Motherland, Day 2: Making friends

Today started kind of slow for me. Even on the other side of the world, I am still not a morning person. And being a non-morning person in a group of 20 up-and-at-em types was pretty overwhelming. We went to the National Palace Museum. The museum was crowded. The artifacts were interesting, but it was hard being part of a group tour and not being able to browse like I would prefer. The crowds were not as bad as Versailles, but it was enough to discourage me from staying the rest of the afternoon.

Instead, I joined a group headed to Tamsui. Best decision I could have made! We had five Taiwanese student escorts -- they were delightful. I didn't catch all of their names, but their accompaniment was so comforting -- and entertaining!

My first impression of Tamsui was that it was beautiful -- perhaps even more because of the misty day. The river runs along one side. The mountains on across the river were capped by clouds. On the other side is a huge market! I tried so many new foods today. I had quail eggs, fried squid, candied tomatoes, fried mushrooms, and a couple of Tamsui specialties: Ah Gei and iron eggs.

On the train from Tamsui back to Gutang, I ended up standing with all the Taiwanese students. It was interesting to learn about their families -- how many kids, what their parents did, where they grew up. Somehow the discussion evolved to gender roles and cultural expectations in Taiwan. It was really fascinating to dig a little deeper, to find out what their hopes were -- particularly the female students.

Walking back to our lodgings, someone pointed out a chops shop. The next thing I knew, I was whisked into the shop and five people were helping me choose a name and chop for Miss M! I chose a name that sounds like Mei Rei. Mei is "plum," literally, but it means resilience -- it's the national plant for the country and is apparently able to grow in many conditions. The particular Rei I chose means "heart of the flower." My daughter completes my heart, and I look forward to seeing how she blossoms.

I thought choosing a name would be the hardest part; I didn't realize how many other choices go into selecting a chop. I could not have done it without the guidance of my new Taiwanese friends. If only I could remember their names! Tomorrow I will have to ask them to write them down for me. I just cannot remember things I hear, particularly in a different language!

Candied strawberries and tomatoes

Tamsui market

Dear Miss M

This week, you learned how to climb out of your crib. Actually, I'm surprised it took this long. You've been physically able to do it for awhile (throwing your leg over the rail and threatening to escape), but you have a healthy sense of caution that, I think, prevented you from taking the plunge sooner.

I'm thankful for your caution, as I hope it will save us trips to the emergency room as you get older. But I also hope that, as your mother, I can create a strong enough sense of safety and security so that you are not afraid to take risks in life.

Next month, I'm taking one of the biggest risks of my life to date. (Marrying your father and choosing to be your mother were probably the other two, but those are stories for another day.) In the new year, I will travel to Taiwan. I want to learn more about the people and the culture and the food, of course. But also, when I arrive, I will be meeting with a woman from the Child and Juvenile Adoption Center, who I hope may have more information about the circumstances of my adoption.

Choosing to search for information has been so scary, and yet, it is from you that I have gathered the strength to proceed. I've never felt connected to anyone the way I feel with you. Through you, I am learning to love myself. I see myself in you, and I am endeared to you. And I can't help wondering from whom we both inherited our eyes, our hands, our goofiness and our love of music.

I know as you grow up, you will become different from me, despite our shared genetics. It's a certainty not only because I see my strong-willed, independent nature in you, but also because I am determined for your childhood to be different from mine.

Of course, half of your genes are inherited from your father, who also couldn't be more different from me. We opposites attracted and, somehow, we were gifted with you. I hope you will inherit his ability to enjoy life in each moment. And I hope you inherit his ability to love because his unconditional, accepting love transformed my life and created yours.

In a few years, when you're old enough to understand, I hope that your dad and you and me can travel back to Taiwan as a family. I want you to be proud of me and where I came from. I want you to feel secure in your identity. I want you to have roots and, most important, wings.

52 weeks

The past several weeks have flown by. I started writing this entry two weeks ago. And now Miss M's first birthday has already passed. I can't believe my baby girl is a year old.

Exactly one year ago, we were preparing to leave the hospital. It was the calm before chaos. Sleepless days and nights. Learning to breastfeed. Laying next to her, mesmerized by every breath, every jerky move, every blink of her bright eyes.

