Beached Wail

Heading to Port Dover has been a summer tradition for me for the past several years. Usually I go a few times a year. Of all the local beaches I've been to (Burlington, Rockwood, Crystal Beach, Grand Bend, Wasaga, Sauble, etc) Port Dover is my favourite.  I love the palm trees, the shallow water, the neat little shops, the whole atmosphere. In 2011 I went to Dover several times in the summer and even went back in the fall. Michelle's father and I went there in October 2011. The weather was beautiful. Not warm enough for swimming but perfect for a stroll on the beach and around the little shops. I got photos of us on the beach. I wrote our names in the sand. I couldn't have imagined that a year and a half later I'd be there with our baby. Mike was a lot like summer. Unpredictable. Hot and cold. And disappears suddenly after 4 months. Like his name in the sand, he was washed away by the tide. Though our love was not to be, he did lead me to my true love, my destiny: My little girl. It was kind of eerie posing in the same spot with her that I had stood with him.

This year I think one trip to Port Dover was enough. It was a fun day, but exhausting and stressful. I don't think I could survive it again!

I always worry how Michelle will be during a long car ride. I got lucky when we went to Wasaga. She napped on the way there and on the way home. I didn't get so lucky when we headed to Dover.

My sister had been having some car trouble and didn't want to risk a long trip so I offered to take her, Shannon and Reggie in my car. It was great having them along for the ride. Michelle was fascinated having Shannon and Reggie in the backseat with her. She didn't sleep at all during the ride to the beach (and she hadn't even had her morning nap on the way to my sister's place). Michelle was happy for most of the ride and when she started to fuss the kids and I sang silly songs to keep her entertained. "Found a peanut,
found a peanut, found a peeeeeeeeeanut last night..."

When we got to the beach she was so excited Michelle didn't seem remotely tired. She was wriggling to get out of my arms so she could run around. The only thing harder than carrying a 20 lb baby is carrying one that is twisting, turning, leaning and trying to dive out of your arms. The hardest part was I was also loaded down with bags -- snacks, the cooler, the bag of diapers, towels and clothes, beach toys etc. Normally I would have the stroller to pack everything on but to fit all of us in the car we had to go without strollers and just carry what we could in our arms. Back in the day I could have gotten by with a towel and some sunscreen. There's no such thing as travelling light with a baby. My arms were breaking but luckily we got a parking spot that wasn't too far away.

We set up our tents, I dressed Michelle in her bathing suit, covered her in sunscreen and then let her loose. She was so excited running around the beach and playing in the sand. I couldn't believe how much energy she had on no sleep.

Usually she has two naps a day or at least one. This time she hadn't slept at all. Still there was no stopping her. I could barely keep up. I only got to sit down for a few seconds before I'd have to chase after her again and keep her out of trouble.

Michelle still isn't a fan of the water. It wasn't too cold and I tried to go in with her a little bit but she started to fuss so I gave up after a while. She loved the sand though. She was playing with pails and shovels and running around all over the place. I had to keep her from falling into holes, tripping over branches, getting into stranger's things (she would see a ball or a pail or towel and go to grab it. The world is hers for the taking she figures. She doesn't yet understand that not everything is hers. It figures that one of the words she's able to say now is "Mine!" She even says beach too. She's still saying a new word every day.)

Everything was going great until all of a sudden, exhaustion set in and Michelle crashed. She started to scream. When Michelle is not happy she wants to make sure that everyone within a 300 mile radius can hear her. She screams like I'm torturing or killing her. What I was doing was trying to comfort her, changing her diaper (full of sand. Not fun to change even when your baby isn't shrieking like something unholy), getting her dressed, getting out her milk, offering her a snack, her soother, anything. It was embarrassing. I don't like Michelle crying which is partly why I never sleep trained her because I don't have the heart to let her scream indefinitely, it's bad enough for a minute or two. When we're at home it's bad enough. When we're out in public it's brutal. My sister and her kids were way out in the water having a good time. I thought she'd hear Michelle but it seems she didn't. I finally had to rock Michelle in my arms until she would fall asleep. My sister came back to shore when Michelle was resting in my arms.
"She's been pretty good today!" my sister said. I think I started to twitch. My left arm had gone numb, my ears were still ringing, I was sweating profusely.
"Actually, she just had a complete meltdown screaming her head off. It was a nightmare. You missed it." My sister joked that I must just be making it up/exaggerating.
I tried putting Michelle down on a towel in the sand because I couldn't feel my arm anymore. The instant I put her down she woke up and cried so I had to pick her up again and rock her. It was hard enough carrying her when she was a newborn. Now she's so heavy it feels like my arm is going to fall off.

