Author: Rebecca Cuneo Keenan

Rebecca Cuneo Keenan is a writer who lives in Toronto with her husband and three children.

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Big-boy Bed Time

Young C is sleeping soundly for the first night in his new-to-him big-boy bed right now. Heā€™s been sleeping really well (i.e. through the night) in his crib for almost a year now and still loves it and doesnā€™t try to climb out at all. Still, as of April 29th heā€™s a bona fide two-year old and it feels like the time is right. Iā€™m also four months pregnant, of course, and we want there to be ample time for Young C to forget about his crib before the new baby arrives on the scene. And itā€™s getting a little hard for me to hoist him in and out of the crib several times a day right about now. So new bed it is.

This is the way youā€™re supposed to make the crib to bed transition: You hype up the new big-kid bed and include your toddler in the purchasing of new bedding. You keep everything else about their bedtime routine and sleeping environment the same. You keep them safely in place with a guardrail. You make sure the timing doesnā€™t coincide with any other major changes in your kids routine. I really did intend to follow those guidelines, but ā€¦ well, this is how we did it: We accepted an offer for a hand-me-down bed and didnā€™t get around to purchasing any special new bedding before the bed got here. We had family over for dinner the same night the bed arrived and didnā€™t have time to remove his old crib from his room before bedtime. In place of the guardrail we havenā€™t yet gotten is his old crib mattress on the floor beside his bed to cushion his inevitable tumble. And, just to seal the deal, heā€™s set to start daycare for the first time ever on Friday. (Yes, the Daycare Despair is finally over and heā€™ll be going to Novus Day Nursery three mornings a week so I can try to make a buck or two.)

Despite the lack of special new bedding and the presence of his old crib right in the same room, Young C really was eager to get into his new bed. He kept breaking free from the dinner table to run to his room and get into bed and happily read his bedtime stories all tucked in. It was only when we reached the tail end of his bedtime routine and the tell-tale words, ā€œHereā€™s your snuggly blanket ā€¦,” triggered the realization that he was actually supposed to fall asleep in this new bed that all hell broke loose. He screamed ā€œNo!ā€ and jumped out of bed and ran out of his room. We then repeated our goodnight to Dad and the end of his routine and I put him back into bed where he started screaming and crying. After one more escape attempt was quickly intercepted he just stuck to the crying. I waited by his door for him to calm down. I listed all the animals at the High Park zoo that were sleeping and I even tried singing. After more than 30 minutes of alternating crying and sitting up to name some more animals that might be sleeping (ā€œAnd bugs, Mom. Is the bugs sleeping too?ā€) I lay down beside him. Happily, this worked like a charm and he calmed right down and snuggled in under his covers. He kept reaching over to make sure I was there, though, and eventually backed me right off the edge. So I sat on the crib mattress and reassured him that I was still there until he finally fell asleep.

I hope that after a few days heā€™ll feel secure enough in his new bed to fall asleep on his own and this wonā€™t compound the difficulty he’ll have adjusting to daycare. Like his reaction to his new bed, Young C seems happy enough about daycare. Heā€™s been there before and knows that there will be other kids and toys for everyone to share and that Moms and Dads are not allowed. Still, when I walk out the door and leave him in the company of total strangers there are bound to be tears. In the meantime, Iā€™m preparing myself for some nighttime visits and early morning wakings. And I’ve really got to find a guardrail to fit this bed.

(Image courtesy of www.dn.anglican.org.nz/resources/liturgical/arts/clipart/)

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Chug a chug a choo choo, we hear you

We had our 12-week appointment with the midwife on Tuesday and were able to hear the baby’s heartbeat with the Doppler. Colum said it sounds like “Chug a chug a choo choo”. That’s not an altogether inaccurate description, either, but I hope he’s not expecting a baby train. I’m already starting to show and my uterus is a bit bigger than my midwife would expect at this stage. She assures us that this is likely because everything grows more readily in second pregnancies. Since we are pretty sure about our date, the only other explanation would be more than one baby, but nobody’s buying that. Twin pregnancies are often accompanied by pretty extreme first trimester symptoms, but I had only the slightest queasiness here and there and typical fatigue. And there are no twins in my family. We’ll find out for sure at our 18 to 20 week ultrasound, but, like I said, we’re not really worried. Really, hardly at all.

There’s lots to say about midwives versus OBs and I hope to find the time to delve into some of that. I’ve given my notice at the restaurant for the end of May, so I’ve been picking up extra shifts while I can. This will be my last week of extra work, though, and I’ll just cruise through my last month working one shift a week.

Lastly, Colum’s at the stage where his internal dialogue is still external and it can be so funny. I just heard him in the hallway saying, “I going to ask Mom for another one cracker.” And then seconds later he comes charging through the door, “I have another one cracker, Mom?” Don’t you wish we could all be so transparent?

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Health Canada Declares Bisphenol A Dangerous

Health Canada broke new ground today when they officially declared bisphenol A a dangerous substance. I wrote about the potential dangers of this common chemical in this post a few weeks ago. Or link to the Globe and Mail for their news brief about Health Canada’s pioneering decision. Canada is the first country to recognize the dangerous affects of bisphenol A and will hopefully act as a trailblazer for the US and EU. This is the first step toward regulating sales and production of compounds that contain this chemical, and I, for one, am quite pleased.

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Daycare Despair

“What do you do for childcare?” This is a seemingly innocent question that can really get under my skin. The true answer is that we care for our child ourselves. I’m home (and often out and about) with Young C from Monday to Friday and Ed picks up Saturdays while I work. That leaves Sunday for family time. Still, I tend to babble in circles. “I work from home, you see … uh, yeah, freelancing … well, no, I’m not very productive, I guess … he’s on a wait list for part-time care … I do work Saturdays …” The problem is partly that while I did not want to work a full-time job and have to hire someone else to care for my child, I also had no visions of becoming a stay-at-home mom. There was no love lost for the tele-help job I’d held before Young C was born, either, and I thought I would be able to pursue a part-time career as a writer while I stayed at home. I have done a teensy bit of writing, but I finally have had to face up to the truth that I’m just pretty drained after putting in a 12 hour day as a mom. I wound up having to pick up one or two waitressing shifts over the weekend to make ends meet, which, of course, leaves even less time and energy for doing the work I want to do. It hasn’t been a horrible set-up considering that I get to take care of Young C all week and then can make pretty good money in just a couple nights. Until now. The fast pace and long shifts and crowded dance floor of the restaurant cum live music venue where I work means I won’t want to be there for the second half of this pregnancy.

The other part of the problem is that I have been trying to get child care. At 18 months, I decided that Young C would probably do well in a daycare setting on a part-time basis and set out to register him somewhere. But this is Toronto and unless you’re willing to let the retired lady around the corner watch your kid, you have to wait. (And we’re not even looking for a subsidized spot — that’s a whole other story.) Now I know there are great agencies that assist with finding a regulated home care spot, and I’m sure that many of those women do a wonderful job. But I wanted Young C to have interactions with his peers and be cared for by fully trained Early Childhood Educators. I wanted a daycare centre, yes, but I wasn’t particularly picky beyond that. I wasn’t worried about getting him into a Montessori program, for example, particularly after learning about their TWO YEAR wait list. So we toured the local High Park Jr. YMCA and spent $40 to get Young C’s name on an estimated four month wait list for any two days a week. Five months later, I’m told that a spot has opened up but they no longer support part-time care. What?!? We had all our eggs in this basket, assuming that our flexibility would make it fairly easy to find a match. Hell, we could even do one or three days a week if we had to. I was told that they would double check the policy and call me back.

