The Reality of a Baby That Won't Sleep

I do want to blog more.
But life is a touch insane right now.

Baby X has a real problem with this one little, teensy thing we do sometimes. You may have heard of it? It's called sleep. I think, anyway. I haven't really experienced it for months so I'm pretty sure that's what it's called. I think you pronounce it "slay-eep", but again, sort of a vague concept at this point.

Little dude is amazing. So goddamn cute, seriously. If I didn't respect his whole and complete embarrassment of being associated with me in his older age, I'd be plastering his adorable mug all over this blog. You betchur ass I would.

Anyway, he's a gem, but he F*CKING HATES SLEEP, unless he is attached to me via my nipple, and even then the naps are sporadic, short, and I usually can't indulge because
A) he's attached to me,
B) I'm terrified of smothering him,
C) I'm worried I'm going to miss school pick up or not hear my alarm or (fill in the blank with any scenario an anxious person could worry about, and
D) if I AM able to relax, I generally start to drift off just as he wakes up.

I am not emotionally able to do sleep training, at least for now, but every single other adult I ever utter the word "tired" to has informed me that I'm foolish and that it is my only option. Not there yet. Whenever he cries for more than a little bit (think seconds, maybe a minute), it makes me feel physically ill. If he's just whining a bit and I HAVE TO do something else, I can tolerate it, but he tends to panic/hysterical cry once it's dark out/bedtime/in his room and I just can't stomach it.

So, for now, I am the master of my own misery. Unless the Hubs can start to lactate, I'm in a bit of a baby prison. A very cute, adorable, snuggle-bug baby prison. It could be worse. I'm just so so sleepy.

SO, I think somewhere deep down inside of me I am capable or blogging again. I do enjoy it. I just never have any time. But I will get back to it. When he doesn't cry if I am more than one foot away from him. So... by 15 or 16... years?

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5am Cookies? Nom Nom Nzzzzzzz

Surprisingly, throughout my process of packing, bubble wrapping, sorting, taping, folding and sobbing  cleaning, I found something really effective to distract myself while still doing work.

I decided that rather than pack, I'd bake my mom cookies.

Starting at 4 in the morning.

And not because I was "rising and shining" early, but because my bedtime has been falling around 6am for the past several nights.

Now, this happens to be one thing I didn't research about moving or packing, but I can only ASSUME that my baking cookies TOTALLY helps my cause, and somehow helps me pack.

Right?

Maybe?

Also... I totally need to blog about the award bestowed upon me by Keith in my next post, because it's late and I have to check on my cookies.

I also want to write a few Olympic posts... As in, I made some serious self discoveries while watching sports, and I think Oliver Pistorius in one amazing athlete, and genuine gentleman.

Please tell me you saw him run? He really is an icon on and off the track.

Oliver Pistorius just blew my mind today. I hope he is proud. You know, of his accomplishment, not about blowing my mind. [image VIA]

I'm in the most respectful kind of awe, ever. (Because talking to your mom on the phone for 12 minutes straight about Pistorius' awesomeness is apparently ALSO helpful when it comes to not packing).

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Holy Shit, It's May!

When did that happen?

How did that happen?

And why did I have 5 ice cream cookie sandwiches today? Hmmm? I need an answer for that one, most importantly.

I feel like life has been on hold for 3 years. Time to unpause, just not sure how to do it (though pretty sure eating my way into plus-sized clothing isn't a successful game plan...)

What are your plans for May? 

What do you tell yourself when you feel exhausted, unwell, but determined to change?

And how do you NOT buy and consume a multi-pack of ice cream treats?

Damn, this world is just so confusing.


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Honeymoon Travel From Hell - Part 3

So... if you are new to the blog, or need a refresher, you can find Post #1 here, and then Post #2 here.

The way it was supposed to be:
- Plane #1 Toronto - Heathrow, London, England (Day 1)
- Plane #2 Heathrow - Columbo, Sri Lanka (Day 1-2)
- Plane #3 Columbo, Sri Lanka - Male, Maldives (Day 2)
- Plane #4 Male, Maldives - Maldivian Resort (sea plane ride) (Day 2)

We arrived at Heathrow in London on AC848 (Plane #1, but not actually the plane we were supposed to be on), hungry and having slept a few hours of that light-annoying-I-can-still-hear-the-people-around-me kind of way. I think it was 8:25am in London, but who are we kidding? My body knew it was really 3:25am REALITY (Ontario) TIME.

