There’s nothing quite like nursing a babe in the middle of Times Square during the Macy’s Day Parade.

Anyone who’s birthed another human is always willing to regale other females with the tale. I’ve spent many an evening in the company of other women who are all too eager to share the gory details. Tales of 24 hour misery. Horror stories of nearly making it to the hospital in time. Sad feats that end in a C-Section. Advantages and disadvantages to pain medication. In any large group of mothers, these stories can take on a life of their own: snowball, spin, and dive from one to the next.

But, for whatever the reason, no one told me their story of sustaining and nourishing that small, dependent life after birth. No one told me about nursing.

No one told me about the discomfort of engorgement. The need to cool your swollen chest with bags of frozen peas and corn. The jokes and wise cracks you suffer through—at the expense of your husband and mother, for pete’s sake—for wearing a vegetable side dish under your shirt. The inability to sleep, roll over or find a comfortable position—despite the fact that you no longer have to make room for a nine-pound baby inside your tummy. No one told me of setting the alarm to wake yourself up in the middle of the night for extra pumping sessions, because baby was sleeping too long and you just couldn’t wait that long.

No one told me of the pain—horrifying, grit your teeth, and attempt happy thoughts pain—associated with a baby who can’t latch on properly, but must eat regardless every three hours. No one told me they’d rather go through labor ten times over than to have to nurse their baby for the first week of their life.

No one told me of the weeks in which I’d awkwardly sit, trying to get things to line up right, debating about if she’d eaten long enough, if she was full, if she was still hungry. No one told me about the need to develop yet another, new wardrobe—one with easy access to hungry, impatient little babes. No one told me about the boredom that inevitably evolves with sitting in the same seat, unable to do anything more than sit, for four hours a day. Or of the need to constantly be around, or to pump, or to remain uncomfortable for hours on end.

No one told me there would one day come a time, about fifteen weeks into the experience, when the thought would surprisingly dawn, “This doesn’t hurt anymore!” . Things would ease a bit and the previously difficult would become the new normal. Moments that used to be boredom would then become peaceful times to sit, reflect, and receive inspiration. Hours crafted for nothing but to find new reasons to love your little babe—the way her little ears curve; the slope of her nose; the chubby roll on her thigh; the crease in her neck; the dimples on the back of her knuckles. No one knows quite a baby so well as the nursing mother.

No one tells you about how six months will roll around—you’ve officially met your predetermined nursing goal!—and you’ll find it easier to continue than it is to purchase formula and transition to a bottle. But this ease, comes at a cost: You must always be within a three-hour reach of your babe; evenings away are overshadowed with the fear of bottle rejection; logistics of leaving her behind become difficult and often impossible; you feel strapped down, tied to this little life, with a sense of responsibility you’ve never even known before. No one can pick up this burden from you. You can’t skip a feed out of convenience. Nothing your husband can do will make it any easier. Indeed, I figure this is the Refiner’s Fire of Motherhood.

No one tells you about how the day will eventually dawn when all good things must come to an end. While you love the little one, you need a bit more independence. You drop one feeding and they cry, look at you as the betrayer, refuse to drink from a sippy and make you question everything. No one tells you about how sippys eventually become the new normal, and they no longer miss being held, rocked, and fed in your arms.

No one tells you about how hard it is to drop that very last feeding, when you know for sure it will be the official end of something you love so much. So you just keep feeding early in the morning, because you can’t give it up—the one chance you have to make soulful eye contact, the chance to snuggle and breathe in the baby chubbiness, and the chance to feel that you are giving of yourself for a better cause.

In case no one told you before (you never-been-through-the-experience-before-new-moms), consider yourself told. Despite all the pain in the beginning, nursing is something to love, cherish, and mourn in passing.

P.S . For those of you in different experiences please understand… I hold no ill-will towards bottle-fed, formula babes and their moms. Sometimes we don’t have another choice; sometimes we can no longer go on; sometimes it’s the most convenient. Formula is an amazing feat of engineering that keeps our babies alive. For that option I am grateful. I know bottles have been a great experience for some, it’s just not my experience.

Everyone knows that babies come with stuff. Lots and lots of stuff. Some of it’s mandatory, like a car seat, a crib, and a wardrobe. Others are, in my opinion, completely unnecessary. Hello, Diaper Wipe Warmer? My daughter can manage to have cold wipes.

