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.

Here Comes the Popper....

On July 29th, 2008 at 7:03pm, I was Sara Lanthier.  Daughter of Spencer and Diane - step-daughter of Diana.  Aunt of Sam, Charlotte and Scotty.  Sister to Sherrill, Suzanne and John.  Cat owner.  Responsible for no one but myself. 

On July 29th, 2008 at 7:04pm, I was Will's mom.  It changes in an instant.  Everything. 

As is everything with this kid for me, his arrival was memorable. 

But let's back up.  Delivery - I had somethings to consider.  Who would hold my hand and help me breathe, who would feed me ice chips, who could I yell 'you did this to me' at??? 

My friend Mitchell came to the prenatal classes with me.  We both got a kick out of knowing they were all wondering what our deal was.  Mitch was awesome, she just wasn't down with the holding me while I was breathing or rubbing my back (I think that's when they figured out we weren't partners in the true sense of the word). 

Another friend suggested that I hire her doula.  I did and thank god.  Here's the crazy thing, I met Lisa twice before she was to be my partner in the biggest event of my life.  Sort of bizarre.  But she made some incredible points - namely, why be afraid of labour - it ends, you won't be in labour for a month.  This made SO much sense to me and after that, I seriously was never afraid of the idea of labour - I just didn't want it to happen at night when I was alone. 

It didn't - July 29th, I went to the doctor for the daily check in.  I was feeling a bit weird.  He checked me and then (sorry dudes) gave me some sort of rub to get things going.  OH MY GOD. More painful than anything in the labour and I screamed like a mofo.  I also scared the shit out of all the people in the waiting room.  But it worked.  I started having little contractions.  So what's a single girl to do, well wisely, drive herself home. I called Lisa and my sister and told them the show was starting. 

Then I called Mitchell to give her the scoop - after 20 minutes the convo was like this.

Mitch - Dude are you timing these things?
Me - No, why - I'm sure it'll be hours.  (at least another 1/2, it was a Law and Order I hadn't seen yet!)
Mitch - Umm because you're no longer talking to me.

So we timed them, they were under five minutes apart.  Ooops.  Called the troops and told them to chop chop.  Just after 2 (and the completed Law and Order!  I miss Jerry Orbach) Sue and Lisa arrived to find me on all fours on the ground like a dog.  This labour thing is primal.  Seriously primal.

We hung out for a bit and then decided to get to the hospital.  Sue pulled the car around, we loaded up and it started.  Ouch - OUCH. Fuuuuck.  Barf, Abba music, construction, more ABBA music, more barfing and we got to the hospital.  They took one look at me and sent me right up to labour and delivery, bypassing the check in.  I guess a splayed out, bawling pregnant broad on the floor was sort of annoying to everyone else.

That's when I demanded that all my clothes come off and that I needed to stand up and not lie down.  This proved difficult to get a monitor on the baby.  Tough crap, I could not lie down. They decided (gee how did you guess) that I needed to be in a room stat.  Off we went, my eyes screwed so tight that I couldn't tell you where we were.

We get to the room and added one to the entourage. My step-mom.  She was asking Suzanne if she should start taking pics, she was wisely advised not too.  Then it started.  And by IT, I mean my contraction - no 's' because it was one long one and it didn't stop.  Where is my breathing?  Where is my break?  Don't I get to stop for a minute in between for people to reassure me how great I'm doing and gear up for the next one?  Nope. 

After an hour and a half or so - I couldn't take it and called for the drugs.  They raced to get the epidural because I was 8cm already - and it was like heaven.  It was scary to get it because I couldn't stop contracting so I had to hold still it.  I yelled 'can I move now.' Which was greeted by 'NO' screamed in high decibels by the doctor, three nurses, doula and my sister all at once.  Boo - but then it worked and it was incredible.

"Time to push".  Huh?  No way, pass the corn chips.  I want to enjoy this state for awhile.

Nope - push.  By this point - my Dad had joined in.  He was cowering away in the corner of a room full of women.  I push a couple times and the doctor says I have an hour or so and that she'll be back.  An hour or so?  Fuck that.  I'm getting this kid out now.  So we gear up for the next round and I think, 'if I push as hard as I can, I'm getting this thing out now.'

I pushed hard and on the third try, this huge POP like a champagne cork happened - the student nurse screamed; the nurse who was prepping the table turned around; my sister, Diana and the doula looked down and out he came.  Ummmm - where the hell is the doctor at the end of the table to catch the kid? Not there apparently.  So, I reached down and grabbed this slimy being who, until 2 seconds ago, inhabitated my uterus. 

Will Sutton Lanthier. He spent the first few minutes on my chest and it was surreal.  "Hello person who I will spend the rest of my life with.  Who the hell are you?  Will you like me?  Will I like you?"

Then my dad cut his cord.  Yup, Spence made his bellybutton - as we say every night in the tub.  After, Spence went and got me a beer (and he a bottle of scotch) at the LCBO! Who needs a piece of jewellery!

And that was that...hate me now ladies, it was 5 hours and my body remained pretty intact.  Then they brought me Will, my beautiful boy.  NOT...

