Story Provides an Update ...

To my fans,

Story here! And I’m writing my own update this week because my Mom is super busy with job interviews, chasing after me, and wiping my runny nose! I told her, “Mom, people need to know how many times a day I poop.” And she was like, “Story, Mommy only has two hands and right now I need both to pin you to the changing table to keep you from rolling around in said poop.”

I told her, “That is what toes are for.”

Well, she didn’t think that was very helpful, so I pulled up my iPad and got to typing. Let me give you the headlines: Mobility, Food, Poop, Sleep.

Mobility
The big news around the house is that two weeks ago I started crawling. Had I known the attention it would garner, the “oohs and ahhs”, I would have started it months ago. Seriously. My parents went nuts. Then three days ago, I decided to just stand straight up and hold my stance for a five second count. I thought my Mother was going to pass out right there in front of me. She gasped and cooed and followed me around the house with a video camera for the rest of the day.

Here are my top ten observations since crawling, cruising and standing upright:

1. Must my Mother follow me everywhere?
2. The view from 2’5” off the ground is spectacular.
3. Since learning to pull up and cruise, I noticed my parents have a lovely white couch stretched like a blank canvas across one entire side of the room.
4. My parents recently bought a cage and they throw puffs on the ground to entice me to crawl into it.
5. All of the chairs in our house are great teething elements, I especially enjoy the walnut finish.
6. Electrical cords are pretty much the tastiest things ever, I recommend you get the entire cord and plug into your mouth to really appreciate the sweet taste of copper wiring.
7. My parents have a lot of books, magazines, printer paper, newspapers and other munchies just lying around the house.
8. I’ve noticed a direct correlation between my increased mobility and the number of times my Father says, “No”.
9. There are so many rooms in this place! Who knew?
10. Did you know there was a little round sink in the bathroom just for kids?

I’m holding out on the walking thing until I milk this crawling/standing bit for all it’s worth. I figure if I pull out the big guns around Christmas then I’m getting all sort of new toys.

Food
Mom has me eating a bottle every four hours along with a breakfast, lunch and dinner of solid foods. Sometimes I just feel like I am eating non-stop. I mean, I wake up, I breastfeed and just two hours later I’m eating rice cereal, fruit, and toast. Two hours later I’m drinking a bottle, taking a nap, waking up and then, you guessed it, I’m eating again!! Lunch is rice cereal and vegetable puree and maybe some cheese. Well, I’m stuffed like a turkey on Thanksgiving by the time I get through the afternoon bottle and dinner. But Mom still feels the need to pop a boob in my mouth right before I go to sleep. I think the woman is trying to fatten me up so I fit in the 18 mos. sized clothes. Sometimes I try to trick her by taking my food out of the bowl and spreading it all over my high chair tray so it looks like I ate more. But she is relentless; she scoops it right off the tray and into my mouth. And don’t get me started with the songs she sings to try and get me to eat. It’s embarrassing. But it works! I just want her to shut up so I slurp it down as fast as I can. The only up side of this entire food experience is the puffs.

I love puffs. Puffs are these heavenly fluffy little star-shaped cereal bits that melt right in my mouth. I could eat them all day. And I do. You see, I hide them all over the house so whenever I want a snack I can just crawl right over to one of my hiding spots and pop one in my mouth. Favorite hiding spots include, but are not limited to, the following: Behind the door to my bedroom, under the couch, squeezed between the floor pillows, tucked into Mommy’s brassiere, pushed up under my car sear, in the sugar bowl, in the creamer, along the bottom of the fridge, in Daddy’s slipper.

Sometimes I find other things in these hiding spots. For example, today I was searching for puffs and found something special that I wedged in my cheek and managed to hide for around six hours until my Mother discovered it half way through swim class. I had just popped up from a dunk under the water when I thought it would be a good time to sneak a chew, but Mom gave me a puzzled look, stuck her finger inside my mouth and removed the fibrous end of a green onion I had been savoring since breakfast. She can be a real kill-joy.

Poop
Most of my fans know that I struggled with solid waste for a while. Well not any more. In fact, I’m pretty regular now. Mom even suggested to me that I slow down with the nasty output, but I can’t help myself. I mean, with all the food that woman crams down my throat it’s only natural that I poop three to five times a day. She acts like it’s all strange that I poop like a normal kid, reading the ingredients off my baby food, consulting blogs and taking my temperature all the time. I just want to shake her and say, Look, lady, it’s NORMAL. But the truth is that my Mom can just be a little paranoid sometimes. Don’t get me wrong, I love her like crazy and can’t get enough of her soft lady lumps, but she worries about every little thing. Just the other day I was eating her parking ticket and it got lodged in my throat so I threw up like ten times in a row until I was sitting in a pool of creamy spew and my Mom just freaked. She pulled out the parking ticket, wrapped me in a blanket, plopped me down in the kitchen sink and started calling people on the phone. Really Mom, is this so traumatic that we have to use the kitchen sink? I’m bathed in the essence of breakfast and lunch, must I also be bathed in dish soap?

Sleep
All my Mother’s friends ask her if I sleep at night. Which got me thinking, what happens at night that all the Moms are trying to keep to themselves? Is there a Mom party at 2:00 AM? Does she serve banana pancakes topless at 3:00 AM? Do Grandma and Grandpa come over at 4:00 AM with a pile of gifts? I decided to launch my own investigation, waking up at various intervals to try and catch the adults off guard. I noticed it takes them at least five minutes to come and collect me from my bedroom. What are they hiding in those five minutes?

When I wake up at 2 or 3 or 4 in the morning, I need someone to come and get me so I can investigate the perimeter. If I just lay there and ask nicely for them to please come in and pick me up, they don’t even have the courtesy to come to my door. So I’ve learned that the only real way to get them to show some respect is if I scream with every ounce of energy I’ve got, turn purple and act like I’m throwing up. Mom is a complete sucker for this and will almost always come running, scoop me out of the bed, rip down her shirt and stuff her boob in my mouth. If I’m lucky, I can get her to walk me around the house to check things out. Dad on the other hand, takes a lot more energy. Whenever I realize it’s his shift, I just have to do a little cost/benefit analysis because chances are I’ll cry for twenty minutes before he comes in the room. It will take me another ten to get him to reach into the crib and touch me and then it will take a good fifteen more minutes before he finally wakes up my Mom who just comes in and puts her boob in my mouth. Sometimes it’s just not worth it and if my wails bring Dad I may just roll over and go back to sleep until I know Mom’s on deck. Annoying!

Mobility, Food, Poop, Sleep - those are the big headlines over here. A lot has been happening the last few weeks as we approach the holiday season. I've left out all the little stuff about how I smile all the time, give kisses, wave hello and make the sign for milk. To all you babies out there, save some big stuff for the Halloween-Thanksgiving-Christmas holidays, it’s sure to mean more candy, more turkey, and more gifts. I’m gearing up for some big stuff this week that my Mom can show-off about with her M.O.P.S. group, ‘Mommy and Me’ sign and song class, swim lesson circle, UCLA wives clique and urban sewing club. I plan to use my new tricks to gather chocolate for Daddy on Halloween. I figure I can find a way to get the chocolate to make him pick me up at night. Stay tuned for a Halloween update with some pictures of a surely ridiculous get-up that my parents will make me wear.

To my fans – Keep it real. I love you all. Nigh Nigh.

One Day

Dear Story,

One day, when you are two and you don’t want my help and you tell me you can do it “all by yourself”,
I will remember this very night tonight, how you clung to my shirt and pressed your sweet head against my chest as I rocked you back and forth until you fell asleep.

One day, when you are a teenager and I am so embarrassing,
I will tell you how you would smile when I would sing to you and pick up books off the shelf and hand them to me to read aloud.

One day, when you are graduating from high school and I take a picture of you proudly holding your new diploma,
I will tell you how many pictures I took of you when you were a little girl,

One day, when you fall in love and you bring home the man and you say, “Mommy, I think he is the one,”
I will think of a time when your daddy was the most important man in your world and how you would light up whenever he would enter a room.

One day, you will call me, crying from a broken heart,
And I will tell you about when you were learning to walk, wobbling and falling every day, and how only my arms and kisses would make it better and get you to stop crying.

One day when you do find the one and daddy and I watch you exchange your vows and put rings on one another’s fingers,
I will remember those little fingers splashing in the bathtub while daddy and I laughed and squirted each other with water and told each other how lucky we were and how much we loved our life and one another.

