Abandon ship!

I'm breaking up with Blogger.

I've decided to haul all my rants over to Wordpress because I was feeling like a change. Spring is in the air! So feel free to go check it out, as I won't be posting on this site anymore after this. Having said that, it'll probably be  a little while before I finish tweaking everything so don't be surprised if it looks completely different from one day to the next. Hopefully you're not as easily confused and distractable as I am. Oh look, a duck!

I hope to resume regular posting tomorrow. Look forward to another detailed account of the exciting drama that surrounds bedtime around here. I may even crank things up a notch and talk about what digested cardboard looks like after it comes out the other end of a baby. Wouldn't that be fun?

To go to the new and (almost) improved Angus Diaries, click here.

If it ain't broke...

As you can see, I've royally screwed up my blog. I was feeling like a change, but then I found that I don't like any of the Blogger templates.
And the picture, the picture of Angus' cute little feet, WHERE DID THE PICTURE OF THE FEET GO? Lost somewhere in the Internet.

I'm just kind of irritated by it all right now, so I'll just leave it for now.

Why don't these things come with instructions?

Another Sunday morning! Daylight savings today, which I completely forgot about. I think the computer sets it forward automatically, but for some reason it's still on BC time, so it says 4:37am and since we're four hours ahead, that would make it 8:37am. But I'm not sure if the clocks were set forward, so it could be 7:37am or even 9:37am for all I know. On my old laptop, I don't even think I ever changed it from Australia time.

I figured out a brilliant way to entertain Angus; put all his toys on the bookshelf and park him in front of it so he can pull them down. At first I would park him in front of the bookshelf and just let him destroy all my magazines but I started to get concerned about the amount of paper products he was consuming. This works much better. I can't believe I used to think a bookshelf was for BOOKS.
This is what he's doing right now, squealing with delight as he discovers yet another prize on the shelf. Little does he know these are the same old, boring toys he's shunned in the past!

So last night was night three of sleep training. This is a new technique by a lady known as "The Baby Whisperer." Her approach is much gentler than the cry-it-out (or "Ferberizing") approach, yet more firm than the "attachment" approach (Dr. Sears' approach -- co-sleeping.) I figure it's a happy medium. I've tried everything else already.
I've always nursed him on demand because at the beginning I subscribed to the whole attachment theory, but it's now come back to bite me. He's STILL nursing in the night every hour to two hours. I have not had a night of restorative sleep in over ten months! I miss out on that REM sleep that everybody raves about, because I don't ever get the chance to sleep for long enough. It's amazing that I'm even able to tie my own shoes. The other day, I apparently forgot to rinse the shampoo out of my hair, because I got out of the shower and there were suds behind my ear. I couldn't even remember if I put conditioner in. So yeah, the sleep deprivation is starting to get to me. At ten months, he's old enough to not need to eat in the night! I'm thinking it could be contributing to his obesity.


So, I've half-heartedly tried the cry-it-out approach, but I've always felt that it's not for me. It hurts my heart to hear him cry like that. I just can't do it. A few times I've just not gone to him, simply out of pure exhaustion, and he's fallen asleep pretty quickly, but it doesn't always go like that. Most times he gets himself so worked up he chokes. And now he gets himself up on all fours and rocks back and forth while he cries, which I think interferes with that whole getting comfy and falling asleep thing. It's heartbreaking, so I'm trying an approach that lets him know I'm there for him, but teaching him that at night, it's sleep time, it's time to SLEEP not time to EAT!!! I learned that he cries in the night, not out of hunger, but out of frustration at not knowing how to get himself back to sleep. So now it's all about teaching him the skillz.

So, this approach is called P.U./P.D. which means "pick up, put down." Sounds tedious and exhausting, doesn't it? Well, it is. Basically, when the baby cries, you pick him up, but you put him back down AS SOON as he stops crying. You do this as many times as it takes for him to fall asleep. Eventually he runs out of steam. This can take around a 100 each time he wakes up. Can you imagine how infuriating that is to a baby? It did work, the few times I did it. But by the fifth time of doing this in the middle of the night, of hauling my almost-30-pound kid out of his crib and putting him back down, again and again like a jack-in-the-box, I WAS EXAUSTED. I couldn't do it anymore. Tracy Hogg (R.I.P.), your theory, is great if your kid is small to averaged size, and if he wakes up less than 20 times a night.
So my problem now is inconsistency, which is probably confusing the hell out of Angus. By the midnight wake-up (usually the fifth one) I simply can't pick him up anymore, so I try and ignore him for a bit, which enrages him and eventually he just comes into the bed and gets what he wants. It's just so much easier.

