Happy Halloween, from my Little Monster!

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Love you baby

My Sweet Baboo,

I love it when you stretch in your sleep, and your little arms shoot out, and your teeny fist trembles with the effort. I love it so much that sometimes in the night, when you accidentally punch me in the face during said stretching, I kiss your little fist and squeeze you tighter.

I love it when you are getting latched on to eat, and you furrow your eyebrows and wrinkle your nose, because you are so determined. I say "Look at his face!", to your dad, just about every time.

I love the way that ever since you were born, you have shoved your fingers/fist into your mouth when you're upset, as though you're convinced that it will make everything okay.

I love it when you clasp your little hands under your chin, as though you're saying "please" or "thank you", or maybe praying.

I love it when you have decided that you've had enough of something, be it waiting for someone to pick you up, a game that was funny a second ago but is now overwhelming, or being in a big group of people, and you curl down your bottom lip in the most adorable pout I have ever seen in my life.

I love it when you are starting to get fussy, but I need to finish what I'm doing so I try to distract you by doing something entertaining (your current favourite is the funky chicken, which I can do while getting dressed). And then you are entertained, but you are still fussy, and can't decide whether to laugh or cry, so you do both at the same time.

I love your great, big yawns.

I love your sweet, sweet smile.

I love it when you see something interesting and new, and your eyes get HUGE, and you get this excited smile on your face and kick your legs and move your arms because you are so amazed that you can't even stand it.

I love it when you stare at me as though you are wondering precisely what I am doing.

I love it when you show that you know I'm your mama.

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Hear ye, hear ye. . .(hands off my kid!)

This message is addressed to all strangers and acquaintances who apparently live under a rock. Since you obviously haven't heard, it is flu season. You can tell because the leaves are changing and dropping to the ground---much the way that people drop from Influenza on a yearly basis. In addition to the regular old, run of the mill Influenza virus, there is also the additional fun of the Swine Flu. Now, the swine flu is a new kind of flu that humans are contracting from pigs. It has spread, and has now become a pandemic. This is serious people.
And who are the people who are at greatest risk of having serious complications from the flu? Here is a list, and it includes children under 5. Guess who is under 5? MY BABY!

Now, I am sure that you all know this already. I am quite certain that you have read the news, seen updates on tv, looked at signs and posters, taken note of the hand sanitizer stations in malls, hospitals and other public areas. So why, why, WHY do you think that it is okay to come up to my brand new, totally vulnerable baby with his underdeveloped immune system and TOUCH him?

Just think about it. Take a moment to think about why you do this.
Even if it wasn't flu season, I would never come up and touch a stranger's baby. Never.

And I love children. I am not the type of person who only likes my own kid, I love all children. I have been baby-sitting since I was eleven years old, have been employed by the nursery of every church I have ever attended, worked as a nanny for years, have my Early Childhood Education certification, did a 600 hour internship as a Play Partner for the YMCA, and now have a child of my own.

I get it. I like kids. I like babies. But I have never in my life touched a stranger's child. Because it's just not okay. A child is a person. My son is a person. Would you go up to an adult you didn't know and start fawning all over them? No. No, you would not. Because that's just rude, impolite and a social no-no. So what makes you think it's okay to treat my baby that way? He doesn't know you, and its not okay.

Moving along from the social aspect, there are warnings about this horrible flu everywhere. Why, WHY, WHY can you not remember that when you get in my baby's face? You have germs. If we are at the mall, or at church, or the grocery store or anywhere at all, you have touched something that other strangers have touched, and you have no idea what those people are infected with. Don't take your filthy, flu-covered paws and use them to maul my child! Do what you learned in kindergarten, and keep your hands to yourself!

And another thing. When you come up to me in a public place and I have my child covered in his stroller, or wrapped up in some kind of infant carrier, and you can't see his face? That is not an accident. I have done it on purpose. It is not an invitation for you to come up to me, his MOTHER, and ask me why my baby is covered up, comment that you can't see him/didn't get to see him/want to see him, or tell me that he's unhappy because he can't see.

