I was in the bathroom the other day, at the sink, while the babe was sitting on the counter. I looked up briefly and saw water leaking through the ceiling and immediately texted a panicked message to my landlord. Just as I received a reply from him I realized my toddler was playing with the extra strong flow sinus spray and this was in fact not a 911 landlord emergency, but maybe a sinus spray gone wrong situation. Then I wondered if maybe my nasal spray was in fact too strong for it to easily hit the ceiling from a sink level. Like that is EXTRA STRONG flow. I guess I purchased the pressure washer of nasal sprays. 

My kid threw a total fit the other day because I did not wipe down each of his individual raisins with a baby wipe before he ate them. 

The best thing about having a toddler is the mispronounced words. Like this is what I have been waiting for. One of his prominent first mispronounced word was rubber Duckie. Which he called, rubber cocky. And if he was looking for his duck, he was looking for the cock. I have videos of him just lying on the couch saying cock over and over again. Also, then the frog says “croak” in one of his books, he always yells cock instead. This kid is also obsessed with trucks, busses, big rigs, anything with wheels really. And my absolute favourite thing in the whole world is when we pass a dump truck and from his seat in the back he yells, “DUMB CUNTS!!” I just can’t tell you how glorious this is for me. The newest one is forklift – which is straight up pronounced fuck off, with a slight British accent.

The other day little one started moving the coffee table across the living room and I yelled from the kitchen, “hey why are you moving the coffee table??” And he replied, “why not?!” And I just sort of stared at him stunned and went alright, carry on then. 

I bought a spring jacket for my kid on Facebook Marketplace. I picked it up from a very nice house in Westboro. When I got home I did not see any cleaning instructions so I wrote the lady back and asked if she had put the jacket in the dryer and she said she did not know because her nanny does the laundry…Ooohhhhh sammmeeeeee I was just asking on her behalf. Like what the fuck.

I have been trying to clean the house out and have been making many trips to the second hand shop to donate things I don’t need. I was putting my winter jacket into a bag to donate and thought, oh I should check the pockets. As I remember that once, when I was in my 20s, the church I attended growing up was having a garage sale fundraiser and I donated a bunch of stuff. My dad took in my donations and came home and said, in future, I would clean out the pockets in your purses before you donate them. And when I asked him what he found, he said condoms, cigarettes, papers, money – I was mortified. So when I checked the pockets of my old winter coat I wondered what kind of spicy things I would find. But the only thing in my pocket was a sleeve of anti diarrhea meds and I was like – wow, ok – life has changed.

My neighbour invited us to tag along with a group of her Mom friends that were going to go sledding in the park. I was super pumped. I had to search for winter boots that were real winter boots and not Blundstones, but I found some in the cupboard…never been worn. I ran out and bought a little sled at Canadian Tire and was totally ready when they called to say they were leaving. When I got out in the driveway, I could see I was slightly underprepared. All the younger, fit Moms were wearing snow pants…snow pants you say? I have not owned snow pants since I was a kid. Fuck. I was in thin leggings and these brand new winter boots. We pulled the kids down the road towards the park. I was keeping up alright but once we hit the park, the fit, younger Moms galloped through the deep snow with ease, while I trudged through the snow wondering at what point I would just give up. Now at this point I should explain that I am pregnant again and when I am pregnant, my ability to do anything physical plummets (like more so than my usual not really fit self). My toddler was getting stressed about the sledding and wanted to be picked up. So there I was, trudging through deep snow, carrying my kid in a snow suit, while pulling the sled and absolutely just waiting for my heart attack to begin. We finally made it to the bottom of the hill and I wondered if I could even make it up this small but steep bump in the park. We got to the top of the hill and I started stripping. I was over heating, the heart attack had begun, I could not catch my breathe, but we had fucking made it. My kid went down the hill once and when I asked him if he wanted to go again, he calmly said no. Thank god because I would not have been able to go up and down that hill several times. My neighbour asked if I wanted to use their big sled to go with my little one. I was like what? No! Can’t you see I am barely alive over here and you want me to get into a sled? I just pictured us going down the hill and then me requiring a team of people to get me out of the sled and stand me up. I assume I am just like this when I am pregnant because I am pushing 40. The young, fit Moms probably had no trouble frolicking in the snow when they were pregnant. The good news is we went down the hill once and made it home without needing to call an ambulance for me or requiring someone to pull me home in a sled.  

We went to the aviation museum and when we got to the fighter jets I started singing Danger Zone like the cool Mom I am and my 2 year old immediately turns around and said NO MOM and went back to what he was doing. Ouch. 

In my last post, I wrote about the crazy cleaning lady I had that covered all the Buddhas in my house because they offended her Christianity. Well, 4 months later and I received a hand written letter in the mail that reads:

Dear Angie,

As a Christian, it is my honour and duty to warn someone if they are in breech of or breaking The LORD’s commandments. You are in violation of the following commandments, keeping “buddha” statues/heads in your home.

EXODUS 20:3-6

3 Thou shalt have no other gods before me.

4 Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth.

