The Miracle of Life

A friend recently asked me to describe the miracle that is having a baby. The funny thing is, of all the topics in the world I have millions of pretty words for, this isn't one of them.

I've always been somewhat of a cynic, though my perky exterior hides it. I'm not all that much into religion (except for the little prayer I say on a plane EVERY time before it takes off - so I guess some part of me does believe in God).

But I can honestly say giving birth to a child has betrayed every cynical feeling I have about a higher power. How can it be anything other than a miracle?

Think about it - in the very beginning, you feel nothing. Yet cells are rapidly dividing within your belly, creating life where there was none before. In two month's time, you have a being no bigger than a peanut.

But 40 weeks later, you have a living, breathing life that will eventually grow and think her own thoughts and love and probably question the very same higher power that made her.

And then there are the things that can go wrong. It breaks the heart to think of babies who are born with any number of illnesses, disabilities or even worse, don't make it at all. It's these type of occurences that make you question, again, that higher power's reasoning. They are babies, after all - innocent and helpless.

And yet, many of these babies show a strength and resilience unmatched in any adult. They thrive and grow despite the obstacles they face. It has to be innate survival - they haven't learned anything yet. So they power forward, unknowing of anything different. Maybe it's an extra quality God gives them to make up for everything else.

It was a miracle for us that our Katie was pretty unscathed during her birth with the exception of a small birthmark on her shoulder blade (and a bit of reflux that still rears its ugly head sometimes).

But for all intents and purposes, she's a healthy little monkey, and every day I thank God for that. It's funny how one event in your life can change 30 years of thinking in a snap.

Define productive

Productivity is a funny word. I used to think I knew what it meant. That is, until I chalked up a day of changing diapers, making bottles and blowing raspberries as productive.

I used to measure it by the amount of copy I turned out. As a writer, this is relatively easy. A buddy of mine at the newspaper used to make it a contest. We'd count how many stories we had written in a month. Whoever wrote the most got a beer from the other person. It was always him - mainly because he was the most prolific writer I'd ever met.

At the magazine, is was all about word count. I would come home, knowing I was productive that day.

But now, it's a little more subjective. It came up in a discussion the other day when I had the possibility of a quick gig that made a decent amount of cash. At this point, I'm not willing to turn down cash. But the more important part of it was I was being productive - I was contributing to the family. I felt like I just hadn't been contributing.

But, as my wonderful husband pointed out, I was already contributing immensely by staying home and taking care of our now 6-month-old baby. So, in a sense, I was being productive. Not only were we saving the money of day care, but we also knew exactly who was watching our baby during her first year - me!

With a baby in the mix, life is never easy, but it's always interesting.

I can't make this stuff up

Honest to God, this is a real product. It's called the Babykeeper.

It's for hanging your precious child from the bathroom door while you pee. I'm not kidding. I suppose at least you could put the kid to work as a TP holder (do you really want your kid sucking on public toilet paper?).

Now this is a serious issue for parents. What do you do with your baby if he or she isn't old enough to stand? Many moms say hold them with one hand and do everything else with the other. I'm not sure if you've ever tried to unbutton/unzip your jeans, take off your coat, and do other, more basic, things with the use of only one hand, but I'd imagine it's pretty tough.

So, apparently this is the only thing that's been invented to circumvent this problem. Hang the baby. Seriously people? We're close to cures for cancer and Alzheimer's, and we can't figure out what to do with babies in the bathroom? Someone just isn't thinking hard enough.

Now, I did see a fairly good idea the other day in a restroom - a little baby seat with a harness that folds up into the wall so the kid can sit. The only problem? It was outside the stall. So the kid's hanging out while total strangers are walking in and out and you're in the stall with your pants down. Not ideal.

Oh, guess where I saw it. Babies 'R Us. Shouldn't the people who design these stores understand the needs of moms a little more?

The Writer's Strike Must End!

George Clooney help - you're our only hope!

Seriously, this strike needs to end, and soon. I just checked the updated strike chart from TV Guide, and it's bad, people. Really bad. (Here's the link) The last two Chuck's are on tonight (Thursday) - apparently NBC's just blowing their wad while anybody is still tuning in to Thursday nights.

The rest of Thursday night is gone - Office: 0; Earl: 0; 30 Rock: 0; Scrubs: 5 (Thank God!) and ER: 0 (not that I've watched ER since George left).

The rest of the week isn't too much better. Ugly Betty appears to be done after this week (Noooo! I have to find out what happens to Wilhelmina's hostile womb!). The ONLY saving grace is that Lost will be back for eight, count 'em, eight episodes.

