Author: Miriam

Remote Worker Tax Tips: Maximize Your Deductions & Keep More Money

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Remote Worker Tax Tips: Maximize Your Deductions & Keep More Money

If you’re freelancing or working remotely, taxes can feel like a puzzle—but the right strategy saves you thousands.

1. Deduct Your Workspace

Whether it’s a home office or a co-working space, keep receipts and document your setup.

2. Track Travel Expenses

If you move for work, many of your flights, accommodations, and meals may qualify as write-offs.

3. Pay Quarterly Taxes

Avoid big end-of-year bills by setting aside 25–30% of your income and paying quarterly estimates.

Pro Tip: Consider working with a CPA familiar with digital nomads—they’ll catch deductions you might miss.

Budgeting for Remote Workers: How to Save More While Working Anywhere

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Budgeting for Remote Workers: How to Save More While Working Anywhere

Remote work gives you freedom—but without a steady office routine, it’s easy to overspend on coffee shops, travel, and impulse buys. Here’s how to take control of your money while enjoying the perks of remote life.

1. Track Every Expense

Use free apps like Mint or You Need a Budget to keep tabs on daily spending. Seeing where your money goes is half the battle.

2. Set a “Work From Anywhere” Budget

Create categories for Wi-Fi, co-working passes, and travel so you don’t accidentally eat into rent or savings.

3. Automate Savings

Schedule automatic transfers to a high-yield savings account so you build wealth without thinking about it.

Pro Tip: Think of budgeting as buying yourself more freedom, not cutting back.

Week Nine: I Think I Showered This Week (But I Can’t Be Sure)

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Week nine. We are officially deep into the fourth trimester—still bleeding (emotionally), still bonding (with caffeine), and still baffled by how many hours a baby can scream without taking a breath.

I think I might be getting better at this. Either that, or I’m losing my mind so completely that it feels like confidence. Either way, I’m brushing my teeth most days now, and that feels like a personal renaissance.

Baby is Thriving. I Am…Also Here.

The baby is now making eye contact, cooing, and recognizing my face. Which is adorable, but also means I can no longer sneak past them like a ninja and pretend I don’t exist when they cry. They know me. I’m their person. There is no escape.

Meanwhile, I looked in the mirror this week and said, “Who is she?” Not in a cute way. In a “I have bags under my eyes that have their own luggage tags” kind of way. But I also didn’t cry about it. That’s growth, right?

Adventures in Leaving the House (Again)

We attempted another public outing this week, which can only be described as a militarized operation with breast pads. Between diaper blowouts, unpredictable naps, and me forgetting half the diaper bag, it felt like a live-action simulation of a mom-themed survival show.

But we made it. We went outside. I wore pants that buttoned. I didn’t cry in the parking lot. Success all around.

My New Life Coach is a Sound Machine

I’ve become so reliant on the white noise machine that I now crave it even when the baby’s not sleeping. It soothes me. It’s my therapist. It’s the only one in the house who doesn’t have an opinion, a rash, or a weird relationship with pacifiers.

If someone unplugged it, I would probably dissolve into a fine maternal dust.

Am I Okay? A Flow Chart:

  • Did I eat? No → Not okay.
  • Did the baby nap? No → Definitely not okay.
  • Did I pee in peace? Yes → Actually, doing better than usual.
  • Did someone say “you’re doing great” today? No → I’ll be crying shortly.

So… mixed results. But I’m learning that “okay” is fluid. Some days it means I brushed my hair. Other days it means I just survived. And both count.

If You’re in Week Nine, Too

This week might feel long. Like long-long. Like “how are there still 3 hours until bedtime and we’ve been up since 4 a.m.” kind of long. But in the middle of that, there are tiny wins worth noticing:

  • You know your baby better than anyone else in the world now.
  • You’ve probably mastered at least one weird, unnecessary baby skill (like bouncing while squatting).
  • You’re still here. Still loving. Still trying. That’s no small thing.

So cheers to week nine. We may not have it all together, but we’ve stopped Googling “is this normal” every six minutes. Only every nine now. Progress.

With love, leftovers, and lukewarm coffee, Miriam

Week Eight: Two Months In and I’m Still Googling “Is This Normal?”

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We made it to two months. Eight weeks. Fifty-six days. Approximately 4,872 diapers. I’ve now lived an entire season of life in nursing bras and perpetual low-grade panic. And while there’s still a mountain of laundry trying to emotionally manipulate me, something has shifted. The fog hasn’t fully lifted, but now there are moments where I can see through it—and sometimes, I even laugh in it.

