And now, she can vote.

In a curious alignment of the stars in the universe (and on this planet) today's date in 1994 had Johnny Depp on the cover of People magazine.  I missed that cover.  I was busily delivering what was going to be my own personal star that day. That morning, to be more precise.

My daughter was delivered at 11:50 a.m. on October 3.  Eighteen years ago today.

My daughter. My only. My star.

On that date those magical two words rolled off my tongue like the most exquisitely composed orchestral score for the very first time. My daughter.

We didn't know her gender and I had determined, through anything but scientific means, that I was carrying a boy. I can be stubborn like that, even still.  So when her little wee clearly female crotch came out of me and I saw it in the mirror they thoughtfully had placed in order to see the results of my 39 hours and 20 minutes of labour (yes, it was vaginal and yes I begged to be cut open but my family doctor thoughtfully refused even though I really really begged).  I almost didn't get to see that little crotch hanging half out of me and half still inside since I wasn't exactly in the mood for pensive mirror reflections (refer to previously detailed length of labour as to the explanation for the mood I was in).  It was my family doctor who was also my delivering physician, who demanded me to look. Again, I thank her for that thoughtful command.

The miracle of birth and the astonishment about my daughter's crotch simultaneously collided in my head and I was literally transformed from awkward pregnant blob into a full blown mother of a daughter in that instant. It was likely also the instant that the post-birth hormones were released since I've never felt that sort of high before or since. And the high sustained itself for days despite my exhaustion.  I can feel an echo of it even today by concentrating on that instant.

I've rattled and prattled about Daughter here before. Yes, she is in university now. Yes I've had a few struggles as a single mom and all that.

But there are a few things I've neglected to mention and on the occasion of her 18th birthday I think it's about time I came out with a few things about her.  First of all, she is awesome (and smart and funny and all those things you expect a mother to say about her child but in this case it's 100% true).  And second of all, she seems to have a fan girl crush on Johnny Depp. And since I just found out that he was on the cover of the world's most respected gossip rag (arguably) the day she was born I guess I'm gonna have to excuse her nearly lifelong attraction to this actor despite my (often stated) misgivings about the age difference. So I'll just come right out and say it directly to her:  "You can have him sweetie...I'll move out the way now....consider it your first birthday present as an adult :)"

"Next":  Command performance of 1st year birthday cake eating complete.
No more disgusting chocolate frosted cake. Where's the vanilla ice cream?

Darwin's Penetrative Force

"OMG, I allowed that man to orgasm in me. Without protection!  I wantonly willed it!"  My (68 yo) mother and I (45 yo) shared these thoughts together, yesterday on the phone.  We have both marvelled at the wonders of the biological clock over the years and at the choices we made when our own clocks were a buzzing.

"that man" is my XHusband (and "that man" for my mum is my Dad, her XHusband).

My mother, the slut (sarcasm alert), conceived me before an actual wedding date was set.  So my very being necessitated a hasty marriage to my Dad.  A marriage that was prompted by a cleverly planned emigration from Ireland (so no one was told of my conception).

This forced-marriage-emigration ploy by my parents was followed by a turbulent 15 year marriage.  An emigration to Canada (wtf? why not somewhere warm and kewl, like Australia or exotic like South Africa?).  All of which was finally sorted, for me, in my thirties (yup, it took me twenty years...longer than their feckin' marriage).

XHusband and I were married nearly 3 years when our first child was conceived (I was 26, he was 27 and this was the early 90s, so quaint).  The child that miscarried.  He impregnated me with Daughter a few months after that miscarriage but also started his dating life with his current wife.  I was very needy after that miscarriage.  I know he tried.  But he wasn't in it for the long haul and today, after 17+ yrs, I have to admit that I wasn't in it for the long haul for the right reasons either. BTW, it is only hindsight that allows me to admit this.

XHusband texted Daughter this week asking if she needed the money he had for her upcoming university gig.  He, a 46 yo grown man, texted his 17 yo daughter and asked her if he was allowed to use her university money for house renovations.  The house renovations that involve eliminating a bed in his house for her. A renovation that leaves her homeless if her other parent, moi, chose to do the same.

And today, all I can think of is:  A mother's instinct never fails.

Daughter needs protection from this imbecile I allowed to impregnate me.  And so, I will.  Continue to.


In whatever way I am able.  Just like my Mum has done for me.  


And I'm the first one to admit that I'm not perfect and I'm not enough.  But it's all we got.

Food Porn

Lunch time in a suburban Catholic school in the 1970s went something like this.  The bell rang for lunch time dismissal.  If you were in Grade 2 or younger you waited for an older sibling or a designated substitute or a parent (mother) to pick you up to take you home.  Or you waited for an older sibling or designated sub to take you to the gymnasium to eat your bagged lunch with your fellow 'bus kids' - of which there were only a couple of dozen in a school of a few hundred.  If you were in Grade 3 or older you were allowed to take yourself home or go to the gym yourself.

