Waddling into the toddler years

It was bound to happen.

Darling daughter is officially walking. Friday was a turning point in this new and exciting milestone of hers. Although she was waddling around for most of the day on Friday, she really started to grasp the concept of walking. And all it took was a friend's living room and two dogs to jump start her walking abilities.

After getting the tire fixed on Friday afternoon, we hit the highway and drove out of town for a wedding of two close family friends. We spent most of the evening hanging out at the groom's parent's house. Since it was a beehive of activity outside, darling daughter and I sat inside the house, trying to out from under other people's feet. It was a perfect opportunity for darling daughter to practice her walking. Instead of using a remote control to entice her, a device we usually use to get her interested in walking, a little dog was all she needed to get walking.

She would toddle to dog, back to me, back to the dog, out to the back room, back to the dog, to the pickle and olive jars sitting on a box on the floor (she must have been fascinated by the lids) and back to the dog. When the groom's and bride's dog, a beagle, was let into the house, darling daughter had a heyday, walking between the two dogs. Having enough of a toddling, shrieking baby, the poor beagle slunk upstairs for some peace and quiet.

I don't consider a toddler as she seems so young. Borrowing a word used by my parenting guru, K, darling daughter is a waddler. Regardless of word I use, my baby is leaving babyhood and waddling into toddlerhood. Time will only tell if I am ready for the toddler years.

Flat tire deflates big plans

This is what greeted me this morning. A flat tire.

My big plans that I had planned for today were immediately deflated. *Sigh*

Last week, one of my friends had offered me free child care for the day. I immediately took her up on her offer. With no darling daughter wobbling underneath my feet and getting into trouble, I could take the entire day to do some major cleaning and decluttering. I know this plan wasn't very exciting to some, but it was for me. My house needs a major cleaning.

So my friend and I had agreed on Thursday. Unfortunately for me, a warning light popped on the car dashboard late Wednesday night, which resulted in dear husband taking it into the dealership. Luckily it wasn't anything major. After making many frantic messages to my friend, explaining the situation, we decided to postpone child care until Friday.

I was excited. I was excited to clean my house and I was excited (and anxious) to see what a day away from darling daughter would be like. When I went to put her bag into the car, I saw the flat tire. I wanted to cry.

So now I am waiting for dear husband to come home and take it to a nearby tire shop. I'm wary of driving there myself with darling daughter in the car. I've never had to deal with a flat tire before. And quite honestly, they aren't a lot of fun.

The Internet is the new soap opera

Some of my mom friends came over last night and the conversation eventually turned to the routines of our days, specifically when it comes Internet.

I admit, I'm on the Internet a lot. I'm addicted to Facebook, I frequently check out the message boards of some mom groups I belong to. And sometimes I feel immense guilt when reading Dear Abby or the comment section of Globe and Mail as that I think I could be using this time playing with darling daughter, rather than be glued to a computer screen.

But it was nice to learn last night that I'm not the only one who is a frequent Internet user. And as one of my friends pointed out to us the Internet is what soap operas were to our mothers. Which makes a lot of sense when you think about it. Except for the odd episode of Bo on the Go and Busytown Mysteries, the television is rarely on in my house. About two months ago, I made the conscious decision to turn the on button off. Instead of television, the radio is constantly on. I can listen to it while I do things around the house and play with darling daughter.

However, the Internet is such a big distraction in my life. If someone makes a comment or sends me a message on Facebook (I can hear and see when I get email alerts as I am signed into MSN Messenger) I have to check my account. It is sad really. Earlier this year, I had a 12 hour Internet challenge. For 12 hours I didn't use the Internet. And it was hard. Really hard. Harder than giving up Diet Coke. (I have been Diet Coke-free for 10 days now). Obviously my Internet usage is an issue, but is an issue I am working on. I make a point of doing an out-of-house activity with darling daughter. Today, we went to the pool and an afternoon walk. I also made quiche. All of which were activities that didn't include me near a computer, which is a very good thing.

Being eaten out of house and home

I didn't think the teenage years started, well, until the teenage years. I thought I'd update my readers on the baby food making situation. About a month ago, I ditched the purees for finger foods. (No more baby cubes for this kid, except for the ones that have been forgotten in my freezer). Except for the mess they leave on the highchair tray and seat, finger foods have made life a lot easier. No more feeding darling daughter with a spoon. No more screaming baby when I hit the puree button on the blender. Yes, meal time has been a lot easier and quieter with the introduction of non-mushy food.