But think about that. If the strike doesn't end anytime soon, that gives us an eight-episode Fourth Season. Which is disasterous to the rest of the Lost series. Think about it, if they have to accelerate the action in the next seasons to make up for it, I'm seriously going to have to start taking aspirin to stave off the inevitable heart attack I'll have. I can't take any more suspense!

Please, for the safety of television viewers, end the strike and pay the writers the $5 more they're asking for. Honestly, does anyone feel sorry for the mega-rich media conglomerates on the other side of this fight? Just give 'em a 10-spot and call it a day.

The Radio Star And Other Random Thoughts

So I'm driving to the mall today, and the Buggles' 'Video Killed The Radio Star' came on the radio. I started to sing along (you're sad, I know, that you couldn't hear that brilliant piece of work from me).

Then I started thinking about it being the first video that MTV ever played. I mean, that's the only reason that song still exists, right? It's in the trivia annals forever for that. That got me to thinking about how MTV used to be the rebellious voice of teenagers, and how it was the anti-establishment almost 30 years ago. That's right, I said ALMOST 30 YEARS AGO.

It's no longer anti-establishment. It IS the establishment, if you look at the way music is made. Now You Tube, Napster and any other music/video-trading sites are the anti-establishment. But I thought harder (as I'm prone to do in the car with my little baby cake snoring in the back seat) - and I would challenge that MTV was never anti-establishment. It always had sponsors in the form of advertisers. You have to look no further than a couple choice Madonna videos to see how quickly MTV caved to advertisers.

And here all along I thought I was rebelling by watching MTV, switching it off slyly right before my parents walked in the door. That's what THEY wanted me to do. I wonder how my little Katie will rebel - what she'll watch or listen to. I can only hope it's nothing too offensive.

Anway, just some thoughts for a dreary Thursday.

Sleeping Vs. Bonding

At this stage of the game most of the issues revolve around sleep, I've found. Or, lackthereof for baby and mama.

My little bug was sleeping super well, which got me spoiled. Then, she devolved into cries at least three to four times a night. Mainly, she wants her binky - and I've become the personal assistant to insert said binky. That's despite the fact that the binky resides .5 millimeters away from her face, which is turned in the direction of said binky.

Anyway, the doc says we need to let her try to soothe herself back to sleep. That means letting her cry for five minutes, then going in and giving her the binky. The next time we give it seven minutes, the next time 10, etc.

So this got me thinking - what's the best for my little cupcake? Should she know that I'll always be there for her, even if it means putting the binky back in her mouth? I'm envisioning a call from college and jumping in the car here.

Or, is it better for her to learn to be independent at 6 months old so she can sleep well on her own? As a mother, I'm conflicted. Will this damage our bond? Will she learn a lesson I'm not so willing to teach - that she can't always rely on her parents?

Ugh. Common sense tells me she won't remember any of this (the first-time mom's one saving grace) and that if we only do this for a few minutes at a time it won't damage our bond beyond repair. But listening to my sweet little baby's cries during the night might damage mom beyond repair - we'll have to wait and see.

Ah, smell those holidays

Several people have commented on my absence from the blog recently. I hadn't realized it had been so long. It's funny, even when it comes to my personal journal, I tend to write when things are rough, not when they're going well. You'll find books of journals in our house about the worst times of my life, but rarely a good moment. It's just the way I am - I write to release what's inside; mainly so I can function the rest of the day. That's kind of a shame - I should start documenting the good stuff, too.

So I will begin here documenting the good stuff. It's not nearly as much fun to read about as the bad, though, I'll warn you! My little girl will be 5 months old on Dec. 21. We've graduated to Stage 2 nipples (good Lord will the thrills never end!) and she's downing 6-ounce bottles like there's no tomorrow. Needless to say she's closing in on 17 pounds and quite the chunky monkey.

But the best part is she's happy as all get out. She smiles all the time, and laughs occasionally when mom and dad do something funny. Generally, she laughs at things SHE thinks is funny, not what we think is funny. We could dance for 20 minutes for her and get nothin' - just a stoney stare. But if one of us hurts ourselves, or loses something - that's comedic gold right there.

Oh, and flying. She loves to fly around the room in mom or dads arms. That's sure to produce a smile or giggle. She's also learning how to sit up. I say learning because once she's up, if you let her go she'll face plant right into the carpet in front of her. She's very bendy like that. But with a little help, she's getting used to sitting up.

