As you may or may not know, I just had a baby. While I have zero intentions of turning this blog into a lifestyle or parenting blog — plenty of people do that well and frankly, books are my expertise more than anything — one thing I found extremely useful while I was pregnant was reading birth and postpartum experiences on those blogs. I had a “rare” experience all around and wanted to share. 

“Rare” because really, it wasn’t rare, but not many people talk about these things. 

This will be a very medically detailed post, so be prepared if you’re squeamish about procedures or frank discussion of bodily functions and body parts. I very much let go of any shyness or reservations about my body early on in pregnancy, and I found reading honest accounts to be what helped me do that. 

A couple of other notes: I LOVED my hospital delivery, loved my OB and all of the on-call OBs who were there for my care (my OB was out of town the week I delivered and set me up in good hands), and absolutely loved the entire L&D nurse team. Folks who are local to me in the NW Chicago suburbs looking for good providers, I can wholeheartedly recommend them to you privately — I never felt disempowered, never felt belittled, and never felt like I wasn’t being given the best care possible. I was at a teaching hospital, and I had more than one student be part of the process. I know many folks are turned off by that, but  I really loved talking with them and learning about  what they wanted to do and being able to be a way for them to  learn. Given what COVID has done for education and hands-on learning in the medical field, it felt like a good thing I could do and help them become great professionals, too. 

The other thing is that neither my husband nor I needed to wear a mask while we were there. I took a COVID test Friday before going in for induction and it came back negative. My husband was fully vaccinated. We asked the nurses what their rules were and everyone said it was fine to go without around them or the doctors, but my husband should put one on when someone from food service or the cleaning staff came in and he did. I did not in any way expect this and had anticipated a long, miserable, mask-covered experience. I can only hope others get this experience because it made using breathing much easier. 

 

**

 

Most of my pregnancy wasn’t especially noteworthy. I had gestational diabetes, diagnosed at 17 weeks. Despite a great diet, that could not be controlled, so I went on insulin (for those unfamiliar, gestational diabetes can happen to any pregnant person, as it’s a problem with one’s placenta and how it processes sugars — it can lead to higher risk of diabetes 2 down the road, but most of the time, as in my case, it goes away immediately after birth). That, combined with my “advanced maternal age” meant my later weeks had more monitoring involved. This is a good thing. 

I taught yoga until week 33, and I stopped because it was getting really hard to do that. The reason was that I developed polyhydramnios — excess fluid — and I was getting uncomfortable and very, very large. I did not gain any weight in my pregnancy until those last few weeks, where it came fast and sudden because of the fluids. Even at my week 35 ultrasound, something I was having done monthly because of age and the diabetes, the technician kept talking about how much room the baby had because of fluids. But baby was also measuring in the 98th percentile on everything, from head to weight. 

It was also in week 35 when my OB sent me to the hospital L&D department during one of our regular weekly appointments. We couldn’t get a baseline read of baby’s heartbeat because she was so active and had so much room to move, thanks to the fluid. Going to the ER meant I got a lay of the land, met a couple of the nurses, and, frankly, they got a good sense of what my body and my baby were doing. Everything was fine with her and me, though it was clear my blood pressure was continuing to creep upward and my feet and ankles were swelling. Things noted, but not necessarily worried about. 

At week 36, I had two appointments with my OB. On Tuesday, the monitoring was going okay, but it was taking a long time to get a baseline read. The OB almost sent me to L&D again, but we eventually got a solid read and when she came back into the room, she did the group b swab, as well as a cervical check. It was very clear to both of us how uncomfortable I was physically because of all the fluid, my blood pressure was not going to its normal readings, and even though I was not dilated at all, she said she thought sending me to be induced on Sunday would be advisable. I’d be 37 weeks then, and she’d hinted at that being an ideal time for induction were that the route that seemed best by then, so it wasn’t surprising. The only downside was she’d be out of town for the week, so she wouldn’t be there for my delivery. She’d ensure I had the best care, though, since she was bummed she’d be gone (and frankly, I can’t be mad at someone who is a mom herself and took spring break week off to head to her parents’ house with her kids!). 

I went home and began not feeling good. My blood pressure had been high again, but not high enough to get me to the hospital. But Wednesday morning, I tested at home and it was so high, I took myself to L&D again to be monitored. I was there for a couple of hours, and everything settled down. I kept telling my husband and my mom that I got an actual good nap in while there, which was probably the best sleep I’d had in a month or so. 

