A year ago today, I was seven months pregnant. I woke up, had a banana, and went to the gym, like I did most mornings. Ran five miles on the treadmill, slow and steady, feeling great. Came home, hopped in the shower, and that's when I noticed a little bit of blood. Never a good thing. Definitely not when you're seven months pregnant.

I called 811, who told me to go to the walk-in clinic just to get checked out. I skipped that step and headed for the hospital, where they hooked me up and realized I was starting to dilate and having regular contractions. With every contraction my baby's heart rate was dipping. Normally, they'd just administer medications to stop labour but the concern that the baby was in distress threw a wrench into those plans. Very quickly it became apparent that I might be having my baby that day, two months early.

I ended up spending the day in a birthing room, just in case. I wasn't allowed to eat or drink anything. I had a profile done to make sure the baby was healthy and determine how big it would be so the team would be prepared if this tiny person decided to make an early appearance.

All day I stared at the numbers on the monitor, willing them to stay stable. I cried a little and prayed a lot, as I tend to do whenever things are going wiggity whack, but never when things are going well. At the end of the day, I got some medications that would hopefully stop my contractions, and sometime in the wee hours of the morning they finally settled down. I spent the rest of the week in the hospital and the next four weeks on a modified form of bed rest: no more work, no walking farther than the mailbox, no housecleaning, not driving more than 20 minutes from home.

For a month, I basically shuffled around my house, sitting gingerly on the couch with my legs squeezed together willing this baby to stay put. I read a lot, watched a lot of TV, and even started playing Xbox, if that's any indicator as to how bored I was. I hate sitting still so for me those weeks were horrible, but I tried to take it easy and remember what the doctor said: every day I carried the baby was two fewer days we'd have to spend in the NICU.

At 36 weeks, I did the biggest fist-pump of life. Full term! Every day after that was a bonus. I started taking longer walks, and going back to the gym, and generally not being scared the baby was going to fall out of me onto the floor if I went shopping or out for dinner. And wouldn't you know it, after all that ruckus in September, Eli was born on November 10, his due date.

It has been a crazy year, not without its stresses. The stress of almost having a preemie and then walking on eggshells to make sure I didn't. A difficult delivery and recovery. The usual stuff that comes with a new baby. Figuring it all out without having grandparents five minutes away to help out was tough.

I'm lucky to have a husband who's supportive, and I'm in awe of single parents. I'm lucky to have a rambunctious 10-month-old baby boy who's healthy and happy. A crazy year but a beautiful year, too. I have a lot to be thankful for. Things could have been a whole lot different and our little boy could have had a very difficult start to life.

Peter and I have been together for almost five years. In the beginning, there were grandiose gestures of love happening all the time. There were monthly anniversary celebrations: getting dressed up for multi-course dinners capped off with the presentation of a sparkly piece of jewelry or a box of pricey chocolates. There were weekend breakfasts in bed devoured closer to noon. There were hours spent on primping for dates that lasted all day long. Bottles of champagne were glugged (Blogger is telling me "glugged" isn't a word. I disagree). Bouquets of flowers were delivered to my office. Fancy underthings were picked out and flaunted.

These days, date night is more likely to mean curling up under a blanket on the couch to eat cookies and watch a DVD. And more often than not, we pass out before the movie is over, ears cocked to pick up the first peep out of the baby monitor that's always hovering nearby like an annoying chaperone. These days, 7:15 is considered sleeping in. A glass of wine is responsibly sipped, never glugged, and only after the baby has gone to bed for the evening. Fancy underthings are on hold until further notice and "primping" is not even in my vocabulary anymore.

Last night I stumbled into Eli's room at some ungodly hour to feed him. A few seconds later, Peter came in to put a blanket over us and brought me a glass of water.

Sitting in the rocking chair, dressed in the opposite of fancy underthings, looking and feeling like death warmed over and barely able to keep my eyes open, was one of the times I've felt most loved. A blanket, a glass of water, a kiss on the forehead from my husband, a sleepy smile from a hungry little boy at 3AM. Love is different for us these days, but it's still here.

