Age of Id

Only after the ink had dried on Thing 2's birth certificate was it pointed out to us that we had unwittingly given both of our daughters names from the phoenetic alphabet. This was completely unintentional on our part but I like the feel of it; individuals that are part of a larger set. Hubby likes the finality of it. There are no more girls names to be had in the phoenetic alphabet unless one runs to weirdo, flaky celebrity baby names (no offence intended to any readers who may have named their girls Foxtrot or Golf... though I suppose India has potential so perhaps I am being too narrow minded). I guess I have de-facto given away the names of Thing 1 and Thing 2 but I have, over the years, come to feel pretty safe among my tens of readers.

Siblings share, on average, 25% of their DNA. The sharing of DNA between parent and child is fixed at exactly 50% (yes, we are doomed to become our mothers and fathers) however siblings can vary theoretically from 0 - 50% shared DNA bc the DNA a sib inherits from parent is random. With Thing 2 still being so young it is difficult to know how similar in temperament she will be to Thing 1 though photographic evidence shows that they are very clearly related:

Maybe this is the expression shared by all babies when they are plucked from the warm, whooshy womb and dumped on the cold stainless steel scale:

 

I call this one "She has more hair, I have more chins but we share the same straight jacket":

 

 

Not really pertinent, just a gratuitous inclusion of this picture (hint: the bald ones aren't real):

 

 

 

But I sit on the edge of my seat wondering if Thing 2's toddlerhood will resemble Thing 1's. Time for the standard parental disclaimer: I love my child blah blah blah, best thing that ever happened to me blah blah blah, wouldn't change anything for the world blah blah blah (ok yes, I actually do mean these things but OMIGOD do parents realize how overplayed they sound when they preface their complaints with The Disclaimer??). So, that probably makes it somewhat obvious that I find myself struggling with toddlerhood. And by struggling I mean morphing into a yelling, impatient, red-faced, strident, irritating monsther (cross between mother and monster).

Back when Thing 1 was a smiley, drooling infant I decided to get ahead of the curve and started reading "The Happiest Toddler on the Block" by "the brilliant" Dr. Karp (really, he's brilliant, there are pages and pages and pages of anecdotes talking about how brilliant he is... in fact if you skip the "I'm brilliant" content the book shrinks from about 300 pages to 10 pages of rather good advice). He advocates child rearing approaches based on the toddler's particular temperament and neatly divides toddler temperaments into three broad categories: shy, easy and spirited. Unsure as to what temperament your child has, just do this simple test. Go to a crowded mall and let go of your child's hand and pretend you are not paying attention. The easy toddler will hang out near you, the shy toddler will cling to your leg and hide his face and the spirited toddler will be gone in a flash. I remember looking at my still immobile, speechless infant wondering what flavour I had. By the time Thing 1 was mobile enough to run the test, it was a moot point given that I spent most of my days 10 feet behind her fast retreating behind yelling and pleading and cajoling and generally being thankful I am a fit runner.

So we have without a doubt a spirited toddler, spirited being a highly euphemistic term. I struggle with the 30 pounds of id that IS Thing 1. (As as aside, I stole the "30 pounds of id" line from this article which, if you have ever had to fly with a toddler you MUST read because it is pee your pants hilarious). I do realize that my impatience and frustration with the id-ness of Thing 1 is really a reflection on ME and not at all on her... she is exactly what toddlers are supposed to be: self-centered, limit-testing, danger-seeking, noise-making agents of chaos. Toddlers can be thought of as sub-civilized aliens... they have a code but it is not one that is generally appreciated by the rest of society. The role of parent is to be the toddler's ambassador to the world. Parents exist to act as buffer between the toddler's frustrations and the world and the world's annoyance and the toddler. I know this. Things with Thing 1 are exactly as they are supposed to be but OH do I find it frustrating.

