Every Can't

I like to think of myself as a pretty strong person. I’m confident, independent and fearless. Intense, focussed and driven. According to my mother I’m “scary” because I get more done before breakfast than most people do all day. All of this is true when I’m in my element, but if I get pushed outside of my comfort zone I tend to crumble underneath the weight of every ‘can’t’ I hide behind. My world is divided very clearly between what I can and what I ‘can’t’ with the proverbial line-in-the-sand drawn so long ago I don’t ever remember a time I lived without my list of self-imposed limitations... until lately. You may say it’s growing older and more comfortable in my skin, but I’m pretty sure it’s Gaia that’s done it. Being her mother has made me question every ‘can’t’. If I want her to believe that anything is possible, then the very least I can do is lead by example.

For years I exercised half-heartedly, barely breaking a sweat with a half hour on the elliptical as I watched the hardcore runners on the treadmill. I’d look up training programs online before quickly reminding myself “I can’t run”. Still, as my world was falling apart over Christmas in Peru I began running along the boardwalk at the beach every morning. I did it as a way to escape when running in circles for forty-five minutes a day was as close as I could get to running away.

Walk nine minutes, runpantcrydie 1 minute.

When I came home I set my alarm for 6:00am every morning and learned to love the treadmill. These days I typically walk five minutes for every ten I run. One day while I watched Tiger Woods atone for his sins in a press conference booming from the gym TV I ran for the entire twenty-some minutes without even noticing. I’m seriously considering training for a marathon.

Running makes me feel strong, confident, independent and fearless. Running makes me feel brave.

I tried and failed at every attempt to learn the Spanish language in my years in university and beyond. I cried in the advising office and choked out “I can’t learn languages” until they believed the truth I’d created. Still, when Gaia was born I was determined she be bilingual so I enrolled in Spanish 100 at the University of Regina. I went to every class and studied for hours a day. I spoke to Gaia in broken Spanish and read her Spanish stories and conjugated verbs every night before bed.

Yo puedo, tú puedes, él/ella/ud. puede, nostoros(as) podemos, vosotros(as) podeís, ellos/ellas/uds. pueden.

I got an ‘A’ in Spanish 100, spoke the language every chance I got in Peru and enrolled in Spanish 101 when I got back. I aced it too. Last week I received the following letter.

I had officially declared my intention to get a Certificate in Spanish about a month ago.

Mastering Spanish makes me feel strong, confident, independent and fearless. Mastering Spanish makes me feel brave.

I started cooking meals from scratch and looking for freelance writing jobs and lifting weights. I sang out loud in Starfish class and made a monthly budget and applied for jobs that scared me (one of which, I now work at). I started dancing in the kitchen and dancing in the park and dancing at work. When I think of every ‘can’t’ I’ve left in my wake since Gaia was born I feel powerful, which is a very different thing than everyone just telling me I am. Especially when I remember that I did it all on three hours sleep with the very best of me going towards the epic tornado that is my daughter. In essence, sloughing off every ‘can’t’ that’s lurked in the shadows of my past is how she gets the very best of me.

She deserves to have a mother who is strong, confident, independent and fearless. She deserves to have a mother who is brave.

Report Card (Part I)

Have I mentioned how much I love the daycare G goes to? It's amazing. Period. Each day she get's a little "report card" that outlines her day... input (yumyum), output (numéro uno y dos), time outside (including an timeline for sunscreen application), naps (typically of a questionable length) and a comments section that is pretty much the highlight of my mother/stalker life. From now on I plan on sharing the better comments with you. I particularly enjoy today’s.

"After I put one ponytail in Gaia's hair she asked for more, so I put another one in her hair and she asked for more again. I put a third ponytail in her hair and Gaia said more again, but she had no more hair!"

In other news I’m kind of obsessed with the new tea place in the mall. Try the Mojito. Tell ‘em Risa sent you.

Misty Watercolour Memories

Two years ago today JM and I were celebrating our half-birthday in Barcelona. I was clean, I had makeup on and I was drinking beer in the streets. Later that night my girl was conceived. Currently it is 8:00am on Saturday morning and she’s throwing a patented monster tantrum because I won’t let her watch her Baby Einstein World Music DVD. I'm forced to make this decision because a month ago she broke the DVD player. Did I mention I was up no less than eight times last night?

I feel like there’s an ad for birth control in here somewhere.

Art Prodigy (Proof)

I’ve talked before of my daughter as a budding artistic genius here and here. Still, I’ve done so with my tongue planted fairly firmly in cheek. Now that she’s actually started creating art it’s a whole new ballgame.


Take, for example, the following drawing, created by Gaia in Mid-May 2010.

