(If you want to know what happened, it’s all here)

This morning Joe let me sleep in, and went in to the office late only to pick up his computer and talk to his bosses about working from home for the next few days so I’m not alone with an 8 month old and an immobile dog who doesn’t respect his current limitations. I was very glad of this plan when I tried to take the baby upstairs for her nap while he was away and the dog jumped of his chair and tried to follow me upstairs. I couldn’t put the baby down to stop the dog from hurting himself because she might hurt herself.

Then the baby fell asleep and I went to lie down with the puppy and everything felt good, until it all fell apart. She woke up, almost immediately, and proceeded to cry and scream and slap and punch, and bite and pinch, and beat me up in every way possible for almost an hour. Finally I had to put her down and step back. This is only the second or third time I’ve felt myself on the brink of losing it with her.

And when Joe came home she calmed for him, leaving me to feel even worse about my mothering skills. But I napped, and I felt better when I woke up, and Joe had a businesses call to make so I decided to take her to the library so she wouldn’t be making noise in the background, but first I had to change her.

And she reacted as though I was torturing her. She wouldn’t stay still and she screeched every time I put her on her back so I could just get the diaper on, and I felt myself right on the verge again, but we got out the door and she calmed down in the car and I took a few deep breaths.

And when we came out of the library she refused to sit in her car seat properly and I had to fight to get her strapped in, with her screaming all the while. And I got in the driver’s seat and started on the way home and that’s when I saw a schnauzer on a walk, happily trotting away.

And that’s when the tears came. And that’s when I really started to wonder if we were being punished for something we didn’t know we had done. And that’s when I hit my lowest point, realizing for the second time that day that I just couldn’t handle this, and that it was just going to keep coming at me.

This morning I lay in bed, listening to the baby cry, and I just couldn’t get up and go to her. I didn’t know what she wanted and it seemed as though I was only making the situation worse by even trying. This morning I felt completely and totally useless as a mother. This morning I couldn’t handle it and I gave up trying for just a little while.

I have, once again, hit the lowest point and I don’t know when it’s going to stop feeling that way.

This afternoon we went to a coffee shop so the dog could rest at home and we could both get some work done, and she started being loud and I felt judged and helpless.

I’ve been helpless for the past two days and I need it to just stop.

By 4 am Joe was home, dog-less. Henry was still at the clinic and it looked like things would be okay.

Before 9 am I got a voicemail telling me he was resting comfortably and the vet would call us back once they had checked in on him. We were relieved. Everything seemed to be getting better and we might have a bit of recovery ahead of us, but our dog was still alive.

And then the vet called.

I was taking a nap after a very long night and the phone woke me up. I answered it expecting the vet to tell me that we could come and pick Henry up, or maybe that they wanted to keep him for observation for another night. Instead the vet told me that he wasn’t improving. He couldn’t put weight on either of his back legs and his eyes weren’t responding to stimulus. Our choice was to have her guess at treatment, to transfer him to another emergency clinic in town that they told us could do an MRI, or to take him to a neurologist in Montreal.

At this point it really felt as though we were on some veterinary version of House.

We transferred to the other Ottawa clinic who told us, after an hour or so of waiting, that they thought it was two separate problems – one in his back and one in his brain. After consulting with a surgeon the doctor told us that they didn’t feel comfortable operating on his back until they knew what was wrong with his brain. And that they didn’t, in fact, have an MRI machine, and that we would be driving to Saint-Hyacinthe on the other side of Montreal. So we did.

It was one of the most un-fun car rides I’ve ever experienced. The dog cried and the baby cried and at one point I thought he was going to die right there on the front seat. It seemed like forever until we got to the clinic, and then even longer before we talk to a vet. They told us he was in pain, he was scared and he wouldn’t be able to see the neurologist until the next day. At 10 o’clock that night we found our way to a hotel in Saint-Hyacinthe. At almost 11 the baby was asleep, until she woke up at 12 and then at 3 am and then at 6:45 when I took her downstairs to the complimentary breakfast. (As a side note, the Holiday Inn Express is actually a really nice hotel, with a complimentary breakfast that beats any other I’ve seen). She had a stuffed up nose and she’s still working on her two top front teeth which are causing fevers and all kinds of pain. At this point it’s been a couple of days since any one of us has slept more than 2 hours at a time.

