A Portrait of the Baby

2011-11-08T08:07:00.000-08:00

October 2011.

2011-10-07T00:39:00.000-07:00

A lovely piece of writing by another crying mom (and novelist), Penni Russon:

"Recently you said to me “Why don’t grown ups cry? Why don’t you ever cry?”
Amazed, I said “I cry! You’ve seen me cry.”
You said, “Have I?” And again, incredulous, “Have I?“
I have sat down on the floor beside you and sobbed, from tiredness or grief or anger or hunger or because my blood burned with sugar. I have cried from hopelessness, because I am terrible at motherhood, because loving you hurts. Because I used to be one thing, and then when you were born there was a tearing, a splitting, like antarctica calving an iceberg, you split from the continent and I lost a part of myself and I must bear that loss over and over. You have borne witness to two pregnancies, and overfilled I leaked tears. You have seen me cry in public, in cities all over the world, in Paris by the Seine, in London as we crossed the street, in Helsinki, in Hong Kong. I have cried because you have used up all my oxygen with your hunger and your need and your love. I have cried because you would not sleep, would not eat, would not leave, would not stay. I have cried reading you sad stories and watching movies with you on my lap. From love and from pride, from exhaustion of feelings, I have cried."

2011-10-06T20:21:00.000-07:00

Five things I love about Bridget, aged five.

1) The way she runs, skips, or dances nearly everywhere she goes. Half out of breath and looking at her feet she'll say to me, "just watch this mom!" as she gallops from my room to hers and back.

2) How she's so concerned about doing the right thing. In gymnastics she carefully steps into each station, trying to remember what to do; pointing her toes and looking to the teacher for a nod or a smile. And today, almost in tears she told me that Isadora seemed excited about her birthday and how she didn't mention her party (like I told her not to) but how she's worried Isadora knows about it, and that maybe she should invite her just in case.

3) How she loves her brother and has no interest in any other baby. How she talks to him with such excitement for life and has so many plans for him and her together.

4) How she laughs so hard at books and movies, and repeats all the funny lines over and over for days to follow. "Ham!"

5) How despite all the times she can be whiny and needy and sad for no reason, there are also times when she is so strong and so brave. Like when the hours count down before Mike's mom has to go to the airport and back to Vancouver. And at the dentist when the hygienist puts whizzing instruments and miniature vacuums in her mouth, and she tries out a joke with a nervous giggle. And the first night in our new house when she asked if I could cuddle with her in bed because "she felt weird" and I felt weird too, but I couldn't because Finn was crying.

2011-09-07T21:03:00.000-07:00

"Life is only a series of years." - Bridget, age 4 3/4.

2011-09-07T20:48:00.000-07:00

Bridget's homemade compost for her teacher.

Dept. of Darndest Things

2011-07-25T09:30:00.000-07:00

Over on my more regularly updated blog, I introduced a new feature: Dept. of Darndest Things, wherein Bridget and I write a joint review of a new kids' book.

The first entry was about Isol's Beautiful Griselda. Below is a sample; click here to read the review in full.

Is the book funny?
B: I would say… hm. I don’t know. I didn’t laugh while we were reading it. I’m not laughing right now.

Dreams

2011-07-20T12:07:00.000-07:00

Lately Bridget has been having bad dreams. We’re talking bear attacks, floors suddenly falling away, and general spooky moods. But she’s been surprisingly brave about it. She rarely comes to get us in the middle of the night, and when I ask her about her sleeping in the morning, she gets this stoic, faraway look on her face and says she doesn’t want to talk about it. Partly it’s embarrassment, I think, but partly something else. A fascination with the fact that it’s her own brain coming up with this stuff, maybe.

We’ve been trying to come up with some solutions as she falls asleep each night. Sometimes we suggest she think of only fun things, like petting the neighbour’s cat; sometimes she suggests thinking directly about the bad thing, which means that, somehow, I guess, it can’t make the jump to her subconscious if it's already in her regular conscious.

A few nights ago, while I was brushing my teeth, I heard her thrashing around in her bed. This isn’t uncommon—even with pleasant dreams, she usually does a full 360 spin by night’s end—but I also heard her saying things like “No!” and “Get away from me!”

I had another theory about her nightmares I wanted to test. This is our conversation, as I sat down on the edge of her bed (she is lucid but only half-awake):

M: Bridget, are you okay?

B: No, Dad… just… get back.

M: Bridget, I have a question for you.

B: What is it.

M: Are you winning the chocolate bar-eating contest?

B: [Long pause] Well, not winning, but…

M: How many Rolos do you think you can eat?

B: No, Dad… just…

M: Do you think you can eat 50 Rolos?

B: [Asleep again.]

2011-06-19T09:39:00.000-07:00

June 2011. All smiles.

2011-06-19T09:11:00.000-07:00

2011-06-07T00:18:00.000-07:00

Mike taking two months off was the best thing we have ever done.

2011-06-04T02:44:00.000-07:00

Me: What did you do at playschool today?

B: Not much.

Me: Who did you play with?

B: Um, mostly by myself. Some other kids were playing a spy game and I tried to join in but they told me you had to be five to play.

Me: Oh no! That doesn't really make sense. Did you tell them that you didn't think that was fair?

B: (Now looking sad) No, I guess I just believed them.

2011-06-04T02:43:00.000-07:00

New love.

2011-06-03T17:23:00.000-07:00

For Claire's birthday, Bridget and I planned a secret spy mission for her and Kris. Things like this definitely take at least two hours to plan: one to take all of Bridget's ideas into consideration, and another to make her ideas work in a way that doesn't cost hundreds of dollars or take years to construct. I think it turned out pretty well.

Claire and Kris in their spy disguises. Bridget's idea. I thought it was hilarious, Bridget continued to act like it was just totally necessary.

Step one: decypher the cypher. Cypher reads: USE THE BINOCULARS AND LOOK IN THE CRABAPPLE TREE.

Looking out the window at said tree.

A sign! Hanging in a tree! Sign reads: LOOK IN THE MAILBOX.

To the Mailbox!

A Kit-Kat bar! But is it? It isn't! Clue reads: LOOK IN YOUR PURSE.

In the purse there is a pen! But is it? Sort of! Except that it has a secret note hidden inside! Note reads: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

2011-05-21T03:05:00.000-07:00

When Bridget was born, something happened that I cannot explain. I've tried to explain it many times. I've tried to explain why I can't concentrate on my work, why I can't concentrate on my friends, why I write, why I plan, why I worry, and of course, why I'm scared of dogs. What happened was that I became a mother, and despite trying to explain it countless times before, here I am again at 3am, struggling to remember my blogger password because, damn it, I feel like there is something I gotta say.

I suspect it is because Bridget is away at my parent's for a sleepover, and it is my first time not having her home for the night. Something around here just doesn't feel right, and I find myself thinking the very thing us feminists aren't supposed to think, or certainly never say: a child should be with their mother.

It will be morning soon and maybe me and Finn will sleep in, and maybe Mike will drive a get us coffees. And I'll clean up the front yard a bit and then, sometime before lunch, my mom's car will pull up and Bridget will be home. I'll aks her how Spy Kids was and I know what she'll say: "Mom, you know what? I'm thinking I might want to be a spy when I get bigger."

2011-05-21T02:58:00.000-07:00

And then there was Finn.

2011-02-12T21:20:00.000-08:00

February, 2011.

A few days ago Katie asked Bridget from another room what she was doing on the computer. Bridget said it was private. Later Katie found this (along with about 30 others).

News!

2010-12-05T18:53:00.000-08:00

We can just re-purpose this blog, right?

