Parasites: The Next Generation

Today we visited the Doctor and our Wee little Hamish has grown from the 6.6lbs and 19 inches that he was when we left Victoria General Hospital to 9lbs, 16oz and 23 inches.

He's also grown another chin.

Corbin is 2.5 years and my newborn is 2.5 weeks. I’ve been feeling fabulous since Hamish’s birth until now. I wake up with the most excruciating tooth pain reminiscent of an infection I had 7 years ago pre root canal. Despite the nagging ache in my mouth, I am joyfully making bat, witch, pumpkin and cat shaped pancakes for breakfast. After all, it’s Halloween and being a Mom supersedes everything. I pour the wholegrain pancake mix into a measuring cup and Corbin dumps it into the mixing bowl while making cement truck type noises. I crack an egg in time with the rhythm of the throb in my tooth. Corbin starts to combine the egg and the mix as I pop a couple of pain killers and reach for the protein powder. I add some milk and help Corbin to mix the batter completely. The pan is warming on the stove as I spray the metal cookie cutters with cooking oil. Together we pour the batter into the shapes and Corbin sprinkles them with colourful sprinkles – a concession I make to create a fun cooking and eating experience at the expense of added sugar. When the pancakes are finished we ease them out of their molds and Corbin chooses to eat the pumpkin. I gingerly eat a bat, chewing ever so carefully to avoid aggravating that one tooth.

This morning, Corbin and his friend Lily are going to have their photos taken in Costum. We are having our friend, Erin, take professional photos just for the fun of it. Lily is a princess and Corbin is a prince. My girlfriend Kim and I hide on the stairwell just out of site with our babies. The toddlers listen to Erin much better when we are absent. I rub my sore left cheek and relay my toothache woes to Kim in the same story line that I tell her about the Halloween pancakes. The photo shoot is done and now Corbin needs to be taxied to his daycare Halloween party. After dropping him off, I decide to pick up a coffee. Afterall, I am still operating under sleep deprivation mode.

When I get home, I call the dentist. I tell her receptionist that I need to see someone between the hours of now and 2pm since I have to pick up my son. What I don’t say is that my son has an afternoon tea party scheduled at our house with Lily and so I need to pick him up from daycare early. She gets me in for 12noon. They x-ray and deliver the bad news that I have a good-sized abscess in one of the top left molars - a tooth that has already had a root canal. The pain has been steadily increasing all morning and I’m thankful that they have at least found the problem. They tell me that they are going to prescribe me antibiotics and grind down the tooth a bit as the infection has shifted it. I wonder how long this will all take as I don’t want to be late picking up Corbin. Then, they tell me that I will either need a dental surgeon to extract the tooth or perform some kind of next stage root canal to attempt to save it. Save it? You already tried to do that once. Take it out, I hear myself tell them as I wonder what time it is. Can I go now? I’m grateful that I have to get the prescription filled as it means I can stop at the store to get some fruit for the Halloween tea party. When I drop off the prescription, I badger the pharmacist with questions about how the amoxicillin will affect my nearly 3week old infant. I then pick out my tea party food, go home to set up the party, pick up Corbin, have the tea party with Lily & then Kim and I head over to her place for dinner & an evening of trick or treating. By 7:30 the whole left side of my head feels like it is throbbing. I recall Corbin’s newly attained Halloween book about the monster who wanted to dance. Frank did a cartwheel, Frank did a flip … unzip. I coming unzipped, I think.

That was Friday. Friday night I get maybe two hours sleep. I’ve come to the end of painkillers. The recommended dose says that I can’t exceed 6 tabs of advil. I had taken six tabs before 8pm. I don’t dare take anymore since I am breasfeeding. I sit on the couch, look at my husband & cry. I tell him that I would rather be in labour. On Saturday I’m calling the BC Nurses Hotline to find out if I can exceed the recommended dose. What will it do to my milk? Will my infant be ok? Will I be ok? Is my infant niggly because his tummy is bothering him and is this because of the penicillin?

I am at the end of my rope and I don’t have the energy to tie a knot. Tired, worrying about what the hell is going on in my mouth. Burdened by the concern for Hamish as I pop painkillers and antibiotics. What if it doesn’t get better? The nurse told me to go to emergency if the antibiotics are not effective. How will I know? What if I have to be hospitalized? Can Hamish stay with me? Will I have to stop breastfeeding? I am riddled with questions and in the relatively pain free moments provided to me via a cocktail of Advil and Tylenol, I am building train track layouts for Corbin and reading him stories.