I can't say the sleep thing is getting better. She used to be a champion sleeper - nothing to complain about. Then apparently she hit four months and it's been all downhill from there. Even though we're getting up several times a night, she goes back to sleep pretty easily. So I guess I can't complain too much. Maybe we should look at it as more quality time spent with the little bugaboo, right?

Oops, someone woke up from their afternoon nap. Gotta go. Happy holidays everyone!!

TV Writers - Get Back To Work!

I'm thinking about this because a friend of mine is a newspaper columnist, and recently wrote her column on this very subject. And I'm angry. I'm angry because my favorite show may be delayed even longer with this stupid strike. Sure, I'm a writer, too, but my need for television outweighs any potential solidarity I might show.

I'm talking about LOST. Yes, I'll admit it - I'm addicted to LOST. I know the numbers by heart. I've cried when main characters died (RIP Mr. Eko!) and cheered when good things happened (way to go finding the van, Hurley!). And I even guessed what was going on in the season finale before it all came down at the end.

All of which is why I'm pleading with you now, Damon Lindelof. Get OFF the picket line and back to work!! I, as a work-from-home mom, spend most of my day either a) entertaining a baby; b) frantically interviewing and writing stories to bring in a little cash and c) run around frantically picking up from the baby tornado that constantly terrorizes my living room.

When my baby finally crashes at 8:30 or so every night, I collapse on the couch, hoping for just an hour of good-ole television viewing to calm my nerves (that an a glass of mommy juice - aka cabernet). THAT, my friend, is why you need to go back to work. I NEED you. I NEED my LOST fix, and it's bad enough you're not giving me that until February. But to delay it even longer may make me go all Ben on you.

And I don't have to tell you what that means. So I don't care how you settle it, just do it and give me 24 more fixes - I mean episodes - before the summer.

Ugh. Thank God for Chuck. That's all I gotta say.

Breast Is Best

This topic came up recently on the message board I scour daily for juicy tidbits about the babies born the same month as mine. The topic being that studies show breastfed babies grow up to have greater IQ's and be healthier than formula-fed babies.

There have been several studies that show this, so it's really not new information. But each new study stirs the pot of the breast-versus-formula debate that seems more pronounced in the US than anywhere else.

Just a few of the generalized arguments include: breastfed babies are healthy and smart. Formula-fed babies experience more illness. Women who formula feed are selfish and didn't try hard enough. Women who breastfeed are strange and flaunt their ability to do it in public.

Some of the arguments are proven by fact - studies show breastfed babies are, on average, healthier than formula-fed. They have higher IQ's. The rest is more public opinion and swayed by the general zeitgeist at the time (don't you love that word? Zeitgeist?) In the '70s, when I was born, breastfeeding was looked down upon and most pediatricians recommended formula.

I wonder if it had to do with the feminist movement - you know, taking back your body and reclaiming it for womankind and all that. The mood in this country shifted, and now it's highly encouraged to breastfeed. In fact, it's pounded into your brain pretty much from the moment you conceive. You MUST breastfeed.

And I completely understand the reasons behind it. I don't dispute the benefits, for sure. But what gets to me, as one of those overly sensitive formula-feeding moms, is the implication that I may not be doing what's best for my child, in a health and developmental sense.

I think that's why the debate - if there really is a debate - continues on. No one likes to think they are harming their child's development. We all want to have super-intelligent, healthy babies (probably to make up for our own shortcomings).

But at what cost? Do we continue to breastfeed if a child isn't thriving on it? The example used is that in nature or third-world countries, there is no other option. Sure, these babies then die. That's the problem. No one would agree to that.

What if the mom is depressed and can't handle the stress and anxiety that comes with breastfeeding (it sure isn't a piece of cake). Should she continue to force it and be miserable to the point of resenting her own child? Especially during the time when everyone tells you to enjoy it because it goes by so quickly?

I don't think there are any easy answers to these questions, and as long as there's formula around, we will continue to debate the merits of "the easy way out" versus "the best option." I guess the ultimate question is, does anyone really care once your kid starts eating real food and cow's milk?

And it's not even Christmas

This weekend we trekked to the local mall for what apparently is a parent rite of passage: the studio photos. We picked J.C. Penny's portrait studio, mainly because I'm lazy and that's the coupon I had.

Holy crap. This is one of the worst forms of torture a parent can go through. I would choose waking up to a crying baby every 10 minutes in the middle of the night to this. We had an appointment at 12:20 p.m., and of course, everything that occurred up until that point was designed to get us there on time.

