Time and time again, Ashley and I will say to one another, "I love him." Ashley will be sitting quietly, checking his email after dinner, while I stand at the sink washing dishes, and I will be thinking of Eoin. "I love him," I will announce, and Ashley, instantly there with me, in love, will agree, "He's amazing." We will be lying in bed, and I will be sure Ashley is asleep, until his voice in the dark says, "I love him." I know, me too. Ashley will be in the bedroom folding laundry, and handling Eoin's little pants and little shirts will touch him so deeply that he will have to come find me to hug me and say, "I love him." Last night, when I said to Ashley, "I love him," Ashley replied, "It's almost unbearable sometimes, isn't it?" Yes.

What amazes me most about this unbearable, unspeakable love is, it's actually quite ordinary . I go to baby groups and watch other moms, I watch my friends and my family with their children, I watch parents in the grocery store, and I see this love everywhere. This love Ashley and I feel, with a depth and an intensity that we have never known, is, by and large, what everyone feels for their children. And I guess they always have, and I guess they always will.

From childhood until now, I think that I have had an ever darkening world view. As I grew, I seemed to encounter more jealousy, more weakness, more greed, more cruelty, more danger. And then I had Eoin, and my eyes were opened to the immense ocean of love that floats families. As long as there are children, this love will buoy us, and hope will glow on the horizon.

Walking along the seawall last week, on my way to Granville Island, Eoin and I passed a woman seated on the grass at the edge of the path. I'm pretty sure she was practicing laughter yoga, an exercise that takes the wisdom, "laughter is the the best medicine" very seriously. It works on the premise, "Fake it 'til you make it."

"Ha ha ha ha ha, ho ho ho ho ho, aha ha ha ha ha," was blasting across False Creek. The woman, alone on the grass, was laughing like a lunatic.

"Weirdo," I was thinking, just as a couple of energetic, power-walking women were passing me from the opposite direction. They were watching the laughing woman too, only with big smiles on their faces. They chimed in with her, calling out, "Do you mind if we laugh with you?" Surely nothing could have delighted the laughter yogi more, and she called back exuberantly, "You sure can!" and for a moment, the three women shared a genuine chuckle.

It was only a moment. An instant later, the power-walkers were gone, and the woman's laughter was fading behind me. It was then that I noticed that my face was still pinched in a scowl of judgment. I had looked at the laughter yogi and only seen how pathetic she was, whereas the zippy power-walkers had seen an opportunity to have a laugh. Suddenly, I felt like the pathetic one. Instead of optimism, cheer, and good-humour, I chose cynicism. And what did that earn me? No mid-afternoon laughter, no spark of connection with a stranger - just deeper wrinkles. I felt humbled and inspired by the women on the seawall.

I was telling Ashley about this on Sunday, as we were hiking around Elfin Lake in Squamish - telling him about the lesson I'd learned on my walk to Granville Island. In the telling of my story, I mimicked the laughter yogi. My ha-ha-ha's rang out in the woods - I have to admit, my laugh sounded pretty authentic. I caught sight, then, of my baby. Strapped to his father's chest, Eoin had been listening to my story too. His face was broke wide open in a grin. My laughter had tickled him pink, and he was watching me, waiting for more, and poised to join in.

He gets it.

How is it that Eoin already finds burps, farts, and sneezes hilarious?

My days with Eoin have finally evolved into a routine. As in, I can count on his naps.

His naps have settled into consistent stretches of me-time which are indescribably precious. So precious, in fact, that on the days were I have pushed our walks a little long and Eoin is flirting with the idea of treacherously swapping a luxurious nap at home in his crib for a mini-snooze in the stroller, I have no qualms about racing back to the house, singing at the top of my lungs, rattling the stroller, and in general, acting like a total crazy lady - whatever it takes to preserve my me-time.

The downside to this regular nap routine is, of course, that routine is sometimes synonymous with sameness and rigidity. If I want to preserve his naps and my me-time, then our days have to revolve around that goal. There is only so much that you can fit into the short time between naps - a time that must also include diaper changes, snacks, a bottle, and, unless I am feeling unusually selfish, playtime outside of the stroller. This has come to mean that we are home most of the time, aside from our daily trip to the park.

Don't get me wrong - I love our days together. Only, the daily trip to the park begins to lose a little of its sparkle if it isn't occasionally supplanted with something more adventurous. For this reason, weekends are invaluable opportunities to get out of the house, out of the neighborhood, and preferably, out of the city.

