teething dream

My daughter is teething, and she's started whimpering in her sleep in the early hours of the morning.
The Result: Mummy has weird dreams.
I had a graphic dream where my daughter opened her mouth, unhinging her jaw like a Hungry Hungry Hippo, and I could see multitudes of little teeth, some just visable beneath raw open gums and some growing from other teeth.

I'm Still Me : An open letter to Today's Parent magazine

My husband's aunt purchased me a subscription to Today's Parent magazine, and I'm about 4 issues in. I have a love/hate relationship with magazines in general. I was a loyal Cosmo reader straight up until they published an article about what you should do if your man isn't receptive to things being stuck up his butt... An Entire Article... and nowhere in the article did it say "Stop trying to put stuff up there", which is what I would have written.
Today's Parent is now the source of my magazine related ire, for the following reasons:

1. Smoothies: Enough with the smoothies, you don't have to mention smoothies in every single issue. It seems almost as if the publishers have some sort of contractual arrangement with The Smoothies Association of Canada, wherein they must sneak at least one mention of smoothies per month.

2. They published an otherwise fine article a few issues ago about a family that plays a different genre of music during dinner, depending on what day of the week it is. Then the Author, the Dad of the family, feels the need to add that he "needs" to let the reader know that just because they listen to reggae, does not mean they (he and his wife) smoke pot. It's implied that the reader would/should otherwise have assumed that this gentleman partakes in (pointlessly) illegal substances, AND that it's somehow the reader's business, and relevant.

3. Tips on how to "make" your kids eat. Dudes...If a kid isn't hungry you should NOT make them eat. Eating when you're not hungry makes your appetite increase and skews your understanding of what constitutes an appropriate serving.

4. In the last issue, they ran an article on phases kids go through. There was a woman described as having an "abiding love for turtlenecks", who's daughter had gone through a goth stage, and later wore dreadlocks and who is now releived that her college age daughter now wears "alot of beige". Mark my fucking words Today's Parent Magazine, If my daughter ever wears "alot of beige" at any point before the age of 40 I will ask her if she's depressed and ask her to seek councelling. Seriously. Beige.

Ultimately what it boils down to is this: Today's Parent is a conservative publication. I'm just not conservative, and I'm not going to turn into the tan-slacks-wearing, minivan-driving, 12-year-old-boy's-haircut-having, force-feeder-of-smoothies that Today's Parent wants me to be.

J'Adore Dior... or not so much

Miss B has a better wardrobe than her Momma thanks to huge sacks of hand me downs from the sister of a friend of mine. I don't buy big fashion labels new, but I am pretty easily impressed if I find them second hand, but often dissapointed:

This is a hand me down, and probably at least 5 years old, but I looked it up and similar suits run $59.99-69.99 new.

For clarification, this is a Baby Dior, but it's 100% polyester, which to me is like a fashion oxymoron.

Also, my mom thinks it's super cute, and I do not.

Here's supermodel Baby B modelling her Christian Dior.

And labels for those skeptical as to the authenticity of a polyester Dior:

this is what B thinks of your allergies:

She'll be 6 months old in 9 days. She can pull herself into a standing position, and is getting better at giving hugs everyday.

The B stands for Bonzo

So, Baby B, beleive it or not, is not my daughter's real name. The "B" stands for Bonzo, and her real name starts with an entirely different letter.
My husband and I painstakingly shopped baby girl names. My would-be-godmother-except-I-was-raised-Athiest had just died of cancer, so there wasn't any question as to my daughter's middle name. For her first name there were a few strict rules

1. nothing that could be found on any "10 most popular baby names of 2009" list (Olivia is a lovely name, but there will be at least 2 in my daughters future grade one class of 30 or so)
2. nothing that could be found on any recent popular name list (see above)
3. nothing that would make it sound as if I'd given birth to an elderly woman (ex: Miriam, Ruth)
4. nothing spelled in such a way that it will appear as if my daughter doesn't know how to spell her own name (she has a second cousin who's parents spelled Madelyn as Madylin)
5. No surnames as first names (I just don't like it)

there were also loose guidelines:
1. no "stripper names" (Savannah and Desiree were laughed at, but Lola was considered, and only ultimately shot down because of the song about a tranny named Lola)
2. no names of places we'd never been (ultimately, her name is a place, but it's a place named after a person, as opposed to say, Dakota or Brooklyn)

So her name is the feminized variant on a classic man's name. It's a name that is in songs. It's the name of an eastern european country, an American state, and a British territory in Antarctica.
And yet...
People keep forgetting and calling her Georgina or Georgette. I'd have thought the most annoying thing about her name would be having people ask "Like the State?" or constantly singing Georgia On My Mind when they meet her, or the nickname Peach (Princess Peach being a useless whore.) But I'm actually more annoyed that people think I'd have named my daughter something diminunative, or pretentious.

Georgina, if you break it down, means not Female George, but Little Female George, which to me would be like sentancing her to a life of being condecended to. As for Georgette, I don't know why, but I really do find it pretentious and grating when English speaking people adopt French words and linguistics, this includes the suffix -ette, but also prevented me from saying fiance during my engagement.

So, yesterday I sent Baby B off with her great grandparents for the day, and I spent the day cleaning my house, doing art projects and missing her. It was about 8 hours, and was the longest we've ever been apart.
The Great Grands said she was good, and didn't cry that whole time. When she got home, she'd fallen asleep in the car so I took her to bed and took a nap with her. When she woke up, she made sure I was aware of her extreme displeasure and needed to be held for the rest of the evening.
Last night, as a delightful side effect of both our day apart, and I'm sure, the fact that I've been watching the Bad Girls series, I had nightmares about being in prison and having my babies either taken from me, or having them die.