Not sure why we bothered, considering we had to wait a half an hour. It's like they expect you to be there on time, but then they can make you wait as long as they deem appropriate torture. Which is fine, if you're by yourself and not with a baby whose mood changes with the breeze.

My little pea pod did fine waiting, but since she had been changed and fed at home, she started to get tired. And the room got warm with all the people crammed into the waiting room, which made her lull off to sleep even more.

So when it was our turn, we had a bag full of really cute clothes to put her in, a well-dressed mom and dad and ... a sleeping baby. I wanted smiles and happy pictures - instead I got sleepy and borderline crabby baby.

But I have to say, the photographer was amazing. A young woman, she trilled her tongue, clapped, patted my baby and did everything she possibly could to get her attention without making her cry. I was exhausted just watching her. And our shoot lasted about 20 minutes. She had to repeat that same exercise every 20 minutes for eight hours. She should be paid half a million dollars for that job.

Once they're done, you have to wait 30 minutes so they can snazz up all your photos in the hope of getting you to spend more money, versus sticking with the $3.99 a sheet traditional portrait sheets. Ha. You can't get me that easily, J.C. Penny's!! So finally we go back, only to find the amount of children and parents in the waiting room has doubled. We fight our way through, and finally pick our photos, hand over the plastic, and leave. All told, what I thought would be an hour-long venture turned into 3 1/2 hours.

And to think I'll do it all over again in a couple of weeks. Hey, a baby's gotta have Christmas photos, right?

Every diplomatic meeting should include a baby

If you have children, you know the thrill of that first laugh. My baby laughed for the first time recently, and I just about burst into tears, it sounded so good (my child has officially turned my rather cynical being into complete mush).

So now I'm convinced - there would be no wars, no political impasse and no harsh words between countries if babies were involved in negotiations. Every time you have a bilateral or multilateral negotiation, bring a baby and make them laugh. Who can be angry or want to bomb another country with laughing babies around?

See. I solve the world's problems from my couch. It's not that tough.

Must...Not...Spend...Money....

Freelance writing is really a fancy way of saying I stay at home and occasionally write a story or two here and there. It's nice work if you can get it. The only problem is, right now the well is a little dry.

I have some gigs lined up, and I've already written a few stories - but it's a bit of a shock when you turn in a story and they say 'thanks, it's for the December issue, so we'll send you a check then.' Gulp. OK, that's two months away.

Once I get in a groove the money will come in the same time I'm sending stories out, so it'll all be good. But right now I've got to tighten the belt, since I'm not bringing home the payday.

Here's the problem - there's not a whole heck of a lot to do during the day, especially with a 3 month old. So you look for places to go and things to do to keep you occupied and the little one busy.

Well, "things" take money. Like lunch, for example. It's a nice break in the day to go out for lunch. But it costs moolah. This is the quandry of the stay-at-home mom. Stay in the house and go crazy (there's only so much laundry, cleaning, Internet surfing, etc. you can do), or get out and spend money.

But I really can't complain about this set up, because it's working out pretty well for us. Thank goodness, too, for my mother-in-law, who watches the little squirt while I get some work done. Now if only my little one would stop spitting up on her whenever she comes over! That's no way to thank your grandmother!

Ha. I laugh at you, Halle Berry

It's a lovely thought, in theory. Gorgeous movie star Halle Berry (who is from Cleveland originally, by the way) is pregnant, as everyone knows (congrats to her, by the way!). And a friend of mine just sent me a link from People magazine about Berry's intentions to be eco-friendly when her new bundle of joy arrives (read the story here: http://www.people.com/people/article/0,,20152636,00.html).

I love the fact that she treasures her earth. There need to be more people like her. But eco-friendly disposable diapers do NOT exist, no matter what the publicists in Hollywood say (sure Halle, that exists. If it doesn't, well make some up for you). They may be organic, which means they don't contain bleach, but they're not eco-friendly.

In other words, they won't chafe your little bundle's sensitive booty, but they WILL sit in a landfill for years while they attempt to break down. It's a fact of life, and I wish it weren't true. Every time I empty our stinky diaper pail I wish it weren't true. Between the water we use washing bottles and clothes, the disposable diapers and the bottled water we use to mix with formula, my household is single-handedly killing the earth.

But I figure this only has to go on for a year with the bottles and the bottled water, and hopefully 2 to 2 1/2 years with the diapers (preferably 2!). They say a child will go through about 5,000 diapers before they become potty-trained. Maybe there is something to elimination communication after all!!

