She couldn't wait to make her appearance, and we couldn't wait to welcome her into this world. Having arrived a few days early, our little girl is finally here,  ... healthy, beautiful and filling our hearts with joy. As so many moms and dads can understand, I look at our new child and become overwhelmed. She's so real, but a miracle in every way. And all I can do is think about the many reasons we have to be thankful for this person and the moment she came into our lives. So here I will gush ...  

I'm grateful to my family, who sped to the scene to care for our first child for the duration of the delivery and recovery. How great is it to have a sister who will cheerily show up at 2:00 a.m. to sleep on your couch, a brother-in-law who delivers peanut butter cup blizzards to your bedside, and a mother and father who will spoil your firstborn rotten while Mommy and Daddy are temporarily missing?  

... and, of course, a husband, who grimaced with every contraction and gamely pretends he knows nothing of the embarassing bodily fluids, ridiculous faces and strange sounds I was making for an hour.  

I'm thankful for the numbing sensation that epidurals provide, and to the brave anesthesiologist who conceded to give it to me at 9 centimeters.   

I'm appreciative of the mystical qualities of a jalepeno hot dog, which I ate the day I went into labor and, I'm convinced, is what set everything into motion.  

I am impressed by the quality of health care that is offered here in Lancaster. Everyone we encountered - from doctors to nurses to dining services staff - cared for us with warmth and professionalism.    

I will attempt to appreciate the power of a mirror to motivate a woman in labor to push harder. But in the end, I will still look away.  

I am overwhelmed by the generosity of friends, who are showering us with meals, playdates for our daughter ... even cleaning services (although the neurotic side of me wonders if that's a hint). Maybe it does "take a village."  

And lastly, I will be forever grateful that we were blessed with another child so full of life, even at 4-days-old. It is this feeling of gratitude that makes me eagerly reach out for her every time, even at the ungodly hour of 3:00 a.m. with sore boobs and swollen bottom.    

My blog ends here. Thanks for taking the time to read it over the weeks leading up to our daughter's birth. For those of you who are about to experience what we just have, I wish you happiness and health as your family grows.

Week 37 and 38: Double Trouble  

Week 37 started at a crawl and ended with a bang. Having finally gotten the room ready, name selected, diapers stacked and bag packed, I simple ran out of things to do. After weeks of panic that I was running out of time, I found myself trying to find ways to pass it. I spent an hour sterilizing bottles. I gave my breast pump a thorough once-over to make sure it's ready to roll. And I updated my daughter's baby book, thinking it will be the last time in a while. (I suppose I could crack the cover of some old baby care books for a refresher, but I'll save that one in case I go over my due date.)  

Still, I felt I was watching a pot that was taking forever to boil.   And then our three-year-old got sick. My wish that the baby would make an early appearance came to a screeching halt.  

It was one of those tough, scary nights, filled with fever, Pedialyte and tears. Our first concern was how to make our daughter feel better. And what could be wrong? After sleep came to her that first evening, the second wave of worries hit me: what if whatever she has is dangerous to the baby? Should I abandon ship and let my husband take command to be safe? And why on earth have I been sharing food with her when I know better?  

I was overreacting, no doubt. After a night's sleep (albeit a fitful one), I realized that I'm far enough along in my pregnancy (or as my friend says, the baby is completely cooked) that a simple flu isn't something that poses a huge risk to our soon-to-be new addition.  

But the experience introduced me to one of the many dilemmas that presents itself to parents with two kids ... how to care for one while protecting the other--even when that "other" is not yet born. As a stay-at-home mom of one, I found it easy to fly into action when crisis occured, dropping everything else and focusing solely on my child. But I've already discovered that it's a bit more difficult to scrub vomit off a bedspread when there's another child who needs your consideration.  

And, of course, this doesn't even factor in how we take care of ourselves in the process. I remember being down and out with the stomach bug once or twice with our first child. The thought of trying to manage two kids from a horizontal position sends my mind spinning.   