Notice her choice dark, muted colour palette of browns, slate blues and greys? See how her lines vibrate with raw anger in their sharp, staccato placement across the page? Notice how the artist (formerly known as G) has ripped a portion of paper at the right of the page. Was this a way to highlight the artist’s (decidedly negative) take on the state of our broken world or perhaps even confront the viewer with their own mortality?

The day I found this drawing tucked in G’s cubby I was greeted by a baby ball of rage and a daily report reading only “This morning Gaia enjoyed screaming loudly with (her baby BFF) in the aquatic viewing area.” I noticed she also refused to nap, eat or generally be pleasant in any way. This behaviour carried on well through the evening. I wouldn’t hesitate to classify to the day this drawing was conceived as a decidedly bad one.

In contrast take the following drawing, created by Gaia yesterday.

Notice the bright, tonal colour palette of greens, reds, purples and blues? See how her lines flow along the page in rhythmic harmony? See how the artist is attempting to recognise the beauty of nature with the abstract representation to the left of the image? Is it a tree, perhaps a symbol for her own growth or simply a rush of frenetic energy reaching skyward?

Yesterday when I found this drawing tucked in G’s cubby I was greeted by a giggly baby and a daily report that read “Gaia coloured with so much enthusiasm today! She had a crayon in both hands and moved them quickly across the table.” She took two naps, played outside and ate two servings of meatloaf at lunch. Her behaviour was such that kissing her on the forehead as I gathered our things caused her to laugh so loudly it set the other babies off in waves of glee. I’d say it’s clear that the day this drawing was conceived was a decidedly good one.

My point? My daughter is a true artistic genius, in touch with the very deepest corners of her soul with the ability to capture her emotion on her chosen canvas (scrap paper – ever the environmentalist) that I have no doubt the world will take notice.

I told you so.

Blame it on the Rain

“Some people feel the rain. Others just get wet.” – Bob Dylan

Gaia’s been sick the last few days. An invisible ear infection that in turn caused a bit lip to fester into some weird, swollen, oozing sore that made my baby girl smell like an old man whose finally given up on hygiene. Meanwhile I somehow managed to log thirty working hours in three days while still taking a whole day “off” to stay home with my little geriatric. Hmmm. Anyway. Antibiotics, a good night’s sleep and a sunny walk to daycare this morning and we’re (almost) good as new.

But the sunny walk to daycare? By the time I left work I was faced with no less than a torrential downpour with the occasional sharp burn of pelting hail and wrath of thunder and lightning. Regina, like everywhere in the world it seems, is a little confused. I’d like to take a moment to point out, should Mother Nature read this blog that it is, in fact, SUMMER. But I digress. My point is not to complain. I feel like everyone else in this waterlogged town has got the complaining thing covered. Plus, it’s not my style.

So I braved the fifteen minute walk to my car with only a brief desire for the umbrella tucked safely in its backseat. By the time I got over the initial shock of going from dry to soaking wet in under a minute I realised there’s something beautiful about the rain. The way it smells (cliché, I know) and how it washes the city clean, blurring the steel and glass and making it shimmer like a Matisse painting, all brushstrokes. The way the dark clouds look ominous and lush all at once, a study in contradiction. Strolling stoically past the masses huddled under awnings with my dripping face turned up to the sky I enjoyed the rain like I had as a child (standing in wet pyjamas, barefoot with my brother on the grass in our yard, watching as my father checked the rain gauge). I even justified jumping in a puddle when I realised I couldn’t get any wetter. When was the last time you jumped in a puddle? I highly recommend it.

Small rivers dripped in my wake as I let myself indoors to pick Gaia up from daycare. She laughed when she saw me and stuck out her tongue to catch the beads of rain that dripped from my hair. I didn’t bother with her jacket, just held her close as we ran out the door, past the growing crowd attempting to wait-it-out at the entrance. The minute she felt the rain on her face she looked and me and smiled, then held her hands up to the sky to catch it and screamed with joy. We let the car’s seats be our towels and sang along with the raindrops on the windows. She clapped every time we drove through the puddles that splashed up in waves on her window.

How can you stop yourself from loving the rain? Besides, it’s only water.

169 Days

It’s been one hundred and sixty nine days since I posted about my inner dialogue and the vacation it took without me. Since then a lot has happened.

