Are You Talking to Me?

Occasionally, you go on crazy chattering rants. A trait I think you got from your mom who also occasionally will begin talking endlessly to herself and then randomly scream. She's funny that way. Funny in a "ha ha you need to be instituationalized" sort of way. Here you are at 15 weeks giving it all you got.



Love,
Your Momma

Your Dad

I can't count how many times people have told us how much you look like your dad. Which, really, is a good thing considering I look like a girl and I have breasts. Two traits boys generally don't strive towards in their physical appearance.

There are some pretty fantastic traits you'd be well off to adopt from your dad, and a few I'd like to recommend you leave aside. Like the whole leaving empty glasses sitting on the countertop rather than putting them in the dishwasher. Even though the glass is sitting on the countertop DIRECTLY overtop the dishwasher. Because apparently that's just dad's way of exerting some sense of control in this swirling, chaotic universe. Or part of his master plan to slowly, deliberately drive his wife completely insane in order to assume control of our vast assets and rolling suburban estate in order to secure funds to ensure himself a lifetime of Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Hockey DVDs.

You might also reconsider the whole 'eat mom's favorite chips when she's gone to bed and then break her heart into a million pieces when she is looking for them the next day' trait.

And maybe also sidestep the knuckle/neck/shoulder/back cracking thing.

However, you'd do well in this world to embrace those parts of his DNA that make him one of the most remarkable men I know. The way he celebrates the most subtle things in life, like the way the clouds look in the horizon or how light hits the room in a particular way. The way he talks about getting goosebumps when the Oilers score a particularly fantastic goal. And how he actually means it - GOOSEBUMPS. About HOCKEY. I mean, seriously. The way his voice and face softens the moment he sees you each morning. The way he speaks so proudly of every little thing you do. In his eyes, you and I can do no wrong. In his eyes, we are his world. A luckier wife and son I do not know.

This is your first Father's Day with your dad, Jack. There is no greater gift you could have given him this year than just to be here.

Love,
Your Momma

When You're Smiling

I think they program babies to smile fairly early in life just so exhausted parents aren't tempted to trade them for a nice, paper-trained daschund. What you don't see here is me crying like a giant slob as you show us one of your earliest smiles around five weeks.



Love,
Your Momma

In the Beginning

And the Lord said unto the people, "Let there be light" and there was light...

Then dinosaurs. Electricity. Air travel. Froot Loops. Britney Spears.

And that brings us roughly to February 2006 and the story of Jack's birth. Let's take a walk through those THREE memorable days, shall we? You'll notice when people type things in CAPITAL LETTERS, it is like they are screaming that word. And I am screaming THREE. Because it is way more than ONE.

Saturday, February 18

7:02AM: Oh, look. Still no baby. I'm five days overdue and have spent the last several days walking and walking and walking because walking helps bring on labour, don't you know? Yes, that plan worked extremely well, didn't it?

12:43PM: Here's your dad and I. Walking. Some more. Enough with the walking.

2:10PM: Desperation sets in as your induction date of Sunday is rapidly approaching. Let's see, what revolting thing can I drink to make you come out? Hmmm...I think I'll try castor oil. Mixed with orange juice. Ummmm, ummmm. Just like slurping up the oil slicks running through the gutters after a storm.

3:22PM: Nothing.

4:56PM: Nothing.

5:14PM: Sensing a trend yet?

6:34PM: I DO NOT feel good. It appears the castor oil has begun to kick in to help me get rid of my constipation. Oh, but I forgot to mention that I didn't have constipation. No. None at all. I am TRYING TO HAVE A BABY, holy Hannah. I don't need to poop. Apparently when I took the oil, I forgot to say the magic phrase, "No poopie, no poopie, no poopie."

6:56PM: I now have to admit to your dad that I think I have just given myself an award-winning case of the trots. Yes, just 12 hours before I'm supposed to be induced to deliver a baby. Oh, goody goody gum drops. A baby and extreme pooping all at the same time. I can't tell you how excited I am.

7:15PM: Hurray! The poop pains are getting worse and making me nauseous! I pray to the poop gods to just bring on the poop and let me be done with this entire debacle.

7:25PM: Your dad returns home with take out lasagna. I have never wanted to eat anything less than I do right at this moment. It looks like the innards of a cow's intestine. And smells about the same.

7:43PM: I retreat to the bathroom to calm my riled bowels with a tepid bath. Tepid. Translation: sucky. Before I was pregnant, I had baths that would melt steel. Now I have "tepid" baths.

7:55PM: Hmmm. Something's not quite right.

7:58PM: I call for your dad and explain that perhaps I may have been mistaken. I think I don't have to poop. I think I'm having a baby.

7:59PM: Stop myself from fainting by breathing in the vapours of the barf-inducing lasagna.

8:03PM: Call Kathy, our doula. Try to discern with her whether I'm in need of a good poop or having a baby. Yes, aren't you simply thrilled I could not tell the difference between you and poop? I thought so.

8:55PM: Kathy arrives to check in on us and wish us a good night before she'll be back in the morning when I'll likely be in real labour.

Sunday, February 19

7:04AM: Offer Kathy more herbal tea during this hour 12 of real labour. At this point, pooping seemed like the better option.

12:13PM: We check into the Rockyview Hospital since we are positive you are just mere hours away from arriving. Mere. Hours. Ummm, yeah.

4:43PM: Here we are, mere hours from when we checked in. Oh, look. No baby.

8:33PM: Mommy's getting a little tired of this gig. Alright, you've had your fun. Now get your itty bitty baby ass out here.

10:10PM: No seriously, get it out here RIGHT NOW.

10:43PM: I wait patiently for my Labouring Woman of the Year Award. I'm hoping Jon Stewart is hosting. I love that guy. In lieu of timely presentation of my award, I opt for an epidural. Yes, you may have noticed that I did not have an epidural until this point. Until this point 27 hours after starting labour. Until this point 39 hours after having no sleep. Do you see that both those numbers are double digits? DOUBLE DIGITS, child.

Monday, February 20

4:18AM: Oh, look. No baby. And not a whole lot of indications that said baby is planning to arrive anytime soon. Perhaps you had missed the memo. Of course you had. What with that whole no vision, no ability to read thing you got going on.

5:13AM: You enter this world and our lives are forever changed in that very moment. I have never seen a more beautiful face than the one your dad showed me as he lifted you to my eyes that day. And most appropriately, you've been born on Family Day. We are forever family.

I love you, Jack-o'-Lantern.

Your Momma

Your Story

Dear Jack:

Many years from now, when you are able to read and pop open a laptop on your own, I hope you will find this blog to be a record of how you grew up. Sometimes a factual record, sometimes an "inspired by actual events" account, and sometimes an absolutely biased review by a mom and dad who can see no wrong in you.

Too much time has passed already and I find myself wanting to capture all the little moments that are flashing by at rocket speed. You need to know about the day you were born, how we saw you grow, how much gratitude and cash you need to expend on your mom for bringing you into this world, and most importantly, how wonderful and amazing you are.

When your dad and I first learned we were pregnant (and here I use "we" in the royal sense of "we" - you'll note your father doesn't have any stretch marks from when "we" were pregnant), we both knew almost instantly that you were a boy. Several months later, it was confirmed by an ultrasound. I couldn't imagine then what having a boy would be like since I came from such a female-dominated family. Now that you are here, I couldn't imagine not having a boy and not having you. You are the reason I wake each day (and often the reason why I wake several times a night...but that's another story). You are a true blessing in our lives.

Welcome to this world, our world and our lives.

We love you.

Love,
Your Momma