Dudes - look at this thing.  He was tiny, so tiny but with the biggest mouth you've ever seen.  (Insert jokes here).  He was hairy.  Actually he resembled a baby gorilla.  His skin hung off of him like an elephant. 

Did I mention he was small?  5 lbs of small so after I tried to feed him, they took him to the ICU.  He would spend five days there while I lived upstairs.  My routine?  An hour pumping, an hour sleeping and an hour with him feeding.  Oh and an hour explaining to the nurses that I didn't have a negligent husband - I just didn't have one.

He lived here in this awesome giraffe incubator.  He spent the days feeding and suntanning under the lights.  And he got bigger and learned to breastfeed.  And I recovered.  The day I found out he was being sprung from the ICU was better than the day he was born.  I took a shower and put on new pjs and waited for him in my room like it was a first date.  He got there and they left me to it.  Mother and son.  Together - alone at last for the first time.

Then it hit me.  Alone.  Together.  What the hell do I do now??????????

*****************

(Oh and I never did find out what that popping noise was - but it was all over the hospital - he was 'the popper'. And why he was so small?  Dunno - his placenta was really small but we don't know why.)

Mammamamamammamamammamama

You know when you start dating someone, you have those butterflies, things start to heat up, and you find yourself wondering 'when will I hear those three little words'?  I've been feeling like that (minus the butterflies and the heating up) lately.  I carried you around in my uterus for close to 10 months; I birthed you; fed you from my breasts for 15 months (and almost didn't drink during that time); had my hands covered in your vomit and have slept less than I ever have in my life...and STILL, you won't call me Mama.  You said DADA!  What???  Who is this Dada fellow of which you speak??

I swear he knew it was killing me too.  He 'apparently' said it to others when I wasn't around.  He would point at me if you said 'where is mama' but he'd just smile like, 'oh you just wait lady - I'm not quite ready to satisfy your request yet.'

Well, the request has been satisfied.  It's as if he decided that making it through these last few weeks had granted me the right to be called 'mama'.  So now I am.  All the time.  Sort of like Stewie...



God that clip makes me laugh.

So this week I'm mama...in 15 years, I'll be that beyotch who drives him to hockey practice and he pretends not to know.  Say it all you want Will.

**Random Fact - did you know that we get medical coverage to get hypnotized to lose weight???  This is a whole other story...oh and that gerbils have some sort of fear of fear (god the things you learn at all you can eat sushi with the chicks)***

Remembering the Moomster!

A year ago today Will and I watched Obama get inaugurated.  We watched Aretha Franklin make 'My Country Tis of Thee' sound dirty (and we laughed - all right I did).  Me thinks she had the emPHAsis on the wrong sylLABLE.


I found it pretty cool that the world seemed to be changing just in time for Will to get in on the action.  That night, my grandmother died.  Which I should have saw coming.  Moo Moo was 103 and slightly racist (don't boo her, she was a product of her times) so seeing a black guy become President was likely more than she could bear, so she just gave up.

Bit of background for you not in the Moo Moo know.  She was my mom's mom and I had the spent the past nine years since my mom died 'looking after her'.  She was in a home but her other care came from me with some help from my family.  It was challenging and rewarding.  Things I don't miss - cutting her toenails, explaining to people at the drugstores that the adult diapers were not for me and watching her deal with the dementia that slowly took her life over.  Things I do miss - our convos when she was sane, some of our convos when she wasn't quite there and the few times she told me that she loved me.

By the time I decided to have Will, I'd say Moo Moo was about 80% gone and 20% in the here and now.  I asked her if I should have a baby and I swear she was channeling my mother because her response was the kindest thing I had ever heard her say to anyone.  You have to because you'd be the best mother.  And then she cried.  This was not my grandmother.

I explained the whole process to her and she seemed to get it.  Moo Moo had always been really inquisitive with me.  My favourite was when I told her my friend was getting a sex change.  Her response?  Well dear, will they save his penis for a woman who wants to become a man?  Good point - 99 years old and that is what she came up with. 

When I got pregnant and went to tell her, the response was classic Moo Moo.
Are you telling the truth?  Are you really?  Really?
YES
Can I tell Florence? (her sister....who had been dead for about 30 years)
SURE
(looking at the wall) Florence, Florence!!! Sara is pregnant...WITHOUT A MAN!!!

We laughed.  A lot.  But she totally got it - at 103 she totally got the insemination thing.  She told my uncle who called to say that Moo Moo had totally lost it because she said I was pregnant through artificial insemination....it was the sanest thing she had said in a year.

I won't lie, I was happy when Moo Moo passed away.  She didn't deserve to live the way she had been living over the past decade.  No one did.  I think she hung out as long as she did to meet Will so she could tell my Mom all about him.  I cherish those few times they had together.  And even though Will wasn't the girl she had hoped for...(Dear - don't paint that nursery blue yet...it could still be a boy. She didn't quite get the finding out in advance)..he brought her this strange peace when he was around.

Happy 'anniversary' of sorts Moomster...I'll never forget you - how could I - you left me these godforsaken Safford family thighs...

And so it begins...

This, my friends, is a turkey baster.

