Tag: motherhood humor

Day Two Postpartum: Tears, Tatas, and Triage

MiriamLeave a comment

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. 🍼💪😅😭

Day One Postpartum: Cry-Laughing Through the Chaos

MiriamLeave a comment

My milk came in. So did the tears. And possibly a ghost.

Day One Postpartum: Cry-Laughing Through the Chaos

My milk came in. So did the tears. And possibly a ghost.

Welcome to Day One Postpartum, otherwise known as The Day the Nurses Leave and You Realize You’re the Nurse Now. I had read about the magical moment when you finally get to bring your baby home — how the air sparkles, the birds chirp, and you and your partner stare lovingly into each other’s eyes as you co-parent in perfect harmony.

Ha. Lies. All lies.

Let me walk you through my first 24 hours as a freshly born mother.

1. Leaving the Hospital: A Slow Descent into Madness

The nurse wheeled me to the car like I was the queen of England… except I was wearing a maxi pad the size of a throw pillow and sitting on an inflatable donut. My baby was buckled so tightly into the car seat he looked like a tiny astronaut about to be launched into space. I wept the whole ride home because hormones, and because I was afraid of potholes.

My husband tried to make light conversation on the drive. I told him gently (read: barked like a feral raccoon) to stop talking.

2. The Arrival Home: Is This Place Always This Loud?

Home used to feel so peaceful. Now, it was suspiciously bright, weirdly dusty, and everything smelled like breast pads and fear. The baby, sweet angel that he is, immediately pooped through his onesie and onto me. We hadn’t even made it past the living room.

I tried to breastfeed. He latched! Then unlatched! Then latched again! Then… bit me with gums I swear were forged in hell. I screamed, he screamed, my nipples retracted into another dimension.

3. The Emotional Rollercoaster: Cry Me a Milk River

  • 6:42 PM – I cried because I was so happy.
  • 6:47 PM – I cried because I was so tired.
  • 6:51 PM – I cried because I spilled my water and couldn’t reach it.
  • 6:53 PM – I laughed at how ridiculous I was.
  • 6:54 PM – I cried again because what even is me anymore?

The emotional range of a Shakespearean actress — but in mesh underwear and with leaky boobs.

4. Partner Check-In: Can He Read My Mind Yet?

Bless his soul, my partner offered to “take a shift,” not realizing babies don’t work in shifts. I asked him to grab the diaper cream and he brought me hemorrhoid ointment. I said “thanks” in a tone that could curdle milk.

We argued about how to swaddle. The baby cried. I cried. He Googled “how to not make wife cry.” Google did not help him.

5. My Body: Who Dis?

Every part of my body felt like it had just returned from battle. My belly was soft and squishy, my boobs had become sentient and were threatening to secede, and I was convinced my pelvic floor had packed a suitcase and left in the night.

At one point, I sneezed and apologized to the universe.

6. The Midnight Hour: Where’s My Receipt for This Baby?

At 2:00 AM, the baby woke up screaming. I did everything I could: fed him, burped him, rocked him, whispered inspirational quotes. Nothing worked.

In that moment, I swear I saw my soul leave my body and hover over the bassinet, asking, “Can we tap out now?”

Then suddenly… silence. He fell asleep in my arms. A little gummy mouth hanging open. A sigh so soft it broke me.

Final Thoughts:

Day One postpartum is a beautiful disaster — like a wedding cake dropped in slow motion. It’s raw, painful, funny, maddening, and sweeter than you can explain to anyone who hasn’t been there.

I’ve never laughed and cried so hard in the same day.
I’ve never felt so broken and so whole at the same time.
I’ve never loved anything more — not even my own ability to sleep through the night. RIP.

And tomorrow? We do it again.

With more coffee.
And possibly a diaper on backward.
(Mine, not his.)

To all the new mamas out there on Day One: you’re doing it. You’re not alone. And yes, those are your boobs leaking through your shirt. Own it. 🍼💪💔😂