Trip Trippin’ Part One – YYZ

I am SO PROUD to announce that our check-in at Pearson was swift and almost hassle-free.

I’ll compare that to our Florida trip last year, quite the nightmare on the contrary. Dani was only 11 months at the time, and though she couldn’t yet walk or run around, she was quite cray cray in the Customs lineup. I guess it’s more irritating to deal with US boarding, because we had to struggle with our cart of luggage pushing Dani all the while, and at security we had to remove our shoes. This year, flying internationally, we didn’t have to go through Customs and we were whisked to the wheelchair/stroller accessible line, not having to remove our shoes like before.

Back to Dani in the Customs lineup – about halfway through the jam-packed queue, she started screaming and crying hysterically because we couldn’t carry her like she wanted. You can imagine all the stares and comments we got from nearby patrons until, literally 2 rows away from the front, they parted the way and let us ahead. Gee, thanks for noticing… eventually!

Back to today – we were at the kiosk to print our baggage tags as we’d checked in before leaving home in order to proceed to the bag drop (limited lineup) but, lucky me, no tags printed out and I was told to stand in line with the rest of the less-prepared mofos (LONG lineup). Dani was already starting to fuss shortly after entering, but after devouring one Kinder Egg (we have a limited supply of 5, for extreme freakout instances only) and a pack of Mum Mums (sadly, she finished them all and didn’t share with Mommy), she fell asleep. We successfully lifted her out and back into the stroller to pass security without any hitches, and she even stayed asleep for a while after. The heavens were shining on us today!

That was around 3:00 pm. It is now 5:30, and Mommy and Daddy have already inhaled a double-patty-jalapeno-mushroom cheeseburger avec frites with some of Mommy’s favourite gummy candies, and she has just woken up. Sitting in Daddy’s lap eating a hot dog (eating = stuffing large pieces into her cheeks and somehow chewing and swallowing), she is happy as a clam.

Just 2.25 hours til takeoff 🙂



I know I lack focus at times and have much of an agenda I’ve promised but not yet fulfilled, i.e. cupcake reviews and silly childhood stories part 2 (both of which I fully intend to deliver once I a – conduct more thorough research and b – am in a better mood), but I’m currently experiencing a (literally and figuratively) painful juncture in this journey called motherhood that I found important to share.

For a new mother, perhaps one of the most vital parts of post-conception is trying to nurse her child both for the baby’s health and bonding purposes. I think back to the initial days in the hospital, when I was sternly “encouraged” to breastfeed my fresh new baby girl; post-surgery pains, lack of sleep, and feelings of anxiety notwithstanding. It was so difficult. I didn’t know how to properly hold this fragile person, let alone nourish her from this rock called my breast. On my 3rd morning in-hospital I was forced into a mandatory breastfeeding seminar. I had a Cesarean section and could barely even walk, and the thought of going anywhere in that eerie hospital without my husband in stride terrified me. It didn’t help that I was the last to arrive with Dani screaming her head off; two of three other babies sleeping and the third gurgling contentedly in his mother’s arms. The nurse asked me if she needed a changing and I was foggy and perplexed; how the fk was I supposed to know? She picked up my daughter and told me I needed to change her diaper, according to the bold blue stripe at the bottom. Feeling ashamed and inadequate, I told her I didn’t know how to (wasn’t I just laying in bed for three days with a catheter stuck up my hoo-ha, slurping up Jell-o and apple juice through a straw?).

Let’s just say, the first days of motherhood, especially when you’re stuck in the hospital 8 days longer than you had planned, are neither easy nor pretty.

This brings me to back to my present situation, one I wasn’t so blatantly prepared for. Sure, there is plenty of literature on how to properly massage your breasts for milk flow, that bleeding nipples and engorgement are commonplace, how and when to pump, yada yada, but I don’t recall reading much about weaning and the painful process it’s proven to be. One of many baby- and family-related plans of mine was to not nurse Dani for more than 12 months. She is now 18 months old. She was a great drinker from the start (once I got my stone chest broken in and flowing), and I must confess I quashed many a breakdown, crying fit and cranky mood with a simple feeding session. At first I used a special nursing pillow, then decided I wanted to be comfortable too and started nursing in bed. It was so easy to pick her up, lay down, and snooze together after she was full and content. But it was just five days ago, when her big baby teeth started to grind down and yank more frequently, and her squirming 22+ pound body kept kicking and rolling all over me making it hard to breathe, that I decided it was time.

