Blogging thanks to insomnia

There is so much I’ve wanted to put on here, but I just haven’t had time to post. I’m trying to work really efficiently when in the library (although I’m still checking e-mail too often) and then when I get home I want to spend time with E. Bedtime is a mess right now (more on that below), so I often don’t have a lot of spare time in the evenings once Q. and I finish our translation discussion (more on that below). All of this adds up to a lot of thinking about the blog but not much posting. I’m also not great with comments right now although I am trying to keep up on my reader (and why must it go away? Stupid Go.ogle).

Today, however, I woke up at 3:15 a.m. and couldn’t get back to sleep (for the first time in ages), so I’ll take a moment to get a few things down, even if only in bullet points. It was nice to watch the sun rise (our back garden faces east). A bit crazy that said sun was rising at 4:30 a.m. (the birds woke up at 4:00) when we’re still a month out from the longest day, but still nice.

So. Highlights from chez Turia:

• E’s sleep patterns have completely changed. The only saving grace is some of his birth club buddies are doing similar things, so I don’t think it’s entirely related to travelling/time change/absent Mummy/separation anxiety. It’s probably partly the longer days and partly developmental- E’s speaking in sentences a lot more than he was two weeks ago, and is using ever-increasingly complex vocabulary. But the sleep thing, in a word, sucks. Getting him to go to sleep independently is hugely problematic. Admittedly this hasn’t been perfect for almost two months now since I took him to San Francisco, but right now we’re in a phase of having to keep the door partly open, and pop back in several times to check on him, and respond to him whenever he calls out. Yesterday at nap time Q. also had to sit in the room for about ten minutes after E. worked himself up into a right state when first put down. It’s harder and harder to get him down for a nap. This week he skipped it two days in a row (and was manic and insanely over-tired by 7:30 as a result). Yesterday he didn’t fall asleep until 2:30 even though he’d looked tired from noon onwards. If he does nap, he doesn’t fall asleep until 9:30 or later. We still put him in the crib at 8:30 (and even that is an HOUR later than the latest bedtime he had at home), but he’ll talk to himself or shout at us or screech and cry and call out for us for an hour or more. And we cannot leave him to cry. It is just not an option- he is a tension-increaser (and I owe Ask Moxie more thanks than I can express for coming up with this theory) and he will just continue to work himself up the longer he’s left. If he doesn’t nap, he will be asleep by 8 p.m., but manic and silly and over-tired beforehand. I think we’re moving towards dropping the nap, which makes me very sad (and worried about how Q. will cope over the summer). A month ago this child was napping two-three hours during the day, going to bed at 7:30 p.m. and waking up at 7 a.m. He did used to talk to himself for a while in his crib, so he probably wasn’t going to sleep until 8 or so. And admittedly now he is sleeping a bit later in the mornings (but we wake him if he’s still asleep at 8 a.m., which we haven’t had to do for a few days), but the end result is he seems to have dropped two hours of total sleep literally overnight starting around his second birthday. Sigh.
• I have to pass four translation exams (two modern languages and two ancient) for my PhD. I passed three of them when 36 weeks pregnant with E. The fourth is my bugbear. Q. and I are translating passages and discussing them every night for the entire summer (he has no problem with this language) because if we don’t, I will almost certainly fail the exam in the fall. I have never really learned this language properly. I never studied it as an undergrad. I learned it, but not properly during my Master’s degree, then never used it again until the PhD, and have been piecemeal with translating/practicing ever since. I understand how all the grammar works, it’s the vocabulary and especially the irregular verbs that are the problems. I am freaking out about this exam. The irony is that I was freaking out about a translation exam IN THE SAME LANGUAGE during my Master’s degree…NINE years ago. I passed that exam by memorizing the entire English translation of more than one full ancient work (I am not proud of this, but I did what I had to do to survive, and there were a lot of other issues going on at the time, not least my first (and to date only) bout with clinical depression). It boggles my mind that I am now in a situation where once again I am worried that my degree progress will be stalled/delayed by virtue of that stupid translation exam. I wish I had just learned it properly in the first place. It is not yet keeping me up at night, but I’m sure that’s only a matter of time.
• I am giving a paper at a conference in July. It’s a conference that is directly related to my dissertation, held at this university (it was unbelievably brilliant timing that it is happening while I’m here). It is a smallish conference (two days, eight sessions (two at a time), twenty-four speakers) and interdisciplinary, which in practice means there are quite a lot of people speaking who work in time periods not at all related to my field. But there are a couple of other ancient historians, and two of them in particular are BIG names. It is by far the most prestigious conference I’ve presented at. I’ve given a paper at my national conference, and at a themed conference that happens every five years or so, but never at something so small and selective. It is a big opportunity. I’m totally freaking out about it.
• I really like working in the faculty library. It is a serious place full of serious students (even, mostly, the undergrads). They only allow laptops along one row of desks (on the south wall) so the purists can work without the tapping of keys. I feel weird checking my e-mail because when you walk through the library to get a book you can see that everyone with laptops is actually working, 99% of the time. It has almost all the books I need. They’re on the shelves when you look for them. They’re well organized. It’s a real joy to be in such a good space.
• I really hate working in the library. I hate leaving E. in the morning, even though he’s so cheerful and happy to wave goodbye as he eats breakfast. He always tells me to “Wear heh-met!” (he’s very safety conscious when it comes to bikes and helmets). I hate getting home after a long day of using my brain and getting E. when he’s hyped up and over-tired because he hasn’t napped. I hate sitting at my desk and looking outside when it is gloriously sunny (admittedly not often) and thinking about what I am missing with my little guy.
• I’m really really torn. This last month (because I’ve almost been here a full month- crazy!) has really brought home to me just how good my dissertation could have been if I had worked on it full-time for the last two years. It’s strengthened a lot of the anxieties I feel about it- how I haven’t read deeply enough, or widely enough. How I haven’t really thought through aspects of the project. And some of these feelings are natural feelings for a PhD student within a year of finishing with the bulk of the thesis drafted. But there is no denying that my dissertation would look much different had I been able to give it single-minded focus. Obviously I’d rather have E., and with him even the distraction that was infertility and treatments, which definitely set my reading back even before I was pregnant (when I basically decided to do nothing for the entire academic year except pass my language exams and build my database of evidence because carrying that baby was the most important thing I was doing, and I didn’t want to stress myself. I still got a lot done, but not as much as I could have had I spent less time reading books for fun or doing nothing). But I am a perfectionist by nature and it is hard to look at something (admittedly still unfinished) and see all the flaws. It’s very easy for me to be very hard on myself, and self-criticism isn’t great in academia because you get so much of it from other people. In a lot of ways you need to be your own best advocate. You need to think your research is important and of a high quality and well written because lots of people will find ways to tell you it isn’t, and you need to be able to take rejection and criticism and turn it into something useful that pushes you to improve, rather than wallow in it and take it to heart and have it stop you from writing or reading or thinking or, especially, publishing/trying to publish.  Yeah. Not sure how I’m going to go with that.
• I have days where I think everything is completely backwards, because I have a miserable day in the library where I can’t see the point of my dissertation or my research or even (on a really bad day) my entire field, and all I want to do is be home with E., and then I get home and Q. is tired and his nerves are frayed because he really would prefer not to be home all day with E., and I know he would be so happy to work in that environment with the quiet and the books and the atmosphere that tells you that here is a place where research is truly valued. I appreciate every.single.day the sacrifice he is making for me by taking on the bulk of E’s care. It makes me feel extra guilty on the days where I really hate my research and wonder why I’m doing this in the first place.
• But then I have other days where I feel like I make good progress and my writing flows and I find something interesting and I find myself adding bits and pieces to the file on my laptop called “future research” and I can think about ideas for publications and post-docs and I think I’m doing the right thing. I’m home one day a week with E. and I try to really enjoy and value that time with him. It’s not enough. It never feels like enough.
• I really think something part-time would be ideal for me. But there is no “part-time” in academia. There’s the tenure track, and there’s the life of the adjunct/contract lecturer, cobbling together bits and pieces and paid a pittance for each course. I could make a very very part-time wage as a contract lecturer, but have a teaching load equivalent to a tenure-stream professor’s full-time load. But I’m not yet ready to see past academia. I’ve been in school my whole life- either as a student or a teacher (sometimes both simultaneously). I love the rhythms of it. I love that I’m in the same field as Q. and we can talk about our research. I love that he was able to come with me this summer because we do the same thing- we could never have done this if one of us had an office job. I have ideas about fellowships I could try to get when Q.’s next sabbatical comes around to enable us to go overseas again. Our plan is to see what happens and where we’re at five years after I finish. Then we’ll assess. Maybe then I’ll need to retrain/rethink/reset. Right now I need to finish. Fretting about the future is self-sabotage and not helpful in achieving that goal.
• Much like my love/hate relationship with the library, I have a love/hate relationship with cycling. On a good day my trip in is about 22 minutes and the ride home (more uphill) is 24 or 25. In the morning, for the last third of the route I’m faster than the cars because I go in when the rush hour has started (such as it is here, but when you only have one lane in each direction and traffic lights, it’s easy to get snarled), which is fun. On good days it’s sunny and there’s no wind and the countryside is idyllic and I find myself laughing out loud with the joy of it all. On bad days I struggle home against a 20 mph head wind in steady rain. Strangely my bad days in the library often end with a wet cycle home. It’s like my mood brings the clouds.