In these moments of sanity, I am even more aware of the difference between this infection and the one I had seven years ago – sans children. I am aware that I carry with me the blessing and burden of motherhood and that when small people rely on you, a tooth ache is never just a toothache.

*Written for my Momior writing course on November 2, 2008. Since writing this piece, I have had the nasty tooth (#26) removed. The Dentist assures me that the extraction and subsequent new tooth are not something the tooth-fairy will cover. So sad, too bad.

Dear Hamish,


Last night we sat on the couch from 8:00pm through to 10:30pm. Although you had eaten before your bath, you ate and ate and ate and ate. And then you ate some more with the same kind of frenzy that a survivor participant would exhibit at a buffet. When you were not eating you were crying. Convinced that something was wrong, your father and I tried to read your body language. Your feet were kicking angrily and you bucked and waved your clenched fists in the air. Suddenly, I was reminded of when your brother was your age. We were so helpless - wondering what the heck was going on with him when he was unhappy. It suddenly flooded back to me. Ah, yes babies have fussy times. The evening was Corbin's and it looks as though it is yours too. Your Dad was my trusty research assistant when your brother was a baby and last night as we calmly sat on the couch scratching our heads, the laptop came out and Dad was busy googling 'fussiness'. And then it was that we rediscovered Kellymom.com, the trusty website that had assisted us with many of our breast-feeding questions 2.5 years ago. Seeing the familiar logo made me feel instantly at ease. Your Dad read from the list of reasons for fussiness - a refresher course that led to our "Ah Ha!" moment: Growth Spurt.

You were cluster feeding and I had been commenting to both Auntie Naomi and Auntie Kim on how hungry and thirsty I had been feeling all day. Your Dad and I felt armed with information that would take us through the night. We felt justified that as parents of a newborn for the second time that we had the situation well in hand. I resigned myself to sitting on the couch with you for as long as it took to fill your tiny belly again and again and again. In a nutshell, we felt like experts.

As I nursed you and admired how your feet have finally started to reach the bottom of my favourite jammies, I marveled at how much you had already grown. I was sad to think that soon your feet will soon be straining against the soft cotton fabric. These jammies, my measuring tool to assess your life and growth will soon be traded up for a size 3-6 months. It happens so fast. I remain amazed at how you are able to lengthen and fill out simply by taking in milk that comes from me. I feel a sense of pride and accomplishment in being able to give this to you. And, while I am sad that the favourite jammies will one day no longer fit, I will happily pass them on to Auntie Roz who can put them on her own bean - a measuring tool for the your cousin who is right now growing in her tummy.

You are one month old today. You have been grunting and making faces at us to show that you are none too pleased with the whole digestive process and Auntie Naomi says you sometimes have a look on your face that says, "Damn It! This body is too small for me!" However, you are also starting to really notice the world. You know the sound of my voice, your Dad's voice and your brother's voice. When you are content, your lips purse in an "O" shape and your eyes are wide seeking new lines & shadows to study. You've smiled a few time out of pure gassiness, but on a couple of occasions your Dad and I are sure that you have given each of us an intentional gummy grin.

I will continue to give you milk and you will continue to grow. Your spirit will soon have more room in which to reside and I just know that we will be seeing more gummy grins in the near future.

Happy one month birthday, my sweet angel.

Love Mama.

This morning from 11:00am until 12:30pm, Corbin had his first musical theatre experience. Actually, it was his first time attending a live performance of any kind related to theatre. He hasn't even been to a movie theatre yet. No, it wasn't Shakespeare. But if I do say so myself the performers did a fantastic job. I don't think they should shy away from having this particular gig bolded on their resume. Thomas & Friends Live On Stage had a plot - though a bit difficult to follow given the echoey acoustics of the Save-On Foods Memorial Arena. Moreover, it was fun filled and packed full of cheerful Thomas songs, dancing and nearly life-sized prop trains that shunted their way across the stage. Of course, true to the theme and story line of the books, Thomas saves the day.

Originally, I purchased three tickets as Loch had agreed to come along. I knew we would need two adults since Hamish would be here by the time the trains were scheduled to arrive in Victoria. However, there came a day when I realized that I would have to fess up and confess to Loch that the show was indeed a musical. As I suspected, he immediately begged out. No problem. I asked Aunti Roz to come. I knew that she would delight in seeing Corbin's face throughout the show.

As it turns out, it's a great thing that Loch did not come. I loved it, but the almost drug hopped happiness of the performers and the cheerful thomas musical numbers would surely have turned his brains to mush and had them leaking out his ears. Corbin, on the other hand, found the whole performance to be mesmerizing. I wasn't sure if he would actually be attentive throughout the whole show and Roz and I had decided that if he was bored we would just check out early.

Bored? Absolutely not. While his good friend Lily went right up to the front where small people were allowed to gather and groove, Corbin insisted on staying in his seat. He watched the show with a studious intensity and responded when the show's players asked for audience participation. His eyebrows lifted and his lips curved up into a sweet smile when the trains came on stage. He was delighted by the sights and sounds.

The part I loved the best, though, was when he got off of his seat without saying a word to either Roz or myself and he walked down the short flight of stairs to get to the front of the stage. It seems he had tuned in to the fact that the show's final musical number had hit that highpoint that we recognize as the finale. He marched to a spot on the floor next to Lily, craned his head up and danced alongside his friend. The song ended with and explosion of streamers that arced over the heads the stage and streamed onto the dancing toddlers below. A pink one found it's resting place on Corbin's shoulders and he delighted in wrapping it around his neck and wearing it proudly out the door.

It was a fabulous way to spend a Saturday.



p.s. We didn't do a Halloween post, but here are some photos ...

Princess Lily and Prince Corbin


Prince Corbin, The Royal Lion Sophie, Princess Lily and The Royally Sleepy Lady Bug Hamish

Oh crap! Did I just pee myself? It’s 8:00am and I’m making a peanut butter sandwich for Corbin’s lunch. There it is again. The tiniest dribble into my pants. I’m sure I didn’t pee myself. Walking not running to the nearest bathroom, I trickle again. I retrieve a clean pair of underwear and rummage through the bathroom looking for a pad. Finding one that was issued by Atlantic Airlines last winter when we went to Hawaii, I fix myself up and go back to the lunch making. My husband, Loch, is getting Corbin dressed. I’m sure I didn’t pee myself and Roome2 is not due to arrive for over a week. I’ve only had one day of luxury pre-baby mat leave. I’m in a state of disbelief and still believe that I will make the 20 minute drive to the Canadian Superstore to do the hospital bag shopping. Do I say anything to Loch? I don’t want to alarm him. A larger amount of fluid leaks out.
“Um, sweetheart,” I say. Voice calm. “I think I’ve either peed my pants four times in the last 15minutes or I might possibly be leaking amniotic fluid.” The look on his face tells me he’s not quite ready to hear this. But, typical of my very quick to adjust and act husband, he is telling me that I’m not going to the Superstore, that I’m to go to Zellers which is 5minutes away and that I’m to go to my doctor’s office which is just across the street. This is a good plan.

At the doctor’s office I drop my pants and flood the floor with what I am now sure is amniotic fluid. The labour fairies have come early. They are armed with their dusters and other assorted cleaning implements and are waiting to work their magic.

Joy of Joys, I am strep B positive and so I need to go to the hospital to get antibiotics. Yes, I have time to go to Zellers she tells me. “Get your diapers and then go home, pack a bag and go straight to the hospital.”

At Zellers, I am anxious but composed. This baby is wonderfully healthy, but I’ve waited almost nine months to know the sex and now I’m about to find out. I’m vibrating with trepidation and excitement. Moving through the store calmly but erratically grabbing things off shelves. I seize two large packages of super pads with wings. I consider my options when I pass the depends. I pick up Epsom salts, witch hazel, pampers swaddlers for newborns, a soft blanket with patches of colour – pink, white, yellow & blue – good for a boy or a girl. I know I’m having a girl. I know because I know. The blue will match her eyes. Slippers, I need slippers. There’s been lots of leakage. Are the back of my pants wet? It takes me 10 minutes to pick out slippers. Why is it so difficult to find slippers when you are on the verge of labour? On the way to the till I impulsively snap up a new set of cutlery for Corbin. “He’ll love these, a Tow-mater fork and a Lightning McQueen spoon.” I make my way to the till. Oh Crap, the line-up is twelve people long. Apparently it’s a sale day. Of course, not on any of the items that are loaded up in my basket and tucked under my arm. I strike up a casual conversation with the woman behind me about the amount of time it will take to reach the till and the fact that my bag of waters has broken.