One day, when you come to me and tell me you are pregnant with your own little baby,
I will sigh and tell you all about what it felt like to be pregnant with you and how I rubbed my belly at night, pushed away the fears and told myself that you would be the most loved baby in the entire world and perfect in my eyes no matter what.

One day, when you hold your own little girl in your arms, your husband smiling and your own face wet from the tears of joy over your new little family,
I will remember this very night tonight, how you clung to my shirt and pressed your sweet head against my chest as I rocked you back and forth until you fell asleep.

Love, Mama

On Marriage

Dear Story,

When I was a teenager listening to Crowded House on my walkman, I would close my eyes and create a music video of my wedding day. There was a white dress and gorgeous bridesmaids and a four tiered cake. There was a church overflowing with people, big hair, my father beaming with pride and lots of speeches about me. Of course, nowhere in my hazy teenage fantasy was a husband. My dream of marriage was all about the wedding. How foolish of me to not dream of the best part.

Just a few months ago, your father, his friend Mike, and your Uncle Georg moved our entire home into the back of a Penske truck. In 97 degree heat. With no AC. And it took 10 hours. While the boys ran up and down the stairs with loads of our life in their arms, I lay down next to you on the floor of our tiny bathroom and soothed your nervous cries.

"It's going to be all right," I told you.

Daddy worked hard, sweating until salt stained his shirt, occasionally knocking on the door to check on us and ask how I would like something packed.

“Hey honey, we taking that green vase?”

“Hell yes we are taking that green vase. I moved it down her from New York. It’s the only vase we have that can hold sunflowers.”

“We have about twenty-six vases already packed, but whatever.”

“Double wrap it in newspaper and then bubble wrap it and put it in one of those long boxes. Seal it on top with the clear tape. You listening to me, it has to be the clear tape. Then I want you to label it with one of the labels I printed last night that says glass, fragile. Make sure the label is on the top of the box, that’s very important. And be careful, it’s glass. Mark it glass, okay?”

I'm a bit of a micro manager. Okay, I'm a complete freak if things aren't done exactly the way I think that they should be done. Somehow your Daddy still loves me despite this. In fact, despite the many arguments about how many pieces of newspaper are adequate to properly pack a coffee cup, despite my tendency to start every other sentence with “can I make a suggestion?”, despite my exhaustive reminders that we only use the bubble wrap on colored glass items, your Daddy listened and didn't throw up his hand and walk out on us.

I know he listened, because somewhere around hour five of moving day, I heard a glass break and found my husband standing over the remains of one of my candle hurricanes.

I expected an eye roll and a "Great, one less thing to pack”. But instead, I got “Baby, I'm so sorry. Seriously. So sorry honey.”

He looked up at me, eyes tired from no sleep and a late night packing, legs dripping sweat because I sold the AC unit one day too early. My heart swelled with love. Oh sweet man, how could I be mad at you for anything right now. You are packing and moving my things.

And that is when it hit me. I've moved ten times in the last ten years, and always it was my responsibility to get it all done. These were my things and my sleepless nights. But these aren't my things anymore. And I never have to move alone again. I am no longer alone.

Don’t get me wrong sweet Story, your mother is no stranger to loneliness. I was pleasantly alone for 36 years of my life and happy for most. Both your father and I still love a languid lonely afternoon. But being with your Daddy has made me feel full in a way that I never imagined. I love knowing I am always part of a team, even when I’m by myself at the coffee shop or driving you to swim lessons or sitting in a meeting. I love the sweet comfort of mutual respect. I love the way your Daddy brings his creative touch to even the smallest of gestures. He takes such care with his quirky fun greeting cards. I love having someone to hold the camera while I pose for a photo to commemorate one of our wild adventures. I love that someone else has the same memories that I do. I love having a reason to make fancy dinners, and that he always does the dishes. I love Daddy’s bursts of energy that end with us in a car, on a road, to somewhere exciting, with not a care in the world. I love that your Daddy understands me. When I ask him to buy Crest sensitive toothpaste and they don’t have it in stock, he doesn’t just buy the regular stuff. I love that even when I am bitter or jealous or lazy and controlling, he doesn’t walk away. Your daddy is a man of great character, unwavering in his honesty, unafraid to grow from seeing his bad parts, unabashed in his love for his family. Marrying your Daddy made me feel like I won the lottery.

A year ago today, I was married in the Rose Garden behind Independence Hall, under the shade of a spruce tree. My husband wore a navy blue suit, accented with an orange dahlia in his lapel. I wore a strapless beige gown I got for half price at Neiman Marcus Last Call. The dress wasn’t white, we had cupcakes instead of a cake, and we opted for a park instead of a church. I was five months pregnant with you and it rained most the night. My bridesmaids were beautiful, so many special friends and family members blessed us with their presence, my sisters danced with my brothers, my mother and father both made sweet speeches, and there were lots of special details. My husband held me in his arms as we danced to our song, gently touching my elbows while he whispered the words in my ear. It was perfectly ‘us’. But my favorite part of the wedding was the man at the end of the aisle and the marriage born in that moment.

Love, Mama

It Crawls

Where did I come from?

And lo, the angel of the Lord appeared and said, “Lo, I am the Angel of the Lord sent here to bring you the good news. You have been chosen to bear a child. She will be a child of light, born to bring peace and serenity to the world. Lucky is the mother and father that will raise her in their home. She will change the world and make it a better place. She will be born unto you at the dawn of a new decade. You will swaddle her, lay her in a pack ’n’ play and people will come from around the globe bearing gifts fit for a queen. Behold the glory of the Lord.”

“Um, excuse me, Lo? I think you may have the wrong woman.”

The Angel of the Lord raised up her nose to the sky and folded her wings behind her, “Thy Lord has spoken. You have been chosen.”

“Okay, but really, I’m thinking you are not at the right window. I’m not married. I just got back together with a man afraid of commitment and as far as I know, my ovaries don’t even work.”

“Dare you defy the word of the Lord?”

“No, not at all. But did the Lord actually say my name or was he just like, ‘Hey Lo, go to the first window you see on Spruce Street and tell whoever is inside that they are going to have a baby?’”

“You cannot argue with the word of God.”

“Can’t or shouldn’t? Because I’m pretty sure I saw a light on in the house next door. You know, the house with that cute newlywed couple in it and the extra bedroom? Surely I am not fit to be a mother. I’m unemployed, unmarried and prone to overanalyzing and depressive thoughts. I’m certainly not responsible enough for something like this, nor unselfish enough to make a good mommy.”

“God has given you a gift. Accept it.”

And with that, Lo was gone and I was struck pregnant.

Nine months later, I woke up one morning and there you were in the bed next to me. My hair was perfectly coiffed, and there were some birdies singing in the window. I shook your father awake, and we smiled peacefully. We gave thanks and went back to bed.

pssst.... for the true story, see below.

Your Birth, Story

WARNING: The following post contains graphic reference to human waste and it is not recommended that those of polite nature or modesty continue reading.

Sweet Story Brynne, you arrived so easily into this world. This is mostly due to Mommy ignoring Daddy’s pleas for a natural childbirth.

“I don’t want to see all those monitors hooked up to you,” he told mommy. “I think you should bring our baby into the world naturally.”

I stared at Daddy for a very long time, my facial expressions ranging between confusion - ‘who are you?’, anger - ‘who said you got a vote?’, amusement - ‘that’s so funny!’, and bewilderment - ‘did we not just both watch the same video of that woman having natural childbirth for 44 hours?’ I thought carefully about how I would word my response.

“Well okay,” I began. “Since we are already in the eighth month, we should double up on those birthing classes on your nights off. There are a few 7 AM to 5 PM classes being offered on Sundays.”

“Oh,” he said. And it was then that we decided that mommy would have an epidural.

Outside, the Philly air was frozen and several feet of snow had accumulated on the ground over the previous five days. God covered the city with a fresh dusting of untouched snow, as if he was tidying up Philly for your new eyes. Your father slept peacefully beside me and your Mimi slept in the living room. We were all ready and waiting for you to arrive. I shot up in bed, the room illuminated by the red glow of the digital clock reading 5:07 AM.

Oh God, I can’t believe I was just awakened by the overwhelming urge to take a poop.

That’s right, my first indication that you were about to enter the world was marked by an intense feeling of constipation. There is really no polite way to explain it.

Great. Just great. Constipation to add to the heartburn. I should not have eaten pineapple with sriracha sauce. See here.

