Lord Have Mercy

We took our first camping trip with the munchkin this weekend, and I have just three words: Lord have mercy.

Don’t get me wrong – we had a blast. The little guy was a trooper for the long drive, and he was beside himself with glee to have so much outdoor space to run around in. But if you go camping with a toddler who has just barely learned to walk, yet thinks he can run, and puts everything (and I mean everything) in his mouth, you had better not be a clean freak or a germophobe.

Luckily, I am neither of those things (as my mom knows all too well), so we got along just fine. Of course, the weather could have been better, but we’re from the Wet Coast. We’re experts in tarp hanging, rain gear, hot soup and extra socks.

With an overnight downpour, what was once dirt became mud, and the Captain was no less eager to run around the campground. His jumpy little legs would not tolerate playpen confinement, but if we tried to keep him inside the tent, he would have bounced off the walls until the whole thing came down. So we cut him loose.

He ran, and tripped, and rolled, and ran again. Within minutes he was covered in mud, sap and pine needles. Four pairs of pants for two days of camping are not nearly enough for my Captain Muddybum.

On the second day of our trip, we braved unpredictable weather and embarked upon a hike. In a very uncharacteristic move, I had not researched the trail except to know that it was popular and the views were spectacular. Apparently I have been away from any real mountains for far too long – I assumed that the hike couldn’t be more than about two hours each way.

Three hours later, we emerged from a section of trees and could finally see the peak to which we aspired. It was so far away that I wondered if it was the same mountain.

“Is that where we’re going?” I asked with some dismay.

“Well, I’m certainly not,” grumbled my husband. To his credit, he had been carrying the munchkin the entire way, despite my offers to share the load. Our little one is not so little anymore.

A few minutes later, we met a couple in their fifties making their descent. They looked quite fresh and not too sweaty (unlike us), so we were encouraged. The kind man told us that we only had about a mile to go. Figuring that even at a crawling pace up a steep trail, one mile couldn’t take us longer than twenty or thirty minutes, we soldiered on. Maybe the peak we saw wasn’t the right peak after all.

An hour later, we still had not reached the top. Some overly cheerful trail runners assured us that we were almost there, to which my husband replied, “Yeah, they told us that an hour ago.”

The Captain, however, was a superstar. He slept part of the way, rapped part of the way (yes, he baby raps – “bikka, bikka, wah-wah, bidda bidda, ba-bah” – it’s very funky), and gleefully kicked his daddy’s back for most of the hike. We stopped every few kilometres to let him explore the trail, learning that approximate hike times are very different when a baby is involved.

We finally reached the summit only to discover that there was a highway allowing carloads of tourists to drive up the mountain. It is always a little disheartening to reach the top of a gruelling trail only to find 80-year-olds with canes and teenagers in flip-flops at the top.

But another part of me was relieved at the sight of a road. I was trying to figure out if there was another way down besides hiking. Was there a shuttle? Could we hitchhike? Could my husband hitchhike, go get the car, and pick us up?

But no. I am a BC girl. The mountain would not defeat me. We took some time to enjoy the views, ate some overpriced chocolate and refilled our water bottles. Down we went.

Our little one napped and rapped and kicked and babbled all the way down. It didn’t rain, and we were fortified by a steady supply of caffeine and sugar, thanks to the café at the summit.

We were exhausted and starving by the time we reached our camp, but all three of us were nearly giddy from our mountain adventure. It had been far too long since we conquered a trail like that.

Anyone have a job for me on the West Coast? I want to move back.

A Paradox of Motherhood

This is a paradox of motherhood: We would give anything for some alone time, yet we are often lonely. Well, at least I am.

You see, I am rarely alone because my munchkin is with me constantly. As a result, I crave the kind of “alone time” that would entitle me to use the bathroom without someone pulling at my pants, or read a book with more than four words on each page, or go to a coffee shop and actually drink coffee.

While my son and I have a lot of fun (morning dance parties come to mind), he’s not yet adept at enthralling conversation. So despite my constant company, I often feel lonely.

I need adults. More specifically, I need other moms. Playdates, you see, are not just for the kiddies. Playdates are just as important, if not more so, for the moms. We need each other. We need advice, support, laughter, clothing swaps, and spare diapers in a pinch.

But if your circle of friends is mostly childless, as mine was before baby, then you need to reach out to new friends. New mommy friends.

This can be tricky. Just because someone has a kid the same age as yours does not mean that you will become instant best friends. Au contraire. Parenting brings up a freight train’s worth of potential conflict issues. If you are a cloth-diapering, baby-wearing, extended breastfeeding, organic homemade food kind of momma, you may not jive with a disposable-diapering, plastic-everything, formula-feeding, processed food sort of mom.

But you may also be pleasantly surprised.

Having a baby creates common ground where there once was none. Mothers understand sleep deprivation, tantrums, poop explosions, and the boredom that comes from being cooped up in your house every day. Moms understand loneliness. While my mommy friends and I might not have everything in common, playdates with these women have become oases in some very, very long weeks.

Obviously parenting styles differ widely, and while I will avoid you if you’re a yeller (or worse, if you smoke around your kids), chances are we can get along even if we don’t agree on cry-it-out or co-sleeping.