So as my daughter sleeps on a couch covered with towels, I'll try to look at the bright side. We are lucky this is happening now and not as I'm ready to begin pushing. It's also given me a little insight on an issue that will continue to present itself as we raise our two girls. 

And I still have time to flip through those baby care books.

Week 36: Eat, Drink and Be Merry  

Yesterday was crazy. After downing my fourth cup of espresso, I jumped into the car and, while neglecting to fasten my seatbelt, broke speed limits to get to my kick-boxing class on time. Later, after a near-miss with my hair-dryer over a sink of water, my nerves were so on edge that I had to pop a couple of sleeping pills with a glass of vodka just to get some shuteye.  

Actually, I didn't do any of those things. But from the reactions I sometimes get over the things I eat and drink, you'd think that I was in fact leading a reckless rockstar lifestyle that was in total disregard of my health or that of the baby growing inside of me.  

I eat sushi. And funky cheeses. And cookie and pancake batter that have raw eggs in them. Occasionally, I'll down a hot dog or some deli meats. And, yes, I even have a glass of wine or a beer with a nice meal. All of these are well-known no-no's during pregnancy. The threat of e-coli, listeria, nitrates, fetal alcohol syndrome and the many other dangers that lurk in our food and drink hang over our heads like a guillotine. Even Chinese food - laden with MSG - is considered a walk on the wild side.  While many well-respected sources warn you away from these things, I have to wonder if we're being just a little over-cautious.  

I'm not trying to make light of this. What we take into our bodies during pregnancy is a very important matter. But I feel like common sense and a good dose of moderation play a role as well.   

Common sense tells us that chowing down on a hot dog from a dirty street cart on the back streets of Philly might be a little risky. Moderation isn't best demonstrated by getting tipsy over a bottle of wine with your hubby after the kids go to bed.   

Like many of my other friends, I abided by the standard dietary restrictions during my first pregnancy. But now, as I talk with other seasoned moms-to-be, I find that many of them are breaking some rules and actually enjoying what they consume over their nine months of pregnancy (once they get over that God-awful first trimester). Having learned about their bodies and their babies the first time around, they understand that by carefully considering their food and drink choices, they can continue to enjoy some of the things they love - in moderation, of course.  

I love bringing this topic up with people like my parents and in-laws. They'll confess to everything they did wrong during their pregnancy and afterward - smoking, drinking, holding their kids on their laps in the car (car seats? who had car seats??) - and then quickly point to their grown children and announce, "They turned out all right!"  

True enough, though that's not proof that you can go out and let loose during pregnancy. But maybe it goes to show how far we've come in understanding the well-being of our bodies and babies, as well as our limitations. Perhaps with a little consideration and care, we can relax at the dinner table and not demonize the things we love.  

I'll raise a glass to that!  

Week 35: Walking Catastrophe

 
I never had been a big believer in "pregnancy brain" ... the idea that we constantly forget things during pregnancy. But with our second child, I'm starting to reconsider.

 
It's not like I'm forgetting doctor appointments or to call my friends on their birthdays; I'm forgetting basic living tasks. For example, I'm a stickler for locking everything up anytime we leave the house. But these days a window will be left open or a door unlocked. I can't begin to calculate how much time I've wasted driving back to our home because it dawned on me that I left the back door wide open. The neighbors must think I'm crazy. I pull away from our house, only to pull in again 5 minutes later and make a mad dash for the front door.

 
That's not like me.
 

And if there's "pregnancy brain," what about "pregnancy balance?" While painting the baby's room recently, I literally fell backwards into a wet wall from a standing position. I hadn't been standing on one leg. There was no strong gust of wind to knock me over. I just spontaneously fell over.

 
When I think back to my first pregnancy, I used to walk into walls. My co-workers would look at me with pity as I crashed into door jams and cubicle walls. I couldn't even walk and talk at the same time or I would inevitably trip over something.