I was exhausted, and we had yet to figure out what, if any connections we had ahead of us, and which flights we had to try to book then and there in Heathrow.

We took the very, very long walk to the train to get from Terminal 3 to Terminal 4 (where the Sri Lankan air desk was located). After a 13 minute wait for the train to arrive, we trained it for 11 minutes to Terminal 3, where, at the Sri Lankan desk, there was not a soul to be found.

We had never considered that flights with a hub in Columbo, Sri Lanka, might not typically depart around 8am. F_ck. So, no help there.

We tried calling Canadian 800 numbers for assistance. Those bitches were sleeping at 3am, yo.
We tried calling some effed up numbers in Sri Lanka, and we couldn't get any of the calls to work, no matter the country code options.

When we got one to work, the person couldn't understand a goddamn word we said.

We tried the useless as f_ck airport information desk, who also tried dialling the same calls, with the same results. She then advised us to come back about an hour before the next Sri Lankan Air flight was set to depart.

"When would that be?" we asked, trying to be polite, feeling cranky as hell, and hoping the response would be in the range of "now" to "soon".

"Well, I don't know, check the boards" she grunted.

If any of you have ever been in an airport, you might notice they have a shit-ton of flights coming and going. And due to that fact, they only show outbound flights over the course of the next few hours on the monitors.

There was not a single Sri Lankan flight.

We took the long, long trek back down to the train, and returned (via an 11 minute train ride, while hauling our luggage) to Terminal 3. Why? Because there was a Star Alliance "arrivals" lounge, thank the gods, so we could access the bloody internet and attempt to figure out what was going on.

In the Star Alliance Arrivals Lounge:

In all fairness, the British women at the Air Canada Arrivals Lounge were absolutely kind and helpful. They helped us find alternate contact numbers for Sri Lankan Air, and were patient with us when The New Husband AKA the Former Feyoncé™ had to use their phone for TWO HOURS to try to get us on Sri Lankan air flights that would get us into Male, Maldives, you know, IDEALLY BEFORE THE END of our honeymoon.

They told us that our entire itinerary was visible on screen to Air Canada agents, including the flights that never connected. Turns out the assholes back in Toronto, Ontario, Canada at Pearson airport just didn't want to take the time to help us out, explain there was a problem, and prevent the mass confusion we endured over the next 20+ hours while trying to rebook.

I ate some wheat and some dairy out of desperation. I had a can of coke. It was about 6am Canada time.

We tried calling our insurance policy, purchased through Expedia.ca, to find out if they would reimburse costs to us for the rebookings. Their response?

"NONE OF IT IS COVERED."

What about the night we are missing at our non-refundable, pre-paid, expensive fancy-pants honeymoon resort in the Maldives?

"NOTHING PRE-PAID IS INCLUDED. See the limitations and exclusion clause at the end of your policy."

WHAT THE F_CK!?!??! We had both reviewed the travel insurance policy, purchased through Expedia.ca and provided by Mondial Assistance, but lo and behold we had missed this imperative clause below:

Um, kind of defeats the point, doesn't it?

So then The New Husband AKA the Former Feyoncé™ tried calling his out of country travel insurance through his work to ask for help.Guess what the person's response was on the phone?

"Didn't you just call me about this? I already told you it's not covered".

NO.WORD.OF.A.F_CKING.LIE.
SAME.FREAKIN'.GUY

Turns out his work coverage is completely identical to the shitty Expedia travel insurance plan, right down to the ONE GUY who answers the phone in the early morn, somewhere in Waterloo, Ontario, Canada.

Unless your travelling companion dies, or some crazy-ass weird shit goes down, or one of you loses a limb under certain conditions only, expect nothing from MONDIAL ASSISTANCE.