So, plan B. Novus Day nursery is around the corner and offers half-day care, which is even better than two or three full days for us, and they start at two years old. So we make an appointment and are told that Young C would be able to start within a couple weeks. Even though he’s not quite two, they are impressed with his language and independence. Great. Tick, tick, tick … I call back a month later to find out exactly when Young C can start and now the story has changed. They have space, but are only licensed to care for two children between the ages of two and two and a half. So we have to wait until the end of June. The difference between having him in for six months before baby number two arrives and we likely have to pull him and four months seems huge. Starting him now would have meant a few weeks of financial cover while I worked at writing during the week and kept my restaurant gig on the weekends. There will be no such cover in July. The cost will be even harder to justify since my father and teenage brother will be available for occasional child care during their summer vacations. So we’ll see how it goes. I’ll try to drum up some work in the meantime and maybe we can enroll him for just three mornings a week.

So, what do I do for childcare? I’m still figuring it out, and something tells me that there’s really no long term solution when it comes to kids. We’ll do what we can for now, and when there’s two babes in the picture, we’ll figure something else out.

Image courtesy of sideshowtoy.com.

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When to Tell … Fatigue … Pickles & Ice Cream

One of the first decisions you have to make upon finding out that you’re pregnant is who you should tell and when. There are two basic camps: spread the joy right away or wait about 12 weeks. The rationale for waiting is that you won’t have to later spread the word that you are not expecting after all in the case of a miscarriage. With Colum, Ed and I decided to tell our parents and siblings right away, but to wait until the end of the first trimester before letting the rest of the world in. One problem with that approach is that the news is bound to leak, which was okay. More troubling, perhaps, is making excited new grandparents keep such a big secret for nearly two months. This time around, then, we decided to just tell everyone right away and cross the miscarriage bridge if we came to it. I did keep it a secret at my Saturday night job for a good 10 weeks, though, just to be sure. The truth is that I’m just not very good at keeping big news to myself. I’ll keep someone else’s confidence, no problem, and love to keep secrets (like the sex of the baby) from myself, but I can’t imagine not telling my close friends and family about a pregnancy. With my first pregnancy (and baby) I really did think there was a single best way to do things. With enough reading and critical thinking I was sure I could figure out what that best approach was. Now I realize that rules like “Wait 12 weeks before telling” are not for everybody. Don’t get me wrong, though, I still have some strong opinions about what is best for my baby. I’m just a little more open to being proven wrong.

I thought for sure I’d be blogging about this pregnancy non-stop. (That was another reason to share the news right away.) But I was so completely immersed in a fog of fatigue and, let’s face it, stupidity, that it’s been a record-setting six weeks since I’ve posted here. I don’t remember feeling this tired with Colum and I probably wasn’t. For one, I would sleep in as late as I wanted during the first trimester. (I was working nights as a bartender.) And I was drinking caffeine! Colum’s pregnancy was a surprise, so I had to pretty radically change my lifestyle in a hurry. I wasn’t a particularly heavy drinker, but after quitting smoking cold turkey and then dealing with a bar full of drunk university students at 2:30 am, I really did miss those couple of drinks. So when I read that a moderate amount of caffeine had no demonstrable harm on the fetus, I decided that I’d sacrificed enough thank you very much. This time, though, I came across a new study that links caffeine to an increased risk of miscarriage. Add that to my mother’s conviction that coffee caused one of her two miscarriages, and her uncanny ability to be way ahead of the rest of us, and I thought I’d better skip the joe this time around. The haze is finally starting to lift from my frontal lobes, though, and I feel like myself again. Here are some tips for anyone still looking to beat that pregnancy fatigue, but I really think you just have to wait it out in the end. It’s time to gear up for an ultra productive second trimester to make up for lost time and the impending sluggishness of the third trimester.

My other symptoms have been pretty subtle. A bit of queasiness when I forget to eat and some breast tenderness. I’m actually in a bit of awe again at the dramatic breast changes that happen during pregnancy. Last time, I had stretch marks on both breasts after three months and went from a pre-pregnancy 32 B to a 36 DD when my milk came in. I put on a good deal of weight in general, but still. This time there was only a three month window between weaning Colum completely at 18.5 months and getting pregnant again. So I guess I thought all the duct work would still be in place and ready to go. Guess again. Having just nearly returned to my pre-pregnancy size, my breasts are quickly swelling up again with all the weird tugging and tingling sensations that entails. Also, my right nipple is extremely itchy and I haven’t read about that symptom anywhere. My belly is also quickly adopting the pregnant look now that all those pesky abdominal muscles that kept it reigned in for so long last time are nice and loose. I have had some constipation and seem to want to eat a lot of fresh fruit and veggies. I’ve also had hankering for salty cured meat, and ice cream, and pickles. But not together. I must say, though, that Colum has really come around to enjoy a “spicy” (as he calls it) dill pickle as well.

