Finally caught on film!

Dear Isaac,

I am shamelessly copying so many better bloggers that have gone before me down the path of motherhood by writing you an online letter, but I can’t think of a better way to share what life has been like with you so far. So here we go.

It seems like the past two months have simultaneously flown by, and like it’s been this way forever.

You are fascinating. Watching you figure out the world around you and take it all in is stunning. Especially so in the past couple weeks, as you’ve transformed from being a benign (and adorable!) lump to becoming much more interactive and having quite a personality. You have opinions, not about anything critical (mostly whether you’d rather bounce or swing your way into a nap, or whether to eat quickly or slowly), but still, I am constantly amazed that you are really a real, tiny human.

So considering there are now three of us working together at this crazy thing called life, it’s nice to feel like we’ve all really started to gel as a family as days are settling into something resembling a routine.

You wake up in the mornings any time between 5 and 6 am, and Dad grabs you and brings you into our room for your breakfast, then starts the coffee. The three of us hang out for an hour or so before he heads off to work. Then you and I get up for your second breakfast. You eat like a Hobbit!, next up is elevensies.

Between second breakfast and elevensies you usually take a nap, which I am extremely grateful for. This is when I get to shower, and deal with one or two of the small mountains of laundry you create.

Speaking of the laundry, let’s talk more about that for a moment. The volume of spit-up you generate is becoming discourteous. I worked hard to provide you with that meal. And if you’re not going to keep it in, at least don’t add insult to injury and demand more after ejecting most of your meal. The well is dry kid, better luck next time.

Aside from that, though, you really are pretty chill, and once you’ve eaten (again) it’s usually time for adventure! This is when we head out into the world for a walk, a workout or to visit with friends. You’re comfortable almost anywhere and happy to be passed around and cuddled by anyone who’ll have you. You charm everyone with your little rosebud lips and big, blue eyes.

In fact, one could go so far as to say you’re really, really, ridiculously goodlooking. Because of this, your early reluctance to turn to the left as well as the right, and your recent experience as a model for a local baby clothing company, your Auntie Ki has dubbed you “Zoo.” I’m sure you will develop a taste for orange-mocha frappucinos and grow up to do great things for kids who can’t read good, though I hope your friends are spared the fate of perishing in a tragic gasoline fight accident.

But back to the present – I do wish you’d succumb to a nap when the afternoon sleepiness hits that gives you big yawns, heavy eyelids and a fierce temper, but we soldier on until your dad gets home, when you bust out the biggest smiles of the day! That’s right, you’ve also started to give us big, open-mouthed, big-eyed grins. I’ve tried to catch them with the camera, but so far you’re just too quick!

With the lack of afternoon nap you do get a bit frantic as the evening wears on, and a walk in the Ergo with Dad and the dog is usually enough to calm you down and get you ready for bed.

This is probably very odd for a new parent to say, but I think you are my favourite in the middle of the night. You wake up a couple of times to eat, and you are all business. Your Dad goes to fetch you from your room, and though you’ve been fussing, you quiet down as soon as he walks in. Your eyes are so wide, and you are so still as you endure the routine of a diaper change and head in to the bedroom to eat, which you tackle with the focus and seriousness of an olympic sharpshooter. Then, as soon as you’re done, you pop your head back, throw your arm over your eyes in dramatic fashion, and drift back to sleep.

Before I know it, morning comes and we do it all over again.

I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about being a Mom, but even though it’s only been two short months, it seems pretty great so far. That could be the delusion brought on by a lack of sleep, but whatever it is, I’ll take it. I hope I keep finding little things to enjoy about you when you’re being a terrible two-year old or surly teenager.

But even then, it’s pretty clear that you’ll always be my little Monkey Toes, Captain Pouty-Face, Tiny Baby.

Much Love,
Mama

Even though Pregnant Women are Smug, Neil and I have both tried really hard not to be “smug parents” or let parenthood entirely consume or change us too much.

This has actually been pretty easy so far, especially these first 6 weeks while Isaac is highly portable and able to nap easily in his carseat, stroller, carrier or sling. We’re also very lucky to have a pretty easygoing baby. Not to say he doesn’t have his moments (or entire days), but more often than not, he’s a pretty chill, happy little guy.

So far, parenting (or, more accurately, the care and feeding of an infant) for us is Not Hard.

