Freelancing Momma

Redefining success

One of the biggest things I struggle with as a freelance writer and work-at-home mom  is this notion that I'm not professionally successful.

I used the word "struggle" there because that's exactly what it is -- a constant, back-and-forth internal monologue rationalizing my chosen career path. On the good days, I feel like the luckiest person in the world -- I get to be at home with my kids, exercise my brain and continue to work in my chosen field. I don't have to just write about one particular topic - as a freelance writer, I can work on something different every week. I have it all!

On the bad days, I worry that my career isn't advancing as it would have if I stayed on staff at a magazine. I worry that I'm not making enough money, that my skills are deteriorating and that I'm getting a little too immersed in the mommy lifestyle. I feel bad that my husband isn't getting the same opportunities to spend time with the kids, and that when the time comes for me to re-enter the workforce, I won't be able to.

That's why this comic (below) really hit home for me. It's the words of Calvin and Hobbes creator, Bill Watterson, but drawn by someone else. The story behind it actually won me over more than the comic itself. 

Pretty awesome, right??

 

Freaking over fevers

Right now I'm fuming. FUMING!!

This seems to be the case when it comes to the medical profession and my children's health. If it was my health, I probably wouldn't care at all. But this is my kid we're talking about. MY KID.

Okay, let me back up a little. Last week, Adelaide had a fever of 104 degrees that lasted for five days. I don't know if you've ever seen a kid with a fever that high, but it's not fun. Actually, it's terrifying. It's particularly terrifying when you can physically see the fever meds wear off -- the glazed look in  your child's eyes, the lethargy, the inability to respond to you.

On Day Two we called Telehealth, after the fever meds weren't working. Telehealth sent us to emergency. Who tested her urine (with a catheter), her blood (needles), and her lungs (chest X-ray) -- a process that took all night long. She came back at 6am, with a prescription for antibiotics and no answers. Oh -- I mentioned she's two-years-old, right??

On Day Four they followed up. The fever was still there. Concerned, they called her back in. Repeat the process all over again -- but this time add in a throat swab. Send her home with the instructions to book a follow-up visit with the on-call pediatrician's office.

Just when I was starting to think the worst -- deep, dark, terrible thoughts that you can't help but think when your kid isn't getting better -- the fever broke. We went to the Guelph pediatrician for the follow-up visit, but the results of the throat swab weren't yet in. It was either strep or EB Virus (a fancy name for mono), in the doc's opinion. 

A couple days later, after hearing that strep was going around her daycare, I wanted to find out if the culture was in. I know she was getting better, but I just wanted to know, ya know? I called the hospital, who told me that all results would be sent to her pediatrician. Which pediatrician? The Guelph doctor who saw her for her follow-up? Or her Toronto doctor?

Her Toronto doctor.

Okay. So I call his office. No, they didn't receive any information about a throat culture -- and they likely won't for a while. Their fax number isn't listed in the computer system, so the Guelph hospital will have to mail the results.

Okayyyy.

Just to be clear, they have a fax machine (I had to clarify this with the receptionist). They just don't have the fax number listed. And I guess it would be too much for them to call the hospital to follow up? I didn't think to ask, since I assumed it was implied with my phone call. 

Later that day, I received a voicemail message from the Toronto pediatrician's office. "The doctor looked at the report and everything is normal."Okay, so I guess they did follow up for me. How nice. And she didn't have strep. Crap -- I was hoping that was the answer to this riddle.

More terrible thoughts pass through my mind. Why am I worrying about this? She's starting to feel better!

That brings us to this morning -- and the reason that I'm fuming. I received a call from the Guelph pediatrician's office saying that Adelaide's throat culture was positive. She had strep throat.

Huh?

So I called the Toronto pediatrician. I started to leave a very professional message asking for clarification, when the receptionist picked up. 

"I didn't say anything about a throat swab. I just told you the results were normal. If I was referring to a throat swab, I would have said 'positive' or 'negative'."

Oh, pardon me! I'm sorry I didn't know you were talking about other results -- and NOT the results that I had originally talked to you on the phone about.

Ugh. I won't go into the details of the yelling -- yes, yelling -- match that ensued, but I can tell you it was the straw that broke the camel's back.

I'm so sick of dealing with doctors that have answers before the questions are even out of my mouth. I'm sick of doctors that can't remember who my kid is. Who don't even acknowledge that she's a person. Who have such a terrible bedside manner that she starts screaming at the mere sight of them, making it impossible for them to thoroughly examine her.

