Trigger Warning: This post has detailed discussions of self-harm. Reader discretion is advised.

Every year on March 1, I make a post about self-harm. Well, this year, this day (let’s be honest everyday) hits differently than most.

When I was younger, I somehow learned about people who would hurt themselves, and of course my young mind would judge. (I say somehow learned because I don’t remember how I learned about it). “I would never do that,” I would say to myself, along with calling them emo and crazy.

I did competitive gymnastics growing up. With the stress from coaches, and internal struggles, I started pulling my hair out at ten years old. To me it was a way to de-stress or something I did when I was thinking in school. I would pull out handfuls of hair and would get a little embarrassed when I would have a fistful of hair by the end of class. Other kids weren’t doing that, so why was I, but I couldn’t stop. At the time, my mom was braiding my hair, so she had to get creative with how she styled my hair. I pulled so much hair out that the back of my hair line started at almost the middle of the back of my head. I started self-harming at 10 years old and didn’t even know it.

Fast forward to college. My first two years were okay and nothing crazy or eventful really happened. I would have days to a week or two of being down and not wanting to get out of bed, although not knowing at the time it was depression, and then all would be fine again. My third year was a different story. The beginning of the semester started off okay. I would go to class and work my two jobs and life was good, until it wasn’t.

Depression and anxiety hit me like a ton of bricks. I don’t know what triggered it, but it gradually creeped up. As I got deeper into my depression, my skin started going numb. I couldn’t feel anything. I would dig my nails into my skin and couldn’t feel a thing. Eventually the thought popped into my head. I remembered an ex did it before, in front of me, and I figured I would try it. I snuck to the kitchen, so my roommates didn’t see me or ask questions, got one of my knives and went to my bathroom.

It was three days until thanksgiving. As I looked in the mirror, I asked myself “am I really doing this” and went for it. The first couple were small. Maybe a centimeter long. I could feel again. Even if it stung, I felt something for the first time in weeks. Luckily it was wintertime, so wearing a jacket wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. I went home two days after I made my first cut. Although they were small, I wore long sleeve shirts the entire time I was home. I didn’t want my family to worry. I was relieved I had to work that weekend, so I could go back to my apartment.

The following week after thanksgiving, my appetite started to dwindle. I got less and less hungry and was working out more and more. I would go days without eating with only gin and juice as my meals. I was going through a 1.75 liter of gin every 3-4 days. I became a regular at the liquor store that was right up the road. Ironically enough, I worked in fast food. I couldn’t skip my break, so I just sat at a table on my phone until break was over. I had maybe a nugget every few days. During this time, I was working out incessantly. I was losing so much weight so fast; my work clothes were hanging off me. I looked ill.

Although I wasn’t eating, my appetite for cutting was growing more and more. I am a numbers person, which played into my nightly routine of cutting. It would start off with 2 cuts, the next day was 3, then the next day was 5. 2, 3, 5. Over and over. If I was too tired to cut that day, I would make up for it the next day by including it in the next day’s count. It was exhausting but I couldn’t stop. by the time school was out for Christmas break, my arm was covered in old, and fresh scars and a few fresh cuts. I stopped counting around 75-80. I bought a bunch of long sleeve shirts in five or six different colors. I grabbed extra black shirts to wear to work, so that I could hide my cuts. I had a reoccurring feeling that I wasn’t going to be here for my 21st birthday. My thoughts and cutting kept me up at night. I wasn’t really sleeping. Maybe a couple of hours each night.

Luckily for me, my grades didn’t waiver. I was still able to pull off mostly As and a few Bs. It was difficult, but I pushed through. When it was time for Christmas break, I was relieved that the stressors of school were on pause, and I could spend my days in bed drinking when I wasn’t working either job. I went home for Christmas for a couple of days. I definitely wore long sleeves the whole time I was there. I didn’t shower or change until my mom was gone. She couldn’t find out. I was relieved when I went back up to my apartment at school. I could breathe again. I didn’t have to perform like everything was okay.

After the new year, I decided to go home and tell my mom what was going on. I cannot remember what came over me and why I made that decision, but on 1/3/14, I drove 2.5 hours home and surprised her at the grocery store. I asked if we could get stuff for my favorite dinner, and then went home. The one-minute drive home, we lived across the street, I was trying to still figure out how to tell her. We unloaded the groceries, and it was time. We sat on the couch, and I think I said, “I hurt myself.” I showed her my arm. I was crying. she was crying. it was emotional. A very small sense of relief came over me that I didn’t have to hide from her anymore. A little later that night, one of my brothers came home and I got nervous all over again. We all sat on the couch, and I told him. we all hugged, and it was nice to have their support.

