Danielle Grace Broadwater was born Sunday, April 8. She’s our little Easter Bunny.

And now she’s a month old. I intended to post a blog about her birth much sooner. Then time just got away from me. Babies have a way of doing that!

A few lessons and observations:

* Finding a way to distract oneself from the discomfort of early labor is a good idea. We went to the theater to see “Hunger Games” the Saturday night before Dani was born and now I will forever associate the movie with contractions.

* The pain of labor is pretty much forgotten the minute the doctor puts the baby on your chest.

* The first couple nights at home are hard. Really hard. The cocktail of hormones, sleep deprivation and emotions is intense and overwhelming. I’m not sure who cried more the first night at home: me or Danielle.

* After our second night at home, I told my sister and mom that the night went much better and I felt more refreshed because I had gotten a 3-hour stretch of sleep. I never would have predicted that I’d deem 3 hours of sleep to be a great thing at any other time in my life.

* They say to sleep when the baby sleeps. This sounds simple enough. Except (especially in the first week at home) there are all those other things like, say, eating, showering, hosting visitors, making doctor’s appointments for both me and baby, navigating and filing all the insurance paperwork that must be handled promptly, tending to postpartum recovery treatments, doing loads upon loads of laundry to keep up with baby’s many outfit, blanket, sheet and burp cloth needs, etc…

* Anything remotely tender or heartfelt can set off a flood of tears these days. I turned into a blubbering fool when my father-in-law asked me the simple question: “How does it feel to be a mother?” There’s the same effect with most baby books I read to Danielle — “I love you through and through” and “Miss Rumphius” are the latest to get me choked up.

* I never before noticed how squeaky and creaky our wood floors are. The effect is most pronounced when tip-toeing from one room to the next carrying a finally-sleeping baby from her rocker to her bassinet at 4:50 a.m.

* I didn’t realize how many meals I would eat (scarf?) standing in the kitchen wondering how many more minutes (seconds?) I would have until my services were demanded by my miniature dictator.

* Luke and I share so many laughs over Danielle. (We assure her that we’re laughing with her, not at her.) She makes the funniest little noises, especially the chorus of grunts, snorts and squeaks when she’s sleeping.

* When you reach your early 30s, Facebook truly becomes Babybook. It’s a great way to ooh and ahh over friends’ adorable little ones, but I have also found it makes me insecure at times. Everyone else’s baby looks like a perfect angel. Then I remind myself that I, too, only post the cute photos. Who posts a photo of a fussy baby grimacing with a tummy ache?

* The pictures on baby bath tubs and bath products show smiling babies, presumably cooing, as their mommy gently and unhurriedly dabs at them with a washcloth. None show a baby screaming her head off, writhing and arching her back, her whole body beet red.

* They say it’s good to let a baby air dry a bit between diaper changes. On the occasion I do this — even if it’s just for one minute — she will decide to go during this undiapered minute, invariably.

* In a related note, I didn’t realize just how many diapers newborns go through! As a rookie, I would jump up to change diapers immediately, leading to our record for back-to-back diaper changes (those necessitated mid-diaper change) to 4.

* My new mantra: Try, try again. Danielle rejected both swaddles and pacifiers at first but is coming around on both. The swaddle — or straightjacket as we call it — is the trick to getting her to stop thrashing and flailing her arms and legs when she’s overtired but all worked up at night.

* A sweet little cuddle any time of day makes my heart melt. Those cuddles also make it somehow OK to be awake between 2 and 4 a.m.

* Watching Luke dance around the room with Dani to Selena Gomez and One Direction songs also melts my heart.

… Now I’m just waiting on that smile!

This little girl is holding out on us.

Will she be a Good Friday baby and share a birthday with her cousin Keara? Will she be an Easter Sunday baby? Or a tax day baby? (Docs won’t let it go that long anyhow!)

Since I can’t yet introduce you to Baby Broadwater, at least I can show you her nursery.

I pop my head into her nursery at least once a day and it always makes me smile. A few tasks remain, like hanging the fabulous original art work created for us by Luke’s brother Ben and my friend Meghan.

It will probably never look this tidy again.

Here we are: April 4.

This date has been prominent in my mind for the past nine months. But it seemed like an abstract concept most of the time — an approximate day when my baby would possibly be born and my life would change forever.

