Merry Christmas (letter)

Dear friends,

What a year it’s been. Welcome to the first (and possibly only) edition of our annual Christmas letter. It’s been such a big year for us, full of so many changes, we thought it would be prudent to try to sum it up for those of you that haven’t been able to keep track.

As you’re likely aware, we sold our sweet little house in Regina and moved back to Victoria at the end of March. We always knew Saskatchewan was a 3-5 year plan for us, but that didn’t make the transition any less difficult. We left behind incredible friends, a greater community than we could have ever dreamed of, and the best coffee shop. We were back in April to see Jeff and Kim get married, and are hoping to make it back for a visit in 2019.

My mom graciously let us stay with her for 8 long months while we got settled and looked for a place of our own. With three adults and one bathroom, it was hard, but we persevered and are the stronger for it.

When we sold our house in Regina the only thing we knew for certain was that my mom would take us in. We had no jobs or childcare lined up, just the faith that Victoria was our next destination and the hope that God would provide so we could hit the ground running. And that we did. We had childcare and jobs lined up before the UHaul was even loaded.

Karl and I each have good jobs. We’re lucky enough to have dear friends watching our kids during the week.

If you’re a little behind, you might not know that we recently bought a home with my dad. We are now the proud owners of half a pink duplex in beautiful Sidney by the sea. Dad is living in the main level suite, while us Mortons mostly occupy the upper level. The house needed some work done to make it livable and hygienic, but the bulk of it is scheduled for completion right before Christmas. As you read this (likely in the new year, let’s be honest) we will be done all the renovations that I naively thought could be completed in two weeks.

The kids are doing great. Parker never stops talking and is so curious about the world around him. He wants to know everything, and has a great imagination. Molly is incredibly sweet, but also becoming very strong willed. They have both done so well with all the changes of the last year and totally exceeded our expectations of them.

We’ve settled back into life in Victoria and have found a new church, new community, and reconnected with old friends. It’s so good being close to family again, and the kids absolutely adore seeing their grandparents regularly.

We accomplished a lot this year. Moving, starting new jobs, putting the kids in daycare, and doing a renovation are all big things. We’re also currently navigating through some serious health issues in the family. While I’m not sure we’ll be sorry to see the other side of 2018, it was a big year for us. We grew, we stretched, and Karl and I got our first ever night away from our kids.

We did not do a great job at keeping in touch this year. We’re sorry. You’re important to us, we just got overextended.

Please consider this your formal invitation to come over for dinner in 2019. If you’re from out of town, bring your pajamas and spend the night. We don’t have a proper guest room anymore, but our laundry room fits an air mattress quite nicely and we promise to make it cozy for you. You’re also welcome to bunk with Parker, who transitioned into a double bed this year and would love to tell you about dump trucks as you fall asleep next to him.

Merry Christmas, friends. We hope 2019 brings you much joy and happiness. Thank you for all you’ve done for us. We’d be nothing without you.

Anna

If you're still here, as always, thanks for sticking around.

My kids are currently eating popcorn and I'm introducing Parker to The Santa Clause. My tree may be coming down tonight as part of our roaring New Year's party, (I also plan on binge watching Travelers and eating Oreos in my sweat pants) but we'll finish the season strong with Tim Allen in a fat suit, just like Jesus always liked to.

Jesus was in my mom group.

One of the greatest joys of 2017 was the mom group I joined.

I was added to the Facebook group in the fall of 2016 while I was still pregnant with Molly by a casual friend from church. Molly was due in February and the group was for mothers in the city due in March or April. I was due in February, but the group was small and in its early stages then, so they pushed the date back to include February. 

The group wasn't super active in the early days, or maybe I just wasn't very attentive to it. This was my second pregnancy and I had a decent grasp on what was going on. The group tried to get together once or twice in late 2016, but I wasn't very interested. Some of the parents had other children, but most of them were a bit older than Parker and our weekends were kind of our family time anyway. I commented on the page once in a while, but most of the people were total strangers to me, and I had enough going on at home to not really feel the need to get involved.

By the time Molly was born in January, making her the old lady of the group, I was committed enough to the group to not feel the need to leave and find a local January group. The next baby was born  in February, then the momentum grew and, by the end of April, there were over 50 us in the group. 

Once the baby boom was well underway the play dates started. When you have a newborn, a playdate is an excuse for a mom to get together with other moms. Playing is optional, particularly because newborns are glorified paper weights, and it's more about the desperate need for social interaction. Moms with other kids would bring them and they'd play while the moms and babies sat around and visited. 

When Parker was a baby we went to a weekly group at the Y. It was lovely, a huge sanity saver, and how I met other moms. It wasn't something I could attend with toddler Parker and baby Molly, though. Enter the mom group.

My maternity leaves were so different from each other. With Parker, I loved the downtime we had, and how easy it was to stay home and do our own thing. I loved our weekly visit to the Y, but didn't feel the need to do much more. With Molly, I needed to do far more to fill the time because it wasn't just me and a sweet little newborn anymore. I had a toddler to entertain as well. Parker's not a high needs kid, but being home with toddler Parker all day was very different than being home with baby Parker.

I hosted my first play date in April. I've always enjoyed hosting, and I found it so much easier to stay home with the kids than take them to someone else's house, a community centre or a park. Parks in Regina in April weren't exactly the nicest places to go anyway. 

I took the plunge and invited the group of (mostly) strangers to my house to come hang out. Many of the moms had not met each other in person before, and only one of them actually knew me. My living room was covered in bucket seats, moms, and babies. I loved it.

I love hosting. It can be draining depending on the occasion, but hosting those moms and their kids in my home felt like my calling. Whereas I had spent my year with Parker selfishly hoarding my time to myself, I suddenly loved having my mornings with those women. 

It started off slow, because I didn't want to make it weird. I hated getting my kids out of the house, so I assumed other people would, too. I later learned I'm a bit of an anomaly. It was so much easier to make sure the Keurig was on and put muffins in the oven than to wrestle my kids in clothes and car seats. Eventually it picked up speed and, instead of waiting for someone to suggest a play date and waiting to offer to host if no one else did, I just started making invitations to the group and whoever showed up was welcome.

Our group was amazing. I sometimes had people over once or twice a week. Sometimes someone else would host. Regardless the location, I saw them almost every week. There were around 20 active members in the group that I met at various play dates around the city. 

I have always felt incredibly insecure about myself. Growing up, I never thought people liked me. I struggled with bitterness for years. So many years. It wasn't until Molly was a baby that that bitterness finally started to seep away and my tendency to be judgemental started to wane. I started actively loving people and accepting them for who they were. 

We were a mixed group, coming from all sorts of different backgrounds, but being around that group changed how I approached the world.

There is no room for judgement in a group like that. Everyone was so different but fighting for the same goal (keep the little children alive and well) that it was hard not to feel united. I'm not saying I haven't struggled to come to terms with some of my friends' choices, but I could love them through it. Instead of feeling the need to snark about them behind their backs I chose not to. I let it slide. I focused on loving them instead.

If this is making me sound holier than thou, bear with me. I didn't always succeed. Sometimes, but surprisingly infrequently with my judgy track record, I did think nasty things. But more often that not I tried to just love them where they were at and be honest. 

I didn't have the great time with that group of moms because of myself. That was Jesus. 100%. 

There is no way that I, as an anxious train wreck of a person with two kids that weren't the picnic I'd been hoping for, could have hosted such a successful run of play dates without Jesus. He was 100% there for it all. I have no doubt in my mind.

He ran the Keurig. He baked the muffins. He sat on the floor and wiped the collective spit up of half a dozen babies off the carpet. He made sure there was no room for judgement and shame and insecurity and He wrapped those play dates up in so much love.

People seemed to genuinely enjoy coming to my house. They'd not so subtly suggest that I should host again. I couldn't believe it.

I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that those play dates were my job while I was home with my kids. It didn't feel like work. It was so easy it almost felt selfish. No one cared that my floors weren't clean or that I'd just wiped the bathroom counter off with a baby wipe right before they came over. They were there for the friends and community and muffins.

Our house wasn't huge, but it was the perfect size for those play dates. Some days there were 23 people including moms and kids in my living room or basement. It was cozy.

All my insecurities were thrown against the wall when we announced that we were moving back to Victoria. I couldn't believe the love that flowed out from people that had been total strangers nine months earlier. When we moved from Victoria to Regina, leaving lifelong friends, I didn't feel the amount of love I did leaving that mom group. I hadn't realized how much people valued those play dates, either.

Something happens when Jesus gets involved and takes the reins. I didn't used to feel likeable, but suddenly I was. I had helped cultivate something special without even meaning to. I took that awkward step out there of inviting strangers into my home, and in the process met some very dear friends, grew up (finally), and Jesus took over the rest. And it was surprising and it was good.

Living on a prayer.

Hi.

I am not crying over boiled potatoes anymore. Today. As much. The potatoes were edible, for the record, but I'm not sure I would go through the process again.

I am feeling so much more grounded and in routine than I was a month and a half ago. We can throw lunches together in less than half an hour now. We all have clothes that are fit and are seasonally appropriate. I took two naps this weekend. Things have improved greatly.

This season of life still ranks fairly high on the crappy scale, but we're getting there. My job is okay, Karl's job is okay, the kids do well at daycare, and we found a church to call home.

We also got approved for a mortgage earlier than expected, so house hunting has officially begun. It is the slowest, least eventful hunt in existence, but it's a thing. If it were a TV show, no one would watch it. Not even our moms.