Over the next few months, the cutting slowed way down, I was eating regularly, I turned 21, the drinking stayed the same, and I continued with school. The spring semester was uneventful. Long sleeves and a jacket in the Texas summer is not ideal, but the less people who knew about my scars the better.

Sometime in July, a new guy started at our job. he was young and had a very heavy Texas accent. We became friends and only hung out in groups. It wasn’t until late September/early October that we started flirting with each other.

The fall semester was another doozy. I was back in a severe depression. My first set of scars were very surface, and some started to fade which scared me, so my cutting resumed. This time around was different. 2, 3, 5 was no longer. This time was wider and deeper. I didn’t want to risk them fading again. I found out that a manager at my job, I thought I could trust, was telling everyone at work that I was a cutter. It wasn’t out of concern for me. It was for gossip. I know this was true because three different friends told me they heard it. When I asked who they heard it from, they all named different people. I was livid. Here I was struggling to survive, and a manager is spreading my information around like hot gossip. I texted him and cussed him out. of course, I didn’t hear back, and he was never fired nor reprimanded for his behavior (the owner of the franchise had a “no gossiping” policy that if caught you would he fired. The owner said this to everyone in interviews about this policy but did not stand by it in this situation). I regret not quitting after that. I started therapy that semester as well. I was 1000% against going and only did so people would stop telling me I should go. I eventually got on medication and started going to therapy regularly. On top of all that, it was my final semester of undergrad. I was very excited to graduate a semester early. That helped push me through.

We had Friendsgiving that year since our core friend group had to work the day before and after. It was nice. The guy from work I had been off and on flirting with came over in the afternoon. He claimed he couldn’t get ahold of people and was asking for our numbers. He was slick.

The weeks after were rough, and I gradually started cutting less and less. A few days before Christmas, the guy from work texted asking for a ride to work, but I declined as I was out of town. However, we texted every day since then. We flirted a lot more and after the new year started talking. As the new year came and went, my depression was starting to leave, and my cutting stopped. It felt different every time I talked to this guy. I knew I had to tell him about my scars and depression. Surprisingly he took it well and was very supportive. We started dating mid- 2015. Up until then I only wore long sleeves or a t-shirt with a jacket. He encouraged me to start wearing t-shirts again and would hold my hand out in public when I was nervous about people seeing my scars. Slowly but surely, I started wearing shirts again. Which was a slight relief as it was getting hot in Texas again.

Due to his family circumstances, by march, he moved in with me and my sister and niece. By the end of the month, we were browsing engagement rings. Fast forward to July, we got our own apartment as well as got engaged. He wanted to lock me down before he left for boot camp. After 57 letters, he graduated boot camp at the beginning of September and started schooling in San Antonio. We were married October 2015. March 2016, we were set to PCS to our first duty station in San Diego (I moved once I finished grad school in May 2016). Over the next few years, my depression came and went but not as bad as when I was in school. The cutting urges were there but I did not act on them.

Fast forward to January 2018, I found out I was pregnant. I accidentally told my husband before I had planned too. a few days later, I started miscarrying. this rocked my world. Fortunately, with the support of my husband and therapist, we were able to make some sense of our grief. At the beginning of march, I found out I was pregnant again. I was cautiously excited and quickly became extremely nauseous. We had a beautiful baby girl on December 1.

While the world was on fire the summer of 2020, I started and got 75% of my tattoo sleeve done on my non-scarred arm. Fast forward to October 2020, I found out I was pregnant for a third time. Around this time last year (February 2021), I was playing with my daughter, and she was looking at my tattoos. She then points at my cuts and says, “these are mommy’s tattoos, too.” I was taken aback. I knew that one day I would have to explain to my kids what they are and eventually let them know how I got them but didn’t know it would happen so quickly. I pointed to my tattoo and said, “this is mommy’s tattoo,” and then pointed to my arm and said, “these are mommy’s scars.” she asked if I got an owie, and I said, “yeah mommy got an owie.” my two-year-old then grabs my arm and kisses my scars and asks if I feel better. I almost started crying. We then go back to playing/reading.

For the first time in a while, I was reminded that I would have to explain myself someday. My kids will ask questions and I will have to have an open, honest, raw, hard conversation about my mental health. It’s a little nerve wracking that I will have that conversation someday, but I hope that I can be so open with them that they will be open with me if they ever are struggling.