2010-09-06T08:32:00.000-07:00

Summer Vacation 2010: Part 2

Ace Hotel, Children's Museum, Museum of Science and Industry

Portland, OR

2010-08-25T18:43:00.000-07:00

Summer Vacation 2010: Part 1

Long Beach, WA and Cannon Beach, OR

2010-07-09T20:50:00.000-07:00

2010-07-02T19:07:00.000-07:00

For those few souls out there still reading this blog: here is Bridget. For Bridget twenty years from now: you are so beautiful, we love you to bits.

2010-04-05T20:01:00.000-07:00

2010-03-10T18:10:00.001-08:00

March 2010.

2010-03-02T18:14:00.000-08:00

As part of her bedtime routine, Bridget sits on her bed and reads two books out loud to herself. Obviously she can't read, but she also knows these stories nearly by heart—so she ends up with these half-invented, half-guessed-by-the-pictures epics that I can hear pretty clearly through the baby monitor.

The following is one of her made-up stories from tonight (loosely based on Franklin Says I Love You).

---

He didn’t want anything bad to happen. Franklin got ready and got his hat on. He really loved rocks. He noticed that his toy Sam was in his room the next night. Franklin and Bear had him that much. Harriet went for another walk. They played catch with him, and made him fly pie and read him two stories before his bedtime.

His grandma made him a delicious cake with ants on the left, ladybugs on the outside, and wonderful icing. The batter was mixed. Franklin licked the batter off forks and off knifes. And he helped his mother bake a necklace. He thought maybe he could go to bed himself.

Bear had a good idea: make his mother breakfast. “Can you make breakfast?” “Sure!” said Franklin. “Can you bring your mother flowers?” “Sure!” said Franklin. “Can you make your mother food and a necklace?” “Sure!” said Franklin. Franklin was still confused. It was his mother’s birthday the next morning. Franklin got a piece of paper, and made the card. Harriet made a card. They sang "Happy Birthday" to their mother, she put on her pajamas, and she read the card.

2010-01-23T20:31:00.000-08:00

After many months of talking up "the movie theatre" as a place of untold wonder and giant chocolate bars, today we took Bridget to see her very first film on the big screen.

Back in October, I'd toyed with the idea of taking her to see Where The Wild Things Are, and Bridget seemed at least kind of into it. But I quickly realized how thoroughly Spike Jonze et al weren't marketing the movie towards kids. They were after the nostalgia set—people who'd grown up with the book and who've since grown a little more cynical and callous. You know, people who've become adults.

This parody, by Tom the Dancing Bug, sums up the new mindset nicely.

So we didn't take her. It was for the best, I think. (Eventually I did see the movie, and enjoyed it, too, though even by my adult standards it seemed about 20 minutes too long.)

Then today, kind of out of nowhere, Katie asked Bridget during lunch if she wanted to see if there were any kids movies showing. Disney's Princess and the Frog had been our back-up plan ever since Wild Things fell through, and sure enough, it was showing 45 minutes from then. We went for it.

And it worked! About as well as can be expected, I guess. For some reason the theatre was packed, and she sat on our laps the whole time, eating a Kinder Surprise and drinking from a cup of smuggled milk. I suspect the spectacle of South Edmonton Common was impressive enough for a first timer.

The movie was pleasant, with a bunch of cajun, Randy Newman-penned songs to keep Bridget distracted from thinking too much about the villain's cadre of shadow monsters, which are pretty much the best way to guarantee toddler nightmares I can think of. (Hey kids! What if your shadow could reach out and strangle you? Well, food for thought. Bye!)

There were also goofy frog dances, a firefly whose haplessness verged on Eeyore territory, and the usual junk about staying true to yourself and following your dreams. Nice. I could take her to movies like this once a week until forever.

Of course, at 97 minutes long, Bridget did ask to go home several times. It happens. In these circumstances, sitting at the end of the row was critical: turns out you can appease a 3 year old for a full 15 minutes just by letting her sit in the aisle.

2009-12-06T21:01:00.000-08:00

Ariel Gore on bigotry of a personal kind:

"I guess I just wanted to remind everyone that when you hear that someone is pregnant, no matter her age, marital status, sexual orientation, or financial situation, the correct response is:

CONGRATULATIONS."

You can read her full post here.

I realize that getting pregnant at 21 means I was/am not technically a teen parent. But let me tell you, I mostly feel like one—at Bridget's playschool, my school, when I pay my rent. I'd like to say that it doesn't bother me or anyone else, but it still does.

2009-11-01T19:58:00.000-08:00

This picture is a perfect cross-section of toddler costumes. Happy Hallowe'en, Bridget.

2009-10-07T20:45:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday Bridget! You are three and wonderful.

2009-10-07T08:58:00.000-07:00

I wrote the following note three weeks ago, on Bridget's first day of playschool. It was posted to Facebook, and I meant to re-post it here right away, but you know how these things go.

-----

Today was a perfect day for a migraine. Katie woke up at 7 with a blinding headache, so I stayed home from work. The source? Probably her ever-mounting pile of schoolwork had something to do with it, but mostly it was because of the part of the day lasting from 9:15 to 11:45, Friday mornings, from now until spring 2010: Bridget’s playschool.

Today was her first day.

I hadn’t given it all that much thought, to be honest, because I knew from the beginning that I’d be working. But now that I was going to be the one to take her, the feelings that spent all night brewing a thunderstorm in Katie’s head hit me, too: the anxiety, the excitement, the helplessness. We’ve never had a babysitter that wasn’t a direct blood relative—now we had to leave our ultra-shy toddler with a bunch of goddamn strangers?

Actually, the playschool we’re part of is wonderful. We knew that much going in. It’s a co-op, and its ethos is built around setting up children for success being on their own, interacting with kids they don’t know. Discipline is firm but gentle. The kids have a snack in the middle and talk about what foods they like. The teachers are good. Calm.

Their philosophy also means that parents are encouraged to stick around for as much of the day as they feel they need to—for a kid like Bridget, this is critical. So after a headache-diluting coffee, Katie and I both came with her for this first day. Katie made it just long enough to see Bridget and the others start to play on the playground; I stuck around for that, the outdoor-indoor shoe swap, show-and-tell on the carpet, and snack time.

Bridget had some definite nerves at first. She was terrified of going to a park bench to take attendance, because she didn’t want to say “Here I am!” when her name was called out. She wanted me to squirt the soap on her hands before washing them, not this week’s helper mom.

Still, I was confident that she’d make it—and then came snack time. She ended up sitting at the table with a kid on either side of her, and me standing behind her. Sometimes this will send her into constant shoulder checking mode, but today her people-watching instinct took over. Our teacher started a conversation about food, and what everyone was eating, until one of the older kids started rocking in his chair.

“River,” the teacher said, “you shouldn’t move your chair like that, because last year someone accidentally had their chair land on someone’s toe.”

Frankly, at this point I was barely registering the conversation because there was no chance Bridget was going to take any part in it—this is a kid who, when another kid says hello to her, turns her head full away and smiles to herself privately. Even the more obviously social kids weren’t saying much at this point.

But who should speak up after the teacher says this but my very own daughter, chiming in with, “Or! You could just stand up.”

The teacher and River both turn to her. “Good idea, Bridget,” she says. “And what are you eating for snack today?”

“Oranges,” she says with a big grin and a nod.

I could have fainted. A week ago Katie and I had a panicked discussion about whether or not Bridget would ever reach out in a whole year of playschool, and how embarrassed we ought to feel if her separation anxiety made us withdraw her from the program altogether.

Now it seemed like a new day. Bridget got up and let the helper mom put the soap on her hands. She went over to the playhouse and sat down at a table where two other kids were playing with the same teacher from snack time. I told Bridget I was leaving, and she didn’t look back. (I know this, because I did.)