In brief: Jose Miguel and I separated. Mi familia y yo had an amazing/awkward/perfect/painful last week as a family in Perú. Two-thirds of mi familia flew back to Canada. One-third of mi familia screamed for over an hour on a flight from Winnipeg to Regina. A gorilla, a robot, some long-lost members of Jem and the Holograms and my Dad met us at the airport. Saskatchewan, as always, proved cold and somehow comforting. I made some bad choices, obsessed a little and lost twenty-five pounds from the stress of it all. I’ve never looked better. I started Spanish 101 and found myself in a level of hell only verb conjugation can create. I started reading and writing en español at a level I never thought I’d reach. I felt proud of myself. Jose Miguel was approved as a Permanent Resident of Canada after well over a year of waiting. We were told our paperwork was some of the quickest of anyone in our situation. I still want to burn Immigration Canada to the ground. Jose Miguel moved to Canada. Turns out the full three-thirds of mi familia in one house is amazing. We vaguely looked into filing for divorce but then something came up. Gaia learned to walk after an intense session with her personal Phys Ed teacher while Canada was winning an insane amount of gold medals in the Olympics. I finally went to Salsa night. I didn’t dance. I bought a car. I actually won’t own it for four years. Semantics. I tried snowboarding for the first time and I was amazing, even if I couldn’t move for almost a week after. I applied for a job, got offered a job and turned a job down. I’m glad I changed my mind. I love my job. Jose Miguel stayed home with Gaia full-time for almost a month. He’s an amazing father and still the most handsome man I’ve seen up close. The fact that we’re horrible at being married remains. I started running every morning at 6:00am. It made me feel strong and powerful and brave. We celebrated Gaia’s first birthday with a big party and a cake only my Dad could create. Jose Miguel took one last contract on ships. He left. Gaia got a spot at a home daycare. Gaia got kicked out of a home daycare. Gaia got a spot at an amazing, reputable, government subsidised daycare. I was reminded that everything happens for a reason. Gaia and I went to Vancouver for a visit. She made a lifelong friend in a big black dog, had her first experience with finger paint and was the star at her second first birthday party. She did this while wearing an excessively large tutu. I got to catch up, tell my story and celebrate the thirtieth birthday of one of the most amazing people I know. I felt like I could breathe again. We went home. I started a passionate love affair with coffee. Gaia started a passionate love affair with making friends. We are all very happy. I bought an iPhone. I took a week off Facebook. My Dad started cooking family dinner on Sunday nights. I got to dress like a grownup every day. It’s been said, by my boss, that I could take over the world all while wearing six-inch heels. She’s a smart lady. Gaia was exposed to every germ in existence. One day I caught her licking the floor at daycare. She was sick a lot. She stopped sleeping through the night. I talked to Jose Miguel on the phone almost every day. Who would have thought? I got my hopes up for spring and then it started snowing again. I questioned my decision to live in Regina. I started dating, realised I was bad at it and quit. I cut over ten inches of hair off my head. I was relatively unmoved but I’m pretty sure my stylist cried after I left. I had a picnic with my Mom. Gaia enjoyed her first ice cream cone... and her second... and her third. The sun came out and we got a big plastic pool shaped like a shark. Again, I got my hopes up. It was grey and rainy for a month. I cleaned my bathroom. Gaia proved she is a budding genius through a series of events I relayed to anyone who would listen. She started running everywhere. I finally sorted through all my old boxes, found I’d saved every piece of paper from university and threw it out. Now I have a whole extra room in my house. I’m planning on setting up a studio space for me and my girl. Gaia still doesn’t speak save for “Mama”, “Dad-Dad” (what she calls her Grandad) and “Uh-Oh” but she is the best non-verbal communicator I’ve ever met. She now knows the signs for “please”, “more” and “all done” thanks to the wonderful women at daycare. She has a genuine best friend who makes her laugh like no one else. They have perfected the best friend high-five. She climbs up the stairs, up the couch and up the walls. I’ve taken to telling strangers she is NUTBALLS when they look at her picture in my iPhone. She is. I drank many glasses of red wine and got drunk for the first time in a long time. I went to a lot of BBQs, playdates, dinners and a gala. I had my picture taken by Regina paparazzi one night with my boss. Apparently I’m Regina famous (or rather, employed by someone who is). A good friend came to town. We ate the best burger I’ve ever tasted, hosted a BBQ, drank a lot of Big Rock Lime Beer and bought fifteen dollars worth of jellybeans. I redesigned the blog one night while I watched Whip It. Jose Miguel and I made some decisions. We're still not divorced. This weekend the sun started shining. I got a tan while logging working hours and danced on the grass with Gaia when I was finished. Last night I took her to the park. She slid down the slide on her own for the first time. She perfected the art with at least eighty more solo slides before I could get her back home. As a result I think I developed an arm muscle I didn't know existed. This morning I felt like writing.

I make no promises, but... I'm back. Did you miss me?

Pretty Little Girl

Almost every night before going to sleep I lie in my bed and cuddle up next to my iPhone to Facebook creep*. It’s a bad habit and one clearly not conducive to slumber but so it is. Last night the last thing I saw before calling it a night was the following video, posted by an old friend from university.

