Wear Your Baby

There is a whole cult out there, a cult of Wearing Your Baby. Those in the know call it Slingin' Your Baby. Oh, it only starts with the Baby Bjorn, or, the ancient Snuggli. I did not really join the Cult with Francis. We did the Baby Bjorn, the Hip Baby, and the backpack. All more or less over-engineered -- hence Dan loved them (buckles! fits together like an IKEA product!)

I started innocently enough when my friend Mel from Seattle (an AP Mama if I ever saw one) used her pouch sling a lot. She got me interested. So, I bought a KKFP from Ebay. But then, it was too hot to use in Seattle, so I bought a HotSling. I loved that you could throw your sling in your purse, and that the same sling could be used for a front or hip carry (unlike the highly specialized Bjorn).

But alas, although Francis liked the pouch (he hated being swaddled, even as a baby), Stella was not crazy about it. And the great thing about slinging is, (when it works), it comforts the child (i.e., Stop the Screaming) and maybe even lets you do other things while you tend to your child.

So, now I have joined the Cult of Wrapping. I am addicted to a babywearing bulletin board appropriately called TheBabyWearer.com. There is a FSOT board -- which, interestingly, has a section called "Resources for help with shopping addictions". Ah, yes, that could very easily be me. Some Mamas have a huge stash of wraps to color-coordinate with their outfits and seasons! This is where I bought my second-hand Ellaroo wrap (in the "Christiane" color scheme, for those interested). And now I am learning the gymnastics of the FWCC, the BWCC, the Tibetan (with and without a chest belt), the HipCarry ... (see this list for more than you will ever want/need to know on the subject). The (German) Didymos is the "cadillac" of the wrap world, so I am haunting the BB for just the right price/color/weight combination ...

But in the meantime, of course! I had to also purchase a Mei Tai to try it out. It is really beautiful -- purple straps with a lovely purple floral pattern on the panel.




But I do love my wrap -- Stella settles down instantly when I put her in. I am actually reluctant to wash it, in case the smell comforts her. And versitle! (can be used as a blanket, a changing pad, a coverup) fits in your purse! Now, if only I can perfect the backcarry so that I can get her up there without her screaming (once she is up she loves the view).

I think that I will have a lot of FSOTing and/or Ebaying once this child is walking ....

I'm Not Going to Holland

When you find out that you have a child with a disability (OMG, I am still not used to saying that), people send you this article about comparing your experience with a unplanned trip to a foreign country. It is meant to be comforting and inspirational. Personally, I find this comparison trivial and a bit insulting. Brain, Child (thank you, Michelle, for introducing me to this life-affirming mothering magazine!) had a great piece on this. The Holland piece is hugely popular, and there is even (of course!) a blog named after it.

My. Child. Has. A. Disability. There, said it. It's still difficult. It took me my whole pregnancy to mourn my dream (a dream and an assumption that I didn't even realize I haboured) of a normal little nuclear family, everyone gathered around the table and talking about homework. It's easier now that Stella is here, and I can touch and talk to and hold her, and I find myself intensely, even fiercely, focused on helping and getting help for her. Your'e Satan but you can help her -- you're my new friend. You're an angel but can't help her -- sorry, no time for you. Right now, if I mourn the person I had hoped she would be, it is because I so want a "normal" life for her. Meaning, a job, an apartment, friends and family who appreciate and love and cherish her.

I refuse, and I mean REFUSE to be ashamed of my girl. If anything, I am more proud. Every milestone is that much more an accomplishment than it was for Francis.

This might sound woo-woo, but I knew that I was going to be Stella's mother. She visited me in a dream about a year before I got pregnant. I knew as soon as I was pregnant that something was wrong. But how to explain these feelings? Maybe it is even my destiny to be Stella's mother and advocate ....

Project-itis

There was a yarn sale at the local yarn store, Make1. Yum! I choose this cotton yarn for the beautiful jewel tones. I plan to knit myself at Knitty.com sweater. My reasoning (pick one):
(1) I need more clothes
(2) I need another sweater
(3) I need another project
(4) I have compulsive project-itis.
My "hard-and-fast" rule of only one project on-the-go at a time has deterioated to one kind of project at a time (i.e., only one knitting, one sewing ...) , to, well, project-itis.



Summertime! Does this photo not suggest summertime to you? Here we have Francis enjoying B.C. cherries with all his senses (we have a wonderful Farmers Market now at the old Currie Barracks). Summertime also means Stampede time. On the one hand, you have to appreciate a festival that the whole city, and I mean the whole city, gets into. Where else would you see the CEO of a major corporation dress up in costume? Where else would the police shut down a major traffic artery to clean up horse poo? On the other hand, I (grumpily) resent the tourists and the traffic, and hate the commercialism and the infantile drunkeness.



I tried out a recipe for playdough the other day -- so much nicer than the Playdoh that you buy. Easy! and I couldn't resist buying a baking set for Francis the other day at IKEA. Here he is "cooking" (his other favorite version of this game involves lots of dishsoap and water at the sink with some of my pots). I worry that I am enforcing gender sterotypes since he only sees me cooking (Dad does "fire", or aka BBQ-ing), but on the other hand, I really enjoy the creative process (and outcome!) of cooking, and hopefully I can pass that on to him.

Summer! I love summer.

John Cage Wisdom

"As you continue, which you will do, the way to proceed will become apparent."

I Wanna Be Kozy

Here is a picture of My Boy in his oh-so-cute monkey PJs that I paid full-price for at The Gap because I fell in love with the applique. (Boy's stuff is rarely oh-so-cute. Really, how cute can a silk-screen of a dump truck be?) Later on, on sale (which is the way I should be shopping? or second-hand, even?) I purchased a pair of Doggy PJs. Summer weight, because it is summer. Because it is hot, and even hotter in the Easy-Bake Oven that is our 1947 house, fashionably insulated with sawdust (now long settled to the bottom 2" of the walls).

But, no. My Boy wants to wear his one-piece footed fleece PJs, because, well because they are "cozy". A little too cozy, in my opinion. After a long drawn-out struggle (and let's not get into that here, mixed company and all) I give up and on go the cozys. So, I go to check on Mr. IWannaBeKozy before I turn in myself, and he is lying in a pool of sweat, hair matted, cheeks red. Melted, really.

Life with a 3-year-old is an endless series of negotiations. I mean, I am glad, and I want to foster, independence and decision-making abilities, god knows, but ... just once can we leave the house without a strength-sapping "discussion" over footwear choice? This Thomas shirt or this Thomas shirt? Desert if you eat 3 bites of this. Sometimes (often, even) my style of parenting comes down to bribes, bribes and more bribes. (Those saavy with linguistic framing call this "incenting".)

Hmmm ... maybe this could work with my husband, even ...