The World According to the Peevish Kitty
Jan
31
If you have read this blog at all for any period of time, you know we like to preserve a modicum on anonymity out here on Teh Intertubes. We go by nicknames. I don’t post pictures of people in my family or circle of friends. The only ones who go by actual names and actual pictures are our cats, because hey, they’re stars. They have their public to think of.
But where it most often applies is when it comes to our daughter. She has no say about whether or not I am posting stories about her life and times. But I do like to respect her privacy in refraining from posting photos. Let’s be honest, Teh Internet is not always a happy friendly place, particularly where children are concerned, and I don’t believe posting her photo is necessarily in her best interest. So, most of our daughter’s pictures are, to paraphrase BDH and a couple of readers, “Wilson-ized” (translation: like Wilson from Home Improvement, you only get to see bits of her face.)
When she’s old enough, then she can decide whether she wants her photo plastered all over Teh Internets… at which point her father will say “The HELL you will.”
But, there are times where I want to show off my daughter, or post a picture of us together. Or maybe even post a video… if I can figure it out. So I am going to try an experiment, and post a picture, and password protect it. Because I want to see how it works. ‘Cause I am crazy like that.
So what means this… “password protecting” thing? Well, it means that I make a post, and you’ll need to enter a password to read it — not the entire blog, just the post. (And, any subsequent posts that are password protected.)
THEORETICALLY, it will work like this. We’ll see.
And if you are interested: The password is easy, if you know my daughter’s first two names. Just replace the As with @ signs and the Es with 3s and you’ve got it. SO… for example, if my daughter’s names were Sarah and Jane (which they are NOT), the password would be S@r@hJ@n3.
Numbers substituted for vowels. And all one word. Got it?
Or… if that’s too complicated, I can email it to you. Whatevs. It’s all good.
So if you want to, try it. We’ll see if it works. And if it does, I’ll see what else I have to share with my peeps.
Jan
29
When asked the question last night by BDH, I would have to say my favourite chocolate bar isn’t a bar at all. Rather, I like an assortment box of very good quality chocolates: lots of nuts, plenty of caramel, no fruit flavoured, and heavier on the dark chocolate.
So today I have an assortment of things. With its fair share of nuts.
Jan
27
I was on the ledge yesterday, but another mommy talked me in off it.
It was a bad mommy day for me yesterday. I have had a few in recent weeks, and I was feeling really lousy. I know that all mommies have them (and dads too, obviously) but sometimes it is hard to remember. And you need another mom to remind you.
I have been finding myself being short and cranky with my daughter sometimes. There are days when, as a parent, you get so worn down or tired, or whatever the reason is, that you begin to hear yourself being sharp with your child. Even the most easygoing of children can do things to annoy you some days, especially when you are with them 24/7. Even the most pleasant of children can find something that can grind on your last nerve. Even the most low-maintenance of kids can push your buttons some days.
I was having one of those days. Like I said, I have had a couple in the last few weeks.
If you are a parent, there’s a lot of guilt to being a parent. It comes in various forms. Working parents feel it because they have to work and cannot be with their child as much as they want to, or because they are missing moments with their child that they can’t get back, or because they get to get out of the house and interact with other adults. I am not a working parent, so I am sure there are more that I don’t know about.
I can speak to being a stay-at-home parent. On the surface of things, you feel guilty because you have been given this opportunity to be home with your child and help them grow, and somebody else bears the considerable burden of going off to work and supporting your family. You feel guilty because on days when you are not at your best as a parent, it’s like you are ungrateful for this opportunity. You feel guilty when you complain about your day, given those circumstances.
But on a day-to-day level, there are things that get to you. You feel guilty because you are spending too much time interacting with your child, and things don’t get done around the house. Or you feel guilty for not interacting enough with your child, and parking them in front of the television while you get something done. Or you feel bad for wanting some time to yourself, just to do some basic things like shower or sit and have a cup of tea.
The worst, though, is losing your temper. If it’s just you and your child, all day long, day in and day out, you are bound to get on each other’s nerves. No matter how much you love and enjoy your child, they’re going to make you nuts. You speak sharply or you get angry or whatever. The remorse is almost instantaneous. So’s the guilt.
