Cooking.  Knitting.  Canning.  Languages.  Music.  Fitness.  Movies.  Decorating.  Embroidery.

I have obsessions.  Many, many obsessions.  They rotate in and out of my life in varying lengths and intensities.  Some things like embroidery were complete flops that contributed nothing of real value, whereas others like music truly tap into my talents and are lifelong loves.

More often than not, these obsessions require supplies and equipment.  This means, of course, that I have to shop for them, which is an interest in and of itself.

I really shouldn’t call them “obsessions” though, should I?  The word “obsession” is both over- and misused.  Like “depressed.”  Like, we’re not always “depressed.”  Sometimes we’re just a little down because our bangs are doing that thing again and there’s a definite muffin top forming on our favourite jeans.  Anyway.  Let me start over.

I have interests.  Many, many interests.  I both love and hate this about myself.  I love that my interests are varied and that I’m not one-tracked.  I hate, however, that most of these interests have gone by the wayside and that when I pick up a new interest, my husband sort of chuckles because he knows exactly how this will end.  By the way, that’s why I haven’t told him about this blog yet.  I’m waiting until I have some level of success.  Not sure what that benchmark is yet.  Maybe, like, 10 followers, or something?  I don’t know.  I digress.

I hate appearing flighty and I hate the feeling of guilt when I see that massive collection of yarn (“Oh, love that colour, and it’s on sale and I have a coupon, and I can’t wait to find a pattern for it…”) and half-finished projects (“It’s going to be a blanket for the baby!  Oh, God, I don’t have a tea cozy.  We actually need a blanket for the couch, though…”) sitting in the hall closet.

Pregnancy was one of my “interests.”  Quiz me: I know it all.  I researched pregnancy for two years before actually getting pregnant.  Now I’ve got this amazing result of that research and hard work and she is very quickly becoming a little clone.  Which brings me to my query:

Is this capriciousness something I want to impart on B?

Should I try and adjust my behaviour and develop a bit more stick-to-it-ness?  Or, is this actually a virtue, in that my baby girl may become one of those worldly gals that is a blast at cocktail parties because she can speak easily with everyone?

I suppose, ultimately, she will be who she will be, and as far as behaviours go, this isn’t a terrible one (I should be more concerned with my eating habits and my Irish temper that goes from flaming mad to hugging and sobbing at the drop of a hat).  At the very least, we’ll have fun finding new interests together.  Ha!  My poor husband….

What do you think?


Loss and Lessons Learned

I lost a friend this past Saturday. It was sudden and he was far too young. He leaves a wife, children and young grandchildren, not to mention countless friends who love him. He was so kind, generous and full of life.

And then he was gone.

He was one of those people that most have in their lives that you can’t imagine not being there. I still haven’t processed the enormity of this loss. Consciously I know he’s gone. Emotionally, it hasn’t landed yet.

He fell ill on Wednesday night. We thought he might make it. He was showing signs of recovery. Ultimately, it was just too much to overcome. But since I found out he had been hospitalized, I’ve been reflecting on life. My life. And I’ve come to a conclusion.

I’m wasting my life. And I am ashamed of this.

I’m overweight and unhappy because of this. My house is disorganized which clutters my mind and leaves me unable to focus on what matters. I watch too much TV and spend too much time on the couch. I’m tired all the time due to lack of activity and the poison of convenience food.

I’m wasting my life.

I’m 33 years old. I should be experiencing my youth and my daughter’s life to the fullest.

I’m wasting my life.

There’s something to be gleaned from every experience, whether it be joyful or tragic. My thoughts are with my friend’s beautiful family and I ache for them. But the lesson to be learned from his loss, for me, is embrace every moment and experience life. It’s over so quickly and often without warning.

Kiss your loved ones. Smell the roses. Drink coffee while watching the sunrise. Love your life.

Attachment Parenting

It had been a few days and Bébé B had only asked to nurse once each day. She was sitting on the floor in front of me, playing quietly. Though she didn’t ask for it, I made the sign for milk with raised eyebrows and an expectant expression. She responded gleefully and snuggled on her nursing pillow with her mouth open.

She didn’t need this nursing session. I did.

This doesn’t bode well.

When B was born, I was frequently asked how long I planned to breastfeed. My response was that I would go for a year, two at the most, but ultimately the relationship I had with B would determine how long we would go. My mother tells me I lost interest in it at 8 months and my sister at 9 months, so I expected that 12 months would be at the high end for B. But, B’s birthday came and went and she was still asking to nurse around 4 times a day, sometimes more.

Over the last couple of weeks, though, B has made some strides in her physical capabilities which I think has tempered her desire to nurse. She looks for it consistently at bedtime, but the rest of the day is up in the air.

I miss it. I’m not ready to let it go. I don’t feel tied down like some mothers do and I like sharing my body and experiencing its capabilities. I also know that the longer I breastfeed the greater the health benefits for me. But there’s no logical thought actually going into this. I just want to be close to B and I want her to need me.

Not good.

I didn’t think I’d be that parent. I assumed I’d be able to adjust to each milestone and development easily and simply be proud of B’s growth. Instead I find myself mourning the months that have past and worrying about her heading off to school.

More and more, though, I find myself getting excited thinking about the little girl B will become, and I’m truly enjoying watching her little personality start to shine. I think, too, that once she’s a little more capable on her feet we can go and do more things out of the house, which will help our relationship evolve beyond that of an infant and her mama. That nursing pillow in the corner of my eye is powerful.

I think self awareness in this regard will help me in the long run. I can talk with my husband about it, I can write about it here, and ultimately I’ll get through it, hopefully without letting B know I’m feeling these things. I never want to hold her back.

But, for now, I think I’ll indulge this mourning period a little longer. She’s still young. She still needs me.

Yeah, it’s snuggle time.

{deep breath}

Blogging.  I’m here now.

I’ll be honest: I don’t really have a plan here.  I’m quite certain that I’m breaking some kind of blogging rule by admitting this, but it’s true.  I read a lot of mom blogs and they appear to be a great outlet.  They provide a sense of community that I find sorely lacking in the “real” world.  So, since I find myself to be in something of a state of personal transition, I find myself here.


Allow me to introduce myself.  I am a 33-year old wife and stay-at-home mom of one.  My daughter, Bébé B, as she will be known here, is 14 months and a delightful handful. I love my life and I feel truly blessed.  

Since B came along, though I have absorbed every beautiful moment, things have been hazy.  It is only now that I feel like myself again.  Though, “myself” has changed.  A lot.  My old self is gone and I am Becoming Maman (by the way, I don’t use French to be pretentious – the way B says ‘mama’ sounds more like the French ‘maman’ than the English ‘mama’ and I love it, hence the blog title).  

This blog will not be melancholy, nor will it be overly fluffy.  It will be as honest as I feel comfortable being (I am quite repressed) and a means of reaching out.  It will be anonymous for the time being, which I hope doesn’t turn people off.

Thank you for reading.  We’ll talk soon.