5 Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them: for I the LORD they God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me;

6 And showing mercy unto thousands of them that love me, and keep my commandments.  

There was no signature, no return address, just the commandments that I am breaking. Like what in actual fuckkkkkk. So I bought a doorbell camera and have put a Buddha head on my front lawn as bait and if I EVER see her on my lawn, I am calling the cops. What a nut. 

On top of this, there was someone cleaning out our eavestrough last week and he told me he had something to tell me and I said, ok and then he went ON AND ON about how I was going to heaven and God was waiting for me and I did not have to do anything because I was getting into heaven and I was like – how do these people always fucking find me?! Do I just look like I need to be saved?! Did the crazy anti Buddha lady send you?! God dammit!

I feel like at the end of my last pregnancy I was like super emotional about how magical the world was about to become and it was all so exciting. In the last few weeks of this pregnancy, I am just trying to fucking fight people. I was driving my bud to daycare and a high school student was crossing the road (nowhere near the crosswalk fyi) and he saw me so he slowed down and glared at me. So I sped up and swerved around him and he gave me the finger and I gave him both fingers and considered pulling over to beat him up. An excellent model for my 2 year old in the car. The next day I went to Loblaws to grab a few things and was so enraged that there were no hand baskets (because those fuckers have taken them away permanently so you will use a cart and buy more) that I put all my shopping into my reusable bag like I was stealing everything and was willing an employee to come say something to me because I was going to cause a fucking scene. The day after this I start calling people a-holes on the Merivale Costco Facebook group because they were acting like a-holes. Anyways, I am a glowing 38 weeks pregnant and I will fucking fight you on the street if you cross me. 

Having a toddler is a real wild ride. It’s like having an adorable and weird and unstable roommate. One minute breakfast is going along fine and the next he is screaming and insisting he eat the rest of it with a soup ladle. We go from entering the kitchen with a cheery disposition, to on the ground screaming because the dishwasher went from open to close. We are playing with the truck but if I touch it, the fucking game is over and I’ve ruined it. From pure glee of watching the vacuum and even helping push it, to absolute devastation when the vacuuming is over. I never ever in my wildest dreams thought I would talk someone off a ledge for having to put the vacuum away or just sit back and watch him put toast pieces into a soup ladle and attempt to eat it. 

I installed a toddler seat on my bike. I then had someone come tune up my shitty bike so it wouldn’t collapse with the both of us on it. The guy repairing the bike asked who put on the toddler carrier. I did, I replied proudly. He said, can I fix it? Fucking rude. And of course you can fix it. No, I would like you to leave it fucked up so it will fly off the bike in the middle of traffic. Yes…fix it please. We went out biking all the time. One of our favourite activities is on garbage day, biking around the neighborhood following the garbage truck so the kid can point and scream with glee at the giant, disgusting trash receptacle. We also sometimes bike to the busy bus station near Algonquin so he can point and scream with excitement at the busses. I try to bike on the sidewalks as much as possible because I live in a neighborhood where I have seen people unknowingly blast through red lights at the pedestrian crossing. So I like to think we are safest on the sidewalk. I am also aware this is just a douche move and usually get off the sidewalk if walkers are present. On the odd chance I cannot get off the sidewalk before we go by the pedestrians, I have started apologizing for being an asshole biking on the sidewalk. So far, this has been received warmly. I am acknowledging that I am an asshole for doing this, but still totally doing it. 

My partner bought an industrial hiking baby backpack carrier thing. It is meant to carry a child through the rugged outback and up mountains. Our farthest hike has been from our front door to the Starbucks. Or from one end of Echo Drive to the Whole Foods. #urbanhiking

There was a rough looking character on a median at a stop light asking for money one day. I was pleased with myself that I actually had some cash on me and was going to give it to this guy. I handed him some change and he said thank you and I wanted to gesture you’re welcome but instead I did a cross between sign language thank you and what looked like blowing a kiss. And then he also blew a kiss at me and then I returned the air kiss and we did this like several times before I thought the fucking light better change soon because I am in a weird place right now. I am sure all the cars around me were like wondering if I was trying to pick this gentleman up or something. Or just laughing as we got stuck in this weird continual blowing kisses exchange. Anyways, when the light changed he blessed me with Jesus’s love and I was on my way. What a day! 

I was trying to look up one of the side bands from the guy who sings for Queens of the Stone Age. I kept searching things like those darn birds, them damn birds or the damned birds. Anyways, turns out the band’s name is Them Crooked Vultures. Like so close but really, so far. 

My Being Neighbourly Nepean group is just a bunch of boomers that have no fucking idea how to use google or any internet resources. Some of the posts include a woman looking for a particular ink refill for a fine tip pen, there are always posts about seniors day at Mongolian Grill, one woman is asking advice on how to lose 100 lbs. Someone asked how to setup their printer on wifi to print from their phone. Another person asked where they could purchase a cross pendant and someone is looking for advice on how to clean the grout in the shower. It’s just a real mess of stupid questions that one might ask a friend or perhaps google. How do I clean my shower grout? Holy fuck man. This group blows.