I won't actually need to get used to being apart from Baby B for about 5 years when she starts school, but I was thinking about how if I were American, and unable/undesiring to leave the workforce, my maternity leave would already have ended a whole month ago. This is a psychologically wrenching notion to me. The thought that I'd be relinquishing control over how my child is raised (what if the only Daycare I could afford parks the kids in front of "educational" videos? What if they're so understaffed they can't interact one on one with my baby? What if they teach her to be ashamed of her body and it's functions? What if they re-enforce gender stereotypes (the only princesses in our house carry swords, thanks)) is stomach turning, to say nothing of the timing being right when most babies are just deciding that their Mum is the only gal for them. Baby B. certainly has.
In any case, I really don't need to be apart from my baby. I might let her Great Grands take her for 4 hour stints once in a while, but the 8 hours was a little excessive, at least for the moment.

Anyway, heres the trick she's been doing for the past 4 or so days...

Baby B on her birthday

She was due july 30, and I had an appointment on July 29 in the morning. My husband dropped me off, uncomfortable with the idea of being in the room during a pelvic exam. I'd seen a number of obstetricians, they all shared an office, so they saw each others' patients if, say, one doctor were busy delivering someone elses baby.

This time instead of my also-pregnant-lady-doc, I was seeing Doctor charming-but-unsettlingly-young. In light of it being only one day ahead of my due date, the doctor announced that he was going to do a "sweep" to "stir things up" and that I'd probably go into labor within the next few days, and that he'd be doing deliveries on the weekend, so he might see me then.

The cramping started as soon as I left the office. I started copying down descriptions and times of my various pangs. I called my mum, I took a long nap, I woke up. I noticed and noted a small gush of warm fluid, noted it and tried to make dinner. We watched "I love you man". My sister-and-then-roomate went out for the night, telling us to call if anything happened. I called telecare and based on the fluid loss a few hours earlier they advised us to head to the hospital, where we arrived around 1130pm. We'd been reluctant to leave too hastily, as our douchebag neighbors were throwing a party, and we'd lose our parking spot if we were sent home again. we were not sent home.

We left my sister a message, but decided not to call anyone until after the birth.

When we arrived, I was considering forgoing drugs, due to my fear of needles. I was offered the use of a jaccuzzi tub, but I couldnt seem to stop shivering. and got out as soon as I thought it would be polite. I almost immediately changed my mind about drugs. Labour felt like debilitating menstrual cramps while having my legs wrenched out of my hip sockets. I was given an IV, and later an epidural, which only effected the right side of my body. This is when I found out I have scoliosis.

The doctors on duty that night happened to be Doctor Pregnant-Lady and Doctor Andy-The -Student. Doctor Preggo supervised Doctor Andy breaking the amniotic sack. It was super reassuring that he needed to be told which end of the medical instument he was supposed to use.

My nurse told me that if at any point, if I felt like I needed to have a bowel movement, to let her know. She said that when this happened, I'd need to bear down into the pressure. Basically, "wait until you feel like taking a shit, and then try really hard to take that shit"

The contractions, and the tearing are nothing to the feeling of the skin around ones vagina being stretched to accomodate an entire human being. at one point I thought Dr. Preggo must be driving her fingernails into me, when she wasn't even touching me. My clitoris was in searing pain.

They offered me a mirror so I could see what was happening which struck me as preposterous. They also asked if I wanted to reach down and feel her head, which I was also not interested in doing.

I'm pretty sure I felt her blink.

I horrendously abused my nurse and doctors, and they told me I was handling things great. And then at 4:20am on her exact due date she was born.

The first thing she did was give Doctor Preggo a dirty look. She was dark tan in color. She weighed 8 pounds 9 ounces. They asked my husband if he wanted to cut the cord, which he declined. The first thing I said to her was "thats ok, you can pee on me..." We noticed that an electrical storm had started.

I called my parents, and told them to wait until visiting hours.

I lost alot of blood. while My husband held Baby B, the nurse was using her hands to squeeze clumps out of my uterus from the outside. Once the epidural had worn off enough to walk, they removed my catheter and let me shower. My body temperature was low. as soon as I stepped out of the shower, I started shaking so hard I could hardly dress myself. I was pushed down to my room, and my husband and Baby B soon followed. As my nurse was heeling on me I can remember remarking that I really felt like I'd been kicked really hard between the legs.

The rest is foggy. I can remember my husband cradling her in his arms, looking tenderly into her eyes and saying "I'm gonna call you Hotdog..."

Day One:

One Month Birthday:

2 month birthday:

3 Month Birthday:

Her 4 month birthday is next Monday.

And I get to be her Mum

An open letter to the breastfeeding militia

"When I had MY babies, All I had to do was take off my bra, and my milk would just POUR out! Why, I even had so much extra milk, I donated it to the hospital!" - A lady I'd literally only just met, at my Mother in Law's birthday party... Uh... great, Lady-I-Just-Met...

When I was pregnant, I used to get glared at alot. I'd be walking to the bus and middle aged women would throw me death looks. Even my husband noticed it once at the mall. Now that I've had the baby, it's less dirty looks and more women asking me whether I'm breastfeeding.

It's a touchy subject. A long story. Suffice it to say, It didn't work out. I did pump for 12 weeks, and my arms are still wicked strong, but I'm pretty sure I gave myself carpal tunnel, if thats possible.

Basically, if you say "no, I'm not breastfeeding", It's not going to be left at that. They'll want to know why. Especially medical professionals. I had a lactation consultant take a tone with me because I mentioned that I was supplimenting with formula.

The truth is, breastfeeding is wonderful, it's natural, and as much as I am sick of hearing about it, it is beautiful. Also beautiful: My husband and our families feeding our baby. Me not being stressed out. My baby sleeping all night long because her belly is full.

SO... can we please lay off of judging people who don't breastfeed?