a house!

We found a new home. A house! Or at least the main floor of it. It's a giant old house close to where we live now but a little farther east. It's half a block to the dog park and it has a yard! I'm not usually prone to exclamation marks, but I guess I'm excited since I've already used two in the first four sentences.

It's the sort of place where I feel like Leila can make memories. We can grow carrots in the back yard and she'll remember the stained glass doors to her bedroom. We can easily walk to New Brighton pool in the summer. There's even a basement we can use. I have designs on tucking a desk away in a corner to write at and I think Tom wants to be able to do whatever is he does with tools down there. I might be getting ahead of myself, but I always thought it would be rad to have a dartboard.

I couldn't face the thought of Christmas alone in this crowded apartment so I was trying to find a cute cabin in the woods somewhere, but now, now I think we'll spend Christmas in our new house, and you're most certainly invited for dinner if you're in town. I'm so excited to put up the white Christmas lights that we had up at our wedding, I'm excited to bake, I'm just plain excited. I'm looking forward to seeing Leila's face as we try to show her how to rip paper off of presents, and Norton's enthusiasm at being so close to his favourite place in the world. I'm excited to meet our upstairs neighbours who have a three year old boy.

This is going to be good, I can feel it.

of family and other open wounds.

I'm having a hard time lately. My parents have decided they're furious with me for reasons I don't understand and don't think are as serious as they do. All my life I've tried not to make them angry except for a few times when I was a teenager when I pretended I didn't care. But I do care. I still care. I hate it when they decide they're not speaking to me. It makes me feel like I have a hole in the center of who I am.

They're not bad people. They work hard and they try hard, but it's like their idea of who I am supposed to be never added up to who I actually am. And every time they're reminded of this they get angry. This time it's different. This time, I'm a parent too. Granted, they've been doing it for twenty four years longer than I have, but I still know what it feels like to love a child. I know that Leila and I will eventually have disagreements, even fights, but I also know that my job is to love her no matter what. My love for Leila is boundless and unconditional, and I will try to remember that at all times.

My mother's father, my grandfather, would occasionally get mad and her and inform her he wasn't speaking to her and I remember how it made her feel. She would be so sad and empty. I remember feeling protective of her and angry at him for hurting my mother. I wonder if she remembers this. I wonder what it is my parents see when they think of me. It's taken me years and years not to see myself as deeply flawed and awful. But I know I'm not. Years ago, my counsellor made me draw up a list of ten things I liked about myself. It took me hours, and I'm pretty sure one of them was, "I like my impeccable taste in Star Treks, TNG forever!"

I want to make peace with my parents. I want to prevent this from happening in the future. I want Leila to know her grandparents. But if I can't  have that, then I want to find the strength to let go, to know that I am good person whether or not my parents tell me.

happy nine months, baby menace.

Dear Leila,

I would have written this yesterday, on your actual nine-month day, but you decided a couple of days ago that you are undergoing your first existential crisis. In baby terms, this means you screamed for two days straight. We're working through it together and you seem much more at ease with your existence today.

You've now been an outside baby for as long as you were in an inside baby. You're turning into a totally awesome tiny human with definite opinions and preferences. You have just mastered pulling yourself up onto furniture and it delights you to no end. So much so, in fact, that when you're standing you'll often look over your shoulder with a big grin on your face to make sure your audience fully appreciates your accomplishment.

You still don't have any teeth, but that doesn't stop you from eating a ton. Your current favourites are pitted kalamata olives, humous, cheerios and mango baby food. I especially like that you like olives. It makes me feel related. This is important since people are constantly telling me how much you look like your dad. In fact, no one has told me that you look like me. Although there are times when I am looking at your face that I feel this strange twinge of familiarity, like I am looking at a part of me reflected in you.

Lately, you have learned the joys of making a mess. You like to pull leaves off of plants, dirt out of pots, cotton balls out of the bag, laundry out of the hamper. Sometimes in the morning while I eat breakfast I put your toy basket on its side and let you remove all the toys. You think this is pretty much the best thing ever. And I think you're pretty much the best thing ever.

Love always,

Mom

sakineh ashtiani

This woman was supposed to die today. She hasn't yet. But Iran isn't saying when or if they will spare her. Only that the West needs to stop interfering with their justice. They say Sakineh is an adulterer (a crime she supposedly committed after her husband's death). For this crime she has alternatively been sentenced to death by stoning, whipping and hanging.

The politics of Iran vs. the West aside, I can't help but feel compelled by this case. There is something so painfully beautiful about this woman's face. About the love that Sakineh's son has for his mother. His tireless campaign to save her, so much so that he is in  jail now too. Her lawyers have been forced to flee the country, and her life is stretched out for yet another day.

 Before Leila was born I was terrified of having a daughter. I was scared of all the things that come with teaching someone how to be a woman. What if I fucked her up? What if I made her feel bad about herself without knowing it? And it's hard to figure out how to be a woman. At least I found it hard. I never knew where the line was on certain things until I'd crossed it, until it was too late and I was in over my head. This somehow, put it all in perspective. So this woman allegedly cheated on her dead husband. Something she confessed to only under torture. In essence, this woman has been convicted of being female. Had she been a man, there would have been no repercussions for her actions. I am still scared for my daughter, and for everyone's daughters because this is so wrong, so tragic and so incomprehensible.

For a more comprehensive overview of what's going on with Sakineh, go here.

If you would like to sign a petition to send to world leaders to try to pressure Iran to save Sakineh go here.

I am not in the habit of trying to get people to take action on political issues, but I can't keep from thinking what if she was my daughter, what would I want people to do? The answer, of course, is that I would want her to be protected at all costs.

first world problems in a time of cholera.

I just read an article about cholera in Hati. My first world problems are all in perspective now. Turns out that going to the laundry mat is a lot better than dying of explosive diarrhea because I was washing my clothes BY HAND in an infected river.

ok seriously, this is awesome.

When presented with pitted kalamata olives or vanilla arrowroot cookies, Leila chose the olives. We are like taste bud twins. Raaaaaad.

change of scene.

If we lived in Nelson, we could own this house. Or this house.

Ask me how over this city I am. I've wanted to leave for so long, it's almost the only constant. Where I want to go changes, but wanting to leave never does. Tom doesn't. He suggested Maple Ridge as a compromise. But Maple Ridge is actually my idea of hell. It's not that I can't stand Vancouver, it's just that I don't feel a connection to it. I don't feel satisfied here. I know that to an extent, the only zen you find in a place is the zen you brought there, but I really think there are certain places in the world where it is easier to tap into that inner peace.