Frustrating that she has twenty thousand toys (give or take) but if Thing 2 receives one toy she must immediately claim and monopolize it because she must have All Of The Things All Of The Time. Frustrating that we can spend the whole morning pleasing her with trips to the park, loads of focussed attention, little treats but she cannot let us have five minutes to listen to a song we want to hear because "Moi aime PAS ca" and if MOI doesn't like a certain thing than that thing MUST cease to exist. Frustrating that we cajole her to try to go to the bathroom and she adamantly refuses, throws a temper tantrum telling us "Moi n'as PAS de pipi" and then she goes and pees in the bouncy castle causing it to be shut down for cleaning for the next hour (And yes, I offered to clean it and was refused given instead the humiliating job of guarding the entrance and turning everyone away. And since when did "it's closed" become not enough information??? I swear every toddler jonesing for the bouncy castle AND their parent NEEDED to know WHY). Frustrating that she cannot share with anyone, ever... not even say a seat on the bus with me... kind random dude gives up his seat, Thing 1 takes it, won't move over to share and mom is left hanging onto the pole with one pinky while trying desperately to keep Thing 2, stroller and daycare bag from poking people's vital organs.

And I say all of this is normal but a small part of me wonders as I guess ultimately all parents do... IS this normal? Parents OWE it to society to raise conscientious, thoughtful, confident, polite children. It is against all of our interests to have entitled, spoiled brats roaming around because although it may be normal at age 3, it starts to wear thin when the same behaviour is exhibited in say the workplace. So like all parents I want to release a kind, thoughtful person upon the world not only because it is my duty to society and but because kind, thoughtful people are happier than spoiled brats and more than anything else, parents want happiness for their children. And I am trying... but at age 3, the age of ID it is so hard to see around the corner and know if things are going to turn out okay. And in case it isn't obvious... I welcome the chorus of "it's normal" and "listen to what my child does"... please tell me I am not alone.

All the gifts that are granted

This post could more accurately be titled "Squeaker at Six Months" since that is the ground breaking topic I would like to address today but I wanted a post title to book-end the rather whiny post I wrote last time.

So Miss Baby of Many Names has lived outside the womb for 6 months tomorrow. During her short six months she has gone through many names: Squeaker - which was phased out when her vocalizations could no longer accurately be characterized as Squeaks. Question Mark - because really who is this little, toothless person who is suddenly sharing our house? Confusion - a companion name to Chaos which her older sister was branded as in, you got it, Chaos and Confusion. Thing 2 - a la Dr. Seuss, should require no explanation, and yes, her sister was branded Thing 1. Finally Loopa which is the current nom de plume she uses.

Th progress she has made is clearly illustrated in the monthly photos featuring baby and perspective-giving wine bottle:

Month 1 - slightly afraid of the wine bottle

 



 

Month 2 - fairly zen about the wine bottle

 

 

Month 3 - temporary switch to port when mom & dad had a fun evening and forgot to replenish the supply.

 

 

Month 4 - Oh, those thighs.... they're so delicious.

 

 

Month 5 - Me likey the bottle of wine.

 

 

Month 6 - no longer a fall down drunk.

 

 

 

Currently Thing 2's bag of tricks consists of sitting upright, rocking back and forth on all fours, locomoting...somehow. I am really not sure how she is doing it because she isn't crawling yet though she spends a lot of time on all fours and, strangely, in the plank position, yet I put her down in a spot and before long she is making a suicide run for the edge of the bed. She is adept at hair pulling, pinching, cooing and other vocalizations. Other vocalizations... when she is pissed she sounds remarkably like gollum only less intelligible. She growls something to the effect of: "awwwwrrrrrarrrrraawwwwawwwwaarrrr" and my sleep deprived brain imagines she is saying: "a curse be upon you! You who woke me up and is slow with the milkers... your crops will wither... the fields will lie fallow...the plagues will descend." Hmmm but maybe that's just my imagination :)

 

She is absolutely desparate to eat. I am getting to the point where I cannot eat in front of her, partially from the guilt as her eyes track my every bite from plate to mouth and partly because of the interference. When she sits in my lap at mealtime she will grab my fork on its way to my mouth and re-direct towards hers. The guilt... Ohhh the guilt. Her older sister meanwhile, not having yet developed a sense of guilt, will cheerfully make a list of all the things that Thing 2 is not allowed to eat (that would be everything not falling into the mush food group). We have started feeding her; it is a two spoon job. Much like a dog who will not relinquish his ball until it is replaced with another, she grasps her spoon in a death grip long after it is empty until another spoon is offered. At this point I would say the absorption rate when feeding is about 15%.