When Gaia was a wee one, about 3 months old, a mama-friend and I discussed the ramifications of constantly praising our “pretty” babies. We discussed gender politics. We discussed theories in education. We discussed our own hopes and fears. I confessed I found myself hastily adding “and smart” to the tail end of every “you’re pretty” even in the days when Gaia could barely hold her head up. I later found I did this even more in the days when she was making choices like eating out of the garbage can and running head first into the walls. My mama-friend confessed to throwing in a “and hard working” lest her babe be giving the impression smarts alone were enough. God forbid our infants rest on their laurels.

Two baby girls lounging lazily on the floor – “You’re pretty... and smart... and hard working.” Their twinkly baby gazes gave little indication that the message was getting through.

Since Gaia was born there’s a whole portion of my brain that’s dedicated to raising a teenager. I fear it in a way I never expected and one that at times consumes me. Somehow I grew up with a healthy dose of self esteem. I’d always been a “pretty little girl” all big eyes and dark lashes. My big teeth turned into a perfect smile without the rite-of-passage that is braces. I hit puberty hard, and early, but even that only slowed me for a second when in the back of a car while I pretended to sleep my parents talked about the relief they felt that their “pretty little girl” had a new layer of fat to protect her from dangers I didn’t fully understand in grade five.

“Thank God she’s a little bit chubby because with that face we might have been in for trouble.” I stored it away in a place I don’t often visit.

I’ve always dressed and acted how I wanted. Always got what I wanted, in school, at work, in life, with men. When I look in the mirror I see so much more then my reflection. How could I waste time on my muffin top when it's so hard to see among what I’ve accomplished and what more I have to conquer? The real question then, is how did that happen? I am the minority among my friends who use their reflection as an excuse to forgo the life they long for, who poke and pinch and prod and one who did such damage to her body with years of grasping at straws to keep those bones that jutted from her hips that she struggles, nearly ten years after recovery, with the most basic of bodily functions. Nagging me constantly is the story that has burrowed into my brain about one friend who refused to have her picture taken for years because she couldn’t stand her own visage. She wasn’t even ten years old. Growing up my house was filled with fad diets and low-fat recipe books and Weight Watchers magnets and still, I have never defined myself on being “pretty”. When a car accident in 2004 left half my face scarred and broken after countless stitches that closed the gaping hole in my forehead and ran down my cheek I used the settlement money to pay debt and buy a laptop. The thought of plastic surgery receded with the reality of what the money could do. The scars, which are so faded already they’re almost invisible remind me pretty isn’t everything and that life doesn’t stop when pretty is compromised. I love them. I don’t want Gaia to define herself on being “pretty” and still I watch her play and can’t stop myself from scooping her up and whispering in her ear that I know... I KNOW... she is the most beautiful little girl I have ever seen.

One little girl laughing at the playground – “You’re SO BEAUTIFUL. No one. NO ONE is as beautiful as you.” She smiles and hands me a fistful of sand.

Of course what I really mean is that no one has her personality or the way she twists her face into a myriad of expressions that make her a little baby pantomime. The way she stubbornly problem solves, refuses help, runs ahead to assert her independence only to cautiously wait for me to catch up and tickle her round Buddha belly. When I say she’s beautiful I mean that the very inside of her emits such a stunning light that sometimes I am blinded in wonder of her... all of her. That she is the very best parts of me and her father and that every time I see her she helps me remember everything that’s good in the world. That the parts of her that are hers alone and that shock me every day with how much of her own person she already is are the most amazing parts of the most amazing human being I have ever met. And yet, I praise her with words like “pretty” and think she’ll catch the subtext.

I’m nowhere closer to knowing how to raise her to be who I hope she’ll be. She’s my “pretty little girl” all big eyes and dark lashes. My “pretty little girl” with wild hair and a dirty face with runny nose and sticky hands and skinned, chubby knees. Pretty isn’t a disease, but pretty isn’t everything.

---

* For those of you not familiar with this terminology please see here. I feel I’ve raised it to an art form.

