9 Hospital Bag Essentials (And 4 That Are a Waste of Time)

So 16 weeks ago I had a baby. Which means 18 weeks ago I packed a hospital bag. I read every blog and watched every video on YouTube to help me decide what to bring. In the end, I did not have a lot of wasted space in my bag. I used pretty much everything. If I could go back and do it again, this is what I would (and would not) pack in my hospital bag.

*This is my experience. Every hospital, insurance plan, and birth are different. When in doubt, call your hospital and find out what is and what is not provided to you. Go on a hospital tour. That’s a good time to find out what resources you have available.*

Essentials

1. Breastfeeding Gown

I seriously debated as to whether or not I should purchase a breastfeeding gown for the hospital. Since they provide you with a gown, why bother? Well, after 12 hours in a scratchy, paper, backless dress, I’m so glad I bought one. As soon as we returned from the O.R., Zoe and I got settled in and I was more than happy to change. The nurses were also impressed with the gown, as it was intended for breastfeeding and did not get in the way of my IVs. I bought this gown along with this robe set to wear in the hospital. I practically lived in it once we got home; it was worth every penny (and it’s perfect for late night feedings).

2.  Phone/Phone Charger

I shouldn’t have to explain this one, right? It’s your camera, your contact to the outside world, and you can use it to tell people to bring you Whataburger (I definitely didn’t do this one).

3. Snacks

Since I had a c-section, we were up at the hospital for 2 nights. It was nice to have some healthy (and not so healthy) snacks at hand. Yes, the hospital feeds you; however, I was up at all hours with my kid and it helped to have a family sized pack of Nutterbutters by my bedside. We also brought almonds. Because, you know, health (I didn’t touch them. I had just had a baby! I deserved my Goldfish and Oreos, man).

4. Toiletries

If you want to shower, you’re going to need things to shower with. I saw a post that said to bring pack a towel in your bag as well. While the towels at the hospital I was at were fine, you may want your own with you. I say, “leave it at home”, but to each his own.

5. Honey Straws

I brought a package of honey straws, and they were a life-saver. As soon as I received my epidural, I was put on a clear liquids diet. This meant nasty vegetable broth, sprite, and tea. Also included in this diet? HONEY. Sweet, energy-giving honey. On a more serious note, honey does provide a lot of nutrition and is allowed on a clear liquids diets, so go for it. I put it in my tea, but my husband eats them straight out of the container.

6. Fuzzy Socks

Because hospitals are cold and epidurals make it worse. Bath and Body Works has a shea-infused version that I love. They’re only available at Christmas. Buy them in every color because they are amazing.

7. Pillow

They give you a pillow there, but it’s nice to have a little something from home. And I don’t know about you, but my pillow is always more comfortable. I wanted 50 pillows packed around me in the hospital bed. Apparently 3 is sufficient. Whatever.

8. Clothes for Baby

They will give you a t-shirt and hat for your baby. They also provide diapers, wipes, and a blanket. If you want something besides what they provide, you will need to bring your own (obviously). I brought 2 sets of clothes: one newborn, and one 0-3 month. I ended up having my mother bring me another newborn outfit, since we were there for a couple nights.

9. Going Home Outfit

I brought a maxi skirt and t shirt to wear home, but I ended up wearing my maternity leggings. I read somewhere that women that deliver vaginally will want something like a loose dress, but after my c-section, all I wanted to wear was pants. Pants kept the dressings close to my incision and helped make my insides feel (somewhat) normal. In the end, it doesn’t really matter. You can change as soon as you get home.

Waste of Time 

1. Fan

I read somewhere to bring a desk fan to the hospital. Since I am a furnace and like a fan on me when I sleep, I bought one. I ended up never pulling it out because I was freezing for the entire duration of my stay (this is saying a lot). For me, this was a waste of space in my overnight bag.

2. Extra Underwear/Pads

They will give you mesh underwear and pads to wear. Just use them. They’re free. They’re wonderful. They won’t ruin your non-disposable underwear.

3. Nipple Cream

As recommended by several other blog posts, I brought my own nipple cream. Don’t. They give you your own.

4. Diapers

Again–they give you Pampers. They even give you enough to take home. Use them, because diapers are expensive.

So there you have it. My super duper list of things to bring to the hospital with you. My last bit of advice? Do you remember all of the “free” stuff I told you about (because let’s be honest, they’re not really free)? Remember to take them home with you. The pads. The nipple cream. The super fancy mesh underwear–take it home and use it.

