Moving On Over...

Hi Guys!
Massive apologies for the lack of posting here.  Things took a turn for the insane at work - which, while appreciated, was somewhat shocking.  I'd work all day, come home and hang with the boy, and then back to work when he went to bed.  It was somewhat crazy.

Because of that, I've made a decision to move the blog over full time to http://www.urbanmoms.ca/.  I just can't keep up with two separate blogs and I really admire what Jen and the team at urbanmoms are trying to do.  I know some of you awesome followers are dudes...but urbanmoms should really be urbanparents - there is something for everyone.  For you WTF people that followed me here - I hate to make you change that bookmark again, but I hope you will.

And for you new followers who found me on www.urbanmoms.ca/diy - rest assured, I'll be posting more often there - I just can't use the eff word much...well at all. 

Thanks guys - I really look forward to sharing more with you over the next few months and years!!! 

Someone call the whambulance...

It's Friday night and the house next door is rocking and rolling.  Super.  Will continues his habit of 'getting around' and is spending the night with his aunt so I can get some needed sleep.  Unfortunately the neighbours aren't complying and really can I complain about noise at 9:30 at night!?  Nope...they have an hour and a half.  I'm afraid if I complain, they might call the CAS for all the 'Will - get away from the TV' yelling that they hear!

I just got back from seeing The Blindside. Yes, I know sappy but we just wanted something mindless.  Let me tell you something.  Ever since I've had Will, I cannot watch movies with mothers and sons in them.  I become a blubbering mess.  Yes - I cried multiple times at the Blindside.  There was a scene in Precious that caused me to sob outright with my head in my hands.  Have you seen it?  It's the scene where Precious is swimming with her son and she pulls him out of the water and he's wearing the bathing suit that Will wore all summer long.  (Yup tearing up right now).

These wailing episodes are in stark contrast to one I had just before Christmas.  Will and I were walking through my old neighbourhood where I grew up and I saw a man putting up Christmas lights.  His son came running out of the house 'dad, dad, can you take a break now?'  That was all I needed.  I lost it.  I kept pushing the stroller and I was crying and apologizing to Will for all the things that I couldn't give him - you know, the father, the beautiful home on a street where there aren't random couches sitting for weeks outside of people's houses?!

Then - as totally hokey as it sounds - and remember I promised you honesty here - I saw Precious.  And it got me.  When she pulled that kid out of the pool, I was thinking that could be Will.  When they're babies, they're all the same - just born into different situations.  It gave me a reality check.  Will may not have a dad - so what some kids don't have either a mom or a dad; or they have parents who are dick heads.  We live in a beautiful home that I own, and where Will has a bed that is his. (oooh god I hope he gets an NFL scholarship like Big Mike!) We are pretty fucking lucky and THAT is why I cry at these cheesey movies now - because I get it and I wish everyone could be as fortunate as us.

I also wish these goddamn hormones would get in check because seriously - wah, wah, wah, enough with the crying already.  It's like I'm constantly watching that Canadian Tire commercial...you know where the kid wants the bike...oh god - here we go again. 

**all right that neighbour has 1 hour and 6 minutes**

Spreading the gospel...

Holy 'out of the frying pan and into the fire'!  Work has gone from a nice leisurely pace to full on - eyes bugging - 'mouse wrist' - and well, crazy.  I've also had a busy social life the last week or so - remember those?  All of which adds up to way too few blog posts from me this week!

I have a bit of exciting news to share with you....starting very shortly (maybe tomorrow??), I'm going to be blogging for urbanmoms!  I won't be giving up my blogging here because frankly I can't use the 'f' word over there so when I really need to vent, Where There's A Will will get the brunt of it!  I am really excited to be their 'single mom' blogger and I hope that all of you guys will check it out as well.  It may take me a bit to get in the swing, but I'm planning to contribute there on set days and here on set days so you'll know what to expect!  (I'm overusing !!!!)

I'm totally inspired to write my first entry for them on this book that I read about in the paper today that encourages women to 'settle' and stop being so picky.  Please imagine my face right now - my neck is sore from shaking it back and forth.  I'll let you know when it's up!

In the meantime, please enjoy this video of Will having naked time - because really, when doesn't a naked baby make you smile??



