The time I had a baby 20 minutes after getting to the hospital

Until 7 weeks ago, I thought those stories of women giving birth on the side of the road on their way to the hospital were kind of eyeroll-worthy. Come on, ladies: it takes goddamn FOREVER to have a baby. Unless they live a day’s drive away from the hospital, how long did these idiots wait to get into the car to make their way to the land of epidurals and medical professionals that they couldn’t make it?!

And then I came within 20 minutes of that happening to me.

Seriously, guys. I was one minor traffic jam away from giving birth in a dirty Prius on Beverly Boulevard.

And now I can tell you definitively that the problem these poor side-of-the-road mothers faced wasn’t that they were too dumb to get their pregnant asses out the door in a timely fashion, but rather that they simply didn’t understand that some babies have no interest in following protocol. Because no one really expects to go from “hmm, is that a contraction?” to “HOLY MOTHER OF GOD THIS KID IS COMING OUT OF ME LIKE RIGHT NOW” in just a few short hours. No one!

Ironically, I actually spent a great deal of my pregnancy worrying about getting to the hospital, but I was more concerned about enduring too many contractions in the car than actually giving birth on the road. Midway through the pregnancy, I moved from the westside of LA to the suburbs about 25 miles away, and I elected to keep my doctor rather than pick someone new in the middle of the game. Thanks to the horrors of LA traffic, this meant that it would take me anywhere from 45 to 90 minutes to reach the hospital, and with each passing week I got more and more nervous about being subjected to a tortuous hours-long journey to the hospital while I timed contractions and counted down the minutes till I could get an epidural. I vowed early on that I would make sure to leave for the hospital at the first inklings of true labor in order to minimize that issue.

But alas, like those side-of-the-roaders, I made the mistake of assuming that labor takes a long time, even the second time around, and neglected to consider that a “leave for the hospital early on in the labor process” plan is irrelevant when you don’t know how long labor is actually going to take. So when I started feeling contractions around midnight on March 19th, I didn’t immediately leap into action. I told my husband to get a few hours of sleep while he had the chance, called my mom to warn her that we’d be dropping Bubba off sometime in the morning, and took my sweet time getting myself ready. I packed my bag. I took a shower. I made sure to take one last selfie to document my belly at its peak:

The timestamp on that photo is 2:32 am. By that time, the contractions were getting pretty painful and I realized I was inching closer to realizing my fear of having to withstand a bunch of heinous pain on the car ride, so I woke up my husband and told him it was go time. “We’ll have a baby by noon!” I told him psuedo-cheerfully as I tried not to pain-vomit on his face, still naively thinking I had hours of labor ahead of me. At 3:15, we dropped Bubba off at Grandma’s, at which point I further demonstrated my idiotic lack of urgency by spending ten minutes cuddling with Bubba and getting him settled in. Sure, the contractions were getting closer and closer together and I felt like I just might die from the horrendous pain, but I still thought we had plenty of time because LABOR TAKES FOREVER EVEN WHEN IT’S “FAST,” RIGHT?!

Three hours or so after feeling the first contraction, we were on our way to the hospital. Thankfully, since it was the middle of the night and not rush hour, we made it to the hospital in record time and my husband only had to listen to me threaten to smash my face into the dashboard for thirty minutes or so (have I mentioned that labor is painful?). I walked through the hospital doors at 3:57am and immediately told everyone in my path that I wanted an epidural, including several people who I do not think actually worked for the hospital in any capacity whatsoever. I was in a lot of pain and each contraction felt exponentially worse than the last, but as the nurse walked me into a room, I breathed a huge sigh of a relief, knowing I wouldn’t be in pain much longer because surely one of those 100 people I’d begged for an epidural would deliver!

As soon as we arrived in the room, the nurse examined me and announced that I was dilated to 6 centimeters, and this is when things went a bit off the rails. A resident joined the crew and assured me that the doctor was on her way and that she would call the anesthesiologist as soon as I was fully examined and checked in, but not two minutes later, I was screaming — like, bloody murder, no shame, no dignity, all out SCREAMING — that I was in pain and needed drugs. And then two minutes later, the same thing. And one minute after that. And again. And again. And in between each contraction, I was telling the nurse, “it’s so much pressure! SO. MUCH. PRESSURE.”

At the mention of all the pressure, the nurse decided to take another gander at my progress and was surprised to discover that said “pressure” was in fact my baby being born. Like, RIGHT THEN.