I want Leila to have a yard. I want her to be able to go outside and create imaginary stories that she narrates to herself. I want to live in a house that doesn't share walls with my neighbours. I should be grateful for what I have I know, but I can't shake this feeling of slight unease, like I'm in the wrong place. It's like one of those dreams where you're making lattes at school or taking a bath at work. The actions and locations just aren't meeting up.

seriously?

I actually think I'm going to murder my landlord. We have bedbugs again. The laundry has been out for five days. The people downstairs suck. The bathtub faucet has been leaking for over two months. Oh, and did I mention we have fucking bedbugs again? My right arm is covered in giant, itchy, red bumps.

So aggravating. I don't want to move right now because we're hoping to buy a place in January or February, but I also don't know how much longer I can live like this before I'm reduced to mailing anthrax to the slum lords who run our building. (DEAR GOVERNMENT I'M KIDDING).

I want Leila to live somewhere safe and secure without awful bugs attacking her. So far, she hasn't been bitten, but I don't like thinking that she might. Also, they spray in here so often that I'm sure it can't be good for her. It seems ridiculous that I'm constantly feeding her organic food and we come home to a chemical ridden, bug infested apartment. Oh yeah, there are cockroaches too.

Saying, "at least we have a good view" is really not cutting it for me anymore.

every girl needs a dog

All afternoon Leila crawled around Norton and stole his toy out of his mouth. He would gently wrestle with her for a few minutes while she giggled, then he would give up and go back to his spot on the couch, and Leila would would crawl off in delight with her prize. It's amazing for me to see how much she loves him. He makes her laugh when he licks crumbs off her hands, and every time he comes into her view she flaps her arms and screeches with happiness.

Tonight, I went and visited Otter. Otter has been my family's dog since I was in grade five. Otter is a half golden retriever and half mystery dog. When she first came home I slept on the floor next to her kennel for the first three nights so she wouldn't be scared. Growing up, I was always allowed for go for walks by myself if I took her. She is so long-suffering that once, after an episode where she'd been digging in the backyard so much she'd rubbed all the black off her nose, she let me colour her nose black with a felt. I still feel guilty about it. I have cried away broken hearts into her fur, and fed her my early culinary attempts. She loves almost everyone she meets and is remarkably gentle with little kids. She has always, always been there when I needed her, gently putting her head on my lap and looking up at me with big, confiding brown eyes. She has tenderly snuffled Leila, and has tolerated Norton who always tries to play with her even though she is, "so over that." Once, she played tug-of-war with him over a stick at the beach, but she doesn't like to admit it publicly. It was hard to say goodbye to her tonight because there may not be that many more hellos. Hellos where she come running out to greet me, her tail wagging so hard it almost touches her ears. So Otter, please know that I love you so much, you're a good dog, thanks for everything.

Otter loves me despite my choice of tea cozies, I mean hats.

auntie manders wins at life again

Yesterday we had a family day with Amanda. We had breakfast and then went and hung out with parrots at the Bloedel Conservatory in Queen Elizabeth Park. Then came home and made pie. What a perfect Saturday. Thanks for the photos lady.

eight months

Dear Leila,

today you are eight months old. It's your first thanksgiving this weekend and you've become such a little charmer crawling around smiling at your family.

I feel like we're finally starting to string days together into weeks, months even. Before, when you were brand new, everything was just a series of randomly occurring events. Each day we would wake up and tackle every problem like it was the first time. We could never put together time in a way that made sense. We couldn't learn to repeat days into patterns, into weeks, into time. In those early months I felt like we were floating through a void and all we had to keep us afloat was our love. You clinging to me and me to you, bouncing on the blue exercise ball in a poor attempt to emulate the rhythm of waves.

Now that you can laugh, and play and eat bites of my french toast everything is different. You still reach for me when you need me, but now, that's not all the time.

I love you small human,

Mom

Happy babies know that puppy toys are better than human toys.

city of ghosts

Last night I went out and had a couple of drinks with some friends. It was a nice night out so my friend and I decided to walk home, but it seemed like every street I took lead me further into the past, closer the ghosts of who I was. Even two blocks from my house I heard my name being called and turned around and was face to face with someone I hadn't seen since I was seventeen and going to punk rock shows at Seylynn Hall. And I didn't want to be recognized, didn't want to be reminded. I want to walk to the park with my daughter and not remember that once I sat on those same swings waiting for a boy.

I know it's impractical to pick up and move your life because you have a child, but still. There's part of me that doesn't want to explain that that is who I am now, I just want to be it.

seven months and bit

Dear Leila,

This seventh month with you is pretty wonderful. You're crawling all over the place on your stomach like a baby commando, getting into all sorts of trouble. You especially like to eat plants. I've pulled countless leaves out of your mouth and who knows how many more that I missed. All the house plants currently reside in one hard to reach corner of the apartment. Who knows what we'll end up doing with them...any need a plant  or two?

You've decided that you really like the baby swing at the park, we stop and play on it for a while almost every day. I confess that I get bored of it long before you do. Today after we played on the swings we sat on the grass and ate dried mango. You thought it was super delicious until you discovered grass and dirt and you were all, "woman, why have you been holding out on me, this stuff is delicious!!!"

Your dad and I have moved our bed into the living rooms so you can have your space. In other words, you have become an obnoxiously light sleeper and wake up when one of us rolls over. It's not exactly an interior decorator's dream, but at least we're all getting a bit more sleep.

Your best friend right now is Norton. You laugh and smack your hands onto whatever surface is nearby whenever he walks near you, and given your eating habits, he often waits nearby to catch falling crumbs from whatever you're eating.

You're a pretty wonderful little human being. I am so glad I'm you're mom.

the sound of silence

I have never met anyone of any age who fights sleep like Leila. Tom once pointed out that its like she thinks she's dying every time she tries to fall asleep. As I write this she is screaming in the background, in foreground Simon and Garfunkle are doing a shitty job drowning her out.

She's exhausted, but she won't fall. Not in my arms, not eating. There's seemingly nothing I can do to make her happy right now. You know those fleeting "what if" thoughts you have that you know you would never act on? I've more than once thought of leaving a note on a the door that just says, "She wouldn't stop crying, I'm sorry." And then I would take off and run away somewhere where I could sleep for eight hours straight.

