A “due date” is kind of a cruel joke.

Lorelei’s due date is December 3rd (or December 5th depending on which doctor I saw)…

…And that’s as far as I got in writing this article before I gave birth to an adorable, chubby-cheeked baby girl. If you’ve been following me on Instagram (@kaitpearl) or Tumblr, you know what she looks like and are probably tired of seeing her little face every few hours as it slowly takes over your newsfeeds. But I will never, ever tire of her silly smiles (even if they are a result of gas) because I worked hard to get her out of my uterus and into the real world.

In order to prepare for the experience of giving birth, my fiancé, Ryan, and I took a natural childbirth class that promoted a drug-free labor and delivery. But, my birth experience was nothing like what they said it would be pain-wise in the childbirth class I took, and that really sucked. That’s not to say I was told it would be easy-peasy and completely un-messy, but I was given a general timeline in which events should/would occur, and I had planned accordingly. Little did I know that not one bit of my birth plan would be used, and what I had done as a means of preparation was really just a way of making myself feel like I had a little bit of control over something that is impossible to control at all.

Me studying for birth with my cat. No really, I made a study guide to bring to the hospital.

On December 4th, I decided to start trying some of the tricks I’d heard could bring on labor. I held off on doing so until my initial due date passed because I wanted to make sure I had as full-term of a baby as possible. The longer they cook in your belly, the smarter they’ll supposedly be, and I wasn’t going to jeopardize my baby’s chance of getting a full ride to a four-year university one day in her not-so-immediate future.  So, I spent the day adding Tapatio hot sauce to every meal I ate, substituting pineapple juice in my smoothies and walking as long as my little legs could bear to walk (seriously though, my knees would buckle every time I walked for the last few months of my pregnancy). Once the sun went down, I spent the evening drinking red raspberry leaf tea and watching movies with Ryan.

This is how big I was on my due date, as captured by my photographer friend Ali Nelson.

The downside about actually going into labor the next morning? I have no idea which of the tricks I tried brought on the labor, if it was a trick at all. Nevertheless, my labor started on December 5th at 6:30 a.m. I woke up because of what felt like really intense period cramps that lasted for about a minute, and happened every seven or eight minutes. I was excited, but, let’s be honest for a second. I’m 23 years old and have never had a baby before. While most women are anxious for their contractions to start and think any tiny ache or pain is just that, a contraction starting, I was in denial. The crampy feeling was strange, but how could I be sure they were real contractions? I didn’t want to wake Ryan up early if there wasn’t any reason to, so I decided to time the cramps for an hour to see if they let up with position changes and constant bladder-emptying. They didn’t. So I woke Ryan up at 7:30 with a big smile on my face, and told him that my contractions finally started.

After we decided to try and sleep a little longer to build up as much energy as possible, it was impossible for me to relax. I knew that I could have a baby in my arms within the next 24 hours, and I couldn’t help but analyze the hell out of each and every contraction. I referenced my nifty Bradley Method book (which is all about how to give birth naturally), trying my best to find similarities between what the labor-phase chart said would happen and what was actually happening. But I was confused. My contractions were now five minutes apart, but not very painful or consistent in their length. According to the book (and every pregnancy website), I was supposed to go to the hospital once they were five minutes apart, because once they were five minutes apart I wasn’t supposed to be able to talk through them and I wasn’t supposed to want to eat anything. But I could definitely talk, and I was definitely hungry. So I told the book to suck it and got ready for my pre-scheduled doctors appointment.

To my disappointment, I was barely dilated to one centimeter (a cervix needs to be dilated to 10 centimeters in order to push a baby out). They hooked me up to a monitor that was supposed to detect contractions, but it didn’t detect any. Of course they stopped as soon as I needed a professional to check them out! Though the doctor told me it could be days before I had my baby, I knew in my heart that my erratic contractions were the real thing, and I would have my baby before the end of the week. So I did what I did best at that point, and spent the day walking and putting hot sauce on my food (spicy mac ‘n cheese was becoming my new favorite). My contractions would stop for periods of time and my excitement would turn into disappointment until they started up again. Frustrated, I watched Sons of Anarchy while bouncing on an exercise ball (another labor tactic), and went to bed with hopes of sleeping away my anxiety.

And then they hit me. At 12:30 a.m. on December 6th, I woke up to some extremely intense contractions that were a lot different than the ones I’d been having throughout the day. I tried my best to power through them and get some sleep, but at three in the morning I had to get out of bed and bounce on my exercise ball to get through the pain, while Ryan put the final touches on packing our bags for the hospital. He then told his parents to plan on driving from Orange County to Ventura because we were probably going to have a baby by the end of the day.

All of the commotion woke up my parents (Ryan and I are currently living with them), who tried to stay calm while they made coffee and asked us what our plans were. Because my contractions were really close together and significantly more unbearable than they were the day before, we decided to go to the hospital as soon as the main entrance was open at 5 in the morning. Come 4:30, I couldn’t wait anymore. I wanted to know how much I had dilated since the doctor had last checked me, and wanted to get some sense of when I would finally meet the little baby girl that had been growing inside me for the last nine months. So we went in through the emergency room doors, totally prepared for anything to happen.

So, how far was I dilated? I couldn’t believe it. I was still stuck at one centimeter, “Maybe two…,” as the nurse described it upon seeing the disappointment on my face. My contractions were so annoyingly painful and sleep-preventing that I couldn’t even begin to comprehend how much further I had to go. The nurse suggested that I go home if I wasn’t planning on having an epidural (I wasn’t) because it could be a while before I went into “true labor.” They hinted that it could even be a week before I gave birth. So I headed back home to labor in the comfort of my bedroom. I was pissed. If this wasn’t “true labor” as the nurses liked to call it, then why did it hurt so bad? Did they seriously think I could deal with this pain for another week?

Once I got home, my labor really intensified. I tried to eat my favorite California Pizza Kitchen meal but couldn’t, I tried to sit but couldn’t, I tried to sleep but couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything but try to breathe through contractions that made me feel like I was going to (this is kind of graphic) poop out all of my organs. I felt like my body was ripping open from the inside out, and that if I sat down I would explode, but if I didn’t sit I would still explode. It was so uncomfortable (obviously) that I started to cry because I was overwhelmed by the reality of what was going to happen. My confidence in my ability to give birth without the assistance of an epidural was dwindling, and I was terrified. Not only did I spend nearly $200 on a class whose sole purpose was to prepare moms-to-be to give birth “naturally,” but I also spent months reading up on why epidurals were so dangerous. Did I really want to expose my baby and myself to the possibility of being unable to bond with each other because an epidural took away our ability to produce the right hormones? Did I really want them to stick a needle in my back? I didn’t want either of those, so I tried to think about other things, like how to keep all of my organs inside of my body.

