So, I had the baby.

Yep. A 9lb 4.9oz baby boy. 2 weeks late and just 3 weeks shy of a year ago.

I guess you could say that things have been a bit crazy. There are countless times a week where I say that I am going to sit down and finally blog about it. And then I don’t. Not because I have no words. Oh I have PLENTY. And perhaps part of the non birth story is because there are too many words. And they aren’t ones that fill my heart with joy, even though he does.

Oh, his name is Dylan. Dylan Henry Joseph. After 42 weeks of pregnancy, we still hadn’t chosen a name for a boy. So on the day he was born, instead of feeling a sweet sense of relief and just bonding with this new tiny human, I had to stare at him and try to figure out what or who he looked like. I so wanted him to look like a Timothy, but he didn’t. I cried. Could have been the after pains, or they were just a convenient excuse. Then we were pretty sure he looked like a Henry. But it wasn’t sitting well with my mother and so we decided on Dylan. Naively. Because when it comes to names, we think like we are in England still and thought the name wasn’t all that popular, but not too out there. Apparently, in Canada, we were completely wrong.

11 months in, I am still not convinced that he’s a Dylan, even though everyone else seems to have taken to it. For this reason, I sometimes call him Miles. Amy supports this decision, which sort of helps, but Lee just rolls his eyes and sighs at us, so I guess there won’t be a name change wrapped up in a bow for his first birthday.

And before you all think that I am so mean to call him a name that isn’t one of the three I gave him, I often look at Noah and think “Yep, you should have been a George!”. The only name I know I got right was Amy’s. And that is because you’ve never met a girl who loves their name as much.

One day, I will finish a post on Dylan’s birth story. I will include all of the milestones that he has hit way too early and how crazy it has been having a ‘little’ baby compared to my previous two beasts. There will be talk of babies somersaulting out of vaginas and dusky face, as well as unnecessary antibiotics and extended hospital stay that I am still very bitter about.

For now, it will remain at almost 700 words in my Draft folder, collecting virtual dust while I still try to get to grips that there are 5 of us in this house. Three of whom call me Mama.

So I apologise in advance of you, Dylan, growing up and wondering why you didn’t get the same as your brother and sister. My intentions were good, my execution SUCKED. It is a running theme with me. Apologies for that too.

Now, I am going to cuddle up next to you and enjoy my living, breathing cuddly toy and sleep until you head butt me in the mouth to let me know that you are hungry. Or poke me in the mouth and laugh and laugh and laugh until I am ready to cry and your daddy has to step in before my last, very frayed, thread of sanity fully snaps and takes you for a walk to the front door. Or maybe, just maybe you’ll sleep through.

Apparently this baby is really comfortable.  Like super duper extra cosy up in here.  11 days overdue.  What’s up with that, little person?  Everyone is wondering when you are coming out and I, I do really want to meet you and I’d also like to be able to get up to pee without worrying that I am going release the mother of all floods on the bedroom carpet.

You have until Tuesday.  I do admire your determination to leave Aries and become a Taurus.  It is the same thing I did almost exactly 36 years ago.  Only times have changed and you are not allowed to take your sweet time.  The midwife and the doctor have decided that the 24th is it.  If you don’t decide to grace us with your presence before then, you are getting a forced eviction.  I cannot tell you how this terrifies the life out of me.  And apparently that is the only way you will come out and join this crazy family.

I promise, we’ll be kind.  At least we will try our hardest.  I will let you down from time to time. That might be month to month or minute to minute, but I promise to try.  You have a bossy boots older sister who believes that she is going to be bathing you, changing your diaper and feeding you.  She has also been practicing lifting you into the moses basket by using her plastic toy mushroom in your place.  Your older brother is also kind of excited, though he is more aware of what comes with babies in his house.  But he is the one who is going to be gentle with you and want you to do everything he is doing.  For now.

So don’t be scared.  Or at least not too scared.

Plus, I had a dream that you got stuck on the way out because your lips were too big, so we need to stop growing those. Okay?


19 april - 9 days overdue

Today is Friday.  For another 8 whole minutes.  After which, it will be Saturday.  And?  And this means that I will have another day of people asking where this baby is, when is this baby coming, have I forgotten to spread the news, when am I being induced…..




I like to think that I am a pretty affable pregnant person.  At least to strangers.  I don’t mind people touching my belly or giving me their thoughts on what I am having because of the way I waddle or whether my bump is neat or wide or my nose is 7 times larger than when I started this journey.  I get it. People like babies that are not theirs.  Trust me, I totally understand.  Not that I am a foreign belly toucher, but I am alright with those that enjoy such weirdness.

What pushes my hormone filled, baby growing body over the edge (if you ask Lee, he’ll tell you the answer is everything) is when you hit the Due Date and the questions start flying at you.  You can’t call anyone, you can’t alter your online habits, you can’t not notice a BBM for fear of setting off a mini panic.  People want to know WHEN and they want answers NOW.

Trust me; it would be pretty convenient for us to have answers too.  But we don’t.  When we do, it will be all over Twitter and Facebook, your phones and email.  I’ll even throw the news up on G+ for the 3 1/2 of you that ever use it.  And until then, I am over answering the questions.

I need to use that energy to pay attention to the two toddlers that don’t understand just how exhausted I am and still want Mommy to be playing trains on the basement floor or pretending to be a baby forcing a smile as a not quite 3 year old slams a hard plastic bottle full of what looks like Glucose Test Orange Drink into your teeth repeatedly.  Even if these are the same tiny humans who fall over themselves laughing when I try and lift myself off of the deck after a bubble blowing session.