This is not what I used to get pregnant, although it wasn't far off.  I went to this awesome doctor who sort of looked like a dude from Three's Company whose name is escaping me.

We had a couple of meetings to discuss 'the process' and 'my expectations'.  Then I had to see a shrink because a 15 year-old can get knocked up playing two minutes in the closet, but I needed the okay before I could have a baby.

Mid-November, we started to monitor my cycle, ordered my swimmers to get shipped up here and watched the folicles grow!  A couple looked great so I was sent home with a needle to give myself that night and told to come back at noon the next day.  My step-mother, a recent expert in needle giving having watched No Country For Old Men, stuck me in the gut to release the folicles.  She even tapped the needle...it was hilarious.  Then I went home to 'sleep'.

The next day at noon I went to the clinic with my friend Kati.  The nurse and I reviewed the vials and I signed that they were right (ooh...what if it was someone else's sperm...sounding like a Law and Order ep!).  My doctor walked in and said, "Let's make a baby.".  Ah the romance of it all, just liked I dreamt about my whole life.  The mood was perfect, the fluorescent doctor office lights, the picture of a fake town in Italy on the wall and the kitten oven mitts on the stirrups.  Then we repeated the whole thing the next day...and we made a baby.  First try.  I'm incredibly lucky - and am the offspring of the most fertile woman on the planet.

Spence (my father) - "I could call from a business trip and your mother would get pregnant."  Charming.

I will admit, my heart was pounding the whole time the insemination was taking place.  But after the doctor left the room, I lay there and it felt right.  I knew without a doubt that I was making the right decision - which doesn't happen to this second guesser too often.

I didn't love being pregnant.  I'd post a picture but I don't think I have one...wait maybe from my shower? (holy CRAP my boobs were bigger than my belly)

I barfed in a bag on the drive home every night.  Morning sickness had no time limit for me, it was all day until that blessed drug (name?).  I was tired and didn't feel particularly sexy.  I ate mashed potatoes, peaches and McDonalds.  I hired a doula.  I took prenatal yoga.  I had ultrasounds attended by anyone who wanted to check him out, an amnio and genetic tests.  What would I have done if something was wrong?  I'm not sure but being a single parent, you have a bit more to think about.  If I get hit by the proverbial bus tomorrow, asking someone to assume responsibility for a special needs child is more of a chance for me than for a duo-parent couple.  Thankfully that's a decision I never had to make.

Will wasn't a mover or a kicker.  He loved storms and he hiccuped alot.  I never got very big since thankfully - as my friend April put it - all those extra large pizzas in university prepped us for this - so no stretch marks, those are for the skinny bitches from uni.

As my due date grew closer, I wasn't getting any bigger and neither was Will.  I was scared.  Then they sent me home and ordered me to bed, and I got seriously scared.  Nothing like lying in bed for 5 days with nothing but time to think about why the reptilian child in your belly isn't growing.  In hindsight, what I'd PAY to have those five days back...oh god, how I'd enjoy the sweet freedom of lying in bed for five days.

And I should have listened when everyone said to enjoy them as my last bit of freedom before the arrival...
And WHAT an arrival he made.

_________________
**IT WAS THE BOYFRIEND ON ONE DAY AT A TIME...RICHARD MASUR...GOD I LOVE GOOGLE..

Tell me something I don't know!!!

Once a year, my three closest friends and I load up our cars with extra clothes and drive up to Hamilton mountain for an afternoon of having our numbers done.  It's really just an excuse to go out after and have a few bevvies and discuss.

I never needed this day as much as I did this year.  After Will's apocalyptic tantrum on Friday night, we started Saturday right where we left off so by the time the sitter came at 10:30, I gladly handed the boy off.  It was official - we hated each other.  He needed a break from me as much as I did from him.  I picked up Jodi and Christie and away we went to meet Molly in the middle of nowhere.

Why the extra clothes?  We change after we leave.  This woman can smoke.  The first year I was sort of fascinated.  I wondered if she had glass eyes because the smoke sort of envelops her entire head and she never seems phased.  I was hacking out a lung before I even got there on Saturday so after our four hour session I felt like ass but also felt like I had just been lectured by my mom for an hour - in a good way.

Eileen doesn't hold back.  This year, she took one look at me and almost in disgust said 'you are so wound up - so, so wound up.'.  Yup - that about summed it up and started the tears flowing.  She said that Will is really spiritually connected to my mom and was sent here to teach me something.  (maybe that copious amounts of wine can kill anything that ails you??).  She asked if my mom was the type to kick me in the ass, tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself and to suck it up and get my act together.  Hmm - if she'd only yelled 'Sara Edith' after, I would have thought she was channeling her.  But she was so very right.

Then she dropped the bomb.  You're going to have one more kid. Nooo, nooo I don't think so lady.  Apparently, if I get out there, I'm to meet a David in the next little while who has a kid and wants to add one more to our brood.  Well he better chop, chop cause this shop is closing soon. 

And February 26th, you should all send me some dough because I'm supposed to get lucky in the lottery.  On the 'get lucky' front, she pointed out that I'm not having my *cough, cough* needs met.  Lady, I didn't need a psychic to tell me that but thanks for the reminder.