But one thing falls into the realm of “things parents can totally be smug about” in that “you can’t know until you’ve experienced it” way:

The Tired.

The total exhaustion that comes from not having slept more than 5 hours at one stretch (and usually more like 3 or 4) for so many weeks is physically draining in a way that’s hard to comprehend by anyone who hasn’t been there, done that.

I also grossly underestimated the energy drain that comes along with putting one’s abdominal cavity back together from the inside-out, and continuing to be the sole food-source for a now external little parasite. I suppose it makes sense that rearranging the contents of my torso and managing the conversion of nutrients into consumable and digestible milk, instead of mainlining nutrition through the umbilical cord are calorically intensive, but really, I had no idea. Honestly, it still doesn’t make sense that what feels like even sitting around doing nothing is so draining.

Not to say all I do when not feeding or changing Isaac is sit around, far from it. We visit and walk, run errands and do yoga and baby storytime. I love getting out of the house (especially now that the sun is coming out). I’m just now used to doing everything in a bit of a fog.

Neil isn’t immune either. His sleep is just as impacted, more actually, since he takes over the baby-wrangling in the late evenings and early mornings when I try to bookend the night with a couple extra hours of sleep. On top of that, he goes to work each day and actually has to *think* and be productive.

So yes. The sleep thing? I apologize to any parent I have said or thought were exaggerating. Because holy cats, it’s real.

At least so far any worries I had about feeling bored or under-stimulated are unfounded. Because honestly? Right now, thanks to that fog, I’m just too tired to care.

It’s hard to believe time’s gone by so quickly, but little Isaac is one month old today!

Everyone says “they grow up so fast” but it’s really true. He’s already so different from the baby he started out as. And speaking of the baby he started as, I’ve finally managed to write down his birth story.

It’ll live on this website at some point, but it’s so long (and not everyone’s cup of tea) that I put it on a separate page.

Isaac’s Birth Story

And now I must run again, since Captain Pouty-Face (who is a champ at hulking up these days) is demanding his frillionth meal of the day.

Feed Me Seymour!

So Good.

The only problem so far (for the blogging anyhow) is that between rounds of baby-wrangling I have time to either have thoughts, OR record them, but very rarely both.

There are pictures though!

And lots more on Flickr. Thank Neil, he’s been doing most of the uploading.

Enjoy them, and hopefully I’ll become more coherent and the kid will give me more time to express that sooner rather than later.

A week ago today I was starting off what was supposed to be my last week of work. I had just hit Inbox Zero, and was down to one last big thing on my to-do list for the week. Other than that, I figured I’d pitch in with whatever small tasks I could, get in some quality office-socializing and the last of the knowledge transfer, and (if we’re being totally honest) sneak out early a couple of days.

A week ago today I was thinking about the glorious 2 weeks of puttering and preparing I’d have to get ready for the baby’s arrival. Finish putting up the new headboard we upholstered the weekend before, wash and put away all the baby clothes (currently in bags and boxes in the crib) we’d accrued, finish the last bit of shopping for things like crib sheets and wall-decor. Bake a bunch of bread and treats for the freezer. Wash the windows. Grab lunch with a few friends. Finally put the car seat in the car. Nap.

A week ago today, we had our home visit with our birth doula, who was officially on-call for our birth now that I’d just passed 37 weeks, or what is known in the medical world as “full-term” even though most first babies don’t show up until 41 weeks, 1 day. We went over our birth preferences draft, talked about all the little things I was going to do over the next couple weeks to prepare, and when to call her once things finally got started.

A week ago today we were most of the way through an episode of House when I got up to pee, did that, was about to get off the toilet when there was a distinct *pop* in my belly, and a whole lot of not-pee gushed out.

I’ll document a full account of Isaac’s birth story later, but labour was incredibly fast – like the compressed for TV versions that don’t actually happen to people in real life – and the kid made his grand debut at 5:48am, Tuesday March 1st.

With most of a week under our belts, this parenthood gig is actually pretty cool. We are understandably tired (sleeping in 2-3 hour stints isn’t particularly restful), but focusing on not taking on much more than hanging out, resting and baby-wrangling during the day. I’ll go ahead and jinx us now by saying it all seems pretty do-able at this point.

