A letter to my son on Mother's Day

Dear Ethan,

Today is May 13, 2018. You are exactly eight months and one week old. You love the elephant song, Goodnight Moon, sucking your toes, holding hands with daddy, trying new foods and of course, like most babies your age, you love to nurse and be cuddled by me, your mommy. This is who you are, today.

Today is also Mother's Day-- my first as your mother, your first as my son. It hit me a few days ago that Mother's Day, the gifts and the flowers and the cards, that's for me now too. I get to have Mother's Day, because I'm lucky enough to be your mommy. I was lucky enough to grow you in my tummy when you were the size of a tiny poppyseed, I was lucky enough to bring you into this world, I have been lucky enough to see you develop and grow and I'll be lucky enough to watch you become the amazing person I already know you are.

We'll have a lot more Mother's Days, and they won't be exactly like this one. You'll like different things, new things. You'll test limits and you'll set your own boundaries and there will be times we won't agree. There will be days we won't understand each other. There might even be moments where our tempers are frayed and we need to walk away and calm down. Over time, you might not need me as much, and that will make me sad, but proud, because I will know that I've raised you to be your own person, who knows and loves who he is.

We'll also forget. As the years pass, we won't remember every single song or book or game you loved. We'll remember the big picture, but the little moments will fade, just like how some of the moments from when you were one or two or six months old have already started to fade, even though I wish I could hang on to every single one.

But even though time will pass and our worlds will change, one thing will always stay the same: Love. I'll remember how I loved you when I made you, how I loved you as you grew inside of me, how I loved you when I met you and kissed you and held you in my arms. And, I'll love you as you become a toddler and a little boy and a teenager and a man, maybe with a family of your own. I'll love you because even though who you are today won't be who you are next week or next year, I'll always be your mommy and the most absolute part of a mother's life is to love her child.

Happy Mother's Day, my sweet boy. Thank you, today and every day, for giving me the gift of being your mommy. I love you.

The science of worry

Every night, I wake up in a cold sweat thinking Ethan is in our bed, tangled amongst the covers. He never is, of course-- in fact, Ethan hasn't even slept in our room since Christmas and never shared our bed. But night after night after night, I have almost a phantom feeling of his presence. Usually what I think is Ethan is actually the dog (though a few times I could have sworn my pillow had a heartbeat), but what remains constant is the worry.

I was a worrier before I had Ethan, too. I worried about my career, my appearance, my friends, my family, you name it. I've never been what anyone would describe as "laid back." But what I've realized in the last 7 and a half months is that any worry I thought I had before was nothing compared to what I feel for Ethan.

This is because those worries were almost superficial-- not that they weren't valid or important, but they weren't so ingrained in me the way my Ethan worries are. My Ethan worries are part of me, they are part of my existence and sometimes, they consume me in a way I had never thought possible.

I am always, always worried about Ethan. I am concerned about his weight, his milestones, even his bowel movements. If he's not nursing enough, I worry. If he's nursing too much, I worry. If he doesn't get iron or calcium or drink his water, I worry. All day, every day, worry, worry, worry.

But if I'm being honest, the deeper worries are the ones that reflect my own insecurities. I wrote in an earlier blog post about my issues with food, but something else I've been obsessing about lately is the state of our apartment. Considering we have a baby and a dog, we do okay(ish). The laundry and dishes are always done and we have a woman come in every two weeks to do the bigger cleaning jobs. Still, because I've never been the tidiest person, I am very worried that Ethan will grow up with messy habits and maybe he'll be bullied for this and maybe girls won't want to date him...in truth, I'm a relatively well-adjusted 31 year old with friends and a relationship history and money in the bank who just happens to be a bit of slob, but I get it into my mind that if Ethan is messy like me I will have screwed him up completely, and down and down and down the rabbit hole I go. To start him on the right foot early, I started singing a little cleaning song when we put away his toys and we dust together and I let him watch me fold laundry. Are these activities ingraining positive cleaning habits? Probably not, but for a little while, it alleviates the worry.

Not pictured: Worry about the sun.

