Sleepless Nights

Last night was rough.

Isla was coughing and unable to find her way back to sleep once it woke her – the Mr. wisely abandoned bed for couch and I lay there in a half-doze for what felt like HOURS (I didn’t dare check) as she seemingly bounced around the bed. At one point as she rolled onto my arm AGAIN I kinda snapped at her a bit, and she whimpered, and then it occurred to me that in however long we’d been trying to find sleep I hadn’t offered a cuddle. So I did. “Would you like a hug?” “Yeah please.” Her little forehead pressed against my cheek, the breathing became normal and started to deepen… the coughing stopped, the fidgeting stopped, all in minutes.

A whisper: “I love you, bunny.”
No response. Yes, she’s asleep. I can sleep.
“… I luff you, too… mama.”
YES. I’ve got this.
And then the alarm rang.

This poem below came across my Facebook page from my now-favourite blog, (ignore the fact that the author spelled her own site’s name incorrectly in this now-viral image. She points out that sleep deprivation is winning).

More great bits and pieces from this author here.



How is cosleeping?


My lovely girl,

I wrote this blog post in my head at night when I couldn’t bear to get up and type it out, because you were snuggled up beside me and I didn’t want to leave… but mostly because I was so tired.

You are 23 months old. One month (a little less now) until you are two. You already tell people you are two, much to the giggly amusement of our little neighbours who argue the exact facts with you. “ALMOST two,” they say. But you laugh: “No, I two! Two.”  Sweet Pea, you don’t even know what it means to be in a hurry and you already are.

You are growing so fast.

Normally, we walk you to sleep or almost-sleep, snuggled up in a woven wrap next to me. You request to be on my back now – I think it gives you more room. Then I carefully place you in the big bed where you sleep between me & Daddy. You pull up your purple blanket and place a hand on one of us so you can stay in touch.

“How is cosleeping?” a cousin of mine recently asked.

Sometimes I’m grumpy about it and want my space. Sometimes I stare at your face and see my newborn. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of what you’re dreaming about. Usually, if I’m being honest, I am so exhausted by the time I make it to bed that I can’t stay awake to even contemplate “how it is.”

Always, it is worth knowing that you are happy and feel safe.

Last night, something new. Instead of wrapping and walking we went to bed and read book after book after book, and when you could hardly hold your eyes open a moment longer, you said “one more, read.” And so I did, and then you turned over and went to sleep.

Some night, I’ll read to you in your own bed and you’ll fall asleep there, and you’ll probably come into our bed sometime in the night.

Some night, you’ll stay in that bed, and I’ll wake up in the morning and have to go get you.

Some night, you’ll go there by yourself.

Some night, you won’t need me… but tonight you do, and so it’s okay to remind me and it’s okay that I needed to put my computer away. It’s okay that I’m writing this blog at 1am because you’re happily sleeping now but needed my attention earlier.

It’s okay these blog posts are very few and far between.

It’s okay I might need an iced coffee to get through tomorrow.

It’s okay that sometimes I feel totally crazy, because we’re heading toward that number 2 together. And 2 is crazy, no doubt.

Goodnight, little girl. Let’s not hurry this month.

This Roller Coaster Ride, Take 2.

This is the roller coaster ride that I originally experienced when we were trying to conceive. Years ago. This was the monthly thing that started to happen when I realized things might be difficult, but didn’t yet have medical support. This is what people think of when I say that fertility treatment is a bumpy journey.


But there is a much bumpier journey, to me. The treatment itself is something that most people just have no idea about. There is a media expectation that you decide to do IVF, go to a clinic for some tests, take a bunch of injections at home and are really cranky, and then get a baby. Or not, as per the above chart. But it is rarely that straightforward.

We are really only at the beginning of trying again, but already… well, I just thought I might give you a bit of an idea:

09Oct2014: Have surgery to clear tubes. Great news – it worked. Maybe we can hope for the best, here. We consult with our awesome doctor and agree that the best case scenario is that we can go for an IUI (intrauterine insemination… relatively cheap and easy). Celebrate!

23Nov2014: Start some oral medications for pre-IUI. Hooray!

30Nov2014: IUI day! Go to clinic. No go… The Mr. didn’t react well enough to HIS medications. What? They worked two years ago. “Oh yeah. We have a 4th infertility factor. Yeah, that makes sense.” IUI canceled. Cried a lot.

