From the land of mommyhood

Remember when I used to blog? And bathe regularly? And exercise? And wear clothes that didn't have breast milk/spit-up on them?

Me neither.

I really miss blogging. (Also bathing and having some sort of muscle tone.) And I have grand plans to write a lengthy blog with the story of the Girl's birth. (It ranks right up there with actually finishing unpacking our house and recycling the wine bottles that are sitting on our kitchen floor from the housewarming/baby shower that took place here back in November.) Instead I spend a lot of time feeding and cuddling this:


And when I'm not doing either of those things, I take pictures of her. And then coo over pictures of her, even though the real thing is right beside me.

But soon, I will get my head above water and find time to blog again! In the meantime:

Crib Building 101

A few weeks ago, we picked up a crib for the baby-to-be at Ikea. In fact, we found the one we wanted in the As Is section for $40-off, because it had been a floor model. (Don't worry—we bought the mattress brand new!) Late one night, the Husband crossed a milestone off his life list and assembled said crib:


I helped by snapping photos that included another Ikea purchase: Nipples the cat.


Inappropriate name for a stuffed animal meant for a child, you say? Well, agreed*. But what you can't see in these photos is that Ikea manufactured a stuffed cat and added 8 nipples to said cat. Why, pray tell, does a stuffed cat need nipples!?

Nevertheless, Nipples has such personality:


And the Husband did a fantastic job:


Nipples had to rest with Daphne afterwards.


We're getting closer to finishing the nursery decor—just need to hang some shelves and artwork (we purchased some from here). Then I will snap some shots and post a few for all of you!

*We also have an owl named Hooters. Meaning we've possibly already ruined this poor little human being.

Moving and Hallowe'en

Okay, we're playing blog catch-up here, since there's been amazing amounts of stuff happening in my life of late. Bear with me!

First, we moved. Daphne was clearly worried that we would forget her in the chaos, so she took to sleeping in the Husband's suitcase as a precaution:


But when moving day actually arrived, Schmatty was none too pleased with the arrival of strange people in the apartment, so she cowered in the closet for most of the day:


For us, moving day dawned with a feeling of excitement in the air. We were finally moving into our house!

This excitement ended around the time the movers were officially late (they finally came an hour past their scheduled arrival, which was enough to drive the pregnant, type-A Virgo planner in me completely around the bend ) but reappeared hours later when everything was finally in the new place. And we'd had proper food.

Much of the following week looked just like this picture: the belly and the boxes:


(Unfortunately for the Husband, the belly meant he was the one to move the boxes from room to room to room as we tried to make sense of our living space.)

Daphne tried to make sense of her new surroundings and discovered the best place to keep an eye on both of us is generally the landing going down the stairs:

Two days after we moved in, our first house guest arrived fresh from Montreal, with her own kitty, to take up residence in our basement for a while. It's been awesome having her here! And she made it in time for Hallowe'en.


Okay, we'd only been in the house for about four days when the big night arrived, so there were no costumes. The Husband did manage to carve a pumpkin and we stocked up on a ton of candy, thinking there'd be a steady stream of kids all evening long.


Alas, we counted about 60 kids in total. Plus three moms that had their own bags for candy...

Belly shot update!

Okay, it's been busy and there's lots to blog about, but my to-do list keeps getting longer! However, here's some more belly shots:

Week 30


Week 31



Week 32


I have to admit, I'm done with the pregnancy part. My back and hips are sore all the time. Thank goodness for Tylenol! I can only seem to sleep in one-hour increments before I have to get up and pee or try to shift to a slightly less uncomfortable position in bed. Leaning over in any way is almost impossible. I'm short-of-breath all the time. Oh, and the skin on the top of my belly gets so sensitive it's crazy painful!

I'm getting anxious to meet the little person that's rolling around inside me.

Okay, stay tuned for more posts soon. Lots more to share!

Weeks 27 and 28

Lots to be thankful for this Thanksgiving weekend, including a baby that is squirming all over the place in my ever-growing belly.

Week 27:



And week 28:



A full seven months pregnant now, I am finding it harder and harder to haul this body around. I ran errands for an hour at lunch today and felt like I'd run 10k!

But I'm persevering! Trying to get our apartment packed up in preparation for the big move. (What were we thinking combining two of life's most stressful events?) And sometimes just watching the Husband pack while I sit down and rest.

Other things I'm thankful for: the Husband, our crazy cat, wonderful friends, my super-excited family, a job in this awful economy, the new house, and a beautiful place on the water to spend Thanksgiving weekend.

I am a lucky, lucky girl.

26 Weeks

Here are last weeks belly shots at 26 weeks:



And here's how you pass the time when you're pregnant:


The cat fits into newborn onesies surprisingly well!

Six months in...

In order to explain where I'm at mentally 25 weeks into this pregnancy, I feel an anecdote is in order.

Back in my theatre school days, three years of training culminated into an onstage sort of thesis called a Nightclub Critique. (Now that I think about it, that's such a weird name. I have never in my life referred to an establishment as a "nightclub." Dance club, yes. Nightclub, no.) The idea was to put together a little solo show consisting of 3-4 songs, a back-up band, lighting... the whole works. We then had to perform this mini concert for all of the students in the three year program, plus guests and an invited panel of judges - probably close to 200 people. At the end of each act, the performer would have to come out and sit at the front of the theatre and be critiqued by the judges while everyone watched.

Wait! Maybe that's how the whole Idol franchise was created!? I have never thought about that until now.

Anyway, one of the main classes that we took to prepare for this virtuoso moment was called, in my day, pop class. As in pop music. As in the kind of music they play during morning rush hour on the radio.

My fellow classmates were AWESOME at this class. They performed the hits of Sheryl Crow, Alanis Morrisette and Sarah Mclachlan beautifully. (It was the mid-90s.) In fact, I was often brought to tears listening to them, although that may have had something to do with the extreme fatigue and constant self-doubt that comes with the theatre school territory.

My own talents in this genre did not stretch quite so far. No matter what I attempted, including an ill-advised rendition of Bonnie Rait's, "I Can't Make You Love Me," and a still oft-mocked warbling of the tragic torch song "Black Coffee," which I sang with the same gusto and glee that I usually attack any national anthem, I was Julie Andrew trying to be Diana Ross. In a word: awful. And the teacher - very well-liked by many - seemed to give up on me from early days, preferring to concentrate on the budding rock stars surrounding me.

Alas, when it came time for nightclub critique, I was totally excited but also a little lost. So I chose a few innocuous jazz standards and concentrated on the part I knew I could control: My outfit.

I ventured into the big city from the 'burbs and scoured Queen West for exactly the right frock for the occasion, slapping down my mishandled student Mastercard like a pro for a flirty little number made of lime green raw silk that changed colours under the lights. Not being able to locate a pair of silver heels to match, I settled for some strappy black ones and attacked them with a can of silver spray paint. I even splurged on a visit to a nail salon and had a fake set of lengthy fingernails applied. (I cringe now to think of how much I actually paid in interest charges for those talons!) I found the right set of jewellery for a little sparkle and picked up some new nylons and a pair of false eyelashes.

I was totally ready!

The day of the critique arrived and I bustled around the dressing room, making sure I looked absolutely perfect. And then it was my turn and I strode out on to the stage...

My vague, long-buried memories of this event involve me sort of flailing around the huge space, microphone cord trailing behind me. I know I had roped a few of the guys in the class into being in one of the numbers with me, but I don't know if we ever actually rehearsed. I was supposed to have patter, which is the talking between songs part, but I can't recall saying anything. What I really remember is finally being done and coming off stage, only to realize that I had to turn back around and be critiqued in front of everyone. And it was the one time in my life where I very nearly actually ran away from a situation.

Anyway, that's kind of where I'm at about being a parent. I'm feeling really confident that this baby is going to have a cute nursery filled with good books to read and adorable outfits to wear, but I'm still not clear about what exactly I'm supposed to do with him or her once he/she arrives. I'm worried that I might not live up to everyone else around me and wind up looking back at the experience with an uncontrollable grimace of embarrassment and inescapable feelings of inadequacy.

But maybe that's how everyone feels?

Because unlike pop class, you don't get to practice every week beforehand. And maybe as a parent, you get to capitalize on your strengths more and don't have to try so hard to fit into someone else's mould. And you're not dependent on those outside critiques for a passing grade - if your child feels loved, you're good to go.

Fingers crossed! Because I already have a lullaby all picked out: Cyndi Lauper's "True Colours." Let's hope this baby likes pop music.

Week 23:



Week 24:


Week 25: