There’s this box in my closet:

It’s been in my closet, getting fuller, since 2005 when I got pregnant with Lucy and started growing out of my clothes. Each year I’ve added to it. Some stuff has come out and back into my wardrobe, but more has gone in.

The other weekend I decided The Box and I had to have it out. It’d been mocking me for years. That stack of clothes that I’d One Day Fit Into Again When I Lost Those Last 5 10 15 lbs. (surely you have a collection, too?). I was sick of looking at it.

I gave away all the pants but these ones. My once beloved favourite pair of jeans, and a pair of fuchsia cotton casuals from Jacob that (used to) make my ass look great.

Two kids later:

Great butt (ha!)...

But yeah...so NOT getting these babies done up!

Hellllooooo muffin top!

Know what? Purging everything felt great. I made peace with myself with this exercise. While I learned a long time ago to accept my body for what it is post-babies, I realized this weekend that that box was really holding me back. Just like I am not the same person I was in 2005 before kids, my body is not the same as it was — nor will it ever be.

Muffin top and bustin' buttons. I kept this shirt though, too -- an old, timeless love from Old Navy.

This does not at all mean I’ve given up. A few months ago I started to make time to exercise. The old adage of not having enough time just wasn’t cutting it anymore. I know this extra weight took almost five years to put on, and it’s not going to come off over night. And I’ve started walking in the mornings with my girlfriend Corrie more for the health benefits than to lose weight. I want to be healthy for my kids. I want to be around as long as possible.

That, I feel, is the best gift I can give them. Even though Lucy squeals, “Mumma, you’re SWEATing! That’s yucky!” when I come in at 6:45 a.m. and give her a wet hug, I’m proud to answer, “That’s right!” when she asks if I was out “exercisin’ with Rowan’s mumma Corrie?”

Now those pants and that shirt sit atop my closet. Still in my line of sight as a gentle reminder of what I was, and what I’d one day like to be again. But not so mocking as The Box.

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On a funny note, I kept this, too:

That, my friends, is a skin-tight black cat suit. I used to wear it clubbing. And wore it to the top of the CN Tower in 2000 for Eric and I’s one-year anniversary (he gave me a silver bracelet). I’m keeping it for kicks. Surely Lucy and Alice will appreciate it one day? Not that they’d EVER be allowed to wear it in public or anything…

This is my journalism t-shirt from Ryerson University. It was back when shirts were bellybutton-baring — remember those, circa 1999? I didn’t try it on this weekend, but swear I’d have underboob if I did.

I love the back the best (and will never give it away!) because it’s so very true about us journalists:

Is there anything to this theory of kids getting sick when the seasons change?

Last Friday, Lucy woke up around 9:30 on fire.

She was half asleep, but delirious and burning up. She refused to let us take her temperature, so I’m not sure what it was at. But I’d guess in the 100′s.

Thirty-six hours later, she was fine. No other symptoms except the fever.

Tonight we put Alice to bed with a fever of almost 103…and that was after a dose of Advil more than two hours before.

Alice has also had double pink eye in the past month. Both girls currently have colds and are wheezing with the beginnings of runny noses. My business partner is still recovering from pneumonia, while both her kids have had illnesses aplenty since the end of March. My early morning walking partner’s son had a stomach virus for eight day, then double pink eye right after.

WTF, people?! Are you all going through this, too?

Not sick at the Toronto Zoo this morning

Last Monday I told Eric I was feeling intermittent dizziness.

Tuesday I told my business partner, Kirsty, my vision was blurring, and dizziness increasing.

Wednesday afternoon I was flat out on the couch, unable to sit, stand or walk without feeling like I was on the Tilt a Whirl at the fair. Or suffering from a wicked ass hangover without a drink passing my lips. The world spun. I was nauseous when my eyes were open, and crashed into walls when walking. I could not even think about picking up Lucy or Alice, or driving the car. Eric had to come home early.

A visit to a walk-in clinic revealed a viral inner ear infection. “Wait it out,” Dr. S said after tapping my joints and listening to my organs to make sure I wasn’t dying from some rare neurological disease (or a stroke, as I was honestly worried about, what with three of the five early warning signs).

On the couch or in bed I remained for the next two days, while Eric, and then my parents, looked after the girls. It took until Saturday afternoon to feel any semblance of normal.