There is nothing like time spent in nature with my husband and my baby to recharge my batteries for another week of nap and non-nap intervals. If we have spent Saturday or Sunday in fresh air and living spaces, then on Monday, I have a refreshed perspective for cherishing my days with my baby (days that are becoming all too short as the end of my maternity looms) and a renewed energy for creativity and productiveness during me-time. And on a weeknight, when Ashley and I are tired and cleaning the kitchen, I can look at my husband and remember that, last Saturday or Sunday, we were by the ocean, or in the forest, and we were laughing, in love.

I love weekends.

For me, as mother, nothing could make me happier, and nothing could be of greater comfort, than watching my husband with my baby and seeing that he is loved, loved, loved, and knowing that even my love for my baby is no stronger.

A friend of mine recently advised me to do some things apart from Eoin. I had to admit that I rarely take any time for just me. When Ashley is around, I usually want to be around too. And when he isn't, there is only me in this city to care for Eoin.

This Saturday afternoon, though, I decided to follow my friend's advice - I went to see the Eat Pray Love movie with a girlfriend. Walking briskly to make it there on time, it felt so nice to swing my arms, free from a baby or a stroller! I held my shoulders back, my poor shoulders that are usually curled inwards from the weight of my baby, and the weight of my responsibilities. On the skytrain, I stood tall and solitary in the crowd. I wondered, behind my sunglasses, if anyone noticing me would guess that I was a mother. I held my family like a secret, close to my chest. Look at me, I mused, pretending to be a single, childless woman!

Arriving home, however, I was instantly Mommy again. Ashley had a jam booked for the evening, so he was eager to hand off the baby and rush out. I held out my arms, and Eoin grappled into me with his whole body - my little monkey. Ashley had Eoin's supper all ready, and as I sat him down to feed him right away, Eoin laughed into my eyes. I think, at the same time, we were both thinking afresh, "What a lovely face you have!"

After supper, I hopped into the bath with Eoin. Then I wrapped us both in towels, and then I coated us both in his baby cream. Next, I got us both dressed in our pyjamas, and I settled us into the nursing chair for Eoin's bedtime bottle. Aahhh. Getting away had felt good, but being back felt better.

It took Eoin fifteen minutes to finish his bottle. For fifteen minutes, we snuggled in silence as he drank, and I let my mind wander back to the movie I had just watched. I had seen the main character living four separate lives: one, married and miserable in New York City; another, as a single woman in Italy, rich with friends and simple pleasures; a third, austere and emotionally stripped-down, life in India; and a fourth life, falling in love and smiling from her liver in idyllic Bali. One person, in one year, experienced all these different ways of living life. In fact, all over the world, people are living out their lives, and every single one is different than mine.

It makes me wonder: why can't I figure out a different life - one that allows me to be with Eoin while he is little? Among all of life's permutations, why does my path seem to have rails, steering me mercilessly away from my baby? And I think, if only I was more creative...if only I was braver...I could derail.

Because, of all the lives I have lived, my life as Eoin's mom has felt the rightest. That's why, on the skytrain, I feel like I am impersonating a solitary person, instead of feeling, at home, that I am impersonating a mother. That's why it is so odious to me that in three months, I am going to paying some woman to impersonate me, while I go impersonate an energy marketer.

But maybe the time away from Eoin will be good for us? Because it will make our time together that much sweeter, because it will keep our faces ever-lovely? Maybe, but the gamble feels mighty risky to me. Right now, when Ashley isn't around, there is only me in this city to care for Eoin. And that's the way I like it.

Little Eoin, without trying,
has somehow been slowing prying
open doors once firmly shut
and nudging me out of my rut.

Five days a week I could be found
At the park, walking round and round.
But never did I stop and pass
some time relaxing on the grass.

With my son, I feel more free
to linger 'neath a shady tree.
The park - once a place for passing through -
belongs to me now, and Eoin too.

And that's just one of many places
where my baby has opened spaces.
Now suddenly there's lots to do
and many friends, instead of few.

Mommies have so much to share
with other moms, and we all care
to hear about the trials and joys
that come with raising girls and boys.

All these women I never knew
are in my life, and Eoin's too.
I've found a village to raise my son
and make the journey much more fun.