(if you're wondering about the original song 'Naked Time' in it....we've been singing it every night for 1.5 years.)

Does 'HUH' count as a word??

Whoa...Mama is tired.  Nothing to do with Will - nope, he's sleeping and he had a sleepover on Saturday night.  It's the damn Grammy's.  Why, why, why do I stay up for crap like that when I know I can watch every second on Youtube or the like the next day.  I know I'm tired because never, not once, have I left Will's toys all over the place before I go to bed.  Yet here I am, in my jammies, lying in my bed and downstairs has trucks all over the place.  I couldn't deal.  Before you go - 'whoa that chick is anal' - I'm not at all, I just made two vows to myself during my PPD - one was to make my bed every morning and the other was to clean up his crap every night.  Oh well shit happens...or 'poo happens' as one of Will's shirts says.

On Friday, I took Will for his 18 month shots.  It's so ridiculous.  I can watch myself get needles, like.. I have a weird thing where I like to watch myself get needles.  But not with him - nope - I can't look.  He doesn't give a crap, he doesn't even cry.  Anyway....at the end of the appointment my doctor asks me how many words Will has.  I just stopped and looked and said, 'well...two I guess.  Mama and hot.' (and no - he doesn't say hot mama...crap).  And my doctor stops dead and says, 'well he should have 50 by now, I have some concerns.'  WHAT??!?!  WHAT?!?!? 

Let me hit you with some honesty right now.  I'm competitive.  I'd like to think that I'm not competitive where Will is concerned, as in comparing him to other kids, but I do.  I will also admit, I want him to be smart and funny.  I want him to be cute.  I want him not to be a pain in the ass when we're out in public.  And...I want him to be talking if he's supposed to be talking!!  So of course, I race home and check my developmental checklists and it says twelve.  Twelve words buddy, not 50.  I'll give you twelve words doctor....don't tell a mother that her kid is fallling behind developmentally, fuck.  There's 12.

(Oh and I have to run now and rub the boys back again...let me say this, how come whenever you say something like 'my kid loves to go to sleep' you get jinxed but if you said 'I'm going to win the lottery' it'll never happen.  Will is teething again - argh).

It's Graduation Day!!!

Cue the music, you know whichever cheesy song is in this year for graduation ceremonies, get the caps and gowns, go on a boat cruise and make out with someone you'd never even speak to otherwise (wait...that was ahh..a 'friend' of mine).

That's right - Will Sutton is making the move. Having spent 6 long months in Infant Room 1, he's moving on up like the Jeffersons to the Toddler Room. I think the valedictory speech will be quick and go something like this, "ssss. baaaa. mamam. huh. huh. huh." Pass me a kleenex.

Wow - how far he's come in the past six months. Seriously. He feeds himself with a spoon and fork. Sometimes at the same time. He uses sign language. He sort of talks. He nods. He laughs when he knows he's being funny (this could be my single most favourite thing that he does).

How far have I come? Well, I no longer drink 8 cups of coffee in the morning. I have mastered getting him out of bed and out the door in half an hour flat. I have figured out some new hairstyles so I can push washing this mass by a few extra days. For the most part, I'm doing it. I can do this!!

This transition to the Toddler Room has not been smooth however. Have I mentioned that Will has a blankie? It's like his crack. He has four of them - I wasn't taking any chances. Apparently at 18 months, this vice should be dropped, or so says his daycare. For the past three weeks, he's been jonesing like a smoker on a flight to Australia. When he gets home, he grabs that blanket and hugs it like a long lost friend. At school he's been wailing. I met his new teacher one morning and she says, 'ohhh it's so nice to see Will not crying.' I wanted to punch her.


My transition?  I was not on board.  At all.  I love his class and his teachers.  They have become my advisors, my therapists and my biggest cheerleaders.  They also break rules for me...alot.  How will I whip these new broads into shape?  Hmmm - must bribe with Tim Hortons.

This week?  We've both come around.  He spent all day in the Toddler Room yesterday - no blankie and no tears.  (Hey Dr. Drew - let's talk).  I was bursting with pride.  This morning, he wouldn't leave the blankie at home..uh oh..we carried it in the school, he took off his coat, put it in his cubby and gave me his blankie to take with me.  WHAT??  Who is this kid????  I don't know, but I do know that the transition to this room has led to many, many amazing changes like this.  I'm down with it.  Bring it on.  He'll be mixing me caesars and taking out the garbage in no time!!!