However, there is a collection of things that might initially appear superfluous, but have become my absolute favorite, can’t-imagine-parenting-without tools of the trade. They would each like a moment in the spotlight. With no further adieu, here they are:

This Summer Infant Day and Night Monitor is hands down my favorite baby item. We started our foray into parenthood with a more typical audio monitor that we picked up at a yard sale. By January I had enough of running up and down two flights of stairs to check on my baby girl, peeking through a semi-cracked open door only to wake her with the creaks, and listening to static over the intercom.

After much convincing, I finally talked Scott into making the purchase. Boy am I glad that I did! We both love the monitor—there’s nothing better than a late night viewing of The Amelia Channel. I honestly can’t say enough good things about it. Would have a hard time living without it.

I searched Hi and Low for this “diaper bag” and I’m so glad I found it. I had a long string of criteria for a good bag and this one just about meets them all. I wanted something that didn’t scream “baby!” so that I could use it on its own when I didn’t have the Peanut around. There are two large pockets in the front where I can store my wallet, calendar, keys, chapstick, pens, and cellphone. I also like the strap on it, since it can be shortened to just wear on one shoulder or lengthened to wear it as a messenger bag. It drapes really nicely over the handles of a stroller.

The inside is large and spacious. I can fit all her necessary items there: sippy cup, snacks, toys, books, diapers, wipes, etc. There even happen to be two inside pockets that will fit a small bottle and pacifier and her little medicine and dropper. It’s absolutely perfect.

Only problem? After a year of hard usage, it’s starting to wear out (notice the lining coming apart?) and I have no idea where to find an identical replacement. I’ll have to start over at square one. Honestly, if it wasn’t the last one left at the store when I got it, I think I might have bought three of the bags!

I don’t think I learned how to nurse without this pillow, The Breast Friend (corny name I know—but Scott refers to it as my Cocktail Waitress), until Amelia was about five months old. It really was crucial to her survival, as I didn’t know how to feed her without it. Even after I learned how to nurse sans pillow, I would still do so just for the ease and comfort it brought. I can’t recommend it enough.

P.S. I have a Boppy pillow too and it doesn’t come anywhere near this one in terms of greatness.

I created this “blanket” to fulfill a number of different purposes and I love the result. Basically it’s a yard of fabric sewn in a big rectangle (that’s approximately 45 X 36 inches) and has curtain weights attached on the inside of each corner. I use this in a number of ways. When Amelia was little, I could swaddle her in the light-weight blanket or cover her car seat with it when it was cold, windy, rainy, or she was sleeping. I could use the tie on it to nurse with. It was especially nice for nursing, since the fabric is larger than most nursing covers, and as she got bigger and would move around more it was easier to remain covered. I now take it with me and lay it down on the floor (like at church or the doctor’s office) and she’ll happily play only on the blanket. It’s nice. Plus, it’s small enough I can fold it up and fit it in my diaper bag.

Once we moved past nursing and on to real food, I became a huge fan of these Bumkins Bibs. I think they may be the only ones worth owning. You can wash them, by hand or in the washing machine, and they’ll be dry by the next meal. I layer these over a small little cotton bib and nothing gets past and onto the collar of her attire. They are great!

Along with the bibs, dinnertime wouldn’t be complete without this little portable placemat. It makes eating out SO much easier. The mat suction cups to the table; the tray catches a large amount of food. You can easily wash off the tray (I’ve even had the waitress offer to do it for me), roll it up and stash it in my diaper bag. It was definitely worth the money.

My mom bought this bath mat for me when Amelia came home from the hospital and I’m so glad that she did! This piece of foam makes for the best little baby bath. I used it from the time she was an itty-bitty little baby until I could trust her to sit on her own in the bathtub. It’s so much easier to use than an independent baby bath.

Although I know many people don’t view changing tables as necessities, I’m not entirely sure how I could function without it. It’s so nice to have a place to change and dress Amelia.

Almost more than the table, I love these baskets I searched all over town to find. They fit just perfectly under the table to maximize storage space and function great! Especially, since I don’t have a dresser or anything. When traveling, I sorely miss this space.

Despite celebrating in Arizona, I couldn’t let her actual big day roll around without any acknowledgement—even if she didn’t know what was going on.

I made one of her favorites for dinner: Spaghetti. I included a side of garlic bread (she never turns down carbs) and green beans (someday she might learn to really like vegetables). I was also planning on adding some blueberries to really make things exciting, but they remained forgotten in the fridge.

We invited our neighbors over for some impromptu “Happy Birthday” singing and cupcake devouring. They were amazing enough to actually have a gift ready for Amelia—thanks!

She seemed to enjoy her cake just as much this time as she did the first time around.

Opening her book, Zen Shorts, from the Beans.

She received two gifts from us. The first was this really cute little house that does all sorts of interesting things. You can open and shut the door, ring the door bell, turn on the light, put letters in the mailbox, drop balls through the rain gutter, listen to the “radio”, change the time on the clock, raise and lower the window, and change the house number above the front door. So far I think she likes playing with it.

We also gave her two cute little stuffed animals, a monkey and elephant. She immediately pulled them out of the package and started hugging them. Every time she sees them she starts squealing and hugging them some more. She managed to grasp the pink monkey during an entire walk so it wouldn’t fall out of the stroller. I think they were definitely a good purchase.

Grandma Bonnie and Grandpa Garth gave Amelia this push/ride toy which she really seems to enjoy. Although, right now, I think she likes to ride it more than push it.

It has lots of little features that she likes to play with. We always hide a ball in the front compartment for her to find. She loves to pull it out and put it back in again.

All in all, I think Amelia celebrated her first year of life in style. We certainly have loved having her be part of our family this past year!

I can hardly believe how fast the time has come and gone. You are officially one year old! I feel like I can no longer call you a “baby,” but I think I’m going to just keep doing it anyway. You are getting so big. The doctor says you weigh XXX pounds and are XXX inches long (we don’t go until Wednesday).

You can tan like a pro, everyone says so. Even with 50 spf on, you’ll come in from a half hour in the sun with little tan lines on your back. You have beautiful coloring, even if we technically don’t know what color to classify your hair as. Sometimes its brown; sometimes blond; sometimes red. I like it in all its states.

Your biggest talents this past month have to do with climbing. You’ve learned to climb up onto your feet and hold on to almost anything. Couches. Chairs. Toys. Tables. Pretty much anything is fair game.

Just in the past week have you started to cruise. You’ll take a couple of careful steps while holding onto something and then revert back to crawling to get where you want.

You’ve also learned to climb up the stairs. We came home from Arizona and had to put up the baby gate on the bottom of the stairs as you would make a beeline for them anytime you thought we weren’t looking. As you have yet to learn how to safely descend stairs, it was a bit dangerous. Now, you can only climb them under strict supervision.

You will stand on the bottom step and hang onto the gate. You are pretty proud of yourself for getting up into such a position. You’ll look around, smile, and grab at things through the gate. The only problem is that you have yet to learn how to get down from that bottom stair. You’ll hang on for dear life until your little legs are quivering with exhaustion and then call one of us over to rescue you. You’ll heave a great sigh of relief upon finding yourself back on solid, flat ground. We tend to think it’s a bit funny.

UPDATE: Just this afternoon, you learned how to take a tentitive step and exit off this bottom step. So much for hanging onto the gate for dear life. You really do grow up fast.

You still only have four teeth: two on the middle bottom and two on the top right. We’re still waiting for anything on the top left to present itself, but although we can see them inching in, nothing has actually materialized yet. Nevertheless, you’ve learned how to make good use out of the four teeth you do have. You’ll chomp through just about anything we place on your high chair. You really are the best little eater. You love almost all foods, a few favorites include: yogurt, blueberries, peaches, watermelon, scrambled eggs, any form of bread, corn, pasta noodles, raisins, Cherrios, cheese, and slurping from Daddy’s cold water.

There’s one thing you don’t eat much of anymore, though—Mom’s milk. You have pretty much become an independent little woman. You only nurse in the early morning after waking up, mostly because I can’t bring myself to end the one opportunity I get to hold you and cuddle with you on a regular basis—you really are such a wiggle-puss. Other than the first few nights of periodic crying early in the evening, you’ve transitioned away from nursing really well. While it’s nice to have some new-found freedom, I miss the closeness we had when you depended on me for your nourishment. It’s okay, though, I think we were both ready to move on.

