Is it shamefull I miss my freedom? I think it is. Here, I have this wonderful, perfect little person, and I find myself thinking about my days in Montreal when I could just step out the door with no preparation other than checking that I had my keys and wallet. Not that I was particularly happy then. Oh, quite the contrary. I practically sought out reasons to be miserable, and I had a few legitimate ones too. Of course, I've never laughed and cried more in the last four months than I have in my entire life, I think.
Freedom is one of those gestaltist things that you can only see and remember by comparison. My freedom now is less than what it was. Probably for the better. I didn't use it well. I didn't respect it. Now, my little guy as my gatekeeper, I am forced to treasure every moment of quiet, every second of sleep, every sunset and sunrise. I notice every puff of dust, to sheild his face, every sudden noise, to cover his ears. Every time it is too cold or hot, I touch his skin to check his temperature.
Today were Ender's fourth round of shots. He is a brave little guy for the prick of the needle, letting out a single shout of surprise and usually fine by the time we get back in the waiting room to book the next appointment. It gets bad afterwards, once the vaccine takes hold and his little body begins to fight the (weakened) viruses that have (purposefully) invaded. He'll take longer naps today, waking with a wail and then falling back asleep again. His cheeks will flame bright red with a mild fever. He and I are now old pros at all of this. The trepidation of 'what if' doesn't come into the equation anymore. I am armed with infant tylenol and a mommy-smelly blanket and other wonders of modern parenthood, but also with cuddles, breastmilk and love. He reciprocates with the occasional drowsy smile to let me know I'm doing all the right things.
Sleep has not improved, but I've settled into a routine of no longer caring that I only got so many hours in a night. It helps to not count. I used to count because the health nurse told me that if I was getting under 6 a night, it put me at risk of depression and reduced amounts of breastmilk. Now I've stopped counting the hours, which I found needlessly stressed me. I get enough that a cup of coffee wakes me in the morning and a foot or backrub from my husband in the evening keeps me going so that I can tidy up toys, onesies and tiny socks into neat piles and empty and refill the dishwasher. My supply for nursing is well established...I won't have to worry about it declining until I go back to work or school. That is, if I do.
I guess the loss of my freedom is something I should mourn as well as celebrate. I have so much more to fill my mind and heart nowadays. And that is more important than being able to leave the house for a pint. Though a beer would be pretty great right about now!
Friday, September 18, 2009
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
remembering sleep, or lack thereof
I can't decide whether I should keep on trying different things to get the baby to sleep in his crib, or just accept that he'll only sleep with me.
*sigh*
I feel the need to document this so that I can look back on it one day, remembering how frustrated I was, and feel that things have improved.
Nicole out.
*sigh*
I feel the need to document this so that I can look back on it one day, remembering how frustrated I was, and feel that things have improved.
Nicole out.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Final Thoughts
Oh, my poor neglected blog. I certainly hope you don't go the way of the Dodo, like my other blogs. I just haven't had the time to give you the attention you deserve.
ON BABY...
Lately, you see, I haven't been getting a lot of sleep. It would appear that the honeymoon period of sleepiness on the part of Ender is completely over, and I find myself so sleep deprived that simply keeping my eyes open is the worst kind of chore, let alone having to get dressed and go out and be seen. That said, things are starting to improve. Whereas before he would scream as soon as he was set in the crib, now he will sleep there for 3-5 hours, and then insist on sleeping in bed with Mike and I.
Not that I mind.
Cosleeping, in my opinion, is a great concept. When Ender was first born, and sleeping in a bassinet next to the bed, I would wake up searching the sheets for him. I had a natural inclination that he should be there with me. I didn't, because I was afraid of this tiny person that couldn't even roll or protest being in bed with me. Now that he can roll, open his eyes and scream when he's mad, it's not so scary. It's also really nice to have a tiny person to cuddle with. Dr. Sears had a quote that clinched the deal for me: "Nighttime is a scary time for little people." D'awww. Motherhood has made my heartstrings so easily plucked. I'm not sure I even had any before.
