En Pointe

Nahanni sat in my lap in a dance studio filled with parents and their kids.  Her hair was braided along the front, swept to the back in a lovely bun bedecked with flowers and sparkly barrettes.  Her eyes grew wide when the girls started to dance -- and I began to cry.

Here I was in this dance studio, weeping as a lovely young ballerina in an impossible blue tutu flitted gracefully before us.  Nahanni was rapt, her eyes following this young girl's every step, every fluttering movement of her nimble arms. And all I could see was my daughter.  Nahanni seems born to dance - she seems to have simply awoken in this life as a ballerina, so I couldn't help but imagine her someday before us all, doing this dance she seems to so love.  This lovely girl, dark haired, brown-skinned seemed like she could be my daughter some day in the future, someday far removed from now when she will have half completed her inexorable unwinding from me.  It is a proud thing to watch these girls who have worked so hard, and also to imagine the work of their parents, who must also be credited for their success.  For even if they never dance professionally, any of them - there is a profound beauty to the dance that makes me happy every time I see it.  When the two raven-haired sisters finally danced I could hardly believe that someday I will have two like them.  What will they be?  What will they love?


For now I try to live in the moment with them both.  Nahanni had another sleepover last night so I soaked up the wonderful evening with just Zola, remembering how lovely it is to have uninterrupted time with just one child.  How much she deserves as much love and attention as Nahanni got.  Tonight I held and rocked her, her hair soft as silk against my cheek.  I breathed in the smell of her, kissed her pink pearl lips a hundred times, tasted her with all my senses and I sang her little song.  It is a gift from the gods to hold a small, beautiful child in my arms again and know that she is mine.  I am very grateful.

Life is Grand...Even When it's Snot.

I haven't somehow managed to write much yet about what a doll Zola is.  I was joking at a Christmas party the other night that for the second child all I've put on here is "See first baby".  And while it is easy to talk about the things that are hard, the truth is that everything that was lovely and stunning about my first baby is equally true, if not stronger with my second.  Zola is an absolute pet and I love her with all my heart as I did with Nahanni.  Her vanilla breath is as sweet - or perhaps sweeter for it is laden with the sad note that she is my last baby (I think...no, really, she is.  I think).  The worst thing is that there just isn't the time to dote and swoon that there was with Nahanni.  Or, I still dote and swoon, I just don't have time to write about it.  But I love having this baby every bit as much as I did the first time, and I am able to enjoy much of it more than I did as I am a) not half dead from blood loss and, b) much more chill than I was the first time.  I know eventually this child will eat french fries or potato chips so I don't get so worked up about the little things.

As for Nahanni, while it may seem that she and I are walking a rocky road, I recognize that in some ways I have done her, as well and her and me somewhat of a disservice when I speak here of the trials and tribulations of our recent times.  But I had a dream last night that illustrates the truth.  She and I were walking down the street and somehow she went from having her small hand in mine to being lost. I could hear her crying, that distinctive wail I have heard oh, so often lately - but because I knew she was lost and scared it was chilling.  She was yelling for me and I kept saying "Nahanni!  Keep crying so I can hear you! Louder!  Mommy's coming, I'll find you!" and like a horrible game of 'hotter/colder' I kept running towards her fading voice, panicked trying to find her.  Suddenly I found myself in a rural field, far from any homes and her cries had faded to a whisper on the wind.  I stood alone in this snow swept expanse while my daughter's cries faded away and I wept because I knew she was lost, utterly and completely.  I woke up in a dense sweat, my heart racing.  I crept to her room just to see her porcelain face, her lovely pink cheeks and ruby lips.  Her impossible lashes blinked slightly as she lay dreaming, completely safe and lost only to her dreams.  I knew then that even though we might be struggling lately, she will never be lost.  She is loved even at the worst of times and I would search to the ends of the earth to find her is she were missing for even a second - physically or metaphorically.

We'll be just fine.

Is it just me?

Ah, more of the same, I'm afraid.  The syrupy sweetness of 2007 has been replaced with the walking zombie of 2010.  I'm feeling utterly incapable of accomplishing major tasks.  I've joined a photography course online and am stuck (it seems permanently) on module one.  My hallway remains half painted.  My house, despite all my efforts to the contrary, looks like a bomb went off in it.  I am not sure what my path is anymore, other than mommy.  And mommy sure has its days...

Now that, I know is not just me.