It's all in fun and just an excuse for us to get together.  I'm not sure what I'd do without my girls.  In high school, all my friends were guys and now I'm surrounded by many awesome chicks.  I'm blessed to have these three.  One tells it like it is - harsh, no-nonsense and blunt - enough to get through my thick head and I usually listen (except when it comes to guys, and she's always been right there).  One is a love bug.  She will smother you in love.  And the third is a combo - she'll gently tell you to get on with things while hugging you at the same time.  They are my ying-yang-yongs.  (I needed a third).  Sometimes you need your friends to tell you you're being an asshole and to get it together, to hug you and remind you that you're still someone that people want to have around.  (especially in Europe in 5 years....)

Will spent the night with his favourite babysitter Sarah, and I slept in.  When I got back to him on Sunday, I couldn't wait and I got the best smiles, hugs and kisses ever. 

And I actually missed him.  And he ate, and he slept and he was happy...all the things he hadn't been in weeks because he was feeding off his mother's crappy mood.  We'll be better moving forward - bring it on, I'm ready!

What else?

He learned to nod that day.  Holy shit it's adorable.  More yogurt?  Many nods.  Blankie?  Many nods.  Is mama the most beautiful, amazing, person ever?  He hasn't quite mastered that one yet - but we're working on it.

Who's Your Daddy??

We've covered why I wanted to have a baby.  And I've reread that post to myself many times over the past few days to remind myself why.  But why did I want to physically have a baby as opposed to adopting one?

Well - to be honest.  I didn't.  I wanted to adopt.  There was something about being pregnant alone that was super unappealing to me.  And very superficially of me - I was afraid what it would do to my body.  You chicks who have partners - they've done this to you.  If you end up with a pouch, striped like a zebra, with saggy boobs....he has to love your body anyway.  You made a life together.  I'm single and hoping not to be forever.  I didn't have a fantastic body, but I was pretty down with it.  I really liked my boobs the way they were.  I had heard horror stories on how your nipples get massive, and turn dark and you get a line of dark hair up the centre of your body...WHAT?  My god - let someone else go through that, and I'll thankfully raise the child.  I kid you not, I would wake up every morning when I was pregnant chanting, 'please let my boobs look the same, please let my boobs look the same.'  And thankfully they did.

Anyway - adoption.  I started to research.  International adoption, Canadian baby adoptions, Children's Aid adoptions.  I went to an adoption information session and listened to these incredible families talk about these children, their children, that they were raising, and I was moved.  But I was more moved by the other attendees...people who had tried to conceive for years and couldn't and I thought how selfish of me to not try and have my own if I could.  I decided that night, that that was the way it would be... some stranger who gets paid to jerk off in a cup on his lunch break would father my child. 

My male friends thought it would be an awesome reality show if they all jizzed in a cup, combined the swimmers and then waited to see whose actually did the deed and fertilized my egg.  I wasn't convinced.  So I started the hunt.  I online shopped for the man who would provide half the dna to my kid.  Sounds surreal?  It is surreal but my god, for a control freak like me, it's awesome.

I went through many, many profiles of men.  It's a bit like online dating except you know you don't have to meet them.  I waded through the profiles and culled it down a top ten and then, very appropriately, I had a cocktail party with my closest friends to let them help me.  There were engineers, a minister, musicians, artists.  They were young and old.  They were all tall and relatively handsome.  I knew who my top pick was but I was curious to see theirs.  In the end, we all had the same top two but in reverse order.  The next day my dad and step-mom and my sister perused.  They also had the same top two.  When I called to place my order (yup, just like online shopping), I decided to go with my friends first choice since I tend to have crappy taste in men.  And...he was sold out.  Yup - 'we just sold the last of him today'.

You mean to tell me the person that I've selected to father my kid is SOLD OUT?

She told me to go back and rethink my choice.  But I didn't need to.  It was fate and my first choice...a 6"2, 24 year-old glass blower from the eastern United States would be fedex'ed up to my doctor in a couple of weeks.  Well, not him, but you get the picture. 

There are many times now when I get that 'what if' shudder.  What if the first guy hadn't been sold out?  Would I have gotten pregnant?  What would Will be like?  It's a very strange thing to think about.

I call this guy Will's father.  I hope someday he has a dad but this guy will always be his father.  On Father's Day last year, we went to the park, ate ice cream and let some blue balloons go. 

Will was psyched to get the ice cream.  I was psyched to have Will.  When Will turns 18, he can meet his father, I hope he wants to because I'd like to give him a hug and thank him.  Then I'd like to kick him in the ass because these stubborn, demanding genes must come from him?  Right?  RIGHT?

Mommy 1 - Will 0

On December 22nd, I sat in my living room with my dad and step-mother - Will was sitting on Diana's lap reading a book and showing her all the animals and making all noises they make (so brilliant!) - he was making faces at my dad who was laughing. It was like a Norman fucking Rockwell painting. 

And then I said it.

"It's so easy now.  Remember how hard it used to be - I just can't believe it.  Now it's just so great!"

Why, why, why did I tempt the gods like that????

