For something so tiny, babies need a lot of stuff. I suppose I could resolve to carry my baby in a sling forever, thus eliminating the need for a stroller and car seat, but I do plan on travelling with Baby, and so the stroller and car seat will remain firmly in place on the ‘Need’ list.
I have four lists. Need. Want. Have. Buy later.
Under the ‘N’ for ‘Need’ is
Car seat
Stroller
Cover for car seat (I live in frigid McDamp land) – possibly to be usurped by a blanket.)
Headrest for car seat (checklists tell me these are essential, but don’t they come with car seats anyway?)
Baby Bjorn or Snugli (My heart is set on a Bjorn – used one, loved it – but my budget calls for a Snugli.)
Diaper bag (can’t I just use a regular overnight/carry-all bag?)
Swaddling blankets
Pacifiers (Hate. Hate. Accepting that I will probably learn to live with.)
Onesies and sleepers
Socks and hats
Bottles/brush/containers for milk (I have breastfeeding plans, but I know this whole gig is up to Baby, once s/he gets here)
Bibs (really? For a newborn?)
Nipple cream/ointment
Nursing wrap (again – can’t I just use a blanket?)
Baby shampoo and wash (My own shampoo is unscented organic – will this do?)
Grooming kit (ha! “Groom” a baby? Don’t you groom dogs and horses?)
Ear and rectal thermometers (I am a temperature-taking NINJA (read: a mite obsessed), I will definitely need these)
Baby sunscreen
Teething ring
Nasal bulb (ew ew ew. Do the bulbs fill up with…. Snot?)
Diapers
Wipes
Diaper rash cream
1st aid kit
infant meds (ie: baby Tylenol and gripe water)
laundry detergent (okay, I have this already, but here’s a reminder for me to pick some more up next time I’m at the grocery store, because I’m thisclose to being out and I still have to wash the cloth diapers a few hundred times.)
Bassinet sheets
Dresser (for baby clothes and changing table)
W-A-N-T spells Want
Diaper sprayer (cool cool cool!)
Fuzzi Bunx pocket diapers
Happy Heini’s pocket diapers
AMP diapers
Baby Bjorn
Maternity Jacket from Japanese weekend. (Love it. Love it so bad.)
On Layaway (a.k.a. Buy Later)
Crib sheets
High chair
Bumbo
Breast pump
Baby gate
Toys
Potty stuff
Step stool (love those things)
Own it – Have it
Baby bathtub (unexpectedly gifted from the new parents in the apartment above my office - they had two)
24 prefold diapers and 6 covers (purchased)
Cradle/bassinet (made by my grandfather for my cousin 30 years ago)
6 onesies in various sizes (gifts/thrift purchases)
2 outfits for 6-mo and up (gifts)
Rubber duck (gift)
1 pair socks (gift)
Mittens for 2-year-old (gift)
Hotslings sling (sized too small)
Two gliders and one rocking chair (scattered between houses)
Crib and mattress (Cousin's hand-me-downs)
Absorbent breast pads (cotton. love 'em. Using them already.)
Hmm, based on the size of the Baby Stuff pile in my spare room, I thought I had more than that. Thank goodness for Alpha Mom’s baby registry and a dozen other baby checklist sources. I love lists. I like CHECKlists even more.
While we're on the subject, here's a few more for the Need list (but not associated with Baby):
Washer and dryer
9-ft curtain rod
Curtains
New glasses
New UV lamp for my water filter
A well (not that pond water is bad, just that it's not good, either)
2 new car tires
Railings for my front and back decks (there are currently none. Scaree!)
Magic cleaner that cleans my shower and bathtub every day (Pond water is notorious for staining)
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
One more advantage I have over my grandmother? A baby shower.
The thought of a baby shower stresses me out to the max, because I dislike being the centre of attention, and I especially dislike accepting gifts that people spent too much money on (and baby stuff is notoriously overpriced), and what if I unwrap a gift a positively loathe? How can I possible fake genuine appreciation? Oh god, the thought of a shower just works me up.
But two things changed.
1. Knowing that we can't possibly afford everything, and really I ought to take all the advice and equipment I can get.
2. Reading about a fabulous baby shower idea, one that made me immediately grab the phone and dial my mother, commandeering her into arranging: a Book baby shower! Where the guests all bring books for the baby! So Baby can have a fully stocked library right from the get-go! Now this is a baby shower I can live with.
So the baby-book shower is in.
Unfortunately I know a regular-type shower is inevitable (probably three of them, considering the location of my, my family and Man's family), and now I'm toying with the idea of registering for gifts.
I was adamant about not registering, until my cousins exalted the registry over Christmas dinner - and how easy it is to buy gifts when someone has a registry. Problem is, I live in BFNW (Butt-F-NoWhere), and the only registries I can take advantage of are online, or two hours away in the Big City.Given my rural roots and the prevalence of dial-up Internet (yes, dial-up) in this neck of the woods, I'm not inclined to pass on a URL with the invites.
On the other hand, I've seen what Walmart tries to pass off as cloth diapers around here.
On the third hand, I hear that Mother-to-be shouldn't actually have anything to do with shower planning, and therefore I can stop stressing abotu ettiquette of registries and invitations and entertaining and start having nightmares about how many clothespins I can hold in one hand instead.
But two things changed.
