Mama-made kerchief bib

When I was pregnant, I collected fat quarters of material in the hopes of making a quilt for "the baby." Then "the baby" came and I was really busy, and all the material I had collected got packed away. Now that Owen is more independent and I sleep more, I dug out my sewing machine and all the fabric. I am not a great sewer. I've only ever made one shirt and a bunch of random stuff. I prefer to just jump in to a project and learn along the way, so unlike me for other things, but there's something about sewing that I just can't get my mind around from reading about it and looking at pictures. I have to do it and see my mistakes in order to ameliorate it for next time.

This kerchief bib was easy to make and I can't wait to make more for Owen with some of the great fabric (Liberty of London) I have tucked away.

Got Milk?

Owen turned 8 months old last week (!) and has been sleeping much better, big long stretches of hours and hours, so much so that when Adam and I wake up in the morning, we have no idea whether we got up with him in the middle of the night or not, leading us to believe that our dear Odie is sleeping from 7 until 5am. He also has two new teeth, smackdab in the middle of the lower half of his mouth. Despite these teeth, I have yet to feel them when I'm nursing, which brings me to the first and only time I'm going to write about breastfeeding.

I'm still taken aback when strangers straight out ask me if I'm still breastfeeding. I mean, I am, but it still bugs me. I'm not a prude, far from it. But I just don't get why so many women (don't even GET me started on the men who ask) feel that it's okay to ask this question. What would they do or say if I said no?

What has always been important to me is that Owen is fed. Filled to the gills. Stuffed. And by the looks of him, he has always been fed, filled to the gills, and stuffed. And while I am amazed that it's my BODY that has contributed to his growth, I certainly don't feel that I'm better than other mums who can't or won't nurse. I'm an opinionated gal. Pretty much all of my thoughts are black or white, although I am fully aware of the grey. I thought for sure that this way of thinking would be even more pronounced as a mum, but I have surprised myself. I am of the mind that whatever works for YOUR FAMILY is the best way. I don't care what or how you feed your kid. I don't care how the kid gets fed. Is the kid fed? Great. That's all I care about. Which brings me to the reason why I'm writing.

At the beginning of my mumhood, I had no idea that my baby would want to nurse all the time, almost every hour. I felt like a cow in jail. I was basically glued to the couch, remote control in one hand, glass of water in the other, and receiving blankets close at hand. As Owen has grown and grown and grown (close to 23 lbs now, long and leaning out!), he has decided that he wants to eat more solids, nurse less, and do more on his own. His parents are independent thinkers, why shouldn't he be? So over the last month, he has been having a bottle of formula (haters start hating) twice a day and nursed first thing in the morning and in the afternoon. Nursing him has become more and more of a challenge. He's heavy. He's squirmy. He spits milk because he thinks it's funny. He pulls my hair. He pulls off to look around the room or to try to crawl away. None of that really bothers me. Heck, I signed up for this gig. If we miss the afternoon nursing snack, he's not bothered, neither am I. But today at lunch, he took the bottle out of my hands and fed himself. I just kind of let him, and my heart broke.

I've kind of realized that this part of our relationship is coming to an end, although I complained about having to be available for Owen's "on tap" milk habit. I was lucky not to have had any problems nursing. So to see my little guy growing and asserting his independence makes me proud but a little sad. I'll miss our quiet moments together, but these moments will soon be replaced with other special moments, like the first time I really think he has purposely grabbed my hand, or kissed me, or called me Mummy. I can't wait for those moments to come.

Loving Life

I haven't been updating here as much as I have in the past for the simple reason that I am spending my time enjoying my life with my family. Owen is an absolute joy, and my heart bursts to think of him. We spend our days playing, napping, going for walks, visiting friends and family. I will be very sad when my mat leave comes to an end, but am looking forward to a return to the working world in a way. Instead of documenting each and every little moment, I am taking mental pictures instead of rushing to grab the camera. I love my life.

First Father's Day

A nature trek in Capilano River Regional Park, followed by an early dinner at the Tomahawk.

Happy Father's Day, Dada!

Happy Father's Day, Dada! Thank you for everything you do for mummy and me! xoxo Owen

A Succulent Saturday

Mummy and daddy took me to a Succulent Show at Van Dusen Gardens this afternoon after my big nap. We saw lots of flowering cacti and prickly stuff (don't worry, I didn't touch anything!).


Today was the first really warm day all summer, so I busted out (not busted out of) my shorts.

Mummy is a nerd and was really excited to have her photo taken with the cacti in the background. Daddy, as always, obliged.

And then I relaxed on the way home in my new car seat and read a good book.

A Tour

Come on in!

Shut the door and hang up your coat...

Take a gander around...

Turn on the light...

See the owl?

Always remember this! We placed it over Owen's crib so he never forgets!

Choose a book to read and stay awhile!

Do You Remember the First Time?

Last night, Owen slept from 7:30pm until 5am. After a quick diaper change, a snuggle, and song, he was fast asleep again until 8am. No wakeups. No feedings. No crying. Nothing. I'm not boasting or jinxing it, just amazed!

Double Duty

I am on double duty for the weekend. Adam is a bit dozy, having had all FOUR wisdom teeth extracted this morning. He can't lift anything heavy for three days (definitely rules out picking up the kid) and needs lots of rest. Thus, this mama is taking care of two man babies (men babies?).

I've got one on the couch with easy access to a table of fun (new Esquire mag, TV remote, gauze, water, Vaseline for dry lips, and a book) and the other napping in his crib at the moment. Guess which is which!

In between I've managed to dash out to grab some groceries (it's a lot easier shopping for two without the ability to chew), make Owen some food for the week (pureed spinach and salmon), sweep, laundry, and general cleanup.

It's amazing what one can do when one must!

Ba Da Dee Bee

No real words, and certainly no sentences yet, but Owen has started to make different sounds: "da", "ba", "dee", "bee", and "innnnnng" when he is frustrated. Grandma and Pep Pep are convinced he said "daddy" a few weeks ago.

Owen is also becoming a master spit-bubble blower and drool master.

Say, Say My Playmate

Sometimes I'll be sitting on the floor of Owen's bedroom playing with him when a song or rhyme I haven't heard since I was teeny tiny pops into my head, something like this:

Say, say, oh playmate,
Come out and play with me.
Bring out your dollies three.
Climb up my apple tree.
Slide down my rainbow
Into my cellar door.
And we'll be jolly friends
Forevermore, one two three four!

And I'm convinced it's my great-Auntie Mary joining in on the fun with Owen and me.



We always called her Auntie Mary, but she was really our third grandma. We were very lucky. She was an integral part of my life, introducing me to the joys of dunking cookies in coffee with cream, kooky fashions, rhymes, and the ever-important card games of Uno and Gin Rummy.

She died a month or so after Owen was born and never had the chance to meet him, but she had his photo pasted at the foot of her bed.

I miss her.