The key is getting out there. But a first playdate is nearly like a first date, complete with all the requisite anxiety and planning. Will she like me? Will she like my kid? Will we have anything in common? Am I too dressy? Too slobby? Do I have broccoli in my teeth? Wow, look at her nails…

Inevitably, your child will be “out of sorts” that day. He will cling and whine, when he is normally very outgoing and happy. You will spend the playdate apologizing (“he’s not usually like this”), convinced that your new mommy friend will never call you again.

But she will, because she has a baby too. And nobody’s baby is perfect every day. You might not agree on politics, and you may eat everything from a box while she cooks from scratch, but you are both mothers. And chances are, you are both lonely.

There is something very unnatural about mothers raising their children alone in their houses. We need community, we need friends, and we need help.

Well, at least I do. Coffee, anyone?

The Things We Do...

I should know by now that even something as routine as a chiropractor's appointment can take a surprising turn with a one-year-old in tow.

The morning started in chaos, so I should have known. We were late due to the fact that an accident had closed both lanes of the highway, it was pouring rain, and every major artery in the city was closed for construction. My shortcut turned into a long, long, long way around. My son was hungry and tired, so he started to yell at me about being stuck in the car (“Ba-dah! Ba-DAH!” I’m not yet sure what this means, but he sure yells it with conviction.)

When we finally arrived, my chiropractor had taken the next patient, so we waited our turn. I watched the clock tick closer and closer to naptime.

My son was pretty happy at first. He climbed up and down the stairs. And up. And down. And up again. Exciting stuff. Then he discovered that each little glass table in the waiting area was full of pamphlets and other great things that could be pulled off, ripped, and tossed everywhere. Then he discovered the garbage bin. Yes, Captain Destructo was in fine form that morning.

By the time it was our turn, we were both exhausted from running around the office. My chiropractor has a toy box, so my son is usually quite entertained during my visit. This day, however was different. The moment I lay down on the table, he started to cry. Then he escalated to wailing. He had never done this in her office before, and he would not stop.

We brought in the receptionist for reinforcement. He usually loves her, but he just cried harder. So my chiropractor tried to go ahead anyway, while the receptionist restrained my writhing, wailing child, and I sang “Wheels on the Bus” with my face squished into the table.

No dice. It was way past nap time and he had hit the wall. But the chiropractor had an idea. Rather than cut the visit short, she laid my son on his belly on top of my back. Picture it, if you can.

He was instantly silent. And there we were: mommy on the chiropractor’s table, baby on top of mommy, chiropractor working on my hips, and the receptionist making sure that baby didn’t fall off.

I started to laugh. I couldn’t help it. It was so ridiculous. My son had his cheek pressed up against my cheek, his eyes were half-closed, and he was drooling down my face. I think he almost fell asleep. But I started to laugh, so he started to laugh. And once the baby giggles started, we all got the giggles.

The chiropractor managed to finish her adjustments, and as I struggled off the table and slid my son from my back into my arms, I saw that he was now all smiles. The trauma of ten minutes ago was forgotten, and he was full of beans as usual. Like this was the funniest thing that had ever happened.

Well, he wasn’t entirely wrong. It certainly was the funniest thing that had ever happened to me in a chiropractor’s office.

The First Year

Where do I start? The first year of my first child’s life… I can’t even begin to convey how life changing this year has been. But here are just a few things that I have learned:

1. You truly can function on less sleep than you think. You might cry, you might drink a lot of coffee, you might hallucinate, but you will survive. And it does get better. I think.

2. Other moms are essential to survival. We are not meant to raise our kids alone, going insane with boredom if we read the same book one more time or make one more ridiculous animal noise. Interaction with other moms is a must, unless you want to become a blubbering, incoherent mess before your child is six months old.

3. The female body is incredible, but don’t rush it. Things will go back to where they were… sort of. Very few of us snap back into our pre-pregnancy clothes within a few weeks or even a few months (if you did I don’t want to hear about it). I didn’t truly feel “back” until nearly a year postpartum. It’s ok. That year goes by quickly and is filled with more important things, like first steps and first words.

4. Motherhood is hard. Suck it up. There is no quitting. There are no sick days. That’s just the way it is.

5. Guilt comes with motherhood. They are inseparable. Wine helps.

6. Baby giggles in the morning can erase an entire night of screaming.

7. Relax. Stop stressing about Ferber or not, soother or not, flashcards or not, co-sleeping or not, daycare or not, extended nursing or not. Do what works for you and your baby, and forget about who might judge you. Wine helps.

8. Poop happens. Whether you do cloth diapers or disposable, you will deal with poop. When poop happens in the potty, it is a glorious thing.

9. Neighbours are awesome. Get to know your neighbours. They might just save your life (or at least your sanity).

10. Don’t get too attached to nice things. Chances are, the baby will find it and destroy it. Or puke on it. Or poop on it. Learn to let it go. Wine helps.

11. Do your hair. Use nice lotion. Wear cute shoes. You’ll respect yourself more in the morning.

12. Going to the bathroom alone is a very special thing. Seriously.

13. You will do at least one thing that you swore you would never do.

14. Good dads are incredible. If you have a good partner, count yourself blessed, over and over again.

15. The first birthday party may not turn out the way you want. Your baby might be sick and cranky, people might not show up, the cake might be too sweet. But you and your baby survived, so celebrate anyway. Wine helps.