Feliz Año

When I was in high school I wanted to be a writer. To travel the world and drink wine in the wee hours and spend weeks with lovers who I didn’t understand all while wearing really expensive shoes. I wanted to weave stories about life and love and adventure that I’d seen with my own eyes. Some throw away words from a teacher about how often I became “wordy and a tad self-indulgent” gave me doubts. When I went to university, fully enrolled in the Creative Writing program, the thought of sitting through classes where my peers critiqued the words I’d poured over turned my doubts into fears. I quit. I focussed on someone else’s art. Years and years of someone else’s passion. I poured over it and let it fill me up. Still, with every step I take a story weaves itself in my head until my thoughts are full with a rich inner-dialogue from a narrator to the story of my life who sounds just like me. Last year I jumped fast on the overflowing Mommy-blogger bandwagon. It was an excuse to write, a way to feel less alone and a place to find the overwhelming peace that has always come with telling my story. I thank you all for listening. I hope that soon I can find something worth your attention again. It’s been too long since I’ve had a story worth telling. I pride myself on my love affair the silver linings of life and for the past few months those silver linings have receded so far my narrator got lost in the clouds. My inner voice went on a vacation with happiness, passion, self-respect, dignity. I could go on forever. They must have chartered a jet. Rented a whole hotel in Vegas. Like no other this year has been full of the most epic highs and the most devastating lows I hope to ever encounter. There is a story here I’m sure, but not one I’m willing to tell and certainly not the one I thought I’d be writing. The moral to this untold story? Today, for the first time in months I saw the silver lining and the briefest glimpse of my narrator through the clouds. I hope her travelling companions aren’t far behind.


Tomorrow would have been my first wedding anniversary. Instead I’m choosing to let it mark the beginning of my new life. My new year. My new chance. To promise myself to search around every corner for the pieces of myself that went missing until I feel whole again. To stare at the sun and play in the ocean and buy myself a pair of really expensive shoes. To make myself good again. To be myself again. The truth is, if it were just about me I could wallow in the darkness indefinitely, but this year has brought me the biggest reason to always find a silver lining. She’s been the best silver lining I’ve found.

The icon of my fresh start. Wonder. Adventure. Beauty. Gaia.

Giving Thanks

Music Credit: Thank You by Led Zeppelin

The Half Birthday of (Big) Baby G

Gaia is six months old today. Well, as my mother pointed out, technically she's six months old today at 9:30pm. Still. I made her this video (and yes it's for her... I have dreams of her watching it when she's away at university while she weeps over how much she misses me). Six months may seem like nothing to you but wow... it's been a lifetime... Gaia's lifetime. The video is as long as a primetime sitcom with commercials and it's my first ever attempt so there's one point near the end when the music just stops for about fifteen seconds. Sorry. I don't expect too many people to watch but that's okay. I didn't make it for you anyway. I guess what I'm trying to say is this...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY G!


Music Credits: Lullabye by The Dixie Chicks/Hold You In My Arms by Ray LaMontagne/Upside Down by Jack Johnson/My Girl by The Temptations/Brown Eyed Girl by Van Morrison/Better Together by Jack Johnson/(Big Girl) You Are Beautiful by Mika

It Takes a Village

Yesterday afternoon I got a package. A gigantic, excessively weighty cardboard book filled with books. Thirty-one individually wrapped Spanish children’s books to be exact. That’s a little over two new books per week until Gaia and I temporarily relocate to Perú in December.* The name in the return address? Friend extraordinaire and G’s Fairy Godmother Jaydeen. Of course.

No matter what life throws me and how down I get I can always count on one thing. I have amazing friends. Like we-should-be-on-Oprah-sobbing-about-their-greatness-while-a-video-montage-of-our-friendship-plays-in-the-background kind of amazing friends. The thing about the books isn’t just the generous gift (although I do love presents). Jaydeen took the time to find thirty-one Spanish children’s books. She showed support in our quest to raise Gaia in a bilingual home. Then she took the time to wrap each book individually and leave instructions to open them slowly over the course of four months. It’s a gift that keeps giving not just to Gaia but to me as I wake up each morning painfully aware of how far away December is (97 days, 20 hours, 9 minutes and 44 seconds until we board the plane in Regina). It’s also a show of support for my own Spanish education which began formally last night.**

And it’s not just Jaydeen who deserves the friend of the year award. There’s Katy who ordered a gigantic package of mindless entertainment to be shipped to me in my first barfy, unemployed months of pregnancy. Katy who took almost a month off work to cook for me and clean my house and hold a newborn G at 4:00am so I could get some sleep. There’s Robin who drops everything when G and I are in Vancouver to make sure we have what we need – his house, his car, his time, you name it. There’s Rachel’s who had an extensive baby starter kit filled with enough clothing to outfit G well into toddlerhood and all of her favourite books delivered to my house while I was in Perú for Christmas. Rachel who calls me weekly and listens to me gush about G. Who gets up at 3:00am to produce a morning radio show and still spent her afternoons with us in Vancouver, playing on the swings and drinking coffee and gossiping about nothing important at all. There’s King who visited me when I was pregnant and made me start preparing and looked at the stroller and car seat combo in Babies-R-Us and said “let me, let us, we can afford it”. There’s Oz who pores over Gaia’s photos and comments and makes us feel like the most special pair in the entire world. Then there’s their parents, a never-ending network of pseudo grandparents who send gifts and give advice and cuddle G while they tell me stories of their children that make me see the world a little differently. The fact that one day I will have an adult child seems so surreal but they remind me, without saying it, that Gaia will grow and eventually, hopefully, I’ll sit on the floor with my grandchildren (related and otherwise) and ahhh... the circle of life. Right.

