La mamma files

La mamma files turned 1 today! Too bad I've been so hit and miss with it.

Happy Halloween

Siblings

Saturday nap time (Taken with Instagram)

Zonked (Taken with Instagram)

Fun times @fortyork (Taken with Instagram)

Happy birthday girl. (Taken with Instagram)

I love you, pumpkin. Happy third birthday!

What lessons have you learned from your kids? What is negotiable and what isn't in your home?

It seems odd that I didn't mention this before -- though, if you hadn't noticed, I've been negligent in posting with regularity -- but on July 1st we welcomed a son into our family. Yes, I was pregnant for a full 9 months and didn't blog about it once! Not sure how this happened, as I was sure it would provide great fodder. And it did, but with fatigue, a full time job and chasing around my toddler, I didn't find the energy to put all those thoughts into words. I am hoping to change all that, but won't make promises, since I really don't need the added pressure. Now this superman business. When Amelia wants to do something really quickly, she defines it as "super, superman fast!" So if we're playing and I'm giving her a horse ride for example, she will say, "now do it super, superman fast!" This notion of super, superman speediness has become a theme to everything I do. With an infant, I feel like everything I tackle has to be done with this kind of rushed frenzy, lest the baby wake up and my window of opportunity cease. I brush my teeth and wash my hair super, superman fast. I try to fold laundry and tidy the kitchen super, superman fast. There is always a sense that time will run out before I am able to get something done. Which is also why it's taken some time to get back to posting. I think if I can blog super, superman fast, then this blog will be brought back to life. So far I'm one for one.

Since the last time I posted about language, Amelia's ability to express herself has developed in a huge way. Aside from her ability to give lengthy explanations, with the frequent use of "because," she has also picked up some less savoury habits.  She is in a daycare with kids up to age four, and I suspect some of these kids have older siblings who influence them. That is the only way I can explain her use of the following: "I'm not your friend!" "I don't like you!" or my least favourite (but also kind of funny), "I don't like your face!" Seriously? That's a bit much from a 2.5 year old. But I imagine it's only the beginning. I'll admit, I didn't think I'd be getting that one until she was a tween - shows how little I know. Tonight we were having a particular difficult time. She was overtired and everything was turning into a fight. Her response to everything I said was a resounding "no!" I was tiring of it and finally after receiving numerous "nos" in a row, I said, "Amelia, what's your favourite word?" This question seemed to stop her in her tracks. She looked at me with her eyes wide and said, "mommy."