It is Crazy Time around here right now and it is only going to get crazier.  This baby cannot stay inside forever, so there is no need to panic or worry.  S/he will be out soon.  And let’s be honest, they aren’t going to be cute for at least a few days, so if i did somehow forget to update the world, by the time I remembered the baby can only be that much better looking.


(And no, this post has no photos like I had promised. And yes, I know I missed Noah’s birthday update.  and of course I have way more to write about and haven’t.  I will – to all of it.  Maybe tomorrow)

don’t waste another minute on your cryin’

Sorry, part of my baby brain leads to random moments where I feel like my body is just a vessel for hosting Alan Thicke’s spirit.

That and what a difference a day makes!!

After the Confessions of a Panic Stricken Pregnant Lady yesterday, we grabbed my home birth list (that’s right… home birth.. we’ll get into it later) and went to go get as much crossed off as possible.   When we came home, the list was nearly complete, with bonus Gift From The Baby for Amy and even a mystery bag of cinnamon hearts to enjoy.

Well, as much as you can enjoy something when you are super dizzy and feeling faint.  But my Super Duper husband ran me a bath and we decided on a paint colour for the bathroom (because if I am going to labour in there, I really need to like the colour I am looking at).

And then I got out of the tub and changed my mind about the colour.

But I didn’t stress. Because the baby has 3 onesies now and some receiving blankets and I feel like I am totally ready.  Other than the whole getting up for feedings during the night, because right now when Amy wakes up 32084 time AT 2.5!!! it is all I can do not to run in her room, cover the walls with egg cartons and hope to soundproof that shit out of that thing so we can all GET SOME SLEEP!  Only the eggs we buy come in plastic containers (woo hoo environment – we do recycle them), so I know I can’t do it.  Plus.  There is NOTHING that can silence the beast within Ames when she decides that she doesn’t want anyone to sleep if she can’t.

Other than Noah’s brain.  That boy sleeps through it.  Every night.  And bounces out of bed in the morning saying “I had a BIG sleep!”, so impressed with himself and completely oblivious to the salt he is grinding into our wounds.

But HEY! I’ve Got Plastic Tablecloths! to sleep on whilst we await this bundle of awesome that is sure to pull the rug out from under us, just as we start to feel steady on our feet.  But I’m doing what I can to stay one step ahead… until he or she arrives.  At least I keep telling myself that.  We’ll see how it really goes come April.

Please let this baby wait until April.


B3 , Hamster

20 / 20

It feels like 10 minutes ago that we were packing up the house in England and preparing for a whole new life in Canada.  Only at that time we didn’t realise that a whole new life included a whole new life.

Then we went for that first ultrasound where we lost a month in our lives in the matter of 20 minutes.  Not in the way we lost something in that ultrasound back in June, but in a good way.  Or at least once we digested it, it was a good way.   When we – or at least I – realised that an arrival at the beginning of April was better than one in May because it meant that we were one month closer to me getting past that 6 month barrier where I go from totally freaking insane to borderline insane with a splash of normal.  And let’s be honest, my household cannot handle my complete crazy for too long.

So it sank in that we were having an April Fool and when it’s in a different year, it feels a safe distance away.  Like you have all the time in the world to prepare for the upheaval that a baby brings.  And you pretend it is not November because that means it is almost December which means it is almost next year.  But guess what?  Not only is it November, it is the second half of November and just like that we go from no baby on the way to half baked.

That’s right.  We’re on the 50 yard line!  It’s no longer a count up, but countdown.  20 weeks down and 20 weeks to go.  That’s it.  Except my mother believes that this is a boy and that he will follow in Noah’s footsteps of being late.  I agree with her on the boy, but I would like to hope she is wrong on the late bit.  I’ll allow a few days either side of the date, but I’m not down with over a week.  Not when I make babies the size of large watermelons.

And although they say this baby isn’t huge, which they said about Amy *ahem*, the feet speak otherwise.

Big Foot

So yeah, let’s keep growing bigger and stronger.  But concentrate more on the stronger, okay?  I’m still trying to master sneezing without peeing my pants over here.



You go ahead and think that over.  If you agree to my terms, I promise not to name you “Roswell”.

November Remember Baby 043

Let’s start this post out with a photo.


There's Only One In There!



It would appear that my lack of updating on this baby has resulted in a seed of jealously growing inside my belly right next to that baby that I don’t want to call Hamster.  Especially when, let’s face it, it looks likes I’m housing a full grown wooly mammoth rather than a tiny furry rodent.  My efforts to mask this pregnancy worse than any sitcom with their big purses and standing-behind-the-sofa shots has spurred this baby on to turn it’s bachelor pad into a Beyonce and Jay-Z sized nursery.  That’s right, there’s currently 2200 sq ft of baby house going on under that sweater.

At least it feels like it.  And it certainly looks like it.

I mean, let’s roll the clock back 4 years to when I was 19+4 with Noah.

BoB on Board


That is exactly one week more pregnant than I am in the photo by the falls this time around. There is a slight difference. And by slight, I’m talking an entire litter different.

I do not have an 18 week photo handy of Amy/Cheese.  However, I do have this:

Big Cheese

That is a full 7 weeks later with Amy than I am now.  And the belly is approximately the same size.

What the what?

I’d like to say it is all down to 3rd baby = slack muscles.  Or even better .. the difference between H&M Mama maternity jeans and Motherhood Maternity jeans, but I can’t.  Well I kind of can.  H&M were so much better.  Comfier, better fit, snugger on the bump.  I mean really? Pantyhose like material as the secret bump cover?  Who even thought that was a good idea?!?!

All I know is that I’ve gone from being convinced that there is a bouncing baby boy growing in there, to hoping the ultrasound on Friday uncovers a hidden twin or triplet.

That and I really shouldn’t wear grey and no lipstick.  The washed out lips almost distract from the watermelon in my sweater.