There's poop on the floor...and I'm okay with that.

I'm not a neat freak. I would say that I'm about average in terms of tidiness. I'm about half a dozen steps down from Godliness, if you will. I do get stressed out in an untidy environment, and that usually spurs me into action, but sometimes I'd rather just be stressed out.

And then along comes baby. Yes, I blame the baby. She's a great scapegoat, especially since she cannot yet form the words to defend herself. Before E arrived, I managed to make sure that at the end of each day the dishes were done, dirty clothes were put in the hamper, and the place was tidied of daily clutter. I would keep the floors fairly well swept, the sinks pretty well clean, and once in a while I would commission my wonderful husband to scrub the toilet and push a vacuum around for a bit. As systems go, it worked for us.

Fast forward to present day. I am generally still capable of washing most of the dishes by day's end. There are several key spots in the apartment where clothes are routinely deposited, dirty or otherwise, and neither of those spots is the hamper. If by tidy you mean that I can walk through the apartment with relative ease and minimal risk of tripping on scattered debris, then...no, it's not tidy. J still pushes the vacuum around once in a while. The sinks and toilet? Well, they get attention on special occasions, read: when we get visitors.

Does this make me a bad person? I don't think so. In fact, I believe that I remain average in a new category. Average for people WITH KIDS. Although there are days when I may sink to the bottom of that category as well. Take yesterday, for example...

We use cloth diapers. Before E started on solid food, it was just a matter of throwing the whole diaper, poop and all, in a bag and throwing that bag in the washer on laundry day. Now that she's eating big girl food however, it's a whole new ball of...well, you know. I remove the poopy diaper in the bedroom and bring it to the bathroom where I use a handy sprayer (glorified bidet) to spray the poop into the toilet. Then I bring the diaper back into the bedroom and deposit it into the diaper bag. It's not the best system, I realize, but our bathroom is impossibly small and there isn't room for the diaper bag in there. So, once in a while, we lose a soldier. It's embarrassing to admit that I have poop on my floor, but there it is. Last night, as I was walking through the "dining room" (you would have to see our apartment to understand the quotation marks around "dining room"), I noticed a little...chunk...of what I imagined was composed primarily of sweet potato and banana on the floor. Mercifully, it was on the hardwood, centimeters away from the rug. This the kicker: I actually considered leaving it there. (Buries face in hands in shame.) I was on my way to the shower and just didn't feel like going out of my way to grab the paper towels and do the clean-up. But I did (gasp of relief), and it turned out to be a piece of leaf. So the only damage here is to my psyche, as I realize that what used to be a half a dozen steps is now about 20 or so flights.

Let's face it: I'm walking up an escalator going down.

BFF

Poor Ralph. He really has been getting the shaft for the last nine months or so. I distinctly remember a time when I wondered if I would be able to love a human baby as much as I love Ralph. Well, unfortunately for him, it turns out I can. But that's not to say that there isn't plenty of room left for my furry first child. He does still rate, of course. It's just that now he has to wait a little longer for his walk, his breakfast and his cuddles.

The good news is that he has gained a new friend, and once he gets over the fear of torture by hair-pulling, I think they will be inseparable.

What I'm reading

One thing I love about NYC is the stoop sales! The season is getting on now, but throughout the summer and early fall, we would wander around the neighbourhood on weekend mornings, hunting down stoop sales and finding all sorts of treasures. And almost equally abundant are the free items left out on the curb for the benefit of the likes of us. Our apartment is full to bursting of steals and deals that we brag about often.

One department in particular that has benefited most from this new lifestyle is my library. I promised my husband several months ago that I would cease and desist with the purchase of new reading material. I certainly have nothing against the local library, but I grow easy and deep attachments to my books, and have a very difficult time bringing myself to part with them once the due date comes around. I also covet new books. I just love the look, the smell, the feel, the shiny "newness" of them. But, in the interest of not digging further into our black hole of debt for unnecessary luxuries, I have complied. And in return, my neighbours have smiled on me. I have procured no less than 20 books since arriving in Brooklyn, and at least half of those were gifted to me by the fairy book gods who leave them by the boxful outside of their gates for passersby to adopt. The rest have been purchased for a pittance at various stoops.