Part of the problem is that you rarely see other mommies at their worst. You go to visit other parents and they are usually calm and pleasant, even when their child is misbehaving. Their houses are usually neat and tidy. You don’t see them snap at their kids. So you begin to think of how you should be better at this, how you fall short by comparison. But another part of the problem is that you are in a bubble a lot of the time, just you and your child, so it can be hard to remember to keep your perspective on things. When it’s just you and your child, things just seem magnified because you have nothing else to compare to, and no one there to tell you any differently.
Add to that, the fact that you spent years trying to have this child, and everything you went though to get them makes you feel that you should just shut up and be grateful for every moment, and not complain.
So, the pressure builds and the guilt builds, and you begin to feel pretty lousy. And you feel lousy about feeling lousy.
So yesterday, I was feeling bad. I had snapped a couple of times at my child, who had spit food at me for the 3rd time in one sitting, or who had been blowing raspberries for 4 hours straight, or whatever. And I was feeling like a really lousy mom.
Right on cue, who should pop up in my IM window but… another mom.
I confessed I was having a bad mommy day. And she gave me some much-needed perspective.
She reassured me that every parent has bad days, and snaps at their child, and feels crappy about their parenting skills. She told me that it’s okay to discipline your child, and try to teach them things you want them to do and deter behaviours you’d rather not see, and that NO is a good word. She and I compared stories about how things were going wrong. We railed about how hard/unfair/challenging things can be. We talked about what makes it worthwhile, and how we were really lucky to have such great kids. And in the end, we laughed about how easy it is to lose yourself in this parenting thing, and how easy it is to lose perspective.
She talked me in off the ledge.
So today, I feel more like I want to feel. I am not perfect. My kid is not perfect. I love my child, but she can be a weenie sometimes. My kid is happy, healthy and thriving. And I am doing okay as a parent.
And I have great friends who know the parenting ledge well, and are there to help talk me in off it when I need it.
Jan
25
And the winner of the Most Awesomest Husband of the Year (Weekend Edition) goes to BDH… for not only watching Stinkerbelle for a few hours yesterday afternoon so I could take an almost-two-hour nap, but for taking the watch for That Baby from 10 pm last night and through this morning so I could sleep in.
That’s right, you heard me… SLEEP IN.
Oh my doG, it was awesome. I slept like the dead for two hours yesterday afternoon, but then this morning, I slept until 7:30, when I looked at the clock, rolled over, and slept for another hour. It was Teh Best.
I was so grateful when he offered to take her last night. It was like somebody just handed me a million bucks.
I could sleep for another few days, but even still… it was fantastic.
So our winner gets… well a plate of nachos for lunch… and a whole lot of “ohmygodthankyou”s for the rest of the afternoon. And a slightly less cranky wife.
Good deal for everybody, I think.
Jan
22
The temperature has warmed up, the wind has died down, and the locals are hanging out at the local eatery again.
At one point, there were 6 of them out there. Two gray squirrels and four black squirrels, squabbling over peanuts and sunflower seeds. It was like the Sharks and the Jets, only without the catchy tunes.
Jan
20
In every parent’s life, there are times you hear yourself channeling your parents in the things you say. Usually, it happens when you are imparting advice or rules or some little bit of wisdom to your child.
Rules are good; they are in place to keep your child safe and healthy and growing up to be a productive member of society, and to keep parents sane and avoiding having to buy cast-iron furniture and shell out massive amounts of money on therapy.
We have these little bits of advice or rules or pearls of wisdom, too, and I hear myself saying them on a regular basis. Although ours are less of the “Always-look-both-ways-before-you-cross-the-street” variety and more of the “If-you-keep-making-that-face-your-face-will-freeze-like-that” variety.
Here are some of the little pearls of wisdom heard recently around our house:
Variation on the “While you live in this house, you will follow my rules” saying.