And that’s all the time I’m getting. E.’s woken up, much earlier than normal. I’m hoping it wasn’t my tapping away at the keyboard, but fear that it was- it’s a small flat and noise carries.

The twenty-fourth month

E’s two-year post is below this one, and will soon be password-protected. E-mail me if you missed it and would like access to see his pictures.

Dearest E.,

I’m a bit late with this letter, but I wanted to make sure that I wrote it to capture all the excitement of your final month before you turned two! You had your official two-year appointment early this month because you were going to be overseas by the time of your birthday. You were 35″ tall (75th percentile) and 25.5 lb (25th percentile). This was the first time you were measured standing up, which accounts for the fact that your official measurements show you haven’t grown since 18 months (and indeed, might have even gone backwards by half an inch). You’re still a long and lean toddler, and I think you had a growth spurt after the appointment, so you might still be closer to the 90th percentile in height which is where you’ve normally been. This was the month where you had your first haircut! It was really only a trim to tidy up around your ears and to deal with the cowlick and would-be mullet at the back, but I had no intention of trying to do it myself. Given we were about to go away and you had a birthday party coming up, we figured it was a good time. I got my hair cut at the same time, and you were very interested in sitting up in the chair next to me. You took it all in your stride and didn’t mind the scissors or being sprayed with the water bottle. “We have eight year olds who can’t behave that well!” said the hairdresser to me when you were finished. Because we didn’t touch the front at all the haircut didn’t make a huge difference to how you looked, but your Daddy and I are both convinced that your hair is already growing in thicker as a result.

The biggest change this month was in your speech. You already had a large vocabulary, but this was the month where you really started to make full sentences with verbs and even some pronouns. By the end of the month you were coming out with some great sentences: “Grandpa play with big train and Ee-mi play with little train”; “Daddy come outside now too”; “Two people are on couch having seep [sleep]“. When you refer to yourself your name now has two syllables. You can count to fourteen, although you need me to repeat each  number after you say it to act as a prompt for the next one. You can sing “Itsy-bitsy spider” and “Head and Shoulders”, as well as do the actions.  And I am finally, finally “Mummy”, rather than “Mama” or just “Ma!”.

This month had one big difference in it from all of the others: about halfway through I got on a plane to fly to the UK where we’ll be spending the rest of the spring and the summer, and you stayed at home with your Daddy. I’m not going to lie- I think this separation was much harder on me than it was on you! I was absolutely dreading it, and the night I put you to bed after your birthday party and had to kiss you for the last time and walk out of your room was one of my worst nights as a parent. I cried a lot. Your Daddy told me that when you woke up you wanted to see me, like you usually do if Daddy is the one to go into your room first, but he was able to distract you by saying that Grannie was waiting downstairs to play with you. And that was it- you were fine! You had your Grannie and your Grandpa with you for the first couple of days, then two days just with Daddy, and then your other Grandpa arrived and he stayed with you and Daddy until it was time for you to go to the airport.

You and Grandpa had a blast! You’ve always, always loved him and thought he was great fun, and he thinks you are quite possibly the best thing on the planet, so I expected it would work out well. We spent a fair amount of time skyping in my evenings (your late afternoons after your nap), and I could see how much fun you and Grandpa were having and how silly you were being. Your Grandpa would tell me all the things you had been up to that day, and what you’d eaten, and how well you’d napped. You’d hang out for around five or ten minutes before you would start asking to say “Bye-bye, Mummy” so you and Grandpa could go play some more or go back to the park! You were given some more train pieces for your set (tracks and cars) at your birthday party, and you and Grandpa played with those every single day. Grandpa is quite a fan of trains, so he was very impressed with your new additions. I was so glad your Grandpa was able to come and stay. It meant your Daddy could get all the work done that he needed to do for the end of the academic year. Plus I think it was very special for you to have that chance to spend all that time with your Grandpa.

