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~ the musings of a left wing left hander with two left feet

If By Yes

Monthly Archives: August 2011

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Carbs, Glorious Carbs: Our Day At The PNE

30 Tuesday Aug 2011

Tags

family outings, food, PNE, the ex, the fair, tourism, Vancouver

A year ago, I dragged my pregnant butt down to the Fair at the Pacific National Exhibition, and waddled around in the sun all day with Perfect Husband. I was 9 months pregnant, due to go into labour at any second, and determined not to miss my chance for mini donuts before Babby burst his way into my life.

This year, we went back. Babby was still bulging around my belly, but he was 10 pounds heavier, outside of my body and actually much less encumbering than 12 months before.

Why drag our baby/my pregnant body to the PNE?

Because it is AWESOME.

There aren't enough oxen in baby books.

When Mommy blows out her candles, she wishes for a draft horse!

That's it, right up the cow's nose.

There are cows and horses and little bunnies to look at, which I like.

There are booths set up hawking all kinds of as-seen-on-tv products.

But mostly, we love the food.

Like a hotdog on a pretzel bun, SMOTHERED in macaroni and cheese, with crispy fried onions.

I EAT IT

NO, *I* EAT IT!

Boob-Lady scares me

Hey, onions! I eat dem.

Or deep fried Pop Tarts.

And most importantly, mini-donuts, those little cinnamon-sugar bites of heaven.

Deep fried pop tart... and mini donuts!

SO GOOD.

We walked around for so long that even Babby eventually passed out from sheer awesomeness.

Is... is he breathing?

I gained three pounds after our day there. But since I’ve lost five, I’m still ahead of the game and it was SO WORTH IT.

Posted by IfByYes | Filed under Belly Battles, Life and Love

≈ 13 Comments

Boob-Lady Is Back To Work, and Babby Is Starving, But Happy…

29 Monday Aug 2011

Posted by IfByYes in How is Babby Formed?, Life and Love

≈ 35 Comments

Tags

babies, breastfeeding, milk supply, pumping at work, sleep, working mom

Well, Babby, or the artist soon to be known as Owl, survived his first week away from me. Four full time days away from me, and then another with his Daddy.

He doesn’t seem to mind in the least. He watches me go in the mornings, but he doesn’t cry. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop; for him to say, “Wait a minute, you leave me here EVERY DAY!!” but so far it hasn’t happened.

Daycare Lady doesn’t think it will happen, because he’s “such a happy, confident little guy” but NotMaryP, who has 19 years of experience on my own Daycare Lady, warns me that pretty much every baby goes through some separation tears in the first month of settling in.

In the meantime, I’m wavering between deep relief every time he lets me escape with a minimum of guilt, and slight concern that my baby doesn’t care whether or not I’m around.

Pumping at work is a problem.

A vet clinic is not your normal work atmosphere. There are hypothetical lunch breaks (we certainly go 30 minutes unpaid each shift for said lunch hour) but whether or not one gets to take an entire one, or even one at all, is left very much up to fate.

You have to understand that this is not a problem with THIS clinic. This is a problem in ALL clinics. When the vet needs you to restrain a thrashing patient, or when a surgery needs to be done, or the phone is ringing off the hook, it is simply Not Done to say “I’ll be with you in 20 minutes.”

So some days I get time to scarf down a lunch, and other days I do not. Pumping has to wait until a lull, and it gets precedent over eating. Sometimes that lull doesn’t happen until one in the afternoon, when my breasts are full to the brim. Even so, it’s ten minutes of agonized hiding in the bathroom and pumping away, only to produce 3 ounces total for my time.

And ten minutes feels like a LONG TIME when you can hear phones ringing, the vet calling out for help, and the “ding” of more people coming in the door.

In the morning, when Babby wakes up at 5 in the morning, I rush downstairs and pump a couple more ounces while PH tries to soothe a screaming baby who hasn’t eaten since 8:30 pm (on a good night) or at least one or two (on a bad night).

So he goes to daycare with 5 ounces or so of milk in his sippy cup, and Daycare Lady spoke to me on Friday and said that it’s simply not enough. He needs more. She talked to me about considering formula or cow’s milk to supplement.

I hate to go that route.

I had been hoping that solid food would fill that gap in his nutrition, but I guess it isn’t. And I can’t criticize Daycare Lady for simply not feeding him more. She gives me a run down each day of what he has eaten. The kid eats more than I do.

