The state of things

There are probably half a dozen posts half-written in the drafts pile that I will never finish. I miss sitting down for a spell to think about things and write, but there's always something that needs fixing / paying attention to -- right now the dishwasher needs emptying, dinner needs preparing, and my daughter will want out of the circle of neglect in about two minutes, let alone the load of wash that needs to go in the dryer and the son that will need a ride home soon enough. If it's not one thing, it's another. But the fact is that many days I'm sleep deprived and it's hard enough to put sentences together, to come up with something I want to post, and it's probably better that I don't.

I'm not complaining. I'm not. I love my son and my daughter with all my being, and I have a sense of contentment with them (not all the time, mind you ... ) that I value beyond most things in my life. It's the feeling that gives life meaning, a knowledge that I'm not just going through the motions of life, that I'm doing something worthwhile, that there's purpose and meaning and above all personal happiness involved.

The fact is that small children mean that personal time -- not to mention personal space -- is merely a memory. And I don't think people really get what that really means until they have kids. I know I didn't. I pictured days spent with my children but evenings relaxing with my husband as normal. I didn't picture long drawn out evenings of soothing children to sleep, and then collapsing into bed as soon as that was done because the day of child rearing had been so exhausting. I have heard that the pure physicality of child rearing gets easier by five, and I can imagine it is true. I am praying it is, anyway. But in the meantime I have a son who never stops and a baby which means I don't get to stop, and a 36 year old body that should have done this at 25, even if my maturity wouldn't have been capable of it.

The delight on her face when she sees me walk into a room, his murmured "I love you mommy, you're a good mommy." before he goes to sleep. These are the things that keep me going.

And the knowledge that I'll get to sleep when I'm 40.

Sad

There's not much sadder, can I just say, than a baby with a cold. My oldest didn't get sick in his first year. I was home with him and when we did go out he was on me; he was a late crawler and an extended breast feeder so in total that meant his exposure to germs was minimal.

(don't ask me about the KIDNEY INFECTION or the SIX MONTH LONG COLD he had during his first winter at daycare which included a bout of pneumonia. His SECOND year was awful.)

But The Girl has a brother who goes, on occasion, to group care, aka the BIG PIT OF GERMS. And he loves to kiss his little sister. A lot. On the nose.

And so when he was snuffly last night, I should have expected that she would soon follow suit. Which she did. At midnight. And one am. And 5. And 7. (skipping 3am to convince me it was just a fluke before ha ha! Gotcha!)

Poor thing has no idea what's going on, only that between teething and eating and the snot in her nose there's ENTIRELY TOO MUCH LIQUID IN MY HEAD and this means much hysterical sobbing at the confusion and discomfort. Why can't I breathe mommy??!!!! WHY??!! WHHHYYYYY???!!!!!!!!!!!

Poor kid.

Thank God for mat leave is all I can say. I can't imagine working through this sleep deprivation haze.

SAHM-ness

It was at the playground of course. We rarely go to this one, so The Boy was excited and ran off to play, and since the play area is fenced in I just sat on a bench. The Girl was hungry. I nursed.

The woman sitting beside me was of a similar age to me, wearing yoga pants and a baseball cap but somehow managing to look glamourous and put together. She had straight white teeth and large sunglasses and was carrying a child's snack case and a child's drawing.

We started chatting, as moms do at the park. How old is your son? Your baby? Do you live nearby? Etc. Her son goes to preschool, she says. Heading to kindergarten in the fall. She'd like another baby but she's close to 40 and (unspoken) it may not happen.

Are you at home with him? I ask.

And then she said it: "yes. My husband wants me home, and I don't mind."

I cringed.

I know it's possible she was being polite. It's mom-speak for "I don't want to insult your decision to work and if I pretend it isn't my choice you won't think I'm judging". But I cringed anyway.

Not because she's at home. Because it isn't, in her portrayal of it, her choice.

Once, a long time ago, I was married. To a man I am no longer with. We were young when we wed and our discussions about kids were limited to "do you want them?" and "yeah, someday." It wasn't until years into our marriage that he told me he expected I'd stay home with our kids "at least until the youngest is five". HIS mother had stayed home until he was 12 (which was frankly part of his problem ...) I stared at him, open-mouthed. I had never -- ever -- considered being a full-time SAHM. The idea at 27 was abhorrent.

The idea is less abhorrent now that I have children. But it still seems unlikely to be something I would choose long term. There are SO many reasons for this. Because I like my job. Because I have access to excellent daycare. Because we need my income. Because i get a year's leave and neither of my children had to go to daycare as infants but instead as toddlers, more ready to explore their world. Because I can work part time hours and have a short commute so my time with my kids is still a fair amount. Because I need something for me. Because the benefits package I get and my pension plan i get benefit my family. Because my workplace is flexible enough that i can work from home some days and be late and leave early and accommodate family stuff. Because I think it's good for kids to see their parents doing what they want in their lives. Because a working mom role model is good for my daughter AND my son.