I missed you very very much, however, and I was so excited on the day you were going to arrive that I woke up twenty minutes before my alarm (and my alarm was set for 4 a.m.!). It seemed to take forever before you and your Daddy appeared at the airport, partly because I’d taken a very early bus in case something went wrong, and partly because your plane was delayed. I cried as soon as I saw you in the airport, and when your Daddy gave you to me, you just went limp and curled up on my shoulder like you never wanted to let me go.

You had a slightly rough introduction to our life in the UK. Not only was your plane delayed, but our bus took an hour longer than expected from the airport because an accident had closed the motorway and we had a new driver who kept loudly announcing to everyone, “This is my first time driving this route. I normally go to Gatwick. I don’t know these roads at all.” To make matters worse, about halfway through the bus ride you got motion sick. We think it was because you were happily engaged in drawing with your markers at the time, or that’s what your Daddy suspects given he used to get motion sick when he was a little guy. We managed to keep the bus clean and get you tidied up and into some spare clothes. You were so tired by that point (you hadn’t slept very well on the plane) that you passed out in my lap. But then we only had another fifteen minutes to go before it was time to get off the bus. Once we managed to get you home you had a nice time exploring the flat, right up until dinner when you tried to get down from the chair by yourself and face-planted right onto the floor because you were so clumsy from being over-tired and jet-lagged. You cut your lips and gums and were bleeding profusely. Your Daddy and I both felt terrible, especially the next day when you had a huge fat lip, but you were fine and before too long you were back to your normal cheerful self. That first night you went to sleep at 7:30 and woke up at 10 thinking you’d had a lovely nap, and it was well past 2 a.m. before we got you asleep again. But that was the worst of the jet lag and things have been getting progressively better.

You’ve adjusted fairly well to being over in the UK. We still haven’t quite managed to get you back on to your old routine – you’re sleeping later in the mornings and going to bed later at night – but that works for us, since there’s no rush to get out the door at any particular point and it’s probably unrealistic to expect you to go to bed any earlier given how long the days are here. There’s a blind for your room, but it doesn’t keep all the light out. We have had some problems at bedtime. It’s not surprising you’re experiencing some separation anxiety, given all the changes you’ve been through in such a short time. We’ve managed to avoid having to start sitting in your room while you fall asleep (we did that for two nights before deciding it was a habit we just weren’t willing to allow), and we’re able to just stick our heads in to say hello a few times, and tell you that we’re just in the next room if you call out. We’re leaving your door part-way open, and you have your new Schleich crocodile who sits on your chair to “keep Ee-mi comp-ny!” while you’re falling asleep. It is taking you a LONG time to fall asleep, which I think means you probably need a shorter nap, but your Daddy really needs that nap time to get some work done. Right now his strategy is to keep you super busy running around in the morning to make sure you’re ready for a nap. We also wake you up by 8 a.m., although the last few days you’ve been waking on your own around 7:30. I’m really hoping you can avoid making any major sleep changes while we’re in the UK, but we’ll roll with whatever you throw at us. Just please don’t drop your nap yet!

The day I left to fly to the UK we had your birthday party. Although this made organizing everything a bit hectic (this is a huge understatement), it worked out well on the day because it gave me something to focus on rather than just worrying about the flight and leaving you. Most of your toddler friends were able to come and lots of your relatives as well. You had a great time! We set up all of your toys, including your sand/water table filled with lentils that had been in the basement- it was a huge hit with the entire toddler set. We had your party in the morning (complete with the same chocolate and orange cupcakes I made last year given they were so tasty), and then after your nap you opened your presents. I think it’s safe to say that your absolute favourite present was the Bruder recycling truck from one of your little friends. You spent the entire rest of the day putting everything you could in there (including Berenice Bunny).

Your actual birthday was much quieter since it was just us three. I blew up some balloons, and put out your presents on the coffee table the night before. This turned out to be quite the miscalculation because as soon as you saw them you wanted to open them- you wouldn’t even take your sleepsack off first- and this meant your poor Daddy missed you opening them because he was in the kitchen making pancakes. I was really happy that you loved at first sight the wooden double-decker bus I’d found- I’d been sure it was the perfect present (and the perfect souvenir of our time in the UK) since I’d first seen it online a few months ago. After a pancake and sausage breakfast I went off to work. You and Daddy had a fun day, and then we all had a birthday dinner of schnitzel, which is still your favourite food, and brownies and ice cream for dessert.

Being apart meant that you bonded more with your Daddy. You’ve been pretty much in a consistent Mummy phase since you were old enough to express a preference, and I know it’s been hard on your Daddy to have you burst into tears if I leave the house, or to have you order him back out of the house whenever he came in after doing the shopping or when coming home from work. It’s definitely been easier on him to have things more balanced and to have you simply say “Bye-bye, Mummy! Go work library! Bike bike! Need heh-met!” when I get ready to go in the morning. But it was hard for me the first night you were here in the UK when you didn’t want me to sing you your lullabies but asked for Daddy to put you to bed instead. You seem to have evened everything out now and are very happy to just be with whichever parent is around.You were in the UK for less than a week when your birthday came around, but I think it was already clear you’re going to have a good time. You absolutely love the huge park with all the playground equipment, and you love riding around on your Daddy’s bike in your special seat (and you are very good to tell us that we all need our helmets if we’re riding our bikes). The patio and back garden of our flat is proving to be as popular as I had hoped, although the spring has been colder than expected. You like helping to feed the birds and visiting the farm in the next village. The next few months are going to be a big adventure, and your Daddy and I are so excited to share them with you.

Love you, my darling son, today and always,
Mummy

The second year

Like I did at this time last year, I will leave this post up for a week or so before password protecting it. But I wanted all of my readers to have the chance to see how E. has grown and changed in the last twelve months!

Dearest E.,

Two years ago today you were born.

And then, before we knew it, and well before we were ready, it was your first birthday!

We thought you looked impossibly grown up.

We thought you were all little boy- no baby left!

At the end of May we had a group celebration with all of your friends. Techinically you’ve known them since before you were born, since I met their Mummies at a prenatal yoga class. We have all loved watching “our” babies grow up and really begin to interact with each other.

You had such a great time you wanted to keep eating the cake long after the “official” photos were over.

We were really enjoying the warmer weather. You loved the feel of the grass.

You were still growing like a weed! You seemed to take up much more space in your crib than I’d remembered.

