Pregnancy was a blessing. And by that, I mean that it felt like a gift that could have only been bestowed by Satan himself. When it came to prenatal ailments, I ran the gauntlet. Having been diagnosed with hyperemesis gravidarum, I suffered from nausea and vomiting for the entire duration of the 9 months, landing me in the hospital twice, and the dehydration from which contributed to preterm labor. I had such bad sciatic pain that, despite being terrified of needles, I resorted to in-home acupuncture treatments just so that I could get out of bed. And the hormones. Oh, the hormones. In my first trimester, I became so enraged at my husband that I took a key to his game of Madden and then proceeded to throw the PlayStation in the pool, just for good measure. Never mind the fact that I enjoyed and played the PS3 just as much as he, I was a woman making a statement. And that statement was that I was insane.
So when it came time to take our little girl home from the hospital, I was wholly unconcerned. Surely, the struggles ahead would be nothing compared to those that I encountered during pregnancy. And for the most part, I was right. Thanks to the roughly 1,789 hours I had spent Googling during the previous 9 months, I felt remarkably prepared and never suffered from the first-time-mom syndrome of feeling like I didn’t know what to do. Despite experiencing a rather difficult recovery from my C-section, I felt good. This was a breeze! I was a natural!
And then came time for Brooke’s first bath.