day 17.

Day 17 - A picture of something that has made a huge impact on your life recently.

duh. my sweet Emmaline :) She has completely changed my life!

day 9.

Day 09 - A picture of the person who has gotten you through the most.

My Mommy!

Through everything... school, boyfriends, moving... she has always been there for me.

She is one of the hardest workers I know and she gives everything she has for me, my siblings, and my Daddy!

And now, she is showing me how much she loves me even more by being the best Granny to my sweet Emmaline.

I love her so much.

day 5.

Day 05 - A picture of your favorite memory.

Hard to pick just one...

Meeting and holding my baby girl for the very first time.

After months of waiting, dreaming, and praying...

After hours of worrying and laboring...

She was here and in my arms!

godliness.

This has been an interesting semester and while, technically, I still have some more things to finish up, it is almost finished. Today was the last day of classes and I have three finals next week.

Just about there.

I have enjoyed my classes a lot more than I thought I was going to. Actually, this whole semester has turned out better than I thought it was going to. I was so unsure about even going back to school after having Emmaline. I was sad about leaving her all day (even if it was just with Patrick). I didn't know if I could handle being a Mom, keeping the house, and taking 15 hours. I wasn't sure how much more I had left to graduate, what requirements I needed to fulfill, what tests I needed to take, etc. I was scared about getting my work done but having enough time to spend with my daughter. I was worried about neglecting Patrick.

But honestly, everything has worked out really well. I am so grateful Patrick and I were able to stagger our schedules so that we could both go to school full time but Emmaline would always be home with one of us. I just could not do daycare. I am not in any way bashing it, by the way! I am just so uptight and anxious I literally don't think my health could stand me leaving her (as insane as that sounds... Did I just admit that for the world to see?) I trust Patrick with everything I have and I still get nervous leaving her. Hell, I worry about her when she's sitting right in front of me. So, this was the best way to ease me back into school.

My classes were challenging enough to keep my attention but not so hard I was drowning in work. I learned that if I take 18 hours in the Spring (eek!) and 2 Summer classes followed by my Fall semester of student teaching, I will be graduating a semester earlier than I thought I would be! So that's the plan for now.

One thing I noticed, which I don't know if it's a coincidence or forced, but a lot of what I learned this semester has really made me go home and think about my own life. One class in particular really got to me. I just finished up a Women and the Law class which deals, basically, with how the Constitution treats Women's Rights in the United States. We talked about a lot of things ranging from sexual harassment in the workplace, to domestic violence, to prostitution, to abortion. My professor would give us these statistics and then we would learn about real people and their real cases. And I always flashed back to my daughter.

I have a huge responsibility.

Because somewhere along the way, these poor women I was learning about, they got lost. Someone let them down. We learned about 11-year old prostitutes. I read cases of women who felt they had to perform sexual acts to keep their jobs. We had to learn the history and rationalization for abortion and why teenagers shouldn't have to tell their parents. Every day I heard story after story after story of just heartbreaking stuff that I was so lucky I never had to deal with in my life and I want to protect my daughter from as well. And I would get panicky because I've got to teach Emmaline today that she is worth something, that she is loved, that she is important and special and beautiful and God's special gift.

I guess I just wondered how that happens -- how these girls get forgotten. When I got home from class today and I saw my beautiful girl smiling up at me when I walked in the door, my heart just oozed with all the love I have for her. Every day it multiplies. I can't explain it. My mind couldn't compose an eloquent or articulate enough sentence for someone to understand how much that little girl means to me. And I just don't think I could ever stop feeling this way for her.

I want to be the best Mommy I can be to Emmaline. I really do. I just pray that what Patrick and I are doing is Right and Good because we have this huge job ahead of us to grow her into a Godly young woman. And, I don't know, you just look at this perfect baby who is sinless and innocent and you don't want anything bad to ever happen to her. I know I can't protect her from everything in the big bad world. But I want to do my best to prepare her for what's out there.

life.

I know this is much, much heavier than any post I have ever written. But for some reason, I just feel compelled to write about this. It's something that is currently bothering me, has bothered me for some time, and writing generally has a way of sorting my feelings out for me and helping me feel a little better when I'm upset.

I am currently in a Women and the Law class which, unbeknownst to me when I signed up for it, is really a lot like a feminist class. It's ok though because it is my first political science class that has really dealt with specific laws, cases, and rulings. I like being presented a case, real or fictional, and deciding what the Supreme Court did or should have decided. It's fun to me to try and figure out what parts of a case are important and how to best apply a law.

Sometimes, though, it can get annoying when the ardent feminists in the class spout off about how some situation is "evidence of a patriarchal society" or how men won't be happy until we're all pregnant, uneducated and stuck at home, or some other nonsense. I do get where they are coming from. I mean, women were the last group of people in America to be given citizenship status and the right to vote. Think about it; black people, who at one point weren't even considered human but rather property, were given the right to vote a full 60 years before women. The Supreme Court of the United States actually had rulings that stated blacks could not be considered "free" if they had lived in a free state and then moved to a slave state because they were property and property could not have rights! Seriously! And they were eventually given many rights before women. So, yes, I do think women have been greatly disenfranchised throughout our history. But I am also the type of woman who is not unhappy about staying home and keeping a house while my husband provides for us. This doesn't bother me. I'm not against my chair being pulled out or the door being held open for me.

To each their own. Feminism, to me, is having the right and ability to choose what works best for you as a woman.

Anyway, I promise I am getting to my point...

I am tired of being pulled into a movement I do not stand for. I am tired of being spoken for when I have my own voice and my own opinion on the matter. I am talking about abortion and how this, somehow, has been twisted in a "women's rights" issue. I know that if someone is pro-choice, there is very little, if anything, I could say to change their mind or sway their opinion. I wish I could say I didn't care but that just isn't so. I deeply, deeply wish I could find a way to change people's hearts and get them to understand the issue the way I do. It is to a point where I feel physical pain thinking about this cause. It literally hurts me. I think the worst part about the whole thing is each side so passionately believes that he is right and correct. It is damn near impossible for me to even try and get my mind to attempt to rationalize abortion. Sometimes the best way to speak to someone is to imagine yourself as them - get into their frame of mind. I just literally cannot even try to understand how a person could be ok with abortion. I can't understand. It's like when you try to imagine what could motivate someone to molest a child or commit cannibalism; it is so far removed from anything I feel, think, or believe that I cannot switch gears.

I know essentially the issue at hand is whether one believes life begins at conception, birth, or somewhere in between. If this could be established, it would not matter what type of rights a woman believes she has because we could say, "Sorry, too bad. It's a human already." Women's rights would be null, void, inconsequential. But for some reason, with all the technology, brain power, reason, and understanding we have, we cannot come up with a definition for life that we all agree on. Laughable. This is, again, where I struggle to even comprehend my opponents' views. I have always considered life as originating at conception. This was only further validated upon becoming pregnant and successfully carrying and delivering a beautiful baby girl. I was not but 6 weeks and 5 days pregnant when I first saw my baby on a scan (of which 2 weeks the embryo was not even present in the womb yet; the intricacies of calculating a pregnancy). So, my baby had been in my womb for a mere (and approximate) 4 weeks and 5 days. I saw her heartbeat. Can you grasp that? I saw her (a human!) heart (a vital organ for living!) beat (it's working and functioning!).

There are different types of abortions that can be performed. One such type is called an aspiration. It can be performed up until week 16 of the pregnancy. I had an ultrasound scan in week 16 of my pregnancy performed by my best friend. I was lucky, because without her scanning me, I would have had to have waited another month to find out the sex of my baby. During my hour and a half scan, my best friend spent the entire time analyzing every part of my baby you could think of. We counted her toes and her fingers. We followed the arteries in her heart and looked at her spinal cord and where it met the brain. She looked at openings in the baby's brain and whether there was liquid in the bladder. And when I went home that night, Patrick and I felt our sweet baby girl move. If I had wanted to, for any reason (or no reason at all) I could have ended it right then... all in the name of "women's' rights."

My baby, by the way, is a girl. Should I have decided on abortion, what does this say about her rights as a future woman?

I sincerely do not want to offend anyone and I certainly don't want to argue with anyone. I am not so shallow as to think most women go into this decision flippantly and without pain (though too many do). I guess my heart is just torn at what this means for me. I chose to have my baby. But what about all the other children out there who weren't so lucky to have a Mom who could, or would, choose to give birth to them? What can I do to change this? How can I help? How can I make a difference? How can I appease and pacify the hurt this causes to so many people?

escuela.