Balls in the air

OK, I stole that from one of my all-time favorite movies, "One Fine Day." But it's true, this whole mom thing is a juggling act, between the baby, trying to work from home and taking care of the house.

You wouldn't think it would be so difficult. My baby isn't even three months old yet, it's not like I'm chasing her around the house. She can't even roll over. And yet there are days that the clock strikes noon before I'm even out of my pajamas. Sometimes I don't brush my teeth until 4 o'clock. And I've eaten lunch one time - count it, one time - so far this week.

This week has been rougher than most - deadlines abound in my freelance gig, and we have contractors stopping by periodically to give estimates on a bathroom project. To top it all off, my worst enemy has returned - gas. My little one is in between nipple stages, which is apparently a fate worse than anything I can think of at the moment.

We seem to be getting the gas under control, and the stories are flying out the door left and right to satisfy those deadlines. I think we've seen the end of the contractor estimates for now. So the only thing left to do is - well, wash and dry the thousand bottles that have stacked up, and the laundry, and vacuuming up all the dirt tracked in by the contractors. Oh, and God only knows where the cats have left hairball presents recently.

It never ends! Where's that Calgon when you need it?

Trying times

"These are the times that try men's souls."

Thomas Paine wasn't actually talking about the American Revolution, he was talking about his marriage after having a baby.

Well, he could have been, anyway. When my husband and I got married, I thought it was great because nothing changed between us. We had been dating for years, and knew each other very well. So when we found out we were having a baby, I thought only a few things would change - we wouldn't go out to eat as much, we would save more money, etc.

Wow, how naive can you be? With a child, everything changes. Not all for the bad, I might add. There are wonderful moments where all three of us are together, our close-knit family unit bound together by a powerful love.

But there are also difficult times, mostly times when something is wrong with our little one and we can't figure out what it is. The frustration is driven by a desire to help her, so it always has good intentions.

I have found, though, that once we get through those times, our marriage comes out much stronger on the other side. It's a tough road, this parenthood. There are underlying factors, too, that contribute - the baby blues in the beginning, sleep deprivation, constant crying (the baby, and sometimes mom).

As a stay-at-home mom with a freelance business, I find that the less busy I am, the more time I have to fret about the little noise my girl just made, or whether or not she's eating enough, sleeping too much, etc. The busier I am, the less I worry.

I'm not the only one who's experienced this - there are posts all over baby-related message boards. It can by trying for even the strongest relationship. It seems patience and communication are the key. The couple has to stay focused and communicate, so they don't become overwhelmed by the situation. Just my thoughts for the day!

Toilet training from birth

The practice is called elimination communication, and there was a story about it on the Today show this morning.

I'm sorry, but these people are full of ... well, let's avoid that bad pun. There is no way this can work. How much time do you have to spend watching your infant to determine the "pee pee" face and the "poopy" face?

I can only tell when my daughter is pooing because her face gets all red and she starts grunting. I certainly can't tell BEFORE the act, only during. And to tell if they are urinating is virtually impossible. I could stare at her for ages and not determine that. One minute the diaper is clean, the next it feels like there's a brick in it.

Yeah, it would be great to not buy diapers, and to save the environment. But let's be realistic. You would spend hours of your day watching for the slightest change in expression so you could rush your baby to the toilet and dangle them over it.

Sorry, I hate to say it, but I'm going to have to destroy the environment. I can't handle elmination communication. Hell, it's hard enough to communicate with her now!

My poor, unstylish baby

I thought when I had a baby I would no longer have to worry about being stylish. I figured people would think I had my act together if my hair were even brushed and I actually had on makeup.

But I realized recently, there's a whole new game once you have a baby. Your baby must become the stylish one. Or unstylish, in our case. I learned this recently as I visited an upscale mall during the day to walk around somewhere indoors.

So we drive to this mall, mainly because it's rather ritzy and I know I can't afford anything there. I started looking around, and realized the kids were rather smartly dressed. I saw lots of cute corduroy overalls, perky jeans and even some dresses. Some of the kids were older, but a few were babies.

I looked down at my little one as she ate her bottle in the food court. She was sporting a cotton long sleeved shirt, knit pants and a no-nonsense onesie - all from Babies R Us probably - and all looking a bit disheveled as she dribbled formula down her chin. The other kids clothes were likely either from Gymboree or the even-more expensive alternative, Nordstrom's. Even Saks Fifth Avenue has baby clothes. Saks!

Now, my daughter has a few onesies from Nordstrom's, courtesy of her generous great-aunt. And, I have to say, the clothes are pretty darned cute. But when they grow out of them within a month, I'm not about to spend double on an outfit.

Although, I did spend $25 at Target for an Ohio State track suit and onesie - so I suppose it all depends on your priorities. But the bottom line is, I'd rather my baby be happy than to be super trendy. And if she's happy in her knit pants and cotton onesies, then once again, I'm happy.

Can you read your baby?

I read something once (can't remember where, and therefore there will be no source - some journalism, eh?) about how mothers really can't tell why their baby is crying. They told researchers they could tell between hungry cries and wet cries, etc., but when put to the test, they really couldn't.

They tested women who worked in hospital nurseries, too, and they also failed to guess correctly more than half the time.

I'm not sure if I know all my baby's cries all the time, but I'm getting pretty darned good at figuring it out quickly, I must brag. But the key is more knowing the last time they ate, last time you changed a diaper, etc. If I came into it cold, without knowing the baby or any of those things, I wouldn't have a clue.

My little bug does have a different cry for when she's hungry, though. It starts off as more of a warning. It's a short 'wah,' followed by a pouty lip. Most of the time I just say 'aw, isn't that a cute cry,' forgetting it's about to lead to WWIII if I don't get on the ball.

The next cry is waaahhh, followed by more pouty lips. This sends me flying into the kitchen to start a bottle. On occasion I think I have more time before the meltdown, and try to stretch it out so I can finish something. This is usually a huge mistake.

By the time I have finished what I'm doing, the cries have escalated first to WAAAAAHHHHH to gutteral screams accompanied by red face and choking. Too late. Then you have to calm her down, because there's no way she'll eat like that.

So most of my time is spent trying to watch her closely and read her so I catch her at either wah, waaahhh, or WAAAAAHHHHH. A happy baby equals a happy momma!

I have a floppy-headed baby

OK, so everyone has a floppy-headed baby. That's nothing new, at least in the beginning. But my child has a rather small head (10th percentile!), so it doesn't fit in the head support that came with our car seat.

This is a particularly cruel punishment for her and for me. I sit and watch her start out a car ride perfectly fine, with her head held high. Well, as most babies do, she starts to fall asleep. Then the head slowly bobs down. She valiantly pulls it up again, fighting sleep. Soon, she can't fight any more and there goes the head, flopped down and to the side.

There is no perfect baby gadget to solve this problem. I now am the proud owner of a Snuzzler, which is supposed to support their punkin' heads. And it does pretty well. But no amount of "snuzzling" is going to keep her head up if she falls asleep and it flops down. It's the great baby mystery - how to keep their heads up.

A cashier at Babies R Us had a great idea. Someone should make a headband with velcro on the back that attaches to the carseat, keeping their head pulled back. That way, it's a bit more flexible. I think it's brilliant, and someone should design it and make millions of dollars.

And please make it before I have my next child, so I don't have to go through this torture again!

The things for which no one can prepare you

There are certain things in life for which no one can prepare you. This morning, my little bug woke up at 6:30 a.m. after sleeping through the night. In celebration of this occasion, I look back on how unprepared I was.

No one can prepare you for the amount you will not sleep in the very beginning. I used to complain when I was pregnant about how terribly I slept the night before, waking up in the middle of the night to make a trek to the bathroom.

And yet, there would always be wry smiles from women who already had kids. And I thought, 'why are they laughing at me like that?' It's because they knew I had a shock in store.

It started in the hospital, when they would wake me every hour to check my vitals, even in the middle of the night. We sent out precious baby to the nursery at night so we could "sleep," but they kept bringing her back in!

I don't know what I was thinking before I had the baby. It was an utter shock for me to find out we had to feed her every three hours. I just thought parents didn't get sleep at night because their babies cried. Well, yeah, they cry because they're hungry every three hours or less.

Also, no one can prepare you for how much you will worry and the level of anxiety you'll feel in the beginning, thinking everything you do is wrong and that you'll ruin your baby for life. It's a painful and humbling feeling, especially for someone who is normally very confident in just about everything she does.

And to end on a good note, no one can prepare you for how much you will love you're child. You may not be IN love with him or her right away (due to the crying and the pooping and the nerves and such), but you will surely love that little pea pod and do whatever is necessary to protect him or her. You'll sit for hours, staring at your baby, wondering how you could have created life out of nothing, and why you were so blessed.