Since then - we've had the flu for two weeks and now the kid has pneumonia and is coughing like a two pack-a-day smoker.  This has led to my boy, and in turn me, to not sleep much for the last few weeks.  I have officially lost it.  Two days ago at the high point of my 'losing it' - It was 2am and he had been up for 3 hours, I finally got him down and he was back up 20 minutes ago.  It went something like this in my mind...

Okay Sara, he's not doing this to you on purpose.  He's not making a personal attack.  He just feels like ass and doesn't want to be in bed.  It won't be like this forever.  Soon he'll be 16 and won't want you for anything anymore.

So logical right?  But that logic got all lost once I got out of bed and went to his room.  I lost it.  I can admit it - I kicked a door.  I kicked his door.  Then I buried my face in my pillow and I screamed like I have never screamed before....twice.  Then I cried.  I haven't cried like that since my mother died.  And then, he stopped crying.  And I continued for 24 hours.  Thankfully, today I realized I could add PMS to total exhaustion for the reason for my snapping but I still feel like it was no excuse, and have been beating myself up over it for, oh about 48 hours now.

My awesome neighbour gave me a bookmark that says 'Keep Calm and Carry On' and it has become my new mantra.  And - it's working.  Since that collapse, I've been handling this all a bit better (we could perhaps attribute that to a few magic pills that I have left over from my postpartum days - we'll get into that later!!)

But my friends - I think it's safe to say - I'm fucked.  I have one stubborn kid on my hands.

Ladies and Gentlemen....for our first match up of the night...in this corner weighing 32 pounds and having a very, very fierce desire to go outside...Will Sutton Lanthier.  And in this corner, weighing ummm considerably more and vowing to regain control of her parenting is Mom.

Round 1 - School - Dorito crumbs - Will eats two - Will wants ALL.  Mom says no and...down he goes for the count - in this fight, we don't count by seconds, we go for minutes.  ONE - TWO- FIVE - TEN.  Yup ten minutes to fold him screaming and kicking into his car seat. Even those blasted Wiggles didn't work.

Round 2 - Home - Outside.  Will ALWAYS wants to go outside.  Super in the summer but how do you explain to a 17 month old that it's winter and we're not going outside.   The count begins...ONE, TWO, TEN...and OOOH Will takes out his mom's lips with a head butt (cheaper than collagen!!)....the counting continues...TWENTY, THIRTY, FORTY, FORTY-FIVE.

You read it right - 45 goddamn minutes of screaming - no tears.  Just screaming, at the top of his lungs.  Did I give in?  No - how could I?  I would have wasted the whole battle.  How did I win - thanks to my sister's suggestion - he spent 10 of those minutes in his crib sounding like a caged jaguar - got out and I offered him  an option of more crib or a meatball - and the meatball won.  And I didn't raise my voice, I stayed calm and carried on.

So - let's return to Dec. 22nd and that Norman Rockwell moment...because that may be the last one for the next 2-4 years.  God help me.

And God help the woman who walked into daycare and said 'Wow, all the kids have been healthy now for two full days.'  - NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO - I ran and knocked wood.

Shut your yap lady.  Shut it!  Or they'll send Satan calling ... in the form of an angel.

p.s. I swear that my posts will get slightly less whiny and complainy once I get some sleep....i'm boring myself!

Make the wailing stop...

Before I get into today's post...please tell me that someone has seen Jersey Shores??  I need to know if it's for real - because if it is - hot damn move me to the Jersey Shore.  I'll seem like the most cultured and refined person evah.  One dude has the same Vanessa Huxtable mushroom hairdo that I sported through most of my grade 9 and 10 years.  (Why did I never have any attention from boys?) The fake purses, the fights, the food - it was all too much.  And the only thing on at 4:30 Sunday am when Will chose to grace me with his presence.  Since then I see these kids everywhere...GONG SHOW!

So yesterday - the wailing, the crying, the hyperventilating.  It was too much.  And all from me.  Will is sick..AGAIN.  Following the Jersey Shores premiere, we didn't sleep the following night.  The poor dude has more snot in his nose than ummm losers on the Jersey Shore.  Finally at 4am we gave up - well he did.  On the 5 minute drive to school, he fell asleep and that's when I lost it.  For so many reasons - guilt for leaving him there when he was feeling like ass, guilt for wanting to leave him there when he was feeling like ass and a total, mind losing bewilderment of 'how the fuck are we going to make it through this winter with any remote sense of sanity'.  It's incredible how sleep deprivation can rob you of common sense and make the smallest thing worthy of an Oscar calibre performance.

He made it till 3 at daycare when he got sent home with a fever.  I'd be curious to be around someone suffering a fever from malaria or something because holy crap this was nuts.  Picture if you will a big floppy flounder with an arrowroot cookie in both hands (if fish had hands).  Eyes are closed, moaning is constant, cooking eating doesn't stop.  Finally got him to fall asleep at 5pm.  And YES I NOW KNOW.. big mistake.  We were up at 3:30 this morning - him feeling better and at home with a sitter, taking two leisurely naps.  Me at the office trying to pry my eyes open with 400 coffees and speak in sentences.  Thank god I work in a casual environment because I screwed my hair up on top of my head to wash my face this morning...and at 12:41, that is how it is now...

