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By rebecca, March 13, 2010 10:29 am

During March Break, March 15 – 19 at the CN Tower

March Break is the perfect time to be a sightseer in your own city. (Crowds and all … but what can you do?) The CN Tower has some special activities on during the week and is offering their everything-included Total Tower ticket for $25 (down from the regular $33).

The kids and I will be attending the Meet and Greet With Dora on Tuesday morning courtesy of Mega Blocks and Mom Central Canada, which should appease both Colum’s desire to visit the CN Tower and Irene’s budding Dora-mania. Continue reading 'March Break Fun At the CN Tower'»

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By rebecca, March 11, 2010 10:56 pm

Irene wore her green pajamas last night and she yawned and rubbed her eyes, fending off sleep. She clung to me with one arm and urgently pointed to the rocking chair with the other, and patted my chest. When I sat down with her in my lap and began to unfasten my nursing bra, she laughed with anticipation. I love that laugh. She eagerly latched on and gazed up at me, safe and secure, settling in for the night the same way she has every day of her life.  I started to cry. The tears are welling up right now as I think of it and a lump has formed in my throat and my heart aches so. Because that was the last time I’ll ever breastfeed my little Irene, and she wasn’t ready for that to end. I’m not ready for that to end.

I need to take a course of hardcore antibiotics to treat a serious, painful and potentially disfiguring infection in my face. I need to take this medication and it is absolutely forbidden that I should breastfeed while doing so. Irene is over 16 months old now, so there’s really no point in trying to keep up my milk supply in the meantime. It’s over; it needs to be and of that I have no doubt. I am haunted only by the kind of quasi-guilt that we all tend to regarding physical afflictions: the feelings of inadequacy about a slower metabolism or a bigger shoe size or infertility. These things are not subject to our conscious control and yet we still somehow feel as though we are to blame — even though we know better.

Colum was only two months older than Irene when he was fully weaned. In fact, a friend asked just the other day if I cried when he stopped breastfeeding. I had to laugh because I hadn’t at all. I had just as wonderful and fulfilling a breastfeeding relationship with Colum as I did with Irene, but it had run its course. At 18 months we found ourselves enjoying a short morning nurse and then we’d miss the odd day and then we didn’t need it anymore. (Irene was still nursing 3 to 4 times a day.) I can’t even remember the last time I breastfed Colum. It was absolutely the easiest and most painless transition and I couldn’t imagine weaning a child any other way.

So, yes, Colum was only two months older than Irene when he was weaned, but it’s not about age. Really, age has nothing to do with it. It has everything to do with a loving and nurturing relationship having to be severed prematurely by an outside force. Irene loved nursing so much and I expected her to continue longer than Colum did. (Even though I was limiting her feeds and gradually, gently guiding her toward a long-term goal of weaning.) I really cherished that special time together, the physical closeness I could offer her that her brother couldn’t threaten to take away, and the profound sense of security being able to nurse offered an increasingly independent and adventurous toddler.

Conversely, when that breastfeeding relationship is no longer fulfilling to either the mother or the child — be that at 3 weeks or 8 months or 3 years — then it makes sense to end it. I am not grieving the loss of some ideal of greatly-extended breastfeeding in and of itself. We had a wonderful breastfeeding relationship for over 16 months and for that I am exceedingly grateful. I am also keenly aware that for many it seems absurd to continue breastfeeding for that long in the first place. Maybe it is for some people, but this is really the sweetest time to breastfeed in many respects. The fact that it is completely optional means that you don’t have to worry about being apart from your baby all day or all night — you can just pick up where you left off later. You can revel in your child’s waning babyhood as you are still able to offer all the reassurance they need with a simple, natural, physical act. You can even do away with the nursing bras if you want to and relegate all breastfeeding to your own home. (Read greater wardrobe flexibility, not shame about feeding in public because I am all about that.) You can even enjoy firm and full breasts without all that leaking and engorgement.

As I cried last night, I realized how many feeds were about me just trying to grab a few extra minutes of shut-eye in the morning, or desperate attempts to get her to fall asleep, or just moments where I retreated into my own head space. When did I last really spend this time with her? So I got myself together and focused on the moment. I told Irene how much I love her and why I am so proud of her, hoping those words might be able to trigger the same sense of love and security in the future. I held her close. I watched her happily nursing, completely oblivious that it would be her last time. I put her to bed and then I took my fist pill.

This was last night and we’re fine, of course. Thank god I managed to better separate the nursing from the sleeping just a couple weeks ago, so that is not as big an issue as it could have been. This morning was a little rocky as she grabbed at my shirt wanting to cuddle in bed with me. Instead, we cuddled with Colum and watched a cartoon on TV while drinking milk from a sippy cup before gorging on Cheerios and strawberries. I think strawberries may be the nipple of the berry family. She was a bit cranky going down for her nap without a feed, too, and generally pretty clingy all evening. Her dad put her to bed with a lullabye and I got to read Colum his bedtime story. (If you want to call a book about the ROM’s dinosaur collection a story.) And while my breasts certainly feel full there has not been any pain (yet — fingers crossed).

So my heart is still heavy for now, but I’m trying to embrace the opportunity this has afforded me to reflect on our breastfeeding relationship. And, of course, to share it all with you.

(Image courtesy Mel ‘GW’ Stampa on Flickr.)

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By rebecca, March 11, 2010 9:04 am

DAILY SNACK

My husband offered to make dinner last night.

I hesitated.

It was already after six, I warned,

We needed something fast, not fancy.

He assured me that he could do it.

At 7:30 pm we sat down to provolone topped chicken breasts,

Served on a crispy potato  rosti,

With a creamy dijon sauce,

An avacodo, tomato and baby lamb’s lettuce salad,

And a perfect stack of julienned carrots.

Saying “I told you so,” never tasted so good.

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By rebecca, March 8, 2010 11:04 am

DAILY SNACK

“You see this penny, Mom?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it has the queen on one side,

And then you turn it over,

And there’s poison ivy.”

“Those are actually maple leaves, Colum.”

“No, poison ivy.”

“No, I’m sorry sweetie, but those are maple leaves.”

“Well, maple leaves grow in poison ivy,

So we’ll just say it’s poison ivy.”

“Okay, fine.”

And then, half an hour later,

He thought he spotted dinosaur fossils in the driveway.

I showed him that the fossil was actually just some dried mud the car dragged in.

As I’m strapping him into his carseat, I say,

“You know Colum, you might want to be an archaeologist when you grow up.”

“Maa-om, I want to be a photographer.”

“Yes, I know that. But do you even know what an archaeologist does?”

“What?”

“He digs up dinosaur bones.”

“That’s a paleontologist.”

“Oh. I think you’re right. Never mind then.”

Colum will turn four in less than two months. Image courtesy of Coined For Money.

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By rebecca, February 4, 2010 4:47 am

DAILY SNACK

Word to the wise:

Your child’s baptismal certificate,

Should not be stashed away in a dusty old keepsake box,

Next to the baptismal candles and a sample of one of his first scribbles.

Not if there’s any chance,

However remote,

That you might one day wish to enrol him in a Catholic school.

That memento is actually considered an important document in those circles.

And trust me.

After you spend the better part of 12 hours unearthing his birth certificate and immunization record,

The last thing you’ll want to do,

Is spend another five desperately searching for the Certificate of Baptism.

You’re welcome.

(Sure, you can probably get another one issued from the church, but that would involve actually going there for the first time in … uh … did you make it to the Christmas mass last year? You know, awkward.)

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By rebecca, February 1, 2010 10:43 am

DAILY SNACK

In a sea of pink,

There was my little strawberry-headed boy,

In broad red and black stripes.

A few pigtails over,

Were his cousins,

One in brown and gray and another pink-clad little girl.

There were exactly three boys attending this performance of,

Pinkalicious, The Musical.

All the kids sat on carpets near the stage and the adults found chairs behind them.

For 50 minutes, Colum sat and watched intently,

And then for the last ten minutes,

He found me and settled into my lap.

Not a baby anymore, certainly.

But not so big either.

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By rebecca, January 21, 2010 10:31 am

DAILY SNACK

Every night before bed,

Irene and I look out her bedroom window and say goodnight.

“Good night cars, good night trucks.

Good night Dundas Street.”

So it isn’t entirely surprising that the other day,

Wow, not quite 15 months old and already she knows the name of her street.

What a genius.

Then last night,

While we were downtown,

She pointed at Bloor Street and said, “Dundas.”

Again, on the way home,

She pointed out the car window and clear as a bell said, “Dundas.”

So she thinks all streets are called Dundas.

Oh.

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By rebecca, January 19, 2010 3:30 am

DAILY SNACK

Here’s a thought that can serve no purpose other than to stir up trouble,

But I’ve already thought it,

So here goes.

Doesn’t it bother you working parents when stay-at-home parents get all up in arms about the government instituting full-day kindergarten?

Doesn’t it bother you when they shake their fists and say that four and five year olds are too young to be in a structured, institutional evironment for six and a half hours at a time?

When they insist that the best thing for their children is to spend most of their day hanging out at home and at the park and tagging along with mom or dad?

(But not for yours, of course, because you do what you feel is right for yours and I’ll do what I feel is right for mine and there’s no judgement at all. Your kids are used to being away from home anyway, so it’s no big deal for them. But shouldn’t there be choices for parents who really love stay at home with their kids?)

Just asking because it would bother me.

Maybe that’s because I know that in choosing to not pursue typical full-time employment I do consider where I want my children spending the bulk of their time. The truth is that I want to keep them close because I think that is best for them. (I also kind of loathe keeping 9 – 5 office hours and working for anyone else in general, so that tips the scales too.)

But, really, an extra couple hours of kindergarten at age four? When other children have been in full-time daycare from 12 months of age or younger and seem perfectly happy, well-adjusted and capable?

No, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.

* * *

And just to be clear on my personal preferences regarding child care and full-time work, let me say this. While full-time day care is not my first preference, if anyone were to see fit to donate the services of a part-time caregiver I would take them up on it in a heartbeat.

In a heartbeat.

Which is not to say that I actually want anyone to pay for my child care, but rather to illustrate that while the decision to not place my children in full-time day care is not based purely on financial considerations, my current lack of a regular part-time child care solution is one hundred per cent about money.

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By rebecca, January 14, 2010 3:38 am

DAILY SNACK

There is horror in Haiti right now.

The magnitude of the death and destruction,

The agony and the despair,

Is almost beyond comprehension.

There are photos.

It makes my own concerns and complaints seem oh-so-very small.

And they are small.

Even the greatest tragedy in my life,

Happens within a context of love and support.

Within a strong and secure nation,

With food and water and medicine.

Within standing buildings and homes for our people.

As rescue workers the world over arrive in Haiti,

They will need support.

The Globe and Mail has an excellent list of organizations that can use your donation.

Let us count our blessings and give our dollars.

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By rebecca, December 29, 2009 12:21 pm

DAILY SNACK

This year was better than most,

In that Christmas fell on a Friday.

That meant that we had a long weekend in which to recover.

But it still wasn’t enough.

There are new toys to make room for,

And wads of tissue paper hidden everywhere,

And chocolates and fir needles and stray bits of tinsel.

Now there is this nether week,

These few work days between Christmas and New Years,

Without benefit of nursery school,

Or any of the regular kids’ programs.

But with work to get done for us grown ups.

It’s the year’s big hangover week.

And I just want to stay in bed.