Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘toddlerhood’

Yup. Last night was our first night without a pacifier.

We decided to go it cold turkey cause we had no idea how to go about getting rid of a pacifier from an almost-21-month-old. We had never imagined he’d have a pacifier this long. Actually if you could rewind two years and pop into the mind of my early-2012 self, you’d see crazy ideas of my yet-unborn child never having a pacifier. EVER. Oh, poor naive, early-2012 self. We caved on that about 2-3 weeks into parenthood when our child decided that if he didn’t have an actual pacifier, mommy’s breast would do just fine.

By 8/9 months, we had cut it down to only nap time, bedtime, and cars trips. And to avoid the occasional public tantrum. Haha. Our intention at that time was to have it gone completely by his first birthday. But then something terrible happened…

MOLARS.

First year molars. Big, evil teeth slowly clawing their way through my precious baby’s delicate gums night after night. Because that’s how it happens. Molars don’t just pop up delicately in the middle of the day. They terrorize your family and disrupt your sleep. So the pacifier stuck around. Just for nap time and bedtime.

And here we are. More than six months later.

Cold turkey night #1 went pretty well. It took Alexander a little longer than normal to settle for bed. But he didn’t whine or cry for it. And we did have one spurt between 10 and 10:30 where he cried off and on for a while. But, overall, I’ll consider it a success.

Right now, he’s currently napping pacifier-less. Fingers crossed that it goes well.

Read Full Post »

I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately.

Every year, as summer approaches, I get into a little funk thinking about how another year has passed and I’m still not working in my chosen field. But this year, I have my son to remind me that sometimes the things that we consider to be unlucky or unfair in our lives actually turn out to be blessings.

If I had been working in a full time dietitian job (or even a part time one), I would have had to go back to work when my year of maternity leave was over, into a position that couldn’t be worked around my husband’s schedule. Instead, I give my manager a schedule of my husband’s days off and she schedules me to work on the days he’s at home. So he hasn’t had to go in daycare or be sent to a babysitter. One of us is always at home with him. And, whether it’s a direct result of being home with his parents or not, that little guy is amazingly smart. He has such an incredible vocabulary for a little boy his age. At just 20 months old, he’s already speaking in three-and-four-word sentences. He can count to four. (He doesn’t understand the concept of associating things with the numbers, but he has memorized the numbers.) He’s SO affectionate too. He’s always giving us (and all his toys) kisses and hugs. And now every morning when I pick him up from his crib, he brushes my hair out of my face and says “pretty mommy”. Again, I have no idea whether those things are a direct result of us being home with him instead of having him in daycare. But my husband keeps telling me they are, and I’m starting to believe him. 😉

I’ve also been thinking about how my miscarriage back in December of 2011 was a blessing in disguise too. As I’ve said, my son is just absolutely amazing. It is a privilege to be his mommy and watch him transform into the little individual he’s becoming. But, had my first pregnancy been viable, I would have had a different child. Different sperm + different egg = different baby. Now I’m not saying I would have loved that first baby any less. But it wouldn’t have been this child who has captured my heart. It wouldn’t have been Alexander – the amazing little man who fits perfectly into our family. I had to lose that baby to be able to get pregnant with my son. In the moment, and for a long time afterwards, it was absolutely heart-breaking. Losing a child is always hard. But, in retrospect, it happened for a reason. And that reason was Alexander.

Read Full Post »

My husband told me on Mother’s Day that he’s been considering when we’d start trying for baby #2 (providing that I want to try for another at all). And that, if we do decide to have another child, he’d be ready to start trying as early as this upcoming fall.

I’m not sure how I feel about that.

There’s a huge part of me that would love to give Alexander a sibling. He’s such a sweet and affectionate little boy that I’m sure he’d be a amazing big brother. At play group, he’s forever bringing me abandoned baby dolls that have been forgotten in strollers – I’m assuming he doesn’t want them left alone, because he doesn’t want to play with them, he just wants me to hold them. And he’s always sure to fix their hats and give them a kiss before handing them off to me. He also loves to help with the dog – feed her, give her a treat when she does something good, and smooth her down saying “good girl, sissy”. So there’s no doubt in my mind that he’d be a wonderful big brother. And incredibly helpful.

Plus there’s the newborn cuddles with that new baby smell. And that feeling of constantly being needed, which is becoming less and less as my big boy becomes more independent. 😦

And all the firsts. First time holding that precious little being. First time seeing my husband hold him, and falling absolutely in love with them both a million times over. First smile. And laugh. And the first time he said “mama”. And those first wobbly baby steps. So many firsts that can never be had again. But I could experience them all over again watching a new person develop and learn and grow. And I’m sure the second firsts would be just as precious and amazing.