Around 2:30 in the afternoon, I went to my OB’s office to get checked again. Long story short, in a matter of about four hours I progressed from “maybe two” centimeters to five-and-a-half centimeters! I was so incredibly relieved that all of the pain I was experiencing was because my cervix was actually doing something, but I was one million times more scared than I was before. Not only had I reached the “there’s no turning back now” moment, but the contractions had become significantly more unbearable and more frequent.

Let me further explain.

When we arrived at the hospital, I had a contraction as soon as I got out of the car, another when I took a few steps toward the door, another when I walked into the building, another as I waited for the elevator and denied a wheelchair (I could no longer handle sitting down), another on the elevator in front of a strange man who probably really regretted his timing, another when I got off the elevator and waited to be assigned to a room, two or three as I changed into my Pretty Pushers gown (I was also shaking uncontrollably at this time, which made the task of changing outfits nearly impossible and required the help of my mother), two or three when they made me sit on the hospital bed to hook me up to the monitor (which kept track of my contractions and my baby’s heart rate), another when they drew a few vials of blood, and a few more as I waited to get the epidural I so badly didn’t want to give in to.

Ryan helping me through a contraction.

I decided that since my contractions were one on top of the other and I was only at five-and-a-half centimeters, an epidural was pretty much 100 percent necessary if I intended to push this baby out with my own strength. From what I had been taught, my contractions weren’t supposed to be one on top of the other until I was going through the final stages of labor around the eight-centimeter mark, which is called transition. Transition is supposed to be the most painful phase of labor, and I hadn’t even reached it yet according to the numbers. So I decided to pretend I never created a birth plan and do what felt right. Trusting my emerging “mother’s intuition” worked in my favor – thanks to this amazing new level of relaxation, I progressed to 10 centimeters within two hours, and my water finally broke on its own. Yes, that’s right. I had been experiencing all of the contractions (and other true-labor signs that are a little too gross to write about here) without my water ever having broken. As interesting as that was, I’m happy to say that everything that was supposed to happen did, even if it did happen in an order we don’t typically see on T.V.

Unfortunately, when my water broke the nurse noticed that meconium was present in the amniotic fluid. Meconium is a tar-like substance that is excreted by newborns when they have their first bowel movement. Some babies have their first bowel movement inside their mother’s womb (myself included). This is often caused when the baby is distressed during labor, especially if their due date has passed. When there is meconium, it is necessary for the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) team to be present so they can ensure that your baby’s lungs are clear. Babies breathe in the amniotic fluid when they are in the womb, so if there is meconium in the amniotic fluid they breathe that in too, and their lungs can be negatively impacted. All of this meant that once Lorelei emerged she’d have to be immediately handed over to the NICU team rather than placed on my chest. I was sad about this because immediate skin-to-skin contact was the most important part of my birth plan, as well as the simplest, and it wasn’t going to happen.

Rather than dwell on my disappointment regarding Lorelei’s first few moments of life outside of my uterus, I rejoiced that my water broke on its own, that I was going to be able to avoid a C-section and that I was finally going to meet my sweet baby girl. Throughout my pregnancy I would have dreams that Lorelei and I would hold hands through my skin, like she would push her hand against my skin from the inside and I would grasp it from the outside. As strange as that sounds, it was extremely comforting to me during those nine months, and knowing that I was finally going to be able to hold her hand in real life was…I don’t even know what word to use to describe it. It was surreal, but extremely motivating, and I was ready to push.

Before I get into the pushing, I’d like to talk about epidurals. Epidurals have been given a bad rap by people who are very into the idea of a natural birth. But, is a natural birth any more spectacular than a birth that involves an epidural? In my case, I don’t think I would have had a very positive birth experience if I hadn’t opted for an epidural. When I was told I was at five-and-a-half centimeters, I was already shaking, sweating, crying and unable to relax or get comfortable. When I was checked about two hours later and told I was still at five-and-a-half centimeters, it seemed that the pain level and my inability to relax were preventing my body from doing what it needed to do to get my baby out. So I listened to my gut and got the epidural, much to the pleasure of the nurses and my uncle who is a retired surgeon.

When, as discussed earlier, I had progressed to 10 centimeters in two hours, the nurses told me that it was because my body was finally relaxed. The epidural allowed my body to do what it knew it needed to do without my brain and emotions getting in the way. I seriously just laid on the hospital bed, texting my friends and laughing with Ryan, while my cervix dilated another four-and-a-half centimeters. It was incredible and such a relief, and I felt like I had made the best decision for my body and my particular situation. The weirdest part of the epidural (which was kind of painful but nowhere near as painful as my contractions were) was that I could still feel my contractions radiating through my left leg. The pain was definitely subdued, but I knew that a contraction was happening because my leg would feel like it was buzzing and my muscles would tighten. I continually thought to myself, if I can feel the pain throughout my leg even though I’ve had an epidural, I can’t even imagine what the rest of my body would be going through if I hadn’t gotten the epidural. The thought made me sick, so I focused on what was about to happen and tried my best to rest so I could have enough energy to push.

Around 8:30 p.m., my nurse decided to check me before having me lay on my other side (they switch the side you’re laying on so that the epidural is distributed evenly to both sides of your body). She was shocked because she could already feel my baby’s head in the birth canal. I was shocked because I couldn’t feel anything in my birth canal thanks to the epidural. She announced that it was time to push. I remember telling the nurse, Ryan and my mom that I was scared. However, I wasn’t scared of the pushing, because pushing is pushing. I was scared of meeting my baby. I was scared of what her birth meant for me and the rest of my life, and I was scared that something would be wrong with her. But nobody let me dwell on those feelings for very long. Instead, my mom grabbed my left leg, Ryan grabbed my right, my sister stood to the left of my head and my future mother-in-law stood by her son. The nurse put a mirror in front of me so I could see everything that was happening “down there,” and I highly recommend that any woman who gives birth does the same, unless blood and other bodily fluids make them queasy. Pushing with an epidural is challenging because you can’t really feel how hard or not hard you’re body is working. Being able to see everything in a mirror, however, gives you an idea of how much energy you need to exert at certain times and made things a whole lot easier for me.