I carry an awful guilt with me the days that Nahanni drives me nuts.  I look at her beautiful face, those big doe eyes and wonder how I can go from wanting to eat her up to wanting to lock her in a closet in a matter of minutes.  So far I'm enjoying Zola and her babyness but dreading the day when I have two kids driving me nuts and feel twice as bad of a mother.  This is challenging stuff.  Well, for most of us.  I was in a posh children's store yesterday and a young mother was there.  She pulled up in a huge Land Rover and nearly took my eye out with her giant diamond as she walked in the door.  She walked around with a doting salesperson (where was my sales suck-up?!?) and filled a satchel with an unimaginable amount of clothes for her 12-month old.  "We're going to Hawaii!" she exclaimed, between intermittent cell phone calls.  She never once looked at the price tag of the $50+ shirts she was chucking in - her only complaint was that they might shrink when her nanny washed them.  I heard her call the nanny once to tell her to steam some carrots for the boy, she'd be home in an hour or so.

I wonder if she ever feels like a bad mother.

Preschool has again come to the table and I have to make a decision fast.  Somehow preschool is looking vastly more doable than homeschooling, although I cannot seem to fathom all the responsibilities of  parent participation preschool.  What has happened to me?  What happened to the Wonder Woman I used to be?

Oh yeah, she hasn't slept through the night in a year and she's bloody tired.

And her costume's at the cleaners.

And doesn't fit.

The crappy thing about honeymoons...

You know the type of post this is going to be when I start out with "Don't get me wrong but--"

But seriously, don't get me wrong but why does the honeymoon have to end? There are days when I feel like the worst mother on the planet. Well, maybe not the whole planet, just the Western hemisphere. How did I go from this loving, doting, caressing, cooing mother into the 'Stop doing that! Sit down! Be quiet! Stop doing that!!' mother? Where once I was so utterly addicted to Nahanni, now she has a tendency to drive me to distraction. Why does this have to happen? Is is a failure on my part or just a part of the whole rigamarole of parenting?

It does so remind me though, of the story a friend told before I had Zola. She likened bringing home a new baby to saying to your husband 'Hey honey, meet my new boyfriend - he's cuter than you, I'll be kissing him much more often and he'll be sleeping with me instead of you. Enjoy!' Where once I couldn't live without kissing her a hundred times a day, there are days when I have to refrain from wanting to smack her. Luckily for us both (I couldn't handle the guilt) we are not opting for the spanking option. A while back when she was pushing me constantly and I was reaching my limits she was whining forcefully in the back of the car and I yelled back 'Nahanni! If you don't stop this right now I am going to pull this car over and... And...'

[Pause. Try to figure out what would replace my parents' 'You're gonna get beat within an inch of your life!' "]

...and you're not going to like it!!" (ooh, threatening, I know)

Small voice from the back: "Why won't I like it?"

See? It just doesn't carry the same weight.

The point is, I'm feeling a little nuts and a lot guilty lately about it all. I love my daughter, truly, madly and deeply, but this three-year old talking back and challenging you at every turn stage is making me even more nuts. And with a new baby, resources are stretched more thin and my ability to take a step back and breathe is greatly reduced. I pray for patience and for my ability to mother her (all of them, really) in a loving fashion to return again to full-strength. It takes tremendous effort to step back from the words perched at the edge of my tongue and to take a moment to ask myself if that is how I would like to be spoken to, if that is the kind of mother I would want to have. I am trying at every turn to take an extra moment to kiss her instead of always kissing Zola (although seriously, Nahanni was mauled worse from day one) and to plant a few on her. To realize that much of her acting out is her inexperienced little person's way of saying 'Hey! I need you!' Having an impatient mother is like being in a bad marriage from which there is no divorce. Yes, I have a new 'boyfriend', but I think I can manage to love them both equally, if not better for having the two of them.

I may need a glass of wine. And a vacation. But I can do it.

F*ck You, Heidi Klum

As if it is not enough: diapers, baby brain, midnight feedings, sore breasts, bizarre...other things, laundry, LIFE... but added to the whole pastpartum game we have to now have assholes like Heidi Klum who do Victoria's Secret fashion shows 4 weeks postpartum. It's like there's a sort of race going on, and the onus is on you to be back in shape before you leave the hospital. And frankly, I'm pretty pissed off about it.

Yes, you could say 'well, that's just you doing that to yourself - no one is saying you have to do that' and while I am certainly not one to be a slave to media ideas about how I should look and be as a woman, but really, these images and ideas are so pervasive, it's hard to ignore them. My child is 5 weeks old and I cannot tell you how many times already I have berated myself (perhaps with an older, less evolved part of my brain?) for not looking better.

