how could I stay away forever?

You knew it would happen. I couldn't leave Quarter Rest well enough alone. It's back. It's me, online, again. It's moved.

Here: quarterrest dot wordpress dot com (Sorry, Blogger, but I've made the switch. I've gone all wordpress-y and there's no turning back.)

Follow me over - have a look around, have a read and let me know! New digs, new start, more Magpie, more me. A little Mr.Q thrown in for gender balance.

See you there!

done and almost done

The Magpie turned two and the breastfeeding stopped.

Her choice, not mine.

She just decided that even once a day was no longer necessary and it was far better to simply get up and go downstairs for breakfast. Other than the odd query in the afternoon when she is overtired or her teeth are bugging her [and she doesn't question it when I tell her 'no'], she seems perfectly happy to move on.

Now, I just have to convince my boobs that they're production facilities are no longer required...

time passes

The Magpie is now two. She has been since last Friday and I am barely catching up with that fact. We had the presents, we had the party and the company and we recovered, cleaned up, cleaned up some more and made our way back to work today.

Tomorrow is a baby shower I've been planning and then we start getting ready for a quick weekend away.

Since setting up for her surgery last Wednesday, we've barely done anything more than get through the day and attempt to plan for the next.

But the Magpie is now two.

Two years ago, this was me. And this was her.

And that is freaking awe-inspiring, mind-boggling and simply insane.

post surgery: a recap

The tear ducts are clear.

We learned yesterday that the Magpie's surgery was scheduled for today at 12:30 and, while we knew it was supposed to be today, we had been hoping for a significantly earlier time. The Magpie wasn't supposed to eat anything after midnight last night [uh, okay] and no liquids after 9:30 this morning.

So we kept her up an hour and a half late and tried to convince her to eat a little extra to [mostly] no avail. She managed to sleep in 30 minutes this morning. and proceeded to ask for milk, snacks, cookies, apples, yogurt and Starbucks all morning long. We kept her busy with trips to the pet store, Mr.Q's work and the drive to the hospital. The problem? They were running late. Like, say, over an hour late. She didn't get in until 1:45.

Mr.Q went in with her and I made a mad dash for the coffee shop. Twenty minute surgery be damned - all I'd had since 6am was two mini muffins that I scarfed in the kitchen while the Magpie wasn't looking. The only reason I hadn't lost it entirely was the large coffee I made before heading out the door.

**note to self: if there is a next time, eat more. It's difficult to have a coherent conversation, let alone remember to ask all the important questions, with the anaesthetist prior to surgery when one's blood sugar hasn't been on any scale for several hours.**

The surgery went well the docs did their thing. Post-op, the poor little Magpie took forever to wake up. All her readings were fine but, between Tylenol, anaesthetic, no food and a missed nap time, she slept. It took cold cloths, tickling, tissues and a popsicle to wake her and then it was off to see daddy.

Now, after a little more Tylenol, she is sleeping again.

silent night

We have turned off the baby monitor.

Okay, so not all the time, like when we're three floors away [it's a tall, narrow place, this townhouse], but at night, when all is quiet and we're literally 10 feet apart, we turn off the monitor. I thought I would revel in the ability to sleep, unimpeded by snorts, squeaks, shuffles and the occasional, but guaranteed, horrendously loud crash as a limb flailed, unfettered, into the side of the crib.

Those crashes almost never woke her up.

A week later, we're now only just getting over the did she stop breathing?? paranoia. It is quieter; those damned monitors amplify the sound of cat hair catching on a dust bunny, I swear. But, there is one thing we no longer hear that is important: we can't tell if the soother has fallen out of the crib.

And that makes a huge difference as to whether or not we'll drag our asses out of bed to investigate a fuss. If a soother hit the ground, get yourself in there NOW and head off an out and out melt down. If the soother is present, the fuss is likely a blip soon to be soothed and your presence is likely to do far more harm than good. We could, of course, get rid of the soother.

a-hahahahahaha....snort...

Sorry - needed a moment to regroup after that one. Anyway, we could get rid of the soother. Daycare has managed to eliminate it at naptimes, but we have no idea how they did that. But I think we're both at peace with having a little more peace and quiet in the bulk of our sleep, for the few extra soother potential interruptions that occur. At the risk of mixing trite sayings [no risk - I'm flat out about to], silence truly is golden and a silent night makes for much more peace on earth... once we really and truly get over not hearing her every breath. And then we'll introduce a pillow and start all over again.

