During my third trimester, my focus went from solely preparing for birth and labor to thinking more and more about what would happen after. I sat in the birth prep classes, texted my doulas with a million questions, and listened to any podcast containing the words “postpartum” or “newborn” in the name.

I packed my bathroom with way too many supplies because well, the internet told me to be prepared for whatever I may need if you know what I mean. I washed all the tiny clothes that looked genuinely impossible for a human to fit into, sanitized everything, and tried to wrap my head around the right number of feeds, naps, and dirty diapers in those first few weeks at home.

By the time I was in the hospital and realizing we really were going to finally meet this little guy, I felt about as prepared as someone can feel for something she has absolutely never done before.

Then we came home with a baby, and I realized there are just some things that you can’t possibly prepare for until you live through them. Add to that, you can hear everyone’s advice who have moved through that postpartum period and still will have your own experience based on your body, your baby, your partner, your village, your home, and your mindset.

There’s nothing quite like standing in your own house full of baby things that feel like someone else’s and hearing a cry at some ridiculous hour of the night thinking, “Okay…so what do we do now?” Oh how I send a big hug to that past version of myself and to you if you’re wondering if this will ever feel like you’re not just surviving day to day.

Don’t get me wrong, I actually would pay money to go back to those first sweet six weeks with our son when motherhood was something I was just stepping into. What I wish there was more room for was the ability to express honestly how it felt to move through that big of a change without holding it in for fear of having someone think I couldn’t handle it or didn’t absolutely love this choice I made to become a mama.

So five months later, these are the things I can finally say out loud.

Not because I think every mom will feel the same way, but because I know how isolating it can be when your actual experience doesn’t fit neatly into either “newborn bliss” or the constant jokes about how miserable motherhood is supposed to be. Mine was somewhere in the middle. A lot of love, a lot of gratitude, and also a whole lot of thoughts I didn’t always know what to do with.

This is where we meet somewhere in the middle, and you can embrace whatever you’re thinking and feeling in this time without having to mask, filter, or mold it to anything but your authentic experience.

Let’s get started, shall we?

Leaving the hospital felt way weirder than I expected

For the first few days after giving birth, there was always somebody nearby who knew what they were doing and was pouring out warmth and support for us as we let it sink in that there was in fact a baby next to us and he was ours… to keep forever!

There were our doulas who advocated for anything we needed including just a drink of water when I forgot how to meet my basic needs in labor. There were our nurses for my healing, and for our newborn who were always checking in and asking questions like “when did he last eat?” or “have you eaten and slept today?” that helped us not have to think about much at all.

So there we were on the day we got to go home with our baby and counting our blessings that everyone was healthy and doing well, dressed in color-coordinated outfits (because obviously I just couldn’t resist) and packed up fully. And of course we had our first humbling parent moments to interrupt this vision that it would all be smooth sailing when I looked down and realized I still had on the hospital socks I was basically living in for the last few days and my only pair of shoes was packed in the car.

After a frantic phone call to my husband, I heard my pesky self critic voice for the first of many times telling me “girl… if you can’t remember your shoes they’re not going to let you walk out with a full baby!” When the shoes were secured and my husband was panting from the 6-floor journey to the parking area where the car was pulled up, we put our little bundle of joy into his carseat only to realize that we never actually learned how to tighten the straps.

I’ll save all the details for you, but picture us sweating trying to get the seat together before the nurse came to get us and having our sweet boy blow out his diaper as we looked around at not one single clean diaper or supply left after the room was packed up. Yep… cue all the thoughts telling us we were in for the ride of our lives and truly were on our own now to figure this stuff out.

As we pulled away going approximately two miles per hour, I heard that voice in my head going again, “Are you guys sure there isn’t supposed to be an adult coming with us?” “Can we really do this?” “What if he cries?” “What if he has to eat?”. Little man did absolutely fine and we laughed off our fiasco as we dragged our exhausted bodies up our stairs and into our house to begin the next chapter of our life. The first transition from being surrounded by people guiding us to being just us, our family of three, was when things felt real in a completely different way. No more prep or planning or dreaming… we were parents now.

The nights felt like their own little universe

I don’t need to tell you that sleep will look different when you’re a mom. You know this, and I also don’t love the amount of warnings or jokes about this as we were getting our footing. You never know how your baby will sleep, and what your arrangement with a partner, your parents, friends, or support can look like so please don’t fear this.

What I didn’t fully understand was how strange nighttime itself could feel during those first weeks. I remember wondering how I was going to shut my eyes and get true rest and trust that the baby would be okay. My friend gave me some amazing advice that I thought might be a little bit sugar coaty in the moment, but it turned out to be so deeply true.

