Have you met my daughter "Keyser Söze"?

I feel the expression “terrible two” wasn’t a fair warning to what Mike and I were up against with our daughter. I never imagined I could ever feel so helpless, angry, and defeated all at once. What’s worse is that I’ve heard it just gets harder and the “trying threes” (or whatever the horribly misleading name is for that age category) are even more brutal. Don't get me wrong, most times, Isla is lovely. The problem is, quite simply, we just weren't prepared for how quickly and easily she can transform from lovely to evil genius, and then back to lovely. It's truly amazing. 

 For those who haven't watched 'The Usual Suspects' (a great movie from the 90's), the title of this entry won't make any sense. Since I'm not a fan of spoilers, I'll just go ahead and encourage you to watch it. For those who have seen it - yes, Isla is a much cuter, sweeter, and not at all evil "Keyser Söze".

While Isla was screaming bloody murder in the park the other day because she was TERRIFIED to go in the swing she just got out of, a kind mother said that her daughter went through a similar phase. This was a tremendous relief to me as Isla clung to my dress, pulling it down with her death-grip just enough to expose my less than flattering, enormous, nude-coloured nursing bra (It was laundry day, and also all of my bras are scary now).

How on earth could she possibly be this scared of something she was literally just enjoying? Seriously, I needed to know. My brand new mom-friend assured me that her daughter was the same, and had very similar public meltdowns disconcerting enough to seek medical attention for. Apparently when her little girl was Isla’s age (nearing three), she decided the bathtub was petrifying and wouldn’t go in for months.  Again I was relieved because Isla has been showering since Christmas due to her fear of bathtubs, shadows, and worst of all: shadows in bathtubs. Bless this Mom and her ability to instantly make me feel better. She went on to explain that after speaking with her physician, she and her husband were informed that this is especially common with children who are highly intelligent because they tend to over-think things. Well then, it was decided. After hearing that very philosophy weeks earlier from a close friend; this mom confirmed that these wild, unexplained tantrums are simply due to the fact that my daughter is a genius (cue smug expression).

So the next day when Isla decided that she was absolutely beside herself with terror over getting dressed; instead of biting my lip in frustration (the way I keep from launching her out the window), I coddled her. After all, I thought, the poor little genius is just over-thinking the hole in which she’s to put her head.  Sometimes putting a shirt on can feel a bit suffocating; she’s probably just going to require a bit of time and patience with this one, I thought to myself.

This went on for a few days and, while it was getting to be a little much, Mike and I continued to be patient and sympathize with the issues obviously out of her control. “Poor little monkey” we thought. “Hopefully she outgrows this soon” we would say to console each other through our frustration. That is until our good friend “Auntie Cat” came over. Isla’s known her for a very long time, so she tends to not get away with as much. She pulled the same routine she’s been getting attention for over the last few days and, while explaining to Cat that “she’s just terrified of getting dressed”, Isla began to act up slightly worse. This resulted in time out, and a few empty threats of staying home which ultimately just ended up slowing us down and changing our destination to something local (that’s what I get for thinking I could have a nice afternoon walking around IKEA while Isla played in their “daycare”).

Anyway, Auntie Cat stepped up to the plate and, while Mike and I were distracted in the kitchen, attempted to get Isla dressed. Wouldn’t you know; her shirt went on like nothing. No screaming; no tears; no terror. Really? Really??? After all of that she was FAKING it? Amazingly these 'freak-outs' had all been for attention. My hat goes off to her because, evidently, she is quite the little actress. Here we are thinking that we’re this united front, impenetrable to the powers of manipulation, and she’s actually been running the show the whole time. *Sigh*

So a little lesson to my friends with toddlers; apparently they’ve got us figured out. We all knew they were smart, but this is just ridiculous. It seems, much like how a celebrity views publicity, that any attention, good or bad, is still attention. I suppose Isla's officially entered her "it's all about ME" phase. I'm not really sure what to do about it because, up until this point, I thought I was doing everything right (or at least not 'wrong').

I guess all I can do is hope that it doesn't last much longer, and that I have the patience to keep my towel-screaming to a minimum (effective coping mechanism). Oh, and also that the slack-jawed bystanders, who apparently enjoy staring at my family during one of Isla's public meltdowns, actually turn back around and focus on whatever it is they were doing. Gah!

One thing that will always make me feel worse during what I will gently refer to as a "power struggle" is feeling like everyone's watching. Dear society: please stop doing this! We're already having a hard enough time dealing with the situation at hand; the last thing us poor parents need is to feel like we're being judged. I tend to think that the ignorant people forming an audience are childless because no parent, aside from the A-hole variety, would ever make another feel worse during a time like that. If you're going to do anything, a sympathetic "you're not alone" smile will suffice. Or, even better, you can go fetch me a glass of wine, disguised by a take-out coffee cup (in case it's the afternoon); your treat.

"Promise you'll tell me if my baby is ugly"

I had a funny conversation the other day with a friend who is planning to start having children in the near future. She shared with me a topic of concern that I’m sure many people can relate to, but tend to not talk about. She was worried that she might give birth to an ugly baby. Obviously getting this off her chest warranted the next question, which I’m certain has been asked by many soon to be mothers in the company of their most trusted friends: “You’ll tell me if my baby is ugly, right?”

While every parent holds the health of their unborn baby paramount to everything else; until they see that sweet little face for the first time, many are worried that maybe they will give birth to a mutant. Does that make them a bad person? Of course not. Vain? Not at all. I think, having worried about the same silly thing when pregnant with both of my children, that you just want them to be “normal”- for their sake.  Remembering how awful and mean kids can be (especially if you were the victim of bullying at some point in your life), can make one overly anxious about whether or not their children will experience the same angst. I think parents just want to protect their kids from anything which might hurt them, so worrying about their physical appearance before actually meeting them all comes down to the hope that they won’t stand out for the wrong reasons.

Unfortunately kids tend not to discriminate when choosing who to ridicule. If in someone's opinion they're too pretty, too tall, too short, too smart, too energetic, too anything; they may, at some point, be a casualty of playground bullying. All you can hope for as your children go off to school each day is that the teachers are paying attention and taking action. Also that you’ll have the self-control to side with your better judgement and not punch an eight year old in the face if they've made your perfect little son or daughter cry; as that might land you in jail. I suppose threatening them, unfortunately, may have the same ramifications. It's doubtful that the police, as well as the parents of that little jerk, will be in agreement with your rationale for telling a child that you will "find them" if they continue harrassing your son or daugther. That was only partially a joke.

Just while we’re on this subject, if your child is a bully (and this is something all parents should be on the lookout for), it’s up to you to do something about it. It might come down to involving a third party who is qualified to address their inner psyche; but either way, if you’re not taking the steps to correct it, you are most definitely part of the problem.

Also, in my experience, it seems the characteristics of a bully don't fade with time. I can think of a few adults who still act like that mean little brat on the playground.

So if your child is a bully and you don’t intervene by teaching them how to properly conduct themselves, it might result in a problem that follows them into adulthood, and will likely affect everything from their relationships to their career. Sorry to be so direct, but bullying is a bit of a sore-spot for me (you guessed it; I was picked on quite a bit throughout the years). I digress.

Back to the topic of ugly babies and what an oxymoron that notion is. I can’t help but wonder if there is such a thing. Of course I’ve seen my share of questionably cute babies which yes, I’m ashamed to say have generated a private little snicker here and there– but that doesn’t make them ugly. 

So, regarding the question asked by ‘best friends’ everywhere about whether or not you will be honest and tell them “yes your baby is ugly” – for me, the answer will always be “no; he/she is perfect”.

Usually this question is followed up by the half-joking declaration that they will already know if their baby is ugly so, consequently, they’ll know if I’m lying. I used to think the same thing and, hence the worry, was certain that I would be able to recognize whether or not my qualms of giving birth to an unsightly creature had come true. Having had two children, I can tell you this concept is nothing but a load of Bulls**t! I fell so unbelievably in love with my babies the second they entered the world that even if they were born with antlers and a snout, I would ever so proudly share their perfect little faces with the world. Not only that, I would secretly feel bad for everyone who didn’t have children as beautiful as my own.

