Eoin and I are reaching a new stage: comradeship. Yesterday, Ashley worked a long day, and I found myself coping with the two babies for fourteen hours with no adult contact whatsoever. It certainly was an endurance test in parenting, but what helped immensely was realizing that, as much as I was "stuck" with Eoin, he was stuck with me. Trooper that he is, he made the best of it: living in the moment, as kids do, and looking for fun in every nook and cranny of that wet, snowy/rainy spring hump day. We did it, and pretty smoothly, if I do say so myself. (As I must, since there were no other literate witnesses on hand.)

Eoin calls us "shweetie" now.

Let's sweep together

A few months ago, if Eoin wanted me to do something with him, he would say, "Come peas," and lead you to it. (Totally irresistible). His vocabulary has since expanded, and he can be more specific. Now he'll say, "Mommy, let's sweep together," as he juggles his mini broom, my grown-up broom, and two dustpans in his hands.

Let's make cake together.

Let's play train together. (This means boarding the couch, and alternating between yelling at an imaginary cow to get off the tracks and miming a horrific crash off a cliff. After the crash, we push the train/couch back on the tracks. Sometimes we have to fix the couch with his pretend tools first, and sometimes Eoin has to "pick me up" to put me back in the train.)

My favourite: Let's snuggle together.

That's Mommy

We are human. Eoin, my son, included. We humans have relationships. Eoin, too.

In the lifetime of a human, most of our relationships have very delineated boundaries. For instance, when you meet a cashier up at the Walmart in Corner Brook's Murphy's Square, it's quite normal to learn of that cashier's arthritis, and what time that cashier's next break happens. This is entirely different from the relationship shared with a Burnaby Walmart cashier, in which there is no eye contact, and no superfluous dialogue. In either relationship, you know what to expect. You are no more flattered by the Walmart cashier's intimacy in Murphy's Square than you are offended by his disdain in Burnaby.

Every now and again, though, we humans have encounters that don't follow the script. Boundaries are breached; intimacy is reached.

This is what happened to Eoin over Christmas. He met his uncle Gene.

Yes, yes...of course, Eoin had met his uncle Gene before, but he never met him, met him. Uncle Gene was always the guy manning the barbecue, or drinking a beer with his Poppy, or breaking up his cousins' spat. In the world of Eoin, Gene was just another orbiting satellite.

Until one night over Christmas. On this night, Ashley and I brought Eoin to my sister, Janice, and Gene's house in the hopes that we could put him to bed there, take his sleeping baby brother to our friend's party, and pick Eoin up again in the morning.

We thought: what a great way to partake in some Christmas festivities. Eoin thought: No way are you leaving me in this spooky attic!

We had given up trying to cajole Eoin to sleep when Gene reached out to lift Eoin from my arms. "Let me try," he said. I was shocked, and I'm guessing Eoin felt the same, because he didn't protest as Gene carried him wide-eyed up the stairs to the crib.

For what felt like ages, I milled about downstairs wondering, what on earth is happening up there?? Finally, Gene reappeared.

"I think he needs a Mommy or Daddy," he said.

I rushed up the stairs to rescue my baby. No doubt Eoin was traumatized. His mother had abandoned him to be held hostage in the attic by a virtual stranger!

Except, he wasn't traumatized. He was tucked under the blankets in a bed, rosy-cheeked and heavy-lidded with the heat and the late hour. As I snuggled up next to him, he asked me sleepily, "Where's Gene?"

Eoin didn't, in the end, fall asleep there. It took Ashley and I another hour before we surrendered. Ashley brought Eoin home, and I went to the party on my own. What a waste of time.

Or not. Not to Eoin, anyway. Although I never got the details, besides some mumbling from Gene about petting a fish (??), it was clear that something profound had happened. I'm willing to bet there was some soft, sook-y conversation involved, and probably even some hair-stroking/back-rubbing. Certainly, a bond was forged.

Eoin would ask me, "Where's Gene?" from time to time over the next few days. Then one evening, Janice jammed her van into the snowbank in our driveway, and Gene was sent to our house the following morning to unstick it.

Eoin and I were playing in the living room when Gene appeared in our doorway. Eoin halted and stared openly - similarly to the way one might stare if last summer's fling showed up as "the new guy" at work. I was scurrying around trying to find car keys for Gene.

"That's Mommy," Eoin announced suddenly.

Gene chuckled. I found him the car keys. But later, I wondered, why the introduction?

Did Eoin, finding himself at a loss for words, merely throw out the first thing that popped in his head? Anything to keep the connecting going - come on, we've all done it.

Or was Eoin attempting to further their friendship by introducing his mother, who, at age two, is an inextricable part of his identity? That seems reasonable. Could I describe myself without the "wife of Ashley, mother of Eoin and Daniel" identifiers?

Or was Eoin, when he blurted, "That's Mommy," actually succumbing to that age-old urge to share something special with that special someone? Just like Ashley succumbed when, in our courtin' days, he showed up rain-soaked at my house at 11 pm to present me with a bud of jasmine tea that blossomed and bloomed when immersed in hot water - a token from his recent journey to China. (It was beautiful.) Like I succumbed, when, in return, I geek-ily waxed poetic about quantum mechanics (my major) and pressed him to read The Sun Also Rises (my favourite novel). That's what you do when you meet someone extra-ordinary: you show them that secret lookout with the gorgeous view; you play that song that touched your heart; you take them to that little known cafe with the to-die-for cheesecake; or maybe, just maybe (I dare to hope), when you're two, you introduce them to Mommy. Isn't she somethin'?

I guess the reason behind the introduction doesn't matter. What matters is Gene is probably the first friend Eoin made on his own, and definitely the first friend of Eoin's to whom I've had the pleasure of being introduced. May there be many, many more. And so what if I'd already known Gene for over ten years?

Enchant-ay.

New Years Day 2012

Ashley and I passed our first New Year's Eve with our family complete. We dined at home on french onion soup, sweet potato fries, and raw veggies in an herbed yogurt dip. Then Ashley, Eoin and I went outside and played in the snow. Being outside at night in the wintertime is so exhilarating! When I poked my head inside to listen for Daniel, I found him awake. On went his snowsuit...just in time for Ashley's sparkler display. (Daniel was unimpressed and screeched the entire time.) We came back inside after the sparklers, and I nursed Daniel while Eoin "helped" his dad pop popcorn. We skyped a little with Nana Patsi, and then settled on the living room rug to eat popcorn and read books with Eoin and Daniel. Eoin kindly pointed out the different colours of light bulbs on the tree for us (das a boo one, das a wed one, das a owange one, das a geen one, das a boo one, das a owange one....). We listened to Auld Lang Syne - we love the version from the Sex and the City movie - and then put Eoin to bed. While I nursed Daniel a little more, Ashley broke out the paper and pen to scribe the year's highlights, and outline some wishes for the new year. We're going to put it away to check in with next year. All in all, it was one of the nicest new year's eve I've ever known!

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!