Here is Friday’s list:

  • one egg scrambled with flaxseed pita
  • One small bowl of cheerios
  • one cup of blueberry yoghurt
  • a few goldfish crackers
  • one bowl of cut up pear
  • one plate of rice with beef/lamb kebab and tomatoes,
  • one bowl of plain Greek yoghurt
  • one tablespoon of vanilla ice cream
  • one bowl of cut up red grapes
  • a few animal crackers
  • a whole banana

And this is the day that she told me that he needs more milk.

She very well may be right, because for the last two days, basically since I got home Saturday evening until, well, NOW, Babby has been latched onto my boob.

His nights, which had settled down into a sleep through the night on a good night or one or two wakeups on a bad night, has relapsed into regular, every two or three hour wake ups. And he WON’T go to sleep without a good feed each time.

I feel like our sleep training has taken a serious step back, because he isn’t being sung to sleep the last couple of nights – he is nursing until he is finally sated.

HELP, SHE'S STARVING MEEEEEEEEEEE!

To be fair, when I put him down, he rolls over and goes to sleep on his own. But if we put him down before he is done nursing, he just screams and signs for “MILK” in an emphatic way which is impossible to ignore. We’re afraid to ignore it, anyway, after the “he needs more milk” talk.

Do 11 month olds go through cluster feedings? 

What do I do? Get a better pump? Put him onto cow’s milk? FORMULA?

BEHOLD, the interior of my fridge!

28 Sunday Aug 2011

Posted by IfByYes in Vids and Vlogs

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

fridge, memes, videos, vlog

In celebration of Postcards From Oblivion getting her blog up and running again, I am posting a video I made as a response to her post wherein she revealed the secret contents of her fridge.

Now you, too, can marvel at the secrets within my cold food storage compartment. Laugh! Cry! Judge!

[vimeo vimeo.com/28269831]

NAME THIS BABBY

25 Thursday Aug 2011

Posted by IfByYes in How is Babby Formed?, I'm Sure This Happens To Everyone..., Life and Love, My Blag is on the Interwebs

≈ 51 Comments

Tags

baby names, Blogging, blogs, names

No, "Angel" is DEFINITELY not on the list

So, I’ve talked about re-nicknaming Babby, since he will soon not be so much a Babby as a toddler, and also because he is developing a personality and deserves to have that acknowledged.

Thanks to all who made suggestions! If you think of others, feel free to toss them out there, but in the meantime, please give your opinion on existing ideas.

I have considered, and tossed away, the following options:

Stubborn (too negative, since he is not so much STUBBORN as… strong willed/opinionated)

Cheerful (positive and mostly true, but will seem weird when I complain about his tantrums during the toddler years or when I post pictures like this)

Screamy McGee (it fits him less every day, although I am sure there will be days, during the terrible twos, when it will fit him to a tee…)

Perfect Son (an appropos suggestion, but possibly damaging emotionally to Babby’s future siblings, and untrue in any case)

% (another suggestion, to which I will not apply adjectives)

Toddy (makes him sound like a night cap)

I am also concerned that it will be confusing to those who think of him as “Babby” to go to a totally different name, so I have considered similar sounding names such as:

Bobby

Billy

Buddy (an actual nickname we use)

However, since these are actual people names, but not HIS name, I am afraid people might think my son’s name actually is Billy or Buddy, and that’s not quite right, either.

Other names still on the table:

Owl or Little Owl (a great suggestion, since my mother calls him this all the time, and he DOES have massive eyes, and he sure doesn’t sleep well at night)

Wol (because “owl” is awkward to say out loud, and because Owl in Winnie The Pooh spells his name Wol)

Willful (a more positive trait name, which I feel fits his personality more)

Goobs/Goobergeiger (a real life nickname of ours, taken from Mission Hill)

What names do you like?

There’s also the problem that I have a mild form of synaesthesia. I am concerned that people will be confused if I go to a different COLOURED name. For example, “Babby” is a blue word, and his real name is a gold/brown word. I’m afraid that people will be confused if he goes from being blue to being, say, purple or green.

That is a normal concern, right? Am I misleading you all by making you think he is blue or another colour, when he is actually gold/brown?

Should his new name be another blue name, so as not to confuse my readership, or should it fit his real name in colour, thus aligning his nickname with reality better?

So, if it affects your judgement, Buddy/Bobby/Billy are more or less the same colour as Babby (because b is blue, you see). Owl and Willful are similar in colour to his ACTUAL name.

Just in case it matters to you.

It might.

TV Update

24 Wednesday Aug 2011

Posted by IfByYes in How is Babby Formed?