 It’s the way we’re programmed; hence the expression “a face only a mother could love”. We are incapable of recognizing a flaw within our own babies because, to us, they truly are perfect. That’s why whenever that friend, with the furrowed brow and concerned tone makes me swear that I will tell them if they happen to give birth to an “ugly baby”, I tell them they are ridiculous and recite the essence of this blog entry. It’s just not possible and, despite the fact that you think you’ll “just know”, trust me; you won’t.

Maybe worrying about this ludicrous topic it’s a way to defer anxiety from something as important as their health because, deep down, I think that’s what can be consuming. To joke lightly about the physical appearance of what will certainly be the most beautiful person you have ever seen, keeps you from spending too much time worrying about something serious. I can appreciate that because, on top of hormones, the last thing you need is to be brought down by the fear and apprehension of a real issue.

So with all of that said; no, I will not tell you if you have an ugly baby. I will agree with you that they are gorgeous, and will vote for them in the “world’s cutest baby contest” because, along side with my kids, they are right up there with the world’s cutest babies. If you’re pregnant, or hope to soon be pregnant, please don’t worry about what your baby will look like. I promise that you couldn’t, even in your wildest dreams, imagine anything so incredibly perfect.

Fancy a nap, A-hole?

Babies are so funny. Their limited ability to communicate has parents everywhere utilizing desperate measures to give them whatever it is they’re in need of. Since it doesn’t take long to get to know your baby; a routine is quickly put into place. Sam, like clockwork, announces his imminent need for a mid-morning nap every day at 11:00 sharp. I’m still in awe at what an easy baby he is and am so thankful to have such predictable children. As long as I’m in anticipation of their not-so surprising mood-swings, and take appropriate action; we’re in good shape. Most days.

This morning I was quickly yanked from my daydream, as I attempted to make a banana bread, to the sound of Sam demanding his first nap of the day. The only other time he cries is when he’s hungry; it’s a little bit too easy if you ask me. I can’t help but fear a sudden transformation because, after all, they say a good baby will be horrible toddler (and vice versa). Oh, you’ve never heard that? That tidbit was shared with me dozens of times during Isla’s difficult stage. Interesting how something that was once so reassuring has suddenly become a source of anxiety. I try not to think about ridiculous things like that; although if “they” said it – it must be based on something (this sarcastic reference will make a lot more sense if you read my last entry).

Anyway, back to Sam and how funny it is that he needs a nap after being awake for only two hours. This abrupt change in disposition got me thinking: maybe some adults are stuck in this phase of development. And by adults, I actually mean A-holes. Yes, that’s right, I’m suggesting that maybe A-holes aren’t actually A-holes. Maybe they just need a mid-morning nap.

Mike and I joked about this concept after I secured Sam in his swing (the only way he’ll sleep during the day). We wondered what the ratio of A-holes were in Spain, where they have Siesta. Sadly when one googles Spanish A-holes + ratio, one might not get exactly what they're looking for (ha!).

That aside, it amazes me how similar we adults are to babies. In spite of Mike’s preference to not be mentioned in my blog; I have to tell you it’s like Jeckyl and Hide when he’s hungry. Just the same; if I’m tired, you could say that I morph into quite the A-hole myself.

What should we take from this? By acknowledging that the fundamentals of our personality are evident in babies, maybe we could intercept a change in mood before it happens. Go to bed early, eat every two hours, and include more fibre in your diet. If we catered to our own needs in a similar fashion to that of a baby, I think overall we’d be a happier and healthier society. Or, at the very least, there would be a few less A-holes running around.

"they" are idiots.

Mike and I were talking about the day we will finally be rid of diapers. Of course that means we will have to potty-train Sam, who currently is only five months old. For obvious reasons I’m dreading that time in our lives. Mike on the other hand, informed me that they say training a boy is much easier than a girl, so we shouldn’t encounter too many issues with our son.