One of the first questions most people ask a pregnant woman is: When are you due? So this date has rolled off my tongue countless times. As two journalists, my husband and I jokingly refer to April 4 as our baby’s “deadline.”

Now we’re here. And we wait.

I’m a patient person and I’m not too uncomfortable, so I don’t mind waiting for her to decide to come naturally.

I wonder if I’ll miss the feeling of carrying her inside of me, and knowing that I’m in complete control to protect her from just about everything in the outside world. I remember waiting and waiting and waiting to feel any sensation of her movement in the fall, and then fretting over whether she was moving enough.

Now, we’re like longtime roommates sharing and sometimes competing for the same living space. She decides to have a dance party most nights around 11 p.m. when I’d really like to catch some Zzzzs. I’m the chef in our shared living arrangement, so she gets that spinach-apple-cheddar salad I crave multiple times a week, whether she likes it or not.

There are other reminders of our intimate connection as well. I got a stark reminder at my OB check-up on Monday.

For reasons unrelated to the baby, I was flustered (and hungry) as I arrived at the doctor’s office. I shared that stress with the baby apparently because her heart rate was racing in the 160s.

So, my doctor performed a fetal non-stress test (NST) in which I reclined on my side for 30 minutes with a heart rate monitor strapped to my belly. Baby’s heart rate quickly returned to a normal range in the 130s and 140s, and I almost fell asleep listening to the rhythm of her little heartbeats.

I met my mom and my niece, Keara, for lunch after the appointment and it turns out Keara, who turns 6 later this week, had the best advice for me: “When you get upset, just think about the baby and what she’s going to look like. Then you will be happy.”

Good advice, Keara. Good advice.

Today’s guest blogger is Cheryl Clemens.

Well, it’s any day now Jennifer, and I’m guessing your days are a mix of hurry-up-and-get-here-baby and OMG-am-I-really-ready-for-this?

My first was born 20 years ago this summer, but I remember very clearly the final days of my pregnancy and how I see-sawed between anxiety and enthusiasm, bliss and fear. Will the baby be healthy? Will the delivery go smoothly? Will I forget something vital on the way to the hospital? Will I like my nurse? Will it hurt?

I drove myself crazy asking myself these questions over and over.

I know I can’t erase your anxiety. It’s normal to feel that way when you are about to experience a major life change. But I would like to plant one small word in your head because in my experience, laboring and delivering my first baby was the first step in understanding this word’s meaning.

The word, Jennifer, is trust.

To deliver your baby, you’re going to need to trust. Trust your doctor and your nurses to use their medical backgrounds to make the delivery as smooth as possible. Trust your husband to support you and carry you through, even when you think you can’t go on a minute longer. Trust your body to do what it’s built to do, carry and deliver your baby. Trust your baby to know when the time is right to arrive. Most of all, trust your own instincts so you can ask questions when necessary and voice your opinion confidently if something doesn’t seem right.

You can read every book and blog in the world, but in this instance, you will need to trust in those around you to help make the experience safe and special.

Trust is something that you’ll have to focus on and exercise very frequently once you become a parent. Trusting others to watch the baby so you can leave the house. Trusting your husband to parent the best way he can, even if his techniques may differ from yours. Trusting that the unsolicited advice you keep getting from family and even strangers really is well meaning. Trusting that the few hours of uninterrupted sleep you get at night is not the way it will be forever.

Sometimes you’ll surprise yourself with how well you handle a situation. Other times you’ll crawl into bed at night wishing you could erase the entire day from your memory. Parenting is like that. Life is like that.

It’s been almost 10 years since we met, Jennifer, and I’ve watched you transform from a shy editorial assistant to an aggressive reporter to a confident editor. Every step you take, you take whole-heartedly and focus on being the best you can be. You are going to be a spectacular mother, and I can’t wait for your little one to get here.

Trust me, everything will be just fine…

Almost 39 weeks!

Errand woman.

That’s me recently. There are so many little loose ends to tie up before baby Broadwater arrives that I find I’m constantly remembering one more thing I need to get done.

And in reality, I understand most of it won’t matter once she’s born. But I must channel my anticipation and energy somehow.

Some of it is quite fun. My sister and I went out for manicures and pedicures over the weekend. It’s lovely to have bright pink toe nails since it would have been quite an exercise in contortionism for me to have painted them myself.

