Two Weeks In: Nobody Tells You About the Crying (Mine, Not Hers)

So here’s what they don’t put in the baby books: some days you cry more than the baby. I’ve been a nurse for exactly two months and I thought I knew what exhaustion looked like. Turns out twelve-hour shifts have nothing on newborn life.

Two Weeks In: Nobody Tells You About the Crying (Mine, Not Hers)

I feel like a stranger in my own body right now. Nothing fits right, nothing feels familiar, and I’m pretty sure I put my shirt on backwards yesterday and didn’t notice until Marcus got home from work. Breastfeeding is this whole thing nobody really prepares you for - it’s beautiful and awful and painful and perfect all at the same time.

But then she does something like this. She grabbed my finger today during a feeding and just stared at me with those huge eyes, and I swear she knows exactly who I am. Like we’re figuring this whole thing out together. Maybe I have no idea what I’m doing, but apparently neither does she, so we’re even.

Marcus keeps telling me I’m doing great. I told him that’s what you’re supposed to say to your wife when she hasn’t showered in three days. He said he meant it. I choose to believe him.