This started an interesting discussion because, based on what I’ve heard, I have always thought the opposite. Obviously girls are easier; it’s boys who will give you trouble. Why you ask? I have absolutely no idea! Why would Mike have assumed one thing, and me the complete opposite?

This got me thinking: who is this “they” everyone casually refers to and what the hell are these “known facts” based on? What do “they" know and, really, who cares what they think? I picture it to be one person, at some point in time, perhaps agreeing with another – and now suddenly whatever they decided on has somehow become a standard. Passed on from generation to generation; inherited like an old family recipe. Either that or one person said it, nine agreed, and now not only is it constantly repeated, but now somehow bears truth.

I then started thinking of all the things “they” say – things that society has just accepted as facts. Like, for instance, “they” say that a good baby will usually result in a bad toddler, and vice-versa. I can’t tell you the number of times that line was delivered to me by a sympathetic voice while my infant daughter had a full on tantrum in public. This almost always happened while surrounded by other mothers who, incidentally, had perfectly calm and collected babies. I would joke that it’s the universe providing balance; the louder Isla screamed, the more peaceful her infant playmates would become. So I suppose if these mothers were right, basically Isla’s temperament would improve with age, and these sweet little angel-babies would transform into monsters. It had to be true – I can’t imagine “they” would lie about something so important.

So, back to my original question: who are “they” and where did they get their facts? If I had to venture a guess, I might assume that these subjective snippets are nothing but old wives tales, based entirely on one’s opinion. For instance, I think baby-talk is stupid. If we’re going to teach our kids how to speak, how about we teach them the right way? That would save a lot of time and confusion later on when they discover that a cookie isn’t a “num-num” (or whatever the case may be). 

 If I can convince one other friend to join me in this ideology, and two other friends perpetuate this as fact (and so on); I think I could possibly become this “they” everyone refers to. Next thing you know, mothers everywhere will be reciting to their mommy-groups that “they” say baby-talk is redundant and confusing to children.

Now here’s an idea: maybe, just maybe, “they” don’t know what the hell they’re talking about. Maybe it’s all crap. Maybe every child is different and instead of trying to conform to a social norm(that we aren’t even sure is an actual ‘norm’), we should just let our kids be. Screw ‘them’.


Guaranteed that whatever the topic; there’s little research supporting it. Generally speaking, we tend to not ask questions when it comes to things “they” say. Instead we either take comfort or become anxious, depending on how it affects our current situation. Sam is a good baby; does that mean he’s going to be an awful toddler? Should I worry? Probably not – but I can’t remember what “they” say about worrying.

Damn.

"honest"

I’m sure everyone’s heard of “baby brain”. I’m also sure that those who haven’t suffered from it assume that it’s a make-believe disorder coined by mothers, in an attempt to make themselves feel better about their sudden inability to speak and/or perform simple tasks. Having personally suffered from this condition I can confirm that not only is it real, but apparently also permanent. Mike is a big fan of baby brain and sums up the multitude of symptoms by referring to them as TIAs (which is basically the short form for mini stroke). These occurrences happen all too frequently and, because it’s me we’re talking about, usually in public. A recent example took place while paying for an item at Coach (which is dangerous in itself). The saleswoman thanked me for my purchase at the same moment I was about to thank her. At the last millisecond I decided that it might end up sounding weird. Kind of like when I ask someone “how are you?” to which they usually reply “fine thanks, and you?” causing me to say something brilliant like “great! How are you?” – And so forth. So I changed my mind. In the brief moment it took me to decide against ‘thank you’ and whether or not ‘you’re welcome’ was suitable, what instead came out was the word “honest”. Yes, honest. Later when I described this TIA to Mike, he assumed I would have made a joke to divert the awkwardness. Sadly I did no such thing and instead watched her puzzled face as she repeated the word back to herself in her head. I said nothing, grabbed by bag, and left. Sometimes you just can’t come back from something like that and it’s better to just carry on as if it never happened. File it away in your memory under ‘cringe-worthy’; subcategory ‘baby brain’.

Speaking of which, one of my favourite moments took place last month. I pulled up in Vanessa (my van), just as the Purolator truck stopped at the foot of my driveway. Maybe it’s the child in me, but every time I see a delivery truck on my street I get this excited, butterfly-like feeling and hope that maybe someone sent me a parcel. Usually it loops around the cul de sac and drives past, but this time it stopped right in front of my house. You can imagine my level of enthusiasm as the delivery guy said hello and then stood up to retrieve what I knew would be for me. There was no mistaking it. So, without thinking, I said “please tell me you have a big package with my name on it”. Oh yes; that happened. Obviously. Much like my experience in Coach, I just stood there like an idiot and watched my words register across his face. I could have made a joke – honestly I don’t know why I didn’t – but instead I signed for my “big package” and went inside. I’m sure it happens all the time – especially with perverts, which he likely assumed I was. Come to think of it, my address has probably been flagged and I’m going to receive some kind of sexual harassment pamphlet in the mail.

Anyway, in case you know a mother and she does weird things like fills her car up while it's still running (yep, did that one while 8 months pregnant with Isla), or leaves a stove element on all day long (did that one too), or forgets how to spell the word ‘who’ (“hoo”); wait until she leaves the room to laugh at her. It’s not her fault. She used to be smart – and maybe one day will be again. Kids are like shop-vacs, sucking the intelligence out of those who gave them life. I’d like to say it’s temporary, but clearly I’m still its poster-mom. Time will tell, I guess. In the mean time I'll just try to look pretty and hope no one listens to the words coming out of my mouth.

texting alot make me feel bad.

My grandfather (in law) was griping last summer about how the world is growing away from basic conversation. In place of eye contact and body language are texts, emails, and facebook messaging. He joked that over time humanity will have evolved into a group of speechless drones who will be permanently hunched forward and, in place of fingers, will have ‘super-thumbs’ for texting. This of course will be due to the fact that humans will no longer have face to face interactions and will instead communicate entirely through texting, or whatever will soon replace texting. Far fetched and sarcastic as that is, I think he’s on to something.

I can’t tell you the number of conversations I’ve had in the last year which have involved the person I’m trying to talk to, completely enthralled with their cell phone and unable to focus on what I’m saying. What’s the point in even pretending? I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume the reason that driving and texting is illegal is because you simply can’t pay attention to both. The same goes for conversations; you can’t possibly hear what I’m saying to you if you’re simultaneously involved in another social media based conversation. There’s just no way. Not only that; it's rude. And if you've read previous entries, you may remember how strongly I feel about manners and self-awareness. I posted something on facebook to that effect a few months ago and the response from those on my ‘friends list’ was powerful. If everyone agrees with how awful texting during a conversation is, why does it happen so often? Everywhere I look there is someone texting; most times it’s in the car next to me which, as a mother, I find infuriating. When my kids are secured safely in my mom-van, there are few things that frustrate me more than looking over to see ‘Johnny-Douchebag’ glancing down at what I know is a cell phone. Just FYI to everyone who texts while driving; you’re doing a horrible job at hiding it.

Anyway, now that I feel a bit lighter having ranted, I’m going to go ahead and completely contradict myself by sharing a story which took place last week. I was sitting in my mom-van (whom, for future reference, I named Vanessa VanVanningon – I obviously excel at mom-jokes), and decided to answer a call from one of my friends. I know, I know; according to the law, driving and chatting on a cell is just as bad as texting. I was at a red light and planned on talking for only a few seconds (mostly because I’m overly aware of my ‘daytime minute’ restrictions). The guy in front of me was LOSING HIS MIND in the rear-view mirror. Either that or there was a bee in his car. For those of you who are Seinfeld fans, his wild gestures made him look exactly like Coco the Monkey. I briefly interrupted my friend to inform her of what was going on, and that I had to lock my doors in case this lunatic decided to jump out and punch me in the face. Why you ask? Having deduced the meaning of his chatter box hand sign, I’m pretty sure it was due to my talking on the phone. Wow; some people are really concerned with what others are doing. I wasn’t sure how to react so, in my obnoxious ways, I waved at him. Apparently he didn’t like that and continued with this performance. It made me think of two things: One; that I should really listen to Mike and stop “poking bears” because one day I realy will get punched in the face, and two; this poor guy probably shares the same frustration with my grandfather. The world is being taken over by cell phones and in place of personal interaction is social media. I know this guy probably just has anger-management issues, but for the sake of this blog entry I’m going to go ahead and assume he’s longing for some good old fashioned human connections without the aid of a cell phone.

I know I sound like someone’s ‘Nan, but if I had a nickel for all of the friends I’ve witnessed have incredibly important and emotional conversations via text, I would probably have….well, I guess about a dollar. That didn’t quite have the impact I was hoping for. The point of this is that I think as a society we’ve begun to rely too heavily on technology. For instance, if you’re having marital trouble; why on earth would you ever assume that settling your differences via text message is appropriate? Think of how much is lost without eye contact, body language, and tone of voice. Texting is for things like "I'm at the grocery store - do we need milk", etc. Not "I think we should see other people", etc. Humans are supposed to communicate with their voices and I think if we carry on like this our bad examples might cause our children to grow up without social skills. Not only that; their collective ability to both spell and form sentences will be far worse than ours ever was. That’s saying something because, since the explosion of social media, I’ve become painfully aware of how terrible most people write. I realize this is making me sound like a patronizing ‘B’, but this is one of my biggest problems with facebook. If I see someone write the word ‘congradulations’ one more time I think I might lose it (perhaps even worse than that passionate driver I happened upon at the red light). There is, and never will be, a ‘D’ in that word – that goes for “congrads” as well (*shudder*). Also, while we’re on this subject, a lot isn’t one word. It just isn’t. My computer won’t even let me type it as an example. Apparently this pet peeve is something my laptop and I have in common. There are a lot (see how nice that looks?) of things that we need to be aware of when writing – but I can’t communicate them all to you without sounding like I need to be medicated. Just quickly I’ll say that if you don’t know the differences between ‘to’ and ‘too”, and “there”, “their” and “they’re”; perform a google search immediately and stop embarrassing yourself. Or, if spelling doesn’t mean anything to you, stop contributing to the nervous twitch I’m developing as a result of this incessant ignorance of the English language.

*Ahhh* that feels better. I promise my next entry won’t be as hot-headed. Well actually I can’t say that – we’ll just have to wait and see. It’s not a coincidence that I decided to incorporate the words rants and tangents into the title. With that said if you take anything from this, please never participate in another text-war. If you have a problem with someone, texting will only make it worse. Get in your car, stop at the LCBO for some Baco Noir, go to their home and have a nice little face to face. Your relationship will be better for it. If not, you'll at least have that bottle of wine you picked up.

Yeah I'll take a Big Mac, with a side of Kudos. He'll have one too - hold the Kudos though.

I recently found myself explaining to one of our best friends why it’s important for him to fall off the wagon, so to speak, and gain a  bunch of weight in support of his very pregnant wife (incidentally one of my other best friends). While he was “cheating” on his fitness & nutrition regime by having a beer, I mistakenly gave him props and assumed he typically wasn’t drinking because his wife couldn’t. When he explained his commitment to Crossfit and accompanying dietary restrictions, I took heed to how good he looks. Like his gorgeous wife, he’s someone who is typically in shape so I wasn’t taken aback by him looking fit. I decided to take the opportunity to tenderly scold him for not being aware of the “rules”. Maybe it’s just me, but when I was pregnant I made sure Mike clearly understood all of his responsibilities as my supportive partner. These included obvious things like getting me Big Macs in the middle of the night (should the mood strike), telling me I looked beautiful, not questioning my somewhat frequent (hormone-induced) irrationality, and making sure to not make me feel bad by parading around with a 6-pack. I’m talking about the abdominal variety, as well as Heineken (which happened to be my incredibly unfair craving when pregnant with Sam. Thanks for that, Universe). Now before you think less of me by assuming that I’m a bossy, control-freak; it’s important to know that I’m not at all suffocating or oppressive. Though admittedly I am biased in saying this, I’m sure that those who know us well would support me by agreeing that Mike has it pretty good. Regardless of whether it’s because I’m a Libra or maybe it’s just do to the fact that I’m a woman; I like things to be balanced and equal. I also don’t like being told what not to do – which, in terms of the negative aspects, is essentially pregnancy in a nut-shell. So, along with the aforementioned understanding he and I shared, I would not have been in support of him losing the weight I happened to be gaining. It’s important to know that I packed on well over 60 pounds for each pregnancy, and while I did embrace the miracle of life taking place; I also resented the moon-face staring back at me in the mirror. Not so much with Sam as with Isla, but pounds are pounds, and there were days throughout each pregnancy that I felt like an extra pale, beached manatee. A buff husband scampering around the house may have pushed me over the edge.

