Square One. Again.

I've always found throwing rocks in the water very therapeutic,  I guess it's genetic.
Or maybe it's just fun.

So readers, I'm sure you've been up nights worrying about where we are and what we are doing :P

Full circle. We are back in Vancouver, ironically at almost the exact same time I had originally planned on returning when I set out for the North.

Everything feels new...again.

We moved from the North to North Van. I've never lived on the North Shore before so that's all new.

We are settling into our new apartment. It's all unpacked, save for a couple boxes that I just can't seem to face. Maybe hauling the last of the cardboard to the recycling makes it all real? Maybe it's just laziness.

I'm back to working out excessively and running. It seems to be my go-to when I'm in transition. I stopped for awhile in Smithers. Again, maybe that was just laziness...or perhaps I just finally felt like I had nothing to run from.

Settled.

Either way, I'm not feeling very settled right now.

Babe is happy as a lark for the most part. She loooooves her new school and her new bedroom and seems basically unscathed by the traumatic whirlwind that tore my private little island apart.

Our new place is great, a good place to sit still.

For any single moms out there starting over...or over again; Find Comfort.

I run. I visit old friends. I pvr'd yoga because I can only do it late at night despite having free yoga right here in my building. I paint my nails in front of cheesy movies about women finding themselves. (I know...eye roll)

I've also got this amazing girl who brings her massage table to your place. It works great for a single mom who has already put the kid to bed and is stressed to the max but chained to the house!

I got back on a horse. I've planned a spa day on the island and I'm pumped to model for a photoshoot on Hornby.

And thank God for my probably exhausted but ever-supportive group of friends. They have spent endless hours over the last weeks listening at nauseam to every tiny detail of my current situation. A special shout out goes to E who despite me falling out of contact when busy never fails me when I come crawling back and J2 who has done more to boost me back up in the last few weeks than I could have ever asked for.

Some days I have a lot of anger, some days it's mostly tears and others I seem to pull strength out of somewhere and take steps forward. It's so strange to go from planning a future with someone to a whole new world. New babysitters, new preschool, new apartment, new plans, new friends, new dates.

I did manage to haul Babe to Calgary in the middle of my fog for my grandfather's (Babe's Grandpa, Grandpa's) funeral. Honestly, I don't even remember much of those few days, or the rush to pack and make arrangements down here. But here we are. Getting into a whole new routine.

Sprinkling my grandparent's ashes on the farm.

Flying back to Smithers.

It's still light out enough in the evenings for me to run along the river. There's one point in the trail where I get hit with a sweet smell so strong it feels like I've passed back into spring. I can't figure out what it is but it is intoxicating and it instantly fills me with an appreciation for the little things which I desperately need right now. I've even stopped and searched, nose-first for what it is. I recognize it but I've never had a great recollection for smells and I can't find where it's coming from - but it's so strong and so pure. I can't pin it down and I can't keep it, but I'm so thankful for it while it's here.

There's another point in the loop where I run along a ledge that's less than a foot across. I really like that part. Its occurred to me that it's only a matter of time before I fall and it'll probably really hurt (relax, it's only three or four feet high). It'll be embarrassing too. But every time I do it I get such a sense of satisfaction from it yet at the same time I worry that it's reckless and in hindsight it will seem quite silly when I fall.

But maybe I won't fall. Maybe I'll get faster, maybe I'll find a higher ledge.

I probably will fall though and it'll probably mean a trip to the ER. And I promise I'll post the pics so you can get a giggle out of my foolishness.

But until the fall comes, it's like that sweet smell in the forest...I just can't get enough.

Kinda like love I guess.

The Heart of a Two Year Old.

Well, the novelty of Mommy's sadness has worn off for Babe but I wanted to tell you all briefly about my sweet little girl who came to my aid when she saw her mommy hurting.

I feel terrible for being so depressed in front of her. It's inappropriate and not the kind of mother I want to be, but I guess we all have moments of weakness.

Babe can be a handful for sure. She has a lot of naughty moments and can throw a terrible fit with the best of the two-year-olds. She truly is the little girl with the little curl in the middle of her forehead.

But I have heard on more than one occasion from various caregivers that for her young age she shows remarkable compassion for her peers. Still I have been surprised and touched by her apparent concern for my well being over the past couple weeks. Especially since toddlers aren't known to be especially invested in anyone's happiness but their own.

In the days following my recent break up I could hardly muster the energy to get dressed or leave my bed. Babe and I were alone for the first couple days until my parents arrived (for a coincidentally pre-planned visit) and despite my best efforts to carry on for her, I spent most of that time half-heartedly playing with toys beside her with tears running down my cheeks.