Part of the reason that the hunt is so slow is that, while we are looking at houses that cost at least double what our last house cost (this is not an exaggeration), they are not as nice and there aren't a lot of them out there that fit our needs. Everything up until this point fell into place so quickly that I can only keep relying on God and trust that the right house in the right neighbourhood for the right price will come up at the right time.

On that note, I don't think I ever explained on here how quickly and easily everything came together for us these last few months.

We sold our house for a price we were happy with in 6 days in a buyer's market where the average house sells in 64.

Where I was struggling to find appropriate work in Regina, Karl and I both had jobs lines up when we moved to Victoria. He had three offers, and I had multiple interviews and was still receiving interview requests a few weeks after I started my job.

We found childcare. In a centre. For both kids. In an area that isn't too far out of the way. It's painfully expensive but they had room for our kids to start right away. Childcare here is next to impossible to get, particularly in a centre, for siblings, and especially infants. All of those things on their own are huge challenges and, somehow, we got in. People are on waitlists before their kids are even born. It took us less than 45 days. I contacted over 60 places and have the colour coded spreadsheet to prove it.

We got approved for a mortgage a few weeks ago. I've been at my job for two months. I have a six month probation period and, due to the nature of Karl's work, one mortgage broker told us it could be two years before we got approved.

God provided.

I have an opportunity coming up this week that I have been waiting on for over two years. Had it come four months ago, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. Now, though, it looks like I'll likely have to turn it down. This is really hard.

We're going through some things with Molly that we didn't with Parker and, while I've been mostly okay with it in the past, it's starting to get to me. It's hard.

Parker and I have been struggling lately, too. I'm not his favourite person (he's obsessed with my mom) and I'm okay with that. He's little, he's allowed to go through phazes and have preferences. Today Parker and I had a big fight (don't judge me, I parented and he pushed back) and it was really really difficult. In the end, though, it had the sweetest resolution. Parenting can be awful and hard and so unrewarding, but today it paid off.

I know sporadic, kind of downer updates like this aren't why people like reading blogs. Believe it or not, I started out with the intention of talking about a show on Netflix that destroyed me. Then I realized that I needed to give a proper update.

I'm doing okay. We're doing okay. It feels like we have a lot going on and pretty much nothing at the same time. I know that's weird. My mom's out of town tonight and Karl and I joked about having a party with all our friends over. Then we laughed and laughed and did housework instead.

I'll be back. I promise. I've got one more serious post rolling around in my head, but I also have a burning desire to share with you the inane and interesting thoughts going on in my head.

You guys, we're halfway to Christmas. We're halfway there. This year of chaos is halfway there.

Does this mean I need to wear pants?

Last year was the year of the stay at home me. I didn't work for a single day (unless you count my failed craft show) and got paid to stay home with the kids. It was lovely but the real world hit and, while I don't necessarily have to work for us to survive, if we want to maintain our lifestyle or have any extra money I really do. I don't actually mind working. I enjoy getting out of the house, and I'm one of those horrendous mothers that actually needs time away from her children. It's good for them, good for me, and good for our bank account.

Because 2017 was such a chaotic year, I actually ended up sending Parker to the sitter's (aka a friend's house) for three hours a week. I didn't really realise it but I was dealing with some anxiety that was manifesting through some physical symptoms. As soon as I started taking Thursday mornings for Molly and I those symptoms pretty much went away. Parker is a sweet child, but he's two. I'm not at all blaming him for my anxiety, but it was easier to get on top of it when I had a break. We also live far away from our families and I never got a chance to have any time with just Molly. It was also, and still is, incredibly valuable for me to have a few hours to spend with just Molly, put her down for a nap, then hammer some stuff off my to-do list around the house. My only regret is that I didn't think to do it sooner.

I started looking for jobs in November with a goal of starting mid-January. I've been working in government for several years and their hiring process can take a while. I also wanted to find something part-time that would be a good fit for us and me. There wasn't a big rush for me to start working again, so I could explore my options. 

I applied for so many jobs and only heard back from one. It ended up being the only job I was really excited about. I interviewed right before Christmas and they offered me the job last week. It was posted as a part-time position (hurray!) but will actually be full-time. While waiting for their offer, my old office called to offer me some vacation coverage hours. I wasn't expecting to get the job and, with the new casual offer on the table, was kind of hoping they were a pass. I got the call last Tuesday, the day before Molly's birthday, that they wanted me. It's way too good of an opportunity to pass up so I accepted, then spent the whole afternoon crying about it.

I'm happy I've got an opportunity to fill the position, but sad because it means working 8-5 every day and I'm not emotionally ready to leave Molly. She still wakes up at night. A week ago she was still nursing four-five times a day. She's my teeny tiny baby and nowhere near as independent as Parker was at her age. She still doesn't crawl.

So guess how fun this last week has been? Sorry, Molly, but it's been an intensive week of night sleep training and day weaning. She's done okay at the weaning, but decided to be contrary and work on her first teeth. Guess how nights are going? It's okay, I'm just raising a little drug addict now. I figure we're all in for sleep training this week and if it still hasn't taken by the time I start work we'll just consider it a lost cause.

If you're judging me right now I'll stop you right there. Child number one was so. very. easy. Parker slept like a dream. When we sleep trained him it worked and that was that. I have always tried not to judge other moms, but I seriously thought that parents that said their kids wouldn't sleep train just weren't doing it right. There was a small amount of judgement there on my side. 

Not anymore. I can't believe how different my two kids are in pretty much every little thing. If having Baby Parker was an ego boost on my superior parenting skills, Molly and Toddler Parker have served to humble me so much.

So there you have it. Change number one of 2018 is that I start a new job on Monday. There are a lot of good things about starting work, but I think the hardest transition is going to be for me, not being able to wear sweatpants all day every day. Lord, beer me strength.

I see you, 2017.

November and December got away from me, as time sometimes tend to do. All of 2017 kind of did. I blogged a grand total of 15 times last year. Compare that to 32 in 2016, 44 in 2015, 43 in 2014, 49 in 2013, 205 in 2012, and three times in 2011. I wasn't going to count back through my entire blogging "career" thus far, but it was kind of addictive so I couldn't help myself. In case you lost track, that makes this my 377th presently available post on this blog. Over the last six years there have been a post or two that have been deleted or archived for the greater good but, like some of my older stuff, they probably aren't worth remembering anyway.

If you're worried that this little retrospective is the prelude to my retirement, don't be. You're still here so you're clearly still invested (bless you). Dear friend, you can take comfort knowing that I have no intention of retiring Make Mine Decaf. I, too, am still here and I'm not going anywhere.

2017 proved to be a year of chaos. I'm not one to decide on a word for the year until after the fact (mostly because I really don't care) but at one point I thought my word of the year might be "sprinkles." I used a lot of sprinkles in the first half of the year and it brought me a lot of joy. Who can't find joy in rainbow sprinkles? Serial killers, that's who.

But, no, sprinkles didn't make the final cut. "Chaos" did, though.

I've never been big on New Year's resolutions. (Except for the one year in high school I didn't eat McDonald's for an entire year and beyond. For the record, it wasn't very hard.) I find January 1st to be an arbitrary date on the calendar that doesn't really mean much. Of course everyone plans on eating better but it's hard not to after the food marathon that is December (more on that later) but, other than that, nothing really changes.

I finished off 2016 with a bold statement: Bring it, 2017. Three days later I kind of started to regret that.

It didn't matter in the end, because Molly was born healthy and screaming but there was no denying that 2017 showed up and made a point that it wasn't just going to be an arbitrary date. (I sometimes think of last year as The Year of Molly, but that's kind of unfair to Parker so we won't pursue it any further.)

Spending an entire calendar year at home with two really little kids proved to be nothing short of chaotic. There's a lot more that can be said about that, but for now just believe me when I tell you that an 18.5 month age gap (I know, I can't let go of the .5. It feels important.) is straight up chaos. Looking back I'm not sure how I did it. At times it felt like an incredibly long year, but now it all seems like a big blur of sleep deprivation and decaffeinated coffee.

I had to let go of a lot of expectations in 2017. Molly, although incredibly sweet, is just not the easy baby that Parker was. We're a week away from her first birthday and I'm still really hoping we get her sleeping through the night by then. Forget next week's cake, that would be the best belated push present ever. I'm not holding my breath.

I've learned a lot about myself as a wife, mother, and person this year. If that sounds cliched it's because it is, but kids wreck you, guys, and I'm one good cry away from pouring my heart out in a deeply sincere Instagram post that ends with a #blessed.

On that note, I feel like I should appologize for treating my IG as a blog. And for just calling it my IG. I've been prioritizing my time lately and, it may not seem like it, but when I blog it takes about an hour to get a post out. This is partially because of the novellas I write, but also because when I'm only posting once a month I feel like my content needs to be a little more thought out than it was in 2012, the year of plenty. On Instagram it's so much faster, easier, and I don't need to consciously neglect my kids while doing it. I Instagram on my phone and blog on my laptop. It's easier to hold a phone over your head and out of your toddler's reach than a computer.

This past year has been hard in a lot of ways. There's been a lot of joy, but also struggles. The year didn't start off as planned and our new baby was more complicated than I'd expected. (Apparently it wasn't my superior parenting skills that made baby Parker so easy.)  There was also tragedy and heartache, parenting woes, and minor health issues.

I made a lot of new friends, found a new rhythm in our day to day lives, and kept two tiny people (never mind Karl and I) alive and well. If survival is how you determine success, then I'd say it was a good year. It wasn't a bad year, but I'm not sorry to see the back of 2017. Onward and upward to the future, where hopefully we all get to sleep through the night and Parker learns how to give foot rubs.

