There’s a very specific kind of panic that hits at 3 a.m. when your baby is rooting around at your chest like you’ve personally betrayed them, and you’re doing math in your head — when did she last eat, how long was that side, was that even a real feed or just comfort sucking. I
Two in the morning, baby on my hip, and I was crying almost as hard as she was — because I could not, for the life of me, understand how something everyone kept calling “natural” was making me bleed. Nobody warns you about this part. Not the nurse who hands you home from the hospital
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
