tipping the scale in my favour?

Something about today has put me in a good mood. This is a nice change considering I’ve been in FOUL HUMOUR for several weeks now. Weeks I tell you.

What is it about today though? Can I quantify what has made me actually feel optimistic about what lies ahead (”what” = life in general)?

1. it’s no longer fucking hot. Sorry, that deserved a swear. For the next two days the temperatures will be “reasonable” — and by reasonable I mean under 30C. Thank God. I actually switched off the a/c and opened the windows this morning!

2. my baby turns 6 months old today. We have moved through the infant stage and are now entering (what I call) the baby stage. A baby who in the next several months will become mobile and will no longer be nursing (i.e. attached to me). More on that in a later post.  Oh shit (again!), now I’ve started crying.

3. The door to any future children coming from my marriage has been permanently, um, severed, if I may say so. Oddly enough I am not as sad about this as I thought I might be. I’m actually greatly relieved. I have 3 beautiful wonderful smart funny quirky awesome daughters and I want to enjoy them without fearing that another may come along and throw my universe into a tailspin again.

4. the childcare situation seems to be levelling out and proceeding on an even keel for now. As of next Tuesday and lasting until September I no longer have to cart the kids to daycare. Friday will be Maja’s LAST day of daycare. I may cry. Oh who am I kidding, I WILL cry. As a matter of fact, I’m crying now. Still.

5. some fabric and a pattern I’ve been eyeing for months now finally arrived. Mostly because I took the plunge and actually ordered it last week instead of just seizing it up online — so the delay was totally my doing. I’m optimistic that I will be able to start sewing some more now in the evenings. Not that anything has changed much, except my optimism. I even ordered the accompanying zippers. Wonder of wonders.

6. I got some new sandals which I love and they have a heel and they’re strappy and they’re cute and they make me feel cute. Which goes to say that these sandals have some kind of magic to them.

just call me Dory

Remember (ha! I crack myself up after the first word!) that fish Dory from Finding Nemo? There are days that I feel like that fish — my short term memory is so full of holes that occasionally I can surprise even myself!

Take for example this morning: I packed my lunch, get to work, get hungry by 9:10am and open my lunch to see what kind of snack I have… and open the first container to find: SURPRISE! A piece of leftover birthday cake! And the first thought I have is: dude, SCORE.

Happy dance because I totally had no memory that this was in my lunch.

I fear, with this short-term memory issue that one day I will forget one of my children. I am constantly doing a head-count: one, two, three… ok, let’s go. I have recently gotten into the habit of turning around after vacating a table in a public space and making sure I haven’t left anything behind — a hat, child’s shoe, a beloved toy. Also, I am writing everything down. I am the poster-child for those suffering with memory loss, pretty soon I’m going to start scheduling bathroom trips and having pop-up reminders 10 minutes before the scheduled event show up on my iPhone.

*ding* time to pee in 10 minutes!

In all seriousness, I’m not sure whether this inability of mine to remember little details is permanent or temporary. I’m hoping for temporary. I’m also looking for some kind of explanation…

Arguments against temporary:

• NOT sleep deprived
• have a carefully calibrated system of caffiene intake

Arguments for temporary:

• 3 kids under the age of 5
• work full time
• still working out the kinks in the schedule
• the schedule is NEVER the same

So, anyone have any tips or tricks to help this mama out? Eat more green veggies? Lay off the coffee (note: not gonna happen)? More alerts going off on my phone?

am I the only parent who hates hallowe’en?

Really. I do not like Hallowe’en. It’s over-advertised, over-blown, over-done. It’s ONE night for a few hours. Hours people, not weeks. And don’t even get me started about the candy — kids and candy do not need to be in close proximity for that long. Screams of I want my caaaaandyyyyyyy begin to really irritate me after the first day. By  the third day I’m down right pissed off and by the time Hallowe’en night is over I am relieved. No more costumes, no more candy, no more drama.

Just about the only thing that redeems the night for me is seeing Maja and Madeleine have a really good time dressing up and looking cute and having fun. They both love sitting on our front steps handing out candy. I’m guessing that will only last another year for Maja, 2 years for Mads.