On our honeymoon she fought sleep so much we gave up eventually and decided we'd just have to let her cry it out. We'd get her to sleep, no joke, ten times but every time we put her down or stopped touching her or stopped "shhhhing" her she would wake right back up. Anyway, the hotel was really well sound-proofed. When she was in the bedroom I could barely hear her in the other room. Our house is pretty much the opposite. I feel like I'm right next to her screaming, purple face. I go in every ten or so minutes and tell her I love her and that she's breaking my heart, for all the good it does.

In case you were wondering, this sucks.

turns out those Christians were onto something...

So it turns out that getting married with a baby is really complicated, who knew right? It was a spectacular day and I'm so happy I got to share it with my friends and family. So many people put in a little something extra to make it magic. The food was amazing, my entourage of hair and makeup were wonderful and I couldn't believe it when my friend Kate showed up via seaplane. Kudos to all those who helped with her conspiracy, it really made my day.

The following is brief survival guide to getting married with a baby:

1. Make sure to have one grandmother on hand at all times, two is better.
2. Wear a dress that you can comfortably attach a baby carrier over.
3. Plan on carrying either baby or a bouquet, not both.
4. Find an easy access dress for nursing or you will look like a contortionist while you're trying to feed your baby.
5. Do not put brightly coloured flowers in your hair, this will only encourage your baby to pull at your hair.
6. Do allow saintly relatives to take your screaming child away from you for a few minutes while you eat dinner.
7. Acknowledge that when someone says, "what a lovely dress" they are probably talking about your baby's.
8. Do not expect to be carried over the thresh hold while you are carrying baby and your husband follows behind like a dutiful Sherpa with his arms full of all of the baby's paraphernalia.
9. Do get a two room suite for your honeymoon, this will mean you can actually have a conversation after 8pm.
10. Don't let this list stop you from getting married with a baby, it is still a totally wonderful and rewarding experience.

The latest in cake cutting accessories.

grandad

My father is probably this blog's biggest fan. I get plaintive phone calls when I haven't updated in a few days. It's pretty cute. I'm not the only one who things my dad is awesome though, Leila grins from ear to ear when he comes in the room. Here she's all curled about and about to fall asleep at the breakfast table.

auntie manders

Amanda is getting married tomorrow.

One of my first memories of Amanda is her explaining why she'd broken up with her ex, "he just didn't read you know? I couldn't handle it." I totally knew. The love of your life has to read. You have to be able to talk about books. It's one of the greatest joys in life. I'm so happy Amanda found herself a wonderful book loving, baby friendly, charming eccentric in Matthew.

And for the record, when your friends have a baby take a page out of Amanda and Matthew's book and come over with: enough stew for three meals, rolls, salad and homemade salad dressing, corn chips and dip. Oh and pizza to eat that night. Yeah, they pretty much rule.

Here's to the two of you, your generosity and warmth make the world a kinder place.

oxo

missing: one psychedelic elephant

Leila's blue plush elephant with orange plastic ears is missing! This travesty occurred because I foolishly allowed her to take him on a walk with us after she protested loudly when I removed him from her hands. He is probably somewhere on the sidewalk between our house and Hastings and Nanaimo.

Blue elephant is a delicate creature prone to singing nonsense songs about rainbows and diamonds in the sky with his hippopotamus girlfriend called Lucy. He lives entirely on a diet of baby drool and by now is probably very hungry.


If you see this elephant approach softly he is quite small and easily frightened by non-babies.

Reward offered for his replacement or retrieval. Brethren available at Ikea for 99 cents.

The only known photo of Mr. Blue Elephant with a very sad Leila 

(note that even in the depths of despair she is still clinging to him).

coffee angst

So I've been trying to drink coffee again. Aside from one brief foray months ago when sleep deprivation got the better of me, I've been off it since I found out I was pregnant. I love coffee. But I am currently sitting here three hours after having half a cup and my stomach is twisting itself into the most awfulest of knots and I feel a little bit like a kid who borrowed her friend's ritalin. Ugg, I'm totally going to be one of those decaf drinking moms. Gross.

half a year with you

Dear Leila,

Tomorrow you will be six months old. It really feels like a long time, and not just because I've barely slept. You're really your own person now. You smile all the time and you're laughing more and more everyday. People keep commenting on what a happy baby you are, it's wonderful. You and your dad are getting along better too. I can't tell you how happy it makes me to see the big smiles you give him when he gets home from work.

To say that you were a demanding baby doesn't even come close to explaining what the first six months were like.  But now, now I feel like you genuinely love me. You curl your chubby little arms around me when I'm holding you, and reach out for me when you want to be picked up. You giggle and bury your head in my chest when I tickle you.

These instances don't really do justice to the change that's taken place over the past couple of months.  There were nights when I would stare out at the water after you'd gone to bed wondering how this had happened. How we'd ended up here, the three of us each seemingly lost and inconsolable. But now you wake up burbling to yourself instead of crying, you splash in your bath instead of wailing, and in return we love you with the kind of love you feel when you know it is being returned.

oxo

Mom

days like this one

You know that friend you have you who is ridiculously organized and does everything perfectly? She always has her pictures in nice frames (not in a file on her desktop called "to develop"), her bathroom smells nice, she's impeccably dressed, and everything she cooks looks like it just fell out of Gourmet magazine? Well, when that friend throws you a party, let me tell you, it rules. A lot. I'm lucky enough to have two such women in my life, one of them threw me a baby shower (mad props Spankie) and Kate took over in the wedding department.

Gorgeous hand-painted sign courtesy of the lovely Elise Quarmby, artistic genius.

My dear friend Katie threw me an "unbridal shower" today and it was just lovely. We all got together and had tea and played games, and open presents (even though I told them not to bring any), and then they all kicked my ass at croquet. In my defense, I was winning before I put a very sleepy, grumpy Leila is the front carrier and obstructed my view of the ground. The funny thing was, I noticed a number of my favourite songs playing in the background and thought, "hmm that's funny, how the hell would Kate have got a hold of The Weakerthans, Flogging Molly and Blondie?" Just as I sitting congratulating her in my head she told me that my lovely friend Jeff Wint had made a play list as his contribution to the afternoon. Awesome.

But I digress. It was so nice to spend an afternoon with my favourite girls. It was also lovely to have a whole bunch of other willing hands to hold Lise while I went to the bathroom or opened my presents. I feel very lucky to have such wonderful friends. I know this post isn't really about my baby, but sometimes I get so wrapped up with her I forget the rest of my life and today was such a lovely reminder of the great people I have in it. So thanks everyone, you guys are great.