The coming year is likely going to be Chaos 2.0. There are big changes heading our way and with them comes a lot of stress. I anticipate that the next six months will give me a lot of grey hair and bigger eye wrinkles. (Seriously, when did I get old enough to wrinkle?) I'm really looking forward to the last half of 2018, though, because in my mind it involves a lot of sleeping.

So cheers to 2017 for the good and the bad and the babies. Thank you and goodbye. And cheers to 2018 for exciting new things, the terrifying unknown, and the year I blog more than I ever have in Molly's life.

The parade of shame.

On Tuesday morning I packed the kids up and took them to the library down the street for Toddler Time. I'd never been before, but have several friends that go on Fridays so knew it was a popular destination. Because I'm a terrible mother, I'm not particularly fond of cheesy mom and tot programs. I find the singing awkward and all the feigned enthusiasm makes me wonder if switching away from decaf and adding a healthy swig of Baileys might make me fit in more. Surely there must be a reason all those stay at home parents are so painfully chipper and involved after spending every single day with their toddlers.

We showed up five minutes late despite my best efforts to the contrary. We were in the parking lot three minutes before it was set to start, but I have a sneaking suspicion that most parents are actually early for these sorts of organized things, even though that flies in the face of all parenting logic I've ever experienced. It certainly doesn't happen with any of the play dates I've been to.

Getting out of the car involved nothing short of bribery on my part and a near tantrum on Parker's. I'm pretty good at not giving into his terrorist demands, but we were short for time and he wanted to bring his snack cup in. I was not about to waste all the effort I'd gone through of putting makeup on for a Shreddies fuelled throw down in a rainy parking lot.

Because Toddler Time was in a room in the basement and Molly is still in her bucket seat, it took us a full five minutes to manoeuvre ourselves into the building and into the elevator. It's not that I'm necessarily afraid to lug an 85 lb bucket seat down a flight of stairs while holding my toddler's hand, it's just that we were already late and I didn't want to add a trip to the ER to our list of things to do that morning. I threw my hip in August after getting stung by a wasp on my baby toe (makes sense, right?) so I was already a little off balance to begin with.

Getting into the elevator itself was an adventure as, apparently, I don't take Parker out of the house enough to know what the outside world looks like. He was enamoured with the buttons that opened all the doors, and that was just to the building. Once I wrangled him into the elevator, after missing the doors to it twice, it was all I could do to block him from pushing the emergency and alarm buttons all at once. I wish elevator designers had seriously reconsidered putting those buttons at toddler eye level.

When we finally made it to the room, a mere five minutes past 10, Toddler Time was in full swing. The room was full of singing children and parents, all wiggling merrily as they sat on the carpet. All of them, naturally, turning and looking at us upon our tardy entry.

Parker, like me, doesn't do incredibly well in new situations. I'm finding that, as the supposedly mature adult in our relationship, I have to resort to faking it more often than I'd like. While a large part of me wanted to back out of the room mumbling about that not being the bathroom, I'd been spotted so we sat down and acted like we belonged.

Parker flat out refused to surrender his snack cup or take his boots off in order to sit on the carpet, so we hung out on the floor, as close to the door as we could and faked it like our lives depended on it. I sang the songs, did the actions, and pretended to care about the story that I could barely see from across the room. Parker eventually got tired of my enthusiasm and shushed me every time I participated. I couldn't really blame him. All the other kids bounced around enthusiastically and Molly just sat in her bucket seat, still in her pyjamas, ready to make a getaway at a moment's notice.

At the end of the half hour session, the kids all got to take a "musical instrument" and march around the room singing. This is clearly a highlight of the entire morning and eagerly anticipated by parents and children alike. It's true, nothing sounds like more fun to me than watching a bunch of toddlers stomp around in a circle making as much noise as possible. Okay, I'm a little envious. Someone give me a maraca.

I got Parker some bells to shake and encouraged him to, at the very least, stand up and let loose. Instead, we stayed seated at the edge of the carpet circle shaking our bells while the other stylishly dressed children and parents paraded around us. The parents, bless them, seemed to get it and tried not to look directly at me. The kids, however, were looking at Parker and I like we were some sort of interesting stain.

"Why isn't that little boy participating, Mommy?"
"Well, Timmy, some people just don't understand fun."*
Not an actual conversation I overheard.

After Toddler Time there's some free play time. In our case, it was back-out-of-the room-as-quickly-as-possible-and-pray-to-God-that-Parker-doesn't-press-any-alarm-buttons-in-the-elevator-time.

I think we'll just stay home next Tuesday.

Yes I can.

Last time I left off, an embarrassingly long time ago, I had you all on the edge of your seats with the prospect of potty training Parker. Fortunately, my son had mercy on me and our imminent road trip and decided that, after nap time that first day, he wanted to go back into diapers. Fine by me.

We have now entered a reality where the potty is around if he wants and he knows that he gets treats when he uses it, but it is no longer controlling our lives. Praise Jesus! He can do it, we're just both highly uninterested in pursuing that lifestyle right now. So we aren't. He'll be done with diapers by the time he's old enough for preschool. Diapers are easy. I'm more than okay with them, especially now that we've discovered Easy Ups. Psychotic toddlers can't take them off in their sleep sacks.

We did, however, have another big life transition with Parker. When we got home from vacation we decided that it was time, for everyone's safety and sanity, to turn his crib into a toddler bed. He was climbing into his crib and teasing a head injury, never mind that it was exhausting having to watch him Houdini his way out of his sleep sack every night and make sure he didn't concuss himself while he was supposed to be sleeping.

I was team "crib until high school" but parenting is nothing if not humbling. He did really well with the transition and only fell out of his bed four times on the second night. He did fine, he just felt his way back to his bed and climbed back in. Nap times were a nightmare for a few days until I realized that as long as he can't get out of his sleep sack he'll, for the most part, sleep. Some days he doesn't sleep, but he has to stay locked in his room for 90 minutes because I'm the boss and don't hate my life.

I've been learning a lot about grace and parenting through the past month and a half. I can't control everything my toddler does, but I can control my attitude towards it. The run up to potty training was just as stressful as transitioning from one kid to two and losing my job. What looked like the end of Parker's naps gave me intense anxiety, too. Embracing the changes and finding a way to make them work for me was the only thing that kept me sane. So, judge away, but locking him in his room for 90 minutes a day while he rearranges his furniture and drawers is the main thing keeping me from becoming a travelling hobo.

Today's boring yet informative re-entry into my life brought to you by Peppa Pig. I've had a busy couple months, but have really missed blogging. In the grand scheme of things, it gets the chopping block. Today I finally figured out how to balance that parenting and blogging lifestyle. Thanks, Netflix.

Vacations with kids are like vacations from sanity.

We went on a mini vacation for Canada Day. June was a painfully busy month for us, with something happening every weekend that meant we didn't get to spend any Saturdays together as a family and Sundays are always busy. We were tired, forgetting what it meant to spend proper time together without other commitments, and I was looking forward to napping on our 7 1/2 hour car ride to Edmonton to visit Larissa's family. Somehow I always forget that children don't like to nap in the car as much as I do.

Last week Parker skipped a nap and I almost kicked him out of the house. I contemplated going back to work then and there. Sorry, Molly, maternity leave is getting cut short. He napped the next day, though, so I forgave him and gave him a terrible haircut instead. I didn't mean to, it just sort of happened and, really, I'm punishing myself more than anything. I'm the one that has to look at him all the time.

When we left Friday morning we got the kids up an hour early so we could make it to the doughnut shop in Edmonton before they closed. Naturally that led to two overtired children that screamed for a solid hour before our first stop. One would start to calm down just in time for the other to start up and they'd feed off each other's cries. Nothing gets your heart rate going in the morning quite like two kids having a scream-off.

We had a great time with our friends, having one last Alberta hoorah before they move next week. We ate doughnuts, went to the zoo, visited IKEA, and played games. It was wonderful, with one small exception that's about two and a half feet tall and suffers from some serious bedtime FOMO.

At home Parker doesn't always want to go to bed at designated sleep times. I get it, I'm a lot of fun to hang out with and he just wants to keep the party going. Unfortunately for him, I take sleep very seriously. Very, very seriously. This sometimes leads to him resisting sleep times and me walking away with my figurative fingers in the air to have my own party without him. Basically what I'm saying is, Parker screams and for the most part I just let him.

While we were away, Parker decided he didn't want to nap. Forget that he hadn't gotten much sleep on our way there, he just really didn't want to miss the fun party. On Saturday, the day he walked around the entire Edmonton Zoo, we eventually we got tired of his screaming and let him skip his nap.

That night, he raged a bit at bedtime but went down relatively easy. I tiptoed downstairs to check on him and Molly and stepped on a noisy toy. There is nothing more heart-stopping than trying to spy on your freshly sleeping child and having animal noises come from the vicinity of your feet. When I picked up the toy I set it off again. I hustled as quietly as possible out of the room to get rid of the offending so I could try one last time to look at the kids. I put the toy down on the chest freezer only to have it slide off and start making noise again the moment I opened the door to sneak back in. At that point I gave up. Either the kids were asleep or dead because they didn't react and it was out of my hands anyway.

The next day we tricked him and did some driving around right at nap time. He slept for 45 minutes in the car. Not great, but better than nothing. We figured he'd sleep like a boss that night. We were so very wrong.