Whenever our daughter is in her high chair, and I take the tray off, she lurches forward to do something. Usually she’s grabbing the saddle horn-thingy that sticks up between her legs as a safety measure to keep her from falling, or leans over the side of the chair to see what’s there, or grasps madly at the seat belt in an attempt to unbuckle it. But we don’t like the whole idea of her lurching forward and potentially flying off the chair. Of course, when she’s a grownup — especially a famous one making buckets more money than we do — well, she’s free to lurch and throw herself off whatever she pleases.
Variation on the Golden Rule, or perhaps the saying “Friends don’t let friends drink and drive.”
Our washer and dryer is in our upstairs bathroom. And we have converted the top of the dryer into a change table. Now, That Baby’s a fidgety sort, so we have an assortment of objects on top of the dryer to keep her amused and relatively still during diaper changes — socks, a bib, some toys. Previously, we had a small Tigger there, but he’s since been relocated, and in his place we have Barbra the purple hippo, a new great pal from Santa.
Well, like most kids, Stinkerbelle is going through the phase of knocking her toys on the floor, and waiting to see what happens. It’s hard, in the midst of a stinky diaper change, to constantly bend down and pick Barbra up off the floor… hence the evolution of this particular bit of advice.
Variation on any number of rules used to keep children away from hot stoves, knives, and other dangerous objects.
Our cat Opus is 19 years old. She’s deaf. She’s a bit senile. And she is crochety. And, like a stove, depending on when you approach her and how, you could be in for a nasty surprise. (Well, not really… she’s mostly harmless. Being dangerous requires effort and power, and quite honestly, she’s too tiny and old. She’s more about the shouting.) But just to spare Opus the aggravation, and to spare the household the shouting, we have a rule in place about That Kitty, which applies not only to kids but to other cats as well. (Plus it makes Opus feel all tough and gangsta. She likes that.)
Variation on any number of exhortations to get your child to eat what he or she does not want to eat.
For Christmas, we got the Long Way Round and Long Way Down series of DVDs and books. And we’ve watched and read them already. We really enjoyed them. And in one of them, Ewan McGregor tells you that a particular day’s ride is going to be tough and cold, and so they are having extra rations of oatmeal to fuel up for it. So… it seemed more interesting and persuasive than “eat this because there are kids starving in Yupookistan” or whatever.
Variation on the old classic “Wait until your father gets home.”
All parents have times when they get exasperated with their kids, and they just have to think of something to say to get their kids to behave and know who’s boss. For some kids, it was “Wait until your father gets home”. Often, it was “Don’t make me pull this car over.” For BDH and myself, it was “I’m going to get the wooden spoon…”
Most kids THINK they know that nothing bad will happen. But it makes them stop for a second and think, “Hmmm. Possibly there will be serious repercussions if I continue this errant behaviour, and I should heed my parent’s warning.” And mostly, it’s an idle threat.
We have one. And so far, it’s only been tested on the cats. And they, like a human child, mostly ignore us. But it makes us FEEL like we’re in charge. So… it seems to be a winner.
Credit goes to Fry and Laurie on the Smack Fairy. I couldn’t make that up myself.
Variation on any number of rules set up by parents to make day-to-day life easier for all concerned, usually followed by “…because I said so” or “…because I’m your mother.”
While changing a child’s diaper, conventional wisdom says it is easiest to grab said child by her ankles/feet, and hoist her bum in the air in order to remove the offending diaper and all nasty items contained therein and access and clean all of said child’s undercarriage. Sometimes, however, you must loosen or change your grip — if, for example, you need to reach for something, or you find yourself having inadvertently gotten something nasty on your hand. It happens.
Now, when changing her diaper, Stinkerbelle has a habit, if you let her feet go for even one second, of slamming them down into the poo. Which then means, not only are you cleaning her bum and your hands, but also her feet and toes and whatever she’s managed to put them on in the split second it has taken you to react (clothing, change table, wall, her hands, whatever).
There are several variants to this rule, including “Don’t put your feet in the pee”, “Don’t stick Barbra in the pee”, and the ever-popular “Don’t put that THERE”. And I think you know what I mean.
Another variation on the Golden Rule, “Treat others as you wish to be treated”.