My Mom told me that her and my Dad were getting their memory tested. I said oh wow that’s great, when is it happening. She said the doctor’s office called with a date but Dad had forgotten it. I laughed so hard. And then a couple week later I followed up to ask if they had figured out their appointment and my Mom said she had forgotten about it. But then she did follow up and apparently they had not called with an appointment. No appointment had been made. I told her that I was fairly certain that had just failed the first part of the memory test with flying colours. This was all part of it and they had just been bumped to the front of the line haha. Like honestly. 

My friend asked if I missed going out at night and especially drinking. I told her I did not miss it. But that it was fully part of my retirement plan to have a drink in my hand most of the time. I am fine not drinking now but when I realize my faculties are going and I can’t figure out how to work a remote or my phone, I plan on being lightly buzzed at all times. 

I splurged and hired a house cleaning service to come clean my house once a month. The first month they came and it was great. I have never seen my house so clean. Then a new woman came this week. She started off by telling me she only used her own, natural cleaning products. I told her she could use any of my products because they were natural too. As she was telling me about the harsh chemicals in cleaning products (lady I know, we’ve established this) I definitely felt like something was off about her. I did a bit of work and then got ready to go to an appointment. I walked into the kitchen to tell her I was heading out and EVERY appliance and item that had been on the counter had been moved to a completely new place. She told me she would put everything back. When I was at my acupuncture appointment I told the acupuncturist that I legit wondered what my house would look like when I got back. I had concerns. It looked like there had been an exorcism in my kitchen. When I returned, nothing had been returned to its rightful spot. I noticed that even in the bathroom upstairs, EVERYTHING had been rearranged completely. Even in the powder room she had switched the side the hand soap was on with the side the candle was on. Like wtf. Did I try and wash my hands with a candle? Yes. It was in the wrong fucking spot! Then when she was wrapping up and telling me she was making her own natural body care, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that there were kleenexes on things on my corner shelf. She said sorry, I had to cover the B-u-d-d-h-a-s with a Kleenex because I am a Christian. My eyes bugged out of my head as I just smiled and nodded. What I really wanted to say was, is Buddha really that threatening to your religion? Like wtf is going on here? Are the Buddhists coming for the Christians? Did I miss this? Then she asked if was Christian and I just smiled and shook my head and said, thanks again for coming to clean, have a nice day and she left. What in the flying fuck was that?! I wondered what else in my house had offended her that she had to cover up. I wondered if I would find a hidden cross or rosary somewhere. A couple hours later, after being throughly creeped out about this lady being in my house at all, I remembered there was a Ganesha (Hindu elephant deity) in Henry’s room. Ganesh, the remover of obstacles. I went upstairs only to find it wrapped in Kleenex and hidden behind his diaper caddy. I was so blown away. This was the wildest thing I had ever seen. And I will never use this house cleaning service again!

I was in an Algonquin course and the teacher was talking about board meeting hacks and was explaining how to remove permanent marker and she said the solution was Magic Mike erasers. I had to use every fibre of my being to not burst out laughing. I looked around at the class to see who else had caught that. They are Magic erasers. Magic Mike erasers would imply a hot man was stripping to help you clean. Which I agree, would help. But holy fuck, the most hilarious thing ever. 

I took my car in for it’s first oil change and tune up…I think? Anyways, when I handed over the key to the gentleman at the desk at the dealership, he asked what the KMs were on the car. Oh! I said. I have absolutely no idea. He looked at me with what could only be a stare that implied an eye roll. Ok, is there anything else we should now about the car? Yes there is. I told him that there is some stuff under the driver’s seat that seems loosey goosey. Like a bar thing and a box thing. When he looked at me I could feel the annoyance. He asked me to expand on those things. I tried to explain the different issues but for some reason I kept saying loosey goosey. Like it was the only way I could get my point across. We were both getting annoyed at my descriptions which sounded like they were coming from a kindergarten teacher explaining it to the students to understand. After some hand gestures and some shoulder shrugs on my part, he just said he got what he needed and they would fix it. My goal was then to delete loosey goosey from my vocab and never say it again. Especially in this dealership. I sensed instead of stamping my file with like a non-compliant, they stamped it with IDIOT.

I have found that during the times I am trying to make the least amount of noise because of a sleeping baby, I inevitably make the most. I was lying down next to the baby to get him to go to sleep and once this was achieved, there is this thing called a ninja roll that must be accomplished to leave the bed quickly and quietly without disturbing the baby. I readied myself for this special move and as I rolled swiftly and softly I saw my phone shoot across the room and hit my metal water bottle which fell over and started rolling on the wooden floor. It was like a bomb had gone off and the aggressive sounds wouldn’t stop. What in actual fuck, I said out loud, to add to the noise pollution. I quickly turned to see the baby had not woken up which was just shocking. But this happens often! I am like how can I exit quietly…how about I kick the door, slam it shut and then trip and fall. Argh! Also, Dads, when you think you are making no noise you are making the MOST noise. I once stomped over to my partner and asked if he had just been bowling down the stairs a few minutes ago and opening and shutting every cupboard as if they had started a fight with him. He looked confused but Jesus, it was like level 9 loud. 

