Do you use any specific parenting style?

Um, I think my parenting style could best be described as “Calm the fuck down. Trust your instincts. Stop reading the internets”. 

In all honesty though, I’m not too familiar with different parenting styles, aside from Attachment Parenting which I’ve read a bit about because despite loathing the name, it seems to mirror my feelings on many things eg. We use a baby carrier instead of a stroller [for now], I don’t believe in letting a baby cry it out, and I believe that providing a child a secure, safe and dependable base allows them to become more independent, not less.

But I wouldn’t describe that as my parenting style, because I don’t feel I know enough about it, I’m not keen on labels and we don’t do bedsharing or some other typical AP practices.

Last but not least, Olive is only 4 months old so I’m not sure how much actual parenting I’m doing here – I mean I’m not having to dole out consequences for misbehaviour or try and teach her right and wrong, I’m just making sure she eats, sleeps and has a clean nappy. You know, the easy stuff. 

(Adam just looked over and chimed in that in his opinion, our parenting style is “Good Cop, Bad Cop”.



Adam just found a 1/4 brownie that I was hiding on top of the fridge.

Why was there only 1/4? I don’t want to talk about it. 

(So maybe I bought it as a secret special treat and was savouring it by doling it out in quarters, OKAY? January is almost over. I WILL NOT BE JUDGED.)

Anyway he made me split it with him. 

And then, THEN just as I was starting to feel ashamed, I reach for his glass of milk – which I thought was the almond milk we had in our fridge – and he says: “Don’t drink that, it’s cream.”



Dude was just sitting there drinking a glass ofcream.

I just….I don’t…how are we allowed to be parents?

Adam was miffed that I gave the Coles Notes version of our grand courtship yesterday when someone asked how we met – so here’s the long version. 

We met when he was in his final year at the University of Lethbridge, and I was in my second year. I was dating a guy with a broken arm the first time I ever saw Adam, he was leaning against the wall of the campus bar as I was trying to corral said broken-armed boyfriend, who was ridiculously drunk at the time, and also ridiculously wealthy. 

(The wealthy part isn’t particularly relevant, except that every so often I like to remind Adam that I could have married this super rich guy, and then Adam reminds me that he could have married that super hot girl who went on to become a provincial pageant winner and then we both sort of stare at each feeling special as we realize that we must have been pretty fantastic to take the place of Richie Rich and Miss Congeniality, respectively.)

Anyway, I thought this mysterious wall-leaner was gorgeous, and I wrote something in my journal about “the guy with the dark eyes”. 

Then a few weeks later I ran into him at Pita Pit with his best friend (Pita Pit will always hold a special place in my heart). I blushed crimson and didn’t say much. I didn’t see him again until the start of the new school year when I bumped into him at a country bar called Esmerelda’s (country music will always have a special place in my heart). He won me over with his smooth dance moves and his goofy grin, and we quickly became inseparable

I would go to watch his hockey games and leave mushy notes on his windshield. He would bring me smoothies in the morning, and he taught me how to be happy.

We moved back to Calgary after he graduated, and I transferred to the University of Calgary. We lived together, we fought, we broke up because he said he couldn’t see himself ever marrying me. He recanted, started a nine month campaign to win me back. It didn’t work, and he moved away. I recanted, followed him. We got back together and moved to this town six months later. 

Over the next seven years we got a dog, got engaged. We laughed and fought and made up and travelled. We got married. Together we made three houses into homes. 

We got pregnant, and we had Olive, and that, as they say, is that.

I haven’t always liked him, but I have always, always loved him.