When I was pregnant, it seemed I was at the OB every other week.

Okay, so the every-other-week bit did not start until I was 30 weeks, but since I went every three-to-four weeks starting at eight weeks, it certainly felt like I spent a good chunk of my life leaving work early and going to pee in a cup at the OB’s office.

At first this was annoying. Nothing cool was happening, like an ultrasound, and most of the time the nurse drew my blood for this test or that test. And my OB and I did not have anything to discuss because (thankfully and happily) I was a low-risk pregnancy with no abnormal issues.

But soon I found myself looking forward to the appointments and counting down the days until I could go back. You see, after so many regular appointments, I got to know all the nurses and my OB super well. Every time I walked in the office, I was greeted with “Sarah’s here!”

It seems that during my visits I took it as a time to chat with the ladies about myself and ask them about themselves, so we developed a relationship that went beyond taking my weight and asking about the pH in my urine. They became my super close pals – pals that knew a lot about me and my insides.

So anyway, I also developed a close relationship with my OB. We chatted about potential baby names, silly concerns I had about lunch meats, how I have to pee every 45 minutes, spin class, and where I got my new bag.

When it came time to deliver Kate, my OB became not only my friend but my cheerleader, coach, and spiritual leader. We shared such a special time, both working together to deliver my baby. Yeah, there were other people there like my husband and my mom, but, really to me it felt like just she and I working together to deliver this new life both of us spent nine months nurturing.

And then it was all over, and so was our beautiful friendship. She cleaned me up, took some pictures, gave me a big hug and left. She left. But I needed her! What about all the time we spent together? Did that mean nothing to her? I missed her! I wanted her to come back!

It felt like a breakup. The first week postpartum, I had to work hard to not call the office to talk with her. I had nothing to say, I just wanted to hear her voice. The comforting voice that coached me all throughout my pregnancy and let me come to the office whenever I wanted for a heart-rate check to quell my anxiety. We were friends, we shared something so intimate, and then that was it.

After a little while and the release of hormonal postpartum rollercoaster, I started to miss her less. But I still talk about her as if we are best friends. I am not sure if others can relate, but it seems to be that after sharing such an emotional experience, a little separation anxiety can be normal. Not only for me, but for my OB office friend, too.

To show my appreciation, I baked them brownies and delivered them with Kate the other day. And I was greeted with “Sarah’s here, Sarah’s here,” smiles, and lots of hugs. Turns out, they missed me, too.

No one teaches you how to be married. If there is anything I have learned after two years of marriage it is that marriage is not easy, not for the weak of heart, and not a skill to be learned.

Today Dan and I celebrate two years of marriage. Two years of ups and downs, successes and disappointments, the good and the bad. And changes, a great deal of life changes. We bought a house, got a dog, changed jobs, and – our biggest accomplishment as a couple – had our first baby. We hit a great many of Major Life Stressors in a short amount of time.

But we came out on the other side and lived to tell the tale, with some disagreements, lots of honest talk, and a great deal of hugs. Because while we do not always agree (nor are we required to), we do agree that the only way around an issue is through it.

Being young and married is hard. It frustrates me when fellow cohorts are not honest about just how challenging it is to be a young couple. I think maybe couples think that by admitting young marriage is hard, they are somehow admitting failure. As if marriage should be easy, and no one should reveal the not-so Disney side. This baffles me because why should young marriage be easy? We are young, somewhat inexperienced at life, and smacking into major life challenges for the first time (and needing to work them out as a two-some). Obviously (at least to me), there is just nothing easy about that.

But that does not mean it is not worth it. And after two years of marriage with Dan, I would do it all over again right now. Even knowing the difficulty in meshing two lives – and taking care of the life we created.

It seems to me that what makes marriage hard is exactly what makes it so worthwhile. The family Dan and I work so hard to support and nurture pays us back in love that fills my heart with happiness each day and makes me get up and choose our life each morning.

