Cheerleader

Hi, tonight you came you to soft ball to watch dad embarass himself in our first playoff game. We lost by 5 runs but had a great night. Seeing you and your mama helped my batting average but as soon as you left I hit an infield fly. You weren't too happy to be away from your bed and were giving your mom a hard time. She attempted to feed you a wonderful feast of sweet potato and oatmeal but nothing would make you a happy camper. Hopefully you'll enjoy the next game a little more.

Love B.

Six Months

Earlier this week as we basked in the heat and endless prairies that are Saskatchewan, you turned six months old. I think you've travelled more in these first few months of life than I did for the first 18 years of mine. I expect one morning to wake and find you covered with travel stickers that have been slapped on you marking your time at each holiday destination. Sure, you may not have those exotic stickers adorning the trunks of 1920s travellers to Europe who may have returned home with images of Paris and London stuck to their baggage. But, baby, you got better. Buck Lake. Drumheller. Elbow. These are the bright lights and big cities that most other six-month olds can only dream of.


The world is your oyster. Or at least your sweet potatoe. This past month you've started eating solid foods. Let me rephrase that. You've started accepting solid foods into your mouth and then bllaaabbbbshhbbbing it all over your face. The last few days you have sharply protested being placed in your high chair with the tray covering your legs because...I shudder to believe we've even done this to you...because it DENIES YOU ACCESS TO YOUR FEET FOR MORE THAN FIVE CONSECUTIVE SECONDS. Eating oatmeal and applesauce is not enough for you. You need to simultaneously have food, your thumb, and a minimum of four toes in your mouth at any given sitting to avoid a meltdown no one has seen since denying Mel Gibson a martini.


You continue to amaze your dad and me with how adaptable you are to new situations. You readily explore anything new. Generally by shoving it in your mouth. You win people over time and time again with that infectious, coy little smile of yours. I've never yet seen you not smile at someone who took the time to talk with you, pinch those enormous cheeks or tweak your sausage toes. Time and time again we hear how happy you are and how easy going you are. These people obviously have not seen you once you've decided it is time for your bottle.


Jack, you are an amazing gift. For every month you've grown, you've helped me grow immeasurably more. It has not been easy for me to be a mom. I'm not a natural and I'm nowhere near perfect. But my love for you knows no bounds. As tired as I am each day as we put you to bed, I can't wait to see you again in the morning. As hard as it is to do the same things over and over each day, I can't wait for the next day to do it all over again with you. In just half a year, you've taught me more about myself than I've learned in the last five. You've made me a more patient, more loving, more understanding woman. All that in just six months? Just imagine what you and I will achieve together in the next six.


Love,
Your Momma

Not So Much the Lady's Man

You love the girls, but they just don't love you back, Jack. We've already covered off your cousin Alyce who is usually too busy to give you a second look or if she does look at you it's usually because she is trying to stab you in the eye with her finger. And now, little Ava. Just two weeks your elder, I think she's already looking for older men. Try as you may to capture her attention, she just shuns you in favor of a rattle. Oh, my sweet son. It is only the beginning of a lifelong struggle with the other sex.

But, I appreciate how at such a young age you've already mastered sign language to explain just how you feel about the whole situation.

Love,
Your Momma

Welcome Home Little Man

This past weekend was the first time in six months that I was left home alone. Tabitha took Jack up north to Buck Lake for 5 days and it was very strange to come home to an empty house. I don't think I realized how much I enjoy waking up to the sounds of little man gigling and babbling and tucking him in at the end of a busy day. It seems like a long time since I've heard Jack laugh and am really looking forward to seeing him tonight. I hope he had fun up there but I'm glad he's back along with my wonderful wife. See you soon.

Love pops.

Once, Rice, Three Times a Baby

Yesterday was your first day trying out solid foods. Or, what The Establishment calls "solid foods". Really, it is just nasty old rice cereal made so runny it might as well be milk. But you get to eat it with a SPOON. Apparently if the food enters your mouth via something other than a nipple, you are on the road to solidified food eating. When you look back on this moment at the ripe old age of 17 and shoving your fifth hamburger with extra cheese and double bacon into your mouth, this little foray with rice cereal won't seem like such a big deal, I'm sure.

You took to the gruel extremely well. I think you've been patiently waiting for this moment for some time. It's like you've known for a month now you could handle the stuff and were just waiting for us to get on with the program. No gagging, no choking, no horrific fits of screaming bloody murder. Just you, your over-moisturized rice flakes, and pure happiness.

