lost dog.

nakitaLookit that face. She used to be the cutest thing going at our house. 

Long before the days of Aisha, our little pup Nakita had the rule of the roost. She had three beds in the house, a million balls and squeak toys, and the undivided attention of all and any who visited. Our house rule was “please acknowledge the dog,” not because she was that important, but because she wouldn’t quit barking at visitors unless she received a rub.

When I was in the last days of being pregnant, Nakita took to lying at or on my belly, which I thought was pretty cute, and I hoped that she would be as attentive once the baby arrived.

And then the baby arrived.

Once the star of the house, Nakita was abruptly usurped as the new pink, wriggling, pooping thing quickly became top dog. Our poor little fuzzball couldn’t understand why, as with other small squeaky things in the house, she wasn’t allowed to chew on, drag or lick it. Loving words of affection and tummy rubs became “Nakita, no!” or “Stop that” and gentle shoves away when she got too close to the mysterious being. Continue reading

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weekend wrap-up: happy to be here.

image
Get. Out.

Initial surprise notwithstanding, I have to say I’m pretty freaking happy that li’l miss is coming into the world a good week or so earlier than planned.

At 38w1d, I’m extremely uncomfortable. I know I keep bitching and moaning about it, but as anyone who has made it to this point (and sometimes beyond) can tell you, the last weeks aren’t much fun.

in the nude…
Currently, I don’t like wearing clothes. I haven’t bought a stitch of maternity gear, so the the few loose-fitting items I wore in month six, seven and even eight REALLY don’t fit me now. I’ve resorted to a pair of tights and pajama pants borrowed from mum, and a few stretchy tank tops. When I wear my own clothes, I look as though I’ve been stuffed into them. It’s impossible to look cute now, which is why I’ve pretty much stopped leaving the house. I’ve always been comfortable in the buff, but now that I’ve moved into ginormous territory, I am happiest in just my underwear (and even those feel too constricting at times) with a sheet covering me for modesty.

Continue reading

OT: a mother’s love.

baby-elephant
Does it extend across species?

I just read the saddest story in the Huffington Post about a baby elephant in China that was attacked and subsequently abandoned by its mother. The little one cried for five hours (just typing that made me teary-eyed), and the story made me want to gather up this giant baby in my arms and console him.

It was this sentence that started the welling of the wet stuff:

“Photos taken of the crying baby elephant, named Zhuang Zhuang, show tears streaming from his red eyes and down his face. In one shot, he is seen lying under a blanket while he appears to weep.”

The accompanying photo (not the one above) finished me. I couldn’t bear to watch the video.

Generally, I’m a hardass to the human condition, but I’m a big animal-sucky; almost any picture or video of cutelings can set off a series of “awwwwww” from me. And heaven help me if said photo or footage is about abandoned or distressed animals.

On a normal, non-pregnant day, I’m gutted. With all the hormones coursing through my veins lately, I simply cannot.

weekend wrap-up: bits and bites.

cc8e2448-1
Bits ‘n’ Bites. My favourite snack as a kid.

weighing in
Yesterday marked the start of my eighth week of pregnancy. According to the pregnancy app, my little one is now about the size of a raspberry, and weighs less than half an ounce.

penny for your thoughts
The boy and I both have a lot going on right now. His recent hernia diagnosis, his impending surgery, this pregnancy and a lack of freelance work coming my way. We’re both stressed and a little testy, but it’s interesting to note how differently we deal with things. He bottles up and boils over, whereas I try not to dwell, because then whatever I’m worried about festers and grows into something much bigger than it is. And he thinks that because I’m not outwardly grumpy (until I’m around him, funny that), it means that I’m not taking things seriously. Worry doesn’t change a damn thing, I told him, so I don’t much care for doing it.

mean but oh, so funny
There’s dog shaming, cat shaming and, really just pet-shaming in general (here and here). However, this one, which is kind of like kid shaming, is the best yet. What started as a blog turned into a viral phenomenon and quickly took off (resonating with parents of toddlers everywhere, no doubt), spawning  this book.

(I could totally see myself doing something like this to my kid. Poor thing).

OT: thoughts on the trayvon martin fiasco
I really haven’t said much about the case over the last few weeks, and now that the verdict has been handed down, I still don’t have much to say. It’s disappointing, but not surprising. It also makes me worry about raising a little boy child in this day and age. If I had a boy, my son would most likely be rather fair-skinned (and perhaps not even immediately recognizable to some as half-black), but there’s a chance he could be closer to brown, like me. And maybe when he’s older, and he’s somewhere, at some time (perhaps the wrong time), something akin to what happened to Trayvon Martin could happen to my him. How would I explain this to a child? Continue reading