Graco's Response

I got an e-mail today from "Allan" at the Consumer Service Department of Elfe Juvenile Products (aka Graco) in response to my exploding monitor story:

Thank you for taking the time to e-mail us with your concern. I am extremely surprised to hear that this incident has occurred and I can honestly say that we have not had any other reported cases regarding this.

Well Al, that's because I'm the only nerd that e-mails the company whenever stuff breaks (or a commercial is annoying).

Please forward your complete mailing address, telephone number and the name of the retailer this was purchased from. I will gladly have a prepaid postage label and a tracking number sent to you to have the defective item returned to us for inspection. I will then have a new monitor sent to you once we receive the new unit.

Best Regards,

Allan Blah blah blah

Um, er, I think you mean once you receive the old unit. In any case, if I mail my monitor to Graco, I can't also return it to the store (thereby thwarting my plan to get money PLUS a new monitor). Oh well. I diligently sent Big Al all my information, including my phone number (which I hate giving to corporations) and a sample of my blood in case he wants to clone me (ok that last part's not true). It's amazing how the simple promise of a free baby monitor can entice me to send all my personal information to a stranger.

I hope this doesn't take too long. I'm tired of straining my ears to hear William in the next room.

William's William Shirt Revisited

On March 11th, I posted this picture of William in the personalized onesie that Scottish Carol sent us:

At the time this photo was taken William was just under a month old (24 days to be exact). He was growing quickly and I remember thinking how big he was. Now I can't get over how tiny he looks.


Today William is wearing the same onesie. I'm amazed it still fits (though it is a bit snug). Here's my big boy now, at age 3 months (exactly 97 days old):

My monitor exploded.

The recent demise of my baby monitor prompted me to write the following e-mail to Graco:

Dear Graco Customer care,

I have an Imonitor Digital Baby Monitor (2791DIG) that I purchased just after my son was born (in February). It has been in almost constant operation since then. Recently I heard a 'pop' sound coming from the parent unit (it was in the charger at the time). When I went to investigate I found the parent unit was smoking and smelled like burnt plastic. The battery inside had somehow overloaded. After it cooled we opened the unit and found the battery casing had melted. (see attached photo)

All of the above is true. Except by "almost constant operation" I of course mean "totally and completely constant operation". At the time of the incident William was asleep, the monitor unit was behind me on my night table, and I was goofing off on my computer, trying to keep up to date on the latest wogger mini games. But I digress, the e-mail continues:

I no longer have the receipt or packaging for this product so I hold little hope of getting a refund. However, I believe that this is a safety issue and that your company should take some kind of action. I'm concerned that if this happens to someone else's monitor, it might cause a fire or something more serious.

Okay so I'm a pretty laid back gal and I'm not actually all that concerned that other people's monitors are going to burn their houses down. I do think that Graco should take some responsibility for its products though. Otherwise baby monitors would be exploding all over the place. Civilization as we know it could go up in flames!

In addition, I would like some advice on how I can get a replacement unit, along with assurances that it will not have the same defect.

Or just the replacement unit, without the assurances. As I said I'm a pretty laid back gal. I thought quite a long time (like a whole minute) about how best to ask for a new monitor when I'd already stated that this really isn't about getting a refund. Like heck it's not. I want my money back! I want a new monitor! I want free stuff!

Thank you for your efforts in resolving this matter.

Sincerely,
Jennifer Filipowicz

I will, of course, blog about any efforts Graco makes in resolving this matter. In other news, William's poo was slightly greenish today. According to the internet this could mean any one of several things:

1. nothing, baby poo comes in many colours.
2. I'm drinking too much milk and William has a sensitivity.
3. William has a virus.
4. William isn't getting enough hindmilk so he should drink longer on one boob instead of switching.
5. I've become one of those moms who talks about her baby's poop.

Happy Birthday Carol!!!!

Today is Scottish Carol's birthday. I was going to call her but, alas, by the time I thought of it, it was 5 pm. That means it's 10 pm in Scotland, which is too late to call someone if you want to be polite (and I'm Canadian, so of course I want to be polite).

Carol and I have been e-mail buddies since we were fifteen and now that I have free long distance to the UK, we talk on the phone all the time. We met in person once, in 1999 when I went to England and Scotland with my family. Since then we both got married, Carol bought a house and I had a baby. In September, Carol and her husband are vacationing here in sunny Canada. I can't wait to see her again!!!



Anyway. Tonight we are going to the drive-in to see Shrek. And expect to see more birthday-wishing blog entries in the next few days. Tomorrow is Becca's birthday and Monday is my brother's. Holy birthdays, Batman!

William's Public Meltdown

William had his first shots a month ago, so today when the Early Years Centre Calling New Parents' topic was immunization, he staged a protest. Wailed his little lungs out. Normally, when my little angel gets a little fussy during one of these talks, I tell myself that noone else thinks he's disrupting the whole group. This time there was no denying it.

Since this talk was given by some official shot expert, the woman who normally heads the class came over and offered to help me with riot control. She walked him around the room for me and he was fine until she gave him back. Figuring it was because I was sitting down, I stood up and rocked him, trying various holding positions like some kind of baby juggler.

Finally I sat down and whipped my boob out. This muffled his cries but didn't do much else because he wasn't hungry. I stripped him down to his diaper and tryed again. This time he sucked until he fell asleep. He woke up three seconds later, slightly cranky but definitely improved.

Even now, as I write this blog, I've been trying to transform William into a happy baby. He's quiet now in his crib, but at last check was not asleep. Yes, it is 4:30 pm, but he needs his nap. (Or, more specifically, I need his nap).

My only explanation for William's mood is that it's hot today, and the child has inherited his father's intolerence for heat. My husband is legendary for wearing shorts and sandals on cold October days.


Today's playlist quiz:

1. She-ra! She-ra!
2. I took a walk around the world to ease my troubled mind.
3. Brother bought a coconut, he bought it for a dime.
4. May I have your attention, please? May I have your attention, please?
5. Inspector Gadget. Woo hoo!

Hint: I have a lot of theme songs on my playlist.

Happy Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day Eva/Babcia, and Robin, and Becca, and all the Moms at the Early Years Centre, and Lynda and Cathy (who threw me the Salsa Shower) and all the other mothers in the universe. But most especially, Happy Mother's Day Mom (aka Omi). This year I have a whole new appreciation for everything you did (and are still doing) for us. I love you Mom!

Anyway, here's what William got me:

And today's playlist quiz:

1. Don't wish it away

2. Been so long now I've wanted to touch you

3. Greetings, Kermit the frog here.

4. The tables are empty.

5. Does she walk, does she talk, does she come complete?

Mom's cooking for us again

Today we are going to dinner at my parents house. So far we have eaten at my parents' house every day this week but one. I love my parents, and my Mom's cooking, and a break from cooking for myself, but soon I think I'll have to start contributing to the grocery bill. Anyway, just to prove we are not leeching, here are all the legitimate reasons why we chose to frequent Omi McNicoll's:

Monday: My nephew and my dad's birthday, so we had to come. Hunter picked Pizza as his meal of choice, and even though that is not technically my Mom's cooking, the family still footed the bill. Plus, Mom made a delicious strawberry cake.

Tuesday: I went to the zoo with my parents and Hunter. Now you can't really go out with my mom without her inviting you home for dinner and I would be crazy to say no to dinner made by Mom! We had manocotti.

