Moving on to the next decade

I've now written two posts about this momentous occasion of the evening, the coming of the new year, neither of which I felt was even remotely interesting enough to post. Shall I sum up the past ten years? Reminisce? Share what I have learned? And then vow to improve for the future?

To confess, I'm not a big fan of new year's. I don't like large parties; I hate the pressure that I felt as a young person to go out and have a wonderful party. I also don't like the idea of once a year examining my life and aiming to improve it, when everyone knows that single days of resolutions are pretty much useless: life change will only happen if you work at it every damn day, not if you drunkenly vow to stop drinking January 1st in your new year's inebriated haze.

This is not to say that I think other people doing these things is silly -- I'm only saying that I know that it doesn't work for me. I think that an evening spent analyzing the past and considering the future is certainly worthwhile; for me, however, I do enough navel gazing all year round that for me yet another night of it is certainly superfluous.

One of the things I've learned this last decade is that self-improvement is a very worthy cause, and that I'll probably never stop doing it at one level or another. This is not to say I'm more or less flawed than any other human being -- self-improvement can range from resolution of personal emotional blocks to reading all one can about the Norman Conquest just for fun. But new year's isn't a time for me to sit down and suddenly decide or announce all the self-improvement I plan to make this year. I figure that I'm going to continue to do it as much as I can, and that it's an on-going process, this year and all years following.

So -- having said all that ...

I'm kind of glad that the first decade of the new millenium is coming to a close -- should we group it together as a time period, it has had a number of wonderful life changes, but also had some pretty dark times that I'm quite glad are behind me. And I've learned a lot, from both the good and the bad times, things that I hope I can remember to carry with me into the future.

There isn't a lot I am looking for from 2010. Top of the list would be delivery of a healthy baby sometime past April 1. Second would be some good health for me, my family, and my friends. That pretty much sums it up. Oh, sure, I'd love to win the lottery, (and / or) get a great new job, buy an enormous new house and travel around the world, but I'm going with necessities here. Another thing I've learned from the last decade is that many many things in your life can be stripped away, but all you really need in the end is your health (as good as it can be) and the people you love and who love you in return.

SO that's it, in the end. I'm not sorry to see the old decade go. I'm looking forward to the new one, especially to the baby who will hopefully arrive hale and hearty in three or four months. I plan to continue to try to be the best I can be as a person, a mother, a partner, a family member, a friend, and an employee. I plan to knit and read and enjoy my life. And I can't wait to see what the future unfolds.

My best to you out there for 2010.

Christmas Day Yarn Haul

The white / cream on the left is pure alpaca, fingering weight. Then an aran weight black cashmere, for a hat, and the green on the right is sock yarn, part merino and part cashmere. Gorgeous!

The brown in the middle is -- get this -- bison. Bison underhair, softest thing I think I've ever knit with, and that includes the cashmere. Not dyed, just spun. I couldn't stop touching it, and have already cast on for a delicate lace scarf. I will post photos. Not that the lace looks great while knitting it, of course.

I'm very thrilled with the bison -- there are four skeins, and I think the scarf will only use one, or maybe one and a half. I might consider some mittens or gloves to go with it. I will be very warm next winter.

The other gift highlights were a gorgeous necklace from my darling man, and some very nice maternity clothes picked out by my three year old. Surprising, perhaps, but very nice.

And now I just need to get rid of the mess of recycling in my living room.

Merry Christmas Eve

We sit in front of a fire, stockings hung, Christmas tree lit. The day is bright and cold, and we are looking forward to a couple days of relaxation in our small family. The baby kicks; my cold is worse. Things are pretty damn awesome.

If I don't get to blogging tomorrow, Merry Christmas to all those who celebrate. And best of the season to you even if you don't.

Two days to go

I'm tempted to write something overly melodramatic about WOOOOEEEE is MEEEEE, is there anything worse than having a sinus cold while pregnant when there are NO medications I can take????!!! MY KINGDOM for some NeoCitran.

Etc.etc.

