Deals: Save on appliances and free movie screening

You would think that retailers getting crushed in this economy would be rushing to tell bloggers about their oh-so-fabulous promotions. Sadly, I only have a few leads today. Good thing they are good ones...who doesn't like a free movie after saving hundreds on new appliances?

Future Shop: Save 10% on major appliances (until Dec 24)

Rainbow Cinemas: Free screening of "Horton Hears A Who" on Dec 20

Finally, a tidy little summary of this week's flyers.

Meals: Meal Plan Monday

My crock pot evangelism continues. I think I talk about my slow cooker twice a week. I wonder if I'm starting to lose friends over this.

Whatever. You can dump me for my crock pot obsession. I'm OK with that.

This week brings us a few new recipes to try...

Crock-pot Butter Chicken with rice and peas

Moroccan Lentil Soup

Parmesan Tilapia with green beans and sweet potatoes

On occasion, I'll set aside the crock pot and cook over my 30+ year old stove with a broken burner and oven door that doesn't quite close.

American Heart Association's 10 Minute Fettucine with a green salad

Coconut Crusted Salmon with carrots and an indulgent bread machine concoction of my choosing (not sure what, but you can bet that there will be some butter involved) 

One thing that won't appear in my kitchen this week is the PC Candy Cane Fudge Crackle ice cream. We've ODed on it in recent days, something I do each year before swearing it off for another 364 days.

Comment: Why say no when you could say yes?

When I was a camp counsellor, I often asked myself "Why say 'no' when you could say 'yes'?". It served as a reminder that making a child's day was often as easy as ruining it.

Last week, the "why say no..." phrase came back to me when I dealt with Rainbow Songs, a provider of music classes for babies.

The issue at hand is one of make-up classes. Babies are not the most predictable creatures on the planet, so it's rare to get one to show up to 3 months of weekly activities without fail. Given that my attendance record is hardly perfect, I've taken BabyBear to 2 make-up music classes this fall. When I tried scheduling a third make-up session this week, Rainbow Songs provided this response:

Unfortunately, due to our large volume of clients we can only provide two makeup classes per child per session which you and C took on October 28 and December 2. Sorry about this.

Just a remind that our winter session is filling up fast!

Rainbow Songs said no, when they could have said yes. The class that I wanted to attend was not full. It was not that logistics prevented things from working out for me. Rather, policy created an unhappy client. (And it's worth noting that unhappy clients don't rush to register for more classes.)

Not to be discouraged, I asked for an exception and suggested that some flexibility now would help me commit to the next session. Once again I was shut down. That's right, Rainbow Songs told me that their policy meant more to them than my future business.

Perhaps things will change when the Canadian economy cools off a little more and the moms of north Toronto opt for the free music classes at the Ontario Early Years Centres. Personally, I'm looking at attending Babies Boogie Too at a neighbour's house this winter.

Deals: Canadian Tire and Marks for him, Banana for her, and a few things for the kids too

Canadian Tire's advent calendar of coupons

Marks Work Wearhouse $10 off coupon ($10 off a minimum $10 purchase before Dec 24)

Marks Work Wearhouse friends & family sale (20% off on Dec 13, after 5 pm)

Banana Republic 40% off sale (Dec 10 only)

Please Mum sale (15% off purchases of $75 or more; 25% off purchases exceeding $150)

Gingerbread Monkey discount code (15% off)

And for my friend, Becky, a free roast beef sandwich from Arbys.

Quips: Measuring up

Yesterday, BabyBear had a check up with our pediatrician and there was a lot of measuring. Dr. Star stretched a tape measure along my daughter's squirming body with laughable precision. The kid was plunked stark naked onto a cold scale, declared to be 20 pounds even, and cajoled for reaching the 95% percentile. (And I thought bathing suit shopping was humiliating.)

When the doctor measured the circumference of BB's noggin, I couldn't help but laugh. It's true that an excessive measure would indicate the build up of fluid around the blood-brain barrier. 

That's all well and good, but most practical moms don't need to know where their kids' heads rank. 

I would much rather know if my daughter's feet are of average size. At least then I would know whether the 6-12 month silver ballet flats that I bought for her Christmas dress are going to fit in a month's time.

Deals: Guess, Aeropostale, American Eagle and Porter Airlines

Yeesh, retailers sure are doing what they can in this downturn:

Guess Canada Factory Store sale (30% off the entire store on Fri Nov 28)

Aeropostale Canada sale (50% off everything, excluding fragrances and clearance)

American Eagle Canada online sale (free shipping and 25% entire order on Thu Nov 27)

And in the travel space, Porter Airlines is offering 20% off flights this winter.

And with all that money you save, you could splash out on the Puj baby bath tub. A great idea at $20, but $99?

Tips: Have a pleasant day

I am currently working through my own 12-step programme to clean up my language. BabyBear doesn't give a flying...um...flip what I say right now, but she's bound to catch on soon.

Two tips to curb your cursing:

1. Rather than swearing at inconsiderate, reckless drivers, wish them "a pleasant day". For some reason, saying "Have a pleasant day" with a smile on my face is almost as satisfying my old methods.

2. Substitute with new expressions. I'm really fond of saying "mother of pearl" right now.

What do you do to keep the cursing at bay?

Deals: Save some cash this week

In case this economic downer has left you pinching pennies, here are a few bargoons to lift your mood.

Marks Work Wearhouse friends and family sale (20% off on Sat Nov 29)

SportChek friends and family sale (25% off on Wed Nov 26 and Thu Nov 27)

American Eagle coupon ($5 off through Tue Nov 25)

Sears Canada online toy sale (25% off)

Flyers  and coupons here and here for this week's groceries

And if anyone is looking for cozy winter outerwear for an infant, may I point your attention to the Bay. BabyBear's MEC snowsuit is enormous on her, so we've been searching for something smaller (and did I mention cheap?). Once Upon A Child had nothing (the clerk looked at me as if to say "A snowsuit in late November? Good luck with that"). The Bay at Yorkdale had scads of thick, warm bunting bags for $35.

Do you have any good deals to share?

Meals: Don't judge me because I meal plan

A bunch of my friends think I'm a bit of a nut-case in the kitchen. Or maybe they are surprised by the dichotomy of my perspectives on structured finance and meal planning.

Whatever. Take me as I am. And if you accept me, you must accept my love of slow cooker goodness. 

To illustrate the power of the Crock Pot, please allow me to share our meal plan for this week. 

As you will see, the crock will be simmering something on my counter every day. Every single day.

Monday: Leftovers

Tuesday: Creamy white bean and apple chili, bread machine challah

Wednesday: Parmesan tilapia, couscous, green beans

Thursday: Crock pot turkey breast and stuffing, cranberry sauce, and carrots

Friday: Something from the freezer (that's where slow cooked leftovers lie in wait)

Saturday: Crockpot cassoulet (with something other than lima beans, because they are just wrong), green salad

Sunday: Coconut crusted salmon, pecan topped sweet potatoes, a green veggie that will make itself known once I see what is on special this week

If you like the idea of meal planning, but don't have more than 2 seconds for the task, consider RelishRelish. Each week, the site offers 15 menus from which subscribers choose 5. At the push of a button, recipes print, followed by a complete grocery list. The meals are healthy, simple, and easy. Plus, each week there is at least one slow cooker recipe available for a crockin' good time.

Do you have any good meals in the works?

My greatest accomplishment of late

I'm so proud of myself. And my pride has nothing to do with my child's latest new new thing. Instead, it's all about me and my own greatness.

What has Tamara done, you ask? What has got MamaBear puffing out her lactating chest and shaking all that God and pregnancy gave her?

Why, this self-love-athon is all about the fact that I haven't eaten any Halloween candy yet. (These days, I'm seeking wins wherever I can find 'em.)