Wednesday: I went to the farmer's market and bought corn. We had corn and porkchops for dinner. Not at the parents (Silly me).

Thursday: Adam had a Sound of Music meeting and, rather than sit around alone with William all night, I invited myself over to my parents house. Okay, this one could be considered leeching. We had ribs. Yum!

Friday: My uncle and aunt and cousins planned to come over today, but Mom randomly called me yesterday afternoon and said we were meeting them at Spencer Smith Park. We hung out at the park for a while. Baby William and Morty the Jackapoo collected "Oh how cute"s and the rest of us had ice cream. Of course Mom invited everyone back to dinner. We had spinach, baked macaroni and cheese, vegetarian chilli, and barbecued sausage.

Saturday: Today's the day my aunt and uncle actually planned to come, so my Mom's cooking a "Feast". Of course, every meal my mom makes is a feast. I'm sure it'll be delicious.

Thanks Mom!

Today's playlist quiz:
1. Give me a kiss to build a dream on,
2. Oh the power to be strong and the wisdom to be wise...
3. Isn't awfully nice to have a penis?
4. Another day is gone and I'm still all alone.
5. It's been a hard day's night and I've been working like a dog.

The Mother Goose Baby Singles Club

William and I went to Mother Goose today at the Ontario Early Years Centre. Apparently there's a waiting list ten kilometres long to get into this program so it's kind of a big deal. The idea is you and your baby go and learn rhymes and songs and have a good time. What actually ends up happening is a bunch of babies looking around, squawking and goobering on things, while their Moms go "Come on honey. Look at Mommy. La la la." I think William has a crush on the little girl Emma who was sitting next to us. He kept staring at her. While he my son was fascinated by his new love, I was learning some songs and rhymes. Here's a simple one I like:

Tony Chestnut knows I love you
Tony Chestnut knows I love you
Tony Chestnut knows I love you
That's what Tony knows

When you say a body part, you're supposed to point to it. Like TOE, KNEE, CHEST, NUT(head), NOSE, EYE, love you. Get it? I like it because 1: it's very punny, and 2: William likes it when I touch his nose.

Anyway, my facebook friends got me wise to a fun time-wasting quiz. I post the first lines of tracks that randomly come up on my iTunes, and my internet buddies can rack their brains trying to figure out what song it is. I've decided to make this a regular blog feature (until I get bored of doing it). No fair googling lyrics guys.

Today's playlist quiz:

1. Stardate 2434.2
2. Baby can't you see I'm calling
3. What I've got you've got to give it to your mama
4. Maybe I didn't love you quite as often as I could have
5. Sunny day, sweeping the clouds away.

Hint: # 1 is not really a song.

William's first trip to the zoo (and Hunter's too)

Being a zoo-going family, my Mom felt she had neglected her duties as Omi when my nephew turned six on Monday having never set foot in the Metro Toronto Zoo. So she made yesterday's trip to the zoo one of his birthday presents, and invited William and I to come along. I love the zoo, so I jumped at the opportunity to give my 3-month-old son the experience.

William's favourite animal:

For the first 15-20 minutes of our trip, I took William out of the stroller to show him the various animals (afterwards I gave up and let him sleep all day). He was more interested in staring into space than looking at Orangutans, but I got a smile out of him when viewing this snake. Of course he could have been smiling because I signed "snake" for him and he always finds it amusing when Mommy does goofy things. We'll go with he likes snakes.

This trip's most photogenic animal:

The hippos. It was feeding time when we got to the hippopotamus habitat so they were strutting around showing off just how majestically ugly they really are. I got like a billion shots. Last trip's most photogenic animal, the goat, barely made an appearance.

Hunter enjoyed the zoo thoroughly. His favourite animal was the zebra, but for some reason I didn't get a picture of it. So just for fun, here's another hippo shot:

And some gratuitous baby shots:

Double Birthday Wishes

Happy Birthday Hunter and Dad (aka Opa)


Since it's my Dad and my nephew's birthday, we'll be heading over there shortly for pizza and cake and gift giving. Other than that not much is going on. Went to the mall. Bought some shirts. Got William a pair of pants so he can look just like his Daddy. I mean more so.

Weekend in Review

Yesterday we went to see Spiderman 3 on IMAX. I remember back in the day when you could only watch IMAX movies at Ontario Place, and even then you had to see a documentary about the human body, with some random shots of roller coasters and, if you were lucky, Antarctica. Now you can see pretty much any movie on the big big big screen. Anyway, Spidey 3 was a pretty good flick, though not as good as 2. You just can't beat a big cuddly Doctor Octopus.

Today William was all: "Mom! Why didn't you take me to see Spiderman? I never get to go out, gosh darn it!" (At least I assume that's what he was saying, I don't speak baby). In any case I took him for a walk all the way to Eireann's house where we sang Karaoke revolution. We being me and Eireann; William was asleep.

Now I'm at my in-laws' house. William's Babcia cooks us dinner just about every Sunday. Us being me and Adam; William still drinks boob. Anyway William's Babcia goes crazy over William and loves taking him for walks. She just puts him in the stroller and hikes all over the neighbourhood. It's her thing.

William's First Picnic

Gorgeous day today, so Adam and I arranged a picnic for the gang at Lowville Park. The gang in this case includes me, Adam and William, along with my parents, my brother Craig, my friend Eireann (who is currently dating my brother. Yes!), and my parents' new dog Morty, a Jack Russel X Teacup Poodle who is about half the size of William. The tiny puppy hammed it up and got most of the "Awe! So cute" comments, allowing William to have his lunch in peace (breasts do make the best picnic baskets).

The non-babies and non-puppies had ham sandwichs, brownies, apples, grapes, bagel chips, Ah Caramel snack cakes, ice tea, and some bizarre pickled watermelon rind that my Mom bought in Georgia. We then spent the afternoon hanging out under a tree by the creek, pretending to be outdoorsy.

Some more pictures:

William in his stylish frog hat


Morty the Jackapoo


Craig and Eireann

William's first "swim"

Yesterday William had his first swimming experience at the Y in St Catharines. We adopted a one-baby-per-changeroom policy, the Moms (Becca and I) took William and the Dads (Drew and Adam) took Aedan. The swimming diapers that Aedan lent William had Little Mermaid on them, so we preserved his manhood by covering them with gigantic Sesame Street Bermuda shorts (courtesy his Omi and Opa).

Adam got in the pool first and I passed him William (Drew passed Aedan to Becca). William imediately got this look that said something like "GAH! What the heck is this, Mommy?" but he didn't cry. Everyone, lifeguards, random strangers, were raving about how cute the babies were and how great they were in the water. I was so proud. I mean, it was Aedan's second swim, so he was an old hand at it, but William had never been in a pool. He is a super star! While he didn't cry, he kept that incredulous look on for the entire 10-15 minutes we were in the water.

We rapped William in a Ducky towel and Becca and I took him back into the change room, where I stripped him naked to wash the clorine off his body. This is when the crying came. It was a cry that says "Mom! I'm naked! In the girl's changeroom! How embarrassing!" He calmed down when I put him in a cuddly sleeper.

A random woman told me that in the olden days people used to just throw their babies into the water and see how they did. Um, Okay.