Even though I had just been at 6cm 10 minutes prior.

And my doctor hadn’t arrived.

And I hadn’t even filled out the check-in paperwork.

And there was obviously no time for drugs.

And it really did hurt a lot.

I will never forget the look on the poor resident’s face when the nurse told her there would be no time to get me the drugs I was begging for; the sweet women had been making a valiant effort to get the anesthesiologist to hurry up and appeared to be as terrified as I was to learn that not only would she be delivering this baby herself since my doctor still hadn’t arrived, but that she’d be doing it while I screamed in her face about how badly it hurt.

And just like that, with me in denial and screaming for drugs till the very end, I officially became a mom of two. Graffin Thomas Wachter busted out of my loins at 4:17am on March 19, still in the amniotic sac, 6 pounds 2 ounces, 19.5 inches long, and super cute (in a scrunched up smushed-face newborn kind of way):

I had never given so much as a passing thought to the possibility of a drug-free birth, and I truly cannot overstate how painful it was and how I will never, ever, ever do that again. But I must say that I feel pretty bad-ass for having done it, no matter how unintentional. And it goes without saying that it was absolutely worth every second of torture:

But seriously: never again!

Movin’ and Groovin’ (and Crying and Screaming Because Moving SUCKS)

I think literally everyone on the planet can agree that moving is, at best, unpleasant. Even if you’re a minimalist with like 12 total belongings and are blessed with a gaggle of weirdo saint-like friends who want to help you pack, it’s still an annoying exercise in patience and logistics-management.

And that’s in ideal circumstances! If the house you’re moving into is significantly smaller than your current one, necessitating a lot of reorganization and Goodwill donations, and if you’ve got a toddler underfoot during all of your preparations, and you can’t take any time off work to pack, the whole experience starts shifting from “annoying” to “panic-inducing nightmare.”

If you’re pregnant and can’t bend over or lift anything over about 3 pounds, get fall-down-exhausted after about ninety seconds of exertion, and are prone to bursting into hormonal tear-fests at even the most innocuous provocation, you might as well just give up and start considering abandoning all of your possessions and living in your car.

I’m moving in 5 days and my car is starting to look pretty good. I could have a nice life in a Prius, I think! The front seats recline quite nicely, and I’d never even have to leave my “house” to drive through Jack in the Box for a soda. Alas, the new baby probably needs a crib or something, so I have to persevere.

All joking aside, moving really, really sucks. I don’t know how or why I have so much stuff, but I do, and now we have to sort through it and pack it up and it’s just NOT. FUN. AT. ALL. I don’t even understand why it’s so hard — it’s just throwing stuff in boxes, right? But everything is heavy and you have to bubble wrap delicate stuff and you run out of tape and you want to clean everything first because moving dusty things seems silly…and then you discover that you can no longer fit in your clothes anymore and so you have to pull out the maternity clothes like a month sooner than you thought you’d have to and you realize that all of your regular clothes can just go straight into storage instead of into your closet at the new house, and you kind of have a nervous breakdown.

This happened last night. It wasn’t my best moment.

On the bright side, the house we’re moving to is right across the street from one of my sisters — literally right across the street! — and just a few blocks from another sister, and my mom lives in the next town over, so I’m pretty freakin’ excited about all that. Every time I want to throw a box across the room in frustration, I just remind myself that each hideous pair of flared maternity jeans I pack is getting me one step closer to being able to step out my front door and enjoy an enormous glass of wine with my sister and not even have to drive anywhere.

Except…wait a minute…I’m pregnant and can’t drink. SON OF A BITCH.

Maybe I’ll just send Bubba over to have a sleepover with the cousins and I’ll sit home and watch Forensic Files.

Yes, that sounds like a good plan. 5 days and counting!

P.S. I have been intending to write this post every evening for the last week, and every night I instead just stare at the various piles of junk I have “organized” around the house and cry.

I am the 1%! (For Whom Birth Control Does Not Work)

One evening earlier this summer, I was driving home from picking up some dinner when I was struck by how absolutely disgusting the tomatoes on the burgers I’d just purchased smelled. They weren’t rancid or anything — in fact, they looked downright farm fresh — they just smelled so distinctively tomato-y. It was so overpowering, I almost pulled over and threw them out the window.

Now, If you’ve ever been pregnant or are even a little bit smart, it’s probably 100% obvious what was going on at this point — there’s pretty much only one reason why a woman would suddenly be so bothered by an odor as innocuous as fresh tomato. Since I am apparently very dense, though, this did not even cross my mind until over a week later when I realized I hadn’t had my period in quite some time, and the memory of those goddamn stinking tomatoes came rushing back into my mind.