I met Katie at the coffee shop and when it was over, we both sat on the benches outside her classroom with the same mix of excitement and freaked-out-ness. If Bridget had suddenly gotten scared, would the teachers have called us right away? Or what if they tried to calm her down, and it didn’t work? I realized somewhere in this process that the contact number we gave the school was our landline back at home—and we’d been sitting in Second Cup for the past hour.

Then the door opened, and Bridget coyly walked over, smiling. She had a great time. It turns out she stuck right by the teacher’s side, which is what we wanted: an adult anchor. Let her bond with the kids another week.

Oh no, the teacher said with a wink. That’s not all. At one point, Bridget decided to read a story (read: look at pictures and make up a completely different story) to her and some of the other kids. It was about two rabbits who go looking for a carrot together.

In the car ride home, Bridget told us they also listened to “Baby Beluga” on the CD player, and that she sang along.

Usually when she says things like that, we just chalk it up to her buzzing imagination.

Now I’m not so sure.

2009-09-12T07:25:00.000-07:00

Ferry ride to Victoria, Sunday night.

Day one: Katie's at school, we're at a petting zoo.

Friendly squirrel (not part of petting zoo).

Neither was the tree.

Nor the ducks.

Here we are: the running of the goats.

They're running for their breakfast.

It's all very exciting.

Then you can brush them while they eat.

Vantage point.

Downtown Victoria.

Bridget handled the map.

Waterfront view.

Mom's home. How was your day?

Don't talk with your mouth full, Mom.

Day two: Katie's at school, we're making bird nests.

Where have these last 18 months gone?

Sand castles at Cadboro Bay.

"Scoop it up, pat it down -- that's our motto."

Day three: Katie's at school, we're having breakfast with my aunt and watching sea planes land.

Munro's Books.

Photo shoot.

"Take a picture of me laughing, dad."

Bunnies at UVic. (This may be day four: it was supposed to rain that morning, so we didn't bring the camera to Oak Bay while we fed the seals.)

Bridget had her own camera. Mostly she took pictures of her animals, and people's torsos.

Day five: Katie's at school, we're having breakfast at a hip restaurant.

In line for the museum.

Still life. (They didn't allow pictures in the amazing British Treasures exhibit, and Bridget was terrified of the museum's famous woolly mammoth.)

Check your six.

Gift shop. (Not pictured: puppet battle, raccoon v. clam.)

2009-08-31T20:10:00.000-07:00

Road trip, day two. Banff breakfast. Not good.

Well, everyone else liked it.

Who wouldn't love a big muffin served in a special muffin dish?

The orange juice was bottomless. Allegedly.

Coffee for the adults, hoof mark trails for the kids.

You stay classy, Banff.

Here be mountains.

Johnston Canyon hike.

Vertigo: not just for U2 anymore.

Catwalk.

This water is slightly acidic (hence the rounded rocks). Is that normal?

Time lapse.

My ego and I prefer "Lower".

The falls.

So fun.

The Enchanted Forest—every fairy tale (and some other stuff) in one highway pit stop.

Wish you were here.

We were told to open every door. Enter every house.

Wolf-proof.

Time of my life.

Biggest treehouse in B.C. Climbed it.

Kamloops forest fires. Epic.

Do all air conditioners look like my grandma's clock radio?

Hotel dinner.

2009-08-28T16:43:00.000-07:00

Road trip day one.

Road trip diner number one.

Kids menu coloured, brunch trivia answered: check.

Place to put my gargabe.

Build it and we will come.

They don't mess around.

We paid for the donuts but ran to the car anyway.

What a trooper.

Calgary Zoo.

Zoo.

These two were my favourite.

Zoo.

Side of the highway. Nah, Zoo.

Bridget insisted on climbing on rocks that bordered the big horn sheep enclosure.

Bridget didn't want to pretend she was an ant so Mike did. In fact, this applied to most kids' slide/tiny house related things Bridget didn't want to do.

G-raff.

Gah!

Dance break.

Breaking it down.

Hostel bed.

2009-08-16T15:12:00.000-07:00

For nearly three years I have seen friends and family post pictures of beautiful nurseries painted and poised to welcome new babies. I have to admit that I have felt a little outdone by these parents—but I do mean only a little.

On the one hand, a parent's intentions to create a beautiful space for their infant comes from the heart and therefore I do not believe in overly exposing its superficiality. On the other, we are talking about babies, and now, having had the chance to design a bedroom and playspace for a young child instead, I think it has been worth a great deal more. That, and I despise some of the common forms of nursery decor—think painted wooden letters spelling "angel", " family", or the somehow-misguided "hope".

So here it is. Really just a map framed in gold and a paint colour stemming from there. We already had some odd tables sitting around and I found the TV-table-turned-kitchen/drawing-table at Value Village for $15. There are a few more things to be added, but thus far it has been a great success: a few compliments from other parents, yes, but mostly lots of sleeping and playing.

2009-08-08T13:40:00.001-07:00

As I mentioned, we are moving Bridget into her own bedroom. We have a large dresser in our room with six draws, three of which are filled with Bridget's clothes. I just moved her stuff out and into its own dresser and I wanted to write this so I would remember how it felt — so, so, sad.

2009-08-06T11:39:00.000-07:00

So Bridget is getting her own room. Soon. And we are undertaking a re-decoration project of sorts which has left me happy, sad, and sleepless — mostly because I get up at least once a night to check this.

Today I found this and it melted my heart. Seriously, The Blybary? If anything bad happens to anyone ever they should basically just whisper The Blybary to themselves and all matter of things will be well. That, or they will cry with happiness/sadness that their child growing older and the days of blybaries are fleeting.

2009-08-03T16:30:00.000-07:00

August 2009

Bridget's email to my parents

2009-07-14T16:35:00.000-07:00

1244443tgggfffrtrrrhgknbjjuuhtjhjghjjjjnklyulollmmkmghl,//op97uuyhkm g;kyikmu,,jkkjikiubbjlujkiikukkkll;lhyllhoopuo00oooopoooyoyoyooyy9y7oo-yyoiyoyoopyooyoyoyopppypppypy[p[yp[[yp999oollolloloooooooooooooo-oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooiooioo-ioiiooi vbiju8i7miiuiiiiij999ooio-uioiiyhhfghc fnhjkjtkjkjijjui kkyyujujub vb bjhj nn nnmjmmkmm,mnb m,.., v m,m,m nnm nnnttyhyh5y6h5hgnbhnjjuut8iykgujjhnnchjdjru58u55y4tgikkgiiuehuesje-kkfuy8i8558tuirkrijtreqqaasfjjkkkkkkkkkkkkittt5y6iiop0outytuuiuu788777-uutuyuyn gfutyhtuu57uyufufurrytyyyyytttttty4yy766yytytyui7uoioyhh4y6yu77477yyu-uaNBHhjkikiiy6kkykkyjyiiyittoktjklkoll7;;'uokuoh['']ul;uyp'oyiolyuuikglmb-nvxcxccfzzzfrtr grffhujfjurhhgyyueruureujkm,rjmmmju57uyuyuju77k6uuuuyjjgjfnnjuuy8y-7uujhjhgbvnmdx.,.,,/xccvbuuuio;yujytjrjtioo9p;p;ikokokiyol5rkktlklhtuyty6-y6ujjhrmjmml,iuitujjjgjgjhy76jmnfjhhbnnmnffnnfnnnfn mfmnbn

love b bridget

2009-06-28T08:50:00.001-07:00

Completely humbled yesterday. I had Bridget to myself for the afternoon and evening, and for a long craft we decided to make party hats for her animals. It involved a lot of holding construction paper in place, awkward taping and bending -- not to mention the chin straps, which were my own bright idea. I guess I was voicing some frustrations out loud because Bridget looked at me and said, "I try to help, but you keep saying no."