Starting school again this fall semester has me thrown back into a place I knew very well as a girl without a child. So, naturally, I am constantly thinking about how things have changed now that I am a Mommy. And it's a little weird. It's cool... and weird.

I have a class right now in a classroom in Peck that I also had a class in last semester. In fact, it was the last classroom I was in on campus the day my water broke, literally the last class I took before I became a legit Mom. Patrick teases me because he clearly doesn't get the significance of this, haha. He likes to tell me, "It's not like your water broke IN that classroom." But it's all very symbolic to me. The last time I sat in that seat I wasn't a Mommy. Today, I am.

It's funny because I am such a nerd when it comes to school. I live for school supplies. Ask anyone. The stationery aisle is by far my favorite. I drool in a Staples. I plan my First-Day-of-School-Outfit for weeks. The night before, I lovingly and oh, so carefully pack my backpack with all my shiny new supplies. I make my lunch. I set out my carefully selected outfit. The morning of I am a nervous ball of anticipation. Who will my teachers be? Who will be in my classes? What kinds of books will we read?

This year there was none of that. I can't even remember what I wore. It possible was jeans and an MTSU t-shirt. Granted, I was still stoked about the school supply aisle but I just grabbed one 5-subject notebook since I am going to be on campus all day and have classes back to back. I didn't want to be lugging around a bunch of junk. I didn't take any pictures of myself. I didn't really care who I sat next to in my classes. All I could think about was 1] how damn tired I was and 2] how much I missed my baby girl and Patrick.

I admit it; I was the annoying Mom. I took any chance I could to tell people about my girl. I mean, obviously they wanted to see pictures, right? In my first class we had to play this lame get-to-know-you game. Gosh, how I loathe get-to-know-you games. This one was a sheet of statements like "I have a pet" or "I can speak more than one language" and you had to go around the room and find people who those statements were true about and get them to sign their name. I was just beside myself with pride when I got to sign my name next to "I have a child" on people's papers.

By the way, I won the game.

I was proud of myself though. I didn't cry when I left and I didn't shed a tear the whole day, not even when I called Patrick to see how things were going and I could hear her talking in the background. Ok, ok, I admit it. I melted when I came home and saw her for the first time that day. Yeah, I cried. It was the longest I had been away from my baby since right after she was born and they took her away for three hours.

And I was proud of my Patrick. Not much of what we are doing is easy right now. We have crammed all our classes into 2 or 3 days and staggered it so one of us is always home with the baby. We were really trying our best to avoid daycare because I just don't think we could swing it financially. But really, how many 20-year old guys are willing to be stay-at-home daddies 2 days a week? And not only willing, but good at it?

Not just good... great.

Whenever I tell people about our little plan for this semester and that she's home with him all day while I'm at school, they always kinda stop suddenly and get real serious and ask, "Oh, is he a good Dad?" which I find remarkably hilarious.

"No, he's really terrible with her. Sometimes he forgets her places and doesn't feed her. But I still leave her with him."

Obviously he's a good Daddy!

But our first week went well, without a hitch really and I am hoping this week goes well too. I just wish I was a coffee drinker because, man, I can't keep drinking all these Pepsi's for the caffeine or I will start to look like I am pregnant again very soon...

delivery.

So my IV had been started and I was receiving Pitocin to get the contractions moving to speed up the labor. Once your water has broken, labor really needs to move along and you should have the baby within 24 hours for safety. Towards the end of your pregnancy, your OB will perform a strep test in the office to see if you are negative or positive. It doesn't hurt the Mom to be positive but it can harm your newborn during birth so if they find out you are positive, they know to give you some antibiotics during labor later on. Problem was, I only had my test done the day before at my doctor's office and they didn't know the results so I was going to have to be given the antibiotic anyway to be safe. I was fine with that but man did it hurt! I could feel the medicine going through my hand and up my arm.

