“Can we seriously not bring you anywhere fun?”

Picture this. A weekend where both my fiance and I don’t have to work. That’s something worth celebrating – let’s take the kiddo somewhere fun!

There’s this great little place where we live called The Discovery Centre. It’s a place for kids to learn and explore science in fun cool ways. They have lots of hands on stations and exhibits. It’s quite engaging and even the adults can find cool things to do. Even the toys they sell in the gift shop are cool. We’re talking stuffed animals in the shapes of parameciums, DNA, and the flu virus’. Yeah, this Mom is a nerd.

Here’s their website in case you want to have an idea of what I’m talking about: http://www.discoverycentre.ns.ca/

So we decided to take little L there for an afternoon. We go in, pay, and head upstairs to the second floor which is geared more towards the toddler age. Once we got to that floor, her eyes lit up. First instinct – RUN TO ALL THE THINGS!

Between the giant sandbox where you can “dig” for dinosaurs, the bubble room, and the HUGE lego area, you’d think she’d have no reason to complain, right?



Well Mom’s and Dad’s, here’s a little hint for you. DO NOT TRY TO MAKE SURE YOUR KID SEES EVERYTHING. That’s what we tried to do. I mean when you’ve been in the sandbox digging dino’s for 30 minutes, we thought you might be interested in at least KNOWING that there’s a bubble room around the corner. A bubble room where you can actually stand on a platform, pull a lever and have a giant bubble encapsulate your body.

So we tried to lead her towards the bubble room. MELTDOWN!!!

Body on the floor. Face down. Screaming and crying. SERIOUSLY? You don’t even have tantrums like this at home, so you decide to do it in public?! All the other parents are staring wondering what the hell we could have done to make a kid so upset in such a cool place. Not to mention that our kid has an unusually loud voice. Even when she’s happy, she’s LOUD. I’m sure between the screaming and kicking the floor, the building probably measured about a 4.1 on the Richter scale.

Admittedly, once we got to the bubble room, she was so enthralled that the temper tantrum stopped as quickly as it started.

But we had to go through the whole screaming tantrum thing again to go to the Lego. And again to the suspension bridge. And again to the music maker. And again to the big giant wooden truck.

You would think after the first one or two times she’d realize we are only bringing her to something else that is cool! You’d think that Mommy would have learned to stash some emergency chocolate in her purse so that she could shove some in her mouth, close her eyes, and go to her happy place for a few seconds while Daddy deals with Screamy McYells-a-lot.

I’m all for letting my kid experience things first hand, and taking her out to see the world and learn through “doing” rather than being “told” how things work. But maybe we need to wait to try this place again until either she’s just had the best nap of her life, or Mommy is sponsored by Hershey.




“Atta girl, you get that Doctor!”

How to ruin a toddler’s day – one word. Immunizations.

Now I don’t want to get into the whole debate on whether or not you should immunize your kids. I’ve been there and done that. I work in a clinic where ex-coworkers basically chastised me at the thought of not immunizing. The end of the story is we chose to do so. End of that discussion.

My girl has a MASSIVE phobia of the doctor’s office/hospital/dentist. Basically anywhere she has to be examined. This stems, I believe, from a fall she had just shy of her first birthday. She pulled herself up on some furniture and fell forward, hitting her tooth up into her gums on the way down. A year of follow up appointments at the dentistry department of our local children’s hospital later, we are in the clear.

But holy hell did they traumatize her! Two to three people pinning her down at a time to get a look at the tooth in question.

Well there goes my kid’s trusting nature. Eff that. She’s had enough with all of you guys!

So a couple of months ago it was time for her 18 month shots. I was DREADING taking her in. I mean all kids scream, but one doctor told me she’s never seen a kid fight like her. She said she should be a “freedom fighter”. I think she tried to make me feel better about the whole thing by saying something like “Good for her. She knows what she doesn’t want and isn’t afraid to fight against it”. Yeah. That’s nice speak for “Holy crap will you just get her to sit still and be quiet so my eardrums don’t spontaneously combust?”.