One of the greatest pleasures of motherhood thus far was nursing Dani. She loved her milk and pretty much got it when she wanted it, if I was home. I thought that my 14-hour work days would dry up the supply, but around midnight every night she would wake up and feed. Of course I complied; I missed holding her after such a long day and she was so happy to do it. It was the one thing as a mother I could offer her that no daddy, grandparent, or godmother could. You can imagine what an emotional mess I’ve been for the past few days.

After several major crying spells in between now and getting home from Easter dinner Sunday, I think I’m starting to feel better. Dani broke my heart the second night, when she pointed to “our” spot on the bed and cried, pleading for me to lay with her. But it’s proven easy to distract her (with lots of iPhone games and a handy supply of little chocolate Easter eggs), and knowing she is happy and still running around all “loca” is very reassuring.

So here I sit, breasts throbbing and leaking through layers of cabbage and sports bra, drinking Sudafed (which quite a few mothers via Internet forums have insisted provides relief and dries out the breasts) to share my story with you.

I hope you’ve found it even a tiny bit informative, if not a semi-lengthy distraction from your boring office duties 🙂

Perhaps an upcoming post will be about the painstaking journey of navigating the web-hosting and blogging world. I have purchased the domain which I plan to have up and running very shortly, once I get my hubby to take a look. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before, but I’d rather poke myself in both eyes than read instructions on how to manage online services. Guess I’ve got to get with the times sooner or later (preferably, much, MUCH later).

And I also have to do some cupcake research and dig into my childhood archives, I know, I know.

(stay tuned)

Weigh Back…


I often struggle with what once was. “I once had” this.  I “once did” that. But more niggling than ever, I “once wore” that size.

The year before I had my daughter, I was 29 years old and in the best shape of my life. Granted, I weighed the most I ever had, yet I was toned and super fit. I ran my first (5K) race ever in 25 minutes flat without even training.  I worked out 4-5 days every week and ate healthy food (no desserts). And I wore a crop top or sports bra to work out (in a coed gym- brave!).
**side story!
Once upon a time on a Dominican beach, I was sunbathing topless and my companion had gone out on the sand for a run, leaving me alone in my half-naked glory. I was partially snoozing when a shadow blocked my sun and two locals stood in front of me with a gigantic snake (a python? all I know is it was Britney-Slave-4-U huge) and a camera. They were insisting I get up and take a picture with the snake – yes, the souvenir photo that gets put up on a very public wall that you can order at the photo desk.
I looked around for my (then missing) companion, covered my chest with my hands and sternly said no, at LEAST three times… !!!
So back to the story at hand.  I went back to the gym 4 months after having my baby. Less than halfway through my first Pump class, I got extremely dizzy and nearly passed out. It must’ve shown since the instructor took a moment to come by and ask if I was okay – embarrassing!  I skipped a few tracks and managed to finish the class, but I was sore for the next two weeks.  I was scared to return and when I did, I was just miserable to see such a slow, jiggly shape staring back at me in the mirror. But being as stubborn and determined as I am, I went daily, working my way up to two classes each morning, 5 days a week. Before 3 months’ time, I was back at pre-pregnancy weight.
I managed to keep up my workout regime all summer, until I returned to my full- and part-time jobs. Then I just couldn’t find the time or motivation. I tried to go before work a few times, but that meant getting up at 5 am after finishing work close to midnight the night before. As you can imagine, that didn’t last.
I’m on March Break now and as I type this, I should be getting dressed for my workout (I had pledged to attend every day this week). We’ll see if that happens.  I’m extra tired (I guess staying up til 3 am watching Prison Break didn’t help).
That last paragraph was written on Tuesday morning, and it’s now almost 11:30 pm Thursday. I haven’t been to the gym all week.  As my hubby reassures me, the new-ish introduction of studying has taken precedence over my workouts, and that is nothing to feel terrible about (which of course I do).  It never used to matter if I was tired, ragging, irritated – I ALWAYS made it to the gym.  Now, I have to put it on the back burner and give myself some time to physically, and most importantly, mentally, rest.
I can’t wait too long because, as I’ve mentioned in a previous post, I’m running a 10K race in May.  In June, a Spartan obstacle race.  And just yesterday, a co-worker approached hubby and I to form a work team to attempt the CN Tower climb in April.  I’ve referred to myself as crazy before, and I suppose I am, because I’m intrigued by the idea and I’d like to participate.  If not for charity, the street meat vendor in front of the Rogers Centre that I used to frequent when my company was situated there.  He owned this amazing three-nipple-like mayonnaise squeeze bottle and even offered bacon bits and corn.  I digress.
Now I impose upon myself a new challenge which I call 3-4-5:  3 inches, 4 pounds, in 5 months.  The 3 inches I’d ideally lose around my spare-tire of a waist and 4 pounds self-explanatory, well in time for my trip to Europe in 5 months.
I generally find that in the summer, frequent outdoor runs, more sweating, and smile-inducing sunshine help to keep the weight off.  I’m disappointed in myself for slacking, but spring is around the corner and up open the many possibilities of outdoor activity.
Wish me luck.  Until the birds are chirping, however, I’m going to be eating Golden Oreo Cakesters, cashew-and-toffee-swirl ice cream, and other sugary, highly caloric yummies.  I’m only human.

