Postpartum Emotions Are Real

On day 3 of baby boy’s life we said goodbye to the Nurse Angels who had helped us at the hospital, and I cried over leaving my new friends because postpartum emotions are real. We tucked our cute little froggy boy into his car seat and headed home, and never has a drive been more welcome and more anxiety provoking. I sat in the backseat and put the other drivers out of my mind; I stared at my tiny boy all snug in his seat and tried not to cry over how beautiful he was, and I vowed to be the best boy mama ever as my sweet husband drove our little family home.


Fast forward to a few weeks postpartum: baby boy likes Dad better than Mom. Dad’s chest is flat and oh so comfortable to snuggle against, whereas Mom has giant milk boobs that get in baby’s way. Dad cradles and feeds baby pumped breastmilk 20 times a night, while mama’s hands are full of pump flanges because she hasn’t yet found time to get a hands-free pumping bra. And, since the boy politely vetoed sleeping in the Rock N Play (with his screams), Dad props himself up with pillows all night long and holds baby to make sure the boy gets some sleep, while Mom just cuddles her breast pump and cries.


Ok, I’m glad Husband loves his baby, and I’m thankful he takes so active a role in the newborn care, and I know a dad needs to get his fill of his handsome squish before he goes back to work (too soon), but dammit, I grew that baby boy. Gimme!

One night I blurted out the aforementioned grievances between emotional, postpartum sobs, and Sweet Husband took my weepy face in his hands and kissed my forehead and said the sexiest words I’ve ever heard: “Why don’t we take him in shifts?”


You’re pumping, Hubs reminded me; there’s no reason you and I should both be awake for every feed, he said; your milk supply is great, you can pump every few hours, and this way we each get boy cuddles and a few hours’ sleep each night, he reasoned. Damn, that’s hot. I would have ripped off my clothes and made with the sexy if it weren’t for my leaky nipples, my doctor’s warnings, and my babe asleep on Husband’s chest, blocking my access. Instead I kissed that wonderful man, I jammed some earplugs in, and I rolled over for 4 uninterrupted hours of sleep.

When I woke up, Husband happily handed the little bubba over, and I just about died at his dreamy cuteness. Husband rolled over and went immediately to sleep as I fed the little froggy boy. Baby gobbled down a few ounces of breastmilk, which lulled him into a deep and satisfying milk drunk slumber that could not be interrupted by giant burp nor diaper change. I laid my baby down and curved my soft body around his, and I watched his little chest rise and fall. I gently kicked my sweet husband so he would stop snoring like a buzz saw and nuzzled my baby’s neck and felt his breath on my nose. Then I cried big, fat, happy tears of overwhelming and unconditional love as I gazed upon my entire world tucked in and sleeping soundly at my side, and I said a silent thank you to the universe for this moment in time because I’m a really good boy mom and postpartum emotions are real.



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