So, what’s it like to give birth? It is the most insane thing you will ever experience. Your sense of modesty disappears and you feel the most human you’ve ever felt in your life. You feel like you’re capable of anything; you feel incredibly close to everybody in the room; you feel special and important because your body, energy and patience are the only things that will get your baby out of your womb and into the world. But most of all, you feel this intense connection with your son or daughter; a connection stronger than any connection you’ve ever felt with anybody in your entire life. Both of you are working for the same end result. He or she can feel your pushes from the inside, and with each inch of movement, their world gets brighter and brighter. Breathing starts to feel different for him or her, and noises are louder and less muffled. And then they feel the sense of being touched for the first time. In my case, the doctor had to insert his hand to help pull my daughter’s head and shoulders out. This hurt like a motherf*cker (there’s really no appropriate way to put it) and no epidural could cover up that kind of pain. According to everyone who was in the room, I screamed the “F” word at least three times when this was happening. But seconds later, at 9:36 p.m., my baby was born, the umbilical cord was cut and she was whisked to my right so the NICU team could work their magic and make sure she could breathe okay.

Hearing that first cry after an hour of pushing was incredible, and I felt like a pretty awesome person. Even though my body was shaking uncontrollably and my doctor was cleaning me up down under, I couldn’t help but stare at my fiancé standing next to our baby girl as she was experiencing the outside world for the first time. Even though she had a tube down her throat for that first minute, she was healthy, strong and a good size (seven pounds, six ounces and 20.5 inches long). Everything was perfect in that moment, and everything about life as I knew it was changing right before my eyes.

A few minutes later, when Lorelei was put in my arms, I felt a sense of contentment that I had never felt before. I didn’t really feel like a mom, but I knew that I was now complete and ready to take on my new role in life. I also felt extremely proud of myself for pushing a seven-pound baby out of my vagina after being in labor for 36 hours. And before that, I spent nine months growing that baby in my uterus. I nourished her, talked to her, quit cigarettes and alcohol for her. I was a champ, and delivered a healthy baby girl as a result.

The hospital I delivered in partakes in Kangaroo Care, which allows the mother and father to enjoy their baby’s first hour of life alone – which literally means no doctors and no family members. Just mom, dad and baby. So for that first hour, we stared at our new daughter and reflected on the long day. It was gloriously peaceful and exciting, though time went by much too fast. As I munched on a very dry hospital sandwich and attempted breastfeeding for the first time, my baby calmly took in her surroundings and grasped my finger. Finally, all seemed right in my world.

While these first six weeks of parenthood haven’t been easy in the least, seeing Lorelei grow and discover the world around her has given Ryan and me a new sense of purpose, and for that we are forever grateful.

If you have any questions about the whole childbirth process, feel free to ask away in the comments section and I’ll be sure to answer based on my personal experience.

I had to bounce Lorelei in her bouncy chair while I wrote this post. It’s how I burn my calories these days.

Photos by myself, my sister, my mom and my friend Ali Nelson.

The post Welcoming Lorelei Judith: A Birth Story appeared first on HelloGiggles.

1. Teaching Lorelei how to brush her teeth: I had a flashback this morning of what kid toothpaste tastes like, and I almost threw up in the sink. How do I successfully convince my daughter that putting a gel-type substance on a brush and making it froth up in her mouth with water and spit is actually good for her? What if she fights back? What if I accidentally hurt her gums when I’m trying to show her how to brush up and down and side to side, etc.? It truly seems impossible to me, and I feel like I’m going to need to do tons of research before I am capable of teaching someone such an important part of everyday life. Have any of you done this before? I could use a little reassurance here that it’s not as hard as my brain thought it was this morning.

2. Teaching Lorelei how to talk: I still can’t comprehend how babies learn how to communicate. The English language is challenging for so many adults (editing hundreds of college students’ disastrous newspaper articles has made me lose hope in the intelligence levels of my peers), so how in the world can it be manageable for the small people under the age of three to learn tenses and other important grammatical things? I know that a lot of it comes from listening to others and mimicking them, but now I’m going to be super paranoid about using incorrect grammar around my daughter. Why does the world work this way? Why can’t babies be born with the ability to read and talk? Why does this terrify me, someone who loves words, so much? I feel like I should be excited about the chance to be responsible for someone else’s introduction to the English language, but instead I feel pressured to be a perfect example all of the time, and that’s a lot of pressure for someone my size! (And by “my size” I definitely mean my former size. I’m kind of large and in charge at the moment.) I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what happens.

3. Too much TV: I am a serious TV addict. I turn it on as soon as I get home and watch it until I just can’t stay awake anymore, and thus I am appropriately terrified that I will pass this somewhat bad habit onto my child and she too will be dependent on TV forever. I’ve already decided that in order to avoid this I simply need to not have the TV on when she’s awake or hanging out with me, just so she doesn’t get too used to it being on all the time, but…I’m scared of what that will be like for me. Does that make me selfish? Should I be embarrassed of my love for TV? Is it Nickelodeon’s fault? Maybe Disney Channel’s? Dare I say my own parents’? All I know is that cutting down on TV might end up being the hardest thing I have to do as a parent. Wouldn’t I be so lucky?
*Writer’s note: After writing this, I woke up the next morning to no cable. Our cable went out, and since we were accidentally getting it for free somehow there’s no way to fix it, and nobody wants to pay for it! I’m totally screwed. Or am I? Maybe this was the only way to get me to prevent myself from passing my TV addiction on to my daughter. Electricity works in mysterious ways, or, I totally jinxed myself.

4. Setting up a bedtime: Bedtime was my absolute least favorite thing as a child. I hated it so much that it would make me quiver with anger, and I’d spend the first hour of it laying in the dark talking to my little sister, and getting in trouble for doing so. Sometimes we’d be so not tired that we’d sneak out into the hallway and watch TV through the slats in the heater vent (I’m seriously not kidding about my TV addiction). I’m scared that Lorelei will be as much of an insomniac as her dad and me and we’ll all just stay awake until 3 a.m. together watching reruns of Friends and weird movies on Comedy Central while we eat quesadillas. That would be so, so horrible to do with a two-year-old. Dear God please let Lorelei like having a bedtime!