So we needed a plan to get her used to the idea of needles. Enter, this kit!Doctor Kit

She LOVED IT! We practised with the needle and stethoscope most. We brought both to the office. In the waiting room, we gave her a “needle”, and she gave us one. All ok.

We entered the room. Hell breaks loose. She won’t stop fighting, so my fiance has to assume the position and hold her still to get it over with. The doctor had to take the toy needle from her. I think it was partly that he was afraid of her having anything that could potentially be used as a weapon against him. I’m telling you, she’d use anything she could!

So when all is said and done, she’s standing there with a pout on her face. He says “All done, L. You can go home now! Here’s your toy back”.


He gave her the toy needle. Payback is a bitch doc.

Didn’t she just take her little fisher price needle, get a devious little look on her face, walk over to the doc and give him one in the leg to return the favour. All you can hear is her going “he he he”. Good ol’ doc played along and said “Ouch! You got me!”.

At 18 months old, my kid has already realized the satisfaction of revenge. I’m in trouble.



“Come on bladder, what’s a Mom got to do to sleep through the night?”

You know the routine. Your kid is finally in bed. You’ve had a couple of  hours of silence (that’s if this is one of those lucky nights that they actually stay asleep) and you are more than ready to pack it in for the night. You’ve done your time, so your crossing every single finger and toe on all of your appendages to just get one solid night of sleep before you’re hit with mayhem in the morning.

So you pee. You really make sure that you try and get out every damn drop, cause stuff just isn’t the same after you’ve pushed out a kid. It doesn’t, shall we say, “bounce back”. You brush your teeth. You wash your face. (Aww hell who am I kidding, most nights I’m too damn tired and lazy to wash my face. I just wake up in the morning and say “shit, there’s another pimple cause I’m too lazy to make the effort at that time of night). Then, if you’re like me,  you try and pee AGAIN because usually, there’s just another little tinkle in there that didn’t manage to sneak out.

That should do it, right? Two damn pee’s before you hit the hay.

Now I’m lucky, people say. My kid sleeps through the night now. I should be happy and well rested in the mornings, yes?


My bladder has another thing in mind. I’m up at least twice every night to empty the pipes. Can you say drain the lizard if you’re a girl? That sounds way more epic and cool than empty the pipes.

So I get up. I make my way to the bathroom (with eyes half open and full of those little sleep crusties), and pee. By the time I’m done peeing, I’m too asleep too do anything productive, but too awake to fall immediately back to sleep. So I check my kid to make sure she’s still breathing (chest goes up, chest goes down). I check my email, cause wtf else do you do at 230 in the morning? I lie on the couch and hope to fall back asleep.

Oh wait, there we go, I think I’m going to fall asleep! So I rush back to bed, push my fiance out of the way because God forbid he try to take over any of the bed in my absence. I need 75% of the width of that bed. I’m a sprawler, and I’m mean about it. I don’t know how he puts up with me.

Fast forward to about 5am and we’re on repeat! Up, pee, check kid is alive, check email, wander back to bed, push fiance, try to sleep.

Then the kid gets up between 530 and 7am. If I’m lucky it is 7am. If I’m lucky, it’s only been a two pee night.

They say kegels (is that even how you spell it?) helps with this. Bullshit. It doesn’t. It also doesn’t help with the after effects of super sneeze or colossal cough. Enough said.

I’m too young for depends, but some nights I wonder if it’d be worth it to just sleep through the night.



“Are you serious? Breast milk flavored lollipops? It was hard enough to wean my kid…”

I will start this off by saying, yes I breastfed my kid. I fully support it. But I weaned her for a reason…

Have you heard of these things yet? OMG, the thoughts running through my head right now. I don’t even know where to start. I’ll give it a go anyhow. I guess I’ll start with the link to the article.