Friday, I was back at my OB for our last appointment and she gave me the rundown of what to expect for Sunday’s induction. The basic takeaway was that getting from 0 to 4 centimeters dilated would be the long haul, and once I reached that point, we’d better know things like whether baby would fit in my pelvis — she had been measuring big — and go from there. The team was familiar with my history and ready for me. 

I went home, a friend came over to say hi one last time before baby came, and then I spent my Saturday cleaning the house top to bottom. I did not sleep at all on Saturday. 

 

Day One, Sunday

 

We went in at 7 am, got registered, and were taken to our labor and delivery room pretty quickly. There was paperwork to go over, as well as a reminder the first part of the induction could take a long time. “From hours to days” was what we were told, and it was what the OB had prepared me for, too. We got an IV set up in my right hand, which hurt like hell — and I’m someone who doesn’t flinch at needles, as you’ll see. It took a failed attempt in my left hand to get to the right one, where we had success getting a good vein. 

Induction began with cervadil, which is inserted behind your cervix to get the cervix to soften. Insertion was unpleasant, in part because of how high my cervix was. Like a tampon, it sits inside doing its magic, and after 12 hours, it’s taken out. I only remember one cervical check during that 12 hour time frame, and it was a minimal “almost 1 centimeter” measure. During this 12 hours, though, I could eat and move around, though going to the bathroom was painful from the medication. 

I was told once that was done, we’d begin pitocin, which would be alternated in how much would be fed through my IV. Once pitocin began, I wouldn’t be able to eat solid foods, just clear liquids, so I ate dinner that night anticipating a day until I could eat again (I was optimistic baby would arrive the next day). Once the cervadil time was up, I was checked, and I was still at “about 1 centimeter, with a softened cervix” but everyone was saying the pitocin drip would help get things moving. 

Once the pitocin began, though, I started having some miserable pains in my lower spine. I wasn’t laboring, so it shouldn’t have been that, and I kept wondering if it was the way I was positioned in the bed. I’d move, shift, adjust, and I’d still be in tremendous pain. The nurse kept encouraging me, telling me how amazing it was to see me move around and try different positions. I didn’t FEEL amazing, though — I felt like nothing I was doing would ease the pain. I ended up calling for help, and the nurse suggested a pain medication since it was clear I was miserable from it. They believed it was where the baby was sitting and putting pressure that was causing the pain (something we’d learn later on was correct). I was offered dilaudid and told that it would ease the pain and allow me a good sleep, so I took it. As soon as it was administered, the nurse said it was rare but sometimes people threw up and as soon as she said that, I asked for the vomit bag and threw up dinner. It was quick, and my pain immediately subsided and I got some great sleep. 

Throughout the night, I had a couple more doses of dilaudid as my pain returned, and nothing was anticipated to happen until morning, when I’d have my cervix checked again. My husband and I took it easy, knowing the next day might be a very long and taxing one. I did not get sick again because at that point, I had nothing in me except clear liquids. 

 

Day Two, Monday

A nurse came in on Monday morning and checked my cervix to find it was still only about 1 centimeter, even with pitocin all night. It had thinned out, but hadn’t opened, and baby was still as high up in my uterus as possible. 

The IV that had been inserted in my right hand? It was blown. My hand and arm had inflated to the size of a water balloon, and we had to now seek out a place elsewhere for an IV. The nurse had success on my left hand, got it set up, and I was back in business for the IV. When I told the staff my veins were….challenging…I think they didn’t believe me at first. But this would be the first in a series of vein stories to come, and it became clearer and clearer how challenging they were. 

An hour later or so, the OB came in and presented some options for getting things going. We could do another round of cervadil, a different vaginal medication that would potentially have the side effect of too many contractions too quick and impact the baby, or we could do a foley bulb. I was scared to death of the foley bulb, especially since I was given the heads up it could bring about a lot of discomfort and since I already had internal monitors, it seemed like a lot of things inside my body and being unable to easily get up and move around. Cervadil could end up with the same results as the day before, and while not a bad option, it could make things go longer. 

When I asked what she would do in this position and she said foley bulb, since it was guaranteed to get things going, I decided to do it. 