My daughter is recently into clambering all over me, heaving herself to and fro, stomping on me, smacking various bits of my person, and just generally having a good time when sitting on my lap or being cuddled. All kids go through it. It’s like they don’t grasp that you are an actual person, and not something provided solely for their entertainment. Quelle surprise.
Variation on… Nah. I think this one is pretty self-explanatory.
A variation on the Golden Rule. Or maybe it’s the stove thing. It could go either way.
Variations on this rule include “Don’t fart on <insert name>, you’ve only just met him/her” and “Don’t barf on <insert name>, that’s not cool”. And really, these are rules we can all live by, aren’t they?
So, yeah, some would say we’re strict with all these rules. Possibly they’re not exactly the stuff that gets passed down from father to son or whatever. But I think we’re just being practical.
And when our child isn’t licking you, you’ll thank us for it.
Jan
16
Stinkerbelle loves her music. And she loves her giraffe. Now, if one of them could only figure out how to operate the DVD player.
Oh, I LOVE this one! How does this thing work again?
Maybe there are some instructions on the back…
I know you’re in there!!
Rats. I surrender.
Jan
15
Holy icicles, Batman. It’s -27 outside.
MINUS TWENTY SEVEN. And that’s not including wind chill. DUDE. That’s cold. But it’s not just here, it’s across much of the country. (Except the Yukon, to which I say, good on them. They get enough of the cold there.) And out west? It’s something like -250 or some ridiculous thing. People are probably freezing to their toilet seats and stuff out there. It’s not good.
It’s so cold, I let BDH turn up the heat. Me, the cheapest of the cheap, am succumbing to the siren song of the furnace and basking in the glow of a warm-ish house. So long as you don’t go near any windows. The tile floor is considerably warmer than the ice-rink feeling it normally has. I could be comfortable in less than a layer of fleece, if I wanted.
If I am honest, I am actually kind of glad to be housebound without transportation on days like this. Sure, you get a little stir-crazy, but at least it’s warm. (Plus my back is a bit sore today after doing doG knows what to it PLUS some extended walk-and-rock time last night, so it’s nice to not have to haul myself, carseat, baby and assorted paraphernalia hither and yon.)
But on days where some people’s kids get up early and somehow refreshed after a late night of keeping the house up with gas pains and crying, it’s kind of hard to get motivated to do much. I rolled over and looked at the clock at half-past dark this morning, and wanted nothing more than to snuggle deeper under the duvet and sleep for several more hours. Like a hibernating cartoon bear, with a sign outside my den reading “Do Not Wake Until Spring”.
It’s the perfect day for staying in bed late, comfy and warm and dreaming under the covers, maybe to wake up to a lazy brunch and a newspaper. Yes?
Ummmm, no. Sounds great and all but unfortunately, real life’s not like that, is it.
I admire those people who can get out and enjoy days like this. People who call the weather “bracing” and make that BRRR-RRR-RR-RR sound while they cheerfully go about their business. People who bundle up and go cross-country skiing, baby in a sled pulled behind them. People who go for regular walks, regardless of weather. People who look forward to these days. (Not those joggers who are out on days like this. They are just nuts, man.)
I am not one of those people. I am made for warmer climes. (And until I packed on the extra pounds, I was a big fan of hot climates. Right now, the added insulation means I’m only good for warm.)
So, since staying in bed is NOT an option, it looks like we’re going to have to find some good substututes. It seems like the perfect day for warm drinks — good thing, too, because it’s one of those days where you feel like there is NOT ENOUGH CAFFEINE IN THE WORLD to wake you out of the tired you have going. It’s the perfect day for napping when That Baby naps. It could be the perfect day to introduce That Baby to a storybook, reading together and sitting under a blanket on the sofa. It might even be the perfect day for making a batch of oatmeal cookies, with an extra pinch of cinnamon.
I’ll definitely nap when That Baby naps today, that’s for sure. And maybe then I will dream about a lazy day under the covers, while the wind blows and the house creaks in the cold.
Jan
13
Okay. I admit it. I’m a bit of a bastard. A bit of a lazy, procrastinating, not-posting bastard.
(You will note I did not say pie-stealing bastard. Well, some things are self-evident. But also, we haven’t had pie in FOR-EVAH. So. But I digress.)
