How have you been? You look nice. Much older, but nice. No offence.
Has it really been 23 days since I’ve typed a single word? Well, no it hasn’t, but it’s been 23 days since I’ve typed a single blog-destined word. And I have a good reason for that.
Notice how the little one isn’t crying or eating or being held by me? And also please notice how the older one is sitting still, isn’t covered in marker or snot, and isn’t yelling at me for no apparent reason? That’s where I’ve been for the last 23 days. Deep into parenting a newborn and a toddler. These woods are thick and difficult to navigate, but somehow I’ve found a clearing. It’s only going to last for another hour or so (please, God, let it last another hour or so) while Daughter #1 (in birth order only; I’ll wait until they’re older before I choose a favourite) is napping. Anonymous Husband is working on a rare Sunday that I’m not earmarked for doing toddler-entertaining activities until later in the day, so I thought I’d update the old, neglected blog.
You’ll notice in the pictures to follow that Eirinn’s hair has been mutilated. That would be me. I’d love to say she snuck the sissors out of the drawer and gave herself a horrible trim that needed to be fixed by nearly balding her, but I’m afraid that would be a lie. I did it. I’ve trimmed her hair many times in the past without such a dramatic result, but something happened this time. I cut too much. I got a little too enthusiastic and all her gorgeous blond curls, my most favourite of all her beautiful attributes, ended up in a pile on the floor. Or in the bathtub, as the case may be. I’ll admit it. I’m no hair stylist and will never again attempt to be. I’ll leave the trims to the professionals from now on. Even though she’s still as cute as pie, I miss her curls terribly.
We’ve done plenty of interesting things, all of which would have made fabulous blog entries, but I haven’t found the time to write about them because I’ve been too busy doing them.
Oshawa Zoo is a little, privately owned zoo, mostly displaying farm animals, llamas, camels, and a few small exotic animals. We had a few unique experiences here that we’ll remember forever (or at least I will and I’ll tell Eirinn when she’s old enough to remember forever). We fed a baby camel and a baby donkey a bottle. So cute. Grotesquely slobbery, but cute. We also reported a llama birth to the zoo’s owners! We noticed that one especially tiny llama was all wet and gooey and fragile looking. We watched as it stood up (presumably for the first time) and stumbled drunkly over to it’s mama and searched for milk. As we left, we asked how old the baby llama was and they said 2 weeks. I guess there was another baby in their pen who was 2 weeks, but this one was much, much younger. We were the first to see it that day, even before the keepers!
They also give you a bag of popcorn (natural stuff, not the pre-buttered microwave kind) to feed to all the animals, which Eirinn loved doing. Did you know that goat’s lips are as soft as a baby’s bottom? I didn’t either, but apparently they are.
Riverview Park has about the same calibur of animals, but they also have a little train ride, a huge playground and a waterpark. We thought Eirinn would go crazy in the waterpark. We thought wrong. She barely touched her toes in the water and as soon as she felt how cold it was, she was done. Well worth the half an hour line up to change her into her bathing suit.
Oh, and Riverview Park was, drum roll please, FREE. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner. If it were closer (it’s a 45 minute drive), we would go back often.
We have visited my parents’ trailer twice in the last 23 days. Once for a quick, impromptu two day stay. Again for a longer, 5 day vacation. There is something about “roughing it” (emphasis on the quotation marks; their trailer has a full kitchen, flat panel tv, satelite, full bedroom, bathroom and living room – not your average pup-tent-in-the-woods type “roughing it”) that rejuvenates a person. Even when Eirinn re-discovered the terrible twos while on our first trip. And even though we left civilization 2 hours to the south of us, Avery still insists on eating every two hours through the night. So this rejuvenation is definitely just a state of mind. But, either way, we had a great time.
Last week, we went to a little local farm to pick blueberries. I didn’t think I liked blueberries before, but my only exposure to them was the little mushed up ones you find in store-bought pies. Oh, my. These are not blueberries. I was big and brave and tried a stolen blueberry straight from the bush (the farm is organic, so there are no pesticides or other chemicals used and we were given sampling permission). Those were blueberries. Blueberries have redeemed themselves in my books. Another fruit I recently tried for the first time? Cherries. Again, fresh, real cherries are not at all the same as the canned, manufactured variety.
Anyway, back to our blueberry picking expedition. We picked blueberries. Avery did this:
Throw in countless tantrums, time-outs, newborn hissy fits, a trillion diapers, a few adult breakdowns, learning on the job, guilt about who is getting more attention, guilt about the disasterous state of my house and its contents, guilt about neglecting friendships, guilt about neglecting myself, a short-fused temper as a result of all of the above and you’ve got my life, in a nutshell, for the past 23 days.
I won’t promise that this is me back as regular as before because we all know how busy life is, remains, and will get as the kids grow. But I will say that I am going to try hard to find time for myself, which includes this forum through which I can vent to all of you. If there is anyone left out there.
Next up: how I’ve been coping with more responsiblilty than I ever thought I’d have. Spoiler alert! Not very well and not without a great deal of assistance from my wonderfully supportive husband and incredibly helpful mother.
Avery started smiling at 3 weeks. Sorry I didn’t tell you. Catching one on camera is tricky because her face is generally scrunched up into a tight little anger-ball when I’m not holding her, which makes photography difficult.