Babies. Oh, and zombies.

This may or may not apply to parenthood.

Hey, so remember when I said something along the lines of ‘Gosh, second babies are a piece of cake!!” Well, as it turns out, this is mostly true.

‘Mostly true’ being the operative term for when that second baby is really little. The older and older wee second baby gets, the less like a piece of cake they become. They get more complicated, more along the lines of a tiramisu, or a baklava. Way more layers, more intricate and difficult and way sweeter too.

They are not content to just lie there and gaze adoringly at their mother. Although, in hindsight, this is mostly happening in baby magazines and not at all in real life.

They want to do THINGS. And they are unsure of what these THINGS are, and so there is a lot of crying while they discover what kind of THINGS they like to do. THINGS may or may not include: grabbing ones toes, stuffing hands in mouths, pooping, eating more, wiggling, rolling everywhere. You get the picture.

And while this has all been going on, I’ve been trying a lot of new things:

A mild form of the Paleo-diet.

Cutting out wheat from my daily intake.

Crocheting a damn blanket.

Major addiction to the Zombies! Run app for iPhone. (This is a sad addiction, but it’s pushing me to exercise almost daily. And I delight in being chased by zombie mobs. DELIGHT.)

My random delight in the fact that not only did I love John Carter, but my discovery via an awesome high school friend that it was based on books. Books that I’ve downloaded and am now obsessed with.

Hanging with my soccer moms. Weekly dinner parties have assured that, for practically the first time ever, I have a social life.

I’ve been gazing longingly at my laptop, dreaming of quiet moments to type away. I swear my laptop has been gazing back at me… It’s being dreaming of me stroking it’s keyboard again. There are a lot of distractions lately…

Zombies, fun elimination diets, cool old sci-fi stories, soccer moms….

Yup, life is busy and great.

And I promise to share more of it with you…

xoxo a.m.

How I am still alive: A tale of survival and bleeding

I’m almost through my second week of sahm-ness and for the most part, I seem to still be alive. And, by a surprising coincidence, my son is as well. (Eleanor is, of course, completely perfect and no trouble at all). While still alive, I am worn out.

While feeding Eleanor again… (and I say again, because all I did yesterday afternoon was feed her. Constantly. From about noon to 5 pm and I am not even exaggerating) I noticed a funny discoloured spot on my shirt.

Savannah

And so Friday, my dream came true.

Currently we (my Florida and Vancouver families) are on holiday in South Carolina. Edward has a sweet hookup at a Disney Resort in Hilton Head and so Friday we did the drive up ‘North’.

It was such a pretty drive too. Lots of pine trees, spanish moss and such… Very green and pretty. And the further North we went, the cooler the air seemed to become. Mmmhmm, it was really enjoyable.

Somehow V made it the whole way. We kept telling him we were going to a super awesome playground. Everytime we stopped, thats what we told him to get him back in the car. It was about a 6 hour drive. We were all pretty over it by the time we arrived. And then we arrived.

Hilton Head, Disney resort and our 2 bedroom villa with a balcony overlooking a pool about 10 steps away from gorgeous wetlands…

Good work husband.

We were in so late, we decided to just cook in our little kitchen instead of eating out. We cooked, we drank, we caroused (in a family sort of way). We all slept like rocks.

Friday morning we woke up. Well, Edward and I woke up  after being awake all night, kicked to splinters by Kicky McCougherson.

But that didn’t matter. Neither did the annoying discussions regarding shorts vs pants. We were going to SAVANNAH!!!!!!!!!!

Dream town for all people from the West Coast. And, oh MY GOSH, it’s true. So true.

Gloriously bricked, spanished mossed, cobble stoned, trolley’d and carriaged.

I think every single step I took might have been a historic one. Even the elevator I took was a historic elevator. Because it took us down to a funny back alley cobbled street that ended at the river. And the building was beautiful.

Things I think are beautiful:

Old brick.

Old brick structures with shadows of their neighbours still remaining.

Uneven streets.

Very faded paint on brick.

Girl Scout leaders.

Shrimp and grits in Savannah, GA

Hazy cemetaries

People with their shirts off, lounging on old dueling grounds.

Knowing that something was an old dueling ground.

Georgia.

Savannah.

I honestly feel like I just had a Disney princess wedding. Savannah was so beautiful, it literally was like a dream come true.