And lastly, Eoin has tapped a well,
unleashed a voice with a story to tell.
I'm writing now, like never before.
What's next, beyond this open door?

Today could have been a very bad day, if it hadn't been so gloriously windy. It was the kind of summer day that wakes you up with the noise of whipping leaves in the trees and of blinds banging against the windows. The kind of day that snaps back and forth from sun to shadow as the clouds race across the sky.
Unfortunately, I cannot say that it was wind in the leaves and the blinds that woke me up this morning. Rather, it was Ashley's shrill alarm (the volume was accidentally left on blast) and, hot on its heels, baby squeals and the drum beat of Eoin's feet on the crib rungs. It was 5:30 am - a harsh hour when one was late getting to bed, and up several times during the night. And thus began a day of Awake-Eoin - the baby who never sleeps, son of the mother who, consequently, also never sleeps, and never gets a thing done..
On top of that, with the countdown to our wedding now under three weeks, my face has decided to break out in violent, fiery pimples. It is a mess. Today, I was a mess.
But, luckily, the wind saved me. I love a windy day. It makes me feel so lively and healthy; so oxygenated, I guess. It's like the air is pushing its way into my body of its own accord, inflating my lungs, buoying me up.
During one of Eoin's lightning quick naps, I did manage to get clothes on the line, and it was wonderful! The clothes were flapping back and forth in the sun, and I thought happily of how quickly they would dry. It was a perfect day to hang clothes on the line.
And when Eoin woke from that lightning quick nap, I was distraught until I, in desperation, packed him into the stroller and headed to the park. What a perfect day to go to the park! The wind was whipping everything up - the trees were dancing, the dogs were cavorting, the lake was rippling. Such a riot of energy. Plus, the temperature was a comfortable jeans-and-tee-shirt degree and the grass was dry for sitting.
Eoin and I sat under a birch tree, and all my tired, overwhelmed, pimply troubles were whisked away. We read a Spot book, he played with grass and sticks, I played with my camera...we had a grand time. And, afterwards, the rush of air did what fresh air always does: it put my baby to sleep! I got home and got supper made before he woke up...thank you, Wind!
What's extra special about today is that, in Vancouver, you almost never get windy days like this, and you almost never see birch trees. It was a little piece of Newfoundland, served up special for me and my baby!
I am reminded of another quote from Sherry, my friend Heather's mom: "I am a hollow reed; my troubles blow through me like the wind." Thank heavens for wind.

It is so sad that the first year of a baby's life is only a year long. A year! Just a flash...

Yesterday started out as a wonderfully lazy Sunday...Multiple cups of tea in the morning followed by a late brunch of yogurt-oatmeal pancakes and fruit...Lots of baby playtime, with Ashley and I passing Eoin back and forth for snuggles and kisses. In the afternoon, Ashley (the hard-working pancake chef) fell asleep on the bed, and that's when I decided to take Eoin for a walk to Trout Lake Park.

It was an overcast day, but not too cold. When we got to the lake, I wheeled Eoin's stroller underneath an enormous willow tree and spread a baby blanket down on the grass. I sat him down on the blanket and sat myself down next to him on a tree root. Within the atrium of the willow tree branches, it felt hushed and secluded, even though the park was teeming with runners, dog walkers, picnickers, and children.

At first, Eoin's sphere of awareness only extended to the blankets' edges. He is always a little dazed after a walk in the stroller. He spent a few minutes looking at me and the blanket, and slapping his hands up and down. I handed him a stick, which he gleefully waved until I got nervous that he would poke it in his eye, and I took it from him. Then he started to look beyond the blanket at a little daisy in the grass. In no time, the blanket couldn't contain him - he was on a mission of discovery.

Once he became intent on eating fallen leaves, I picked him up and brought him over to the tree trunk. He fingered the rough bark and stroked the moss on top of the giant branches. Hello, Big Tree. I lifted him up and sat him on the fork of the trunk. High in his little perch, Eoin grinned down at me with delight and gave the tree some jovial pats.

It was when I was lifting him down that his gaze finally extended far enough for him to notice the branches of the willow tree. He watched with wonder as the willow's walls swayed with the wind. I carried him to the nearest tendril of willow tree, and we worked for a while at catching it as it waved in the breeze.

Finally, I strapped him back in the stroller and folded up the baby's blanket. As we rolled away, Eoin's bright blue eyes were still following the sweep of the willow branches. Personally, I have always found willow trees uncommonly beautiful. It could be that I have a son who does too.

The power went out in our neighborhood three nights ago. Luckily, I have a battery-operated breast pump that I was able to use. Without it, I would have had the twin problems of a hungry baby and over-full breasts.

The next day, I was trying to express to my friend Bree how ironic it was that a hungry baby and over-full breasts could even be simultaneous problems - normally they would happily unite to their mutual satisfaction. I was telling her how, if Eoin even suspects that I might be thinking about trying to latch him, he starts crying. I shared my theory that the stress of the trying-to-breastfeed days had imprinted him with negative feelings toward my breasts. She commented, "That must have been horrible for you, to have had him cry when you tried to bring him to your breast."

The comment caught me off guard. I walk around all the time wearing my armor of It Is What It Is. I've largely come to feel safe from the hurt of Eoin's refusal to nurse. I've even joked, in a made-up Eoin voice, "I just don't like boobs, Mum!" It is what it is, I may as well try to see some humor in it.

Her comment found the chink in my armor. Her insight jabbed at that tender place where the dream of cradling my suckling baby to my breast, still throbs.

Yeah. It was pretty horrible.

In the afternoons, you can often find Eoin and I home alone, curled up together in the nursing chair as he drinks his bottle. We sit in the kitchen, where the light that pours in from the three windows is softened by the gauzy ivory curtains. Day after day, the buzz of the refrigerator and the sounds of Eoin's swallows as he hums into his bottle, lull me off to sleep. He goes to sleep, too. Mmmm. It's peace.

What is "bonding" really? I'm tempted, before I continue, to look it up on Wikipedia. But I will tell you my definition first: Bonding is something that you hear a lot about during the time before and shortly after the birth of your baby. It has something to do with how the mother and baby (or father and baby) become attached to one another, and recognize the other for what they are: "Mama" or "my precious little baby."

Bonding is very, very important. You have to be very diligent in making sure bonding happens. You certainly do not want to be a mother who is not bonded with her baby. You must guard against that. Did you speak to your baby in the womb so that he would know your voice? Did you have enough skin-to-skin contact with your newborn? Are you spending enough time with your baby pressed against your chest, feeling your heartbeat? Are you breastfeeding your baby, because, as anyone knows, nothing is more intense than the bond between a mother and her nursing baby? When your baby cries, are you at his side quickly enough?

As you can see, there are a lot of things to "do" in order to bond, and you have to make sure that, not only are you doing those things, but that you are doing them "enough." Bonding is very scary. It just seems so easy to mess up.

And then I think a little harder about what "bonding" is, and I realize that it is just another word for love. Oh. I feel my heart un-clench and my shoulders drop away from my ears.

Love? That, we can do.

Chores take so much longer when you have a baby...and are so much more fun!

The hard days...I have been having a string of hard days. Eoin is on his eighth day of his first stomach bug. We are both fed up with diaper changing. I am barely keeping my head above the surface of my laundry pile...Don't even talk to me about the yellow/brown stains over most of the receiving blankets, towels, and baby clothes. Ugh. And you try getting a baby back to sleep at two am after three diaper changes in the course of a single feeding.

I'm exhausted. When Eoin woke especially early this morning, I attempted to sleep with him awake next to me on the bed. Nice try. Lay Eoin on the floor with some toys, and he would be quietly occupied forever, it would seem. Lay him on the bed with some toys while you try to sleep, and he alternates between squealing and crying. He wanted Mama's attention! He's used to having unlimited access to my eyes, voice, and touch, but I was just so tired! Just a little more sleep, Eoin, let Mama sleep just a little longer...

Poor little guy. And poor me. And poor Ashley. Do other parents out there struggle with the evening grind of cooking supper, tidying afterwards, finishing the other odd chores, and putting the baby to sleep? The evening grind is grinding Ashley and I to dust. Of course, it doesn't always feel as unmanageable as it has the past few days. It certainly has been a string of hard days.

The hard thing about hard days with a baby is, after a hard day, there's no such thing as saying, "Shag that," to the housework and jumping into a hot bath with a glass of wine; no such thing as spending the evening in front of the TV or a novel with most of your brain and all of your muscles switched to the OFF setting; no such thing even as packing it in early (at least, not for me and my strict pumping schedule.) In fact, hard days are exactly like every other day (see "evening grind" above)...just harder.