I’ve gotten a whole bunch of quilt squares in, and I have yet to get the camera out and take pictures and post about any of them.
Honestly? I am getting behind in a lot of things.
Suddenly — well, since we got back from holidays — Her Babyness has just become so BUSY. No, she’s not taken up ballroom dancing or skydiving or anything, but in her own way, she is keeping me hopping. She’s moving, and talking, and trying new things every day. It’s awesome.
But also? I made a promise that I wasn’t going to be one of those moms that park their kids in front of the TV Babysitter all the time so that I can do other things. Sure, I do put her in her saucer to watch the tube from time to time, so I can get my own breakfast or change a load of laundry or prep supper — who doesn’t? — but I am really trying to engage with her more.
I’m trying to do things WITH her, and often the TV is just part of the fun. So today, for example, I put her in her saucer and put Mamma Mia (her new fave) on TV. But then, I sat down beside her and helped her do something new: she ate her first Cheerio all by herself today. Other times, we’ll sing and dance. Depending on what’s on, we’ll play along with the video or talk about what’s going on or just play together.
I was a latchkey kid, and TV was my babysitter and my companion. It was by necessity. And I survived just fine. But I am trying to start my daughter off a bit differently, so TV is occasional entertainment or a means of learning something. (We don’t have real TV, anyway. We have DVDs. So what I put on for her is limited to what we own.)
But I am trying to make time to engage with my daughter, because… well, she’s just so cool. She’s fun and as cute as can be, and I enjoy being with her. And to be completely honest, this might be our only chance at being parents, and I don’t want to miss out on things. I know I am in her face a lot — HULLOBABYHOWAREYOU, ISN’TTHISGREATIAMYOURMOMYOUAREMYKID, LIFEROCKSDOESNTIT? — so I do try to give her a little down time and a little space to just play and relax.
But otherwise, man… she may be watching TV, but I am watching HER.
I admit it. She’s a bit of a saucer potato. And I am a bit of a floor-by-the-saucer potato.
And I admit, it’s keeping me from posting stuff. I’ll get to it, I promise. But not right now, the good bit is coming up in a couple minutes…
Jan
12
Stinkerbelle is now nine months old. She’s just finished her 4th month with us, and her 9th month on this planet. So here’s the latest:
Jan
8
It’s been a day here at the House of Peevish. When it rains, proverbially speaking, it pours.
It started off fine enough. This morning Stinkerbelle had to go to the doctor, so I was up early and caffeinated as much as possible. She ate a good breakfast, pooped right on schedule (hooray for regularity!) so I could get a diaper change done BEFORE we left, and didn’t mind being bundled up to go out into the minus Holy Crap morning we were having.
I had to go out to the car-shaped pile of snow in the driveway and tunnel in to find my little vehicle. It took a lot of clearing off, but it started up without complaint, and I let it warm up while I got Stinkerbelle ready to go. And once it was nice and warm, I got her settled and off we went.
The drive to Stinkerbelle’s doctor’s office is maybe a kilometer or two away. It’s literally around the corner. (And down the street a ways. And around another corner. Whatever. It’s close.) She was shouting then entire time, probably at whatever she saw out the back window — “Hello, my peeps! It is I! Your QUEEN!” — or whatever it is that babies that age shout about. Anyway, she was in good form.
And despite being hot and wrapped in about 60 pounds of fleece, she remained cheerful at the doctor. She chatted to staff and visitors alike; she does not discriminate. She was happy and burbling at the nurse and the doctor… UNTIL THEY STUCK THOSE POINTY THINGS IN HER LEGS.
OH, the humanity.
First was the look of surprise and shock, followed quickly by a look of abject sorrow and betrayal. The big tears came to her eyes. The wailing began, followed by the pleading “ma-ma-ma-ma-ma”s. It seemed like an eternity until I could pick her up and comfort her.
I admit it. I cried a little, too. It’s always harder on the parents than the child.
But she cheered up presently, and I got her dressed and packed into the car again to leave. She was tired, and probably a little uncomfortable from her shots, so I shelved the proposed grocery shopping trip, and took her home for a bottle, and a snuggle, and a nap instead.
