Band-aid in Training!

In an effort to broaden Annabelle's aural palette (and quite frankly for me to enjoy some live music), I brought her to see my lovely friend Jenn Grant play at Toronto's Winter Garden theatre on Saturday night.

The beautiful Jenn Grant and I (and Annabelle's head).

My friend Yvonne joined us, and we decided to avoid downtown traffic by taking transit. By ditching the car, we'd be able to get off at Queen station (just steps away from the theatre) and avoid parking and lugging a heavy car seat through Toronto streets (and up the hundreds of steps of the Winter Garden). These days, I am finding it easier to travel with her in her body carrier; it keeps her calm and warm and close to me. I own a Bamboo Mama sling, made right here in Canada. They are beautiful, well-made, and I use mine everyday - they come highly recommended!

I am ashamed to admit that this was the first time I have taken Annabelle on the TTC. I can sense the disappointment of my fellow environmental studies classmates...please don't judge me guys! Until Saturday, I have always talked myself out of riding the "Rocket" (I use this term loosely and with great affection) for fear of running into an emergency. Having the car and the car seat at hand has seemed like insurance in case I needed to get somewhere fast.

While the trip down to the show was uneventful, we rode home at the height of drunken T.O. Saturday night. I became a bit of a Mama-Bear, worried about the swaying drunk teenagers hanging from the holy-shit handles on the subway car. I was seriously ready to slap anyone who got near her; I had my hackles up. I felt like a 'roid-enraged Flo-Jo at the finish line. At least it wasn't the 3 am Bathurst vomit-comet, but still - I felt guilty for exposing her to that (Guilty Mom moment #537, and she's only 8 weeks old).

The show was amazing. And at times LOUD - especially when the fantastic band Cuff the Duke took the stage after Jenn (who put on a beautiful show). It was a chance for me to try out Annabelle's protective headphones.

Annie-B: "What the hell are you doing to me now!?"

Let's just say she was unimpressed.

This was my first real attempt to have her wear them. They block out harmful frequencies, and cut volume drastically. But they're also pretty tight and heavy; hard work for a baby with a soft skull and weak neck muscles (we took breaks quite frequently to give her head a rest). I was slightly worried that they would squish her soft spot and kept checking to see if it was bulging in any way (is this me being crazy?!). Her head still seems to be approximately the same shape as before, so I think it was okay.

Annie started to get fussy after Cuff the Duke's first song, so I brought her out to the lobby for a quiet feed. The fussing continued, so Yvonne suggested that I put her into her carrier and bring her back into the show. That seemed to do the trick; with her against my body, she relaxed enough for us both to enjoy the rest of the set, swaying and dancing on the balcony at the back of the theatre. She stared in awe at the lights. To be honest, I don't even think she noticed her headphones anymore. SUCCESS!

One thing I have noticed, since travelling around with a baby, is the lack of changing facilities in most public washrooms. Not that I would expect a venue like the Winter Garden to have a change table (I don't think they're really encouraging people to bring their fussy babies to shows...), but there is that fun challenge of finding a clean and inoffensive and not-so-public place to change a baby. I wiped off a space on the sink of the women's washroom this time, but have been known to have to change a baby on the floor of public washrooms. It's icky, but it's poop that I am cleaning after all, and that's icky stuff in itself.

Yvonne entertaining Annie (and herself) in the ladies room.

So, mission accomplished. Baby's first (folk) rock concert! "Band-aid" in training! My little groupie! Note: I even dressed her in little hipster jeans for the show.

Next adventure: this Friday, as Annabelle hits 9 weeks, we head off on our first tour - to Monroe, WI and Detroit, MI with the Good Lovelies (such exotic destinations, right!?). The big question now: how does she handle life on the road?

I will admit I am having some sleeplessness worrying about Annie's aptitude for the road (my teeth are sore from midnight gnashing and I've been dreaming in full technicolor this week). And while worrying won't get us there, it's certainly preparing me for all kinds of situations. Fingers crossed.

