Candy Woodall is an editorial researcher in Washington, D.C., who enjoys family adventures with her husband and four children in her spare time. Those adventures sometimes include actual travel.  She and her family live in the Dallastown Area School District. 

A pediatric nurse once told me the unexpected C-sections are the hardest.

A dear friend once told me they all suck.

They were both right.

As I’m facing my third C-section, I feel compelled to share a list of small mercies that have helped me through surgery and recovery.

1. Relax. The trip from the operating room doors to the cold, stainless steel table where your baby will be born might feel like the longest journey of your life, but don’t waste your energy being nervous. The doctors and nurses in your O-R consider C-sections to be second nature. During my first surgery, the medical team discussed a trendy new restaurant. During my second surgery, a different team discussed some training seminar. Meanwhile, I asked about every two seconds if everything was OK. Each time, the answer was, “Everything is great.”

I was also blessed with the world’s best anesthesiologists, who during my surgeries made me feel like everything was perfectly fine and it was totally normal to feel like my body stopped at my ribs.

All of that happens during the mere minutes it takes for doctors to make an incision and take the baby out of the uterus.

Once I see a healthy baby, it’s so much easier to relax. I get to look at an adorable face and know I’m being sewn and stapled back together.

I thank the doctors and nurses 5,447 times and look forward to holding my baby in the recovery room.

2. Get an abdominal binder. OK, so, I don’t really like these things, but some of my friends swear by them. They are basically superhero-powered Spanx. But instead of sucking in your gut, they’re designed to support your abdomen, which just had its intestines, muscles and reproductive organs tugged, pulled and pushed around. Abdominal binders are often provided in hospitals and make walking, coughing and sneezing so much more bearable.

3. Make friends with pillows. The abdominal binder might not be enough. You just had major surgery, after all. I highly recommend a collection of sturdy pillows. I like carrying a stiff travel pillow to hold against my belly when I’m taking those first steps after surgery. As an added bonus, they make breast feeding more comfortable.

4. Walk. Those first steps after surgery are intense — like someone just unzipped your body and played tug of war with your fallopian tubes. But they’re important. You definitely need to take it easy, but you should walk for short periods of time as often as you are able. The circulation will help you heal.

5. Stay ahead of your pain. I absolutely hate taking medicine. I hate the groggy feeling that comes with pain killers. But trying to catch up to the pain is so much worse. I typically only use the heavy pain killers for about a week. After that, I just use over-the-counter motrin. But when I’m in the hospital, I take a nice regimen of pain killers and Colace.

6. Pack some loose-fitting clothes. The last thing you’ll want to wear home from the hospital is a snug pair of pants, rubbing against your incision.

7. Be with your baby. Once you’re home from the hospital, just be with your baby. Don’t worry about house chores or being a perfect hostess to visitors. Just focus on loving your baby and healing, and you’ll likely find yourself feeling better and stronger every day.

8. Ask for help. When people say, “Let me know if I can do anything,” make sure you let them know. For example, I’ll be asking someone to go to Target and the grocery store for me. I’ll gladly give them money and a list because walking around a store is the last thing I’ll feel like doing. Also, be sure to give them gas money, even if it’s your mom (who probably won’t accept it).

9. Go camping. Whenever I bring home a new baby, I camp in the living room for a week. There are more things I need on the main floor than the third floor, and I don’t want my husband bumping my incision in the middle of the night. It’s also usually the first chance for baby and me to get some rest. The frequent checkups in the hospital, combined with the typical hospital atmosphere, usually make it pretty tough for me to get any sleep.

10. Be thankful. You’re home. You have a beautiful baby. You have a wonderful family and group of friends who can’t wait to meet and love your little guy or girl. You’re completely exhausted, but you’re feeling a little better every day. And you’re someone’s mom. That’s pretty awesome.

Candy Woodall is an editorial researcher in Washington, D.C., who enjoys family adventures with her husband and four children in her spare time. Those adventures sometimes include actual travel.  She and her family live in the Dallastown Area School District. 

As a mother of four children, I’m well aware how challenging parenting can be.

It was challenging when I had one child.

Parenting is always challenging, but the good has always outweighed the bad. If I didn’t feel that way, I wouldn’t have done it so many times.

Truth is, it’s hard for me to even say there are bad times. I feel like there are challenging moments, but I never think they’re bad moments or my kids are bad or my life is bad.

That’s why it’s so hard for me to relate to the numerous blogs and rants out there dedicated to show what motherhood is “really like.” The posts all have miserable titles like, “10 reasons why I hate the toddler years” or “5 things that suck about being a new mom.”