Usually by this time of year, I've already ODed twice on Tootsie Rolls. Come Halloween week, I am seeking a path to recovery along a trail of Snickers wrappers. If you ask me what I had eaten on a typical October day, my snack list would remind you of The Very Hungry Caterpillar (1 pack of jelly beans, 2 Peppermint Patties, 3 Dove squares, 4 Hershey Kisses...).

My secret this year has nothing to do with willpower. Instead, I banned all candy from the house until Friday afternoon. When I walk by the candy wall at Loblaws, I turn away and sniff "You are dead to me".

Now, I could be setting myself up for a mother of nasty relapse. Good thing I have a friend coming over on Friday evening to pull me from my cheap chocolate coma.

Adventures in baby food

In addition to being nutritious and evidence of a mother's love, homemade baby food is supposed to be cheap. Always looking for a bargain, I thought I could handle a little fruits and veggies blender action.

Surprisingly, today's foray into baby food was the most expensive part of my weekend. Let's tabulate the damage:

Organic apples, pears and sweet potatoes ---------------------- $33.51
New food mill from Kitchen Stuff Plus --------------------------- $26.25
Impulse purchases made alongside food mill ------------------$29.40
Audiobook for background entertainment ----------------------$16.26

Which brings us to a grand total of $105.42. Thank goodness I didn't get sucked into the little baby food containers that Moms To Be has declared a "must have".

For the record, BabyBear spat out most of tonight's puree. Fabulous.

Discovering my inner June Cleaver

Aside from the embarassing experiences chronicled here, mommyhood has been a fab experience. I just can't get enough of BabyBear and all the fun that this city offers a new mom. In light of my passion for all things baby, I'm starting to think of myself as the godfather of the North Toronto stroller mafia. (Or godmother...whatever.)

As I explore this new world, I sense a tension between my old and emerging selves. The old me read the Wall Street Journal. The new mom in me surfs the web for crockpot recipes. Heck, this Wharton-educated capitalist pig even voted for a Green Party candidate in the federal election, all because my child deserves a healthy planet. (Well, that and because I think Stephen Harper is intolerant...but that's another blog post.)

You think I'm exaggerating? Oh no, this is real. I'm freezing homemade baby food in ice cube trays. I'm vacuuming the house with BabyBear strapped into the Baby Bjorn. I'm crafting weekly meal plans - and not one of the nights calls for Amaya take-out.

One thing assures Tom that my domestic diva kick will not last: I'm not very good at it. Tonight's beef stroganoff lacked mushrooms. I kept BabyBear in her pajamas all day today. And when my mother stayed with us last week, she downgraded the experience from "like camping" to "like visiting a third world country". (I do keep the house clean, but even I will admit that one needs a wrench to turn on our dryer.)

Ultimately, I'm grateful for this opportunity, but glad that professional pursuits will pull me back next year. In the meantime, however, I'm still fascinated by midday happenings in the 'hood and every new new thing that BabyBear throws at me.

A swim diaper PSA

Please allow me to make a public service announcement about Kushies swim diapers. In short, they are not waterproof. Not even a little.

BabyBear and I have enjoyed our aquafit/swim class combo for a few months now. Up until this point, we have been using Lil Swimmers disposable swim diapers. The success of the class and our ongoing commitment to swim skills prompted me to switch to washable swim diapers, complete with cute patterns in flashy colours.

BB was not particularly happy about life when I got her dressed for class yesterday. She stopped wailing as I picked her up and climbed the stairs to the pool. It was then that I realized that reference to "water resistant" in the product description was misleading. I had wasted $12 on our cute, but free flowing, nappy.

BB had stopped crying only so she could focus on peeing all over me. Already late for class, I just marched on and submerged BB's lower half in the water before she could express herself again.

It seemed like a good idea at the time

In hindsight, two recent events in my life originated from completely ridiculous ideas. Both, however, seemed like good moves at some point.

On Sunday, I waddled through a half marathon. Returning to running seemed like a great way to mark my recovery from pregnancy and childbirth. My "training" regimen was sketchy, but I had hoped that pushing a 20-pound kid around in the jogging stroller would offset my low mileage.

In truth, I was prepared for a 10k race. Under ideal conditions, I could have put together a respectable 10-mile run. Somewhere along the 13.1 mile course, I reminded myself that one needs more than a positive attitude to run that far after giving birth 5 months previously.

In the end, I set a personal worst time of 2:53. In the final kilometer, I felt like my bladder dropped from my torso and rolled around underfoot. There are not enough kegel variations on the planet to prepare a woman's body for her first post-natal half-marathon. 

Bad idea #2 took on a smaller scale, but was equally moronic. Anyone in Toronto today would have noticed the weather forecast calling for torrential rain. At 8:30 this morning, I ignored the sporadic raindrops as I pushed my stroller down Moore Avenue. BabyBear was tucked nicely under her rain cover and I felt protected by Goretex.

Within minutes, the heavens had opened and I was completely drenched. My yoga pants got heavier with each step, until the drawstring and my generously proportioned hips were no match for gravity. I walked the last 5 blocks clutching my pants in one hand and pushing the stroller with the other.

Upon arriving home, I let go of my pants to turn off the alarm and found myself nearly naked from the waist down. Mother Nature must have a sense of humour. Why else would she direct a gust of wind toward my open front door as my pants fell to the floor?

I've almost wiped my memory of the sight of power-walking retirees raising their hands in victory as they finished ahead of me on Sunday. Let's hope the neighbours soon forget the view of my backside they got this morning.

Little House on the Prairie

When a houseguest asks for a toothbrush, one would think that they simply forgot theirs at home. When that houseguest is my mother, however, she's asking because she feels compelled to clean the grout around my kitchen sink.

When my mother broke out the elbow grease this weekend, I wasn't offended. I was relieved and appreciative, largely because my house is looking rather rough. After all, I'm finding it hard to vacuum with a 20-pound baby in the Baby Bjorn carrier.

Unfortunately, grout grime is not our most obvious challenge. Rather, our weedy and unkempt lawn is. The grass in our backyard is so long that I've started referring to our home as the "Little House on the Prairie".

Although I'm not looking forward to entertaining a baby in winter, I am looking forward to a blanket of snow covering our front yard. Soon, everything will appear clean and white - on the outside of our house anyway.

Welcome to the Big Top

Life on my 25 feet of Moore Avenue was little piece of chaos last week. At one point, I was ready to charge admission to the neighbourhood's very own circus. I would like to think of myself as the lion tamer, but the truth is probably closer to the bearded lady. (My hairstylist recently offered to pluck my eyebrows gratis, just so she wouldn't have to look at them anymore.)

On Thursday, BabyBear and I kicked off the morning in fine form with a 6-mile run. If time had been free, we would have extended the distance a bit, but I had a friend/new colleague coming over to talk all things Harlequin.

Upon reaching the house, I learned that our eavesdrough dudes had moved up our install date and were on their way over to the house. As I changed Carly into her fashion statement for the day, a neighbour stopped by to chat about her new job. Amid the girly fun, my friend/new colleague arrived. Or perhaps it was the eavesdrough team...I can't remember. Simply put, traffic was a-flowin'.

Before long, the eavesdroughers were upselling me on my soffit situation. And BabyBear started to wail. And I realized that I hadn't yet showered, something that had to happen before we left for our lunchtime playdate. For a split second, I actually forgot that my friend/new colleague was standing there, waiting for my attention.

Something had to give and soon.

Between the din of power tools overhead and BB's protests, I whipped out a boob. A sweaty boob, in front of my friend/new colleague. It wouldn't be that weird if he (or yes, a HE...an important detail) were just a friend. When he accepted a new job at Harlequin, however, he became a colleague. And when I whipped out the boob, he became the guy who wanted to die right then and there. At least the poor guy had the courtesy to affix his stare on my forehead for a solid 15 minutes.

