Goodbye CA Bar Exam — You Are No Longer My Hardest Life Accomplishment

Having a child has been harder already than passing the CA bar exam. Considering the bar exam gave me insomnia for over a year, stole my life completely for 3 months (typical study hours were 7 am to midnight daily), and got me addicted to sleeping pills temporarily, this is a bold statement. It’s a statement that I really and truly mean.

February 25, middle of the night some time, cue my very first contraction after having no signs of labor before then. Then, cue excitement (because they didn’t hurt that badly yet). “Honey, wake up, I’m having contractions!” And so we loaded our contraction app (of course), and started measuring them. We knew we were not supposed to head to the hospital until they were about 5 minutes apart, and we also had a scheduled appointment that morning. They were pretty far apart (about 15 minutes), and so we got some rest (less for me, as I woke up in slight pain every few minutes), and headed to see the doctor late that morning.

To make a long story short, this pattern of nightly contractions (which got closer together and stronger), continued for days. 4 to be precise. Come morning, they would dissipate, and only sporadically hit me during daylight. This happened despite our doctor being pretty sure I was going into labor on my due date. And so, we did what we figured we should: make every day an adventure. Every day was now “date day,” and so clearly worthy of indulging in food and fun. From lobster rolls to the Academy of Sciences, we explored our city like kids in a candy store. I even did one final Peloton bike ride (side note: highly recommend this bike), thanks to my husband’s encouragement, and then cried my way through every single evening in worse and worse pain.

And then finally, February 29 at 2 a.m., the middle of the night contractions were just too hard to get through alone in bed. It was time for the hospital. The events between then and our daughter’s birth are a bit of a blur. I ate a lot of jello and popsicles (because I am always hungry, apparently even while birthing a child), and suddenly it was time to push. To which my response was “I don’t really know what I’m doing.” To which the most hilarious nurse said “If you know how to poop, then yes you do.” To which my response was “OMG” and “well I can’t really feel anything so I’m not sure what I’m pushing” (and yes, I had an epidural, and always planned to).

Sadie Ula Van Horn was born 2 hours later, at 4:21 p.m. that day, which to our excitement was leap day. We had been hoping and praying that she would come on this day, as a natural marker of uniqueness, and that she did. She was also born with 2 other unique marks: Mongolian spots , one on her lower back (more common) and one on her arm (less common), which occur in Caucasian babies 5-10% of the time. Now, add to this the fact that her middle name, Ula, is after the capital of Mongolia, and we have ourselves a child who somehow followed her parents wishes upon entering this world. Don’t worry, 2.5 weeks in, and that has all changed =).

The entire birthing experience to be honest was just insane to me. I mean, after hours of physical exhaustion (even with an epidural, yes), suddenly they put a baby on top of you that has been inside of you for 9+ months, and that you have been dying to meet. He or she is covered in lots of fun stuff, the umbilical cord is laying on top of you, and you have absolutely no idea what to do with this little thing. At the same time, the room is filled with nurses telling you things like “do skin to skin contact,” and “see if she’ll breastfeed,” while at the same time your child is pooping everywhere (Sadie pooped on me twice within minutes of us meeting). Oh, and at the same time, your husband is crying. Oh, and at the same time, the doctor is removing your placenta and then sewing you up for a while. And so, while I was on the verge of tears upon first seeing our baby girl, I did not in fact cry when she was born. My husband did. For me, I was overwhelmed by all that was going on, and I’m pretty sure I was literally in a complete state of shock. I did not prepare myself enough for childbirth, although I’m not sure how well you can, and that became apparent at the same time that I met our munchkin.

And then that night, while breastfeeding in one arm, and eating sushi in the other, alone with my husband and daughter, I melted. I melted because this was our new norm, and because I was so excited to have this little girl in our lives forever (with sushi!), and not just at her moment of birth.

But then the next morning, finally out of my confused and grateful state, the physical pain hit me. For my entire stay in the hospital I could not get out of bed. I could not sit. I could not walk. I could not move my limbs. Everything hurt more than anything I had ever experienced. How is that possible you might wonder? Well, I’ll spare you the nitty gritty details and just leave you with this: The obvious part of your body that hurts, hurts for a reason (but worse than I ever imagined). The less obvious pain is your neck, back, arms and legs, which beat with more pain than my body did after running my first half marathon, and which stems from the position of your body while pushing that baby out of you.

Now, what have the first 2.5 weeks been like? Weeks 1–2 can be summed up as: “Wow, we have an angel baby! She breastfeeds like a champ, and sleeps 3–4 hours at a time, especially at night.” Not to mention, we had the whole family together, and a new season of House of Cards. Week 3 can be summed up as: “Wow, we have an overly alert baby who fluctuates between angel baby and fussy baby, and prefers to be fussy baby only during the day now that daddy has returned to work!” Challenge accepted munchkin — I will lunge you to sleep!

