Naptime… Not At Our House
I believe that experts will say that naps are very important for babies, toddlers and parents. I’m not going to disagree, especially since I fall nicely into one of those categories. Oh, wait, it’s not actually recommending naps for parents, just their kids, damn. Anyway, doesn’t matter, we don’t have them. This was not by choice or some new wave parenting technique, our kids won’t nap.
Our son was never a napper, even as an infant we were lucky to get forty-five minutes out of him at a time, any longer involved tremendous involvement on our part. He did sleep through the night early though which was great. As he got older and started to express his will there was no bloody way he was napping. There were two options, spend two hours with him fighting to keep him settled or a sleep drive. Neither choice led to a regular nap time over time. We gave up.
Our daughter was a super-star napper. She would sleep all night from 7:00 to 7:00am, nap again for an hour or two in the morning (sometimes her night’s sleep engulfed her morning nap. In the afternoon she would sleep from 2:00 until 5:00. Suddenly she no longer wanted to nap. We could still (with tremendous effort) get her to take a nap in the afternoon. Apparently they both napped sort of okay at daycare but I think having all the other kids asleep helped.
It soon became apparent though that any nap they had during the day severely inhibited how well they would go to bed. I swear that for every fifteen minutes of naptime they had would result in one extra hour of them not sleeping at night.
We threw our hands up and conceeded. No naps.
For the past few days I haven’t been feeling well so I have made a few poor decisions. Yesterday I let my kids nap, actually I encouraged it. They did, as did I, for two hours. I finally got the kids to sleep at 10:30pm; our son in our bed and me on the floor beside our daughter’s bed. Needless to say nobody had a good sleep.
So this is what I try to do: let them chill for a while in the morning, get lots of exercise in the afternoon and after a hearty supper I can usually have them asleep by eight. If they sneak a nap in (usually in the car) I make sure after supper they get some more activity.
Two Kids, Two Dogs, A Clean House And A Vivid Imagination
It’s been a month and a half since I “retired” from my job and became a full-time stay-at-home Dad. Will I go back to work? Maybe someday, I don’t know, I hope not. I think this is my calling. I’ve heard a lot of complaints from stay-at-home Moms over the years about how much work it is raising kids, keeping house, cooking; they’re right, it’s extremely hard work and time-consuming and un-rewarding if you’re looking for raises and promotions and constant praise. I’m not. I’m rewarded by happy kids, a smile on my face and being able to care and comfort those I love.
This post’s title pretty much sums up my life. I have two kids, Malcolm, who’s four and a half and Eva who just turned two. We have two dogs, Nemo, a black lab cross and Dori, a bull mastiff (we had them before we had kids so no, we didn’t let the kids name them).
We live in a fairly small house in Calgary with a nice sized yard in the poor part of a very nice neighbourhood. Yeap, it’s a good life.
I try my best to keep the kids happy, learning and having fun while at the same time keeping a functionally clean house (which isn’t say that there isn’t a Cheerio from 2010 hiding in a corner or a herd of dust bunnies conspiring to take over the house. There also may be a hint of old milk smell whose origin is as of yet unknown).
I guess saying that I don’t have a job is a bit of a lie, I do have a job. I’m a writer, not a successfully published and well read author, but I am trying. It’s not easy chiseling out time in my busy life to jot a few words down but I do it slowing but steadily editing my manuscript and working on a new novel.
I’m blessed to have an understanding wife, whom I’ve been sharing my life and love with for 13 years (married for over 10). She’s working really hard to give us the life we want and deserve and doing a fantastic job of it. She’s my rock. I’m not the most level-headed, nor am I the most logical but she keeps me planted in reality when my head is stuck in the clouds.
So, we may not be rich or drive new cars or eat lobster every night and we likely never will, but I think we are about the happiest family in the world.
Ending The Addiction: Soothers
My two year-old loves her soosie. It was a bit of a new phenomenon. Her older brother never took one. I’ll have to say that at three in the morning being able to sneak in and pop that sucker in was a Godsend, of course that doesn’t work now that she’s older.