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YouTube got their act together!!

with promises to give her the moon

Today, the Magpie is 18 months old. As of roughly one hour ago. And at that moment, she was being put to bed for the night. In the last year and half, she has gone from an utterly adorable glorified digestive tract to a smushy little wriggler to a teetering babbler and wound up at a speed demon toddler with whims, opinions and attitude. And did I mention that it's gone by like that?

She's picking up words - toddler words, at any rate - for things like shoes, water, milk, food, Shiba, hair, nose, dragon, bath, chair and star. But two nights in a row, roughly two weeks ago, I showed her the full moon. She was fairly non plussed at the time. But, for every night - and they've all been cloudy - since then, she has been asking for the moon. Going to the door, reaching up to the sky and asking for the moon. And now that the clouds have parted, the moon is new. Non existent. The only thing my baby wants is the moon, damn it, and I can't even produce that. Something that is somewhere in the sky almost every night, what with planetary rotations and physics and all that.

So, we go out and look up. At the rain, at the clouds, at streetlights and passing aircraft. And we say moon. And I have to say that the moon said bye bye, but she doesn't buy it. She knows the moon is out there; distractions don't work. Because now that she's 18 months old and has whims, opinions and attitude, it seems that they are all centered on the night sky - weather and new moons be damned!

Day One

Mr.Q took the Magpie to daycare today.

That sounds so much more serious and profound than it was.

Mr.Q took the Magpie to a daycare today, where she ran around and played with a handful of other toddlers while he sat in the same room and went over paperwork with the supervisor for an hour and a half and then they left. Wednesday, she stays for three hours, Friday is four and half and, by the end of next week, she could be staying full days. Even only going part time - three days a week, and next Monday is a holiday - she could be doing full days by the end of next week.

It all went disturbingly well. She left Mr.Q and interacted with the other kids and the care workers. She wasn't clingy or confused. But, no one tried to pick her up or change her diaper or ask her father to leave the room, so all is not entirely safe yet. But, regardless, it was a really good start.

It's probably far better that Mr.Q was the one involved. Though there has been a slight shift in parental preferences, now that I've been back at work full time since June, the Magpie is still a little clingier to me in those cling-worthy cases - like new people and places - than she is with Mr.Q. But, she obviously likes the place. Which is good, because we do too.

Now we just have to convince her to take a nap there...

let no stair be left unblocked

She walked. She honest-to-got, no questions asked, more than one step, walked.

And, now, [as this was written at lunch]] here I sit alone at the bar of a crowded restaurant near my work - stood up by a relative who needs, but refuses, to attend her group sessions in the area - while my daughter has likely been waltzing around the mall, the playground all morning.

I don't envy her dad for having to follow her around, waiting for the inevitable fall, one bit. At least, not that part.

working stiff

I am typing this on my first lunch hour in over a year. It's rather disconcertingly comfortable. I was able to leave this morning - albeit in a bit of a rush - with little fanfare [the less the better, I figured] - and hopped the train as though it was my daily routine.

My badge readily operated the doors and elevators, my old locker was empty and waiting for me and, horror of horrors, I remembered my old computer password before the system locked me out for too many failed attempts.

I had 2081 email messages waiting for me. Generic, useless and woefully outdated email messages, each of which had been replied to by an equally generic and apparently useless out-of-office message. Despite all the little updates and alterations that have gone on, so little has really changed.

Except for me.

I'm a little hesitant to simply take over where I left off. I haven't moved my piles of papers back into what used to be My Desk. I haven't laid claim to a calculator, nor have I answered the phones yet. I haven't looked for my personalized lab coats and am anxious about staking a claim in the lunchroom fridge. I am shadowing the girl who replaced me during my maternity leave.

For all that it feels like I never left, it is painfully obvious, to me at least, that I did. As it is, by now, apparent to the Magpie that I have left her.

I have called home once, just now on my break, and all is well with Mr.Q and my baby. We'll see what she thinks of me when my slightly surreal day of Back to Work: The Job You Know You Did, But Don't Remember is over and I make my way back home to her.

one year later

This time last year, I was passing out at the hospital after surgery. There was a little baby sleeping next to me.



























In the year since - which seems to have gone by instantaneously, despite feeling like utter eons ago - she has changed more than I have changed in the past ten. Make that 20. At least. I have no idea how she did that...I am in awe and I suspect that will not change. Ever.

Happy birthday, baby!

going grey

I already spend enough time and money altering the shade of the hairs on my head. That is the limit of where I will allow my colourist to go.

not the mama

Between yesterday and today, the Magpie has graduated from spitting and other random strings of sounds [pbthhhhh and bvamobtha] to actually stringing together repeat syllables. And, while bvabvabva makes an occasional appearance, guess what, or should I say who, her fave is??

Mama

Oh, yeah, I rock.

