"Just don't forget to breathe," my midwife joked during one of my routine prenatal care visits. At that time, I was signing myself and my husband up for various childbirth preparation classes left and right, trying to absorb as much information as I could before the all-important ARRIVAL.
"These classes aren't very useful, if you want my opinion," she said, omnipotent and all-knowing.
But what about the breathing exercises? I said.
"Breathing exercises? Nonsense. Like I said, don't forget to breathe. Period." I nodded in sheepish agreement, knowing darn well that I was going to take those classes regardless.

So, what were some of the lessons learned during my first pregnancy and all the advice I received along the way, solicited or unsolicited?

Number One. "Don't yell when you're in labor," my mother said to me many times. "You need to be considerate of your doctors and nurses."
I took that advice seriously. I was not going to be a loud inconvenience to the medical staff. Since I had years, well, over one year, actually, of Shaolin kungfu training, I decided that during my most intense labor moments I would go deep within myself and find that necessary, meditative focus for warding off the pain. Through sheer will power and determination. Wrong. Oh, so wrong. The pain was so impossibly acute, and I was screaming at such an unpleasant decibel level that my throat hurt for two weeks after my daughter's birth. Okay, if you are a first-time, scared-to-death mommy, please scratch that last sentence from your memory. Your experience shall be different and much more enjoyable than mine was.

Number Two. "If your contractions are five minutes apart, call your doctor." But what if they are two minutes apart from the get-go? Naturally, I called my midwife.
You're a first-time mom. Wait at least twenty four hours, then leave for the hospital. And, if you're not comfortable with this, wait minimum of one hour and then go."
Wrong answer. Oh, so very wrong. I waited for an hour, vehement in my obedience. Then, on the sixty first minute, my water broke and I started pushing in my bathroom.

Number Three. "Bring an object to help you focus and a favorite music CD to help you stay calm and relaxed." Not if you're ready to "pop" any second. They are lucky I took a shower. And shaved. And put a lipstick on. I wanted to feel clean and beautiful in my suffering.

Number Four. Hee-hee-hooos. My midwife was right about their uselessness.

My husband was driving our car to the hospital on the Interstate 95 highway, averaging about hundred miles per hour. My seat was fully reclined, but I could not lie or sit in it - the pain was too intense as I already was feeling my baby's head between my thighs. As my labor coach, partner, or whatever the title was assigned to my husband during one of those childbirth classes, he was encouraging me to hee-hee-hoooo between my blood-curdling roars, his eyes wide with fear. The breathing exercise did not help me with the pain, and I did experience the proverbial fury toward my husband during those moments. Poor sap, I employed the most disgusting words in my vocabulary to insult him.

Number Five. "Ask your partner to give you a pedicure before your due date. It will make you feel better during childbirth." And it did, much to my surprise. My ruby red toenails, which, by the way, weren't that far away from my face, helped me focus during my very short labor. They also provided me with a strange sense of consolation and familiarity in the frighteningly cold, hospital environment.

Number Six. "Don't push. Wait for your midwife," the nurse from the Labor and Delivery Unit said upon our scream-filled hospital arrival. What? Don't push? I have a baby's head between my thighs!

Number Seven. "Would you like an epidural?" the same nurse, with an intellect obviously far more superior to mine, inquired. What? Are you joking? Are you a nurse or a robot? Does the situation at hand not fit within your normal operational parameters? The input does not compute? I have a baby's head between my thighs! Don't you think I could be over and done with my labor by the time the anesthesiologist arrives?

Number Eight. "Have you ever been abused?" the same lovely nurse asked me. Yes, lady, let's fill out your standard hospital questionnaire. Now is the perfect time. "Have you?" I said, spewing sulfuric acid.

Number Nine. "Get your sleep now, while you can."
They weren't kidding. Extreme sleep deprivation. Nothing in the world could have possibly prepared me for this kind of torture. I don't recall reading about this in any of my pregnancy books. Talk about a total shock to your system. Remember, when you were slightly younger and had to pull a few all-nighters in college or at work, or simply because you could? Yet you still knew that you could crash later and sleep for two days straight if you wanted to. Well, NOT anymore! When the little ogre is hungry, she is hungry. You have to get up. You can't just leave food for her for a week as if she were a cat. You ARE the food.

After a couple of sleepless weeks at home with my brand new alien of a daughter, the delusion had set in firmly and seemingly permanently. I vaguely recall my husband sitting in the nursery, zombie-like, rocking my daughter in his arms. Her pacifier fell out of her mouth, making her squawk unhappily. I ran to the kitchen to get another pacifier, previously sterilized, because rinsing the fallen pacifier off under the unfiltered, germ-infested faucet water seemed so unfeasible and ungodly. As I returned to the nursery, my tiredness reached the point of no return, and my loved ones morphed into one big, torturous, and sleep-steeling monster.

"What are you doing? What are you doing?" my husband's voice brought me back from the fog I was in. Why is he resisting? Why is he turning his head?
"Stop it." I said angrily, while forcefully stuffing the pacifier into my husband's mouth, unable at that point to tell him apart from my daughter. Sleep deprivation. There have been studies done on that, you know, on what it does to your body.

My unsolicited advice to you, beautiful, expecting, first-time mommies, is to get as much sleep as you can now. Store your energy like a camel stores its food. Of course, if you are in your third trimester, getting plenty of rest is much easier said than done, especially if you are pregnant with multiples. My husband could not understand why I was so restless during my third trimester. I told him to put a watermelon under his back in order to understand why.

In all seriousness, take all the advice for what it's worth, with a grain of salt. Believe in your maternal instincts and intuition, and don't let anyone tell you what and how you are supposed to be feeling when you are feeling quite the opposite. It is you health and the health of your child/children. Oh, and do get as much sleep as you can while you can. Because when the package arrives, never with an operational manual or user's guide, mind you, sleep will become a hobby for which you wont have the time for anymore. You could, of course, end up getting one of THOSE that starts sleeping through the night right away. Congratulations to you. But if you are not so lucky, don't fret, my friends. There is a light at the end of the tunnel, I was told. And what a bright and rewarding light this might be. Unless you are a realist who believes the light is an oncoming train.



Julia Andrusenko discovered her love for creative writing about two years ago and has made writing her daily ritual since then. She is currently working on her first short story collection. When not writing, Julia, a resident of Maryland, balances her life between working as an electrical engineer and tending to her family. Email: majuls57 (at) gmail.com