One afternoon, as we were playing on the floor and I was miserably failing at hiding how miserable I was, Babe and I had one of the strongest bonding moments we've had since she stole my life-long teddy bear out of my arms while we slept.

I was sitting on the floor playing with her and doing my best to use my cheerful voice through heaving sobs - as if a normal tone could somehow trick my daughter into not noticing that something was off with Mommy. When all of a sudden she stopped playing and asked me if I was sad. I told her that I was and it was no big deal and gave her a brief explanation at which point, still crying, I expected her to resume our game as if satisfied with knowing 'yup, she's sad.'

But she was intently focused on me, not the toys. Then she told me she would read me a story to make me not be sad anymore.

She ran into her room and came out with her chubby baby arms filled with a sloppy pile of books - dropping them like a trail of breadcrumbs down the hallway as she came to me.

She sat down beside me, chose a book and then proceeded to pretend to read it to me with the pictures facing me like her pre-school teachers would do for the class.

I faked a smile and thanked her but I couldn't stop the crying.

Not discouraged she announced that she would get me some toys and ran back into her bedroom and retrieved some of her most prized possessions.

Again I thanked her and told her that made me happy - still crying.

But I was clearly not OK and instead of becoming frustrated at her failure to make me happy or distracted by the books and toys on the floor, my darling little girl climbed up into the rocking chair that I have comforted her in since the day she was born, turned to me, patted the space beside her little body and said' "It's OK Mommy. Come sit with me and we'll talk about it."

It was the first moment where my heart began to heal a little bit and it was because of a two-year-old. I was so touched by her innocent desire to not see Mommy be sad and her perseverance when her first attempts just weren't good enough to help.

At the same time I felt so terrible for putting her in a place where she had to worry about taking care of her mommy's emotional state.

A few days later it was a friend who suggested I write it down to keep for her for later.

I try not to be one of those my-baby-is-a-genius, braggy parents, but in that moment my two-year-old's capacity for compassion completely overwhelmed me.

I'm so lucky.

And I'm so glad that I have taken the time to recognize her little tragedies, no matter how ridiculous or trivial they seem to adults. Maybe it's just who she is, or maybe trying to understand her feelings even in her fits of toddler-craziness is helping her become a more empathetic child.

House of Straw.

These.

These are the last photos I took before our lives changed.

The one above is specifically significant because it later became woven into this fall.

Don't worry. Babe is fine. On paper so I am. I still have my job. Physically I'm healthy.

In the end, when the end came, I had no one to blame but myself.

I've picked up and started over so many times before. I guess I took pride in that. Felt I had paid my dues and learned my lessons. Thought I was strong, independent - that I knew what I was doing.

To get here I picked up and moved again - shortly before this blog stalled, as I threw myself into creating a fresh life and got whisked away with work and parenting - and ultimately love.

I jumped, risked everything, struck out on my own again, this time with my daughter in tow. I wasn't hiding, wasn't staying where I was safe. I left the security blankets behind and carved out something new. I was a strong mother and took control of our future.

I worked hard, I raised my daughter, I built a garden and loved a man.

Looking back here now, the post I wrote after we arrived is such a stark contrast to the most recent domestic one that I lost my breath.

I didn't want to believe that - sometimes - love doesn't conquer all.

Like a true journalist, I didn't have all the answers but I thought I could find them. I thought the answers would come if I sought experts, guidance and was patient. I thought a clear mind, true heart and good intentions would prevail.

I was wrong. Or maybe I was right but I couldn't do it alone.

I was so damn sure.
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I built a house of straw...but the winds have come.

This Is What I Have.

Recently I was folding a huge pile of baby laundry in front of the TV on a Saturday night. In between rolling tiny socks I scanned Facebook on my phone and read the typical Saturday night status updates from friends who were out for a night on the town. I felt instantly lonely and jealous - really jealous.

I tucked the phone away and went back to folding laundry in front of the TV, but I wasn't watching it anymore. I was thinking about where I was heading before I got pregnant in contrast to where I am heading now. I was thinking about what I traded, about what I gave up and mostly, about what I don't have anymore.

I definitely traded my weekend nights. I don't have Friday to look forward to. I don't dance straight from work to a girlfriend's house to get ready for another late night. I don't feel that sense of mystery to the evening, of who I might meet or what laughs we might make. I don't look forward to sleeping all the next morning and meeting friends for a greasy hangover breakfast.

I don't have being swept off my feet to look forward to. Not in the same way as before anyway. I can't totally lose myself in someone - blowing off responsibilities and passing hours with hand-holding and people-watching. Riding the train for romance and eating dinner for three hours. I don't get to run away on impromptu lover's weekends.