Yet another vet called around 10 am, telling us that they wanted to do more blood work on Henry because they suspected it might be three problems, not two, and that they would call around noon to tell us if he was ready for the MRI. We went to lunch and then for a drive and eventually got the call. They wanted us to come in to see him, take him out for a walk, and tell them if he seemed to be in pain. They couldn’t tell if he was in pain or just terrified.

We went to the clinic and sat in a room for a while, and suddenly I heard a familiar collar jingle. I greeted him at the door and he greeted me the way Henry always does – no holds barred. He was himself. After a short walk and a bit of a sit we both decided that he didn’t seem to be in pain, that you couldn’t really tell anything was wrong with him, except for the fact that he didn’t have the use of his two back legs.

They told us that whatever was abnormal with his blood was normal now. Whatever the other vets has seen in his eyes they couldn’t see. They told us that what they thought was wrong with his legs would more than likely fix itself. And we got to drive home with our dog.

And we got to hit the after school rush hour in Montreal and the post-work rush hour in Ottawa.

And we got home and I made the puppy comfortable and Joe put the baby to bed and went out to get us something to eat. And the baby woke up about 20 minutes later and proceeded to scream and cry and wail for hours off and on until we gave her some Advil which seemed to be what she needed, because she slept for about six hours after that.

He has the ideas and I have the follow-through. He has optimism to match my pessimism. He forces me forward when I feel as though I can’t move.

And in a crisis he is big picture and I am details.

It’s funny, you’d think the way I react to small problems sometimes that I wouldn’t be very dependable when big ones come up. Actually, I tend to stay quite calm and focussed. When my grandmother died I did the driving. When my grandfather passed out I related information to the 911 operator. When we had to take the baby to the children’s hospital when she was only two days old I fell completely apart, but hey I was two days postpartum.

Now our puppy, someone we both love very much, is in trouble. We’re both running on little sleep, neither of us can bring ourself to eat, and we have to keep Henry comfortable and still make sure the baby is taken care of. Joe made the decision that we would drive to Montreal to see a specialist, I packed just in case we end up there overnight.

The problem is that in this case I’m seeing the big picture too. I’ve been down this road before and I’m afraid that we’re going to go through all this expense and stress and end up losing our Henry anyway. I don’t know how to prepare any of us for that. He’s been our family for almost five years. We dote on him and he dotes on us and I can’t picture us without him. Even when he stayed at the clinic overnight it was just a little too quiet and the bed was just a little too cold.

But we can be worried as a team, and we can talk about things openly and make decisions together, and that’s made all the difference.

I’ve said before that I’m not good at keeping in touch with people. I’m not good at keeping friends. I’ve never had a large group of friends and it can take me a long time to feel comfortable with people.

Now I’ve had a baby.

Before I had this baby, I hardly had any friends at all who were mothers. The two women in my circle who were mothers were new to it themselves.

Now I’m spending more time with a group of women who have been mothers much longer than I have. I love these women. I feel accepted by them. But I also feel like the rookie of the group. I’m the one who spends a lot of time asking questions and that does make me feel like a tag-along sometimes.

And then there are my friends who aren’t parents – Some of whom have no interest in being parents (not something I will ever judge them for – I can absolutely understand why you wouldn’t want to be a parent). I know that a person without children may have little interest in spending time with me and my kid. I know that it’s hard on people when I show up with her in tow. It’s rare that I can go out without her, and if Joe and I are going out together, she will definitely be coming along. We haven’t figured out the whole babysitter thing yet, and it may take us a while.

And I understand that people we know have lives that are much, much bigger than us.