1. Knowing that we can't possibly afford everything, and really I ought to take all the advice and equipment I can get.
2. Reading about a fabulous baby shower idea, one that made me immediately grab the phone and dial my mother, commandeering her into arranging: a Book baby shower! Where the guests all bring books for the baby! So Baby can have a fully stocked library right from the get-go! Now this is a baby shower I can live with.
So the baby-book shower is in.
Unfortunately I know a regular-type shower is inevitable (probably three of them, considering the location of my, my family and Man's family), and now I'm toying with the idea of registering for gifts.
I was adamant about not registering, until my cousins exalted the registry over Christmas dinner - and how easy it is to buy gifts when someone has a registry. Problem is, I live in BFNW (Butt-F-NoWhere), and the only registries I can take advantage of are online, or two hours away in the Big City.Given my rural roots and the prevalence of dial-up Internet (yes, dial-up) in this neck of the woods, I'm not inclined to pass on a URL with the invites.
On the other hand, I've seen what Walmart tries to pass off as cloth diapers around here.
On the third hand, I hear that Mother-to-be shouldn't actually have anything to do with shower planning, and therefore I can stop stressing abotu ettiquette of registries and invitations and entertaining and start having nightmares about how many clothespins I can hold in one hand instead.
"When are you going to be over your trouble, my dear?"
That's what a great-aunt said to my aunt 26 years ago when she was pregnant with her first baby.
Trouble.
Because pregnancy in her time wasn't something to be celebrated - it was something to bear.
Pregnant women weren't encouraged to lounge on a lotus leaf, chanting about her body as a temple.
Heck, the word pregnant was rarely even uttered. Particularly in my corner of the world, women worked hard throughout their pregnancies, salting fish, baking bread, washing clothes and chasing other kids out of the house. When the time came, the men went down to the wharf and the midwife or the woman's own mother (sometimes both, sometimes they were one in the same) moved in to help with delivery. Once baby was washed, swaddled and fed, the woman had a few days in bed before resuming her usual daily chores.
Trouble is all it was.An interruption to the work that had to be done.
Last month I visited my grandparents, and Mom, Grandma, an aunt and cousin and I all sat around discussing labour and delivery and general baby things. Labour is on my mind a lot, being somewhat (okay, a lot) terrified of needles, but I talk myself through the panic by telling myself women have been doing this - and surviving - for YEARS. I have nothing to worry about. During this family gathering, I voiced this opinion, saying something along the lines of, "not much has changed since you had your kids, Grandma - it's all the same equipment down there."
'Yes,' my grandfather piped up. 'And this reminds me just of the conversations we would have had, sitting around waiting for your father to be born, too."
He was trying to be funny. Because of course women may have discussed childbirth, but certainly not in the company of men, and probably not to the same analytical degree I was attacking it that evening.
I'm struck by the difference between my grandparents' generation and my own. Older women are likely to put their hands on my belly and predict boy or girl. Younger women ask if the can touch - yes - and ask, 'do you know what you're having?'
'A baby,' I invariably reply.
Some are insulted. Others laugh. But really, does it matter what I'm having? It's not like we're rushing out the paint the nursery pink or blue, and we definitely can't take the kid back and trade it in for a different model if we aren't satisfied with out purchase. I feel pretty strongly about this last hold out to the olden days of pregnancy - when the sex of the baby was a surprise till the end.
I'm glad Trouble is no longer a euphemism for Pregnancy. I am happy to stick out my tummy and let strangers rub the bump and be happy about becoming a mother and all. But I'm not ready to lounge on a lotus leaf either. After all, there are some things that are just plain troublesome - the heartburn and the restless legs, to name a few.
In other news, I am positively PANICKED about affording this kid and all its paraphenalia. Heading over to AlphaMom to make a list of Baby Essentials and consider registering at a few places for baby things.
Trouble.
Because pregnancy in her time wasn't something to be celebrated - it was something to bear.
Pregnant women weren't encouraged to lounge on a lotus leaf, chanting about her body as a temple.
Heck, the word pregnant was rarely even uttered. Particularly in my corner of the world, women worked hard throughout their pregnancies, salting fish, baking bread, washing clothes and chasing other kids out of the house. When the time came, the men went down to the wharf and the midwife or the woman's own mother (sometimes both, sometimes they were one in the same) moved in to help with delivery. Once baby was washed, swaddled and fed, the woman had a few days in bed before resuming her usual daily chores.
Trouble is all it was.An interruption to the work that had to be done.
Last month I visited my grandparents, and Mom, Grandma, an aunt and cousin and I all sat around discussing labour and delivery and general baby things. Labour is on my mind a lot, being somewhat (okay, a lot) terrified of needles, but I talk myself through the panic by telling myself women have been doing this - and surviving - for YEARS. I have nothing to worry about. During this family gathering, I voiced this opinion, saying something along the lines of, "not much has changed since you had your kids, Grandma - it's all the same equipment down there."
'Yes,' my grandfather piped up. 'And this reminds me just of the conversations we would have had, sitting around waiting for your father to be born, too."
He was trying to be funny. Because of course women may have discussed childbirth, but certainly not in the company of men, and probably not to the same analytical degree I was attacking it that evening.
I'm struck by the difference between my grandparents' generation and my own. Older women are likely to put their hands on my belly and predict boy or girl. Younger women ask if the can touch - yes - and ask, 'do you know what you're having?'
