Since I have been very lazy about blogging for the past few months, I am going to make it up by blogging excessively during this long weekend. (It is Thanksgiving weekend in Canada).
My latest aspiration comes from reading a book that has a character who is a Portugese immigrant woman, single mother of three children, one of which has a brain tumour that is recovering well. This woman has time to keep her house spotless, and paint her toenails pink fuchsia, and date a married man back in Portugal. Married affair aside, I would like to (for once) have a spotless house.
Hm. I forgot one small detail. She did not work.
Anyway, I am trying to figure out how to increase the amount of sparkle on my floors, kitchen sink, and oven, as well as vacuuming more often. I have a cleaning lady who comes once a week and does the floors, the bathrooms, and vacuums a bit. She does not dust or do laundry. My day's chores go something like this: in the morning, empty the dishwasher, make breakfast and clean afterwards (including the floor if Emma eats by herself), sweeping around the birds' cages, folding the laundry from the dryer and changing the sheets (every other day or so), washing two more loads (one whites, one coloured) and getting lunch started. Then I play with Emma a bit, we bathe and take a nap on the clean sheets. When we wake up, we have lunch, clean up afterwards, and go to babysitter/work.
When I come back, we go shopping if we need anything (twice a week) and make dinner, which usually creates a huge mess as Emma wants to help me. I have to cut things on the floor, and let her play with the chopped vegetables. It pays off though, as every time I am busy doing something like sweeping or brushing the carpet, she grabs her own item of cleaning (a small broom, or a sponge) and starts "helping out". It is so cute to see how she wants to be involved.
At night we load the dishwasher and the washing machine/dryer, and MrH cleans up after dinner (dishes, floor, Emma's high chair), while I wipe the counter in the bathroom.
Any stories of how cleaning goes in your house would be appreciated.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Adrian's urn
Emma has been playing with Adrian's urn during this past month or so. It was sitting on my night table, and she is still sleeping in our bed, so in the mornings she would get up and start throwing everything off the table onto the carpet. She threw both the urn and the little icon that was surrounding it onto the floor, several times, before I took it and put it on my makeup table.
Poor Adrian. He has no way to defend himself against his sister's attacks.
I have tried to tell Emma that the name of the urn is Adrian. I know she does not get it, but at some point in the future I guess I will tell her that she had a brother born before her, who did not live. I wonder if that will frighten her. I wonder how she will process that. If anybody has any advice about how to approach the issue, it would be much appreciated. I was just planning to approach it in my usual matter-of-factly way that I use to disclose these facts to anybody who asks.
In the meantime, today I ran into a colleague who had her twins in the same month when I was due to have Adrian. We were due within a day of each other. Her girls are now 2.5 years old. I wonder what Adrain would have done at this age. Probably given me a hard time through his terrible twos.
These thoughts are quite fleeting though. I love him just as much as I always have, and think with sadness of his little baby body that never got to live. I can only thank God for Emma, whose presence makes my life so full and rich and busy that I cannot afford to fall into melancholy anymore.
Is this good? Is it bad? Occasionally I experience the sadness fully, just as I used to, and the anger at the waste of a little life. But these moments are rare, and on most days all I do is the mundane thinking about breakfast, bath, nap, lunch, work, park, dinner, sleep. And I am happy.
Poor Adrian. He has no way to defend himself against his sister's attacks.
I have tried to tell Emma that the name of the urn is Adrian. I know she does not get it, but at some point in the future I guess I will tell her that she had a brother born before her, who did not live. I wonder if that will frighten her. I wonder how she will process that. If anybody has any advice about how to approach the issue, it would be much appreciated. I was just planning to approach it in my usual matter-of-factly way that I use to disclose these facts to anybody who asks.
In the meantime, today I ran into a colleague who had her twins in the same month when I was due to have Adrian. We were due within a day of each other. Her girls are now 2.5 years old. I wonder what Adrain would have done at this age. Probably given me a hard time through his terrible twos.