I'm his mom. I make the parenting decisions, not you. My kid is just fine, he is not crying or screaming, and let me tell you if he was unhappy that is exactly what he'd be doing. But on top of that, I totally see through you. You are a nut, who thinks that because you "love" babies, everyone should just walk around with their kid exposed for your viewing pleasure. Well, guess what? I guarantee you that I love him 100000000x more than you do, and I am protecting him. So back off.  Your indignation has nothing to do with my son's happiness or comfort, and everything to do with the fact that you think you're entitled to moon over him.

Well, you're not. And in answer to your question, the reason my baby is "covered up", the reason I am "hiding him" from you, the reason why you "didn't get a chance to see," is because I do not want germy strangers breathing all over him, touching his hands and face, and possibly giving him something that could be fatal to him.

So the next time you see a stranger depriving you of what you think is your right to touch their child, and you wonder why they're doing that, remember this rant. The next time you have the urge to reach out and touch a baby's hands, which they put in their mouth, just think of death. Maybe that'll motivate your to keep your hands to yourself.

Thanks for coming out.

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My Baby, My Passion

I'm participating in Mama's Losin It's Writers Workshop this week. The subject is, "Describe what makes you want to live a life with passion?":
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When I found out I was pregnant, I did not experience the excitement and awe I’d always dreamed I would experience. I’d always wanted to be a mother, but at the time I was a miserable, unemployed student and living in my parents’ basement, which was placing a huge strain my marriage. It was just about the worst timing ever for the news. I took a couple of weeks to be depressed, wallow and will “it” away. Then I realized, this baby is coming and it doesn’t deserve such a mess for a mother. I had to get it together.

I got a crappy retail job, and on my days off I worked in the church nursery for a little extra cash. I wanted to work in my field, which was community services related, but in order to finish my degree I had to put 600 hours of field work—for free. So my days were dedicated to volunteering, and my nights were spent folding clothes and pretending to be nice to customers, while on weekends I chased around other peoples’ kids, hoping my own would be better behaved, and crammed for exams. In the meantime, my husband and I found free counselling from both an agency and the pastor who married us. We wanted to get as much help for our marriage as possible before it was transformed into a family. We didn’t want our baby caught in the cross-fire. He hadn’t asked for us to be his parents.

The nine months of pregnancy were a frenzy of 12 hour days, penny-pinching the likes of which you have never seen, and valiant attempts to reverse the damage that being poor and living with my family had inflicted on our relationship. During my lunch breaks I holed up in the storage closet with my previously-owned, pay-as-you-go cell phone and made frantic phone calls to different housing agencies, trying to find a place of our own. My parents were having their own relationship issues (read: yelling and screaming) and I was sick to my stomach at the thought of bringing a tiny, helpless baby into that environment. I trolled second-hand shops, craigslist and garage sales looking for the things my little one would need but I couldn’t afford.

Desperate love calls for desperate measures. I didn’t know it then, but this frenetic despair was actually passion in disguise. I was disheartened and hysterical, but devotion to my kid pushed me on and forced me to keep trying. I had to make money, I had to finish school, I just had to find a peaceful quiet place where we could be parents. And I did.

Sitting in the hospital in late July, I realized what it had all been for. I knew that all women didn’t necessarily bond with their babies at birth, but after everything I had been through during the course of my pregnancy, I was desperate to just feel something other than worry or sadness. My husband was an amazing birth coach, and after just under four hours of labour, the nine months of hell I’d endured were a blip on the radar compared with the tornado of love that ripped through me. They threw that baby on me and told me we had a boy, and I knew that I was incapable of living a life that resembled anything ordinary from that moment on.

I live to teach him that anything is possible--to show him the world and how to fully embrace it. I will tell him the story of his nine months in waiting so that he can see how love changes everything. I will live with passion so that he has a good example in me; so that he will do the same.

