Then, in the final moments of my nearly 24-hour labor, I ended up having a thing I didn’t even remember reading about: chorioamnionitis, or “chorio” (like Oreo with a hard C sound at the beginning), for short.

It wasn’t as bad as many of the other “worsts” I’d prepared myself for, but it got us stuck in the hospital for an extra week, which obviously wasn’t ideal. So I figured I’d share my tale so that any expecting moms reading it are aware of one more potential scenario.

I'm smiling because I have no idea what's about to happen to me.

My labor started out pretty typically. I was 40 weeks and six days pregnant, and woke up at 4 on a Tuesday morning with contractions. I labored at home for a bit; then, my husband, Matt, drove me to the hospital around 9. I wasn’t dilating very quickly, so at 1 p.m., a doctor came in and broke my water.

Dozens more contractions, several different positions and one epidural later, it was after midnight and finally time to start the actual delivery. I felt weak, exhausted and kind of strange, but I figured, “Well, this is childbirth.” The prospect of holding my baby girl soon got me pushing. Unfortunately, she hadn’t moved much after a half hour, so we took a break.

When we resumed, my attending nurse felt my head and exclaimed, “Oh, Mama, you’re hot!” It turned out I had a fever of 101; plus, my heart rate and the baby’s were both high. That’s when I heard her say the word to one of the other nurses.

“Chorio.”

“What’s that?” I demanded.

“It’s an infection,” she explained. “The more time that goes by after they break your water, the more likely it is that your amniotic sac will get infected. You’ve gone more than 12 hours.”

Suddenly, there were a lot more people in our room, and it was clear to me that it was Go Time. I pushed with every morsel of energy I could muster — so hard, in fact, that I threw up.

Julie’s head was stuck under my pubic bone, so my OB/GYN had to use a vacuum (which seemed more like a glorified suction cup on a string to me) to pull her out as I continued to push. I suffered a third-degree tear, and Julie was covered in meconium (her first bowel movement) when she finally emerged at 2:51 a.m.

Good thing I tried not to have any expectations, right?

Matt and I got to hold Julie briefly, but then she was whisked away to receive antibiotics because she, too, had the infection. I would only need antibiotics for 48 hours; she would need them for an entire week.

Fortunately, our hospital lets moms and dads of newborns who need prolonged care stay in their rooms as long as they’re not needed by other patients. So although I was “discharged” from the hospital on Friday morning, Matt and I both stayed put until the following Wednesday.

We sure missed our queen-size pillowtop at home, but at least we had our girl.

Julie got her vitals checked every 24 hours from her birth (every night at 2:51 a.m.), received her IV medication every 12 hours from her first dose (at 5 p.m. and 5 a.m. daily), and the pediatrician checked on her every morning at 7 a.m. Needless to say, we didn’t sleep much.

It certainly wasn’t the most ideal way to spend the first week of our daughter’s life, but we tried to focus on the positive things: all of the doctors, nurses and hospital staff members were amazing; we had lots of sweet visitors once we convinced them the infection wasn’t contagious; I got to spend extra time with the hospital’s lactation consultant, and breastfeeding went extremely well; we ordered some delicious food from nearby restaurants; we got fresh air in the courtyard, where the azaleas were in bloom; and we used a ton of free diapers.

When it was finally time to go home Wednesday morning, I’d been up walking around the hospital for days, but the volunteers insisted on wheeling me out with Julie in my arms like all the other mamas. I’ll never forget all the smiles we got as we creaked down the halls and out the sliding doors into the sunshine.

The day my daughter was born was not the happiest day of my life. The day we busted out of that hospital was.

We're smiling because we get to go use our own bathroom.

Mollee and her husband, Matt, live in Midlothian, Virginia, with their daughter, Julie, and their two Chihuahuas. Formerly a graphic designer, Mollee now stays at home with Julie, but she still enjoys making things with her hands and blogging about them. Find her recipes, paintings and crafts at molleemade.com.

A big part of that thankfulness was caused by a scare shortly before we were even married. I remember Ashley’s phone call after a doctor’s appointment. I could tell she was already in tears, and could barely get out the words “You don’t have to marry me… I may not be able to have kids.” After assuring her that fertility would have zero effect on our plans, she went on to tell me that her doctor thought that she had mild to serious Endometriosis, and the doctor recommended that if she wanted to have kids she should start working on that sooner rather than later. Long story short, Ashley ended up having very mild endometriosis and today we have two healthy children.

But while we were building WhatsInMyBelly and waiting on Baby #2, I couldn’t help but shake some negative thoughts in the back of my mind. “What if something happens?” … “What if my child is born with some disease?” … “What if my wife has a miscarriage?”

I wouldn’t say I was obsessed, and I never even mentioned any of these thoughts to my wife or anyone else. But, I think these are thoughts that pass through everyone’s mind when they’re expecting. I tend to be a very positive person, but the sad fact is, my worries were not unjustified. In fact, The National Center for Health Statistic’s (NCHS) National Survey of Family Growth estimates that there are more than 1 million fetal losses per year in the United States, with the majority of those occurring during the first 20 weeks of pregnancy (source documents here). That’s basically the long way of saying what we all know: complications and infant loss of various kinds during pregnancy is relatively common. If you want to know more facts, check out American Pregnancy Association’s Statistics page.

I know. This isn’t a fun topic to post on a blog for a pregnancy game. But, I personally feel like everyone is way too “hush-hush” about this topic. I’m not sure why this is. Maybe it’s because some people debate the level of tragedy. Some people experience a loss early on in pregnancy and don’t think much about it. Some are traumatized for life. Regardless of our emotional reaction, I doubt anyone ever forgets the experience.

For this reason, Daniel and I thought it would only be appropriate to use the tiny spotlight of this blog to acknowledge Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance Day – October 15. Ok, I know what you’re thinking. I’d never even heard of this day until just a week ago myself. But, on October 25, 1988, President Ronald Reagan designated the month of October 1988 as Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month.

14 years later in 2002, The October 15th Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day (PAILRD) Campaign began as a movement started by Robyn Bear, Lisa Brown, and Tammy Novak. Together, they petitioned the federal government, as well as the governors of each of the 50 states, and by October 15, 2002, 20 states had signed proclamations recognizing the date as such. Today, all 50 American states have yearly proclamations. Check out October15th.com for the Official website recognizing this Day.

On October 15, Robyn Bear, and the ladies behind Infant Loss Remembrance Day, invite the world to light a candle at 7PM in all time zones. Keep it burning for 1 hour and together there will be a continuous wave of light over the entire world.

We also ask that you post this to your social network on October 15:

“Today is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day. Let’s take some time to remember the babies who were born asleep, or whom we carried but never met, or those we have held but could not take home, or who made it home but didn’t stay. Make this your status if you or someone you know has suffered the loss of a baby. Break the silence. In memory of all lost angels ❤”

Even if you don’t light a candle, or update your status, I hope this day starts to open up the conversation about how common infant loss is, and hopefully these conversations can make those who experience it feel a little less alone.

I invite anyone who wants to share their story to leave it in the comments below.