The Eternally Elusive Clock


I don’t know what I was thinking.  I do love to write, and I have bunch of foolish/not-so foolish thoughts to share with the world, but did I really account for the time it would take out of my schedule?  Initially, I wanted to (re)start a blog to document my upcoming travels and experiences as a working court reporter (yes, yes, I was looking waaaaay ahead), but then I decided to start now.

Now, when I already have full-time schooling, a frisky and unrelenting toddler to mother, a part-time job, two crazy athletic events to train for, and sleep and more studying somewhere in between.  And now this blog.  WAIT – I forgot to mention the volunteer hours I hope to be logging at the zoo this summer and the continuous European vacation planning extravaganza that is to take place this August.  Perhaps I possess masochistic qualities, but  Hear me squeal and whine about it now but I fully intend to have every single item crossed off my to-do list!

My sincerest apologies for not writing sooner.  It’s review week and I’ve been catching up on some of the exercises I’ve been sort of neglecting.  I’m caught up now, so here I am!  Though I don’t attend class every day (we operate on a self-guided schedule, and I must attend class at least 50% of the time), that doesn’t mean I’m not working.  I have to account for at least 10 hours of online writing practice per week, plus daily dictation exercises and reports, and a very tricky grammar course that stumps even ME at times (if you don’t know me personally, I’m a spelling and grammar PSYCHO, so please proof-read your emails and comments before you send me any =P).

I once had a blog on which I posted almost daily, and in the mere 4 (?) months of its existence it accumulated over 1,500 visits.  I’d say that ain’t too shabby 😉

Please help me get there again this time – heck, let’s exceed that goal!

Thank you for your visit today, and hopefully tomorrow and several times after that!

One day I plan to do a post on cupcake reviews.  I like to call them fat cakes actually, because since I returned from maternity leave, stopped working out and started ingesting these little cups of satan, I gained 7 pounds 😦  For that reason, I am going to be running a 10K race in May and some scary-looking what-the-fk-was-I-thinking Spartan obstacle race in June, after which I expect to melt off the aforementioned poundage.  Then go on vacation.  YAY!

I digress.  Stay tuned, upcoming post is already in the works 🙂

alpha basis birth blastoff


I once dreamt I found myself in a house and in one of the rooms was a dark shadow that terrified me so I tread lightly and eventually passed by it. I went up the stairs and in one of the rooms there was a psychic and her male associate and she was holding a handheld device with an LED display lit up with blue letters.  When she saw me there, she pressed a button and the words Preferred Fate appeared on the screen. With her head, she motioned towards the staircase and the dark room below it, and I understood what she was wordlessly telling me: my preferred fate or that room; the choice was mine.

This is how my blog came to be.