Love,
Your Momma

The Joys of Bachelorhood

Jack and I are solo tonight. Tabitha is heading out for some much needed girl time and I hope she has a wonderful time. I can't wait for Jack to be old enough to enjoy these nights where we're left to fend for ourselves. Tonights menu was BBQ chicken pizza and I wish I could have shared some with the little man. Instead he was stuck with another bottle of delicious formula. He'll be moving onto solid food soon and I'm sure he's not going to miss the formula.

So, Jack, I apologize for waiting so long to write something here. I can't believe you've been with us for over 5 months. I don't remember what life was like without you. I've always liked mornings but I love them now as we often wake up to you talking and laughing away until we come get you and are blessed to see the biggest smile in the world. However, the smile doesn't last too long as we usually try to feed you quickly but you still lose your mind until you get a nipple is in your mouth. Then it's all smiles again. You're en excellent sleeper and love your bed. Tonight you wanted your bed so badly we didn't even get through a story. You just keep moaning and grunting as I tried to read Where the Wid Things Are. I interpreted this "as get out of my room this exact instance" so we'll continue the story tomorrow night.

Hope you have a great sleep and I'll see you tomorrow morning for another walk with our infamous hound named Theo.

Love pops.

Water Baby

Ahhh, your first time in a pool. You just turn five months and here we are risking your life with PLASTICS and WATER all at the same time. If you listen carefully, you'll hear your dad and second cousin Troy discussing - surprise, surprise - the Oilers. And the Chris Pronger Trade. Oh, sweet Moses. The Chris Pronger Trade. It'll be in the history books, Jack. I'm assuming it must be the sporting event of the century given how much your dad has discussed, dissected, and opined about it. There is no greater sin in life, dear Jack, then asking to be traded by the Oilers. Murder, assault, New York crime boss. They don't hold a candle to asking to leave the Oilers. Just be glad you were too young to remember hearing about this every single day for the entire 2006 hockey off season. BE VERY GLAD.



Love,
Your Momma

Five Months

Last week you turned five months after putting your poor, poor momma through two and a half weeks of pure parental torture. If you didn't have that goofy grin and such huge earning potential in the next 25 years, I think I may have shoved you inside the gas company payment envelope and asked them to charge us a little extra every month in exchange for taking our screaming banshee of a son. But, last week, just like the sun breaking through a cluster of thunder clouds, the you that you were before those two and half weeks came back. Apparently, you were just as disturbed as I was about the annual return of the Calgary Stampede and just needed to get it out of your system. I completely understand.


This past month you've been so anxious to try out new things. You've fallen madly, deeply, strangely in love with the Jolly Jumper. It's gotten to the point that when I burp you over my shoulder, you automatically begin bobbing up and down, up and down. It's as if you want to say, "Hey, milkmaid, hurry along here. I got me some fierce hopping to do." And you grin and you grin as you spin and boing and drool in your little blue heaven.

But, water has also become a friend of yours that vies for your fickle affections. Sort of like my boyfriends in elementary school. One day, your dancing to Every Breathe You Take in your friend's basement with the boy with curly red hair, and the next week you are sure you will be living in California in your white-carpeted apartment with white cat and white Fiero with the boy who shared the purple Fizz candy with you. You've taken to splashing up a mean tidal wave in the bathtub and wildly flailing the water off your high chair tray. And you were a regular Jacque Cousteau your first time in the blow-up pool. This time is so much better than the first few baths your dad and I gave you when you first arrived and you would cry like we were trying to make you solve fractional calculus before feeding you.


One of the best moments of my day is coming to get you out of bed in the morning. The moment you see me, your face lights up with that smile that just eats your whole face. It's like your cheeks expand exponentially beyond your face to make room for the widest, happiest mouth known to man. My second favorite time is at night when I come to check on you as you sleep. You are so peaceful, so perfect. I wouldn't trade a moment of it for anything on earth. You are my crazy, busy, charming, adorable boy. I love you sweet pea.


Love,
Your Momma

Kissing Cousin

Your cousin Alyce has had very little interest in you since you've been born. Other than giving you a head butt one night, trying to poke you in the eye several times, and violently rocking your car seat carrier, she hasn't been exceptionally intrigued by the wonder that is you. And as you will see here, you continue to simply be an obstacle by which she must pass in order to get what she truly wants. Just remember that when she's begging you to invite all your hot toddler friends to her Lilo and Stitch movie parties. You'll get her back, Jack. You'll get her back.



Love,
Your Momma

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