Babies are incredible. They capture our hearts, and demand constant attention. They grow and change before our very eyes, constantly seeking approval and affection. I love watching my babies eyes light up when they realize I am near. It makes me feel wanted. Adored. Loved.
I haven't written here in quite awhile. It's been a busy two years for us...AJ is now two years old, and our newest addition, Si, is almost 6 months old. It's hard to believe that time had flown so quickly. I have these two amazing, beautiful children who make my day, everyday. However did I get so lucky?
It's been a long road. There have been a lot of sleepless nights. A lot. I've spent the past two years (with the exception of the past three weeks) battling a the terrible sleep habits of my toddler. Somehow, by some miracle, my oldest has figured out how to sleep on his own. And not just sleep on his own, but FALL asleep on his own...so I have been given the wonderful gift of sleep by my children (Silas was a sleep champ from week 3). Despite the copious amounts of sleep my children are getting each night, I rarely find myself able to sleep more than five hours at a stretch. I've been waking up at regular intervals to soothe a child for 2 years! I guess it's bound to take some time before my body adjusts to this newfound freedom.
I have also yet to stop myself from staying up far too late facebooking and surfing the net...i mean, really...I could be getting ten hours of sleep every night...but most nights I choose to get only 6 or 7. I guess that's the next step. Taking back the hours of sleep I've been missing out on!
Hmmmm. I'll have to try that......well......Maybe tomorrow.
G'nite.
06 September 2010
11 April 2009
W is for Wine...Red Wine, that is...
Now that I'm all but finished my breastfeeding experience (the little monster learned how to use his two shiny new front teeth - and I was done), I've rediscovered the beauty of red wine. There were many things during pregnancy that I could have done without...one of which was the necessity of abstaining from red wine. I only discovered that I enjoyed it a mere two months before I found out I was pregnant...In fact, red wine is possibly the very reason why I became pregnant in the first place. But all that aside, I must admit that I am enjoying being able to enjoy a glass (or a bottle) of my favourite indulgence once more.
I'm not a drinker. Although I usually enjoy drinking under the right circumstances, I have been known to have the most horrific hangovers of all time. My closest girlfriends know best how absolutely essential it is that I have gravol and gatorade on hand if we're about to have a night out. Give me gravol the night before or give me death the morning after. Seriously.
It's been awhile since I've been able to imbibe in the presence of my closest friends. The last time I tried to drink was before Christmas of 2007...at the yearly Festivus celebrations, to be exact...I arrived at the party with every intention of getting absolutely blasted with my best friends...imagine my surprise when, after one and a half glasses of (you guessed it) red wine, I almost threw up all over the buffet. I suppose that was the first sign of many which culminated in my taking a pregnancy test five days later, on boxing day. I ended up being the DD that night.
Now that I have the result of that pregnancy test residing in living colour in my living room, my opportunities for nights out with the girls seem limited at best, and an absolute impossibility at worst. No one ever tells you about the realities of mommyhood. That you will feel the inevitable tug of pre-mommy freedom calling your name, tempting you to do what you used to....followed by the inevitable guilt and restrictions that caring for a small being places upon you. It's times like these that I wished I lived back home where grandma and grandpa (times two) are available to babysit if said pre-mommy urges hit me unexpectedly.
Unfortunately, I do not live back home. I live 7 hours away from home. Besides, we're not in high school anymore. It's just not the same...the best times with girlfriends are had at Christmas parties and on New Years Eve, not at the bar every weekend. I suppose I'm lamenting the loss of some foreign excursions from years gone by....I guess I'll just have to settle for next year's Festivus...but what I wouldn't give for one more Wednesday night of Karaoke with my closest girlfriends...ahhhhhhh, the freedom.
NOT.
I'm not a drinker. Although I usually enjoy drinking under the right circumstances, I have been known to have the most horrific hangovers of all time. My closest girlfriends know best how absolutely essential it is that I have gravol and gatorade on hand if we're about to have a night out. Give me gravol the night before or give me death the morning after. Seriously.
It's been awhile since I've been able to imbibe in the presence of my closest friends. The last time I tried to drink was before Christmas of 2007...at the yearly Festivus celebrations, to be exact...I arrived at the party with every intention of getting absolutely blasted with my best friends...imagine my surprise when, after one and a half glasses of (you guessed it) red wine, I almost threw up all over the buffet. I suppose that was the first sign of many which culminated in my taking a pregnancy test five days later, on boxing day. I ended up being the DD that night.
