What she said

Oh, man, I love me some riled up feminism on the Interwebs this week.

If you don't want to read about motherhood and the impact of private life on the public sphere, go away and read something really stupid instead.

Here in the Love of Christ I Stand

Just really discovered the Newsboys. I wish most contemporary Christian music was this thoughtful. Lots of it is just some dude singing "Jesus, halleluia, holy" over and over.

The Hoover

Baby E. likes to explore the world around him, just like most nine-month-olds. But he has a prodigious talent for finding things that could hurt him, and promptly sticking them in his mouth.
Stuff we've fished out of his gob this week include:

• three pieces of LEGO;
• dirt;
• a hot banana pepper;
• many, many pieces of paper;
• the front page of the National Post;
• a bottle cap;
• a plastic bag;
• wires;
• a crayon;
• a magnet.

Yes, I know this shows an appalling level of baby-proofing at my house. But come on, I have three other kids, and they have to live their lives, too. They try their best, but now that E. can crawl, he sometimes saunters into their rooms and helps himself to the bounty of forbidden objects.

My trusting swiping finger is getting a workout, at least.

Another (terrifying) parental milestone achieved

Mr. Sicky-pants, in all his snotty glory.

A. brought home a cold last week, which, for him, involved a whole lot of nose-blowing and a very red and sore upper lip. It was starting to resolve on Friday, much to his relief; I was just glad no one else had caught it.

I put baby E. to bed at nine, and crawled in half an hour later. It had been a long and busy day, and we soon were both snoring.

At midnight, I woke to a strange, almost hissing sound, and a flailing baby. I sat up and looked at E.; in an instant I knew he had croup. He was gasping for each breath, his whole chest coming in. He could barely breathe at all.

I picked him up and ran for the bathroom, thinking a hot, steamy shower would do the trick as it had for his siblings, so many times before. Instead, his breathing became worse. Then he wasn't really breathing at all. His mouth started turning blue.

"C.! Call 911! Call 911! He's not breathing!" I admit it, I was hysterical.

The 911 dispatcher told us to take him outside in the cool air and to wait for the ambulance. His breathing improved a little, but not much.

Just as the ambulance pulled up to our house, E. started to cough and then threw up an enormous amount of phlegm. He started to cry. It was the sweetest sound I've ever heard.

He spent the night at the ER, getting breathing treatments and steroid shots. We've spent the week since dealing with mild dehydration, a stuffed-solid nose, suction and Tylenol and saline drops. He's finally on the mend, but is now, joy of joys, teething his two front teeth.

This is the first time, I think, I've taken a kid to the hospital via ambulance. I'm hoping to never have to repeat the experience.

Wherever we go. However we dress, part 2

Here are some shots of me breastfeeding...

E.'s very first latch:

E. and I on the couch:

Here's E. and I all dressed up for dinner in Tofino on my tenth wedding anniversary (photo by Hubby). Yes, I nursed like that in the restaurant, but used a scarf to cover the top of my breast:

Wherever we go. However we dress.

Forcing a woman to cover up while breastfeeding is an oppressive act. I never cover up while nursing in public because I want to make the point it is acceptable and normal to breastfeed in public, covered or uncovered. The choice is the mom's.

HT to Annie -- great job! www.phdinparenting.com

First column

http://www.timescolonist.com/life/family-411/Parents+agonize+over+their+kids/4315196/story.html

Look for me every second Saturday in the Victoria Times Colonist.

Stay tuned this Saturday!

I begin a new freelance gig this week as a parenting columnist with the Victoria Times Colonist. Link love requested this Saturday!

Wow, I still have a blog?

Yes, I do!

And here is the reason it has been neglected:

Edward is almost nine months old. We adore him. Even when he chews on us.

Repost: Memories of Remembrance Day

Still up to my ears in laundry, nursing and a bout of mastitis. Please enjoy last year's post, and may you thank a vet today!

Remembrance Day has always been an important occasion for me. As a little girl, I donned my Girl Guide uniform and marched in parade after parade, and laid a wreath for my mother's father, who served as a gunner with the Newfoundlanders in the Second World War. Grandfather Spawn served in many places, including Africa, and was reportedly the tallest man in the British Army.


In university, I was fortunate enough to hang around with friends who were also grateful for the sacrifices of our grandfathers and great-grandfathers. I attended at least two ceremonies at the National War Memorial with Kathryn and John; each year, we skipped classes (shame on Carleton for being open on Remembrance Day) and headed down to the War Memorial to do our duty as proud and grateful young people.

John was a former reservist by then, and made a point of introducing us to any soldiers and veterans he knew. I remember making signs one year, saying "Thank you for our freedom, from students of Carleton University."

One year, the War Memorial was under construction; the government held the ceremony right on the lawn of Parliament Hill. We felt strange, walking onto the Hill; it just didn't feel right. Many people looked uneasy.

But then, music swelled from the Peace Tower. It wasn't the tolling of the hour. It was a song played on the clock's carillon.

"What is that?" I said to John and Kathryn. In reply, John began to sing along.

"They'll be blue birds over/ the white cliffs of Dover/ tomorrow, just you wait and see...."

They were playing war-time music and hymns. "The White Cliffs of Dover" faded, followed by "For Those in Peril on the Sea" and then by "To Thee My Country" and many others. And suddenly, holding the ceremony there on the Hill felt right, and the crowd was united in singing.

