Thinking

That the concern raised by local businesses that their children can't get into the local universities and that their workforce is perturbed and wants to move away so as to be closer to these children, and this is a problem for industry ... that isn't this just more helicopter parenting? I mean, my kids are little, I know. But I'd like to think that by 18 they would be capable of moving to another city, living in a dorm, not being within 30 minutes of me. I'd like to think that *I'd* be ok with them moving away at 18, especially to a place like a dorm where there are people to help, people who realize kids are on their own for the first time. It seems to me to be the perfect place to try out a young person's independence, right? In a place full of other young people, supported by other young people and others who are used to young people trying out their independence.

One thing I haven't ever considered, up to this point, is relocating my family so as to be closer to my child in university.

But you never know, I guess. You never know.

Liar liar

Five is a lovely age for the most part. We're really enjoying it. But one of the things we're now encountering is lies.

Lies lies lies.

It's hilarious though, his lies. Did you eat that? Nooooo ... (while mouth is covered in it) Did you wash your hands? Yes! (while hands are covered in dirt) Were you playing on the iPad? No, I was just sitting near it!

It's aggravating, is what it is.

This morning, he got up early. I got up only a half hour later. I let in the cat (This is important for later, i promise.) And I found that the strawberries that were on the counter had been opened ... And bitten ... And cut.

"N, did you cut the strawberries?" I ask.

"nooooo...." he says. "but I DID see the CAT clawing strawberries in two!"

Saga, continued

So when we last left our heroes ...

No, wait. That's not right.

So my daughter seemed ok Wednesday and I plied her with juice and fruit and oatmeal and sat back to wait. By Thursday night it was clear things were not over, and Friday morning, armed with visions of disaster in my head from late-night googling, I was Very Concerned. And likewise, The Girl was Rather Unhappy. Intermittently, thankfully. But still. I'm all done waiting.

I called the doctor's office. She's not in Fridays. I try her cell. No answer. I call the pediatrician. Not in Fridays. I leave a message. Finally I call the local clinic, only to find that the man we call Dr Useless is attending today; Dr Decent will be in tomorrow.

I sit back and wait, because I'm sure my doctor will return my call, and if not the clinic doctor Saturday is fine.

An hour or so later, the pediatrician calls and I explain the situation, and she is all for calling in a mild prescription, so I'm down with it, tell her which pharmacy, and give them a bit to fill it.

Annnnnd in the meantime: we have success!

Not enough, I think, but my intuition says it's a good start and she'll now be ok. Still. Let's go get the prescription anyway, might as well have it on hand, right?

Sure!

So I go, take the kids, into the pharmacy, tell them her name and ... They presentment with THE BIGGEST BOTTLE OF LAXATIVE KNOWN TO MAN.

seriously, this thing was easily 750ml size full of powder. They look at me expectantly, I look at them expectantly, I'm thinking they're going to measure me out some but no. It dawns on me that they think I will be taking the whole bottle, while it finally dawns on THEM that the patient is not me, but the tiny 20 lb human I'm holding.

There is much consternation, as I try to communicate nicely that I'm pretty sure that I'm not going to be ok with taking home 500+ doses of laxative when I'm pretty sure seven will do it. I don't really care that it's mostly paid for by my insurance; I still don't want that much, and I'm pretty sure the doctor could not possibly have prescribed that much. She says helplessly that they USED to have a smaller bottle, but ...

She then remembers that they gave individual adult doses! Whee! Still. One adult dose is 17 baby doses, still too much, but better than 500, right? Well, sure, but they need me to buy the whole BOX of individual doses -- ten -- not just one. So 170 doses instead of 500.

And keep in mind at this point things seem to be moving along, so I'm not even sure ONE dose will be needed, and they are now telling me that I can have a six month supply! Or nothing!

And I start wondering when it was I went through the portal to CRAZYVILLE.

In the end? I left with nothing. And her promise that she'd keep me on file in case over the weekend things went downhill again.

But it's nice to know that if needed I can ensure regularity for the rest of 2011. For the whole family.

