My Little Fashion Critic: The Head and Face Edition

I’ve been working on a photobook the last couple nights, and I’ve run into some “colourful” photos of the munchkin expressing his opinions on my outfit choices…specifically when it comes to head and face wear!

Case 1: The Party Hat
But I thought kids liked Elmo! I guess if it’s not his birthday, he’s not playing along.Party Hat

Case 2: The Sunglasses
He does not wear his sunglasses at night, Corey Hart. Or during the day. Or EVER.Sunglasses

Case 3: The Winnie the Pooh Hat

I’m not sure if he’s pouting because he thinks Winnie the Pooh is lame, or because one ear wouldn’t stay up.Pooh, Winnie the

Case 4: The Rudolph Nose
He’s like my cat: he thinks if he leans back far enough, he can pull his nose out of the Rudolph nose.Santa Nose

Disclaimer: The munchkin was not physically damaged in the taking of any of these photos. I can’t promise that he wasn’t emotionally damaged, however…but hey, gotta keep those therapists in business!

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Okay fine, scheduling is good. Jeez.

Uh...can I get you some lunch or something?

Uh…can I get you some lunch or something?

I hate being wrong.

Admitting I’m wrong is even worse.

I spent months insisting that having Munchkin on a schedule would be too limiting for me and wouldn’t work for him and yadda yadda yadda.  And to be fair, a few months ago it may not have worked out well.  But as I started incorporating solids into his diet and we started to fall into a breakfast/lunch/dinner routine, suddenly everything started to fall into a routine.

And it. is. AWESOME.

Suddenly, I can actually interpret some of his crying: if it’s 10 am, he wants breakfast; 2 pm, he wants to nap.  It’s the next best thing to inventing a baby translator (a la Simpsons, love it).

So now I feel bad for all the other mom’s I encouraged to join in on my poo-pooing of the Schedulers.  I feel like I need to send a mass email telling them all, “Wait.  Stop the presses.  I was wrong.”  Maybe I should cc all the Schedulers that I smiled and nodded to (before poo-pooing their methods behind their backs).  I should probably print off the email and give it to my mother while I’m at it (afterall, she can’t log into a computer successfully, let alone open up a browser and navigate to her hotmail).

(But, in lieu of all that work, I’ll probably just quietly pretend I was really in favour of scheduling all along…I’m never wrong…)

Have Baby Will Travel

BabyMy husband and I love to travel. Since university, we’ve travelled at least once a year, be it flying out to Europe or driving out west along the Trans Canada. So when we found a last minute deal on a cruise to the Bahamas, we said “Hells yeah” and packed our luggage like it was the end of days. (Side-note: Isn’t it awesome that it’s 2013 and we’re all still alive? Take that, Mayans!)

We boarded the ship with smiles and optimism. We had nailed the flight to Orlando (munchkin slept most of the way *insert choir of angels singing here*). I had this vision of what our trip would be like: he would eat wherever, nap in his stroller, and we would spend hardly any time in the room. Oh, and of course I would magically lose my mummy tummy the moment I slipped my bikini on.

Alas, reality was waiting for us in our tiny tiny stateroom. Munchkin hated the nursing cover (well, it’s more like he loved to rip it off), he refused to nap anywhere (which meant he was more than a little loco by day 3), and nothing could stop me from obsessing over whether he had enough sunblock on (as it is, all three of us are as pasty white as the day we left).

One day in, we had to wonder if we were total dumbasses for vacationing with our little man. We were tired. He was cranky. It took us forever to get ready every time we left the room.
baby meets ocean

Then, on day 2, something amazing happened: we got to dip his little feet into the ocean. He felt sand. We watched him laugh and bounce during the evening show. We beamed at each person who fawned over him.
Beach Baby

I realized that like anything else post-baby, the trip was not going to be the same as previous ones, but that’s not to say it wasn’t going to be enjoyable. Experiences like drinking until 2 am and tanning on the deck sipping Mai Tais were simply traded in for new experiences like watching the munchkin’s first sunset or laughing at his strange reaction to sand beneath his feet.
DSCF7895

We had an amazing (and very very exhausting) time, and I would do it again in a heartbeat!

