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.)

The four of us are in the basement.

The girls chase balls from the Ball Popper and fight over the Little People bus and giggle. I lounge in the big padded chair, legs dangling, while Eric sprawls on the floor twirling a plastic orange.

Mash-ups fill the air. Do any of you watch Glee? Did you see the episode where the girls sang Halo/Walking on Sunshine and the guys sang It’s My Life/My Confessions? We’d heard mash-ups before, but became obsessed after that episode. Now hundreds mark our playlists.

On came Earth, Wind Fire vs. Flo Rida: Low Let’s Groove Tonight. A perfect mix of old and new.

Eric and I’s eyes meet across the room. Both our heads are bopping in time to the beat, and I know we are both physically present in the room, but back on the dance floor where we first met and spent almost every weekend our first two years together. Bass thumping, laser lights flickering, sweat, drinks, seemingly never-ended nights of craziness, early morning breakfasts at Golden Griddle.

We share a moment, a secret smile while the girls whirl around us.

There is our life now, our most precious and exasperating children, snuggly and half-deaf dog, forever home and work we never anticipated.

But before it all there was just us. I love this history that anchors our marriage, that gives context and meaning and foundation.

Lucy bodychecks Alice away from a tower of blocks, and tandem screeching wrenches us back into the moment.

Another snippet of life remembered and written.

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.

___

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.

It’s just shy of 10 weeks since Eric had his snip-snip. So today he took his sample into to the lab at our local hospital.

I did my part of the deed (don’t get excited…partners are asked to refrain from helping) by dropping off both girls to daycare this morning so Eric had time on his own at home.

“So, here they are.”

I shake the orange lidded jar, now not at all sterile. “Wow. That’s not a lot.”

“What?! Shut up.”

(Isn’t it fun to get men all riled up about their manhood?)

“Are you just going to carry it like that?”

“No, I need a bag or something.”

“We don’t have any paper around the house.”

“Grocery bag?”

“Too big.”

“I have some gift bags in the basement?”

Eric bursts out laughing. “Happy birthday! Here’s some sperm!”

I glare at the jar. “Well, let’s hope there are no swimmers left in there. I hope they’re all dead.”

Results within a week. I’ll keep the details of that night private.

Jen O. emailed yesterday asking if we were planning any sort of memorial for Eric’s fertility. I snorted.

He put on his appropriately emblazoned Chillin’ t-shirt and baggy green fatigue workout pants for the day. Although he’s not looking forward to the procedure itself, I know he’s eagerly anticipating a weekend of having his feet up and hiding out in the man cave with a bag of frozen peas (I swear the cashier at the grocery store yesterday knew, as I tossed, like, five bags on the conveyer belt…).

Wish us (well, him) luck today.

This morning I got out of the shower, and followed Eric and Lucy’s voices to her room.

I found my husband with a pink and purple ribbon tiara on his head, and a half nekkid doll in his arms. He was playing princess while changing Baby Bubba’s diaper.

I look at him with raised eyebrows, a smirk on my face.

“Yeah, this is a high point for my masculinity, isn’t it?” he said dryly.

When I went in with the camera a few minutes later, Eric tore the tiara off his head. “Don’t even think about it,” he growled with a grin. Fine. I can promise you, however, that the expression on his face was much like this — circa The Cottage 2001 — when he begrudgingly let me bedazzle his hair:

New love and fatherhood: One can get away with anything…

I had Danielle, who snapped the fabulous photos of our girls, go outside of her normal repertoire and capture Eric and I for our 10 years together in February. We took these in the Boonies on a rather chilly Saturday afternoon in May.

It was a chance for us to remember that long before marriage and houses and babies, there was just us. And always will be.

Thanks, Danielle. Visit her at 40piggies Photography.

Not that Eric isn’t super busy and stressed at work. But some days it certainly feels like this, don’t you agree?

I’m so far behind on recording the little happenings in our life lately. Before they are forgotten forever in the vortex of summer and growing kids, a list (with pics, below):

• Three Dora & Diego window stickers & a beach ball now grace the glass and floor in Lucy’s room, because my girl has gone poop on the potty FOUR TIMES in a row! That’s right, no 3+-year-old poopy diapers in a week. We are so thrilled. And so is Lucy. She keeps asking if we’re calling everyone to tell them — and that “I’m so proud of myself!”
• If you’re wondering what worked, it was a combo of give and take: I bought some dollar store toys, and put them in a bucket in the bathroom so she could see them. When she went poop, so got a prize. If she went poop in her diaper, she had TV taken away for the rest of the day. We only had to take TV away three times before she realized we meant business. — and that television AND a toy was awesome.
• Speaking of poop, poor Alice is battling terrible constipation. A result, I think, of adding a second bottle of formula a day, Cheerios and crackers. She just hollers like the devil when she goes. We are taking out stock in prunes
• Speaking of butts, Alice can sit up on her own now. It’s so adorable when they can do that! A whole new world to learn about from that angle
• Also, her top two teeth are coming in. Anyone else hate teething? Yeesh.
• I have piles and piles of reviews to do and write (vitamins, food, play centres, pacifiers). I think the week I’m at the cottage with the girls will be review week.
• Our gardens look gorgeous right now. Must post pics.
• We saw the Sound of Music on Saturday (must see the movie still, as I don’t quite get what all the fuss is about…), and we were away from the girls from 9:30 a.m. until 6 p.m. During the performance, I had this pain in my arm that traveled from my elbow to shoulder, and was all freaked out telling Eric to watch in case I had a stroke. When we got home and Alice drained my milk-swollen right breast? Pain disappeared. WEIRD. Can one get milk backed up in their appendages?
• The other weekend was our local Duck Derby, and guess who was there? Bram from Sharon, Lois and Bram! Remember Skinnamarink-A-Dinky-Dink? ALL the parents in the audience were swaying and singing, blissful in reliving their childhoods, while our kids were looking around suspiciously. T’was hilarious.
• For Father’s Day, Lucy made personalized keepsake jars for Eric, her Papa and Grandpa. They were a hit, and she loved doing them.
• It’s stinkin’ hot out, and I LOVE IT. Been hanging tons of laundry, with Alice babbling away in her booster seat outside on the deck
• I lost three nose pins this weekend — two down the drain, and one in bed. Grr…
• Lucy and I did swimming lessons together for eight weeks. More on this later.
• Stroller Fit class continues to be great fun, and an even awesomer workout now that instructor Kelly has kicked it up: We walk faster, use benches, tip toe up hills. No weight loss, but this weekend I fit into pants I haven’t been able to in years!

And pics: