The Truth About Breastfeeding, Sleep and Babies

That's not my baby, it's a stock photo. |  The Truth About Breastfeeding, Sleep and Newborn Babies

My brother and I are both new parents. Recently, we had the following exchange:

Brother: How's sleep going?
Me: Great, actually. She's sleeping through the night mostly.
Brother: Jump off a bridge.

I didn't take it personally. Nearly a year after the birth of their first baby, nights were still terrible. You know, the specific kind of hell that only a newborn baby can unleash. You'd be a raging, cranky shell of a human if you never slept more than four consecutive hours for a year.

I'm grateful that my baby is a sleeper.

I'm reluctant to say this, but Arlene first slept through the night (aka six hours in a row) at five weeks old. I know. I KNOW! It wasn't every night, and we've had a few sleep regressions. If I were him, I'd tell me to jump of a bridge, too. 

But here's the thing: Even though sleep was magical, breastfeeding was another story.

I'd read a lot about breastfeeding prior to Arlene's arrival.

I knew it'd be hard. Everyone says it's harder than they expected. I prepared for the worst, but what I got was so far beyond what I could've imagined. 

"I hate to use this term," said one of the six billion nurses who waltz into my hospital room post C-section. "But sometimes it takes a while for your nipples to toughen up." She said it would get better. Everyone said, it gets better.

So I waited for it to get better.

And while I waited, my chapped, bleeding, bruised nipples started getting impatient. Which really sucked (no pun intended), because breastfeeding is relentless.

If you've never breastfed, here's the gist: For the first 2-3 months of baby's life, a breastfeeding mom gives baby the boob every 2-3 hours. If it's going well, it's only moderately painful and becomes much less so over time. You know, once the nips toughen up. For me, each session hurt more than the last. It's kind of like being forced to walk in a pair of shoes that give you blisters for 45 minutes, 12 times daily. 

A week and a half after Arlene was born, a met with a lovely nurse for postpartum care. When she asked how breastfeeding was going, I showed what was left of my nipples.

"Oh dear, those are very cracked," she said. She suggested I apply some nipple cream, and then gave me a nipple shield. "Try this, it'll help."

I did. The clouds parted, and the sun beamed down from the sky and Celine Dion sang from the heavens.

via GIPHY

Aaaaand I knowwww that my niiiipppps will go onnnnn! 

I started using the nipple shield with most feedings. When things healed up, I tried feeding without it. The baby barracuda'd the crap out of my nips and I'd have to start all over again. I was a month into motherhood, and breastfeeding only got harder.

So, I hired a lactation consultant.

This a breastfeeding expert who came to our house. She helped tremendously in some ways, teaching me the laid-back method, which I still use. She encouraged me to ditch the nipple shield as soon as possible, and to not give the baby a bottle yet, warning it could diminish my supply or confuse the babe. 

She also mentioned that she thought Arlene may have a tongue tie. That's when the thingie that connects your tongue to the bottom of your mouth is too tight. This can lead to a shallow latch and painful breastfeeding, remedied by a frenectomy, where the band beneath the tongue is clipped.

I know. Ouch.

"You can't just have that taken care of anywhere," she warned. "You should really go to a pediatric dentist that specializes in tongue ties. Here's a number for the only one in town I'd recommend."

In town was kinda pushing it, as their office was located in western Wisconsin (about 45 minutes away). But I was desperate. I called, and they couldn't get us in for almost a month. I took the appointment, hung up the phone and cried.

I look so calm, but inside I was crying. |  The Truth About Breastfeeding, Sleep and Newborn Babies

During the following month, I did everything in my power to keep breastfeeding.  

I took Arlene to a craniosacral therapist, who gently massaged the baby's mouth, neck and head to improve her latch for $70 a pop. I asked all my mom friends for advice. I sent a bazillion texts to my lactation consultant.

Don't use the nipple shield-- it will only confuse your baby!
Use the nipple shield if it's working.
Don't bottle-feed your baby too often. It'll only make them lazy and less likely to return to the breast.
Give her a bottle and give yourself a break.

This only made me feel more confused and helpless.

And still, breastfeeding only got worse.

At six weeks postpartum, the baby fed for up to 90 minutes at a time (!). I ended up with milk blisters (Google it if you dare). She wasn't gaining weight. I did, however, catch up on every TV series and podcast that's ever existed in the history of the world. 

I couldn't bare the thought of quitting. I produced enough milk to keep her fed and then some, but just couldn't get it into my baby's pencil-sharpener of a maw. I'd keep telling myself, "Make it one more week. It's got to get easier." And it just didn't.

Finally one night, I broke down.

"I want to be enjoying our baby, but feeding her hurts too much," I sobbed.

My calm, collected husband said, "I'm giving her a bottle and you're going to bed."

"But... but... but... I can't because it's going to ruin breastfeeding for her in the future!!!"

He essentially responded with a nicer version of go the #@$& to sleep. 

I did.

From that point on, I did whatever it took to get me through the day. I used a nipple shield almost every time I breast fed. When that was too painful, I gave Arlene a bottle. We survived.

A week before Arlene's tongue procedure, I brought Arlene to the pediatrician for her two month checkup. The doc expressed concern that she hadn't gained much weight, and I mentioned the upcoming frenectomy. 

"Her tongue does look tight, " she said. "We can take care of that today if you'd like. But if you prefer to go to the specialist, that's fine."

Wait. What?! Somehow in my crazed new mom stupor, it hadn't occurred to me that my pediatrician could do this in her office. 

Yes. Yes! YES!!!  

The whole procedure took three seconds, literally. The doctor simply cut the band with tiny scissors. Arlene cried, but honestly, her shots affected her more. It healed almost immediately.

We got this, baby.  |  The Truth About Breastfeeding, Sleep and Newborn Babies

Within a week she was eating faster.

My nipples healed.  

I ditched the nipple shield.

At Arlene's four month appointment, she'd nearly doubled in weight. 

This experience gifted me two invaluable lessons.

The first: Do whatever it takes to get you through the day.
Everyone has an opinion on how to best care for your baby. You'll get all sorts of input, solicited or not, from parents, doctors, specialists. What works for one baby may not work for yours. The first few months as a parent are really hard. It's about survival. You know your baby best, so take a page from AA and tackle it one day at a time.

The second: It's always going to be something.
At 14 months, my one-year-old nephew still isn't sleeping through the night. A friend's baby had GERD and couldn't breastfeed at all. Another had debilitating postpartum anxiety. Another friend's newborn spent a week in the NICU for potential sepsis (luckily, she's just fine); another's kid is allergic to eggs, dairy, gluten and peanuts. Another's is three-years-old and just started talking. And these are just the people who are lucky enough to have a baby in the first place.
 

The truth about babies is that they're hard. 

You just don't know what brand of hard you'll get. But it really does get easier. 

Breastfeeding, sleep and hormone issues... there's one thing that binds all new parents. Here's the truth about babies.

The 11 Biggest Fears When Flying with a Baby

Flying with a baby... and tons of their crap.

Just the thought of flying with a baby strikes fear in the hearts of parents. 

But when my husband asked if baby Arlene and I wanted to meet up with him during a Boston work trip, I said sure. I can do this! I reasoned that I would've gone prior to having a baby, so why let that stop me now?

However, as the trip approached, the panic set in. Here's every fear that raced through my head prior, followed by how it played out in real life. 

* * *

Fear: Getting all the crap from the car into the airport.

I hate lugging my own suitcase. How in the hell am I supposed to carry a suitcase, stroller, carseat, diaper bag and live, tiny human through the airport?

I'd considered curb-side check-in, but lingering outside in 10 degree weather isn't exactly baby-friendly. Fortunately, my friend Liz offered to drive us to the airport, park and help me carry everything in. Life-saver!

Fix: If you can get help, ask for it. People want to help you and your little babe! 

Fear: Going through security.

I worried about holding up dozens of irritated business travelers giving me the stink eye as I piled bag after bag through the x-ray machine. 

Truth be told, security ended up being the chaotic shit-show I envisioned.

Because our flight was delayed, I brought the stroller with me. TSA asked me to send it through the x-ray machine, which was precisely the same width as the stroller-- something no one realized until it was fully stuck inside. Whoopsies!

Not only that, I'd accidentally left a zipper open on the diaper bag, which meant that my chapstick, car keys, change and a pacifier all fell out, spewing forth on the filthy conveyor belt. Ick.

The good news was few people were behind us in line, so we didn't hold anyone up. I also had TSA Pre-check, which meant I didn't have to take off my shoes. I simply carried the baby through the metal detector, then reassembled the colossal pile of crap needed to travel with a 15-pound person.