As if to torment me a woman came to the beach with her newborn and set up right beside where I was standing in the shade, rocking Michelle in my arms. The woman's baby was as quiet as a little doll, sound asleep in her carseat. The woman was able to sit there leisurely and enjoy the weather without doing a thing. I looked around at other people, the childless ones sunbathing luxuriously, not a care in the world; the ones with older kids who were playing nicely in the sand or the water; the ones with babies who were perfectly behaved either sleeping like statues or sitting. It seemed like life was so easy for everyone else. Of course it probably just seems that way. Everyone has their own struggles. But Michelle was the only one wailing on the beach that day.


She is high maintenance but I adore her and I do whatever it takes to make her happy. Some (many actually) have said that I'm spoiling her and it's my own fault because I indulge her every whim and don't let her cry more than a minute (never sleep trained her etc.) Though at her worst it's a lot to take, at her best she's an angel and I wouldn't have her any other way. Her happiness means more to me than my own life. She is my number one priority. My health, sleep, sanity, etc are secondary. (I used to see the logic in "You have to take care of yourself before you can take care of someone else." until I became a Mom and logic is out the window. Now it's just primal. She comes first. End of story.)


When we were packing up to leave, Michelle had another meltdown. AGAIN my sister missed it! She had just taken the kids off to the bathroom and Michelle started screaming. "I think you're making it up!" my sister joked with me again. Why would I make that up?! But my sister did get to see one of Michelle's temper tantrums when we got back to her place. She was running around and a ball of energy at first but then ran out of steam again and was so exhausted she was staggering like a drunk man. She was overtired, overstimulated and was fighting sleep though she was ready to pass out from exhaustion. That's my girl!

I wanted to go to a beach again at least once before the summer was over. A long drive was out of the question after the Dover experience but I thought it couldn't hurt to try somewhere local. We went to Burlington Beach and had an amazing day.

Michelle had a good morning nap and even fell asleep in the afternoon just as we reached the beach so I actually got to go SWIMMING for a minute! I told my Mom to signal me if Michelle woke up and I ran into the water. Usually I have a hard time with cold water and have to work my way in gradually but I knew I may only have a few seconds so I ran straight in and swam a few laps immediately. It's kind of a metaphor for life -- just dive in because you don't know how long you'll have and you might as well enjoy it. The water was so refreshing. I even floated on my back for a bit. It was awesome! I felt so free. I could just barely make out Michelle sleeping in her carseat on the shore next to my Mom. Then my Mom started putting her hands up to her eyes as though she was rubbing her eyes. I thought Michelle must be crying so I hurried back to the shore only to find her still asleep. My Mom was trying to say Michelle was still sleeping. I wish she'd just given me a thumbs up. I was just so grateful to have a couple of minutes to myself. Michelle woke up shortly after but was in good spirits and had a ball playing on the sand and didn't even mind me bringing her into the water.

Michelle was quite a hit on the beach. A group of kids were making a fuss of her. "She's so cute! What's her name? How old is she? Wow she's really smart! Can I pick her up? Can I hold her hand? " It was almost overwhelming. They all wanted to pick her up like she was a little doll. They followed us everywhere around the beach and into the water. Michelle started to get upset and I had to ask them not to try grabbing her. "Why is she crying?" one of them asked. "She's a bit nervous of strangers," I explained. "We're not strangers," the girl said. "But she doesn't know you," I told her (which is of course the definition of a stranger but I guess at that age the girl didn't understand. Or maybe she thought strangers were just adults you didn't know and that other kids were safe.) I couldn't resist getting a couple of photos. It felt like Michelle was a rock star with fans following her around everywhere. I could imagine her as a young starlet ducking to escape the overzealous paparazzi. Of course there is no escape from the MAMARAZZI! I was snapping photos like a fiend.

