Tag: postpartum

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. 🍼🔥💪😭

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. 🍼💪💔😂