I guess I should look on the bright side. I guess these hard days are, like, making me a better person...right?

Eoin's dad and I love to dole out kisses, snuggles, tickles, raspberries, thigh squeezes, cheek chews, neck nuzzles, and bum pats, to our little baby. Eoin has always accepted this attention with a gracious and good-natured air of entitlement. For a long time, he himself didn't dole out much of anything, besides spit-up and dirty diapers of course. That is changing,though. Ashley and I are learning what it is to be on the receiving end of baby touches.

Eoin's touch can be so gentle. I could never explain the rapture I feel when he explores my necklace. He leans his forehead against mine, and I get to watch his downcast eyelashes as he engages himself at my neckline. They are the loveliest golden blond. I can feel, and see in my mind's eye, the soft, careful movements of his thumbs and fingers as they attempt to close on the flower pendant I wear. His hands are a delicate tickle on my collarbone. Oh, beautiful baby with your beautiful, gentle touches, I love you, I love you, I love you.

He is not always that gentle, I'll grant you. Take for example the other day: Eoin is content, playing on his belly on the living room rug. I lean down for a kiss. For a split second, I see his eyes light up ("Mommy!") with delight, before, quick as a cobra, he strikes. One hand lashes out for a fistful of hair, the other finds and clutches my upper lip, and all I can see is a yawning, pink mouth closing in on my face. I am momentarily incapacitated, kneeling on the floor with my face pinned to the rug: snagged by the hair, hooked by the lip, suctioned by the eye socket. Eoin can be surprisingly strong and dangerous sometimes.

There have been kicks to the adam's apple and scratches to the eyeball, too. But when I pick him up from a nap, his tiny arms will often squeeze around my neck in a baby version of a bear hug. I have felt, as I carried him against my chest in the snuggly, his little hand reach out and softly stroke my inner elbow. Some touches are more pleasant than others. Though, when I think about the necklace caress and the lip grip, I couldn't tell you which was done with more love. Or which one I loved more.

I was so ready to have a baby. My body was crying out to be pregnant, my arms were aching to hold my very own baby. I had a restlessness, a dissatisfaction with things. I had felt that way before, but usually because I wanted to change something in my life. I didn't want to change anything so much as I wanted to add something - someone, actually. I was so ready to have a baby.

I had my cat Pebbles, of course, who I babied. The summer when she was a kitten, I forfeited joining an after-work volleyball league because Pebbles "needed" me to come home and play with her. I spent hours stimulating her growing kitten brain. I made all the requisite vet appointments. If we were snuggling together, I put her comfort before my own, even if it resulted in a neck crick for me. It has been said that I raised her well. She is a good cat, a strong cat. It was also said that she was my "pseudo-baby." She satisfied my nurture cravings for a little while, but by last spring, I was so ready for a real baby.

My partner, Ashley, wasn't quite so ready. He was sure that he wanted a family, but he wasn't sure that he was prepared yet to make the accompanying sacrifices, and he certainly didn't want to gyp anybody. He told me later (when I was jubilantly pregnant) that what had tipped the scales in the baby favor for him, was seeing me so utterly primed for motherhood and knowing that, as my partner, the power to grant my oh-so-earnest wish rested squarely on his shoulders. In the end, what made Ashley ready to have a baby was loving me.

Now he adores being Eoin's father, but he was still incredulous when, after about a month and a half in, I started talking about Baby #2. I don't blame him. I was sleep-deprived, exhausted by my struggle to breastfeed, and so racked by anxiety that I was still, after six weeks, recording Eoin's diaper output with a scientist's precision: 2:20 am - sm. poo, slightly green. 3:45 am - pee + poo. 5:50 am - giant poo. Etc, etc.

"You would do this again?" he asked, mouth agape.

Of course! Yes, being a mom is the hardest thing I have ever faced, but I don't resent it for a second. Nothing in my life has ever felt so worthwhile. It was an affirmation that I was so ready to have baby.

Eoin is almost six months old now. Yesterday was a rough day. I had a read somewhere that, periodically, baby toys should be washed in one part bleach, fifteen parts water. So I did it. I didn't foresee that most of the toys would fill up on the inside with the cleaning solution and, after several rinses, continue to leak the bleach back out. What had I been thinking? I don't have an un-"natural" cleaning agent in the house, yet I Javexed the baby toys?