Post-pregnancy bathing suit shopping

Tonight we're going swimming at the Y with Becca and Drew and baby Aedan. This will be William's first time in a pool and will be a super exciting baby-book-worthy experience. But, problem, my body is completely different than the last time I donned a bathing suit. My gargantuan boobs were hard to fit even before they turned into udders. Plus, now I have these unsightly stretchmarks that make bikinis problematic.

Becca had offered to lend me a suit, but what if that one didn't fit? And when has anyone ever felt comfy in someone else's swimwear? The thought of trying on a hundred ill-fitting bathing suits at the mall across the street just about put me in tears, so I called my Mom. My Mom's the best. She came over right away and took me to La Feminique, the specialty shop on Plains Rd that sells bathing suits, bras and chocolate vaginas. The service there is fabulous. The lady there helped me find a suit that fit and covered my stretch marks for only 30 bucks. They were very sympthetic to my gargantuan boob situation. So I got a navy tankini that supports the girls and covers all my icky bits, well except my thighs but they'll be under water.

All this and everyone will be looking at baby anyway.

Fell into a Black Hole Today

The great thing about using Vonage as my phone service is that I get to call my Scottish friend Carol and talk as long as I want for free (theoretically I could also call other people overseas, I just can't think of anyone else worth talking to). The thing that sucks is that when the internet cuts out, I fall into a black hole and have to float around in deep space while I wait to be reconnected to the Earth.

It so happened that today I was on the phone with Carol when this happened. Before I realized what was happening, Carol's pleasant Scottish lilt faded into oblivion and I was left in a communications abyss with a suddenly cranky baby and a pan of overdone mushrooms.

A list of things formed in my mind of things that I absolutely had to get done, but obviously couldn't:
-call Carol back and finish our conversation properly
-phone Adam and ask him if he was coming home soon and if he minded burnt mushrooms
-check my e-mail for the second time today
-msn Adam to tell him the phone wasn't working
-attempt to amuse William with some nostalgic cartoon downloaded from youtube
-blog about being in a black hole

Mommy and Daddy's Night Out/ William's Night with Omi and Opa

Yesterday was date night for Adam and I. Adam got gift certificates for Casey's Bar and Grill that were only good in Toronto, so we went, thereby using up almost as much in gas and parking as we saved by using the certificates. Plus a movie(cereal coupons are no good on Saturday). Oh well.

We left William with my parents, and I worried about him the whole time we were out. It's not that I don't trust my family, I knew they would keep him safe and entertain him greatly. But we were gone from 4pm to 10:45pm, what if I didn't leave enough milk for him (two bottles)? What if he missed his Mommy? Or worse, what if he didn't miss his Mommy?

Despite the worrying, going out when you have a baby is actually better than pre-baby going out. It's the preparation: asking my parents to watch him, two mornings of pumping bottles, packing extra outfits in case he gets cold, or dirty. This rigmarole makes the whole outing more of a big deal, and therefore more fun.

The movie we saw (since I know everyone cares), Hot Fuzz, was pretty darn hilarious. The boys who brought you Shawn of the Dead have done it again with lots of amusingly unnecessary gore. William was also amused, but not by gore. According to my Mom, he laughed when my brother danced to the Baby Elephant Walk.

And he had enough milk. Mom was still feeding him the second bottle when we came to pick him up. When we got home I performed the amazing feat of removing a sleeping baby from a carseat and placing him in his crib without waking him up. I figured he would wake up and then I could feed him, but no. My breasts were aching to be juiced so I pumped a bottle. It's a good thing too, because he didn't end up waking up until 7am!

Happy Earth Day.

William gets poked in the leg

I've always maintained that with today's level of technology there should be some gentler method of immunization, besides a needle. Maybe orally through an eye-dropper, or rubbed on as some sort of cream. As I was telling William earlier, they should mix the vaccines in with different colours of face paint so you could get a fun clown face and be protected from disease all at the same time!

Unfortunately the clown face method is yet to come into common usage, so this morning my son had to get red-faced the old fashioned way: by screaming.

Now I hate needles, hate them, and seeing my son get two of them (one for each cute chubby thigh), made me want to cry too. One problem is that I don't know how much he's hurting. He cried, sure, but he cries in similar fashion when he has the hiccups, is hungry, or gets tired of playing with his dangly-mirror-turtle-toy.

At least his tylenol tastes like white grape juice. Why doesn't adult tylenol taste like white grape juice?

Germy Daddy

Every Tuesday William and I walk to the Ontario Early Years Centre where a nurse whose name I forget does a talk on something. Last week's topic was making your own baby food. The week before that, sun safety and West Nile virus. I don't know what the topic is today, but we probably won't go.

Why not? William's germy Daddy has given us both colds. At least, I have a cold. It's hard to tell if William is suffering from a sore throat like the rest of us, or just crying because he's a baby. Whatever, the point is I don't think it would be very nice to spread the germs to the other Mom's and babies.

So what do I do with myself? I know not. Perhaps I'll peruse the book on sign language that I got at the Salsa shower. So far I learned that I've been doing things all wrong. For one thing, I was incorrectly doing the sign for change. For another, the signs for "milk" and "change", while practical, are no fun for babies. Babies are more likely to learn words and signs for things that they can't express by crying. Like "airplane" or "ceiling fan". Or so says the book.

Another obstacle to this signing business is that I need to have two extra arms grafted to my body. I wonder how those who are truly hearing impaired hold their children and talk to them at the same time. Maybe I'll figure this out by the time he's six-months old (the optimum age for starting to sign according to the book). At least this sore throat will be gone by then.

Hopefully this cold will be gone by Thursday so William will be healthy enough to get his first shots. (Although, postponing such scariness can't be too bad).

Salsa Baby Shower

Yesterday William had another party thrown in his honour. This time the shin dig was thrown by my Mom and her writer friends (who have known me so long they can be considered surrogate Moms).

The shower was all Mexican themed because my Mom had this idea to get a dancer to come and teach us Salsa babies dancing. This is sort of like line dancing except you dance with a baby strapped to you and there's a Latin beat. Anyhoo, usually when I do this sort of thing I'm the only person who can't keep rhythm. This time I had a whole row of writer Moms to keep me company in that regard.

After the dancing, my nephew Hunter lay waste to a nearly indestructible toucan pinata (the stick broke before the bird), and we ate nachos and other Mexican delights (like these pierogi-esque things I don't remember the name of).

William was very well behaved and everyone raved about how cute he was. When he started to fuss, my Mom offered Hunter a loonie to settle him and he did. Hunter, the six-year-old baby whisperer. Seriously, he is a fabulous cousin. Already William gets such a kick out of him.

I'd like to thank everyone for throwing me a party and buying my son stuff and being great grandmas, aunties, and cousins. Olé.

Signs of the times.

As part of my ongoing quest to alleviate boredom and create a genius child, I decided to teach William (and myself) some sign language. After a three second internet search I found this website, which describes what the signs are, rather than the ever more logical approach of demonstrating them with pictures. Anyway, I managed to commit the signs for milk, change, Mommy, and Daddy to memory.

I opened and closed my fist like mad while I was feeding him (the sign for milk) and shuffled my fists around while changing him (the sign for change). Since he lacks the coordination to suck his fist with any more than 60% accuracy, I have doubts about his ability to sign, but he does enjoy it when Mommy does crazy things.