'A baby,' I invariably reply.
Some are insulted. Others laugh. But really, does it matter what I'm having? It's not like we're rushing out the paint the nursery pink or blue, and we definitely can't take the kid back and trade it in for a different model if we aren't satisfied with out purchase. I feel pretty strongly about this last hold out to the olden days of pregnancy - when the sex of the baby was a surprise till the end.
I'm glad Trouble is no longer a euphemism for Pregnancy. I am happy to stick out my tummy and let strangers rub the bump and be happy about becoming a mother and all. But I'm not ready to lounge on a lotus leaf either. After all, there are some things that are just plain troublesome - the heartburn and the restless legs, to name a few.
In other news, I am positively PANICKED about affording this kid and all its paraphenalia. Heading over to AlphaMom to make a list of Baby Essentials and consider registering at a few places for baby things.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Another list
I keep meaning to get this blog on the go - update my Blogroll, link to wonderful sites and really pimp out my photos.
Except... it's just One More Thing To Do.
And I'd rather spend more time browsing my favourite blogs and sleeping. Not always in that order. Sometimes I sleep BEFORE I do the blogrounds.
Ah, sleep. I am so tired. It's as if I skipped the chronic fatigue of the first trimester, and it's aaaaallllll catching up on me now. I had a five and a half hour nap on Saturday. Five and a half hours isn't a nap - it's almost three REM cycles.
Baby is on the go constantly. I can pretty well guarantee an internal acrobatic routine every morning and evening, and often throughout the day. It's awesome. Today it struck me - I have a whole other PERSON inside me! a Baby! This blows my mind.
I have all my Christmas presents bought and wrapped. It helps that I'm only buying for 4 people this year. The girls at the office exchange dollar-store presents (Max, $1 each). It's fun to open our stockings and unwrap all the silly presents, but it only translates into More Junk To Deal With, and I have more than enough Junk To Deal With as it is.
I was struck over the weekend on the sheer number of places I have to keep clean:
1. My house.
2. Man's apartment. (Albeit not my responsibility, but if we cook I'm going to help with the dishes, and my OCD will probably carry that over to sweeping and changing the sheets.)
3. Man's business. (Again, TOTALLY not my responsibility, but if I see a table that needs wiping, I'm going to grab a rag.)
4. Our House. The house has yet to be renovated so technically it doesn't need to be cleaned yet, as there are walls coming down and paint being striped... but before all that can happen, stuff needs to be cleaned out of the rooms, which pretty well equals the same thing.
Yeah, so my blogroll is still don't done after two months. Bear with me.
Except... it's just One More Thing To Do.
And I'd rather spend more time browsing my favourite blogs and sleeping. Not always in that order. Sometimes I sleep BEFORE I do the blogrounds.
Ah, sleep. I am so tired. It's as if I skipped the chronic fatigue of the first trimester, and it's aaaaallllll catching up on me now. I had a five and a half hour nap on Saturday. Five and a half hours isn't a nap - it's almost three REM cycles.
Baby is on the go constantly. I can pretty well guarantee an internal acrobatic routine every morning and evening, and often throughout the day. It's awesome. Today it struck me - I have a whole other PERSON inside me! a Baby! This blows my mind.
I have all my Christmas presents bought and wrapped. It helps that I'm only buying for 4 people this year. The girls at the office exchange dollar-store presents (Max, $1 each). It's fun to open our stockings and unwrap all the silly presents, but it only translates into More Junk To Deal With, and I have more than enough Junk To Deal With as it is.
I was struck over the weekend on the sheer number of places I have to keep clean:
1. My house.
2. Man's apartment. (Albeit not my responsibility, but if we cook I'm going to help with the dishes, and my OCD will probably carry that over to sweeping and changing the sheets.)
3. Man's business. (Again, TOTALLY not my responsibility, but if I see a table that needs wiping, I'm going to grab a rag.)
4. Our House. The house has yet to be renovated so technically it doesn't need to be cleaned yet, as there are walls coming down and paint being striped... but before all that can happen, stuff needs to be cleaned out of the rooms, which pretty well equals the same thing.
Yeah, so my blogroll is still don't done after two months. Bear with me.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Not a period
Everyone has a story about a friend of a friend who was eight months along before she found out she was pregnant. Or maybe she went to the bathroom and had a baby instead. Or more commonly, she didn't find out she was pregnant until the fourth or fifth month.
These women are obviously among the lucky half of pregnant women who do not battle morning sickness.
They are also obviously among the lucky few who put on little weight and show nothing.
And yet, how can you not KNOW you are pregnant? The breast tenderness alone! The incessant tiredness! Also: the missing period.
I've heard too many women say, "I got my period all while I was pregnant," or "I got two periods before I found out."
Um. These are not periods. These are implantation bleeding, spotting, placenta previa, or worse. They can be mistaken for a period, but THEY ARE NOT YOUR PERIODS!
Too many women don't understand their own bodies, or have only a rudimentary understanding of what a period is, ie: blood in your undies.
A period is your uterus shedding it's fertile lining because whoops - no egg got fertilized this month. The bleeding throughout pregnancy may be MISTAKEN for a period, BUT IT IS NO PERIOD.
If you get a PERIOD, you CANNOT BE PREGNANT!
STOP CALLING IT YOUR PERIOD!