The kid is healthy and mostly happy (the rest of the time, he’s either sleeping, or living up to his middle name). He, like all infants, has the mental capacity of a goldfish (ooh look, a castle… ooh, bubbles…. look, a tree…. ooh look, a castle….) but it’s obvious his big, blue eyes are curiously taking in the world around him (within his 12″ focal point) and trying to figure it all out.

So far he’s got his mom’s prominent chin and the furrow in her brow. He has his dad’s feet & toes. He has a perfect replica of Pantone’s formula for Yellow 012 C somewhere up his ass, or so his stunningly vibrant diapers would lead you to believe.

And I happen to think he’s just about the best thing ever, in that way apparently only parents can.

So eager to join life on the outside, he made his debut 18 days early!

Happy Birth Day Isaac Odin Watkiss!

It’s gonna be a wild ride.

Update (March 5th): Thanks everyone for your kind wishes and congrats! We’re all settling in and enjoying getting to know each other.

We have already covered the fact that I’m scared of crafts.

I suppose “scared” isn’t the right word – but I just don’t have the inclination (and therefore don’t make the time) to bother learning how to knit and crochet and sew. And never has it been more obvious that I am un-crafty when I’m exposed to all the adorable hats and booties and everything in-between that it feels every mother and grandmother the world over (except me) is making for their newest family members.

I’m not actually as bothered by my own lack of craftiness as I am by the fact that I feel my kid will somehow be missing out on a crucial component of childhood by not having anything lovingly handmade to adorn his person.

Thankfully I have some crafty friends who’ve already made sure the babe’s wee head will be covered with tiny knit hats. And I discovered I apparently have some skillz with the craftiness already baked into my genes.

A wonderful thing about handmade goods is they tend to be wonderful things to pass on. Which leads us to one of the loveliest moment of my baby shower this past weekend.

I’d had no idea my grandmothers had each had made lovely things for my parents to clothe and wrap me in to bring me home from the hospital. Nevermind the fact that my mom’s been holding on to these for the past 30 years. So imagine my surprise when on Sunday she passed them on to me!

My Nana (dad’s mom) made a beautiful baby blanket:

And my Oma (mom’s mom) made a sweater, cap, booties, mits and cape:

It’s almost enough to make me want to learn to knit or crochet myself… almost.

Today marks the beginning of the one-month countdown until I plan to go on Maternity leave from work.

This still terrifies me.

It’s plainly obvious that my career (along with life in general) from here on out will never be the same. What it will be like post-kid, nobody can say, and I, like anyone, have a healthy amount of anxiety about the unknown.

So I’ve been doing a lot of reading and reflecting about work, work-life balance and life as a working mom. And a number of pieces have really resonated with me.

From Seth Godin on “Why we work”:

1. For the money
2. To be challenged
3. For the pleasure/calling of doing the work
4. For the impact it makes on the world
5. For the reputation you build in the community
6. To solve interesting problems
7. To be part of a group and to experience the mission
8. To be appreciated

The Dutch Paradox on women working mostly part-time, and how they don’t seem to equate work with pleasure (from Slate):

“We look at the world of management—and it is a man’s world—and we think, oh I could do that if I wanted,” says Maaike van Lunberg, an editor at De Stentor newspaper. “But I’d rather enjoy my life.”

And from Penelope Trunk, on Working (or not) Moms:

So. Now I’m a stay-at-home mom. I’m working about 35 hours a week, but relative to how I had been working, this is part-time work. It’s scary to tell people I’m not working full time because all the good jobs will dry up. And it’s scary to tell people when I’m not home with my kids because I only get one chance in my life to do that. The labels are most scary because they tell you what you gave up. And the scariest thing about adult life is what we give up.

It’s also hard for me to remember that the way thing are going to be for the next few years is not the way they’ll be forever. Raising kids is hard, important work. Work I want to do. But I also find the work I already do to be challenging and rewarding, and I am reluctant to step away from that entirely. A whole year off seems both too long and not long enough at the same time.

What I would really like is to focus on being happy and fulfilled, in whatever form that takes, and not worry so much about how other people label it.

I’m still mostly uncomfortable about the whole thing, but found this article in the New York Times most closely mirrors my own thoughts about the feminism, the tradeoffs, the costs and the rewards.

And at the very least it’s a glimmer of hope that maybe that the time off will be a very good thing, for me, my family, my career and my peers.

