Hold the test pointing down, place the absorbent strip in a stream of urine for 5 seconds, recap the test, and wait for the longest three minutes OF. YOUR. LIFE.

Pacing the bathroom, clearly ignoring the portion that states “don’t look at the results for 3 minutes,” you obsessively check the lines and await your fate. Will you be sad if there’s one line? Relieved? Are you ready to be a mom? Do you want a child? 3 minutes and one pee-soaked stick is all it takes to change your entire life FOR-EV-ER.

I am officially wrecked from these children.

My hips will never again fit into a size 4. My chest has forever changed. My belly will always have a little bit of pudge and a whole lot of stretch marks. My scar from my belly button piercing is stretched and unrecognizable. The bags under my eyes are permanent. My hands are cracked and dry from all the washing. My immune system is continually tested. I have white hairs. I am addicted to caffeine. My body is ruined.

You, my child, are worth it all. You are worth being wrecked for.

If this is the price of motherhood, then please, sweet children, ruin me. Again and again. Forever.

One thing that has TRULY surprised me in my adult life is how many people (particularly moms) are aching for friendship. I grew up right here in Des Moines and still found myself feeling “friendless” when we moved back from Minnesota. I remember calling our parents (who are awesome) to hang out on the weekends! But we were still eager to find a group of friends! Fast forward eight years and I think I have learned a thing or two about making friends as a mom.

CALM DOWN. Seriously, calm down. You are on the fast track to nutso-Kara, and no one wants that.

Right … so first-time mom Kara is not a fun person. In ideal, pre-baby conditions, you are a FUN person. You are gracious, talk in complete sentences, can make jokes, and can listen with a compassionate ear. But first-time mom Kara is more than a little neurotic and a teensy bit batty (and by teensy bit, I mean a lot. Crying on a walk because your husband kicked you out of the house to get fresh air is a bad sign.) Being new to motherhood and extremely sleep-deprived, well, those things did not bring out the best version of yourself.

First-time mom Kara, people aren’t going to do things exactly the same as you would, and the world will not end (this is actually a life-truth, not just a mom-truth). For example, your dear, dear friends who agreed to babysit your child will be able to put your baby to bed without the step-by-step swaddling tutorial and the teddy bear you left swaddled as an example. Dial down the crazy, dear.

From One #desmoinesmom to Another

Forget the parenting books, which overwhelm you with information that doesn't pertain to your situation. Find a couple of moms you admire, and ask them for advice when you're struggling to figure out anything from sleep schedules to illnesses to what's for dinner. Their tried and true advice will give you solutions you won't find in any book.

Saturday night August 12 is an evening I will never forget. The house was quiet. Everyone was asleep. But I was up having a snack. Peanut butter and ice cream was my go to, but for some reason I was experiencing pain. I walked it off. I settled on the couch to read a book – thank you pregnancy insomnia. About thirty minutes later, I decided to wake my husband as things were just not right. Since I didn’t go into labor on my own with my first pregnancy, I wasn’t sure if this pain was a true contraction, but, as moms, we always have a hunch when things are different.

I woke my husband and by 1 am we were at the hospital. I clearly remember my husband having no clue where to park while circling the hospital. We were new to the area, and he’d been on a hospital visit.

I had such struggles with breastfeeding my first daughter. She was a preemie and born so early she didn’t even know how to suck. She spent time on a feeding tube after birth so the actual act of breastfeeding was out of the question. I was exclusively pumping, but my supply was basically non-existent. The nurses told me stress (like the stress of being in the NICU) could impact milk supply and was reassured it would get better when we were home. I just needed to keep at it.

So I did. I kept at it, except it didn’t get better after we got home. Eventually I had to come to terms with the fact that breastfeeding, this beautiful act of bonding between mother and baby that was was supposed to come naturally just wasn’t going to work out for us.

My son was born at 36 weeks after I was diagnosed with preeclampsia. He was conceived using IVF, and I never felt great the entire pregnancy. Once I was in my third trimester, my feet, hands, and face were constantly swollen. I just kept telling myself it was all normal for pregnancy.

One Sunday, at 35 weeks, I could hardly get out of bed. My chest was tight, I was extremely swollen, and just didn’t feel well. I got up in the morning and told my husband shortly after that I needed to go lay down. Laying in bed, I couldn’t rest. I knew something was wrong. I got up and told my husband to take my blood pressure. My husband is an OB/GYN, so when he saw my high blood pressure, he calmly said, “we need to go to the hospital.”