Since I was two days passed my due date and the discomfort seemed to be lingering, I decided to time each short wave. Not labor. Definitely not labor. I feel nothing in my belly, no cramping, no aching, no pinching. According to the literature, labor is consistent. And this is hardly consistent. I am not going to be the idiot that shows up at the hospital thinking she is in labor and being sent home with a stiff laxative.

The numbers read 6:03 when I woke your father.

“I didn’t want to wake you unless I was sure. But I think I’m sure now. I thought I just had to take a really big poop, but I think, I’m not sure, but I might, though it could just be constipation, but perhaps I’m having a labor.”

He didn’t open his eyes or roll over. “Okay,” he said.

“Can you time them? I’ll be so embarrassed if it’s just a hemorrhoid flare up from eating all that spicy food last night.”

He was quiet for a long minute.

“Are you there?” I asked.

“Sure.” I heard him digging in his bedside stand for his watch.

“Tell me when one starts,” he said.

I had already been up pacing around the room for the last hour and had located a contraction timer on the computer.

“They last about a minute to a minute and a half and they happen every 6-10 minutes. I could be like this all morning,” I told him.

He yawned and looked over at the computer on my bedside stand, “Why don’t you just use the computer to count and wake me when they start getting closer together. No use in both of us being tired.”

Your father rolled over and went back to sleep. Natural childbirth, huh?

Alone in the dark of the room, still in the silence of the morning, it was just you and me. There was nothing else to do but feel the discomfort growing. It would be our final moments alone together, and I felt a sudden reluctance to share you with the world.

I got up and took a shower. Everything felt better in the heat and steam, and I leaned against the tile and prayed.

Please Lord, help me get through this. Help me to let go and remember that I am not the first person to do this. I am not special or different and many women have gracefully passed before me. Help me be strong and do what I need to do. Help me remain calm and focused and be present for this moment. And please help it go fast. Amen.

I got dressed and double checked my bags to make sure everything was packed. When the waves came, I bent over a chair or the bed and raised one leg in the air until it passed. Sometimes they were three minutes apart and sometimes they were four minutes apart. I went back and forth doubting if this was really labor. But by 8:00 AM, I was convinced.

I woke Mimi,“You ready to be a Grandmother?”

By 9:30 AM, your father and Mimi were dressed and showered, and we decided to wait as long as we could before we went to the hospital. I called your Papa and talked between contractions. We joked and laughed, and when a wave would come, I stood like a flamingo in the middle of the room until it passed.

Your father was unimpressed. He sat at the computer and seemed really annoyed whenever I said, “Here comes another one.”

He would push the timer on the contraction counter and go back to reading his blog roll.

“Hey, I could use some help here,” I said.

He turned from his seat in front of the computer, one hand still on the mousse. “What do you want me to do?” he said.

“Um, count. Help me breathe. Something. We went to that class together, can’t you do some of those things.”

“Like what things.”

“Oh God, here comes one.” I leaned over the bed and placed my head in my hands counting aloud. Your father stood over me staring, a blank expression on his face, your Mimi joining him in the doorway to watch the scene unfold.

“Stop staring at me!” They both looked away.

When the contractions were a minute long and 3 minutes apart, I told your father to call our friend Kevin and ask him to give us a ride to the hospital. Kevin is Aunt Elizabeth’s husband, lives down the street from us and was the only person we knew that could get his car out in the middle of a blizzard. Your Dad made the call and by 11:30, we were loading Kevin’s four wheel drive pick-up truck with a car seat, my overnight bag, My Breast Friend, Mimi, her overnight bag, your Dad, his overnight bag, and one very pregnant contracting Mama. It was a tight fit, and there were lots of bumps along the route.

Mommy tried to make conversation, “So Kevin, how are things? How was your morning?”

“Um, good. Are you going to break your water?”

“I don’t think I’m quite there yet, so how is the fam- uh, pardon me for a moment,” And I leaned over the dash and tried to lift my butt off the seat. “Uhhhh, ahhhhh, ooooh, -okay. Sorry about that, so the family?”

Kevin looked very nervous over the thirty minutes it took us to drive ten blocks in the snow.

We arrived at the hospital around noon, and they sent us to be processed. By now, your father had determined that there was not an app available to download to the iTouch that would count my contractions. So he pulled out the pen and paper and used his calculator watch to help me gracefully wait out the 90 minutes before they came in to check my cervix. When Daddy learned that I was already at 7 centimeters he transformed, helped me count, reminding me to breathe, and fought with the nurse to get me checked in to one of the new birthing suites.

“The new ones aren’t set up.”

“Well, can you set it up?”

“You want it set up, or you want me to be in a good mood.”

“Um, I’d like you to set it up, and I’d like you to be in a good mood.”

“Humph. Good luck with that.”

And the nurse reluctantly moved us into a pristine new birthing suit with maple wood paneling, fresh white linens and a mood light dimmer. What she failed to mention is that she would also be our nurse for the day. She took every available opportunity to point out the deficiencies of the room and remind us we had chosen it.

Thanks to the birthing plan we had prepared in advance, we had minimal intrusions in our birthing oasis. Our doctor wasn’t available, so we asked for a midwife. The contractions were not as painful as they were exhausting, and the excitement about what was happening made it hard not to spontaneously smile. Your father held my hand, stroked my back and whispered in my ear, as per my instructions.

Around 2:30 PM, when the doctor arrived to administer the epidural, I longed for a little sleep. I had to sit still on the hospital bed as he pricked my back with a long needle. Staying still as the contractions rolled through me was more of a distraction than the needle. I asked for a low dose epidural, causing our nurse to roll her eyes and call us “earthy-birthy.”

“Let’s see how that goes,” she said, thus challenging me to resist asking for a heavier dose as the day wore on.

After the epidural, I lay back in the bed and the pain reduced to a small rumble. We lowered the lights, Mimi sat in a rocking chair reading, your father looked through the latest issue of Wired and I tried to type up a feeding schedule template as I faded in and out of sweet sleep. About 5:00 PM, I woke with a rush of pain.

“I feel something.”

“Hmph. Probably that low dose epidural kicking in,” said the nurse. “Just push that little button over there and wait about fifteen minutes.”

I pushed. I breathed. I waited. I pushed again. Nothing.

“Well, it’s probably just hurting because you did that low-dose thing.”

Gabe investigated. I winced. Gabe held up the end of a cord attached to the drip at the side of my bed.

“Should this be plugged in?” he asked the nurse.

“Oh.”

I looked at Gabe with panic, trying to breathe as the contractions came and went through me with vicious force.

“It’s this new room. It’s just not set up right. I told you that you were going to have trouble with this room. Looks like it was kicked out of the wall. This room just ain’t the right set up.”

Mimi asked, “Should we call someone down to re-administer the epidural?” You see Story, the way the epidural works is that they give you an initial dose and then they hook you up to a drip meant to administer the remaining dosage. But I had never received the drip, only the initial dose, and a doctor had to come down to set it all back up again. The other thing Story, is that an epidural numbs you from the waist down and fools you into thinking you have no pain, so when you suddenly do feel the pain – it hurts!

“I’ll check on it,” said Nurse Ratched.

Relegated to a lying down position in the bed for the longest 35 minutes of my life, Mimi got the doctor back down to hook up the epidural again.

“You want it strong this time I bet,” assumed the nurse.

“I think I’m getting close, I’ll keep it low.”

Eye rolls ensued. But then the midwife came in and she checked my cervix and she said, “I believe we are ready to push.”

I looked at the clock, and it said 6:15 PM. My head began to swirl as I realized you were about to be born.

“Oh my God, this is really happening.” I said. The midwife flipped on the light and your daddy and Mimi positioned themselves on either side of the bed. The nurse stood at the head of the bed. Oh my God. This is it. This is really happening. Oh no. I’m not ready. I don’t want this. Can I change my mind?

Your daddy squeezed my hand and fixed me in a stare that let me know we were a team, doing this together.

“When you feel the next contraction, I want you to push,” said the midwife.

I remembered this part from the birthing class. I was supposed to push like I was moving out a big poo. I squeezed my eyes shut, took a deep breath and pushed with all my strength. I gritted my teeth, touched my chin to my chest, and pushed until the veins at the side of my head began to pulse. My eye sockets blackened from the blood rush.

“And stop,” she said. I had done it. I was so proud. This is when the nurse leaned over and said, “This could take anywhere from two to four hours, at least.”