I am trying to break free from my cult worm hole but it’s been difficult. The other night I was in bed, lying next to my baby, cuddling his little body, rubbing his back and watching a Scientology documentary on my phone. Ugh. The next day after deciding to take a Scientology break, I was looking for a podcast that would make my day better and I settled on one about Waco. Like wtf is wrong with me. It was also not the first pod about Waco I had listened to. I feel like I am training for that one time I happen to watch Jeopardy and there is a category on cults. And I will scream out every answer at the top of my lungs because that is how I play Jeopardy. My parents can attest that if I know the answer, I have no control over the volume of my voice and things get intense. After Waco was done I listened to the Spice Girls for the rest of the day as a cleanse. It’s called balance people. 

I gave the remote control to the babe yesterday to keep him occupied as I made a sandwich. I was just finished when I turned around and saw that the tv screen was asking if you would like to confirm your $9.99 Britbox subscription. Wtfffff. As I ran to grab the remote out of his hands he selected confirm. Omg wtf! Ok kid! I will watch some British tv but how the fuck did you purchase something from the tv in less than 2 minutes. Since this has happened he has also subscribed to PBS masterpiece classics…this channel was not watched during our stint with it.

I’ve been trying all kinds of healthy muffin recipes for baby to eat. I mean he’s 1.5 years old now, do I still call him a baby? Anyways, my last one had zero added sugar and was full of fruit and veg. And BOY did it taste like it. Even the bebe, who eats anything and everything pretended to put in his mouth and then shoved it down the side of his chair. It tasted like cardboard had sex with an apple. BORESVILLE. Regular muffins that Mom enjoys eating as well have returned. 

I cannot get over how messy mealtimes have become. The little one’s eating area needs to be cleaned constantly. Basically after every meal he needs to be changed. His high chair, after several scrubs, still looks like it came out of a dumpster. And if we pick him up after he has eaten, we are also often covered with food. One day after he had some toast with peanut butter, I carried him up the stairs for a change. When I got there, I had PB on my shirt, my arm and somehow dripping down both legs, how in the actual fuck is it dripping down my legs? Needless to say, we do a shit ton of laundry. 

I have started going to a new massage therapist based totally on the fact they are in my neighborhood. When I got there I was like, oh it’s in a basement…oh there are no windows…oh, I wonder of this is a rub and tug? Well we shall see, won’t we. The massage was good, didn’t feel super technical but she was strong. I waited to see if the end got weird, it didn’t and I said to myself, if there is one single man in the lobby waiting, I think it’s a rub and tug. When I got out to the reception area, there was one single man waiting. The last thing that confirmed this for me was the tip option. I have been going to massage therapists for a hundred years. I have a wonky spine. When I was getting an ergo assessment at work for a chair, my partner asked if Tim Burton could design my chair in his wonky, asymmetrical goth lord fashion to match my spine. My last 2 massage therapists have never asked for tips and also flat out refused them. So, when I read the tip option, it started at 15%, then had a 20% option and then a 25% option. For a massage that cost $105. I power panicked and hit 15% and walked away going what?? I barely get 70% coverage on this and that just came out of my pocket. Dang!! But like what other reason would someone give a 25% tip?! Maybe for the happiest of ending massages…Punchline is, I think I need to find a new massage therapist. 

I have always had the worst PMS in the world. For 5-7 days of every month, I hate everyone, I have no patience, I think the world is ending and I am unpleasant. (I am a catchhhhh). I have heard several people say that PMS if often just your hormones letting the truth come out and I refuse to accept this because then I am a seriously miserable biatch. Anyways, last week I called my partner crying to let him know that when he brought the recycling bin in he left a yogourt lid on the front lawn! A yogourt lid! On the front lawn! How fucking lazy! I want a divorce! Just kidding, we aren’t married. He was not sure how to handle this except to say he didn’t notice it. OF COURSE YOU DIDN’T and then I hung up. Anyhoo, an hour later I called to apologize about the yogourt lid-pocalypse and asked if there was a cave or luxurious hotel I could go hid in for the next week. 

My memory is so bad I never have ANY idea what I am watching on any of my streaming services until I open them up individually to see what they offer me to continue watching. Like I always know I have some Ru Paul on the go and if a show is amazing, like Beef, I will binge it as quickly as possible, but like most of the time I open up Apple and go, oh yes! That show! Completely forgot I watching that. Yay something to watch! It’s so stupid.

My friend and I have an ongoing joke that adult one piece jumpers do not look good on everyone and in fact, we are one day going to do a photo shoot to prove it. I recently sent her a picture off a one piece shorts jumper and told her I would be unable to wear these because my vagina would eat the shorts immediately. She wrote back, “introducing the new hit game, hungry, hungry meat flaps!” I nearly fell off my chair laughing. Some people just really get me. 