But of course there are about a million things worse than that, all things considered. So let's just can the pity party and hand over the kleenexes. Yep, I'm tired and a tad cranky, because sleeping is hard. Yep, it sucks. Yep it makes my headaches worse, which makes me cranky as well. But ... baby! Christmas! Nice warm house! Great food! Cookies! Massage today!

Moving on.

I've also managed to finish some freelance work I've been doing -- technical writing / editing, for which I was paid a very tidy sum thankyouverymuch. (Which is the only reason I took it on; between a three year old and work and a house and a husband who works lots, I have no time / energy for freelance work, despite the freaky coincidences that have been shooting me opportunities over the past two months. Seriously, no work offers (and no attempts to find work) for five years, and then four people ask within the last two months. It's kind of a sign.) Anyway I'll be sending off the last thing today as well as a nice invoice which will handily pay for the overly expensive present I bought for my mother yesterday. Ahem.

My child and partner are sitting cuddled together playing games on his iPhone. I'm not sure I should allow this, with the shooting and stuff (none of it graphic, but still ... the idea of the game is to sink ships, so .... ) I have friends with boys who will not allow video games in the house. Part of me feels a little guilty about letting The Boy watch / play games; part of me knows that with a software engineer / video game player for a father, it's just inevitable. If not now, within a year. Or less. And at least with the video games he tends to interact and come up with ideas and think, vs watching videos where he sits there with a glazed expression.

And no, I don't believe that video games make you violent, unless you happen to have a mental illness to start with, or you start playing them instead of sleeping which would drive anyone to madness.

I sat and wrapped some presents yesterday, and between everything that I need to wrap I still have about half of them to go today. Sheesh. And it's not like we went totally overboard; I just have to buy for my family (two people), my parents, two friends, two uncles, and two nephews, and then two nearby birthdays, twelve people in total, some of whom received two gifts instead of one, which means close to twenty things to wrap. (The Boy got a few more than two presents.)

So. Ah well. Today I get to drop off the kid, do some grocery shopping, and go have a massage and then come home and wrap merrily all afternoon. There may be a movie. It really is a pretty good day.

Today, Lego gave my kid a chainsaw

No, I'm not kidding. The Christmas chainsaw. It came with a log and some sawhorses, to go with the lumberjack we got yesterday. Frank the Christmas janitor will now have to sweep snow AND little lego shavings.

In other news I think -- think! -- that I am done Christmas shopping. Now I now that many of you will sit there and think ... geez, it's the 22nd, you should be done by now. In fact many of you probably are thinking, well, heavens, I was done weeks ago! But for me? Two days before Christmas to merely wrap? This is amazing. A-MAZE-ing.

Of course now I have to wrap wrap wrap and wrap some more. But at least I can do that from the comfort of my living room, without braving the crowds.

More gluten free baking adventures

My mother has a recipe that she makes every Christmas, an old family recipe that's a favourite with everyone. She usually has to make a double batch, otherwise they disappear too quickly, and people complain. Since they are basically shortbread, I figured these would be easy to make, since many people make shortbread with rice flour on purpose because it makes it nice and crumbly, like shortbread should be.

Ha ha ha.

I made the shortbread with a bought brown flour mix that includes tapioca flour and potato starch to mimic the binding properties of gluten; I have had some luck with this mix, making baked goods that aren't too gummy as with xanthan gum, but aren't too dry either. (Case in point: I made pumpkin muffins the other day with it. They were GREAT the same day, but two days later were decidedly more sawdusty than their wheaten counterparts would have been. Still. Delicious. And still edible two days later, just a little drier than I prefer.)

So I mixed up the shortbread, and cut out the cookies and baked them and they all looked really pretty and all. And then I ate one.

They tasted great. They even had ok texture. But they were OH so crumbly and to be honest, a little dry.

I put them away, once cool, in a sealed container, thinking that I'd probably eat them or dunk them in tea or something (although that wouldn't have been a good idea. They would probably have fallen apart.) Alas, I made the mistake of putting the sealed container on top of the fridge, because it was the day that The Man was moving the dishwasher in and out, and we had a decided lack of counter space. Some banging about -- as the dishwasher went out and then a new one went in -- and then the opening of the freezer door ....