It took about three seconds for the home pregnancy test to confirm what the tomatoes had tried to tell me 10 days prior: I’m pregnant.

To say this was a surprise is an understatement. I’ve wanted another baby pretty much ever since dear Bubba had been sleeping through the night long enough for my brain to forget the abject torture that was the sleepless newborn months, but I hadn’t made any progress in convincing my husband and was resigned to waiting another year or two at least. My body and the universe had other plans, though, and laughed in the face of the birth control pills I was faithfully sucking down every night. “Oh no, you don’t,” my ovaries chuckled. “I’ll show you who’s really in charge around here, cuz it ain’t your husband and his ridiculous ‘only children are awesome’ theory.”

This is why the packaging says the pill is only 99% effective, by the way. The manufacturers know that the human body has the capacity to occasionally go rogue and start making family planning decisions all by itself, and when that happens, there’s nothing a few measly hormones can do about it.

After an initial period of shock (during which I demanded that my doctor order up a blood test to confirm the veracity of the pee-on-a-stick test, since I truly did not believe that birth control could just, like, not work), I quickly got on board with my fate. After all, I like babies and think I’ve done a bang-up job raising my first one (so far), and while I’m not religious, it sort of feels like if you get pregnant while using birth control, maybe the universe is trying to tell you something and you should just roll with it.

And so the countdown begins! The countdown to sleepless nights, diapers galore, breastfeeding and pumping and formula and bottles, childcare dilemmas, sibling rivalry (!), money woes…and love and joy and sibling bonding and cuteness and milestones and the daily wonder of watching someone develop before your eyes, and I really, truly, cannot wait.

Thank you, Ortho Tri-Cyclen Lo, for making me the 1%. Who am I to question your infinite wisdom?

Parenting FAQ Part Deux!

While reading a Beyonce interview today wherein she referred to her baby as “her homey,” I was reminded that the world is in dire need of a savvy, knowledgeable mother who can speak on parenting with both sensitivity and candor.

Unfortunately, you’ve got me instead.

Here’s part two of my answers to your parenting FAQs (part one can be found here)!

Question: Will I ever have time for my romantic partner again?

Answer: Yes! You’ll spend a lot more time talking about baby poop than you ever did before (unless you were some kind of lunatic, in which case I must urge you to rethink becoming a parent and in fact every single one of your life choices) and during the first few months you may find yourself wanting to strangle him at 3am when he’s sleeping peacefully whilst you have a small critter attached to your boob, but I assure you your love life shall not end. Hiring a babysitter every once in a while helps, and even better yet is to train the kid to go to bed nice and early so you always have plenty of time to snuggle up and watch WWE RAW together (or whatever equally awesome and totally normal stuff you like to do with your mate).

Question: Is traveling with a baby something that should just be put on the “nope, never” list?

Answer: I must answer this question with another question: would it bother you if an airplane full of people stared at you disdainfully for three hours while your child screamed his head off? Ponder that and you’ll have your answer.

Question: Does food really taste better when you’re pregnant?

Answer: I’m honestly not sure if food actually tasted better when I was pregnant or if I was just so ravenous all the time (what with that giant 6 pound baby I was marinating in there) that everything just seemed extra satisfying. Either way, eating was a delight and it’s one of my top reasons for wanting to get pregnant again! Is that weird? I would get pregnant again right now just to experience the true deliciousness of a giant corn dog once more (and no, that’s not a euphemism):

PS: if you get plagued by morning sickness, disregard this answer and accept my most sincere pity in its stead. You are really and truly missing out.

Question: Does labor hurt as bad as it looks (and sounds)?

Answer: Much like tattoos, anyone who says labor “doesn’t hurt” or “isn’t that bad” is a filthy liar deserving of a good old-fashioned smack in the face as punishment for their pretentious holier-than-thou attitude. I cannot stress this enough: IT HURTS QUITE BADLY INDEED! Don’t be an idiot like me: even if you plan to get an epidural, take the damn birthing classes anyway so that you have some strategies for getting through all those hours before you get the epidural. Otherwise you could wind up waiting entirely too long to go to the hospital and then grasping the nurse’s hand at 9cm and genuinely begging her to stop the baby because you “can’t do it,” and then the anesthesiologist will FINALLY get there and you’ll embarrass yourself by crying tears of relief at the very sight of his glorious needle. Oh, just me?