On our last night there Parker decided he was done with the playpen. So done, in fact, that he taught himself to climb out of it and stand, screaming, at the door to the room he was sleeping in (the living space of our friends' vacant suite). He's a resourceful child so he managed to lock himself in a couple times, but thankfully there was a spare key. It funny and sad all at once when your tired but raging child keeps locking himself in a room he's trying desperately to escape from.

I was not ready for the stress of a rabid toddler. Hell hath no fury like the uncaged two year old that knows you're hanging out without him. I won't go into all the details, lest you think I'm a really terrible parent, but I'll just say that nothing we did could soothe him or coax him to sleep. After three hours of his raging (I cringe just remembering it) he didn't pass out in front of the door, so we gave in. I, like the United States of America, have a policy not to give into terrorists but I would like to see any president, past or present, stand up to my son longer than I did. 

We brought him upstairs to happily terrorize our card game. Eventually I ran out of steam and we all went to bed. And when I say "we all" I'm obviously not including Parker in that because it was only 11:30. Karl let me sleep (or try to) while Parker played in the main room and he lay on the couch. Finally, at 1 a.m. Parker literally fell over and passed out. Only, of course, to climb out of his playpen at 7 a,m, and scream at me through our closed door.

I decided we were never taking him anywhere again, at least not until he was out of his crib in 3 - 4 years. Then I remembered that we've got plans for a month and a half from now. As tempted as I was to cancel all future holidays with children, someone reminded me that sleep sacks are great containment devices. 

I was desperately hoping that Mr Playpen Houdini wouldn't use his newfound skills to ruin my life at home but, sure enough, Monday night he got out of his crib shortly after I put him to bed. 

I didn't cry, I just shoved him in a sleep sack, sent Karl to the store to buy more, and have since invested in stocks in them. I'm happy to say that Parker is now lovingly contained in a pink floral Aden & Anaias number because that's all they had at the store. It certainly brings out his eyes, though.

Parker also picked a great time to need to sleep in a blanket bag because our air conditioner died on Monday and our house is hotter than the face of the sun. But he's still in his crib and that's all that really matters.

Mom thoughts.

I recently had a moment of clarity that was almost like a punch in the gut. Molly is the sweetest little thing, but she hasn't been the easiest baby. I've been beating myself up with all the things she doesn't do that Parker did at her age, mostly regarding sleep. If you didn't already know this, parents with infants obsess over their sleep like some people obsess over sports stats. With Parker we hibernated for the first year of his life and it was most beautiful of times. We did very little and practically all he did was nap in his crib while I kept a tidy house and did puzzles. It was freaking magical.

Molly just isn't Parker. She's more difficult. She's delicate. The nurse and doctor both bantered around the word colic, but I don't think it's fair to parents of colicky children to apply it to Molly. The thing is, once I really truly realized that she isn't as easy a baby as her brother through no fault or shortcoming of my own it was like a big old burden came off my shoulders. Mom guilt is so real, and we are our own worst critics. Usually.

Right now I'm focusing on baby steps with her and it's doing wonders for my sanity. Those first 2 1/2 - 3 months as a mom of two were the absolute hardest. Now, I'm just focused on what we are getting done. Molly goes to bed around the same time as Parker. Yes. Thank you, Jesus. She's starting to put herself down to sleep while she's swaddled. Hallelujah. She's not co-sleeping as much. Glory be to God. She is only napping for 45 minute stretches at a time. Well, you can't win them all. Baby steps. I figure that by the time she's 7 months old we'll have her on a spotty morning nap (second child problems) and a killer afternoon one like her brother. And that's really all you can hope for. At least we'll always have bedtime.

But enough about my daughter's sleep, let's talk about my jeans. There's this beautiful time right after you give birth where you feel like a sexy, slim beast. Your body is amazing, it just ejected a homegrown human, and DANG where did your jumbo belly go? That lasts a couple weeks, then you feel fat and milky and overtired and like you'd like to burn every reflective surface you see because your body is disgusting. Then that goes away, too, and eventually you just accept the fact that you need to do some work to fit your pants and that the body you once had is nothing more than a memory. For me that happened right around the time my belly band started to wear out. I tried and, magically, succeeded in buttoning up my pants. It was a big, fist-pumping moment for me. Then I ate something and they didn't fit anymore.

My weight has always fluctuated, but I'm currently in that stage of life where if I eat just a little too much junk my pants are too uncomfortable to do up. I'm really looking forward to the elastic waist shorts days of summer, but until then I'm in this weird limbo of wanting to do my pants up and wanting to eat cookies. I'm really glad my kids are too young to see this side of me. I don't want them to ever worry about their bodies, as long as they're healthy, and I certainly don't want them to complain about their or another woman's thighs. But right now,  their mommy just needs to lay off the doughnuts and she's got clothes to fit into.

While Parker and I enjoyed our time together when he was little, he now needs to socialize far more often. The weather still isn't fabulous and I'm not really interested in braving it with a newborn but Parker needs more stimulation than just me to facilitate epic naps. Last week we had four play dates, and tomorrow morning I'm having five moms and their kids over. I know one of them, but the other four moms are complete unknowns.

You know you've been momming for a while when you start just accepting a certain level of messy for having strangers over. Sure, I tidied and swept the floor, but I didn't do a real clean. I reserve that for visiting family members I need to impress. If everyone wears socks they might not even notice. I will, however, make muffins and coffee. That's all moms really need anyway. And hugs.

Speaking of affection, Parker has re-entered a sweet stage. When he hurts himself he instinctively knows that kisses make it better. I have no idea where he figured that out, but one day he just started asking. I am more than happy to provide as many as he'd like. It's pretty stinking cute. He also puts himself in a time out when I tell him to. It makes me want to laugh and cry all at once.

Oh, motherhood. It wrecks you and builds you back up all the time.

Thanks, kid.

Molly is 12 weeks old. I remember when Parker was this old thinking that he could stay this age forever. It was sweet, low key, sleepy times. He'd spend half the day napping and I could clean, organize, paint things, and knit whenever I wanted. It didn't matter if he was awake or not, because he was just happy to lay on his play mat and flail at his toys. Those were beautiful days.

They say that it's easier the second time around, and I certainly believe there is some truth to that. The newborn stage isn't as scary, and I find Molly very easy even though she's not as easy as her brother was. It's only been in the last month that she's been happy to lay on her back because she's so gassy, she has only napped in her crib a handful of times, and makes bedtime an exciting adventure. Aside from that, the newborn stage is much easier the second time around. I don't even mind so much that she's always around me during the day. Whereas I longed for my personal space when Parker was born, and he gladly gave it to me, by now I'm used to being the mom and always needed.

This toddler thing, though. It's hard. Parker and I had a decent routine and repertoire going when it was just us, but Molly has changed all that. I can't devote myself wholly to him anymore. He loves his sister but doesn't love sharing me. One newborn is easy. One toddler is manageable chaos. Combining the two is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life.

We're finally starting to get Molly into a bedtime routine (I hope) that doesn't involve her awake until 11:30. She even slept from 9-7 straight last night. I heard birds and angels singing a happy chorus this morning when I woke up, engorged but so so happy.

We have good days and bad, but my main two goals right now are getting her to bed before I'm ready to sleep (although I am in a permanent state of tired these days; it's my new normal) and having her nap in her crib. We have a video monitor so once she naps in her crib Parker and I can play outside without me having to worry about her. I also see the dreaded four month sleep regression fast approaching and want to be ready to tackle it head on. It never really bothered us with Parker because he napped in his crib from day one, but I'm feeling like my arsenal is woefully ill-equipped this time around.

Sleep is my love language and I'm feeling a little depleted at the moment.

This morning I dropped Parker off with a friend so that Molly and I could work on crib napping. I was ready. I was determined. Instead of stopping for coffee and waiting for the library to open I brought her straight home from dropping him off. I was ready to get our crib napping on, even if it meant I had to camp out next to her crib the whole time to make it happen.

She fell asleep in the carseat on the way home. Two and a half hours later she's still sleeping. I thought she'd wake up after half an hour so I didn't even try to get her out. I have to get Parker in an hour and a half. At least she's getting a good nap in.

It also turns out I don't remember how to enjoy extended quiet time. I told myself that I would just relax and enjoy my break because goodness knows the next time I'll have one like this.

I had a quiet breakfast. I drank hot coffee. I read some of my book. I even had a loud phone conversation right in front of her. Then I got antsy and put away the laundry. 

Yep, still sleeping.

Typical.

When your toddler turns into the Hulk.

We've had one of those weeks where it's like the Energizer Bunny from Hell. It just keeps going and going and going and, seriously, is it only Wednesday? At least, that's how the week started.

After reading another scary article someone shared on Facebook about RSV, I noticed Molly had some of the symptoms. She's fine, but we spent 24 hours in the hospital with her under observation just to make sure she was okay.

When her and I got home, Parker had a nasty cough and a rash that looked similar to one he had when he had an ear infection. Off to the clinic he and Karl went, where they waited two nightmarish hours (anything over 20 minutes of waiting with a toddler is like a visit to a psychopathic dentist) only to find out he didn't have an ear infection, just a cold. They came home with a prescription for a puffer and some steroids to help with his wheezing.

The pharmacist instructed me to only give Parker the steroids in the morning with breakfast because it would give him an energy boost. May the good Lord have mercy on us all because he wasn't kidding.