Sent from my iPad

Paging Dr. Googlek

I have a mental pact, if you will, not to write about certain subjects here. It's a public forum, after all. I imagine that where I draw the line is rather arbitrary -- I mean, if I describe birth in intimate detail, why *not* discuss, I don't know, my kid's toilet training? And I'm not entirely sure, not sure what I'm doing much of the time to be fair, but there you go.

But having said all that, I did want to just note that why, WHY is it that when you desperately google "toddler constipation remedies" with one hand, why does it come up with "get your child to drink more!" and "try some more fibre!" and not one site -- not one! -- gives you a gddam clue about what to do RIGHT NOW, when right now is a pre-verbal child who has been screaming on and off for two hours (all and only in your arms, btw, hence the one-handed typing), the doctor is closed, and your only option for real medical advice is the hospital? (or Dr. Google)

It's beyond frustrating.

Anyway. Don't worry. The said pre-verbal toddler is fine ... Now.

My computer that she spilled coffee on to .... Maybe not so much. We're waiting until tomorrow to see.

My son who deliberately poured all the prune juice I bought today over the high chair tray to make a sea because I told him he'd had enough time with the iPad today ... Yeah, jury's still out on him too.

Just kidding.

Sent from my iPad

So much to say! So little time to type!

Excuse me for a brief 45 seconds while I brain dump onto the page. Where was I?

Right. Well. Daycare still sucks. I'm having recurrent fantasies about The Man being relocated to a nicer locale so I have a good excuse to quit my job, despite the HUGE amount of headaches that would cause. You know -- moving, for starters. Getting the house packed, sold, finding a new one in a good neighborhood, finding school for The Boy. Not to mention breaking contract with MY work and then owing them a bunch of money. Ha ha ha. Yeah.

The daycare director has been there 23 years and has only had two kids not settle in, so here's hoping that The GIrl will be among the majority. Yes. I asked. Three weeks of shrieking, crying, calling and reaching are emotionally wearing.

Part of The Girl's  bad mood last week was likely due to a cold and the cessation of eating. One supposes that the cold irritated her throat, but solids were a no-go most of the week. Yesterday I watched as she ate a strawberry, though. A whole one. In small bites, of course. But ... Gah. Yeah. It drives me nutty. One day I can barely get her to eat soup and the next she's chowing down a whole strawberry.

******

So that whole rapture thing yesterday was a bit of a bust, huh?

******

So my inlaws are here for the long weekend. When of course the weather turned completely horrible so we're all stuck inside our tiny place. They think we're crazy to live in Vancouver because good heavens, it always rains!

We haven't seen them since Christmas so they showed up bearing gifts, of course, as grandparents are wont to do, including an enormous metal bug for my son (??!!) and a crazy doll-in-a-bag complete with sippy cup and baby food for my daughter. No joke, this doll has two bellybuttons. One's removeable. It's hard to explain, but she is (I think) supposed to have a clean diaper and a dirty diaper, only on the front of the clean diaper is a brand new belly button too. Most disturbing though was that when we first opened her up she had what looked like p*bic hair under there -- same colour as the hair on her head! It turned out to be just a lot of yellow fuzz that came off, but it was creepy to find it all located inside the doll's diaper.

I asked the MIL where she found such an item and she said it was the grocery store they use when in the States, and it was 75% off! So -- perfect! My inlaws are very generous with my kids, both with their finances and their time, so this just made me laugh, but I guess when you buy dolls at grocery store on clearance prices you will end up  with dolls that have hit puberty too early.

*******

Friday afternoon we were told to leave work early for the long weekend. I was planning on doing so anyway, because the inlaws were arriving, but it was two hours earlier than planned. So I debated for a bit and decided that no, despite the daycare woes, I would NOT go pick up The Girl that early, but I would -- goddammit -- take some time to myself which I haven't had (barring two haircuts) in well over a YEAR, here, people. I had a gift card for a local bookstore so I strolled down and went to look at books ...

And ended up spending my entire hour in the kids section, picking up three books for my son and one for my daughter. Not only did I not buy anything for myself, I didn't even make it to the adult section except for a cursory glance at the new arrivals section.