≈ 5 Comments

When I dropped Babby off at daycare this morning, she talked to me again about the T.V. 

She said that it had always been unhooked from the cable, but that while she was on vacation, she had a stand-in lady coming in, and that lady hooked it back up for her own child.

“But I am going to unhook it again, I think,” she said. “They have enough to do. My girls like to watch it, but they can go upstairs. They always used to go upstairs to watch. And I want you to feel comfortable.”

She pointed at the other little boy, who is just under two. “His mother really hates TV, and he never had any interest. Now he turns on the tv! I am shocked by how quickly he became corrupted.”

She says the right things, but will she do them? Not to mention the fact that she knew that one of her charges had a mother who was against television, but she still allowed her replacement to expose him to TV, which she admits “corrupted” him. That’s NOT cool.

So she had BETTER unhook that cable, and when she goes on vacation next year, I will make sure any replacement lady knows how I feel. And give her THIS.

I Want My Baby Back, Baby Back, Baby Back…

24 Wednesday Aug 2011

Posted by IfByYes in How is Babby Formed?

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

child care, child development, daycare, going back to work, television, working mother

I’m sure you’re all dying to know how Babby’s first day at daycare went.

Because clearly, your lives all revolve around MY life.

Oh, the ego-centric bloggerverse.

Anyway, he was fine. That massive all-night sleep ended at 4:45 am, so he was already exhausted and drowsy when I dropped him at daycare. Daycare Lady had no problem putting him to sleep thanks to that.

Well, thanks to that… and the sleepy suit.

She told me that he gobbled an egg (he had already had bacon and eggs and toast at home that morning), and pita, and LAMB SHANK, and rice, and crackers…

“He’s a really good eater!”

So I hear.

“He likes to feed himself.”

Yes, yes he does. I didn’t use the word “Baby Led Weaning” in case she thought I was a nut job, but I did tell her that he had never had purees – that I had always just handed him stuff off of my plate, and he’d eat it. Which is true. (Never mind that for the first month or so, he would just suck on it, rather than eat it, so he didn’t really start solids until seven months old…)

Anyway, he played and she said he didn’t cry at all. When I cam in the door he signed “milk” at me (Daycare Lady also thinks it means “Mommy” because she said there were times when he made it during the day and had no interest in the milk she brought). He wasn’t overjoyed to see me, just “oh, hey, about time you showed up. Boob me, woman.”

After he’d nursed for a bit, he went back to crawling around while I talked to her, wrote checks and so on.

All of that was good. But I didn’t experience much relief because I was drowning in the horror of what I had seen when I had arrived to pick him up…

I arrived about fifteen minutes earlier than I had told her to expect me. I looked in the window and saw him playing near the door while snacking on some pita.

AND DORA THE EXPLORER WAS PLAYING ON THE TELEVISION SET.

*dramatic mus8c* Dum Dum DUM!

Most of you know, I think, that I’m a little weird about television. I hate it with a passion. HATE. IT.

I mean, yes, I do watch T.V. But never on my own, as a solitary activity. Wouldn’t occur to me (well, except for those first couple of months when Babby had me pinned to a chair all frigging day). We don’t consider cable worth paying money for.

I like certain TV shows – House M.D., Glee, Sex and the City, Friends, Dragon’s Den, Mythbusters, Canada’s Worst Driver… but I hate commercials. I like to watch things on DVD whenever possible.

And pediatricians agree that television is totally mind-rotting for under-twos. Especially children’s television! I would rather Babby watch the news than children’s programming.

I specifically chose this daycare because the lady said the kids didn’t watch tv. SO WHY WAS DORA THE EXPLORER CHATTERING INANELY AT MY CHILD?

To be fair, he wasn’t watching, or plunked in front of the set. But it was ON. He could be hypnotized by it at any moment.

I brought it up almost immediately, and the Daycare Lady said that it was unusual. She said that she hadn’t even had cable in the room until she went on vacation, when her stand-in who took over daycare insisted on it for her own children. I didn’t care about before. I cared about NOW. Would it be a regular thing? I was assurred not.

But how can I know? My trust in her feels shattered.

I realize that this sounds melodramatic, but this is important to me. I tried to make that clear to her.

It brought home to me that 5 days a week, now, I am not raising my child. Someone else is. I have no real control over how he is treated and what he is taught. I can make my preferences clear, but I can’t KNOW.

What if he is turned into a tv fiend? What if his first word is “Dora!” or worse *shudder* “Max” or “Ruby”?