I Heart Pinterest

Oh Pinterest, you’re always there for me during those 5 am feedings. And after seeing several baby-with-christmas-lights photos, I enlisted my awesome soon-to-be sister-in-law to recreate them. (Phew, could there BE any more hyphens? Anyway…)

And they look awesome. Even better than many of the ones out there, I might dare say (not that I’m biased). Take a look, and pin it if you like it!

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I Swear, I Used to Have Standards: The Food and Drink Edition

As I sit here, eating a leftover Baby Mum-Mum and drinking warm, flat pop, I can’t help but think: man, I really used to have standards.

First of all, I now buy everything at Walmart, because nothing sucks worse than having to get your kid into and out of the car seat/stroller a zillion times to buy all your groceries/ toiletries/ Christmas gifts…except maybe Walmart produce…

I’ve been a Starbucks junkie since corduroy pants were cool, but there’s no drive-thru location nearby and it can be a pain in the arse to drag the munchkin in. Now, I will drive twice as far to the Tim Hortons (eh?) or McDonalds drive thru just to avoid doing so. And speaking of coffee, everything I order past noon has to be decaf, otherwise I’m dealing with a crazy, jacked-up baby until midnight. Have you tasted a decaf latte? It’s like giving a Canadian a bottle of Bud.

Oh, and don’t forget, you either chug your coffee down while it’s burning hot because you know any second he’s gonna have a meltdown, or he’s already freaking out and your drink is cold by the time you settle him down.

Same goes for food. I used to be able taste food. Now I just shove it down when he lets me, which is usually half an hour after its been served. Nothing says delicious like congealed gravy on cold turkey. Awesome.

Maybe I can buy a potty that looks like an ExerSaucer…

Don’t you just love it when you’re halfway through changing a diaper when your little one remembers that he has feet and they are DELICIOUS!

om nom nom

om nom nom

Makes it a tad challenging to complete the task at hand. (Enjoy it while you can, kiddo – mommy can barely touch her toes.)

Speaking of diapers (and, by proxy, poop): My son has recently developed a fondness for pooping while in his exersaucer. He is in for a rude awakening when he learns that you don’t poop while standing in the real world.

Can you give me a sec, mom?

Can you give me a sec, mom?

OCG: A Mom Disorder for the 21st Century

It started one evening with some eye discharge and a slight fever. By morning, his eye was so swollen he could barely open it. And so, after much deliberation with myself, I made the call to his pediatrician and brought my little cyclops in.

It is an issue that I have spent much (too much) time stressing over: When is it “legit” to call your pediatrician?

I always swore I would not be the mom who frantically calls her pediatrician ten times a day at the first sign of sniffles. And while I thought I had succeeded in avoiding this stereotype, I realized I had merely modernized it. I am a mom with a wicked case of OCG: obsessive compulsive Googling.

I have been afflicted with OCG since early in university, when I realized the wealth of quasi-accurate facts and diverse opinion that was at my fingertips. It started innocent enough – a quick check to see the name of so-and-so who played what’s his face in that movie. It grew into a need to check facts and disprove people in arguments. But during pregnancy, I found I was constantly checking to see if what I was experiencing was “normal”. And when the munchkin was born, I began checking to see if everything he was experiencing was normal. Unfortunately, this habit spawned a minor case of hypochondria along the way. I Googled when I thought his legs were too curved. I Googled when i thought he spat up too much. I Googled every time his poop colour and consistency changed (my pre-baby self never dreamed that I would ever study and ponder my child’s poop). I am the crazy pediatrician-calling mom of the 21st century.

So in the end, the doctor checked out little E and diagnosed him with a “minor viral infection” (the next day, when he woke up crusted in his own snot I realized “minor viral infection” was doctor code for “nasty cold”). And while I felt stupid and cliche the next day for bringing my baby in for a cold, there was a certain peace of mind I got out of it that no amount of Googling can ever really replace.