The other day as I exited the studio after an audition (yes, I was back to work before Zola was 2 weeks old - that's a whole other post...) I heard a loud catcall 'eeeyow!' and I swung my head to look, accustomed (in a former life) to that noise being pretty regularly directed at me. I spun around and saw that the young man in the black Mercedes was actually catcalling the slim, hip little wisp of a girl who was entering the studio and I felt strangely crestfallen. I mean, I laughed, I made a joke - it was funny, but then I caught a glimpse of myself reflected in a shop window across the street and it was a crushing thing. And it's one thing if you have the baby with you, carting her around in her seat or in the sling at least you are a walking advertisement that you have recently given birth. But here I was, babyless for one small hour and no one could see me as anything but a chubby lady well past her twenties. And it sucked.

I have a 5-week old baby. 35 days. That's 840 hours. And somehow between recovering from her birth, taking care of my 3-year old, keeping my house together and being a working actress, I'm supposed to be camera-ready. Seriously. I mean, they called me to do an audition on Monday last and I could only think "I can't be on camera yet!". And that's not to mention trying to comprehend child-care for the two kids, a milk supply for this tiny vulnerable being...and spending quality time with them. And nowhere in all of this is there any mention of, or time for -- ME. Just plain me. Me as a woman, as a wife, as a creative being, as an artist, an entrepreneur. How can I process going to the gym when I am still up 3 or 5 or 7 times a night and can't even manage to vacuum my bedroom?

Look, I don't know what kind of mother Heidi Klum is. I can't help but wonder who the hell is watching and loving and caring for her 4 children (one newborn!) while she is getting into good enough shape to do such a show. Alternatively, there is the notion that she simply cheated and that is almost as infuriating as the first notion. We could all walk the catwalk if we had it all nipped and tucked while being delivered from our conveniently scheduled c-section.

But I digress.

At the end of the day I hold this tiny, gorgeous little person and I smell her delicate new baby smell. She rests her small head on my shoulder and breathes little sighs into my neck. I feel her warmth and the round little swell of her impossibly tiny bum and I try to keep focused on what is important. Already she has grown so much in these 840 hours. Her teensy ears, still so pliable that they are often folded forward when I sweep her up from nursing in my arms; already they have grown at least a centimetre, a heart-breaking little centimetre. The fragile, scrawny newness of her, her skin pink and tender has already begun to give way to a paler, heartier girl. Her little fingers are straighter, plumper, her cheeks have begun to fill out and I gasp when I see her feet finally touching the bottom of the sleeper in which she (and Nahanni) swam so short a time ago. I remember when Nahanni grew out of that sleeper, it broke my heart and I know this time I will actually weep. Every little milestone I lament 'Oh, that's my last___________!'. I try to focus on that, on the fact that all of this is the last time in the world I will experience it -- and more than svelte thighs or taut abs, this is the stuff of life. Today I held my daughter tight, I cradled her in my arms and slept while a blue sky breeze wafted through the window beside us. I know soon she will be too big to nap in my arms.

So I skipped pilates. Sue me.

I know eventually I will swim my way to a surface that allows me to claw my way back to some semblance of myself. I will once again do yoga and pilates and even lift weights. Hell, I may even do cardio. I will one day work on set again, albeit as the mom and not the ingenue.

But I will never again, as long as I am blessed to live, have a lovely, sweet, vanilla-breathed 840 hour old baby.

So f*ck you, Heidi Klum. My abs can wait.

Zola's Story

I have a scrapbook that I started with Nahanni after reading 'A Cure for Death by Lightning'. In the book the woman pored over the thick tome created by her mother over the years, turning pages sticky with the sugar and flour and glue of years of family recipes, faded newspaper clippings and odd info. I decided to make one for her and at the front I inscribed it saying that she was my greatest adventure.

And now I find myself in a quiet house, Zola snuggled at my breast, Nahanni and her dad and my in-laws all at Granville Island. It's Zola's four week birthday today and I find it's my first chance to even think about writing something for her. The first week, that sweet, irreplaceable honeymoon week passed by in a blink, the second a blur of doing it all by myself, the third filled with appointments and auditions so that my head was permanently in a spin. As usual, I have the best of intentions and I want to make a slideshow of pictures, write her story...conquer the world again. Unfortunately, I can barely manage to make my bed - and that's with my ultra-efficient Filipina mother-in-law here.