While it is scary to talk about this in more detail than I ever have before, I’m not ashamed of my scars. They are a part of me and helped shape me into who I am. I do still struggle with the thoughts of self-harm, and I don’t think that will ever go away. Maybe it will one day, but for now I have the tools and the people to help get me through.

My hope for this post is that anyone who is struggling publicly or privately, will know that they are not alone. There are people who know how you feel and there are resources out there to help you through. If hearing some my story helps even one person then sharing was worth it.

This last year (and a half) has been an eye-opening shit show, to say the least.

I was planning out a post last March and was trying to finish it when my daughter got sick at school. I had to pick her up early on Wednesday and worked from home with her Thursday. That Thursday afternoon, I got a call from my boss about them closing the office for at least a week or two because of a new virus going around. Luckily, I had all of my work stuff with me already, so I didn’t need to go back to the office for anything. 

When I think back to my phone call with my boss, I remember being excited that I didn’t have to go into the office for at least a week, at most two weeks. Little did I know what 2020 had in store.

My daughter’s daycare shut down and my husband’s schedule changed, and I was now working from home full time. Our house was a shit show. The first two weeks were rough. My daughter’s routine was thrown off because she wasn’t going to daycare throughout the week. She went from having a structured schedule to no schedule. My husband was going into work every other day, so his routine was a little off. I went from having a routine, to being a full time mom and a full time employee at the same time. You sometimes don’t realize how important having a schedule/routine is until you don’t. 

All three of us were suddenly in the unknown. Not sure what was really happening and what the future held. There were arguments and lots of frustration, which were amplified by being confined at home. During this time, the outside world seemed to be in mayhem. There was barely any meat, cheese, pasta, or baking essentials and absolutely no toilet paper. My husband would facetime me and show me how everything was empty. The only time I remember seeing shelves like that was in the south when we would have to prep for a hurricane. 

After we realized our new non-scheduled schedule wasn’t working, we knew we had to make a change. Our daughter needed structure. We vaguely remembered most of the stuff she did at school, so we tried to incorporate that into our routine. There was instantly a dramatic change in our house that I wish we thought of sooner. A small weight was lifted off our family. 

With the stay-at-home orders, I noticed lots of people were out walking their dogs more and working out more. When I would work-out before, I maybe passed two people. During quarantine, I would pass at least five or six people every time. It was nice to know that we weren’t the only ones going a little stir crazy. 

Looking back on quarantine, I am grateful for the time my family was allowed to pause and spend together. I learned so many things about my daughter that I may not have had the opportunity to before. I learned that it is very easy to memorize a children’s book and recite it at the drop of a hat (I may or may not have hidden a couple of them). From all the time we spent on our porch, we were able to chat with and meet some of our neighbors. 

The first time things started to open up, my daughters daycare opened and my husbands schedule went back to semi-normal. I admit that I was sad that they were going back. Once we found our groove, I enjoyed the time that we got to spend together as a family. It was around the same time the previous year that I was questioning whether I should go back to work. I was having major mom guilt about not being a stay at home mom and spending time with my daughter. Without covid, we would have never got to spend that kind of quality time together.

Around Mother’s day, I started thinking of a new blog post about how we kept our daughter entertained/sane during quarantine. Some of the things we did as a family and how we survived being around each other 24/7. I was gathering my thoughts and starting a rough draft when the world shifted, again.

The news of George Floyd being murdered came out. 

Suddenly a post about quarantine life was insignificant. The video of his murder was everywhere. I couldn’t watch it. To this day, I haven’t and will never watch it in its entirety. I can’t. It is all a blur of how close, I learned about Ahmaud Arbery and Breonna Taylor’s murders. Learning of those three hit different than murders we’ve heard about in the past (not that previous murders weren’t upsetting). Breonna was sleeping in her home when she was killed. That’s something I do every night. Ahmaud was out for a run when he was killed. That was something I did all the time, especially during quarantine. George called out for his mom that had already passed away. As a mom, that struck a nerve. 

I was numb. I could feel myself slipping into depression. So many thoughts and emotions go through your head. My anxiety was heightened every time I was out. I realized a couple weeks later that I wasn’t eating very much. I was more hyper-aware of my surroundings. 

The protests immediately started after George’s murder. Seeing the protests made me feel proud. More and more protests were popping up not only around the US, but around the world. It wasn’t just us. There were so many people from all walks of life and different races that were standing with us. Not only were people out in the streets protesting, but were taking to social media as well. 