Do you ever feel guilty when you’re sick? Even though I was completely justified in being prostrate for three days, popping Gravol and Advil like candy, I felt…bad watching Eric do everything. Helpless. Lucy was very frustrated that I wasn’t involved in bedtime or couldn’t even sit to watch a movie with her. Alice didn’t care as much, or couldn’t articulate it in the same way, although she did keep toddling over to me and laying her head down on my pillow for smooches.

Both Eric and I have single parents in our families, and I think last week gave us a whole new respect for them. Sure, we’ve had days before when one of us has been away or working late, but having one of us completely unable to function was a new and harsh experience. I can’t even imagine having to do baths or cook feeling the way I felt.

To all the single parents out there: You rock.

(And special extra thanks to my hubby and parents for helping when our family needed it most.)

So, did you get the H1N1 shot?

We, guiltily, have not yet. No excuse except we keep forgetting (OK, and maybe another reason, but I put it below in a lame attempt to hide it).

But.

Last week Alice had the flu. Albeit it was short — 24 hours — she still had it. To feel her shaking in my arms with the chills and watch her face turn red as she choked while vomitting in her crib at 2 a.m. was enough of a reminder that we must get the damn shot. I’ve been on second child flu watch ever since, too, just waiting for Lucy to get something.

(Tangent: Why do kids always throw up in the middle of the night? Why not at 9 a.m. when I’m completely awake and not half nekkid clutching my bathrobe? And why always in bed? Why not on the hardwood floors that are at least easier to clean? They’re born programmed this way, aren’t they?)

• Flu clinics are now open to everyone, and the Region of Durham has a full list of local clinics here (many doctor’s offices are administering it, too)
• No matter where you live in Ontario, the Ministry of Health and Long-Term Care has links to every health unit in the province here.
• They also have a really neat self-assessment tool for parents to determine if your child under five or youth/adult over 5 actually has the flu. Check it out here.
• Pregnant? Here’s info on the unadjuvanted vaccine and why it’s so important to get the shot

We have a doctor’s appointment Thursday and will finally get this done and over with. I feel terrible admitting this, but I’ve also been subconsciously avoiding going because I’ll have both girls on my own. How have those of you with two done this? I figure I’ll have to get Lucy done first, ’cause I know Lucy will bolt once she sees Alice freak out. But then do I leave Lucy upset while Alice gets done? Do them both at once?

Help!

The Moms Fight the Flu blog tour is organized by Mom Central Canada to spread the word among Moms about the H1N1 virus & vaccine and what you should do if you think your child has the flu. By making sure Moms have access to reliable information we can help everyone stay healthier this season!

My friend Jodi had a beautiful baby boy this weekend named Gavin.

Jodi and I both studied journalism and were floormates at Ryerson, and have stayed close since. We don’t see each other much, but usually email once a month, and she is a regular reader of this site. For as long as I’ve known her, she was never sure she wanted children. So when she announced she was was pregnant, most of us were shocked and incredibly tickled. It’s been such a pleasure to watch her grow these past months.

Jodi’s husband Brad shared this photo on Facebook over the weekend, and it hasn’t strayed far from my mind since I saw it Sunday.

You all probably know that look as well as I do. That’s the first look of love when you hold your minutes-old baby in your arms. There is no duplicating it. There is no faking it. That is pure, raw love.

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This morning as I tidied the house, I started absentmindedly sorting toys. Alice has started growing out of those soft, small stuffies and plastic rings, gravitating more towards larger, louder, more interactive toys. I’ve started a pile to sell/donate, and a pile to keep for family and friends’ babies.

The last time I packed toys away, I knew they would be played with again in our house. We knew we were not finished having kids, that there was one more wee McDougall-Foster to bring into this world.

But this time. Today. Today it slammed into me that we are done. Really, truly done. I will never be pregnant again. I will never breastfeed again. I will never carry a teeny being inside a pouch slung across my chest again. Those newborn coos and wails will never reverberate off our walls.

I will never have that look of new love again.

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The Gentle Vasectomy Clinic called today. It’s been almost two weeks, and they have yet to receive Eric’s results. Receptionist Brian — who 11 weeks ago candidly demonstrated how to put a numbing patch on my husband’s testicles — is now on their trail.

We are anxious and excited.

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My friend Carolyn once said when you are done having children, you must mourn for the babies you will never have. That always rang true, and I understood it from a practical level. But today the process has started.

I honestly do not want more kids. My capacity — emotionally, physically, financially — has been reached, good and bad. Our family feels right and complete.

And I’m OK with that.

But it doesn’t mean it can’t ache once in a while.