If you’re a woman in her reproductive years, you’ve probably noticed a website post like that in your Facebook feed. They typically are missives from women who are venting, not moms looking for advice. (There’s nothing a Miserable Mom hates more than advice. How dare you try to solve a problem I’m complaining about!)

Most often they are written by moms who have more than one child, so they can’t claim they didn’t know what they were getting into. But I do feel a little sad for first-time moms who didn’t realize how challenging it could be, who really thought their lives would look like the ads with beautiful women carrying smiling babies and a lovely designer handbag.

Mothering isn’t the best life space to get into if you just want someone to name, if you want an excuse to create another registry, if you’re feeling bored in your life, if you’re looking for an accessory to make your world exciting again, if you’re just trying to fulfill a goal of looking and being like the perfect mom.

If you go into parenting for any of those reasons — especially the latter — trust me, you’re chasing dragons.

You shouldn’t say yes to being a mother until you’re ready, really ready, to love a person more than yourself, to put their needs and wants before your own.

Does that mean every mom who complains about parenting doesn’t love her child? No. Not at all.

But if they’re complaining on a daily basis, I do think it means they’ve forgotten how fortunate they are.

When I was pregnant with Cienna, my oldest child, I met a woman I’ll never forget. We visited the same women’s hospital in Pittsburgh, but for different reasons. I was going for prenatal care, and she was going for fertility treatments. I was scared and in my early twenties. She had her life together and was in her mid thirties. I saw the pain that came with her failed attempts to have a baby. I was in the hospital the day she learned one of her treatments had failed. I hugged her. I told her to let me know if there was anything I could do for her. She broke our embrace and said, “The only thing you can ever do for me is be happy for what you have. So many of us would trade anything to be in your place.”

That stayed with me.

With that on my heart, I became the other kind of annoying mom — the one who talks about how great parenting is. But know this: I don’t do it to pretend I have a perfect life. I don’t do it because I think everything is easy and I’ve never had a sleepless night.

I do it because I believe we should share joy more than misery. I do it because I’m an optimist. I do it because I always make a conscious choice to focus on the good things. I do it because I love being a mom, and I somehow love it more each day.

Does that mean I’m not telling you what motherhood is “really like”? No.

I feel like I am telling you what’s it’s really like, at least for me.

I’m not fake. I’m happy.

Candy Woodall is an editorial researcher in Washington, D.C., who enjoys family adventures with her husband and four children in her spare time. Those adventures sometimes include actual travel.  She and her family live in the Dallastown Area School District. 

Trick-or-treating on Halloween is usually fun for everyone.  

But for families with food allergies it can be a real headache. Children who are allergic to peanuts, wheat, dairy and more usually walk away from homes with a bounty of candy they can’t enjoy, and parents are left to sift through “treats” that could send their kids to the hospital.

To make the holiday a little safer and more fun for all trick-or-treaters, the Food Allergy Community of East Tennessee started the Teal Pumpkin Project. It has since been adopted by Food Allergy Research & Education, a leading nonprofit organization that represents more than 15 million Americans with food allergies.

The Teal Pumpkin Project is designed to raise awareness about food allergies and invites households across the country to participate in the effort.

Those giving out treats are asked to also have non-food treats for children with allergies, including glow sticks, crayons pencils, bubbles, holiday erasers, bouncy balls, spider rings, bookmarks, stickers and more. Most of those items can be purchased at a local dollar store. 

If you participate and have non-food treats available, you’re asked to paint a plastic or real pumpkin teal — the color of food allergy awareness — and place it in front of your home. You can also print one of the Teal Pumpkin Project images from this blog and tape it to your door or post it in a window.

For more information, visit www.foodallergy.org or go here.

Candy Woodall is an editorial researcher in Washington, D.C., wife to the funniest man alive and mother of four joyful children who unfortunately act just like their parents. She and her large, loving family live in the Dallastown Area School District. 

We fall for it every time.

Like eager first-time parents, we jump a the chance to have our vanity ultrasound when I’m about 26 to 28 weeks pregnant.

I call it the vanity ultrasound because it’s the one not medically necessary, not covered by insurance and exists only to offer parents a chance to see their unborn baby. These scheduled office visits usually cost about $100, and parents leave the office with several black-and-white photos and a DVD.

