Booty.
Published June 13, 2011 | 
There’s something weird going on with our downstairs neighbours. By “weird”, I mean that there’s a woman who is always drunk, a man who is loud and cranky and hates when Maia or the little girl next door play on the balconies, and frequent police visits. Living in an apartment building is full of such joys.
Chris and Maia are bffs. Once he gets home, she latches onto him and wants nothing to do with me. So the other night, they’re out on the balcony together barbequeing and chatting with each other, and every time I try to come out she looks at me, holds her hand up, palm out, and demands, “Shoo, Mama! Shoo!” Of course, this results in me coming out just to make her tell me to shoo, because it’s hilarious.
Then the police pull up because there’s another call about the dumbs downstairs. Chris comes into the house and tells me, “There’s a kinda hot policeman out there, you might want to take a look.” I love my husband. I also love eye candy. So I go out there to look.
Miss Maia walks over to me, grabs my ass, and starts shouting, “BOOTY! BOOTY! BOOTY MAMA!” The somewhat hot policeman looks up at me. I look down at him. I’m ten thousand shades of red, have no makeup on, no bra, mom hair, and a toddler hanging off my ass informing the entire world that I do, indeed, have a BOOTY BOOTY BOOTY in between giggles that resulted from her father’s boisterous laughter. I fled back into the house so quickly.
These are the joys of parenting that no one ever tells you about.
The Best Mother’s Day Ever
Published April 27, 2010 | I have an idea for a phenomenal fundraiser that would make Mother’s Day even better. Your $20 ticket would encompass childcare…
provided by firemen…
and brunch (with mimosas!)…
served by firemen.
Those funds would be put towards rescuing puppies.
Or buying some shirts for these firemen.
But I think I’d rather my money went towards the puppies.
How about you?
Books & Trickery
Published January 29, 2010 | Maia loves to be read to. It’s not uncommon for her to take a book in both hands, run over to me, and plop her butt in my lap, all the while babbling. She particularly likes turning the pages for me — sometimes before I’m ready for them to be turned! And although I adore reading to her, I like it even better when she brings the books to her daddy. There is something that melts my heart about the two of them with their heads bent, focused on the pages of a board book, Chris raising his voice to princess-ly levels, growling with the ferocity of a dragon, and then adopting a nasally tone for the bum of a prince.
Sometimes, however, when Maia brings us books, she has something more devious in mind than using us. She settles down into my lap, talks to me in her wordless way about it, then as soon as I start reading she stands up, grabs the coffee table, and hauls herself up onto it. Now, I know I shouldn’t let my daughter climb on tables, but the way she casts a triumphant grin at me over her shoulder is kinda charming, and she’s pretty damned proud of herself. And she is apparently part monkey, because you would not believe how fast she climbs up there. I guarantee it’s faster than you read that sentence.
She’s a mischievous one, my Maia.
Month Eleven
Published January 13, 2010 | Dear Maia,
Today you turn eleven months old, and all I can think is how young that seems. When I think of you, I think of a kid; when I think of an eleven month old, I think of a baby. But you’re not. You walk, talk, interact; you have a distinct personality, you know what you like (and don’t like), you are fiercely independent, and above all, you are fun. Babies? They’re definitely not as fun.
You love to dance and clap. I don’t really like to leave the television if I’m not watching something in particular, but it’s tempting to when I know that any music — fast, slow, awesome or stupid — is going to catch your attention and cause you to start shaking your groove thang.
This past month has been an exciting one for you, with Grandma visiting, going to see family, and your first Christmas, as well as other fun things like taking Buffy to the vet on Boxing Day (stupid dog) and going to see the Olympic torch pass through our town. People keep asking me if you “get” Christmas, and if by that they mean do you understand the concept of celebrating Jesus’ birth or Santa Claus bringing presents then, no, you don’t “get” Christmas. But if they’re really asking whether you had fun celebrating the holiday, then the answer is an emphatic yes.
You enjoyed the Christmas gatherings, and although you were not terribly interested in opening presents (a fact which blows my mind, because if we were to give you a newspaper, you’d spend the next half hour shredding it and squealing with glee), you sure did like them once they were out of the wrapping paper.
By far, your favourite presents were the blocks. Babcia and Grandma both got you blocks, which is great because you now have enough that, no matter where you go in the house, there will always be a block hiding out somewhere nearby. Mommy and Daddy are marginally less thrilled at this fact than you are.
