LauraM

I remember showing up to an Easter party 6 weeks postpartum with my newborn and husband. A more experienced mom took one look at my bloodshot eyes and my general look of bewilderment and she said, “This part sucks. It gets better, I promise. But it takes a long time.”

I needed to hear that it was okay not to love the newborn stage. And I needed to hear that the journey to my new self, to my new life was going to be long—not that it would be okay by month 3 when she would sleep through the night (she’s 2 and still doesn’t, so glad I wasn’t holding my breath for that one), not when I was cleared to workout and when I would somehow assume a normal schedule again (which helped, but also made me long for my pre-baby strength and my pre-baby extended workouts), not when she was first smiling and my heart would just into a thousand flowers (which it did), not at any of the promised times we see online or on social media, but for a long, long time. It released so much for me and gave me a realistic expectation for the future. I’m still endlessly grateful for that small interaction.