We took you on your first trip to the beach (after a fashion…)

And then it was time to say goodbye to summer weather as we headed off to the aiport for your first trip Down Under to see your Daddy’s family (and the first of four trips to YYZ in this year). You chowed down at the restaurant at the airport. We ordered you your own meal (an adult-sized one) and the waitress clearly thought we were crazy. But then you ate most of it!

You started to show an interest in airplanes.

We all survived the flight, although it was very long and very tiring for everyone involved, and you were most distraught at the changes to your routine. Once we landed you didn’t really get to take in the sights of the city as we drove back to your Granny’s house.

And your nap that first afternoon was pretty epic. (I couldn’t resist taking this picture- it is so rare for me to be able to take a picture of you without waking you up!)

Notice Berenice Bunny? It was this trip where she graduated to full lovey status for sleeping. You wanted her near you at naps and at bedtime, and if we were going in the car, as soon as we handed her to you you would cuddle her up against your face and start to suck your thumb.

Once you were over the jetlag we had a chance to show you where your Daddy grew up.

You went on an enjoyable holiday to a renowned wine region. We had a fancy lunch the day you turned fourteen months (which was also your Mummy and Daddy’s fifth wedding anniversary!)

You spent a lot of time in the Ergo. We borrowed a stroller, but we didn’t use it much. The Ergo was so convenient, and you really enjoyed hanging out in it.

We found a proper beach. Even in winter it was still pretty warm.

Then we went to where your Mummy and Daddy used to live, which wasn’t as warm. You met Mummy’s old horse.

You thought the horses were amazing and wanted to practice your growls for them.

Then it was time to come back home and enjoy what remained of the summer. You had your first ice cream, which was a big hit.

One of your new favourite things to do was to watch trucks and construction vehicles outside of our window. The city was redoing a number of sidewalks in our neighbourhood, which made for fascinating viewing all through late summer and into the fall.

But your all-time favourite thing to do, no doubt about it, was to go to the park. We went there every day.

You were THIS close to walking.

The time was flying by. Suddenly you were fifteen months old!

And right then, everything changed. You started walking two days after you turned fifteen months, and you never looked back. You dropped your second nap, so suddenly we had the whole morning to go out and have adventures. You were consistently sleeping through the night. You slept better from fifteen months onwards than you ever had as a newborn or a baby- more total hours in twenty-four, and better quality sleep. Your Daddy and I were thrilled! And just as exciting was the realization around your first birthday that you’d outgrown the MSPI and you could eat dairy products.

Although you weren’t very interested in spoons yet…

Now that you were walking, you needed your first pair of shoes.

I thought you looked very handsome and very grown up in them.

In the fall you really started to enjoy helping me in the kitchen. You were so careful and safe when standing on the big chairs, and you loved helping me put ingredients into bowls.

Licking the spoon quickly became your favourite cooking activity!

In the fall you also became very interested in cleaning. Sometimes you wanted to do it yourself…

but a lot of the time you were happy to watch me clean. You especially loved it when I got out the broom to do some sweeping.

Now that you were confident on your feet we started taking strolls around our neighbourhood. You no  longer wanted to sit in your little red car- you wanted to push it! You also became very keen on pushing your stroller yourself.

But you still loved going to the park the best. Your all-time favourite thing to do was play in the sand with the various trucks and buckets that had been donated by other families.

In early October it was time for another trip to the airport. I had to wake you up from your nap and seized the opportunity to get another picture of you sleeping. You’re using Berenice Bunny as the ultimate eye-mask!

Off we went to the airport where you were excited to see all the planes.

And south we travelled to see one of my best friends. We went to the biggest playground I’ve ever seen.

One of my friend’s sons had his birthday party while we visiting, so we got to tag along with them to the farm where they were holding his party. You had been finding this trip pretty overwhelming up to this point, but you LOVED the farm.

On this trip Berenice Bunny became your constant companion, no longer confined to the crib and the carseat. You wanted to take her with you everywhere you went.

The ride on the hay wagon was your favourite.

At Thanksgiving we went to visit Grannie and Grandpa and you picked flowers from Grannie’s garden to give to me. You were so proud and happy to bring me each flower, and my heart melted a little more with every giant smile on your face.

All too soon the weather started to cool down and we were moving into late fall. Your Daddy went overseas for a week and it was just you and Mummy.

I decided to use some of this time to do a thorough clean of the house. You thought this was a fantastic idea! The largest tantrum you’d ever thrown to that point was when I told you we had to stop cleaning the baseboards so we could have lunch. So after your nap we cleaned some more baseboards…

We had tea and muffins at the grocery store and watched the trucks drive past and the leaves fall.

We still had some glorious days at the park.

Then it was Hallowe’en! You were a little bit hesitant about your costume at first, but eventually you got the hang of trick-or-treating.

And when we got home you made sure to examine all of your loot.

Suddenly you were eighteen months! Your Daddy and I could not believe that a year and a half had gone by since we’d first met you.

Before too long it was time to start thinking about Christmas. You loved helping me decorate the tree. You’d “helped” me last year, but this was the first year where you could choose ornaments and show me where you wanted them to go on our little tree.

You also loved decorating over and over the felt tree your Grannie had made for you.

You still loved to help me in the kitchen and you were becoming more and more confident with the various tools and implements. You helped me pound lemongrass when we made laab (although you then weren’t too interested in eating it- your eating habits became quite the toddler stereotype at around eighteen months).

The photo above shows you wearing your all-time favourite red hoodie. From the moment I put it in your dresser in September you wore it at least four days a week and would then ask to wear it incessantly until we washed it. Eventually we ended up getting a second (not identical) red hoodie so you could request the “new red hoodie!” when the original one was dirty.

I took you to see Santa, although you weren’t too impressed by this plan.

We had a Christmas party with all of your little friends.

And your Auntie C. and I introduced you to the long-standing family tradition of painting sugar cookies as part of our Christmas baking. You decorated three cookies before you realized you ought to just be eating them!

As winter approached it was time to break out your first pair of snow boots. You were not impressed.

But it didn’t take you very long to get used to them.

And then it was Christmas morning and Santa had come! You were wearing your new Christmas pyjamas and under no circumstances were you going to take them off- you knew they were special.

You really got the hang of opening presents.

It was our second Christmas Day with just our little family. We had a relaxing morning opening presents and skyping various grandparents and aunties. Then we went for a walk in the ravine near our house.

And we had your absolute most favourite meal- schnitzel- for Christmas dinner. Unconventional perhaps, but it certainly made you happy!

