You've come a long way, baby

Wow.

I can hardly believe it. I started this blog OVER FIVE YEARS ago. And then kids happened and voila... no more blogging for me!

Since then, a lot has happened. My first "precious preemie" (as she calls herself) is now nearly SEVEN years old and attends grade one at our local elementary school.

One week BEFORE she started school, I gave birth - early again - to our NEXT precious preemie.

It sort of sent our whole family into a vortex.

Here we were, a beautiful postmodern family with one kid, a decent income, and a perfectly sized home in a perfectly sized town. Soon my only child would start school full-time, and finally I'd be finished with daycare costs and diapers and potty training and breastfeeding - FOREVER.

But no, let's not get ahead of ourselves. If you believe in a higher power, you could say that said power was having a good old laugh at my presumptuousness.

Just as I started selling off all our baby items, a funny thing happened. Not funny ha-ha. Not really funny at all, to be honest.

In the early weeks of the new year in 2015, I started to wonder if - after four unsuccessful years of trying to get pregnant - I might be expecting. I dropped my twenty on the counter at Walmart and brought home the emotional roller-coaster in the pretty box, ready to urinate my feelings onto it in the hopes of a faint line in a tiny window.

Alas.

No line.

I waited a few days. I tried again. No line. No period. No nothing.

I went to the doctor. I had another pee test and a blood test. Both negative.

Fast forward another week. I ended up in the emergency room with unexplained abdominal cramping. The first question they asked was, "Could you be pregnant?"

I flippantly retorted, "Only if the last four tests in two weeks were wrong."

So... another pee test. Another blood test. An ultrasound.

Nothing.

Just before my mother left at the start of March for her annual three week cruise to warmer climes, I confided, "I think I must have hit menopause." She gave me a big hug and promised we'd talk when she returned at the end of the month.

And what a month it was!

As a high school teacher, I've grown accustomed to stress in my life playing havoc with my monthly menstrual cycle. I've been known to go three months without a period - and not be pregnant.

But for some reason, this time felt different. I wasn't really very stressed at work. I was working part time and feeling like things were going well. I was also aware that having just turned thirty-eight in February, menopause was now galloping headlong towards me from the horizon. I honestly felt okay with the possibility that my time had come to give up buying "women's hygiene" products - hoorah!

I will never forget driving with my husband and our now nearly four-year-old daughter Gwyneth to have some dinner on the first night of March Break that year. From the back seat, a little girl voiced a request that I was sort of surprised hadn't come sooner:

"Mommy, I'm tired of playing with dolls. Can I have a baby sister?"

My husband and I just looked at each other.

"Honey, I can't promise you anything. Maybe you can ask God for a sister if you want one, and Mommy and Daddy will see what we can do," I responded halfheartedly.

I should have known right then that I was in for trouble. Gwyneth has always possessed a sixth sense that would make the stoutest skeptic believe in the supernatural.

The next evening, quite begrudgingly, I dropped another twenty on the Walmart counter. The cashier stole a glance my way and said, "Good luck."

"Yeah, not really," I retorted. "Not exactly what I was hoping for right now." I'm not sure why I was so grouchy, but perhaps part of me knew what that test would reveal.

I went home and blatantly ignored the directions to use my "first pee of the morning" for the test.

I peed on that stick, whacked it down on the bathroom counter, and went out to the kitchen to pace for two minutes while I waited for what I hoped - for once - would NOT be a line inside a window.

When I returned, I had to laugh in spite of myself. For only the second time in my life, I was looking at a home pregnancy test with a positive result.

As I marched downstairs to find Ian and Gwyneth watching TV, I clearly was still taking in the news. I looked at them and said, "Oh good, you're both sitting down. I'm having another baby."

Gwyneth jumped out of her seat and yelled, "Hooray! Hooray! God's giving me a new baby sister! I just KNEW he would answer me!"

My husband looked like I had shot him at point blank range with a bazooka.

My mom and I did have a talk when she got home, but it wasn't about hormone replacement therapy or how to manage hot flashes. Instead, while eating breakfast at a local diner, I watched her facial expression turn from confusion, to disbelief, and then to joy as Gwyneth told her, "Mommy's having a new baby sister for me!"

My pregnancy was another whole post (or two) in itself. But for now, let's just say that on September 2, 2015, we welcomed Gwyneth's baby sister, Kinsey Maeve Rowan Campbell, into our family.

And life would never be the same.

To sleep: perchance to dream

So yes… we’ve had a pretty rough month in the Rowan-Campbell household when it comes to sleeping.  Our darling daughter Gwyneth went through quite a transition when she threw that Sousy away, and we are still trying to help her self-soothe and get some sleep.