But I can’t help but get a little lonely sometimes. I can’t help but grieve for the life I used to have, where we could make plans at the drop of a hat, stay out late without thinking twice about it, go to a restaurant without feeling rushed because the baby decided to get loud, go to a movie together.

I can’t help but love her with all my heart and hope that other people in my life love her too.

About an hour into the movie, the baby started getting a bit fussy and I had absolutely no connection to the main character or what she was going through. (Seemed pretty selfish, really). And I realized that here we were, wasting time watching a movie we weren’t enjoying about living your life to the fullest – maybe we should escape the theatre and go to the park instead.

So we did.

Had ourselves a messy good time

He’s always acted strangely, really, but since the baby arrived he’s had a tough time adjusting. He used to be the centre of our attention. Laps were his for the taking, he could cuddle with either of us any time he wanted to. All the toys in the house belonged to him and him alone.

Since the baby came there has been a lot less lap space, less time for him, and since she started crawling his things are being interfered with. He has to get used to the fact that she’s grabbing his mustache, picking up his toys, and splashing in his water bowl, because she just doesn’t know any better.

I’m worried about him because I have to take care of her and I don’t know if he realizes that he’s still an important part of this family and that someday the two of them will be great friends. He might even give up sleeping cuddled next to me for her bed in a couple of years.

Henry the Schnauzer (properly Chancellor Heinrich von Fluffenstein Puppyface), is a very special dog. Joe and I brought him home when he was just eight weeks old. He weighed 2.1 lbs and he was our Christmas present to each other. We bought him from a family that had bred out their schnauzer. We saw their posting online and went up to see the puppies and put down a deposit. It was a big of a long drive, and it was a cold, dark night, but when we got their one of the little girls in the house had placed a warm puppy in my cold hands before I could get my boots off.

It was a girl dog, chubby and cute one of three in the litter. Five boys. We wanted a boy dog. We had already chosen a name for him. He would be Henry, shortened from Heinrich, because as a schnauzer he should have a German name.

The little girl took the first puppy away from me and handed me another. He had a tiny blue ribbon around his neck to differentiate him from his brothers. He was the runt and the girls had dubbed him Tiny Tim. I held him in both hands and looked down into his adorable little face. He licked my nose. I looked at Joe and said “This one.” I almost cried.

It was as though he knew we were there for him and he was meant to be part of our family.

The day we met

He was so small when we brought him home. He was so scared. He’d never been outside before and when we picked him up on December 21 it was cold. He didn’t know cold. He cried most of the way home as I held him in my hands, and he cried all night.

I was still in university and so I was on Christmas break and I could spend all day with him at home, training him and getting to know him. We bonded almost immediately.

He knows when I’m sad and he comes over and tries to make me feel better. He gives hugs – he’ll come up and place his chin on your shoulder. He just seems to know when I need him.

Every day I remind myself to pat Henry, hug him, and let him know that he is still our special puppy, we still love him, and he will adjust with us. The baby already adores him and soon enough he will adore her too.

Friends... eventually

But…

I love to work. I love being busy. I don’t handle boredom well. I’m happiest when I have many things on my plate.

Right now I’m on maternity leave, and while the baby keeps me busy (more so now that she’s mobile), she doesn’t challenge my brain that often. She challenges my reflexes, but not my brain.

This is why I blog (more and more often, it seems), this is why I’m thrilled to get out for playdates with the Kids in the Capital group – conversations with adults! – this is why I try to meet up with friends for knitting, this is why I take books out for myself when we’re at the library.

And this is why, when my husband comes up with ideas, I push him along, and when he comes up with what I think are good ideas, I push to make them happen.

He had one such idea last week, and I’m going to make it happen. I bought some new office supplies to help keep me organized, I’m starting to make contacts, and soon we will build the website and set things in motion for something that could be really exciting, could help a lot of people, and could be very good to add to my resume.

I’m excited that we could be starting something good here, that’s fun for a lot of people and could turn into an annual event that benefits my community.

