the dotted line

sleep, baby, sleep

Black out blinds might just be my new favorite thing. Ella has been struggling to sleep through the night for many months now. It seems that there's always been something to wake her in the middle of the night, from teething pain and growth spurts to jet lag, noisy neighbors and, most recently, a feverish, sniffly cold. And now, with very little darkness during the night, she has been going to sleep late {10 PM} and getting up very early {3 AM}. Needless to say there has been very little sleep in our house and very little time to connect with each other at the end of the day. I don't need to tell you that this makes for a very grumpy mama and papa! Luckily she's always been very good at going to bed - we have a very sweet routine that starts with a warm lavender bubble bath, a {wriggly} massage with lavender and vanilla massage oil, freshly laundered pj's, warm milk, {3} stories and finally, cuddles under the stars while listening to raindrops. She'll drift to sleep on her own, but she wakes within hours and screams very loudy. Exhaustion has led me to bring her into our bed with the hope that cuddles and warmth will lull her back to sleep. Sometimes it works, sometimes she's just ready to get up. And even when it does work, I am then the one that is wakeful and restless. I'm not sure why we didn't do it sooner {too tired, probably!}, but we finally installed the white version of this blind in her room a couple of nights ago. It worked. And we have slept for longer than 3 or 4 hours at a time. It is now 9:30 in the morning and she's still asleep, snuggled as close to me as she can possibly get. That warm, sweet smell of a sleeping baby is enveloping me and filling my heart with love for the beautiful, calm, restful little soul nestled in the crook of my side. To be honest, I think I've forgotten just how restorative sleep can be, for the body and for the mind. And now that I'm starting to feel a little more rested, it's becoming clear that part of the problem may have stemmed from having so little sleep. Ella's sleep troubles started around seven months, when she became more mobile and more aware of her surroundings. All she wanted to do was practice. And play. And interact. In between this and trying to overcome the jet-lag from our trip to Italy and Scotland, I slept for only a couple of hours a night, and sometimes, not at all. I was so busy trying to be a good mama I didn't see that being so exhausted was changing me, little by little, and maybe even taking away from the mama I so desperately wanted to be. It's funny how something as simple {and as I'm discovering, so very essential} as sleep can bring perspective and instill a sense of calmness to the most stressful of situations, yet a lack of sleep can magnify and intensify life's smallest ups and downs.

::my new mantra::

sleep, baby, sleep {mama, try lots of things and do what works for you and your family}

and just as importantly, sleep, mama, sleep {everything else can wait}

it's worth it. even though it might not feel like it at the time. and when you wake up in a panic because there's still a pile of dishes by the sink, laundry to be folded and a long list of other things that really must get done, be calm

And now, she's awake. And not smelling so sweet anymore. I'm happy she's awake, I was starting to miss her...not quite so happy about the smelliness, though :)

the sweetness is in the details

:: soft hand-knit scarf made with icy blue alpaca silk :: little linen messenger bag with a tiny hand-stitched nest and branch, closed with a delicate shell button :: black and white polka-dot dress, gathered at the neck with a black satin ribbon, two little pockets on the front ::

This week has been a series of flitting, unfocused moments, in which many things have been attempted but not quite accomplished, lists of things that really must get done are just as long as they were before, our home is disheveled, still stacked with boxes, still waiting for pictures to be hung on the wall, my new studio is...overwhelming...to the point where even thinking about it makes me shudder and quickly look for distraction. During a couple of the slightly less chaotic moments, I worked on this sweet little girl - drafting the pattern, selecting the perfect combination of fabrics|buttons|ribbons, knitting, sewing, losing myself in the details...I loved every minute...and the dining room table is now {almost} as overwhelming as my studio :) Now that she is in the hands of our little niece, I've been distracting myself {from organizing the studio...and the dining table} with plans to make another. Now that she's finished, I think she looks a little like Ella - don't you think so? This was completely unintentional, but it doesn't surprise me - I spend every moment with her, it's only natural that her cute little face takes over my every thought!

my little monkeypants

Thank you so much for your sweet comments and for listening. Saying things 'out loud' has an amazing way of calming the soul and while sharing something so deeply personal and being so honest instilled a little bit of fear in my heart, it turns out that hitting the 'save' button was something I really needed to do. My heart is a little lighter and maybe even a little excited about what's to come. That is something I'm very ready to embrace.