I promised myself months ago that when the baby was born, this wouldn't become a full-on mommy blog, and it's not going to. But the past week has been devoted to welcoming our little man, getting used to one another, and falling more and more in love with Eli. I really have nothing else to talk about this week. Next week, maybe.

I cannot believe Eli is a week old already. The past seven days have flown by. It feels like we do very little all day - nap, feed, change diapers, take paparazzi shots of the baby - and bam! it's bedtime. In spite of feeling like I'm doing nothing, time is flying. I feel like he's already noticeably bigger and that his looks are changing.

A lot of this whole mamahood thing is easier than I'd expected. Getting up three times a night to feed Eli hasn't been the hellish ordeal I'd assumed it would be, probably because weeks of pregnancy insomnia prepared me for sleepless nights. We wake up every three hours, feed him and go back to sleep, and it ain't no thang. When I'm feeding him I go online on my iPod, check emails and Twitter, play music for us and chat to Pete and before I know it we're all done.

I had never changed a diaper in my life, never dressed a baby...in fact, I had barely held a baby. I'd been worried it would feel unnatural and awkward, but it hasn't. I'm grateful for that. 

There are a few things that are harder than I'd anticipated. Recovery, for one. I seem to have skipped the chapter on mama's physical recovery from birth, and went straight from labour and delivery to caring for baby. I was totally unprepared for how I'd feel. Stitches blow - I'll leave it at that. I'm so anxious to get back to normal, going to the gym, taking long walks with the baby, and the recovery period is frustrating and feels long, even though it's only been a week so far and I could have a while longer before I'm feeling 100%.


I'm excited about feeling better, but mostly I'm excited about all the things we'll be able to do over the next few weeks. Taking him for fall walks in the park. Getting him a Christmas stocking and a special ornament for the tree. Picking out a picture for our Christmas card. His first smiles and giggles. Shopping for new outfits for him - now that we know he's a boy we don't need to stick to gender-neutral stuff anymore. Filling in the blanks in his baby book.

Here's our little beefcake's one week photo - he brushed his hair just for the Internet. He's a very dapper little gentleman.

(Alternate title: Proof that I Am the Most Stunned Person Alive)

Holly at Scattered Words shared her engagement story recently, which prompted me to do the same. 

Three years ago today, Pete and I got engaged. It was Thanksgiving Monday. I'd spent the weekend at my parents' in New Brunswick while he stayed at our apartment in Halifax. After all the family festivities, I was planning to drive back to Halifax early Monday morning and spend the holiday with Peter - we were going to have our own little Thanksgiving meal for two.

On Sunday night, Pete called and asked me to give him a call before I left my parents' on Monday so he'd have two hours' notice to "get the meal ready". He allegedly wanted to know right when I was leaving so he'd know how much time he had to go to the gym and do errands before he had to put the dinner on the stove and he specifically asked me to call his cell phone in case he was out. I called him from the gas station on my way out of town.

"Before you get on the road, drive out to the covered bridge," he said.

Well, that's random, I thought. There's a covered bridge outside the town where I grew up. When I was little and my dad and grandfather were getting hay in the summer, I'd go out there and run back and forth in the bridge for hours. I rode my bike out there and loved going for drives through the bridge because Dad would lay on the horn and it echoed and sounded creepy. Peter knew it was one of my favourite places around town and had also spent time driving out to the bridge when he was at the local university, just to get a change of scene and to relax.

However, he was always doing sweet little gestures and random surprises for me so as odd a request as it was to drive out there, I wasn't totally tipped off that something was about to happen. I assumed he'd carved our initials in the bridge somewhere last time he'd been in New Brunswick, or hidden a gift for me or something. Incredibly daft I am.