If you think I couldn’t possibly be luckier, just wait! I haven’t even mentioned the new friends I’ve made in Regina and the old friends I’ve re-connected with. People who make sure (consciously I suspect) that I don’t go too crazy alone in the house with G all day. Who call with invites for walks and play-dates and barbeques and dinners and gallery openings and coffee. A mommy-friend who accepts my phone calls and councils me on solid foods and toxic toys and sleep (or lack thereof). A childhood friend-of-the-family (more like a sister really) who reminds me not to lose myself in the task of being a wife and raising a child. They are my new community and I’m in awe of how they’re building themselves up around me, helping to hold me up.

I’ve always believed that friends are like the family you choose for yourself. The people you surround yourself with to fill the voids of care and support that might need filling. That’s not to say my family isn’t wonderful, but it takes a village to raise a child and Gaia is lucky to have such an extensive network of “aunts” and “uncles” who love us, not because they have to, but because they choose too. And, not to be too self-congratulatory, but I have to believe it wasn’t just luck that brought all this amazingness into our life. Gaia is also very privileged to have a mama with such impeccable taste in people.

So thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyou. Big love to you all.

And back to the exciting package that got me all appreciative in the first place. This morning we opened our first two books, one fittingly titled Very First Words in Spanish (Mis Primeras Palabras en Español) and another called Cinco Pequñas Mariquitas which I translated (on my own thankyouverymuch) to Five Little Ladybugs. Clearly Gaia loves them.

* Oh did I mention we’re moving to Perú? More on that later.

** I didn't mention I’m going back to school? No? Sorry. I’m a horrible blogger.

Gaia 1, Shadow 0

If you frequent my blog you’re well aware that the Jolly Jumper is pretty much Gaia’s favourite thing of all time. Tonight she was bouncing when suddenly she became irate. Her little eyebrows knotted into her patented death stare and she began to shout what can only be described as the baby talk version of obscene four-letter words, her little fist shaking above her purple face. After a few seconds I noticed her gaze was fixed steadily on what appeared to be a random spot on the floor. Confused I called in my father for reinforcements. It was he who noticed it was Gaia’s bouncing shadow that was causing all the fuss. Trust me, I thought he was crazy too until he turned off the light casting the shadow and Gaia promptly stopped her tirade and gave me a look like “don’t worry, he won’t be bothering us again” before returning to giggly jumping for joy.

Of course when she went to bed I googled* baby + shadow and found these:



I have to admit I am currently swelling with pride that my daughter isn’t some sissy afraid of her shadow. Nope. My daughter showed that shadow who’s boss.

* Frankly I could write new blog every day that consisted only of the things I Google and the answers I get. It’s both sad and ridiculously entertaining.

Like a Weed (You Know, One of Those Really Pretty Ones)

In honour of my (big) baby girl's 5 MONTH BIRTHDAY:

G in her birthday suit!

For those of you interested in those sorts of things Gaia weighs 17 pounds, 14 ounces as of this morning at 8:54am. That makes her an even 11 pounds larger then this very day 5 months ago. I would make a joke about gaining 11 pounds in 5 months but I've been there... I like to call that my first year of university (ahem*40poundsin8months*ahem). Anyway. I'm not the best at measuring a squirmy worm baby but I believe she's about 26.5 inches tall. I eyeballed her head and can confirm it is still gigantic.

Dear Gaia,

I’m sorry to have to write you this letter. If I was a bigger person I could say this to your face but frankly I’ve never been great at confronting the people I love and I always find a passive aggressive letter or (in these days of modern technology) a strongly worded email is just the ticket. See, if I tried to talk to you one-on-one you’d inevitably be adorable and flash me your toothless smile and I’d forget all about what I had to say and cover you in kisses and no, I refuse to be distracted this time. I am a woman on a mission. So here it goes. Gaia. G-Bear. My little Gaia-Roo. You. Are. Driving. Me. Crazy.