A baby in a hood is just as good

I had a short dream about this blog. I dreamt there was an article about it in the Toronto Star as part of the new "blog review" section. My Mom brought me the paper. There were two guys reviewing the blog, kind of like an Ebert and Roeper type thing. Both of them gave the thumbs up. There review was followed by a full page ad. Some line from the blog was quoted at the bottom of the ad and I was annoyed because I felt the quote was taken out of context and that it made the blog seem different than it actually is. Some people are never happy! I woke up all set to blog about my good fortune at being in the paper and all. Unfortunately, it didn't actually happen.

Luckily though, William is wearing a cute outfit today that is sure to garner almost as many hits as would a full page ad in a national newspaper.

At least the building didn't burn down.

The weather today was cold and rainy and icky, so William and I decided to take our daily walk at the mall. I bought a five dollar top that covers my stretch marks. When we returned to our apartment building we found that the new maintenance crew were turning the fire alarm on and off for no reason.

The loud BRRRRIIINNNNNG that echoed through the halls was enough to shake my brains loose and send souls to Stovocore. Needless to say it woke the baby and he let out one of his drown cat cries. Despite the brrrrinnnging, I wanted to go home, but the guys who were messing with the alarm were also messing with the elevators, and we couldn't go upstairs. One portly gentleman was getting in the maintenance crew's face, yelling "This is ridiculous!" and being louder than the alarm.

Outside, a hundred and three old ladies waited with their terrified froo froo dogs for the brrringgging to end. I took a walk with one of the old ladies and we talked about how my grandmother was doing (she knew everyone in the building), and about William, and about how the new maintenance people didn't know what they were doing, and about how we wished it wasn't so cold and rainy and icky.

The alarm stopped and we (all a hundred and five of us) went inside, but the elevators still weren't working. Some of the old people decided to take the stairs, but I had a stroller and couldn't.

Finally I went back to the mall and nursed William in the comfy chair in the family washroom. Nice, but not as nice as home.

Blogging with Wii

We are now the proud owners of a Wii and, thanks to my husband's powers of nerdom, I can surf the internet with my tv. I am now typing by tediously pointing a wand at an onscreen keyboard.

Finally, I can watch tv, surf the net and play mindless video games without the bother of traveling from the couch to the computer and back!

Hiking with babies.

Yesterday Adam "worked" from home and so we (Adam and I and William) went hiking with Becca and Drew and Aedan. William and Aedan were strapped to their Daddies and enjoyed a nap while the rest of us enjoyed the fresh air and exercise. I must say the Snugli is a lot more comfortable when Adam is the one wearing it.

Anyway, it was a gorgeous day yesterday, if a bit nippy. We hiked around Mount Nimo. For those of you not from the Burlington area, Mount Nimo is a cliff with a bunch of caves and turkey vultures, where people from B-town go when they want a little nature. Pretty much everyone goes there, but very few actually get suckered into paying parking (sometimes there's an attendent, but usually they use the honour system. Ha!). The cliff offers a fabulous view of farms and stuff.

Noone dropped their baby and a good time was had by all.

Status Update

Seeing as I haven't blogged since the weekend, I thought I'd give a few updates. I'd like you to imagine this as one of those newsreels scrolling along the bottom of your screen.

William is currently in his Snugli strapped to me. Adam wants to get a different brand because this one fits kind of awkwardly (with baby often leaning out the side). Becca and Drew have the Baby Bjorn, which seems to work better.

It's very sunny out today and if yesterday was any indication it's very warm too. Yesterday we walked to the Early Years Centre and saw a talk on switching to solids. William was the youngest there (which makes sense because it's way too early to even think about solid feeding.) He was in a fabulous mood until halfway through the talk when he decided to test his vocal chords. I walked him around the room and by the second lap he fell asleep.

An old lady thought William was a girl yesterday. "Oh isn't she a darling. She's such a doll. ... She... She ... She." Now I know that without checking genitalia it's difficult to guess at gender with babies, but at the time he had a blue blanket wrapped around him and was wearing a onesie that said "William" across the front of it. I don't even bother correcting at that point.

I went to put on a onesie yesterday that he's warn before and found it no longer fit. My little boy is growing up.

We have lots of instant oatmeal in our cupboard, so today I'm going to try and make cookies out of it.

Video of William Not Rolling Over

So this morning, while I was asleep and Adam was tending to the baby, William rolled over! I know, I know, my baby is a genius. But how unfair is that? I spend all day with him, every day, and I make sure he has "tummy time" every day, and he rolls over for the first time for Adam? Pshaw. Later we spend like fifteen minutes trying to get him to roll over for the camera without success. Above is the footage of the attempt.

Baby on my Lap

Seeing as there's not much else I can do with a sleeping baby on my lap, I decided to take a picture. Enjoy.

The elusive ENT

So today we finally got to see the ENT. Now, to me, ENT is a short form for Star Trek: Enterprise, used to differentiate it from TOS (The Original Series), TNG (The Next Generation), DS9 (Deep Space Nine), and VOY (Voyager). In this case, however, we're talking about an Ear, Nose and Throat doctor.

We've been waiting for an referral for this guy since William was less than a week old. For those of you who haven't been keeping track, little Will turns 5 weeks old tommorrow. At first we were desperate to see him because William couldn't breastfeed properly because of his tongue tie. But William got tired of waiting for some doctor to cut his tongue and learned to breastfeed all by himself.

So we went in today to get him checked out anyway. Who knows, thought I, this whole tongue tie thing could give him a speech impediment, or ruin his teeth, or make him a laughing stock. We had an appointment at 8:50, ten minutes before the clinic opens. (Yes, I know. Huh?) Anyhoo I filled out a ten second survey for my son, in which most of the answers were either "No", or "I don't know, he's just a baby". Then we went in to see the doctor.

The doctor stuck his finger in William's mouth and declared his tongue tie "not that bad" and said we don't have to cut it. The End.

Don't be a shut-in 101

William and I went down to the Early Years Centre for the Tuesday "Calling All Parents" program. Today's topic was "Families in Motion", something about keeping fit. The topic matters not, however, because William had his own speech to deliver which he assured me was far more important. He was being a grumpy gus the whole time (you know you're a Mom when you start using phrases like "grumpy gus")

There were at least 30 Moms there, with 30 babies (one Daddy) and at first only William was crying. The good thing about being in a room full of Moms though is that everyone is looking at you with sympathy, instead of giving you the "Can't you make that kid shut up?" scowl. I got several whispers of "He's so cute" during his meltdown.

Now William and I haven't exactly mastered the art of public breastfeeding, so I usually feed him until he's comatose before we leave the house. I guessed he wasn't satisfied, and since about a third of the other Moms already had their boobs out, I decided to go for it. When breastfeeding in public it's customary to put a blanket or something over your exposed booby (and baby's head) so the prudish masses can continue to pretend they've never seen that sort of thing before. Anyway, this is awkward for both me and for him. He had a few token sucks hiding in the darkness before going back to crankiness.

As the talk went on I got him to quiet by bouncing and shushing and I was quite pleased with myself for seeming like the most amazing Mommy in the world. Then of course some of the other babies started a crying chorus and he just had to join. The talk thing was almost over by this point (well, there was about half hour to go) so William and I decided to duck out early. He didn't mind telling me that he was a bit over stimulated. Having that many babies in one room is craziness!

I think I'll go again next week.