This, I would argue, is why the workplace needs women. Not just because they are 50 percent of the talent pool, but for the very fact that they are more willing to leave than men. That, in turn, makes employers work harder to keep them…. Women started this conversation about life and work — a conversation that is slowly coming to include men. Sanity, balance and a new definition of success, it seems, just might be contagious. And instead of women being forced to act like men, men are being freed to act like women. Because women are willing to leave, men are more willing to leave, too…. Looked at that way, this is not the failure of a revolution, but the start of a new one. It is about a door opened but a crack by women that could usher in a new environment for us all.

I’ve officially made it to the third trimester! We’re in the home stretch, which is alternately awesome and terrifying. In fewer than 100 days, we will have a tiny human (definitely of the boy variety, as an update to that last post) of our very own.

There’s a well-established saying that the 2nd trimester is the “honeymoon phase” of pregnancy, and I have to say that definitely applies to me. (And if you are finding this in the misery of the first trimester, I feel for you, I really do! Be kind to yourself, fight for the treatments you need to make it through the bleakness. It’s okay.)

After we finished with the “summer of death, 2010″ I’ve actually spent the past number of weeks feeling surprisingly good. I joked a lot that the best part about it has been forgetting much of the time that I’m pregnant. Not so forgetful that I’d be six cocktails in before going “oh shit! the fetus!” but that the whole “host to a parasite” thing was no longer interfering with my ability to lead a normal life.

And so, because it’s been a not-unpleasant ride for the past while, and in the spirit of not being a total Negative Nelly about this whole experience, I present to you, the 2nd trimester list of things that don’t totally suck about being pregnant:

• Obviously looking pregnant, as opposed to looking like I’ve had a long and sordid affair with a donut shop that didn’t end well. Which goes along with…

• Not caring about those “last 10 lbs” for the first time I can recall in my adult life. I’m trying to enjoy it, as I assume this laissez faire attitude about the current size of my ass will immediately revert to its previous state approximately 8 seconds after I see my lower half in a mirror the first time after giving birth.

• The ease of dressing myself. Nobody seems to expect much from pregnant women in the wardrobe department. Which makes it that much easier to feel sartorially confident. Also, the 2nd trimester is when maternity clothes are their most comfortable and flattering. In previous weeks and months, most maternity fashions still hung on me like so many circus tents (even though my pre-pregnancy clothes were laughably too small). Currently, they fit like a glove. I am expecting soon I will be stretching them to their limits and otherwise rolling in Neil’s sweatpants.

• The unending string of compliments. It seems the universally declared “thing that is appropriate to say to a pregnant woman” is “wow, you look fantastic!” And you know, I don’t care if you really think that or are just trying to say something that won’t get your head bitten off. I approve, and thank you.

• Finding out the sex of the fetus! It’s really no secret I hated and resented this little parasite for the early part of pregnancy. I looked forward to having a kid at the end of it all, but was decidedly unimpressed at the 9-month trial I’d be enduring while waiting for the kid to arrive. Everything was such crap that it became really important to me I get something out of it that was for nothing other than my own selfish desires. The gender screen was it. Now that I know there’s a wee boy-to-be in there, I feel like I’ve actually, finally, bonded with him in some small way and have gotten over the mental hurdle I needed to in order to start actually planning and being excited.

I have been assured by those who’ve gone before that I am in for another slow, downhill drag back into misery, culminating in the ordeal that is giving birth, but so far I’m mostly ignoring that part and continuing my independent research study (sample size: 1) on whether the intense sugar cravings are really a body’s way of trying to compensate for all the sugars it’s missing from lack of alcohol input.

Someone asked for a belly photo, and when I realized I didn’t have any, I snapped a quick one in the bathroom at work. You’re welcome!

Innocuous dent
My midsection lint catcher
Heading for outie

If we’re friends on Facebook, you may recall me mentioning about a month ago that we think we’re having a boy.

I say “think” because the ultrasound tech wouldn’t tell us. The Vancouver-Coastal health authority has a policy that they do not tell expectant parents the sex of their fetus until 20+ weeks of gestation. Our ultrasound was booked for 19w5d.

I’m going to allow space for a couple small rants here:

Seriously? Seriously. Two days. You think if I were the kind of person who was likely to opt for selective elimination of a fetus with a sex I wasn’t happy with, two days would make a difference? Comeon VCH, let’s grab some common sense here. I know you need to draw a line in the sand, but why can’t my midwives even call two days later to get the gender results? You suck.

Also, midwives. Seriously? You have been in business how long and you do not know about the “sex only revealed after 20 weeks” rule? And that no, you don’t get to book another ultrasound just to have the sex shown because you weren’t smart enough to book it for post 20-weeks in the first place? I sincerely hope (especially in my 3am-wide-awake-to-panic moments) that your skills at labour-coaching and baby-catching are FAR SUPERIOR to your skills in medical administration and procedure.

Anyhow. Thanks to that little administrative hiccup, we are left with the option whether or not to find out our damn selves which flavour of tiny human we’ll be responsible for come March.

And I can’t decide whether or not to do it.

I was definitely excited to know before the magical “20-week” ultrasound, and feel a little disappointed that we don’t know for sure. My conflict comes with WHY I want to know.

It’s not the money (we can afford a private ultrasound), or the names (we have preferred names for boys and girls picked out).

It all comes down to the shopping.

I hate to think that I’m going to fall victim to subjecting my offspring to society’s current gender constructs of “pink is for girls and blue is for boys,” etc.

But the reality is, the gender-neutral stuff I’ve found is just nowhere near as aesthetically pleasing (or downright adorable) as the “boy” and “girl” things.

I really don’t give a damn whether my boy plays with dolls or my girl plays with trucks or any of that. And it’s not like we’d go painting the nursery with unicorns and butterflies vs. monster trucks and spaceships (we’re not painting at all. Beige is FINE).

It’s just that everything I see that looks interesting to me seems to fall under the headings of “baby boy things” vs. “baby girl things.”

And I just hate to think that’s the only reason I’d be finding out.

I do also just like the idea of knowing more about the little person-to-be currently occupying the majority of my abdominal cavity. Knowing whether he or she is a he or she (assuming normal gender assignment, etc.) makes it feel a little more humanizing. A little less alien. And a little more like I’ve been “wined and dined” before being taken advantage of for lo these nine long months.

But mostly, the shopping.

So tell me internets, what would (or did) you do?

(Heed the title. This deals with bodily fluids. You have been warned!)

I think the hardest thing about being pregnant has been how obvious it makes the lack of control we have over what happens in our own bodies.

I’m not talking about the things we can do that impact how our bodies will react, like feeding ourselves different types of foods and drugs, or even getting pregnant in the first place. I’m talking about after those things have been done, the vast number of involuntary responses our bodies engage in to keep things running.

I’m a bit of a control freak. I don’t enjoy the heady adrenaline rush of going super fast or throwing myself off of or out of things quite far off the ground, because I don’t feel like I control the outcome (and it has the potential to be, in my opinion, very poor). I also don’t enjoy getting completely wasted, because I don’t like the out-of-control feeling I get if I do.

I like to feel like I have at least come conscious influence over what’s happening and how things are going, and to know that I can opt-out of a long, strange trip if I’ve had enough of that ride and would like to get off.

And this damn pregnancy thing keeps reminding me that “HAHA TOO BAD FOR YOU!”

Like last night.

I’d already had a rough weekend, what with the other aches and pains and general discomfort of growing another human. (And by-the-by, for those who have the same misgivings I did, mostly fueled by stories of women who loooooooooove being pregnant, there is nothing symbiotic about this relationship. It’s a full-on parasite.)

So I was lying in bed, unwinding with a book (Superfreakonomics), when all of a sudden FLUID STARTS LEAKING FROM MY NIPPLE! Not at any significant volume, just a few drops that landed on my arm. But it scared the everloving shit out of me. Not quite literally, but damned close. I screamed loud enough for Neil to come running, looking worried (until he started laughing at me).

You just try having drops of tepid liquid land on your arm, under the covers where no tepid liquid should be, and see how calm and unsurprised you are!

I suppose the books did say this could happen. But not really when, or that it would happen totally out of the blue for no reason at all and completely without warning. Unless there is something in my subconscious that feels particularly nurturing when applying economic principles to everyday life.

I am still committed to the outcome of this particular biological process, but damn, this is already enough of a strange and uncomfortable ride, and I could do without these kind of surprises on top of that.