By this time, the phone calls had been made. My Dad and Patrick's parents were going to come in the morning once they had gotten some sleep. These things can take a lot of time and there was no sense in having everyone rush out in the middle of the night. My brother had been planning on coming to see me and Patrick the following day already for a huge wing festival at my school. $8 to charity and you got a field of all-you-can-eat wings. I guess we wouldn't be going after all; so much for the 4 tickets we'd already bought! Patrick and I had joked that as long as she waited until after the wings, we would be fine with whatever day she ended up coming. We called him to let him know I was in labor but he kindly informed us that he would have to wait until the morning to come see us. Seems he had a few drinks he needed to sleep off. Boys...

Next on the list was to let my best friend, Emily, know what was happening. She has been my friend since 5th grade and I love her and her whole family dearly. She actually scanned me in December and that's how we found out I was having a girl. It was such a special moment having someone who loves me and my little family so much telling us that important news!

"Text Emily! I know it's late but I am sure she's still up. I don't think she'd be mad if we woke her up anyway..." I ordered Patrick. He texted her to let her know what was happening and she immediately responded. Before he could even type out an answer to her, she called. Guess he was too slow for her! Just as I had suspected, she was still up. She offered to come out but I didn't want her trekking all the way out there in the middle of the night just to sit there but she let us know it was no problem; all she was doing was making barbeque sauce anyway. Gotta love her!

I had Patrick e-mail my professors to let them know I was having my baby. We still had three weeks left of classes and then finals! Obviously, I was infinitely more concerned with what was happening in that room but I'd be lying if I said finishing school wasn't ever on my mind at any point.

By now, my Mom and sisters had arrived. My 16-year old sister who had just gotten her license the day before had driven them all there. Why would my Mom let my newly licensed sister drive them all an hour and half, in the middle of the night, you ask? Because my mother had taken her sleeping medicine right before I called her about my water breaking. It was seriously like a movie. They had rolled a cot in for Patrick to attempt to sleep some that night but the poor guy had to share it with my Mom and two sisters. Yes, four people were crammed on a twin sized, roll in, fold up, hospital issued cot. Emily sat beside my bed in a chair and read and handed me ice chips and chap stick whenever I needed them.

The Pitocin was definitely working by this point. I would be talking to someone and just have to take a small break, breathe, and it would be fine. They started to get more and more powerful and painful. I looked up at the monitor. The line measuring the strength of my contractions was barely rising. I couldn't believe it. I mean, they really hurt and they were barely a blip on the screen. The nurse came in to check on me and noticed that my monitoring contraption had slipped off. As soon as she readjusted it, the screen started showing those glorious mountains of contraction strength. Whew... I wasn't as big of a wimp as I thought I was!

I had already decided I wanted an epidural as soon as it was deemed safe. I am no hero. I know it's a very personal choice that a lot of women put much thought into. But for me and my delivery, an epidural is the way I wanted to go. About the time the contractions started getting pretty powerful, my nurse came in to let me know I was far enough along to get my epidural. I felt I could handle the contractions for a little while longer, though. I didn't really know what to do. They weren't excruciating by any means but I also didn't think it made much sense to feel any pain at all if I was able to get medicine to alleviate it. I decided to wait it out a little while longer.

I am not sure how much time passed, maybe an hour, maybe longer. But I sent Patrick to let the nurse know I was ready. I was so nervous about the epidural but by this point I was getting pretty uncomfortable. The anesthesiologist came in and read me the list of everything that could go wrong: stroke, paralysis, death. I scribbled my signature. I was willing to take the chance. He made me feel better, however, by saying he had been doing this a long time and none of those things had ever happened. As he rolled in his cart and began to set things up, I was in much more pain. The nurse came in and walked me through everything that was going on. Patrick held my hand. I had to sit up (ouch!), hold still (more ouch!), and relax as he poked, prodded and paralyze me from the waist down. That was probably the hardest part - trying to hold still as I was simultaneously going through a contraction and being shot in the back with medicine.

After my epidural, the labor was much calmer. I settled back and tried to rest. They dimmed the lights and everyone fell asleep. It was weird to me as I sat there how peaceful everything was. Was I really about to have this baby? The sereneness of that early morning combined with the fact that she wasn't technically supposed to be here for over another month made me feel like this wasn't really happening. Wasn't I supposed to be screaming and crying and sweating and cursing? I felt fine. I felt good.

The nurse came in and measured me. I was progressing very quickly. We called my Dad to let him know he needed to come now. Before I knew it, he was in the room sitting beside my bed. Everyone else was asleep and it was just me and my Daddy talking quietly in that dim room. I don't remember what we talked about really but I remember thinking how happy I was he stayed awake with me.