No Respect...

I had my friend Clark over for dinner last night.  He's turning 40 and I needed to tell him how it all gets better after 40 - people told me that and I'm patiently waiting.  I got Will in trained seal mode - you know, 'tell Uncle Clark what a sheep says' and on cue he was supposed to baaaaa.  He didn't.  'Show Uncle Clark where your nose is.'  Whatever Mama. 

I noticed two things last night.  First - I've left this kid with so many different sitters that now, whenever a new person comes over, he spends the first half hour stuck to my side like a dryer sheet.  I guess he needs that time to see me settle into my second drink to he know I'm staying put.

The second thing I noticed was the whole "Uncle" scenario.  Remember when we were kids and every one of your parents friends were called Mr and Mrs??  I still have friends of my parents who I call that.  There are a few whom I'm on a first name basis with now that I secretly cringe whenever I call them Joan or Dave or Barb.  The Mr and Mrs were a sign of respect and frankly - I liked it.

But....those people were OLD, right?  I mean, we can't be that old can we that our friends kids should call us Mr and Mrs (or ummm - Ms?).  Last night it hit me - We ARE that old!!! So what happened to the whole respectful name calling of your elders by the last name.  Does anyone do this anymore??

I decided last night to bring it back.  And then I pictured Will calling Clark (well in a couple years...once he drops the animal sounds schtick) Mr. Hargreaves and I almost peed my pants laughing.  As IF!!!  But what's changed?

Debate and discuss please while you watch a video of my child drawing (coming after the four hour upload) ... you'll notice the black mouth...give me a break I was eating, I can't watch him 24-7...that'll wash out right?  RIGHT??

You Try It Tom Cruise...

WARNING! WARNING! This could be long and maybe not particularly funny but I started to write a couple of different entries tonight and both started with 'when I had postpartum' so I figure it's a topic I should tackle.  Let me preface this with saying, like everything in my life, I'm incredibly open about it.  I'm not embarassed or ashamed.  It's like getting Montezuma's Revenge when you're on vacation.  Sucks to be you - but it could be anyone catching it and having it ruin their vacation, so why not you?

Will and I spent a week in the hospital.  In retrospect, it was the best thing that could have happened to us.  Our mothers used to spend a week in there.  I think my mom had so many kids because it was the only vacation she could have.  She said it was awesome, they could lie in bed and smoke and do each other's hair because remember...no kids or husbands in the room with you! It's like a freaking pajama party!  My week allowed me to rest, recover, learn how to breastfeed and get my head around the fact that this was not like 'pegro' my egg baby from high school....he was real and he depended solely on me.

The first four weeks at home were a dream.  Mitchell called my house the 'haven of peace' and people were remarking that maybe it was the dad's that make thing so stressful because it was all rolling along quite nicely.  I was out every day, visiting people, walking, shopping.  I cooked dinners, washed my hair - I didn't quite get what all the bitching was about.  (Oh and Will slept like this all day!!)

Then the walls fell in.  All day today I've tried to remember when it was.  I can't. I remember two instances - one when I got in my car and drove to my friend Molly's house because I thought I was losing my mind.  She had a newborn too and a toddler but she took Will and told me to go relax.  I couldn't.  I couldn't stop crying and I couldn't sit back on a couch.  It was bizarre.  Another day, I was in a park and he slept for four hours and I spent the whole time on the phone talking to people because I thought if I didn't...well I wasn't sure.  I remember a woman in Shoppers saying 'ooh isn't this the best age?'  I looked at her and said, 'no, frankly it fucking sucks.' Umm something is wrong here.

I knew I was struggling and so did my friends and family - well Mitchell and my sister did.  I think they were in secret discussions about my inability to hold my shit together.  My sister from Texas was due to arrive to meet Will with my niece that Friday.  On the Wednesday, I had a my six week doctors appointment, my ob took one look at me and said I looked like shit.  I burst into tears and told him I was struggling and needed some help.  He got me a psych consult because he was worried, and so was I, about post-partum.  He added that it could take awhile and that if I felt desperate I needed to go to emergency. 