Fortunately, life has settled down somewhat in recent days. BabyBear has returned to her chilled out self. I have showered a few times. When the eaves team said last rites for our roof, I suggested that we just pitch a tent above the entire mess. After all, we are getting used to life under the Big Top.

Gaining entry into the manor

The NY Times features a mock school registration form here. It reminded me of the hoops through which I'm jumping en route to admission to our day care of choice.

A knowledgeable friend encouraged me to get on daycare waiting lists well before a rational individual would start such planning. She also shared her research on the options in our neighbourhood and we quickly set our sights on Little Tots Manor (The name really does say it all. I mean, it's a manor). 

When BabyBear was an 8-week old mass of cells, we interviewed at Little Tots. We toured around and asked enthusiastic questions. I oh-so-casually mentioned that Tom was available to chaperone field trips on his day away from patients. I offered to bake treats in my peanut-free kitchen. Our fingers remain tightly crossed and will only relax if/when we learn of our acceptance sometime next spring.

The NY Times' mock registration form may have been meant as a joke, but I take these things all too seriously.

Surprises in bottles, baths and Sarah Palin

Today brought on a feeling of eerie contrasts. Adjacent to the commonplace appeared the unfamiliar activities of a new mother. Such juxtaposition has a way of catching me off guard.

On countless Sunday mornings over the past 10 years, I have filled water bottles for my weekly long run. I did so again today and chuckled as the process extended to include bottles of breastmilk. My hydration dovetailed strangely with my preparations to leave Tom and BabyBear flying solo.

One of my favourite post-run rituals involves a deep tub of steamy water. I sighed today as my body eased into a soak as hot as I could handle. Where candles once appeared, I found a row of rubber ducks lining my bathtub ledge. Yeah, things are definitely different around here.

The final moment of surprise occured during a phone conversation with my mother, a woman who raised me to be a feminist. I was stunned to hear her suggest that Sarah Palin is not capable of serving as vice-president because she cannot help but be distracted by her children. That no mother can distance her family's needs from the needs of a nation. That a woman with a 5-month old baby cannot think with the clarity required to craft foreign policy.

It didn't matter when I pointed out that no one would question a man's ability to focus in identical circumstances. It didn't matter when I assured her that having a child did not affect my ability to question, negotiate, and articulate my point of view.

It didn't matter, because she believes that mothers don't get to demand what is fair and equal. In a nutshell, a woman can do anything, until she has a baby. It was odd to hear this from the woman who has ensured that I had every opportunity in life.

I imagine that these contrasts will continue to appear as I navigate new motherhood. I will wash bottles. I will set aside bath toys during my recovery soak. And will more perceived barriers emerge as I strike a balance in my responsibilities and aspirations? Time will tell.

Progress on all fronts

To those tuning in for updated action in the Mom vs. Baby Sleep Habits war, we have progress. Heck, we have progress on all fronts in the Paton-Greavette household.

1. Sleep

BabyBear has been sleeping better. She is napping at least once a day for a solid hour and waking me up just once each night. If I bring her into our bed when Tom heads to work, she'll even drift back to sleep until 8 am. Decadence, pure decadence, I tell you.

I must confess that I let BB "cry it out" for 10 whole minutes yesterday. She was miserable and wouldn't nap, despite rubbing her eyes constantly and giving me this "why won't you let me sleep" look. After 10 minutes of wailing, I rushed into her room, scooped her up apologetically and swore to never abandon her again. In return, she threw up all over me. There was puke in my hair, on my clothes, and - wait for it - in my mouth. Fabulous.

2. Running

BB encouraged me through 4 miles of run/walk shuffling this morning, bringing our mother-daughter mileage to 26 miles in the past week. While Paula Radcliffe runs her marathons in 2:15, I prefer to spread 26-mile efforts out over an entire week.

3. Functioning 

I don't know if other moms hit their stride around the 4-month mark, but I think I'm starting to function again. I feel like I'm walking among the living and doing things that normal 33-year women do. I'm paying bills. I talk to myself less (technically, I'm talking to the baby, but it must look like I'm talking to myself). I even washed my kitchen floor last night in a fit of domestic productivity. 

Next up...who knows? I'm exhausted by the aforementioned. Maybe I'll trim the ivy that has started to envelop my house. It will be nice to see out the front windows again.

Tough Love

I've been a giver and receiver of tough love lately.

The Beltline Trail was hard on me today when BabyBear and I traced its entire length. The cool, crisp morning promised by the weather man must have disappeared before I got my act together. In fairness, it takes me a while to get out the door, what with baby feed/diaper/dress details and the effort required to hoist the girls into the most powerful sports bra in all creation. (It takes 8 hooks and a massive zipper to keep things under control. But this is what we women do to be givers of life and all.)

By the time I got the baby jogger humming, it was nothing short of damn hot. I considered the heat a means to intensify my training. (Yes, you heard it here first. I'm training for a half marathon that has the nerve of taking place in less than 4 short weeks. Ugh.) On the whole, I am proud of completing my longest post-baby run without toppling over. Let's not talk about how long it took me to cover the 6 miles.

When not receiving the tough love, I've been doling it out on BB's sleep schedule (or lack thereof). I'm not a cry-it-outer, but I'm also not going to breastfeed my daughter to sleep into her teen years. So we are trying more gentle approaches to generate falling-to-sleep habits that don't involve the snack-and-snooze pattern developed to date.

And now I'm officially a hypocrite. In the midst of writing this post, I just could not take another second of BB's "I'm too tired to nap" whimpering. So I moved her into what is starting to become the "family bed" (yeesh, I never thought I'd end up here) and fed her to sleep.

I guess it's fair to say that I'm just a receiver of tough love now. I'll let you know when I have sufficient strength to dish it out too. 

Not quite Einstein (yet)

Since returning from our family vacation, I've had a serious case of cabin fever. Not entirely surprising, given that I went from picturesque ocean views and soaring mountains to my weedy backyard. The change of scenery was a shock.

Encouraged by Tom's worried expression (you know the one that husbands give their wives when they are thinking "Yeesh, my Ivy-league educated wife keeps sticking her tongue out at the baby. Is this the woman I married?"), BB and I sought an outing. When we logged our millionth mile in the Mount Pleasant cemetery this morning, said outing had to involve more car than stroller. And so Don Mills beckoned.

Armed with our new Ontario Science Centre membership, I loaded the stroller, diaper bag, car seat, purse, water bottle, baby blanket, Sophie teething toy, the babe and my ample behind into our CRV. By the time we reached the mecca of biomechanics, my previously cranky daughter was asleep. Sound asleep.

Fortunately, she stirred herself into consciousness just as we pulled into the KidSpark fun zone (as if anyone could sleep through the cacophony that was the bedlam of lights, sirens, and  screaming 4-year olds at the water splash table). We hit the toddler play area and did as much as one could with a baby who can neither sit nor stand independently. Then we wandered around and even took in the fancy Mars exhibit.

After whimpering for a short while, BB conked out. She's been asleep for more than an hour, despite numerous stroller/car seat/car /crib location changes. It was all just too much for her.

Although my mother thinks that BB is "very intelligent", it's hard to say if science is going to be her thing. I guess I'll have to give her a little time before declaring her the next Einstein. For now, we'll focus on cementing the difference between nighttime and day.

Woman overboard

When I think I've got problems, life typically introduces me to someone who has it worse. Nothing like a karmic reminder of how good you have it.

This morning, BabyBear and I encountered just such a reminder at a "sleep issues" workshop put on by our local Ontario Early Years Centre. BB is teething, prompting her to wake up most of Moore Park 4 or 5 times each night (my profound apologies to the neighbours). Surely a sleep issues workshop was just what my little insomniac ordered.

We were outrageously early, a new strategy I'm employing so as to avoid being 10 minutes late to everything in my life. Another new mom was overly punctual, so we started talking. Rather than making the typical small talk for a minutes, however, this mom was downright fascinated by my kid. Question after question, she just couldn't get enough of us. (Who could blame her, right?)