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Nameless Home Test Works Just Fine Thanks

stb_1708.jpgThere are certain commodities that make a sucker out of us all. Faced with an array of intimate hygiene products, over-the-counter medications, or even batteries, we tend to shy away from the cheapest option. Maybe we don’t go for the dearest choice either, but the disparity itself makes us suspicious. So when I went to my local independent drug store for a home pregnancy test (hpt), I very nearly spent more than twice as much money as I needed to.

The unbranded One Step Pregnancy Test pictured above sold for a mere $5. There was a Rexall brand for a couple dollars more and both Clearblue and Clearblue digital for a lot more. The only other hpt I’ve used is the Shopper’s Drugmart Life Brand test and even that costs about $10 a test. I know that the only difference between tests is the sensitivity, and I was pretty sure that there isn’t necessarily a correlation between cost and sensitivity. Unfortunately, the tests themselves do not list the exact amount of HCG (ie. the pregnancy hormone) needed to trigger a positive result. So you can either scour the internet for lists of tests and their corresponding sensitivities (many of which are not even sold in Canada) or call the number on the box. Standing in the store with an antsy toddler I decided to give the cheapo test a go.

I have since developed a rationale for my decision, and thereby declare expensive pregnancy tests a waste of money. The way the pregnancy tests work, you see, is by detecting the presence of HCG in your urine. If it’s there you’re pregnant, and if it’s not you’re not. False positives are almost impossible (excepting certain rare medical conditions and medications), so any test that is positive will certainly be right. A negative result, however, may not be accurate because there needs to be sufficient levels of HCG to be picked up by the test. It could be too early, in other words. And this is how they get us. All kinds of tests advertising early detection and clear results tug at our purse strings. The thing is, HCG does not even begin to be produced until implantation occurs between one and two weeks after ovulation. So even if your test is extremely sensitive (and remember there’s little correlation between cost and sensitivity), you will not be able to trust a negative result until you’ve missed your period anyway. Once HCG is being produced, however, levels rise exponentially and even the least sensitive test will detect a pregnancy by one or two days after a missed period. And, really, how clear do the results need to be? I cannot imagine needing a digital reading on a pregnancy test.

On the day after my period was due, then, I peed on my no-brand hpt stick (manufactured at the same place as Clearblue, by the way) and almost immediately got a dark, clear, unmistakable positive. I’m pregnant! That was a week ago and it still hasn’t sunk in. I’ve since confirmed with my doctor and my incredible dopiness also bears witness to my surging hormone levels.

One last thing. If you’ve stumbled upon this post in a desperate, achy-yearning for any glimmer of early pregnancy symptoms, welcome. I hope you find yourself with child in the very near future, but know that there are no signs. I’ve been getting my period for 17 years and this is my second pregnancy and there is simply no way to differentiate between early pregnancy symptoms and PMS. As soon as you test positive, of course, the symptoms will start to snowball and you can look back and say, “Oh, that’s why I’ve been so hungry all weekend. And that’s why I started to cry over a lost bus ticket.” But there’s really no way of knowing if you just happen to be a little hungry and maybe it’s just PMS emotions. So stop obsessing and peruse my other non-pregnancy-test posts, and just wait another week or so.

It really is a small miracle of modern science that we are able to diagnose a pregnancy so easily and reliably. Thank god we don’t have to keep frogs anymore. Here’s some more history; it’s pretty interesting.

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Plastic is the New Lead: Be warned

It has not even been two years since Young C was born and I can already say, “We just didn’t know any better back then.” Joining the ranks of baby walkers and stomach sleeping and front seat car rides is the seemingly harmless plastic baby bottle. It looks like my mother is not a raving lunatic after all; there really are toxins seeping out of plastics and into our food stuffs. I now have to undo the straight jacket and take stock of my cupboards. Not all plastics are equal, and it is the recycling # 7 plastics (and #3 and #6 — thanks Safe Mama) that are all over the cyber news because they leach bisphenol-A (BPA).

I know, I know: bi what?!?thehell-A? This is a chemical that acts like estrogen and has recently come under attack for interfering with the endocrine system and having a causal connection to a host of ailments from cancer to embryonic development. The plastic industry has long contended that it is completely harmless at the low levels found in canned food and bottled beverages. I have read, although I don’t completely get it, that this chemical is actually more toxic at lower levels. There have been several recent studies linking very low levels (much lower than the levels used in the studies cited by the plastic industry) of BPA to chromosomal abnormalities in mice. As the plastic industry is quick to point out, there is no conclusive proof that similar exposures would be toxic to humans. Here is a good introduction to the issue.

I first caught wind of this potential health hazard about a year ago via oh-my-god-they’re-hurting-our-babies type posts on mommy blogs. I was sort of caught between a rock (big bad corporate America) and a hard place (internet conspiracy theorists), and thus did nothing. I wasn’t the only one. Since then, the toxicity of BPA has received some mainstream media attention and the movement to get it outright banned seems to be picking up steam. Consumer awareness is picking up, too, as evidenced by aluminum re-usable water bottles and stainless steel sippy cups hitting the market.

In typical Playground fashion, then, I urge you to, y’know, avoid the poisonous plastics when you can. If it’s convenient. And here again mommy blogs are leading the way. Baby bottles are probably the worst source of BPA for two reasons. The amount of the chemical released increases with repeated washing and re-heating, for one. Secondly, they feed babies who are the most susceptible to chemical exposure in general, and to the potential chromosome-altering and developmentally-stunting effects of BPA in particular. A vast amount of research is required to learn about the dangers of BPA and then find out which products to avoid. Couple that with the energy and dedication and expense involved in making the necessary lifestyle changes, and we have a very good argument for legislation banning the chemical. I’m not going to lead the charge because I simply don’t have the science to weigh the arguments fairly. Still, there appears to be enough evidence to make this social libertarian (I argued against banning smoking in cars with kids) support the cause. Personal freedoms, you see, are altogether different from corporate freedoms.

But what about Young C, you ask. The fortuitous confluence of my distaste for expressing breast milk, exclusive breastfeeding for his first year, my pressing need for (and thus lack of) a dishwasher, and my own mother’s insistence that any reheating of expressed milk be done by slow emergence in tepid tap water make it unlikely that he has been exposed to very much of BPA. He only used a pacifier (another toxic baby gadget) between the ages of 3 weeks and 3 months and has always drunk water, juice, and homo milk from a cup. So, despite my Avent breast pump and plastic baby bottles being among the worst BPA offenders, we got off relatively scot-free. The Gerber sippy cup Colum has worn to shreds and the Ikea bowls and tumblers we have are a safer plastic, but the word is still out on the dinner plate he’s been using. Link here for reviews of BPA-free sippy cups. Here‘s another good source for info on safe baby products. And this link is invaluable for learning which brands of baby bottles and toddler gear are safe, and which to avoid.

Lastly, and this may be my mother talking, let’s just be careful with all plastics. Don’t use them to reheat food. Try to avoid all recycling # 7 (and #3 and #6) plastics for food and beverage use. And, if you’re buying something new, look into stainless steel or glass. This is a multi-faceted topic, so please, dear readers (I know I have a couple), post a comment or question and we can get a discussion going.

(Image taken from A Day in the Life of a Four Year Old.)

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This Just In

Colum is obsessed with YouTube clips of old Cookie Monster numbers. This is his Dad’s doing and I’m not usually a fan of any lit screen media for toddlers, but sometimes you’ve just got to roll with the punches. They’re pretty charming, too. Check it out:

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Kanye Inspires

It’s been a couple weeks since I’ve posted and I want to apologize to both my devoted readers for the delay. I’ve been busy and haven’t had the time to draft well-thought out opinions on black-focused schools or Bisphenol-A.

I’ve been inspired tonight, though, by Kanye West. What most of us would do in silent prayer, or at a gravesite or while lighting a candle in church, Kanye does in an acceptance speech at the Grammys. He expresses his love for his recently departed mother and vows to become as great as she would want. And that, my two dear readers, is truly the essence of blogging. My innermost thoughts and desires should be published here in real time without benefit of censor or editrix. That’s what the people want. So, I will develop some mature thoughts about books and current events and issues of especial concern to parents. But I’ll try to keep posting during the drawn-out gestational periods those thoughts seem to need.

Picture this: My 21 month old son has never had a haircut and he’s sporting a sort of natural mullet. His fine strawberry blonde hair has grown slowly in the front and falls neatly halfway down his forehead. It then wisps and curls out in all directions in the back, snaking down his neck and sticking straight out. He has, in other words, hockey hair. Appropriately, then, he was decked out in a sweater depicting hockey sticks, skates, a helmet and a net, and jogging pants when a Guns N’ Roses CD started playing. As soon as the first chords of “Welcome to the Jungle” sounded, Colum launched into a frantic dance consisting of countless quick steps and crazy spinning. Before long he was lurching around the room like a drunk and desperately trying to regain enough balance to keep dancing. I guess you can take the rusted-out and broken-down cars off the front lawn, but you can’t beat genetics.

One last thing. The Grammy Awards were not only a source of inspiration thanks to Kanye West. They also featured performances by both Leslie Feist and Amy Winehouse which is a boon for both real artists and real-looking women. That makes me happy.

(Photo courtesy the New York Daily News.)

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Public Fun Funds Fiasco

I’ve expressed my dismay over the costs of recreating at Toronto’s community centres before. I was especially irked, then, when a little bird (thanks Ange) tipped me off about Parks and Rec’s proposed fees increase. Link here for the details, but the gist is that the cost of all Parks and Rec programs will increase by 20% over the next year, and 66% after seven years. It has been dubbed the “Everyone gets to play” policy because part of those fee increases will be used to provide free programming for those who can demonstrate a financial need. Still, I don’t like it.

People like me, for one, will neither qualify for the free programs, nor be able to easily afford the increased fees. I worry, too, that many people who would make use of universally free programs will not bother applying for a free spot. And even the people who are readily able to afford the extra expense will have to wonder whether their money might be better spent at a private gym or on classes held elsewhere.

There’s a bigger point here, too. As my husband writes on behalf of the Eye Weekly editorial board, the value of Community Centres and other Parks and Rec programs is that they are universal and publicly funded. As a society, we are demonstrating that athletics and recreation are important for people of all ages and all walks of life. Like public libraries, and public schools and public parks, community centre programs should be as close to free as possible. Public services that are run on user fees should be geared toward the sort of thing that we want to discourage, like excessive water use or non-recyclable trash. (This is not always the case, unfortunately.) Even when the public purse is near bankrupt, and even in the face of school closures, you will never hear talk of instituting a tuition for public school children. This is the principle our community centres should run on. Pare down programs, sacrifice operating hours, if you must, but do not under any circumstances keep raising fees. Do not price the public out of a publicly run service.

For more info, check out an interview with city councilor Joe Mihevc on the Spacing Wire.

There will be two public meetings where residents can raise questions and concerns:

Wednesday, January 16, 2008 from 7 to 9 p.m.
Elmbank Community Centre (10 Rampart Rd.)
Wellesley Community Centre (495 Sherbourne St.)

Thursday, January 17, 2008 from 7 to 9 p.m.
North York Civic Centre Council Chambers (5100 Yonge St.)
Scarborough Civic Centre Committee Rooms 1 and 2 (150 Borough Dr.)

(Image courtesy of turbosquid.com.)