From the outside, my life is nothing spectacular. But from where we were just a year ago, when I got my Big Freaking Positive, it is absolutely charmed. I dance around covered in spit-up, and do it with gusto. We go for walks with him wrapped around my torso, and I am happy to stop so he can marvel at the leaves. I wake up at 3 am in our new apartment and can’t help but burst with joy as the most beautiful boy in the world grins up at me. It is just a 3 a.m. feeding, but it doesn’t get any better than this.

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Ode to a Crazy

Gather 'round, children, and I will tell you a tale,
 of a mama so scary, you'll tremble and wail.
It started the day she got her BFP--
"It's positive!? Are you kidding me!?"
Hormones upon hormones,
Pounds upon pounds,
A once sexy lady.
Grew stretchmarked and round.

The yelling and crying woke the whole neighbourhood,
and her husband said "This baby better be good!"
He ran to and fro,
And his quests for the grail,
Led him only to find
chicken sold by the pail.
The ice cream mix-in combos would make people sick,
but it wasn't for people. It was for Deranged Chick.

She grew and she grew til they feared she would pop,
Then a week past her due date, the doctor cried "STOP!"
"Time to give her the drugs!"
And the Crazy concurred,
but a whole lot more scary was about to occur.

There was pushing and screaming and ganshing of teeth,
The doctors and nurses all wanted to flee.
Then just three hours later (which was scarily fast),
a baby was born and they all sighed "at last."

But they didn't know,
the horrors had just begun.
She'd be a raving insomniac til he turned one.
Then a whirwind of crazy until he was two,
and a tidal of tears on the first day of school.

She became truly scary,
this woman turned mother.
But scariest of all?
She thinks her son needs a brother.
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Written for a Contest held by Scary Mommy. Comments give me a better chance to win!

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Ban Smoking in Apartments!

My son has been sleeping for going-on four hours straight now, and I have been awake for almost all of those hours. The one night he stops waking up every hour and a half and I have insomnia. It is brutal. I just can't stop thinking. There is way too much going on in my head.

First, I got up to go to the bathroom and our hallway smells like smoke. I am beyond pissed. I haven't called the landlord yet, even though this is a smoke-free building, because I actually don't have his phone number. I never realized it until now. It's not on the lease, and he doesn't live in this building. There are no by-laws stating that smoking in multi-unit dwellings (apartments, complexes, what have you) is illegal, so its up to the landlord to make sure that this stops. I need to get ahold of him, and I don't think I want to wait until he comes by to collect the rent check. That is too far away. No amount of second-hand smoke is safe, especially for my baby. I need to protect him from that Trashy Loud Bitch.

After tossing and turning for hours, I scooped up our swaddled Baboo and padded out to the living room where The Hubbs sleeps on Monday nights because he has to leave for class at the crack of dawn the next day. I curled up beside him on the futon, with Baboo tucked into my chest, and told him I couldn't sleep. We talked about the smoke problem, and how much its stressing me out, and he had a wicked idea.

He thinks that tomorrow night if I wake up and smell smoke, I should pull the fire alarm. Stroke of genius. Pure, unadulterated brilliance. I'm sure if a bunch of firetrucks showed up here she would get the hint. Maybe that is a bit of an extreme measure, but honestly, the woman is clearly unstable. I wouldn't be surprised if she burned the building down. Earlier this week the smoke alarm in her apartment kept going off, and lately it hasn't been. . .I wouldn't be surprised if she disabled it.

But before resorting to such extreme measures, I am going to do everything I can to find the landlord's number. I am going to see if there is some kind of landlord database--if memory serves, I think there is.

Aside from just TLB's smoking, though, is a greater issue. This is a human right's violation. The fact that I cannot afford a house should not mean that I have to live with someone else's second hand smoke. It is ridiculous, and I think there should be laws protecting tenants of apartment buildings. This person can just as easily step out onto her balcony. Her right to not be inconvenienced does not trump my right not to die.

I am going to do something about this. A petition is now in the works and I'm looking into what it would take to write a by-law. More to come.