300

My in-laws watched William yesterday so Adam and I could use our cereal coupons and catch a flick. We gave the inlaws all the diapers, wipes, extra outfits, and bottled breastmilk William could conceivably use in two hours and headed out. So without giving too much away, here's what I thought of 300:

What movie is that again, says you? 300 is that movie set in the olden days in Greece where a bunch of guys in underwear and red capes go to war. You might remember this line from the previews: "This is Sparta!" The moral of the movie is that Spartans are super tough, and you don't want to be messing with them.

This thing isn't supposed to be historically accurate. Actually it's based on a comic book by the same guy who did Sin City. The movie has some of the style of that movie, what with all the almost-but-not-quite black-and-white-ness and the computer effects, but 300 isn't as cartoony looking. I had troubles with Sin City because all the girls in it were all whores, or strippers, or idiot lesbian police officers who hung out in their underwear. But in 300, the men are equally scantilly clad and so it's okay.

So: good movie.
Plus: 3 decapitations. I don't know why, but I get a kick out of decapitations in movies. There should be more decapitations in "Chick Flicks." Could you imagine? Hugh Grant and Meg Ryan in "Headless in Love". Yes!
And: The woman in it is super tough, even when she's showing a boob.

But: The guy who turned out to be narrating the thing didn't actually witness the final battle so we can assume that part was all made up.
And: sometimes the Persians made it way too easy. Especially the ones riding Elephants.

I recommend the movie as a good gorefest and excellent opportunity to see muscular men in their undies. Woohoo!

Happy St. Patrick's Day

Just wanted everyone to know that, despite the fact that I did not leave the apartment today, I did remember to wear green. William wore green too, but that was a coincidence. Adam wore red, the anti-green.

According to my friend the internet, Saint Patrick is the guy who ran around Ireland in the olden days, converting people to Christianity, chasing away snakes, and drinking green beer. He died several years ago on March 17th. Even though he never succeeded in coverting me, I still think he sounds like a cool guy so we should all drink a Shamrock Shake in his honour. Do they still have those?

Hello Nurse

Today a public health nurse is coming to see William. I'm not sure the exact purpose of this visit except as an excuse to make me clean. If the apartment is dirty she'll think I'm a bad mother. These nurse people are supposed to visit close to when the baby is born, when you're running around with your head cut off screaming "What kind of irresponsible universe would give me a baby!" Now that the little man is almost 4 weeks old, I figure that if I haven't killed him by now I'm probably doing something right. But due to a scheduling conflict (on the nurse's part, not mine) she's coming today. I'll let you folks know how it goes.

In other news, my Mom and her friends are planning me a shower and I was recently asked what I need. Nothing, I keep answering. Truthfully, I'm looking forward to the shower not as a gift grab, but as a fun party, a chance to see everyone and show off my baby. Unfortunately that's not helpful for the gift buyer so here's a quick list:

Diapers and wipes. I know noone wants to buy such boring items but boy would I ever love the person who does. William is currently sporting size one, so that size or a size higher would be useful. Brand doesn't matter, he's tried Huggies and Pampers so far.

Baby proofing paraphernalia. The upcoming nurse visit has reminded me that other apartment is far from baby proof. Little doodads to keep cupboards closed and what not will be good for when he starts walking.

Baby gate. I don't have stairs, but when the baby proofing stuff proves inadequate, I'd like to be able to block off the danger zone (aka the kitchen). Something fairly easy for parents to remove without a screwdriver or a degree in brain surgery.

High chair. For when he starts eating solids.

Car seat. For when he grows out of the infant carrier.

That's all I can think of for now. For those of you who know me in the real world, I don't think the date is set yet for this shin dig, nor have invites been mailed out. Talk to my Mom if you want those details. But not today. She's in Florida with my dad, sister and nephew.

Later that day...

Well the nurse came and left. She gave me a bunch of pamphlets, most of which I already have. She went through all of them with me though so I know what's useful. And she didn't think I was a bad mother. Quite the opposite. I think all health professionals think you're Madonna incarnate (the first one, not the singer who adopts African babies) if you breastfeed.

We've got a 10 pounder

We just came back from the doctor's. William is 10 pounds now. I'm so proud. Just think, this is the same baby who lost 13 ounces in the hospital because he refused to eat booby. Now he can't get enough of the stuff.

Yesterday when I uploaded the William-onesie pic from my camera, I also uploaded a whole bunch that I've taken of him since he was born. Some of them are so old he still had his umbilical cord. Okay, so it's only been 3 and a half weeks, but I still have to upload my photos more often. Anyway, here are some random pics for your enjoyment:

William's William Shirt

My good friend Carol made William this custom onesie and sent it to us all the way from Scotland. This morning I finally got the nerve to risk ruining it by actually putting it on him. He promptly spit up on it and pooed in it. Sigh. At least I got this picture. Hopefully that new stain remover we got is as good as the commercials say it is. If not, I may never get a good picture of the back of the shirt, which has his date and time of birth on it. Anyway, the blanket in the picture is also from Carol and has so far remained poo-free.

Other things: Adam has been working late all week. Yesterday, despite it being Saturday, he worked until 5 am! (6 am if you count daylight savings time). He did take a two-hour break to take me out to dinner at Red Lobster (my wonderful Dad watched William for us). Still, I've been missing my Adam. I'm going to go kiss him now.

Sputnik McNicoll 199?-2007

My family got Sputnik from the pound when I was in high school, around 12 years ago. I remember trying to play with her at the animal shelter's little visiting area, but at the time she was more interested in the cats and rodentia she smelled in the next room. We gave her little bits of hotdog to coax her into loving us.

As soon as we brought her home she took her rightful place as queen of the household. She scratched herself a place on the sofa and, with an unexpectedly deep and powerful bark for a dog her size, protected our family from mailmen, dogs, squirrels, cats, cars, and kids selling chocolate-covered almonds for charity.

Sputnik loved going for walks, especially ones she took herself when someone accidentally left the door open, or when she found a new hole in the fence. She refused to eat dogfood unless it had human food on top. Her favourite foods were cheese, steak bones, pigs ears, pizza crusts and used maxi pads.

For the last little while, Sputnik had a lot of trouble getting around. One of her hind legs stopped working and she was having trouble breathing. She also has a lump on her breast that grew and grew. She spent a great deal of time licking and chewing at the lump until it bled.

Yesterday my mom and dad took her for one last walk at the park. At first she would only be carried in my mom's arms, but did walk a bit near the end. My mom gave her half a Tim Horton's chocolate doughnut. We all know that chocolate is bad for dogs, but in this case it didn't matter. And she loved it. Then it was off to the vet to say goodbye.

Sputnik was a member of our family and she will be missed.

Changing channels

Here are some pictures my husband took this morning. Note: these pictures were taken withing moments of each other. Babies change moods like changing channels. Channel 1: Happy and Alert. Channel 2: Crying. Channel 3: Screaming. Channel 4: Asleep. Right now he's on channel 4 so I can blog. Oops, make that channel 2. Seeya.

Happy Graduation William!

So William and I went to the breastfeeding clinic today (yes, they are open on Sunday). He's up to 9 pounds and the boobfeeding police say he's gaining and feeding well. If you read the last post, you know this is a big deal. We even earned a cheeseball certificate:

Not sure what they mean by "semi-graduated" but I'm very proud about everything William has learned about drinking boobjuice. Congratulations Baby!