We must be making some progress though, because I've been walking around with a Pamela Anderson chest the last few days as my milk supply adjusts  to fewer feedings.

I think my approach from now on will be to NOT pick him up. His crib is right next to our bed, so I can just reassure him with my voice.

I thought books would be helpful, because I'm the kind of person who likes to follow EXACT instructions to get an EXACT result. But it seems that babies aren't like that. Apparently they have personalities? It's a learning curve for me as I try to tune in to HIS little personality and find what works for him, rather than trying to find the answer in a book.

Mummy needs some good sleep soon, though. I just watched Angus pick up a potato chip off the floor and eat it and I was too unmotivated to go and stop him. At least it's food.

Still learning about this whole Internet deal

Thanks to Natasha for showing me how to to add a video to my blog. Now I'm going to try it out!

It was a short-lived hobby anyway

He reads Cosmo after he crochets.

Early Spring Morning on Jubilee Avenue

Angus has started doing this thing where he wakes up every morning at 5:30. It's so frustrating, especially after a night of NO SLEEP (and last night he fell off the bed in the middle of the night -- hey, first time for everything!), but then the sun comes up and I look out the window and my heart swells with hope and renewal. It's -8 degrees still, but -- SUNSHINE!! There's just something about early spring that I LOVE. The appearance of sunlight at 6am after a gloomy, slow, winter of waking up when it's still dark out, fills me with promise and hope of things to come. This family has had it's share of setbacks lately, but the appearance of spring brings the PROMISE of something better. I can't help but feel excited and elated for what's to come, whatever that may be.

The birds have been flying into the windows, which is unfortunate for them, but it's just another sign that spring is springing!

Thoughts on the music of today.

 Man there is a lot of shitty music out there.  I made the mistake of turning on the music channel this morning to see a bunch of hysterical girls throwing themselves at these puppets on stage with what looked like pretend guitars. Apparently they're the Jonas Brothers? Apparently they're a big thing? I shouldn't say anything, because at age 13 I was hysterical over the Backstreet Boys, with posters of Nick Carter on my ceiling. I even camped out at the mall to get tickets to their concert.

SHHHHHHH!

What really scares me though, is this particular song. I had to find the lyrics to confirm just how ridiculous it sounds. What are they teaching young women of today? To act slutty and get wasted and taken advantage of, is what it looks like to me. And why the hell would you WANT a guy that looks like Mick Jagger? Is it cool to brush your teeth with a bottle of Jack?She can't even spell TICK TOCK right.

I don't get it. Am I getting old?

Ke$ha aka Kesha with Tik Tok

Wake up in the morning feeling like P Diddy
(Hey, what up girl?)
Put my glasses on, I’m out the door - I’m gonna hit this city (Let’s go)
Before I leave, brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack
Cause when I leave for the night, I ain’t coming back
I’m talking - pedicure on our toes, toes
Trying on all our clothes, clothes
Boys blowing up our phones, phones
Drop-toping, playing our favorite cds
Pulling up to the parties
Trying to get a little bit tipsy

[CHORUS]
Don’t stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up
Tonight, I’mma fight
‘Til we see the sunlight
Tick tock, on the clock
But the party don’t stop no
Woah-oh oh oh
Woah-oh oh oh

[Chorus]
Ain’t got a care in world, but got plenty of beer
Ain’t got no money in my pocket, but I’m already here
Now, the dudes are lining up cause they hear we got swagger
But we kick ‘em to the curb unless they look like Mick Jagger
I’m talking about - everybody getting crunk, crunk
Boys trying to touch my junk, junk
Gonna smack him if he getting too drunk, drunk
Now, now - we goin’ til they kick us out, out
Or the police shut us down, down
Police shut us down, down
Po-po shut us -
Don’t stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up
Tonight, I’mma fight
‘Til we see the sunlight
Tick tock, on the clock
But the party don’t stop no
Woah-oh oh oh
 
 And now, as an antidote, here is the song that's stuck in my head. They're local Nova Scotia boys, in fact Aaron used to hang out with the drummer when he was a kid.  I wish I could put the video right in my blog, but I have no idea how I would do that, so here's the link. You've probably heard it before, but I'm about a year behind everyone else.

I am Superwoman

 This is the little turd FINALLY napping after screaming bloody murder because he got his leg wedged in the crib rails up to his thigh. This picture is taken after he threw a fit and pulled the curtains down and then passed out.



Ahhhhhhhh.

That's the sound of my brain relaxing. I now have a clean house. I cleaned like a crazy lady yesterday. How come I always forget that cleaning can be therapeutic? Turn on some loud music and you can really get into it! I even rearranged all the furniture around. I have this compulsion to move furniture, I don't know, to improve the Feng Shui or something.