It loses a little when she is looking at Mr.Q while gleefully chattering mamamamama, but when she's starting to get tired and cranky and utters a sad little mama while holding her hands up to me...well, there's no more question. I win.

Mr.Q's been inserting some dada into his discussions with the Magpie in hopes of coaxing the word out of her. While he's at work for the rest of the week, though, I'm going to try to teach her not the mama.

fluoridation for the nation

title ripped off, of course, from "Sanitation for the Nation". While I'm on the fence about fluoridation of local water supplies, all I know is that the water I grew up drinking contained fluoride and I have no cavities whatsoever. Mr.Q, on the other hand, drank fluoride-free water and has at least one new cavity with every biannual dental check up. And he's the one who flosses twice a day and actually brushes properly... But, that's not what this is about.

We have a tooth.

First noticed on Sunday, while babyQ was chewing on my finger, said tooth has been the source of much gnawing. It's been in the works for a few months now: drooling, chewing, wailing and gnashing... but some pointy little part has now broken through.

I have gouges on my fingers. Mr.Q has a gash on his forehead [yes, his forehead]. Boardbooks and little cardboard boxes are disintegrating in drool and puddles appear in her wake. She is, overall, not terribly concerned. The occasional object get gnawed on with a little too much force and the world temporarily becomes a horrible place as she protests her existence, the existence of whatever she chewed on and the existence of everything in general.

Then she tries to bite my shoulder.

And, just think, this is merely one of twenty...

does this mean I'm an adult?

It was my birthday yesterday and I turned 32. And, here are the problems I've suddenly run into with aging:

1. I forgot it was my birthday until about 10am I came downstairs and saw the card from my sister sitting on the dining room table.
2. My day was filled with diapers, laundry and driving.
3. It took me five minutes to realise that Mr.Q had incorrectly said I was 33. I mean, hey, it sounded about right.
   
4. Mr.Q baked me a cake. Not necessarily because it was my birthday: he wanted to bake something to help clear the kitchen of the smell from the seafood we had for dinner.
5. I got a phone call from the vet informing me that my dog appears to have the beginnings of kidney failure.

Now, yes I got presents. Yes, they rock. Yes, Mr.Q did make me a seafood dinner and a cake. Yes, I have babyQ who requires diaper changes, laundry and chauffeuring and, yes, I have a dog to coddle and take to the vet. And, for all that I am most grateful.

And, apparently, responsible. How adult is that?

countdown

It's only the beginning of the month, and I can now hardly wait for the end and, while I enjoy Hallowe'en as much as the next guy, ghosts and goblins are not the reason.

I have no [scheduled] company coming in the month of November.

True, I have a dentist appointment and I'm hosting mommy group and Mr.Q may be sent out of town for a week on work in addition to regularly scheduled music classes for babyQ and choir for me and, and such, we will certainly not be bored. But, the point remains that I have no company booked [yet] in my calendar.

As I've stated before, I love all these visiting folk dearly - else why would I accommodate their travels - but since the birth of babyQ we have been inundated with repeat offenders visitors from across the western portion of this country. And that's to be expected. For a while. A while is over. Apparently a while starts up again in early December, and that makes me look forward to November even more. We may have time to ourselves.

Or at least time to clean the house in preparation for December hosting.

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Two milestones: I hit 10,000 views on our flickr photos on the same day that Mr.Q hit 30,000 on his You Tube channel! Hm...apparently, people like moving photos better than stills...

verrry interesting....

I've taken the plunge and moved over to Blogger beta ... wish me luck! I'm not quite sure what it all means yet, so if you see anything weird, that's probably why. There are labels now, so I'm going to try and backfill some stuff, like my Episodes of Things I've Learned, but that will be later.

I know that it does mean comments can be problematic - try posting them as other or anonymous if you run into problems as a Blogger.

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Happy Anniversary to me! Yep, Mr.Q and I have been married 10 years as of today. And, yep, I'm blogging. Hey - he's doing bills and singing "I'm a buffoon, a big buffoon" over and over again to no tune that I recognize, so whatever. I suspect that makes us officially old, married people. We got each other cards and ordered out Chinese food. Ooohhh - careful now! Can't have too much excitement in one night!

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Oh yeah, while not out having a terribly romantic anniversary dinner or having wild, crazy anniversary sex [is that still legal after 10 years of marriage?], we were uploading the latest of video of babyQ - ie: it's from two weeks ago - check it out here.

milestones

Last night, on the day of babyQ's seven week birthday, I discovered my first gray hair.

Make of that what you will.

Mr.Q took unimaginable delight in removing it from my head [sadly, along with three other hairs that were not gray].