I want him to have lots of friends, to be good at sports, to do well in school, to be kind, curious, open-minded and adventurous. Unfortunately what I sometimes (falsely) lead myself to believe is that babies are born as a blank canvas and any deviation from perfection is the sole responsibility of the parents. Intellectually I know this isn't true and I certainly don't blame my own parents for my faults, but herein lies the key worry.

*Deep breath.* I worry about being the perfect mother.

I know perfect mothers don't exist. I know Instagram is just for show-- I myself have posted beautiful coordinated photos of me with my little guy that are just the tiniest slice of an otherwise hectic, very uncoordinated day. I also know that Ethan is healthy and happy and has two parents who love him, and I know that this is more important than any of the other stuff. But, that doesn't stop me from using my measuring stick and comparing myself to people who I perceive to be doing a better job. So, when he naps, I puree fruit and fold towels and read every article I can find about safe sunscreen, organic recipes, sensory exploration and what it means when a baby touches his head. I plan his outfits. I reorganize the toys. And-- surprise, surprise-- at the end of the day, I'm exhausted.

Maybe I'm neurotic and a little bit crazy. However, I think the root of all of this is that mothers, from the moment their babies are born, are thrust into an all-consuming, 24/7 job that we have no training for. There's no test to study for, no exam, no instruction manual. To be blunt-- those pregnancy books don't teach you shit, so we have to learn as we go, make mistakes along the way, and without a blueprint or a template to follow, we look inward and everything we see inside ourselves is the guidepost by which we judge what we do or do not want for our babies. When we don't hit those markers 100 per cent of the time, well, that's when the worry sets in.

I don't mean to be so self-deprecating. I hope that Ethan shares my love of books, my ability to manage money well, my loyalty towards my friends and my capacity for forgiveness and finding the good in people. These are qualities I'm proud of and ones that I believe can make me a good, if not perfect, mother. And, and as for my characteristics I don't love-- I'm messy, I can't iron, I bite my nails, I hate cooking and I worry A LOT-- well, Ethan is just the best motivation to strive to be a better, but still not perfect, version of myself.

One kid, two kids...

Yesterday was National Siblings Day, and it got me thinking about the possibility of adding another little munchkin to our clan. It's not something I'm considering anytime soon (more on this later), but in my mom circle and even with other friends and family, it's a pretty regular topic of conversation.

Me and my three sibs

The funny thing is, though, I'm still on the fence about having a second at all. It always shocks people when I say this, in part because I'm the oldest of four, so siblings have played a pretty significant role in my life. However, my brother Jacob is six years younger than me, so even though we "grew up" together, we were always at different stages, never overlapped in high school and didn't really have anything to compete over. I was an adult when the younger two were born, and they are amazing and were such a formative part of my twenties, but again-- not exactly your typical sibling relationship.

The six-year age gap was in many ways great because I still had a little brother but didn't have to worry about him dating my friends or taking all my parents' attention. That said, my mom started younger than I did and even though men can seemingly procreate forever, Dave and I have some years between us which could make waiting too long a challenge. I also think in a lot of cases, too big of an age gap creates an emotional distance that is difficult for parents and children alike, particularly when it comes to finding common ground and being able to play and have fun together.

On the other end of the spectrum, two under two absolutely does not work for me. I found pregnancy to be, on the whole, exhausting. I can't imagine doing it with a toddler who is just learning to communicate properly and is still in diapers. I also really want to be able to enjoy these early years with Ethan and give him my full attention. I'm tired enough as it is, I do not feel a burning desire to add morning sickness and swollen ankles to the mix.

So, in theory, if we were to go for Number 2, I'd be looking to land somewhere in between these extremes. I'll be 32 in August, so I could have another at 34 or 35 and still be considered relatively low risk, pregnancy-wise. Ethan would be close to starting kindergarten, which would free up a little more time to devote to a baby.

But, let's backpedal for a second. As I mentioned, I've never been sure about having two kids. I wanted one so, so badly, but had always felt that I would be content with having an only child. Since Ethan was born I've been more inclined to consider another, but I'm still not completely sold. It's a bit of an awkward topic for me because since I'm relatively young with minimal health issues, people tend to assume that of course I would want more kids. In fact, some will even suggest that stopping at one is selfish or lazy or unfair to poor unsuspecting Ethan.