These women are obviously among the lucky half of pregnant women who do not battle morning sickness.
They are also obviously among the lucky few who put on little weight and show nothing.
And yet, how can you not KNOW you are pregnant? The breast tenderness alone! The incessant tiredness! Also: the missing period.
I've heard too many women say, "I got my period all while I was pregnant," or "I got two periods before I found out."
Um. These are not periods. These are implantation bleeding, spotting, placenta previa, or worse. They can be mistaken for a period, but THEY ARE NOT YOUR PERIODS!
Too many women don't understand their own bodies, or have only a rudimentary understanding of what a period is, ie: blood in your undies.
A period is your uterus shedding it's fertile lining because whoops - no egg got fertilized this month. The bleeding throughout pregnancy may be MISTAKEN for a period, BUT IT IS NO PERIOD.
If you get a PERIOD, you CANNOT BE PREGNANT!
STOP CALLING IT YOUR PERIOD!
Friday, November 20, 2009
A very poor substitute for Noglies*
Christmas time's a-coming, and I haven't taken my summer holidays yet. That particular adventure starts next Wednesday, when Man and I fly West to ranching country. Yee-haw, we're going to take in a cattle auction. (This excites me).
While summer holidays are upon me, Christmas holidays are right around the corner... And nothing puts me more in a Christmas mood than cold weather (check) a starry sky (check) and a mug of eggnog and Baileys. Or milk and Baileys. Or water and Baileys. Really I'm not that picky.
Sadly, the bun in the oven takes priority over my ownneeds holiday cheer. I've been looking for alternatives. Hot chocolate (1c. milk, 3 tbsp cocoa, 2 tsp honey) has served me well all autumn, but the trees are heavy with dogberries and I need a pick-me-up with a little more punch.
Enter Irish cream coffee flavouring. The thought of adding artificial flavour to anything is on the far end of my Acceptable Kitchen Practices spectrum, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
While summer holidays are upon me, Christmas holidays are right around the corner... And nothing puts me more in a Christmas mood than cold weather (check) a starry sky (check) and a mug of eggnog and Baileys. Or milk and Baileys. Or water and Baileys. Really I'm not that picky.
Sadly, the bun in the oven takes priority over my own
Enter Irish cream coffee flavouring. The thought of adding artificial flavour to anything is on the far end of my Acceptable Kitchen Practices spectrum, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
A sprinkle of cinnamon and nutmeg, et voila!
Hey, at least the milk is full of calcium.
* Noglies: n. a drink containing eggnog, a generous serving of Baileys and a sprinkle each of cinnamon and nutmeg. Best enjoyed near a roaring fire in the months of November through March.
* Noglies: n. a drink containing eggnog, a generous serving of Baileys and a sprinkle each of cinnamon and nutmeg. Best enjoyed near a roaring fire in the months of November through March.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Crazier than I thought
I've got an appointment with a counsellor in two weeks. Two weeks is a very short waiting period for a service that sees wait-times of up to six months. So now I feel guilty for commandeering time and energy and appointment slots away from people who might actually be crazy, and who need the counselling more than I.
After all, having a baby is nothing out of the ordinary.
I wonder if I sounded especially desperate on Monday? It also turned out that the social worker I met and I share an uncle - I would hate to think that this distant family connection got me in the door. Afterall, I know there are people worse off than I am. People without homes; people without friends; people who can't even afford to buy frozen turkey dinners on Christmas Day.
On Monday, a colleague told this story: It was Christmas Day, about 20 years ago. Her own children were 8, 10 and 11 years old. They didn't have any batteries in the house to run some of the Christmas toys, so she and her husband ran out to the nearby gas station to pick some up. Inside, there was another couple with a toddler. They were picking up two Swanson turkey dinners, presumably to share among them. And my colleague remembers thinking, 'There but for the grace of God go I.'
I'm trying to see the bright side, but that image has stayed with me all week. At least the child had two adults in her life; at least they could afford the meals; at least, what? at least they were together on Christmas Day?
I can count on one hand the number of times I've been to church. I prefer to put my faith in trees and stars and the great outdoors, but Christmas, to me, is still a time to spend with family. To have 18 people squashed around the table, elbows in the neighbour's gravy and noses in their business. It's loud and hectic and there are inevitable insults, but I've been so, so lucky not to know a Christmas Day without friends or family.
After all, having a baby is nothing out of the ordinary.
I wonder if I sounded especially desperate on Monday? It also turned out that the social worker I met and I share an uncle - I would hate to think that this distant family connection got me in the door. Afterall, I know there are people worse off than I am. People without homes; people without friends; people who can't even afford to buy frozen turkey dinners on Christmas Day.
Outdoor decorations in the capital city
I'm trying to see the bright side, but that image has stayed with me all week. At least the child had two adults in her life; at least they could afford the meals; at least, what? at least they were together on Christmas Day?
I can count on one hand the number of times I've been to church. I prefer to put my faith in trees and stars and the great outdoors, but Christmas, to me, is still a time to spend with family. To have 18 people squashed around the table, elbows in the neighbour's gravy and noses in their business. It's loud and hectic and there are inevitable insults, but I've been so, so lucky not to know a Christmas Day without friends or family.
An outdoor Boxing Day adventure. Hot chocolate and dark cake, as they should be.