I think this time was very eye-opening for a lot of people. It revealed so much about families, relationships and friendships. There wasn’t anywhere people could hide. Fortunately, it revealed a lot for me that I may have ignored in the past or didn’t see. It opened my eyes to those around me. Not only did I look at my relationships with friends and family, I had to look at my daughter. There was no way, that I could look her in the eye and not speak up. This is going to affect her in the future, and when she asks me about it one day, I’m going to be able to tell her that I used my platform, no matter how small, for good. 

Keep in mind, this is still during a pandemic.

July 2020 was when my brother and his fiancée were supposed to be getting married. Of course, Covid threatened that. Like many other couples, they were in constant communication with their venue/vendors about whether they would have to postpone or not. There was talk about possibly having to postpone theirs, but luckily they were able to keep their date. With the pandemic going on, it was different than it would have been, but I’m so glad that they were able to have it. After the craziness of the first half of 2020, it was nice to see some family and celebrate a joyous occasion. 

A couple of months later, was my husband and I’s 5 year anniversary. Pre-covid, we talked about taking a trip to celebrate and were brainstorming ideas. However, with covid, it wasn’t something we were able to do. I was slightly bummed, but a little relieved as well. I was excited to potentially have husband and wife 1-on-1 time, but was apprehensive about being away from our daughter. It would’ve been my first time without her and I didn’t feel ready for that. We celebrated our anniversary at home and talked about what we would do in the coming years when it was safe. 

A couple of weeks later, we started packing up our apartment to get ready to move. A week before our move, I took a pregnancy test and it was negative. I was a little bummed because I had a dream that I was pregnant (I’ll have to do another post about how crazy my dreams are).  A few days went by and I decided to take my last test expecting to be disappointed. My husband wasn’t home yet, so it was just my daughter and I. As the test loaded, I turned it upside down. I was preparing for it to say “NO-“ and then go about my day. When the alarm went off, I didn’t even rush to go check it. About 5 minutes later, I decided to go look already preparing myself that it didn’t happen. To my surprise, it said “YES+”! I was in shock.

I don’t think my daughter realized why we were all of a sudden screaming and jumping up and down. Mom may have been saying a few bad words under my breath. Not in a bad way. I was in shock that it actually was positive. I had to quickly hide my test so that my husband didn’t see it when he got home. We had to go grocery shopping and I had to figure out a cute way to tell him. I couldn’t decide on my favorites from Pinterest, so we  ended up telling him later that day. A couple of days later, we moved our stuff from one apartment to another. Although, I was early, I overestimated what all my body could handle. Luckily, my husband was there to remind me to take breaks, drink water, and slow down. 

2020 seemed to be ending better than it started and many were looking forward to the new year. 

I was thinking of another blog post and even started another rough draft. A lot of people were probably wondering, “what the fuck was that” about 2020, until January 6th rolled around. I’m glad that I didn’t get a chance to complete and upload that post because I would’ve spoke too soon.

The news of the Insurrection at the Capitol came out and I was so angry. All summer long, there were protests about police brutality, that were met with pepper spray, riot gear, rubber bullets, and many many arrests. The Insurrection was a different story. There were some hidden heroes that day, but there was a massive difference in the way things were handled. People made it into the Capitol building and into offices they should not have any access to. They made it to the chambers where Congress would have been meeting. They stole many items from the Capitol building and were taking pictures in unauthorized areas. The fact that they made it into the building in the first place was frustrating. A very big and loud difference from the protests that happened over the summer. The response of the protests and the response of the Insurrection, were black and white. 

The entire day, made me mad. How members of congress responded to the Insurrection made me mad. How the current (at the time of the Insurrection) leaders reacted made me mad. How people who had a problem with the summer protests but were quiet about the Insurrection made me mad. 

The following weeks were of mixed emotions. Partially to do with me creating a human. Inauguration Day, brought a small sense of relief for the first time in 4 years. 

Fast forward to the Derek Chauvin trial. I did not watch it live, but did see clips online. I am relieved that the people who were there witnessing, were able to play a key role in the trial. I was anxious about Derek Chauvin’s sentencing and the start of the trial for the other three officers involved. Chauvin being found guilty on all counts was a small win.

The hard-work of all essential workers and the heartbreak of losing so many people is not lost on me. This last year has really changed me. I love that I was able to have the time to spend and (mostly) enjoy with my little family. My voice is more amplified than it was before. My eyes are more open to people and situations around me.

I remember seeing a video of George Floyd’s daughter saying, “My daddy changed the world.” He definitely did change the world and hopefully it was for the better. 

A little bit after my 25th birthday, I was having a quarter life crisis (I’m sure that’s a thing). I was questioning everything. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life. Naturally, I talked to my therapist about it and she said that it was also because I was having a big change in my life that was quickly coming up (I was pregnant).

I would just sit and think about all the different things (well not all but some) of the different things I could do besides accounting/finance. I would bring it up in therapy sessions and talk to my husband about it.

It wasn’t until after my daughter was born that I realized one of the jobs I really wanted to do; be a kick ass mom.

Fast forward one year, to the weeks leading up to my daughters first birthday. I was an emotional mess. I would be crying all the time while holding her and get sad. I was glad she’s turning 1, but sad that time was flying by.

As I rocked my daughter to sleep on her first birthday, I couldn’t help but smile.

We made it.

I was a little sad that she is growing up so fast, but I also tried to look ahead to the little girl she is becoming. Also keeping in mind, the little baby that completely stole her parents’ hearts and all their money.

My little baby is getting older and I’m embracing it (I have no choice). She still is in her 0-3-month onesies (she has a short torso like her mom and yes, she is still in 0-3), but hopefully she moves up soon. She is learning new words and getting into things she shouldn’t be (we try to make our pots and pans our toys). We eat everything that mom and dad eat (minus spicy foods) and love sweets just like mom.

Being her momma this past year, has been nothing short of wonderful and challenging. Learning how to breastfeed was one of the most difficult and challenging things I have ever done. There were so many times I wanted to quit, but I stuck it out just a little longer for her and I’m so glad I did. Our family saved money and I love bonding with her (any parent that doesn’t give their kid breast milk is badass as well. FED IS BEST!)

It was a big surprise that almost every time she gets sick, I will get whatever she has/had right after (but I thankfully dodged pink eye this time). You never really realize all the things in your house that could be hazardous until your kid becomes mobile.

I’m excited to see how her personality develops more and who she will become. All the new words she will learn this next year and hopefully moving up in clothes soon.

All the giggles and smiles and cuddles have been my most favorite thing of all. I love comforting her and also watching her become independent. I’m so lucky that I get to be her momma. I couldn’t imagine anything else I’d rather be doing than raising her up to be a strong independent woman.

Last week’s episode of This is Us, one of the main characters, played by Chrissy Metz, is married and has a newborn son. She and her husband, played by Chris Sullivan, were arguing for weeks and the underlying issue was they weren’t having sex. Now of course the act of having sex wasn’t the main thing that was wrong, but all the other details that surround it was causing an issue.

I related so much to this episode. while I was pregnant, I was so scared to do anything because I didn’t want to risk another miscarriage or anything (most of the time, we don’t know what causes a miscarriage. I was just scared most of my pregnancy because my first pregnancy ended in miscarriage).

I think during the second trimester we managed to do it twice. It wasn’t really until the end of my pregnancy that we actually did it a few more times (my daughter was 10 days late and I was doing everything I could to get labor started).

Once you have a baby, the doctor recommends not doing anything for a couple of weeks so your body can heal. I was for sure not doing anything since, 1. I just had an entire baby come out of there and 2. I tore during delivery so wanted to make sure I was all healed. I think the third reason was because, my body was new and changing, even after having a baby, and I wasn’t comfortable with it.

Most of my life, I have been an athlete and after having my daughter, my whole body changed. I was not comfortable in my own skin and I sure as hell was not comfortable with my husband seeing my new body and being intimate. At the same time, like the girl in the show, I wanted to know if my husband was still attracted to me. I wasn’t even attracted to me, so how could I expect him to be.

As a mom, you can get caught up in making sure this new tiny human was taken care of that you forget about connecting with your spouse. I am 100% guilty of that. like the woman in the show, we were having little arguments as well. What my therapist and my parenting bible, Pinterest, pointed out, was that we had to take time out for us to be husband and wife.

As you can imagine, it’s hard to be away from your cute little snot-nose baby but reconnecting with your spouse is soooo important. It doesn’t have to be just sex that reconnects you guys. Communication is a major part of a relationship. Even remembering to give each other a kiss or holding hands can help you reconnect. Date nights are something that is hard but necessary. Our first date night came about four months after she was born. We talked about her most of the time, but we also talked about us. It was nice.