I seem to go to the grocery store about every three days. And it’s not just because I keep forgetting to buy stamps.

It’s because I have this overwhelming urge to stock up on … everything. I think I now have enough trail mix, oatmeal, veggie burgers, soap and toilet paper to survive an apocalypse.

In other news, I’ve been spoiling my cat rotten recently with attention and treats. She might feel neglected pretty soon, so I might as well.

It could just be my imagination, but I think she’s been sweeter to me during my pregnancy (far fewer playful attacks of my ankles as I’m walking across the room, and “love bites” as I call them).

It makes me wonder how much animals can sense about the human condition. Throughout the past 9 months, she loves to curl up with me on the couch (granted the space for her keeps shrinking) pressed up against my belly and just purr away. She did not do this before.

Any tips for how to best introduce baby and kitty?

She also likes to steal my spot as soon as I get up for a bathroom break ... which is often. What a scoundrel.

Is there such a thing as mommy amnesia? I’m starting to think: yes.

I don’t know where my mind has flitted off to recently, but it’s not in proper working order.

Under normal circumstances I’m a very organized person. I love lists. Grocery lists, errand lists, to-do lists at home, to-do lists at the office, lists of baby names, lists of books I’d like to read and movies I’d like to see and meals I’d like to cook and home improvement projects I’d like to tackle. You get the idea.

Sometimes I even include tasks I’ve already completed on a list, just so I can cross them off. But even equipped with a list in my pocket, my short-term memory is pretty shabby of late.

Here’s a list of a few examples:

* My shins are covered in bruises. I just walk right into things these days.

* On my grocery list for the past three visits has been “stamps” for all those thank-you notes I’ve been writing. Why have stamps appeared on the list three times? Because I forget to buy them every single time.

* On Sunday, my dad came over to my house to help me build the baby’s crib since Luke was at work. When he arrived at the appointed time, I was out running errands. He graciously sat on my porch (hey, it was a nice day!) until I could get back home.

* While building said crib, we BOTH apparently misplaced our common sense. My job was just to stand there holding the side rails level while he screwed the pieces together. Only after all 4 sides were connected did we realize that we built the crib with me standing inside of it. Genius alert! We also realized there was one piece of the crib missing. Once we located the missing piece, it was decided I would pick it up from my parents’ house on Wednesday when I was nearby for my OB check-up.

* Which brings us to Wednesday. After the check-up, Luke and I swung by my parents’ house. We played with their dog for a bit, I checked my email, then we left … without the missing crib piece that was the whole purpose of the trip.

* While waiting at the doctor’s office, I mentioned to Luke that Wednesday night was my book club meeting. This morning around 10 a.m. I realized that I totally flaked and was a no-show.

I’m about to post this blog. But I have a nagging feeling that there was at least one other amnesia incident I wanted to mention … but I can’t remember what it was!

This week marks Baby Broadwater’s 37th week.

That means she’s full-term, or as my doctor put it during this week’s check-up: “This is a day we celebrate.”

37 weeks!

Even though I’d like this baby to take advantage of her full 40-week reservation in utero, it’s reassuring to know that she’s “cooked” long enough at this point to have well-developed organs and a good outlook even if she decides to check out early.

And although 37 weeks is medically considered full term, I’ve read that babies fare even better the longer they stay “in.” A study published in Obstetrics & Gynecology in 2011 indicated that 39 to 41 weeks of gestation is generally better for babies.
It’s also the premise of the popular book “Happiest Baby on the Block,” which touts the baby’s need for a “fourth trimester” before adjusting to life in the outside world.

With aforementioned 3-week-long illness  rapidly waning, I’m not feeling too bad so I’m in no rush to expedite this delivery.

Sleeping, however, is getting tougher. I’ve heard it referred to as “pregnancy insomnia” and natural preparation for the lack of sleep I’ll surely experience after she’s born.

I think it’s just plain ole’ can’t-get-comfortable. Everyone encourages me to soak up as much sleep as possible right now … I just wish my body would cooperate!

At the suggestion of several friends, Luke and I have also been trying to squeeze in a few date nights.

Any other late-pregnancy recommendations?

The phenomenon of “nesting” fascinates me. Even though I knew to expect it, I really didn’t anticipate how commanding the instinct would feel. I figured I might feel inclined to do a little cleaning, but not compelled!