(I remember when that coat still fit)
(I remember when that coat still fit)
Monday, November 16, 2009
Oh my leaky eyes
I would like to know just how people manage having one, two, four or eight kids. How do they do it?? I understand pregnancy isn't easy. I understand my hormones are out of whack. I understand I'm growing out of my clothes because of the baby GROWING inside of me, and not because I'm simply careening out of shape.
I understand my focus is off. I understand my body is slowing down. I understand all these things... And yet I can't handle them. Instead I'm pretending as if all this is no big deal.
But apparently I'm wrong. It is a big deal.
Today I had an appointment with a social worker. An intake meeting, to determine how Crazy I am, and how soon I need to see a counsellor.
Because apparently pretending everything is just fine is not an acceptable coping strategy.
The Man is not here, so this is the birch junk that will keep me warm tonight:
On the bright side, I found a month-old Globe and Mail in fire-starting bin. (As I live in a land where the G&M does not, this is almost cause for celebration). I will take the crossword to bed with me.
I understand my focus is off. I understand my body is slowing down. I understand all these things... And yet I can't handle them. Instead I'm pretending as if all this is no big deal.
But apparently I'm wrong. It is a big deal.
Today I had an appointment with a social worker. An intake meeting, to determine how Crazy I am, and how soon I need to see a counsellor.
Because apparently pretending everything is just fine is not an acceptable coping strategy.
The Man is not here, so this is the birch junk that will keep me warm tonight:
On the bright side, I found a month-old Globe and Mail in fire-starting bin. (As I live in a land where the G&M does not, this is almost cause for celebration). I will take the crossword to bed with me.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
A few things on my mind
First off, the ultrasound was FINE. I knew the technician, so we chatted about mutual interests while he measured Baby's heart, liver, lungs, umbilical cord, etc. etc. Then Man joined us and we really got a show - Baby was stretching and running on the spot, and even waving. The tech could see his or her eyes moving, but I couldn't see through the static all that well. Baby also kept moving - rolling from side to side as we tried to get a look at its feet. When it was running (it was head-down and face-down in my uterus, the perfect birthing position, in fact) I could feel its feet tapping on the inside of my belly button. It was out of this world! I could have watched the monitor all day, despite my protesting bladded. 470ml of water is a cruel amount to make a pregnant lady drink in one go.
To address my fears, this is what I know:
Baby is NOT molar or malignant.
Baby is NOT ectopic.
Baby is NOT twins.
Baby is NOT triplets.
Baby has two arms and two legs, but I forgot to ask about the ears.
The technician did NOT say "Hmmmm, that's strange...," nor did he summon a radiologist.
There IS a baby.
The placenta is well placed on the front of my abdomen (except it cushions the baby's movements, so I don't feel it moving as much as I would if the placenta were in a different spot. But this is a good thing, because if there's any future problems with the placenta they will be very easily spotted by ultrasound).
The placenta is growing fine - It's bigger and softer-looking and more pillowy-like than I expected.
Baby's heart IS beating, at 144bpm
Baby doesn't exactly breath yet, but he or she IS swallowing/hiccuping as it should be.
The ultrasound machine worked just fine.
The ultrasound tech HAD the swine flu two weeks ago. My appointment was right on time.
Until my doctor gets the detailed report from the radiologist, I won't know about other rare and not-so-rare things that may be wrong. I've got 3 more days to wait, but I'm feeling pretty good.
So THAT part of being a mom is a little easier now. The worry-about-Baby part.
The worry-about-paying-for-Baby is a whole different story.
I mean, how do people DO it? I'm fortunate in that I will be able to collect maternity benefits at 55 per cent of my salary, plus an additional $100 (approximately) per month as the child tax benefit. All of that will add up to about half of what I make now when you take away taxes. I barely scrape by as it is. Some bills will be less costly, like gas and entertainment, but the essential ones - mortgage, telephone, light, insurance - will all stay the same. In fact, insurance will go UP a little bit thanks to Baby. I must look into this.
Man is around in body and spirit, but he has precious little money of his own to help out with Baby. On top of that, there is the small matter of my fierce independence, especially when it comes to moolah. I bought my own house at 24, didn't I? My older sister still gets an allowance of sorts from my parents, but I haven't asked for a dime in more than two years. This is a matter of pride, and a matter of my own peace-of-mind. I can look after myself, thank you very much. I understand that if ever there was a time to ask for help, this would be it, but I'm trying to do everything I can to get my finances in line before I put a hand out.
For example, I applied for interest-relief on my student loan. Three and a half months ago. By phone, they told I was approved and would have to make no payments for the next six months. Awesome. Last week, I get a "You are $600 past due" notice from the collections agency! So I got on the phone and I got frustrated, and the best answer I got was to pay the outstanding interest and suck it up. This month I've already bought a new water pump and paid for routine car maintenance - I just don't HAVE $150 in un-earmarked cash to pay to the government that already told me I wouldn't have to pay! I could take it out of Baby's account, but I'm very reluctant to do that.
I've also set up Baby's account to put aside money ever paycheck, so I can have SOME kind of cushion when Baby is born. In fact, the bank was the second person I told the News to, when I went to set up that account.