I say this not to tout my own skills and dedication as a mother, but rather to roll my eyes at myself. I complain about not having enough time for myself, but as soon as I do get some time, I immediately spend it on the the children, if not with them. One might start to think I like my martyrdom. I look lovely in a crown of thorns.

To be fair, I have a lot of books to read since I haven't been able to get to them with the kids around, and there are three books coming out that I want to read -- but one's out late this month, one in June, and one in July, so what's the point of buying new books for me now? I will certainly be spending enough on me later this summer. For books I'll never have time to read.

But I'm not complaining! Secretly, clearly, I like it.

Daycare, Day Ten

Daycare is doing wonders for my child's receptive language skills. Any mention of the words "mama", "go", or "bye-bye" garner an instant response from her. Need I include the word "negative" in that sentence?

She can also now wail "mama!" very loudly. While crying.

Sigh.

From all reports, though, she spends her day exploring and eating and playing and there's nary a tear in sight. She's happy to see me when I get back. I keep saying this over and over in the hopes that it will reassure me that this is ok, that she is ok.

That *I'm* ok.

I know that The Boy went through this. I know that The Boy is ok. I know that he's thriving, he's got excellent social skills and is outgoing and confident. I know this. I also know he's a different child, and that he's different than me, and that little girl me probably would have had a different experience. A more negative one. I can't project this on my daughter, that's not fair. But I fear it, all the same.

And I also know that someone who worries this much about her children, who sacrifices over and over and tries always to put her children first, probably has nothing to worry about. My kids have it better than 90% of the world's population. And if they grow up and resent me for daycare and can't see that they were born into immense luxury by world standards, well ... there's not much I can do about that, except to try and gently point that out while they are growing up. Without, you know, exposing them to the plight of starving children and making them feel guilty about having enough to eat.

The Girl has become more and more clingy the past weeks, to the point where if there's a choice between me and her father -- her otherwise beloved father -- she will become hysterical until I take her. This weekend the in-laws arrive, and I will spend much of my day reassuring my MIL that no, the baby doesn't hate you. But you can't hold her, or play with her, or touch her without her reacting negatively, because she is afraid that you too will take her away from mama.

It will be a trial.

This is all a trial. But if my daughter can't learn to weather trials without coming out stronger, better, and more able to cope, then I'm not doing my job as a parent.

The State of Things

Well, it's been two weeks since I started back to work.

Pauses to pick up baby and nurse.


And I suppose it's going as well as it can. The job is the job, the same one, albeit with a few title changes, that I've had since 2003. I feel old. The colleagues are the same as when I left a year ago, and they are good people, if people I have little in common with. The one person I do have something in common with is my replacement, who left Friday. She was hired, so says the Manager, because "she reminded us of you", and hell he wasn't kidding, we're the same height, build, hair colour, hair length, eye colour, and propensity towards missish librarian dressing and mannerisms. She's someone I could see being friends with but it's kind of laughable to see two shy, introverted people try to get to know each other. My sense is that she would like us to be friends too, so we made friendly overtures but any extrovert watching would have been puzzled by the intense amount of self-consciousness present in the room.

Anyway she's leaving for another job within the Overreaching Organization, so we have a promise of lunch once she's settled.

Pauses to put baby down. Or not. Up! Down! Cuddle! Claw off face!


The Girl has finished two weeks at daycare, and has greatly surprised the caregivers with her ability to settle in and cope. She cries when I leave (once reaching and saying -- possibly for the first time! -- "MAMA!!" which of course shattered my cold, cold heart into a million pieces), but only does so for five minutes or less, and then doesn't cry the rest of the day. She fusses a bit, here and there, but eats, sleeps on the mat like the other kids, and spends her time exploring the centre with great enthusiasm. It's getting easier to leave her, knowing that despite appearances she is having fun -- most days when I get her she's smiling happily and shrieking (happily) about something or other, so clearly she isn't being tortured.