I noticed my left side was regaining more feeling and I could completely feel my left leg at this point. I had Patrick go get the nurse so I could see what needed to happen. More medicine perhaps? She came in and told me to try and roll towards my left side as the epidural works with gravity. If that didn't work, she would get me some more medicine. While she was there, she decided to go ahead and measure me. My Dad left and everyone else just averted their eyes. They were fast asleep anyway. Much to my surprise, she let me know the baby was ready to come! I couldn't believe it. I was already at 10 cm and she could feel Emmaline's hair. This was it! No time for more medicine!

Immediately I got scared. Now? Now?! She's coming NOW?! But I wasn't prepared! We didn't have a pediatrician picked out yet. Her nursery wasn't finished! We hadn't had our baby shower! And Patrick and I weren't supposed to start our birthing classes until that following Monday!

Again, Patrick allayed all my fears. He held me. He soothed me. He said everything I needed to hear. I could tell he was excited. For the delivery, we wanted it to be just me and Patrick so my family and Emily gathered all their things and headed out to the waiting room.

While we were waiting for the nurse, I realized I could feel Emmaline. The epidural was definitely wearing off and I knew her head was right there. I got nauseated and had to throw up. I was scared the flexing needed to vomit would make her come out. I puked and immediately felt better. The nurse came in and let me know they had paged the doctor and they began to set up the room for a delivery.

Once everything was set, she walked Patrick and me through how it worked. She pulled a mirror over and let me have two practice pushes. Emmaline's head was right there.

"Ok, maybe we better stop pushing until the doctor gets here," she said. I could tell she was surprised how easily and quickly Emmaline was coming. I knew I was! I tried to explain it later to my Mom but the right words never came. Delivering Emmaline was the weirdest experience. I felt like I had done it before. I knew exactly where and how to push. It was definitely a surreal moment. I chalk that up to God giving women an innate knowledge of how to deliver a baby. He prepares us in ways we don't even know.

Just a few moments before 8a, my doctor finally arrived. I was just sitting there holding back the urge to push and begging him in my mind to hurry up! He walked in and began to dress. "Where are my shoe coverings?" he asked the nurse. She had to go get some for him. I wanted to shout, "Are you guys really serious? I will buy you a new pair of shoes! Just get over here so I can get this baby out of me!"

She finally came back with some and we were set to go. He sat down at the base of my bed and told me to wait until the next contraction and to push with everything I had. The contraction came and I pushed with every fiber, nerve, and cell in my body and she plopped out!

At 8:01a on Saturday April 10, 2010 my girl was born.

"She's here!" I yelled.

"She's so cute!" Patrick said.

NICU had set up a station to look at her immediately since she was early. I kept asking if she was OK. She wasn't making any sounds.

"She looks great so far," they told me. I looked over at the bassinet they were examining her in and all I could see were these big beautiful eyes staring back at us. She was too busy being nosey and taking in this new world to cry!

They wrapped her up and put her in my arms. My baby! She was perfect. I didn't need any NICU nurses to tell me that. Thankfully one of the nurses reminded Patrick we had the camera and told him to take some pictures. I don't think either one of us would have remembered. He got some wonderful shots of my first moments with her. And then they took a picture of the three of us. My family!

All too soon they let me know they needed to take her to clean her up and observe her. I told Patrick I would be fine and to go with her. He brought her out and showed her to my family. I wish I could have seen their faces when they first saw her. And then she had to go into the Well Baby nursery to be checked out.

"When can I see her again?" I asked. They told me it usually took about 3 hours for NICU and a pediatrician to examine the early babies. THREE HOURS? I was crushed. But I knew it was necessary to make sure she was healthy and safe.

After three hours, I was in the recovery room waiting patiently for my bundle. When they finally wheeled her in, I thought I was just going to burst. I was beside myself at getting to see her again. She was all clean and starting to get color in her skin. She was gorgeous, just the most perfectly beautiful little girl I had ever seen. She was so alert too. I couldn't stop crying. My girl was here!

labor.

It all started on Friday April 9, 2010.

It began like any normal Friday had that whole semester. Patrick had class at 9a and, although I didn't have a class until 10a, I got up early at 7:30a and made cinnamon rolls... our Friday tradition.