Not a week later, at 39 weeks, my labour began. It was a Saturday night and we had just painted the staircase in our new (old) house so had no access to our upstairs room. The couch bed was hardly comfortable and with mild cramp-like feelings every now and again, I didn't sleep very well. At 1 a.m. we finally decided to dart up the still tacky stairs and sleep in our bed for a few hours. By 4 a.m. I couldn't sleep so I began to chat online with my mom who was in Seoul. She seemed to agree that this could be the start of my labour. At 5am, I called my doula. She was kind and told me to check in with her later in the day. On Sunday, my husband ran errands, bought all kinds of groceries and home birth necessities like a plastic sheet for the mattress. He washed every towel and sheet in the house and tidied up. He also bought Beatles Rock Band because for sure I'd be doing a lot of that with a new baby. Though we did get through a song and half later that afternoon, before being interrupted by a contraction. My friend who produced a great breastfeeding DVD after her own difficult experience with nursing, brought me a copy, and I watched part of it. I made a pureed vegetable soup and took my contractions as they came. By 5 p.m. I called my doula and asked her to come. I didn't know where I was in my labour or what I needed. When she arrived she gave me two options, take a walk to see if it would bring on the contractions, or rest if I felt I needed to do that. I opted for the latter - which, she later told me, she thought would quell the sensations. I laid on my bed for a rest (my husband did too) and she helped with pressure on my low back. The contractions kept coming. After a while, maybe an hour or so, I felt I needed to get on my feet. I stood and leaned against the wall, my doula with me offering support and applying pressure to my low back. My husband brought up a smoothie and some snacks to re-energize me. The contractions come more steadily and I deeply exhaled - like a big sigh - with each one. Then I enjoyed the break in between. I was happily unaware of the time or how long each contraction was. Just taking everything moment by moment. At times, the breaks in between felt long and I almost felt impatient waiting for the next contraction, knowing the great work that was taking place every time. I was conscious of how I could work with the contraction - the more deeply I exhaled and relaxed into, the more I could feel the sensation of dilation. At times, I stiffened up, my body resisting going deeply into it, but with a gentle touch on the shoulder from my doula, I lowered my shoulders and relaxed, allowing the sensation to take hold. I somehow managed to keep a light-heartedness and sense of humour. I remember my husband bringing up our stereo and busily setting it up. I hadn't chosen any particular music, so he decided to play something classical. At first it was okay, but then the crescendos and diminuendos were so out of sync with my body's own rhythm that I had to turn it off. I remember making some joke about it, knowing he meant well. The best soundtrack was the ambient sounds from outside a blend of crickets and children playing on the hot September evening. At a certain point - I believe it was around 9 p.m. or so - my doula suggested that I page my midwife. She said the contractions were lasting a good minute or more in length and coming steadily every few minutes. I did and my midwife asked me a few questions - had their been any fluid or breaking of my waters? Nope. She kept me on the phone long enough to time a few contractions and told me that they weren't consistently long. I remember for a moment thinking, what do I have to do to convince her that I'm having this baby? But then she suggested getting into the shower or taking a bath. She told me to page her when the contractions felt like they were coming one on top of the other. Heeding her advice I got into the shower. The water felt nice on my back and I stayed for a while (again, not sure for how long). When I finally came out, I felt the mucus plug go and entered a trance-like state. By now the contractions were coming quickly. I needed help from my husband to walk back to my bed. My doula asked me what position I might want to take and I just flopped onto the bed, rolled onto one side and declared that this was it. I wasn't going to move. My husband paged the midwife as I could barely speak by this point, so inwardly focused I was. Shortly afterward my water broke. It was a relief to feel the release of pressure. Except that shortly thereafter, the sensation taking hold of my body changed completely. The steady stream of contractions stopped and instead this powerful wave of force came down over me, as if starting from the top of my head and gaining momentum as it moved down through my body. This was the urge to push. My midwife had not yet arrived, but was on her way. Doulas do not do vaginal examinations so we had no idea how dilated I was. My doula tried to set my expectations by saying, there are three numbers, the one you think it is, the one you want it to be and the one that it is. Thinking of my sister's experience I wondered what might happen if the midwife tells me that I'm only 4 cm dilated. There didn't seem to be any going back. In the meantime, my doula tried to help me breath in such a way to not engage the push - though the force was so strong it was hard to resist. Finally, my midwife arrived. She promptly checked me and found I was 9.5 cm dilated (huge relief!) She gave me the go-ahead and I began to work with each push. The incredible thing was the long breaks between each push. Minutes would go by and I would just lie there waiting, while my midwife checked the baby's heart rate. By now the second midwife had arrived too. I don't know how long the pushing went on - for some reason I imagine it was something like 45 minutes. I know the baby was crowning for quite a while before I pushed hard enough for it to fly out of me. It wasn't one push for the head and another for the shoulders, this baby came out in one shot! It was 11:44 p.m. They immediately lay the baby on my chest and toweled her down. I don't recall a lot of crying, maybe just for a moment. Then my husband and I realized we did not know the sex of our child, so we asked. The midwife suggested it was for us to make the discovery and lifted her up so we could see. A baby girl! It was all so surreal and incredible. I just lay there with the baby on my chest and my husband nearby. Soon I felt another urge to push, a much milder sensation though, and out came the placenta. The birthing journey was complete. We were in our dimly lit room, comfortably lying on our bed. It was such a serene and peaceful place. I looked over and saw the pink rose that my husband had discovered in our yard earlier that day and picked for the baby. It seemed a sign that this baby girl was destined for us.