So after my cleaning purge yesterday, I collapsed and had a nap with Angus and then cooked lasagne for dinner, and then wasted the evening in front of the TV with Aaron. It made me realize that I CAN do it all. I CAN clean and be a parent and work. I just have to admit that I'm a lazy person and need to get my arse moving. I spent all of last week (what did I even do??) NOT cleaning ANYTHING and procrastinating on my work that I ended up scrambling to get done at the last minute.  Why do I do that? I think I might be manic. No really. Last week I felt very depressed and unmotivated and overwhelmed by even the smallest thing. I moped and slothed around for an entire week. My method of dealing with everything was avoidance. (That doesn't work, by the way.)
The yesterday I accomplished everything with the energy of a mother taking her kid's Ritalin. (Sorry, bad analogy. I assure you I'm not on any drugs.) I don't know WHERE the energy came from, and I felt so happy and excited that I couldn't contain it. And then when I was done I just crashed and felt kind of depressed and irritable by the end of the day.

On Sunday when I turned my work in I emailed my boss and asked her if I could have the week off (I couldn't bring myself to actually quit, which is probably a good thing.) and yesterday when I was feeling like Superwoman, I emailed her again and told her that I actually WAS available. And then I spent the rest of the evening having a panic attack that she would think I was a complete lunatic (which might be accurate.) When she got back to me, she was very nice and joked around with me and we emailed back and forth, and we're, like, BEST FRIENDS now. She told me I was her favorite transcriptionist, because of my personality. (I didn't know personality could show up in emails!) As it turns out she's only 22! This got me thinking, if she can be a reflexologist AND have her own company when she's only 22, why can't I be a mom and have MY own transcription business?

Anyway. Moving along.

I've been meaning to write a letter to Angus, but I haven't got around to it yet. The thing that's holding me back is the awareness that there's going to be a lot of talk about his love of my boobs, and since I want to give him these letters when he's grown up, I'm worried that it'll embarrass him.  But they are his favorite thing right now, so I don't know how I can avoid talking about it.

Last night after his 12th nursing session in the middle of the night, I clumsily went to put him back in his crib, but being that I have absolutely no grace at the best of times and was not very awake, I completely missed the crib, and rammed his head right into the crib rails. I screamed, and Aaron thought I had dropped him. He cried for a minute and then went right back to sleep, but then I couldn't sleep because I was worried that I had knocked him unconscious and caused him brain damage.
I really need to get him a helmet.

By the way, it's snowing. SNOWING. IT'S MARCH!!!

You bring home the bacon, I'll fry it up.

Yeah. I'm gonna quit my job.

I've just spent the whole morning neglecting my child so I can get my work done. I'm glued to the chair with my laptop in my lap, trying to keep one eye on the roving little monster. At one point I looked up and he was slithering in behind the DVD player and came out with BLACK SHIT in his mouth. Does anyone know if eating dust bunnies is hazardous? I'm pretty lenient when it comes to him eating diaper boxes and his board books, figuring paper products are just a source of fibre. But I think I draw the line at dust bunnies. I gave him a straw to distract him. I think that's a safer option. (If my father-in-law is reading this, he's probably twitching violently. Never met a more fastidious man! Hi Chris! Don't worry, I was just kidding about letting Angus lick the soap scum off the shower curtain.)

I started working from home because I was rebelling against the whole stereotype of stay-at-home mom. At first I was happy to play house. I was thrilled with our new place when we moved in and all I wanted to do was cook and clean. But, the novelty wore off and soon the reality sank in at just how monotonous and soul-sucking it is to do nothing but wash dishes and clean the floors and cook and change diapers day in and day out. I became so desperate to do something else.
But now I realize that when I was being created, I missed out on the multitasking gene that most women/mothers supposedly have. Since working, the house has gradually slid into a disgusting kind of chaos. I joke about it, but it actually really gets to me. My mother always said, "A cluttered house is a cluttered mind." My mother is full of wisdom. I usually don't listen to her and then she turns out to be right and I wish I had listened to her.

Anyway. My point is, some women can do it all. I have no idea how they do it. Some women manage it all and have MORE THAN ONE kid. Baffles me. I have a friend who has two boys still in diapers and another one on the way! SHE'S CRAZY!! But she does it.
I am not going to pretend that I can do it all. I simply can't. Someone has to keep the house running and someone has to cook and someone has to nurture this little growing person. Plus, when I started working, Angus was napping for a total of five hours during the day and he was still a little lump that couldn't move. Now. NOW. NOW he naps for two hours IF I'M LUCKY, and he is most definitely on the move, AND that whole Velcro baby thing that I mentioned. Now he expects me to engage with him and pay attention to him.
Mothering doesn't come naturally to me. I often forget that I'm supposed to be offering Angus food. (I KNOW, I KNOW.) Sometimes it doesn't occur to me to change his diaper for about six hours.
So as you can see, I really need all my brain power just to not fuck up my kid.