Fifty-two weeks later, Miss M is a cruising, babbling, silly little girl. If she's not pushing her V-Tech walker, she's dancing to its music. She likes cups and balls and chewing on her Robeez knock-offs (thank goodness I didn't splurge on the real thing!). Her favorite word is "dog." It's the first thing she says when I pick her up in the morning. "Dog?" It's also what she chants when we get home: "Dog? Dog? Dog?" as she high-tails it to his room.

In addition to dog, she regularly says "mama," "dada," "all done," "uh-oh," "ball" and "up." She has also been known to say "open," "hi," and "bye." She will high-five and clap when she feels like it. She signs for "milk" and "all done."

She takes after her mama in that she knows what she wants, and when she wants it (or doesn't). It is both endearing and frustrating. It's cute when she says, "All done," but exacerbating when she says this after only one bite ... of the fifth or sixth food you've tried feeding her for dinner.

It's hard for me to remember life without Miss M. I finally understand why so many women say motherhood makes them a better person, although I am still conflicted by this statement. I love her more than I have ever loved anything in my life. And I love myself since having her. I feel like a better person, and yet I know I'm not a better friend or wife or professional. How can I be? I have less time to devote to my friends, my husband, my job.

Miss M has filled a void I couldn't articulate prior to having her. For 30 years, I lived with an absence of a history, of roots, of a biological connection to any other human being. Realizing my daughter has my hands, for example, was a profound experience. Her palms, her knuckles, her fingernails ... they're just like mine. She scrunches her eyebrows like me. She is goofy and opinionated like me. I know she is different from me in at least as many ways as she is similar, and yet it amazes me to see myself in her -- traits I now realize I inherited, not learned. It is an amazing connection and awareness that may be hard to understand unless you have lived without it.

I didn't know I was incomplete until she made me whole.

Nine

I can hardly believe my daughter is 9 months old. It's incredible how quickly these past 9 months have flown by, especially compared to the months preceding them. Or perhaps it's not the speed of time so much as the enjoyment of it. I love being a mother. Except for occasional reminders from friends who are still enjoying life without children, I hardly remember mine. Miss M is my morning sunshine and evening delight.

Does this mean my transformation is complete? If so, I couldn't pinpoint the moment it happened. Perhaps it was the day I put an entirely pink load of laundry in the dryer -- clothes that were pink when I purchased them. (The horror!) Or perhaps it was the day I first extracted one of her boogers with my bare finger. (The satisfaction!) Maybe it was during those first nights at home, when she was wide-eyed awake, and we were bleary-eyed enthralled by her every newborn move. Or maybe it was the first moment our eyes met -- both pairs dark and puffy from the strain of labor.

I love my baby girl. I would give my life for her in an instant. And I hope, when she grows up, she knows it.

Miss M's first word

"Uh-oh," she said, looking at me after chucking her toy off the changing table. I wasn't sure I heard her right, so I picked up the toy and gave it back to her. "Uh-oh," she repeated when the toy hit the floor again.

And did I mention she is crawling?!

Where in the world?

Miss M completed her first transatlantic flight this weekend. It was the first of a few travel milestones she would sleep through, including a tour of the Château de Fontainebleau yesterday and lunch on the Champs-Élysées today. She did wake up today in time for a few pictures in front of the Arc de Triomphe, the second half of our stroll down the Champs-Élysées and dessert at Haagen Das.

In other news, Miss M has started raising herself up on her hands and knees and creeping backwards!

More adventures ahead!

ETA: This was written May 12, but for some reason didn't post until the 18th. Sorry about that!

Six months

Six months ago, I met my beautiful baby girl, who returned my looks of awe and adoration with an expression that asked, "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" I don't, but I sure do love her. Happy half-birthday, Miss M!

Of feet and (lack of) sleep

I've been too tired to blog, and I am too tired to do this entry justice. But it's been too long, and I feel like I need to post something to document this time in our lives.

Miss M is no longer sleeping through the night. I miss my good sleeper. I suck at about everything without sleep.

On the fun side: Miss M has discovered her feet, and it's pretty hilarious. Except when she supposed to be nursing. Then it's a little annoying.

Feeding in general has become more difficult as she's so easily distracted these days. We introduced cereal a couple of weeks ago. That was about the time the whole sleeping business went down the crapper. She had upped her milk intake 50% at daycare. She went from drinking 8-10 ounces to 14-16 between two bottles. On top of that, she was waking up early. I thought it might be time to try solids. But cereal + Miss M only exacerbated the middle of the night wake-ups. We gave it a break for a few days; still no improvement. Then she dropped her third nap. We've tried putting her to bed earlier; we've tried letting her stay up later. We've tried long baths and no baths. We are still trying to figure out the best evening routine. It's trial and error; so far, a lot of error. As I type this, she has been grizzling in her bed for 30 minutes

People always ask how the baby sleeps, and I used to tell them she fights going to sleep, but once she's out, she stays that way. I wish that were still true!

