Nothing could have prepared me for motherhood. No book, no video, no pamphlet, and certainly no well-meaning warnings, comments, or advice. You don’t truly understand it until you’re in it. And once you are, it’s full-on. Your body changes in ways you never imagined, and your emotions soar to unfamiliar highs before plunging to unexpected lows. It’s beautiful, overwhelming, and humbling all at once.
During my pregnancy, there was so much discussion about the “birthing plan,” yet conversations about postpartum recovery seemed far less common. I felt confident walking into the hospital the night before my son was born. I had researched labor thoroughly and prepared myself for countless delivery scenarios, but I was completely unprepared for how deeply my life would change in the days and weeks that followed.
I gave birth to my son through an emergency cesarean. As I recovered in the hospital, I quickly felt discouraged by my limitations and sometimes feared I would never fully heal. Not being able to sit up on my own felt deflating. Not being able to lift my baby without help was heartbreaking. Still, I tried to remind myself to focus on progress rather than setbacks. Slowly, I moved from brushing my teeth in bed to taking short walks; from being connected to multiple IVs and relying on medication to occasionally taking Tylenol; from wearing adult diapers to proudly graduating to granny panties — a very big improvement indeed.
As time passed and my strength returned, my belly remained swollen, making me look about six months pregnant. Day by day the swelling eased, yet I felt nervous about the moment it would stop completely. I knew that once my uterus could no longer take the blame, I would be left facing my changed body. Eventually, I was greeted by loose skin and stretch marks across my stomach. When I ran my hands over my belly, I felt dimples pressed into soft, doughy skin. At first, I felt embarrassed. How was I — or especially my husband — supposed to accept this new body? To my surprise, these changes never fazed him. He embraced them fully and helped me see just how remarkable my body truly is. Through his eyes, I learned to wear these marks proudly as badges of honor. I came to realize there is no “before pregnancy” body and “after pregnancy” body — there is simply my body. It looks different now, but I didn’t change bodies like changing clothes.
In the midst of all these physical changes, a relentless emotional rollercoaster was also unfolding. After returning home from the hospital, my husband and I found ourselves questioning everything. “Did we make the right decision?” “Did we rush into parenthood?” “Our lives were so easy before — now look at us.” “We have no idea what we’re doing.” Having a tiny human completely dependent on you is stressful and downright terrifying. I felt overwhelming love for my baby boy while simultaneously battling intense anxiety.
Each day brought new worries. Diapers, breastfeeding, vaccinations, bathing, breastfeeding, sleeping too much, sleeping too little, burping, breastfeeding, sterilizing bottles, the color of poop — and yes, breastfeeding again. I had heard about “mom guilt” before becoming a mother and believed I’d be able to shake it off. Instead, doubt and shame crept in quietly. “If I stop breastfeeding, I’m failing my son.” “If I ask for help at night, I’m neglecting him.” “If I don’t establish a routine now, I’ll ruin his sleep habits forever.” The voices felt endless. But as I grew more confident in my role as a mother — and realized there are many right ways to raise a child — those voices slowly softened and faded.
Motherhood has brought both incredible highs and challenging lows, but the greatest high of all is the ever-growing love I feel for my child. When I hold my baby boy, his body seems to melt into mine, as though we are truly one. I can feel something shift inside me, like my heart may overflow at any moment. I am continuously discovering the depth of the bond between mother and child — a bond rich with connection, fullness, and meaning.
Postpartum is a peculiar season. I feel empowered and vulnerable at the same time. I have been weak, yet I have never felt stronger. Even in exhaustion, sleep doesn’t always come. I’ve cried tears of joy and frustration simultaneously. Through it all, I am learning to offer patience and grace to this postpartum body and mind of mine — honoring where I’ve been and trusting where I’m going.