Let’s be honest. All West Coast people dream of the ‘South’ like it’s some sort of unobtainable thing. Like we will never get there. And honestly, it was not a place I thought I would. Moving to Florida was not something I was ever planning. But being here makes my Southern fantasies closer to reality. And then there was today.

And I can’t even put into words what it really was all about. It was bricky. Uneven. Dirty. Parts were super smelly, mostly exhaust from tour buses. There were a lot of awful touristy looking things. We rode a trolley and got a ‘historic’ tour. Terribly informative. I would recommened doing on of those ‘on and off’ tours which gives you a lot of freedom.

It was a huge jumble of history. Too much for one person to really full absorb in a few hours. I think it would have been way better to stay in the actual city. In a B&B, preferabley a historic one. Maybe even one with a ghost. A few hours does not at all even begin to illustrate what the city was about.

However, I can say very truely that I love it. It felt like Victoria enlarged. I felt at home. I must be a Southerner at heart.

xoxo a.m.

 

 

 

Sunday evening

Sunday night and I am home, on the couch, enjoying a quiet evening. Edward had a lot of school prep work this weekend and Vince and I spent a lot of busy time together.

Not that I don’t love every second I spend with him, but I also enjoy those times when he goes to bed early and I quietly read, knit, watch Project Runway etc and decompress.

I have the day off tomorrow. It’s Columbus Day down here but Thanksgiving up in my favorite Northern country. Last year, I attempted to celebrate it, but we spend part of the weekend in After Hours Pediatric care and the rest pumping V full of Tama-Flu and having him throw up on me.

So it’s Thanksgiving redux here tomorrow night. My day off will be spent making a roast beef dinner with yorkshire puddings, baking a pumpkin pie and taking V out for waffles at WaffleHouse (that fine upstanding Southern institution). It will be a busy, but very satisfying day. (Hopefully there will be no vomiting)

As for life over here right now? Oh lots of things going on… V is firmly anti-veg right now and I am trying to not make a huge issue of it, slipping them in when I can. He cried the other night when I gave him broccoli and cheese. Ha! Actual tears! A big ol’ pouty face and the phrase “Vincent no like it!! Vincent no like it!!!!!!!”

So broccoli is out of the picture right now, but peas and corn seem to be ok still. Food on a stick is a popular item in out house right now too.

Initially, anything that I put on a stick was devoured. I did a chicken tender covered in Almond butter (peanut allergy improv) and it was inhaled. I did a hot dog. evaporated.

Elated, I got a bit ballsy and tried kebabs with veggies. Now I should also admit that I bragged about him eating. To several people. Prior to the kebab incident.

And I believe that was my downfall… If there had been no bragging, I am convinced that the kebab would have been eatten…

As it were, that darn sentence made a reappearance “Vincent no like it. NO LIKE IT!!” and that was followed quickly by “Hotdog stick please. Please Daddy.” And so Daddy made him a hotdog on a stick and it was inhaled. Followed by a large helping of saffron rice (didn’t know he liked this, but am rather pleased).

We also hate the potty… (not even going to worry about this, just thought I’d mention it). His vocabulary is growing with leaps and bounds and his interest in books remains undiminished (this makes me so happy, you don’t even really know).

What a hodgepodge of a post this evening…

Teeny wee update and I am trying to make more of an effort to post a bit more frequently. Life seems extra busy these days. Just the way I like it…

xoxo a.m.

Birthday

So 9 years ago I turned 25.

And 9 years ago I was somewhere else entirely. Literally and figuratively. I was in Victoria, Canada, working 2 part-time jobs and taking 3 4th year level classes at the local university finishing off my degree in English and Art History.

I worked about 30 hours a week at a grocery store as a butcher’s assistant. And every Saturday I worked in a second-hand book-store. I lived with my cousin in a 3rd floor building overlooking downtown Victoria. All hardwood floors, with a gas fireplace. I had a cat. I had no car. I took the bus or rode my bike everywhere. I ran a lot.

I celebrated my birthday in a bar, with a tiara and some rather saucy pictures that one of my friends used on his ‘dirty drinks’ website. A website that has since disappeared. As have those pictures. Ha!

The year I turned 26, I did so in Japan. It probably involved karaoke. So did the year I turned 27 and 28. 29? That was the year M and I were preparing to leave Japan. My summer birthdays in Japan were always sweaty affairs. Japan is one humid and hot place to live. The summer was always full of the smell of wet. And barbeque. And charcoal. And the sounds of karaoke drifting faintly through downtown.