5. The possibility that I won’t be able to help Lorelei with her homework because I’ve forgotten how to do elementary math: I’m not horrible at math and I can still do some of the basics, but overall I would definitely not volunteer to be anybody’s go-to math person. Should I buy a couple of math books for myself and start studying up now? Should I make somebody else do that so I don’t have to? Should I be one of those parents who volunteers so I can sit in on her classes and learn alongside her, just so I can help her recall what was discussed? Why am I freaking out about this when she’s still in my belly?? This is a hard one to figure out.

6. The possibility that Lorelei will love McDonald’s as much as I do: French fries have been one of my favorite foods since I can remember. I used to try to get Happy Meals from McDonald’s all of the time – partly for the toys you were supposed to collect, but mostly because I really, really wanted French fries. This habit has not stopped and I try to get my fiancé to pick up McDonald’s for me on a regular basis. I want Lorelei to be healthy, though, so McDonald’s is obviously out of the question, but it’s going to be extremely hard to adjust to life without fries and caramel sundaes. Good thing I have a big girl job and can pick up some McDonald’s on my lunch break when times get desperate. Lorelei will never know.

7. The possibility that Lorelei will hate me: This is a genuine fear that I think most people have when they think about their children becoming teenagers. None of us would say that we were always pleasant to our parents after we hit 13, and we certainly wouldn’t deny having at least entertained the thought of hating them once or twice, and that really scares me. I don’t like being hated, even if it’s just for a little bit. But what scares me even more than the chance that Lorelei will hate me is the chance that I’ll end up gravitating toward “best friend” territory and will be too forgiving of her mistakes as she grows into her own person. I’m pretty easygoing, and I worry that I won’t be strong enough when it comes to disciplining her. That’s how I am when it comes to my cats anyway. I tend to think their misbehavior is endearing. But they’re not trying to experiment with drugs and alcohol, so maybe I shouldn’t critique my parenting style just yet. Oh God. I forgot about the drugs and alcohol aspect of parenting! Maybe I should go stare at the drawers full of baby clothes in the nursery to remind myself that 13 years is a long ways away.

I suppose I’ll stop now, because my plan totally backfired. I didn’t exactly talk myself out of being afraid of these things; rather I exacerbated my fears by trying to make each paragraph long enough. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go research what contractions feel like in case the stomach pains I’m having aren’t really stomach pains at all.

The post Things That Make Me Scared To Be A Mom, But Shouldn’t appeared first on HelloGiggles.

As explained, I live with my parents, having moved back home when San Diego just wasn’t doing it for me anymore. I maintained a long-distance relationship with my boyfriend while he finished his last semester in school, but when we found out we were expecting a baby, our plans to dedicate the majority of our budget to rent once he graduated seemed a bit…decadent. So we decided to take my parents up on their offer to let us live with them as long as we need to while paying very minimal rent.

But, if 2+2=4, where do the other seven come from? Well, our unborn child makes 5, my two cats make 7, my parents’ two cats make 9 and their two dogs make the big 11. And, how big is our house? Why, it’s only 900 square feet! We are jam packed with love and snuggles in this house, and I absolutely love it. I am so unbelievably grateful to my parents for how generous they’ve been to my fiancé and me, and will always cherish being able to share such a special time in our lives with them. While we obviously wish we could be in our own place, we’re not stupid and we realize that this is our best option right now. When we are financially ready to move our growing little family into a (hopefully) affordable little house or apartment, we will, but we know that we have to be smart and not rush into anything just so we can enjoy playing house. There’s plenty of time for that in the years to come.

Nevertheless, as my baby’s birthday nears, the need to overhaul everything in my life right now is seriously overwhelming. I’ve been doing laundry for days, reading every article about labor and delivery that I can get my hands on and trying to organize all of the wonderfully amazing gifts we received at our baby showers (Lorelei has more than enough clothes to last her the first four months of her life). It’s a lot of work for a mom-to-be that is nine months pregnant, but luckily I have a fiancé who loves to deep clean and organize.

Though I can’t really master cloth diapers or breastfeeding until my baby is actually here, I can start to work on my mom skills and come up with some solutions to prevent any future insanity. This might sound somewhat trivial, but music is one of my bigger concerns. Two of our close friends gave us two CDs that have lullaby renditions of songs by Radiohead and The Beatles. Those will obviously be a lifesaver, but what do we do if Lorelei tires of them, or we simply get an urge to listen to The Dead Weather, which obviously isn’t very baby friendly music? I don’t have the patience (yet) for little kid music, so I’ve been inspired to create a playlist of sorts that I like to call “Baby Music That’s Not About Babies,” a sort of distant cousin of a playlist I created last winter titled “Christmas Music That’s Not About Christmas.”

We all know that music creates an atmosphere with its tones as well as its lyrics, but babies can’t understand lyrics in the same way you and I can. Because of this, I came to the realization that as long as the music is soothing and somewhat upbeat, Lorelei will probably like it and hopefully drift off to sleep in the car or in my arms if she’s in a fussy mood. The following are songs that I think my baby would love to hear, and hopefully might plant a “good taste in music” seed in her heart while nurturing her soul at the same time.

First, the obvious song: “Lorelai” by Fleet Foxes.
Sure, we’re spelling our Lorelei’s name differently, but the song is whimsical and fun and thus exactly what a baby needs to hear while enjoying some tummy time (for those who don’t know, like I didn’t about 9 months ago, tummy time is when you put your baby on her tummy so she can build some upper-arm and neck strength, and it’s also really fun to say).

Second, the songs that played constantly throughout my pregnancy.
My pregnancy was defined by Beach House’s new album, “Bloom”; Grizzly Bear’s new album “Shields”; the Fever Ray Pandora station; and NPR (forgive me, but there was a very entertaining race for the presidency taking place). I’m hoping that continuing to play everything but NPR (I seriously can’t handle anymore talk radio at this point) will help Lorelei transition into life outside of the womb more easily.

Third, “our” song: “Hold You in My Arms” by Ray LaMontagne.
My fiancé proposed to me in August when I was about five months pregnant, and he played our song in the car before he did. I think it’s incredibly special that Lorelei got to be a part of that moment, and I want to constantly remind her how much her parents love each other, and her, by playing this song for her as much as possible before she can say “Not again, Mom!”