CRASH.

Yep.

What was interesting is that due to their brittle nature, not a single damn cookie from the almost three dozen that I made was in tact.

The Man was most remorseful. I was ambivalent. If there's one thing that helped me most on my experimental journey towards gluten free baking, it's the knowledge that failed baking attempts can always be frozen and used as bread crumbs. Or in this case, pie crust.

And this last weekend, we made the world's best cheesecake. With shortbread cookie crust. It was amazing. See how I'm making lemonade from the lemons?

Or ... well, you know.

The only downside of this story is that we don't have a six inch springform pan, and so had to make a 12 inch cheesecake. I say this and you'll take it as a mean it sarcastically, but I'm finding these days that unless I have a constant stream of decent food, I start feeling kinda gross again. Pregnancy is Fun! So having a lot of sugary-based food around isn't that great. Still. It's the holidays. I'm eating chicken AND cheesecake.

* * * * * *

I am off work this week, frantically (or not so frantically right now) trying to get Christmas all prepared, and one of the things I'm doing is more baking so there are more treats (apparently the last paragraph above has had NO EFFECT WHATSOEVER on me). Yesterday I made peanut butter cookies which are sweet but OH SO DAMN DELICIOUS. I justify eating them with "peanut butter is good protein!" Never mind that there's more sugar than peanut butter in them. Seriously.

Anyway, those turned out rather well, and they are super easy and I am likely to make them again. Or I would, were it not the case that my child is not allowed to take them in his lunch, which is half the reason for making home-baked treats in the first place. Can't wait until the kid with allergies leaves next September!!

The cookies are just peanut butter, sugar, egg, baking powder, and a tad of vanilla. If you want the recipe, look here. (I added the vanilla. It's good.)

Today I made sugar cookies. The least sugary-sugar cookies I have ever tasted. (Recipe here.) They are pretty good, though, with a very nice texture. I think that I will probably ice them later, as she suggests, and then see how they seem.

All in all, it seems to be true that buying your own flours and making the complex concoctions if well worth the effort -- you get decent baked goods instead of crap, which is what happens with a lot of mixes. I suppose that's not all that different from baking with wheat -- there are a lot of crappy mixes out there. And if they aren't crappy, they aren't that good for you. So the amaranth-based sugar cookies are nice. Much nicer than similar cookies would have been with white rice flour.

It's an effort, but I think in the end, it will pay off.

(However, amusingly, or perhaps not so, both The Man and I are still kind of under this mindset that at the end of this pregnancy the gluten restrictions, like the alcohol / deli meat / raw sushi restrictions, will be lifted. It's an easy mindset to get into -- all kinds of things are restricted in pregnancy! And you have the baby and it's negitoro city, baby! And it's kind of hard for me to get my head around the fact that this gluten thing? MIGHT BE FOREVER. As in, I may never eat another cinnamon bun as long as I live. Which is a whole 'nother post, in and of itself, my gluten adventure, but it is kind of bizarre, really.)

Parenting three

Last night while I was talking to my mother on the phone, my child took the last of his glass of milk from dinner and strewed it on the floor in a pleasing array of perfectly round droplets.

When I discovered this, and attempted to start the clean up process, he objected strenuously. "It's decoration!!" he wept. "NOoooooooo!!!!" There was much consternation at the sight of papertowels. Especially since I handed them to him to clean up his installation.

I am both a somewhat lenient parent and a very lazy housekeeper, and while there may be some things I'm prepared to leave on the floor in pursuit of art, milk is decidedly not one of them.

Merry Christmas from Lego

This year, as I think I have mentioned, we bought The Boy a lego advent calendar. The advantages of being an only child, really -- I never would have bought TWO of them for each of the children. Next year it's paper all the way, baby.

Our first item was this:

Fun Christmas boy, with snowballs! How festive!

The next day we got the snowman. A little weird that he has no face -- not to mention the broom impaling him -- but let's run with it anyway.

