Respect the Nap

During the first few weeks of M's life, I could not understand why people would say to never disturb a sleeping baby. I disturbed M all the time and she just went right back to sleep. That's the thing about newborns - they sleep all. the. time. Often, M would fall asleep while eating and, no matter how hard I tried, I could not wake her up to finish her bottle. I tried stroking her cheek, calling her name, kissing her, tickling her, changing her diaper, and any other way I could think of 'disturbing' her. She just would not wake up! The only thing that occasionally worked was the diaper change, probably because it was cold.

Then, at about 6-8 weeks, M began screaming uncontrollably in the late afternoon into the evening.

"It's the witching hour," veteran moms would nod, giving me that knowing, sympathetic look. So I chalked up the frantic crying to this so-called 'witching hour' and thought we would have to deal with the screaming every night until the magical age of three months, when babies apparently suddenly become better adjusted to things like sleeping and eating.

Several times, I called the doctor in a panic because M would not stop crying and I thought she would just cry herself blue. The doctor called it "colicky behavior" and suggested wearing her in a front-carrier in the afternoons (I think I did this one time), holding her upright after feedings (we always did this), and burping her several times throughout her meals (we did this since she was born).

Then I read something life-changing online. I can't remember exactly where it was, but somebody wrote about the importance of following your baby's cues. After all, especially when they are so young, babies act on instinct. They don't get hungry or tired because they are bored; they get hungry because they need food and they get tired because they need sleep! It is very important to notice when your baby tells you she is hungry or tired and to respond to her needs. If you learn your baby's cues, you will be able to give her what she needs BEFORE she starts crying.

Unbelievable.

Young newborns often show they are hungry by sucking on their fingers. M used to try to eat my shirt. (She still does this, but now it is because she constantly tries to eat everything.) Babies show they are tired by yawning, rubbing their eyes, fussing, or just lying amongst their toys staring but not playing with them.

Once I learned to notice M's cues and respond to them almost immediately, her nighttime screaming stopped. I realized she had been crying so hard because I had let her get overtired. I was so used to her falling asleep instantly in the first few weeks of her life that I wasn't yet trained (yes, trained!) to put her to bed for a nap when she needed it. As babies mature, they become more like us--they need the proper environment to sleep. M sleeps best in her crib while wearing her sleep sack and sucking a pacifier. We keep the fan on a low setting to circulate some air and provide some white noise to help her drift off.

Now that M gets her naps when she needs them, she has been sleeping much better at night and is usually in a happy mood while awake. That's not to say there aren't days when she still gets overtired (especially if we are out all day--she does not nap well in her stroller) or cries at night for other reasons, but overall, if I listen to the cues she gives me, she is a much happier baby--which makes me a much happier mommy!

Our babies can't talk, but they can definitely communicate--so pay attention to them!

And respect the nap, people. Respect the nap.

Expect Anything: Part Three

When we last left off, I was in labor and found out I had a fever. Though I was not feeling sick (aside from feeling freezing) and I was still comfortable from the epidural, I became anxious to get the baby out and make sure she and I were okay.

For another several hours, I lay on the bed waiting. The nurse turned out the lights and told me to get some sleep. According to her, it would be the last time I would be able to get a real restful sleep for a while (she was so right!). Unfortunately, I was so worried about my fever causing complications that I couldn't sleep much.

Finally, my doctor came in, checked my cervix, and declared it was time to start pushing. She turned the lights on and dropped the end of the bed. The change from being in labor to getting ready to push seemed to happen out of nowhere since the epidural prevented me from feeling contractions.

The proper way to push, the nurse said, was to wait for a contraction, then take a deep breath and push while counting to ten. Though in movies and on TV, women often scrunch up their face to push, the nurse said not to push with my face but with my body.

I severely underestimated the difficulty of pushing after having an epidural. Though they stopped the epidural medication, I did not gain back enough feeling to have an "urge to push," as many people describe.

My daughter was +2 already by the time I started pushing, which meant she was in the birth canal and I just had to get her past the bone. No matter how hard I pushed, she would not budge. After a few minutes of trying, my doctor said the baby was not tolerating the pushing. Her heart rate went down significantly every time I had a contraction. Hearing that scared me. The nurse gave me an oxygen mask because "more oxygen for mommy means more oxygen for baby."

"We're probably going to have to do a c-section," said my doctor.

A c-section! I was not prepared to get a c-section! Not mentally, not emotionally...I was a mess.

Yet, I had a fever, the baby wasn't tolerating the pushing, and she wasn't making any progress in the birth canal.

