Let’s Talk

January 25 is Bell Let’s Talk Day.

One day a year the world comes together to help end the stigma of mental illness.

One day a year, a large corporation donates $0.05 for every tweet and hashtag that says “#BellLetsTalk” towards funding mental illness.

Meanwhile the province I live in is underfunding mental health across the board.  I can’t get a delusional/psychotic patient timely access to a psychiatrist without sending him to the ER or placing him on a Form 1 (ie involuntary 3 day hold).  I can’t get the chronically depressed and suicidal middle-aged woman a psychiatrist to follow her and manage her 3 psychotropic medications.

So yeah, let’s talk about mental illness.

Why don’t psychiatrists actually do what they are trained to do?  Why don’t they follow patients and see those that need weekly psychotherapy? Why doesn’t the Government adequately fund mental health?

How about we talk about mental illness every day of the year and not just one day?

Let’s talk.


Day 5 – National Blog Posting Month.

3D-man-stabbed-on-the-chest-with-a-knifeIt’s been on and off for a few weeks now, this sharp, stabbing pain in my left chest.  I know what it is and why it is and as much as I try to control it, I just can’t.  It’s work related and I can’t talk about it.

Wow, I think I just “vagueblogged”.  And yes, I just made that up.

I hate when people “vaguebook” – you know, someone posts a very vague message on Facebook which then prompts friends and followers to ask, “Are you okay?” or “Thinking of you!”  “Hope you are okay.” Suddenly whatever they are actually posting about really isn’t as important as how many friends actually noticed and are asking about it. That is what is really wanted by the original message.  Someone is feeling upset and alone and vulnerable – reaching out to social media is the way they can feel important again.

Which reminds me of a comedian my husband introduced me to recently.  He’s so funny and so NOT politically correct, it was actually quite refreshing to watch.  His name is Anthony Jeselnik.  One particular “bit” really struck home with me.

So today, I ask my blogging friends and readers not to forget about me.



Day 23. National Blog Posting Month.

Poop.  Oh yeah, I’m going there.

The baby is exclusively breast fed.  He’s gaining weight pretty well (we just had his 2 month well-baby visit and is just shy of 11 lbs), he’s smiling now and watching everything that is going on around him.

The only thing he is not doing regularly …  you guessed it, pooping.

I think the last time he had a good poop was over a week ago.  It might even be 10 days, I’m not sure. In my sleep-deprived state, I’m not even sure what day it is!

You should have seen the horrified look on my mother’s face when I told her.

“Let’s give him an enema,” she said, seriously.

“Um, yeah, mom, no.”

Never have I been so obsessed with bowel movements than when I started having kids.  It starts with that first bowel movement after birth – meconium.  It reveals so much about the infant’s gastrointestinal system.  When it happens, it’s like everyone breathes a sigh of relief.  If it doesn’t – alarm bells sound.

If the infant is breastfed, then over the next 5-7 days the poop changes colour from the tarry black of meconium to the lovely shades of green to yellow.  An exclusively breastfed baby will have liquidy, yellow seedy poop.  (Feel free to Google for an image.)  Most breastfed infants, in the first month of life, will have a bowel movement several times a day.  By two months of age, babies may not poop for a week, sometimes up to 10 days, and this is still considered quite normal, so long as he is nursing well and gaining weight. [http://www.webmd.com/parenting/baby/the-scoop-on-baby-poop]

So, nothing to worry about, right?


Ugh. I really just want him to have one of these:

The pooplosion.

Is that too much to ask?


So, I’ve had this secret for the past few months.  It’s been hard not to write about it, which is one of the reasons my blog has been quiet lately.  The more I wanted to spill my secret, the further I stayed away.

But it’s time now, I think.

Back in January, I got quite the surprise with a positive pregnancy test.

Yes, that’s right.

I’m pregnant again!!!

Eeek!!!!  Number 3 is on the way!!!  I was initially terrified and anxious and a doubting Thomas.  This wasn’t exactly planned, but I also knew deep down that I wasn’t quite done with two children.  I wanted one more pregnancy, one more child.   I would look at my son, the baby, and think that he should be a big brother.  So, if all goes well, come mid-September, he will be.