A little bit later came skater boy.

And then the traditional holiday lamppost, complete with snow on the leaves!

I quite liked the post man / post truck / present combo (which arrived on three different days).

In amongst there we got a few other things, like a sled, now inexplicably missing.

But then, things got weird.

Ok. We eat at Christmas, so a chef is ... not that strange.

I guess there should be a policeman and megaphone to keep order amongst all the merriment.

A flower stand in the middle of a Christmas scene .... uh .... well, ok. Maybe they are white pointsettias.

But the weirdest so far:

The Man and I have named him "Frank the Christmas Janitor". We've made up a new carol. There has been much merriment trying to imagine just what the HECK lego was thinking with this one.

But now I think in future Christmas will not be complete without a guy in an orange jumpsuit with a broom.

No, we haven't looked

Last week we had our Big Ultrasound. The only one we get from here on, barring any complications that crop up. And this time, unlike last time, we were all set to find out the sex of the baby. We were pumped. We were excited. We were hopeful. We told everyone we were going to find out.

We were three days too early.

Because at 19.5 weeks, it's too early to tell us. At twenty weeks, they said, we can tell you. But oh no, not at 19.5.

[insert eye rolling here]

Nah, screw the eye rolling. I don't get how I am allowed to see my kid's brain and kidneys, but OH NO, don't tell them the SEX!! I mean, it's MY BODY. and MY BABY. and to tell me that I'm not .... what, responsible enough? ... to know the sex? Is just plain insulting.

But that's not what I wanted to mention.

This baby, like the last one, was very uncooperative for photos. Shy, like his / her mama. He / she is also sitting WAAAAYYY down low, which meant getting the required photos and shots was hard enough; there was no way we were getting a good peek between the kid's legs. The sonographer told us that she was writing down a guess on the report for the midwives, and they could tell us the following (this) week. And then we asked her how sure she was.

"Oh, about 70%," she said.

Huh. That doesn't sound that much better than the 50/50 we had two minutes before.

So we (and by we I mean me and The Boy, who was pretty much uninterested in everything but the heartbeat; but I guess that's the important part) went to the midwives yesterday -- chatted a lot, weighed myself (only ten pounds so far! I might not gain the 60 that I did last time!). And then she said -- do you want to know what they said about the sex?

The Man was unfortunately unable to come to this appointment -- first one he's missed, ever, in two kids -- and so instructed me to ask her to write it down on a paper and fold it up, and we'd decide together. So I dutifully did so. "Are you sure you're going to be able not to look?" she asked with a smile. I took the paper, shoved it in my pocket, and drove home.

But here's the thing: I'm just not sure there's any point in looking. I don't know about you, but I am not going to buy a wardrobe for 70% chance. (Not that we need a wardrobe anyway; we have enough boy clothes to clothe boy triplets, and if it's a girl I'm certainly not standing on ceremony to not use boy / unisex sleepers for my infant. Oh, I'll augment her wardrobe when she's older, sure, but for those early months / years? It's hand me downs all the way, baby!)

So I'm not going to buy anything. Or not pick names for the other gender. Or tell anyone, so they can buy anything. Nothing would change if we looked, not at 70%. (If we'd had an amnio and were 100% sure, well, then, that's a whole 'nother story.)

What's more, as much as my logical brain knows that there's a 30% chance that it wouldn't be what the paper said, I know my emotional side would start thinking of the baby as X. I would think of it of he or she; I would call it the name we were thinking of for a boy or a girl. I would talk to it as that. I would think of it as that. I would start thinking about my children, with their names. I'd start wondering how they would get along. I'd talk to people about the child, using the correct pronoun. People would begin to guess. I'd probably not be able to keep it a secret for long.

The little person would be real to me, in that particular sex.

And I can't think what would happen if he / she were born, and he / she wasn't that little person. I'd give birth to a stranger. I might be ... gasp! ... disappointed. And I can't think of anything worse than giving birth to a healthy, wonderful (God willing!) baby, and being disappointed.