I realize that all children get exposed to the culture of tv eventually, and I thought I was resigned. I said as much to The Corn Fed Girl on her post about Those Moms (since I am one).

But he’s 11 months old.

It feels so early to let go, to give up my influence to others, to let someone else decide what my baby with his tender developing brain is exposed to.

I cried myself to sleep. 

MIRACLE!

23 Tuesday Aug 2011

Posted by IfByYes in How is Babby Formed?

≈ 16 Comments

GUESS WHO SLEPT THROUGH THE NIGHT?

The Help: Empowering, or Archetyping?

22 Monday Aug 2011

Posted by IfByYes in Shhh, I'm Reading

≈ 16 Comments

Tags

books, Kathryn Stockett, literature, movies, Octavia Spencer, racism, reviews, The Help

Perfect Husband and I went to see The Help recently. I picked up the book at the airport in May, and gobbled it right up. It’s a good read – it’s easy, and it doesn’t FEEL long, but it actually took me a couple of days to get through, and that’s despite an eight hour flight (just so you don’t think I am an absymally slow reader, please keep in mind it was an eight hour flight with a baby).

So we went to see the movie.

It’s good. It carries the plot of the book fairly well, and I think it falls into the purple category in Don’t Mind The Mess’s pie chart.

It caught the plot and most of the characters well, but it lacked… edge. The anger. The character of Minnie was well played by Octavia Spencer (who apparently was the real-life inspiration for the character) but in the book she is… angrier. The characters are all a little more bitter, a little more jaded, a little less willing to forgive and forget.

The movie polished them a bit. It made them more patient, more sad than angry, and it took away many of their flaws. I didn’t really like that.

When you turn Constantine into a doddering old lady who dies of a broken heart, or when you make Minnie more feisty than furious, I feel like we do a disservice to the characters, and to Black history. Minnie is turned into a Mammy, and Constantine into a Magic Negro.

It bothered both of us, PH and I.

But then, who am I, a white person, to accuse a film of subtle racism, especially as an adaptation of a book written by another white person?

I have tried to google for the African American reception of The Help, in book or movie form, and haven’t been successful.

PH and his mother read it, too, and liked it. They are from the states, originally, and I think the book hit very close to home for them. My mother-in-law said firmly, “I know some of the women in this book.”

It hit me close to home, too. Not because I have any roots in the south, but because I grew up with an experience alien to most Canadians:

I had a black maid.

We lived in the Caribbean, and in that sort of society, either you were a maid, or you could afford a maid. There wasn’t much in between. And if you could afford a maid, why WOULDN’T you give a job to someone who needed that money?

Our house even had maid’s quarters in the back yard – a building with a room, and a bathroom, and the laundry was out there. We used it for storage. Our maid didn’t live with us, and she shuttled between several families.

She was paid for, at least in part, by my Dad’s work, I think. It was, like, part of his work benefits package. She only came in the mornings, and I think she had Thursdays and Sundays off. I used to feel awkward watching cartoons on Saturday morning while Annette vacuumed around me. She had such a sad face all the time.

She only spoke French (she was Haitian, and sent money home to her family there. When she went home for a visit, she often brought me back a gift) so I didn’t speak much with her, but my mother could speak with her.

I can’t really say much about what treatment of maids was like. I rarely happened to be at a friend’s house when their maid was in. But I think it varied widely.

When we first moved there, my mother came in and found her helping herself to a glass of water. She jumped guiltily and began to apologize! For drinking water!

My mother frowned, and opened the fridge, and gestured at everything.

“You help yourself to whatever you like, any time,” my mother told her. “If it’s something big, maybe just ask me in case I prepared it for a party or something, but otherwise, you help yourself.”

She never did, though. She never ate or drank from our fridge. But she did drink the occasional glass of water. At least she took my mother at her word that much. But if she was so cautious about doing something as simple as getting a drink, how much trouble had other employers caused her in the past??

When the Haiti earthquake happened, I thought of her. I hope her family was ok. And I hope she never felt about us the way the characters in The Help felt about their white employers.

We certainly never required that she use a different glass, and she was welcome to use any toilet she wanted.

Dead Cars, Dead Political Leaders, and Good (Living) Friends

22 Monday Aug 2011

Posted by IfByYes in Life and Love

≈ 10 Comments

My last day of freedom before full-time work begins.

I had plans.

I was going to drive PH to work so I could have the car. Then I was going to swing by the daycare, drop Babby off for an hour or two so I could test the waters there. Then I was going to pick up some groceries and get in touch with my friends, one of whom is home with her three month old, and the other of whom is on vacation this week.

