Funny

Okay, so we're nursing to sleep at naptime and Olive is nodding off, eyes rolled back in her head, well on her way to dream land, when boom! she pikes, pulls off the boob while sucking in a rattling Vader breath, which she then expels with an "eye-yeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" topped with a giant raspberry, a grin, and a return to the boob.

I tell you, this kid, she is funny.

My yarn is ready! My yarn is ready! Picture tap dancing mice traipsing across my heart. Yee. haw.

This is what I call funny, yo. In a grown up way.

Garden Terror

These were all taken in our yard in the 5 minutes before Olive decided that grass was terrifying and that Doug and I being one step away from her was one step too far. 'Cuz that grass is damn scary.

Accomplish some yard work? Dream on suckas, dream on.

Irritated

Olive has discovered her free will and is doing her best to assert herself whenever I do something to piss her off. Which is frequently.

She makes this squinched up face and yells/screams/grabs/kicks/whines.

Things that irritate her:

• hard poos (not really my fault)
• taking away things she's playing with (say, a ceramic dish)
• not giving her the spoon while she's eating
• eating solids delivered by said spoon (time for finger food?)
  
• wiping her face
• wiping her boogey nose
• changing her diaper
• leaving her alone on the floor
• leaving her alone in the bed
• removing my nipple from her mouth
• trying to put my nipple in her mouth when we are in public or with others (she can only focus on nursing for any length of time if she is a) falling asleep, b) asleep, or c) so famished she might perish without it)

I am sick. My theory is that the cold came because I actually got some sleep three nights in a row (only 4 or 5 wake ups per night - it was divine). Doug thinks I'm crazy. This is not the first time he's told me that.

We played with our friends Charlie & Etta this afternoon. A good time was had by all.

Non-toxic

Because I love you.

Melange

Oi, the wee babe is sick. She's been fighting a cold for a week now, and has now evolved into a gooby coughing mess. Great green gobs of snot drip down her face, and if I'm not on it in seconds (maybe a fraction of a second), she is rubbing her nose and her eyes and there is a melange of body fluids EVERYWHERE. Or she just eats it. Mmmmmm. All of those times I grossed my mum out by chewing my toenails are coming back to haunt me.

Yesterday I impulse purchased myself a (huge) skein of Fleece Artist Country Mohair in Rainforest. It is SO beautiful. I had no idea what I would do with it at the time, but I've since dreamed up the plan for a gorgeous pillow for my couch. Yummy. There was another woman there puchasing 6 skeins who was talking about creating a coat based on her grandfather's oriental rug. Ya.... me too. 'Cuz I would know how to do that.

I am an obsessive list maker. I make huge lists, then I accomplish almost nothing on it. But dammit, that list will prevent me from forgetting anything that I shouldn't. There are currently things on the big list (living on the fridge) that are months behind. We missed the RESP date. I haven't called my cousin. The car hasn't been cleaned since we purchased it. And why the heck would I want to read that boring insurance policy anyways? I'd much rather attend to the pressing business of nursing/playing/feeding/walking/dishes/laundry/taking a break. Getting the bathroom cleaned on a semi-regular basis is a triumph - actually making a will is beyond my ken.

And really, let's be honest. My brain is a sieve. Random thoughts and ideas trickle through my mind, like snowflakes on a warm day, only to melt the moment they make contact with anything else. So, the lists.

Uh, what was the point?

I finally finished Doug's birthday hat - photo forthcoming (must convince him to let me take a picture), and mostly finished the baby sweater (need some wooden buttons) which will be blogged about on Handmaiden's blog because, evidently, it is a near perfect example of what Mme. Handmaiden refers to as "the sweet spot" in hand dyed yarn.

Crafty goals (I feel a list coming on...):

• clean & oil sewing machine
• purchase fabric to make bibs
• start above mentioned pillow
• practice embroidery

And her first word is mama!

