Untethered Typings

I rely on the internet more than any other source for baby information: more than my doctor, other moms I know, and strangers on the street (often to their chagrin). It's not because I don't think any of these sources have potentially helpful information. I know everyone who has raised or provided care for a child has lots of experience doing what worked for them. I'm just one of those people who likes to investigate all my options before committing to anything. Drives my husband nuts. Me: “I saw garbage bins on sale at National Steering Wheel today.” Husband: “Oh yeah? Did you grab a few? We need some for the garage.” Me: “No. I wasn't sure. I mean, House Tools and even Door Store had some in their flyers this week that looked pretty good. I think I'll check them out tomorrow.” Husband: “Are you kidding me? They're garbage bins! Buy the stupid things at National Steering Wheel and be done with it. You're insane.” Me: “Well, let me think on it.” ...

The New Mom is a societal stock character. I think I used to believe that a new mom's morphing into this character was not inevitable. I think I thought there was a chance I would be different. How ridiculous. Of course I knew having a baby would change everything, especially me. That's the first thing everyone who already is a parent tells you when you share the news that you are expecting. But then, there is a very real difference between knowing that something will change and experiencing it. I was as prepared for this baby experience as I could have been. By that I mean I came in with no expectations. That doesn't mean I didn't expect much, it means I wasn't going to conjure and hold all subsequent experiences accountable to a picture of how life with baby would be. It also means I didn't expect that I would become the typical new mom. Regardless of my anti-expectation expectations (still with me?), I have become, in some ways, quite typical in my ...

Let's talk about breast-feed-ing. Let's talk about baby and me. Let's talk about all the good things and the bad things that may be. Let's talk abooouuut breastfeeding. The hard-hitting, controversial song I'm ripping off here is from the early '90s. Back when sex was a bit more taboo as a straight-up song subject. Not really the case any more. Maybe I can write a hard-hitting, controversial blog entry and work the same “magic” on breastfeeding as a topic as Salt N' Pepa did on sex. Maybe ease the taboo a bit so we can have intelligent conversations regarding breastfeeding without the offense cloud hanging over our heads. Slight roadblock: I may be mistaken, but I as far as I know I lack the star power of early '90s Salt N' Pepa. Unfortunate. We can't even say breastfeeding without wincing. Everyone resorts to saying "nursing" to save any tender ears in our midst. Let's parade every new twenty-year old starlet's bar...

This post didn't start out this way. It started out being about breastfeeding. About the trials, and errors, and intricacies of it all. I sat down briefly to work on it a few times but wasn't getting any where. I definitely have a lot to say on the topic, that's not the problem. The urgency to write about it was getting pushed aside. By what, you ask? Of course you do. By a decidedly optimistic set of thoughts. Gasp ! I fully realize that my tendency is to write with a darker bent. I've even been called a cynic. If you happen to be a surmiser of this sort, hold on. This ride is about to get a little wild. The thing is, I love everything about being my daughter's mom. I love her. I love caring for her. It is joy in its purest form. It feels selfless and right. Well, mostly – almost 100 percent - selfless. Here's the thing. I've discovered a side effect of all this motherhood stuff that has surprised me. It seems natural and it makes sense...

I've noticed a bit of a disturbing phenomenon. It seems that for some women, the fact that they have raised children of their own - and are now Super Moms, really - grants them certain inalienable rights regarding others' babies. Maybe it's a latent personality trait triggered by the presence of those chubby thighs and toothless grins. Included are the rights to: 1. Hold any baby by way of ripp- I mean, taking said baby from the parent's arms as soon as Super Mom has entered the room. 2. Lose all ability to focus on anything but baby until baby is in her arms. This also coincides with a marked loss in any pre-existing sense of humour. 3. Ignore mother's and father's existence except as bringers of baby into her presence. 4. Diagnose and treat baby's issues. "Oh she's not balling her tiny eyes out because she's tried. She just needs me to play with her and stimulate her beyond belief." Never mind that baby has not slept a wink for ove...

Let me just say from the get-go that I think old wives' tales are, really, born of two very basic and understandable human desires. First, we all want to share our experiences. We want others to know what we are going through and if they are experiencing the same thing, that they are not alone. Second, we love to be able to predict future events. Where we lack control, predictability at least offers probable knowledge. If we know something is coming, we can at least have the chance to prepare. For this very reason there is an entire (ridiculous) network devoted to what I believe to be the least predictable of occurrences: weather. So old wives tales emerge from this deep-seated human desire for universality. Not a bad notion on its own. The problem, however, is that though the majority of women in this world experience pregnancy and child rearing, our experiences can really be quite disparate. This is because we, mothers and babies, are human. No two of us are the same. ...

I had a weekend baby. In the hospital on Friday, out precisely 48 hours later. While in the hospital I felt like I had a pretty good experience. However, upon reflection I have come to the conclusion that having a baby on the weekend, at the hospital I did, may not be the best course of action. It seems that at the hospital weekends are approached in much the same way as they are everywhere else: everything's a little more lax and thus, come Sunday, not quite everything gets checked off that to-do list. I found this tidbit truly remarkable: the days over which your hospital stay falls (I like that, sounds like we're talking about a spa retreat or some other such illustrious pursuit) really does impact the level of service you will receive. I realize we're all - hospital staff included - human. I was just naiive enough to think hospitals operated with a work ethic above that of retail. Good eats: We'd love to help you, it's just that... My husband and I enrol...