So began my slow immersion and education into all things birth. I enjoyed reading books like Beautiful, Bountiful, Blissful (I highly recommend it) and Birthing from Within. I was drawn to the stories and felt that I learned something in each one, good or bad. I learned how important it is for a woman to feel empowered through labour and to understand her options - rather than have things decided for her. I learned that many women found that the hospital setting eroded their confidence in their choices, especially around a natural birth. Reading also taught me about birth being a right brain phenomenon, which made me think about things like not wanting a clock in the room or to have to count contractions and other left brain tasks that might take me out of my labour. I learned about adrenaline and its negative impact on labour. I learned about interventions and tools and not just what they are used for but their effects on labour. I learned about doulas and immediately researched and found one, who also provided our prenatal education. I had decided that I wanted to have a natural birth and therefore was going to surround myself with all the support I needed. I also learned from other women's stories, finding something that I could resonate with in each one. For instance my physiotherapist talked about the pain (which I prefer to call sensations, because it isn't always pain). She compared it to a broken limb and said that unlike a broken limb, the sensations of birth are not something that has gone wrong and needs fixing, they are a natural part of the labour process: our bodies are doing what they are supposed to be doing despite the discomfort. This was empowering to me. My sister talked about the word labour and how its implicit meaning is that it is work, which perhaps we forget to consider in a world where so much is made easy for us. Another woman told me about how in her first labour she could hear a woman in another hospital room making a lot of noise and her husband kept trying to mute the sound, asking nurses to close the doors, thinking it would distress his wife (it was probably distressing him) but that she actually felt liberated hearing it, as though she too could be free to make noise. As I learned more about the phases of labour in my prenatal class and the midwifery practice, it became clear that I would be experiencing much of my early labour at home. Since the general rule is to go to hospital at about 7 cm dilation or right before transition. I started to think about this and kept coming to the thought that if I was having a good labour at home, why would I consider risking it all with a car ride to the hospital, which would likely cause some adrenaline spikes, especially with my husband at the wheel. I joked that I would ride with the midwife and he could meet me there. But more seriously I thought, why bother going at all? Then we had a tour of the hospital. It was fine. The rooms were decent, some had jacuzzis which seemed like a nice bonus. But as I was touring I imagined me in one of those rooms, door ajar while 20 strangers toured the hallway. Would I feel inhibited? And if so, how would this affect my experience? After that, I told my husband that I might, if everything is going well at home, decide not to go to the hospital. He admitted that he didn't like the idea of a hospital setting, but for the first time, we probably should. I said, I'd have to see. My midwife was great because she didn't expect a commitment either way. She was open to making the decision on the spot which took the pressure off and suited me well. On our last meeting with our doula we were having a general discussion about expectations and desires when my husband just said, I want a home birth. Funny, since I knew it was ultimately going to be up to me, but I was glad to know he was comfortable with the idea. My biggest concern seemed to be what we would do with the placenta, which made my doula laugh and helped me realize that if that was the biggest concern, I was probably ready to have a home birth.

Where to toddlers learn to be so cute? Slowly batting their eyes. Tilting their heads up revealing an innocent smile. And saying things like, "I want to hold it" to a full moon. Amelia's newest thing is ending each sentence with, yah. We are not Swedish (if you were wondering). And neither me nor her dad do this. I'm sure of it, though I've had to come to terms with the fact that she did learn, "c'mon" and just "one minute" from me. But not yah. So conversations around here now go something like this. "I eat it. Yah?" "I have a cookie. Yah?" Daddy read a book. Yah?" I think it may also involve a concurrent head tilt and smile. Very effective. It probably won't last (this may be a good thing), so for now, there's nothing I can do but enjoy. Yah?