You also love your books (not so much the puppet in the background, obviously). You were given something like four or five books for Christmas, and you like to bring them to me one at a time to read. The one you’re holding in this picture, How Do I Love You?
I have to say, though, that your favourite part of this month was going to visit Santa. Not because of Santa himself — you see, in that picture you have your worried face on, your oh shit why are Mommy & Daddy not holding me? face — but because here, you met your soulmate: Man Playing Guitar And Singing.
You stared at this guy for like four or five minutes, Maia, and every time we moved you away you just beelined back to him. You weren’t interested in dancing or clapping with his music; you simply wanted to watch him in amazement.
Since then, you’ve learned how to point at things that intrigue you, which I’m somewhat grateful you didn’t understand then as you would have pointed at him the whole time, as if we didn’t already know you were interested. Here at home, you point at things like the floaty balloon that came attached to my birthday flowers, or the dogs, or the mirror, and we show them to you, and you are delighted with the fact that you are communicating with us clearly — or more accurately, you’re delighted that we’re listening.
You really enjoy pointing at the pictures on the walls — they’re pictures of you. We got them for Daddy for Father’s Day. I hold you, point at each of the 14 pictures, and describe what is going on in them. Mostly we giggle together — Maia doesn’t like her hat! is a pretty funny picture, I must admit — but there is one picture that always makes me stop in my tracks, so it’s the last one we look at together.
I say, “This is brand-new Maia, not even a minute old,” and I start to choke up as I look at you, naked and pink and squinty-eyed, curled up on my chest, your dark hair plastered to your forehead, your perfect little pouty lips, your hand pressed to my skin. That you were ever so small and new baffles me, and I can’t believe that from that new little creature has sprung this active, sassy toddler.
You are still so exquisitely perfect that it makes my heart hurt, though. I love every moment of being your Mama better than the last, and we are so lucky to have you in our life.
All our love,
Mama & Daddy.
Month Ten
Published December 13, 2009 | Dear Maia,
Today you turn ten months old, and I must say, I would keep you at this age forever. You, right now, are more perfect than you’ve ever been, more loving, more playful, and more interactive; our days are filled with smiles and laughter.
The big news this month is that you’ve mastered the art of walking.
You love to walk, and we love to watch you walk. You are so steady on your feet that it looks like you’ve been walking for a heck of a lot longer than you have. And it was funny, Maia, how you suddenly decided — just like I knew you would! — to start walking one day. I went to work and you were cruising along holding on to furniture; I came home, you walked over to greet me, and that was that. You were walking.
This has lead to a whole new way of living for us, because now you follow us (me) everywhere, and you are FAST. You are REALLY, REALLY speedy. I literally have to speed up a bit if I’m trying to get into the washroom without you, because you are right at my heels. Then I close the door in your face and you scream bloody murder while beating on the door and honestly, all I can think is this is gonna get so much worse once she learns how to use the doorknob. Sometimes I just bring you in with me and put you in the bathtub, where you eat the loofah or chew on your favourite thing, Daddy’s tube of toothpaste. It’s better than constantly wrestling the toilet brush away from you or rerolling up the toilet paper after you unravel it with a glee that I thought was only reserved for lolcats.
You like the bathtub a lot better when there’s water in it, though.
You see, you’ve also learned how to splash, which is, as we all know, pretty awesome. You splosh, splash, splish and make a mess and have a grand old time, all while your poor Mommy or Daddy try to wash your hair without getting suds in your eyes from all the wiggling you’re doing.
Lately you are really trying to talk. I can tell when you’re babbling — mamamama — and when you’re genuinely trying to call for me — mmmuh MUH — and it’s really awesome that you’re exploring language. We often ask you to say “Dada” to which you grin slyly and reply “Mmmuh MUH!” Keep it up, baby girl. It’s hilarious.
Along with this learning to speak thing, you’re also clearly learning to listen. Your favourite word right now is “nice”. It’s what we say when you touch the dogs gently, and you smile widely, your dimple deepens, and you squeal with delight because you are being “nice to puppies”. You often flail your arms in excitement, which scares the dog away and somewhat defeats the purpose, but you are also learning how to be quick, and you will try to snatch at a retreating paw.
