Tag: newborn life

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. 🍼🔥💪😭