What's wrong with this picture?!
 

As I chased Michelle around the beach I happened to glance toward the rocks and noticed a baby ALL BY HIMSELF in the water. He had a life jacket on but was ALONE! He looked awfully small to be unattended in the water. I was in shock. My sister noticed it too. We looked at the baby and then at each other and were like "What the?! Is that really happening?!" The baby's mother finally came over when he was almost at the rocks and picked him up by the lifejacket (like he was an object, a picnic basket or something.) The whole time he seemed content, wasn't crying or anything. It seemed insane to me but maybe I'm the crazy one for being too overprotective. Maybe that baby's parents were looking at me thinking I was too smothering. (Well I doubt they were looking at me. They weren't even watching their own kid.) I guess we represent the opposite ends of the spectrum. I don't let Michelle out of my sight or more than a few inches away from me (unless my Mom or sister are watching her) when there are parents who obviously don't worry at all and leave a baby to fend for itself out in the water without supervision. It's a tough balance to give kids enough freedom to explore without letting them get into trouble, to give them enough structure and safety without stifling them and preventing them from growing. To give them too much freedom is negligence but not enough freedom and they're in a prison where they can never grow. One guy I dated said that his parents put him on a train by himself when he was 4 years old. To me, that's completely insane but it made him more independent. I just couldn't do it. Not in a million years. I worry too much. My Mom was so overprotective with us. I don't want to "bubble wrap" Michelle (like that show) but at the same time I don't want to see her get hurt. So I run after her every second to make sure she's OK. I still let her run and explore (giving me a heart attack about 10 times a day when she comes close to getting hurt) but I'm right there to catch her, stop her before she trots into trouble.

At the end of the day as we were heading to our cars I ran into an old flame by the snack bar. It was like a tiny dagger in my heart seeing him with the new girl in his life. It's selfish and silly of me to expect my former loves to remain suspended in animation, to never move on with their lives but pine for me in perpetuity! Of course they do move on to other relationships, marriages, etc. I moved on too. Life changes.

He admired Michelle. "She has beautiful eyes!" he said. "How old is she?" "A year," I replied, though in retrospect it would have been more accurate to say 13 months minus a day or so. (13 months just sounds strange. I never hear anyone say their baby is 13 months. Maybe it's bad luck.)

It was strange seeing him. It was like meeting the ghost of summers past, reminding me of my former life -- romance, adventure, carefree days lying in the sun, wild nights dancing under the moonlight. But it's OK. I have a new girl in my life too and I love her far more than I've ever loved any man. I used to be afraid of commitment but I'm completely committed to her (I have to be! I'll be her Mom forever!) My life has changed in ways I never imagined but it's a good change. Even on the worst of days. Even when she screams like a siren on the beach. Because the good days with Michelle are the best I've ever had and nothing in my life up to now compares to the joy of having this little girl.

Just Say No

When I was growing up, it seemed like my Mom never said yes. Everything you'd ask her to buy or ask if you could do, the answer was "No." She told me that my first word was "No" and I figured it was from hearing her say it so much. I always thought of my Mom as very negative. I wanted to be a positive Mom, to come from a place of "Yes." These days, as the Mom of a curious, wobbling, grabbing 8 month old baby, however I'm realizing that sometimes you have to just say "No." Several hundred times a day! Michelle is CONSTANTLY grabbing everything in sight. My glasses (which she's broken so I'm going to try switching back to contacts), my hair, my face, my clothes, the phone, remote controls, nightlights, books, the mail. Anything in her path. I try to keep dangerous things out of her path. Some things I let her away with. "Oh look she's chewing on a DVD. Oh well." If it isn't going to hurt her or break anything, I figure there's no harm in letting her explore. She wanted to help me sort my mail. I let her crumple and tear up junk mail but I drew the line at ripping my insurance papers. I've put outlet covers on all the plugs which is good because she is fascinated by everything on the wall. Even the switch plate where a central vac would go. I don't know why she reaches for it. It isn't even remotely interesting. It's just a plain white rectangular plate with nothing on it. But it's at her eye level and she stops at it every time we take our walk (with me helping her) down the hallway.

