All In.

Recently, I returned to work from a year’s maternity leave. This time I took the whole year to spend time with my little children, to enjoy them while they’re young. When I left my job last February, there were about 9 people working in the office. Upon my return, our office staff in Toronto had grown to about 30 people or so. The positions and offices are mostly filled with people handpicked by my boss, which made the notion of returning to work intimidating. The folks he selected are star players! These people are the stand outs in the crowds with which he has shared his working life. And here I was, some lady he’d been stuck with, re-emerging on the scene. And this lady questioned her relevance and her capacity to live up to the tasks and mandate set before her.

That first week, we’d been to the doctor and/or hospital multiple times, where Alice was eventually diagnosed with a particularly disgusting and nasty bout of impetigo on both hands, after having some weird mouth virus and four days of fever. Impetigo is gross and it looks really really painful. It’s super contagious to other children and basically you have to keep it covered so it doesn’t spread. Have you ever tried to bandage a baby’s hands? I learned from this ordeal that babies think band-aids are some tasty shit. Our solution? Socks on the hands. And we got some antibiotics, which are an adventure all themselves when trying to administer them orally to a 11 month old.

At around the same time, I became painfully aware of how sharp Alice’s little teeth had become via an awfully wounded nipple, that still hasn’t quite healed after nearly two months. I’m convinced it will never ever heal, but there is a little glimmer of hope inside me that thinks that maybe one day in the near future, I might be able to nurse her on the left side without recoiling in pain. Maybe.

So my first week back was a literal hell, between the boobie wound, impetigo, and some shaky days with my husband’s job security (though luckily our concerns were quickly elayed). The stress of a new childcare arrangement, the TTC commute, and all the on the job learning required to get back up to speed were so much that I was literally collapsing in tears at the end of every day. I’m stressed just writing about it!

If you’d really like to keep track, you could add in a dash of serious sleep deprivation for the last 6 months and a healthy dose of mummy guilt. You know, the kind of guilt the eats away at you for not “being there’ for your family who needs you so desperately. I’d failed at meal planning, and doing the grocery shopping to stock our fridge and pantry with the things we’d need to keep us going. I was behind on laundry, and every room in our apartment had seen much better days. With all the things I had failed to do, I had no time to make up for it. No time to run the errands, do the preparations necessary to make this transition slightly smoother for all everyone in our little family.

But then the second week came, and then the third, and the fourth week. And now I feel as though I am rocking along at a fairly respectable and steady pace. And the pieces? They’re all falling into place. I’m learning a lot, I’m quickly getting back up to speed, and I remembered finally that I LOVE WORKING! I love my job and the people I work with are all really really awesome. More awesome than I ever could’ve anticipated. I’m starting to hit my stride and I just love everyone and everything that I’m doing. Then the end of the day rolls around, and though I have to fight my way on to a streetcar, I’m excited. I’m excited to come home to the perfect little faces that shine so bright with smiles when they hear mummy come up the stairs. I’m excited to kiss my handsome husband, who has already started dinner, folded laundry and worked a full day, and is waiting to greet me with a smile just as bright.

This new year, I set my motto as I always do. I knew it was going to be a challenging year with lots of ups and downs and that I would need to stretch to make it all work. That I’d need to put it all out there on the line to be successful in 2015. And so I remind myself regularly that this year, I’m going “All In”. How could I not, my friends……I’ve been dealt the royal flush.

A Very Marigold Birthday

The last few weeks haven’t included much more than two hour stints of sleep, eating and sitting topless on the couch. Oh, and clogging my friends news feeds with pictures of my children. I’m kinda tied to Alice and the couch for the most part, so for entertainment I take pictures of my kids, post them on Instagram and share them on Facebook. At least until the weather is a bit nicer.

Oh GOD I never wanted to be a mommy blogger–I just wanted to write about my life, but I guess my life right now is mostly about being a mummy. Gone are the days of passing out on a toilet in the basement bathroom of a bar on Queen from too much to drink and waking to write about it the next morning.

And here I am, again, to tell you more about my child-centered life. Among the night feedings and diaper changes, I had been preparing feverishly whenever I found a few minutes, for Marigold’s third birthday. I really wanted it to be very special for her, so I asked her what she wanted. Decorations of orange and green, she said. A small vanilla cake, she said. Katie’s mummy, she said. All of these things were a surprise to me–she doesn’t have favourite colours as far as I know, and I didn’t think she knew the difference between chocolate and vanilla. And we haven’t seen Susie (Katie’s mummy) since last summer I think. But these were the things she wanted. And I wanted to make it happen.