"I really don't want a c-section," I insisted. After all, I had only just started pushing! Maybe I would get better at it.

Thankfully, the baby responded well to the extra oxygen, so I was allowed to continue trying to push her out. My doctor left for a while, but the nurse stayed. She was amazing. She shouted at me like a coach shouting at her star player. When it was clear I needed more help, she tried various strategies to help my pushing along, such as elastic things for me to pull while pushing.

I kept having to take off the oxygen mask to push, then put it back on while I caught my breath and waited for the next contraction. I was starting to feel the contractions again, but could still barely feel enough in the right areas to push effectively.

After about an hour and a half of pushing, my doctor returned.

"We need to do a c-section," she said.

Sweaty, exhausted, and frustrated, I started to cry. But I nodded my head, because I was tired of all the hard work with no progress.

"Don't cry," said my mom. "It's perfectly okay to have a c-section. As long as the baby is born healthy, that is all that's important."

I was scared of having surgery, and I felt like a failure in the pushing department, but I was also a little bit relieved as they wheeled me into the maternity operating room. I was so tired.

The operating room was at the end of the hallway in the labor and delivery ward. Z changed into scrubs and came with me. At this point, my father had arrived at the hospital--he and my mother waited in the family waiting area.

Thankfully, they started giving me epidural medicine again (those contractions were starting to get painful!). They also took away the oxygen mask and gave me oxygen through my nose instead. The anesthesiologist joked around with Z and me, and generally made us feel much more comfortable. Truthfully, Z seemed pretty comfortable anyway and mostly excited to finally have his baby.

They dropped a blue paper curtain down at around my chest area, blocking my and Z's view of the actual surgery. Several surgeons surrounded the lower 3/4 of my body. I could hear them talking and felt some odd tugging and pulling. The anesthesiologist gave us some general updates in his good-natured manner.

"This is it!" he said after a while. "You're going to feel a lot of tugging now!"

"There he is!" said my doctor. I felt a big tug and then heard a cry.

He? I thought. I knew what we were having, and it wasn't supposed to be a he...

I could vaguely see my doctor hold something up and declare, "Ooooh, he is a SHE!"

That was more like it!

They showed me my red, screaming baby with a cone-head from the pushing and I could hardly hold back my tears. Then they took her to another part of the room to clean her up.

Things got quiet for a little bit and then a bunch of doctors came rushing into the room.

"Is this a real code?" One of them said.

"Yes! A real code!" Someone else said.

"What's going on?" I asked the anesthesiologist, who was still hanging around by my epidural as the doctors sewed me back up.

"Oh, everything's fine," he said cheerily. "You'll see a bunch of doctors come in but that's all."

Several more doctors came in, then I heard my baby crying again and a general relaxed feeling permeated the room as the other doctors headed out in a more leisurely manner than they came in. I later learned that M had stopped breathing briefly, but she was fine. Apparently, this happens a lot. It's called a Code 100.

Finally, my doctor brought over my daughter all bundled up and in a snug little hat. Her skin was so white it was almost translucent, and as I took her in my arms, she stared at me with huge, round, bright blue eyes.

I could not believe I was actually holding my daughter.

...I could not believe I had a daughter.

After all those months of pregnancy and kicks and hiccups and worries, here she was in my arms.

Finally.

After I held her, Z held her, and then they took her away to the NICU.

Z was sent out as they finished sewing me up. They took out the epidural, but kept in the IV and the catheter. Then they wheeled me to the recovery area, where I met my parents.

I smiled at them.

"It's a girl."

Expect Anything: Part Two

When we last left off, Z and I were returning home from the hospital after being told I was not dilated enough to start active labor. On the drive home, I was starting to feel more uncomfortable, but my contractions were still somewhat mild. They just felt like really uncomfortable menstrual cramps.

We stopped off at the bagel store and Z went inside, leaving me to rest in the car. It seemed like he was in there for ages before he finally came out with our breakfast. I had been avoiding caffeine my entire pregnancy, but since I knew I was going to give birth soon, I allowed myself to get an iced coffee with my bagel and cream cheese.

Backtracking a bit, my younger brother had been studying in Israel for the past year and was surprising my mother that morning by coming home early. He was not supposed to come home until Sunday (remember, this story is happening on a Thursday). I didn't want to take away from his surprise, but I was itching to tell my mother my water had broken.