Kate & Me, oh and that baby too.

(Photos taken by Cindy Bouchard, thanks!!)

solid(ish) foods

I know you're supposed to wait until babies are six months old to feed them solids. However, almost everyone I know has started earlier and their babies seem to be fine. So after Leila made yet another mad grab for my cereal this morning I was all: "fine, I'll get you some." And she was all, "thank god woman, I've only been asking for a month."

I was expecting her to be really bummed on her rice cereal with breast milk combo that looked like something a momma wolf would regurgitate for her young, but Leila was surprisingly into it. She grabbed the spoon right out of my hands and attempted to feed herself, which worked to a degree, but she hasn't yet mastered the refilling concept. We'll have to see how her stomach handles it over the next couple days, but so far she is stoked.

"Woman, I can do it myself!"

"Please, Sir, can I have some more?"

five monthday (only a few days late)

Dear Leila,

This past Saturday you turned five months old! We were at your grandparent's house on Pender Island hence the belated letter. You had fun there though. You've decided that with enough introduction people who aren't me or your dad are ok and are allowed to hold you. We left you alone with them for a couple of hours so we could go canoeing (we would have taken you, but you hate your life jacket and cry the whole time), and I was so worried about you we came home early, but when we got back you were all smiles sitting on your grandad's lap.

It's so strange to see my parents with you and get the smallest of insights into what it must have looked like when I was your age. I feel like I am saving up all these anecdotes that will become the stories of who you were as a baby, stories you will carry around the rest of your life, but that you will have no real memory of.

You're doing all sorts of cool baby things these days. You can sit on your own for a few minutes now. You're also really really excited about your jolly jumper and bounce away happily until you're bored and need to move on to the next activity. You still don't sleep all that well, but we're working on that. You've actually started doing this somewhat cute somewhat frustrating thing where once you're asleep you wake up as soon as I put you down in your crib, so I have to pick you back up and hold you in my arms until your as limp as a noodle and then I can carefully put you back in your own bed. It's a little hard if I need to get something done, but there's something really lovely about your solid warmth in my arms so I try to have a book handy for those extra couple of minutes it takes you to fall deeply asleep.

You've really turned my world upside down little girl, but I love you so much more than I ever knew I could. You're a rose, you're a pearl, you're the spin on my world.

Love you always,

Mom

Sitting with Sophie!

interspecies relations

Norton is currently Leila's very favourite toy. He's not so sure how he feels about this.

i can see for miles and miles

I can see two sets of fireworks right now. The ones in Coal Harbour and the ones right below the Lion's Gate Bridge. Somehow watching fireworks by yourself seems like the lonelinest thing in the world to do.

I didn't know how lonely having a baby would make me. How it would make me tied by this invisible string to my child. Some parents can leave their babies with friends, or relatives. My baby screams if she's with anyone but me and sometimes her dad. But still, mostly me. So I'm at home, alone. Because she's a asleep and the dog is too young to babysit.

past-perfect

The other day our friend Chris was talking about how with Leila he has the sense of being part of someone's past. I know what he means. For her, everything is the future. All of what we are doing now will someday make up the tapestry of her childhood, her past.

I imagine her, at seventeen, beautiful and awkward like teenage girls are, sitting in some boy's car talking about her crazy parents and the shit they did when she was young. I imagine there will be stories of camping trips, rides on the backs of motorcycles, a black and white dog called Norton, travel to strange places, and how her parents didn't have cable but did let her watch the Beatles movie Yellow Submarine as many times as she wanted.

And I hope that the me of her memory loves her as much as the one writing this does.

dear leila,

It's a good thing you're so freaking cute.

oxo

Mom

three steps back

If my grammar, spelling or general sense sucks today, I'm sorry, I got three hours of sleep last night. Tom likes to point out that I'm prone to exaggerations like, "I was up a million times with the baby last night." This time, however, no hyperbole is needed.

I went to bed around 11 last night and Leila woke up when she heard me come in the room so I nursed her. I had just put her back in her own bed when Tom came in at 12 and woke her up again. It's not his fault, she's a light sleeper when she's first asleep, anyway I tried to nurse her again, but she wasn't having any of it, so I tired to rock her and again she wasn't having any of it. She was wide awake and thrashing around. So I turned on the light and hung out with her for a while, she was pretty quiet and docile and pooped twice. Her diaper basically looked like a very large person had blown their nose in it, poor bean. Her insides are obviously still not happy. Anyway, the last time I looked at the clock it was 2:10am. Then she was up again at 3:30am. And then again for real at 5:30am. Between 5:30 and 7 she sort of thrashed around while I lay their half-awake but too tired to do anything about it. At 7 I got up and gave her to Tom (who had wisely chosen the living-room as a place of more uninterrupted rest), and then I slept for another hour until he left for work.

Basically, I want to die. I am so tired I think my brain is going to fall out of my head. You know that weird dissociated feeling you get when you drink too much cough syrup? That's me, all the time. Also, my landlord is renovating the suite downstairs so while I attempt to nap all I'll hear are hammers...

captain cuddles

Finally, some answers. I feel like I've been beating my head against a door with most of  the medical professionals in my life for the past couple of months. I'm sure doctors and public health nurses hear a lot of first time moms freaking out, but on the odd chance that a mother is actually in touch with her child and is clamouring, "something's wrong, something's wrong" over and over again it would be nice if they listened.