We had a small party with her nearest and dearest. She helped me bake her cake and I worked my butt off whenever my boobs were free. And here are the results: a very special party for my special little girl.

Waiting for the guests to arrive and the party to start

Several days of cutting and stringing together for the party pennants

Even the dolls decorated!

Orange and Green Party Table

Handmade cake and paper cake toppers

She’s growing up, and while part of me wishes she would stay 3 forever (because she’s just so goddamned cute), I’m excited to see what kind of person she grows into.

Hungry Hungry Hippos is a great gift for a 3 year old and her pals

Mummy & Marigold

Moving to Scarborough

As Marigold continues to grow, I have less and less time to write. She’s requiring more attention to keep her amused each day, which means, less time for me to do the things I want. That on top of household chores that are mostly getting done at the bare minimum leaves me with only a few minutes to surf the internet, and play video games. And I’m going to learn to knit plus I want to learn to sew. God, if only I was one of those people that could get by on 4 or 5 hours sleep then I might be able to do the things I want.

I keep being faced with decisions that I really don’t want to make. We are constantly making easy choices from the minute we wake up in the morning and often we don’t even give it a second thought that we have a choice. Getting out of bed, brushing our teeth, what to eat for breakfast, what to wear for the day and the list goes on. And on and on and on. Then there are the larger life decisions: who you are going to marry, where you are going to live, what you are going to do for a career. But sometimes, an unexpected quandary presents itself before you and suddenly you have to make a decision about a situation you have no prior experience with. Or sometimes you are faced with a decision you have made many times before, and you need to be reminded that you’ve done it before on blind faith, and it’s worked out in the end…hasn’t it?

It would be great if every time you had to make a decision that the only person affected would be you, and you alone. I think this is the reason why decisions become so difficult–the outcome has a great impact on someone around you. And it’s typically someone close to you. Someone who you love very much. I always think back to moving to Toronto, the biggest decision of my life thus far. Again–my decision to move meant leaving Matt (and dumping his sorry ass–I can say that now, it’s been long enough) and hurting someone I loved very much. I was leaving behind my friends and family and the only life I had ever known, but on the other side of that decision was tremendous opportunity which I would not have had otherwise, and I’ve been reaping the rewards ever since.

The last unexpected quandary I faced was a high impact/low return type of decision. My decision, in fact, has permanently damaged a friendship, and hopefully most of that damage will be repaired, though I’m sure some scars will remain.

Sometimes you just need to stand up for what you believe in regardless of how much it might hurt someone and regardless of how supportive you really want to be. It makes me sad to think that I had to choose at all let alone make the choice I made. And though my decision is hurtful, I hope it makes a strong statement. Because after this, I’m not going to beat the dead horse, because the horse is already dead, there’s no sense in that. And beating dead horses just makes a bloody mess that becomes pretty impossible to clean up. I’ve said my piece and voiced my concern. I’m going to let the issue die and rest in peace. At the very least I can show my support for moving forward.

God, disappointing people sucks so bad. And I really fucking hate letting people down. I want to make everyone happy all the time, which is probably why I’m so great with customer service. But, I know deep down that making EVERYONE happy is an impossibility. I have to think now of how my decisions–high impact/low return, or high impact/huge opportunity will affect Martin and Marigold first and foremost. I have to do what is best for our family, even if that means letting other people down that I care about very much. I have to make sure that the choices I make are ones that Marigold will admire once she’s older.

You can’t take a mulligan. There are no do-overs. Life was so much easier when it was just me. I don’t mean because of the extra work of taking care of a family. I mean that if I fucked up, the only person that faced the consequences was me. Gone are the days of risking my job with people calling in sick for me because I was passed out on a toilet in the bar’s basement bathroom the night before (Thanks Peter Peattie). Gone are the days of complete and utter irresponsibility. Now MG and MM are in the line of fire, and I just want to do what’s best for all of us, even if it means moving to Scarborough**.

I want to be someone she is proud to call her mother. And sometimes that means closing some doors and opening some windows. Right now I’ll just wait for the window to open, and decide whether or not it’s time to close the door, and try not to get black out drunk while I’m waiting.