Parker destroyed our house this morning. I'm not exaggerating. There's usually a fair amount of chaos left in a toddler's wake, but this morning he reached a new level. No amount of discipline could get him to listen to me and stop attacking my tea trolley or breast pump while I used it. He pulled the change pad off his dresser. He pulled the clothes out of his laundry basket and drawers. He got everything off the top of his bookshelf. I walked in on him trying to tip his bookshelf over. My house looks like it's been searched by very inconsiderate thieves. The place is trashed.

My toddler had a case of roid rage and it was terrifying.

Molly had her follow-up appointment with the paediatrician today so I asked him about Parker and he told me that steroids aren't necessary for bronchiolitis (which is what Molly has so Parker likely does to). Sold. Done. No more steroids for that kid unless daycare wants to take him tomorrow because I am not a crazy person, but I will be if we go through that again.

On the bright side, all the built up tension from having a small scale natural disaster take place in my home has given me enough pent up tension and energy to go back to the gym and hit the treadmill. If I don't, I worry that I may have my own Incredible Hulk moment. I also have an excuse to redecorate Parker's room and a new bookshelf for my living room. Winning.

You win some, you lose some.

After a solid month of having family around, we are finally getting the chance to try our hand at being just a family of four. Today was the first day of just me and the kids at home, and there were no tears. (Even though only two of us are actually able to produce tears at the moment.)

Molly will be four weeks old tomorrow and, even though I'm not as much of a mental case as I was when Parker was born, I'm still pretty sleep deprived and, as a result, plain old stupid. My brain power is being used to change bums and ensure that anyone under three feet tall is fed in a timely manner. Everything else is secondary. Except laundry. I am a laundry doing fiend and when it eventually gets folded I put it away like a fiend, too. We're still working on getting back into a fiendish folding routine. We're only four weeks in though, and I know it was a solid eight with Parker before I felt capable of life.

When I dropped my mom off at the airport Saturday evening I managed to confuse myself enough with figuring out how to drive to Michaels afterward that I started thinking it was Friday and wow rush hour traffic was light and dang I might as well go to the thrift store on the way home to pick up some books since I have no kids. Except of course it was closed because it wasn't Friday at all and things close earlier on Saturdays. Then I went home and to bed at 8:30 because adulting is fun.

I cleaned my kitchen this morning, did laundry, and emptied the dishwasher so I think the second time mom is ahead of the game. I imagine moms with three or more kids are making dinner in the delivery room they're such pros.

Having a toddler and a newborn presents its own challenges. When Karl's around I like to negotiate my way out of changing all the diapers. I'll offer to do one kid in exchange for him doing the other. The question I find myself asking is whether I'd rather change one giant raunchy toddler turd or eight newborn ones. Usually there's no actual option, but these are the deep things I think about in the middle of at the night while I'm up at BFG o'clock acting as baby buffet.

I remember thinking with newborn Parker that he never napped when I wanted. Why did that kid just want to be awake and torment me? Now I can't help but wish he slept like he did when he was a newborn. Okay, I wouldn't trade the 13 Parker-free hours I get a night for all the diamonds in the world, but during the day? Yes, please, nap all the time. I didn't sleep while holding him until he got his first cold at two months because I had the fear of squishing him branded into my soul by the health nurses. This go-round Molly and I nap together regularly and we tend to co-sleep half the nights. She's got some gas issues (she doesn't like it) and I have some issues with being woken up every couple hours (I don't like it) so cuddling is mutually beneficial. She has someone to fart on and I can get up to three and a half hours of sleep in a row.

During the day I get to stare enviously at Molly napping in her vibrating massage chair, working to get the gas out, while I get fed pieces of chalk and pull a wooden bee around the house on plastic cord. Today the big game was helping Parker put on his hoodie and zipping it up everything 90 seconds.

With Parker I found I had to go easy on my ginger consumption, but I now I've had the horrendous realization that I may need to take a break from eating black beans with Molly. I was planning on making (and eating most of) a bean cake for her due date. I'm glad I realized the negative impact that can have on our lives/sleep before I went hardcore. I'm sad, but I've got coffee to comfort me so it could be much worse. And I'm fairly confident in my ability to make a decent chickpea cake.

Parker fell down the stairs yesterday before going to a Superbowl party with Karl. It wrecked me, hearing the thump-thump-thump-cry. He was fine, just scared, but we didn't see it happen and I had visions of him with a broken head or neck and then I contemplated getting our fireplaces removed and wrapping him in bubble wrap. I had a lot of that kind of anxiety when he was born, but I'm doing really well this time. I've never thought about getting a helmet for Molly, and she's only had one head injury so far.

Parker is very into his books, and the other day he got a little over zealous with the Toot book (his current favourite) and hit Molly in the temple with the corner of it while I was burping her. She cried, he cried, she had a tiny red mark on her head all day, but the real takeaway was that he loves her enough to feel empathy to whatever  extent a toddler can actual feel complex emotions. I just know they're going to be BFFs, he just has to stop trying to stick his fingers in her eyes and ears.

Molly and I had our own grand old Superbowl party. We drank milk, ate cookies, got tummy massages, and watched Sherlock. I even did laundry. The good life.

I have to say, I really wasn't sad to see the tail end of January. Excepting Molly, it was kind of a crummy month. Sure, I ate some amazing cake, but I spent a fair amount of time in a body that was, in all likelihood, trying to kill me. Without modern medicine I would have been a walking bag of infection (probably still would be, and super pregnant to boot). Nevermind the whole water breaking thing, but I also got a stomach bug last weekend. There is nothing more desirable than having a 2.5 week old infant and being forced to spend an embarrassing amount of time in the bathroom while also necessitating a giant mixing bowl beside your bed. It's okay, though, because I lost five lbs over night, and since I'd over indulged in lactation cookies my milk supply didn't seem to suffer one bit. I was also the only person in the house to get sick and had a good excuse to stay home from church with Molly and watch Netflix.

I've got to hand it to January, though. I surpassed my weight loss goal, and am now down 23 (okay, 20 since I started eating/drinking again) lbs. Take that, Christmas weight.

Speaking of food, our church has arranged a meal train for us, so instead of making supper this week I can do other productive thing instead of preparing food for my family. Like blogging.

Molly's birth story

With a due date of February 7, I always suspected Molly would be a January baby. Parker was, after all, eight days early, relatively unusual for a first pregnancy. Babies, of course, don't follow any rules, though, and no one can ever predict what's going to happen. Pretty much the only guarantee is that eventually, somehow that baby is going to exit your womb. In my mind I figured that she would probably be two weeks early, never imagining that she'd be so eager to join the outside world she'd try for a full 36 days early.

This is a birth story. It's long and involved. Go grab a coffee, grab a snack, and maybe grab a quick nap beforehand if you're feeling drowsy. I make no apologies.

I wrote about those first few days already so I'm not going to spend too much time rehashing them, but my water broke early, possibly January 1st but definitely January 2nd. When presented with our options, my doctor recommended being induced on the 2nd at 34 weeks and 6 days.

I was fairly flexible with my birth plan, the goal always being to have a baby and bring it home, and this time I knew with absolute certainty I wanted an epidural. I never thought much about the bringing baby home part of the plan because it always just seemed like such a given. With a normal pregnancy and normal ultrasounds and prenatal appointments it never even crossed my mind that leaving my baby at the hospital was an option. Standards vary, but in Regina if your baby is born before 36 weeks they go to the NICU. I'm still a little unclear on if there's wiggle room to take them home earlier if they're doing well, but the NICU certainly did not fit into our birth plan. 

We opted for 48 hours of IV antibiotics in hospital, then five days of oral ones at home if labour didn't start naturally. When we went into the hospital January 2nd I had minor irregular cramping that seemed like it might be a prelude to labour, but it went away. I spent the next two days in a hospital bed, trying to catch up on sleep and watching Jane the Virgin. I had a visit from the NICU doctor while I was there to talk about what we could expect when Molly was born. The big worries were her breathing and eating. Babies that early don't necessarily have the sucking reflex figured out yet, let alone superstar lungs.

I had an ultrasound on my second day in the hospital and the tech informed me that baby still looked like a girl (I asked, since she was looking around) and that she estimated her weight at 7 lbs 3 oz. Considering Parker was 6 lbs 10 oz at 10 days early, I was shocked. Naturally, I knew that there's room for error in that number (usually half a pound) but I couldn't believe the baby I expected to be tiny was actually a relative giant five weeks before her due date. The tech even asked if I had gestational diabetes because of my baby heifer. Part of me wanted to be induced at that very moment just to make sure she didn't turn into a 10 lb turkey. Sorry, lady bits.

When I was done my antibiotics and getting ready to be discharged my doctor popped in to chat. He told me that the steroid shot I'd been given to mature Molly's lungs was a little controversial and, he thought, unnecessary. The obstetrician hadn't told me that the shot was definitely needed before 34 weeks, but that it might not be necessary for a baby at 34 weeks and 6 days. She also hadn't told me that the shot could have the side affect of helping the baby gain a lot of weight for a week or so, particularly if I had a lot of sugar. My favourite part of the hospital food I'd been getting was the juice they gave me four or five times a day. The food was so abysmal that I was taking full advantage of all the wonderful orange juice they were giving me. If I had to stay in the hospital, I could at least treat myself to an abundance of juice. I had visions of myself giving birth to a 10 lb juice baby, being ripped clean in half during delivery, and her not fitting any of her newborn clothes.