I haven't wanted to write about how I think Leila has something 'wrong' with her for a whole bunch of reasons, but mostly because she is, in so many ways, such a wonderful perfect being that it feels wrong to complain about her. That being said, she hasn't been very happy lately and it came to a head last week when she would arch her back and scream like she was being tortured on and of all day. On Friday, after talking to about four different public health nurses on the phone, I made an appointment to see my doctor, however, she was unavailable so I saw another doctor at the practice who was awesome. I want her adopt me and Leila as her patients. I hope she will. At any rate, she listened to my tale of woe about how Leila wakes up every hour during the night, seems to be in pain, and has green poop. She asked a bunch of questions and then told me it sounds like Leila has a protein intolerance. This means I have to cut out my beloved dairy (I love cheese), nuts, shell-fish, and eggs. You know, just most of my diet. I'd already cut dairy out about a week before on the off chance it was the cause of her unhappiness, but I was still eating the rest of it. The good news is by the time most babies are six months to a year old their stomachs have developed to the point where they, and their breast-feeding mothers, can eat these proteins again,

Anyway, this protein intolerance basically leads to inflamed guts which are obviously no fun for a little person, so it's no wonder she was waking up miserable in the middle of the night and never wanted me to put her down during the day. When I'm sick I still want my mom to take care of me, so it seems only reasonable that she would want to be in my arms at all times. It's supposed to take about a month to see results from this new diet, but Leila already seems much happier. This new found peace seems to fragile I am almost scared to say anything about it in fear that giving it a name will make it slip away. For now though, all three of us are happy.

fathers' day

To the two most important fathers in my life, Tom and my dad, I love you both so much. Your daughters are continually blessed by your generosity and love. Thank you, you are so much more important than you can ever know.

rhonda ross

Tom's family is wonderful. Really and truly, I would marry him for his family alone, the fact that he's lovely too is just an added bonus. Rhonda, Tom's mom, just left to go home to Ontario after a ten day visit. I'm not sure I can even explain how sad this makes me.

She stayed with us right after Leila was born and when she left I felt like a limb was missing. Who was going to hold Leila while I showered or tied my shoes? Who was going to bring over apple juice without me even asking? This last week has been so much easier with her around. She went with me to get Leila's shots.  We went grocery shopping together. She held the baby while I cooked supper. She told me I was doing a good job. She rocked the baby to sleep when I could do nothing to calm her. She made me feel like what I was doing was important, and that I was doing it well.

Rhonda and a sleeping Leila in Kelowna this weekend 

after she took her for a walk so I could take a nap.

Rhonda and Ray will be back in August, but in the meantime I feel like I'm back to doing it alone. I know I can call and we can email each other, but it's not the same. There's no way for her to hold the baby over the internet. 

It's not just that Rhonda is helpful and loving to me, she loves Leila more than almost anything on the planet. She likes to watch Leila take a bath and do all her little playing things. She adores her granddaughter so much. It makes me feel like a part of something bigger and better. Tonight we all sat on the bed and Rhonda read Leila Good Night Moon. I didn't think it was possible to love anyone as much as you love your children, but seeing Rhonda with Leila I get the sense that maybe you get to feel that incredible, all-consuming love again when you have grandchildren. 

Today Rhonda was telling me a story about a man who was complaining that although it was sunny right then the weather forecast said it was going to rain, to which she responded, "well isn't it lovely that it is so warm and sunny out right now!" So I guess instead of crying over how much I miss Rhonda, I should be grateful to have such a kind, generous and loving mother in law. And I am. Her love and support keep me going.

four monthday

Dear Leila,

Today you are four months old. We had such a good day today even though it was raining and awful and we didn't leave the house. You've decided it's ok to fall asleep in my arms again which is really nice and it makes nap time so much easier. You've also learned to roll over though you've only done it twice now. You still don't like it much when I put you down, but you do really like lying on the bed cuddling, playing and reading stories. This afternoon we read a book about space that belonged to me when I was little. I think it might have been a little over your head, but you really liked the pictures of the Sun and Mercury.

Right now you think I'm the awesomest thing in the world and that's a pretty special feeling. You smile when I talk and reach out to grab my face when I kiss you. For the record, I think you're the most special thing in the world too. There is absolutely nothing you could do that would make me stop loving you, and I hope you always know that.

xoxoxox

Mom

Afternoon cuddles are the best kind of cuddles.

gypsy baby version 2.0

So we're taking Leila to Kelowna for the weekend to attend aunt Anne's graduation. This might not seem like a big deal, but the last time I took Leila out of town she screamed the entire time. I'm not even kidding. I went to see my parents and I only made it one day because she screamed bloody murder from the moment we got off the ferry to the moment we got back on. Maybe she doesn't like islands? She was only two and half months old then though, and today, today she is four months old! Hopefully, this will make a world of difference.

Flail Blog

Last night, like most nights, Leila woke up at some point just enough to thrash around like a fifteen pound salmon out of water. Tom and I lay there giggling about how much noise she was making. Then Tom turned to me and said, "you should probably change the name of your blog to flailblog.com."

only in dreams

I had this terrible dream last night that I let something bad happen to Leila. As dreams go, the details today are somewhat unclear, but somehow I let her get burned before I understood what was going on. Once I understood it was too late and I knew she was going to die. The people in my dream were trying to convince me it would be alright, I could have another one, one who would be less work, who wouldn't cry as much, but I was trying to pick her up out of the fire and hold her to me and she bravely was trying to smile.  All that was left of her was the dimple of her right cheek as she smiled at me.

I've been haunted by the memory of this dream all day. I've held her solid, warm little body to my chest and inhaled the smell of her skin, her hair. Yet somehow the specter of her pain has hung over me making me feel guilty for something I haven't done. Maybe it is the weight of the unconscious, my fears and doubts I haven't let pass through my lips taking shape in a dream.  As though part of me wished her out of existence. I love her more than anything in the universe. I love her so hard I feel like my chest is going to crack from the internal pressure. But it's not easy going and sometimes, at five in the morning, I've wished I could have it all back the way it used to be.

When I was very small my grandmother used to tell me that she wouldn't trade me for all the rice in China. And upon reflection, I realize that I wouldn't trade Leila for all the late nights out, for all the travels and adventures, for all the glasses of wine, for all the late mornings in the world.

back-seat parenting

I try hard not to back seat parent other peoples' children. It's hard enough when you haven't slept in five million years and you're having however many zillions of challenges with breastfeeding/getting them to sleep/teething without someone offering unsolicited advice. If someone asks, I'll tell them what I think, but I don't just throw my two cents in because I've been a mother for four months. I figure it takes longer than four months of doing just about anything to get good at it, so I should just hold my peace.

Most of my baby friends feel the same way. I've been very lucky to make two good friends with babies a month older than Leila. We went to prenatal yoga together and now we go to mom and baby drop in, and for walks around the neighbourhood. They are lovely, supportive, generous, kind women who I am so grateful to have in my life. We share strategies on dealing with our babies and when asked, say things like, "this worked for me." And it's been so helpful. It doesn't hurt that their babies are absolutely adorable.