**For the record we are not now, nor ever moving to Scarborough, it’s just a phrase I use now to demonstrate just how much I’m willing to sacrifice for my family.

Until the Moment’s Gone

For Christmas this year, we got satellite radio, and what an excellent gift it was for us. There’s about a dozen channels that we listen to on a regular basis, one of them being “Lithium”, the 90’s station. Try listening to 90’s radio and see what it does to you! It’s funny how many songs I hear that cause me to think of certain people, or certain times in my life.

The first three days of this week were complete hell. Don’t get me wrong, I have an excellent baby. She is absolutely amazing–she sleeps well, most of the time and more during the day, she doesn’t cry a lot, she latches on well and she’s generally a happy baby. For the most part I’ve felt fairly rested, although the “sleep when the baby sleeps” business doesn’t really work for me. She spends her time sleeping through the day, when it’s sunny and bright and when I have lots of energy to get shit done or play some video games (I’ve made it to level 6 on Burger Time). I’ve even managed to have a shower everyday since she was born (save yesterday). I really never wanted to be “one of those people” who complained about the sleep they weren’t getting or the fact that they hadn’t showered in days.

I know now, that those people are likely complaining about not having a shower or sleeping, because it’s too taboo to discuss how fucking depressed/paranoid/freaked out/irrational/inadequate you feel as a new parent. And that’s the short list.

My biggest problem is that Marigold falls asleep when eating. Like completely crashes out. And trust me, I’ve tried everything to keep her awake. I take her clothes off, I blow on her, I stroke her feet, I yell at her, I change her diaper, I stroke her cheek, I squeeze my boob, I tickle her, and I even use the torturous cold cloth on her. NOTHING WORKS!!! I hate having to be so mean to her, but if she had her way, she wouldn’t eat at all until it was dark out, then she would be attached to me non stop until daylight.

We had another doctor’s appointment on Monday, and Marigold had only gained 80 grams in a week. Typical baby growth is between 100-200 grams a week. I knew we had had a bad week before, but it was starting to get alarming because she was falling behind. Dr. Mcgee (our family doctor) consulted with Dr. Karlinsky (our OB) on what we should do. Without much questioning, they decided that my milk production was low and suggested I take domperidone to increase my milk flow. I was adamant that it had nothing to do with my milk flow (as that was suggesting that I was inadequately providing for my child). I just felt I needed to be more diligent in waking her up, especially at night where should could sleep for more than 5 hours if I let her.

I left the doctor without a prescription but with another appointment a week later–I just wanted to wait and see. In life, much like Homer Wells, I have become an expert at waiting and seeing. However, discussing it with Martin, he had a different opinion. He felt as though we have waiting long enough and that we hadn’t seen the results that we wanted, so it was time to change our approach. Martin suggested that I start taking Fenugreek which is a natural supplement to boost milk production that typically has rapid results.

After some consideration, I thought maybe it was possible that I wasn’t producing enough milk. I never got super engorged (I mean they’re a bit bigger and harder but that’s it) and I never experienced the horrible pain that a lot of women experience (they’re sore, but I can deal) and I never felt that “Let Down” sensation that everyone is always talking about. And then it hit me….Oh my god, My BABY is STARVING to DEATH and it’s TOTALLY my fault. Cue 3 days of absolute desperation and waterworks. Oh, at around this time, Marigold has decided that she is going to act like the hungriest baby on the planet and not sleep at all between 8pm and 5am and the only thing that will comfort her is being at the breast (a breast that I’m convinced is completely void of milk). Now cue PANIC.

There’s nothing worse than not being able to enjoy your baby because you’re so distraught that you’re completely incapable of thinking about anything other than getting food in them, punctuated with the feeling of failure. Oh, and did I mention how alone you feel? None of my closest or kindred friends have children yet–of course I have friends that are new moms, but really, the desperation that you feel is so shameful that really, you can only share it with someone who knows you the very most for fear that anyone else might think you’re completely crazy.

I have read almost everything there is to read on the internet about breastfeeding. I saw a lactation consultant, I was going to the doctor regularly, but there wasn’t just ONE answer. I just wanted someone to fucking tell me what to do. All problems have solutions–and it is in my character to LEARN what to do, when something isn’t going right and that there must be an obvious answer. The truth is, when it comes to this–there really isn’t just one answer, and you’ll not get the same answer from different so called experts.