Fix: Try to go in as organized as possible. Have liquids out and in their own bag. Breastmilk, even if it's in a cooler, gets sent through the x-ray machine, then is inspected. You'll need to take baby out of the carrier/stroller, so try to do that while you're waiting in line.

And if it does take a while to get situated, you do not need to apologize! Think of how many solo adult dummies have made you wait at security. 
 

Fear: Delays.

I worried I'd end up stuck at the airport for hours with a screaming baby. 

And guess what? Our flight was delayed nearly three hours. Luckily, this was before we'd boarded the plane. I think I would've lost my mind if we'd been trapped on the tarmac. 

Fix: Bring your walking shoes. I easily earned my 10,000 steps walking the airport with my lulled-to-sleep baby. 

Fear: Dealing with a serious poop situation.

Blowouts, mega-barfs and snotfests always seem to happen at the most inopportune times. Like when you're traveling.

With that in mind, please enjoy this video.

I felt fortunate this happened when I had access to MSP airport's fancy family bathrooms. I can't even imagine trying to clean poop out of my baby's hair while trapped on a plane.

I made the executive decision to throw the onesie away and changed the baby into her backup outfit. I then bought a $24 pair of backup pajamas at the airport. Expensive, but worth it in case this happened again.

Fix: You can't really control this one. My advice is to travel with TWO extra outfits, and a gallon Ziplock bag for poop and puke covered clothes. Maybe carry-on extra shirt for yourself, just in case.

Fear: Missing the flight.

The only thing worse than flying with a baby is missing the flight!

Time works differently with a baby. When they're melting down, it moves slow like molasses. When you need to be somewhere, it's speeds along like a coked up Charlie Sheen.

After spending who knows how long remedying our poop fiasco, I walked back to our gate, which was boarding! Arghhhh! I knew I needed extra time, so I budged through 30 people to get to the ticketing agent, exasperatedly handing her my ticket. Anxiety sweat dripped down my back.

"KATT, KATT.... HMMMM KATT.... I DON'T SEE YOU ON THIS FLIGHT," she shouted at the top of her lungs as the entire gate looked on.

As it turned out, our gate had changed due to the delay... and I still had plenty of time. So I rolled my pile of crap back through the crowd, trying to act like I wasn't embarrassed at all. 

Fix: Wear a watch, set an alarm, download your airline's app for updates. Just keep an eye on the clock for your boarding time (and gate). 

Fear: Getting a middle seat.

Middle seat with a baby? No thanks.

What could be worse then finding yourself squelched between two huge body builders on a flight, let alone a flight you're on with a baby?  

Fix: As soon as you're able, get on your airline's website and try to book a window or aisle seat. My play here is ALWAYS for a window seat. I love looking out the window, not to mention it's easier and more discrete to breastfeed. But there's something to be said for sitting on the aisle with a babe. Easy access to the walkway and bathroom, just in case. My thought is whichever you're naturally inclined to select when traveling without a baby is your answer. 

SIDE NOTE: Try to book a seat near the back of the plane. This is good for two reasons: One, it's noisier-- perfect for drowning out your baby's cries AND lulling them to sleep. Also, if there's ever an empty row or seat on the plane, it's often at the very back. If you're nearby, empty rows pretty much automatically go to the person with the baby!

Fear: Sitting next to a weirdo.

I figured I'd end up next to an eighth grade boy who pretended like he wasn't trying to look at my nipple. Or worse, end up next to some sales guy named Steve who acted just a little too comfortable around a new mom and her baby.

Fix: Charm the pants off the gate agent. These people truly want to help you. My prayers must've worked because there were four wide open rows in the back of the plane. I sprawled in my own row, breastfeeding my baby confidently, luxuriating with my tiny plastic bowl of ginger ale.

Fear: Germs.

I've never considered myself a germaphobe... until I had a baby. Now I look at every surface, picturing teeny-tiny bacteria waiting to pounce on my precious, illness-prone babe. Considering how many people spend hours coughing, sneezing, farting and who knows what else on a plane, it seems like a cold waiting to happen.

Fix: Wash your hands. Wipe down the area around you if you can, and buy one of these dohickeys to clip your babe's pacifier to their clothes. You do not want anything they put in their mouth to touch the disgusting floor. And let's be honest, if the paci falls out, you're probably never going to find it anyway.
 

Fear: Dirty looks from people.

I worried people would be A-holes to the lady with the baby. 

