The Magic & The Mess

This one is for my freshly postpartum mamas.

I know in my first article I said I felt like I had a purpose for the first time in my life when I became a mother, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t feel a whole lot of "lost" too.

Yes, I loved (and still love) being a mother, but I struggled hard during the newborn stage. Sometimes, when I expressed the feelings I’m about to write here, I was deemed ungrateful—as if motherhood is an untouchable subject and I’m not allowed to speak ill of it. But motherhood is so many things all at once. How can it not be? It cracks you open. It’s magical and super hard.

You are grieving and being reborn at the same time.

That first time you become a mother is a crazy and beautiful period. You’re the happiest, saddest, cleanest, dirtiest wreck of a whole new person... all at the same damn time. You want to bottle that feeling up forever while simultaneously being on your knees begging for it to be over.

At least, that was me. For both my babies, the first six months were tough.

My first, my son, was a super chill baby. But the experience of becoming a new mother was what got to me. The anxiety of being the sole source of everything for a tiny, vulnerable human was overwhelming.

By the time my daughter was born, I thought I had it all figured out. I felt like a "pro" now; I knew everything was temporary, so I assumed postpartum couldn't touch me. WRONG. Life was like, “Yeah, no sweetie...” My daughter had colic and was super gassy; she cried from 4:00 to 7:00 PM for five months straight. That left me sleepless, drained, overstimulated, and super angry. And you don’t have much time for self-pity—or even anger—when you have an older child who needs his mom 24/7, too.

The nights were always the toughest for me. Waking up in the middle of the night when the whole world is quiet and sleeping is a lonely feeling. I remember when my son was a month old, I was breastfeeding him at 2:00 AM and I stumbled upon this photo on Instagram.

I started crying like crazy. I remember wailing so hard that my tears fell on my son and woke him up. Now, anytime I see a new mom struggling, I send them this picture. I tell them to find moms who have babies the same age. They might not realize it, but those little texts or reels from my friends in the middle of the night—while the pump was sucking the life (sorry, milk) out of my nipples—saved my life. Truly.

Now, let's talk breastfeeding. This might be a trigger for some because I unfortunately didn’t have that "magical" breastfeeding experience most moms seem to have. For me, it was painful. I had sores, I had mastitis four times, and to top it all off, I had something called D-MER (Dysphoric Milk Ejection Reflex). It’s important to know this isn't just "baby blues" or an emotional struggle—it is a physiological reaction where a sudden drop in dopamine happens right as your milk releases. Every time my milk let down, I was hit with waves of intense sadness. For those 30 seconds, life felt dark. It was scary, especially when I didn’t know what it was.

So no, it wasn't magical; it was grueling.

With my son, I tried for months until my doctor finally decided I should quit for my own mental health. With my daughter, I started with a positive, "fresh page" mindset, but my body said, “Nope, not doing this again.” I had a super low supply, and within two months, my milk dumped me. And frankly, I was happy, because I could switch to formula guilt-free. And don’t forget ladies: Fed is best.

The truth is, the first six months with your first and the first six months with your second are two totally different worlds. With my first, I was so excited for tummy time and the BabyBjörn, the high-contrast cards, and the playmats. The second time around? That stuff was boring as hell. When you have a walking, talking toddler beside you, the stage where a baby just lies there is pretty dull. I kept staring at my daughter, waiting for her to do something interesting! I struggled with that guilt, too.

But the guilt of not feeling like "enough," or not being able to give the exact same experience to both your babies, is a topic for a whole other article.

Lastly, I want to share a list of things that saved me during the newborn stage:

1. Mom friends to share stupid reels with in the middle of the night.

2. A good therapist.

3. My mom to cry to.

4. Noise-canceling earphones, a baby carrier, and a glass of vino for the colicky hour. (Do not judge, this is a safe place...)

5. A quick 10-minute walk outside on my own.

What has your newborn stage been like? If you’re in the thick of it right now, how are you feeling? Wanna talk? Need a 2:00 AM reel session? Let me know in the comments.