Fourth, “When the Night Comes” by Dan Auerbach.
Dan Auerbach has, in my opinion, one of the smoothest voices in the biz, and I don’t want to keep it from post-birth Lorelei any longer than I have to (though she did get to experience The Black Keys live last month). This song is particularly peaceful and I think it’s perfect for edgy babies who need more than a pacifier and some shhh-ing to calm them down. Hopefully Lorelei will be as simple as the latter, but either way I’ll be sure to play her this song.

Fifth, “French Navy” by Camera Obscura.
This is song is so girly and fun to bounce around to, and from what I’ve been told babies love to be bounced. Instant win.

Sixth, Iron & Wine in general.
I feel like Iron & Wine needs no explanation as to why his music is perfect for my little Lorelei. There are so many songs about love and loving and being loved that Lorelei will be an expert on the meaning of love once she starts to understand what’s being sung to her. Some of my favorites include “The Sea and the Rhythm,” “Love and Some Verses” and “Kingdom of the Animals.” I could list a million, but those three are definitely at the top of my list.

Seventh, “Dance, Dance, Dance” by Lykke Li.
I’m a big fan of dancing, and I’ve missed it a lot these past few months. While I’m not immobile, it’s seriously challenging to dance with a giant belly that kind of has a mind of its own. Still, dancing remains to be one of my favorite ways to “exercise,” we’ll say, and I have a feeling that Lorelei will be the same if her constant movement is any indication of her future interests. If so, this song will certainly speak to her and put her in a good, dancey mood. I can’t wait to swing her around and make her giggle as we dance together around the living room and sing along to this song.

As I tone my uterus with some raspberry leaf tea while Lorelei kicks my mug through my belly and I read over my “Christmas” playlist article from last year, I realize that my life has genuinely changed forever – and for the better at that. I can’t wait to snuggle up with my baby and my fiancé on a cold winter’s night while we listen to the music on either playlist, and reflect on how much can happen in one year. It’s been crazy, but it’s been perfect, and I couldn’t imagine life being any other way.

The post Music For Babies: A New-Life Playlist That Won’t Drive Parents Crazy appeared first on HelloGiggles.

When I was hired as an intern at the publishing company of my dreams, there were two unexpected aspects: 1. it was a paid full-time position and 2. I was going to be with child.

Internships are typically viewed as something you do to build your resume while in college, and they have a stigma attached to them that makes them seem almost juvenile post-graduation. Because of this I felt kind of embarrassed to say that I was even considering accepting an internship position, even though I knew it was the best way for me to get a foot in the door at this particular company. But that sense of embarrassment disappeared immediately once my baby came into play. The urge to provide for your child is much more intense than the urge to have the job title you think you’re entitled to because of your college degree.

As my start-date neared I became more and more nervous about keeping my pregnancy a secret. The issue wasn’t that my pregnancy was noticeable (I was barely eight weeks along), but that I felt bad about not being completely forthcoming about my situation. I kept going back and forth about what the right thing to do was, and could not, for the life of me, make a decision I was 100% comfortable with. In the end I decided that I would follow the 12-week rule, which says to wait 12 weeks before telling anybody about your pregnancy in case something were to go wrong. It’s a bit morbid, but it makes sense and made me feel okay about keeping my pregnancy to myself for the first few weeks of my brand new job.

After getting to know my company better, I realized that my paranoia was completely unwarranted. For many other women, however, it’s not. I read countless stories online about women who were terminated from their jobs or had job offers retracted because they did the honest thing and revealed to the hiring manager that they were expecting a baby within a few months of their start date. While such firings are technically illegal, they still happen, and it’s incredibly sad. How heartless do you have to be to take away a mother-to-be’s way of providing for her child? People seem to forget that pregnancy is not an illness, or something that signifies irresponsibility in the employee; us pregnant ladies can still sit at a desk and respond to e-mails all day. It disgusts and terrifies me that such discrimination happens in this country, and I am so unbelievably grateful that I was brought into a company that values family and helping others as much as it does.

About three weeks into my new role as a pregnant intern, a fabulous thing happened. I was promoted to a full-time with benefits Editorial Assistant position. My pay increased, I was able to partake in the amazing benefits and I was going to get my very own cubicle! I finally felt like the working mom I knew I was meant to be, and I was finally confident in my ability to provide for my child. The internship allowed me to get used to working long hours and to the changes happening to my body (nausea and fatigue didn’t make my job any easier), but by the time I was promoted I was ready to start pushing myself again. I couldn’t remember the last time I didn’t have a variety of responsibilities at once, and I was ready to get back into the lifestyle I had grown accustomed to in college.

The only downside was that I was promoted before I had reached the 12-week mark, and the urge to come clean about my growing baby was stronger than ever. I still wasn’t showing too much, but I felt that I owed it to my new, super-cool boss to be honest with her about what she was getting herself into. My pregnancy had been relatively easy (I hadn’t, and still haven’t, thrown up once) so I wasn’t worried about my ability to perform my everyday duties; I was simply tired of keeping my wonderful news to myself. But I stuck to my guns and waited until my twelfth week ended before sending my boss an e-mail asking if we could speak in private, as I had some news to share with her.

When I met her in the library of our office building, she looked very nervous. I decided to quickly get the scary part over with and said, “So, I wanted to let you know that I am pregnant.” To my relief she was very excited for me, congratulatory and interested even, and asked me all of the appropriate questions. She told me she was relieved herself because she was afraid I was going to tell her that I was quitting; I reassured her that wasn’t even close to being a possibility because I love and need my job. All was settled and good and I could finally be my complete, pregnant self at my place of employment.

Since then I’ve come to know my boss as an incredible woman who understands the challenges that accompany pregnancy, yet completely trusts that I am strong enough to get the job done in spite of them.  She has made these two big life changes much easier for me to take in stride, and I am so excited to continue working for her once my maternity leave ends. But I couldn’t have gotten to this point if I hadn’t figured out some ways to get through an eight-hour workday while dealing with all that is brought about by surging pregnancy hormones and bouncing babies. The following is a list of my go-to pregnancy symptom solutions for the workplace.

1. Snacks! The best way to curb nausea (which is truly an all-day occurrence) is to surround yourself with a variety of snacks to appease whatever random craving you’re bound to have. My favorites are Cheez-Its, Honey Nut Cheerios, almonds, apples, nectarines and string cheese. We have a small kitchenette steps away from my cubicle, so I keep some stuff in our communal fridge and store everything else in one of my giant desk drawers.