My little monkeypants* however, is not feeling very well at all. She's all feverish and grumpy and not eating and coughing and sniffing and sobbing and well, it's just awful. This is the second time she's had a cold and the first time I've ever seen her this unwell, my heart is aching for her. It makes me wonder how much my heart will ache when she is old enough to have heartache all of her own, when her sweet smile and her beautiful innocence are challenged by that big bad world out there. Okay, so the world isn't all bad, but sometimes I do wonder just how crazy things might get...

*monkeypants :: ella's new nickname because she absolutely LOVES this book, plus it has the sweetest illustrations by Hiroe Nakata. and the monkey pyjamas are just too cute.

the one where i actually hit the 'save' button

Do I start by saying I'm sorry or that I've missed you?

Two simple statements, straight from the heart.

I'm starting with something simple because what is to come is so very complicated and deeply personal. I am also in denial about just how long it's been - the longer I leave it, the worse my denial gets - so let's just not go there! I have written and re-written this 'first' post many, many times - sometimes in my head, sometimes saved as a draft. I'm not sure why it has been so difficult for me to commit to, although I do know that I am a little scared about saying all this 'out loud'. So while keeping the comments section open is extremely important to me [I'd love to hear about all of your thoughts and experiences], I'd like to ask you to please be gentle with me...not because I can't face criticism and not because I think you'll be anything other than sweet and kind, but because I may not be alone in needing a little calmness, a little comfort, a chance to breathe. And perhaps a sigh of relief that I'm not the only one struggling.

First, a little summary of life, then and now.

:: [then] had a baby :: three months of visits from family and friends :: one month of packing and soaking up all that we loved about california :: moved back to canada, while J finished work :: spent the summer apart, visited with family :: one last trip to california :: together for one month in italy and scotland :: two months in scotland alone with ella :: together again for christmas :: returned to canada :: searched for a place to call home :: finally found a place :: moved in :: started to discover our life as a family of 3 :: lost oscar [poor guy] :: parents divorced :: finally settling in [now]::

Somewhere amidst all of that I lost my words, my sense of self. I have struggled. Personally. Emotionally. Physically. I'm hesitant to say that this loss of self stems from post-natal depression because to this day, I don't really understand what those words truly mean and I am somewhat skeptical of the diagnostic criteria. During my first post-natal check up, I told my surgeon that I felt very down. He told me to come back to him when I stopped showering or taking care of Ella. I have never stopped showering and I always try my very hardest to take care of Ella in the best way possible. During subsequent post-natal check ups, I always tried to answer the pre-requisite checklists as truthfully as possible, and then, I would stumble.

Do you feel sad for no reason?

Do you find yourself crying without knowing why?

Do you have trouble sleeping?

Yes, I have felt sad, but there have been reasons for me to feel sad. Yes, I have cried, but I know why. And yes, I have trouble sleeping, but I've always been that way. I still don't have much clarity about what exactly was going on during those dark, silent and tumultuous months. What I do know now though is that while there were many reasons for me to feel the way I felt, Ella and being her mummy were never part of it. Slowly the silence is not quite so silent and the darkness is not quite so dark anymore. The trouble sleeping, however, is still here :)

After being so very unwell during my pregnancy, Ella's birth couldn't come fast enough. And when it did come, it was long and traumatic in ways I could never have imagined. Recovering from an emergency c-section was also much harder than I expected. Amidst the pain, the medicated fog, the injuries I sustained while in labour, the child who screamed to be fed and could not be, the loneliness of being so far away and the fear of being good enough parents to this little being that had just turned our world upside down, there was love and warmth, excitement and wonder. Then some things were said. Hurtful things. These things were not said by anyone nearby, but by someone who should have been nearby. That was when the pain started to mean more than the love and warmth, the wonder and excitement. I shouldn't have let that happen, but I did. Our first weeks together were difficult. My first obstacle was coming to terms with the idea that she was mine. I just couldn't accept that this perfect, beautiful, quiet, happy little girl was ever inside me and that she was what made me so sick. And that on those days, when I had thrown up for the 12th time, I seriously felt like not being pregnant anymore. For some reason, I expected her to be a sickly, timid, fussy little baby. Instead she was chubby and sweet and barely ever cried. She didn't really need me. She was just so happy to be held, fed, changed and dressed by anyone [she's still the same, except now I absolutely love that about her]. I started to blame my withdrawal on my inability to breast feed. Despite many attempts, I just couldn't cope with the pain. I was too damaged and too sensitive to even try giving her breast milk in a bottle. I cried whenever she cried. In the hospital, I begged the nurses to feed her some formula, just once, just so she wouldn't cry so desperately. It was an extremely difficult decision to make, but in the end I felt that our bond was just too important and I left the hospital, chest bound with bandages and a seriously uncomfortable case of engorgement :( I tried again at home, with no luck. I felt so confused. How could I love this little person so, so much, yet not feel connected to her? How could I feel so strongly that there was no way she could have been a product of my pregnancy? I look back on this now and it seems so foreign to me, but at the time, it was very, very real. Time passed, family and friends visited, we moved, I got distracted.