I'm going to assume that guilt rides side-car to motherhood. 

I heard a great expression this weekend - Up Before Dawn...the TV is On!  Thank you god for the Backyardigans.

A Baby or Brazil???

All right - time to answer it.

Why did you want to have a child alone?

I think there are two questions here.  The easy one first.  Did I want to have a child alone?  Nope.  It wouldn't have been my first choice.  Many...and I mean MANY of my friends who have children with spouses assured me that I didn't need one - that they ended up doing all the heavy lifting anyway.  One friend, who knows me wayyy too well, did remind me that I'm a full on control freak so if anyone should do it alone, it should be mine.  Let's see the pros and cons...

Pros of doing it alone
a. No input into name selection except mine!  I remember someone's hubby favouring names like Dakota and  Phoenix and every other soap opera sounding US placename.
b. No input into the actual rearing.  (see control freak above). I can admit it, I'm sure I'd be a massive pain in the ass to co-parent with.
c. No dealing with messy divorce.  (see point b)  Seriously, I know it's an extremely negaitve view -but facts are facts and with a greater than 50% divorce rate, I had a 50/50 chance of doing it 'alone' anyway so why not remove the ex-husband from the equation.
d. see point B above...it's important

Cons of doing it alone
a. the second income. 
b. no one to hold the kid while you attempt to change the barf covered sheets at 3am
c. no one to give you a half hour break when you feel you can no longer take it anymore
d. no one to share the ride with.  Have you ever been on a vacation alone and it's killer but there is no one there to share it with?  You can take many, many pictures but it's not the same as the person being there.
e. a male role model

Now, if you were to read this list you would say - Why the hell would you do this alone - the cons totally win.  Take a closer look though, aside from the second income (and due to my measley one income I get daycare assitance from our government) and okay the barf help, the other ones don't have to be a partner. I'm surrounded by people who offer help, a hand to get off the ledge and a break.  And as far as sharing it goes - isn't that what Facebook is for?  Male role models?  Will is going to be the most well rounded male because he is swamped by them...
Uncle Ryan can teach him how to be a guys guy but still love his mother.
Uncle Simon can teach him to play guitar and handle his scotch.
Uncle Mike can teach him how to play platform tennis well (as opposed to me) and how to dress...well okay Aunt Kerri can do that.
Uncle Clark can teach him how to hunt...umm okay maybe we'll think of something else for Clark.
Grandpa can teach him how to manage his money and keep his handicap low.
Uncle Kitchen can teach him to get into concerts cheap and roll the perfect joint.

Could one father provide all of this guidance?  I'm not so sure..

Now as to why I wanted to have a baby.  I didn't really want to have a baby.  I wanted a child.  If I could have popped out a walking, talking, sleeping six year old, I would have opted for that.  Difficult as the delivery would have been.  I was terrified to have a newborn.  Terrified that I wouldn't have the patience or the inate sense of what the hell to do with one.  I remember being at my prenatal class and everyones questions were about the hospital and the birth and the epidural - oh and whether or not they could have sex at the hospital to move things along.  WTF??  Finally I just said, who cares about all this??? What the hell do I do with the thing when I get it home???  The instructor assured me that if that was what I was asking I was on the right track.  I wasn't so sure.  I'm still not so sure.  I keep thinking I'll walk into Will's room one morning and he'll magically be six and asking if he can go get some cereal.  I am flying by the seat of my pants every single day. 

Then why do it?  It's not very complicated.  I have a nephew that I'm extremely close to.  I questioned whether I could love my own child as much as I love Scotty.  I wondered if it wasn't enough to just love him and have him love me?  But then I saw the look.  It's a look that Scotty gives my sister and a look that she returns that I knew I would never be a part of.  It's for them.  It made me realize that there is a something deeper there and something that I didn't want to miss out on just because I didn't have a partner to share it with me. 

There are a thousand other reasons - and more every day but that look....

I think he was giving it to me here...oh maybe not, the blinders were in the way.

Oh the title of this entry?  I gave myself six tries to get pregnant and then I was giving it up to go to South America and learn spanish.  There are moments....trust me....there are moments where I wish I was eating empanadas and drinking tequila and wearing a thong on a beach where no one knows me. 

But then the look.

The Whys - Part Two...

Saturday night - 8:11...and I'll give you  few why's...

Why am I typing when I have the first seven episodes of the new season of Friday Night Lights sitting next to me.

Why did I agree to play platform tennis in the morning.  It is fucking freezing cold outside.

Why can't my kid be healthy for more than 48 hours (as I can hear him hacking away in the next room...oh well, it's better than barf).  Although in truth, he did barf again tonight...but he just choked on some delicious pasta.

So why am I avoiding writing the answer to the real part 2...WHY DID YOU WANT TO HAVE A BABY?

It's a hard question to answer and I want to be honest, so give me another night and I'll get that answer during nap time tomorrow.  And a Saturday night with Tim Riggins...sorry dudes, but it wins out over writing tonight.

