The Voodoo That You Do

As well as having this blog as a tool for unleashing my motherly aggressions, I also have my new Paper Voodoo pad. Appropriately labeled, "The Voodoo That You Do". This handy dandy little gem was recently given to me by my fabulous sister-in-law for my very first Mama's Day. Oh if she only knew how truly useful this will be to me.

But with all sinisterisms aside, I had a truly beautiful first Mother's Day. Complete with a BBQ breakfast from the hubby, flowers, and a visit from the rest of the fam. I didn't think it would mean quite as much to me as it did when the day finally came. Just looking at Gavin and knowing that he is the reason I was sitting there that day being celebrated. And truly understanding how much I took my own Mom for granted, now having the chance to live through the joys and heartache of motherhood myself. And that's only the first nine months!

I find myself digging my heals in lately. Wanting time to stand still. My baby is turning into a little boy overnight. I'm afraid when I go to wake him in the morning I'm going to find a teenager sitting in the crib starring back me. Just as I regret taking my Mom for granted I don't want to take my own time as Mom for granted. I just love all the little moments with him. We sat in the cafeteria at IKEA this afternoon and as I fed him he would suck on his peas and spit the skins out at me. This is one of his many new tricks. I try not to laugh because I don't want him to think it's okay to spit his food. But how could I help it?? It's friggin' hilarious! I found myself wishing that moment between me and my son sitting in the IKEA cafeteria would never end. I never thought I'd be saying this but I even enjoy mixing his bottles at night. It's those little things that I know I'll miss when they're gone.

Three more months and I'm back to work. I literally feel like it was just yesterday I was sitting in the hospital holding him in my arms. I don't even want to think about it. I'm having such mixed emotions about the whole thing. Part of me is excited to put my brain back through the paces again. Socialize with the girls. And maybe stock up on some cute little back-to-work numbers for the wardrobe. But then I look at him and those big handsome eyes starring back at me a piece of my heart breaks. All I can think of are all of the "firsts" I'm going to miss. I'm just praying to a higher power that he takes his first steps before August 9th. But then I think of how much fun he'll have with the other kiddos at the home daycare we've enrolled him in. How much joy and independence he will gain. Oh man.

This is a good thing Cheryl. Everything will be okay. Just keep saying the mantra.

And Away We Go!

So we brought him home and established that YES, this was going to be A LOT harder than raising a puppy. We were responsible for this mini human being. He depended on us for everything. A pretty amazing thing when I really sit back and think about it. And as those first few weeks went by we began to really fall hard for our little man. We started to realize, almost instinctively, what each cry and coo meant. We would respond and to our astonishment we were getting it right. We were really getting into a groove. We could do this! He pooped...no problem! 3am feeds...no problem! Sponge baths...no problem! But holy hell...could that circumcision ring and umbilical cord take any longer to fall off?? The longest 3-6 days of my life!

But we survived and naturally we were ready to up the ante so to speak. So now I guess the next logical thing to do was to take him "out". Out from the protective confines of our little nest. Whah?? "Can't everyone just come here?", I thought. Don't get me wrong, I was all up for taking him out, but what I wasn't ready for were those eyes from other mom's...silently judging. And some not so silently judging. I could just hear them now. "She doesn't have enough clothes on him, he'll freeze!"..."she has too many clothes on him, he'll over heat!"..."oh my God, she's actually using a pacifier?" And really, I don't know why I worried about being outside of my home because I had blatant veiled judgments made right inside my own four walls. I call them veiled because they were done in that aggravating semi-polite way that people do . And two minutes later you think to yourself, "did she really just effing say that to me?". And then your poor husband spends the rest of the night trying to calm you down and rationalize it to you.

Being a new mom for me was, and I guess still is, comparable to those first few brutal weeks of grade nine. You try to be an individual but it's still so tempting to get caught up in what the others think and then you instinctively find yourself conforming to one group or another. For me it was the "indie kids". We ate lunch in the hallway. Wore our Chucks with our uniform. And scoffed at some of the other groups for being predictable and boring. So you can see how this has had some impact on my preferences in life and motherhood in particular.