Question: What do you DO with a baby? Like, how do you entertain them? Are you just stuck at home all the time?

Answer: I was quite concerned about this one myself. As it turns out, it’s a non-issue! In the early days, you just pop them in the stroller or a baby carrier and you can take them anywhere you want (provided you plan a quick escape in the event of a cry- and/or poop-attack). And when they’re a little older, it gets even easier: toddlers really aren’t very smart, and you can entertain them with virtually anything. Bubba has spent at least fifteen minutes every day for the last two weeks picking lemons off the tree in the backyard, attempting to eat them, promptly remembering that he HATES them, and then throwing them as far as he can:

EVERY SINGLE DAY! I plan to continue this activity until he gets bored of it, at which point perhaps I can convince him that pulling weeds is his new favorite game.

(Disclaimer: I cannot yet comment on what you do with older children. I assume TV just takes over at some point?)

Question: Is having a kid really as expensive as people say?

Answer: Yes and no. Just not being a jackass who has to have everything brand new and brand name will go a long way; toys, clothes, furniture and other “gear” can all be procured on the cheap by shopping around or buying used. Even diapers and formula really aren’t that bad if you’re smart (pro tip: Target brand formula is exactly the same as the name brands and your kid totally will not die). Your biggest expense will likely be childcare. No sugar-coating that one: it’s ridiculously expensive and it sucks, and this is not a budget item on which you can scrimp (unless you want to send your child to the daycare I visited a few weeks ago, where an elderly lady and her daughter take care of ELEVEN BABIES in their tiny house and never even let them play outside; I got in my car and cried). Start saving now or marry rich: your choice.

Question: What do you do when you’re so tired you could cry, or your kid is acting like a maniac and you feel like you’re losing your damn mind?

Answer: Take a lot of photos and videos of your kid being cute and behaving like a civilized human. Then, at 4am when you’re rocking him back to sleep for the six hundredth time FOR NO GODDAMN REASON, you can flip through the photos on your phone and remind yourself that in a few hours he’ll be wearing a shark hoodie and playing peekaboo with the dog:

Congratulations! Just reading these FAQs guarantees that you’re already better prepared than I was when I gave birth.

If you’re enjoying my questionably “expert” parenting insight, hit me up with some more queries in the comments or over on the FaceSpace and I’ll be sure to address them in FAQ Part 33 1/3!

Expert Answers to Your Parenting FAQs!

One of the projects I’ve been tackling at work lately is adding an “FAQ” section to the product descriptions on our website. I’ve discovered that I’m quite skilled at anticipating the incessant questions people are going to ask (doesn’t anyone just read the specs that I also lovingly wrote and which are literally right there in front of their faces?!) and answering them in a way that leaves the customer feeling educated yet not overwhelmed with information (despite what my blog might lead you to believe, I can be succinct…sometimes).

In an effort to extend my talent into other arenas, I’ve decided to create a little Parenting FAQ. Below are some of the questions I’ve heard from pregnant friends, curious childless women, and new mamas, along with my Certified Parenting Expert Advice (patent pending). Remember, babies are mysterious creatures and parenting is a dangerous game: arm yourself with knowledge lest you find yourself overwhelmed and confused!

Question: Is breastfeeding awful? Awesome? Gross? Creepy?

Answer: I personally was not a fan. I found it exhausting and endless, and pumping was at least 100 times worse. BUT! Some people have no problems and soldier forth for a solid year (or, if they’re weirdos, even longer) with nary a complaint. Your best bet is to think positive but acknowledge the reality that it doesn’t work for everyone, and if you decide to quit (or forgo it altogether), you’re not a terrible mother. Not because of that, anyway (you might be terrible for other reasons; let’s not discount that possibility).

Question: How do you not gag/vomit at the gross stuff?

Answer: What makes you think I don’t? Babies are disgusting. I say this as an authority on the subject since just yesterday I got poop underneath my fingernail and today I watched a doctor extract infected pus out of my baby’s ears (yes, that’s ears plural).

Question: I have seen moms literally eat half-chewed spit-out food off of their kids’ plates. Have they just lost all hope in life or what?

Answer: Yes.

Question: Am I crazy for worrying all the time? Will that ever change?

Answer: No, you’re not crazy. Well, you could be — I am not really in a position to judge on that one. And no, it’ll probably never change. In fact, it will almost certainly get much, much worse as your kid gets older and gives you more ammunition about which to worry. Sorry!