Problem is, while I'm busy worrying about ectopic pregnancies and ohmygodwhatwasthatshootingpaininmyabdomen?, I'm ALSO worrying about money. And the books say that's the dad's job. Actually, the books say it's an equal worry, but that men tend to do more thinking than women in this department because women are too preoccupied with having a baby in their tummy. So not only do I have all the typical worries of health and stretch marks, I'm purely panicking over the money tree that hasn't flowered in my backyard yet, despite all my watering and prayers. I know Man shares many of these worries. I just wish he could do something about them. Basically, anything we do when it comes to Baby, we have to do on my budget.
In the grocery store line up, I picked up one of the colourful celebrity magazines to pass the time. Apparently, Katie Holmes got $3 million for giving birth to their first child. She's asking for $10 million to get pregnant a second time. My womb is worth at least that, being young and healthy and cared for with so much fresh air and home-grown produce:
*this is not my baby, or my belly.
I'll upload the real deal when I get the pictures scanned.
To address my fears, this is what I know:
Baby is NOT molar or malignant.
Baby is NOT ectopic.
Baby is NOT twins.
Baby is NOT triplets.
Baby has two arms and two legs, but I forgot to ask about the ears.
The technician did NOT say "Hmmmm, that's strange...," nor did he summon a radiologist.
There IS a baby.
The placenta is well placed on the front of my abdomen (except it cushions the baby's movements, so I don't feel it moving as much as I would if the placenta were in a different spot. But this is a good thing, because if there's any future problems with the placenta they will be very easily spotted by ultrasound).
The placenta is growing fine - It's bigger and softer-looking and more pillowy-like than I expected.
Baby's heart IS beating, at 144bpm
Baby doesn't exactly breath yet, but he or she IS swallowing/hiccuping as it should be.
The ultrasound machine worked just fine.
The ultrasound tech HAD the swine flu two weeks ago. My appointment was right on time.
Until my doctor gets the detailed report from the radiologist, I won't know about other rare and not-so-rare things that may be wrong. I've got 3 more days to wait, but I'm feeling pretty good.
So THAT part of being a mom is a little easier now. The worry-about-Baby part.
The worry-about-paying-for-Baby is a whole different story.
I mean, how do people DO it? I'm fortunate in that I will be able to collect maternity benefits at 55 per cent of my salary, plus an additional $100 (approximately) per month as the child tax benefit. All of that will add up to about half of what I make now when you take away taxes. I barely scrape by as it is. Some bills will be less costly, like gas and entertainment, but the essential ones - mortgage, telephone, light, insurance - will all stay the same. In fact, insurance will go UP a little bit thanks to Baby. I must look into this.
Man is around in body and spirit, but he has precious little money of his own to help out with Baby. On top of that, there is the small matter of my fierce independence, especially when it comes to moolah. I bought my own house at 24, didn't I? My older sister still gets an allowance of sorts from my parents, but I haven't asked for a dime in more than two years. This is a matter of pride, and a matter of my own peace-of-mind. I can look after myself, thank you very much. I understand that if ever there was a time to ask for help, this would be it, but I'm trying to do everything I can to get my finances in line before I put a hand out.
For example, I applied for interest-relief on my student loan. Three and a half months ago. By phone, they told I was approved and would have to make no payments for the next six months. Awesome. Last week, I get a "You are $600 past due" notice from the collections agency! So I got on the phone and I got frustrated, and the best answer I got was to pay the outstanding interest and suck it up. This month I've already bought a new water pump and paid for routine car maintenance - I just don't HAVE $150 in un-earmarked cash to pay to the government that already told me I wouldn't have to pay! I could take it out of Baby's account, but I'm very reluctant to do that.
I've also set up Baby's account to put aside money ever paycheck, so I can have SOME kind of cushion when Baby is born. In fact, the bank was the second person I told the News to, when I went to set up that account.
Problem is, while I'm busy worrying about ectopic pregnancies and ohmygodwhatwasthatshootingpaininmyabdomen?, I'm ALSO worrying about money. And the books say that's the dad's job. Actually, the books say it's an equal worry, but that men tend to do more thinking than women in this department because women are too preoccupied with having a baby in their tummy. So not only do I have all the typical worries of health and stretch marks, I'm purely panicking over the money tree that hasn't flowered in my backyard yet, despite all my watering and prayers. I know Man shares many of these worries. I just wish he could do something about them. Basically, anything we do when it comes to Baby, we have to do on my budget.
In the grocery store line up, I picked up one of the colourful celebrity magazines to pass the time. Apparently, Katie Holmes got $3 million for giving birth to their first child. She's asking for $10 million to get pregnant a second time. My womb is worth at least that, being young and healthy and cared for with so much fresh air and home-grown produce:
Now all I need is the cash. I'm auctioning off these strawberries, starting bid $100,000. Anyone? Anyone?
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Picture time
I've got to add pictures, I know. But my camera is on the blink, and I've misplaced my cable to transfer pictures to the computer. In the meantime, I'll browse my hard drive and take my mind off the ultrasound.
An iceberg! Ooooo, pretty....
An outdoor lightbulb, of course, lighting our way to the iceberg.
I got pregnant about two weeks after this excursion.
An iceberg! Ooooo, pretty....
An outdoor lightbulb, of course, lighting our way to the iceberg.
Ultrasound
It's a scary day. I was excited right up until yesterday lunch time, then I got scared. Today (in 3 hours) I will have my belly exposed and sound waves knocking off my bladder and, hopefully, my baby. It's ultrasound time. I'm 18 weeks and a couple days pregnant, and so far I've had no problems. But this is the first true test, I guess. And I'm scared.
