In The Middle Of The Night

I arrived home late on Sunday night to the welcoming arms of my very tired husband. He did an almost three day stint alone taking care of our little whippersnapper and all without one piece of broken furniture or trips to the ER. Huzzah!

It's always difficult for me to go to bed right away when returning home -- no matter how tired I am -- and Sunday night was no exception. Kicking around on the internet, catching up on Twitter (oh the curse of no data plan on my phone meant I was tweeting into a void all weekend unless someone DM'd me directly), and watching a bit of the Food Network made me tired enough to attempt sleep.

It's nice to sleep in one's own bed even if the accommodations provided by her, her, and her were more than luxurious. My trip to Atlanta brought a lot of peace to my mind even if it did return me to Canada with a borked sinus that seems to still be filled with quick dry cement. Winter colds: I hate thee.

But sleep I did, even if it seemed I woke up to blow my nose every forty-five minutes.

Then at 4:00 am, I heard the door to our room. I listened to the knob turn and the shuffling feet before I opened my eyes. When I finally pried open my gunked up eyes (thanks to my snot factory of a head), she was standing right in front of me, inches from my face.

The smile that lit up her face was so bright, it seemed like she had her own spot light to focus on her beautiful smile and shining eyes.

That look said it all: "Mommy's home."

We didn't exchange any words, I just drew her in under the duvet next to me (winter cold be damned) and held her close, letting her know for every ounce that she missed me, there is a more than ample weight to balance that longing on my side.

Mommy is home.

apple meet tree

Yes, I was right, a post presented itself to me and I could not resist.

Something happened yesterday that if my husband ever had any doubts about Gigi's paternity, all fears would be erased following this incident. BTW if my husband had any doubts about Gigi's paternity, it would be news to me. I'm too lazy to cheat.

Most days I think she's a female version of that guy. [Which of course, adds motherbumper in cya mode, is a wonderful thing.]

Yesterday afternoon Gigi and I were relaxing on the couch. Correction, I was kicking back and she was doing stage dives from the chair behind the couch, over the back, and belly flopping onto a turned over cushion next to me. She will be a pro crowd surfer folks, a pro.

Anyhow, after about a dozen flops she landed next to me, lay still and cut a really loud fart. Then she proceeded to laugh like it was the funniest thing in the world - because it is.

No it really it is, just ask anyone in the under 10 crowd or male and they will confirm this fact.

After laughing for another minute, she rolled over and said "now your turn mommy".

"To do what," I asked "dive over the couch? I can't do that, mommy would get hurt". (Mostly ego-injury related, but that is a detail the child didn't need to know.)

"No," she said laughing "fart".

I laughed and told her that I could not fart on command - only her dad can do that I added in jest.

Then she sat down and farted again with a real sly look on her face.

"Can you fart on command?" I asked, not knowing if she knew what command meant - even though she certainly knew how to do it - so I followed with "Can you make yourself fart?"

She farted again and laughed like a hyena. Then again.

So I called SB at work to tell him about her new super power. Then I blogged about it. Because you see, if I was a bad partner, I would have blogged about it then called my husband. But I'm not. So there.

such a knob

Life is over in Casa Bump as we know it.

She knows how to use doorknobs.

Our sanctuary is gone. No more hiding in my room. No more showers in privacy. No more privacy.

We ran out and bought those doorknob covers that only we could supposedly operate.

Seriously, I was thankful that I could use them because that's all I needed - the new stress of not being able to use the doorknobs in the apartment.

Well of course I can use them. And so can Bumper. It took her about an hour to figure them out.

Soooooooo fellow interwebz parents - what works for you and your hidey holes?

The landlord would get pretty pissed off if I did this to the doors around the place:

Vaseline on doorknobs?

Hired militia?

Bribes?

What works (worked) for you?

oh gross

Anyone care to hazard a guess what the object on the left is? The one next to the clove?

Animal? Vegetable? or (fake) Mineral?