I must say, the past two weeks HAVE been better.  Little did I know that our method of “sleep training” would stir up such controversy!

I really had no idea that there were such varying opinions on the matter of infant sleep.  Many of my friends were astonished that I would actually PUBLISH on Facebook that I was using the Ferber Method of sleep training.  “You’re brave to admit to that publicly,” one friend wrote, “but I’m in your corner.”

Another confessed that she and her husband used a sleep training method with all four kids, but didn’t tell any of their friends.

So what gives?  I had to learn more.

And learn I did.  Wow.  It just so happens that at the same time we were starting our sleep training with Gwyneth, the Moby Wrap Facebook page posted an interesting graphic – with interesting response!

Now honestly, I thought most of the conversation would centre around not using diapers – there ARE people who don’t, but that’s a discussion for another day – but no.  The overwhelming discussion surrounded the first bullet – having baby sleep in your bed.

Wow.  There are some NASTY people online who apparently like Moby Wrap, but still behave like they’re on the playground in grade one.  I couldn’t believe the comments flying between both camps – the co-sleepers and the non-co-sleepers (for lack of a better term).

We certainly tried several types of co-sleeping.  We started with Gwyneth in a bassinet next to our bed when she first came home from hospital.  But as you might imagine, after three months of sleeping in a busy NICU ward with lights on, bells and beeps and alarms going all night, and nurses bustling about, sleeping next to us in a dark, quiet room was not her cup of tea. 

So, we moved her to the crib and I slept on a twin bed next to her.  This also had mixed results.  She still wanted lights on – and even dim lighting makes it impossible for me to sleep – and we actually played the radio or music all night long for her, as she couldn’t handle the silence of small-town Fergus (where were the crazy kids who annoy us at the school next door on those nights?!?!?).

I have also tried having her in my bed, never for the night, but for naps.  She really doesn’t enjoy this too much. 

So I found the mudslinging amusing.  There were lots of good points on both sides of the argument.  One mom wrote, “All four of my brothers and sisters and I co-slept and we’re fine.”  Others posted links to various arguments in favour of both crib-sleeping and co-sleeping.  Some were over the top – one mom wrote, “This article basically tells you why it’s cruel to put your child in a crib.”  Which is funny, because I read the article, and it didn’t really say that… well, unless you're a cave woman and worried about wild dingoes eating your baby.

I think this mom summed it up nicely:  “There are few groups of people as judgy as moms. Read up on what you want to do, use your own judgement, make YOUR decision and let everyone else do the same.”

And so, that’s what we’re doing.  Gwyneth still takes at least twenty minutes to settle at night.  And last night, I admit I gave in and rocked her to sleep.  Honestly… I kinda like rocking her to sleep.  Because at the end of the day, I realize that soon enough she’ll be thirteen and telling me she doesn’t need a mom.

Might as well enjoy being needed while it lasts.

What charm can soothe her melancholy?

This month’s issue of Reader’s Digest Magazine (September 2012) is devoted to motherhood.  It was both entertaining and sobering to read through the different articles therein – I could relate to many of the truths, and laughed out loud at some of the anecdotes.

One aspect in particular caught my eye, as it relates to several blog topics I have tucked away for future writing.  It was a chart entitled “Parenthood’s hot-button topics,” written by Anita Lahey.

The chart is arranged to analyse the pros and cons of alternate theories in parenting – things like co-sleeping vs. crib sleeping, cloth vs. disposable diapers, and thumb-sucking vs. soothers.

This week our household has been gripped by the latter topic: the soother.

To say my daughter Gwyneth is headstrong is an understatement.  She is a streamlined conversion of her mother’s forthright, blunt, take-no-prisoners approach and her father’s quiet, unassailable stubbornness.  Lucky us.

She emerged from the womb against her will at 27 weeks gestation.  She was all of one pound, seven ounces, but had the voice of a full-term baby.  As one of the neonatal nurses said to me on day five, “This one’s got personality, and that’s all I’m going to say about that.”  Yeah.  Can’t wait until she’s thirteen.

Gwyneth’s safe and healthy birth was miraculous, and because of her strength, we gave her the middle name Maude, which means “battle might.”  We might have regretted that a few times.  Just last week I overhead the hubs say, “Now Gwyneth, it’s time to put Maude away.”

Gwyneth has done everything her way.  Her physiotherapist likes to say, “She’s the boss, applesauce!”  And truly she is.  She has met all her one-year adjusted milestones, but on her terms, no one else’s.  She still has never rolled over, because she thinks being on her tummy is pointless.  She gave up breastfeeding the day after her first birthday with a flourish – she stuck her soother in her mouth and kicked me.

So back to the soother – also known as a pacifier or a dummy to my friends in other parts of the world.  There is great debate amongst parents, parenting experts, and medical personnel about whether a baby should use a soother or not.  Many argue that a soother can cause dental issues, but of course, so can sucking one’s thumb.  I’ve read copious accounts of soothers interfering with breastfeeding.  And of course, there’s always that dreaded future task of getting your child to STOP using a soother.

I have relatives who had a burial for the soother and a short service to say good-bye.  Their son went around saying “Bye-bye paci” for a week after that.  Others I know have thrown it in the garbage.  I have one friend whose daughter was constantly losing her pacifier, and Mom or Dad was regularly heading to the local Target to buy another for her. 

In our case, my daughter was given a soother by the neonatal staff at Mt. Sinai Hospital in Toronto the day she was born.  As it was explained to me, babies born as prematurely as Gwyneth do not have the innate ability to suck that full-term babies have, and so a soother is used to teach them to suck, which in turn helps them to be more successful with breastfeeding.  Who knew? 

And so, against my better judgement and the advice of every nursing guide on the planet, my daughter used a soother from the beginning. 

I have both cursed and blessed that soother.

For the first few months after we came home from hospital, our daughter would fall asleep with her soother.  Then it would fall out, she’d wake up crying, and we’d be out of bed putting in her soother.  I mean, twenty times a night!   I can remember Ian saying to me, “Wow, I can’t wait until she can put that soother back in herself.”

Of course, once that happened, then the issue was feeding.  She really didn’t want to take it out to eat.  Our running joke was that our daughter was a “chain soother” – she’d take a bite of food, then a few drags on the soother, then another bite of food. 

As I have already stated, she nursed.  Her soother really didn’t seem to interfere with nursing, until that aforementioned day when she looked at me, pulled off the breast, and stuck her soother in her mouth.  It was an act of defiance.  She was planting her flag of independence.  I don’t NEED to nurse anymore, Mommy.  I have my Sousy!

That soother has been everywhere with her.  She would take it into the swimming pool with her, where other babies might try to take it from her, or she’d drop it to the bottom of the pool for Mommy to fetch.  She once lost it on a walk when she threw it on the ground and we didn’t notice.  Until we’d walked 2.5 km and she started crying.  Turns out she’d set Sousy free back at the 0.5 km mark.  That was a tedious walk home, at least until we found Sousy at the side of the road near our house.  About a month ago, she started trying to give Mommy or Daddy the soother, especially if she wanted us to stop talking.  

Personality, right?

And then, nine days ago, something miraculous happened.  Gwyneth just threw her Sousy away.

I have secretly been dreading the end of Sousy.  I really thought it would be a long, teary, drawn-out end to a somewhat unhealthy co-dependent relationship.

But for some reason, she just decided she was done.  Sousy went flying across the crib several times before I realized Gwyneth really didn’t want her soother.

Of course, I didn’t believe that could be possible.  So for the next five or six days, I kept trying to give her the soother.  No way.  I’m a big girl, Mommy.  No soother.  She found it on her change table today and threw it across the room.

Now before you get all miserly about the easy time I’ve had with the end of Sousy, I must tell you: it has come at a price.  You see, Gwyneth still needs Sousy.  She can’t soothe herself WITHOUT Sousy.  But she won’t take that soother even if I were to duct-tape it to her mouth.  Don't think I haven't thought of it.

Instead, she just stays up all night.  Every night.  We’re on night ten tonight.

She claws at her clothes.  She throws her stuffed animals across the crib with enough force to break something.  She pulls at her skin.  She crawls around until midnight saying “Uh-oh” and blowing raspberries.  But no soother.

And so, once again, I’ve reduced this issue to a crapshoot.  What’s a mom to do?

I combed through Reader's Digest, but they didn't have any tips for helping moms cope with babies who are fifteen months going on fifteen.

Seriously. Yogurt?

Yogurt. Who knew it could be so complicated?

Remember being a kid, and the excitement when your mom bought you one of those single-serve yogurts in one of four flavours - strawberry, raspberry, blueberry or peach?

How times have changed.

My daughter fell in love with yogurt after one bite. She is yogurt crazy. There are days where other than tuna salad, all she eats is yogurt. (We'll save her tuna fetish for another post...)

