Sometimes I Wonder About Myself

Did my mother make as many mistakes as I did and do? Do my friends? Do people just not want to talk about the stupid and embarrassing things they have done? I guess we’re all afraid of looking dumb or irresponsible but we all make mistakes sometimes, don’t we?

Over the past year and a bit, I have come to realize that parenting, like so many other things, is a trial and error process that you won’t necessarily get right the first time. I’m starting to wonder now about the “eldest children” out there that I know, aka. the parenting guinea pigs. Forget 'middle-child syndrome'!

But seriously, I think I am doing a pretty good job raising my Little Man but like I said, it’s harder than it looks. And though I’d like to blame lack of sleep and changing hormones and all those fabulous excuses, my child sleeps through the night and is nearly 1 ½ so I’ve got nothing. Guess I’ll just have to admit that sometimes, I’m just not that perfect - sometimes.

Here are just some of the things that make me question my ability to ‘parent’:

I have literally spoken the phrase: “No, this is Mummy’s chocolate and I don’t have to share.” I have also tried to sneak chocolate past the Little Man . You don’t even have to say it – I know.

Similarly, I have seriously considered raising my child to believe that he is allergic to chocolate. I’d love to say this would be for his benefit but really…

When I have run out of things to entertain my son (if we’re stuck waiting somewhere) I have let him play with such non-Daddy-approved “toys” from my purse as lip gloss, tampons and make up.

Instead of nursery rhymes, since my son was a newborn I have been singing songs like “All the Single Babies” (Beyonce), “Shake, Shake, Shake – Don’t Shake the Baby” (Shake Your Booty) and “Push it” (Salt n’ Peppa – usually when he’s pooping).

I laugh when my son farts. I know this only encourages him but he looks so surprised and then cheeky… how do you not laugh?

Whenever the Little Man sees an empty beer can he runs to pick it up. He will either pretend to drink from it and then go “ahhhh” or he will take it straight to his Daddy. We have no idea where he picked up these habits.

I may have once forgotten to properly close the backdoor to my car after buckling my son in. I was pulling out of my spot in the Walmart parking lot and the door flew open – the Little Man laughed and started waving at the shocked people he could now clearly see. I stopped and closed the door. It may have actually happened twice.

Whenever the Little Man hears a loud truck, he points and yells, “Daddy!” When we’re in a parking lot, I find myself repeating over and over, “No, that’s not your Daddy. No, he’s not your Daddy either. Nope, not baby’s Daddy, try again.” I love it when the guys driving the big trucks have their windows down though and hear him. That “deer-in-headlights” look is priceless. It’s even funnier if there’s a girl sitting next to them. The Little Man will usually smile and wave like he really does recognize them too.

It’s bad enough that the Little Man already recognizes a Tim Horton’s (the source of the occasional cookie ) and claps his hands and points from the backseat of a car going 90 km/hr, but it’s even worse that the girls in the Tim Horton’s drive thru by my house know not just me but also my son by name!

I bought the Little Man his own little baseball bat. I don’t know what I was thinking with that one. Our cat still hasn’t forgiven me.

And finally, I’m wondering whether I really should be saying things to my son like:

- “No, we don’t hit Daddy. Only Mummy can do that.”

- “Get the cat!”
(He runs after it screaming. It’s pretty funny until he does it to other people’s cats.)

- Daddy – “What does Mummy say?”, Little Man – “Mooo!”
(My husband thought that was a pretty clever thing to teach him.)

- “Ouch! Mother Ducker!”
(If he repeats that one at daycare, I think I’m still going to look pretty bad.)

- “Look – there goes Big Fat Baby!”
(Baby who lives down the street whose name I always forget. This has the potential to be quite embarrassing once the Little Man can talk more.)

- “Pick it up quickly, it’s still good. Five second rule… Ten second rule… Thirty second rule… Here, let me get that for you.”

- “Baby, be careful! Don’t go near the Evil Bunny!”
(My sister-in-law bought me this as a joke. I suppose I shouldn’t perpetuate the idea that the bunny is “evil”. I’ll include a picture so then you’ll have a better idea of what I’m talking about. Actually, in this case, it might be an example of good parenting – you decide!)


Suzi

The Best Intentions

I have a few friends right now who are pregnant - including my sister (love you!).  It's been nearly a year and a half since my days of waddling around town and rubbing my budda belly, and though I still don't really miss it, I have been somewhat fondly reminscing about my pregnancy lately.

I didn't really enjoy being pregnant; it was ok but not the lovey-dovey, cherished time in my life that I was told it was supposed to be.  I didn't feel like a "sacred vessel of life".  I felt like a bloated whale who was always hot, hungry, thirsty and tired (sounds attractive, right?).  My darling baby was a wiggler right from the start and he loved to wedge his little, pokey feet in underneath my ribs and push... (shudder) my ribs creak at the memory.  Don't get me wrong - there were good parts too and I suppose a small part of me may one day miss being pregnant... a little.  The hardest part for me though was all the unwanted attention that went along with it.