Everything moved really quickly at this point and I had asked for another round of dilaudid before it happened to ease the edge off. They gave it to me, and though it helped, I felt every single moment of the experience because, much like when I had my IUI done, it took not one, not two, but THREE speculums for the doctor before she decided she could not access my high cervix in any appropriate way to make the foley bulb happen. 

We tried, and we failed. The next step was to do cervadil again, and to up the pitocin in conjunction with it. The cervadil went in about 9:30 in the morning, meaning things would be looked at again in 12 hours or so.

At this point, I had not eaten since dinner the night before and that hadn’t stayed down. It was a long afternoon, wherein I told my husband anything with food on TV couldn’t be an option. I don’t remember what we ended up killing time with, but I was forever grateful he ate his meals in the cafe outside my room, rather than getting it delivered. I was unbelievably hungry, but at least Italian Ice was considered “clear liquids” and I could enjoy them without stopping. 

When my cervix was checked again, I had not progressed, even with the second cervadil and pitocin. The OB from that morning — she was the one filling in for my doctor, so she knew my case well — came in and presented another option. She wanted to get  me the epidural I’d said I wanted to get during labor, then break my water. This would mean that labor could progress quickly, and it would mean fewer cervical checks, as the risk for infection would be greater. I’d feel some immediate relief from the fluid being gone. 

The anesthesiologist was called in from home to get the epidural started, and at this point, my husband was asked to leave the room. It was the first time that happened because of all the procedures, it was one of the most likely to cause him to pass out. The doctor arrived and explained how the epidural worked, and the nurse talked me through it, too. But honestly? The needle in the spine was nothing compared to getting pricked for the IV, and it began to work near immediately. That horrific low back pain I had was gone, and my legs — which I could still feel and operate — felt more like they were just sleeping than anything. 

Once that was settled, the OB came in, loaded up absorbent pads beneath me, and broke my water. It was, as she said, one of the most amounts of fluid she’d ever seen, and it leaked for a very, very long time. But between the epidural and the fluid being released, I felt better than I had in a long time. I also had a catheter inserted, and at this point, I’d be pretty limited in movement outside of the bed until baby had arrived. I had plenty of laboring options and was not forced to stay on my back, which I know is a concern a lot of folks have about epidurals. 

We were back to a waiting game with the pitocin. 

 

Day Three, Tuesday

 

Early in the morning, I was having pain. A lot of pain, all in my left hip. It corresponded with each contraction, and I’d grip the bedrail, breathe through the pain, and then know I’d get another 5 to 10 minutes before the next contraction-pain cycle would come. 

It felt really hopeful, as contractions were coming faster than they had previously, wherein they’d been but blips on the scanner and nothing physically to me. The nurses were extremely helpful in helping me readjust and try laboring in different positions to counteract the pain. Nothing was cutting it, though, and the next afternoon, the nurses brought in a different anesthesiologist to redo the epidural. It was quite possible that the original wasn’t reaching that spot in my hip and redoing it could help. Again: it wasn’t a big deal, and I found myself in immediate relief after it was set. The pain in that hip subsided, and this time, they handed me the magic button to increase the epidural meds as I needed them. 

Tuesday was a lot of waiting and watching the monitors. I could see my contractions, which had become more obvious after the fluid was gone. I had another cervical check, and I had made it to four centimeters at this point. My cervix was pretty much thinned completely, though baby was still way high up at a -3. My blood pressure had dropped during both epidurals, though once the epidural settled in, it would go back up to being high. The IVs were a mixture of pitocin and antibiotics, since I was group b positive, and the nurses were joking with me about how most GBS positive folks only get a few doses of antibiotics before they have the baby and I was going on bag 8 or 9 at that point, so after birth — something we all thought would happen that day — I’d want to eat a lot of yogurt. A cervical check later in the afternoon revealed that I’d managed to dilate to 6 centimeters, which was an incredible relief. Baby was still high, but this time at about a -2, and laboring on my hands and knees was feeling pretty good (note: a cervical check in that position would likely make a lot of folks Very Uncomfortable, but as I mentioned earlier, my sense of caring was long gone — I was hardly wearing my gown anyway because everyone’s been everywhere with my permission, and frankly, it was more work than necessary). 