It makes me nervous. I'm relying on these people to keep my child healthy. When they don't seem interested in doing that, I'm willing to put in the extra legwork to make sure I get all the answers. But even then, I feel like I can't get them.

Am I the only one out there who thinks our health care system leaves a lot to be desired? Or have I just had back luck in landing crappy doctors?

How to move to the 'burbs (and like it)

Last weekend I finally said goodbye to my twenties - even though I’m closer to 35 than 29.

 

Our Toronto condo – the one that we purchased when we were still unmarried and childless – closed on Wednesday. After eight years, our time as downtown Toronto residents is officially over. Although, really, it was over a long time ago.

 

Ever since our sweet little Addy arrived, we’ve seen more of the inside of that condo than the awesome city in which it resides. We’ve spent more Friday and Saturday nights curled up on the couch than at the bars. More nights watching Jays games on TV than at the ballpark across the street. More evenings at the grandparents’ – outside of the city – than in the city, as I took advantage of free babysitting to get some work done.

 

About a month and a half ago, we moved to Guelph. We bought a four-bedroom house, shortened Brad’s commute and gained access to cheaper childcare. Basically, despite our love for city living, it just no longer made sense for us. We couldn’t make it work.

 

There’s a part of me that’s heartbroken about this. Ever since we were both kids – living completely separate childhoods -- Brad and I wanted to live downtown. There’s something about its vibrancy and history and energy that gives me goose bumps. I love the way the city smells at night. I love how there’s always something to do. And, most of all, I loved that, for a long time, we had friends who were just a phone call away – able to hop on the TTC and join us for an impromptu party or a night on the town.

 

Needless to say, with Addy in bed at 7, I haven’t smelled the night air or had an impromptu party in a while. And while I occasionally miss that lifestyle, it’s hard to be too sad about it when I look at my two amazing kids and the kick-ass house we now live in.

 

And I guess that’s why this transition – one that I thought would be greeted with tears and nostalgia – has instead been greeted with, um, something else. There are a lot of things that, since the move, I haven’t missed all that much. These include, in no particular order: Having only one bathroom; Living knee-deep in toys; Navigating the endless construction; Dodging crazy hobos; Doing the bedtime/dinner routine all on my own (because of Brad’s horrendous commute); The lack of closet space, outdoor space, living space – okay, let’s just say the lack of space.

 

The move has also been a lot easier because, well, most of our friends left town long before us. Our get-togethers now are fewer and farther between. And when we have them, it’s nice to have some extra bedrooms so we can really make a party out of it.

 

I did shed a few tears last weekend when I was removing leftover dishes and cleaning supplies from the condo. This is where we lived when we were married. We brought two babies home from the hospital to this place. We made plenty of dinners in this kitchen. I opened the door to this cramped and overflowing “pantry” thousands of times.

 

But truth be told, the tears were barely tears. They didn’t even leave my eye sockets. If I have any advice for someone who is debating on making the move to the ‘burbs, it’s this: wait until you’re ready. Wait until the city you once loved now drives you up the wall. When it’s actually a strain to live here. When it’s more work to stay than go. Wait until it just no longer makes you happy.

 

If that day never arrives, congratulations! You’re a tried and true city person. But for us, well, we hung on as long as we could.

 

So long, T-dot – we had a good run. See you on the flip side (when we’re retired and our kids have moved away).

 

So long, Toronto condo...

Hello new house! (This is a pic of when we purchased it back in June...hence my rockin' pregnant belly!)

Things I forgot about having a newborn

Well, I'm officially a Mom of Two.

Unlike his big sister, who was five days late, our little man decided to surprise us with an early arrival -- a whole 1.5 weeks before his due date.

While I was super happy to avoid being pregnant during one of Toronto's hottest heat waves, his early arrival caught us a little off guard. I didn't have that extra time to sit around and pine for his arrival and mentally prepare for being the mom of a newborn again. Well, I guess technically I had almost nine months to do that but, well, I didn't. I had another little person keeping me preoccupied.

So as I dive head-first into sleepless nights and poopie diapers, I'd like to jot down a few things I'm remembering about the newborn phase that kind of slipped my mind. Just in the off-chance I opt to do this one more time in the future.