Sincerely,

Sarah E.B. Christison

 

Things Pregnant Women are Tired of Hearing

1. “Are you allowed to eat that?” No, I’m intentionally eating something that may harm my baby.
2. “You look so….Swollen.” Ah, yes. Something every woman is dying to hear. It’s the dream, really.
3. “You can have ONE beer. Come on, just one.” OK, I get it. There is evidence that a (small) amount of alcohol during pregnancy does not harm your child, but I’m choosing to abstain. Please respect that.
4. “Are you sure you know when your due date is? Because you are huge!!!” Someone actually said that to me. Seriously?!
5. “I gained 70 pounds during my pregnancy. Just eat whatever you want! You’ll be fine.” Again, I get it. There are some medical conditions that cause women to gain more weight than others. But I was specifically told by my doctor not gain more than her recommended amount of weight, and eating for two is a myth. Plus, whatever you gain during pregnancy, you have to lose afterwards.
6. “You’re going to ANOTHER doctor’s appointment?” Yes. My pregnancy is high risk. Sorry.
7. “When are you going to have her?” I don’t know?
8. “What are you going to name her? Ew, I don’t like that.” Gee, thanks. Good thing you get to name your own kids. Whatever happened to just smile and nod?
9. ” Oh no. Surely she was an accident, right?” Those who have been following this blog know that my daughter was not planned. Still not the best reaction to get whenever you excitedly tell someone you’re pregnant, especially someone you love.
10. “Oh, you’re having a girl? Good. Luck.” My sister and I don’t have any brothers, and you can ask either of my parents: we were pretty easy kids. Other than having a smart mouth, I was happy, made good grades, and was involved in school and youth group. My parents never understood the, “girls are more difficult” stereotype. I don’t buy it either.
11. “Put that down! You can’t do anything while pregnant!” Pleaseeee let me do something. Nesting is horrible when you can’t actually nest. Trust me.

AND the big one….

12. “Get as much sleep as you can! You won’t get any once the baby is born!” I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in almost a year. This statement will make me cry. Don’t make a pregnant woman cry.

 

Unqualified

I had a disappointing meeting at the doctor yesterday.

This entire pregnancy, I have been convinced that my daughter will be born early. During my 37 week check up, my doctor examined me carefully before saying,

“Well, it looks like you are barely an inch dilated. Looks like you’re going to have to serve your full sentence!”

insert nervous laughter from the audience 

    I know that due dates are arbitrary and she will come whenever she’s ready, but I was feeling–at the very least–disappointed. It’s true, I want to meet my daughter. I want to hold her, I want to see her, I want to connect with her. But if I’m honest with myself, the root of this desire is fear.

I’m scared.

There, I said it.

I am more afraid of this birth than anything that has ever happened to me before. I want to have her now so I can get the process over with.

I was confident when I went to college. I had no reservations about marrying my husband. I have zip-lined several hundred feet off the ground in the jungles of Nicaragua feeling nothing but excitement. Yes, I was nervous when I took my licensure exam and my hands shook whenever I opened my acceptance letter from Camp Deer Run. But this, this is frightening. This is scared on a whole new level, and until recently, I was afraid to admit it.

I blame Ina May.

Whenever I read her book, I read story after story of successful births. I read about confident women who gave all-natural births without any fear. I was told over and over again to avoid negativity and to only read positive birth stories. That’s all good in theory. And in reality, it’s not her fault I’m scared. She’s right. I do not need to indulge in horror stories about other women’s tearing, pain, and emergency C-sections. But as I read, I couldn’t help but thinking,

“Wow. These women are so prepared. They are so confident. They’re not afraid. I don’t know if I can do that.”

I need mothers to sit me down and say,

“I was afraid, and everything ended up OK.”

“Your feelings are completely understandable. I was afraid too.”

“I felt that way, but I found that whenever the time came, my body knew exactly what to do next.”

    Luckily, I have these women in my life. They are there supporting me and cheering me on, saying, “Your body was created to do this. You can do it!”

Until this week, I wouldn’t allow myself to acknowledge this fear. It festered and built up until I found myself panicking at every checkup. I had read every recommended book and had watched hours of birthing videos, yet I felt as prepared for birth as a dirty sock.

So here I am. Reluctantly admitting that I am afraid. I am here to admit that I feel unprepared, on edge, unqualified–and it is OK. The truth is, regardless of how I feel, I am made to do this. I am qualified. I am ready.

Sincerely,

Sarah E.B. Christison

Very Afraid

Apparently Qualified

 

I’m a Feminist and I’m Excited About My Baby’s Sex

I’m a feminist and I’m excited about my baby’s sex.

There. I said it.

I know, I’m bad. Is there a “Fem-Card” that gets taken away in situations such as these?

When it came down to it, my husband and I had no preference towards the sex of our baby. I was convinced the baby was a boy, not by any sort of desire, but instead due to a dream about a baby boy named Elijah Lee (maybe someday).