Til' next time,

Caroline

Pump it Up!

Last week marked a new stage in my very new motherhood: I successfully pumped my first ounces of breastmilk! I DID IT! I put that machine to my boob and it sucked out the milk and then I fed it to my baby. It was AWESOME. And then I texted my husband, sister and mom the picture of the expressed milk, to their great delight (see below). And the next day, out to dinner for my Mom's birthday, I pulled out that little bottle of milk and joyfully clinked my family's wine glasses, exclaiming "Cheers!" The other restaurant patrons sent a few funny looks my way, but I could have cared less. I was so proud.

Proof is in the pumping. Cheers! 

For those of you who have been following my blog, you'll know why the matter of pumping has become so important. I had developed a little phobia of that machine, staring at it gathering dust in the corner of my room. Each time I looked at it, I pictured myself in a lineup of women strapped into breast pumps, like lactating cows. I already felt like a milk machine and this wasn't helping.  But there was really no way around it; with two weeks to go before our first tour with Annie and the Good Lovelies, I knew I had to start pumping, and the sooner the better. I wanted her to get used to the bottle experience and being fed by others, so I bit the bullet.

After finding success with the pump, I feel now way more prepared to get onstage. Knowing that baby will have food on hand while I am preparing for a show, performing, and visiting with fans is going to give me such peace of mind. I will be able to concentrate on the show itself, without worrying about her going hungry. That's one large worry in a long list taken care of.

There are many reasons why being able to pump is awesome. Here are some of them:

1. Freedom.
It sounds a bit selfish, but there are moments that I really feel the need to walk away. Or run. In fact, being able now to go for a run in the evening, or out for a couple of hours with friends without worry is extremely liberating. This leads me to my second point:

2. Fear of depriving the baby
I have been dreaming regularly, since Annie's birth, that I'm on tour, and that I've left the baby at home. In these dreams, sometime before soundcheck I realize that Annabelle is not with me, and I try frantically to find my way home, abandoning the tour. There are never any flights or trains or busses cars to get me there, and she ends up going hungry.* I wake in a sweat, and shove my boob in her mouth, feeling like a very guilty Mom.

*I know there are alternatives to breastmilk, but for some reason this never figures in my dreams.

3. Modesty.
I am all for public breastfeeding, and love that women do it. I, however, have not mastered feeding behind the veil; I have to see her to feed her. I cannot do this blindly like other magician women, which means that in order to feed Annabelle, I would be exposing myself in public. So, thank you pump for keeping my breasts semi-private.

4. Sharing the experience
Feeding a baby is a powerful bonding experience and I'm so happy that Colin can feed Annie now. Although I'll admit I was a bit sad the first time he fed her - I felt a little jealous of that bottle, wincing in pain at my engorged bosom.

It's Dad's turn. This was Annie's first bottlefeed.

Needless to say, all of this has been a huge learning curve. The women in my life have been invaluable to the process (there has got to be a blog about maternal knowledge in there somewhere). Briefly, here are some of my favourite "pumping" tips, submitted to me by female friends and family:

1. Relax and be patient.
2. Look at your baby when you pump. Or alternatively at a picture of your baby (part of me thinks this is hilarious, but it seems to work).
3. Record your baby crying and listen to it while you pump (also funny, haven't tried it, don't think I will).
4. Have the baby nurse on one side while you pump the other.
5. Pump in your comfy spot. Or as Happy Gilmore would say, "go to your happy place".
6. Try pumping during the baby's "downtime", when there will be time for your milk to replenish its' stock for the next feed (i.e. during a long afternoon nap, if there is such a thing).
7. Don't pump too much; classic supply and demand - the markers of capitalism. And we all realize that the free-enterprise system is faulty at 7 am when your baby has slept through the night and you are spraying milk everywhere.
8. Understand milk storage - Dr. Sears's guide to pumping, transporting and storing is the best that I've found online. Check it out here.
9. It's going to hurt, and you may get hickeys on your nipples, so take it easy at first (this is my own advice, I found out the hard way).
10. And finally, my favourite: sit down with a good book and a glass of wine and giv'er.