It all would be perfect if we had a king and not a double. Mike and I are cuddlers, and never minded tiny sleeping space. For the first year or so of our relationship, we slept in a single together. And if you've seen us, we're not small people. We managed, though. A double is nice because neither person can roll away. Lots of cuddling.
For three people? Not so much. I find myself not moving for long periods of time, cradling and protecting my baby from the less maternal and concious flailing arms of his father. Still, I get SO much more sleep. The baby seems happier in the morning, and it really fits with my vision of Attachment Parenting.
A disclaimer about Attachment Parenting: Most of the stuff I read about it makes me feel like a bad mom and terribly lazy. My vision of AP is following my intuition. There's nothing wrong with my baby sleeping in a crib as long as he's happy being there. Once he stopped being happy there, I reacted, rather than forcing him to stay somewhere that made him scared and upset. This works for me. It works different for every mom and every baby! This is a hard won lesson of mine.
ON SCHOOL...
I've also registered for a physiology course at U of T. An odd choice, I know. I just remember how much I liked science in highschool, and I haven't really done anything science-ey in a while. It's once a week and also my only missing prerequisite for an RN program. Not that I really want to be an RN, but it is an odd quirk of my personality when I find I am not qualified for any university program that I have the vaguest interest in, I insist on filling in the gap. This is my excuse for my diverse employment history, also.
I've compiled most of my resources for my 2010 application for law school. Frankly, I don't think I'll get in, but I figure I'll just keep trying and trying every year until eventually I get admitted. I'm taking an LSAT course before I do the test, which will hopefully up my grade. It's a pity if they don't admit me, since I'd be a damn fine lawyer. Everyone says that, I know. But I like to think that after working in a law firm and having two lawyer in-laws, it comes from a fairly informed place.
I also don't want to leave my baby, unless it's to do something that has long term benefits for everyone involved. School is, in my opinion, a lot more valuable at this point in my life than some dead end job.
ON LIFE, LOVE AND THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS...
The house is in need of repairs. It's always something, isn't it? Mike went upstairs to the terrace to smoke and the doorknob snapped off right in his hand. We were talking recently, and we realised we rarely have time to just sit about anymore. There's always a long list of 'to do's'. As people with a natural (or unnatural) inclination towards laziness, we are both hesitant to set aside time for eachother. It's a slippery slope. We seem to vaccilate between doing everything that needs to be done, or completely ignoring it all. I think for now we just need to accept this frenetic pace of our lives, knowing it won't be forever.
FINAL THOUGHTS...
Final thoughts. That reminds me of my grandfather, who was a minister. I'm not sure why, I think that was how he ended his type written sermons. Perhaps not. There were so many of them, made into booklets out of coloured paper with old fashioned clip art on the cover. I remember my grandparent's office. Complete with computer, printer, photocopier, and a rainbow of coloured paper. The burnt and chemical smell of toner was in the air, mingling with tobacco, a print of a man with words spewing out of his mouth hung on the wall. It is, come to think of it, the only print I remember from my grandparent's house. Aside from a rubbing of two old christian gravestones (that were in the pinkishly-hued guestroom my mother and I always stayed in), of which I have found a close approximation, and now hangs over my sofa.
The guestroom was just down the hall from the bathroom, which was stocked with children's toothpaste that glittered blue and tasted of bubblegum and came out of a star-shaped extruder. These were the wonders of American consumerism that were not available in Canada at the time. The floors of this house protested loudly as I crept from the bed I shared with my mother to steal fingerfuls of toothpaste.
I miss my grandfather lately. He was such a magnanimous force of my childhood. I recall him speaking so infrequently that when he did, we were all hushed to silence. When he noticed me, I felt remarkably special, as he motioned to a large jar of candy of which we both silently partook. The things he loved, toy trains, minature houses with pantries stocked with tiny cans, and junk food (ad infinitum, and of specific description), created such a pefect world of whimsy. Combine that with my grandmother's love of her grandchildren and Victorian anachronism, it was a children's heaven.