We can’t resist an opportunity to see our baby in utero. We can’t resist the 3D image that makes our children look like James Cameron’s next avatar. We can’t resist the anxiety that comes with such  an appointment. Will our child be in the right position? Will he or she move? Will he or she wave and do something cute so we have more than 12 minutes of a black-and-white heartbeat to show the grandparents? We can’t resist the opportunity for analysis that won’t matter the minute our child is born.

We’ll walk out of the ultrasound, staring at our film strip of photos. Look, the baby is definitely high-fiving there. Sure, all of our newborns pretty much just eat and sleep once they enter the world, but in utero they are high-fiving champions. That one right there is when the baby blinked at us. Of course our baby knew we were there and watching and waiting for adorable gestures.

Then we will call the grandparents and tell them, very dramatically, we have secured the DVD. THE DVD. Also, the eagle has landed. A time will be arranged to watch the DVD together, and there will be a highly-scientific discussion about who is making various appetizers. The right menu is crucial. You wouldn’t serve peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at an Oscar party. This is the DVD we’re talking about. THE DVD.

When the viewing day arrives, the grandparents point out all the things we missed. My family says the baby looks just like me. My husband’s family says the baby looks just like him. But with great-grandma Jane’s nose and great-grandpa John’s chin, of course.

Somehow my husband and I turn into terrible narrators during this viewing. Oh, this shaking is because the ultrasound tech was trying to get the baby to move because we’ve been staring at the back of the head the whole time. Oh, wait, wait, here’s the good part. Did you see it? The baby’s leg moved.

By the end of the video, everyone is sure of two things: this baby is the most amazing baby in the history of babies and he or she looks exactly like everyone on every branch of the family tree.

The video gets watched a couple more times. The pictures get looked at a lot more often.

Once the baby arrives, the pictures might get a glance if they are in a scrapbook or some then-and-now frame.

There’s just never a good opportunity to say, “Hey, kid. Wanna see what you looked like while you were growing in your mom’s belly? There’s this video of a skeletal outline we used to watch for a good time.”

Paying $100 to see a 12-minute video three times is perfectly normal. But watching it after the baby is born? Come on. That’s obviously for weirdos.

Candy Woodall is an editorial researcher in Washington, D.C., wife to the funniest man alive and mother of four joyful children who unfortunately act just like their parents. She and her large, loving family live in the Dallastown Area School District. 

I should’ve used the board game.

I had this idea to announce my fifth pregnancy by taking a picture of two Life cars with seven blue and pink pegs inside.

The message would’ve expressed my sense of humor and secured my membership to crazytown.

And let’s be clear, four kids was “a lot,” “a big family,” “you have your hands full.”

Five kids is crazytown.

I’d love to tell you I went into this with my head held high, full of confidence.

But for the first six weeks, full of raging pregnancy hormones, I cried in my car on my lunch break to my best friends and various relatives.

I wasn’t afraid of not being able to love or care for another child. I was afraid of rudeness, hate and a lack of humanity I might be shown as someone who chose to make an unconventional choice.

It was a fear I developed based on the experience of announcing a fourth pregnancy.

The loving people in my life all convinced me of a singular truth: I made a baby, not a mistake.

I’ve always been blessed to have amazing friends and family. They’ve never smiled to my face and then whispered, “What is she thinking?!” Instead, they’ve offered to help or were waiting in the lobby when I walked out of a medical appointment — just to give me a hug, just to let me know I had their love and support.

As I hit the 12-week mark of my pregnancy, I was emboldened. I was so full of joy about having another baby that I really didn’t care about the negative reactions I might have to deal with. I started sharing the news with close friends and family, and my heart was warmed by their genuine excitement and words of love.

Then I told my former co-workers.

And then I shared the news on Facebook.

The Facebook comments were plenty and positive, and I’ve since received many private messages of support.

But every now and then I hear something classless from someone who doesn’t really know me and doesn’t have any kids of their own.

I’ve been asked, “Why on earth would you have five kids?”

“Just keeping the carbon footprint low,” is my usual response.

They never ask in a truly curious or caring way. It’s just the passive-aggressive manner in which they choose to show disapproval.

Or they say, “That’s a lot of mouths to feed.”

“Oh yeah? Hadn’t noticed,” is my usual response to that one.

One of the house favorites is when someone told my mom, “Hey, that’s just how the Catholics like to do it. They don’t believe in birth control.”

We’re not Catholic.

We believe in birth control.

There’s about a five-year age difference between Dimitri and Zoe. I’m as fertile as the Napa Valley, but we know how not to get pregnant.