She said it so sweetly, almost playfully exasperated, but it's haunted me for the past 18 hours. I'm sure all parents are familiar with these moments where you think, "Right. Never is that going to happen again." In the future, I must be more willing to make failed crafts.

Still, it's funny. Other kids might use an occasion like that as a springboard for a tantrum. Bridget just uses it to slyly make fun of me.

2009-06-12T20:13:00.000-07:00

Bridget is learning how to write letters (with a varying success rate).
June 2009.

Who Does She Think She Is?

2009-06-10T21:18:00.000-07:00

[As readers of this blog may or may not know, I do some freelance work for SEE Magazine, a local alt-weekly here in Edmonton. Below is my review for Who Does She Think She Is?, a 2008 documentary that's screening here later this month.

It seemed appropriate to re-post here because it's a film about the battle many women face between being strong, independent artists on the one hand and loving, nurturing mothers on the other. This is something Katie and I have talked about dozens of times -- I was kind of worried she'd yell at me if I didn't take on the assignment.]

Oh, how easy a target this seems. An ultra-earnest documentary about women who shake frame drums and talk about unlocking your inner goddess, who make paintings called Confronting Your Own Worst Fears with no awareness of how hokey it sounds, and who struggle daily to balance their artistic careers with the demands (not to mention societal expectations) of being an attentive mother and wife.

Wait—what was that last one again?

Yes, the first thing you’ll realize during Who Does She Think She Is?, the 2008 documentary from Pamela Tanner Boll, is that the very mechanism that makes people roll their eyes at the premise is what makes the film so necessary. That’s because feminism and gender equality are currently in a very weird limbo stage: they’ve been completely absorbed into the cultural discourse—ad nauseum, many would hasten to add—and yet at the same time they’re completely unrealized. As Boll tells us, even though the vast majority of artists are women, the vast majority of art exhibitions still only showcase male art. For those women who want to be both artists and parents, domestic as well as cavalier, there is much work to be done; we’re rolling our eyes at a revolution that, for all intents and purposes, never actually happened.

Boll spends time with five different women from across the United States, all of whom are artists. Some paint, some sculpt, most sketch, one is a singer. They seem like wonderful people across the board, pragmatic and intelligent, but they’re being painted with a particularly nasty brush. Because they need to coop themselves up in a studio by themselves for an hour or two every day, there’s a growing assumption from their communities that they must somehow be derelict parents.

After all, there’s only room for one absentee parent, and dads, with their long-nights-at-the-office and boys’-nights-out, have had that territory wrapped up for centuries.

By far the best decision Boll makes is to build her argument from these case studies, where we see the damaging effect this latent misogyny has on a very personal level. Even the spaciest, most New Age-y of the subjects makes her case convincingly, and there’s not a single interviewee that you don’t root whole-heartedly for.

Less successful, however, is when Boll tries to shoehorn in a smattering of peripheral issues, like how female gods and artists were written out of the history books, leading to today’s fundamentally patriarchal system. It’s a vague way to assign blame, and particularly since it’s a problem that’s accrued gradually, over several millennia, identifying the cause isn’t nearly as interesting or important as is the cure.

As for hope that things are improving, well, let’s see where these women end up. Two are divorced and on the wrong end of custody battles. Two forego their work altogether in favour of teaching—a decidedly more nurturing, domestic role that marks a clear defeat in contrast with the film’s initial ambitions. Another woman tries to end on a positive note by saying her dedication to her art sets a good example for her kids; the only problem is she has two sons.

Only one, a sculptor named Janis Wunderlich, gets to have her cake and eat it too. She’s last seen beaming at a big exhibition of her work, with her husband and five doting children in tow. What does she do right? It’s hard to say. I like to think it’s because she’s the most talented in the group, but more likely is that she simply caught a lucky break.

2009-06-10T21:11:00.000-07:00

June 2009.

2009-05-28T10:48:00.000-07:00

Cool news: we were interviewed by the Westender for their cover story on blogging families/dads. Despite having spoke about our blog in this way: "To be honest, I am not a huge fan of our blog. Like most bloggers, we are totally lazy and spend a great deal of space apologizing for our absence and promising posts upon posts in the future," we made it in.

(They even used a picture of Bridget sleeping, me pretending to sleep, and Mike pointing. Cute.)

Related: we responded to a ton of questions about being young parents — stuff we probably should have mentioned on this blog but haven't (re: aforementioned laziness). Most didn't make the article so we thought we would post them here instead.

1. Why did you decide to start blogging about your experiences?

MICHAEL: It started out as a way to document Katie’s pregnancy—for our friends and families but also for us, so that we’d have something to look back on once we’d forgotten all of the details. Things like the ultrasound, my last Father’s Day as just a son, or how people reacted to Katie walking down the street. Also we wanted to have a string of photos documenting the pregnancy literally, because watching Katie’s stomach get bigger was itself a scary and awesome experience.
After Bridget was born, it turned more into a straight-ahead photo blog, because there were lots of people we knew who didn’t see her all that often, and, really, that’s what they wanted to see. We’ve tried to keep some records of our feelings as parents at different times in her life—and I’m very thankful for the entries we did end up writing, because they are great snapshots—but it’s kind of fallen off as time has gone on. It’s hard to spend all day parenting and then spend your little window of relaxation writing about it. We also didn’t want to sound like we were bragging about the parts that went well, or complaining about the things that consistently blew up in our faces.

KATIE: To be honest, I am not a huge fan of our blog. Like most bloggers, we are totally lazy and spend a great deal of space apologizing for our absence and promising posts upon posts in the future. That said, I am glad it hasn’t descended into total crap—endless complaints about baby puke, that sort of thing. That stuff is totally reductive, not to mention boring.

2. What's the weirdest thing about mainstream parent culture right now? What does it do too much of? What does it miss out on?

KATIE: I have to admit I am not much a part of any parenting culture. Our family exists in a sort of self-imposed bubble at the moment in terms of talking about parenting approaches or whatever. Let’s just say I’m easily offended.

I will say this. Some parents are extremely focused on building self-reliance in their children. For example, there are entire books dedicated to teaching infants to sleep alone and to self-sooth, and “separation anxiety”—yes, that means the natural anxiety a toddler feels when separated from a parent—is very nearly treated as a medical disorder. I’m just not sure what parents who subscribe to these ideas are trying to teach their kids. That you can’t count on anyone but yourself?

Some parents also feel the need to teach their kids “no”—this idea that the real world is about rejection. Wants and needs are often seen as something that must be met with (sometimes arbitrary) limitations; heaven forbid the child gets her way.

Again, I am not sure where all this necessary toughening up has come from. Demonstrating compassion and selflessness is probably the best thing I could do for my daughter.

MICHAEL: I think there’s generally something of a fetish with baby products: the fanciest strollers, the organic-est baby food. Then again, a lot of new parents are married, in their 30s, and middle class, and I’d much rather them devote that money to their child than buying another car or replacing their dining room set for the third straight year.

For me, though, one of the things that really bothers me is that in this huge push to not neglect their kids, parents are dumbing down how they engage with them. They’ll try really hard to never use new words that are too hard, or confusing. How will those kids ever learn new words? I’ve tried really hard with Bridget to, as much as I can, ask her questions and explain things to her in a way that’s maybe a bit beyond what she can fully grasp at her age. It encourages curiosity, plus kids’ brains are so malleable that if you keep broadening their horizons, they’ll more than meet you halfway. Bridget has blown me away every time with what she can handle.

3. What are some of the assumptions that you've seen people make about young parents and parenting in general, and why does that need to change?