Our goal was to have her weened off a soother by two. Yeah, hasn’t happened yet, she just won’t go to sleep without it. During the day she can live without it and even hands it to us when she gets dressed, “don’t need dis.” She’ll say, and she doesn’t, provided she doesn’t see it again later, if she does, that’s it, she wants it all day.
It’s a bad habit, I won’t disagree, but how or when do you break it?
My wife’s cousin in Greece had a brilliant idea. What they did was talk to their kids about all the little babies that didn’t have soosies and how Santa Claus traded a toy for a big kid’s soosie at Christmas time so he could give it to a baby that didn’t have one. I don’t think my little girl would understand this “logic” yet but I have that in my back pocket for later.
I’m hoping that she will just eventually give it up. For now I just try really hard not to let her have it during the day although I am occasionally undermined by her brother who’ll hunt it down and give it to her when she cries.
“She wants her soosie.” He’ll say.
To which I reply, “but I don’t want her to have it during the day.”
“But she really needs it, she’s sad.” Doe eyes from him.
“No,” I say, trying to sound firm.
“Eva, do you want your soosie?” He asks her.
Of course she nods. Malcolm runs upstairs.
“Malcolm!” I call after him, knowing it’s already too late.
“Here you go honey.” He gives it to her, Daddy loses again.
Water Babies, Landlubbin’ Dad
We just came back from Edmonton where we stayed in a hotel with a pool. It was one of the reasons we chose it. My kids love to swim. I hate it.
I haven’t always had a distaste for the water, as a kid I loved being in the pool and took swimming lessons and all that but once I got to a more advanced level, one where we had to be in the deep end without life jackets I began to fall behind. I’m afraid of water. If I can’t touch the bottom with my mouth above water I panic and search frantically for an edge to hold onto. I can swim, I could probably do multiple laps in a pool that was four feet deep no problem but the second I know I can’t stand, I forget how.
So, I should probably try to get over my fear, maybe should have done it before now but I’m really not motivated to. Why would I want to hang out in semi-cold water and swim back and forth. The problem is, my kids are just sick to swim. I get constantly asked to go swimming, for now I have a good excuse, I can’t really watch both kids (4 and 2) in a pool by myself. We really should get on doing swimming lessons again I suppose.
I don’t want to hang out in a pool, I don’t want to have to tell my kids I’m afraid of water in case they develop the same phobia but I also don’t want to deny them the joy they get from swimming. I guess I’ll just have to figure it out, parenting is about sacrifice and this is a minor one.
The Avengers Family
At some point in time my son became a huge Avengers fan, not the movie but the animated Earth’s Mightiest Heroes version on Netflix. He’s four, perhaps too young for it but he has a pretty good grasp of fantasy and reality, especially with cartoons. We play Avengers which is basically just running around the house finding and fighting (pretend) bad guys and only calling each other by our Avengers names:
Malcolm as Captain America
Eva as Wasp
Daddy as Thor
Mommy as The Hulk (I wanted her to be The Black Widow, YUM! but Malcolm was adamant.)
Nemo, The Black Lab as Black Panther
I remember when we were concerned about our four year-old watching this but I’ve decided that if something sparks a child’s imagination and leads to play this is far more exciting than watching the actual show then it can’t be that bad, besides I love that my son thinks I’m a Super-hero, even if it’s only pretend.
A Day In The Life Of A Two Year Old
Hi! My name is Eva, although sometimes Daddy calls me Eva-zilla. I’m two, but I wish I was four like by brother but that’s okay, I can have just as much fun trying to keep up with him.
My days are filled with all kinds of fun stuff, follow along with me for a typical day.
2:00am
- Awake! If I scream, Zombie Daddy won’t be awake enough to wait for me to fall asleep.
- Yea, offered his spot in bed. Offer accepted. New soccer night-light must come with.
6:15
- Mommy awake. Daddy came back to bed. TV on, Elmo’s World, I’m not tir… zzzzz
6:30
- Where everyone go? Oh, just me and brother. I love brother. Going to jump on him. Oops, hurt him, “sowee Makum” (sorry Malcolm), that plus hug always works. Yeap.
7:15
- Snuggle time with Daddy. Watching Octonaughts.
- Where is soccer ball light. Where where where? Oh phew. Now I can hit Daddy with it, or play achoo game with brother.