My night nurse on Tuesday was who everyone called the one who got things done when it came to labor. She was this incredible woman who had a ton of laboring positions that weren’t common, and because the epidural finally killed most of that left hip pain — though not all of it — moving around wasn’t too bad. My pitocin was not increased, as had been the plan, as the OB on duty now wasn’t the one covering for mine, but a new OB, who was less aggressive than either mine or the one covering mine was. The nurse explained that the difference in dosage wouldn’t make a huge difference anyway at this point, especially as it seemed like things were now progressing well. 

I was mentally prepared to begin pushing that night. 

A few hours into the evening, the nurse checked me again and I was at 7 centimeters, completely thinned, but with baby still at a -2. The magical nurse didn’t have any other innovative laboring methods, but she was encouraging and said all of this was great news. The work I’d done in the positions to that point should encourage baby downward, so keep being positive about it. Baby would be here soon.

It had now been two days since I’d eaten anything, and even though Italian Ice had been great at first, I know I wasn’t hydrating much at all or doing anything but Being Miserable. I kept closing my eyes, practicing breathing, and mentally envisioning what the physical process of birthing a human would be like. 

 

Day Four, Wednesday, Part One

The magical nurse came in early to discover that the IV in my left hand had been blown. That hand and arm were now the size of water balloons to match my right hand and arm. She’s come in to check my cervix — still what it was the night before — and to deliver the suggestion of the OB on duty of considering a c-section because baby was not going to drop any lower in my body. 

I wasn’t scared of this happening. I know many folks dread the idea of a c-section, but I had gone in with no plan other than seeking pain relief, and I asked the nurse to tell me about her experiences getting them. She had two — one in the US and one in Ghana, where she was from — and she was a gift in talking about how being a bigger woman actually made the entire thing easier for recovery, she thought. That pep talk was precisely what I needed, and shortly after, the OB came in to talk with me about the procedure. She thought after being at the hospital for four days and baby not dropping, it was safest and smartest for both of us. I asked if it’d happen that morning, and she said it would. 

But before my first-ever surgery, there was something else to tackle: my veins.

After busting two IVs, the big guns were called in. A whole team from anesthesia came in with a sonogram and spent over an hour looking at the veins in my arms, trying to find a place to stick a new IV. An hour! They found one, and it didn’t take. They found another, and it took. 

(Side note in this story: one of the team members shared her name with my to-be-born daughter. It’s not a common name, and when I told her about it, she was elated — apparently coincidences like that are her favorite thing, and she loved being in the operating room and meeting the baby who shared her name). 

But because I was high risk for a potential blood transfusion with the c-section — I was diagnosed as anemic the prior week! — they wanted a second potential port in the event of such an emergency. 

They found one, but it was not a great one. In went the second IV, and also in came someone from the hospital’s ICU unit. She brought a sonogram machine as well, and I had a midline catheter put into my left arm, alongside those two other IVs. This ended up being the best tool they used for the IVs down the road. 

My left arm had three places for fluids and emergency access, which is pretty horrifying and pretty badass to think about. 

The nurse did a quick shave of where I’d have my incision, I had my spinal put in (which actually made feeling in my entire lower body disappear, which is a wild feeling!), and drank the anti-nausea medication. I remember very little between the time of those things happening and being wheeled back into the operating room, other than my husband had to wait outside the OR until I was completely prepped. But the number of people in the OR was incredible: there was the on-call doctor doing the procedure, the OB who was covering for my OB, a slew of nurses for me, nurses and doctors for the baby, as well as anesthesiology, who sat at my head to keep an eye on me. I remember asking if I should let go of trying to feel any sensation in my legs and everyone kept saying YES, it’s okay to let go, and that was the permission slip I hadn’t realized I needed. 

I heard the doctor say when the first incision happened, then a few minutes later the cry of my baby, my husband being asked if he wanted to cut the umbilical cord, and her being brought to my face to see. I’d insisted on not having photos taken because I hadn’t showered or cleaned myself in four days and I knew I looked like garbage, but no one would listen to me and . . . I’m glad. I am so glad they took some photos because I love it. It’s a memory of all the hard work to get to that point.

 

When baby was taken to get her testing done, I asked the anesthesiologist how much longer it’d be until they were done with the surgery and he said it was just about over. Less than give minutes later, they finished up, using a really slick negative pressure wound vac that kept the incision moisture-free, so I didn’t have to do any work to help the incision heal. I was wheeled back to my room when it was clear that I had lost minimal blood and did not need a transfusion, and my husband and I were able to be with our baby for about two hours before we were transferred to the postpartum wing of the floor. 