Now that I have the result of that pregnancy test residing in living colour in my living room, my opportunities for nights out with the girls seem limited at best, and an absolute impossibility at worst. No one ever tells you about the realities of mommyhood. That you will feel the inevitable tug of pre-mommy freedom calling your name, tempting you to do what you used to....followed by the inevitable guilt and restrictions that caring for a small being places upon you. It's times like these that I wished I lived back home where grandma and grandpa (times two) are available to babysit if said pre-mommy urges hit me unexpectedly.
Unfortunately, I do not live back home. I live 7 hours away from home. Besides, we're not in high school anymore. It's just not the same...the best times with girlfriends are had at Christmas parties and on New Years Eve, not at the bar every weekend. I suppose I'm lamenting the loss of some foreign excursions from years gone by....I guess I'll just have to settle for next year's Festivus...but what I wouldn't give for one more Wednesday night of Karaoke with my closest girlfriends...ahhhhhhh, the freedom.
NOT.
20 November 2008
U is for "Unconditional Love"
I never would have imagined that it was possible to love something so much. I've loved a lot in my life - people, places, things - but there is no doubt in my sleep-deprived mind that I have found the love of my life. Once upon a time, I thought that I would never love something as much as I loved R...once glance into the slate blue eyes of my adorable offspring and I was forced to reconsider (Sorry, babe!).
I must admit, it's terrifying. Terrifying to know that you love something so much. Possibly more than life itself. No, not possibly. Absolutely. It's hard to believe sometimes that I created the being that snuggles in my arms for 12-18 hours a day. It's equally hard to believe that you could have ever lived without it. And the worst thing imaginable becomes the thought of what you would ever do if you were to lose it.
Unthinkable.
People told me when I was pregnant how much I would love my child. How all of the discomforts of pregnancy and childbirth would disappear the minute I looked into the eyes of my baby boy. How I would become consumed by my love for this little person. They were right.
I have to be honest, it didn't happen immediately. My labour and delivery seem like a bad nightmare - in which only the moments of sheer terror and pain remain. I don't even really recall a sense of relief or ecstasy as my baby was born. Except for the relief that the pain was finally over, and a brief thought to how I was going to ensure that my next child was born in a hospital that offered an epidural. I felt numb.
The week or so immediately following labour and delivery passed in a blur of sleepless nights and days of exhaustion. I felt like a jersey cow, with my milkbags permanently on display. Somehow, through the haze of new motherhood, the day came when I looked into the eyes of my newborn son and realized that I was doing the single most important job of my entire life. I had already spent nine months "cooking up a good one" (as the random woman in Walmart told me last week)...now I was to spend the next 18 years nurturing the soul of this little man I held before me. A great responsibility had fallen upon me...and unbelievably, I actually felt up to the challenge.
I must admit, it's terrifying. Terrifying to know that you love something so much. Possibly more than life itself. No, not possibly. Absolutely. It's hard to believe sometimes that I created the being that snuggles in my arms for 12-18 hours a day. It's equally hard to believe that you could have ever lived without it. And the worst thing imaginable becomes the thought of what you would ever do if you were to lose it.
Unthinkable.
People told me when I was pregnant how much I would love my child. How all of the discomforts of pregnancy and childbirth would disappear the minute I looked into the eyes of my baby boy. How I would become consumed by my love for this little person. They were right.
I have to be honest, it didn't happen immediately. My labour and delivery seem like a bad nightmare - in which only the moments of sheer terror and pain remain. I don't even really recall a sense of relief or ecstasy as my baby was born. Except for the relief that the pain was finally over, and a brief thought to how I was going to ensure that my next child was born in a hospital that offered an epidural. I felt numb.
The week or so immediately following labour and delivery passed in a blur of sleepless nights and days of exhaustion. I felt like a jersey cow, with my milkbags permanently on display. Somehow, through the haze of new motherhood, the day came when I looked into the eyes of my newborn son and realized that I was doing the single most important job of my entire life. I had already spent nine months "cooking up a good one" (as the random woman in Walmart told me last week)...now I was to spend the next 18 years nurturing the soul of this little man I held before me. A great responsibility had fallen upon me...and unbelievably, I actually felt up to the challenge.