So we haven't looked. The baby is still a mystery. Oh, I have an intuition of what it is, and my intuition was right last time. I'm inclined to trust it again. But I know deep down that while my intuition says one thing, we still don't know. And at the end, we'll be surprised. And delighted. And be blessed, God willing, with a beautiful healthy child.

Because in the end, this child's sex is only one part of who he or she is, of who he or she will become. And that person, whoever it is and whatever sex it is, is the most important thing.

Not his hair colour, her eye colour, or what's between his legs.

Vancouver snow

Trust me when I tell you that this much snow will cause absolute chaos on the roads.

Portrait of real life

Yesterday it was cold. We got up, got breakfast, drank tea. We bundled up and went outside. A few tiny flakes of snow were falling. We walked a block to the Christmas tree lot, and bought a Christmas tree. The Man carried it home, set it up in the back yard, brought it inside. We lit a fire, put on some Christmas carols, ate some lunch. Then we decorated the tree. Lights. Baubles. A heart decoration that was a gift from our son this year. A few things from my childhood. Some garland.

It was a day right out of a story book.

...

...

Well, not quite. The part that was skipped over was that our dishwasher died at last, after limping along for months, if not years (never again will we buy Maytag!) So before the Christmas tree shopping I went to the nearby appliance store. Didn't find anything. But we needed accurate measurements, so while I decorated the tree, The Man got out his tools, and with some amount of effort and cursing, pried the old one out of its moorings. And then betook himself to some more stores. Finally found something. Rushed about madly to find a truck that he could borrow to pick it up and take away the other one. Did the amazingly Herculean task of getting the old one out to the truck, and onto the back, off to the store, and brought the new one home and into the house (thank heavens we're on the ground floor!) There was some more swearing as we realized that we were missing one single part. The dishwasher, as of Sunday morning, is still in the middle of the kitchen floor. There are dirty dishes everywhere. (Although fewer now, because I did a load and so did The Man.) There are parts and tools scattered randomly. We had dinner from a box last night because we didn't have time to do anything else, and we ended up missing a friend's Christmas party. We all went to bed before nine.

But this morning, there's fire once again in the fireplace. The Christmas tree is up and lit. We are warm and safe and happy and looking forward to installing the dishwasher today while the playdate is here.

Life is complex, but it's pretty good, too.

Also, I should add that the heart decoration? Is scribbled over and he tells us it represents "bad guys and bad guy warriors and good guys. It's the battle for Wesnoth!" Because nothing says Christmas like bad guys on your tree.

On being a mother

Way back before I had children I was at the home of a friend of The Man's for a social gathering of some kind. The mother of the home was a stay at home mom. And though I didn't ask why (because -- well, what business is it of mine? And why would I need an explanation?) she sniffed "Because I didn't have children to give them to someone else to raise!"

Now let's skip aside the whole idea that she might have been feeling defensive or ... whatever her reasons were for saying such a thing. The thing I wanted to address is that this is the dumbest reason for staying home with your kid that I think can possibly be used.

Why? Because up until this generation, children were never raised in isolation. My grandmother, raising my father and his two brothers, always had an au pair. Or two. And a maidenly aunt, or grandmother, or another female relative to help. And they weren't visitors, either: those maidenly aunts would tell you what for if you needed it. My mother's mother wasn't so lucky to be able to afford help or have family nearby, but growing up in the 1950s, with all the other moms home, you know very well that if you were at someone else's home, and acting up, you got told off by the resident mom. Neighbourhoods with freely roaming children always had some adult around to corrall the insanity. There were teachers at school, policemen on the street, even a random stranger, and they weren't shy about showing disapproval. People often lived close to extended family -- grandmothers to babysit, aunts to check in. Back unto our earliest history, parents have never been alone in raising children. There's a saying even -- it takes a village to raise a child. And it does.