What if it's a molar pregnancy? And it's already turned malignant?
What is it's an etopic pregnancy? Wouldn't I have felt that by now?
What if it's twins, and they are not growing properly?
What if it's triplets, and they are not growing properly?
What is it doesn't have all its arms and legs and ears?
What if the ultrasound tech says 'Hmmm, that's strange..." and goes to get a doctor?
What if there is no baby?
What if I have placenta previa?
What if the placenta is deficient?
What if the heart is not beating?
What if it's not breathing?
What if the ultrasound machine isn't working?
What if the tech has swine flu and my appointment is postponed?
What if there's something else completely wrong with Baby, something so rare that I haven't even read about it in any of my books?
This mother stuff is hard.
What if it's a molar pregnancy? And it's already turned malignant?
What is it's an etopic pregnancy? Wouldn't I have felt that by now?
What if it's twins, and they are not growing properly?
What if it's triplets, and they are not growing properly?
What is it doesn't have all its arms and legs and ears?
What if the ultrasound tech says 'Hmmm, that's strange..." and goes to get a doctor?
What if there is no baby?
What if I have placenta previa?
What if the placenta is deficient?
What if the heart is not beating?
What if it's not breathing?
What if the ultrasound machine isn't working?
What if the tech has swine flu and my appointment is postponed?
What if there's something else completely wrong with Baby, something so rare that I haven't even read about it in any of my books?
This mother stuff is hard.
Monday, November 2, 2009
It's crazy time
I've been careful not to fall into pregnancy-stereotype-madness. I only use the excuse "But I'm pregnant!" when I really need it. (i.e: when Canadian Tire tried to sell me oil-based primer. Umm... I don't believe oil paint is healthy at the best of times. And I will definitely take my mother up on her offer to strip the last remaining wallpaper border from my house (see: wallpaper bordering, crimes of)). I haven't had any serious cravings, so I can't claim 'Baby wants it!" when I get a hankering for pizza. (Actually, what Baby wants most is mashed potatoes. I'm the one that wants pizza).
I also thought I was doing a pretty good job of keeping a even keel. No major freak-outs. No driving into ditches (a la my friend, mother of 3). All in all, I didn't think pregnancy had changed me much. Apart from my new-found adoration of mashed potatoes, of course.
On Friday, all that changed. My friend and colleague has left for greener pastures in the Big City. Friday was his last day at work, and we got together that night for tunes, drinks (of the juice variety for me) and cake.
I found out I was pregnant in early August. I was 4 and a half weeks along, and I waited two more months to tell the office. (I would have waited longer if it wasn't such a gd small town - I was afraid they'd hear it on the street before they heard it from me). Anyway, I told my boss in private, and she called a staff meeting to announce it to the office. (We are an office of seven women and, until last Friday, one man). Reactions were predictable - the mothers shrilled with glee, there were hugs and questions and best wishes and choruses of "how long have you know?! Why didn't you tell us sooner!" etc. etc...
Friday night, we were reminiscing on the past two years, and my two months of pregnancy-secrecy came up. I was quite proud of myself for keeping mum (I am the WORST secret-keeper in the history of secret-keepers). The women were shocked that they didn't figure it out for themselves. (Though two of them admitted they thought I was getting a little think around the middle). The man? His take on those two months was, "I just thought you were being a really big bitch."
Wow. Let dooowwwwwwwn.
"But... but..." I stuttered. "I wasn't that bad!"
"hoo-ee," he exhaled.
"I APOLOGIZED for the dictionary!" I cried.
The Dictionary Incident happened the day before I peed on a stick. We're an office of writers, and he had passed me some copy to proof. I picked up on a word (I don't know what one) what had been misused. I'm pretty sure it was a synonym problem, where the word sounded right but meant something completely different. (My favourite example? Troupe and troop. Ie: The troupes moved in for an assault. Heh heh heh.)
So I marked the error and handed the copy back. Minutes later, he e-mailed "You can troop all you want. I'm going to troupe" (or something. It was a lot funnier when he used the actual word we're talking about here). Except I didn't find it very funny. In fact, I didn't think it was funny at all. I wanted the CORRECT word there, and I wasn't taking no for an answer. I picked up my Canadian OED and stormed across the hall. Pushed open his (glass) office door, slammed the dictionary (paperback) on his desk and shouted "Use a FUCKING dictionary!"
Needless to say, that day didn't end well. It was deadline day, and tensions were running high. In fact, that evening the manager asked me if I was pregnant. I said no, no way. but I went home that night and thought about it, and took a test the next morning.
I knew the Dictionary Incident was out of character, and I decided right then I'd apologize the day I told him The News. That day was two months later, but my colleague hadn't forgotten. Neither has he forgotten all my other hormone-charged bouts of the crazies.
I've apparently airbrused all my insanity from the record, and for that I give myself and absolute discharge.
So maybe there's something to this pregnancy-insanity thing. (see: The Girlfriends' Guide to Pregnancy by Vicki Iovine, Chapter 1). I'll cut myself some slack, and not get too upset when I find myself acting just like the books say I will.
I just hate being predictable.