20 September 2008
S is for "Sleep Experiment"
When I was pregnant, everyone said to me, "enjoy your sleep/time/freedom while you have it...soon life will be very different!" Although I knew that there was surely some kernel of truth in their words, I chose to brush them off with a sort of nonchalant "yeah, that's what I hear...". Unfortunately, it's difficult to enjoy your sleep, time, or freedom when you're 11 months pregnant. You can rarely get comfortable (whether sleeping or awake), and the only time you feel remotely free is when you're in a swimming pool or floating in a lake - mostly beacause you don't have to exert any energy to move your enormous girth about. Turns out I should have tried harder to follow everyone's advice. I had no idea exactly how different life would be. The euphoria that came with the birth of our son quickly wore off as the reality of life with baby set in...
Sleep? Non-existent. Every two to three hours I am woken by a small being rooting around for a nipple. He wants milk, and he wants it now. If he doesn't get it, let the games begin! His cry (which we were led to believe didn't exist while in the relatively peaceful calm of the maternity ward) pierces the night, sending the cats scurrying to the basement to escape the horror. I read somewhere that REM sleep is the sleep that allows adults to sort out their thoughts, put their brain back into working order, and get the deep restful sleep that we all need so much. This is all fine and well, except for the fact that REM sleep is the last part of your sleep cycle. It only occurs after a number of hours of uninterrupted slumber. Coincidentally, a great number of hours more than is usually absorbed by the likes of a new mother. New mothers only ever sleep an hour or two at a time...therefore, they can usually say goodbye to REM sleep for at least the first year of their child's life. Which means that they never feel rested. They are always beat. Half deranged with lack of sleep. Overly emotional about everything.
Lesson to new fathers: new mothers are under the influence of a similar sleep experiment to one used on chinese war prisoners long ago. They are woken up every hour or two to feed and change a growing, squirming, pooping, crying being on demand. This type of frequent wakefulness is akin to torture. In fact, it is a type of torture. One that is still being used in military prisoner camps around the world.
DO NOT TEST/TEASE/PLAY JOKES (no matter how harmless they may seem) ON THE NEW MOTHER. IT MAY RESULT IN SERIOUS INJURY/DEATH TO DADDY.
Time? A word that has lost it's place in my vocabulary. Unless, that is, if it's said in the following contexts: "time to feed the baby" or "time to change your bum!" My husband occasionally asks me what day it is...you're asking the wrong person, buddy! I rarely have any idea what day of the month it is, or even if we're still in the month I think it is! The response I usually get is "Must be nice to not know what day it is." That's what you think!
And freedom?
Let's not even go there. Welcome to motherhood. Enjoy.
Sleep? Non-existent. Every two to three hours I am woken by a small being rooting around for a nipple. He wants milk, and he wants it now. If he doesn't get it, let the games begin! His cry (which we were led to believe didn't exist while in the relatively peaceful calm of the maternity ward) pierces the night, sending the cats scurrying to the basement to escape the horror. I read somewhere that REM sleep is the sleep that allows adults to sort out their thoughts, put their brain back into working order, and get the deep restful sleep that we all need so much. This is all fine and well, except for the fact that REM sleep is the last part of your sleep cycle. It only occurs after a number of hours of uninterrupted slumber. Coincidentally, a great number of hours more than is usually absorbed by the likes of a new mother. New mothers only ever sleep an hour or two at a time...therefore, they can usually say goodbye to REM sleep for at least the first year of their child's life. Which means that they never feel rested. They are always beat. Half deranged with lack of sleep. Overly emotional about everything.
Lesson to new fathers: new mothers are under the influence of a similar sleep experiment to one used on chinese war prisoners long ago. They are woken up every hour or two to feed and change a growing, squirming, pooping, crying being on demand. This type of frequent wakefulness is akin to torture. In fact, it is a type of torture. One that is still being used in military prisoner camps around the world.
DO NOT TEST/TEASE/PLAY JOKES (no matter how harmless they may seem) ON THE NEW MOTHER. IT MAY RESULT IN SERIOUS INJURY/DEATH TO DADDY.