I attended a school such as this and I was a bus kid.  I was one of the very few children that had a mother that had paid employment (and possibly the only one whose mother made more $ than the father).  I was also the only child I knew that had a family that had public marital troubles in it's history (although god forbid I ever talked about that).

In grade 5 and 6 it started to become 'cool' for kids to stay for lunch rather than go home so I recall that we started staying in our classrooms for lunch.  This allowed me, an irish immigrant child, to gain further insight into the food choices of the mostly italian, portuguese and filipino families.  I would come home to my parents begging for things like nutella (on fresh italian bakery bread, OH MY).  And wagon wheels.  And pop tarts.  Their deli-meat based lunches smelled a lot different than my peanut butter and carrot (yes) sandwiches on brown whole wheat (cheap) bread.  My lunch treat was an apple and very occasionally a couple of (cheap) cookies.  I started baking at a very early age just so I could improve the contents of my bagged lunch.

Even today, the smell of the deli counter brings my mind directly back to those childhood lunchrooms.  And one of the proudest accomplishments of my parenting career is the fact that my daughter came home regularly during much of her elementary school years so she was able to experience a period of time that included a hot midday meal.  But she, like during my time, started wanting to stay with her friends in grade 6 and by grade 7 she was taking the subway downtown to an alternative middle school which ended her childhood hot lunch era.

One of my own guilty pleasures has been the provision of nutella for my daughter.  This was one item that never came into the household I grew up in and was regularly provided for my elementary school peers.  I wish I could also say that she also brought fresh homemade cookies throughout her childhood.  Let's just say that she too started baking in a quest to improve the contents of her bagged lunch.  After all, the apple doesn't stray too far from the tree :)

You are my fate.

Daughter turns 17 today.  This means that I got to say "my daughter" for the first time 17 years ago.

Language is so powerful.  These two words melted my heart for days, if not weeks after uttering them for the first time.  Even today I can tap into the wonder and marvel of those words and feel my heart melt a little.

There are so many hormones involved in this thing called mothering.

When I went on that farm trip a couple of weeks ago I felt like I was going to 'let down' when they started milking the cow.  It blew my mind that all these years later I could still empathetically release oxytocin by merely watching a cow getting milked (by machine even!).

I was a staunch La Leche League (LLL) member.  Attachment parenting, etc.  My daughter's crib turned out to be a great clothes hamper - i.e. she rarely slept in it..maybe twice - and since she grew by leaps and bounds in that first year a good clothes sorting basket was a handy thing to have (albeit a bit pricy).  Once I start earning a living wage again I intend to put LLL to the top of my donation list.  They are an amazing organization for new parents to turn to for support in all aspects of parenting.

I remember being amazed learning through LLL that some women who adopted could train their breasts/bodies to lactate. With the cooperation of the new born infant.  The miracle of birth is one thing but learning about this marvel of the female body completely gobsmacked me.  Hormones.

Daughter was a real snuggler, well after being weaned,  and really only stopped snuggling with me when she started snuggling with her teenage friends.  They regularly lie all over each other in the school hallways with heads on laps, feet on arms, etc.  There is nothing sexual about it (not overtly) and they are all platonically affectionate with each other.

I find this amazing.  At 17 I was not lying around on anyone's lap that I also wasn't furtively groping on Friday/Saturday nights.  Affection was always regarded as a prelude to something sexual.  And frankly I'm not sure if that was a nature or nurture thing.  I think catholicism and a general prudity of culture lingering in my 1980s suburb world had a lot more to do with it than I would have thought even 10 years ago.

My child, now a young woman, has been raised with the assurance that she is loved.  I know that she is nearly finished putting on her wings and will soon fly away.  That breaks my heart in some ways but I also know that this attachment parenting thing goes well beyond the nursing stage.  Hormonal human bonds transcend biology, as evidenced by the adoptive mothers that trick their bodies.  As daughter herself put it best in one of her notes to me long ago:  "You are my fate".

Opting out - maybe there is no glass ceiling?

I find this article powerful. (thx Javed!)

I am one of those women he writes of.

I opted into motherhood in 1994 and my life was irrevocably changed.

At the time (1994) I gave birth, I was enrolled in a PhD program in engineering....in the area of Management of Technology.

At the boom of the internet age I was at the leading edge in a world class university (University of Waterloo)...but giving birth to a child changed all of my priorities ...I did not finish that doctorate. I have yet to see a female authoritative figure in this field and wonder if all of us just opted out.

My child is now 14.5 years old and I am re-emerging and wondering how many other women have made this choice (not choosing 45+ hour week day care and opting to stay mostly at home during formative years)....perhaps some of you have made similar choices?