In fact one might argue that being your child's sole carer is the most unnatural thing about modern parenting. It's never happened before. I live in a neighbourhood where I know only a few neighbours; my parents and inlaws aren't close, and neither are either of our sisters. Were I a stay at home mom, I would be raising him entirely on my own. And so instead of sending my child off to be raised by strangers, I have instead chosen for him a village. I have chosen for him a group of alternative carers -- parents of his friends, friends of mine, and yes, his daycare teachers -- that are helping me to raise him. I'm his mother -- my influence is going to be strongest no matter what. But he needs these alternative carers. He's learning how to live in a world as his very own person, to be responsible for himself and to cope with other people. I think it's an awesome way to raise a child.

I would like to just note that while I do think it's awesome, it's not by any means the only awesome way to raise a child. I think staying home with kids is great, if you can do it. My only, only reason for this post is that I don't believe I'm "giving my kid to someone else to raise" -- I'm his mom, I'm raising him (with the help of his dad!). But I also don't think that allowing someone else, someone carefully chosen by me, to help raise him, is a bad thing. In fact, I think it's good for him.

That's all.

Nesty

So in follow up to the rant earlier this week that I am not a bird!!! it has occurred to me that, while not actually aves in nature I am starting on that whole nesting process. It started last weekend when I was clearing out some things from the living room in order to try and fit a tree (does anyone else seem to have pockets in each room where stuff just magically accumulates? The junk corner? I seem to, in each room, and man does it get bad some times.) I cleaned out the living room junk corner and a pieces of my soul felt less weighted down.

When I was done I sat down and eyed, from my position on the sofa, the dining room corner of shame, and began thinking about clearing out that one and then, oh yeah, I should really tackle that kitchen drawer of junk, and maybe the little desk too, and then there's the closets in each of the other rooms, because hooray! the advent of this pregnancy and subsequent (we hope!) baby, I can get through the mat clothes and get rid of them, and then start on the mounds of baby clothes, and start getting rid of those as the baby grows, which will mean more and more and more space in our closets as we move stuff from closets to our downstairs locker which up until this point has been holding boxes upon boxes of maternity clothes and baby clothes and baby toys. And OH! What I can then do with the closets!!

The Man is reading this and hyperventilating.

The funny thing is that despite the fact that this was all running through my head, it didn't occur to me to think of it as nesting because, well, hello! I didn't get too nesty until closer to the end of the last pregnancy. No, right now, I'm just plain old cleaning.

Despite the level of organization I am currently doing in my head of those bedroom closets. Nope. Just cleaning.

Pregnancy Thoughts

The last time I was pregnant, I remember marvelling at the wonder that was physical reproduction. I'm not a physical person; I've never excelled or even been talented at physical activity. I've rarely been what I would refer to as "in shape" and physical activity has never once been on my list of fun things to do. My doctor occasionally admonishes me to get myself more exercise, and then brilliantly exclaims -- you just need to find something you think is fun! And is incredulous when I tell her that no form of physical activity -- even yoga, which can be a pretty gentle way to exercise -- has ever been fun for me.

I have the luxury of genetics, I admit. I've always been on the lean side, and I've never had to work for it. I'm very lucky, I know. And I also know that I'll have to start working on it soon, because at this age (not that I'm so old, but still) it's less about aesthetics and more about health. As a young person you are healthy by default; as an older person you have to work at it.

Anyway. I digress. Pregnancy was the first physical thing I had ever done, and it drew me out of my little cerebral world and into realizing I was, in fact, an animal. A mammal. It sounds funny, but in this day and age of technology and industry and crowded cities, it's easy to lose track of the fact that we are just part of nature -- beings that are more closely related to the animals around us than anything that we build and use every day.

This time? This time I'm more struck by the fact that with all this technology and fancy wizardry, that there isn't yet an easier way. I mean, how ridiculous is it that we have this internet and hand-held computers and food that you just have to heat in the microwave for an easy meal (no more hunting and gathering for us!) but yet to reproduce a human you still have to carry it within your body, with all the attendant issues that brings, and still have to PUSH IT OUT OF YOUR BODY??! I mean, honestly. How crazy is that??

And I'll tell you another little secret: last time, I couldn't wait to go into labour. Not just because I'd get a baby out of it, but because I was just fascinated by the ability of my body to just take over and do what it needed to do. I wanted to see what it was like, I wanted to experience that, because I thought it would be incredible to see the power of the birthing process.