So I am finally attempting to scratch out the details of Zola's story before the details disappear under the gauzy film of time.

Much like with Nahanni, it seemed that Zola's birth began days and days before she was born. As early as the Thursday and Friday of the week before she was born I was having so many of the signs that she was preparing to come. We had dinner at Dave and Marsha's on the weekend and I was laughing how I didn't think I'd make book club as I was going to have the baby any day, 'maybe even tomorrow' -- but as with Nahanni, it was all for show and would drag itself out for days. Unlike with N, this time I was not in any rush, didn't want to press the issue with sweeps and 'homework' (that was pretty ghastly stuff for both of us...). On Tuesday the 7th, I had a terrible, restless night, with back pain, intermittent contractions, insomnia and general discomfort and I was really thinking she would come on the Wednesday. By morning I was so exhausted and feeling so terribly I simply unlocked the door and sent a text to Circle Care that I was lying down and to just come in. I stayed in bed, sleeping heavily in the morning and restlessly in the afternoon and by 4 pm I felt turned around. No more contractions, no show...no nothing except for malaise, fatigue and discomfort. I felt like I had the flu and, as predicted, did not make it to Book Club (where, unbeknownst to me they had fit together an impromptu shower, which I duly missed). Thursday night I slept deeply through the whole night and woke feeling refreshed and strangely normal. It was bizarre and a little frustrating, this starting and stopping, but I figured I clearly was not going further. It was so long til she was due, I figured leave it alone, this baby doesn't want to come until it's due. I went grocery shopping, hung out with Nahanni, went to the Chocolate Factory and the park. The midwife called me and I huddled in a corner of the Chocolate Factory, breathing in that glorious sugary scent and explained to Irene that she ought not bother to come around, that nothing was happening and that I didn't want to do any sweeps or anything else. That was 4 pm, and we laughed and chalked it up to babies. Nahanni and I walked in the afternoon sun to the park, chatted with the dog walkers about being pregnant. We went home and made a great supper of homeade pizzas, loaded with cheese and veggies and I ate like a lumberjack. I felt quiet and content. We sat down to watch some TV and from 7 pm onwards I began to feel like maybe my water was leaking; albeit so slowly that I wasn't sure. It was just before 9 before I even casually said anything to Ez about my suspicion. At 9:01, about 3 minutes after I said it to him I felt a sharp *pop* like a little tendon bursting inside and I said 'Yep, that would be my water'. I called the midwife pager and calmly told her I was just giving her the head's up and that I'd call her in the morning if it progressed any further. I sat down to await the long haul -- and at 9:14 I had my first contraction, strong enough that I had to do a bit of ujaii breathing to get through it [Insert puzzled facial expression here].

9:27 Contraction #2. Stronger still, another breather.
9:31 #3. A grasp onto something contraction, accompanied by chills and adrenaline shakes.

Insert surprised and confused facial expression here.

This is of course when we realize that we have no idea what to do with Nahanni. We debate in muddled circles for 10 minutes, me trying to wrap my head around the whole thing while Ez loads up the car and (finally) packs his bag for the hospital. I call Tracy at 9:45 and she doesn't even say hello, she just says 'Are you having a baby!?'. Ez drives like a 90 year-old woman to the hospital, Nahanni, all tousle-headed and sleepy chats nervously in the back, making hilarious comments that cause me to chuckle even through my now 4-minutes apart contractions. Tracy meets us at Lion's Gate and makes the transition easy for us, holding Nahanni's little hand as they walk away from our room. She is wearing her blue pjs and her red housecoat and slippers and I want to cry as she walks away from me down the hall through the night. Her hair and its darling curls poking this way and that as she walks down the darkened hallway and through the doors away from me, soon to be a big sister.

Things progressed quickly from there. Once we found our way to L&D (no thanks to the orderly and his convoluted directions which had me doubled over, laughing and breathing through another contraction) it wasn't long before Irene arrived, chuckling about the reversal of fortune since the 4 o'clock conversation. By 11 pm things were moving fast and furious, with no relief in sight. I was able to breathe only through the first 15 minutes of contractions and then the whole thing became overwhelming. Suddenly my ujaii was out the window and the banshee leapt in. Where with Nahanni I had meditated and prepared, mostly breathing her in, with Zola I flew by the seat of my pants, screaming her into the world.