“What? Are you kidding me? In the movies, the pushing part lasts like seven minutes tops.”

The nurse smiled, “Sorry.”

We pushed after every other contraction and then we rested. The low dose epidural meant I could feel the contraction coming, so I knew exactly when to push. When the midwife left the room, the nurse told me to push, take a quick breath and push down again, like a double whammy push. So I did it… with every contraction for the next 15 minutes. And when the midwife came back into the room, she sat down and said, “Whoa, you need to relax, this baby’s coming fast and you don't want to tear." She looked closer, "Actually, you are already torn in three places.”

I shot a dirty look at the nurse.

The midwife had me push and then relax and push and then relax. “We are just going to gently loosen you up, okay?”

But you had other plans. And on the next push, the midwife pushed back the paper blanket and got into position.

“I can see her head,” she said. And that’s when I looked at Daddy and could see the tears rolling down his face and the lightest, sweetest smile on his lips.

“Oh my God. I can see her head, honey.” He was so excited to report the news.

Mimi squeezed my right hand and Daddy squeezed my left. Every time I pushed, they squeezed back and said, “You are doing great.”

“Here she comes.” And then I pushed for the last time.

There was movement and bustling and within a minute you were there on my chest, a wriggling soft mass of jellied flesh. You strained your neck to look up at me. You moved your head carefully around, surveying your new world. Your tiny lips. Your glassy eyes. Your delicate long fingers. You were so perfect, and I was so happy.

I cried. I couldn’t help it. I tried not to, but I was so relieved and happy and exhausted, all at the same time. Your daddy cried too and held us both so tight that I could feel him shaking through my gown. We were a family. I had been so scared of what life would be like with you and suddenly, I couldn’t imagine life without you.

You were born at 7 PM on February 11th, 2010 in the country’s first hospital in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania: 7 pounds 8 ounces. Barack Obama was president. District 13 was the number one movie. There was five inches of snow melting on the ground outside.

Hold on to your hat....

Story takes a stand. And life will never be the same.

Freedom is sweet.

Wanted: Full-Time Stay-At-Home Mom, Pays -$500 a week, No Breaks and No Benefits

Dear Ms. Story Brynne:

It is with great enthusiasm that I submit my application for consideration for the position of Full-Time Stay-at-Home Mom. Ewe R. Daddy recommended I apply, and I think you will find from a review of my resume and background that I will make an excellent addition to your Development Team. A position on your team would be a great asset to my personal growth and bring me closer to my goals of enlightenment as an individual. Three particular areas of my background will contribute to the growth and success of your future.

My entrepreneurial background will be a valuable asset as you develop your navigation plan in the coming months. I worked my way through college by building my own guerilla marketing company, supplying attractive young men and women to local beer and liquor distributors for promotional events. Just as I was able to grow a $500-a-month weekend job into a $10,000-a-month thriving business, I plan to increase your weight by 20% by Christmas and 50% by September 2011. I am a skilled self-starter and can be of great assistance as you learn to pull yourself up off the ground without pulling heavy objects over onto yourself. Together, we can build you up from a baby wearing number 3 diapers and eating number 1 baby food, to a toddler wearing number 5 diapers and eating number 3 baby food.

When I got my MA in International Affairs, I studied Italian and Serbo-Croatian, spending a year in Italy learning culinary arts and a year in Bosnia building a youth employment program. My extensive language and culture background, coupled with five years of high school Spanish, will prove useful as you develop your first few words and string together sentences of great intellectual depth. With my help, you can be uttering, “Ma-ma, more ba-ba” and “Da-da, poo-poo, change me”, before the end of the next fiscal year. My international travels throughout Eastern and Central Europe demonstrate that I am accustomed to figuring out what people want, even when they are rapidly uttering unintelligible gibberish. I look forward to interpreting your needs with cultural sensitivity and helping you find the right words to ease your entrance into society.

As you move towards your teens, you will be looking for someone with well-developed consulting skills. When I first began working with CEOs, Board Chairs and senior level executives, I had to learn to keep my ego in check. It was more important to my paycheck that my clients feel they were coming up with the ideas than it was for me to get credit for my hard work. This skill will be especially valuable while doing science projects together, going over math problems and learning phonics. It will be especially helpful while working with a teenage daughter. I hope to be able to bite my tongue as often as possible when you think you are the center of the universe. My experiences advising senior level leadership with patience, trying very hard not to be condescending and suppressing eye-rolls, will be extremely valuable to your progressing self-esteem.

My counsel built a $650 million capital campaign plan, raised $30 million for a science museum, brokeraged a partnership between the Gates Foundation, the United Nations Foundation and the United Methodist Church, and thwarted a terrorist attack during the 2002 Bosnian elections – yet I know I will still find it a challenge helping you pick out an appropriate dress for your first prom and finding the right words to heal your first broken heart. Ms. Story, these are exactly the sorts of challenges that I seek in a new position.

With the recent depletion of the funds in my 401 k plan, I am ready to begin work ASAP. I will contact your offices in the morning to find the best time between naps and feeding for us to meet. I look forward to discussing the position over a breast.

Sincerely – Ewe R. Mama

Swimming Lessons

Dear Story,

Happy seven month birthday!!! So by now we know each other pretty well, and it should be no surprise to you that I occasionally isolate from the world, seemingly drop off the end of the earth and have no time to update my blog. But just because I don’t have time to write you love letters, doesn’t mean I don’t notice every tiny little changing detail in your world and note it with significance.

For example, just the other day, as we lay on mommy and daddy’s bed, bathed in the yellow glow of morning sunlight, you outlining mommys face with your cherub chubbed fingers, you took your hand to your leg and itched a little spot on your upper thigh where you had recently had your tetanus shot. You scratched an itch! While I know this may seem insignificant, it involved the type of pain-hand coordination that little babies can't grasp. But you my dear, you are not a little baby any more. I sighed and was overcome with gratitude that I am privileged to watch you as you blossom.

Of course, there are many more exciting developments then your ability to scratch an itch, but each one is special to me and daddy and I want to make sure that you know we see them all.

July and August were very busy months for our family and while you emerged unscathed, there were a lot of challenges and adjustments. For starters, we camped our way from Ina and Poppa’s house to Aunt Katryn and Pearl’s house and then to our new home in sunny LA. You LOVED camping. Please see evidence below.

I theorize that you just loved sleeping all night next to mommy and daddy and having every day together as a family. But you may have actually loved the camping experience of roughing it without daily baths, wearing the same clothes all day and sleeping in the car. All I know is that you smiled and laughed throughout it all. Even when mommy and daddy were yelling at each other about missed exits, what is considered a reasonable amount of time between bathroom breaks, and where we should stop for lunch.

Once we arrived in LA, we set up our new house and then mommy and daddy turned all their attention to you. This is when we discovered that you had developed some bad sleeping habits and we had to do a little Ferberizing. Mommy read the book and then Daddy read the book and we were all ready to put it into action when you suddenly decided to sleep right through the night from 7pm to 7am, all by yourself. Just like a little angel.

Of course, you didn’t stay in this zone, so eventually we had to Ferber. And here is what we did. We bathed you and put you in your footed jammies, made you a big bottle and laid you gently on the floor in your new room to feed you. Daddy read you a story and then we both kissed you, collectively about 100 times so that you knew how much we loved you. Then mommy put you in the bed and said, “Goodnight sweet Story Brynne. Mommy loves you so much. You are going to have a long sleep and feel so refreshed in the morning. Dream about colors and feathers and whatever babies dream about when they are sleeping soundly. See you in the morning.” And then I left the room and you screamed so loud I thought you were going to bust open a vein on your forehead.

Oh how it hurt mommy’s heart to hear you scream, but I knew we had to let you learn how to put yourself to sleep. I wanted to make sure you didn’t feel abandoned or ignored, so after about three minutes I came back in the room and kissed your tears away and told you I loved you and that I would see you in the morning. You calmed as I left the room again and then you worked yourself back up into a frenzy and I set a little egg timer for five minutes and paced outside your door. But then something amazing happened. You stopped crying at about the four minute mark. The longest four minutes of my life!! But you stopped and you didn’t make another peep until 7 am the next morning. I praised Allah, Jesus, Joseph and Buddha and told everyone you were now sleeping through the night.

But like always, just when I think I have you figured out, you switch it all up on me. Within a few days, you were waking up again at all hours of the night and I had to do the egg timer again to set you straight. I think you started to understand that we were not far away and were just on the other side of the door. You cried less and less and then it happened that you just started closing your eyes before I even left the room.

