Learning curve, oh and poop

All of Eleanor’s poop looks just like this. Seriously.

 

So the other day I literally caught poop in my hand. Despite being the mother of two, this was a first time experience for me. Obviously I’ve been pooped on, thrown up on, peed on, had things throw at me, been covered in projectile vomit repeatedly… You know, the usual badges of honour that us parents wear.

But this was, honestly, a first.

Sometimes I think that I can communicate with my baby. She seems to understand me when I babble things like ‘Who’s a pretty girl? You are! Are you pretty? You ARE! Who loves Mummy? YOU DO! Who’s my sweetie pie? YOU ARE!!!!’

(Also, I have to admit…. It is slightly humbling to hear your older child talk to your younger child in the baby voice you use. It makes him look slightly psycho. He’s four. And so that would make me…??? Old and more psychotic. Great.)

She smiles a lot while I say these (and even more ridiculous) things. So clearly we are communicating. And so when I ask her things like ‘Please don’t poop on me. Or pee. Please don’t poop or pee on me.’ as I am carrying her to the bath, I feel optimistic. Since we’ve been ‘communicating’, we’ve have no issues. 2 weeks ago, I started feeding her cereal and since then, things are a little more up in the air. Bowel movements are a bit up in the air these days….

Ie: Feed cereal. Poop it out instantaneously. Feed peas. Poop out immediately.

So I guess my plan of ‘feed dinner, immediately take a bath after’ probably was not the most well thought out plan I’ve had in recent weeks. Other plans that are equally bad? Eating hard boiled eggs bought at 7-11 for breakfast, forget to wash hands and lick fingers that are covered in dry formula and accidentally walk through puddle that is actually ‘garbage water’ (as in that liquid that leaks out of a dumpster).

Naked bottom holding with long distance walking is for sure up with these other special plans. And also, total potential Olympic fodder for future games.

Anyways, blah blah blah she pooped in my hand. Then we both took a bath and I sanitized my hand.

Parenting: a constant learning curve.

xoxo am

 

My love affair with TurbiTwist, or how I am extra lame

Just a half-Mothra in this shot. Extra gorgeous.

A week or so into being a full-time working mum of 2, I realize that having a turbitwist really is an essential item in my daily life.

My mother-in-law gave it to me as a joke gift at Christmas and I actually didn’t regard it as a joke. It wasn’t funny, it was practical. And kind of awesome. And my sister-in-law got one too. She might have been less excited about it than I was, but she is a decade younger than me so that pretty much explains that.

I’d used it on and off since Christmas and let me just say that it never ever ever looks as stylish on me as it does on the packaging model. I look like the hugest nerd ever, with extra big ears. My ears aren’t that big; somehow the towel accentuates their size, turning me into Dumbo. Or Mothra. yes, I think thats a better comparison. Powder blue towel head with enormous Mothra ears on either side.

I look ridiculous.

But

BUT.

Guess what saves time in the morning? Washing your hair at night.

And guess what sucks for people who have ridiculously curly hair and live in a State like, say, Florida, where it’s extremely hot and humid and rainy and tropical all the time? Not having enough time in the morning to sort out said hair, leaving the house with it wet/damp and looking ridiculous in a professional setting as a result.

Yup. That is the epitome of suckage. I might have been able to get away with it when I was in my twenties, but since I am now firmly in my mid-thirties it really is pretty damn sloppy to hit the road in the morning like that. Especially in Florida when it quickly turns into Giant Clown head.

And so? Yes, it’s true. I now wash my hair at night and throw it up in a turbi twist and sleep with it like that. And in the morning, my hair is mostly tame and only requires the merest whisp of flat iron to behave. And this, in between the insanity of feeding a baby, feeding a preschooler, walking the dog, my husband juicing a million fruits and veg for what seems like hours, avoiding getting covered in formula, getting covered in formula, changing my clothes again, slapping on some makeup, driving to Eleanor’s daycare and then speeding into the office… Well, this really does help the morning run smoother.

I also think this really helps bolster my ‘cool mom’ factor. Well, even if it doesn’t (which is really hard to believe), my hair has been looking pretty amazing.

Get one. It will change your life. xoxo a.m.

More about boobs

“Happy Mother’s Day! I filled this diaper just for you!”