I'm not going to lie - I broke down and begged. I thought of my friends who had had epidurals ("I was laughing and playing scrabble!") and I thought 'Why am I doing this?' I knew that lurking somewhere in those corridors was a man with a needle and I wanted it. I never thought I would - with a home birth you know it isn't possible - but I crumpled under the intensity of the furious pace of this labour and tried to abandon all my principles about natural birth. So experienced, our Irene saw how much I was suffering and offered me sterile water injections "like a bee sting" she said to me. I spat out a yes in between gripping waves of pain and waited for the relief. I believe my exact quote after screaming molten mercury lit up my back was "I don't know what kind of f*cking bees have stung you!" but I will admit, it gave some relief to my back and allowed me to deal with the rest of the pain better. I knew from experience last time that I had done too much myself and this time I really leaned on Ez, allowing him to carry my weight while I concentrated on opening up to this baby. Quickly, so quickly I could feel what I knew was the baby pushing and I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. I pushed with ever fibre of my being, I pushed knowing that the faster I could get that baby out the faster I would feel relief and in 10 minutes of super-human effort, she was born, wailing into my hands.

In the dimly lit room I held up this squalling child, so different from Nahanni and her limp-armed silence. Slick and glistening, a black whorl of hair, tiny as the day is long, I held her to me and felt the wash of relief from all corners. Suddenly I was returned, no longer a wild banshee, a screeching spasm of a woman, but a mother once again. I held her to me, breathing in the crazy smell of her birth, holding her warm and pulsing against my belly. It was like coming up for air after a very long rapid, a giant gulp, fresh and bright.

It was minutes - how many? - before we even looked to see what we had and I nearly cried I was so happy to say 'A girl! We have another girl!'. Our first thought were of Nahanni and how happy she would be to have a sister. We finally lay back while they cleaned everything up, we searched her little face, every tiny milimetre of it, just drinking her in. Before we knew it this room that had been filled with noise and sound and light and energy was again silent and dim. The birth playlists just shuffled on and on, mostly my favourites like Ra Ma Da Sa and the gorgeous chants that calmed the night. The little faux candles flickered in the quiet night as Ez slept on the pull-out beside me and I stared at my new daughter with all the awe of a first-time mother. I drank in the cotton-candy smell of her, the warmth of her new skin against my belly where only hours before she had swum inside me. I thanked the stars above that she was here and safe and beautiful. I swam in the ocean that opens up when you hold your own flesh and blood against you for the first time. I heard what became her name over and over again in my head (as it had done while I was in labour too) and drifted in and out of our first hours together.

And I realized what would be the caption for her in the scrapbook. Nahanni I had said was my greatest adventure. Venturing into parenthood the first time is such an exciting prospect, filled with the wonder only newness can bring. But with a second child, you know the pains and the pitfalls and the newness will never again be what it was with your first - it cannot. But to jump into that fray again, knowing it all, that is something else altogether.

So for you, darling Zola, with your impossible blue eyes and mop of hair, for you I write that while Nahanni was my greatest adventure - you, my sweet girl, were my greatest leap of faith.

Ode to the Adored Second Baby

Oh, and you are adored! Already, you have captured me in depths and ways I could not have foreseen. I have spent every waking hour since your birth trying to swallow whole the experience of you. I have eaten the smell of you like it was my last supper and I lament its passing, bit by bit as the hours between your birth and now grow longer. I am astonished that ever I doubted for one second that I wasn't ready for you. I see now how clearly you are my destiny, and perhaps I will learn even more from you than from Nahanni. I breathe you in, hour by hour, try to memorize you like a lifeline that will keep me alive. I revel in your tiny features, you beautiful and delicate face. And I am so grateful. I thank you for having the courage to come to me, for knowing that I needed you more than I knew I did. Thank you for choosing me, little one. I love you, I love you, I love you...

Ode to the poor, neglected 2nd baby...

Oh pity, little soul
Don't feel left behind
Don't mourn that there are fewer posts
Fewer pictures
There is a lot of more with you too
Okay, more fears...no - maybe different ones
There is more love too, because we know
We know how much we will grow to love you
And there are three to love you
not just two!

Does that make up for it?
I can't help but feel (as a second child who was then an only and then the eldest living in the shadow of the dead) that someday I will be trying to soothe the ego of this second one for having been so neglected. Feelings will be hurt far into the future for the slights of the now...

