Monday, February 26, 2007
Alert the Fairy!
Mae has her first tooth. You can only just see the very top of it, but I can tell already that it's a lovely one. The only downside is that it's also very sharp. I didn't think it was possible, but I hate breastfeeding even more now.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Poor Britney
Lately, I've been finding myself thinking about Britney Spears a lot. Poor Britney Spears. I feel so awful for her. I mean, sure, she's done some dumb things, but who hasn't? I keep picturing how insane I'd go myself if - for some reason - the media was just as captivated by what a bad mother I am.
"Kate H. Gives Baby Mae Black Eye - Child Protective Services to Investigate".
That would have been the headline the day the back of my hand slipped off my elastic bra strap when I'd finished nursing Mae and accidentally boinged right into her poor little eye with frightening force. I'll never forget the look she gave me, for one split second, before bursting into frantic tears. It was like, "You've GOT to be kidding me. You just HIT me?" I cried more than she did, and that was with nobody but myself trying to make me feel bad about it. I can just imagine what Britney must have gone through when her son fell out of his highchair and everyone on earth wanted to rag on her for it.
Or then there was the time when I pulled another "Britney" by strapping Mae into her carseat, but forgetting to strap the carseat itself into the car. So we drove for blocks with it just sitting on the seat unbuckled. Shudder.
"Carseat Catastrophe: Kate H. Wrecklessly Endangers Baby Mae's Life."
And, oh God, if there were reporters following me around documenting the state of my hair:
"Kate H. Spotted for the Tenth Day in a Row Sporting Messy Ponytail. Has she Lost her Hairbrush AND her Sense of Style??"
If you added to that the stress of a divorce plus the day-to-day pressures of being a pop princess (whatever those might be), honestly, it'd be more than enough to make me shave my head and check in to rehab, too. I kind of want to send her a nice bouquet.
"Kate H. Gives Baby Mae Black Eye - Child Protective Services to Investigate".
That would have been the headline the day the back of my hand slipped off my elastic bra strap when I'd finished nursing Mae and accidentally boinged right into her poor little eye with frightening force. I'll never forget the look she gave me, for one split second, before bursting into frantic tears. It was like, "You've GOT to be kidding me. You just HIT me?" I cried more than she did, and that was with nobody but myself trying to make me feel bad about it. I can just imagine what Britney must have gone through when her son fell out of his highchair and everyone on earth wanted to rag on her for it.
Or then there was the time when I pulled another "Britney" by strapping Mae into her carseat, but forgetting to strap the carseat itself into the car. So we drove for blocks with it just sitting on the seat unbuckled. Shudder.
"Carseat Catastrophe: Kate H. Wrecklessly Endangers Baby Mae's Life."
And, oh God, if there were reporters following me around documenting the state of my hair:
"Kate H. Spotted for the Tenth Day in a Row Sporting Messy Ponytail. Has she Lost her Hairbrush AND her Sense of Style??"
If you added to that the stress of a divorce plus the day-to-day pressures of being a pop princess (whatever those might be), honestly, it'd be more than enough to make me shave my head and check in to rehab, too. I kind of want to send her a nice bouquet.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Monkey-See-Monkey-Do
Mae is suddenly in to everything she shouldn't be in to. If I turn my back for a second, she somehow manages to twist herself around or wiggle away and is busy pushing the buttons on the phone or the remote, or else reaching for the computer mouse and opening a spreadsheet program I didn't even know we had. Yesterday she used Photoshop to crop a photo. And, while she didn't crop it very well, still!!
She can't even crawl yet, so we can just imagine what we'll be in for when she can. She just gradually wiggles her way toward whatever she wants or, if we're holding her, shifts her centre of gravity so she becomes very heavy in the direction of the thing she wants.
We love the computer, the phone and the TV, so she does too. And it doesn't stop at electronics. Everything we do is fascinating and worthy of immitating. It kind of makes me feel like a rock star. You know like when Criss-Cross was famous for five seconds in the 90s and all the kids started wearing their pants backwards?
I've had a bad cold the past few days, and Mae is fascinated with nose blowing now. Every time I do it, she smiles like its just the greatest thing. Yesterday, I was looking up baby food recipies on the Internet while holding her on my lap and she managed to make herself very heavy to the left until she could reach the box of Kleenex sitting on the sofa. She'd pulled three tissues out and was trying to eat one before I noticed what she was up to.
I told my husband that being so interesting is a big responsibility. We're going to have to start setting a better example by loving more wholesome, healthy things... like sugar-free snacks, educational toys, classical music and napping. That last one shouldn't be too hard.
She can't even crawl yet, so we can just imagine what we'll be in for when she can. She just gradually wiggles her way toward whatever she wants or, if we're holding her, shifts her centre of gravity so she becomes very heavy in the direction of the thing she wants.
We love the computer, the phone and the TV, so she does too. And it doesn't stop at electronics. Everything we do is fascinating and worthy of immitating. It kind of makes me feel like a rock star. You know like when Criss-Cross was famous for five seconds in the 90s and all the kids started wearing their pants backwards?
I've had a bad cold the past few days, and Mae is fascinated with nose blowing now. Every time I do it, she smiles like its just the greatest thing. Yesterday, I was looking up baby food recipies on the Internet while holding her on my lap and she managed to make herself very heavy to the left until she could reach the box of Kleenex sitting on the sofa. She'd pulled three tissues out and was trying to eat one before I noticed what she was up to.
I told my husband that being so interesting is a big responsibility. We're going to have to start setting a better example by loving more wholesome, healthy things... like sugar-free snacks, educational toys, classical music and napping. That last one shouldn't be too hard.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Gladly the Cross-eyed Bear
It looks like Mae has picked a lovey. It's a scraggly-looking bear named Gladly. Of all the stuffed toys and soft blankets she's got, I love that she picked that particular bear. It was a special gift from my dad, chosen in memory of my grandma, a fiesty woman with an easy laugh, who loved us hugely. She died suddenly, almost 9 years ago, but the hole she left in our family still feels gapingly huge to me.
About a week ago, my husband brought Gladly into the big bed for Mae to play with and she went nuts. She did her babyjoy thing, where she screams and laughs while smiling, waving her arms spastically and doing a bicycle with her feet. It's pretty much the greatest expression of happiness. It got me thinking, actually, how sad it is that it's not socially acceptable to be that spastically happy as an adult. Or, at least, it's very rarely acceptable. The only context I can think of it being alright in is, say, if you won a squillion dollars in the lottery, or if Oprah gave you a new car.
But for now, for Mae, just that bear is more than enough to make her silly with joy. So is a kiss, a bath, or a kitty.
But more about that bear... its name comes from my grandma's favourite church hymn when she was a kid: "Gladly the Cross I'd Bear." And while it was actually about getting nailed to a cross alive, being a little girl, she interpreted it in a much more cheerful way, as a song about a cross-eyed bear named Gladly.
And Mae's scraggly bear is definitely cross-eyed. He's brand new, but is made to look old, with a plaid patch on one leg, and soft, matty looking fur. She burries her face in his belly when she's fighting sleep, then sometimes throws one arm across him while she's actually sleeping, then does her babyjoy thing when she wakes up again and finds him still there.
About a week ago, my husband brought Gladly into the big bed for Mae to play with and she went nuts. She did her babyjoy thing, where she screams and laughs while smiling, waving her arms spastically and doing a bicycle with her feet. It's pretty much the greatest expression of happiness. It got me thinking, actually, how sad it is that it's not socially acceptable to be that spastically happy as an adult. Or, at least, it's very rarely acceptable. The only context I can think of it being alright in is, say, if you won a squillion dollars in the lottery, or if Oprah gave you a new car.
But for now, for Mae, just that bear is more than enough to make her silly with joy. So is a kiss, a bath, or a kitty.
But more about that bear... its name comes from my grandma's favourite church hymn when she was a kid: "Gladly the Cross I'd Bear." And while it was actually about getting nailed to a cross alive, being a little girl, she interpreted it in a much more cheerful way, as a song about a cross-eyed bear named Gladly.
And Mae's scraggly bear is definitely cross-eyed. He's brand new, but is made to look old, with a plaid patch on one leg, and soft, matty looking fur. She burries her face in his belly when she's fighting sleep, then sometimes throws one arm across him while she's actually sleeping, then does her babyjoy thing when she wakes up again and finds him still there.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
It's Cold. It's Cold. It's Cold.
I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. Today's high is -11. How sick is that? Let me tell you how sick: Very sick.
It's windy, and horrid, and cruel. It's the kind of cold that makes your eyeballs hurt, and your fingertips go numb... and if I'm feeling it that much, I can't imagine what it's like for Mae, being about 20 times smaller than I am.
So we can't go anywhere. Or, we can, but when we do I feel guilty because, in actual fact, we've got nowhere we really need to go, and we don't have a car, and I feel like an awful mother when I take Mae out in the stroller and her nose and cheeks turn bright red. So we're mostly staying home and watching way more TV than usual and dreaming about all the cool stuff we'll be able to do once it's summer.
I take Mae to the back window on our way to diaper changes and tell her how the grass will turn green, and that we'll play in the yard with the cats, and we'll get her a baby swing attachment for the big swing set, and our neighbour will lend us a wading pool, which is a lot like a bath, only for outside.
She looks at me doubtfully with her great-big grey eyes, and I don't exactly blame her. Right now, I'm having a hard time believing it'll ever happen, too.
It's windy, and horrid, and cruel. It's the kind of cold that makes your eyeballs hurt, and your fingertips go numb... and if I'm feeling it that much, I can't imagine what it's like for Mae, being about 20 times smaller than I am.
So we can't go anywhere. Or, we can, but when we do I feel guilty because, in actual fact, we've got nowhere we really need to go, and we don't have a car, and I feel like an awful mother when I take Mae out in the stroller and her nose and cheeks turn bright red. So we're mostly staying home and watching way more TV than usual and dreaming about all the cool stuff we'll be able to do once it's summer.
I take Mae to the back window on our way to diaper changes and tell her how the grass will turn green, and that we'll play in the yard with the cats, and we'll get her a baby swing attachment for the big swing set, and our neighbour will lend us a wading pool, which is a lot like a bath, only for outside.
She looks at me doubtfully with her great-big grey eyes, and I don't exactly blame her. Right now, I'm having a hard time believing it'll ever happen, too.