We could have fun times, possibly after I had picked up Babby, and if for some reason they couldn’t hang out, I was going to come home and CLEAN the Babby-free house, and then maybe take Babby for a fun day out in the park and cherish ever moment.

I woke up this morning.

It was pissing rain.

Summer arrived in Vancouver a couple of weeks ago, after an unusually cold and drizzly season. I know everyone thinks Vancouver rains all the time, but it actually DOESN’T, in summer. All the rain comes in the winter. Summer is fire-hazard time.

Not this summer. But the last two weeks have been hot and sunny, and yesterday was the hottest and sunniest. And now it’s pissing rain. Not so much with the fun times in the park, today.

Anyway,

Halfway to PH’s work the engine overheating light started to blink. We were on a bridge.

Great.

There is a Midas near PH’s work, so we got off the highway and drove slowly with our four-ways on, switching to neutral at red lights. Two minutes away from Midas, the check engine light went on. As we pulled in, the battery light went on.

Bad bad bad!

So I ended up calling my friend The Farm Fairy and begging her to load her baby into the car and come rescue me. Babby crawled around the floor at Midas and turned his knees positively black while I watched the news about Jack Layton‘s death.

My sainted friend showed up forty five minutes later and drove me home. Then, after a couple more phone calls and a booba top up for both babies, she drove me to the daycare so I could talk to the lady about Babby’s personality, diet, how to use his diapers etc and get the requisite forms to fill out. I didn’t leave him there, because honestly, there’s only so much chauffeuring one can ask of a friend in a day.

Then she drove me to her house and we hung out with our vacationing friend for a bit. But then Farm Fairy’s mother called needing a ride (it was chaffeur day for her, clearly) so vacationing friend drove me home again.

Babby is now down for a nap, it’s still raining, the house is still dirty.

And PH says that apparently it’s going to take 1,000 bucks to fix the car.

I guess we know where my next couple of paychecks will be going, eh?

Back From Work And Only Slightly Humiliated

20 Saturday Aug 2011

Posted by IfByYes in How is Babby Formed?, I'm Sure This Happens To Everyone..., Life and Love, Life's Little Moments, My Blag is on the Interwebs, Perfect Husband

≈ 18 Comments

We all know from Dooce that posting about work is a bad idea. So I haven’t talked much about my new workplace and probably won’t.

Suffice to say it is a two-clinic practice, the man who hired me seems very nice, and one of the clinics reminds me of my old work in Nova Scotia, which makes me feel at home.

So all in all, I have hopes.

But you all know how nightmarish starting a new job is:

You don’t know anyone, and they don’t know you, so the slightest thing you say or do comes to define your whole personality as understood by them. Like the time, in my last job, when someone mentioned bananas and I went, “I AM A BANANA!”

There was this moment of silence afterwards when I realized that I was not among my friends, and that anyone who hasn’t seen the Rejected video would be highly inclined to question my sanity.

I have never been so relieved to hear someone reply “MAH SPOON IS TOO BIG!”

Thanks, ~K, for getting me out of THAT mess.

…Anyway, that was then, this was now. I was older, wiser.

But still me.

All in all it wasn’t too bad. I managed to make myself useful as much as possible when I didn’t know where ANYTHING was, or belonged, didn’t know any policies, any of the clients, or how to operate the computer system. Mostly I cleaned and counted pills.

I did managed to set up a fecal float in a dissatisfactory manner, and then my boss burst into the bathroom to discover me sitting hunched on the toilet seat lid with my boobas out. (It doesn’t help that my pump has started sounding like an old woman in a rocking chair, so it was going “squeak squeak squeak” while fluids gushed out of me.).

I’m so glad that despite my best efforts I still managed a moment of humiliation. At least this one was probably worse for my boss than for me. He practically rebounded out o the room as though he had walked into a force field, and when I came out IT WAS NEVER MENTIONED AGAIN.

Babby did fine without me, having a blast with his Daddy all day. The only sign that he missed me was a big grin and an immediate sign for “milk” (yet more proof that I am not so much “mommy” as “Milk Jugs”). But after he’d had his fill, he went right back to re-engaging his father in peek-a-boo.

I was pleased.

But oh, man, so hard to go so long from my baby. When my boobs fill up, so do my anxiety levels. The full boobas somehow send a message to my brain that say,

“IT’S BOOBA-O-CLOCK. DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR BABBY IS?”

I work again on Tuesday. Hopefully there will be more pumping and less anxiety/awkwardness.

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