2. Water. Ice-cold water has been a must for me, and luckily our kitchenette has an ice/water dispensing machine that I visit every few hours. Water is important in pregnancy anyway, so I’m definitely doing my baby and my body good.

3. Lotion. It’s true what they say about peeing and pregnancy. I am constantly getting up from my desk to pee (probably because of all the water I drink), and as a result of washing my hands so often my knuckles get dry, so I learned quickly that I needed to have a little bottle of lotion at my desk. It’s truly been a lifesaver, and it cost me nothing since I swooped it from a hotel room.

4. Something to put your feet up on. When I moved into my cube its previous tenant left behind a few things for me, including a cool footstool. I use it daily to relieve my legs, which I can’t help but cross on a regular basis. The crossed-legs position is pretty uncomfortable when your baby bump starts growing, plus your circulation is different, so keeping your legs elevated as often as possible is really the best way to go.

5. Music. I’m not sure about other offices, but at mine we are encouraged to listen to music on headphones. This helped to keep me awake during the first trimester when I was so incredibly tired my eyes would start closing after lunch. I highly recommend both the Grizzly Bear Pandora station and the Fever Ray Pandora station to get you through afternoons spent in front of a computer.

6. A backup lunch. During the second trimester, I ate more food than I’ve ever eaten in my entire life. I was constantly hungry and the only solution was to bring two lunches to work everyday. I’d eat my first lunch at 11, my second lunch at 2 and sometimes a third lunch at 4. Luckily I didn’t gain a crazy amount of weight, but I did spend a lot of money on food. Now that I’m in my seventh month, my baby has grown so much that I get full after eating half of whatever’s on my plate. But I still bring a backup lunch just in case she has a major growth spurt that robs me of all my nutrients.

7. Prevacid. Pregnancy brought to life a heartburn monster that caused me to take countless Tums to keep it at bay. Unfortunately, all those Tums created a kidney stone that resulted in an early morning emergency room trip and a surgical procedure to have it removed. I was told to stop taking Tums and to take Prevacid instead. I did and I haven’t had heartburn in weeks.

8. Maxi dresses. There is nothing more uncomfortable than a restricted baby bump. Unlike love handles or typical belly fat, a baby bump is hard and will not squish in as a result of a tight waistband. As such, I’ve adopted the maxi dress as my go-to outfit on the days when I feel like my belly needs some room to expand.

9. My belly. There’s a point in pregnancy where your baby becomes strong enough to make their movements seen as well as felt. My favorite way to give my eyes a break from my computer screen is to watch my belly go up and down and all around as my baby changes position or tries some new dance moves. Sometimes, if I put my hand on the spot where she’s currently moving the most, she’ll press against it. It’s one of the best feelings in the world.

Adjusting to life as a pregnant, newly employed woman was somewhat of a challenge, but having the support of others and faith in my own abilities made everything much more manageable. Since my third month of pregnancy, I’ve gotten engaged (!), attended four concerts, had a kidney stone removed, started prenatal yoga, attended childbirth classes and enjoyed the first of my four baby showers. It’s certainly been a rollercoaster, and I couldn’t have done it without my incredible fiancé, his family, my family and my coworkers. As my due date gets closer and closer (it’s less than two months away!), everything has become much more real. I’m so excited to meet my little Lorelei, and I plan on keeping myself busy by writing about all kinds of baby-related things for HelloGiggles until she decides to make her grand entrance into this world.

The post The Pregnant Intern: How I Handled My Pregnancy When I Started My New Job appeared first on HelloGiggles.

How does one tell the people she is closest to that there is a little person growing inside of her? It’s certainly not news I’d ever had to share before, and I was afraid that my parents would be disappointed in me. Sure, I am 23 years old and finally finished with school, but I couldn’t afford to pay rent, I wasn’t married and I had yet to land a steady “grown up” job. As far as my boyfriend went, I had given him a heads up a few days before that I was waiting for test results to come back so he wouldn’t be too surprised if I called to tell him he was going to be a dad, and luckily he didn’t seem too upset about the possibility. Because of this (and also because he helped make the baby), he was the first person I called.

Thousands of thoughts and scenarios played out in my head as I walked to my car and waited for him to answer his phone. What if he was just being polite the other day because he didn’t think a positive test result was even a remote possibility? What if it’s too much for him to accept and he hangs up on me? What if he acts like he’s okay with it at first, and then decides he isn’t ready to have a family of his own after all? What if he’s driving right now and gets into a car accident because the news is so shocking, and then I have to raise our baby alone? I was obviously losing my grip on reality, but there was no going back when I heard him say, “Hello?”

“Hi.”

“Did your doctor call?”

“Yes… I’m pregnant.”

“Oh my God. Okay. Well. Are you okay?”

“Yes. I also got the job.”

And then he started laughing with happy disbelief in such a reassuring way that my worries instantly dissipated, and we had a relaxed, albeit exhilarating, conversation about how crazy this was, how we were obviously going to go through with the pregnancy and how I was going to tell my parents, and he his.

As I pulled up to my house, we ended the call with “I love yous,” I took a deep breath, made sure I didn’t have post-cry eye makeup all over my face and prepared myself for the inevitable news-sharing that was about to commence as soon as I walked in the door.

Here’s a useful piece of advice. If you ever have to tell your parents that they are about to be grandparents before your life is completely put together (but really, is it ever?), make sure you have some reassuring news to follow it up with.

My mom and I are super close, so it’s really no surprise that the first words out of my mouth as soon as I opened the door and made eye contact with her were, “I’m pregnant.”

Of course, she didn’t believe me. In fact, she laughed, and accused me of joking, which in turn made me burst into tears. Once she believed me, I reassured her that it was all going to be okay because I got the internship at my dream company, and there was a very big chance that I’d quickly move into a regular position. We then sat in silence for a minute as my mom gave me strange sideways glances. It was kind of awkward, but mostly a relief. She wasn’t yelling, crying or leaving the house in anger. Overall, the news-sharing was a success. Now I just had to tell my dad when he got home from work.

