold yet. The stress kicks in.

6) The day Ben had the stomach flu and was barfing all over me, we had a visit. Good thing I was home from work to clean up the dirty laundry from my bedroom floor.

7) Two days later, the day after I spent 6 hours barfiing in the middle of the night with the stomach flu, the people who had visited made an offer. We negotiated as I recovered on the couch. Memo: Never do this sick. I was miserable. It is not end of October.

8) We had to be out by Nov. 24th, and the people who bought were a little nuts, demanding all sorts of paperwork and checking the heating, so the next 2 weeks we were scrambling to keep them happy.

9) November is packing month. Here's the problem: We sold for the 24th of November. We bought our new house for the 7th of December. We are homeless for 2 weeks.

10) The weekend before we move out, we go to Toronto for the weekend. Wonderful trip, but poorly timed. Totally worth it!

11) We arrange furniture storage and staying with The Mother-In-Law. In spite of how that sounds, it worked out OK. She doesn't heat enough, and had no water pressure in the shower, but she cooked dinner and helped with Ben, so all in all, it was quite peaceful.

12) One week into staying with her, Ben gets the stomach flu again! Thank goodness MIL could care for him, because by this point, I've used up all my sick days on moving crap.

13) I get the stomach flu again! I have never been so sick. I thought it was bad the month before, but I knew nothing about anything then! I didn't eat from Friday lunch till SUnday dinner, and even then, on Monday, I still couldn't keep food down. I didn't recover until Wednesday. I lost 10 pounds. Did I mention I'm pregnant? And I really had no sick days left?

14) We get possession of the house on Dec. 7th, and have been painting since. It was covered in wall paper. Hideous, hideous wallpaper. Most of which was put up directly onto the gyprock (sp?) without priming. Idiots! We had so much plaster work that 12 days later, we still don't have 1 room fully painted. We moved in this past weekend, and the house is still a disaster. Kiss my Xmas decos goodbye! I'm still hoping to get a tree up, but, quite frankly, I wouldn't know where to put it.

And now here we are today. I can't really help with much, being 7 months preggers and all. I feel completely useless, so I'm probably doing too much to compensate. But I love my new space (or I will when it's ready).

I'm going to bed. Thought I'd just share why I haven't been around.

Happy holidays and new year's to all!

You know what frustrates me to no end? The idiots out on their bikes with their kids, who decide they have heads made of concrete, so they don't need bike helmets. And today was just one too many. Mommy and son, biking down a busy boulevard. The kid's bike is one of those extension things attached to his mom's bike. So that if one falls down, they both do. She has made him wear a helmet, like a good mommy should. But then she decides that she doesn't need to set the example by wearing one of her own. So that when they crash, or they're hit by that car, or the door opens from a parked car, clotheslining them, the son will survive, but she'll be a cracked watermelon.

Idiot!

Imagine my and Mr. Tash's surprise almost 2 weeks ago when the little stick I peed on came back positive.  After weeks of "I can't possibly be pregnant,"  yet several more weeks of nausea, it was releaving to know at least why I was sick.  And then I started to panic.  A second baby already!  He won't even be two when this one is born!  I did the math in my head, and figured I was about 6 weeks.  Off to the doctor I went, and she also said it felt like I was about 7 weeks, but to have an ultrasound to determine the exact number.

Imagine my and Mr. Tash's surprise yesterday when the ultrasound lady said "Sorry, ma chere, but you are 16 weeks along.  And it's a girl."  WTF!?!

See, here's the timeline:

Third week of May: I'm feeling kinda funky, so I take a pregnancy test.  Comes back negative.
May 30th: I go into the hospital to have my gall bladder removed, and they do a pregnancy test.  Comes back negative.
June:  Recovering from operation and staring work.  I'm nauseous and exhausted, but the tests (2!) were negative.  It's just me.
July:  Starting to move toward more nausea and even more sleepiness.  Those tests were negative, damn it!
August:  Nausea moved on to vomiting.  Gonna call the doctor to make an appointment, because I clearly have some horrible disease. 
August 20th: As a last resort, take another pregnancy test, because, you know, maybe it happened in July.  Positive within 2 seconds.
August 28th:  I am at week 16.  Hospital test was wrong because we probably conceived withing a week or so of the test.  Oops.  We leave the ultrasound in a slight panic about suddenly needing to move.

But it seems to be a girl, so I finally get to buy that Cabbage Patch Doll and not feel crazy.  And pink clothes.  Now that the panic has died down, we're very excited.  And nauseous.