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Trashy Loud Bitch

I admit that's not a nice thing to call someone, but it's 3:30 in the morning, my baby is refusing to sleep, and my apartment smells like smoke.  So Trashy Loud Bitch it is.

(image from geekphilosopher.com)


This TLB moved in across the hall a few weeks ago. It has been just. brutal. She has people coming to her apartment during the day, yelling her name and banging down her door. It sometimes lasts for up to 45 minutes. It's great fun when my kid is asleep and that shit is going down just outside the door. Great fun.

She is constantly yelling. Constantly. Sometimes it's in the middle of the day when her kids are at school and I assume she's talking to someone on the phone. Sometimes it's at someone who is physically there with her, and sometimes its at the poor kiddos themselves. My bathroom gets great accoustics from her apartment. Imagine trying to enjoy a nice relaxing bubble with while some deranged lunatic screams profanity for half an hour.

But worst of all, and totally unforgiveable and unacceptable in my opinion, is the fact that she smokes in the building. I cannot be 100% sure that its her, but I do know that she smokes, and I know that  there was never smoke in here before she moved in. I can only assume that she's to blame. My apartment smells like smoke. This is not okay. I have a baby. Exposure to cigarette smoke increases the chances of SIDS. This is a life and death matter, and one that I cannot ignore.

It's one thing if your personal drama fest is unpleasant to listen to, something else when you have pimps and social workers now frequenting our building (I really have no idea if that's the case but it certainly seems possible), but it's a whole other story when my child's health, safety and life are being endagered because this bitch can't take her butt outside.

And the sad thing is she has children. I think it should be illegal to smoke with children in the house. They did not ask to be poisoned, and they don't deserve it.

I am sick of this trashy, loud bitch, and I have decided that for every time I smell smoke in this building I am going to call my landlord until he either ensures that she stops, or gets the eff out. This was a nice, quiet, family building when we moved in, and I'd like to see it go back to that.



Part of me feels guilty. I want to go into counseling, so maybe I should be befriending this person. Lending an ear to all the troubles she quite obviously has. I don't know her life. Maybe she is a victim of circumstance. The thing is, though, that I can't befriend someone who has dodgy people looking for her all the time. My Sweet Baboo and I could get caught in the crossfire. And I definitely don't want to be friends with someone inconsiderate (though that is much too mild a word) enough to smoke inside and poison everyone else who lives here.

She's gotta go. Trashy Loud Bitch, your time has come. Not to sound elementary or anything, but I'm telling!

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Hubby Words of Wisdom #3

The other day my husband was trying to decide which video gaming system to get. Yes, we're financially challenged, but he'd found a way around it. He was going to trade in his Playstation 2 and all accompanying games for a newer model. I was fine with that, as long as he promised to never get the idea of doing the same with me. He can be as flighty as he wants, as long as he limits his infidelities and wandering eye to the realm of electronics. Anyway, he was agonizing over the decision of whether to get a Play Station 3, and Xbox 360 or a Nintendo Wii, and even had me Poll my ladies on The Bump who in turn asked their husbands (or DH, which means "Dear Husband" in bump speak) what they thought he should get. Somewhere amidts the agonizing he turned to me and said "I imagine that this is what Sophie's Choice must be like."

Yep. That's the man I married.

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Life in a Nutshell

We've had a lot going on lately , so instead of a long, rambling blog post like I usually do, I'm going to attempt just short updates on each recent event in our lives. We'll see if I can keep the blabbering to a minimum. We'll start with today and work our way backwards.