So now it’s been about two weeks of solidly sleeping through the night. Sometimes you sleep 12 hours, but most the time you sleep 11. You go to bed every night at 7pm and wake anytime between 5:30am and 7:30am. And some times, you just eat and go right back to sleep until 8 or 9. This is called "sleeping in" and only allowed on Saturday and Sunday mornings.

Sleeping through the night is such a big milestone and we are so proud of our little honey bear. But don’t think we haven’t noticed that you are quickly approaching a second big milestone; crawling.

We have tried our best to retard your movement and slow your mobile growth. Daddy would like to bind your legs together so you never figure it out, but even with your legs bound I have a feeling you would find a way to scootch yourself across the floor. Right now, you roll over on your back, arch into 'bridge', and push yourself across whatever surface you are on by balancing on the top of your head. This particular move frightens me and I much prefer you learn to crawl on your belly like the cartoon babies on the corner of the Gerber food.

You definitely want to move. Things that motivate a creative rolling or scootching technique and requisite tears of frustration include, but are not limited to, the following:

• mommy’s phone
• daddy’s phone
• sharp objects like mommy’s scissors and Global knife set
• mommy’s new 3G iPad
• medicine bottles
• full and empty baby bottles
• full cups of hot steamy coffee
• and the sight of mommy's naked teets

I’m pretty sure that any one of the above will finally get you up on your knees. But for now, I’m content with your frustration. What you like to do instead of crawl, is pull yourself up on things like mommy’s leg, the coffee table, your crib and the chest of drawers in your bedroom. You like to stand up in your new high chair when I try to feed you. And food is another one of your exciting developments.

This last month, you have started getting bored with a single serving of solid baby food number 1 strained sweet peas. So we started with the twos and adding oatmeal and giving you puffs and yogurt drops and cheerios and letting you hold the spoon and trying out a sippee cup, and wouldn’t you know it – you LOVE to eat!! You pretty much start giggling whenever mommy gets close to the high chair. When you eat something you love like pears with oatmeal and cinnamon, you smile and throw your head back and hum, “mmmmmmmmm”. It’s only the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard, besides the sound of you laughing in the bath tub.

You love bath time and you are usually so tired by the time it arrives that you deliriously laugh through the entire experience. Dad usually gives you a bath. It’s his special time with you when he gets home from school and I love to hear the two of you playing with your bath toys over the hum of the bathroom fan. Daddy has voices and accents for all the little squirters in the tub and when you are not trying to drink the water, you smile and grab daddy’s wet arm hair and coo and scream and laugh.

Your laughter is so delicious that mommy could eat it for breakfast, lunch, dinner and dessert. Though I would have to get a side of baby babble, because that is also very nourishing. And mom needs a lot of nourishing these days. I’m a little homesick for familiar faces, spaces and sounds. I’ve never loved change. But I’ve always loved the idea of change.

Starting out new somewhere involves a period of transition where everything and everyone is new and you have to date new places, new meetings, new friends and new modes of transportation. Awkward first encounters are to be expected. But with each visit to the new coffee shop, each new AA meeting, each freshly discovered route home from the grocery store, it gets easier. And that’s a lesson worth learning and worth passing on to my baby girl. The quicker you push yourself into the uncomfortable abyss of newness, the quicker you emerge on the other side. When we go to swim lessons, we don’t put our toes in the water and then our thighs and then our heads, we just jump right in, take the shock all at once and we are used to the cold water before we know it! Which reminds me, we are late for swim lessons.

My dear sweet Story Brynne Hesson, one more thing about mommy is that she is always late. But again, like the isolating thing, this doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you or appreciate you or see you and all that you are becoming.

Let’s get kicking - Mom

Happy Birthday To Me!

Hello world!! Today, I am five months old!

I thought I was five months old when I was twenty weeks, but Mom says that’s not the way it works and from now on we are counting month to month. So since February only had 28 days this year I am only just now turning five months old (even though I’m twenty-one weeks and four days old!). Mom says not to make a big deal of it – it works out in the long run and lets her tell people I am developmentally advanced for my age. It has been sort of a big month for me.

The Move
The day after my Auntie Elizabeth and Uncle Kevin got married, my parents packed up all my toys and clothes and stuff and Mom took me on my very first ever plane ride. Mom seemed real nervous about things, but I slept through most the ride. She was really uptight for the next few days and I had to wait ten whole days to see Daddy again. I thought once she saw Daddy she would chill out a little bit, but she just complained that he took up too much room in the bed. I could feel the tension, so for that first week, I woke up every few hours to make sure they were doing okay and had someone to talk to.

I think it helped because they seem much happier now and I don’t need to wake up so often to check on them. Mom has me sleeping in my own little room that she calls ‘the closet’. It’s super cool and dark and I have my very own night light. I got to meet my Papa for the first time and see my Ina again. They love me! Ina is always making lots of funny noises and sounds and smiling at me. Papa like to take naps with me and somehow he always makes me feel safe.

Mom says we are only here for a little while before we move to our new home in Los Angeles. She says I am going to love LA because it’s sunny all the time and there will be lots of other kids to play with. Don’t tell her, but I miss our home in Philly, our daily walk and going to the Park every day. I think Mommy misses Philly too. She got a little emotional when she saw Philly Cheesesteaks on the menu at Jake’s. Moving wasn’t my choice, but I can see that it makes Mommy and Daddy pretty excited about our future. And Daddy says that Home is wherever we are all together. So I’m excited about our new home too. I hope we can bring Papa and Ina with us when we move to the next place. They are really fun to play with, Papa cooks dinner for Mommy and Daddy and Ina takes me shopping all the time!

Toys
Ina took me shopping right the day after we got off the plane. She and Mommy bought me all kinds of strange things to play with that I had never seen before. Thank goodness! Boy was I getting bored of staring at Mommy as my main form of entertainment. I love the noisemakers and the jumper-thingy is awesome. I could spend all day in that jumper-thingy. It plays music and let’s me sit up like a big girl and watch Mommy making dinner with Papa. It makes Ina do some crazy things, like yell in a high-pitched voice, “Boing, Boing, Boing, Boing little Geraldine McBoingboing.”

My least favorite toy is the Bumbo. Mommy brought it home from Target and I tried to tell her I was too big for it but she crammed me into it anyways. When I stood up, the Bumbo was stuck to my butt and I had to have my thighs pulled out of it. I am now 18 pounds, can sit up all by myself and stand with support, so Mom – too big for the Bumbo. Told you so.

I love all my new books, toys, jumpy-things and noise makers, but my favorite toys of all are my toes. I could talk to them for hours, they taste delicious and I never have to ask Mom where she put them. My piggies are spectacular.

Sir Poops-a-Lot
I poop more now. I know my Mom would want you to know. Maybe the plane ride jostled things around a bit. Mom thinks it’s because she is now feeding me solid foods. That’s right! I eat big people food now. Well, I haven’t actually ever seen a big person eating the food from those little jars, but I see them eat with a spoon and now I eat with a spoon too! I like sweet potatoes, green beans and sweet peas. I don’t like carrots. I scream when they try to feed me carrots. Mom just doesn't understand my issues with texture or the way they turn my fingers orange. I just don’t like them.

I get to eat with a spoon twice a day and I try to keep it fun by banging on the table and making raspberries when my Mom least expects it. Mom makes the best face when I spit peas at her, it's classic. Tonight, I showed Papa how I didn’t even need Mommy to feed me. I could just pick up the bowl and put my face in it and then throw it on the floor. I think he was very impressed because he got down on his hands and knees with a towel to wipe away the tears of laughter.

Mommy and I went to Target and picked up a few new flavors for this week. She wants to make it fresh for me – but I just think that’s crazy when we can just buy up a variety pack at Target and I can eat Pears and Prunes and Apples, something different every night. I hope she doesn’t try making me dinner the way she makes it for Daddy. Because then she might want me to start doing dishes and I hate dishes.

Lullaby and Goodnight
Mom would want me to report that I no longer sleep with a swaddle. I made it as tough as possible for Mom to break me of the habit, but she finally did it. No more sleeping in a straight jacket and strangely, I now just go to sleep when Mom puts me in the bed. Of course, I whine a little, but Mommy just puts her hand on my tummy and looks at me until I fall asleep. I wake up once at 3:30 AM to check on Mom, but she seems to be okay, so I might just start sleeping through until my alarm goes off at 8:00 AM.