The year I turned 30, I celebrated in Orlando. I’d only been living here for about 6 months. M and I had the smallest apartment you have ever seen in your life. Although comparing it to the one we had in Japan, it was incredibly spacious.

Now this was a birthday that was celebrated with proper pomp and circumstance. M bought me 30 gifts. And we hit up downtown Orlando with sushi and tasty drinks. I have some very vague memories of that night.

2 years ago I celebrated with my newly born son. V was just a month old and to be honest I don’t even remember what we did. I think we might have eaten food. And then I might have slept. Those were the early days, the days I have no memory of. I blocked them out. That’s how you make it possible to have another child.

Last year, M took me out for a gourmet meal. We are slowly working our way through the Disney Resorts, dining-wise.

And tonight?

M was working this evening and so V and I went out for dinner. I managed to eat one piece of pizza at our favorite Italian place before V got bored with the evening. I only had to chase him around the restaurant 3 times. Lovely.

And bedtime was another disaster that I will blog about another day. And ongoing disaster, actually. And the evening ended with the 2 of us on the couch, watching Big Brother, snuggling with Winnie the Pooh and Mickey Mouse. V cuddling up closer and closer.

V falling asleep. Me carrying him up to bed at 9:30 and then heading back downstairs to zone out with Mickey and Winnie for a little while longer before I hit the second floor as well.

9 years was a big journey.

xoxo a.m.

Talia

Sweet wee Vincent....

This is just a self-indulgent post about Vincent. Mostly.

Post bath, V climbed up on his bed with his ‘Puppy book’ and said “Mama too? Mama too. Mummy too!” How on earth is one supposed to resist that. Really. Must have a total heart of stone.

Since I am a huge sucker, up I climbed and proceeded to marvel at all of those puppies. Puppies are right at the top of the ‘love’ list at the moment.

While he sat on his bed and turned those pages, my fingers toyed with the most adorable baby curls you have ever seen in your life. Slightly damp from the bath curls. Hair sticking up  all over the place. Sweet little tender neck, smelling like Dove bodywash. Fat little tummy peeking out between diaper and slightly too small pajama top.

While he counted those dogs and giggled and squirmed away from my kisses, I stroked those curls and tickled that fat belly.

And then?

I cried.

And why? Well, one of my favorite ladies in the whole world (and a genetic lady at that). Ok, my sweet cousin. Who might as well be my sister, we are that close (that’s what you do in Canada).

Well, that sweet lady is in labour with her first little boy right now. So while I was driving home this evening, talking to her quickly between contractions. And then while I held on when she told me “Here comes a big one” and it went silent for quite a while. And then, while I was holding, I got all teared up.

The first baby is a special thing for every single woman and man. And looking at my little man and thinking of Tal and Sean embarking on this awesome voyage that is parenthood…

Apparently all I can do is stroke some sweet baby curls, wish I was there to offer my arms to lean on and support and cry just a little bit.

It’s just a little bit, Tal, not a lot.

Love you.

xoxo a.m.

Bastard blood

Sadly I am not allergic to any food.

While for some people this might be a wonderful thing to hear, for me? Not so great… I was totally expecting to find out that I had a wheat allergy too (just like V) and possibly some other hidden allergies lurking around in my system.

Bastard blood of mine!! I was expecting a lot out of you!

You were supposed to be the answer… I am looking for intel into V’s allergies. Any insight into the allergy situation would be awesome and currently I am focusing on me. As soon as I have made myself run the gamut, I’ll be putting M through his paces. Only fair!!

And so today I went through the intradermal allergy testing. Another interesting process. Small amounts of the allergen are injected just under the skin. In my case, 64 times. We then wait for everything to cook for 15 minutes and then measure the reaction on my skin.

Ding! 15 minutes later, we had our results. And they weren’t anything that exciting. Nothing earth-shattering or anything.

Funnily enough I am allergic to Maple tree pollen. And am Canadian. How disappointing. And so I now live in Florida and apparently am allergic to Orange tree pollen as well. What. The. Hell.

It make me kind of laugh though. From the land of the Maple tree to the land of the Orange tree, she is allergic to it all.

And allergic to dust-mites, a few other trees and 7 different types of mold. 7 for gods sake. Which, in hind sight, isn’t that surprising since I have a childhood allergy to penicillin that I apparently have passed on to V.

So while I didn’t learn that much about V’s particular food allergies and where they might have originated from, I did learn some interesting things about my own. Especially considering that I wasn’t aware of any of them.

So it looks like 2010 is going to start off, for me anyways, with an exciting ‘mold elimination’ diet. 3 months of a diet which basically has me eating nothing, as apparently all food is on this list, most condiments, all things pickled and vinegared  and lots of tomatoes. Oh, and cheese. And most heartbreakingly of all….. wine….

Oh lord how will I survive without cheese and wine.

I am totally f’d in the a.

Yoga

Finally over my nasty cold, I headed back to the YMCA tonight with firm intentions to become a regular. All of this is part of my plan of  ‘Atlantic rejuvenation’.

Mumma needs a boost, a jolt, a kick in the ass. Something to shake up my life, push me over the edge a bit. As if my husband doesn’t push me over the edge enough…those damn socks of his (I found one in the street this evening), and 2 litres of gravy?! Well, I won’t get into further details about THAT. Let’s just say its 5 days later and is still residing in my fridge. Feeling a little frightened about what it has become. 3 days ago, the last time I lifted the wrap and scooped some out, it was jello-like. Lord know where we are now…

I digress.

Yoga tonight was different than yoga previously. There is no Bikram over on this side of town, its just plain ol’ regular yoga. Something I haven’t done since around 2005. With my Mum. In Canada.

The class was low-lit, candles on the floor, kinda romantic and relaxing. With ‘hippie’ music playing (that’s what M calls it). There was no sweating. There was no barked orders and sharp clapping to signify position change. And also , she didn’t talk that much.

It was an adjustment for me. I guess I had become used to my Bikram instructors and their style of class. This new gentle style was certainly different.

I enjoyed it though and I feel so long and tall. And my back feels supple and relaxed.

Now that I have broken the ice with the Y, spinning class will be next. Never done it, but walked past a class this evening and was entranced by the sweating and barked orders. Um, clearly I need to be shouted at and to sweat my face off.

Care to hazard a guess about what this says about me? Need to be in a controlled environment. The only thing that would make it better would be for the class to come with a handbook and maybe some tedious paperwork to fill out.

Then I’d be in heaven.

Yesterday

Yesterday I had a ‘1994’ experience.

Gluten-free blueberry pancakes and MacGyver (oh how I love you and your clever ways) were how V and I started the morning. I made itty-bitty  sized ones (mix by Pamela’s, best Gluten-free mix I have tried so far). Babies and pancakes are a good thing. Babies and blueberries are not. Did you know if Blueberry pancakes hit the (beige) carpet at a Toddler-throw velocity, there will be  a stain? Perfect illustration as to why one should get hard-wood flooring. (This has nothing to do with 1994)

Post-pancake and MacGyver-fest (I felt like V was significantly impressed with MacGyver), we were off to Grandma’s house.They were planning on hitting up SeaWorld with the Little Man, leaving me and the Big Man at loose ends.

We need a new coffee table. Our weenie wicker one just was not doing the job in our HUGE new house. We had things picked out to check out at American Signature furniture. We happened to drive past World Market. Well, it just happens that its one of my favorite shops. So we thought we’d stop in and check out their furniture.(Again, 1994 this is not)

Suddenly, mission accomplished. Coffee table spotted and purchased. With a discount as we purchased the floor model. Anyways, it is huge. HUGE. We borrowed the stores tape measure and went off to measure the trunk of my hatchback. Pretty much we had no idea what we were actually measuring. We were pressured by the sales staff to make sure it would fit as they said they would hate for us to buy it and then find out it didn’t fit. Like they really care. And like we care as well!

We were determined to make it fit.

It didn’t.

We tried harder.

It still didn’t.

Regardless, it was coming home with us. Precariously balanced in the back of my hatchback, I climbed in the back of the car, braced my legs and held onto that table with all of my strength. As I was getting situated in the back, a woman walking by said “Oh, I have so been there so many times!” and smiled.

I smiled back.

So have I.

And then I had a flashback to sometime in 1994 when an ungodly amount of girls climbed into my friend R’s little red car. I think it was a Hyundai. Or a Rabbit. Regardless, it fit 8 that day, several of us were in the trunk and that car was a low rider.

Not sure where we were going, but damn we had fun getting there.

Oh 1994, how I loved your fishnet stocking, plaid flannel shirt/jacket wearing, hand-painted combat boots stomping, always angry, black lipstick (1 week only) clad, Pearl Jam thrashing ways.