 
What I'm wondering is ... once we have kids, does memory loss and the feeling of unbalance ever really go away? My husband teases me for always forgetting something essential ... my wallet, my keys (or better yet, where are my keys?), my cell phone. But ask me for a Hello Kitty bandaid or bag of Rainbow fishies, I'm your gal. Did I remember our daughter's sunscreen and hat? You betcha. Blankie? Never travel without it.

 
And what of balance? While our minds are contemplating all the things we should be remembering, in between driving to dance classes, soccer games and band practices, are we ever achieving a sense of equilibrium? To me, at least, it always seems a little out of reach no matter how organized we make our lives. We put our kids' needs ahead of our own every day, and it begins even before they come into this world.

 
So if you see a pregnant woman whose backside is covered in "sea grass" green paint, be kind. She's undoubtedly suffering from something for which there is no cure.

Week 34: Making Mistakes  

We had a bit of a scare this week. Without going into the gory details, I ended up in triage at the hospital, thinking the worst was going to happen to the baby and perhaps me. In the end, it was nothing serious and I was discharged in less than 2 hours.  

I felt a bit foolish afterwards. A lot of people answered the false alarm: my husband breaking speed limits and appointments to get back from work travel; my neighbor watching my daughter while I raced to the hospital, and my brother-in-law leaving work to pick her up; my parents ditching their trip to the casinos to be by my side; the time the nurses and doctor spent on me when they surely had other things to do.  

Pregnancy is no time for self-diagnosis, I know. And based on what was happening to my body, I did the right thing. But still, I couldn't help but feel a little silly.   

An unnecessary trip to the hospital happened during my first pregnancy as well. About 1 to 2 weeks out from my due date, I was experiencing terrible back pain. When I described it to my mother over the phone, she casually mentioned that she also felt back pain late in her pregnancy, and it was because she was in back labor.  

Back labor???? No one had told me anything about that. So, of course, it meant I had to be in labor. It was time!  

My husband and I dashed to the hospital. When we walked into the maternity ward (yes, I walked in ... clue #1 that something wasn't right), I described to the nurse on duty what was happening, only to be told that if I was able to provide that kind of detail about my pain, I surely was not in labor. But they indulged me. The fetal monitor was strapped on and the staff on duty watched me for about an hour. At that point, I was so mortified for my mistake that I began to pray that I would actually go into labor so I could give them something legitimate to do.  

What did I know? I had never been in labor. No one up to that point had been able to sufficiently describe exactly what it would feel like. A contraction? A cramp? An intense Braxton Hicks? (And what the heck were Braxton Hicks anyway?) With all of those virtual reality games out there, you'd think that someone would come up with a virtual labor experience ... if not to educate first-time moms, then at least to give men a little taste of what they're missing.  

I guess it shouldn't be surprising that the urge to react - and react quickly - is so strong during pregnancy. There's the ongoing anticipation of the upcoming pain of labor. The knowledge that so much can - and sometime does - go wrong. The emotions linked not to just your own well-being, but also to that of your baby.  

I will continue to feel a bit sheepish about this trip to the hospital. I already expressed my humiliation to my OB today, and I'll pray that my next trip to the hospital won't take place for another 6 weeks. But deep down I suspect that if it happened again, I would probably react in the same way ... quickly and with a focus on the matter at hand ... not on the insignificant unpleasantries I may personally feel afterwards. And isn't that typical of a mom?

Week 33: Bargain Hunter 

I'm in the sorting mode ... trying to separate my firstborn's "baby" things from her "big girl" things. The "baby" things are obviously destined for our second child, although my daughter is not exactly seeing it that way. She's having a hard time with words like "outgrown," hand-me-downs," and "lend." She will spy a stuffed animal or toy that I have pulled from one of her bins and immediately take an interest in it. This is not even renewed interest ... most of these items she's never even given a second glance to. Until now.    