Oh sure, you’ll get lots of advice. Unsolicited advice. But really, the advice doesn’t help, unless you’ve asked for it. Plus the NEGATIVITY you get from people about this stage and that stage really doesn’t help anyone.

Moving on–the doctor called Wednesday morning to tell me that they felt it was best if I start supplementing the baby with formula. As if I wasn’t feeling shitty enough, now I had to poison my baby with formula that was going to cause digestion problems and colic and then she wasn’t going to take breast milk and again I was a failure. How could I NOT be able to do this??? When I was working I was managing more than 10 projects at a time, conducting training sessions, managing a support department and basically doing everything successfully, but I couldn’t fucking get my baby to eat or gain weight. What is WRONG with me??

Well, nothing, exactly. She isn’t starving to death in the least. All of these problems I’m experiencing are my own bullshit. My own guilt, and my own fears. Yes, it stems from my little Miss Marigold not eating and gaining weight, but she’s still happy. Martin isn’t freaking out, the doctors aren’t freaking out, and most importantly Marigold isn’t freaking out. It’s all me.

When I was pregnant, Martin and I were both very easy going about breastfeeding. While we wanted to do it, we weren’t dead set on doing it if it didn’t work out. Somehow that changed once I had her and I really felt that I absolutely didn’t want to give her anything but breast milk. When the doctor told me that it was time to supplement with formula, it was like it was all over. I had failed and she wasn’t going to need me anymore, because once I started with formula, she wouldn’t want the breast anymore, or me anymore.

It was a hard decision…Which to me is pretty ridiculous now, because, in total, it’s four ounces a day. I was agonizing over four ounces a day. We breastfeed, we supplement two times. Big deal. It was Martin who helped me move forward with this. And though we had agreed it was the right thing to do, it was still the most painful thing in the world to watch him try to give her her first bottle. (For the record, we’re using a bottle and cup to feed her formula–she doesn’t really like it). I was the sole person responsible for her nourishment for the last 10 months and all of a sudden, someone else was taking on that responsibility.

We’re not too concerned about nipple confusion–she latches really well on the breast, and the reality is that I’m going back to work in a couple of months, so she’ll have to deal with the bottle anyways, as I can’t imagine Martin cup feeding her 5 times a day.

So we did it. We started supplementing and I started taking the domperidone in conjunction with the fenugreek.

The overwhelming support that came to me via the internets was absolutely amazing. Like I said, unsolicited advice is the absolute worst, but hearing other mom’s stories of their irrational emotional breakdowns was a lifesaver. Everything always looks perfect from the outside, I guess, so you don’t really know what people are going through. I heard stories similar to mine, and I heard some waaaaay worse. Friends that were screaming in agony on top of all the shit I had to deal with, or colicky babies that cried non stop WHILE you were trying to sort your shit out. To those that reached out with their stories–you are all TOPS! Keep doing what you are doing and rewards will be reaped.

After all this, we went to the doctor’s again yesterday and Marigold had gained 50 grams in 3 days, so we’re back on track. And I’ve regained my sanity temporarily. I’m learning what works for her–feed her for ten minutes, put her in her bassinet, she cries, feed her again…set my alarm in the night to wake up to feed her…learn to adapt. Be flexible. Oh god, I hope I remember this in about a week when I start to lose my mind again.

So in all this, what I’m trying to say is that like the 90’s, this will come and go. Like the last five years of my life has come and gone. Times change, and people change and certainly your lot in life will change. There’s a line in the movie “Dazed and Confused” that says something like “If I start referring to my high school years as the best years of my life just kill me”. Well, 10 years ago, my high school years were the best years of my life. Then my years working at Scizzions were the best years of my life. Right now 2007-2010 are the best years of my life, but really the best is yet to come. You can’t get too Stuck in a Moment (yes, I’m quoting U2) because in a moment it will all change.

One of my goals in life is to celebrate each moment, each era, and make the most of it so I can reflect on it fondly. Because I don’t want to forget any of this and I want to spend the rest of my life remembering with pictures and words and musical memories. I know in ten years I’ll hear songs that remind me of now and make me feel nostalgic the same way I can hear Treble Charger and think of driving in Cindy’s car, the same way I can hear the National and think of the end of 2008.