So, what do you call someone who hates hallowe’en? Not a miser or a scrooge… just a party-pooper? C’mon, I can’t be alone here in my sentiments! On the other hand, there are many people out there for whom Hallowe’en is their favourite celebration (I can not, CAN NOT refer to it as a holiday. It just isn’t.).

What say you?

This pregnancy is weighing me down

Depressing fact #1: As of two weeks ago I now weigh more than Richard. And I still have 13 weeks to go. When we got married I weighed about 25lbs less than him. I feel like hiding in a corner and crying.

Depressing fact #2: I am actually discouraging not encouraging Maddy to potty train (even though she wants to) because I physically am not comfortable hauling her up and down the stairs every time she says she needs to go potty. Or bending over to help her with her diaper. (btw, I discovered last night that she can take it off herself now).

Depressing fact #3: I went in to Ann Taylor Loft over my lunch hour to finally buy the super-cute little jacket I have been eyeing for months in the window and got even more depressed when I saw all the awesome sweaters, tops, pants and skirts that I cannot even contemplate buying. Not even buying the jacket at $30 off the original price could make me walk out of there with a smile.

Depressing fact #4: my pants are uncomfortable. Probably because they’re too small. I hate wearing clothing that pinches. Some people have a tolerance for tight jeans – I do not.

Depressing fact #5: It’s going to take me a year (or more!) to lose this weight. By that time I will be 38. I have spent the majority of my 30s either pregnant or nursing (2004 until 2010). By the time I’m done losing ALL the weight from ALL 3 pregnancies I will be nearly 40. Sob. I want to be thin again.

Depressing fact #6: next week I start the third trimester. There is much to be done in the house still to have us ready for this child. I fear it will not all get done. And OMG in those next 13 weeks we have to get through Hallowe’en, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.

Ya’ll, I DO NOT need any baby stuff, but if you really feel like getting me something a reward for having this baby please sponsor a gym membership (only $30/mo!) or a gift card to Ann Taylor Loft or a pedicure or pre-natal massage. I need a little self-esteem boost.

Writing depressing blog posts like this is really… depressing.

gather ’round — let’s all talk lactation!

So by some grace of who knows what, my place of work has just built (well, partitioned-off) a space in the women’s locker room as a dedicated Lactation Room. Thank God. Really, the fact that our building didn’t have one already always struck me as kind of short-sighted. I work for a supposedly highly-enlightened ivy league university… they’re supposed to be forward-thinking and on the cutting-edge! They are the ones others look up to for guidance! But instead, for the past two children I’ve had to resort to hiding in some old bathroom-like stall without a lock in order to pump some mommy-goodness. Yeah, hi, I’m pumping – ka-chunka, ka-chunka, ka-chunka goes the machine. So discreet. I was lucky if there was a chair in there. This is not the kind of space that makes a mom want to continue to nurse their child – not a very friendly space. However out of sheer determination that’s what I endured for both Maja and Madeleine. For 5 and 6 months. Three times a day. Yeah, good times.

Oh sure, there was the “other” room I used. It had a table and a bench. But you couldn’t lock the door and more often then not someone was having a nap in the room. It was always so welcoming to walk in to there and flick on the light, wake someone up, and then whip off your shirt, stick your boobs into a machine and say “Hi. Don’t mind me.” Or better yet already be all settled in only to have someone walk in on you sitting there in all your glory. I wish I had had a camera to record the looks of horror.

But now there is an honest-to-goodness Lactation Room. It’s carpeted. It has a door that locks. You can schedule the room AND only nursing moms get a key! There’s a chair, a table, a fridge, a bulletin board for photos (helps with let-down), storage space for your pump and accessories, and (hopefully?) a microwave so you can sterilize equipment. Wonders never cease.

It almost makes having a third child just so I can use this new room worth it.

Ha ha.

On having a foreign mama

I am the child of immigrants. My children are the children of an immigrant. While my move from Canada to the US was much less dramatic then my parents’, the differences in language and pronunciation between Maja and I are becoming apparent to her.