Life with an infant seems to be one step forward, two steps back.

Kate was doing pretty good with sleeping for two to three hour stretches at night – until last night when she decided to get up at 3 a.m. and not go back to sleep. Talk about fussing. And now this morning she keeps yawning at me as if to say, “woman, why did you keep me up all night?”

At least she continues to be a good breastfeeder. She weighs 8 lb, 5 oz, up from 7 lb, 12 oz from last week. Apparently, the two of us are doing something right. And I feel proud knowing that I made her grow – the nurishment I provide put the ounces on her little body.

Looking over these past three weeks, motherhood has taught me another lesson: roll with it because there is nothing predictable about a newborn, or any child I suppose. There is no scheduling a newborn — they march to the beat of their own immature internal drum. And sometimes none of my soothing tricks work. That has to be the worst. Moments when I have sung every single song I know at least half of the lyrics, rocked and rocked and rocked, swaddled her like a Taco Bell burrito, and paced up and down the hallway in my house to no avail at 2 a.m. are enough to make a mom want to claw her eyes out. But for every time one of my tricks fail, there is a time a trick succeeds. And when that happens, I feel more accomplished than I have at pretty much any other time in my life.

Postpartum is a freaky time. Throughout my pregnancy, I wondered how I would feel after propelling a child out of my body. And when I was pregnant many unhelpful people liked to tell me about their terrible postpartum experiences and how awful they felt. News flash: stories like that are most definitely not helpful or constructive. Especially since every women is different and no two experiences are exactly alike.

Fortunately for me, my postpartum experience was much less traumatic than I thought. Of course, immediately following delivery, my body was reeling from the emotional and physical toll a vaginal delivery takes on the body. Immediately postpartum, I felt hot and cold, shook uncontrollably, had a sharp headache (that only lasted about 10 minutes, probably just from the force of pushing), and felt sore basically all over. Sort of like I got hit by a mac truck.

But once my OB got me cleaned and patched up and sent me up to my recovery room, I started to feel much better. My nurse on the recovery floor got me set up with ice packs, super unglamorous underwear, some ibuprofen, and put me to bed. The next day I walked sort of funny given I was still using the icepack underwear and also because, well, I sort of felt like my insides were going to fall out. But, I only felt like that for maybe half a day, and definitely by two days postpartum, I felt much more like myself.

I think my recovery was more emotional than physical. It felt strange to be carrying around a baby in the Easy Bake Uterus one minute and then being empty the next minute. I suppose I had gotten so used to being pregnant that being not pregnant felt strange. Oh and the crying, the postpartum crying for no reason. I am going to blame my hormones because one minute I am fine, and the next I am crying. And I really had no idea why. I did not feel depressed or sad or anything really. I just felt like I needed to cry. The crying episodes lasted about three or four days, but then just as quickly as the hormones flooded my system, they dissipated.

Given the challenge of the postpartum phase, I compiled a list of products that helped me get through that grueling first week of attempting to take care of myself and a newborn.

Nursing tanks tops: I bought these from Target about two days before I went into labor. And I am so glad I did. At first I thought it would be a waste of money, especially since I was not 100 percent sure I would breastfeed. However, at about $12 a piece, they were an awesome investment. I wear these tanks every single day. And I do mean EVERY SINGLE DAY. No, I am not winning any awards for fashion over here at my house. But, I am comfortable, and it is super easy to nurse in these tanks. Just undo the strap and ta-da, instant access to the Dairy Queen.

What to Expect the First Year: This was my go-to book, but I am sure there are others out there. This book is the Bible of baby care. Have a strange question? This book has the answer. It covers breastfeeding and bottle feeding in great detail, covers a multitude of questions about what is normal and not normal for a newborn, and offers helpful advice on soothing infants. I read through this book a lot while I breastfed because, well, breastfeeding is boring, so I schooled up on infant care while I fed Kate, and I felt comforted by the information provided in the book.

