Tag: funny mom blog

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

MiriamLeave a comment

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

Day Six Postpartum: She Woke Up and Chose Snacks

MiriamLeave a comment

I’m still bleeding, still crying, still madly in love… but now I also have snacks in every room.

Welcome to Day Six. I’ve officially entered what I like to call the “semi-feral nesting” phase of postpartum. I no longer care what time it is, what I look like, or how many breast pads I’ve dropped under the couch — as long as the baby’s fed and I have one hand free for a granola bar, I’m thriving. Sort of.

I’m no longer surprised when I cry for no reason. Or when I cry for very good reasons. Or when I cry just because someone asked how I’m feeling. (Don’t. Just don’t.)

Let’s talk about Day Six — it’s a weird one. Not quite newborn-foggy, not yet functional. It’s like being halfway through a movie you didn’t choose but you’re deeply emotionally invested in.

1. I Made a Snack Nest

I’ve given up on traditional meals. I now eat like a raccoon trapped in a laundry room: cereal out of a coffee mug, cold toast, one lonely slice of cheese, a protein bar I found in my hospital bag, and some blueberries I dropped into my bra earlier that I’m now just calling garnish.

I have a full snack station on the nightstand, one on the bathroom sink, and one in the nursery glider. I might turn them into Yelp-verified food trucks if this whole “raising a human” thing doesn’t work out.

2. My Baby Is Smiling (Probably Gas, But Let Me Have This)

This morning, my baby made a face that looked like a smile. Sure, he was actively pooping, and yes, it could have been a digestive illusion — but it was beautiful. I sobbed like I’d just witnessed a double rainbow.

He’s also started making eye contact. Brief, wobbly eye contact like a tiny drunk uncle, but still. It feels like we’re starting to get to know each other.

I keep saying “hi” to him like we’re on our first awkward date. He blinks. I narrate everything I do in a high-pitched, sleep-deprived voice. We’re bonding. Or trauma-sharing. Either way, I’m obsessed.

3. The Tears Came in a New Flavor: Gratitude + Terror

I cried this morning because I’m so grateful. And so scared. And so tired. And so proud of myself.

I watched my baby sleep and thought: He’s mine. I made him. He’s here. And I’m doing it.

Then I thought: What if I mess it all up? What if I don’t do it right? What if he never sleeps without laying on top of me and I live like this forever and forget how to use both arms?

I went from angelic joy to existential dread in 0.3 seconds. A new record.

But I’m learning: it’s normal. It’s Day Six. Your brain is soup. Your hormones are renegade raccoons. Your love is deeper than ever, and your fear is just proof that you care.

4. My Body Is… Honestly, Kind of a Champion

I still have a belly, a line down the middle of it, and a belly button that looks slightly offended. I still move like a wounded sea lion when I get up too fast. But guess what? My body is feeding a human. My body made a heart. My body is holding the line. And I’m starting to love it for what it can do — not just what it looks like.

I even did a stretch today. One. It took everything in me. But I did it. Then I lay on the floor next to the baby and we just stared at each other like we were recovering from the same war. Because we were.

5. My Partner Is Learning the Sounds

We had a big moment today: my partner correctly identified the difference between the baby’s I’m Hungry cry and his My Sock Fell Off and I’m Betrayed cry. I have never loved him more.

He also folded laundry today, then stood in front of me and said, “I don’t know where any of these tiny clothes go.” Same, man. Nobody does. Just put them in a drawer and let the chaos win.

We’re learning together. We’re fumbling. But we’re in sync in a new, strange way. Less sexy, more survival-focused. Still beautiful.

6. I Smelled My Own Armpit and Wasn’t Horrified

Somewhere along the way, I stopped expecting freshness. I’ve lowered the bar and raised my self-respect. Showered? Amazing. Deodorant and a clean nursing bra? That’s the Met Gala. But even without all that, I’m showing up. Every moment. For every feed, every diaper, every cry, every cuddle.

And honestly, the baby doesn’t care if I smell like lavender or if I’ve been marinating in breast milk and Oreos. To him, I’m safety. I’m home.

Final Thoughts: Day Six Is Soft Power

I used to think power was loud. Fierce. Polished. Now I know it’s in the quiet things:

  • Feeding a baby at 3am when your eyes won’t stay open
  • Answering one more cry even when you just sat down
  • Choosing to love yourself in sweatpants with leaky boobs and stretch marks

Day Six isn’t glamorous. It’s crumb-filled and tear-streaked. But it’s full of courage. It’s full of heart. It’s where the softness becomes strength and the chaos becomes love.

To the Day Six mamas out there: you are doing the most important work. Even if no one sees it. Even if no one claps. Even if the only praise you get today is a silent moment when the baby finally falls asleep and sighs that little sigh of trust. That is everything. And so are you. 💗🍼🥨

Day Five Postpartum: I Brushed My Teeth, and Other Triumphs

MiriamLeave a comment

My standards are low. My love is high. My shirt is… questionable.

Day Five is a strange one. You’re starting to *almost* feel like a person again. You’ve learned how to hold a baby while peeing. You’ve accepted that your house will never be clean again. And you’ve developed the highly specific skill of sniffing your own armpits and deciding “eh, good enough.”

There’s something about Day Five that’s both grounding and completely surreal. I’m no longer surprised when I find poop on my arm. I’ve stopped crying over spilled milk (mostly because I’ve already cried all my body’s water supply out). And I’m starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, I’m getting the hang of this whole “keeping a human alive” thing.

1. I Brushed My Teeth Before Noon

I want to start with the highlight of my day: I brushed my teeth. Before noon. While holding the baby. I deserve a medal, a parade, or at the very least a warm croissant.

Did I also brush my hair? No. But I did attempt to fix the one piece sticking out sideways by wetting it with breastmilk. It’s a strategy I do *not* recommend, but it was there and it was warm.

2. My Wardrobe Is a Cry for Help

I’ve been wearing the same pair of maternity leggings for three days. They smell like lanolin and hope. I put on a shirt today that was technically clean but had a mysterious crusty spot I chose to ignore because, honestly, I’m out of energy and detergent.

I’ve now entered the postpartum style phase I call “tactical pajamas.” Everything must: be boob-accessible stretch in four directions not show milk stains (black is risky, gray is worse, tie-dye is ideal)

I used to care about clothes. Now I just care about whether this robe can double as a nursing cover, blanket, and tissue.

3. The Emotional Terrain: Still a Swamp

I’m emotionally unstable in the most impressive ways. This morning I cried because I found a sock small enough to fit my baby’s foot. Then I cried because the baby *kicked it off* and I couldn’t find it for three whole minutes.

I cried watching a TikTok of a dog greeting a toddler. I cried because my sandwich had pickles when I said no pickles. Then I cried because I actually like pickles now and don’t even know who I am anymore.

In conclusion: I am no longer in control of my own face. Tears just happen. My eyes are basically sprinkler systems now.

4. The Baby: My Whole World, My Tiny Dictator

He’s starting to recognize my voice. He quiets a little when I talk. He looks at me like I’m magic (probably because I am — I can make milk with my body, come on).

He still hates the bassinet. He’ll only sleep on me, which means I’m learning how to live horizontally while simultaneously sending emails with my pinky and Googling “how long can one person hold their pee.”

Every coo is a miracle. Every scream is… well, it’s a lot. But I’m adjusting to the rhythm: feed, burp, cry, poop, repeat. Like the world’s messiest looped song.

5. My Partner and I Made Eye Contact

Today, we looked at each other — really looked — and laughed. Not in the “haha life is funny” way but in the “we’re feral and exhausted and somehow still functioning” way.

We didn’t have a romantic moment. We didn’t sit down for a quiet dinner. But we handed the baby back and forth in silence like a little team of love-drunk zombies. And that’s something. Actually, that’s everything right now.

He also made me toast. I cried. (See section 3.)

6. My Body: A Work in Progress (With Leaks)

The bleeding is slowing. My boobs are still massive and randomly angry. But the afterpains are easing. I don’t wince every time I sit down anymore — just every other time.

I saw a stretch mark today and smiled. It looks like a little lightning bolt. Like my skin marked the moment I became something new — someone stronger, scarier, softer.

Still won’t be wearing jeans until 2026, though. Let’s be realistic.

Final Thoughts: Day Five Feels Like a Shaky Kind of Strength

Five days ago, I gave birth. I’m not sure how that’s even possible. Time moves differently now — some hours feel like years, some days disappear between feeding sessions and diaper explosions.

But this strange, sleepy, leaky life is starting to feel like mine. It’s not glamorous. It’s not easy. But it’s real. It’s powerful. It’s love at its messiest.

I’m doing it. Not perfectly. Not quietly. But wholeheartedly.

To the moms out there on Day Five: You’re not failing. You’re adapting. You’re learning your baby and yourself all at once. And that’s a freaking miracle. 💪🍼🥴

Day Four Postpartum: I’ve Become One with the Couch

MiriamLeave a comment

My baby’s asleep on my chest. I have to pee. Guess I live here now.

Day Four. We’re deep in it now.

By this point, I’ve forgotten what day of the week it is, what my feet look like, and when I last used a fork. Time is an illusion. My baby is my boss. I have 47 half-drunk cups of water around the house, and I now refer to my breast pump as “Linda.”

I’m somewhere between surviving and thriving — I call it surthriving — and today brought a delightful mix of tiny triumphs, weird body stuff, and the growing suspicion that I might never be alone again for the next 18 years.

1. The Baby Is Glued to Me

Today, my baby decided the only acceptable place to nap was directly on my chest, preferably with a fist full of my bra strap. I tried transferring him to his bassinet and he immediately screamed like I was handing him off to the devil.

So I just… sat there. For three hours. I had to pee. I was hungry. I could hear my phone buzzing with unread texts. Didn’t matter. The baby was asleep and I wasn’t about to ruin the one silent moment we’d had all morning.

I accepted my fate. I became one with the couch. I used a granola bar wrapper as a napkin. I stared into the middle distance and whispered, “This is my life now.”

2. Milk Brain Is Real

I opened the fridge looking for my phone. I found it an hour later in the diaper drawer.

I put nipple cream on my lips and lip balm on my nipples.

I forgot my own zip code when trying to place an online order for nursing pads.

My brain is a beautiful place. A foggy, hormonal, leaky swamp of a place, but beautiful nonetheless.

3. Crying? Still a Thing!

I cried today because I looked at a photo of myself pregnant and thought, “She had no idea.”

I cried because my baby made a weird little coo noise that sounded like he said “hi.”

I cried because my partner brought me a sandwich without asking, and I hadn’t even told him I was hungry. That sandwich meant more to me than our wedding vows.

I also cried because my baby pooped directly into my hand. But that was more of a laughing-while-crying situation. Growth?

4. My Body: She’s Trying Her Best

I still look six months pregnant. I still shuffle when I walk. I still sit down with the care and speed of a 97-year-old woman who just ran a marathon.

But! I showered today. I shaved exactly one leg. I put on clean-ish leggings. I even wore deodorant that wasn’t from 2022. We celebrate the wins here, okay?

Also, I’m officially an expert in sneezing while clenching every pelvic muscle in my body. It’s an Olympic sport and I would medal.

5. My Partner: Slowly Learning the Art of Not Breathing Loudly

Today, he asked, “Do you want to watch something together later?”

I looked at him with the weary eyes of a woman who hasn’t watched a single TV show without falling asleep during the opening credits in four days.

“Sure,” I said. “If I’m still conscious.”

We didn’t watch anything. But he rubbed my feet while I nursed and didn’t ask a single follow-up question when I said I was overwhelmed because the burp cloths don’t all match. That’s love now. Burp cloth compatibility. Foot rubs. Sandwiches with extra pickles.

6. The Baby: My Tiny, Sassy Roommate

He makes so many faces now. One of them looks like a tiny judge about to declare me guilty of insufficient boob supply. One is a pure, sleepy bliss face that makes me want to cry and freeze time forever.

He’s figured out that nighttime means party time. He naps all day like a little prince, and then around 9 PM he opens his eyes like, “Wassup fam, let’s rage.”

I sing to him. He poops. I whisper sweet nothings. He throws up in my cleavage. I call it bonding.

Final Thoughts: Day Four Is Soft and Sharp at the Same Time

Four days ago, I gave birth. I was one person then. I’m a totally new one now.

Every hour, I become more of this mother version of me — raw, weepy, powerful, hilarious, exhausted, in love.

I know I’m still healing. I know I’ll probably cry again in 12 minutes. I know I’ll wonder if I’m doing any of this right. But I also know this:

  • I am my baby’s favorite place in the world.
  • I can feed and soothe and swaddle like a boss.
  • I am strong — like, *ridiculously* strong — even if my pants are unbuttoned and I haven’t peed alone in four days.

To the Day Four moms out there: You’re in it now. It’s tender and tough and totally insane. But you’ve got this. Take a deep breath. And maybe a nap. If the baby lets you. 💤🍼💪😭

Day Three Postpartum: My Nipple, My Sanity, and Other Missing Persons Reports

MiriamLeave a comment

In which I cry at a dish towel, declare war on my partner’s breathing, and consider naming the baby “Colic.”

They don’t tell you this in the hospital, but Day Three postpartum is when the wheels start to fall off the tiny, adorable, hormone-fueled wagon.

On the third day, the Lord made light. On my third day postpartum, I made a mental note to Google “Can you die from sleep deprivation?” and “How to fake your own disappearance without hurting the baby’s feelings.”

Let’s recap, shall we?

1. The Milk Has Officially Taken Over

Remember the boobs from Day Two? Yeah, they’ve evolved. We are now in Phase Two of Operation: Cow Udder. I am a walking dairy plant. I leak when I laugh. I leak when I think about leaking. I leak when I see a picture of another baby on Instagram.

I tried to breastfeed in a side-lying position, but instead, I nearly suffocated my child with my left boob. I am now exclusively feeding him in positions that look like modern interpretive dance. He’s thriving. I’m… damp.

The pump is my new best friend. We spend more time together than I do with my partner. At one point, I caught myself making eye contact with the pump and whispering, “You get me.”

2. Hormonal Whiplash: A Tragedy in 6 Acts

I woke up crying. No reason. Just vibes. Then I looked at my baby and smiled through my tears because he looked like a perfect little potato. Then I cried harder because potatoes don’t stay small forever.

By noon, I had rage-sobbed because my partner left the dish towel slightly damp. Was he trying to ruin my life? Was he actively participating in a psychological experiment where the variable is my emotional fragility?

Later, I watched a video of a dog meeting a baby goat. I wept so hard I had to remove my nursing pads and just let nature take its course. Milk and tears: the ultimate postpartum cocktail.

3. My Partner: A Cautionary Tale

He asked if he could “just run out for a quick haircut.”

Bold of him to assume I wouldn’t change the locks while he was gone.

He also asked if I needed “anything else” while he was out. I told him: “A new personality, 16 hours of sleep, a pelvic floor transplant, and one (1) baby who doesn’t treat my chest like an all-you-can-eat buffet open 24/7.”

He returned with a sandwich. I forgave him immediately.

We did make up, eventually. We took turns holding the baby while the other one showered, blinked, or cried into a towel. Romantic.

4. The Baby: Still Cute, Still Loud

My baby is still adorable. He smells like hope and warm bread. He also screams like a siren when his pacifier falls out, which it does every 0.3 seconds. He’s learned to do this thing where he smiles in his sleep. I’m not sure if it’s gas or the face of God — either way, I cried again.

He’s cluster feeding. I had to look that term up. It’s basically when your baby treats your body like an all-night buffet and orders the sampler platter. Every. Forty. Minutes.

I haven’t worn a bra since we got home. My right shoulder is permanently damp. I once wore matching socks. That version of me is gone now. May she rest.

5. The Mirror: A Haunted House Experience

I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror and gasped. I look like a villainess who fell into a vat of hormones. There are dark circles under my eyes, cracked lips, and a piece of dried breast milk in my hair. I haven’t brushed it. I’m afraid it’s holding me together.

My belly is soft. My hips ache. I waddle slightly. I am still bleeding. I am, somehow, still bleeding. Where is it all coming from?!

And yet… I also felt a strange tenderness for my body today. It created life. It’s recovering from a battle I didn’t fully comprehend until now. It’s holding the line — even if that line is currently drawn in lanolin cream and stretch marks.

6. The Late-Night Shift: Where Dreams Go to Die

We were up from 1:00 AM to 4:47 AM. We tried everything: rocking, bouncing, shushing, white noise, skin-to-skin, actual prayer. Nothing worked until I gave up and laid him on my chest, and he finally dozed off, breathing in tiny sighs like he’d been fighting a war we couldn’t see.

I didn’t sleep. I just stared at him. I kissed his head and silently begged the universe to protect him forever. Then he farted on me. Perfect moment, ruined. Classic baby.

Final Thoughts: Day Three is Wild, Unfair, and Weirdly Magical

I’m still sore. I’m still scared. I’m still Googling weird things like “how to tell if a baby hates you” and “how many hours of sleep before hallucinations start.”

But I’m also still here. Still loving this tiny human more than I ever thought possible. Still laughing at the absurdity. Still tearing up when he wraps his fingers around mine like I’m the entire universe to him.

Day Three postpartum is not for the faint of heart. It’s for the warriors. The milk-stained. The wide-eyed. The ones who whisper “I love you” at 3:00 AM while crying into a burp cloth.

We’re out here. We’re surviving. We’re thriving, in a feral kind of way.

To all the Day Three moms out there: You are the definition of power. You’re doing better than you think. And yes, you absolutely deserve that second cookie. And the third. 🍼🔥💪😭