On the way home, we pulled up to a red light. I normally drive pretty slowly with Her Babyness in the car. So I braked to stop at the light. And as I came to a stop, I felt the brakes get kind of… SOFT… under my foot. My foot on the pedal went all the way to the floor. I thought, “Hm. That’s odd”, but when the light changed, I proceeded on towards home.
I didn’t have to brake again until the stop sign on our street. Again, the brakes felt really soft, and the car was slow to stop. It was almost as though I was sliding on snow, although I wasn’t. At least, I don’t think so. I pulled into the driveway, stopped the car, and got us unloaded and into the house.
After a nap and some lunch, Stinkerbelle was pretty cheerful, so I decided to go for groceries. Once again, I got her bundled up, I warmed up the car, and packed her in. I sat down in the driver’s seat, and noticed the brake light was on. The HAND brake light. Now, for all I know, that’s the only brake light my car has. But it was on.
Only my hand brake? I NEVER use it. It wasn’t on. It almost never is.
But I thought, “Meh. You’re an old car. I’ll humour you.” I grabbed the car’s manual and it was, as ever, very vague. It basically said something to the effect that “ooh, your hand brake is on. Or there’s something wrong with your brakes in general. Have a nice day.”
So I pulled the hand brake. I let it down.
The light stayed on.
I pulled the hand brake again. I let it down again. Light still on. I did this a couple of times. Still making with the Lighty McWarninglight.
So then I thought, “Screw you, you silly warning light. My parking brake is not on. And my baby is getting all shouty back there. I am going grocery shopping. So there.”
Which was the wrong thing to say. Because the brakes totally went, “Oh YEAH? Take THIS.” And my foot went right to the floor. I tried backing out and braking and it was like I was slipping on the snow again.
So I took the brake light seriously. It appeared I had no brakes.
I pulled back up the driveway, put it in park, and unpacked the increasingly impatient baby.
I called BDH, since I know nothing about cars, and he effectively grounded me. Which means, I am grounded INDEFINITELY, because we have negative money right now. So fixing the brakes right now is NOT an option.
It’s just as well, I guess. I settled in for the afternoon with a baby who was starting to feel the effects of her shots, and is clingy and nappish. There are worse ways to pass an afternoon than cuddling with your beloved baby, I guess.
But it would have been SO much better with some veggies and dip to snack on. Which we don’t have, because of a lack of groceries.
Damn that brake light! No lovely fresh veggies! Although I’m so peevish, I could forsake the healthy eating plan and totally eat a fistful of cookies.
When it rains, it pours.
Jan
7
I am perpetually tired. Last year (or was it the year before? good grief, time flies), I chronicled my adventures at the sleep clinic. I went not once but twice, so my sleep could be analysed and they could see why I was never rested. It was determined I have moderate sleep apnea, and so I was given a machine called a CPAP, which is kind of like an oxygen mask but blows pressurized air to help keep me breathing at night, to help me sleep.
I looked forward to getting good nights of sleep and waking up refreshed for the first time in my life. And while my sleep is better, it is certainly not great.
Part of the problem is that I am just not getting enough sleep — because my sleep is so poor, I need more of it than the average bear. But I get up early with Stinkerbelle and so that would mean I need to go to bed earlier — and that means sacrificing the precious few hours of time I have to do my own thing, or to spend with BDH. And I am not sure I want to do that just yet.
Another part of the problem is that I am not fit enough and could stand to lose some pounds. That would definitely help my sleep a bit. But it’s a challenge — I am working on it, but it’s a big challenge. The losing weight part I am working on with improving my eating habits. But getting fit is a bit more difficult, especially in winter. From 6 am until around 10 pm I am on baby alert/duty — so fitting exercise into that time frame, with a child who only catnaps, is tough. I am thinking about possibilities, but will definitely be better equipped when the weather makes taking Her Babyness out for walks more feasible.
But the most annoying part of the problem is stress.
When I was working and I was stressed, or when I was coaching a lot and had lots on the go, I would dream about what was taxing my time and energy. I spent endless nights dreaming about work or volleyball practices or statistics or whatever, and it was as though I had never been to sleep at all. I was exhausted from being mentally “up” all night. And nowadays, I am finding the same problem.