The doctor and I decided on Monday as my induction date, a week after my water officially broke, since it wasn't quite 36 weeks, but was the last day of my antibiotics. He warned me that there was a slight possibility my membranes could fix themselves and, in that case, we could actually make it to 39 weeks. I prayed that wouldn't be the case. I'd gotten used to the idea of a 36 week baby and laying off the sugar for a week. (I made it three days at home before I got back on the chocolate train. I'm weak and was leaking. Hold the judgement.) Do you remember the story of the 14 lb baby that was born a few years ago? I saw Molly and I following in his footsteps and becoming the next headline on the news, possibly entering the Guinness Book of World Records.

When I was discharged Wednesday afternoon (January 4th) I was thrilled. It's hard to sleep in the hospital, especially when your antibiotics need to be changed every few hours and your ruptured membranes like to do their ruptured thing while you're in your deepest sleep. With Parker I thought 36 hours of broken water was horrendous, but a week is a whole other adventure. Remember, amniotic fluid regenerates itself so your broken water just keeps going like you're constantly wetting yourself, no matter how empty you keep your bladder. Glamorous.

On the way home from the hospital, Karl and I went to Costco. I was a little worried that all the walking would start labour (as most people go into labour within 12-24 hours of their water breaking), but I am now convinced that if left to its own devices my body would never actually go into labour and would just leak amniotic fluid until toddlers eventually crawled out of my womb and demanded peanut butter and jam sandwiches. My body just isn't interested in the whole giving birth ordeal and I can't say I blame it. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Costco did not cause me to go into labour (surprise, surprise), and the only painful part about it was how much money we managed to spend. 

We went home, where my dad was watching Parker and they were having a grand old time. I planned to never leave the house again, then Karl talked me into a trip to the grocery store that night. Apparently there's a part of me that can't say no to the control that comes with buying the week's groceries and scoping out good deals. While at the store I felt an all too familiar gush as I bent to pick up some almond milk from a lower shelf. Thankfully I was wearing a long winter coat and we were at the end of our list, so my laughing husband, wet pants, and I finished up our shopping with as much dignity as I could muster. I vowed not to leave the house again and, short of one five minute trip to the drug store for what I like to affectionately think of as "lady diapers," I became a shut in until it was time to go back to the hospital.

While I really wanted to make it to my induction date, I knew everything would be okay if I could just get a couple hours at home before having my baby. I needed to mentally wrap my head around it all, even just have a chance to pack my own hospital bag and put some baby clothes in there. Karl did an okay job, but he didn't understand which swaddle blanket I wanted or how many headbands to bring. I also just needed the chance to go home and wrap my head around it all. Molly's room wasn't done, the laundry room was a mess of boxes of kids clothes, and our darn Christmas decorations were still up. Had she come on January 2nd, the tree would probably still be up today.

As it was, I had five days to hang pictures on her walls, sort through what felt like hundreds of boxes of kid clothes, do some baking, reading, and sleeping. I was tired, but got everything done that I needed to.

Two days before I was due to be induced I started cramping again. Karl and I went to the hospital but they sent us home after an hour and the cramping went away. It had been a pretty intense day of doing laundry and hanging pictures so I opted to take it even easier from then on. I finished Molly's room and it went from a space that I really didn't like, with its mixed and matched furniture, to a room I'm genuinely envious of. It's amazing what the random art I've had laying around the house and a crocheted triceratops head can do for a space, never mind my mental state.

We got the call early Monday afternoon to come in for our induction. There's something so nice about walking into Labour and Delivery and being greeted by your smiling nurses, then calmly brought back to your room where, yes, finally, you know that baby is going to come out. There's not as much uncertainty, no tears, no labour pains, just friendliness and anticipation.

In the delivery room the white board had a tick mark next to the NICU section. When I asked about it, they informed me that the NICU people would be present for her birth because she still wasn't quite 36 weeks. While it wasn't what I wanted, I was glad that there were measures in place to help our little girl should she need it.

Being induced with Molly was very different from my experience with Parker. With Parker it took hours for anything to happen, and when it did it was like someone had poured kerosene on my insides and lit them on fire. With Molly, they started the drugs at 3:30 and I had minor cramping registering on the monitors within the hour. We started taking bets as to what time we thought she'd be born. Our nurses thought it would be just before midnight, and they didn't think we'd still be there when they got back in the morning. They were lovely, but we were okay with not having to see them again. Operation Get The Baby Out was in motion.

I listened to an audiobook and played Tetris on my phone to pass the time while we waited for things to get going. Because my membranes were ruptured no one was in a hurry to check how dilated I was due to our dear friend "infection risk." My doctor visited at 8 o'clock after delivering a 10 lb baby in the room next to us (that poor mother) and checked me. Three c.m. dilated. Before leaving, he instructed the nurses to call him if I seemed at all ready to go, even if they thought it was a false alarm. My baby, he said, was going to fly out of me when the time came. I have super children.

An hour or two later my cramping started getting more uncomfortable. It was still manageable and I could talk through it, but I decided to ask for my epidural. The magical epidural window is, ideally, 2-4 c.m. so I knew I was eligible. I didn't necessarily need it at that point, but I remembered what could happen without it and I wasn't ready to start practicing any heroics. Parker wasn't born so long ago that I've forgotten the excruciating pain that came along with his induction or how quickly it came on. Besides, who wants to be in pain if they don't have to?

When I got my epidural with Parker it felt like it took less than two minutes from start to finish. This time I must have been more in touch with reality because it took significantly longer. Last time my back was stiff for several weeks where the needle went in, but this time I don't even have a bruise. Once the epidural got going everything was set right in the world. They joked that we could name the baby Molly after a variation of the anaesthesiologist's last name. Karl and I laughed awkwardly.

After my epidural came one of my favourite parts of the birthing experience: the relaxing, comfortably numb part. It was ruined at 11 o'clock when I had to admit to the nurse that I probably needed a catheter since my epidural was doing such a good job. I was still only three or four c.m. After that, I couldn't get quite as comfortable. Ironically, I constantly felt like I needed to pee. The catheter was not everything I'd dreamed it would be.

From there on out I managed to relax for a little while if I let my mind wander and Karl even took a little nap. I couldn't feel anything, but the nurses assured me that my contractions/cramping were still happening regularly and we just needed them to get stronger. Have I told you how much I love my epidural?

Around 1:30 the nurse recommended that I try laying on my side since I'd been on my back the whole time. She said that sometimes babies can flip or turn when you're on your back for an extended period of time and it looked like maybe mine had done that. She didn't have to tell me twice. I rolled onto my side, but the darn catheter kept getting more uncomfortable. After a few minutes, I told the nurse it just wasn't working for me and she said I could go back onto my back.

At this point I was getting really uncomfortable. I wanted nothing more than to rip my catheter out and throw it across the room. I called Karl over to hold my hand and the nurses decided to check my progress. Lo and behold, I was 10 c.m. and baby's head was right there. I'm a little unclear as to the timeline on this, but I think it was around 1:55 when they called my doctor to come in.

Eight minutes later, at 2:03 a.m. he came in, gowned up, and they took the bed apart. It was go time.

Labour with Molly was very different than with Parker. With him I felt a lot of pressure like I needed to poop, but with her I was really uncomfortable on the front. I didn't feel the pressure come in waves like I did with him, I just felt so uncomfortable, even with the epidural. It was bearable but not something I'd want to do long term, and more intense than when I'd gotten the epidural a few hours earlier.

At 2:08 a.m. as I put my aching legs in the stirrups, my doctor told me that without the epidural Molly would have been born already because my urge to push would have been too strong. It felt like they were telling me to push even as they still took the bed apart. It was hard to wrap my head around being able to push without the urge to do so. I wasn't sure how much effort I could muster through the pain (more than discomfort, but akin to really bad period cramps), so I tried to push while talking to them through it. The next thing I knew they were telling me not to push so hard because that was baby's head. I let up on my push to the point that it felt like I almost wasn't doing anything at all and my body was just running the show.

And then her head was out. And it was another gentle push and the rest of her came out, crying with those perfectly strong and capable lungs at 2:13 a.m.

I took eight days of stalling, two pushes, five minutes, one fabulous epidural, and zero tearing (praise the Lord!) to bring Molly Faye Morton into the world. She was a perfect 20.5" long and 6 lbs 6 oz light. It all happened so fast that it took my brain a couple hours to fully comprehend that I had, in fact, given birth again and my little girl washere. I don't even think my doctor was up for an hour before it was all done and he told us he was going home and back to bed.

When they first held her up, one of the nurses told us we had the little boy we were expecting. "I mean girl!" Well that would have been a funny story.

Before heading to Mother and Baby we told the nurse to let the anaesthesiologist know that we had, in fact named our baby Molly. Hopefully it made her night.

We made it to 36 weeks and 133 minutes before our little nugget was born. She was right on the edge of being jaundiced but my doctor let us go home the next day as long as we promised to keep an eye on it and bring her in the next day if she wasn't improving. We were so glad to head home, and after four full days in the hospital in just over a week I was getting much too used to the menu. I also got the delightful experience of being a teaching experience for six nursing residents while we waited to be discharged, but that's another story for another day. Going home was wonderful and Molly did everything she could to kick the jaundice, including surpassing her birth weight within a week.

She is quite probably the mellowest baby in all of history. We all love her dearly and can't wait to see who she grows up to be.

The highs and lows of 2016.

I read something online the other day where someone said that they get together with their close friends at the end of the year and share their high and low points of the past 12 months. I thought that was brilliant. I've always loved going around the room and hearing everyone's high points of the year, but I like the idea of sharing the low moments, too. It's good to look back on where we've been in the year and see how far we've come or, maybe, still have to go.