Yesterday we took a day off daycare and I was home with two kids. This was something I was kind of dreading with a second: could I handle two kids on my own, without putting one of them in front of a screen? Well ... Yes. We had a nice day together. There was no screen time and there were meals and art and books and naps.

We enjoyed it. Mostly because it was my *choice*.

I feel very strongly that had I been talked into being a SAHM I would have been miserable. I have nothing against being a SAHM. I know it works for some people. I don't think it would work for me but it makes many women very happy. And I'm glad for them.

But I still think that no matter what, it has to be her choice.

Why I never get anything done

A day in the life:

10pm last night: Girl Child consents to sleep

3am: Boy decides "I need to be close to you mommy!"

5am: The Battle of the Pillow is lost. I concede defeat. He sleeps on.*

7am: The Girl wakes.

7:01am: The Boy wakes.

7-8am: I lie practically comatose in bed, praying that letting my daughter have "tummy time" on the bed is considered good parenting.

8:15 ish: Get up. Grab robe. Go to kitchen to think about what to eat. Girl child decides she should eat first.

8:45am: finish nursing. Make breakfast.

9am: Beg The Man to escort The Boy to daycare. He already got up, made his breakfast and made his lunch and consents to one more thing, thankfully.

9:05: Girl decides it's time for a nap.

9-10am: Lie in bed with Girl who is growth spurting and teething and cannot (so she thinks) nap alone right now.

10am: Get up. Clean kitchen, still dirty from last night's dinner (see above: Girl Child sleeping hour.)

10:30: dress. Change child. Dress child.

10:45: decide I can in fact make hummus. Five minutes! Tops! Already have roasted garlic even!

10:47: notice Girl child is pooping.

10:50: change Girl Child. Clothes included. Notice she is rashy.

11:00: back in kitchen, Girl child in new clothes. Bum naked to get rid of rash. Where is that tin of chick peas?

11:10: Girl Child pees all over mat to keep chair dry. Get new mat, throw old in wash.

11:15: I know that tin of chick peas is in here somewhere.

11:20: Girl child is starving.

11:45: Finish nursing. Realize that can of chick peas will not suddenly materialize. Diaper child. Head to store.

12 noon: remember I need milk. And apples. And some more chocolate won't help. Oh, and an extra lemon ...

12:30: arrive home. Prepare to make hummus.

12:35: Girl child is tired. Wishes for nap.

--1:00pm: Lie again with Girl Child.

1:10pm: Get up. Hummus! Realize that roasted garlic smells a little funny. Decide to roast new garlic. Pop new garlic in toaster oven.

1:15: Girl poops. Again.

1:20: still rashy, so try naked bum time again.

1:21: Girl pees everywhere. Change mat again.

1:25: Hurriedly throw chick peas, lemon, tahini and olive oil into blender. Garlic is not done but if I don't seize the second, this will never happen.

1:30: Girl is hungry again.

2pm: Finish nursing. Lay child on couch. Type frantically into blog screen

2:01: Girl has lost patience. And is probably peeing on something. And garlic is done.

... and while I'd like to show you an actual day, that's all the time we have today for blogging! After this I'll likely empty the dishwasher. Finish the hummus. Pick up my son. Play with my son. Make / heat dinner. Feed and nap the baby once or even twice more. Do bedtime routine with my son. Attempt to persuade the baby the sleep. And then ... well, by then I'll probably be out like a light about five minutes later.

I hope.

* Yes, I co-sleep with my child(ren). Yes it's likely the cause of my tiredness. But yes I am happy with my decision. Thank you for any concern.

Rainfall

Today, September 19, holds Vancouver's first official rainfall warning of the fall and winter season.

Wheee!

Ages

Right now I have a 4.5 year old son and a 4.5 month old daughter.

This amuses me more than it should.

Complete insanity

Today I registered my son for after school care.

No, he's not in school. He's not due to start until September 2011. But I had to register him now to get a good spot. On the waitlist. At a school which is frankly my third choice. (Nothing wrong with the school. Just that one is closer to home, and another is closer to work, so this one is the most inconveniently located.)

The Man expressed wonder about my doing this so early, but I am totally blase about it now, having actually already signed him up for a program at our preferred school (the one close to home), and having registered my babies for daycare before my mother knew I was pregnant. (Eight weeks along with The Boy; four weeks with The Girl.) And with a year long mat leave, that's signing up your kid almost TWO YEARS before you will need care.

TWO.

YEARS.

Such is the insanity of daycare / after school care in this city.