That’s right folks. They are real. Holy crap.
Here goes:

1) It isn’t even real breast milk, but they had to emulate the flavor somehow. Enter the flavor specialists! It’s their job to get the flavor right. “With the help of some breastfeeding mothers, who “kept sharing their breast milk with our flavor specialists until we were able to candify it,”. – Guess I’m working the wrong job. Who wouldn’t want to have to taste hundreds of breast milk samples from God knows who, over and over all day long. BARF!!!

2) Seriously people. Have you ever tried to wean a kid from breastfeeding? The last thing I want to do is give her a candy that tastes like the stuff. Next thing you know, I’ll be out of lollipops, and I’ll have a screaming kid grabbing for my tits again in the grocery store. Thanks, but no thanks!

3) Newest flavor addition to Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans – Your mother’s boob milk! (Only the geeks will get it, but I’m fine with that).

4) So you’ve got these in your purse for your kid, but then your husband/fiance/brother/sister/stranger goes searching through your purse for a snack (come on Mom‘s, they all know we keep a secret stash in our bag in case our kid throws a fit somewhere and we have to bribe with food). “Mmm what kind of sucker is this? It seems familiar, but I can’t place it….”. Oh you know, that taste of childhood – your mother’s boob. BARF!

5) What are they going to name these things? Nipple nummies? Aereola delights? Mama’s Mammary Munchies? I might be throwing up a little in my mouth.

As gross as I find this, I’m secretly a little jealous I didn’t think of this idea myself. You know these people are raking in the money right now from the crunchy granola mama’s who think this is fabulous.

Where’s my nasty million dollar idea?


“Mommy’s tired. Let’s play a game where she doesn’t have to move…”

Beauty Shop

We had a busy afternoon at a dear friend’s baby shower today, with only slight meltdowns over her not being allowed to tumble down the stairs over and over. (Obsessed with trying to go down the stairs. Wonderful to learn this skill, but let’s try it when it’s just you and me, no distractions, so that mommy doesn’t look bad when she loses sight of you for two seconds and you fall down the stairs and hurt yourself). She made a new boyfriend who brought her a cracker. Super cute – growing up too fast.

But it’s the end of the day now, and mommy is tired. She doesn’t want to chase you anymore…besides, you think it’s more fun when Daddy chases you and he isn’t home anyway.

So let’s play a game where Mommy doesn’t have to move for the next 15 minutes. How about…beauty shop!

Yes, that’s right. I’ll just lay here on the couch, close my eyes, and be soothed by you combing my hair. You’re such a girly girl – this is right up your alley! Make Mommy pretty, ok?

Didn’t think that one through. She LOVED playing beauty shop, but Mommy’s hair is a little worse for wear. Brush, tangle, pull, get frustrated that it is tangled and hit mommy in the head with the comb, repeat.

Anyone know how to get a comb out of your hair without using scissors? Anyone know a hair dresser that does house calls? Anyone have any chocolate… or even better…wine?


“Oh Oball – you’re so great, but you ruined my kid’s day”


Ever seen these? They’re only the greatest ball ever!

They’re easy for a kid to grab, super responsive and bounce everywhere. Really lightweight. Pretty well the perfect toy. My girl has a pink and purple one that she LOVES. To be fair, she loves all balls (or dalls, as she calls them), and if she sees one that she can’t have, mayhem ensues.

One of my very best friends will soon be welcoming her first baby boy, and her shower is tomorrow. Since the Oball is so friggin awesome, and so economical, I decided to throw one in. (If you’re reading this before tomorrow, I’m sorry I spoiled one of the things in your bag).

So today when I’m getting everything ready, I have the Oball on the dining room table. I’m oblivious to the fact that she is in the living room, and has spotted the dall.

I’m happily putting stuff in a bag, when I hear it – “WOW – DALLL!!!!”.

She’s running, and it’s too late. I try to show her that she has her own dall to play with, but she doesn’t care. This is a new one. New is better. New is what she HAS TO HAVE!