Two days later we found ourselves unexpectedly still at home as a snowstorm delayed our journey to go and see your grandparents. We took advantage of our first real taste of winter.

And the fun continued during our travels. You loved sliding.

But you also enjoyed just hanging out in the snow. You never seemed to get cold, even when your parents were freezing!

In the New Year we had our usual January thaw.

You had a new favourite toy- the train set your Grannie and Grandpa had given to you at Christmas.

In January your speech started to explode. You came out with fifty new words in a month for a couple of months in a row, and then your vocabulary started to exponentially increase so rapidly I could no longer keep track. But one thing was clear- you were even more grown up. We took the official ‘roo picture to mark your turning twenty-one months.

Getting these pictures was really becoming a challenge…

Winter returned with a vengeance, and you discovered the best part about helping Daddy shovel our section of sidewalk.

The winter seemed to drag on and on, but we still had fun.

By now you’d mastered the use of a spoon and were moving on the fine art of finishing up your cereal milk.

You were always happy to wrestle with Grandpa when he visited.

We started to go on expeditions to places that I hope will become some of your favourites as you get a bit older.

You were becoming ever more confident and adventurous in the parks and were happy to go down the biggest slides all by yourself.

Then it was Easter, and it was time for yet another airplane adventure- this time down to sunny California to visit your aunties and uncle. It was just you and Mummy, and the outbound flight was a bit of an epic with a work protest in U.S. customs slowing everything down. You were happy to get to our gate and discover that our airplane was there.

We ended up taking off more than two hours late. You’d been so patient and so well behaved the entire afternoon, but it must have been tiring, and it was well past your bedtime by the time we finally left.

We had a blast visiting your aunties and uncle! You absolutely LOVED riding on the light-rail trains around the city. The first time we rode one you just chanted “dee-dee-Dee-Dee-DEE-DEE”, which is your train noise, for about five minutes straight.

You refused to sleep in your travel crib, so we ended up sharing the futon. I learned that not only do you still use Berenice Bunny as an eye-mask, she makes a great hat as well.

We had so many adventures! We saw the sea lions at Pier 39.

You rode the carousel at Fisherman’s Wharf (and were very disappointed to learn that the ride had to come to an end).

In between activities we hung out at Auntie L. and Uncle A.’s apartment where you gave directions for what Auntie C. should draw next.

We saw some key landmarks (you were more interested in where your next snack was- you ate pretty much non-stop on this trip!).

You did love the redwoods. “See big trees!” you told us.

But an even bigger hit was the bear statue at the gift shop. A bear with a stick = one happy toddler.

We took you on your first trip to a zoo. You could take or leave the animals. What you really wanted to do was run back and forth through the tunnels.

And ride the little green tractor in the farm area.

But you agreed that the Grizzly Bears were pretty neat.

Home again to a surprise- your very first bike! You had made a special request for a red one when I asked you if you wanted a bike and you were so excited when your Daddy brought it out.

Suddenly your birthday was just around the corner, and the photos from the previous spring really brought home just how much you had grown up in the past year.

We even decided it was time for a haircut (albeit just a small one to tidy up the back and the bits around your ears). You thought this was a fine idea, especially since Mummy was having one at the same time.

And then it was time for your birthday party, and time for me to go overseas. It was so hard to leave you, but we had a great final day filled with friends and family and joy and laughter.

You had two weeks at home with your Daddy and Grandpa, and then you and Daddy came over to join me on our summer adventure. You were suddenly speaking in full sentences and you seemed so much bigger.

I think you’re going to enjoy yourself. There are new parks to explore…

Birds to watch for…

Bikes to ride…

And games to play…

We’re going to have so much fun.

It’s been an amazing year. I have loved watching you explore your world, and I can’t wait to see what you’ll get up to next year. You have grown into a wonderful little boy, with a great sense of humour. We love you so very much.

Happy Birthday, dearest E.

love always,
Mummy

Nearly there now

In a little under two hours Q. and E. will be heading to the airport.

In a little under fourteen hours I will see them, if all goes well.

We made it.

I’ve definitely found this last week to have been harder than the first week. The first few days were such a blur with getting settled and getting the flat organized, I barely had time to register that I was by myself. Everything was new: the flat, the bus route into town, the town itself, the hoops I had to jump through to get everything I needed from the university. I’ve lived in the UK before, so nothing felt particularly alien, but it was really time-intensive and required rather a lot of to-do lists. It was also just fun. Having a few days to myself to explore a new place was absolutely wonderful.

This week has been a bit different. I’m into a settled work routine at the library so I don’t have the free time to go gallivanting around the city centre. And while I’ve still been chasing down bits and pieces (in the last three days I’ve picked up summer-weight sleepsacks, a child bike seat and bicycle panniers, all found on Gumtree, a site rather like craigslist or kijiji), and I did have to work at the flat one day this week while I waited for E’s crib to be delivered, there hasn’t been all that much I’ve had to do this week from a home organization standpoint.

That’s left me with a bit more time in the evenings, which has meant I’ve felt the absence of Q. and E. much more keenly. It hasn’t helped that Q. has been so busy with work that he simply hasn’t been able to be home early enough to catch me on Skype before I go to bed. I’ve Skyped a few times with E. and his Grandpa, which has been nice, even if E. generally comes and hangs out for about five minutes, then disappears off to play with his toys before returning to demand that he and Grandpa say “Bye-bye Mummy!” so they can go and play some more. Wednesday night Dad ended up Skyping while sitting on the bench on the front porch because E. wanted to go outside so badly.

It’s been wonderful to watch them interact. Dad has obviously had an absolute whale of a time, and E. just as clearly has adored having his Grandpa around. Dad’s been very good about giving me a running commentary on their days. I think every day they’ve spent quite a lot of time with E.’s train set, given my Dad quite likes his trains, and most days they’ve gone to at least one of the neighbourhood parks. E. has, I swear, grown since I left. He looks bigger and older already, even on the computer screen. He must be in a growth spurt to judge from the amount of food he’s been putting away at meals! He’s coming out with all sorts of sentences now, according to Dad. His longest was the other morning: Dad had set up the train set and then asked E. what they should do next. “Grandpa play with big train and E. play with little train” was the response!

I’m really ready for them to get here. It’s been lovely to have some time to myself and to be free of many of my usual responsibilities. I feel incredibly well-rested, even though I’m actually not sleeping all that much. I think Serenity’s theory that having a baby permanently alters your sleep needs is absolutely true. Pre-E. I was always an eight or eight and a half hours kind of girl, but I’ve noticed for months now that I seem to function best when I get around six hours. It’s not as though I feel with six  hours I’m able to function but I’m building a sleep deficit- it really does seem to be the case that if I get six hours of good quality sleep I’ve had enough. So I’ve been finding myself waking up at 5:30 most mornings, even though I’ve been staying up a bit later than normal to give myself some time to wind down and read after getting off Skype. I’m sure the early morning light is part of it, but I also think my body just feels it’s sufficiently rested.