Thos are my final thoughts. Now, off to make lunch!
ON BABY...
Lately, you see, I haven't been getting a lot of sleep. It would appear that the honeymoon period of sleepiness on the part of Ender is completely over, and I find myself so sleep deprived that simply keeping my eyes open is the worst kind of chore, let alone having to get dressed and go out and be seen. That said, things are starting to improve. Whereas before he would scream as soon as he was set in the crib, now he will sleep there for 3-5 hours, and then insist on sleeping in bed with Mike and I.
Not that I mind.
Cosleeping, in my opinion, is a great concept. When Ender was first born, and sleeping in a bassinet next to the bed, I would wake up searching the sheets for him. I had a natural inclination that he should be there with me. I didn't, because I was afraid of this tiny person that couldn't even roll or protest being in bed with me. Now that he can roll, open his eyes and scream when he's mad, it's not so scary. It's also really nice to have a tiny person to cuddle with. Dr. Sears had a quote that clinched the deal for me: "Nighttime is a scary time for little people." D'awww. Motherhood has made my heartstrings so easily plucked. I'm not sure I even had any before.
It all would be perfect if we had a king and not a double. Mike and I are cuddlers, and never minded tiny sleeping space. For the first year or so of our relationship, we slept in a single together. And if you've seen us, we're not small people. We managed, though. A double is nice because neither person can roll away. Lots of cuddling.
For three people? Not so much. I find myself not moving for long periods of time, cradling and protecting my baby from the less maternal and concious flailing arms of his father. Still, I get SO much more sleep. The baby seems happier in the morning, and it really fits with my vision of Attachment Parenting.
A disclaimer about Attachment Parenting: Most of the stuff I read about it makes me feel like a bad mom and terribly lazy. My vision of AP is following my intuition. There's nothing wrong with my baby sleeping in a crib as long as he's happy being there. Once he stopped being happy there, I reacted, rather than forcing him to stay somewhere that made him scared and upset. This works for me. It works different for every mom and every baby! This is a hard won lesson of mine.
ON SCHOOL...
I've also registered for a physiology course at U of T. An odd choice, I know. I just remember how much I liked science in highschool, and I haven't really done anything science-ey in a while. It's once a week and also my only missing prerequisite for an RN program. Not that I really want to be an RN, but it is an odd quirk of my personality when I find I am not qualified for any university program that I have the vaguest interest in, I insist on filling in the gap. This is my excuse for my diverse employment history, also.
I've compiled most of my resources for my 2010 application for law school. Frankly, I don't think I'll get in, but I figure I'll just keep trying and trying every year until eventually I get admitted. I'm taking an LSAT course before I do the test, which will hopefully up my grade. It's a pity if they don't admit me, since I'd be a damn fine lawyer. Everyone says that, I know. But I like to think that after working in a law firm and having two lawyer in-laws, it comes from a fairly informed place.
I also don't want to leave my baby, unless it's to do something that has long term benefits for everyone involved. School is, in my opinion, a lot more valuable at this point in my life than some dead end job.
ON LIFE, LOVE AND THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS...
The house is in need of repairs. It's always something, isn't it? Mike went upstairs to the terrace to smoke and the doorknob snapped off right in his hand. We were talking recently, and we realised we rarely have time to just sit about anymore. There's always a long list of 'to do's'. As people with a natural (or unnatural) inclination towards laziness, we are both hesitant to set aside time for eachother. It's a slippery slope. We seem to vaccilate between doing everything that needs to be done, or completely ignoring it all. I think for now we just need to accept this frenetic pace of our lives, knowing it won't be forever.
FINAL THOUGHTS...
Final thoughts. That reminds me of my grandfather, who was a minister. I'm not sure why, I think that was how he ended his type written sermons. Perhaps not. There were so many of them, made into booklets out of coloured paper with old fashioned clip art on the cover. I remember my grandparent's office. Complete with computer, printer, photocopier, and a rainbow of coloured paper. The burnt and chemical smell of toner was in the air, mingling with tobacco, a print of a man with words spewing out of his mouth hung on the wall. It is, come to think of it, the only print I remember from my grandparent's house. Aside from a rubbing of two old christian gravestones (that were in the pinkishly-hued guestroom my mother and I always stayed in), of which I have found a close approximation, and now hangs over my sofa.