She's noticeably clingier than usual, but I'm feeling better about leaving her now. I remember with The Boy it took three weeks for us both to feel better -- the mythical doing something 21 times makes it a habit -- so now we've completed two weeks I have reasonable hope it will get better. Oh, I know there'll be hiccups in the road. But she's spending the day with what feels like a grandmother, a fellow experienced mom, and a girlfriend of mine ... with some other kids. It's hard to feel too bad about that, especially when on occasion I get to think and converse and have a cup of tea without being interrupted. Oh, and earn a paycheque, the first of which came in on Friday and my bank account ceased its panicked wheezing.

This last week started out with her eating tomato soup and baby puree and baby cereal, and ended with her eating spaghetti, goldfish crackers, and raw apple. Two weeks ago I tried to feed her cooked rice, and in the space of 5 minutes she gagged on it three times, and I hauled her out of her high chair and said "That's it! No more solids!" She can eat puree for the rest of her life, right? Watching your child gag and get that panicked look in her eyes as she's scared is a horrible feeling. And two weeks later this morning she successfully held a piece of raw apple (with me hovering about close by, don't worry.) It just goes to show. I'm planning to cancel the upper GI test. If she can get down a goldfish cracker, that's close enough to a cheerio IMO.

She's very close to walking now too, which is lovely, and so close to talking, and I am SO looking forward to the latter because then we can stop with all the EH! EH! EH! and I can actually figure out -- a little bit -- what's going on in that tiny head.

The Boy is five and gangly and gorgeous and amazing. His hair is too long. His first tooth is loose. Not VERY loose, mind you, just the tiniest amount loose and I have a strange panicky feeling that he's growing up too fast OMG.

Pause to settle children again.


He's a wild mess of crazy silly behaviour and seriousness beyond his years. He runs about like a lunatic making crazy noises from his mouth; he sits with his father to discuss subatomic physics and surprises him by saying "Dad, I already know what gluons are."

Say WHAT? Usborne books FTW!

He's just so typically five in many ways. Long skinny limbs, moving at the speed of light, laughing at everything, crazily affectionate with hugs and kisses, loving video games and soccer and lego. He eats like a champion, willing to try almost everything but decisive with his likes and dislikes. Likes: macaroni and cheese. Pizza. Sushi. Pho. Anything with cheese. Applesauce. Broccoli (cooked). Dislikes: sweet things, for the most part, raw vegetables ("too crunchy!"), spicy things, sticky things. He talks and talks and talks and talks, from the moment he gets up to the moment he falls asleep. Silence is not a feature of this house.

One of the strange affects of daycare has been to take my formerly very reticent, shy, and introverted quiet son and turn him into a very exuberant child who prefers to be surrounded by people. Seriously, before he went to daycare, he and I would go to those "mother and tot" gatherings, and he would refuse to sit on the mat with the other babies, but would insist that he sit on my lap in the chairs. Preferably in the second row back. So he could observe, from a distance. He was so unresponsive to strangers that a lady in a store asked me if something was wrong with him. Within three months of starting daycare he was a much more interactive child; now at five he likes an occasional day at home, but is clearly very happy to be at his daycare, playing with his friends. I once had concerns about him being in after school care, long hours after long hours at a desk; now I don't. I have a feeling the after school care will be his favourite part of the day.

I lie in bed with him at night, on the rare occasion I can get away from The Girl, and we put our faces close together, and tell each other we love each other, and I do. I love him so much, this strange changeling of a child, no longer my baby but my incredibly fast-changing, losing teeth little boy who will tomorrow have grown up and graduated college and be moving in with his partner in life "Hey mom, wanna come for Christmas?"

God yes. I hope so, someday.

But not now.

Now I'm still enjoying a Sunday morning, making pancakes in the kitchen to feed the kids. It's a crazy, chaotic sleepless existence, but among all that is perfection.

And now, back to the weekend laundry blitz.

Daycare, Day Five

After a Friday that I am glad will never be repeated, and a weekend of clinginess including a trip in the car that gave us brief hysterics, I was definitely not looking forward to today's daycare event. We got ready like usual and went out the door as usual and arrived The Boy's daycare as usual and she was in a fine mood. We went to her daycare. She was fine. Smiling! Happy! Eager to play! We sat around. We chatted. We tried nursing but she was not keen. She wanted to have some fun. So I stood up to go.

"eh? EH? EHHHH!!!! EHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!"

She was not amused.

I got back into my car and drove it to where I could park. And cried. It feels so wrong, leaving her. I don't think that leaving children of her age is a great idea, and I miss her dreadfully. I want to be closer to her with every fibre of my being, but I don't see a way to do that. I can't work without some kind of care, and I want and need to work. So.

I went in to work. I worked. It was kind of nice to be thinking again. I ate lunch, had a walk, chatted with co-workers. Sat down at 2pm for some tea. Realized it was nice -- really nice -- to sit for a bit with some tea, to not be interrupted.

I left early, at 3:30. I'd been in touch with the daycare, they said I could come at the end of the day if I wanted, that she was "fine", but I didn't know just how she was, so I left early.

And I got there, and she was sitting at snack, and she looked up and saw me, and grinned. She grinned. She smiled and waved back at the caregiver who was with her. Flirted a little. She went with me over to the couch to nurse, but pointed outside. The other kids were all just heading out, and she wanted to go too, dammit! So we nursed, and went outside, and she wanted down, and wanted to play, and didn't want to go home.

I still hate this decision. I still hate leaving her, and I still think 12 months is too early. But it's a hell of a lot easier to do when she is obviously liking where she is, who she's with, and having fun.

Incidentally -- one of the reasons I love her daycare (even if I don't like leaving her there) is that they call to update me. They called post nap, and said she'd only slept for a short while, but that she'd been "resting" in the caregivers' arms for an hour or so. Yeah -- they cuddled her, for an hour. If she can't be with me, at least she's with people who really, honestly, seem to care for her.

Centipede Assassins

The Boy, backyard: AHHHH!!! AHHH!!! CENTIPEDE!!

Me: That's ok. Centipedes can't hurt you.

TB: Q (from daycare) says they can kill you!

Me: Oh, in some parts of the world centipedes are dangerous. But not here. The ones here aren't poisonous.

TB: They don't have to be poisonous to kill you!

Me: .... Well how do they do it then?

TB: They have KNIVES. In between their TEETH. I saw them kill some guy!

Me: .....



Do five year olds have special hallucinogenics?

In other, much more amusing news ...

So my son informs me last night that "it's very dangerous to have a splinter in you and not get it out because it will CATCH ON FIRE!!"

When I laughed out loud, long and hard, at this news, he then huffily explained to me that since the source of this information was "at least 45" (i.e. older than me) that the older informer in question must be right.

Ah the land of kids, where the older you are, the smarter / more knowledgeable you are.

It wasn't until The Man heard this story this morning that he realized that what The Boy had probably heard and misinterpreted was that splinters left in skin can become INFLAMED.

I laughed long and hard at that one too. But for different reasons -- mostly that the word nerd in me hadn't ever put that together.

Back to work blues

I spent the morning feeling lost and overwhelmed. It was her third day at daycare, my third back at work. She was eager to get out of the house, and fine with being left -- she barely batted an eyelid as I left her, just as she has been each morning so far. When I went to get her she cried for the first time, but had been fine all day. A little fussing here and there, but generally very good tempered, talking and laughing and enjoying her little self.

But me. I am a little lost without her. Foggy. Missing something. Wishing for her. Missing the endorphin rush from breastfeeding her.

And I sit in my office, and wonder what I'm doing, and re-think this decision, and I comfort myself with thoughts of a job change, of quitting in six months once my contract is done. You never know.

I sit and wish I could move away and start all over again, taking my cozy and comfy family, just the four of us, away.

And then despite it all, despite the uncertainty of my decision and the uncertainty of the future, I feel lucky, because I have so much, everything I ever need, in just three other people.

Now it's a saga

So my daughter. And the eating. Oy vey. I wrote a while back that she'd started eating. And she had. She'd started sticking things in her mouth -- toys, food, and her own fingers! -- and stopped gagging. So much. I bought baby food. She ate it. Ay me! It's all fixed!