My landlord dropped off two bikes for us to use last weekend, and Tuesday our locks and helmets arrived. The bike I’ll be using needs to have its seat and handlebars raised, and our set of allen keys is still in Canada, so I’ve been using the bike that will be Q’s. Tuesday afternoon I took it out for a brief spin down to the neighbouring village and back, and then every day since I’ve ridden it into town. It has been, not to put too fine a point on it, absolutely BRILLIANT. The first day was hard- I was nervous any time I encountered traffic, I wasn’t entirely sure which gears to use since I didn’t know the route, and my muscles were not remotely impressed by the change in routine. The ride home was particularly torturous and I was wincing any time the bike hit a rough spot. And it took much much longer than it should have. But things have been getting better every ride. I’ve knocked my time down to something quite respectable, and my muscles are no longer quite so annoyed with me. And now that I know the route, and what gears need to be used when, I’m able to sit back and enjoy the scenery a little bit more. This morning I actually found myself laughing out loud: it was bright and sunny, there were flowers in the roadside ditches, I was zooming down a hill, and I was just so present in that moment and in awe of how amazing my life is. This really is the most amazing opportunity for all three of us, and I think it’s going to be a wonderful summer. I even enjoyed the ride home this afternoon, loaded down with my backpack full of my laptop and bike lock, one bike pannier strapped in to the child seat, and the second one in a bag dangling from my handlebars (and acting as a brake whenever I was riding into a headwind, which was most of the journey). I wasn’t the oddest person on a bike today though- I saw someone this morning cycling while carrying crutches!

I think more people wear helmets now than they did when I last lived in the U.K. I doubt this is just because of the change of location- two old university towns filled with bicycles would have a very similar demographic. I think there has been a change in culture, which is nice to see, although the majority of cyclists are still worryingly bare-headed as they weave with total abandon in and out of traffic, often wearing the most inappropriate clothing.

I’m feeling settled in the library. I’ve snagged a seat that didn’t look too occupied (there’s no reservation system, but it’s pretty clear if a graduate student has become more or less permanently ensconced in a particular chair). Since I get in early in the morning before the library is officially open (I have an after-hours access card), the library is usually almost empty for the first hour or so. Most graduate students (and faculty for that matter) don’t keep toddler hours! I’ve always done my best work in the morning, and it is so beautiful to cycle in at that time of day, so I don’t mind at all. The library itself is an utter joy to be in. I haven’t worked in a library devoted to my subject since I was last in the U.K. as a Master’s student. It is so refreshing to find the books I need on the shelves when I need them, and to be able to just pop up and grab them. It’s also blessedly, blessedly quiet. They take quiet so seriously that you can only use laptops along the south row of desks so the typing doesn’t disturb the purists in the north row.  At home the library at my uni is basically a lost cause, and the big library downtown which I also use has just recently undergone a series of renovations that seem to have been designed, as far as I can tell, entirely to encourage more undergraduates to come and “study” with their friends. It is a zoo most days. No one makes any real effort to be quiet, people are eating even though they’re not supposed to, and everywhere you turn someone is on Facebook, or watching a video, or playing a computer game (with the sound turned off at least). The librarians make no attempt to quell the racket, and indeed are often some of the worst offenders as they think nothing of gabbing non-stop to each other when they’re supposed to be re-shelving books.  It is not an enjoyable space to work in, and the atmosphere has noticeably changed in the five and a half years that we’ve been back in Canada. To make matters worse, the space for the renovations came at the expense of the book collection with ever increasing numbers of them removed from the shelves and shipped off to storage facilities elsewhere in the city. So to be able to work in such a quiet and respectful environment with such a fine collection is just a real privilege. Everyone in that library is working, and working hard, almost all of the time. When I’m out of my seat looking for a book, it’s very rare for me to see anyone e-mailing or on some other website.

I’m worrying quite a lot about tomorrow morning. I worry that my pre-booked taxi will fail to show up, so I’ll miss my bus, or that I’ll make the bus only to have it break down en route to Heathrow. The last thing I want is for Q. and E. to turn up and discover I’m not there, since that will strand Q. with a lot of luggage, an exhausted toddler, and no mobile phone. But I’m aware enough to recognize that this is all just displacement anxiety related to my worries about having my two most important people on a plane without me, and once I know they’re safely landed (and I’ve made it to the airport) I’ll be able to relax again. I’m sure tomorrow will be a long day: Q. won’t have slept a wink, since he (like me) can’t sleep on airplanes; E. will be exhausted even if he’s slept for the entire flight, and I’ll be tired having woken up at 4 a.m. to get to the airport on time. It’ll be early afternoon before we’ll be back at the flat, and we’ll probably all be grumpy. But once we’re all here, together, it will be so worth it.

Thought, memory

A week or so before I left to head to the U.K. I read Time Warped: Unlocking the Mysteries of Time Perception, by Claudia Hammond.

It was one of the most interesting books I’ve read in ages.

I was struck in particular by her main theory about how we perceive time. She argues that our perception of how quickly or slowly time is passing is directly related to how many memories we are making. We only lay down long-term memories when we do something out of the ordinary or experience something different or do something for the first time. It’s why we can remember so much of a trip overseas, but can’t remember what we ate for dinner two nights ago. At the same time, if we are doing something different and having new experiences, short-term time- each individual day- seems to pass more quickly. She calls it the holiday paradox- holidays seem to pass in a blink of an eye, because the day is filled with new experiences, but when we get home again it feels like we’ve been gone for ages because we’ve filled up our memory banks. It’s also, she argues, why we feel our lives speed up and time passes more quickly as we get older- we have fewer firsts to experience than we did when adolescents and young adults (first time moving out of home, first time having sex, going to uni, getting a job, etc.), so we lay down fewer memories, so our older years seem less full and there’s less to catch our attention when we look back. It’s also why when you go for a walk in a new area the outward journey always seems to take longer than when you turn around to come home again- on the way home your brain realizes it’s seen this place before so it doesn’t pay as much attention to the surroundings and doesn’t lay down as much memory.

I’m not sure I’m doing a brilliant job of explaining this, but it was an amazing theory that made so much sense. It’s a great book.