The guestroom was just down the hall from the bathroom, which was stocked with children's toothpaste that glittered blue and tasted of bubblegum and came out of a star-shaped extruder. These were the wonders of American consumerism that were not available in Canada at the time. The floors of this house protested loudly as I crept from the bed I shared with my mother to steal fingerfuls of toothpaste.
I miss my grandfather lately. He was such a magnanimous force of my childhood. I recall him speaking so infrequently that when he did, we were all hushed to silence. When he noticed me, I felt remarkably special, as he motioned to a large jar of candy of which we both silently partook. The things he loved, toy trains, minature houses with pantries stocked with tiny cans, and junk food (ad infinitum, and of specific description), created such a pefect world of whimsy. Combine that with my grandmother's love of her grandchildren and Victorian anachronism, it was a children's heaven.
Thos are my final thoughts. Now, off to make lunch!
Monday, June 22, 2009
An open letter to my man
To the father of my child:
Thank you for taking this journey with me. When I told you two and a half long years ago, when you were known to me, but not familiar, that I wanted to bear your children, I was serious. Your pause and mischevious smile showed that you knew I was, too. It was maybe a strange kind of flirting, but in all our time together, we've had a sense that it was somehow our duty. And even though neither of us believe in fate or gods or mysticism, we can't help but use those words when our child is involved. Our miracle, our blessing, our angel.
I didn't think that being pregnant would be such a couples activity. Or that when I couldn't eat anything, you'd bring me glasses of juice, ad infinitum. When I couldn't watch food on tv, you'd turn it off. I didn't know that when the baby's kicks became so strong they were visible as ripples across my skin, that you'd stay awake while I slept, watching him. You and he, cut of the same cloth, nightowls together. I didn't know that all of it would make me love you, and him, even more.
Now, as we navigate this terrain, where we've had to cast aside our long nights out on the town for early ones at home, I am as glad to have you with me as ever. When our babe finally sleeps through the night, his face suddenly adult with all the composure of sleep, I feel like we've accomplished more than a million roadtrips across the country and back.
With much love,
Nicole.
Thank you for taking this journey with me. When I told you two and a half long years ago, when you were known to me, but not familiar, that I wanted to bear your children, I was serious. Your pause and mischevious smile showed that you knew I was, too. It was maybe a strange kind of flirting, but in all our time together, we've had a sense that it was somehow our duty. And even though neither of us believe in fate or gods or mysticism, we can't help but use those words when our child is involved. Our miracle, our blessing, our angel.
I didn't think that being pregnant would be such a couples activity. Or that when I couldn't eat anything, you'd bring me glasses of juice, ad infinitum. When I couldn't watch food on tv, you'd turn it off. I didn't know that when the baby's kicks became so strong they were visible as ripples across my skin, that you'd stay awake while I slept, watching him. You and he, cut of the same cloth, nightowls together. I didn't know that all of it would make me love you, and him, even more.
Now, as we navigate this terrain, where we've had to cast aside our long nights out on the town for early ones at home, I am as glad to have you with me as ever. When our babe finally sleeps through the night, his face suddenly adult with all the composure of sleep, I feel like we've accomplished more than a million roadtrips across the country and back.
With much love,
Nicole.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
mommy solidarity
I went back to 'the country' again this weekend. We had thought that Mike might have to go to Ottawa for work this week, so rather than spend it by myself, lonely and stressed at home, I thought it would be a good idea to go to my mom's place. While we haven't always got along, I'm finding spending time at her house increasingly comfortable. Ender and I can relax, and leave the cooking and cleaning to my mom and Don! It turned out that Mike didn't have to work in Ottawa after all, but I stayed anyway for a few days.