I'm trying to be present in this experience too, but I have felt so unwell throughout this pregnancy that I haven't exactly been one with the universe of motherhood on this one. I am really becoming aware of the fact that these will be my last few weeks of ever experiencing pregnancy. That my hands rubbing the swell of a belly, feeling the pokings and proddings of my own little alien being are numbering fewer and few. I will never again know this feeling (oof! and a good kick in the ribs to remind me). It's true that with anything, the first time is a bit of a charm. One has only to look back through these posts to see everything, my heart on my sleeve with Nahanni's pregnancy, birth and early times. And though every mother has said it, you can't know til it's true how little time you have to romanticize your second or subsequent pregnancies. And though you will never believe me, my little dos, you were and are loved equally, if not more for the guilt of what I know I have failed you on, here and elsewhere. I know there were not weekly pictures, we are still waiting for the sepia toned art-house photos of you in-utero. But what you don't know is that I consider you your own miracle, because you have fought through and perservered. You have survived the toughest of times in there, times of great sorrow and sadness and fear and helplessness. You have already endured more stress in there than you could possibly have deserved. But you haven't given up - in fact, you are a feisty little thing already, always kicking and bucking and stretching yourself. You have always made yourself known, little one. You are a survivor - this we know already.

And just as before, I long to see your little face. I long to hold you and smell your vanilla-kissed breath. And I know something that I never knew with your sister: I know the depths of the love that I will always have for you. That's worth more than pictures or words, I promise.

33 weeks...

But who's counting? Well, I guess I am, but I cannot decide if it is a little time or a lot still to go. Depends on the day and the humidity and whether mama has any of her spells...

Still cannot quite fathom that we are having another child. That I will be a mother of two. That there will be two kids who look to me not to screw up their lives. 2 kids to do laundry for, two kids to buckle in, 2 kids to pay everything for...two kids to love like crazy. It amazes me that the two people whom I will be fortunate enough to know as my own for the rest of my life will soon both be here. And just like the time before Nahanni that I cannot quite remember, I am sure we will feel the same about the time before there was _________.

Ah, names. No. We don't have any. Still. We'll just have to meet them and then I guess we'll know.

Nothing radically interesting going on other than my usual philosophical musings. I wonder if I am still 'living the life I imagined' and whether it is better to live in the moment or be all responsible and buy insurance and RESPs and save for the future and all that grown-up stuff. I liked it better in the adventure phase, but still, having kids is its own adventure, that's for sure. I don't know the answer; I wonder about how my sanity will fare under the regime of two young children (they are their own little dictators, aren't they?). I don't know if the stay-at-home/working mom thing will grow thinner and thinner. I already question the relative sanity of homeschooling since it will never allow me out from under the thumb of mommyhood to explore, rediscover and redefine my own place in this world. Many of the dreams I once held don't hold me any longer and I don't think I have found new ones to replace them yet. I feel like my personal fulfillment has definitely taken a backseat to that of my children and that has mostly been okay - but for how long? I feel cracks in the facade somedays that are so wide I could stick my whole self through it without scraping the sides. And still, no answers are forthcoming.

Well, there is one answer: Why don't you focus on having a baby in a month or so? How 'bout that?

Ah, philosophy.

And there she was...gone REDUX

JUNE 25/10 and July 13/10 (27 and 30 weeks)

It's been four days and I only now have the courage to even write about it. Four days ago, for several heart-stopping moments, my child disappeared from me.

We were headed to the water park to cool down from the heat that had finally come down on Vancouver after weeks of mercilessly gray skies. Nahanni and Pella ran ahead of us, eager to climb on the equipment. We watched them clamber onto the slide, laughing as we skirted the park with the stroller to park ourselves in a copse of shade just on the other side of the playground. We chatted as we began to unpack the food, the sunscreen, the stuff of an outing with kids. I turned around to look at the girls, the quick check-in you do as your child begins to gain independence from you and when I didn't immediately see her, I wasn't alarmed. I stood there, hand on forehead to block out the early day's sun, scanning for her little red hat. I knew she wouldn't be far - she never wanders, wouldn't leave Pella...but then I realized that I just couldn't see her.

Anywhere.

