turning over a new leaf

april, may, june, july 2006

things have not gone well.  this whole transition to motherhood- nope, not easy.  how come no one warned me?  i’m a little upset at the lack of honesty.  humanity has let me down.  why didn’t any of the mom’s come clean beforehand and tell me the brutal truth?!  is that what all the code language is around 8 months when people say “make sure you rest now, because you won’t when the baby comes!” or “having a baby sure changed my life!” if i could go back in time, i would look them in the eyes and say - “expand on that please.”

delivery was easy (enough).  check mark. good. done. survived.  anything now is easy-peasy, right?

nursing.  not good.

sleeping.  not good.

a “good” baby.  (translation: an easy baby). not looking so good.

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oh, but i have a few things i can say YES to:

mastitis? a resounding yes (twice actually)

thrush? yes.

feeding problems beyond latching issues.  absolutely.

feeling like a mom that wants to call it a day.  every day.  yes.

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a mother’s group.  THAT is supposed to help.  support, right? the idea is suggested to me.  it’s not new.  it’s in the swackload of baby propaganda that comes from the hospital and the public health nurse and the community. 

yes.  i need to get out more.  i need to connect with other moms.  we can all bond together and make chit chat about our babies.  our babes will grow up and become the bestest of friends ever.  (insert cynicism here).

attitude check.

okay.  i’ll go. 

i pack up the stroller with the essentials.  i’ve got it down to an art by now.  just the bare necessities.  (plus a bit more). 

it feels like the first day of high school.  you have to get the timing just right for these things.  if you arrive too early you can’t control who sits next to you.  if you arrive too late, you have no control over where you get to sit.  dinner parties are like this too. 

strollers are strewn to the side in what looks like a parking lot of amusement bumper cars.  the rainbow colors of the strollers brightening up the lack of atmosphere.  gym mats on the floor.  white brick walls.  it’s the inside of a community centre.  we get to sit on the cobalt blue gym mats.  oh fun.  they smell like stinky gymnastics and dirty feet.  all the mom’s are sitting in a huge circle.  there is probably fifty or more of us.  we all lay out our soft receiving blankets and gently set our infants in front of us like prized cakes.  it looks like a large, pastel picnic. 

the leader begins and we go around the circle with a microphone saying our name and the baby’s name and how old he/she is.  then we get a little lesson on brushing our infants teeth and when and how to go about it.  my baby is barely 2 months old.  i’m more worried about getting her to eat and survive at this point then oral hygiene. 

i notice that there isn’t really support.  it’s competition. 

stroller envy. 

my-kid-is-already-doing-this-bragging.

what?!-your-kid-hasn’t-done-that-yet?! 

your-doctor-said-to-do-what?

does-your-kid-do-this?

nice-shoes-those-are-the-best-for infants!  (there’s a *best* for everything with babies).

is-your-baby-sleeping-through-the-night-yet?

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and the things not spoken.

she’s-in-better-shape-than-me (already)

 at-least-my-kid-has-hair!

formula?!-breast milk-is-best!-how-lazy-of-her.

she’s-not-going-back-to-work?

she’s-back-at-work-already?

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i quit going to mother support groups after awhile.  it was constant competition.  or at the very least, constant comparisons.  not how i wanted to spend my time.  i’m sure many groups are great.  but it wasn’t for me.

why is it that just because we all gave birth to babies around the same month- we all should be friends?  it’s as ridiculous and random as saying “just because you and i like coffee- we will get along great”. 

i start to come undone. 

a mother begins to lose it.

early may. 2006

the weather is warm.  warm enough to shed the layers of winter and feel the sun on your face.  warm enough to drink an iced coffee and second guess yourself about having not applied the sunscreen. 

i’ve made the trek to the high school field where my husband is playing a casual game of ultimate frisbee.  it’s sunday.  it’s a sunny day.  it took a lot of work to get here now that i’m a mom.  diaper bag, bottles, back up formula, soothers, car seat, stroller, hat for the infant, and oh, right… me too. 

i’m determined to get some fresh air.  for all our sakes.  it’s been two very long, very dreary and very terrible months.  i will not be defeated.  (even though my child screamed the whole car ride here).  i repeat.  i will not be defeated. 

i watch from the sidelines.  the baby (at this point) is rather content.  sigh.

i’m not really athletic.  i’m wouldn’t even call myself “sporty”.  competition and i don’t really mix. 

and yet- i realize that if i wanted to play, if i had any desire at all to get out there at that moment… i couldn’t.  i am on the sidelines with my gazillion pounds of baby gear and of course- the baby.  i feel a tinge of panic.  “what in the world have we done- having a kid?”

i feel the huge weight of responsibility.

a mother is born.

feb 7.06

the peach painted walls are nauseating and the poor lighting reflects on the brightly polished floor.  the mothers-to-be are waiting… exhausted.  the partners are taking it all in, doe-eyed.  convincing themselves that this hospital tour is actually important.  that they will be back and it will be the real deal next time.  the pregnant women are clustered in the lobby; we’re waiting for the hospital tour guide to begin.  the novelty of having a tummy that shows has clearly worn off.  we pregnant women look like rosy apples at harvest time, just wanting to be plucked and relieved of the weight.

the tour begins…

we make our way to the labour and delivery ward.  we file into room 2.  it’s a large room, pepto-bismal pink curtains, the usual hospital equipment, a wooden rocking chair in the corner aiming to look quaint and nursery-like.  in a room full of 20 pregnant ladies, who gets the chair?  everyone not pregnant wants to be chivalrous, but there’s just too many of us ladies to accommodate.  we all stand. 