But choosing yogurt is complicated. Honestly, I just didn't realize how many yogurt choices are out there. No-fat, low-fat, 2%.  Sweetened with sugar, or Splenda, or aspartame. Plain. Flavoured. Fruit on the bottom. Stirred or set.  Probiotic. Greek. Mix-ins. Parfaits.  For crying out loud, the yogurt aisle is bigger than the snack food aisle!  Don't even get me going on the organic options.

So I go on a hunt for the best yogurt for my daughter. At first I just give her our usual yogurt - a plain, local, organic, full-fat yogurt. This seems okay to me.

But then my family visitor mentions that I should be giving the wee one a higher fat selection. (Yeah. One of my many appointments is a once a week visit from someone at Public Health. I guess they think having a premature baby makes me especially unable to parent.)

So I search high and low. Aha! A Balkan yogurt with 6%. Let's try it.

Nope.  Daughter spits it out.

Then, as I'm standing staring at the yogurt for twenty minutes, a complete stranger asks, "Have you tried this Oikos yogurt?"  No, I say, making conversation. She proceeds to spend the NEXT twenty minutes telling me how great it is, and how the key lime variety is better than dessert, but she can never find it, and she's called every grocery store in Guelph, Kitchener and Cambridge trying to find it.

Seriously. Yogurt?

So next time I hit the grocery store, I take a look and there's the key lime. I decide to buy two packages. And yes... it might actually be better than sex (although considering how infrequent that is for me these days, I wouldn't take my word for it).

I love it so much that I ask the yogurt lady when it's going to be delivered next. Yes. We have a yogurt lady!  For three weeks in a row I buy out all four packages of key lime.

My daughter loves it, but it's only TWO percent fat and has a lot of sugar. So I keep looking.

Next, I find Liberté's Mediteranée yogurt. SEVEN (yup, seven) percent fat. Oh my.

It tastes like eating butter.  I go crazy and buy four packs.  I'm sick of key lime. Mediteranée comes in blackberry, strawberry, citron, vanilla, mocha - they are all incredible.

But I'm really not sure she should have all this sugar. I'd rather add unsweetened apple sauce. So... I keep looking.

And then one day it happens. I find an organic, plain Greek yogurt with TEN percent milk fat.  It looks like condensed sour cream. It sticks to the spoon when I turn it upside down.  My daughter loves it.   I choke back the $6.99 price tag and buy two tubs a week for the next few months.

Then, seemingly at first blush, my new crush vanishes.

I track down my yogurt lady. "What gives?"

It's been discontinued. Who knows why?  She tells me it's been a great seller, but Loblaws won't be carrying it anymore.

I try other stores. I even drive to the next city. No luck. I'm starting to feel like the key lime crazy lady. Soon I'll be calling around!  In my desperation I actually go to Walmart, the final frontier for me in groceries.

And there, nestled in the yogurt cooler, is a brand new yogurt. It's labelled "Best New Product 2012" by Canadian Living magazine. It's Astro Greek Yogurt. Plain.  Unsweetened. Ten percent milk fat.  Only $4.99.

It is everything I have ever wanted in a yogurt. My daughter loves it so much that she finishes the 500mL tub in less than a week. I start making up excuses to drive twenty minutes to Walmart for yogurt.

Then my yogurt stars align.  My local grocery store now sells it, too. I'm ecstatic. I actually dance across the aisle to my husband with two tubs in hand. He walks away quickly and pretends he doesn't know me.

Look out. If I meet you in the yogurt aisle, I'll probably start telling you all about my new crush.

Parenting: It's a crapshoot

The hubs and I have been having an ongoing discussion lately: Does anyone really know ANYTHING about being a parent?

We're new to this job, relatively speaking.  Our daughter is fifteen months old.  Now - we've been through some pretty unusual parenting experiences already.  She was born by emergency c-section when I was 27 weeks pregnant.  We spent our first three months in hospital with her before we brought her home.  It's been a whirlwind of appointments in four different cities across Southern Ontario - oh wait.  They've just added another city for another specialist for yet another slot in my appointment book.  In any case, none of my expectations about my birth plan or my maternity leave or my general ideas of motherhood have been anything close to how life is for us these days.

And so... a blog.  I debated on this for a while.  Why add yet another mommy-blog to the glut?  Well, who knows.  I guess I figured that there are other moms (and dads) out there like us who have realized that no matter how many books you read, or how many people you get advice from (always unsolicited, I might add), nothing goes the way you expect.  That's why there are no experts - just parents who are slogging it out day after day, creating a new normal with each new milestone.

Parenting is a crapshoot.  The stakes are high.  Pony up.