Our bed, that is. It seems that the great gift of sleep that we enjoyed -- I mean really, TRULY enjoyed -- for the last 18 months, may have come to an end. Our (barely) two year old has retracted the gift and not only the sleep, but also the falling asleep easily, on her own. That is gone. For now. After a couple months of the occasional request to sleep on the floor, which seemed whimsical and harmless, Monday saw the bitter end of my reasonable, happy to go to sleep, little girl. Papa was away, her "zia" was over and she was sick with a cold. Not a great combo going in. We did the usual routine but she wouldn't stay in her bed. First came the delay tactics: more books seems to be the main one and it's hard to deny a keenness for literature or Pookie books, whatever the case may be. Then came the flat refusal to get in bed - or on the floor which I would have gladly accommodated. (hard to believe I wrote this just a month ago -- am I being punished for gloating?) There was screaming and crying. So I decided that we would sleep together in my bed, after all, isn't that a tradition when one parent is away? Within moments of stroking her head (solletico) she was out. I even managed to sneak out of the room to get some things done and sneak back in later. Then all hell broke loose: she had a night terror. Full on flailing and wailing and nothing I could say or do would calm her. It was terrifying for me. I'm sure any parent who's experienced it would agree that there is an awful sense of powerlessness. Somehow it passed. I barely slept the rest of the night though, she woke up every hour or two and my fear of her falling off the edge kept me from a deep sleep. Last night she started on the floor and then called out around 11 p.m. to come into "mamma's bed" by some miracle she promptly passed out and we all slept perfectly fine together. It was nice. Tonight was another challenge and I'm sensing a new pattern which I'm not ready to accept. Again, I had to lie with her in my bed to get her to sleep. Then when she was quiet I stood up to go and... creak, creak, creak on the old floors was enough to rouse her. More crying. I leaped back toward her to comfort her back into her snooze. Then I sat there, feeling like the mother I was only eighteen months ago, a hostage to my baby. Scared to make any move that might wake her. Feeling trapped, but grateful that she was asleep. A little restless. But I somehow found that magical moment of deep slumber and slid out the room. Is this regression or a natural progression for a growing child? I don't know. For now, welcome back.  I guess we'll try this again for a while.

Dear Amelia, Two years ago we welcomed you into our arms, our home, our hearts. It doesn't seem like two years, it seems like yesterday and a lifetime ago. Time changes as you grow, one day you'll understand.   You were born at 11:46 on a Sunday evening, a little 6lb 9oz bundle. A couple of hours later, the three of us were tucked in bed together and sound asleep for a good five hours.  Every day since you have filled our hearts with joy. The way in which you embrace life fearlessly and with a contagious enthusiasm inspires us to see the world through your awestruck eyes. I want to capture every moment, every soundbite, collect all the incremental changes that have shaped you into this bright, happy little girl. It's impossible to document them all, but they are impressed upon my heart. Two nights ago you climbed into our bed --all 30lbs of you, chattering and turning round and round. Hard to believe it was the same girl. It was 2:30 a.m. and you must have had a nightmare because when I came to see you you immediately said, "mommy's bed, mommy's bed." Again, the three of us curled up under the covers for a good sleep. Tonight you blew out your candles like a pro. You'd been anticipating this moment and practicing for a few months. Always ending the birthday song with a big exhale and, "I did it!" You did! You're two. I can't imagine how you could become any more fun-loving, entertaining, cuddly and communicative. But you will and I will hope to capture as much of it as my heart can hold without bursting (sometimes it comes close). If for all the excitement you wake up again in the night, there will be a place for you in our bed. Love you, mamma p.s. I didn't mention the crazy tantrums you had tonight, which were a striking way to mark your second birthday and most likely brought on by the overwhelming excitement. One thing is for certain, you've got pipes. Definitely my kid.

When Amelia was seven months we established her bedtime ritual. We, like many parents, were working on a way to get her to sleep better and longer nights. At the time the routine was pretty standard, milk, a bath, a book and into her crib. We would turn on her sleep sheep which played ocean sounds and give her a soother. She took to it relatively well and we have continued, like clock work, each night. Her soothers, blankets and sleep sheep traveled with us whenever we went out of town. I became almost superstitious about the exactness of the ritual. More recently we added a ladybug that projects stars onto the ceiling of her room. Not because she needed it, but because I couldn't resist getting her a "goglia goglia," her word for coccinella or ladybug. Tonight after the bath, we broke from the routine to go downstairs to wave bye-bye to papa as he climbed into a taxi for a short business trip. Amelia became overwhelmed seeing him drive away and began crying. "I want to lay down," she said wisely. "I want pillow." So I took her up to her room. My little girl climbed into her bed, popped a soother in her mouth, turned on the sleep sheep and the ladybug lights on her own. In that moment, seeing her independence, I was relieved that she still needed me to read the book to her. Reading to her is the last part of the ritual that is dependent on me. And I intend to hang onto that small role for as long as I can. I guess this is the sign of a good ritual -- that I'm no longer needed to carry it out. She can put herself to sleep on her own, which was the goal all along. I just didn't expect it to come so soon.