Yes - that's right, smart and gentle readers reader - it's a jewel.

Oh no, no, no.... I'm not that disgusting and depraved and desperate for blog material that I'd take a pictured of a crapped out bedazzler bead.

Nope, that photographed object came out from whence it entered. Her nose.

Bumper recently mastered nose blowing and yesterday after a request for a tissue, she presented me with one snot covered gemstone.

Almost five days after a small team of health professionals looked for this exact object with lights, long pointy things, saline solutions, sneeze therapy, and a surprisingly cooperative patient, it emerged.

And after almost five days of no complaints - save for one comment during our Saturday afternoon parental survival tactic movie indulgence, when she said out of the blue "I don't want bead in my tummy", it sprang forth.

She had none of the symptoms listed on her discharge notes under "come back if any of these things occur". Nada. Not a one.

GOOD GOLLY - WHERE THE HELL WAS IT? HER NOSE IS THE SIZE OF A BUTTON.

Alas, it seems the bead was in her nose the entire time unless she was pulling a really elaborate joke which - even I must admit - is beyond my particularly precocious daughters skill level.

Anyhow, the case of "The Mystery of the Bedazzled Sinus" is now closed. Encyclopedia Brown would be proud (well he would have been if I had done any actual mystery solving but whatever, case closed).

In other news, this kid can blow up over 200 balloons in one hour only using his nostrils. Never, EVER underestimate what your kid can do with his/her nose. EVER.

Bedazzled Fafrazzled

So what did you do this afternoon?

Yah, yah, that's great - OK my turn now:

We did laundry which in itself isn't that interesting, in fact it's incredibly boring. But during the tedium of putting wet wash into the dryer, Bumper found a jewel in the lint.

No I'm not trying to be all poetic - she found an actual bedazzler style jewel in the trap and asked if she could have it. I didn't see any harm and said yes, so she tucked it into her pocket to later add to that massive pile of garbage booty she carts around in her various purses and bags.

Said booty includes but is not limited to: junk mail, items from the recycling box, and anything that isn't nailed down. She is part crow, this sweet child of mine.

Now it was rather naive of me to think no harm could come from a jewel. I figured she's basically over that "everything in the mouth" phase and she treasures so many things these days, what could possibly go wrong?

Oh please stop laughing and rolling your eyes.

We returned to the apartment once the dryers were loaded up and I went to the kitchen to set the timer. I'm super forgetful so I cannot live without alarms to remind me of what I was doing before getting engrossed in a game like "taking the plane to see the grandparents".

Yet before I could leave the kitchen to check on my little airline pilot - I heard her cry out.

It was that kind of cry that makes your heart jump, stomach drop, and save for strong sphincter control - makes you almost sh*t your pants. Most parents know that cry and while reactions are varied, it all equals panic.

She came running towards me crying out "Take it out! Take it out! Mommy GET IT OUT!" all while holding her face.

I dropped to me knees and asked as calmly as I could - take what out of where?

A weak "in nose".

omg - it was the jewel.

Thinking fast, I draped her over my lap and did that poorly named "eskimo" method of sucking crap out of her nose. Nada. No jewel. Now she was screaming in pain. No one wants to hear that escalation in cry. No one.

Then the crying stopped. She jumped off my lap and ran to the corner and ordered me not to come near her. She covered her nose like she had a big shameful booger to hide, used her other hand to shoo me away, and screamed each time I tried to approach.

Oh sweet juju - I scarred her for life with that sucking manoeuvre. She will have flashbacks when her first beau comes in for the kiss. This is really BAD. But at least she's breathing and there is no blood.

What to do - what to do? I called telehealth and after answering all the questions and proving to them that she was in fact breathing "uh - yup those screams of "NO MOMMY" in the background - yup that's her breathing - LOUDLY", they suggested we go to the ER to have it removed. Okay - I can do that.

So I called SB and asked him in a really shrill voice to come home RIGHT NOW! because I couldn't think straight. And of course, being the good man that he is - he came right away.

I left a message to cancel the play date we had scheduled for later in the afternoon and I went to dress B for a trip to the ER.

But I found her looking ill - she was still breathing completely normal, and she could talk a blue streak but she was green around the gills. Now I was in full panic mode.

Being the woman that I am, I couldn't wait for SB, grabbed her, ran out the door, and jumped in a cab leaving him a note that only a chicken windtalker could decipher.

Of course once in the cab she was all giggles and jumping around while I tried to hold her down in the seatbelt.

We got to the ER, she told triage that she had something up her nose, they agreed and we were quickly moved to the inner sanctum where they perform the dreaded nasalectomy.

I'll spare you the drama. Short of long, it wouldn't come out, she's apparently A-OK, and now it's a waiting game.

They have promised me it's gonna come out one way or another. We tried sneezing, they tried flushing and some other only slightly craptastically horrible non-surgical or radiation-filled options and because it couldn't be found with a flashlight and eyeballs - we* decided to do nothing.
*we being me - a questionable adult - with two lovely docs and a child who fully agreed

I know - how weird. Do nothing. Makes one feel a bit helpless, no?

Of course I have a toilet paper rolls worth of symptoms to look out for and you know I'll be checking her breathing every 15 seconds tonight. But I'm confident we made the right decision. Oh and as for the ill moment - apparently it's quite normal in these situations - it may have been a result of the pain of passing it through the nose.

Since it looks like it was swallowed, I will be on poop check all day tomorrow. Which is nothing like poop deck duty.

But at least if she did swallow it and I find it in her poop, I can say my daughter shits diamonds.

I should be careful when I ask - part 2

Part 1 of "I should be careful when I ask" can be found here.

I'm still doing my East Coast Tour and I'm leaving for the so called "controversial" Camp Baby in an hour. The fact that I'm doing something controversial makes me giggle because I'm super mature like that.

Honestly I'm just curious to see what Johnsons & Johnsons has to say and also it would be nice for the big corporations to get it right when dealing with the mega-force known as parent bloggers. Maybe we can steer them in the right direction.

If not, I'll just grab as much free shampoo as I can before they secure a restraining order. I'm faster than the cops most days. Actually it totally depends on how much I've had to drink - but that's another story all together.

Anyhow, this is part deux of the questions and this time I'm just tackling a couple because I'm sharing a computer with my lovely parents who have foolishly graciously volunteered to take care of my rabid badger beautiful child while I gallivant around with fellow bloggers in the land of Tony Soprano.

Mrs. Chicky asked:
If you could pick one person, alive or dead, movie star, rock star, or person you know, to slather in chocolate and nibble at like a candy Easter Bunny for ever and ever, who would you pick? And why?

EASY F'ING PEASY: Viggo Mortensen. He doesn't even need to be dipped in chocolate, though that would be a nice bonus. He is the one thing that distracts me from my lovely SB. And SB understands (I hope).
Of course the only time I had the chance to see the guy in person I just happened to be 10 months pregnant and looking like Jabba the Hut. SB and I went to the TIFF premier of A History of Violence (uh - best sex scenes EVER) where I had to get all hot and giggly while trying not too looked too pained from sitting in the most uncomfortable seat for the love of art.

Oh Viggo, you are the Princess Leia to my Jabba. RAWR.

Oh and why? Well if you met my SB you'd figure it out. But you won't so let me just say that he draws me in like a tall cold drink and his boyish charm, political awareness, deep intellect, steadfast opinions, and rock hard sexiness makes me swoon. Just like SB.

If you are done gagging over my gushing, let's move on. I'm skipping down the list of questions because the others are too involved so I want something easy.

My girl crush Jessica from Daysgoby asked:
Why Motherbumper? Why the title of your blog, and why do you call yourself Motherbumper?

