Today is the last real day of my maternity leave – I have both boys at home today. We went to playgroup for the last time, and now Callum is asleep, and Oliver is meant to be but he’s playing in his room, attempting to be quiet. Later I have to take him to the doctor (more on that below), and hopefully keep them both happy the rest of the day.
That’s been the hardest thing about the 2 days a week I’ve had them both at home on my own. Keeping them both happy. When a baby and toddler have wildly divergent needs. With a baby, you sort of need to stay still a lot – whether breastfeeding or bottle feeding, feeding solids, changing diapers, holding them – particularly before they can sit up or stand and participate in play time. And with the toddler, it’s all about moving. Very few things can keep him still. Currently, he goes into a trance while watching Dora, and sometimes I can get him to colour or play with play-doh without him getting into too much trouble.
So these 2 days a week, only 2 days a week because I knew that for my sanity I had to keep him in daycare for 3 days a week, they have really stressed me out. I’m not very nice on Tuesdays and Thursdays. My stress hormones are way up, I can feel my blood pressure up, and little things can set me off yelling. Oliver, if he does end up having a nap, often wakes up saying “you’re not angry anymore!” – because nothing causes me rage like him not napping.
This, more than anything, is kind of why I have to go back to work. Yes, I am sure we could manage to live on Mark’s income, if we had to. Yes, I should probably be raising my own children all day, every day. But I just can’t. I’m not good at it, I don’t enjoy it enough, and I need to have condensed quality time with them rather than long stretches of terrible time. And I’m lucky to make enough money that I am still making money paying for two kids in daycare. It’s such a hard job, staying at home. I think it’s just too hard for me. And I so totally, completely respect anyone who enjoys it, or does it because they have to. You are super woman. I am not.
This year has been particularly challenging. In the beginning, I don’t even want to remember what that fog of sleeplessness, and breastfeeding, and hormonal craziness was like – because it was awful. Despite that, I have truly enjoyed much of Callum’s babyhood – but when Oliver was around, it pretty much just wrecked it. When Mark took Callum to England for a week, and I got a taste of what it would have been like to just have one kid, Oliver and I had a GREAT time together. When I have both of them, I am stressed, resentful, sullen – it’s just bad.
I need to go back to work, to spend all day doing a small bit of meaningful public service, what I was educated to do – and come home very happy to see them, to find out about their day. And we’ll have weekends to fill with adventures. And I’ll just be a little happier. Hopefully.
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So Oliver has a hernia. We thought maybe he was some new kind of evolved boy who suddenly ended up with three testicles instead of two, but alas, it turned out to be a problem rather than a gift. Ha ha. The thing just suddenly appeared in the last few weeks. I guess that’s the blessing of his refusal, so far, to toilet train – we may not have noticed it if we weren’t changing diapers and pull-ups.
We have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon where my doctor will see the results of last week’s ultrasound which showed the hernia, and I expect we’ll get a referral to the hospital so that they can schedule surgery at some point. Not great timing, due to this need to go back to work (and that inevitable feeling that I must prove myself as a worthy employee compared to others on my team that do not have young children; therefore, time off = bad). And of course, although I know it’s an easy day surgery, I know he’s going to be really scared, and it’s awful to think about. I mean, I haven’t even had simple surgery like that before, no scars on my skin from stiches or anything. So, we’ll see what happens.
I really need to write a proper entry, but I got nothing, so instead, go here and try to win a free handbag. Which is what I am doing by writing this. Because handbags are good. And free ones are BEST.
First day of autumn/fall. I love this time of year. The forecast for the next week is sunny and 20°C.
I couldn’t resist buying these at the supermarket:
I put a few out in the garden on a stone for, I don’t know, decor purposes. Oliver is going to freak out when he sees them, he’s always had this pumpkin adoration thing. Maybe he gets it from me.
Cool, crisp, sunny days. Apple picking, I think, soon. Leaves changing colour – maybe we’ll go for a long drive to see them. Canadian Thanksgiving. Hallowe’en. Back to work. New routines. It’s all good. I hope.
I’m having trouble keeping all the balls up in the air lately. I just can’t seem to get anything done, and there seems to be too much stress, and no one is very happy, and whatever.
Another local mother asked me today if we were finished having kids, and I gave my honest not-really-an-answer reply of, ‘well, I don’t really cope very well with this time‘ [this time meaning infancy, maternity leave, etc.] and she was like – you seem fine, organized, like you’ve got it all together! I was surprised.
And in a matter of days, I’m really going to have to start juggling furiously because I’ll be back at work. But I am wondering if it’s going to be one of those situations where the more stuff I have on my plate, the better I deal with it. I can be like that – way more efficient when positively stressed and busy. Because really, being at home all day right now? I pretty much manage to get nothing done. There was a while there that I was on top of a lot of things. But then Callum starting trying to move around. So I can’t just leave him now. And when I have both of them, almost nothing happens. I’ll get off the computer in a few minutes and try to tidy up the kitchen, but one of them will wake up or call out or something.
I was idly watching Jordan and Peter Andre’s reality show last night (because Z-list UK celebrities make me smile and shake my head) and the announcer was like – they’ve got 3 kids, a big house, each other – they have it all. Why does having it all feel so hard, then?
Her Bad Mother, Catherine, recently took a West Jet flight from Vancouver to Toronto and was asked to cover up while already discretely breastfeeding her son.
I’ve said many times that I was not comfortable breastfeeding in public. However, I TOTALLY support the right of other people to do it. And in Ontario, it’s a human right.
WestJet – because owners care. Well, owners should care about human rights and decency and the privacy of Catherine feeding her child as she wanted to.
I’ve written to their PR people and complained. You can do it too, if you want.
If they don’t give a better response than the pathetic one already provided, next time I need to book a flight on one of their routes, I’ll do my best to use some other carrier.
I haven’t really talked about how much you’ve been changing lately, which is quite a lot, because we’ve just had a lot of other stuff going on. But there you go, developing all the time, ticking away in the background…
You did great on your trip with your dad to England in August. I don’t think you missed me that much. Your brother missed you loads – after whining ‘I waaaaaant Daddy’ for half the week, he ignored him completely when we picked you up at the airport and instead smothered you in kisses and hugs and said ‘I love you, I missed you’ again and again. Your brother frequently crushes you with his hugs and kisses and ‘I love you Callum’ but I think you’ll be crushing him soon.
You also did great when we left you for a few hours a day with some nice teenage girls at the resort that we stayed at. You didn’t cry at all, you just got on and played with the toys, rode in a wagon, and went on the swings – and then when we’d pick you up, you’d fall asleep for a nap right away. So I am not quite so worried about daycare next month now – obviously an entire day is a lot longer than an hour, but you are going to be getting more attention there than you probably get at home.
Your eating has improved a lot – I didn’t think you liked food as much as your brother did, but like he was, you are all about the finger food. As long as you can pick it up and stuff it in your face, you’ll eat anything. Baby food is obviously for wimps. You are starting to drink from a transitional sippy cup top without any problem, and I am going to try to get you on cow’s milk before you are at daycare.
You still spit up a bit sometimes, but we generally aren’t covered in it anymore, which is nice. You are sleeping a lot better at night – mostly going from 8pm or 8:30 and stirring around 6am – then going back to sleep until between 7am and 8am. Sometimes you will stir in the wee hours of the night, though – which I think is normally due to a bit of a sore tummy. At least you are never really awake when you stir and I never have any problem getting you back to sleep.
Speaking of your tummy, you’ve never tried to sleep on it, and you really, really hate being on your stomach. So I don’t think you are going to crawl – like, ever. I think you are going to walk pretty soon. You are absolutely determined.
Often you refuse to bend in half to sit down. You are determined to go. It’s watching your brother run around; you’re desperate to join in. Oh what trouble you guys will get in then.
You are really interested in toys, and not just in putting them in your mouth. You love to bang things together. You shake things. You try to figure out what the toy is supposed to do. I can’t really remember Oliver being good at those things at this age. I could be wrong though.
You like to talk. You babble so much. Mum mum mum, da da da. Your brother was almost silent at 10 months (and after). You recognize several words, including cat, dog and NO (that’s rather easy in this house). When you use your effective pincher grasp to select single dog hairs off of everything and bring them to your mouth, and I tell you NO!, you get a really cheeky look on your face – but you do stop.
It’s going to be weird not spending every waking minute with you, so we’ll make the best of the next few weeks, and then make the best of the quality time that we do have together on evenings and weekends. And start planning that first birthday party…
Yet another thrilling installment of my sad domestic existence.
We inherited some pretty nasty window coverings when we bought the house. I guess we were just thankful that it was coming with curtains so we didn’t have to buy any right away. And it turns out that buying curtains is A CHORE. Months ago, we set out to replace the curtains in the family/living room, where we spend the most time.
Because we were living with The Ugliest Curtains Of All Time™.
I can not adequately express how much work this job entailed. The hours that were put into this. The fact that only one company seems to mass produce the curtain rail size that we needed, and we only really liked one style of curtain rail that was stocked in stores, and that I had to try several different stores to get two of them (because we have a large window and a patio door in that room) – but in the end, it was BOGO and I had gift vouchers…
And the curtains. My god, it was easier to name our children than to decide on window hangings. After considering literally hundreds of styles (again, of mass-produced commercially-available curtains, as we just can’t afford bespoke right now – and plus, what’s the point when they are going to be covered in animal hair and vomit and sticky fingers and whatever) and finding most of them to be completely horrid, we ended up using grommet-ed panels from Ikea. And they are purple. If you had suggested to me a few months ago that I would ever purchase purple curtains, I would have shot you. Somehow, this was the best thing we could find.
Okay, so it’s like practically chocolate brown, it’s so dark a purple. But still – purple!
Coming soon: the next thrilling installment, ‘Curtains: part two’, where I decide to base our children’s room decor around the window hangings we inherited in their rooms. I know you’ll be sitting on the edge of your seat waiting for that entry. Hmph.
Overheard at the playground this morning (thankfully, this was at the start of the morning and the rest of the time was a distinct improvement as I chatted to another mother while Oliver played with her older daughters very happily for 2 hours, and Callum slept):
Dad: Don’t run like that. Run like this. [sways arms in big motions with elbows locked] That’s how boys run. That’s how men run.
Boy, about 8: Okay.
Dad: This is how girls run. [holds arm close to his chest with elbows like, like a velociraptor or something, and flails them a bit] This is how gays run. Don’t run like that. People will call you names. You don’t want to run like a girl or a GAY.
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I don’t know, I’m thinking that he probably could have taught that lesson without being a misogynist and homophobic, maybe???
