don’t bother trying to find her, she’s not (t)hair*.

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The last shot of 2015; me with long hair. (*and with apologies to The Zombies…)

I’ve been contemplating doing a hair post for some time, as I’ve been getting a lot of questions and compliments over the past year about my waist-long locks – mainly about maintenance (do them myself), and how long I’ve had them (just over six years), or what I put in them (nothing). As my hair grew longer, the response was almost exclusively enthusiastic, while my own feelings about it were increasingly less-than.

And so, on Tuesday night, while I sat in front of my laptop, dreading (ha) the idea of washing 19 inches of locks (and spending the next 19 hours indoors as they dried), I decided that I’d simply had enough; I grabbed a pair of scissors and headed to the bathroom. I stood in front of the mirror, examining my hair and scalp beneath each lock, and asked myself if I really wanted to Continue reading

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post-partum impressions, take one.

those were the daysThe way I were – fuzzy, but fit.

So, uh…I hate my post-partum body.

Two months and five days after having had Peanut, I am mostly back to my original size, but the body I once had (and loved) is a lumpy, misshapen shadow of its former self.

Where do I begin? I haven’t any stretch marks, but my stomach looks like a deflated black balloon, sagging and dark after having been stretched and distended for the better part of nine months. My thighs, once strangers, now chafe and rub like two sticks making a fire. And at least once or twice a week, someone comments on how much wider my hips have become. While I have never been busty, I loved my pre-baby A-cups (and my A+ cups during), but in such a short span of time, regular pumping/hand-expressing have already taken their toll. Once firm and perky, my feeders are now kind of squishy and a little bit sad-looking.

Nothing fits. I still can’t squeeze into my clothes pre-Aisha, but all of my pregnant-sized attire is either too big or too loose. My c-section scar alternately throbs and stings, so anything that fits at my waist or lower is out.

But it’s not just the *visible* after-effects of pregnancy that have me down. Continue reading

down with one.

peanut and meHello, it’s been a while. Have you missed us?

Whew! I’ve been terribly delinquent. Being a new mommy is exhausting. This post has been in the works for over a week now…I sneak in edits while Peanut naps, and I hope I can finally finish before she wakes again for a feeding. I always knew children – babies in particular – required a lot of time and energy, but I had no idea just how much. Like the title of my blog suggests, there isn’t any guide to having kids…I’m learning as I go, and so far, so good.

Aisha will be seven weeks old on Wednesday, and while I missed blogging about the first month mini-celebration her father and I threw for her, I can certainly post some pics. 🙂 My mother teased us for being so treacly, but after what we’d been through with my pregnancy, and then the delivery (I know, I know, I’ll blog about it soon, I promise), it was our way of saying, “hooray, she’s here! Now let’s all drink some beer!” Continue reading

happy full-term baby day!*

(*My girlfriends sent me a message on Facebook with that very greeting. Aw.)

Good Lord. Today is 36 weeks. I am officially nine months pregnant. Aside from growing my hair, school, (and a stint living in Montreal), I’ve never done anything this difficult, for this long, in my life. 😀  I wanted to take another selfie to commemorate the occasion, but honestly, I’m feeling like I’ve got a watermelon strapped to my frame, and not at all very photogenic at the moment.

So instead, here’s a picture of a watermelon-as-baby.


I’m horrified, but I can’t. stop. laughing.

Oh, and speaking of watermelon, these:

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Come on. SO cute. Much better than that thing I posted above.

I know this was a disappointing post. I’m sorry. I usually dislike when my favourite bloggers post nonsensical shit like this (assuming that I am one of your favourite bloggers). Never mind. I have a few posts in the works, so you’ll hear from me over the next coupla days. I’m feeling prolific; I might as well write while I can. I don’t know if I’ll have any energy at all to do so by next month.

Stay tuned.

ends of the spectrum.

imageI really should clean the mirror.

I am huge, I am uncomfortable and I can barely breathe. I’m unable to sleep for more than two to three hours at a time, so I’m exhausted, a little cranky and always hungry. I can’t pee without experiencing Braxton-Hicks, and with my ever-expanding dimensions, simple, daily things like climbing the stairs or washing the dishes leave me breathless. I can’t eat without spillage, as the belly makes it impossible to pull up to the table – no matter how careful I am, I invariably drop something in transit from plate to mouth. Being comfortable in clothes – or in my skin! – seems like a distant memory.

However, with every kick, roll, flutter and turn, I grow more and more excited and curious about the little peanut who still grows inside me. I wonder if she’ll be as active outside as she is in my womb. Will she be a happy baby? Will she be a cuddler? Will she like music? Will she be a sleeper or an eater? Will she be a tiny baby? What will her first cries sound like? I’ve never been so unsure, but also anxious, impatient and thrilled at the prospect of being a mommy. I simply cannot wait for the arrival of the little whirlwind that’s going to change my life forever.

Any day now, Aisha. Any day.

OT: somewHAIR along the way.

This is not at all a pregnancy post, a peanut post, or even a family/friends post. I just wanted to commemorate the fifth anniversary of my dreadlocks. It’s been a long and interesting road, and no one is more surprised than I am that I managed to stick out what is, essentially, ONE hairstyle for so long.

Yay, me!

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Never imagined I’d get to this point. I’ve no idea what I’ll do with my hair next. 

colour me big.

It’s official. I’m huge. At least, the belly is. Honestly, I know I’m defying some kind of law of physics, and I don’t understand how I’ve not toppled over from sheer imbalance.

People – friends and relatives – are certainly getting a thrill out of my proportions. Generally, I’ve always been “the skinny one,” particularly within my family. I have an aunt down from Barbados, so my mother and I went to do some visiting on Sunday. I also haven’t seen my mother’s other sisters since the annual family BBQ in August, so I knew they were in for quite the surprise.

Sure enough, there was the widening of eyes and the cracking of jokes (“you look like an anaconda after a meal!”). While I could certainly do without the latter, I got rubbed and patted like Bhudda, which I didn’t mind at all. They are all tickled to see my burgeoning bump.

I read someplace that the third trimester is where babies tend to double in size, and I seem to be the textbook example of this. My father was away for two weeks, and upon his return on Monday, his first words were “Let me have a look at you!” followed by, “Holy, jeez.”

I certainly feel the difference. The skin on my stomach has darkened considerably and itches constantly, despite my religious application of balms, lotions, creams and oils. In the last few weeks, my sleeping patterns have changed yet again; I’m unable to sleep through the night, and there’s no way in hell I can sleep lying down, regardless of which side I choose. My navel still hasn’t popped. It’s just stretched flat and taut across my belly, leaving a shallow little dimple.

Sadly, my boobs haven’t grown any bigger. I’m going to have to be content with the set of small Bs I’ve been given.

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What a difference a month makes.