In the space of thirty seconds my blood pressure went from calm to panicked. My heart raced as my stomach fell. I looked at Kendall and I said 'My god, she's not there!' and my first real thought was that someone had come and snatched my child. My child who never wanders, my child who would not leave her friend -- but I also fought that notion, I told myself that is so rare, that Pella would have screamed, that she had to be somewhere, but she wasn't. She really was gone. My pulse thundered in my ears as I began to call her name with increasing alarm, my eyes scanning furiously in the trees behind the playground. I walked quickly, yelling for her, the urgency rising in my voice. My stride quickened with my poor heart, I was stuffing the panic down, trying to stay calm. My voice grew louder and I was close to screaming as I looked back and met Kendall's gaze. I saw in her face something I never wanted to see; she knew too that Nahanni was gone. I started to run and as I ran up the little set of stairs towards the field that led to the parking lot I saw a woman waving her arms at me, some 50 metres away. She started to point and I looked and saw Nahanni, bewildered, frightened as me. I yelled to her and when she saw me she threw her arms wide and burst into tears, running toward me full speed, yelling for me 'MOMMA!'. Like a scene from some awful film we ran towards each other and I scooped up my sobbing child, somehow stifling my own sob in my throat. She pressed herself to me and I dropped down and just held her to me for a good ten minutes. For a good ten minutes we just sat in the pool of relief that surrounded us both. I held her and rocked her and whispered that she was okay. She buried her head into me, sucking her thumb and crying quietly and for a moment she was my little baby again. I breathed her in, trying to release the horror of that moment in which I really thought I had lost my daughter. I talked to her about what had happened, reiterated all the lessons I thought we'd been through before and I finally came to realize that she simply hadn't seen us skirt the edge of the playground, that when she turned to see where I was, well...

There I was. Gone.

She had simply doubled back to where she had last seen us. The woman who found her said she wasn't crying, she was very calm, she was just searching and calling for me. I feel like a thousand times I have told her that if she were ever lost to find a mommy and stick with her until she brings her to me and in one little moment it all seemed to fall apart. It was amazing how quickly she recovered and was back to herself, playing in the water. How quickly tragedy returns to normalcy and we laugh about how scary it was. I know we both kept an even keener eye on our kids that day. It is a hard road, this road to independence. We try to let them be kids, but in one second you can see how things can go pear-shaped, no matter how vigilant you are. I don't want to be falsely paranoid about the real dangers in my child's life, I don't want to say 'no' to everything because we have a false sense of the dangers that face them. I want her to be brave and independent and to challenge herself and me.

But...

But really, that scared the living sh*t out of me and I hope it never happens again.

And there she was...gone

She isn't here.

For the first time in her life, she will not sleep at home, will not be here when I wake. We had dinner with Tracy and Adrian and she came back in from the trampoline next door and begged to stay with Talulla and Sadie. My first instinct was to say no, and I did, but then I thought about it and wondered what reason I had to say no. I said to Ez - should we ask her and make sure she is ready? I took her aside and talked to her about it, about what it means to have a sleep over. I explained that Mommy and Daddy wouldn't be there and that she would wake up at their house and not ours...was that okay? She was excited, insistent that it was, that she was fine. I felt torn - for whom would I be saying no? For me, for her dad? Because though we were both utterly unprepared and a bit apprehensive, Nahanni was fine. She was primed. She was excited. She went pee, threw on pj's, brushed her teeth in between giggling with the girls. I stood there, feeling torn, worried...almost overwhelmed. It felt strange to be leaving her there - anywhere, really - and to go home without her. I've never spent a single night away from my child and I'm not sure if I was ready (and Ez really wasn't ready).

But she was.

She was so happy and excited she scarcely could pull herself away to say goodbye. Ez and I stood back, both of us (I think) wanting some kind of long kiss goodbye, but she was already ensconced with the other girls, giggling and hopping on her mattress, inspecting the pink sheets, the beige blanket, picking stories for the night. Her dad and I stood there at the door, lingering helplessly and when she couldn't even manage a wave over her shoulder we slunk out, empty handed. We entered the car in silence, me torn between feeling so proud of her for being ready and scared because maybe I'm not. I wanted to laugh at how strange it felt, how quickly that corner was turned but the tension in the car was palpable. If I felt a bit apprehensive, I can now say that Ez seemed downright perturbed. More than just the shocky feeling of such an unexpected turn in the evening, he felt...what? Like he'd gotten pressed into agreeing. He felt unhappy, not because he'd really see her any less - she'd have gone home to bed and I'd have been up with her for hours in the morning before he even got up - but because at the snap of two fingers our little girl had turned a corner. She has passed into a realm that now extends past us, past our home even, and he really was not ready for that to happen. I wasn't quite ready either, at least tonight, but I seemed more ready than he.

I suppose it is a real turning point in her young life, what will eventually be commomplace now seems like a giant turn of events. Driving home in a silent car, tension thrumming between us (that's just how daddy rolls) without her little noises in the backseat. I tried to talk to him about how happy it made her, but he was just living in his feelings of being upset, of feeling left behind in this major moment that he wasn't ready for...so entering the house without her, suddenly her little empty ballet shoes held a poignancy they wouldn't have otherwise. Her leftover 'cheesy-beedles' from lunch, her chair pulled up to the sink where she'd washed her hands - these little things held a certain loneliness to them. I don't mean to be melodramatic, but still I think 'Oh! Where's my girl!?'