But then there’s the 8 months of round-the-clock sickness I endured when I was pregnant with Alexander. I’d be such a crappy mom to him if I had to go through that again.

And labour / delivery / recovery scare me. Not because I had it bad last time. But because I had it so good. From “here’s your IV” to “here’s your baby” was less than seven and a half hours. I wasn’t ridiculously uncomfortable for weeks leading up to going into labour. My water broke, I spent a couple of nights at the hospital, I had a (relatively) uneventful labouring experience with minimal tearing, and was able to get up around by myself the next day. I didn’t have to take anything more than Tylenol for my postpartum pain. I’m pretty sure I fluked into something lucky there. Maybe my body’s apology for eight months of pregnant vomiting? Either way, I hate to think about how differently it could go if I decide to do it again.

Plus we’re not in the financial place I imagined us being to have another child. I’m still not working in my chosen field. I’m working part time in a minimum wage retail job. There are times when I feel like we’re barely keeping our heads above water. (I know that isn’t true – we live a lot more luxuriously than many people our age, and our son already has a nice little college fund started. But some days it feels that way.) I want to be able to provide our child(ren) with many of the opportunities I couldn’t have growing up – to be part of any kind of team or take any lesson, to go on family vacations, to have money set aside for post-secondary and hopefully not have to get a student loan. I didn’t have those things. I saw my parents struggle. I knew, even from an early age, that my mom sacrificed and went without so that we could always have the basics to be “normal”. I don’t ever want my child(ren) to feel they way. Don’t get me wrong – we were always provided for, and there was no shortage of love, but don’t most parents wish to give their kids more?

And… and this is huge for me, because I’ve never written or said what I’m about to say… I’m pretty certain that I suffered from some degree of PPD/PPA during Alexander’s first year. It wasn’t terrible. I never dreamed of hurting him or myself. I never wished I hadn’t had him. But there were certainly days when I questioned if I should be a mother. And days when I resented his neediness (and my husband’s general inability to help) with every ounce of my being. And I certainly didn’t really enjoy much of his first year. Looking back on it, the signs were there. I was just too afraid to admit it. And I’m sure my husband probably saw it too. But feared for his life and/or his testicles if he ever imagined bringing it up to me. And that scares me. If I do decide to have a second child, I want to enjoy the newborn phase. I don’t want to become an irritable, cranky version of myself that even I can’t stand to be around. But I worry that, if I were to find myself in a similar situation again, I’d be too deep inside it to realize what was going on until I was looking back on it later. That terrifies me.

So, I’m torn.

My husband is an amazing man – he has already acknowledged that the decision is ultimately mine. It’s my body that has to carry and deliver any additional members of our family. And he’d never pressure me to do anything I don’t want to. But the problem is, I have no idea what it is that I want to do.

Honestly, part of me would be perfectly happy for it to just be the three of us forever. We’ve got a pretty good thing going. But there’s part of me that wonders if I’ll regret the decision to not have another if that’s the decision I make. Some day, when it’s too late, will I look back and wish I had decided to have my second baby?

How do you know?

Read Full Post »

Whoa! It has been forever since I wrote here! And, in that time, my wobbly little one-year-old has turned into a crazy little toddler. He’s almost 20 months old now. *insert jaw drop here!* He’s definitely a handful and an awesome source of entertainment. Not a day goes by that I don’t laugh and shake my head at the shenanigans he gets into.

Take earlier this week for example. We’ve been trying to get him to eat spinach. And he’s finally starting to like it. Woohoo, parents of the year – our toddler eats spinach. Look out, Popeye, Alexander is coming through! Anyway, I digress. He was finally starting to eat spinach. He’d even ask for it off our plates at supper. Then he was outside playing with daddy one afternoon and decided to rustle up some “spinach” himself in the front yard. One minute, he was laughing and playing. The next, grinning through a mouthful of rhododendron leaves. Priceless.

And today? He has decided to talk to me like he talks to the dog. “More water please?” … “Sure thing, my sweet boy, you asked politely. Here’s more water.” … “Good girl, mommy!” I kid you not.

So that’s just a little glimpse into the goings-on around here. Hopefully I’ll be more disciplined and writers often. But we all know that’s not going to happen. Haha.

Read Full Post »