Two anxiety riddled days later, I was at Mitchell's and was losing it totally.  She took Will and ordered me to bed.  After 15 minutes of lying there, I felt like my whole body was going to explode from the inside out and I was so happy because I thought it was finally going to be over - and then I started to scream in a pillow.  And then we decided I was desperate.  Even during this, Mitch and I kept our sense of humours.  After calling the doctor to make sure that no one would take my baby away and letting him know to have someone meet us, we went to the emergency room.  Besides having Will, it was the best decision I ever made.

But let's back up for a second....because if this can help anyone, I want it to.  What was happening to me?  I couldn't sleep; I couldn't eat; I cried all the time; I became physically sick everytime I'd hear him start to wake up and then I couldn't stop barfing.  I'd hold him in my arms and hang over the sink crying and being sick.  I would sweat - like I'd played a five hour straight shift of ultimate.  I couldn't turn my brain off from saying to me 'you made the worst mistake of your life' or 'you can't handle this' and 'you chose this, you have nothing to complain about'.   What wasn't happening to me?  I never thought of taking it out on Will.  I didn't resent him or blame him for anything that was happening to me.  I just felt sorry for him.  Sorry that he got stuck with a useless nut case for a mother.  I planned out who I could give him to because obviously I couldn't keep him. 

So the hospital.  My step-mother met us there and the four of us got shown into this weird isolation room in the ER.  We saw a social worker, a case worker and some other dude, who by that point could have been a janitor, I didn't care.  I just wanted someone to help me.  And they did.  After a few hours we saw the doctor who said the magic words, 'how do you feel about drugs?'.   Praise the lord!!!  I told him that as long as I could still breastfeed...bring them on!  They arranged for a psychiatrist to see me that week (since the other consult had never come through!); for a nurse to come to the house to see me and got me into a couple of mothers groups in my neighbourhood.  I took the anxiety drug that night and that, combined with my sister arriving and staying with me, allowed me to sleep that very night.  I started taking an anti-depressant.  And my father arranged for a night nanny, Nadia, to come in for a few weeks. 

I hired Nadia over the phone because I loved her Jamaican accent and because she told me she would get Will sleeping in a week.  Done lady, you're in.  She arrived the first night and backed her car into my garage.  Like the building...not the empty space.  But it wasn't an omen.  She was incredible.  I started to live for 7pm when Nadia would come, we would listen to Bob Marley and give Will a bath. She would tell me about her kids in Jamaica and I'd cry because I felt like a selfish bitch for being SO fortunate to have a healthy baby and a house and my family nearby and here was this woman who went to school ALL day and looked after other people's babies ALL night.  Night after night for a month, she built my confidence and let me sleep. 

Anyway - as my mood and sleeping improved...so did Will's and little by little I took control back.  Because ultimately what caused my post partum?  If you didn't know this already - when you have a child, you lose control of everything.  As a self admitted control-freak, losing control was more than I could bear.  So was not sleeping.  I think the sleep deprevation is like nothing you can imagine unless you've been a new mother or a POW. 

(Fuck this is long and dull...but let's get it over with).

So how did I get better?  Sleep, drugs, love and support and time.  Take any of these out of the equation, and it wouldn't have worked.  I would have lost my mind.  Tom Cruise?  You can take your Scientology opinions and ram them up your tight ass because drugs are necessary.  Your hormones are SO out of whack, something needs to offset them.  I'm off the anti-depressants now.  There are times when I think maybe I need them again, but then I think I just need a good night's sleep.  The anti-anxiety goodies?  I have some left and I use them very VERY sparingly when things are bleak.  In talking to my psychiatrist, I realized that I'd always had anxiety issues...it used to be mainly around my lovelife (note again...can't control). 

When did I know I was better?  Well, I went to this mother's group when I was bad.  All the mom's would sit in a circle with their babies on their lap and one-by-one say how old they were and what they'd accomplished that day.  God...shoot me now!  One woman said 'I'm blah and my son cut his first tooth today.' Everyone cheered - I secretly sat there thinking how I didn't belong there and what a bunch of freaks. It came to me and I said 'I'm Sara and I haven't cried yet today.'  Cut to six months or so later - and my response was a bit different, as I sat surrounded by my new mommy friends I said, 'I'm Sara, this is Will and he cut his first tooth today.'  And I was sooo happy.