Sharing the news has been an interesting social experiment in how people form opinions. The harshest judgment has come from people who know me the least.

(Actually, the movie and book “Gone Girl,” also depicts how misguided public opinion can be. Also, never trust a journalist or cop who believes the first story they hear.)

Those closest to me see what my life is like. They know my family. They know my children. They know what kind of woman, wife and mother I am.

They have never suggested there’s a magic number for the number of children I should have.

Every family is different. I have friends who only want one child. Several of my friends have two children. Most have three. Some have four. And two of my friends have five children.

The latter have college educations, good jobs, happy and healthy children, and they are doing well. And the same is true for my family.

But I know five kids isn’t for everyone. It’s hard work. Your top priority has to be your children.

Our family life is changing with this baby. My husband and I both accepted higher-paying jobs, bedrooms have been switched, and we’re investing in another minivan.

But our lives have changed with all of them, especially the first one. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in 11 years. Why start now.

My children are my life. This life works for me. I’m OK being the minivan mom, stealing Pinterest ideas for sleepover snacks and crafts, having every morning before school being like this scene in “Home Alone,” being pregnant and breastfeeding for five of the last 10 years, and living with the sounds and beautiful chaos of a house full of children.

To me, the worst noise in the world is a quiet house.

I’m having another baby because I want to.

I made a choice. I didn’t commit a crime.

Candy Woodall is an editorial researcher in Washington, D.C., wife to the funniest man alive and mother of four joyful children who unfortunately act just like their parents. She and her large, loving family live in the Dallastown Area School District. 

I had the perfect birth plan.

I wouldn’t need an epidural because I practiced prenatal yoga, breathing and relaxation techniques were on my side, and of course I would have a non-invasive water birth in the Womancare Birth Center at Magee-Womens Hospital of UPMC — a world-class hospital in Pittsburgh.

The midwives, obstetricians and nurses were very respectful of my wishes for a happy, healthy, peaceful labor and delivery.

But it became very clear my daughter hadn’t read the plan. Now that I’ve known her for nearly 11 years, it makes total sense. She’s always had her own agenda.

Her due date passed and I faced some minor complications that made me a candidate for induction. There was no getting in the tub with the IV and continuous fetal monitoring. I sat on a yoga ball for about 10 minutes until a midwife broke my water to speed up my labor. Then the intensity of contractions had me enthusiastically requesting an epidural when I was about 7 centimeters dilated. I was definitely breathing easily and feeling relaxed after a kind anesthesiologist put some magic medicine into my back.

In fact, I became so relaxed that labor progressed quickly and Cienna was born about 45 minutes later. It was a successful delivery, and she was a healthy 6 lb baby.

When I was pregnant with her younger brother, Ty, I crafted a birth plan that included an epidural and requested as much mobility as possible. Another part of my plan said a C-section should be “the last resort.”

But my labor stopped progressing. Ty, who was my largest newborn at 8 lbs 11 oz, got himself into an unfavorable position for a vaginal delivery. His heart rate dropped, and I was rushed into an emergency C-section. I was scared to death and confronting one of my worst fears. But the surgery was quick and successful, and Ty was healthy and in my arms.

By the time I was pregnant with Dimitri, I didn’t bother with a plan. I decided whatever happened was meant to be and no agenda on paper could possibly dictate how a labor would progress. As it turned out, my labor with Dimitri progressed so quickly we barely made it to the hospital in time. When we got there, I was fully dilated and effaced, and it was time to push. It was a quick, natural labor and delivery.

I had a scheduled C-section with his sister, Zoe, and I’m having another scheduled C-section this winter.

After experiencing labor and delivery multiple times, I can honestly say my only plan is to come out of the hospital as a healthy mom with a healthy baby.

I’m not saying birth plans are bad and you shouldn’t have one. I have friends whose labor and delivery experience went mostly according to plan, but I know many more women who faced a lot of surprises before and after delivery.

If having a plan makes you feel more secure, peaceful and in control of your body, then create one.

But be open to the fact things may not occur in the order or manner you expected. And that’s OK. You’ll get through it. You’ll adjust.

Don’t worry if your baby wasn’t born in the glow of lavender-scented candles.

The best birth plan is the one that ends with a healthy baby in your arms.

Andrew Shaw is a college web director, comedian and father based in Conewago Township, which has a Rutters & a Wendy’s, so, not too shabby. He can be found on Twitter & Instagram @andyshawcomedy.

There is absolutely nothing funny about a three-year-old getting leukemia.