Five

I have a bad habit of referring to five as an even number. I know it's not. But in our base-10 numeral system, it feels like a nice even position. Halfway to something. Not too small, not too big. Not too young or old or early or late. (It's also my birth date — another reason to look forward to five).

So Miss M is five months old today. And I know I just said five is not too old. But it feels like it! Especially when I see pictures of friends' newborns on Facebook. So wrinkly and uncoordinated with skinny limbs. Miss M is still pretty uncoordinated. But her newborn wrinkles have been replaced by fat dimples. Her skinny limbs have become sturdy. And her movements, while clumsy, are beginning to show purpose. She cackles when I kiss her belly. She kicks when I change her diaper. And she is thisclose to rolling over. She has doubled her weight and grown five inches since birth. Her facial expressions range from concerned to gleeful to exasperated.

I guess, technically, she's still an infant, but I can already see the big girl in her.

I've been selfish

I am so not a "go with the flow" kind of person, but I wish I could be. So for four months, I've been trying to go with Miss M's flow. Or so I tell myself. Really, on Saturday mornings, I've let her sleep in because I want to sleep in, too. And the past few weekends, we've dragged her to the mall and other places because I wanted to. Not because she needed to. So it's no wonder she stopped eating and sleeping when I wanted (and sometimes needed) her to.

It's possible that the so-called four-month sleep regression and a persistent cold (from which we are both suffering) have also played a role. But today, I am stepping up and accepting responsibility because I'm the mother, and I realize I've recently only been considerate of my child's needs when it was convenient for me.

Yes, I know children are flexible, and I should not feel guilty for the weekend trips to spend time with family. I should not feel guilty for needing to get out of the house. I should not feel guilty for wanting her to fit into my life, as much as I have to fit into hers. And I don't (feel guilty, that is). But I can't not acknowledge how my actions influence in my baby's behavior.

So last night, I set an alarm. Even though it was a Friday night. Even though it was late when I finally got her to go to sleep. I set it, and I woke up early. Then I woke Miss M, and I fed her and changed her and played with her. And the rest of today, I'm doing everything I can to adhere to the same routine she follows on weekdays. That means putting her down to nap in bed, and waking her to eat at regular times. And giving her bottles and pumping, instead of breastfeeding.

Starting today, I will not care if people think I'm a rigid first-time mom or a slave to my daughter's schedule. I'm convinced she is more like me than her dad in this area -- more comfortable with predictability -- and effective today, we will have that.

So it is written. So it will be done.

Hunger strike update

I'm relieved to report the hunger strike has ended, although I wouldn't have known by the way Miss M kept eating all night. I guess she had a lot of milk to catch up on. Our daycare provider said she rejected the bottle at first, but then she put a blanket between them so the baby couldn't see her. Voila, she ate.

I wonder how long that trick will work.

Hunger strike

After three weeks at daycare with no problems, Miss M decided to go on a hunger strike. Friday she was sent home because she wouldn't take a bottle, and our provider thought she was sick. Of course, as soon as she got home, she took a bottle from dad, no problems. The weekend was also pretty routine, although we did brave the mall crowds Saturday. Turns out, if you have to step foot in the mall a week before Christmas, 8:30 Saturday morning is a pretty good time to do it. We got in, got around, and fed Miss M in the Sears dressing room before heading home. She didn't nap a lot, but that's normal at home. (We're not sure how our provider gets her to sleep so much at daycare.) Then yesterday, she again refused the bottle. Five times. When I picked her up, she hadn't eaten a thing, and our provider said she cried the entire time she was awake. (Two 45-minute blocks.)

I'm at a loss. She nurses normally, and still takes a bottle from dad. In fact, we fed her one of the bottles she refused yesterday, so we know there wasn't anything wrong with the milk. Nothing's changed, except her desire to eat at daycare. What gives?

Three months

Today my baby girl is 3 months old. I can't believe it's already 3 months, and yet, I also can't believe it's only been 3 months.