My visit included a baby welcoming party for a girl I knew from highschool. She was blessed only two weeks ago with a tiny little baby boy. Her family is enormous, wonderful, and I really enjoyed being surrounded by kids and moms. There were so many of them! Plans were then made for Jackie to come visit at my mom's place and I got to meet her precious little girl. While I've poo-pooed the idea of mommy groups already, I think I'm starting to get it. There's something just plain invigorating about being around other moms. There's no need to explain the dark circles beneath your eyes, your messy, just-swept-into-an-elastic hair, or the fussy, drooling baby in your arms. Everything is silently understood over a cup of incredibly strong coffee. There is a solidarity in parenthood, which is severely lacking here in the city for me. So I guess I should try one of the GTA mom's groups after all.
I'm relaxing on my couch with a can of pabst blue ribbon (pabst, how I missed thee) watching my baby sleep. He has started smiling. It melts me every time. Every day my connection with this little person grows. When I used to be tired of holding him, eager to pass him to Mike, I find myself holding him a little longer, a little closer, whispering little secrets in his ears. He may not understand the words, but he certainly understands the tone. I find him more relaxed lately, sleeping and cooing and staring at things instead of crying all the time. I envy his blank slate when his eyes widen at something new, a recognized face, or a new sound.
I need to start packing. We have people looking at the apartment this weekend and it has made me start to think about how incredibly difficult it's going to be for me to pack! Ender sleeps probably a total of 4 hours a day, 2 of which I use for a nap when I feel like I'm going to fall over. Where is the time to pack? Or find boxes? Eep! I definitely need to start now. If I pack for an hour a day, I just might have it all packed in a month and a half. We'll see...
My visit included a baby welcoming party for a girl I knew from highschool. She was blessed only two weeks ago with a tiny little baby boy. Her family is enormous, wonderful, and I really enjoyed being surrounded by kids and moms. There were so many of them! Plans were then made for Jackie to come visit at my mom's place and I got to meet her precious little girl. While I've poo-pooed the idea of mommy groups already, I think I'm starting to get it. There's something just plain invigorating about being around other moms. There's no need to explain the dark circles beneath your eyes, your messy, just-swept-into-an-elastic hair, or the fussy, drooling baby in your arms. Everything is silently understood over a cup of incredibly strong coffee. There is a solidarity in parenthood, which is severely lacking here in the city for me. So I guess I should try one of the GTA mom's groups after all.
I'm relaxing on my couch with a can of pabst blue ribbon (pabst, how I missed thee) watching my baby sleep. He has started smiling. It melts me every time. Every day my connection with this little person grows. When I used to be tired of holding him, eager to pass him to Mike, I find myself holding him a little longer, a little closer, whispering little secrets in his ears. He may not understand the words, but he certainly understands the tone. I find him more relaxed lately, sleeping and cooing and staring at things instead of crying all the time. I envy his blank slate when his eyes widen at something new, a recognized face, or a new sound.
I need to start packing. We have people looking at the apartment this weekend and it has made me start to think about how incredibly difficult it's going to be for me to pack! Ender sleeps probably a total of 4 hours a day, 2 of which I use for a nap when I feel like I'm going to fall over. Where is the time to pack? Or find boxes? Eep! I definitely need to start now. If I pack for an hour a day, I just might have it all packed in a month and a half. We'll see...
Thursday, June 4, 2009
The challenging baby
The shopping trip went off without much of a hitch. I mean, I only went out for two and a half hours, and bought only three items, but it was nice to go out!! I was checking my phone constantly, and when Mike called to tell me everything went fine, I could hear his little wail in the background, and before I knew it I was on the bus home. It seems the 2 oz I pumped wasn't enough for the little monster, and Mike was left with a hungry baby. I was so happy to see the little guy when I got home, I don't think I'll need to leave him behind again for a little while.