Mother’s Day is, I feel, the equivalent of Valentine’s Day. Another one of those ‘manufactured holidays’ hyped by card companies to generate revenue. And also, I need to chime in on that Time cover too. Just like everyone else! I know you want to read all about it. Seriously. You do.

Techical error

So that post I thought I posted on Father’s Day? Um, technical error. Didn’t post. Most likely because I forgot to hit the ‘publish’ button. But that’s OK. You didn’t really want to read another blather about fathers and dads and sons and everyone all doing super things together, right??

We ate pizza and went swimming. Vince painted Daddy a picture. It was extremely sweet. So that was Father’s Day, and then Edward went to work and I went to sleep. Party.

We are gearing up for our trip to New York this weekend. I should clarify that we are not actually going to the Big Apple. We are hitting up Long Island. You know, where Lindsay Lohan is from? There.

So unfortunately Tracy, I will not be going handbag shopping. As much as I long to be ushered up staircases and behind black sheet-draped enclosures, I will not be. Vince and his cousin Chloe are getting christened together on Sunday instead.

I guess it’s a good trade-off…

Maybe someone wants to just pick me up a handbag as a christening gift to Vince? Right. I thought not.

I am pretty excited to head up North to see the family. The last time we were up there was when Edward’s other little cousin Anna was christened in 2006. Which was just a few weeks after I moved to Florida from Canada. It was a bit of a culture shock for this Canadian, which is funny to look back at.

What a transformation a polite Canadian has when confronted by 70 or so Italians who mostly are eating things that Canadians are not accustom to devouring. And I say devour because that’s what I did. Pretty much the whole time. At Edward’s Grandparents house. At that really awesome restaurant we all ate at. At Edward’s aunts house, the one with the chocolate fountain?

It’s been 5 years and I am now a corrupt Anglo-Italian. Of sorts. Or at least my son is, being as he is actually of Italian and Canadian descent. And says ‘Mummy’ and ‘holiday’ and yet, also, eats mortadella by choice and has requested salami. And is three years old.

And who’s Mummy is an epic rambler. What was I talking about? Why am I not in bed? Happy Father’s Day! Belated!

Heading to Long Island in 3 days and am terrifically excited… Don’t worry, I’ll ramble again  before then…

xoxo a.m.

How to lose your child in a department store (A Guide)

This is what not running looks like...

First of all, and this part is really important, try to make sure that you get infected with pinkeye 2 or 3 days prior to attempting to lose your child. This, I feel, really heightens the event by increasing not only your uncomfortableness but skewing your vision as well.

And ideally this will all take place on a Sunday. And if all of the stars are aligned properly, it will also be Mother’s Day.

We very politely crossed the parking lot, holding hands, and entered the building. We went and collected a shopping cart, V scooted in and off we went. Just browsing, I picked up a cute work shirt, grabbed some Mickey Mouse pj’s for Little Man and was perusing some trinkets WHEN. WHEN

He picked up 2 watches from a display table and did a runner.

And while running away from me? He kicked off his sandals, gained momentum and disappeared between the brassieres…

Oh my god. There were way to many brassieres. It was like finding a needle in a jungle. And V is like a huge chubby needle, with no shoes, but I still couldn’t find him.

Not in the men’s long sleeve shirt section. Not amongst the kitchen goods.

Where was he? I had no idea. Edward called me while I was looking… Transcript to follow:

E: “Happy Mother’s Day sweetie!!”

J: “I lost our child.”

E: “What. What!”

J: “Ya. I’ll call you back.”

*Click*

5 or possibly 10 minutes later, a giggly, blonde, curly mess with no shoes tore around the corner of a display, watches in hand. And perhaps the cheekiest grin you have ever seen in your whole entire life. Unless you are me. Then, you see a new one ever single day.

So to recap trying to capture this delicious moment…

Plan on pinkeye. Aim for little to no sleep for at least 2 days prior to the event. Also, having your husband sleeping downstairs on a futon because he doesn’t want to catch your disease. Very important. If you also have a fever and  sinus congestion while this is all going on, even better. I feel it really heightens the emotional reward.

xoxo a.m.

(My Mother’s Day sucked. Except for that part when my child was sleeping)

Some more about poop

Look Mum! No Poop!!