The selfish comment is my favourite, because by definition, choosing to become a parent (and I would argue specifically a mother) is one of the most selfless things a person can do. Also, part of the reason I'm uncertain about another kid is that I want to be able to give Ethan the absolute best life I can-- not just materially, but emotionally as well. If I feel that I'm best able to do that by raising him as an only child, it's not selfish, it's trusting my instincts as a mother.

When it comes to laziness, I just laugh at that one. If Ethan remains an only child, believe me, he will know every drop-in centre and playgroup in the west end and beyond. He will have enough playdates to make his head spin because I will be extra, extra diligent in making sure he learns how to interact with other kids. I'm also a lot more likely to eventually resume my career at full speed in this scenario because I won't be as stretched with responsibilities at home and I won't have to be crunching numbers on how on earth we can afford to put two kids in daycare.

And, with fairness, well, it depends on who you ask. I know a lot of only children-- some of them always wanted siblings and others had super awesome childhoods that they wouldn't trade for the Brady Bunch. I also know people who hate their siblings, so you never know exactly how the cookie is going to crumble, and I don't believe that having brothers and sisters inherently makes you a better or worse person, or a happier or sadder child. So many factors go into making a life great and the family composition is just one small piece of the puzzle.

I do want to go back to the selfishness piece, though. Despite what the mom-shamers will say, it is actually okay to be a little bit selfish sometimes. Even though having Ethan has changed my very existence completely, I do take some comfort in the fact that to-date, it hasn't led to a absolute and total overhaul of my "old life." For example, I love my tiny car-- it's the first big thing I've ever really owned, and in the city it's awesome for getting into those itty bitty parking spaces. But, while it's relatively practical with one child, it would not be so easy with two-- I wouldn't be able to fit a double stroller in my hatch! Similarly, a few years ago, Dave and I bought a condo in our neighbourhood that will finally be ready next winter, and we had so much fun picking out finishes and colours and appliances for a brand new place that will be really and truly ours. The catch? It's not a ton of space, so we could make it work but after a few years it might feel like a tight squeeze for a growing family. And of course, two kids means more expenses in general, stretching everything a little thinner. In other words, I'm not sure I'm ready to sacrifice some of the comforts and familiarities that I've been able to hang on to with only having one kid so far.

On the flip side, though, having a baby is amazing and as I alluded to above, it's only been since Ethan arrived that I realized how incredibly special it is to hold a tiny person you created in your arms. When I think about the possibility of never having these moments again, my stomach flips a bit and suddenly I'm thinking that maybe moving to more space in the suburbs would actually be quite nice, and double strollers make moms look really bad ass and having a few hours to myself in the evenings and during naps is kind of overrated...Anyway, we have time to think about it, but until then, Happy (belated) Siblings Day!

The better way?

Wow, fresh off a blog sabbatical, here I am with two posts in one week. Someone give this mama a medal!

All kidding aside, I was inspired to write this post after this morning's brunch date with a few members of my #momsquad. Briefly diverging from our regular topics of teething, feeding and holy fuck will we ever not feel tired again, we got to chatting about accessibility-- or lack thereof-- in our fair city.

I've only taken the subway with Ethan a few times, and to be blunt, it sucked. I live basically equidistant between two stops-- neither of which have elevators or ramps. To get to an accessible station, I either have to walk one kilometre west or two kilometres east, and I of course have to plan a route that gets me to a stroller-friendly stop on the other end. Even in the accessible stations, to get from the street to the train (and vice versa), I usually have to take at least two different elevators, which are often poorly marked and always seem to be on the verge of collapsing. Also, I am no germaphobe but there's something quite unsettling about wheeling my infant into a dark, rickety contraption that looks like it hasn't been cleaned since people traveled by horse and buggy. A lot of "Ethan, don't touch ANYTHING" happens on these trips.

