I feel like my life is wasting away. Not literally, I mean, I am a picture of health and youth. Well, maybe not a perfect picture- but you get the point. I can’t shake this feeling lately like I’m not doing anything worthy with my life, like I’m wasting it. Wasted potential; that’s what I feel like.

The only thing I have to my name is a fantastic husband and a beautiful baby. The first was 50% his choice, too, and the second is 99% genetics. So that leaves me; doing nothing with my life. No career path to speak of; heck I don’t even know what I want to be when I grow up (if I grow up) and I’m 26.

I have had a lot of aspirations in my life; I wanted to be a veterinarian, an artist, a blogger, an author, a graphic designer, a web designer, a dog breeder. Thus far none of them have panned out. At twenty six and starting our family, I can’t see myself going back to school any time in the near future. I feel like I’ve pigeon holed myself into a corner; I was getting old to be starting a family, but I was also getting old to be starting a career. I chose family, because honestly I think on my death bed I’m going to be more concerned about my family than my employment. But reality is that I still have to live the years between here and there and feel like I’m contributing something to society.

The problem is that I have no idea where to start. Being a vet was really a childhood pipe dream, I really don’t have the GPA for that. Artists need talent, pure talent, I have a small bit of ability to doodle. Usually on my homework (see aforementioned comment about GPA or lack thereof.) Blogging seems like this really elite club of luckily successful people who found a niche on the internet and were rewarded for their humour, creativity and intelligence. I feel like I don’t have any of those three things, let alone a combination of them. I would love, repeat love, to write a book. My husband wants me to. He really encourages me (something to note; my hubby is a HUGE fan and supporter of mine, he just thinks I lack direction and commitment- which is really true- don’t tell him I said that.) I’ve been writing short stories and even small novels since I was a child, honestly I think I started in third grade. I just have no idea where to start- what genre to write, what type of book to write. And let’s be honest here; who is going to read what I have to write? Ugh. It’s pointless. Graphic and web design is so much like being an artist, PLUS the field is flooded with a million people who could do it better than me; so again, what’s the point? Now, breeding dogs I could do- I know enough to get started and I understand enough to make connections to help me the rest of the way. But it costs money and it’s not a very profitable career, if at all. It’s more of an expensive hobby. Like yacht buying, or summering in Paris. Well, maybe not that snooty, but you get the point.

All that to say; I’m stuck! I’m in a rut! I don’t know where to go or what to do. Right now I’m waiting for my husband to be finished University so he can get a real computer programming job, and we can have a real house. After that, what? By that point I’ll be 28 and likely working on or already have a second child (which I’m totally thrilled about- it just doesn’t lend itself to the whole career-path thing.) I feel like the things I wanted most in life are crashing together and not at all in an appealing way. Clashing more than crashing, really. 

WOW. I am really whiney. I have a fantastic husband and a wonderful son. I have a roof over my head and an income. I live in Canada for pete’s sake (go Canada!) and I have extended family who love me (albeit live 3,000+ KM away.) I have a great, if not charmed, life. Why is it that I can’t be satisfied? Why is it I can’t batten down and put my mind to one thing and do it? All my aspirations are flapping around in the wind and I’m the lazy cat glaring at them instead of getting off my lazy duff and chasing one of them down.

So what if it’s the wrong one? At least I’ll have done something; accomplished something.

Did I just pep-talk myself into getting a move on on a subject? Possibly. Let you know real soon.


Oh, Hello Again.

ImageSo. A few months have gone by. Okay, eight months. That’s a lot of months. Oops. Pregnancy treated me okay until two weeks prior to our due date, and – BAM- the baby decided to show up! Labor was intense. The pain was essentially what I had anticipated, however, I did NOT anticipate the lack of breathing room between contractions. Everything – television, movies, the Doctor (for pete’s sake) parenting class- Everything said that I should be able to time my contractions, and that that was how you can tell if and when you are progressing. Well. Let me tell you; there was no space between contractions. I didn’t even realize that one contraction was letting up until all of the sudden it was a million times worse, so I just assume it was the next contraction. They rode one another for 24 hours until he finally decided to show up. There. Was. No. Space. Between. Them.