So with all this great maternal knowledge, I have started a stockpile, trying to pump a bit everyday to have extra meals in the fridge/freezer in case of emergency date night or band rehearsals. Speaking of which, we have started practicing for our Christmas show which starts in Wisconsin on November 30th. Annabelle was so good - only fussing a few times, and breaking once for a meal. She fed as we worked on Sue's new winter song entitled "Ancient Forest". It was a peaceful experience, feeding my babe and singing with my best friends. I hope she felt the same.

For dates, check out www.goodlovelies.com. Hope to see you there. Annie and I would be happy to "Cheers" you too!!

GL Christmas rehearsal, Nov. 2012. Photo credit: Kerri Ough

Til next time,

Caroline

The Teenage Years

In the last couple weeks, I've been delving into some reading and television that's got me thinking about my teenage years. Those days of junior high and high school; days of dodgeball and sloppy kissing, unwanted hair and the want of breasts, social politics, cliques, gangly knees and self-consciousness, self-discovery, dread and anticipation, and the odd pop quiz.

Thinking about all of this has new weight because of my baby. Annabelle, at 5 1/2 weeks, is sitting in her little pink chair in the kitchen, and I'm already wondering what she's going to be like as a teen - treading the scary waters of online flirting and bullying and delving into teenage social politics. Will this cherubic sweetheart turn into a pissy hormonal teenager? Most definitely. Will she be awkward, a social butterfly, nerdy, studious, shy. a dreamer, or (most importantly) confident? Who knows...Thankfully I have a few years to prepare for all this. At least 12 years I hope.

Overall, my high school years were great, but junior high sucked the bag. I was forced into getting a bra, not because I was growing anything in the chest region, but because the boys in my class had taken to snapping bra straps. I broke down the day my flat-chested self was humiliated when one of my "male" (I use this term lightly) classmates went to snap my bra but found nothing there. That was it. Off to the Bay with my Mom to find a training bra. That poor bra had no work to do, aside from being submitted to the odd strap-snap. I tell you, I'd be happy to donate a few breast sizes to my 13 year old self. My nursing bras are working overtime.

I have been watching Freaks & Geeks (a great show about high school in the early '80's) and I was struck by the episode where Sam and his friends, as grade nine students, decide to go out trick or treating one last time. This, to me too, defined the straddling of childhood and being a teenager; I was desperately hanging on to the innocence of being a kid, but fully aware that I was an imposter. I was pretending to be someone I wasn't. This came to a head when the lady at the end of Hillcrest Dr. in Whitby, Ontario turned me away because I was too old. I waddled home (I was dressed as a chicken, it was a wicked costume), with my head hanging and a pillowcase full of candy. I felt like I had stolen it from the little kids.

In conversations with friends (even those who had positive experiences), I have found that very few would go back to high school if they had the chance. I agree completely. Even with my great group of friends - nerdy, goofy types who shied away from the smoker's circle, and who got drunk together for the first time with their parents' permission at 18 (seriously, my Mom bought rum that day for me). Even with the tiara I scored as prom queen (seriously, my high school was tiny, this is not impressive); Even with the decent academic record - I wouldn't go back. Not a chance. And it wasn't terrible for me, but I prefer my current life. Even with a screaming baby at 3 am.

I have also been reading How to be a Woman by Caitlin Moran. She writes brilliantly about her life through the lens of Feminism. This book is insightful, intelligent, cringeworthy, and hilarious. She lays it all out there - the terrible and wonderful process of becoming a woman, and what we, as women, have to deal with; the bleeding, the breasts, the intense crushes, the glass ceiling, childbirth, sexism, daily hair removal, sexual objectification... All these things that my little Annabelle has to look forward to. It's a gritty book, and Moran doesn't mince words. It's totally refreshing, and I wish I'd read it at 14.

My father said to me recently that he's glad that we had a girl first, that they are easier to raise than boys. I have talked to other parents about this, and many of them agree that while girls are easier to raise as children, they are much more difficult as teenagers. As teens, they become a tempest of hormones right before your eyes, and subject you to years worrying about teenage pregnancy.  I hope that like Moran, I won't mince words with Annie; that I will be able to speak frankly with her about sexuality and life as a woman. It will likely make her uncomfortable as hell, and she will emit the compulsory "MOMMMM, EWWWW, DON'T TALK ABOUT THAT!" - but at least it'll be honest.

I hope after all that embarrassment she'll still want to be in my band.

Til next time,

Caroline

Whose baby is screaming at the back of the bar?

Um, it was mine.

I played a rare solo set at the Cameron House in Toronto last night, opening for the sweet-voiced Bryden Smith. It was a last minute affair - I had expected to sing back up for a friend, but ended up taking over his set as he couldn't make the show. So, my husband Colin and I bundled up the baby and headed down to my fave Toronto haunt.

Baby doesn't like stout!

Before we left the house, I fed Annie, hoping that she'd be content through soundcheck. The "plan" was to feed her again right before the show so that she'd sit pretty while I sang a bunch of new tunes to a mostly unfamiliar audience.

Well, suffice it to say that my plan failed. ROYALLY. What I didn't account for was A) her regular evening cluster feeding (Mom, I want to eat every hour!) and B) what Colin affectionately calls "musician" time. After a few years of playing festivals and theatres with the Good Lovelies, I've become accustomed to shows starting on time. I forgot that in dimly-lit bars, tipsy people can't see their watches - so the music starts when the room is full enough to warrant it. That time warp is strong at the Cameron. I usually love it. Not last night.

She wailed as Bryden sound checked 45 minutes later than expected. So, I ushered her into the bathroom, sat on a toilet seat and fed her, the Mom-guilt swelling in my chest. So it begins.

The feed was cut short as it was my turn to soundcheck (ahem, read: line check) and she wailed through that too, this time at the back of the room. My husband then decided that he'd take her out to our car and try to distract her during the set, which was supposed to start right away.

Musician time then struck again - my set was delayed a further 15 minutes. With this news, I ran (literally) out to the car to feed her some more, and as streetcars, cyclists and late-night shoppers passed by all I could think of was how happy I am that our Honda Fit has tinted windows. (Colin: I questioned you on this one. I take it back. I love you. Thank you for helping me to maintain some modesty.)

This calmed her down somewhat, but had entirely the opposite effect on me. I anxiously ran back in to the bar, jumped (literally) onstage, blew through my set (which went surprisingly well), packed up in a jiffy, sold some CDs and ran back out to the car to keep feeding her. It is all a blur now - I think I may even have free-styled some lyrics about my boobs leaking during the show. Mostly, I just felt so guilty about the whole thing. Poor sweet little Annabelle (although a friend pointed out today that she'll never remember any of it, I will).

All this makes me accept that I MUST learn to pump. I've been putting it off. The sight alone of my breast pump makes me squeamish. The two times I've tried to use it I literally had to look away, as if I were getting a needle or witnessing an accident. Ugh. For God's sakes - I made it through childbirth (though blind I admit)...I should be able to handle a little pumpin'!

After all that crying I thought Annabelle would sleep through the night, which she has done once in her 5 weeks of life. Alas, no luck last night - as she woke at 3 am for her first feed of the night, I remembered how much performing wipes me out. I dragged myself out of bed for her early morning feed, three hours after we'd fallen asleep. It was tough, but I was so thankful that she had put up with me. And I'm grateful that I can do what I do.

So, that was an adventure. Annie has found her lungs.

'Til next time,

CB