The best part of the national ceremony, every year, was the veteran's parade. They marched by, some of them using canes, others being pushed in wheelchairs, as thousand of people lined the route. We would clap, and wave and cheer, and yell "Thank you! Thank you!" until our throats were hoarse and our voices gone.

Back then, I remember feeling as if these were the very last veterans of a "true" war for Canada, the last ones to carry that burden. Little did I know that 12 years later, I would be living in a military house on a military base, with one neighbour and friend just returned from Afghanistan last year, haunted by what he's witnessed; another neighbour who just left for Afghanistan earlier this month; and more friends than I can count who have sent their husbands and wives over to that country. We worry ourselves sick about these friends, and yet we are so proud of their willingness to risk their lives for women and children in another country, women and children who have been brutally oppressed and abused and scarred.

The Hubby is sailing today, and therefore is attending the ship's Remembrance Day ceremony, rather than helping me drag our kids to the local cenotaph. The children and I are watching the national Remembrance Day ceremoney in Ottawa this year, and as always, it's making me cry from a mixture of homesickness and pride and gratitude. But this year, I'm also thinking of D. and C. and the others I know who are modern vets; I'm thinking of my grandfathers and Hubby's grandfather, who served in the First and Second World Wars; and I'm thinking of Hubby, ready and willing to fulfill the same duty these men have.

Of course, like everyone else, I hope that wherever he serves, he stays safe. But I won't prevent him doing what he thinks is right. And I hope the next generation of university students lines the streets of Ottawa to clap and shout thank you to the veterans of this generation, many years from now.

I have no words...

...maybe they're being sucked out with all this milk I make! Will try to update after Hallowe'en.

The cuteness!

I know I'm biased, but isn't E. just the most adorable baby currently on the planet?

We interrupt this spell of writer's block for the following...

Hubby is on a short sail for the next three weeks. I can so relate to Momma Kitteh.

Five weeks into a family of six

Hoo-boy, I'm tired.

Baby E. is a colic monster. Poor little baby cries and cries in obvious pain.He's also got reflux (that's 4 out of 4 babies) and is on meds for it.

He has a good day about twice a week -- and those days are wonderful.We enjoy him so much when he's not in pain!

Overall, he's a very cute baby, and healthy. And this too shall pass.

Introducing....

... the newest addition to the M. family!

Edward Joseph M. was born via C-section on May 22, 2010. He was born at 38 weeks, after my water broke Saturday afternoon. So much for planning the section date!

Proud siblings are (from left) Big I., Super A. and Princess N. Hubby and E. are, of course, in the centre.

But the one little duck, with the feather on his back...

... man, that duck can bake.

Tomorrow is my last day of work before this wee one arrives. My co-workers said an early farewell today; a smart move, since it's day to day lately on whether I'll be there at all. My feet have been swelling up every afternoon, and I've been contracting like crazy.

To say goodbye, Shae volunteered to bake a cake. Shae is the resident foodie at the office, a very funny guy, the general bane of my existence (it's like having my brother in the next cublicle sometimes), and a good work friend.

Now, a normal layer cake with "We'll miss you!" or "Congratulations!" on it would be beneath the dignity of our intrepid baker. Banal pastry would not do. Instead, Shae went to his favourite cake store (that phrase says everything, doesn't it?) and rented a 3-D ducky cake pan.

The results were amazing and adorable.

I feel loved.

24 days

Tentative C-section date: May 31. Marching my way to that date.

It's all about Little Man now.

Each time is a separate and beautiful miracle, unable to be compared to the others. This time I'm nervous.

Now the joy of my world is in Zion.

Happy Feast Day, Saint Gianna!

Saint Gianna Beretta Molla, mother of four, obstetrician and pediatrician when most women did not go to university or hold professional careers (especially mothers!), loving wife, fellow HGer, brave and tenacious woman willing to risk her life for her child, faithful follower of our Lord Jesus, pray for us!

See, Mom, you are not alone!

Hey Mom, meet the mothers of some other mommy bloggers. I think you'll be able to relate to a lot of what they say.

I will stumble, I will fall down, but I will not be moved

This song was my theme during the earliest part of my pregnancy, when I was fighting with all my heart and will and prayers to avoid hyperemesis gravidarum. I posted it on the blog in November, when I was alone with the kids, pretty sick and not ready to tell my family and extended friends about the pregnancy. It was the only way I was comfortable expressing the battle in my life.

I used to sing it in my head while throwing up. "I will not be moved. I will NOT be moved... upon the rock of Christ I stand, all other ground is sinking sand."

Today, it has been more than a month since the last time I vomited. I worry more about iron and heartburn than nausea now. I no longer take anti-vomiting medication.

This is a miracle. A miracle! Great medical care certainly helped make it happen, but I have no doubt that my health also comes from the intervention of God and the prayers of my patron saint and fellow HGer, Saint Gianna Molla.

In less than two months I will meet my smallest son. After N., I never throught I would have the courage to welcome another baby, but here I am.

Do not give in to fear. Do not allow the Prince of Lies to confuse you with it. Feelings change, but the truth does not. I've learned we need to make our decisions based on truth, logic, planning, calm thought, prayer... and the rock of hope.

If anything, I've learned to always and forever hope.