But lately, it seems like dear husband and I are always running to the grocery store to stock up the refrigerator. The above photo shows a sampling of some of the food I bought today. Darling daughter is a cheese fiend. I can't keep enough of it in the house. We buy cheese by the bricks. Blueberries are the best finger foods ever. All you have to do is wash and serve. Although we have yet to try peppers, they will complement the quiche I hope to make for her later this week. (We are having an issue with meat. Darling daughter doesn't like it. Therefore, I'm searching for other meat alternatives).

But holy moley, it seems like our food supply in the refrigerator is dwindling on a constant basis. Tonight I spent $70 at the store, and most of that food will go towards sustaining darling daughter's energy levels. I'm not complaining, but I am amazed at how much food a 13 month old can pack away. On the weekend we went to a birthday party. As the dutiful mother that I am, I fed her before we went. While we were there, she packed away several cubes of fruit, had a bit of pasta salad and couldn't get enough of a hamburger bun. And this was on top of the fact that she had only eaten an hour before.

In the last month I have become a master chopper of cheese, plums, strawberries, watermelon, grapes, honey dew melon, cantaloupe, nectarines. Cheerios are a big hit. Sometimes I sneak in vegetables. (It is a work in progress). Yes, finger foods are easier. But it seems like we are making a lot more trips to the grocery store, though.

I'm just a rookie mom of one

I must live under a rock because until the other night, I had no idea that the concept of an Alpha Mom even existed.

I was browsing Facebook when I saw an Alpha Mom fan suggestion. Become a fan if you’re an Alpha Mom, the icon on the right hand of my computer screen suggested.

Alpha Mom? I know what an Alpha Dog is, but what the heck is an Alpha Mom? Is a Soccer Mom similar to an Alpha Mom? Or is an Alpha Mom like a Hockey Mom? Where do people come up with these labels? I turned to Google for the answer.

According to the information I Googled, an Alpha Mom is a marketing buzz word describing the modern mom who is tech savvy, who is knowledgeable on the latest trends and who influences other moms, especially in terms how they spend their money. She is also a multi-tasker who works towards a goal of mommy excellence.

Well, I don’t think that definition describes me as a mom. I’m not very trendy in terms of fashion. I desperately need a hair cut and I haven’t had any fashion sense since I was a teenager. I’m kind of tech savvy. I’m addicted to Facebook, but I’m not a big fan of cellphones. It takes me five minutes to tap out a text message. That’s why I don’t text message. I've all but given up on Twitter as I have little interest or motivation in telling the whole world about what I am doing. If someone asks my opinion on a certain product or service, I’ll give it, but to actively influence my friends on the way they spend money, well, I don’t think I have any influence in that department.

Obviously I’m not an alpha mom. So what am I? Am I the opposite to the Alpha Mom? Am I a Beta Mom, the label given to moms who have laid back personalities, who don't have all that much financial influence over their peers and who revel in their relax approach to their parenting styles?

Good question. I think I'm in between. I’m just a rookie mom of one, who is trying to find her own parenting style, who tries to do her best, and is still trying to find my footing as a parent. Label or no label, I'm a parent. And being a parent isn't an easy task. I wish people would remember that when coming up with these marketing buzz words.

Denied access . . . again

I didn't realize that baby swings were such hot commodities in Ottawa playgrounds.

Granted there is only one baby swing in a nearby park that is along one of our favourite walking routes, but three times this week I have tried to see if the swing was available, and three times we were denied access.

Darling daughter absolutely loves swings. She squeals in delights when we push the stroller into a playground with swings. There is another park we often go to that has two baby swings, but the mosquitoes have a tendency to buzz around us. Plus, the recent rain and hot weather have only made the mosquito problem worse. Darling daughter doesn't need to add to her already existent bug bite collection.

Lately we have been going on a lot of walks. Stopping at a playground is the highlight of these outings as darling daughter loves to giggles and smile as I push her. Twice this week the swing at the playground in question was occupied by a child, who just like darling daughter, delights in swing time. No big deal. Try again next time.

But tonight we were just about a meter away from getting to the swing. With darling daughter perched in her Zooper, dear husband and I could see the swing was vacant. A smile grew on my face. As we approached closer, there was a part of me that wanted to tell dear husband to run and reserve the swing. I know it was a very childish thought on my part, but since I had already been denied access twice this week I didn't want it to happen a third time. As we were about a meter away, a dad with a toddler intercepted our path and plunked his daughter into the swing. Denied access, again! Not to look like an idiot, I continued pushing on the path. I refused to look at the dad pushing his daughter in order to give the impression to the other parents on the playground that pushing my daughter in a baby swing was the last thought on my mind.