WIlliam versus Boob: the saga

Everyone always says to sleep when the baby sleeps, but how does one do that when baby refuses to sleep anywhere but your lap? I may not be able to sleep sitting up, but I can blog. Anyhoo, I promised to blog about William's trouble with boob juice. So here it is.

There's a lot of propaganda going around about the wonders of breastfeeding. A photocopy of "101 reasons to breastfeed" was thrust upon me several times at prenatal classes, and once again at the hospital. They were preaching to the converted. My Mom breast fed me and my sibs, and my sister had no trouble getting my nephew to chomp at the boob. Besides, why would someone who hates dishes as much as I do spend her life needlessly scrubbing bottles?

The breastfeeding propaganda machine has some golden rules about boob-feeding:

• Give your baby the boob the moment he's born. He needs to get to learning right away.
• Don't give baby pacifiers or bottles until he's six weeks old. Otherwise he'll get nipple confusion, and never learn to boob-feed properly.
• Formula is evil.

I broke rule number one right away. When William was born the nurses and doctors were carrying him all around, weighing him and measuring him and cleaning him. I trusted that someone would hand me my baby at the appropriate time, but two hours later he still hadn't tasted booby. When I finally tried to feed him he screamed and wouldn't latch. I figured I was doing it wrong, and decided to wait until baby and I had some some sleep before trying it again. (Birth is tiring business).

Later, every nurse in the hospital had a turn teaching me how to hold my boob and position William properly for a good latch. Sometimes he would latch on for a split second, just long enough for the nurse to go "Good" and walk away. But he always started crying as soon as she was gone.

For those of you who have never breastfed before, I should give some background on how the whole process works. You don't randomly turn into a cow, what comes out of your nipples immediately after birth is a teeny tiny bit of clear gooey nothingness, which is supposedly the best thing to feed your baby. The nothingness is called colostrum and will make a baby immune to everything and will cause him to grow up to be a genius. Unfortunately, it's very difficult to motivate a newborn to suck and suck his little cheeks out for the benefit of less than a millilitre of liquid. Amazingly, most babies do get it. I know this because I shared a hospital ward with three other mothers and got to hear them happily nursing their babies day and night.

One nurse brought me an electric breast pump to try out. Two scary-looking plastic cones with baby bottles attached to them are hooked up via tubes to a serious yellow thinga maggig. All you have to do is hold one cone to each of your nipples and use your third hand to turn it on. When activated the pump will go to town and suck the all-important gooey nothingness out of your boobs and into the bottle below. And since you asked, yes, this process is exactly as uncomfortable as it sounds. And it doesn't work. After fifteen minutes of nipple tug-o-war I was left with barely a drop in the cone, and none in the bottle. I gave the drop to William using my finger, but who knows if he actually swallowed it?

I cried the first time I gave him formula. Not only had I broken the "formula is evil" rule, but I'd waited so long to give him any that he must have been on the verge of becoming a pot-bellied Ethiopia baby. It was one of those "you're a bad mother either way" type of decisions. I had this perfect little baby and I was already ruining him.

The hospital where William was born (also where my nephew was born and where my grandmother spent a two months before getting into a nursing home) has a breastfeeding clinic. The word "clinic" brings to mind a sterile doctor's office, but in fact it's a room full of comfy couches, pillows, and wall to wall breastfeeding propaganda, where everyone knows your baby's name, but calls you and your husband Mom and Dad. They have a clever way of seeing how much your baby is eating by weighing him before and after a feed.

The breastfeeding police gave me a "plan" which was basically what I was doing anyway. They said to give him a little formula or expressed breastmilk to settle him, then try to boob feed. They also said to pump after every feed to keep my supply up (cause, you know, if baby doesn't drink boob, boob dries up). My husband bought me a hand pump, which was a gazillion times more comfortable than the electric pump, but might be giving me a bit of carpal tunnel. Whatever. The point is that the breastfeeding police thought it was okay of me to give formula, so I wasn't a bad Mom after all!

Unfortunately William had started to really love the bottle and really hate the boob. It got to the point where just lying him next to my breast would cause him to freak out. He would get so mad that even his toes looked angry. The breastfeeding clinic gave us some stuff to try: a syringe to inject milk into his mouth while he was latched on to trick him into thinking he was getting more milk than he actually was, a "shield" to put over my nipple to make it more like the bottle. The syringe didn't work at all because William never latched long enough for me to inject the milk. The shield worked a little but not consistently, and it was awkward trying to hold it on. Plus it got all gungy and caused me to leak milk all over my hand.

Sometimes, randomly, William would just get it. He would latch, drink for a good forty minutes, and I would think our problems were over. Then the next feeding we were back to freak out baby.

The breastfeeding clinic also noticed that William has a tongue tie. This means that that bit of skin that attaches your tongue to the bottom of your mouth is too far forward and makes it hard for William to stick his tongue out and feed. The breastfeeding police said that this happens in four percent of babies (lucky us) and that midwives used to keep one finger nail longer than the others so they could cut it (very hygienic). It might sound weird, but I felt relieved to hear about William's tongue tie. It meant that his difficulty with the boobs had nothing to do with my waiting too long after birth to introduce him to my nipple, and wasn't related to my getting an epidural. My boobs weren't too big, my nipples weren't too flat, and my technique wasn't flawed.

One thing I did that I think may have helped, is I laid him next to my boob after he had finished feeding from the bottle. I figured he would begin to associate the boob with being all full and happy instead of being all hungry and frustrated. Who knows if that worked, or if it was something else, but last Thursday, when William was exactly one week old, he began feeding from the breast tongue tie and all. It was also the day his umbilical cord fell off. My little baby's growing up!

So there you have it, my baby is a genius. We're still waiting for a referral for an ear, nose and throat doctor (with long fingernails) to look at the tongue tie. Now that William's feeding, though, there's really no urgency.

Super Happy Mom

I know you're all dying to hear about my motherhood experiences. I tried blogging about them a couple of days ago but couldn't get past one sentence before William demanded my attention, loudly. Loudest baby in the hospital ward. I'm so proud.

Not sure if I'll finish this entry before feeding time, but I'll try. I've had so many of those life experience thingies people talk about since I last posted.

The Labour

Since I've been blogging about my labour terror for ages, I'm sure at least five of you are dying to know how it went. All of the following statements are true: It wasn't that bad. It sucked. It was the bizarrest experience of my life.

Everyone always asks how long labour was. I can't really answer this because I'm not sure of the official beginning. I woke up at around 3 or 4 am, with mild contractions, but was I officially in labour? I dunno. I went to the hospital at 8 am, my induction appointment time. The moment we got there my contractions had miraculously stopped and I was like the girl who cried labour.

So my doctor stuck his finger way up where a finger should never go to check my cervix. Just to put things in perspective, I find these internal checks to be way more uncomfortable than contractions. Anyway I had only dialated a finger width, not offically a centimeter.

So he put in some magic gel to get things going, meaning he had to keep his fingers up my woohoo for an extra long time. Fun. After that my contractions started up again with gusto.

Be right back... I gotta go check on my baby. Still sleeping soundly in his rocking swing. Now where was I?

Contractions. The are like strong period cramps (if you're a guy, period cramps are somewhat similar to bowel cramps). The pain is not as bad as the marathoness of them. They come every 2 minutes, last 30 seconds, and it goes on like that for hours. After the gel they monitered my contractions for a bit using the same contraption used for the non-stress test then they sent me home.