That being said, not everyone feels the same way. Some people seem to feel that what they're doing with their child(ren) is the right thing and everyone else should be following them. This makes me ridiculously angry. Mostly, I feel like jumping up and down like a little kid and saying, "that's not fair, I don't do this to you, why are you doing it to me?" Furthermore, I'm not stupid and I love my child. This means I would not do anything to put her in harms way, which I thought people would respect. So in conclusion dear internets, if you think maybe you should tell me I'm doing something wrong, don't. Unless you're a nurse or a mother of three.

Somebody has doubled in weight since birth. Leila is currently fourteen pounds and seven ounces of serious chub.

fanging

The poor little miss can't seem to catch a break these days. She's a drooling mess soaking through bibs and onsies and covering anyone who holds her in slime. I was putting some homeopathic topical stuff on her gums today and I could feel the tiny bit of loose gum on the bottom covering the teeth. They seem so close, yet so dreadfully far away.

Having a baby really brought out my latent hippie tendencies, I mean I had a home birth, I drank weird tasting teas, and I was certainly all against drugging my child. However, the other day I was talking to a woman from La Leche League, who I assume to be about as hippie as they come, (they promote and help women with breastfeeding) about Leila's teething and she was all, "give her infant tylenol." And so I did. And a chorus of Birkenstock wearing angels sang. Seriously though, I give her half the recommended dosage when she starts to wail like a banshee and she chills out and drools pink stuff down her chin and looks like an adorable baby vampire with a hankering for barbie blood. I'll try to take a picture next time. In the meantime, here is Leila chilling in her Jolly Jumper, and yes that's a drool bubble on her lower lip.

One big thumbs up for jumping.

how nice

My wonderful aunt and uncle tell this joke they picked up when they were sailing in the states. It goes like this: two women are sharing are recovery room in a hospital after delivering their babies. Woman number one, we'll call her Charlotte, turns to her neighbour and says with a Southern drawl,"well now, this is my third child and I just wonder what my husband will give me as a present, for my first child he gave me a diamond neckless..."
And the second woman, Jane, says, "how nice," but Charlotte just carries on with her monologue, "and for my second child he gave me a Rolls Royce, and I just can't imagine what he'll be giving me for this one, maybe that little sailboat I've always wanted..."
Jane nods her head and says again, "how nice."
Charlotte looks over and Jane and says, "this is your second child, right? What did your husband give you for your first?" To which Jane responds, "my husband sent me to finishing school."
"Oh," says Charlotte, a little perplexed, "and whatever did you learn there?"
"Well," says Jane, "I used to say, 'fuck you,' and now I say, 'how nice.'"


At any rate, I just read the blog of a man with a three month old daughter, who claims his baby only cries for two reasons, because she's hungry or because she's sleepy, and I found myself thinking, "how nice."

captain cranks

A little while back, I started referring to Leila and Captain Cranks when she would get in a mood where she needed to be constantly bounced, rocked, moved around and etc. Those times where I felt like I was doing everything I could to keep hysterics at bay, and I was just barely winning.

Right now, I feel like the Captain is winning. Leila used to fall asleep in my arms at nap time. I would bounce her or rock her and she would, after a few tears, drift off happily. But I can't do that anymore. I need new tricks. It seems like every time you figure our how to be a parent the game changes. For once, I'd like to be ahead of the curve.

Tom took the day off work today, due to a mounting concern I might throw myself off the balcony. I'm kidding by the way, but I had a rough day yesterday. I really had no idea how hard having a baby would be on the relationship. I guess I really should have since being utterly sleep deprived tends to take a toll on any relationship. It took a little while but I think we're at a place where we're working at as a team rather than as two clueless individuals. I turned to him tonight and said, "you know, I think if I was doing this with anyone else I would have killed them by now." Am I not a true romantic?

things you like at three and half months

Today a friend asked me what Leila likes. I thought this was a really lovely question since most of the time babies are seen more as unreasonable objects rather than as very small people with definite opinions. The following is a list of things Leila likes in case you want to know, and in case she wants to know when she's much older and reading this long love letter to her I'm calling a blog.

In no particular order:

1. Rubbing noses with me
2. Her giraffe Sophie
3. Chewing on receiving blankets
4. Cooing
5. Blowing bubbles
6. Going for walks
7. Staring at the bird mobile Auntie Ashlee made
8. The Norton
9. Dad
10. Eating

Last night Leila laughed for the first time, it was pretty much the best thing ever.

eight minutes to freedom

When Leila was brand new she would sleep no where else other than plastered to my side. Even if she was fast asleep and we tried to move her to her cradle she would instantly wake up. So it was much to my surprise that after another horrible night of sleep Tom put her in her cradle in the living room and after crying for eight minutes (during which he held me to the bed so I wouldn't go to her) she fell asleep and stayed asleep. Since then, she's only been waking up once a night usually around 3am to eat, then she wakes up and 6:30 and comes back to our bed for cuddles and another snack. Sure, I'm not basking in sleep, but this is so much better than waking up every 30 minutes between 3 and 6am. I almost feel like a normal human.

It's strange in a way to let go like this. Before I had her I read a lot of stuff about "attachment parenting" or the gospel according to Dr. Sears, where it sounds like, given a choice, babies would rather sleep with their parents for ever and ever until they were fifteen. Leila certainly doesn't want to sleep next to us anymore though. For a while she did, but now she's far too grown up for that. I feel like I sleep more deeply now that I'm not always unconsciously aware of her in the bed. I'm still in tune with her, I just don't wake up every time she inhales.

Even now that I'm grown up and I have a daughter of my own, nothing hurts more than having my mother yell at me. Like Robert Munsch said, "forever and ever, my baby you'll be."

the good, the bad and the sleepy

When I was in high school my dad used to wake me up every morning by saying, "there's good news and there's bad news, which do you want first?" I would croak something about "the good" and he would answer, "well the good news is that it's morning, the bad news is that you have to get up."

Right now I feel like that. The good news is, I've reintroduced coffee to my life. Yes, the caffeinated kind.  The bad news is I need it desperately. I didn't drink coffee throughout my pregnancy, and except from a stolen sip from Tom here and there, I haven't had any since she was born. This morning I sat down and drank a whole cup, and it was magnificent. I feel like I could conquer the world. I was actually going to go for a walk but Tom went out with my keys by accident. I feel like it can't  be worse for Leila than having her mother who is so sleep deprived she can't function normally without bursting into tears.