Night time is my favorite part of the day because Mom feeds me sooooo much. She starts at 6:00 PM with the green beans and then at 7 PM with a bottle and then we take a bath together and she lets me breastfeed while she reads me a story. Then we listen to music together and I doze off around 8:00 PM. She tells me, “Shhh, shhhh, shhhh, go to sleep now Ms. Story. Sleep makes you feel good. You are going to feel so fresh and happy when you wake up in the morning for another day full of adventures.”

I take two naps for about 1.5 hours. Sometimes longer. Mom or Dad lays me down around 10:00 AM and then again at 2:00 PM. Unless there is the World Cup or a boating trip or something else more exciting going on. Then I get to sleep on Daddy’s shoulder or in my stroller. Or in my favorite spot, inside the Ergo baby. Here I can hear my Mommy’s heartbeat and she rubs my toes and kisses the top of my head and whispers sweet things in my ear.

Today she whispered, “Happy Birthday little Story. Mommy and Daddy are so proud of you. We love you so much. You are going to have a very special day.”

And she was right. Today I woke up and went for a walk on the beach with Mommy, took a nap, watched the world cup with Dad, ate peas, took another nap, opened gifts from the big party, ate green beans with Papa and Ina and spent an hour in the jumpy. Mommy took a bath with me and made up a different voice for everyone of my new bath tub squirters. So the Nederlands lost the World Cup. It was still a good day. And every day I spend with Mommy and Daddy is special.

So, Happy Birthday to me on this very special day! And go Nederlands!

Love - Story Brynne

Happy First Four Months Story!

Dear Ms. Story:

Today you are FOUR MONTHS! I simply can’t believe how quickly you are developing. It kinda blows my mind that four months ago you looked like this:

And now you look like this:

You have changed so much Ms. Story. I remember when daddy and I first laid you down in your play gym. You looked like a little peanut. All you could do was stare, your little arms unable to reach the dangling monkey and lion. Now you easily reach for Mr. Monkey and Mr. Elephant, grab onto them both and shake the gym with your mighty fists.

You seem to have discovered the little mirror in the gym and I catch you flirting with yourself frequently. You smile and coo and bat your eyelashes as if to say, look at me Mommy, I’m so funny. I park you in the gym so I can make your Daddy dinner and you follow me with your eyes, waiting for me to begin something complicated before you scream with the force of a police siren. It seems you have learned that a particular pitch of scream will get you just about anything you want.

SWF, HWP: According to the highly accurate method of weighing mommy without you in her hands and then weighing mommy with you in her hands, you weigh 16 pounds. And you are 25.5 inches long. But I measured you yesterday, so you could be 17 pounds now and 26.5 inches long. If you keep up this rate of growth, you are going to have your own reality TV show on TLC. You already wear clothes made for a six month old. I scramble to get you in all the pretty little outfits that people have bought for you before you outgrow them.

The Poop Report: Poor Ms. Story – you only poop when I feed you 2 oz. of prune juice and water mixed together in a bottle. You get one bottle a day and you still go three to four days with nothing to report. So two days ago, Daddy and I decided to feed you your first taste of rice cereal. You were skeptical at first, but then you loved it! Last night, after Mommy fed you for your ususal nightly feeding, you ate an additional 3 oz. of rice cereal mixed with mommy’s milk. That’s a lot of food. And it wasn’t even enough to hold you through the night! You woke up at 4:00 AM, ravenous. Which brings me to your latest little issue.

Sleep Stats: How is it possible that a baby goes from sleeping 8-10 hours a night, back to waking up every 4-5 hours to eat? What happened here? Me and the other detective working the baby mystery desk, started with the theory that it was the swaddle.

While you have been swaddled since birth, lately we can’t seem to keep you restrained. Wouldn’t you know, you are just about the strongest little three month old in the world?! We put you to bed at 10:30 PM , but by 4:00 AM you have squirmed your way out of our little velcro straight jacket. Dad wrestles with you while you whine, until he has you tied up like a little Christmas package. Just as his head hits the pillow, we hear the rip of velcro, followed by massive tears and screams that should only be appropriate if having your leg amputated in the ER. Oh the fight goes on, and on, an on, throughout the night until you are so exhausted that you sleep. Swaddled or not.

I try to convince Daddy to just let me feed you, but he is very stubborn. You see, I theorize that you are just growing (very quickly) and mommy may not be making enough milk for you these days. While I slowly build up my supply, you are hungry more often and I just can’t seem to get you satiated without two feeding a night. Don’t worry Story, I will get there.

Walkie-Talkie: Perhaps the most exciting thing to report this week is this little sound you make with your mouth. It sounds like the one my mom would make in the mirror after she had applied a fresh coat of lipstick. A little popping noise with your lips is now your favorite trick and I can actually get you to do it if I go first. It’s so amazing. I just love watching you learn new things.

Speaking of learning new things, in the tub the other night you actually stood unassisted for about 1.2 seconds before you grabbed my legs to steady yourself. Yep, Ms. Story you can hold herself up. And it’s so incredible. You are so strong and so determined to walk. It’s absolutely fascinating to watch you kick your legs out in front of you while Daddy and I are holding your little hands. I just hope you are happy with standing for about another year, because I’m not ready to have you walking yet.

Hand-eye coordination: These days, you know what you want and you grab it. Usually, it is the hair on Mommy’s head, or the hair on Daddy’s chest. You love to make us scream. You can grab your binky out of my hand, you can use the rattle to hit the dolls on your gym, and you have recently discovered the crinkly noise when you grab Mr. Lions feet. Right now, your favorite toy is the colorful little toy in the video below. You love to put it in your mouth and I never thought I'd be so happy to see you suck on something other than my boob.

Oh Story - four months have passed so very quickly and the next four will pass even quicker. I want to be present for every milestone moment, and not lost in my head with moving details or career ambitions. To unwind, last night, you, me and Daddy went to the park and had an evening picnic. We took off our shoes and felt the green grass under our toes. We laid out a red and pink blanket and ate a big salad, pork loin and brown rice. Daddy and I drank water out of a metal thermos and Mommy breastfed you under a tangerine twilight sky. The next chapter of our life will be starting soon - but I just want to linger in this day a little longer and be grateful for all the happiness in my life in this very hour. You, Daddy, me, the city, the warm air, the sunshine, our loving friends, our health, our family.

Just when I think my love for you has reached its capacity, you expand my heart. I love you sweet girl.

Mom

Happy June!

Nursing Gear Essentials

Before the baby was born, I stockpiled baby gear, diapers, and rash ointment, froze food and bought enough canned goods and bottled water to get us through the first six weeks of a natural disaster. My registry essentials purchased, nursery assembled and refrigerator full, I was ready. But when I got home from the hospital with my precious newborn baby, we had everything we needed for her first few tender weeks and nothing that I needed. Like most first time breastfeeders, I had forgotten about what I would need to make those first few weeks comfortable. Whether you plan to breastfeed for one week or one year, you will need some basics. Where will you sit when you wake up in the middle of the night with your little baby? And what will you have within arms length to make all those early breastfeeding sessions go as smoothly as possible?

A Nursing Station: The first thing I did when I got back from the hospital was set up a comfy chair in the bedroom and surround it with things that brought me comfort. I had an ottoman to rest my legs, a throw blanket for my cold toes, a side table to rest my water and a rolling set of drawers for all my electronics, breastfeeding gear and burp rags. My husband lined the floor under my chair with an extension cord and power strip for all my electronics (laptop, iPod, phone, camera battery). I put the pump and a small trash can under the side table. The final touch was a pretty floral arrangement.

I know it seems decadent – but I spent about twelve hours a day in that chair for the first week of my baby’s life and I still appreciate every single convenience. The only thing missing is a small refrigerator for my freshly expressed milk. I settled for ice packs in a small cooler.

Nursing Clothes: I washed my daughter’s clothes and folded them into her dresser so they would be ready when she arrived home. But I completely missed the chance to organize my closet with all the button down shirts at the front. In fact, unless I planned to walk around the house naked for the first month of my child’s life, I needed some serious nursing gear. Let’s start with nursing pajamas, since you are in your lounge gear for the first week. The best I found, for the lowest price are at Old Navy.

This little set makes a great gift for only $32.50. And it comes with the most adorable little matching baby sleeper and hat. Old Navy also has two styles of nursing tops that I bought up by the dozen and wear daily.