Sometimes I went back to bed and slept until my physical science class. And, I'll be honest and admit that sometimes I went back to bed and slept through my physical science class. But I was a good girl and got up, dressed, and went to school. I even stayed for my next class, World Civilizations I. Go me.

Patrick and I both ended our Fridays at the same time so he met me at my last class. I had gotten out kind of early so I was just resting on a bench. I was still cramping like I had been all week. Were these the elusive Braxton-Hicks I had been waiting for? On Monday I had sat out on the couch for about an hour while I cramped up. I couldn't tell if it was a tummy ache or practice contractions. I secretly hoped they were contractions. Today was the same. Honestly, it felt like I needed to poop.

So, Patrick and I met at home and had lunch. I had been itching all day to get some work done around the apartment and had made an extensive to-do list. This included moving some furniture around the house, cleaning the bathrooms, laundry, doing some things in Emmaline's nursery, Mr. Clean Magic Eraser-ing the walls, etc. Patrick was such a good sport. He just did whatever I asked of him and he did it joyfully.

We had some errands to run around town so after we worked for a few hours and I sufficiently wore myself out, we set out to get some more things done. We went to TJMaxx and Target to look for some silver sandals to go with my dress I wanted to wear the next week to my baby shower. We went to WalMart and bought a few things we needed for dinner. Then we came home.

For dinner I cooked Steak-Um sandwiches and my homemade baked macaroni and cheese. It was good even though Patrick whined about the meat. I never alleged they were fancy, honey! ha.

By time dinner was done and cleaned up, it was getting late. On Fridays, Patrick worked at midnight until 2am so he usually liked to nap for a couple of hours late in the evening. Around 10p he went into the bedroom to attempt to nap and I went to the bathroom to attempt to shower.

I got completely undressed and got everything ready to hop into the shower. I decided to pee real quick because it never fails the second I step into the shower I have to go. After I peed, I stood up and stepped onto the towel we put at the base of the shower. I felt something warm run down my leg.

Ugh, did I really just pee on myself? This pregnancy thing is getting out of control...

Then my stomach sank. Is my water breaking, I wondered.

Half of me instantly became excited. My baby could be on her way!

The other half of me was horrified. I was only 34 weeks and 5 days.

I yelled for poor Patrick who was trying to get some shut eye. "I don't know if it is pee or what but I think my water broke." He, of course, ran into the bathroom to see me standing there naked on a towel, scared out of my mind. I wanted to call my Mom. It was late, but she thankfully answered. She talked me through it, including advising me to smell the towel and see if smelled like urine or sweet like amniotic fluid.

I smelled fabric sheets.

While I was on the phone with her, Patrick was aimlessly thumbing through my What to Expect When You're Expecting looking for that magical page that would give us the answers. He couldn't find much more information than what my Mom had just told me and what I had memorized months before.

I decided it would be wise to not shower just in case "more" came out. Patrick advised me to get dressed and come lay down in bed and relax. He went back into our room and tried once again to nap. As I went to get dressed, "more" did come out, little gushes of clear fluid.

"Patrick, it's happening again. And I know I am not peeing!"

So he came in and (this might be embarrassing to him) picked up the towel and smelled it. It was so frustrating to just smell that stupid lavender fabric sheet!

We decided we better go to the hospital, just to be sure. I had one thing to do before we left though.

I had to shave my legs.

I might not have been able to get a shower in, but if I was going to have this baby, I was going to have smooth legs!

So, Patrick let me shave my legs in the sink really quickly and we got all our bags together and called my family. Luckily, the drive to the hospital was only about 3 1/2 minutes. Patrick dropped me off at the ER entrance (protocol for after hours) so he could go park the car and I waddled to the front desk.

"Can I help you?" he asked me.

"Um, hi. I don't know if I pissed myself or if I'm having a baby," is what I was thinking but I managed to mumble out, "I think my water broke."

He directed me where to go down the hall and I told him to be on the lookout for Patrick who would be following behind me shortly.

The next few minutes were spent reuniting with Patrick, getting my paperwork pulled up, our bracelets put on, and trying to hold back the tears of nervousness as it hit me that something really could be wrong.