Ever told a toddler she can’t have something that she loves? It doesn’t go over well. Screaming, crying, trying to climb onto the table via my leg, the works. It’s pure mayhem.

I’m only left with one option at this point – distraction.

I have these little Zumba hand weights for my Wii game. They shake.

“Here, look at this! Ohhhhh how cool is that!”.


Tomorrow is the shower. She will see the dall in front of a room full of people. WTF was I thinking…..


“Oh God, gross, please don’t touch those stairs!”

How I ruined my toddler’s day today.

We live in an apartment building. It is far from ideal, but that’s where we’re at right now.

Now call me crazy, but she’s only 19 months old and usually climbs up the stairs on all fours. In this building, there’s no way in hell I’m going to let her hands touch those stairs in our stairwell. Heck,  I wouldn’t let her do it in any public stairwell. So, when we are out somewhere (or on those stairs) we usually hold one or both hands and help her go up the stairs “like a big girl”. This way, the hands stay clean, and she still feels like she’s doing something phenomenal.

Now today, this was going well! We got up the first flight with happiness – smiling, feeling proud of herself, etc.

When we were only 8 steps away from our floor (there’s a little landing by a fire escape) she decides to promptly drop down, crawl on the landing (uggh the germs!) and then sit down. The refusal to go any further set in. We asked “do you want to walk up like a big girl” and she was having none of it. Well we’re not going to stay here all day, so my fiance picked her up for the last eight steps, and then put her down so she could walk to our apartment door.

Apparently, even though she didn’t want to walk up the stairs, us picking her up was the beginning of the end. Insert the crying and wailing in our hallway which echoes more than if you were on the top of Kilimanjaro. Insert the crabbiest old lady neighbour walking towards us with her garbage bag staring at us like her crying is the most annoying thing in the world. Insert me trying to desperately pacify her to no avail.

We get inside our apartment, and the desperation to stop the crying continues.

“Do you want some juice?” – shakes head no and wails.

“Do you want your coat off?” – shakes head no and wails.

“Do you want your lambie?” (the previously blogged about dirt rag) – shakes head no and wails.

We don’t use the soother (aka mute button) any more so that’s not an option.

“Do you want to go to sleep?” – no refusal. She crawls up, cuddles, and promptly passes out.

Holy Eff. The pre-nap mood swings on her can sometimes be worse than a woman with PMS.

At least she wakes up happy.

Let’s hope she sleeps well tonight so we don’t have this kind of a show at the baby shower we are going to tomorrow.


“You asked to me take it, I didn’t want it! Here, take it back! Take it back!”

Does your kid have a lovie? Mine sure does.

It used to be a pristine, white, little lamb. We call him “Lambie” or “Lamb-tron”. It’s one of those things that is a lamb’s head and arms, sewn onto like a little blanket thing.

Lambie isn’t white anymore. It is a lovely shade of germy, dirt-grey. No matter how many times I wash it or what I wash it with. It’s in a permanent state of “frig that’s filthy looking piece of crap”.

Well today went well all morning. We left without a hitch. She didn’t fuss while getting her hair done either, which is a miracle in itself!

We drove to my Mom’s (where she gets looked after for the day) and things were going great. I should have known it was an ominous sign that this was too good to last.

As we were getting out of the car, I stood her up in the driveway and handed her “Lambie”. I grabbed her bag, and we should have been ok to head to the door. However, the white puffy dandelion flowers were too much of a temptation, so she made to hand me Lambie so she could pick a weed. No big deal, sure I’ll take the dirt-rag.

WELL HOLD THE PHONE. Apparently, even though she said “here take this” (well she didn’t actually say those words, but you get the picture), I’m apparently not supposed to touch him this morning. Queue the screams, tears, sitting down in the driveway (which isn’t paved by the way so she’s sitting on rocks) and flipping out because I’m holding the love of her life.

Did you not just HAND IT TO ME?