Dear husband thinks it was an intentional act on the dad's part. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't. All I know there are a lot more swinging days in darling daughter's future and all I can do is try again next time.

You know when you are a stay-at-home mom . . .

How could I forget about rush hour traffic?

Apparently I did.

Yesterday I had an 6 p.m. appointment with my friend who is a massage therapist. Since I live fairly close to Hwy. 417, I didn't exactly rush to get out of the house. Although I wasn't exactly running late, but I was pushing it kind of close to my liking. Once I got on the highway, I was shocked to see traffic backed up to the next exit. I had a choice to make: idle in traffic or take an alternative route by getting off at the next exit. I decided to take an alternative route.

For those who don't know me, I'm a very punctual person. I'm so punctual that I sometimes think it is a fault. I started to feel anxiety if I'm running late. I think this stems from my childhood. My father isn't an punctual person. In fact, I joke that he'll be late for his own funeral. My father was in charge of taking us kids to church on Sundays. And every Sunday we were late. This wouldn't necessarily a problem if our pew wasn't at the front of the church. Do you know how embarrassing to walk to the front of the church during the opening hymn? Let's just say as a kid it wasn't the highlight of my week.

After getting off on the next exit, I was still faced with battling heavy traffic. Traffic did peter off somewhat when I got to Hunt Club Road, a familiar route I used to take when I was working. I can honestly say that I don't miss rush hour traffic. I don't miss the stop and go, nor the idling in traffic. I also don't miss the tailgaters. Not having to deal traffic may be one of the more quieter highlights of being a stay-at-home mom

Cake + Diet Coke = delicious treat

The cake is no more.

Apparently my will power refused to show up.

Over the last two days, that large piece of cake started to dwindle in size as I ate a forkful here and there. By 5 p.m. today, it was just a scrawny piece of cake-y goodness. So I decided to put it out of its misery by eating it for dessert. No more cake means no more temptation.

A cold glass of Diet Coke would have gone well with that piece of cake. But alas, I haven't had any Diet Coke in two days, which is a recent record for me. In my books, the best treat of all in the whole wide world is chocolate cake and Diet Coke. But I have decided to give up Diet Coke. There is no Diet Coke in the house actually, so sneaking a can with my treat wasn't even possible.

So here I am, with no cake and no Diet Coke. Although I am proud of myself that I haven't drank any Diet Coke in two days, I do miss its fizzy goodness. They say it takes 21 days to break a habit. I've got 19 more days to go. I'll let you know what the outcome is. Here's hoping I can break my Diet Coke once and for all.

Willpower? What the hell is that?

I'm having a bad day.

The household chores are piling up and I can't seem to get on top of them. Darling daughter got up before 6 a.m. this morning and has been in a nasty mood ever since. I've got sand all over my bedroom floor after sorting through our wet bathing suits we used at the beach yesterday. I've got a withdrawal headache as I'm currently swearing off diet coke. And now I've got a big piece of chocolate cake calling my name.

Yeah, it is just one of those days.

I should know better than to have chocolate cake in the house. Once upon a time when I worked outside of the house, I used to brown bag my lunch and I rarely ventured out of the office to indulge in a treat. But since I'm home 24 hours a day, seven days a week, it is just so darn easy to indulge in items that I shouldn't indulge in and that includes chocolate cake.

Oh, I won't lie. I have already had a bite or two of cake this morning, but it is now lunchtime, I still have a headache and eating a piece of chocolate cake would be a great pick me up. I'm trying to rely on my willpower, but I can't find it. It must of ran away with my motivation last week.

So here I am, sitting in front of my computer, tired, suffering from a headache and to dive into the remainder of dear husband's birthday cake. It is a no win-win situation. It would be wasteful for me to throw the cake out and it would be counterproductive of me to eat it as I have absolutely no motivation to go to the gym. So if my will power is reading this post, do you think you could return home? And if you see my motivation, do you think you can drag it home too? I really miss you guys.

Why can't the house tidy itself?