Anyway, one of the arguments she makes when discussing this perception of time relates to parents of young children. For parents of young children (especially very young children), each individual day can drag- the hours stretch out and seem endless (who hasn’t counted down the clock until naptime/bedtime while feeling the day will never end?). This is because so much of looking after young children is repetitive- we feed them, change them, dress them, bathe them, take them to the park, read stories, etc. day after day. The repetition isn’t engaging our brain- our brain isn’t busy taking in new stimuli, so time drags.

But, seemingly paradoxically, one thing all parents of young children marvel at is how quickly time goes by. “I can’t believe s/he is six weeks/two months/six months/one year/two years” we all cry. “How did this happen? When did s/he get so big/become so grown up?” (For proof, see literally every single letter I’ve written to E. I think around the third or fourth month I actually said that the days were slow but time itself seemed to be flying by.)

Hammond’s argument is that the overall time seems to fly by because constant repetition does not encourage our brains to lay down more permanent memories.  We’re so heavily engaged in these repetitive routine tasks and we’re not laying down new memory, so when we look back there isn’t a lot to grab our brain’s attention.  Plus we have the ever-present physical reminder that time is passing in our child’s rapid growth and development.

Hammond ultimately says that you can’t have it both ways- if you want overall time to slow down, you have to fill your days with new experiences. If you look back on a year packed full with new things, the year will seem like it went by more slowly than a year where you just did the same thing, day in, day out. (It’s worth noting that “new experiences” doesn’t have to mean constant vacations to exotic locales- it could be as simple as taking new routes to work, or trying new food.)

But, if you do this, each individual day will fly by, because your brain is active and engaged and making memories.

So your vacation will feel like it went by in a flash, but in the long run those two weeks once you’re home again will feel so much longer than the two weeks before you left where you kept to your routine.

Personally I know I would vote for days that fly by and a busy life filled with memories rather than individual days that drag and years that seem to pass faster and faster.

I’m glad I read this book before coming to the U.K. I’ve been here for almost a week now, and I can say with confidence that each day has flown by, but that I feel like it’s been quite a long week. Now, thanks to Hammond, I know exactly why that’s the case. And it will hopefully serve as a reminder for me to keep trying new things and seeking out new experiences, even little inconsequential ones, as things start to settle into a routine- because they will; we are creatures of habit. Before I know it I won’t be noticing how the sun bathes the university buildings in a golden light, or how the pheasants and the hares fill the fields in the evenings, or even the window displays in the shops. Before too long I won’t have to get my bearings when I’m in the centre of town- I’ll be able to do it instinctively, without thinking. Before too long I’ll stop noticing the marvellous architecture. Before too long I’ll be taking these sights and experiences for granted, and I’ll forget just how lucky I am to have this opportunity.

And then, I now know, I’ll stop making memories.

On the other side (mostly)

I’m here now.

Things did get easier once I’d actually left. Having the birthday party the day I left turned out to be a good idea as we were so busy in the morning prepping food, and then having a blast at the party, and then watching E. open his presents after his nap, that before I knew it we’d eaten dinner and it was time for me to get E. ready for bed. I spent a long time telling him again about what would happen- how he would play with Daddy and the cats and his grandparents, how Mummy was going on an airplane, how in a few days he and Daddy would come on an airplane too. When I left the room, the last thing he said to me was, “Mummy, airplane. E., airplane!”

The worst point was just then- when I’d said goodbye, but the journey hadn’t started yet. I don’t think I can put into words what it felt like. I cried a lot.

Q. took me to the airport while the grandparents stayed at home to listen to E. sleeping. The flight was uneventful and very quick (nearly an hour early- we must have picked up a crazy tail wind). I knocked back a bottle of red wine as soon as it was offered to me (that is a flight-sized bottle, not an actual bottle) which had the desired effect of causing me to no longer care all that much about turbulence. I watched three movies without being interrupted (I don’t sleep on planes). I was aware as I did this that this was now an almost unimaginable luxury whereas the last time I moved to the U.K. I would have taken it completely for granted.

I got myself and my ridiculously large bag onto a bus and settled in for the ride to my new city (more of a university town). It was on the bus ride that, for the first time, I really began to think this had been a good idea. It was bright and sunny outside. We drove past verdant pastures and through quaint towns. The daffodils and cherry blossoms were out. I saw cattle and horses and sheep. I began to get excited at the thought of spending a summer away from our big city. I am a country girl at heart. I need green spaces and open fields and I don’t get a lot of that where we live.

The flat we’ve rented is perfect. There is a back garden with a patio and a low long wall along which E. will (I am certain) spend many happy hours driving his cars and trucks. There is a tree in which English robins sit in the morning while the rising sun cascades in through the wide glass doors that we’ll be able to open wide come the summer months. When I step outside my front door I can hear roosters and cattle. On the bus ride back from town the first day the number of rabbits I spotted in the fields (ten) was almost outnumbered by the number of pheasants (seven). In our village there is a duck pond and a pub and a butcher that sells British meat. There are public footpaths and cottages with thatched roofs.

Taking all of this in I had the chance to remember that this really is an adventure, a new opportunity, an escape from our ordinary lives, rather than just one enormous organizational hurdle that eats away my time and separates me from my son (as it had seemed to be for much of the last couple of months).

Yesterday I went into the university town and explored it. I took the day for myself- I didn’t try to get any work done. I had no one to look after other than myself. No responsibilities. I can’t think of the last time this was the case. It certainly would have been pre-E.

The day was brisk, downright cold by the late afternoon, with largely overcast skies- no rain though. I wandered the streets with my map, intrigued by how a place which I had only ever visited once before for an afternoon could both somehow seem so familiar (because it is much like that Other Place, where I spent two years as a graduate student, and because I already know the U.K. shops) and yet be so different and utterly disorienting.

It seemed to be utterly full of strollers and babies and toddlers. I can’t say I ever remembered noticing small children when I last lived in the U.K. Is my new town that much more child-friendly than my old, or is it simply that I have changed and now see things through different eyes? (I did, after all, end up in a toyshop at one point yesterday, and my eagle eyes spotted a fabulous park area filled with play structures while on the bus. Even though I was enjoying my rare freedom E. was never far from my thoughts.)

My new town seems to be astonishingly undiverse. Again, I don’t remember being shocked at the whiteness of the Other Place, but again I had come to it from a relatively small (and undiverse) Canadian city. I probably didn’t notice that everyone pretty much looked like me because that had been the case where I was an undergraduate as well. Five and a half years in a truly cosmopolitan city has changed my perspective.