What should I expect? Every childlike thing in our house has been solely my daughter's up to this point. And it's all been brand-spanking new. In the first year of her life, my husband and I (okay, mostly just me) put hours of thought and research into each thing we purchased for her. We shook cribs, test-drove strollers and studied child-safety labels. My "Baby Bargains" book was dog-eared. Our Bye Bye Baby registry was carefully constructed. I considered diaper bags the way I consider shopping for a new car.    

But that was then.    

Now? I'm am trying to cobble together a nursery for my next child by picking through my daughter's things when she's not looking. Just today I found her old mobile in my parents' garage, very dusty and showing its age. My mom wrinkled her nose. "What??" I said. "With a little cleaning up, this should be fine. Granted, it's missing a major part, but I'll think of something." She nodded vaguely.    

Kids are expensive, we've learned. I don't believe we ever went overboard with purchases for our daughter, but we took joy in building a space for her and considering what would bring a smile to her face. That interest is still in us, but we've become a more frugal shoppers since that time. I look on ebay and Craig's List daily for furniture and gear, ask friends if they or someone they know is getting rid of items we might need, and am considering new ways to get old stains out of my daughter's newborn onesies.    

This may not be quite as exciting as shopping the first time around - certainly it can more tedious - but I consider it a good thing. I've learned that kids outgrow things very quickly. That adorable toy you bought for the stroller is now unloved, not missed and buried somewhere under the backseat of your car.    

I've learned that kids are picky. What you thought was a perfect gift got about an hour of attention before it was destined for the Land of Misfit Toys.    

And I've learned that if I have to make choices, I'd rather spend money on experiences, such as a kids yoga class, or on a more expensive toy that is sure to last for years.    

So my shopping spree will take place primarily in our basement and attic and my daughter's bedroom. It's amazing what the promise of a lollipop can buy these days.

Week 32: Choosing our Battles  

The little bugger is becoming a pain ... literally. My sciatic nerve has been bothering me lately. My doctor explained that it's due to her position. She's apparently looking for a change of scenery, as her head is now towards my right hip and her feet up by the left part of my ribs. She's now diagonal.  

Not pointing downwards???    "She's going to flip!," I thought. "A breech baby." As I began to jump to conclusions, I began to worry.  

Thoughts of a C-section entered my head. Or, worse yet (depending on how you look at it), the dreaded "manual manipulation," where the OB tries to turn the baby by pressing externally on the abdomen. Three years later, my friend can still recall with vivid detail how much that one hurt.  

I'm a pretty proactive person, so rather than wait to see if Baby actually does do the flip on her own, I decided to take matters in my own hands. On walks, when often I get this sense she might be creeping up, I gently rub downwards on my belly. A subtle coax, if you will. I've tried sleeping on the opposite side that I normally do. And, on the recommendation of my sister, I took a cold wash cloth to my upper belly and warm one to my lower - the idea being the baby's head will be drawn toward the warmth and away from the cold. She said it worked for her; I have no idea if it has worked for me. I'm getting kicks and punches in all directions now, which means I probably did nothing more than tick Baby off.  

The washcloth, the sleeping, the hands-on coaxing. - I have no idea is these are effective in the least - but they make me think of the little tricks we attempt in trying to bring some sense of control or understanding to our pregnancies. Baby overdue? Have sex. Or better yet, eat a roasted jalapeno. (I can imagine that one working.) Want to know the gender? Listen to the heart rate. (Girls are said to be faster.) Baby born with lots of hair? Must have been all that spicy food you ate during the pregnancy.  

In my first pregnancy, I developed a form of preeclampsia that went undetected until the birth. Now in my second, I'm doing everything I can to avoid that scenario again. I'm eating healthier. I'm more active and less stressed out (or as much as one can be with a three-year-old). But the truth is, I'm just trying to control something that I may have very little control over, much like the baby flipping. If she wants to do a 180 in my belly, I have to believe she's just going to do it. But somehow it makes me feel better than I'm trying to convince her to do otherwise.  