I know a lot of people that have had big struggles in 2016 whether it's health, professional, or personal. Breakups and health scares and job drama have all been big players in the lives of many of our friends this past year.

Looking back, it seems like the high and low points of my year should be fairly straightforward. High point: getting pregnant again. Low point: losing my job. It's not all black and white, though.

Losing my job was hard. It really was. The funny thing is, before I knew that my job was gone, I was struggling with the prospect of returning to work. Having the choice to return to that hard job taken away from me was actually a blessing. It taught me something about my faith, and it reinforced for me that God's plan is so much bigger than ours. There is no part of me that wishes I still held that position, and I'm so grateful for the part time opportunity that was dropped right at my feet when I needed it the most. I applied for a dozen jobs and got only got one offer and it was the perfect offer. God was there, holding my hand the whole time.

I was searching for a different post today and came across one I wrote a few years ago on the cusp my 24th birthday. So many years later and it seems to echo so perfectly a lot of the same sentiments that I felt this year.

It's hard to put into words the high points of 2016. We spent a lot of time with my side of the family, and accidentally spurred a family reunion in Ontario when we visited. I hadn't seen my dad's siblings since I got married in 2010 and most of my cousins for almost 15 years. It was wonderful to discover that not only are were connected to these people through blood, but that I also really like them.

This was also the year that I ate some many vegan/dairy-free doughnuts that I almost got tired of them. 2015's word of the year was "baby" and 2016's is "doughnut." 2017's will probably be "thighs."

Getting pregnant again has, of course, been a huge highlight. Not that pregnancy is the most fun thing in the world, but I feel like I've been better at it this time around. I'm looking forward to welcoming our little girl in a month or so and have, for the most part, gotten over the nerves I initially had about it. Raising a boy and a girl is going to be a wild ride, I'm sure, but I'm ready. Bring on the headbands and frilly bums.

How do you round up your biggest moment of a year without feeling like you've left things out? Visiting friends, doing puzzles during Parker's naps, the anticipation of a new life in our home, sharing in the joy of friends' pregnancy announcements, months at home with Parker and now watching him grow into a little person with a fabulous personality, working on a women's ministry, discovering a dairy-free bakery, and finding a new hairdresser all made up the high points of 2016 (some more so than others). It's been a wild ride of a year, but was ultimately so good to us.

I know that 2017 is going to be its own beast. We'll be growing our family and I won't be the only one wearing dresses anymore. I'll likely be off work for the entire year. Towards the end of the year we'll (hopefully) start making gradual plans for moving back to Victoria. I'll read a lot of books, paint a lot of things, and knit through my ever growing yarn stash. I'll also drink a lot of decaf coffee to make up for lost time.

Bring it, 2017.

Flying with a toddler.

Last year I rocked your world with some tips on flying with a baby. This year I thought I'd give you a couple helpful updates for the not-so-baby in your life.

We just got back from a week in southern Ontario and, while Parker did really well while we were there, it didn't matter what time our flights were at or how tired he was, that child fought sleeping on the airplane like he was the one flying it.

When it comes to flying with a toddler, the best advice I can give you is simple: Don't.

Instead of booking expensive airplane tickets, I recommend instead investing in transporter technology for those distances that are just too far to drive. Surely Gene Roddenberry was on to something way back in the day. We're sending people to Mars so I think we're clearly moments away from molecular transportation. Get on it, people, and do us all the favour of never having to get on an airplane with an over-tired toddler again.

I think the baby broke.

We went home to Victoria a month ago and it broke Parker. He'd never made strange in his life until then, and it was the beginning of a mommy-clinging stage. At first the snuggles were wonderful, as he actually fell asleep in my arms one day for the first time in months. Then it just got ridiculous. I couldn't leave his sight to refill his water during mealtimes or he'd start screaming bloody murder.

And now. Oh, now. Somehow my perfectly behaved child has become a screaming dictator that will not give either of his parents permission to use the bathroom alone, and they must both be present otherwise the screaming will take place. (In case you're wondering, we let him scream. Bathroom breaks do not need to become a full family affair.)

I realized yesterday that my beautiful baby is now a raging non-toddling toddler. full of sass and ideas about how the world should work. I also realized that suddenly we've gotten into that terrifying stage of parenthood where we need to teach our kiddo not to be a spoiled raging beast when things don't go exactly as planned. I'm not ready!

My house sounds like a baby torture chamber today because I've decided that, like the United States of America, I will not give into terrorists.Especially not terrorists that prefer snuggles with their father and scream when their mother cuddles them at the wrong moments. I will, however, give in to coffee and cookies for breakfast, and probably a bubble bath just because. Karl's working today, Parker cut four teeth in the last couple weeks and had an eye infection this week, he became a diva, and I'm getting a sore throat. I've also run out of ideas of shows to watch on Netflix and the next audiobook in the series I'm listening to is on hold at the library. Basically life is over and we're all going to die.

Just kidding, it's almost nap time. My son may be a raging dictator of a one year old, but at least he still naps. Thank you, Jesus.

Survey says: You're a bad mom.

The latest incredibly made up statistics are in and, as predicted, they're horrifying.

79% of children that undergo some form of sleep training have abandonment issues. Your child needs therapy because you let them cry it out in their crib one night when they just really, really wanted to stay up and scream at you because they were overtired. I hope you left room in your budget for this, because it looks like you gave them PTSD.

Mothers that drink while nursing are 61% happier than those that don't. If you can still hear the baby whining you probably need another margarita.

Children whose parents consume alcohol within 50 feet of them (awake or asleep) are 27% more likely to become raging alcoholics. Whereas the other 73% will just have run of the mill alcohol dependencies.

Breastfeeding mothers are 100% more likely than their formula feeding counterparts to complain about the return of their monthly cycle and the baby weight not "melting away" as quickly as promised. They will then compensate by eating lactation cookies.

Infants that co-sleep don't move out of their parents home until the average age of 32.4 years. But they do tend to sleep through the night at a younger age.

Babies that wear pajamas all day are 80% more likely to go to the grocery store in their sweatpants as an adult. Without make-up.

Those children given soothers are 41% more prone to obesity than those without something constantly in their mouth. They are also 12% more likely to take up smoking and intravenous drug use.

Cloth-diapered infants are 34% more likely to become vegans and use natural deodorants as adults. Studies show that there may also be a correlation with playing the acoustic guitar.

Mothers that return to work before their children are in school feel 25% more shame than those that stay home. Consequently, 80% of which comes from themselves.

84% of parents that read to their children from a young age can tell you exactly how Thomas feels about getting into his snowsuit. Noooooooo!

When life hands you doughnuts you eat them.

Parker and I drove seven and a half hours to Edmonton by ourselves last week. You may think I'm brave for road tripping with a baby by myself, but really I'm just reckless. I also needed a vacation. Having that long to just focus on the road and listen to an audiobook was actually very therapeutic. So were the hundreds of Skittles I ate.

We visited some dear friends and their trio of offspring and while I had a grand old time going to IKEA and eating dairy-free doughnuts from new favourite bakery, Parker found the whole thing to be a little much. I guess he's gotten used to the quiet life around here, and the energy of a preschooler and toddler kind of got to him. But the friend time, chunky baby snuggles, and baked goods more than made up for it. I didn't cry once!

There's a reason the Jews are God's chosen people, and I think it's because of these kosher and dairy-free beauties right here.

My dad flew into Edmonton and drove back to Regina with us. The drive out was uneventful, but the partied out baby certainly appreciated the grandfatherly distraction on the way home. And I did, too. There's only so much crying and whining one person can take before they're wishing they'd bought a dozen more doughnuts. And since Parker isn't allowed to eat doughnuts anyway, Grandpa really helped fill their void.

We put my dad back on a plane this morning and I decided that today was going to be another write off. Not in the sense that February 29th was, but in the sense that I needed to catch up on the Downton finale (I laughed, I cried, I cheered) and some other shows in my leggings all day while eating the random things I found in my fridge. The dishes and laundry will wait until tomorrow while Parker and I recover from a highly delightful week and a half of interacting with people all day every day. Even though I'm 51% introvert and 49% extrovert (or so the tests tell me), the introvert has definitely been feeling rejected and has taken over today.

Parker is getting very old all of a sudden. Someone asked me at church if I was back at work yet and I almost threw up on them. Ten more weeks to go and I will be. Ten weeks and I will have an official toddler. One that can't toddle to save his life but will, in all likelihood, be crawling within the hour. One that moved out of his bucket car seat this week and into a real big boy car seat and loves it.* Even though he hasn't actually watched any Star Trek or Firefly yet so he has no reference point, I'm fairly certain Parker thinks he's a spaceship captain in that seat. The way he puts his arms on the sides and sits there like a boss, you can tell he thinks he's the one running the (rear facing) show.

I realized yesterday that my time to hammer out those maternity leave projects I've been meaning to do is quickly coming to an end. Let's not dwell on it too much, but I see a lot of painting in my future. A LOT. Good thing my wrist is getting better and I've got some good audiobooks on hold at the library.

Right now, though, it's snowing,and my son is practicing his forward motion on the floor so I'm just going to soak it all up while I can and take a million videos of him, while eating leftovers for dinner.


*You know you're a mom when you start saying horrible things like "big boy car seat" and you get excited about things like standing in line for children's consignment sales. A couple weeks ago I stood outside in the freezing cold for an hour just to buy used onesies and board books. I brought coffee and friends and everything. A year ago I scoffed at the very thought.

Having a baby? You will die if you don't have these things.