I have four of these in white and five in black, don't tell my husband. But at only $14.50, they are way cheaper then all the other styles on the market.

This one is $19.50, and the added pop of seductive stripe clearly makes it more valuable. I tried several more expensive nursing tops that I bought from the Solution for Women store at Penn, but I returned them promptly. Most of what is out there is overpriced and preys on the desperation of a new breastfeeding mom just eager to find some comfort.

This $16.50 tank from Old Navy is similar to the $50 Glamour Mama bra, but the Old Navy was softer and offered me better support. I wore this tank to bed at night with a soft pair of drawstring pajama bottoms.

Also an essential if you are nursing is a good nursing bra. I tried them ALL! Literally. I went to the Solutions for Women store at Penn and I tried on every style bra in stock. My issue was that my breasts were ginormous and causing me severe back ache. I needed an underwire, even if they tried to convince me it would inhibit my milk production. Well, my baby is a little fatty and I’ve been wearing this Medela Underwire Seamless Bra since week 1. I maintained my chest measurement and went up a cup size. I highly recommend that you get fit for your nursing bra if you intend to nurse for a long time. I also recommend you get a night bra. I bought the Medela Womens Sleep Nursing Bra. When I saw it, I laughed at the idea of this little thing holding in my mama-jamas – but for the purposes of keeping everything in its place at night it was actually completely awesome. I wish I could wear it all the time, it’s that comfy.

Nursing Cover: I started with the L'ovedbaby 4-in-1 Nursing Shawl and then I bought the Belly Fish. Ehh. The cool factor of the grey suede on the L'ovedbaby is diminished by the fact I can’t see my baby while she nurses. My baby squirms under the hot fabric. But it does slide easily into my diaper bag and offers great coverage. The Belly Fish was great in theory but a mess to use. It's big and bulky, invites stares and offers poor coverage. I am still in search of the right cover, and have ordered the Balboa Baby Nursing Cover. Until it arrives, I find that two thin blankets work just as well as any of these covers.

Nipple Care: I went through a tube of lanolin before I even left the hospital. My poor cracked, blistering, bloddy nipples needed lots of TLC. It was cold in my apartment and the lanolin was hard to get out of the bottle – so I ordered some Bella B Nipple Nurture Butter and this fantastic cream smells good and provides a much more nurturing experience for my nipples.

Also from this line are a product I’ve come to appreciate even more, Bella B Nipple Nurture Cleansing Pads. I use one of these suckers after every feed. Not only does it feel good, but helps avoid things like thrush. It also means I don’t have to go into the bathroom after every feed and wash my nipples. Anything I can do to limit the amount of movement is a good thing.

Don't even think about getting through the first month without a handful of Medela Tender Care HydroGel Pads. These cooling pads of joy have offered countless nights of relief and are well worth the cost. Buy in bulk because each pad is only good for 72 hours. It's like an ice-pack for the nipple.

This list of basic new mom essentials made my first few weeks a lot easier and more comfortable. Those last few days of pregnancy, when everything is ready for baby and you are just waiting for her arrival, take some time to prepare the house for you. Make sure those first few days and weeks are comfortable for everyone.

Look out LA, here I come!

Dear Mom, I can't wait to get to LA! I hear the weather is hot but not sticky hot. And I don't really like the sticky part. I'm so excited I could just pee myself. 27 days!!

xoxo Story

P.S. Like my hat?

My Breastfeeding Story

I didn’t know how much I wanted to breastfeed until the Doctor told me I might have to stop. Little Story was screaming when I tried to give her my breast and the Doctor suggested my breast milk might be the culprit.

“Let’s start with taking the dairy out of your diet and see if she gets any better. Come back in two weeks and then maybe we can try giving her some formula.”

I didn’t know until I left the office and the tears started flowing, how upsetting this concept made me. When did I become one of those moms?

Breastfeeding is a personal choice that every new mom must make. There is no right choice and no wrong choice, it's what is best for you. Before the baby was born, I decided I would try it. While I was offered many opinions from friends and family, they had very little influence over my decision. I wanted to try it. And since I knew it was going to be tough, I challenged myself to make it three months.

It wasn’t until they put the baby in my arms that my desire to learn everything about breastfeeding was born. There was my daughter, all of about four hours old, and I had no idea how to breast feed. Torn between the want to give her comfort and the fear I would suffocate this tiny fragile creature, I listened to the nurse talk about the proper latch as she essentially thrusted the baby onto my nipple. Little Story took it right away, began chewing and suckling like a pro. But then the nurse left the room, Story fell off the nipple, and again, I had no idea what I was doing.

I kangarooed my little Story, her naked skin on mine and I let her take my nipple whenever she wanted it throughout the night. By morning, I was sore and already starting to blister. They sent in a lactation consultant to discuss the proper latch. I didn’t get it. I attended a breastfeeding class the morning after I gave birth. I, in my robe, still hooked up to a heart rate monitor, soaked up every word of the specialist.

It hurt. My entire body ached that first week and I was tired, but I wasn’t going to stop breastfeeding. Little Story was a powerful sucker, she blistered her lips and gulped at the breast. The latch wasn’t always perfect, but she rarely fell off and was clearly eating well. At a breastfeeding group that met Monday’s at the hospital, I listened to the specialist tell every woman with pain, “It shouldn’t hurt. You are probably doing it wrong.” I wanted to clock her. I was doing it right. It just hurts.

By week four, I was tired from lack of sleep and my nipples hurt if someone in the room sneezed. That’s when the free formula started arriving in the mail. Similac, Enfamil, Gerber, Fresh Start, they all tempted me with their powder, but that just made me even more determined. Then something happened. At week six, it stopped hurting. It got easier. It became a well grooved machine. I was over the hurdle. Or so I thought.

The pain subsided, baby was going four hours between feedings and slept eight hours at night. I began thinking I could do this for another three months. Then one morning I woke up dry, baby screaming in hunger as she tried to bring something out of my breast. I took it personal. I had failed. My sister told me to throw my schedule out the window and let the baby feed whenever she wanted for two days. And it worked, the milk came back. I was over the hurdle. Or so I thought.

Baby decided to go on a nursing strike and stopped pooping. Again I wondered, Is it my milk? What’s wrong with me? Am I a bad mother? She would pull away when I put her on my breast and turn purple with high pitched squeals. It would take me an hour just to get her to take a few drops of milk and then as soon as it was down, it came back up in projectile vomit that stained our bed like a fifteen year old boy was sleeping in it. We took her to the doctor. Reflux. They started her on Zantac and the puking stopped. She settled back in at the breast. I was over the hurdle.

Perhaps there is someone out there asking why I continue to breastfeed in the face of so many hurdles. And the answer is I don’t know.

I can’t explain it. It’s a pain in the ass being tied to her feeding schedule. It can be embarrassing whipping my breasts out in public. I never know how much she has eaten and if it will be enough to get her through the night. My breasts leak when I’m having a perfectly adult conversation with a friend in the park. I wear nursing bras and the types of clothes that cover these up and pull down in front for easy access. It’s not cute. It seems like I would be thrilled that the Doctor is suggesting I switch the baby over to formula, but I’m not.

I can’t stand the thought of ending these special times I have with baby girl. I secretly love that someone needs me. My baby girl follows me with her eyes through a crowded room and calms from a cry the minute I take her in my arms. Nowadays, when she eats, she looks me in the eye and smiles while she suckles. She cups my breast with one hand and squeezes my thumb with the other. She pushes in close to me and we have this private moment. Just her, and me. And in that space, I can protect her from the rest of the world. I can’t explain it. I don’t really understand it. I didn’t even realize how much I enjoyed it. Until I thought I would have to stop.

For now, I’m cutting out the dairy and determined not to stop. I bought a few good books to get me over the next hurdle and I’m blessed to have sisters that call me every day to cheer me on. As my new mom friends navigate the world of breastfeeding, I offer my support. As well as a few tips on gear that makes it easier, post to follow.

Daddy Dressed Me Today.

I'm not sure what I think about this bonnet.

Happy Birthday Husband!

Dear Husband:

I know you didn't want me to do anything for your birthday. You said, "No parties and don't spend any money." But how could I let your birthday pass without showing you how much I love you. Without reminding you that you are special. Without doing my best to make you feel appreciated.

So I bought a few special things I knew you wanted.

I invited over two of your most favorite people.

We ordered Five Guys.

I baked a cake.

You opened your first gift from your baby girl.