1. Newborns poop. A lot.

I know this isn't something I should have forgotten - but I did. Even though Addy is still in diapers, she's on the brink of being toilet trained. Which means she can hold her bladder for hours at a time, and has an almost-regular pooping schedule. Austin? Not so much. He pretty much poops/pees every time he eats -- which is all the time. 

2. Newborns attract crazies.

Maybe I should rephrase that. I don't think these people are total crazies, I think newborn babies just bring the crazy out in them. I forgot how often random strangers come up to you when you have a newborn and wistfully recall a time when their children were that size. Most of these people are just harmlessly reminiscing. But some of them go a little too far. I hate it when they come up behind me and peek into my kid's stroller...or stare at me while I'm awkwardly trying to cover myself up and breastfeed in a public space. I know - his feet are really little. And yes - it does go by so fast. And I'm trying very, very hard to enjoy every minute -- but the sleep deprivation makes that a little difficult at times. To be honest - I don't even know where I am right now. 

3. Newborns are immobile.

Yeah, I know, this one should come with a major "duh". But I TOTALLY forgot how awesome it is to be able to leave a kid in the middle of the bed, or on the floor, or in a swing and not worry about him trying to find a way to hurt himself. He's only 2.5 weeks old, though, and I have a feeling this isn't going to last long -- he's already showing signs of wanting to roll over. I have to enjoy this while I can.

4. You can take a newborn anywhere.

Newborns sleep a lot - and they can sleep through anything. They don't try to hop out of strollers and walk into oncoming traffic. Most of the time, when they cry, it's nothing a feed won't fix. They can handle car rides and trips to the grocery store without complaint (again, provided their tummies are full). I have no idea what I found so hard about this age the first time around. I wish I could go back in time and say: SUCK IT UP! YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW EASY YOU HAVE IT!! But I guess, if I did that, I'd be one of those parents. The parents I hated when I was a new mom.

5. Newborns are amazing. 

While I was pregnant, I was really dreading the newborn phase. Compared to the things toddlers can do and say, I just felt it was so boring. And I wasn't really looking forward to being a sleep-deprived milk machine again. While those things definitely have their drawbacks, having Austin has reminded me how much I love every stage of childhood. Even though he doesn't say much, his funny faces crack me up. I love when he wraps his tiny hand around my finger while he's nursing, or how, when he's really hungry, he tries to feed on anything (his grandma's shoulder, his dad's chest hair). I also love the little noises he makes -- he sounds like a little Gremlin at times.

The coolest thing about having a newborn this time around is having a toddler to love and adore him. I can't believe how much my not-yet-two-year-old dotes on her little brother -- covering him with blankets, giving him her soothie, patting his head while saying "Awww!". Just check out this cuteness and tell me it doesn't melt your heart:

 

What are your favourite/least favourite things about the newborn stage?

Why hello again.

 

So, contrary to popular belief, I didn't fall off the face of the planet. About a week after that last post, while I was still grieving over my sister's miscarriage, I got a bit of a surprise.

A positive pregnancy test.

My husband doesn't want to give our future child a complex, so I'm not allowed to say it was unplanned. But, um, it definitely came a little earlier than expected.

So aside from dealin with that irrational guilt, I was also incredibly tired and sick and up to my eyeballs with work. Between sleeping and barfing and working -- and taking care of Adelaide -- I didn't feel like updating this blog. Sorry.

Now I'm 33 weeks along and I realize that, once again, I've missed an opportunity to document an amazing experience in my life. But I'm here now and that's what counts, right???

Alright, so I have a lot to write about but it's going to have to wait. I promised myself that today would be a day that I pre-wrote some newsletters posts that will allow me to take a pseudo mat leave (read: a month off work) for when this little bundle arrives.

Oh yeah -- and guess what else?? We're having a BOY!!! 

Grieving.

Sorry I've dropped off the face of the planet. Someone very close to me had a miscarriage at 13 weeks on Friday. I've been too busy being sad to write. 

Just thought I'd send an update. I'll write again when this pit in my stomach is a little less painful.

Happy Hallowe'en!!

Holidays are so much more fun when you have a kid, aren't they?

I had a blast this year, picking out Adelaide's Hallowe'en costume, carving a pumpkin for her, watching her eyes light up along with the candle inside it. It reminded me of how much I used to love this holiday. Brad isn't a huge fan of dressing up (I know, right?) so pre-Adelaide, we didn't do much in the way of celebrating. 

