Physically, this week has been a bit of a shift.
My pelvis has started to hurt again—similar to how it felt during pregnancy—which I think is due to all the babywearing, bouncing, and swaying we’ve been doing. Honestly, I’ve probably been too active. My bleeding returned to bright red, accompanied by cramping. The doctor said to go to the ER if I soak through more than one pad an hour for two hours or if I develop a fever or other signs of infection. Thankfully, so far, I’m still in the clear.
I suspect this physical toll is tied to how fussy you’ve been with feedings over the last week and a half. You require so much movement: bouncing, walking, lifting, swaying. You want to be in motion constantly.
I’ve also made some changes to our breastfeeding routine. Lately, I’ve been trying to feed you while you’re sitting more upright to help with digestion. That means less-than-ideal ergonomic support for me. Every lactation consultant says “bring the baby to you, not you to the baby,” but when your abdomen is aching, sometimes the best solution is the one that simply works in the moment. That often means hunching forward or feeding in awkward positions—leading to some nipple pain as you tug from odd angles. And nipple pain becomes especially noticeable any time I feel cold—just one of those uncomfortable facts of postpartum life.
You latch beautifully and feed well—but then comes the spit-up. And not the kind that people on Reddit call “happy spitting.” It makes you upset, uncomfortable, and suddenly ravenously hungry again. The cycle is tough any time of day, but at night, it’s especially draining.
Some nights, I feed you around 2 a.m. for 15–20 minutes. Then I stay up another 20–30 minutes to keep you upright—which is incredibly hard with a warm, sleepy baby in my arms and a body begging for rest. I put you down in the bassinet, and within 10 minutes you wake up again—often from a poop, uncomfortable gas, or another round of spit-up. I’ll change your diaper, then you spit up. Or you spit up, and then need to feed again. Then I’ll change your diaper. This turns what should be a short feed into two hours of being up—and unfortunately, you’re often hungry again within an hour of finally settling.
We reached out to your pediatrician this week, and she prescribed a baby-safe version of Pepto-Bismol. We’re going to try it today. She also recommended reintroducing bottle feedings—those worked well as a supplement early on, so it may be worth incorporating them again. I think unfortunately you take after both of your parents here – upset stomach and sensitivities. We’ll keep an eye on it.
Sleep has been tough, and it’s starting to catch up to me. I can feel a scratchy throat coming on, along with ear pressure—clear signs I need rest and nourishment. So I’m bringing back my pregnancy ritual of bone broth in the mornings and trying to prioritize naps whenever I can sneak one in.
Emotionally, though, I’ve been doing better.
There’s been less crying day to day, though I’m still riding the waves of thoughts and emotions. I’m coping better with the sleep deprivation (thanks in part to coffee), and those occasional naps really help keep my mood steadier.
Your dad goes back to work tomorrow, so we’ll see how things shift from here.
I’ve been thinking a lot about childcare—and to be honest, the more I think about daycare, the less I want to go that route. This week we posted an ad for a part-time nanny. I’m not totally sure how we’ll pay for it—we need to go back through our finances—but the hope is to keep you home for your first year.
Usually, I’m the kind of person who plans ahead, Clara—but so much of this first month has felt more like a scramble than a well-rehearsed dance. I actually started looking into childcare way back in the second month of pregnancy, but demand is so high. We were number 53 on the waitlist at the nearby center. Now, in July, we’re number 10—but still waiting. And honestly, everything changed when you actually arrived. You’re so tiny. So vulnerable. The idea of handing you off to someone else for hours each day feels impossible right now. We’re hoping we can find a way to make staying home work.
Right now, you’re strapped into the wrap on my chest. Your little legs are tucked into the “M” position, like I check for every time I run through the “TICKS” babywearing checklist in my mind. You’re such a little frogger. Your arms are flailed slightly above your head—just how you like to sleep. We’re both secure here, suspended in this middle space between womb and world.
I had planned to take photos of you today, but—as has often been the case this month—we prioritized managing spit-up, feeding cycles, and delayed naps. The photos can wait an hour, or a day. I’m sure you’ll still be just as precious tomorrow.
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