I know some couples like to keep the whole experience between them until it is over. I do like this idea, but I also felt like I wanted to give my parents a heads-up. It doesn't really matter which way you do it--whether you keep it all a secret or if you share what is going on--as long as both you and your spouse are comfortable with your decision.

Finally, we got texts that my brother had arrived home. My father sent out a video of my mother's reaction (which was priceless).

"Do you mind if I call my mother now?" I asked Z while we were finishing up our bagels.

"Go ahead," he said. "I'm going back to sleep."

We were both exhausted, having been awake since 4:15 in the morning.

"Okay, I'll be there in a few minutes."

Z went into our bedroom to lie down. I took another bite of my bagel and dialed my mom.

"Hi, Ima," I said.

"Hi, Shira," she said. "How are you?"

She sounded a little suspicious, which I figured she would be, considering I am usually at work at this hour of the morning.

"I'm good," I said. "Were you surprised by A?"

"Of course!" she said. "...Are you about to surprise me again?"

"Yeah. My water broke this morning."

 "...Are you serious?"

"Yep..."

I explained everything that had happened so far and promised to keep her updated. When I got off the phone, I finished up my iced coffee and slowly walked into the bedroom intending to go back to sleep. At that point, I was feeling quite crampy.

"Are you okay?" Z asked, half-asleep.

"Yes," I said. I sat down on my bed to take off my sneakers when my entire midsection was seized by an intense, burning squeeze. That is the only way I can describe it.

"Owwww!"

I leaned over on the bed and started crying.

Z sat straight up.

"Breathe!" he reminded me. "In-2-3-4..."

We were totally off on the breathing, and I just cried until the feeling passed.

"You have to do the breathing," Z said.

"I know."

"Are you okay now?"

"I think so."

I took off my shoes and the feeling erupted again.

"In-2-3-4!" Z counted, insistent. "Out-2-3-4!"

This time, I sat up straight, picked a focal point to stare at, and breathed correctly. Still, the contraction made me feel like my entire insides were on fire. I managed to get through it without crying, but now I was afraid of the next one. I knew that was bad. I had read about the importance of relaxing between contractions. If you don't let your body rest in between, you start each contraction already tense, which just makes them worse.

Z took off his watch and started timing. I was having intense contractions every three minutes--counting from the start of one to the start of the next. That meant just a minute and a half between each contraction.

"...I think we should go back to the hospital," said Z.

I was thinking the same thing. Maybe we never should have left.

I put my shoes back on, we gathered our things once more, and headed out to the car. I had to stop every few steps to have another contraction. Finally we made it to the car and headed back to the hospital.

This time when we got to the hospital, Z got a wheelchair for me and wheeled me straight to the maternity ward. We got to skip the office of admission because we had already filled everything out the first time we came to the hospital. There was a small office at the start of the maternity ward to sign in. Z left me there and went to go move the car.

The nurses in the office asked me a few questions, which I answered as best I could when I wasn't contracting. Then one of them wheeled me down the hall to a labor and delivery room.

The labor and delivery room had a bed in the center, a television mounted on the wall, a rocking chair, a warmer for the baby, some medical equipment, and a bathroom.

"This gets tied in the back," the nurse said, handing me a hospital gown. "You can change in the bathroom over there."

I took the hospital gown and went into the bathroom to change. This was quite difficult, considering I had to keep stopping in order to breathe through a contraction. While I was in the bathroom taking forever to change, Z came back.

I finally finished changing, came out of the bathroom, and got into the hospital bed. Again, I was hooked up to a fetal monitor and automatic blood pressure cuff. The nurse checked my cervix and announced I was three centimeters dilated. Between that and my regular contractions, I was finally in active labor.

"Are you going to want an epidural?" asked the nurse.

"I'm not sure..." I said. "I think so."

I was so afraid of the epidural. The possible (rare) complications are so frightening.

"Can I decide later?"

"Of course," the nurse said.

After getting me all settled and taking my medical history (this is the time it was absolutely necessary for Z to have my medical history typed out on his phone. There was no way I was in the presence of mind to give it over and I was contracting so often that I could only get a few words out before having to do the breathing), the nurse left the room.

Let me tell you--contractions are probably doubly more painful while lying down as opposed to sitting up. I wanted to sit up to breathe through them but I had to stay lying down because of the fetal monitor. It was so much more difficult to do the breathing exercise (which was deep breathing, by the way. Lamaze-style shallow breathing does not really work. Deep breathing does.) while lying down, and I ended up crying through a bunch of contractions. Suddenly, I didn't care about side-effects or complications--I just needed the pain to stop. I needed an epidural. I also needed one other thing.

