Yeah…I’m good, thanks.
I have an acquaintance who had a baby, like, a minute ago, and she has suddenly become the rather insufferable Expert Of All Things Baby-Related (EATBR).
From aspirators to zinc cream, she is constantly dispensing advice on which brand/size/colour/flavour/version of a technique, product or service is best. I wouldn’t find her so annoying if this was her fifth of sixth child (in fact, then she would have earned the title of EATBR, and I might be inclined to take a note or two). But alas, this is her first babe, her first shot at parenthood – likely the first time in her life she’s ever heard the terms colostrum, gripe water or swaddle.
And yet, somehow, miraculously, after having barely just squeezed progeny from her loins, she has earned her Level Nine Grand Wizardress of Knowledge badge, entitling her to spew nuggets of wisdom on other, hapless first-time moms-to-be.
Like me. Continue reading
I’ve been a bit incognegro these last few days. I had a rather big writing assignment to complete, as well as a few engagements, and then there was my un-shower…so I had good reason for not blogging. Or, at least, that’s what I’m telling myself. And you.
first things first…
Last Friday marked 34 weeks. My little peanut is actually the size of a honeydew melon (finally, produce that I enjoy eating!) and will prolly remain about that size for the next two weeks or so. She has been transverse breech for the majority of this pregnancy, but lately has taken to basically standing upright (footling breech) in the womb, feet kicking my bladder. Fun.
high tea at the Windsor Arms…
What more can I say? It was High Tea. At the Windsor Arms. And it was lovely. We wore fascinators. And took pics. We looked great! We had canapés and mini-sandwiches, and quiches with fancy stuff in’em. The scones were OFF THE CHARTS (though I really could have done without the desserts. They were only “meh.”) My girls surprised me with a little mom-to-be evening out, including a GC for a mani and pedi. Aw. I’m not a spa-girl, but I will haul my heavy backside out to Bayview Village and get my F&Ts done.
The fabulous five and their four fascinators.
I am a black mommy blogger. When did this happen?
I have been an intermittent blogger for about 12 years.
I have created (and deleted) blogs that run the gamut: my hair, fashion, sex & relationships, my life here in Toronto and while living in Montreal, random, pictures of interest (before Pinterest), my daily commute and work. However, I’ve never identified as a “black blogger,” where my race/ethnicity was paramount to my online writings. Sure, there were a few culturally-relevant or race-related rants, but my blackness in general was only a small part of having a blog.
I have followed bloggers whose race and experiences were varied and vast; I tend toward writers whose style and tone (and penchant for grammatical correctness) match my own. I also liked to read about travels and day-to-day experiences that were relatable, or aspirational. Ironically, I rarely followed mommy bloggers, as I was a childless singleton with zero interest in how these ladies balanced the demands of parenthood with daily life.
Today, I have to admit – while eating a steaming pile of crow – that the bulk of the blogs I read are about pregnancy, parenthood, Down Syndrome or food. I have come across a plethora of good blogs and great writers, and I know I haven’t even begun to scratch the surface of them. As the soon-so-be black parent of a bi-racial child with special needs, I think it would be helpful to find more blogs from parents of colour who are dealing with some (or all of the challenges) I am about to face.
But why would race matter in this instance, you might ask? Continue reading
Praying to St. Joseph, patron saint of pregnant ladies.
Even though I’ve made a point to blog fairly regularly about my pregnancy, IRL I’ve been fairly low-key about it, keeping it mostly mum among even my friends and off social media. That’s because I’m wildly superstitious.
In my first trimester, I refused to linger in the childrens’ aisles of clothing stores, never giving more than a passing glance to the adorably shrunken versions of adult items – hoodies, pea coats, cargo pants for boys, or leggings, tunics and blazers for girls. As if just gazing upon these items would trigger a miscarriage or some kind of uterine mishap. At that time, I didn’t even know whether Peanut was a he or a she, so it didn’t make much sense to purchase as much as a onesie in a gender-neutral green, grey or yellow.
I just figured it was bad luck to buy something so early in the pregnancy, when it’s been proved, time and time again, that anything can go wrong in the early days. Better to just wait until I got the all-clear, no?
And even then, there’s no real guarantee that I/we were “safe”… Continue reading