After the screaming

Note her new favourite outfit: a fuzzy pink leisure suit she found at the back of her dresser that somehow still fits. Also, the way she is clutching her doll's shoes, an hour and a half after finally crashing.

Bringing the good news

Today I almost sold my daughter to the Jehovah's Witnesses at the door for a free copy of "Awake" magazine.

The issue just wasn't quite interesting enough.

Motherhood has made me soft

I've lost my edge.

Okay, I'm not sure I ever had much of an edge. But whatever I had melted away to the strains of Abba's "Slipping through my fingers" while watching Mamma Mia last night.

It's a pretty good film, once you get over the spastic way Meryl Streep plays her role. And Julie Walters alone is worth the viewing. It also helps to be a closeted (slightly fanatic) Abba fan. (Let the record show that it was my husband who identified Benny Andersson playing the keyboard in the "Dancing Queen" scene.)

But then Meryl started helping her daughter prepare for the wedding, all the while singing lines like this:

"Schoolbag in hand, she leaves home in the early morning
Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile
I watch her go with a surge of that well-known sadness
And I have to sit down for a while."

Have you ever listened to the lyrics of this song? The tears started welling up in my eyes immediately. And then tears were streaming down my face. Literally.

"Do I really see what's in her mind
Each time I think I'm close to knowing
She keeps on growing
Slipping through my fingers all the time"

I must be out of my mind. Will is not even two. Two! She doesn't have a schoolbag. And I spend almost every waking minute with her, most of which I treasure, but sometimes are enough to drive nostalgia off its own bend.

(I refer here to a screaming cage match over nap yesterday. I won. I had to eat a Weight Watchers cake immediately afterward while tweezing out new grey hairs, but I won.)

Yet somehow, I look at Will and I do feel like it's slipping through my fingers. That she's already moving away from me and becoming her own person. Which will be wonderful and amazing and is exactly what I want.

But I will never know this older Will the way I know my baby girl right now.

(Great. Now I need another piece of cake. Or a drink.)

Dear Oliver

I know you're starved for attention. I know. I'm sorry. But seriously. How am I supposed to blog (or write or work on Will's baby scrapbook or safely take a sip from my coffee mug) with you pawing all over me?

Promising more snuggles when I'm not using my hands,

Mama

She's prepared

Today Will got up from her nap, put her Dora sunhat on her head and her toy stethoscope around her neck.

She then proceeded to watch herself try to "jump" in her closet mirror for 20 minutes.

Apparently it was hilarious.

Well, the outfit definitely works.

Back on the wagon

Yes, that was me. Sitting in Tim Horton's eating raw green beans from a giant ziploc freezer bag, while my child drank chocolate milk and ate a cinnamon raison bagel with light cream cheese. And a sour cream glazed timbit.

No, I didn't share.

I'm back on the Weight Watchers points this week. I did incredibly well until the holidays were almost over. (The cheesecakes were loosely tied to celebrating the New Year. As was the cheese. And the artisan crisps. Maybe even the breakfast sausage.)

So far my biggest accomplishment has been drinking an entire litre of water before 1 pm. My new Laken bottle really does work. I think it's because I can't see how much water is left, so I just keep drinking. Whatever works.

And we're (almost) done

There has been a flurry of activity around here, like many holiday households I imagine. But this was our first holiday season with a house (not to mention a comfortable guest room), so after our own family travels, we have been acting as hosts to a series of guests.

Although having guests included much vacuuming, bathroom cleaning and bed-sheet washing (note to self: purchase a second set of queen-sized sheets), I have reaffirmed that I definitely prefer having guests to being a guest.

Take our visit to my family the week before Christmas. The staying over part was infinitely better than it has been for years, since my parents finally replaced the mattress in the guest room. The springs that used to dig into your back as you were slowly sucked into the middle of the bed were unbearable.

But it was a "transitional" Christmas at my parents' house. We had decided that we should celebrate the holiday as an extended family on a day other than December 25th, but since my husband, Will and me were the only ones coming in from out of town, and everyone else was planning to come over for dinner on Christmas day anyway, it was less like a holiday celebration and more like an unfocused evening of "Oh! Nice to see you! Yes I am wearing sweats. Why are you wearing a dressy red shirt? See you at Christmas! Oh! Is this Christmas?"

Christmas Day with just the five of us (we can't forget the cats!) was really good. Will couldn't take her eyes (or hands) off the baby doll and its stroller that Santa left for her, and it took the entire rest of the day and evening to open the rest of her presents and go through her stocking. Accompanied by much coffee and wine, this was the perfect pace for our day.

Then we spent two nights at my inlaws' house for another family get-together (breaking my one night only sleepover rule). The three of us were stuck in the basement underneath the loudest vent in history. We finally had to move to a room filled with unused furniture, pull an old futon onto the floor, and sleep there. Even then the sound was only partially muted. During the day the house was so filled with people conversing (loudly) and playing (even more loudly) that it was impossible to move a sleeping Will from the car to a bed for her nap. But she rallied and we all made it to early Sunday afternoon when we headed back home.

That's when our visitors started to arrive. We picked up my sister and her boyfriend on the way back, and they spent a couple of days hanging out and playing with Will. When we took them home on Tuesday, Will spent another couple of hours playing in their apartment (even being pulled down their hallway on a new crazy carpet) and chasing their cats. Now she says "Jake-eeee" and "Oc-car" more than her own cats' names.

Then home to tidy up and get ready for our New Year's guests, my best friend and her family. Her daughter is almost exactly one year younger than Will, and the two adore each other. We are all a little bit worried about next year when they are both running around. It's going to be significantly less relaxing than this year (and I still had to delay my dessert after Will woke up and refused to settle easily).

Today we were able to chill out and run a few errands. Then tomorrow the last of the holiday guests are arriving for dinner: two (or three) of my husband's least conservative cousins. One of whom has informed us that she may or may not be staying over.

So the sheets are in the washer yet again. And there is the opportunity for one more guilt-free cheesecake.

Happy New Year!