It gets confusing here, and I have probably already lost most of you, but the bottom line is that after the The New Husband AKA the Former Feyoncé™ spent hours on the phone in the lounge, and after Sri Lankan hung up on him twice, we were put on a flight departing Heathrow to go to Columbo (Sri Lanka) 3.5 hours later than planned.  This was NOT our final stop, remember, and we had two more connecting flights.

With this new set-up, we were set to take plane #2 and ARRIVE in Sri Lanka at 1:00pm the following day.

The problem?

Despite all our calls and efforts, the next leg of our journey, AKA plane #3, AKA our "connecting" flight, DEPARTED the following day at 11:20am for Male.

See the problem there?

Seems that Sri Lankan Air has not yet grasped the definition of "connecting flight".

We were booked on an impossible connection, unless of course someone had purchased us those time-travelling spacesuits from our wedding registry last minute.

Turns out no one did.

Sadly, the arrivals lounge had to close at 1:00pm, and kick our tired, sorry asses out.
Remember now, we've been awake for about 24 hours at this point. We couldn't check our luggage because there was no one at the counter of our next, uncertain flight.

So we began the 4 hour wait before the Sri Lankan air counter opened up, to find out if the idiots on the phone had actually at least booked us some way to get to destination #2 out of 4.

And there's more....

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Just Call Me Cruella...

So, for the betterment of our dog Schultz, and our fur-parenting abilities, we started  dog  human training AGAIN today with a new trainer.

In the past we had tried someone who worked for Petsmart.... let's just say that when you have a 150 lb. raging beast before you, clicking a little clicker and offering up a smidgeon of beef bratwurst-like-substance will NOT refocus the dog on walking nicely and NOT eating your arm/the arms of those around you/anything smaller than him (within range).

We tried McCann's dog training. They claim to be the best. They are very confident in what they do. In an indoor, controlled environment... With a Halti or Gentle Leader... That he learned to outsmart/outwit/outplay/outlast in three days, with the quick snap of his face back and forth.

They refused to do training at our house. They said it's the same either way (trust me, if you have ever been on either side of our front door, you will know that this is NOT the case... "Indoor McCann Schultz" is a calm, tired dog. Beastly McBark-erson at the door is a whole different ball game).

When I called to say everything we were told to do was failing, that despite our efforts, we were failing and he was about to vote us off the island, I was kindly told that we should take pride in the fact that we "gave him a second chance on life".

WTF? Really?

If we had been on Survivor, we'd have been SCREWED, I tell you! Screwed!

They then suggested trying a prong collar on him.

This is a prong collar:

I have two words for you: OUCH.

That looks fucking awfully painful to me. Plus? Yeah, he was totally starved and abused by his former owners, and his neck is a trigger for him. He has an intense and awful fear response to being restrained by his neck (like, say, by his collar... or a PRONG collar... jaysus).

Thank goodness the vet said that was a ridiculous idea, to avoid triggering his neck area, and to try a Brad Pattinson-method trainer to see if that could help. So that's what we did.

This is the collar he has:

I haz feet.

Much kinder. Much friendlier. And damn effective, too!

Our trainer? Totally no nonsense. No treats. No garbage, but effective as hell. You can tell she loves dogs, and takes no guff.

Worst part? My injuries from the day:

The most hideous, hard to look at part? The vinyl kitchen floor.

And who were they from?

It's really hard to say who is more adorable. Or more furry.

Yeah, this adorable little thing. Not the Dane. I thought she'd be crated while we focussed on the big boy. Turns out I was oh-so-very-wrong. She needs the training just as badly as him, because I am a softy non-alpha dog.


Anyway, the reason I am cruel? We can't talk to the dogs for TWO WHOLE WEEKS! That's an eternity to a crazy person like me who talks to them all day long. You know.... about the stock market, how bloated my stomach is, how cheesy the pre-written vows are from the reverend-lady, how bad my feet smell.

You know. IMPORTANT things like that. THINGS THAT MUST BE SAID.

I have a feeling I am going to be blogging every goddamned day next week to   save my sanity   save what's left of my sanity   force SOMEONE to listen to me   feel like I am talking to someone. The penalty for talking to them is 7 push-ups. I totally want to stick with it, because I know it is training ME and helping THEM, but damn is it hard.

But I am gonna be RIPPED for the wedding. HA!

HOTTTT.

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