Is this a set-up for raising children? They're dead-set on doing something, and then we step in, with a gentle (or not so gentle) urging to do the opposite. She wants her way. I want mine.  

I'd like to say we could meet halfway on this one, which is often good advice in maintaining a healthy relationships. But I think someone will get the upper hand. Hopefully, it won't be my doctor's.

Week 31: Breastmilk, Bottles and Breaks  

Walking through the local drug store recently, I sought to look up an old friend of mine ... Lansinoh. That ooey, gooey substance that theoretically spells R-E-L-I-E-F for moms who are breastfeeding their babies. I must have gone through countless tubes of that stuff with our firstborn. I guess it helped; not quite sure. But given the horror stories I had heard from friends about cracking, bleeding, ugh ... the pain that can come with nursing, I figured it was too risky to not use it.  

There are undoubtedly many hazards along the journey into breastfeeding. I know women who would break down in tears when their babies would cry for milk, as it meant more pain or more frustration or more panic. It's hard to prepare for these pitfalls, especially when breastfeeding is promoted as the ideal. A bonding moment between mother and child. As I prepare for our second baby (and my reunion with Lansinoh), I think about how lucky I was that it went relatively smoothly for us the first time around. But that's not to say we didn't have our share of problems.  

My experience with nursing our daughter went so well that she developed quite an attachment to it. I couldn't go anywhere, as she refused a bottle. And after 3 months of colic and 5 months of being glued to her side, I desperately needed a day to myself. But what to do??? We tried every trick in the book to get her to take a bottle ... even resorting to shelling out $17 for a bottle that looked (and felt) like a breast. No dice. Finally, we did what I dreaded most ... I just left for a day.  

Standing outside a movie theatre in Manhattan, I called my  husband for an update on how the bottle was going. The news was poor. 

"What do you mean she only took an ounce?!" I demanded. "She hasn't eaten in four hours."  

"Well, at least it calmed her down a little," my husband replied.  

"Don't you see she's just staving off the hunger until I get back??" I shrieked. "She's playing you!" 

Yes, I really did think that my 5 month-old daughter was purposely plotting how to lure me back home. When I arrived back to our apartment later that afternoon, I cried as I nursed her ... partially out of guilt for putting her through that ordeal and partially out of frustration for being in the situation we were in. It was after that awful day that slowly, very slowly, our daughter made friends with the bottle. And I was able to regain a little bit of sanity, knowing that I could escape for a stretch of time and she wouldn't starve.  

A friend of mine who is quite familiar with those dark days recently forwarded me an article from The Atlantic Monthly. http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/200904/case-against-breastfeeding It's something I wish I would have read prior to the birth of our firstborn. It's called "The Case Against Breastfeeding," written by a woman who, despite what the title might lead you to believe, is a loyal breastfeeding veteran. In it, she essentially tries to ease the intense social pressure that is thrust upon moms to nurse their babies by revealing that some of the benefits of breastfeeding are inconclusive. She tries to tell nursing moms - or moms who want to nurse, but for any one of many good reasons, can't - to give themselves a break.  

I wish someone would have told me that the first time. I resisted every offer for help - no midnight feedings for my husband, no bottles left for relatives who babysat, no emergency can of formula in the cupboard in case I couldn't produce milk. It was all me, and quite frankly, it was a lot of pressure, and even lonely at times. Had I given myself a break, let people assist me, maybe I would not have been standing on a sidewalk in New York, raving like a lunatic with swollen boobs. It's possible.  

There aren't too many things I would change about how we raised our daughter during the first year of her life. Breastfeeding, however, is one of them. Oh, I'm going to nurse our second child - I love the feeling of having her close to me, and it just feels like what my body should be doing - but I will be more open-minded and flexible about the options I have for feeding her. I will, as the author urged, give myself a break, knowing that there are so many things that lead to happiness and health in a small child.