Elimination Communication:
Today was my second attempt at Elimination Communication. When I first heard of this I thought it was insanity, and that anyone who tried it would end up with pee and crap all over their house and would spend their kid's entire childhood running back and forth to the bathroom, but I've since revised my opinion. It need not be all or nothing. I am not going to have a "diaper free baby", but I am going to attempt to read his cues and learn when he has to go, and then hold him over the toilet during that time so that we use less diapers and they are strictly there as insurance. My main reason for attempting this is because I want to be eco-friendly. My preference would be to use cloth diapers and only use disposables when we are out, but we don't have a washer and dryer in our unit. We actually share ONE machine with the six families who live in this building, so CDing is out of the question, sadly. On top of that we'll save a ton of cash, which is always good.  Anyway, two days ago I held Baboo over the toilet and he was only interested in standing on the seat. Today the same thing happened, except that as soon as I took him off the toilet and into his bedroom to put a new diaper on him, he peed all over his change table. Awesome. : /

My Simple Thanksgiving Dinner:
We had a small Thanksgiving dinner yesterday, just the three of us, which was no small feat. Baboo was tired from his big weekend and wanting to eat every hour, and The Hubbs was sick with a cold. It was a far cry from the last Thanksgiving dinner I made two years ago. That year I made a turkey, stuffed peppers, a build your own salad bar, garlic pesto muffins, hash brown casserole, corn on the cob with gingerbread brownies and strawberry wine. All of it from scratch (minus the wine.)
This year there was no way that was happening with a baby. The Hubbs and I eat sandwhiches three times a day. I decided to do my best, and we had:
Hors D'oevres (Cubes of cheddar, sliced pickles and salami)
Roast Chicken (which I bought premade from the deli, drizzled with extra sauce to keep the moisture in and warmed in the oven)
Hash Brown Casserole (we used frozen hash browns, baked them, then mixed in sour cream and grated cheddar and baked until brown)
Orange Butternut Squash Soup (we bought a carton of soup, then I squeezed orange juice into it, and added cinnamon and minced onions) with Home Made Croutons (whole wheat bread cut into cubes, drizzled with oil and toasted)
Crunchy Vegetables (frozen mixed Asian vegetables, sauteed in grapeseed oil, seasoned with oregano, topped with grated mozzerella and crunchy salad topping by Mrs. Dash)
and Pumpkin Pie (store bought, heated in the oven, add whipped cream)

Our Sweet Baboo's Christening:
It was at my parents' home (which is now just my mother's home since she made the father figure move out). A lot of my relatives were late and missed the actual ceremony (which always happens, see exhibit A: my bridal shower, Exhibit B: my wedding and Exhibit C: my baby shower). The ceremony was nice, though Baboo was a little cranky. I think he was uncomfortable in his super formal clothes. We wanted to Christen him in this:

But they only sell it at Babies R Us in the states (there will be a rant at a later date about why I can't get anything good for my baby in this country), so he wound up wearing this:

He was not happy, especially about the hat lol. We wound up changing him about an hour after the ceremony. I also made my first movie in honour of the day! It had an opening menu page with a montage of scenes from it and special music, a title page and credits and everything! Go me! It had a bunch of video clips and pictures from Baboo's life, and concluded with a Bible verse about Baboo's name (he has a Bible name). Everyone loved it. I am going to make another DVD of his first 6 months for each set of grandparents for Christmas. His Christening was followed by a big Thanksgiving dinner and a second showing of the movie for the late comers.

 

Annoyingly, my father kept trying to hold Baboo, and I didn't like it. I don't like or trust him, and I don't want people I don't like or trust around my baby. I kept trying to take a picture of Baboo and my mother together, and he kept jumping in. It really pissed me off, and now we have NO photos of just Baboo and my mom at his Christening. I am thoroughly annoyed. Especially since my mom revealed the following two tidbits to me recently:

a)The first time he ever "spanked" me was when I was 6 months old. I had comitted the crime of not holding my own bottle.

b) When I was a year old he was fighting with my mom in the car and threatened to run the car off the road.

And that (among many, MANY other reasons) is why he will never be alone with my son.