Oh dear god. Right. Forgot to mention that across from my Mom’s house is a lady who runs a daycare out of her home. There are two mom’s dropping off their kids and standing in the driveway staring at me with the “Holy God, thank fuck it isn’t my kid doing that” look on their face.

So I’m standing there, in the rain, saying “Well here, take it back, I didn’t want it in the first place. Take it back. Take it!”.

Give a kid a Lambie, flip the switch, and apparently all is well in the world again. I wish life were that easy for me. I need a Lambie for when the day gets rough. Oh wait, is that why adults drink?

On a positive note (yes, I can be positive, too!), I did leave her happy. Mommy wore lipstick to work today, so she kissed the top of wee Miss’ hand and left her with a kiss for the day. Ten minutes later, she’s still sitting in the corner, staring at the kiss on her hand saying “Wow!” and kissing her kiss.

Day ruined, to day made. Maybe I am super- mom after all!


“Do your boobs hang low, do they wobble to and fro?”


So if you read the “About” section on here, you’d see how I’ve described myself. Not-so-skinny, not-so-perfect, etc. The one thing I could say about myself for a long time though, is that I liked my rack. I never had issues when it came to “fulfilling” that area. I think what I liked best about my boobs, was that they took away from my gut. Focus, UP!

I don’t know about you other mom’s, but seriously, WTF happened to my tits! I went from having boobs a pin-up girl would be envious of, to ending up looking like I should be on the cover of National Geographic (not in a good way). They’ve lost their “oomph” so to speak.

Not only that, but one tit seems to feel more “deflated” than the other tit, which makes finding a bra a bitch. Not only do I have to find a bra that defies gravity, so to speak, but I have to find one that leaves the girls looking equally full again.

You don’t find bras like that at Walmart.

At least their still big, and can still distract from the fact that my daughter is 19 months old, and I still manage to have a belly that looks like I’m 6 months pregnant….and a zebra. Yay, stretchmarks! (Said nobody ever).

If you’re one of those women who ended up popping right back in to looking like a barbie doll… you’re clearly following the wrong blog.

(And I’m secretly super fucking jealous.)


“Did I seriously just do that?”

You know those moments. The ones where you see your kid doing something, and your first instinct is to yell “Oh My God, you are not seriously doing that right now!”. But then common sense kicks in and you realize, fuck, it’s totally my fault and I can’t yell at all.

I had one of those moments last night.

Any working mom knows, that when you work all day, you want to be one of those mom’s who has super fun with their kid before bed. You don’t get to see them much, except for weekends, so you want those few precious hours to be awesome, super fun-mom time.

But some nights, you’re just too fucking tired. Your brain is scrambled and it’s all you can fucking do to get to bedtime. That was last night. It was one of those nights where she needed a bath, and it could not be skipped. (Thankfully she loves tubby time, so it isn’t a chore.)

So here’s me. I have the water running in the tub. I’ve got a blanket on the floor so she isn’t sitting right on the carpet afterwards. I’ve found one of those hooded towel things. I got the kid stripped down to her birthday suit. We’re about to go to the tub when I realize – shit – if I don’t have tubby toys this won’t go well. So I take ten seconds (LITERALLY ONLY TEN FUCKING SECONDS) to grab some toys from her toy box to put in the tub.

I turn around, and she’s looking down, peeing all over the living room carpet.

Insert me wanting to yell “You are not seriously doing this right now!!!”. I didn’t yell. But I might have cried. My fiance had a “This is why I don’t take her diaper off till we are beside the bathtub” look on his face, and deservedly so.

She isn’t near potty trained, and this is the first time she was actually conscious of her peeing, because she felt it dripping down her fucking leg. I’m the bad mom.

So here I am, fighting back tears, wanting to yell (mostly at myself for being such a dumb ass) and I have to pull myself together so that my kid isn’t traumatized by her first piss outside of her diaper.

Mom fail. Clean carpet fail. Sanity fail.

Fuck the chocolate, where’s the wine?