I’d forgotten how much the English like their sweets. Everywhere you look there are cafes serving bits of cake, or sweet shops, or chocolate biscuits and lollies in corner stores. On my tour of my new faculty today the secretary took me around and showed me all the various places that served food and drink, ranking them all on the basis of whether or not they served good cakes, before looking at me and saying, a touch mournfully, “But you don’t look like you eat all that much cake”.

I’d forgotten how ridiculously small the English like their produce to be. The apples are literally half the size of the ones we grow. Everything’s packaged to the nth degree, and I try very hard not to think too much about the price. I used an online grocery service for the first time and it was brilliant. Did all the shopping from the comfort of my own home back in Canada, booked in a delivery date for the day after I arrived in the U.K., and had all my groceries delivered by a chatty driver named Michael who explained how their delivery vans work (separate fridge and freezer compartments- the frozen food packed in dry ice!), the colour coding system on their bags (to identify whether the contents need to go into the fridge, the freezer, or the cupboard), and how to arrange for a refund (which I had cause to do once I discovered three of the eggs had been cracked). It would never work in Canada- the economies of population and geography simply don’t allow for it. But it’s a superb idea here and I’m loving the convenience.

Today I sorted out a mobile phone and got access to my faculty and the university libraries, so tomorrow I’ll be able to start work in earnest.  Q. has been doing a good job of keeping me updated on E. Apparently he woke up on Sunday asking to see Mummy like he normally does, but Q. was able to distract him by telling him that Grannie was downstairs waiting for him. When asked if he remembered where I was, he told Q. that I was on an airplane and that he would be going on an airplane too, so something of the itinerary has sunk in. We skyped last night and E. seemed mainly confused as to why I wasn’t on an airplane, although he became quite upset when I took the computer on a tour of the flat to show Q. and I wasn’t on the screen any more. He’s doing really well, but I’m a little worried about how he will go as the days continue to pass and there’s still no Mummy. My Mum and stepfather left yesterday morning, so today Q. was on his own. Late tomorrow afternoon my Dad will arrive and he’ll be there until Q. and E. leave for the airport. I think my Dad is more excited to play with E’s new train pieces than E. is!

I’m still enjoying my solitude (waking up when I want to and not because E. is chirping in his crib! Reading in bed before getting up in the morning! Not having to rush through breakfast so I can read Cars and Trucks and Things that Go!), but I can tell already that it will wear on me before too long. Once I’m into a routine at the library the flat will feel empty and lonely when I come home at night, mentally exhausted (and physically tired once I get a bike organized). But for now I’m going to try to enjoy it as much as I can.

Almost time

Yesterday I sent my dissertation chapters to my supervisor.

Today I packed my bag.

In 48 hours I will be at the airport, heading across the pond, and leaving E., my most beloved son, on the other side of an OCEAN for two weeks.

I am, not to put too fine a point on it, losing my SHIT over this.

Logically, rationally, I know that E. will be fine. He will get some extra one-on-one time with his Daddy. He will have myriad grandparents all eager to take him to the park, or build towers with his blocks, or flatten him like a pancake.

He will be, in all likelihood, spoiled rotten.

I know this.

But, as I keep trying to explain to Q., who is, I suspect, a bit hurt that my leaving is causing me so much stress and anxiety and misery, how I am feeling has nothing to do with whether or not I trust him to look after E. (of course I do), and only a little to do with whether or not E. will miss me (although I must say the toddler development books I’ve read which advocate not separating from your child at this age for more than a night are not helping).

It’s really about me.

Even thinking about getting on that airplane makes me feel like my heart is being ripped out of my body.

The best way I can think of to describe it is to say that it feels like I imagine it felt like for Lyra and Will when they visited the Land of the Dead and had to leave their daemons behind (if anyone who reads this is also a Philip Pullman fan).

Rationally, of course, I know that E. is not truly part of me but is his own autonomous (adorable) person.

The way I’m feeling right now doesn’t have a whole lot to do with reason and being rational.

Irrationally I worry that either my plane or theirs will plunge out of the sky in a giant ball of flame.

Irrationally I worry that I will scar E. for life by leaving him, that he will hate me for doing so.

Irrationally I worry that he will change and grow so much in those two weeks that we are apart that I will feel like I no longer know him.

It is the mama bear instinct rising to the fore, awakening and grumbling and growling. Stumbling out of hibernation. It is my deepest, most instinctive, primeval self that is speaking when I try to explain to Q. how I feel and I can’t get the words out before I start to cry.

This child, my child, is most precious to me.

Leaving him, getting in an airplane and flying away from him, crossing a fucking ocean while he sleeps in his crib, with his bunny draped over his face in the ultimate lovey-eye-mask combination?

I can’t say it ever struck me like a great idea, but now that the reality of it is very much almost here?

FUCKING INSANE.

It is killing me. My anxiety is through the roof.

I’ve started telling E. about what will happen. We’ve got the globe down to look at where we live and where we were visiting Auntie L. and Auntie C. and where Q’s family lives, and we’ve looked at where Mummy is going. We’ve talked about how I’m going to get on an airplane (E. quite likes that bit) and his Grannie and Grandpa and then his other Grandpa are going to come and stay with him and Daddy. And about how a few days after that he and Daddy will get on another airplane (E. quite likes that part too) and come to another airport and I’ll be waiting for them.

I’m making some videos of me- reading a story, singing his favourite songs- so he can watch them if he needs some Mummy time while I’m away. We’ll plan to skype unless that makes things more difficult for him.

I have been obsessively planning the packing for months now. I packed E’s bag two days ago (yes, the bag that he won’t be needing until next month). When I asked Q. if he would mind if I left him a list of what needed to be added to the bag and what needed to be done with the house and the cats before they left (all things that I’m quite sure Q. would have been more than capable of handling himself even if he probably wouldn’t have picked quite the same clothes for E. that I would have), he said he’d be worried I wasn’t myself if I didn’t.

Nothing’s helping much. I’ll at least be keeping busy over the next couple of days since in a fit of genius insanity I decided to have E.’s birthday party the day of my flight. It’s in the morning and my flight is very late at night- so late that I won’t have to leave to go to the airport until after E.’s asleep. Even so, I’ve belatedly realized that this probably wasn’t my smartest plan. (The alternatives, however, were to make Q. organize the party after I’d left, and I was SO not ok with missing my son’s second birthday party, or to have had it last weekend, which would have been almost a month early, which I thought was too much.)

I know we’ll survive. It will either work well, or it won’t. We’ll get through the days, and eventually I’ll be back at the airport waiting outside of customs to pick up my boys.

But on the edge of it, right now, I just wish it wasn’t happening.

There is no way out but through.