Question: How do I avoid laughing when my kid does something naughty but also hilarious and adorable?

Answer: This dilemma will resolve itself naturally. At first, the behavior will get worse, because your laughter will be interpreted by your baby as an endorsement. But don’t worry: whatever “cute” thing he was doing will eventually stop being cute (and rest assured, this will not take long), and you will soon stop laughing every time he throws his sippy cup off the highchair. Problem solved!

Dropping spaghetti onto the dog’s head will NEVER stop being funny, unfortunately:

Question: How do I know when to call the doctor and when I’m just being a Nervous Nellie about something?

Answer: This largely depends on the type of person you are. You need to be honest with yourself: if you, like me, are a crazy person, then just assume that 90% of the concerns you are considering raising with the doctor are absurd and will make you sound like, well, a crazy person. If you must call, you can always do what I do and preface your question with “I know this sounds silly, but my husband wanted me to ask…”

Question: How long does the whole “not sleeping” thing really last?

Answer: Some loathsome parents get maddeningly lucky and only suffer through a few weeks of torture; others have babies who wake up every 3-4 hours for months. Whether it lasts a month or a year, I can assure you of two things: first, it will seem endless and you will think you are losing your mind; second, it will eventually get better and you will completely forget how bad it was, and that’s how your brain tricks you into thinking having another baby is a good idea.

Question: Will my body ever look the same again?

Answer: Are you a supermodel and/or wealthy enough to hire a personal chef and trainer? If so, then YES! You’ll be back in business in NO TIME! If you’re a normal human like most of us, then start saving your money for a new wardrobe. On the bright side: new wardrobe!

I hope this has been educational and enlightening! If you have any other burning questions that need the attention of an expert (me…duh), share them in the comments and I’ll answer them in FAQ Part Deux next week!

The Crazy Files, Volume IV: Jinx!

If you read my entirely-too-long account of Bubba’s birth earlier this week, you may have noticed that I seemed completely blindsided by the labor and delivery process, as if I were one of those imbeciles who claim to have not known they were pregnant despite the 9-pound kicking and rotating and hiccuping human being enjoying residence within their womb. I’m sure you’ve all been scratching your heads for days now, wondering why such a clearly brilliant woman (humor me) would do such little planning for such an obviously consequential occasion, particularly one for which there was no shortage of time in which to prepare (specifically, nine months). Forget those “I didn’t know I was pregnant” nutbags — what kind of incompetent excuse for an adult knows full well that she’s pregnant for nine months and is still that unprepared to give birth?!

(And if you haven’t yet read that delightfully self-indulgent two-part tale, what the heck are you waiting for!? It includes the word “mucus” AND features a near-topless photo of a very-pregnant me, wherein you can bear witness to the spectacle of a seriously stretched-out tattoo. What more could you want? Go read it!)

Allow me to answer your question: a crazy person, that’s who.

The fact of the matter is, I spent my entire pregnancy in a constant state of fear, certain that something was going to go wrong at any minute. During the first trimester I was convinced I was going to miscarry (a prior miscarriage and some intermittent — but ultimately innocent — bleeding in the early weeks ensured that this possibility remained firmly in the forefront of my mind at all times). Later on, I worried about stillbirth, chromosomal problems, birth defects, the cord getting wrapped around his neck, early labor (probably caused by too much worrying), emergency c-sections, me dying during childbirth…name a hypothetical pregnancy/childbirth-related catastrophe and I assure you I spent a sleepless night or 10 panicking about it.

Memory Lane: I Had a Baby! (Part 2)

If you’re just joining the fun, make sure to go back and read part 1 of this thrilling saga, wherein I Jedi-mind-tricked myself into going into labor to avoid an electricity-related inconvenience.

With TFW out of the house and all of the busy-work things I could think of already done (and still no electricity!), I had nothing to distract me from the increasingly excruciating contractions. Within 10 minutes of his departure, I decided my sisters were filthy liars who had doled out malicious advice — they seriously thought I should continue riding it out at home for hours more?! I wanted to be in the hospital and hooked up to some drugs RIGHT THAT SECOND.

You see, since I had decided long before that I would have an epidural when the time came, in the months leading up to my due date I very stupidly gave absolutely ZERO thought to how I was going to deal with all the labor I was going to be experiencing before I got the epidural. It’s not that I didn’t realize I would be in labor for a while before getting the epidural…I just didn’t realize how painful it was going to be and how important it was to be prepared. So as the contractions got more and more painful and closer and closer together, I had none of those classic breathing/meditation/relaxation strategies smart women practice to fall back on.