Really crappy TV shows: The first week with Kate, I watched a lot of TV. I mean a TON of TV. Why? Because I was feeding her non-stop (see above, breastfeeding is boring), and I needed something to take my mind off of the pain and stress of feeding. So I watched hours of the Style Network, HGTV, Food Network, and just about every news show. I was up on all the current news and celebrity gossip that week. And you know what, it felt awesome just to rest and relax while watching the millionth episode of Clean House. After a week, I was through with the nonstop TV, but that first week, it got me through the stress of the first week home with an infant.

Water bottle: Since I am nursing, I am thirsty 24/7. Constant thirst. I have never been this thirsty in my life. I have an awesome water bottle, and I suck down a billion fluid ounces a day. Get yourself a nice water bottle, something with a lid and/or a straw, and carry it around all day long. Since I am breastfeeding, I need to keep up my fluid intake, so toting around a nice water bottle is a lot easier than a glass.

The BOB: The only really expensive baby item I wanted was a high-quality stroller. I love to exercise, and I knew that I needed a stroller that I could walk and run with around my neighborhood that would not feel like I was pushing an unwieldy grocery chart. Thanks to my kind family members who all pitched in, I am the owner of an orange BOB Revolution. This thing is my favorite baby item. It has a suspension system and off-road capabilities. Starting at about day two postpartum, I took Kate for a walk twice a day in the BOB. It is so easy to push and maneuver, and I have even taken it off road on a dirt trail. This thing handles like butter. It is super expensive, but to me, it was worth every penny so that I can get out of the house and easily push Kate around the block.

I am sure there are lots more products that ease the transition from pregnancy to postpartum, and if anyone has any other suggestions, please post them in the comments. These are the things that worked for me. Unfortunately, I do not have any products that helped with the emotional aspects of postpartum – the best advice I can offer is to accept help, forget about the dirty laundry, and let your partner take care of you. Oh, and call your mom. She has done this before and has encouraging words of wisdom to offer. And lots of hugs.

The first week home with Kate was the hardest week I have experienced. Everything was new, no one tells you what to do with a newborn, and do not even get my started on the first week of breastfeeding.

To make matters more challenging, Kate had a mild case of newborn jaundice, which is no big deal, completely common, and we had it out of her system in 48 hours. And it also made me so worried I think I cried for two days. Probably also because Kate was two days old, meaning I was two days post-partum, meaning hormones were pulsating through my bloodstream at an extreme pace. As part of the treatment for jaundice, Kate had to have two blood tests that required sticking her heal with a needle. I think this made me more upset than Kate – I am not sure who cried more. Probably me.

Anyway, so we got past that, and then I spent the rest of the week attempting to teach myself and Kate how to breastfeed. Maybe other women have different experiences, but for me, there was nothing natural about breastfeeding. I did not magically know what to do and either did Kate. We both sort of fumbled around that first week, waiting waiting for my milk to come in. In the meantime, Kate dined on colostrum (pre-milk), which seemed to me to require much effort to eat. And then I was sore and tired because the other thing about breastfeeding a newborn is that they like to eat. All the time. I felt like I spent a good portion of the day topless. I am not sure why I even bothered putting on a shirt.

That is another thing no one tells you – breastfeeding is hard. Mom is the only one who can feed, so mom is “it” all the time. Being the 24/7 Dairy Queen to a newborn is plain exhausting. And worrisome, too, because breasts do not have markers on them to let me know how many milliliters Kate ate. So basically I am supposed to be on call to feed, have no idea how much I am feeding, and hope that whatever my body is producing is enough to nourish my child. Talk about pressure.

In between feedings, I Googled breastfeeding information like a crazy person, trying to determine if I was doing a good job. The best measures seemed to be a satisfied infant (check), tons of wet and poopy diapers (double check), and weight gain – which I could not determine because I did not own a scale for babies. I considered taking her to the Post Office and asking if I could weigh my baby. But Dan talked me out of it.

