It's all going to hell.

None of the old tricks work.  If we could afford a nanny, I would hire one just to do changes.  I don't have the mental tools to deal with this.

Zuul's no longer content laying still for a diaper change.  The arsenal of toys and random items off the change table no longer preoccupy her.  I don't know how to put a diaper on a moving child.

And to think, I complained about the first few months.  At least she was an immobile lump then.  

Subversive Dad started the challenge.  Yes, I'll blame him.  It's just easier to have a scapegoat.  He informed me that he leveled up is the toddler game by performing his first diaper change on a standing toddler.

Not to be outdone, I stopped making Zuul scream by trying to keep her pinned down and attempted this myself.  Now we created a monster.  She thinks it's a game, and she's winning.

I admit, 90% of the time now, I have no idea if her diaper is secured before I wrangle the rest of her clothes on her.  Disaster is imminent.  The last diaper change, it was nothing short of a miracle that nothing leaked as one fastener was on her sweatshirt rather than her diaper, leaving it half dangling in the breeze.

So, I need pro tips.  Is there anything else I can do to get her to stay still for a diaper change?  Or should I just let go and let god?

Oh, and she's taken to biting knees now too.

The tide has shifted.  No good can come of this.

Unsolicited Advice and Opinionated Diatribe

This is the best children's toy for one year olds ever made:

Ever since Zuul started walking, I immediately found she wasn't happy sitting for very long.  Shopping with her in tow suddenly became a problem.  She complained about being in the stroller and she squirmed when I wore her.

Enter the trike-stroller.  As soon as I strap her into it, she becomes a Woo Girl, with the exception of the booze, of course (although there is a handy cup holder in the back on ours... Just saying mom & dad.) Once we move, she starts smiling, woo-hooing and waving and is content to sit quietly in there until she gets tired.  Try taking her out too soon and a tantrum is imminent.  

There are a variety of models from various manufacturers.  The one pictured above is the one Grandma and Grandpa picked up for her birthday for I think about $80 on sale.  The drawbacks are that the little basket in the back will collapse if filled with heavy items and, while there is a uv screen, there's nothing to protect from the rain, making rainy day errands even more miserable because it stays home.

The one's I've seen say from 9 months and up.  Like a stroller, it's equipped with both bars and a seatbelt harness to hold the wee one in and will grow with your pre-toddler/toddler, eventually transforming to an independent tricycle.  

Money well spent.  Good job, Grandma.

Homeless

As of the end of this week, we are officially no longer home owners.  We are, technically, homeless, although we're cozily nestled in Subversive Dad's parents place for as long as we need to (or, more accurately, until we drive each other crazy).

I have mixed feelings about this.  It's a bittersweet feeling as that condo held a lot of great memories.  It was our first owned home, a place I had complete freedom to paint and renovate as I liked.  We brought home Ghost, our first dog together, because we were finally living somewhere without dog restrictions, and we had Zuul.  

Home is somewhere int he background, Ghost, Zuul and I are breaking the law in Old Mill Park.

With the arrival of Zuul, it became clear that we had outgrown our first home, but the area was perfect for first time parents.  Everything we needed was a short walk:  parks, rec centre, library, groceries, toy stores, clothing stores, doctors, dentists, optometrists, restaurants, EVERYTHING.  I was content in this little bubble of convenience as it catered to my incredibly lazy nature.  

Then opportunity knocked.  Subversive Dad took a job on Vancouver Island, which meant an actual house would be affordable and we'd be close to family.  Zuul would get to grow up with cousins and her grandparents, something I missed out on in my childhood and desperately wanted for her.

We've been here since December, and while Subversive Dad loves being back home, I'm suffering from a bit of culture shock. 

While we don't have all the conveniences we had in Port Moody, most things are a short walk away, but I do miss little luxuries like sidewalks, enclosed dog parks, paved nature trails, mountain views and buildings with character.

We had a date night on Saturday, cocktails and appies at a chain restaurant who's Vancouver hours I was familiar with, so I was confused when we left at 10:30 p.m. and staff was locking the doors.  Driving through town, I noticed all the bistros we passed were empty at that time, but Wal-Mart is open 24 hours.  Alrighty then.

Aside from the drivers that seem intent on killing us, everyone's really chatty and nice.  It's a place where random acts of kindness are the norm, where I've witness scary looking teens bravely call out peers when they say something not very PC, where the Green Party are actually respected and hold ridings.  This is the kind of utopia most modern day parents would dream to raise their children in.  On the other hand, the chit chat also slows things down considerably at check outs, which has tested my yuppy patience more than I want to admit.

So, now that the Mainland chapter of my life is closing, we have some choices to make.  Will we buy a proper house as we had always fantasized about, or will we rent for a while until fate decides for sure that Victoria is really where we are meant to be?  There are pros and cons to both situations.  At this point, all I care about is having a place to call my own again, to once again be in full control.  Not that I don't appreciate all that the family has done for us, but it's true when they say "you can't go home again.". I'm really hoping that once we're in our own place again, whether paying a mortgage or rent, I will finally feel settled and can fully embrace Victoria and all it's sleepy quirks.

Port Moody will always have my heart, but home is wherever Subversive Dad and Zuul are, and that's what's important.

I miss this boardwalk more than anything, even though I always feared Ghost would pull us into the inlet.

Sunday Confessional

Subversive Dad and I went to Milestones last night for cocktails and appies.

I'm pretty sure the milestone was that their spinach and artichoke dip was celebrating an anniversary as well.

Paying the price today.  

Worst appetizer ever.

Do you wanna stay up all night, up all night!

Zuul gives no fucks about her mom and dad's anniversary.

She woke up after midnight, screaming.  This went off and on until 4:30 a.m..  She had some moments the night before as well, so the first thought that came to mind was that she's cold.  She outgrew all of her warm pj's all at once and all I could find to replace them were summer sets, which makes sense, seeing we're towards the end of May, but the nights have still been chilly.  

I waited 20 minutes, a la Ferber, and covered her up.  This did nothing.

My next thought was that this was sleep regression.  Time to implement tough love.

I waited 25 minutes.  She squirmed out of her sleep sack and her baby quilt and was siting up, screaming.  Put her back in her sack, nursed her, put her back to bed, but she was still wild and wide eyed.

Waited thirty minutes.  Time for a blitz .  Diaper changed, baby Advil administered, rocked and lullabied.  She was having none of it.

By 4:30 a.m., I gave up, brought her to bed and whipped out a boob.  She stayed asleep in our bed until I woke her up at 7.  She slept.  I managed to perform a miraculous balancing act at the very edge of the bed with my eyes closed.  Cirque du Soleil, I'm available!

It wasn't until well after breakfast that I finally saw it.  The second tooth.  Of course.

I have a theory.  Sleep deprivation due to teething is the only reason why the amber baby jewelry business can survive.  I know because, despite my better judgement, I almost bought her a necklace this afternoon.

I was able to rationalize the dangers behind buying her an amber bracelet or anklet, yet had convinced myself the necklace would be safer somehow.

I snapped out of it.  Amber is a hard rock.  A pretty one at that, with a sweet smell because it's petrified Mesozoic era tree sap, but that's all it is.  There is zero science backing up the theory that it softens and secrets anything that stops pain.  I know this.  I did my research, but, OMG I'LL DO ANYTHING TO STOP THE CRYING!!!

Baby teeth.  You are on my shit list.

Anniversary Day

Today marks the day Subversive Dad and I became a couple.  I'm proud to say a really good one for eleven years.  There have been far more ups than downs, and the downs have been hardly significant. 

We are the A-Team of unmarried couples.  He's mostly Hannibal, the mastermind, with Faceman's good looks.  I'm pretty much Murdoch, with a little BA Barachus, but mostly batshit like Murdoch.  Together, we're the yin to each other's yang.  We'll need to remember this when Zuul hits her teens, I'm sure.

Last year was our big milestone ten year anniversary, and I remember being bothered that we couldn't do much to celebrate.  Zuul was only a couple of weeks old and I was still recovering from a c-section.  We were both extremely sleep deprived and my hormones really toyed with my sanity.  To be honest, I don't remember a thing from last year.  I don't remember gifts or cards or anything.  It was hardly a blip on the radar.

It finally occurred to me that Zuul is the ultimate milestone anniversary prize.  Sure, we could have gone to Paris, rent a sky writer, bought some fancy jewelry, maybe even had a wedding, finally, but that's not our style.  We've never needed grand gestures.  We celebrate the little things, and last year, the little thing was our newborn baby, graduating from couple to family.  Perfection.

So, Happy 11th Anniversary, Subversive Dad.  I love you, but I'm not making you any more gifts.

Boys In Cars, Part II

Ahhhh.... Warm, sunny days are back.  With that come the boys of summer, cruising around with their windows down, on a sugar high from their umpteenth Super Big Gulp.

My spring/summer wardrobe is very limited due to the majority of my clothes being in storage still.  Luckily, I came to our temporary residence with all my nursing tank tops.  I was wearing one when I ventured to the mall, pushing Zuul along with me I might add, when a young man sped by yelling "I CAN SEE YOUR NIPPLES!"

I almost looked, but then I remembered that Zuul's been pulling off my nursing shawl and pulling down my tops for quite some time now.  I have gotten past modesty a while ago, like many other nursing moms.  Why should I care if my nipples were showing?  I realized, I did not, and charged forward without a glance down.

This is a strange moment for me.  I am officially an extended breastfeeder.  I have a parenting label - labels I had been trying to avoid, but after all the problems I had Zuul's first weeks, oddly proud.  I'll be damed.  

As for the boys of summer who yell weird shit out their cars, I bet his nipples were showing too.  Alas!  Common ground.