As the nurse came to get me with a wheelchair to take me upstairs to get checked, I began to cry. I told her I was embarrassed but I didn't know if my water had broken or if I had just peed myself. "I'm only 34 weeks and 5 days," I shakily told her.

"Oh well let's hope for the baby's sake its just pee because we really don't like to see them this early!" she told me.

Really? Did you just say that to me as I sit here in soaking underwear?

Her sentence reverberated in my head all the way up to Labor and Delivery Room 5. Once she got me in there, she told me to get undressed, put on the gown and someone would be in to check me soon. She closed the door behind her and I lost it.

I just started bawling in Patrick's chest. I had read enough to know 5 weeks is a lot of time in baby-making world. She could be very sick if she came out tonight. Patrick, as always, was 100% calm and supportive. He held me, let me cry, and told me everything would be OK.

The nurse came in and measured me. It hurt so bad. I was 3 1/2 cm!

She had brought some test strips in with her to see if my water had indeed broke. They were supposed to turn a bright blue if my water had broken.

They didn't. I was crushed.

She did one more test to be sure but this one had to be sent to the lab and would take a few minutes. She measured again and said she really felt like my water had broke.

Ten minutes later she was hooking me up to an IV and starting Pitocin. Turns out, my water had broken, and Emmaline was coming.

I kept asking, "Is she going to be OK? What's going to happen?" But of course no one could answer any of those questions. We wouldn't know what the situation would be until she got here.

We called my Mom and let her know that YES, I was indeed in labor. She and my sisters were on their way.

And so was my baby!

..to be continued...

changes.

Along with the arrival of a newborn also comes the barrage of cliches.

"Time flies so quickly."

"You've never known love until now."

"Say goodbye to sleep."

And they're tried-and-true cliches because they are so true. You can't help but take note and do your best to forewarn new parents.

And the cliche I am feeling strongly today, and have been for the past few days, is the one that says how much a baby changes you. I am not the same Naomi I was a year ago. I am not even the same Naomi I was 4 months ago. Yes, we change because of all the obvious reasons: you get huge and then small again, one day it's just you and your love and then the next you have an extra small human with you, your boobs now produce a beverage, etc.

But it affects a very real and internal part of your mind, of you.

I don't speed anymore. Ever. I just can't. I had a very impressive and extensive collection of speeding tickets before I even turned 20. Granted, I haven't gotten one since then, but I would assert that it's extremely highly unlikely (especially if that sweet baby is in the car with me) that I will be getting one any time soon.

I don't tan. If you knew me when I was pregnant, you may remember my dilemma with trying to find out if sunless tanning was safe to do while pregnant. I was fat. I was sickly. I was pale. I wanted to do something to feel pretty again. I couldn't wait until I had her and could go tanning again. Fast forward to now, the summer for Pete's sake, where I have time and the ability to tan at a salon or our pool which is no more than 30 yards away from my front door - and I don't. I am horrified of tanning now. I want to be as healthy I can possibly be and tanning just isn't important enough or worth it to me.

Of course these are just dumb little examples but they are jut a glimpse of what goes through my head nowadays, now that I am a Mommy.

Somehow, for some reason, God chose me (me!) to receive this blessing of Emmaline. And I am going to take care of the sweet gift, and myself, because it's important to me. She's important to me.

cravings.

With the Pookie finally asleep, I can begin to sit here and attempt to gather my thoughts into some sort of coherent blawgg. Maybe. I am someone who absolutely craves consistency. I think that is why I stick with things so long even when they clearly aren't working out (I won't name any names... but if you knew me in high school or college, you know what I'm talking about). I don't like to rock the boat. I don't like to be uneasy. I don't like not knowing what's coming up ahead.

Babies, as it turns out, do not go well with this kind of outlook.

Just when I think I am starting to understand Emmaline, what she needs, what she likes, and how she's going to act, she throws a wrench into the whole operation. I was fully ready to accept she was never going to nurse. I randomly tried it and now she loves it (2 and half months after initially trying and failing so hard). Now, we come to find out that she doesn't want a bottle at all. Shit. This is not good. We were planning on switching from breastmilk to formula exclusively once school started back up in September since I would be gone for 9+ hours on Tuesday's and Thursday's with no way to pump. If she is now refusing the bottle, then we will be forced to wean her off the breast and back to bottles in two months. Patrick thinks we should just quit nursing and go back to pumping breastmilk for her. I'm sad but I think he's right.