I’m through the till and gliding towards the exit. Is it senior’s day as well as being sale day? There are old slow people everywhere. A man and his walker cut me off. I’m trapped between the line-up for till number two and a display of cookies. I slow my pace and feel another surge of fluid fill what I’m sure is an already saturated pad.

I arrive home with a very large wet spot on the back of my pants.

We are back home after two trips to labour and delivery to receive antibiotics. I give my toddler a bath, read him a story, have a cuddle in the rocking chair and talk to him about his day. “What are you grateful for today, Corbin?” This question is part of our ritual. “Um … trains,” he says and smiles. I tell him that I’m grateful that our new baby is big enough to be born. I ask him if he is ready to meet the new baby. He says yes. He whispers into my belly “I’m ready to meet you” and plants a kiss on my belly button. I tuck him in and Loch and I drive back to the hospital for a long night of induction, nitrous oxide, fentinal & eventually an epidural.

I lay awake all night watching the clock between contractions. I have sent Loch home to sleep until I really need him. My nurse, Diane, keeps vigil over me. When I need to, I rest. When I cannot we talk about life, children & home renovations. We hear but don’t comment on the screaming down the hall. Someone else is in transition. We hear the newborn cry. A new mother’s pain is blissfully over and, yet, also just beginning. I watch the clock – 11:30pm, midnight, 1:30am, 3:00am – at just after 4am I call Loch and tell him to come back to the hospital. I labour all night and then at 11:11am on the 11the day of the 10th month, I give birth to my second child.

In the moment that the baby slides out of my body and is flipped around by my doctor, I see that my baby – the one I was sure was a girl is not. The moment is surreal. I am in disbelief. But, somehow my mind has a single thought that I will forever be grateful for. Corbin is going to love having a brother. My newborn is on my chest covered in vernix and already rooting for food. I cry tears of joy, relief and amazement.

The labour fairies have been circling now for hours. Hamish and I are cleaned up and with that first feeding after the epidural has worn off, I can feel them at work. With each contraction, I can feel my uterus diminishing from its watermelon vastness back to its original chestnut size. I am alone in a newly decorated private room at VGH. The walls are a warm and cozy mocha colour. I think to myself that I’ve slept in worse hotels. With each contraction I feel the remains of the home I built for my son to grow in shrink. With each contraction I grieve. I feel what is left over seep out of my body and my heart is heavy. This is my last time. I had a glorious pregnancy – so comfortable. This baby, my Hamish, felt so right in my body like he was made to live in me. I look down at his very wonderful features. I take him in completely. The sweet smell of his skin, the lovely curve of his lips as he suckles his first food. I am in love all over again. There is no denying that I want him, that he belongs to me, that he was sent to me and that he is my angel baby. But, as I think this I am also crying tears of grief, of loss for something I never had, something I never will have, something I thought was mine. It makes no sense to me - this duality. This feeling that I am completely filled by the arrival of this small human and yet am so devastated by the fact that I will never experience the unique, spectacular and often troubled bond that exists between mother and daughter. It is thanksgiving weekend and I am so wonderfully grateful for all that I have. And yet, I am also left with longing.

A few days later I am in Old Navy looking for a Halloween onsie for Hamish. I chat casually with another mother. We compare notes and joys as mothers do. She says she has a daughter at home. That she has both her girl and her boy and that her family is complete. My heart feels cloggy and sullen. Does this mean that my family is not complete? I force myself not to look at the newborn baby girl clothes.

Later that evening, Loch, Corbin, Hamish and I make our way to the polling station to vote in the federal election. On our way home, the sun is setting. It is an amazing autumn evening. The light is both warm and soft haloing the heads of my son and husband who walk ahead of me. I look down at my bundled Hamish and I am in a state of grace. I know instinctively that the grief I harbour for the daughter I will never have is diminishing and that my family is utterly complete.

Written for the Momoir Project Writing Class on Saturday October 10, 2008