So I held out until Kate’s two-week check up to weigh her, and it turns out she gained back her birth weight and then some. Thus, I supposed I was doing something right with this breastfeeding thing. But it is still challenging and tiresome and definitely makes me feel like I am the All Day Buffet.

But now I have a better handle on breastfeeding and this infant thing, now that she is almost three weeks old. Dan and I did not take an infant class, and I do not regret not taking a class because I really do not think there is anything anyone could have told me that would have prepared me for the immense responsibility that comes with raising a child. I think it is really just a “learn as you go” circumstance. You can read and Google and take classes, but at the end of the day, it just takes time to get to know this new little person and how to meet his or her needs without clawing your eyes out.

I wish new moms were more honest about what it is really like to bring home a new baby. New motherhood and breastfeeding and infant care is not glamorous, easy, or completely natural. While I loved Kate immediately and felt a strong sense of bonding instantly, it did not mean I knew exactly how to take care of her. So we learned together, and I will say that each day life gets just a little easier. I celebrate the mini victories, like getting her to sleep in her crib for a four-hour stretch at night. And I try not to be too hard on myself. But most importantly, I just enjoy her. I used to be a person who is always thinking about the next thing, and the thing after that, and the thing after that. I could not say I ever lived in the moment or enjoyed the present. Now the present is all I care about – in part because with an infant, one just tries to get by an hour at a time. But truly, if being a new mom has taught me anything it is patience and taking pleasure in just this one day. And nothing makes me happier.

Around midnight by OB came back to check on me, and we all held our breath while she determined how far I progressed. I was skeptical, thinking my tired body just decided it had had enough, and I was preparing myself for her to tell me a C-section was my only option.

Happily, my OB gave me a big smile and said I had reached 10 centimeters, the baby had descended, and I should get ready to push this baby out. She gave me a quick lesson on pushing, and then everyone assumed their battle stations. With each contraction, I put as much effort as I could into pushing, but it was difficult for me to determine if I was making any progress because I still had my epidural going. So, I just had to pay attention to when I felt pressure and use all my might to push down.

I think movies and TV give the complete wrong impression of what it is like to birth a baby. Screaming and crying and moaning and yelling are complete wastes of energy. I suppose one would probably make those noises if one did not have the aid of an epidural because I am guessing one would be in extreme pain. But, with my epidural, I only felt pressure, which was my cue to give my best pushes using the least amount of extraneous energy. So I took deep breaths, tucked my chin, and pushed with my best effort.

I tried to pretend I was in the middle of my most challenging spin class or step class and needed to channel all my energy. And I am so glad I continued exercising throughout my pregnancy because I think it gave me the strength and stamina. And so I pushed, for an hour. And then my abs began to ache so bad I was not sure I could continue. It felt like I had been doing hard core crunches.

I was about to give up, but my OB said I was making such good progress, she knew I could continue. I was skeptical, so she asked one of my nurses to go fetch a mirror, so I could see how much progress I was making. “I want you to stay motivated – I want you to see how much progress you are making,” she said.

Now, I never thought I would want a mirror. I was pretty sure that would freak me out more than motivate me. But, once they placed that mirror, so I could see just how far I had progressed, I found seeing my effort as motivation to continue. There was no denying that this baby was on her way out, and I had to dig deep to gather my strength for the final stretch.

I asked my OB how much longer she thought I had to go, and she said she guessed maybe 20 minutes. Okay, I thought I could manage 20 more minutes. Twenty more minutes of hard-core work, and then I would be rewarded with my daughter. I could do anything for twenty more minutes.

Turns out seeing my daughter in the mirror must have made me super inspired to end this labor because I gave my next pushes all I had and then I heard my OB and the nurses shouting to me to stop pushing. Stop? I did not think I could stop – and I let them know that this baby felt like she was going to bust her way out in the next minute come hell or high water.