She told me, “Jess I know you’re going to feel like you can’t sleep when he’s sleeping and I felt that fear too. But you’re a mom now and you have instincts that will know when he’s about to wake up before he makes a peep. You’ll sense when he needs you, and you’ll be right there able to meet him in a soothing way that he’s wanting in those moments. Trust yourself.”

I don’t think she meant that I would suddenly have some magical baby radar, but hearing someone I trusted tell me I could learn him helped me unclench a little. I have so much gratitude for this, and it stays with me as something I wish every new mom could hear so I hope it can stay with you too whether you’re thinking about a baby, pregnant, or a mom who forgot what this phase was like as you’re welcoming an addition.

Navigating the first nights for me, and for my baby

I don’t think it would be helpful to share the exact times my baby woke up, what we did in those moments, or how many hours I rested. This is where everything is so unique, and you can find some incredible resources for baby sleep that I want to leave room for you to explore and make your own.

What I want to share instead is how it felt to be inside my experience during those first few nights. The house was completely quiet, and I knew everyone we knew would likely be asleep. I was still there, though in a half sleep waiting to hear his little voice reaching out to me. And when I would hear it, I’d get up and take him to our spot in his nursery where I set up my rocking chair.

These moments were the first real quiet ones where I didn’t have my phone full of social media, congratulations messages, or people checking in. I didn’t have Google or ChatGPT to ask questions to. I didn’t have my husband to bounce thoughts off of. Just my baby and I, my body and his, and this room.

Sometimes I felt unbelievably peaceful, like I could find that sense of relief after waiting to see if and when he would wake up knowing I’m able to sooth and feed him. Sometimes, it felt emotional, like I could pinch myself that this was really the life I get to live and the baby my body created and held. Sometimes, it felt lonely, like I was in this alternative version of life where everything was changing so fast yet when I looked around at friends, coworkers, neighbors, and family members life was still moving along as normal.

I noticed how much my thoughts came flooding to me in these moments specifically, after a day of what kind of felt like I was moving through the motions between coffee refills and contact naps. The darkness and stillness of those overnight wakes made everything a little bit louder. The worries, exhaustion, questions, excitements, planning, and intrusive thoughts about my identity in motherhood came to the surface.

At the time this was overwhelming, but I found myself leaning into this uninterrupted 30 minutes or so where I could just be with my thoughts. And of course I wanted to fix, change, or plan to get rid of anything uncomfortable that was coming up. I definitely had moments where I judged myself for having certain thoughts, and questioned if this was normal. I also found myself wondering if other people thought like this, or how they experienced the start of their motherhood journeys.

That took time to soften, but eventually I landed in this place where I would allow the thoughts to be there and let them be there without immediately trying to fix them. because frankly, I was tired and that’s all I could really do. But it was that space that helped me wake up in the morning a little bit more connected to myself and my inner experience, in a way I couldn’t access when I kept gravitating toward what a new mom “should” feel.

Breastfeeding required a lot of logistical thinking (and still does)

For me, breastfeeding became one of those things I could not have fully understood before doing it. I knew it might take patience. I knew there could be a learning curve. What I didn’t understand was how much brain space feeding one tiny person could occupy.

Not only during feeds, but all day as I planned, prepped, and pumped my way into making sure he was always fed properly. It suddenly became like another role I took on, being the only source of nourishment for his growing body.

Here are a few things I didn’t realize would become a little bit isolating:

• I was the only one who could impact my supply (what I ate, how I rested, my hormone balance, etc.)
• I was the one who had to physically pump every time a bottle was given (even if the bottle itself bought me back some flexibility)
• I was the one who felt in my body when it was time for him to eat
• I was the comfort he found in the early days when he just needed to feel close
• I was the one who couldn’t rip off my bra at night like I wanted to because well… leakage is real
• I was the one who had to purchase breast pads, nursing bras, milk storage bags, creams, ice packs and all the things that I seemed to reach for
• I was the one who everyone handed the baby to when he “looked hungry”

And did I have a supportive system around me in my husband and family? Yes. Did I have people to text and rant about how absurd breastfeeding can be at times? Yes. At the end of the day, for me there were just things (and continue to be) that live rent free in my mind that no one could really take off my plate. I’m incredibly grateful my body has been able to feed him. I can also say, very plainly, that carrying that responsibility in my body and brain can be a LOT.

My body was recovering while I was barely paying attention to it

I always felt a little mindblown by how a baby can form from the smallest little cell to this whole human living inside, then somehow exit into the world through my body. Like yea… mamas we DID THAT!

And while knowing that my body did this enormously meaningful thing that took work I didn’t even realize was possible, I was amazed how quickly my attention shifted right back to my baby. I guess that’s the instinct that can come with creating life; the natural pull to focus on him and what he needs.

It was like all the mental preparation I did to navigate recovery and the research I put into healing went out the door. Sure, I did things to support myself but I wasn’t spending my time thinking about pain, discomfort, or soreness. It wasn’t this big scary thing I imagined, and when people asked me how I was doing, I almost had a moment there where I was thinking, “what do you mean? Like the baby?” forgetting so easily what was happening inside of me.

It amazed me that as someone who would religiously count her steps, water intake, and prep meals that made me feel good I could so easily slip into days where I hadn’t consumed anything that I couldn’t hold in one hand while holding the baby on the couch. That changes over time, and you will find your groove if that’s where you find yourself now, but it’s important to name this shift in perspective.

I would never call myself a selfish person before, but I had ample energy, time, and resources to care for myself in a way I felt fulfilled by. That changed in motherhood, not because I just completely let myself go but because it looks different and now my habits meet me where I’m at. I’m sure as my baby grows over this first year, it will continue to evolve and creating space for that without holding myself to old expectations has been really healing.

Having help and wanting everyone to leave can somehow coexist

I loved when people cared about us. I still feel blown away by the village we have and am grateful for every single meal, check in, piece of advice, and hour to myself. Here’s the part that I wasn’t able to say outloud during those first 6 weeks:

• I’m still figuring out breastfeeding and I don’t want to do that in front of you
• Sometimes, I need the house to be empty aside from me and the baby
• I don’t want to know how you parented, because it adds pressure to my plate
• Pointing out how many times the baby seems to want to eat makes me feel inadequate
• Its extremely vulnerable to change my baby’s diaper with an audience
• I feel like I have to get myself together even when people say they don’t expect me to
• I feel most comfortable when I don’t have to think about what the house looks like

Even writing these out feels terrible in a way, because I don’t want any of it to be perceived as not being appreciative, or blaming anyone else for anything. There is something so tender about those first weeks and as a perfectionist and people pleaser it only ramped up my anxiety to think of any situation when other people entered our little newborn bubble.

Writing those out still makes part of me squirm because I don’t want any of it to sound ungrateful. I was deeply grateful. I was also tired, exposed, learning how to feed my baby, adjusting to people being in my space differently, and trying to figure out what I needed before I even knew how to ask for it.

Both were true. That’s really all there was to it.

The smallest wins felt enormous

I had no idea how quickly my definition of a win was about to change. It’s amazing to have a successful crib transfer, or to take a shower without a cry. I can’t even put into words the way I woke up smiling so big realizing he had done his first really long stretch overnight without needing us. And don’t get me started on the weigh ins at his monthly check ups when our pediatrician showed us how well he’s climbing the growth curve.

These things happened in between the third spit up of the day, the bottle top coming off and soaking my husband and the baby with milk, and the nights when I felt my physical body screaming at me from exhaustion. It’s the nuance of taking a moment to celebrate things without it having to mean the entire day was flawless. It’s about having those conversations in the morning downloading the one less wakeup that happened or the amount of months we’ve gone without having to buy diapers because of our incredible baby shower stash (praise the diaper raffle).

There are the big moments that are easy to celebrate like those big appointments, new milestones your baby reaches, cute outfits, adorable newborn photos, and moments where your friends meet your son for the first time. That’s what makes it surprisingly nice to see how those little moments that we may forget in a month can feel like the rush of joy we needed.

The first weeks postpartum are not a test you pass

I think this is the biggest thing I wish I had understood.

I have a very real part of me that wants to do things well. Preferably with clear expectations, measurable progress, and maybe a little gold star at the end if we’re being honest.

Postpartum did not provide that system.

There was no score telling me I had handled the night correctly. No perfect range for how calm, grateful, bonded, rested, productive, or confident I was supposed to feel. There were just days where things worked, days where they didn’t, and a baby who kept changing the second I thought I had figured something out.

I still catch myself looking for proof that I’m doing a good job. A long stretch of sleep. A great checkup. A smooth outing. A day where I feel like I actually know what I’m doing.

But I’m starting to trust the quieter evidence too.

I know my baby better than I did yesterday. I can usually tell what kind of cry I’m hearing. I’ve gotten through nights I thought would break me. I’ve learned when I need help. I’ve learned that being overwhelmed for a moment does not mean I can’t handle this.

And five months in, I still don’t feel like I’ve passed some invisible test.

I just feel a lot more like his mom.