KATIE: There is a lot of talk about what a person might have to give up in becoming a parent—how they won’t have any money or will never be able to do such and such again. These sacrifices are often exaggerated, but what bothers me more is the assumption that young parents are ignorant to them and therefore in for some sort of terrible reality check.

This focus on lost money and pastimes also unfairly demonizes those who choose not to have kids, or maybe choose to have an abortion. There are good reasons young parents-to-be get abortions and wanting to go clubbing is not one of them.

MICHAEL: For young parents, the worst of it is when their kids are just born, when they look so fragile. There’s a definite tendency for people to equate youth with ineptitude, which is almost never true. A lot of people came up to us when Bridget was a month old with big smiles, congratulating us, but I also felt a lot of curious looks—people maybe wondering how I’d messed up to have a daughter so young, or thinking I lacked some kind of life experience to be a good father to such a helpless infant. Of course, age has almost nothing to do with it.

Now that Bridget is older, though, that kind of judgment has gone away. People can see we didn’t accidentally feed her bleach, and that, so far, she’s turned out pretty okay. The proof is in the pudding.

4. How do you reconcile your own life and ambitions with having a child?

MICHAEL: It was difficult, no question. Katie and I had to sit down and really pare down what we wanted to focus on outside of being parents, which we knew absolutely had to take top priority. First, we both had to finish university. That took about 18 months, but we got it done. Now we both still have goals in our personal lives, but we’ve had to be strict and chip away at them when we’ve had time. Having a child doesn’t mean you can’t do the things you want, but you really have to pick just one thing at a time, and work at it like crazy whenever you can. That being said, a lot of my life and ambitions are irrevocably tied to Bridget anyway—my biggest ambition now is to make sure she grows up happy and level-headed.

KATIE: It is definitely hard to plan for the future once you bring a child into the mix. People say, “I’ll be back at work in a year” or they plan a massive trip. For some, having a child makes these things impossible—emotionally or otherwise—and then there is a sense of disappointment. There is no telling how having a child is going to throw you.

For me, becoming a mother was one of those total life-changing experiences. I have put my daughter first in ways that I thought I wouldn’t. Maybe I thought that being a feminist and in practicing equal parenting I would somehow be immune to this sort of loss of identity—that I would refuse to give up my own life ambitions in the name of my child and partner, but in some cases I have. Absolutely there are losses and life changes, but life is always changing, kids or no kids.

Enjoying my life, as separate from my child’s, is very difficult right now. I suppose it could be compared to any new love—there is that feeling that I am supposed to find balance in my life and that part of that balance is spending x amount of hours away from my child. But what if I don’t feel like it? What if spending any length of time away from her makes me feel miserable? Then again, she is still very young. Even if I don’t grow out of this intense attachment I know she will.

5. Can you describe your living situation in Vancouver when Bridget was born? What were you doing for work/school before she was born? What neighbourhood were you living in? How did you adjust your living arrangements to make room for Bridget?

MICHAEL: Before Bridget was born, Katie and I were both working on our BAs at SFU (she was fourth year, I was third). She lived in a basement suite in East Van with a roommate, and I lived with my parents in North Vancouver. Katie worked for the history department, and later nannied for her cousin’s six kids in Langley, and I was copy editor at The Peak, SFU’s newspaper. To put some extra money away, I also took shitty jobs delivering pizza and renting movies. We moved in together just before Bridget was born, to an apartment right beside the Commercial SkyTrain station. It was a small, one-bedroom place, and Bridget’s crib was in the bedroom with us (where it still is).

6. Why did you move to Edmonton? How are your living arrangements different now? What are you doing for work?

MICHAEL: Katie’s parents live in Edmonton, and so didn’t get to see Bridget nearly as often as they wanted to (my parents were just a bridge away). After graduating last spring, we didn’t have anything tying us down to Vancouver—though we did and do love it there, and will return one day—so we packed up and tried to see what we could do out here.

We live on the main floor of a house now, which is bigger and much better suited for Bridget. Her crib is still in our room, but we now have a second bedroom that will hopefully become her room once she turns three in the fall.

Katie’s a stay-at-home mom, and I edit legislation for the Alberta government, on the side doing freelance book and film reviewing for a few different places.

7. In general, and comparing Vancouver to your new life in Edmonton, do you think the cost of living in Vancouver is prohibitive to having kids?

MICHAEL: It depends. For those middle class parents I mentioned earlier, if it’s important to you to own a house in the city and a surround sound system, then yeah, having a kid might be the thing that breaks the bank. We’re fortunate in that our other interests are not expensive. But certainly Vancouver is a pricey place to live comfortably or near a transit hub—though Edmonton isn’t much better—and that’s only going to get worse as the Olympics close in.
The thing is that young kids aren’t that expensive on their own. What kills you are things like daycare costs. If both parents have to work, it’s such a frustrating thing to see 80% of one parent’s paycheque going to pay the daycare. We’ve been incredibly fortunate to have the luxury—and, sadly, it is a luxury—of one parent always having been at home with Bridget. I definitely don’t take that for granted.

KATIE: Again, we are lucky because we started somewhere near the bottom (financially speaking) and although our income has maybe doubled in the past year, our tastes haven’t.
I can’t relate with those in the middle or upper class, in Vancouver or otherwise, who say they can’t afford kids. Kids themselves, at least when they are young, don’t cost a heck of a lot. I know that some people buy a house and two cars based on the fact that they are both working. Then they want kids, and one parent wants to stay home with the kids, but they don’t want to give up this lifestyle they’ve enjoyed. This wasn’t an issue for us. We were young—we didn’t have those things to start with.

There’s also this: in Vancouver, renting a one-bedroom apartment with kids is the norm, or least accepted. In Edmonton, renting a two-bedroom suite feels a little shameful. It’s like having three kids means owning a four-bedroom house, maybe because it is somewhat more attainable here. Still, one could argue the housing culture in Edmonton is in fact more prohibitive to having kids in that it expects parents to have a house first and kids second. Vancouver is different.

8. I notice on the blog that you and Katie post in fairly equal amounts. One thing that's struck me about looking at blogs by young parents is a kind of small evolution in terms of masculine identity, feminism, and what it means to be a father. Is this something you've talked about? Why is it important for not just moms to be part of the conversation, in a world where a lot of parent stuff continues to be geared mostly towards women? Why is it important for fathers to have equal voice in parent communities?

MICHAEL: The standards for being a good father are incredibly low. When a male co-worker at one of my minimum wage jobs found out my girlfriend was pregnant, he said, “Good for you for sticking around, man.” I was getting credit for not fleeing the country! Or if I take Bridget grocery shopping, other guys will say, “Giving the old lady a rest, huh?” I routinely get glowing praise for doing something that’s just considered part of Katie’s job as a mother.

At the same time, there’s still resistance to the idea that being a loving, attentive dad is anything but a regression. I mean, the absent father is one of the most classic symbols around: Hamlet needs to avenge the severed link between him and his father, Odysseus wants to get home before someone else teaches his son to throw a spear. “Daddy issues” has become pop culture shorthand for self-loathing sluttiness in women.

9. How old is Bridget? How old are you?

MICHAEL: She’s two and a half—her birthday is October 7, 2006. I’m 23; Katie’s 25.

10. What's the best thing about being a parent?

MICHAEL: Oh man, all the little stuff that makes non-parents nauseous: the way Bridget instinctively reaches out to hold my hand before we walk down the street, the elaborate songs she makes up about her stuffed animals, the way she slyly smiles when she knows she’s being funny. I don’t expect anyone who doesn’t have a kid to be moved by these descriptions at all, but almost everything she does is a homing missile of cuteness to me. Knowing that you had a hand in shaping this person into who she is? It makes my chest ache on a daily basis.