Almost every night, I have variations on the same dream. In my dream, I am asleep in my bed, and someone — usually BDH — comes in and wakes me and asks me to take care of the baby. When we were down east for Christmas, there were nights when the whole family would come in and tell me to take care of the baby. People I barely knew were traipsing in and out and telling me what to do. It was exhausting.
However, most nights it’s BDH saying, “She’s kept me up for hours and I have to get some sleep because I have to work in the morning… could you help me out?” Of course I agree. And then he puts the baby down on the bed and leaves. So then, in the dream, I decide that maybe if I keep her in bed with me, she’ll play quietly and then doze off, and I will get some sleep.
Only, the problem is, in my dream, I may have a plan, but nobody told my conscious self that. So, I will wake up multiple times a night, checking to see that dream-Stinkerbelle is okay, or that she has not fallen out of bed or something. I have woken up and actually been sitting up in bed, reaching around to find her. I have woken up to find myself leaning over the side of the bed, checking on the floor, reaching around on the bedside table… The other night I woke up to find I had actually taken my mask off and had it cradled under my arm on the bed, as though it were the baby.
It’s nuts.
Worse still are the nights when I dream that she has actually fallen out of bed. Then, I wake up frantic and in a panic, heart pounding, only to find it dark and quiet and that Stinkerbelle is tucked in safe and warm in her crib in her room. But because I woke up in a panic, getting back to a state of deep sleep is a bit of a challenge, if there’s even time before I have to get up. I’m usually just happy if I don’t fall back to sleep and dream the same stinking dream again.
It’s exhausting.
So, yeah, there are nights where, because of this fitful sleeping, it’s as though I am parenting 24 hours a day. I’m sure single parents have some empathy for that, but at least they get some sleep when they DO go to sleep. Me, I’m just parenting in another dimension.
Jan
6
So, you may recall, from my post about New Years and making suggestions for improvement, that I have some issues with Teh Food. (To sum up: I love it, in all its forms, and in large quantities. It does not love me. And it spends too much time loitering about my midsection and posterior. Or, to paraphrase M*A*S*H, walking away from people it looks like I am wearing two strange bulldogs in a bag.)
So… on that same post, Andrea made the awesome suggestion of making a meal plan for the month to help with shopping for good stuff, and portion control, and time management. Which sounds like a most excellent idea. BDH also came into the kitchen and was really enthused about the idea, too.
I spent the day yesterday looking for recipes, thinking it might inspire me. And I had forgotten how many excellent cookbooks I had, and how many good recipes there are that I would like to try. And then I had the idea of asking you for your ideas.
So here is your task, should you choose to accept it: recommend your favourite recipes to fit into my menu plan. But there are some guidelines, if you can fit them in:
Anything you want to post here would be great, or send along to me in email, or even online recipes you want to direct me to would work. (However, posting links in the comments often sends comments to my spam folder, so apologies in advance while I go fish things out of the spam folder.)
I am looking forward to any culinary delights you can recommend!
Jan
4
I think that I might have discovered a weight loss plan that ALSO saves you money. It’s called the Baby Diet Plan.
Here’s what you do:
Yes. We’ve come to that part of the show, the part where Stinkerbelle learns to shriek. I know that most babies go through this phase. It’s how they learn how to use their voices. Well, that’s all well and good. But I have never known a baby with as much lung power as Stinkerbelle.
Seriously. The kid has some LUNGS, man.
I mean, I myself am a fairly loud person. Or, I can be when I want to be. As can BDH. And yet, we pale in comparison to the sheer volume our daughter can muster.
I have survived no less than 5 nieces, and many of them went all shrieky around this age. But they were amateurs in comparison to the noise Her Babyness can make.
I also love going to watch games where the volume can be loud. I like to turn my music up. I like concerts and musicals on stage. I love a good, booming action flick at the theatre. And yet? They have nothing on Stinkerbelle.
I am serious. She just shrieked at me while we were in the same room together, and my ears HURT. Five minutes later, they are still feeling it. She is painfully loud.