For the most part, my first trimester was very similar to my other two pregnancies – extreme fatigue and vague nausea.  Though, I have to admit, the vague nausea was much more pronounced this time.  For several weeks I have to say, I felt gross.  Nothing would settle my stomach except, perhaps, the concoctions of fruit juice, club soda and bitters my husband would make for me in the evenings.

The other thing that was new was this running thing I’d been doing.  You may recall that I was close to reaching my goal of running 10 km.  Sadly, that’s not going to happen anytime soon.  I tried a few runs during those first few weeks, but just couldn’t get past 2-3 km without shin splints, breathlessness and sheer exhaustion.  Clearly, my body was trying to tell me something.   There was pretty much zero exercise with the first two pregnancies – not exactly healthy, I know – but that’s just the way it was.  I walked a lot, yes, but that was the extent of my exercise.  My pregnant body liked sitting on the couch, cross-stitching.

So, there you have it. My confessions.

I’m pregnant again.

I’m not running.

And I’m spending the next 6 months, on my butt, on the couch, cross stitching…. with some walking here and there.


The Parenting Post.

Yup, I’m going to go there.

Lately I’ve seen a lot of debates popping up on my FB wall feed about styles of parenting.  Let me rephrase that – heated debates.  Recently there was an article written by the mom on the bench to the helicopter mom at the park.  It was obviously meant to be tongue-in-cheek and humorous.  It clearly struck a nerve with some people, just read the comments section.  Personally, I thought it was brilliant.

Never in human history, I think, has more been written about parenting and styles of parenting than in the last decade or so.  I have no basis for this theory, it’s just a gut instinct.  An initial Google search for “parenting styles” came up with several links describing these four styles:

And lets not forget the best of all – “helicopter”.

I’m not going to review them, you can do that yourself.  I think it’s a load of horse shit, to be perfectly honest with you.  Raising children, being a “parent”, isn’t something you can define, nor should you label it.  Its common sense, no?  Did our parents have books on how to parent?  Actually, now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure my mom had a book by Dr. Spock.  But that’s it.  One book.  Nowadays? THOUSANDS of books, not only on parenting styles (“Know Your Parenting Style”, “Parenting with Love and Logic”, ) but oh my god, books about the different kinds of children (“The Out-of-Sync” child”, “The Explosive Child”, “Living with the Active Alert Child”, “Nurture by Nature”).   Unless the child has a genetic (ie chromosomal) disorder, is developmentally delayed or has had birth trauma causing the behaviour issue, I say leave the kid alone and allow them to develop.   (Obviously, I’m not lumping in the small percentage of children with severe behavioural problems here.)

I sound grossly unsympathetic.  I truly don’t mean to.  I am just frustrated with how I see my generation turning out.  Suddenly, I’m surrounded by parents (mostly in my practice) who are obsessed with micromanaging everything from the pregnancy, to the kind of birth they want, to debating if cloth or disposable diapers is better,  to following their kid around on the playground.  [And don’t even get me started on the insanity around breast-feeding and making new mothers feel guilty 2 minutes after their child is born if they are scared or don’t want to nurse.  Seriously?]

When did we suddenly need a book to tell us a) what kind of parent we are and b) what kind of child we’re raising?  It makes us seem completely stupid.  Tribes in Africa don’t have these kinds of issues – these, first world problems.  Our species has survived two millenia without a “how-to” manual, and I think we’ve done pretty well, thank you very much.  To survive another two millenia, well, I’m not sure we’ll make it.  There’s nothing natural about how kids are being raised these days.  It’s all about fitting your kid or your parenting style into a pre-fashioned mold.  Frankly, I think it’s creating a crop of depressed and stressed out parents who are struggling to cope with their stressed out, anxiety ridden children.  It’s fucking sad.

I’m so gonna get flamed now.  But I feel better having gotten this off my chest.  If you made it this far, and don’t hate me, then maybe I am doing something right.