Essentially, about 12 hours into labor, I started feeling like I was having seizures- my whole entire body was locking up, my muscles wouldn’t relax and I was shaking uncontrollably. I caved and got the epidural; I hadn’t wanted to, and I sometimes wish I hadn’t, but at the time, it was realistically the best option. I was slowing down labor because I couldn’t relax, I was fighting the relentless contractions and stopped progressing (and after a speedy 3 cm in 2 hours, slowing down was awful!)

He did show up eventually, though, with the help of a vacuum and approximately two thousand doctors, nurses and interns in the room with us. That was fun. But seriously I was so thankful for all the healthcare professionals- I felt so well taken care of. They got my baby out and kept us both healthy and safe. It didn’t go how I planned and envisioned, but we were both safe and sound, and that’s what counts.

He was 6lb, 11.5oz and 21″ long. Born at 8:12am on August 20th. Thirteen days early. We named him Atlas Dwight (middle name after Brady’s dad)

He is my world, he is so beautiful and funny and stubborn and amusing and strong-willed. He is gorgeous even when he’s sticky and dirty and smelly and tired and cranky; he is a miracle and I love him. He is my heart outside my body, as I’ve heard it explained. I have thought on ocassion, “What if we had had a girl?” Then I look at my boy and think, “No. That couldn’t have happened- he had to be him, he is perfect, he is perfectly who we were meant to have.”


We are three quarters of the way there! To where, you ask? To baby boy being born, of course!!  He has gotten so strong; kicking and flipping and rolling around in there. I can feel him as a hard spot when he is pressed up against my side now. It’s really weird- like he’s so much more real in the last few weeks. Hiccups, too, lots of hiccups!! It’s so bizarre to think there is a 3lb, 15″ baby inside of my abdomen. If I contemplate it for too long it does, admittedly, freak me out a bit. But that’s okay. Despite the fact that there’s an alien being in my guts, I am still utterly Week 30excited and amazed by the miracle that he is. Also, so terribly and fantastically excited to meet him.

Ten more weeks.

Next Friday is our routine prenatal appointment. They have been every 4-5 weeks up until this appointment, then after this one they will be every 2 weeks. Every 2 weeks! That, I feel, is going to make time fly by in bigger chunks. Right now I survive weekly, looking forward to our bump photos being taken every Tuesday, but a doctor’s appointment every other Friday is going to be a great way to measure the leaps and bounds in time.

I am starting to get a little bit stressed about being unprepared. Brady is great at calming me down, but his pep-talks only seem to ease my distress for a short period of time. Then the concern starts to creep back in. How are we going to make this tiny one bedroom apartment work for us? I am going to go stir-crazy in here come September! How is he going to be able to get any homework done with the baby in the apartment? Am I supposed to lock us up in the bedroom as soon as Brady is home so he can work on his projects at the desk un-hindered?

The frustration of not having a ‘real’ nursery is also wearing on me. I know, I know; I made sacrifices like ‘not having a nursery’ so we could start our family earlier than 2045. That, however, isn’t making me feel a whole lot better about the situation. I have been knitting our kid some pretty awesome stuffed animals and sweaters and booties, but I feel like that’s not really making up for his lack of personal space. And while I realize that a newborn baby, and heck, a 9 month old baby, isn’t going to care that he doesn’t have a pintrest-pimped out nursery, his mommy does!! I have dreamed of that nursery and all of the love and care and hard work that would go into it for so long. Now it’s just not a reality and it’s kind of crushing. Sad. But I can revel in the joy of my baby boy, feeling him roll around and kick at my ribs, bladder and belly button with ferocity. I can laugh as he kicks and topples the bowl I try to balance on his bump. I can pray for his health and safety in the following ten weeks.

Fear of labor and delivery hasn’t really sunk in just yet, but stay tuned! I’m sure it will be showing up soon enough.

ps- should also mention that these vegetables that these baby websites compare your growing baby to are silly. How is my baby the size of a cucumber? He is definitely wider than that- so is he just as long as a cucumber? Why doesn’t it say ‘your baby is as long as a cucumber’ not ‘the size of’… Oh well! I’m kind of relying on them at this point!

knittsmith, wordsmith, doodlesmith; Mama and wife