AGAIN - EASY PEASY (don't sue me Jamie Oliver for abusing your little catch phrase)

For the entire length of my pregnancy - which seemed like at least year long - I referred to my Bumper as... Bumper. She was like a pinball from week sixteen onwards and I remember that very first moment I felt her bumpin' about. I thought I had the wickedest gas ever but quickly realized it was her. It was pure fetal magic that could not be quelled with any kind of antacid.

Anyhow, when it came time to dream up a blog name, I started with her "name" since she was my inspiration for blogging. As the creative brainstorming juices flowed, I thought "hmmm well I am her mother so why not motherbumper?" I liked the fact that it sounded just like motherf**ker and with that the heavens parted and the voices in my head sang out "SO BE IT" and so it was.

True story. Except for the heavens parting thing - it was actually a hole in the floor opening up with flames and brimestone shooting out - but the image wasn't as pretty.

And considering I say mo'fo' in my head about once every two minutes, it's easy for me to remember.

So next time you swear at the person who cuts you off in traffic, maybe you can yell MOTHERBUMPER instead and somewhere a little devil will get it's pitchfork.

OK - I gotta go run and catch a plane but I'm far from done answering questions. There is so much more to come - like the story of how SB and I met, my preference between mayo and mustard, some of my regrets, my regrets of regrets, and regretful regrets. Or something like that.

Oh and I'm over in the lab today reviewing the newest Thomas & Friends (as in tank engine) DVD and their latest adventures in Sodor.

Mmmmmm Sodor sounds like Mordor which makes me think Aragorn which brings me back to yummy Viggo and makes me miss SB more than ever. DAMN YOU LITTLE TANK ENGINE (*shakes fist in air*).

I should be careful when I ask - part 1

So this is part one in answering the questions I asked for and you posed to find out the Tale of Motherbumper and what makes her tick like a cuckoo clock:

Shania wanted to know:

How I refrain from gloating about that adorable child in every post. She thinks she couldn't do the same.

Bumper's agent won't let me without heavy royalties - do you know how much that kid charges for an appearance - IT'S UNREAL!

My homegirl kgirl gave me a pop quiz:

If you could transplant anything East Coast to the T-dot, what would it be? (I'm from Nova Scotia for those who don't know)

I took liberties (who? moi? liberties? never - ha!) and made a list:

• My parents.
• The friendly, look-me-in-the-eye attitude.
• The ocean with A REAL beach.
• The awesome recycling and composting program (T-dot is at least trying).
• The zen of a city like Halifax that is part Buddhist community, part artisan colony, part University town, part mariner, with a whole lotta Trailer Park Boy.

no relation but a whole lot in common

Do you think you'll ever move back?

Do you know how often I think about that? DO YOU? Oh wait, you can't read my mind. You are so lucky. Anyhow, I would prefer transplanting the East up here.

If you could transplant anything T-dot to the East Coast, what would it be?

Nothing - enough of the T-dot invades and educates themselves in Halifax's plethora of Universities every single year so the annual infusion of the T-dot's youth is enough for now. Oh and every bar owner / bartender seemed to be from T-dot and made the move because they preferred the East Coast lifestyle to Tdot so it's not like you can't throw a rock and hit someone from Toronto.

Not that we throw rocks at Torontonians. Well not anymore since the legislation came in ordering us to stop picking on Toronto.

Wait I take that back - Toronto has wickedly good shopping. I'd transplant all the shoe stores. TAKE THAT!

Do you think I should join a gym?

Nah, I'll just start throwing rocks and you can run for exercise.

Ali wanted to know:

what's your biggest pet peeve?

Well when I was in the corporate world, my biggest pet peeve was people who took credit of others work. It happens so often that it's sickening. One becomes very insulated which is not conducive to team work and it just sucks.

So a sweeping statement of dishonesty as being biggest pet peeve. Oh and that fuzzy ice that forms on top of ice cream and popsicles when the freezer decides it hates you. HUGE PET PEEVE.

Darling Ali also asked:

what's YOUR most annoying habit?

Where to start? Taking on more work than I can possibly handle. Right now is an example. I love LOVE being busy but sometimes I just go overboard.