KATIE: If I didn’t have a child, I would be absolutely obsessing over my education, career, and money, but instead I have been given the chance to look outside of myself. Focusing on someone else is great! It’s like I finally let myself off the hook. Now every day, I face a little girl who reminds me to think of the better things in life. Gross, I know, but totally true.

2009-03-31T10:59:00.000-07:00

March 2009.

2009-03-31T10:56:00.000-07:00

Bridget trying to look out the window. She put that pile of books there herself and said, "There, that's better." I love her.

2009-02-21T07:33:00.000-08:00

Bridget's first haircut, February 2009.

2009-01-12T20:30:00.001-08:00

Two things:

(1) Katie and Bridget were making a puppet show booth for our living room, made out of a huge cardboard box. They covered the cardboard in blue construction paper to make a daytime sky, but when they couldn't find any black construction paper for a nighttime sky, Bridget admitted, "Yeah. But we do have a black pen!"

(2) Tonight I was trying to convince Bridget to come eat dinner at the kitchen table. She was pretending, like she often does these days, that she had a baby in her tummy. Seeing an opportunity, I told her that we had better hurry to the table and eat an extra big dinner, because that's how babies get nice and strong before they're born. She thought about it for a second, and said, "Wait, I'm just pretending."

2009-01-05T20:48:00.000-08:00

Christmas 2008, Vancouver

2009-01-05T16:01:00.000-08:00

2009-01-05T15:57:00.000-08:00

Friends, also cousins.

2008-11-15T10:00:00.001-08:00

With some help from me, Bridget just made her first list of Christmas presents she wants to buy for other people. Here it is:

1. For Sophie, Aunt Claire's dog -- a water dish
2. For Emma, grandma and grandpa's dog -- a water dish
3. For Spider-Man -- a water dish
4. For Juanita, the cat that lives upstairs -- cat boots
5. For her ladybug toy -- a water dish

2008-10-31T20:02:00.000-07:00

2008-10-16T12:21:00.000-07:00

For those of you who haven't seen Bridget in a while, I don't think you can fully understand the miniature grown-up that now inhabits our lives. It doesn't help, I suppose, that we are terrible parents who never update this blog or take pictures of our daughter on her birthday (besides this one where she is making her own birthday cake).

Just to give you an idea of how she acts/speaks, here are some things (adjectives/adverbs included) she has said this morning.

"Oh! Mama's has closed her eyes again! Is Mama coming in the living room to play in one minute?"
"Oh! Dada is eating some bagel in his mouth right now. Sometimes, baby eats some of Dada's bagel sometimes."
"Oh, There's Bernard! [her bear] What are you doing under there? Bernard, you can't sleep under the table!"
" Actually! Actually! Actually! Maybe Bernard can sleep under the table for a little bit. That would be a good idea."

2008-08-11T20:14:00.000-07:00

August 2008

2008-07-21T09:29:00.000-07:00

Lately, when putting Bridget to bed, we ask her, "ready to sleep?" and say, "ready for bed." This morning she woke-up and asked me, "ready to wake up?" and said, "ready to play."

2008-07-20T09:41:00.001-07:00

We haven’t written much on here about Bridget’s talking in the past few months, but it is progressing exponentially. I remember reading something in a baby book that said, “When you go shopping with your baby, ask them whether they want to buy what you’re holding. One day they’ll surprise you with an answer!” At the time I couldn’t even imagine when Bridget would be doing that. Now, on the other hand, she’s a veritable one-toddler show: singing at the top of her lungs, announcing what she’s doing/what she wants at all times, and “reading” (ie. reciting from memory) her books out loud to herself.

Then there’s the talking. Here are some of the longer phrases she likes using, to give you some kind of idea what I mean:

• Baby’s having troubles.
• Dada fix the birdfeeder way up high.
• Old Navy, 100% cotton, made in China [this is what the tags on some of her clothes say].
• Where’s Juanita [the cat that lives upstairs]? Must be sleeping with Taniss [her owner]. Probably. Yeah.
• Might be raining outside. Might be windy. Might be boom boom boom [thunderstorm].
• Mama sleeping in there. Come back two minutes.

2008-07-09T20:04:00.000-07:00

Although I have not made record of the last few nights, do not assume they went well. To assume makes and ass out of you and me.

You heard me.

Night # Whatever.

8:00-12:00 Bridget slept.
12:00-2:00 Mom walked with Bridget. No reading books, no nonsense. No crying, but no sleeping.
2:00 - ? Dad walking with Bridget.

2008-07-06T18:21:00.000-07:00

Night #4: Went well. Will spare you the details.

2008-07-05T00:31:00.000-07:00

Night #3

1:31: She slept from 7:30-10:30 which is good. 10:30 - 12:30 was mostly walking and lots of crying. Because of the crying I didn't give Mike much of a chance to take her - an instinct I am not willing to 'turn off' (though she is crying as I type). Then we took her in the car, mostly for me because I was about to give up. She didn't sleep but Mike and I had a coffee and a nice talk about the effects of lazy movie watching.

Just in general I am feeling a bit discouraged. Sure we could walk with her for hours every night and avoid feeding her but even when she does sleep she is awake again in a couple of hours so this really isn't any sort of long term solution. Blarg.

2:07: Holy crap she is asleep.

2008-07-04T00:54:00.000-07:00

Night #2

1:54: Bridget went to sleep at 9:45 and, thank goodness, Mike and I shortly after. It's been a hour so far of walking up and down the hall, "to the big fan, back to the little fan, see Bridget? Now back to the big fan." The house is noticeably hotter tonight and my patience, noticeably shorter.

Conclusion: Mike is my hero. He walked/rocked her to sleep by 2:30 and she slept until 4:30. Just to be clear we are calling anything after 4:00am 'the morning'. Bridget can 'eat from Mama in the morning.'

2008-07-02T23:00:00.000-07:00

Night #1

12:00am: Bridget woke-up at 10:00 after two hours of sleep. Mike walked with her and soon, little moans turned into wails - "Eat from momma in the bed." I couldn't stand much and took over. I felt up for it and Bridget's kicking and screaming was mostly just screaming. At 11:00 we went outside.

[Mike update: Katie and I took Bridget for a walk outside for almost 45 minutes, with varying degrees of success. Eyes closed, but kicking; eyes open, but floppy; wide awake and giving us play-by-play ("dog barking," "red door," etc.). We came back. I read Bridget Lost And Found four times in a row, at her request, but at the first sign that I was going to walk with her again she ran back to Katie, interrupting her blogging.]

12:48: I think Mike slept for 30 minutes or so. I almost had her asleep in the bed next to me. Finally, I am exhausted and have gave her back to Mike. She is crying again. I will try to lie down.

1:00: I suck, I have to get her.

Conclusion: Mike did get her to sleep around 2:30 then again at 3:00. We did it, after 4:00 was fair game and I nursed her to sleep. Only until 7:00 of course because, you know, work.

2008-07-02T18:49:00.000-07:00

As you may have heard, some pretty major tooth decay has taken place in Bridget's mouth and breastfeeding at night is to blame. Sort of. Let's just say that on a scale of zero to ten - formula, juice, etc. being a ten and water being a zero - breastmilk is a one. In other words, it is not nothing to worry about; it is something.

(If you are about to suggest I didn't brush her teeth enough or are worried for your own child/think breastfeeding is all bad, please, there is a lot more to the story, just ask.)

In the end, this 'pretty major tooth decay' has forced us to book some 'pretty major dental work' under an always-best-to-be-avoided general anesthetic. I am scared and I don't want to have to go through it more than once (oh yeah, and Bridget will have to go through it too). Bottom line: the night feeding has to go.

This will not be easy. The next few, and possibly several, entries on this blog are for me and Mike (and those loyal friends and family who remain, uh, bored at work) as means to chronicle Bridget's sleep and ours over the next week or so. God help us if it takes any longer.