I've been reading a parenting book these days, and I found an interesting section called "Do you have a challenging baby?" and a subsection headed "The active baby." It read "babies often send the first clue that they're going to be more active than most right from the uterus." check. The ultrasound technician, midwife, obstetrician and myself all commented on it. He never was still, even in his 'resting' periods, I got regular jabs poking all over the place. "Dressing sessions become wrestling matches..." check "...and baby always ends up on the opposite end of the crib after a nap." partial check. He's not mobile enough for that yet, but still manages to roll himself onto his side sometimes when he sleeps, freaking me out in the middle of the night. (I wonder if the increase in SIDS literature has lead to an increase in sleepless nights for mothers?) I guess what I find interesting about this is that they call this a 'challenging' baby. I can't imagine it any other way, and I certainly don't find how active Ender is a challenge. He usually takes only two or three naps a day, and spends the rest of it entirely awake. I love the way he's constantly staring at something, interpreting and figuring things out. And also, how is any baby not a challenge? They are fickle, emotional creatures. A breeze or a loud sound is enough to elicit sobs. But just as people have been telling me that I am the perfect mom for my baby, it works the other way around too. He is the perfect baby for this mom.
Update on home purchase/interior decorating: We finished up all the paperwork for the house. It's ours. We have two visitations to do before we move in July 20th, so we can take some measurements and figure out what will fit and what has to go. I've decided on two 'accent walls' to be painted a charcoal colour that Mike hasn't protested against. Easy, right? Wrong. There has to be about ten million shades of grey available. Some with hints of blue, green, red, and so on. I think I'm settling on a greenish/olivey shade of charcoal. Good God. This is why I hated working at the fabric store, staring at three swatches of beige fabric while a woman deliberated on which was 'ballet white'. I also need to pick a shade for Ender's room. It's pretty small, so I think a lighter shade will be best. Blue is too boyish. I'd like something soothing, gender neutral, and modern (since his crib is ikea).
Also, we purchased a baby bjorn carrier, which I'm totally in love with. I went to the store and put him in each one. All made him cry except the baby bjorn and the ergo. I couldn't actually do the ergo myself. You have to put newborns in in this awkward sideways way with a padded insert, since the space between the legs is too spread out for younger babies. I had a salesperson and Mike helping me, and I still found it difficult to put him in. The bjorn puts him to sleep, or in a happy dozy state staring at stuff, almost immediately. It's easy to put him in, which is good since it doesn't set him on a crying jag as mummy fumbles with snaps and buckles. I feel a lot more secure knowing I can go to the store by myself while Mike is at work, which I did today. Very liberating!!
I've been reading a parenting book these days, and I found an interesting section called "Do you have a challenging baby?" and a subsection headed "The active baby." It read "babies often send the first clue that they're going to be more active than most right from the uterus." check. The ultrasound technician, midwife, obstetrician and myself all commented on it. He never was still, even in his 'resting' periods, I got regular jabs poking all over the place. "Dressing sessions become wrestling matches..." check "...and baby always ends up on the opposite end of the crib after a nap." partial check. He's not mobile enough for that yet, but still manages to roll himself onto his side sometimes when he sleeps, freaking me out in the middle of the night. (I wonder if the increase in SIDS literature has lead to an increase in sleepless nights for mothers?) I guess what I find interesting about this is that they call this a 'challenging' baby. I can't imagine it any other way, and I certainly don't find how active Ender is a challenge. He usually takes only two or three naps a day, and spends the rest of it entirely awake. I love the way he's constantly staring at something, interpreting and figuring things out. And also, how is any baby not a challenge? They are fickle, emotional creatures. A breeze or a loud sound is enough to elicit sobs. But just as people have been telling me that I am the perfect mom for my baby, it works the other way around too. He is the perfect baby for this mom.
Update on home purchase/interior decorating: We finished up all the paperwork for the house. It's ours. We have two visitations to do before we move in July 20th, so we can take some measurements and figure out what will fit and what has to go. I've decided on two 'accent walls' to be painted a charcoal colour that Mike hasn't protested against. Easy, right? Wrong. There has to be about ten million shades of grey available. Some with hints of blue, green, red, and so on. I think I'm settling on a greenish/olivey shade of charcoal. Good God. This is why I hated working at the fabric store, staring at three swatches of beige fabric while a woman deliberated on which was 'ballet white'. I also need to pick a shade for Ender's room. It's pretty small, so I think a lighter shade will be best. Blue is too boyish. I'd like something soothing, gender neutral, and modern (since his crib is ikea).