It's a good thing I didn't cut all the tags off of her toys because 9 times out of 10, the tag is her favourite part. It can be a stuffed toy with multiple colours and items on it to play with -- rings and beads and bells and whistles -- but she'll turn it over and play with the plain white tag. She has a little baby laptop computer with all sorts of buttons that make different sounds and lights. Her favourite thing to do is to turn it over and look at the bottom, which is plain and has nothing on it aside from the battery compartment which (thankfully) is screwed shut. I try not to argue with her or discourage her when she's not playing with a toy "properly." I figure whatever makes her happy. I do try to show her though what other things it can do when you don't have it upside down.

There was a small window of time between when she was a newborn and now that it was a little easier. When Michelle could sit up on her own but not yet stand or crawl, I could sit her on the blanket with her toys and she would entertain herself for a few minutes while I did the dishes etc. It was a godsend. Those days are gone now. I can't leave her for an instant because now she's pulling up and she could fall. So I have to be there every second. I try to have pillows around but I still can't possibly cover everything so I have to be there. The crawling was bad enough, at least she couldn't get hurt. I've been good about keeping the basement door closed. The difficult part is remembering to open it again to let the cat up and down when she needs to use the litterbox. The pulling up is scary because she can stand for a bit but then suddenly just falls over and if I'm not there to catch her fall she could bang her head. I tried training her to fall on her butt. "Fall on your bum and you don't get hurt!" I sang to her. I figured if I make a song of it the message might stick. It made her laugh but I don't know if she was really getting the concept. She did go from standing back to sitting several times but then I was there to guide her.

One day I had my Mom watch her while I went to an appointment. I figured I am going to have to leave her eventually so I better get used to it in small doses at least. It's also helpful to me to be able to get things done once in a blue moon without carting her around. I was nervous about it. Even though my Mom has raised 4 kids I still worry. When I got home I kissed and kissed Michelle as though we'd been apart for a year. Meanwhile, Michelle had been having a lovely time with Grandma and Grandpa. My Mom said that Michelle even stood ON HER OWN! Not even holding onto anything. Great. So I'm there 24-7 and I leave for an hour and Michelle has a milestone with Grandma?! That's not fair! I don't want to miss anything. Also upsetting was the fact that Michelle kissed Grandma several times (she doesn't really get the puckering action but she leans in and puts her mouth on my Mom's cheek which is very cute but made me jealous.) I'm her Mom. I do everything for her, devote my life to her 100%. Where's MY kiss? She did end up giving me a kiss too but I was still hurt that she made such a fuss of my Mom. She also didn't dig her nails into my Mom, or pull off her glasses, or give her a hard time while she was being changed. "She was good as gold," my Mom bragged, "a little angel." Now of course logically I understand. Michelle doesn't see my Mom as often so she would make more of a fuss of her. She takes me for granted because I'm always there. As far as acting up is concerned, my Mom said it's common for kids to give their parents the most grief and to behave better for others because they know they can get away with things with Mom but they're not so sure with someone else. Well it doesn't seem fair to me. Part of it is also the time of day. Michelle can be an angel for me too in the early afternoon but then during her cranky time (usually early evening) it's another story. If my Mom was looking after her all day I'm sure she'd see a wide range of behaviour, from Jekyll to Hyde, as I see on a daily basis.

For a while there Michelle was sleeping really well -- going to bed at a decent hour and staying asleep except to nurse and then going right back to sleep. Then all of a sudden, she was back to her old tricks -- either staying up late or falling asleep early but then waking up in the middle of the night and not settling down. One night she was asleep by 8 PM and I thought, "This is great!" I got the dishes and laundry done, had a shower, checked my emails etc. When I went to bed at 11 PM however, she woke up 5 minutes later and wouldn't go back to sleep. She sat up as though it was morning and the day was starting. I tried explaining to her that it wasn't morning, that it was night and that Mama was exhausted and was just about to go to sleep. She wasn't getting it.