Also I sigh a lot and it drives SB bonkers.

Oh and I'm self-deprecating and nice to the point where some people want to stick a fork in me. I'm trying to control that one because I've realized that some folks out there have taken advantage of it. Now while I do play one in the blogosphere, I'm not stupid in real life (though I am nice) so I just deal with it in another way (how's that for a cloak and dagger answer?).

Oh gawd, I'm boring you aren't I?

I'm skipping a few of the next questions posed (I'm trying to answer in order) because the answers are stand alone posts. So I will skip to the lovely Mandy who asked:

What date do you wish you had never gone on and why?

So many to pick from... but I will settle for the one that always surfaces first:

I cannot for the life of me remember his name - seriously - but I met him through some friends. He didn't register on my radar but I apparently registered on his. He looked like the lead singer from A-Ha which wasn't too bad in my 19 year old books.

take on me - NOT

Quick backstory: I was always the single girl growing up - I dated every so often but I loved being single. Yet everyone would be fixing me up all the freakin' time - which was fine but OMG I met some wackos.

Back to AHa boy: so he bugged his friend for my number, and after some begging I decided why the hell not? He called to ask me to a movie which seemed very benign. How bad could it go?

yah riiiiight

So I meet him at the coffee house around the corner from the theatre about 30 mins before the show so we can chat - you know - get to know each other in safe setting. Well it turns out (not sure if this was planned) the movie wasn't starting for an hour so we had lots of time to talk.

Correction: HE had lots of time to talk.

This wasn't nervous chatter - this was completely all over the place talk where he basically gave me his opinion on everything from politics (scary), womens rights (almost walked out on that one), music (nothing in common), children (wtf? - we were 19), in addition to a host of other things including opinions on common acquaintances.

I wanted to walk out but honestly - I'm not great at being rude and I convinced myself "just make it the end of the movie and run". No backbone in my 19 year old self.

Finally it was movie time. We entered the theatre sat down and the movie started. I was so thankful for the relative silence.

Then he did the stretch - you know "the textbook date stretch: arm lands behind girls head a la Ritchie on Happy Days trying to be the Fonz".

I immediately stood up, excused myself to go to the loo and walked out of the theatre, straight to the local where I knew my friends would be playing pool and snapped in half the guy who convinced me to give up my digits.

GET THIS: he called a few days later and didn't mention a thing. And asked me out again. I found backbone and said NO!

OK - enough for now. Part two coming soon.

I finally gave in

Bumper finally had her hair professionally cut this weekend, by a real hair stylist, in a real salon, in a real race car (not a real race car per se, but a race car nonetheless).

And she has a certificate, complete with first cut curl to prove it.

Actually, I kinda miss her before look, that look right there.

When I was in labour with Bump, during the pushing "fun times!" phase, the nurses, SB, and anyone else who had the chance to glance at my whoo-ha would say "that baby has some head of hair!".

Originally when organizing my birth plan and talking with the nurses, I had said no to having a mirror. To be completely honest (instead of the bundle of lies I usually feed you), my concern with having a mirror on my whoo-ha-ha was all ego talk. I was worried that I would become obsessed with how things looked down there instead of what was going on and staying in tune with my contractions.

Yet with each declaration about the hair, my decision to not sneak a peek crumbled to the temptation of seeing this burgeoning mane with my own eyes. The attending nurse offered to have someone get one and I eventually said yes.

A distraction was becoming more attractive as the pushing phase progressed, or should I say lack of progression.

I had been pushing for a long time - a really long time and there was very little baby-birthin' advancement going on. By the three and half hour mark, I knew we should be a lot closer. Bump hadn't moved very far in a really long time and all signs were pointing to stuck.

So every single time a person would talk about that hair, I wanted to see the baby instead of worrying about the time. No one else seemed concerned about how things were going and negative, worrisome thoughts had no place in this particular moment and soon to be memory (too late!).

I thought a lot about that hair, and the head that was attached to our baby instead of worrying about how long things were taking.

Turns out I was correct in my time concerns.

The mirror distraction never arrived but my doctor did. After a quick check of my status, doc informed us that a non-surgical manual method would be tried only once before beginning prep for a surgical one. Pushing had been going on too long without progression and although no one appeared in distress - yet - a section looked like the next step.

Thankfully the manual method worked (trust me kid, it hurt me just as much as it hurt you - maybe more) and Bump made her début.

She came out complete with the cutest little mullet you've ever seen.

What a good Canadian, eh? Hockey haircut from the get go.

Since she was born, her bangs have been cut twice by me and the rest has never been touched.

I love that hair, each curl that forms in the humid summer air, each strand that falls in her eyes.

But lately it looked messy regardless of brushing and styling. My latest attempt to trim her bangs resulted in a Ronnie meets New Wave/1980s look she couldn't really carry off ["oh mom", she would say if she could, "that's so twentieth century"].

So I gave in and took her for her first cut. Concerns about melt-downs, crying, and clinging - like our passport photo experience - were never realized and Bumper took her trim in stride.

No more mullet. The fringe is gone.

She has a hairstyle. It makes her look... well she looks tamer. Actually that's not it. She looks like a little girl.

I think we just closed another chapter in babyhood.

what? you've never seen a baby toddler drive before?

I can't believe it - there is not one photo of her smiling from this weekend without her wearing a hat. All the smiling photos from a wonderful birthday party we attended this weekend had Bumper wearing her hat. It figures this would be the first time she wears her hat for a prolonged period without the aid of double-sided tape (I kid!).

mommy woke up with a headache

Woke up with head pain and no editing skills

So I will post my favorite photo from this past week



She looks like she is about to crack a joke and she probably did.

It made me smile, how about you?

Want some good posts to read?

Go to Cynical Dad - it's a heavy post but will give you lots to think about regarding parents reactions to their child's medical diagnosis.

Want to laugh and wince in pain - go see Kyla at the Journey, her recent brush with nature made me giggle and gasp (oh that sounds naughty).

That's a good start for the day - thinking stuff and funny stuff.

Lesser Known Yoga Position #1267: The Maxwell Smart

Oh yes, I'm gonna post about my toddler because I'm a mommyblogger dammit, and proud. Actually I loathe the term mommyblogger but I'm a mommy, I blog, and the chicken suit fits.

OK, let's not go there but let's just say that I'm not posting about diapers, therefore I must be breaking from the norm*.
* apparently at one of the BlogHer07 sessions, someone (in the audience or panel not sure which) said that mommybloggers only post about diapers and other banal shit. I wish I had been there to snort from the back row ('cos that's what I do... maybe if I had a vodka on the way over, I'd get up and fight... but soberity tends to keep my mouth shut). Was anyone at that panel and able to fill me in?

Moving right along (and now I'm worried that this qualifies as "banal"):

Bumper has a new yoga pose and it cracks me up: she likes to use her foot as a phone.

SB already told me about this and I was "like, whatever... she uses dominos and food as phone, big f'ing whoop" but OMG she did it this morning and my brain melted and my heart exploded from the cuteness of it all.

I'm serious, I felt all pink and mushy which is very uncomfortable for me, considering I'm usually the only mom at my local playground wearing black from head to toe. Why that makes me different, I'm not sure but it's the only thing that I seems to make me different in this neck of the woods. I think this requires further analysis.

So Bumper does this total foot to the ear thing and says "daddee... blah, blah, blah... daddee... etc" and I'm all like over-achiever mom and racing for the camcorder, tripping over the piles of laundry, empties, and broken toys - almost spilling my drink*.
* I kid, I only drink in the afternoons

I didn't get to the digi in time, so I sent SB an email extolling the greatness of my progeny (and acknowledging that he had a hand in her amazing powers).

I'd kill for this kind of flexibility. I wonder what the reception is like?