That was the first thing that happened. At lunch, I was trying to feed Eoin egg yolk. I (thought I) had done my research and learned that, while the whites are allergenic and shouldn't be introduced until after the first year, the yolks are okay (once the baby is eight months old, I later googled). Anyway, Eoin gagged violently and threw up an entire bottle of milk all over himself, me, the highchair, and the floor. I had to strip us both off there in the vomit-flooded kitchen and go straight to the shower.

The third blooper happened when we were Skyping with Eoin's Nana. Ashley and I were chitchatting when little Eoin, who had been proudly displaying his new trick of sitting up unsupported, got tired and face-planted onto the hard edge of the computer. I hadn't been watching him! What was wrong with me?!

My ineptitude as a mother seemed to beat down on me like a garish spotlight. I was cowering in the glare when my baby delivered the final blow to my confidence. I had taken away the tube of nipple cream that he was enthusiastically chewing because I thought the sharp corners might hurt him, and...he cried! Out of nowhere, after months of docilely acquiescing to my will, my sweet little baby was protesting!

Before me flashed battle scene after battle scene: bathtimes, bedtimes, mealtimes; long-distance car rides, can-we-get-a-puppy campaigns, sleepovers at suspect houses; boy-girl parties, homework, borrowing the car. How will I handle it all? I had been doubting my judgment all day, and now I was glimpsing that the challenge will not be simply to do the "right" thing as a mother, but to do it even when Eoin has a radically different, and vehemently expressed, opinion on what that is.

I was frozen by the thought - and it chills me even now - what if I'm not ready for this?

I hope this never changes: Eoin's infallible impulse, when he spots his own face in the mirror, is to smile.

As my friend's mom, Sherry, once told her, "Life is not for pussies, Heather."

"I was being so academic," my friend Carly was saying after watching the Babies documentary. "I felt like I needed to get an A+ in parenting."

It was evening and Ashley was getting a shower. Eoin was a dirty little monkey so I stripped him off and handed him in to his dad. I peaked my head in the far end of the shower to watch my two together, and leaned in to a elicit a drippy baby smile. Then I went to the other side to help Ashley soak Eoin's head. I shifted back to the far end to lather Eoin's head, and then again to the shower side to rinse the shampoo. Over to the far end to soap his bum, back to the shower for the rinse cycle. Then I ran to the kitchen to get the camera. Back to shower end for a few pictures. Ashley and Eoin were so cute trying to grasp the stream of water together. I went to the baby's bedroom to grab his towel. Back to the far end to scoop my slippery little man out of his dad's arms into my terry-clad ones. As I carried him to his bedroom, I smiled at the image of myself that popped into my head: I was like a honeybee, busily hovering around my two favorite flowers, darting in here and there, and drinking in the nectar of my blooming family.

It has been rainy lately. I have barely noticed - only when my dad comments on the weather in Corner Brook, or when I see that the deck is wet. I spend my days flitting from one thing to the next. I haven't taken the time to take in the rain.

Yesterday, I had a couple of errands to run. I was loading Eoin and his car seat into the car when I saw him staring intently over my shoulder. I followed his gaze. Eoin was looking at the raindrops on the car window.

I was instantly transported. I had the impression of sitting in the backseat of the car, as a child, absently listening to the ebb and flow of my parent's conversation in the front, and watching the raindrops on the window...Watching the drops grow fatter until they finally burst into rivulets, snaking their way down the window, intercepting other rivulets, jostling other drops along the way and pulling them into their flow... Seeing the moving green of the trees as a background to raindrops' pattern... Daydreaming, with my thoughts meandering along in much the same way as the raindrop rivulets on the car window. This was an impression rather than a memory. Perhaps it was an amalgamation of memories.

I was filled with the sense that Eoin is only beginning his journey. Ahead of him lie years of discovery. Ahead of him lies childhood. His mind is clear of habits and agendas. There are no clouds of worry to cast shadows. Yet there is rain now. Eoin's mind is open and yesterday, it was taking in the rain.

I have so much to be happy about. A wonderful husband-t0-be (the man of my dreams, actually) and a healthy and happy little munchkin that I am free to spend all day, every day reveling in. I even have the home I've been dreaming about for years now: I can look out of my window from my bed and see a cherry tree by day and the moon by night...wonder of wonders after three years in a basement apartment. Not to mention the back deck with a spectacular view of the Vancouver North Shore mountains. And a fantastic family. I could keep going on. So why, some days, am I nagged by a free-floating anxious feeling?