I am averaging about 2 books a month. A snail's pace, I admit, but my time spent reading is limited primarily to the time I spend nursing baboushka. And so far I have not been disappointed by any of my selections. These days I am reading a book called Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. This is a book I discovered last year, while researching books for our book club in Grenada. At the time we had more titles than time to read them and it was dropped from the list. But it has stayed in the back of my mind and on more than one occasion I have been one click away from an Amazon purchase before remembering my vow to my darling husband. So you can imagine my pure unabashed joy at finding it staring up at me while rifling through a box of free books around the corner from our house. Quite serendipitous. I scooped it up and put it aside until I was finished the book I was already reading*.

I picked it up about a week ago now and it has been an effort to put it down at the end of each session. From the first few pages it had me, and each time I pick it up the hooks sink a little deeper. It is a mystery, translated from Spanish, about a boy and a book he discovers that holds many secrets. It reminds me of a more sinister Neverending Story. I am absolutely smitten with it and am now wondering what I am doing writing about it when I could be reading it. Please excuse me...

*A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith. I think I will devote another entry to this gem of a novel!

Hallowe'en

As I sit here munching away on an infinite assortment of sugary sweets, I am happy to report that E's first Hallowe'en was a roaring success! We crammed her into the "newborn" chili pepper costume donated by Jeff's aunt and spent ages photographing her in all sorts of adorable poses before parading her around the neighbourhood collecting candy that she can't eat. And she was fabulously good-natured about the whole thing. Even when another chili pepper turned up on our travels, she graciously offered to be photographed with him. I am already looking forward to next year when she will have more of an idea of what's going on...except then I might have some competition for the candy.

Mi Familia

It's true what they say: Grandchildren are a great motivator. I know my parents love me, but it's no coincidence that we've been seeing much more of them since baboushka arrived. We spent a year in the UK...no visit. A year in Grenada...no visit. Then the baby comes and all of a sudden it's "Hey, why don't we drive down to Toronto for the day to visit?" and "Hey, why don't we drive down, pick you up, bring you to Kingston for a few days, then drive you back to Toronto?" A few months later we move to New York and "Hey, why don't we move you down there?" and "Hey, we bought a motorhome, why don't we drive it down to see you?" Methinks my daughter is the luckiest granddaughter in the world. Her mother feels pretty special too.

One of my many wishes for my daughter is that she really gets to know her grandparents. It makes me so happy to see that there are already beautiful relationships taking root.

My Favourite Month

October is my favourite month. Yes, it's my birthday month. But it's also smack dab in the middle of Autumn, my favourite season. Canadian Thanksgiving falls in October, and I always enjoy a big turkey dinner with fixins. Apples are in season in October, and I would not have survived pregnancy without a Gala a day. I've really enjoyed spending this October with E, showing her all of the cool things about my favourite month of the year!

What a difference a year makes

Wow. One year ago I was six months pregnant, living on an island in a big house on a hill with a huge yard, eating mangoes off of the trees, spending my days reading and swimming and wondering if the grocery store would have milk.

Today I have a nine month old (outrageously gorgeous and infinitely wonderful) daughter, am living in NYC in a tiny one bedroom walk-up, spending my days planning feedings and naps and trying to fit in walking the dog, going to the laundromat, and having the occasional shower. And not only does the grocery store have milk, but I can choose from an endless array of skim/1%/2%/whole/organic/lactose free/soy/goat/chocolate/strawberry options. And which grocery store do I choose? I am spoiled for choice.

What I am not spoiled for, is time. Every day I try to remind myself that my little baboushka will be grown up before I know it and I'll be wishing for these days back. But try as I might, I find it very difficult to give up this compulsion of mine to GET THINGS DONE! How can I relax and enjoy an afternoon playing when the apartment is a mess and the dishes are dirty and I haven't checked my email and shouldn't I take Ralph out before naptime and why can't my husband remember to put his socks in the hamper and I'm just going to put on some deodorant and maybe just tweeze these few errant eyebrow hairs and...well, I know what you're thinking. Welcome to the Motherhood!

Someone - although I can't recall who, just like I can't recall what I had for lunch - recently shared these wise words with me, and I repeat them to myself as often as I can: "The days are long, but the years are short." Ain't that the truth.

Saying Goodbye

Tomorrow morning, bright and early, we leave for the airport to begin our long journey home. Our year in Grenada has come to an end. It has been a year of lots of ups, a few downs, and one that will never be forgotten. J is halfway through medical school now; he is finished with course work and now has two years of hospital rotations to look forward to. After a few months home in Toronto, our next stop is Detroit, Michigan in the spring.
There are many memories that will be coming with us, but the best one will be the memory of finding out that we are going to be parents. We conceived our baby in Grenada, and for that reason it will always be a special place to us.
We are so excited to go home, especially during the Christmas season, but the friends and memories we are leaving behind will make it just a little harder to say goodbye.

Waiting...

It has been too long since my last post. I seem to be stuck in a bit of a rut these days. A waiting rut. Waiting for baby, waiting for exams to get here and then be over, waiting to leave the island, waiting to be home, waiting to buy maternity clothes and baby gear, waiting to get into the Christmas spirit...too much waiting!!!

I'm now 7 months pregnant - 31 weeks to be precise - and the clothes situation is getting pretty desperate. I'm down 2 more pairs of shorts, according to this morning's dressing fiasco. Belly is starting to take over the world! Or at the very least, definitely my body. And I can tell that baby is starting to run out of room in there. There are still loads of movements all day long...and all night...but now it's been reduced mostly to squirming and rolling. Not a lot of room to wind up for a good punch anymore. Except when directed at my bladder. Seriously, will my bladder ever be the same? I take back all of the merciless teasing I did to my mom growing up about her pea-sized bladder and her obsession with knowing the locations of all toilets in her vicinity at all times.

Baby is about 16 inches long and over 3 pounds now. That's pretty substantial! She's getting all fattened up for her arrival, and at last week's appointment the doctor said the head is down! I really feel like I'm bonding more with her lately, especially when I feel little feet and hands poking out at me. J has been a little more apprehensive about feeling my belly - he's afraid of squishing baby's already cramped quarters, and he says that seeing and feeling the movement now is "exactly like the movie Alien".

Only 12 more sleeps left until we're back in North America. I'm planning a big trip to Target once we get to Miami - MATERNITY CLOTHES!!! A peppermint mocha from Starbucks! And maybe one or two things for baby...

K9-Infant Training 101

These last 10 months have been a crash course for Ralph, our 4-legged only child, on the ins and outs of babies. The odd noises they make, the unnerving way they continue to grow larger, and their unparalleled ability to absorb all of the attention in the room. It's a lot to take in for a dog who, for the last 5 years, has been under the misapprehension that he himself is a person and arguably, the most important person in the family.
This invaluable training has been made possible by roommates extraordinaire, Amy and Todd, and Jackson, their dog-loving bundle of joy.

Happily, the training has been wildly successful. Ralph has undergone a 5 Stage progression as follows:

Stage 1. Curiosity: What is this small bundle of smelliness? I think I need a taste.

Stage 2. Concern: Should the bundle be making those noises? It doesn't sound right. Perhaps a taste will reveal further information.

Stage 3. Infatuation: This bundle is somewhat larger and smells much more interesting these days. Also, the other humans don't seem to barricade him from me quite as much. Mmmmm....he tastes so good! Those toes, those fingers, that lovely bald head!

Stage 4. Apprehension: I'm not sure I signed up for this. The bundle continues to grow, and I think he's stalking me. I can't get away. I'm not sure what he plans to do with me, but the whole thing makes me very nervous...

Stage 5. Acceptance: He's agreed to share his food. Anything he doesn't want for himself, he places on the floor for me to enjoy. To show my appreciation, I will sit relatively still while he bats at me with his chubby little hands and occasionally steals my ball. This may be the beginning of a beautiful relationship!

And voila! Baby and dog existing in peaceful cohabitation. Just wait until he realizes that the Cowbaby doesn't get passed back to another family at the end of the day...