And all of that low back and left hip pain?

It was because of where the baby was positioned, which the OB told me as soon as she started to pull the baby out.

“Were you saying it was your left hip that was bad? Guess where the baby was!”

 

Day Four, Wednesday, Part Two

It was mid-afternoon when they had us in postpartum, and from the moment we were transferred, I was. . . off. I chalked it up to a lot of things, primarily being in a much smaller room, to people coming to poke and prod me and the baby over and over, to coming off a major surgery and the pain meds tapering. I’d just had a baby! I hadn’t eaten in days! I was learning how to breastfeed! 

They gave me the all clear to eat pretty quickly, and I ordered the pancakes I’d been talking about getting for days. They were amazing — and not just because I was so hungry. The hospital had great food and the pancakes were no exception. 

The magical nurse was back for work and was assigned to me again for that night, and I was so thrilled to see her again. She was bummed she wasn’t there for my c-section, but said she was glad she still got to see me with baby after all of that. She asked if I was ready to get my legs moving off the side of the bed — only about 3 hours after the surgery — and not only did I do that, she asked if I thought I could stand and I did. She and everyone kept saying they couldn’t believe how strong my legs were while on the epidural or immediately after. I didn’t stand long because, well, when you have a c-section and don’t know what to expect, it feels like your organs might fall out of you when you get up. 

It wasn’t too much later, though, when they got me in a binder (which I ended up hating immensely more than the feeling of my organs falling out, as it kept rubbing on my incisions, no matter how many different ways it was put on me) and I was out of bed, free of my catheter, and enjoying food on the recovery room chair. 

Everything seemed good and well. 

But then it wasn’t.

 

Day Five, Thursday

My blood pressure would not regulate. It kept going up and up. It did not matter how much I “relaxed.” I was getting readings in the high 160s and 170s, and finally, the new OB on duty told the nurse to readmit me to L&D. I had preeclampsia. 

Early and often, my medical team told me that preeclampsia can happen AFTER birth. This isn’t talked about much, if at all, so while I was upset, crying, worried, and scared — nothing shakes you more than being told you could have a stroke and die immediately after you had a baby! — I was not entirely blindsided by this being a thing that happens. 

If I was lucky, I’d be released Friday. For now, I’d be on a magnesium drip and should be prepared to be very weak and tired. The plan was to get my blood pressure under control through as many means as possible. 

Four days of being in L&D meant that….I was at the hospital for four days before even having the baby, and we’d gotten to know the nurses well. As I was wheeled back over, one of the nurses even asked if she could give me a hug because it was such an unfair lot I’d drawn between the lengthy induction, the c-section, and now the preeclampsia. I took it and it meant the world. 

From there, I had my blood taken and a urine sample taken via a catheter (perhaps the WORST pain I’d experienced through it all was this because remember, now I am on no pain relievers). I was supposed to be on bedrest but because I was getting around well, they decided to let me have freedom to use the bathroom on my own, which I deeply appreciated. I couldn’t lie in a bed all day any longer. 

I remember little of Thursday except the worries of everyone around me. I was very weak. The magnesium made me so loopy. And no matter what, the damn blood pressure monitor kept beeping warnings of how high the number was. Over and over. All afternoon and all evening. I hadn’t cried until this, and I spent most of Thursday crying (& being unbelievably grateful my husband could feed baby, even though I was trying to nurse, too). 

 

Day Six, Friday

One thing that did make me laugh, though, was late Thursday night or early Friday morning, the nurse who was helping me said that my doctor would be back on call and would get a surprise in seeing me still. So when she walked in Friday morning and we got to talk about the experience so far, it was really mentally helpful. My blood pressure had not gotten better, and we’d continue to try new combinations of medication with the IV fluids to see what would get it to regulate. 

She chose to do this aggressively, adding three medications to my lineup. 

Friday I again remember little of. I do know at one point the lactation consultant came in, and I was so tired and drained, I told her I appreciated her and wanted to learn to nurse, but I was too tired and could not stay awake so I’d be going to sleep instead. I know she talked with my husband, as I told him how bad I felt about it the next day and he said she’d said she wasn’t mad at all (& hoped I’d gotten some good sleep after all of that). 