As a stay at home mom, I feel like I should be spending my days cleaning my house from top to bottom when I am not caring for darling daughter.. But if I'm lucky to get a load of laundry washed, dried, folded and put away in the course of a 12-hour period, I consider that a successful day. The chores on my ever-growing list aren't getting done. In fact, they are piling up. I've got a pile of papers that have yet to be shreaded. I have clutter that needs to be decluttered. I have a pile of household items that are slated to Goodwill but are just sitting in my basement. I have floors to swiffer. I have dishes to wash. Yet, I have no motivation to do so, not even when darling daughter is sleeping. Lately, when she goes for her naps, I'll sneak out to the back yard and read. Simply put, I just don't have the energy to do housework as it is never ending. There will always be dishes to wash, clothes to put away, clutter that needs to be dealt with, but summer only comes once a year. I guess my housework can always wait until September.

Copyright 2009 -- Valerie McLaughlin -- All rights reserved

It is time to stop the procrastination . . . here we come sippy cups!

Today was the day that I reacquainted darling daughter with the sippy cup.

This day was at least two months in the making. It has been pure laziness on my part that I haven't pursued the sippy cup issue further. Around May, I had given darling daughter a sippy cup a handful of times. Although the results were always mixed, there was always one constant: liquid all over the place. Since I was, and still am, breastfeeding, it was always easier putting darling daughter to the breast than to deal with leaking sippy cups. There is no fuss or muss with the breast. It is very convenient. It never leaks. But, I am coming to the realization that this child can't be breastfed to the age of five and will soon have to learn how to drink out of a cup.

So I rummaged and found the package of new sippy cups I bought almost two months ago, washed one and filled it with water. Darling daughter didn't know what to think when I placed it on the tray of her high chair. She banged it against the tray. She chewed on it. And she even dropped it on the floor. Finally, she started to suck on it. Although she has yet to get the hang of tipping the cup back far enough to get water, she has taken to the sippy cup with a vengeance even to the point that she cried hysterically when I took it away from her before dinner. But I may be deceiving myself as she has a strong affinity towards plastic containers. Today, she was thrilled to play with a large yogurt container. Really, I don't know why I buy toys.

So dear readers, I may be on the verge of freedom: the freedom to be away from the house for more than four hours without worrying if darling daughter requires a feed. Despite the tiny puddles of water left on the floor that darling daughter created while practicing her sippy cup technique, these tiny plastic cups represent liberty and freedom in my world. So bring on the sippy cups! Darling daughter has a lot of practicing to do.

Copyright 2009 -- Valerie McLaughlin -- All rights reserved

I'm a slave to nap time

I'm starting to feel what house arrest is like.

I say that jokingly, but at the same time I am getting tired of looking at my beige walls. Getting out of the house was an impossible task this week. I basically have a two hour window between darling daughter's morning nap and her afternoon nap that I can leave the house. For whatever reason, playdates have to fall in a certain time frame in order for me to participate. If they fall in the realm outside of nap time, I take my chances. Earlier this week I thought I could get away in going to a playdate right smack dab in the middle of darling daughter's usual nap time. To make a long story short, I paid dearly for that outing. Let's just say there was a lot of hysterical screaming involved. Although it was worth it for me to get out of the house, I had to cancel our participation at an outing the following day because missing nap time two days in a row was pushing the proverbial envelope.

I would like to say that darling daughter is ready to downsize to one nap a day, but she isn't. Two hours after waking up, she is tired. And despite how small or big that nap is, it is plays a large part in getting her through the day in half decent humour. With that being said, the afternoon nap is essential. If I miss the morning nap, there is no way on God's green earth that I could even contemplate skipping out on the afternoon nap. An overtired baby makes for a headache, make that a migraine, at bedtime.

So here I am, wondering what I should do. We were able to get out for a quick visit at a neighbouring park today, followed by an exciting shopping trip to Shopper's Drug Mart to purchase diapers. And if I am really lucky, I may able get to a body step class, depending on what time dear husband gets home. So in essence, the I may spend two hours away from the house today. I do believe that even people sentenced to house arrest can leave their house for a couple of hours a day.

Oh well, it could be worse. I could be in the position where she isn't napping at all. If that was the case, I'd have a whole different outlook on the situation.

Copyright 2009 -- Valerie McLaughlin -- All rights reserved

One call to Telehealth that I never ever want to make again

It was bound to happen that darling daughter would eat her own poop.

I should have known something was wrong when she suddenly went quiet. Soon after waking up from a 2 ½ hour nap yesterday afternoon, I could hear her chirping in her crib. I took my time responding to her as I was finishing some last minute tasks. When I walked upstairs, she wasn’t chirping anymore. When I walked into her room, my mouth was literally hanging open at the disgusting scene in front of me. Her diaper was half hanging off her butt. Poop was smeared all over her bed sheet. It was all over her right thigh and both of her hands. And worst of all there were poop smears around her mouth. Some how either her diaper got loose or she opened it to examine its contents. Either way, the outcome wasn’t good.