I should point out that I probably had this coming as I (and my sisters) have spent nearly our entire lives making fun of my mother’s German accen. She of course will deny that she has one, but um, have you met my mother?!? She has an accent. She can’t pronounce a “v” to save her life. Wodka. She also pronounces her “w” as a “v”. Veather.

I recently had a similar conversation with Maja.
I said house: Howse. She argued: Haughse. I said out: Owt. She said: aaawt. I said Zed. She said Zee.

Oh sigh.

The croc debate**

I’ve never really been a fan of crocs. I have always thought of them as ‘cheap’ shoes that aren’t very fashionable. I think they look funny. And why would one want to wear a piece of foam on your foot? Why not just cut out a piece of Styrofoam and tie that to your foot? Hey, I’m hip and cool and look at my awesome foam shoes!

Recently, however, I’ve changed my mind. Maybe this croc trend is actually worth looking into. Everyone I’ve talked to who owns a pair loves them – they’re comfortable, versatile, they don’t smell when wet…

People – it’s that last one that intrigues me because right now? My shoes stink to high heaven. The smell like a combination of trash, sewage, swamp, and vinegar. I can barely stand the smell of them and I’m wearing them. At work. I will have to hide my feet the entire day! I’m embarrassed. This transpired because my current shoes got wet in one of the frequent late-afternoon thunderstorms that we get around here. They also got slightly wet when I was walking through ankle-deep puddles a few weeks ago.

So, enter the crocs. I need the crocs for one very specific task: walking through the rain while pushing the stroller in the summertime. Rubber boots are no good as they’re too hot; regular shoes are no good because they get wet and start to stink; duckshoes… too hot; flipflops I hate with a passion. So, crocs are the only option.

I bit the bullet and ordered these in black (of course):

Cute, no? Not clunky at all. And they’re doing exactly what they’re supposed to be doing. Only thing? They REALLY squeak when wet – kinda like styrofoam.

**Please note, the crocs company has not in any way, shape, or form asked me to write this or has in any way sponsored this post. I’m writing this of my own free will.

The name debate

So, the best thing about having a girl is not having to think up a boy name. This is the third time Richard and I have gone down this road of trying to come up with a boy name and the third time our efforts and arguments were for naught. Boy names are hard to come up with. Girl names, for whatever reason, are easier for me.

I was trying to explain to Richard the other evening (probably Thursday evening, the night before the ultrasound) about why boy names were hard for me. It all has to do with *history*. Dating history, crushes on boys history, rejected love history. I did not have many serious relationships before Richard – two I think. Really. – but between those two relationships and the few smaller ones… well, it rules out a lot of names.

You can’t very well name your boy-child after an ex-boyfriend/crush. Or use that ex-boyfriend’s middle name. Or use the ex-boyfriend’s fathers name. Or use the name that the ex-boyfriend said they wanted to name their child (don’t ask why this is coming out of the woodwork now – there never was that possibility, just (now) childish musings one has when one is in love). Or the name of the ex-boyfriend’s (now presumably dead) cat or dog or fish or hamster or whatever.

Clearly I have issues. Maybe it’s just a problem that goes along with becoming a mama when you’re older – you’ve got more history behind you. Those 20-somethings that are having babies? They haven’t (and I could be VERY wrong about this – actually, I know I’m very wrong on this) dated that many people – and if they have it’s not like any of those relationships lasted more than a few months. Love’em and leave’em. But when you’ve hit your late 30s? There’s been time for those long-term relationships. Ugh.

The saddest part of not having a boy is that I can’t give a head-nod to my dad. Just so you know, dad, Peter was strong on the list. Henry was on there somewhere too.

Hmmm, maybe I should argue for Peterina? Or Henrietta?

gentlemen, avert your eyes

Sorry guys, but um, you may not want to read this post. This is your fair warning to stop now. Really. I’m going to talk ‘girl talk’. Click away from here.

I am not an overweight person, but when pregnant I gain the pounds (like I’m supposed to!) and it all gets deposited between my belly, hips, and thighs. All (eventual) 30lbs of it. Oh my poor thighs. I’m not that big a fan of them in general but when I’m pregnant? They’re huge. ugh. And because of their increased girth, I get the chafing, or as one friend called it: chub rub.