I don’t want to look at my husband and say, “so who the hell are you and when did you turn into this person”. I want to stay connected to him throughout the years. We have to carve out time for us because in the far far future when our kids are grown and leading their independent lives, it’ll just be us.

In a previous post I mentioned that I had suffered a miscarriage in January 2018. Around the end of February (2018), my husband and I started partially trying again (we weren’t actively trying, but weren’t preventing it either). I wasn’t entirely sure if I was ready yet, but I tried to stay open minded in case I did get pregnant again. A couple of weeks later, I took a pregnancy test and it said that it was negative. I was a little disappointed, but I took it as it wasn’t our time to have another baby yet. A week before my birthday, I decided to take another test and it was positive! I couldn’t believe it. I took another test just to make sure and it was positive as well. I knew that it was soon after our miscarriage, but I was cautiously excited.

That night, I waited until my husband took the dog out to stage the tests to where he would see them. We had one hamburger bun left from the previous night’s dinner, so I put that along with the tests and a onesie on a (clean) pan in the oven. Once he got back inside, I said, “Can you check the oven? There is something in the oven. What did you leave in the oven?” He opened the oven door and turned to me and smiled. As he opened the door more, he noticed the hamburger bun in there.

“Did you really put the bun in with the wrapper?”

Side note: I did not have enough time to take the bun out of the wrapper nor did I want to waste a bun, so I put it in there still wrapped up. “Surprise!” I said as I was dying laughing. We were cautiously excited because of the experience we had just gone through. The next day on my way to work, I called to schedule my first doctors appointment and to see when my due date would be. As I pulled into the parking garage, the first appointment had been scheduled and I added it to my calendar. Now I had to wait until then to hopefully see something on the ultrasound. The next week, my husband and I went to see our therapist to talk about our new exciting news. She asked us how everything has been going, and we told her the news. Of course she was excited for us and asked how we were feeling about everything. By the end of our session, we decided that I would be the main one to come back to discuss how I was doing and dealing with the anxiety of a pregnancy after loss (PAL).

I made sure to take off the day of my first appointment. I wanted to make sure that if something happened or was wrong, I would at least have the day to myself. The morning of my appointment, I was anxious to get to the doctor. Since I was up hours before I had to be, I decided to pass the time by cleaning the apartment. I kept checking the clock and each hour that went by, I got more anxious. When it was finally time to leave, I double checked that I had everything and headed out the door. As I drove to the doctor, I tried to keep a positive attitude. My husband met me there and we walked to the OB/GYN department together. I gripped his hand tighter and tighter as we got closer to the door. After we checked in, the memories and emotions of the last time we were there came flooding back.

He kept reassuring me that it would be okay and I tried to keep a positive attitude. When the nurse called my name, we got up and followed her. This was it. Our lives could possibly change forever. As we followed her, I noticed that we were taking the same route as the last time we were there. Once she showed us to our room and left, all these emotions came flooding back. This was the same exact room that we were in a couple months before to confirm I had miscarried. There were not positive memories in this room, but I was hoping that there would be that day. Once the doctor and nurse came in, I tried my hardest not to cry. They explained that we would do the ultrasound and figure out our due date. Once I was all prepped and ready to go, they turned on the ultrasound monitor. This was it.

The image popped up on the screen and the tears started coming down again. There he or she was. Our tiny human. They did their measurements and looked to make sure everything was looking okay. Then they turned on the sound to hear the heartbeat. It came through so loudly and we started to cry. It was the best sound that we had ever heard. They determined that my due date was November 21st, the day before Thanksgiving. They gave us a folder that had all kinds of information and reading material in it for us. The painful memory of that room hurt a little less and a new beautiful memory was added.

As I reflect on this date, it has been a smidge emotional for me. One year ago today, I heard my daughter’s heartbeat for the first time. It seems as if the emotions that I felt that day are here today as well. It was the second big milestone I hit in my PAL and a small victory in what would be a long journey. As the years go on and new memories are made, this day might not carry as much weight as it does today.

This past December, I welcomed my daughter into the world.