Time? A word that has lost it's place in my vocabulary. Unless, that is, if it's said in the following contexts: "time to feed the baby" or "time to change your bum!" My husband occasionally asks me what day it is...you're asking the wrong person, buddy! I rarely have any idea what day of the month it is, or even if we're still in the month I think it is! The response I usually get is "Must be nice to not know what day it is." That's what you think!
And freedom?
Let's not even go there. Welcome to motherhood. Enjoy.
17 September 2008
V is for "Vegas, Baby!"
I decided tonight that it was about time I stopped neglecting my blog. It's been a good 8 months since I've written anything here...and a lot has changed in that time. The last few entries took place over the Christmas holidays. On Boxing Day I made a wonderous discovery - I was harbouring a new life inside my body. It was no wonder those 2 glasses of wine at Festivus made me ill...there was a tiny being inside of me saying, "MOM, I don't LIKE wine!!"
We got married shortly after. Just to clarify...it was not a shotgun wedding...we'd sent the invites out in September. The wedding took place on March 8th, 2008 in Las Vegas, Nevada. We had managed to keep the news of our little bun in the oven a secret so far...but did we ever have a surprise for everyone at the wedding dinner!!! Needless to say, the whole crowd was pretty shocked - especially our parents and siblings. Suddenly, so many things became clear to so many people...the reason why my friends poured an entire bottle of red wine (minus one glass) into the sink at my bachelorette party...why I was the designated driver at every event over the holidays (including New Years!)...why I kept refusing R's mom as she attempted to inebriate me with her extensive wine collection...why my mom kept having dreams about babies (seriously, she did!)...the list goes on and on. I actually can't believe that no one figured it out earlier.
And so, the weekend wedding in Vegas came to a conclusion, all of our friends and family headed home, and we drove off into the sunset in our rented Mustang convertible. :-) We did an incredible figure 8 loop through Zion, Kaibab National Forest, Lake Powell, Grand Canyon, Death Valley, Kern Valley, Sequoia National Forest, San Francisco, Big Sur, Pismo Beach, and back to Vegas. It was the most amazing trip ever. I saw oranges and lemons on trees for the first time...and ate the single most delicious mandarin orange of life. That's right, of LIFE.
The only downside was that for the first half of the three week wedding/honeymoon combo, I was still suffering from morning sickness...this made it nearly impossible for me to eat anything except cucumbers in white vinegar (which is mighty difficult to find in the United States...apparantly no one eats anything but cider vinegar!) and Wendy's Spicy Chicken sandwiches (not so difficult to track down - except in Las Vegas!). We spent almost an hour trying to find a wendy's in the suburbs of Vegas. It sucked, but man did that Spicy Chicken taste good. And although I am in no way endorsing Wendy's...but they really were the only thing that tasted good for about 4 days. The bonus for Ryan was that he got to eat all the meals I ordered but couldn't stomach.
While our trip was fun while it lasted, it had to end sometime. After our stay in Big Sur (the Ripplewood Resort comes highly recommended...what an incredible place!) and 3 nights of relaxation in Pismo Beach, we beelined it back to Las Vegas to hit up the MGM casino once more before we caught our flight home. Ryan got swindled by promises of big money by the airport slot machines, while I revelled in the beauty of free wireless in the waiting area. We sadly left sunny California and the heat of Nevada far behind, and exited the plane in Winterpeg...to endure the remainder of winter in Whitedog.
We got married shortly after. Just to clarify...it was not a shotgun wedding...we'd sent the invites out in September. The wedding took place on March 8th, 2008 in Las Vegas, Nevada. We had managed to keep the news of our little bun in the oven a secret so far...but did we ever have a surprise for everyone at the wedding dinner!!! Needless to say, the whole crowd was pretty shocked - especially our parents and siblings. Suddenly, so many things became clear to so many people...the reason why my friends poured an entire bottle of red wine (minus one glass) into the sink at my bachelorette party...why I was the designated driver at every event over the holidays (including New Years!)...why I kept refusing R's mom as she attempted to inebriate me with her extensive wine collection...why my mom kept having dreams about babies (seriously, she did!)...the list goes on and on. I actually can't believe that no one figured it out earlier.