That's it! Wish us luck! (P.S. I am not prepared. This means we may give up, but don't cut us slack if we do.)

2008-06-26T09:16:00.000-07:00

Park with Dad. June 2008.

2008-06-21T20:24:00.000-07:00

There is no question, Mike and Bridget are twins many years apart with one fathering the other but, when it comes to sleep habits, she is her mother's daughter. Is this all making sense?

Bridget tosses and turns, wakes up crying and talking non-sense. And I wake up to a large bang. Bad news, courtesy of Sleepeducation.com:

Do you imagine a sudden loud noise or explosion in your head just before falling asleep or just after waking up in the night?
Are these sounds normally free of any sense of pain?
Do these events wake you suddenly with a sense of fright?

If you answered yes to these questions, then you might have exploding head syndrome.

Ah, the ol' E.H.S. I've been saying it for years.

2008-06-19T10:58:00.000-07:00

Let me be brief. Since Bridget was born I have struggled to find the words to explain the incompatibility between her life and mine. See, how horrible does that sound?

Here's what feminist icon Ani DiFranco had to say about that "perilous moment" that is becoming a mother:

"It can really be a shock to the system for a women who's only just learned how to do what she wants in this world - to pursue her own dreams unfettered by expectations that come from outside herself - to shift. It [feels] like, ' I have to put my own needs and desires down and focus on someone else again?' A perilous moment."

And a moment of patience. I realize now that being a patient mother is not just waiting for your kid to put their shoes on or pick a snack from the cupboard. It's about waiting for the chance to think about yourself again, and sometimes it sucks.

2008-06-15T18:53:00.000-07:00

Happy father's day... to me! June 2008.

2008-03-22T17:46:00.000-07:00

Here is a list of words Bridget can say:

Apple ("Ah-poh")
Arf (dog noise)
Baa (sheep noise)
Back
Backpack ("Bah-pah")
Ball
Bath
Bubble
Bum
Bye-bye
Dada
Duck
Hi
Mama
Moo (cow noise)
Nana (my mom)
Papa (my dad)
Purple ("Puh-puh")
Uh-oh
Whoa
Wow

March 2008.

2008-03-09T22:36:00.000-07:00

Postpartum times are tough. Mine were. And oh, I hate the words ‘postpartum depression,’ and I hate thinking that I was one in hundreds of thousands who suffered from it. On the one hand, the worry and the sadness felt so natural that I didn’t think it needed to be called anything else. On the other, the worry and the sadness felt so intense that I didn’t want to think it was normal.

“Do you think you had PPD?” Laura asked in a tone that assumed that I hadn’t. This was the other day, at least 15 months too late. But hey now, I won’t get into it all.

Right now I have a problem. Surely it bloomed from a postpartum seed — an estrogen pip, I’d expect — but still, still! It is with me still: an overwhelming fear that Bridget will be attacked a dog, large or small.

(Pause for laughter?)

I am serious. I am so serious. I just received an email from my soon-to-be-landlord that read: “Sorry about the confusion with the dog downstairs. I didn't realize that you had concerns about dogs. It's a friendly little puppy so I'm sure it's all good.” I am in tears.

This is completely debilitating. Living in fear — wow, I don’t know how people do it. Just recently I asked my friend Cam to arrive at a housewarming party before Bridget and I to be sure there wasn’t a dog. If there had been, I would not have gone. Why? Because constantly excusing yourself is humiliating. “I know, your dog does seem nice, but I would just rather she didn’t pet her. I know, it’s silly.”

Ugh, it is so terrible. The condescension: “don’t worry”; the stat: “my dog has never bitten”; and the “my dog won’t bite, I promise.” I will tell you right now, none of them work. We are talking about a phobia here, people. Some moms would not feel comfortable with their child flying in a plane or holding a snake — for me, it’s a dog.

However, I am not totally crazy. First, just like planes and snakes, dogs have been known to cause humans harm. Second, new mothers come equipped with the ‘fight or flight’ response for this very reason = give me a break, I’m doing my job.

But see, this is also a problem. I need help, I want help, but I don’t think viewing pictures of dogs while ingesting sugary concoctions is going to cut it. I need real proof that dogs don’t bite kids and I don’t know if I will find it.

So I guess instead I need everyone’s patience and understanding. I also need everyone to know: I had postpartum depression and I have a phobia.

(Yikes, serious. Here’s a joke: Q: How do you make a dog drink? A. Put it in a blender.)

2008-02-25T08:20:00.000-08:00

February 2008.

2008-02-22T15:17:00.000-08:00

I don’t know what it is about Birthdays. Birthdays make wrongfully downloading a ‘sample only’ episode of Lost something that I just cannot handle. I mean, it’s obvious right? I just want everything to be perfect. Perfectly about me me me. Nah, I’m not planning anything special but don’t you all dare let me pay for my own coffee. It is ridiculous. In fact, it seems the less I plan, the more I expect my planless day of ‘laying low’ to run perfectly and yes, this does have something to do with Bridget.

Nothing can be planned, or at least totally planned, with little Bridget. If something is planned it is not about me (let alone me me me). I can see why my own mother (now 51) says she doesn’t care much about her birthday – for so long, she hasn’t had the chance.

But I wonder how long.

I wonder how long it took her to stop caring about her birthday – to buy her own coffee, or make her own dinner and pick me up from my friend’s house later on. I hope not long. I need to figure this out this motherly selflessness thing as soon as possible.

TESTIMONIAL: I have been a mom for almost a year and a half but clearly I am yet to get over myself completely. Hrmff

2008-02-04T08:55:00.001-08:00

February 2008.

2008-01-05T20:23:00.001-08:00

Here we are as in olden days
Happy golden days of yore
Faithful friends who are dear to us
They gather near to us once more

Through the years we all will be together
And if the fates allow
Hang a shining star upon the highest bow
And have yourself a merry little Christmas now

2008-01-05T20:07:00.000-08:00

Christmas 2007.

2007-12-08T20:37:00.000-08:00

We've had a good month so far.
December 2007.

2007-11-18T10:06:00.000-08:00

About an hour ago, November 2007.

I'm back -- here, that is, and posting about Bridget. Last month I deleted my personal blog because I hated writing in it, and I think that apathy for some reason followed me over here. And that ain't right. Anyway, here is a video of Bridget pretending to wash her hair.

2007-11-15T15:11:00.000-08:00

Mike informed me that the last couple of posts made me sound like a know-it-all. A wanna-be-know-it-all, in fact. I informed Mike that he doesn't update the blog anymore (Ba-Zing?)

That said, I felt a little dose of self-deprecation might help to balance the scales. Here it goes:

1. Sometimes I make Bridget get her coat and boots on just so I can go and buy coffee (we have an espresso machine)
2. Bridget's crib is in our room because we can't afford an apartment with two rooms and I can't lay down on our bed without waking her up because our mattress has a plastic cover on it to prevent a bed-bug RE-infestion and the cover makes a horrible crunching sound.
3. In case that last point appeared as a call for sympathy (better yet, charitable donations) I should just say that we are not really poor. Truth is, I have rich parents who give me money which I waste on coffee.

How's that for self-deprecation?

2007-11-14T21:46:00.000-08:00

Becoming a mother is not a process or a period. It is not a learning curve, it is not treading water. It is more immediate than you (YOU! Yet to be mothers!) can imagine. And while instantaneously (as I mentioned), upon becoming a mother I had my own ideas of what the future of parenting might hold - it would seem that the philosophy is not my own.

Five months after Bridget was born I came across Jan Hunt, Dr. Sears (among others) and their bellowing bellwether - Attachment Parenting.

Check it out.