There is some debate around our house about whether it is indeed a legitimate first word (does she know what she's saying or is it just an easy sound?), but I attest that when a baby says 'mamamamama' when she has just woken from a nap or wants a boob or wants to be picked up, she knows what she's saying. Or she knows that this sound is an effective tool for getting what she wants, all of which revolve around me.

I deserve the first word!

My poor babe is sick. Yesterday evening involved some spraying of saline, some resistance to spraying, some hating of the humidifier, some biting of mummy's precious nips (6 times now, I'm keeping track. There's nothing like a nip on the nips to make a mummy rethink her idea of nursing until her babe self-weans. Oi. I don't put my foot down about much yet with this monkey, but biting and stealing glasses are off limits). Anyways, I was so sleep deprived and upset about the biting that I passed out on the couch (after a rant at my sweet husband - because you can't rant at the sick baby) and left Doug and Olive to play until 11 o'clock at night. At which point I returned to duty and would you believe that she slept for 3 STRAIGHT HOURS? Sweet Jesus, why can't she do that all of the time?

Anyways, small blessings and all that.

Oh, and I got out a great book on embroidery to guide me in my refurbishing of all of my ancient, stained clothes - because why buy new when Olive will just grind her smut covered jowels all over it, causing me to cry? So, embroidery and applique, here I come.

Hearts of gold

When I'm having a hard time, like these days, when Olive is waking up every 45 minutes or so, when she is inconsolable if anything other than the boob is offered, when she whines and clings to my neck, when I am so sleep deprived that I feel wrapped in fuzz, slow, exhausted, short tempered and overwhelmed. When I don't know why she's acting like this because how could teething be that bad when there are no teeth? And oh God, is it going to be like this for the next two years until she gets her molars? And is it going to be even worse when she starts crawling? When I wonder if I will ever sleep 5 hours in a row again. When I wonder what it would be like to read a book before bed, then go to sleep and not wake up until the NEXT DAY. When all of these things are happening, I just have to drink 3 cups of coffee in a row and look at these sweet girls. Girls who love their mamas. Girls who love their mamas milk. Girls who love to snuggle their mamas all night long. Ah, these girls - they're going to be the most amazing Nobel prize winning scientists who find the cure forHIV/AIDS and global climate change, who are also very talented painters/actors/dancers/mimes who've also won Olympic medals while leading rich family lives with kind and loving long term partners and happy children. Or they'll be strippers. With hearts of gold.

The bald cutie is Etta Mae, my best friend's daughter, and Olive's best friend by association. Or so I say.

Comme ci, comme ca

On the minus:

• Olive woke up so many times last night that my boobs were empty skin sacks and my mouth was a parched desert.

• One of the times she was awake she decided to pull my hair and kick me in the back like I was a pony she was riding, then to roll over, jam her arm in a crevice and cry. Repeat until mummy either a) loses her mind, or b) lets you gnaw on her skin sack until you pass out.

• I'm tired, flabby, hungry, self-indulgent, unmotivated and pimply.

• Pre-Olive I read at least a book a week, most often award-winning fiction and non-fiction, as well as all of the Saturday Globe and Mail. Now I read the Style and Review sections, the occasional bit of a baby book and US magazine. Oh yeah, and blogs. I can't handle anything about global climate change, the war, Afganistan, the political right, religious zealotry, child rape, child labour, child soldiers or child abuse. Which seems to be the bulk of the news these days. The world is fucked. And I brought a baby into it. It makes me want to run away to a small commune where people actually care about the planet and each other. So message to everyone else on the planet - SHAPE UP.
  

On the plus:

• Etta found Olive's belly button.
  

• Olive slumped over blowing zerberts on her highchair.
  

• Olive chewing her first ever piece of toast (picture a cow chewing cud).
  

• Olive wrapping her arms around my neck and 'kissing' my shoulder when I carry her.

• Olive's 'my teeth are killing me' face. It's really cute.

• Eating chocolate and watching Survivor and American Idol consecutively while knitting cashmere. Is that dirty?