And so, the weekend wedding in Vegas came to a conclusion, all of our friends and family headed home, and we drove off into the sunset in our rented Mustang convertible. :-) We did an incredible figure 8 loop through Zion, Kaibab National Forest, Lake Powell, Grand Canyon, Death Valley, Kern Valley, Sequoia National Forest, San Francisco, Big Sur, Pismo Beach, and back to Vegas. It was the most amazing trip ever. I saw oranges and lemons on trees for the first time...and ate the single most delicious mandarin orange of life. That's right, of LIFE.
The only downside was that for the first half of the three week wedding/honeymoon combo, I was still suffering from morning sickness...this made it nearly impossible for me to eat anything except cucumbers in white vinegar (which is mighty difficult to find in the United States...apparantly no one eats anything but cider vinegar!) and Wendy's Spicy Chicken sandwiches (not so difficult to track down - except in Las Vegas!). We spent almost an hour trying to find a wendy's in the suburbs of Vegas. It sucked, but man did that Spicy Chicken taste good. And although I am in no way endorsing Wendy's...but they really were the only thing that tasted good for about 4 days. The bonus for Ryan was that he got to eat all the meals I ordered but couldn't stomach.
While our trip was fun while it lasted, it had to end sometime. After our stay in Big Sur (the Ripplewood Resort comes highly recommended...what an incredible place!) and 3 nights of relaxation in Pismo Beach, we beelined it back to Las Vegas to hit up the MGM casino once more before we caught our flight home. Ryan got swindled by promises of big money by the airport slot machines, while I revelled in the beauty of free wireless in the waiting area. We sadly left sunny California and the heat of Nevada far behind, and exited the plane in Winterpeg...to endure the remainder of winter in Whitedog.
24 December 2007
F is for "Festivus"
Ahhhhh...Festivus. One night of mayhem with a number of traditions involved.
Our evening began with the classic potluck dinner consisting of a large variety of ethnic foods available for consumption. Some of the favourites were the cabbage rolls, pancakes, greek salad, bologna and ketchup sandwitches, and KFC. There were also some wonderful desserts like swedish berry brownies, chocolate cherry cake, and some wonderful shortbread cookies. MMMM.
The night continued with much merriment as people ate, drank, played guitar hero, and thought of clever things to write on the "Airing of Grievances" banner in the bathroom. I am still amazed at this guitar hero phenomenon. I'm not quite sure I 'get' it. If people spent as much time actually trying to play a REAL guitar instead of trying to beat the 'expert' level, they'd be awesome musicians in REAL life.
The "Airing of Grievances" was read late in the evening to much laughter and joking...we left before the ever popular "Feats of Strength" ensued, however, I'm sure it was a good time as well. We headed home to get some rest before the next two days of craziness begin. Merry Christmas to you. Have a Happy Holiday!
Festivus YES, Bagels NO!
Our evening began with the classic potluck dinner consisting of a large variety of ethnic foods available for consumption. Some of the favourites were the cabbage rolls, pancakes, greek salad, bologna and ketchup sandwitches, and KFC. There were also some wonderful desserts like swedish berry brownies, chocolate cherry cake, and some wonderful shortbread cookies. MMMM.
The night continued with much merriment as people ate, drank, played guitar hero, and thought of clever things to write on the "Airing of Grievances" banner in the bathroom. I am still amazed at this guitar hero phenomenon. I'm not quite sure I 'get' it. If people spent as much time actually trying to play a REAL guitar instead of trying to beat the 'expert' level, they'd be awesome musicians in REAL life.
The "Airing of Grievances" was read late in the evening to much laughter and joking...we left before the ever popular "Feats of Strength" ensued, however, I'm sure it was a good time as well. We headed home to get some rest before the next two days of craziness begin. Merry Christmas to you. Have a Happy Holiday!
Festivus YES, Bagels NO!
16 December 2007
R is for "Retrieval"
Retrieval....or Redemption, I suppose. Today I discovered a wonderful thing.
Let's start at the beginning, shall we?
Four days ago, our young puppy, incredibly excited at the
prospect of chasing our cat (and completely unaware of her ever-increasing size), got tangled in a very important cord as she raced across the room. One end of the cord was hooked into my fiance's computer. The other end (ohhhhh, the other end) was attached to our 500GB backup hard drive, sitting on the side table.