And then it hit me - this woman was begging for adult conversation. Somebody throw out a life preserver. We have a woman overboard. One of our own is about to lose her mind to the deep isolation that is new motherhood.

After the workshop, I took it upon myself to toss her a friendly PFD. And man did she cling to it in a hurry. The poor thing was so lonely that she went grocery shopping with me on my way home from the workshop. Up and down the aisles, telling me her story while I grabbed some eggs.

When you next come across a bleary-eyed mother who is just a bit too into you, recognize the signs. She could use a friendly ear, along with an invitation to your next play group outing. In fairness, someone probably did it for you a few months ago when you were about to go under. (In my case, thanks are due to Lyne.)

Sleepy drama queen

Tom puts up with 2 high maintenance women in the house. After 17 years together, he appears to have me figured out (most of the time, at least). Neither of us has the BabyBear code cracked, however, particularly on the matter of sleep. 

Since returning from our family adventure out west, BB's sleep patterns have been FUBARed. When she didn't return to sanity last week, I decided to get serious. Lock the door, unplug the phone, draw the blinds...welcome to baby sleep boot camp.

For several days, I have stayed close to home and watched for sleepy cues. When crankiness arises, we strip off clothes (hers, not mine), diaper, feed, and get snugged in her fancy pink sleeping bag (perhaps a baby's equivalent of Yves Delorme bedding). For some reason, this pattern consistently yields 30 minutes of light slumber. Not victory, but I'll take it.

During this afternoon's nap attempt, BabyBear refused to sleep. She sang to the animals on her wall and watched the psychedelic fish in her aquarium contraption. When sleep did not come, babbling became squawking and squawking became an insistent siren. Rather than picking her up as I normally would, something made me stroke her forehead first. And just as I was milliseconds away from lifting BabyBear to my chest, she stiffened onto her side, closed her eyes, and heaved a sigh of exhaustion.

Sleep had come to the drama queen, enabled by the softest touch of her mother's hand.

Girls Night Out

Yesterday marked my first night out sans babe. The event was just what I needed: great friends, delightful weather, and Jim Cuddy singing to me and only me (such a shame for the other Blue Rodeo fans in attendance). 

I had the timing planned to perfection (a classic new mom mistake): 6:55 bathtime, 7:05 feed, 7:15 hand-off to Tom, and 7:20 departure. BB was nodding off beautifully as I tiptoed down our front steps en route to giddy freedom.

On my end, the evening unfolded just as it should. Girlfriend #1 was ready promptly and we headed downtown to fetch Girlfriends 2 through 4. Extracting them from the McKinsey alumni party took some effort, but the delay gave me some time to call home to check on things. When my calls went to voicemail, I assumed that Tom was puttering in the backyard.

It turns out that Tom had instead resorted to an evening car ride to quiet my daughter's yelping. But moments after I had left the 'hood, BabyBear's snot-filled nose startled her awake. No amount of pacing, bouncing, and shushing would settle her again. When Tom tried giving her a bottle, she spat the milk out as quickly as she had taken it in. At a lost for alternatives, Tom packed our little one in the car and drove in circles.

All this probably sounds like the sort of thing that every parent does at some point in time. It sounds like a reasonable sacrifice on Tom's part. In truth, I have omitted an important detail. To complete the account, I must admit that last night marked our 9th wedding anniversary. 

In addition to the flowers Tom gave me, he gave me the best anniversary present of all, a much-needed break and a short return to life as it was before BabyBear. As the sun rose this morning and I awoke to my daughter's giggles, however, it felt good to be back.

One thing is certain. I will not wait another 4 months before gathering up my girlfriends again. Next time, let's hope that BabyBear understands that her invitation was not lost in the mail.

Inadvertent deprivation

The Invest In Kids developmental milestones have failed me. I'm all over their suggestions for when BabyBear should be reaching, babbling and sitting up. We are right on schedule - check, check and check. Today, however, I learned that my daughter is way behind in perhaps one of the most important childhood activities of all - swinging.

Prior to a swim outing with Lyne, a new friend from Rainbow Songs, we found ourselves killing time on a playground. Imagine my surprise when Lyne suggested that we push the kids on the swings. At first, I thought she was kidding. My little one doesn't swing. She's not even 4 months old. Isn't swinging more of a toddler activity?

It turns out that babies can swing. This was complete news to me. Here I've been, considering myself a good mother, completely oblivious to the fact that my daughter could be swinging the afternoons away. What's more? It turns out that she could be shimmying up and down the slide too.

For the sake of my daughter, please let me know what else I might be missing. Her future is in your hands.

Returning to reality with the best intentions

Today marked my first day back in the real world. Gone are the days of vacation bliss and tag-team parenting. I made my own bed for the first time in 3 weeks and will not find a chocolate on my pillow come sundown.

Leading up to this morning, I planned to kick the week off with BabyBear's best day ever. A morning walk through the cemetery. Lots of time on the play mat, encouraging BB to roll over without pinning her arm awkwardly under her own body weight. We'd start easing back into our usual nap routine and sprinkle reading throughout the afternoon. Heck, I'd even eat veggies without anyone looking.

The reality behind my return to the real world? For starters, I suctioned snot from my cold-ridden daughter's nose. I don't know about your kids, but mine did not like the nose suction experience one bit. My dreams of sunny promenades and clean, vegan living evaporated. The babe got progressively less enchanting as the day wore on, landing at downright miserable by sunset. Bedtime involved 2 hours of bouncing, shushing, pacing, and, at one point, begging.

Thankfully, tomorrow is a new day, my friends. As Lucy Maud Montgomery's Anne would say, "Tomorrow is always fresh with no mistakes in it". Let's hope that my tomorrow is fresh with no snot in it either. 

Vacationing with the grandparents AKA "Saving BabyBear"

The final leg of our family vacation involved 5 days in Colorado with my parents. Since we left Tofino, I had been looking forward to having an extra set of hands to manage BabyBear. I had forgotten that these helping hands also have strong opinions about what BabyBear needs.

To be fair, I don't have a completely stellar track record in the mommy department. While my mom was babysitting last week, she found BabyBear sucking back on a piece of twine. I had affixed said a piece of twine to BB's play mat when I needed something (anything!) with which to hang some brightly contrasting mobile ornaments. That's right, I had tied the string of asphyxiation to the mat of neglect. In my defense, I did it at a time when BB didn't even know that she had hands, let alone how to pull on mobile pieces and put things in her mouth.

In light of my stupid mommy moves and my mother's 33+ years of experience, it's no surprise that Colorado heard a lot about how I'm going to ruin the precious grandchild. For the sake of completeness, shall we visit my shortcomings? Oh yes, let's!

1. My not quite 4-month old daughter should not be left to nap in the middle of a king sized bed. Between falling asleep and the moment of wakefulness, she could develop the ability to roll 3 consecutive times, mount the protective wall of pillows, and vault herself from the bed.

2. BabyBear is ready to sit up and eat. Specifically, she is ready to taste vanilla ice cream infused with a tasty peach rum sauce. ("If she's allowed those Vitamin D drops, surely she can have a taste of Haagen Daz.")

3. When BB cries, it must be as a direct result of something I am doing to her. And the only remedy is a covert grandparent rescue. Never mind if Tom is half-naked in the vicinity of the crying babe. He'll learn to either remain fully clothed at all times or get accustomed to his mother-in-law breezing past while he stands in his gitch.

The house has been rather quiet today, what without anyone waxing on about BabyBear's preferences, outstanding intellect, and delightful demeanor. Perhaps I'll Skype my mom tomorrow to help ease the silence. Along with the aforementioned silliness, she does have some good ideas. And I'm certainly very new to this game.

3 flights, 3 weeks and a 3-month old

A few weeks back, we left for our first family vacation. The itinerary called for 3 weeks in BC and Colorado with as many flights. I'm happy to say that BabyBear enjoyed her interaction with Air Canada, the worst airline in the developed world. She's also been a champ when on the ground, despite her parents making the occasional questionable judgment call.

We knew that traveling with an infant would be an adventure, but getting on that first plane was more challenging than we had thought. In the evening prior to our departure, Tom was up all night packing and wrapping up his practice obligations. I couldn't sleep, so I printed our boarding passes at 3:30 am, only to find that BabyBear didn't have one. Thankfully, Air Canada schedules some of its best reservation agents in the wee hours and they helped us get sorted out.

Given that we weren't sleeping, we decided to leave for the airport outrageously early. Four hours prior to our flight time seemed like loads of time to manage baby and luggage. We stopped into Tom's office on the way to the airport and had a few bumps there. We parked our car and reached Air Canada's ticket counter, where BabyBear got her ticket and boarding pass. At this point, relief washed over me. With boarding passes in hand and 90 minutes remaining until our flight's departure, I knew that we were in good shape.

All that stood between us and the friendly skies were baggage check and security. Those of you who have flown in recent weeks may already know what's coming. If you've been on the ground lately, please allow me to warn you about the new baggage restrictions.

Although our line up for baggage check was not long, it now takes the average party somewhere in the range of 20 minutes to check their bags. There are weight restrictions. There are limits on the size of one's bag, regardless of weight. You can't send a duffle bag anywhere, unless it contains hockey equipment. No shin pads? Well, you are out of luck.

Our baggage check experience involved a cardboard box, plastic bags, packing tape and excessive use of a tape measure. By the time we reached the gate, they were calling for those traveling with small children.

Fortunately, BabyBear was a dream for the flight. She slept ate and slept for 90% of the trip and whimpered for all of 5 minutes. With the help of some delightfully encouraging and accommodating flight attendants, we pushed our stroller into the Kelowna airport and found our bags in minutes.

Since then, BabyBear has been a trooper, strapped into a Baby Bjorn, buckled into her stroller, and tethered into her car seat. She has dined well, sought adventure on a bear watching tour, and explored wineries, rainforests and tidal pools. If we could just get her to return to her usual sleeping through the night routine, then we'd be golden.

Although this family vacation is ongoing, we are confident that it will end as a success. To ensure just that, we will live by the following lessons:
1. It takes twice as long to get anywhere with an infant.
2. A family can expect pack half as much activity into a day as a couple once did.
3. When a baby is fussy, breastfeeding cures all. If some dude can blend flipflops and a swimsuit with his Relais & Chateaux dining experience, then I can pull out my Hooter Hider without shame.

More updates and some photos to follow. Until then, happy travels to you all.

You asked for it

I haven't blogged in ages and a bunch of you have let me know that the silence is deafening. One of the reasons for the quiet is that I don't think you really want to hear about my early motherhood experiences. At least moms won't, largely because my stories would make you really, really envious. Really. But for the sake of potential moms and moms-to-be out there, I'll share.

Firstly, let's get the big news out of the way. BabyBear sleeps through the night. In fact, she has been sleeping through the night since she was about 8 weeks old. And my definition of sleeping through the night does not mean the "midnight to 5 am" nonsense espoused by the child development experts. I'm talking nice, long, blissful sleeps spanning 9 pm to 5 or 6 in the morning.

Next, let's talk breastfeeding. Lots of moms have huge problems here. Cracked and bleeding nipples. Insufficient supply. Low weight gain. Feelings of inadequacy as a woman.

We have none of that. My nips were sore for a week or two, but that passed quickly. (Incidentally, those new to breastfeeding should seriously consider a nipple shield in the early days. It saved me when I got engorged and for a week or two thereafter.) BabyBear feeds like a champ and we have a nice routine going. Nothing like the horror stories I had heard pre-baby. By 11 weeks of age, BabyBear had doubled her birthweight and weighed in around the 95 percentile.

Even my post-partum crazies have dissipated (I diagnosed myself with a mild case of rollercoaster hormones and anxiety in the early days). Although I must admit that my fight or flight instincts reared up big-time when a fox crossed our path in the Mount Pleasant Cemetery last week. You read that correctly - a fox. Big red tail, emaciated body, and aloof attitude. Needless to say, BabyBear's stroller turned around on a dime and we got out of there quickly.

So that's my news. My next challenges include figuring out some kind of routine, particularly around the question of naps. (Under our current system, BabyBear sleeps whenever she wants...a recipe for the occasional 6 pm melt-down when she hasn't slept all day.) And we'll test the notion of traveling with a 3-month old when the 3 of us take to the skies next week.

I promise to keep you posted on all fronts and perhaps post a few photos. Until then, may your children sleep deeply and sleep often.

Fake it 'til you make it

I haven't posted in a month for a number of good reasons. As you might expect, the first month of motherhood has been a bit of a blur. Lots of breastfeeding, a surprisingly time-consuming activity. Walks each day - sometimes two or three times daily, depending on the baby's mood. Short bursts of much needed sleep. That's been my existence for the past 5 weeks.

The real reason behind my blogging silence is sad, but true. I haven't had much to say. Do you really want to hear about my daughter's sleep habits? The details of her doctor's appointments? The changing colour of her poop?

I didn't think so.

Outside these topics, I can report that I've started running again...very slowly. After warming up with brisk walking, I run for a minute, walk for a minute and repeat for a half hour. The contours of my leg muscles are long gone and my endurance is non-existent. Those who see me on the path would be stunned to hear that I've completed 10 marathons in recent years. I'm on a long journey back to my former self, but it feels good to lace up my shoes, pump the contents of my boobs to lighten the load, and sweat again.

In other news, I've started coming to terms with how little free time I'll have this year. Before the baby's arrival, I thought I would get loads done during her naps. In reality, I have about an hour of productive time available each day and even that's not guaranteed. Instead, I race around the house before Tom leaves for work, doing laundry, showering, organizing my breakfast and lunch...essentially doing the things that must be done while unincumbered by a baby. For the rest of the day, there is a good chance that I'll only have one hand free.

So that's my world. A frantic survival mentality, combined with a humble return to fitness. And have I mentioned that my daughter is nothing short of fabulous? She is uber cute, sleeps a fair bit, and hasn't yet noticed that I'm a complete amateur at this motherhood thing.

Let's hope I can fake it until she clues in. Fake it 'til you make it.

BabyBear's arrival

By now, many of you will know of BabyBear's arrival. Much of BB's fan club wanted to hear all the details. For the sake of those who read this blog while nibbling on their lunch, I'll stick to the less graphic aspects of BB's big day.

9:45 am While running some errands with my mom, I felt a few cramps.

10:30-noon Mom and I vacuumed my car in my driveway. The contractions felt real now and I had to stop to relax. Never one to miss a meal, I talked Mom into a leisurely lunch. 

1-2 pm I read a book, stopping to time my contractions. They were consistently 5 minutes apart, lasting 45 seconds each. Fortunately, I was still quite comfortable and described the waves as tightness and pressure. Relaxing through them prevented any sense of pain.

2 pm I called PapaBear at work and suggested that he come home. No big hurry, but I thought we were in labour.

2:30 pm Mom continued to time my contractions, because I could no longer concentrate on details like the second hand on a watch. My contractions had accelerated to 3 minutes apart and, for some reason, I was not the least bit alarmed. At some point in here, I mentioned wanting a bath right before we go to the hospital and Mom got the water running. I resisted because I thought it was too early, but she was confident that it was now or never.

3 pm PapaBear arrived home (after running a few errands!). He and my mom decided to head to the hospital. PB packed the car, changed into scrubs, and briefly lost his wallet. While he searched, I started to really struggle.