Knox Pumpkin Farm:

In honour of Our Sweet Baboo's first fall, we went to the pumpkin patch for photos. We dressed him up in a fallish outfit (brown pants, orange long-sleeved onesie and an orange jack-o-lantern bib with a blue and orange winter vest). He was a little cold (though it was one of the nicer days we've had this fall) and a little tired, but he was a good sport. We didn't get the awesome photos I anticipated, though, because it's hard doing outdoor pictures with a baby who doesn't sit up yet. He did have his first hay ride, though, which he seemed to enjoy, swung on a tire swing  and saw a pony (which he couldn't have cared less about).

School of Mom:

Lately I've been feeling like I haven't been taking advantage of the opportunity I have to be at home with my son. I shouldn't just be hanging out with him all day (especially since we rarely go on outings), I feel like I should be teaching him and enriching his life in some way, you know? I've written about the kind of mom I want to be, and I think I need to start doing more with him now that the missing fourth trimester is just about over.

So every day for the past couple weeks Baboo and I do the following (in no specific order):

-Read books

-Play music (I play him  simple songs on the recorder that I picked up for two bucks at Dollarama)

-Practice signing (we've decided to do baby sign language, I got a DVD from the library)

-Practice French (I sing french songs to him and say certain words to him in English and then repeat them in French (I went to French school and he will too). I'm trying to get into the habit of saying everything to him in French and then repeating it in English. Here are some tips for a bilingual baby if you know another language and are interested in doing the same.

-Elimination Communication (you've already read about that)

-Tummy time

-Alone time (I give him time to just hang out and babble to himself. He lets me know when he's done being alone).

And of course we still spend the majority of the day just snuggling, laughing, playing and of course, breatfeeding!!!

Sexual Healing:

To sum up, I am healed, but there is still no sex. We have tried about 3 times, but I am locked up tighter than Fort Knox and drier than the Sahara. We need LOTS of lube, LOTS of wine, and LOTS of time. We are having a date night soon (we will get my mom to baby-sit, my grandmother will be there so I dont need to worry about my mom relapsing (<----see first post on this page) and possibly hurting Baboo) and we are going to go to dinner, drink until our hearts' content, and then come home and make babies (only without actually making babies).

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DONT SHIP WITH GREYHOUND!

My baby has been sleeping horribly for the past two weeks. He has been waking up every hour and a half to two hours. It is JUST BRUTAL. Yesterday he wouldn't sleep at all unless I was holding him. If he fell asleep in my arms and I put him down, his eyes popped open. If I put him down to sleep on his own, he cried. If I lay down beside him to sleep and he dozes off, the minute I stand up he's awake again. I am going nuts. He is doing the same thing today. I finally, finally, FINALLY got him down for a nap this morning (and myself too, because I am dog tired) when the phone rings. Loudly. I ignore it. It rings again. LOUDLY. I ignore that too. And then AGAIN. This person has now called THREE TIMES. I figure it must be an emergency, so I answer it, and the douche bag has the wrong number. Awesome. Of course, I had to get up to answer it, so now my baby is awake and crying. I finally, FINALLY get him to calm down and go back to sleep, when there's a knock at the door. I have to get up to answer the door, and my baby wakes up and starts fussing.
We are expecting a package, but it was supposed to have been delivered at 11:00 am, not effing 10:00 am. I specifically TOLD them eleven because I knew we'd be sleeping at 10! Did they respect that? NOOOOOO. Then they tell me they are not going to bring the package up to my apartment. They are going to leave it down-fucking-stairs.

I am LIVID. They say its too heavy to bring up. I am a tiny little woman, home alone with her new baby, in an apartment building and cannot possibly lug the huge mother effing package up the stairs with a baby in my arms. I can't leave him alone in the apartment, and its downstairs and it could get stolen :(
They are two, HUGE, GIANT people (one man and one woman) with a dolly and equipment, and they are simply refusing to help me.
Not to mention the fact that my husband's father and step-mom paid extra to have them deliver the package directly to our door so I wouldn't have to deal with this. And that money went to waste.