I started back to work about 3 weeks ago now.  It's been exhausting, what with Ben still not sleeping through the night.  Maybe that's what's got me thinking so much about myself.  Everything is always more confusing when you're tired.

I've been working since about the age of 11 or 12.  My first job was at a snack bar at the local pool.  After that I babysat after school just about every day through junior high and high school.  I've had various othe jobs, from Baby Gap salesperson (never sell a 300$ leather jacket for a 6 month old baby.  The guilt is still with me.) to ice cream counter person at the amusement park.  My first "career" job was as a lab tech during the summer before my last year of university.  It became permanent the followiing fall, and the Bachelor's was finished part time.  I've not looked back since.

I worked, and work, hard.  I was a manager by 24, supervising as many as 10 people.  I would hit the ground running when I got to work, give 150% all day, lunch at my desk, and head home knowing that I contributed.  My opinion is valued and sought after, which has always been gratifying.

I say all this not to toot my own horn, but to demonstrate some thing about myself.  I have very much defined by my work.  I am opinionated, stubborn, and hard-working.  I absorb tasks like a sponge, getting them done well in half the time it takes others.  I have, in my mind, always defined my self-worth by my success at my job.

Even being a wife has not changed that.  Mr. Tash and I love doing things together, but at the same time, are very independent.  He does his thing, I do mine.  So as much as I'm proud and grateful to have him love me, and to love him in return, he does not define me.

My problem now stems from the fact that I am now a mother.  I spent one entire year not working.  I never thought I'd pull that off.  I thought I'd be back at work in 6 months.  But I decided finally to take the full year I had and enjoy it while I could.  As much as I had a wonderful year with my son, the last few months were lo-ong.  I was going a little stir crazy.  I have come to realize I am very much the "Working Mother".  What I haven't done is let go of the guilt that this thought has engendered.

Because I'm still adjusting to work and baby, I am absolutely exhausted in the evenings. I know I am not giving him the kind of attention he deserves.  So I abandon him during the day, and am not fully "there" at night.  Some mom I'm being. Being nauseous the last 6 weeks has not helped matters (No, I'm not pregnant, I checked.  Twice.). It also doesn't help that when I take him to daycare, he reaches for his teacher now.  I know, I know.  That's a good thing.  It means he's adjusting.  But it is bittersweet.

I assume things will settle down eventually.  I have him for the rest of our lives.  This brief peiod is but a drop in the bucket of time.  But it doesn't change the fact that I am having a tough time defining myself.  Am I "A Good Employee" or a "Good Mother"?  I assume one can be both. 

I hope I learn how soon.

My mom is awesome. She has been a crossing guard at my old elementary school for about 29 years. She has volunteered at the school for about 25. And now she has been recognized for her wonderful contribution and impact to the community.  YAY MOM (She's the one from Laval)!  Unfortunately, she's a nervous wreck because she's being interviewed by local radio tomorrow and there will be press at her plaque presentation.

Go here

Thanks to all who left comments or called to find out if I was OK. The procedure went very well, and I feel pretty good. I'm really tired because I can't get comfy to sleep on my back (I'm a tummy sleeper), and I'm a little sore, but overall, I haven't had to use the painkillers and so can nurse my boy.

I can't, however, pick him up. For at least another week or so. They made 3 holes on my torso: one just below my sternum, one just below my right breat, and one just at my belly button, in a triagle formation. The one that hurts is the belly button one because one uses their abs to do just about everything, including coughing and sneezing. And picking up one's son. Sigh.

Tomorrow (actually, 2 hours from now) is my 31st birthday. I wanted to have a picknick. It is supposed to rain, and I can't move around so good anyway. That's 2 years of non-birthday celebrations (last year I had my baby shower the day before my birthday, so it went by generally unnoticed too). Go 30s.

I'm tired and cranky, can you tell?

So tomorrow I am entering the hospital for day surgery to remove my gall bladder. Apparently, it's not a necessary piece of equipment. I'm supposed to be out the same afternoon. Depending on which article one reads, I will either be able to eat whatever I want after, I will have to cut fat completely out of my diet, or I will have to limit my fat intake. In other words, it's a crap shoot.

I had ice cream for dessert today.

Round 2!  Stupid Firefox ate my post!

As I said the first time around, I find it really sad that my 2 favorite shows were on this week and there was almost no post-ep commentary from all my usual suspects.  How did 2 fandoms who were so vocal and so passionate turn into nothing?  I really enjoyed the readings and now it's all ending.  I am going to miss it.  I felt I needed ot include my 2 cents, so here we go: