We made it. I cried. The baby cried. A banana got lost in my bed. This is motherhood.
Day Seven. Seven days since my body broke open and my heart doubled in size. Seven days since I became someone new: someone who leaks from five places, cries over paper towels, and somehow manages to function on 2 hours of sleep and a stale granola bar.
A week ago, I had a baby. And today, I still have that baby. Which means I’ve kept a human alive for seven days straight. That’s right — I’m officially qualified to be a wildlife handler, trauma nurse, and UN peacekeeper.
This has been the longest, fastest, most beautiful and horrifying week of my life. Let’s recap Day Seven before I cry again. (Spoiler: I will cry again.)
1. The Baby Has Opinions Now
He’s developed preferences. For example:
- He likes warm milk and warm arms.
- He dislikes literally everything else.
He now makes a high-pitched, tiny demon noise when I dare to move him an inch away from my chest. He prefers to sleep on me, while I’m slightly tilted, facing northeast, with white noise, and one sock on. Any deviation is a betrayal.
He is still adorable. Especially when he sneezes. (He sneezed six times today. I cried every time. Why? Hormones.)
2. My Milk Came In. So Did My Insanity.
Day Seven boobs are not for the weak. They are enormous, engorged, and sentient. I woke up feeling like someone filled my chest with bricks and rage. One breast was slightly bigger than the other and I whispered “traitor” to it under my breath.
I leaked through two shirts, three pads, and a fitted sheet. I tried to hand-express and squirted myself directly in the eye. A humbling moment.
I used to wear nice bras. Now I just tuck folded burp cloths into my shirt and call it fashion.
3. My Brain Is a Soggy Waffle
I put the peanut butter in the fridge and the milk in the cabinet. I spent five full minutes trying to remember what day of the week it was. (It’s *Day Seven,* that’s all I need to know.)
I forgot how to spell my last name. I texted someone “brb baby spaghetti” and have no idea what I meant. I started a sentence, paused to sneeze, and never remembered what I was saying.
But I somehow remembered to burp the baby, sanitize the pacifier, and sing “Twinkle Twinkle” seventeen times in a row. So, brain: not totally useless.
4. I Saw Myself in the Mirror. It Was… A Moment.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror this morning. I was wearing mesh underwear, a nursing bra, and a robe that I think was originally white but now looks like it survived a milk explosion. My hair was in a bun held together by a baby sock. I looked like a ghost who used to be hot.
And yet… I smiled. Because I know what that body did. I know what that face has been through. I know what that robe has wiped up. This is not my final form. But it’s a sacred one.
5. My Partner Brought Me Coffee, and I Wept
He walked in with a coffee and said, “I made it how you like it.”
I cried like he proposed all over again. I clutched the cup like it was holy. I drank half of it cold, one sip at a time, between diaper changes and feedings. Best coffee of my life.
We haven’t had a real conversation in days. We communicate in gestures and grunts. But there is love here. Quiet, exhausted love. Like a slow-burning candle in a blackout. It’s enough.
6. I’m Starting to Believe I Can Do This
There was a moment this afternoon. The baby was fed and swaddled. The dishes were sort of done. The sun was shining. And I sat down, took a breath, and realized:
I’m doing it.
Not perfectly. Not glamorously. But every day I show up. Every night I rock him. Every morning I say, “We got this, baby.”
That’s what being a mom is. Not flawless. Just faithful. Just full of love and milk and fierce, messy devotion.
Final Thoughts: One Week In
Day Seven feels like the edge of a cliff and the start of a sunrise. I’ve cried more in one week than I did all last year. I’ve laughed while crying. Cried while laughing. Fed a baby with one hand while Googling “how to swaddle without rage.”
I’ve loved deeper. Felt more fragile. Been more powerful. All in the same 24 hours.
To all the moms on Day Seven: You made it. And you’ll keep making it. Through the mess and the magic. Through the doubt and the wonder. You are incredible. Don’t let the crusty pajamas fool you — you’re made of steel and stardust. 💛🍼🌙
The Postpartum Diaries: Real, Raw & Ridiculously Relatable 