But, let's get back to the barriers. Today, in 2018, in one of the most progressive, most diverse cities in North America (if not the world), there are 28 subway stations that do not have elevators, with full accessibility not expected until 2025 at the earliest. Readers (all 4 of you): This is shameful. For all the whining and moaning politicians and laypeople alike do about the TTC, this seems to be fairly low down on the list of complaints. Yes, crowds are awful, fare collectors are rude, delays are unfortunate and I don't really understand the point of Presto, but the fact that there are still barriers that prevent a significant percentage of the population from even using public transit at all is problematic on a whole other level. Yet, no one seems to want to make this an issue because who cares about accessiblity when signal problems on Line 2 made you late for work again.

I can hear my mom's voice in my head, so I'd like to check my privilege for a minute and acknowledge that for me personally, I have a few luxuries in my life that prevent this issue from impeding my day-to-day. First, I live in an affluent neighbourhood where most of my needs and wants can be satisfied within a 15 minute walk. Between my apartment and my closest accessible subway station, there is a No Frills, a Shoppers Drug Mart, an LCBO, several small grocers and fruit markets, all major banks and a multitude of restaurants and coffee shops. I can eat, buy diapers, get my hair cut and even see a movie without even having to think about boarding a train. Also, we are a two-car household and I can afford the many expenses that accompany car ownership, so when I need to go somewhere I can't walk to, such as the doctor, I am never dependent on public transit to get there.

More importantly, however, is the fact that for me, the restrictions presented by the TTC's lack of accessibility are not insurmountable. I do not actually have to take Ethan out in the stroller-- I have a carrier that I can wear him in, making it possible for me to get on any subway train or bus without worrying about elevators. I can-- theoretically-- ask another rider to help me with the stroller because I do not have language barriers that prevent me from doing so and I do not have to worry about someone being afraid to help me because of my accent or the colour of my skin. What I'm trying to say is that I have options, and those options are luxuries not afforded to all mothers.

Finally, my need for barrier-free access is temporary. In the not-so-distant future, Ethan will be able to walk on his own and we won't need a stroller to get places, which means I'll be able to board the subway two minutes from my apartment again. For people who depend on wheelchairs or who have other permanent mobility challenges, this isn't the case and they are forced to constantly plan accessible routes within a fundamentally restrictive transit network and a political ecosystem that doesn't recognize accessibility as a crucial, urgent priority.

Ethan in transit

But, part of the reason I wanted to write this was to recognize that until Ethan came along, I too was pretty ignorant about how incredibly difficult just getting from point A to point B can be if you don't have the means, the resources or the abilities that most of us take for granted. Motherhood has given me the tiniest glimpse-- through an undeniably privileged lens-- into what so many people have to deal with all day, every day, and I think beyond just criticizing the TTC, we all (myself included) have to be more aware about how we can make lives a bit easier for those who need a little extra help. I've compiled a list below and I welcome any suggestions!

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Creating a barrier-free Toronto (or, Good Karma 101)

1. Hold the door for people who are in wheelchairs, using canes, pushing strollers or for anyone who looks like they just might need a hand.
2. Always offer to help parents with strollers up and down stairs. Don't wait for us to ask-- we might not say yes but we appreciate the offer!
3. Move out of the way for people who need a little extra space. Believe me, I don't take up half the sidewalk or subway platform just to be annoying, but it's important for me to have the space away from cars and trains to push my baby safely.
4. If you can, be flexible about your seat in a restaurant or on transit. If you're settled down in a spot that would be a good option for someone with mobility challenges, please give it up just this once. I can't express how frustrating it is to be crammed into a tiny booth where I can't fit my stroller when others are seated at round tables surrounded by tons of open space.
5. This should be obvious, but please don't park in handicapped spots or designated areas for pregnant women or families with small children. There's a special place in hell for people who do that!

Food for thought

Well, this blog has been on a bit of a hiatus. I would love to say I have some really cool reason for this, but in reality, once Ethan goes to bed I usually lose myself in a vortex of watching basketball, surfing Instagram and reading 20 pages of a book just to say I did. I just yawned reading that back to myself, but yeah-- mama's boring (and tired).

