I told myself when I became a Mom that I wouldn’t give my child a ridiculous nickname.

I’ve been calling her Beeboo ever since my friend Mel said something along those lines about 3 months ago; “I have a gift for your beebu.”

For every 27th time that I call Sadie ‘Beeboo’, I make sure to throw in an exaggerated ‘Hi, Saaaaadie!’ just in case, but I’m fairly certain she thinks her name is Beeboo.

I told myself when I became a Mom that I wouldn’t fill my social media feed with pictures of my child. But it’s all I do now.

I even took it a step further and started this Mommy blog. It wasn’t enough to inundate my FB feed with baby love, so, I, in all of my less than a week of parenting, had to start a Mommy blog. Like having one baby for less than 7 days made me qualified. Ha.

But I promised myself that I would still maintain some air of ‘cool’- that my social media would have other content- not just pictures of my baby’s face doing cute things.

But I just looked at my Instagram to confirm or deny these fears- and the percentage of Sadie photos to Anything else is about 98 to 2.


I told myself when I became a Mom that I wouldn’t only talk about my child. That I would remain dynamic and fun, and that my child-free girlfriends could still talk to me reciprocally about all sorts of topics.

My sister was on the phone with me the other day, telling me how cool the Edmonton Folk Festival was, and I listened to all of her adventures from the weekend and was like: “That’s so cool! Sadie is sitting up like a big girl right now!!” Fuck.

So much for staying ‘hip’.

I told myself when I became a Mom that I would take care of my weight and make sure to eat healthy and exercise.

I lost so much weight so quickly when my milk came in that I started charging house guests a visiting tax in the form of Lindt chocolate balls, and I’ve pretty much been on the ‘let’s eat garbage’ train ever since.

Ryan is away this week for work so I pulled out my old bachelorette trick of eating butter-and-cheese-covered noodles right out of the pot with a spoon while watching old-ass episodes of Law and Order. I topped ‘dinner’ off with giant chunks that I carved out of my freshly made pan of peanut butter and marshmallow squares.

At Walmart tonight on a diaper run, I felt something wiggling behind me and I realized it was the floppy remnants of my sad ass. Since becoming a Mom, my ass has slid down and become part of my legs. The fat doesn’t bubble outward like a juicy Kardashian butt- that would be nice- but more so just flubbles around my upper thighs, flatly, reminding me that peanut butter marshmallows shouldn’t be readily available in anyone’s home.

I told myself when I became a Mom that I wouldn’t co-sleep. But every morning when she cries for her 4 or 5 or 6 am feed, I bring her into our bedroom from the crib and feed her and then stuff her into my armpit and sleep for another few hours. It’s one of my favourite parts of the day- her gazing up at me, and us wrapped into each other like little and bigger versions of each other.

Daddy is on a business trip right now so I dragged my old pregnancy pillow into our bed and rigged her up in it so that I’m not directly snuggling her all night long, but she’s still right beside me, where I want her- not in her crib, so far away from me. And by far, I mean 15 feet.

It’s everything I can do to resist the urge not to try and hold her hand while I sleep. Or mash my face into hers just to hear her breathe.

So much for not co-sleeping.

There are so many things I can think of that I told myself I would never do, but I gotta say- I Love breaking every single one of these promises to myself.

That saying that people are the best parents until they have children is so true, and it’s only just the beginning for us. Wait til we get to the fun parts! Discipline! Bedtimes! Clean up! Sharing! All the things I think now that I wouldn’t do- I’ll likely do them too.

Yell at my child. Let her have an iPad before the age of 5. Say ‘screw bedtime, let her stay up.’ Clean her mess up for her, a million times.

But for now- there’s no shame in me and my dumpy little butt and my Beeboo snoring beside me in bed like a little bulldog. I wouldn’t have it any other way.


I Hate(d) My Baby

July 24, 2019 — Leave a comment

I had my first ‘I hate my baby’ moment the other day.

I had heard of them. I knew they could happen.

But to other people.

Not me.

My Sadie is so perfect; so easy, so wonderful, so loved- that I could Never hate her. Even for a second.

And then, this past Saturday, I bundled up Sadie around 4:00 pm and took my mom to the airport for her flight back to Ontario.

The airport was hectic. It was supposed to be a quick stop and drop. But my mom’s luggage was overweight (because cramming over 23 KILOGRAMS of clothing into a suitcase is way too easy for my mom), and we had to take 12 POUNDS of clothing out at the airport for Mom to avoid a $100 overweight luggage charge. There was also a typo on her ordered ticket versus her printed ticket, and we had to get that cleared up. While we were fixing NayNay’s issues and slamming 12 pounds of clothes into the bottom of Sadie’s stroller for safekeeping, Sadie started to fuss. A light fuss. A fuss that sounded like ‘I’m hungry’, even though she had eaten just before we’d left for the airport.

I hadn’t accounted for this- I hadn’t packed an extra bottle. I should have, but I had other things on my mind, like parting with my Mom and making sure she got to her flight on time.

By the time Mom was safely on her flight, I was buckling Sadie into her car seat. She was fussing a bit more now, but not terribly.

I got on the road. Deerfoot normally calms her down when she’s fussing.

On this day, while I was feeling very sad about my mom leaving, and a little haggard from the airport experience, the sweet, calming chaos of Deerfoot at 110 km/h did Nothing for my girl.

Her fussing turned to screaming.

The screaming was incessant. Loud. Angry. Raging. Painful.


I was trying to get her home; get her in my arms, get a bottle in her mouth.

I tried ignoring the screams. Focus on traffic.

The screams got louder. She sounded So, So angry.

I could hear her uvula just flailing around in her throat- I’ve never heard her make noises like that.

I felt angry. I felt annoyed that I had a job to do- get us home safely- and that she wouldn’t stop screaming.

I was angry at myself that I didn’t bring a bottle.

I was sad that my mom had left and that I couldn’t even feel my feelings because Sadie wouldn’t let me.

The screaming got louder.

I was So Close to home, but I couldn’t take it anymore.

I took an overpass, found the first dirt road I could, pulled over, put my hazards on, and hopped in the back with my girl.

While I was driving, I had been mad at her. I had- for a moment- ‘hated’ her.

But as soon as I got into the backseat and looked at her angry, beet-red little face, pink toothless gums, open maw, little blonde hair covered in sweat from the exertion of her screaming, I crumpled.

I just thought ‘you poor, sweet, sweet little thing. You have feelings too. And you feel all of my feelings. You could know that I’m sad that my mom just left. You could be sad too. You could be hungry. You could have gas. You could just need a hug. There could be So many reasons that you are sad, and you depend on me to know them all- and to fix them all- for you.’

And I scooped her out of her car seat, held her to my chest and started to cry too.

She needs me more than anyone in the world and she trusts me to help take care of her feelings.

There’s been a few moments since her birth where time has felt like it’s stopped, and this was one of them.

While I kissed her forehead and held her tight to my chest, I memorized every single detail of that moment.

The weight of her little body against mine, the curve of my wrist that supported her bottom against my tummy, her one hand tucked into her chest against mine, and the clammy, fingers-spread-open relaxed and tiny hand of a girl who had finally unclenched it because her mom had pulled over, forgot about her own agenda, took her in her arms and comforted her.

I cried full-hearted and happy tears that this person trusts me to hold her and to comfort her. To know what she needs and then to meet those needs.

I cried at the magnitude of it; that this little person cannot walk or talk or meet any of her own basic needs, and that I get to be her Mom, and then I cried for all the babies that cry and don’t have mothers who can scoop them up in their arms.

And then I cried because Sadie is only three months old right now, and there will be a day someday down the line, where she’s let’s say, 14 years old, and she Can talk, and she Can walk, and she Can meet all of her own basic needs- and I hope so fervently that even then- when she has a bad day, has a mean friend, fails a test, feels not enough- I hope that even then, she will crawl into my arms for comfort.

I will Always keep a hug for her ready in my arms.