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.