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.  

Sunday Confessional

List this under "Things I Never Thought Would Excite Me", but the highlight of my last two days has been good, solid, easy and quick to clean poos.

Correction to "Into The Blanket Fort"

We sit down for dinner last night and the first words out of Subversive Dad's mouth was "Your blog is wrong."

"What did I do this time?"

"We weren't backed into.  She hit us head on."

Of course I missed the finer details.  When I heard the words "We got hit by a car.", they just repeated and amplified in my mind.  You have to excuse a mother for being unable to listen very well under those circumstances.

This doesn't make the story any better.  If anything, it makes the driver that much more careless and the danger my family was in that much more alarming.  It also makes Subversive Dad all the more a superhero.

Zuul never got touched because of his ability to very quickly foresee the danger and move her out of the way, quickly.  And I thought my amazing ability to predict menstruation was all that and a bag of chips.

It doesn't change the fact that this story should never have needed to be written to begin with.  Had the driver remembered to look both ways before attempting to pull out of the driveway, this would be part two of "Boys in Cars" instead, (because something funny did happen to me a few days ago, but excuse me while I forget to laugh for a little while).  So focused was she on oncoming traffic, she didn't even look right for pedestrians once.  And it bothers me that it took a Bruce Lee move to get this dumb-asses attention.

This does nothing for my rage.  Back under the blanket cave we go.

Into The Blanket Fort

First, they're both ok, but Subversive Dad and Zuul got hit by a car Tuesday evening.

By "hit", I mean Subversive Dad was backed into while walking with Zuul-in-stroller.  While he couldn't avoid the hit, his spidey senses were tingling, and he just knew something utterly stupid was about to occur.  So, he took the hit, and managed to push the stroller out of harms way.

I convinced him to take Zuul with him to the polling station, just a few locks up the busy road from us.  It was Provincial Election day here in BC, and we are not ones to take our voting privilleges lightly.  I had made it there and back, unscathed, so thought nothing of it.  I forgot to take into account that he was going during rush hour, with just a little over two hours left until the polls closed.  Combine this with a driver-centric town, with hardly any real sidewalks, and people that seem to have never seen pedestrian in their lives, and we have the perfect storm.

The idiot didn't even look behind her as she tried to back out onto the road.  Who the fuck does that?

Zuul was untouched, just shaken by dad's yelling.  Subversive Dad is nursing a bruised elbow and achy bicep and shoulder, not from how the car backed into him, but from how he drove his elbow into the car in rage, and to get the driver's attention, since yelling, flailing and baby cries failed.  He estimates he delivered about $1,000.00 worth of damage to her vehicle.  Neither of us condone property damage, but never underestimate the instinctive rage of a parent who just managed to save their baby from being run over, taking the hit in the process.

By the time he was done yelling at her, she drove off in tears.  I think she got off really lucky, but not nearly as lucky as I am that I still have my family, all in one piece.  My partner, my hero.  My daughter's hero.  To lose either or both would destroy me.

Since we moved to Langford, I have seen my life flash before my eyes more times than I can count just walking across the streets.  It's a huge problem here.  To say I'm angry and put off by this part of town is putting it mildly.

So, Zuul and I will be hiding under our blanket forts for a while, pretending we're back in our cozy little bubble in Port Moody, where we only had to worry about the gang war and the odd black bear encounter.

My First Born for Negitoro Maki

The trouble with having a baby in the early days of May is that your first Mother's Day becomes a write off.  The combination between recovering from child birth, fatigue, cluster feeding, worry and stress... don't expect much from anyone, especially yourself.  I was already having most of my meals in bed since the 8th of May anyway, so the joy was already gone, and going out with a newborn is just scary and overwhelming for both parents.  I know Subversive Dad was a hot mess as well.

I did have one demand, however, 9-10 months in the making.  I was having some motherfucking sushi.  

Being responsible to a fault, I followed those recommended food restrictions diligently, so my once weekly indulgence of maki rolls and unagi nigiri was avoided.  

This was hell.  Vancouver is a very sushi-centric city.  There's no escaping temptation.  I missed many dates with friends and coworkers because they were going for sushi.  It was so hard to be good for the sake of a healthy fetus.

So, my first Mother's Day, Subversive Dad picked up a tray full of sake maki, unagi nigiri and, my absolute fave, negitoro maki and inhaled it while watching, you guessed it, Game of Thrones; Zuul nested cozily in her swing next to me, in my pj's and bathrobe that I had been my uniform since getting home from the hospital.

I couldn't have asked for a better first Mother's Day.  It was absolute bliss. 

Mmmm...... Maki.  

Amazing! Subversive Mom Keeps Baby Alive Full Year.

A year ago yesterday, my little girl made her earthly debut.  I can't tell you exactly what time though, and, because of that, I'm worried I'm already starting to forget important moments about my pregnancy and her birth.

I can tell you it was after 11:11 a.m..  I had an unplanned C-section... one I really did not want.  So, I was making myself feel better about our decision to evict Zuul, Alien's style, not with the normal justifications of "for our baby's health", but because I figured, if I had to have one, it would be cool if she was born at 11:11.

There's a theme to this.  Let me back up a moment.

August 27th, 2011:  I was a little late by the time my birthday rolled around.  I'm never late.  In fact, I could narrow it down to the hour shark week would commence.  This is not an exaggeration.  We all have hidden talents and mine is the ability to predict menstruation.