I don't have turning off my phone. Ever. For any reason. You don't realize how that would be something to be missed until it is gone.

I don't have dashing out of the house for something. I don't have swift errand-running, or speed in anything anymore ... except eating.

Photo: Sung Van

I don't have my money to spend on me, or at least I'm not making enough to have any of it. I have to buy expensive formula and diapers and special over-sized-for-safety baby Q-tips and educational toys. It's spent before I get it and I don't get much because I'm not working much. And the work I have isn't what I want to have because it's hard to chase a dream when there's a mouth to feed and debts to battle.

I can't let my fridge run empty. I always have to have food because although I have a notorious habit of forgetting to eat (or even forgetting to feed the cat sometimes) I have to feed the baby. A lot. A few times a day at least. And it's expensive and she needs special items that I wouldn't ever buy. And because she needs what she needs and I don't have enough money to buy separate items for us both I have to mostly eat what she eats. And it's either gross or it's making me fat. Because babies need fat, the lucky bastards.

And I don't have my body. Not really. I mean, she's not living in it anymore which is physically more comfortable. And she's not eating food from it anymore, which is physically and emotionally more freeing. So I guess it seems like I have my body back. But it's not the one I had before. And it never will be.

Thinking about all these things I don't have made me feel even worse than knowing everyone was out having fun.

I realized I'd have to change my thinking or I'd spiral into tears. So I thought about the list I'd just made.

The weekends. I was never that much of a party girl anyway. I used to spend a lot of nights at home folding adult laundry anyway. And the nights that I did look forward to were never as good as I thought they would be. In fact, towards the end of my single life I usually went home early with a headache rather then late with a phone number in my purse. I definitely miss sleeping in on Saturday mornings but I don't miss the hangovers and I can't afford the greasy breakfasts anyway.


Being swept off my feet. Well I can still have that. Granted it will look a lot different - much more grown-up. But it can still happen. It'll just be more organized, less haphazard, less chaotic. But maybe that's OK because if the beginning isn't such a whirlwind then maybe the end won't be such a cyclone. And I can still go away for the weekend. It just takes a week of planning first, a rotation of sitters and my phone has to always be on.

Which is fine I guess. It doesn't need to be off anyway. And sometimes I do get to power down. Like when I'm in a job interview or if I ever get to go to a movie. Of course if my phone is being turned off it means that I have to arrange another emergency contact and preferably some sort of bat-signal that I can see from wherever I am in case Babe is in distress.

Not being able to run out quickly really does suck. There's no way to make it sound better than it is other than to say that on the rare occasions when I do get to run an errand alone it is fucking amazing. I'll actually choose the long line at the grocery store on purpose just to prolong the ecstasy of it.

Money. Well fuck, I didn't have that much before anyway. I do miss shopping for me but hopefully that isn't gone for good.

And the fridge really is better full. It's more homey that way. Dried out leftovers, questionable milk and beer is depressing. Yes it's annoying to have to grocery shop, like, by law. But it's nice to know that if child welfare came to the door they would see that I'm attempting to nourish my daughter. I would be proud of my full fridge in that moment.

My body. OK, I do still have it - it's just uglier now. But that does mean I get to set aside time to go to the gym which is almost the only "me time" I get. And it's nice to feel like I'm using my "me time" in a healthy and productive way.

But even though I tried to put a positive spin on the things I didn't have I still wasn't feeling totally fine about my life. So I did what I do every night when it's quiet and lonely. I tiptoed up to Babe's crib and leaned over the railing and rested my hand on her back to check her breathing. It was perfect. Soft and rhythmic. She was perfect. Warm, curled up with an empty bottle and Lamby. I ran my fingers over the softest cheeks I have ever felt in my life and I kissed her hair - still damp at the curls from her bath.

This is what I have.

I have Saturday nights folding teeny-tiny clothes that are so cute and small they make me smile no matter how many times I've washed them.

I have someone who already has swept me off my feet, someone who will always have my heart. No matter what.

I have a phone full of baby pictures and sound bites of garbled first words. I get phone calls from a little voice just wanting to hear Mommy.

I don't run fast errands but I have pride when strangers coo over my beautiful baby, when she runs ahead of me at the mall, holds items in the shopping cart or walks in from the car at my side.

I have more time than money and that can't be bought. Time with my daughter is worth every lost cent.

I have cooking meals, dirty high chairs, spaghetti face smiles and little person cutlery on the floor.

I have a body that can create and nurture life. I carried my baby inside me, safe and cozy. Growing. Her hearing my voice. Her hearing my heartbeat. I have a scar from the day she arrived.

I have calls of "Mamma" from her crib in the early morning. I have chubby arm hugs and yummy elbow and finger dimples to kiss. I have giggles. I have family holidays. I have slicing grapes. I have bubble baths and rubber duckies. I have tiny shoes by the door, bottles in the night and splishy-splashy mud puddles.

This is what I wanted and this is what I have.

When Will My Baby Stop Crying? The little rays of light that might bring peace to your infant.

Right from the get-go Babe was a pretty fussy little princess. In fairness, for the first three or four months she had terrible tummy troubles, so she was fussy for good reason. She spent almost every waking minute (which was 90 per cent of the damn time) being coddled in someone's arms because her little body was just writhing with gas pain. So by the time the tummy troubles subsided she was so used to being cuddled and catered to that she was furious any time she was "abandoned" for even a couple minutes.

For whatever reason she was and kinda still is a really fussy baby. She hated the car and screamed throughout the ride. She wouldn't sleep for longer than an hour at a time and woke up anytime she was put down in her bed. As she got bigger she grew more and more frustrated by her own limitations and so she screamed when she wasn't happy, at any time, for any reason. Sometimes she would simply stop what happy little thing she was doing and scream for no reason at all other than to remind me that, although temporarily sated, overall she was still miserable.

According to various statistics approximately 20 to 25 per cent of babies have colic - which is just a fancy word for, "We don't know what the hell is wrong with this miserable child". Babe was definitely colicky. For sure. And when doctors said that it usually resolves itself in the first four months or so I thought I was going to die. Four months seemed like a long time. But the days turned to weeks and before long Babe's colic had passed. Of course it was replaced by her general bad attitude so I never really noticed that I'd made it past the colic finish line.

Now Babe is almost 16 months old and often still cranky but looking back there were some points along the way where her temperament improved; milestones that helped ease some of her misery and made both our lives a little better. I thought I'd share them here so that this post can stand as a beacon of hope for any new mothers that are wondering, "When is this baby going to stop crying?"

I shall call these milestones or changes "rays of light" because that's exactly what they are and you'll only understand the term when you're buried in the dark cloud of exhaustion that a fussy newborn can bring. And don't be surprised if you don't notice the improvement until later, because for me anyway the improvements were subtle.

The first two rays of light happened around the same time, I can't remember now which came first.

Babe just didn't know how to settle herself at bedtime. She was fussy and fidgety and needed constant cuddling and shushing etc. to get her to sleep. And then she never slept for long. But I knew early on that part of the problem was that she was uncomfortable sleeping on her back - which is the recommended way for babies to sleep. And sure enough, as soon as she learned to roll over I couldn't keep her on her back anymore. I was still paranoid about SIDS and for a while I would spend my nights reaching down and rolling her back over. But I gave up after the health nurse said that if she was strong enough to roll from front to back and vise versa she was strong enough to sleep on her tummy without suffocating. And it did make a difference. Babe started sleeping for longer periods - not much longer - but any little bit was a blessing. And the more sleep she got the happier she was during the day.

Babe still sleeps mostly on her tummy.

Also around the same time Babe started solids. Always a big milestone for babies it definitely calmed Babe a bit. For the first while eating carries provides a lot of entertainment value for babies. Everything is new and exciting and meal times help break up the day into manageable chunks. I don't know if Babe was just really hungry when only supplied with breast milk or if the solids helped settle her tummy a bit but whatever the reason, when she started eating she did become a little less fussy.

The next ray of light shone when Babe became mobile. When she could crawl around and explore and wasn't just stranded on a mat on the floor every time I left the room she became much happier. Again everything was exciting, she had more independence and it seemed to calm her.

Then when she started walking she took off and left her bad attitude in the dust. Of course, she went back and found it later. But walking has made a huge difference in her general disposition. She's free, she's fast, she's a big girl and it makes her really happy. Plus she uses a lot more energy during the day which translates to better sleeps at night which translates to a happier baby during the day. If you have a baby that seems bummed out maybe he just hates sitting still. Look forward to crawling and walking, it might bring out the best in your little one.

As far as the car goes Babe still hates it. But being able to use a forward-facing car seat did help a bit. Babe can see out now and I can see her and interact with her more while we are driving. She can see me in the mirror, we can point things out to each other and I can pass her snacks or toys if needed. Babe is probably never going to be pro-road trip but at least she's not as anti-car as she was before. Of course now the recommendations for car seats have changed in Canada and they say a baby should stay rear-facing until they are two. But trying to drive while Babe shrieks in the back isn't safe either so I'm gonna stick with our forward-facing seat. Whether you choose to put your little one in a forward-facing seat after age one or not until they are two just know that you may get some relief from your cranky passenger once they are looking forward.

Sculpture at the Flora and Fauna exhibition at The Bloedel Conservatory.

I hope that my personal rays of light have given you some hope that things will improve. I know it seems like nothing works with your cranky baby but I bet in a couple years you'll look back and realize that there were some key changes that gradually helped lighten their little spirits.

Good Luck.

What are you worth when you don't get paid?

Sorry. I missed all of October. I've had some distractions, not the least of which has been my quest for meaningful employment. I've been looking for a job in journalism since mid-August and my maternity leave ended in mid-October. So for almost a month now I have officially been unemployed and I tell ya - it doesn't feel good.

I was pregnant during my last semester of school and by the time my internship was over I was too obviously pregnant to expect anyone to hire me. It was then that I made the choice to put off starting a career in media and instead go back to working as a nanny. Which I did on a short-term contract to squirrel away enough hours to get my maternity leave.

But now that Babe has celebrated her first birthday (more on that later) it's time for me to go to work. The problem is there doesn't seem to be any work for me to go to. Not in my industry anyway. So as of now I'm still at home with my baby, taking care of her but not "working" at a regular 9-5 job. And because of this lack of employment, a first for me since I was 15, I often find myself questioning my value.

I know that raising children is work. And I know there is great value in it. Being a mother that stays home with her children is certainly of immeasurable worth to the family unit and a child's development. I know I'm making a difference for my baby; that me being with her in these tender years is important. I've heard the people who say, "Motherhood is the most important job there is". But it doesn't feel that way.

For starters there is the lack of a pay cheque. And without an income you immediately lose the yard stick by which we generally measure worth. There's also the lack of peer evaluations, performance reviews, promotions, raises, bonuses...all the workplace milestones that we brag to our friends about and hold up as examples of our success.

And when your friends are earning X amount of money per year and you're bringing in nothing it's hard to find your footing on the playing field. In a world where everything is guided by the almighty dollar what's a stay at home mom worth? When your day consists of diapers and playgrounds how do you retain a sense of personal value?

As important as I know it is to be here for Babe I can't help but feel like I'm not accomplishing anything.

This past year I've found myself placing too much value on how clean my house is or how many errands I can perform in a day. Having a sink void of dirty dishes somehow makes me feel better about myself and that isn't OK. Don't get me wrong, being able to maintain a household with a baby on the loose is no easy feat but it's just not enough for me. I don't want to define myself with such boring accomplishments.

It's definitely my ego that's the problem here. And society is getting into my head too. A person shouldn't be more or less valuable based on their income. The more you make the better you most certainly are not. Yet here I am, feeling crappy about myself because I'm not "working".

Right now I'm not the breadwinner. But I can't be the stay-at-home-mom much longer either. I'm not a trophy wife or a kept woman and I never will be if I keep eating dessert at this rate (seriously). So what am I? And whatever that is, what's it worth?

Maybe.

Cozy pajamas: check
Glass of red wine: check
Tissues: check

Deep breath.

J moved out today. I'm a single mom.

It's been a long time coming. But with the boxes gone and half the closet standing empty it's now official.

I think it's better now than when Babe is older. But it's funny. You'd think a baby wouldn't understand what was happening. But she looked confused while arm fulls of J's things were leaving the apartment today. And after he left she sat on the floor and quietly waved for a couple minutes. My heart broke for her.

I've wanted to write about this situation for awhile but I've had a hard time deciding just how to go about it. I want to be honest and open about everything. For myself and for my readers.

For me, I want this blog to be an accurate record of my life with Babe, not just a picture that I am comfortable showing to others. And for any of you going through the trials of mommyhood, I want this blog to be a source of information, humour, understanding and support. So I feel like I need to be as open as I can.

But at the same time, there is someone else involved here. Someone who doesn't necessarily want to air our dirty laundry. And as angry as I am, I have to make an effort to be respectful.

Here I am faced with the same problem I had when keeping a diary of my pregnancy. Babe may read this one day. And while I want to write down everything that is happening, there are things that she doesn't need to know about. Things that might hurt her. Things that she may not want aired to the world. And I don't want her to think badly of her father because he loves her to bits.

So how do I go forward on this blog?

I'm literally sitting here tapping my fingers on the desk. Well, not now. Now I'm typing. But I was. I. Don't. Know. What. To. Say.

Things have been pretty bad for a long time. Since before I was pregnant. A long time ago we were really in love. But I guess it didn't last. I tried to hang on for too long. Tried to make it work. Tried to make him happy. After awhile I sort of gave up and I just wanted to move away after school finished. But then I got pregnant. And I'm so happy I did. I always wanted to be a mommy.