Sleep deprivation, someone once told me, has been used as an instrument of torture. Sometimes it does feel like Michelle is deliberately trying to torture me. Of course I know that she's a baby and she doesn't know any better. She can't help it if she wakes up, right? But there are times that I know she's tired -- she's rubbing her eyes and everything -- and she still doesn't sleep. Then other days you get lucky and she sleeps like an angel. It's inexplicable. You just never know how it might go. You hope for the best. I usually nap with her when she has her morning nap but when I have to go somewhere or do something I don't always get to do that. On no sleep, I find that I am much more stressed, much more fragile. I could cry at the drop of a hat and everything just seems worse.

My Mom always said that once a baby starts solid food, they sleep better through the night. It was true overall, at least for a while. I think now that Michelle is learning to stand and wanting to explore so much that her mind is more active so maybe it's harder to settle down and to stay asleep. I am grateful for the nights that she sleeps well so that I'm able to get things done and catch some sleep myself. I just have to muddle through the nights where she doesn't sleep and try not to let it get to me. Some days when I find myself feeling really down or anxious I remind myself how exhaustion can affect me. I just don't function as well on no sleep.

I have to realize that Michelle is going through a lot --learning so much in so short a time. A few months ago she learned to sit on her own and now it's like she's been doing it forever. Standing and walking will become second nature too but while she's still learning and wobbly and falling, it's a tough process for her to go through and takes a lot of her physical and mental energy. Each day now it seems she figures something else out. Before she used to just knock the stacking rings over and chew on them. Now she actually tries (and sometimes succeeds though it may just be a fluke) to put them back on. She used to just look at the pictures when I read to her but now she seems to look curiously at the words so I started pointing to each word as I read it and she seemed fascinated. She's learning to stand, wanting to walk, trying to communicate. She's on the verge of so many things. I know myself that when there's a lot on my mind I have a hard time sleeping, so why should she be different?

There was a moment where Michelle pulled herself up on the ottoman and then let go for a moment and stood. I was sitting right there, ready to grab her if she started to wobble but I let her be. She waved her hands in excitement, realizing that she was standing on her own, not holding anything. My heart was in my throat. "Yes!" I said encouragingly, "Clever girl! You're standing!" She looked quite proud of herself. I know that my heart will be in my throat for months. Afraid she's going to fall, ready to catch her. I suppose in a way, that feeling will remain for the rest of her life. My Mom says she still worries about me -- in my 40s but still her little girl and now with a little girl of my own. As we go through life there are many moments when we are uncertain, venturing into the unknown, moments where we may fall and get hurt. We can't let that stop us. We have to say "Yes" to life, even when it's scary. I don't want Michelle to ever get hurt but at the same time I have to make sure I'm not too overprotective. I have to give her room to grow and explore. I have to encourage her, to let go a little and let her take those wobbly steps on her own, even if she falls.

Good days, bad days...

Every day is different and I never know when I get out of bed whether it will be a good day or a bad day. Sometimes I get lucky. Michelle is often fussy, especially when I try to go shopping, but I had a really good day with her and she actually let me get through Walmart without causing a scene. Mind you, I was motoring through the store. I was walking so quickly it would have been a run to anyone else. People saw me coming and ducked out of my way. I was a woman on a mission. Pushing the cart like Mario Andretti on acid, burning through the store, from one end to the other. Diapers. Cat food. Milk. Baby clothes. Even when Michelle woke up at the cash register, miracle of miracles, she didn't cry! Maybe she was in a daze after riding in the cart at 100 miles an hour! I was so happy I kept thanking her for being so good for Mama. And then I decided to be really brave and go to the Tim Hortons drive-thru. She even stayed quiet for that! (She screamed previous times I tried to get my iced capps. Sometimes she'd cry if I even glanced at a Tims, slowed down and contemplated pulling in. So I'd drive by and she'd be quiet again.) I was amazed. All day she was happy and smiling. We played and read books (Well I played and read but she did look somewhat curious/interested what I was on about.) She barely fussed at all. It was Heaven with my little angel. Until the evening when she was restless and wouldn't settle down so I barely got any sleep. She can be good in the day or at night. Expecting both is being greedy.