Whenever I was 15 weeks pregnant, I took a blood test to find out if our daughter had any genetic abnormalities. As a result, I was able to find out her sex through her own genetic makeup (isn’t science amazing?). Not only was I wanting to prepare myself in the event that she did have a disability, I was clinging to anything that would help me get to know her as a person. I felt disconnected from the child that I was creating. Instead of a mother, I was a human incubator. And though I never thought it possible, finding out that my kid had two X chromosomes brought me a feeling of relief. We could narrow down our list of names. We could refer to our child as “her,” instead of “The Baby”. I could begin to picture her in our daily lives. I could picture her playing in the mud with her siblings. I could picture my father teaching her how to garden, and my mother teaching her how to paint. I could see her scoring a winning soccer goal, or hitting the high note in the local children’s choir.

“My daughter,” I thought, “I’m going to have a daughter.”

We did not have a huge reveal party or anything of that nature. It’s not our style. Instead, we asked the receptionist to seal the result in an envelope. We went out to dinner and opened it together.

Recently, I’ve been seeing articles that put down women who find out their baby’s sex. I’ve seen articles that slam women for putting their daughters in dresses or signing them up for ballet lessons.

It made me feel small. I began to question myself: Is it right for me to look forward to parenting a girl?

And the answer I came up with, was: Absolutely.

True feminism is not a war against pink but instead a celebration of it. It is a celebration of choice. It is a celebration of staying true to one’s core self. The war against femininity is one of America’s greatest ironies. Instead of empowering women, it has the capability of oppressing those who do identify with traditionally feminine traits. How often was I told that I cannot be a feminist while wearing a skirt? How often do articles tell me that I cannot be a stay at home mom and an advocate for women’s rights? What about my high school boyfriend, who lectured me on my choice of career because it was not “masculine enough to be empowering”?

I am proud to give birth to a daughter. I don’t care if she prefers to dress like Scout Finch or Elizabeth Bennett; I’m going to support her. I don’t care if she tears up a soccer field or shreds an opponent in speech and debate. I will support her. Should my daughter fall in love with princesses and the color pink, I will proudly wear a crown along side her (even though glitter makes me cringe). Looking forward to having a daughter has no correlation with the way in which I intend to raise her. My daughter may dress in overalls or Ugg boots, but no matter what, she will be kind, responsible, and aware. She will care about those in need. She will see those that are hurting and will have been taught from birth that it is her duty to ensure that the outcasts have a friend in her.

Whether my daughter decides to dress in pink or blue, she will be a super hero. I just know it.

 

Sincerely,

Sarah E.B. Christison

Sorry About That

Rant Over

And Then, it Got Better

Whenever I was younger, my father’s parents owned a farm in East Texas. There was a county road that was a mile from the front gate. When we turned onto the road, we would sing a song and smile as the giant trees whipped past the windows. Sometimes, our father would trade seats with us, and we would get to drive.

Nothing compares to the feeling you have whenever you turn into your grandparent’s driveway. Whenever we arrived at their farm, we knew we were in for a weekend of fishing, back-porch swinging, gardening, and go-carting. The farm was a Texas dream, and I loved being there. I loved eating the fresh tomatoes and sun-kissed strawberries that my grandfather grew. I loved climbing the trees and building mud-pits in the sand. Sometimes, my grandfather would let us climb into the bucket of his tractor. We would sit on old, handmade quilts and giggle as the cows rushed out of our way. One night, after a full day of play, my sister and I sat by a campfire and gazed at the stars. I remember thinking,

“It couldn’t get better than this.”

But it did.

When I was 15, I had the honor of attending Camp Deer Run with a special group of women. These women would grow to be staples in my young Christian walk. I met strong Christians that guided me and supported me. I learned that I had something to offer this world. I learned to love others, and in turn, began to love myself.

It rained often that session. One night, as we were walking back to the cabin, it began to pour. Instead of taking showers, we grabbed our shampoo and washed our hair in the rain. We laughed, though we could hardly hear each other over the sound of rain hitting the pine trees. We probably never got truly “dry” that entire session, but we didn’t care. Under the night sky, laughing with my best friends, I remember thinking,

“It couldn’t get better than this.”

But it did.

Whenever I graduated high school, my father sat me down and said,

“Each stage of life has new excitement. Each stage has new challenges, heartaches, and changes. Whenever I look back on my life, each moment has been better than the last. With each new stage, my life keeps getting better.”

In the fall of 2012, I began attending ACU. I joined a drama ministry and fell in love. Suddenly, life was colorful. I had friends that were a five minute walk across campus. I was in a major that pushed my limits and empowered me. For the first time, I felt intelligent; I felt wanted.