I wasn't one of those idiots that thought a baby could fix a relationship. I knew things were about to get even more difficult. But still, I hung on. I thought maybe he just needed time to adjust to the idea of parenthood. I thought maybe we can make things good again. Maybe we can be happy again.

There wasn't a lot of support during the pregnancy.

Still I thought, "If I can just limp us along until the birth", then we'll be a family and maybe we can be happy again.

And of course J loves his baby more than anything and was thrilled when she was born. In fact it was him that cried in the delivery room, not me.

But J was in the middle of his last semester at school. And he was really stressed out and irritable. So right from the beginning Babe and I were alone a lot.

I thought, if I just take care of everything until he is done school. Maybe we can be happy again.

But we had Christmas break and the lack of schoolwork didn't seem to relieve the tension. And then school ended and the tension in the house was still there. We still weren't happy.

(I should clarify) I was happy. Exhausted, emotional, scared and overworked. Sometimes stressed and often times lonely. But thrilled to be a mommy and optimistic. When I say we weren't happy, I mean with each other. And really - I mean he wasn't happy with me or, it seemed, with anything.

I did a lot of things alone with Babe. If you go back and re-read this blog you'll see that most of the time it was just the two of us.

J will say it was because of school, or work, or he was sick or too tired. I say the motivation just wasn't there. I had waited so long for my own baby that I was overloaded with things I wanted to do with her in the first year. I really wanted us to do things as a threesome and as the months went by and that never happened I got more and more hurt and more and more resentful. Until I couldn't hide the anger any longer.

And when I reached my limit I was mean about it. I was so angry and I didn't make the home a very nice place for J to be anymore. And I left with Babe every chance I got.

Here is where I have to be especially careful. While I would love nothing more than to drag J through the mud for the rest of this post it is neither helpful nor fair. And I've already had my Jerry Springer moments for this breakup. So I'll just skip ahead.

We have been separated since June 1st but we were still living together while J looked for a new place. I went to D.C. and then to Alberta. J stayed home and worked. And even though we had broken up and were drafting the custody papers I guess there was a little part of me that thought:

Maybe we can still be happy.

You know how even though you know that the relationship is done there is that little part of you that hasn't closed the door all the way. The little voice that says, maybe?

J closed that door.

I asked him to leave.

He's been gone for awhile and today he came and took his things.

My heart is broken. But I think it's more for the breakup of the family than for the removal of J from my life.

And maybe it's my age, maybe I shed so many tears on the relationships of my youth that I have few left to cry. Maybe it's because I have a baby to be strong for. Maybe it's because I got used to the idea of being a single mom over the last few months. But I seem to be powering through this breakup in a way I never did before. I transitioned smoothly from Sinead O'Conner's, "Nothing Compares To You" to Beyonce's, "Irreplacable" in a matter of days and I already have new hair and a re-organized house.

Babe and I are out and about doing things on our own - but then again, we always were. And despite what you may read between these lines, I'm not that angry. Not as angry as I thought I would still be.

It's going to be hard. Really, stinking, shitting, fucking, Goddamn hard. J and I haven't been apart that long and I already find I'm struggling. We weren't getting along but he was still around to hold Babe or take out the garbage. Now I find myself getting frustrated and taking it out on her. Especially because she still doesn't sleep well and I'm just so worn down. I raise my voice more than I want to. I grumble more than I should. And I've said mean things about her daddy in front of her (even though I know she doesn't understand me, that isn't the mom I want to be).

But going it alone is also forcing me to try harder. There's not a lot of room for vanity, ego or selfishness in motherhood and there is less in single motherhood. And I know I can do it better.

It's not the fairy tale I had hoped for. But what ever is? And maybe I do have a little hope that the three of us will find a new way to be happy. But for now "we" is Babe and I.

And we are going to be happy.

No maybes.

Will We Lose Our "Baby Boxes"?

Photo courtesy of Wired.com

So I have been really short of time lately and it's been impossible to get a post done. Now I'm backed up and I have a bunch of things that I want to write about.

Tonight I was going to post some photos highlighting Babe's and my recent trip to Washington D.C.

But when I logged onto the Internet I found this article instead. It pissed me off so much that I think I'll just share this and save the pics for another time.

Here is the link to the article about the controversy of "baby boxes".

I always thought that these were a creative solution to a really sad problem. It never occurred to me that anyone, least of all the United Nations, could find fault in them. But then why does it surprise me, people can always find something to get up in arms about.

Vancouver got its first and only baby box at St. Paul's Hospital after a number of babies were left for dead or their bodies disposed of presumably by mothers who were desperate to not have a baby.

The Angel's Cradle at St. Paul's allows a mother to anonymously place her baby inside the cupboard-style bassinet and leave undetected before an alarm sounds alerting hospital staff to the delivery.