I think you had a nice birthday. Even though you didn't want anything special.

Baby, you should know by now, I don't let holidays of any kind pass without a fuss. And you are too remarkable not to spoil. Even though we don't have much - we have each other. And this is what families are all about.

Happy 34th Birthday husband. Hope your "do over" was even better than the first.

Me

The Great Condiment Challenge

In exactly 35 days my family is leaving Philadelphia. Life has been so hectic, I have barely had time to think about the significance of this move. There was the baby’s three month birthday, Mother’s Day, Elizabeth’s bridal shower and my husband’s birthday. And now that I have time to breathe, it hits me. Philadelphia will no longer be our home in exactly 35 days.

I moved here reluctantly. My firm wanted me to work with a Philadelphia based client so I dragged my overnight bag down on the Amtrak. Well now it’s been four years. And in those four years, I’ve grown up so much.

In the last four years I took the time to really get to know some good people, I fell in love, matured professionally, made more money than I ever thought possible, got fired, lost my first mature relationship, started my own company, survived on less money than I ever thought possible, fell back in love, got pregnant, got engaged, had a wedding, found out my husband got into Anderson’s MBA program, nurtured my women friendships, and had a baby. That’s a lot of shit in four years.

At moments, it seems more than I can process. These are the times when I focus my energy on the logistics of the move. Instead of thinking about the women that held my hand on my wedding day and my baby after she was born, I’ve taped off the living room to present the measurements of the Penske rental truck. Instead of walking down all the alleyways filled with memories of stolen kisses and clacking high heels, I’ve ordered padded boxes for my mirrors. Instead of being present in all the AA meetings that got me though the highs and lows over the past four years, I’ve made 'to do' lists. It just seems easier to linger on the things I can control.

It seems like every time I move, I painfully shed a little more weight from my past. I trim down my furniture, I clean out my files, I send bags of clothes and memories to the Goodwill. But after ten moves in the past ten years, I’ve whittled down my belongings to the essential and the 'too meaningful with which to part'. How much more weight from my past am I ready to shed? And where do I even begin?

My husband looked around the house and said, “Let’s just throw it all away and start fresh.”

I held back tears and reminded him, “These are MY things. I know they don’t mean much to you, but I’ve been collecting them for years and they are special to ME. I’ve already thrown away so much of it since we met.” He sighed and rolled his eyes.

"You can start with the fridge!" He said.

I opened the fridge and stared at all the condiments we had collected. My husband leaned in closely, “I’m not moving anything that requires refrigeration.”

He stepped out of the kitchen and I remained behind to stare at the jelly's that my husband and I bought at a farm while visiting my Aunt and Uncle in the Berks, fish Sauce for that time we tried to replicate the soup from David Mae Law Wah’s, six kinds of dipping sauce that we bought for the nuggets we served at my husbands 32nd birthday party.

“Use it or lose it,” he called from the bedroom.

I hate to waste things. So the condiment challenge begins. My family is leaving Philadelphia in exactly 35 days. How many bottles can I empty before we depart? And does anyone have any recipes for horseradish jelly?

Mommy’s First Mother’s Day

Dear Story,

This morning you woke up at 7:00 AM and I held you until 10:00 AM, kissing your forehead, stroking your super soft skin and smelling your lovely baby smell. Daddy made me coffee and toast for breakfast and served it to me in bed.

When I got out of the shower, I found the card you left for me. It was so sweet, thank you so much little lady. I loved the glitter and your sweet words. I told Daddy that I found your card and he said, “I told her to wait until brunch to give it to you, but she was too excited.”

I dressed you in a pretty new blue dress that you got from Mimi and we all went to a fancy brunch at Daddy’s work. All of Daddy’s friends came by to say hello. You smiled at everyone and let Mommy make it all the way through brunch without fussing a bit. Thank you sweetness.

After brunch, we all hopped in a taxi and went to The Ritz to watch the movie Babies. Thank goodness you are so cute, because it turns out that they don’t allow babies at the Ritz but they made a special exception just for you.

“If she cries, you gotta get her out of there,” said the manager.

You were fast asleep in the stroller when the movie started and I was so sure you were going to wake up. It was so loud.

“At least there wont be any crashes or explosions in this movie,” your Daddy said.

You made it about thirty minutes before you woke up. I got you out of that stroller so fast and started feeding you right there in the theater. That kept you quiet for a little bit, but you really weren’t digging on all that noise and especially the scenes where there were lots of babies crying. You joined right in and my blood pressure went way up.

Daddy took you out of the theater when you started crying. “It’s not like I’m going to miss something essential to the plot line,” he said. He was right, of course. So Daddy and took turns standing at the back of the theater bouncing you while we watched the utterly delightful movie. I think that might be the last movie we watch in a theater for a long while.

It just so happens that the movie theater is right across the street from where Daddy and Mommy had their wedding reception. So we took you over to see where we had our first dance as a married couple and get some dessert. You lounged on the white sofas and made sweet cooing noises that melted the hearts of both me and your Daddy. Dessert was free since Daddy’s friend was working. And everyone wanted to hold you and pinch your cheeks.

When we got home that night, Daddy tried to convince you that you could wear your underwear on your head as a beret. He carried you around the room, speaking in a French accent about baguettes and croissants.

We took a bath together and you went right to bed. After I turned out the light and kissed you on the forehead, I stared at you in the bed until you fell asleep. Oh how you have filled my life and my heart with an overabundance of joy in the very short time I’ve known you. Before you, Mother’s Day was just a reason to send another greeting card. But now, it means something. Just like you.

All my love, xoxoxoxo - Mom

I thought it would be boring.

I’ve always enjoyed children, but I never really wanted one of my own. I was sure that I would find the diaper changing, burping, bathing, dressing and staring to be, well, tedious. Certain my brain would turn to mush, I was silently pleased when the doctor told me that I would be unable to be a mother. I dreamt of a lush life of party dresses, boyfriends, career climbing and girls-nights-out. But then, she came along.

Being pregnant was easy for me. I loved the extra attention I got from my husband and strangers. I was comfortable with the changes in my body. What I feared, was the end of the pregnancy, the moment they would plop that slippery infant on my chest. The fear started escalating as my due date approached, so I simply pushed it down and hoped that everything would change when I saw her for the first time.

It wasn’t until the nurse told me it was time to start pushing that the reality sank in. I turned to my husband, “Oh my God. We are going to have a baby.” I started crying. I’m sure the nurse thought the tears streaming uncontrollably down my face were a sign of happiness, but my husband knew better. I squeezed his hand until his fingers turned purple. “Oh my God. We are going to have a baby.”

Gabe and I stared at one another, our last exchange as carefree newlyweds. Oh my God. My life is about to change. My world is about to crumble. It’s no longer just about me. It’s no longer just about us. I’m about to be tied to a little person for the rest of my life. Oh God, I’m not ready. Make it stop. I changed my mind. I don’t want to be a parent. I don’t want to lose my freedom. I don’t want to grow up. Oh my God. My life is about to change.

My husband looked down and saw the top of our baby girls head.

“No, “ I said, shaking my head back and forth, paralyzed with fear. But my body pushed against my will and our baby girl emerged. I lay back, exhausted, dazed and confused. Then the nurse pulled back my paper nightgown and dropped this slimy, wiggly body down on my chest. Oh God. What am I supposed to do with this? The little creature nuzzled into my chest and pulled her head up to look at me as if she was curious to finally meet the owner of this body she had been occupying for the last nine months. She blinked her bright blue eyes, kicked her tiny legs and pressed her body into mine for warmth and protection. I looked down at her and saw my heart beating on the outside of my body. And everything changed.

This little soft bundle of love in my arms needed me to love her, protect her and teach her about the world. From that very first moment, I was amazed with every little detail of her growth and development. I loved to chart her every changing reaction to my touch or the sound of my voice. From the moment she latched to my breast, every ounce she gained became an accomplishment. If she sighed in a new way, I made a note of it to tell my husband. Every little first became a milestone that I couldn’t wait to report to my friends and family. Suddenly, I found myself rushing out of bed in the morning to hear her coo with a new tone. I started skipping stairs to get back to her after a meeting, afraid I might miss a smile. I was at the grocery store, picking out tomatoes and got a rush of joy when I thought, I am Story's mom. I can stare at my baby girl for a complete hour and find every moment mesmerizing.

I thought I would be bored. I thought this life would never suit me. I couldn’t have been more wrong.