I carried a whole human for 9 months. He’s a week and two days old today
And I feel like I’ve completely disappeared.
Like, I disappeared.
My body isn’t mine anymore. It wasn’t during pregnancy, and it still doesn’t feel like it is now. Nothing fits me — not maternity clothes, not pre-pregnancy clothes, not even the oversized shirts I swore would be my “postpartum uniform.” My closet is full, and somehow I still have nothing to wear that makes me feel remotely cute or comfortable or like me.
My face is breaking out. My hair hasn’t been washed in days. I smell like milk and baby wipes and exhaustion. My phone is full of photos of him — beautiful, perfect little him — but none of me. And honestly, even if someone offered to take one, I’d probably say no. Because who is she? I don’t even recognize her right now.
I’m exhausted. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Like… bone-deep tired. The kind of tired you can’t fix with a nap or a coffee or even a full night of sleep (not that I’ve had one of those anyway). I love my baby more than life itself. But I miss silence. I miss not being touched. I miss going to the bathroom without rushing. I miss me.
And don’t even get me started on money. There’s none. Between diapers and wipes and feeding supplies and baby clothes (that he’ll outgrow in two weeks anyway), I can’t justify buying myself anything. Not a face mask. Not a coffee. Not a takeout meal. Not a haircut or a pair of leggings that actually fit. Self-care feels like a luxury I can’t afford right now, even though I know I need it more than ever.
I just want one day. One single day where someone says, “You’ve done so much. You’re incredible. Let me take care of you today.” I want to get dressed in something cute and soft and clean. I want to eat food I didn’t cook. I want to sit in the sun and feel warm. I want someone to hug me and mean it. I want to feel seen. Like more than just someone’s mom. Like me, the girl I used to be, still exists somewhere under the stretch marks and the leaky boobs and the puffy eyes.
I love being a mom. I love my baby. But damn… I’m still a person. And I’m hanging on by a thread right now.
So if no one’s said it to you lately:
You’re doing amazing. You’re allowed to feel all of this. You matter too.
And one day, when the fog lifts, I hope you get the self-care, the love, and the spoiling you so deeply deserve.
Because carrying a baby is hard.
Birthing a baby is hard.
But becoming someone’s whole world while trying not to lose yourself? That’s the hardest part of all.
— a tired, emotional, still-soft version of me 💭