The Whys - Part 1

I'm sitting at the mechanics getting snow tires installed...thank god it snowed last night - I wiped out all over the roads on the way here.  It makes the $500 bones a little more tolerable...good-bye 5 star resort.

The plague appears to be over and the boy even slept past 5am.  Unfortunately, after your kid is sick - you have to retrain him that waking up at 1am and reading books is only a bribe for you to not meltdown when I strip you naked and toss you in a tub to scrub the crap off of you in the middle of the night.  I started that battle last night - and all told, it wasn't too bad.

So back to non-fluid related posts.  I am a 'choice mom'.  This is an actual term that describes single women who have chosen to become mothers.  Not sure if this includes getting knocked up after a drunken tequila binge in Mexico - I think it means you made the sound decision to embark on this trip solo.  There are lots of 'whys' (damn apostrophe or no??) associated with this choice.  Let's start with the first one.

WHY ARE YOU SINGLE?

I know, you think you're being complimentary when you ask single people this.  My response?
'Why are you dating/married to that incredibly boring woman?'
'Why are you spending your life with a guy that treats you like shit?'
These are terrible questions and ones you would never, unless loaded or dared, ask someone.  So why is it okay for people to question my mate of choice who, for right now, is no one. 

Don't mistake this hostility as bitterness towareds men or relationships.  It's not like that.  Would I like to be in a relationship?  Absolutely.  Will it happen sometime?  Yes it will.  If it happens 20 years from now, that's still a solid 20 - 30 years I may have with someone which is frankly, looooong enough.  If it happens today - awesome.  But why do you question it?  It's super irritating. 

Throwing Will into the mix adds a whole new dimension to dating.  Potential mates beware!  I'm no longer just looking for someone who can curl my toes, cook a turkey and speak in full sentences - it's now essential that you would be a positive influence in my son's life.  I actually did date someone for a while this summer and while it sadly didn't work out, it did remind me what I miss about being in a relationship (and a few reasons why I like not being in one.)

I'm lucky.  I've been in love before.  Some people haven't.  I had a first love in high school. We still see each other now and then and reflect on how special it was.  Not everyone has that.  I was engaged to a great guy with a few too many deep seeded issues to overcome, many of which were no fault of his own, and he treated me like gold.  Not everyone has that.  I've been in love with someone that I had no business being in love with.  Okay I think we all had that.  And now, while keeping my eyes open, I have a couple unrequited love interests who provide me with some great daydreams without any of the hassles!  My point - don't cry for me Argentina.  And don't question why I'm single and/or assume this means I'm lonely.  I'm surrounded by people who love me - I'm incredibly lucky.  Instead of waiting for the perfect man..

I created him.

Stay tuned for Why?  number two... Why the HELL did I take this all on!!

The 2010 Plague...formerly called the Body Fluid Tsunami of '09 (warning..warning gross deets ahead)

Will is the Etobicoke version on the Black Plague.  He has the flu.  And now many, many people have the flu.  My sister, her son, my friend's husband Adam and her two kids (but man I had fun at that playdate), Steve from the coffee shop and his kid, another kid from the coffee shop ... oh and his daycare class.  I walked in there last night and it was like a horror movie.  I felt particularly sorry for the new kid whose parents were getting the rundown of the day and how she hadn't been sick when ...blah...scrap that and add her to the list of the fallen.

12 Days.  That's where we're at.  14 if you count me.  Will has had the flu for 12 days.  And we can chalk this experience up to one of those that would be one hell of a lot easier with a partner.  Let me give you some insight into baby/toddler flu.  It's not like a dog where you can hear this heaving noise and pick him up and throw him outside.  Nope, it's sudden and it's ahhh - how do I phrase it - shocking.  How can a tiny body hold all that effing barf!!!

That was December 28th.  Since then, I've washed more sheets than the Whatever Ranch outside of Vegas on a Friday night.  A week ago, I would have said that I can't get used to him regurgitating food and handing it to me.  Today, I ate some...safe to say my tolerance levels have changed have changed through the plague. (I also pulled two boogers the size of Detroit out of his nose today and felt like I won the Olympic gold).

Since the 28th..it's been off and on.  It was off for 20 hours before I decided to drive us to Barrie for a New Years party.  We pulled in the driveway at my friends place, he barfed all over himself - I changed him and we came home.  Oooh and we managed to infect my friend Christie...so add her to the list.  Happy New Year!

Yesterday he went to 'school' (I call daycare school) in jeans and blue socks and came home in khakis and pink socks.  You get the idea.  We woke up at 4:30 this morning.  I guess Will could only take sleeping in his own crap for so long.  Head to toe...it was head to toe.  Then it just kept coming and coming until 7am.  Now, it's stopped.  12 heavenly hours of nothing but farts that could rival my own on a chili type day.

So - this is what your house looks like after a 15 hour day with a 17 month old and a 45 minute nap.  See that goddamn snowman.  I looove the people who gave it to me, I do...but it sings "Snowy Snowy" to the tune of Mony Mony.  Please pull my toenails out one by one.