The next day, unfortunately, didn't go so well. It was a nightmare actually, but more my fault than Michelle's. I was rather zombie-like on minimal sleep. Sometimes I feel so weak and exhausted it's hard to carry Michelle around (I'm guessing she's over 11 lbs by now.) I was clumsy. Bumping into, tripping over things, dropping things (like my vitamin when I went to take it.) While I was playing with Michelle on her ocean play gym I accidentally dropped a toy on her head. She cried and it was a different cry than I'd ever heard before. It was a cry of shock. I felt horrible. I kissed and kissed her saying "I'm so sorry baby!" It didn't bruise her or anything, mostly just startled her.

It wasn't just me, maybe the whole day was jinxed. I checked the calendar in case it was Friday the 13th. It wasn't. But the cat was clumsy too. She tried to jump up on the counter and missed. Then she jumped on the glass side table in the living room (which I guess I will have to get rid of before Michelle is crawling/walking) and knocked it over with a loud crash that scared Michelle and I out of our wits. She's never done that before. At least the table didn't break. It was just weird.

Then things got much worse...I don't know why I picked that day to cut the baby's nails. I should have known better. I had cut her nails once before and it had gone smoothly but they were growing long again and she kept scratching herself. She wriggles around so much and clenches her fists so you could never cut them while she's awake. I had to wait until she was sleeping and preferably during the day when there's enough light to see. So when she settled down for a nap in the morning I thought I may not get another chance. I got the scissors and carefully went to work. She stirred a little but didn't wake up. It was hard to cut though because she's a restless sleeper and jerks her arms and legs every so often. I tried to be quick. I was almost done when the unthinkable happened -- I accidentally clipped her finger. Her thumb actually. "Crap!" The cut was tiny. Just the size of a pinprick but it bled. I applied pressure and it still bled. I held it for a solid minute (I even counted to 60) and it was still bleeding. Not a lot of blood but each time I took the tissue away it was still dripping. I kept expecting it to stop (and praying it would stop!) After 5 minutes of it bleeding, I was a basket case. I called my sister frantically. By now it had been 10 minutes and every time I removed the tissue, it was still going! Why wouldn't it stop? The only time I'd seen a cut like that was when I stubbed my toe while pregnant and it was a geyser but I figured that was because all the blood was pooled in my feet (if you read some of my pregnant posts you no doubt caught the descriptions and photos of my freakishly swollen feet). Why would a baby's finger bleed that way? My sister was very reassuring and comforting as always. She suggested calling Telehealth but anytime I've called them or heard anyone else call them they always just say "Go to the hospital to get checked out." The idea of sitting for several hours in the emergency waiting room with a screaming baby (she never lasts more than half an hour without crying when we're out in public so several hours in a waiting room would be unbearable) only to be told at the end of it that it's a minor cut and I was an idiot to worry anyway, did not sound enticing. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't understand why it wouldn't stop bleeding. At least it didn't hurt her. She didn't even wake up until I started talking to my sister on the phone. And then she didn't even cry. I managed to nurse her, while holding a paper towel around her thumb and talking to my sister on the phone. It wasn't easy! Now awake she kept wiggling around and moving her hand. Trying to keep a grip on her tiny thumb was beyond challenging.