Then, when Ella was about eight months old, during our trip to Italy and Scotland, life became stressful and unsure. Jobs fell through, panic set in. The darkness that I had so diligently avoided came flooding back, punctuating every thought with vulnerability and feelings of inadequacy. There was only two things that I was sure of, that I loved my little Ella-Bella with every ounce of myself and that I would do anything to keep her happy and healthy. And a happy and healthy little girl needs a happy and healthy mama. And a happy and healthy papa, too. Keeping this thought very close to my heart, I became silent and focused, determined to make things better.

With the onset of summer and sunshine, the words are coming back. This, I can say out loud. I'm happy. I love every second of being Ella's mama and we are slowly building our little nest for our little family. I am re-discovering my love for making and I am flooded with ideas. I have lots of plans. I may not have the time to realize a lot of those plans, but that's okay because while I love creating, I also love thinking about creating. Planning, making piles. It's one of my favorite things to do. I also have a lot of catching up to do. All those unread blog posts and unseen flickr photos. Another of my favorite things. But first, I have to go be a mama to my little monkeypants, who has a cold and is very grumpy.

One last thing.

Today. I. Will. Hit. Save.

the asymmetrical jacket :: for baby

a very overdue gift and my first attempt at creating a pattern :: inspired by this adult version, but with an entirely different construction, raglan shaping and a neck created specifically with baby in mind :: knit with rowan cashsoft dk :: buttons from pudding yarn

i'd like to make this pattern available on ravelry but i'm not sure how to go around it - when i figure it out, i'll make an announcement here :)

modeled by ella, washed, pressed and sent off to sweet mae...

whirlwind

To say that the past couple of weeks have been a bit of a blur is an understatement, time is still slipping away far too quickly and is punctuated with all sorts of daunting questions that need to be answered. Waiting for these answers became so unsettling that, on a whim, we decided to bring Ella to Europe to visit with all of her relatives that she had yet to meet :: we just needed something else to do, something else to think about. Something other than waiting.

We just got back to Scotland after spending ten days in Italy with my sister and her two year old son, Luca. Glorious sunshine, amazing food, stunning architecture, a lifestyle to die for, cousins meeting for the very first time...SO unforgettable and SO hard to leave. I still have a lump in my throat.

A glimpse of our trip so far ::

our little wood elf, nestled in the hollow of a tree and bathed by scottish sunshine...yes, apparently the sun does shine here, much to my husband's disbelief!

such a beautiful sight :: ella meeting her great grandpa for the first time and knowing that she will love him just as much as I do

ella and mummy during an afternoon stroll to the acropolis in alatri {the town where my sister lives, about an hour south of rome}

ella and daddy in pompei :: her latest development, she stands!

ella cheekily peeking at us while she was supposed to be napping after a five course lunch at our friends' amazingly restored house in the italian countryside, complete with ducks, geese and chickens {all appropriately named :: francesca, allessandra, roberto, giuseppe...}

little shoes ii

pattern :: saartje's bootees yarn :: rowan 4-ply soft

another pair of little shoes, modeled on ella

so this is what it's all about

I've had one of those days. One of those chaotic, nothing-seems-to-be-right-no-matter-what-I-do, deflating days which has left me wanting nothing more than to bury my head in a pillow and scream...or cry...or maybe a little of both. One of those trying-to-keep-everyone-happy-but-failing-miserably days. On top of this, I have a sick little girl to take care of and a husband that's away for the next week (oh, how I miss him!).

Amazingly enough, today has also been the day when Ella has exhibited 'separation anxiety' for the first time, as well discovered the meaning of 'crocodile tears' and 'power struggle'. Within one day, she has become so aware of everything and everyone around her and she doesn't know what to do with herself. She cries her 'hungry cry', takes a single sip of her bottle and then amuses herself by holding it upside down and watching it drip all over the carpet. Take the bottle away, she screams at the top of her lungs. Try to feed her, she screams at the top of her lungs. Put the cap on the bottle to stop the dripping, she screams at the top of her lungs. Try to distract her with another toy, she screams at the top of her lungs.

