Broody

Broody is a term which means "maternal". As in longing for a baby.

I feel broody. Not as badly as when Stella was 12-18 months, and I felt like there was someone out there in the universe calling my name. But still. I see a baby and I go weak inside with longing. Envy. For the sweet uninhibited smile, for the closeness, for the heaviness of together.

Ah, longing battling reason. Do I need a baby to throw a wrench into my already stressed-out, over-juggled, grumpy-grumpy life? No, I do not. And yet, and I do not want to give the baby back that I hold and inhale the sweet scent of. Someone else's baby.

I tell people about my broodiness -- my mom, my aunt, my neighbour -- and they look at me like I've grown horns. "That's the last thing you need!" they exclaim. And they're right. I nearly lost my mind the 1st year of Stella's life.

Maybe I'll get a dog instead ...

Vacation!

Pow!

People always joke about "mommy-brain", like you lose part of your brain when you gain a kid. I think that you don't lose your intellectual capacity -- it's just that so much more is demanded of it.

Sometimes I think that my brain will explode from all that I am trying to store in there -- remember swimsuit for Francis for Wed., remember to research the long-term effect of melatonin supplements, need to reschedule Stella's dentist appointment, ask Dan if he paid the Telus bill, do I still have to finish that presentation for work by Monday, need to follow up and see if Mom needs help on Saturday, talk to Katie's mom about organizing the BBQ (did she make the invitations?), remember to buy a baby shower gift for Charlotte ...

Pow! My head just exploded! I imagine it spiraling off in some kind of cartoonish way.

Why don't men have this problem? Why don't they set up playdates, remember the names of the caregivers at the daycare, buy the birthday presents? Maybe it is not important to them that Christiane is Aidan's sister? Maybe it is a Venus/Mars thing.

I don't know. What I do know is that I've tried almost every organizational tool (GoogleCalendar, Blackberry, Outlook, paper daytimer, big wall calendar) and still I am a rat running on a treadmill going too fast. Stick around, and maybe you will even witness my head going ...

Pow!

Yes, I am the Boss of You

The by-line here, is, to quote Stella, "I so cute". I agree, don't you?

It is much harder to let go than I had imaged BC (before-children). I don't want them to watch Spider-man, to play with guns or barbies, eat food with artifical dyes (it makes Francis beyond hyper), drink from BPA-laden cups .... is that really so limiting? I just want to protect them a little from the overt marketing and plastic-ness and consumerism and disposable happiness that seems to be everywhere. Maybe just protect them until they can understand why it weirds me out? (It weirds me out, and yet, I do long for the new shiny liptint from Benefit ... with new shoes to match, of course. And especially if it has been featured in a 2-page ad in Real Simple).

I guess I had imagined crafting their life so that it looked like an advertisement from a Montessori-supply catalog. (1 set of upper case wooden letters - only US$120!). I am weak -- they eat take-out. They watch videos. They wear non-organic cotton from The Gap. They eat pesticide-laden blueberries (washed, of course).

Maybe I am just providing them with fodder for dinner-time stories ("and my mom fed us BBQed tofu!"). But, maybe, during this small window of influence that I have, I can share a little of why my values are my values. Why violence is bad. Why we should treat others with kindness and empathy. And why, god damn it, you have to eat that nice organic broccoli I worked so hard to cook for you!

Now I am FIve!

My little baby boy is five years old! Sometimes when he explodes into our bedroom in the morning demanding toast or rattling off the details of some long involved dream, I am surprised by this lanky person who is my son. I tease him, asking him where my baby boy went, and show him that this little bit here, by his belly button, is still my baby. However, he feels very grownup, he tells me that he is almost an adult now, and that I am not the boss of him, both of which are true, really.

This year was yet another birthday cake fiasco. A boy at Francis' party told me that the cake was really ugly. Fair enough -- it's not like he was telling me this with malice from the bottom of his little 5-year old heart -- he was just commenting on what he saw as true. I picked out what I thought was a super-easy design, but much skewering and cementing with icing was involved (there must have been an inch of icing on this baby). I am obviously icing impaired. I resolve yet again to take a cake-decorating course at SAIT.

We had Francis' birthday party at a Gymnastics club because just the idea of hosting 8-10 5-year old at my little 700 sq ft house fills me with terror. So, it was worth every penny to have them not bouncing on my furniture (a certain guest last year found my sewing shears and secretly went to work on my curtains) but rather bouncing on equipment designed for bouncing. Five-year boys have a lot of energy. A lot of enthusiasm. Which is admirable, breathtaking, and exhausting. They are .... so boyish. I've been reading Susan Pinker's "The Sexual Paradox", which explains how men and women are neurological wired to be different, and parenting Stella and Francis really makes Pinker's thesis strike home with me. Stella cuddles her dollys, her stuffies, her blankies ... Francis tries to see how far he can throw them.

Anyway, here's to being Five. To stepping out and asking about how the world works. To having a "best friend". To discovering what is "fair". May my boy never be too big to give his old Mom a cuddle. Happy Birthday, Francis. You will always be my baby, sweetheart.

Super Trooper

Stella is our Super Trooper, really.

She is recovering from operation #3, anesthetic #4; three operations in 2 years. Geez. This round, our new ENT, Dr. Brookes, removed Stella's adenoids. We are hoping that this will help her sinuses to drain, thus stopping the constant ear infections, eye infections, chest infections resulting from what is, basically, snot overload and containment.