So I drove out to the bridge and lo and behold, there was Peter, dressed in his nicest suit, waiting for me on the other side. I figured he'd driven up from Halifax to surprise me for Thanksgiving. Yes, even at this point I still had no idea what was going on. I parked my car and gave him a huge hug. "I wasn't expecting to see you here!" I chirped. "What's up?"

COMPLETELY oblivious. Let's look at the facts:

-he had driven 2 hours to get to Sackville - meaning he'd left home before 7:00 AM to make it there
-he was wearing a Hugo Boss suit in the middle of cow pastures
-he had been looking at engagement rings, which I knew
-he was nervous and appeared to be on the verge of throwing up

We walked into the bridge and he was like, "Uhhh, I have a surprise for you," and acting all weird and wound up, and I start LOOKING AROUND THE BRIDGE like a complete dunce, as if there was going to be a present hidden in the rafters or a clown popping out of the walls, like we're just going on a little geocaching adventure. 

Peter just gaped at me like seriously, I'm about to propose to the dimmest broad on the block. "It's not on the bridge," he said, grabbed my hand, got down on one knee and pulled out the most perfect diamond ring I have ever seen. He popped the question and I was so excited I forgot to say yes, just nodded like a happy mute. I was completely caught off guard. There was lots of jumping up and down (me), squealing (me) and happy crying (me).

It was definitely one of my happiest days ever - top five for sure.

We got married almost exactly a year later, October 17, 2009.

Here are a couple of our engagement photos, taken at the place where it all went down:









Happy engagaversary, PBSB! It's been an incredible three years and I love you more every day. <3

HOLA! We just came back yesterday afternoon from a week away at the cottage. It was everything a vacation should be - relaxing, lots of sunshine, good friends and QT with the family and lots of delicious food. The daily routine was kind of like this: wake up whenever, go for a run, eat breakfast, read a bit, walk the dog, eat lunch, spend the afternoon at the beach, BBQ something, walk on the beach, go to someone's cottage and hang out (or stay in and play board games on the few rainy evenings). A girl can get used to that routine.

Here's our cottage:


My reading materials. Note the shift from a Sex and the City book to American Psycho.


Sooo many barbecues.


There were country music dance parties with the dog.


There was our first Jiffy Pop experience since we were probably three years old.


There were a few marathon Monopoly games...


...and the construction of a giant puzzle which we actually managed to finish:


There were also many evening walks and beautiful sunsets to enjoy.






Now it's back to the grind! Hope you all had a great week!

Why was today so sweet? Let me count the ways:

1. I started off the day with a 4.3-ish mile run. AWESOME. I love running in the morning, both because it gets it out of the way nice and early and frees up my schedule for the rest of the day, and because it gives me such a nice burst of energy that lasts a while and a sense of accomplishment that stays with me all day long.

2. When I was in the shower post-run, H2B went to Starbucks and bought me my grande coffee with nonfat milk and Splenda. He's trained really well.

3. Megan and I went to see Confessions of a Shopaholic--mediocre film made much better by the fact that a) it's buy one ticket for regular price, get the second for $1.99 weekend at Empire and b) it meant we had Kid's Packs for lunch.

4. Went to Michael's, saw the wedding invitation DIY options, and was able to relax a little.

5. Painted two new acrylics. I'm a shitty painter, but I'm really liking these two. They're a set and I'm very happy with the end result. Clueless was on while I painted which was a great little blast from the past.

6. Cinnamon buns are baking as I speak so the apartment smells all domestic and cinnamony.

7. Next up is dinner and drinkypoos at Moxie's with H2B, Adam, and Heather. Super pumped for that (I'm starving and have been sneaking bites of raw cinnamon bun dough for the past hour.) I plan to get shittered and foolish. After that we'll either head downtown or back here for some Guitar Hero. Either option sounds equally appealing.

I'm feeling 100% better today compared to earlier this week, when I was all funky and down. I love Saturdays like this where I'm productive but don't head into the weekend with a ton of plans. Best day I've had in a long time.

<3