But wait! It gets better! The reason I have to sign him up for after care in so many schools? Because the Vancouver schools are SO oversubscribed that even if you live in the catchement area, you are not guaranteed a spot. It's by lottery. So I have to juggle three schools and keep our options open and hope for the best and pray that some time next spring we get in at one school and get after care at the SAME school. The stars will have to align perfectly and etc. etc.

But do you know what the worst thing is? The worst thing is that none of this sounded completely batshit insane until I wrote it all down and explained it.

That's how brainwashed I am. This is not -- should not be -- normal.

But regardless, I will spend this year playing the waiting game and hoping and praying and all those things.

I guess now might be a good time to invest in a lucky rabbit's foot.

Wherin I mock myself

I've been a tad low on sleep recently --- Three nocturnal beings (cat, infant, four year old) are conspiring together to ensure the bags under my eyes continue to grow and I slowly become batshit crazy. Witness: Sunday, 3:30 am: baby awakens. Baby writhes, cries, starts shrieking requiring eventual move to living room rocking chair. 5am baby consents to sleep. Mother now wide awake slowly relaxes and starts sleeping. 5:30 am cat begins meowing. What? The sun is up, why aren't you? Cat meows intermittently until 6:30 when four year old gets up for the day. Sunday morning 10am, mother spends 30 minutes weeping on living room floor for no reason anyone including self can fathom.

Yeah.

Anyway it should come as no surprise that said awake baby cut her first tooth yesterday -- 4.5 months must be some kind of record!!!! (well. For us anyway ...) last night was also the first night in five months or so that my son fell asleep with his dad instead of needing his mommy. Of course this is a GOOD thing but you can imagine that my reaction was OF COURSE "noooooo!!!!' my BABIES!!!! They are growing up TOO FAST!!! SOB!!! WAIL!!!"

(Husband ducks down on couch scared of crazy wife)

I know every mother feels this way but isn't it a little crazy? We had children to RAISE them. And it's clear from every person on the planet that children GROW UP. This should not be a surprise nor a time for mourning. This is a celebration! A "we're doing it right all according to plan children developing normally!" celebration! Hooray! Wouldn't it be worse if my four year old was fully dependent on me for years to come, worse if my daughter didn't get teeth or hit other milestones??

Yes. Of course.

But the wide world is out there, and the wide world is both amazing and horrible. And when they are tiny and dependent you can shield them from the facts: that people aren't always nice. That people get hurt. That you don't always get what you want, and sometimes that's more serious than no ice cream after dinner.

And that in those cases all you can do is sit back and love them because you can't fix it. When my daughter is in pain and my son needs comfort I can fix that. Right now I can fix it. Kiss owies, soothe hurts, cuddle bad fears away. They are my babies and I want so much to protect them this way forever. And every step they take towards growing up is ever closer to my not being able to do that.

And sometimes I'm ok with that. I know that if I do my job properly as a parent eventually my kids will leave and go into the wide world and navigate all of it, good and bad. And I will be proud that my kids are functioning adults, and self-reliance (and teeth!) are an important part of that.

But.

Oh. But I will miss them so much when they are gone.

I rock, therefore I am

My son, once upon a time, took his vaccinations like a pro. I mean, his little infantness screamed blue murder but then would nurse, pass out, and wake as though nothing had ever happened. No fever or extreme fussiness or anything else.

When The Girl got her two month shots she one-upped her brother by sleeping it off. Almost all day she slept. Sleep, sleep, sleep. Whee!

So very smugly yesterday I went for her four month appointment thinking "heh, this'll be EASY" and even daring to think "hey maybe I'll catch up on some sleep tonight or tomorrow."

Ha. Ha ha. Hahahahahaha.

Oh don't get me wrong. I am still in the "aren't you lucky" camp. But she is running an oh-so-slight fever and has become very particular about things and lying THIS way and not THAT way is HORRIBLE, MOTHER HOW CAN YOU DO THIS TO ME? And was up last night ... I don't know how much. A lot, for her.

So once again I give thanks for the rocking chair and I rock and rock and rock and hold her and remind myself it won't always be like this. Like this, sleep deprived, headachy, cranky. Like this, just sit back and hold me mommy,cuddle me and kiss my tiny head, you're the only one who makes this better.

Summing up

I haven't posted much in the past few weeks and I have a lot to say, or so I think at 3am when up for a feeding. I should write this! or tell that story! and it probably isn't nearly so funny as I think it is at 3am, and in any case I've forgotten all about it by morning.

Three weeks ago my darling beloved husband left on a business trip. To India. For Two Weeks. And by God when he returned some of my first words to him were wow, you are NEVER doing THAT again. At least, not with a 4.5 year old and a 4 month old. Which is of course not a threat at all given next time he'll be away I'll have a 4.5+ year old and a five month old which is a world of difference.

Apparently this morning someone has found the italics key.

