Everything No One Told Me About Being A First-Time Mom

On my chest, my newborn son starts to cry. It’s some time in the middle of the night; I avoid looking at the time, lest I become aware of how much sleep I’m missing. My husband and I have been taking turns letting the baby sleep on us because he refuses the bassinet. I start to change him and brace myself for the next ten minutes of screaming and crying. He’s only days old. 

After he’s been changed, I start a thirty-minute timer to nurse him. The pain is immediate as soon as he latches, and even though I’m delirious, I know that the fuller he is, the better chance I have of sleeping for a full two hours until the next feeding. Even though I don’t want to look at the clock, I have to know when to set my alarm so I can feed him again. It's roughly 1 a.m., so I set my timer for 3:30 a.m., when I’ll do it all over again. My husband rubs my back, trying to comfort me. He wants to help, and I’m grateful that he sits up in the middle of the night with me, and reminds me I’m not alone. 

After my son unlatches, I hand him to my husband, who turns on a movie for his “shift”; the nurses at the hospital told us that cosleeping is basically illegal, so whoever has the baby has to stay awake. I pray I can fall back to sleep quickly, but as I close my eyes and try to rest, I can’t help but cry. My body hurts in every way. Postpartum contractions are still painful and frequent. I’ve not yet healed. And I’m disappointed in myself. My heart is heavy, and I’m asking God what’s wrong with me. I've always wanted to be a mom, but this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I fear that this is what the next 18 years of my life will look like. 

Though I feel like I’m drowning, I can feel God grab hold of my spirit and remind me that He is with me in the waves. This isn’t about me; it’s about him, my son, and about Him, The Son.

I wish I could go back and hug her and show her a glimpse of now.

Fast-forward six months, my son is the happiest baby I’ve ever known. Though he still isn’t the best sleeper, and I'm operating on five hours of sleep and caffeine most days, life is good. We laugh together, we see the world, and all of my old hobbies are slowly becoming more regular again. But every day I think of the mom I was in those first weeks, how much shame I felt, and how lonely it was. I wish I could go back and hug her and show her a glimpse of now. And I can, sort of, for new moms today. So new moms, moms-to-be, and friends of moms, I’ll try to reveal the reality of postpartum, how it gets better, and how to be a good villager during that time. 

Here’s the start line: you’ve just gone through nine months of pregnancy that probably consisted of at least a little nausea, some swollen feet, restless leg syndrome, and a whole lot of praying you’ll fit into your jeans again one day. You start to feel contractions, you head to the hospital, and in the blink of an eye, you’ve gone from “I think I’m in labor” to gripping your husband's shoulders as you get ready to push an entire baby out of your body. 

After a whole lot of work, the doctor puts the baby on your chest, everyone cries and smiles, and passes the brand-new baby around. Your family brings you dinner (or breakfast), you chat about how it all went down, you're visited by countless nurses, and then suddenly… It’s silent. It’s just you, your new baby, and your husband, who’s probably having the worst sleep of his life on the hospital couch. I remember thinking, “The worst is over. I am done being pregnant, I’m done with labor, I’m a mom.” In my case, this was not true. In fact, the real work had just begun.

The first thing they don’t tell you about (it must be code, amongst seasoned moms) is the post-birth contractions and the fundal massages. After delivering your baby, your uterus spends the next few days shrinking back to its original size, and these are significantly uncomfortable. They basically are just contractions, like you had in early labor, for a few more days. The fundal massage is what the nurses call putting pressure on your abdomen to make sure you’re not bleeding out; the term “massage” is generous (and inaccurate). If there was ever a time to take the meds the hospital gives you, it’s now. 

Soon after your baby is born, if you choose to breastfeed, you’ll likely be visited by several lactation consultants. What I thought was going to be a magical and natural bonding experience was an entire month of wincing and crying while I fed my baby at least every two hours around the clock, if not more. (This gets better, I promise.)