"Z...can you ask my mom to come?"

"Of course," Z said.

Z had offered to have my mom come when we first got to the hospital. It was something we had talked about briefly, and I had waffled between wanting her there and wanting to keep the moment private between Z and myself. When Z first offered, I insisted I only wanted Z there with me. Once I was lying in the labor and delivery room having intense contractions, I had an "I want my mommy" moment, so Z called her to come. Throughout the whole experience, I was so grateful she was there, so I definitely made the right choice--for me. This is yet another one of those decisions that is different for everyone and you and your spouse have to decide what is right for the two of you. I was definitely glad my mother was there.

Meanwhile, I also sent Z out to find someone who could arrange for me to get an epidural. Before I could get one, they had to do a blood test to make sure my platelet count was good. Anesthesiologists generally don't like to give epidurals if your platelet count is below 100K.

While we were waiting for the test results to come back (it took 45 minutes!), my mother arrived. Not long after, the anesthesiologist finally showed up. At this point, it was around 1:30 in the afternoon. I was nervous about getting the epidural but I needed the contraction pain to stop.

"So you would like an epidural?" asked the anesthesiologist. He was short and skinny with a thin voice. He seemed to fade into the wall somewhat.

"Yes, please!" I said. "But I'm a little afraid of them."

"You're only going to feel a small pinch as I numb your back. After that, it shouldn't hurt."

"No," I said. "I'm not afraid of it hurting. I'm afraid of getting an infection or having a really bad side effect."

The anesthesiologist nodded.

"There's always a risk, but it's low, and I will do my best so that you won't have any complications."

He will do his best? That was not the reassurance I wanted to hear. I wanted him to guarantee that nothing would go wrong. Afterward, I realized that it would probably be a liability (not to mention dishonest) for him to guarantee anything, but in the moment, I was so nervous!

The anesthesiologist himself seemed a little nervous-natured. Something about his demeanor did not inspire a lot of confidence, but I did not have a lot of brainpower to devote toward being skeptical. 95% of my mental energy was focused on getting through the contractions. 

In order to get the epidural, I had to sit on the side of the bed and hunch over, exposing my back. Unlike what we thought would happen, Z was not sent out of the room. I felt a small bit of pressure when getting the epidural but that was it. It did not hurt at all. The hardest part was sitting in that position without moving while having a contraction. I actually alerted the anesthesiologist whenever I was having a contraction and he stopped what he was doing until it passed.

It took about ten-fifteen minutes for the epidural to work. My body felt so relaxed, suddenly. My mood brightened. I highly, highly recommend getting an epidural if you feel that your contractions are more than you can handle. It really, really works.

Now that I had an epidural, I had to get an IV to pump fluid into my body. I also had to get a catheter, since I was pretty numb from the waist down. Periodically, a nurse came in to check my temperature. Even less frequently, a nurse would come to check my cervix (this only happened once every few hours). Otherwise, Z, my mother, and I were left alone.

This was probably the best time during the whole labor experience. I was relaxed. I was able to doze off. Z, my mom, and I talked, joked, and "whatsapped" with my siblings, who had been alerted to the situation. I kept feeling chilly and my mother draped a few blankets over me. Otherwise, I was pretty comfortable. At 4:00, we watched Ellen on the mounted TV in the room. From the epidural going forward (maybe even because of the epidural), my labor progressed pretty slowly. It was a long afternoon of chilling out.

One time, a nurse came in to check my temperature as per usual, and then frowned.

"You have a temperature of 102.5."

What?

"I do? Is that really bad?"

I was so nervous that something went horribly wrong with the epidural and I had gotten the infection I feared earlier--the one the anesthesiologist had done "his best" to prevent from happening.

"Well, it means we need to get your fever down. And we treat your baby like it has a fever, too. It will have to go to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit to get antibiotics whether or not it has a fever. As long as your baby doesn't have a fever, it will be discharged after 48 hours."

"What if the baby does have a fever?"

"Then it will have to get a full round of antibiotics which could be like seven days."

I was freaking out.

The nurse left for  a few minutes, then came back and hooked up bags of two different kinds of antibiotics to my IV. Thus began the process of trying to break my fever.

(Next up: the birth)

Expect Anything: Part 1

The #1 piece of advice I would give an expectant mother is to be prepared for anything. That doesn't mean you should start worrying about every possible complication, but don't assume anything about how your pregnancy, labor, and birth experience will go.

I mostly worried about two things: having an epidural and getting induced.