Never one to be irresponsible, and also one to obsess to the point of anxiety induced insomnia, by 3:00 a.m. I had decided that I would head over to the pharmacy on the way back from Ghost's morning walk and pick up some pregnancy tests.  I actually managed to hold my morning pee the entire walk, stop at the store and return home, even though the package told me it wasn't necessary.  But, as an obsessively responsible individual, I needed to be sure.  So, it hurt a little when I peed on a stick.

Minutes later it would come up positive.  Guess I won't be drinking.  Happy birthday?

That was a Saturday, so first thing Monday morning, I made my responsible trip to the doctor to confirm pregnancy, but by this time, I already had an app that estimated a due date of May 5th, 2012.  Fuck yeah!  Cinco de Mayo birthday!  I know better and remind myself that it's just an estimate, but my doctor ruined my optimism for my Mexican drunken holiday baby dreams by estimating a May 7th due date.

Haters be hatin'.  I was having either a Jedi baby on May 4th, or my little Mexican Pride baby on May 5th.  My doctor could suck it.

Despite a couple of migraines, my 1st trimester went off without a hitch.  We opted against finding out the sex of the baby just to troll friends and family.  The rest of my pregnancy was easy breezy.

May 4th passes without even a contraction.  There was no Jedi mind tricking to be done here.  Bummer.  May 5th was equally disappointing, despite a couple of days of walking while eating spicy foods and trying to induce orgasm --- my best efforts between extreme irritability and fatigue.  Just as well.  Despite my Mexican lineage, her father's is French, so celebrating Cinco de Mayo is done quietly on my end while Subversive Dad mourns the loss of Puebla.

Nobody knows my geeky fandemoniums like my Twitter peeps, so, come Sunday, May 6th, we were joking about how ironic it would be if I went into labour during Game of Thrones.   I kid you not, my first hard contraction came during the intro theme music.   If I remember correctly, it was even the episode where Davos saw The Red Woman queef a demon.  Mother of Dragon's, this baby will have to wait until the show's over! 

And she did.   My contractions were too far spaced and inconsistent in their intensity to say I was in pre-labour.  Figures.

I got to sleep relatively well.  The contractions came and went, but subsided enough for me to get a good night's rest.  By the time Subversive Dad's alarm went off, they picked up again, but nothing to get excited about.  Still the ever anxious first time dad, he asked if it would be ok to go to work.  I said walk the dog and get ready and we'll play it by ear.  He walked Ghost to our local branch of the giant green-logo coffee company, where the baristas asked if there was a baby yet, when I called his cell to let him know my water broke, and, with it, my first complication.  Meconium.  I'll save you all that don't know what meconium is the google search.  She shit in my uterus.  Not even out yet and she's already grounded.

I won't bore you with the details from here on out, because it's pretty typical.  While my birth preferences leaned towards not having a c-section or an epidural, (Subversive Dad fainted when the needle went in my spine which was just the moment of levity I desperately needed) it had been 24 hours since my water broke and I was refusing to dilate further than 3-5 cm.  Not wanting Zuul to be harmed from swimming in her feces, she came out of the emergency hatch.

The first few months are always tough for new parents, but Zuul really was an easy baby.  And now, in a flash, she's a toddler.

So, Happy Birthday, Zuul! Stay sweet and the sleepless nights and poosplosions will be forgiven, but shitting inside me has scarred our relationship, I'm afraid.

Subversive Mom: Super Ninja Secret Agent

I think my best accomplishment since becoming a mother is my ability to tidy up in our shared room while Zuul naps in her crib.

While it's perfectly normal, and often advisable, to do chores while the toddler naps, everybody underestimates the stealth required to do everything in an unpredictable sleep period, especially right under sleeping child's nose.  Things often go bump, there are outside noises, and sneezes and coughs happen.  The odds are stacked heavily against the clumsy person, which is what I was pre-baby.

What I think I'm like.

But I have overcome those obstacles these 12 months.  I have managed laundry, bed making, sweeping, meal prep, dusting, showering (airplane showers, of course.  You know, under the wings and the cockpit.) and have figured out the household acoustics to be able to vacuum the playroom, all within earshot of Zuul.

What I'm really like.

I have ducked and hidden behind furniture when she stirs, as babies are restless little sleepers, I have aborted missions upon feeling that all too familiar tickle in my throat - the warning of the coughing that about to occur, and mine sure is loud and vicious sounding for someone so petite (I'd add "and demure", but who am I kidding).  I can silently mouth "FUCK FUCK FUCK" while I writhe in pain after stubbing my toe for the umpteenth time on the nursing chair.  I can even, on occasion, get a little me time afterwards if she naps well.

Who I think I'm like.

I feel so confident about this skill that I may just add it to my resume.  You never know when sneaky and invisible, cat-like agility might be required from an office manager.  It might even allow me to level up to Executive Assistant --- assuming I ever go back to my old career path.  I'm still secretly hoping I can pad our family's income upcycling furniture, street-side selling our organic produce & free range eggs (A very competitive market in the Greater Victoria area, southwest of Langford especially.)

Who I'm really like.

So today, May the Fourth, I'm celebrating my graduation from Padawan to Jedi, of course.

Who I think I'm like.

 May the Fourth be with you.

Who I'm really like.