“this is the room, this is the process… this is …” the tour guide rambles on.   my mind is lost.  i just want some pasta to eat.  and then some antacids probably.

feb 25.06

we’re back at the hospital.  it’s the real deal now. 

as i’m rolled into labour and delivery in my wheelchair, i see the nurses at the front desk size me up.  they’re looking at me.  they’re evaluating.  “first time mom?” is probably what they’re thinking.  i’ve gotten that a lot.  it’s as though you don’t get taken seriously if you’re a “first time mom.”  i’m cordial.  (which is big of me considering i’m easily along into labour).

it’s seems as though i actually know what i’m talking about.  i get admitted.  i get a room.  i get room 2.  the same one that our tour took place in.  it’s a strange feeling to be the action and no longer a spectator. 

i hear infants crying in the neighbouring rooms.  a dad walks by.  he looks relieved and tired.  his child has come.  it must be a good feeling to be on the other side.  it hits me.  my baby will be crying soon too.  what will it sound like?  my silent oneness will split and become it’s own.

labour is somewhat like the moment when your life flashes before your eyes.  my only experience with anything similar to this before was a serious car accident.  it’s as though time stands still and your senses are aware and heightened.  everything seems like slow motion, and yet it really isn’t that long. 

“it’s a girl!” the nurse announces at the moment that nine full months have culminated into her arrival.

a child is born.

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the greeting card section.  i find it a bit overwhelming sometimes.  so many options.  it’s not always easy to find what you want to convey in a sea of neatly folded papers. 

i was taking my time to find the perfect mother’s day cards.  rose colored tabs marked the intended receiver… “mother, mother-in-law, sister, grandmother, like a mother to me, father.”

“father?!” i stopped.

yes, neatly marked FATHER in a pastel pink divider. 

i stepped back- yes… it’s the month of may, not june.  it’s mother’s day.

i HAD to look at this.

i pulled out the card.  it was powder blue on the outside with a feeble attempt of a stylized silver flower and it said something to the effect of:

“Dad, we know that Mother’s Day is a special day and we want to let you know that YOU’RE special too”  

the inside was scribed,

“So thanks for being such a great Dad and enjoy this special day!”

seriously?  a mother’s day card for dad so that he doesn’t feel left out?!  he only has to wait 4 weeks and he’ll have his own special day called FATHER’S day!  i kind of wonder if there will be father’s day cards for mother’s in june?

to better things (unlike overachieving greeting cards),

happy sunny monday

steph

… is pretty good.

you know that song that religious people sing at easter…

“hallelujah! hallelujah! hallelujah! hallelujah! ha-LE-lu-jah!”

it’s very triumphant and victorious and emphatic and very long.

well- i realized (along with my silent “yes!” and fist pump- so 90’s)  i sing the chorus in my head just about every day when i finally get toddlergirl down for her nap.  except today i realized i was singing it under my breath.

i’m so tired.

to better things (like sleep),

steph 

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on a cold and rainy west coast morning, i bring to you a little warmth.  my chocolate chip cookie recipe.  i originally found this version in my mother’s tattered and falling a part, hardbound edition of good housekeeping recipes.  you know, the recipe book that she got as a wedding present light years ago and it’s lost it’s book jacket and what’s left is a boring manila colored book but really it contains all the secrets to culinary goodness.  i’ve adjusted the recipe over the years and this is my version of what i make. 

steph’s chocolate chip cookies

• 2/3 cup oil
• 2/3 cup margarine or butter
• 1 cup white sugar
• 1 cup brown sugar, packed
• 2 eggs
• 2 tsp vanilla
• 1 tsp baking soda
• 1 tsp salt
• 3 cups all purpose flour
• 1 1/3 cup chocolate chips (or i use the whole package!)

other optional add-ins for the cookie batter:

• 1 cup chopped nuts OR
• plain m&m’s (seriously, who measures these? just add lots) OR
• dried cranberries, white chocolate chips and crushed walnuts OR
• peanut butter chocolate chips

the trick to these is to make sure not to over bake them.  they are more of a softer, chewier chocolate chip cookie.  if you do make some- leave and comment and let me know!

enjoy.

to better (and yummier) things,

steph

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