In all seriousness, this first week alone at home has not been easy. I have cried. A lot. I have thought to myself “Am I not a good mom, because I can’t make her stop crying?” I have begged my husband to hurry home because my wrists, arms and legs can’t handle swinging, lunging or squatting any more (she is obsessed with movement, and with being held — put her down, and cue crying, even with closed eyes!). I have longed for that moment when she is sleeping, and the only thing in my hand is a glass of wine. And then, the next day, her and I will simply crush it together. It kind of reminds me of traffic on the 101 when I worked at Facebook — never consistently horrible, sometimes long and stressful, other times fast and easy, which tricks your mind into thinking it’s really not that bad. Ok maybe not the most creative analogy, but the best one I can come up with right now. The advice that a friend recently gave me is the best advice that I can really give here, and has been so true for us Van Horns: Think of every day, and night, as a new day. Fussing during the day, does not mean fussy during the night, does not mean fussy for the rest of the week. Oh, and also watch your baby for signals — I’m starting to think that Sadie is sensitive to lactose, so attempting to pull it from my diet starting today actually. Oh, and there is no such thing as a good baby and a bad baby. They are all just babies! The only way a newborn can communicate is by crying. It’s a reality that has been harder for me than I thought it would be. Maybe I should have listened to hours of crying infants before having one?

Now, I’m grateful that Sadie was really easy our first couple weeks home, as my body was so NOT OK. Week 3, it finally has started to improve, but remains by no means “normal”. So thank you baby girl, for letting my body heal before discovering newborn fussing!

And now, here we are, with a little one that has good days and bad days, and is the cutest, prettiest little thing I have ever laid my eyes on. As I watch her fuss again and again, I also closely examine her beautiful hair line, how her hair turns curly when she’s sweaty or wet, her long legs that now have chunky thighs on them, her soft seemingly darker skin, her luscious lips, and her adorable face, which changes every. single. day. I admire her beautiful Mongolian spots, although admittedly not the one near her butt enough, due to frantically trying to change her diaper before she hurricane poops on my face (yes, that happened). I cherish her fake smiles while she is in her milk coma, and when she grasps tightly onto me. I surprisingly love breastfeeding, when I was more afraid about that than anything else. I celebrate her little milestones, like losing her belly button scab, holding her head up during tummy time, breastfeeding like a champ since day 1, taking a bottle before she hit 2 weeks of age after hating it with a passion the first time, allowing me to actually get her dressed for the day, her first times in a baby carrier and wrap and stroller, and seeing herself in the mirror.

But, being a mom is freaking hard. I knew it would be hard, but I didn’t quite appreciate it until now. These beautiful angels and gifts that we are blessed with are simply hard to take care of. They cry, you cry. They don’t sleep, you don’t sleep. You want to sit down, and they want you to swing them with all your might. They want you for your boob, and you want so much more.

And so, every day, I wake up thinking that it will be a “good” day, although no matter what, it is. Even if we both cry, all day, because she’s here, and together as a family we will figure it out. Thanks to Sadie, I get to experience something new every day, and I will be forever grateful to her for giving me that gift.

You hear all the time that having a baby changes everything, but until you live it you just can’t appreciate it. I sit here, 2.5 weeks in, and already feel like I don’t quite know who I am anymore. I try to remain grasped to what I know and love in life, because I want her to fit into our lives, but at the same time, I’m simply not the same. I spend my days tending to our beautiful, brand new daughter, who owns my heart. I’m not working, nor am I in between jobs and exploring SF, the only two things I have ever known. Everything is about taking care of her, and slowly but surely trying to incorporate myself and our regularly scheduled lives back into the daily routine.

And then there are the changes in your marriage or relationship. I never had any doubt that my loving husband would be an incredible dad, but what I didn’t expect, was his love and support for me. This might be TMI for some, but it’s the best way to explain what I mean. So, skip to the next paragraph if you’d like to avoid reading this. Now go back to night 1 in the hospital, and my first night of breastfeeding. As Sadie and I started learning what the other needed, my husband decided to be completely and utterly “ up in the mix.” Yep, holding my boob and shoving it in her mouth, giving me suggestions for how to hold her for a better latch, and encouraging and loving both of us through our exhaustion and awkwardness. Never in a million years did I imagine that he would be this involved.

Nor did I expect the moments where I would catch him singing to her and crying hysterically. Nor the moments where he would soothe her way faster than me. Nor the moments where he would make sure that I’m drinking enough water. Nor the moments where he would make sure that him and I always prioritize each other, by booking multiple date nights starting at week 2 post Sadie. Nor the moments where him and I realize that we love her more than anything, but that will never diminish the love that we have for one another. And in those moments, there is just so much love that you could explode.

So, this is what having a baby is like I guess. With of course, a million other thoughts and feelings and events that I haven’t even shared, because so much happens every single day.

Who will I become? Who will she become? Who will our family become? I have absolutely no idea, so I’ll keep chugging along, doing my best and being the me that I know, while keeping myself open to the natural developments of change and growth. I figure her out, and this out, a little bit more, every single day. We love you Sadie Ula Van Horn — please do keep us on our toes.