I’m also excited to have something to occupy my mind. Brainstorming is something I can easily do while taking care of the kid. Making contacts with her by my side playing is easily done by email and Twitter. Not letting myself go insane is priceless.

Details soon.

Whether I’m thinking about mortality or my legacy my last post could be nothing but another letter to my daughter, a beautiful little girl who I hope will lose me before I lose her, and not sooner than she’s ready.

When I contemplated killing myself, now what seems like ages ago, I never considered leaving a note. Despite filling notebook after notebook with my various writings when I was growing up (as I still do), I never thought of anything I could say as there would be no explanation. Now it’s hard to think of dying without telling leaving something for her. Something that would help her make sense of all the things that will be coming at her throughout her life.

Dear Baby Girl,

I never expected to be a mother, and I certainly never expected to enjoy it as much as I do. You have been a true gift, a great addition to my life, and I hope you never doubt just how much I love you, though there will be times when we each struggle with the other.

You are beautiful and I have no doubt that you are intelligent and these are gifts that you will carry with you for the rest of your life. Use them well. Don’t ever make anyone feel less than you on purpose.

Be kind to other people, always. Be a bright spot in the lives of others.

Drive defensively.

Play. I hope you don’t ever lose the fearlessness and curiosity you display right now. I hope your imagination grows as you age. I hope you will always smile as much as you do now. Your smile brightens people’s days. Your laugh fills the room.

Love your Daddy. He loves you more than anything or anyone else in the world. He will do anything for you. He is a gift in your life and I hope you will realize how special your relationship is before you regret not realizing it.

Take care of the puppy. The love that dog gives us has no strings attached. You two are going to be best friends. Realize how special he is and take good care of him so we can give him as much love as he can handle. Cry as much as you need to when he leaves us. He is part of our family and there is no shame in grieving the loss.

Read. Everything. Anything. Lose yourself in books, seek out new authors, read newspapers and blogs and magazines and anything else you’re interested in. Learn from reading.

Learn from watching. Watch television, watch people, eavesdrop. Pay attention to the world around you.

School isn’t everything. Grades aren’t everything. Some things are going to hard no matter how smart you are. Just try.

Love this country. You were lucky to be born a Canadian citizen. That also means that you have the right to speak out against things you see that you think are wrong. Use that right whenever you feel passionate about something.

Don’t be a slave to trends. Please. Develop your own style, be comfortable with who you are. Anyone who dislikes you because you’re not in this seasons mini skirt and platform heels isn’t worth spending time with. (I suspect this will be the style at some point in your life, because it’s been ‘in’ twice during mine – so far. I still don’t get it).

Open your heart. Allow yourself to love and be loved. This is something I’m still working on and I hope it will be easier for you. It’s so important to love people.

Be honest. Not all the time with everyone, but when it’s important you’ll know.

Make the choices that make sense for you. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.

You can’t be happy all the time, but I hope you’ll at least be content the majority of the time. Don’t be afraid to show your emotions.

Never, ever, under any circumstances, stay with someone who makes you feel like less than you are. If your successes make them angry, if they’re only happy when your not, if they try to keep you isolated, if any one ever raises a hand to you or speaks to you in a way that makes you feel like less than a person you leave. It might be difficult, you might make excuses the first few times, but please recognize what’s happening, listen to what your friends are telling you about the situation you are in, and leave.

Talk to us. Tell us what you’re feeling. Don’t keep anything to yourself that we could help you with.

If you’re going to drink, call home for a ride.

If you’re going to have sex, protect yourself.

And, to quote one Baz Luhrmann, always wear sunscreen.

Love Mom.

When I was a kid I had big dreams of traveling around the world, having adventures in foreign lands, but a part of me always wanted to own a house in Old Ottawa South that I could go back to. I lived in that neighbourhood through my entire childhood, in three difference houses, each only a few blocks from the next. My father still lives in our first house, walking distance from my preschool, my elementary school, the park I played in, the pool I swam in, the rink I skated at, the dead end where I used to ride my bike, the hill I used to sled down…

Joe and I went for a walk through the neighbourhood shortly after we started dating and he was both fascinated and amused by the fact that we were never far away from some location that had a memory for me. When he was growing up, he lived in three difference provinces. I went to the same school with the same people for 10 years.