So here's a quick update on the last 2 and a half months: Ethan rolls around everywhere, laughs all the time, loves his Ergobaby, has been on vacation and even cut two teeth. And...*drumroll please* he eats actual, solid, big people food!

I was dreading starting solids to the point where I'm pretty sure I was annoying Dave even more than usual with all my musings on what to start with, and when, and what high chair to get, and did we get the right high chair, and oh our high chair was broken when it shipped so we have to get a different one, and am I bad mother because I bought some of those baby food pouches? I could continue, but in short, it was stressful.

A lot of moms get really excited about starting solids, but let me list a few reasons why I am not one of them. First of all, I don't cook a ton (read: hardly ever). No, I do not eat cheeseburgers every day (and thus you do not have permission to hate me for being thin), but we do enjoy a reasonable amount of takeout and a lot of nights I just heat up a bowl of soup so as not to waste valuable Instagram time. We have a small kitchen with no dishwasher and I honestly just find cooking so tiring-- you know, on top of looking after an active baby all day, doing the things that don't even leave me with enough gusto to regularly satisfy this blog's vast readership (ha ha).  However, I would at least like to make an attempt to feed my child homemade(ish) meals and not let him think that Swiss Chalet is one of the major food groups, and therefore I have had to shift my mindset (and my priorities). Life changes are a handful!

Eggy Ethan

Here's another thing. I am legitimately the world's pickiest eater, so giving Ethan a variety of foods does not come naturally to me. I could name all the foods I don't like but that would take all day, so here's a summary: Eggs, pork, most seafood (except shrimp and expensive scallops), dark meat of any kind, most root vegetables, brie, avocado, and so on and so on. I am also a little weird about how meals are made and the circumstances in which I eat them-- I am absolutely that asshole that asks a lot of questions in restaurants, as well as that even bigger asshole who holds up the Tim Horton's line by making sure they don't cut my sandwich with a dirty knife. Irritated yet? I also will never give you a bite of anything because I don't like other people's saliva on my food. Ick.

But alas, I'm not exactly setting out to raise a neurotic child, which means my weird preferences will take a backseat to his needs and his appetite and I'll have to accept that mealtimes will just be kind of gross for the foreseeable future. So, for past month or so I have been giving Ethan different types of food, pretending I think it's all delicious. Yes, I do feed him those bad mom pouches sometimes, but I also attended a workshop, I check labels to make sure there is no added salt or sugar and I went shopping specifically for organic produce. I even made my own hummus, which basically means I'm Martha Stewart and probably grants me a lifetime exemption from all future shaming from the Momiverse (ha ha again). 

And, guess what? So far, Ethan loves everything. I'm not saying he's perfect (except that he is), but the fact that a kid that grew in my body eats whatever I put in front of him-- with unparalleled enthusiasm--is nothing short of a miracle. I won't lie-- avocado stains are no picnic and picking pieces of egg out of his neck folds is revolting, but I'm playing a long game here and I am super proud that my little guy has an amazing attitude towards food. Who knows, maybe it will even encourage me to add a few more meals to my own rotation and expand my horizons. Or maybe Ethan will love food and cooking so much that he'll make my meals too? Here's hoping!

Oh, what a year

With just a few days to go before 2018 hits, I'm also marking another anniversary-- one year ago yesterday, I found out I was pregnant.

This was the earliest I could get the news, and ever the planner, I was bursting with anticipation. The app I had downloaded to help me track had cheerfully notified me that I could take a pregnancy test-- hurray! But despite the build up, I actually didn't have that strong of a reaction and now look back on it as one of my final days of calm.

There are a few reasons for this. First, I think it was the time of year. The period between Christmas and New Year's is always a nice little placid stretch and though I was working that week, the office was quiet, the TTC was quiet, and as such, so were my feelings about a tiny human sprouting inside of me.

It was also a secret. That's a big one. Over the weeks that followed, I had a lot of fun telling friends, family members and colleagues (my favourite trick was dressing Winston up in a Big Brother t-shirt), but for the first few days we told no one. This meant I couldn't really 'act' pregnant, so in a sense, it wasn't a real thing yet. We even stayed home on New Year's Eve just because I didn't want anyone to notice I wasn't drinking-- sneaky!