Everyone told me first babies tend to come late. I naturally assumed my baby would follow the trend. I was due the last week in March, so I thought my daughter would for sure be an April baby. I worried about her being so late that I would need help going into labor. I read about inductions. I heard other people's stories of getting induced and how much more intense the contractions become. I wanted desperately to avoid an induction.

I planned to stop working the week of my due date, which was on a Wednesday. Thursdays were the days of my weekly doctor visits, where I was repeatedly told I was not dilated at all. At work, people kept asking me if I felt like I was going into labor soon, and I kept telling them no, I didn't. I wasn't really having strong Braxton Hicks contractions--I only had some light cramping from time to time. The only thing I really felt was huge and unable to breathe.

The Thursday before I was supposed to stop working, I woke up at 4:13 in the morning, went to the bathroom, and tried to convince myself my water had not just broken. I knew I should wake up Z, but what if it was nothing? What if I woke him up and we went to the hospital in the middle of the night only to be told it was a false alarm? Then both our nights would have been ruined and we would have to go to work exhausted. I tried to get back into bed, but every time I started walking, it became pretty obvious that going back to sleep would be a mistake.

"Z," I said.

No response.

"Z!"

"Hmmph?"

"Um, I think my water broke."

Then Z sat up.

"What?"

We were not prepared. We hadn't even finished packing our hospital bags! I called my doctor and left a message with the nighttime answering service. Then we scrambled around our apartment throwing things for us and the baby into a small suitcase--clothes, toiletries, hat for baby (that was humongous on her), pacifiers (that we didn't end up needing), bottles just in case (that we also didn't need), and stuffing a few more things into a small bag for during labor--lip balm (that I didn't use), picture of the baby's last sonogram as inspiration (that I also didn't use), camera, toothbrush and toothpaste, phone, chargers.

While waiting for the doctor to call back, I took a shower. I highly recommend this. You have no idea when you will shower next, and you are about to have an experience that will make you feel pretty gross. You don't want to go into it feeling gross already. Let's call taking a shower tip #1 for the labor and delivery process.

Then the doctor called back and we were on our way.

It was about 6:00 am by the time we left the apartment. A few people in our building started trickling out of their apartments to head to work. I desperately did not want to run into anyone we knew. I felt enveloped in a private bubble of 'going-to-the-hospital-to-have-a-baby' and I did not want that bubble punctured. Luckily, we made it to the car without any run-ins.

The trip to the hospital was uneventful. There was no traffic on the road yet so we made it there in about 15 minutes. We pulled up to the front and were allowed to leave our car there for 20 minutes so Z could escort me inside to get admitted.

Z asked me if I needed a wheelchair but I did not seem to be having contractions and could walk just fine. My only problem was, you know, my broken water. We headed to the registration desk, me feeling unsure about whether this was the right time. I wasn't feeling much in the pain department, but I knew that you were supposed to go to the hospital if your water breaks. I felt mostly dazed and wary about what would happen next.

A few weeks earlier, we took a tour of the hospital and preregistered. I did not quite understand the importance of preregistering until we sat there in the office of admission and all I had to tell them was my name. They pulled up on the computer who my OB was, who we were using as our pediatrician, and our insurance information. This would be tip #2 (remember, tip #1 was shower before you go): preregister. Especially since many women are already having contractions by the time they get to the hospital and you really do not want to be bothered with giving all your information when you can barely talk from the pain.

Still, it took a while to get admitted and Z went to park the car meanwhile. By the time he came back, we had just finished and it was time to go to the triage room.

The triage room has three beds, each with a curtain pulled around it for privacy. There is one shared bathroom. The purpose of the triage room is to ascertain how ready you are to start having your baby (choices: ready to go to a labor and delivery room, getting ready but your body needs more time, complete false alarm).

I changed into a hospital gown and was assigned to the middle bed. A nurse came and hooked me up to an automatic blood pressure cuff that contracted and released every few minutes, and to a fetal monitor, which is basically a machine that monitors your contractions and the baby's heartbeat. The machine is connected to round pads that get placed on your abdomen and are held there by a velcro belt. I found it relaxing to hear the rapid ba-bumps of my baby's heartbeat coupled with the periodic tight hugs of the blood pressure cuff. The odd thing was I could also hear ba-bumps coming from behind the curtain on my right.

At this point, Z and I were left alone for a little while. Nurses periodically checked in and asked for my medical history (why they didn't all have it on one chart, I don't know), but for the most part, we hung out and waited--me lying on the hospital bed, Z sitting in the chair beside me. I later learned there is a lot of hanging out and waiting in the hospital.