You return home after a blurry two days at the hospital, excited to lay the baby in their perfectly decorated nursery or even in a bassinet next to you, only to find that—to no one’s surprise—babies hate going from the constant warmth and comfort of your womb to a cold, lonely, hard cot. So you try to bully yourself out of cosleeping, and come up with every other option you can, only to find that you’re either going to die of delirium, or you’ll figure out how to safely cosleep. The shock of going on two weeks with less than four hours of sleep every night is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. 

Reddit, Google, and Dr. James McKenna’s cosleeping studies finally convinced me that cosleeping was my only option. After weeks of less than three hours of sleep each night, and losing my sanity and starting to fear going to bed, cosleeping blessed us with the few extra hours of sleep that we so desperately needed. For all the moms who are terrified of cosleeping, as I was, there is a safe way. The Safe Sleep Seven, if you need them, may be your ticket to successful sleep with your newborn. After asking every mom I knew how they got any sleep during this stage, I was surprised to find out that more often than not, they were cosleeping. Many moms don’t want to talk about it or bring it up because it’s somewhat taboo, but it was like a whole secret society was being revealed to me. 

At some point during those first postpartum weeks, I texted all my mom friends and apologized. I was heartbroken for them that they went through all of this while I merely said, “Let me know if you need anything!” I put the pressure on them to ask for help, and I realize now that was selfish. They all responded with so much grace, all saying essentially the same thing: “It’s okay, you didn’t know.” And I didn’t, but now I do.

Many moms don’t want to talk about it or bring it up because it’s somewhat taboo, but it was like a whole secret society was being revealed to me. 

About a week into my son's life, I realized I was sitting right next to my husband, but he felt a world away. Not because he was distant, but because we knew that every waking moment for the next while would be spent thinking and talking about the baby. Our time together just us would be few and far between for at least a couple of months. It was hard to imagine a world in which date nights, solo outings, and time to ourselves would be normal again. 

At the six-week mark, I got my first clogged duct of many. A clogged duct, for those who may not know, is an inflamed milk duct in the breast that is rock hard and tender; even slight pressure is excruciating. I got them roughly every other week for several months. My first was the size of a river stone, and the nurse attempted to calmly explain to me that I may need to visit the ER. I sobbed out of stress to my husband. Trying to manage the pain while breastfeeding every hour and not worry about mastitis or needing some emergency operation was not easy. 

While still dealing with sleep deprivation and clogged ducts, around two months postpartum, I looked in the mirror and thought, “I’m doing it.” It happened gradually, but before I knew it, I was healed. Before I knew it, breastfeeding was easy and normal. Before I knew it, I finally accepted cosleeping, and my son slept in our bed, allowing us all to finally get more sleep. Before I knew it, we would put him to bed early, and my husband and I went back to movie nights and having time to ourselves. Before I knew it, I loved motherhood. 

In my experience, the first two months of my son’s life felt longer than the following three months of his life. The constant crying in the bath, the car, and during diaper changes will eventually end. It’s nothing you’re doing wrong, but it’s admittedly grating to listen to. If you need to set your baby safely in their crib and step away for a moment, that’s okay.

Having a village was the biggest help I could have asked for during my postpartum weeks. My mom and my husband's mom spent hours awake in the middle of the night holding my baby while we slept. Other friends came, brought dinner and treats, and did our dishes for us. One of my favorite memories is of when two of my best girlfriends, both of whom likely intuited how much I was struggling, simply told me they would be at my house soon with Chick-fil-A. As soon as they walked in the door, I broke down in tears. They hugged me and watched the baby for a few hours while my husband and I ate dinner together and napped. It was the gift I didn’t know how to ask for.

I learned that cosleeping was extremely common, and while still not recommended, there is evidence in its favor. It allowed me to nurse my son while I went back to sleep. It made putting him down for naps shockingly easy. It meant that there was no getting up and walking around in the middle of the night. It wasn’t a perfect system, but it worked for us.

Breastfeeding—though extremely challenging at the beginning—became the best life hack. The beginning is quite an adjustment for your body and your skin, but it will adjust, and before you notice, it will likely be a pain-free experience. By about four weeks, I was able to feed him whenever and wherever. And it became the easiest option; for seven months, I never had to pack food, bring bottles, or clean any dishes. We could just pack up and go. I also learned that on-demand breastfeeding was basically the answer to everything. Is he having a hard time sleeping? Boob. Teething? Boob. Witching hour? Boob. Nothing the girls can’t fix, I promise. And by the way, he’s almost ten months old, and that’s still the case.