21Jan2015: The Mr. goes in for some further testing. Nope, this IUI thing isn’t going to be an option. Well, shit.

22Jan2015: Start to prepare myself for the idea that we will go ahead and transfer our last frozen embryo. Anytime. Anytime now. Terrified. Decide I need a solid decision on what we will do if it fails, BEFORE we go for it. Lay awake all night long.

23Jan2015: Talk. Talk a lot. Research a bunch. Run budgets, call nurses. Decide to do the frozen and transfer, and that we will bite the bullet and do whatever it is that we need to go ahead with another full IVF cycle if our little frozen snowflake decides not to stick. Worry.

25Jan2015: Amazingly, now that we’ve made the decision, the financial concerns seem to fall away. Gratitude.

26Jan2015: Realize, with some shock, that if the above is going to be true, we need to ahead and do this rightthisminute. Call the clinic. Hurry hurry. Scramble. Make appointments. Too busy to feel much of anything.

27Jan2015 am: Take my daughter with me to the fertility clinic for a very early morning blood test. Now we’re getting real. She snoozes in her jammies and shark slippers on the waiting room couch, curled up beside me and I feel guilty. She gets up and drinks her milk, and she beams at some of you. She doesn’t understand why it’s quiet, why people aren’t being social. If you happen to look up, she gives a small wave and says hi, tries to show you her companion, Grover. Some smile back. Some stare harder into their iPhone screens. I wish I could tell you this girl here is an ICSI baby, who came about with help from the very doctor you’re about to see. I can’t, but I hope you know anyway. And I’m so sorry.

27Jan2015 pm: I get the blood results back. Doc says it’s a go. Start to tell family, friends, people I run into, anybody who wants to know what’s new. I’m over being quiet about this stuff – I’ve done that before, it didn’t work for me. I’m feeling certain, and awesome. Calm.

28Jan2015, am: Another long drive to the clinic. This is orientation day. This is where we mark a little paper calendar with all sorts of colour coding, and get a refresher on how to mix up the little vials of medication that might as well contain gold. Build camaraderie with the nurse who is going to walk us through this entire process. Speak to the financial lady… not that fun, but not terrible, because everything is looking rosy.

28Jan2015, pm: Look, I know. I know that these things never go without bumps. Do I think we’re going to get a February cycle? No, I do not. I do not think my body is going to cooperate with that. There are decisions that are just made. Not by me and my husband, or my doctor, or even my bank account. If my cycle doesn’t agree with that colour-coded calendar, we just don’t proceed.

Do I know for sure? Not yet. I’m okay, though. If we have to do an early spring cycle, I think we can make that work, and I’ll be happy with it. I now expect the ups and downs, and that makes them a whole lot easier for me to cope with. It’s just part of this game. It’s okay now.

It’s okay for me because my ICSI baby is downstairs, cuddled up with Grover and a plastic tea dish (yup, weird), sleeping soundly, and unaware that her family might (hopefully!) change. I am privileged that the roller coaster is feeling safe this time… it didn’t always.

New Year, New Blog

We’ve been here in our cohousing community for a solid 8 months now, and the last of the boxes upstairs have been unpacked. We’re on to painting and other exciting projects, and if I’m being honest, I stopped blogging because “The Little Farmhouse” felt awfully irrelevant.

So, here we are, making my blog relevant again. At least to me.

Why Love and Peas Mama?

When I took my nutrition courses many years ago, I registered as a possible business website for the future. I’ve never done anything with it, and a few months ago we directed The Little Farmhouse to this URL.

It finally occurred to me, late last night, that it’s actually an excellent name for this blog, as I try to fill our new home with love, good food, and listen to “pease, Mama” dozens of times a day as my girl discovers there is power in words.

So that’s it, friends. That’s the quick story of the new blog title and look. Welcome to 2015, and welcome to Love and Peas Mama. We hope you’ll stick with us this year for recipes, crafts, musings, and messy life with a toddler.

Deck the Halls

One of the delightful things about my daughter these days is the enthusiasm with which she notices things. In some ways, she’s more observant than I am – though I credit her proximity to the floor for noticing that my mother had replaced the floor vent cover in the kitchen.