I know where she is - she is with friends that I trust like family. She is lying in a darkening room laughing with her friends. She is a little girl testing her boundaries. May she always be ready to push herself, and even if we are not always ready for it, may we always know when it's fine to say yes.

Sleep well, lovely girl. You'll be in my dreams and I'll see you tomorrow. Bright and early I bet. For me, not for you.

28 weeks Ya Wa?

28 weeks. Where was I last time at 28 weeks? I don't know, you'd have to read the blog. In the last few days, or week or so I have been feeling seemingly back to normal (whatever that is), although today I am feeling really tired and not quite right. I am happy though, to have been feeling better and stronger and one of the great side-effects of that has been this miraculous new feeling of actually anticipating this baby. I hate to admit it, but there has been a pervasive feeling of...what? Dread? Fear? Overwhelming fatigue? Whatever it has been, it hasn't been the sunshine and lollipops version I had while awaiting my first child (sorry #2, welcome to your reality, huh?) I was a yoga last week (oh, bliss) and all the women were first-timers and talking about their nurseries, their piles of clothes, the booty from the showers, the book-reading, counting down the days. And there was me, with my swollen, purple legs, my horrid compression stockings, my fatigue and I was stricken by the dichotomy between me and them. How had I gotten from there [and I was there] to here? How had I missed the joy this time?

Of course, there was sharing time and by the time they has swung around to me I just blurted out a frank assessment of where I was and how guilty I was feeling about it. Laurie, the earthy, soulful instructor smiled warmly. She told me that she too had felt the same way with her second child and while on a yoga retreat her teacher had told her that each child comes to us with a sort of contract; the first knows they are first and they choose that, while the second knows that they are the second, that that is their destiny to choose, and they know it too. I don't know to what degree any of it is true, but it certainly helped to assuage some of the guilt. And over the last little bit, as more parts poke me, taking a form that seems more concrete, the more I have begun to imagine this small being who will soon inhabit my world. I finally felt that longing to hold them, that feeling that I will marvel at them as much as I did their sister -- that they too will be loved fiercely and dearly. I know I have all that in me, I know it will be there, but damn if it hasn't taken an awfully long time to show its face.

I decided to go through the clothes and get a pile ready for this newborn, something to come home in (as this one will have to come home, we know for sure) and I realized I had nothing. NU-thing. I had to raid Nahanni's treasure box and pilfer all her newborn clothes just to say I have something for this one (let the jealousy begin...now). I have no clothes picked out, no nursery...it all seems the very antithesis of the first time. Of course, I know what I need this time and what I don't. I know the baby will be in our room for a long time so it doesn't need a room. I know sleepers are cheap and they will appear. Perhaps I'm just avoiding dealing with the whole notion that this one must return home instead of being born here, something that really bothers me. I really, truly wish I could have this baby in my own home like I did with Nahanni. I really hate hospitals and I don't relish the experience being there. I know it's best, considering my history, even though there is no evidence that PPH is a recurring event. I know that it will be simpler and easier if something does happen, but still, I wish for the birth I want. And it sure doesn't take place in a hospital. But blah blah, I am resigned to that reality, and I really trust my midwives. I hope that it will be fast (no back-labour this time, thank you very much) and perhaps we can be home before the hospitally-ness settles too far in.

I'm tired today though, too tired to really articulate anything.

At a loss for words

No really, I have almost nothing to say. Ask me how far along I am, I can only tell you I'm due September 19th - which feels frighteningly close and yet so far away.
I'm still really tired, even though I am sleeping and napping.

We're bopping along though - nothing phases us after surviving the last crisis (no more please!)

Nahanni is progressing well with big girl things...I hate to be one of those parents, but YAY!!! she is finally poohing on the toilet and is very proud of herself - it was a real breakthrough for her to realize she could do it and now she has even asked to wear no diapers for sleeps, so hopefully we are on the road to a diaper-free household!

Er...wait a minute...

Excuse me - Have you seen my ambition?

I seem to have lost it. Along with my patience and my sanity. And my previously known body.

Anyone with information leading to rediscovery of the above in part or in whole is encouraged to contact me immediately at bedraggledmother@Iusedtobereallytogether.blah