I'm a thinker, not a doer.

I need some accountability today.

I intended to get a big chunk of work done last night while Aaron was at fire practice and Angus was in bed. I got distracted by TV. LA Ink was on! I couldn't miss that! And then American Idol! And then a new episode of LA Ink, followed by Hoarders. Yeah. Work? Didn't happen.  I even attempted to bring my laptop in front of the TV and work during commercial breaks, but when the commercials came on I found myself completely forgetting to work, even though my laptop was on my lap and my head phones were on. Durrrhhhh.
Do you have any idea how much extra time I would have in my day if I didn't watch TV? Let's be honest here -- the REAL reason we wear two-day-old socks (I just bought a pack of 20 pairs of socks so I wouldn't have to do laundry), the dishes sit in swamp water for three days and my unfinished work nags in the back of my mind constantly, is because of the hours spent zoning in front of the TV. And it's not like I watch quality programming either. No. Well, sometimes we watch the History channel and actually learn something. But my favorites, I will admit, are the reality shows. I'M the reason these awful shows are on TV.
I curse the TV for being such a time suck. I'm trying to imagine what Aaron and I would do if you took TV away from us in the evenings. Talk? Pay attention to our child? Clean up the house? Exercise? Go for walks? The mind boggles. However, I like TV because I get to participate in things without actually DOING them. Take Survivorman. Would I ever purposely get myself lost, alone, for a week in the Amazon/Labrador/Alaska/Papua New Guinea, would I ever eat scorpions/seal blubber/seaweed, would I ever drink my own pee, would I ever dog-sled with my fly open? Probably not. But I like to think my life is enriched from having watched someone else do it.

He feeds himself.

I gave him this can of toddler food, (which are little puffs full of preservatives and sodium) because I had run out of things to entertain him with, and he managed to get the lid off and dumped it all over himself. He's not interested in toys. Brightly colored, plastic, beeping playthings? SO not fun. But scissors and a plastic bag? LOADS OF FUN! 

So far today I've let him play with my laptop case, an empty cigarette pack, a twist tie, my shoe, my purse, a sharpie, and a toothpaste tube. All completely unsanitary and unsafe. Whatever, I was supervising him. It's not like I'd ever actually let him SWALLOW a battery. Sheesh.

My break out role into television will be on the show "Hoarders."

Today I'm going to write about writer's block. Not very interesting, I know. But I feel like the only way I can get through the block is to just WRITE something. ANYTHING. I've tried writing in a Word document. I've tried writing in a notebook. But both times as I've stared at the blank screen or page, I've just felt as blank as the page I'm staring at. So I'm going to try the whole blog thing again. This is for myself, mainly, but somehow the idea of having an audience helps the words to come out.

I feel this pressing urgency to write about Angus. I know that this time in his life is so fleeting, and since I have the memory of an Alzheimer's patient already, I know that it's important to document everything, otherwise I'm going to forget! I don't want to forget anything! Already I know I've forgotten certain things from the last few months of his life, and that just makes me panic. The reason I write is so that I can hold on to these memories. It's the same reason those people on Hoarder's hoard things. They can't throw anything away because every little thing represents a memory of their life. Why are we so desperate to hang on to the past? I don't know the answer to that; all I know is that if I don't document everything in writing, I'm going to end up on Hoarder's. I'll be living in the last uncluttered corner of the house, wearing adult diapers because I can't find the toilet anymore. You'll find dead, flattened cats under piles of shit that have taken 30 years to accumulate.
Nobody wants that, now do they?

I should be working right now. I've been doing transcription from home for the last two months. At first, I was incredibly proud of myself for figuring out how to find employment from home, without any experience. I work for two amazingly nice people, who are reflexologists by day, and have a transcription company by night. They pay slave wages, but they're just so freaking nice, that I don't really mind.
I don't mind the work, because it combines what I like best; the English language, and not having to move much. I find something very therapeutic about typing.
But lately it's been losing it's appeal. Currently I'm transcribing a University interview with a dry, boring, uppity science major. I've done a lot of these, and it's the same boring old questions directed at the same narrow-minded, boring people. This particular student incites rage within me. She talks about how her father says of her and her three siblings, "As long as I have a doctor, a vet, an accountant, and a lawyer, my needs are covered." I want to climb into the computer, and slap this girl a little bit. She talks of how her parents are very encouraging of what she chooses to do, "as long as it's nothing artistic."
SLAP!
She even talks about how her mother got her bachelors in electrical engineering, and never used it! Now what is the point of that? I don't think it's the most important thing in the world to get a University degree. But then, I didn't even finish high school so I probably don't know what I'm talking about.