A few slices of pizza and some episodes of Voyager later we went back to the hospital. They had told us to come back at 4, and it was only 2:30. But my contractions were so ouchie that I felt better being at the hospital. I watched some Deep Space Nine on a portable DVD player and got visits from my entire family. They checked me and I was 2 centimetres.

Gotta check on baby again... That swing is brilliant.

The contractions stayed pretty regular and didn't really get worse, but I started to feel uncomfortable between them. And I got all shakey. And I puked up the pizza (which is good because I found out later that you aren't supposed to eat during labour. Something about choking yourself with vomit in the event of a C-section).

I think it's time to feed the baby. Before he starts wailing is good...

...Well that took a long time. Like, hours. I basically just spent the entire day with a baby at my boob (more on that later).

Five hours went by. I was so fed up with the contractions that even Star Trek trivia and Deep Space Nine couldn't console me. The nurse checked my cervix and I was still only 2 centimetres! Then the doctor's intern checked and she said I was 3 centimetres. It had been forever and I hadn't progressed more than one centimetre! I was so discouraged, I thought the baby would never come! This is when I asked for the epidural.

They had to give me an IV for the epidural. So they bruised up one arm trying to get the needle in, and ended up putting it in the other arm. Now I have a hideous, and unnecessary, bruise on my wrist. No biggie.

Adam had to leave the room for epidural time and the nurse and anesthesiologist and I had to wear shower caps, so I knew this was serious business. I sat on the edge of the bed with the nurse sort of holding me while the anesthesiologist washed my back, then she (the anesthesiologist) stuck me with a needle. This was the freezing needle. She said it was going to feel like a bee sting. It felt like a needle, which when you think about it is really the same thing. Then the nurse and the anesthesiologist made a big deal about how I wasn't to move while they put an even bigger needle into my spine. Duh, thought I. So in it went. I flinched. I couldn't help it. It hurt. The anesthesiologist got a bit annoyed at this. She had to try again. Don't flinch, I told myself, then flinched anyway. Finally it worked, and caused no permanent paralysis I might add.

For any of you ladies who are about to go through this process, I gotta tell you, get the epidural. Get the epidural as soon as you can. Like, if you can get it a month or two before your due date, go for it. But seriously, the moment that epi kicked in I wanted to kick myself for not getting it earlier. Whoever invented this stuff is a genius. It numbs the pain from the belly down, without taking away the feeling. As a test, Adam put an ice cube on my leg. I could feel it, but it was like it was mad of plastic or something because it didn't feel cold.

By this time I was so tired I was able to sleep even though I had more tubes coming out of me than a borg drone. Since I couldn't feel any contractions at all, the doctor chucked some magic juice in my IV to turn them into super duper kick ass contractions. A glance at the machine that was monitering me told me that my contractions were off the scale, with barely any time between them.

They woke me up at about 1:30 am to check my cervix. Do what you like, said I, I can't feel anything down there anyway. I was 8 centimetres. Sweet! Around this time I started to feel like I had to take a big poo (only it was really a baby, disguising himself as poo).

Dinner time... For me not baby. Back to blogging later...

Ah delicious manocotti courtousy of Mom (or should I say Omi).

Anyway a half hour later they checked my cervix again and I was ten centimetres. Five hours to dialate one centimetre, half hour to dialate two. Thank you magic juice. For those of you who have never watched television, ten centimetres is when it's time to push out that baby.

I really really felt like I had to go poo. I didn't feel that urge to push people talk about, though. Think about it, no matter how badly you have to go, most people don't feel the need to go all over the bed when they can't make it to the toilet. So I didn't push until the nurses told me too. When it was time to poo out the baby, the nurse brought in a big mirror so I could see what was going on. Odd. I have never seen myself from that angle before. But then, oddness is the name of the game at this point. Giving birth is by far the bizarrest experience of my life.

As I started pushing I could see a little bit of hair, presumably the top of my baby's head. I knew it was a baby coming out, but in the same kind of back of my mind way that I knew all through pregnancy that he was coming out my woohoo. The kind of knowledge you have without really believing it. Anyway. I looked away from the mirror a moment and closed my eyes and pushed. When I looked up again there was a head between my legs. A whole head. A real human head sticking out of my privates. Surreal. I don't really remember pushing the rest of him out, I must have because he isn't there anymore. Seeing that head was just too bizarre.

Afterwards a bunch of stuff happened. I birthed the placenta. I got stitches in the naughty area. Turned out the sneaky student doctor cut my woohoo with scissors when I wasn't looking, that made me sore later, let me tell you. My doctor came in five minutes after the kid was born and pretended he had delivered the baby. Anyway the whole time all this was happening I was watching my baby being cleaned and carried all around while he screamed and screamed. I kept telling myself, this is my baby, this is my baby. But it was all too surreal.

Okay, so I was going to blog a bit about motherhood, particularly William and my difficulties with boob feeding, but I'll leave that for another time. Mainly because this blog entry is getting to be almost as long as the labour itself! In the meantime check out www.filipowicz.ca/william for some pics of my new kid. Oh, by the way, William was offically born at 2:41 am on February 15th.

More Pictures

Everyones doing well
Jen will hopefully be home tomorrow (Saturday)
Here is another Pic!

Adam,

PS. Sorry im not as wordy as Jen.

It's a Boy!

Would like to introduce

William Adam McNicoll Filipowicz
Born Feb 15, 2007 2:42 AM
Joseph Brant Memorial Hospital in Burlington
8 lbs 13 Oz.

More details coming soon.
but this will do for now

now for some sleep

Adam,

Last Night in the Womb

So today was my last day to not be a mother. While technically I suppose I'm a mother already, seeing as I have a full grown baby inside of me, but I haven't done much mothering. The placenta is a darn good baby sitter and the poor thing is about to be cast aside like a gross mushy organ (because that's what it is, don't get all sentimental).

You'd think we'd do something special to commemorate our last day as a couple before we become a trio, but not so much. I did apply for mat benefits today (finally got all my records of employment in order to do that). I only mention this so I have a written record of when I applied, so I can measure the government's response time.

The whole thing feels so surreal. I can't believe that tommorrow morning I'm going to the hospital, and leaving a few days later with a baby and an empty belly. I'm going to be a Mom. That's craziness.

Here's my last preggers belly shot:

V-day induction

Since I'm still as pregnant as ever, I went to see my doctor this morning. We talked about induction. I said before that I wanted to wait, but that was before I felt all sore and uncomfy. So on Wednesday, which is Valentine's Day, I'm going into the hospital to have my son evicted.

Of course, I could go into labour on my own before then, but I've lost faith in my body's ability to ever go into labour on its own. Thoughts about this decision to induce:

Valentine's Day is a good day to be born. He'll be my little Valentine.
Am I being an impatient wimp to have given up the waiting?
It's really going to happen. Oh dear.
Maybe I'll go into labour before then. How 'bout now. Or now. Or now.
What if I'm not ready?
What if my baby's not ready?
What if it hurts more because my body isn't ready?
What if it takes longer because my body isn't ready?
Now I'll never know if I would have ever gone into labour on my own.

So that's it. I'll have baby pictures to post sometime soon.

New Hair

Today's project to keep my mind off my impending labour was to get a fabulous new hair cut with some subtle highlights. It's been a while since I've got my hair done and I want my baby to brag to all the other babies about how beautiful his mommy is.