Today will be pretty tame, too. Adelaide and I are scheduled to go to a Mom-and-Tot Hallowe'en party, hosted by one of the MeetUp groups I belong to. (I'm not really a joiner, but I've grown to love this group. I make the outings when I can, and they're always a lot of fun.) She's sleeping right now, and the even starts in 15 minutes, so I may have to wake her up prematurely if we're going to make it. Talk about scary!

I bought some Hallowe'en candy just in case we get a trick-or-treater or two, but we live in a condo, and in the seven years we've lived here, I have yet to see one. Which is fine by me. I don't want to share my mini chocolate bars anyway!

What is everyone else doing for Hallowe'en?

A bad case of the Modays

I'm having the WORST day today! I'm blaming it on Frankenstorm...only because I like saying "Frankenstorm", not because my bad day is weather-related or anything.

It actually started last night when I couldn't fall asleep. My brain would not turn off, so I don't think I fell asleep until 4am...which makes it really hard to wake up at 7:30.

When I couldn't ignore Addy's cries any longer, I forced myself out of bed and made a beeline for the coffee maker...only to find out we were out of coffee. So I had to settle for some gross chai latte that I'd been saving for some yet-to-be determined guest that likes chai lattes. Because I don't.

Fed Addy, placed afore-mentioned chai latte on the coffee table and opened my laptop...only to find the screen had a thick white line down the middle of it. A bit of YouTubing later and I convinced myself I could fix it. The result? Err...well let's just say I'm writing this post from my iPhone.

Meanwhile, as the further destruction of my laptop was taking place, Addy decided to take my full (cold) chai latte and dump it on the carpet. Now our family room smells like chai latte. I HATE CHAI LATTES!!!

Anyway, I just needed to vent. I hope your Monday is going better than mine. Also, if you know the name of a good/cheap computer repair person in T-dot, I'd love to hear about them!

Friday Smile

Source: valency.tumblr.com via Valency on Pinterest

Overcoming cleaning lady guilt

 

I have a cleaning lady.

There. I said it. You’re judging me now, aren’t you?

I don’t even know if that’s the politically correct term. Cleaning person? Housekeeper? Cleaning technician? Anyway, I have one. Rather, I employ one.

I still feel guilty about it, even though our household has employed Ruby for years now. I keep hearing my German grandma’s voice in my head: “Cleaning lady? Vy vould you need a cleaning lady? You’re home all day – und you live in an apartment!”

The truth is I have one because, for starters, I’m terrible at cleaning. Not the actual act of cleaning (although I’m not great at it), just the consistency part. I procrastinate and procrastinate, and as the place becomes dirtier, I stop tidying as well. And then the laundry piles up. And, before we know it, we’re wading through knee-deep dirty laundry, the dishes have migrated from the sink to the counter, and there’s a new species of life growing in the fridge.

I’m not exaggerating. That’s what life was like, pre-Ruby. Ask our friends.

Living in a disgusting mess, with a husband who is seemingly genetically incapable of cleaning either, also puts a strain on a relationship. Ruby came into our lives before we got married – and a good thing. If it wasn’t for her, the marriage may not have happened.

It took us a long time to bite the bullet and hire her, primarily because of the afore-mentioned internal German Grandma monologue. But the fighting was getting out of control, and when I looked at the grand scheme of things, I decided that hiring a cleaning lady was better than losing a great guy whose only potentially deal-breaking fault was messiness.

It was around that time that I also started a work-at-home business. Suddenly, this wasn’t just my home – it was my office. It had to be clean, and either I was going to clean it or someone else was. If it was me, I’d be tempted to do it during the day – instead of looking for work, which would pay me a lot more than it would cost me to hire someone to clean my house.

The end result? A happier relationship. More extra time – for work and family. And a tidier house (having Ruby come every two weeks forces me to tidy before things get really out of control). The only drawback is the lingering guilt I just can’t seem to shed. It’s particularly worse when I’m home while Ruby’s cleaning. I feel like I should be helping her, or doing laundry or doing SOMETHING other than tapping away on my computer or playing with Adelaide.

I feel pretentious and privileged and rich. Which I’m not. So then I feel bad because, since part of my income has disappeared, I wonder if this luxury should too. But, honestly, I’d rather go without new clothes for a year, or forgo vacations, or – gasp! – cut back on my Rogers services than part ways with Ruby.

Does anyone else have cleaning lady guilt? Or am I the only one?

Photo: via Jenny on Pinterest