The World is A Little Sweeter

LM was grumpy all day, whining and wanting to be held and generally miserable. Finally around 5:30 I took his temperature and found he had a fever of over 101 under his arm - and that was with my crappy thermometer that always seems to register lower than my basal one. I felt like such a moron - here I was dragging him out and around, pushing him in the swing at the park and trying to interest him in random passing dogs. Poor kid was probably thinking "Just take me home woman! Can't you feel I'm BURNING UP?" I am just not much of a worrier when it comes to illness so it never occurred to me that it might be something more than just teething. Of course by then the doctor's office was closed and I realised he'd probably had the fever for quite a while given how crappy he was acting all day. I called the Nurse Hotline in tears and spoke to a very sweet RN.

"Is it his first time being sick?" she asked.

"His first fever," I said.

"Well, he'll have plenty more," she said with a smile in her voice.

That was my second crying jag of the day. The first was when I was driving in the car and White Coat, Black Art was on. They were interviewing a doctor who specialises in counselling dying children. One of the things he does is help them come up with assignments for their families to remember them, because often these children are afraid they'll be forgotten. So it reassures the child to task the family with some sort of commemorative ritual, like asking them to eat the child's favourite meal every year on his or her birthday. I liked that idea.

The doctor being interviewed also said that dying children never ask "why me?" at least not in their discussions with him. Instead they worry about their parents: "Will mummy be okay?" When I heard that that, I started sobbing. Tears were rolling down my face. I had to pause and regain my breath after stopping the car.

I feel like motherhood has given me so much more empathy than I used to have. You'd think I'd have already had that sort of empathy towards the sick - having had one parent die slowly from cancer, and having another battle it off twice. I've seen a lot of death. But I don't think that story would have made me cry 10 months ago. Somehow since I've had a child the whole human race just seems a little more vulnerable and likable, and well... human.

With that, I'm off to cuddle my sweet, clammy boy.

Why You Shouldn't Have a Child to Strengthen Your Relationship

I have all these half-started posts in my head, and some in Blogger, but I'm just sort of at a loss these days. I could come in and write a bunch of random stuff, but that seems sort of boring.

One of the things that has occurred to me recently is how hard having a kid is on your marriage. People told me this before, and I always thought - sure, for you guys, but not for us. But eight months in, I have to say, it is really, really tough.

For one thing, when you have a child there's this third person inserted in your relationship. And you love that third person so very, very much. It's not that I love him more than D - it's a totally different kind of love. But right now, at this stage of LM's development, he is just so dependent on me, so his needs come first a lot of the time. Not always, but a lot of the time. And he just needs me so much. And I love being needed like that, but sometimes after spending a whole day taking care of someone else, I do not have a lot left in me for anyone else.

I have been increasingly snappy and short with D. I'm often frustrated when the dishes aren't done, the baby isn't fed at the right time, the clothes are on the floor again. So I am resolving to stop doing this - to be nicer and more patient. But I also do think some of my complaints are valid and that I do need a little more help around the house, so I also need to think of nicer ways to ask D to help. Even when I ask in a nice or patient tone, I feel like I'm constantly nagging. Don't you wish there was a way so that you didn't have to ask? But the reality is, you do have to ask, because he's not always home to notice the cobwebs in the hall or to observe LM is now napping twice a day and not three times.

We had a long talk about all of this today, and that was great. One strength we've always had is communication. (And no, D doesn't read this, although he knows about it, so I am not using it as a passive-aggressive tool to communicate with him.)

Anyway, I'm not sure how eloquent this all is, but I consider myself so lucky to have a husband who does so much, who is a great father, who adores me and his child. We are each other's best friend. And we have a child who has gone from being a fussy, colicky little guy to being the sweetest most happy little boy who is so much fun. But still, it's hard! I hate admitting that - I hate admitting that it's a challenge; it doesn't seem right that something so joyful should be. But it is, for the most mundane reasons.

A Full-Time Job

Been thinking more about my training dilemma and what to do with Little Man. You know what I hate? I hate that I always have to be the one to figure out what we do with him. I can go on the training, but I have to arrange childcare, or ask D if he'll take the time off.

When we got pregnant, although we were thrilled, it was unexpected timing and my life plan had to shift around quite a bit. No one asked me whether I wanted to sacrifice my clerkship - it was assumed that if someone stayed home for the year of EI, that it would be me. No one asked me if I wanted to put on 40 pounds, or feel sick for four months, or deal with a borderline colicky baby for 12 hours a day while D worked hellish hours in the first four months. But I did. And yes he did agree to be home early two nights a week, but that was still a lot of long lonely nights at home in our tiny apartment with my laptop after LM fell asleep. So why should I feel bad asking D to take the time off now?

My career is just as important as his is. All year D has said that when I go back to work, he is going to go down to four days a week, at least temporarily. But that changed when I reminded him that next year, someone would have to be home at 6 each night to get LM from daycare or nanny, and it won't always be me. His first instinct was to suggest an au pair, so that we can have the flexibility to work late. "D," I said, "we didn't have a child so that he can spend 12 hours a day in the care of someone else - I think we need to commit to the idea that at least one of us will be home by 6 almost every night." Once I said it, he agreed, but it bugs me that I even had to say it. And the end result is that since he can't work the insane hours during the week, he feels he has no right to ask for the reduced workweek he had planned to negotiate.

He called me today to let me know he'd phoned around about some nanny services for August; it was meant to be a thoughtful gesture, but I must admit it grated on me. I hate that while I'm doing the training, I'm still going to be responsible for managing LM the whole week on my own - making sure the nanny isn't crazy, rushing back after the training and so on.

Don't get me wrong, D is an amazing and involved father. He changes almost all the diapers on the weekend. When LM cries at night, D leaps up to get him. He plays with him, gives him baths, feeds him, gets up with him in the morning on weekends to let me sleep, and does at least 50% of the childcare when he's around. And as for work, he makes nearly three times what I will in my articling year (articling students in my city do not make much) and he manages our finances, so he puts a lot of pressure on himself at work as well.

But I think there are going to be real challenges as I get back into the work force. It's going to be really hard for both of us to shift mentality - I won't be the default daycare anymore. And I admit that sometimes I feel like Dads only have to be Dads when they're not doing the 9 to 5 (or 7 to 7 as the case may be.) Motherhood is a 24-hour a day profession.

If Mothers Ruled the World

In the past couple of weeks LM has become such a happy baby. Instead of the default state being sort of fussy and cranky with a few happy stretches here and there, he's now such a smiley, happy guy most of the time and only gets truly upset when he's tired or frustrated.

I get these moments, watching him look at a picture, or smile lovingly at me from across the room and my whole heart just swells at the pure innocence. I can't help but think, I hope the world isn't too hard on you. I wish I could protect him from all the bad things, the skinned knees, the broken hearts, the temptation of driving after some drunken night, the gun-wielding strangers, the wars in far off places. I guess it's a good thing I can't shelter him from everything, because if I could, I probably would. But we all need some tough times to make us better and more interesting people. I still wish I could shelter him from some things though.

Realisation

It's funny, when I see the girls I've known since high school, I don't really feel like we're getting any older. When I think back to our high school days, I picture us looking the same way we do now. I know intellectually that it's not true, and I certainly know that when I look at a picture of us 15 years ago. But in a lot of ways, I don't feel any older than I was back then. It's strange to think I am now so much older than my older brother was back then, because I think I'd still be kind of cowed by the person he was then.

Today I was browsing someone's online photo album and I came across a picture of a mutual acquaintance, someone who I haven't seen since those olden, golden days. This acquaintance has two kids now, one of whom is probably similar in age to LM. (I still remember her getting all pissy with me because the guy she liked gave me a massage on the beach. He was a cutie too!) She looks so much older than I would have thought. She's still very attractive, and bright-eyed, but she looks like a mom. And then I remind myself, shit, I probably do too! How can that be? I still feel like such a child.