So here's the before picture:



And here's the after picture:

Hey, I said it was subtle. Anyway my husband thinks I'm pretty. Now I just have to change my shirt to get all the itchy hair bits off of my neck.

And here's a pic that just happened to be in my camera of Adam holding Becca and Drew's son Aedan. Doesn't Adam look like a natural Daddy-type? I can't wait to see him holding our baby.

Non Stress Test

So I've been having this pain ever since I went to the doctor's on Thursday and he poked up my woohoo. The pain could be from that, or it could be from walking too much in the last couple days, since I walked all the way to the supermarket on Wednesday and yesterday I walked Sputnik and my parents. The pain is sort of at the bottom of my belly and it only hurts when I get up, bend over, walk, cough, laugh, move, or the baby moves. Of course when people hear I'm having pain, and I tell them how preggers I am, they get all excited and say "Oooh! ooh! You must be in labour" even though this is nothing like any labour pains I've ever heard about.

So yesterday Adam was all worried about me cause I was hurting so I finally agreed to go to the hospital to get checked out. I went to labour and delivery and they asked if I was in labour. I said no, I just wanted to be checked out. So they hooked me up to a monitor to do a non-stress test. This test is to make sure the baby isn't all stressed out from being cooped up in the womb too long. Honestly, I could come to the hospital with a severed arm and as long as the baby was okay noone would care. Well my baby isn't stressed. He loves the womb. He's never leaving.

The test also confirmed that I am still not even a little bit in labour. Duh. But I still have ouchies.
So today's project to take my mind off my fun new pain, and impending labour, is to create a flash representation of the non-stress test. Here it is:



The number on the left measures the baby's heart rate. The number on the right is meant to measure contractions, but since I'm not having any it only jumps when the baby is kicking. As you can see, I have a gameshow buzzer that I'm pressing every time I feel the baby move. Insead of buzzing, it marks a musical note on the paper. The baby's movements match up with a rise in the heart rate, because he's having fun doing his excercise routine.

Original Series Klingon Woman

So my Mom says I need a project to keep me from thinking about my impending labour. My project today was to find a picture of a klingon woman from the original series. This is because yesterday my Dad said that there were no klingon women on the original. So this is for you Dad. The klingon on the right is Mara, Captain Kang's wife and also his science officer. Here's another shot of her:

You can tell she's a klingon because of her generous application of self-tanner and her creative use of eye-shadow. That's the warrior's way.

Dr. Cervix Poker

So I went to the doctor today and he had a gay old time poking around my cervix to see if it was "ready". While this might seem like a party, it actually isn't very pleasant. Anyway, he told me he thinks that I'll go into labour this weekend. So of course I got all freaked out and got into to one of my "I'm so terrified of labour that I'm going to cry" moods. Adam had to drop me off at my Mommy and Daddy's house so I could get hugs.

I'm out of that mood now and I'm onto the "I hope I go into labour this minute, but I don't think this pregnancy will ever end" mood. My mother-in-law's birthday is Saturday, so that might be fun for him to have the same birthday as his grandma.

Well maybe by Monday I'll have some baby pictures to post. Of my own baby, I mean. No promises, just hopes.

Aedan and His Parents

I told you I had photos of Becca and Drew's new baby. Here are a few:




Isn't he adorable? And doesn't Becca look pretty? She just gave birth to a nine pound baby and still manages to look glamourous.

In other news. Today is my due date according to my obstetrician. My family doctor originally told me the 5th. Nobody knows what my baby thinks the due date is. I'm hoping he'll come sooner rather than later. Not only am I super excited to meet him, but now that Becca's had her baby I have nobody to be pregnant with!

Becca had a Baby

Aedan Robert Scott Painter
9 pounds, 4 ounces
Born February 1st, at 12:52 pm.

Adam and I went to the hospital this morning figuring she must have had her baby by now! I mean, they broke her water at 4:30pm yesterday. But the big show had yet to happen. Adam had to leave for work so I hung around the hospital, watching reruns of Star Trek and old sitcoms until I got the news that Becca had pushed out a baby. Then I had to wait like, a whole episode of the Cosby Show, while Becca and Drew bonded with their baby, and other relatives got to visit. Then I saw him. What a cutie. He was certainly worth the wait.

Becca did so well, she ended up having an epidural because she was way too exhausted to push. When I saw her after, she looked so beautiful. Tired, sure, but also glowing with the satisfaction of a job well done. She said it was a lot of work but it was so worth it. Drew had tears in his eyes. I couldn't believe that the baby I was seeing had been living in Becca's belly this whole time! And I have a similar infant living in my belly! Gah!

Anyway, I do have pictures, but I'll have to get the parents permission before posting one. For now, just imagine an adorable pair of chubby cheeks and sleepy blue eyes peering out from under a wooly green hat (the rest of him burrito-wrapped in a cozy white blankie) .

Becca's in Labour!

My friend Becca is in labour at this very moment. She got some gel put on her and her water broken with a rug hooking needle, which is cheating, so she didn't technically win the baby race. When Adam and I went to see her Becca was doing a super great job of pretending the contractions were "not that bad". She seemed very relaxed and happy, without the aid of drugs (so far). Of course, this doesn't mean that labour will be a piece of cake for me. Becca has this way of turning even the most unpleasant situations into the best experience, whereas I just tend to complain or make jokes or both.

Anyway I'm so proud of Becca for doing so well, and so excited to meet her baby. Congratulations Becca! (Congratulations to you too Drew, good job being a supportive labour coach/husband)

Dylan's Birthday and a Dream

First some photos I took yesterday at my cousin Dylan's 2nd birthday party:





What cuties eh?

On a completely unrelated note, I had a very strange dream last night. Adam and I were taking a first aid course, only this time be were at a house. I got the impression that some real emergency (murder, horrible accident) had happened at the house and our class was acting it out to teach us what we would in that situation.

Then the teacher (who was a man, even though our real teacher was a woman) led us into the woods on the trail of the murderer, who may or may not have been a grizzly bear. I thought we were only going a few steps into the woods so I neglected to put my shoes on when we left the house. We went deeper and deeper and I kept waiting for the guy to turn around. He didn't so finally Adam and I left the group and went back to the house to get our shoes.

For some reason I wanted a cup of water and a cup of sugar. There was a Wendy's in the house and we went there. We had two of those wax paper Wendy's cups for them to fill. Adam ordered a cup of sugar, a cup of water and an ice tea. The girl at the counter was all confused. Instead of getting us a cup of sugar, she filled the cup with all kinds of stuff they use to make drinks sugary; fruity syrups, jujubes, etc. In the end we had a super-concentrated sugary drink.

I'm trained in first aid...can I help you?

Because we're all about not having a choking baby, my husband decided it was a good idea for us to take a St. John's Ambulance First Aid Course. So we spent the day breathing into dummies, tying scarves around each other, and watching videos of pretend injury victims. My favourite video segment was the one on amputation. Good clean fun.

So you'll be happy to know that my husband and I are now capable of helping an adult, child, or infant who is choking, bleeding, has an amputated finger, is having a diabetic emergency, or an asthma attack, or an anaphylactic reaction, or a heart attack, or a seizure. Well, at least we have a certificate that says we can do those things and that's really what's important.

I figure, given the sense of humour of the universe, you only really need training like this when you don't have it. So by taking this course, Adam and I have prevented ourselves from ever having to face any kind of emergency.