Fix: Who cares. As it turns out, no parent should give two rips about this. Ninety-nine percent of passengers are incredibly empathetic-- shockingly so. The other one percent are people who suck at life anyway. And think about it-- among the top 10 most annoying people I've ever shared a plane with, zero have been babies. 
 

Fear: Constant crying.

We've all been on the flight with the baby who won't stop crying. One minute of screaming feels like an hour, especially when it's in confined public space. 

Fix: Feed 'em. Or give them a pacifier. Everything I've read said to feed the baby on takeoff and landing to help their ears acclimate. I followed the advice and she barely made a peep! Airplanes also work as giant white noise machines. That mixed with a little turbulence and being snuggled next to mom actually makes for an ideal sleeping situation.

And if they do cry, most people understand. Just close your eyes and think about how you won't see your fellow passengers ever again. 

Fear: Changing a diaper on the flight.

Half-way through the flight, I felt a rumble. Uh-oh. How do you change a baby's diaper on an airplane? As I walked to the bathroom, a guy gave me a thumbs up and said, "Good luck!"

Thanks, man.

Fix: There was a sketchy-but-workable changing table in one of the restrooms. There was even a sign for it on the door-- something I've never noticed until I flew with a baby! It was a little complicated when I had to pee. Long story short, I hope you have strong quads and aren't on a turbulent flight. 

* * *

Flying with my baby was not as hard as I'd imagined.

To be fair, I do have a chill baby. Two, most people are incredibly helpful to anyone traveling with an infant. 

I am so glad I ripped off this band-aid early into parenthood. I was legitimately filled with anxiety about flying with the baby, but it was not as bad as I'd imagined. It gave me a lot of confidence and made me feel like I can still do fun things even though I have a baby.

Yes, becoming a mom has made me different, but I'm still me at my core. I'm excited to share my love of travel and adventure with my daughter. Next time, let's hope she doesn't poop everywhere.

Flying with a baby isn't easy. Here's how to do it without the panic attack.

What It's Like to Have Your Placenta Encapsulated.

That's my placenta, in pill form. Not as gross as you'd think, right?

The idea of eating my placenta grosses me out. 

Do you throw it on a grill, like a steak? Maybe slice it thin and use in a stir fry? Steam it? Ew, ew, and definitely ewwww.

And yet, the purported benefits of consuming placenta after birth intrigued me. Allegedly, it increases your energy (definitely a plus), helps with milk production and is said to lessen postpartum depression. Plus, many animals consume their own placentas in the wild, which sounds like a reason why you might want to do it. We are animals, after all. 

Then again, tigers are known to eat their young and my dog's favorite food is rabbit poop. So...

Postpartum depression topped my list of birth fears. Depression runs in my family (LOL doesn't it run in everyone's family?!). The thought of drowning in overwhelm and sadness-- all while needing to care for a baby-- scared the ever-loving shit out of me. While I wasn't about to go all Sizzler on my placenta, eating it in pill form seemed doable. And since I am a firm believer in continuing to challenge my comfort zone, I decided to do it.

I live in the Twin Cities, and heard about Bywater Birth through a friend. They offer all sorts of birthing services, including placenta encapsulation. The whole thing cost $225, and when you think about how much they do (and the quick turnaround!), that seems more than fair. 

Here's how placenta encapsulation works:

1. I told Bywater Birth where I was giving birth and exchanged phone numbers with co-founder Anne so we could call her once the baby was born. Since I was having a scheduled C-section, they knew when to expect to pick up the placenta, but many of their clients who don't have a scheduled birth just text once the baby is born. 

2. We brought a small cooler and two gallon-sized Ziplock bags to the hospital. You gotta double-bag that stuff!

That's my placenta in the bag. I made this black and white to chill out the gore factor. 

3. Before my surgery, the nurse asked if I had a birth plan. I didn't really (aside from "have healthy baby"), but did need to tell her that we wanted to keep the placenta. I was kind of embarrassed to tell her, but when I did, she was just like, "Okay, you got it!"

4. Because I was still in surgery, I'm a little fuzzy on this part. I think the doctor set the placenta aside in a bag, then put it in a bucket. Someone brought it to our room, where my husband (I think) placed it in the Ziplock bags and set it on ice.

5. A few hours after Arlene was born, Anne from Bywater came to our hospital room. It was probably 10pm. She chatted with us briefly, then took the placenta. 

6. Anne brought the placenta home. She gently steamed, dehydrated, then ground it into a powder. Next, the placenta is put into capsules-- anywhere from 100-200 (depending on your placenta size). Mine made 138 pills.

7. Within 24 hours, Anne had returned to the hospital with the pills, plus a dried, heart-shaped umbilical cord "keepsake" that I'm still not sure what to do with! Spray paint it silver and hang it form our Christmas tree? 

Heart-shaped placenta. Pen for scale!

* * *

Anne suggested I take 2-3 pills each morning for the next 2-3 weeks. Then, maybe dial it back to one a day for the next month or two. After three months, the pills go in the freezer and can be taken as needed (if you're looking for a more balanced feeling, or need more energy). Apparently some people save them for when they hit menopause. I don't know how you can keep track of something in your freezer that long, but if that's your thing, more power to ya.

The pills look like... pills. I thought they had a slightly gross flavor (though it may be more in my mind), so I made sure to have a flavored drink ready to go prior to popping them. 

So, the big question:

Did eating my placenta help? 

Claim: It helps with postpartum depression.
While my birth was fairly straightforward (planned C-section), the days following were not. I was in a lot of pain, tired and overwhelmed-- aka the exact same things all new moms feel. I had an extremely hard time breastfeeding. Arlene had a weak latch, a late-diagnosed tongue-tie, and breastfed for anywhere from 6-7 hours a day for the first two months. I experienced milk blisters, and my bruised nipples felt like they'd been run through a pencil sharpener. 

I cried a lot of tears over breastfeeding. And yet, I never plunged into a deep, dark place. In fact, I remember at my lowest of lows thinking, "I mentally feel a lot better than I would've expected."

Claim: It keeps you energized
The first few weeks were exhausting, but there were only a few times where I was so tired I barely felt alive. I wasn't bouncing off the walls or anything, but in general, I felt more awake than I'd expected. 

Claim: It helps increase milk production
While I had many latch and breastfeeding problems, production was NOT an issue. I feel fortunate that I always had enough milk for the baby, plus extra for the freezer. 

Verdict: I'd have my placenta encapsulated again.

It's really hard to say if the pills truly helped or not. Arlene is my first baby, so I have no other postpartum experience to compare to. That said, the big three items ingesting your placenta is said to help all rang true for me. I've had a mostly happy, energized and milk-filled postpartum life. 

Could it be placebo effect? Definitely. Could I just be lucky My baby is awesome, so I for sure am lucky. But it could just be my dried, encapsulated placenta working its magic.

Next time, I'll make the same decision. Just in case. 

* * * 

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The idea of eating my placenta grosses me out. However, the purported benefits made me face my fear and try it. Here's what I learned.

How to Trim a Baby's Nails

A new parent's biggest nightmare: trimming a baby's nails.

With a new baby, everything is scary. 

Driving. Leaving the house. Folding laundry six feet away from your sleeping baby who is totally breathing. She is breathing, right? I'm just going to go check really quick. But I'm pretty certain there's one task that strikes fear in the hearts of all new parents: clipping your newborn's fingernails.

We welcomed baby Arlene Helen Katt on July 14. She's 7lbs 9 oz of adorableness... with one exception.

She was born wielding 10 tiny weapons.

Like all babies, her itty bitty fingernails are paper thin, and yet so sharp you'll need to be peeled off the ceiling after one minor poke-- usually on your naked boob as you're trying to figure out breastfeeding and already sobbing in pain. I thought about cutting them a lot, but using clippers seems too risky. So I Google "trim baby nails" and learned that you can file a baby's nails, or even bite them with your teeth. I tried both, and neither really worked.  

However, once the baby horribly scratches her face, you realize you're the parent and keeping the kid safe is your job. 

Time to trim the nails or call CPS on yourself. 

About a week after her birth, I finally mustered the guts to trim baby Arlene's nails. We ended up really liking curved cuticle scissors (these ones are perfect). They're easier to control, and control is key when you're trying to not physically and emotionally scar your child for life. We later discovered it was easier for the person who was holding the baby to trim her nails.  

Here's what happened when I attempted to trim our baby's talons. I didn't even cry! And bonus points to me for posting a video of myself 11 days after having a c-section, swollen as can be and barely able to move. Oh, the things we do for kids!
 

Doing most things with a baby scares the crap out of me, but that's been the driving force behind Hey Eleanor all along. If you have a suggestion of a scary task to tackle with a baby, share it in the comments. Flying cross-country, leaving her overnight with a babysitter... I am alllll ears. 

On a somewhat related note, remember press-on nails?
 

* * *

SIGN UP FOR ACCESS TO THE #HEYELEANORCHALLENGE!

How You Give Birth Really Doesn't Matter

Do you think this monkey talked about how she gave birth? Probably.

Tomorrow, I become a mom.

A lot of people say I became a mom when I became pregnant. But aside from the fact that I haven't eaten raw fish in nine months and said no to Dolly Parton AND Metallica concerts (both coming within weeks of this baby's arrival), I haven't felt like a parent.

Parents, especially to little kids, don't get go to the gym when they want. They can't just wing their day, maybe working for a few hours in the morning, then meeting a friend for lunch. They don't go on spur of the moment dates with their significant others. They don't get to sleep in until 9am. I've enjoyed all these things and more for the last 34 years.
 

Tomorrow afternoon, everything changes.

Our baby is breech (head up, butt down, legs constantly kicking my left side). She's not budging, so she's coming out in the operating room.

When I've told people about this upcoming, very medicated birth, I've had a lot of people ask,

"Are you disappointed?"

I'm not.

I kinda feel relieved. There are no guarantees in childbirth, but with a scheduled c-section, at least the element of surprise is mostly ruled out. I have a date and time, a good idea of what to expect and what recovery should look like. Does it feel like cheating? A little bit, but it feels a lot better than having a breech birth the old fashioned way, which often left baby and/or mom dead. So yay for modern medicine! 

That said, I've been mindful of sharing my c-section news. 

Once you're pregnant (heck, even way before depending on who you hang out with), you'll quickly learn there's a lot of conversation about birthing. Are you having the baby at home, at a birthing center or in a hospital? Drugs or no drugs? Doula or no doula? Midwife or doctor? Water birth or scheduled c-section? And let's be honest: no matter what your personal answer is to any of these questions, you'll feel judged.

Birth is regarded as grand finale. 9.5 months of training, culminating in human physiology's greatest marathon. Moms write elaborate plans explaining exactly how the race will go, how much or little intervention they'd like, and how they want to cross that finish line, down to the music they want playing over the loud speakers. 

That's fine, but why do we spend so much time talking about this stuff? 

I'm pretty sure birth is the easy part.

No matter how you do it, you most likely will be surrounded by people who deliver babies every day. They know exactly what to do, exactly how to fix problems, exactly what to anticipate next. There are only a few major interstates barreling toward Destination Birth. But once you hit parenthood, it's alllll spaghetti junction.  

I've had so many new parents say to me that they were so caught up in the birth stuff that they barely even thought about breastfeeding, or sleep schedules, let alone being a parent for the next 5, 10, 30, 50 years. It reminds me a lot of people who get so entangled in wedding planning that it's not until the vows have been said that they realize, oh shit, I'm married to that guy! Sure, planning a wedding is fun and all, but it's just one day in what's supposed to be a lifetime. 

Having kids is the same, only there are no backsies.

So I say have your baby in a warm bath in your living room. Or on a cold, sterile table in a hospital on the day of your choice. Or at a birthing center while huffing laughing gas with your entire family looking on. Or in a hospital bed, completely numb from the waist down. Or in a galvanized tub in the woods with nothing but the stars as your midwife and the moon as your doula. Do it whatever way you want.

Because guess what?

It's not about the birth, it's about the baby. Who turns into a toddler, who then becomes a kid, who morphs into a teenager, who later becomes a 20-something and then 30-something and maybe a parent themselves, and then one day picks out your nursing home. 

Yeah, I'm scared about having a baby cut out of my body tomorrow afternoon. But that's nothing compared to the fact that tomorrow I meet the person I'll love more than anything, who'll inevitably expand and sometimes break my heart. A person my husband and I will be in charge of shaping and caring about, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.

It's a huge responsibility, and while it scares the ever-loving shit out of me, I hear it's amazing. But I don't really know about that yet because today, I'm just Molly. 

Tomorrow, I'm mom.

* * * 

Like this mom crap I've been writing lately? Here's more of it-- like the 25 things that scare me about having a baby, plus 28 things that will make your pregnancy better.

Rather read non-mom crap? Here's a post about the time I went to a concert by myself. 

Giving birth is really just the beginning.