I want to admit something to you now.  For you not co-habitating with a toddler yet, this may surprise you - and for you old hats, I hope you'll respect that I can admit this.  A lot of motherhood is booooooring.  So painfully boring.  Absolutely there are moments of awesomeness everyday but rest assured there is a lot of boring.  I've got to the point that I accept that this is a fact and those who claim otherwise are liars.  They are the women who said they've never felt more beautiful than when they were pregnant.  Will has been asleep for an hour - it's the first hour in the last 15 that I haven't read the Cars book 10 times and had to sing "I guess that's why I didn't notice that police car" - lyrics by DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince - EVERY time he pointed at the cop car.

Cross your fingers for me people...we are at 13 hours and 40 minutes and counting.  A girl can dream...a girl can dream.

Oh and this is what the 17 month old looks like as his mother tries to ram an electrolyte popsicle down his throat.  He was WAY more down with the gatorade...and here I thought it was only for hangovers.

Part Two of the Equation

Part two - well we're sort of a package deal now - is Will Sutton.

Name - I was looking for something that he could use if he became a rock star or the prime minister. So I thought William was it. Until I wrote it down and it was all wrong. It was just Will. He is just Will.  Short, sweet and unable to be shortened into some horrid nickname. He was almost Patrick, Hal, Ray or Leo...but Will won out.  Sutton is a little town in the eastern townships where my mom and my grandmother are buried.  I also thought it was the perfect length for yelling - 'Will Sutton' - try it really loud and it works.

Nicknames - because of course he has horrid nicknames already.  Bubba or Bubs from his mom; Willski from his cousin Scotty and Shmookie or shmookmeister from his aunt.  I've also heard Will the Thrill tossed around but there is enough time for him to become an obnoxious teenager later.  Anyone who says Willie immediately gets a drink in their face unless they are rich and looking to sponsor Will's junior hockey career.

Mother - well you know me.
Father - a twenty-something anonymous sperm donor from the eastern U.S.  He's young, cute and an artist.  Man if he only played guitar and looked like Jesus....
Siblings - at current count, Will has more than 20 half siblings.  You can pick your jaws up now...we'll delve into that debate a little later.

Inherited from me - an intense little personality, long legs and a strange love of dill pickles.
Inherited from the father - huge brown eyes, full lips and god willing some artisitic talent besides the ability to draw Fred Flintstone and play Forest Lawn on the ukelele.

Allow me to sound like 'that mother' for a moment - I'll get it out of the way now - because like all mom's, I think my child is brilliant, hilarious and beautiful.  Look the kid knew where the quail was on a puzzle board the other day.  I don't even know what a quail is.  He has read more books than half of the guys I've dated added together.  And people stop us on the street to say how cute he is.  (and shut up - I know people do this to all babies...let me have my moment).

But - like his mother - he can also be satanic.  Moody, irritable and he knows what he wants when he wants it.  Yup - like a raging teenager girl full of pms - except I'm getting it now when he's on the cusp of two. 

So that's my kid in a nutshell.  Cue the 'awww' but he is without a doubt, the single greatest thing to ever happen to me.  There are times when I think what the fuck was I thinking signing up for this hell but then he grabs my face and kisses me and I know that I don't ever want to return him to the store from where he came. 

I promise - now that you know him...the sap is over.

It's a first...A KEPT RESOLUTION!!!

January 4th and here I am.  I resolved that in 2010 I would get back to blogging.  It took me a few days but I've been elbow deep in barf for 8 days so you'll excuse me for being late.

I'm Sara.  I used to get paid to write a blog.  I wrote religiously, everyday for 4 years - although let's face it some were crap.  Getting paid to write a blog was interesting - first, they wanted me to 'appear' slightly younger than I am, so I am now the only 40 year-old who commonly refers to people as dude.  Secondly, when you write a blog on a website (or in my case 7) that are owned by a publicly traded company - you can't swear...and well FUCK that was hard for me.  Sorry Moo Moo (my granny).  She used to claim I was still single because I have a mouth like a trucker...she's probably fucking right.  Okay that's out of my system for now.

About two and a half years ago, I decided to have a baby.  This was a challenge because a. my ninety year old step grandfather was getting laid more than me and b. I was used to being alone and the idea of never being alone again was quite daunting.  Now, I'm the mother of a 17 month old and yes, the old man is still getting way more action than me and I'm still coping with never being alone.  Suffice it to say, this journey put a kaybosh on my WTF blog.  I wasn't getting into the crazy shenanigans like I did in my former life and I also couldn't quite lie about being 25 anymore.  So I stopped.  And I missed it.  And thanks to encouragement from friends and some **cough cough** former readers - I'm back.

Here are my rules - I hardly have time to wash my hair let alone do grammar checks so deal with it.  I'm going to flip flop between now and the last two years.  For the faithful WTFers, I said I'm pregnant - then here is the baby - then I was gone.  I'd love to fill you in on the past couple of ridiculous years and also keep track of the next few.   Someday, these posts will be a diary for Will - so let me apologize now kid, because I will continue to be honest, and divulge the secrets of my life (and yours) and yes, i will swear like a trucker.
 
(I may also ask for tips on how to format these things??? Man no more pay check and no more IT help desk!)