At 16 months old, she seems to have developed an appreciation for “pretty” things, and so the decor of this holiday season is creating much excitement!

A recent Target run caused the purchase of a couple sheets of these $1 gel clings. I put them up during nap time, and she noticed them right away when she got up. Appreciative sounds like “ooooh, ooooh, preeety, ooooh,” made me feel so accomplished that I sat down with a cup of tea and put my feet up for a while. You know… for 9 or 10 days, anyway.


When I recounted this story on Facebook, a friend commented: “She doesn’t even know what’s in store with the rest of the decorations! Her wee mind will be blown!”

That’s pretty fun, isn’t it? So forget Elf-on-the-Shelf, here’s the bedecking that is awaiting morning toddler notice and approval. Not my idea, of course… floated by on Pinterest, as the Mr. cleverly noted.

FullSizeRender 2


Happy December, friends!

Early Morning

Good morning, baby mine,

When you were wide awake at 6:30 this morning, I was annoyed. You had been wide awake at 5:00, and I don’t know if you remember this, but after I nursed you AND offered a bottle (are you going through a growth spurt?) I held you until nearly 6:00 while you fell back asleep. I watched the brightening sky and told you the birds were singing to you. I put my phone down and thought about being your mom, stroking your cheek and praying for you. I am sure I felt righteous in our early-morning moment, and deserving of the sweet sleep that was still to follow. I was not ready, at 6:30, for that little hand that was reaching for me through the crib slats.

Your Daddy was already up and getting ready for work, so after I soothed you yet again, I brought you into bed with me. It is amazing to me how your little body can take up so much space in his half of a king-sized bed! 

I got to fall asleep with my hand on your tummy.

I got to be just a little bit of aware of you stirring some time later, only to reach out and touch my arm, which was enough to comfort you into staying asleep.

When you did wake, demanding more food and more comfort, I got to buy an extra half hour for myself by lazily nursing you right there in bed.

I appreciated your beautiful smile as you realized that I was still there.

I snuggled you and smooched you and sang a silly morning song that I had made up when you were brand new.

We played peek-a-boo under the blanket that I still didn’t want to give up. You laughed.

I was grateful.

Thank you for waking up at 6:30, little girl. But tomorrow, maybe sleep a little longer.

Love, Mama

What is Cohousing?

People ask “what is cohousing?” and as often as possible I direct them to this cheerful little video. Belterra is not the cohousing community we are moving to, but we hope to visit there sometime soon (in fact, I may just make a bit of a mission of visiting other cohousing communities for weekend getaways, but that’s another story). I think they really nailed the explanation here, so check it out!

Somebody else who nailed it the other day is my friend Wendy. I was joking-but-serious on Facebook about giving away my stuff. Need something? I probably have it, and you can probably take it away right now. Wendy commented, “I heard the best presentation yesterday on the Sharing Economy. Seriously, we could all share ‘stuff’ a lot more and buy less. It creates jobs, saves resources and encourages social interaction.”

Cohousing in a paragraph, right there.

What Siri Said

Siri and I usually get along just fine, but we were having some serious communication problems yesterday.

For the record, I was trying to send the following message to my mom: “Sweet Pea is wearing the cute tunic you bought her.” (except, ermm, Sweet Pea’s real name. I’m counting on nobody going back and reading this post later).

Did Siri just break up with me?


Works For Me – What to do with that peri bottle

Linking up today to Works for Me Wednesday from We are THAT Family.

When you give birth at a hospital, you will be given a peri bottle. If you’re home birthing, it’s probably on your list of recommended supplies (it was on my list, though we didn’t end up with a home birth). It looks like this:



It’s used for… keeping things clean. Moving on now.

Alright so, save that sucker! If you’ve already tossed yours and you still have a baby at home, go buy one – I promise they’re cheap (I know this because the hospital gives it to you for free). You may like an extra one anyway.  It’s about to be your best friend in baby washing. A peri bottle has several holes in the lid, so it delivers a really gentle but effective spray. 

It is the BEST thing to use to rinse your baby, especially baby’s hair. I am simultaneously proud of myself for thinking of this (though a google search suggests it’s not an original thought, imagine that), and a bit annoyed that it took me 9 weeks to think of it.

I’m saving you those 9 weeks of tears in the tub, my friend. Use the peri bottle. Enjoy happier bathtimes.