My sister checked Google to see if anyone else had been through this or had any suggestions. She found all sorts of people describing the same thing -- accidentally cutting their baby's finger and it bleeding continuously, for hours even. One person suggested it was because babies' fingers are so fleshy, another said that their blood is thin. Whatever the reasons, it seemed to be common. (That's one thing I love about the internet. The human community and the ability to find answers so quickly. No matter how strange you think your problem is, you're not alone. There are many people who have been through the same thing and may have advice for you.) Everyone's baby survived. Everyone said it was normal and OK and would stop eventually. So I tried to stop panicking. My sister suggested putting a little bandage on it and one of those mittens so I did. And thankfully it did stop bleeding. I was so relieved when the ordeal was over. My sister said that it's a rite of passage as a parent. Accidents happen and it's so stressful when your child is hurt. But it's even worse when it's your fault! I felt so guilty, so awful. But it happens. Their fingers are tiny and trying to cut those miniscule nails isn't easy but if I didn't do it, her face would be covered in scratches. I think I may just have to keep mittens on her until she's 10 years old because I don't ever want to cut her nails again! Later that day I looked at the red mark on her little thumb. She didn't even realize what had happened. She looked into my eyes and smiled and even let out a laugh. I was so grateful that she was OK. It made me appreciate her even more. How precious she is. I couldn't bear for anything to happen to her. I was so relieved that she was OK and realized I probably had overreacted but I still felt awful about the whole thing.

When I told my Mom about it she said I'm in for a lot worse as Michelle gets older and started listing all the times she had to rush to the hospital with one of the kids needing stitches or a cast. Kids get hurt. They fall. They get scraped up. They break something. It's scary, it's heartbreaking to see your child hurt, but they survive and somehow you get through it. Life happens. It's worse though when it's YOUR fault that they get hurt! I have heard stories though of parents accidentally dropping their kids, accidentally dislocating their arm (I always worry when I see fathers horsing around with the kids and swinging them by their arms...) Even the most careful, cautious parent can slip up now and then. I remember the cool nurse in the hospital saying "Kids are like hard-boiled eggs. They're more resilient than you think." Still, I want to protect her from ever being hurt. I'm still beating myself up for the nick on her thumb.

My Mom was so overprotective of us when we were growing up, we were never out of her sight and never allowed to do anything. I was the only one in my class that never got to go on school trips. Mom never went on a vacation. Wouldn't get on a plane. She liked to be at home and wanted to keep us there too. She was a stay at home Mom and we were her world. She was so worried about us getting hurt, she tried to keep us sheltered. She gave me an ornament when I was young and I still have it. It's a little redhaired girl in a glass bubble. I think it's symbolic. It always felt like Mom wanted to keep me in that bubble, her happy little redhaired girl, safe from the outside world. She did keep me quite a while. I was late leaving the nest (I didn't move out on my own until I was 36!)

Then there is the other extreme -- parents who don't seem to worry at all, who are so laid back they let their kids run amok. One friend I knew had parents who let him travel alone (on trains and planes!) even as a very young child. I couldn't imagine. Growing up I knew kids that could come and go as they pleased. Their parents would let them do anything. I would like to fall somewhere in between the overprotective parent and the overly lenient one. To give Michelle just enough structure to be safe yet enough freedom to grow and explore. Not an easy balance. So many things sound great in theory but are almost impossible in practice. I don't want to be too strict and hold her back from living life to the fullest. But I want to protect her from being hurt. The problem is that living is risking being hurt. I know from my own life that some of the heartbreaks and mistakes I went through wound up being the best things that ever happened to me. Like falling in love with the wrong man and winding up with the greatest gift of my life -- my beautiful girl. So I don't know what the answer is. I will let her know I care. I will try to steer her in the right direction. But I will try to never hold her back from living her dreams and following her heart, wherever it leads her.

Years ago, back when I never expected I'd have my own children, I remember being out and seeing people let their kids go barefoot on filthy floors in fast food joints, put things in their mouths that were on the floor, etc. I even saw a parent pick up a soother from a dirty floor in a liquor store, blow on it and stick it back in baby's mouth! And I used to hate when I'd see kids out with that ice cream-lint beard (you know where the kid has a five o'clock shadow made of ice cream residue that the parents never wiped and then they get lint and dirt stuck to it? Brutal.) Or the runny nose dripping into their mouths. I always hated that. I wanted to go up to them and clean them with a tissue myself. I will never let any of that happen if I can help it. I know I could never stand to be sticky or messy when I was a kid. I'm pretty sure Michelle would be the same. She'd be screaming for me to wipe her face. She will be a princess like Mama.