 

Thing 2 is not interested in a pacifier for which we are extremely grateful still being in the position of trying to wean Thing 1 from hers... at age 3! On the other hand, in the great tradition of the Toothless People, she is not adverse to having all manner of Dangerous Object in her mouth. Despite the $30 Sofia the Giraffe I recently purchased specifically for teething (yup, that would be thirty dollars for a plastic giraffe and despite the sales clerk's earnest assurance that the rubber was "all natural" - (what rubber ISN'T all natural anyway??) I am starting to question the sanity of spending $30 on a lump of rubber. Chalk it up to another moronic purchase made while sleep deprived), her taste runs to remote controls, telephones and dirty socks.

 

Yeah, Sofia is okay. But not as good to chew on as a mom's finger or a battery.

 

 

 

 

Luckily for us she is still lacking object permanence so when she does Houdini her way past all the obstacles and reach the dangerous Object of Desire we can whisk it out of her hand and she simply assumes it doesn't exist anymore so... no complaints. Similarly there have been no complaints the few times I have left her with other people. At this stage it seems that any warm, friendly set of arms will do and if the milkers aren't available than a bottle is just fine. Then again perhaps any warm set of arms is a welcome change from Cranky Mom.

 

So as was the case with Thing 1, Thing 2 must sneak downstairs in the middle of the night and read our well worn copy of "What to Expect in the First Year" because she is nailing all her milestones with military precision. Rolling, cooing, crawling, teething and yes, learning to drive:

 

 

 

And, of course to ride a giant blue dog:

 

 

 

 



 

 

All that you leave behind

I'm always surprised when people say, about having children, that they didn't realize how much their lives would change. Maybe it's because I was so uncertain for so very long about whether I wanted to have children that I spent ample time, too much time in fact pondering what life would be like if/when/once I had children. I tried to visualize in great detail the sacrifices, the sleep deprivation, the love, the responsibility... the responsibility... the unrelenting, never ending responsibility  (she types as her infant squirms next to her swallowing tissue after tissue from a box). I had children late, after probably almost a decade of fairly serious contemplation, periods of ambivalence, moments of paralyzing fear that all melted unambiguously into a deep, inexplicable yearning. But my point is, I had thought about it. Oh had I thought about it and as a result, I was not surprised by how much my life changed. It was and is as I expected.

Sacrifice, even the most uninitiated among us, knows sacrifice comes part and parcel with parenthood. We all leave things behind. And parents wind up missing the obvious and the more obscure. One of my friends who gave birth vaginally twice once told me, in the most mournful tone imagine-able, that she leaks urine whenever she laughs or coughs despite dozens of daily kegels. "I used to be able to stop the flow on a dime! On a dime!" she lamented. Others mourn the loss of a regular sex life. In a book once lent to me (unsolicited) parents were interviewed loosely on the topic of parenting and sacrifice, one of the fathers said: "It's never having sex anymore that gets me. I can handle everything else, the shitty diapers, the lack of sleep, never having time to myself, being broke but I cannot, CANNOT handle not having regular sex." I know tons of parents who mourn the loss of time to exercise. Others still just miss something as simple as going to the bathroom alone or being able to fly with carry on luggage only.

For me it is hands down, without question, the sleep deprivation. I expected it. Visualized it. And in the end, it is every bit as terrible as I feared and expecting it does not make it any less dreadful. I cannot handle the not sleeping. I prioritize sleep. Fantasize about it. Strategize over how to get some. I probably put as much thought and effort into getting sleep as a crackhead does over getting his fix. Still it eludes me. Is ripped away from me. Is denied to me. And I hate it. A few weeks ago I heard about Ca.sey An.thon.y for the first time. If you are living as much under a rock as I am, you can google it. There are tons of things to despise about this woman not the least of which is that she allegedly used to chloroform her baby so that she could go out clubbing with the assurance that her baby would not wake up while she was gone. After I got past the initial horror and disgust... I actually started fantasizing about using some chloroform, let me make this crystal clear, NOT ON MY KIDS... I fantasized about using chloroform on myself so I could finally, finally get some uninterrupted sleep. I'm joking, though not by much. I also regularly fantasize about needing surgery with a general anesthetic or having a condition that requires me to be placed into a medically induced comma. I'm not trying to escape my life... I just want 10-12 hours of uninterrupted unconsciousness.

Race Report: On the steep part of the curve

Quick report for those not interested in wading through my verbiage to get the scoop:
18:09! (18 second improvement over last race). 5th woman.

So people say that 5 months post partum is a key time for feeling back to normal, losing weight, improving running performance and all of this has been true for me. My weight is down to 58 kg which I attribute to Squeaker's intense nutritional demands. We are probably at the peak right now of her caloric demands from me bc soon she will be starting on solids and then it won't be all on me. Training wise, everything is just clicking. I am making improvements in my interval times that cannot be attributed to just getting fitter. I feel that my body is re-shaping itself and "remembering" how things used to be. That combined with some core work and some speed work allowed me to step it up on race day.

Watching youtube videos of some of M.o Fa.rah's distance track races was the other crucial aspect to yesterday's success. I found excellent youtube videos of his 2011 world championship races over 10,000 and 5,000 m. So first off, watching these videos allowed me to figure out where SteveQ's briefly lived blog header photo came from (such a great picture that was, I was sorry to see it go). It was M.o Far.ah crossing the finish line of the 5,000 in Deagu and now I understand the expression on his face... he wasn't saying "Oh, no, I didn't!"... he was raising his hands to his lips to blow a kiss. Anyhow the real benefit of watching these videos was it got me to thinking about how hard a runner can kick at the end of a 5 or 10,000 m race.
[Aside:, the other youtube video I found yesterday was of Nat.al.ia Rod.rig.uez winning 200.9 Wo.rld Champio.nships 1500 m and then being rightly disqualified for the most egregious display of interference I have ever seen, she basically shoves Bu.rka to the track as she tries to get by on the inside when there is clearly not enough room and then has the nerve to go up and kiss her afterwards... WTF?]

So anyway there I was having gone through the first 4 km in 3:36, 3:43, 3:37, 3:40. I had one km left to go, was feeling pretty sorry for myself, thinking about jogging it in. There were 3 women visible in front of me. I knew I should care bc passing them would make a huge difference in my series standing but I was feeling the effects of having gone through 3 km in 10:57, 4 km in 14:38 and thinking 'even if I jog this in in 4 minutes, I will still run 18:38 and that's a solid time'. Then I thought about how 4 people had really been put out so that I could have the chance to run this race and I better finish it in good faith putting my best effort forward.

I got to 400 m to go and thought of those M.o Fa.rah videos and thought: it IS possible to run a really fast quarter after after running 4.6 km at 5 km pace because sprinting taxes a different physiologic system. My aerobic system might be completely taxed but I can run the last 400 m anaerobically so my aerobic fatigue is COMPLETELY IRRLEVANT bc I am not going to use the part of me that is tired. So I squeezed out a 78 second last quarter at the end of a 5 km and passed 2 out of the 3 women. Now somehow I think my logic is somewhat flawed, the pace at which one has run the first 4..6 km must have some bearing on one's ability to kick at the end of a 5 km but as long as the runner has kept things aerobic up to that point, they should be relatively independent (true or false steve?). Certainly as I kicked in that 400 m I felt like I was taxing myself in a completely different way. (btw M.o Fa.rah ran his later quarter of the 5000 m at World Champs in 53 seconds).

Race Report: Running to my fitness

Long story short, I finally ran to my level of fitness or at least my fabulous Lulu Lemon shorts did and carried me along for the ride. The shorts and I crossed the line in 18:27 after running: 3:38, 3:43, 3:43, 3:47, 3:36. It hurt. It was hard. But it felt so, so good.