She was sick with a cold when she when in for her operation, so some fluid got in her lungs and she had to stay overnight to bring her oxygen levels up to normal. I was informed by the nurses that I was expected to stay overnight (making my stay a total of 24 hours).

Me: Um, OK, well, I wasn't expecting this. Where can I sleep?
Nurse: We can bring you a blanket.
Me: You want me to sleep on this chair? (gesturing towards a plastic cafeteria-type chair by Stella's bed).
Nurse: We can bring you a blanket.

Lovely. Perhaps the possibility that I could get into a car accident driving my small child home from the hospital because I hadn't slept in over 24 hours hadn't occurred to Nurse Cranky? That I could get ticketed and charged with an Impaired because of lack of sleep? Not her problem. She needed someone to keep my daughter quiet and occupied while she did paperwork. That Stella's teenage room-mate was having a slumber party with her parents, boyfriend, and everyone she could reach by cell-phone wasn't helping matters either, in terms of Stella or I sleeping.

I mean, I applaud that the new doctrine of "Family-Centered Care" means that it is possible (but, alas, not likely) that the concerns and involvement of the patients family is considered. (My 80-year neighbour told me the story of her daughter's hospitalization at 5 months for 2 weeks, during which time she was never allowed to see her.) But, in my experience, the reality of "family-centered care" is that it translates to "Mama does it all" -- cut costs by off-loading it to Mama. Mama does it all! Health advocate! Nurse! (oh, you can change those dressings yourself). Physical therapist! Speech therapist! Development aide! It's a wonder that Mama has time to do any Mama-ing.

So, I went home and slept right through phone calls #1 and #2 from Nurse Cranky ordering me back to the hospital, and got reamed out by Nurse Cranky when I returned in the morning. Yes, I was a bad, bad, mother, I left my baby and she woke up crying for her Mama. But, here's the thing -- I can't look after her if I am not functioning myself. I wasn't asking for some spa-time -- I was asking for 6 hours uninterrupted sleep.

Oh, dear. This post is turning into a post about me. But really, it is about Stella. Her resilience is amazing. She was up and about today smiling, doing her current routine Pulling Every Book From the Shelf. (Oh, what fun!)

Now I am Two

My baby girl is two years old! It is a huge clique because it is so true -- the kids grow up so fast. Now that she is walking (with confidence!) she truly seems like a little girl now, no longer my baby. I find myself clinging to her babyhood a lot harder than I did to Francis -- because she is my last baby? because she is a girl? because she is delayed? With Francis, there was more celebration and less sorrow than for Stella's accomplishments.

We had a small party at home for Stella -- our house is small and when it is full I go crazy. I made two cakes for Stella -- a Finnish rolled cake (with raspberries and whipped cream), and a vegan almond sour cherry cake (the MIL is lactose intolerant). Neither of the cakes turned out to my satisfaction -- I baked the rolled cake the night before and rolled it the next day (bad idea), and the sour cherry cake was dry. Hopefully I will have better luck with the pirate ship cake I have been requested to make for Francis' birthday. There was a lot of cake. I have a feeling that Orangette would have done better.

Stella is truly our super-star -- Dan told me that yesterday she said "Where's Mama, Daddy?". Amazing. Truly. FSCD is (surprise!) trying to cut our funding now that we have our new aide, Bojana. There's this great Catch-22: if Stella makes no progress, then the Aide is not accomplishing the goals and we don't deserve funding, but if Stella makes great progress, then she doesn't need aide services. If we lose the funding for our aide, the chances of getting another aide is pretty slim (there are over 250 kids on the waiting list for aide services at PACE). Sigh. I feel like whenever I get to stand up the rug gets pulled out from under me again. On the one hand, the government agrees that the window from ages 1-3 is a huge opportunity to invest in our kids, but then they withold funding for early education and other services. Arrggh!

Anyway, I digress. Let us salute the sweet and strong spirit that is Stella Juliette Doll. Happy Birthday, my love!

Dancing Queen

Stella loves music. All kinds of music -- Raffi, hip-hop, polka, rock, pop. She also loves to dance. My mom got her the LeapFrog Barn, which plays "Old MacDonald" and other favorites, and Francis has the LeapFrog Alphabet from several Christmas' ago. Stella plays with them all the time. I just had to share a video of her dancing. Stella has so much joy in movement -- it gives me great pleasure just to watch her.

We finally got her into "Baby & Me" music classes at the Conservatory at MRC. HUGE waiting list -- unbelievable. We only got her in because Francis is currently taking Orff at the Conservatory and she is therefore a sibling. (A much shorter waiting list for older children -- the enthusiam burns off? It is crazily expensive -- and most of the enrollees don't show up -- most classes it is the instructor and Francis and maybe 2 other children). I have to say that Francis is less than enthusiastic about music lessons, even though Mr. Holger understands boys and the class is Music & Movement. (Francis is ready for serious music instruction like I am ready to sit down and follow a season of WWF wrestling). We make him go because we feel that it is, like broccoli, good for him. I have also read some research that music, specifically playing an instrument like piano or guitar, helps to integrate the 2 hemispheres of the brain, so of course I am excited about it for Stella.

Wouldn't it be nice if everyone could dance with abandon and sheer enjoyment of their bodies like Stella does? Accept their bodies and the ability to move as the gift that they are?