Earlier in the morning, I had given darling daughter prunes to help her clean out her system. She seemed constipated and obviously the prunes worked. I tried to do a very quick clean up so I could get an emergency bath ready. I’m not good at bath time as it is dear husband’s job. But there was no time to wait. Holding her from a distance, I plopped darling daughter in the bath water and started scrubbing. All the while I was washing the dirty, black stains off her skin, I started worrying about the potential ill health effects a baby could suffer after eating their own poop.

After washing darling daughter and getting her dressed, I was faced with a health problem. What exactly are the health issues surrounding a baby eating poop? I wondered. So I consulted with the Internet. I should know better than trying to get health advice off the Internet. After getting conflicting advice, from it’s okay if a baby eats their own poop to a baby could seriously sick, I decided to call Telehealth Ontario. Luckily I got a registered nurse right away. I feared getting the receptionist, who would ask me what my health issues was. I could just imagine me trying to squeak out the following: “ah, yeah, my baby just ate her own poop . . . I’d like to talk to a nurse about that . . .” Regardless, it was an embarassing conversation. Here is the rundown of what was said:

Me: “I was just wondering what the possible health effects of a baby eating poop. I think my one year old ate her own poop after she decided to examine the contents of her diaper after her nap time.

Nurse: Is she suffering any symptoms?

Me: (Confused as to what symptoms a baby could suffer after eating their own poop.) Ah, I don’t think so. She seems to be in good humour.

Nurse: Is she turning blue? Does she seem to be breathing okay?

Me: (More confused). Ah, no.

Nurse: (Laughing). Kind of disgusting, isn’t it? I think you are okay. They should be okay if they ate their own poop.

Conclusion of the conversation is this: if your kid eats their own poop they should be okay. If they eat someone else’s poop, then it becomes a questionable situation.

(I should mention that I was beat red after the end of this conversation as I was sooooo embarrassed).

So the moral of my story is this: the next time darling daughter goes for a nap there will be an onesie on her body. She will never go down for a nap with only a T-shirt and an exposed diaper again. Obviously it is just too dangerous and messy, too.

Copyright 2009 -- Valerie McLaughlin -- All rights reserved

Really?!? Newborn babies are actually that small?

I saw a newborn baby over the weekend. Bundled in her car seat, I stared at her in awe. Babies are actually that small? Can't be, but here I was, staring at a newborn baby who weighed less than nine pounds.

I vaguely remember darling daughter being that small. I know once she weighed less than nine pounds. I do have photographs to prove it. If I delve deep into my memory banks, I can remember changing her tiny diapers (size one) and clothing her in size zero to three month onesies. These days, she is wearing size four diapers and size 18 month onesies.

Meeting that newborn babies brought back a flood of memories. I can tell you exactly what I was doing during the last week of July 2008. I went to the hospital one day because darling daughter hadn't moved within a two hour period and no amount of orange juice I sucked back changed provoked a kick. (Ironically, she did give me a kick as soon as dear husband pulled into the hospital parking lot). That night I watched Die Hard 2 because I couldn't sleep. Less than 30 hours later, my water broke. I soon found myself at the hospital, faced at the reality that I would give birth. I remembered getting the IV inserted into my hand for the induction. (Honestly, I think that hurt more than the actual birth). I have hazy memories when getting the epidural, but I do remember the sweet relief afterwards, and thanking the anesthesiologist profusely. I remember pushing for two hours and falling asleep between contractions. (I'd wake up when it was time to push, telling my labour and delivery nurse and doula, "okay ladies, it is time to push."). I remember the doctor giving us a verbal disclaimer before using the vacuum to get darling daughter out. I also remember the doctor yelling at me "Yes, you can" when I told her I was too tired to push anymore. I remember darling daughter being born and shouting at dear husband to make sure she was okay. I remember trying to get some sleep at the hospital, but not getting any. And I remember introducing darling daughter to my side of the family.

Yes, those memories are still very vivid and real in my memory, however, I can't really recall darling daughter's newborn days with such clarity. I was too sleep deprived and physically tired to enjoy it. Sleep, which eluded me for most of my pregnancy, returned and when I wasn't caring to darling daughter's needs, I wanted to sleep. Looking back at darling daughter's first photos, I can't believe she was that small.

So here I am, one year later, a mother to a one year old. I can't believe how fast time has flown. Apparently the second year flies by even faster. I better prepare myself for the next ride.