On Thursday nights during my junior year, my friends and I would get together for a beer and a game of Cards Against Humanity. We would laugh until tears streamed down our faces. Never had I felt more comfortable in my own skin. Sitting at my kitchen table, with the people that I loved and trusted with my entire heart, I remember thinking,

“It couldn’t get better than this.”

But it did.

On December 19th, 2015, I married my husband. The day was perfect. I rocked out to Kanye’s “Golddigger” with one of my best friends as we pulled into the venue (no shame). We drank root beer and danced to “Wobble Baby” as well as a group of white, Church of Christ people could. Before the wedding, Kylar and I were able to pray together and meditate on what was to be one of the biggest decisions we were to ever make. I felt sure. I felt comfortable. I felt confident that this was the man that I would spend the rest of my days loving. I knew without hesitation that I would never stop pursuing Kylar.

As we ate dinner, Kylar and I looked over the crowd and smiled. There, in one room, was everyone that we cared about. They were here for us; to support us, and to show us that they cared. We looked at each other and said,

“It couldn’t get better than this.”

But it did.

My husband and I are heading into a new stage of life, there is no denying that. Being a young adult has been exciting and fun. I love my job. I love living in College Station. Kylar and I attend a wonderful church and have a large circle of friends. To be honest, this has been the best stage of my life.

So far.

Sometimes, I want to mourn the loss of my young adulthood. I did not choose to enter this new stage so quickly. We did not choose parenthood, parenthood has chosen us. Regardless of how we feel, we are now in the ministry of parenting.

And guess what?

I bet it gets better.

I know parenthood will be full of excitement and laughter. I know it will hold more joy and love than I have ever experienced before. The ministry of parenting is one we are prepared to take on, and I am willing to bet that it is better than any stage we have been through before.

I just know it.

Sincerely,

Sarah E.B. Christison

Woman with Heartburn

Woman with Hope

 

 

She Will Call Me, Pops

By all accounts, she’s a grown up.  Twenty-three years old.  College graduate.  Married.  She has a real job.  Her list has check-marks next to most of the things that make one a grown up.  Because she’s a grown up, I no longer get to be a part of the planning of her life.  Not only do I not get to make her plans, sometimes I don’t even get to know what they are.

 

I may not know what the plan was, but I am certain this wasn’t it.

 

My initial reaction could best be described as “stunned silence.”  I just didn’t know what to think.  I didn’t know what I was supposed to think.  I didn’t know what Sarah wanted me to think.    I certainly didn’t know what to say.

 

Are we happy?  Are we angry?  Are we confused? 

 

I feel at least a tiny bit confused.  Scared seems like a good choice, but I’ve been trained that Dad isn’t supposed to be scared.

 

So, not scared. No matter how big that spider looks, Dads aren’t scared. 

 

I am so much better at this emotions thing when someone tells me what emotions I am supposed to be feeling.  That’s part of why I got married.  Kind of a built-in emotional coach.  Somebody tell me what I am supposed to be feeling!  All I know is “not scared.”

 

Desperately (and silently, as to not alert Sarah who was on the speaker phone) I looked to my wife for help.  The look on her face surely mirrored my own.  We’re back to confusion.

 

Confused?  So, we are confused?  I can do confused!   

 

Truth be told, my feeling was probably not all that different than how I felt when we found out we were pregnant with Sarah.  At least twenty-three years ago, my wife was giving me clear signals – happy, we are happy.  We didn’t know enough to be anything else.  Twenty-three years later, I know.  We were happy.  We are happy.

 

I have now that had a bit of time to process my feelings about this granddaughter thing.
I’m good with this.  I’m happy.  I’m excited.  And, yes, I am scared.   Sarah seems happy, too.

 

Happy.  I can do that.  I can do happy nearly as good as I can do confused.

 

People often describe life as a roller coaster.  It has its ups and it has its downs.  You strap yourself in, hang on and enjoy the ride – hopefully only screaming where screaming is appropriate.  I don’t think a roller-coaster ride accurately describes the twenty-three years or so after we got pregnant with Sarah.

 

A roller coaster always comes back to where it started.  The ups and downs always cancel each other out.  This ride we are on has had its share of downs, certainly, but there is a steady progress up.

 

Like I said, I’m good.

I have no way of telling Sarah what she is in for.  Sarah never was one for listening, anyway.  She will have to find out for herself.  I hope she knows – and understands – that there is nothing I would trade for the ride.  Nothing.

 

Enjoy the ride, Sarah.

 

She will call her “Mom”.

 

Me?  She will call me Pops.