Anyway, supposed to be working. I have a very small time frame in which I can work; when Angus sleeps. It's about two hours during the day. Unfortunately, that's also the only time I get to myself, so I often all I want to do is surf the Internet and Google things like, "How to get rich without having to do anything." And stalk people on Facebook.
I complain about not having any time to do anything, and I complain about how the house is always a mess, but the real problem is actually probably my organizational skills. I am terrible at managing my time.
It takes me about two hours to wake up in the morning. I turn on The Mom Show and sit on the couch blinking, guzzling coffee and feeling hatred towards the morning, while Angus sits on the floor eating cardboard. By the time he goes down for his morning nap, I'm FINALLY awake and have stopped grumbling and swearing and bumping into walls. This is the time I start working, but then I get hungry, so I make breakfast and surf the net. By the time he wakes up, I haven't accomplished anything, and then the next three hours are spent entertaining or pacifying my Velcro baby. (That's a reference to the Separation Anxiety he is going through.)
Then he goes down for his afternoon nap, and I'm tired and I want to nap with him. Sometimes I do, and then hate myself afterwards because I didn't get anything done. Sometimes I "work."

Anyway, the point is, some people manage to shower and get dressed in the morning. Somehow I always miss that part because I'm too busy... doing what? I FEEL busy, so busy that it makes my head spin, but NOTHING IS DONE!? I don't get it.

The mess drives me mental, but I HATE HATE HATE housework. I feel like I'm always doing it, but it never gets finished.  And the reason I hate it is because I never feel a sense of accomplishment. You do the dishes, but then you have to eat again and make more dishes. You clean the floors, and your husband stomps all over them in his dirty boots and you have to clean them again. You do laundry and your baby barfs on himself and makes more laundry. You wash the baby, and he smears food in his hair and have to wash him again.
IT NEVER ENDS!
I guess it's a fact of life. I know I need to just accept it.

Angus is awake. I kind of went off in a totally irrelevant tangent. I wanted to write about Angus but I just didn't get there. I almost said "and I haven't accomplished anything," but I HAVE! I broke my block.
As a chronic under-achiever, this is good.

Pure Evil

HERE, BOY!

Sometimes when I'm talking to Angus, I'm aware that I sound like I'm talking to a dog.  For example:

"You wanna go for a walk?  Let's go for a walk!  Yaaaaaay!"

"Who's a good boy?  YOU'RE a good boy!"

"Roll over!  Gooooooood boyyyyy!"

said in a screechy, sing-song voice.  No wonder Angus looks at me like I'm a complete moron.

Well, it's exceptionally miserable outside today.  It's windy, freezing, and rainy/snowy.  I STILL don't mind winter though.  My two years in Australia seemed to cure me of any hatred of Canadian winters I used to have.  Two years of sweating in a steamy, tropical city, panting through soupy, cloying humidity, every single day.  My hair was a frizzy mess, stuck to my face all the time, my skin always broken out, and my makeup was always leaking into my eyes.  And all that ghastly sun!  Cartoonishly bright.  Every day, that Godawful, persistent sun in my face.  And you know what?  When I returned from Australia, I wasn't even tanned.  Two years of ultra-violet rays on my delicate Canadian skin, and not even a hint of color.

When I came back, I was just in time for summer in Canada, in which I was very depressed.  Then came winter and my mood lifted.  I have Seasonal Affective Disorder in reverse.

So as the wind howls and hurls rain at the windows, I'm inside, nice and cozy.  While Angus sleeps, I can avoid housework and read my book.  I can plan menus.  Which brings me to my next point, my new hobby.  COOKING.  It's not helping me shed these persistent twenty pounds though, in fact I seem to be gaining weight, which is the opposite of what's supposed to happen after you have a baby.  I've decided to blame my thyroid.  It's common in postpartum thyroiditis for the mother to swing between hyPERthyroidism and hyPOthyroidism.  I must be entering the HYPO phase, wherein the sufferer gains weight and feels tired and sluggish, thereby being exempt from any duties such as housework, and suffering muscle weakness, thereby being unable to participate in any kind of physical exercise.

Yeah.  That's it.

WHY WON'T HE POOP?

The kid will not poop.  So we all have to suffer and wilt from his stinky farts, wondering when the epic explosion is going to finally take place.  In bed?  In the supermarket?  HE'S A TICKING TIME BOMB!

Anyway, we tried prunes, (hasn't done anything yet) and  here are the pictures.  Those of you on facebook have already seen them.

More about sleep.

Well, some success, and some failure in the sleep department.

My nerves can't handle listening to Angus scream himself to sleep in the other room.  (And for some reason I have to have the baby moniter cranked up, just to torture myself even more, even though I can hear him just fine without it on.)
So last night I dragged a chair into the bedroom, and sat next to Angus while he angrily fought sleep for an hour and a half.  I had nursed him as usual, and he was drowsy and falling asleep, so I KNOW he was tired.  But man that kid is STUBBORN.  As soon as I place him in his crib, he falls apart.  I thought maybe he was going through separation anxiety, which is why I decided to try sitting with him this time.  (But not picking him up or anything.)  The whole thing backfired.  If anything, he was MORE pissed off, because I was RIGHT THERE, but I wasn't doing anything!  I'd stroke his hand, which just invoked more hand-flailing, and louder screams.  I lovingly stroked his head, and he bit me.  I cooed softly to him, and he drowned my voice out and thrashed around even harder.  HE WAS PISSED. 
Finally, I had to leave the room.  I was all jangly and worked up, my heart was pounding (these are the effects of hearing your baby scream next to you for ninety minutes).  And you know what he did?  HE FELL ASLEEP.  AFTER I LEFT.

And then he sleep for a solid six hours.  Woke up at two-thirty in the morning, nursed, nursed again at three-thirty, then at five-thirty, and then again at quarter to seven, which was actually sleeping in, because of the whole daylight savings thing, it should've been quarter to eight.  But besides that, he slept for a six-hour stretch.  I wonder what tonight will bring?

p.s. I can't understand why he goes down so easily for naps, but at nighttime he's a child possessed.

This is how I would look if I were a dude with a mullet

Considering making a conscious effort to prevent Angus's first word being "SHIT"

It has come to my attention that certain members of my family are reading my blog.  Specifically, my grandparents.  I THINK anyway.  Last night I talked to my grandmother on the phone.  She had a stroke in 2001? 2002?  Anyway, it's caused her to be a little confused.  Well, that's not accurate.  She's still all there, really.   She's the same person she always was, just has a little trouble finding the right words sometimes.  I forget what the condition is called. 
It's actually not too hard to follow along with what she's saying, because the inflection and tone of her words are there, and the subject is usually obvious.  But once (year's ago when it was worse) I went to visit them, and upon arriving at the door, she asked me if I would like to have a shower in my suitcase.  Another time, when they were going through the process of moving and getting rid of things, she rang me up and asked if I would like three dead bears.

Anyway, last night she was asking me how I was liking it over here, and mentioned something about it being flat, not mountainous like B.C.  I know I mentioned that in my previous blog entry, and I can't remember if I mentioned that at any other time.... so I've deduced that grandma and grandpa are reading my blog.  SHIT!!!

Now I'm mentally going back in time and trying to remember how many times I've sworn, and if I mentioned any sordid activities that grandparents shouldn't know about.  Well, it doesn't really matter I guess.  There's no reason to censor my writings.  They may be my grandparents, but they're still people, and I bet they're not totally innocent.  They haven't been grandparents they're whole lives!  Just MY whole life!  They used to be my age once.  (Can you imagine?)  That means, one day I'll be THEIR age!  Holy crap.

Now I've really gone and offended them for sure.

I'm going to talk about something else now.

Last night I was determined to let Angus cry himself to sleep.  I've been trying for quite a while, but I always end up sabotaging my efforts, because the sound of his heart-breaking cries eventually get to me, and I go in to console him.  Then he starts waving his arms and grinning at me.  So I know I'm being manipulated!

I used to be a huge believer in the "attachment" style of parenting.  I was going to "wear" my baby constantly.  To the store, doing housework, going the bathroom.  All the Dr. Sears books said that if I do this, my baby will grow up to be secure and independent.  But have you ever ACTUALLY tried to wear your baby while doing the dishes?  Especially when your newborn is not the size of a newborn, but roughly about the size of a five-year-old?  Impossible.  Also, Angus turned out to be the kind of baby who hated to be restrained.  I could only "wear" him, if I had him facing outward, so his arms and legs dangled.  (Although, when he was that young, he pretty much hated everything.)
(The Moby Wrap worked pretty good though, I have to say.  And I have actually gone to the toilet with Angus in it.)

I knew I was  going to breastfeed.  (And this I have not wavered on.)  I planned to breastfeed Angus until he was thirteen, and I was definitely going to have him sleep right close to us, to make breastfeeding during the night easier.  We got a co-sleeper for that purpose.

Well all this has come flying back in my face, because Angus turned out to be the kind of baby that attachment parenting doesn't actually work on. He doesn't like being "worn" constantly, he likes to be FREE, to kick his legs and flap his arms around.  He doesn't like to be cuddled, which is why I enjoy breastfeeding so much, as it's my only cuddle time with him.
And finally, the co-sleeping started to become a problem.  We were all starting to distract each other in the night.  Angus grew bigger, and took up most of the bed, pushing Aaron to the very edge every night, and causing me to sleep in only one awkward position all night.  Also, Angus was distracted by my boobs in his face all night long.  Mom's Diner, open 24/7.  He THOUGHT he wanted to eat, but he'd latch on and then change his mind and pull away, but then change his mind again and latch on, and pull away, etc... I became so irritated with this that I'd just put them away, but then I'd have Angus mouthing my shoulder or armpit, and then he'd start fussing when no nipple appeared in his mouth.
It was very frustrating.  The whole "attachment" thing wasn't working for us.  It was actually sabotaging our needs for a good nights sleep.  I highly value sleep.  Aaron needs his sleep to function at work, he needs to have his wits about him.  Angus needs his sleep to be a happy, content baby, and to grow his little brain.  Mom needs her sleep to deal with Angus, who is a nightmare to deal with when he is overtired.

Finally, Angus went into a crib.  Now the issue is that it's in our bedroom.  His bedroom isn't finished yet.  But it's a start.  Now I'm trying to give him the chance to learn how to self-soothe at night.  He does NOT need to eat five or six times during the night.  It seems to be purely recreational at this point.  A habit that he's developed, and it's MY FAULT!
I am trying to not rush to him at the first signs of distress, which according to Dr. Sears, means he is going to be traumatized and emotionally damaged.  Apparently, he's going to grow up to be insecure, unloved, and untrusting.  Well, I don't buy it.  Angus knows which buttons to push, and yes, he DOES know how to manipulate me!  He's a very head-strong, stubborn, little boy, and I'm proud of that, even though it's driving me up the wall.

Last night I gave him a bath, powdered him up, and gave him a clean diaper and clean jammies, then nursed him until he was so comfy and clean and dozy, that he drifted peacefully off to never-never land, and he even smiled as he was going to sleep, as if to convey that everything is alright.  Then I put him in his crib, which is when the screaming began.  He cried for a total of eighty minutes.  That's an HOUR AND TWENTY MINUTES!  A few times it became too much for me, and I had to go in and console him until I figured I was only doing it for MY sake, because as soon as he saw me, he started grinning and arm-flapping, wanting to play. 
The very last time I went in to check on him, his voice was hoarse and his little heart was pounding in his chest.  I felt so awful, I had to pick him up and hug him.  I then discovered that he was roasting hot.  Stupid mommy dressed him too warmly, and had him wrapped in a fleece blanket.  I guess he would've worked up a sweat with all that crying, too.  I unwrapped him, and put him back down, and after five more minutes of pissed-off crying, he went right to sleep.  I felt like the worst mother in the world.  Throughout the night, I let Angus nurse as often as he pleased, because I was feeling so guilty.

But today's a new day, and he doesn't appear to hate me.  He's playing happily beside me, on his own, while I waste the day on the computer googling "How to encourage hair growth" and boring everyone else with details about how my baby sleeps.

Nothing on my mind today, so here's some pictures instead.

 This is the view out my living room window.  Sometimes I get homesick for the mountains, lakes and oceans of British Columbia, but Nova Scotia has it's own beauty.  Yes, it's flat, but that means I'm rewarded visually with all this beautiful vast sky, and did I mention the sunsets and sunrises?  I'm also in love with the houses here... they're all so solid and majestic and huge, yet old and kind of quaint at the same time. 

A rant about a bad haircut, posted here because nobody else wants to listen.

I'm having a hard time trying to find the perfect bedtime for Angus.  Ideally, I would like him in bed by seven, sleeping right through the night, and waking up at seven.  IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?

Last night I thought I did it, I had him in bed by seven.  Aaron went out for the night, and I was thrilled to have some quiet time to myself.  Earlier, I had sent Aaron out for doritos and chocolate.  (My PMS/Pregnant food.  He eyed me a little shiftily after reading the shopping list.  Not to worry, I said, it's ONLY PMS.  Remember my earlier post, gloating about not having a period, therefore being exempt from woman hormones?  Well, it returned.  With a vengeance.  Turns out I'm NOT one of those lucky women who doesn't get a period for the duration on breastfeeding.  NOT FAIR!)
I had a bottle of Riesling in the fridge.  I had a Margaret Atwood book half-finished that I couldn't wait to get back into.  (The Robber Bride.)  Oh, joy!  I was even going to take the opportunity to do some internet posting!
Of course, I soon as I settled myself onto the couch, I heard Angus yell, "MOOOOOOOOM.  Come and get me.  You're not allowed to have fun without me!"
Actually it was more of a huffing, irritated fussing, which would have escalated into a cry, and then into full-blown, pissed-off screaming.  He's not one of those babies who whimpers or bleats quietly.