Not so much though. Because she's one and purees are IT. That's all she can get down. The other day I managed to get her to eat a bit of very over cooked rice and overcooked carrot. They were ALMOST puree but not quite. And that was a major victory. A whole new accomplishment.

She's ONE. Most babies, by this age, apparently, can eat dry cheerios. I wouldn't know, I never had a baby who could do that at one. (I don't breed gifted eaters, it seems.) But still. My last baby wouldn't have gagged on mushy rice. He might not have liked it, but I wasn't forever hauling him out of the high chair to whack him on the back to prevent choking, is what I'm saying.

The infant development people think that she's "delayed" and would probably figure it out, but why not help her out with a little therapy -- OT, speech therapy, what have you. But not now. Not in May, when she's started daycare, let's start in June so she's not stressed out by too much at once. Which frustrates me because I should probably have started in April, but I put it off. I was just so relieved she was eating that I just kinda figured it was all fixed and would go away on it's own.

The pediatrician, who I saw today, thinks it's possible she's got a little esophageal stenosis (narrowing. Just narrowing. To save you looking it up.) going on and so we should get an upper GI xray with barium and ... stuff. And then insert a balloon to blow up her esophagus. Because maybe that's why she can't swallow anything thicker than puree.

Uh. Yeah.

It's so strange how something that's just a non-issue at 6 months turns into a personal idiosyncrasy at nine months turns into an annoyance and a worry at 10 months and into full on hospital time at 12. What's even more strange is that her growth is great, 50th percentile for weight and 75th (!!) for height, so ... well, clearly she ain't starving. Oh, yeah, I know, she can't survive solely on breastmilk for too many years but it's also not like she's losing weight and not thriving. She's thriving, baby. She's thriving.

Sigh.

Anyway. The referral for the upper GI takes a month or so, so I have a month to get her to eat a Cheerio so I can cancel the whole procedure. Wish me luck.

Seizing the moment

I used this morning's (mostly dismal) election results to educate my son about "making the best of a bad (dismal) situation".

Sigh.

(conservative majority? Really Canada? I have no words. I feel like I don't know my own country any more.)

May

Blogging has been very hard with a mobile baby, and back-to-work prep, and wanting to just spend as much as time as possible away from screens, frankly. I've been spending my sparse spare time at the new daycare, acclimatizing The Girl -- not leaving her, of course, but visiting and letting her get a feel for the place and the people. She's been enjoying it, and it paid off in spades this morning when I waved bye-bye and there was No. Crying.

Seriously.

At all.

I mean, from her. I left her there, walked out to my car for my things, sat down and cried. I'm going to miss my baby, miss my easy days at home, miss having a relatively clean house, miss having time to myself, and miss most of all the rainy afternoons when I'd crawl into bed with my daughter and lay there half asleep while she snoozed, feeling her tiny body calmly sleeping cuddled against me.

It's not like any of this is over and done with. There will just be a lot less of it. Which is sad.

Anyway I am thrilled she survived her first hour without me. (Daycare initiation: one hour the first day. Two the next. etc.) Totally thrilled and pleased she had a good time.

And totally aware that this is Not Over Yet.

An hour means no eating and no sleeping. Heck she was only just getting tired for her first nap when I got back. Everything changes with a sleepy baby. Or a hungry one.

But you know, one hurdle at a time. This first one we scaled with ease, and I can't tell you how happy that makes me. There's nothing worse than walking away, smiling, from a screaming, reaching baby. And not having to do that today was a gift.

* * * * *

In other news, we're having a federal election today. We're also having a provincial by-election in this area, so our mail has been FULL of campaign stuff recently. I appreciate it, most of it. But one of my biggest pet peeves is negative campaigning. Don't send me stuff about the bad things your opponents have done, or will do. Tell me what You Will Do for me. I can make up my own mind. It's insulting to me as a citizen, and can I just say? Politics is full of negativity. The world is full of negativity. Be positive for a change. Put that out there.

I won't vote for you on principle otherwise.