And the next thing I knew, my OB was holding up a slippery shrieking infant and the room was filled with all sorts of extra people. The next several moments are all a blur – the only thing I remember is crying out of joy, exhaustion, happiness, disbelief and my OB placing Kate on my chest.

Having Kate is my biggest accomplishment, my happiest moment to date, and more fulfilling that any words could ever describe. I was not sure how I would feel when she was placed in my arms. During my pregnancy, I worried that we would not bond, wondered how I could love someone I did not even know. Turns out, all those worries were for not because I did know her, and she made it clear she knew me. And even after 26 hours of labor, I would do it all over again tomorrow because Kate makes everything worthwhile.

So ends Kate’s birth story. But no worries, there is lots more Kate stories to be shared. Especially how much she likes to poop whenever Dan holds her. Stay tuned J

When you first arrive at the hospital, you are stuck in hospital Purgatory known as the Triage Unit.

The Triage Unit is the worst place to be at the hospital. Dan describes it as Level One tech support, meaning you want to get out of there and escalate your issue as fast as possible so the real care can begin. At the Triage, the nurses escort you to a curtained-off five foot by five foot cell, make you disrobe, and hook you up to fetal heart monitors and a monitor to track contractions. Then they ask you about 384 questions about your pregnancy, health, last time you ate, etc… Their job is to determine if you are actually in labor or just a nervous first time mom who thinks she might be in labor.

Make no mistake about it, I was definitely in labor when I marooned in the Triage Unit. Unfortunately, the monitors were not hooked up correctly, so the Triage nurse was not convinced I was in labor. She kept telling me she could not see the machine picking up any contractions. Of course, I could not answer her because I was too busy feeling extreme pain.

So Dan stepped in and assured the nurse that his poor wife had been in pain for about 12 hours and perhaps the monitors just needed to be adjusted. And what do you know, as soon as the monitors were adjusted around my middle the machine picked up the contractions, which at that point, were coming five minutes apart.

Since providing proof, I wanted my epidural. And I wanted it 10 hours ago. But my nurse kept going on about natural child birth and breathing through my pain. Um, no. I had had enough of breathing through my pain. And I knew I still had a ways to go on this Labor Train, so no, I wanted medical intervention, and I wanted it now.

As I was unable to communicate except through pleading with my eyes, Dan stepped in again and redirected the nurse, letting her know that his wife most definitely wanted an epidural and how fast could one procure this miracle potion? Well, she said she would have to call my doctor for an okay and get back to us. Luckily, she reached my doctor quickly, and of course my fabulous OB said I absolutely could have an epidural, so I started to get excited knowing that soon I would be in a lot less pain and hopefully be able to rest before the real work of labor began.

But again that Triage nurse tried to thwart me one last time, saying things like, I could not have my epidural until I had some blood tests and received a liter of fluid. And then someone had to track down the anesthesiologist. So, she was not sure how long I would have to wait. If I had the strength, I would have punched her in the face right then in there. Unfortunately, it took all the strength I had to walk to my labor and delivery room, so I just gave her the stink eye between contractions.

In my own labor and delivery room, moral improved. I was assigned a sweet labor and delivery nurse who got the epidural process moving. I think I waited less than an hour before a young, talkative anesthesiologist showed up to administer my miracle medication. I was nervous, but my desire for pain relief outweighed my fear of a needle in my back.

I think the process of receiving an epidural is scarier than the actual epidural. They had me sit up and lean over, so Dan and my sweet nurse could brace me while the anesthesiologist did his magic. I had a great anesthesiologist who worked hard to distract me by engaging me in conversation while he worked on sticking a needle in my back. The epidural felt like a bee sting then just a lot of pressure. And then…nothing. Almost immediately I felt no pain. I did feel tingly and a little itchy (both side effects of the epidural) but no more side splitting contractions. I could have kissed that man.