The bad news is that Leila has decided she does not need sleep. The past couple of nights she has refused to go to sleep before 10pm and then has slept for a couple of hours and has woken up thrashing around like a mad baby. Rinse and repeat every half an hour. Last night Tom drove her to Squamish and back so I could get some sleep. She was hysterical because she'd only taken one short nap and had refused all my attempts to get her to sleep. Around 8pm I was holding her on the bed rocking her back and forth sobbing, "I just want you to be happy baby, I love you so much, please just be happy." Fortunately, Tom stepped in told me to go to bed, picked her up and took her down to the car.

She did wake up in the middle of the night again, somewhere around 1am. She was kicking and thrashing and trying to nurse, but then pulling her head away. I tried swaddling her and she just wriggled out of it like an pissed-off caterpillar. I've never been angry with her before. I always manage to divert my frustration onto poor, long-suffering Norton or Tom or a pillow.When she is freaking out I will snap at one of them, but last night in the middle of the night I was furious with her. I picked her up and I was taking her out of our room and I was going to put her in the cradle in the living room and leave her there even if she cried. I didn't care. As soon as I put her down in the cradle (and woke up a bit more) I realized what was going on, she was drawing her legs up to her chest and then kicking them out like she does when she's gassy. My anger evaporated and I scooped her up and took her over to the couch where I held her on her stomach and patted her back until she was gas free. Then I made some "stomach calming tea" (fennel, cammomile, and peppermint) that is suppose to pass through my milk into her stomach and help her relax. After an hour or so she'd pooped, eaten and was feeling much more pleased with life. I swaddled her up and again and brought her back to bed, where she fell asleep instantly.

It's hard somehow not feel angry when I don't know why she's upset. I would do anything for her, but I can't  do anything if I don't know what to do. Yesterday I missed Tom's mom so much. My mom is stuck in Iceland waiting for a flight home and there was seemingly no one I could call for advice on what to do. My friends with babies are all in the same boat as me, figuring out what works and what doesn't, and I really needed some sage grandmotherly advice. Even if it was just to tell me that, "this too shall pass."

The even better news is Tom's mom is coming for a visit in less than a month. When I am awake at night and can't fall back to sleep I count down the days until her next visit. Twenty-two, in case you were wondering.

A rare moment these days.

three monthday

Dear Leila,

Today you are three months old, although it feels like you've been around forever and ever. I can no longer picture a life without you. You rule our house like a very small tyrant, demanding attention, cuddles and bounces. You especially like it when your dad or I lifts you under your armpits so you're horizontal with the floor and make you fly around. You've also discovered your hands and you love sucking on them, pulling your soother out of your mouth, pulling my hair and playing with the spinning thing on your bouncy plastic baby immobilizer (I think its called an 'exersaucer' but I think that sounds dumb).

Yesterday was my first mother's day and you very cleverly told your father to make me french toast with strawberries and bananas. Then you got your dad to build be some planter boxes so I can grow veggies and flowers on the deck. So thoughtful of you. Today we planted, basil, dill, carrots, cucumbers and tomatoes. You started crying at one point because it was windy and when I went over to fix your hat you got very muddy.

Everything I've read says the first three months are the hardest, and honestly, I'm hoping they're right. You're wonderful with your grins and your coos and you sleep giggles but the waking up every half hour and crying for no reason part is difficult. All that being said, I love you more every day that I spend with you and I'm so very glad you came to our house.

Love you always,

Mom

re-introduction to the wild

Last night I went out. By myself. For longer than fifteen minutes. And had a beer.

I put the baby to sleep at around 9:30 and then sat on the couch with Tom feeling nervous and giddy like I was about to do some naughty. The conversation went something like this.

Me- She'll be alright, right?

Tom-Yes.

Me-You'll call if she wakes up right?

Tom-Sure.

Awkward pause.

Tom-You should get going if you're going to go.

Me-Yeah I guess so.

So I made the five minute walk around the corner to the Princeton to see my friends' band Bad Fate. And once I got over my initial paralyzing worry about Leila I had a good time. I talked about things other than babies. I giggled. I got to hang out with my two former room mates, Ben and Aaron, who I love more than most men. And when I got home, Leila was still asleep.

Eons ago, in the house of the rising sun with Benjuan and Aaroncho, ok Aaron's paint shop pro'd in.

This was our "album cover"

postcolonial angst

There's a native family that lives on the ground floor of my building. It's hard to tell exactly how many of them live in the one bedroom apartment as there seems to be a constant stream coming and going through the broken living room window. Yesterday, as I was putting the girl into the car, I counted five adults and seven children getting out of a purple minivan with an Ed Hardy steering wheel cover. The youngest, who couldn't have been more than three was wearing only a diaper, no shoes. I noted this mass exodus from the van with mild amusement. Sure it's not safe, but it's not really the end of the world, and I'm educated. I've read Frans Fanon. I have a lot of postcolonial guilt that I don't know where to put, so when I'm presented with situations like this I try to blame myself, not them.
Later that evening, Tom and I were getting ready to go out, putting the car seat in the car. Our building's parking lot is at the back by the dumpster, and the aforementioned family's window backs onto the parking lot.  There were three little boys belonging to the family playing on some discarded (and probably bedbug ridden) mattresses by the dumpster. They were four or five years old, none of them were wearing shoes, their faces were streaked with dirt and snot and they kept finding these huge rocks to hurl at each other. Eventually, one of them went flying off the mattress and crashed on the pavement and burst into hysterical tears. After what seemed like an eternity, some adult emerged through the broken window and picked him up, but not before Tom had had the chance to lean over to Leila and say, "you're not allowed to play with those boys." 

I couldn't say that I disagreed. Almost all of my wanted to pick them up and throw them into a hot bath and hug them, but at the same time, I don't advocate taking children away from their families. Their culture. The only thing I've really learned about babies in my three months of being a mother is that kids need a lot of love, an infinite, seemingly insatiable amount of love, and from what I could see, those kids weren't getting it. As we were pulling out of the parking lot I was reminded of the line from Ezra Pound's "The Garden" where he talks about, "the filthy, study, unkillable infants of the very poor. / They shall inherit the earth."

happy birthday aven

Today is Aven's birthday party, though her actual birthday is May the fourth. After Leila was born other people's babies became just that, other people's babies. They were still cute and cuddly, but they weren't as cute and cuddly and wonderful as mine. Aven is different. I love Aven, and watching her grow up this year has been an absolute joy. If there was no Aven there would be no Leila.