I'll save you the excruciatingly boring details of complicated race day logistics because everyone, parents and otherwise, have complicated stuff going on. But I will say, getting to the start line this morning was especially challenging and, indeed, very much in doubt until about 5 minutes before the race. My warm-up was far from ideal and happened long before the race to accommodate La Cocotte's 1 km race (8:55 !!). Then there was last minute nursing and escaping toddlers and, oh yes, I said I'd spare you. I was standing near the start line trying to decide whether to race (because it seemed like it was not going to be an easy 19 minutes for hubby) when the organizers started announcing the elites. They brought them out one by one. Clearly they had warmed up properly and were focused. They got to start at the front of the pack. They were mostly women with whom I race all the time, sometimes I beat them, sometimes they beat me. But today the focus was on them. I was just the random mom seemingly on the sidelines who was still nursing seconds before the start, had carried her toddler during the 1 km, and who appeared frazzled.

It hit me. I run better this way. I run better unnoticed. As soon as I have any sort of attention or pressure, sadly, I choke. I was never a championship runner in university. I was a great time trial runner. I have been one of those elite, invited athletes with the free entry and introduction and inevitably I run far slower than the times I ran previously which garnered me the invitation in the first place. I don't run well when things are perfect. When I have the perfect sleep, the perfect warm-up, the perfect conditions... choke. Give me complicated logistics and obscurity and I will shine. Today I beat all of the elites except one. I am sure I would have had a very different outcome had a been one of them. So I`ll pay the expensive entry fee (it`s peanuts compared to what I paid for the Lulu Lemon shorts anyway). It`s well worth it to finally break 18:30 again.

Why I can break 19:00 this week-end revisited

I do have other things going on in my life besides running but their either fall into the category of things-that-shall-not-be-blogged-about or I lack the eloquence to do justice to the topic so here we go... another self indulgent post on running.

Why I can break 19:00:

-I am running 3:45/km repeats effortlessly. Seriously, EFFORTLESSLY and while this could be that the treadmill I am running on at the YMCA is mis-calibrated, I do have the incline at 2% to compensate. Hmmm 3:45/km at 2%, yup, definitely mis-calibrated. Whatever. I am definitely fitter than before.

-I FINALLY broke 60! 60 kilos that is... wow, took me so much longer to get back down to my pre-pregnancy weight this time. In fact, I am not there yet but I am finally under 60 Kg, 59.6 kg to be exact and, in the strangest mixing of imperial and metric ever, 2 pounds to go to my pre-pregnancy weight. (Aside: there was one day a few weeks ago when I weighed in at 60.0 kg, La cocotte weighed in at 12.0 kg and Squeaker weighed in at 6.0 kg. Being the numbers geek that i am, I found it intrinsically pleasing that I was 5X the weight of the big one, 10X the weight of the small one and the big one was double the small one.

-I have actually been doing a small amount of core strengthening.

-I am going to be smart this time. I will NOT, NOT, NOT go through 2 km faster than 7:36. If I feel good at that point I will GRADUALLY pick it up. 16:30 into the race I will put the hammer down and give it everything I've got. Maybe not the best strategy for running the fastest possible race but hopefully a guaranteed sub-19.

-It's 84 seconds slower than my lifetime best. Come on! Surely I am fit to within 84 seconds of my personal best??

-Secret weapon. Ok, this is going to sound really superficial, but that's only because it IS really superficial. I went into Lulu Lemon this week. This is significant because I have long harbored a ridiculous snobbishness towards the Lemon. Their clothing, I decided, was not worn by serious athletes. Everyone knows that serious athletes don't wear trendy clothes. Serious athletes wear super ugly, beat up running shorts that have seen thousands of miles and clash with their shorts and shoes. I have since read the blogs of two women (here and here), both of whom faster than me, who are Lemon wearers which was the end of that snobbish notion of mine. So, with the phrase "Lulu Lemon craps suburban mom money" (credit Angela) echoing in my ears, I went in and tried on a pair of shorts. Oh...my...god. It was trans-formative. In an instant I went from feeling chubby and post-partumy to feeling thin, fit and, I'll say it, sexy. Clothing, athletic and otherwise, is usually off my radar as a source of hedonistic pleasure. I have never EVER had my self image transformed in a second by putting on a garment. These shorts are magic I tell you and I have a feeling that they will simply refuse to run slower than 19:00 for 5 km. They will fall off my body in protest before crossing the line slower than 19:00.

Does anyone else ever feel

like a smoker sneaking around trying to get their fix when they leave for their run?