When I was 3 months and 3 days old, I was put on a plane with a stranger to be flown halfway across the world and handed off to another stranger. I don't know how else to say this — it haunts me lately. I look at my baby and I wonder, how could anyone part with something so precious? And then I wonder, how would my baby handle it if she were handed off to strangers tomorrow? Here I have spent three months trying hard to ensure a stable, loving environment for her. I worry about sleep habits and eating routines. I worry about leaving her at daycare so long. Will she remember me? Will she feel abandoned? Does she know who her mommy and daddy are? I want her to feel secure and safe and loved.

A shrink once said to me, upon my sharing I was adopted, "How traumatic that must have been for you." At the time I thought she was full of it. (She was my second-least-favorite of all the therapists I've seen.) I mean, I was just a baby. I turned out fine. How can a baby be traumatized at 3 months? But now I realize new parents are inundated with books that emphasize specific parenting habits from the moment a child is born. Does any of this matter?

It makes me sad to imagine how my baby would feel if I abandoned her tomorrow. I need to believe she loves me as much as I love her. But I guess I don't know. I love my husband dearly, but he doesn't understand why I think about this stuff. Heck, I don't understand why. But I do, on days like these. Maybe one day I will go back to that shrink and she will tell me why these thoughts go and come and go again ... and why I am so desperate for my baby to love me as much as I love her.

There are so many things to love about Miss M. Among them:

• Her crazy kicking legs
• Her deep breaths when she gets excited
• Her coos
• Her sour milky breath
• Her sweet baby smell
• Her chubby hands that look like mine
• Her gummy smiles
• Her expressive eyebrows 
• Her little mouth chewing and sucking on her big fists
• Her pouty mouth, and her little line mouth (aka "the no-more-milk mouth")
• Her neck rolls ... and wrist rolls, and thigh rolls
• The way she smiles after spitting up
• The way she smiles when I wake her
• The way she peers out of the little hole in her carseat cover, like "Where are we going?"
• The way her fists come together but can't grasp anything yet
• The way she gets excited when she realizes I'm getting ready to nurse her
• The most peaceful expression on her face when she sleeps

It makes me want to snuggle her. But that's one thing she's not so great at. She'd rather see what else is going on. It's heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time.

Woo-hoo!

Who's 2 months old and just slept through the night?

You guessed it!

Baby girl is growing up so fast.

Independence

Time is flying by. I can't believe I'm already halfway through my maternity leave. I never thought I'd feel this way, but right now, I would be happy to never return to work again. I could spend all day gazing into her eyes. I know it won't be long before she begins to pull away. The other morning, I overheard a woman on television say the greatest joy of having children "is not deciding who they are, but discovering who they are." Amen.

Week six was a major turning point. My best friend, who currently lives in France, flew all the way across the Atlantic with her seven-month-old just to spend a week with me and Miss M. We went shopping, I breastfed at the mall, and I even left the baby for a brief period with Grandma K.

Other milestones:

• First smiles! It happened Monday or Tuesday. She smiles often in her sleep, and sometimes randomly while playing. But she is just now beginning to smile in response to us. Dad got the first smile; mine was later in the day. They are hard to coax out of her, but I can't wait to see more.
• Sleep tight. I hesitate to write this because I'm probably jinxing myself, but over the past few days, her feedings have stretched overnight to where we can get 5-7 hours of sleep sometimes. Amazing.
• Head strong. Miss M is holding her head up well. A little wobbly, particularly if you tip her backwards, but if you lean her forward, her neck muscles are strong enough to hold her head up for a minute or so. Modified tummy time on her boppy must be working!
• Growing! Now in 0-3 month clothes. We switched to size 1 diapers about 10 days ago, and after a few recent leaks, I'm already wondering if she's nearing size 2. She won't go to the pediatrician for a few more weeks, but when I tried my bathroom scale, she appears to be about 10 pounds.
• Back to work ... to visit. Coworkers met her Thursday. It was fun to introduce her around. So many things had to fall in place for it to work out -- what time she woke up, how long she ate, etc. But we made it happen, and she lasted three hours before needing to eat again.
• Mom and dad hang out with grownups. We took Miss M to a house party last night and cheered our underdogs to a win over the No. 1 team. Mom even had a few sips of beer! It was quite tame from the parties we used to throw; there were four other kids present, including the hosts'. But it was still a fun time, and I enjoyed hanging out with my friends.
  

Things that make my heart melt

Sweet, milky breath. Soft, fluffy hair. Delicate peeling fingernails. Dark, wide-open eyes. Tiny pursed lips.