Your least favourite word is “no”. Oh. My. God. You hate being told no. We’re only using it when we need to — NO, you cannot pull the wires. NO, you cannot open the gate to the kitchen — but you react as if this is the most infuriating thing you have ever heard, the most irrational and stupid, and then you start with the wailing and screaming and your face goes totally red as you glare with dark, anger-filled eyes at whichever one of us has dared to tell you no. Maia, I must admit, I have a hard time not laughing when you do this. Seriously? You want to throw a temper tantrum at me because I won’t let you give yourself electric shock? Well, go right ahead then.
Fortunately, you haven’t learned how to say “no” yet (I dread the day you do) but, you do mimic our fake coughing. This is something your daddy found out when he was making funny noises at you and you started to repeat them back, and it’s completely hilarious. You are so proud of yourself as you make these fake little hacking and coughing noises from the back of your throat, and we try to keep up with you, but we end up laughing too. Oh, speaking of, you’re learning to fake laugh. That’s also hilarious.
The one thing about this month that has sucked is your sleeping “pattern”. I use the word “pattern” because while you do have a fairly regular bedtime and wake-up time, the time in between them is completely erratic. Will you wake up three times or five? Will you sleep in your crib or will one of us have to take you into the nursery to snuggle? And in line with this, your nap schedule is fairly irregular too. It seems like whenever I’m at work, you nap for two hours around noon, but when I’m home you might sleep for an hour anytime between 10 and 3, and then you’re done for the day. Maia, I don’t know if you know this, but according to the book I received from the author herself (Ann Douglas, you rock), only 11% of babies your age take only one nap per day. And that’s fine, if you want to continue being extraordinary, but for the love of all that is holy, that nap needs to be longer than one hour or you are pretty much a disaster by the end of the day.
Really, though, crappy sleep isn’t too much of an issue when you are so damned charming and loving the rest of the time. Lately, you really enjoy being read to, and you will sit with me while I read the same book to you three times, then carry it over to your Daddy, hold it out to him, and squeal with delight as he reads to you again. It’s awesome. I mean, it makes me realize that we probably need to get you a few more books, but still, it’s totally awesome.
Not that I’m dropping any hints as to what you might be getting for your first Christmas or whatever. You are just going to have to wait and see!
All our love,
Mama & Dada
Why Maia will eat spaghetti every day for the rest of her life
Published October 19, 2009 | I laugh and laugh every time I watch this. SHE CRACKS ME UP!
Angry
Published October 6, 2009 | I haven’t been blogging lately because I’ve been angry.
Angry at Chris. Maia. My family. Myself.
I’ve just felt so utterly low-spirited that coming here and writing about it seems stupid.
Every day — in fact, maybe even every hour — I find myself angry at Chris. It’s gotten to the point where I just don’t respond when he talks to me, because I’m afraid I’m going to say whatever bitchy thing is going through my head. I won’t say he’s perfect, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t deserve me being uber-bitch to him.
Every night, I’m angry at Maia. Ever since her goddamn nursing strike ended, getting her to sleep is miserable. We’re lucky if she’s in bed within an hour of starting her bedtime routine — which we’ve had to move back to 8pm because getting her to sleep anytime earlier than that is apparently impossible now. It’s frustrating. Then she’s up four or five times a night, nursing and refusing to lay back down. I don’t know what’s changed, I don’t know if it has something to do with the fact that Chris had to put her to bed without me around twice last week or that the fingers she self-soothes on are burnt (pic here) but now every time I lay her down in her crib she starts to cry. Eventually, I can rub her back and soothe her back to sleep, but that’s usually after she stands up and cries for me to hold her a few times.
Which, of course, means Chris can’t put her to sleep. He’s tried. He ends up just leaving her crying. He comes stomping out here: “Fuck it, she can learn to cry herself to sleep,” which of course is not an option, and I have to go in there, calm her down, and help her go to sleep.
I’m angry at my family, because they don’t live close enough to see my daughter growing up. It’s not their fault; it’s mine, I moved away. But here I am, here we are, alone. I’m angry at the goddamn USA for not being good enough for me to raise my daughter in, because if it were, there would be some chance of us moving there, closer to my family. It takes a village. IT TAKES A VILLAGE and I never understood the abiding truth of those words until I became a mother. I’m angry when I hear people rant and lie about Obama’s agenda, because he would take the shambles of the USA and make it into a country I could live in. I’m angry at the sensationalist pundits who have, since last November, nurtured and encouraged fear and fury in an uneducated, reactionary population.
And yet I’m angry at some “educated” people I follow on Twitter. I’m so fucking tired of all the self-righteous indignation going around. Every time these people declare their opinions and mock others who do not hold the same ones, I hover over the Unfollow button. Their crusades have become so meaningless to me because these people seem like caricatures in an editorial cartoon.