At 8:00 exactly, I said, "Z, we should probably call my work and tell them I'm not coming in today."
I could not wait to call work. I had been checking my phone every few minutes to see when it would be a late enough time to call (remember, we left home at 6 am). I work in a school, and for the past few weeks, the other teachers kept asking, "When are you having your baby already?!"

I made Z call because I thought it would be more exciting that way.

"Hello?" the principal answered the phone.

"Hi, this is Z, Shira's husband."

"Oh, hi!" I could hear from the phone. "How is Shira doing?"

I could tell from her voice that she knew why he was calling, and she was excited about it.

"Well, Shira's water broke this morning, so she'll be a little late for work."

"Z!" I said, laughing.

After the phone call, a nurse came in with a resident. They asked for my medical history (again), which Z conveniently had typed out on his phone. All he had to do was keep showing the list on his phone to the nurses so that I would not have to repeat myself. While convenient at this point in the story, it was absolutely necessary later on. So that will be tip #3: have your husband prepared to give over your medical history without your assistance, preferably already written out so he doesn't have to repeat himself (and won't forget anything).

"Are you having contractions?" the nurse asked.

I shrugged.

"I don't think so...I just feel sort of crampy," I said.

The nurse looked at the print-out from my fetal monitor.

"Oh, sure you are," she said, pointing at some waves. "You're having some nice contractions about seven minutes apart."

Well, that was news to me!

She checked to make sure that what I thought was my water breaking actually was amniotic fluid (it was), and then checked my cervix. That hurt. A lot.

"Well, those contractions are doing something!" she said brightly. "You're one and a half centimeters dilated!"

"Wow," I said. "Am I in labor?"


"Well...getting there. You need to be at least three centimeters dilated to be in active labor. Don't worry though, we can help you along!"

I knew what that meant.

"I really don't want to be induced," I said. I knew she was only suggesting induction because my water had broken and that meant they wanted the baby delivered within 24 hours. Still, I wanted to go into labor on my own.

"Okay, let me check with your doctor and make sure it's okay to let you go home and wait for labor to start."

Well, that was a relief. The nurse came back and reported that my Ob (who, by the way, I had yet to actually see) gave the go ahead, but said I should come back to the hospital by six pm if labor had not yet started and I would have to get induced.

The nurse took off the blood pressure cuff and fetal monitor, and I changed back into my regular clothes. It felt a little anticlimactic to be going home, but at least I knew we were having our baby sometime today.

"Make sure to eat a good, carby meal when you get home," a different nurse said as we left. "Once you get back here, it will be a while until you eat again."

She grinned at us. Boy, did she have good advice. Tip #4: eat and drink before going to the hospital (unless you have been instructed otherwise by your doctor). Do not go into the hospital hungry or thirsty, because all you will get until (possibly) several hours after baby's arrival is ice chips.

As we left, my cramps started to feel more painful, but I did not think much of them. I was focused much more on getting something to eat. I sat on a bench outside the hospital and waited for Z to get the car, trying not to think about the cramps. After all, the nurse had said I was only 1.5 centimeters dilated. Still, I was feeling pretty uncomfortable by the time I got into the car.

At about 9:30 am, Z and I drove back home.

[To be continued...]

Welcome to the World

Ten weeks and one day ago, I welcomed my beautiful daughter to the world. Let's call her M. M is my first child. She is also the first grandchild on both sides, and the first great-grandchild, so she is quite a special little girl. Since before she was born, I have wanted to write something for her that would somehow encompass all my feelings. I experimented with poems and little stories in honor of M, but nothing could accurately express the whirlwind of emotions a new mother feels for her child. I wanted to write something, but I didn't know what.

After M's birth, I realized I wanted to write about what it was like having a baby for the first time--starting from the birth and moving onward. Despite the volume of pregnancy and parenting books out there, nothing really prepared me for my own experience. I expect that most new mothers feel similarly. Every birth experience is unique and every baby brings along its own adventures. I suspect that the point of all these baby books and mommy blogs is not really to prepare you for every little thing that will crop up during your own experience as a parent, but as a way for us to relate to each other and share our stories. By writing down my own thoughts and experiences, perhaps other parents--new and veteran alike--will relate to some aspects of my personal perspective. 

This blog is being written in honor of all the new and future parents out there (both moms AND dads), and especially my own husband, Z.

Lastly, this is for you, M. With much love.