I regret the coffee I had at 3.18pm earlier in the afternoon.
Six hours pass - he has “slept through the night” again. I should be able to go to sleep now, but he’s likely going to wake for a feed soon - I stay awake. Another 15 minutes pass, 30 minutes – for every minute that passes I think about how I should have slept instead but sunk cost fallacy. The longer I am up, the less sense it makes to go back to sleep. Yet, I now worry about whether I would be sufficiently alert “the next morning”, though technically it is already morning and the previous day has blended into the next.
I feel my breasts filling up with milk and consider whether to pump - but pumping will increase my already over-enthusiastic milk supply, yet not pumping leaves me in great discomfort. But I am supposed to be thankful - because more milk is better than less milk or no milk? But then again, fed is best still and I should do what I need to for my mental health? I have been latching him as much as possible lately, but what about having to wean eventually? I should be so thankful that baby can even latch! I should still give him the bottle here and there though, so he doesn’t refuse the bottle later, and when in-laws or parents take care of him they can feed him too? But what about my breasts and my comfort? Whose needs do I prioritise?
I scroll through Instagram. I see other moms’ stories and can’t help but compare. The algorithm feeds me advice, stories, parodies of all things baby related. I save the useful reels that I will likely never revisit, send relatable reels to fellow boy mom friends, send useful ones to Bryan.
A few of my friends in Chicago have also given birth recently- I think about whether our children would ever get to meet in the future. Definitely not the near future though - I can barely get through the 24-hour plane journey, what more with a kid. Instead, we check-in on each other and exchange poop and puke stories, and celebrate each other’s small wins.
Bryan turns to face me half asleep and puts his arm around me - “Let me know if you need me, thank you for today”. Our relationship has a new dynamic, and I’ve seen another side of him as my son’s father - how he prioritises us and loves us and couldn’t be more grateful. Yet, there’s the concurrent missing of the life we used to have - just the two of us, the not needing to depend on parents/ in-laws when we wanted some time to ourselves, not needing to consider a whole bunch of logistics just to grab a coffee in the afternoon. Each of us are tired in our own ways and carry the load of this new family in different capacities - we remind ourselves to communicate frequently, to appreciate each other, that labour may not always be visible or equal. We remind ourselves that it is normal to grieve the life we used to have too, while concurrently being grateful for the life we have now. I remember that he’s facing other stresses at work, parent guilt of not being able to spend sufficient time with us, having to balance work with alleviating my parental duties when he’s home despite his exhaustion. He remembers that while I am on “leave”, baby is constantly needing my attention, I juggle the mental gymnastics of breastfeeding, caregiving logistics, while trying not to lose my sanity and self amidst the mothering. We say thank you and i appreciate you and do our best not to take even the little things for granted.
I lie awake wondering how my newborn is already almost 3 months and where all that time has gone. I think about how little decisions I make will impact his life in big ways. I try to be less hard on myself and try to celebrate all the little wins, all the moments and people I am grateful for. I lie awake, waiting for baby to wake - though moments ago I was hoping he would stay asleep.
He cries.
I wait.
It doesn’t stop.
It’s time for his next feed.