I can be very deceptive though. From my looks and my words you would think that I didn't give a crap one way or the other about what anyone thought of me, or my family, or my mothering skills. But what a lie that is. Looks as they say are very deceiving. I too so easily worry myself sick about what others think. Thankfully, with the help of my husband, who never lets that silly stuff get to him, and also with the help of this blog, I am beginning to truly be comfortable in my motherhood skin.

I don't know if it's my generation or just the alpha-mom syndrome in general, but gosh can women and other mom's ever be harsh on one another. I suppose it's ingrained in us somewhere that we need to compete and be the best we can possibly be. Man is this ever the case when it comes to motherhood. But why is it that this subject seems to make other mom's feel entitled to ram their opinions down your throat? I mean I don't see people getting so passionate over the way their grass is growing? Or how much sugar you put in your coffee? But yes, this is me going on a tangent again. But oh so cathartic! Ahhhhh...much better.

Where was I? Ah, yes. So we buckled down and went out. First out in the stroller down the block. Then around the neighbourhood. Before I knew it I was tackling the mall. Oh the dreaded first mall outing. The brutal stares I got in the parking lot when passers by saw me struggling to figure out how to unfold the damn stroller. "I knew I should have practiced more!!", I thought as beads of sweat lined my brow. Not to mention I had packed for what looked like a weekend getaway but would only be a max of two hours at the mall. I remember going out with a friend and her 10-month-old at the time and watching in aw as she fed her son with such precision and then later seeing her whip off his dirty diaper and have a new one on in what had to be 60 seconds flat. I thought to myself, "what the hell am I doing wrong?" "Why am I so slow and awkward at this Mommy stuff?" But God what a difference a couple months make.

Even today when I was out with him I almost had to pinch myself. Sometimes I still can't believe I'm a Mom and how natural and effortless it feels now. And how I just know exactly what he's thinking and feeling and needing all the time. And so this to shall pass as they say. That phrase bothered me at one time when people would use it to ease my troubles. But how much sense it makes now. What a difference a day makes added with some time, maturity, and a little perspective.

Motherhood here I come...

Motherhood - the kinship between an offspring and the mother.

I was recently motivated and inspired by a friend on Facebook's blog to begin writing one of my own. No one ever tells you how lonely maternity leave can sometimes be. Well, how lonely motherhood in itself can be for that matter. And how there are these random moments where you can feel yourself morphing into Jack Nicholson's character from the 'Shining'. "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy...All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy". Well, maybe that's a tad extreme (it was a LONG winter) but you get my drift right? So when I read some of these beautifully written sad, funny, angry blog posts by similar like-minded new mom's I began to feel like I wasn't going totally crazy and I wasn't alone. Not to mention living up in the 'burbs surrounded by other new mommy's who are, shall we say, NOT quite so "like-minded" can be a little daunting, intimidating and alienating to say the least. I'm the Mom that puts my kid in a Che onesie and dances with him to David Bowie's Queen Bitch in the living room. You can see how that may not make me many new mommy friends at the play circles up here in Newmarket.

And so begins my quote unquote "mommy-blog". A cathartic way to chronicle the tales of my trials as a new mommy in "so-called motherhood" as it were. I can't say how long I'll keep it up for. Maybe a few months. Maybe a few years. But for now I need it. For my sanity and for my poor husband's sanity.

I've grown up more in these last 9 months of motherhood than all of my 30 years on this planet combined. It's been a winding road with peaks and valleys and the occasional fork or two or three. Me and Brandon talked about starting a family not long after we started seeing each other, and about 4 years later, after we thought we got most of the self-absorbedness out of our systems, we took the plunge. On Sunday, August 16, 2009 just 6 minutes after midnight Gavin Antoine William Gingras was delivered (mind the pun) into our lives.

I was ready for this. We were ready for this. I mean for God sakes, I actually read a few books on the subject. And I thought watching TLC's 'Baby Story' enough times was preparation enough. What the hell is an episiotomy??? Do yourself a favour...never, I REPEAT, NEVER, Google 'episiotomy' and then proceed to watch a video on the subject. The horror...the horror. I was living in a blissful pregnant bubble. But when I went in for one of my final NST's and my doc said "why don't we just go ahead and induce you today", the panic sirens went off. Though you would never have known it. Brandon was the blubbering mess and I was the calm one who told him, "don't worry just make a few calls and go pick up my suitcase from home". But inside I was scared shitless. "He's actually coming out of me today?", I pondered. Can we discuss this a little? Due to my heart arrhythmia it was decided from the start that I would be induced and be given an epidural fairly early into labour as to not put my heart under any undue stress. So at about 2pm they began the IV Pitocin and about 10 hours later I delivered our 6lb 1oz bouncing baby boy. It was love at first sight. And that cry. That beautiful, amazing cry. He was here and he was all ours. Both of us cried like babies when they put him up on my chest. It was the most surreal moment of my life.


Shortly after the introductions and paparazzi I was wheeled to the post-partum wing and it was there that motherhood greeted me with a bitch slap. He was crying. What did he need? His diaper needs to be changed. He cries again. Is he hungry? Just latch on for Mommy sweetie. If it was only as easy as all those books, diagrams and those women you see whip them out in the food court made it out to be. I swear to God I had never had so many people handle my breasts as I did in that three day hospital stay. But really, at that point I had no shame. Fortunately, after a couple weeks, and a lot of tears, Tylenol, and ice packs, we got the hang of it and the milk was flowing as they say.

And then the day came. Discharge day. "You and your little man can go home." Again, the panic. I was so in love and so attached to this little creature but the thought of me and Brandon having to actually take him home without "adult supervision" terrified me! Thankfully, when we did arrive back to Casa Gingras my Mom and Dad (Grandma and Grandpa Gavel) were waiting in the driveway. My Mom stayed with us off and on for a couple of weeks. Made us meals, cleaned house, gave the cat and dog some well deserved attention, and of course fussed over Gavin every chance she got. She was a God sent. The whole time all I could think of was that I don't know how single mothers or people without family do the whole newborn thing the first time around.

The first couple of nights we were absolute wrecks. Breastfeeding was going horribly. I was hurting in places I didn't even knew existed. And to top it off I was a hormonal wreck. It didn't help having annoying people giving me their unasked for advice. Honestly, my kid is two minutes old...I'm really not in the mood to talk about baby sign language or making cookies with hidden parsnips in them!!! To top things off I thought I had ended up with a nasty case of mastitis. Gavin wasn't latching properly and every time the poor little guy would come anywhere close to my nipples I would scream in pain. Because I wasn't expelling enough milk my breasts looked like the size of footballs. They were on fire and then the chills set in. I slept with a bag of frozen peas one night. I cried out to Brandon one night to just go to Shoppers and buy a can of formula. "I'm such a horrible mother!!". And for the record, I'm in no way opening a door to the breastfeeding vs formula debate. Breastfed or formula fed, I truly believe it's a bullshit thing that other women, society, whatever guilt's us into thinking. All a child needs is love to grow and the rest will all work itself out. Anyhoo, enough with that little tangent. We both frantically read through books and online to figure out what was going on and what I could do to fix it. Finally, I pumped a little every few hours to relieve the pain and in the meantime Gavin got the hang of it and we were off and running. He fed every couple of hours. I awoke and brought him into bed to feed and went through the motions in a zombie-like way. I had never known what being physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted meant until that first week of motherhood. I secretly loathed Brandon when he would look at me from bed and ask if I needed anything. Really what could he do? Or better yet still when he wouldn't wake up at all. That boy could sleep through World War III.

But all joking aside we managed to get through those first couple of weeks together. Brandon was so strong for the both of us. All the times I would beat myself up about what I wasn't doing right or what I could do better he just kept picking me up and dusting me off and telling me that we would be ok and that Gavin would be ok. And he was right. Nine months later here we all are. Our little family. We're not perfect parents and I'm so SO happy we aren't perfect parents. Because God how boring would that be?? But we're happy parents. We do things the way we like to call the Brandon and Cheryl way because that's what works for us.

It was truly cathartic writing these words down. I may be a quiet gal most of the time but there's a lot going on in this mommy brain.