Anyway. So it was two weeks of combo solo parenting (six days, only two partial daycare days in there) parenting with my mom (five days) and parenting with The Man's parents (five days). I'd say parenting with my parents but my father was dealing with some stuff and doing his very best grumpy old man impression that he was hardly there and frankly we were better off for it since the few times he was around he a.) yelled at my four year old for putting his fingers through an already broken screen door b.) yelled at my four year old for closing a door, and c.) once told him to "stop whining! Be a man!" which pretty much made me crazy. I mean, I realize that my four year old whines more than is necessary and was going through an especially whiney phase then but he's also FOUR and I think the "be a man!" epithet really isn't going to bear much weight for another, I don't know, DECADE or so.

So. Not the best week for Dad.

The week with my in-laws went ok as well, but this time I started feeling crowded in my space rather than relieved by their presence, which I know is a sign that next business trip I am going to mostly go it alone and not ask them to drive from the neighboring province. I like them a lot, and I value the time to get to know them and for my children to spend time with them, but the week had enough moments of crazy that I think the getting-to-know time is best reserved for holidays. However I must admit that I love the fact that my windows were all washed (inside and out!) and my sink was repaired and toilet plumbed and my floors washed by hand (twice!) and my holes in the wall covered and the wall paper removed from my bathroom and my crown molding filled in. My father-in-law, he of the constant-head-pain-bad-heart-bad-knees-bad-ankles, he hates to be bored. And then tells me how bad he feels that he can't work as hard as he used to. I get tired just watching him. He is all kinds of awesome.

Let's see, what else is new?

I am both relieved and sad to see the beginning of fall -- relieved because my chubby baby didn't handle heat well (and neither would you if you were covered in insulation like she is. We don't call it fat around here!) and sad because wow -- where did the summer go? We had a nice one, good for Vancouver, but ... short. Very short. And in a very sunrise-sunset type of dealio I am very aware of the passage of time and mah baybee she is so old! And I will never have another! kind of thing. Which is true, she is so big and my leave is 1/3 gone already and I am still just so damn tired and shouldn't I be at the very least catching up on sleep by now?!

Apparently scratch that whole "my baby is so old stuff", as my biggest concern is "WHY AM I NOT MORE RESTED?"

At the doctor's yesterday she asked how I was doing and I think I said "I'm tired" about three times at which she barely batted an eye and merely said "it's a good thing this one is easier, make sure you sit down more" and waved away my "shouldn't I be stimulating her cerebral growth?" concern. Sit down and rest. Which is advice I can get behind and all, if only my daughter can. When I complain about the tiredness and tell the doctor I think I should be less tired she looks at me like I am crazy and tells me again that I have two children, one of which is still up in the night. Why I think I should be running marathons is rather beyond me.

The only other thing of barely important note is that I yet again went out today and bought socks for my four year old. Where on earth to little boy socks disappear to? I have hardly ever had to buy clothes for him with all the hand-me-downs but we have spent a fortune in SOCKS.

Bragging

My daughter is four months old. She babbles, she coos, she blows raspberries and on occasion will open her mouth wide at a request for a "baby kiss" and will plant slobber on your cheek. I always exclaim in delight at this and she laughs. She also laughs when I tickle her or chant nonsense at her.

She scoots along the floor backwards, she loves to stand so much that we bought her an exersaucer before my arms broke from helping her, and she has already figured out how to play with some of the toys. She loves to roll over and is a total champ at it. She likes to watch her hands and feet and will lie there for some time gazing at one or the other.

She nurses a lot but loves to watch me eat. She has grown another two inches putting her above the 97th percentile for height, but isn't gaining nearly as much weight and has dropped from above 90 for weight to only about 80 in two months.

The doctor is impressed.

She is easier than her brother but in different ways -- she's often easier to get to sleep, but I think fusses more during the day (he was easy to keep happy: carry him and never stop walking.) She is more selective and changes her mind over what soothes her more often.

My son ... ah, my son. My son who can do positive and negative number addition and subtraction in his head. My son who read a book about the body with his grandmother who told me later that the only word he couldn't read was "osteo-arthritis", which I figure is fine since most 4.5 year old kids can't read C-A-T and so missing O-S-T-E-O-A-R-T-H-R-I-T-I-S is ok by me. My son who is getting better at controlling and labelling his emotions and coping with them, who weathered the long trip of his father's with aplomb, who hugs and kisses his sister and tells her he loves her, who comforts her when she cries in the back of the car ... my son who is so excited about his books and getting new books and reading them at night and asking "what happens if we read ALL of these mommy? What happens when we are ALL FINISHED ALL OF THEM?" and is relieved to know there are more books on earth than we could ever read.

My son who loves to play with me and hug me and we play a game where we kiss each other all over and I'm just so damn proud of how he has weathered all of it, the past four months. She's growing and changing and becoming a little person, but he's becoming a better person and I can't tell who I'm proudest of because I just don't know. I only know I love them both so much.