Somehow, amidst this utter chaos, there was a moment so beautiful that I would actually repeat this awful day over and over again if it meant I could experience that moment just once more. After dealing with several emotionally-charged phone calls, then several more phone calls about something entirely unrelated but equally stressful, a dog that has howled incessantly for hours and a baby that, despite being full of the cold, is desperate to crawl, but falls over and bangs her head every two minutes, I decided that enough was enough, the phone was going to be left unanswered, the dog was going in her kennel and the baby was going to sit in her bebepod seat while I had a hot shower and something to eat (breakfast at 4 pm). The gloriously hot shower lasted about 4 minutes before the dog started howling yet again from her kennel, which scared the over-tired and sick baby into inconsolable screaming, shaking, turning purple, tears streaming down her face, choking, sputtering, the whole deal. For an hour. Starving and exhausted, I collapsed on my bed with Ella in my arms. She started to calm, the heart-breaking screams slowly replaced by erratics sobs. We lay on our sides, staring into each others' eyes when she grabbed the neck of my sweater, pulled my face to hers and put her chubby little arms around my neck while nuzzling my cheek. With tears in my eyes, and her drifting to sleep, I tried to be as still as possible so I wouldn't break our first true embrace {despite the dog howling in the background and kids screaming at the top of their lungs outside our window - it's a miracle the phone didn't ring!}. All I could think to myself was "so this is what it's all about..." One little gesture of reciprocated affection, just when I need it most.

pattern :: saartje's bootees yarn :: koigu kpppm :: color p409

a little pair of 'shoes':: modelled by ella but intended for someone much smaller :: a late baby gift that will {hopefully} be on it's way very soon

slipping

It's been a while.

Again.

I just can't seem to get a grasp of how quickly the days are going by. With so much to do and so little actually being accomplished, time is slipping through my fingers and there seems to be nothing concrete to show for it. When I have a spare moment I spend it breathing in my baby :: kissing her forehead while she naps :: playing peek-a-boo for an extra couple of minutes to hear her squeal in delight just one more time :: watching her pass a piece of ribbon from hand to hand, studying it intensely, glancing at me as if to say 'look at what I can do', then smiling with glee at her newfound ability to explore the world around her :: sitting on the couch with my little girl {she sits!}, waiting for the moment when she'll relax that perfect posture of hers and sleepily lean into my side, quietly drifting off for a few minutes of restorative slumber. So many moments to breathe in before they slip away. So many other things pulling me {or should I say 'us'} in different directions, leaving us perpetually waiting for the right time, the right opportunity, the right moment to start our new lives. Kind of like we're spinning in a centrifuge, waiting for the right moment to stop and watch the layers separate, some rising to the top while others slip away and sink to the bottom. Maybe I'll just leave it at that, before I get too upset and too lost in my thoughts to sleep. Ah, sleep, what a comforting thought :) It doesn't come easily these days, during this time of incredible transition, but when it does, it is sweet and very welcomed. Even if it is punctuated with the occasional cry from ella. And the not-so-occasional coughing fit which I've been plagued with for the past couple of weeks. I'm crossing my fingers that I'm on the brink of recovery as this cough is literally taking my breath away, catching on what seems like every fifth word - I desperately want to breathe and talk again, without being left in a fit of uncontrollable, convulsive sputtering. Nothing like being over-dramatic when you're sick, eh? :) Yes, I'm feeling sorry for myself and perhaps a little pouty because my husband is away working and not here next to me.

A quick word about this space :: I love writing here and I truly miss it, but it is yet another thing that I feel is slipping away from me. This isn't just about finding the time, but rather finding the 'right' time to come up with something meaningful and hopefully coherent {more challenging than it sounds}, not to mention the fact that all creative content is stalled or 'in-progress' and internet access is a rare occurence. Let's not discuss how desperately behind I am. I just am. And there seems to be no end in sight. But I'm determined to make this work and although I'm tempted to say I'll resume when things finally settle down, I can't because I don't know when that will be. So instead just know that if there is silence, it is not deliberate, just circumstantial...aligning the 'right time' with some creative content and access to the internet is an ever-sought-after yet oh-so-elusive concept for me at the moment which I will try to conquer...