We’ve discussed in the past how to find a happy medium for our daughter. Joe had some great experiences seeing the country and having different experiences with different people. I built a lot of great memories in a great community.

Right now we’re living in Ottawa and we can have days like today – going to visit the animals at the Experimental Farm just like I did when I was a kid. We took her to the garden and got pictures of her with the flowers, just like the pictures in my baby book.

Last winter we took her out on the canal, we’ve visited Almonte, we’ve explored Parliament Hill and the Byward Market, before she was a month old she had been to the Chinese restaurant I grew up eating at and the mall I’ve always shopped at. I know these experiences are more for me than for her, things that I now share with my mother rather than things the baby girl shares with me, but I like that I can have these experiences.

But we can’t live in Old Ottawa South (no way I’m paying that much for a house), and she won’t go to the same schools that I went to, and she won’t swim and skate and play where I did, and that’s for the best. I don’t want her to have the same life that I did and I don’t want her to feel any pressure in that direction, but I do want her to grow up in a neighbourhood. I want her to be able to walk to school and play nearby and be able to ride her bike around and have adventures.

I grew up in a neighbourhood with sidewalks. Right now I can’t say the same for my daughter. We live in a part of the city that was a suburb when it was built and apparently city planners decided that everyone would be driving everywhere so you can be walking along and have the sidewalk just stop in front of you. I hate it.

There are a lot of things I’m growing to hate about this city. The council, the public transit (keep raising prices and reducing services, see how that goes), the weather… It’s getting harder and harder to reconcile all the things that are difficult to deal with and the good things.

We have friends here, we both have good jobs, I know the city well (which is a huge plus for someone who is terrible with directions), and I have memories, but at some point I’d like to experiment with the idea that while Ottawa always seemed like home when that’s where my family was, now I get to move my family with me wherever I go.

It is one of the many things I try to make note of and remember because you’re already changing so much and I know it’s not going to stop.

This morning we went shopping because suddenly you’ve grown out of all your pants. Of course, we knew you’d be tall. What I didn’t know is that you would be so entertaining. I had no idea you would love attention this much. You smile at everyone and smile even bigger when they stop to pay attention to you. They compliment your eyes and your hair and your smile and they get an even bigger smile.

Now you’ve learned to say ‘Hi’ and you’re delighted when people say ‘Hi’ back. You delight them.

When you get really excited you wave both arms and both legs as though you just can’t contain yourself.

You grab at everything and everything you grab goes right into your mouth. Including shoes.

You love the dog. You reach out to him and pat him, grab his fur. You laugh when he walks by. You lean out of your stroller to watch him when we go on walks. He doesn’t know what to make of you, but soon enough you’ll be best friends. And you’ll try to dress him up. And we’ll try to stop you, but he’ll play along. I’m convinced you’re trying to say his name.

When you laugh I honestly believe there can be no better sound in the world. I hope you have a lot of reasons to keep laughing.

I never realized how proud I could be of you this early in your life. You’re excelling. Your growth is off the charts, you’re a good sleeper and a good eater, you were crawling early and pulling yourself up early and I fully expect you to start walking before we’re ready for it. You’re like me, you get frustrated when you can’t do things. Once you learn to control that frustration it will serve you well.

You never stop moving, not even in your sleep. You bounce and crawl and squirm. You try to escape from high chairs, strollers, anything that we strap you in to. You just don’t stop.

I hope you never lose your curiosity and fearlessness, but I do hope you get a bit smarter about it. Your Daddy and I are both clumsy and I imagine you’ll break a few bones while you grow up, so be careful or I’m going to start putting a helmet on you. Getting scrapes and scars is part of childhood, but I need you to be safe because I don’t know what we would do without you.

Now that you’re here I need to see what you turn in to. I’m really curious, because I think it could be pretty much anything.