Pregnancy, for me, was a personal, private and emotional experience.  But I suppose since it's such an obvious, public condition everyone else feels like they are involved in your pregnancy too.  I hated how people would always look at my ever-expanding waist line before they looked at my face.  I felt violated whenever someone would (without asking permission) start rubbing my belly (something that you would never dare do to anyone else).  I detested being asked the same questions over and over again, usually by people I didn't even know - "how far along are you?" or "do you know what you're having?" and "when's your due date?"  And it annoyed me how people expected me to share every personal and intimate detail of my pregnancy when I so obviously did not want to.  I'm just not the kinda girl who can have a conversation about her cervix, especially at a work function.

Being pregnant is a bizarre and often hilarious time though.  I thought I'd share with you some of the random things people asked me and the questionable (not to mention unsolicited) advice I was given while pregnant. 

People REALLY said these things to me, though some may be hard to believe!  Sorry if you recognize a statement here as one you may have made.  Please note that I love my family and friends and know that all advice was given in love and all comments were made with the best of intentions at heart.  That being said... what were you thinking?
ENJOY!


- "You're glowing!" 
This one I heard a lot and always new it was complete BS.  Pregnant women don't glow, they sweat.)

- "I bet your husband likes how 'well-endowed' you've become."
This one was said to me at the work place (did I mention I worked in an Elementary school at the time? A little inappropriate, non?)

- "Is your Doctor worried about how small you are?"
I think maybe there's a compliment hidden in that one... maybe? A note to the wise - never comment on a pregnant woman's size or shape in any way other than to tell her that she's "all baby" (I couldn't hear that one enough!).

- "Has your Doctor said anything about how much weight you've gained?"

- "You look great... for being pregnant."
In my opinion, qualifiers negate the compliment.

- "You're huge!" And also, "Look how big and fat you're getting!"
To which I pointed out, 'I'm not huge or fat - I'm pregnant! There's a BIG difference - it's called a baby!'

- "You're so lucky - you're not even that bloated."

- "You can't be seven months pregnant! Are you sure you've got your dates right?"
No, you're right.  Myself, my healthcare providers, the 3 ultrasounds I've had - we're all wrong. This question was followed up by the ever-appropriate:

- "Do you know which night you conceived?"
And I was similarly asked...

- "Did you know the moment you got pregnant? Was it a special night? When was it?"
These very personal questions were asked by two separate people, one at a family function and another at a child's birthday party.  Both people had very loud voices.  You can cringe for me if you like.

- "Babies are a lot more work than puppies!"
An old woman told me this when I commented that her puppy was cute... She was one of the few people who found me, in all my pregnant glory, offensive.  I turned 26 while I was pregnant but was often told I looked a few years younger.  A few seniors shot me some scandalized glances - it was sorta fun. What was also fun was when people asked...

- "How far along are you?"
The only reply to that was, 'Far along with what? Oh... did you think...?' and then watch them try to backpedal.  This is especially fun when you are in your ninth month of pregnancy.  It really confuses people.

- "Childbirth is the most painful thing you've ever experienced."
Really... why tell a pregnant woman that?

- "You'll be cursing your husband's name once you're in labor!"
I didn't.  I cursed the name of that lady who wrote the Hypnobirthing (painfree labor) book - for selling me a lie that I wanted so badly to believe!

- "Are you scared about giving birth?"
Does it matter? It's obviously too late for second thoughts.

- "When your water breaks, you'll be overwhelmed by a peaceful wave of tranquility. Your body's biologically programmed that way."
When my water broke, I was in the "Transition Phase" - aka. most intense part. It was not peaceful. And finally...

- "Does it bother you that your baby looks nothing like you?
No, I'm ok with it. I remember quite clearly how he was born and am pretty sure he's mine regardless. It would bother me if he didn't look like my husband. That would be awkward.


And then the old-wives tales that people insisted were true.  None of these were:


"Your cat will try and smother your baby."
Which was not quite as silly as...

"Your cat will be jealous of the baby because he'll be able to smell your milk and not want the baby to drink it." (A mother of 3 told me that one but I'm pretty sure she was stoned.)

"Because you don't have heartburn, your baby will be bald." (He was born with a full head of hair.)

"Because your baby moves a lot, it will be a girl."

"You'll go at least a week past your due date because it's your first baby." (He was born a day early.)

"Spicy food will make you go into early labor." (We eat a lot of Indian food, I was fine.)
"You're belly is too oval-shaped so you're going to have a girl."  (Definitely not a girl.)

"They'll give you an enema as soon as you get to the hospital." (I assure you, they certainly did not.)

"Episiotomies are routine." (Don't know what that is? Look it up - you'll be scared.)
 
And despite all this helpful advice, I made it through my pregnancy and labor experience ok, and I may even, possibly, do it all over again one day.  Maybe.