Of course it's easy to say "I would never..." when you don't have kids. Sometimes you think you know what you would do in a situation until actually faced with the situation and then you have to rethink your stance on it. Case in point: Yes, I waffled on the whole pacifier issue. I finally broke down and got a soother. I was against them initially (I thought it would interfere with breastfeeding etc) but there were times when it seemed nothing would soothe her and I thought I might as well try it. Everytime I went out I saw people with babies sucking on pacifiers. Along with the bottle, the pacifier seems to be the international symbol for babies. My friend who is a nurse said that everyone uses them. They even gave her baby one in the hospital when she was born. I asked my doctor about using them and she said it couldn't do any harm, as long as it's before their teeth come in so it doesn't interfere with that. Having the doctor's reassurance that it was OK was just the push I needed. I thought, what the heck.

So I went to buy one. There was an entire aisle filled with pacifiers. Different brands, shapes, colours. I wouldn't have known how to choose except that one woman I ran into with a newborn baby (sucking on a soother) suggested that "Nuk" was a good one. So I got it. I was at my Mom's place when we tried it for the first time. I sterilized it. My Mom gave it to Michelle actually. I got a tear in my eye. I felt guilty about it. I didn't feel like it was right. It seems like just putting a cork in a kid to make them quiet! But then I realized I was being ridiculous. She puts her fist in her mouth anyway as a comfort thing and then her sleeve gets wet. This is just another way to comfort her. Like the vacuum or shushing noises or crinkling sounds or anything else that calms her down. I was afraid it would interfere with breastfeeding but the doctor said she's well-established at 6 weeks (she's obviously eating well, she poops non-stop and is gaining weight consistently). I use a nipple shield anyway so she's used to rubber. I also give her bottles of my pumped breastmilk when we're out. So she's used to different kinds of nipples (there's no "nipple confusion" which I had read was a risk.) The soother will just be a last resort when she cries inconsolably and all her other needs have been met -- when she's fed, burped and changed. When she is just cranky, overtired and needs to calm down. I just don't want to create an oral fixation and turn her into a smoker one day. It's silly though because children naturally have the instinct to suck and even without a soother she'd be chewing on her hand, sucking her thumb and you can't take that from them. So yeah, I caved in. But I still have standards. I wouldn't let her keep sucking it once she's a toddler (I've seen those kids out there). And I would never pick up the soother off a filthy floor, blow on it and stick it in her mouth. I'm almost certain...

I admit I'm neurotic and worry too much. I torture myself with guilt (it was instilled in me through Mom, the Queen of guilt trips and of course there's all that Catholic guilt). I always tried to be the good girl (unfortunately I fell for a lot of bad boys! Opposites attract...) I always had to be the good student. I had to be the best at everything. I was alway hard on myself. Nothing was ever good enough. It did help me achieve excellent grades in school, straight As and academic awards but it also drove me crazy. Now I'm trying to be the perfect Mom but of course there's no such thing. I have to cut myself some slack. I'm doing my best. I'm not perfect. I make mistakes. I'm human. Michelle seems to be doing well so far. She's physically thriving, gaining weight, obviously getting enough milk. She's happy overall (everyone comments on how much she smiles and she's even starting to laugh.) Strangers approach and tell me how beautiful she is (when she's not screaming bloody murder!) She's talking up a storm (though it's babytalk and hard to interpret) cooing and making a lot more sounds. I know she is trying to communicate. I spend my entire day caring for her: Feeding her, burping her, changing her, reading to her, playing with her, entertaining her, carrying her, rocking her, dancing with her, singing to her. I give her all that I have.

Considering that I didn't expect to have children, that it's all new to me so I'm figuring it out as I go and considering that I'm doing this all on my own, I think I'm doing a pretty good job. I need to go easier on myself. I've talked to parents who made a lot of mistakes and their kids still turned out great. No one is perfect. Your children likely won't remember all the times you screw up and even if they did they'd likely forgive you. Until they're teenagers and then they probably fault everything you do! (Not looking forward to that.) When they're babies they won't even notice if you mess up now and then. As long as their needs are met, they're happy.

The most important thing you can do for your child is love her. And I do. I'm realizing more each day just how much.