I've planned on having a baby, been pregnant, given birth, and now have a baby. There's a lot of stuff that goes along with the whole infant thing and I know it's a hot topic in the blogging world as to what you actually need for this wonderful stage of your life. So, if you're thinking of having a baby, pregnant, in the process of giving birth, or now have a child you're probably dying for my "must have" list of baby gear. Or, as we call it in this household, baby crap.

Chocolate. Seriously. There is no time in your parenting journey that chocolate will not be necessary. Trying to conceive? Chocolate. Pregnant? Chocolate. Giving birth? Chocolate (when the nurse isn't looking). Have a baby? Chocolate. Are you seeing a trend here? Chocolate.

Clothes that fit. I am incredibly cheap so this was a tough one for me. Maternity clothes are very expensive and often the quality just isn't there. There aren't a lot of places to shop where I live, so my selection was limited. In my experience, Motherhood Maternity is hugely expensive and the quality is terrible. Thyme Maternity had better quality and good sales, but some things, like their bras, seem good but aren't. I was warned against them, didn't listen, and later paid the price.

I didn't want to spent $50 on a pair of cotton maternity leggings because it seemed like a rip off. When I was in my third trimester I bit the bullet and lived in them for the rest of my pregnancy. Just do it. You jumbo thighs will thank you later. Sometimes comfort and savings just don't go hand in hand.

That said, I wore a belly band before people even knew I was pregnant to accommodate the ever attractive bloating I was experiencing and loved it. I wore my favourite pants up until I gave birth thanks to that thing and it helped me fit into a lot of normal people clothes post-pregnancy, too. It got hot in the last month of my pregnancy but my thighs were too big to fit any of my old shorts or capris so I bought a clearance pair of capris that fit over my thighs and wore them for my last month at work. They're a size bigger than I was before I got pregnant and they fit me perfectly right now. Totally worth the $12 I spent on them. I did the same thing with a pair of shorts for the summer. My belly band saved me a ton of money on maternity pants.

Towards the beginning of my pregnancy I bought a couple of low-band maternity jeans. Learn from my mistakes and don't do that. Even if they're on clearance, you won't get a lot of mileage out of them. I thought I'd wear them post-pregnancy, too, but no dice. They were fine in my first trimester, but after that they made my displaced belly fat bulge over top. That only gets worse after you have a baby. They also added extra pressure on my bladder since I was carrying so low. Instead, go for full panel pants. They're so much more comfortable and you can reasonably wear them up until the last few weeks of your pregnancy, when nothing fits over your belly anyway. Then you just wear dresses and XXL shirts.

If you can, buy used. Most of my maternity shirts I got from Value Village and I'm still wearing them nine months later. Unless they have side ruching, it's impressive how many shirts can double as normal people clothes.

Dresses and shirts in bigger sizes and long lengths are also really good for covering the baby beer belly. I wore long Old Navy tank tops the whole time in my usual size. They didn't get stretched out and I still wear them all the time. I got some button up shirts off their clearance rack in a size up that worked, too. The thing is, you can wear your normal buttons ups with belts over tank tops to look just as put together. Keep in mind, though, that rib cages spread and boobs grow, so things that used to do up suddenly won't.

Loose non-maternity clothing is great because it doesn't cost as much, isn't weird and cutesy (because when you're pregnant you need to dress like you did when you were eight), and can be used afterwards for breastfeeding and hiding the post-baby jelly belly.

The bottom line is, I recommend getting a couple things that fit, no matter what they cost. You're going to be uncomfortable no matter what so investing in a couple things that fit really well will help. For me that was pants and leggings. I only ended up buying one good pair of leggings and everything else was used. Next time I'm going to buy a good pair of jeans and something I can wear to work. The belly band can work for everything else.
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Some people get maternity coats but I just didn't do mine up. I don't spend a ton of time outside in the winter and my core temperature was a lot higher while I was baby incubating. Even in -40 I was fine with my parka unbuttoned for everyday life.

Nursing bras are also good to start with, but I got mine from Thyme and they stretched out weird after a month or so. Next time I'll bite the bullet and get a couple high quality ones. I just wear a regular bra now that I can pull the cups down on now that my supply has evened out. I got a couple from Aerie for $20 so they're good quality but also cheap enough that I don't feel bad abusing them. I've had them for several months now and they're no worse for wear.

Used. Baby crap is expensive. While I wish we had a million dollars to buy non-ugly baby gear we just don't. Sometimes you have to accept the fact that you're going to have a Disney character swing in your living room because the price was too good to pass up. (Free. It was free.) Take the ugly with the cheap and the free and reinvest it in your chocolate stash. Your baby won't know and later on you can just reinforce your hipster cred by calling it vintage. Just make sure you clean it really well before using it. And don't buy used chocolate. For obvious reasons.

Video monitor. I know these things comes off as incredibly creepy, especially since there are some terrifying stories of them being hacked, but we love ours. It's a Levana and runs through our WiFi directly camera to monitor so, even though I'm not a tech expert, I don't think it's the kind getting hacked. It's especially helpful when we're trying to do things in the yard or garage that take us out of earshot but still keep us in close proximity. And, bonus, it plays lullabies. Grumpy Parker is a big sucker for lullabies.

A good car seat. As far as I'm concerned, all car seats currently sold in stores are safe and you don't need to spend a million dollars to get a good one. But, and this took a while for me to learn, not all car seats are created equal. We've been fortunate enough to be loaned and then given our two bucket seats. The first one we had was the one our nephew used and the second is from a friend. I am all about borrowed car seats as long as they're not expired and haven't been in any accidents.

My nephew's car seat is Winnie the Pooh (not my first choice) and has really annoying straps to adjust. You had to go around back and loosen and tighten them individually. When Parker started hating his car seat the straps were a real pain to adjust because we were loosening and tightening them every time we put him in and out of it. It was a nightmare. The one we got from our friend is blue (hallelujah!) and has a heaven-sent strap right between the baby's feet that tightens and loosens all the straps at once. It's like the difference between lace up shoes and slip-ons,

I'm sure the centre strap pull (that's the technical term) is standard on everything these days but, if for some reason you're given the choice, 110% get the car seat with the centre strap pull. Your screaming baby will thank me later.

Source

Do you notice in the above picture how the top of the seat tapers in at the top where the baby's head goes? Another thing we love about our new to us car seat is that taper that helps Parker's head not loll from side to side while he falls asleep in there.

I also recommend getting a car seat that will last longer. We live in the frozen tundra here, and my goal was to keep Parker in that bucket seat as long as possible. His goes up to 30 lbs or 30", but a lot of them only go up to 22 lbs. Unless you gave birth to Gumby, your child will likely reach 22 lbs before 30".

I have no advice for the post-bucket seat car seat purchase, because we're just starting to explore our options for that now. I've heard good things about both the $90 and $380 options and I value your opinions on the matter.

Big nursing pillow. This isn't a necessity as I know a lot of people just use regular pillows to nurse, but I loved my big pillow. I had a little one for the first couple weeks, but life got so much easier once my big pillow came into my life.

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I don't use it anymore but when Parker was smaller it helped free up my hands so that I could go on my phone, drink coffee, or talk enthusiastically while he ate.

The only thing I don't like about it is that it doesn't come with a cover. You can buy them but they cost almost as much as the pillow. I usually just lay a burp cloth down on it, but it's kind of gross now, especially since you're not supposed to put it in the washing machine. There's only so much spot cleaning someone can do before it's a lost cause. After knowing what my pillow's been through in the last few months I recommend splurging the $30 for a brand new one.

Accessories for your breasts. Yep. Nipple cream. Use it. Love it. Bathe in it. Be smarter than me and bring it to the hospital.

Breast pads. I tried fabric and disposable ones and am fabric all the way, except for when I wore my sports bra. They do show through your clothes more, but they feel less like a feminine hygiene product and more like clothing so I think it's worth it. I kept both on hand. Some people need them more than others, though, so maybe you'll be fine. I had a very generous supply, though, and used them for several months.

As far as I'm concerned, you don't need a nursing cover, swing, or electric double breast pump. They're bonuses that you may or may not use.

I say if you can avoid it don't use a swing. Parker didn't use it until he was a couple months old because he just didn't like it and we didn't realize it could recline (d'oh!).

I had a terrible time using an around the neck nursing cover and ended up going without and getting a nursing infinity scarf for times when polite company dictates I use it. If you wear a loose shirt with a tank top underneath it'll draw less attention to you and cover things just as well.

On that note, I didn't get a single nursing shirt. They're wildly expensive and I just wear a tank top I can pull the neck down on. I haven't had any stretch out yet, but they're $6 vs $40 so replacing it won't be a pain at all.

I do have a double electric breast pump. I bought a middle of the line one and am happy with it. I don't think the double pump is necessary since I find it far too awkward to do both sides at a time. I haven't tried a manual pump, but I like the ease of the electric. Sometimes, though, I find that expressing manually is more effective, so it can be a hassle to try and fill a bottle. I think having a pump is wonderful but pumping is a pain and I'm not sure that I needed one as high tech as I got because Parker's never taken more than two bottles a week, and it's significantly less now that he's sleeping through the night and a more efficient/discreet eater.

Honourable mention here should go to our fishy aquarium and Zipadee-Zip. We can no longer afford to send Parker to college because of the cost of one of those Zipadees (the dollar hurts so bad!) but it's well worth it for the through the night sleeping he does.

Seriously, though, the only thing you absolutely need to take care of a baby is diapers. Whether they're cloth, disposable, or made from fig leaves, you need something to try to catch the poops. And yes, I did say try.