To give some background that might better explain my anxiety, once upon a time I was a rebellious high school student who liked to sneak cigarettes in the backyard. I never expected to get caught, but one day my dad came home from work early and I did. I tried to hide the cigarette by putting it out with fingers (bad, painful idea), but he knew what I was doing and was so unbelievably disappointed in me that it broke his heart, and thus my heart as well. Ever since then I’ve been terrified of disappointing him, so this day seven years later was a huge deal to me. My dad is a loving and accepting person, but I had no idea how he would react to news that his daughter had been impregnated.

I cried to my mom about how scared I was until we heard him drive up to the house. After he had set his stuff down I told him I had news. This time, I shared the job news first. He had been anxious to hear about it, so I knew it would butter him up for what was about to come next.

“I have other good news too,” I said. “I’m pregnant!”

To my surprise, he was totally cool with it, excited even. His only concern was whether or not my boyfriend was for sure going to “stick around” (I assured him that he was), and he also cracked a joke that it’s probably a good time to stop using all that heroin (he watches a lot of Cops.)

So my mom, dad and I went out for a celebratory Mexican dinner at the restaurant I had yet to leave so we could use my 50% discount one last time. It was delicious. And when I went back there about five months later, the server we’d had that night was sporting a baby bump as big as mine. Little did I know we had been sharing the same secret, it just wasn’t noticeable yet.

So in the end, I realized that all of the fears that had been ingrained in my brain ever since the first time I saw 16 and Pregnant were completely unnecessary. 1. I wasn’t 16, 2. I graduated college a year before I became pregnant PLUS I finally got a “real” job, and 3. I was going to have a baby with the man I’d been in love with for the last two-and-a-half years of my life. We are blessed, and I am so grateful that I am lucky enough to have so much support and love coming at me from both sides of our burgeoning family. Literally everyone around us is excited because babies really are miraculous, beautiful beings. Our little Lorelei (yes, it’s a girl!) has already been an incredible source of peace and joy for all that are going to be a part of her life, and we can’t wait to meet her. I mean, I can wait a little bit because I want her to be as strong and developed as possible, but this little cat tutu outfit has been calling her name for months, and I’m dying to see her in it.

Despite all of the positivity radiating from my loved ones, I was still terrified about one last thing – starting an internship with a secret that, in some cases, has cost many women their jobs. But this part of the story, my friends, will have to wait until next time.

The post A New Job And A New Baby: The Day I Grew Up, Part 2 appeared first on HelloGiggles.

To explain, I’ll start from the beginning.

My name is Kaitlin, and I used to write the “Funemployment” series for HelloGiggles. My posts focused on life as a college graduate who was having an incredibly hard time finding a job in San Diego. As a result, I moved back in with my parents to see if that would make the possibility of being financially stable a real possibility. I ended up taking a HelloGiggles writing hiatus, however, when my life changed at the beginning of April. But first, there was the beginning of March.

My boyfriend and I had plans to go to Las Vegas over the first weekend of March. It was going to be my first time there, and I was pretty excited to get free drinks while wasting all of my precious money at the Blackjack machines. About a week or two before we left, I received a phone call from the publishing company I’d been dying to get an interview with – and to my surprise they were actually inviting me to do an interview. I had a powerful feeling that this publishing company was the place I was meant to work at, so I directed every ounce of positive energy I had toward receiving a phone call from them. But the gods of energy-directing have a pretty silly sense of humor, since the HR person on the phone asked if I could come in for the interview on the day I was scheduled to fly out to Vegas. Since the trip was already paid for, I had no choice but to ask if we could push the interview back to the Monday I would be flying home, and hope that I would be able to get there in time. She said that was totally fine, and I quickly placed my actually-making-it-to-my-job-interview anxiety aside in my brain. I had to do everything I could to prepare for this interview, and choose my Vegas outfits at the same time.

After having my favorite leopard-print cardigan, pants and skirt stolen from my room at the Hard Rock and barely breaking even at the slot machines, I exhaustedly said goodbye to Vegas while I studied my job interview study guide on the plane. My selfless boyfriend offered to drive me to my interview (which was three hours away from San Diego, the city we flew into) so I could continue to prepare in the car. This meant the world to me, and had he not driven me that day we probably wouldn’t be expecting a baby girl in a few months, and I probably wouldn’t have a budding career that allows me to support her.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Before I found out that I was pregnant, I had EIGHT interviews with a variety of people at the publishing company. It would have been nine had the final interviewer not dialed the wrong number for our phone interview, but eight interviews surely felt like a solid number and a guarantee that they were pretty interested in what I had to offer. Sadly, they decided to hire an intern to fill the Editorial Assistant position I had applied for, but asked if I would be interested in applying for an internship instead. I reluctantly said yes (trying to get an internship AFTER graduating college just feels strange), knowing that any “in” I could get at the company would be worth it in the long run, and they told me that they would get back to me in a week or so. I was a bit disappointed (read: devastated), especially since I was SO ready to quit my restaurant job. A girl can only refill so many sodas before she loses her mind.

In addition to my job and work stress, I had some serious eyeball stress. I needed new contact lenses ASAP, but had to get a referral from a doctor in my new town of residence. So I scheduled an appointment with a new, regular doctor so she could give me a referral to a new eye doctor. At the end of the appointment, she asked if there was anything I was worried about, and I mentioned that my period happened to be about two weeks late. I, however, am too cheap to buy pregnancy tests when there’s a possibility of getting a free one (plus I was absolutely terrified to pee on that little stick and see it magically change my entire life with two little pink lines), so I asked if I could simply pee in a cup before I left. So I did, and I waited a few days for her to call me back with the test results.

On Tuesday, April 3rd, I was finishing up my miserable work shift at the Mexican restaurant when I felt my phone buzz. So I quickly stepped into the employee bathroom and answered – it was my doctor, and she had some news. The test was positive.

I instantly burst into tears. Not only was I a college graduate with a depressing part time job who was living with her parents, but I was also PREGNANT. I was pregnant, and terrified for the financial well being of the baby I was undoubtedly going to “keep.” As I cried on the phone to my doctor, there was a call on the other line. It was the publishing company I had been waiting to hear from. I told my doctor I had to go because I had a really important phone call on the other line (which is obviously one of the dumber things I’ve said, since finding out I was going to be a mom was pretty important too). But she understood, so I took the call. And that’s when all of my dreams came true. The HR person on the phone offered me a full-time PAID internship that would most likely turn into a regular position, and asked when I could start. My tears disappeared, I started shaking and smiling and graciously accepted the position, with a start date of April 17th. As I walked back to the front of the restaurant to do my server checkout and get my tips for the day, I secretly began planning my exit. I couldn’t wait to turn in my two weeks notice and get the hell out of there.

