Tag: real motherhood

Week Three Postpartum: I’m Still Alive (Mostly) and Mostly Asleep

MiriamLeave a comment

Sleep is a myth, my house is a mess, and somehow, I love this tiny human anyway.

Welcome to Week Three — where the baby’s schedule is still unpredictable, but I’ve officially stopped checking the clock every five minutes. Mostly because I’m too tired to care.

If you asked me what the last three weeks have been like, I’d say: equal parts joy, exhaustion, and trying to figure out where all my clean underwear went.

Here’s the beautiful chaos of Week Three, in all its messy glory.

1. The Baby Is Practicing His Tiny Dictator Skills

He’s gotten good at staring me down like I’m supposed to read his mind. He has preferences now — mostly involving boob-on-demand and an aversion to any movement resembling putting him down.

He has also discovered his voice. The crying is getting louder, the grunts more dramatic, and the “I want out” wiggles more frantic.

But when he sleeps? It’s like the world pauses for a hot second, and I try not to panic that it’ll end.

2. My Body Is Still a Wonderland of Surprises

Week three means some healing, but also new aches. I’m learning what it feels like to have a uterus that occasionally decides it’s auditioning for a twerking competition.

My boobs have taken on a life of their own — sometimes painfully full, sometimes suspiciously empty — like a hormonal roller coaster without seat belts.

And I’ve accepted that sweatpants are my new formalwear, at least until further notice.

3. The Emotional Roller Coaster Has No Brakes

I laughed until I cried over a dog video. I sobbed because I miss pre-baby naps. I got mad at my partner for a whole five minutes because he didn’t replace the last roll of toilet paper.

Then I apologized, realizing I probably overreacted. It’s the hormones, the sleep deprivation, the overwhelming love and fear all rolled into one messy ball of feelings.

4. Finding Moments of Peace (When Possible)

Between diaper changes, feedings, and laundry, I’ve started to find tiny pockets of calm. Sometimes it’s a hot cup of tea. Sometimes it’s sitting quietly while the baby naps on my chest (even if it cramps my arm).

These moments feel like tiny victories — reminders that amidst the chaos, there is still softness and stillness.

5. Partner Life: Still Learning, Still Loving

My partner has become an expert diaper changer (almost). He’s learning the difference between sleepy fuss and actual distress. And even though romance is on hold, the teamwork is real.

We laugh at our mutual exhaustion and celebrate the small wins — like surviving the night without accidentally waking the baby.

Final Thoughts: Week Three — Still Surviving, Still Loving

Three weeks in, and I’m still figuring this out. Some days are beautiful, some are brutal, and most are somewhere in between.

But through it all, the love grows — messy, imperfect, but fierce.

To all the mamas in Week Three: You’re doing amazing. Even if you feel like a walking zombie, you’re a superhero. And yes, those sweatpants were made for you. 🦸‍♀️🍼💖

Day Seven Postpartum: A Whole Week, Baby

MiriamLeave a comment

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. 💛🍼🌙

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. 💪🍼🥴