Horrible description that, but so right. The chub is rubbin’ and it hurts. I see a few options here: walk like a cowboy; don’t walk at all (challenging… but worth consideration); wear pants; wear shorts; wear shorts under skirts. Let’s analyze that:

Walk like a cowboy. I’m already huge, so I could probably get away with walking funny I suppose. I’ll keep this option in mind.

Don’t walk. Right. Do you know how much walking I do on a normal day? Up to 2 miles if not more. Not walking is not an option.

Wear pants. It’s summer. In Philly. It’s over 90F with humidity. I’m pregnant. Wearing pants not only sounds like a retarded idea it sounds torturous. No thanks.

Wear shorts. Sure, after work and on weekends. But I can’t very well wear shorts to work.

Wear shorts under skirts. Um, you want me to put on MORE clothing? Go back to the pants explanation: hot, humid, pregnant. No extra layers are wanted.

So, I wear skirts and dresses. And I suffer the chafing rub. Suffer.

Until today. Until I went to google and did a search and found out about a cream called Soothing Care.* Wha? Enough people suffer from this embarrassing state of being that there’s a cream out there? The clouds parted and the sun shone down and the birds sang and twittered around a rainbow. I nearly RAN, well, as fast as a cowboy can, to the closest drugstore to get myself some of this magic cream.

[Oh a slight side note to drugstores -- why are you stocking this next to the yeast infection stuff? Ok, sure, it's marketed towards women but I'm sure guys could use it! Don't they get chub rub, too? Just because it's made by Monistat doesn't mean that it needs to be in the feminine products aisle. It's a skin protectant. It clearly states that it's NOT intended to treat yeast infections. Truth be told, I looked in the skin care lotion aisle first and when I didn't find it there I wandered over to the feminine products aisle. C'mon people... think outside the box for once, would you?!?]

Anyway, I applied the magic cream. I walked like a normal person. Without irritation. It was a miracle. It was like my inner thighs weren’t even under the same skirt. I even tried the “model” walk — you know, the one that looks like your thighs were molded together? — this stuff was working! Hallelujah!

So for those of you made it to the end of this post — next time you see me walking and smiling you’ll know what’s keeping the chub rub at bay.

*not sponsored post. I’m just writing this to help all ya’ll out ’cause I never heard of this stuff before and sure could have used it with pregnancy #s 1 & 2.

*p.s. also heard that BodyGlide may do the trick.

In which we make it to 5 years.

When I tell people that today is mine and Richard’s 5th wedding anniversary the usual reaction is: only 5 years? It seems like longer.

[Seems I had a similar reaction last year: only 4?]

Yeah, yeah, well, we you know we like to pack in the activities: 2 houses, new jobs, 2 kids (with a 3rd in progress), 1 dog … You can’t say that we’re slackers! We like to keep busy.

I’d like to commemorate this special day with a poem that we had read on our wedding day.

Tin Wedding Whistle – Ogden Nash

Though you know it anyhow
Listen to me, darling, now,
Proving what I need not prove
How I know I love you, love.
Near and far, near and far,
I am happy where you are;
Likewise I have never learnt
How to be it where you aren’t.
Far and wide, far and wide,
I can walk with you beside;
Furthermore, I tell you what,
I sit and sulk where you are not.
Visitors remark my frown
Where you’re upstairs and I am down,
Yes, and I’m afraid I pout
When I’m indoors and you are out;
But how contentedly I view
Any room containing you.
In fact I care not where you be,
Just as long as it’s with me.
In all your absences I glimpse
Fire and flood and trolls and imps.
Is your train a minute slothful?
I goad the stationmaster wrothful.
When with friends to bridge you drive
I never know if you’re alive,
And when you linger late in shops
I long to telephone the cops.
Yet how worth the waiting for,
To see you coming through the door.
Somehow, I can be complacent
Never but with you adjacent.
Near and far, near and far,
I am happy where you are;
Likewise I have never larnt
How to be it where you aren’t.
Then grudge me not my fond endeavor,
To hold you in my sight forever;
Let none, not even you, disparage
Such a valid reason for a marriage.