Throughout my entire pregnancy, I experienced a rollercoaster of emotions. This was my first pregnancy after loss (PAL). My original due date was the day before Thanksgiving, November 21st. Despite hearing and reading that your first child is usually late, I secretly hoped that she would come a little early or on time. I packed my bag about a week before my expected due date, with the exception of the last few items we would have to grab before leaving. The Sunday before my due date, I stood up and felt a small gush of fluid. Could this be it? Would contractions be following soon? Could my daughter be coming in the next few days? During our hospital tour, the nurse said that if our water broke, that we needed to be at the hospital 1-2 hours after. Naturally, my husband and I wondered if we should head to the hospital? It didn’t seem like I lost a lot of fluid, but how would I know.

Being a first time mom, I called the Labor & Delivery (L&D) department to see what we should do. The nurse on the other side of the phone, asked if I had started having contractions. Again, I asked myself, how would I know what contractions felt like? I never had one before. You can only read about them, but until you feel it first hand, there is no way of knowing. We were instructed to wait to come in until I was having contractions. With some anxiety, we continued watching tv. I didn’t have any contractions that day.

The day before my due date (November 20th), I had a doctor’s appointment. I was going to ask for a membrane sweep in hopes that it would kickstart my labor. (A membrane sweep is when the doctor or midwife inserts their finger inside the opening of your cervix and gently move their finger around. This should separate the membranes of the amniotic sac surrounding the baby from the cervix). When the midwife checked me, We were hoping to hear that I was even a little dilated. I was barely at a one. Since it was my last appointment, I had to set my induction date in case she didn’t come on her own in the next week. After hearing other mom’s stories about getting induced, this was the last thing that I wanted to do.

As my husband and I left that appointment, we were both disappointed. We were hoping to at least be able to do the membrane sweep. As we walked to the car, I was convinced that I was going to be pregnant forever. Of course I knew that wasn’t possible. I had been constantly bouncing on an exercise ball, drinking Raspberry Leaf Tea, going for many walks, eating some spicy foods, and having sex. I was discouraged that nothing was helping start my labor. My due date came and went. Thanksgiving came and went. Each night, I would go to sleep in hopes I would be woken up with contractions. I was even having dreams that I was in labor, only to be disappointed when I woke up.

A week past my due date, I had to accept the fact that I was going to have to get induced. I was nervous, but the thought of getting to meet our tiny human helped ease some anxiety. When I woke up on November 30^th, I knew today was the day my life would change forever. That morning and afternoon, I made sure that the house was in order and everything was packed. My scheduled time to show up for induction was 5 pm. My husband and I left around 4 due to it being peak traffic time. On our way to the hospital, we decided to take a quicker route and started following the directions. As it said we were getting closer, I noticed that my husband had put in the directions to a gun shop close to our apartment. We both laughed. Without even trying, my husband helped relieve some of our anxiety. As we arrived on base, there was not enough time to go by Subway to grab something small beforehand. I had some peanut butter crackers in my backpack and decided to attempt to eat those. I gripped my husband’s hand tighter and tighter as we got closer to the L&D wing. I knew that the next time I would be in this long hallway would be to go home with our little girl.

By the time we got checked in to our room and my IV was started, it was about 6:30 pm. After the shift change, the midwife, nurse and corpsman assigned to me entered the room. They explained the induction process, and we got started. They checked my cervix and I was 1.5 cm dilated. It was 7 pm. The contractions gradually started and I was able to breathe through them. I sent my husband to go get food for himself since we didn’t have time beforehand. He should at least fuel up because I wasn’t sure how long my labor would last. He was gone for about 45 minutes. About an hour and a half after everything got started, the nurse came back and checked me again, I was at 4 cm. That’s when we decided to go ahead and do the epidural before it was too late. As we were getting ready, I gripped my husband’s hand tighter and he encouraged me to breathe. I think I was psyching myself out because after I got it, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. It didn’t take long to get me all setup and then the medicine slowly started to kick in. I was glad to get some relief, and attempt to close my eyes.

As I was just lying there, my nurse walked in. My blood pressure was dipping, so I had to use the oxygen mask. Soon after she left, she walked in again. This time she was followed by our corpsman, the midwife, and the head charge nurse. No one said anything as to why everyone rushed in at once. They just had me turning over on each side to see if it would help whatever was going on. After everything was okay, our nurse informed me that our daughters heartrate was dropping and she was in distress. Lying on my left side helped her go back to normal levels, so I had to stay there. Since I was turned on my side, all of the medicine from my epidural settled on my left side. I had the honor of feeling all the contractions on my right side. I made sure to do my breathing and try to focus on the goal. My contractions were coming back to back and lasting 2-3 minutes. At 12:54 am, the nurse came in to see how I was holding up and check to see where we were at. I was doing as best as I could and was at 5cm.