So after all that, I felt a whole lot better. Dan and my Mom hung out with me, we watched Food Network, and before I knew it, it was 7 p.m. and time for the nurses to change shifts. I lucked out with another sweet labor and delivery nurse and an intern who would remain with me through the rest of my labor. But at 7 p.m., I was still only about six centimeters dilated. So we waited and we waited and we waited for my body to kick it into gear and progress another four centimeters. My OB arrived around 9 p.m., and she determined I was about seven centimeters, which meant I was not really progressing. So, she said she would break my water and come back around midnight to see how I was doing. If I made it to 10 centimeters by then, we would be in business for a vaginal delivery. If not, then we needed to talk about a C-section.

I was not against a C-section. I just wanted what was best for my baby. But, a part of me felt like I had come so far in the process just to end up with a C-section. So, she broke my water and I held out hope that when she returned at midnight, I would be 10 centimeters and ready to deliver this baby.

My OB snickered when I asked her how I would know I was in labor.

As a new mom, like many other new moms, I was worried I would miss some sort of signal that I was in labor, wait too long, and miss my opportunity for an epidural. Oh no, I just could not let that happen.

Turns out, contractions are hard to miss. Even if one has never felt a contraction, when you have one, you know it. Oh, do you know it.

So the evening of Wednesday, June 2 was just like any other. We walked the dog, had an uneventful dinner of left-over pizza, watched TV, and ate a dessert of graham crackers and frosting. Little did I know, that those graham crackers I had at 8:30 p.m. that night would be my last meal for a good long while.

I went to bed at my usual, lame, early bedtime of 9:00 p.m. because pregnancy prevented me from keeping my eyes open past 9:00 p.m. So, I went on to bed, feeling like I usually felt – overheated and tired – but definitely not anything out of the ordinary.

And then at 11: 30 p.m., I awoke in terrible pain. Pain that felt like the worst menstrual cramps I have ever felt. The pain radiated between my abdomen and my back, like someone was pulling a belt tighter and tighter across my middle. The pain and the strangeness of the sensation made me yell out, prompting Dan to run up from the basement to check on me. I told him I was definitely having contractions, and it was time for him to start timing.

Guess what – iPod has an APP for that. Yes, an APP for timing contractions. In between feeling intense pain, Dan reported that the instructions called for “a pregnant woman in labor.” Good one, Apple.

So we timed, and we determined my contractions were about 20 minutes apart. Not good. I knew my OB did not want to hear from me until they were at least 8 minutes apart. And so, Dan and I attempted to sleep intermittently through out the night in between contractions.

Finally at 7:00 a.m. the next morning, I decided that I had to call my OB. The contractions were still 18-20 minutes apart, but the pain was so intense, I was hoping she would decide I could go to the hospital for my epidural anyway. But no. She said good, intense contractions are what she wants, but she needs me to be at least 10 minutes apart before I could go to the hospital.

She told me to get up and try walking around to see if that speeds up the frequency of the contractions. So, Dan and I grabbed Miss Belle and headed for the park for a walk. And that was the hardest walk I ever walked. As soon as my body got in motion, those contractions started coming much faster. Poor Belle thought it was the lamest walk ever because we needed to stop frequently while I breathed through contractions.

When we got back, we determined the contractions were coming more like 10-12 minutes apart. But at that point, the pain was intense, and I was so tired from being up all night, that I just curled up on the couch and tried to rest. By noon, they were coming between five and eight minutes apart, and Dan called my OB who gave us the go-ahead to go to the hospital.

Backing up a bit, I have to point out that we were not really “ready.” I was supposed to be induced that Monday, so I thought I had the rest of the week plus the weekend to pack, clean the house, do some laundry. But Miss Kate decided that she was not going to have her birthday rigged. Thus, I had nothing packed, a dirty house, and a pile of laundry that would just have to wait.

So, around noon we headed to the hospital. And thus began the 13 hours of labor.