I haven’t mentioned the fact that I hadn’t showered yet, either. I took a shower on Saturday night before going to the hospital, but not since. Why? 

The midline catheter. 

Indeed, while I did not end up blowing the other IVs in my left arm, it became clear that the midline was actually the best tool for my IVs at this point. This was something I couldn’t get wet and because of where it wass, I couldn’t easily navigate a shower anyway. I could get up and move around, but beyond that, I spent a lot of time eating (so happy to do so and also not to be restricted by gestational diabetes!) and watching bad television. My blood pressure alarm kept going off because things weren’t getting better. 

It became clear early we weren’t going home on Friday and Saturday was unlikely, too. 

During all of this, baby was with us the entire time. This made it so much easier mentally, as both my husband and baby could be there with me. I can only imagine had we been discharged and I came back with high blood pressure, just how much of a challenge that’d be for lowering it. 

 

Day Seven, Saturday

Early Saturday morning, one of the nurses suggested another medication, which my doctor approved. Between the cocktail of meds, resting, and having  the help of my mom to watch the baby while my husband went home to take care of some things — I was probably at the only hospital during COVID that allowed a guest on top of a support person, for which I cannot express relief or gratitude enough for! — my blood pressure finally began to lower into more acceptable 150s numbers. 

That’s still high, but not preeclampsia high. 

My doctor checked on me and decided I could get off the magnesium. 

Saturday was a lot of falling asleep, a lot of recovering, and the periodic blood pressure alarm. But my husband got some much-needed rest, and my mom got to spend time with her granddaughter, even though I felt completely zonked. 

We ate, we watched bad TV, we slept. 

If there’s something a week in the hospital teaches you quickly, it’s that there’s a lot of monotony in the hospital life. 

 

Day Eight, Sunday

I sat in the chair in my room at 4:30 in the morning with the hospital breast pump when my doctor walked in a few minutes later. She checked my incision, then took my blood pressure.

It had fallen into the 130s.

She told me today was the day I got to go home, that I’d be so much happier and capable of recovering there than in the hospital, and that she’d begin the discharge papers later that morning. I’d still need to take all of those meds for a while and I’d need to see her in her office in two days, but I was thrilled to wake up my husband and tell him. 

The morning flew by as we packed up our things, as well as mentally prepared for going home. I needed to figure out how to navigate my wound and a new baby, as well as taking so many medications. We needed to figure out how the animals would respond to the new little human. How would WE respond to the new little human without people to help us?

We were discharged in the late morning, wherein we made our way home and into the unknown. 

 

So then what?

I visited my doctor two days later, and she kept me on my meds. My blood pressure was a perfect 120/70, but she wanted to ensue it stayed that way. We had an appointment scheduled for a week later, wherein my blood pressure went too low, so I was taken off the big medication and am now, three weeks later, just on the one the nurse had suggested. That’ll come to an end before long, too. 

I’m unable to really comprehend a week of my life being gone and all that I went through physically, mentally, and emotionally to give birth, let alone the postpartum experience of being so sick and not realizing it. And I’ve come to learn from so many others that this experience isn’t as uncommon as it seems — it’s just not talked about much and it’s severely misunderstood. The symptoms of postpartum preeclampsia are not weird ones, and they’re easy to brush off. I’d even told my doctor on Sunday that I THOUGHT I felt fine, even though when I did start to feel good, it was clear how sick I had really been. It just didn’t feel like it because of everything that happened with birth prior. 

But I’m happy to be home, happy to have such a supportive husband (who was active and involved in every step of this!), and to have a happy, chill baby. I’m hopeful this can be helpful to someone reading it, even if it’s to raise awareness of how long induction can take, how you’re not a failure if you have a c-section — I’m not sad about mine at all! –, or even the realities of postpartum preeclampsia. I’m unbelievably grateful for the healthcare team who took care of me and who were really and truly the best team of folks with incredible bedside manners. I read and heard a lot of horror stories and even though what happened was terrifying, it was never a bad story. 

As I told the floor manager over and over, my birth experience was hard, but it wasn’t horrible. It was the treatment of me as a complex, fully human being which made me trust I’d get through it and get better. 

It could have too easily been the case that it’d be horrible and hard. 

And of course…

Here are the first books I read to the baby after she got home: