Three hours after my second was born, a nurse handed her back to me, tapped the side of my breast like she was ringing a doorbell, and said, “okay, let’s try.” My daughter turned her head the wrong way, latched onto my thumb instead, and then just… fell asleep. Mid-attempt. I remember laughing because I
My second kid, Theo, was born at 8 lbs 1 oz — a solid, chunky baby by every measure. Two weeks later, at his checkup, he was down to 7 lbs 6 oz, and the pediatrician’s face did that thing where she’s trying to look neutral but you can tell she’s not. I remember sitting
It’s 3 a.m., you’re propped up on hospital pillows that smell like bleach, and your baby has just come off the latch for the fourth time in a row, screaming like you personally wronged her. A nurse walks in, tilts the baby’s chin a half inch, murmurs “there you go,” and thirty seconds later she’s
Okay, real talk. Nobody warns you about the exact moment a nurse hands you your baby, smiles, and says “let’s try feeding” — while you’re still numb from the ribs down and terrified to laugh, cough, or sneeze because it feels like your stitches might pop. That was me, hour six after my second C-section,