It was incredible. But it was also painful, difficult, trying, and extremely tiring. I was in pain for most of a week afterwards and didn't sit comfortably for many more weeks. Don't even ask about going to the bathroom afterwards: a nightmare. And so this time? Labour is the one thing I fear the most. I'm dreading it. Oh, yes, of course, all being well I'll get to meet my little one and that will be a wonderful experience. But unlike last time, I'm not looking forward to the process at all. In fact I'm downright terrified. The only consolation is that I got through it once; I'm pretty sure I'll do so again. But: Ugh. And ugh again. Seriously, why isn't there a better way?

The hell?

I was at our work holiday function this afternoon -- these are a group of people I don't see often, because our "office" as a whole is about 50-60 people, but I only see about 10 of them regularly. So many don't know I'm expecting, because I don't randomly visit other people's offices just to tell them my breeding news, strangely enough. Over the course of the party I talked with a lot of people who were either a.) carefully making sure they were making eye contact and NOT MENTIONING THE BELLY or b.) making some carefully guarded hints, and interesting conversation that would lead me to say something. You know, like, "So, what's NEW with YOU??" while eyeballing my stomach. Because, and I have to say it myself, the belly, she ain't subtle. You don't gain weight in a basketball on your stomach and no where else. (luckily, so far.)

But by far, the weirdest comment? Especially as a conversation opener? "Hey, are you sitting on a nest?"

Because ... what?? I actually almost looked behind me to see what I *was* sitting on, to see if I had inadvertently sat on something strange. It took me several minutes to parse together what she meant. And ... nest? I mean, I know they refer to parts of pregnancy as "nesting" but ... still! I am not a bird! I do not lay eggs! If I did, this whole process might be easier! And what's with the animal references? Do people not have babies?? This is definitely the strangest thing anyone has said to me since I was told that I was a "good cow" when The Boy was a newborn and gaining weight well while I was breastfeeding. Because hello! MAMMALS make milk. Just because I do too doesn't make me BOVINE.

One family member fewer

We had to put the sick cat to sleep today.

I kind of can't believe it came so fast, and suspect it won't really sink in until later tonight, when I sit down after bed time and she doesn't immediately jump up on the couch to cuddle between The Man and I.

She was a good kitty. We'll miss her.

Duly noted

My son, this afternoon:

"Never go to the swimming pool in Superior Court."

Do I even need to add that this was something completely out of the blue, completely random, with explanation or context neither before or after? I guess it's good he's thinking away but DAMN, there must be some pretty bizarre things going on in that little head.

I think we're addicted

After last weekend's chimney cleaning we had a few fires -- one each weekend day and then a couple during the week. We waited until a respectable 3pm yesterday to light up, but this morning at 8am The Boy insisted we start it up, and frankly neither The Man nor I wanted to say no. So we didn't.

And frankly it makes sense if you think about it -- the house is cold at this hour, and so is the weather, and a fire is the perfect antidote.

....

Nah, we're just addicted. I know.

* * * * *

In other news, we felt the baby kick on the outside this morning. I've been feeling a little something here and there for a few weeks, and having the usual freak outs when there was action for days and then nothing for days (I can worry about ANYTHING!) But this morning I lay in bed and felt some movement and put my hand down and felt a soft thump. I called in The Man who was kindly making breakfast and HE got to feel a little twitch too which was cool, for so early on. We are having our ultrasound this coming Thursday and I'm looking forward to seeing if we can find out who this little person is ...

Other things I'm thinking about ...

Should I get a doula for the birth?

We didn't get one last time. I had The Man, and we invited one of our close friends, who came and helped out. It was nice, even if she was horribly traumatized by it for weeks afterwards.

However, she is also one of the few people who live close enough to take care of our older child during the labour, one of the few I'd trust to have come to our home and watch our child for the day or night or whatever. And frankly -- this is how much things have changed -- I'd rather HE be comfortable than *I* be comfortable. With mommy and daddy away doing God Knows What, I'd rather he be in the company of his familiar aunt in his own home and his own bed.