2007-11-04T20:21:00.001-08:00

It is no secret, Bridget's sleep-habits are less than great. While most evenings she will happily rub her eyes, tug at her belly-button, climb into my arms and fall asleep - staying asleep (not to mention alone in her crib) is quite a different story.

I need advice ( I hate advice!) Some say "let her cry", others say "at least she won't do this when she's two" or "when she's three". Days, rather nights, go by of thinking something has to change. But then, things do change. Only - ever - so - slowly.

And you know what, that is fine with me. I am patient, and my goodness so is Mike. And the truth is she might still ' do this' when she is three. She might still wake up and want to cuddle, want to read a book, want me to sing to her - and that is okay too.

In fact, it is wonderful.

And also, I know she won't 'do that' when she is fourteen. And by then it won't seem like a relief anymore, it will seem sad all over again.

I know, parenting hey? Geesh.

2007-10-26T20:12:00.001-07:00

I wonder if, ten years from now, Bridget will remember this funny little apartment she lived in.

2007-10-11T09:16:00.001-07:00

Maplewood Farm, a perfect birthday treat. In fact, the next day we recommended the outing to the parents of a soon-to-be-one-year-old by the swings. Bridget liked the cows, I was wary of biting bunnies. I like these pictures because they look like England. But it's not, it's North Vancouver by the highway and a 7-11 that closed down. Check it out.

Party no. 1. Thank you friends of Bridget. Thank you cameraman Mike/technicolourdreammat. Thank you pretty box and paper and obvious comments that followed regarding their ironic playabilities.

Party no. 2. She walked, she talked, she ate the B off her cupcake. Yes, she got twenty dollars. Yes, she loved those bows.

Thanks again to everyone who called/came to her birthday. And while I am sure she wouldn't have minding me buying a coffee and reading her the newspaper instead, we feel as if we did the right thing. Plus, there are pictures to prove it.

2007-09-28T22:36:00.000-07:00

Dear Craigslist,
What are we even talking about?
Love,
Katie

Reply to: sale-434807786@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-09-28, 1:56PM PDT

Warm and cozy bumblebee costume for your little one. Will fit from 18 months up to 24 or even 36 months depending on size of your child. Very good condition. Asking $15.

Dalmation puppy is a jacket only and can be worn with black pants to complete the look. My son never wore it, because he didn't like the hood. Will fit from 9-12 up to 24 months. Like new condition. Asking $8.

2007-09-25T17:22:00.000-07:00

Bridget loves dogs.

I love her.

2007-08-29T15:37:00.001-07:00

We here at A Portrait of the Baby have decided to hold our first-ever photo caption contest. If inspiration strikes you, please leave your submission as a comment by clicking below. The winner will have their choice of two prizes: (a) a photo of him/herself with Bridget, to be published on this website at a later date, or (b), for the more fiscally frugal/dead-on-the-inside of readers, a crisp $5 bill. Limit one entry per person. (Note: to claim Prize B, the winner must send a S.A.S.E. c/o A Portrait of the Baby to our apartment.)

Here is the photo:

2007-08-27T16:41:00.000-07:00

August 2007.

2007-08-05T16:32:00.001-07:00

August 2007.

2007-08-02T19:59:00.001-07:00

This one is in response to Grandma calling to check up. This is Bridget's cheek after her fight with the coffee table.

All I can say is you should have seen the other guy/coffee table.

2007-07-14T07:57:00.001-07:00

July 2007.

2007-07-09T21:13:00.000-07:00

Katie's parents and sister Claire came to stay with us this weekend, and we took Bridget to Lost Lagoon.
July 2007.

2007-06-20T18:45:00.000-07:00

June 2007.

Katie wanted to call this video "Deadbeat Dad." I wanted to call it "Grar, I'm A Polar Bear."

2007-06-16T17:02:00.000-07:00

June 2007.

I know, I know. Baby be crawlin' and whatnot.

2007-05-30T17:01:00.000-07:00

Ten minutes ago, May 2007.

I promise I'm not pushing the housewife mentality onto her -- she just loves that frying pan. What's a third-wave feminist to do?

2007-05-14T13:38:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, Bridget had a chance to make friends with another baby her same age but she chose not to and that's okay too. She is kind of into doing her own thing these days, except that she wants to sit on mom or dad's lap while doing it and when she is done doing it she wants to do something else that is likely on the other side of the room to which she MUST be carried right at that moment.

(p.s. Katie is too lazy to remember her new blogger password and is writing as 'Mike'. And in the third person apparently.)

2007-04-26T13:09:00.000-07:00

You guys know how to play the game. I post two pictures, you spot the difference between the them. Round One:

Okay, ready? The second picture is actually Bridget in her rain jacket. The first is Paul Simon. If you didn't get it, don't fret. Round Two awaits!

Any guesses? Well, believe it or not, there are again subtle differences. The first picture is Bridget in her best Main Street fashion duds; the second is a real-life Main Streeter. (Other acceptable answers include: plaid pajamas replaced with graffiti pole, alphabet mat replaced with parked cars.)

2007-04-22T20:01:00.000-07:00

Swimming take two. Bridget is our little Humpty Dumpty sitting on the wall. Little does she know, she is about to have a great fall.

2007-04-22T19:30:00.000-07:00

At swimming lessons, April 2007.

2007-04-14T09:53:00.000-07:00

With Katie working mornings now, you might be wondering how things have changed at our house. Let me tell you: not all that much. Bridget is largely a baby of habit, and we are very, very appreciative of this. I’ll take you through a typical day (did I say I’d tell you? How about let’s show you instead).

(a) Wakes up at around 7:00 a.m.

(b) We play for two hours.

(d) Eats cereal for breakfast.

(e) We play for an hour or so.

(f) Goes for an "outing" and sleeps for about 45 minutes.

[UPDATE: We took Bridget for an outing today and took pictures of it. I don't know why it is sideways.]

(g) We get home around noon, and play until Katie gets home at 1:00 p.m.

The end! PS: As of today, Bridget has eaten and enjoyed (in addition to her cereal) yams, carrots, peas, squash, and a chicken/yam casserole that made her diaper smell like Chernobyl.

2007-03-28T10:25:00.000-07:00

It is less than a week until my mornings with Bridget are taken from me by the evils of dressing up, getting a bus pass, and going to work. In attempts to self counsel myself via the interweb, I googled “returning to work after baby anxiety.” Here’s what I found:

“I had pretty severe anxiety about going back to work, to the point that I had many negative fantasies about terrible things happening to me or to my baby. I would worry all day, and cry on the train to and from work. This lasted about six weeks. It got better over time and with help from a therapist”

“I have been trying to decide to return to part-time work for the last 6 months. Each time I make up my mind to go back, I change it again the week later. I have actually found jobs, and then quit them, help!”

“Sometimes I would get in my car and just start crying. I would have to go in the house a say goodbye one last time. I was a wreck.”

In conclusion, I am as crazy and therefore normal. Wish me luck.

2007-03-19T20:44:00.000-07:00

One baby. One exer-saucer. One parent (not pictured). Thirty seconds. A barrel of laughter.
Earlier tonight, March 19, 2007.

2007-02-25T19:00:00.000-08:00

For my birthday, Bridget agreed to try solid food then disagreed that she should swollow it. We will keep trying (now three days and four outfits later, no improvments). She also tried coming in the bathtub with me. I think she liked it but I was so scared I would lose grip under her slippery soapy armpits, I had to cut the fun short.

Next on the 'to try' list: sleeping more than four hours.

(I think I just made a lame parenting joke which I will try to brush off as me being ironic.)

2007-02-25T18:53:00.000-08:00

Bridget with my Dad. February 2007.

2007-02-07T10:58:00.000-08:00

Our baby in blue.