As if I don’t write enough about it. Geez. I am annoyed with myself. But, you know, you draw what you can from your own experiences and this is apparently what my life is consisting of lately.

Today was a particularly special day.

It started off with poo and ended with it as well. How blessed am I! I guess I am blessed with an almost 3 year old that can pee in the potty, but hasn’t quite mastered the poo. But has mastered the ‘holding it’ part of the movement and is rather good at it.

Blah. Anyways, thats how it started today. A nonchalant statement ‘Mummy? I poo in my underwears.” It was just a flat out statement. No emotion at all. It has become de rigeur. Routine. Normal.

And then this afternoon? We got home, walked the dog and then headed out into the courtyard to pull some weeds. We have had a serious weed eruption in the last 5 days. It’s insane. V and I pulled about 3 pounds of weeds this afternoon and in the middle of all of this vigrous pulling, V announced:

“Mummy! Dere’s poo! Right der!”

“Oh?” Uninterestedly… “There is?”

“Mummy!! Right der. Da poo. It’s icky. It’s on my sock”.

Ok, now that got my attention. What? And then? There it was. In the middle of the courtyard.

A turd. Just one. But don’t worry, there was a shower of them to follow.

I had to pick them all up individually. With my bare hands.

Ha! I kid. I keed. I used a papertowel.

And just when I thought I’d got them all, we started heading upstairs and then one more appeared. Renegade poop.

Vince shouted: “It’s a stinky icky poo!! Ewwwwwwww!” Which made me laugh as it rolled out of his pant-leg and on to the floor. He created and disowned in a microsecond.

Having nothing near by to pick it up with, I used V’s dirty sock to pick up the turd, carry it upstairs and deposit it in the toilet.

And that, probably, is the perfect example of the regular life of a normal Mummy. Sock poo pick-up. Vomit slasher-film type experience. Random wet pants.

Edward got home 15 minutes later to a clean Vince, pj-clad and pleasant. Neither of us mentioned anything about poo. To Daddy or each other. Not that, I think, its something we’d have a conversation about. But it was just not mentioned.

And then, I watched Beauty and the Beast and went to bed. Clearly a win of a day…

xoxo a.m.

Touch

Some may say that it is an easy moment to remember, that moment when they became a mother. And for most, I would think it is fairly obvious.

“I gave birth to a child, hence motherhood”.

Thanks, Captain Obvious, for that. I don’t think I could have figured it out.

Or maybe, it’s that firm attachment to your pet. We started off with a dog, before progressing on to human motherhood. I am that little dog’s mother. Whether he likes it or not. Especially when he is peeing in places he shouldn’t. Which is all the time. Then I am one of those ‘Mummy-Monsters’.

Or maybe it is that first time your little person gets really sick. It’s like those mothering feelings just erupt out of you, you know exactly what to do.

Motherhood changes you, even if you don’t notice. It makes you less tolerant of your sick husband (partner). Sorry honey!! Must cook baby dinner/do baby laundry/wash baby/read to baby/etc etc etc. That little man has reached a much higher level of awesomeness than you. And will stay at that level. FOREVER. So no more asking for egg on toast.

I digress…

Motherhood is this total mystical, spiritual, wellspring of eternal knowledge, ‘I am all knowing’, freakin’ crazy amazing thing.

Right now, my own mother is visiting me. And she is sick.

As a new mother, here are the things I can’t help but do:

1) an ever present glass of water

2) ‘The best question ever… “Is there anything you need??”

3) Speak in a soothing voice

4) Sway back and forth. By myself. On a separate surface than she…

5) Look worried and impose that worry on everyone else.

6) “Would you like some tea???”

It is really amazing how much stereotypical ‘mom’ came out of my mouth during my conversation with  my sick mother in her darkened bedroom.

I stood up from the bed, bent over and kissed her on the forehead, while my free hand soothingly stroked her brow and automatically tucked her hair back. Apparently this is something I have been doing for my whole life, that is how casual it felt.

What was this!?!? This automatic gesture? Where did this come from? Was it in the manual?

No, my sweet mothers, it is just motherhood. We all have it, whether we use it on our dogs, cats or delicious babies. But how funny to use it on your own dearest mother.

Dearest Mother, please get better….

xoxo a.m.