Get kicked/wheeled out of the hospital. Take way too long trying to put the baby in the car seat, everything feels way too big and scary for this tiny life. Take way too long trying to get yourself in the car, everything feels way too painful. Scream and at husband every time the car hits the tiniest pebble in the road. Cry.
Get home, try to breastfeed and realize you’ve forgotten everything the nurses taught you. Yell at husband that this is all incredibly impossible. Hand over the baby and stumble outside to bask in the sunshine. Come back inside because you are leaking from every possible hole in your body and the neighbors are staring. Cry.
Have a beer. Feel guilty about said beer as you attempt to nurse your baby for the hundredth time. Feel less guilty as your baby destroys your nipples. Cry.
Call your mom. Tell her you love her but you don’t understand how you exist, because you have an older brother, and how can anyone do this more than once. Cry.
Baby falls asleep on your chest. Cherish the moment but find yourself thinking about how tired you are, how you will never feel refreshed again. Stare at that tiny sleeping baby and realize that just maybe, it will all be worth it in the end. Cry.
Baby wakes up and screams. You remember you haven’t eaten anything, proceed to destroy every snack available. Stare at the contents of the fridge. Cry.
Repeat steps 1-6 for the next few months. Look back and think it wasn’t that bad, think about doing it again. Cry.
Heather has finally stopped crying after delivering her beautiful baby daughter, and although some days are spent cradling reheated coffee mugs, most days she can be found exploring the mountains of Los Angeles. She writes with real pens and paper in and about the wilderness, but can also be found anxiously corralling parental aspirations on her blog.