4 pm We arrived at the hospital. Although Mom wanted me to use a wheelchair, I walked to triage. My contractions were hitting me every 2 minutes by now, so there were a few pauses en route with some less than lady-like language on my part.

When we hit triage, there wasn't a nurse in sight. I paced, my mother tried to get someone's attention, and PapaBear parked the car. One of the OR nurses (bless her) noticed me, so she got our paperwork started. 

5 pm By the time a triage nurse and resident saw us, I had dilated to 7 cm. I was so happy to be admitted (and not turned away due to insufficient progress) that I cried. I must have also lost my mind at that point too, because I turned down the epidural and decided to continue using my relaxation and self-hypnosis tools to manage the situation.

6 pm Another progress check revealed that we had dilated to 8 cm. This baby was on the move.

6:30 pm Hoping to speed things along, the OB fellow broke my waters. I supported this move, largely because a faster labour sounded like a good idea at the time. What I didn't expect was a severe increase in the amount of pressure building in my nether regions. In short, a transport truck was parked in my lower abdomen and no amount of relaxation and "take me to my happy place" visualization could distract me.

7 pm The sight of me rolling around on the bed must have been too much for the triage nurse, because she came in to discuss my "pain management plan". In the middle of a particularly nasty contraction, I shifted from hesitantly agreeing with her to flat out begging.

7:45 pm The anesthesiologist (AKA "The Candy Man") arrived. She started explaining a study in which she wanted me to participate and I nearly lost it. Informed consent be damned, I would have signed anything to gain access to the drugs. Thankfully, she realized that I was a basket-case and moved ahead with my epidural. All was right in the world again.

Within a few minutes, I was fully dilated. I suspect that the epidural allowed me to relax and get set to deliver BabyBear. The staff OB and his entourage set up for delivery when my blood pressure dropped and BB's oxygen levels weakened a bit. After a few pushes, they decided to wait for us both to stabilize and I floated back to blissful rest.

9:40 pm BabyBear and I were in good shape and it was time to push. We went at it for an hour before the resident came to check on things. Shortly thereafter, the OB team was back and Shannon, our fabulous nurse, was hinting at the end of the finish line. After 2 hours of pushing, I was getting tired and discouraged, but the hospital staff, PapaBear and my mother kept me going.

11:53 pm BabyBear arrived! Most of this part is blurry for me. Lots of emotion and general weepiness. PapaBear cut the cord. Mom took photos. The shots are rated G (for gross), but it's nice to have a record of what went down. I was too high to notice the beaming smile on PapaBear's face or how cute BabyBear looked as she took her first gulps of air.

It would be an understatement to say that the whole experience was amazing. I can't get over how much has happened in the first 5 days of my daughter's life. We are learning all the time and figuring out how to reconnect with reality when all we want to do is cuddle our little one on the couch and watch her sleep.

And on that note, I'll sign off and take a nap.

Waiting can be expensive

Last Tuesday, I started getting mild cramps. For you runners out there, I don't mean hamstring twinges. I mean cramps in my girly regions. Like menstrual cramps, only I'm pretty sure that I haven't ovulated in many moons.

This crampy feeling often signals the pending onset of labour. Many women experience these sensations a day or two before the big event. After a couple of hours of said cramps, I notified PapaBear and my mother. In a nutshell, I didn't want them to make additional commitments for the next few days.

These cramps continued on Wednesday and intensified. I skipped work and organized the rest of my hospital bag. I walked for hours, hoping to encourage things along. But nothing really happened. The cramps got stronger and more frequent, but I was definitely not in labour.

Naturally, the most appropriate solution was to shop, nest and walk. Whenever a cramp would hit, I stopped briefly to double over with my hands on my knees. As the pressure passed, I went about my day again. I've learned to keep tissue handy, as some of the back spasms involuntarily bring me to tears.

On the plus side, amid this on again / off again silliness, I have accomplished or cheered for others working towards the following:

1. Updating my front porch with a new doormat, a planter of flowers and a welcoming wreath

2. Washing my patio furniture and polishing windows to a sparkle

3. Spreading 25 bags of mulch on our back gardens

4. Pouring a pea gravel path where muddy flagstones once hovered

5. Planting 3 climbing rose bushes

Our backyard has never looked better. As an added bonus, all that walking and squatting have nudged BabyBear towards her escape route. The waiting is tedious, but it's also nice to have dilated to 3 cm with only sporadic discomfort. 

I would wish for the next 3 cm to be as easy, but I don't think we can afford it. All this waiting has melted my Amex and spiked sales at the Leaside Home Depot.

Pregnancy by the numbers

Most readers will know that I'm a relatively numerate type. For those who share my numerical orientation, here is a quantitative update on my pregnancy.

1 and 100% - As of this morning's OB appointment, I am 1 cm dialated and 100% effaced
0 or 3 - My doc thinks I could give birth today or 3 weeks from today. It's really up to BabyBear.
5 - The number of workdays standing between me and maternity leave.
25 and 3 - I've gained 25 pounds to date, losing 3 pounds of water in the past week.
32 - The number of minutes it took me to park, pee on a stick, see my OB, and exit the hospital parking lot this morning. I love an efficient physician.

Lessons for me. Lessons for my daughter.

One of the greatest (and, at times, frustrating) things about being pregnant is the constant stream of advice. Some women really, really hate the guidance, but I'm the least capable mother-to-be on the planet. I need all the help that I can get.

Lately, I've appreciated having the sense to listen to the following tidbits:
1. Keep an extra set of undies with you at all times (very handy for when one full-on wets one's pants...at work. So much for those Kegels.)
2. Keep a granola bar with you at all times (a great antidote to first trimest nausea, second trimester cravings, and third trimester "Good Lord, my esophagus is on fire" heartburn)
3. Labor feels more like pressure than pain (work with me on this...I don't want to hear your horror stories)

As I prepare for BabyBear's arrival, there are days when I've been in a complete, flat out sprint. Too busy to really stop and enjoy this pregnancy experience, as some have instructed. This week I was forced to pause when the book publishing world took note of Randy Pausch, the well-known father, Carnegie Mellon professor and cancer patient, who offered The Last Lecture to his students, the YouTube community, Oprah's audience, and, now, readers.

Ultimately, Dr. Pausch's lecture was not meant for the millions of people who have watched or read his thoughts. Instead, he compiled his thoughts for the sake of his 3 children. Their father's wisdom will be there for them years after their memories of him fade.

I look forward to learning from my daughter in the coming years. But if she asked for my take today, I'd share these thoughts:

1. Write thank you notes. And not just the standard 3 or 4 lines when you receive a nice gift. Be specific about what people mean to you and why they matter. In turn, save the thank you notes people write you and re-read them when you need a boost.
2. Call your parents frequently after you've moved out. Thank them. Share your life with them.
3. Work very hard some of the time, but not all of the time. There will always be people who are smarter, who can get results quickly. Sometimes you can only succeed by outworking others. But if you do this too much, you'll miss out on the rest of what you should be doing.
4. Run a marathon at least once and do it with people you love. There is nothing more satisfying than working towards a goal, connected to friends and family during each step of training and racing.
5. Marry your best friend. (My mother taught me this one...although she also suggested that I find a best friend with aspirations to become a doctor, lawyer or dentist.)
6. Learning something new is never a waste of time. (See Steve Job's commencement address, particularly the connect the dots backwards take-away.)
7. Girls can be mean, even when they are grown up girls. Don't be one of those girls. And if you find yourself slipping into their ways, stop immediately and say you are sorry.
8. Read a lot. Lots of different kinds of books on lots of different topics. You'll find that the most interesting people out there read a lot too.
9. Remain friends with people years after your paths naturally cross. Keep in touch with good people, even when it's not convenient.
10. Offer to help others without knowing if/when they may be in a position to help you. This creates a virtuous cycle around your personal brand and it feels good in the moment.

What advice do you have to offer?

Kids say the funniest things

An assortment of thought-provoking questions from kids who say the funniest things:

1. "Is the queen going to be OK?" (Asked after a kindergarten class sang "God Save the Queen" for the first time.)
2. "Why does the bear wear pants, but no shirt, while the duck wears a shirt, but no pants?"(Asked while reading a children's book. Her mother took this opportunity to introduce new vocabulary, like anthropomorphism, to her 3-year old.)
3. "Will you be my valentine? But don't tell Tom. I don't want to create an environment of competition." (Asked by my then 5-year old neighbour. Where did he hear of environments of competition?)
4. "Dad, how is the dollar doing?" (Asked by me, at the age of 6, over breakfast one morning in 1981. Clearly, I was destined for business. Clearly, Dad was obsessed with the foreign exchange markets.)

What have kids asked you lately? Did you know the answers?

Mom hair and bowling balls

I got my last pre-baby haircut last night. I asked my stylist to cut it a bit shorter than usual, because I won't be footloose and fancy free in 2 months time.

My bad eyesight has always prevented me from seeing what a hairstylist is doing as he/she snips away. When I put my glasses back on last night, I was a surprised by the new style on my head. There is no doubt about it - I have Mom hair.

In that instant, I had a moment. I looked at my Mom hair. I looked at my stylist, a young thing whose spikey Crayola red hair rarely caught my attention in the past. I looked back at my Mom hair.

It's official. I'm now a 33-year old mother who gets her hair cut by a 22-year old club hopper. A very nice, very young woman who said just yesterday that she "feels so old now that she's staring down 25". With this realization, I counted her 14 (visible) piercings and wondered why I hadn't noticed them in the past.


In other news, I felt very smug this morning when my lower back pain eased. Perhaps it was the backrub from PapaBear last night. Perhaps it was a good night's sleep. Perhaps I'm just a fabulous specimen of breeding biomechanics.

A few minutes ago, I stood from my desk and felt a "thud". Something literally dropped in my midsection and now it feels like I have a bowling ball in my pelvis. I'm guessing that my evaporating back pain was more a function of the baby migrating south and less about my dedication to yoga.

En route to the chute

I'm still waddling and wearing the one pair of shoes that still fit my swollen feet. Fortunately, I had oodles of energy this weekend, so I kept up with PapaBear while running errands over the weekend and making a spiffy impromptu dinner last night. Even made banana bread on Friday - you'll have to trust me on this as I just polished off the last crumb.

While I nest, the babe appears to be interested in escape. Based on all the wriggling I feel in my lower elevations, I suspect that she's crafting her exit strategy.

At times, it feels like my daughter is scratching her way out, like she has a dull spoon in hand with which she is slowly but surely working to break free. Remember that old movie in which prisoners of war dig a tunnel and carry out sand in their pockets? If POW can stand for Prisoner of Womb, then I might have a pending prison break on my hands.

My pregnancy library sheds very little light on this scratching sensation. The books have loads of information about the first 2 trimesters, but very little to say about the final days. Perhaps authors realize that pregnant women stop reading by this point. We are either asleep, stressing about labour, or jumping ahead to books on breastfeeding.

Has anyone out there felt as I do (ideally when you were pregnant)?

The agony of de-feet

Just when I thought my grotesque form couldn't get more voluminous, I've discovered a new area of expansion. Today, the reality of swollen feet cannot be denied.

At some point this morning, I kicked off my shoes and settled in to work. Because the office is quiet, I padded back and forth to the printer in my socks. Heading further afield, I decided that shoes were appropriate.

That was when I had problems putting my shoes back on. Eventually, I crammed my tootsies back into their Bass Weejuns (yes, I have a pair of Weejuns), but they were unhappily cramped. My feet actually spilled up and over the loafers' tight rims.

For the rest of the day, I might have to sport my polka-dot Wellingtons or wear (slightly roomier) black shoes with brown pants...which option would be less objectionable to the fashion police?

Food as fashion statement

I just noticed a handful of dried cranberries resting on my boob-shelf. I had some craisins about an hour ago and only now discovered those that did not make their way into the gaping hole in my face.

I think I've had 3 visitors come chat in my office since snack time and no one mentioned a thing. Did they not notice? Did they think that I had adopted dried fruit as my latest accessory?

How I long for the day that I will return to a C-cup without my belly serving as foundational support.

Rituals and habits, nesting and otherwise

I am a creature of habit. A type A personality who likes order. Someone who finds clutter distracting from creativity. Even a less than mindfully originated set of commitments in my calendar can easily become a source of stress.

There are certain things that give me peace, most of which relate to the state of my home environment. An overflowing fruit bowl. A freshly washed kitchen floor. A distinct lack of laundry and ironing to be done. And yes, I make the bed every morning.

For the past 8 years or so, my morning routine has involved a good (although increasingly slow) run, stretch and shower. When BabyBear hit the scene, that run became a walk. Over the past week or so, however, I've missed more morning walks than I have taken. Partly it's the snowy sidewalks. Partly it's the knowledge that we won't control our waking time much longer. Mostly it's the ache that I've developed in my lower back that gets worse whenever I'm vertical.

Inspired by this afternoon's sunshine, PapaBear and I ventured out for a walk. We made it one whole kilometer before I climbed my front steps and headed upstairs for a nap. I clutched his supportive arm much of the way, tentatively taking granny steps and surely not burning any calories.

This marks the final phase of my fitness progression. I once ran marathons and now I do marathon sessions of yoga. Fingers crossed that it keeps me mobile for a few more months. And if I'm lucky, my nesting activities will burn a few calories when I'm not looking.

A poem for MamaBear?

I must confess to reading a bunch of hippy blogs about unmedicated childbirth. Most of the time, I find inspiring stories about how women worked through their birthing experience with grace (and often a hefty dose of HypnoBabies).

One of today's posts was just too granola for me. I know it's wrong to laugh at another's expense. I know I'm teaching my daughter all kinds of bad lessons here. But I just can't help it when I come across stuff like this:

Shaking your head you moaned down low
hips thrust out, knees all bent
Mama Bear's rockin', poundin'
Heavy and Full.

Swayin' your belly, you danced that baby down
A bear mama, fierce, and loud.

You BIRTHED that baby, mama bear.

If you are so inclined, you can read the full poem here. I can assure you that I won't be writing poetry once BabyBear hits the scene.

Angry belly

Either my low mid-section is developing an emerging grimace or I am getting stretch marks. It seems that each day brings a new red squiggle below my barely-there belly button. Conveniently, I can't confirm with the naked eye, because I can't see the underside of my belly. Perhaps the mirror is playing tricks on me.

On the counting my blessings side of the balance sheet, I am pleased by the state of my belly button. PapaBear refers to it as the "divet" and likes to create a hollow sound by tapping it lightly. Regardless of its musical capabilities, a divet is still an "innie", not an "outie". Fingers crossed that I can retain this inward focus for another few months.

Burn, belly, burn

It's been ages since I last blogged. No good excuses from me...just that February has been a really busy month and I'd rather sleep than blog when given the choice.

PapaBear and I have been on vacation all week. Not a vacation that involves going farther away than Kleinburg, but a vacay nonetheless.

Our fave activities to date have included:
- Spending a morning at the McMichael Collection (sitting on each and every gallery bench to stretch out my endurance)
- Recovering our living room ottoman with baby-friendly foam and new microfiber
- Installing BabyBear's car seats (incorrectly, as it turns out...we now have appointments at the spiffy car seat installation centre next week)

In recent weeks, I've also been in full blown nesting mode. Our basement freezer is now home to more than a dozen casseroles, many ladles of soup, and a bounty of baked goods. When BabyBear arrives, we will be well fed.

There is a downside to this culinary commitment. While taking a pan of scones from the oven last night, I managed to forget the immense size of my belly and pulled the pan too close. Where my t-shirt had ridden up (a permanent condition nowadays), I have a red slash stretching across my pasty white skin. Ouch.

Waddling and home decor photos

Today marks the first day that I acknowledged my waddle. Got my waddle on. However you want to dress it up, I no longer walk in a lady-like fashion.

My saunter has taken on a rather wide stance. It's like I'm a sumo wrestler prepping for battle. I plant a foot and then lean my entire mass over to the other side of the room, before repeating again. At least I had myself fooled until the third trimester.

In other news, PapaBear and I are thisclose to finishing the baby's room. You can check out our photos here.

And in more unrelated news, I'm meeting some Wharton alums for dinner tonight. Clearly, I didn't propose the 7 pm start time, as it's no more than 30 minutes before my bed time. Fingers crossed I can stay awake through drinks and appetizers before shuttling myself home.

The lies people tell pregnant women

Oh, the lies people will tell when speaking with a pregnant woman! I've chuckled at a few and wondered if I ever spoke these words to a pregnant friend:

1. It's all baby. You haven't gained weight anywhere.
If my 16-pound weight gain is all baby, then I'm in serious trouble. I don't even want to think about how one delivers a 16-pounder today, let alone how big said baby would be at full term.

2. You don't look pregnant from the back.
A while ago, I asked PapaBear if I looked pregnant from behind in a rather clingy sweater. He stammered, paused, and eventually asked, "What answer to you want?" At least I can rest assured that my husband is straight with me.

3. Nursing will melt away all the weight gain
Hmmmm...if, as they say, I'm not porking up, then why would I need breastfeeding to address the post-baby pudge?

I heard my favourite lie last night, as my hair stylist was flat ironing my 'do. "You look just like Katie Holmes. And with your hair so straight, you are thisclose to being Posh Spice!"

Yes, that's me. Katie Holmes and Posh Spice, all rolled into one...and hiding inside this 26-week pregnant body that wasn't exactly lithe 26 weeks ago.

What is my "special place"? My conscious mind has no idea

PapaBear and I have taken hypnobirthing to a new level. After sacrificing 4 Saturday mornings for an admittedly lame course, we found HypnoBabies. (In truth, I found HypnoBabies and PapaBear continues to play along like a champ.)

My HypnoBabies home study materials arrived last week. Since breaking open the shrink wrap, I have listened faithfully to the prescribed hypnosis tracks on my collection of iPods (one for every occasion and outfit worn by this new media mama).

In fairness, it would be a stretch to say that "listening" is actually a part of my hypnosis practice. On each of my 4 listening attempts to date, I have fallen asleep. Somewhere between the cues to "Focus on your breath" and "Prepare to assume a state of relaxed alertness", I am out like a light.

The goal-0riented gal that I am is really struggling. Last night I tried to work through the "Special Place" tracks, but I have no idea where my special place is supposed to be. Let's hope that it involves my bed and a dozen strategically placed pillows, because that's all I've got at this point.

Underwear

I need new underwear. Right now. My current pair can no longer stretch to accommodate my belly. Forget saving the planet and encouraging world peace. Right now, I need comfort.

Sitting at my desk, the situation is dire. I tried shifting the waistband down low (the "sub belly" fold) and BabyBear had a fit. It would seem that she uses that space too. If I hike it up as high as she rides, my sidekick squirms up a storm. Regardless of what I do, I'm cramping BabyBear's style.

All was reasonably well before lunch. Then things got crowded and I'm in agony.

Would it be wrong to change into my maternity tankini bottoms? I could think of it as getting ready for tonight's swim really, really early.

Is this pregnancy brain?

My MIL called recently, worried that silence on the blog meant something was wrong. But don't fret. I'm still here, just quieter for a stretch there.

A friend of mine went through a significant life crisis last week and said drama took my attention. She crashed in our basement for a while and needed a shoulder to cry on. Multiple shoulders later, I didn't feel like being witty about the joys of pregnancy. My complaints and misadventures were nothing compared to what life dealt others.

On Friday, as the fog lifted, I reconnected with my preggy fun. Two hours into a 3 hour chat with some consultants, I had trouble understanding what one of the dudes was saying. I focused hard, understood all the words, and didn't have a clue as to whether his sentences conveyed anything meaningful.

My colleague nodded a lot and seemed very excited about what she heard. Was she sifting these random phrases into something intelligent and useful? Or was she just hopping that enthusiastic response would get them out of her office quickly?

If she really thought they were onto something, I think I just experienced my first case of "pregnancy brain". When talking to consultants, however, one can never be sure.

Waddling of a different kind

John Bingham is one of my favourite running personalities. His "Penguin Brigade" proudly encourages slow runners to "Waddle on!", sentiment that I have taken to heart while training for past marathons. (After all, I had little choice but to embrace his philosophies. My mom always said that I have two speeds: slow and stop.)

Many pregnant women feel their graceful stroll morph into a wide-stanced waddle. And I could easily sport one of Bingham's signature "I'm slow. I know. Get over it." t-shirts right now. The similarities between marathons and pregnancy do not end with speed and lanky movement, however.

Consider the following parallels:

1. Water and protein consumption: I'm drinking copious amounts of water, the likes of which I have not seen since my marathon training days. I target a serving of protein each meal in an attempt to avoid swelling, something I haven't done since I broke down my quads on the roads each morning.

2. Massage therapy: My RMT has commented that my calves are as tight as those of a sprinter. Too bad the rest of me doesn't look like I just cooled down from a killer speed workout.

3. Core strength: I used to do crunches to support an efficient posture at the end of a race. Now I'm doing kegels, yoga, and transverse abdominal work (apparently, strong transverse abs help increase abdominal pressure and speed delivery).

Running friends tell me delivering a baby is like running the last 6 miles of a marathon over and over again for a few days. Is there any chance that the mental toughness I developed on the roads will get me through the big day? Let's hope so, because I sure don't have the physical fitness that I had when in marathoning days.

Political commentary in utero

BabyBear is incredibly astute for a kid who has been gestating for just 23 weeks. She has been dancing up a storm all morning and I think I know why. Clearly, she's elated over Barack Obama's performance in Iowa.

How many other fetuses would understand what the talking heads on CNN were saying this morning? How many would express their delight via an upbeat interpretive dance set to a "change is going to come" theme?

In fairness, she could have been celebrating the fact that she will not have to rely on Britney Spears' parenting skills once born. Either way, this kid is up on her current events.

An update from the pool

I hit the pool again last night, but didn't have time/self-assurance for aquafit. Instead, a half-hour swim suited better.

From a distance, the aquafit class seemed different. I couldn't put my finger on what had changed. Same line of elderly women, same unitard-encrusted instructor, same low, underwater kicks.

And then it hit me, the instructor must have received a new collection of orchestral music for Christmas. Specifically, a Dorsey Brothers Orchestra CD featuring the hits of the 40s and 50s. The class liked one track in particular, so the instructor just left it on a repeat loop once the warm-up was done.

As I swam my laps, I concluded a few things:
1. I never need to hear "Tea for Two" set to a cha-cha rhythm ever again
2. Pregnancy makes me remarkably buoyant. Could be my belly or perhaps the giant pontoons strapped to my chest
3. I'm burning my maternity swimsuit as soon as possible

Filing cabinets are the root of all evil

While organizing my desk this morning, I swung around too quickly and clocked a filing cabinet. The offending weapon did not involve a stack of books or a baseball bat. Instead, my belly made a square-on collision with an innocent inanimate object. Without question, I'm officially huge.

To be fair, today does not mark the onset of my enormity. I've been ignoring clues for weeks. A neighbour noticing, "My, you are certainly blooming!", my mother's less subtle, "Wow, you are really big", or a colleague saying, "Tam, that's quite a rack you've got there".

I'm convinced that BabyBear has positioned herself perpendicular to my spine. How else can one explain my size?