We knew, the first time she had a real, serious crying fit that she could be loud, but we had no idea she could be THIS loud.
A long time ago, I promised myself and the world that I was not going to be one of Those Parents, who take their child out to a restaurant or similar place, where patrons are paying to enjoy themselves, only to have my child shrieking and going on and disturbing the others. I always hated parents who brought their child out and were unwilling or unable to control their child, and consequently disturbed others. I wasn’t going to be That Parent.
Well, that time has come. Up until now, taking Stinkerbelle out when we wanted to go to a restaurant was easy. She would play quietly, or have a bottle, or doze in her bucket.
No more.
The girl can shatter glass with that shriek. And there’s no telling when she’s going to whip it out. So, until that phase passes, we will be homebodies.
Some places welcome a noisy baby. I am sure we’ll do well stopping in to watch games over at the university, where yelling is expected — nay, encouraged. Going for a walk, where noise can dissipate, should be no problem.
Restaurants are out. The theatre is out. No churches or museums or funerals or weddings. Even the grocery store might be touch-and-go.
Well, that’s fine. Who needs to eat out, anyway? I could use a foolproof weight loss plan.
Jan
2
Speaking of a new year, and making changes, and all that…
Stinkerbelle chose today to begin crawling. She can only go backwards, and it’s more of a creep than a crawl. And she gets started by doing a big faceplant from a sitting position.
She spent much of the afternoon moving around the room here. Back and forth in front of the TV. Left turn. Cruise past me in my comfy chair. She only stopped when she got too tired or got stuck after backing into a piece of furniture.
I know I have said it before, but… Our lives will NEVER be the same. On a whole different level.
Jan
2
It’s a new year. It feels much like the old one in many ways, but it will be so much different in many others.
2008 was a banner year for us. It will always be a very special year for us, for many reasons, not least of which being the year our daughter was born and the year we brought her into our family. And it was a good year, and looking back, we realize just how blessed and how lucky we truly were — and are.
But 2008, for all its joys and wonders and firsts, was also pretty exhausting and stressful. It was at times a very hard, stressful year — even though a lot of it was what they call “good stress”, it was still stressful. So I am not sad to see a new year begin.
I am looking forward to what 2009 brings. It will be a year in which we just get on with it. We will spend the year growing and learning as a family, which is nice. We can find a new “normal”, however hectic and busy that may be, and carry on with the adventure of life as a family. And for the first time in a long time, there will be nothing hanging over our heads, no elephant in the room, as there has been for the past 5 years.
It should be interesting.
A lot of people look on the new year as a fresh start. It might be. New Year’s Day is just another day, but because it is a special day, people take it as a day of change and make resolutions to themselves to make their lives better or different somehow.
Well, our lives are already very different. Our new year actually happened on Ethiopian New Year, and boy howdy, did we make some changes.
But I think it would be good for me to mark this calendar new year by making some sort of efforts at personal change as well. It has become apparent to me over the last 4 months that my life is never going to be the same, and That Baby will ensure it is never boring. So it seems like a fairly natural thing to embrace that and see if I can’t make some changes in my own life.
I am a firm believer that New Year’s resolutions are not necessarily always a good thing. I think that people set themselves up for failure a lot of times in their resolutions, setting them too highly or too broadly and making them almost impossible to attain. I know I have done that. And then it’s just depressing: “I said I would do this and then I didn’t. I suck.”
So instead, I want to make some new year’s SUGGESTIONS. I want to make some new year’s ENCOURAGEMENTS. I want to set some goals that are positive and would be nice to attain, some things that I can work towards. And there’s no option of “failure” — only the option to reset and start again tomorrow if today doesn’t go well.
I will write them down, so I have something to refer back to. But it also gives me a little psychological kick in the pants to have it written somewhere for all to see… because that way, I have a bit of motivation to actually DO something. It’s OUT THERE. Bah. I can’t avoid it.
So here’s what I suggest for myself.
I am sure there are more. But there are a few to start with. No resolutions in the traditional sense — so no room for failure. Only room for improvement.
We’ll see how it goes. 2009 looks promising.
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