There. I said it. See, I’ve done my best to be patient and ride the rollercoaster that is our life together, but here’s the thing, I need a little consistency. Please. I beg of you. Joy is what I felt the first night I let you “cry-it-out”. Joy tinged with sweet relief. You had me going for a week or so but perhaps you heard me bragging about you on the phone last night and thought you better knock me down a peg or two. Clearly waking up every two hours at almost five-months old is inappropriate. I don’t need to tell you that. You and I both know you can do better. Now, I’ll try and accept that maybe you were having a rough night. I’ve been there. Was it the two little teeth just begging to pop though your lower gums? Your body’s insistence on continuing to grow? Was it something new and exciting that neither of us knows how to deal with yet? The possibilities are endless. I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt and happily and promptly got up at the sound of your cries. But here’s where things really started to get me down. Was it totally necessary, when I finally gave in and put you in my bed at 5:00am to a) continue to refuse to sleep and b) pry my unprotected mouth open so you could projectile vomit into it while I tried to catch some sneaky Zs? I mean COME ON. Now I’m sure you’re well aware that your delightful baby vomit tastes shockingly like battery acid (and before you get distracted with semantics yes, I DO know what battery acid tastes like having been convinced once by a babysitter to taste the coppery stain on my dresser... which reminds me... if I ever leave you with a high school kid who lives down the road don’t trust her, she’s just in it for the money), but beyond the horrible taste it is just disgusting to vomit into someone else’s mouth. I know I’ve taught you better than that. And as for your behaviour so far today, well, I know you’re tired but I’m tired too and frankly, I’m not the one who waged a war on sleep last night. I’m just sayin’.

My point, if I can make one here, is that I’m doing the best I can. I’m all alone here kid and my whole world revolves around you. If you could just spend a minute in my head you’d see I’m your official stalker, so consumed with you I have trouble thinking about anything else. My days consist of funny faces and tickles and bottles and wiping your poopy bum and cuddles and baby board books and developmental games and lullabies and, well, I could go on forever. Clearly I’m in love. When you break out your baby laugh and you’re in a good mood you’re friggin' gorgeous. Like seriously, seriously cute. More importantly, I’m pretty sure you’re a genius to a Stephen Hawking degree (what with being able to roll over and hold your own bottle). So please, don’t ever doubt my love for you. Here with you is exactly where I want to be. I’ve got a lot of years of steady inclines and shocking drops and loop after nauseating loop in me yet but seriously Nugget, throw me a bone. If you could just talk to the picketers campaigning to abolish naps and get your evening slumber down to a solid routine and do your best to keep your extensive bodily fluids to yourself I’d really appreciate it. And if not, well I guess I’ll deal with it. You’re worth it.

Big Love, Your Mama

Sushi and Iconic Tees Please

I just felt the need to declare my love for the new book G's Fairy Godmother (AKA: Jaydeen) sent us from her trip to NYC.

Miso in my sippy cup,

tofu in my bowl.

Crab and Avocado fill my California Roll.

We've read it at least once a day since it arrived. Add to that the stylin' I ♥ NY onesie and G is officially the raddest littlest hipster ever. There are definite advantages to having a globe-trotting Godmama, which is not to say we wouldn't really love it if she moved back home too (hint, hint).

Cry-It-Out (To Clarify)

It felt irresponsible not to mention that “cry-it-out” isn’t actually plopping your infant in her crib and letting her cry herself hoarse regardless of her needs because, you know, you’ve got shit to do. It's an established sleep training method a la Ferber and the like. Gaia’s had a solid bedtime (within a thirty minute time period) for well over a month. She also makes very clear signs when she’s sleepy such as tugging on her ears and rubbing her eyes. When she shows signs of getting sleepy in the evening we have a solid bedtime routine (bath-massage-book-feeding). With “cry-it-out” that all stays the same I just let Gaia soothe herself to sleep instead of me bouncing/rocking her when it’s all over. Ideally I was planning to go into her room to comfort her every twenty minutes but so far I haven’t had the opportunity (which is a good thing).

For those of you eager for an update, she put herself down for two naps today (her third was in my arms) and is currently asleep in bed without a single wail. I know this could all go sour any minute as babies have a talent for flipping the switch when you’re feeling nice and secure with their routine, but for now G is all about sleep... ahhhhh... glorious sleep.