I'm amending my earlier post - Olive isn't a crappy sleeper. She's a great sleeper. I'm just crappy at teaching her to sleep any other way than on my boob because I'm TIRED people, and when you're as tired as I am, you are not going to spend an hour multiple times a night trying to get your daughter, who is screaming like you're piercing her eyeballs with pins, to fall asleep some other way, when she'll go right back to sleep as soon as you put your boob in her mouth. So, for the record, it's not Olive, it's me.

Shhhh... don't wake the baby

Olive is not a sleeper.

From the beginning she didn't nap well unless she was on me or Doug. And from about 10 weeks on she has been waking frequently at night to nurse. She does not like the crib. She does not like rocking, shushing, cuddling or vibrating. She likes nursing and sleeping in contact with her mum and dad. I think that there was a brief moment in time when she had amazing naps and only woke up twice a night, but it was so long ago that I now question if it was in fact just a dream.

When Olive hit 6 months old I stopped fighting it. I cancelled my holds on sleep training books at the library, I put away the sleep logs, I tuned out the messages to let her cry it out. I let go of the myths, the pressure, the "shoulds". We brought her into bed with us full-time, with no plans to get her out. And since then she has been so much happier. And I don't feel as tired. And she's been napping for two hours in a row with no nursing back to sleep after half an hour (!). And she's been sleeping two or three hours at the beginning of the night, before she starts her waking every 1.5 hour stint.

And I've been knocking on wood.

Now it would appear she's regressing back to her old ways. Her "I need mummy all of the time" ways. And I think I'm okay. Because this is such a short time. And this is who she is.

So here's hoping for some sleep, and lots of peace.

Firsts are a'flyin'

Olive flipped over in her sleep last night, leading to her first ever tummy sleep. I'd been told that she might sleep better (a.k.a. longer) like that, but alas, she stuck to her 1.5 hour routine. Now the fear of night crawling sets in. Oi, we're going to have to decide what we're going to do about her sleeping without us at the start of the night.

We took our first trip to the swimming pool today along with Jana and Etta. The girls were goggle eyed when they saw all of the kids! and the grown ups! and the water! and the noise! There was some initial trepidation, but the whole adventure ended with the two of them standing on a little ledge splashing water and squealing as they watched people go by in the "river". Overall, I'd say it was a hit. If only we could have snapped a photo!

Her poops are now insanely stinky. I actually thought that the smell of manure wafting into the car earlier was the scent of her poopy bum, but no, it was just spring. They are so profoundly yucky that Doug was lobbying to just toss a brand new sleeper that managed to get covered in a thick spackle of poop on the weekend, but I put down my foot. Guess who ended up cleaning it up 3 days later when it was discovered at the bottom of the laundry basket?

I wouldn't give it up for ANYTHING.

Two things at once

We walked to our stroller fitness class today in spite of the rain, and once again I misjudged the weather. We ended up getting home soaked, freezing and tired - but Olive was magically happy once we were inside, and we spent some time exploring the wonders of a lid (a lid! it's so chewy!) inbetween bites of lunch (only cold foods these days to soothe those sore gums).

Then we laid in bed and nursed and played her new favourite game. Olive covers her face with her Northern Lights blanket and looks at the light shining through while wiggling her hands and hyperventilating. Then she pulls down the blanket and looks over at me with a giant grin of delight on her face. Then she nurses. Then we start all over again.

This fascination with points of light makes me think that maybe she'll be an astronomer. Or maybe she'll just really love laying in the dark and looking up at the stars.

I'm kind of torn on the whole Valentine's Day front - one part of me thinks it's a crock of poo pseudo-holiday designed by card companies to make money, and the other part of me thinks about how fun it was as a kid to make cookies and Valentines and to tell people how much you loved them.

So today, I am thankful for my thoughtful, loving, smartass, selfless husband who always supports and loves me. And for our beautiful little monkey, who amazes us more everyday as she continues to blossom.