A week before my due date I went to see Gord and Meher play at the Press Club. Gord sang my favourite song of his, “You Never Know”, and of course I cried while he sang it. The song says:

“You never know, never know, never know until the moment’s gone. Then you have to live with what you’ve done. You’re not alone, not alone, not alone in your blindfold in the dark….firing at the dartboard of your love”

Of course there’s moments of my life that are gone that I’ll miss, and I didn’t know how much I would miss them at the time. I’m not sure how much I’m going to miss the agony of now, but I’m sure I will look back fondly on my little tiny baby bird, Marigold and forget the despair….because I’m not alone in any of this. Millions of women have gone before and millions more will in the future. Each of them choosing to do what’s best for them and their family, and living to tell about it.

She has her feet in the air and her head on the ground

So I thought this would be a lot easier. Well, that’s not to say that I thought it would be easy, but I just didn’t expect to feel like a complete failure every other day.

While I was in the hospital, I felt like I was stuck in jail. The ward room I was in confined me to a space surrounded by curtains that was about 7×7, and in that space was a bed, a table with a cradle type thing, a night stand, a food tray and a chair. I’m 5 foot 8 and Martin is 6 foot 3 with a combined weight of over 400 pounds, PLUS a little baby in that tiny space. Needless to say it was a bit crowded and uncomfortable. Oh, and there were three other families in close proximity with their babies as well. On the flip side, I am thankful that we live in Ontario, and my prenatal care and delivery did not cost a cent out of our pockets. I am also grateful that we live in a place where the care available to us and our child is exceptional.

Half of the nurses in the maternity ward were obviously young and childless and the other half were sortof cold and opinionated–these were the people instructing me on how to care and feed Marigold! Everyone kept telling me the “correct” way to do things when it came to breastfeeding, and the funny thing was it was all contradictory–it’s like they set out to confuse a new mom on purpose.

Marigold wasn’t eating at all–she was barely awake. Some of the nurses said this was normal, especially after an epidural. I was hand expressing my milk (colostrum) and trying to give it to her from a little medicine cup….she was doing shots in her first day of life! The breastfeeding consultant at the hospital told us that she would likely need to have her tongue clipped because of a tongue tie. A tongue tie is “an unusually short and thick membrane connecting the underside of the tongue to the floor of the mouth”. It prevents the tongue from extending past the gum and lips which inhibits breastfeeding. Another nurse told us not to worry about it, that it would sort itself out.

Being new parents we just want to do anything possible for our baby to eat. I was getting so frustrated that she wouldn’t latch on and I was so worried because my poor child MUST be starving (even though her stomach at birth was the size of a chickpea).

We were anxious to get home because learning to breastfeed in the hospital was not happening–it was completely uncomfortable and foreign. Let’s be realistic–I wasn’t coming home to nurse in my Craftmatic adjustable bed, and the hospital chairs were so hard, that after sitting in one trying to nurse for 30 minutes I could barely walk. On top of that, the bathrooms were disgusting! I won’t go into detail, but if you really want to know what I mean by disgusting, I’ll give you the details personally.

Thankfully, the hospital discharged us that night and we were able to come home. The first night was almost sleepless. Martin was so helpful–he watched after her while I got a little bit of shut eye, then I was awake most of the night just watching her sleep/comforting her when she was whining.

We were originally sleeping in our bedroom downstairs, but decided it was definitely too cold for us and Marigold, so we opted to move our lives to the first floor, and sleep in the spare bedroom. We are so fortunate to have the option to sleep upstairs as it’s much more comfortable for the time being for everyone. We’ll move back down once it stops bloody snowing.

On top of all the commotion of having a baby, trying to feed my child, coming home from the hospital and getting settled, I lost my phone. Being the 21st century, we don’t have a home phone and we had just filled out all the hospital forms with MY phone number. How inconvenient! Doctor’s appointments, Public Health–I was so worried. The next morning I was pretty much a basket case. My biggest fear was that someone was going to come and take away our baby because I couldn’t feed her and I wasn’t looking after her properly and I didn’t have a phone! I know now that this was irrational, but at the time I really was worried that this was a possibility. Martin was so supportive–again, I don’t know HOW people do this on their own. Martin’s mom was in town the whole week to help as well, which was absolutely amazing. She was able to stay with his sister and give us our space when we needed it, but was always available to drive to doctor’s appointments, or come by to hang out or help with a bit of housework when needed.

I learned a lot about family from Martin, his parents and sister. They were all making sacrifices for our little family, and I will be eternally indebted to them for this.

We hired a doula/lactation educator to come in and do a breastfeeding consultation. Her name was Bianca, and she was amazing! She along with some other women started this company combining their resources and offering consulting on fertility, pregnancy and parenting. The company is called Bebo Mia. The philosophy of the company thrives on what is best for the mental health of the entire family–ie: do what is best for us as a whole rather than a black and white right way/wrong way of doing things. She spent time with us asking about our birth experience, understanding what our expectations were and observing how I was breastfeeding Marigold. She offered advice and pointers that I didn’t get in the hospital, along with hands on assistance! She helped me modify the positions I was already using (the football hold is better for larger breasted women, and also, I learned you don’t have to support your whole breast, you can just make a boob sandwich for the baby) and she introduced me to the side feed which has come to be a life saver for us. Bianca was able to easily answer all of our questions about Marigold, breastfeeding and co sleeping in such a way that was practical while considering the needs of our family first. She was open and honest and drew on her experience as a mom to advise us. We really connected with her and I felt a million percent better once our consultation was done. At the end of it all, it turns out she’s a derby girl….what a small world! It was the best $125 I have ever spent–not only for the knowledge I gained, but for the peace of mind and comfort she provided at a time when I was at the end of my rope.

A visit to the doctor told us that Marigold did NOT need to have her tongue clipped. Dr. Karlinsky explained it this way–years ago kids were all getting their tonsils out, boys were all getting circumcised–these were the “fashionable” things to do. She said in 25 years of practise, she had done two tongue clippings–in the last year, she had done 10! The human race is not evolving in a way that requires more tongue clippings, at least I don’t think so. As each day went on, Marigold’s tongue was getting stronger and pushing out between her lips–she was absolutely fine.

Breastfeeding continues to be a struggle. Mostly because this child DOES NOT want to wake up! They say the baby should “suck suck swallow”, well, Marigold “suck suck sleeps”. I am committed to waking her up every 2 to 3 hours to make sure that she eats even just a little bit. It’s getting better each day, but man do I ever have some low points.

Our family doctor is new to family practise, and last week when we went to visit her for a weight check, she told us that Marigold had not yet gained enough weight. I was obviously devastated because I had been working so hard to make sure I was feeding her enough. I felt like a terrible mom and that I was completely inadequate to look after a baby. I cried almost for the entire day, feeling like a failure who was completely incapable of caring for her child.

On the flip side, the baby had gained 150 grams since she was discharged from the hospital, she is healthy and happy, she is going to the bathroom regularly–so really there is nothing to worry about. We really feel that the doctor was overreacting (she even said she was being aggressive herself, as she used to be an emergency room doc), and we are just committed to doing what is best for us and Marigold.

It’s almost impossible to know how much the baby is eating and I’m constantly worried I’m not making enough milk, she’s not eating enough et cetera et cetera. Like I said, a lot of times I feel awful and like a complete failure. Most of the time I don’t want to see anyone or talk to anyone because all my energy is directed towards being successful at breastfeeding. Each day it gets easier, and sometimes it gets worse. We are committed to breastfeeding for now, but we always know there is an alternative.

It has been a big adjustment having a baby at home and moving our lives upstairs. I have come to terms (sortof) with not having a neat and tidy house. There are piles of baby clothes and blankets everywhere, baskets full of baby things and diaper changing necessities in places that were void of clutter before. Sometimes I go down to our bedroom just to see what neat and tidy looks like, since it’s so bare from us moving upstairs. Fortunately, we’re still eating a lot and we are getting a lot of rest. Marigold has a long sleeping spell at night (by long I mean about 4 hours), so that has worked out well for us.

Martin goes back to work on Monday, and though I’ll miss him, I look forward to getting into my own routine of doing things. The nicer weather is around the corner so I’ll be able to take little miss Marigold out to the park and to visit with friends. It will be another adjustment, but I’m sure we’ll manage.

I never wanted to be one of those people that had a baby and was all “baby baby baby” all the time. I still want to maintain outside interests and relationships, and have friends that are not parents. Marigold is definitely number one in our lives these days, and 90% of my time is spent with her, not leaving much for me to pursue other exciting adventures like my days past. So forgive me if you think I’m all “baby baby baby”, but that’s all the time I have for now, and I’ll only have this time with her once.

I want to make sure that I get it right.