I’m mad at myself for feeling everything I do. As if life is really so horrible? I have a healthy, beautiful family. We’re keeping our heads above water financially. The next few years should really see life looking up for us, and yet I sit here and think about all the things that frustrate me. I hate our apartment. I have no education. I’m working retail. My fucking video camera still isn’t here after four and a half weeks. We’re uninvited to a wedding this weekend, one I didn’t even want to go to in the first place, because we can’t bring Maia.
I’m so tired of WAITING for things to get better. The last six years of my life have been about waiting. I feel like I’m wasting away. Whenever I tell Chris this, he says get out, go find clubs and groups to join, but he doesn’t seem to understand that I’m angry about the wasted years. I am usually more zen than this. I usually take a very “what will be will be” attitude, and consider the past to be a learning experience that has shaped who I am today.
The past.
Maria recently posted about her therapist asking about the most significant moment in her life.
I can think of two, and I’m not sure which is more powerful, which is more meaningful, and that indecisiveness infuriates me.
One: A man who had hurt me, intentionally and regularly over the course of four years, said “I love you” over the phone… and when I didn’t reply, asked “Don’t you love me?” I said “No, I don’t.” I knew that finally, after all those years, all the manipulation and all the mistakes, I had escaped him.
Two: Giving birth.
Shouldn’t bringing my daughter into this world be more significant?
October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month. I was a victim. I hate typing those four words. I don’t feel liberated or empowered by claiming that title; I feel dirty, weak, and embarrassed. I’ve erased them and re-typed them more times than I can count, and every time, the little knot of nausea in my stomach has tightened.
Someday I’ll share my story. Not today.
Today, I am going to be angry.
Tomorrow, I will try not to be.
Did I inadvertently step into a musical?
Published September 11, 2009 | We took Maia to a “Baby and Me” playgroup today at a local Ontario Early Years Centre, to check it out. Originally, Chris was going to take her by himself, but I decided to go along for the first trip. Um. It’s safe to say that now I will be the one taking her, and he’ll hang out at home. I’ll explain later.
There were a lot of moms and babies there, and approximately a BILLION toys. I set Maia down on an empty spot of carpet and sat down on a chair nearby. She didn’t even turn around and look at me or Chris, but grabbed a toy and started chowing on it. Okay, I thought, you could totally do that at home, but whatever…
Then I realized something: Chris and I were the ONLY parents not physically hovering over our child. Every other baby capable of sitting or moving had a parent right beside them. I felt kind of sad when I saw this… why can’t our kids just interact with one another and their safe environment?
Anyway, Maia crawled over to a nearby baby (and her mom), and tried to take the toy out of this baby’s hands. I’ll admit, I felt a little bad — like what, is my kid a bully or something?! — but I know that she doesn’t really have any concept of “possession” or “sharing” or whatnot, and won’t for awhile, so no big deal. If that baby’s mom hadn’t been sitting right there, I would have let the two girls interact with one another and the toys however they decided to (as long as they didn’t try crawling on or hitting one another!) but since that wasn’t the case, I felt pressured to run over, tell Maia “No, that’s not your toy” and pull her away.
I found myself doing a lot of that — reacting to Maia despite not feeling I should, simply because other moms watched. I finally ended up just sitting in a chair and letting Chris take care of everything.
It made me wonder if these other moms actually hover over their children THIS DAMNED MUCH when they’re at home, or if this is something they just do around other parents. If anything, I hope it’s the latter.
Anyhow, the time came for the playgroup to draw to a close. A worker at the centre declared, “It’s Circle Time!” AND THEN ALL THE MOMS STOOD UP AND STARTED SINGING AND NO I AM NOT EVEN JOKING, it was even freakier than it sounds. They sang some song about cleaning up, picking up all the toys, and Maia sat there in the centre of the carpet staring at these crazy people taking away the toys surrounding her like what the fuck is going on with these bitches?! (I mean seriously, if you had seen the perplexed look on her face, you would have laughed and laughed) while I glanced at Chris, wide-eyed and amazed. He sheepishly bent down, took the toy from Maia’s hand (and here’s where you know she was in shock, because she didn’t even notice), and put it away.
Then all the moms gathered up their children and began forming a circle around the edge of the carpet. I threaded between them, picked up Maia, and found a spot for us, while Chris sat in a chair nearby.
We wrote novels with our eyes.
The worker lead us through a series of exercises accompanied by songs and rhymes, and I tried so hard not to laugh while being the ONLY mom there who had no idea what was being sung, trying desperately to mimic the movements of the other parents around me. It was as if I had stepped into some elaborately choreographed routine. Maia was Not Happy with me wiggling her arms and legs, and kept flopping backwards to try and escape to the toys. I can’t say I blame her. Toys are infinitely cooler than exercising.
After everyone sang the goodbye song, we left. Chris and I were silent as we walked out to the car and buckled Maia in.
“I was okay with everything until the goddamned singing,” I finally said.
He laughed.
“I just wish I hadn’t come along,” I continued, “because seriously? If I’d sent you two to this, you’d have come home like TATIANA YOU WILL NOT EVEN BELIEVE WHAT JUST HAPPENED and it would have been pretty much the best story ever.”
He shook his head. “No, I would have told you, ‘That was fun. Next time, you take her.’ ”
Translation: He’s never going again.
Next playgroup? Tuesday.
I’m totally going.
You can actually hear him whimper SOMEONE HELP ME PLEASE!
Published September 8, 2009 | Maia’s all over the place, crawling, standing, cruising around holding onto furniture, and experimenting with standing on her own. She’s trying all sorts of new foods — oranges are a recent favourite — and being generally charming.
One thing she’s begun doing is chasing the dogs around the house.
WORD OF WARNING: This video opens up with a really loud, shrieky Maia.
She cracks me up! If you’re not going to watch the whole 78 seconds, at least fast forward to the 40 second mark and watch what she does there. CRAZY.
Recently, Maia had her first playdate, with @cindyambrose‘s daughter Lily. I didn’t get any good pictures, but Cindy did & they’re posted on her blog. Check them out! Our little girls are so different from one another physically, but they played together really well. And they kissed each other, which was probably THE CUTEST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED.
We’ve looked up the schedules for some local drop-in play centres and will be taking her to one tomorrow. I can’t wait to see her interact with more of her peers!
Nursing in public
Published August 4, 2009 | 
It’s World Breastfeeding Week! To celebrate, each day this week I’m going to have a breastfeeding-related post.
In some ways, I feel militant about breastfeeding — or perhaps more accurately, I feel militant about my right to breastfeed, any where and any time. In Ontario, nursing in public is protected as a human rights issue.
I nurse Maia anywhere that she wants to eat. This means we’ve tried it in a sushi restaurant (which didn’t go over too well with her… I ended up having to take her out to the car, where it was quieter), at a festival (which was just lovely, out in the fresh air, music playing), in a stadium (she fell asleep here, despite the fact that we were watching my sister graduate from university and people were cheering and clapping all around us), and on the patio at a restaurant.
On the patio, there was a little boy, maybe two years old, beside us. When Maia snuggled against me and began to nurse, I saw the little boy watching us. I smiled at him and the two women he was with, then continued eating my nachos (pro tip: not a good food to eat with one hand and a baby). Later on, as they were leaving, one of the women came up to me and said, “He’s never seen a baby nurse before. I told him the baby was eating, and he was really interested in it.” Her broad smile left no question that she found it amusing and endearing, so I just laughed and said something about being happy that he was curious.
I know there are people who have issues with nursing in public, whether they’re a participant or a spectator. To the latter, I say “Look away!” but to the former, I want you to know that I — that all breastfeeding mothers and lactivists — support you doing whatever makes you comfortable. If that means you’re wearing a nursing cover, or facing away from people, or even going into another room, I’m fine with it; you need to be comfortable.
I have yet to see a public place where there’s a space dedicated to a nursing mother’s comfort — that is, an area with couches or chairs, soft lighting, maybe a quiet atmosphere. I’m picturing a corner shaded with gauzy curtains, fluffy couches, throw blankets and burp clothes folded atop a table, a changing area available… you know, someplace that, when you’re there, your husband is totally jealous that he’s sitting on a hard restaurant chair or an uncomfortable mall bench or whatnot. I do NOT want a nursing mother to be “confined” to that space, but I would like spaces to be available if a woman desired a bit more privacy or comfort while nursing (I would have loved something like this in that sushi restaurant, since my only options for a relaxed place for Maia to eat were in the washroom or outside).
What are your thoughts about nursing in public? Have you seen any sort of “nursing mother” areas in public places?