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So when I became pregnant with my daughter Annie 5 years ago, friends and family members looked on with envy. "Oh, you're a teacher, a Ph.D in Education. Parenthood will be a breeze. You'll have ALL the answers."

Were they kidding?

My grad classes at UCLA dealt with Sociology of Education, Critical Race Theory and Critical Media Literacy. Not infant and early childhood development. Not what to do when my kid ran a fever of 105, or was barfing across the room at 3 a.m. Or crying incessantly. For NO discernable reason.

In retrospect, why didn't I take that course offered in the Ed Psych division? Oh, no, I was interested in POLICY, the sociological aspects of education, REFORM! Big important things. Not babies.

What a fool I was.

So, the whole 9 months, I read everything I could get my hands on. From the noxiously peppy books that described labor as "mild discomfort" to the big picture book with hairy-legged hippies giving birth au naturale. You know the one I'm talking about.

My hubby and I took the requisite natural child birth class. Biiiiig help after 20 hours plus of excruciating pain. "Just breathe through it." Yeah, right.

And then the cold, dark panic of driving - very slowly - home from the hospital with this live, little human that WE KNEW NOTHING ABOUT. No manual.

I'm sorry, but NOTHING can prepare you for that.

But you knew that, didn't you?