The first month has flown by, and yet, it also feels like an eternity. The days and nights have blurred together. Time is measured in feedings that range from 90 minutes to 5 hours apart. It's hard to remember how rough the first week was. And the second. And third. It's still not easy. But we're figuring each other out, and each week is better than the last.

As we're emerging from the dazed and bewildered first month, we're all taking on new challenges. Miss M is experimenting with her voice -- soft coos for now. Today, for the first time, she grabbed my hair in both fists and managed to get her thumb in her mouth, although both of those actions may have been accidental. Last week, dad took baby on an errand while I stayed home (somewhat reluctantly) and got some much needed sleep. Tonight, I left the baby at home with her dad and ventured to Wal-Mart alone. It was my first solo outing since she was born.

It's funny how I can feel fine at home. Then I enter the real world, and exhaustion hits. Maybe it was the bright lights, but not ten minutes in the store and I hit the proverbial brick wall. I wandered around in a daze for another half hour or so, trying to remember what I was supposed to get. (Lotrimin for possible thrush/yeast, and pacifiers because we're getting tired of having to walk her to sleep every night.)

I was relieved to return to our little cocoon of a home. Just the three of us, together. I'm not ready for the real world.

"She's complete."

Already, everything about pregnancy, labor and delivery is blurring in my mind, so I figured I'd better record Miss M's birth story while I can still remember a few of the gory details.

My OB checked me internally for the first time at my 39-week appointment Sept. 9. It hurt so bad, I couldn't help crying out loud. (Sorry to whoever was in the next exam room!) Afterward, she told me I was 3 cm and 75% effaced. That was great news, but she was careful to caution me that it didn't mean anything as far as when the baby would arrive. She did say that it could mean my labor would go more quickly.

I left the appointment feeling encouraged that my body seemed to have a general idea of how to get a baby out. That afternoon, I went back to work and barely noticed any cramping. Walking to my car after work, I realized my lower back was kind of achy, in a PMS sort of way. But I thought it was due to the exam and figured a soak in the tub would feel good.

I'm not sure how long I was in the bathtub. Long enough for Chris to grill me two hotdogs, and for me to eat them in the tub. Also long enough for me to realize I was having contractions. After about three sharp, low cramps, I started timing them. At 15 minutes apart, they were regular enough for me to allow myself to acknowledge I could be in early labor. But I kept thinking about my best friend, who had contractions five minutes apart for two days before the hospital would admit her. So I prepared myself for the long haul.

By 9 p.m., the contractions were 6-8 minutes apart, and I was pretty uncomfortable. I called L&D to see what to do. The nurse wasn't encouraging. She said I could come in, and they could check me, but they hated to have to send me home. She recommended trying to get some sleep and seeing if the contractions slowed down. If my water broke, or the contractions sped up to 3-5 minutes apart, then she said I should come in.

All it took was the threat of another internal exam to make me determined to wait it out at home as long as possible. We went to bed, and I went to sleep ... in 6- to 8-minute increments. Waking up in the middle of a contraction is no fun. I remember trying to get on my hands and knees to rock through the contractions. The worst were the ones where I didn't wake up in time and was stuck on my side unable to move through the pain.

Around midnight I got up, and decided to try to walk the dog. I only made it one house down the road before doubling over again in pain. As soon as the contraction ended, I hightailed it back to the house. The next contraction had me in tears, and I told Chris we were going to the hospital immediately.

The ride to the hospital was awful. Every turn, every little bump in the road was excruciating, and I kept telling Chris to slow down. Then I'd want him to speed up so we could get there faster. Thank goodness it was the middle of the night, and no one was following us.

Checking in seemed to take forever, even though the only waiting was for me to be able to answer questions between contractions. You know how it is when the dental hygienist tries to make conversation while cleaning your teeth? Or when you take a big bite of food just as the waitress stops by to ask how you're doing? Check-in was like that, except instead of a mouth full of food or floss, I had a uterus full of pain. The best part was posing for a lovely headshot that was printed on one of the four wristbands I got to wear.

I lost track of time, but I know it was sometime around 1 a.m. when we checked in because when I asked what date it was, I was surprised to hear Sept. 10. At this point, all I could think was that they had better admit me. By the time a doctor came in, I told him if I wasn't in labor, I needed him to give me something to make the pain stop. Lucky for me, he said I was 4 cm, 100% effaced, and I'd be having a baby today.