I’m reminded of a funny story (although not so funny at the time) which took place at one of my midwife appointments. Basically Mike thought it would be a good idea to hop on the scale after my ‘weigh-in’ (the dreaded commencement of each appointment) and declare, surprised, that he’s lost weight. I’m not sure if it was the inevitable aftermath of me sobbing in the elevator that made him clue in, or if it was my cartoon Bambi eyes welling up while trying to book my next appointment, but he knew without being told where he went wrong.  I know Mike’s been worried about me blogging this one because it makes him look incredibly insensitive so, in his defence, he really had no idea how stupid this was until after the fact. He apologized profusely and admits wholeheartedly that he was just wasn’t thinking. Now looking back I can’t help but wonder if his immediate realization had something to do with the fact that he was aware of the “you’re not allowed to look amazing while you’re wife is pregnant” rule. I wasn’t completely devastated and the tears were almost entirely a result of those awesome pregnancy hormones I keep mentioning. So it didn’t take long for this to become a funny story which, to Mike’s dismay, would be shared with friends for years to come . The real doozies take a bit longer to evolve into comedic anecdotes and are usually associated with an argument of sorts. Those ones need to cool down for a while before they’re funny (I’m sure anyone in a relationship knows exactly what I’m talking about). 

Anyway, back to my friend and his horribly timed pursuit of fitness. His wife is just about the most supportive and loving creature I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, so it’s not surprising that she hasn’t gone up one side of him and down the other on this issue. That’s where I come in. I took the liberty and explained, with the help of my weigh-in story, why it’s important to be supportive in all ways including getting fat. At least this ensures that the task of getting back into shape is less daunting because you know your partner will be right there beside you; red-faced and dry-heaving at the gym. All things considered, I don’t think this is too much to ask for.

Now before I make it sound like I hated pregnancy, I have to be clear and illustrate that I actually loved having been pregnant. At the risk of sounding like I work for Hallmark, I will treasure the memoires for the rest of my life. Women who are fortunate enough to know what I’m talking about would probably agree, and also wouldn’t trade it for anything. The sense of triumph after giving birth is second to none – especially having done it naturally. Yeah, I’m one of those A-holes who inadvertently make you feel bad about yourself if you’ve had an epidural. Trust me, had it not been for the back pain which resulted from the epidural I had with Isla, I would have had it again. Maybe I would have even asked for seconds, just to be safe. If I recall, during my labour with Isla, the armour-clad anaesthesiologist rode into my delivery room on a white steed. Although, now thinking back, that may have been a pain-induced hallucination. Who knows; who cares? Point is, I got the drugs and I loved them. It was the seven months of spinal pain that deterred me on round two. Having experienced both the natural and “unnatural” I can honestly say it wasn’t so bad dealing with the pain; of course it’s easy to say that now that I'm jacked full of amnesic hormones which apparently are responsible for me wanting to do it all over again.

At least I will always have the fact that I delivered a nearly ten pound baby. Mike loves when I bring it up; which is often. And honestly, even if I had been under general for the birth of my kids, and had never experienced a contraction; I would still find ways to bring up the fact that I carried each of them around for 10 months. Basically no matter how you slice it; mothers are entitled to a lifetime of kudos.