I also thought I was doing a pretty good job of keeping a even keel. No major freak-outs. No driving into ditches (a la my friend, mother of 3). All in all, I didn't think pregnancy had changed me much. Apart from my new-found adoration of mashed potatoes, of course.
On Friday, all that changed. My friend and colleague has left for greener pastures in the Big City. Friday was his last day at work, and we got together that night for tunes, drinks (of the juice variety for me) and cake.
I found out I was pregnant in early August. I was 4 and a half weeks along, and I waited two more months to tell the office. (I would have waited longer if it wasn't such a gd small town - I was afraid they'd hear it on the street before they heard it from me). Anyway, I told my boss in private, and she called a staff meeting to announce it to the office. (We are an office of seven women and, until last Friday, one man). Reactions were predictable - the mothers shrilled with glee, there were hugs and questions and best wishes and choruses of "how long have you know?! Why didn't you tell us sooner!" etc. etc...
Friday night, we were reminiscing on the past two years, and my two months of pregnancy-secrecy came up. I was quite proud of myself for keeping mum (I am the WORST secret-keeper in the history of secret-keepers). The women were shocked that they didn't figure it out for themselves. (Though two of them admitted they thought I was getting a little think around the middle). The man? His take on those two months was, "I just thought you were being a really big bitch."
Wow. Let dooowwwwwwwn.
"But... but..." I stuttered. "I wasn't that bad!"
"hoo-ee," he exhaled.
"I APOLOGIZED for the dictionary!" I cried.
The Dictionary Incident happened the day before I peed on a stick. We're an office of writers, and he had passed me some copy to proof. I picked up on a word (I don't know what one) what had been misused. I'm pretty sure it was a synonym problem, where the word sounded right but meant something completely different. (My favourite example? Troupe and troop. Ie: The troupes moved in for an assault. Heh heh heh.)
So I marked the error and handed the copy back. Minutes later, he e-mailed "You can troop all you want. I'm going to troupe" (or something. It was a lot funnier when he used the actual word we're talking about here). Except I didn't find it very funny. In fact, I didn't think it was funny at all. I wanted the CORRECT word there, and I wasn't taking no for an answer. I picked up my Canadian OED and stormed across the hall. Pushed open his (glass) office door, slammed the dictionary (paperback) on his desk and shouted "Use a FUCKING dictionary!"
Needless to say, that day didn't end well. It was deadline day, and tensions were running high. In fact, that evening the manager asked me if I was pregnant. I said no, no way. but I went home that night and thought about it, and took a test the next morning.
I knew the Dictionary Incident was out of character, and I decided right then I'd apologize the day I told him The News. That day was two months later, but my colleague hadn't forgotten. Neither has he forgotten all my other hormone-charged bouts of the crazies.
I've apparently airbrused all my insanity from the record, and for that I give myself and absolute discharge.
So maybe there's something to this pregnancy-insanity thing. (see: The Girlfriends' Guide to Pregnancy by Vicki Iovine, Chapter 1). I'll cut myself some slack, and not get too upset when I find myself acting just like the books say I will.
I just hate being predictable.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
The "joys" of home ownership
My dishwasher is broken. Yesterday, it was the water pump. Last week, it was the UV filter. For six excruciating weeks this summer, it was my oven.
This is not what I signed up for when I signed my mortgage papers.
In the past nine months, the "joys" of home ownership have manifested themselves as a temperamental garage-door opener, a broken washing machine, an oven on the blink, the same oven that finally gave up the ghost, a smoke-filled basement, a leaky dishwasher, and two fried water pumps. And that's just the appliances.
But today it's my dishwasher. The day the Man In My Life left to go moosehunting, on the eve of my father heading to the nation's capital on business, and the morning after the only man in the office left town for good.
Don't get me wrong - I paint my own walls, clean my own chimney and mow my own lawn. But I leave electrical stuff to those who can at least pretend to know what they're doing. In general, those people are the men in my life.
Here's how I dealt with theuseless piece of crap dishwasher today: I ran it twice. Pretty clever, huh? Now instead of mildly sudsy dishes, there is caked-on crud baked into the porcelain and glassware. Apparently, the water supply to the dishwasher is compromised. I wonder if it has anything to do with the fried water pump of yesterday? It's been replaced (I sprang for a new one this time), but the flow just isn't what it used to be. For this same reason, I am coming up on three days without a shower.
My hair is surprisingly lush.
That could just be the pregnancy hormones.
A word to the wise? Don't get between a pregnant woman and her dishwasher. That's right, Water Flow, I'm talking to you.
This is not what I signed up for when I signed my mortgage papers.
In the past nine months, the "joys" of home ownership have manifested themselves as a temperamental garage-door opener, a broken washing machine, an oven on the blink, the same oven that finally gave up the ghost, a smoke-filled basement, a leaky dishwasher, and two fried water pumps. And that's just the appliances.
But today it's my dishwasher. The day the Man In My Life left to go moosehunting, on the eve of my father heading to the nation's capital on business, and the morning after the only man in the office left town for good.
Don't get me wrong - I paint my own walls, clean my own chimney and mow my own lawn. But I leave electrical stuff to those who can at least pretend to know what they're doing. In general, those people are the men in my life.
Here's how I dealt with the
My hair is surprisingly lush.
That could just be the pregnancy hormones.
A word to the wise? Don't get between a pregnant woman and her dishwasher. That's right, Water Flow, I'm talking to you.
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