My body is broken. My baby is adorable. My nipples are filing a restraining order.
Day Two hits differently. On Day One, you’re floating on adrenaline, hospital jello, and the joy of finally not being pregnant. But Day Two? Oh, sweet reader. That’s when the milk comes in, the tears come out, and your baby decides that sleep is for the weak.
I had this wild idea that things would get easier each day. Instead, Day Two arrived like a raccoon in my kitchen — chaotic, unsettling, and slightly damp.
1. The Boobs. Oh God, the Boobs.
Remember when I prayed for my milk to come in? Yeah. Well. Be careful what you wish for.
My breasts are now enormous, rock-hard, and have taken on personalities of their own. I named them: Mount Lactation and Lake Leaky. They’re angry. They’re full. And they leak at will — when the baby cries, when I sneeze, and once, I swear, when someone said the word “baby” on a commercial.
I tried to pump but somehow managed to spray milk across the room like an unhinged dairy sprinkler. The baby stared at me like he regretted choosing me as his mom. Same, buddy. Same.
2. Baby Blues: A Pop-Up Sadness Event
At one point, I sat on the couch, stared into space, and sobbed uncontrollably. Was I sad? Not exactly. Was I happy? Also no. Was I overwhelmed, exhausted, leaking from all holes, and eating saltines for dinner while holding a screaming bundle of need?
Yes. Deeply, yes.
The baby blues are real. They sneak in like a sad violin background track in a romantic drama, except instead of kissing in the rain, you’re crying because you saw a tiny sock and remembered how fleeting life is.
3. Visitors: Yes I Love You, Now Please Leave
A relative stopped by to “help.” She brought a onesie (cute), took 97 flash photos (why?), and offered this gem: “Sleep when the baby sleeps!” I nearly threw a burp cloth at her.
If you are not bringing food, a professional massage, or the ability to lactate — please FaceTime me instead.
4. The Smells
Everything smells. My house smells like milk, lanolin cream, and fear. I haven’t showered since labor. My armpits smell like regret. The baby’s head, however, smells like heaven with a hint of vanilla croissant. I would bottle it if I could.
I stood in the bathroom with a peri bottle and stared at my own reflection like a villain in a horror movie who just realized they’ve become the monster.
5. Sleeping Beauty (Just Kidding, She’s Wide Awake)
My newborn has decided that nighttime is the perfect time to scream like she’s been wronged by the entire universe. I tried all the tricks: swaddle, pacifier, white noise, interpretive dance. Nothing worked.
Eventually, we both gave up and just cried together while watching reruns of Friends. She prefers Chandler. I prefer silence.
Final Thoughts
Day Two postpartum is like boot camp for your soul. It’s beautiful and brutal. You cry because the baby is cute. You cry because your body hurts. You cry because you’re crying and don’t know why you’re crying.
But somehow, you survive. You feed the baby. You change the baby. You google “how long can a human survive on zero sleep.” And then you kiss that tiny, milk-drunk face and realize: you’d do it all again tomorrow.
Just maybe after a nap. Or a full-body massage. Or a new pair of nipples.
To the moms in the trenches on Day Two: You are a warrior. A sweaty, swollen, slightly unhinged warrior. Keep going. And don’t forget to eat something that isn’t toast crust. 🍼💪😅😭
The Postpartum Diaries: Real, Raw & Ridiculously Relatable 