But while it's possible that this birth will beat time records for quickness (the last one should have been only four hours or so; my mom had me, her second, in three -- no kidding, from contraction to baby out of body.) I definitely am not counting on that, and think that The Man could probably use a back up, especially if it does on for a while. The midwife will be there most of the time, of course, but they really are medical professionals, not birth coaches. Oh, sure, she'll coach and all, but her main concern is the medical overseeing of my birth, not The Man's emotional well being. It might be nice to have someone there to see that he eats and gets a break and I have emotional support while he does that.

But at the same time -- how the hell do I find one? Because I should soon, and it'll need to be someone that I like a lot in order to be comfortable with her while I'm in labour. And I'm nervous about picking someone from the internet; I don't really want to interview a ton of people; I don't know anyone who had one from around here who I could ask for a recommendation.

I've found myself perusing a few sites of local doulas and they all seem so chirpy and outgoing which is lovely and all but not exactly what I want for someone around my while I'm birthing. I need someone who is also an introvert and would understand that what I might really need is just to have someone around who is silent.

I suppose websites advertising services are not the best way to judge people. You can hardly expect they'd get customers if they were all dour.

Anyway. I suppose I will likely ask the midwife when I see her in a short while and see what she has to say. I mean, it would be nice to get someone that the midwife likes so that they get along during the crazy time.

Must go an negotiate with two small boys.

Solitaire

I downloaded a solitaire game for my iPhone. I remember back to the early days of my marriage, when we were in grad school and had no money -- solitaire was the only computer game we had, and there was no TV, and we'd each play it for ages. It was the mindless time sink that you kind of need to decompress. The ex would play every game; I would pick and choose and play only the games that I thought looked winnable.

I still do this.

We had an argument about it once. Maybe more of a discussion. "What are you teaching our children?" he exclaimed. "To only play if you can win? I play all games no matter what. It's always good to try."

"No," I retorted. "I'm teaching them to choose their battles. I'm teaching them it's ok to give up if they don't want to try."

Now, with the benefit of ten years and a kid behind me, I smile and think to myself -- what I would actually want to teach my child is that it's just a freaking game. It exists entirely to amuse you, and however you are amused with the game is the right way to play it. It has no more relevance to how you live life than ... I don't know, how you use a fork.

Honestly. The things you take seriously at 25.

Or, perhaps, the things I took seriously in that marriage, and an illustration of why the hell I'm better off out of it.

Wha ... ??

Seriously? December?? How? What? Who?

???!!!

That's pretty much all I have to say, to be honest.

I've been enjoying the week -- after November what was constant deluge, this entire week has been sunny and beautiful, albeit COLD. And by COLD I mean it only gets up to about 5 each day, and actually freezes at night, which is of course as cold as I think weather should EVER GET. My iPhone is set up to show me weather from various places across the globe, and over the next few days in Alberta it looks like the HIGH will be about -15, with lows of close to -30, which is just plain insanity. It makes me wonder how our forefathers coped. I mean, arriving from nice temperate (by comparison) England and northern Europe, coming in the nice warm summer and then -- Good LORD! -- coming through a winter where most of the people starved and the temperatures reached lows they'd never even considered possible. I'm really very surprised they didn't just jump back on the boats never to return.

My grandparents did this very thing -- not the high tailing and running part -- but did immigrate to Canada from England in the 1950s, from southern England to WINNIPEG of all places. Winnipeg that was so cold that the sound board in their piano split clean in two and ruined the damn thing. I imagine that the cold was quite a shock to the system, given they were used to dressing their three little boys in cute little shorts. And if they'd done that in Winnipeg winter their knees would have frozen clean off.

Not entirely sure I'm going anywhere with this.

Anyway. Suffice to say -- it's been a long week (hence no posting) but at least the sun has been shining. And there's more sun to come, which will really be nice. Now I'm just looking forward to a weekend of fireplace fires and not much else. I hope.