“If you start to feel any pressure, let us know. That could mean that it is time to push.”

I gave a weak nod and continued my breathing. “Babe, I need you” I said to my husband as soon as our nurse left the room. He came to hold my hand and give me words of encouragement. I started shaking because the pain was so intense. I started doubting myself and thinking that I couldn’t do it. I started tearing up because of the pain. I just wanted some kind of relief. I started feeling pressure and told my husband to go grab the nurse. She came right in and checked me; I was fully dilated. I had gone from 5 to 10 cm in twenty minutes. It was time to push. Thankfully I got to lie on my back and the medicine from the epidural was able to even back out. I pushed for roughly 12 minutes when our little girl was born. She didn’t start crying right away which made us nervous. We later found out that the cord was wrapped around her neck twice. Which explains why she was in distress before. She eventually let out little bursts of a cry and our hearts melted.

As they laid her on my chest, I couldn’t help but cry. I couldn’t believe that I just gave birth to my first baby. I couldn’t believe that I was able to breathe my way through contractions, an epidural, and birth. I couldn’t believe our perfect tiny human was here. She had 10 beautiful little fingers and toes and a full head of hair.

December 1^st at 1:32 am our daughter was born at 6 lbs. 7.9 ounces, 20 inches long.

When you first have your child, you don’t really think about when you have to return to work. Your entire world has changed, and you have this new tiny human that has completely stolen your heart. I didn’t think about having to return to work until about a month before I was scheduled to go back. At first, I didn’t dread it as much since I still had time to get in all my snuggles. It didn’t hit me until about a week and a half before. The days seemed to be going by quicker and it seemed like my daughter was starting to learn new things. Since my time at home was coming to an end, I would not put her down as much. I let her sleep on my chest and held her as much as possible. I wanted to get in as many cuddles and kisses as I could. Of course, my arms were a little sore from holding her, but that didn’t matter.

The Tuesday before I returned to work, it really hit me that my leave was coming to an end. I was not ready to hand my daughter over to someone while I was at work. The thought of not being able to spend the whole day with her and talking to her was upsetting. When I would think about going back to work, I would start crying. For the first time in my adult life, I have found the thing that sets my soul on fire, being a mom.

The morning of Valentine’s Day, I woke up very upset. Today was the day, I had to return to work. With my husband being away at training, I was not able to talk to him. He usually knows exactly what to say to make me feel a little better. I woke up early but stayed in the bed. My daughter was sleeping so peacefully on my chest. Every time I would move, her little hands would grip my sides a little tighter. I got up at the last possible minute and took my time to get ready. I double checked our bags before going to pull the car around. When I came back inside, she was fussing in her rocker. I picked her up and held her close against my chest. The pouring down rain perfectly matched my emotion. I immediately started sobbing. How could I muster up the strength to leave my little girl at daycare? I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to walk right back in the bedroom, throw on my PJs and cuddle with her in bed. After about ten minutes of holding her and sobbing, I strapped her in the car seat and walked out the door. When I got to our friend’s house (the person who was watching her), I went into autopilot. I took her inside and let her know when she last ate and was changed. My daughter was asleep in her car seat, so I didn’t want to linger and risk waking her up.

As I pulled out of their driveway, the tears started flowing. I’ve thought about this moment for weeks, and now it was here.

I am not sure when the tears stopped, but they eventually did. As I pulled into the parking garage of my job, I was ready to leave. I knew that it would be an extremely hard day and I had to try to stay strong. My first day back was alright. It was nice and felt good that so many people were excited to see me. It was a pretty easy day, just catching up on emails. Although it was an easy day, I felt like I was in the wrong place. It was nice to be making money, but I felt like I didn’t belong. All I could think about was being back with my daughter. I constantly was wondering what she was doing. If she was babbling, crying, sleeping or excited to play with her toy. For the first time, I knew what I was passionate about and I wasn’t doing that. Was it a mistake to return to work? Should I seriously consider being a stay-at-home mom? Could it just be first day nerves?

Luckily my job allows me to work from home one day a week. On those mornings, I wake up feeling excited. I get to spend the entire day with my daughter and cuddle her when I can. I thought that maybe as time went on, I would feel a little better about going back to work. So far that has not been the case. I am hoping that it’ll get a little easier as we get into more of a routine. It has been a little over a month that I have been back at work. Although, I haven’t cried since the morning of my first day, I still hate dropping my daughter off and changing out of my PJs.