By this time, every contraction had me writhing and moaning in pain. Getting admitted was Step 1. But I still had to get an IV and have bloodwork done before I could get my epidural. The doctor was kind enough to offer some morphine while I waited for the good drugs. It took the edge off, but not the pain. (Although I sure would have liked to had it before the nurse took three tries to insert my IV.)

The anesthesiologist -- I mean, the epidural he delivered -- was amazing. The relief was immediate. When they checked me after, I was 5 cm. The doctor broke my water and said he would wait a couple of hours to see how I progressed before deciding if I needed pitocin. He recommended getting some sleep, but I was too excited. Two hours later, about 6:30 a.m., I was 6 cm. He seemed pleasantly surprised; I was relieved and finally passed out.

About an hour later, I woke up when a new nurse came in. I asked her how long she thought my labor might be. She said if I continued to dilate a centimeter an hour, they'd consider that good progress. I did the math and hoped I'd have my baby before the end of the day so my doctor, who I adore, could deliver her.

Just then, my OB arrived. She checked me, turned to the nurse and said, "She's complete." I think we were all surprised. The nurse had just came on and was still getting her stuff in order. I was still waking up. My doctor was headed into a busy morning of clinic appointments. But just like that, it was time to push.

You have to know, at my first OB appointment, I expressed my two fears. One, that the epidural wouldn't work. (Thankfully, it did!) My second fear was that the baby would get stuck. It happened to a friend of mine -- she pushed for three hours before being rushed to the OR for an emergency c-section.

My baby was at zero station, and my OB said I had a ways to go. So I was prepared for the worst. Thankfully, I was in the hands of an experienced, calm, compassionate nurse. She was by far the best nurse I had during my entire stay. I owe my positive delivery experience to her.

Back when they broke my water, they learned the baby had already passed meconium. Both nurses and my OB talked to me about what this meant and prepared me for what would happen when she was born. I'm grateful they took the time to do that.

The atmosphere in the room was calm and quiet. With the exception of spotlights turned on my hoo-hah at some point, the only light was natural morning light through the windows. Pushing took all of my energy, and in between, I laid back with my eyes closed. I only spoke to answer direct questions; toward the end, I'm not sure if I even did that.

I pushed for an hour and 45 minutes, but I had no sense of time passing -- it seemed to fly by. The nurse adjusted the bed several times until I was at an angle she liked. She said my contractions were really long, and had me do four, 10-second pushes each time. At some point, she got a towel and had Chris stand between my legs holding the ends. She had me grab the middle and told me to try to pull him on top of me while I was pushing. It worked.

Everything happened so fast at the end, what sticks in my mind are a few random details. I remember my OB was already in the room when they were paging her for the delivery. I remember feeling something coming out so suddenly I sat up and yelled -- not from pain, but from the surprise of it. When I looked down, I saw a gray Gollum-looking thing slide out. They immediately whisked her away to a side room, where I later learned they intubated her twice to remove meconium. A few minutes (moments?) later, we heard strong cries, and they asked my husband to come over.

What happened next is documented in pictures I didn't see until a week after she was born -- Chris meeting the baby, Chris cutting what was left of the cord, Chris holding the baby for the first time. I remember a nurse relaying what she could see. "He looks so scared!" Then I remember him bringing her to me. In the pictures, I still have a washcloth on my forehead (pushing gave me a headache). I am holding her little hand. She is quiet, wide-eyed, looking at me. I remember saying I didn't want to let them take her, but they were anxious to get her to the nursery to check her thoroughly and make sure she was OK.

After they left, I remember the doctors were stitching me up. They said I had a second-degree tear, and they were using words like "rectal sphincter," which scared the bejeezus out of me. I was so afraid of feeling any pain, I kept trying to push the epidural button, but I couldn't get anymore drugs. Thankfully, I couldn't actually feel any pain. Just pressure. It was weird.

I must have catnapped after that. But the next thing I remember is Chris coming back with the baby. The nurse told me he was on his way, and I was sitting up in anticipation. I hope I never forget the feeling that came over me when he walked around the curtain into view with our baby. The most intense love, pride, joy, hope. We were complete. I was complete.

love

Miss M made her grand entrance Sept. 10, five days before her deadline, but not a day too soon for mom and dad.

I am in love. We are in love.

And yes, everything they say about forgetting the horrible parts of pregnancy and childbirth is true.

One look at her expressive eyes, her hungry mouth, her infant froggy legs already stretching out ... and I'm ready to do it again.