My Mom was over watching the baby and I was upstairs pumping when she yelled out that I needed to come down. Poop emergency! I unhooked my pump wires and ran. When she saw me come bolting down the stairs with two pump cones coming out of my pumping bra she could not stop laughing. I recall that the last time I wore cones like this was at an eighties bar in England and wow, how life has changed. Mother Madonna. 

Update, I still do not have my brain back. It is still on baby vacation. I was trying to tell my partner there was a beautiful quote about children from the book Little Fires Everywhere that involved an apple. I then spent the next 5 minutes trying to remember the quote and then when I resorted to google, my partner says, I bet there isn’t even fruit in the quote at all. It was totally possible he was right. 

I called the clock on the microwave, the microwave’s watch. 

I couldn’t think of the name of the washing machine and I referred to it as the dishwasher for clothes. 

My Mom has a magnet on her fridge that outlines the early signs of dementia. I read over it and announced to the family that I most definitely was suffering from dementia. I had checked all the boxes with a resounding, yessss. 

I actually did read that for 2 years after you have a kid, your brain is in fact missing some grey matter. Obviously I stopped reading the article at about this point because that was all I needed to blame my permanent space cadet-ness. Now every time I say something stupid I folIow it up with a loud, “I have no grey matter in my brain!”.

My Dad was trying to explain a certain product he buys at the grocery store and he said, you know its’ the store’s brand. What is it, constipation? Dad, you think a store has named their private label, constipation? Oh are are you thinking Compliments? Because that is a little different.

There are days that I definitely think parenting in the eighties would have been more fun. There are no google tips right at your fingers and no insta Moms telling you that your baby’s wake windows are short because of a whole host of uncontrollable reasons that you should fix etc. On the one hand it is wonderful to look up poop pictures to ensure your babies excrement is normal but it is also a total curse to constantly see Montessori Moms being over the top perfect at all times while you sit there eating ice cream while your baby jumps around in the controversial exersaucer. Was it controversial in the 80s? Of course not! Eighties parenting feels like there was far more winging it, which I love. Sunscreen? Never thought of it! Beer and breastfeeding? Who cares! Ice cream for infants? Why not!? Smoking while holding a baby? Seems convenient! Breathing in strangers’ air? Sure thing! 

My partner and I obsessively talk about going on hikes and more often than not, just end up walking around the park. But we understand, that as Subaru owners, we must be hitting the open road and going on nature adventures, just like the commercials. I have suggested that we get a Thule roof rack to hold our invisible skis and just use it for snacks instead. Or the 45 baby blankets that seem to accumulate in the car (and hats, and bibs, and shoes). Subaru life! 

My friend sent me an article announcing that there would be a Great British Bake Off America and wondered what I thought about this. I told him without the cute Britishisms from all the English contestants, I would have much less desire to watch. Americans aren’t going to be concerned their bake is too stodgy or claggy. They aren’t going to emphatically add innit to everything they say. I mean, what’s the fucking point of watching if they aren’t going to be making a bloody sticky toffee pudding, that turns out a bit stodgy, but at least it was still edible, innit.

We live next to a large park. My favourite days are when I see this older gentleman that straps an iPad to his body and listens to podcasts from it without headphones. It is literally the largest Apple product available, minus an actual computer, to listen to podcasts off of. He is rejecting any form of convenience and also rejecting the existence of headphones. I just love it. 

Baby words I hate…

Wake windows. Why is it called a wake window? It is just literally when your baby is alive and up. It is just awake life. It should just be called life windows. Or not windows at all. Just life. My baby will live their life for the next 2 hours and then nap again.

Solids. It is just food! You are introducing your baby to food. Solids sounds more like what his poop will become after he eats the real food. 

Blank weeks old. I have no idea how many weeks old he is! And even if I did, I would not tell people he is blank weeks old because no one else knows what the fuck that means in terms of time either. So how old is he? 8 months and a quarter. And you know exactly what I am talking about. 

We recently went to my home town with the baby and wandered around. We ran into someone I have known since I was a kid and when they asked how old the bebe was, I answered 7 months. Wow! He is a big boy, they said. Yup he is a big boy, I agreed. Then they took it a step further and said, well, he’s a Buttrum! (My last name). I laughed and agreed and as we walked away my partner asked, so were you guys like the village fatties? I looked at him with a confused face and replied, yes, apparently so. I never realized that. So now when anyone comments on the size of my big boy, I cringe knowing they are eyeing my double chin and belly rolls and going uh huh, just like his Mama.    

Normal sounds in our house that our now highly upsetting to our newest roommate. 

• Opening a garbage bag
• Vacuuming 
• Using the blender
• Loud coughs
• Aggressive sneezes 
• Clearing of the throat
• Grinding coffee beans

I listen to podcasts all day long. Because of the subject matter, I am fairly certain the baby’s first words will be one of these – cults, Nexium, Mormons, Scientology, Keith Raniere, Teal Swan, Nippy, gaslighting. That’s ok, right? Also why do I keep talking to people that have not watch the Vow on Crave. BEST CULT DOC. Get on it for effs sakes! 