Before I knew it, I loved motherhood. 

The clogged duct issue was one that my blessed lactation consultant helped me with. I, by the grace of God, have gotten so many clogged ducts but not mastitis, and I believe it’s because of the routine I follow when one comes up. First, ice the breast. Pop a small ice pack into your bra and make sure it’s not too tight. Keep the area cold. Next, crank the sunflower lecithin. Make sure not to over nurse or over pump, and no need to massage it; just light breast gymnastics. Finally, hydrate and wait. And to prevent further clogged ducts, I recommend eating a healthy amount of probiotic yogurt (I like Siggi’s) as well as taking a daily Breast Health supplement. 

Lastly, the sleep. In my honest, first-time-mom opinion, it’s the luck of the draw. Some kids love sleep, some don’t. My son is nearly a year old, and we haven't slept through the night yet. We still try new things and I’m always open to new suggestions, but whenever I talk to parents of multiples, they basically all shrug, give me a soft smile, and tell me the same thing, which is “that’s just part of it.” It doesn’t mean you’re doing anything wrong and it doesn’t mean you aren’t trying hard enough. It just means that maybe your little one has a difficult time sleeping. These parents all tell me that it’ll pass, that they’ll sleep one day. And amazingly, all the parents of once-sleepless kids still glow when talking about the years when they had little restless babies. So I have no choice but to believe them and trust that in 20 years, I’ll miss these days.

As it relates to your spouse, you will see each other again. For a few weeks, it might feel like you get no more than a hug and a kiss between him leaving for work or the countless diaper changes, but every day you will have a few more moments together. Each week, you’ll find some new pocket of time in your day to watch the reels you sent each other, or a baby’s nap will run just long enough to rest on your husband’s chest while you watch TV. More than all of this, I can promise you that nothing is as romantic as watching your husband carry you through postpartum. I’ve never been more in love with my husband than after holding onto his shoulders as he walked me to the shower, one hour after I gave birth to our son.

For Friends of Moms

If you know a mom who may need help but has a hard time asking, here’s the blueprint: first, don’t use “let me know what you need” as your extended hand. It’s always with good intentions, but it’s lazy and places the burden on the mom. Instead, be definitive and pushy; “What evening this week is best for me to bring dinner, and what would you like? I’d love to do some dishes while I’m there and hold the baby so you can shower or rest, or I can leave it at the door if you’d prefer.” It’s always better to be annoying if it makes the other person feel cared for. Sidenote: for the mom that denies every type of help, gift cards are magical for new parents. DoorDash, Amazon, Starbucks, Kroger, etc. If you can’t visit them in person, a digital gift card is genuinely a lifeline.

A Final Note of Encouragement

In my first days of having a baby, I proclaimed that I could never have another. Now, I’m begging my husband for a second. In my first weeks of my son’s life, I thought I would never bake, read, or go antiquing until he was in college. Now, it’s not uncommon for me to do all of those things in a single day, all with my son strapped to my chest. In the first months of being a mom, I thought I would never get to watch a movie or go out to dinner with my husband until we were empty nesters. Now, we're about to celebrate our two-year anniversary, while the baby sleeps in his nursery, and we get to do whatever we want.

It’s not a 9-5; it is our eternal investment.

It gets better and more fun, and as mothers, we should enjoy it as much as possible. But more than that, it’s not about us, it’s about them. It’s not supposed to be easy; motherhood is not designed to inflate our ego. It’s not a 9-5; it is our eternal investment. God Himself invites mothers to bring life into the world, and if we accept His invitation, we might experience the exhilarating and exhausting journey of giving every part of ourselves to our children, as He does for us. For His glory, we have the opportunity to sacrifice our own desires, our own wishes, our own will, for our children, whom He has given to us. I pray that every mother recognizes the gift of His mercy, and by His mercy, we might get to hear, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”