Welcome to the “Wait, I Think I’ve Done This Before” Phase

Things are starting to repeat. Feedings feel familiar. I can now swaddle without watching a YouTube tutorial every time. I’ve developed an internal clock that wakes me up 30 seconds before the baby does, which is either superhuman or deeply tragic. It’s hard to say.

I now know which cry means “feed me,” which cry means “change me,” and which cry means “I’m just doing this for sport.” Progress.

I Cried Because a Sock Was Missing

Hormones still rule the kingdom. This week I cried—sobbed—because I couldn’t find the matching sock to a tiny, unnecessary pair of baby booties. Then I cried harder because I realized how little it mattered. Then I laughed because… it’s socks. For feet that don’t walk. What are we doing?

And yet, that sock felt symbolic. Like if I could just find the match, maybe I could match myself back together too. (I didn’t. It’s gone. Probably in the same place as my short-term memory and pelvic floor.)

Baby Smiles Are a Cult and I’ve Been Indoctrinated

This week, the baby smiled at me. Really smiled. Not the gassy smirk or the “I’m about to poop” squint—but a genuine, gummy, delighted grin. And I lost my mind. I would burn down a small village for that smile now. It’s like crack, but legal and wholesome.

I spent an hour making ridiculous faces and sounds just to get another one. I sang a song that rhymed “pajamas” with “llamas” and didn’t even hate myself for it. That’s the magic of week eight—you’re still exhausted, still confused, but those tiny moments of joy start shining brighter than the chaos.

My Brain: Still Offline

I put my phone in the fridge this week. That’s it. That’s the story.

Also, I referred to my own name in the third person, forgot my password to life, and wrote a grocery list that only said “milk.” (Not even specifying whose milk. Cow? Oat? Me?)

Mental clarity is… not back yet. But at least I now know it left.

What I’m Still Avoiding

  • Emails.
  • Returning that text from my aunt who just wants “another photo.”
  • Looking at my belly in the mirror for longer than two seconds.
  • Putting away the maternity clothes. I’m still wearing them, thank you very much.

Every time I see a pair of jeans with a zipper, my soul winces. Why are we pretending zippers are okay? This is a sweatpants household now.

If You’re Somewhere Between Tired and Triumphant

Week eight feels like standing in the middle of a room that’s still a mess but at least you know where the door is. You’re not thriving, exactly—but you’re not drowning either. You’re floating. Bobbing. Sometimes clinging to a pacifier as a flotation device.

And you know what? That’s enough.

If you’re in this week with me—tired, tearful, giggling over baby hiccups and crying over baby socks—I’m proud of you. You’re doing something impossibly hard, and somehow still managing to love through it.

Here’s to us. The barely-showered, deeply-feeling, emotionally-unhinged-but-still-showing-up moms.

With love, snacks, and unmatched socks, Miriam

Week Seven: The Fog is Lifting… But I’m Still Wearing the Same Sweatpants

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7 weeks postpartum and deep in the trenches of new mom life — sleep struggles, emotional rollercoasters, and the raw reality of motherhood with a newborn.”

Seven weeks. That’s how long it’s been since a tiny human emerged from my body and flipped my entire universe upside down like a badly stacked Jenga tower. And while there are still crusty burp cloths on every surface and I haven’t seen the bottom of the laundry basket since birth, something feels… different this week. Slightly clearer. Slightly steadier. Like maybe I’m learning how to mother and human at the same time without completely combusting.

The New Routine (Kind Of)

We’re not on a schedule per se. It’s more like… a list of hopeful intentions. Baby naps when the moon is in Virgo, I eat when I remember I’m a living organism, and we bathe only when someone smells weird (usually me). But it’s *our* rhythm now. It’s messy and often derailed, but it’s starting to feel familiar, like a song I’m slowly learning the words to.

Also, I now know exactly how long I can go without washing my hair before it becomes a self-sustaining oil farm. The answer is six days. Seven if I wear a headband and avoid mirrors.

The Identity Crisis is Ongoing (But Softer Now)

Some days I still mourn the woman I used to be—the one who wore real bras and made plans on a whim. I miss her. She had time for hobbies and didn’t smell faintly of milk. But I’m also getting to know this new version of me. She’s exhausted and emotionally unstable but also kind of a badass. She can change a diaper with one hand and eat cold pizza with the other while whispering affirmations to herself like a sleep-deprived monk.

It’s weird to exist in this in-between: not who I was, not quite who I’m becoming. A human bridge, suspended between past and future, wearing maternity leggings and googling “why does my baby grunt like a goat.”

I Laughed Until I Cried. Then I Cried Until I Laughed.

This week, I laughed at a TikTok of a woman trying to pee while holding a baby and spilling coffee on her foot. It was eerily specific. Then I cried because I realized I *am* that woman. Then I laughed again because honestly, what else can you do?

Motherhood is weird like that. It makes your emotions feel like a clown car—one minute rage, the next minute bliss, the next minute crying because a onesie no longer fits and oh my god, they’re already growing up too fast.

Healing Is Not Linear (But It Is Real)

My body still aches in strange places. My core strength is… aspirational at best. But I walked up a hill this week without panting. I cooked something that didn’t involve a microwave. I even responded to a text on the same day I received it, which is practically Olympic-level performance at this point.

Mentally, I still wobble. I have moments where I think, “I can’t do this,” followed by moments of fierce pride where I think, “Holy crap, I am doing this.” Healing isn’t a straight line, but I can tell I’m further along than I was. And that’s enough.

If You’re Still in the Thick of It

If you’re reading this at 3 a.m., bouncing a baby who refuses to sleep unless they’re draped dramatically across your chest like a French scarf—hi. I see you. I am you. You’re doing better than you think.

This seventh week is still hard. Still full of question marks. But there’s also a flicker of light, a brief sense that maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to get the hang of this. Or at least you’re better at winging it.

We’re still in it, mama. But we’re further in. And that counts for something.

With love, snacks, and dry shampoo, Miriam

Week Six: Is This My Comeback or Just a Different Flavor of Chaos?

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This week marked the mystical milestone of six weeks postpartum—the point when, according to every cheerful pamphlet and well-meaning nurse, I was supposed to be “cleared” for normal life. I’m not sure what “normal” is anymore. I only know that my body and brain feel about as stable as a Jenga tower built by a caffeinated toddler.

At my six-week check-up, the doctor smiled and said, “Everything looks great!” while I tried to figure out if she was referring to my uterus or the fact that I was wearing clean leggings for once. She handed me a brochure about birth control options as though I hadn’t just emerged from a six-week boot camp of cracked nipples and existential dread. Birth control feels about as relevant to me as a vacation to Mars right now.

The (Alleged) Return to Normal Activities

This was the week I attempted to walk around the block with the baby in a carrier. I imagined it would look like one of those serene Instagram reels—peaceful mom, sleepy baby, golden hour lighting. In reality, I was sweating through my shirt within five minutes, my baby was screaming like a siren, and a neighbor I barely know shouted from her porch, “You look tired!” No shit, Debra. No shit.

Once I finally made it home, I realized I had a burp cloth draped over my shoulder like an accidental accessory. I sat on the couch, out of breath, trying to figure out when basic tasks became feats of strength and endurance. My body feels both foreign and familiar—like I’ve been gifted a rental vehicle I’m still learning to drive.

Intimacy (Spoiler: Not Happening)

The doctor also announced I was “cleared” for intimacy. I tried to imagine what that would even look like. My brain short-circuited. For the past six weeks, my body has been purely functional—a milk machine, a rocking chair, a source of comfort. The thought of anything remotely sensual just feels…unfathomable. I know someday it will feel natural again, but right now, it feels about as likely as winning the lottery while riding a unicycle.

Hormones Are Still Doing Their Thing

My hormones have not gotten the memo that it’s been six weeks. They are still throwing nightly raves. At 2 a.m., I find myself crying because I’m convinced I’m doing everything wrong. By 2:30 a.m., I’m crying because my baby’s face is so sweet it hurts my heart. Then by 3 a.m., I’m crying because I miss my old life, and then at 3:05 a.m., I feel guilty for missing it. It’s like being a guest in a haunted house of feelings—every door I open has another emotional jump scare.

Flashes of Something Like Myself

But in between the chaos, there are little moments—tiny glimpses—where I feel like a person again. I drank a hot cup of coffee this week, without reheating it three times. I showered and actually used conditioner. I laughed, a real belly laugh, over something stupid my partner said. These ordinary things feel like small miracles. They are proof that even though the fog hasn’t lifted, there are cracks where the light shines through.

I tried to fold the laundry, thinking it would make me feel accomplished. Instead, I ended up sitting in a pile of clothes, holding a pair of pre-pregnancy jeans that look like they belong to another woman. Nothing fits the same—physically or emotionally. My body is different. My mind is different. My marriage is different. Everything feels cracked open, raw, and unsteady.

The Myth of “Bouncing Back”

This week, I realized that “bouncing back” is a cruel myth. You don’t bounce. You don’t snap back. You crawl forward, sometimes in circles, sometimes with tears and a leaky boob. And if you’re lucky, you find a way to love this new version of yourself—not because she’s better or worse, but because she’s yours.

If you’re here, in week six, wondering why you don’t feel normal yet—please know you’re not behind. You’re not failing. You’re just healing, in your own time and your own way.

If You’re Here Too

If you’re reading this with a baby on your chest and crumbs in your hair, wondering if you’ll ever feel whole again—I see you. I am you. And though this week was exhausting and strange and overwhelming, it was also a week of tiny victories and stubborn hope.

Week six is messy. It’s disorienting. But it’s also proof you’ve survived six whole weeks of something no one can truly prepare you for. That’s not nothing. That’s everything.

With love and solidarity, Miriam

Week Five Postpartum: The Good, The Bad, and the Milk-Stained

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Still exhausted, still learning, and somehow still standing (barely).

Five weeks in, and let me tell you—it’s a wild ride. Some days feel like I’m winning at motherhood. Others, like I’m barely holding on by a thread of spit-up and pure willpower.

This week has been a rollercoaster of emotions, surprises, and discoveries about myself and this tiny human who rules my world with an iron grip and an even stronger cry.

1. The Baby Is Growing, and So Is My Patience (Mostly)

My little dictator is definitely growing. He’s a bit stronger, a bit louder, and now he has a few extra expressions that basically say, “Mom, what the heck?”

I’ve noticed he’s developing preferences: certain songs that soothe him, specific ways he likes to be held, and a borderline obsession with my right boob.

And yes, he’s still not a fan of sleep unless it’s on me, preferably with some dramatic sound effects happening nearby to keep things interesting.

2. My Body Is a Constant Surprise Party

Physically, I’m feeling stronger but also aware of all the new “souvenirs” motherhood has gifted me. Stretch marks, a belly that jiggles in mysterious ways, and boobs that could be mistaken for water balloons on a timer.

Some days, my body feels like it’s on my side. Other days, like an unreliable accomplice in the ongoing chaos.

But slowly, I’m learning to appreciate the power of this body — the way it created life and continues to nurture it. Even if it’s covered in milk stains and feels like it belongs to a different person.

3. The Emotional Landscape: More Valleys Than Peaks, But That’s Okay

This week, my emotions felt like a game of “Will She Cry or Laugh Next?” Spoiler: It’s often both within five minutes.

I’ve had moments of pure joy — watching my baby discover his hands, hearing his coos, feeling that tiny heartbeat against mine. And moments of crushing exhaustion and doubt — questioning if I’m doing enough or if I’m even capable.

The postpartum hormones are still raging, and grief for my old life occasionally crashes in. But amidst it all, there’s a growing confidence — a fierce love that outweighs the fear.

4. The Relationship Tango: Still Learning the Steps

My partner and I are figuring out this new dance. Communication has improved, and we’ve developed a kind of shorthand that mostly involves sleep-deprived grunts and hand gestures.

We still haven’t had a proper date night, but we’re finding small ways to connect — a shared cup of coffee, a quick laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, a silent exchange of “you got this” looks during the middle-of-the-night feeds.

It’s not perfect, but it’s real. And it’s ours.

5. Sleep: The Elusive Unicorn

Sleep is still a rare commodity. I’m learning to treasure those stolen 20-minute naps, the moments when the baby sleeps longer than an hour, and the few times I’ve managed to fall asleep while holding him.

There’s a kind of magical exhaustion that comes with motherhood — one that dulls the edges of fatigue just enough to keep you going. But man, I can’t wait for the day when sleep becomes a regular visitor again.

6. Finding Joy in the Tiny Moments

Between the chaos, there are still tiny moments of pure magic. A smile from my baby, a peaceful cuddle, the way he snuggles into my chest like I’m his safe place.

These moments remind me why I’m doing this — why the sleepless nights and emotional rollercoasters are worth it.

Final Thoughts: Week Five — Growing Stronger Every Day

Five weeks postpartum, and I’m still learning what it means to be a mom. There’s no handbook, no map, just a lot of trial, error, and love.

My body is healing, my heart is growing, and my patience is expanding (sometimes).

To all the mamas in Week Five: Keep going. You’re stronger than you think, more capable than you know, and loved more than you can imagine. And if you find yourself covered in milk stains and tears? Welcome to the club. 💪🍼❤️

Week Four Postpartum: Still Surviving, Slightly More Awake

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Sleep is still optional, but I’m learning to function on less caffeine (sort of).

Four weeks in, and if you asked me how I’m doing, I’d probably respond with a tired smile and a big ol’ shrug. This week has been a mix of small wins, surprise setbacks, and discovering that a spit-up stain can be a fashion statement.

The fog is a little lighter, the nights are a bit less brutal, and the bond with my tiny dictator? Stronger than ever — even if he still rules with a tiny, spit-up-soaked iron fist.

1. The Baby’s Schedule Is a Puzzle I’m Slowly Solving

He’s starting to have more predictable naps (hallelujah) and feedings that don’t always feel like a hostage negotiation. I’m learning the signs: the yawns, the little fists in the mouth, the dramatic sighs.

Sometimes I even get to shower without an audience. Sometimes.

2. My Body Is Still Doing Its Own Thing

The bleeding has slowed, but the aches and random pains are still here — like a souvenir from the birth marathon.

My boobs? They’re either full-on geysers or completely empty, with no warning in between. I’m keeping nursing pads in every room, just in case.

I’m still rocking the “mom bun” and have developed a complex relationship with dry shampoo. It’s my new best friend.

3. Emotional Waves: Less Tsunami, More Gentle Surf

The emotional roller coaster has slowed a bit, but I still have moments of unexpected tears — like when my baby finally sleeps for two hours straight, or when I watch a heartfelt commercial.

There’s also a lot of gratitude, a growing confidence, and the realization that I’m doing way better than I give myself credit for.

4. Partner Life: Learning to Co-Parent Like Pros (Sort Of)

My partner and I are figuring out this whole tag-team parenting thing. We still haven’t had a date night, but we laugh more, communicate better, and share baby duties like champions.

He still can’t fold tiny clothes properly, but that’s okay. We’re a team, and that’s what matters.

5. Finding Small Joys in the Chaos

This week, I’ve learned to celebrate the little things: a hot cup of coffee, a clean diaper, a sleepy cuddle. These tiny moments keep me going.

And yes, I still cry sometimes — but now I’m okay with it. Because this journey is messy, beautiful, exhausting, and full of love.

Final Thoughts: Week Four — Progress, Not Perfection

Four weeks postpartum and I’m still here. Still healing. Still loving. Still figuring it out one spit-up and sleepless night at a time.

To all the moms in Week Four: Keep going. You’re stronger than you think, and you’re doing an incredible job. Remember — progress, not perfection. 🌟🍼❤️

Week Three Postpartum: I’m Still Alive (Mostly) and Mostly Asleep

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Sleep is a myth, my house is a mess, and somehow, I love this tiny human anyway.

Welcome to Week Three — where the baby’s schedule is still unpredictable, but I’ve officially stopped checking the clock every five minutes. Mostly because I’m too tired to care.

If you asked me what the last three weeks have been like, I’d say: equal parts joy, exhaustion, and trying to figure out where all my clean underwear went.

Here’s the beautiful chaos of Week Three, in all its messy glory.

1. The Baby Is Practicing His Tiny Dictator Skills

He’s gotten good at staring me down like I’m supposed to read his mind. He has preferences now — mostly involving boob-on-demand and an aversion to any movement resembling putting him down.

He has also discovered his voice. The crying is getting louder, the grunts more dramatic, and the “I want out” wiggles more frantic.

But when he sleeps? It’s like the world pauses for a hot second, and I try not to panic that it’ll end.

2. My Body Is Still a Wonderland of Surprises

Week three means some healing, but also new aches. I’m learning what it feels like to have a uterus that occasionally decides it’s auditioning for a twerking competition.

My boobs have taken on a life of their own — sometimes painfully full, sometimes suspiciously empty — like a hormonal roller coaster without seat belts.

And I’ve accepted that sweatpants are my new formalwear, at least until further notice.

3. The Emotional Roller Coaster Has No Brakes

I laughed until I cried over a dog video. I sobbed because I miss pre-baby naps. I got mad at my partner for a whole five minutes because he didn’t replace the last roll of toilet paper.

Then I apologized, realizing I probably overreacted. It’s the hormones, the sleep deprivation, the overwhelming love and fear all rolled into one messy ball of feelings.

4. Finding Moments of Peace (When Possible)

Between diaper changes, feedings, and laundry, I’ve started to find tiny pockets of calm. Sometimes it’s a hot cup of tea. Sometimes it’s sitting quietly while the baby naps on my chest (even if it cramps my arm).

These moments feel like tiny victories — reminders that amidst the chaos, there is still softness and stillness.

5. Partner Life: Still Learning, Still Loving

My partner has become an expert diaper changer (almost). He’s learning the difference between sleepy fuss and actual distress. And even though romance is on hold, the teamwork is real.

We laugh at our mutual exhaustion and celebrate the small wins — like surviving the night without accidentally waking the baby.

Final Thoughts: Week Three — Still Surviving, Still Loving

Three weeks in, and I’m still figuring this out. Some days are beautiful, some are brutal, and most are somewhere in between.

But through it all, the love grows — messy, imperfect, but fierce.

To all the mamas in Week Three: You’re doing amazing. Even if you feel like a walking zombie, you’re a superhero. And yes, those sweatpants were made for you. 🦸‍♀️🍼💖

Week Two Postpartum: The Milk Has Settled, But I Have Not

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The bleeding continues. So do the tears. And the baby’s side-eye is getting stronger.

I’m officially two weeks postpartum. That’s 14 days of feeding a baby, bleeding profusely, questioning my life choices, and Googling things like “can a newborn smell fear?”

People say the second week is when you start finding your rhythm. And while I wouldn’t say I’ve found a rhythm, I have definitely found the ability to change a diaper with one hand and cry while doing it.

Let’s break down this beautifully messy week, shall we?

1. The Boobs Have Entered Their Diva Era

The milk supply has “regulated,” which I assume is code for: still leaking constantly, but now in a more emotionally manipulative way.

One breast always fills faster. The other is the lazy coworker doing the bare minimum. I’ve developed a personal vendetta against my own chest.

I still haven’t figured out how to nurse in public without exposing 90% of my torso and one stretch-marked side roll. So I mostly stay home. Shirtless. Weeping. Like a hormonal hermit crab.

2. Emotionally Speaking, I’m a Tornado in a Bathrobe

I cried this week because:

  • The baby smiled (gas? love? who knows?)
  • I dropped a cracker and was too tired to pick it up
  • I watched a TikTok where a cat hugged a baby
  • I missed my old self, then felt guilty for missing her

Some moments I feel like the strongest woman alive. Other moments I feel like a damp sock. Postpartum is truly just a game of emotional roulette, where every spin lands on “surprise crying.”

3. My Relationship Is Now 90% Logistics

My partner and I have exchanged 7,000 words this week. 6,942 of those words were “Did you grab the burp cloth?”

We high-five after good burps. We nod solemnly during poop blowouts. We haven’t made eye contact since the baby was born, but we pass each other snacks like loving coworkers in a very dysfunctional startup.

Intimacy? Not even on the horizon. But he did bring me water in the middle of a cluster feed, and honestly, that’s hotter than flowers right now.

4. My Baby Is a Tiny Dictator

This child now rules my household with an iron fist wrapped in a muslin swaddle.

He hates being put down. He demands 24/7 boob access. He naps only when the dishwasher is running, a siren is wailing, and I’m sitting perfectly still with no snacks within reach.

He also smells like heaven, clutches my finger like I’m his whole world, and once sneezed so dramatically I almost called 911. So… I forgive him.

5. What Even Is Time Anymore?

It’s either 3am or 3pm. I don’t know. The days are long and the nights are a Netflix mini-series of me Googling “is this normal?” while the baby breastfeeds for the 40th time.

Showers are scheduled like international travel. My phone is filled with blurry baby photos and half-written text replies that start with “sorry just seeing this!”

Some days I feel like I’m drowning. Other days, I float. Every day, I survive. And that counts.

Final Thoughts: Week Two in the Trenches

Week two postpartum is when the dust starts to settle — just enough for you to realize you’re still standing in the middle of a storm.

Your body is still healing. Your baby is still learning how to be alive. And you? You’re doing the impossible: showing up, every minute, every hour, with cracked nipples, swollen emotions, and a love so fierce it could knock you off your feet.

You’re not failing. You’re just becoming. Becoming a mother. Becoming yourself again, only different. Stronger. Wilder. Softer. More real than ever.

To all the mamas in Week Two: You’ve got this. You’re doing better than you think. And if no one’s told you today — your hair looks kind of amazing in that messy bun, and yes, that spit-up stain does make you look edgy.

See you next week. Probably in pajamas. Definitely holding coffee. ☕🍼💛