Tom and I met Aven one spring day last year when she was just two weeks old. We had been fighting and I almost didn't come with him, but I really do like babies so I relented. I rode on the back of Tom's motorcycle out to Burnaby with him. It was the May long weekend. I was going to visit my dad to get away from Tom for a while, to be alone and figure some things out. Aven was beautiful, cuddly and sweet. We stayed for longer than we probably should have now that I think about it. On our way back to the bike Tom grabbed me and held me whispered in my ear, "make me one of those."

Tom came with me to Pender Island that weekend instead of me going alone. Forty weeks and one day later, Leila was born.

Aven and me, the day we first met.

the me I was before you

There's a picture of my mother at seventeen in an old photo album. She has long blond hair parted in the middle and sad, khol lined eyes. When I was young, I used to stare it for hours. I knew that the woman in the picture was my mother, but at the same time she was so different, so utterly foreign from the woman I knew. It was hard for me as a child to understand that my mother had had a life before, had been a person before I existed. Who was this blond haired beauty with sad gray eyes? What did she want from life? Who had taken the picture?

I wonder now what picture Leila will stumble across of me and look at with shock bewilderment, wondering who was this woman before she loved me?

In Revelstoke at 19.

cradle music

It's been a hard week. I took the girl to my parents and she basically screamed the whole time. Came home for the funeral on Saturday which was beautiful but hard. Leila's asleep right now and I got to do 40 minutes of yoga and brush my hair, and compile a play list for her so I'm not forever scrolling through itunes or trying to put the needle down on a record with her in my other arm. Here's to a better, music filled, week.

In no particular order:

Main Man, T-Rex (when singing along the lyrics are usually changed to baby instead of man)
Scarborough Fair, Simon and Garfunkle
Heart of Gold, Neil Young
Harvest, Neil Young
Hallelujah, Leonard Cohen
Hey Jude, The Beatles
My Friends for Mayor, Animal Names
I'll be your Mirror, The Velvet Underground & Nico
Family Tree, TV on the Radio
Lullaby, Tom Waits
Sloop John B, The Beach Boys
When You Awake, The Band
My Favourite Chords, The Weakerthans
Forever Young, Bob Dylan

Suggestions and contributions encouraged and appreciated.

pleasure cruise

People keep asking me if I'm enjoying motherhood. This question, however legitimate, only really has one right answer. You can't say, "no I fucking hate it, I'm overwhelmed, tired and I want to go get drunk, but I can't because she eats every hour." I do like motherhood. I like how my daughter responds to my presence, how she calms at my voice and smiles when I tickle her tummy, I like our afternoon naps together when we curl up facing each other and snuggle. It seems like a funny question in some ways too, because it's not like a bad haircut you can grow out and change. It's not even like adopting an animal you don't have time for. Now, and for the rest of my life, I will be a mother. It's not really about liking it or not liking it's about doing the best I can.

Tom bought me a motorcycle when I was eight and half months pregnant. I thought it was hilarious. When would I ever have the time or energy to learn to ride? Yet last night I found myself dreaming about riding it. I felt so free like I was flying. I would like to have the time to learn, right now it feels like I never will, but I know it won't always be like this. Leila won't  always need me so hard. She will learn to find others almost as reassuring as me. And then I'll be jealous she's not wholly mine any longer. Or maybe I won't....

calming stormy waters

Yesterday afternoon Tom and I went to Amanda's. To grieve? To sit around? To do whatever it is you do when you're shocked and saddened by the sudden randomness of life.

While we were there, Ryan Wagner called Amanda to ask her why we weren't at Krista's, where the many other sad folks had gathered to share stories and soak themselves in beer and cigarette smoke. I didn't felt like I was close enough to Devon have a legitimate reason to be there; I thought I would be intruding. Also, I've partied at that house enough to know it's not really the sort of place you bring a baby. But we went anyway, we thought she'd see how long she could hold out. When we pulled up to the house on East 15th, there were the saddest looking people I'd ever seen sprawled over the lawn and down the front steps that we've all sat on million times. The air was warm and smelled like spring and it seemed that all the dogs in East Van, including Norton, were there.

It felt good and right to be there in the end. No one looked at me and told me shouldn't be there. Rather it felt like we were adding to the collective love and sorrow, the madness of a million tears and the somewhat hysterical laughter that seems to accompany deep sadness. It was good to remember Devon in our own way. The sadness came in waves. We laughed and then someone would put on a sad song and we'd all hold each other like the world was ending and cry. Leila had her little mohawk patted by more people than I can count. I'm sure they didn't wash their hands first, but she's fine. She did them more good than the harm she received. And I noticed something interesting happening, every time I would retreat to the living room to feed her I would be the only one there, sitting on the world's most perfect nursing chair with no arms and straight back, and people would drift in and say, "oooh a baby," so by the time I was done feeding her the room would be full of people. People talking about babies. Talking about one of the million dogs that were there. Talking about Devon.

across the great divide

Yesterday Tom dressed Leila in her Ramones onsie for Devon. Said he'd been in a Ramones cover band when he was young. It seemed like all we could do in the face of great uncertainty and sorrow.

We miss you DC.

navigation equipment failure

I took Leila to the doctor today to get her two month shots. I clearly stated this to the receptionist when I called in the make the appointment. When I arrived however, I was told that I would have to go to the public health nurse, because they don't give shots since it makes babies hate going to the doctor. Awesome.

Leila was sleeping peacefully when we arrived, but I had to get her naked to weigh her which made her scream. Then she had a full physical exam which made her scream more. She was hungry, she was confused, and she was naked and cold. I could feel myself getting hot and anxious as she turned purple.

Then, with Leila still whimpering in my arms, the doctor listened to my heart as I had had a heart murmur in pregnancy. I no longer have a heart murmur, but after listening to it she exclaimed, "is your heart rate always so fast?" She was so concerned that she took my legendarily good blood pressure, which was also high. She ordered some tests and talked about a EKG to monitor my heart. I almost laughed in her face. It seemed so obvious to me that the reason my heart rate and blood pressure were through the roof was because I am intrinsically linked to my child right now. Over the months our chemical and physical dependency on each other will wane but right now, when she's upset, I'm upset, and vice versa. At this time we are physiologically linked. I thought that after I gave birth I would go back to feeling like my old self, and I'm sure eventually I will. But right now, I am still sharing my entire self with my child, so it's not surprising really that that includes my heart.

When I got Leila to the car and nursed her, ignoring my doctors orders to go straight to the clinic downstairs for blood-work, I could feel my pulse slowing, the flush leaving my cheeks. She was calm and happy, and so was I.