It’s like an out-of-body experience at times.

Just yesterday, I found myself scrubbing the inside of the microwave thinking, “How could my baby possibly be born into a world where the inside of my microwave is this dirty? Unthinkable.”

Same thing goes for dusting bookshelves and wiping down baseboards.

While I’m at it, I might as well buy stock in antibacterial wipes because pretty much everything in the house is getting the once- (or twice-) over with those.

The icing on the cake? As I emptied the bin on my vacuum cleaner, I decided that the inside of the vacuum needed to be … vacuumed. Realizing this desire to vacuum my vacuum was not feasible due to the laws of physics, I settled for wiping down the inside and outside of the machine with an antibacterial wipe.

Who am I?

We recently took our hospital tour at Howard County General. So we got to see where all the action takes place — from the labor rooms, C-section surgery area and family waiting room to the newborn nursery and recovery rooms … even the pantry where they store all the cookies and snacks.

On my way out, our tour guide sized me up pretty well: “See you in about a month, right?”

… All of which reminded me I needed to pack the all-important hospital bag. So I finally did.

I wanted to pack enough creature comforts to feel prepared, but not feel like I’m taking up residency at the hospital with too much stuff I probably won’t even need. First I had a tiny duffel packed with the necessities for me and baby:

-her “going home” outfits (see below: I couldn’t decide so there are two.)
-comfy pjs and loose, nursing-style clothes for me
-slippers
-toiletries
-camera
-blanket possibly needed for the trip home

I was so proud of my efficient little bag until I realized I hadn’t packed anything for Luke. But if I expect him to stay there with me (there’s even a separate bed for him in the recovery room), then I guess he needs a few items, too. So I had to upgrade to a small suitcase.

It’s a relief to see the bag all ready to go. If I forgot anything vital, feel free to tell me. Besides, not all three of us are on lock-down at the hospital. Luke already knows he must go buy me some very specific sushi rolls the day after delivery!

As for baby’s first official outfit, I decided to keep it simple and comfy with a sleeper. The question is: pink elephants or yellow ducks? It will be a game-day decision, but I am accepting your votes. If I encounter this much indecision dressing this child every day, then I’m in trouble.

pink elephants or yellow ducks?

Any tips about how to make a hospital stay the most comfortable, or how to get in good with the staff?

Earlier in the year, I was very gung-ho about signing up for a childbirth class. I wanted to know what to expect and learn some techniques.

Some classes meet multiple evenings each week for several weeks, others cover a couple weekends. None seemed to work with our schedules except what I dub the Cliffs-notes version: a one-day, six-hour session. So, we signed up.

Looking back, I’m glad we did it for peace of mind, but I really didn’t learn much. It was kind of hokey.

And I think Luke and I might have been the worst “students” in the class because we couldn’t stop giggling.

It all started when the class began with each of us being asked to draw a picture of how we envision our family. Luke just gave me a look.

Here’s my drawing. Luke refused to allow me to post his drawing.

Please note my inclusion of our extended family and even our fat little cat, Lucky. And my note to Luke: "seriously?"

Another portion of the class included a video about pain management techniques: having your partner massage tennis balls into your lower back while you are crouched on all fours, swaying/slow dancing to get through a contraction, and letting out the pain by moaning. (I am proud to report that Luke was the first person to laugh out loud during the moaning video. But then other classmates followed suit.)

Then there were the visualization exercises, in which Luke was supposed to “take me away” to a relaxing beach or some other soothing place. Trouble is Luke kept picking places I don’t like and whispering things into my ear to make me laugh.

Lastly, we had a meditation exercise in which we had to lie down on blankets with our pillows and listen to a 20-minute-long head-to-toe meditation track with the lights out. “Focus on your left ear. Relax your left ear. Now, focus on your scalp. Relax your scalp, etc…” Luke just fell asleep.

Buuut, this was right after our lunch break and I’ve just recently developed indigestion issues. So, the whole time I’m lying there I’m burping every 20-30 seconds. Trying to stifle the burps just resulted in a weird frog-like croak coming from my throat. I was so embarrassed that I was more tense than meditative. And we were crammed in so tight I’m certain the couple right next to me could hear my chorus of burps. It was like a scene out of a movie.

Fingers crossed I don’t run into any of those couples on D-Day at the hospital!