Also, we purchased a baby bjorn carrier, which I'm totally in love with. I went to the store and put him in each one. All made him cry except the baby bjorn and the ergo. I couldn't actually do the ergo myself. You have to put newborns in in this awkward sideways way with a padded insert, since the space between the legs is too spread out for younger babies. I had a salesperson and Mike helping me, and I still found it difficult to put him in. The bjorn puts him to sleep, or in a happy dozy state staring at stuff, almost immediately. It's easy to put him in, which is good since it doesn't set him on a crying jag as mummy fumbles with snaps and buckles. I feel a lot more secure knowing I can go to the store by myself while Mike is at work, which I did today. Very liberating!!
Monday, June 1, 2009
promises, interior decorating, and guilt!
We bought a townhome. In a way, we have to 'eat our words', to quote Mike. We both swore we'd never live in a condo. But I might as well put that on the growing list of things I swore I'd never do: Live in Toronto, get married, have kids, stop smoking...hell, I even said I'd never own a home at all! I even recall saying I'd never like boys when I was five. Now they're the two best things in my world. So there, dear reader, is a testament to the changeability of life. Absolute statements are worthless.
The home is beautiful. It's a bit small, pretty much the same size as where we are now, but there are two rooms, and three levels. The top level features a rooftop terrace that looks out over King street. My favourite parts: the view, the dishwasher, a washer and dryer of my own, and walls I can paint and pound nails into ad infinitum. It's scary though, there's all sorts of payments that I've never even thought about and I'm terrified of owing the bank so much money. But it's better than renting, and I'm excited! We move in July 20th, which gives us some time to paint and remove some of the disgusting (AWFUL) wallpaper that the previous owner put up. My head is swimming with thoughts of design and the best way to use this precious little space. As usual, I want to make it look like a Victorian brothel...complete with red velvet, chinoiserie wallpaper, and candelabras. Also as usual, Mike finds my taste...exorbidant. We'll see who wins out. I'm going to guess the budget will.
Tomorrow the plan is for me to go to the mall by myself to go get some new clothes. I'm afraid. I'm afraid Ender will cry the entire time and traumatise himself AND Mike. I'm afraid that the meagre amount of breastmilk that I've pumped (I'm terrible at pumping, by the way, it seems I make just enough for him to eat and that's all) over the last month won't satiate him while I'm gone. I picture him crying, his little face all red and scrunched up.
Hell hath no fury like a mother's guilt. I'll let you know how it goes.
The home is beautiful. It's a bit small, pretty much the same size as where we are now, but there are two rooms, and three levels. The top level features a rooftop terrace that looks out over King street. My favourite parts: the view, the dishwasher, a washer and dryer of my own, and walls I can paint and pound nails into ad infinitum. It's scary though, there's all sorts of payments that I've never even thought about and I'm terrified of owing the bank so much money. But it's better than renting, and I'm excited! We move in July 20th, which gives us some time to paint and remove some of the disgusting (AWFUL) wallpaper that the previous owner put up. My head is swimming with thoughts of design and the best way to use this precious little space. As usual, I want to make it look like a Victorian brothel...complete with red velvet, chinoiserie wallpaper, and candelabras. Also as usual, Mike finds my taste...exorbidant. We'll see who wins out. I'm going to guess the budget will.
Tomorrow the plan is for me to go to the mall by myself to go get some new clothes. I'm afraid. I'm afraid Ender will cry the entire time and traumatise himself AND Mike. I'm afraid that the meagre amount of breastmilk that I've pumped (I'm terrible at pumping, by the way, it seems I make just enough for him to eat and that's all) over the last month won't satiate him while I'm gone. I picture him crying, his little face all red and scrunched up.
Hell hath no fury like a mother's guilt. I'll let you know how it goes.
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