Emmaline was sleeping six to seven hours a night without making a peep. A few nights she even went up to nine hours without waking. It was amazing, to say the least. Now that we finally got her to sleep in her crib, she is waking one and two times a night again. I keep telling myself it's simply because we disrupted what she was used to and now she has to get re-comfortable with sleeping in this new place and she'll eventually go back to sleeping through. I hope I am right.

Some days she likes certain bottles. Other days she wants the ones we used when she was a month old. Some days she likes the blue pacifier. Lately she's been wanting her pink one. She used to not care if her milk was warm or cold. Now she won't accept even a drop unless it's been warmed.

About a month ago, Emmaline started this horrible thing where every night around 5-ish she would just start to cry hysterically. It would go on for an hour, sometimes two, with her just screaming. We tried everything we could ever think of and I was at my wit's end. It honestly is one of the most stressful, heartbreaking and, yes, I admit it... annoying, things in the world. Your poor baby is crying so hard she can't even catch her breath and you can't figure out why. I would just start crying because I felt so bad, so guilty. I felt like, clearly I was missing something. If I was a "good mom" I would be able to figure out why my child was upset and be able to fix it. I finally said something on fbook and I got some really good advice from a dear, dear friend of mine.

Miss Brandi, mamma of two boys, told me that a lot of parenting is just trial and error. At the time, Emmaline was just a month or so old and this felt like the worst advice I could ever get... because I wanted something definitive. I wanted to be told that if the problem was "A," and if I did "B," then "C" would definitely happen. I wanted a cure. I wanted the knowhow, the inside scoop, the 411, the freakin' answer to why my baby was so pissed off.

But Miss Brandi was giving me the answer. Every baby, like every adult who's raising them, is different. They like, need, hate, crave, look for, think, and feel different things. Sometimes it's different from a sibling or your friend's baby. And sometimes, unfortunately, it's different on Wednesday from what they liked Tuesday. And being a good Mommy means I can recognize that what I'm doing isn't working right now and I use my baby's clues to find what will work.

I hate it, because I want (need!) that consistency. But if this is how my sweet Emmaline likes to roll, then I'm gonna go with it. Because, let's face it. She is totally the boss of me now!

And I couldn't ask for a cuter boss :)

confidence.

So, some exciting news. Emmaline and I have nursed FOUR times today. I don't know what it was - maybe talking about pumping last night? - but something encouraged me to try just one more time and Pookie took to it like we'd been doing it since Day 1! I was so shocked. I still want to continue to pump every now and then so there is always milk in the fridge and freezer so Daddy can feed sometimes too but I think I will try to nurse as exclusively as possible myself. The only thing I am having trouble with is knowing when she is finished. She gets so comfy in my arms being held that close to me that she gets all sleepy and drowsy so I am not sure if she's full or just chillin'.

It's kinda ironic because they (whoever "they" is...) say that breastfed babies have healthier weights because the breast only produces enough milk for what the baby wants and needs to eat and that bottle fed babies are in danger of being overweight because parents get sucked into the numbers game ("Come on; just half an ounce left. Eat up!"). But Baby refuses to drink any more from her bottle than what she really wants. She literally will make the most horrible face and spit out the milk once she's done, ha. So who knows? I will keep trying for now. Whatever is easiest at that moment for me to get food to my sweet baby is what I will do.

So, I have plans to meet up with a friend from high school tomorrow and her daughter, and another mommy friend of hers and her 4 month old. Is it lame that I am nervous? I don't go out with my girl by myself very often and, for some reason, I am still a little - hmm, what's the word? - self conscious? That's sort of what I mean. And I think I will be even more intimidated being around two mommies that have been doing this twice as long as I have. There are as many ways to raise a child as there are mommies and children and I feel like I am doing a really good job. But for some reason, I just haven't gotten that confidence. I love my little girl with everything and I am constantly reading, researching, and working to make sure I am doing the best for her. But I am also constantly second guessing myself. I am not very confident in myself in anything else in my life so it does not surprise me that I am struggling with this as well. But nothing else in my life is as important as my girl, either. I just don't know what to do to fix this.

I suppose I will just go tomorrow and do what I always do with the Pookie. I hope we have fun :)