These thoughts are quite fleeting though. I love him just as much as I always have, and think with sadness of his little baby body that never got to live. I can only thank God for Emma, whose presence makes my life so full and rich and busy that I cannot afford to fall into melancholy anymore.
Is this good? Is it bad? Occasionally I experience the sadness fully, just as I used to, and the anger at the waste of a little life. But these moments are rare, and on most days all I do is the mundane thinking about breakfast, bath, nap, lunch, work, park, dinner, sleep. And I am happy.
weight watchers
I am officially on weight watchers. I have been registered with the online program for three months now, but largely ignored the app on my iPhone and did not track my points. My weight kept on going up and up. After gaining five lb in one month, I decided that enough is enough, and started tracking. I am doing fairly well in that I have managed to lose two measly pounds in two weeks, but in all fairness I have been making liberal use of the "weekly"points, and last night I managed to polish off half of a medium pizza at Boston Pizza (Friday nights is our date/splurge night when we go out to Boston Pizza and have something greasy and unhealthy).
My mood has become vastly improved once I have decided to stop feeling guilty about working. I was very conflicted about working longer hours (lately I am averaging 5 a day, with an inclination to increase toward six a day). I doubt that I will go back to full time in the next three years, but if the need arises then I have to be prepared to do so. I enjoy work, and am quite the workoholic. Before having Emma, I used to easily work like a mule, and loving every moment of it, except for the sheer exhaustion and emptiness of my life - haha. Now, I have to be more balanced.
The truth is that in today's day and age, we are all expected to work long hours. We are going back to the work hours of 200 years ago I think. The sooner I accept that, the better our life will be. We are expected to work hard just to make enough money to cover our daily expenses, and in our case, to cover the overhead of the business. Working part time makes it more difficult to do these things. And I am one who likes to have money, no kidding, that is why I need to seriously adjust when my income is slashed in half.
That being said, I am happy with the current balance, and I even think the five to six hour days are ok with Emma, who is very well adapted with her current babysitting family. She is a wonderful child, and her babysitter is friendly and motherly, and I am very happy with the arrangement. That is what matters the most. I think that those of us who have a stable, secure arrangement with a daycare provider, feel more at ease to work longer hours. When Emma had just started with this new babysitter, and she was suffering from my absence, even four hours felt like eternity. I was itching to get home and the five minute commute was an annoyance bigger than I can describe. Now, I am even fantasizing about going to the gym before picking her up. Not that I am actually going to do it... because even for a gym rat like me, seeing my little girl is a much more urgent need than that of pounding the treadmill.
My mood has become vastly improved once I have decided to stop feeling guilty about working. I was very conflicted about working longer hours (lately I am averaging 5 a day, with an inclination to increase toward six a day). I doubt that I will go back to full time in the next three years, but if the need arises then I have to be prepared to do so. I enjoy work, and am quite the workoholic. Before having Emma, I used to easily work like a mule, and loving every moment of it, except for the sheer exhaustion and emptiness of my life - haha. Now, I have to be more balanced.
The truth is that in today's day and age, we are all expected to work long hours. We are going back to the work hours of 200 years ago I think. The sooner I accept that, the better our life will be. We are expected to work hard just to make enough money to cover our daily expenses, and in our case, to cover the overhead of the business. Working part time makes it more difficult to do these things. And I am one who likes to have money, no kidding, that is why I need to seriously adjust when my income is slashed in half.
That being said, I am happy with the current balance, and I even think the five to six hour days are ok with Emma, who is very well adapted with her current babysitting family. She is a wonderful child, and her babysitter is friendly and motherly, and I am very happy with the arrangement. That is what matters the most. I think that those of us who have a stable, secure arrangement with a daycare provider, feel more at ease to work longer hours. When Emma had just started with this new babysitter, and she was suffering from my absence, even four hours felt like eternity. I was itching to get home and the five minute commute was an annoyance bigger than I can describe. Now, I am even fantasizing about going to the gym before picking her up. Not that I am actually going to do it... because even for a gym rat like me, seeing my little girl is a much more urgent need than that of pounding the treadmill.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
winter coming
Winter is coming in our neck of the woods. We have very hard, long winters, but for the past two years, due to the change in seasons and global warming, they have been very mild. As an example, I have an extensive glove collection that I did not even touch last winter. I did not need to wear gloves at all! Seven years ago, I could not have opened a door because my skin would have glued onto the metal of the door knob if I did not protect my hands.
Somebody was telling me yesterday that because of the permafrost melting, further North in Yellowknife the roads were sinking. Apparently we will have no polar ice left in three more years either. This is scary. I worry about Emma's future, the world that she will live in, and whether she will be able to live at all, because who knows how many human lives this change in temperature will claim. I am quite negative since thinking about all this. I am also shocked by the fact that most people around me don't seem to worry at all. I guess that is why I have anxiety disorder and they don't.
On the plus side, we had a lot of fun in the park this summer. Emma managed to climb all the way to the top of a tall ladder (2.5 m) by herself, and then to go on the circular slide by herself as well. It scares me a bit so I go behind her, but I am quite amazed by how strong she is.
All in all, one of the best summers so far. I got to go outside during the day, which for a working person is a treat, and enjoyed the sunshine together with my daughter, which is the most important part.
Somebody was telling me yesterday that because of the permafrost melting, further North in Yellowknife the roads were sinking. Apparently we will have no polar ice left in three more years either. This is scary. I worry about Emma's future, the world that she will live in, and whether she will be able to live at all, because who knows how many human lives this change in temperature will claim. I am quite negative since thinking about all this. I am also shocked by the fact that most people around me don't seem to worry at all. I guess that is why I have anxiety disorder and they don't.
On the plus side, we had a lot of fun in the park this summer. Emma managed to climb all the way to the top of a tall ladder (2.5 m) by herself, and then to go on the circular slide by herself as well. It scares me a bit so I go behind her, but I am quite amazed by how strong she is.
All in all, one of the best summers so far. I got to go outside during the day, which for a working person is a treat, and enjoyed the sunshine together with my daughter, which is the most important part.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
breastfeeding-hard to stop
I was asked why I have not posted much lately. I didn't think anybody was still reading my blog, haha. It really is not all that interesting anymore, just life with a toddler, and the usual problems associated with being a working mom, namely not enough time, not enough energy, etc. I have gone through a very tired patch, and also had a nasty viral infection with fever and vomiting, which took my energy right down to zero. All in all, blogging fell by the wayside.
I am going to Vancouver in two weeks to see if the surgery to remove some of the scar tissue from the uterus has worked. The gyne will try to put a small probe in the uterus, to see if the opening created is still there, or if it has scarred back down. If it is still open, then the next thing is to put the cerclage back in place. Then to do more IVF, once I stop breastfeeding, which I still haven't.
The breastfeeding thing is hard to stop. I have more milk now than I had during her first few months of life, and she enjoys the bonding as well as the actual milk I guess. Due to my hemorrhage, I did not manage to establish a milk supply in early life, so Emma was deprived of my milk the entire time. This is why I feel guilty taking it away from her now, especially seeing as she enjoys it so much, and lays claim on my boobs with such awesome determination. She pulls my clothes off, even in public, and grabs onto them in a way that is definitely supposed to mean "these are mine, you are mine". She is so cute, it brings a smile to my face just writing this :) I have to say, breastfeeding a smaller baby brings in me notions of survival and nutrition, but breastfeeding an older baby or a toddler is a lot more fun and meaningful emotionally. This observation could be skewed by the fact that when Emma was small, breastfeeding was such a source of inadequacy and emotional pain for being unable to provide it, that it might be why I did not find it fulfilling. I am finally enjoying it now, and so is she, so we will have a very hard time letting go.
However, if we do not let go, there will be no IVF. Hence no future baby. And we make such cute babies...
I am going to Vancouver in two weeks to see if the surgery to remove some of the scar tissue from the uterus has worked. The gyne will try to put a small probe in the uterus, to see if the opening created is still there, or if it has scarred back down. If it is still open, then the next thing is to put the cerclage back in place. Then to do more IVF, once I stop breastfeeding, which I still haven't.
The breastfeeding thing is hard to stop. I have more milk now than I had during her first few months of life, and she enjoys the bonding as well as the actual milk I guess. Due to my hemorrhage, I did not manage to establish a milk supply in early life, so Emma was deprived of my milk the entire time. This is why I feel guilty taking it away from her now, especially seeing as she enjoys it so much, and lays claim on my boobs with such awesome determination. She pulls my clothes off, even in public, and grabs onto them in a way that is definitely supposed to mean "these are mine, you are mine". She is so cute, it brings a smile to my face just writing this :) I have to say, breastfeeding a smaller baby brings in me notions of survival and nutrition, but breastfeeding an older baby or a toddler is a lot more fun and meaningful emotionally. This observation could be skewed by the fact that when Emma was small, breastfeeding was such a source of inadequacy and emotional pain for being unable to provide it, that it might be why I did not find it fulfilling. I am finally enjoying it now, and so is she, so we will have a very hard time letting go.
However, if we do not let go, there will be no IVF. Hence no future baby. And we make such cute babies...
Saturday, August 25, 2012
new babysitter, hard week
Life is a bit stressful at the moment. We are trying to make decisions about the future, and just as I thought things fell into a good groove, something else came up, and I felt left in the air again. Life is like that, nothing is aligned perfectly, probably ever, which is what makes living an art as opposed to a science, I suppose.
Emma is adapting to a new babysitter, and she has been very clingy the entire week. This drives me a bit insane, as I cannot peel myself off her (or, more precisely, I cannot peel her off my leg to which she attaches herself to dear life). Hence, the house was a mess for a few days as I could not tidy up with her stuck to my leg, and also we ate a whole lot of bread and butter instead of the usual cooked meals. I have done my best to put dinner on the table every night, but for the rest of the meals, only Emma got something cooked each time, the rest of us ate bad carbs.
And we survived. Note to self: next time we transition to a new babysitter arrangement, get a cleaning lady to come in twice or three times that week, as I cannot do squat other than reassure my child that I am not disappearing forever from her life. And freeze some meals ahead of time. And drop those standards way down low (that is the hardest one for me).
I need a holiday.
Emma is adapting to a new babysitter, and she has been very clingy the entire week. This drives me a bit insane, as I cannot peel myself off her (or, more precisely, I cannot peel her off my leg to which she attaches herself to dear life). Hence, the house was a mess for a few days as I could not tidy up with her stuck to my leg, and also we ate a whole lot of bread and butter instead of the usual cooked meals. I have done my best to put dinner on the table every night, but for the rest of the meals, only Emma got something cooked each time, the rest of us ate bad carbs.
And we survived. Note to self: next time we transition to a new babysitter arrangement, get a cleaning lady to come in twice or three times that week, as I cannot do squat other than reassure my child that I am not disappearing forever from her life. And freeze some meals ahead of time. And drop those standards way down low (that is the hardest one for me).
I need a holiday.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
vaccinations
Today Emma got her one year shots. It was quite different from the previous shots, because she was much more aware of what was going on, and she also remembers much better afterwards, making it harder for me to distract her.
We went to the Health Unit, which is just around the corner from my house, and registered. A volunteer lady measured her weight and her height. Emma got upset about being laid on a table to be measured like a sheep, and she started protesting, obviously oblivious to what was about to come.