Yesterday, I racked my brain trying to find the source of my anxiety. No, it wasn't the fact that my wonderful husband-to-be wrecked our car the day before. No, it wasn't my bathroom that hadn't been cleaned in over a week and wasn't slated to be tackled any time soon. I don't even think it was the uncertainty of my family's future looming before me. If my anxiety was tethered to anything (and only by a hair's-breadth filament), it was perhaps that I was trying to feed Eoin solids before the six-month green light, and he wasn't devouring the rice cereal with the relish I'd like to see, so was I a bad mother force-feeding my baby? Basically, lighten up Erin!

I had an epiphany. (Don't get excited.) If I could only get rid of this anxiety (a peculiar mix of dread and guilt) and be happy, life would be so much nicer! (I told you not to get excited.)

Obviously, I knew this before. I think, pre-Eoin, I was willing to except a higher level of melodrama in my life. Now, I just want to be happy. Firstly, because I have so much to be happy about. Secondly, because I blame much of my nursing woe on my anxiety - let's face it - terror, so I know how destructive it can be. But thirdly, and chiefly, I want to be happy for Eoin. I want to instill in him a sense of fun and humour. I want him to feel secure in his position in, and trajectory through, the universe. If I teach him anything at all, I want to teach him to be (sincerely) CHEERFUL. Because why the hell not?

I love it when Eoin holds my hand or the bottle when he is drinking as if performing a soulful saxophone solo.

Rumple, dumple, doople dot,
You say I'm tired but I'm not.

Rumple, dumple, ribber rap
I don't need to take a nap.

Rumple, dumple, tickle teal,
How about we make a deal?

Rumple, dumple, scoocher skoo,
I'll stay up and play with you.

There are a few things in life that, once we lose them, we can never get them back. Okay, maybe there are a lot of things. Such as the moment that just passed. And this moment too. But some things, some things...they don't let go their hold on you, even long after you have lost your hold on them. You find yourself caught, unable to move on, unable to forget what once was, unable to ignore what might have been.
Nursing Eoin is one of those things for me. Growing Eoin inside me was the truest, realest, most unequivocal experience of my life. I did it. I am his mother. I gave birth to him (with some surgical assistance, perhaps, but even so). I am his mother. Mothers nurse their babies. They nourish the life they created with their bodies, thereby continuing the process of creation that began in their bellies. But I can't nurse Eoin. But I am his mother. I am his mother. But I can't nurse him.
I did nurse him for a time! I really did. Everything was going wrong though. I met obstacle after obstacle, but I kept at it. The desire to nurse your baby is up there with the desire to live...if you can take another breath, you can keep going. At some undefinable point, however, something changed inside me. An insidious voice said, it's useless. It'll never work. It's the end of the rope now. And I stopped trying. Up until that point, I had been steadily working towards being able to breastfeed. I'd lost ground at times, but I'd always dug in, found traction, and grappled my way towards a happy nursing relationship with my baby. Then I stopped trying, and with that, I was slip-sliding away from that nursing relationship at break-neck speed. I tried again many times after that, but I never again got a toe-hold. It was over. It ended. I lost my chance, and I will never get it back.
There you have it. Loss' ugly twin is named Regret.
But I am Eoin's mother. Loss and Regret have a younger sibling, and his name is Moving On.

Today was my second Mothers Unfolding meeting at Pomegranate Midwives in East Van. We talked about having babies without grandparents, sisters, cousins, aunts, etc, around us. Is it "wrong" and "unnatural" to do it on our own? Being a mom is an ocean of responsibility which would be so much better navigable with familiar stars to keep us on course. Sure, I want someone to babysit, a place to go for Sunday dinner, a hand to help when I feel overwhelmed. But most of all, I want to be able to share Eoin with more people. I love him so much. His dad loves him too. I want more people to love him. I want people around to laugh at his antics, to kiss his baby folds, to smell his Burt's Bees diaper cream, to soothe his cries, to puzzle over his habits. I want him to be loved by a whole circle of people. I want him to grow up looking into the faces of those who see him as a special gift to their lives; an integral part of their own circle of people. I want to share Eoin. He is the most wonderful thing I've ever known. Nudge, nudge. See his wonder with me.