But first, I had to tell my boyfriend (and my parents) all of my big news…

To be continued. 

The post A New Job And A New Baby: The Day I Grew Up appeared first on HelloGiggles.

Recently, however, Netflix has slowly fallen off my radar. I went through an intense Pinterest/Tumblr phase, picked some new favorite colors (light gray and neon orange, if you were wondering), started eating breakfast for dinner every once in a while and began to notice when every late night episode was a repeat (I’m definitely not proud of this). Then I decided that I was getting bored, so I started watching more TV. At first I was scared that my brain would turn to mush, or that I would lose any and all of the little fervor remaining in my desire to find a job and start living like an adult-adult. But I came to realize that TV does more than create violent streaks in couch-potato children and drug addictions in its adult actors. TV can also be inspirational and motivating, and it can show its viewers that there can be more to their lives if they want there to be more.

The following shows have re-lit the I-want-to-start-my-own-company and/or be-a-boss-bitch flame in my heart:

1. Parenthood: I’m going to be honest and admit that I used to be really scared of babies. I was convinced that I never wanted to bring one into the world because I was scared of the pain, and also because the world is kind of iffy these days. But then I fell in love with my boyfriend and saw the whole baby thing in a new, refreshing way. Watching Parenthood has really inspired me to have a big family one day. It seems like a rewarding lifestyle, and I’m always down for rewards. Plus, I have a major crush on Crosby.

2. Smash: Though the season is only three episodes in, I’m a little obsessed with Smash. It’s sexy, fun, engaging, loud, exciting and creative. Debra Messing’s and Katherine McPhee’s characters are both deeply inspiring. I love how passionate both are about their professions and how willing and excited they are to put themselves out there. The show gives me hope that I can accomplish all that I’ve dreamed of accomplishing if I really work at refining my talents and making the right connections.

3. The Voice: This show has seriously changed my definition of bravery. I am so impressed by these people of all ages who subject themselves to the scrutinies of millions of people just for a chance to achieve what they’ve always wished to achieve, and, in most cases, what they live for. I also love how the judges give positive criticism to the performers that don’t make it to the next round. They don’t sit there and laugh at the performers who aren’t as good as the others, and I really respect that. Simply put, the show is genius and has really motivated me to sing more, even if it’s only in my car. It relaxes me and makes me feel happier. Who knew?

4. Property Brothers: This amazing design show suits my HGTV preferences perfectly. It starts with the bros showing their prospective homebuyers the house of their dreams. The house meets all of their criteria and they get super excited because they can picture their entire future taking place there. But then their hopes are diminished when the brothers tell them that the house costs millions of dollars, a price tag that is hundreds of thousands of dollars over the homebuyers’ budget. I know it sounds cruel of me to take pleasure in such a disappointing reality TV moment, but the reason I do so is because it reminds me that I’m not the only person with dreams that seem too big and unrealistic. Thankfully, the brothers make the homebuyers’ dreams achievable by helping them purchase a run-down home that is way below their budget, and using the extra money to renovate it and make it everything they wanted and more. This part of the show proves to me that even though my dreams may not be move-in ready, I can always start something that seems like an overwhelming project to take on, but has an incredible amount of potential to become something beautiful.

5. Ellen: Ellen Degeneres is one of the most generous human beings I’ve ever seen on television, or ever for that matter. If I tried to write about every single selfless thing she’s done on her show I’d end up with a novel, so here’s my favorite moment from this past week. Ellen rewarded one of her biggest fans (a struggling single mom who has the best attitude out of everyone in the entire world) with a house. Yes, a real, life-size house. Need I say more? Ellen’s show has inspired me to be more giving, even if I’m only donating a few cents to an animal shelter when I buy $40 cat food at Petco. It may not be an amazing contribution, but at least it’s something.

Then again, maybe this is just how I make myself feel better about having my TV on 24/7 while I mindlessly search for jobs on the internet. But, as many HelloGigglers have told me, it is okay to take a time out and explore all of my possibilities in the comfort of my childhood bedroom. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few episodes of Parenthood to catch up on.

Image via jchhouk.tumblr.com

The post Television: A Love Story appeared first on HelloGiggles.

I had lived in San Diego for over four years, give or take a few summer vacations, and developed a fear of being alone. I was paranoid that I would lose my friends if I wasn’t perfect and always available for them when they needed me, and as a result I became overwhelmed and overly dependent on others for my own happiness. I was stuck in a rut and had a moment of clarity one morning that I needed to get out of the city that was slowly swallowing me whole. So I moved three hours away to Ventura and have started the process of finding my independence so that I can rely on myself, and only myself, when it comes to being content with my life.

But that’s not to say I’ll never need a support system. I think it’s important for all of us to develop close relationships with our family and trustworthy friends because they play an important role in helping us develop a valuable sense of self. I’ve learned through this experience that people really do care about me and that it is worth nurturing my relationships with them and keeping them close to my heart. The encouragement of my friends, parents, sister and boyfriend (even when he was my ex-boyfriend) has reassured me that I’ve made the right decision by moving back to my childhood home, and that it was brave of me to leave my comfort zone as a means of bettering myself.

So what do I do with all of my free time as an extra-unemployed 23-year-old who lives with her parents? I spend my days:

• designing my future home and wedding on Pinterest (check out my pins here)
• gathering inspiration from my friends’ blogs
• relaxing in pajamas
• reorganizing my childhood bedroom
• watching Dr. Oz, Ellen and HGTV every afternoon
• laughing out loud while watching Late Night With Jimmy Fallon
• watching repeats of Hoda and Kathie Lee on Today at 2 a.m.
• building up the energy to pick up the pace on finding a job
• collecting articles to read on Instapaper, my new favorite web app
• editing my wardrobe and donating a good amount of stuff to Goodwill

While my days may involve an abundance of television shows and interwebbing, they also involve regular heart-to-hearts with my mom and cleaning up after the six animals I now live with. Obviously, I’m living the dream.

Have any of you moved back in with your parents after college? Do you have any advice on how to avoid falling in love with being lazy and becoming addicted to television? Do you have leads on any jobs? Am I too old to put posters on my walls?

The post Am I 16 Again?: What It’s Like To Move Back Home At Age 23 appeared first on HelloGiggles.