- “Achoo!”
- “Bwess ew Makum.” (Bless you Malcolm)
7:40
- Playing with Daddy’s phone. No, will not trade for soccer ball. What do these buttons do? 9-1-… just kidding
What Daddy Wanted Me To Wear
7:50
What I wore
- Time to get dressed. Not unimpressed with Daddy’s clothing choice for me. PIC
8:00
- Dressed. Socks better than tights. I still hate socks. Will be off and hidden soon as possible.
8:05
- Breakfast choices: Waffles, Cheerios or toast. “Coffee, toast”, toast it is, coffee not option, apparently.
- Stopped crying over Daddy not letting me play with phone, for now.
8:05
- Pants falling down. Daddy used IKEA bag clip. Must use blue not yellow, silly Daddy. Blue too tight. Won’t complain, just remove later.
- Peanut butter on Toast is good!
8:30
- Breakfast done. Did Daddy really think I could eat two pieces of toast? Oh wait, I can, maybe. Nope, just one bite so everyone knows it’s mine.
8:45
- Can’t read but love when Leap Pad book thingy talks to me.
9:00
- Max and Ruby Yeah!
- Nice census lady. Had to visit. I like being friendly.
9:30
- Snuck yogurt tube from fridge. Almost got open before caught. Daddy said no, I persisted without crying, Daddy gave in. Sucker.
10:00
- Time to go out. Must help older brother pick coat and shoes. Or not. Time for pouty face. Oh, my coat. Hugs for coat! Oh and love my pink rubber boots. Wear what you want bro!
10:15
- How loud can brother and I be in car?
10:30
- Grocery shopping.
- Did not make fuss, know better. Usually get something if I spend trip looking cute. Brother usually begs for stuff and gets nothing. Today we got fruit sticks, “nummy.”
11:00
- Smiled sweetly at grumpy looking till lady, smiled back. Not grumpy anymore. My work here is done.
11:20
- Found favourite sippy cup, “I wan mik” (I want milk)
11:30
- George Thorogood equals Dance time
11:35
- Helped Daddy put away groceries by taking stuff out of fridge. Cheese and yogurt to start.
11:45
- Sushi for lunch? Seriously Daddy, are you kidd… oh wow! Hold the Wasabi.
- Never mind, maybe just like the rice.
“Pease I weave da bable?” (please may I leave the table?)
1:00
- Car ride, I will not fall asleep. I will not fall asleep. I will not fall a… zzzzzzzz.
1:45
- Okay, I’m awake, where are we? Oh, is that a Mercedes catalogue at this car place? Will sit like big girl and read it.
2:00
- Home sweet home and my milk I forgot. Life is good especially with The Wiggles on!
3:00
- Finally, socks, off, ahhh, at least I won fight against stockings, stubbornness really pays off!
3:10
- “Bite appa?” (bite of apple) Stole Daddy’s apple, sucker! No, I don’t want my own.
3:15
- Brother watching TV upstairs, time for quality Daddy time, but vacuuming. It won’t suck me up, I don’t think. Maybe I’ll hide in closet.
3:20
- I don’t cry over spilt milk. It’s Daddy’s fault for not giving me sippy cup. Did sit at table like I promised.
- Can’t let Daddy do all the cleaning, “I do.”
3:30
- Writing time for Daddy. Going to try to be quiet
- Brother picked movie, good thing I like his movies or would argue. He can’t argue back. Doesn’t understand me, well except when I say no.
4:00
- Still don’t know how Leap Pad talks to me, but if I just poke at it randomly with this pen it does. Maybe brother could help. Not going to ask. If he offers going to be unhappy.
4:20
- Brother is so funny, we’re trying to pretend to be dogs but I can’t bark and giggle.
4:30
- Kicked brother in face. He cried.
“Sowwee Makum,” hug and kiss make him feel better.
4:40
- “Makum air are eww?” (Malcolm where are you?) No answer, I’ll whistle, “wee u wheet” (I learned that from brother, Daddy can do it louder with his lips)
Finger Lights In The Dark
4:50
- Time to feed dogs. Light off, finger lights on. Daddy, I trust you, catch me! I dive from top of stairs. He catches me.
- Grab dog bowls “I hep. Wego” (I help. Here you go)
5:00
- Flashlight tag. Don’t know how to play, but can flash light around.
5:10
- Daddy is a vampire. If I open curtain he screams, “thee light, thee light, I can’t handle thee light,” and hides under covers. Finger lights work too.
5:25
- Wrestle Mania Me, Eva-zilla tag teaming with brother, Mal-king vs The Tickle Monster, how can we lose? Right, we’re helpless when tickled.
5:35
- All this play makes me thirsty. This cup is perfect, oh and my toothbrush. I love the bathroom. PIC
5:45
- “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” Mommy’s home, I’m cool.
6:00
- Bwa ha ha ha, you expect me to eat that?
- “Yogurt!” If I repeat this enough will get it right? Or not. “Yogurt?” Fine. Not eating.
- Should get good eating sticker like brother. Jump, can’t reach. Jump, can’t reach. Jump, “no!” When asked if want help. Jump, can’t reach. “Hep”
6:15
- “Yogurt!” Worth another shot, I’ll cry too. Brother brought me Pinky Pie. Can’t cry with pinky pie looking. Tricky brother
7:00
- Don’t ask if pooped, can’t you smell? And no, I don’t want diaper changed, have grown rather attached to it.
- Sit still? Ha ha Mommy you’re funny. If I have to sit in pooh you have to work getting diaper off, and, if I really make mess I get bath.
- Drat, no bath. Clean diaper feels nice.
7:15
- “Daddy dog!” There, get him out of hair to let the dogs in. 5 more minutes before he puts me to bed. Hmm, what else can I do?
7:20
- Don’t trick me to bed using Pinky Pie, “Spy Man” (Spiderman) That works. “Gight Makum (Good night Malcolm)
- You have to read Goodnight Gorilla three times. Those are my rules
7:25
- Pre-bed occupancy check list:
- Gaffaroo✓
- Gorilla✓
- Book✓
- blankie #1✓
- Blankie #2✓
- Pinkie Pie✓
- Spiderman✓
- Pair of shoes✓
- Another book✓
- Soosie, soosie?
“Soosie, soosie, soooooosie!”(Soother, soother, soother) Not ✓
7:27
- Soosie✓
- Eva✓
7:30
- “Daddy down!” Daddy has to lay and play with Pinky Pie. I attack pinky pie with Spiderman.
7:40
- “Daddy down!” Daddy can’t leave, not sleepy. Will race you to door and beat on it for hours.
- I’m singing, don’t know words, or tune but Daddy needs to sing along.
7:45
- Still not slee-yawn-py, see bouncing on bed.
7:46
- “Daddy down.” No? Meh, okay. Will just sing self to sleep. No kiss if leaving me.
8:00
- Daddy, still awake “Dobe, dobe bedoop…”
10:30
- Daddy snuck in. kneeling on floor head on bed. Why he move me? Was comfy. Will sit up and glare at him then scream or… zzzzzzz
Yeah, I have a busy life but it’s fun too, especially when I get yogurt.
As You Can See I Lost The Dressing Battle Today
The Guilt Trip: Not Being Able to Breastfeed
I’ve wanted to write this post for a long time but it just seems so private, but then again I think sharing our breast-feeding story may help those that are struggling with it.
Just some background because I know thoughts on breast-feeding vary. Here, in Calgary where we live it’s not only encouraged but almost considered the only alternative.
We had always planned on breast-feeding. There was really no doubt that it was the best alternative and, to top it all off, it’s free and let’s face it, formula is friggin’ expensive and, as I’ve said, no one in their right mind did anything else, apparently.
Our son was born, happy and healthy with a normal, if not incredibly quick, natural birth. There were some minor issues and for some reason they wouldn’t let my wife hold or feed him for 45 minutes or so. When she finally got to feed him he was sleepy and wouldn’t latch. They carted us away.
I won’t get into all the things that I felt went wrong at the hospital and how they really screwed up our start but there were many.
When we left the hospital little did we know that our son was on a downward weight spiral. He was born at a proper weight but when we left he was right on the edge of being underweight, nice of them to tell us. He wasn’t really feeding, he’d try, then fall asleep, we figured if we were persistent he’d get it. We were wrong. The district health nurse came, as is mandatory, at the tail end of the 48 hour window she was supposed to. Immediately it was clear to her that he had lost a lot of weight. This was when we found out that he was almost underweight when we left the hospital and they’d kept us there an extra day because they were concerned about his feedings. Nice of them to put it in the chart but not tell us. We were under the impression that it had something to do with our arrival timing and shift changes.
He wasn’t so bad that we needed to go back to the hospital but he needed food ASAP. The problem, there was no milk. We had to give him formula. No worries. The nurse gave us something to mimic the breast, and things to help him latch and various other strategies.
Here was our routine for each feeding:
Try breast
Try nipple shield
Pour small amount of pumped milk into tube held to breast
Top up with formula
Pump
All the while with a hungry and fussy baby who ate every two hours. The problem was this took two hours. We kept this up for a month. A whole fucking month! Why? Because we were led to believe that only bad parents bottle feed and if you can even get them a little you should. Logically after a while realizing this was insanity we would have stopped but after days without sleep, logic had long since went into hibernation or ran off to Vegas with its lover, good sense.
We went to the breast-feeding clinic, they talked to us about Motillium and other strategies and finally my wife broke down and admitted that she couldn’t go on, she was too exhausted and couldn’t get over a feeling of resentment instead of love.
Thank God the nurse was logical, she gave her permission to stop. We needed that, we were too mentally and physically overwhelmed to figure it out for ourselves.
After a few days of getting to sleep for three hours between feedings (we could do shift work, YEAH BOTTLES!) We realized that:
A) neither of us were breast feed and we’re fine
B) the formula today is a million times better than it was then
So, at least we were comfortable with our decision, but it seemed we were alone.
Now, anyone that was close to us and knew what we went through understood. That was easy, what wasn’t was the sideways glances from other moms and questions like, “oh why aren’t you breast-feeding.” The answer should have been, “it’s none of your fucking business,” instead of polite chit-chat and searching for the exit. Suddenly my wife knew how people felt when the first woman started fighting for the right to breastfeed.
I hope that it wasn’t actual ignorance on the part of those strangers but more how we felt, what we read and heard. Breast-feeding was the be-all end-all and if you weren’t breast-feeding you weren’t trying hard enough. It felt as if we were being judged, we may as well have been hanging a baby from a third story building. I know we weren’t the only ones. I know a mom who had a double mastectomy who found herself having to tell strangers about it when explaining why she was feeding her baby from a bottle.
We wanted assurances, we wanted to know that after over a month of desperately trying, wearing ourselves ragged, that we were right to abandon breast-feeding. Nothing. Every time we read a struggle someone had, they persevered, through blood (literally), buckets of Motilium and psychosis. Where were the people who tried, quit and kept their sanity, I don’t mean those that don’t want to or choose not to, (that’s fine and they don’t need chastising either) but those like us who struggled and could have possibly succeeded after an insane amount of time. Apparently we don’t talk.
Hey, guess what, number two came along. We still wanted to try. We had mid-wives on board and did everything right from the get go and guess what, it didn’t work, there were all new issues, we tried and failed. So two kids, raised on formula who are healthy and strong with no extra limbs, no allergies to nuts, bacon or air and just as healthy as those that fed on blood, cortisone cream and traces of Fenugreek from over tired Mothers.
If you choose to breastfeed, don’t just think it’ll happen. It was the single most difficult thing we went through with either of our children. It’s not easy and frankly when you think you’ve had enough, try a little harder, then stop. Your sanity and your feelings toward your baby are not worth throwing away just because society or experts say it’s the best. They’re right, but that doesn’t make bottle feeding bad, merely not quite as good.
Deep down we still feel guilty for not trying harder, we shouldn’t, but it’s so in your face, “you must breastfeed at all costs.” We are strong people and if it happened now we could shrug it off but postpartum is not exactly the peak of mental strength and those doubts dig deep. Don’t let it happen to you, know in advance that you may struggle, you may fail and you may get chastised for it.
Trust Me, They Can't Revoke Your Parent's License 