So I just kind of freaked out.

I called TFW and told him to hightail it back home ASAP and deliver me to straight to Epidural Island. I started calculating how many more contractions I would have to live through before getting some sweet, sweet relief: “if he gets home in 10 minutes and then it takes us 15 to get to the hospital, and then figure another 20 to get checked in and whatnot, I’ll only have to feel 9 or 10 more of these. I can do that. That’s doable. Anything more than that and I might die.“

He returned home a few minutes later to find his wife in bit of a panic. I knew logically that the baby most likely wasn’t going to just fall out of my loins on his own within the next few minutes, but everything was suddenly feeling really real (and really, really painful) and I just kept repeating: “we need to go now. Please let’s go. I really want to be in the hospital right now. PLEASE.”

And yet despite my urgency, I still made him pause and take this photo right before we left the house:

I believe my exact quote was: “WAIT! We need a picture of my belly at the peak of its freakishness!!!”

Peak Freakishness documented, we were ready to head out (don’t worry, I put a shirt on first). The hospital is only about five miles away, so I started feeling more calm the moment we pulled out of the driveway. Relief was in sight! I’d have doctors monitoring my son, and, more importantly, drugs coursing through my veins, within the hour!

Memory Lane: I Had a Baby! (Part 1)

14 years ago when my sister Danica had her first son, our other sister made her a custom baby book that included something I thought was very cool: a page for Danica to write down her “birth story” — when she went into labor, how she felt, and so forth. Danica took the prompt very seriously and filled about three pages (she had to tape in extra notebook paper, if I recall correctly) with every detail from the first contraction to her son’s grand entrance many hours later, and I remember reading it and thinking it was so special that my sister and her son would always have this meticulous account of his birth to look back on. I made a mental note of it and vowed that when my time came, I would definitely do the same.

Of course, like just about everything else I thought I’d do and/or make for this kid (I’m totally still going to make him a baby blanket someday, I swear), I dropped the ball and never got around to it. I’m the worst.

But luckily for Bubba, myself, and for YOU, my seven loyal readers, my memory is fan-freakin-tastic! It may have happened 365 days ago, but the events of my dear child’s birth are as clear in my mind as what I had for dinner last night (Chipotle burrito: pinto beans, carnitas, extra cheese; don’t judge). I don’t have a baby book in which to write things like this (see previous paragraph re: me being the worst), but I do have this blog and that will have to suffice. Plus, if I’ve learned anything in my 29 years, it’s that people love reading long, drawn-out stories about dilated cervixes (cervii?) and epidurals, so…here you go:

The Mayor of Wrongville: My Inauguration

The day in your pregnancy when you finally look undeniably pregnant (when that wretched “is she preggo or just a little fat?” stage is finally over), every woman who ever had a child, read about someone having a baby, caught an episode of “A Baby Story” on TLC, or played with a doll as a little girl comes out of the woodwork to offer you advice.

An endless barrage of tips and suggestions coming at you from every angle may sound obnoxious, but since I was nearly paralyzed with fears about virtually every aspect of pregnancy and impending motherhood (I recall a tearful, panicked conversation with my mom when I was about 6 months along when I cried “how will I know when to feed him??”), I welcomed input (and reassurance) from pretty much anyone! I received lots of sage advice, like “um… you’ll figure out when he’s hungry. I promise. *cough* crazy lady *cough*.”

Since having Ry Ry, I’ve had a couple preggo friends ask me if I, as a newly certified Expert, had any words of wisdom I could share with them before they joined the Wonderful World of Motherhood (at least, that’s what I pretend happened – I’m pretty sure all they actually did was say hello and then I bombarded them with unsolicited “help.” Sorry, ladies. Overeager.) Their interest (humor me) made me reflect on everything I’ve experienced in the last five and a half months and how things compare now to what I thought things were going to be like before the kid actually arrived.

After filling them in on some practical tips that I believe every mother should be tipped off about prior to giving birth (e.g.: if you are even considering an epidural – and seriously, why aren’t you – forget what everyone says about waiting the early stages out at home and get your ass to the hospital STAT; also, splurge on awesome sweatpants cuz that’s all you’ll want to wear for months), I realized there was one piece of advice I never heard that really would have come in handy: