And I thought I'd have so much free time for blogging while on maternity leave.

Ha! A big fat 'ha!' I can barely get it together to brush my teeth AND wash my face. Time? There is none. And since when did time go so damn fast? That year flew by! Yup, it's been a year already. Time's up. I'm back. Back at work, back on the air as of tomorrow.

Here's the good news: I love my job. Thank goodness. Honestly, I don't know how moms who don't love their jobs do it. How do you leave your stay-at-home gig (which, by the way, for most real new moms that I know, involves very little actual staying at home!) with your brand new most favourite person in the whole world, to go back to a gig that doesn't give you any cuddles or giggles or even just a goofy little grin? How do you hand your tiny lovebug over to someone else?

Listen, I'm happy to get a break from poopy diapers but what if your kid does something really cool for the first time, like say a new word or jump up and down, and you're not there to see it. Yah, yah, they'll do it again, but someone else got to see it first. That's the hard part. There are lots of hard parts. I really thought I would never be like this. I suspected I would be jonesing to get back to work after seven months. I thought I would be bored stiff being 'just a mom.'
Turns out -nope! There were lots of things I missed about my job -the fun, the friends, but I was so enraptured in the day to day minutiae of taking care of my daughter (I still get a thrill from saying, 'my daughter') and the time passed so quickly. Ok, so maybe I wasn't always enraptured with the poop, the barf, the drool, the teething, the all night feedings, the screeches -who knew such a wee thing could scream so loud?? But the good always outweighed the bad.

I have definitely been craving some mental stimulation. Many of my words have now been replaced with strange, descriptive sounds. I am that inarticulate. Which should make being back on the radio....er.....entertaining? Well, we'll find out tomorrow morning!
I'm back from Babyland and more grateful than ever to have a job I love.

Simone is six months old. Six months and one week, to be precise. Most days I honestly don't believe she's real. Dave and I stare at her, stunned that she's ours, that we made her and that somehow she turned out okay. More than ok, actually. A lot more than ok.

Sometimes, as we gaze at her in disbelief, she giggles, sucks on her toes or maybe she farts. She is a champion farter. And we stare on, finding her amazing. If you have kids, you know what I'm talking about. Yes, a fart can be beyond charming. If you don't have kids yet and you think I'm nuts, well, just you wait. You, too, will find yourself excited about a fart, or better yet, a poop, especially after four days of waiting for it. The cleaning up part is less exciting.

As I write about farts, I think to myself that Nana would disapprove. She might accept use of the word 'toot,' though with sufficient disdain. The last time we visited Nana, Simone decided it was the perfect time to relieve herself, loudly. My Nana looked right at her and said, "Didn't your mommy tell you it's not polite to do that in public?"
Simone smiled, as if she understood, and continued to make a ruckus. Nana and I laughed.

That was to be our last visit. Nana passed away July 21st.
Several well-meaning friends offered to babysit Simone for the funeral. I declined. It seemed only right to me that the youngest member of the family attend the funeral of the oldest member of the family. My Nana was not an easy person. That's putting it nicely. She was quite difficult, actually. But not with me. With me she was softer. She was less critical, less negative. I have my theories on this, ranging from being the first grandchild to being an only child raised by a single mother, but it boils down to this: for her own reasons she cut me some slack. But not my mom. Nana complained endlessly to my mom about, well, everything. When I asked how she was doing, she would say, "Oh, fine," even when she really wasn't fine and then ask how her "little bundle of joy" was doing.
Nana always remembered Simone's name. Big deal, right? The thing is Nana had Alzheimer's and sometimes, though she did her best to hide it, I don't think she could remember her own name.

Nana was an English war bride, stubborn and prideful as they come. And sharp. That her mind was slipping was incredibly hard for her to accept.
For her funeral we decided a proper tea party would be the best tribute to her, complete with fancy finger sandwiches. Damn, those sandwiches are good! Again, Nana would disapprove of the cursing. It felt so right to have Simone there with me. My mom kept talking about "the circle of life" which kind of made me want to barf (don't be offended, Mom -you're super cute!) but I must admit, it all made sense. A new life had come into the family and an old one had left.
The reverend gave a lovely prayer of thanks, and just at that moment, right after the "amen," Nana's youngest great-granddaughter let out a big fart. Circle of life, indeed.

And I thought I'd have so much time to write my blog. Ha!
This Sunday is Mother's Day and Simone will be exactly three months old. Firstly, I can't believe it's been three months already since this wee gal arrived on the scene, changing everything forever for the better. The heights of joy and love are boundless.

Secondly, it occurred to me the other day, that Mother's Day actually applies to me now.
How cool is that? I was running through the list in my head of who I needed to get cards for: my mom, my stepmom, my mother-in-law, my grandmother. I stopped in my tracks when it dawned on me that I'm in that club now. The Mom club. Wow.

This seems like a big deal. Commercial holidays have always struck me as a contrived money grab. Valentine's Day makes me puke. Ok, I admit I am a sucker for Christmas, but who isn't? But now, this 'day' is for me. Being a mom is the best thing I've ever done. And while I'm sure that in a few years I'll go back to seeing Mother's Day as just another lame reason to spend money, this year I'm totally digging being in the club.

As a new mom, the learning curve is damn steep. Talk about trial and error!
Here's a thing or two I've learned so far:

A baby's butt is a loaded weapon. That poop can fly! And just when you think you've learned your lesson and will NEVER let 'that' happen to you again, you will have a momentary lapse and the sh*t will hit the sheets, the duvet and you. This will, of course, happen at your in laws' home.

The days of carry-on luggage only are long gone. I like to travel light. Now I travel with a suitcase large enough to stuff a dead body in, but instead it's filled with a whole lot of baby stuff. I also carry two diaper bags (purse? What purse?), a stroller, a car seat, oh yeah, and a baby. I've gotten very used to asking complete strangers for help - with doors, with luggage, with groceries, with pretty much anything. I have no shame -I need help!

Eau de barf is my permanent scent. And I don't care. It's more important to me that she's clean and changed. Besides, she's just going to barf on me again.

No matter how bad a day I'm having (poop, barf, cry, pee, repeat) the moment she smiles, or better yet, giggles - the whole world stops.

Everyone told me becoming a mom would be the best thing ever. I believed them, I just didn't know the best thing ever could be this good.
Happy Mother's Day!

Two weeks ago today she was born. And just like that, we became a family. She arrived early and rather suddenly. I'd been having small pre-labour contractions all weekend and I thought, "Ach, big deal. Contractions aren't so bad." Ha! I didn't know what was coming.

Monday I went out for lunch with Nat Lauzon and I brought along a very glamorous waterproof change pad, in case my water broke on her car seat. Disappointingly, it didn't!
So we gabbed and munched lunch with the occasional interruption of pre-labour contractions. Nat dropped me off at home and shortly thereafter, all hell broke loose! (I'm calling it the Lauzon Effect)

The first real contraction hit a few minutes after 5pm. By real, I mean I was on all fours making weird animal noises and screaming some very rude words. About four minutes later another one hit and Dave and I both knew this was it! I thought I was going to have the baby in the van on the way to the Royal Vic. We made it to the hospital just before 6pm and they told us I was 9 1/2 centimeters dilated and there probably wouldn't be time for an epidural. Say whaaat?

In the end they were able to hook me up between contractions and by 7:15pm we were pushing. I say 'we' because Dave was right there in the nitty gritty with me. Holy moly. Things went fast and furious and then, well, they didn't. She got nice and comfy in the birth canal and decided to hang out there. At 9pm the doc told me they were going to try the 'kiwi' - a suction cup to help pull her out - but if that didn't work, after two more pushes, we'd have to have a Caesarian, because oxygen was becoming an issue.
After two pushes, doc said 'Caesarian it is.' But I asked for two more tries and out she popped at 9:40. Huge sigh of relief.
We were so elated we never thought to check if it was a boy or a girl, but then the doc said, "It's a girl!"

The kiwi left a mark on her forehead but we still thought she was the most beautiful thing we'd ever seen. The mark's gone now so you can just imagine how we swoon over her.

There was one small problem though. She didn't look at all like the girl's names we had chosen. Not at all. So we had to start from scratch. Not that she was nameless...she was still Boo, of course, but you know the grandparents would have just loved that on the birth certificate!

Within a few days the name Simone came to me. She just looks like a Simone. The black Joan Jett mullet she was born with might have something to do with at. So I looked it up and Simone means fulfilled. Well, that clinched the deal. She has fulfilled us beyond belief!

And so just like that, with the arrival of wee Simone the night of February 13, we became a wee family.

Natasha had a beautiful baby girl weighing 7lbs.....
Born February 13th at 9:30pm
Congratulations

The question still unanswered.....What will baby BOO's name be....Have any guesses?

Is it a boy of girl?

What day do you think I will give birth if my due date is February 15th?

That's right. Waddling, granny panties, having to pee every ten minutes and worse, leaks.
Oh god. Pregnancy is not always a thing of beauty. Watch my latest video!!

With Boo due to arrive in six weeks, the crunch is on to become bonafide adults. What exactly qualifies you to be a grown-up? Well, if I knew I probably would have done it a long time ago. So basically, we're figuring out how to fake it.

The new appliances arrived today. A real, proper full-sized fridge, a dishwasher that holds more than four plates at a time and doesn't have to be rolled over to the sink and plugged in (can I get a hallelujah?!) and, get a load of this....a stove that has four functioning burners, a warm-up area AND an actual oven that works. I can't wait to turn it on and not have the place fill with smoke and reek of something horribly chemical and long dead. Now that's exciting!
And very grown-up, don't you think?

We're scrambling to finish the last of the renovations. Ha! Who am I kidding? Like the renos will ever really be done! But at least the kitchen and upstairs bathroom should be functional by the time we are three. That is, if Boo doesn't decide to surprise us with an early arrival. That is totally freaking me out these days.

According to Dr. Purplesocks, as Dave calls him, odds are that the kid will come late. According to many of my friends, it could happen anytime. Evidently, my bag should be packed and ready to grab at a moment's notice. I have thrown a pair of slippers, a baby blanket, a hat and a hairband into a suitcase but, obviously, that ain't gonna cut it.

It's time to get real. (taking a deep breath)
That's probably what really being a grown-up is all about.