We sat and waited, and she started playing with this tall toy that has wires and beads, you know the classic weird one that I thought no kids ever play with. Well, apparently mine is very interested in that particular toy, to such an extent that when the nurse came to get us, she did not want to let go of it and hung onto the wires/bars for dear life. I had to pry her off. The nurse assured us that she had lots more toys in her office. I thought to myself, sure, and some sharp needles alongside them. In fact, I was in complete agreement with Emma, I also wanted to hang onto that toy for dear life.
But, we had to go. Indeed, the nurses' office was full of nice toys, and soon enough Emma was talking up a storm, chatting with us, and handling every animated plastic animal and colourful item in that room. The nurse plotted her along 97th percentile, and gave her her shots, which made her scream hysterically. FOUR of them, to boot. Then, she blew bubbles from a bubble gun, and that was quite effective at stopping the hysterical crying. Apparently I also need to get a bubble gun on top of the weird toy with wires and beads.
In the waiting room, where we had to stay for 15 minutes, there was another one year old boy who had just gotten his shots, and was also crying. Both of them sat wimpering side by side, looking at each other with snotty noses. Then they decided to make friends, and played quite nicely with the weird wire-and-beads toy, until it fell over and both started crying loudly again. At that point, both his mom and I decided that 15 minutes is too long to wait, allergies be damned, and we each parted on our merry ways.
Emma was cranky for the rest of the morning, but we took a 3 hour nap together and both of us recovered from the experience. I have come to the conclusion that I should try to take the day off every time she gets her shots (I mean one more time at 18 months) as it is nice for her to have me around, and be clingy and feel safe and whiny. This evening, I tried to tell her the story of the shots, and made whiny sounds as I was poking her shoulder with my finger, and she laughed in a sort of embarrassed way, which was so cute. I was not laughing at her, just retelling the story, as we both needed to debrief and get over the traumatic event. Phew.
We went to the Health Unit, which is just around the corner from my house, and registered. A volunteer lady measured her weight and her height. Emma got upset about being laid on a table to be measured like a sheep, and she started protesting, obviously oblivious to what was about to come.
We sat and waited, and she started playing with this tall toy that has wires and beads, you know the classic weird one that I thought no kids ever play with. Well, apparently mine is very interested in that particular toy, to such an extent that when the nurse came to get us, she did not want to let go of it and hung onto the wires/bars for dear life. I had to pry her off. The nurse assured us that she had lots more toys in her office. I thought to myself, sure, and some sharp needles alongside them. In fact, I was in complete agreement with Emma, I also wanted to hang onto that toy for dear life.
But, we had to go. Indeed, the nurses' office was full of nice toys, and soon enough Emma was talking up a storm, chatting with us, and handling every animated plastic animal and colourful item in that room. The nurse plotted her along 97th percentile, and gave her her shots, which made her scream hysterically. FOUR of them, to boot. Then, she blew bubbles from a bubble gun, and that was quite effective at stopping the hysterical crying. Apparently I also need to get a bubble gun on top of the weird toy with wires and beads.
In the waiting room, where we had to stay for 15 minutes, there was another one year old boy who had just gotten his shots, and was also crying. Both of them sat wimpering side by side, looking at each other with snotty noses. Then they decided to make friends, and played quite nicely with the weird wire-and-beads toy, until it fell over and both started crying loudly again. At that point, both his mom and I decided that 15 minutes is too long to wait, allergies be damned, and we each parted on our merry ways.
Emma was cranky for the rest of the morning, but we took a 3 hour nap together and both of us recovered from the experience. I have come to the conclusion that I should try to take the day off every time she gets her shots (I mean one more time at 18 months) as it is nice for her to have me around, and be clingy and feel safe and whiny. This evening, I tried to tell her the story of the shots, and made whiny sounds as I was poking her shoulder with my finger, and she laughed in a sort of embarrassed way, which was so cute. I was not laughing at her, just retelling the story, as we both needed to debrief and get over the traumatic event. Phew.
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