I also feel the calm in hindsight. On December 28, 2016, my life was exactly the same as it was one day earlier when I didn't know if I was pregnant or not. I was obviously worried about how having a baby would alter my life, but I thought I had nine months to figure that out. However, by the end of my first trimester, everything had been thrown off balance and into complete chaos. I dealt with a shift in my professional life and I started to experience symptoms like morning sickness and heartburn, but the biggest shock of all was that my pregnancy revealed cracks in the foundation of several relationships I held dear, including one in particular that I had previously believed to be indestructible.

The first sign of Ethan

What I've realized over the past year is that no matter how much you plan or how lucky you think you are-- I'll share that it only took us two months to conceive, which makes me feel so grateful to this day-- you never truly know what kind of person you'll be or what kind of life you'll have once you become a mom. I learned this the hard way even before Ethan arrived, but my 'glass half full' view of this is that because of what I went through, I was prepared to brace myself for the curveballs motherhood has thrown at me.

And, having perspective and seeing the big picture are important. I would love to say that the challenges I experienced during my pregnancy resolved themselves or that I have at least been able to put them out of my head. Unfortunately, neither is the case and I still feel very hurt by a lot of what transpired. What is the absolute 100% truth, however, is that Ethan was worth every hurdle, every blow and every single tear.

 So 2017 is nearly behind us, and it was without a doubt the hardest year yet. But, it was also the best year because it gave me our little man and I know 2018 is going to bring us so much laughter and love-- and yes, a few challenges too. Bring it on!

Sharing the love

I know when parents have second or third children, they often have the challenge of making sure older siblings still feel loved and included. I can relate.

"But Emily, Ethan is your only child. What on earth do you mean?!"

Well, if you know me, you know the answer to that question. I'm referring, of course, to my my fur-son, Winston the Puggle.

Winston will always be first baby. I had never been one for dogs before, but I chose him-- after finding him by chance through a random Google search-- and after making the trip to Kentucky (yup) to pick him up, I fell in love with him instantly.

Yes, we loved him so much, but he was difficult puppy-- actually, in a lot of ways, the newborn Ethan phase has been easier than the early days of Winston. He did not come to us house trained. He pulled on his leash during walks (still does) and he nipped constantly. One time, I thought we were having a perfectly nice snuggle until he bit me on the armpit and then peed on the floor. Good times.

However, Winston is two and a half now, and while he's still spirited and stubborn, he's a sweet, cuddly little guy and we couldn't imagine life without him. He's taught us so much about compromise and family and pure, unconditional love. And, it probably goes without saying that he's also really, really spoiled.

So, this is why I was a little nervous during my pregnancy about how exactly we would all handle the new addition. How, with a fresh baby, could I possibly devote as much as my energy and love to Winston? Would he be jealous or skittish or destructive? Or, would he withdraw, feeling left out or forgotten? It felt like the end of an era, and I felt guilty about forcing an adjustment on him when he was so used to being the absolute centre of our universe.

My babies

However, I'm pleased to report that over the past three months, Winston has been the most sane member of this household. Okay, that's a pretty low bar, but he has been one shred of normalcy during what been a pretty hectic time. Other than a few curious sniffs, he basically leaves Ethan alone, but for me, he has been a constant source of love and affection-- often knowing when I need it the most even before I do. In fact, when we got home from the hospital the day after Ethan was born, Winston seemed to sense right away that I was drained and overwhelmed. In response, his first order of business was to climb up on the couch, curl into a ball next to me and heave a huge sigh of contentment. I, exhausted and full of hormones, immediately burst into the happiest of tears.

What I'm getting at is that there's always enough love to go around. People (and dogs) surprise you with how they adapt to change, and I've been lucky to see an amazing new side of Winston since Ethan joined our tribe. True, he's not our only baby anymore, but we love him just as much as we did when he was our whole world-- when Ethan was a mere abstract concept of the future-- and he's been doing just fine with his new role as big brother. It probably doesn't hurt that he still has a place in our bed while Ethan sleeps in the bassinet, a fact I'm sure he secretly gloats about...