I have sent a complaint email and a complaint phone call, but their manager is on vacation until after thanksgiving. I will keep harassing her after the holiday if she does not get back to me. I want her to refund their money and I want disciplinary action taken. I am exhausted. I am angry. I am BEYOND frustrated. And I wish my husband was home because I need his help before someone steals our stuff.

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Hubby Words of Widsom #2

So I both breast and bottle feed my baby. Every morning he gets a bottle from The Hubbs (usually formula, sometimes pumped breastmilk) and sometimes when we're out and I don't feel like NIPing (Nursing in Public) he gets one too. Some people say breastfeeding is easier, because you just pull up your shirt and pop him on. Some say it's bottle feeding because it typically takes less time for a baby to eat from a bottle and mom isn't the only one who can feed him. I was thinking about this the other night, and said to The Hubbs

"I'm not sure what's easier, bottle feeding or breastfeeding."
He replied, "For me, it's breastfeeding."

Har har.

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Things are Looking Up!

So we went to church today, for the first time in our Sweet Baboo's entire life. Kinda sad for people who profess to love Jesus. A few weeks ago we actually went to church, but since we moved we're going to a different one than we're used to. My mom told us it started at 11, so we showed up promptly at 11:05, only to discover that it really started at 10 and service was half over. We were too embarassed to go in so late, so we sat out in the lobby and drank coffee while our baby slept.

Two weeks after that we were determined to go again, but our car was in the shop. My mom said she'd come pick us up, but her car had absolutely zero gas. She needed someone to take her to the gas station to fill up the canister and bring it back to the house so she could fill up the car. There was no one who could do it on such short notice, so we didn't go.

But the third time was a charm, and we actually managed it today! We were 15 minutes late, unfortunately, but I'm learning that such in life with a baby. It took me forever to get dressed because Baboo was fussy and wouldn't let me put him down. Then when I finally got dressed and was ready to go, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and realized that my boobs have become WAY too big for the shirt I was wearing (breastfeeding will do that to you). So I had to scramble around and find something else to wear. Meanwhile, Baboo spat up all over The Hubbs and I tried to find him something else to wear, but the man has shockingly few decent pieces of clothing, so I wound up just wiping him down with a wet wipe. Baboo was fussing in the backrgound the entire time, then needed to eat right when we wanted to go, and the kid has grown AGAIN so we had to adjust the straps of his car seat to handle his newfound height. Whew!

We finally, finally got out of the house (with uncombed hair and breakfastless stomachs) and made it into the service while the songs were still being sung. I have to say it was a very productive visit. Not because I got very much out of the message (I didn't), but because of the following:

1) We ran into my father. This is ordinarily not a good thing, but he's been complaining about how he never sees our Sweet Baboo anymore, so now he's seen him and we don't have to make it happen on our own time.
2) I ran into another new mom, her baby is 2 months old and we worked in the church nursery together before Baboo was born. We exchanged numbers and she is going to hook me up with her playgroups so I don't have to be lonely and sad. Yippee!
3) I also ran into an old, old, old friend of mine--I'm talking my best friend from kindergarten. We exchanged numbers and will hopefully be keeping in touch. It's always great to touch base with the past. I couldn't believe he recognized me after all these years!
4)We booked Baboo's Christening--holla! It's going to be next Sunday, which I know is a crazy short amount of time away. We're having it at my mom's house and we chose that date because the holidays are approaching and it's always impossible to get my whole extended family together for extra events this time of year, well next Sunday is Canadian Thanksgiving so they'll all be at my mom's place anyway--holy run-on sentence, batman!

Now I just need to find my sweet Baboo a Christening outfit, and put together some verses I want read. Pick out a cake, buy some white balloons, put together a short slideshow/video and find a keepsake for him to commemorate this event. Later on he'll be blessed in front of the church (they usually do the infant blessings 3 or 4 at a time), which will be nice. He'll be able to wear the same outfit and we'll get some church pictures.

All in all, things are looking up.
I'm gonna go join the Hubbs in bed (I have bedroom stories to tell in my next post--stay tuned!)

"Church is a scream."

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