Cry-It-Out

You may have noticed a distinct lack of posts since I’ve been back in Regina. To blame is the fact that the last three weeks have been filled with tears, nervous breakdowns and only the very occasional glimpse of a light at the end of the tunnel. I mean really, who wants to hear about me curled up in a ball on my bathroom floor weeping because my daughter won’t go to sleep and has gone back in time to be a four-month-old newborn? Anyway, it all came to a head last night when, after trying to get Gaia to sleep for over two hours, I finally succumbed to the lure of “cry-it-out”. I cuddled her until she was calm but awake and then put her in her bed, tucked a blanket around her, told her I loved her and left the room. After a mere fifteen minutes of crying she was fast asleep. It was 10:15pm. The rest of our night looked like this:

10:15pm-11:00pm – Sleep
11:00pm-11:07pm – Eat
11:08pm-11:13pm – Cry
11:13pm-4:56am – Sleep
4:57am-5:05am – Eat
5:06am-5:09am – Mildly Protest
5:10am-8:24am – Sleep
8:25am – Wake-Up Laughing – Eat Breakfast

Did I mention I’m in love with “cry-it-out”? What’s even better is when I got Gaia out of bed this morning I swear she looked proud of herself. The look was all “Geez Mama, this is so much better than you bouncing me while you weep! Clearly I am the Queen of Sleep and now that you've finally let me deal with my shit I am prepared to take over the world.” That being said, there is no way I would have been ready for this before this week. Like a junkie I needed to hit rock bottom before I could let all the attachment parenting stuff go and try a more moderate approach. In fact, I probably would have never considered it if not for my Mommy-friend who struggled for months with her daughter’s sleep habits and has written about it here. She is my personal pioneer in the field of "cry-it-out". She also wrote a post about the notion that letting your child ”cry-it-out” is about teaching them “who’s boss”. I get the impression she finds that as ludacris as I do. In our house one thing is for sure, Gaia is the boss. I’m just the head of continuing education.

Happiness...

... thy name is Jolly Jumper.

Pop Quiz

It’ll be two weeks tomorrow since Gaia and I have been home from Vancouver. In the last two weeks which of the following things have happened?

a) Gaia moved into her own bedroom marking our first night apart. I left both our doors open and slept with my head at the foot of my bed so I could see into her room lest she panic. She didn’t. In contrast I’m not sure I slept a wink.

b) I took Gaia in to get her four-month immunizations. After seeing how wiggly and active my child is the nurse proclaimed “Well it’s a good thing you’re married because I sure can’t imagine taking care of this little one on my own!” Ahem. Perhaps I should have asked if she’d call the embassy in Lima on my behalf.

c) I checked the Immigration Canada website (as I do every Tuesday) for any updates on our case. Not only were there no updates (nor have there been for three months) but the estimated wait time for Peruvian cases has jumped from five to eight months to nine to fifteen. Whoopie!

d) Gaia went from sleeping a successive nine to twelve hours through the night to waking up every hour, on the hour for ten days straight. She also began a campaign to abolish naps and more than thirty seconds of independent play.

e) One sunny morning in a winding Tim Hortons drive-thru line up I finally learned what a “double-double” is. The teenager in the window looked at me like I was crazy as he explained then (judgementally I feel) asked me where I was from.

f) I started a quest to fold one hundred paper cranes to hang from the ceiling in Gaia’s new room. Over fifty cranes in and it started to seem more than a little foolish. The box of cranes in the corner taunts me and guilts me into making ‘just one more’. I should be done by the end of the week.

g) During a particularly hellish night Gaia peed on my bed while getting her diaper changed at 5:00am. Too tired to change the sheets I simply piled towels on the puddle until the urine stopped soaking through and the two of us slept on said towels for the remainder of the morning. For six successive nights I simply added another towel or blanket to the pile to mask the smell of pee and continued sleeping on the soiled sheets. I am disgusting.

h) I joined a gym which (thankthelord) has a daycare. Friday marked the first time I have ever left Gaia in the care of a stranger. After a quick hour of cardio I went to pick her up and found her smiley and nuzzling up against one of the staff who proclaimed “I just love your baby... she’s so sweet and cuddly!” The shock on my face was hard to deny as I coldly responded “Well... that’s lovely for you.” (PS. Have I mentioned my daughter still won’t cuddle with me?)

i) I officially decided that caring for a four-month old is more difficult than caring for a newborn. The honeymoon is over people.

j) All of the above.

Perhaps it goes without saying that the correct answer is j). On the bright side things are looking up. I had a wonderful day visiting with friends at a beautiful farm where Gaia got to catch up with her BFF and meet chickens and horses and sheep and, oddly enough, a llama. When we got home she was in such a great mood she rewarded my weeks of endless patience with her first real giggle. Until now her laugh consisted of a high pitched, open-mouth scream. Tonight she laughed like a big-girl without pause for almost five minutes straight as I pretended to eat her legs. At least somebody thinks I’m funny.

Crisis Averted

Katy (one of my BFFs* who I've written about here) just sent me the following from her BlackBerry:

"Quick, tell people you know where Gaia is or we may have a crisis on our hands!"

This is why I love my friends.

* I used to call my besties BFFs in a way that was sort of tongue-in-cheek but now that Paris Hilton has a monopoly on the name for her never ending serious of reality shows I hate myself a little everytime I use it. ARG.