I love this expression on your little face. I think it means, “Hey! I’m curious about what’s going on over there.” Sometimes, though, I wish I knew exactly what you’re thinking.

Feeding you has gotten easier as you’ve learned to communicate better. You started the month out by screaming every time you wanted or needed anything. After some patience on our end, you finally learned how to “sign” for something you want. You’ll wave one hand if you’re thirsty and want a drink; you’ll clap your hands together when you want more or different food placed on your tray. The communication is rudimentary at best, but it sure beats your high-pitched screams that would literally leave my ears ringing.

You have developed so many tricks lately that we love to encourage and show off. You will clap your hands and go “Aaahhh!” at the same time (since we would always say, “Yeah!” and clap whenever you did something well). You’ll wave “Hi” and “Bye” anytime someone comes or goes. You’re not too discriminating, I’ve even caught you waving at inanimate objects like the swing and the TV.

A terrible photo, but a perfect example of how you lean forward with her mouth open, ready for a kiss.

You’ve learned how to give kisses, which is perhaps our favorite. You’ll either lean towards us with your mouth open or your tongue sticking out and expect us to “kiss” you. We have little shame for sharing saliva around here—any opportunity is a good one for giving you extra loves. By now, you’ll always greet us after every nap with a kiss. We’re still working on blowing kisses and giving hugs, but hopefully you’ll pick up on it soon.

Who knows why, but the entire time we were taking these pictures, you would put your hands up and pat your hair, like you were modeling and showing off for the camera. A-dor-able.

You’ve turned into a bit of a talker. The other day I was talking to you while I worked in the kitchen and you enjoyed a snack in your high chair. I must have unknowingly said “Hi” because you responded with your own “Hi!” that took me by great surprise. We have heard dog from you in the form of “Da” and Mom in the form of “mamama” but nothing that doesn’t seem somewhat accidental or unintentional. You love to babble, though; you’ll talk to yourself all day long.

Oh little peanut (perhaps now I need to stop calling you that?), how sad I am that the time has gone by so fast. It seems like just yesterday that I brought you home from the hospital. This past weekend I scraped both my knees (being a complete klutz) and it reminded me of a year ago when I fell down the stairs and scraped my knee when I was nine months pregnant with you. I could hardly bend over with my full belly, but it was nearly impossible with a big scrape on my knee. Now, with my knee scraped again, I’m reminded of that time in my life. I’ll be honest, pregnancy wasn’t one of the most fun times in my life, but it was certainly worth it to have you around. I’d do it all over again. I’m glad for the opportunity to be your mom.

Love,

No longer the milk lady,

Mom

Scott and I went on our first date many years ago. I was a junior in high school. He was a senior. I remember he asked me out during 6th period—Speech and Debate–if I wanted to go to a Diamondbacks game that night (I’m sure I was probably plan C). A bit surprised, I agreed and he picked me up a couple of hours later. I remember him (who could ever forget it? Or let him forget it?) parking his father’s big red truck in reverse over a curb and into a much-too-small-perhaps-not-even-real parking space in downtown Phoenix. I remember our great seats, just behind first base. I remember wandering off to the “bathroom” so I could buy and consume a hasty snack before heading back to my seat (for whatever reason I was too embarrassed to actually admit I hadn’t had dinner). I remember having a good time—although I don’t remember anything specific about our conversation.

And then, I remember him asking my best friend out the next weekend, not being upset by it in the least, and then joining them on multiple double dates throughout the remainder of the school year as they steadily dated. Yes, we have history.

Who would have thought, ten years later that Scott and I would still be going on dates to baseball games?

I’ve heard a lot about Huntington Park last summer while working at the Columbus Dispatch and wanted to go check it out. But, with Scott clerking in San Antonio and the arrival of our little Amelia, it never actually happened.

I’m glad we had the opportunity to go this past weekend on a beautiful summer evening. We had dinner at Buca de Bepo and made it to the game a bit late (we waited till the sun went down, so it wouldn’t be in our eyes).

We sprawled out on the grassy seating in the far left outfield. Enjoyed a twisted ice cream cone. Snuck into better seats behind home plate. Challenged each other to casually and accurately throw baseball slang into our conversation during the evening: Man, that dinner the other night sure was a homerun. After a bit of debate (and perhaps lack of agreement), I think I even won: 5-4.

Needless to say, I remember having a good time at this baseball game too.