The theory is that if women know there is a safe place to leave their newborn and they can do it in secret less babies will be left for dead. Here is an old article about the baby box in Vancouver.

As far as I know Vancouver's baby box has been used only once.

The article states that, "the UN Committee says the anonymous nature of the boxes deprive each baby from knowing their parents; a right all children have under a UN convention."

While children most certainly deserve that basic right they more importantly deserve the right to not be left in a dumpster. And while most children do know where they come from and who their parents are certainly many don't.

What about children who were adopted? Not all adoptions are open and not all adopted children can grow up and track down their birth parents. What about the children whose mothers or fathers won't tell them about their other parent. What about the privacy afforded to sperm donors? Certainly it's better to be left somewhere warm and safe, be assessed by medical staff and then be adopted by loving parents than killed by a confused and terrified mother.

While I highly doubt that baby boxes do much to decrease abortion rates or infant abuse as some may claim they do, I do think that every city should have one. Sadly it's true that they won't stop abandonment of babies, but as the old saying goes, "if it saves just one..."

The article also states that the UN Committee is concerned that babies left by fathers may have been abandoned without the consent of the mothers. Well the opposite is surely true as well.

But we aren't talking about most babies, or most parents. We are talking about a very, very few number of babies that would otherwise be killed or left for dead. Surely most mothers or fathers whose babies were taken by their partner could track their baby down through the hospital it was left at. And while it is tragic that a few babies will be abandoned by angry fathers or pimps to the heartbreak of their mothers these are babies that would probably have been killed at birth by the same men if the baby boxes weren't so accessible.

To me it's just ridiculous to put the right of the child to know its parents over the safety of the child.

And as a side note: The baby who was left in Vancouver's baby box was left with a family history and birth information. Much more than a baby left on a doorstep or in a dumpster usually gets. Maybe the baby boxes not only provide a desperate parent a safe alternative to murder but also allows them some time to think through the decision to abandon their baby and take extra care in doing so.

I'd be really disappointed if Vancouver lost its baby box.

Here are a couple more articles on this issue:

The Guardian

CBC


And in unrelated news.
Here is my opinion on this story - GOOD! I hope my daughter gets better teachers than this loser.

Just Sharing: The Yellow Wallpaper.

Photo courtesy of: isabel@isabeltalsma.com and deviantart.com

I thought that as a side note to my recent post about Postpartum Depression I would link to a great short story about the topic.

Charlotte Perkins Gilman wrote The Yellow Wallpaper in 1891 after suffering herself from depression. After seeking advice from a physician she was told to, "live as domestic a life as far as possible," to "have but two hours' intellectual life a day," and "never to touch pen, brush, or pencil again" as long as I lived". The cure, known as "the rest cure" drove her crazy. Gilman said that she "came so near the borderline of utter mental ruin that I could see over".

It's a great story and I hope you'll give it a read if you never have before - and of course if you ever find the time.

The story is a little disturbing but as Gilman put it, "It was not intended to drive people crazy, but to save people from being driven crazy".

Here is the link to the story but if it fails you can always find it somewhere online.

Just Sharing: The Still Face Experiment.

So I have been attending this baby bonding group that is hosted by Reproductive Mental Health at Women's Hospital. It's a good way to meet other new moms and learn about the importance of positive interactions with our babies and healthy ways of dealing with the problems that new mothers face i.e. frustration, exhaustion etc...

At last week's class they played a short video called the Still Face Experiment by Dr. Edward Tronick which demonstrates how babies are directly effected by our moods. The video shows how easily a baby can pick up on our emotional cues and how these cues influence their mood and behaviour.

After watching the video you can sadly picture how damaging a lack of love and stimulation could be for a child. It's a really interesting video. Check it out.

Planning for Postpartum Depression.

image courtesy of Metrolic.

You can't avoid Postpartum Depression. You can't hide from it either. But you can plan for it.

I know that sounds weird. Who plans for depression? No one is counting on mental illness. Well I planned for it, or at least I made arrangements in case it happened.

I suffered from depression on and off for years as a teenager. Then just a few years ago after returning from a trip to Brazil I was bombarded by anxiety and panic attacks. I'd never had a panic attack in my life and I wouldn't have called myself an overly anxious person. It just came out of the blue for no reason. Eventually I started taking medication to keep the anxiety away and although I'm pretty sure I could now do without I've continued taking the drug, just in case. Because of my history I have an increased risk of suffering from Postpartum Depression.

I knew that if I ever got pregnant the drugs I was on would be an issue so a couple of years ago I searched for who I would turn to in case it ever happened. That's when I found The BC Reproductive Mental Health Program. Of course at the time I wasn't in any stage of reproducing so I wasn't a candidate, but I hung onto the number just in case.

Then last February after an unexpected positive symbol slowly appeared on my pregnancy test I called my doctor and asked her to refer me.

The program is run out of BC Women's Hospital. It's an amazing program that provides free services to "women and their families dealing with emotional difficulties related to pregnancy".

I started seeing a councilor right away, she stayed with me throughout my pregnancy and continues to see me now. I think the counselling is available up until one year postpartum but I can't quite remember now. I also have a psychiatrist assigned to me who checks in once in awhile.

Together they helped me decide how to safely proceed with my pregnancy and my medication. For me the best option was to continue to take a significantly reduced dose throughout my pregnancy. I also planned on increasing the dose just after delivery to ensure that I didn't lose my mind with the sudden decrease in hormones.

Having the appointments with the councilors is a great asset to my overall health. During the pregnancy they helped me stay informed on my medication and any risk factors I had and provided therapy session every month. Since Babe was born I still go for counselling every month to talk about any stresses or concerns I have.

I took other steps as well to help keep me sane after Babe was born:

Like many pregnant women I nested like crazy. I knew I would be exhausted with a new baby so not only did I have the house spotless, I also did a giant grocery shop. I stocked up on everything from snacks to toilet paper and I cooked a lot of dinners and froze them. This extra work in the final weeks of pregnancy saved me a lot time after Babe arrived. Time I could use for much needed sleep.

I read many books on Postpartum Depression while I was pregnant so that I would be well informed on risk factors, red flags and treatment options. One book I found particularly helpful was Sleepless Days by Susan Kushner Resnick. The book is a first hand account of the depression Resnick suffered after the birth of her son. My midwife clinic had a library of pregnancy and parenting books so I was well versed on all things pregnancy by the end of mine.

I also made a list of people that I knew I could count on for help if I needed it. I had enough family and friends on the list that I could have counted on having someone visit and help out every day. I think it is important for a mother who is suffering from PPD to have a time of day to look forward to when she knows someone is coming to relieve her. To know that someone is coming to take the baby for a walk or clean the kitchen. I didn't need my list but it was good to have.

After I settled in with Babe I made some other arrangements just in case:

I started getting out for walks every day. As a nanny I could never handle staying indoors with the kids all day. I would get cabin fever on days when it was simply too miserable to venture out. So of course, even though my baby was born at the start of winter I have been out for a walk almost every day. If the weather is miserable I will often walk up to the mall and then just walk laps in there. It's dry and warm and Babe will usually sleep right through it.

Exercise has always been a stress reliever for me. It makes me feel better emotionally and physically. Plus having this extra baby weight is weighing me down emotionally so it is important to me that I work to rid myself of this extra burden. Unfortunately J is so busy with school that he doesn't have the time to watch Babe while I go for a run and Babe is still too fussy to sit in her car seat while I work out in our building's gym. But I did get my parents to come on the weekend so that I could go for a run and I bought myself some new jogging gear to help motivate me. I can also do Pilates at home while Babe plays beside me on the floor and I am hoping I can find a mom and baby yoga class in the neighbourhood before Babe is too mobile for it to work.

It was also important to me that I had people to talk to and socialize with after Babe arrived. I recently started attending Baby Days which is hosted by our local health nurses. Every Thursday Babe and I go to class where we sit and chat with other mom's and babies about issues with motherhood. Each day has a theme like Sleep or Play. Last week we had a guest lecturer talk to us about PPD and then all the moms said what they found the most difficult and what they do that's just for them. It's great to be with other moms who share the same worries or who have different solutions to common parenting problems. It's helpful to know that other moms have bad days too and it's a nice social outing for both babe and me.

And just knowing where to turn before things get out of control is helpful for me. Here are a couple other helpful links:

Motherisk is a support program which is run out of The Hospital For Sick Children (SickKids) in Toronto. It provides counseling and information on medications and illnesses during pregnancy.

Motherisk: www.motherisk.org

And in Vancouver:

The Pacific Post Partum Support Society provides over the phone counseling, support groups and group speakers/presentations in the Lower Mainland.

www.postpartum.org or call: 604-255-7999

I've been really lucky. My pregnancy was pretty easy and although my baby is crying too much and sleeping too little for my taste she is basically happy and healthy. Aside from a few emotional days in the first week and the frustration of the witching hour I have thankfully managed to avoid depression. Maybe I never would have had Postpartum Depression, or maybe planning ahead helped me steer clear of it, hell maybe it'll still pop up, but I'm glad that I recognized that I was at risk and took the steps I did, just in case.