I'll end this post with a pic of me when I was 34 wks pregnant:

 
 
Suzi

The Day that Kicked my Ass

It started out badly, as this type of day will tend to do.

The Hubbie and I overslept by an hour. We woke up to the sound of his cell phone ringing – the guy he gives a ride to work to was wondering where he was. It was 7 am.

Extra sleep might not sound like such a bad start to the day but for me it was. One of my many roles in our household is Head Alarm Clock Attendant and I had quite obviously failed. Hubbie would sleep through the alarm everyday if it weren’t for me. He requires a properly placed elbow in the ribs and a few loving slaps in the face to wake up. One day they’ll invent an alarm that will replace me and then I’ll have to find something else to contribute to our marriage. But anyway, I digress…

So the Hubbie was late for work and not too pleased about it. He left the house with a few grumpy stomps and a slightly over-enthusiastic slamming of the door that woke the Little Man up. And of course, my sweet baby boy decided to make my morning even more interesting. Toys were thrown at me, breakfast was thrown at me, and nothing I did pleased the little prince. It didn’t help my mood when he threw a spoonful of oatmeal onto my last pair of clean Capri pants and I had no other option but to put on jeans when at 8 am it was already over 20 degrees.

Thank goodness for naptime.

As soon as he was asleep, I took some time to check my emails. I happened to have received my first rejection letter for my second novel. It was a standard, polite response - the kind I’ve grown to expect. But no matter how ok you tell yourself you are with it, rejection still hurts. It definitely didn’t make my day any better.

Then the phone rang and woke up the Little Man after only 45 minutes of peace. And it wasn’t even a good phone call – it was a telemarketer. I was thrilled.

Little Man woke up cranky. Of course he did. I decided to take him to the pool to get us both out of the house but couldn’t find his swimming shorts. Then I realized that after I had been stung by a wasp the other day and had come home from the beach in a drug induced trance (prescription meds thank you very much and my sister-in-law was there babysitting me and the kiddo) I forgot to take the Little Man’s swimming things out of my backpack. Lovely. His swim shorts and towel were sandy and damp and had been sitting in the bottom of my backpack for 2 days. And they reeked – way more than they should have. And that’s when I realized I had been betrayed.

My dear sweet Fat Cat who has such perfect bladder control that we don’t even have a litter tray for him anymore had turned my backpack into his own personal bathroom. This, I would expect from the Bad Cat who presently lives outdoors because of such past incidents but my Fatipuss? The world really was turning against me.

So the swim shorts and towel went into the washing machine and my backpack went into the garbage. It was just what I needed to cheer me up – more laundry.

It was an hour or so later when we were finally ready to go swimming. We got all packed up and loaded into the car, drove down to the pool only to find out that in the summer time the wave machine is turned on from 1pm onwards. And it was 2pm. The Little Man doesn’t do waves.

Are you freakin’ kidding me?

So we pile back into the car (did I mention it’s nearly 30 degrees on this beautiful day and I drive a BLACK Honda?) and just as I go to pull out of my parking spot my Blackberry buzzes. I’ve just received another email in response to the queries I sent out – this one from a certain Literary Agency.

Well, what do you know? It’s another rejection letter but this one’s a “shit sandwich” (as a friend of mine likes to say). You know the format – compliment, criticism, compliment. So apparently my novel is “interesting” but “there is too much telling going on” while my ideas are still “creative”. Then it’s all topped off by saying that they rarely take on “previously unpublished authors” anyway.

Rejection I can deal with. Criticism I can accept, especially if I can learn from it - but this? Really? If you’re going to send me a four sentence rejection letter, why even bother to make vague and critical (yet non-constructive) comments?

So I was really getting my ass kicked by the world at this point and I realized that today, I was obviously not going to win. So what did I do? I went to a wonderful place where I could bury all of my troubles beneath a heap of chocolaty ice cream. Where no one could judge me for wanting both oreo cookies and chunks of brownies in my ice cream because it’s actually on the menu. Where I could satisfy my chocolate, cookie, brownie, ice cream craving without ever having to get out of my car. Thank you DQ.

And then things started to turn around (don’t tell me food doesn’t fix things).

Little Man had his first taste of a Blizzard which was pretty entertaining. We hit up Wal-mart and strolled around in the AC for longer than necessary, played with toys I had no intention of buying, and even found a new backpack. Then Hubbie got off work early and surprised me and the Little Man. He entertained our trouble-maker while I made dinner and he even handled a dirty diaper solo, making me fall in love with him all over again.

And that last rejection letter? I decided something that made me feel a lot better. When one of my novels is published and that particular agency comes knocking at my door offering representation, I will have a shit sandwich all ready to serve them back.

“Thank you for your generous offer” but “your agents do too much ‘telling’” so... “have a nice day”. Ha.

Immature, but it makes me smile.


Suzi