As I clung to that table, laughing and smiling while M drove down the expressway and that cool Autumn air blew in the back of my little red car, I was suddenly transported back to the Island. High School. My lady R. Oh friend, I miss those silly times.

Clutching that table, suddenly that simple little table shopping trip turned into so much more. A High School mini-flashback. A 10 year deduction from my birthday (leaving me in my 20’s). A big ol’ smile. Some slightly cold fingertips. A trunk filled with dried leaves. And one cheap blanket from Ross that only cost $5 was it was sold bundled up in packing tape that took me about 15 minutes to removed.

Trunk packing. Didn’t care.

Autumn and Fall,  you are the same but slightly different and I love you both…

Fever times 2

16 months in and my first experience with a really, really sick little boy started yesterday…

All in all, not too shabby. All we’ve had to deal with prior has been food allergies, allergic reactions, mild asthma and lots of poop. Ok, looking at that list, let me revise that  ‘all we’ve had to deal with’ comment, that kind of made it sound like parenthood has been a cake-walk over here.

Really what I mean is that this is my first experience with scary high temperatures, scary lethargy and projectile vomit (Exorcist-style).

V woke up yesterday a wee bit warm. Babies are warm in the morning, so I didn’t think too much of it. He ate all of his breakfast, drank his bottle and just was a little quiet. I took his temp, it was 99 degrees…a little ‘ping’ of concern hit me, but again, he’s been warm like this before so I figured that it would go away once he was more active…

I WAS going to make Canadian Thanksgiving dinner Sunday for all my peeps in Orlando. We were also supposed to be going to see Elmo at UCF Arena in the afternoon. So we had things to do and so off we went to do them. Whole Foods (that I might leave M for and marry in a legal, binding ceremony) and Ikea. Done and done.

On our way there and back, he dozed the whole time. That ‘ping’ of concern started to ping a little louder. As I unbuckled him from his car seat and picked him up, he was really really warm. So warm, in fact, that when I handed him to M once entering the house, he immediately said to me “Wow, hes really hot, you aren’t going to Elmo, are you?”, to which I replied “No. Not at all” (although secretly I really wanted to).

I gave him some infants Tylenol and took his temperature.

103.2

What. The. Fuck. (Pardon my dirty mouth, but seriously, what the fuck!)

That is one high mothering-fucking temperature! So high that I remember using temperatures like that as bragging tools when I was in Elementary School to illustrate how sick I had been. “Ya? Well, my temperature was 103.4 and my Mummy said I might die. DIE!!” (I tend towards the dramatic). I tried not to remember that as I calmly said to M “We are going to the walk-in clinic”.

He calmly replied “OK, I think that’s a good idea”.

In reality both of us had cartoon steam-whistles on our head and steam was shooting from our ears. And my body might have become an ambulance. At least that’s what I told myself as I did 75- 1.000.000  (miles per hour, folks) down the expressway to the Pediatric clinic.

An hour later, I emerged with V and my awesome in-laws. Who are awesome and met me there, at the clinic (M called them) and stayed with me the whole time. Again. Awesome.

Influenza type A. And an ear infection. Antibiotics and Tamaflu (which makes me think of Tama-chan, that seal that swam into the Tokyo Harbour and became a national icon [I have a Tama-chan doll somewhere]).

The rest of my evening was not awesome. I went and got the meds filled, drove home, medicated V up. He remained hot. In-laws returned with food (M was at work). The rest of the evening was a blur of trying to force food and fluids on Little Man. Mostly fluids.

He cried non-stop and was so hot I swear I could have cooked something on his forehead. At about 9 pm he projectile vomited all over the place and as I went to pick him up, he threw up down the front of my tank-top. Wonderful. Hot and shivering at the same time, I stripped him down and washed him down in the tub… the rest of the evening was a blur.

We finally got him settled down with some fluids in him and he went right to sleep. Poor baby was so exhausted.

I went to bed too. Poor me, so exhausted….

Actually, I went to bed on the floor of V’s room. He made so many little noises and I woke up and trekked into his room with every one that finally I made a make-shift bed from a duvet and the pad on an Ikea chair and slept with my hand on the edge of his mattress.

Fever all night long. It finally seemed to break around 2 am… and we both slept.

And did I mention that M came home from work with the stomach flu?

Our home is a bubonic plague zone right now. DO NOT COME OVER.