My partner comes down in the morning and joins me and the babe having breakfast and usually sighs and says, what cult are we learning about today and MUST I listen to this over my Bran Flakes? …Yes.

The bebe would NOT go to sleep last night so for 2 hours I paced and/or rocked with him and I sang to him. At one point my partner comes into the room and said, I noticed you went from kids songs to songs you would sing loudly coming home drunk from a party in the nineties…this was accurate. 

I went to my first movie in a theatre in 3 years!! It was Top Gun. I told my friend that my favourite part about the original is that they play Highway to the Danger Zone several times. And I saw there was a soundtrack attached to the movie and I wondered if it was just that song over and over again and Take My Breath Away. Anyways, it felt SO WEIRD sitting with strangers in a very quiet theatre. When the movie isn’t loud you are just listening to people chew and whisper. When Highway to the Danger Zone came on we totally lost it. We could not stop laughing. I had to avoid looking at my friend for fear of continuing to laugh for the entire movie. I had immediate flashbacks of this same friend and I having to be separated in elementary school classes because we did the same thing. Anyways, it was hilarious and I kept having to subtly wipe away tears so my friend would not realize I was still laughing. And I don’t know if it’s because my hips are mega sized or there was something in my jacket pocket, but every time I moved or adjusted myself in the seat, the char would recline in the opposite direction I had been in. I had basically no control. I would reach for the popcorn and it would like fully recline. I would grab my water and it would go back to upright. Did my hips have their own stratosphere? Like what the fuck was happening. 

When your boobs are always on demand, it is easiest to have them as accessible as possible, at all times. I have become quite fond of maternity moo moos. They are basically dresses with easy access boob flaps. Some of the flaps on these are a little too generous in the accessibility department. We hosted my Mom and Dad for my Dad’s 75th. I was showing off the baby when I noticed my Mom laughing. I looked down and realized my dress boob flaps had been up for quite awhile. I told them that yes, they came for dinner, but they were welcome to stay for the show.

Last week I was in my backroom at my computer. My backroom is mainly made up of windows that look right into my neighbours backyards and houses. After completing what I was doing on the computer I looked down and I had one boob out. Like completely out. Enjoy neighbourssss! 

I missed Fedex one day and read that if I did not catch them the next day, they were going to take my package to a fucking random warehouse near the airport where I could retrieve it. There was no way I was going to let this happen. So the next day, when I was cozying onto the couch to nurse my little pickle into his nap, the doorbell rang. I jumped up and ran to the door to get to the package. After I signed for it and turned to go back into the house I caught a glance of myself in the mirror just inside the door. Yup, my boob was out. I literally answered the door with the baby half hanging off my tit. Godddd. You’re welcome other neighboursss and Fedex guyyyy!

I was invited to a team lunch my work colleagues were having. The baby was also invited. As I approached my team I kept repeating, do not talk about your placenta, do not talk about your placenta (I’ve been majorly oversharing since having a little one, as mentioned in a previous blog). It was very nice to catch up with everyone and I think I was holding appropriate, adult conversations (as appropriate as I can be) until someone asked me about the actual labour. And then I went over it and at the end, I heard it. I heard myself launch into a story about my placenta. (I found out several weeks after the baby was born I had a placental condition that seemed kind of serious, so I think we were lucky everything went as well as it did). But honestlyyyyy, I was talking about my placenta at a work picnicccc. I am out of control. I have a no placenta discussion rule now. It is off limits.

I was lying in bed talking to my partner the other day and my partner started to make silly faces and he was like wow, sorry, I am so used to hanging with the baby that I just automatically thought that to keep the conversation going I had to entertain you with weird faces and noises. Wow, I thought, I hope you are not doing this at work….Could you run those numbers on the quarterly sales? Response – Bleedle deedle phhhh chicka bootieeee, tongue sticking out, eyes wide.

My brain is still SOOO out to lunch. Last weekend I asked if my partner wanted to go to Star Wars, I mean Star Bars. Sorry I mean Buck Stars? Starbucks! Fuck you know what I am trying to say. Christ. 

I was telling my friend that I think my landlord thinks I am weird. At Christmas he noticed I had a menorah and he asked if I was Jewish (because he is). I said no, just a fan. Then he came in recently to look at something and I realized I had a baby book called Shabbat Shalom on the table. He must think I am so weird. 

I was talking to my friend who is also a Jewish fangirl as well and I told her we should raise the baby Jewish and just really try to hit all the major Jewish holidays. I said they should really create a calendar that lists all the major religious holidays and she agreed. When I got home I looked at my calendar on the fridge and realized every calendar has every major religious holiday on it. Every calendar ever. Omg my brainnnnn. I basically just invented the calendar and tried to sell it as my own idea. 

I ran into Ollie Quinn to pick up some sunglasses I had ordered. I ran in like 3 mins before they closed and I apologized profusely but it was the only time I could sneak away. I told her I was on my way to physio. The lady getting my sunglasses asks, do you find physio actually works? I need to do something for my back. I responded, rather loudly, this physio is for my vagina! I just had a 9lb baby. I need to get that area back into shape so that it doesn’t feel like my insides are sliding out. But sorry…yes… I do go to physio for my back too and yes, if you actually do the exercises, it does help. As I left I replayed me yelling IT’S FOR MY VAGINA over and over again and realized I was just not ready to be in public speaking to strangers at this point. 

I know I always said I was going to avoid children’s music like the plague, but holy fuck am I into Raffi these days. I once had Bananaphone stuck in my head for 3 days and I basically sang it every 5 minutes and drove everyone crazy (everyone = my partner). Anyways, for some reason The Wheels on the Bus really strikes a chord with our little one. He once had a meltdown in the car when I ran into a grocery store and the whole way home we yelled the wheels on the bus song to chill him out. The other day I was going through a Star Bars (haha) drive thru and just after ordering, my pickle started to lose it because instead of napping, he was watching me order a pure sugar drink. I drove up to the window and noticed it was closed, so I closed mine and started singing wheels on the bus at the top of my lungs. When the take out window opened, I pretended nothing was happening, put my window down and took my ice cold cup of sugar. As I started to drive away, I cranked the stereo only to notice a bunch of people sitting outside of the Starbucks. What was I cranking? Baby Beluga. As they looked up to see who was blaring Raffi, I feverishly tried to put my window up but I was like wow, this is my life now. Wow.

I was once driving home with a very cranky pickle and I had sung every fun, kids song I could think of so I moved onto Alanis Morissette’s Jagged Little Pill. Seemed to do the trick. 

I just went and said hi to the Mom neighbour that lives behind me and had a nice chat…UNTIL I DISCUSSED MY PLACENTA. Fuck.

Since having a baby, I have noticed there is a 10 minute black hole that occurs when trying to leave the house. I have, on occasion, given myself a whole half hour to leave the house and I still somehow end up in the Bermuda Triangle that is situated between my front door and the car and wind up leaving late. I have no idea how this happens but it is a thing. 

Keeping up with baby nails is a full time job. I will do his nails with our little electric trimmer thingie, turn my back for one second and he has Freddie Kreugered giant cuts onto his face. I sometimes wonder if instead of filing them, I am sharpening them into little baby nail shivs. I am sharpening them into little Edward Scissorhands. It’s exhausting. And every time he grabs at me, I feel a nail, take note of which one it is and then I will not rest until I have filed it down. Or I guess sharpened it adequately. Well if he ever gets into baby jail, he will have the shivs he needs to protect himself on the inside. In baby Gen Pop. 

Update from the last blog. Our new car? I now refer to it as the Suzuki…it’s a Subaru…

This blog could also have a drinking game to go along with it. For all of those interested, please drink every time you read the word vagina or nipple. Have fun.

Pre-Baby

I have been having weird ass dreams. I went to bed the other night and my lady parts were on fire (TMI) likely because the baby was using my vagina as a hammock. In my dream, I was asked to go to a potluck and if I could make my famous vagina casserole. I gladly agreed and went to work with a vagina casserole. It was literally a casserole dish with many vaginas in it. Wow, what a culinary treat.

After watching The Departed, I dreamt about Leonardo DiCaprio and woke up absolutely livid he had not reproduced. Just really worked up about it. I calmed myself down knowing he could Clooney it one day. Have twins at an early Grandpa age. I relaxed. 

After I watched Goodfellas I woke up from my sleep stirring the “gravy” for a baked ziti. Like what the fuck. 

You know when I was concerned about having a boy because boys can be serial killers? Well I realized I have done an amazing job of in utero grooming for this. What did I watch when pregnant? Sons of Anarchy, Sopranos, Dexter and every Scorsese movie. The sounds from my television watching experience has been gruesome.

Baby 

Wow. Labour. Is there some secret lady code where people don’t openly talk about absolutely horrendous it is? To all those ladies who stay at home and slide a baby out in a pool in your living room, I salute you. I always thought I would be one of those people…I am definitely not. I won’t go into the gory details but I made it through about 33 hours of labour before deciding I was dying and an epidural was required. I thought I was done. I kept saying, knock me out and cut it out. Which almost happened. I was so exhausted when I got the epidural that I got a bit loopy. The first one didn’t take which was the most rude buzzkill in the world. I was just so looking forward to being out of pain and I just sat there while they looked confused that I could still feel everything. Lameee. When my epidural did kick in and they asked if I could feel my legs, I kept yelling – DUDE! I CAN’T FEEL MY LEGS, quoting some nineties teen movie. No one got it but I persisted. Alex has pictures of me throwing gang signs at this point. I have zero recollection of this or why I would be making gang signs during labour. He thought it was hysterical. The midwives tried to break my water with what looked like a crochet hook and I asked if she was down there knitting my vagina a scarf. God bless them all for dealing with me. Even when my baby was handed to me, I was not emotional but instead cracked a joke about something. I don’t remember what it was but I remember thinking I nailed the timing of it. In my defence I had been in labour for 40 hours and I was going kooky. When this little (big) pickle did decide to come out, he came crashing out quickly. The same way I picture how I have lived most of my life, fast and hard. When they announced he was 9lbs 4oz I asked them if my lady parts were in shambles. My midwife responded that there was really minimal tearing. I was so insulted. Sorry, what? Minor tearing? Is my vagina giant? Do I have a cavernous clam that no one has ever mentioned? I truly was upset my lady bits faired so well with a giant baby basically sliding through at a million miles per hour. RUDE. 

I am really hoping my functioning brain comes back at some point. I don’t have high hopes as it is it’s still really out to lunch. I was cleaning out the pantry and I was throwing out old food when my partner comes over to ask what I was doing. I am throwing out old food. We still have have food from 2022! He look confused and gently reminded me it is 2022. It is? Oh I thought we just ended 2022. Yikes.

Mix lack of sleep in there and it is like living in a serious fog. I was trying to make a doctor’s appointment for the baby and she asked me his name and I started to say Jason. Jason is not his name. His name doesn’t even start with a J. I didn’t feel so bad because when the receptionist who answered the phone, she could not remember the name of the doctor’s office she worked at. So I wondered if she had just had a baby too.

I went to test drive a couple different cars at a Subaru dealership. I met my friend there who also wanted to test drive. I showed up looking exhausted in a shleppy leopard print sherpa sweater and she showed up in a lovely zebra print tunic. I was so pleased we had both shown up in animal prints to car dealership. When we came back in from trying two different cars, the car salesman asked which car I liked. “Oh I really liked the Subaru” I told him. There was silence. He said “which one?” Omg right. We are at a Subaru dealership. They are all Subarus. I did this 3 more times when we were there. “So, which one do you want the pricing on?” The Subaru please. Jesus! He must have thought I was on drugs.

I was singing you are my sunshine to the little pickle and my partner yelled down the stairs that the baby was not my only sunshine. I yelled back up that “only” isn’t even in the fucking words! Only to continue on with the song… you are my sunshine, my only sunshine. He ran down to see if I had had a stroke. 

My partner brought me some toast with peanut butter on it and when he handed it to me, I mentioned to him that his peanut butter to ratio was off. He informed me that, that was not a sentence. 

I had a lactation consultant come to the house at some point because breastfeeding is not as easy peasy as everyone seems to make it out to be. Especially when one or more of your boobs are on strike. Anyways, I remember very little because I was on negative hours of sleep but she was a kooky lady that kept having weird indigestion she blamed on diet coke. This struck me as odd because it was 8:30am in the morning. At a certain point she wanted to assess the hardware and asked me to take off my top.* As she poked and prodded, she announced that I had AMAZING nipples. I was pleased. This almost made up for my vagina that was apparently the size of a Volvo. I told her it was not the first time I had heard that I had amazing nipples, wink. And then continued to tell her I would put that tidbit on my resume. Additional skills, nipples you can hang a jacket on. 

*It is amazing how special, hidden and sensual (too much?) our breasts have been to this point in our life and then the second you have a baby they are purely functional. I recall the first time I was publicly breastfeeding. I was in the CHEO waiting room (long story) and I was like, wow, my tit is out on display. My prized lady parts are in the mouth of little human, IN PUBLIC. Weeee.  

It is partly the pandemic and lack of meeting new people, and partly the fact that I have very few boundaries to begin with, but I met my neighbours and their kids the other day and immediately started talking about my placenta. My PLACENTA. If there is a Mom group in Centrepointe I am sure I have already been flagged. One of the Mom’s was walking towards me the other day and casually turned down a random street before getting to me…I get it. Was I going to start singing a song about my large vagina? Who knows! It was possible! I would have turned the corner too.

The other neighbour that my back yard area faces onto also had a baby, with the same name as mine. One day I could see movement in her place so I casually inched toward the window and saw that she was doing some serious exercising. I realized I was watching this woman get fit while shoveling a doughnut in my mouth and letting the cinnamon sugar fall everywhere. I was like wow, good for her as I took another bite and wiped away the crumbs from my mouth. Opposite over here. Opposite. 

My friend was telling me all the activities she was doing with her baby. I wrote back, oh – does staring at your baby and repeating how handsome they are count as an activity? Because that is mainly what we do here.

We had to take the baby to a dentist to get his tongue tie looked at. Long story short, it was decided we did not need to do anything about it. As I left the dentist, my partner was waiting in the car for us. I start yelling how our baby was SO GOOD. He didn’t even cry! He basically slept the entire time the dentist had his tongue in his mouth! I got into the car and my partner was like…wait, what? Good lord. His hand in his mouth…hand.   

All in all it was a wild experience.

I was sick for 90% of my pregnancy.

We were in the CHEO emergency overnight 3 out of the first 5 days of his life.

I bled enough in labour that if I had been doing this in a less medically fortunate country, I would have been in trouble. 

I spent the first 2 weeks crying either from stress or exhaustion or happiness. 

Would I do it a hundred more times? Totally.