Backup hard drive. Containing precisely that. Backups (appproximately 300 GB worth) of everything under the sun that is - was - of any importance to us. Movies, music, school work from the last three years of teaching, university files, and the most devastating of all, 8 years of photo shooting.
Photography is our hobby, and apparently we're quite good. When we realized that the hard drive no longer functioned, I literally almost threw up. Although we had just made a succulent dinner of honey-glazed salmon and salad, I didn't eat a bite that night. I couldn't. I was sick at the thought of all my photos, gone. Lost to the land of broken technology.
We spent hours looking on the internet for ways to fix our problem. There seemed to be only possible solution...sending our precious hard drive to a 'data retrieval' company in Toronto. For the low, low price of $800-1600, they will repair and retrieve whatever they possibly can from our drive. Although they have assured us that their retrieval rates are quite high, I'm still resigned to the fact that all is lost. After all, their success rate is only around 90%. It's still possible they won't be able to get our data back. At least we won't have to pay if they can't fix it.
Nonetheless, I'm praying to the Gods of Technology to return my beloved photos to me.
Back to today. My wonderful experience of 'retrieval'. I bought a new camera this weekend. It's a Pentax Optio W30. It's waterproof and dustproof, which should come in handy during our honeymoon through the desert and Big Sur in March. I was testing it out, and after downloading the pictures onto my computer, I realized that there was another folder present on my 2GB SD card. It was called "Pic Show."
No, I thought. It can't be.
But it was. In this folder was 400 of our best photos from the summer, as well as a few random good shots from the last couple of years. The picture show that we'd put together at the end of August in order to show our parents the highlights of our summer travels through Riding Mountain National Park, Regina, Moose Jaw, Dinosaur Provincial Park, Calgary, Lake Louise, Glacier National Park, Kelowna, and back to Toronto. What a find!
And so....Retrieval. A redemption of sorts. All is not lost. Well, I guess most of the photos still are.
But I guess I should look on the bright side. It's better than nothing, right?
Let's start at the beginning, shall we?
Four days ago, our young puppy, incredibly excited at the
prospect of chasing our cat (and completely unaware of her ever-increasing size), got tangled in a very important cord as she raced across the room. One end of the cord was hooked into my fiance's computer. The other end (ohhhhh, the other end) was attached to our 500GB backup hard drive, sitting on the side table.
Backup hard drive. Containing precisely that. Backups (appproximately 300 GB worth) of everything under the sun that is - was - of any importance to us. Movies, music, school work from the last three years of teaching, university files, and the most devastating of all, 8 years of photo shooting.
Photography is our hobby, and apparently we're quite good. When we realized that the hard drive no longer functioned, I literally almost threw up. Although we had just made a succulent dinner of honey-glazed salmon and salad, I didn't eat a bite that night. I couldn't. I was sick at the thought of all my photos, gone. Lost to the land of broken technology.
We spent hours looking on the internet for ways to fix our problem. There seemed to be only possible solution...sending our precious hard drive to a 'data retrieval' company in Toronto. For the low, low price of $800-1600, they will repair and retrieve whatever they possibly can from our drive. Although they have assured us that their retrieval rates are quite high, I'm still resigned to the fact that all is lost. After all, their success rate is only around 90%. It's still possible they won't be able to get our data back. At least we won't have to pay if they can't fix it.Nonetheless, I'm praying to the Gods of Technology to return my beloved photos to me.
Back to today. My wonderful experience of 'retrieval'. I bought a new camera this weekend. It's a Pentax Optio W30. It's waterproof and dustproof, which should come in handy during our honeymoon through the desert and Big Sur in March. I was testing it out, and after downloading the pictures onto my computer, I realized that there was another folder present on my 2GB SD card. It was called "Pic Show."No, I thought. It can't be.
But it was. In this folder was 400 of our best photos from the summer, as well as a few random good shots from the last couple of years. The picture show that we'd put together at the end of August in order to show our parents the highlights of our summer travels through Riding Mountain National Park, Regina, Moose Jaw, Dinosaur Provincial Park, Calgary, Lake Louise, Glacier National Park, Kelowna, and back to Toronto. What a find!
And so....Retrieval. A redemption of sorts. All is not lost. Well, I guess most of the photos still are.But I guess I should look on the bright side. It's better than nothing, right?
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