I tried to just nurse him back to sleep, but he wasn't having it.  Oh sure, he ate.  But he didn't fall back sleep.  Instead he bit my nipple and then grinned at me in the dark.  I could see his eyes glowing mischieviously.  That kid is going to be a very cheeky child, I think.  A little devil, a monkey.

So I brought him into the living room and made him watch two episodes of Flight of the Choncords with me. (No cable yet, so we're at Blockbuster every night.)
  I still got to eat my Doritos and chocolate, and drink my wine, so it wasn't a total loss.

Did I mention I was all dolled up and had nowhere to go?  I had makeup on, my hair done, and I was dressed nicely, and my only audience was my five-month-old son, who kept narrowing his eyes suspiciously at me, because normally my hair looks like an electrocuted mop, and normally I'm still dressed in my pajamas, and I NEVER put makeup on anymore.  (What's the point?)

I did all this because of this awful haircut I got.  I had a coupon for a free haircut, from the Welcome Wagon, which was perfect because I had been moaning since we moved here that I needed a haircut, and how would I know where to go?
As soon as I got to the place and looked around, I should have left.  The salon was in this lady's house, and it was a MESS!   In my professional opinion, a hair salon should be kept clean and clutter-free.  It's just kind of common sense, don't you think?
Then out walked an oompa-loompa.  She was so overtanned she was orange, she had on these spray-on jeans tucked into THIGH HIGH, shiny, black hooker boots.  And a button-down shirt.  Her hair was over-thinned and overprocessed.  (That should have been my next clue - I'm not a fan of overly textured hair, unless it's short, but I don't WANT short hair, nor did I want OVERTHINNED hair, and it looked like she was a big fan of the razor and thinning scissors. )
So I told her about how I'd done all these things to my hair and now I just wanted to grow it out and stop dying and have flowing, healthy, beautiful hair.  I told her I had gone a little overboard with the thinning scissors on my own head.  I told her I wanted the scraggly ends cleaned up.
So she says this, "Ok, well I'll just get the razor.."
NOOOOO!!!!  I made her put the razor down.  So you know what she did?  YOU KNOW WHAT SHE DID??  She took her thinning scissors and CHOPPED my hair.. AT THE ROOTS!!!  WTF?
And I just sat there like a dummy, watching in disbelief as clumps of hair fluttered to the floor.  I couldn't exactly stop her halfway through a haircut.  Although in retrospect, I probably should have.  And then got Angus to cut my hair, because I think he would've done a much better job.

So now my hair is much more thin and scraggly than before, which is the exact opposite of what I wanted to have done.  Experiences like these make me lose faith in hairdresser's as a whole.  It's very disappointing.  And if I wasn't traumatized BEFORE (which I was) about finding a new hairstylist, I've now given up, out of fear.

Anyway, the point of that story was to explain why I was all dressed-up with nowhere to go.  I was in a pissy mood yesterday morning, because I woke up and remember that I had awful hair.  Every time I run my hands through it, I get a huge shock because there's NO HAIR, and every time I look in the mirror I get pissed off all over again.  I was stomping around in a foul mood all morning, fuming about my hair.
THEN, I decided to go through a box of clothes I hadn't unpacked yet.  My pre-pregnancy clothes.  Well, my body FEELS like it's back to normal.  I thought it was.  I honestly though all the scales I had stepped on that said I weigh 157 pounds were lying, off by about twenty pounds.  Then I tried to put on a pair of my old pants, and they wouldn't even go over my thigh.
At this point I wanted to commit suicide.  Can you imagine anything worse that having bad hair and being twenty pounds heavier than you used to be?  Oh, the horror!

So in a moment of cleverness, I put makeup on, styled my hair, and put on flattering clothes, and minced around the house all day, feeling attractive.  When Aaron came home, I was bending over in my sweater-dress and putting T-bone steaks in the oven to broil, and I'm pretty sure his jaw visibly fell open.  Yes, I can be a good little housewife when I make the effort.

Making an effort over your appearance sure goes a long way.  I couldn't see the point of it before, if I was just going to be hanging out with a baby all day.  But subconsciously, it lifts the spirits.

In closing, here's a picture of a fire hydrant, painted like Frankenstein.